#I'm incapable of giving short answers I'm sorry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

intrepidacious · 2 years ago

Text

almost believing

summary: You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: miscommunication dialled up to eleven bc it's me; friends to lovers with lots of seething in between; set around christmas, but not a christmas fic; slight spoiler warning for wakanda forever just to be safe

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

prompt: fake dating, baby 😌 title and initial inspiration for this fic were taken from "so close" from enchanted. yes. that scene.

a/n: this was written for my wonderful tiff's sweet as sugar writing challenge!! @traitorjoelite i'm so proud of you and i hope you enjoy this fic. i really thought this one would be short i swear. big shoutout and thank you to @sweetascanbee for listening to me rant about this for weeks, i appreciate you so much!!

masterlist | read on ao3

Here’s the thing: It’s supposed to be a simple mission. Just gathering intel at the hotel for one single night, the two of you pretending that everything is fine for a couple of hours more.

After all, it’s Bucky’s last mission with you before his reassignment goes through.

Well, it’s not like it’s going to make a difference to how much you’re seeing him, to be honest.

You’re not sure when he started making himself rare or why, but once you noticed it, it was impossible not to.

"Sorry, I’m heading out," when you ask him to grab lunch together seems inconspicuous enough, as does, "Ah, I’m already supposed to meet Sam," when you try asking him about that trip to IKEA you’d been talking about for ages.

But it doesn’t stop there. One excuse follows the next, and suddenly there’s always something more important than the two of you hanging out.

Of course, you try to rationalize it at first. Swallow down your hurt feelings, because Bucky is your friend, and sometimes people just need space. You’re fine. The two of you are fine.

Once he starts scheduling dates for Friday night, though—which has always been movie night, always, every week since you met him—you know that something’s wrong.

"Is he angry with me?" you keep asking Steve, who looks very uncomfortable and definitely knows what's going on.

"Just give him a little space," he suggests timidly. So you do. You let the whole thing go.

For like a week.

"I just don’t know what I did," you tell Sam over drinks, your head held in your hands.

"Nope," he answers, downing his dregs. "I’m not doing this. Nuh-uh."

"You know, too?" you cry, accusingly pointing at him.

"I don’t know anything," Sam deadpans. And then he puts his scarf on and leaves.

"Maybe try talking to Bucky about it?" Natasha suggests, either incapable of hiding her amused smile or unwilling to try.

"I would if I ever saw him for longer than a 'hi, how are you' at the gym," you mumble. Fact is, you’re getting pissed about him giving you the silent treatment without even knowing what you did wrong.

Because before this, whatever this is, things were fine. Great, even. Free afternoons were spent on each other’s couches, introducing him to your favorite tv shows and letting him teach you that stupid card game he loves so damn much. You’d even been starting to imagine that there might be something …

Clearly, you were wrong.

Now, you can’t even look at him without your throat closing up. It’s like you woke up a few weeks ago and he’s become an entirely different person around you, much more like he was at the beginning of your friendship, distant and cold.

He didn’t even tell you that he’d signed up for a transfer.

The mission call feels like your last chance.

A whole evening of teamwork and espionage, of him basically having no other choice than talking to you and finally telling you why the fuck he would get himself reassigned without even telling you beforehand. You could’ve hugged Fury for the opportunity.

That is, until you’re handed the file containing your fake identities for the op a few hours before you’re supposed to leave.

"You’re joking," you say as soon as you open the door.

"Great, you’re here as well," Steve says dryly. "Again, a) you both gotta learn how to knock, b) the whole thing wasn’t my idea or my decision, but I also think it’s the best directive for what you’re trying to do, and c) no, there’s no one else available for the mission. Anything I missed?"

Bucky deliberately doesn’t meet your eye, his arms still crossed as he stares Steve down with a look you can’t decipher. He doesn’t even acknowledge you standing in the door, but his foot is doing the tapping thing again.

You purse your lips and join the staring.

Steve sighs, rubbing his temples with the palms of his hands. "Listen, you two work well together and I know these past few weeks have been … strained"—you almost laugh at that—"but it’s just one night."

"We need to pretend we’re married," you say. "How’re we going to pull that off if he can’t stand being in the same room as me?"

"I trust that there won’t be any issues." Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky as he says that, but of course he doesn’t get a reply. That would necessitate talking in your presence.

"One night," Bucky repeats through gritted teeth.

Not for the first time, there seems to be some sort of silent conversation between the two of them that you’re not privy to. You roll your eyes.

"I’ll see you later."

You leave with your back straight and without a glance over your shoulder, the door slamming shut behind you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to barge into Natasha’s office next, but you have a feeling like she’d just give you another one of her looks again, which really won’t better your mood. So instead, you slam another door and flop onto your bed, blankly staring at the ceiling for a while.

Surely, there’s some twisted sort of irony in this whole situation, but you’re not laughing.

Usually, before a mission, you’d get bagels together from the bakery around the corner. You haven’t done that in a while, but you’re still quietly begging your phone to show a new unread message when you look at the time however long later.

Instead, there’s just your lockscreen picture of Bucky’s grinning face that you can’t bear to get rid off, no matter how many times it stings you. It’s almost a year old, now, back when you’d taken him to go do your holiday shopping with you, insisting that "no one’s gonna recognize you, look at that great cap you’re wearing".

It’d started snowing halfway through the afternoon, and he’d kept reaching for your hand in order not to lose you in the crowd. You both gave up halfway through your list and just went to get coffee instead, strolling through Central Park and talking about nothing and everything.

That’s when you’d realized you'd been falling in love with him, laughing and fingers freezing around your paper cup, a strange new warmth spreading throughout your body.

You need to change your lockscreen.

***

Half an hour before pick-up, you leave your room with a duffle bag slung over your shoulder and almost run into Bucky. He’s leaning against the opposite wall like he’s been waiting for you, and it stings because that’s what he always used to do, back when you were still talking. When you could still pretend that maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren’t quite so hopeless.

Now, though, his easy smile is missing. Instead, an ever-present frown is furrowing his brows again, his mouth opened just a little, but nothing comes out.

"Look, I don’t want to do this any more than you do," you sigh. "But it’s a two-person job."

He nods, his tongue poking his cheek. "I know."

"Do you think you’re gonna be alright with us pretending we’re madly in love for a whole evening?"

Bucky’s jaw tightens. "I’ll be fine."

Of course he’s going to be fine.

You grab the strap of your bag more tightly. "I wish you would just tell me what I did."

"You didn’t do anything." If he’s telling the truth, though, why does he look so numb?

For a moment, you want to shout at him, cry, beg, make him tell you when and how this went wrong, but you don’t. You just stare at him in silence, hoping he’ll get it anyway, and he refuses to notice it.

"So," Bucky finally says. "You ready to get hitched?"

There’s the ghost of a grin in his eyes, and even though it’s not enough to mask the uncomfortable tilt of his shoulders, you sigh. At least he’s trying, you suppose.

"Let’s just get fake-married so we can fake-divorce and go our separate ways," you say, walking past him.

"I’ve got something for you."

You turn around again, raising your eyebrows as he holds up a ring between the fingers of his left hand. There’s a giant stone set in its center, striking and sparkling and not subtle in the slightest. Tony really went all out for appearance’s sake. Your fingers involuntarily tighten around the strap of your bag.

Bucky drops the ring in the palm of your hand.

"Quite the present," you chuckle nervously. You don’t even want to know how much this thing costs, and you feel like they're going to chop off your head if something happens to it.

"Try it on, then."

It’s a bit too large on your finger, and it feels foreign. It’s not you at all. Then again, it’s not supposed to be you.

Before you can say anything, though, Bucky shakes his head. "What?" you say with a roll of your eyes.

"That couldn’t look more fake if you tried. Wait a sec."

He turns his back towards you and rummages through his bag for a while, his jaw still set as he holds out his hand once more. With a sigh, you pull the ring off again and return it, but before you can pull your hand back, he catches it in his own.

This one slides onto your finger perfectly, and your eyes widen at the sight of it. It’s a lot subtler, with only a small emerald for decoration, but it’s so delicate and beautiful it takes your breath away.

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes, but he swallows whatever came to his mind. "That’s better," he says instead, and his voice sounds oddly rough.

"They gave you a backup?" you say, angling your hand this way and that to see how the gem catches the light.

"Mhm."

Something is off about this whole situation, but then you feel like you don’t really know Bucky anymore. Not like you used to, anyway. It used to be so easy to get a read on him.

You stand there in silence for a moment, and it’s only then that both of you realize he’s still holding your hand. He drops it immediately, and you pretend it doesn’t sting.

"How come you don’t get a ring?" you ask.

"Says who?" Bucky says, clearing his throat and activating the camouflage sleeve Tony had installed for his arm. Sure enough, there’s a ring on his hand as well.

You grab his hand curiously. When you touch it, there’s no difference between his fingers and the pseudo-platinum band, all of it just cool vibranium in disguise.

"It’s fake," you say. "It’s not the same."

"No," he agrees and pulls his hand away. "Looks real enough, though."

You notice the red splotches on his neck and wonder what it is that you’ve said this time, but it’s pointless anyway. He’s not going to tell you even if you asked.

Maybe you should be used to him icing you out by now, but it still hurts.

***

"Yes, Steve, I know," you sigh. "We’re just gathering intel, nothing else."

"I just wanted to have you say it again so we’re all clear. You both love taking risks when it’s not necessary."

"Alright, punk, we got it," Bucky says, tugging at his tie again.

You can’t even blame him for the nervous habit; you’ve been twisting your fake wedding ring around your finger for the entire drive.

This isn’t the first time the two of you had to go undercover as a couple; hell, it’s not even the first time you’ve pretended to be married. Usually, though, you could have a laugh about the whole thing together.

Now you barely know how to act around Bucky as yourself, let alone as some made up woman.

"I think we’re going to attract a lot of attention if we don’t get out soon," you say, readjusting the collar of your blouse underneath your coat.

You notice Steve staring at your hand for a moment, a frown between his brows, but his lips curve upwards a split second later. "Ready to do this?" he asks and you smile a little in confirmation.

Bucky takes another breath and then he nods curtly. "Let’s go."

The change that goes through him as soon as the two of you climb out of the car is so stark you almost turn on your heels again and beg Steve to let you off the hook, after all. His hand sneaks around your waist and pulls you closely into his side as you walk towards the hotel, all soft smiles and charm.

"Sorry for the holdup," he tells the bellman waiting next to your bags with a wink. "The missus and I just needed another minute."

You lightly slap Bucky’s chest in fake indignation. It’s quick thinking on his part, really.

When you’re checking in under your assumed names for the evening, he keeps his arm around you, and the content look stays in his eyes. A subtle glance at your surroundings tells you some of your persons of interest have already arrived early for the event tonight, looking around the sparkling lobby with the same feigned boredom.

Bucky nudges your cheek with his nose and then smiles again when you look at him. It makes your brain shut off for a moment.

When he looks at you like this, it’s so easy to forget the past couple of months and just pretend for a moment. What if there was no mission at all, and it could simply be the two of you?

But of course, that’s not possible. All of it is fake, including the way he looks at you. You know that.

So how come it doesn’t feel fake to you at all?

***

You hate this dress, you hate these people, you hate this dinner, and most of all, you hate how much you enjoy spending this much time so physically close to Bucky.

It feels so natural when he links your hand with yours, so fucking meant to be, even though he’s just putting on a show for the band of creeps you’re tasked to keep an eye on.

But damn if he’s not good at it.

It’s amazing, really, how his eyes immediately soften when you turn your head towards him, like you’re the only person in the whole room. He looks at you during this charade like you wish he’d look at you daily, even far from prying eyes around you; especially then. It makes your breath shorten, your heart pounding erratically because it thinks it’s getting everything it’s ever hoped for.

Hearts are often stupid like that.

A full night of glances and touches and the pretence of secret whispers will do all kinds of twisted things to your feelings.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and when Bucky squeezes your hand you realize he’s no longer the only one who’s looking at you.

You chuckle nervously. "I’m sorry, I got … distracted for a moment. What were you saying?"

"Ah, newlyweds," one of the investor goons laughs. He’s a particularly vile looking man whose suit is way too big on his spindly limbs.

Bucky, academy award winning actor in another lifetime, chuckles politely while the fondness in his eyes seems to increase tenfold. "We’ve been married three years, actually," he says, sticking to your official cover story.

It’d been Tony’s idea to keep your fake timeline as close to the truth as possible to avoid any slip-ups. It’s a great move on paper, really, but in reality it just adds another nail to the coffin.

Three years ago, you were on a mission in Brussels, only the second one ever where it was just the two of you. It was mostly surveillance, so one of you usually had downtime while the other kept lookout. It became customary that you’d entertain each other during those long hours, getting to know each other intimately for the first time, taking the first tentative steps towards the friendship you now share.

That mission was the groundwork of your falling in love with him in the first place.

"You seem to be doing something right if you’re both still so enamoured with each other," Spindly Arms says.

"I’m the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky responds, still looking into your eyes. "It’s hard not to do the right thing, then."

He presses a kiss to your cheek and you smile timidly. His lips linger for just a moment, and then he moves to whisper into your ear, something you’re sure looks like sweet nothings to everybody else but is actually a, "Don’t fall asleep on me."

You tilt your head, shove him teasingly as if he’d said something inappropriate, and because he’s always been quick to catch on he winks, obvious enough so that the other people that are part of this conversation can clearly see it.

It’s not long after this that you excuse yourselves, walking around the room with apparent aimlessness. Everything is sparkling with pure gold decorations and countless little twinkling lights that have been scattered around the room like millions of fireflies. You spot an actual orchestra right underneath the massive Christmas tree.

"Kind of tacky, don’t you think?" Bucky murmurs with a sideway glance at you.

"Maybe a little," you say.

The truth is, though, the room looks oversaturated and expensive and magnificent. Something straight out of a Hallmark movie, more like a movie set than a real place.

It’s the one thing that keeps this whole thing from being completely unbearable.

He must have seen the truth in your eyes, because he ducks his head and says quietly, "I’m gonna go check out the terrace."

You just nod and smile as he kisses your cheek again and then vanishes through the crowd with a few long strides. Sighing, you take another drink from the tray a waiter offers you, absent-mindedly rubbing your cheek.

"What a lovely surprise," a voice says next to you and you freeze for a moment before forcing yourself to calmly take a sip. "Miss … Winter, was it?"

"Mrs," you say with a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Director."

"Right, of course." Director de Fontaine eyes her martini warily. "I don’t suppose these olives are fresh, do you?"

Your mind is racing. If she’s here on official business, then your entire operation might be compromised.

"So," she continues, looking rather bored. "Met any interesting people yet, Mrs Winter?"

"Oh, yes," you say lightly, clinging to your role of unassuming young wife. "It’s all rather exciting."

"I’m sure. These kinds of events are all very … shiny." She looks into your eyes and there’s an almost explicit warning written in hers. "It’s surprisingly easy to get blinded."

You swallow heavily even as she smiles. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone …"

You quickly walk over to the buffet table where some of the wives have formed a semi circle of gossip, trying your best to hide your sigh of relief when the director doesn’t follow you.

For a few minutes, you lose yourself in pointless gossip, until one of the women takes hold of your forearm.

"You must tell us, what’s your secret?"

"Excuse me?" you chuckle nervously.

"Your husband!" she exclaims, earning a few nods from some of the others. "He clearly adores you," she goes on. "I don’t think he’s looked away from you once since you joined us."

You steal a look around your shoulder. She’s right. Bucky’s gaze immediately locks with yours, an almost bashful grin on his lips. You caught me, his eyes seem to say, and you feel a rush of heat go through you.

He should be nominated for an Oscar with this performance.

Quickly, you turn around again to meet several expectant pairs of eyes.

"I don’t know what to tell you," you say. "He’s just … always been like this. I mean, he’s my best friend. I really don’t know what I would do without him."

There’s not a word of a lie in what you’re saying, and it elicits a round of coos and murmurs even as your heart gives a sharp pang.

"Dance with me?"

You flinch, turning to look at Bucky’s outstretched hand, at the sad, hopeful look in his eyes, and the line between reality and fiction blurs a bit more.

You take his hand, and he pulls you onto the dance floor, some cheery Christmas song ramping up to its big finale. Then, the band switches to a slower song. To you, it sounds mournful.

"That was nice," Bucky mutters into your ear. "What you said."

"I meant it, you know," you whisper, but he turns, and you don’t think he’s heard you.

Bucky places his hand on your hip and you hide a shudder. His gloved fingers wrap around yours, and then you start moving again.

You barely know the steps, but he’s a great leader, and he doesn’t say anything when you step on his toes. In fact, his gaze softens even more when he looks at you after the third time, the hand around your waist pulling you a little closer.

"How are you doing this?" you say without stopping to smile.

"Easy," Bucky says, and the way he says it almost makes you believe it’s true.

You bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from breathing him in. "I didn’t mean the dancing."

With the last note of the song, you stumble over his foot again and he snorts. "Me neither."

The melody changes and neither of you lets go. His steps are getting slower, smaller, like he’s just trying to keep both of you in motion. Your head is spinning. The twinkling lights are starting to blur into a great mass of stars in the background, like you’re at the center of a music box and everything else is just background noise.

You wrap both hands around his neck as you’re swaying, then, your foreheads only inches apart. You could stay in this moment forever, you think, as it stretches into blissful infinity. Somewhere, a clock strikes ten.

Bucky leans in a little closer and your breath hitches again.

"It’s time," he whispers, and your eyes fly open.

You’d almost forgotten about the mission.

"Val is here," you say quietly.

His expression hardens for just a second. "What?"

"She came to talk to me earlier. She knows we’re here."

"Why didn’t you say something?"

"I … There wasn’t time."

"We’re just gonna have to be quick and discrete."

You open your mouth, but then you see the distance close in again between you two, and so you just nod.

The plan is almost laughably simple, but it’s probably going to work out just as you’ve laid out beforehand. Everyone in the room has watched the two of you staring at each other for the past couple of hours, so no one bats an eye when Bucky nudges you gently and you make your way up the stairs to the fancy elevator that’s going to take you up to a bedroom.

Or, more specifically, to a bedroom that’s being used to store all kinds of evidence, but no one else needs to know that little detail.

You notice the director talking to Spindly Arms and a couple of other people, but you force your gaze not to linger on her. Instead, you grab Bucky’s hand more tightly.

He lets go of you as soon as the elevator doors close behind the two of you, dragging a hand through his hair and messing it up. There aren’t any cameras in the elevator, but you’re both pretty sure there will be on the floor you’re going. "CIA exposure, that’s exactly what we needed."

"There was nothing I could’ve done," you say, tugging your sleeves down your shoulders.

"I’m not blaming you, sweetheart," Bucky says distractedly, loosening his tie. Your heart makes a very heavy thud. "But if Walker shows up tonight as well, I’m gonna shoot first and ask questions later."

"No, you won’t," you say with a grin, mostly because you know he didn’t bring his gun because the male attendees were all frisked at the entrance.

"Maybe I’ll throw a knife. I could say it was an accident."

The conversation lasts barely a moment, but it reminds you so much of what the two of you used to be, it hurts.

You follow him stumbling out of the elevator onto the right floor with a breathless laugh. There’s no one in sight as you subtly check the room numbers before making him follow you with a coquettish smile for the security camera.

You find the right door without much trubble, pulling the keycard out of your inconvenient little handbag. "Come on now," you murmur as the lock rejects it at the first try.

Suddenly, Bucky’s hand is on your waist again, and you gasp as he spins around. The keycard drops to the floor.

He presses you against the wall, effectively trapping you in his embrace. Your hands are laid flat against his chest, his heart thundering madly underneath your fingertips. Bucky’s eyes flit around madly, like he’s trying to come up with something on the spot and, for the first time since you’ve known him, is left without ideas.

You gasp as his nose brushes against yours.

"Sorry," he whispers hoarsely. And then he kisses you.

Your body responds immediately, lighting a fire in your core as his lips press against yours, hungry, gentle, almost apologetic. You can taste the champagne on his tongue.

You arch your back against him on instinct as his hands travel down your arms, brushing your hips, your tighs, slowly parting your dress at the slit. Your eyes fly open the moment you realize what he’s doing, even though he swallows your gasp.

In one smooth motion, he pulls the I.C.E.R. out of the garter on your thigh and fires a single, silenced shot. The guy with the earpiece barely has the time to grunt before he sacks against the opposite wall, unconscious, his hand still in the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuck," you hiss, pushing Bucky away from you. He stumbles slightly, the gun loose in his fingers. His eyes are almost black as he blinks at you. "You could have told me we’re being shadowed."

Bucky’s mouth is stained from your lipstick, and the sight of that alone makes your head swim. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on your leg.

"It’d have blown our cover," he replies, infuriatingly calm. "Hate me later, our window has just narrowed by a bit."

You swallow, blinking to try and gain control over your breath again, grabbing your gun back with a short nod. "Let’s finish this, then."

***

Back at the Compound, you both give an exhausted report about the events of the night, leaving out nothing but your improvised kiss on floor fifteen.

Your lips are still tingling with it.

Finally, you and Bucky are left alone in the briefing room, and for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t just get up and leave as soon as the silence takes hold. Instead, you both sit next to each other, staring straight ahead.

"I guess we should talk," he says slowly, reluctantly, and you can’t help it.

Your defenses shoot up again.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, squinting.

"Yes, you do." He’s lost the tie hours ago, but he keeps tugging at the fabric in his hands as if it could give him the words he’s looking for. "I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with … Not like that."

"Like you said, the guy would’ve blown our cover," you say, crossing your arms.

"Doesn’t make it right."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" you say sharply. "That you should’ve talked to me before? Well, I’m kind of used to you not doing that anymore, so just forget it."

"Y/N—"

"No, really, it’s fine. Like I said, you’re leaving, anyway, so what does it matter. Didn’t tell me you were planning to do that, either. You just did it."

"You know why I’m leaving."

"No, I fucking don’t!" There are tears in your eyes now. "I have been trying really hard, Bucky, but you’ve just shut me out. I thought you needed space, which is fine, by the way, but you just—one day you decided you were done with me and that was it."

He stares at you incredulously. "You seriously don’t remember."

"Don’t remember what?!"

"That you were talking about me. To Natasha."

The memory rushes through you so violently it’s almost ridiculous you hadn’t thought about it in months.

You’d just come back from another undercover op, and you’d called her right as the door to your room had closed behind you because not for the first time, your feelings had threatened to spill over again.

"You should talk to him. Be honest."

"No, Nat, come on, I can’t—I can’t do that to him. I can’t risk … you know, he’s my best friend. And that’s all it can ever be. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I just wish he’d make it easier."

"You’re making excuses, you know. Both of you deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you think?"

"I tried," Bucky says now, barely looking at you. "I tried making it easier. But you’re so …"

"So what?" you ask hollowly, ignoring the fact that you can feel the tears starting to trickle down your cheeks now. "So pathetic? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you asked for the transfer, so you can be rid of me."

"Rid of you?" Bucky starts, but you ignore him.

"You know what, Bucky, fuck you if you think my feelings for you are so much of an inconvenience that you need to leave the state. Silly me for thinking we could be adults about this."

"You’re the one who wouldn’t just tell me."

"Well, now you know anyway and I’m sure once you’re off to Cairo or wherever the fuck they’re going to send you, you can have a big old laugh about the stupid girl who fell in love with you despite the fact that—"

"Love?"

"I mean, obviously?!"

"You … you’re in love … with me?" There’s something very soft and vulnerable in Bucky’s eyes.

"Are we talking about two different phone calls?"

"I thought you hated me."

You huff incredulously. "Why would I hate you?"

"That’s why I gave you space, I thought … but then …" He grabs your hands. "Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for years."

It punches the air out of your lungs. "What?"

Bucky’s eyes are devastating as he looks at you, then. "I’m so sorry, I—I got it all wrong, I was just—I thought you know and you didn’t see me like that and that’s why I …"

"You …?" you say, still not quite comprehending what’s going on.

His thumb caresses your knuckles, halting when it makes contact with the ring you’re still wearing. "I'm in love with you," he says quietly.

"I don’t understand," you whisper.

"Please tell me I didn’t fuck this up completely."

This time, you’re the one to lean in.

Where your first kiss in the hallway had been feverish, this one is soft, almost unbelievably sweet, both of you still breathless with the fact that you’re allowed to do this. Finally, it feels like all the pieces are falling into place and you’re home again.

You press closer into him and Bucky smiles against your lips, pulling you in with his hands on your hips just like he did when you were dancing earlier.

The loudspeakers overhead crackle. "Alright, kids, we’re gonna break this up until you’re back in your own quarters, I don’t want to expose FRIDAY to the creation of your sex tape."

You break up with a snort.

"Fuck you, Tony," Bucky shouts, but he’s still smiling as wide as you’ve ever seen him do.

You giggle as you nudge your nose against his, curling your fingers into his hair. "That reminds me, you know."

"Of what?"

"Quick and discrete," you mumble, repeating his words from the hotel. "Title of your sex tape."

Bucky groans and shuts you up again.

(A few years later, you get the ring back.)

happy holidays, y'all 💛 thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

#sweet as sugar challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #almost believing

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foone · 4 months ago

Note

(Sorry if this sounds mean) If you’re ace why are you looking for mind control erotica? This isn’t a bad faith question, as someone who’s aro but not ace I’m genuinely curious. Maybe expounding on it would help your followers point you at new things?

Also have you read Human Domestication Guide? It’s very mind controlly, though it does have pet stuff if you hate that or whatever.

Short answer: it's complicated.

So to answer in reverse order: I have read some HDG stories: not enough to remember what I read, but in general I like them. And petplay doesn't bother me. So I'll probably read more in future, it's just that it never triggered that "I should read all of this!" urge in me. Which isn't an indicator of how much I like it/the quality of it, that's just a thing that sometimes happens to my brain.

As for why I'm reading mind control erotica despite being asexual... It's complicated (as you might guess).

Basically I'm asexual in the "not attracted to men or women (or anything else/between)" sense. I don't experience sexual attraction, at all.

But that's only one part of sexuality. It may be the primary part for allosexuals, but it obviously can't be for me. I'm still interested in some sexual things, and I'm interested in them for sexual reasons, but it's just that those reasons are never "this person is hot" or "this sex is hot".

Like, not to give a complete listing of my kinks or anything, consider basic rope bondage as a fetish. You could look at the fetish from multiple angles:

It's sexy getting tied up, because of the physical sensation of being tied up.

It's sexy to be tied up, because you don't have control.

It's sexy to tie someone up, because of how they look tied up.

It's sexy to have someone tied up, because you have control and they don't.

It's sexy to have sex while tied up, because you can't resist it (in the scene. This is fantasy, there are safewords)

It's sexy to fuck someone tied up, because they can't resist (in the scene, fantasy, safewords)

And then in fiction you can do the last two minus the watsonian-bdsm: it's not a scene. (I won't discuss this further because discourse)

Only 5 and 6 really need sex itself to be a part of it. You can have the eroticism of bondage and no one has sex, or needs to be attracted to anybody.

I don't have a huge amount of experience here, but from what I've heard this isn't that uncommon in the bdsm community: there's plenty of people who show up at bdsm events solely for "non-sexual" tying/getting tied.

Anyway, once you understand that you can have a kink (even one that seems sexual) for reasons other than sexual attraction/sex* itself, you can probably see why an asexual person might still want to read about it.

Also there's elements of, like, exploration of personal impossibilities? As jms said:

So I cannot forgive. Which makes the notion of writing a character who CAN forgive momentarily attractive...because it allows me to explore in great detail something of which I am utterly incapable. I cannot fly, so I would write of birds and starships and kites; I cannot play an instrument, so I would write of composers and dancers; and I cannot forgive, so I would write of priests and monks and Minbari...

It can be interesting reading stories of people doing things you can't for reasons you never experience, obeying urges you don't have.

* "sex" is also a difficult thing to define, because especially in BDSM terms it gets very fuzzy. What things count as sex? Generally when I say like "they're spending too much time on the sex" or "the mind control is just an excuse to get to the sex", I'm defining sex as something like "some kind of insertion/licking/vibrating for sexual purposes", when many allosexuals (especially, uhh... What's the word for non-bdsm people? Them) would define it more narrowly, and many BDSM kinksters would define it more widely, including a lot of the things I'm not here: I've heard people call getting tied up or impact play as sex, for example.

Anyway you'd think this sort of perspective I've got on erotic fiction, where I'm here for the non-sex sexual fetish things, would be more common? After all, I'm talking about literature here. I tend to associate the allosexual attraction urge as a visual thing: this person looks sexy, so you experience sexual attraction towards them.

I can see how that'd work if you're talking about visual mediums: movies and photos of real people, even drawn images, but this is just words. I guess maybe people without aphantasia can imagine how someone looks from their description, and can experience some attraction based on that? I don't know. I've never really experienced attraction to written characters, so I can't say how it works. Feel free to enlighten me, anyone who does.

But you can definitely tell reading erotica which stories are "this is a sexy story because it has sexy people in it doing sexy things (sometimes kinkily)" and which are "this kink is the primary focus: any sex they have is in service of the kink, or is just a momentary distraction from the kink". I prefer the latter, by far.

Anyways, I think maybe I'm giving everyone a slightly misleading impression of how much I'm into mind control. It's more that I've found a few stories that actually were interesting to me for a couple reasons (first person submissive perspective, rules-based mind control, some worldbuilding) and then I've been looking for other stories that explore the same ideas as well (or better: the particular ones I liked had a little too much bimboification focus for me, which isn't one of my kinks) and failing. Thus I complain a lot about not being able to find the sort of stories I want.

Which, you know, makes sense? I'm an asexual reading through porn. Despite my explanation in this post, this is still not a great fit for me, so of course I'm disappointed. It'd be like if I was scrolling through a football site and not liking football, complaining about how much sports focus this site has. It's a little silly, you know?

But I'm a lot silly, so I continue.

#Asexuality is complicated

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year ago

Text

the smallest coffins are the heaviest | d. targaryen

Description: Your husband comforts you after a miscarriage. Rating: 18+ [miscarriage, angst]

As the scion of two noble houses - the thought of responsibility wasn't foreign to you. A dutiful wife must give her husband sons. A dutiful lady must maintain her lord's love.

And you feared that his love wasn't yours anymore.

"We'll name the babe after Aegon the Conqueror," his lips settle into a smile, rubbing comforting circles on your swollen stomach. "He will accomplish great feats - as he will learn from you," you smiled in return, completely forgetting about the outside world.

"You flatter me, my wife." he hummed, burying his head in your hair - inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine oil. "I say the truth, husband." you teased, placing both of your hands on your belly.

Since the start of your pregnancy - he was certain that it would be a son, a child that could lengthen his claim.

You haven't spoken to him since the announcement of your miscarriage. He's ventured off to the shores, allowing his barefoot to kiss the sand - all the while you were in agonizing pain.

There was a gaping hole on your chest - throbbing, and writhing in agony. Aegon was taken by the gods.

"You must eat, sodjisto." Young Rhaenyra takes a cautious step towards you, holding a tray of dinner.

"I am not in the mood, ñuha riña." you reply - voice still hoarse from the hours of crying.

Daemon will abandon you - he'll think that you're infertile, and that your womb is incapable of siring strong dragons.

"You must be strong, it is what Aegon would've wanted." she explained in a short whisper. You married her uncle before she was brought into existence - you are all she's ever known - since the loss of Aemma, you were her mother.

"Aegon iksis morghe," you replied in a tone that was too bitter on your tongue. The loss of a child was greater than any pain that you've ever felt - it was like stabbing yourself repeatedly then taking a cold bath. It was like stepping on hot rocks then laying on a mountain of snow. It was painful - in an unconventional way.

"- but he lives in our hearts." Rhaenyra mumbled, sitting on the bed - and placing the tray of food in front of you.

"He lives in our records - and in the changes he has made in your body." the girl continued, and you turned to face her - a bitter but appreciative smile was on your face.

"I pray you never feel this pain, Rhaenyra." you sigh, and she helps you sit properly. You take a deep breath - slowly reaching for the goblet of water beside you.

"Where is your kepus?" you inquire.

Was he handling it better than you?

or has he gone back to his old ways?

"I don't know." she answered truthfully.

Daemon stumbles into your chambers late at night.

The smell of ale flowed through the air waking you from your slumber. "Daemon," you breathe - thankful that he returned for the night. "Skoriot sia ao?" you question, rising slowly from the mattress.

He stumbles beside you - finding the right words to answer your question. Where was he?

He was dead - just floating through the air.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr?" you interrogate - fear entering your lungs as he returns back to his hermit state. "Am I not allowed to visit my wife?" he answered bitterly, laying beside you.

The familiar scent of salt water entered your lungs.

The scent felt like home - Dragonstone, where Aegon was created.

"I am in pain, Daemon." you confess, knowing that there was a sheet underneath you - collecting the blood that was still leaking out of your body. "I'm sorry," he breathed - feeling the tears flow out of his eyes. It was the first time he's ever cried.

"I should've paid more attention," he apologized - solely blaming himself for what happened. "It is my fault valzȳrys. I was the one that carried him." you stuttered - feeling the air exit your lungs.

"I should've done something - I should've taken greater care of myself." you took deep breaths.

His hands reach to wrap around you.

He wasn't letting you blame yourself.

"There was nothing you could've done to prevent it," he answered cryptically, not prepared to inform you about the moon tea that his enemies slipped inside you drink. "Avy jorrāelan," he added - pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Do not blame yourself."

sodjisto = aunt kepus = uncle ñuha riña = my girl iksis morghe = is dead skoriot sia ao = where were you skoro syt issi ao kesīr = why are you here valzȳrys = husband avy jorrāelan = i love you

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literaryuppsala · 2 years ago

Note

You could take a shot where the oc is a slave and meets Ubbe while he is married to Margrethe and ends up getting involved with him, and this generates a child. Margrethe goes crazy and begins to threaten oc and her son, when Ubbe finds out about getting angry and protective.

Do you still remember this ask? I hope you do... I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this, about your other ask, i was thinking i could write not a one shot, but a short fic cause it's so good and it needs details i cant give if its just a one shot, tell me what you think ok? either way, hope you like this one, hope it turned out the way you imagined, enjoy ♥

N/A: mentions of smut, description of violence and child birth, proceed with care.

Minors, don't interact.

“Oh gods!” You moaned one more time.

Your body was bent over the table, gown hiked up on your waist while Ubbe pounded behind you quickly, his hands with a firm grip on your hips while yours held onto the table like your life depended on It. His hips slammed against yours making the sound of skin slapping against skin echo through the walls.

“Sing to me, little bird.” He begged for your moans like he begged every time, like he wasn’t dragging the sounds from you with every thrust of his hips.

You mewled, whined and moaned, gripping at the table with full force while his hands left your hip, rubbed against your back for a moment before taking the knife he still had on the back of his trousers and with one stroke he tore the dress in two, exposing the skin of your back which he rubbed, dragging his hands up your shoulders and pulling you up until your back hit his chest, the new, strange angle, making his cock reach your sweet spot and making you see white stars behind your eyelids.

“I love to hear your singing.” He whispered in your ear while both of his hands grabbed the front of your gown that was already loosened up and pulled down, exposing your breasts to the cold air of your house, your nipples were hard and sensitive when he touched them, tugging at the little nubs with the tip of his fingers. ��Sweet, sweet sounds...”

You raised your hands and hugged his neck, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt him speeding up his thrusts, you knew he was close. He grunted low in your ear, dragging you to the edge, making the coil on your lower stomach snap all of a sudden and a loud moan escaped through your lips. He followed close behind, coming inside you for the second time that night, filling you up with his seed.

“How am I supposed to go home now?” You asked as you tried to hold together the rags of your dress.

After straightening out his clothes he covered your shoulders with his fur, protecting your upper body.

“This can’t keep happening.” You mumbled, holding the fur around your body.

“And yet here we are.” He answered, fingers touching your chin, raising your head so you could look him in the eyes. “I can’t stay away from you.”

His touch stayed with you until the next morning, burning on your skin like wildfire.

You couldn’t stay away from him either, answering his calls anytime he asked, melting into his touch every time his hands met your skin. You were incapable of saying no to him, incapable of keeping your distance.

Ubbe was a menace, you knew that since the first time you saw him. Aslaug bought you as a slave and you tried to serve the household in peace, you didn’t want trouble, let alone trouble with the princes, but that was before his gaze followed you around the great hall while you worked, before his eyes always seemed to find you through the crowd, lingering until it became unbearable and you had to look back.

He tried to be subtle about It, tried to hide behind his cup and tried to pay attention to the conversation going around, but at the end of the night, after everyone else was gone, he found you in the kitchen. He would talk to you for hours while you finished your chores, sometimes he even helped you a little. His lingering touches seemed to ignite a fire inside your body and were the end of you, before you knew, you were taken.

“I’m with child.” You said It one night, laying on his chest. He looked at you and smiled big, his eyes sparkling blue when he looked at you.

“The gods had finally blessed me with a child.”

“It’s not a blessing, Ubbe.” You sat down by his side, looking at him. “What am I going to say to everybody?”

“You don’t have to say anything, I’m going to take care of you.”

“What about Margrethe?”

“She’s not who I thought she was, I don’t love her.”

“This is not right.” You mumbled.

“Come here.” He asked, holding your hand and pulling you back to his chest, you went with It, hugging his waist while he caressed your hair. “I’ll talk to her. I want you.”

The next day, you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you or noticed the sound of Margrethe’s heavy breathing, but felt a pair of hands pulling on your hair.

“You stole my husband!” She screamed, throwing your body on the floor.

Margrethe dragged you from the kitchen towards the great hall, pulling you by the hair. You screamed trying to get rid of her hands, fearing for the baby growing inside of you

“I will kill you!” Margrethe stated, throwing you in the middle of the great hall, the commotion catching the attention of the other servants who were too scared to do anything and didn’t even understand what was happening.

“Leave me alone!” You screamed.

She sat on your hips, holding your arms under her knees while you struggled under her weight. Margrethe hit you on the face two or three times before someone finally stepped in, taking her body from the top of you. You quickly crawled back away from her, face turned totally red in utter embarrassment, tears gathering on the corners of your eyes as you looked around searching for Ubbe.

“I will never leave you alone.” She screamed back at you. “You will never be free to be with him, you’ll never be happy!”

You ran away from the great hall, tears streaming down your face, clouding your vision, you ran blindly until you bumped into something firm, a pair of hands held your shoulders and you looked up, pale blue eyes looking worriedly at you while trying to calm you down.

“Little bird.” He called you, holding your face between his hands, touching your wet cheeks. “What happened?”

“She cursed me! She said I’ll never be happy!” You whined.

“Who? Margrethe?” He asked with a frown and you nodded. “I’ll talk to her.”

“NO MORE TALKING!” You scolded. “She humiliated me in front of everybody, she cursed me! We should end this before it gets worse.”

“What are you saying?”

“She said she’ll kill me, Ubbe…” You mumbled before moving away from him, untangling your body from his arms. “It’s better If we stay away.”

Months had passed since that talk with Ubbe, Aslaug freed you and helped you run away, gave you a farm where you could hide away from Margrethe, every now and then she would visit to check on you.

“You’re bigger every time I see you.” Aslaug joked, hugging you tightly. “It’s almost time.”

“Yeah…” You smiled shyly.

“Ubbe is worried, he wants to come and see you.”

“I don’t know…” You fumbled through the kitchen while she sat at the table.

“He misses you. It’s been months, Margrethe won’t be a problem anymore.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s crazy, she’s been talking to herself, wandering.”

“She’s more dangerous then.”

“Ubbe can protect you.”

“What If he sails away?”

“You’ll stay with me.”

You missed him too, missed him so much. Every time the child moved inside your belly, every time it kicked when you talked, you thought about him, about his reaction, he missed so much of your pregnancy already you felt guilty about It, he said he wanted to be part of your life but you closed that door.

“Let him come. He wants to be with you for the birth.” Aslaug insisted and looked at her. “He’s the father of your child and wants to be there for you when the time comes.”

Ubbe came the next morning, you saw him walking towards your house by the beach, his shoulders brushed and head low, he seemed tired and sad, but as soon as his eyes met yours, his face completely lit up and he smiled. You felt warm all over, like your body missed his eyes on you and you gently rubbed your belly while waiting for him to reach you.

“Little bird…” He mumbled, a few feets away from the opened door of your house where you stood waiting for him.

You moved to the side and silently asked him to come in, he obeyed quickly and you closed the door behind his back. When he turned to you, his face was focused on your belly, his arms along his body while he closed his hands in fists, like he was using all his strength to keep himself from touching you.

“I missed you.” He simply said, his eyes following up your body ‘til he found your face. “Are you good?”

“I am.” You answered shyly. “We are.”

He took a few steps towards you and you took the same steps back, his face fell, his smile died on his face.

“Are you?” You asked him and he nodded. “You hungry?” You walked past him and started fumbling in the kitchen. “I can make you something.”

“No… Can we talk?”

“Sure…”

“Little bird… Look at me.”

“What?”

“Sit with me.”

You obeyed, both of you sitting side by side at the kitchen table, he looked at you for a moment and before he said anything his hand reached for your belly, softly touching your swollen frame. Your whole body lit up like a fireplace, like the warmth from his touch was everything you needed, a familiar sensation of relief washed over you when you felt his hand on your body, a sensation you didn’t know you needed until you finally felt it. He rubbed your belly gently and just like magic your baby kicked against his touch, making his face contort with a smile.

“I want you to come back with me to Kattegat.” He simply said, his hand still on you.

“Ubbe…”

“This is nonsense. I love you, you love me, you’re carrying my child, we shouldn’t be away from each other.”

“I-I… What about Margrethe?”

“She’s more dangerous to herself than she is to anybody else.”

“Aslaug told me…”

“You don’t have to hide.”

“She promised to kill me.”

“I will never let anything happen to you.”

You covered his hand with yours and sighed heavily, looking away from his face, trying to avoid his gaze, but he touched your face with his free hand and made you look at him.

“I want our baby to be born where it’s safe, away from the city, away from Margrethe.” You mumbled. “Please.”

Ubbe leaned towards you and held your face with both of his hands, pulling you into a kiss that you happily corresponded, kissing him back. It was different from every other kiss you shared, was sweet and calm, filled with worry. He hugged you tightly and you laid your head on his shoulder.

“Please.” You repeated.

He didn’t answer, meaning you would come back to that conversation later, but he didn’t insist on taking you away before the birth.

Ubbe kept coming to visit you everyday until he finally decided to stay with you. You were on the last days of your pregnancy and It could happen at any time when he decided to stay and for the first time you felt like you could raise a family with him. To feel his presence around the farm was everything you ever wished for.

You watched him fondly from the door when you felt a sharp pain on your lower abdomen, making you lean forward with your hands on your belly.

“Ubbe…” You mumbled as you felt something wet coming down your legs. “Ubbe!” You caught his attention, his face dropped and he ran to you.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he wrapped his arms around you, stopping you from falling to your knees.

“I guess it’s time…” You murmured, looking up at him with a weak smile, he widened his eyes.

“I’ll go find my mother…” He told you while helping you inside, taking you to the bed and helping you while you laid down.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back, be strong.” He kissed your forehead and left through the door.

By the time he came back, you were already covered in a thin layer of sweat, your hair glued to your dampen face, cheeks flushed, body trembling. Ubbe appeared one more time by your side and you felt while two delicate hands touched your knees, that’s when you noticed Aslaug’s presence.

“I’m here little bird…” He reassured you, sitting by your side on the bed.

“Ubbe…” You whined.

“You’re going to be alright.” Aslaug told you while holding up the skirt of your dress, exposing yourself to her.

Ubbe held your hand firmly, leaning over you to rub his lips on your wet forehead, covering you in warm praises, telling you how proud he was of you, how strong you were. You used all your strength to push your baby out, your chest moving up and down with your heavy breathing, body arching while you grunted under your breath. Every new push made you scream and cry in pain. He looked from you to his mother, worried It was taking too long.

“One more time, little bird… One more time.”

You pressed his hand with yours and screamed louder than before, almost sitting down ‘til you finally pushed your baby out, his cries filled your home and your ears, and you smiled weakly as you watched Aslaug handing the baby to Ubbe.

“It’s a boy.” She announced proudly and he sat back by your side. “You blessed me with a boy.”

The days in the farm were easy, with your boy growing up stronger each day, you lived the family life you always wanted, to watch Ubbe holding the baby while playing warmed up your heart.

“Mother wants to see him.” Ubbe told you that morning, a tiny smile on his face as he watched while the baby held his big finger.

“She can come anytime she wants, I’ll prepare something for us.” You answered without looking at him.

“She wants us to go to Kattegat.” He told you and you widened your eyes, stared at him in panic. “She told me Margrethe is gone, left for a few months now and no one had known anything about her since then.”

“Are you sure?” You asked suspiciously and he nodded.

It took you a few minutes to digest the information, but you eventually agreed with him and both of you left the farm, your first time since you got there. You were nervous, but Ubbe held your hand the entire time, holding little Æirik in his arms. As soon as you got there, you saw a few familiar faces but you were confident enough to walk by his side, the few weird looks you got were quickly repeled by his firm stare.

Aslaug received you on the great hall and immediately took Æirik in her arms, showing the baby around with the biggest smile, Ubbe sat at the table pulling you into his lap, bringing you into the conversation with his brothers, but you never really stopped following Aslaug around, just checking on her with the baby.

For a moment nothing was really bothering you, the conversation going around was actually very calm, the voices mingling together as you talked to Hvitserk, laughing over a stupid joke he made until you looked around and lost sight of Aslaug.

“Where’s your mother?” You murmured against Ubbe’s ear catching his attention.

“She’s probably back there.” He pointed over the doors to the rooms and you frowned.

“I’m going to see if she’s alright.” You untangled yourself from his arms and walked towards the rooms.

At first you were just confused, looking for Aslaug just to know if she needed any help with the baby, but when you saw her body lying unconscious on the ground, you felt your heart race.

“Aslaug!” You called for her kneeling on her side, turning her body so you could see her face. A deep cut on her forehead letting you know she was hurt by someone else.

You heard baby cries coming from outside and immediately ran to the back door, just in time to watch a silhouette running in the dark. The blond hair was the first thing you noticed, and you knew who that person was.

You came back running to the great hall, screaming on your way to make everybody stop what they were doing.

“SHE TOOK MY BABY!” You screamed in panic, running towards Ubbe who looked at you with a frown. “She hit Aslaug in the head and she took him! SHE TOOK HIM!”

Ubbe got up and held your shoulders, he kissed your forehead before running to the back, his brothers followed him and so did their man. You felt a pair of hands around your body and you looked back, Torvi was hugging you tightly, trying to comfort you as you cried in despair.

Aslaug was brought inside by Freydis who helped her sitting back on her throne, already waking up but still a little dizzy, when her stare finally focused on you she busted out crying, hands reaching for yours as she mumbled:

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

You kneeled in front of her, holding her hands with yours and calmed her down:

“It’s not your fault… It’s not your fault!”

Meanwhile Ubbe ran through the woods followed closely by his brothers and his men, all of them looking for any sign of the baby. When they finally reached the beach, he found Margrethe by the sea, the baby crying in her arms while she looked straight in his eyes.

“Margrethe…” He called her name, slowly walking towards her.

“You left me…” She mumbled, moving her gaze from him to the baby. “You left me for this, because I couldn’t give you a son!”

“No, it’s not like this, please, let’s talk.”

“You wanted a child and I couldn’t give you one, that’s why you chose her.”

“Please, give me him, we can talk through this, don’t hurt him.”

“Hurt him? You think I want to hurt him?”

“Why did you steal him?”

“Wanted to make you see that I can be a good mother too, you can accept me back if we have him! You don’t need the witch, she already gave you a son, I know you love me!”

“Margrethe, give me him, please…”

As Ubbe walked towards her, she took the same steps back, walking into the ocean. He feared for his son’s life, he didn’t want to scare her away.

“Come back to me, please?! Come here…” He opened his arms trying to invite her in. “Come here…”

As she convinced herself he was accepting her call, she walked over to him, a weak smile on her face as she finally had the chance she always wanted. Ubbe received her in his arms, held her and tried to get the baby from her arms, which she allowed. When the baby was finally in his arms, Ivar had her chest under his aim and released the arrow that hit her in the heart. Her body fell back on the water while Ubbe looked at her with widened eyes.

“What have you done?” He asked in shock, looking at Ivar.

“I saved your life, you can thank me later.”

When they finally came back, you ran towards Ubbe who quickly handed you your son, who you hugged tightly against your chest. Heavy tears coating his little head as you kept crying and kissing his face.

“What happened to Margrethe?” You asked between cries.

“She’s gone.” Ivar answered from behind Ubbe’s back and you looked at him in shock.

“Is she dead?” You asked with widened eyes, looking from Ivar to Ubbe and Ubbe nodded. “Is it over?”

“It is.” Ubbe answered before hugging you, rubbing your back and kissing the crown of your head. “It’s over, little bird.”

#vikings fic #vikings au #vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings fanfiction #ubbe x reader #vikings ubbe #ubbe vikings #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe imagine #ubbe x you #ubbe lothbrok #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe

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gunilslaugh · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! First time requesting, kinda nervous 🙃.

Can I request a royal au of some sort? I have three ideas, you can choose ☺️. (For the third option, you can choose the member. I would like a scenario like that for all of them, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.)

Option 1: How would Xdinary Heroes react to you being a runaway Princess?

Option 2: How would Xdinary Heroes react to a Princess wanting to marry them? (Not just like the Princess sees some rando and goes “I want to marry HIM!” Like XH members be royal staff,(royal adviser, guard, servant, etc.) A childhood friend. (that’s all I can think of 😭)

Option 3: A Friends to Lovers kinda situation. Either something like forbidden love, with XH member of your choice being royal staff. (King & Queen want her to marry another royal) with them ending up together in someway. (I don’t like angst. MY POOR HEART CAN’T HANDLE THE SAD!!) Or the Princess being friends with her personal guard, (Member) finds out that her parents want her to marry a prince from another kingdom, but she refuses, and confesses to her guard, wanting to marry him, if that makes sense?

Sorry for the long request haha

have a wonderful day/night

Hello! Don't be nervous I like writing request lol. I also liked all of your ideas, so I noted down the other two options because I want to come back and write them some other time :) Have a wonderful day/night as well!

All members < µ • µ >

Summary: Xdinary Heroes reaction to a princess wanting to marry them.

WC:~3.6k (Apparently I'm incapable of writing a short royal au)

Warning:grammar

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

Gunil is your personal guard that you befriended over the years. The two of you have gotten really close. Maybe even a little too close, since you found that you have fallen for Gunil.

“Princess, their majesties are requesting your presence in the throne room,” Gunil knocked on the outside of your door.

“Ok,” you answered, heading towards the door. Gunil opened the door for you allowing you to exit.

“You know you can just call them my parents…I also know how to open a door,” you told him playfully.

“Opening a door is an act of chivalry and it’s clearly stated in my contract to address them as majesties or highness,” Gunil responded promptly.

“If only I’m around then. I won’t tell on you,” you nudged his side.

“Duly noted,” Gunil gives you a playful look. The two of you arrived at the doors to the throne room and Gunil opened them for you.

“Mother, Father,” you politely greeted your parents.

“Great y/n you’re here. We have something to discuss with you. Take a seat,” your father says. You went over to your throne and sat down. “Y/n, you’re at the age where you should start considering marriage. We’ve already sent some letters to other royal families. We’ve received a few responses about some princes who wish to meet you,” Your father informs you. Your heart sank. You didn’t want to meet other princes, definitely didn’t want to marry them. If you were going to marry anyone you wanted it to be Gunil.

“What if I already have someone that I want to marry?” You asked tentatively.

“Oh, is it the prince from the ball last time? The one who lives in the next kingdom over? The two of you did seem to get along well,” your mother smiled warmly.

“No, he lives much closer than that,” you informed, causing your parents to look at you a bit confused. “It’s Gunil. My royal guard. I want to marry him,” you disclosed, looking at your lap.

On the outside of the throne room door Gunil hears your confession. He wasn’t eavesdropping. You can simply hear the conversation from outside of the door and his job was to guard that said door, so it was inevitable. Truth be told, Gunil wanted to marry you too. He had also fallen for you. He knew that it was wrong, he was your royal guard after all. His job was to guard you, keep you safe, not fall in love with you. However his heart didn’t seem to care for that last part.

“Gunil! Please enter!” Your father summoned Gunil. You immediately grew more anxious. Gunil himself felt anxious too, he took a deep breath before entering.

“Yes, your majesty?” Gunil questioned.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to fire you,” he told Gunil.

“Father! You don’t have to do that,” you hurried to interject.

“No, no, my future son in law shouldn’t be working as a royal guard,” he states. Son in law? Does that mean? “That is of course if Gunil is willing to take your hand in marriage,” he looks over to Gunil. “Will you?” He asks him.

“Of course” Gunil approaches you, taking your hand in his. “Honestly I’ve long harbored feelings for Princess y/n, but that wasn’t professional, so I never acted on them,” Gunil revealed. “Will you marry Y/n?” “I’ll get you a ring later,” he chuckled.

“I’d happily marry you any day,” you tell him.

“Then it’s settled,” your father smiled, patting Gunil on the shoulder.

“Ooh I can’t wait to plan the wedding!” Your mother squealed.

Jungsu

Jungsu worked as a servant at your castle. He was young, around your age, so you naturally gravitated towards him. You didn’t really have any friends, due to spending most of your time inside the castle walls. At first Jungsu was a little nervous about interacting with you. Servants weren’t really supposed to interact with the royal family outside of doing their assigned duties. You assured Jungsu that it was ok, saying you’d assigned him to be your friend if you had to. After that the two of you started to bond. Your parents were actually happy to see you two getting along. They knew that you tended to get lonely and were happy that you finally had someone to keep you company. That’s why they pretend to not know about your secret late night meetings at the pavilion.

Presently, you, your mother and your mother’s friend who happened to be a queen from another kingdom were having tea out in the garden. Jungsu had just poured your cups of tea.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him.

“My pleasure,” he bowed his head at you. Your mother noticed the way you two looked at each other lovingly. She found it adorable how coyly you two acted.

“You know our children are at the age of marriage,” your mothers friend brings up.

“Indeed they are,” your mother said. Your nerves began to bubble up at the talk of marriage.

“Maybe we should set the two of them up,” she spoke, causing you to choke on your tea. You know that the prince is a nice guy, but you don’t want to marry him. Honestly, you wanted to marry Jungsu. With time you two spent together. Staring at the stars while having late night talks at the pavilion. You had fallen in love with him. Although you didn’t get your hopes up about being able to be together with him because you know that his status wouldn’t make your relationship a desirable one to others.

“Oh honey be careful,” your mother patted your back.

“I’m sorry,” you excused yourself.

“As much as it would be nice to set our children up. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. My daughter already has someone in mind when it comes to marriage,” your mother tells.

“Who would that lucky fellow be?” Your mom’s friend asks.

“It will be announced soon,” Your mother says with a certain look in her eyes. The three of you finish your tea and bid your mothers friend a farewell.

“Mother, what did you mean by it will be announced soon?” You questioned.

“You love Jungsu don’t you?” Your mother checks. If you were still drinking tea you would have choked again. Jungsu, who was earshot away, heard this. He instantly felt relieved, he had too fallen for you, but due to his servant status he accepted that he could only be with you as a friend. He never imagined that your parents would support your relationship.

“How did you know?” You were surprised you thought you covered your feeling well.

“It’s in your guys eyes. They can’t hide the love you two carry,” she says. Jungsu comes over to clear your tea cups and saucers.

“Allow me this time, Jungsu. You can Y/n should talk,” your mother gestures for him to sit down. She takes the tray from Jungsu and takes the tea cups and saucers inside.

“I want to marry you Jungsu and my parents approve,” you told him.

“I heard,” he takes your hand in his. “I want to marry you too,” he places a kiss over your ring finger.

Gaon/Jiseok

Jiseok was a friend you made while attending the school for royals. You met during your first year there at the age of five and have remained friends all the way till now at the ripe age of twenty.

Currently you and Jiseok are both painting in the garden. You were each trying to paint the rose bush in front of you two. Jiseok took a peek over at your canvas and started to laugh.

“What is it?” You asked, curious about why he was laughing.

“Cause yours looks like that and mine looks like this,” he said, still laughing. You looked over at his painting and saw a more…abstract interpretation of the rose bush. You couldn’t contain your laughter.

“I like it. I’ll hang it in my room when it’s done,” you told him.

“I don’t think this is worthy of being displayed. Yours is though,” he said.

“You take it then,” you placed your brush down. “We can exchange them,” you told him.

“Princess y/n it’s time for your fitting,” one of the servants came to inform you. You sighed. The fitting was for a suitors ball, where all eligible royals would attend.

“Someone doesn’t want to go to their fitting,” Jiseok poked.

“I don’t want to go to the ball,” you clarified. You didn’t want to go to the suitors ball because the only prince you wanted was sitting right beside you, Jiseok.

“Why not?” Jiseok asks you. He didn’t want to attend the ball either and it was for the same reason as you. The only princess he wanted to marry was you. You were silent for a bit debating how you should answer. Every second that passed made Jiseok grow more anxious.

“The only suitor I’m interested in is you,” you finally spoke. Jiseok’s eyes widened in shock. His feelings were mutual, but he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud. He quickly recovered from the shock.

“Then you should change your fitting to a wedding dress one,” Jiseok tells you.

“What?” You asked, taken aback.

“The only reason I was going to the suitor ball was to keep other princes away from you,” Jiseok admits sheepishly.

“Being engaged would definitely keep other princes away from me,” you hinted. Jiseok looks you in the eyes and smiles. He got up from where he was sitting, walked over the rose bush, plucking a rose from it. He walked back over to you and kneels in front of you.

“Y/n would you do me the honors of marrying me?” He asks you, handing you the rose. You carefully took the rose from his hand, lifting it to your nose to smell it’s floral scent.

“Yeah I guess so,” you said playfully. Jiseok lightly smacks your knee.

“Don’t make me take the rose back,” he threatens you, standing up. You held the rose closer to your chest.

“I’d happily marry you any day of the week,” you tell him. You stand up and hug Jiseok, careful not to damage the rose. The two of you stay embraced for a moment celebrating your engagement. “Come on, let's go tell them that we can no longer attend the ball,” you pulled away from the hug. Jiseok eagerly nodded, taking your hand.

“Mother, you will need to cancel my fitting,” you informed your mom.

“Why’s that dear?” she questioned, but she already knew the answer by looking at yours and Jiseok intertwined hands.

“Because she needs a wedding dress instead,” Jiseok told her.

“Took you two long enough,” she joked. “I’ll tell the tailor right away,” she smiled.

O.de/Seungmin

Your parents, the king and queen, were currently out of the kingdom to take care of some official business, leaving you to manage the kingdom for a while. Thankfully you weren’t alone, you had Seungmin, your family's royal adviser, to help you.

“Seungmin I don’t think that I’m cut out for this,” you sighed plopping down onto the couch inside of the study.

“What do you mean? You’re doing a great job princess I assure you,” Seungmin says. Your heart flutters at him calling you princess. It really shouldn’t, plenty of others refer to you using the name, but for some reason, because you're in love with him, it always makes your stomach feel warm when he calls you that.

“No, you’re doing a great job Seungmin. I’ve just done what you’ve advised me to do,” you stated. Seungmin comes over sitting beside you. Right beside you, so close your legs are touching.

“You’ve learned from it though havent you?” He asks. You nodded your head.

“See, you’re doing great then,” he reassures you.

“I’ve received letters about princes asking for my hand in marriage,” you brought up. Seungmin’s chest tightens at the news. He should be professional about you. You are at the age of marriage, however he heart doesn’t want him to be professional about it. It wants him to be selfish about it. That the only person he advises you to marry is himself. “What are your thoughts on that Mr. Advisor?” You question. A brief small comes onto his face at your use of the nickname. The nickname also lets him know that you’re being serious. Ironically enough you call him by that nickname whenever you need advice about a serious matter.

“Do you want to get married?” He starts off with a more broad question, thinking it’s a safer choice.

“If it’s to one certain person then yes, but if it’s not him then no,” you answered. Seungmin’s heart fell. Did you already have someone else in your heart?

“Who is he? As your advisor I need to make sure that he’s good enough,” he tries to keep it professional.

“I think you’d definitely approve of him,” you tell him. Your answer grows Seungmin’s curiosity.

“Then tell me his name,” he prods you. His heart is beating fast, something it usually doesn’t do. He’s supposed to remain calm, but when it comes to you that’s a hard battle for him.

You leaned closer to Seungmin to whisper in your answer in his ear.

“You,” your breath grazed across his ear. You lean back to see his reaction. Seungmin takes in a sharp breath and looks at you, locking eyes. Then he breaks out into a smile.

“You’re right I definitely approve of him,” he confirms. “How long have you wanted to marry me?” He quizzes you.

“I always thought that you were cute the second my father first introduced you. One time I saw you helping a maid who dropped a tray clean up and I don’t know if something about it made me fall for you,” you told him.

“That’s kinda funny,” Seungmin began. “I once saw you helping the gardener clean up a bag of compost that got spilled in the garden. You got it all over the bottom of your dress, soil covering your face from you accidentally wiping your hands on it, but you still like the most beautiful girl I ever saw and now I get to keep you by my side,” he wrapped an arm around you.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun was a guard at your palace. He was quiet, didn’t talk too much. It led to people taking him to be cold and stern, but only if they knew the real him, like you do. His quietness is what drew you towards him. It made you curious about what he was really like.

One night you were crying inside of your room. Your parents had scolded you about how you need to be better. Behave more maturely, more princess-like. You needed to take your responsibilities more seriously. It was time for you to be a proper princess. Little did your parents know that you were already trying your best.

“Princess y/n, are you alright?” Hyeongjun’s voices called from outside of your bedroom. It surprised you. You didn’t think that out of all of your staff he would be the one to reach out and comfort you.

“I’m fine,” you sniffled out, it wasn’t very convincing. It pulled on Hyeongjun’s heartstrings seeing, well hearing technically, you cry.

“May I enter?” He asked for your permission. You quickly tried to wipe away your tears.

“Yes, you may,” you allowed him access. He stepped into your room seeing your upset state. He frowned and walked over next to you. He sat down on your bed beside you and guided your head onto his shoulder.

“You can cry princess, let it all out. I’m here for you,” he said. That’s all it took for your held back tears to flow again. It was that night that you opened your heart to Hyeongjun. That night you realized how kind Hyeongjun actually was. That it wasn’t coldness that made him so quiet, but rather shyness.

Hyeongjun always took care of you and ended up becoming a personal guard for you instead. You were ecstatic when this happened because it meant that you could spend more time with Hyeongjun. You had certainly fallen for him.

The two of you currently sat in the library of your place. Each of you were reading your own respective books. It was a hobby the pair of you enjoyed doing together.

“I want to marry you Hyeongjun,” you randomly declared, breaking the comfortable silence that encompassed the library. Hyeongjun clumsily dropped the book from his hands, it landed on the floor with a thud.

“Princess y/n I don’t think that’s acceptable. A royal guard and a princess,” he states.

“My mom told me that I should marry whomever I please and I please you Hyeongjun,” you told him.

“But princess others would-” he started.

“Don’t think about others. Think about yourself. How do you feel about me?” You questioned him.

“I’d like to marry you too,” he confesses. “I’m sure that you can tell that I care about you. I always want to take care of you. Whether it be as a royal guard or something more,” he confessed.

“I’d prefer it be the latter,” you smiled, closing your book and making your way over to Hyeongjun. Once you made it over to Hyeongjun he took both of your hands in his and kneeled on one knee before you.

“Then y/n, would you marry me? I promise I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life,” he proposes.

“Of course I’ll marry you Hyeongjun. I think I wanted to marry since that night you comforted me in my room all that time ago,” you accepted. Hyeongjun stands up, hands moving from your hands to your shoulders.

“I’ve loved you since then,” he revealed. “It hurt my heart so much to know that you were crying in there all alone,” he added. You couldn’t contain your excitement and hug him tightly making him chuckle, but he hugs you back just as tightly.

Jooyeon

Jooyeon was your childhood friend. He was the son of one of your father’s friends, who also happened to be a king. At first your impression of Jooyeon was that he was annoying. He always tried to distract you whenever you two were having lessons together. Now however the two of you were peas in a pod. It was more odd for you to be apart. Royal staff would joke asking “Where’s the other one?” whenever it was just one of you doing something.

“When are you and Jooyeon planning to get married?” Your mother asked you when the both of you were doing embroidery together.

“Mom, what are you talking about!” You exclaimed embarrassed. You didn’t even know if Jooyeon liked you back. It only seemed natural that you fell for him over your many years of friendship. You’re not even entirely sure when it happened. You just know that one day while the two of you were skipping rocks in your pond you just knew that he was the one for you. Like something just clicked right into place. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Jooyeon.

“Y/n, everyone knows that you two love each other. Both of our kingdoms have basically been anticipating your marriage since you were kids,” she tells you.

“Since we were kids? That’s a bit much,” you say, causing your mom to laugh.

“You both would make such a good couple. Plus I know that you love him, so don’t act like you don’t,” she points.

“Even if I do. I don’t know if he feels the same way,” you said, sounding a bit disheartened.

“He does.” she tells you earnestly.

“How do you know?” You put to question.

“Because I told her that I wanted to marry you when I was six,” Jooyeon announces, entering the room. Little did you know Jooyeon was standing right outside the room hearing your entire conversation.

Jooyeon long since knew that he wanted to be the one you marry. You had scolded him for not paying attention during a lesson, but all he wanted was your attention. It was during a ball celebrating one of his uncles marriages that he went to your mom and told her that he wanted to marry you. Saying that they would have to have a ball like this one one day for you and him. Your mother could tell that he meant it. Although he was only six, so she could only hope that those feelings he carried for you wouldn’t change. Much to her liking they never did.

“How much of that did you hear?” You questioned.

“I basically just indirectly proposed to you and that’s what you ask?” Jooyeon laughed in disbelief. You couldn’t hold your own laugh. He did just admit that your romantic feelings for him are mutual, but you wanted to know how much over the conversation with your mother he heard. It did sound ridiculous.

“Well depending on how much of our conversation you heard you would know that I want to marry you too,” you defended.

“Then it’s settled, we’re now engaged,” Jooyeon stated promptly.

“I don’t know, my ring finger looks loney,” you said, wiggling your ring finger. Jooyeon came over to you and picked up a spool of red thread. He carefully wrapped it around your ringer finger, typing a little bow on top.

“Until I get you a real one,” he told you. You smiled looking at the thread around your finger.

“Ok we’re engaged now,” you stated officially.

“I’ll work on the wedding invitations!” Your mother enthusiastically jumps up.

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emdubyaz · 5 months ago

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@felixcosm I’m sorry tumblr deleted my answer when I wanted to add tags idk what happened but here we go again I guess,,,,

Like I said I’m really the wrong person to ask for book recs bc I only ever read fucked up and niche stuff that you definitely need to check the CW for first (and a lot of queer fantasy like these are all queer!)

But sure let me give you a tour through some of my fav book series!!!

The raven cycle/ the dreamer trilogy (4 books + an extra 3 (plus a short story)): CW (bc there are a few) my favourite book series,,, it’s all about vibes and the connection between family, friends, the world and your place in it. Ronan Lynch is my absolute fav character of all time omg there is no one like him!!!! 😭😭😭

some of my fav quotes:

“While I'm gone," Gansey said, pausing, "dream me the world. Something new for every night.”

“If you never saw the stars, candles were enough.”

“They were always walking away from him. But he never seemed able to walk away from them.”

“Trees in your eyes ... Stars in your heart.”

All for the game (4 books as of now but there will be another one): read the CW I’m so serious! this book series is like crack to me,,, Neil is such a little shit and funny main character! The way Andrew and Neil invented consent is revolutionary! Also heartbreaking twin brother relationship that has me on my knees (Aaron you deserve so much better I love you baby boy) also fucked up sport that is connected to the mafia (and so is every second character) last book is from Jean’s and Jeremy’s pov and that’s such a slay too tbh 🙂‍↔️

some book moments I always think about:

“You know, I get it. Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you’re worth a damn off the court— yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it’s not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you’re physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don’t think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.”

“Who said 'please' that made you hate the word so much?" Andrew gazed at him in silence for a minute. "I did”

“Yes or no?” "It's always yes with you."

captive prince trilogy (3 books + short stories): CW again a lot of people don’t like the slave themes in the first book but then love the second and third which makes me think that they didn’t understand the story at all. the book with the main characters who’s horny despite all the shit that’s going on, Damen the man that you are!!! ALSO BITCHY BLOND WHO RUNS THE WORLD LAURENT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH (no fr Laurent is out here playing real life chess and Damen just stands by like “whatever you want sweetheart”)

these books are so unserious sometimes:

Laurent could inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing.

“Is there anyone at this court who isn't my enemy?" “Not if I can help it," Laurent said.”

Dark Rise trilogy (2 books and the third comes out soon,,,,, hopefully the cliffhanger is killing me): another book with a bitchy blond (James alone is enough reason to read this book) I left work early to continue reading this book and I think that all you need to know about this book! Also Will has never done anything wrong I love him so much!!! Some of the organizations in this frustrated me a lot tho like why are you so stupid????? (They deserved their fate I’m not even sorry)

this book has all the right themes and messages:

“I think what people were is less important than what they are. And what people are is less important than what they could be.”

“My whole life, all anyone's ever wanted was to possess me," said James. "The only one who ever set me free was you.”

“Kindness is never a mistake," said the Elder Steward. "Somewhere in the heart it is always remembered.”

Spell bound (stand alone): this is such a comfort read!!! So cozy! Enby representation around every corner, a door mat that likes to trip people, boy without magic learning how to use magic, emotionally unavailable person turns into a cat and snuggles with the love interest, THE POWER OF LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

the starless sea (stand alone): do you love books and reading? Then this is for you! Everything is connected and I mean EVERYTHING. So magical and cool and beautiful written. Had me spinning in circles while I was trying to connect all the dots (I didn’t connect shit)

this book speaks to me personally:

“Not all stories speak to all listeners, but all listeners can find a story that does, somewhere, sometime. In one form or another.”

“But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars might wish it so.”

“A boy at the beginning of a story has no way of knowing that the story has begun.”

“Having a physical reaction to a lack of book is not unusual.”

“There is no fixing. There is only moving forward in the brokenness.”

I’ll stop here bc I fear I won’t shut up if I don’t. Yeah these are just some of my favs I do have more but I think these are also the ones you see me post about the most!

(sorry again that the other one was deleted, I tried my best to recreate it as best as I could!)

#trc #aftg #captive prince #dark rise #spell bound #the starless sea #the raven cycle also has a bitchy blond #I’m not forgetting you Adam!!!#the raven cycle #all for the game

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mama-scarebear · 5 months ago

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One second, at the prior anon who also had a crush on you, I am so sorry for devalidating your experience and what I said. Honestly, I was tired when I scanned through the blog to see if my ask had been answered and I didn't pay that much attention once I realised it wasn't mine.

I thought it was just an anon that didn't bother reading the bio and didn't continue reading past a point and completely missed the rest of the message. Nevertheless, that's not a message or behaviour I support. I really hope I didn't bring any harm to you but it's valid if I did.

Thank you for such a genuine and wonderful answer. Because I am literally incapable of being concise. I want you to know the response I was going to give had 10 paragraphs. Short ones, but still. I have cut it down to these statements:

Love that you're good with witchcraft AND you're a punk. You sound super cool.

Thanks for sharing her handle. Her tattoos look really cool and I love how she plays with dimensions in her tattoos and her bodywork.

I love the alt music scene. Because of circumstances in my life I am around the scene often and while I don't think I'm the biggest punk, the larger alt subculture in my area has my heart.

What are some of the artists you've listened to recently?

I've never been to a punk music festival. I've only ever been to 1 festival but it was so busy and not super fun in my case.

I've never seen dorohedoro. Thanks for the rec. It looks super cool and I'm looking forward to seeing why you enjoy it.

My curiosity has been sated but not permanently? Hope that counts :D

I suppose I'll reply to this in a similar fashion:

Ive a decent history with both witchcraft and punk and have dabbled in both quite a bit. I am far more or a punk than I am a witch though. The witchy stuff is a bit lost on me at times.

Ive an appointment with her this summer to get some work done and I can't wait. I love the unapologetic queerness of her work and how she portrays gender non-conformism. As someone who plays with gender liberally it's nice to see.

I love the alt scene quite a bit but only rarely get to properly participate. Another downside of rural living. I'm functionally the entirety of the visibly alt scene in town.

Lately I've been revisiting a lot of old favourites and some new bands I fell in love with over the last festival I went to, so we've got Bad Cop/Bad Cop, Against Me!, Middle Aged Queers, JER, The Anti-Queens, Whoredrobe, and Pat The Bunny.

Im sorry you didn't have fun at that festival. The one I go to yearly is spread out through multiple venues/bars so it's not all in one sensory overload of a place. You just pick your venue or barhop for the night, get drinks, ans enjoy some good music. Destroyed my legs though hahahaha.

Dorohedoro is a lot of fun though bizarre. I'm a bit of a cult classic sort of a girl. Which is a fancy way or saying my taste in media skews a little bizarre and "hipster".

Youre in luck then because like the proper narcissit that I am, I love talking about myself.

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zarkishere · 13 days ago

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A starry night

short little thing cause i love them <3

Ruben sat on a log near one of the campfires; it was late, really late, but what started as some simple wondering on past actions ended up snowballing into a whole session of overthinking, which now had the mixed man incapable of sleep. Usually he'd ask his hidden lover, Javier Escuella, for some comfort but...the man was nowhere to be seen. Ruben was sure Javier told him where he'd go but he found he could not remember for the life of him. He wondered where Mac Callander, one of his closest friends was, (the other person who'd usually bring him some sort of comfort too) but Ruben was advised by Sean Mcguire not to wait... Of course, this had Ruben thinking Mac had gone out drinking again. And he soon found out he was right. First, he heard horses, then...it almost sounded like someone fell of their horse...then grass and eventually some very angry gaelic muttering. Ruben giggled to himself. " ya alright? " He asked towards the darkness where the noise came from. " Feck off " the darkness answered " 'm just worried 'bout cha " Ruben huffed as he got up, dusting his pants off Mac rolled his eyes and stretched, hard enough Ruben could hear his back popping. " 'm fine, 'm alright...don't worry so much " He grumbled, stumbling a little and nearly falling. The mix of smells on his body was pretty disgusting...tabaco, alcohol, sweat...Ruben was sure he'd gotten into some scuffle, given the blood on his knuckles.

" i can't help it " Ruben answered, crossing his arms over his chest " do ya want some water? i can guide you to your roll otherwise.. "

Mac gives a scoff, waving his hand dismissively when Ruben mentioned resting...though, his drunken self is starting to get more and more tired...

" don't need to go yet, 'm fine. And I don't want yer damn water " Mac retorted, but he was already swaying on his feet. Ruben sighed " Mac...c'mon, lemme help ya scotsman " He gently moved his hand closer and offered it to Mac, giving him puppy-dog eyes. Mac grimaced, scoffed, and took his hand. Ruben beamed with happiness as Mac accepted his offer. He led the larger man to a log and playfully nudged him to sit down, to which Mac shot him a glare but didn’t say anything more..he's too tired (and a bit too drunk) to argue anyways. " i'll be back, okay? " Ruben reassured, as if worried Mac would grow antsy. " mhm... " Mac hummed, crossing his arms. The reassurance felt stupid to him, but he knew Ruben was the nervy type, so at some point he stopped complaining.

Ruben sprinted toward the water bucket nearby, and he would've crashed into it if he hadn't had a few remaining neurons working. He sighed, grabbing a probably clean mug and filling it up before he trotted back to Mac, hand over the top of the mug, so no water spilled out. " here ya go, scotsman! " Ruben gave him a smile as he handed him the mug Mac yawned as he opened his eyes and looking up at Ruben. He grabs the mug of water with both hands, bringing it to his lips to take a big sip. " ...thanks " He mumbles with the smallest of voices, clearing his throat afterward. When he looks up at Ruben, his face looks softer...though that's probably just the drunkenness. Ruben hums a response, tapping his foot on the dirt below his feet twice before looking back at Mac. He tilted his head. Mac was confused. " so...you okay? " He asked again, licking the pad of his thumb and wiping the corner of Mac's mouth clean. Mac stiffened up at the touch. He was even more confused now. At the gentleness, the intimacy...something he was not used to. Once he recovers, he grunts and smacks his hand away...

" I'm fine " He mutters " stop touchin' me " " oh--sorry " Ruben pulled his hand away, a wave of worry running over his face. Mac was weird about touch...some days it was fine, others Ruben could swear Mac would snap his neck if he tried anything. " i..uhh... " He scratched his neck nervously " do you...want me to leave? "

Mac sees his uncomfortable expression and immediately sighs.

" Nay... "

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. After some moment of silence, he sighs again and glances at the space beside him on the log.

" Sit down." Ruben nods and waddles closer, sitting next to him " how...uhm... " He scratched his hand " how was drinking..? " He asks, unsure, just trying to keep the conversation going.

Mac shifts a little so he's sitting straight, trying to make himself more comfortable as Ruben sits next to him.

" ...whiskey was great...an' fighting was great too...not a good combination though "

He says with a scoff, looking off into the distance for a moment. It's as if he's thinking about something...but he quickly snaps out of it and looks back at Ruben. Ruben follows his gaze for a second, a little lost on what Mac's looking at, before looking back at him with a little smirk " you sure like to do it, though " He giggled, poking Mac's side " i thought Davey would've gone wit'cha...? "

Mac lets out the slightest of chuckles, flinching a little. He shakes his head with a scoff. He mumbled something about Davey being a dumb idiot before responding with " Nah...said he got things to do, didn't wanna go out to drinkin' wit me " " aww...he's finally leaving the nest " Ruben said, playfully mocking Mac " how do you feel, mother hen? " Mac scoffs, a hint of a smirk on his face. He gives Ruben a smack in the back of his head.

" Shut yer yap, Connor, don't call me that " He says in a light-hearted grumble, shaking his head. Ruben pouts, rubbing the back of his head " rude " Mac snickers. He shifts a little on the log, trying to get comfortable.

" Aye, I ken." He sighs, picking at his nails.

" You really worry too damn much. " He says in a matter-of-fact tone, leaning back, eyes closed. " whatever.. " Ruben huffs.

He keeps quiet for a few moments before speaking again. " Seriously, though, why you care so much " Silence settled in once more, the only noise filling the air was crickets, other critters of the night and some gang members snores...

" can i not care about my friend? " Ruben eventually asked, fixing his hair before he crossed his legs " i don't know...i just care about you " Mac lets out a scoff, although it's not exactly aimed at Ruben, per se. It's more of a scoff towards himself... he doesn't really know how to accept being so openly cared about apart from Davey, it's something he's foreign to.

" You care too damn much...you're gonna get hurt one day. " " if it's for you guys, i don't mind " Ruben shrugged, yawning " i wouldn't mind doin' anything for you guys... " He adds, looking down at his hands like he's seeing something on them. Mac silently agrees; he'd do most anything for the gang...for Davey and Ruben, specially. He understands the feeling. The blood, there but also not. He just hums and nods, looking off into the distance again. It's gonna be a long night. _______________ ALRIGHT THATS ALL YIPPPEEEE IDK IF THIS IS GOOD !! IM NOT A WRITER !!! IM JUST INSAE YIPPIESAYY AYYYYY

not really shipping but do what you want i guess lol

#rdr2 #mac callander #rdr2 oc #writing #short fic #ruben connor rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 headcanons

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cl0wntwn · 1 year ago

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I HAVE BEEN INSPIRED TO TALK ABOUT MY CATHAL INTERP

ok hi wow i'm posting something that isn't what i usually do but i want to share because. idk i'm autistic abt cathal and my personal interp could be taken as a mischaracterization(?) of the character so i want to ramble. it's a mix of projections, my interpretations of things cathal says/does, and headcanons. this is just gonna be a glorified bulletpoint list with little to no organization im so sorry. this obviously be inspired by this post cause i love it so much i'm rotating it in my mind please go check it out. this whole ramble was supposed to go into the tags of that post but i think i can organize it better in a text post. i can also share it easier. but please go read that post if u haven't :D

first things first, cathal is depressed.

ain't that a shocker? he's been depressed for a while, but it never really got to "i don't want to do anything ever" until he was hired at C.O.G.S. inc., and even then it's not really the main reason. it does make it hard for him to do things that he's asked of. he's not incapable of doing things though, unless he's like. super unmotivated or sad.

cathal is a papa's boy.

he loves his dad. ever since he was a kid, he's loved his dad. he appreciates the patience he has with him, he appreciates that his dad is willing to take hit for him not doing his work, his dad is first and foremost in his mind. his dad comes before his own wellbeing. which goes into my next point well...

seeing his dad being destroyed every day hurts cathal bad.

it is the main reason he hates working at C.O.G.S. inc.. yeah, the work sucks, it leaves him drained most of the time (which i will hit later), but the fact that he has to watch his own father basically fall to his death every day makes it all so much worse. not to mention he has a clear view of it from his office.

how does cathal cope with this stuff?

by distracting himself. and not doing his work at all. the work he has to do already drains him and what little energy his depression gives him, but i don't think seeing your dad dying every day helps with motivation. he distracts himself by watching tv and ignoring what he needs to do.

this is not to say that he is unaware of the work he has to do, he knows all the work he puts off piles up on him. but piles of work doesn't seem like the most easy thing to do... so he just keeps putting it off and putting it off, and his dad lets him get away with it by making excuses for him. it stresses him out, which makes him not want to do it more, and the cycle continues...

also believe it or not, cathal actually thinks about the future and is very stressed about it.

he knows that when his dad either retires or... can't work anymore, cathal's going to be the new department lead. and because he has literally no experience working where he is now. he's scared he's gonna get thrown into work he doesn't know how to do or doesn't want to do.

so why did cathal apply at C.O.G.S. inc. in the first place?

short answer, he wanted to make his dad proud and didn't process the gravity of applying to C.O.G.S. inc.. he didn't think it would take so much effort and energy to work a full time job. but now that he's been in it for a while, he's afraid to quit. he doesn't want to upset his dad or make the lack of work he's done worse by throwing it on others.

aaaand that's all i can think of. if i can think of anything else i'll edit this post and reblog it or smth. thank u for reading <3

#toontown corporate clash #ttcc #multislacker #cathal bravecog

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mischievouslittlecreature · 2 months ago

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hi there sweets. i love your story titled “love me where i’m most ruined” i think i’m somehow halfway through it cuz i’ve been binge reading like crazy! i have a question for you: would have thomas been able to keep going if it had been lucy the one who had been shot instead of grace? i often times find myself wondering that. i enjoy the throuple and how much love, respect, and communication is present there for one another, however a part of me is inclined towards the notion that lucy might have been a bit more important to him than grace was. especially when grace felt frustrated when she sensed thomas wouldn’t completely open up to her as he did with lucy. or maybe i’m just misinterpreting what you wanted to convey. thank you love for giving us such a great story! you’re an awesome writer! xo

Thank you so much, anon! 🖤 It always means the absolute world to me to hear that someone is enjoying my fics, especially this series, which is so near and dear to my heart.

As usual, I wrote a big 'ol essay in response to this because I am incapable of brevity and love to yap nonsensically about my OCs 😅

TW for suicide mention under the cut:

The short answer to your question is: no, I don't think he would have. Part of this is because I have very purposefully written Tommy and Lucy as being incapable of living without each other. Even before Grace's death, they were quite codependent (though this admittedly got much more pronounced after her death) and Tommy relied on her massively for so many things.

I could see him trying to keep going on for awhile after, for Charlie and Grace if not for anything else. But he would be a complete shell of himself, and what was left of him would start unraveling quickly. As much as I love her and her relationship with Tommy, I'm just not sure if Grace would have had to tools to be able to help him the way that Lucy could.

At the end of the day, Lucy is able to provide support and understanding to Tommy in a way that no one else can. I think that he truly feels like she is the only person in the world who actually loves him unconditionally. And I think that's part of why he's so much more willing to open up to her than a lot of the other characters in the series. Her ability to understand his thought processes, actions, and feelings without him even having to explain them to her a lot of the time is a huge part of why she's his main source of emotional support. Losing that would be crippling for him.

I think that Grace would try her best, and they both would be hurting hugely from the loss of Lucy. But as you said, Grace struggles more to understand him than Lucy did, and I think Tommy would grow frustrated at her not just being able to immediately tune-into him like Lucy could. And his PTSD symptoms would get worse, particularly his inability to stop working in an attempt to distract himself from the pain and grief. That would have caused conflict with Grace, especially long term.

I also could see him thinking that Grace and Charlie would be fine or even better off without him, and seriously contemplating and perhaps even going through with committing suicide.

Sorry for such a downer answer! 😭 You are right that generally speaking, I always have written Lucy as being Tommy's #1 person. It doesn't mean that he didn't love Grace and that she wasn't important to him, but Lucy is his soulmate.

Thank you again so much for reading and loving the series, anon! 😘

#lily replies #lucy winters #lucy winters x tommy shelby #my ocs #anon 🖤

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badass-queer-couples-battle · 1 year ago

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Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

Oh boy, that's a difficult question given how many favourites I have but I'll do my best to answer!

(Under the cut though because I'm physically incapable of being brief about media I'm passionate about)

In no particular order:

James Flint (Black Sails) - a complex and almost poetic show with an equally complex and occasionally ruthless lead. He's a pirate captain on a revenge quest against England for taking his previous life and loved one away from him- I did not expect a show set in the 18th century to have a queer lead, much less one treated with so much respect and written as this multifaced and hard to judge morally. Just a warning though, the show gets dark and comes with a pretty extensive list of trigger warnings, so please take that into account if you're interested in watching!

Astrid Nielsen (Astrid et Raphaelle/Bright Minds/Astrid and Raphaelle [depending on translation]) - not a big crime drama guy, but she's one of a kind protagonist of a one of a kind show. A brilliant archivist and assistant investigator played by an equally great actress (Sara Mortensen). One of the only autistic leads out there and treated with such respect and attention to detail I cried several times watching just from how relatable Astrid is- I've never seen any representation like this before and certainly not for a female lead character. She's a genius but not emotionless (quite the opposite, in fact), never infantilised and her friendship with Raphaelle is beautifully written and takes into account their differences as a young ND woman new at her job and a neurotypical experienced detective. Astrid needs Raphaelle's perspective and help just as much as she needs hers, it's wonderful. This series does admittedly get queerbaity at times (imo) and Astrid faces occasional ableism, though it's always called out.

Kenzo Tenma (Monster manga/anime series) - hands down my favourite thriller out there and Dr. Tenma is a deeply honorable, determined and exceptionally kind man even despite his entire life falling apart, even towards the main villain who's a literal serial killer. I'd compare him to Aang (ATLA) in terms of how dedicated he is towards helping people and staying true to his morals. Incredible protagonist of an incredible story.

Donna Noble (Doctor Who) - she's so fun! The show was right to call her the most important woman in the history of creation, she's everything to me. Funny, lovable, strong, sarcastic, deeply human, I'm so glad she'll be back soon even if it seems like a brief guest starring type of deal.

Jolyne Cujoh (Jojo's bizzare adventure: Stone Ocean) - when I say I want complex female leads, not just strong ones, Jolyne is a good example of how they should be written. She's allowed to swear and be angry and imperfect, makes mistakes and deals with the consequences- all while being a great friend, caring daughter (despite daddy issues, her dad did admittedly kinda suck) and a smart fighter in the face of likely the most powerful villain in the series this far. There are uh... several problems the author has in terms of his writing of women, but Jolyne was so good.

Raine Whispers (The Owl House) - my beloved bard! They were such a good addition to the show both as Eda's ex (who she's still in love with) and a rebel witch! I loved their determination, they were smart as well (totally see why Eda fell for them so hard, same). Disney sucks for cutting the show short, I know they would have gotten more importance had the crew been allowed to make a full third season instead of several eps to wrap up the story :(

Xie Lian (Heaven Official's Blessing) - he gives me so many emotions... So deeply sad and yet so loving, one of the most compelling and complex protagonists I've seen- can't say too much without spoilers, but his backstory made me weep. Season 2 of the animated show just started, he's now a priority blorbo & both the animation studio and his actor do such a great job! Please do be warned, just like with Black Sails the trigger warning list for this series is LONG. Truly puts the 'dark' in dark fantasy.

Lee Dongsik (Beyond Evil) - a show that will emotionally punch you in the gut and kick you when you're down. He's a detective labeled as an insane weirdo and a potential murder suspect, but most of that is due to intense trauma and a (bad) coping mechanism. The show can and will make you question your view on every character and has so many twists, if you're a fan of crime dramas it's a must watch & Lee Dongsik is a super complex and fun to watch lead.

Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist) - this show entered my head years ago and refuses to leave, and this boy is so well-written and such a good example of how to make an engaging and likeable action/fantasy lead! Even before I got into anime my best friend kept recommending me FMA as a series for everyone, she was right- it's universal and Ed is a big part of that, I love him so much.

Korra (Avatar: The legend of Korra) - this list couldn't be complete without one of my favourite animated series leads! Great character development, strong and determined, realistic, very cool overall! I had such a crush on her in high school. Can't not mention her relationship with Asami, they paved the way for more openly queer characters in animation and will forever be famous <3

#bqcb asks #mod speaks #please do send me asks like this i love answering questions abt my faves!#mod's favourites tag

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daemon-in-my-head · 5 months ago

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Hi! Thanks for making the durge creator questions. :) If you haven't answered this one yet for yourself: #2?

Thanks for enjoying and using my questions (and asking me too hehe)!

2. How does their race play into the design? Was it a conscious choice because of the racial features or did you simply enjoy the playstyle or lore?

I'm sorry I will be fangirling rly hard now, this is one of my fav questions I'm ngl.

My choice to go with an elf has multiple reasons. Besides adoring the fey folks in all their shapes and sizes, 'regular' elves in particular always have these stereotypes attached to them. And I wanted to challenge that. Cuz arguably, Elli can be lovely and refined; he's dealing with nobles and considers himself one for ages, but it's merely a mask. The real one is a completely chaotic gremlin and everything you would not attribute to an elf. They're also known for being somewhat aloof, and they cope with loss 'better' than short-lived races since they experience such a tremendous amount of it, but thx to his upbringing, he never quite learned that, so he's one of the few who's hit incredibly hard by it. Besides, they're also known for their skilful ways of handling memory, so an elf with amnesia? The wonderfully twisted irony.

But most importantly, they are inherently tragic. Elves, in the 5e setting anyway, are reincarnators, and their drawing of the Veil is incredibly traumatic even if they have a support system, but without it, it usually breaks them. They're pretty 'fragile' in a way, easily consumed by their past, and all of them have that inherent longing to go 'home' as they are not native to Toril. Plus, they got an extra afterlife reserved exclusively for wood, moon, sun, astral and dark elves (even drow are excluded), so no matter what my Durge does, whether his soul ends up in the hands of Bhaal or the Seldarine, the chances of him reuniting with the people he's lost are slim at best if not non-existent.

There's that one book ig (Larethian iirc) that actually encapsulates my infatuation with them quite perfectly:

"As in all myths the physiological reverse oblation (God gives to his people) is interesting. The elven people are not formed from Corellon's hip bone, his throat, his testicles. Instead they arise from an expression of sorrow. Some scholars frame them, then, as an antidote to his pain (Corellon was, at the time, experiencing loss and feelings of betrayal).

More traditional thinking (and here I quote the elven sage Aephir Loquellan) places elves, 'as sad as a species can be.'

This rings truer for me. Life, after all, deposits its fair share of difficulties on those burdened with living it, and elves endure a long, long time..."

The child of death who can't die no matter how much they long for it, a man destined to live for centuries incapable of remembering even his own name, someone longing for a home that no longer exists. A person who shouldn't form attachments growing obsessive in their affections. It's just such a vibe.

Also there's hardly any elven durges, they needed some good old messed up rep lmao

#thank you for the ask!#dark urge #oc: ellifain #bg3 durge #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #i love elves #in case it was'nt apparent

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nickyroethemarinebiologist · 1 year ago

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Hey...I bring offerings (looks at you with my big sad eyes). Of cowboys. I forgot about this for a hot minute BUT I'm back and they're back and we're so fucking back baby. I don't know what to write in these bits anyways let's GO

* * *

Chapter Four, "Bite The Bullet"

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, sir,” The old fellow said, scratching at his chin as he handed the poster back over to Amos, “Don’t think he’s ever passed through here, though I’m sure I would have noticed if he had. Sounds a fancy bloke.”

Amos frowned. This was the third town he had passed through, and so far he was yet to find anyone who recognised Edward Jensen, or could give him an answer other than unhelpfully vague directions. He was beginning to consider giving up on the man entirely, but he could not bear to return home empty-handed, and the man he had sat with on that first night was sure to have something to say about it, though likely not a meek complaint, or conversation of any sorts.

Amos felt his brow furrow at the thought, but caught himself in the moment and forced his face to relax, offering the old man as pleasant an expression as he could muster.

“Very helpful,” He said, and nodded afterwards in an attempt to make the sentiment feel more sincere, “But if you do see anything—”

“I’ll be sure to call it in, have no doubt about that,” The man said with a smile, showing off the gaps in his teeth. Amos held himself from stepping back, and shook the man’s hand politely.

“Yes. Thank you,” He said.

Once he was away, and the man had firmly shut his door, Amos issued a sigh that was closer to a groan, wiping his hands first on his shirt and then across his face, though he did not feel tired.

He thumbed the wanted poster in his hand, absently turning it over and folding the edges over his thumb. He had looked at it enough times now to read the words by heart, and could remember the face of Jensen himself well enough to hold it alongside the list of his crimes, though he did have to admit, the drawing itself looked more ghoulish than the real man ever had, at any moment.

The ink smudged under his thumb somewhat, making a number of the words wholly unreadable and pushing Jensen’s features into one another, though it did little to distract from the poster itself; the whole thing was looking rather worse for wear, having been in Amos’ pocket for a majority of it’s trip, and it felt as though it might rip apart in his hands. Amos was not worried — he might always find another; the rumour of McKinley’s murder was spreading fast — but he felt some inexplicable disappointment at the sorry look of Jensen’s poster. Amos frowned, and folded it back into the front pocket of his waistcoat.

He had found Edward Jensen first to be quite odd, then entirely puzzling, and then infuriatingly lucky, at the unfortunate expense of Amos himself. The man seemed entirely incapable of keeping himself alive for more than a day, yet still he had managed to slip from Amos’ reach, on a stolen horse, no less.

To be foiled in such a way was not a new experience, but an unpleasant one; Amos had hoped the job would be quick, but was now forced to turn to the local folk for help, and he could only admit he had little interest in people, at the best of times. More dreadful, though, was the moment directly after Jensen’s escape, when Amos was forced to deal with the man who owned the land. He had told Amos, very loudly, and many times over, that he would be expecting his compensation in the post, or his horse returned shortly. Amos had managed to calm him only by offering a short fund upfront, taken right out of his pay for Jensen’s reward, and was finally able to send him away, what must have been hours later.

He had stopped immediately afterwards in the same hotel that Jensen had apparently been staying in; he had a short conversation with the man at the desk, and offered him his thanks for the help in Jensen’s capture. The man made a polite comment in return, and was very sorry to hear that Jensen had escaped so easily, and Amos found himself with a room for the night, at nearly half what he would have usually paid.

The trip to the next town took several hours, and afforded him a little leisure, though he would have hoped for something to make the journey less tedious. He arrived at midday, and left shortly afterwards, once the townsfolk had proved themselves to be wholly unhelpful for him.

Now, he was beginning to think the whole thing rather hopeless; he had not begun the trip with good faith, and on more than one occasion he found himself considering a trip home, though he did not usually think himself so easily defeated. But he was not quite ready to give up, and knew that if he did he would never be able to let himself be free of it, so he turned for town square; he was more likely to spot Jensen there, and on the chance he didn’t he might at least be able to find a moment of rest.

The square was more crowded than he would have liked, but he found his way to the nearest bar he could find. He was not at all hungry, for he had eaten on the journey into town, but thought it would at least be a good place to stop for the moment; he would be relatively out of the way, and might blend in much more than he did on the streets, so at the very least he would be able to observe the townsfolk for a small while, and if he was lucky, find some sort of clue to Jensen’s whereabouts.

The bar went quiet when he entered, and a large part of those at tables paused to look to the door; he took no notice of it, and said nothing, making immediately for an open seat, in the farthest corner from the door. The townsfolk, apparently having decided he was of no interest, dropped their heads and resumed their conversations, and the noise started up again immediately.

Though there was one man in particular, who had not moved at all, except to make anxious glances over his shoulder. He would not have stood out so much if he had followed the rest of the crowd, and Amos might never have noticed him, but now he paused at his seat, and narrowed his eyes.

Edward Jensen was wholly unaware of his surroundings, or so it seemed; Amos crossed the bar and slipped into the seat across from him, and though he did not make much of a fuss, he was far from silent, and he was somewhat surprised to that the man paid him no attention. His surprise passed quickly when the moment dragged on, and impatience quickly followed; Amos frowned, and coughed pointedly, tapping one finger twice on the table to catch the man’s attention.

Jensen paused over his food, looking as though he was scared even to look up. He dropped his spoon — Amos felt his mouth twitch at the unpleasant sound — and then swallowed nervously, and looked up from his plate.

“Ah.” He said, though he sounded disappointed rather than surprised. Amos gave him an odd look. “Um.”

“Um?” Amos said in return, and raised his brow. He would not like to admit it, but he had expected somewhat more of a reaction. But Jensen looked only uncomfortable, and quite unhappy, rather than the shock or defiance he was accustomed to.

“…Good morning?”

It was here that Amos found himself wholly at a loss for words; the man had been infuriatingly polite when he had met him, and then even during his escape he had not dared utter a word against him, but even Amos would never expect such a greeting from any man with an ounce of self-preservation, much less a wanted criminal.

Still, he would not let it distract him, and made a point not to return Jensen’s odd attempt at a polite smile. “It’s well past midday,” He said, and then made a grab for him across the table. He caught Jensen on the collar of his shirt; Jensen made a frightened sound, and tried to pull himself away, without much success. Amos had him held quite surely, but now he found himself with another problem: he could not apprehend Jensen from across the table without letting him go entirely. Jensen seemed to have noticed this also; he stopped struggling for a brief moment and looked at Amos with obvious worry in his expression , as though he was waiting for him to make a move. Amos cursed his own impatience, and let Jensen go, roughly shoving him against his chair.

He was after him immediately, but now Jensen had been offered a chance, and as Amos came towards him he stepped out and skirted around the other side of the table, leaving them at much the same position again. Amos scowled, Jensen gave him a helpless expression in return, but when Amos tried to make another grab for him he only stepped sideways, hastily throwing his hands up at his sides to keep them away from his reach.

Amos frowned. He found himself becoming suddenly angry; the morning had left him already quite irritated, and his frustration now only mounted upon his rising outrage.

“You witless pest,” He spat, at which Jensen made a face that was amusingly offended.

“I beg your pardon?” Jensen said, and then turned and fled across the bar when Amos made another grab for him.

The townsfolk had begun to notice their tussle at the table, in a somewhat delayed reaction, by Amos’ own standards, considering Jensen had been hopping around the table for much longer than they seemed to have realised. He could only dread to think what they had grown accustomed to, though put the thought aside, and ignored the many shouts of protest when he dove between the tables.

Jensen had, foolishly, backed himself into a corner, and was looking helplessly between the men at the nearest tables, who could only offer up a look of confusion. Amos saw his chance; he made another grab for him, but met instead with a stranger’s shoulder — the man pulled his chair in without so much as a glance in Amos’ direction, looking wholly sheepish, and doing an awful job at hiding his intents. Jensen fled for the cover of another table, Amos could not stop to voice his frustrations, likely through threats rather than his words, and was again forced to follow, though he was beginning to feel much like a cat after a mouse, if the cat had very little sleep, and the mouse was a creature with a maddening amount of dumb luck.

Jensen skipped out from his reach, pausing across the table, and they found themselves in much the same position as they had begun with.

Amos felt his jaw clench, in an attempt to compose himself. Jensen only watched, and waited.

“Edward Jensen,” Amos said, finally, forcing himself to relax. He had dealt with men such as Jensen before — though not usually in a situation such as this — and though he knew it would only build upon his outrage, he knew Jensen would not be able to resist a well-mannered greeting, and consoled himself with the thought that he might turn the tables in his favour.

Jensen watched him, curiously. “Amos?”

“Frank,” He said in return, though felt his throat itch uncomfortably. “Frank. Amos. Listen. We might find a way to talk this out.”

Giving up his name so easily to a man close to a stranger felt almost foolish enough to surrender immediately, and return to the game of cat-and-mouse across the bar. But his efforts were quickly rewarded: Jensen visibly relaxed, and levelled him with a look just short of kind. Amos could only wonder if he really was as foolish as he seemed, or if he was hiding his own intentions — perhaps they both had much the same idea.

Still he sighed, and gave a pleasant smile.

“There’s a wagon outside. Down the road, waiting for me. Us,” He said, very seriously. Jensen watched him closely. “Your bags, and their contents—I took them from your room. They’re there for you. If you…might come with me,” He felt his mouth twitch, but held his smile, as genuine as he could manage. “I’m sure I could find you someone to talk to. Get you your stuff back, sort this all out.”

“Oh, really?” Jensen said, with great relief. He was somewhat surprised at the man’s apparent kindness; he had left a lot of his clothes in that bag, and a good deal of his money also, and found himself largely considering Amos’ offer.

“No, you idiot.”

Amos could not hide his frustration any longer; he abandoned his plan, if it could be called that, and went immediately for another grab at Jensen’s coat. Jensen gaped at him and skirted away, fleeing through the door, and Amos could only curse his own impatience, for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

He was after him at once, and caught up easily, taking hold of his stupidly long coat. A moment of wild grappling, and then they went to the ground in a heap, Jensen with his face in the dirt and Amos struggling in the fall to keep a hold on him.

Jensen shrieked in horror and flailed blindly in an attempt to defend himself, which would not usually have proved at all helpful, if Amos was not entirely unprepared. He failed to dodge a flailing arm, which earned him a slap to the face, and though he tried to keep Jensen from fleeing, the man seemed wholly impossible to restrain — he wriggled out from Amos’ hold, apparently with only his rising panic to his advantage, and Amos could only hope to shield himself until he was away.

Jensen had hardly made three steps before Amos pulled his gun from his belt, and stood, pointing it surely at Jensen’s head.

“Stop!”

Jensen paused. Amos took the moment to catch his breath, and Jensen seemed to follow; his chest heaved with his every breath, and slowly, he raised his arms.

Neither dared make the first move. Amos watched the man closely, every nervous twitch of his hand, mirrored in his own finger, settled quite comfortably on the trigger of his gun. Jensen stared in open fear, at the gun as much as Amos himself, and Amos could not help but feel a quiet bloom of triumph settle in his chest.

Finally Jensen spoke, infuriatingly slow in his words;

“If I am to go with you, would you still kill me?”

Amos paused, lowered his arm. He was itching to use his gun; he rubbed his thumb against it, and tapped it loosely against his leg, as though agitated. He weighed the options in his mind, frowning at Jensen in open frustration, and finally said, in a voice that suggested he did not fully believe his own words; “...I won’t kill you.”

“Ah,” Jensen said, pleasantly. “Well, that’s perfectly splendid then.”

He offered a hand; Amos shook it, with measurable reluctance, though if Jensen noticed he did not say a word. Amos frowned, and was wholly unprepared when Jensen took his hand in a fist and struck him across the face.

Amos stumbled and groaned about the pain, while Jensen made no other move, looking as surprised as Amos felt. He cradled his face, already growing sore, and fixed the man with a look of confusion as much as shock, for a moment wholly at a loss for words.

“You punched me!”

“Right! Yes, sorry!” Jensen said, and then struck him again.

There was not such force to knock him to the floor, still Amos stumbled in his bewilderment, blotting blood from his nose. Coughing, he caught only a glimpse of motion, and then Jensen was away. He had taken the little chance he had and fled.

Dazed, Amos could only groan, taking a moment to gather himself; only as much as he would allow, and then he took up his gun and set after Jensen immediately, stumbling briefly but keeping his footing.

Jensen ran for the edge of town, feeling very much like he might collapse at any moment. By some strike of luck Amos was able to keep him in his sights, though was nearly tripping in the dirt and narrowly avoided falling over himself entirely. Jensen should not have been so hard to catch, which was ever clearer now that Amos could see him running; he looked as though he might stumble at any moment, and he spent much of his time looking over his shoulder. But Amos was not far behind now, Jensen must have noticed; he flung himself around a corner, into a back street, which led nowhere, but the farthest edge of town.

Amos recognised the turn of the street, and realised he meant to make for the train station. The prospect served to spur him on — if Jensen reached his train, there would be little hope of catching up before he managed to disappear entirely, and less still of ever finding him again. But his fears were quickly realised; he turned the corner, and caught the station in his sights, with the train sitting idle, ready to gather itself and set out over the tracks.

A whistle sounded; the train moved off. Jensen reached the platform and nearly tripped up the stairs in panic, leaving Amos to follow while the train seemed about to leave at any moment. His legs were aching, as was his injury, but he had the man in his sights; Jensen called for the train to hold, reaching for the carriages, and abruptly Amos was there, pulling him to the floor.

They thumped heavily to the platform, and rolled about on the ground, battering at each other awkwardly. Amos had a hold on Jensen’s arm, though Jensen scrambled and made himself infuriatingly hard to keep a hold of. The train had long passed the platform, there was no hope of catching it, still Jensen fought until he was free and ran to the edge, clutching one of the wooden posts that held the roof, as though he might collapse at any moment.

Amos paused in chasing him, now suddenly offered the moment to rest. He lay flat on his back and panted, not caring for Jensen more than the ache in his limbs, and the pain at his face. He groaned, and sat up, preparing to set off in pursuit again, though caught himself only stopped to watch Jensen, still and leaning at the post, watching the train retreat over the horizon.

Amos watched him for the moment; he felt an odd sort of pity at the man’s sorry frame, hunched over himself, looking as though he were as tired as Amos felt himself, and perhaps more. He frowned, and went to stand, but the motion only served to free Jensen from his own thoughts; he turned to Amos with a helpless expression.

“Oh, lord, you’re bleeding,” He said, sounding a little uncertain.

Amos blinked and looked down at himself; he had not even noticed that his shirt was spattered with flecks of his blood. He ran a hand over his face, which did nothing much but wipe blood onto his fingers. He looked up at Jensen; the man was watching him carefully, as though he might pounce on him at any moment. “Yes,” He said, “You punched me.”

Jensen nodded; he looked suddenly guilty. “Yes. I did,” He said. “I’m terribly sorry,” He added.

Amos fixed him with a narrow-eyed look, but found he could not in the moment bring himself to insult the man. Now that it had been brought to mind, the sensation of dust and blood was unpleasant upon his skin; he turned from Jensen and set instead to wiping at his face with his sleeves, though kept a sharp eye in case he tried to make a move.

But Jensen did nothing but watch, very quietly, apparently having given up on the idea of escape entirely.

“I suppose that’ll be it, for me?” He said at last, “End of the line.”

Amos looked over at him. Jensen made an odd sort of motion, as though startled; Amos was suddenly aware that he must have been presenting a rather horrible picture to the world — he was not wholly sure his face had entirely been cleaned of blood, and the ends of his sleeves were beginning to look similarly unpleasant. But Jensen did not seem afraid as much as sad; Amos gave him a curious look.

“You killed a man.”

Jensen blinked, looking suddenly pitiful. “No, I promise you. I didn’t,”

Here Amos paused. “You did,” He said slowly, brow furrowing. To be told such a thing was not strange, many men before had tried the same trick, and though Jensen looked truly miserable, and far from smart enough to try such a foolish trick, Amos would not let himself be swayed. “You shot him.”

“No, no, I would never!” Jensen said, sounding truly upset. “He was a good fellow. A very good man, a wonderful man. I would never,” He added.

For a brief moment, there was an odd expression in his face; Amos noted the shine in his eyes, and the strain on his lips, as though he was holding himself carefully, else he might collapse.

But there was little time to dwell on it; in that moment, the tracks sounded with a low, steady rumble, and another train came fast approaching, with seemingly no apparent intent to stop. Amos turned, and marked the hopeful look of Jensen’s expression.

“Don’t,” He said, low and sharp. He was only half the way up from the floor, and held himself in a crouch, though his legs ached the moment he made a move. “Not a move, not at all.”

But Jensen had found his chance; the train pulled to the station and pressed on, and he was away before Amos could take hold of him, chasing for the train as though his very life depended on it.

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#ket writes #their silly little interactions are always fun to write #pausing in the middle of beating the shit out of each other just to chat #fools #oc: amos #oc: jensen #cowboy oc #oc tag

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