#and I wasn’t sure if that was even a sin because it was so unintentional (we all in the bridal party did the same thing)

[countess-of-edessa]

yesss finally went to confession today and stayed after for mass and received the Eucharist for the first time since august. just as i was going up to receive i got a horrible stabbing pain in my eye and was like Don’t Even Try It The Devil

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

uhhh I kinda went crazy with this. might edit it for ao3 in the morrow bc I love it that much. the allium duo joint exile fic

tw: abuse, kidnapping, injuries, suicidal ideation, self hate, manipulation, brainwashing, vomiting, ableism (either unintentional or solely as a manipulation tool), mutilation, starvation, possessive behaviour, obsession, threats

it's raining, when they’re exiled.

ranboo has his suit jacket pulled over his head and when droplets slip through to the tips of his claws he hisses and jitters. sometimes, it looks like he'll almost disappear and reappear, like the endermen he so resembled, but instead he falls to the ground with a pained screech, the calves of his feet burning on impact with the sodden ground where his skirt isn’t long enough to protect.

still gripping painfully onto tommy's arm, dream slowly walks back to where he fell, and hits him with the butt of his axe. the screech of pain is distorted, almost otherworldly, and it’d be terrifying if it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“get up,” he hisses. “or i'll fucking kill you, and then-“

dream doesn’t have to finish his sentence. shakingly, ranboo gets onto their talons, wincing as they try and match the brutal pace dream immediately sets back on.

(he'd tried to save ranboo. he really had. he'd said it was all him, he lied, but ranboo had confessed, trying to get him out of this mess, and now he was in it too.)

(tommy wants to be sick.)

he’s not quite sure when and why things happen. they’re on a boat at one point, cramped and barely afloat. water sinks in and burns the bottom of ranboo's feet. there’s shouting after that. an explosion. a beach. tommy drags a shaking ranboo under a tree to keep the rain from falling on him. more shouting. more explosions. pain.  blood on his collarbone. pain pain pain. blurring vision.

tommy drags himself under the tree and curls up next to ranboo and hopes he'll fucking bleed to death.

——

it rains far too much in logstedshire.

that is what tommy names it, the logs tell him too. they send their messages from the primes. maybe, if he listens, they'll accept him despite his sins.

he doubts it. he doesn’t deserve it.

he dug a den on the first day, for ranboo to hide under, but even the dirt under there grew too damp and after tending to burns all across his face, he'd spent what energy he had left with the aching scars and bruises and gnawing hunger in his gut to hang up a tent. it's only big enough for one of them, but that's okay. tommy doesn’t mind sleeping on the beach.

(it allows him to pretend maybe the tides will come in and he won’t wake up at all).

he pinches himself. dream wouldn’t like him having those thoughts.

honestly, tommy isn't sure what dream likes. it’s not like he and ranboo were stupid enough to break the rules- they’d learnt that painfully over the first week. it just seems like dream always favours the one of them, and who that was switched on a dime. one day, he'd bring ranboo chocolate (watching him like a hawk to prevent him giving any of it to tommy) and hit tommy for daring to look at him. another, he'd spend all day hanging out with tommy and shout at ranboo until he cried when he so much as said a word.

it was easy to resent ranboo, sometimes. when he got hugs and gifts and food and got to spend the day playing around instead of being forced to mine. but tommy remembers the times where dream extended that kindness to him and remembered how awful it made him feel when ranboo was being treated like shit. it was almost worse.

he just tries harder to be good. if he's good maybe he'll be able to get dream to stop. if dream likes them both maybe everything would be okay.

it never is.

——

when ranboo shows tommy his memory book for the first time, he really is sick.

which is annoying, because he'd only had scraps ranboo had hidden today, but fuck. it was bad.

tommy could recognise dream's handwriting from a mile away. even if he couldn’t, the pages blatantly ripped out would give the game away, along with what was in the book.

“my name is ranboo,” the first line read. “my home is logstedshire. my best friend dream keeps me and my friend tommy safe here. l'manberg kicked us out so dream is helping. if we follow dream's rules to protect us everything will be okay…”

ranboo rubs tommy's back, as gently as they can. “are you okay? are you sick? i'll ask dream for a potion.”

tommy shakes his head weakly. “no, it's…”

he can’t fucking break this spell for ranboo, though. his throat dries up when he tries. ranboo was always the happier of the two, excited in a way that was almost funny in each passing day. it was like ranboo had become the loud, excitable one and tommy had grown quieter and more distant.

and this was why. he didn’t have a fucking clue what was wrong, did he? he's happy because he thinks this is safe, thinks this is normal. and maybe it's selfish of tommy but prime he wishes he could live in that fantasy land where he doesn’t know it’s not normal for your best friend to hit you and starve you and never explain why. at least one of them should get to live that life.

“nowt. just hungry.”

ranboo furrows his brow in concern. “i'll be good today, then.”

tommy feels sicker at that. dream had started switching from his weird hot and cold game to being… nice. usually. it was weird, at first, but it was alright. dream was a good friend, even if he wasn’t as cool as ranboo. but the thing was, it was even worse when they actually fucked up.

they wouldn’t be hurt at all. dream wouldn’t change a thing with them. it was always the other who bore the full weight. no food, no privileges, any sort of thing they’d earned the right to keep taken away. if it was more serious, then they’d be hit, or shouted at, and dream still sometimes used the axe. they’d be abandoned to tend to themselves and do the tedious work of survival while the one who actually fucked up would have the guilt eat up at them as dream chatted like everything was normal.

ranboo forgot to make armour to destroy yesterday. a grievous enough sin, apparently, that now tommy's still smarting bruises.

he's not stupid. he knows that isn’t right. he likes dream, it’s better to have him as a friend than a jail or and he was pretty sure he was trying to help, but what dream does to them isn't okay.

but ranboo doesn’t need fo be burdened by that knowledge. they, at least, deserve happiness, even if it is fake.

——

ranboo moans in pain as tommy finishes up bandaging the stumps where his tails once lay.

he can still smell the enchantment on dream's axe, hanging in the air like pollen. it almost drowns out the stench of blood and the ash of the ruins around them. he’s not sure which is worse.

it’s all tommy's fault. it has to be. he tried to pretend like he could own things, and he knew ranboo would bear the brunt of that punishment. dream had just done what he always had done.

“it's okay, big man, it’s okay,” tommy tries to soothe, running fingers through the overgrown mop of hair that almost reached down to ranboo's waist. he just flinches more.

tommy just screwed everything up, didn’t he?

a week. that was what dream had said. he'd visit in a week, to watch them. until then, it was all tommy's responsibility to take care of ranboo, and he wasn’t sure he could. there was just so much blood.

he shudders, thinking about what dream will do to him if ranboo dies on them. being without his best friend was bad enough, but dream could make anything worse.

tommy sobs, trying to keep the tears from landing on ranboo's already scarred and tattered skin the best he can. he fails, and the faint smell of burning flesh joins the horrible mix and ranboo lets out another faint moan.

if dream could see him now. he'd always been there to watch over them, and what if when he came back to watch, there was only one of them left?

“well, watch me now,” tommy mumbles to the air. he was meant to be there to watch them.

watch them. watch them. that sits wrong. he's meant to be their friend, right?

“you were only here to watch us.”

tommy mouths it more than speaking it, but it feels like a proclamation. he was only there to watch them. just watch. he wasn’t their friend. he didn’t care about making them better. what he cares about is watching them.

and then what? would he even care if ranboo died?

would he kill him himself?

“ranboo.” tommy hisses. “can you stand?”

“tommy?” ranboo slurs, eyes half open.

“ranboo! fuckin'- this is important, okay?”

“i- i think so-“

“okay, then this is what you’re going to do, big man. there’s a cabin through the snow that way.” tommy points vaguely in the direction of techno's place. “there’s more bandages there than i have. i want you to run there, as fast as you can, and not look back.”

“but-“

“i don’t know how to do this,” tommy admits. “i've dealt with shit before but never like this. if you have those supplies you'll at least have a chance of surviving. now go, before you die.”

“but dream-“

tommy's throat constricts. “i'll explain. he'll understand. he's our friend, right?”

ranboo nods, before stumbling up to his feet, limping across the ruins towards the vague direction of the tundra. tommy whispers a silent prayer to the primes that he’ll make it. that at least one of them will survive.

ranboo deserves it more than him, at least.

——

dream, unfortunately, did not kill tommy. if only he’d be that merciful.

he pretends it’s mercy. he pretends to be concerned and he treats tommy with condescending kindness until he doesn’t. then, tommy sometimes swears he does die, but when he's better dream is even more smothering and the cycle continues.

he’s not stupid. tommy knows why he does it. he wanted two pawns, and if he lost one he'd do anything to keep the other. nothing personal.

it's easier to see it like that, at least. it's hard, sometimes. but it's easier.

dream does not call the room he’s in a cell, but it is. it’s in a prison, and he's locked in most of the day. the baby-blue wallpaper and fuzzy carpet he'd installed hadn’t changed that, nor had swapping out the sparse furniture for a million blankets and decor more suitable for someone half tommy's age. he almost misses the dark obsidian and lava- at least that didn’t treat him like a child.

because even if sixteen was a child- he could admit to that now, because ranboo was certainly just a child- what tommy had gone through had undoubtedly aged him out of that.

they train, sometimes. on days where dream doesn’t panic when tommy has so much as a paper cut, or on days when he's not beating tommy's head into the wall. sometimes, tommy helps repair dream's endless supply of cloaks. sometimes, he cleans blood off of dream's weapons and tries not to think about how it got there.

(sometimes it’s his, and that’s easier.)

dream, in almost paternal tones, calls tommy his protege. under his breath, tommy calls himself a glorified servant.

every day, his thoughts drift to ranboo. his kind smile, the scars that ran jagged lines over his entire body, how absurd he looked in his half-ripped suit and tiara, trying to keep his hair in an orderly braid and failing miserably. dream would help sometimes, if it was a good day. dream insists on braiding tommy's hair the same way now, and tommy almost wonders if he misses him too before he reminds himself that dream does not care for either of them at all, because the alternative is worse.

(either way, it’s clear tommy would be the favourite. dream says as much, saying how thankful he is that tommy is the one that stayed because he was far more fun and ranboo was boring. tommy reminds himself it’s a lie and it makes him feel less sick.)

maybe ranboo is dead. part of him hopes he is. that way, he was free. the primes would surely guide his way, and he'd be granted the happiness he deserved. fuck, even if they didn’t, there couldn’t be anything worse than this.

could there?

——

tommy doesn’t know how long he spends in the prison before dream decides to take him out on his “first mission.”

which is a meeting. of fucking course it is. because tommy’s mission has always to be a glorified page, hasn’t it.

tommy skims his fingers over the waters edge absently as dream rows. maybe they’re leaving the server. maybe if they didn’t tommy could make his own escape. if he sank to the bottom it’d be deep enough no one could save him in time, if he were to jump. and if dream didn't constantly shift from looking at the ocean to tommy, clearly aware of the same possibility.

dream always got so fucking mad if he tried to die and failed, so it was best to make sure that the opportunity wouldn’t fail.

they stop too quickly to have gone far. idly, tommy wonders how far they must be from-

logstedshire.

the ruins lie there, same as always. tommy hadn’t noticed how bloodstained those ruins are until now, red and green.

the skeletal remains of two tails still lay on the floor, undisrupted.

“what the fuck.” tommy says under his breath. “what the fuck.”

“aww, didn’t you like the surprise?” dream laughs, and tommy immediately prepares for the worst. “chill out, i'm kidding. you act like i'm gonna kill you. we're obviously not here for this, we're going to see techno.”

tommy feels an equal amount of hope and fear bloom in his chest at that. techno's cabin was this way. and if it was, then maybe…

suddenly determined, tommy walks as quickly as he can, trying to match dream's confident strides even with the limp in his leg. he can barely feel the humid awfulness of logstedshire shift into the equally awful ice of the tundra, all caught up in his thoughts.

maybe there would be a grave. or maybe ranboo would open the door, or he'd be in the cabin, because surely techno would take him in. he'd be wearing a cleaner suit, and he'd have cut his hair back to shoulder length. they liked it long, actually, so maybe they’d keep it. they’d be smiling, like always, and they’d greet him with a hug. “tommy, it’s been so long!” they’d say. and, he hoped, they’d add “i realised dream was a fucking bitch” and tell techno to punch his lights out.

or maybe there would be no hints at what happened. but tommy can hope, even if he really shouldn’t.

when they get to the house, techno's already standing outside, waiting. “i dunno why you had'ta keep me waitin’ this-“ he says, cutting himself off once his eyes drift to- “tommy?”

“i told you it was important, right?” dream laughs.

“he's dead.”

“prime, no. he's… he wasn’t well, y’know. not in that place. so i found somewhere better for him, and started helping when i couldn’t before.” dream shrugs. “of course, that’d be illegal even though it was the right thing to do, so i kept it quiet. don’t go telling l’manberg, though, or they’ll have my head for not killing him myself or something.”

liar. liar liar liar. tommy wants to scream the truth to the world, but dream wraps his arm around his shoulders tight and squeezes his bruises, a reminder to stay quiet and be good. so he nods.

techno growls. “i knew they were bad, but…”

“it’s okay. i just thought maybe tommy needed a change of scenery, y’know? he's… he's fragile, after everything. he’s not well, y’know, physically or mentally. so he might say some weird stuff, but i knew you'd be able to handle that.”

techno snorted. “yeah, i got my hands full with ranboo-“

“ranboo? ranboo's here?”

he was alive. he is alive. tommy feels more sick than he ever has in his life and he’s not sure if it’s from excitement or fear.

“oh yeah, you two were in exile together, weren’t you? c'mon, he's in the livin-“

tommy pushes himself free of dream's grasp, excited to finally see his friend, practically his brother, again for the first time in- months, maybe. he could never even be sure. time felt like it dragged too long to tell.

bursting through the door, tommy sees them. he won’t miss them for the world. their hair's different, in a ponytail, and they're dressed in much more casual clothes than they’d normally be caught dead in, but he could recognise that face anywhere.

“ranboo!” tommy scoops ranboo into a warm hug, barely noticing how they remain limp. “oh, prime, i missed you so much-“

“do i know you?” ranboo squeaks, and tommy's heart breaks.

“ranboo, it’s me! we were in exile together, remember-“

“i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. but i- i don’t remember a thing.”

oh. of fucking course. because he didn’t have the memory book, he must have forgotten everything by the time he’d healed enough to really be cognisant again. tommy scans his face for the slightest hint of recognition, but there’s none.

tommy must be a fucking bitch, because he bursts into tears then and there.

“i'm sorry! i'm sorry!” ranboo cries out, desperately trying to find a way to salvage the situation, and tommy keeps sobbing. and sobbing, and sobbing. the floor falls underneath him, and he curls up, shaking, like a fucking pussy.

he didn’t even cry this hard when dream was at his worst. but the idea of ranboo not knowing who he was, his only friend, the only person who ever cared for him no longer being able to… it was stupid, but that must be his breaking point, he guesses. like a fucking idiot, that makes him cry harder.

“i'm so so sorry about this,” tommy vaguely hears dream say, “he's not mentally well, is there a spare room i can help him calm down in?”

“yeah, there’s one upstairs.”

tommy barely registers as he's lifted up like a child, carried away from ranboo, but he does when he hears dream whisper harshly in his ear.

“tommy, if you fuck this up i'm never letting you out again. ever. smile and play nice and act like l'manberg ruined your life, or you'll wish i'd let you die.”

tommy nods, still sobbing.

“and dry your eyes. you’re making me look bad. stop acting like an abused puppy, i practically spoil you.”

tommy tries to stop, but the tears refuse to stop, even as he tries to dry them with his hands desperately. dream's voice softens as he ruffles tommy's hair affectionately. “look, i know it’s tough, but this is for you and ranboo, y’know? if i'm able to make things right, you can be friends again. i'll make sure he remembers you, tommy. i know how to fix it, just let me, okay?”

tommy nods, finally managing to go from hysterical tears to a more reasonable level of crying.

“that’s good enough. just smile and pretend everything’s fine, okay? i'll even let you listen to your discs for a while when we get home if you’re good. and remember it’s for ranboo too.”

it hurts tommy's face to force a grin, hurts his heart to try and think of how to pretend to play along with dream's story and throw his home under the bus. but tommy isn’t stupid. he doesn’t believe dream’s bullshit, but he knows what he’s implying. behave and ranboo won’t get hurt.

that, at least, is a comfortingly familiar game to play.

[edeliexii]

voglia di viaggiare | a self para ∞

PART I.

holy matrimony —- nupitals. the tenderness of it all evokes numbness, blinded by the occurrence looming to take place. chocolate strands of hair curled against the crevices of her neckline and heels clunked against the laminated floor, adapting herself to the immersive culture of supernatural species. she momentarily visualizes herself committed in a white gown though only foolishly, blinded by a ferocious feeling of unrequited love which deprived her of sensation. nonetheless, the brunette poured herself into the affection dazzling the air, cherishing the union of two vampires all while pouring herself into the traditions of eladrins. from the queen to the winter chancellor, two women èdelie desired to be, she partly felt at home... but still longed for something more internally. 

upon the soirée, cabernet sauvignon turned to pinot noir, and pinot noir turned to sangiovese. the fey flourished by the incoherent thinking stemming by the intoxicants ingested, muddling her mind, finding comfort by gallivanting in the figment of her imagination. she soon began convincing herself of past ideologies during her time as a halfblood, mirroring the foolishness she previously thought when she was also dubbed a human because of the falsehood spread by her parents. immortality is a sin, and there’d be no more of èdelie as long as she trails the diabolical behavior of all things eladrin. that is what induces painfully, distorting her perspective of potential as a fey.

pangs of conscience made her feel regretful, attempting to compel herself on returning to life as a mortal and the lack of trails she’d deal with had it not been for the damned prize months prior. thus èdelie wandered....

               and wandered, 

and wandered for minutes at end, running after her mouth  —-  running after her soul, and hunting desperately for the an alternate heavenly body. 

PART II.

èdelie’s an abysmal fey, or so she tells herself. if it wasn’t for absolute greed, she’d be nothing more than a mutt, she’s sure of this, though part of this doctrine is from the dozens of wine consumed. deplorable and filled with selfish desires, she behaves according to what the skewed thoughts in her head wired her to do even if it meant hurting herself physically and emotionally. after all, there’s nothing more heinous than a plastered drunk. she lacks originality... she sought too much for authority, she has no home; she has no one, isolating herself into the horrid images curating inside her head.

--------- 

one mistake became too many with the first being droplets of blood soaking the table cloth of where she sat, apologizing to the winter chancellor and guests for her outlandish behavior. it derives from her fixation to do it all, generating frustration, prompting her enhanced strength to create the smallest split of her glass beverage, wounding èdelie in the process. she’d not know what’s to come, challenged by emotional difficulties because of her inability to do anything right. like a child waiting to be coddled, the reassurance gifted by one of the most profound leaders of her community only eased èdelie temporarily, triggering anger at the newfound information of a lycan bite capable of decapitating her when handed a protective circlet.

guilt flooded the winter fey almost immediately. cue another alcohol beverage cradled in her hand, devouring the booze one by one; a toxic reflection of èdelie’s effort to keep her head above water despite the surface wanting to bring her down. 

stillness, however, lingered in the air... and something so unintentional happened so fast. as socialization is one of the primary tasks of the evening, she thought nothing of voluntarily making her presence known through rounds of conversations with different species. it’s the recollection of a familiar face that specifically wired her to engage in discourse without realizing the change in atmosphere. darkness floored the room and a sheer reminder of not bleeding the same as others crept through. unfortunately, she failed to not lose sight of this fact before incisors pierced her flesh. 

PART III.

to feed is, at times, is the means to kill, and is also the means to survive. she couldn’t dare move to resist the aching pain of her soul mangled into a vampires own. she couldn’t dare reach forth for her closest confidants to rescue her without fear of them potentially experiencing harm. emma, micah, farenduil, aurora, dion —- even eric, èdelie’s body ached for them in more ways than imaginable, yet she’s soon consumed by an influx of vampires. 

unable to fend for herself, she swallowed her frantic cries. 

formerly a feathery ice crystal, she perished under the toppling of several vampires, overwhelmed by the lack of feeling within the tip of her toes. 

she’s desensitized. her vision blurs. particles of sweat trickles from the perimeter of her forehead. tears stream down her cheeks. in a short time, èdelie’s at peace.

it goes without stating that the fragility of èdelie expected death to await her. from the violent threats exchanged between herself and her former lover to the damned acceptance by feys for abandoning halfbloods, èdelie sought no way out other than to burn in the pits of hell as punishment for her wrongdoings. 

numbness is now acceptance. 

she sought no other course of action than for her head to be at the forefront of a silver platter. she embodies deception and stupidity, it serves her right. even when freed by the actions of the winter chancellor, convulsive movements happen, inhaling the rich scent of her blood which now coated the entirety of her caramel colored dress worn to the wedding.

 the grand wedding. the red wedding.

PART IV. blended into the fibers of the ground, there’s no concrete plan on the next steps. her mind went blank, laying in a puddle of silence. magic temporarily ceased, vampires fed erratically, and after a while, the brunette assumed she wasn’t meant to be found by any of her confidents. èdelie’s spiritedness dwindled as the minutes passed, incapable of longing for the best. what she does know, or automatically assumed, is that the overall construction of eladrins would be no more. it’s impossible, anathematized after all that’s transpired. 

many have tried to make feys powerless and vampires were capable of conquering that throughout the duration of the evening; èdelie happens to be a prime example of just that.

incoherent, an accustomed odor filled her nostrils, moaning at the delicacy of familiar hands holding her weight. she knew all too well of who stood before her, though fearful of what lies ahead. slender digits could weakly attempt to grab a fist full of their hair, inaudibly crying, “waar was je!”, but she’s hardly heard as her cocoa-colored hues rolled back.

—- her liefde, her maan en de sterren, her nachtmerrie.  

and as much she she fought to maintain the indignation held against them, all of it slipped when the vulnerability extended to their flesh and bones. it’s frightening how transferable their exchange of energy is. 

she yearned nothing more than to lie in the comfort of their skin, embarrassed by wave of sorrow spilling into them, though it comes to a halt when the tiredness from her lack of vitality soon fades everything to an absence of light.

[thebreakfastgenie]

I mean... I don't usually put a footnote on every post I make saying (I am trans) any more than you footnote your posts saying (I am a cis feminist lesbian) or... any other identifier? I don't personally think it's really okay to jump in and cissplain transphobia just because no one announced they were trans. It would also be weird to mansplain feminism even if no one said (I am a woman) in their post. I think you also know full well that I did not mix you up with someone else since you went on to explain the context of how and why you did it. And just on a related note... if identifying transphobia in the feminist movement is so important to you, then why have you been going to such lengths to soften the blow of the impact transphobia within feminism has? Continually pointing out that it's bad but that it's not AS bad as other things. Saying that while it's bad, it comes from a place of "hate the sin, not the sinner". Making sure we know some TERFs don't even hate trans men, just misgender and bully them out of "love"? And don't fret - it could be worse! At least the people bullying you don't have societal power. This isn't meaningfully addressing transphobia in the movement. It's minimizing it.

Most of what you are saying isn't wrong. It is important to remember the power of right wing politicians. But also, TERFs suck, and sometimes they have a meaningful effect on our lives too.

Okay, yes, I’ll cop to being sarcastic with the “you must be mixing me up with someone else” thing, but can you blame me after this many asks?

I’m answering this one because it’s very important to me that it’s clear to anyone who may be reading this that I was not minimizing TERFs or saying it’s “not that bad.”

I may have erred in using “hate the sin love the sinner” as a shorthand. I assumed it was widely understood that that rhetoric was bullshit. It is hate, but it’s a condescending type of hate that claims to be for the victim’s benefit. A lot of trans people smarter than me have written about the way some TERFs talk about trans men vs trans women. That’s what I was referring to. I wasn’t saying they were truly acting out of love, and I’m sorry if my choice of idiom suggested that.

It was not my intention to minimize the impact of TERFs by discussing their relative lack of institutional power in the United States. I think that’s interesting and worth discussing. You can argue that bigots with institutional power aren’t necessarily worse, but they are different. The distinction matters to me.

I don’t expect people to identity themselves as trans in every post. But that also means the OP can’t expect that I will treat this as a situation where I would be cissplaining by responding to the post. And when OP responded to me they did not say I had done so. If someone wants to cite their lives experience in a discussion then at that point they do need to disclose the relevant identity, but that wasn’t happening here.

The original post was primarily about feminism, not transphobia. I brought transphobia up because the commenter I was responding to mentioned TERFs but didn’t mention transphobia, instead calling TERFs misogynists and patriarchs. My original point was that I think it’s better to call TERFs transmisogynists or transphobes rather than misogynists, even if they do harm women, because I think it’s important to highlight that what defines them as a group is their hatred of trans people. Focusing on TERFs harming cis women in my opinion carries the (probably unintentional) implication that their rhetoric isn’t bad enough if it doesn’t affect cis people. I probably would have let it go if that post hadn’t also called them patriarchs, but that pushed me over the edge.

I simply did not at any point come onto a trans person’s post and cissplain anything. Most of the discussions about transphobia have been on my own posts because I’ve been getting anons like this.

TERFs are bad. I believe that bigotry can be more effectively combated if we understand the nature of it so it’s important to me that we hate TERFs accurately.

[arcanadreams]

That time you and your demon boyfriend went viral

hi yes hello obey me fandom!! my name is Gabbi and i have never played a single second of the actual game but i have read enough fanon content for the past year to have this idea swimming around in my head and now i am finally letting this accursed thing out of my brain and putting it in yours

also i’m only doing the brothers because any more than that and i’d have an aneurysm probably. oh and shoutout to @obeythebutler and @beels-burger-babe for inspiring me with their works to feel brave enough to write for this fandom

Lucifer:

You and Lucifer go viral on Asmo’s Devilgram story!

You’re in the kitchen helping Asmo with dinner duty and singing along to one of your playlists of human realm music that you like to show him.

Asmo starts filming your cute little dance while you stir the pot on the stove because you are just adorable!

About ten seconds into him filming, Lucifer appears in the doorway with quite the stern look on his face. You know, the one that comes right before a “MAMMOOOOOON” and strikes fear into the heart of all those with functioning eardrums. That one.

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell y’all to shut the fuck up, but then there’s a lull in the music and the eldest can hear your voice ever so slightly above the song’s vocalist and he freezes.

Man stops in his tracks like someone just smacked him in the face with a midair volleyball.

Asmo can be heard stifling a laugh behind his phone.

Lucifer’s face gets so soft and he almost, almost, loosens his metal-rod-through-the-ass posture before you notice him and give a little wave and ask if you and Asmo were being too loud like the considerate darling you are.

Lucifer clears and his throat and says something like, “No, you aren’t. I was just coming to check on how dinner is coming along,” and leaves, after which Asmo immediately presses the post button.

Screenshots of Lucifer’s heart eyes for you go absolutely viral because every demon on Devilgram goes absolutely feral for seeing the eldest demon brother lose his dignified composure. It becomes a meme template. “Get you someone who looks at you like Lucifer looks at MC” and “me at the delivery demon when he shows up with my spicy bat wings” posts become commonplace. (Asmo thinks the memes are totally worth getting strung up with Mammon for laughing at them.)

Mammon:

Much like Lucifer, you and Mammon end up going viral off Asmo’s Devilgram. (Noticing a pattern here?) 

He pulls a silly prank on your asses and honestly I don’t know how you fell for it. But hey, they say “idiots in love” for a reason, so...

You and Asmo are sitting in the common room of the House of Lamentation just chillin. Well, he’s chillin, you’re on the floor studying for an upcoming exam.

The video starts in the middle of a conversation you and the avatar of lust were having.

“No, Asmo,” you say. “Mammon and I don’t use pet names for each other.” Now that’s just a darn lie, and every demon and crow within ten miles of Mammon and you together knows it.

“Really? I find that very hard to believe, MC.~” 

You sigh in response to Asmo’s teasing. “Okay, he has a lot for me but I’m just not much of a pet name person, y’know?” The rest of the exchange goes like this:

“Oh, I totally get it.” *pause* “Hey MC, what do human world bees make again?”

“Honey.”

Cue a sheepish Mammon sticking his head in the doorway at the bluntness of your tone when you answered Asmo.

“Yeah, babe?” he looks like a puppy left on the side of a highway oh my god hUG HIM-

Asmo turns the camera back to his smug ass face and in the background you can be heard tripping on the damn carpet trying to get up and hug your mans. (”MAMMON GET OVER HERE SO I CAN HUG YOU” “W-WHAT? I THOUGHT YA WERE MAD AT ME?!?!?!?!”)

Leviathan:

Streamer Levi? Streamer Levi.

You guys go viral the first time you make an appearance on one of Levi’s weekly (insert cool Devildom streaming service name here) streams. 

It’s completely unintentional. You had been asking him for weeks to play with him on there, but he’s the avatar of envy after all. He doesn’t like sharing his partner, even if it’s with random strangers who have no real access to you.

However, he has his stream on a Thursday instead of a Friday one week, and you come into his room carrying dinner because 1) You didn’t realize he was streaming and 2) No matter what he was doing, the boy needed to eat. It wasn’t unusual for you to bring him dinner, so you had no idea why he was blushing and stammering even more than usual this time in particular. Boy was speaking in beached whale trying to tell you what was wrong.

Then you notice his screen. Oh! “Hi chat!” You wave, setting Levi’s food down on his desk in front of his keyboard. “M-MC!” He full-on whines, slamming a hand over his mouth afterwards when he remembers his viewers could hear that.

Honestly, they’d meme the fuck out of him if it weren’t for the fact that they are FINALLY SEEING HIS HENRY!!! THE MYSTERIOUS MC!!!

Chat is bombarding you with questions while you make Levi eat dinner. And by make him eat dinner, I mean literally feeding this man forkfuls/spoonfuls while he games because you love how flustered he gets when you do that. 

Does it impact his score? Absolutely. Does he care? Not really when you’re pampering him like that.

You start answering chat’s questions about you while he’s chewing so he can’t tell you to stop LMAO-

You’re a natural on stream. The VOD becomes the most popular on Levi’s account in a matter of hours and soon cute highlights compilations of you and him on that stream start making the rounds on Devildom Twitter.

Satan:

There was buildup to Satan going viral, similar to Levi in a way. 

Satan does have a Devilgram, but it’s basically a white woman’s Instagram with added book reviews for variety. Unless you’re a reader his account is pretty boring: candles, books, fireplaces, and cats.

However, after you two started reading together fairly often he began posting pictures of your legs draped over his while you sat together. They’d always be captioned with vague ass pretentious literary criticism. 

This goes on for months, and he gains a lot of (horny) followers after the leg pics start up. He doesn’t really get why but you both joke that it’s because you have some damn nice legs and I mean neither of you are complaining about the new following.

You two go viral when he finally shows your face, entirely by accident.

The post is a video, which is already strange for him and grabs attention. In it, you’re scoffing and reading an excerpt of a book, mocking its understanding of female anatomy.

“I’m quoting here, Satan: ‘her breasts bouncing around like giant pacmen.’ I’M SORRY?? THAT ISN’T HOW BOOBS WORK SIR. WHY ARE MEN ALLOWED TO WRITE?” 

(fun fact that is a very real quote from a very real book I really read last month pls save me)

Originally the camera is focused on your body, with your head out of frame to protect your privacy, but your righteous anger made Satan laugh. Like, a real laugh. The one that makes you and everyone in earshot wonder if he truly was never an angel cause he sure as hell laughs like one but anyway-

When he threw his head back, his DDD angled up just a tad without him noticing, and your face was in view for like .2 seconds. Screenshots of it are making the rounds on Devilgram almost immediately: FINALLY THE LEGS’ OWNER HAS BEEN FOUND.

Satan apologizes profusely but you honestly find it funny and you two opt to just start taking selfies while reading with both of your faces in them from now on. 

Asmodeus:

I’m gonna be real with you: you and Asmo go viral all the time. Pretty much everything Asmo posts can be considered viral because of his social media following and his status as one of the seven avatars of sin.

However, there are some fairly cute highlights to be pointed out among the times you were both featured in a post that blew up.

Your favorite is probably that time Asmo livestreamed on of you guys’ ‘Nail Nites,’ as you call them.

You’re both on the floor, doing your nails and kicking your feet back and forth while talking to chat. A lot of the questions are about your relationship, and there’s a lot of flirting back and forth between the two of you.

A particular clip of the stream does blow the fuck up on Devilgram, though, when someone screen records it and posts it with a bunch of heart emojis edited over it.

“’What colors do you think best describe each other?’ Ooo, that’s a good one, chat!” Asmo claps his hands together excitedly, making sure to be  careful of his nails.

Pretty much everyone expected you to say pink, but you surprised both your boyfriend and your viewers when, after a pensive few moments, you replied with “Hmm...probably yellow or orange.”

“Can I ask why, darling?” Asmo tilts his head in confusion. I mean, yeah, those colors look good on him, but he doesn’t wear them often so he’s wondering about your thought process. 

“Well, in the human world those colors often represent happiness, optimism, and positivity. You’re always the cheerful presence I need in my life when things get hard, so you have the vibe of those colors.”

Asmo proceeds to burst into tears and hug you, messing up both of your nails and prolonging the stream since you both have to start over. But neither of you particularly care. 

Fun fact: Asmo has the clip that demon made of that portion of the stream saved on his DDD and watches it whenever he feels sad.

Beelzebub:

Beel and you probably go the most viral out of everybody. Like this moment is an entire phenomenon across the Devildom internet. 

It’s a video, or well, multiple videos, taken at the end of a Fangol game that Beel’s team had just won. Everyone is cheering and going crazy, yourself included, and you just really wanted to congratulate your boyfriend.

So, like the rational person you are, you elect to climb up onto the railing of the bleachers and wave to get his attention. 

You were absolutely fine up there, and sat all comfortably motioning Beel over to you. He notices, of course, and jogs over, standing right beneath you and looking up. (Back where you were sitting, Mammon is screeching like a hyena in heat and Belphie, who is laying down, has one eye open to glare at him. The youngest knows Beel would never let you hurt yourself; you’re fine.)

A bunch of assorted demons at the game has started filming while you were sat atop the railing since you were rather noticeable. Therefore, there’s a shit ton of different angles of the adorable events that follow:

You slide off the railing, landing right in Beel’s waiting arms bridal style. You’ve got this brilliant smile on your face as you pull his helmet off. None of the DDDs filming can hear it over the crowd noise, but Beel asks you why you just went through all that trouble and you tell him it’s because you wanted to tell him how proud you are.

Soft boy’s chest puffs up and he smiles this big cheesy smile at you reach up to run a hand through his hair. You feel him practically purr at the contact, and with a laugh you pull him in and plant a big ole smooch on him.

The crowd, at least those of them that can see, scream. Everyone is running high on adrenaline and happy emotions; something that cute causes a ruckus!! When you pull away Beel proceeds to put you on his shoulders and you celebrate with him and the rest of his team.

The videos of you two being adorable go completely viral and there are some threads dedicated to stockpiling every single angle taken of the event. Beel is completely oblivious to the attention but you have a lot of them saved on your DDD.

Belphegor:

If you think Belphegor has any sort of social media presence whatsoever then you are sorely mistaken. (Well okay he actually does run some anonymous troll accounts to meme on Lucifer’s posts but that’s neither here nor there-)

Therefore, naturally, you two go viral off of Asmo’s Devilgram. 

Okay so someone in the obey me tag the other say headcanoned that Belphie will go out of his way to nap in ridiculous places and my brain really took that and RAN WITH IT.

So what happens is that Belphie will fall asleep in the fucking weirdest places. I’m talking on top of the fridge, underneath the dinner table, on top of bookshelves...you name it, he has slept there, no matter the effort it takes to get there in the first place. 

And, ever since you two started dating, you would join him. Sometimes it involved putting yourself at risk of great bodily harm, but the little smile he gave when you he saw you fucking scaling the countertop to reach him made it worth it.

So anyway, since Beel adores the both of you to no end, he takes pictures whenever he sees you two napping together, whether or not it is in a crazy place. He sends these to the family group chat because he thinks they’re adorable.

Over a span of weeks to months, Asmo has built up a stock of images of you and Belphie cuddles up in seemingly impossible places. Once he has about ten or so, he posts a compilation of them to his Devilgram with some cheesy ass caption like “The things we do for love <3″.

They become a meme SO QUICKLY. Like UNBELIEVABLY quickly. 

The picture of you and Belphie sleeping on top of a bookshelf, in particular, is a big hit. Memes abound.

“If my girl doesn’t climb up a bookshelf to cuddle my ass, she don’t love me.” “Get yourself a partner who scales bookshelves just to be with your ass.” Etc etc...Belphie doesn’t give a shit but you laugh at a lot of them so he sees that as a good outcome.

[theflyingfeeling]

All I want is Aleksi and Olli taking Rilla and going for the most cozy week in some cabin in the woods to celebrate their birthdays by spending the time cuddling, exploring the forest, doing some cooking together and lazily making out... 💕

So...something like this, maybe? 🥰👬🐶🐿️

~

One fact about Aleksi Kaunisvesi was that he was not a religious person, per se. He did celebrate Christmas with his family in a traditionally Christian way, yes, and he had appreciated the long weekend they were always given from school during Easter, even if he had usually spent the four days stuffing his face with overly sweet chocolate and watching cartoons rather than contemplating the Passion of the Christ, but he did not believe in an “invisible force” that allegedly controlled all life on earth as if it was his personal puppet show. Likewise, he wasn’t entirely convinced of the existence of places like Heaven and Hell, or any other form of afterlife for that matter; the moment he’d be lying dead and stiff in a wooden box, Aleksi supposed (and partly hoped) the only place he was going was six feet under.

He did think, however, that if there was a heaven somewhere, it would be a lot like where he was right now: under a blanket on the couch of his family’s summer cottage, with scented candles and the remains of a birthday cake on the coffee table, and two sleeping figures pressed tightly against him, one curled up in the crook of Aleksi’s neck and sighing dramatically in his ear from time to time, the other resting his head on Aleksi’s chest with one of his arms wrapped around Aleksi’s waist. To him, heaven was the smoothness of Olli’s lips, the look in Rilla’s eyes when she hurried to him with her favourite toy in her mouth, Olli’s sleepy moans in the morning when they pleasured each other in bed, and all their footprints on the front porch of the cottage after a morning walk on foggy fields and mossy forests.

Indeed, if the clouds in Heaven weren’t as soft as Olli’s curls or Rilla’s fur just behind her ear, Aleksi sure as hell wasn’t going to bother living a life free of sin. On the other hand, if the life hereafter was anything like this, Aleksi wouldn’t have minded passing away this instant, as long as it meant he’d get to spend eternity exactly where he was now, all snuggled up with the two creatures he loved the most in the whole terrestrial world.

The drumming of the rain against the windowsill was almost like a lullaby that nearly made Aleksi lose the battle against sleepiness, which he had been fighting bravely ever since they all had settled on the couch together; not because he wasn’t feeling drowsy from the three-course meal they had had – minus Rilla, who had turned up her nose on the filet mignon flavoured Cesar meal – but because he simply couldn’t resist savouring the sight of his loved ones clinging on to him like touch-starved baby koalas. He was, in fact, maybe just a few seconds from nodding off himself, had it not been for the smallest, barely audible rustle sounding from behind the front door.

“Ril–” Aleksi didn’t have any more time to react before Rilla bolted up and sprang to the door, barking sharply at the visitor behind it.

“Mmhhuh?” a sleepy voice mumbled against Aleksi’s sweater. 

“The darned squirrel is back again,” Aleksi sighed. “I told you we shouldn’t have started feeding it.”

“But it looked so sad and starved!” Olli exclaimed as he lifted his cheek off Aleksi’s chest and rested his chin on it instead, locking eyes with Aleksi. Although Aleksi knew it was unintentional on Olli’s part, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at Olli’s face which was an impeccable image of the expression the squirrel had pulled the other morning as it had looked at them through the window while they had been having brunch. Olli had insisted the poor animal had been staring at their late breakfast snacks, and before Aleksi had had a chance to point out that he doubted squirrels were particularly keen on chocolate muffins or yoghurt, Olli had taken a handful of blueberries and put them on his already empty bread and butter plate before tiptoeing to the porch and placing the humble offerings on the small glass table under the window. 

Now, Aleksi had always considered himself a man of reason and rationality, and this part of him argued they should restrain from interacting with wildlife like this, no matter how cute. In a few days, their little vacation in the middle of nowhere would be over and there’d be no one leaving the squirrel blueberries fresh from the grocery store anymore. But when it came to Olli Matela, he knew this sort of reasoning was no use; sharing his life with Olli, Aleksi had learnt not only that ‘a second breakfast’ was more than just a silly quirk from the pencil of Mr. Tolkien, but also that some matters were simply meant to be dealt with by your heart rather than by your (annoyingly logical, as his bandmates often complained) head. 

Inviting a lonely squirrel to your breakfast table was clearly one of these matters, and since then, their new friend had paid them a visit at least once a day, making subtle noises on the porch to attract their – and especially Rilla’s – attention. Aleksi thought the furry rodent was trying his luck a little too boldly, climbing up the wooden pillar of the porch just inches before Rilla’s teeth would snap its furry tail, but Olli admired its persistence and bravery and rewarded it with a squirrel-sized portion of salad seed mix (whereas Rilla, Aleksi assumed, was of the opinion that the squirrel would be better off as far away from her territory,  which consisted of the area surrounding the cottage as far as Rilla’s eyesight could reach and a little beyond that, just to be sure). Yet, no matter how stern Aleksi tried to be, it only took him one glance at the way Olli’s eyes brightened as he observed the squirrel nibbling on whatever little snack he had given it from their travel cooler, and Aleksi knew he wasn’t going to stop Olli from feeding the animal the next time it would arrive either.

When the squirrel had finished its meal of the day and scurried back to the nearby pine where they suspected it slept in, Olli turned to Aleksi and shuffled closer, right into Aleksi’s personal space. 

“Shall we continue where we left off now?” Olli’s low voice was like hot chocolate on a winter evening, especially now that Aleksi had already lost all the body heat they had built together under the blanket. 

“Mmmmh,” Aleksi hummed and let himself be dragged towards the couch, slowly and a little clumsily, as neither of them couldn’t bear letting the other go once they were entangled in an embrace once again. “Or maybe…we could do something else?” 

Olli didn’t answer;  he didn’t need to. The answer was given in the curve of his lips, in the brilliant gleam in his thunderstorm coloured eyes, in the tongue that immediately found Aleksi’s when their mouths touched. As Aleksi felt himself be pushed back on the couch cushions, gently but with certainty and purpose, he knew he wouldn’t have to second-guess whether or not Olli had understood his indirect suggestion.

Divine, Aleksi thought when Olli’s hungry eyes undressed him before his hands could. Celestial, he sighed in his mind when Olli’s hands groped his body wherever they could reach, in perfect sync with his equally celestial tongue. Angelic, he almost whispered out loud when Olli’s lust-filled eyes met his. Holy, he wanted to scream when their bodies moved together, the windows of the small cottage fogging up. Heavenly, when Olli finally collapsed on top of him, panting heavily, sweat glistening on his chest.

Heaven, when they kissed slowly by the kitchen counter, waiting for their mulled wine to brew; when they sat wrapped around each other at 3 am, chatting idly about everything and nothing; when their naked bodies melted together as they finally fell asleep.

To think of it again, maybe Aleksi could find a little bit of religiousness in himself after all.

[englass]

Number 2 from dark prompts?

Ahh, thank you for sending this in hun!!

I'll admit, this gave me problems; a lot of problems. And I'm not to sure how I feel about it, but it just felt right to end it where I did. Hopefully it's okay at the least... Also, this is definitely more yandere than I was intending it to be, but I wasn’t sure how else to tackle it. Still kinda soft though, despite the circumstances...

2. “They were getting in the way of your happiness! And I can’t allow that.”

- - -

There’s a heavy silence that blankets the scene, smothers it like a pillow pressed oppressively to a person’s face. Cuts off all breath, all hope of reasonable thought as diluted instincts rear up with the screeching whinny of a panicked beast. The urge to flee such an aggressive thought that the mind lags and stutters and holds onto it for far longer than is wise; overthinking a dangerous pastime when the crawl of time provokes the draw of danger.

Ensnared in that cloying grip you choke, lost and adrift, being tugged in different directions of thought that leave you vibrating in the worst way possible. Unable to see anything other than the visual that will forever stain your once innocent eyes, you don’t see the way the only other living person in the room turns to you, don’t register the way they gasp your name in a tone of dreaded elation. So buried beneath your own whirling thoughts, incomprehensive and elusive, you hardly feel the way they grab you, turn and shield you with a wall of familiar blue taking up your vision; but only in the way that it glazes the dark scene painted onto your retinas with a tinted frost.

You flinch violently at the feeling of something touching your cheek, a terrified whimper spilling free as the world snaps back into focus. Finally registering the man in front of you, concerned azure eyes meeting your own, you physically shrink under their openness. Attempt to retreat with a step back as the tears fall, caught by a mockery of a caring touch as his thumb swipes the moisture from your cheeks, barred in by his free hand, wrapped around your waist as it holds you protectively against his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he murmurs soothingly, “it’s alright, you’re alright. I’ve got you, sweet thing. Shh, there’s no need to be so scared. You’re safe with me. They asked for it.”

There is a harshness within his last words that makes you tense, that makes you shakily reach forward to grab at the hem of his waistcoat. You’re not too sure what you’re doing with such an act, especially after all of this, but regardless John appears to soften at the silent gesture. His hold on you loosening just a bit as he lays a gentle kiss to your forehead, uttering quiet reassurances against your skin that you feel with every brush of his lips.

Gratefully, John is able to ease you away from the treacherous labyrinth of your thoughts. Calm you enough so that your breath doesn’t catch as aggressively within your lungs as it did a moment ago, only hitches on every odd breath as you breathe him in; something woody with the faintest twang of iron, musky and so distinctly John. But with the calm comes the cohesion, the caging clarity, and with that a deceptively simple question; the only one you have the strength and courage to ask--

“Why?”

Internally you cringe at how fragile you sound, as if you were one wrong word away from falling apart. The brief thought that John would be there to catch you when you did was terribly bittersweet.

“Because they were holding you back,” he answers easily, an impassioned fire in his words. “Because that filth was not worthy of you, of your care or even your ‘friendship’. They didn’t appreciate you and what you’ve done for them. And, perhaps most egregiously, they were getting in the way of your happiness! In the way of us; and I can’t allow that. I couldn't allow that.”

His hold on you tightens, constricts your breath into a small and unintentional stutter. Your words are hesitant as you say, “but, they were-- you didn’t have to… you didn’t have to do that to them... “

“That was a mercy, dearling.” Running his hand through your hair he carefully tucks you into the crook of his neck, the ocean of his eyes dark with the hunger of an unsatisfied sin. “It may have taken some… gentle persuasion, but they agreed to go through the Atonement all the same; regardless of how sudden and unorthodox it was. It’s hardly my fault if they couldn’t handle the weight of it…”

[variousqueerthings]

Tom Hardy Movies rated least to most queer

I made a list of some Tom Hardy movies and I rated them based on my own, non-specific criteria about what makes a movie queer. Results below the cut.

(Some films not included, because I haven’t watched them yet, because Mr Hardy’s only in them for a few minutes, because the subject matter doesn’t lend itself to this list, or because I just don’t want’em here. TV series also not included. The list is organised into both groups and ratings, because I’m doing The Most.)

Movies are divided into four groups and rated from 0 – 10 on the Queer-Scale, scroll down to the bottom if you want the ratings without the commentary.

Disclaimer: This list is subjective. Don’t come at me because I didn’t rate Inception higher, Nolan himself is as queer as cargo shorts. 

1. This movie would make more sense if it were queer

If this movie were queer it… might not become a perfect film all of a sudden, but it’d make a hell of a lot more sense than what’s actually going on. With an occasional dose of “are the cis-straights okay?”

This Means War (2012): So Chris Pine and Tom Hardy are ostensibly both in love with Reese Witherspoon, but say “I love you” to each other pretty much constantly throughout the movie and their friendship is often presented as a domestic partnership. Cool, cool, cooool.

Queer Rating: 2 out of 10. This movie hate-crimed me by having Tom Hardy literally spell out his relationship with Chris Pine, only for the script to then have him say… “can you imagine all that… but with a woman…” Later on the movie explicitly denies polyamory is possible. Fuck this film.

The Dark Knight Rises (2012): Batman movies should always be queer. Mr. Hardy’s the only one who acceptably camps it up, despite Nolan’s best attempts to make him “acceptably gruff.” No matter what you do, Bane is a massive daddy in a mask and thanks to Mr Hardy’s honestly iconic fucking speech pattern in this film, it goes from pretty atrociously straight to just queer enough to imagine a future where Robert Pattinson plays batman and maybe adopts a bunch of kids.

(the only truly decent mask in this franchise tbh)

Queer Rating: 3 out of 10. Mr Hardy’s back is the one that’s actually broken carrying any semblance of fun in this overly long movie all on his own.

Lawless (2012): Wow, this really was the year of the not-queer-enough, wasn’t it? Look, it’s “based on a real story,” but it’s also a movie and movies don’t need to stick to the truth, and this one certainly doesn’t. Was the guy queer in real life? I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that it’s just kind of an eh movie and maybe being queer would add something to it. One of those “but why make someone queer? because it’s always more interesting to do so,” movies.

Queer Rating: 3 out of 10. It’s just not queer. But Tom Hardy wears cardigans and described his character as a “mother figure,” which adds an interesting dynamic to him.

2. Actually Queer but in a homophobic way

Tom Hardy plays a canonically queer character, yaaay. The whole movie contains a strange sense of the director being too not-queer to actually engage with that and everything around him is almost aggressively straight, noooo.

RocknRolla (2008): Honestly this movie has the funniest coming out scene ever + that familiar undertone of “all these manly men secretly want to fuck each other” is only heightened by one of them actually being gay and in love with his best friend. It’s such a fucking… it’s such a movie. Personally I find Mark Strong, Idris Elba, Thandie Newton, and, of course, Tom Hardy to be really hot in it, so that’s a plus. There’s a scene in which Strong’s character teaches another gangster how to do a proper backhand. It’s really gay of him. Also slow-dancing at a gay club. Butler’s character needs to get himself together, you really don’t think 2008 Tom Hardy is hot? Mate.

(left to right: functional queer, disaster queer, distinguished queer)

Queer Rating: 6 out of 10, for having an actual gay character who is played by Tom Hardy doing a sexy phonecall voice to another guy, but then there’s that feeling you can’t shake that the whole movie is vaguely uncomfortable about it, like a family member awkwardly patting you on the shoulder after they found out you were queer second-hand, but they’ve still got 50 years of bias to unlearn. Also Thandie Newton is killed, fuck that noise. 

Legend (2015): If I had a nickle for the amount of times Tom Hardy’s played a gay gangster, I’d have two nickles. Which isn’t a lot, but weird that it happened twice (looks at Peaky Blinders and thinks it ought to be three times). I’ve watched Legend three times and every time it just… loses me. And because this is a biased list, I’ll only specifically mention that it fails to make Ron’s queerness anything but a way for him to shock others. Gangsters could be gay? Gasp! On the upside Tom Hardy has so much sexual tension with everyone in this movie, including himself (why would you do that? Asks Ron, bemused. Because I can’t kill you, no matter how much I fucking want to, hisses a blood-soaked Reggie right into his ear. It’s hot).

Queer rating: 5 out of 10 because the film is just not very queer for a movie with several queer men in it.

3. Straight as a forced family dinner

It’s straight.

Locke (2013): He’s a married man who had an affair and trying to deal with the fallout of it. This isn’t a spoiler for most of the movie, it’s a pretty neat movie where we look at Tom Hardy having a bit of a mental breakdown and taking lots of phonecalls (my personal hell). Is it queer? Not in the slightest.

Queer Rating: 2 out of 10 for Hardy’s face being in almost every shot.

The Revenant (2015): Yeah, yeah, DeCaprio’s and Hardy’s characters are obsessed with each other, yeah it’s a man’s world where the only women are dead wife, kidnapped sexually assaulted native princess, or background whore, yeah, they fight each other and there’s a ton of grunting, but also… I just fucking don’t like this movie. The thin line where a storyline like this one becomes queer might be crossed for others, but not for me. Fuck these guys and their stupid  bear fights.

Queer rating: 3 out of 10 for it being about dirty men in the middle of nowhere (but you could just watch Brokeback Mountain or The Lighthouse or God’s Own Country or any Mad Max, or, or, or…)

4. Queer? Queer. Queer? … Queer…

The plots, aesthetics and/or characters played by Tom Hardy lend themselves to a queer reading, even if there is no overt intention towards queerness. Often this is because of a deliberate lack of heterosexual and/or cisgender writing, which in this day and age is still pretty uncommon not to include within a plot.

Inception (2010): Okay, I don’t even need to write about the added “darling,” or the “go to sleep Mr Eames.” I don’t need to go on about the absolutely bonkers amount of fanfiction written for Eames and Arthur, based on a few minutes of film and a boatload of chemistry. It’s queer.

Queer Rating: 7 out of 10, because the actual plot of the film isn’t very queer, but between the Arthur/Eames dynamic and Elliot Page, Nolan was really given a gift he didn’t deserve.

Warrior (2011): Okay, so first off, this might be my favourite Tom Hardy film, at least some part of my brain is fixated on it at almost all times and I’m considering watching it for the third time in two weeks. I don’t only consider it queer based on Mr. Hardy’s character, although he has no romantic or sexual interest and could be read as aroace, but because of the themes, especially those surrounding said character, who is coded as a caregiver to women and through close emotional connections to men. It’s got possibly unintentional deconstructions of masculinity and two men (brothers) who need to forgive each other and can only do so through the catharsis of violence. It speaks to me as a transmasc with several cis brothers, struggling with my own masculinity. It’s not at all written for me, but I find myself all over it. I could talk about this movie forever.

Queer Rating: 8 out of 10. I’m not allowed to say any more or I’ll never stop writing about it. I love you Tommy…

The Drop (2014): Bob’s lack of sexual and/or romantic interest in Naomi is so strange to her that she doesn’t know what he would want from her otherwise. Bob really just wants to raise a dog with her (and also forgiveness for past sins). Bob is such a rare ace and possibly aro coded character, it really throws me every time I watch this film how obvious it is. Bonus points for also being autistic-coded and not in the stereotypical ways.

(Tom Hardy’s most challenging role: pretending he doesn’t know dogs)

Queer Rating: 9 out of 10 because it’s so fucking rare to see ace and aro coded characters that aren’t, you know…. serial killers. Also Tom Hardy adopts a puppy and has a very cute, kinda lispy voice. How often does Tom Hardy play softer men like this?

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015): Very deliberately no sexual or romantic writing included in Max’s and Furiosa’s relationship. Sure, there’s not a lot of time for that in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, but it was also done with a purpose! “It was always going to be two warriors on par, starting off with very little respect for each other and ending up with a massive respect for each other.” - Charlize Theron. “So of course they meet, of course there’s a relationship, an unspoken understanding. A recognition.” - Tom Hardy.

Queer Rating: 9 out of 10. It’s not just the characters, but the world and it’s apocalyptic BDSM leather scene, the questions it asks about sustainability and about people as tools, and the found family. It’s about overcoming violence through multiple kinds of love. And it’s about watching a guy playing flame-thrower guitar. What could be queerer?

Venom (2018): Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same… No, but Eddie is queer. The only question is whether the sequel will acknowledge that aspect or not, but even if not. Even if it manages to straightly bypass the reality of a symbiotic relationship with a genderless? genderfluid? being from another world that is linked to you down to your very cells and understands you more intimately than any other person possibly could… even if all that: Eddie is queer. Venom and Eddie are in a relationship. Any relationship Eddie ever enters into will automatically become a thrupple. He makes out with Venom in the movie! Eddie is queer.

(aw yeah that tongue is going down his throat)

Queer Rating: 9.5 out of 10, because it’s still coded by the creators in the language of bromance (hey, bro, is it gay if we’re physically and emotionally closer than any other people on earth?), but the movie is so, so camp and Mr Hardy’s acting choices are beautiful – the screaming? The lispy soft voice and lack of taking up space? The lobster tank? The only people who don’t know how queer this is are the people making it apparently. Fingers crossed for that sequel!

Hon. mentions:

Star Trek: Nemesis (2002): Star Trek – even at it’s worst (especially at its worst?) – is camp af + Hardy is a straight-up baby in this film.

Bronson (2008): It’s about a real person who’s still alive, so I won’t comment on the actual man. However the film seems to code the character Bronson along an ace line and also has genderqueering Vaudeville. Someone let Tom Hardy do more of whatever was going on in those stage-bits.

(this right here: this the good shit)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011): Another ensemble piece not massively about Hardy’s character, but it’s a movie that centers around queerness in a strange, depressing way. Tom Hardy’s character isn’t queer. Colin Firth and Mark Strong are though. The book makes me cry.

Peaky Blinders (2013-): Because it’s a TV series I left it out. There’s a lot of straight nonsense going on there, but Alfie Solomens is gay. There’s nothing in the series that disputes that and plenty that lends itself to the reading.

Dunkirk (2017): Tom Hardy plays an RAF pilot in a deep emotional connection with the other main RAF pilot. That’s immediately gay. However he’s not in the movie much because of the way it’s constructed, so I left it off.

Queer Ratings (least to most)

No queer to be found here traveller:

This Means War: 2 out of 10 - illegal movie, Tom Hardy swore he wouldn’t do another rom-com after

Locke: 2 out of 10 - straight Welshman and his straight problems. He pretty though

Lawless: 3 out of 10 - cardigan-Hardy being a mother-hen, but very straight for all that

The Dark Knight Rises: 3 out of 10 - a superhero movie that doesn’t deserve Mr Hardy’s camp talents (unlike Venom)

The Revenant: 3 out of 10 - doesn’t give me what I want out of a movie full of dirty, bearded men

Queer but we deserve more:

Legend: 5 out of 10 - timid homosexuality, considering the source material. 

RocknRolla: 6 out of 10 - hey bro, is it gay if we kill the only female lead in our massive ensemble cast

The queerest of Hardy’s:

Inception: 7 out of 10 - Elliot Page and JGL kissing was an all-around terrible choice that made no sense, we know the truth, Nolan

Warrior: 8 out of 10 - I’m still crying, Edgerton’s crying, Hardy’s crying, we’re all crying, and I think that’s really emotionally healthy and queer of us

Mad Max: Fury Road: 9 out of 10 - non-romantic love in the time of BDSM post-apocalyptic wastelands is something that can actually be so personal

The Drop: 9 out of 10 - “Fucking punk. Go out to dinner dressed like you're still in you living room! You wear those big hippity-hoppity clown shoes! You speak to women terribly! You treat them despicably! You hurt harmless dogs that can't defend themselves! I'm tired of you man. I'm tired of you. You embarrass me!”

Venom: 9.5 out of 10 - Sometimes a relationship is an anxious reporter, the sentient goo inhabiting his body, his kinda-ex-girlfriend and her new doctor boyfriend, and I think that’s beautiful

[aitarose]

THORNS | AZULA

PAIRING: Azula x Reader x Zuko [fem]

PLOT: Though Azula always said that she’s never believed in love, she failed to stop herself from falling head over heels for her brother’s betrothed. companion piece to roses; based on these requests by anons

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, unrequited love, mutual pining, somewhat friends to lovers

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

A/N: this connects to the events that occur in roses. this piece can be read as a standalone, but roses gives more detail to the reader’s feelings and relationship with zuko

ALT. END: Blossoms | ZUKO’S POV: Roses

WRITER’S ANALYSIS: Here

MY MASTERLIST

thorns : a symbol of sinful thoughts, extreme sorrow, and hardships. when paired with a rose, denotes both pain and pleasure in the sense of love.

Year one, day one.

Azula slammed her hands onto the skin of her face, repeatedly making contact with her dry cheeks. She let out a deafening scream of anger, punching the wall next to her, leaving a dark black mark in its wake.

She’d been in her room for less than three hours and she was already going mad with boredom. 

The princess huffed, plopping herself down onto the twin-sized bed that was nestled in the corner of her so-called suite. 

She knew that Zuzu had done his best to give her the best commodities the Fire Nation could offer, but her former people weren’t exactly jumping to meet her pretentious living standards. 

Which was actually something that Azula somewhat understood. She knew deep down that what she had done was wrong—trying to kill the Avatar, trying to kill her mom, kidnapping the nation’s children, the whole gist. 

She’d done bad things, some really bad things in her past, but that’s all that it was—her past. Azula wanted to get better, she wanted to be better for not only Zuko, but for herself.

So she and her brother had devised a plan. A plan that would, in its entirety, take five years to complete. 

Zuko was giving Azula half a decade to prove to him that she could be good, truly good. Which to most would seem like quite a bit of time, but for Azula, she didn’t know if it would be enough.

She wrapped her arms around herself, warming her ice cold shoulders. Azula hadn’t been alone with her thoughts for this long in a while—and if she was being honest, there was nothing that scared her more than her own mind. 

“Princess?” She jumped, startled by the frail voice calling from the opposite side of her door. Azula hastily marched to the entrance, yanking it open in annoyance at whomever was bothering her chosen isolation.

Standing before her was a girl about her age, she couldn’t have been older than eighteen. She was holding a tray with various Fire Nation delicacies stacked on top of one another, steaming with heat and the kitchen’s aroma.

Azula rolled her eyes at the sight she was seeing. Of course Zuko had ordered for her to have a late dinner, he’d most likely been preoccupied with all of his new and earned Fire Lord duties.

“Come inside, peasant.” Azula gestured to the small dining table in the center of her confinement. She pulled out a chair for herself and expectantly looked at her companion with the expectation that she’d serve her. 

The other girl hustled, quickly placing the princess’s meal on the placemat and taking the seat opposite to her. She laced her hands together, her fingers tapping the wood nervously.

Azula threw her palms flat on the table. “What are you doing?” She questioned, interrogating her helper, who was cowering in her seat. “Does my brother expect you to monitor my meals? What damage could I possibly do with this slob? Start a food fight in the palace?”

Her uninvited guest took a deep breath, seemingly focusing her stress and fear into the idea of feeling zen. She swallowed hard, her gaze on Azula evolving from anxiety to empathy.

“Actually,” she trailed off, her lips rising into a thin smile. She looked into Azula’s golden eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort or rising anger. “The Fire Lord didn’t send me here, his advisors did.”

“The council knows that your brother has a soft spot for you.” She explained, watching as Azula slightly nodded her head along to her words. “Spirits, everyone knows that when it comes to you, he has no reason.”

“I’m only here to monitor and report your progress.” Azula scoffed at the thought of her father’s old council dictating the direction of her own life, but at least they’d sent someone she could relate to. A girl that she could actually form a conversation with.

A scowl flashed across Azula’s face as the admissions her companion had stated ran through her mind. No matter, at least she had some entertainment now.

“Do you have a name?” Azula asked pointedly as she began to pick at her meal. “Or should I just call you ‘Servant’, like I do with all of the others?”

The girl lightly laughed at the unintentional joke, finding humor in the thought of being stuck with the princess as nothing but her worker. She shook her head, smiling slightly, before responding.

“You can call me Y/N.”

Year one, day ninety-four.

“You’re late.”

Azula crossed her arms over her chest, huffing loudly as she attempted to seem angered by her new friend’s timing. She’d become well accustomed to the daily routine they’d developed over the past months.

Seeing Y/N was honestly the highlight of Azula’s day.

She’d never verbally admit that she enjoyed the kind girl’s company. That she felt refreshed by her positive and warm nature, that she relished in the judgement free outlook that Y/N had on life.

And Azula would never mentally admit to herself, that she may have developed unwanted feelings for her friend. 

She always told herself that love wasn’t real. After witnessing the so-called love her mother and father had shared first hand, Azula wasn’t necessarily looking forward to potential love in her future.

No matter who she was involved with.

“Sorry about that Azula.” Y/N hustled through the doorway, her hair tangled and dusted with dirt particles. She had a large scratch on her right cheek, most likely self inflicted. Y/N was clumsy like that.

Azula let out a short laugh. Taking in the appearance of her crush. She even makes dirt look good.

“I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable booth in the market and I just had to make a stop.” Y/N rambled, waving her hands in the air in exaggeration. Her cheeks were flushed red from her sprint through town, resembling the color of a blooming rose.

“As if it matters to me.” Azula shrugged nonchalantly in her best attempt to seem as if she didn’t care about her friend’s dilemma.

As if she didn’t care about every second of her day. As if Y/N’s overall excitement wasn’t the only thing that truly kept Azula going nowadays.

Y/N brushed off Azula’s feigned disinterest as if it was nothing. It wasn’t uncommon for the princess to ignore her daily shenanigans. Most of the time, she felt as if Azula didn’t even listen to anything she said.

Which Y/N had quickly realized not even weeks into their meetings, really really hurt her. It hurt her heart that Azula didn’t care, that she didn’t matter in her eyes.

In their time together, Y/N had developed inklings of feelings for the firebender as well. Feelings that she had come to internalize and push aside.

After all, it wasn’t her job to fall in love with her client. Her job was to help Azula learn to love her own people, to help her gain the love of her people.

“Well, Azula.” Y/N stumbled towards her friend, accidentally tripping over her own feet in embarrassment. She proceeded to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. 

“This is what the vendor was selling.” She smiled warmly, letting Azula take the flower into her own hands. “It caught my eye, because it reminded me of you.”

Azula studied her gift. It was a red rose, the shade being so vibrant it could be compared to her brother’s firebending. The stem was thin, yet covered in thorns of various sizes. They prickled Azula’s fingers, puncturing her callouses. 

As she gazed at the budding rose, Azula realized how fitting the gift was to her. She had never been the kind of girl who longed for bouquets and sweets, but when coming from the right person, perhaps she was. 

Whilst she struggled to come up with a reply to her friend’s kindness, Y/N mentally applauded herself. She’d finally found a way to make Azula speechless.

“It’s not terrible, I suppose.” Azula threw the flower to the ground, lightly kicking it away from her with her right foot. She turned away from Y/N, not bothering to see the heartbroken look on her crush’s face.

“I’m sure that garbage was all you could afford anyways.”

Azula cringed as she heard the door close lightly. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, realizing that even while upset, Y/N would never respond to her own awfulness with anger.

She felt herself collapse, her knees buckling beneath her. Soft sobs escaped her lips, silent cries filling the hollow room. 

The sorrow-filled girl looked up from her lap with tear-filled eyes. Azula could see the faint outline of the young rose beside her. As she lifted the thorn covered flower with careful hands, she saw what Y/N had meant with the gift.

That Azula was dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, but when encouraged and supported, she could become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that was of a blooming rose.

As she sat alone, staring at the budding rose in her palms, Azula realized that she would only be able to become that person with the help of Y/N. She was the only person that had even come close to seeing her for who she truly was.

The only person who would think of giving a gift such as this to the princess of the Fire Nation. The only person who Azula had ever come to feel true and honest love towards. 

Azula had to become better. Not only for herself and Zuko—but for Y/N.

Year two, day one-hundred and six.

“Can I ask you something serious?”

Y/N rolled over to face Azula on her side, resting her elbow beneath her chin. She tilted her head while scrunching her nose in thought.

Azula was laying beside her, staring up at the dark vaulted ceiling. She’d been allowed to move back into her old bedroom at the palace with Zuko and his advisor’s permission, after they’d been informed of all of her progress with Y/N.

It was a room where Azula had never truly been comfortable in when she was younger, she used to feel so alone in the spacious and empty bedroom—but with Y/N’s company, she hadn’t felt alone in years. 

“That depends,” Azula responded, crossing her arms over her chest. She frowned, taking a moment to consider what Y/N could possibly ask her. “What is this serious question that you’re deliberating?”

Y/N dropped the arm that was supporting her upper body, allowing herself to fall back onto the soft red carpet. She stretched her arms out, nearly hitting Azula in the process before mimicking her friend’s position.

She let out a deep sigh as she closed her eyes tight. Her heartbeat raced in her chest, preparing herself for whatever reaction Azula could possibly have to her curiosity.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Azula nearly choked on air at the sound of Y/N’s words. She had to physically stop herself from bolting upright and leaving the room, before whipping her head around to give her crush a look of confusion.

“Love?” Azula cringed, pushing the thought of the emotion to the very depths of her mind. “That’s what you really wanted to ask me? If I’ve known love?”

The firebender could faintly see Y/N’s head nod in the darkness surrounding them. She lit a single flame from the tip of her pointer finger to get a better glimpse of Y/N’s beautiful face.

She could see the stress in her eyes—spirits, Azula could feel the anxiety rippling off of Y/N’s body in waves. She didn’t know why a question like this could possibly affect her companion in the way it was now. 

She didn’t know why it was affecting her in the exact same way.

“My parents were my only example of love when I was a child.” Azula shared, trusting Y/N with the inner secrets that she’d never verbally spoken before. “My mother left before I knew she even cared for me, and my father..”

Azula trailed off, not wanting to finish her sentence. Y/N pursed her lips at the princess’ silence, taking her shaking hand into her own soft palm. She rubbed her fingers against Azula’s, doing her best to comfort her during her confrontation with her past trauma.

“My father was a monster.” Azula grimaced, basking in the feeling of Y/N’s touch. The feeling of being so close, yet so far from the girl she was painfully in love with. “Their love wasn’t real, and I fear I’m so similar to my father that it’ll never be real for me either.”

Y/N gasped in disbelief. “Love is for anyone, ‘Zula. You just need to believe that one day, it’ll find you when you least expect it.”

Azula shook her head, refusing to face the fact that she had her love right in front of her. Someone who would care for her and understand her throughout all of her outbreaks and dilemmas. Someone that would choose her everyday, as long as she’d let her. 

“That’s unfortunate then.” Azula pried her hand from Y/N’s, shivering at the overwhelming feeling of emptiness. “Because I don’t believe in love.”

With that, Y/N was speechless. She’d expected something from Azula. Anything to affirm her suspicions that her crush was in love with her as well—but all she’d gotten in return was an answer even worse than rejection.

Azula groaned, sitting up from the floor and tucking her knees into her chest. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

Y/N took a minute to contemplate what she had asked. Azula mentally counted down the seconds of silence that followed her out-of-character question. 

“I think that I have.” Y/N pondered, lacing her own fingers together over her stomach. “But lately I’ve realized that they’ll never feel the same.”

“It’s about time that I move on, isn’t it?”

Azula barely heard the last words Y/N whispered under her breath. Her voice was so faint, it sounded like nothing but an echo in the void. She could tell that Y/N was frowning, but Azula had no idea how to make her smile.

And words couldn’t describe how much Azula loved her smile. There was nothing that she loved more to see. That bright, beaming grin and the gorgeous girl behind it—that girl always being Y/N.

Year three, day eighty-seven.

Azula stretched her arms above her head, the bright sun radiating beams of light around her. She felt a genuine grin spread across her face, brightening her features with honest happiness.

She’d just recently been given the privilege to roam the palace ground freely, and had chosen to spend every single day of the past week in the garden courtyard.

Being surrounded by the tall cherry blossom trees, the whistling birds, and the frail little turtle ducks gave Azula a sense of nostalgia that she never knew she had missed.

She used to shun the memories and longings of her past friends and family members, refusing to accept the fact that she had been the true problem in their relationship troubles. That she had caused all of their strife. 

But now, with the new idea of freedom on Azula’s mind, she finally understood how terrible she’d been. How unfairly she’d treated her peers and the people who had offered her guidance. She vowed to herself to never become that person again, that monster.

“Enjoying the warm weather?” Y/N called from the entrance of the courtyard, a large picnic basket in hand. 

Azula spun to face her friend, laughing at the sight of the mess Y/N had brought with her. She ran over to the girl, instantly taking a hold of the supplies she’d been lugging around with her.

Y/N smiled at Azula, overwhelmed with joy at the sight of her unprovoked helpfulness. She walked with the firebender, taking a seat in their usual spot under the largest pink tree.

She and Azula had grown in indescribable ways in the past years of knowing each other. They’d gone from nothing but strangers, to somewhat friends, and now best friends. 

Azula knew in her heart that Y/N was the only person who was real in her life. The only one who knew her in a way where she didn’t automatically shy away from the boldness and arguably maniacal tendencies Azula had.

She knew that if she ever really had a chance at love, it was with Y/N.

Which was the reason why today was so special for Azula. It was the day that she was planning to finally confess and accept the undeniable love and adoration that she held for Y/N.

“I hope you brought actual food,” Azula ripped off the lid of the basket, peering inside to find all of her favorite desserts made by the kitchen staff. She stuck her hand inside, grabbing a small fruit tart covered in bright red frosting.

“This is so much better than that garbage you gave me the first day we met.”

Y/N bursted out laughing, clutching her chest as her teeth sparkled in the sunlight. She scoffed, stealing the tart out of Azula’s hand, before taking a bite of it herself.

“Sorry, your majesty.” She rolled her eyes in amusement, giggling at Azula’s reaction to her thievery. “I wasn’t exactly allowed to choose what the Princess of the Fire Nation could eat.”

Azula smirked, shooting a short line of fire towards the delicacy in Y/N’s palm, scorching the remainder of the tart and obliterating it to ashes. “Don’t steal my food.”

Y/N blew the dust off of her lap, shaking down her body before smacking Azula’s shoulder. “Well, don’t set my food on fire.”

The two girls glared at each other, refusing to break eye contact in an unspoken staring contest. Y/N struggled to match Azula’s stone cold gaze, blinking hard before being overcome with a fit of giggles. 

Azula felt her cheeks flush red as her crush’s head fell into her lap. She gazed down on the hysterical girl, holding her cheeks between her hands. Before she could speak, Azula saw someone standing in the corner of her eye.

She looked up to find her Fire Lord brother shyly waving at them, one hand raised in the air while the other disappeared in the pockets of his grand robes. 

Her relationship with Zuko had greatly improved since the beginning of their arrangement. While she used to loathe the sight of his scarred face, now she had grown to find comfort in it. They’d finally become the family they should’ve always been.

“Zuzu?” Azula called out, confused as to why her brother was interrupting her time with Y/N. In all the time she’d spent with Zuko, he’d never been around when Y/N was there. “What is it that you need, brother?”

Zuko shrugged, now stuffing both hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. He stuttered for a moment before pointing at Y/N, who’d just now noticed the prince standing at the distance.

“I need to speak with Y/N,” Zuko slightly chuckled, biting his lip as he tried to suppress a grin. “I have some business that we need to cover, it’ll only take a second.”

Azula had never seen Y/N move so quickly. Her friend was there for one minute and then the next thing she knew, her lap was empty—barren from the feeling of warmth and belonging she’d felt seconds before.

She watched in confusion as Y/N stood before Zuko. Her brother and her crush spoke at a comfortable distance, not too close, but also not far enough. Azula wrinkled her nose in disgust as she saw him ruffle Y/N’s hair, an act that she thought was only reserved for her.

They continued conversing, their voices too faint for Azula to hear. As the ‘deliberation’ concluded, she sighed seeing Y/N turn away from Zuko—only to see him take ahold of her forearm, pulling her close to his body.

Zuko took one of Y/N’s hands in his, before finally revealing what he’d been hiding beneath his robes the entire time. 

He offered Y/N a rose, a somewhat crumpled rose, but a rose nonetheless. It was a soft shade of orange, the petals oozing the same effect as Zuko’s flames. Even Azula could admit that it was beautiful, more beautiful than any flower she’d ever come across.

Azula frowned at the sight of her crush’s red cheeks. Why doesn’t Y/N have that reaction to her compliments anymore?

The princess internally gagged as Y/n reached up to wrap her arms around Zuko’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug before pressing a light kiss to his cheek. She waved a quick goodbye to him and skipped towards Azula, tripping over countless stones on her way back.

She plopped down onto the ground, delicately holding the large rose in her hands. Azula noticed the smooth stem of the flower, free of thorns and pain.

“I see you and my brother have quite a bit of explaining to do.” Azula deadpanned, dreading to hear what Y/N could possibly have to say about the kiss she shared with Zuko. 

Y/N huffed out a puff of air, pushing away the loose strands of hair that were blowing around her forehead. She sat back against the cherry blossom tree, a lovestruck grin stretched across her face. 

“I’d meant to tell you earlier, ‘Zula.” She explained, twiddling the rose between her fingers. “A lot earlier actually—months ago, even.”

“Zuko and I ran into each other on my way to your room one day, and we just really clicked.”

Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, not from nerves but from the love that she felt for the kind Fire Lord. “We’ve been seeing each other since then and I think it’s going really well.”

“I think I’m in love with him.”

Azula felt her heart drop in that moment. She’d been anticipating a confession for the entirety of the day, though that confession was not the one she’d had in mind. 

Heartbreak was an unfamiliar feeling for Azula. Sure, she’d felt loneliness and emptiness before, but never this. She’d never known the true and utter despair of losing the one that you love to someone else. Someone that is undeniably better in every way.

Azula knew she’d never shine in comparison to Zuko in this new world—but she had thought that she was the diamond to Zuko’s rock in Y/N’s eyes.

But perhaps she was nothing more than a friend in the eyes of Y/N.

Year four, day two-hundred and two.

“I have news!” Y/N sprinted down the beach, sand flying everywhere as she giddily ran towards Azula. “Big big news that you’ll love to know!”

Azula raised an eyebrow at Y/N’s natural chaos, she’d never seen her so utterly unruly and dismantled. What could possibly cause her to act this way?

By the time she reached the seashore, Y/N was out of breath. She collapsed onto the sand, shrieking as the tide came in and brushed against her bare feet.

“Calm down, crazy! Don’t get that debris all over my new swimsuit!” Azula shouted, confused by how jumpy she was acting.

The only other time Y/N had come close to acting this way was when she and Azula had gone to see the famous play rights in the Fire Nation colonies, and ended up laughing at all of the ridiculousness they displayed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Y/N laughed, shaking the sand out of her clothes and hair. The state of being she was in reminded her of their early days together. Specifically the day Y/N had given Azula her favorite gift ever.

The budding rose covered in thorns.

“I’m just so excited.” Y/N went on and on describing her joy, her hands were waving in the air dramatically gesturing here and there to absolutely nothing. Azula wasn’t even listening to whatever she was saying, just admiring how pretty she looked in the sun.

“Take a breath, it’s not like we don’t have all day.” Azula chimed in, stopping Y/N from completely combusting with energy. She patted the seat next to her, nodding in approval as the girl she loved gladly took the spot.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Azula’s waist, laying on the towel beside her. She hummed in content at the platonic gesture she was showing her friend. Azula however was racing at Y/N’s touch, confused by the intimacy of it all.

Azula shrugged off her feelings, instead choosing to trace circles over Y/N’s back. Easing the girl out of her excitement and into a state of quietness and relaxation. 

Silence overtook the two girls, the only sound being the splashing waves upon the nation’s coast. Azula stared blankly at the soft currents, seeing them rise and fall over the shoreline. She wished she could come and go like them.

That way she wouldn’t have to witness first hand the love between Y/N and Zuko. The love between the girl she saw as her soulmate and her own brother.

“Zuko proposed.” Y/N whispered, an unintentional smile gracing her lips. The unconditional love she felt for him was so visible, the perfect stranger would be able to pick up on it. “And I said yes.”

Azula swallowed hard, feeling tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She let the waterworks drip down her cheeks, feeling like a run down battery with no energy left to hide her sadness. 

Y/N sat up, startled by the sparse water droplets hitting the back of her neck. She gasped, concerned by Azula’s obviously helpless emotional state. She reached up, taking Azula’s face in her hands while wiping her tears away.

“What’s wrong?” She asked in concern, doing her best to comfort the crying girl. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Azula’s in an attempt to hold her close. “It’s alright, ‘Zula. You can tell me anything.”

“You know that I’m always here for you.”

In the storm of confusion and sadness that was raging in Azula’s mind, she did the one thing that she had promised herself she’d never do. She followed through with her own selfish wish of jeopardizing Zuko and Y/N’s relationship.

Y/N’s eyes opened wide in shock as Azula’s lips touched her own. 

The firebender poured all of her emotions into the one-sided kiss, not realizing that Y/N was unresponsive. The latter girl was frozen in place, trying her best to process what was exactly happening in the moment.

She’d dreamt of this moment, the time where Azula would finally admit that she had feelings for her too—but she hadn’t had those dreams in years. Those dreams had ended once Azula had said that love wasn’t real.

As Azula pulled away, tears still dripping down her chin, Y/N had a look of bitterness on her face. Her normally beautiful and positive features were overcome with anger and distrust.

“Why would you do that?” She cried, her eyes turning bloodshot red. Y/N stood hastily, backing away from her friend, holding her hands in front of her to show that she didn’t want Azula following her. “You know you shouldn’t have done that.”

Azula screamed in frustration as she watched Y/N storm away back in the direction of the palace. She grabbed fist-fulls of sand, flinging them at the sea and shooting blasts of blue fire in the air. 

She had perhaps ruined the best friendship she’d had in her entire life. All because she couldn’t keep her love to herself. Her true and overwhelming love for Y/N.

Year five, the last day.

“Are you prepared, Princess Azula?”

Azula stared into the mirror in front of her, seeing nothing but a coward in her reflection. She nodded absentmindedly to the servant that was serving her, doing her hair, dressing her, whatever it was that servants do.

She ordered her to leave the room, wishing to be alone for the remainder of the time she had to herself. There was a big event today, the biggest in the entire Fire Nation.

It was the wedding of the Fire Lord and his bride-to-be.

Azula would be lying to herself if she said that she hadn’t been dreading this day ever since Y/N had told her about the engagement that day on the beach—for that was the last day she’d even spoken to Y/N.

The former best friends hadn’t seen each other in months. Not because they were too busy or forgetful, but because Azula was too embarrassed to contact the girl. She was ashamed of her actions and regretted them wholeheartedly.

After all that time in the dark, Azula was shocked that she’d gotten an invitation to their ceremony. She didn’t think they’d want her present after what she’d done.

But here she was, all dolled up to watch the woman she loved marry the man she’d always been jealous of. Zuko had their mother’s love, the honor she’d always wanted, and the person she was supposed to spend her life with.

Sure his life had been nothing but hard since the minute he was born, but in the end Zuko was the better one out of the two of them. He was the one who was truly deserving of all of the power and glory that was their birthright. 

Azula glared at herself in the mirror’s glass, remembering the last time she’d looked at her reflection in such a distraught mood. She shook her head at the memory, choosing instead to pull open the small drawer of her vanity.

Inside was a long and thin wooden box, locked with a golden pad. She took the necklace tucked into her dress and fit the key charm into the socket, twisting it open.

Her hands reached into the keepsake, carefully gripping the decaying rose from its hiding place.

For four years she’d had the gift, and in those four years Azula had managed to find help from the plantbenders of the swamp to discover a way to keep the rose alive. 

However she’d become careless after her falling out with Y/N, forgetting completely about the flower, only remembering its existence in that very moment.

She spun the flower in her palms, wincing at the prickling feeling of the small thorns on the side. The rose still hadn’t bloomed, she’d told the plantbenders that she preferred it that way no matter their interjections.

Azula wanted to have the gift exactly how Y/N had meant it for her, it was more meaningful that way.

Fire raced up the stem of the rose, encasing the wilting petals in flames. Azula watched intensely as the flower turned to nothing more than ash and dust, all that was left was the four thorns she’d chosen to spare.

She poured the little dust she had back into the box, locking it with her necklace before taking the thorns with her and out the door. She was running on a tight schedule and wouldn’t for the life of her, miss the wedding.

The ceremony had begun beautifully. Romantic music surrounded the guests, filling their ears with the selection of tunes that Zuko and Y/N had hand picked. Orange roses erupted from the vases and archways in the courtyard, reminding Azula of her fateful picnic with Y/N.

She clutched the thorns in her palm at the thought of her, telling herself that this was always meant to happen.

Y/N deserved someone like Zuko. Someone good and loving, someone who would never turn their back on her. She was deserving of the entire world, and Azula never would’ve been able to give that to her.

She wasn’t meant to have Y/N’s love. She’d always known that, and now it was just time for her to accept it, move on, and cut her ties. Her future was nearing, and her new sister-in-law was not a part of it. 

Perhaps this was a positive, a truly good thing to come from the constant struggle that she’d faced since childhood.

After all, she could finally leave her prison. Abandon her memories in replace of new ones where she wasn’t the fire princess, where she was simply Azula—just Azula.

TAGS: @practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie @lammello​ @bombardia​

[kitkatopinions]

I love how people will defend crwby when they give jackshit about rep and their fans. Like with clover (i know they didnt make it official but just look at eddies stupid tweet). They fucked up, it was queerbaiting, so the best course of action is to imply that harriet had feelings for clover and bad mouth the dead man. They could have just say "everyone of us was acting stupid and he died" nooo clover wouldnt leave qrow alone and robyn says later that clover is the lesser huntsmen. They could just say "hey clover was like a brother to harriet, she was his second in command, this hurts her very much" nooo clover was important for harriet, you know important. How does that even fit? They didnt have the balls to stand to their mistake and write about it, so they just twisted and turned so they could ignore what they wrote the last volume. Brilliant (and yes i will forever be bitter that qrow doesnt take responsibility for causing clovers death and just whines about his semblance)

Honestly, the way that Qrow/Clover was handled is a big blight on the company in my opinion. There's a great blog called @fairgame-was-queerbait where you can see lots of information about why Clover and Qrow was one hundred percent queerbaiting, and people are right to be mad about it.

The way that the writers really spent their time pointing fingers instead of actually admitting that they messed up... And the way that members of the fandom have been refusing to recognize it as queerbaiting, BYG, or problematic has also been staggering. This was something that deeply hurt LGBTQ+ RWBY fans, especially mlm that weren't otherwise represented. Eddy Rivas has apologized for the hurt fans went through, but not in a way that recognized that the hurt had been a direct result of their actions. And whether that action was directly intentionally contributing as a writer or just not checking the animation and marketing or letting the show go as is despite seeing it and knowing how it'd be taken, or never telling people not to get their hopes up and that the ship was not intended despite knowing that it was quickly becoming one of the more popular RWBY ships is besides the point.

Fans have been quick to say that obviously FG was unintentional and that Clover couldn't have been meant to be read as gay because "the writers would never do that," while ignoring Miles Luna's discussions regarding Pilot Boi. He had been told about how Bury Your Gays was a very harmful trope and therefore decided not to include Pilot Boi being gay, but then 'was kicking himself' over not doing it anyway because Pilot Boi was popular. The fact that these fans are so delusional to believe that the writers would never do something, when they literally expressed that they wished they'd done it. Why is it so hard to believe that the writers would cross that line with Clover when one of them openly regretted not crossing that line earlier?

(Although as a side note, I wouldn't necessarily go so far as to say that Qrow 'caused' the death of Clover. Everybody lost braincells there in that fight and he definitely wasn't without sin and I for sure think he ought to have been guilty and taken responsibility for having broken Clover's aura, plus letting the blame fall to the guy who was literally fecking murdered was terrible. But Qrow didn't cause Tyrian to kill Clover, and he didn't cause Robyn to start up the fight in the first place when he and Clover were both being fairly peaceable at first.)

But! The way that RWBY said 'let's drag Clover after his death, imply things about his character that we never showed to be true, and have Robyn of all people say Qrow's just better than him.' Also, if Qrow really freaking cared about Clover in the show enough to keep that pin (that by all rights should've gone to the Ace Ops,) maybe he could tell Robyn to keep Clover's name out of her thin mouth, and be actually angry that she started the whole damn fight in the fricking first place. Honestly, I didn't like Clover at first and I don't ship Fair Game, but God almighty, the frustration I've felt watching the fandom start harassing people who liked him or the people that are mad about queerbaiting... Now I do like the idea of Clover and enjoy writing for him, and it's actually because of all the haters. So congrats to the RWBY simps, they've turned me into a Clover fan.

And if Qrow ends up with Robyn, I will... Post angrily about it. Using caps lock. After I finish vomiting over having to see it.

Here's the link to fairgame-was-queerbait again, I'd recommend anyone who wants to see the tweets and the screenshots check it out, I was so glad to find their blog and be able to see all this stuff for myself. It's honestly staggering that people are denying that there was queerbaiting, and saying that fans just 'invented this ship in their heads' or have no right to be upset. BTW, nobody better try that invalidating stuff in my comments. I'll block on sight.

[storysofmyown]

How the demon bro’s would ask you to marry them

Note: I am unaware if this was done before, i have not seen this specific scenario yet, so if there is any resemblance to an already existing work it was unintentional!

Lucifer:

This man, he knew from the moment you two started the relationship that he would marry you. There was never a doubt in his mind, he was not letting you get away.

So, of course, he knew that at some point he would ask you to marry him. His pride dictating him to ask you first no matter what, and so...he did.

It wasn't a big party, nor was it with his brothers or anyone else. It was just the two of you. No interruptions and no drama, just you two, just like he wanted to be for the rest of his live.

He had planned the entire evening, making sure none of the brothers would interfere at all. He rented the whole restaurant, the only ones that stayed longer were the cook and after delivering the food they left.

There was soft music in the background, a dim light illuminated everything, the proposal, just like many things in your relationship was going to low-key.

You would be eating and chatting for a moment, look down, and the moment you look up there is a neatly placed black velvet box.

At first you were confused, but with a soft smile, Lucifer ushered you to open the small box. Inside there was a beautiful small ring with red stones. It was simply breathtaking, but so was the softness in Lucifer’s smug smile as he watched your face lit u[p at the sight of it. He would take your hand, give a kiss to it, the ring in his other fingers as you look at him directly in the eyes, before simply saying

“Marry me.” The weight of the ring and the feeling on his fingers between yours would only become present as you nod slowly, tears in your eyes as the demon looked at you with the most love sick expression he had ever shown.

Mammon:

Dear lord, did it take this demon long before he could simply say “I love you” in a sincere way without feeling embarrassed or berating your afterwards. But you stayed with him, no matter what, and where others would make fun of him and insult him, you put care and love in his life.

So...yeah, he wanted to marry. The moment he realized he wanted to marry you it was a soft night in your room. The two of you were in bed after the other’s leaving, you had fallen asleep in his arms and he was caressing your cheek, and he realized he simply couldn't live without you anymore.

This demon would want EVERYONE to know you are his, and only HIS.

He would buy you the biggest and most expensive ring there is. After all, you belonged to The Great Mammon, you would now need better jewelry and stuff like that. And what a better start than the best ring he could find? (He also bought this with half money earned from working and half from Lucifer’s credit card. The eldest made sure Mammon paid back after threatening him saying he would not pay one grimm for the wedding.)

Now, the demon would want this to be both a special and memorable moment, but he would want to have you all for himself when he asks.

So, he would take you to a carnival of sorts. It was almost as chaotic as your relationship with him, which was simply befitting.

It would be an EXCELLENT time. The most fun you had with him, and the relationship was always fun. The whole time would be spent between laughs, jokes, throwing popcorn at each other, etc.

Then,it would  be quiet. But not in an uncomfortable way, less and less people would be at the carnival, and when there is few people, he would grow quieter, mustering the courage to actually ask you. He would take a deep a deep breath, hands buried in his pockets as he plays with the small box. Finally, he would speak.

“Yo” he wouldn't wait for an answer. “Y-y’know that we...have been dating for a while, right?” One hand in his hair as he no longer looks at you. “And...and you are always so nice to me and you basically thought me how to feel lo-love or whatever and- and i guess what I’m trying to say is-” He would stop, a blush covering his cheeks as he finally looks at you and pulls the box out. “Would you marry me?”

And it amazes you, it amazes you that before, when your relationship was fresh and new, he would go on a tangent about how you should feel honored that someone like him, would be interested in someone like you. But not now, he didn't had to say that. Because you were honored that he would love you, and he was honored that you would even consider to love him back.

“Oi! Erh...are ya just gonna stand there?!” He would ask after several moments of silence, before you tackle him in a big hug and smile saying yes over and over. He would never admit it, but the demon cried a little, but never nearly as much as when the actual wedding arrived.

Leviathan:

Oh boi, oh dear, this poor demon is soooooooooo insecure at first!! He questions why you would ever want to be in a relationship with someone like him. He honestly believes that you will one day realize you could be with someone much better than him, so the idea of marriage never crosses his mind...until a certain day.

It had been years since you started the relationship, and little by little he had started to believe you loved him. He had his insecurities...and the fact that his sin was envy had not helped...but now he honestly believed you did love him. 

You were in his room, you guys were watching an anime you had been following for a while now. There was a specific scene that threw him off, the protagonist had claimed something that completely contradicted something that had happened back in episode #123. Before he could even say anything, you paused the show and went over a half an hour rant about the exact same subject he was just about to start talking about, even providing theories of your own about if this was intentional or not.

That was it for him. Man knew he needed you in his life forever. No one had ever taken interest in what he liked or cared to actually pay attention to the things he was fixated about, so knowing that you cared...he knew he couldn't risk ever losing you. Because even if one took away all the romantic parts of your relationship, you were still his friend, the best friend he had ever had. So, that night he started planing.

He had to ask Asmodeus for help, baby was so scared and nervous about the whole thing he didn't knew how to ask you at all. But in the end, he had his idea. He was going to ask you in anime fashion. He would think of your favorite anime from all of those you had ever watched and rambled to him about. He would pick your favorite, and base an entire game around it. he even dressed as our favorite character from the anime (no matter how embarrassing it was)

The final stage of the whole thing was a competition. Asmodeus will ask you both questions, and the winner would get a prize. This was a call back to that time you two competed to know which one was a bigger TSL fan, except that this time he would let you win.

You were so happy after winning you didn't notice the man take out a ring. The moment you stopped celebrating and turned to look at the demon, you noticed a blush across his face and the way his hand fidgeted with something between them.

“Mc...” His voice would be too quiet, barely even audible. For a second you thought he was going to attack you just like that one time, but instead he took a deep breath.  “I know i said there would be a prize for the winner, but i dont know if this is much of a price...I just know that...that I-I love you.” The last part was quiet, but sincere. “ And i know im a good for nothing otaku and that it isnt easy dealing with my insecurities but...I want to be with you so Mc...would you marry me?”

 His voice broke in several instances, barely even able to to actually say those words. But at the end he was able to get them out, tears and all. But the one that would be crying the hardest would be you, as you walked up to him and embraced him while whispering yes against his chest. His shaky hands would barely be able to put the blue stoned ring that for some reason reminded you of both the ocean and his room.

I might do the other brothers later on and possibly one undatable, but yeah i hope y’all liked whatever this was!

[zukkaoru]

shhh i’m not on my phone at work got a second wHAT

35:) ramble to me, babe

35. ramble about any fic-related thing you want

corey this is so vague i don't even know where to begin skjgdfhdj uhhhhh what do i want to ramble about,,

WAIT OKAY I GOT IT

okay so back in like. february i think i did another ask game like this and someone (jo?? maybe???) sent an ask about meta/foreshadowing/hidden references for this ultraviolet morning light and at the time, only the first two(?) chapters were out so i couldn't talk about the foreshadowing, bc it was all leading up to the end of chapter six. but i can talk about it now bc the whole fic is up!!

i'll put it under the cut bc i know it'll be long + spoilers for those who haven't yet read tuvml

fic writer ask game

okay so first. all of the foreshadowing for the drowning scene. maybe i did already have a list of these in my google docs in case anyone every asked, maybe not, i won't say

anyway. i added in water/drowning imagery with zuko specifically in this fic, because of the drowning scene, and especially bc in the atla world, water imagery would generally be used with characters from the water tribes rather than someone from the fire nation. so it wasn't just me liking water-related words and shoving them onto zuko for no reason; it was intentional

chapter one:

- He really can’t think of anything more beautiful than Zuko drenched in moonlight - This is what fire feels like when doused with water. - It burns like fire consuming Sokka’s entire body, like he’s been dunked underwater and the surface has frozen over and his lungs are about to give out, but he’s going to keep hitting the ice anyways like he’s strong enough to break it.

chapter two:

- It washes over his body all at once, like a wave pulling him under the surface of the ocean, until his limbs are numb and tingly and his head sways. He’s completely frozen in place, eyes staring straight ahead but not really seeing anything. - He would’ve rather stood across from Azula in the Agni Kai arena and let her shoot him full of lightning, rather been dropped in the middle of the ocean

chapter three:

- Zuko searches the tumultuous ocean that is his mind for the right words - Zuko was telling them about Azula never quite getting the knack for swimming despite their annual vacations to Ember Island when they were little, and Sokka was so happy.

chapter four:

So he lets the words sink, lets them drown in the knowledge that he no longer has the right to talk to Sokka in the same way he used to.

chapter five:

The moonlight pours over him, drowning him in a soft white glow.

chapter six:

But…my doctors have told me that spending the rest of your life letting yourself drown in guilt isn’t going to help anyone.

also, people picked up on vai being a double agent, but no one picked up on the fact that she was a waterbender, even though i did hint at that too:

- Her brown skin is almost as dark as Sokka’s and her face and arms are covered in freckles. - It reminds Sokka of himself a little; the bright blue eyes of a waterbender but no bending ability to speak of. - How can you get better than a play with dragons, a star-crossed love affair, sun and moon symbolism, and a villain who has a secret past that ties them to the protagonist?

beyond that, there are also a lot of parallels/call backs to previous chapters/foreshadowing to future scenes just in general. the funniest one (and also completely unintentional one) is probably sokka and katara calling each other their least favorite [sibling]

“You’re my least favorite sister,” // You are, and I say this from the bottom of my heart, my least favorite brother ever. chapter 1 // epilogue

but there are. several more. and i'm not sure how many of them people picked up on so i will add them all bc i love them <3

Zuko would get himself arrested, kidnapped, killed, whatever if it would keep Sokka safe. // “I would give my life for [Zuko] without a second thought.” … “But would he do the same for you?” chapter 4 // chapter 6

When Sokka’s hand began to retreat, Zuko had reached forward, grabbed it, and whispered, “Please stay.” // “Don’t leave me.” Sokka says it like a prayer … like he would repeat it until he couldn’t remember anything else if it meant Zuko would keep holding him. “Just… stay.” chapter 5 // chapter 7

So they sit - Sokka and Zuko - on the roof of some abandoned building in the outskirts of the city. // “But now I’m pretty sure we’re just destined to be Sokka and Zuko” chapter 5 // chapter 7

“I just don’t think he’s trustworthy enough for this. … when he proves that he isn’t as reliable as you think - when he proves that he’s only ever going to let you down - I’m going to say I told you so.” // “Zuko is kind, and he is trustworthy and reliable. He’d never purposefully let me down” chapter 3 // chapter 6

this ^ was one i was hoping people would pick up on bc it makes the drowning scene/sokka pleading for vai to not hurt zuko that much angstier, but i'm not sure anyone did so now i'm putting those lines right next to each other so you're all forced to confront the pain <3

Is he still in love with Zuko? Is being in love enough? // But what good is any of that? Love isn’t always enough. // “It doesn’t matter who or where feels like home, it doesn’t matter if we’re in love. When you’re next in line for the throne, love isn’t enough.” chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 6

Zuko warms his other hand on instinct, and apparently it was a good call because Sokka squeezes it tighter and presses closer to Zuko. “I forgot my mittens at home,” // I love you doesn’t always take the shape of those three words. … Sometimes, it’s Have you eaten today? or Don’t forget your mittens again! chapter 1 // chapter 6

this ^ is also one i thought people might pick up on but idk if anyone did or not. but it made me🥺🥺 when i wrote it

[religion tw for the last part]

okay i could leave it there but corey gave me an excuse to ramble and i've made the post this long anyways so one more thing! i explained this to corey a while ago when we were having dinner together but i find it very funny so i'm sharing it with all of you i say like anyone has actually read this far

i accidentally made zuko a Christ Figure in tuvml

"but grace, surely that's not possible," you say. "surely there's no way zuko is a christ figure! there aren't any christian themes in tuvml. you didn't even have anyone try to convince vai to forgive zuko or have anyone convince zuko and sokka that they should forgive vai! how could you have a christ figure in your fic???"

let me set the scene. it's 2019, you're a senior in high school, and you decided to take ap literature for the possibility of college credit. your teacher has this book called how to read literature like a professor that he has his classes read chapters from, and one of those chapters talks about Christ Figures in literature. one of those chapters also talks about baptism symbolism, and mentions how oftentimes, characters who are christ figures will go through a baptism of some sort - being "born again" after a scene where they come out of the water

do you want to know what zuko does in this ultraviolet morning light?

he goes into the water. and then he comes back out.

and do you want to know what i had sokka say about zuko shortly before he took a dive into the baptistry water?

Zuko looks away from him, resigned, like he’s ready to die as atonement.

see. i grew up Christian, i went to church every sunday and i have spent the majority of my life memorizing Bible verses either for awana or bible quizzing and. sometimes i just drop biblical words into my writing sometimes bc they're words i've heard since i was a kid, and they're words i learned make you sound smarter at church. so of course i throw them around while writing. i use them in essays, i use them in poetry, and i use them in fan fiction.

so was i trying to make zuko a christ figure in my fic? absolutely not.

but i had sokka say he looked ready to die as atonement (for the sins of his people), and then i had him go into the water, nearly die, and have to be "brought back to life" by suki's cpr, being "born again" after a "baptism" and

well

accidental christ figure zuko i guess

anyway. this went on for a while and i'm not sure anyone bothered reading all of it which. valid.

thank you corey for letting me ramble skjdgfdjgh i'm not sure this is coherent, nor should it have all been in one post, but whatever

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me

I’m gonna miss writing about Amethyst.

As the most sisterly Crystal Gem, a firebrand in the new role of middle child after spending millennia as the baby of the group, Amethyst’s story is about growing from a wild teen to a responsible adult. Like Steven, she feels the need to prove that she’s a Crystal Gem too, but unlike Steven, she already is a Crystal Gem, so she carries a different kind of resentment as she continues to be treated like a child. It’s made even worse by her warrior instincts clashing with her small frame: she lives with the constant anxiety that she’s a mistake, a Gem who came out wrong and doesn’t belong in her family, so she comforts and distracts herself with hedonism and shapeshifting. Her problem goes beyond not feeling respected: deep down, she fears that she doesn’t deserve respect.

But she changes her mind.

“This isn’t normal.”

The Return and Jailbreak culminated the first act of Steven Universe, giving our characters subtle achievements (Amethyst and Pearl casually fuse into Opal, Greg reveals a deeper understanding of the Gems than we once thought, Beach City comes together as a community when Steven is in danger) and huge changes (Steven summons a massive shield, Garnet’s status as a fusion is confirmed, Lapis goes from prisoner to imprisoner). While not an official finale, Beta and Earthlings culminated the second act, narrowing the focus to five characters as they each reach one milestone or another: Lapis and Amethyst find a level of peace, Peridot defends her new home, Jasper succumbs to corruption, and Steven helps his friends but fails to help his enemy.

In a way, Change Your Mind culminates the third act with an even narrower focus. Sure, it gives big moments to a ton of characters (there’s fanservice galore, and we see the three Diamonds in particular take enormous steps), but we zero in on Steven in the same way the entire act has zeroed in on Steven, because this is a story about identity. It isn’t only about who he is, but who he wants to be moving forward, and fusing all the insights he’s learned from his human family, his Crystal Gem family, and his Diamond family into a song that encapsulates his growth over the course of the series.

We start in the most lifelike of the Diamond dreams, so real that Steven still sees himself as Steven rather than embodying Pink. Once again, this connection emerges from sleeping in a location where Pink once dwelled, but while he wasn’t feeling her impatience and rage in Jungle Moon, nor her hardening resolve in Can’t Go Back, nor her whimsy in Familiar, this time they share the same headspace when they’re both locked in a tower.

Considering how bombastic things get in this episode, I love how low-key this final dream remains until White Diamond interferes. We’re as lost as Steven at first, worrying about Connie and baffled at Blue’s recognizable mood but incongruous accusations, but as the truth becomes clear, he transforms into Pink off-screen without any fanfare, both in body and in mind: Steven isn’t questioning Blue’s warning about Pink Pearl, Pink Diamond is apologizing for her own behavior in Zach Callison’s voice. Still, looking down jolts him out of it, and after seeing the Crystal Gems poofed at the ball for a more definitive Steven memory, we cycle in Rose’s horror at her family launching a final attack on Earth. The rapid-fire identity shifts that follow inspired the most haunting piece of promo art for the episode, drawn by Rebecca Sugar herself, but I didn’t wanna display it without a seizure warning.

It’s excellent exposition, hitting the highlights of the Diamonds’ many wrongs and establishing Steven’s fraying sense of self in a way that’s both artful and brief; it’s important to remind younger viewers about the stakes, but Change Your Mind doesn’t pretend that anyone should be watching this episode without context, so it doesn’t prioritize thorough explanation. And despite how frightening the nightmare becomes, Steven gains a new sense of clarity after seeing the pattern laid out in front of him. The Diamonds are hurting him in the same way they hurt his mother, and if he’s going to help everyone, he needs to help himself.

When Blue Diamond returns to the tower in modern day, Steven isn’t afraid, and he isn’t alone. The first of many puns riddling the finale emerges (“Déjà Blue!”) before Connie proves why she’s the perfect partner for our hero, platonic or otherwise. He’s terrible at confronting the people that hurt him—this would require him to acknowledge he’s hurt in the first place, which he’s also terrible at—but if she was comfortable enough with confrontation to call out her best friend when he wrongs her, Blue Diamond doesn’t stand a chance. Connie comes out swinging, loading the bases with candor and sass despite Blue’s confusion over why a human even gets an opinion about this stuff, which makes Steven’s refusal to apologize hit the Diamond like a grand slam.

I love that Steven’s flat “no” takes Connie by surprise as well as Blue, because yeah, it’s uncharacteristically blunt for someone who’s spent his entire trip to Homeworld bending over backwards like he usually does to accommodate others. When he doubles down by explaining that he isn’t sorry about creating a show that celebrates queer characters whoops sorry I mean fusion, Callison makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and this is what upsets Blue enough to inflict her tears on him. We’ll learn even more about Pink’s temper in Steven Universe Future, but the simple act of not bowing to authority makes Steven “worse than ever” in Blue’s mind: violence is more acceptable than insubordination. (Also, violence in cartoons is more acceptable than queer folks just sorta existing in cartoons, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Change Your Mind is about combating bigotry and cycles of abuse, and Blue is the obvious first test. She’s a bigot who doesn’t think she’s a bigot (compared to Yellow, who doesn’t care that she’s a bigot, and White, who’s quite proud of being a bigot). She passively perpetuates a toxic status quo (compared to Yellow, who actively perpetuates it, and White, who established it in the first place). It makes sense that she’s the first of the remaining Diamonds to change her mind, because all it takes for her to realize that something is wrong is thinking about it a little harder.

This doesn’t let her off the hook, of course: Blue’s sloth—the sin, not the animal—might not look flashy next to Yellow’s wrath or White’s pride or Pink’s envy, but she still chose to do nothing for thousands of years rather than contemplate how her actions and her society might have wronged Pink. If it was this easy for Blue to realize she was hurting Pink, it makes it that much more of an issue that it took her this long to figure it out. Unintentional bigots might be the “best” option by default, but they can be just as harmful as intentional bigots, and there’s a special sort of damage that can come from an oppressor who truly believes themselves an ally.

That said, while it’s important to acknowledge her blame (emphasized here when she only stops attacking Steven when he calls her out rather than the Diamonds in general), Blue is also a victim. She’s one of the most powerful beings on Homeworld, but she’s still trapped by White Diamond, and resorts to putting others down as a means of reclaiming a sense of that power. In the same way oppressed people often turn to sexism and racism and homophobia to make themselves feel bigger, Blue (and Yellow) reinforce White’s sweeping bigotry in the same way they echo her family-specific abuse. It’s not a good coping mechanism, in this show or in the real world, but understanding the problem is key to fixing it.

So it still feels like a victory when Blue turns, even though it should’ve happened ages ago, and even though she’s a tyrant. She isn’t just deciding to help Steven, she’s breaking out of that cycle in a way that allows for growth beyond our hero’s immediate concerns. Lisa Hannigan captures this transformation beautifully, shifting from manipulative whining about Pink’s behavior to a crushing realization that she’s the one who’s wrong. And even as she joins Steven’s side, she remains weighed down by her longstanding prejudice: Hannigan stutters as she refers to the Crystal Gems as his family, and her triumphant defense of Steven’s name to Yellow comes with the caveat that she’s still misgendering him.

But before we get to Yellow, we take a pit stop that grounds us back to Steven and Connie’s hunger. It may seem small, but this is a critical moment in establishing Steven’s humanity in a way the show has quietly done from day one: with food.

The very first scene of Steven Universe establishes our hero’s human half in a donut shop, upset about dessert. From there, the next five episodes drill in that Steven will take a unique approach to his magical Gem heritage, and they all involve food in a major way: Cookie Cats, then his father’s saying about pork chops and hot dogs, then the Cheeseburger Backpack (important enough to be the episode’s name), then the Together Breakfast (ditto), then creating a monster based on fries.

It’s not just Steven, either. The first few Connie episodes involve eating and drinking in ways that show hints of growth (worrying about trans fats, then sneaking food into movie theaters) and mark key moments in her life (sharing a juicebox, taking her parents to dinner). Lars’s development is tied with his love of baking, and on top of him and Sadie working at the Big Donut, the Frymans and the Pizzas are so tied to their food service jobs that it’s in their names. And speaking of names, we’ve got Vidalia calling her sons Sour Cream and Onion. It even extends to the Gems: Amethyst’s connection with Earth means she loves food, and Pearl’s greater distance from humanity means she can’t stomach it.

Food is fundamentally something that humans require and Gems don’t, and just like we saw in Lars’s Head, Steven’s physical body forces him to think about his own needs despite his usual focus on others. Both his humanity and his ability to stand up for himself are key to his eventual victory, and what could’ve been a generic transition between Blue and Yellow’s big scenes instead becomes a quiet Steven scene. Steven changing into his usual clothes (including his mom’s star) and Connie changing into her own outfit (including her dad’s jacket) is the perfect finishing touch before we dive back into the drama.

True to their natures, Yellow Diamond gets a starker introduction than Blue’s dream sequence: as the lights burst on, we get two shots focusing on a horrifying number of mutated Gem Shards floating around in the room, then the Crystal Gems’ thankfully intact gems in one big bubble, before panning down to the villain who caused all this pain. The menace is palpable before she even opens her mouth, but Patti LuPone’s low tone keeps the mood from boiling over just long enough that when she loses her cool, it hits like a freight train.

Blue’s passive bigotry endured because she lacked introspection, but Yellow’s active bigotry requires constantly justifying actions she knows are cruel by presenting it as a matter of superior reasoning. We’ve known from her first appearance that Yellow’s seething fury undermines her reputation for cold logic, and now more than ever the connection between her behavior and that of “sophisticated” bigots is clear. You know the type: openly, smugly hateful, but couching their hate as something derived from some deep knowledge about the subject, whether in religious convictions or whatever “science” they can scrape together to confirm their worldview.

Sure enough, even in her rage, Yellow lays down what she sees as a rational explanation for why it was okay to mistreat Pink, and why it’s okay that they themselves are mistreated: if they make exceptions for anyone, even other Diamonds, they must make exceptions for everyone, and chaos reigns. Besides the slippery slope being a fallacy, her argument is punctured by Connie’s second big retort of the night, pointing out that this extreme conclusion of Homeworld Gems living free actually sounds pretty nice. But you can’t force this type of bigot to change their mind through reason; if such a person was actually interested in logical worldviews, they wouldn’t have become a bigot in the first place. You need to change their heart.

Fortunately, emotions are Blue’s domain, so she’s just the person to help. Unfortunately, in the same way she still can’t get Steven’s pronouns right, Blue lacks experience with healthy communication, and strikes a first blow against Yellow on instinct. The ensuing brawl is brutal, switching between the massive scale of two warring titans and the smaller scale of Steven and Connie scrambling to save the Crystal Gems as Blue and Yellow unload millennia of baggage on each other. It’s so important that Blue is the physical instigator here, as it fuels Yellow’s white-hot self-righteous streak like nothing else, and it keeps the fight from being one-sided all the way through: Yellow pretty much needs to be the one dealing the final blow for the scene to stick, so it gets balanced out by Blue’s opening punch.

Blue uses her powers on Yellow, and Yellow uses her powers on Blue, but Steven’s power is talking. So just like with Blue’s conversion, Connie gets the opening words while Steven gets the finisher. When he finally gets her attention after being ignored throughout the scene, he makes Yellow listen to him by using the same food-based expression I mentioned from all the way back in Laser Light Cannon. It’d pack a bigger punch if Greg said “If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs” at literally any other point in the show, but it still does the trick.

Blue was emotionally ready to accept that Pink was suffering, but hadn’t considered the Diamonds’ role in that suffering. Yellow knew that Pink suffered thanks to the Diamonds, but suppressed her emotions to the point where she couldn’t empathize with her sister’s plight. Blue needed to be more thoughtful to change, and Yellow needed to be more in touch with her emotions to change, and thus the stage is set for the Battle of Heart and Mind against White Diamond.

Except that this isn’t the lesson of Change Your Mind. Blue and Yellow show that some bigots can be reached, which is great! But despite their differences, Steven uses the same basic strategy in both: he doesn’t let them belittle his identity, he confidently dispels their wrongheaded assumptions, and he gets help from allies instead of shouldering the burden himself. We spend the beginning of the episode seeing that in the right circumstances this approach can work, but from here we’ll see that with some bigots, it’s a non-starter.

So long as you can engage with bigots while maintaining your self-respect, it can be good work to try and help them see the light. It’s not an obligation, but if you want to change hearts and minds, Steven provides a good template for how to do it. Now the rest of the episode can focus on the bigger lesson: if someone refuses to respect your humanity when you’re steadfast and forthright, it isn’t your job to breathe in their poison, or to hold your breath until you asphyxiate waiting for change.

But more on that after the break!

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

As we reach the end of the original series, it would be criminal not to acknowledge three long-time storyboarders who are on their way out. This isn’t their final contribution to the series, as only one of Change Your Mind’s twelve credited writer/boarders didn’t go on to work on The Movie in some way (Christine Liu, whose tenure was brief but great), and Hilary Florido stayed on as a supervisor for Future. But I wanted to write the big sendoffs here, as this is the last proper “episode” that these three worked on as regular boarders. So it’s time to say goodbye to Katie Mitroff, Hilary Florido, and Jeff Liu.

First up is Katie Mitroff, who clocked two early knockouts with Alone Together and The Test alongside Florido. Mitroff’n’Florido went on to make other classics like Maximum Capacity and Joy Ride before the former teamed up with Lamar Abrams and the latter teamed up with Jesse Zuke for their next batch of episodes.

With Abrams, Mitroff deepened the lore of the show with We Need to Talk, Steven’s Birthday, Bismuth, Buddy’s Book, Three Gems and a Baby, and especially The Answer. She gave us the harrowing revelation of Back to the Moon, and the most ridiculous episode of the series, Restaurant Wars. Her final partner was Paul Villeco, finishing strong with The Trial, Back to the Kindergarten, Your Mother and Mine, Pool Hopping, What’s Your Problem?, Reunited, and Change Your Mind, 100% of which are either in my Love ‘em ranking or my Top Episodes. (Oh, sorry, spoiler alert I love Change Your Mind.)

It’s strange, because she didn’t work on any of the major episodes of Amethyst’s big arc at the end of Season 3, but Mitroff is one of my favorite Amethyst boarders: she’s the consistent thread between Maximum Capacity, Back to the Moon, and What’s Your Problem?, three cornerstones of the character. She excelled at going outside the show’s usual style, as seen in The Answer and Your Mother and Mine, and it’s no coincidence she helped animate Isn’t It Love? to bring Cotton Candy Garnet back for one last ride.

Katie Mitroff is an absolute rock star, I wish her well and you should too.

[that-damn-girl]

Dreaming and Doing

(Oneshot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (cis)female!reader

Words: 4100+

Type: Fluff/Smut, One Bed trope, mutual pinning, wet dream.

Warnings: SMUT ahead. 18+ only. Reader has a wet dream.

Summary: Trapped in a safe-house, Bucky and you got only one bed to sleep off your exhaustion. Everything was fine until you had a wet dream.

A/N: This is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ ​‘s 24 Hour Drabble Challange: Tropes. I am a sucker for one bed! I know I’ve yet to complete a series I’ve already started based on it, but it will take time. So a oneshot it is! Hope you like it!

Deep in the humid forest, there lay your salvation, your refuge - a safe house.

After completing your mission, you and Bucky needed to wait inside the safe house for roughly 12 hours before extraction. Well, more like inside a safe room than a safe house.

This safe house was one of the smaller ones under SHIELD’s wing; a heavily armed and safe square room with a small washroom and an even smaller kitchenette, and yes - one bed.

Having exhausted all your energy, you only wanted to utilise the next 12 hours in sleeping. Bucky, bless that gentleman, proceeded to move to the couch as soon as you laid down under the covers. You convinced him to join you on the bed if he wanted to rest.

Agreeing, he laid beside you, trying to be as far from you as much the bed would give him space. His body needed to replenish the energy lost, but he couldn’t sleep. Once he settled on the bed, he didn’t want to disturb you by moving constantly, so he kept still, eyes on the ceiling and didn’t try to think about the sweetness next to him.

You constantly moved though, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in with your bra on, but didn’t have any luck so far. You would have removed your bra had it been anyone else, male or otherwise, but you kept it on for Bucky’s sake. You knew he felt uncomfortable around anyone but Steve most of the time. Knowing he would’ve felt weirder looking at you without your breasts supported by your bra when the two of you weren’t intimate, you tried not to mind the constrictive feel of your bra.

You tried. You tried very hard.

But you lost.

Making up your mind, you turned your head towards him, “Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

You waited a moment to collect your cool, “I don’t know if you’ll get it but - uhm, I mean I think you won’t get it, but it’s - ah, it’s really uncomfortable for me to sleep with my bra on.” You posed it more like a question.

A moment of silence passed. Your gulp could be heard. Bucky didn’t know what to respond to that. Gathering some courage, you said, “Would it be okay for you if I removed it?”

Bucky replayed it in his head to check if he heard it right. He didn’t recall sharing a bed with a woman other than to get frisky with her before the war. Not like he even had the chance to get as close to a woman after getting free from HYDRA to get friskier with than his hand. No, he had never shared a bed with a woman platonically. He didn’t know if it was good or bad but it was weird enough for him already, and you wanting to free your juicy looking, plump, round, delicious breasts - ahm, free yourself from your bra didn’t help.

He didn’t know why it bothered him though. It was your body and you could do whatever you wished. Moreover, you both were about to sleep and he was at a considerable distance from you. Not like he could actually see how you looked like with your breasts hanging freely underneath the SHIELD sweatshirt you wore, neither could he touch. He tried to maintain a calm voice, “Of - of course, whatever you wish, doll. It’s your body, not mine.”

Your brain overlooked the fact that if it didn’t bother him, then why did he stutter?

You smiled and mumbled out a “Great.” Bucky wasn’t ready for what greeted him next.

He didn’t know what he expected when he voiced out his opinion, but it wasn’t the sight you presented before him. You sat up, brought your hands behind your back and underneath your shirt to unclasp your bra. He didn’t mean to gawk, but once he looked at you due to the abruptness of your movement he couldn’t stop.

Until that moment he didn’t know that he could be turned on just by staring at someone’s naked back.

You moved each hand under your sleeves one by one to pull out the straps and with one final tug at your bra beneath your shirt from the front, you threw it on the couch steps away. As you laid back down, you couldn’t help but moan at the relieve you felt when your breasts lay naturally on your chest without the confinement of your bra. Relaxed, you soon fell asleep.

Bucky heard your light snores. He wasn’t as stiff as before, but he wasn’t calm either. How could he be when he heard you moan a few minutes ago, which did nothing but added onto his ‘turned on’ status. His mind couldn’t help but form imaginary pictures of you in his head which he definitely could not share with Peter like he had been sharing memes with Bucky.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm down until yet another unexpected thing happened.

Sometimes, you moved a lot in your sleep. This was one of those sometimes.

From your back, you had turned to your side towards Bucky. One of your hands did a 180° swing and landed on his chest, while a leg splayed out across his torso. One of both your upper and lower limbs encompassed him; caged him beneath you. He had become your personal human pillow.

He tried to shift your hands and legs from around himself, but discovered that your grip was far stronger in your sleep than when awake. He wiggled some more, until realisation hit him square in the face that your braless breasts were pressed tightly against his shoulder.

He should’ve been mortified, and a part of him was. But it was much smaller to the part of him which enjoyed the feel the softness of your breasts against his shoulder, though separated by two layers of thin clothes.

He knew it was wrong to feel you up anyhow when you were dead asleep, no matter how innocent in the situation he was. He hadn’t meant to be in this position, and neither had you. No matter how unintentional it was, he felt like he was taking advantage of you by enjoying the feel of your breasts. He knew how it felt to be taken advantage of. It wasn’t a good feeling.

He tried to free himself from your grasp, but you wouldn’t budge. He stopped when he heard his name from your lips, “Bucky,” it was no more than a whisper.

He thought he had finally disturbed you enough to wake you up, so he stilled. You again called out to him, a little louder this time.

“Yes, Y/N?” He said, figuring you’d be up soon anyway.

Your mouth next to his ear, you called out his name yet again, clutching onto him deeper. He was about to repeat himself when he heard you mumble incoherently.

When he tried to shake you awake, you started mumbling his name again, drawling out the ‘y’ of Bucky. Slowly, you started taking deep breaths. Eventually, everytime you mumbled out his name, you would exhale loudly in front of his ear, making him shiver. It seemed to him that you were panting.

It took Bucky a few moments to understand that you were moaning. In fact, you were moaning his name. His name sounded so sinful on your tongue; a little more than a whisper but clear; seductive and sensual.

In addition to it, as you breathed deeply you chest role and fell to some degree, making the presence of your breasts pressed to him even more prominent.

He couldn’t stop the flow of blood to his cock even if he wanted to.

He was painfully aware of every inch of your skin in contact with his. It was blistering hot, and his dick was agonisingly hard. Your thigh was right above his torso and he could feel his cock touching it once he became hard.

You were having a wet dream. A wet dream about him. It was hard for Bucky to digest that.

He didn’t want to stop hearing you moaning his name, but he knew he needed to move you to your side. This time, he used his metal arm to shift you so that you lay on your back. Once he was sure you wouldn’t move, he laid back down as far from you as possible.

Three minutes.

It had taken you precisely three minutes to resume your position, trapping him within your limbs. He knew because he had counted to distract himself from listening to you huff and moan.

If he indulged in feeling your breasts again, he was certain he’d do something he’d regret. He abruptly sat up on the bed. While your hand fell from his side, you leg directly landed on his crotch from his torso. He was red in the face instantly. He shoved your leg off of him.

He wondered what excuse he’d give for waking you up. He couldn’t possibly say, 'Hey, so you were having a wet dream and I most probably would have fucked and railed you into the bed if you hadn’t stopped moaning my name’. Yeah, no. Nightmares were a legitimate reason though, right?

Turning on the bedside lamps, he gently shook you, but you were in too deep to wake up from just a couple of shoves - or maybe he was in too deep in you in your dream, he guessed. Shaking his head as if it would clear the unparliamentary images or you from his head, he called out your name. That and shaking you eventually woke you up.

Once you opened your eyes, everything seemed hazy. As your vision cleared, you saw a face and voice you’d been seeing and hearing mere seconds ago. You wondered how could he shift positions so fast from above you to beside you fully clothed. It took you a minute of blinking quickly to understand you were dreaming the previous experience.

Your eyes went wide with the realisation. You spoke his name, not moaned it and Bucky already missed it.

“You were having a nightmare, Y/N.”

“A nightmare?” You repeated, confusion laced in your voice, proceeding to sit upright.

He decided to play with you, “Yeah, you were panting and moving a lot, as if you were running or something,” he said the last word as if he truly knew what you were dreaming about but continued, “And you were calling out my name. To help you out, I guess?”

“I was calling out your name?!” You shrieked. Well, you remembered as the seconds passed that you were moaning pretty hard in your sleep, but to know you actually said it out loud mortified you.

He felt bad about lying to you and putting you through this, but he couldn’t possibly tell you the truth either. You put your head in your hands, “Ugh, I am really sorry for disturbing you, Bucky.”

He moved to rub your back to comfort you, “It’s okay, Y/N. I wasn’t really asleep anyway.”

You leaned into his touch, trying to think of anything but the dream. Under the lights from the lamps, you couldn’t help but notice a prominent bulge in Bucky’s sweats. Your mortification and embarrassment held you from thinking clearly. You said to the only other person in the room, “Why are you hard?”

You didn’t register what you had said it until after you’d heard it yourself. Bucky struggled to answer that. He stiffened against you, not a single excuse coming to his mind, “I- uh, I- it’s..”

You would have told him not to answer that and apologised profusely, but you knew he had known about your dream. Groaning, shifted so could face him. If he knew already, it was only fair for you to apologise for making him uncomfortable.

“Bucky, I know you know.” You said and he nodded, casting his eyes downwards and covered himself by a pillow. You went on, “I am really very sorry, Bucky. I don’t know why it happened. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, at all.“

He nodded, embarrassed about being caught.

No verbal response from him only lengthened your nervousness. You felt the need to explain yourself, “Look, Bucky, you are hot.” His head whipped in your direction. With widened eyes, you couldn’t stop yourself now, “I meant you’re good looking. And such a good person at heart. Like you are every girl’s dream.”

You cringed at what you said. Though it was true, all of it was meant to stay inside your head. It was you first mission with Bucky, and you had no doubt he was going to report you. To take out yourself from the pit you had dug for yourself, you unknowingly only dug deeper, “I mean, have you looked at yourself? Those thighs and those hands, those eyes and those smiles; give a girl a break, would you? Doesn’t help the fact that you are the sweetest person I know. And no, I don’t like you just for your body. It’s a bonus, sure, but you are so good at heart. I like you for all the helping you do around, donate as much as you can, taking care- ”

Your lips felt something hot yet soft, while your cheeks felt projections like fingers holding them at place. Due to the shock, your eyes remained open as he kissed you slowly and gently, his eyes shut tightly. You couldn’t help but melt into him, his hands and his lips. You kissed him back just as gently, tilting your head.

He didn’t know what had happened to him, but hearing you admit that you thought he was hot; that you liked him and the way you praised him, it did many things to him. Also, the way you rambled on and on with flushed cheeks only aided him in wanting to kiss you, so he did.

For all the abruptness, the kiss went surprisingly slow and relaxed, as if this was something you two had been doing for years. Somehow, you had closed your eyes, not remembering ‘when’ when you had to open them as you parted.

Bucky looked at you, uncertainty clear in his eyes, “You meant it?”

You held his cheeks and nodded eagerly, “Every word.”

He looked into your eyes some more, “You like me?”

You casted your eyes downwards, feeling self-conscious. Somehow, you got a surge of self-confidence. You nodded as you spoke, “Yeah.”

He titled your head to look into your eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I like you too, baby doll. I like you a lot.”

You felt your heart boom in your chest. Not knowing how to react, you stayed still. Bucky started leaning in the already little space between you slowly, giving you time to pull back if you wanted. You heard your heart boom in your ears.

Not getting neither a positive nor a negative response from your still form, he held himself just before he could kiss you again. His lips nearly touched your and you could feel them move before you heard, “Tell me you want this.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “Tell me you don’t, and I stop.”

You were still too overwhelmed to talk, so you willed your body to push forward just a little. As soon as your lips touched his, he wasted no time in fastening his grip on your cheeks and smashing your lips together. Licking you bottom lip, his tongue asked for permission. Opening your mouth, your tongue clashed against his.

His hands lifted you from beside him and set you down on his lap. You could feel his erection long and hard below you. As your lips and tongues danced, taking in the shape and taste of each other, you started grinding on him.

His hands clutched your waist, and for a fleeting second you thought that he’d stop you; that you’d gone too far, but the inner you did a happy dance as he pulled you down even harder and guided your movement on himself.

Needing his touch without any barriers, needing to feel his skin against yours, you tugged at his shirt. He seized your hands immediately, “You sure you wanna do this, doll?” He looked at you with such sincerity in his eyes that you knew without a doubt he’d back off if you said so. But that was the thing - you didn’t want to.

Holding his gaze, you said, “I am sure, Bucky. I want to.”

Bucky groaned at how good it felt inside him. He pulled both his and your shirt over his head with such hurry as if you’d vanish any second. He kissed down your neck as he worked on his and your sweats. As soon as they were out of the way, you started grinding on him with fervor, you lips engulfing his member as your mouth resumed dancing against his elegantly.

He moaned into your mouth when your bits rubbed against the head of his shaft, kick starting a cardinal need in him he needed to feed.

He flipped you on your back and moved down to your chest. He licked one of your nipples, encircling it tenderly but with vest before taking it in.

As he sucked on it, one of his arms went to loop around your waist as the other slipped to rub against your bundle of nerves.

His trained and experienced fingers worked their magic on you with rubbing your clit and putting just the right amount of pressure on it. He slapped his hands just a little more than lightly before rubbing and flicking it again, soothing the slight pain.

“So beautiful, so perfect” He gave your nipple kitten licks as he looked into your eyes, “Taking it all so good, like a good girl. My good girl.” You shut your eyes at the praise, not being able to hold eye contact any longer.

You arched your back as he pressed his fingers spiritedly against your clit, rubbing with ferocity. Simultaneously, he alternated between your breasts, giving them each equal attention, licking and sucking the life out of them.

“Mmm, so good, so delicious,” His speed only increased with time, rubbing and manipulating until you reached your high.

“Bucky…” You moaned, in a voice much clearer, raspier and sensual than in your sleep. He loved his name on your lips, “I- I’m gonna- ”

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, sucking hard on your nipple, his fingers nearly vibrating against your nub.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes shut tight as first orgasm of the night hit you. He still stimulated your clit as if nothing had happened when suddenly his hand around your waist unlooped and started rubbing your clit while the initial one which was doing so, covered with your slick, entered you as you were riding out your orgasm.

As one of his fingers entered, you could feel your walls pulsate around it. When he started moving, you let out a strangled groan.

Bucky loved the way he could feel your walls move out of its own accord around his finger. Your juices fell on his foreman, but he didn’t mind it. In fact he lived watching his arm glisten covered in your cum.

He added another finger, slowly increasing his pace as well. He couldn’t wait to be inside you; to feel the heaven his fingers currently felt, but he needed to get you ready.

Slowly scissoring his fingers, he couldn’t help but rub his erection against your thigh. You let out a moan at all the stimulations your body felt. He soon interested another finger, pulling them in and out of you in a rapid pace. He curled his fingers deep inside you in search of that one spot, but couldn’t find it at the moment.

You couldn’t take it anymore; the licking, the rubbing, stretching and his cock grinding against your thigh. Still high from your previous orgasm and stimulated again so soon, you need him inside of you. Badly.

“Bucky…” You moaned before you continued, “Need you now.”

“Me too, baby doll. Me too.” He gripped his cock and placed his head at your entrance, “You sure?” He breathed out with need, “Tell me you want it.”

“I want you.”

Bucky growled before he pushed his head inside you, and then groaned at how good it felt. He pushed deeper and deeper slowly until his ass cheeks met yours, loving every expression you showcased. He stilled inside you, letting you adjust.

You had acknowledged the fact that he was big, immensely so, but you couldn’t really grasp at how big he actually was until he entered you. Your eyes flew open in surprise, whimpers falling from your lips like rain droplets from a cloud.

You couldn’t form words with how overwhelming everything felt, you you tapped his side to let him know that he could move.

He started out slow, movements torpid as he kissed and sucked at every part of your neck available to him.

His hips rolled lazily inside you, savouring your feel, committing it to his memory. With every indolent thrust, his plump lips enjoyed the planes of you face, kissing at your jaws and cheeks and pecking your lips. You could feel evey protruding vein of his thick cock against your pussy walls.

You loved it, took delight in it with eyes closed. You felt cherished; you felt loved. Your arms circled his shoulder as you started kissing his neck. Right when you started nibbling at his ear, you heard another growl.

Your lips felt divine on him, but as soon as you teeth took over, so did the basal need inside him. He increased his pace without any warning; jumping from the pace of a snail to that of a horse.

You gasped. His lips smacked against yours. Exchanging open mouthed kisses, lips pressed tight, he ravaged both your lips and your pussy.

He pounded into you hard with measure. The force rocked you against the sturdy bed as your walls clenched and tensed around him.

He panted heavily in your ear, driving your crazier with need and desire. His voice, oh so pure yet rough and sinfully, moaning your name right into your ear, made you moan out his much lustfully.

“Bucky…” It only spurred him on. He railed you into the bed with every push of his hips. The clashing of your hips echoed in the entire room.

“Feel so good, doll. Taking in my thick cock like a champ.” He said. You grabbed his asscheeks, fingers digging into his skin.

“Bucky…oh,” He brought one of his metal arms between your bodies, rubbing your clit with as much frevor as he impaled you.

You moaned without any restrain. He didn’t stop rocking and rolling his member inside you. As he sensed your velvety walls tighten around him, he couldn’t hold back.

Sensing his orgasm approaching, he shifted around a little as he rubbed your nub faster. He was suddenly hitting that spot inside you, prompting you to roll your eyes. His continued assault only led you to give in and let your orgasm take over. You shook as you came with a loud cry of his name, “Buckyyy…”

If he thought your pulsating walls were heaven around his fingers, then they were the heaven of the heaven around his cock. Stilling balls deep in you, he roared as he came. The thick vein along the longitudinal base of his cock thrummed inside you. Spilling inside you, ropes of viscous cum hit your walls.

He collapsed on top of you, immediately rolling off of you. Sated for now, both of you panted. Sharing a look which said it all, he tucked you in his arms safely before drawing up the covers and kissing your forehead. Snuggling, both of you dosed off, fully intending to make good use of the hours left as soon as your nap time was over.

~~~

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[toovirgins]

Le Rêve - Part 7

Summary: A struggle to respond to John's confession from part 6.

Rating: T (smut warning)

Edit: This is part 7/8. Ending to come soon!

Paul froze. John’s breath hitched sharply, as if he couldn’t really believe that was what came out, either. Both boys stared at each other in stunned silence as the words hung in the air like snowflakes between them.

I love you.

In any other context, it may have been brushed off as a faux pas, an embarrassing slip of the tongue. Paul could make a “What am I, your girlfriend?” joke, and it would go over quite well with the others: “Geo! Ritchie! John’s said he loves me!” And John would flinch before scowling as they called back, “What are you, his girlfriend?” and collapsed in a fit of laughter. That’s what should have happened.

But Paul took one look into John’s eyes and saw that there was nothing unintentional about the expression. The utterance itself, maybe, but not its truth.

It felt strange, hearing such a thing from John’s lips. It wasn’t something that they said to each other. Because they were mates, because they were men, because of Liverpool and because of the 1960’s and because of deep-rooted ideologies and opinions and etc., etc. Of course, nothing between them was rather normal anymore, but there was something peculiar about the confession—or, rather, the confession’s effect. Paul wasn’t sure if it caused one completely foreign emotion or an overpowering combination of many: it pained his heart but also made it skip a beat, dizzied his mind but also quieted his fears, churned his stomach but also sent in butterflies. It made him want to cry in more ways than one. Never before had he felt such a strong reaction to such simple words.

John loved him.

He wasn’t sure what was expected of him in response. The thought annoyed him a bit, eliciting a familiar feeling of hopeless desperation. What did John think was going to happen? What was he hoping to gain by saying it? To make Paul stay?

And then what?

“I’m sorry.” John’s sudden voice, cutting through the tense air.

That’s when the realization struck him that John might not have meant it. Paul began to feel dizzy. If this was all a sick joke, an empty outburst, he’d have to reconcile his own response to it. He’d thought he’d seen the answer in John’s eyes, but what did he know anymore? It seemed like every chance he got now, he misread the man. Why would this be any different?

Paul felt a nauseating lurch in his stomach as he stared at the man in front of him—the man whom of which he hardly recognized. Before this catastrophe had started, Paul would have sworn that he knew John better than anyone else. He’d challenged lads, albeit indirectly, on the very topic growing up; he was always the first to guess John’s whereabouts, to take him up on a dare none of the other lads would, to coax him out of a mood by being the only voice of reason he’d listen to. They were John and Paul, Lennon and McCartney. A team, a duo, a partnership. Most importantly, they were one.

But these last few weeks had thrown everything out the window. All of the hard work, the straining effort of trying to get close to him, was for naught. Paul didn’t know him any better than the next guy anymore.

Perhaps that’s why the “I love you” was so difficult to hear. Not because it was queer, or because it was sudden, or even because it was true (was it true?). But because it was a secret that their supposed connection never exposed. Paul wanted John to love him—maybe needed it. More than he’d needed anyone else to love him. But in the same breath, John was pulling away from him, alerting Paul that he’d never truly understand him.

The same heartbeat that reached his own had done so only to suffocate him.

It had been a long time since anyone had moved. Paul made a swift decision to finally break the silence, John’s desperate stare becoming far too much to bear. “I don’t know what you want me to say, John.” Which was true.

“I… don’t know either. Just f—” John blinked at the floor, stopping himself too late. Paul felt utterly crushed to learn that he understood just enough to know what John would have said next.

Just forget it.

Paul wanted to scoff and cry all at once. This was so laughably bizarre, this same repetitive cycle. A shot at normalcy ruined by overconfident attempts at reconciliation, inevitably resulting in the relationship going up in vicious flames once more. If something didn’t change soon, he might well lose his mind.

John almost looked as though he were about to say something more, but thought better of it. He pressed his lips together tightly as his fingers found the door frame. He was turning to go.

Again.

Paul began to panic, drumming his fingers timidly on his pant leg. He had to think of something, quick.

“Did you mean it?” He whispered abruptly, frantically. John stilled, mid turn, thrown by the question. But he had to know. He couldn’t let John leave, not again, not without knowing. He could figure out the rest later. “John. Do you mean it?”

John’s mouth opened, but no words came forth. He looked at Paul helplessly, the denial dying on his lips. Paul watched his mind work through his expression. John couldn’t bring himself to say it again, not really; but he couldn’t pretend anymore, either.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

And suddenly, they were kissing.

John went rigid against Paul’s body, and Paul couldn’t blame him; he had no memory of deciding or even moving to do this, but he knew it was his doing, somehow. Paul’s mind was racing with any possible explanation besides the truth: he wanted to make him stay, he wanted to test him, he wanted to take pity on him. Anything but the idea that Paul did it because he wanted to do it.

They stood for a moment, mouths locked, unmoving. John’s lips were timid but not unwilling, and Paul could almost taste the reluctance and confusion of the union. The fingers on his arm gripped hesitantly, stilled in their motion to push him away. A quick peek told Paul that John’s eyes were screwed shut.

His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse thrumming violently, but there was nothing in the world besides John’s lips on his and John’s fingers on his arm and the way John’s body fit perfectly into the press of Paul’s and everything just John. Paul would do anything it took to never leave this moment.

John’s fingers flexed against his bicep, as if contemplating their next move. With a sudden softness, they loosened their grip on his arm and trailed absentmindedly down his side. The trace paused to absentmindedly hook a finger into the waistband of Paul’s trousers, and that was enough for him.

Paul swiftly pressed into him harder, fisting the front of his shirt and pushing him back against the wall. John let out a surprised, “Oh!” and the air between them shifted: he melted underneath Paul’s stubborn grasp, wholly pliant and soft and near-submissive. He began to kiss back expertly, an unexpected fervor driving his movements, and Paul had to physically fight the urge to push the man onto his knees.

Paul had never felt anything more satisfying than John’s body against his. It felt right, as though this was how they were made to be; flush against one another, tangled far beyond separation. Paul was meant to hold John and only John, and to never let him go again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed in between kisses. “For everything, I’m sorry.”

John never verbally accepted the apology, but the urgent slip of tongue Paul got in response was above satisfactory. John’s fingers trailed to the hem of Paul’s shirt and sneaked their way up his chest; nothing sensual, even, just tracing, feeling, learning. The desperation of wanting to feel skin on skin was evident as John simply touched and Paul simply let him.

He wondered if John had loved him the night that this all began.

In either a flash of attempted reparations or just plain arousal (who could tell?), Paul blindly reached for John’s crotch, pleased to find that he was half-hard in his trousers. John’s breath caught against Paul’s lips, and he broke away to stare down at the fingers that worked his jeans open. There was a strained expression on his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether to tell Paul to stop or keep going.

Tentatively, testing, Paul began to stroke him through his briefs. John’s eyes widened at the movement before fluttering shut once again, leaning his head back against the wall. Paul saw the opportunity of John’s exposed neck and seized it, beginning to suck on the older man’s jaw with ardor.

John’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the moan threatening to spill out, and Paul began to lick teasingly at that as well. Paul slowly grew addicted to the taste and feeling of John’s skin under his lips—throat, neck, jaw, collarbones, earlobes—all trembling slightly as his chest heaved with laboured breathing. John shifted against the wall, looking slightly overwhelmed at the immense amount of pleasure spiking through his body.

He was fully hard now, and Paul took the opportunity to massage around the head, stomach feeling funny as he watched a spot on John's briefs dampen with budding drops of precum. The action earned a faint whimper from the older man, and Paul made the mistake of looking back up at him, drinking in the expression on his face that could only be described as sinful.

There was a hot blush on his cheeks, in the flushed way he got sometimes after a good gig. Paul bit his lip and recognized that it would be hard for him to watch John perform ever again after this moment. His eyes, when they were able to sporadically flutter open, were appreciative and lustful, a combination that sent a thrill of arousal to Paul’s own gut. He was biting down on his lip violently, brow furrowed as he struggled to keep down his groans.

A sudden memory struck Paul, of John’s sounds against his lips right before George—

Paul needed it. It didn’t matter why, anymore, but he needed to hear it. All of the bitterness and confusion and frustration and incompleteness of that night came rushing back to him, culminating in the desperate desire to make John come real hard right now.

His fingers circled the expanding wet spot in John’s underwear once, a bit of a quick check. He paused his tirade of kisses to spit in his hand, watching as John’s eyebrow quirked at the sound. His eyes were still closed.

Without missing a beat, Paul shoved his hand inside.

John gasped loudly as Paul began to wank him fully, spreading the blend of precum and saliva down his shaft. Paul’s movements were merciless, jerking and twisting with unforgiving speed and expertise as his mouth began to draw a hickey on a particularly visible spot of John’s neck.

“Paul,” he voiced hoarsely, thighs trembling with the combined effort of holding himself up against the wall and ignoring how badly he needed to thrust into Paul’s curled fist.

Paul shushed him with a needy kiss, tongue slipping against John’s as his fingers trailed lower to massage his balls and the base of his dick.

“Shit,” John groaned, tangling his fingers in Paul’s hair. His head dropped back again with a silent whimper. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So soon?” Paul teased into his ear in a near moan, feeling the confession go straight to his cock. He didn’t have to look to know that John shot him a glare.

“It’s fuckin’ good,” John mumbled in response, only half-begrudgingly. “Feels—Christ, why is it so good?”

Paul raised his lips to John’s once more, a stubborn thrill in the pit of his stomach. He was going to bring John to orgasm from subtle movements of his hand alone—he could feel the twitching of the man’s thighs against his, the throb of John’s heated skin in his hand, the way his chest heaved with unintentional sounds. The thought sent a tingle down his spine that made his own arousal ache.

In a final surge of power, he dove into John’s mouth and pulled at his tongue lightly. His teeth teased at the muscle invitingly, drawing him in. John wasted no time pushing back, wherein Paul began to suck lewdly as though it were something entirely different.

“Oh, fuck,” John warned against Paul’s lips, and he was coming, a shudder wracking his body as the warm sticky substance began to coat Paul’s fingers. A string of like-minded curses followed in the next seconds, his fingers pulling lightly at Paul’s hair. Paul only moaned back, continuing to work him until he had spilled every last drop in his briefs. John groaned at the hint of overstimulation.

After a few beats of awkward silence, Paul gave him one last tug and pulled his hand out, wiping it on the front of John’s jeans. “Christ.”

John didn’t seem to mind a bit, laughing shakily. His cheeks were slightly pink from both exertion and embarrassment. He cleared his throat. “You could say that again.”

“I wanted to do that,” Paul confessed, his face heating up. “For you. To you. Been wanting that.”

John gave him a soft smile, stroking Paul’s cheekbone with his thumb. It felt like an uncomfortably intimate gesture, despite what they had just done. “Me too.”

Paul chuckled carelessly. “Good. Maybe we should have cleared that beforehand.”

“Maybe.” John couldn’t bite back the grin, relief evident on his face. Paul noticed the expression with a thrill, the air seeming impossibly lighter between them.

He sighed then, dipping forward so their foreheads were pressed together. They rested in blissful silence for a minute, maybe two. His nose brushed Paul’s, and he hesitated a moment before starting again with a mild, quivering whisper. The movement made Paul’s heart flutter in sudden apprehension, inexplicably feeling as though the moment was slipping away through his fingers and he was trying in vain to hold on.

“Paul?”

“Hmm?”

“I have a question.”

“Sounds more like a statement.”

John’s eyes lilted up, an amused glint in them. Paul felt mysteriously breathless at the gaze. He wanted to remark on it, to tell John how incredibly gorgeous he really was, how breathtakingly beautiful—but by the time he found the words, the fondness was gone. Replaced with something both worried and worrying. John looked down, eyelashes fluttering low on his cheeks, now refusing to meet Paul’s eyes. Paul’s heart hammered in his throat as he tried to reconcile the sudden shift with the impending question. John bit his lip.

“Do you love me?”

Paul tensed.

John’s eyes searched his as a chill fell over the room.

Paul said nothing.

He stumbled backwards as John’s hands shoved him off. He opened his mouth to protest, to defend himself, to do something, but the man was out of the room before Paul could even think of calling after him. Seconds later, a door slammed faintly down the hall. The moment was finalized; nothing more than a memory, now.

Paul wondered how many more times John would storm out on him before he just never came at all.

—

There was only one way to make things right. Considering that even worked.

Paul spit out the hangnail he’d been working on thoughtlessly and ran a hand through his hair. It felt well-versed in his mind, now, after spending three hours alone in the studio, doing nothing but staring at the wall and drowning in thought.

Paul loathed women. It was a funny thought, and though he initially dismissed it as intrusive, he began to chuckle at the truth behind his feelings. No, he truly loathed them–so entitled and pretentious, never having to worry about popping a hard-on at the most inopportune moments. That’s what this whole mess was all about, really, if you thought about it. Paul and the goddamn dream and painful lack of self-control. Things would have been so much easier if Paul were a bird. John probably would have fucked him by now, anyroad.

He got up to stretch. His joints popped as he reached up with a groan, a feline arch in his back after being hopelessly glued to the chair for so long. His limbs were heavy with dread as he began to gather himself, physically and emotionally, to prepare for what was to come.

Apologies weren’t all bad, he supposed. At least, in the end, he could look back and know that he had done everything he could to save the music, save the band, save him and John. That was the final selling point in the decision: as much as the idea made his stomach churn, Paul would show up, express regret, and admit that he was ready to forget about it, that nothing like this would ever happen again. And he could tell himself that he did everything he could.

Paul never really registered leaving the studio, but the outside air assaulted him as he hurried down the front steps, clutching his coat and hat. As was typical for London at this time of year, it had started to rain, and Paul flinched as the thick drops pounded him from above. He squinted through the drizzle and hastened toward the curb, waving frantically at the oncoming vehicle.

The cab approached the curb with a squeal of the brakes, sending a surge of collected rainwater over Paul’s boots and trousers. Paul wrinkled his nose at the predicament and shook them off a bit before throwing the door open and climbing in.

When he removed his hat, the cab driver gasped. He spoke with a heavy French accent. “McCartney!”

“Pleasure,” Paul responded, forking over the money in advance. It was well above what a typical cab fare would be for the drive, but he was on a mission.

The driver eyed him skeptically, hesitantly fingering the wad of notes. He looked torn between wanting to clarify and wanting to shut up and accept the blessing. (The incentive, rather.)

“Where to, monsieur?”

Paul sighed and glanced to his right, watching a thick raindrop snake its way down the window.

“Weybridge.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Deathless Gods

Part 2 to Hades and Persephone 

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part. I really had a lovely time writing this so I appreciate everyone who liked it!

Alfie never kept a steady appointment with Rachel at the bookstore although he made sure never to go more than a week without seeing her. He came and went as he pleased. However, he knew her work schedule enough to only go to the shop when she was there. He had a feeling her father wouldn’t be keen to know Alfie Solomons was chasing after his daughter.

            Not that Rachel was running away from Alfie in any way, much the opposite in fact. He noticed that when he came into the shop, a smile always formed on her face. Soon he found himself returning the favor.

            If she was helping a customer, Alfie strolled around the shop, glancing at a few books even if he wasn’t interested in finding anything. When she was free to talk, he pulled up the chair that had become unofficially his. It was a chair that Rachel had brought down to the shop so she could reach things without having to drag the ladder around. But it was now Alfie’s.

            He’d bring in the book that Rachel had recommended he read so he could discuss any qualms he had about it. That’s what he seemed to like to do best. Rarely did he tell her about any passages that he liked. He waited until she showed him her favorite lines. Then he secretly reveled when they shared favorite passages.

            He had long finished the collection of myths that had begun their relationship. Though it certainly held a special place in his apartment. In his sparsely decorated room, usually, the only things on his nightstand was a lamp and his glasses. But now, the book of myths sat beside the lamp.

            Every time they met, Rachel made Alfie fall more and more for her. Every little thing she did or said enchanted him. He just didn’t know that she was realizing the same thing.

            Rachel felt as though she was turning the page every time Alfie stepped into her shop. What was once some myth entering through the door, he was now just a man. Every visit, she read more about him, diving deeper into his story.

            Of course, he wasn’t very forthcoming about himself. He merely made little slips that gave her hints into his world. Some of them weren’t even verbal. The persistent smell of rum, though he said he never drank. His affection for Cyril. The scar on his cheek. The weary lines on his face. It was like sitting at a museum and studying a very detailed portrait. Every other second, she was finding something new about him.

 ~~~~~~~~

            “Did you know that they’re calling us the Lost Generation?” Rachel asked when their conversation about Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises dried up.

            “That so?” Alfie checked his pocket watch, not at all surprised they had been chatting for two hours. Time flew by so fast with Rachel. One time he’d spent nearly four hours in the bookshop, consequently missing two meetings. Instead of fretting, he simply blamed Ollie for mixing up his schedule. “Why’s that?”

            “Because of the war.” She smiled down at Alfie’s bull mastiff when he nudged her hand.

            Cyril had taken a shine to Rachel. Early on, he would sit obediently by Alfie as they talked. But over time, he inched toward Rachel until he was lying down at her feet, waiting for a pat.

            “Huh. Don’t feel lost.” He pocketed his watch again and tipped back in his chair, casually leaning back.

            “I suppose it’s more of a…sense of confusion. What do we do after something like the war?” She tilted forward so she could scratch behind Cyril’s ears.

            He frowned. “What do you mean? Ain’t nothing else to do but move on. It’s over with.” He concluded with certainty.

            But Rachel wasn’t so sure. “I was reading in the newspaper about men who are still suffering. Men who were in the war who can’t seem to forget it. I guess that’s what I mean about being lost. They don’t know what to do with the things they saw over there. And, I suppose people who were here don’t know how to help them. Because we never experienced the things you did.” She tried to capture Alfie’s eyes but he was trying to look busy with cleaning his half-moon glasses.

            “Nothing to help.” He replied curtly.

            Rachel bit her lip and knew she was taking a risk. “The article talked about nightmares.” Her forehead wrinkled with concern.

            He let out a little huff of disgruntlement. “Why’re you going on ‘bout this, Rachel?” He asked.

            “I just wanted to know what you thought about it.” She tried to defend herself even if she had been prying a bit more than she usually did.

            Alfie ran a hand over his face. He wanted to storm out, avoid any conversation she was trying to strike up about nightmares. Memories of the war. Things he could perfectly avoid because no one dared ask him.

            Yet, no one looked at him the way Rachel did. No one smiled at him like she did. Laughed at his jokes. No one saw the humanity in him the way she did.

            And even if he left and never returned, he would never be able to get her out of his head.

            “Why do you care? Aye?” He asked harshly. The conflict inside of him was stirring up anger that he was trying to keep from her.

            Rachel saw the pain in his eyes. He sounded angry but she knew better. It was like a wounded animal biting the person trying to heal them. He was only trying to protect himself.

            “Because, I’m very fond of you, Alfie, and I care about you!” She replied firmly so he wouldn’t mistake her intent.

            He finally looked up at her.

            She let the words sink in for a bit before she continued. “Because I know that you make yourself out to be an evil man, but you’re not. You’re scared of something, just like everyone is. You aren’t heartless.”

            Alfie’s conscious was urging him to get up and leave. Who was he to walk into this woman’s life and cause whatever sort of hell he might cause? Even if it was unintentional. The bookshop was like a little bubble, blocking out the rest of the world. But it didn’t matter, he was still the same man. A man who sinned, lied, robbed, and killed. He couldn’t delude himself to think he was any different because of how Rachel might see him.

            But he couldn’t budge from the chair.

            “Alfie, if you’re alone, just tell me. I enjoy your company and I-I would be there for you.” Rachel confessed something deep from within. Although she adored her time with Alfie in the shop, it was never enough. She always wanted him to stay a bit longer. She wanted to see him outside of the shop. She wanted to see him in the real world. She wanted to see every part of him.

            “That’s the problem, innit?”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Love, men like me aren’t meant to have women like you in me life.” He responded steadily. “Just like that fucking myth. Hades never deserved Persephone, now did he? Just a miserable fucker who took what he wanted and didn’t care what anyone else thought. We can talk ‘bout books all day long but my life ain’t anything you’ll get used to. Not a life you should know.”

            “You don’t know that,” Rachel replied stubbornly. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Alfie. I know who you are!”

            “That’s the problem, Rachel. You don’t care. You’re willing to make excuses for me when there ain’t any excuses.” He pointed to the door. “Your neighbors, yeah? You know their son?”

            Rachel didn’t answer.

            “’ Course you do. Their son works for me. I’m sure you’ve seen him, he’s in a sling now. Why’s that, aye? ‘Cause someone broke his arm. Care to guess who broke his fucking arm? How are you going to excuse that?”

            Tears began to form in her eyes as she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear what he was saying.

            “When I walk down the street, what do you think people think, aye? Do you think they think the way you do? Or do they think I’m the fucking devil?”

            “Just stop.” She lowered her head, not wanting him to see her cry.

            Alfie’s shoulders fell as his anger cooled down. He heard a small sniffle from Rachel and he felt his heart shatter. It was everything he feared. A self-fulfilling prophecy, as it were. He was afraid he was going to ruin her life, so he did it just to prove himself right. Just to prove to himself that he wasn’t meant to have people like her. She was unattainable and rightfully so. Such a lovely woman deserved to be with someone lovely too. A man like him deserved loneliness.

            He reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled as he held it out to her.

            Rachel took it to wipe her eyes. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I should have realized I was being foolish.”

            “You’re not-you ain’t done nothing wrong, love.” He assured her. “I just-I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to say to make you understand.”

            “Just tell me. You know what to say, you just have to tell me.” She urged.

            He couldn’t look away from her. Fierce hatred for himself drove deep knowing he had made her cry. But his heart wouldn’t let him leave. He needed her.

            “The first time I got a proper bath after the war ended, it took hours before I felt clean. Even then, I really didn’t feel right. I couldn’t quite scrub all the dirt off. The mud from the trenches, right, it just…it permeated every bit of me. I couldn’t get it all out. Even if I didn’t see any dirt, it just…I knew it was there. So, I figured, yeah, if I ain’t ever able to leave the battlefield then might s’well embrace it. I’d make London a warzone because that’s what felt right. It makes the nightmares feel more…seamless, I s’pose. If I fight all day then it don’t bother me as much if I have nightmares ‘bout the war.”

            “I don’t understand how you could be unbothered by them. It must be awful.” Rachel realized Alfie wasn’t the type of man who afforded himself any time for grieving or sympathy. He didn’t pity himself because he didn’t think he should be pitied.

            Alfie stared at her a bit blankly. It was awful. They were awful. The war in London was nothing compared to the things he revisited at night. He didn’t have nightmares about Camden Town. He had nightmares about France. He woke up in a cold sweat because he thought he was back in the trenches. Shin-deep in mud and dead bodies. It was so vivid.

            “Alfie?” Rachel coaxed him out of his stupor.

            “Sorry.” He said in a quiet voice. “Just…I dunno.” He felt lost.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

            Rachel didn’t expect Alfie to return. She was right. He didn’t.

            Two weeks passed without any word from him. With each passing day, she became more and more saddened, worried that she had chased off the only person she truly had feelings for.

            Every time the bell above the door jingled, her heart leapt in her chest, hoping it was Alfie. But it never was.

            She felt empty inside.

~~~~~~~~~           

            Then, one blustery day, a man in an apron delivered a letter to her. He didn’t say anything, just saying he was supposed to give this to her. Then he left.

            Confused, Rachel opened the envelope which was addressed to her.

             Rachel,

I’m sorry for my absence but I’ve had an accident and needed to be in the hospital for a bit. If you’d like, I’ll be sending a car around the shop to pick you up Saturday at eight in the morning. The driver will bring you to my place in Margate where I’m recovering. There, I can explain more. If not, tell the driver you’re not going and he’ll tell me in turn.

            Hope to see you soon,

            Alfie

~~~~~~~ 

            Rachel was outside the shop when eight rolled around that Saturday morning. Almost on the dot, a car pulled up and a young man came out to greet her.

            “Miss Watkins? Mr. Solomons sent me to bring you to Margate if you wanted.”

            “Yes, thank you.” She nodded and got into the car.

            On the way to Margate, she and the driver chatted casually. But he wouldn’t say anything about what happened to Alfie. He said he was specifically told to let Alfie explain everything. So Rachel was left wondering the long drive to the beach town.

 ~~~~~~~

            The large house on the bluff was quintessentially Alfie. The garden wasn’t very well-kept but it wasn’t overgrown either. The house seemed to be in good condition and yet there was a sort of sadness lingering over it.

            Alfie hadn’t mentioned his place in Margate before. But he did mention how fond of the ocean he was.

            Rachel went to knock on the door and heard Cyril start to bark in response.

            The door opened and a middle-aged woman greeted her. “You must be Miss Watkins.”

            “Yes, is Alfie in?”

            “Come in, he’s in the sitting room.” She let Rachel in and offered to take her coat before showing her to the sitting room.

            Cyril happily greeted Rachel but she was a bit distracted. Alfie was sitting in an armchair, turned to the balcony, watching ships pass by.

            “Alfie?”

            He turned and she gasped.

            He sighed and stood up. “I know, I know. I should’ve warned ya but I-dunno, couldn’t find the words.”

            Rachel felt her eyes prick with tears when she saw the state his face was in. Fresh scars scored around his left eye. And his eye had turned from deep turquoise to a cloudy grey. She struggled to find the words. So instead, she rushed to him and embraced him tightly.

            It was a reaction Alfie wasn’t expecting. He was frozen a bit before he wrapped his arms around her.

                       It was awhile before they let each other go. Alfie was afraid to tell her the story of how he ended up in such a state and Rachel was afraid to hear it.

            But eventually, he withdrew his arms from around her and offered her a seat and a handkerchief to wipe her tears.

            “I don’t understand…”

            “Right before I met you, right, I went to the doctor and found out I have skin cancer. I made a plan to divvy up me wealth and go out how I saw fit. Then I met you and…well, I s’pose you changed the plans.” He cleared his throat and scratched his cheek absent-mindedly.

            “Cancer?” Rachel’s eyes widened. There were brief moments where she noticed abnormalities in Alfie’s skin but she didn’t think it was anything serious. For the most part, he kept the condition hidden.

            “I thought I could make the best of life with you but then…after we spoke last, I decided it would be best if I went through with my original plan.” He tried to breathe steadily but the event was still so raw in his mind.

            “What was your original plan?” Rachel hesitated to ask.

            He didn’t meet her gaze.

            “Alfie…please tell me.”

            “I had someone shoot me.” He finally admitted. “Reckoned he was a good ‘nough shot but he-well you can see what sorta job he did.” He waved a hand over his disfigured eye.

            “And what if he hadn’t missed? I was just supposed to find out you were dead?” She asked, horrified the thought had even crossed his mind.

            Looking guilty, Alfie sighed. “M’sorry, love. I felt like I had no other choice. I couldn’t be a part of your life. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

            “So, it’s fair that I would have to grieve you and wonder if it was something I had done?” She retorted.

             “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

            “Clearly.”

            The grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticked the seconds of their silence.

            Alfie fiddled with the chain of his glasses. “I didn’t want to die that way, just wasting away. But, while I was in the hospital after Tommy shot me, the doctor said I’d been misdiagnosed. It’s just a skin condition.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Think that’s irony or just stupidity?”

            Rachel wasn’t sure what to say. At least she knew he was okay and would be okay in the long run. She couldn’t completely understand his thought process but perhaps he was just in a desperate state. “I’m just thankful you’re still here.” She answered quietly. “That’s all that matters to me.”

            “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He said gently. “Honestly, I just didn’t know what else to do. I never wanted you to suffer.”

            Rachel stood and walked over to him. She knelt in front of him and took his hands in hers. “Can you just accept me into your life? Accept that you deserve happiness?”

            Since he was meant to be dead to most of London, Alfie figured it would be best to retire and stay in Margate. Of course, he assumed that meant he would be leaving Rachel behind in London. And yet, maybe that’s why he sent her the letter. Maybe he didn’t want to leave her behind.

            “Yeah, love.” He lifted her hands and gently kissed her knuckles. “I can do that.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            “Papa, read another,” Meg whined and grabbed at the book.

            “No, no, my dear you need to go to bed.”

            Rachel walked down the hall, carrying Cyrus who was only four months old. She turned into her daughter’s room. It was very late, way past her bedtime. But it was a common occurrence in the Solomons’ household. The little girl was, in Alfie’s opinion, just like her mother. She ate up books at an alarming rate for a six-year-old. She’d begun reading much sooner than most kids her age and refused to even get in bed unless her father was there with a book in hand, ready to read to her.

            “But I’m not tired, you need to read more!”

            “We’ve finished the book, princess, there aren’t any more words to read.” He chuckled softly.

            “Meg, it’s time to go to bed. You’ve already stayed a half-hour past your bedtime.” Rachel reminded her from the doorway.

            Her daughter pulled a pout. “But I want more stories!”

            “If you read more stories tonight, you’ll be out of books to read.”

            “What ‘bout this one!” Meg popped up from bed and went to the bookshelf in her room. She stood on her tiptoes to reach the top where a lone book had been placed.

            Alfie looked perplexed when she brought over the book to him. “Where’d you get this, princess, aye?”

            “In yours and mum’s room.” Meg crawled back into bed, pushing the book into his hands.

            Rachel got closer to see what Alfie was holding. She smiled when she recognized the worn collection of myths that had united them all those years ago.

            “Love, this is mum’s book. Not appropriate for you.” He gave it back to Meg to put away.

            But his daughter was just as relentless as he was. She haphazardly flipped through the pages. “Read this, papa, what’s this word?” She shoved the book toward him.

            Alfie sighed and looked to see what she was pointing at. “Orpheus. That’s the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.” He explained.

            “Read it, papa, please!” Meg begged.

            “Fine, but you’re going to bed after this, miss, no more whining.” Alfie scolded.

            “Okay!”

            Rachel smiled and sat down in the rocking chair near the bed. She cradled Cyrus close to her chest as he slept peacefully.

            Alfie held the book open but didn’t read the words. He knew that if he read right from the book, Meg would be stopping him every sentence asking what a word meant. Plus, he knew the myth well enough to just summarize it for her.

            “Orpheus, right, he was the son of Apollo. Apollo gave him a lyre and Orpheus was well known for his songs. Everyone loved them. One day, he fell in love with Eurydice and they were married. But unfortunately, Eurydice was bitten by a snake and had to go to the underworld.” Alfie did his best to skirt around the death part of the story. He wasn’t quite in the mood to have that discussion with his six-year-old. “Hades ruled the underworld with his wife Persephone. Orpheus was very sad that his wife was trapped in the underworld. He decided, that he would see her again and went down to the underworld, protected by the other gods. He played his lyre for Hades and the god decided to let Eurydice go back to Earth with Orpheus. But he had a condition. Orpheus had to walk ahead of Eurydice, and he couldn’t look back to see if she was still walking behind him. If he looked back before they were home, Eurydice would be stuck in the underworld forever.”

            Meg looked up at her father, bug-eyed and rapt with interest. Just as she always was when he told her stories. “Did he look back, papa?”

            Alfie glanced down at the book before shutting it. “No, princess. He didn’t. They returned home and they lived happily ever after. The end.”

            Meg smiled, finally seeming content. “I like that story, papa.”

            “I’m glad. Now, time for bed.” He got up and kissed her forehead.

            Rachel handed Cyrus to her husband so she could tuck Meg in and kiss her goodnight as well.

            Alfie shut off the light before going to put Cyrus in his cot for the night. Rachel was waiting for him in the bedroom.

            “That’s not how the myth ends.”

            He chuckled, undoing his bracers. “I know. But you know how I feel ‘bout that one. It’s a shit ending.”

            Rachel smiled. “Alfie Solomons, the only man who can rewrite ancient myths to his liking.”

            “Well, I’ve never heard any complaints from you, Mrs. Solomons.” He replied with a grin. “As I recall, you didn’t like the ending to that one either.”

            “Well, I appreciate its message.”

            He scoffed and walked over to the bed where she was sitting. “You’re just saying that. You think it’s shit.”

            Rachel let him lay her back as he lightly peppered kisses down her neck. “Fine, it’s shit.” She grazed her fingernails down the nape of his neck. “I like your ending much better.”

            “Mhm, that’s what I thought.” He murmured lovingly. “You were always a sucker for lovely endings where everything is all nice and happy.”

            “Like our ending?” She gazed into his eyes.

            He smiled and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Ah, love, our story ain’t ended yet. We’ve got lots more chapters left.”

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