#and its so fucked up realizing how many people have seen me in vulnerable states and gone ��ah! i want in on that”

[bunnyboy-juice]

oughghgh

[doodleoogles]

Reconnect - Part 3

Al clumsily sunk on the backseat of Brent's car, "I'm so full, I want to sleep now…" he muttered, but it's still loud enough for us to hear.

I sat on the passenger seat and tugged at the seatbelt. It won't budge so I pulled harder.

Brent smiled apologetically, "I plan to get that fixed soon." A car passed by on the opposite highway, its' headlights casted a glow inside the car and I noticed the soft features of his face.

I looked away, "It's fine, I can manage." the seatbelt finally slid into place and I buckled up.

"Where are we????" Al blurted out, I looked behind me and saw him rubbing his head, eyes closed.

"Let's drop him off first." Brent said, switching the gear into drive "Then tell me where I should drop you off."

The thought of being alone with him in his car is making me lose focus for some reason. It should be a normal car ride at 1AM, we haven't seen each other in awhile so we should simply catch up as any normal friends would. So why is my brain getting all hazy? I looked outside instead, watching the empty streets of the metro.

"You know what?? Why don't you just take her home with you Brent?" Al said loudly from the backseat. "Go ahead, bring her home."

"Jesus, Al. You're drunk as fuck tonight." he didn't budge at Al's outburst. He looked relaxed as he navigated the road.

After a few minutes, he pulled over in front of a tall white gate which I assumed was Al's house. Al, as clumsy as he got inside the car, got out exactly the same way. He wiped invisible dust at the side of his pants, flashed a wide grin at us and did a salute before running towards the gate of his house.

"You know what," Brent said, checking his phone quickly before returning his eyes on the road, "I still wanna grab a few drinks, what say you? I don't usually drink a lot when I have to drive. There's Al to consider, he's like my unofficial boyfriend every damn time we go out."

"True, you've been having way too many bromance dates with him." I looked at my watch, 1:48AM, "I don't mind, I didn't drink much either."

He googled a convenience store nearby and drove towards it. We parked and I got out of the car. He gave me a couple of bills so I can get some drinks while he do his business at the public restroom beside the store. When I went back outside, he's checking his phone while leaning on the hood of his car. He returned the phone to his pocket when he noticed me striding towards him.

"I think this is the part where we catch up?" I asked, handing him his beer.

We talked for more than an hour. I didn't realize how much has happened to our own lives before today. He's one of the few people I know who has a laudable outlook in life and relationships. Hell, there was even a time in my life where I cried my eyes out to him when I was stupid enough to fall for a married man. He's a good listener, gave very sound advice, and never once tried to take advantage of my vulnerable state. The "kinda hookup" happened long after that, when I was all better. I didn't realize how mature he really is, and it makes me wonder why someone like him would still be single. He probably has as many issues as I do.

"You should come tomorrow," he said as I was grabbing my phone to book a ride home. He offered to drive me home but I refused. I can't be close enough like that.

I wrinkled my nose, "I will think about it. I'm really enjoying this new aunt mode where I spend my evenings reading a good e-book then relaxing with some cucumber in my eyes."

He held my hand, "It's an event for a cause. Come on."

I dismissed the thought of how soft his hand felt, but I didn't pull my hand away, "I said I will think about it, Okay?"

"Good enough." he let my hand go, came to my side and hugged me from that angle. He gently pulled me close and run his hand across my waist before wrapping me in a tight hug. He burrowed his face in my hair and I slightly tilted closer to him. My phone vibrated in my other hand, thank God I was saved by the notification.

"I gotta go." I peeled myself away. I watched as the driver entered the empty parking lot where we stood a few meters away. I glanced back at him and noticed his gaze is still fixed on my face. I leaned forward for another hug before leaving. He whispered something I couldn't clearly understand but it sounded something like an empty meaningless "love ya."

Somehow I felt like I am very close to making shitty decisions once again. I better have more control on this. "It should be easy," I thought before opening my phone when I got home around 3:30AM. Instead of trying to sleep, I scrolled through our messages, trying to recall why the hell did we never work out.

[wandaromanova]

Lost

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of cancer, death, cussing

A/N: hello! i’d like to put a disclaimer that i am not in any way knowledgeable of the medical field and all of the terminology and information used in this fic was found through research! happy reading <3

anon requested: hiiiii !! can i request like an angst into fluff natxfem!reader one shot where the reader has a really bad day and takes it out on nat and hurts her feelings and so they go to bed angry. but the reader realizes their mistake and the next morning just wakes her up by showering her with love and then takes the whole day to do cute little date things with her? like making her favorite meal or like dancing in the kitchen to their favorite song late at night or just super fluffy things? if not, that’s okay!! have a good day <3

Summary: The heavy weight of her profession gets to Y/N and she takes her anger out on her loving girlfriend; Natasha Romanoff.

Word Count: 3K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Becoming a doctor was no easy feat.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Once high school is completed, one must receive your bachelor’s degree before taking the MCAT exam and applying to medical school. After four years of medical school, you must endure a year as an intern before being promoted to a resident. 

Depending on what specialty one has selected, residency can span from three to seven years. Fellowships follow after but are typically an optional course that provides extra training. 

Yes, there are a lot of necessary steps to take in order to set foot into the medical world, but somehow, the years of foreplay could never compare to being a full-fledged physician; and you knew this all too well.

You are a pediatric oncologist and your job was to diagnose and provide treatment to children and teenagers who had cancer. You specialized in hematology; the treatment of blood disorders.

You were the head of pediatric oncology in a Manhattan hospital. You dealt with a lot of patients, but a two-year-old little girl named Sarah was secretly your favorite. 

Despite being diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, Sarah’s positivity and playful personality never faltered.

Even if she didn’t understand the circumstances because of her young age, you knew she was suffering. Regardless of it all, every session you had with her was endearing.

You met with the child once a week to administer chemotherapy. Her enthusiasm never failed to have you awestruck. Most of your patients were exhausted from the treatments, but not Sarah. 

She was a hyper child who would attempt to sing Frozen songs, performing as you tried to fight a smile from taking over your features. She had a stuffed Olaf doll that she brought with her to every visit and it was heartwarming to see her hug the doll close to her chest. 

Sarah would even bring you drawings every week that you would keep in your locker. You’d admire each and every one of the drawings, even if you couldn’t really tell what they were.

You’d grown fond of the little girl in the past two months you had been treating her. You were also relatively close to her parents, who were probably the kindest people you’ve ever encountered. It made sense that Sarah was the ball of sunshine she was, she obviously got it from her parents.

Most times, parents were on edge and extremely short-tempered. If parents saw you often, that meant that their child was diagnosed with some form of cancer. Understandably, they would be rather hostile whilst interacting with you, but you never took their behavior personally. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

If you were in their shoes, you were positive that you wouldn’t be very friendly either. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You had grown fond of the beaming child. You were aware that growing emotionally attached to patients was unprofessional, but how could you not? 

You adored children and for that very reason, you had chosen a specialty that allowed you to help kids as much as medicine would allow. You always had a soft spot for kids and you found joy in helping them as best as you possibly could.

Sarah had a very good chance at pulling through. With consistent treatment and her young age, her survival rate was around 68%. Those were considerably good odds in these circumstances. Not to mention, the chemotherapy seemed to be paying off. At the rate she was improving, she was predicted to be out of the woods soon enough.

However, the child had developed a bacterial infection. Since she had been receiving chemotherapy, the treatment had damaged her white blood cells which are responsible for fighting off infections. 

All you could do was provide antibiotics to try and fight off the infection. You had monitored her for some time in hopes of seeing any sign of improvement, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Her immune system was extremely vulnerable and there wasn’t any way to reverse the damage. 

Your heart was torn to pieces when you delivered the news to her parents. They broke down in the hallway outside of Sarah’s room as you informed them of Sarah’s rapidly shortened life expectancy. It was only a matter of time before the young child would pass and honestly, this was what you hated most about your job.

You hated that you couldn’t help every single patient. You hated how cruel the world could be to take away an innocent child from their loving parents. 

You allowed her parents to spend time by her bedside. They laid on either side of her bed, clinging onto her for dear life. What broke you the most was the paleness of Sarah’s once glowing skin. Her smile was still present but didn’t quite reach her eyes like it used to. 

Her parents quietly sang ‘Love Is An Open Door’ to Sarah. You felt your heart clench in a bittersweet way as you silently watched. Normally, Sarah wouldn’t hesitate to join in, but her lack of breath prevented her from doing so. All she could do was close her eyes and lightly nod her head along to their voices. 

Sarah passed hours later and it was an extremely somber experience. Hearing the cries of parents who lost their children wasn’t easy and it never would be. Your job had its pros and cons, and this was the biggest negative.

You fought back your own tears as you exited the room, giving the two mourning parents some privacy after you recorded Sarah’s time of death. You found the nearest restroom and allowed the tears to fall down your face. 

A pure soul had been ripped away from the world, never having the chance to experience the great things life had to offer.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

4 Hours Later

You trudged into your loft, immediately taking off your coat and hanging it up before tossing your keys on the small table by the front door. 

Your girlfriend, Natasha, had heard your arrival and quickly exited the bedroom to greet you, a wide smile on her face. However, her smile fell when she noticed your defeated state. 

Your shoulders were slumped as you slouched slightly and your eyes were dripping with sadness. 

“Honey? What’s wrong?” Natasha approached you while you stood frozen in front of the door. Her hands came up to cup your cheeks as she stared at you in concern, her eyes scanning over your features. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I lost Sarah.” 

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Natasha’s eyes widened and her heart sunk at your words. She was aware of how much you adored the two-year-old. Once a week, you would rave about the child and how adorable she was at the dinner table. You would go on and on about how Sarah would sing to you, draw pictures for you, and bring along stickers to place onto your coat.

The redhead loved how happy you looked whenever you spoke about any of your patients, but most especially Sarah. It brought Natasha some joy of her own to see you speak animatedly about Sarah; your happiness was her happiness. 

So, the news hurt her almost as much as it hurt her. She knew how much you loved Sarah, despite never saying it straight out.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I know how much you cared about her. Are you okay?” Natasha’s voice was oozing with sympathy. You couldn’t help but feel irritated by her question. 

You tore her hands off of your cheeks and walked past her and into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water as the redhead watched you intently. 

“Am I okay? I’m fine! It’s not like I lost an extremely young patient today or anything. What kind of stupid fucking question is that, Natasha?” You took a sip of cold water to try and calm yourself damn, but your attempt was futile. 

The redhead made her way into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island as you took another sip of water, eyes burning a hole into her head over the rim of the glass. 

“I know, that was a dumb question. I just want to help you, Y/N/N.” Natasha remained calm and patient as she spoke to you. She was no stranger to the loss of a person she desperately tried to save and knew all too well the sadness and anger that accompanied the tragedy. She was an Avenger, after all. 

“I don’t want your help and I don’t need you!” You slammed your cup onto the counter as you raised your voice. Honestly, it was surprising that you hadn’t shattered the glass with the amount of force you exerted. 

Natasha felt an ache in her chest as you yelled at her. She knew that you weren’t in the right state of mind and didn’t take it personally, but that didn’t make your words hurt any less. 

“You save entire cities and I can’t even save a single fucking person!” You were turning red at this point, tears of frustration streaming down your face. The redhead hated seeing you cry, but she knew better than to approach you at this moment. 

“Babe, you save so many pe-” Natasha’s tried to speak, but you quickly interjected. 

“If you’re going to try and spew some philosophical bullshit to me right now, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another god damn word from your mouth.”

The redhead looked down defeatedly. She had never seen you so upset, let alone direct your frustrations towards her. Her eyes fell down to the marble counter between you both before looking up at you. You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. 

Without another word, Natasha retreated back to the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her. You watched her until she was out of your view and let out a sigh. Your hands gripped the edges of the kitchen island, supporting your weight as you shut your eyes. 

You brought a hand up to your face and pinched the bridge of your nose. After a few minutes, you made your way into the living room, chucking off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch. You didn’t feel like interacting with Natasha anymore tonight, knowing that you most likely wouldn’t be able to control your temper. 

You were just so fed up with the painful losses you had to endure from your profession. 

You knew that being a doctor was more dark clouds and thunder, than sunshine and rainbows, but you just wished that for once, the weather forecast would work in your favor. 

The emotional day had finally caught up to you. Your body relaxed as you sunk further into the couch, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to a much-needed slumber. 

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha was still awake. She laid flat on her back and stared up at the ceiling in thought. She was mad at you, as much as she didn’t want to be. Natasha had gone through the same thing and never lost her cool with you as you had with her. 

The redhead calmed down slowly, turning on her side and facing the empty space beside her which you normally occupied. She reached one arm out, her skin colliding with cool sheets, already missing the warmth of your body. 

Natasha hated sleeping without you by her side, She didn’t feel complete when you weren’t steadily sleeping next to her, your arms wrapped around her body. However, she hoped that things would improve in the morning.

And with that thought in mind, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep, clutching the sheets firmly in her hand. 

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

 The Next Morning

You awoke to a blinding light, the morning sun shining through the windows and landing directly onto your face. You let out a groan and slowly sat up, stretching out your limbs with a groan. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, you were aching everywhere. 

You sat there for a moment as the events of the day before caught up to you. Not only had you lost Sarah, but you upset Natasha. You immediately felt guilty as you recalled the harsh words you spat at her in a fit of rage. You felt like a complete asshole, and rightfully so. 

You quickly stood up and entered the kitchen, retrieving some bacon from the freezer and eggs from the refrigerator. You grabbed two separate pans and washed your hands, making sure to get the coffee pot running before you began cooking.

Your girlfriend absolutely loved bacon, eggs, and coffee. She described the combinations as a ‘party in her mouth.’ So, this was going to be an ‘i’m sorry for being a bitch last night’ apology breakfast. 

You got started on the meal and by the time you finished up and had the stove off, Natasha stalked out of the bedroom slowly. She eyed you carefully as she approached, you sent a soft smile her way.

“You made breakfast,” Natasha spoke and you shyly nodded your head. You moved away from the stove and rounded the counter. The redhead stood in her spot as you wrapped your arms around her waist, her arms reflexively going around your neck.

“I was an asshole last night.” You stated and your girlfriend nodded her head in agreement. “Yeah, you were a total pain in the ass, the absolute worst.” You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s teasing tone.

“I’m sorry for how I behaved. I was just so upset about… Sarah. I didn’t mean to take it out on you and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel for yelling at you when all you wanted to do was help me.”

Your voice was full of emotion, your eyes boring into her emerald irises as you poured your heart into every syllable you uttered. Natasha smile gently at you, her fingers lightly tugging on the baby hairs on the nape of your neck. 

“It’s okay. I know you weren’t mad at me.” You let out a sigh of relief as the redhead stared at you softly. She let out a small chuckle at your dramatics before continuing.

‘I understand how you feel. The team and I, we try our very best to save as many civilians as we can, but sometimes it’s completely out of our control. It’s the exact same situation.” 

One of Natasha’s hands found its way to your cheek, gently cupping the skin as you leaned into her touch. You were listening intently to her every word, mesmerized by the calming rasp of her voice.

“Don’t dwell on what you couldn’t do, but give yourself some credit for everything you did do. I may not know what happened, but what I do know is that you tried everything you could, no?”

Natasha questioned you and you nodded your head. “I gave her antibiotics to fight the infection, but it was too severe.” The redhead rubbed her thumb against your cheek. 

“All that matters is that you did your best and that’s all anyone could ever ask for.” Natasha ended her little speech as she placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. You couldn’t help but smile, an overwhelming feeling of happiness taking over. 

“Thank you. I love you and your… what was it?” You furrowed your eyebrows in concentration before your face lit up. Natasha raised an eyebrow at you. “Philosophical bullshit. That was the words.” The Russian let out a laugh, shaking her head from side to side at your antics. 

“Seriously though, I’m so grateful for you. You’re so amazing to me even when I don’t deserve it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Natasha’s laughter died down as your tone turned serious. Your eyes were so full of love and adoration as you stared into her eyes deeply. 

“Well, let’s hope you never have to find out.” Natasha smiled once more and you couldn’t resist pressing your lips against her plump ones. Your mouths moved in tandem at a slow pace, enjoying the rawness and love that accompanied each movement. 

You broke the kiss when air became an issue. Nat’s eyes fluttered open as you wiggled your eyebrows at her playfully. 

“So, are you ready for some breakfast? Maybe after we eat, we can go on top of a rooftop and I’ll serenade you with a rendition of ‘Sorry’ by Justin Bieber.”

Natasha’s head flew back as she laughed uncontrollably at your words. “What? Do you not like the Biebs? If you want, I could play ‘Baby Come Back’ by Player from a boombox and hold it over my head, instead.” The redhead continued to laugh profusely and you soon joined in. Your arms tightened around her waist as your giggles subsided. 

“I think cuddling on the couch and watching the Kardashians eating ridiculously large bowls of salad will do.” You nodded your head in agreement but didn’t make a move to release Natasha from your grip. She didn’t let go either. 

The two of you just stood there, basking in each other’s embrace, a comfortable silence falling over you both. 

Natasha never failed to say the right things to pull you out of the dark abyss that was your mind. She was completely right, as always. There would always be bad days, patients who were progressing one day and deteriorating the next. 

However, there were also good days, and you shouldn’t allow the bad to overshadow all the good you’ve done. Like with Natasha, she wasn’t always the superhero she is today. She took her dark past and turned it into a bright future. 

Nat didn’t let her bad days define her and neither should you.

Of course, you would always remember every single patient you had lost, but now, you would take the pain and turn it into motivation; motivation to improve yourself, not only in your professional life but in your personal life as well. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You would do right by the ones you’ve lost and the one who stuck by your side; Natasha Romanoff. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three   

=================================

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He’s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh”, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart​

Part 5  

[genshin-no-simp]

Alpha!Kaeya x Omega!Reader (Smut)

Pairing: Kaeya x You/Reader (Female Reader)

Warnings: Sexual content starts below the cut.

Extra warnings: slight breeding kink and possessiveness.

--------------------------

Alpha's were too possessive.

Beta's were little bitches.

And Omega's were too needy.

Nobody could deny these statements, nor could they determine what you were. There were many disputes on this matter. Many claimed you are an Omega due to your small and petite stature common among all Omega's. Others called you an Alpha with your feisty and somewhat aggressive behaviour, a trait common to Alpha's, though anyone would be on edge having to hide their scent all the time. So often people determined you were a Beta and left it at that.

Of course not all of them dropped the issue, the matter of fact that you concealed your scent was suspicious, it was something that not many did. Some put it down to the fact that you were still unmated with so more often than not, many over confident Alpha's who were in their ruts, would approach you, their scents stronger and muskier, more alluring than usual, trying to draw out yours, for you to only turn your nose up in displeasure, calling them disgusting.

Which wasn't a lie, all the Alpha's you have met had an over powering scent which was quite unpleasant, you desired something more sweet and alluring, something smooth and soothing, you realized that you would not find that person in your hometown so you chose to move to Mondstadt where you soon would find it.

Now even after you moved away from your hometown to Mondstadt, Alpha's would hound you daily, most of them gave up on trying to figure out if you were an Alpha, Beta or an Omega, you were a gorgeous and mysterious woman, who wouldn't want to mate with someone like that?

And today was certainly no exception.

"Come now cutie, I don't mind what you are, just come play with me, I can show you a good time," an over eager Alpha smirked, confidence dripping with every word. You held your breath, refraining from inhaling his pungent scent that made your stomach recoil.

"Yes so you and every other Alpha in this town claim." You scoffed turning from him, hoping he'd get the hint that you are uninterested. Instead he grabbed your hand pulling you to face him again.

"Unlike them I'm experienced." His scent became muskier with arousal, which only turned your stomach more.

"I could hardly care about your experience, I doubt you're that great anyway," you rolled your eyes pulling your wrist out of his grasp.

Losing his temper the male forcefully pinned you to the wall with a snarl, "you ignorant, untamed, feral bitch, you don't have any idea how many women want my pups. You should be grateful that I'm choosing you." He said it as if it was something to be thankful for, if anything you thought him feral. Before you could retort, you caught whiff of a familiar scent, a scent that sent you into a frenzy, your stomach filled with butterflies but you maintained your composure as you watched a hand grip the males shoulder as they dug their nails in deeply, the male let out a pathetic yelp as he released you to clench his fist and swing at the unknown third party behind him. His fist was easily caught and the males face turned pale as if he saw a ghost.

"C-c-captain Kaeya," his voice trembled, his once self-assured scent filled with fear.

"Lawrence my fellow Knight, I am quite disappointed in you, this behaviour is unbefitting of a Knight of Favouius," the ever cool Cavalry Captain spoke with a low voice.

"I-I apologize, perhaps my rut got the better of me." The named knight Lawrence shook.

"Its not me you should apologise to," Kaeya narrowed his eyes, nails digging deeper into his shoulder, you were certain he drew blood. Lawrence swiftly turned to you and bowed deeply.

"Please miss (Y/N), accept my deepest of apologies," he didn't move from his bow.

"Fine, just go away," you didn't care at all for his apology you just wanted him gone.

"Yes of course! You won't see me again!" Kaeya removed his hand from the other knight and he ran for it. Leaving you and the blue haird captain alone. You sighed deeply slumping against the wall you were still leaning on.

Kaeya reached out but decided against the notion, for he feared of your rejection. Although it wasn't the first time he's interacted with you, and even if during those numerous times you never told him to go away, or to go fuck himself, he still kept his distance. He didn't know when your attitude might change.

"Are you okay?" Kaeya spoke softly with concern. Even his scent that smelled like sweet wine and snow pine was etched with concern. Your face flushed, trying to keep yourself concealed was getting harder, the fact that you were going into a heat cycle right now didn't help, his scent was quicken the process. Around any other male it was fine, since their over-bearing scents had the opposite effect on you.

"Yes I'm quite alright Sir Kaeya," you smiled softly. The Captain couldn't help but chuckle.

"Come now, just Kaeya is fine," he gave a smile, not one that he showed to other people, but a genuine one.

"Alright then...Kaeya." It felt nice saying his name like that. If you stayed with him any longer, you knew you would do something you'd regret. As if he read your mind he spoke.

"Here, allow me to walk you home." He tilt his head to the side motioning his hand in the direction of your house. You gave a curt nod and walked with him to your house. It wasn't a long trip to begin with but it ended far too quickly for your liking as you soon found yourself standing outside your door.

"Thank you for taking the time to walk me home." You unlocked the door and turned back to give him a grateful smile.

"It was my pleasure. Have a good night (Y/N)," he gave a small bow before turning on his heel walking away.

Quickly you entered the comfort of your home, letting out a small whine, finally able to stop restricting your scent, the strain on your body lifting as the hallway was quickly filled with your smell. Your body began to burn, a fever being brought on by your heat. Swiftly you made your way to the stairs, but stumbled on your way. You reached out with your arm to the dresser in the hallway, your body slamming roughly into it causing the vase to fall and shatter loudly. Too caught up by the burning in your body you curled onto the floor letting out deep breaths. All you could think about was Kaeya, which all it did was made things worse for you.

Outside Kaeya hadn't gotten even three feet away before his ears picked up on the commotion coming from inside. His body tensed, as he rushed to the door but stopped. He wasn't the type to just barge into a lady's house but this was you he was talking about, he would never forgive himself if something had happened and he could've done something to prevent it. He'd apologise later for entering unannounced. So he opened the door and before he could even take one step inside your scent hit him in the face like a ton of bricks, your sweet yet salty Omega scent. Gods, you were an Omega after all. He breathed it in deeply, his wild and primal Alpha instincts were telling him to take you there and then but he shoved those feelings down as he watched you lay on the floor hot, bothered and so very, very vulnerable. He's never seen you like this, he's certain nobody has ever seen you like this. In your haze you could smell him, it smelt so good, so comforting.

"Kaeya," you mewled softly. His body froze, did you just call for him? Snapping out of it he swiftly closed the door, locking it, he didn't want anyone else getting in the way, he also took his boots off placing them next to your shoes. Slowly and gently he made his way over.

"Yes, I'm here," he called out ever so softly. You were startled, in a daze you sat up leaning against the dresser you had previously tumbled against, you weren't expecting him to actaully be here, or perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you. Yet his scent was too real, but you were still unsure so you spoke.

"Are you real?" Your face reddened from your fever your hand reached out towards him. Instantly he took your hand in his and pulled you to him, you were surprisingly light. He held you tight against his chest, as he sat against the wall.

"What do you think?" He whispered softly. He held you close, your face pressed into he crook of his neck, where his scent was strongest. You pressed your nose against his neck inhaling deeply as you gripped his clothes. Kaeya let out a shaky breath feeling your breath against his skin. He could feel his control slipping but he had to keep it together, he would let you lead tonight, or until given permission.

"Kaeya, it's too hot," despite your statement you pressed your body closer to his, your hands delving into his clothes.

"I know," he spoke softly, he used his cryo power to cool his hands sufficiently and touched the back of your neck to try and cool you a bit. You arched your back letting out a desperate moan.

"Kaeya please," you whined now pawing at his clothes. His eyes thinned his voice low and husky.

"I don't want you to regret this, if you let me do this, I'm claiming you, marking you as mine. I won't allow anyone else to touch you," his cool hand that was on your neck moved to your chin to lift your head up to look at him. Despite your hazy state you understood what that meant, if he claims you, he would be your mate for life and you didn't want it any other way. So in response you smashed your lips against his with need.

Kaeya let out a small groan gripping your hips tightly. His tongue slipping into your mouth, his tongue rubbed against yours, caressed the inside of your cheeks, delving deep into your cavern, tasting you, unable to get enough. You moaned into his mouth some saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth. Breaking the kiss, Kaeya removed his lips from yours, he smirked and licked up the saliva. You out a needy sigh leaning in to meet his lips again, for Kaeya to lean away putting his finger your lips.

"Come now darling, I don't think this is the place," he wanted to make sure you were comfortable, after all this was about you. You couldn't help but growl softly when he stopped but appreciated his consideration.

"My bedroom isn't far," you spoke softly against his finger giving it a quick lick before grabbing his wrist and pulling him up with you.

"My, someone is certainly eager," he teased as you practically dragged him up the stairs. Throwing the door open you made your way to your bed where you made your nest, where many pillows and blankets were built up. Kaeya felt a tingling sensation, you could've taken him to a different room but you took him here instead. Holding himself back was indeed a challenge and then some. You had let go of his wrist a few seconds ago now, you were sitting in the middle of your nest looking at him.

"Kaeya why are just standing there? Come here." You patted the space beside you. You were inviting him in, into your sanctuary, into the place where you spend most your time nurturing and raising your little ones. The tingling sensation inside him grew. He was becoming unsure so he asked again.

"(Y/N)...are you sure?" His voice low as he stood at the edge of the bed.

"Kaeya I may in heat and needy but I'm not incapable of choosing my mate," You held out your hand to him with a smile. Kaeya returned your smile and took your hand. The bed dipped as he leaned his body weight onto it. He crawled into the centre with you as he watched you lay down onto your back offering your submission to him.

And just like that, the last string of Kaeya's restraint snapped. Grabbing the hem of your blouse he ripped it from your body. You gasped lightly in surprise, it was unexpected. Kaeya did the same with your bra freeing your breasts. The moment your chest was bare his face was buried into your neck. His tongue lapped on your scent gland, your back arched pressing your chest against his. In response he pushed down against you pinning you to the bed. You let out a mewl wrapping your arms around his neck, a hand finding it's way into his luscious blue locks. You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck.

"Kaeya please." You pleaded rubbing your leg up his side, instantly you felt his teeth sink into your neck.

He has marked you.

He has claimed you.

You are his now.

And nobody can take you away.

"Kaeya~" you moaned loudly.

Your mind began to swim, you couldn't think straight. All you wanted was him. You needed him.

"Kaeya, my Kaeya, my Alpha, please," you panted softly, "please fill me, give me your pups, please." Your sincere desperation drove him insane.

Kaeya removed himself from your neck to make quick work of both your clothing. He watched as your pussy glistened with your slick. As much as he wanted to plow into you right now, he knew he should prepare you so it wouldn't hurt as much, so he slid two fingers into you. You gripped his hair slightly arching your back, a gasp type moan escaped your lips. His fingers easily entered and exited your pussy. He made a scissoring motion, stretching out your walls. Your legs twitched in anticipation. Being impatient Kaeya deemed that you were ready. With the fingers coated in your slick he stroked himself a few times before lining his dick up with your pussy.

"I'm going to fill you real good baby, so good you won't be able to think of anything else but me." With that he pushed himself deep inside you, until he was fully inside.

You let out a cry of ecstasy, throwing your head back, "yes Kaeya!" With your neck exposed to him once more he latched onto it, leaving multiple love marks all the while thrusting mercilessly into you. Endless moans escaped you lips as you gave yourself to pleasure and instinct. Kaeya lifted his head from your love bitten chest. His fingers dug into your hips as he watched your wither beneath him. The sight of your disheveled body aroused him greatly. Hooking your legs over his arms, he spread your legs further, this new angle allowed him to hit that delicious spot inside you. Your walls clenched around him with every thrust to your g-spot. Kaeya growled deeply feeling the knot form at the base of his dick. Once it swelled he wouldn't be able to pull out, releasing inside you would be inevitable. But you did ask for it and he won't disappoint. You could feel his knot start to form, your hand gripped the back of his neck pulling his face close to yours.

"Don't you dare stop Kaeya," you warned him. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Wouldn't dream of it princess. I told you, I'm going to fill, I'll fill you with my pups and I won't stop until I do. Until your stomach is swollen with my pups," you moaned into his ear you before biting down on his scent gland, marking him as yours.

Claiming him as yours.

"Fuck," he groaned feeling his need for release approaching like a storm.

Kaeya captured your lips in his.

"I promise I'll take good care of you," he panted, sweat coating both your bodies. He gave you a small smile as you gave into your release. Spurred on by your release and the tightness of your walls, Kaeya came deep inside you. You felt his seed warm up your insides making it's way to your womb. You let out a satisfied moan.

Slowly and gently Kaeya put down your legs giving them a small rub. He caressed your hair as he waited for you to come down from your high. Once your breathing returned to normal you opened your eyes and met Kaeya's blue orb as he gazed down at you lovingly. Your heart fluttered.

"I won't be able to move for a few minutes so bare with me okay." He spoke softly moving into a more comfortable position for both of you, rather than staying on top of you. Instead he moved onto his back so you could lay on his chest. He held you close rubbing soothing circles into your back. You closed your eyes in content.

"Kaeya, did you mean what you said?" Your eyes opened to look up at him still resting your head on his chest.

"About what? I said a lot things." He chuckled softly. You blushed softly twirling his hair.

"Well about everything."

"Of course I did," he cups your cheek leaning in to kiss you on the lips sweetly, lingering long enough for you to want more before he pulls away ever so slightly, "I love you."

You blushed with a smile, "I love you too," you said capturing his lips with yours.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Continued from here

-

At first, Hero doesn’t notice the slight changes around them.

They wake up, and the pain wakes as well, flooding them with its burn and stealing away their breath for the few instants they take to accept and relax into it before opening their eyes. Villain’s curled-up figure, snoring softly from the armchair next to the bed, is the first thing they see.

Hero lays their head back down and sighs when last night comes back to them. They wish they couldn’t, but they remember it all too well – every kind word, every worried touch and whispered confession.

Embarrassment burns their cheeks at the thought of Villain seeing their scars, the horror written across their face when they did. They were never supposed to see those – no one was, not when all of them were results of Hero’s fails, of Superhero’s discipline. They were a shame Hero carried for not being good enough, and one Villain should never have seen.

They give Villain a side-glance, sighing again at how uncomfortable their position looks, their body too big for the tight space of the armchair.

It’s only then that something clicks into place.

Hero doesn’t own an armchair.

They jerk upright, and immediately fold forward, holding their stomach when pain shoots through them. Hero catches the anguished whimper before it escapes, and only a huff of air leaves in its place. It’s still enough for Villain to open their eyes and sit up too.

“You’re awake,” they state with a yawn, giving Hero a once-over that stops at the clean bandages and makes their stomach churn.

“Where am I?”

Villain’s smirk sends waves of fire through Hero’s blood. How the fuck were they so stupid to trust Villain when they were at their most vulnerable?

“Welcome to my place. Do you like it?”

Hero bares their teeth in indignation and grips the sheets with the hand that isn’t holding their injury. “Take me the fuck back.”

“Oh, no can do, sweetheart. I gave you the nice guest room, though, I think you’ll like it,” Villain says, already standing up and calmly walking around the bed. Hero doesn’t move from their spot under the duvet, not when they can barely move without grunting, let alone get up and follow the bastard. “What do you say about breakfast? I’ll be right back with it.”

Hero can only watch as they leave the room, and the lock clicks behind them.

They fall back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling hopelessly.

Villain locked the door. Hero’s hands tremble at the thought, at how the room suddenly seems so much smaller. They had said they’d be back with breakfast, hadn’t they? But how can Hero trust Villain after they kidnapped them?

The feeling isn’t unknown, though. Hero is way too familiar with the helplessness of being locked away from the world, isolated until they were desperate enough to comply. So forlorn they were the perfect vessel for learning, as Superhero would say. It hadn’t happened in a long time, not since they started obeying the orders without question, but the terror of being alone for hours that turned into days that turned into weeks never truly left them.

You are too unruly, Hero, Superhero always said, scowling at them after they refused an order or made a mistake, if I don’t discipline you, you’ll be just like any villain. It’s for your own good, and one day you’ll see it.

And then the door would be locked, and they’d be alone. Alone until they forgot what it was like to talk and be answered, alone until they gave up on any form of pride and just screamed at the walls that they were sorry, please, I’ll do anything, alone until–

“…hope you like toast, we didn’t have pancakes, but I do know how to make really go– hey, Hero?”

They look up to see Villain walking inside, carrying a tray filled with food. Hero doesn’t cry – you don’t show weakness, Hero, ever, or will I have to teach you how to control yourself too? –, but a sob gets caught in their throat.

They aren’t alone. They are not alone. Hero shakes their head to push away the memories and glares at Villain, carefully pulling themself into a sitting position.

“Why am I here, Villain? Am I your hostage? Your prisoner?”

A shiver runs up their spine at the thought, at the punishment they’d earn for being caught by Villain of all people – being caught without putting up a fight, of all things.

“You are hurt,” they say as if that’s enough of an answer, and sit down in the armchair again, placing the tray in the bed between the two of them and pointing at the piles of food there.

Hero crosses their arms and waits.

“Just eat, Hero, we’ll talk about it after breakfast, okay?”

“How did you even bring me here?” Something vicious is curling around Hero’s heart, something unwelcome, something painful, something they aren’t ready to admit feels like betrayal. Villain doesn’t owe them anything, Hero has no right to feel it, and yet, there it is. “Did you drug me while I bled out?”

Villain averts their gaze and sets their jaw. “They hurt you,” they seethe, the rage only barely contained in their voice.

“I didn’t even tell you why or how I got hurt, you can’t–“

“I’m not stupid. You said enough for me to guess it.” Villain looks up with such unrestrained hatred, that even though they know it isn’t directed at them, Hero can’t contain a flinch.

They straighten up as best as they can to hide it, though, keeping all of the pain carefully hidden away from their features. “Superhero helped me become the hero I am today. Each of these scars is a mark of shame, of my failure. So if you want to blame someone for them, blame me.”

But instead of appeasing Villain, the words seem to have the opposite effect. They clench their fists, nostrils flaring, pupils swallowing their irises whole. “Keep talking and I won’t be able to contain myself next time I see that sad excuse for a person.”

Hero pales, trembles. And Villain, of course, notices.

“Superhero has abused and gaslighted you, and you still blanch at the idea they might be hurt,” Villain sighs, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for an explanation there. “Scars aren’t shames, Hero. Scars are traumas, and there’s absolutely no context in which they’d be a form of discipline. That’s blatant abuse.”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” Hero says rigidly, staring down at their hands. Somewhere deep inside them, hidden so far away they barely remember it’s even there, there’s a young Hero nodding and crying along with Villain’s every word. But Superhero’s words sound louder than any old, forgotten, version of Hero ever could. We don’t speak ill of our people, Hero. And if you do, you’ll have to face the consequences, they’d say between each crack of the whip.

“Just eat,” Villain sighs, hiding their face behind their hands and rubbing their eyes.

There’s so much worry mingled with ancient fear inside of Hero, they don’t even question how fast they answer to the command. They are hurting and confused and betrayed, and their mind can’t help but fit in its usual mode of complying with each and every order. Just like all good heroes do, Hero, you must obey your superiors, and therefore help the people. Show me you can obey and I won’t need to hurt you anymore.

They eat breakfast in silence, and although Hero’s mind keeps bouncing around the argument and their future, something that went unanswered keeps bothering them until they can’t help but spill it out.

“Did you drug me to bring me here?”

Villain looks them dead in the eye, lets them see the guilt lurking there – but also the truth. “Yes. You are hurt and I wouldn’t leave you like this to be even more battered by your beloved Superhero.”

“You had no right,” Hero whispers. Tears well up in their eyes, and the air gets caught in their throat, turning into gasping breaths that are not enough. Suddenly, they can’t breathe. They can’t think. Villain drugged them after Hero trusted them and let them see it all, they drugged them and took them away and they had no way to stop and they still have no way to stop it–

“Hero!” Villain shouts, holding their shoulders and giving them a little shake. It hurts their wound and makes them gasp, but it isn’t enough for Hero to stop quivering.

“You drugged me–“ is all they can rasp out, fighting to regain control of their swirling emotions.

“I gave you a mild sedative and brought you here, that’s all I did,” Villain says hurriedly, “you didn’t wake up because you were really tired, not because I knocked you out. I’d never take your will away like that.”

“But you did!”

Their stomach hurts and their chest echoes and Hero feels like they’re falling and falling and the fall never ends.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be this upset about it,” Villain exclaims, holding their hands.

Hero snaps before even they realize what they’re doing – one moment Villain is holding their hand, the next said hand is flying through the air and connecting with Villain’s jaw with a dull thud and a sharp pain in their abdomen. Two gasps of pain sound at the same time, and both Villain and Hero curl forward, holding their respective injuries.

“You punched me?” Villain says, unbelieving. For one moment, one fleeting instant, Hero freezes and waits for the blow to be returned, only twice as bad, or maybe for them to be left alone as punishment. And then the moment passes, and Villain’s stunned eyes come back to focus. Hero pants and glares at them, but even though they’re still mad and scared, there is also guilt overlaying it all now.

“You drugged me!”

“I also kidnapped you. And it was a mild sedative, you could’ve woken up– why are you so hung up on the drugging?”

As if in answer, Hero’s heart starts to pound. It screams from their chest, thrums inside their ears. Their tongue doesn’t voice any of the truths laying there, though. Not when they can still feel the bitter taste of betrayal – what would Villain do with the knowledge of how many times they were drugged as a punishment? As a ‘calming technique’, according to Superhero? As a ‘teaching mechanism’?

“Does it matter?” they bite out, shifting their weight and holding in a moan when the wound shifts as well. “I never should have trusted you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

But that doesn’t mean anything, not really. Superhero’s said it before, and they ended up hurt either way.

“You can’t keep me here against my will. Unless you plan on tying me down and locking me up, I’m going to leave whether you want it or not.”

Villain takes a sharp breath and grits their teeth. Although goosebumps spread across Hero’s skin, they don’t back down.

“Why would you go back to them?” Villain sags on the chair, and even though their face is somber, there is something in their eyes that looks so much like pleading that Hero holds their breath. “I can protect you. You can even ‘save the city’ or whatever, I won’t stop you. But why go back to the person who hurt you? I see the fear you’re hiding, Hero. You and I both know that the only thing waiting for your return is more pain.”

“What do you want me to do? Stay here? Become a villain myself?” they scoff.

Something flashes in Villain’s eyes, something so weirdly close to pain Hero find themself at a loss for words. And then it’s gone, as fast as it appeared, and Hero chooses to believe it was only their imagination.

“Do as you wish, but I won’t be responsible for your being hurt again,” Villain says in a final tone. “And if I have to tie you down and lock you up until you’re healed and able to defend yourself, then so be it.”

“So the ‘playing hero’ part is over, huh?”

There’s so much hurt, so many places. In their belly, in their contained tears, in their heart. Hero grips the sheets and glares at Villain’s narrowed eyes.

“I never said I was playing hero,” they respond coldly, “I’d rather be damned than be anything like Superhero.”

Villain gets up after that, but stops at the door and turns around to look at Hero. They stare at each other, and in their gazes, something builds and something breaks, and as words form and die in the tip of Hero’s tongue, they seem to do the same in Villain’s, for they simply sigh and turn their back, leaving the room without another glance and locking the door behind them.

(part 3)

[slutfor-fictionalmen]

Easy lovings(Denki edition)

Denki x Tsundere! F! reader

Y/n sets out to tell denki of her unrequited crush on him, maybe all isn’t as she thought. Slight smut, fluff

Y/n brushes past her unknown peers to sit at the back of the seminar, swiftly submersing herself into her phone in attempt to avoid all human contact with people she didn’t care about. Well, at least she tried to avoid it.

Her former schoolmates/ now friend group all huddle together with Y/n in various rows, chatty and carefree despite their powerful reputations. “Y/n!! how dare you try to find seats without us!! you KNOW we were all gonna sit together!” Y/n jumps as the shrill voice of the pink girl breaks through the voices to harass her ears.

“I’m not your mother, you can find your own way. And besides, Isn’t your dick appointment attending too? Can’t you go fuck with someone else right now?” Y/n sighs, staring at the blonde man she’s loved since their second year, while he’s immersed in a conversation with their shared lifelong friends. “No can do baby cakes, i’m here for you, and besides, i wanna have my pick of seat before Mineta tries to get his slimy hands on a seat next to us.”

Y/n laughs at the thought of their known associate, it’s been a while since she’s seen him but she still remembers vividly his attempts to grope all the girls in the class. She loved those carefree days, she misses the times where their only real worries were being strong enough and what their crushes thought about them. 

Y/n never had to worry about what too many guys thought about her, she never really cared what anyone thought, she had enough to worry about, screw  juvenile crushes and unnecessary feelings. She never cared about anyone, with the exception of one guy she liked.

The only guy she’s ever really liked

Denki.

Mina noticed y/n lost in thought and staring at him. She knew that her advice for the stubborn girl was always in vain, but it never stopped her from trying. ”You need to tell him y/n. He feels the same, he always talks about you, it’s time for you to be happy.” 

Y/n never listened, but something hit this time. She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore. She was a badass pro hero with a sharp mind and a kind heart, so what if he doesn't feel the same, just means one less thing to worry about. ‘shoot your shot y/n, you can do this’. Y/n hyped herself up before putting on a brave face and looking at her best friend.

“I’m gonna do it, i have to..... right? i mean what if something happens and he never knows, i would hate that, but what if he doesn’t feel the same i-” Mina grabs her shoulders and shakes her out of her ramble. “shut up and do it.” “i can do this” Y/n walks away, not before hearing her best friend shout “YOU CAN DO THIS” from across the hall.

Y/n shakes, alarmed at her show of emotions. She’s never been one to be emotional before getting to know someone. But this is denki we’re talking about, the most kind guy she’s ever met, funny, sweet, smart, reminding her of a golden retriever in some ways. ‘Mental note, don’t compare him to a dog.’

Y/n approaches the leather clad man with a stoic look on her face, but not before giving him a small smile. “Excuse me, can i steal this man away from you for a sec?” The stranger nods and walks away, leaving Denki waiting awkwardly for her to initiate conversation.

“You ok Y/n? What do you need?” “can i talk to you in private?” “Denki blinks a few times before nodding and following the girl into a secluded area of the building. “Is everything alright?” He reaches out to rub her shoulder as a sign of affection but unknowingly making the plush girl more nervous.

“You know how i never dating anyone in school? Or showed interest to any man of woman in any way?” Denki hesitantly nodded, leaning in. “Well that was because i liked you then-” The blonde laughs running a hand through his hair and letting out a sigh of relief,”So that’s what this is about! Y/n I thought you were dying or something, you can’t scare me like that!.... and to be fair, i was very oblivious, so i’m sorry if i hurt you back then in any way. i would have-” 

“Oh my god shut up i’m not finished yet!” He went silent and stared with wide eyes. So much for the emotional presentation. “i liked you then-” “i know-” “and i STILL like you now, I don’t expect you to feel the same, but i cant let my unreciprocated feelings for you affect my ability to work. I’m in love with you, and i have been for years. Now if you’re disturbed or disgusted, too bad. I’m a grown woman and i can feel however the hell i want to feel. and if you feel you can’t work with me, i get that too, i-”

His lips were suddenly on hers. Y/n felt electric, she felt alive. Everything fell away while denki shut her up with a kiss. “For someone who doesn’t open up very often, you sure do talk a fuck ton.”

He gently set his forehead against her own while he backed her up against the wall. Y/n set her hands on his chest, stabilizing herself due to his sudden shift of positions. “Halfway through first year. That’s how long i liked you. And graduation is when i realized i loved you. After school you never answered any of my texts and ignored my calls. The only way i saw you is if we both happened to be invited to the same event. you make it really hard to read how you feel, you know that?” “That’s kinda the point, i don’t open up... that’s why it took so long to tell you.”

Denki smiled, and moved to kiss her forehead, cheek, nose, and lips. She melted into the kiss, relishing in his gentleness, ecstatic to experience his love first hand, not just to imagine it. 

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing Denki to kiss her deeper and hold her closer with his hands on her hips. Y/n moaned into the kiss as his grip tightened. He pushed her farther into the wall, spreading her thighs with his knee. 

He Kissed down her neck to the top of her outfit, pulling it down slightly to mark her neck. Y/n moans as he nips and sucks at her collar bone, allowing her to tug at his hair while he ground his knee into her mound. “God i love the pretty little noises you make, but i would prefer if they were louder.” Denki smirked at the girls flushed state, continuing the friction on her clothed privates, listening to her sweet moans. 

Denki thanked whatever god was up there that he got to see a goddess in this vulnerable state. He memorized every move of her mouth, the curve of her face, the way her face looked contorted with pleasure. He knew that he wanted to see this sight again for the rest of his life, that his only longing would be to please her.

All thoughts were interrupted as the announcer ordered all pro heros to take their seats. Denki looked her in the eye with a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He gave her one final kiss and pulled away. “We will continue this, later.”

And for the first time in a while, the flustered y/n was left with a smile on her face.

OMFG THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE AND ITS SO BAD, IM SO SRRY.

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 11

Weight

[TW: Panic Attacks, Nightmares, Alcohol, Mentions of Violence, Riko Moriyama]

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts.

The winter holidays were a nightmare.

Maybe Kevin had the tendency to exaggerate things. Though, who could really blame him?

The Foxes – before they all departed for their holiday destinations – were approaching Kevin in extremes. Either as if he was a wild, caged animal ready to snap at everyone, or as if messing with him was the highlight of their day.

“If you miss him so much, call him,” Nicky had said, ever so casually.

The thing was, that Kevin knew he had messed everything up. There was no chance he was going to call or text Eric after what had happened during the winter banquet.

Partially because he thought Eric wanted nothing to do with him.

Another part of him, of course, simply wanted to punish himself. He had something in his grasp, something other than Exy, and he let it go, just like that.

If no one would bat an eyelash at Andrew and Neil, or at Jean and Jeremy, maybe Kevin could for once, do something for himself.

Disgusting.

Even after his death, Riko’s ghost would not let Kevin be happy. It was all so much, that he hardly thought he had the spine to actually call and apologize to Eric on his own volition.

Coward.

Kevin just knew Christmas would not be pleasant. It should be; it was the first Christmas when he was really free.

It didn’t really feel like that.

He’d thought that perhaps going to Columbia with Andrew, Neil and Aaron would help him forget.

Alcohol would help.

Apparently, however, those plans were ruined too, when Wymack told Kevin it would be a good idea for them to spend Christmas together.

“Abby said it- it might be a good idea. We have a lot to talk about,” Wymack had said, the night before they were to leave for Columbia. “The Foxes will be gone. We will have some fucking peace and quiet.”

Kevin knew he couldn’t say no. He’d kept the truth from Wymack for so long.

Selfish.

Kevin had agreed. He didn’t wake up as Andrew and Neil left; Aaron apparently, had arranged to retreat somewhere with Katelyn.

The dorm room was empty. It was unusual. The quiet was unsettling. No matter how much Kevin wouldn’t admit it, the voices, the bodies moving to an everyday routine, helped him focus.

Thankfully, Wymack had arrived early to pick him up from the dorms. They wouldn’t do anything special; just spend the holidays at the Coach’s apartment.

The first days were calm. Due to the awkwardness however, no talking was done. Not the kind of talking Wymack had implied at first, at least. The two men simply coexisted. The quiet became deafening in Kevin’s ears. Nights were the worst.

His fingers itched to be wrapped around the neck of a bottle. He didn’t like the way his thoughts – intrusive, nasty things – would fill in the silence when he was sober.

Relapsing however, would be yet another sign of cowardice. Kevin hadn’t drunk in months. He hadn’t felt like he needed it. The high of their victory, the busy start of the semester, training the new recruits, had all distracted him from the aftermath of everything that had happened in the span of a year.

Facing an identity crisis was not exactly what he needed.

Not when he blinked and saw Riko’s face during the night. Heard Jean’s screaming.

Christmas Eve was when it all reached its peak.

Homosexuality is disgusting, Kevin. Aren’t you happy you have Thea? Oh, don’t think I’ve not seen you sneak out at night to meet her. That’s why you will always be number two. You are so vulnerable.

Riko’s knife felt way too real, even as Kevin’s eyes snapped open and he jolted up from the couch. The lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest were definitely real.

“Kevin?”

Kevin had not realized that he had been screaming until he saw Wymack standing there, until he tried to speak but his voice was too hoarse.

“I- I-,”

Vulnerable.

He hadn’t had a panic attack in months. Almost half a year. He was aware it was happening at that moment, but he was too numb from shock to do any of the exercises Bee had shown him.

From shock or from the shortness of breath.

“Breathe with me, Day.” He felt hands on his shoulders, holding onto him, managing to only keep him grounded. He tried to match the pace of Wymack’s breathing but his own breaths would come out short and sharp.

“He is dead, Kevin. He is fucking dead. He can’t touch you.”

Kevin knew that. Knew he could be whoever he wanted to be now; he’d almost achieved that. He’d gone from Number 2, to Queen of the Exy court. He was no longer in Riko’s shadow.

Then why was it so hard to let the fuck go?

Kevin half expected Wymack to hand him a bottle of alcohol, like he’d done so many times in the past. Kevin wanted it as Wymack stood up, apparently to do just that. He clenched his left hand, waiting to feel the reassuring weight of a bottle as it started going numb.

Of course, that’s when he had to remember about Eric.

Stop clenching your fist like that. It’s better to have something to hold onto.

We all have our own weights. The question is whether you’ll allow someone to help you carry them.

Kevin rushed to the duffel bag he’d brought with him. He searched inside, making a curious Wymack halt when he noticed Kevin’s weird behaviour.

He found the puck and gripped it in his hand, as he sat down on the cold floor and threw his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and, with something to fiddle, he finally had the chance to do the breathing exercises.

Breathe, one, two.

Hold, one, two.

Release, one, two.

It took Kevin at least ten repetitions to calm his pounding heart and rapid breathing. When he opened his eyes, Wymack was still there, alert and clearly unsure of what to do.

“Kevin?”

You can’t lie and pretend you didn’t feel anything.

It was because Kevin felt too much, that he became numb. But finally, as he sobbed, he let himself lean against his father and let it all out, allowing someone else to help carry the weight.

Wymack gripped his shoulder and held on for as long as Kevin needed it. He wasn’t exactly one to comfort people with soothing words, but he’d faced enough broken kids to know how to hold on.

It took Kevin until morning to finally calm down and fall asleep again. The bottle of vodka was left forgotten on the coffee table and neither of them touched it.

Christmas Day was a bundle of mixed feelings. Kevin felt lighter, having faced something like that and letting everything out. He wasn’t sure though how he felt about having trusted someone with this.

As days went by, he realized that carrying the weight, not only helped preserve that feeling of lightness, but also brought him a bit closer with his father.

It was only after New Year’s, three days prior to the start of the semester, that things had settled enough to help him make a decision.

The Foxes had come back, and Kevin greeted them with:

“Drive me to Atlanta.”

Nicky was ecstatic, though Kevin was mostly irritated by Allison’s smug grin as she turned on her heel and went to find the hockey team and get them to give her Eric’s address.

“Finally came to your senses?” Matt asked with a fond smile.

Kevin said nothing.

Next morning, as Kevin got in the car, he looked at Neil through the rearview mirror. Neil gave him only a nod as Andrew finally started the car.

Kevin was still filled with doubt.

But at the same time, he felt the same sense of certainty as when he had held a racquet on his left hand and strode to face Riko.

[unlikely-course]

The tl;drs of this very long post, which is about Gideon’s arc and her relationship to Harrow:

-Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc because tlt is not just goth but Gothic

-Gideon “forgives” Harrow because of Trauma and that’s definitely not the endpoint of how she feels about Harrow or their past

-The narrative knows what it’s doing

When Gideon says “For the Ninth!” as she dies, and thinks “this is the loyalty they always said I lacked, this is me making good” that’s not growth, that’s part of the tragedy of the moment. Like, the Ninth does not deserve her allegiance! It is, as Gideon was the first to remind us, rotten to the core. When she dies, it’s for Harrow, and her saying it’s for the Ninth does represent on some level that she’s come to new understanding about who Harrow is and how Harrow views herself *as* the Ninth, but like this is, I mean. Bad. Harrow herself does not deserve Gideon’s loyalty! Gideon gives it to her because it is a relief. Gideon is very good, yes, but the forgiveness is a response to trauma. The second Harrow shows even the slightest vulnerability or regard for Gideon, Gideon is eager to make amends because she has been starved for any positive association to others for her entire life, and Harrow was literally the only peer she ever had to associate with. She correctly identified that resistance to Ninth society was vital to her survival and selfhood, but also that shit is exhausting. That resistance is also partially formed by that society conveying to her: we have no place for you, we have no use for you as you are, and that makes you hateful to us.

Her response to Harrow and the cavalier role then is pretty classic! It is a relief to have a place, to be able to stop fighting, to give herself over to a structure sold to her as one in which she can support and be supported, to resolve the central conflict and most complicated relationship of her life. I maintain that you the reader are also supposed to feel initially relieved and even cheered by Gideon and Harrow growing closer and then gradually unsettled when Gideon embraces cavalierhood and the increasingly invasive demands of the trials, and has her mindset adjusted in increments toward sacrifice. To feel her thoughts turn in this direction is alarming! This is purposeful, and it is purposefully mixed in with good feelings, the same good feelings that Gideon is getting, to distract from and inoculate you against what is happening just as Gideon is inoculated against it.

In addition, Canaan House is a very particular crucible. This is not only the first time that Gideon has ever been bombarded with new people and experiences, but also the first time she’s faced these unknown external threats, which pushes her to unite with the familiar (Harrow) against them. Her past and present environments have made it so that the compassion she comes to feel for Harrow gets bound up in the idea of being loyal to her house, the ‘contract’ of her new role, and the positive interaction it gives her until the idea of her offering her life to Harrow is not simply necessary in the moment but good and right. Redeeming, even, when we as readers know she has nothing she needs redemption for. 

Gideon is so very angry when she comes to in htn, and it is not merely anger at those who have wronged Harrow or anger at Harrow for endangering herself. On the First, she made a simple deal: her life for relief from the emotional state she had to live it in. Forgiveness for some kind of peace. And when she wakes up that exchange is refuted. Gideon frames Harrow’s actions as a rejection of herself out of low self-esteem but also in an attempt to deal with unresolved anger she has towards Harrow, anger that cannot fit into the cavalier role she wants to embody, anger that she attempted to trade away but in actuality can’t. Because the role she was sold, the type of relationship the cavalier and necro is supposed to be, is ultimately false. It encompasses very real and deep relationships, as we have seen, but the framework uses these real elements to its own ends, the Empire’s ends, and despite its proclamations of mutual care the relationship is always at the cavalier’s expense.

This is what it means to say Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc. It’s not that she becomes “bad,” it’s that the corrupting forces of the narrative have reached out and altered her, worn her down, seduced her even. This is Gideon’s first contact with the wider Empire, in the seat and seed of its wretched power, and it has used her goodness, her capacity for connection (and yes for forgiveness as well!) against her to further ensnare her, to draw her in line with itself. And then she dies for it, as it demands! Wow. And the we have the other side of that, which is when Gideon says “For the Ninth!” she’s signaling to Harrow that she has come to value what Harrow values, just as Harrow herself, watching in horror, has come to realize her values are very fucked up.

And Harrow has indeed realized that by that time! Harrow really does travel such a distance in gtn, but this is largely obscured from us just the same as plot details are in the book, by the limits of Gideon’s perception. And let me be clear: this is a feature, not a bug. It is not a weakness. It is vital! Integral! To the above, and all it entails for Gideon as a character and the overall themes of the series, that Gideon forgive Harrow without Harrow having “earned” it or made real amends. The fact that she does conveys to us everything I’ve just been talking about!

Furthermore, this story is in conversation with a rather particular type of Christianity, but Gideon’s Jesus parallels are even more widely applicable. Forgiveness is kind of a whole theme with that guy, and the book is also plenty interested in what it costs for a human to forgive as divinely as scripture demands (to forgive as the bond demands, as the empire demands). In some ways there are good things that may come of it, sure, but it is not a purely redemptive force for the giver or receiver. It does not necessarily resolve.

I myself can’t say that I ship Gideon and Harrow in the way people traditionally think of shipping, nor as I have traditionally shipped other characters. Still, I reject the notion that that way of relating to each other is not a central part of the questions the book is asking. Like before, when I was talking about Gideon finding something to believe in in the way the adept/cavalier bond is sold to her—although we see that bond encompass many different types of relationships it is in Gideon and Harrow’s case speaking to how romantic love (much like that forgiveness!) is not immediately and entirely redemptive. I mean, Muir does say the series is about how love can be redemptive, but I think can be is the operative phrase here, in that it’s also first demonstrating the ways it’s not, or at least not always the way we think it will be--the limits and then the power. Trying to set that aspect of the relationship aside (like a “sisters” route or something similar) is a weak and queasy side-stepping of the issue.

Remember that interview where Muir says something along the lines of like, she didn’t write it as necessarily romantic but definitely homoerotic? Yeah. 

Despite all that I do want to make it clear that I hope Gideon and Harrow work it out in the end. Just don’t assume the narrative does not understand what working it out might entail. And who knows? I might have the read all wrong. Maybe Muir doesn’t understand what she’s doing. But I feel pretty compelled by the textual evidence.

[endcant]

i used to be very active in the cottagecore realm in 2018. im not alone in this, but i had my cottagecore blog before the word “cottagecore” was coined, and thus before it was presupposed that the lifestyle and aesthetic being posted about had anything in particular to do with cottages. a lot of the relevant posts found their way to me through other tags— dirtcore, plantcore, grandmacore, solarpunk, diy, etc— or just through the sheer natural popularity of the posts that ended up defining the cottagecore style

over the time between like 2016-2018, i had been pivoting away from my 90s/arcade themed aesthetic that i had fostered since like 2013 or something, because the colorful carpets and cheap plastic toys and bubblegum dispenser candies and slimes were beginning to be presumed to be part of something called “kidcore”, and kidcore was having a problem

the issue at hand for kidcore (and stim tumblr as well) was that ageplay and other controversial/triggering kink accounts were openly interacting with and advertising themselves on posts that were either meant for kids and age regressors, or themed around the original poster’s own childhood. as a result, kidcore/age regression and ageplay/kink were getting weirdly and uncomfortably conflated. it was a huge issue that i found really offputting, so i just bailed from the use of that visual language in general

the way that many, many kidcore and stim bloggers responded to these kinds of issues was to diligently put a DNI banner at the bottom of every single post, no matter how unsightly or combative that seemed. at the time, i thought that this was kind of a hopeless exercise. i thought that kidcore as an aesthetic would never really manage to extricate its content and reputation from that offputting area of kink tumblr, but it seems like i was wrong. through just like the sheer saturation of in-post DNI banners, it seemed to work. kidcore was more safe for kids and age regressors to blog and reblog about without getting weird fucked up interactions, and people seemed to be under less scrutiny for having a kidcore blog at all because it was no longer uncomfortably conflated with kink to that degree

the thing i admire most about this is that so many kidcore and stim bloggers decided all on their own that they wanted make it clear who their blog was and wasnt a safe space for. more of them could have decided to ignore the issue, more of them could have said that naysayers “just dont get it”, and more of them could have decided that they didnt mind added traffic, no matter who it came from. but these posters were uncomfortable with the issue, so they made that discomfort known at every opportunity.

this sort of stands in contrast to how most cottagecore bloggers ive seen have responded to the realization that cottagecore was growing to be popular with ecofascists and weird patriarchal tradcath & colonialist bloggers, esp since like 2019 or so. some bloggers sacrificed the simple aesthetic by adding DNI banners, but compared to the DNI saturation of kidcore bloggers, these were few and far between. also, weirdly, most of those banners also pertained to the kink-related boundaries that kidcore and stim bloggers had to set, and generally said little about politics except sometimes that terfs were unwelcome. anecdotally, i dont personally recall ever seeing a banner that said something like “dont interact if youre an ecofascist or christian nationalist!” or anything like that underneath any of the crafty and pastoral cottagecore imagery that ive encountered over the years.

the most common response that i saw from cottagecore bloggers to all the criticism and suspicion in 2019-2020 was every cottagecore blogger going on the defensive— “the accusations of cottagecore bloggers being right-wing or colonialist are false and not worth our time. anybody who spent any time in our community would know that plenty of us are leftist or poc!!” — for roughly one or two posts, and then never responding to the criticism again unless it came to their askbox specifically.

in short, the message a lot of cottagecore bloggers sent with their posts was not “ecofascists are unwelcome here,” but instead “critics who point out the ecofascist issue are unwelcome here.” and ecofascists and their ilk kept reblogging the same mushrooms and lace curtains and transparent homemade pie pngs as everybody else, unperturbed. there was no concerted effort to make it clear at every fucking turn that fascists were unwelcome

i ended up just drifting away from the cottagecore tag family over the course of 2019 to focus my gardening/naturalist/diy energies more directly on leftist environmentalism rather than aesthetic. since then, ive been thinking about the difference between cottagecore and the previous tumblr aesthetic i unintentionally joined and intentionally abandoned, kidcore. i have watched the response of both groups to these kinds of issues from a short distance, and i feel like kidcore posters better rose to the challenge of community infiltration by parties with harmful views and intentions. less kidcore bloggers have their DNIs directly in their posts nowadays from what ive seen, but the popular DNI banner phase of the kidcore world seemed to be essential and effective in establishing who the tag was and wasn���t meant for. no effort like this has been widespread on cottagecore tumblr, particularly among popular cottagecore posters, and so the reputational damage and the failure to exclude literal fascists from the main bulk of the aesthetic’s ecosystem continues to persist.

i guess overall the stories of these aesthetics (as i witnessed them) are just an interesting anecdotal comparison of how tolerating individuals that make vulnerable/marginalized members of a community feel threatened lead to that community becoming de-facto dominated (or assumed to be dominated) by those who are making others feel threatened, as vulnerable/marginalized members leave and additional vulnerable/marginalized people are deterred from ever joining. whereas proactively stating boundaries again and again and again leads to the creation of a better safe space, as well as a culture of awareness about the issues at hand

[silkylious]

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen­– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness, pt.2

Madness, pt.1

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja (mentioned, alluded?)

Summary: So, I wrote a sequel to Madness, I really don’t know what to put in this summary. This takes place in the expanse of a few months/year, but hopefully the pace of the time passing is clearish in the story ;)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions or allusions of death, mentions or allusions of abduction/kidnapping, mentions of (hypothetical) rape, and I don’t really know what else. Does blood kink count? Cause, subtle blood kink.

A/N: First of all I want to thank all of you for the amazing reception to Madness. I am so thankful, and so humbled you guys like my writing and this story. Really, thank you so much for your feedback, your kind words, and your support. Means the world.

Second of all, I’m sorry it took so long to get the sequel out. I wasn’t exactly planning one but ngl, I have fun writing these two, and I hope this doesn’t dissapoint. Love ya! <3

Putting up the act of being dragged a hysterical, frantic mess of a woman all the way from the docks to the King’s dungeons was not that difficult. You had kept the nervous energy within you ever since you accepted getting on that boat, and finding a release to it was…cathartic, in a way.

The King’s bodyguards that kept firm hands on your upper arms as they took you to the prison that will be your home for who-knows how long don’t push or shove you into the cell, making you wonder how many people are truly aware of this ruse.

The moment the door is closed, the moment you are safe behind the iron bars and away from the crown and its reach, you cannot help the laugh -hysterical, hoarse, crazy laugh- that leaves your lips, that breaks its way out of your lungs.

You are free.

You lay on that cell for so long you forget to keep track of the time, but small little laughs leave your lips every once in a while, as you lean on the tips of your feet to look out the small window, into the foreign sky.

Free.

You laugh again, shaking fingers enclosed around the iron bars, and you hear a shuffling sound behind you.

“These people say I’m crazy. I wonder what they’ll have to say for the Princess that laughs at her own imprisonment.” King Ivar states, squaring his shoulders and standing tall on the other side of that cage door.

You smile, “You did it. You promised, and you did it. You got me out of there.”

“I keep my promises,” He states, resolute, before continuing, “Any other woman would be terrified, not delighted, at being on a Viking’s cell.”

You shrug, “Maybe they are right, maybe I am crazy.”

The King considers you in silence, clear eyes piercing as they take you in, and after a few heartbeats, shakes his head minutely.

“No, not crazy.”

____

You have learned more and more of these Norsemen’s language, and in turn you’ve taught King Ivar more of your own -it didn’t surprise you when he ordered you to teach him, saying when he negotiated with Alfred he didn’t want some meddling translator-; and you’ve learned of their traditions, and their Gods, and their honor.

Heartless, Godless, nothing but barbarians; they used to say. But you’ve seen the mothers loving their children like any Christian would, the faithful honoring their strange Gods in their own way.

They know nothing but bloodthirst, they care for nothing, love nothing; that’s what the soldiers used to whisper to terrify the maidens. But these are a people alive like any other, and yes, they are cold and harsh and brutish, but if their King is anything to go by, they are as capable as humanity as any other.

If you believed their tales, which you never truly did, thanks to King Ecbert’s lessons; it would have all still crumbled to dust and lies before your eyes as you grew closer and closer to the man that ‘abducted’ you.

All their tales of cruelty and ruthlessness and bloodthirst, they are more than true, of course; but they forget to tell of the awkward gentleness with which he holds your hand and presses absent kisses to it; they forget to tell of the cautious vulnerability that shines in those pale eyes when the sun sets and it’s just the two of you and your secrets and your promises; they forget to tell of the shuddered breaths over your lips, the eyes that fluttered closed when you lean close enough, that fill you with warmth to your very core.

They forget many things. Hopefully, they forget to tell about you, too.

Let you be forgotten by those people that killed your mother; let you be forgotten by the God that never looked upon your family with none of his mercy; let you be forgotten by the boy you may have cared for but never loved, not like this.

You spent a fortnight -maybe?- in that cell. It didn’t surprise you, a believable claim that you willingly came with King Ivar to Scandinavia would mean the leverage to return you to Wessex would be null. What did surprise you, though, was that you were very often visited, almost every day, by the King.

He is a fascinating man, he was to you since that first moment. He never ceased to be, even now, after months of secrets and pried truths and reluctant vulnerability and him.

Shortly after, you were allowed more performative freedoms, and it didn’t cost you much to put up an act that slowly waned and disappeared that you feared, hated even, the heathens that took you captive.

You’ve seen the ashen faces of those who returned from battle against the Vikings, you’ve heard the tales of the women that trembled at the memory of the raiders, you’ve known of their fame ever since your mother was gifted her uncle’s head by one of these Norsemen.

It is not hard for you to imagine why a woman -a sane woman, maybe- would fear them. And so, the act is not hard, the ruse is not difficult.

And let them think the King broke you, let them think a poor maiden was stolen from her home, let them think you long to return to your home, let them think you feel nothing but cold. In the meantime, you will be free, and safe, and growing to love a King that gives you nothing but warmth.

____

“I want to learn how to fight.” You tell him one evening, as you watch the sun set over the distant waves, and hear the training warriors somewhere near the longhouse.

He hums at your words, lifting your hand and absently pressing a kiss to the back of it before he asks, “Why?”

You offer a shrug and a small smile as you retort dryly, “A Princess, alone and surrounded by savages, she should have some means of defending herself?”

The King offers a side smile at your jest, and it feels like a tiny victory. Always does. It always has, ever since the first time you saw him, you don’t even remember how long ago.

“I could let someone teach you.” He finally drawls out, slowly, meticulously.

You cannot mask your enthusiasm, you realize too late, “Really?”

“For a price.” He clarifies.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. What is your price, my King?”

But he shakes his head, “That secret is mine to keep for now,” Lifting his eyes to yours and knowing he won, King Ivar insists, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” You say quickly, surprising even yourself.

“Are you su-…” The King starts, even as some strange softness teases at his expression. You realize that you have startled him, and somehow that makes the excitement bubbling in your chest greater.

“Yes!” You interrupt, biting your lip and offering a sheepish shrug in apology when he glares at you, “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Sit down, no one is going to train you now.” He chastises, but you know his tells by now. And the gentle tug of his hand on yours to bring you closer again is not even needed for you to understand he wasn’t ready or willing for you to part form his embrace. You concede with a breathed laugh and a smile that you press against his own lips, and rest against his side with a sigh.

“Thank you.” You whisper, so quietly you barely hear yourself.

“Hm. You know, I never convinced myself you aren’t at least a bit crazy.” He muses, with what you know -but he’d deny to his grave- is a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

____

“Fuck!” You gasp out, Ubbe’s sword a hair’s width away from your neck, “Shouldn’t there be…wooden swords, or something?”

“Don’t you trust me?” The Prince asks around a smile. You answer with widened eyes and pushing his sword away from your neck with your own.

“Not when you hold a blade to my neck, my Prince!”

The Viking laughs, genuine and young, and you find yourself smiling back. You both assume your positions again, even if you are certain you are one sneeze away from being gutted.

“Why did you want to learn anyways? Aren’t you West Saxons supposed to sue for peace instead?” Ubbe starts as he guides your arm through a motion to break out of a block.

“I am Mercian, but yes, we do prefer talking.” You answer, focused on following his indications.

“Then why learn to fight?” The Prince insists.

“I want to be able to defend myself.”

King Ivar calls your name from behind you, a greeting and a demand of your attention as he approaches you and his brother. You turn around, and he inserts himself into the conversation you were having with Ubbe,

“Defending yourself also includes not starting fights you cannot win.”

“Ladies don’t start fights.” You shoot back quickly, side smile on your lips.

You hear him snort a laugh and your smile widens.

“But you do,” Ivar says, just as you deviate with your sword Ubbe’s attempt to strike your leg. “For someone so…”

Pushing back against the other son of Ragnar, you interrupt him.

“Don’t say small.” You grit out as you turn around, fight on pause.

“Small,” He supplies anyways, emphatically. He looks maddeningly delighted when you furrow your nose in annoyance, “You surely seem to love starting fights.”

“If by ‘starting’ you mean not letting you get away with-…”

“Get away? You get the last word every time I e-…”

“Brother, Princess,” Ubbe calls out, eyeing you strangely before motioning with his head, “Training.”

You nod, getting your focus back into place, and try getting used to the unfamiliar weight of the shield in your hands as you face the bearded man again.

Ivar’s voice cuts into your thoughts again, and your concentration evaporates along with your patience.

“Why are you standing like he does? You are half his size, you can’t mimic him and expect good results.”

You face him with gritted teeth, “Well, if my teacher did something other than berating me I could-…”

“You asked for my help.”

“I…shut up,” You sentence, turning back to Ubbe and correcting your stance to something you feel grounded and able to move on. The older Prince looks at his brother, considering, and then takes the shield from you. You let go of it with ease, but still question, “My Prince?”

“He’s right. You are small.”

“Thank you.” You sentence dryly, and the other man chuckles in response.

“I mean we can’t have you fight like you would in the front lines. Instead, fight like you would in an ambush.”

You shrug, because you have no idea what he means, and let him guide you through the movements.

____

You know what he’s going to say before you even hear him.

“Again.”

“Everything hurts.” You groan as you sit up from the cold dirt.

“I don’t care,” Ivar is quick to retort, and you have a feeling he can sense you rolling your eyes, because a taunt is quick to follow, “You Saxons may stop when you are in pain, but Vikings don’t. Again.”

Gritting your teeth and letting one or two curses in your native language leave your lips, you stand up and lift the sword. Prince Hvitserk smiles, hands toying with his axe as she studies you for a moment.

For once, you attack first, slashing towards his side, but the wooden hilt of his axe stops the movement. Not hesitating, you pull back and try again, making the Viking take a couple of steps back.

He breaks the block with a twist of his weapon’s hilt, making your sword slide off and your balance weaken. The victory is his as he raises the great axe over his head with a yell, but you lift the sword, stopping him even as you are forced to grab the blade with your free hand to give more strength to the block.

Blood pours from between your fingers and sharp pain follows, but you keep your attention on Hvitserk and wait for the moment you see him decide to push instead of retreat and attacking again. When his strength focuses on his upper body, like he did to you many times before, you place your boot on his inner thigh and kick outwards.

The force of your kick sends you stumbling back, but you catch yourself. The Viking falls down in his back though, and with enthusiasm you hold the tip of your sword over him. Victory.

You allow yourself a small smile, and Hvitserk shoulders his great axe as he stands up, fight over.

“You are getting better, Princess.” He praises gruffly, and you thank him with a nod.

Whatever dignity you tried gaining with the composed gesture is blown by the way you cannot seem to stop the excited pitter-patter of your feet as you walk back to Ivar.

“Did you see?” You ask. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and you could swear a little bit of your enthusiasm gets to the King, who smiles at you somewhat softly.

“He went easy on you.”

“I know that.” You answer with a roll of your eyes.

“And you are bleeding everywhere.” Ivar points out, signaling with his head to your hand. Reminded of your wound, you bring up your fist but Ivar is quick to catch it in his own hand.

You open your palm to see a cut running down your palm and similar ones -although not as deep- in your fingers. Your eyes follow the trail of a thick drop of blood that slithers down the side of your hand to your wrist.

Apparently, Ivar’s eyes followed the same droplet, for he moves your hand to his mouth and quickly licks off the offending drop.

“Ivar!” You chastise, tugging softly at the braid at the back of his neck, stopping his tongue from continuing trailing maddeningly the skin at your bloodied hand. He laughs, his eyes darkened when he looks up at you, and you cannot deny the rush of heat that look sends through you.

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, side smile still bearing the mark of your blood. You have the errant, traitorous thought to kiss the stain of blood off his lips, and because you can, because there’s no shame in lust or love, you lean down and do exactly that.

The metallic taste of your own blood on his lips makes you wonder if you could convince him to forget there’s a kingdom past your bed if only for a few hours; steal him away so he can think, taste, or feel nothing but you, so you can think, taste, or feel nothing but him.

Instead, trying to gather your wits and keep your voice even, you answer, “It is your name.”

“But you also call me ‘my King’,” He says, hand still holding yours and moving it so that he can see the wound more clearly. You keep your eyes on his profile, and find yourself startled when he suddenly looks up at you, head cocked to the side. Thankfully he doesn’t notice your eyes tracing the shape of his lips, and instead asks, “And you don’t really mean that, do you?”

You huff a laugh, “You are King of Kattegat.”

“But am I your King?” Ivar insists, eyes narrowed.

“I…” You start, stopping yourself when you realize you have no quick answer to give. You are not Viking; but you also have sworn no fealty to no king or kingdom, not since the ruse of your ‘capture’ was started. Still, you give him his answer in a soft voice, “No.”

He seems almost pleased, his smile turning more sincere when he states, “Call me by my name from now on then.”

You agree with a nod, the only answer your lips give is a smile, before you lean to speak by his ear. You will never cease to be delighted at the wonder mixed with desire that darken his eyes whenever you remind him of how much you want him.

Turns out stealing a King is way easier than you thought. You needed only a whisper in his ear and a sway of your hips.

____

“You are getting better,” The King starts that night, and you turn your attention to him with a smile. The people have months ago stopped staring at the crazy Mercian Princess, and the whispers about how happy she looks even as a captive have quietened; and for the first time since your mother died you have felt safe and comfortable. King Ivar continues, “For a Saxon.”

“You could just compliment me, you know.” You offer with a side smile.

The King uses the hand he holds in his -he always does, he always finds a way to be touching you and your hands seems to be a preference of his- to tug you closer where you sit on the bench next to him, and it is with a breathy chuckle that you find yourself pressed against his side.

He considers you for a few moments, before leaning close to your ear and whispering, so low only you can hear,

“You are a maddening woman, you know that?” His fingers intertwine with yours before he continues, “A maddening, infuriating, crazy woman. The most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve ever met. The woman I…”

His words die, because they always do. Even if they always do, even if he has never admitted anything, even if he has never said he cares for you, or loves you; your heart still skips a beat every time you dare hope he just might.

But because you’ve grown to know him, to understand, you do not feel pain anymore. You let yourself believe he loves you when you feel his hand reaching for you in the dead of night, as if to make sure you are still there; you let yourself believe he loves you when you are the last one to open your eyes after you make love and find his eyes on you, his expression that of wonder and peace, you let yourself believe many things.

And so, you give the answer to the words he hasn’t -can’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t- say,

“I love you.”

As always, as every time you tell him of your love since that first time, Ivar’s expression softens, his shoulders drop, as if you bring relief to a part of him you don’t notice is always on edge.

Because he has his tells, and he knows by now you know of them.

And when you tell him you love him and you are alone in the safety of his -your? You don’t remember sleeping anywhere else- room, his eyes close and his lips pull into the smallest of smiles, soft and content.

And when you tell him you love him in the great hall, like now, he drops the tension in his shoulders and claims your mouth, sealing the words against his own lips as if to prove they are real, they are true.

He has his tells, and they betray that even if he does not dare say the words, he does feel the same.

____

You wake up at an absence in your bed, and missing Ivar’s warmth you sit up. You find him sitting by one of the chairs near a window, his hand by his mouth and a furrow in his brow. His eyes are intent on a map of England he keeps on a nearby table, and you realize what kept him awake without needing to hear a word.

“Word from Winchester?” You ask, getting out from under the furs but only moving to the foot of the bed, where you sit with your legs underneath you.

“Mhm. Alfred demanded proof you are safe, and the letter you sent was enough. But, since you are safe, he asks now that you are returned to him. In exchange for Lindsey.”

“Lindsey? Ivar, that’s-…”

“It’ll allow me to take over half of Mercia, I know” He doesn’t seem thrilled at the idea, even if he showed you, you don’t know how many moons ago, that having free access to that region would give him a great advantage. “And Alfred knows too. He knows what you are worth.”

And so the reminder of what this deal entails -your return- falls on your stomach like a dead weight. Of course, of course show could you forget? A Princess stolen in exchange for a ransom to be paid by those who want her back, a while of freedom bought until the offer is made, and if the offer is enough, you’ll sail back to Alfred and need another way to get away from there. One King walks away with new lands, the other with a bride.

But you remember those days spent in Winchester, before he was King, before Blaeja was Sigurd’s wife, before you were his ‘prisoner’; and you remember him asking what if he didn’t wish to return you to Alfred.

You remember that, and you remember every day since; and so you hope, and taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the response, you ask,

“What will you do?”

He considers you in silence, with cold, calculating eyes. But with a grunt, he throws something he was holding in his hand and takes his eyes away from yours. You startle, but say nothing. You don’t think there’s much -if anything- you can say.

Tension is written all over his form, and after a few calculated breaths, he meets your eyes again.

“Marry me.”

“What!?” You squeak. He calls you a mad woman then comes up with these ideas.

But Ivar settles with calm, with certainty, in his madness. Like when you’ve seen him plan an attack, you realize he has thought of the alternatives, the outcomes. And, like in strategy, like in chess, he has certainty in what the next move must be.

He stands, using the crutch to move closer to you and sits next to you on the bed. His hand runs through your hair and settles comfortably at the back of your neck.

“I took a Princess from him, but he won’t take a Queen from me.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“They won’t make Queen of Wessex and Mercia a woman that was made wife to a Viking, much less Queen of Kattegat.”

Your heart beats madly in your ears, you feel like one of those trapped rabbits you saw the hunters bring back. You only look back at him with a knot in your stomach and wide eyes.

“And Lindsey?”

“We’ll threaten to send you in pieces if he does not send those papers, if he doesn’t concede. When he does, we’ll announce we’re married. They’ll think I stole you away and forced you, but they won’t be able to take you away, since we’ll be husband and wife.”

“In the eyes of your Gods. It will be nothing but pagan nonsense to the church. They’ll annul it, claim I was raped and so I am still fit to marry Alfred.”

And in the blink of an eye you are back in that hidden room in Winchester’s palace, sneaking thanks to Blaeja and her Prince to meet with the man that promised to steal you away; exchanging ideas and hopes on how to make this work.

“We’ll marry before their God too.”

He says it certainly, with no hesitation. He truly thinks of it all, doesn’t he?

And you wish you could say yes, you wish you could accept and finally seal your future away from England’s hands. You truly do, but…

“No,” You whisper, feeling the tears threaten at your eyes. The moment the simple word leaves your lips, you have another man standing before you. Closed off, with an edge of cruel madness shining in his gaze. “I’ll find another way. I won’t marry you for a business deal.

With a snarl of anger making his nose furrow, his jaw tighten, the King lets you go. You stand on shaky legs and walk a few steps to where he used to sit, eyeing the map of the land that saw you be born.

The land that might see you die, if they give you no choice but to return.

But Ivar calls your name, and interrupts your dark thoughts. It is the uncertainty where before there was strategy, the vulnerability where before there was confidence, the softness where before there was steel; what makes you turn to him with a new kind of tension taking over your body.

“T-Then marry me because I love you.” He whispers, a twitch in his expression speaking of how unmoored he is, how uncomfortable with the confession, with the possibilities it opens before you. With the power it gives you.

It should thrill you, to know you hold power over him. He has held power over you for so long, he has had your love for so long, it is only fair you have his heart in exchange. But the fear you see shining in his pale eyes startles you, softens you, breaks you.

So you step closer, so close he can reach up with one rough hand and set his touch at your waist -he always finds a way to be touching you, he always does- and he does, his eyes following his hand before meeting your own again.

“This is madness.” You whisper, and his lips curve into a smile, because he understands, he knows.

And the answer leaves your lips as easily as your feet jumped into that ship, and you whisper your yes against hungry lips, forgetting there’s a world past the two of you.

____

So, that is it! Hope you liked it, and hope you didn’t mind the lil Persephone’s abduction imagery sprinkled about, I am way too invested in Greek mythology atm for it not to show in most of what I write lol.

Btw, Lindsey is a region in the Kingdom of Mercia, here’s a map in case you were curious :)

Would love to know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

[thanatos-drive]

More eds breakup stuff

A friend made me realize the extent in which I have been emotionally been cheated on for years. I've known it, I've been too busy been disabled, mourning my past life and angry to admit it. Because of the untraditional nature of this breakup I have to live with her, until I'm out of school, my only choice, I have no where to live, which is a nice-ity of her but also a lampshade to many issues.

I never confronted the issue with her cheating I became as angry as I did. If I wasn't crying, I was angry. And now that's been held of against me. I understand being afraid of my anger been a thing. But its the ultimate cop out to blame me for my anger when a big source of my anger was been emotionally abandoned and again, cheated on, I cant call her out despite how much of a chain reaction she caused.

The more I keep reflecting on how I've have been talked to, the more I realize how hated and disdained I am. To this day I've been still trying to be friendly, share things. But now I realize that's pointless. I'm insignificant, seen as weak and worst of all useless.

That's the consequence of allowing someone to see you cry for so long, they see you as less. But no more.

Many people have complimented me for how much more I'm doing, pushing my limits. But the truth is that my body is in the most pain it's ever been. I can't put weight on my knees without then screaming. My tendons are so flared up. But I will not give her the satisfaction of seen me cry again. I literally put so much of me on this relationship.

It's nothing but hatred pushing me, I am going to burn out a day soon. But I was willing to kill myself a couple of weeks back. Pushing myself as much as possible for the sake as progress doesn't feel much different lately.

I made the wrong choice with this ex. I shouldn't have moved to a different state for her, abandoned my morals and dated a cheater and allowed her to see me at my weakest... after my last relationship I promised I'd be more open and vulnerable. Big fuckint mistake. She doesn't see me as a man. Why would anyone?

I don't have a good future. But I know myself enough that I have never, EVER been as motivated, productive and ambitious as when I want to either impress someone (usually a girl), or when I feel hatred. I suppose I'm afraid because those two scenarios lead to me doing something self destructive and I don't think my body can take more.

I've been holding back, I'm afraid something will irreparably break like so many things already have if I push. But does it matter? Nothing will ever compare to the pain she has incurred to me by treating me the way that she did. And why wouldn't she? I'm hideous, this disease has made me unsightly, adhd means I can never focus, I'm likely autistic and hard to act in social interactions so I can never make connections or make good impressions and worst of all weak as fuck. I AM the defect I believe myself to be, but strangely enough I also AM NOT the one she's made me out to be.

Let me body break at this point. She is but another in a long line of shitty people. As hard as eds has been its allowed me to be more compassionate to others and more willing to see how I am also shitty, I don't know who I could ever help tbh, but I know what it's like to be completely helpless. I don't want others to go through this. It's my only hope to from now on be better and not do the shit she did to me to others.

But the hatred, I need to hold on to that. It's the only thing keeping me together, God know my joints aren't.

[cherrysha]

1.english is not my first language so sorry if something sounds strange. I realized that the requests are open and I would love it if u wrote something with the feitan pls. maybe a headcanon of him dealing with a very affable s / n (?) kkk i can't explain but like he is disturbed because she is accepting very well the fact that she was kidnapped and now she is forced to fall in love with him, and he is like "me I'm a fucking criminal, why are u so calm?"

It doesnt sound strange at all! This went in a completely different direction and its part headcanon but mostly just a short drabble. I’m not one hundred percent happy with this piece, but i wanted to get it out there!

Also, This is a universe in which I deny the fact that he sounds horrible in the dub. We only stan subbed Feitan over here. 

word count: 1572

My requests are open atm

Warnings: TORTURE. thats it. thats all it is. just one big torture scene. 

 So if his s/o didn’t resist...

• He’d prolly just think they were biding their time

• He wouldn’t ask, he’d just straight up assume that they were playing the long con

• And a few months of it and he’d be sick and tired

• They were so agreeable, they let him touch them even when he was covered in blood

• And I don’t see any way this doesn’t end in torture

• He’d be really pissed off abt it

• Probably goading you the whole time

• “It doesn’t have to be like this if you just tell me.”

• And in truth he knows no plan would work, but he just wants some confirmation that you were going to try to escape

-

“Plan for what?” And he sighs. Part of him knew this was going to happen; that you’d still feign innocence. And that same part of him revelled in the course of action he’d decided to take. Basking in the chance to finally cause you pain. It’s a deeply rooted desire, one he isn’t accustomed to controlling. He wasn't one to pass up an opportunity such as this one.

You’ve been tied, arms above your head as the balls of your bare feet support the weight of your full body on the unforgiving concrete floor. The blindfold he had used to lure you into the room with is now converted into a gag as its shoved into your mouth. He’s done listening. Maybe when he’d given you incentive to be more... forthcoming, he’d remove it. The knife glints in the low light, the sight of it seemingly manifesting out of nowhere is startling to say the least. He takes a minute to ponder the situation. The apprehension on your face. You’d never seen him like this, only ever catching glimpses of his profession in the blood soaked clothes you washed so diligently. Was that not enough of a warning? He makes quick work of cutting off your top as well as the bra underneath. He deftly moves behind you, the sound of something heavy being picked up as he opens his mouth to speak. “This is going to hurt.” And it’s the most warning he’s given any of his victims. The suspense they felt, the jagged breaths they took as he circled their body like a hawk; it was part of the excitement for him. The whip cracks against your back one, two, three times before he takes a break. Your mouth opens in a wretched scream, but Feitan has become accustomed to the noise. It’s as irrelevant as the sound of the overhead light buzzing in the background. Blood seeps from the places the whip had licked your skin. Dark red as it lazily rolls down your back and soaks into the top of your cotton shorts. He stands back and admires the way your muscles bunch up under your skin in a useless effort to pull away from the pain, lifting you off of your toes until your feet lazily swung away from the ground. He was starting to enjoy the weak noises that left your throat. You don’t even notice when he forces your shorts and underwear down your legs. There’s a pool of cloth lying at your feet, dainty fabric that had been soaked with blood and cut into ribbons. He hits your thighs and ass with the next five strokes of the whip. Before moving again, he stutters, torn between being forgiving or continuing his endless assault of your soft flesh. The way your head falls limply to your chest, a sheen of sweat coating your body as crimson red rivulets silently descend to the ground below you, as if it’s their duty to entice him. To push him over the edge with need until he couldn’t take it anymore. It makes him give in, seven more and then he drops the instrument in an attempt to contain himself. He takes a moment to look at his work. Lover’s blood, he’s sure that he’s read something about the beauty of it. But seeing it for himself, hearing your shallow breaths as you succumb to the pain and your body slackens against its bindings, is more beautiful than he’d imagined. - He wakes you with even more pain. A faint trickle of something searingly hot burns down the fresh wounds that mar the opened flesh of your back. The scream you let out is the loudest yet, and he takes pride in the fact that he was able to wrench such a sound from you. A noise that no one else had heard and it was all because of him. “It’s just a disinfectant.” In all actuality he knows the level of pain you’re experiencing is probably on par with receiving the injuries, but he can’t stop himself from teasing. He finishes with a sigh and walks around to your front, smiling slightly as he sees your face. You looked wrecked, completely sinful as ribbons of pink tinged liquid dribble down your legs. It’s an encouraging thing. Feitan was the only one to see you this way, would only ever be the one to see your face streaked with tears and sweat, eyelids drooped and breath heavy from the excruciating pain he’d given to you. It makes his own breathing heavier. The spit slicked gag is ripped away and you don’t budge, head still slack against your chest as you stare dazedly at the floor. “Were you hoping to gain my trust so you could try to escape?” He whispers. And you almost don’t hear it over the sound of your own breath. You stutter out a feeble ‘yes’, because you know it’s what he wants, but it doesn’t seem to placate the man. He’s done this long enough to know when someone is lying to him. He’d previously came to the conclusion that you were just good at telling him what he wanted to hear, the paranoia settling over his mind like a heavy blanket as months stretched on and you’d remained unwavering in your acceptance. He can see it now, the truth of the matter enclosed in your feeble attempts of stopping the torture. He takes a step forward and smiles at the slight hitch in your breath at his sheer proximity. You were finally giving him a reaction he was accustomed to, one that he knew all too well. “See, I’m not so skilled at keeping people.. alive” he twists the blade in his hand, eyes shying away from your own as if he’d just revealed a weakness to you. He’s deep in thought, mulling over what exactly to do so as not to harm you too bad. You had told him the truth, after all. “This.. this is where I’d sever your leg from your body.” The knife is red hot as he pierces it through your skin, successfully drawing the image onto you. “At the joint.” After doing the same to the right, he digs it into your lower stomach, “if I had cut here, your entrails would cause such a mess.” Groans leave your throat in your attempt to breathe through the pain, rolling your head back to avoid looking at him. Its hard to contain the excitement he feels just from looking at your debauched state. You were enticing to him, enough so that he had gone out of his way to pluck you from your miserable life and let you start fresh with him. But right now, all he could really think about is how alluring your body was. Bloody and raw, so vulnerable in every sense of the word. He closes his eyes and lets out a puff of air through his nose in an attempt to contain himself. After he has, he continues his earlier ministrations. “The arms would be next, as you’d imagine,” And the lithe blade penetrates the meat of your shoulder as he continues with a downward stroke. It’s debilitating at this point. In a desperate attempt to block it all out, your eyelids involuntarily dance closed. Your body felt utterly destroyed, but your mind was in even worse shape; Choosing to forego the pain, black dots clouded your vision as you felt yourself being quickly tugged under and into unconsciousness. It’s a gentle slap, in his opinion, a warning to keep you alert. He didn’t want you to block this out. Not yet. He’s talking more than usual, a pent up frustration at the fact that he didn’t get what he was looking for. That he was denied the satisfaction of making you admit your wrongdoing. So, he snatches it from the crunching noise of your body hitting the floor. “If I did that, you’d die. Do you think I want that?” You only have enough strength to nod ‘no’, and your answer gains you a swift kick to your gut. He knew you were lying. “I’m not going to kill you.” He lets out something akin to a shaky laugh, the revealing sort that lets you glean just how unhinged the man truly was. He only meant to punish you, to force the truth from your mouth. But once he had a taste of the way you shrieked at his touch, how sweat made your naked body glow in the dim light, he knew this would be the first of many punishments to come.

[transhawks]

In general, what’s your opinion on artists profiting off oc’s of there’s in fandoms? Like when they make little comics for them paired with a character, prints, etc from let’s say MHA? And they have people pay for exclusives such as Patreon and such. It’s ok if your not comfortable answering

Sorry about taking a while to get to asks. I'm really sick right now so finding strength to answer is hard. I don't think this is the right question. What we should be asking is should fandoms be profitable? And are there consequences if we have this mindset of profiting off of fandom?

Now, personally, I think OCs are much more fair game than characters that are the intellectual property of someone else, but everything else is very messy. I've paid artists for commissions and I think there's a lot of greyness here because people should be compensated for labor, but our current socioeconomic situation necessitates, more so than other generations, that we monetize our hobbies. That's definitely what's behind a lot of this - fandoms are profitable, artists especially can make livings off drawing fandom art, and I'd argue easier than with original art.

(there's another conversation to be had about the valuing of visual art over writing, especially in terms of fandom profitability. I've seen screenshots of zine runners outright telling writers that they weren't prioritized because people bought zines for art and I think this profit-maximizing hurts fandoms.)

When so much labor is spent on making art, and these days labor and time are expected to go into jobs full-time due to how high a cost of living is compared to stagnating wages worldwide, is it any surprise talented artists just realize that fandoms can be a primary source of income? No, not at all. But there's a question of how stable that is. Animanga fandoms also have issue of that Japan has long had a culture of doujins and unofficial works. I stumbled upon this article (it's a bit dated, though, as it's from 2011 and the landscape has irrevocably changed) while thinking how to answer this question and something stuck out to me:

So, I feel like doujins are like zines in this way - slim profits (though zines unfortunately have the staff hoping to make as much as possible over a good product) that typically escape the notice of the large copyright holders of the properties they portray. But more and more people are attempting to make money, and not just based on commission, which I understand a bit more as a person to person transaction. I'm specifically talking about patreon here.

Not to bring up Twitter/IG drama on tumblr, but this makes me think of the issue surrounding Sofia Samara and her art. Here's a link to an explanation. Now while there's SO MUCH to unpack there, I keep thinking about how a minor was able to make massive amounts of money drawing nsfw art typically for adults (and was paid by adults), all of off fan content. and there's several things I think are also worth paying attention to -

On one hand, fans afraid of cease and desists or who have gotten cease and desists for very specific content will usually capitulate and either completely take down their stuff, or edit (censor) it to the copyright holder's standards.

On the other hand, when artists and writers realize something is profitable, they'll likely focus in on that rather than perhaps experimental content specifically due to perceived worth/value. Sofia had this issue with when there were request for 'PoC' version of her art (kind of fucked given the characters are /Japanese/) and for a trans masc version of some of the characters she was already drawing. Her first impulse was to question whether these were popular/profitable and some of her comments really make it clear that this art was done with the intent of maximizing profit. The representation mattered only in terms of monetary value. So, I think this is important to note. On one hand, you don't want a fandom so scared of corporations and governments that it doesn't make content whatsoever. Issues of what is ethical to produce aside, China's ban on fan content and AO3 silences so many people, especially vulnerable gender and sexuality minorities. It's a state enforcing what is acceptable and not on its citizens and so often that specifically targets queerness, which fandoms have often a small haven for.

On the other hand, the mainstreaming of fandom and when artists and writers only approach their stuff with the idea of market appeal, the unfortunate dynamics we see in the rest of the world get replicated. Not that haven't already - but there's a bitterness in the idea that fandom will prioritize content made not by marginalized voices who might not have the same access to make content like others. Or in Sofia's case, she traced art with the intent to make money, adding a whole other layer of "iffy" to this.

In all, I seriously don't know if I have a stance on this as much a bunch of 'worries'. I have love for fan content and think it's as worthy of respect as other art or writing or other mediums. I also believe in the compensation of labor. But when people approach something like a hobby as a job, and a fandom as a market, there are going to be people shut out and hurt, and there's going to be a big change in what is made and prioritized by fandoms.

Additionally, when you add a barrier to access stuff, do you ask who sees your work? If I hid my best metas under a paywall, I'd exclude marginalized readers who cannot afford something like pay idk 10 bucks just to read my previously free content, would I? So I genuinely think this hurry to profit off fan content is something that should be questioned. We might lose a lot of the creativity and freedom that draws people to fandoms in the first place. We might shut out creators and consumers who simply don't have the resources compared to others to keep up. Is that really what we want?

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

kiss prompt #25 with crushing nb!sole and maxson? (sorry if this one is outta left field, I just like maxson qkdknekdkwnf)

i haven’t written maxson in a minute but damn do i miss writing him. (y’all should def request him more!) this turned out a lot longer than expected.

please enjoy!

kiss prompt #25: .. as a yes

-

Maxson:

every inch of his body regretted his decision, his choice to allow sole, the only person he’s cared about since stepping foot in the commonwealth, to lead a dangerous mission he couldnt partake in. he shouldve said no, wanted to deny the idea of them risking themselves just to complete a mission but much to his distress, he had no reason to do so. the only reason being left unspoken from his lips in fear of rejection and abandonment.

he remembers speaking to cade about it briefly, only allowing himself to show his vulnerability for a single moment and pulled away just as fast. but cade isn’t oblivious and stupid as the average wastelander, and maxson knows that. cause case knows in the end, maxson can deny, argue, and build boundaries around the words that spilled from his mouth but god knows he’s not able to take it back, even if he tries to beat it out of his officer.

he tried to excuse himself from the room as quick as he could but the words that left cades mouth before he could struck maxson in a way he didn’t favor. it left a bitter taste on his tongue and his heart had never dropped faster.

“everydays not promised, elder. though i’m sure we both know that by now.”

and he was no stranger to that phrase, often seeing people come and go during his lifetime. whether it was in terms of them coming back alive, dead, or not coming back at all, he still experienced it and it was a part of his everyday life. yet, the thought of his precious sole being one of those victims who’d succumb into those circumstance left him feeling sick and absolutely terrified. despite the dreading feeling haunting his mind, he bit back any signs that could express his worry and replaced it with his usual stoic and strict attitude.

maxson knew he had to confront them about it, so he had ordered one of his officers to fetch sole as soon as possible, regardless of the tasks they were doing. the sleepless nights and endless thoughts were eating him up inside and he couldn’t take it any longer.

a knock on the door cut him off from his thoughts and he sat up in his seat, straightening his coat. folding his hands together on the table, he let out a small cough, “come in.”

soles quietly entered the office, smiling shyly at the man in front of him and carefully closed the door to prevent making any unnecessary noise. it showed their politeness and consideration- that’s one of the many things he loved about them. “you requested for me, elder?”

he nodded, his eyes never leaving their form. “yes, i have.” for a moment, it stays silent. they both stare at each other without a word and with eyes searching for answers, both for different reasons. it doesn’t last long as sole lets out a confused hum, an embarrassed flush painting their cheeks at his hard stare.

“i apolgize, elder, but is.. is there a reason why you called me up here?”

a reason, he thinks. there is no reason. was it cause he wanted to see them? hear their voice? maybe even comfort sole before they departed? ... perhaps it was the idea that he needed comforting in the end. his mouth goes dry at this realization and his heart speed picks up but he brushes it off, simply standing from his seat to make his way towards sole.

they remained at attention, watching as maxson stopped in his tracks to face sole at a reasonable distance. “to call you up here without reason would be foolish of me,” he commented, “i simply needed an update about where you stand with the mission.”

they paused for a moment, silently thinking to themselves before properly responding. “its still a go, elder. i wouldn’t want to back down now that everything is moving.”

he wanted to call it off, send someone else to do it but knew deep down that sole was the only soldier capable of leading such a duty. “excellent. i hope everything is prepared and in place. if not, it’s best to inform me right now to prevent any possible issues.”

sole shook their head and sent him a smile. “not at all. i believe everything is set according to plan and will run smoothly.”

“that is all i needed to know, you’re dismissed. ad victoriam.” his mind screamed at him for not saying what he wanted and he could feel the dull ache in his chest bloom with every second he wasted. he needed to say something, he needed to do something, anything.

sole smiled at him one last time before saluting in acknowledgment. “goodnight, elder.” his heart began to beat out of his ears, seeing sole turn their heel to exit his quarters and he became paralyzed in panic as cades words replayed in his mind.

“everydays not promised, elder. though i’m sure we both know that by now.”

and that was more than enough to push him over the edge, his emotions ultimately taking over him in the end. he darted forward a little too quickly, lightly grabbing their wrist in an attempt to stop them. “sole, wait.”

the stunned look on soles face as they looked over their shoulder at him brought a flush to his cheeks. he had never used their name in such an unprofessional manner and found himself growing surprise at his odd behavior. “will-“ he swallowed, trying to force the words out. no, he needed to do it or it’ll just fuck him up all over again. “will you be okay?” it came out as a worried whisper and sole noticed this.

“elder?” they turned their body to face maxson with a confused expression. their face was flushed at the sudden contact but he did not pull away, not even for a second. he was afraid, afraid that if he released his grip, they’d be gone within seconds. run out that door, never to be seen again. before another word could escape, he grew closer to them, his hands trembling.

“promise me,” his words shook with fear and sole expression softened at the rare sight of his usual tough exterior breaking down right in front of them, “you have to promise me you’ll make it back.”

no, fuck that. he needed a confirmation that it’ll happen no matter what, even if the world was crashing down on them. “i take it back. it’s not a request, it’s an order.” he stated, composing himself a little better this time around, “i don’t care what you have to do to get it done, just please make sure you come back safe and as unharmed as possible, okay?”

he expected every answer; a denial, a word of uncertainty, and hopefully a promise or a simple yes, but what he didn’t expect was for sole to take a step forward, placing their lips on his without another word. the grip on their wrist slowly loosened in astonishment as he looked down at them, not processing the moment for a few seconds. the minute he felt their hand lightly tug on his sleeve, he closed his eyes, kissing them back passionately and desperately, his hands finding their waist and resting it there.

he wouldn’t realize how out of breath he’d be until sole pulled away with a heavy blush and a shy smile. it would take him a few moments to ground himself completely, a dazed expression on his face as sole kept close, their arm still resting on his bicep.

“i’m sure that answered your question.” they reassured, putting distance between them. oh how bad he wanted to pull sole back against his body and recreate that moment. instead, he pulled himself together and stood straight with his arms behind his back, sending sole a form nod. this was more than what he had bargained for but it brought him a great deal of comfort, so who was he to complain? his cheeks stayed flushed but his voice was unwavered, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

“i trust that you will follow your orders.” he remarked with soft eyes, “ad victoriam.”

sole saluted once more, turning their heel to go back to their own quarters. “goodnight, elder maxson.” they smiled at him one last time before shutting the door completely.

maxson fought every muscle in his body to not take them into his arms, protect them from the dangers in this chaotic world but he did so, making his way back to his desk. for now, he could wait until the day they returned and the moment they step foot back in the prydwen? he’ll be sure to return their feelings properly.