#and then he also follows the same path he laid for 13

[thankstothe]

Breaking the cycle of it all

[gyalwtf]

growing up with sharmarke mohamud, <3

guys please request beta squad fics!!

Details ; Sharly × fem!reader, she's a few months younger than him, and definitely way shorter. The numbers represent ages!!

Warnings ; not really a warning but i based their school years off of mine from when i was younger, so im not sure if this is accurate.

Sharmarke Mohamud — or the name everyone has known him as, Sharky, has been your friend for life. I mean, you've always known him, and you don't remember a time where you didn't know who he was, he's just kind of always been there.

07,

You and Sharky were introduced to each other at such a young age, and got used to each other's presence so fast, but as little kids, of course you also bickered a lot. “Mommy!! Sharky took my toy!” You cried to your mom, who was chatting happily to his mom. Sharky looked so panicked, he didn't want to get snitched on! You quickly ran to your mom, whining to her as you hugged her, Sharky hurriedly following. His mom laughed, along with yours as she consoled you. Sharky's mom told him to stop being mean to you and to give it back, to which he frowned at getting into trouble, he wasn't really, but he did give it back.

Muttering an apology, your mom then saying for you to accept it and forgive him, and you of course listened to her. You hugged your toy, as you hesitantly went back to playing with Sharky, still kind of mad, but in no time you forgot about your earlier tears and instead enjoyed playing with him.

13,

Both of you had ended up as classmates for this school year, and unfortunately your desks had ended up quite close to each other, eh being friends for over five years now just meant you talked to each other more. It was currently a rainy day and the school didn't want the students going out and getting wet, so they chose to confine everyone in their classrooms in break, much to the students' dismay.

You and Sharky were both talking while sitting on your desks. You were eating your lunch, but sadly, Sharky forgot his today. “Do you not have any food?” You asked, only just now noticing that he had no food.

He said no, to which you replied with, “Want some of mine?” Hearing your words, he blushed, and laid his face on his desk, kind of flustered at the offer. It was just a friendly gesture, you didn't want him to starve after all, so why was he blushing? Seems like he developed feelings before you did.

17,

Watching him yap about football was so comforting for some reason. You just loved to hear him talk so passionately about his interests, and he loved that you would listen. Looking up at him as he spoke gave your stomach butterflies, there was once a time that you were the same height, now he was much taller than you and he still had a bit to grow taller. You just got so enveloped in watching him talk, that his words went in one ear and went out the other. You got out of that daze though and upon realizing you didn't comprehend his words, you asked him, “Sorry Sharks, repeat that again please?”

and he, of course, repeated. Little did you know that he loved listening to your voice just as much, or maybe even more than you loved listening to him, both of you could talk endlessly with each other. From that moment, he was 100% sure.

20,

You smiled as Sharky brought up that he started a youtube channel, under the name ‘afcsharky’ with you promising to subscribe and to watch his first video, which was a FIFA one. As promised, you watched it fully and supported him the best you could with his videos, with him being so happy that you were his first supporter.

A few years back, you started to realize that he was more than just your best friend, and you vowed to yourself that you were to support him with everything he did, and whichever path he took. So, of course, you wanted to be with him as he started this new era in his life.

27,

Sharky was currently on stream, with you joining him. The two of you were watching his subscriber count, waiting for it to reach one million. His channel, which was now just ‘sharky’ was about to reach one million, and he wanted you to be the one with him when it happened.

You were smiling from ear to ear out of happiness when he called you, so excited to reach one million and he eagerly asked you to come on stream with him when it happened, which you, of course, accepted. He was sitting on his gaming chair while you stood up, waiting as you both watched as the subscriber count was 999,998 and then 999,999 and then one million! When that happened, he smiled, he was so proud of himself, and you were even more proud. You instantly hugged him tightly when it happened, being much more expressive of your happiness.

28,

The two of you were currently on a date, well neither of you officially called it a date, but in your head, it was. He picked you up, his mom taught him well of course, giving you countless compliments that you blushed at. The two of you were having dinner, having so much fun. Reminiscing and laughing about your silly childhood memories, and there wasn't a moment without happiness. Sadly, you both finished dinner and had to go home, with the two of you paying, and him wanting to be a gentleman, but you also wanting to pay, agreed on 60/40, which satisfied the two of you and he drove you back home.

Once you both reached there, he walked with you to the door, even if it was a short distance, he still wanted to anyway, and before you went into your house, he stopped you. He told you, “y/n? Do you mind waiting for a second, i wanna tell you something.” He says, his nervousness evident, and you also started to get nervous. You nod and he takes a deep breath and confesses, “y/n, you've been with me since we were little, and you've always been supporting me no matter what I did. I really appreciate you, and i'm so grateful for you being with me all these years, and I've wanted to say for so long, that I really really like you. You're so sweet, beautiful, gorgeous, kind and all the other compliments in the book, and I wanted to ask. Will you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?"

While he's saying his words, you could feel yourself blushing, you had no idea that he would like you back. A smile forms on your face as you happily answer, “Yes, yes! Of course, Sharky!” you exclaim as you hug him, with you continuing with a, “if you will take me to be your girlfriend,” to which he hugs you back tightly, relieved that you didn't reject him and he said of course to your question. You pull apart to look at him, he was so much taller than you, and he hesitantly asked, “Can I kiss you?” you nodded and said yes very quickly, as he pulled you into a sweet kiss.

He was so happy to finally be able to call you his, he had feelings for you ever since you were kids after all, and he prayed that he would one day be able to marry you. Being determined to do so ever since he was 17, and now he was one step closer to his goal.

You vowed to yourself all those years ago that you would be his number one supporter, following him through every path, and what just happened reassured you that he would do the same. Oh how happy you were to finally be able to officially call him your boyfriend.

© gyalwtf 2024 - please do not repost, translate or copy any of my works on other platforms without permission.

[meaningofaeons]

… ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ࿐ྂ majesty: story notes

significant notes regarding character ages/age ranges and other clarifying details.

please note that this post isn't going to be quite as organized or well laid out as the other ones are! this is more a brain dump of all the important notes and/or tidbits I've racked up for the story thus far and is thus mostly my ramblings. enjoy! (=｀ェ´=)

… ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ࿐ྂ age ranges

note that these do not necessarily reflect hsr canon! while some of these are true to lore, such as yanqing or bailu('s physical age), they aren't all gathered directly from lore and are mostly my own interpretation (you'll notice that some characters who are probably older in canon, like serval who could be canonically as old as her 40s, are aged down slightly) ALSO NOTE: reader can be freely interpreted to be around 20-21 years old, but it is up to the individual. 20 is a typical age for manhwas to use as a "coming-of-age" age, and in this universe, one's coming-of-age coincides with their debut into society as a whole. IN ANY CASE, reader is a LEGAL ADULT, and regressed when she was around 29-30 depending on reader interpretation! romanceable characters will be bolded

⊹ under 18 bailu (8-10), yanqing (13-14), qingque (14-15), silver wolf (16-17), arlan (16-17)

⊹ 18-19 march (18), tingyun (18), stelle (19)

⊹ 20-25 ▉▉▉▉▉▉ (20), bronya (20-21), seele (20-21), dan heng (20-21), asta (21-22), cecilia (23-24), fu xuan (24-25), hyacinthe (24-25), luocha (24-25), xueyi (24-25), blade (24-25), gepard (24-25)

⊹ 26-29 sampo (26-27), kafka (27-28), jing yuan (28-29), serval (28-29)

⊹ 30's himeko (30-32), natasha (30-32), yukong (31-33)

⊹ 40's welt (42-45), duke louis fleming (46-48), emperor olivier (48-49)

⊹ unknown/incalculable age herta (100s of years old, physical appearance of a 20-22yo) elio (likely 100s of years old, physical appearance of a man in his late 40's)

… ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ࿐ྂ other notes

duke louis fleming is reader's father. please look into him a bit on the honkai star rail wiki! this will be tentatively relevant to who he is as a character!

bronseele is canon in this fanfiction, though it won't be heavily portrayed or expanded upon

the xianzhou people are NOT immortal or long-lived in this fanfiction, however, characters with foxian attributes (such as yukong and tingyun) and characters with other demihuman-esque attributes (like bailu with her dragon features) ARE kept. since the world is magical, it's reasonable to believe that demihuman-type races would exist too!

the aeons exist in this world too, and they represent the same paths as they do in hsr. there are some that are less or more known but overall they do exist. the destiny faith does not follow one singular aeon.

there are people in the world of this fic known as "emanators". emanators are not very common, please note that unlike in hsr, following a certain path doesn't make a character an emanator of an aeon in this fic. "emanators" in this sense are prophecy-born, highly powerful individuals who have a fate involving the changing of the world. one example is that thousands of years ago, a "destruction" emanator brought great war and ruin to multiple corners of the world. when two emanators are born at the same time, it is speculated that one of them must be killed, otherwise a great calamity may occur in the collision of ideals, but this isn't a confirmed fact as emanators are not always discovered until after they die, or cause some great event befitting the path they represent. there has never been a case of three or more emanators being born in the same time period/generation.

characters' magical abilities depend on their element in game for simplicity purposes. physical type characters do not have magical affinity. stelle is considered to wield fire-type magic, but is unaware, hence her position as a swordswoman/the assumption that she doesn't wield magic and is thus physical-borne.

reader also wields magic, but I will not expand upon which type until it becomes relevant to plot and doesn't run the risk of spoiling anything. do note that reader's elemental type will be fixed and will not be up to reader interpretation due to the nature of her story involvement (but her element is obviously not physical, as she DOES wield magic)

clara is sadly probably not going to be included in this fic due to the fact that robots do not exist in this world, and a lot of her character hinges on svarog, however if I find a place for her I'll try to squeeze her in!

this will be updated if/when I need to add more story info! thanks for reading!

[anthony-sharma]

Six of Crows Reread - Ch. 13

Now we see Kaz’s thoughts after Inej almost dies during the ambush.

_

Chapter 13: Kaz

“The pain in Kaz’s leg was terrible, the worst it had been since he’d first broken it falling off the roof of a bank near the Geldstraat. It was possible he’d fractured the bone again. Inej’s weight wasn’t helping, but when Jesper stepped into his path to offer help, Kaz shoved past him.

“Where’s Nina?” Kaz snarled.

“Seeing to the wounded below. She already took care of me.” Dimly Kaz registered the dried blood on Jesper ’s thigh. “Wylan got dinged during the fight. Let me help you—”

“Get out of my way,” Kaz said, and plunged past him down the ramp that led belowdecks.”

First off, he’s carrying Inej on a “possibly” broken leg and still refuses to let her go, even when Jesper offers. I know it’s such a small thing here but really, his commitment to her is unmatched!

Also, you guys, I’ve been reading this fic that’s a blend of SoC / Hunger Games and it is so well written. I seriously recomment you guys to go take a look. it’s included in my “Fic Rec List #5″ under the fics written by @endoftheworldhere. The name’s “One for Sorrow” and I seriously recommend it. It then expands into the HG experiences of the rest of the Crows (Jesper, Wylan, Inej), so you should definitely check them out!

“The cramped cabin was lit by several bright lanterns and a stash of clean bandages had been laid out on a shelf beside a bottle of camphor. Gently, Kaz placed Inej on the table that had been bolted to the deck.

[...]

He was alive because of Inej. They all were. They’d managed to fight their way out of a corner, but only because she’d prevented them from being surrounded. Kaz knew death. He could feel its presence on the ship now, looming over them, ready to take his Wraith. He was covered in her blood.

“Unless you can be useful, go away,” Nina said without looking up at him. “You’re making me nervous.” He hesitated, then stomped back the way he’d come, stopping to purloin a clean shirt from another cabin. He shouldn’t be this shaken up by a dock brawl, even a shoot-out, but he was.

Something inside him felt frayed and raw. It was the same feeling he’d had as a boy, in those first desperate days after Jordie’s death.”

He really is at his gentlest with her. Of course, when Inej is awake he can be crass / rude and harsh, but now, with her at death’s door, none of that really matters. Again, it is not justifiable, but understable how angry he gets with Jesper later on, for all they went through because he talked when he shouldn’t have. 

On another note, the fact that this feeling of unsettling helplessness he had when Jordie die comes back when Inej’s about to die just goes to show how much he loves her and values her, and how lost and alone he’d be without her. 

“What the hell just happened?” Jesper asked. He was leaning against the railing, his rifle beside him. hair dishevelled, pupils dilated. He seemed almost drunk, or like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed. He always had that look after a fight. Helvar was bent over the railing, vomiting. Not a sailor, apparently. At some point they’d need to shackle his legs again.”

We never got to see Jesper on the show with a rifle, so it’d be really cool to see him with one on the spin off. 

In addition, didn’t Matthias already travel by ship by this point (in flashbacks, when she met Nina)? Do people get motion sickness everytime they board a boat or is that sometimes that passes over time? Should it still be happening? It just seems very funny to me how this tall, big, intimidating Fjerdan soldier cannot seem to hold it in and vomits over the railing. 

“Stand him up.”

With one huge hand, Helvar hauled Oomen to his feet.”

It’s a bit funny to me how even though Matthias doesn’t feel like a Crow yet (and pretty much hates Kaz at this point), he still follows his orders.

“Kaz heard Wylan retching. He tossed the eyeball overboard and jammed his spit-soaked handkerchief into the socket where Oomen’s eye had been. Then he grabbed Oomen’s jaw, his gloves leaving red smears on the enforcer ’s chin. His actions were smooth, precise, as if he were dealing cards at the Crow Club or picking an easy lock, but his rage felt hot and mad and unfamiliar.

Something within him had torn loose.”

First of all, it’s petty but oh-so-Kaz to stash the spit-soaked handkerchief in his eyeball. Kind of like “you made this bed, now go lie in it”.

Second of all, DAAAAMN! He’s doing all this horrific things with such calmness and precision, as if it were no big deal even though he just gouged out an eye? As he says, something within him had torn loose. Inej’s almost death is provoking all this unsettling, unexpected, raw feelings. When he was a boy he couldn’t do anything about it (he was still Kaz Rietveld) but now, with a reputation behind him and skills he didn’t have then...he’s gonna be gouging out some eyes if people so much as look at his girl wrong!

“I need a medik. Can you take me to a medik now?”

“Of course,” said Kaz. “Right this way.” He took Oomen by the lapels and hoisted him off his feet, bracing his body against the railing.

“I told you what you wanted!” Oomen screamed, struggling. “I did what you asked!”

Despite Oomen’s knobby build, he was deceptively strong – farm strong like Jesper. He’d probably grown up in the fields.”

Kaz might not be the tallest in the group but he’s certainly strong, alright. Lifting a person described as “farm strong like Jesper” with just his arms and no one else to help him? Maybe I’m too weak, but I wouldn’t be able to do it. 

“Wylan took a deep breath as if sucking in courage and sputtered, “You won’t throw me overboard. You need me.”

Why do people keep saying that? “Maybe,” said Kaz. “But I’m not in a very rational mood.”

Well, he’s right, definitely. Something came loose (like a screw) the moment he saw Inej almost dying in his arms. 

“Since when am I your valet?”

“Man with a knife, remember?” he said over his shoulder.

“Man with a gun!” Jesper called after him.

Kaz replied with a time-saving gesture that relied heavily on his middle finger and disappeared belowdecks. He wanted a hot bath and a bottle of brandy, but he’d settle for being alone and free of the stink of blood for a while.”

I cannot wait to see this exchange in the spin off. I can almost hear Freddy and Kit saying this already!

That’s it for chapter 13. Next up, we witness Nina’s efforts to save Inej!

Also, they really are just teenagers settling their differences by flipping fingers. 

Lastly, why does Kaz have to be the one to ask Jesper for stuff? I mean, he's the mastermind of the Crows, mostly, but does that entitle him to boss everyone around? 🤔

[eremiie]

aot 139 rant bc i dont think ppl r understanding this chapter lmao

i’ve been seeing a lot of people hate on this chapter and call it a bad ending and everything so i’m here to break it down for the ones who aren’t understanding what’s going on and think it was a shit ending LMFAO

okay so first i think the issue is that a lot of people fail to realize that the way eren acted all throughout season 4 isn’t eren really, that is him putting his emotions at bay so that he can complete something that he laid out for himself for his friends.

eren from season 1-3 still exists, and that’s lowkey the eren that was talking the whole time in chapter 139— you can see the how he cares for his friends, you can see the desperation again, the compassion, everything in between.

so lets break down these panels;

panels 1-13 consists of the whole talk with armin. eren basically tells armin that everything that happened wasn’t by will, it was laid out for him, it was the path he needed to take in order to free his friends and free ymir.

think about this— this was destined for eren from the beginning. 

his plan wasn’t to have the rumbling destroy the whole earth, it wasn’t for any of his friends to die (he wasn’t even aware that some of them died), it wasn’t for anything besides for them to defeat him so that they can be free.

he sent a titan out to eat his mom because bertholdt dying would’ve fucked up the plan, he would strategically send memories down to his younger self, armin getting the colossal titan, eren telling mikasa he hated her, everything was according to plan— it was a part of the script that he needed to follow.

panels 14-16 consist of eren talking about mikasa. eren basically tells armin he doesn’t want her to move on form him, and he wants to live a long life with his friends and her. and that he doesn’t want to die.

people say this is out of character for eren— people don’t think that he has ever had feelings for mikasa, and it’s hard to see, i’ll give you that.

but people also fail to realize that relating back to panels 1-13, eren had something set out for him to do, the last thing he was thinking about was love. of course as a kid mikasa came off as overbearing, and she was, he had other things to worry about other things to accomplish— there was no time to reciprocate feelings. 

that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her, because he does, and i don’t even mean so in a romantic OR platonic way. the gist is he loves her period, and her love is reciprocated in the best way he can.

and you have to remember that eren knows he’s about to die when his time with armin is up, he’s getting frantic and desperate— everything's dawning on him, he gets a little time to actually sit down think and talk about mikasa.

eren loves mikasa whether it be platonically or romantically, and that kind of hits him in that moment, and this is coming from someone who hasn’t always shipped eremika.

panels 17-21 consists of eren basically saying to atone for his “sins” it’a only right for him to die too and that armin will be the one to save humanity.

pretty self explanatory, but once again this was planned out, eren was gonna paint the eldians to be the heros, and eren did his whole mass murder plan for their sake, not his.

panels 22-39 eren completes his mission, the curse of ymir is broken, and im sure that at somewhat the same time that he was talking to armin through paths he was sending the same message of what he was doing to everyone else— since all eldians are connected through paths. that’s how they all found out and that’s why they all resonated with eren. it needed to be let know that he isn’t a bad guy, especially with real people running around thinking he is LMAO

panels 39 and onward, everyone moves on, they’ll live out their lives with the freedom that eren granted them.

this is mikasa’s character development, she’s finally able to move on and live her life without eren. she’s allowed to mourn, she’s allowed to be sad, hell— they’re about to have eren’s funeral, that’s one reason she’s there. 

i say this is her character development because the first time eren died she was ready to die herself, but now that eren has actually died she’s not trying to go out with him— she’s mourning, and she misses him, but she’s trying her best to live her life with the freedom eren granted her.

she grows out her hair again that she always kept short for eren. to me that says a lot albeit how minor that detail is.

i’m not gonna say eren necessarily got reincarnated as a bird but i’ll say that these birds we see in attack on titan represent eren, and that’s why the bird tugs on her scarf, it’s like eren letting her know that he’s still with all of them and that he’s happy that they’re happy.

it’s tragic, that our main character who sought freedom the whole entire time doesn’t get to experience it himself, but it shows how sacrifices have to be made, that shonens don’t always have to be about winning. that there are tragic heroes, and everyone has a story to tell.

attack on titan teaches you lessons, it gives you an insight on life— and if you let this ending ruin the whole series for you because you fail to grasp the whole concept, every character, and every plot element, that is on you.

so thank you, isayama for creating and sharing such a beautiful story, because this series will live in my heart forever, and so will eren— he’s such a complex well written character and it’s sad to see that not everyone can understand him.

anyways ty for listening to my rant if you made it all the way through, gn <3.

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

My Experience with Jane Austen Part 2: Reading the Books

In part one I laid out which books I read, which ones were my favorites and least favorites, and the adaptations I've seen. Now I'd like to talk about my reading experience.

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert, just a casual reader sharing some observations, feel free to correct me if I get some details wrong. Out of the books I’ve read I’m most familiar with Pride and Prejudice.

Let's face it. Reading Austen can be challenging and I understand why some people dislike Austen.

It's easy to perceive her novels as "boring" because on a surface level, not much happens. The characters are well-off people (in the upper half of society) who spend their time at home or traveling between social calls and it's easy to dismiss their conflicts as "first world issues." Settings are often indoors, reflecting how "confined and unvarying" the lives of the rich (especially women) were. The plots often move forward through dialogue or conversations rather than big dramatic events. The focus on marriage can also make the stories feel like antiquated relics of the past and can be hard to relate to.

The writing style is also different. There isn't much dialogue at times because Austen slips in lots of very subtle commentary or prefers to describe a character's external appearance or characteristics. Often big events like proposals are described briefly after they happen rather than during, which can make the story feel rather "dry." The books are narrated in third person and sometimes there is unreliable narration (Pride and Prejudice) where we get characters' multiple points of view, but all narrated in the third person as to give each one credibility and prove that it's hard to trust others. Austen's writing style means that readers have to fill in the blanks with their imagination. For example, she doesn't give exact physical descriptions of her characters, often relying on general characteristics like "tall," "handsome," or "amiable." In my previous reviews of Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I explored that intentional ambiguity as a big reason why the character of Mr. Darcy is alluring--because the reader forms a personal connection with the character by sketching his portrait alongside Elizabeth. The characters (their physical appearance and some of their motivations) are purposely mysterious and while it gives the reader lots of opportunities for engaging with the text, without historical/literary context for "filling in the blanks" it's easy to see the characters as stiff mannequins in strange clothing rather than human beings.

Austen as a romance writer: Her romances don't always match up with our perception of what a romance should be. Some people start Austen expecting intense emotions and outbursts of passion but become disappointed when presented with formal courting and stately dances instead. Emotions are often veiled behind dialogue and for a first-time reader it can be challenging to see a romance developing. Most of the time readers have to rely on the clues given by Austen (descriptions of characters "blushing," looking "pale," or losing their composure) to detect the stirrings of love, but on a first reading it's difficult to do so when one's trying to figure out the plot and the characters. Finally, the dialogue can't always be taken literally; lots of people, including me, were disturbed when Mr. Knightley said he loved Emma since she was 13, but it was actually a joke made in response to something she said.

Her books are products of their time, and I sure am not an expert in Regency era economics or social norms. Sometimes the implications of certain actions can be lost on a reader if they don't know about the social norms of the time (I had no idea that Darcy following Elizabeth around, alone, on her favorite walk at Rosings was a sign of his love for her). Differences in social class are also very subtle and while one can generalize the characters as all "well-off" people, they are separated by many levels of hierarchy and their ideas about social position and status affect how they interact with others outside of their station. Darcy looks down upon those whom he perceives to be below him, and while Emma wants to make an advantageous match for Harriet, Harriet's lower social position means that Emma's schemes are not likely to work.

Because of the unique quirks within the novels, the reader is required to go beyond the surface level of plot and appearance and read between the lines to understand character motivations and actions. Without historical context (Regency era society having little social mobility, women having few legal rights and needing to make good marriages to secure material comfort) or literary context (the Enlightenment, 18th century Gothic novels referred to in Northanger Abbey, the birth of the novel, early Romantic writers just to name a bit) reading between the lines is nearly impossible.

So why do we read Austen? Below are my personal reasons.

The novels feature female heroines that have dignity and self-respect. It's significant that the stories focus on women who are trying to live according to their own values and speaking their own minds rather than acquiescing to societal dictates. Elizabeth Bennet is revolutionary in part because she wants a marriage based on mutual admiration and respect between two partners who know each other well, rather than an economic arrangement for a home. One could go on forever about how Austen is a feminist, but, the characters don't act like modern day feminists--they are still people of their time. However, it's easy to assume "feminist" heroines have to have "aggressive" characteristics (rebelling, fighting, defiance) in order to be labeled as "feminist." Importantly, Austen's women are allowed to be vulnerable (they cry or struggle with their emotions) without that being a shameful thing. We also see different types of personalities celebrated: Jane Bennet, who is kind to everyone, is seen in a positive light rather than shamed for seeing good in everyone. Anne Elliot, who is regarded as "old," becomes more beautiful as she gets older and has a second chance of love. Emma Woodhouse is spoiled yet confident and assertive and "not likely to be well-loved" (paraphrase of Austen's commentary on Emma). Fanny Price is a shy person but still achieves her happy ending. Her heroines are real people who have flaws and get opportunities to learn and grow so that they can make their aspirations reality.

A unique take on the universal conflict of humans versus society: Austen's characters are bound by social norms of etiquette as well as a value system that idolizes wealth and connections above all else. Persuasion is a great story in part because it focuses on how Anne Elliot learns to follow her heart and avoid being "persuaded" by others (and by society) to follow a path that will not make her happy. She's had to live with the regret of following the well-intentioned but harmful advice of others (Austen notes that Lady Russell values social connections too highly) over her own feelings and judgment, nearly losing her chance to be with Wentworth. The romances are significant in that they reinforce the dignity and self-respect of the female heroines. To a certain extent, Austen's stories are realistic in that marriage is necessary for material well-being in a patriarchal society that provides few ways for women to provide for themselves. But most importantly, she also sees marriage as a means of affirming self-respect and dignity of the women. It's one of the few parts of their lives over which they have any control because they get to choose whom they marry (for the most part, unless the marriage is arranged). Their wish to marry for love is revolutionary because they dare to aspire for something more than wealth. They want their future partners to be their equals, someone who they can love and respect (or be totally honest with them) and who will provide the same in return. This line from Emma (the 2020 movie adaptation) sums it up: "I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Fame I do not want. Fortune I do not want. Consequence I do not want."

The difference between outward appearances and inner character is a fascinating theme that appears in several Austen novels, most notably Pride and Prejudice, where Wickham and Darcy are foils of each other ("one has got all the goodness, the other all the appearance of it"). A lot of the villains in Austen's novels are those who deceive others about their motivations or lie for their own advantage. A common trait these villains all have is that they have a charming outward appearance that masks their true natures; they don't look ugly nor are they unpleasant (ex. Wickham having great social skills, Willoughby following the trope of the knight rescuing Marianne as the damsel in distress but leaving behind many broken hearts, Mr. Elliott being charming and knowing exactly what to say and how to act but actually a swindler). In contrast, the "good" characters are honest, even at the cost of social displeasure, use manners/etiquette to show respect rather than deceive people, and act selflessly to prove their worth (actions speak louder than words). It can be summed up this way: "don't judge a book by its cover."

Psychology: Austen very effectively described hindsight bias when sarcastically commenting on how the village of Meryton turned on Wickham after the elopement with Lydia, when previously they regarded him as an "angel of light." She also understands how easy it is to manipulate peoples' minds through confirmation bias (Wickham telling Elizabeth all the dirt about Darcy, which she eagerly takes because she hates Darcy so much). She also knows that emotions can override people's judgment: "angry people are not always wise." It's fun seeing how her people are social animals who make flawed judgments based on first impressions/emotions.

The secondary characters: Mr. Collins the clergyman is the most famous and he's so funny because of his arrogance in spite of his low social position (he keeps worshiping Lady Catherine instead of respecting God). Another great one is Sir Walter Elliott, a nobleman who is vain and constantly checks himself in the mirror (the most obvious social criticism). Also Austen understood how women insult each other: through passive aggression (ex. Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst talking negatively about Elizabeth behind her back). Austen's female bullies use their talent and "good breeding" to intimidate or shame others.

The romance (no explanation needed): "You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope. I have loved none but you." I love how the couples learn about each other through many spirited conversations and become slowly fascinated with each other until they realize they are in love and then have a conflict between formality and their growing passion...or they fall back in love with each other...or they are friends who slowly realize that they are more than friends...okay I'll stop talking nonsense I've been trying so hard to be semi-scholarly

Tags: @talkaustentome @austengivesmeserotonin @austengeek @princesssarisa @appleinducedsleep @colonelfitzwilliams

[plush-rabbit]

In God's Warm Embrace

Pastor Simeon decides to talk about you and your little absence around the Church as of late.

Warnings: could be considered noncon, or like coercion

Warnings: 4.2K

A/N: (〃￣︶￣)人(￣︶￣〃)

You walk through the corridor, the statues looking upon you. White roses are placed in vases at each window, the petals wilting at the ends and falling onto the lace tablecloth. The eyes of a crucified Jesus seem to follow you as you enter a room. It’s empty, only pictures and a singular cross looking upon you and keeping you company as you sit on a teal cushioned chair and wait.

The room is filled with light, the rays of the fading sun catching amongst the panels and shining a kaleidoscope of colors onto the room, peeking at the top of your knees and creeping to your thighs. Your hands are moist with sweat, your brow knitted with worry and your lips pulled into a frown. Shame floods your body, burning hot with the fire from hell, your tears slipping down the curve of your face and dripping onto the collar of your shirt. You’re stuck in silence while the world outside moves on, living shame free and simply existing.

The door to the office opens with a gust of warm air entering, and in the same breath, it’s closed, clicking to a lock. You swallow and your mouth is dry, your gaze sticks on the hardwood floor, trying to make out a pattern within the lines. A chill runs through your body when two hands rest on your shoulder, gripping tightly onto you.

Silence rings in your ears, deafening and enough to make your ears ache. “You know I care for you deeply, do you not?” He offers no room for you to answer him. “I do my best with what I can, while I’m in charge of the church- in charge of you. You know you’re able to come to me if you’re ever struggling.” His index finger twitches against your shoulder. “Have I not made that clear?” He squeezes your shoulders with both hands.

“No, Pastor Simeon. You’ve made it clear I can turn to you. You’ve taken great care of me ever since I found the Church.” You can hear laughter ringing outside the window, the color on your knees twinkling with each passing second. “I appreciate it very much.”

“Then, you’d be willing to tell me why I found you with Pastor Raphael? You know, he doesn’t just allow anyone in his office.” His nails are cushioned by the fabric of your blouse. “Nor does he allow anyone to sit so close to him.” You can hear something venomous in his voice, a low hiss that is gone as soon as it came.

“I simply needed help planning the monthly party. You seemed busy with a new follower and I didn’t want to take away your attention.” Your heart leaps into your throat, catching and making it impossible to breathe. “I didn't mean to offend.”

“You know I’m always happy to make time for my favorite follower.” His hand creeps closer to your neck, his skin warm against your clammy one. “While you’re here, I’ve also been meaning to ask you why you haven’t shown up on Friday nights? You know we still hold services on those nights.” His index tickles the base of your neck, stroking upwards onto you. “Where have you been?”

You rub your thighs together, anxiety deep in your joints, making you antsy and uncomfortable. “I’ve met some friends,” you confess. “We go out on Fridays and well, Fridays are usually empty so I assumed-”

“Ah,” he says simply. “You believe that your own enjoyment is above others who are seeking guidance from our Lord.” He sighs, his hands coming closer to the base of your neck, fingertips light against you. “I see the Devil has tainted your heart,” a sad tone lacing at his words.

“No!” You gasp out, trying to look above. “It- It’s not-”

His words cut through yours. “Tell me, are these friends the ones who saved you when you were alone? When you were lost and broken? Are they the ones who rescued you from damnation?” You shake your head. “I can’t hear you.”

“No,” you mutter, twiddling your hands together. “That was you.” You swallow, your lips dry and the swirl of colors makes it hard to focus. “I apologize. I just thought-” your lips pull into a straight line- “I had thought that perhaps I could go out. I didn’t mean to abandon my duties here. I promise to do better.”

“You’re in God’s house. You should know that promises made under here are sacred.” You nod your head. “Speaking of Fridays-” his hands finally wrap around your neck and you startle- “you’ve been missing confession during then.” Your hands flutter but make it no further than your chest, your eyes trying to latch onto a reflective surface to look at him. He says your name in a light whisper, his fingertips caressing the front of your neck. “I’m sure you have things to confess. Don’t fret, we all sin from time to time. We are only made in God's Image, but he’s the one who gave us free will. As long as we find our path to light, we’ll surely be saved.” He clicks his tongue, a hand faltering away to slip past your shoulder and tease at your collarbone. “Is there anything you’d like to confess? After all, you have my undivided attention.”

“I’m afraid I have sinned.” His hands tighten around you. You aren’t sure if it’s a threat or something else- even then you aren’t sure what the “something else” could be. “As you mentioned earlier, I’ve been putting my own satisfaction above others. I fear that I’m becoming selfish in my ways. However, I know that with enough prayer, I could overcome this. I think I'll head home tonight and pray.” You don’t know how to feel with his hands around your throat, not liking the way they seem to claim over you. “I still need to purchase items for the monthly party.”

As you move to rise from your seat, he pushes you back down. You fear that the Devil’s clawed hands will rise from the floor and grab at your ankles. You call his name, straining your neck to look up at him and when you meet his eyes, you look back down, murmuring an apology for daring to look at him.

“You’ve been lacking your duties, playing around with people who don’t care for you- at least not in the way I do- and now you want to rush home? You’re already here, let me help you. Let me be the one to help you repent your sins. I am a man of God, devoted and under his light, it’s only right that I save you from damnation.” His words leave a sinking feeling in your stomach, aching and twisting around, pulling tight until acid is rising- thick and burning. “You want to be forgiven, don’t you?”

You nod your head. “In the confessional?”

“No, dear.” The colors are warm on your skin, his hands light, and the room cold. “This one is a bit more personal. Something that I’m only willing to share with you.” The sun shines outside, colors reflected across the room, shining in an heavenly light. “Hebrew 4:13-” he sounds almost smug as he speaks, his abdomen pressed against the back of your chair- “Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” You can feel him hover closer to you, his hand lowering past your collarbone and slipping to the curve of your breast. “You seek to repent for your sins, do you not? Do you think Raphael would still be intrigued with you after learning that you’re abandoning God to seek out pleasure from others? I know how you care for the opinion of others.” His hand massages at your breast, pulling at the cup, your hardened nipple peeking through the shirt. “Come now, my little lamb, make the wise choice.” His finger pinches at your clothed nipple, causing you to pinch your thighs together, a shameful sound muffled between your closed lips. “Do you wish to confess your sins to me?”

Your body is lit aflame with the way that he touches you, an uncomfortable growing wet spot forming between your legs. “I wish to repent, Pastor Simeon.” Your stomach drops at your words, your heart beating against your chest and a cold feeling wraps tight around you. “Please, help me.”

“Open your mouth,” he says, a hand hugging your throat and forcing you to look up at him. You do as you say, the tip of your tongue peeking past your bottom lip. “You wished to repent for your sins.” His lips curve into a thin smile. “Well, I’m about to help you.” He bows his head, the apple in his throat bobbing as his lips are pursed together. Spit falls onto your tongue, the taste bitter with wine, and thick with salvation, as you close your mouth and swallow it. A hand cups your face, his hand softly curling into a petting motion. “Good-” he pulls away and you watch him move, standing before you with hands on his belt, the metal clinking together as he undoes the belt- “get on your knees and take my cock into your mouth.”

You can still feel the way that his hand felt when it was wrapped around your throat, the lingering feeling of something tight coiling around you and you fear that you’ll be left with bruises. “Yes, Pastor Simeon,” you whisper under your breath.

The chair squeaks in the room, your knees cold as you meet the floor. You open your mouth, wanting to speak further, to perhaps put a stop to this or have some sort of guidance, but the taste of wine weighs heavy on your tongue, your breath coming out in short pants as your hands tremble to unzip his pants. You inch close to him, the zip echoing in your ears as you pull it down. He removes his shoes and kicks them off the side, his pants lowered and he stands in his briefs in front of you, the outline of his cock bulging against the fabric. Your hand cups over the outline, your lips pulled into a frown when warmth emanates from it and burns against your palm.

“Are you okay?” You look up at him, with wide eyes, sneaking a glance back to where your hand still holds his covered cock. “I understand, being tempted is quite different than actually committing the act, but I assure you-” his hand curves over the top of your head- “this is for you. I’m trying to save your soul. I was chosen by God, I wouldn’t dare trick you in any way.” He senses your hesitation, the worry in your eyes that brim over with tears. “How about this? Kiss me. That way, it’ll be an easy transition for you.” He helps you onto your legs, standing against him, his hands cupping your face and lips bittersweet with wine. “We’ll kiss like lovers. Make love as one, and I assure you, that after today’s session, you’ll be one step closer to God’s Light.”

His lips are soft, tongue even softer as it slips between your lips. His kiss is nice- something pleasant and slow that makes your stomach churn as if butterflies were inside of you. You lean closer to him, pressing your chest against his and your hands are awkwardly stiff at your sides. He’s still pressed against you- his erection stiff and pulsating with heat as he deepens the kiss.

A hand leaves your face, leaving you cold. You whine into him when his hand traces down your body, grabbing at your empty hand and placing it above his cock. He holds yours, gently mimicking jerking motions as the kiss continues. Saliva pools under your tongue, slipping past the corners of your lips and dripping thickly onto your shirt. Your head spins, fever burning your skin as the summer heat does to you. You hold together onto him, the cock thick in your hands as shakily continues the motions without his help. With a mouth filled with his tongue and shared spit, he pulls away, pecking at the corner of your lips to your jawline and against your neck- right below where your heart pulses. His briefs are slipped off, the heat of his member burning against your hand.

“Get on your knees. It’s time to worship,” he says quietly to you, his hands wrapped around your arms, guiding you to your knees. “Remember, that this is for you.” Your knees meet the cold floor once more, your joints aching and lips already feeling bruised despite the soft kiss. “You’re the sinner and I’m the one guiding you to salvation.”

Your cupid’s bow bumps against his cockhead, a slimy trail of pre-ejaculate spreading across your lips. A hint of something salty replaces his bittersweet taste, you push yourself forward, your lips opening as you wrap them around his cock. His hands cradle the back of your head, a sigh of pleasure filling the air between the two of you.

“Suck on it,” he orders, pushing your head deeper onto his cock, until it hits your uvula. You hollow your cheeks, the soft, plushiness of it pressed against the side of his cock. “Just a bit harder, my dear.” His hands knit between your hair and his fingertips press against your scalp. “You suck on my cock, and I’ll guide you.”

True to his word, he guides your head, pushing you deeper down his cock as tears spring to your eyes, your ears hot and chest losing air with each thrust. Your mouth closes around his cock, a pitiful attempt at sucking at his cock while he thrusts your head onto him. With each thrust, the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, his hands holding tightly onto you. To say he is forceful feels almost wrong, but his hands are heavy, his gestures anything but sweet and the only kind words that he can hiss out between his clenched teeth are praises that make your stomach twist. You aren’t sure if it’s his taste that is acidic or sickness settling in.

“But while my relationship is secure with you, I know sin can break our fellowship at times. I’m still human, and I often forget who I am and Whose I am. You want to convict and correct me, not shame me.” His voice cuts through the air, louder than your choking. He holds power in his voice, muttering through the prayer, increasing in volume as his moans do. “So before I take communion today, I’m asking You to truly search my heart and reveal hidden things for which to ask Your forgiveness.”

The noises that fill the room are loud, gagging and wet slapping sounds with each movement. Your jaw aches, tears slipping past the curve of your face as your nails dig into his thighs. You call his name and it’s unheard, a jumbled mess of slurred sounds that are lost within the wet slapping sounds. Yet, even with his cruelness, something pulses between your legs. It’s an uncomfortable situation, something thick slipping past your entrance and resting on your underwear, the twisting in your stomach rivaled by a burning ache.

“Oh my,” he grunts, pressing your face down to his base. Your tongue slips around the underside of his cock, tracing at a vein as saliva slips down your chin. “My little lamb, you feel fantastic.” He’s too deep in your mouth, closing at your throat and blocking any air that can travel. “Just hearing you gag is nearly enough for me.” Your face burns, burning hot tears form and cling to your lashes. Your mouth bubbles with drool, your palms slapping against his thighs as you call to him through his cock. Something acid crises in your throat, only to be washed away by his thick seed. It slides down your throat, heavy and filling, white creaminess staining your tongue and burning past your tears.

When he pulls you away, you cough, small specks of semen ruining the cherry wood floors. You gasp for air, the scent of candles burning strong in the air. “Sim-” a cough interrupts your words- “Simeon,” you hiccup, your hands flat on the ground. You look up at him, watching as he strokes his cock, semen dripping onto the floor. “What are you doing?”

“We’re not done yet,” he says as he grabs you by your biceps and lifts you into a standing position. “I apologize for the roughness but it’s what the Lord commands me to do. Now, it’s time for the other steps.” He presses you against the edge of his desk, the hem of your skirt in his hands and his breath close to yours. His thumb brushes away your tears. “Lift up your skirt for me, my sweet lamb.”

“What?” You ask in a strained whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself, giving yourself the comfort you desperately need. “What do you mean? Wasn’t that enough?”

“There can never be enough salvation.” he grabs your hands and lets them hover over the hem of your skirt. “Now, lift up your skirt. Don’t make me repeat myself again, dear.” He takes a few steps back. He gives you a slight nod, allowing you to proceed.

You lift up your skirt, the fabric clenched in your hands, and even though you just had his cock in your mouth, you feel exposed. Simeon hums in thought, stepping towards you, his index finger tracing over your slit. His index presses harshly against you, almost teasing at your entrance and when he pulls away, the tip of his index is shining. He tilts his head and rubs his index and thumb together, your arousal smearing between the two, as his hands on your thighs as they reach the hem of your underwear and pull down. You can feel a cool strand of your arousal slap against our warm skin when the fabric pools around your ankles.

Your clothes are removed, falling onto a lifeless puddle on the floor. You rest on the desk, your hands flat against the table as you peer at your Pastor. He fills the gap, the tip of his cock smearing between your lips. You gasp out, your head shaking as you look around the room. “Wait- Wait,” you stop him. He listens and gives you a tender smile.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” His hand cusps at your face, his thumb brushing against your lower lip.

“I’m a-” your face burns with shame as you look down. Your hand is casted in rainbow light. “I don’t- I’m saving myself till marriage. I don’t- isn’t there another way?”

“My lovely lamb,” he whispers out, his lips ghosting over your collarbone and resting over a pert nipple, another hand covering your other breast. “You don’t have to worry about that right now. God won’t hate you for acts of love. If that’s difficult for you to comprehend, why don’t you think of me as your God for now?” His lips peck at your nipple, his mouth opening and suckling at your breast. “Making love with God is not a sin.” You arch your back as he nurses on your breast, his other hand massaging and kneading at the other breast.

Tears dry in your eyes, your gaze wide and doe-like. “What about a condom? I’m not on birth control or anything.”

“My dear-” he kisses at your breast once more, lolling the hardened nipple with the tip of his tongue- “with me inside of you, it’ll be much more pure. It’ll be the pure essence of me- our God- in your body. Nursing at your womb and filling you with life. Don’t deprive yourself of that.” He lifts his head, your breast is cold from the air, the other pert from touch.

Your rim is stretched, a pain sparking between your legs. The crown of your head is pushed against his desk, your hands lawing around his biceps. He muffles your yelp with a rushed kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips. You gasp for air, pulling him closer to you and wrapping your legs around him, hoping that that will deter him from continuing.

It doesn’t.

He thrust into you, pulling away, his cock stretching you virgin walls. He pulls away from the kiss, his lips on your neck before he rises above you and kisses your lips once more. Your legs loosen from the hold on him and he grabs at you, pushing your legs into a bent position over your body. Everything feels much too tight, the position only bringing a stinging pain with pleasure right at the cusp, your body aching for anything to remove the pain.

In a desperate attempt, you bring your hand to rub at your clit, letting out a breathy moan when it does relieve you from the pain. He kisses your lips once more and unable to think, you can only press down at your clit.

“It stings,” you murmur between the lips. “Pastor Simeon, it doesn’t-”

“Just give it a second.'' His hand replaces yours and his fingertips feel foreign compared to yours. “Such a good follower to know that you have to play with yourself.” He presses the kiss deeper, his hands finding a sweet rhythm that makes you gasp into his mouth, the pain fading away with every thrust. “How ever did you know to do something like that?” His pace quickens, a wet clicking sound filling the room as he pushes himself inside of you. “Do you do this often or-” his fingers pinch at your clit, causing you to squeeze your legs together, your cunt wrapping tightly around him- “did someone teach my favorite follower something so perverse? What was it? Were you being a whore and touching yourself or did you let someone play with you?”

“Me,” you choke out, clinging onto him, so desperate for another kiss to dull the fading pain. “It was me.” Your tears catch on your tongue and you shake your head at the taste. “I’m so sorry Pastor Simeon. I was weak,” you moan, closing your eyes until colors and organic shapes fill the inky blackness. You can feel the gold cross around his neck rest between the valley of your breasts, a cold surface against your fevered skin, it bobs and piches at you with every thrust.

He grunts above you, moaning your name until it sounds odd in your ears, his cock twitching inside of your velvety walls. His cock fills you, stretches your cunt and makes you feel impossibly full. Your clit pulses with arousal as you drip around his cock, pulling him close to you, desperate to feel his burning skin upon yours. He calls your name, stuttering his hips inside fo you before coming to a still. You’re filled with his seed- creamy white that spills out of you only to be pushed back in by his hands. You’re covered by him, your entrance puffed and spilling with white discharge, your body shakes as he pulls himself out. His lips meet your in a tender kiss, sucking at your bottom lip and holding you close.

Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, your body shaking lightly as thick semen pours out of your ravaged cunt. You call for him, your hands blindly searching as they fall past the edge of the desk. His lips press against your forehead, cold hands that touch at your feverish body, makes you lean into him. His lips smile against you.

“You’re free to rest here as long as necessary.” You open your eyes at him, your brows furrowed but without energy and no room to have any coherent thoughts, you are unable to ask him anything. “I hate to leave you here, but I have a meeting to attend. I’ll hope to see you again next Friday, of course.”

You turn your head lazily towards him where he’s already buckling his belt. “Next?” You ask with a pause. “What do you-” a yawn ruins your sentence and chance to speak.

“Surely, you did not believe that one session was enough to lead you to redemption? Oh my, sweet lamb, no.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a patronizing huff. “You’ve told me yourself that you’ve touched yourself- do you believe that God would take in such a whore?” He smiles at you and it’s cold. “He wouldn’t,” he says simply, adjusting his collar, the necklace that once laid between your breasts now rests between his. “But I’m here to watch over you. To give you the treatment that you deserve and make sure you get into God’s good graces.” He walks to the door, his back turned to you, until his hand is around the knob. “Now remember, you wanted this, and I’m more than happy to help, my dear lamb.”

The door clicks close behind him and you are left in a darkening room, the kaleidoscope of lights vanished long ago, only a dripping trail of semen leaking from your cunt. Your body aches and you feel cold, naked under the eyes of the Lord. With shaky limbs, you rise from the desk, wearing the clothes as they are- wrinkled and dirtied from the dust on the floor. You pat yourself down. The doorknob is cold under your touch, your body pricked with goosebumps, and let the door close behind you.

[geenawrites]

'Black Widow' and undermining Dramatic Intent (II)

[PART ONE]

The 'Civil War' Effect

4): Elements that could’ve made Black Widow Natasha's personal journey are reduced to quick conversational bites told to Natasha instead of experienced by Natasha and the audience first hand.

The film could've built the story around her family selling her off to the government (on some eugenics mess). It could've set the stage for the subplot regarding her mother’s search for her until she was murdered, and Natasha trying to learn about her past pre-assassin.

For all the moments where we simply see her on her own, a lot of that alone time isn't used to explore how she feels, what she's thinking, or a personal throughline. It's just a montage of her looking gloomy and wearing comfy sweatshirts.

The only time Natasha truly feels like she is the emotional center of the movie is the opening act of the film. There, she’s portrayed by Ever (Gabo) Anderson and not Scarlett Johansson.

And as a film touted-as a vehicle for Johansson, that is bad. But also underlines why Florence Pugh’s Yelena was considered the real protagonist of the movie.

Black Widow could've been about Natasha wanting to reclaim her past from the Red Room (her abductors) because she reunites with her sister and parents (her surrogate family), and needed to finally deal with the consequences of killing Antonia (her ghost).

Instead, Black Widow is really Yelena’s story and emotional journey. Yelena justifies the presence of Alexei and Melina more-so than anything in Natasha’s history. As centered as Natasha was in the prologue, it works more as a establishing point for Yelena versus something like Natasha’s lost family or working with Clint Barton in Budapest.

Yelena being tasked to save the Widows (by the elder Widow who created the mind control cure), killing Dreykov, and destroying the Red Room are immediate issues that directly impact her arc and development as a character. Natasha is largely along for the ride, bringing Yelena where she needs to be in each act.

Natasha isn't as centered in her own her film as she should be. Simply compare the structure of her story to the structure in the Captain America (x2), Ant Man (x2), Thor (x3), and Iron Man (x3) films, and how those narratives focus on Steve Rogers, Scott Lang, Thor Odinson, and Tony Stark. Those films are about their emotional journeys while maintaining a healthy supporting cast that don't overshadow them.

Black Widow in comparison feels more like Captain America: Civil War, which is more of an Avengers film than it is a Captain America story. The emotional center of Civil War is Tony Stark and Zemo. Steve and his cast are simply underpinning Stark and Zemo's arcs. It also tries to introduce a new character (Black Panther) with the exact same story beat (revenge) as Stark and Zemo, and a MCU-wide subplot (Sakovia Accords) that ultimately goes nowhere later on.

The consequences of Civil War "Avengering" a solo film are on display in Black Widow in a big way. It's introducing new characters, and trying to tackle a trilogy's worth of storylines (the Red Room, Budapest, the Widow family, Civil War-fallout).

She doesn't even get a decent postmortem send off. The post credits, wherein Yelena mourns Natasha, is turned into a comedic skit and a teaser for the Hawkeye series. It's not allowed to remain a moment of mourning between two sisters separated by literal death.

As an Executive Producer of the film, I know this was not lost on Johansson. She might be an awful person, but she doesn’t strike me as someone so unaware of her environment that she set the stage to be undermined by her co-star. No, I think, given the timing, Johansson knew this was always going to be about setting up her successor.

Wrong Time, Wrong Place

Choosing to set Black Widow after Civil War was just a poor choice on Marvel’s part. Natasha circa 2016 has more or less come-to-terms with her history as a state-sponsored assassin for both Russia and the United States. Her arc as seen throughout the Avengers and Captain America films has come full circle following the events of The Winter Soldier. Now all she has left going forward is the arc dealing with Thanos' genocide and resurrecting everyone.

There is nothing to mine in terms of personal character drama because, at this point, she has laid it all to rest. It's nothing that torments her akin to Bucky trying to square away with his past as an amnesiac assassin.

All of Natasha’s threads are focused on the break-up of the Avengers. At first, seemed like her arc was going to be about not falling back into bad habits (being mistrustful of everyone). That it was going to deal with how she felt let down by the team (after trying to be the reasonable party among everyone), but the film doesn't really commit.

After that one conversation in Budapest, "getting the Avengers back together" isn't even a focal point. We just get awkward callbacks that tell the audience that Natasha isn't on the same level as Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor.

Yelena forgiving her family is used to tack on the sudden parallel idea that Natasha has been convinced she can personally bring the Avengers together again as a surrogate family once things work with her Widow Family.

Again, even in her own film, Natasha is playing the sacrificial matriarch of a Boy’s Club (whose event films she features only as a supporting character. Something I think people are only just realizing). That says to me the MCU never valued her beyond her ties to the male Avenger cast.

”You’re such a mom!” becomes a lot less funny in that context.

If this film was immediately set after The Winter Soldier or even Age of Ultron, wherein all of her history and SHIELD’s was leaked for public record, then there might’ve been a chance for an emotionally resonant story arc.

How would a Natasha scrambling to create new covers, and new ways to protect herself, deal with the sudden public attention of the world knowing that she was a foreign assassin that bought her way into the United States and became a celebrity superhero? How would a post-Winter Soldier solo film deal with Natasha’s past in way that she didn't become overshadowed by her own supporting cast?

How would a post-Age of Ultron solo film handle her past as informed by her nightmare (which stuck closer to her history as a trained dancer in the comics) on top of the events of The Winter Soldier?

But even as a post-Civil War narrative, Black Widow should've really cared to explore how Natasha felt about having to revisit her history with the Red Room, on top of being betrayed by Alexei and Melina. Instead of giving all those emotional beats to Yelena, actually show us Natasha confronting them beyond “it wasn’t real!”

How would the story turn out if parent with the biggest hand in the facilitation of her abuse (Alexei) wasn't turned into a flat comic relief character? What if he actually got chance to really consider her grievances, show remorse for his actions, without being turned into a “ha, ha, he’s do dumb (and fat)!” punchline (after setting him up as the total opposite in the prologue)?

Melina could've been an interesting co-antagonist working with Dreykov, but the film skirts past how she is complicit in the harm that her daughters faced (Yelena especially) with a fake Heel Turn moment that only undermined Dreykov as a threat.

And that’s really the problem with Black Widow. The film, or rather Marvel Studios, doesn’t want to really tackle Natasha’s past or pain like they were willing to do with Steve Rogers in The First Avenger, and The Winter Soldier.

Maybe because that would mean approaching the story with the emotional maturity of The Bourne Identity, a PG-13 film that was plenty violent without being excessive. It was also emotionally resonate by dealing with the fact that Jason Bourne was, pre-amnesia, a US assassin that did awful shit.

Instead we get a plot about mind-control, and magic red dust that can break said mind control (that apparently requires invasive surgery of the brain).

Whedon seemed comfortable with getting close to the actual violence that was asked of Natasha (vs. done to) by the Russian government as a kid. The screenplay for Black Widow can talk past Natasha willingly doing awful things, but doesn’t want to confront that by having her or Yelena deal with an army of assassins who are walking down the same path Natasha did, fighting and killing for another government without any sort of mind control.

This is why Natasha's assassination of “Dreykov’s Daughter” (Antonia) as the thing that happened in Budapest also doesn't land. The movie doesn't want to deal with how Natasha learned to live with murdering a child to buy her freedom into America. They make it so that she didn’t kill her, actually, just gave her a bad case of pizza face. She’s not even the one that pulls the trigger, the film suggests that it was Hawkeye.

Her mustache-twirling villain of a father, who somehow survived the explosion and building collapse with zero burns or broken bones, is the one who does all the truly horrible things to his daughter (turning her into a mindless slave).

The Original Sin that Natasha is defined by is swept under the rug in the same way her history as a killer is blurred by the script. It’s akin to rewriting Xena’s history with Callisto as the killer of her family and village, and deciding, “No, Xena didn’t kill them. They all survived with minor burns! Callisto can now forgive Xena!”

Natasha's Antagonist

Dreykov is a weak antagonist/villain because the screenwriting seems determined to accredit the abuse of the Red Room entirely to him instead of making a systemic issue. What started off as a clandestine organization for the KGB throughout most of the MCU is rewritten in Black Widow as the personal playground of a thinly veiled Harvey Weinstein analogue who puppeteers his personal assassins to do bad things, thus rendering them all innocent of their wrongdoings. It makes them "perfect victims" in way.

(Johansson has gone on record saying that this film was influenced by the #MeToo Movement. Well, celebrification of it, anyway)

Dreykov doesn’t challenge Natasha, or her family. There’s never an immediate danger or stakes being driven by Dreykov. He’s not doing something they have to stop “before time runs out”, he doesn’t have anything on any of the characters that could push their actions.

He takes a backseat to the family hijinks, so the journey to finding and destroying the Red Room has no urgency (Natasha being dead already notwithstanding). As the supposed architect of their misery, he’s about as threatening as Mason (Natasha’s Black Best Friend who buys her things while in hiding).

Dreykov fails like the rest of the MCU’s villains (not named Erik Killmonger) because there's no depth to the character. There's no real loyalty to the character as a demonstration of his power or influence. Again, all his victims are blameless in their violent actions. No one with speaking lines or face time (that isn't a G.I Joe grunt) is working with him because they believe in his goals or ideology.

Complicating that matter is that the script never reveals what his goals or ideologies are besides, "I can create chaos with an army of assassins. I am so evil."

It’s wild to me that so many are rushing to defend the implementation of this sloppily written (and miscast) character because, “he works as a villain because he's a human trafficker” and “he mind controlled his own daughter.”

“He does terrible things”, or a character representing awful things that happen in the real world, isn't enough to make an effective villain. If that was all it took, then 90% the MCU’s villains wouldn’t be so forgetabble.

(He’s not real, I shouldn’t be reading posts like, “he doesn’t deserve screentime b/c he’s an awful human being! He earned his lazy death scene.” Girl, what???)

If you’re gonna tackle human/child trafficking as defined by one antagonist, then really make it part of the story. Make it something that Natasha and Yelena are actively trying to stop. Don’t montage it over a bad Nirvana cover and then shift gears into a G.I. Joe scenario in a floating fortress.

If you're gonna make Dreykov the abuser of so many women, then make it crucial to your protagonist's narrative. Don't add a silly Angry Beavers plot where his stinky musk can control a woman's bodily functions because as a weak analogue to "how men police women's bodies".

Because Natasha has no real conflict with Dreykov, confronting him in the climax goes nowhere. Dreykov is Yelena’s antagonist. It's why Yelena gets to kill him instead of Natasha, so it would've made more sense for her to confront him instead.

The film eventually establishes he's no real threat to Natasha because the writing pulled a Xanatos. The character feels like he exists only so Johansson can sass him, and make a callback to the Loki Interrogation scene (a scene that only worked because of the audience misdirection.)

Dreykov could've been an effective villain if he was anything like the Headmistress characters in the Samee-Waid Black Widow series from 2016.

The Headmistress and Anya (the new Headmistress later on) were characters with emotional connections to Natasha and the Widow children she was trying to save. They taught these girls to believe in the totalitarian philosophy of the ruling class. Natasha and the other Widows couldn't live without them until they were able to escape their influence.

The Headmistresses were women, which makes it plain that women are also perpetrators of abuse. It isn’t just something that men do, which is how this script has approached this subject entirely (Captain Marvel did the same thing as well). Abuse being exclusively a male theater of action.

Antonia's death could've been meaningful in regards to Natasha and Dreykov as characters if Dreykov cared that Antonia was murdered by a Red Room assassin. Natasha admitting that she killed his daughter and regretted it would've made a lot more impact than just having him shrug it off because he's so heartless and so evil.

Or, as other people have said, imagine if it was Antonia who was the antagonist gunning after Natasha because of what she did, not only to her, but her father as well.

It would not only render the mind-control plot pointless, it would re-center the focus on Natasha, and force the writers to do something else with Yelena, Alexei, and Melina (assuming they're even necessary in this scenario). Then, Natasha would have a genuinely threatening antagonist because the stakes are personal on both sides.

It would've been a hellva lot more meaningful than using Taskmasker as a plot-twist (after hyping the character up as the controller of the Red Room and Natasha's personal nemesis).

Callisto’s story as a villain resonates because she cared about what she lost, and Xena knew there was no real forgiveness for what she did to her. Imagine if they approached Natasha’s role in Antonia’s death like that.

(But that's probably asking for too much nuance from Disney and Marvel.)

Conclusions

In story that wants to be about the abused reconciling with their past and family, the film effectively robs the abused of their autonomy by going the extra of mile of making them zombies. In the same way the Star Wars sequel trilogy avoided Finn’s history as an indoctrinated and enslaved Stormtrooper, Black Widow doesn’t want to deal with the ramifications of indoctrination.

How people buy into and protect organizations that strip them of their humanity by making them complicit in violent systems. Oh, sure, they’ll nod and wink at it (as they do with Natasha and Melina’s past), but they won’t go any further than that.

Instead of dealing with how a forced hysterectomy effects Natasha physically and emotionally, we get a joke that isn’t any better than Natasha calling herself a monster, or the “time of the month” joke that got rebuked by the director and the cast.

Instead of reflecting on her time with SHIELD and the United States, the United States is portrayed as "the good-guys who gave her a real family” (ignoring even the half-hearted criticism of the US that The Winter Soldier made), while Russia is still out there doing nefarious Cold War Things and ruining people's families. All of which just feeds into uncritical Russian stereotypes and Red Scare that the film’s foundation is built on.

I enjoyed the film, but the more I think about it, the more I realize Black Widow really does nothing except undermine Natasha's darker elements and self-imposed redemption arc (as written by Whedon).

On top of rewriting key elements about the Red Room (the movies being broken as the comics is a true irony), It minimizes Natasha's violent past to make her into a clean, and boring superhero whose solo film thinks lamp-shading sexism is the same as subverting it.

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 14

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 

Chapter: 14/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

Chapter 14 -  Flood

You didn’t think the sounds of the storm outside were so loud inside that room until you turned out the lights and laid down to sleep, but now you were afraid they wouldn’t let you rest. Ironic, you thought; you’ve been wishing for this moment to come since you arrived at the tea house, dirty, soaked and tired as can be, and now that you were ready to have your well deserved night of sleep your eyes were there, open wide, going from one side to another in the darkness, as you wondered how long that roof above you would stand against the violence of the rain. From time to time, a flash of light would invade the tiny space between those four walls, followed by a thunder that would shake them and the windows.

If they were your only problem, you would be good, however. But there was also the fact that you couldn’t even move on that mattress: right beside you, at your left and with his pillow above yours, Tobirama seemed to be in his deepest sleep; he was lying on his back and had his right arm folded and hand under his head, while the left one was upon his stomach, and you had your back turned on him, barely folding your legs to not invade his space. You knew that if he had at least one clean sheet left, he would spread it on the wood floor and would sleep on it, but all of your things were in need of a good wash, so he had to do the same as you and be content with the futon. Now you were using the sheet that you found with it, but it was far from being enough for you two, so you avoided sudden movements as you could.

After minutes without seeing the slightest sign of sleep approach you, your body started aching from keeping the same position for a long time and you were forced to move. You turned to him and passed your arms around yourself but startled when your face touched his side. You moved away immediately, but he didn’t show any reaction. With a sigh of relief, you closed your eyes and waited to see if your body would be finally conquered by tiredness.

***

A thunder exploded in your ears and you startled on your place, holding back a scream. You opened your eyes, now burning, and looked around, but found the same shadows in which the room was already involved; outside the inn, the storm followed its pace. Only after that you understood you fell asleep, but you weren’t sure if you’ve been like this for hours or just a few minutes.

Perhaps the second case was the right one, for you noticed that Tobirama didn’t move beside you – instead, you moved closer to him, so that you had your face resting on his side, almost upon his chest, while your pillow was abandoned under your back. His skin was warm, so you felt the change of temperature when you moved away and adjusted your pillow on its original place. You laid your head on it and folded your legs a little, just enough to hide your feet back under the sheet. This time, there was a reaction from his part: still with his arm folded under his head, he turned to your side, and now you had his other arm over your shoulder, obstructing part of your sight if you looked at your surroundings, and his chest before you. You didn’t even have the time to move away; now, with the weight of his arm upon you, you’d have to find a way to sleep like this until he decided to change his position again. Which you didn’t think it was going to happen so soon.

You swallowed. After minutes like this, with your eyes closed, you found out you were no longer unfamiliar to that situation as you first imagined. You sensed your skin warming up as his body heat reached you; your nostrils didn’t recognize the strong smell they sensed right after he left the bath tub as they got used to it; even your breath, calming down after the fright with the thunder, was adjusting to the rhythm of his own, controlled, regular as everything he did while awake. You would have released a sigh of annoyance if you had more space between you: you were physically and emotionally tired, so your body was supplying both necessities by relaxing in his embrace; there was nothing you could do about this, and you didn’t like to be left without options.

You started to imagine how it would feel like if Tobirama didn’t come after you and you were there all by yourself, arranging everything while worrying about the storm outside, wondering when it would finally stop and how you would find the roads after it the next morning. You had to admit that if you were there alone, you would take longer to reach the tea house, which meant that you’d spend at least some hours in the storm before finding it, and with the mud that would certainly fill the path ahead, the rest of your journey would be even slower. Yes, you could use your Doton to soothe its sinuosity, but how you would preserve your chakra until you found your compound? How would you serve your family if you came to them exhausted, unable to perform any jutsu and possibly hurt?

You tightened your lips with anger. Leaving Konoha the way you did was indeed stupid – nothing that would count in your favor, as a woman, an advisor and a shinobi. Was it your fault? Yes. Was it Tobirama’s fault? Yes. Could you find a different way to fix the situation? Of course, yes: you could look for the Hokage’s advice; you three could sit down and talk openly about the letter and the discomfort it was causing both in your personal and political environment. But was it possible to act this rational when your beloved ones were involved and your intelligence and position were seen with disdain by someone who worked doing exactly the same as you?

And now he was sleeping as if nothing happened, as he didn’t do in days, or at least it seemed to be. How could he, when you were there unable to do the same?

How was it fair?

- Am I smothering you?

Those words, said so close you, made you startle in the dark. So, he was awake. You must have moved abruptly without noticing and thus you woke him up, or the shifts in your mood were sensed by him thanks to his sensory talents. You whispered a “no” back to him, but didn’t move from your place or made any effort to turn that into a conversation. Tobirama didn’t say anything after that as well. Or at least not immediately.

- Are you worried about how we will cross the road after this storm? – he asked after a minute or two, and you started to think that he was really able to read minds.

You sighed.

- There aren’t many trees on this part of the territory that we could use to travel. We will have to walk for most of the time. But the conditions of the soil will delay us in at least an entire day – a ray of light crossed the room from side to side and your eyes turned to the window’s direction, over his shoulder – Using Doton to make things easier for us is an option, but it’s not the smartest thing to waste chakra like that.

- You are right – was his reply – We will have to spend some time looking for the less damaged spots of the road, which will demand additional energy from us. You should try and take some rest now.

You knew he was right. As far as you knew, that was going to be your only chance to sleep under a proper roof until you arrived at your clan’s compound. Still, you were unable to close your eyes or to stop the voice inside your head, babbling in a competition against the noises of the storm.

- As if I could just sleep whenever I want – you moved away from him; after he took his arm off your shoulder you sat on the futon and folded your knees – My head is about to explode, you know?

You sensed a pressure on the mattress the moment he leaned on his right elbow, turned on your side. You heard his voice behind you, lower, free of the demanding tone you were used to notice in it.

- I apologize for this, y/n-san.

You turned to him at the same time you heard that, not hiding your surprise. Tobirama was really admitting his part of the responsibility in the situation you were in? After all you’ve seen since you met him and the incident with the letter, you never thought you would see this man apologizing for something one day. But there he was, speaking about his mistake in that clean and simple manner of his when you least expected. Was there something else in this world that could make you gasp?

- I have a tendency to underestimate the subjectivity of things when I am given enough space – he continued with the same calmness as before – Most of the times, I have my brother to stop this. But that was not the case when we argued because of the letter. Let me tell you that the peaceful circumstances in which our people have been living depended on our unconditional compliance as shinobi. Nothing would stand for too long without proper attachment to the rules. My mistake was ignoring the fact that, as someone who came from a different place, you might not see things the same way, which resulted in this situation. And I am sorry for that.

You observed him for a while before replying. You agreed with him on this: his attachment to laws and rules blinded his judgment to the subjective aspects involved and resulted in an argument that put an entire alliance in risk, and your response to this wasn’t even better. But how could you act differently? You both were what you were, after all.

- We the ... clan know the importance of respecting the laws as much as you do – you commented – But if I’m being honest with you, there are people in my clan, and even among my relatives, that are far better than me in this.

Something in his way told you that what you just said awakened his curiosity. Perhaps there were still many things he needed – and wanted – to know about you and your people. So you just continued to talk.

- My sister, the one who is sick, is the best example of compliance and order I can remember right now. She is two years younger than me, but she has surpassed me in more aspects that I’d like to tell you. Since we were kids, she was always more passionate about our studies than I ever was. She learned all the family jutsu before me and is a better Captain than I will ever be. When it was established that I would be sent to Konoha, she was supposed to occupy my position as our father’s advisor, sometimes working as his bodyguard too. I was more adapted to the diplomatic work, but she could do both with little difficulty.

You turned to Tobirama and leaned your left hand on the futon, upon the spot where you lying. You took time looking at his figure in the shadows, sometimes alternated with the lights of the rays from outside reflecting on his gray hair, turning it white, and inside the sharp line of his eyes, lighting a fire with their redness. Your face was entirely in heat with what you said next.

- I cannot help thinking that our father should have sent her to Konoha, and not me. She should have sealed the treaty and married you instead of me. She’s younger than me, but I am sure she would have achieved our clans’ goal by now. And if she would ever faced a problem like that one with the letter, she would have found a better solution than this – you shook your hand and your eyes passed upon your surroundings with despise.

You were dominated by tiredness and laid back on your place, but that was not the end of the conversation.

- Our younger sisters adore her because she always had more time for them than I’ve ever had. I wonder how difficult things are being for them right now…

No longer worrying about what he could think and tired of your own judgment, you brought your hands to your face, covering it the moment your eyes started to burn, full of tears. You tried to hold back a sob, but failed: you turned on your side, towards your husband, and passed your arms around yourself to avoid the trembles.

It was when the unexpected happened. In the dark, you felt him pulling back the sheet and lying back on your side, his arm passing around you again, but this time he brought you closer to him. Maybe his embrace was too tight, but that was not something you would care, not in those circumstances; maybe it would bring you the relief you needed, when you were there warmed up by his skin’s heat, breathing against his chest, not holding back your tears.

Moments passed, and the burning in your eyes started to diminish, your breath was coming back to normal, not alternated with sobs, and your body was not shaken by shivers under the sheets. It was as if the knot formed in your throat just came undone and the sleep was coming back to you. Even in that tight hug, you felt free.

When you noticed it, you had your right leg between his, but there was no impulse to pull yours back from his reach. All you wanted was to stay that way until the morning found you sharing a space that wasn’t supposed to be divided for two. You opened your eyes and moved back, just enough to look up to his face, and despite not seeing anything in that dark, you knew he was looking down at you. Both your breaths became heavy, as if a pressure established itself around you two, approaching you before you could react, first your faces, then your lips.

When the kiss happened, a little voice inside your head screamed that you should not let things to be this way, that you should not let him get away with everything just by offering you comfort – which was nothing more than his duty – that you should sleep and be prepared to the difficulties of the next day... but your body found a way to shut it up.

Your hands passed around him, reaching his hair, bringing him close; you almost smiled in the kiss when you noticed it was softer than its aspect suggested, just like his skin, smooth under the cold matter of his armor. Your fingers pressed it, still not confident enough to use your nails, but you knew that the strength applied was going to leave marks anyway. His hands were working on you as much as yours were doing to him: at some point, one of them left its place around your waist and traced a path with its fingertips through your thigh until it found the edges of your gown. They slipped under it, moving the fabric away…

A sequence of desperate punches on the room’s door, coming from the outside, woke you up and you couldn’t hold back a scream, but it was suffocated by the sound of the storm that now seemed to fall with even more violence. So you fell asleep and had one of those quick dreams that came to us when we wander between the sleep and the consciousness.

However you didn’t have time to think of it: when you sat and looked around to understand what was going on, you saw Tobirama walking toward the door and opening it.

The person behind it was another guest of the inn, a man you saw at one of the tea house’s tables when you arrived. You were still sleepy and the variations of light caused by the lightning and the shimmering flame of a candle on his hand could deceive your perception, but the man looked pale, horrified.

You left the futon and wrapped your robe around yourself before going to the door. You only caught half of the conversation, but it was enough for you to see that the guest’s agitation was justified.

- ...We need to leave and go as far as possible! Otherwise, the flood will kill us all!

[missfiggy]

The Tablet

For dear @clare-with-no-i on her birthday!

I'm always vaguely working on some massively long marauder series for the last three years at Hogwarts but have never come close to finishing it.

Sharing a chapter from the never to be published work that takes place in the summer before Fifth Year. It features some of the architecture and floral and fauna of the beloved Potter House head canon we share, and it's about friendship, so I thought it appropriate for your bday!

Enjoy and happy happy day!

Rating: Probably PG-13 for language and subject matter

The Tablet

“James Potter, you are a bloody idiot,” muttered the boy to himself as he nervously ran his fingers through his unruly mop of black hair.

Standing in a dense oak woodland, James Potter clambered over a few jagged rocks and felled trees to reach his abandoned broomstick that lay near the riverbed of a spluttering stream. He gingerly picked up the gleaming broom handle and gently turned it over in his hands, examining it for any signs of damage. It was his brand new Nimbus 1500, a congratulatory gift from his father for being named captain of his house quidditch team. His brand new broomstick that he just ploughed into the thick old tree trunk.

The accident wasn’t his fault really. James thought back to all the times he whizzed through the forest without incident. His family’s house was situated on the edge of an ancient forest. Since he was a boy, James would run time trials through the trees. First, he’d set the course by hanging scarves over various branches on a winding path. Then, he’d slalom through the trees, retrieving the scarves as quickly as he could manage, each run through an opportunity to shave seconds off his best times.

If I hadn’t been distracted, he thought grimly. James knew that was neither fair nor accurate. He’d flown distracted dozens of times. In fact, he often flew specifically because he was distracted or upset. He knew the speed and the wind and the sky would chip away at his burdened mind until there was nothing left. Just him and pure flight. Still, a niggling memory bounced at the back of his mind, commandeering his thoughts and frustrating him endlessly.

The morning before, James awoke to a dry, high pitch scratching noise: the sound of a writing on a chalkboard. He knew immediately where the sound was coming from. He popped out of bed and stumbled over to his desk. He grabbed a small black slate rectangle upon which white words were appearing in a familiar script. The tablets had been his friend Peter’s idea. A way for James and his four best friends to communicate instantaneously, even when not together. The boys took four pieces of slate and charmed them so that what was written on one would appear on them all. The boys made a pact not to erase til all four of them had initialed the message, indicating it was received (exceptions, of course, were to be made when a slate was at risk of falling into the hands of a parent or a teacher).

Good sirs! Better bring that bottle of Ogden’s next week. I. Am. Now. A. Man. - SB

James knew immediately what his best mate, Sirius Black, meant by that. In their third year, when girls stopped being just slightly better smelling classmates and started becoming the most alluring, terrifying, and confounding creatures imaginable, James and his mates made a pact. If one of the boys ever plucked up the courage to talk to one of the girls, and in talking so persuaded said creature to snog, and in snogging so persuaded said creature to shag, then the other three boys were obliged to chip in and buy a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey for the conquering hero.

Well then, James thought numbly, laying the slate back on his desk, there’s that.

As he thought back to that moment, James couldn’t account for why he hadn’t whooped with joy for his friend. Nor could he account for the sickening twisting feeling that had been growing in his chest over the last day.

James kicked a small rock, sending it careening into the stream where it landed with a satisfying plonk.

Of course Sirius would be the first. He was the oldest, even if only by five months. He also always seemed to be the one breaking new territory in their little group. Sirius was the first to get told off by McGonagall. He was also the first to discover how to get into the Hogwarts kitchens.

Now that James’s mind was on the topic of kitchens, he thought of the pasties Figgy was baking when he’d left that morning. They’d be golden and flaky now. Perhaps it was just hunger twisting his guts. With his broom over his shoulder, he turned to climb back towards home.

But Sirius isn’t always the first in everything, a bitter voice piped in from the back of James’s mind, ploughing over his theory that he was just hungry and not actually upset.

I’m not upset.

Still, James couldn’t help but search through his memory to recall times that he’d been the first to achieve a milestone. There was the first time he got detention...only Sirius had been there as well. James had been the first to be asked to Hogsmeade by a girl. Though even then, James wasn’t clear on whether that point would go to him or Sirius. It had been a very confusing affair. Elspeth Fitzgerald, one of the most popular girls in their year, asked James out, and then asked if Sirius would take out her friend Tamsin, too. Or maybe Elspeth was asking James to ask Sirius to ask Tamsin out, and James came along as the bonus date. He couldn’t be sure. Girls were confusing like that. Either way, James was definitely the first one to properly snog a girl. He remembers that clearly, because as Elspeth was shoving her tongue down his throat, Sirius was trying to get Tamsin to stop crying her bloody head off.

Of course, James conceded, his one time snogging session was not exactly the model of success. Sirius at least had a few follow up dates with Tamsin, and there were rumors all last year that they’d still occasionally snog. Elspeth and James produced about as much heat as a Chinese Fireball with a sore throat.

You were the first to make a house quidditch team, a defiant voice added.

That was right. James was the first, not just his friends, but of his whole bloody year to make a house Quidditch team. He made reserves for Gryffindor his second year and was a proper Chaser in his third. This year was supposed to be his biggest triumph yet. When his school list arrived earlier in the summer, James was honestly surprised to see the gold captain’s badge tumble out of the envelope. Quidditch captain! James could not think of a time when a fifth year had made captain. Even his father had never heard of it. And the Gryffindor team was an older team. There were several sixth and seventh year players who would have been just as deserving, maybe even more, but McGongall chose James.

He hadn’t even mentioned it to his friends yet. He reasoned that, surely, his good friend Moony would also be named prefect that summer. Moony never really got his fair amount of time in the spotlight, given how brilliant he was, so James was happy to sit on his own news until closer to school. He was planning on telling his friends this next week, when the three of them joined James and his father for their annual end-of-summer camping trip on the moors. Sirius’s latest news totally derailed that plan. With topics like shagging on offer, no one would want to talk about silly old Quidditch.

Is that why it bothers me? Because Sirius is going to be the center of attention? James asked himself, feeling a bit unsettled. He finally reached the edge of the woods, pausing to look out onto the grassy clearing that led up to his home. James stood there and tried to probe his own mind, his own feelings. Yes, he liked attention, but what fifteen year old boy didn’t? Did he like it enough to begrudge his friends their own turns in the sun?

Absolutely not, rebutted a vehement voice inside his head.

He was just thinking about how he’d given Moony the whole summer to enjoy the attention of being a newly minted prefect. And Sirius? James and Sirius were even better friends, brothers even. James didn’t resent Sirius because he’d gotten laid. That was ridiculous.

So why does it bother you?

James thought that over as he looked out on vista stretching out from his family’s land. In the distance, exposed rocks jutted out from the valley’s cresting hillside. A great pile of boulders on the farthest tor gleamed rosy pink as the sun sat low on the horizon. He really was fine with the fact that Sirius had been the first to lose his virginity. It was better really, James argued, that way Sirius could tell James what he had learned, and then James would have a better shot of not mucking things up his own first time. Though James supposed for that to happen, he would actually have to sit down with Sirius and talk about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be explained in a letter.

Or on a slate, a nasty voice snorted.

As James turned as made his was towards the house, he was suddenly furious with that stupid little slate. As if all his friends needed all the same information at the exact same time. It was a ridiculous thought to have made them. Probably just Peter’s attempt to feel more included…

Stop that right now, James Potter, he chided himself.

This wasn’t about Peter (and his Gemino charm really was inspired). It wasn’t Pete’s fault James was feeling this way. It wasn’t even Sirius’s fault, James reasoned. Neither of them were responsible for his feelings. It was his own stupid feelings. They were just being unreasonable and running amok and making James feel ridiculous and hurt because Sirius didn’t tell James first.

There it is, James thought, as a bit of tension slowly eased in his chest. He was upset because Sirius didn’t write to him specifically. James and Sirius were not better than their friends, but they were better friends. For all their bravado and performed nonchalance, there was a level of honesty that James and Sirius shared, a closeness. And Sirius let James find out this really big news alongside everyone else, like he was just anyone else. That action did not feel particularly brotherly.

That still left the matter of James feeling ridiculous. He knew, logically, that Sirius progressing did not mean that James was regressing, but it still felt that way. As if Sirius’s new maturity made James by comparison more juvenile. James tried to reassure himself that Peter and Remus would be in the same boat, but even as that thought crossed his mind he questioned its veracity. Though, at the end of last term, Peter had developed a rather determined fixation on breasts. Size, shape, who had them, who didn’t, whose were the best in their year, whose were the best in Britain: Peter had an opinion about all of it. James thought he was taking things a little far, but maybe he’d just reached a maturity point that James had not. And while Remus did not talk about girls or snogging the same way the other lads in their year did but maybe that was a sign also a sign of maturity -- a sign he was even more mature than Peter’s mature. Kingsley Shacklebolt, a seventh year Gryffindor James thought was a cert for the captain’s badge, never prattled on about all the girls he dated. And he’d dated a lot. James worried that he might have been the only boy at school who spent more of the summer thinking about Quidditch than sex.

When James reached the house, he pushed the heavy wood front door open and walked through. The great hall of Hartscombe Hall featured dark wood-paneling that stretched three-quarters of the way up the grey stone walls studded with mullioned windows. There was a fireplace large enough that James could still stand comfortable inside it that stood facing a long wood table.

James stopped short. What his family's great hall did not usually feature was another attractive and black-haired teenage boy sitting at the end of said table. The very same black-haired teenage boy whose actions had sent James’s mind on a discontented tailspin.

“Sirius?” James inquired, as though there was a possibility his eyes were making a fool of him, too.

Sirius smiled warmly, jumping up from the table and throwing his arms around James.. He brushed the long fringe of his sleek black hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. Sirius wore torn up denim trousers with silver pins running through the sides and a stiff leather jacket. James did not doubt that this was some new and absurd muggle fashion fad.

“Sorry for the surprise. I know you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow.”

“Mum and dad will be thrilled to see you, of course.” James said, as he released his friend from the warm embrace, feeling even sillier than he had before. “I’m chuffed too, of course, I mean obviously, but why are you here early?”

Sirius’s mood immediately darkened. “Too much Black family bonding.”

Sirius pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the massive steamer trunk he had brought. Evidently, he was all set to leave for Hogwarts directly from their camping trip. James took the cue, slinging his broom over his shoulder and motioning for Sirius to follow him up the front stairs.

“Was it worse than at Easter?” James asked, referring to the epic row Sirius had with his parents over his choice of friends earlier that year.

“Much,” Sirius said as he clomped up the stairs in his great black boots. “One of my idiot cousins is getting married, and Walburga let their whole family use Grimmauld Place as their London pied-a-terre. Apparently you can’t buy dresses in the country or some such nonsense! Parties and teas and a hen-do. It was a nightmare.”

After dropping off Sirius luggage in his designated guest room on the first floor, the boys continued on to James’s room with Sirius. Before Hogwarts, James’s room was on the first floor as well. A sprawling nursery that had its own playroom and connected to his nanny’s accommodations. Being older now, he’d moved himself up to the spacious second floor which had never been used by the main tenants. James loved the unpolished look of it. His bedroom, a converter storeroom, stretched along the end of the west wing. Old raw wood planks jutted out of the white plaster walls and arched up to meet along a central beam in the middle. James thought of it as the house’s ribcage, it’s structure laid bare.

The design scheme, if it could be so generously called, of James’s room was mercurial. The walls were covered, predictably, with banners in the bright Gryffindor colors and drab Puddlemere brown, as well as a moving poster of all the Quidditch players of the last quarter century that James admired. He pilfered his favorite things from other guest rooms in the house to create a chaotic melange of furniture. He had a massive mahogany four poster bed that required a shrinking charm to get through the doorway. To this he added long bookshelves, a heavy armoire, mismatched couches, a dart board, and even a muggle table-football table. Of all these things, James was proudest of his desk. He assembled it himself by plopping an old barn door on top of empty whiskey casks. They still filled his room with the comforting smell of peat.

Sirius walked towards said desk still nattering on about the absurdity of wedding textiles. “Honestly,” he whinged, “I didn’t even know there were different kinds of lace. Since when do fabrics have sub-fabrics.”

“It’s completely ludicrous,” James agreed. “Hopefully, this week will make up for it. Just the lads, walking all day and sitting by a fire all night, I can almost guarantee no one will be talking about textiles.”

“You saw it,” Sirius said flatly.

“What?” James started, confused by the non sequitur. He turned to see Sirius looking down at the desk. Not at the desk, at what was on the desk. James had left his slate tablet out.

“Er-- yeah,” James said in a hearty voice not wholly his own, “Congratulations, or you know, good on you!”

Sirius laughed just once. It was a hollow, quiet sound. Time droned on and the distance between the two boys stretched with it. Sirius traced his hands across the edge of the tablet as he stared out the window over the desk. In addition to Sirius’s initial pronouncement, the tablet now included a loopy scrawl from Peter asking for more details, and in his untidy scratch Moony inscrutably asked, on behalf of a Mr. Kipling, whether Sirius had indeed run a full sixty seconds worth of distance. James felt unsettled. He knew he needed to say something to end this quiet but conjuring any actual words felt beyond his current abilities.

“D’ya mind?” Sirius asked without turning to look at James. He just held a gold pack of rolled muggle cigarettes above his shoulder.

“Go for it.”

Sirius leaned forward to open the window. James heard the familiar clack and swoosh of a lighter. As Sirius exhaled, James watched his shoulders slump forward, as if the expelled smoke had taken all of Sirius’s swagger with it.

“So, who was the girl?” James asked, breaking the silence. “You didn’t mention dating anyone in your last letter.”

“Well,” Sirius said as he turned, softening his stance and leaning back on the desk. “That could be because I don’t know if we were dating, not really…”

“How’d you meet? Is she a friend of your cousins?”

“Merlin, no!” Sirius sneered. “Though I suppose, I have them to thank for meeting her. Like I said, summer was a misery. Bella and Narcissa practically moved in. And Bella’s completely lost the plot. She’s marrying a Lestrange, but you’d never know it. All she talks about is Voldemort and how he’s bringing pride back to Britain. It’s fucking disgusting. I spent as much time as I could out of the house.”

“You said you were riding alone most days on the Get-A-Round…” James said, quoting from one of Sirius’s early letters.

“The Underground,” Sirius corrected.

James shrugged. He wasn’t taking Muggle Studies, so he’d really never need to know the name of the mad contraption that transports people underneath the streets. Merlin knows he'd never ride on it.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, “I was riding around a lot at the start, but there’s only so many times you can go around the Circle line. Tried hanging around Diagon Alley for a bit, but it was just more of the same. I ended up just exploring. Few weeks ago, I was wandering around Chelsea. I stumbled into this clothing store on the King’s Road and that’s where I met Cyan--”

“Cyan?!” James interrupted.

“Well, it’s Sarah, really. But she dyed the ends of her hair blue, and she was trying to get everyone to call her Cyan.”

“Fair enough,” James said, “I guess, wizards aren’t really in a position to judge someone’s name. We have some pretty weird ones...”

“Hengeist,” Sirius

“Adalbert.”

“Sawbridge.”

“Wilburforce.” James looked at Sirius to discover they were both, finally, smiling at the same time.

“Well, anyway, I just started going to King’s Road on the days she worked. We’d chat and then meet up after her shift ended. Usually just for coffee, but then, well a couple days ago she invited me over to hers to listen to a new record… and well. You already know how that went.”

James did know, and he nodded sagely at the tablet. For all of James’s mental griping over that stupid note and the frustration it caused, he couldn’t help but be intensely curious about the whole affair. Did she just proposition him out of the blue? Or, were there steps leading up to it? Did he bring wine and candles? James heard a rumor that girls liked for there to be candles.

“You know, I don’t really know why I did this.” Sirius said, tapping the slate tablet quickly with the cherry tip of his cigarette. “I guess... the whole affair just felt like it needed a cap off, you know? A full stop. An exclamation point. Some sort of definite conclusion.”

“Hmm,” James mused, not entirely sure of Sirius’s meaning. “I mean. Did it not… did you not… erm… conclude?”

“That’s not….” Sirius started. He held the cigarette gently between his teeth as he stretched both his arms, clasping them behind his back and puffing out his chest. “It’s like yes. You have sex. And sex on one hand is just sex. Just a physical thing, mechanical even. And I know that. Logically, unemotionally, I know that’s true. I guess I just thought, with the way people go on about it… I guess I just thought there’d be something… more.”

“More than sex?”

“More than just the physical bits...yeah,” Sirius leaned over James’s desk and stretched his arm out the window, tapping the ash off the cigarette. “I just expected to feel something more afterwards. But I was just tired… and slightly sticky.”

James shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. He did not know how to answer Sirius as he had no analogous experiences to share. He supposed that, he too, approached the idea of sex at different levels. There was the fantastical element that he would often indulge in before falling asleep at night. In that realm, there was nothing to fear. Then there was the practicality of it. The fact that he didn’t actually know what to do or how to make it okay for the girl. That was terrifying. When he thought of a hypothetical first time it was just as something to get done.

“You could say something,” Sirius muttered.

“I guess, I just don’t know what to say,” James said honestly.

Sirius turned away to stare out the window again.

“I think that’s why I wrote to you all. There was this big thing that happened, and then I just went home and everything was still as it was. So banal. I sat next to Reg at the dinner table and ate mushy peas. It was like it didn’t even happen.” Sirius got very quiet and looked away from James. In a small voice he said, “Does that make me sound like a nancy?”

“What?” James asked. Until that moment, it really had not occurred to him that Sirius would be feeling anything other than elated and slightly smug. Looking at his best friend now, shoulders slumped, hair falling in his face, and staring determinedly at the tip of the cigarette as if making eye contact with anything else would physically hurt, it was clear Sirius was feeling anything but.

“Mate, no!,” James assured him. “Not at all. It’s supposed to be a very big deal. If it weren’t, we all wouldn’t go around talking about it all the time. And, like, look at what Pete and Remus wrote… okay not so much Remus, but he never makes sense anyway. You know Pete lost his mind over it. You know he won't rest until you give him a moment by moment account and draw him a topographical map of her tits.”

Sirius chuckled, and finally brought his eyes up to meet James’s. “‘S’pose we will all have to deal with that. Pete may be the first student to pursue ‘History of Breasts’ at the NEWT level.”

“He’s a trailblazer.”

“Icon.”

“Legend, really.” James laughed and sidled over next to Sirius, perching up on the text beside him. “Feeling better, then?”

“A bit, thanks. Just wish you’d been there--”

James’s eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead.

“No! Not, there there,” Sirius explained with a chuckle. “Just afterwards, back at the house. I just never thought I’d go out, shag someone for the first time, then come home at three in the afternoon to see my cousins playing dress-up in the living room. It was too bizarre.”

“I ‘spect all the really big events in life are like that. Stranger and way more awkward than you imagined. We’re all just stumbling our way through life.”

Sirius pulled a face of mock shock and clutched at his chest. “What? No! Not even the great James Potter!?”

“Especially the great James Potter,” James insisted, throwing an elbow at Sirius’s ribs for good measure. “You missed a spectacular faceplant this morning after I ran into a hoar oak on my new racing broom. KAPOW- and the SPLAT! Broom went one way, I went the other…”

“Yeah, well, you’re too pretty anyway. Would do your face some good to bang it up. Let’s see this new broom!”

Sirius tossed the remnants of his cigarette out the window and walked towards the broom lying on James’s bed. He picked it up by its glistening handle, flipping it on end to observe the finely trimmed twigs in the tail.

“Pheeeeew,” Sirius whistled low. “That! Is a damn fine broom, my good man. What’d you do? Manage to intercept all of Minnie’s letters home last year or did you catch Monty snogging Figgy.”

“Gross, Sirius!” James laughed, “Neither. Actually--”

James scurried over to the nightstand next to his best and retrieved his captain’s badge from the uppermost drawer. He was so excited to finally show it to someone other than Figgy and his parents, he could not even find the words. Rather, he simply thrust the golden badge engraved with a large “C” into his best friend's hands.

It took Sirius a moment, though no more than a moment to realize what he was looking at. Joy overtook his whole expression, as his eyes shone and he smiled brightly.

“YES!” Sirius roared, raising a fist in the arm. “WE’VE DONE IT! Sweet Merlin! YES!”

He grabbed James and pulled him into another hug, patting him on the back for good measure. James’s heart leapt in his chest at seeing his friend's joy.

Sirius was laughing as he stood back and examined the badge closely.

“It’s not a fake,” James said, “Letter had my name on it and everything.”

“That’s not what I’m-- do you see this? What does that says?” Sirius asked, holding the badge up to James face.

James squinted through his glasses. He did not see anything in the area Sirius was indicated. Only a brightly polished, immaculate gold surface.

“It doesn’t say anything there, mate.”

“Yes it does,” Sirius insisted. “Right there. It says ‘I’m better than Shacklebolt”

James shoved Sirius playfully, but Sirius just held the badge higher as he insisted that his best friend would be the best Quidditch Captain Hogwarts had ever seen. From James’s heart burst forth a wellspring of gratitude and joy. Being an idiot wasn’t so bad, he thought, as long as your friends were idiots, too.

[fieryghxul]

Margaritas, reunions and confessions. [a.h.]

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Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Warning(s): fem!reader – dom!hotch (well i tried) – last season’s spoilers – drinking – cursing – smut –  unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it tho) – oral sex (fem receiving) – slight chocking – a bit fluff at the end.

A/N: hello everyone! this is super random but i came up with this in the middle of the night and i couldn't shake the idea out of my head. i am not a writer and english is not my first language so if there’s any mistake, i apologize in advance. also, this is my first hotch smut so i hope it’s good. enjoy!

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[March 14th, 2020. 8:30 pm.]

“I have to go but promise me that you’re going to stop thinking about work and that you’re going to have fun these days.” You heard the pleading voice of Penelope Garcia on the phone as you walked out of the bathroom.

“I promise. I love you and I’ll see you when I get back.” You smiled and you knew that she was smiling too.

“It’s a date, angel. Love you more.” And with that, the line went silent.

You put your cell phone aside and took a look at the open suitcases on the bed. You didn't have anything planned but you knew you have to go out to clear your head and relax, things at work have been very stressful lately so when Prentiss told the team about taking some vacation time, you didn't hesitate to get a ticket and get on the first plane you found.

And that's why you were currently in a hotel room in Santorini, Greece. Yes, it seems like a lot, but nothing you can't afford.

A few minutes later, you finished applying some mascara and lip gloss, and took a few steps back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The navy-blue self-tie slit dress hugged every curve of your body perfectly; you paired it with a pair of black heels and a black jacket, just in case it gets cold at night. After taking one last look and smiling slightly at the reflection, you turned to grab your bag and left the room, hoping to have a good night once you were out of the hotel.

                                                       ▪ ▪ ▪

People flooded the streets and it was understandable, the night was really beautiful, there was a light breeze and the full moon was perfectly reflected in the sea. You have been walking for almost 2 hours, taking photos of almost everything and enjoying the night until you came across a bar, the word "cocktail" in the name of the place definitely caught your attention so you didn't think twice before walking into the place.

You walked to the bar and waited for the bartender to come up to you. While you were waiting, you could feel the back of your neck burning, someone was watching you but you didn’t want to deal with anyone yet, so you just ignored it, concentrating on reading the menu even though you already knew what you were going to order.

“Good evening, ma'am. Are you ready to order?” You look up from the menu, a brunette in her 20s is at the other side of the bar was smiling at you.

“Uh, yes, a margarita would be fine.” You ordered, mirroring her smile, and the girl gave you a little nod before walking away.

In the meantime you took your phone out of your bag and opened the ‘bau ladies’ group chat to send one or two of the photos you took a few hours ago with a “next time, i’m bringing all of your cute asses with me.” below them.

JJ was the first to reply, “oh my god, it’s gorgeous!”

Followed by Emily’s “look at that and some of us are still doing paperwork :( get drunk on my behalf please.”

You chuckled under your breath at her text and the margarita arrives just in time, “i’m on it, boss ;) isn't it a little late to be doing paperwork?"

Penelope replies next, “paperwork hahaha what a weird way to spell tara’s name“ and two “PENELOPE!” appear automatically in chat.

“you two are so obvious and spencer owns me 20 now.” You hit the send button before graving the margarita, taking a few sips of it. It takes about 3 minutes for your phone to vibrate again and you were about to answered but you are interrupted by the bartender.

“From the man at that table, ma'am.” She says placing another margarita in front of you and discreetly pointing at one of the tables that were on the patio of the place, you turned around but the only thing you see from the bar is his back. “Don’t worry; it doesn’t have anything weird on it.”

“Thank you...” The bartender walks away again and you stare at the drink, debating for a moment about whether or not to go and face the mysterious man. Fuck it. You decided before putting you phone back in your bag, forgetting about the messages and graving that and the drink before making your way to the table.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat once you reached said table, "can I seat here or are you waiting for someone?"

“Please.” He murmur in a low voice while gesturing toward the empty chair, indicating that you can sit down and a strange feeling of familiarity floods your body at that gesture. You shock your head trying to ignore that before placing your bag aside and sitting down in front of the man.

“I just wanted to thank you for the—“

The words got stuck on your throat and the world seemed to have stopped when you finally laid your eyes on the suited man that you thought you'd never see again.

Holy shit.

You stood still, a part of you fearing that if you moved he might disappear. Your face probably showing clear signs of confusion and shock as Aaron Hotchner sit right there in front of you.

He still looked serious and intimidating, his gaze reimaging cold to those who didn't know him and you remember all of those times you teased him about being a robot, there were times when you actually managed to make him laugh.

Yet at the same time there was something different about him. There was a different glow around him, he seems more relaxed and you could see it in his expressions, even in his posture.

“Hello, Y/N.” Hotchner said, voice still low but strong enough to bring you back to the present.

“Hey.” You said, still processing the fact that he was here with you and in the most unexpected place. “I, uh, it’s been a long time.”

“Almost 3 years.” He said before taking a sip of the glass that rested on his hand, you assumed that it was scotch.

3 years in 6 months, 13 days, 1 hour and 65 seconds. Give it or take.

“Almost, yeah… so what are you doing here?” You asked, “I mean, you were more a city type of guy.”

“I still am, Y/N, but Jack and Jessica insisted on me going on a little vacation because apparently it’s been a while since I had some ‘me-time’.”

Your face light up a bit at the mention of the kid, Hotch noticed it. “How’s Jack? I can barely remember when the last time I saw him was was but he must be so big now.”

“He’s 14 and almost as tall as me.” A smile appeared on Hotch's face, he didn't used to smile a lot and you thought it was a bit normal considering the work that you two shared, but those times that he did you used to felt butterflies in your stomach. Still do apparently. “What about you? What are you doing here? I mean, you were more a city type of girl.”

You chuckled softly when you heard him repeating your words and you shrugged slightly, “I'm having some vacation time, it's rare to have free time at the BAU, you know? So when you do, you take it without thinking twice.”

“How’s the team doing?”

“Good. We're working on some things, going through a few changes, the usual I guess.” This time it was you who drank, taking a long sip of the margarita that was still in your hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you want to hear me talk about it?”

“Of course, unless, do you have somewhere else to be, Y/N?”

“Not anymore. We might need a few more of this though.” You pointed to the drinks on the table and flashing him a smile, catching a glimpse of his before calling the bartender and ordering another round of drinks.

And then you started talking, Hotch listening carefully to every word that came out of your mouth. You started with the cult that kidnapped Spencer and Garcia and then launching into the saga of the Everett Lynch a.k.a "The Chameleon", you mentioned how Emily is now shortlisted to be the next FBI director and how she would name JJ as the next unit chief of BAU unit, but that remains to be seen; you also talked about Garcia leaving the team to work in Silicon Valley and Hotch noticed the sad tone in your voice when you mentioned that but in part he was happy that everyone was moving forward with their lives, making new decisions and following different paths. You continued with Spencer being a consultant and teaching at the same time and finished with Rossi getting married again then talking about retirement but not fully doing it.

“That’s because Rossi’s never going to retired.” You and Hotch said in unison, laughing after noticing that.

“A lot of things had happened then.” He said, not very surprise and titling his head to one side, you nodded mutely. “But you forgot of someone, Y/N.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you. What about you? How are you?” He asked, his tone of voice changing to a concerned one.

“Oh… I, uh, I’m good.” You began but more hesitant this time, “I will never get used to the changes but its part of life so I just have to suck it up and live with it. I don’t have an outer motive yet so I'm not leaving the BAU, that's for sure. I always knew that that's where I belong and I can’t even bring myself to think about other options.”

“You have always been an important asset to the team, Y/N. The BAU is still lucky to have you.” Hotch said, still sounded like the boss but you didn’t comment anything out loud about it. Instead, you smiled kindly at him and both went silent after that, staring at each other every now and then and finishing the rest of your drinks. It was a comfortable and familiar silence, one of the many that you two used to share while working together in the office or in the long nights in the jet after finishing a case.

Your gaze swept over the bar, noticing the few people that was still there and the employees staring to clean up the place. You took at deep breath, pulling out your wallet.

“Well, Hotch, this was fun. Unexpected but fun.” You left some money under your empty cup, paying for your part of the drinks and Hotch did the same thing. “I should get going now, so—“

“Let me walk you over to your hotel.” He cut you off, grabbing his blazer from the chair and turning to look at you.

“Hotch you don’t ha—“

“Please, Y/N. I insist.” He said and his voice serious once again, just like when he used to get too bossy with the team but with a smile that contradicted that tone and you couldn’t say “no” to that.

“Alright, Sir. Let’s go.”

You grabbed your things and started walking out of the bar, Hotchner walking behind you.

                                                          ▪ ▪ ▪

The walk back to the hotel was shorter than you thought; maybe it was because you were so focused on Hotchner and the small talk that you stopped paying attention to your surroundings.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You murmur while grabbing the room key from you bag, “But you didn’t have to come up here though.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

You could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn't dare to do it and it doesn't feel good to pressure him, so you settled for just smiling at him.

And in that moment, standing in outside of you room and looking closely at him, you realized how much you missed him. You didn’t admitted that out loud after he left the BAU, you couldn’t do it because you also never fully admitted your feeling for him. Partially it was your fault, feelings were never your thing and you were afraid of what might happen if you confronted him about it so looking for excuses and reasons to not doing it always seemed easier.

For a while you truly did believed that it was just a stupid crush on your boss, something temporary, until the days turned into weeks and then months, years even, but then… he was gone.

You couldn’t really blame him for that though; he had a good reason for leaving so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Hotch finally mumbled.

You looked at him in confusion, “For what?”

“Leaving.”

“You did it to protect Jack; it was the right thing to do.” You reassure him with a smile, you unconsciously took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away. “Don’t ever apologize for keeping your son safe, Hotch.”

“I know, choosing to be a full time dad to Jack is something I do not regret. It was something that we both needed it, especially after everything that happened with Haley.” You gulped at the mention of the name, remembering how devastated he was after her death. He took a deep breath, “But what I am trying to say is that I am sorry I didn't came back to you or the team, I should at least have called to let you know that we were fine but I got so caught up with the mundane life that it was a little too late by the time I realized about everything I left behind.”

To you.

Those two little words echoed in your head as you look at those chocolate eyes that used to drive you crazy without knowing it. You noticed that he was even closer now, slightly towering over you. It’s now or never, Y/N. You thought to yourself before speaking.

“I waited for you. I never told anyone but for a whole I waited for you to come back, hoping one day to see your demanding self in an expensive suit walking through the BAU doors again but deep down I knew that eventually I had to let you go.” You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding until now and smiled sadly, “That was easier said than done considering that I never stopped thing about it, about you. Because the true is that I loved you, Aaron. Maybe I still fucking do… but I doubt that this makes any difference now because maybe you never saw me in the same way that I saw you or just because it’s a little too late now.”

You finished and Hotch frowned, probably processing what you just admitted to him. He was silent for a few more seconds and you took it as your cue, letting go of his hand and turning around to open the door of you room. “I had an amazing night, thank you. See you around.”

But before you could even step foot in the room, you felt his hand grabbing your wrist and your chest hitting his. The next thing you knew after that was that his lips were on yours.

Aaron Hotchner was fucking kissing you after admitting your feelings for him.

He pulled away before you could react properly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours; this time he looked at you in a way that you had only fantasized about until now, there was love and lust on them and you could feel it, just all those feelings that you tried so hard to keep locked in the deepest part of you.

And that's all you needed before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him again, in a matter of seconds you two were inside the room. His lips were warm and the kiss quickly turned into a desperate one once the door was locked behind you, you could already feel yourself melting in his arms.

You didn’t even realize how it happened, but in one quick moment you were being totally pinned against the door with Aaron holding you by your thighs as your legs were wrapped around his waist. The position was now lifting your short dress, leaving your thighs even more naked but you didn't mind considering that now you could perfectly feel Aaron's hand caressing your hot skin. You move your hands from his shoulders to his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stripping him off it, dropping the piece of clothing somewhere in the room. As you were doing that, he broke the kiss and moved his lips to your neck, nipping and teasing the area just under your ear, turning you into a moaning mess almost immediately. The sounds being like music to his ears.

“Aaron , please.“ You moaned, this was good but you need it more. You needed him.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He asks, slightly biting the skin of your neck and you bite your bottom lip.

“Please, Sir. Fuck me.” You let out, noticing a sparkle in his eyes that you've never seen before and that only turned you on even more.

“Since you ask so nicely…” He said before walking to the other side of the room where the was a big bed in the center of it, Aaron kissed you lips and put you down in front of him, his hands moving to the zipper of your dress. “Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

“You’re kidding, right?” You asked and Aaron stares deeply at you, the sudden seriousness on his eyes making you gulp. You nodded.

“Words, Y/N. I need words.”

“I’m sure of this, yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Fuck, he was hot.

“Yes, sir.”

He bent down, his hands working on your zipper as he whisper “Good girl.” in your ear and you bite your lip once more, muffling down a moan.

He finally pulled down your dress, tossing it onto the floor completely and leaving you with only your red lace underwear; you weren't wearing a bra tonight, so you were much more exposed to him than you thought. He took one really good look at you before throwing you onto the bed, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Guess that we’re done playing around.

He kneels down on the bed, moving your legs with his knees and positioning himself between them. His hands are caressing your legs again, making their way up to the sides of your body and he leans in, kissing you again, your hands flew up to grab his hair, eagerly responding the kiss. You didn’t care how needy you seem right now, you’ve been waiting year for this, fantasizing about it, and now you had it, not really knowing for how long and that only gave you more reasons to enjoy every second of it.

“You know?,” Aaron began, his lips leaving yours and making his way down your neck, placing kisses all over your skin, “if I had know about how much you wanted me, I’ve would done something about it earlier.”

“Yeah?” You asked, arching your back as he bites one of your nipples gently, his other hand working on the other one.

“I would've pinned you down on my desk and take you right there on the office, baby. Not caring about anyone who could hear us.” He casually said, like he thought about it before and you moaned. You definitely thought about that particular situation too.

When he finally reached the place where you needed the most, he stopped and you were about to complain but Aaron shut you up by grabbing your ankles and yanking you down the end of the bed. He kneels again, parting your legs a bit more, placing one of your legs over his broad shoulders and kissing you inner thighs, slowly making his way to your soaked panties.

“I barely touch you and you’re so wet for me already?” Hotchner asked teasingly, rubbing circles with his thumb on your clit but over the fabric before taking a hold of them and ripping them out. And with no more words, Hotch held both your legs open and buried his face between them, making you moan in a matter of seconds.

He swept his tongue over you pussy swiftly, tasting my arousal first and groaning again your skin. A shiver ran through you as he stared circling your clit with his tongue and then moving down between your folds before going up again, alternating his speed and pressure.

When you thought that it couldn’t get better, Aaron proved you wrong by teasing your entrance with one of his finger and looking up at you, locking his eyes with yours. He wanted to see your reaction. You try to maintain the eye contact as he slowly started pumping his finger in and out of you, curling them an hitting the right spot, a string of cursings leaving your mouth.

It didn’t take much for your legs to start shaking around his head, the knot forming on your lower stomach.

“I’m- fuck, I’m close.” You breathed betweens moans and just when you were about to reach your high, he pulled away.

“Hold that thought, sweetheart.” He shortly kissed your mouth and you tasted yourself in his before he got up off bed, his hands immediately went to unbuckle his belt and now you took your time to watch him. From his messy hair, to the red marks on his shoulders caused by your heels -oops- and then stopped at the large bulge formed in his pants, you groaned at the sight of that.

Fuck, he is big. God, if you weren't so desperate to feel him inside you, you wouldn't hesitate to drop on your knees and start sucking him.

“Do you like what you see, sweetheart?” He asked with a smirk on his face while taking off the rest of his clothes.

“Just fuck me already, please.” You begged and he positioned himself between your legs again, but he was hesitant. “Hotch?”

“I don’t have condom on me and I doubt that you have one, Y/N. I’m clean but if you—”

“I’m clean too and on the pill so don’t worry.” You smiled at him and gave a little nod.

And apparently he was as desperate as you because at all at once, Hotch took grip of your hips and pushed inside you. You immediately arched your back, moaning loudly in both pain and pleasure, your hands grabbing the sheets at your side. You were surprise that you didn’t ripped them apart yet.

“Fuck, Hotchner.” You screamed and he didn’t move for a few seconds, letting you adjust to his size. He really is big.

“You’re so thigh, baby.” He moaned in your ear, the raspy voice sending shocks straight to your core. He was capable of making you cum by just talking.

That’s how much power he had.

And then he finally started moving, pounding in and out of you slowly at first and working his way up, picking up a pace that had you both groaning and moaning.

“F-fuck, Y/N. I love hearing you scream my name.” His lips attacked your neck again and you threw your head back against the pillows, giving him all the space that he needed to play with your neck. And he took this as a perfect opportunity to sneak his hand around it, squeezing under your jaw around enough for your eyes to roll back in total pleasure as you instinctively wrapped your finger around his wrist, holding him in place. You didn’t expect him to be into chocking but you were definitely not against it.

“Harder, S-sir. Please.”

“You’re taking it so good, just like I expected it.” He growled, pulling away enough to look at the whimpering mess that you were right now, his hand never leaving your neck as he pounded even harder into you with every word. “Calling me ‘sir’ and everything, I didn’t even had to ask you to do that. You’re such a slutty responsive whore for me, aren’t you Y/N?”

The sudden dirty words coming out of your ex-boss’s mouth did nothing but to turn you on even more, if that was possible at this point. You weren’t able to form a proper sentence so you limited to nodding and moaning his name. He didn’t like that.

“I asked you a fucking question, sweetheart, answered it.”

“Y-yes, I am, S-sir.” You chocked, the knot on your stomach forming once more and by the way that his pace flickered you knew that he was close too. “I’m close, Aaron.”

“Then cum for me, baby.” He commanded, continuing his thrusts and you were already oversensitive from his earlier work so it didn’t took you long before you started clenching around him.

“Fuck, Aaron.”

“Say it louder, Y/N.”

“Aaron!” He bottom out inside of you again and you moaned loudly one last time as your body reached its limit, hitting your climax with every nerve in you tired body.

“That’s a good girl.” He said between moans, his dick twitching softly as he release himself inside of you with one last and hard thrust.

He let go of your throat but didn’t’ pull out immediately after that. His breathing was a little erratic, his lips were red and swollen, and there was a thin layer of sweat all over his body. He looked disturbingly hot.

Of course he did. He’s Aaron fucking Hotchner.

It was as if these last 3 years had never existed.

Neither of you said a word as he slowly got up and walked into the bathroom of the room to grabbed a wet towel to clean you up, doing the same thing on him before putting back his boxers, you didn’t have the strength to grab your clothes so you just put the sheets of the bed on top of you, covering you nudity.

“Oh, sp now you’re shy?” He snorted, chuckling softly and you smiled.

“Shut up and come here.” You patted the bed and he didn’t hesitate on laying next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You felt safe, like there’s was nowhere else you rather be in that moment.

“Thank you.” He whispered after a moment breaking the silence, his face resting on your shoulder.

“For what?”

“For all of… that.”

“You’ve always have such a ways with words, Hotch.” You chuckled as you looked down at him. “Thank you for ordering my margarita in the first place.”

“It was a pleasure.”

“It really was, wasn’t it?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him in a playful way.

“How long are you staying here, Y/N?” He finally asked and you let out a tiny sigh at the question.

You knew you weren't here for a long vacation and neither was Aaron, you two have your lives outside this room , but being here now felt so good and peaceful. So… right. This, also, was probably a one-time thing, something that was destined to happen eventually, no matter how long it took.

But you didn’t want- no, you couldn’t face the fact that you may have to let him go again. Especially not after what just happened. I mean, how could you?

And little did you know that Aaron was feeling the exact same thing.

“Enough not to have to worry about it right now.” You answered with a shrug while your fingertips trace invisible circles on his back.

“Good. I can live with that, for now at least.” And then he broke the comfortable embrace by getting up and out of the bed, you furrowed you eyebrows and he extended on his hands towards you, “Come on, let’s take a shower so we can sleep properly.”

“Yes, sir.” You took his hand, getting up with his help and trying your best not to limp as you made your way to the bathroom, “By the way, where are you staying while you’re here?”

He turned around at the question, pulling you closer to him and softly kissing your lips before using a more serious tone to say, “In the room above this one.”

Of course he was. You thought while you watched as he began to prepare the bath for the both of you.

Funny how destiny works sometimes.

[mermaidmelodyedits]

Return to the Sea (Older Mel AU) Ch.13

Author Notes: This fanfic is a retelling of The Little Mermaid 2 Return to the Sea but with Melody at 19 instead of 12. This fanfic was originally posted on my deviantart, and as of 5-15-22 it HAS FINISHED WITH A PROLOGUE AND 24 CHAPTERS. You can also find it on fanfiction.net where it also has all 24 chapters and the prologue. I’ll be posting a new chapter to tumblr every week on Saturday, so look forward to that. Thanks for reading! Story starts below

P.S. Sequel scheduled to come soon!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 13: Atlantica

It had been a long journey, but they finally had arrived at the outskirts of Atlantica. Like all the fish tales, it was made entirely of gold and laid on the ocean floor. Yet in a surprisingly shallow area, not tucked away into murky depths. In Atlantica, sunlight filtered through the pristine water and lit the golden city up as bright as a summer day on land. 

Alex giggled and waved his arm over the city, “Welcome to the great mer city of Atlantica.”

The awestruck little mermaid could hardly believe it, eyes sparkling with tears of joy. She almost went to wipe them away, but tears didn't exactly work the same when you're underwater. The stories of mermaids crying pearls seemed silly to her now, although part of her wished it true.

Alex studied her face closely while she was too distracted to notice. Her cerulean eyes glistened in a way he had never seen from any mer before. It was as if they made tiny sea droplets, all by themselves. Tears weren't something merpeople had, nothing came from their eyes when they cried. To Alex, seeing the little Princess with jewels coating her eyes was a truly rare sight to behold.

“Sorry, it's just… It’s so beautiful…”

Alex only smiled and offered his hand, “Don’t be sorry, it’s even prettier inside.”

Melody hesitated for a brief moment before putting her hand in his and following him into the city.

Lucky for her, Alex was the best tour guide she could have asked for. Melody had never left the castle and thus had no sense of direction to speak of. On the other hand, it seemed like Alex knew every inch of the ocean and how to get there too. Navigating an underwater city was also very different from a human one. There weren’t any roads or paths to follow. Almost everything was built vertically, a neighborhood would be a single high-rise building with each floor home for somebody. The market was shops stacked on each other, people drifted up or down to visit different stores. 

The first thing they did was get freshly cooked food, something they hadn’t had while traveling. There was no meat to be found in Atlantica, and eating fish or fish was akin to murder. It made sense when considering merpeople could speak as casually to the animals as they could each other. Even humans wouldn’t eat something that they could hold an intelligent conversation with. The astounding amount of spices and flavors in Atlantica's cuisine easily made up for the lack of meat in the diet. Melody’s personal favorite was spicy seaweed salad, followed by the sweetest cranberry pastry she’d ever had.

They went to the markets next, and each shop had a window filled with treasures behind the princess’s wildest dreams. One held hundreds of crystals in dozens of varieties, and Melody was quite shocked when Alex offered to buy her one. She was even more surprised when the small jade crystal she picked was about the same price as their dinner from earlier. Casual gem collecting was popular with mers and not an expensive hobby. One Atlantica shop alone could easily rival the royal family’s jewel collection on land.

The plant shop was by far the mer princess’s favorite. She could stay there for weeks studying species never seen by humans. The store was more like a massive wall-to-wall library with nothing but flora lining the shelves instead of books. It was somewhat taboo to cut and trim back plants in Atlantica unless it was necessary for their health or pruning. Thus everything overflowed from their pots and grew out in every direction it wanted. Most enchanting of all was how all the vegetation constantly danced and swayed in the ocean's current; never stilling.

While Melody was enthralled with the store shelves, Alex covertly bought a barette from the front counter. A large living lavender-colored flower, with its stem and roots expertly woven into the metal piece of the hair clip.

As Melody reluctantly left the shop Alex covertly tucked her hair behind her ear and clipped it in place with the flower.

Bright crimson bloomed across her pale face as she stuttered, “It-its beautiful…t-thank you…”

Alex tried to stifle a chuckle, but the sight of the flustered little mermaid was too much. He casually took her hand, and she caught her breath as he leaned in closer to her face.

A woman’s voice interrupted them, “Alex? Who is that?”

Two mers were watching them closely, a boy and a girl. The girl had a pastel lilac tail, a pale yellow shell top, and beautiful chestnut-colored hair. The boy had hair blacker than night and a deep royal blue tail. Both of them were scrutinizing Melody closely.

Immediately Alex slipped his hand away from Melody’s, “Oh hey guys! I thought you had work today…” 

The mermaid responded quickly, “The castle is such a mess right now, no one is paying any attention to the cleaning staff. So we took the day off.”

The blue tail boy gestured to Melody, “Who is she?”

“Oh meet-”

“MELODY!” A frantic shout interrupted Alex’s introduction. From far away a little fish was swimming towards the group like a mini torpedo.

Melody knew that freckled yellow face anywhere, “Lily?” 

Alex shot her an inquisitive look, “Mel?” 

Melody wasted no time to reply, “She is my friend, the one I came to Atlantica looking for.” Another half-truth, Lily was only one reason Melody came to Atlantica.

Minty green fins grabbed Melody’s hand tightly, hints of fear in her voice, “Melody! How did you… forget it, you have to come with me. Now.” 

Melody didn’t take the deathly seriousness in her friend's voice lightly and never hesitated. The yellow and green fish began to swim away, Melody following closely behind. As they swam away the princess managed a last look over her shoulder,” Thank you for everything!”

And as Alex replied, “We’ll see each other again soon!” Melody noticed a very familiar purple flower barrette in the lilac mermaid's brown hair.

As the Princess swam away too far to hear the brunette mermaid broke out laughing, “I didn’t take you as such a shark Alex, bringing a reef fish into the deep leagues. Works every time, little mer doesn’t even know what hit her.”

Alex glared at his friend, “Shut up Marie, it’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“Lily, where are you taking me?” 

The fish halted abruptly, slapping a fin over Melody’s mouth and pulling her into a cleverly hidden sea cavern.

“My dad showed me these tunnels, there DEFINITELY won’t be any guards here. We can talk now.” The two girls locked eyes and immediately embraced.

Lily cried into her friend’s hair, “Where were you? It’s been almost a week since the party, do you have any idea how scared I was?”

Melody felt painful tears well up in her eyes, crying them invisibly into a salty sea. Nothing hurts more than hurting those you love.

“I tried to find you but everything happened so fast. I was too scared to go back to our bay because-”

Her friend seamlessly finished her thought, “Because your parents are looking everywhere for you.”

“But as a mermaid, they will never find me! Morgana the sea witch gave me fins, that’s why I’m here in Atlantica. Here, with you!”

Lily pulled back from her friend, worry filling her eyes “Morgana made you a mermaid?”

Melody nodded with a smile, “She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met, and she gave me everything I’ve ever wanted for free. I didn’t even know mermaids existed, why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

Now it was Lily’s turn to feel guilt, “If I had been caught hanging out with you I would have gotten jail time. If they had found out you knew about merpeople or Atlantica, they would give me the death sentence. I shouldn’t have been such a guppy though, I knew you always dreamed about mermaids. I should have been a better friend.”

Melody shook her head, “I should have been a better friend and not let you worry. I should have told you I was running away. Plus, I think the penalty of death is a good reason to hide the truth from me.”

The two girls both began to cry softly, and they hugged tightly. When they broke apart Lily grasped Melody’s shoulders seriously.

“I’m not going to hide anything from you anymore. King Triton is close to the human royal family, your family. He has sent people to help search since they know you stole a boat.”

Melody furrowed her brow in confusion, “My family knows about Atlantica, and they know the King? That awful king? How…?”

A pained look crossed Lily’s face, “Your family is lying to you, in so many ways… and I don’t even know everything myself. But the king and your parents are searching for a human Princess, not a mermaid. As long as you're a mermaid they will never find you.”

Melody went quiet for a while, puzzling over what Lily had said. She had always had a feeling her parents were hiding things, but she had never dreamed they were lying to her. At the very least her mother knew mermaids were real and lied to her face many times. How many other things?

After a long debate, fierceness took over the princess's face, “Listen, Lily, I need your name help.”

“Wild Seahorses couldn’t stop me”

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 12: Hesitation

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

This chapter is a little longer, but I couldn't find anything to cut out of it! So, enjoy! Things are starting to get kind of real with both dudes, lol. Thank you so much for reading, as always. Love and appreciate you guys. Going to try to update again tomorrow but if I can't find time then it will definitely be Tuesday. Had some unexpected hang ups this weekend. Don't worry- next chapter Liu is back! Also, who has seen Max Huang's Flawless Victory video?? Is it not just... unf??? (and as always, open to suggestions!)

Part 11 Part 13 Chapter Index

You followed Kung Lao to the fight pit and by the time that you got there you’d managed to shake any remaining embarrassment. Your nerves about your arcana had long since taken over. Why were you nervous? The fight the other day had gone exceptionally well except for the whole thing with Kung Lao’s hat. You couldn’t get the idea out of your head that you’d hurt Liu Kang without realizing.

You knew Kung Lao was right. The more control that you had over your arcana the better. Besides that, he promised to take it easy on you. Right? He’d promised something but he’d been so close to you that when you tried to recall his exact words, you mostly just recalled his lips forming around the word ‘promise’. Stupid Chen. Teasing you. Stupid Kung Lao. Finding you right after you’d been teased. You couldn’t be blamed for struggling to focus.

Kung Lao didn’t have you meditate the way that Liu would have. Meditation would have helped you so much right now. Your thoughts were jumbled up in a confused pile. You weren’t even dressed properly for a fight, you realized, so you walked back to the edge of the fight pit.

“We haven’t even warmed up, Y/N. Where are you going?” Kung Lao laughed, setting his hat on the steps and out of the way.

“Oh, I just realized I’m not in my gi.” You tugged on the tank top.

“You half are.” He pointed to your pants. “You should be fine. This looks more like you anyway. Not that I’m arguing. You can wear whatever you want but this is much more like you.”

“I didn’t realize you had an opinion about it.” You rolled your eyes but walked back into the fight pit. He was right. You were fine in what you had on. It was your brain that wasn’t cooperating. It was sabotaging you- full of racing, hectic thoughts. Then Kung Lao was next to you, staring down at you with both concern and amusement behind his eyes. How long had you been standing there lost in the spaghetti of your thoughts?

“What’s going on with you today? I thought you were getting past the blood loss thing.”

“Weren’t you the one who said it would take time to recover from that?”

“I did. Still. Focus. Let’s practice channeling that renegade energy of yours.” Kung Lao clasped your forearm encouragingly and then walked back into the fight pit. You joined him, standing next to him. “Follow me. We’ll start with some tai chi since you seem to be all over the place.”

“Kind of like meditating, right? Gets you in touch with your energy.”

“Yeah, but I like this better. Plus, your head is somewhere else so I thought it might help you focus. Be present, Y/N.” He teased.

“I’m present, Kung Lao. Jeez.” You shook out your hands and feet and then took your position next to him. He led you through breathing exercises in various calming poses. He stopped several times to show you how he channeled the energy of not only his arcana, but that ran through him. He urged you to do the same, every so often, adjusting the position of your hands. You had never been good at tai chi. Meditation was much easier for you. Yet, you struggled more than you normally would have. Even the day before, you likely could have managed just fine.

Kung Lao walked behind you as you wobbled in position and he carefully took your hand in his, fingers, brushing down your arm to your elbow and adjusting your positioning. You turned to catch sight of him, but he was very much focused on his task. When he caught your gaze, he let go of your arm and stepped back but averted his eyes with a smile, subtle on his lips.

You exhaled deeply and focused on your energy, trying to will your arcana forth and ignore the lingering touch that Kung Lao had left behind. He was talking, coaching you on how to channel your energy but you’d tuned out the words and instead focused on the comfort of his voice. It was frustrating. The ink had come to you in rivers before and even when you were unconscious, it had come freely. Now you could barely get it to bubble above your fingers. Your fingertips turned black, but it took so much energy, you stumbled forward.

Kung Lao carefully helped you stand back upright and as he made to speak, you stepped away from him and walked until you could see over the edge of the arena. You had to breathe. The air was stifling. Folding your arms over your chest you stared into the ravine.

Kung Lao stood next to you, admiring the temple carved into the side of the mountains. Then he turned away from you and walked back into the pit. “Don’t do that, Y/N.” You turned to face him, and he went back to his tai chi. You admired his control and his knowledge.

“Do what?”

“Worry that you can’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m nervous, is all.”

“Well, get over it.” He stopped, bowed, and then walked back to join you, standing below you in the sand.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re strong, Y/N. You’re capable. I told you. I’m not going to watch you give up just because you’re scared of what comes next. Now, come down here and practice with me.” He offered you his hand and you stared at it. Sometimes he was completely foreign from the boy you’d known so long ago and sometimes he was right there, like you’d never lost him. You took his hand and stepped back into the pit. “I don’t think we should try sparring until we can get you out of this headspace.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was right. It was sweet that he believed in you so passionately, but it didn’t erase your nerves. You didn’t know each other very well but there was still this old, nostalgic connection you couldn’t shake. You trusted him without understanding why you did. If he believed in you then you could do it. Yet, when you closed your eyes, you heard Liu Kang telling Raiden that you’d attacked him. You hadn’t gotten to ask him what happened and if he was okay. He was probably fine. You couldn’t stop fixating on it.

Kung Lao was right. You had to let it go and focus. You followed his lead again. In comparison to the last time you’d fought, you were barely able to keep your balance, nonetheless focus on your energy and control it.

“Now, take that energy and manifest your arcana.” Kung Lao urged, walking around you to make sure that your posture was still correct. Then he took up the same stance next to you, legs spread wide, arm extended before you, the other curled inward. You closed your eyes and breathed into the stance, trying to take that energy you felt swirling all around you and will it into your arcana. No matter how you tried, it wouldn’t come. The willingness was replaced with nagging doubt. What if you couldn’t control it? What if you summoned it and lost control? “Nothing?” Kung Lao stood before you when you opened your eyes, watching you curiously. Your fingers were throbbing, and you broke the stance briefly before getting back into it.

“Can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Your posture is dreadful. You were so graceful the other day.”

“It’s almost like I went through something traumatic last night.” You broke your stance and were surprised that he laughed under his breath. “That’s not funny, Kung Lao.”

“I know it isn’t. It’s an excuse.” He shrugged, then took a step closer. You stepped back. “You can do this. I’m pushing you because I know that you can. This isn’t working so why don’t we try something else?” He walked across the pit and gestured to a stack of weights. “What’s holding you back?” You joined him and frowned at the weights. You were strong but your body was so sore that the idea of lifting them made you sad.

“I don’t know. I’m exhausted.”

“You were exhausted after we uncovered your arcana and still managed.”

“I did.” You wondered about that too. Ever since you’d had that vision, something had changed, something you couldn’t put your finger on and certainly that you couldn’t explain.

“When Liu first found his arcana, he struggled with keeping control of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s more similar to yours than mine is. Mine is a different kind of control.”

“And did you struggle with that?”

“Well, losing control of mine was a different animal.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“That wasn’t an answer. Now who’s being evasive?” You teased him and he laughed.

“Take the ten pounder, will you?” He grabbed the weight and handed it to you and then took the other one himself. “Liu had to focus on control to tame his arcana. I figure that something similar might help you.” He tossed the weight from hand to hand. It was easy to forget how strong he was when you were mostly teasing each other back and forth. It was impressive. You followed him and watched as he sat in the sand and then laid back. “The weight represents your arcana. It’s important to remember that you’re in control. It is an extension of you.”

You sat and watched him as he held the weight over his head and then slowly, one step at a time, he sat up and stood, the weight still above his head, arms strong and steady. “You control the weight. It’s harder than it looks.” He stood back up and watched as he walked a bit closer to you. “Your turn. Come on.”

You didn’t have much confidence that you would be able to do it as gracefully as he had but you would try. Kung Lao set his weight to the side and then knelt next to where you laid. You held the weight above your head and closed your eyes. It was an extension of you but as you made to sit up, you didn’t go anywhere. Instead, you laughed and opened your eyes. “Yeah, that is definitely not happening.” Your arms were resisting, and your side was too sore to rely on your core.

“Too sore?”

“Yeah.” Despite your objection and proclamation, you focused on the weight and though you were shaking and your body ached, you managed to sit up, still holding the weight above your head. Strength training wasn’t really your forte. What you were skilled in was more about maneuverability and balance. Even that didn’t seem to be cooperating with you today. You were grateful that while Kung Lao had initially come off abrasive and pushy, he was being understanding and patient with you.

“Good. Breathe. Take time to regain your control. It’s all about control.”

“Liu did this kind of thing?”

“The masters did it with him. I remember watching. He can do this in seconds with the bigger weights now.” Kung Lao smiled. “If he can do it then so can you. Ready to stand up?”

“I don’t know if I can do it. I’m going to try but…” You struggled to find a way to get to your feet without letting go of the weight. Much to your surprise, Kung Lao scooted in the sand so he was behind you on one knee and slipped his arm around your middle, careful of how he held you. Then he urged you to lean back against his chest.

“Use me for balance. I won’t push you or help you, but you can lean back against me.” He whispered in your ear, face close to the crook of your neck but careful not to touch. Still, his energy was like lightning mingled with yours. “Relax. It’s about control.”

Easy for him to say. This was seven different kinds of torture. His arm around you, his breath on your neck, the weight held over your head making your arms tremble, your side stretching painfully. You were sure he wasn’t trying to torture you but boy, he was. You had to focus on the task. Carefully, placing your body weight back against Kung Lao who did exactly as he promised, you managed to push onto your knees, one at a time and then onto your feet. He moved with you and he urged his hands up to take the weight. Then he whispered in your ear and you could feel the smile on his lips. “Good.” His lips barely brushed against your ear and you shivered.

You had to stop overthinking. He was just helping you train. That was it. Your heart had to calm down. The tension with him was so different than it was with Liu Kang and even so, you felt guilty that it existed at all. Why? Fuck if you knew. Your brain was exhausted by it.

You practiced that a few more times until you could manage to get up on your own without Kung Lao’s arms wrapped around you. You worked extra hard to make it happen because the longer he had his arms wrapped around you, the less you had been able to focus on what you were actually trying to accomplish.

This was going to be the death of you.

If this was how you had to train? In close quarters with either Kung Lao or Liu Kang, then you stood no chance. Death by tension.

Or sensory overload.

Or embarrassment and guilt.

“How are your arms?”

“Sore.” You would keep trying but the afternoon was fading into evening and your energy was fading with it.

“Let’s see if we can get you to summon your arcana again.” Kung Lao folded his arms over his chest as he walked around you. “Stand up like we’re fighting.” He tapped your shoulder and then imitated one of the stances you’d used the day before. With a laugh, you shoved him, and he lost his balance and then caught himself and pretended to be wounded. “Don’t like being told what to do, do you?”

“I’m used to being the teacher. And I’m exhausted. I’m burnt out.”

“Well, let’s try this and then we can call it an evening.” He assured you and then stood in front of you. “Now, come on.” He gestured with his index finger and you laughed.

“You would be a terrible teacher.”

“Well, I was going to give you a sticker on your report card but now it’s going to be a frown face.”

“You’re not really instructing me and not listening and making bad jokes…”

“But I’m good at what I do, Y/N. You’re stalling.”

“…what if I can’t, Kung Lao?” You avoided his eyes and stepped back into your stance as he had asked you to do.

“You can.” Kung Lao was offering you confidence when you had lost yours. He was still that kid, deep down. The one who had always believed in you. Seeing that gave you a little bit of that confidence too. He was pushing you, but not in a way that you felt small or incapable. Quite the opposite. You’d expected practice with him to be abrasive and exhausting, but instead he had been confident and understanding. You closed your eyes and pictured the ink from the day before. You reached for the energy, but it seemed just out of reach. When you got close, it flitted just out of reach.

Your posture slipped as you focused and you yelped, losing your balance, nearly falling over. Kung Lao helped you upright, hand on your arm cautiously. Then he slipped behind you and rested his hand on your hip and helped you find your balance. You looked at him over your shoulder again and he offered you a confident nod. He then stepped back and copied your stance. “Don’t give up.”

You took comfort knowing that Kung Lao would catch you if you fell so you switched focus. Your fingertips burned and shook, and you watched as they turned black. Kung Lao’s eyes were on you and you suddenly lost focus and shook out of your stance. You bounced on your heels and started again, back in your stance. Kung Lao did the same, close enough that if you stepped wrong then you’d brush against him, but other than that he was careful not to touch you. Even so, the closeness was killing you. His presence radiated behind you, the strength of his form in comparison to yours was impeccable. You were faltering. Things that you’d been confident in were slipping from your grasp.

You were frustrated in a thousand different ways. Kung Lao, try as he might, was not helping the way he thought he was. Somehow this was still all Chen’s fault. You were trying very much not to let it get to you, but it seemed impossible.

“Come on, Y/N.” Kung Lao’s whisper was soft but husky behind you and you fought the chills again. “You’re sloppy.” His hand brushed around your shoulder to show where you were faltering. He then urged your arm back a bit, gently touching your elbow to do so. “Shoulders away from your ears. Come on.” You did as he instructed, and he leaned close to whisper in your ear. “…how does that feel?”

“Uh…” Your words were lost in a haze of confusion. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing now. Was it your arcana? You couldn’t remember.

“…is it?”

Focus. You exhaled and shifted, but each movement put you in danger of brushing against him. While your bodies didn’t touch, you caught the occasional phantom touch of his clothing, of his hands. “Like this.” You couldn’t focus, but you were good at what you did. You could do this. Those moments were a haze of desperation and confusion. You wanted to summon your arcana again, but you also wanted to do something to cut this tension but everything your mind came up with was incredibly inappropriate and followed by guilt.

“Y/N, I thought you were better at this.”

That had helped. It had been said in jest, but it had made you want to smack him rather than kiss him. Though, both seemed still like viable options. Kung Lao tried to help you adjust your stance, but you smacked his hand away and did it yourself. When you struggled, he grasped your wrist and tried to help you once more. Darkness surrounded your fingertips and you turned to face him, but it faded as quickly as it came. He didn’t step back, and you were so close to him that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. He dwarfed you then, his hair hanging in front of his face as he looked down at you.

“I know what I’m doing.” You scolded. He smiled down at your, stepping just so that the tip of his shoe touched against yours. He tilted closer to you and you held your breath. He was so close to you but not touching you at all. It was killing you. He was doing it on purpose. You could see the smirk now, the delight behind his dark eyes. He knew exactly what he brought to the table, apparently.

“Then act like it.” He dared you. You thought about proving it to him, but your head was spinning with the intoxicating air surrounding you. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing anymore.

“Then give me a chance to.”

He stepped away from you and you felt as though you could breathe for the first time in ages. You tied your hair back carefully and adjusted your stance.

“That’s much better.” He walked around you, observing your stance. “Now try your arcana. Maybe that’s too vague. Try to manifest something you’re familiar with. Something that you would use when practicing in the dojo.”

“I’m trying, Kung Lao.” You breathed a frustrated sigh. It was at least easier without him practically on top of you. Your fingers tingled and your arms arched with soreness, body exhausted. Still, grasping the air, you managed to summon something familiar in your palms. The hilt of mid-sized jian, double-edged thin blades! You’d practiced with them for years. There was no weight to the versions you’d created with ink but the familiar grip of them was comforting.

“Good!” You could feel the smile in his voice. He had his arms folded over his chest, a satisfied look on his face. You switched stances and twisted the swords in your grip but as you did, the ink dripped and lost its form. You focused on their form again and less on your posture. You had done these moves a thousand times to teach others. There was no reason you couldn’t do this. At least you felt more confident in yourself.

“Now, block me.” Kung Lao lowered his stance and as you switched your focus from the ink to him, you lost your grip on the swords and it faded. You cursed under your breath and Kung Lao laughed in surprise. Walking away from him, you pushed your hair that had come free back, held it there in frustration, and coughed. You were out of breath and exhausted. You needed rest. Your body was giving you all the signs to stop. It had been foolish to push this hard.

Much to your surprise, Kung Lao grasped your arm and whipped you around to face him. You lost your balance and grasped at his shirt to catch yourself.

“This isn’t a game, Y/N.”

“I know that, Kung Lao. I’m exhausted. You’re pushing me too hard.”

“I won’t let you give up.”

“I’m no giving up. I’m just exhausted! After the past few days, I’m burnt out, that’s all. I’m trying my best, but I need rest.”

“It’s not enough.” Kung Lao’s grip on your arm tightened and you tried to twist it free. “Fight the pain. Fight the exhaustion. When you think you’ve hit your bottom, pick yourself back up and fight.”

“I am! I’m doing my best, but I can’t focus.”

Kung Lao released you and you pulled your arm back with a snap as if to prove a point. He stepped back and you were surprised as he slipped into the familiar Wing Chun stance that you’d seen the day before. He knew you weren’t up for it and yet there he was. “I promised that I’d push you.”

“I can’t, Kung Lao.”

“Summon your arcana and fight me.”

You muttered more curse words beneath your breath and stepped back into your stance. Much easier than earlier, you managed to summon the swords you’d barely mustered earlier. They were still dripping and weak and your body was sore in ways that you hadn’t dreamt possible, but you’d done it. It was the best you’d done that day. The familiar form of the jian had really helped and while you were still exhausted, you were grateful that he had pushed you.

Kung Lao waited until he was sure you were ready, then flipped gracefully toward you. You backed away carefully, watching his movements. You ducked and slashed but Kung Lao dodged to the side and with a high kick, knocked the sword right out of your hand. It splattered on the sand in a spray of ink. You cursed and shook out your hand. It felt as though something had been ripped from the flesh of your hand rather than out of it. It was the strain and exhaustion, you were sure.

“Keep going, Y/N.”

“I’m trying,” you hissed under your breath, sweat dripping down your brow. You focused but the sword wouldn’t come back. Yelling in frustration, you struggled to summon the ink again but nothing came of it. As you slumped forward, out of breath, you were surprised to be grabbed roughly by your shoulder and shoved into the wall behind you. Eyes wide, you stared up at Kung Lao, only inches from you.

“What’s stopping you?”

You froze but no words came to you.

“What is stopping you? He repeated, hand relaxing on your shoulder. His eyes were daring you to fight him, to shove him, to summon your arcana and keep him from twisting you around so easily. You tried to summon it, tried to be as skilled and deft as you had been the other day but you didn’t have the strength. You really did need rest. His gaze softened and his eyes searched you and then returned to your eyes. “Y/N, you have to fight.”

Just because you couldn’t summon your arcana it didn’t mean that you were helpless. You’d fought him and Liu Kang fine before you’d managed it. You could do that now too. He was right. You were getting in your own way. This was Kung Lao, a boy you’d wrestled around with as kids. You could do this. You were good at what you did and so far, that day, you’d felt terrible at it.

Kung Lao was still close and breathing awfully heavily for a man who had extraordinarily little challenge that day. You grabbed his wrist, twisted his grip from your shoulder, ducked under his arm and elbowed him in the chest. Then you stepped further into his space and flipped him around and over your shoulder, ducking low and then stepping back. He twisted out of your grasp as you flipped him over and caught himself then gestured toward you with a proud smile.

“There you are.”

“Yeah.” You walked past him out of breath. That was it for you. You were done. You couldn’t do it anymore. Kung Lao grabbed your wrist and pulled you back to him. You whined in exhaustion.

“Good job.”

You shoved his hand off of you and he grabbed your wrist again as if to test you. “Kung Lao, it’s time to listen to me. I’m exhausted. You keep pushing and pushing. I’m not myself today. You recognize that.”

“It worked though, didn’t it? Being what you are now? Being here? Having that mark on your back? You have to always be ready. You’re safe here with me but eventually we won’t be safe anymore. If you have an off day? You’re dead. I’m not going to let that happen. I have to push you.” He looked to you seriously and relaxed his grip on you but didn’t let go. “So, loosen up. And be ready for anything.”

“I must be having a stroke. You just told me to prepare for death and also to loosen up in the same breath.”

He laughed.

“Yeah, it’s going to be dangerous but all the more reason to have fun. Our lives have the potential to be short. Learn to have some fun, Y/N.” He let go of your wrist but as he did, he still towered over you. You didn’t back away, wanting to challenge his position of power over you. He had a way with doing that, with making you feel submissive but in the same breath you wanted to give him a run for his money and push your boundaries. “I never expected you to be so tightly wound.”

“You pushed me too hard.”

“I promised to push you!” He laughed as if this were obvious and leaned closer to your height. You didn’t back down in spite of the sudden closeness. You shoved at his shoulder and laughed. He was ridiculous. “There you go. That’s better.”

“You’re a pain in my side, Lao. Literally.” You smiled even so.

“You trained, Y/N, so come have some fun with me.” He tapped his chest and you watched his hand. He had to stop saying things like that. Almost everything he said was a double entendre and he knew exactly what he was doing. You could tell by that familiar smirk. He wore his confidence on his sleeve. Even when he’d stopped teasing and gotten serious on you, which was something he had a tendence to do you noticed. He would create this intense tension between you and then he’d worsen it by lowering his voice and speaking sincerely and seriously. It was emotionally exhausted but also addictive and sexy.

“Fine, Kung Lao. Let’s have some fun.” You leaned a little closer to him. You couldn’t help but tease him back every so often. He was right. It was fun. And right now, it distracted you from the exhaustion. With a flick of your wrist, you managed to summon your ink sword. Not focusing on it had made it much easier. You kicked him back and away from you and twisted the blade in your grip. Even as you held onto your arcana, it felt different than when you’d first used it. It was as though you’d lost control over it.

It could have been the exhaustion. Your grip shook on the blade but you focused instead on your form and rushed toward him and lunged forward. Kung Lao ducked around the blade and you slashed, and he rolled out of the way. He knocked the sword up and you flipped back with it, faltered on your landing stance but then jabbed toward him again and again. He flipped backwards to avoid your attacks until you had him cornered. Then he kicked the blade and while it splashed ink, it didn’t fall. You followed the momentum of his kick and he ducked behind you. As you made to slash, he stepped around it and grasped the end of the blade. You hesitated for fear of cutting him and he tore it from your grasp. It splattered on the ground.

You stumbled and held your wrist in pain. It was as if you’d lost an extension of yourself. Kung Lao knocked you back and you stumbled into the wall. He pinned your shoulder against the wall but you grasped his arm to try and force him to stay further away from you, to give your room to escape. You struggled to push him back and he held you fast. At least he’d had to try a little harder that time.

You stopped but didn’t let go of his forearm. Then you caught your breath, not having realized how hard you’d been breathing throughout. Kung Lao did the same, though why the hell he was struggling to breathe you could only guess. When you’d last fought, he had barely broken a sweat and that had been a much more intense battle. Right now, you were sloppy and exhausted. Your ears were ringing as he searched your eyes. Then he stepped away from you and with a flick of his wrist the hat that he’d rested aside returned to his hand.

“Good. That’s all for today.”

“Oh, thank god.” You hunched over, resting your hands on your knees.

“Let’s grab a drink.”

“What?” You looked up at him in surprise.

“A drink. Let’s get one. I’ve got some wine stored away for a special occasion.”

“Wine?”

“You know, wine, spirits, liquor. Drinking. Having a little fun? Loosening up? That thing you need to do.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Y/N, come on.”

“No, I actually have a reason.” You laughed but you were a little defensive. Drinking with Kung Lao or Liu Kang was one thousand percent off the table. That was a bad, bad idea. A mistake waiting to happen. Any chance of lowering your inhibitions was one you couldn’t take. “The blood loss thing and it being thin. Liquor is a stupid idea.”

“Well, I can’t fight with that.”

“What’s going on with you, Kung Lao?”

“What do you mean?”

You gestured to yourself, exhausted as you were and then gestured to him. He was weird today and you weren’t sure why. There had been several moments where you’d almost stopped to ask him what was going on in his head.

“Did you not have fun? I had fun. Especially those last few rounds there. Could get used to that.” He smirked and you rolled your eyes but laughed a little anyway.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t fun.”

He stepped closer to you again and you were instantly defensive, hands on your hips.

“Admit it, Y/N. I know you like to disagree with me for whatever reason, but you had fun. You have a good time when I’m around.”

“You’re just… being so…”

“Being what, Y/N? I’m being honest.” His tone shifted. There it was. Teasing you mercilessly so that your guard was way up and then knocking it down with sincerity. “You’ve gotten into your head, in your own way. I need you to tell yourself that this isn’t like when we were kids.” You didn’t know what to say. He took you off guard. As much as you expected these serious moments, they were still always enough to make you freeze. He was surprisingly insightful for all the joking that he did. “I had to push you. I’m sorry if it was too much. We’re learning our limits. Besides, it worked. You could barely function when we started. By the end you were fighting me back.”

Your hands were shaking, and you clenched them tightly to stop them. Was it exhaustion or Kung Lao? That was a fun new game you’d come up with in the last few hours. He took your hand, pressing his thumb to your palm to stop your trembling.

“We’re going to get it under control. It’ll be hard. It’ll be exhausting. But we’re going to do it. Together.”

“Together.” He had a way of making you defensive but in that moment, your defenses were down. It felt like, for the first time since he’d come back, that he was being truly sincere. He let go of your and then nodded behind him.

“I’m going to grab a drink. You should rest but… also think about what I said. And if you change your mind about a drink? Come find me.”

He left you alone in the fight pit. You leaned against the wall and let your head hang back, catching your breath. He’d left you with more to think about than he’d likely realized even if he had known exactly what he was doing.

[elsewhereuniversity]

We Need Backup

So… this is a tough one. 

My room-mates and I are in kind of a bind. We have this rental, see? It’s nice enough, for student digs - modern(ish) furniture, climate control, decent (not great, but decent) wifi connection. 

The only real downside is it’s kind of not exactly real. Or not always real. Something about N-phase space and the quantum uncertainty principle, idk.

There’s an overgrown path in one of those school gardens the horticulture club set up a few years back - you know, with all the willow trees and roses? It’s made of weird amber-ish stones laid out in pentagons.

If you follow it the right way,  it goes to a little valley on the border (so far as we can tell) of Summer territory. The grass is green, the air is warm, the ring of oaks and maples growing around the rim are always in rich, vivid color; it’s full of thick wildflowers that line the slope, and our house is right at the bottom. 

 If you follow it the wrong way, though, you wind up stuck in either the 3rd back-up spare props room or a life-sized mural on the wall of the Art building’s atrium. And most people follow it the wrong way. 

So, as you might imagine, we don’t get a lot of visitors. Like I said, we rent, and the 4 of us - including me - have never even seen our landlord. There’s a powder-blue ceramic bowl on the mail table: it’s due 3 gold drachmas on the 11th of every month, which always disappear by sunrise. It’s a little odd, yeah. We *do* certainly have questions. But, overall, we like to think we’re lucky. 

See, none of us can live in a dorm. Believe me, we’ve tried. Euclid’s closing in on a Phd in Irrational Geometry and Applied Mathemagics, so zher homework assignments keep warping the fabric of reality; rearranging furniture, tearing holes in the walls, and adding extra space where it really shouldn’t be. Molybdos was the only survivor of a questing party gone very, very wrong. She has wicked PTSD, which manifests itself mostly in violent screaming and semi-corporeal night terrors. Silphium’s sick; I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, quite frankly, but being in the dorm rooms made it worse. The medicine that helps him can’t be brewed Ironside; there’s a good chance he’ll never be able to leave. 

Me? I had a stalker issue. Someone in a few of my classes heard about a particular family heirloom I’m quite loathe to part with, and they got interested. Very interested. Dangerously interested. 

But that’s not the point. The point is, we’re really not used to company. 

So , as you might imagine, it was somewhat of a shock to wake up one morning and find a Gentry man on our living room couch. 

Unconscious. 

Oh, Archivist, he’s in bad shape. There are thick ropes of scars around his neck and wrists. 

We had to scrub a while to get rid of all the ingrained filth - there was lots of it, dirt and dried gore and other crap - but it turns out his skin is pale. Not normal Fair Folk pale, either; the kind you get from spending too long underground. 

He’s got a blade of a nose, eyes a pure gold color, and bright red hair that seems to smoke if you look at it too long. Three fingers on his left hand are fused together by what look like old, pink scars, and his right arm is tattooed with all these crazy woad designs. You can tell that he used to be powerfully built; the guy’s almost seven feet tall, and his clothes (or what’s left of them) hung from his body. 

Well, we cut the damn things off. Then we did our best to clean him up. There were 12 open wounds that needed stitches, and lots of raw areas oozing this pale, watery gold stuff. Not to mention all the aforementioned filth. 

Anyway, long story short: something must’ve gone wrong. He’s been here for 3 days , gripped by delirium, caught in the throes of a hellish fever. He keeps moaning and thrashing around, raving in some kind of language none of us speak. 

Meanwhile, the wifi’s shot. Our phone lines put out nothing but a ‘drone’ noise, like huge clouds of flies in the speaker. Once everyone got home again the next day, the house won’t let us leave. it seems kind of…protective? I guess? The windows won’t open, and none of the doorknobs turn anymore. 

Euclid’s busy with zher chalk, drawing out bizarre patterns on the walls that zhe claims are wards. Silph’s working overtime trying to keep our ‘guest’ alive, and Moly…

Moly hasn’t slept. She’s… erratic. She keeps pacing around, staring out the windows, and clinging to her kukri while she mutters about how ‘they’re coming.’ 

Meanwhile, there’s a bad wind on the rise. The view outside grows darker every hour. Things have taken to lurking about; black and twisted, they hide in the wild grass and wait beneath the trees. Every time someone looks, there’s more of them: biding their time, in no kind of rush at all. They’ve got us where they want us, and they damn well know it. 

Since I can fly sometimes (thanks to that heirloom I mentioned) the others sent me for help. Thankfully, my other form is just smart enough to fit up the chimney flue. It was a tight, painful squeeze, and I lost a few feathers, but I made it. 

I’m sorry, Archivist, I didn’t know where else to go. Hopefully the goshawk rapping at your window didn’t freak you out too much.

 Do you know who our 'guest’ is? Is there someone - anyone - who can take him to safety? Are any Knights available - and, if so, can they please come drive off the intruders before my friends all get killed? I’d be more than happy to guide anyone who needs assistance.

In return, I brought a charm Euclid made. It was zher semester project junior year, and we thought you might have some use for it: 

A crystal lense etched with a Pythagoras tree. Perfect, of course. Those bronze rims around the edge are how you set the thing: they move independently, see? The biggest, outer one is for years, the middle for months, and the tiny inner one for days. Pick a date, work them around so the little notches all line up, then wave your hand over the clear part. It will show 13 minutes of an event you were involved in. 

Please hurry.

-Hamaliel

___

Congratulations: the heir apparent of the Autumn Court is dying on your futon, most likely from some manner of assassination attempt. You can officially consider yourself Embroiled In Intrigue. 

I will reach out to the Knights, but delicately - a good number of them would view your guest as not much better than whatever is coming for him. But there are always a handful more oriented towards protecting the helpless - any helpless - than they are towards eradicating the things that lurk in the dark woods.

I will also try to send word to a handful of Autumn changelings. If you are lucky they will pass on the news of their lost and found prince to someone powerful enough to come to his aid, and do so in time for it to change anything.

In the meantime, for the good it does: a dull knife of iron with a hilt of scorched bone, which will in your time of need become blindingly bright and razor-sharp. A caltrop tipped with iron, and in the same vein, small tangles of rusty nails, twisted into the shape of apples: guard your windows and doorways and hearth. You are not the only creature that can fly.

[itshxneylemxn]

R, E, A, C, T, I, O, N - 14, 15, 13, 21, 10

R - Rebel - Do they follow rules, bend or break them? Do they find rebelliousness in others attractive?

she's a certified rule bender. she would find it attractive, but that's just because she finds everything exciting.

E - Entrepreneur - How do they make money? Are they willing to take financial risks? How do they approach making deals with others?

honey works as a scientist and also runs an online boutique to earn a living. she's spontaneous and that can result in financial risks, she needs someone to be the logic and reason when she gets over-excited about ideas she has. honey doesn't really make deals with people, mainly because she has no reason to.

A - Advocate - How do they show their support for others? Are there any causes that they publicly support? Why?

she gets excited as hell. she's your one woman cheer team. honey would go all out and make banners and signs to support someone in anything they did. anything to use the glitter glue.

honey supports lgbtq+, human rights, women in stem, education for all, medical research funding to name a few but she could go on and on about all the causes she supports. she's really passionate about her stance on how everyone should be able to live their lives, in a healthy and fulfilled manner without having to endure things like poverty. she's also a big fan of equal opportunities for all and levelling the playing field so people from all areas have the same access to opportunities and not just the rich getting a leg up because of their money.

C - Caregiver - How do they give/receive care best? Do they care for everyone or just a small number of people? How do they react to someone in need?

honey would drop everything for someone she cares about. she'd give them the shirt off her back if they needed it. she cares about everyone in her life.

T - Teacher - How often do they have to teach others? How do they go about it? How do they learn best? Do they dive in first and reflect later or study the theory of something new before putting it into practice?

not often. she has the luxury of being able to work on her projects solo in her lab but she does love the inputs from lucius whenever he has them. honey has always had the ability of picking up information really quickly and reading alone is enough for her to be able to learn and retain information. she's the type of person to dive into the reading and research and then will practice what she reads.

I - Inventor - How creative is their thinking? Do they seek out the opinions of others or rely on their own ideas? What’s their problem solving approach?

she's creative as hell. she needs to be to work in science. she often asks lucius' opinion on ideas she has as a way to bounce ideas off someone and to see her theories from another perspective. honey's problem solving approach is trial and error.

O - Organiser - How organised are they? Do they have any unusual organisation systems? What would cause them to be uncharacteristically (dis-)organised?

she's somewhat organised. in the labs, she's very organised. at home? not so much. her organisation systems depend on what she's organising. in the lab the systems are straightforward, at home it's all hell breaks loose.

N - Navigator - What’s their sense of direction like? Do they have a set path in life that they’re planning on following? What do they do if they’re knocked off course?

terrible. she's has none. she's laid back and goes with the flow in life.

10. who does your muse consider their best/closet friend?

probably @iceice-best she doesn't have many friends

13. what would your muse consider their best physical feature?

her eyes.

14. what was the best/funniest dream your muse has ever had?

honey has weird dreams all the time, it's down to her love for sugar. she dreamed she was one of those sylvanian family toys once but everyone else was normal size. she got to live in one of the big sylvanian family houses & she travelled around in lucius' shirt pocket when she was in the labs.

15. what is something that’s made your muse so happy they’ve cried?

honey cries at everything. she's so happy all the time. she once cried at a bee getting to have a drink of sugar water.

21. what is something good that your muse carries with them from childhood?

she keeps a strip of the last photo-booth pictures she and @itsme-anastasia got before they had fallen out/stopped talking

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Soon // S.B.

Request: Ahhhh!!!!! Congratulations on such an AMAZING milestone🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉!!!!!! You deserve all this and sososo much more girly. I’m glad ur being recognized for ur amazing talents 😩💓 Now for the celebration. Could I suggest: Sirius, Hogwarts, Soulmate au, fluff #13, and Misc #5 - @leahstypewriter

Fluff 13: “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

Misc 5: “Are you quoting a film at me?”

A/N: Thank you so much, lovely! Here’s your request! I hope you like! I love writing soulmate AUs and I had to go searching for one that I hadn’t done before so here we are! As always, I hope you like!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I continue to wax lyrical about the history of soulmates, hopeless romantic (reader and writer lol).

Word count: 2.3k

The magic of soulmates was first discovered centuries ago; too long ago for the story to be remembered correctly, but through the years, the general gist remains the same amongst families of witches and wizards.

From birth, a witch and wizard are paired with another witch or wizard. It would take time to find their match; it would take patience of the strongest sort, but they will meet their soulmate should good fortune befall them.

How do they know they have a soulmate?

Anything written on skin; be it a word, a quote, a doodle – it all appears on their soulmates skin. Anything other than their name. Centuries of debate and arguments over the exact reason for this decree fell over the world. In the end, the ministries and the scholars across the world threw their hands up in exasperation, declaring that the decree relating to the naming of soulmates would have to stay and the reasoning being that those making the decree were too awkward and stubborn to think of making life easier for an entire society that had to go into hiding.

For years, witches and wizards, once old enough, are able to communicate with their destined other half. The itch of a sentence being written becomes familiar; almost tolerable. Over time, they get to know their penmanship and their inner most secrets only dared scrawled onto their skin that could be hurriedly washed away if needed.

By the time the young witches and wizards in the United Kingdom have reached the age to start Hogwarts, their soulmate is already a part of them.

Now it was just trying to whittle down the student population of the school to discover who exactly was your appointed other half from birth.

---------

Most soulmate matches at Hogwarts are made in the months April to July – it’s when the weather starts to warm up; becoming bearable enough for the short sleeved blouses and shirts to be dug out from the very bottom of trunks.

Arms are on display for most of the day. It means that matches are made in the corridor, in the classrooms, in the Great Hall. Everywhere across the castle matches are made.

It’s wonderful, it is. But it also makes you more impatient.

You’re in the library when another match is made. Madame Pince tries her hardest to hush the new match into some level of quiet, but it does no good and thankfully, she evicts them from the library and the hush soon falls back over the great room with the same sense of a comforting blanket.

Rolling the sleeve of your cardigan up, you delicately write, “I’ve just seen the third match made of the day and it’s not even noon.”

It doesn’t take long for your soulmate to reply, “I’ve seen two so far. Where was your third?”

“The library.”

“I bet Pince was thrilled.”

You snort at their reply; amused at how well they know the school’s librarian.

“When is it going to be our turn?” You ask somewhat hesitantly.

The reply takes a few minutes, but it comes all the same in the elegant script you’ve come to know, “Soon.”

You rag your sleeve back down in frustration, repressing the building groan. You didn’t know your soulmate’s name, but you had given him the nickname of ‘aloof’. He had gone to great personal care to not reveal too much about himself other than the fact that he was male, he went to Hogwarts and he was your age.

That was something at least, but your countless attempts to find out more had been rebuffed. When you asked why, he simply answered that he wanted to leave as much as he could a surprise. You understood that, but the curiosity got to you.

You sigh heavily returning to the homework laid in front of you, but your mind continues to play the realisation that had happened only moments ago. The happiness on their faces; their utter elation tied in with the adoration they already felt for the other.

It was hard, you realise, to be in love with someone you’ve only spoken to through words and doodles on your arm.

-----

The week doesn’t get any easier; the weather only turns warmer, so the outer robes are ditched completely. You leave the Great Hall the morning Lily Evans realised she had been talking to James Potter since she was a child. You couldn’t watch it and still feel the same empty feeling that had settled within you so long ago.

Your friend June and her boyfriend follow you from the Great Hall. They find you facing one of the many tapestries that depict the meeting of soulmates; they’re found all over the castle and each one feels like a dagger to the stomach.

“It’ll happen soon,” June comforts, placing a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Soon! Soon! That’s all he says,” You explode. Then you repeat in a quieter voice, “That’s all he says. He’s here and he’s close and all he says is soon. What if he doesn’t want to meet me, June?”

June tuts, “Then he’s a damn fool. However, he does want to meet you. He replies doesn’t he?”

You nod your head, but her words do nothing to comfort the growing sense of dread within you.

It was rare, but the soulmate bond could be rejected. There were those in the wizarding world who were born without a soulmate, but there were also those who simply didn’t want one, so they never replied to their partner’s pleading. Instead, they chose to ignore every word, every plea, every beg. For the bond to be accepted, the first reply is important. If words are never painted on your skin, the bond is rejected.

For not the first time that day, you sigh, “I know we have forever to know each other, but is it so wrong of me to want that to start now?”

June squeezes your shoulder, “It’s not wrong at all.”

You continue to stare at the tapestry a little while longer after June and her boyfriend depart; the depiction of soulmates shown in the quill being held by both parties.

Running a hand through your hair, you turn your back on the portrayal of true love, your mind focused on how long it would be until you experience something of the same magnitude.

-----

The day after James and Lily have their realisations, you find Sirius Black’s eyes on you at breakfast. When you meet eyes, he smiles at you, raising his hand in wave. You smile back politely, waving back awkwardly before shaking your head and returning to your breakfast and the latest letter from your brother and his new wife.

They had settled well into their new house; they loved their wedding present, thank you; and yes, you were to have a niece or nephew by the end of the year.

Wonderful.

Shoving the letter from your brother into your bag with more force than what is needed, you feel someone standing next to you. Looking up you meet the grey eyes of Sirius Black; he smiles down at you, “Are you okay?”

You fix him with a puzzled look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, “You were frowning so big I noticed it from down the table. I thought I would come see if you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me though.”

He nods, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. He doesn’t say anything else and you don’t offer to fill the void, so the silence sits between you as heavy as a rock.

You stand from the bench; throwing your bag onto your shoulder, “Thanks again, Sirius. I’ll see you later.”

Sirius shifts out of your way, clearing the path for you, “My pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

You shake your head as you walk away; the encounter being an odd one given that your social circle didn’t tend to include any of the Marauders. But there was something about his final words; something about the way he uttered them that made them sound as if they were a promise to you.

You rush the thought from your mind; refusing to let yourself being occupied by someone who wasn’t your soulmate.

---

Sirius begins to take more notice in you; he starts to strike up small conversations whenever he can as well as numerous attempts to catch your eye at any meal time.

He starts to take up a lot of your time; sitting with you in the library on the rare occasion, but also joining you in class when the other Marauders are occupied with other pursuits.

It’s odd.

Muggle Studies remains one of the few lessons that hasn’t been interrupted with the growing number of soulmate matches in your year. Arguably, this school year could be the one with the most matches – the final year of Hogwarts; that final rush to find the love of your life before being sent out into the whole wizarding world without that safety net of the school to fall back onto.

The longer the professor drones on, the harder you find it to focus your concentration. The professor paces the front of the classroom, explaining their brief overview of what they hope the next few lessons will shape up to be like, but your attention is shot. It flickers between the marauder who has, for some reason, taken an interest in you and your soulmate, who still won’t reveal any more information about themselves or when you’ll be meeting.

A headache is close to blooming behind your eyes at the stress of it all.

Shrugging off your cardigan, you dip your quill into the pot of black ink sat in its holder. With the practiced precision of someone used to drawing on themselves, you begin to doodle.

Stars, planets, and moons appear on your left arm – decorating the inner forearm with an entire galaxy. They’re pretty rudimentary drawings, but it’s enough to keep you occupied from the droll being spewed by the professor who definitely hasn’t noticed they’ve lost the attention of most of the class.

The bell rings; finally signally the start of your only free period of the day. With a grateful sigh, you drop your books into your bag and make your way to the library.

You never make it to the library. On your way there, a hand grabs the back of your robes, pulling you into an empty corridor. With an angry shout, you face your kidnapper, “Sirius!”

He lets out an amused laugh at your affronted expression, “I’m sorry, I just needed to talk to you in private.”

You exhale, adjusting the heavy bag on your shoulder, “Sirius, I have to know. Why are you paying me so much attention? Surely you have a soulmate to think of.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Really?”

Sirius nods. He takes a deep breath before saying, “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

“Are you quoting a film at me?” You ask; an eyebrow raised.

Sirius shakes his head, repressing a laugh. He rolls up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing his left arm to you where decorating his inner forearm are the very same stars, planets and moons that you had doodled instead of focusing on the classwork.

Instead of saying anything, you roll your own sleeve up, lining your arm up beside Sirius’ where the patterns match perfectly.

It seemed that his attempts at conversation and his watching you from a distance was for a purpose.

Sirius Black is your soulmate.

“Oh…” You whisper.

“I told you we would meet soon,” Sirius whispers; a sight teasing lilt to his voice.

You shake your head, “I kept thinking you didn’t want to meet me; that you didn’t want a soulmate.”

Sirius grips both of your hands, “The complete opposite. I just needed to work up the nerve to find you.”

“When did you know?”

“Not that long ago. When James and Lily got together.”

You nod your head; remembering the day well.

“I overheard you talking to your friend when I was on my way to a lesson and you kept talking about how your soulmate kept promising you soon. And I realised that that was all I was saying to mine. Soon.”

You look down at your joined hands, “I never even had an inkling it was you.”

Sirius chuckles, “I suppose that should be flattering. I must be that good at concealing information, I should be a spy.”

You roll your eyes, “It almost drove me mad is what you mean.”

“Well we have a long time to get to know each other now,” He murmurs; voice soft and filled with promise for the future.

You smile shyly at the long-haired teenager, “We do?”

He nods, “Yeah, we do.”

Tentatively, you take a step closer to the long-haired Marauder. A small smile graces Sirius’ face as he takes in your movement. With a tug of his hands, you fall into him – an arm clasping itself around your waist, pressing you to him.

Sirius’ hand caresses your cheek; you lean into the touch, wondering if this is how every match felt when they found their soulmate or whether this was entirely Sirius’ effect on you. Either way, it was addicting… and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

Finally though, after what feels like a lifetime of staring into each other’s eyes, Sirius dips his head to kiss you. You meet him halfway; the desire you feel for him controlling your every move. His grip on your waist tightens and your arms wind their way around his neck, holding him to you. This kiss is what breaks the dam; from the lightest pressure of his lips, long buried emotions bubble up to the surface and it’s all you can do to keep yourself in control.

Sirius breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t retreat far. He beams down at you; eyes bright with elation. It’s a smile that you return and more; happy to have found your soulmate, happy to know who he is and that he loves you just as much as you love him.

Happy to know that soon is now.

*******

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