#but when books came out i inevitably ended up engaging with the not-so-great parts of fandom and uh. it's amazing how a series

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

randomly remembered the fandom wide disappointment after mister impossible came out and started laughing bc what was that even about. every single post i saw from somebody who didn't like the book was like 'but what about adam' and don't get me wrong i love adam he's my favourite but also why did people expect him to be there? he is not the main character of the trilogy. ronan and hennessy are. but then again there were also some people on the other end of the spectrum who were like 'oh but the book totally sufered middle book syndrome and the plot didn't progress at all in a meaningful way, adam's two minute appearance was the only saving grace' and my dudes. my guys. what

[aubreyprc]

voicemail

summary - emily gets in a plane crash. she leaves hotch a voicemail. season 7. after hit and run.

dialogue prompt given - ‘i was happier with you’ (this fic/idea was already in the works but i thought that line worked so well in it that i had to add it!)

word count - 4.4k

-

He watches the phone ring, her name flashing up brightly. There’s a twist in his gut, a tight pain in his chest as he chooses to ignore it, to hold Beth closer to him as he turns away from phone, can see in the corner of his eye as it stops ringing and he forces himself to relax. The voicemail signal pops up not three minutes later and he frowns, reaching for it, but then Beth holds her hand out, a smirk on her face as she reminds him off his promise of one more dance before it inevitably gets too late to keep Jack up and the voicemail is forgotten, his phone pinging with a second voicemail just as he walks off with another woman in his arms.

It’s the first and only time he’ll ever ignore a call from her again, not only because of the guilt that follows, but because she will never call again, he’ll never have the option to take her call, to hear her voice, they will never have that final conversation they both deserved because she is dead. The last thing remaining of her being the two voicemails on his phone, his only remaining emotions guilt, regret and complete devastation.

Emily Prentiss died, and he ignored her final call.

It’s not that she expected things to be the same when she returned from Paris, she knew she hurt him, all of them, but him… him she knew she hurt the most. Because it was him who she cut off, it was him who she cancelled dinner with on numerous occasions, a string of lame excuses she knew he would never believe and it was him who she had loved, it was him who had loved her and it was them that she knew would be the biggest obstacle in her return, it was him she would struggle the most to gain back any sort of relationship with and she knew this from the moment she stepped foot back in the BAU, back into her family, prepared herself for the cold shoulder or harsh words, ready for the arguments and she was willing to fight for them, to fight for what they were just eight months ago.

She didn’t expect things to be the same.

Bu what she also didn’t expect was for him to completely switch, the cold shoulder she was ready for feeling more like ice than a heavy breeze, his harsh words more brutal than everything she ever thought he would direct at her or anyone, and his reluctance to engage with her in any form leaving her hopes for a slow but steady return to what they had been building snapping in half, the arguments she was ready to have to fight for him seeming pointless as he continues to pull away from her and when she overhears his conversation with Dave about a certain brunette he had lunch with, her heart cracks in half and she curses herself for even thinking he would want her back, would want to fight for them, for her and any she realises any hopes she had for them died along side her in that cold hospital room in Bethesda… she thinks maybe things would have worked out better for all of them if she had.

She decides to leave the moment Clyde calls her. Takes the opportunity the second it’s handed to her and the feeling of relief that washes over her when the plane ticket is forwarded to her, is when she accepts that this is her new chapter, that coming back to DC and staying was a mistake, that what was broken when she took herself off to Boston to save them will never mend. It didn’t matter that she did it to keep them safe, the bond they all shared was severed and she never truly felt like she belonged.

She took it upon herself to decline team nights after never feeling a part of it and smiling to herself sadly when it was obvious they did, as she assumed, have a better time without her there, she accepted that her and Aaron were never going to be the same and knew that it had to be her that built that distance, accepting the burden that came with it. The pain in her chest that lingers when she watches him and Beth one that she lives with, one that she knows she has to get away from and as she watches the team at JJ’s wedding, each of them in their own little circle, their laughs echoing around the garden, their smiles bright, her absence unnoticed, she takes herself inside, and confirms her flight, wiping her tears as she reads Clyde’s message.

‘I will pick you up from the airport. Welcome home.’

It’s with a sick feeling that she discovers her home was with them, her home once again somewhere she felt unwelcome, unwanted and alone, and holds back her tears, preparing herself for once again needing to rebuild her life elsewhere because she had ruined the only home she ever had.

The goodbyes felt bittersweet, her need to be somewhere new clashing with her heartbreak over leaving.

She wipes Penelope’s tears as she wishes her good luck, makes promises to visit her as soon as she settles and Emily simply smiles, not allowing herself to believe them.

She holds JJ close as the blonde woman whispers words of love, wishing her the best before smiling, her own tears being held back as she says her goodbyes.

Derek holds her so tight she wonders for a moment if this is the right thing, that if leaving them is what she needs, but then he nods, a small smile on his face and she understands that he agrees with her, that this is good, for her and for them, and she swallows the lump in her throat before smiling back.

Dave kisses both of her cheeks and holds her face, telling her she will do great things and makes her promise to call him once a week, she agrees, all while wondering how long it would be before he simply stopped answering.

Reid cries, his head buried in her neck as he tells her he’ll miss her, that he’ll call her all the time and that he’ll send her books and movies he enjoys, wanting her to enjoy them to. She cups his face, wipes his tears and tells him she can’t wait, that he can call anytime, she knows he won’t.

Aaron simply stands, watching as she says her goodbyes and as she pulls away from Reid, their eyes meet over his shoulder and he looks away, making no attempt to say his farewells and she looks down, clearing her throat before she smiles, looking back at the team.

She can see them watching the car drive down the road, watches as they disburse, each of them moving on from her and she smiles, their family a unit once again.

She boards the plane with a heavy heart, a dull ache in her chest and a feeling in her gut that she tells herself is just nerves, just upset. Her gut tightens as she takes her seat and she has to force herself to breathe, has to close her eyes as fear and some unknown feeling washes over her and she almost stands, almost gets off the plane, but then the doors shut and the lights dim and she forces herself to relax, leaning her head back on the seat as she taps her phone on her leg, pushing down the unknown feeling she’s left with as the plane starts to roll forward on the path. She looks out of the window, watching as the plane speeds down the runaway and as the plane heads off, she closes the shutter, refusing to watch as she leaves D.C behind for the second and final time.

It nags at him for hours, how he didn't say goodbye to her, how he let her leave without so much as a small acknowledgement, how he allowed his love for her to be brought out with hate, with dismissiveness, with anger and betrayal and he hates even more that it didn't even work, that he is still as much in love with her now as he was last year, maybe more so, and that watching her leave again was far too painful, feeling that letting her go without a goodbye would save them the heartache and the inevitable argument they'd been avoiding since her return.

He regrets it the moment the car drives away from Dave's house, regrets it the moment she is gone, it's his regret that has him watch the phone as it rings, her name flashing up along with the picture he'd never had the heart to change, a picture of them just last year, one Jack had taken (albeit badly) of the two of them as they sat on the couch in his apartment, her smile so bright he remembers staring at it for day's, mesmerised by the sight of it, can still here their laughs as the picture was taken. Can still feel the touch of her hand in his and he hates it, hates how close they were to having everything, hates how quickly it was broken... he hates that he hates her almost as much as he loves her, hates that he blames her for ruining them... he hates himself too.

It's easier to ignore the call, than to hear her voice, knowing how heartbroken they both are, knowing that the conversation wont make them feel better, not over the phone. Its easier to hold Beth closer, a woman with no past, with no complications, someone easy and nice. Its easier to be led away by her than to listen to the voicemail, to hear just how hurt she is knowing its his fault, knowing that their goodbye will for now be unsaid, but knowing he will call her, he has to, he loves her, that can not be ignored.

It happens pretty quickly, but also not quick enough.

It's barley been two hours, can still see most of the views even from their height and they're not even out of America when the plane starts to jump. Turbulence, the pilot had said, but it does not relax her at all, not when the flight attendants look at each other with horror, not when the seatbelt sign pings on, and certainly not when the plane jolts so badly it drops almost two feet, and then the oxygen masks fall. It's not even five minuets later when the turbulence turns to complications, that its announced that the pilots can not control the plane, that they are dropping, that this is it, and she laughs, she has to, because of course it ends like this. Of course it does.

There's a woman behind her on the phone to her parents, another on the phone to their wife, one is telling his children he loves them and another is silently saying a prayer, gripping onto the seats for dear life hoping maybe, it will save her.

She stares at her phone in her hand, her contact list full of names, but no one who she thinks she could call right now, no one who she has to say goodbye to, no one who will answer, no one who will care.

His name is the first one that pops into her head, her need to tell him everything overwhelming when she accepts that she is going to die here. now. and she refuses to die with regrets again, refuses to die with the three words she wants him to know more than anything dying with her for the second time and she refuses to regret him, she can’t. she won’t.

The ring tone feels like its screaming down her ear, her stomach in knots as the plane continues to jolt violently, the shouts, screams and cries of those around her almost deafening and she knows he won’t answer, (all of her wishes he would).

Her first voice mail is made out of fear, her voice shaky and soft as she tries to block out the screams of the young girls behind her, the cries of the women who sob for their children.

She runs out of time, and she laughs at herself because, everything she just said was pointless, her heart still filled with regret as it’s not until the plane drops so violently that the sound of the wing falling off sounds like a siren, the he plane starting to drop quickly and sideways that she calls again, this time determined to tell him what she has been meaning to for months, even though she knows how unfair it is.

By the time the voicemail runs out of time, she’s crying, tears falling from her eyes, her last breath more of a whisper as she drops the phone to the ground, places her ID badge in her back pocket, knowing if by some miracle, their bodies are found, someone will find comfort in knowing it’s her. Maybe her mother, maybe her friends she left behind, someone will, she knows that.

A woman grabs her hand and she looks to her left.

“Two women alone, neither of us should die that way.” she says to her and Emily smiles, taking the woman’s hand in her own. “see you on the other side.” she whispers, and it’s the last thing she hears before she’s gone.

It happened pretty quickly. But not quickly enough.

A plane crash is big news on any day, a plane crash with the theory of insider terrorism is even bigger.

It’s reported eighteen minutes after it happened.

The FBI is called twenty two minutes after it happened.

The BAU and Counter Terrorism are brought in twenty eight minutes after it happened.

JJ’s phone rings thirty two minutes after it happens.

Her heart snaps in half thirty four minutes after it happens.

“What was Emily’s flight number?” she asks walking back into the garden, the entire team sat around the table frown at her.

“4403 to London, why?” Reid asks, the woman drops her head, sure she would have dropped to the floor is Will hadn’t been standing next to her.

“Her plane went down. No survivors. The theory is insider terrorism.” she explains sadly.

They find out Emily died thirty seven minutes after it happened.

Aarons heart breaks thirty eight minutes after it happens. His world stops spinning thirty nine minutes after it happened. He remembers her calling him forty minutes after it happened.

“We’re on the case?” Dave asks, already standing when JJ nods. The team following behind him.

“I’ll take Jack home, okay?” Beth says to him, bringing him out of his thoughts and he simply nods, standing, running on auto pilot.

He forgets about the voicemails as soon as he enters the building, fifty four minutes after it happened.

“These are the pictures of all passengers. One of them was in on it. We need to find out who. BAU you’re not here to investigate.. you’re here to rule out one of your own.” a man says as they enter the room, her picture flashes up on the screen and Aaron feels sick, his mind running back to Ian Doyle and Boston and that horrible hospital in Bethesda and … yet this time it’s real. This time she truly is gone.

“Emily Prentiss,” they say, “ex CIA, ex FBI, on her way to run a Interpol office in London.”

“She wasn’t in on this,” Reid says as he stares at her picture.

“That’s what you’re here to rule out.” they say, “Agent Hotchner,” the man looks up, once again snapped from this memories of her, of them. “We’ll talk to you first.”

They rule her out all but immediately, no sign of anything found on the devices of hers they had access to, and the team find themselves more involved with the case as they had thought, access to all files of the passengers, building profiles. Yet all Aaron can stare at is hers, her picture staring right back it him, her eyes so full of life, a picture taken just a year ago when they renewed their badges, there is a look of love in her eyes that he knows was meant for him and it has his stomach turning, with just how quickly everything changed, with so much regret for not fighting for her when he had the change, with so much pain that he once again lost the woman he loved, the woman he once saw forever with, and it was once again his fault.

She was only on the plane because of him.

Only moving to London because of him.

She is only dead because of him.

Just like his mother. Just like Haley. Emily now victim number three of the curse of loving him, of being loved by him, of being hurt because of him.

“Hotch,” Dave says as he taps the man on the shoulder and he clears his throat.

“Yes?” he says, turning to face the older man and the look on his face makes him nauseous, the pain, the heartache, the pity

“We’re done here.” he tells him, “we need to go home. We need to grieve.”

“We need to—”

“Emily is dead, Aaron.” he tells him, “she’s dead.” he says again, finality in his tone, as if he is trying to make him understand. “They’re actively searching for bodies, no luck yet. She’s dead, and we need to go home and we need to accept that. We need to grieve.”

“She… I—”

“I know,” he says sadly, “go home.” the older man tells him and he nods, clearing his throat as he looks to the team, each one of them wiping their tears as they pack their bags, Reid held closely into Morgan’s arms, the genius once again grieving for his friend, his sister, the older man once again grieving his best friend, his partner. JJ takes hold of Garcia’s hand as they head out, the women a duo once again, a space in the middle of them where the love of his life used to stand.

The love of his life he realises sadly as he looks down, because that’s what she was, never a love like it before, never one since. He doesn’t see how their could be.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Agents” a man says as he looks at Aaron, a sad smile on his face before he walks away.

“Go,” Dave says, “I’ll drive.”

“No,” he declines, “I need to be alone.” he tells his oldest friend, and he nods, watching him walk out.

He stares at the nothing as he parks in front of his house, his mind playing moments with her over and over again. He can still hear her laugh, can see her smile, can feel her touch on his skin and he wonders just how long it will be until he forgets.

He never wants to forget.

He walks into his apartment aimlessly, throwing his suit jacket onto the couch as he sighs, his whole body heavy as he grieves for her, not allowing himself to cry, he has no right.. this is his fault.

He remembers how he’d treated her, how cold and hostile he’d been, how cruel… and he wants to be sick, wishes he could take it back, hold her in his arms one more time and tell her he loved her.

It hits him like a harsh slap, when he remembers that he’d not even said goodbye to her, had let her leave without so much as a smile in her direction, had let her go thinking he hated her and he knows that will follow him forever, knows he’ll regret a lot of things, but her, how he’d treated her, he knows is something he’ll never forgive himself for.

The sound of his phone grabs his attention and he sighs, pulling it from his pocket. Beth’s name popping up and he swallows, taking a deep breath before accepting the call.

“Hey,” her voice is soft, light… he wonders why he doesn’t find it soothing. “I took Jack back to my place. Thought you could use the time alone…”

“Thank you,” he tells her, his voice hoarse.

“Do you want to talk?” she asks delicately.

“Tomorrow…” he tells her, “Not now… I can’t right now.”

“Okay,” she says gently, “try and get some rest.”

“I will, bye.” he says and ends the call before she says anymore, unable to even hear the words fall from her mouth.

It’s as he stares at the four notifications on his phone that he remembers.

He remembers watching her name pop up, her picture behind it, he remembers ignoring it, holding another woman closer, he remembers the confusion when she left a voicemail, remembers going to grab it before he was whisked away by Beth.

He remembers she left him a voicemail four hours and eight minutes after it happened.

He listens to them four hours and ten minutes after it happened.

*Hey, its me.” she says, she sounds calm, he notes, and his heart hammers in his chest as he drops to the couch. “I erm..” she pauses, the sound of her taking a breath hitting his ear and he closes his eyes, clenching his jaw. “I… I don’t know why I’m calling…” she laughs and he rolls his lips, the sound of her laughter something he used to love… used to crave. “I guess I was hoping you would answer? I’m not sure what I even would have said if you did.” hatred for himself builds up as he remembers ignoring her call, knowing now why she wanted to talk to him. Knowing now it was his last chance. “I guess I just wanted to tell you that I get it. I understand why you hate me… I understand why you’re distant and I don’t blame you. If the roles were reversed, I don’t know.. maybe I would have acted the same way.” she tells him, but they both know she wouldn’t have. Her actions after Foyet proved that. There’s a loud crash down the phone and he jumps, her heavy breathing sending shivers down her spine and he’s overtaken by horror as he wonders if her death was painful, if she was hurt, he hopes it was instant. That she didn’t feel it. “Funny thing, turns out I got on the wrong plane,” she laughs, finding humour in her situation, and he laughs too, because she always did make him laugh, no mater what was happening. “I… guess I just wanted to talk to you .. but you’re not here so.. Yeah.” she pauses, “don’t let the team grief for too long, okay? Tell them I wouldn’t want that, because I don’t. They grieved for me once, they shouldn’t have to again.” she’s holding back tears now, he knows, can hear it in her voice and it has his chest tightening. “Aaron.. I—” she says, before there’s a loud scream, not from her, but from someone near her, and she gasps a breath, then it’s over, silence on the other end, her voice gone, and he pulls the phone from his ear.

There’s another one, he realises, and he swallows before he clicks it.

“I always thought we were it, you know?” she starts, and he swears his heart stops, his body lunging forward as his eyes widen. “That everything would work out and that we would be.. us, again.” She takes a breath, one of her last, “I understand why we couldn’t be, I understand why you acted the way you did, I do… but I can’t say that it didn’t hurt, it did. I told myself when I got back from Paris, that I would tell you, that I would lay it all on the table and let you decide and I would know, even if it wasn’t the answer I wanted, that you knew, that I told you and that I could get rid of that regret… but I didn’t. And I can’t.. I cant die with this on my chest again. It’s selfish, and it’s cruel and I know you’re with Beth and i know you're happy but,”  she takes another breath and he closes his eyes, “I was happier with you.” she says, her voice cracking, “ And it’s not fair, I know, but…” she pauses, he can imagine her closing her eyes, can hear the breath she takes, “Aaron, I love you.” she tells him and he feels his heart crumble to pieces in his chest, can feel the world stop. “I have loved you for… years, I think,” she laughs. “It’s not fair that I’m telling you this now, I know. I get that you hate me and I understand and I’m sorry, I'm sorry that I'm telling you now and not before and I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you deserve and I’m sorry for… for everything. But I’m not sorry for loving you, I’m not sorry for that year we had together, and I hope you’re not either. I hope that that’s what you remember about me, about us. I hope that’s what you carry with you. I was happier with you, happier than I’ve ever been.” she says, and she’s crying, he knows she is, he is too. “I love you. And I’m sorry.” she tells him once again, and then again, there’s nothing. It’s over.

No more voicemails.

No more her.

No more anything.

He throws his phone at the wall, anger coming out his veins as he shouts, shaking as he stands, grabbing his glass of whiskey, before he throws that too, overwhelmed as he hears her saying I love you again and again.

He drops to the floor with a sob, heartbroken, grief ridden.. broken.

If he’d of answered the phone, he’d of been able to tell her he loves her too. She’d of not died thinking he hated her, she would have died knowing she was loved, by him, by everyone.

If he had been honest with her from the start, she’d still be here, wrapped in his arms.

Emily Prentiss died, and he ignored her final call, and he will never be given the option to tell her that he loves her too.

[bookshop]

i recently came across defining draco malfoy (in case you dont remember, its a piece from 2004 on livejournal written for idol-reflection i believe). and can i just say, this is probably my favorite hp essay? i read a lot of hp essays, and love a lot of them (some more now as im desperately searching the internet for the ‘fandom resources’ linked at the bottom, because some of the links are broken).

anyway, you might not see this because it doesnt seem like youve been active in a bit, or maybe youre just not at all interested in harry potter and don’t really care (or maybe youre the wrong person, and are currently Very Confused). but, do you agree with everything you said in your essay, in retrospect? is there anything you would change, given the chance to re-do it? thx <3

Haha, this is actually pretty wild because a) i am the right person and b) i've just in the last 3 weeks kinda fallen into one of those periodic H/D fanfic rereading binges I go into once every 6 or 7 years, so your timing is great.

Back in my HP fandom heyday I also read a lot of HP essays, so i'm really very flattered to get this comment. My essay (which is also on AO3, currently locked to users) was written before book 6, and while for obvious painful reasons i haven't reread it lately and won't be rereading it, i still remember the feeling of reading it for the first time, almost breathless at how much of the fandom's ideas on Draco were being validated through that book. Rereading the essay now, I was spot-on pointing out that "Draco’s biggest moments in the books are all defined by a lack of action," considering his climactic moment is his inability to kill Dumbledore.

It's clear, too, that I gave JKR far more credit for wanting to deconstruct her own established ideas about Slytherin than she deserved; I like many fans was hugely let down by her lack of real engagement in book 7 with the portrayal of Slytherin as the blanket catch-all house for Evil Children, and of course the way she treated Draco in the end was part of that. I still think it's utterly laughable, if not contemptible, that she began the story stating that all four houses needed to unite, and then ended up with every single Slytherin walking out to join Voldemort, lolol fuck her. 😂 I think, for me, that was the single biggest cop-out (among many) in the final book, because she did so much in book 6 to complicate Draco's identity and give him the possibility of redemption only to half-assedly throw it away in book 7, forget about him and every other Slytherin Harry's age, and revert to using him for plot expediencies. Just hugely disappointing.

i'm sure i probably wrote some gushing triumphant meta about draco on my LJ after book 6 came out. In retrospect, i'm not really fond of my general reaction to book 7 — it was posted very soon after i'd finished reading it, and i was running on the fumes of fannish enthusiasm. but i had been yelling for years at that point about JKR's maltreatment of Slytherin, so it occupied a lot of my attention in that review. It still does, honestly; i see Rowling's complete disinterest in deconstructing Slytherin's ideology and place within the rest of the wizarding world — her continuing to frame the entire house as a bunch of racist, power-hungry supremacists, while also still allowing all of the racists to resume their place in society after the war is over as though nothing much had changed — as a huge rosetta stone for what we now know is her larger pernicious position of centrist ambivalence. She was ultimately fine with Draco and his entire house being bigots, because in her ultimate worldview, a little bit of bigotry in the world is inevitable and ineradicable. Why bother trying? Why bother freeing the house elves? Why bother finding one non-racist Slytherin, much less, idk, opening Slytherin to Muggleborns who aren't shamefully hiding their identities? Why bother tearing down and rebuilding when you can just sloppily pave over and call it reformation and change?

Ugh, idk why I'm even bothering trying to explicate the mind of a disgusting bigot. Go read lettered's By the Grace instead of Harry Potter:

“Of course,” Bickford went on, “we will replant.”

“No,” said Kavika, “we won’t. If that tree was a symbol of this institution, does not the fact that a person was trapped inside of it for a millennia suggest that something is deeply troubled within the institution itself? The tree should not be replanted; the rot of it should be remembered and honoured.”

“Reveal will happen soon, and everything will change anyway.” Bickford’s voice was plaintive. “Can we not have just one thing remain the same?”

“No,” said Harry. “Kavika is right. And you’re right as well, Mister Bickford. Everything is changing.”

[blossom-hwa]

hi! i really liked your sungyoon fanfiction, light the pyres—apocalypse aus are great. very nervous to ask for your 4th anniv event but could i perhaps get kang yeosang + the title "3 of hearts?" (if anyone reading here knows what show it's from ily!)

hi love! light the pyres is actually one of the works I'm most proud of so it makes me so happy to hear that you liked it! thank you for your request - I'm not sure what 3 of hearts it from lol (maybe one of my followers does), but I hope you still enjoy this!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

I guess this could be seen as a sort of spinoff of Kingdom (read the series here) - I haven’t posted the next parts yet, but this takes place in the Queendom of Hearts, which is where Checkmate is set :D like Kingdom, it’s heavily inspired by Marissa Meyer’s book “Heartless” - the story of a queen who went mad over love >:)

Uh so TXT Yeonjun is technically here but please don’t take my characterization of him as anything even close to who he is irl.... just think of it as me taking just his name and slapping it on a character I made I’m sorry

~

Title: Three of Hearts

Pairing: Yeosang x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Triggers: mentions of blood and death (semi-graphic)

~

They said you were born under the three of hearts, a spell of kind fortune, a card of good omen. "Your child will be beautiful," the diviner said when she placed you in your mother's arms. "They will love deeply, and in return, they will be loved greatly."

It was a blessed birth for the Kingdom of Hearts, whose rulers, though loved, had not been able to secure an heir for many years. Already the conception of a child was a miracle - to have you born under such an auspicious card only heightened the excitement, cast even more light on a day already filled with laughter and joy. Your parents showered you with love, and as the years passed, you grew in blissful happiness, surrounded by those who adored you. And truly, it seemed you were the three of hearts personified - for with you were two boys, Yeosang and Yeonjun, your best friends, who followed you everywhere you went. 

It was inevitable, then, people whispered, that at least two of you would fall in love. 

At the age of six, seven, ten, even twelve, you could ignore this. You could play the innocent card that came so easily to those born under the three of hearts, bat your eyes and cock your head and ask “What do you mean?” in reply to the questions people asked - do you have a crush? I’m sure you do. It must be on one of the boys you’re always running around with, yes? But as you grew older and the question of to whom you would extend your hand in marriage became increasingly important, your eyes began to fixate on soft blond hair and warm brown eyes, smile widening in the presence of a deep, gentle voice accompanied by the loveliest sparkle in his eyes. 

The traits of a certain best friend and heir to the Kang family fortune. 

He offers a courtship under the flowering wisteria tree just under your window, pale cheeks tinted with blush as he stutters his way through a short confession. Your heart warms, lifts, bursts with joy as you accept with a smiling nod, rejoicing that you have found a match who will love you as much as you love him. Three of hearts, you think giddily - I will be loved as much as I give it.

The stages of courtship seem to pass by all too slowly and at the same time, all too quickly. Caught up in a whirl of fine clothes and presents and ceremonies, you fall asleep every night eager to wake at dawn, if only to see Yeosang’s face the next day. Every moment with him seems too short, and every moment with him feels too long. 

One afternoon under the wisteria tree, you complain of this. Yeosang laughs at your indignation, though when you go to hit his shoulder, he catches your fingers with soft, warm hands, before kissing your forehead gently. “It will be all right,” he murmurs, pulling away just enough for you to see the sparkle in his eyes. “We’ll have a lifetime together, after this.”

A lifetime. Born under the three of hearts, destined for a life of love and happiness, you believed it. 

So much, in fact, that you forget to watch out for the second best friend at your side. 

It never occurred to you to take caution with Yeonjun. He was your best friend. Even upon the announcement of your engagement, he only ever smiled and congratulated the two of you, knocking your heads together teasingly when you got too mushy for his taste. Yeosang even asked him to be one of the groomsmen when the wedding date was set. 

So you never notice the way Yeonjun’s gaze always lingers on you a little too long, the way his eyes darken whenever you place a chaste kiss on Yeosang’s lips. You do notice that he spends more and more time away from you, away from Yeosang as the wedding approaches, but it’s easy to put it down to affairs of the Choi family that you simply aren’t privy to. Perhaps something has gone wrong. Yeonjun would tell you about it in due time, wouldn’t he?

On the night before your wedding, you and Yeosang dance together under a sea of sparkling stars, white engagement outfits shimmering under the night sky. The people cheer. Your parents wipe away tears. You almost cry, too, wrapped in the warmth of Yeosang’s arms around your waist, his eyes smiling into yours. 

You part ways with promises of tomorrow and a lifetime hanging on your lips. When you finally fall asleep, it is to dreams of a beautiful future, complete with Yeosang by your side. 

Instead, you wake up in a world where he is dead.

They say the servant who found the body went mad afterward. You don’t blame them. When you saw the body covered in its rips and stains of red, it felt like a part of your mind simply disappeared. Scrambled. Something. All you could see was the body splashed with blood, unseeing eyes wide open and glassed with the sheen of death. 

And there’s no time to grieve, either, because the next day, the Choi family storms the castle with shouts of a coup and rebellion on their lips. 

All you can do is stare into Yeonjun’s stony expression as he orders the execution of your parents right before your eyes. 

He finds you in your rooms a week later, a beautiful prison of silk and satin that they took away so you wouldn’t hang yourself before he came. His eyes soften upon seeing you, but when he reaches out a hand, you slap it away. 

Only one word leaves your lips. “Why?”

Love, he says. Love for you. Love that burned fierce, hot, so unlike the soft warmth of Yeosang’s hand, love that burned so bright it couldn’t stand to fall second to the gentleness of Yeosang’s smile. His heart burned for you, beat for you, enough to plan all of this, enough to ask, even now - 

“Will you marry me?”

The wisteria tree outside your window is in full bloom under a bright, cloudless sky. A mockery of the day Yeosang asked for your hand and you gave him your heart. 

In the absence of blades and bullets, no one should underestimate the power that fingernails can do to raw skin and bone.

“You worthless, worthless human being,” you snarl, even as guards drag you back from Yeonjun’s bleeding face. “Worthless - worthless - I will never marry you -”

“You will,” Yeonjun snarls back, now a safe distance away from the blood caking your nails. “You will or you will die.”

You don’t die. You almost do, jamming the lock on your door and smashing the fortified window with a superhuman strength you believe Yeosang and your parents have lent you for one night, just one night before leaping into the branches of the wisteria tree, crashing to the ground in a heap of branches and flowers and glass. They nearly catch you - an arrow pierces your shoulder and another streaks so close it almost cuts off your ear - but you escape. And hide. For days, weeks, months...

Until you return with a sword and murder in your eyes, slashing through every guard on your way into the castle until you come across Yeonjun sitting upon your father’s throne, the crown of your family on his head. 

“Would you?” he whispers, the tip of your sword positioned over his heart. “Would you, truly?”

A blank smile curves your lips. “Of course,” you whisper. “Just the same way you would.”

They crown you queen with triumph in their eyes, songs of a royal who avenger their lover’s death when a jealous suitor got in the way. You listen to it with stony eyes and teeth gritted behind your lips, especially when they speak of the three of hearts, blessed above all, destined for a life of love -

There is no love left in your heart that wasn’t taken away with the death of Yeosang and your family.

You execute the Chois. You execute their allies. You root through the kingdom, imprisoning those with even a semblance of a relationship to the man who killed your love, who took the blessing of your card away. The songs die away, replaced by whispers of a queen gone mad with the loss of their love. Triumphant shouts of a blessed three of hearts turn into murmurs of a curse, a new meaning to your card - perhaps not one destined for love, but one whose life will end in tragedy. Pain. Suffering.

They are wrong. Your life was full of love, love that you gave on your own and love that was given by those around you. It was the cause of your happiness and the reason for your suffering - love killed Yeosang and your family, just as it killed the last bit of humanity in you. 

The words of the diviner mock your grief. 

“Your child will be beautiful.”

Not as beautiful as he ever was. 

“They will love deeply.”

Where did that get you? 

“And in return, they will be loved greatly.”

Where did that get him?

No longer do they speak of the three of hearts as a blessing, as a sign of blissful omen. Instead, they speak of it as a curse, a curse of love, a curse of madness, a curse of tragedy to follow at every bend. 

Good. They’re right.

The love that the heavens wrought never brought anything more than pain, anyway.

[ljblueteak]

Throwing my hat into the “Why did Paul and Jane break up?” ring. There have been fantastic posts on this already, but looking at the McCartney bios by Sounes and Salewicz back-to-back has given me a slightly different perspective (this could all need to be tossed out if anything else about them comes to light/there’s other material I’m not aware of, which is more than possible, but here’s what I’ve got for now!) 

The short version: I think they split up because of a lack of long-term compatibility that they both recognized as they got older. They also grew to prefer different lifestyles and possibly also had different ideas about whether/when to start trying to have children. By the time they split up, Paul had already realized, according to the joint interview with Jane described in Hunter Davies’ 1968 bio, that it was “silly” of him to have expected Jane to do what the other Beatles’ partners had done and give up her career after marriage (Paul describing his expectation as having been “silly” is in Davies 308-309. The observation that all the other women who had “married in to the band” had given up their careers because that was “expected by men of [the Beatles’ background]” is in Sounes 189). Jane having a career she wanted to continue after marriage seems to have been resolved as a possible impediment before the split. The Salewicz bio suggests that what *may* have been a factor was the question of children, with Jane not wanting them to interfere with her career. However, it’s not clear from that bio when this question came up for them--whether it was closer to the time of the split or whether it had been discussed and resolved prior to their engagement. I think these are the main reasons they split. I don’t think his many, many, many affairs helped at all, but I think the above reasons are the main ones.

Jane and Paul got together when they were quite young (Jane was 17 and Paul was 20) and their interests diverged in a few ways that really mattered as they got older. As the bios have suggested, Jane wasn’t really into rock ‘n’roll and really wasn’t into the drug scene. Paul was into both (understatement!). This likely contributed to the tension that people like Marianne Faithful witnessed between them. In addition to that, they both seemed to realize that they didn’t ultimately “click.” For bio excerpts and more, please see below!

In terms of not actually “clicking,”which would be enough reason to end a relationship on its own, imo, here’s what Jane Asher had to say (sourced from the amazing @thecoleopterawithana via @amoralto: 

“No, it wasn’t love at first sight on my side. It was several months before I felt at all certain. And of course, I was young. Only seventeen. Inevitably, one changes. After all, Paul himself was only twenty when we met.

“I knew in my bones that the break must inevitably come a long time before it actually happened. Although we had this emotional thing for each other, we found it difficult to be really happy together....”

Jane Asher, interview w/ Godfrey Winn for The Australian Women’s Weekly: Girl with a broken love affair. (April 23rd, 1969)

And here’s Paul in Many Years From Now: 

“During that period with Jane Asher I learned a lot and she introduced me to a lot of things, but I think inevitably when I moved to Cavendish Avenue, I realized that she and I weren’t really going to be the thing we’d always thought we might be. Once or twice we talked about getting married, and plans were afoot but I don’t know, something really made me nervous about the whole thing. It just never settled with me, and as that’s very important for me, things must feel comfortable for me, I think it’s a pretty good gauge if you’re lucky enough. You’re not always lucky enough, but if you can feel comfortable then there’s something very special about that feeling. I hadn’t quite managed to be able to get it with Jane....She was a very intelligent and interesting person, but I just never clicked. One of those indefinable things about love is some people you click with and some people who you should maybe click with, you don’t” (264, 452-453). 

In addition to their own words, there are differing takes from observers about Paul and Jane’s compatibility and reasons for the split. Artists like Jann Howarth, who along with Peter Blake made the Sergeant Pepper art and had known the Beatles for “four years” before that observes in the Sounes bio that:

“I thought [Paul and Jane] were adorable together. She was wonderful. She was a very calm person and, in the middle of all this, you felt she was a wonderful balance for him, and you felt she was his equal for sure. It didn’t feel to me as though Paul was the big deal and she was trembling along behind, whereas you felt that a bit with Pattie Boyd and some of the other gals. I mean Cynthia was left standing still, basically, by John. Whereas you felt Jane was an absolute equal to Paul and had a very supple mind” (131). 

Howarth sees them as “adorable” together and says that Jane’s “Paul’s equal for sure” and doesn’t suggest that this is a source of tension in any way.

Marianne Faithful, who frequently visited Cavendish with Mick Jagger, seems to imply in her autobiography that a major cause for the tensions she observed between Paul and Jane were related to Jane’s career aspirations and that Paul had wanted “an old-fashioned Liverpool wife,” which is what he got with Linda. However, I think it’s worth noting that while there had been tensions about Jane’s career, as detailed in the Davies bio (though Paul had also been really excited about and supportive of Jane’s career), Paul had already recognized that he had been being “silly.” Of course, there may have been continuing tensions related to it, but it sounds like Paul realized he’d been wrong on the whole. In addition to that, Marianne and Mick were part of the rock ‘n’ roll drug crowd Jane disapproved of, so these tensions between Paul and Jane that Faithfull observed may very well also have been related to Jane not being thrilled about more drug-using rock ‘n’rollers taking over her house.  

Here’s the bit from Marianne Faithfull’s book via The Guardian:

Visits to Paul and Jane Asher weren't quite as relaxed. They were a bit uptight, and there were constant little frictions, but that's what happens when couples start to come apart. In any case, I was in a very different position from the one that Jane found herself in. I'd done what Paul wanted Jane to do, and given up my career. I wasn't going on tour with the Old Vic; I wasn't taking any more movie roles and very few parts in plays. Jane was a serious actress and wanted to continue her career, but Paul had other ideas. That's why Linda was so perfect for Paul; she was just what he wanted, an old-fashioned Liverpool wife who was devoted to her husband. Whatever we thought of Linda - and she didn't make that great an impression on me - I think it was a credit to Paul that he didn't marry a model. Because that's what all the others have ended up doing, they've married these models. And they have children who also become models.

The Guardian, 6 October 2007.

In his bio of Paul (which doesn’t directly address Faithfull’s comments), Sounes doesn’t suggest that the perception that Paul would be happy to be with someone who was prepared to let their own career take the backseat, at least for a time, is wrong (I do think it’s important to mention that in addition to her Wings career and solo/with Paul songwriting work, Linda also did work that didn’t involve Paul’s career at all down the line, like working on her cookbooks and frozen food line). But Sounes does say that it was much more than that that drew Paul and Linda together:

“Anything Paul wanted to do seemed possible with Linda, or Lin as he called her affectionately. She had bucket-loads of American confidence, which he liked. Both were relaxed and open about sex...Lin dug rock ‘n’ roll in a way Jane never had and unlike Jane, this American girl wasn’t uptight about drugs. Although a modern, liberated woman in some ways, Lin wasn’t a committed careerist. She was already tired of scratching a living as a rock ‘n’roll photographer, more than ready to settle down with a man who could look after her and Heather” Fab (215). 

Paul was also ready to start a family. Indeed, John Lennon suggested that part of what drew Paul to Linda was the “ready-made family.” In the same interview where John pointed out that Linda could provide a “ready-made family,” he claimed that Jane was not ready for children: “If Jane was to have a career, then that’s not a cozy family, is it?” Chris Salewicz’s Paul bio also addresses this, saying:

“A source of considerable contention between Paul and Jane--perhaps the cause of those adverse remarks about the theatre to Joe Orton--was her insistence that having children would interfere with her acting career. Yet, now that Paul had everything he could possibly ever want, all that remained to fulfill his life was the presence of children, something he had always desired far more than the other Beatles” (199).

While we (or at least I!) don’t know whether Paul and Jane had discussed the issue of children before they got engaged, disagreements over whether or when to have kids contribute to a fair number of breakups to this day--and they had plenty of good reasons, from just not “clicking” in the right way to disagreements over drugs, to break up anyway. 

[wizardingworld-imagines]

Talk - Bill Weasley

Pairing - Bill Weasley x Fem!Reader

Requested? - Yes! by a lovely anon!

Word Count - 1.3k

Warnings - slight angst, mostly fluff

A/N - I had so much fun writing this! Bill is such an underrated character and I loved writing for him. Thank you for the request!

Sitting in the extra DADA tutoring with the other students was hard for Y/N. Mostly because she had to watch the other girls fawn over her secret boyfriend, Bill Weasley. Y/N was 18, in her last year at Hogwarts, and despite Bill being less than a year older than her, they decided to keep their relationship hidden, particularly as he had now graduated. They didn’t want for their relationship to be seen as scandalous. It was these brief moments in which Y/N asked herself if it was worth it, she barely got to see Bill, with him not living within the walls of the castle anymore. But the love she felt for his was far too great. And, she still had Charlie around, who invited her to the burrow every Christmas as his best friend. Although they were in different years, Charlie being in the year below Y/N, they formed such a strong connection. She could vividly remember the first time she spoke to Charlie. She was sat in the library, studying for an upcoming potions test, and across from her was this freckled, red headed boy reading a book on dragons. They got to know each other over and soon became fast friends.

Over the many winters and summers Y/N spent at the Burrow, she was always intrigued by Bill. There was something about him that allured her, she wanted to know more. They got to talking the summer before Y/N’s sixth year and there was some kind of spark, they could both feel it from the moment they said their first words to one another. That spark never seemed to die, and it was only inevitable that the two would confess their feelings for one another. They spent many nights in the Burrow, drinking tea and talking into the early hours of the morning, spending what little time they could together romantically, before they had to go back to being distant strangers.

The same thing happened when they went back to Hogwarts that year. Y/N was in her sixth year, Bill in his seventh. He was busier this year, having been appointed Head Boy, but he made his time for Y/N. He always would. Regardless of his prior engagements, he would ensure he spent some time with her.

It was hard for Y/N to know that she would have to face a year of Hogwarts without Bill, but she was soon alleviated of that struggle by the knowledge that he would be coming back to tutor DADA, whenever he could. Dumbledore had given him permission to use the classroom in the evening, to make sure students were understanding the course. Y/N, despite being top of the class for DADA, went along to the sessions. Occasionally, she would help other students, acting as a kind of teaching assistant/second tutor. This meant that Bill and Y/N got some alone time afterwards, as they would ‘discuss’ the progress of the students. The reality of the matter being they were spending some time together, discussing how they were, what they had been up to, spending the quality time they had been missing.

Y/N was blissfully unaware that the tutoring session had ended, she had been too focused on the thoughts in her mind, and the face that was in front of her the entire time. The classroom had emptied, except her and Bill. A smile danced across her features, realising she was alone with him, at last. The girls who had been gawking at him had just left after asking a couple of questions, though in actuality, both Bill and Y/N knew they were just trying to talk to him. She got up from where she was sat at her desk towards the side of the classroom, and walked towards him, throwing herself into his embrace. He was warm, holding her closely to him, wrapping his arms around her, engulfing her. The pair lingered, eventually parting after a couple of minutes. The room was silent, the two enjoying each other’s company, drinking in each other’s appearance. Until Bill said something unexpected.

‘Do you think we should be doing this?’ He asked, concern evident in his voice.

Y/N looked at him, bewildered and replied ‘Do you not want to?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do, but I just feel like sneaking around isn’t working. You’re here, and I'm off out in the world of work, only visiting occasionally to tutor, we barely get any time together anymore’ He trails off, watching her features drop.

Her eyes teary, her vision a blur. Y/N opens her mouth, and yet no words come out. She’s speechless, she can’t say anything. He goes to grab her arm, to pull her back to apologise, but it’s too late. She stormed towards the door in a flurry of grief and anger, and before he knew it she was down the corridor, out of sight.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Charlie was listening to the ordeal from the doorway. He had come back to ask Bill if he was able to explain something about boggarts in more depth, but he had stopped at the doorway when he heard the voices of Y/N and his brother. That was before Y/N came rushing out of the classroom and started pacing down the hallway, tears streaming down her face. He knew what he had to do. He burst into the classroom. What awaited him was Bill, sat on the desk at the front with his head in his hands.

‘You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life’ He says, strolling through the classroom, coming to stand in front of his brother.

Bill lifts his head from his hands, sorrow evident on his features. ‘How much of that did you hear?’ He asks, not really wanting to know the answer, as he was scared of it.

‘Most of it’ Charlie responds, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘I had my suspicions about you two. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t know why you’ve been hiding this for so long. Do you know how badly mum wants Y/N to be part of the family? She’s always assumed it would be me, but she’s my best friend. It’s clear you really care about her, i’d even go as far as to say you love her. So don’t let that go. Now, as Y/N’s best friend, take that as my blessing, and go and find her.’

Charlie’s words of encouragement were enough for Bill to find Y/N. He had to set this right. He darted through the corridors, looking for the sight of his wonderful girlfriend. Approaching the great hall, he caught sight of her, her hair whipping around her head as she walked down the corridor. He ran to her, tapping her on the shoulder gently.

‘What do you want Bill?’ she asks annoyed, turning to face him. ‘I thought you didn’t want to be seen with me’

He does the one thing he can think of, and he kisses her. Not a short, slow kiss, but a kiss full of emotion, full of passion. She leans in before she can think, and the two share a moment in the hallway.

‘I’m tired of hiding, I want everyone to know’ He states, as loud as he can.

‘You’re right, everyone does know. We’ve all just witnessed that’ Charlie responds from behind him, the doors to the great hall having been opened for the students to leave, before they were stopped in their tracks by the sight of Y/N and Bill. The pair blush a deep crimson, but knowing that they are together, unhidden from everyone, with their bright future just a short moment away. They had less than a year to go, and then they could spend the rest of their lives together. And the excitement for that outweighed how patient they would have to be for it.

[senadimell]

Boromir for the character ask?

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: Honestly? His focus. He's a problem-solver. He focuses on whatever task is in front of him, and while he's the golden child, I honestly don't know if he'd be the best fit for Steward because he seems to be at his best when he's thinking about concrete solutions to discrete problems.

Oh! The other thing is that he evaluates the advice given to him for what it is, not based on the authority of the advisor. He’s not going to accept bad advice just because it comes from a trustworthy source, and he’s going to be honest about his thoughts. So he’ll trust and respect the advice of the council of Elrond, but not to the point where he doesn’t ask questions or question things that don’t make sense (I’m thinking about Caradhras here) It’s a good skill to have as the de-facto heir to Gondor, and it makes sense that he’s not in awe of elves or Gandalf and acts among them as a guest but also as an equal at least in political status, though his experience is vastly more limited.

At the same time, he’s not arrogant or haughty. He's a team player. He’s supportive of decisions for the most part, though where the ring is concerned, things get skewy. He’s not the kind of person to rub mistakes back in your face. He’s compassionate and understanding (which we see even in the way he treats Frodo as he strives for the Ring).

least favorite thing about them: Honestly Boromir doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I suppose his positive traits are also double-edged swords. Focusing more on the advice than the giver sort of has Feanor vibes? And you can see where his focus leads him when he talks to Frodo about why he wants the ring and how he would use it. He can see his corner of the world (Gondor) and his place in saving it (political, but primarily military leadership), and it’s his practicality, drive, and focus that the Ring exploits. He’s too busy thinking about what he must do to save the day that he misses the grander scheme (yet he’s doing it because he cares! he cares!).

brOTP: Um, Faramir, I guess. Though I guess it’d be kinda sweet if he’s got a brotherly relationship with Bergil. I can easily imagine Bergil hero-worshipping Boromir, and so I think it’d be sweet if Boromir did acknowledge him and know him by name.

OTP: none? look, I rarely ship and even more rarely out of canon.

nOTP: also none? Shelob? The Ring?

random headcanon: I dunno...

unpopular opinion: boromir has dark hair Sean Bean is an actor he’s not the only face

So I feel like there’s a bit of a structural problem with the LotR fandom. Characters are often written in pairs or as foils, and inevitably the comparison starts to turn towards “who’s better?” Then, if you don’t ship them, there’s a tendency to aggrandize one character’s virtues and minimize their flaws (which tends to happen everywhere), but then the comparison game starts. Because they have a paired character, the natural next step is to lionize your favorite by de-emphasizing the other character’s strengths and virtues (and sometimes also highlighting their flaws). (I’m not immune to this by far, btw, and am possibly about to engage in it.)

This happen the most with Frodo and Sam, but I think you also see it in Boromir and Faramir. Because obviously, in the books, Faramir is the golden child. Not in his father’s eyes, of course, but narratively speaking. And I have mad respect for him.

Most people don’t try and diss Faramir (because frankly. it’s hard. like, what are you going to say?), but there’s a tendency to downplay the fact that Boromir is his culture’s golden child, and Faramir...isn’t. Which isn’t to say Faramir isn’t beloved by those who know him, but his strengths are not valued in the same way that Boromir’s are. Faramir knows this. And given Boromir’s attitudes discussed above (how confidently he assumes his position in the world), I can’t believe he’s the 100% supportive, loving, sensitive, protective brother that fanon depicts him as. I don’t see how he can be.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe the brothers love each other deeply. But growing up with siblings has taught me that it’s possible to love someone and yet be deeply wounded by them due to the casual and inescapable intimacy of your relationship? You can share more inside jokes and weird stories than anyone, yet you can never get away from how deeply they know you--not your thoughts, but who you are at home and who you were when you were seven and how you acted when someone broke up with you or what you did when your parents were furious.

You also know exactly how you match up against them, because you will always exist as a unit. And because your relationship is as natural as the lens  in your eye (you can’t imagine viewing the world without it), you forget about the other as a person and just say something and don’t think about how it hurts them. You can joke about this one thing and your sibling can carry around the hurt for years and you didn’t even know. And maybe the hurt isn’t even your fault--maybe they were just sensitive and you had no way of knowing, but the hurt doesn’t go away for the lack of malice. And even best-friend siblings are capable of malice towards each other at times.

So Boromir is good at things that Faramir isn’t, and Boromir knows it. He’s probably ribbed his brother in what he thinks is a playful way about when you’re going to shape up, or do X, or do Y, or why do you do that, anyways, or do you realize that’s a little unbecoming? maybe you should stop that. You know Father’s going to think that you’re... And he doesn’t realize how those slights can add up over the years. I do think he’s said things to his peers about his brother that have ended up hurting him. No matter how pure and nice he is, that sort of thing is unavoidable, and due to his cultural upbringing I don’t actually think he’d question the appropriateness of his attitude/acceptance and glorification of martial prowess at the expense of those who don’t have it in the same degree.

I think this passage is really telling:

For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me. 'In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:          Seek for the Sword that was broken:          In Imladris it dwells;          There shall be counsels taken          Stronger than Morgul-spells.          There shall be shown a token          That Doom is near at hand,          For Isildur's Bane shall waken,          And the Halfling forth shall stand. Of these words we could understand little, and we spoke to our father, Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith, wise in the lore of Gondor. This only would he say, that Imladris was of old the name among the Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters. Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed  the  dream and seek for  Imladris; but since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself. Loth was my father to  give  me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.' 

There’s so much you can read into this. Faramir has this dream, and he has it many times. We know he’s a lover of lore and no less devoted to his kingdom than Boromir, though his love is expressed differently. He is “eager” to heed the dream. So would I if I was having prophecy dreams all the time.

But is Faramir a member of the fellowship? No. Why? Because Boromir “took it upon himself.” He wanted to do it, he thought himself the better candidate (and Faramir the worse), and he argued his way into doing it against his father’s wishes. Coupled with Denethor’s later attitude towards Boromir, I’m inclined to believe Boromir was uniquely able to obtain this quest for himself because Denethor has a soft spot for him.

I find myself inclined to disregard Boromir’s account of Faramir’s motive (”how desparate was our need”), because it sounds like he’s justifying the appropriateness of his actions.  If it’s just about the great need of the kingdom, it’s nothing personal that one brother goes and the other stays. That view implies  that Faramir’s interest in this mission is primarily utilitarian in purpose, with a little academic curiosity--that is, it’s nothing personal. Doesn’t matter who goes! Not as long as we protect the kingdom! Which...just doesn’t square with his description of Faramir having repeatedly cryptic dreams that he wants to understand. I can almost guarantee that Faramir wants to know what those dreams meant more than Boromir.

It’s a bit tragic, because ultimately Faramir was more suited for the quest than Boromir (tramping about in the wilderness doesn’t seem to be a problem, he’s also a team player, and he’s much more willing to accept the power of the Ring/not downplay its personal danger, and would be able to see it in a bigger picture beyond just Gondor). Ultimately, though, if Boromir was the one to catch Frodo in Ithillien, the story would have a veeeeeeery different ending. (Gollum would likely be dead, and I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to just. let Frodo and Sam go free.)

I kind of view their relationship as a much less antagonistic version of Agravain and Gwalchmai from Gillian Bradshaw. (Agravain is more of a jerk than I can ever imagine Boromir being, and has a wicked temper). 

Also none of this is to say that I don’t think he’s not protective of his brother.

So a lot of words to say: I don’t think the Boromir and Faramir relationship is as uwu cinnamon roll as it seems in fandom. I think they loved each other, but I think Boromir did have a tendency to take what he wanted when he thought he deserved it and not give it a second thought, even when it was at the expense of his brother. Sure, he’d defend his brother night and day, but I expect him to be a bit of a jerk, be unaware of the extent of his behavior, and also see little wrong with it (the ring quest seems to have crossed a line, by the way he justifies it).

Still, they do love each other deeply and genuinely. It’s just a little more conflicted.

song i associate with them: Requiem, from Dear Evan Hanson. Not a particularly creative association (and I don’t associate him with Connor at all), but his death comes as such a shock at the beginning of TTT and brings with it so many mixed feelings due to both their relationship and the circumstances of his death. Nobody’s mourning is straightforward: not Frodo, or Denethor, or Faramir, or Aragorn, or Merry, or Pippin. His absense is woven throughout TTT and even RotK, in plot and in emotion and in theme.

favorite picture of them:

Don’t really have a favorite, but this one is nice.

The Sean Bean runners-up: one, two

[winterhawkwonderland]

2020 Exchange Round up!

It’s here!!! An easy to find complete list of works from our 2020 Winterhawk Wonderland Exchange event. It is listed by title of work and author or artist, and includes rating, summary, and word count (if applicable). Our event excluded any of the AO3 Big Four warnings, but please do check tags and warnings on each work before diving in, just in case you find something there that squicks or triggers you!

Once again, thank you all so much for participating and making this a great event! Love the Winterhawk fandom!

If you do not see your work listed, please contact the Mods and we will update the post - all works were pulled from the AO3 Collection, but it’s possible we overlooked something or made a mistake! Additionally - Tumblr (in true Tumblr fashion) would not let us tag some creators - their names are on the list but the hyperlink doesn’t work. We apologize for the technical difficulty, but have no way of fixing broken Tumblr links. Please know that no offense was intended. 

The 300 Club by @fosterthefuture for @gwhell. Rated T, 10,109 words “Me here?” Bucky asks, a little hysterically. “What do you expect me to do, be the one to haul your frozen body in from the snow bank you inevitably fall into and die in?”Clint chuckles, as though what Bucky’s asked is completely illogical, which it decidedly is not. “Nah, you can suit up if you want to come along to make sure I stay on track, but I’ll make it back just fine. I really just need you to be here to make sure the door stays open, help me get my boots off and into those blankets when I get back.”“Clint,” Bucky asks, eyes now closed. “Please tell me you wouldn’t do this if you were completely alone.”The silence that emanates from the sauna is telling.“Well,” Clint finally says, “I’m trying to not get into the habit of lying to you, Barnes.”

40k misunderstandings by @verdantbogmoth for @flawsinthevoodoo. Not Rated, 3,280 words. “Are they real?” Bucky gasps. “Who keeps bags of real rose petals just lying on hand?”“Tony, for special random events and for us to steal to have fun with,” Clint supplies helpfully. “Where do they go?”“Everywhere,” Bucky decides. “The couch, the table, the fucking tv stand.” Clint pops the bag and they spend several minutes turning Bucky’s living area into a very perfumed, petal draped nightmare. “Oh, my god.” Bucky says gleefully. “It looks like a porno,” Clint claps. “A serial killer porno!” Bucky amends. “This is fantastic. Why aren’t rose petals everywhere, always. Why don’t more people just throw them around for any old event?”

[ART] Christmas fluff by @elynehil for @chekov-in-a-dress. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift :)

[ART] Cooking By The Book by @not-the-blue for @thegrowingwordsmith. Rated G.  Clint attempts a holiday recipe from Bucky's childhood. He... might need a second attempt.

[art] i (heart) hawkeye by @gwhells for @lantaniel. Rated G. Art for lantaniel for the Winterhawk wonderland gift exchange!

[ART] i still feel this way when light catches your face by @quicksillver for @sevdrag. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift! :)

An Affinity for Elf Culture by @bella-dahlia for @trekchik. Rated T. 8,501 words. When Bucky Barnes was told he would be doing press and community outreach as part of his prosthetic program, no one mentioned to him it would involve dressing up like an Elf from the North Pole.The hella cute blonde elf in head to toe purple hadn't been brought up either.Hiding in his hoodie wasn't going to be an option, was it?

All I Want for the Holidays Is You by @merelypassingtime for @flowerparrish. Rated G. 7,205 words. Clint obligingly took the last name in the hat. Unfolding it he read the name, Bucky. Crap. What was he supposed to do with that? When Clint draws Bucky’s name for the Avengers holiday gift exchange, he struggles to find the perfect gift.

as long as it’s with you by @theproblemwithstardust for @theonlyceeceej. Rated T. 2,651 words. Clint didn’t know when the thing between him and Bucky became an actual thing. At some point the banter had evolved from a fun and engaging way to pass the time into a weirdly competitive game of flirting chicken.

A bad day turned good by @gabrielsammysangel for @misterknife. Rated G. 1,115 words.  Clint Barton was having a bad day, one kiss to take it all away. Aka how a full bad day can be wipped away when you have a good boyfriend.

Bandages and Soot by @fanbinbun for @hawkguyandthewinterdude. Rated T. 2,358 words. “Oh, you’re new. Hi! I’m Clint. I come here often.” “I have been warned.” Bucky said with amusement curling his lips. “Got a name, or should I just give in and start calling you ‘hot nurse’?”

Because of Coffee and a Chocolate Doughnut. by @jazzrose343 for @loonyloopylisa. Rated M. 5,257 words. Bucky is an Actor. Clint is stunt actor and coordinator. Shenanigans Happen

Better Than Fine by @vexbatch for @theproblemwithstardust. Rated T. 4,439 words. Clint promised Kate he'd bring a plus one to her engagement party, but now he needs to find one. Maybe Bucky will do him a favor? Maybe Clint's crush on Bucky won't be a problem for said favor?

[ART] The Cat doesn't agree by @misterknife for @Inktastic1711. Rated G.  5 words. Clint was determined to get the best family photo this year. Except now he's pretty sure that fighting alien hoards or doombot armies might actually be easier than wrangling a cat into a sweater.Bucky says that Alpine's sorry.Clint thinks she might kill him in his sleep.

cause it's just what you must do by @sevdrag for yamyamyam. Rated T. 3,399 words. Clint ducks away at Tony's holiday party for a breather. Little does he know this closet is occupied.

Christmas With the Barnes's by @jstabe for @claraxbarton. Rated T. 3,163 words. He knows Clint is nervous. If he’s honest, he is a little too. He and Clint have been dating just shy of two years but with their hectic work schedules, it’s rare for them to have full days off together so Clint isn’t used to large family gatherings.

The Common Room by @trekchik for @nana-evans. Rated E. 1094 words. No one knows they're together. Right?

Communication is key by @averyrogers83writes for @harishe-art. Rated G. 3,434 words. Bucky screws up and pisses Clint off possibly ruining any chance of having more than a working relationship with the archer.

[ART] Cookies For Two by madnerding for @hopelessly-me. Rated G. 29 words.  My prompt was for cookie decorating and I hope I delivered. Enjoy!

Coping Mechanisms by @mariana-oconnor for @feathers-and-cigarettes. Rated E. 4,321 words. After the events of Freefall, Clint Barton is exhausted, bruised and on everyone's Most Wanted list. Luckily, or unluckily, it's Bucky Barnes who ends up finding him.

Cover Me by @downwarddnaspiral for @feedmecookiesnow. Rated M. 8,618 words. Clint and Bucky end up off the grid and in close quarters. Featuring the world’s crappiest safehouse, a semi-retired spy, and an assassin with strong opinions about the cold.

Delicate, hand wash only by @mollynoble for @pherryt. Rated E. 6,074 words.  “Hey, Buck, what do you need?” Clint moved closer, he wanted to reach out but he resisted the urge, that could be a bad idea right now. “What can I do to help?” He pitched his voice low and soothing. There was a pause, then Bucky's eyes focused on him. “Right now all I want is a bath and then sleep.”

Draw Me Like One of Your Frenchmen by @alchemistdoctor for @thwip. Rated M. 1,410 words. This is written for andthwip in the winterhawk wonderland exchange, who requested sexting during inappropriate times, date night ends in trying a new kink, or getting off in the field. I managed the first two!

Fate or Natasha by bear_shark for @kidd-you-not. Rated G. 1,663 words.  How it ended: Bucky watched the rise and fall of Clint’s chest while he slept. Every few minutes, he would snuffle and rub his face against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s phone pinged, and he carefully checked his texts. Natasha: How did your date with Clint go? Bucky sat up quickly, jostling Clint. “What the hell?” 

The Fight Before Christmas by @theonlyceeceej for @jstabe. Rated E. 4,040 words. Now, don’t let it be said that Bucky couldn’t take a joke. He could. Really. But sometimes it was just too much. Clint was just too much. Clint is the epitome of a schoolboy with a crush; Pulling pigtails, calling names, the lot! Ok, maybe it was more than a crush, judging by the many thoughts about being thrown around by the Winter Soldier. He just needed to get his attention... But will it work?

For This by @endof-theline for @elynehil. Rated G. 5,652 words. Bucky and Clint are moving in together and it's not just the boys we have to worry about, because Lucky and Alpine are moving too!

Getaway Car by @feedmecookiesnow for @genderfluid-and-confuzled. Rated G. 4,405 words. The guy regains his balance and starts running again. He slips one more time, slides a little more, and then suddenly he’s right next to the car, fumbling at the handle of the passenger side door. A blast of cold wind comes as he yanks it open, practically falling into the seat in a swirl of snowflakes. “Go, go!” he yells, and Clint goes. He doesn’t even question it, just slams the car into drive and shoots out into the street, skidding a little on the ice.

Guardian Angel by @chrissihr for @spacetimeconundrum. Rated T. 3,469 words. Clint attracts strays like moths to flame. All he wanted to do was bring home a puppy he found in a box marked ‘free’ in crayon. It was just sitting out in the rain under the awning in front of his neighborhood pizza place.He couldn't just leave it there ... right?

Hit Me With Your Best Shots by @thegrowingwordsmith for @fosterthefuture. Rated G. 2,185 words. As a barista, Bucky has witnessed a lot of crazy customers and their creations. He has made drinks with so much syrup that there was barely room for coffee, and gotten orders with so many modifications that it had to print on multiple stickers. None, however, even came close to the strangeness of Too Much Caffeine guy.

[ART] How do you like them apples? by @lantaniel for @vexbatch. Rated G.  Because Clint is incapable of 1.doing a calm activity, and 2.not climbing a tree.

Howl by @drgrlfriend for @mariana-oconnor. Rated T. 9,729 words. Excerpt: Bucky gets that uncomfortable feeling again, like he missed something. Lost time maybe. It’s been happening less and less, but it still happens. “I don’t know what you mean.” The man runs a broad hand up the back of his neck, mouth pulling to the side as he seems to consider his words. “Skin feels too tight sometimes? Feels like you gotta keep moving, but no place feels right? Got an ache deep in your bones that you just can’t seem to get rid of?” “What —” Bucky swallows, the rest of the sentence jagged in his throat. He knows there are Avengers who are witches, or telepaths, or whatever, but he’d never heard of Hawkeye being one of them. “How are you — are you in my head? —”

[ART] I got you by @vexedbeverage for @gabrielsammysangel. Rated T. 100 words. I decided I wanted to do some art but then my writing brain told me I couldn't stop there. I've never done a drabble before so I thought I'd give it a try!

I Love How Your Soul is A Mix of Chaos and Art by @flawsinthevoodoo for @merelypassingtime. Rated T. 5,745 words. This is basically a 5+1 where Clint "Borrows" a great many hoodies as a coping mechanism and Bucky decides Clint needs to be a part of his life, not just his laundry.

if these wings could fly by @flowerparrish for @hawksonfire. Rated M. 4,018 words. He waits a few moments, pretty sure he’s going to have to start knocking again, when the door swings open. There’s Bucky, shirtless, disheveled, wings spread out behind him like some kind of tragic painting of an angel. Not that Clint knows much about art, but with the dark colors and dim lights he thinks this could totally have been something one of those old dudes dreamed up.

It Must be Winter in my Heart by @harishe-art for @jazzrose343. Rated G. 3,055 words. It's the holiday season and for some reason Clint and Bucky keep getting mistaken as a couple. They hadn't even planned to meet up most of them time. Why does this keep happening to them?

It was Only a Winter's Tale by @harishe-art for @averyrogers83. Rated G. 1,628 words.  Clint and Bucky prepare to celebrate their first winter holiday together when Bucky has a realization during an argument.

it was peace by @loonyloopylisa for @drgrlfriend. Rated G. 1,932 words. “Um, hi, I’m Bucky?” he said, hating himself for the way it came out like a question. “Hi Bucky,” the man answered, a wide smile on his tan face, “I’m Clint. What can I do for you?” Inwardly thankful for this therapist for making him practice he said, “I was wondering if you had any volunteer opportunities?” Clint gave him a considering look, bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Bucky was sure he was assessing him and finding him lacking, taking in the missing arm and coming up with a reason Bucky wouldn’t fit in. He was bracing himself for the rejection when Clint said, “sure.”

A Kind of Magic by @sian1359 for bear_shark. Rated G. 7.034 words. Bucky has some help adapting from being Hydra's Winter Soldier to becoming the Avenger's Winter Soldier

Lilac you a lot by @hawkguyandthewinterdude for @harishe-art. Rated T. 6,490 words.  It starts with one purple sock and just escalates from there.

Lost Time by @lissadiane for @vexedbeverage. Rated T. 10,029 words. Clint’s always known the universe doesn’t like him all that much. But all he knows now, as his heart beats out a rhythm and there isn’t a heartbeat to harmonize with it, is that he’s found his soulmate -- and he’s been dead for over 70 years. It’s ironic. It burns. It shouldn’t surprise him. Barney won’t be surprised. Barney’s been saying the universe has it out for them for Clint’s whole life. And this is just further proof. In which soulmates exist but Clint's parents are proof that sometimes, they go terribly wrong.

The Maybe To Your Story by @kangofu-cb for @mollynoble. Rated E. 5,162 words. Bucky walked out of the shared bathroom whistling under his breath, happily ignoring Steve’s groan as he whipped off the towel around his waist to half-assedly swipe at the water droplets on his shoulders. “Oh, you’re still here?” he asked blithely, toweling at his hair. “Might want to shake a leg before you get an eyeful of something you want to see even less than my dick.” “I’m going, I’m going,” Steve grumbled. “Fuck. Can’t believe I’m getting sexiled for the third time this week. For Barton.” Or, instead of talking about their feelings, Clint and Bucky decide to fuck about it.

my hands no longer an afterthought by @shatteredhourglass for @quicksillver. Rated T. 2,922 words. Bucky's moving on with his life. Shaking off the Soldier. There's still that one nagging, blond idiot-shaped regret, though.

Nowhere to go but with you by Lacerta for @sian1359. Rated G. 5,905 words. Clint fights the urge to cross his arms, keeping them hanging loosely by his sides instead, and forces himself to relax his shoulders. It’s just a small precaution in case he needs to react fast but, god, he hopes it doesn’t come to that. He doubts any precaution that doesn’t include a loaded weapon would help him last more than a minute. He watches the man sitting across the kitchen table from him, curled in on himself under Clint’s warmest blanket with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, and tries to wrap his head around the very unusual, very alarming situation he has gotten himself into.

On The Fifth Day of Christmas, The Winter Soldier Stole For Me..... by @ch3ls3ara3 for @alchemistdoctor. Rated T. 8,178 words.  “Are these pears? Why the hell is there a pear tree in my apartment?” he asked Lucky who was now sitting patiently, staring up at the bird with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging. “What is happening?” Clint Barton knew he was a disaster, it never really shocked him anymore when he ended up in strange situations. These twelve days leading up to Christmas, though? Those days he would have never seen coming.

the one where Clint hates christmas horror by @thwip for @bella-dahlia. Rated M. 2,898 words. “We take turns, Clint. This week is Nat’s turn, next week is yours,” Tony quips, sipping from his own mug. “We can watch The Holiday, for the third year in a row, then.” Clint opens his mouth and starts to protest Tony’s eye roll because The Holiday is a cinematic masterpiece and Kate Winslet may give her best performance yet, Tony! Not to mention Cameron Diaz! Singing Mr Brightside! It’s a great film, when the front door opens and Bucky and Steve walk in, laughing about something. Clint's mouth snaps shut and his eyes immediately flicking towards Bucky, admiring the way the navy fabric of his henley clings to the thick biceps that are almost bursting out of it.

Operation Snowbound by RedTeamShark for @heartonfirewrites. Rated G. 4,048 words. The mission is a simple job: tag a convoy as it drives through the pass and then skedaddle back down the mountain. Easy enough that Clint could do it in his sleep. And he doesn’t even have to pull the trigger, that’s what Bucky’s there for. Until an unexpected weather event leaves the two of them stranded on a mountainside in a blizzard, battling the cold, Clint’s taste in coffee, and Bucky’s idea of idle conversation.

Outside the World by @pherryt for @verdantbogmoth. Rated G. 4,767 words. Bucky doesn't really remember who he is, and what little he does remember is impossible. All his therapists have said so. There's no way he can be who he thinks he is - a character from a children's book.And yet, the world around him just doesn't *feel* right - its too dark, too colorless and doesn't match the vibrancy of his dreams. Dreams he tries to capture both on paper and on his walls.Bucky doesn't have any answers he can count on, just the hat he's kept all these years, but that guy that started following him - as vibrant and eye-catching as the pieces of Bucky's dreams -Well, he just might.

The Prince's "Delivery Boy" by allyouneedissleep for @endof-theline. Rated T. 4,917 words. He wouldn’t have any issues at all with the secrecy rules stating that only people in confirmed legal marriages could tell their significant other about their job if he was planning to marry anyone except the Prince who was first in line to take over as King of Brooklyn after his marriage went through. Clint was about to effectively become Queen of Brooklyn and he couldn’t even tell his fiance what he did for a living. As far as Bucky knew, he was a delivery boy. A DELIVERY BOY.

[ART] Snow Way Out! by @inktastic1711 for @fanbinbun. Rated G. 24 words. Prompt: While on a mission, Clint and Bucky end up on an impromptu sledding trip down the snowy hill/mountain to escape the bad guys. Bonus points if the sled isn't actually a sled.

Snowed In by @chekov-in-a-dress for @ch3ls3ara3. Rated T. 4,332 words.  Secret Santa Story for CarafeOfColdBrew! Dad Bucky and his daughter Nat are on their way to Bentonsport where Bucky is supposed to check out a possible site to build a resort when they get overwhelmed by a snowstorm. How lucky that they get pointed to a bed and breakfast owned by a certain handsome dork.

So much to say (I just can't speak) by @hopelessly-me for Allyouneedissleep. Rated T. 3,260 words. Bucky has never considered himself the jealous type. But when Steve and Clint start hanging out more and more, Bucky starts pulling back to protect his own feelings.

Some Luck by @claraxbarton for @not-the-blue. Rated T. 3,558 words. “Cowboys?” he asked. Judith smiled at him. “I love to give my darlings what they want.”

a storm is comin' in by @heartonfirewrites for @chrissihr. Rated T. 9,686 words. Sasquatches don’t exist. Clint is sure of it. So what’s that fuckin' bigass yeti doing outside Tony’s upstate cabin in the middle of a nor’easter, looming ominously and ruining Clint’s plans for a quiet Christmas alone with Lucky?

Time and Time Again by @pherryt for @shatteredhourglass. Rated E. 6,497 words. The past has a way of catching up to people and Clint knows that better than most. Despite that ingrained life lesson, he still doesn't expect it when a part of Steve's past turns out to also be part of Clint’s. He's... not sure where to go from here.

too cold to feel (but i know you're there) by @hawksonfire for @trashcanakin. Rated T. 1,983 words.  Clint’s been cold his whole life. He doesn’t mind, really, has learned to always keep a pair of gloves on him, even in the summer. He gets weird looks for it, but he stopped caring what people thought of him a long time ago. His apartment has always got spare blankets laying around, and his dresser is jam packed with thick pairs of socks.

[ART] A Walk in the Woods by @spacetimeconundrum for @downwarddnaspiral. Rated T.  One finds the strangest things in the woods...

What's a Guy Like You Doing in a Place Like This by @sevdrag for @kangofu-cb​. Rated T. 8,091 words. A 5+1 fic for Winterhawk Wonderland: Five Times It Wasn't A Date, and One Time It Actually Was.

Word Search by yamyamyam for RedTeamShark. Rated T. 3,858 words. Bucky doesn't understand why he should have to see a doctor about a measly little bullet wound. Steve doesn't understand why that would be optional, Jesus Christ, Buck, we can have nice things now. Clint doesn't understand why he can't visit Bucky in the super-secure lockdown ward. The NYFD doesn't understand why Clint can't get out of a baby swing without the jaws of life. Natasha doesn't understand why she puts up with any of these idiots.

[ART] You Come Here Often? by @trashcanakin​ for Madnerding. Rated G.  winterHawk in the vents.

You had me at Loathing by @kidd-you-not​ for Lacerta. Rated T. 5,715 words. "What?" he asks absolutely no one, completely baffled. Movement to his left catches his eye and he twists around, still hanging from the balcony railing by his legs, and gapes. There, right there on the adjourning apartment building, is a man. A man clad all in black, with chestnut brown hair falling to his chin and a mask covering the lower part of his face. Holding a sniper rifle in his right hand and giving Clint a mocking little salute with the left. "Motherfucker!" Clint screams. Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier work for competing companies. Unfortunately for everyone involved, they cross paths on more jobs than either of their handlers can endure.

Honorable Mention:

The Opposite of Love by @teeelsie-posts for @loonyloopylisa. Rated E. 10,000 words. You know that social media post where the guy says he’s a felon and he’ll come terrorize your family for Thanksgiving in exchange for a free meal? Yeah, that’s what this is. Except that Clint is Clint, and Bucky is Bucky, and they’re both Avengers, but Clint’s family is a bunch of assholes and Bucky decides to help him out with that. Oh, and it’s Christmas, not Thanksgiving. Mod Note: This fic was begun for last year’s exchange then discarded for another idea, but Teeelsie finished it unexpectedly and asked permission to include it in this year’s collection and we were happy to allow that. Please enjoy!

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Let him go, pt.2

Summary: When Nick decided to keep Y/N out of the loop regarding Lucifer Morningstar, he never imagined one of his worst fears would come to life - to lose her.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 2.2k

Part 1

“I can go in there.” I spoke up, annoyed sitting on the sidelines and being kept out of the loop. If Nick had anything to do with it, I’d have ended up either dead or in the church with the rest of them. I was lucky not to be at the Academy when the hunters came, even luckier I had found a pastime with a riveting Summoning and Bounding literature masterpieces.

“No. Not gonna happen.” Nick waved me off, not bothering to spare me a glance and I scoff.

“Why not?” Harvey raised an eyebrow, eyeing me with interest. He definitely had questions.

“Yeah…Why not?” Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head to the right ever so slightly with the faintest, coldest smile I could muster.

“Because I don’t want you there.” Nick’s lips press together and I roll my eyes, but Sabrina was faster than me with her reply.

“I’ll go. I was baptized with holy water, remember?” She smirked, shrugging my way.

“So was I.” I raise my hand, stating it a bit too bitterly. Jealousy isn’t easy, especially not when it’s between two women who greatly respect each other.

“I am half angel. I reckon I have a good chance to stop them.” Yet my mouth keeps moving as if I want to say YOU’RE NOT THAT SPECIAL SPELLMAN, but I don’t say it. I don’t, but I can sense someone’s in my mind, probing for answers. Usually I’d assume it’s the Weird sisters, but this is Ambrose. I just know it.

“NO. They despise nephillims more than witches!” Nick raises his voice, turning to me with a hostile look in his usually loving eyes. The hostility doesn’t come from anger or hate, it’s not animosity, rather worry. It’s fear. “I will.” Sabrina repeats with a sigh, glancing between Nick and me. His eyes remain on me, lips pursing as the eye contact breaks and I finally feel like I can breathe. “You’re not seriously gonna let her go alone, are you? It’s a suicide mission.” Harvey’s eyes wander to me, pleading. He wants me to go, especially after he heard of my roots – a half witch is usually less than impressive, but a half angel with witch blood is unseen. Well…until I appeared. “You don’t seriously think I tell her what to do, do you?” Nick smirks, shrugging it off. He watched them leave, his back turned to me and I felt uncomfortable for the first time since I’ve met him. Nick had let his girlfriend go, yet asked me to stay.

“I couldn’t…I can’t risk you. You’re all I have in this wretched life and if something happened to you, I don’t think I’d survive it.”  

His words aimed for my heart and I flinch with the sheer intensity of the truth hidden within each, emotional syllable. It was the first time he had made me feel as if I matter since Sabrina came along. I felt loved. I felt needed.

It didn’t last.

A week later he and I parted ways.

Nick stayed true to his word, giving me space to breathe and he had his hands full with the new Sabrina and her wish to convert the coven into a church per her father’s view. She wanted to make a difference and while I agreed with some of the teaching, I didn’t fall prey to her charm. Something didn’t feel right and while I was expertly kept out of the loop, I had time to realize how much of my life revolved around Nick.

What little I had left of him felt as if it never existed.

I can’t lie and say he didn’t reach out a few times. It wasn’t a face to face talk, but I did get a few messages on my arm – a little secret we used to have. An enchanted pen to talk in class, when he was away for holidays. It was our way to always stay in contact and from what I’ve learned, he had given our secret away when he made the same pen and gave it to Sabrina. I was no longer our thing. It was just a thing.

“You really should be more careful with your thoughts.” Ambrose Spellman settles beside me, a small smile playing on his lips as if he isn’t here to reprimand me for the distasteful thoughts I’ve had about his cousin.

“Stop peering into my mind and you won’t be as insulted.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the book I’ve been studying. I have always been one of the best students at the Academy. I’d go as far as to claim I’m at the same level as Nick, if not better.

“You do realize Nick is miserable without you.” Ambrose leans on his elbow, smirking once he notices I closed my eyes. “He’s always talking about you. I’m genuinely concerned Sabrina will spell his mouth shut.” He chuckles, looking around as if to make sure we’re alone. “I mean, there’s an apocalypse happening and in an hour, yet he’s still only interested in threatening everyone not to tell you a single word about it.”

Snapping the book shut, I sit up straighter and turn to Ambrose. “What, in the name of Satan, are you talking about?!” The smallest of smiles appear on my lips, assumptions of it being a well-crafted lie making my heart remain steady. However, the smallest inkling of it being a truth thrashed my usually peaceful mind.

“Sabrina’s father, aka Satan, wants to make her his queen and from what I’ve realized, it is happening tonight and we made plans to trap the dark lord but I have a feeling it might not be as easy.” Ambrose pauses as he notices me pale and I’m sure I’m barely keeping a straight face at this point. “Everyone’s in it, but you. Even the mortals.” Ambrose leans back, having set the bait and he knows this will be the reason why I engage.

“We’ll be waiting. You might want to pop in for the coronation.” Ambrose raised both hands in mock surrender as if he didn’t just drop a major bomb my way. He made his way out of the library while I grabbed my bag and frantically searched for the pen.

CORONATION?!

No response.

NICK!!

No response. I know he sees it. I know he feels it. But if he knew me, he knew it would only provoke me. Just because we lost each other doesn’t mean I don’t love him – as a friend, as a woman. I need him, even if he doesn’t really need me back. He may think he does, but he doesn’t.

I am the one who needs his whispers and smiles. I’m the one who needs promises sweet as the touch of his hand. I was a slow dying flower, turning sour and untouchable when he found me. He saved me. And ever since then I’ve needed the darkness, the sweetness and even now I need the sadness and weakness coming from loving him. I need his voice to lull me to sleep, his fingers running through my hair, the tender touches that brought me peace.

I need him. It was dark enough, he saw me, he had me – he just didn’t want me. He made his choice and I know what that choice brings. He’ll do anything for Sabrina. It’s who he is, how he always wanted to love and he will risk everything.

At the end of the day, I’m the one who has nothing left to lose. He has everything to live for. I love him enough to let him go…to protect him while I do it.

With a snap of my fingers, a long, blood red dress wraps around my body. The lace weaves around my arms into long sleeves, the silk falling down to my feet. A slight chill runs down my spine as wind dances along my uncovered back and I smile – the dress is perfect. With a sigh, a spell the only earthly possession I care about onto my neck, the pendant with his initials resting just above my low-cut decollete.

“So you always have me close to you.” Nick smiles widely and my heart stops. He’s so beautiful. I wonder if he knows that he’s more than just a body though. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And he’s gifting me jewelry, something I’ve never had. How did he know?

Struggling to keep my tears in, I smile, looking down on the half a heart pendant. “I love it.”

I love you. I wanted to tell him. I did. I wanted him to know and to hell with it, but I couldn’t. To be so brave, to tell him what weighs on me is to risk losing him. He’d be uncomfortable around me if he didn’t feel it and I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.

Instead of waiting for an invite, I followed the screams.

“Lanuae Magicae.”

Transporting myself into the ballroom wasn’t the plan, but I had to hurry. And I was right to.

“Well played, Spellman.” I hear Nick’s voice, instinctively looking for him and it seems as if he had felt me too as he turns to me, our eyes meeting. The surprise passing his features made my lips twitch, wanting to smile. It’s inevitable – Nick always makes me smile. But our reunion is cut short, the prison they tried to hold Satan in falling apart and I step back, looking to Nick in a panic, but he’s looking at her. He always is. “You try and try to defeat me. I am the Great Satan that no prison may contain!” Ignoring how handsome Lucifer is, I close my eyes and swallow thickly. Opening them again, I look at him and every time I look at him I know. I know he’s never going to be mine. But I can make sure he has his happy ending. “I can’t restrain him for long.” Sabrina warns and I take a step closer while Nick speaks. I always believed he’d be back to me – that we’d become more in time and we’d work out. We’d be the couple everyone envies – the power couple. I always wondered how he looks at me with so much love and tenderness but holds not romantic feelings. “There’s nothing stronger than an Acheron.” Nick exclaims, panic written on his face, fear rising in his eyes and clouding his judgment.

“Incorrect, Mr. Scratch. The mightiest prison is the first one, created by the False God. The human body. Flesh and bone. The strongest and most sacred bindings in nature.” Lilith explains, her own fear evident as she looks to Lucifer who was ready to kill everyone in the room. “It has to be me.” Sabrina says and I hear him scream “No” as he used to do for me. He doesn’t want to lose her. He can’t. He’d do anything for her and I’d do anything for him. “I’m the best binder and conjuror since Edward Spellman. If anyone can keep Him trapped, it’s me.” He exclaims, but I shake my head and look back at him only to see anything but certainty in his eyes. He feels like he must do it.

“No.” I step forth, determined – more than he is. “I am the best binder and conjuror.” Smiling, truthfully, I speak before he can interrupt me. “You love her. I love you. This is a testament to how much. Don’t forget me.” I plead, keeping my eyes on him as his lips quiver and shock paralyzes him. “Carne teneantur tenere tenebrasque.” I begin without so much as blinking. I don’t want to miss a single moment of the last time I will ever see him. Nick is trashing against someone. They’re holding him back. He’s muttering something and I can’t understand what, my focus must remain untouched. “Palatium, carcere…” And my mind darkens.

Gasping, I find myself on the sidelines, my body no longer mine to control as I leap toward Sabrina only for my eyes to close with Ambrose’s spell. “A sleeping spell. Well done.”

I think to myself, keeping an ear out to the outside. I can hear them, but it’s distant.

“You’ve made a big mistake, little nephillim.” Lucifer appears and I roll my eyes at him.

“Shh.” I point up, telling him to listen which only insults him.

“HOW DARE YOU TELL ME TO SHUT UP?!”

“Gah, you’re annoying.” I groan, casting a spell to bind him but it doesn’t work.

“Really thought you’re in control? Think again, little one!”

“Shit!”

What I didn’t know is how they decided my fate after I’ve fallen. “What happens now?” Sabrina asks, watching Nick crying over Y/N’s body, calling for her, muttering spells like it would make a difference. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid.” Lilith frowns, a sincere look of compassion in the borrowed eyes of Mary Wardwell.

“You’re not touching her!” Nick growls, his eyes focusing on her pale face and dark red lips – his favorite lipstick from the past times she’d asked for his opinion. He always chooses maroon. He won’t be able to again.

“She’s not going to Hell with you. I will make an impenetrable room at the Academy.” Nick promised, his heart aching and breaking at the sight of his necklace resting on her chest. She wore it – even now.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” And that’s when Nick fell asleep too.

PART 3

[daffodildazaiwrites]

can i pls request poly hcs for chuuya/reader/dazai bc i love them very much and also i just wanna date them both. perhaps just like “how they met” + cute relationship hcs if that’s ok!! nsfw is optional! Thank u so much ^^

THIS IS SUCH A GREAT REQUEST! Thank you so much anon! Also since I felt like it would be easier to establish a relationship like that I took the liberty of making the reader a part of the Port Mafia. It just seemed easier then to write reader as a part of the agency,  I hope you enjoy, this was super fun to write!!!! Also I love writing poly relationships so feel free to requests more!

also ofc im writing nsfw it’s a shame that you even considered that i might not lol

Warning: Explicit sinful content at the end

Commissions | Ko-Fi

Your relationship with Chuuya was already well established on the day you met Dazai. Your relationship with Chuuya was of being flirty friends that always came to the edge of being something more. You weren’t going to lie, after working with the red head for so long you had developed a minor crush. 

Meeting Dazai for the first time was one of the most confusing instances that happened to you. First of all, for someone who was imprisoned by the Port Mafia he had quite the mouth on him and second you’ve never witnessed Chuuya act so irrationally annoyed at someone before. At least someone other than you. 

You’ve heard many stories about Dazai Osamu before, especially from Chuuya. You’ve expected the man to, at least, look more threatening. But after the interrogation began you noticed where his true weapon layed, his mind. That same weapon was the reason why you were so mesmerized by him. You could never admit this to Chuuya though. Dazai was the enemy and from the seeming of it, Chuuya absolutely despised him. 

Dazai, noticing your lingering stares and open body language, was quick to engage in conversation. He was much more flirtatious then you anticipated and to be honest, it kind of worked. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you looked the other way. Dazai wasn’t the only one to notice your reaction. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“What?”

Meanwhile Chuuya was the embodiment of mixed emotions. Seeing Dazai after so long made him want to kick his face in to the wall and hug him. He was highly confused about the latter. But his rage grew when Dazai shamelessly flirted with you and that it worked????? he was appalled.

He never acted on it but he kind of figured you had a crush on him but apparently you also are head over heels about Dazai? He took in a deep breath. He might’ve over exaggerate the second part a bit. 

After the encounter, Dazai visited both you and Chuuya frequently and as time passed it was harder and harder to consider Dazai as the enemy. Even Chuuya didn’t seem surprised anymore that the man just showed up in your shared apartment. After a certain hour the two of you grew accustomed to hear a knock at the window. 

The only issue was that Dazai and Chuuya fought all the time. It was tiring for you. Especially when their competitiveness over you grew, you felt like a toy that was trying to be shared among two toddlers. 

The first sudden realization that you might have feelings for the two men you have grown accustomed to is when Chuuya blatantly told you that he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be with Dazai and that he would understand. You couldn’t be with either of them because you had fallen for them both. 

Chuuya is relieved when you don’t choose. Even if he wanted you happiness he couldn't bare the idea  of losing two people he cared about. He could still argue that he hated Dazai with a fiery passion but he would be fooling no one. 

Dazai is the first one to suggest a poly relationship as the three of you were lounging on the couch. Your head resting on Dazai’s lap as your legs rested on Chuuya’s. With confusion both you and Chuuya stared at him. You’ve heard the term before but you had no idea how it would work. 

When Dazai explained the fundamentals of a poly relationship, you’re relieved. There was nothing wrong with you. You weren’t selfish or insatiable. Dazai’s proposition felt like a blessing and eased your troubled heart. 

Chuuya on the underhand, still felt confused. He felt that trouble and heartbreak was inevitable in such a relationship. Especially because he had convinced himself Dazai was only suggestion such a thing for your sake. It wasn’t hard to see how you felt about the both of them so to him, it seemed like Dazai was just trying to spare your feelings. When your sparkling eyes landed on Chuuya, he felt as if he had to say yes, for your sake at least. 

Dazai eased Chuuya’s mind when he admitted that he cared for the both of you and that he simply didn’t want to choose. He also added that they practically lived together anyway. This was enough to convince Chuuya but due to Dazai being a part of the Armed Detective Agency they had to keep it a secret. Dazai had no problem with this but both you and Chuuya weren’t really known to be good at being secretive. You were just too impulsive. Besides what if they had to attack the agency, what then? 

But then again, none of you wanted to back down, therefore your relationship began. 

General Relationship:

 Dazai is a brat. He wants everything to go according to his plans. The fact that he’s very good at reading the both of you makes it easy for him to get his way. He doesn’t mind playing minor tricks or manipulation tactics to get you and Chuuya to do stuff you don’t originally want to do. It’s exhausting to constantly trying to understand if Dazai was genuine or just wanted you to do something. Chuuya suggested that he should just kick him in the face as a punishment but you preferred to actually communicate. The two of you sit Dazai down and tell him how awful you and Chuuya had been feeling. He’s shocked at first because he had no idea the issue had gotten that big, but he’s quick to apologize. 

You and Chuuya mostly do the cooking. In fact you’re not going to even take credit, Chuuya is the actual one who cooks. You’re usually there more as an assistant. Since Dazai, for the sake of keeping the relationship off grid, comes home late the meals are usually prepared and waiting for him. Also Dazai tried to cook once, the kitchen caught on fire so Chuuya forbade him to cook ever again. 

Dazai tends to tease the both of you a lot. Whenever the mafia and agency clashes in some way, he says the most inappropriate things and it flusters both of you. In fact, you saw the whole agency looking at Dazai with utter confusion and discomfort whenever he opened his mouth near the two of you. Chuuya ended up strangling Dazai when he got home and honestly, you let it go on more than necessary. 

Unfortunately, since the relationship is secret you can’t really go on outside dates. The three of you stay indoors and your dates would usually consists of binging movies or reading books. The three of you decided to go out on full moons only. Chuuya would prepare a basket filled with you and Dazai’s favorites and would go on a moonlit picnic. 

Chuuya is the jealous one. He hates when anyone so much as glances at you or Dazai. Of course, Dazai loves to play it up a bit especially if he KNOWS Chuuya can’t say anything or else he’ll be in trouble. In the end both you and Dazai shower the redhead with extra affection when the three of you are at home or else he’ll be super cranky for a week. 

Dazai and Chuuya are both very open with their affection. They love to shower you with kisses and hugs. Chuuya especially. Since you and Chuuya work together it’s more easy for him to hold you hand or hug you from behind in the day time. Even if he would never admit it Dazai does get jealous because you two get to spend more time together while in the meanwhile he has to jump through hoops to see the two of you. 

Chuuya smokes when he’s stressed and basically WW3 begins in the house. The two of you hate the smell and want him to stop. 

“It’s just one smoke. It’s not like I smoke all the time.” 

“SMOKING KILLS!”

“OH MY GOD IT’S JUST ONE SMOKE, I’M STRESSED!”

“DON’T TRY THAT CRAP ON ME WE WORK AT THE SAME PLACE!” 

“Look you ALWAYS leave an empty carton of milk in the fridge and don’t get me started on Dazai!”

“What do I do?!” 

“IT’S LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN TRY TO AIM WHEN YOU GO TO THE TOILET!”

When the three of you drink, usually wine, you and Dazai’s favorite thing is to get Chuuya drunk. He gets super clingy and affectionate and downright adorable when he’s drunk. Even with Dazai, Chuuya doesn’t hesitate to sit on his lap and give him a sloppy kiss and mumble how much he likes him. Then he starts to cry because he just loves the two of you so much and in the end he ALWAYS falls asleep on either yours or Dazai’s lap. 

The fact that Chuuya and Dazai are absolute troublemakers you worry constantly. Even if you can keep an eye on Chuuya and make him not fight literally everyone that he sees, there’s really no telling what Dazai is up to. It gets to such a point that you end up crying in secret because the constant fear of losing either of them is just too much for you. When the two men learn of this they console you and decide to come up with a system where Dazai notifies them in every three hours by any means necessary. If he can, he also tries to texts more often.   

While you and Chuuya love to cuddle, Dazai isn’t that much of a fan. Despite that he would entertain the two of you by wrapping his long arms and legs around both of you when you go to bed. You would usually be in the middle whilst Chuuya would be the little spoon. On days where Dazai came back especially late, he would find the two of you huddled up together. His heart would melt at the sight and after giving you and Chuuya a peck on the forehead, he would settle in, pulling you both closer to his body.

NSFW:

Chuuya is the most nervous one among the three of you. Considering his former relationship with Dazai it’s hard for him to let himself be so vulnerable in front of the other. Much to Chuuya’s surprise, Dazai is patient with him and doesn’t do anything that might make him uncomfortable, he does love to tease Chuuya though. At this point teasing his loved ones is pretty much Dazai’s drug. As time passes Chuuya starts to trusts Dazai with his body and needs. 

Dazai just screams dominant energy to you and you’re not mistaken. He would make you beg for his cock and tease you until you started to hump the nearest pillow with saliva dribbling down your mouth. He would want a show to say the least. He would tie Chuuya to a chair with his cock out and ready, then he would fuck you right in front of him, teasing Chuuya as he had his way with you. Asking Chuuya if the view was good, if he liked what he was doing to you, if he wanted to join them. He was also a fan of trying new things and toys as long as the two of you were okay with it. 

Chuuya on the other hand was gentle as gentle could be. He would litter your flushed skin with soft kisses and make you feel like a true goddess. He would like to tease you in his own way. Chuuya would have his way with you in a slow and steady pace, sucking, licking and kissing every inch of your body. In the end you would writhe underneath him, begging him to put his cock in you and just fuck you already.  

Seeing the two men for the first time together makes your cunt drip with want immediately. Dazai is quite tender with Chuuya and the way he slowly works him open with his long fingers and then fucks him is a huge turn on for you. The sight of Chuuya being filled with Dazai’s cock to the brim and the sweet noises of his moaning made you lose control. Your body would move on its own as you nestled yourself between Chuuya’s legs and sucked his hard cock. 

When Dazai and Chuuya get together you are pretty much guaranteed to see stars. You love being filled up by both ends and feeling the two men you absolutely adore inside of you. Dazai would fuck you as you sucked on Chuuya’s cock. Both men groaning and moaning as they had their way with you. Being the one who has no self control Chuuya would wrap your hair around his fingers and started to blatantly fuck your mouth. You would the tip of his cock deep in your throat as you swallowed around him. Not liking to be ignored Dazai would snap his hips faster and harder, making you moan around Chuuya’s length. Your inner walls would clench around Dazai’s cock as you came. The two men would follow suit, both of them filling you up with their delicious cum to the brim. 

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Seventeen

Link to Masterpost

It’s here! It’s finally here! This one fought me more than I thought it would, but I’m pretty happy with it now.

I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three days since Aelin had killed Maeve.

For three days, Aedion had sat in meeting after meeting, being forcibly reminded of why he preferred to command through action. Their every move and every piece of evidence had been thoroughly analyzed by the dark-haired demi-Fae that appeared to be the de facto leader of the former blood-sworn, and it was more than apparent that he found it lacking.

He hadn’t even been able to check on Aelin, though Whitethorn’s absence implied that she had yet to awaken. Aedion sighed; he supposed he should get used to thinking of the warrior as Rowan, given his relationship to his cousin. That would take a great deal of adjusting.

Truly, he wished Aelin would just wake up. He understood that the amount of magic she must have used would take a great deal of energy from her, but the sooner she awakened and the sooner she could talk to the group of Fae currently interrogating him, the sooner he could return home to his family.

At that thought, he couldn’t help glancing over at one of the males across the table in particular. He had never expected that he would meet his father, and so he had never given much thought to what he would do should the situation arise.

Years ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, he would’ve been unable to respond to the situation with anything other than anger. A large part of him still was angry that this male had seen fit to just walk away from his mother, and hadn’t even bothered to make contact as she had been dying. But now that he had not only Lysandra to consider, but Evangeline as well, everything was changing for him.

He could still blame him for swearing a blood oath to someone he had to have known had a sadistic streak, but what if Aedion had already sworn himself to Aelin and she had threatened to use his connection to his family? There was very little he wouldn’t do to protect Lysandra; it had been that way for years now, ever since she had come to the palace. It was a little more surprising to realize how quickly Evangeline had carved herself a little spot in his heart right next to Lysandra’s.

Perhaps, he thought, he could understand the male’s position. Even if he couldn’t agree with the end result.

Finally, he glanced over at the irate demi-Fae leading the continued interrogation and belatedly realized he had been asked yet another question. “For the fourth and last time, I only have copies of the letters and the passage of the book Aelin was referencing. We agreed there was an inherent risk in bringing the originals to someone who would be interested in destroying them.” He resisted the urge to feign a yawn; the leader was already angry enough as it was. This line of questioning was so boring, though. It might have been a clever tactic on someone else, but Aedion had been questioned before and had questioned others before. They would have to try harder than this.

“Then where, exactly, are the originals?”

“That secret rests with my cousin. If you want to risk Whitethorn’s wrath and attempt to wake her, you’re more than welcome to do so.” In fact, Aedion would have loved to witness such a confrontation by this point. Anything had to be better than repeatedly answering the same handful of questions.

The demi-Fae male growled, and Aedion growled right back. He had played nicely for his cousin’s sake thus far, but he was quickly losing patience with all of this. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Rowan so carefully guarding Aelin until she woke up, he might have simply carried her out himself and booked the next ship across the sea, consequences be damned.

The other male—Gavriel—his father—finally glanced up from the copies he had presented to them. “He’s not likely to give different answers at this point, Lorcan. Perhaps we should focus on ensuring a smooth transition of power? Maeve had no heir, and evidently no legitimate claim to our throne, and we need to determine what that means for us.”

The leader grimaced. “Mab’s line goes through the Ashryver family. The direct female descendant is his fire-breathing bitch princess. Mora’s… Whitethorn will know which of his cousins has the most direct claim.”

“It’ll go to Mora’s line, then,” Aedion commented. “Aelin won’t have any interest in ruling a land she’s never visited before.”

“Won’t she?” The leader was suddenly furious, dark eyes narrowed and darker power surrounding him. “Perhaps that’s why she came, after all.”

“It would mean war if she did,” another of the warriors pointed out calmly. This one, to the extent of Aedion’s knowledge, had been absent during the confrontation itself, and had yet to speak. “And it doesn’t make sense for her to begin with Doranelle, were she to become a conqueror. The Wastes would be an easier target, or perhaps Adarlan.”

The demi-Fae whirled around to glare at the speaker, then quietly grumbled to himself. Aedion took advantage of their distraction to quietly slip away.

It didn’t take someone with Aedion’s heightened senses to recognize that another had followed him out of the room, and it didn’t take a particularly wise man to guess who it had been. For a moment he contemplated not responding at all, walking away without acknowledging his presence, but finally he sighed and turned to face his father. “She died, you know,” he said, surprising even himself. “She didn’t have to. The Fae could have healed her, but she wouldn’t go.”

Gods, he wished he wasn’t having this conversation alone. Aelin might know what to say, and Lysandra…

Best not to think about her, not right now.

His father had frozen still, and vaguely he wondered if he could have felled the male simply by tapping his shoulder. He didn’t reply verbally, but that was all right. Aedion didn’t need an answer from him. “I realize now she was protecting me. From you. From your queen. From all of it.”

The golden male winced. “Aedion—”

Perhaps he had expected to feel anger or rage at the sound of his name on his father’s lips, now after all these years. Perhaps grief would have been a more reasonable expectation, sorrow for all the years missed. Perhaps even joy, for having found the male his mother had never once spoken of.

Instead of any of those, Aedion felt empty. His chest was hollow, and his voice devoid of all emotion when he replied, “I can’t do this right now.”

He left his father standing in the hallway, staring after him as he retreated to the rooms he’d borrowed.

~*~*~

Rowan sighed and glanced once more at the bed where Aelin laid, wishing he would see that she had awakened but knowing she would still be sleeping. She had drained so much of her power, and so much of it had been for his sake that he still felt a twinge in his chest if he dwelled on the thought for too long.

The instant Maeve had exposed herself, Aelin had surrounded him with a ring of fire to keep the shadows at bay, dropping the protective shield only when she needed his power to finish what she had set out to accomplish. It was something he would have done for her, if his power had been of a sufficient threat to the dark queen, but a large part of him was embarrassed that he had been surprised enough to require the assistance.

He knew Aelin would never blame him, though, not after all of the revelations she had made that day.

Perhaps the others would believe it if he told them he had been so surprised by the reveal of Maeve as a Valg queen and not Fae at all. She had long been cold and cruel, but she had done such an excellent job of hiding the truth that he knew he would never have guessed. Aelin had, though, and when she woke up he would have to ask her what had given her cause to suspect.

It was likely to be equally believable that he had been stunned into silence and stillness by the gift of his own freedom. He had hoped, certainly, that she would find a way for them to see each other again. The thought of being parted from his carranam forever had been one that he had found unable to bear, and so he had avoided thinking about their inevitable split as much as possible. Perhaps, though, that should have given him cause to guess the revelation that had shocked him beyond all others, the single word that had caused his mind to fall completely silent for the first time in decades.

Mate.

Even as he had heard the word fall from her lips, though, he had known the truth of it. If he was completely honest with himself, part of him had suspected for quite some time, though he had always found yet another excuse, yet another reason to go on believing that he was wrong. Even now it was a struggle to believe that this could all be his.

Had Lyria ever been his true mate? Could Fae have more than one mate through the course of their lives? There was so much he didn’t know. He wasn’t certain if anyone in Doranelle would be able to tell him now. He supposed it didn’t matter now. Regardless of whether she had truly been his mate or whether he had been so terribly, terribly wrong, she was a part of his past that he couldn’t be rid of even if he wished to be. It was lucky, he supposed, that Aelin seemed to understand this, just as he understood the history that had led her to him.

As he had done so many times previously during these three long days, he strode over to the bed where Aelin lay pale and still, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair away from her face. This time was different, though, in that she made the softest noise in her sleep and her face turned to rest against his palm.

Rowan felt something within himself crack with the almost-painful joy that filled him with such a simple gesture, and soon he was sitting on the bed beside her. In response, she shifted again, and soon he found himself seated against the head of the bed with her face pressed against his hip and her arm thrown across his thighs. Another happy little sound fell from her lips, and a slight flush returned to her cheeks, and Rowan smiled down at her sleeping form. The movements and the sounds and the color returning to her were all signs that her magic had restored enough for her body to allow itself into a more natural sleep, and when taken together they indicated that she would awaken soon.

As delighted as he was that soon she would be awake, he also felt a small thrill of trepidation. After all, the last conversation they’d had before she left for Doranelle had gone so terribly wrong, all because he’d panicked. The brief conversation they’d had on the way here indicated that he had a lot to make up for. He intended to do so, but he wasn’t sure of the best way to start.

Her hand shifted higher up on his thigh, and he couldn’t quite suppress the resulting shiver. As much pleasure as even such a simple touch brought to him, though, he knew that if he allowed it to continue he would have little interest in actually talking to Aelin once she woke up. He carefully shifted her hand back down to its previous position, lingering for a moment to caress her hair once more before relaxing back against the head of the bed.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react to the movement beyond a tiny little sigh, and he allowed his mind to once more wander to what on earth he could say to her to counteract the way he had once frozen at her touch and then fled. Perhaps the best way to prove his intentions would be beyond what he could express with words, and only time would be able to show that he intended to stay by her side forever.

Aelin’s hand wandered upward again, and he gently caught it in his own, glancing down at her once more and immediately getting lost in turquoise eyes ringed with gold and dancing with wicked humor.

~*~*~

The first thing Aelin had noticed as she began to wake up was the comforting scent of snow-covered pines. For a brief moment, she had wondered if perhaps they had already returned to Terrasen, but as she had opened her eyes to an unfamiliar bed she’d finally recalled what had happened.

Gods, it was embarrassing to realize she had fallen asleep right at the most inopportune moment, though she supposed it was fortunate that it had been with Rowan. Of all people, he would understand the toll that magic could take.

It appeared that he had stayed with her throughout however long she had slept, for she was wrapped around one of his legs with her head pillowed against his hip. She shifted slightly, blushing faintly as the movement caused her hand to brush the inside of his thigh and quickly feigning continued sleep as he moved her hand to a more appropriate placement. It was only a few moments later, though, that she decided she would not be put off so easily. Not when everything had finally come out into the open, not now that they knew they were mates and she knew that he wanted her.

She had waited quite long enough for this.

The second brush of fingers across his leg was far more deliberate, and this time when he took her hand and glanced down at her she didn’t look away, holding his gaze and watching his expression change from bemusement to shock to something so warm she couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Rather than say something truly embarrassing, however, she grinned up at him. “Why, Prince Rowan, I must say this wasn’t quite what I had in mind when you said you were taking me to bed.”

“As much as I would hate to disappoint you, I was hardly going to bed an invalid,” he retorted, though relief was shining clearly in those beautiful green eyes. The rough amusement of his voice was belied by the gentle touch of his fingers in her hair, carefully tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

Aelin sat up with a groan. “How long did I sleep?”

“Three days.” He pulled her into himself, her back to his chest and her hips nested between his thighs, and she turned her head to smile up at him. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his fingertips brushing along her jawline.

“I’m feeling like there’s a promise my mate has yet to follow through with,” she teased, though the suddenly-serious expression on his face caused her own easy smile to falter. “Rowan…”

“How long have you known?”

She supposed that was the easiest question he could’ve started with, though she still drew in a deep breath before replying. “From the moment I fell into your arms after escaping Arobynn Hamel’s home and realized it felt like I was home,” she replied. “I was… I wasn’t certain at first, given that you’ve already been mated, but then the night before I left…”

He grimaced then, and it was her turn to reach up and touch his face. “I panicked, then,” he admitted. “I regretted it almost immediately. And then when I returned—to apologize, or to do something at least to try and make it right, and found you missing, it was like a piece of myself had gone with you.”

“I couldn’t tell you what I was doing,” Aelin said by way of apology. “You would’ve been forced to stop me, by the oath that once bound you.”

“I understand.” His fingers slid under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “But next time you leave in the middle of the night, your only two options are telling me where you’re going or taking me with you. Am I clear?”

“So demanding,” she purred. “Luckily for you, I have no intention of ever being parted from you for any lengthy period of time again if I can help it.”

She leaned in then, determined to finally, finally kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand pressing against her shoulder. “Aelin, I…”

“I know,” she said. “We can talk about it as much as you want later. But right now, I don’t know when we’ll next have a moment like this again, and—”

His lips were on hers then, and rather than attempt to continue the conversation she slid her hand to the back of his head.

She had thought she knew what it was to be kissed. She had done exactly that with Sam on countless moonlit nights, and then once again with Dorian. It had always been pleasant enough before, but Aelin was quickly coming to realize that kissing Rowan could hardly be described by such an inadequate word as pleasant. No, kissing Rowan was everything—his ice colliding with her fire, the sensation both taking her breath away and fanning a flame that resided deep within her core. It was better than she could’ve dreamed—and she had dreamed of this, she could admit it to herself now, had spent long nights twisted in her sheets and waking up gasping at imagined sensations.

He pulled back, just long enough to take a breath, and she couldn’t quite help the noise that escaped her then. Nor could she help the urge to crush her lips to his once more, an urge she succumbed to happily. She tangled her fingers into silver hair, holding him close to her, though he seemed to share her desire to remain close if the arm wrapped around her waist was any indication.

A muscle in her side twinged, and he pulled free of her once more as she winced. Before he could say a word, though, she turned in his embrace, straddling his thighs and resting one hand on each side of his face. “I’m fine, Rowan,” she reassured him. “Better than fine, even, unless you get it into your head to do something as stupid as stop—”

His lips brushed her jaw then, and she couldn’t contain the gasp that left her. She allowed her head to fall to the side as his hands skimmed up her sides, slipping under the fabric of what she belatedly realized was his shirt. “If that is what my queen commands, then I can only obey,” he smirked.

She shivered, and spent a dizzying moment wondering what she would need to do to ensure that he never stopped calling her my queen. “In that case, your queen commands that we not leave this room until we have no other option, or until I say otherwise,” she grinned.

He laughed, the sound all dark tones that resonated deep within her and made her toes curl. “I’ve spent three days wondering what words I needed to say for you to allow me to remain at your side,” he admitted. “But if you would rather I do my persuading with teeth and tongue…”

He nipped at her neck then, the sensation immediately recalling a day in the sparring ring what felt like forever ago, and Aelin moaned. “I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.”

~*~*~

Rowan wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some sort of dream, even as Aelin leaned in to kiss him again. He had spent so long carefully convincing himself that this very thing wasn’t within the realm of possibility that he almost didn’t know what to do now that it decidedly was.

He wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by, however. Gods knew he had squandered enough chances by now.

With that in mind, he carefully flipped them so that Aelin was sprawled on the mattress, golden hair spilling across his pillow in a way he’d been longing to see for longer than he cared to admit. She glanced up at him, lips pursed in a blend of confusion and irritation, but before she could say a word he was kneeling over her and kissing that confused frown away.

Her skin tasted just as he remembered from that one time he had bitten her, all floral jasmine and simmering embers, and it was enough to drive him mad with longing. His hands once more slipped under the shirt that was covering her—his shirt, into which he’d changed her so as to prevent her from sleeping in riding leathers—and she rose to meet his touch, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

The shirt had to go, and it was only a moment’s work to tear it open, leaving her fully exposed to his gaze. He had seen every inch of her before, of course, stolen glances while working to heal her as well as that morning she had gone to look at her own scars. None of those moments compared to this, with her warm and wanting beneath him. The flush of her cheeks spread across her chest as well, accenting the curve of her firm breasts tipped with rose-colored peaks. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and as his fingertips swept up the plane of her toned stomach and along her ribs she let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whisper of his name.

He had to taste her again then, and from there he allowed himself to kiss along the curve of her neck and her shoulder before dipping lower. A flick of his tongue over her nipple granted him a startled cry and a breathy please, and he obediently took the hardened nub of flesh into his mouth as his hand stroked back down her side to caress her thigh.

At the barest suggestion from his fingertips she spread her legs for him, and he slid his hand between them, tracing circles on her inner thigh until she was begging him for more with her words as well as her movements, the arch of her hips all the more appealing for its artlessness. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to wander ever closer to the slick skin awaiting him at the juncture of her thighs, not quite allowing himself to touch just yet. Her fingers twisted into his hair in response, tugging sharply enough to make him hiss and glance up at her.

She pulled him towards her once again, and he followed where she led eagerly, kissing her once again. As his tongue brushed against hers, though, he realized that perhaps there was one more thing he needed to say to her before this could carry on any further. “I love you,” he whispered into the skin of her neck, smiling as she shivered in response.

“You love me?” she asked, voice husky from their current activities.

He pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes as he replied. “To whatever end.”

She surged up to meet him then, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she kissed him again and again. “I love you,” she breathed between kisses, “and you are mine.”

It was his turn, then, to shiver at her blatant claim of him. “I am yours,” he agreed, “just as much as you are mine.”

And then he was kissing his way down her body, past her breasts and along her stomach. He had just reached her navel when she seemed to realize his plan with a gasp, her fingers returning to their position in his hair as he finally slid his hands up her thighs to part them further and lowered his head between them.

She tasted just as perfect here as she did everywhere else; perhaps even more so. Even more rewarding than her taste, though, was the sharp cry of his name accompanied by a tug on his hair as he flicked his tongue against her. He laughed against her skin as her hips rose to meet him, allowing his hands to slip under the curve of her hips to pull her ever closer.

Before long, she was alternately praising him and cursing him as he continued to tease the tiny nub of flesh tucked between her thighs, hips almost thrashing in his firm grip. “Please,” she begged, and Rowan glanced up at her to find her chest heaving and her cheeks red from pleasure and exertion. “Rowan, please, I need—”

Her head tossed back with another cry then as he slowly pressed a finger into her, curling it slightly to stroke against her from the inside. “More,” she begged as he licked over her once again, and he obediently added a second finger beside the first. Her hips rolled against his hand and his tongue in an undulating motion, her grip on his hair tightening further and her spare hand sliding up towards her breasts, then faltering and falling to fist in the sheets. Her moans and pleas rose in pitch and in volume, and soon her core was tightening around his fingers and her voice broke on a shout of his name.

He pressed one more kiss against her flesh before she was pulling him up again, and he carefully removed his fingers from her before allowing her to guide him back in for yet another kiss to her lips. Her hands slid down his back, pausing when she reached the trousers he still wore. “These have to go,” she demanded, and he grinned in reply.

“As my queen commands,” he said as his own hand fell to the first of the buttons that fastened the trousers around him.

~*~*~

Aelin was positive that she had died and gone to the Afterworld. It couldn’t be possible to love someone this much, to feel this much pleasure at their touch. She was already falling apart, already burning inside, and they had barely begun.

He definitely knew what he was doing—she had suspected as much, given that she was far from his first, but to believe that and to experience it were different things altogether. She knew that she was far from his level of experience, and though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it she knew she wanted to at least try to make him feel as good as he was making her feel.

It was this thought that emboldened her enough to wrap her hand around the length of him once he had bared himself for her, stroking once and marveling at the sensation of such soft skin over something so firm. He hissed in response, pressing forward into her grip, and she couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “That feels good?”

He nodded, elongated canines grazing her skin as he nuzzled his face against her neck. Before she could do anything else, though, his fingers encircled her wrist, halting the motion of her hand. “You don’t have to,” he began.

Aelin responded by arching one of her eyebrows. “And if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t rather save this part of yourself, in the event you need to make a more politically expedient union?”

Irritation flared in her then, and she instinctively leaned in and nipped at his neck. “I would rather make my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want to share this with my mate. Though if he keeps being a bird-brained idiot, I might change my mind.”

He laughed then, and she was about to unleash an irritated tirade on him when he simply said, “I suppose that’s fair.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she retorted, cutting off any reply he could’ve made by moving her hand along his length once more and reveling in the resulting gasp.

The minor argument had done nothing to diminish the arousal she felt, and judging by the weight of him in her palm and the lust shimmering in his eyes he felt the same way. She watched as he lowered his head to see the movement of her hand on him, and then suddenly he pulled her close once more in a kiss that stole what was left of her breath away.

His fingers brushed between her thighs once more and she moaned into his mouth, hooking one of her legs around one of his to tug him ever closer. “Please, Rowan,” she pleaded, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “Please, I—”

Words failed her then, but he seemed to know precisely what it was she was asking of him regardless. In a smooth motion he braced himself above her with a hand beside her head. The other slid down her side and then moved away to help him guide himself into her.

Gods, and she had thought being filled with his fingers was perfection. This went so far beyond that sensation that she didn’t have the words to describe it even if she had found herself miraculously able to speak. Instead, she whimpered something that sounded vaguely like his name and clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his upper back ripple as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.

When he was fully inside of her his lips found hers again, and she kissed him back, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality. Then he began to move and she was lost.

Her head tossed back, baring her throat to him, and her fingertips dug in at his shoulders at the delightful friction of his thrusts. With a groan, he traced the curve of her neck with his lips and then his teeth, and Aelin slid one of her hands into his hair to keep him there, dragging the nails of her other hand down his back. He growled in response and his hips slammed into her, but his teeth at her neck remained so surprisingly gentle, and the dichotomy of it only fueled the fire burning within her.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and as she tugged on his hair so she could look into his eyes the fire within her rose up, as hot as the burnout but infinitely sweeter. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she deliberately arched her neck, giving him silent permission to do what he was so clearly longing to.

His teeth sank into the skin of her neck and release crashed over her like a wave, leaving her trembling in his grasp and shouting his name for all the world to hear. His found him soon after, and then it was her turn to hold him as he groaned into her neck and spilled inside of her.

She let out a soft whine as he eased his teeth from her skin and began planting soft kisses over her face and neck. “Gods,” she managed. “I never thought… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“I couldn’t have either,” he admitted, pine-green eyes softer and warmer than she had ever seen them.

A swell of affection rose in her at the sight, and she couldn’t keep it from spilling out into words. “I love you.”

He smiled, truly smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise. “I never thought I would have the privilege of hearing those words from your lips.”

She laughed softly. “It is a privilege, isn’t it?”

He nipped at her neck again, but she only laughed harder. “What would you say,” she asked, “if I told you that my first demand of you as both my mate and my blood-sworn was that we do this as often as we can manage it?”

He chuckled and rolled his hips again, and she gasped with the realization that he had hardly even softened. “I would say we would find it difficult to get any work done,” he replied, and soon after that they were both lost in each other once more and there were no more words.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou

[pachitoherrera]

Pacho // safe – pt.2

a/n: alright my lovely angels, here is part 2! you can find part one here although it is not necessary to read it beforehand, as this part can be seen seperately! I hope you guys like it, and let me know what you think !🌸

You knew he was trouble from the moment you laid eyes on the self-confident smile and the gun that flashed under his jacket as he walked in. In fact, you should have seen it coming even before that, when the sound of motorcycles drowned out the music inside the bar and heads were turned to find the source of the disturbance, conversations ceasing.

You knew he was trouble before the whole country knew. You could tell by the expensive watch on his wrist, the golden chain hanging from his neck and by the way his eyes were watching you over his glass, dark and cold, hiding depths that you would slowly get to discover in the following years. 

You knew he was trouble the closer you got to him, slowly becoming one of his confidants, inevitably being dragged into the glorious and dangerous life of drug business. But never had you realized the reality of the danger until the wedding night of Gilberto Rodriguez’s daughter. It wasn’t the first time you had seen death, yet it was the first time you had felt true terror, fear for your life, fear for his life. 

The shuffling of footsteps outside your room made you snap out of your nostalgia trip, and soon a knocking was heard on your door. “Come in.” The man – one of three assigned by Pacho to guard you, endearingly labelled as Babysitters by you – appeared at the opening, his gun in its holster. “Navegante is here to see you.” “Oh?” You immediately got up, following the man to the entrance room of your small house. Navegante was no stranger to you, a peculiar man, although you always assumed he was hiding much more behind his silence. And so you knew that he was no man for small, insignificant message deliveries. 

“Don Pacho sent me to get you. Please pack your bag.” You scoffed, shaking your head. The events of the wedding hadn’t changed your mind about leaving the country, Pacho knew that. “Where to?”, you asked as gently as possible, trying to cover your annoyance. 

“A safe place.” 

“Thanks to these gentlemen” – you gestured towards your personal guards “ – my place is quite safe too. So I would prefer to stay here.” Navegante’s eyes hushed over the other men before looking back at you, nodding sympathetically. “I can’t allow that. Please understand that my orders are to not leave this place without you, no matter how. But truth is, I would prefer without force.” 

With a small suitcase containing your most important travel baggage and you in the backseat, Navegante drove up the driveway to the luxury villa. You faintly remembered this place, away from the city, surrounded by wild fields, a small paradise in the middle of nowhere. 

Pacho was already waiting, hands in his pockets, and by the cocky smile you could tell he was expecting your mood. “What‘s that all about?“, you asked slightly irritated, even before having fully stepped out of the car. He greeted you with a kiss on each cheek, his hands on your shoulders to hold you in place, knowing very well that else you would resist in your current state. “Change of plans. It’s safer for you to stay here.“ You stopped moving, eyes seeking his, looking for a hint to give away any worries. “What happened? Did you do something again?“ He tilted his head, fake indignation written on his face. „It hurts me that you think it is something I did.“ “Because most of the time it’s true. You attract trouble like a magnet, Pacho Herrera”, you said, watching Navegante carrying your suitcase inside. “So, where is my champagne reception? Is that how you treat your guests?” He laughed – a sound that had become rare lately, but made your heart smile – and leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. “Only the special ones.” His left hand gestured towards the entrance while his right hand found its place on your back, softly pushing your forward. “Why did you send Navegante?”, you asked while allowing him to lead you inside, admiring the paintings on the walls. “I figured he would be better at persuading you than I am.” “How right you were.” 

The place resembled a small holiday resort, big pool outside, even a small inside pool, a bar, own cooks, only the heavily-armed guards disturbing the picture of tranquillity. To your surprise, you spent a great amount of time with Pacho. Your conversations came naturally, reaching from complex political and business discussions to – after one or two cocktails too many – playful flirtations. When he was away, you tried to befriend the guards, engage them in small-talk or deeper conversations. You even managed to get Navegante to talk, and came to the conclusion that there was, in fact, a lot more behind his silence, true to the saying still waters run deep.

On the eighth day, you woke up to find yourself alone in the house, save the usual amount of guards. Pacho was gone, and to your surprise, it saddened you. Even though this place was a small paradise, the only reason that made your stay enjoyable was the time spent with him.

To make time run faster, and occupy your mind before worrying thoughts of Pacho’s whereabouts would start driving you crazy – after all, you cared about his safety as much as he did about yours – you decided to bring your baking skills to use, as long as the kitchen staff was absent. 

Humming to yourself, absorbed in your work, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. If you had turned around, you would have seen Pacho leaning in the doorway, his eyes soft and a smile on his lips that was so different from the smiles he usually wore. And maybe you even would have noticed the hint of confusion, as he tried to come to terms with this unusual feeling caused by your presence, the feeling that was the reason he felt as if every ounce of breath was taken from his lungs when you smiled at him, the feeling that ached his heart, but at the same time drove out the anger to replace it with warmth.

But you didn’t turn around, didn’t see the way he looked at you like a colourblind man, seeing a blooming garden of flowers for the first time. And when you finally did turn around, he was gone.

On the tenth day, you grew weary of your shortened wardrobe and sneaked into Pacho’s closet, a neatly organized room, filled with the most extravagant shirts. You let your hand slide over the different colours and fabrics until you pulled one out. The silk felt smooth under your grip, and you recognized the pattern immediately. He wore it on the day you first met, years ago in that small bar, a day that would forever change the course of your life. Unsurprisingly, the shirt was too large, and so you decided to leave it unbuttoned, only tying the ends together to cover what needed to be covered.

Pacho was on the phone in his office, by the tone of his voice you figured he was speaking to Gilberto, so you casually waved at him while walking past the room. He raised his hand, and just before you went out of view again, you saw his expression change. With quick steps you rushed to the living room, before he could stop you, picking an apple from the fruit basket. 

You barely had time to take the first bite before the soudn of steps could be heard behind you. “Why are you wearing my shirt?” You shrugged while swallowing.  “I ran out of clothes to wear. Besides – ” with a smile, you twirled around. “It looks much better on me.” The corners of his mouth twitched, but his expression remained the same, and for a short moment you wondered whether you had hurt him. And then you remembered who you were talking to, and that it took more than that. “I will send someone to get your things”, he finally said, earning an eye-roll from you. “Just let me go home already.” “No.” He leaned closer, face inches away from yours. “Just be patient, alright.” While you were trying to figure out why this physical proximity drove heat to your cheeks, he grabbed the apple out of your hand and took a bite while walking back to his office, leaving you frowning at him.

On the twelfth day, over a strawberry daiquiri, you admitted that you didn’t know how to dance properly. Through a detailed argumentation about the great importance of dance in Colombian culture, especially in the city of Cali, Pacho had persuaded you to “exclusive dance lessons – a once in a lifetime chance”, as he called it. The carefreeness evoked by alcohol prevailed against embarrassment,  and so you allowed him to take your hand and lead you to the dimly lit lounge.

You wouldn’t be able to recall what you talked about that evening, when his hands felt so naturally around your body, the familiarity between you bordering on intimacy. All you’d remember would be the way his body felt against yours when you touched, the way his eyes seemed to stare into your soul, his voice – husky but soft, and ultimately, the moment you realized that maybe it had always been more than just friendship.

Two weeks after you first arrived in this place, the news channels talked about the end of Pablo Escobar. Medellin went back to normal, life and laughter rising once again in the streets, the fear that had previously ruled the city was slowly disappearing, although the terror that was caused by one single man would never be forgotten. He wasn’t caught yet, but left without anyone to support him. And even though you grew used to this place, you came to the conclusion that spending any more time with Pacho would be challenging. Your latest realization only scared you, and as a natural human reaction to uncomfortable truths, you decided to avoid it. 

It was one of the hot days, where you spend the late morning lying by the pool and reading one of the many books you found in Pacho’s office. El viejo y el mar – the old man and the sea. “A classic.” You looked up to see Pacho standing in the entrance to the house, hands casually in his pockets. “Didn’t know you were that literate”, you said nonchalantly, putting the book aside. “All the good things in life.” He walked over to the sunbed next to you, sitting down. “My men find it quite distracting when you walk around half-naked, trying to engage them in conversations.” A short laugh escaped your lips, surprise mixed with confusion, the serious expression on his face indicating discontent. “Maybe you have the wrong men for this job then.” This time he laughed, face soothing, although the laugh didn’t reach his eyes. “Or listen, Pacho, maybe it is just time for me to go back home. Pablo Escobar is done”, you carefully started while watching him, noticing the subtle tensioning of his jaw. “He is still out there. As long as he is alive, he will be a threat. I don’t want to keep you here against your will, but it is for –” “Just for my safety, yes I gathered that”, you cut him short. “But is it really? For me? Or are you doing it for yourself, to have a clear conscience?” His eyes widened, only for a brief moment, but you had noticed. Body frozen, he then lowered his gaze, cigarette in his hand left to burn out. You waited, expecting him to brush you off, telling you to not be ridiculous in his usual sophisticated tone. But after a long pause, he just looked up, no words needed to express the guilt in his eyes. You stood up, taking the cigarette out of his hand in the process. Leaving Pacho speechless was not an easy achievement, and under these circumstances, you wouldn’t want to call it an achievement even. “I am tired of being treated like a prisoner, Pacho.” With a long drag, you finished the cigarette and leaned forward to put it out in the ashtray before walking back inside.

“Wait.” You stopped, turning around to face Pacho who was coming up to you, relieved that he didn’t let you walk away. “Do you really feel like that? Like a prisoner?” His voice was softer than usual, containing an insecurity that was new to you. It was strange, the way he managed to make you feel bad like no other, almost like out of the two of you, you were the cold, ruthless one. “I – no, I’m sorry. It’s nice here, but it’s not home”, you said, trying to take the weight out of your earlier statement. “We can make it your home.” You opened your mouth, but couldn’t think of an answer, astonishment sitting deep in your bones. “You are right”, he continued. “I am being egoistic, because I like this place better when you are here, and even the thought of something happening to you out there sickens me.” More than once had you tried to avoid the idea of the two of you being more than friends, afraid that it would be a ridiculous wish, which, in the end, would cause you more pain than a bullet in your body. And so, because it had been such an absurd notion, you had never thought of the way you would react in case it actually happened. You slowly forced yourself to awake from your trance-like state, knowing that Pacho rarely talked about his feelings, and your silence would only be unsettling him. And that’s the last thing you desired, because actually, you wanted him to know that he was the source of your happiness, that no safe houses, no amount of guards would make you feel as safe as being by his side. But you were afraid of blurting it all out, years of friendship and trust at risk. So instead, you reached for his hand, bringing it to your lips. “As long as you walk this earth, I refuse something happening to me”, you whispered against his skin, “after all, I need to look after you and all the trouble you cause.” He smiled, visibly relieved, and pulled you closer to place a kiss on your head. Moments of silence passed before you spoke again. “If I am to stay here longer now, we have to make a few changes to this place.” “Anything you want.”

[davidmann95]

Got a 2020 Superman State of the Union assessment?

Not the most overtly monumental of years for big blue - a lot of the biggest news for Superman this year was about stuff we’ll see next year, which I’ll get into further below - but on the whole definitely a net positive!

Really, the only things I’d say counted ‘against’ this year were the back half of Rucka and Perkins’ Lois Lane and how badly that went off the rails - which for my money was more than counterbalanced by the conclusion to Fraction and Lieber’s Jimmy Olsen - and Romita Jr. turning in shoddy work on Action Comics. Otherwise? Bendis played out the consequences of Truth in fun ways and closed out his tenure on the main titles with a pair of artful final issues, we got Waid’s return to the character alongside Francis Manapul for a great short story, the last issue of the instantly iconic Superman Smashes The Klan, and several excellent installments in DC’s digital Man of Tomorrow series, while Commanders in Crisis introduced the Superman analogue to beat for the 2020s in Prizefighter. And in mass-media Routh’s Superman got a nice fly-by sendoff at the end of Crisis on Infinite Earths, there were two animated features in Red Son and Man of Tomorrow (the former of which I haven’t seen but the latter of which is probably the best official Superman movie, even if that says more about other Superman movies than anything else), and we naaaaarowly avoided the Superman logo being codified as fascist iconography for a generation. Oh and the comics industry did not in fact end due to Covid. So all-in-all a win.

Anonymous said: It’s almost New Year’s, what’s your predictions for Superman in 2021? (I guess you can do Batman too if you want)

So here’s what we do know officially for Superman in 2021:

* Superman & Lois will debut on the CW, the first Superman TV show (without substantial qualifiers) in 20+ years.

* Future State will feature Jon Kent taking on the mantle in Superman of Metropolis, Justice League, and Superman/Wonder Woman, while a now spacefaring Clark is in Worlds of War, Imperious Lex, Batman/Superman, and House of El. Meanwhile Kara graduates from Supergirl to Superwoman in her own two-parter as well as featuring in Superman of Metropolis, and Conner Kent appears to be acting as some kind of Superman in Suicide Squad.

* Phillip Kennedy Johnson takes over Action Comics and Superman in March, beginning with a two-part crossover The Golden Age illustrated by Phil Hester. After that Action Comics will be drawn by Daniel Sampere through around September, at which point Mikel Janin will be illustrating an event-scale arc for the book. Meanwhile Scott Godlewski will be the artist on Superman, but around the time of Janin’s arc on Action an entirely new, as yet unknown creative team will take over Superman while PKJ remains on Action. Both books will also have backup features spotlighting various Superman/Metropolis-adjacent characters as there’s little space for them in the cosmic direction the main story will be tilting towards for the time being.

* Superman: Red & Blue will debut in March as a counterpart to the various Batman: Black & White series over the years.

* Outside the main Superman books, Clark will star in Brian Bendis and David Marquez’s Justice League, as well as Gene Yang and Ivan Reis’s incredibly rad-looking dimension-hopping new take on Batman/Superman. Bendis is indicating we’ll be seeing the long-delayed Event Leviathan: Checkmate this year as well, which features Lois as one of the main characters.

* Not strictly Superman news, but apparently we’ll be seeing Netflix’s adaptation of Mark Millar and Frank Quitely’s Jupiter’s Legacy next year, which centers around the multi-generational drama of the family of Superman analogue Utopian.

* Zack Snyder’s Justice League, its hour come round at last, slouches towards HBO Max to be born.

As for predictions? Well for starters, pretty much everyone takes as a given that Mark Waid is putting together some long-form Superman project now that he’s working with DC again, and I expect to see something come of that next year; Tom King has also soft-announced he’s working on a Superman project since he’s done with scripting his three current DC minis, but I wouldn’t be surprised if nothing directly came of that until 2022. I’d also speculate that Scott Snyder has something in mind: he’s repeatedly said he’s planning on a major out-of-continuity project, and he’s made clear he’s done with Batman for the time being, I imagine he’s done whatever he wanted to for Wonder Woman with Death Metal, and anything he did with the JSA right now would be extremely in-continuity; I doubt he’s playing with anything less than the icons anytime soon and he definitely seems more engaged with Superman now than he was when he wrote Unchained (hell, the end of Last Knight on Earth can basically only be read as ‘I wanna write Superman now’). Again though, dunno that I’d put money on that being next year. 

Outside the theoretical prestige stuff, everything we’re hearing about Future State, Infinite Frontier, and PKJ’s barely-veiled discussion of his run seems to suggest Jon will end up sharing the Superman name in the present and probably taking over that book alongside the new creative team. If Batman: Urban Legends takes off then I wouldn’t be surprised if we got a Superman anthology given DC’s apparent current priorities of consolidating, testing a new publishing model, and putting the biggest names first. And maybe something will finally come of the back-and-forth over whether or not Cavill’s sticking around in the movies - if he is my first guess would be an appearance in DuVernay and King’s New Gods (which is still in progress per DuVernay as of this month) - but we can all I think be pretty sure he’s still not getting a video game anytime soon.

As for what we know for certain of Batman’s 2021:

* Future State has a whole slate of Batman-related books, but Tim Fox takes over the cape and cowl to fight the police state that’s taken over Gotham in John Ridley and Nick Derington/Laura Braga’s The Next Batman, while a resourceless Bruce on the run stars in Mariko Takaki and Dan Mora’s Dark Detective.

* James Tynion and Jorge Jimenez are solidified as the creative team on the now-monthly Batman, while Tamaki and Mora take Detective Comics, with a Damian backup by Joshua Williamson and Gleb Melnikov running through the first issues of each and apparently leading to something, probably a Robin book. Elsewhere Tom Taylor and Bruno Redondo take over Nightwing, Chip Zdarsky and Eddy Barrows spearhead the new anthology title Batman: Urban Legends, and Tynion and Gullem March launch a Joker ongoing, while Bruce also stars in the aforementioned Justice League and Batman/Superman.

* The Gotham Knights game is scheduled to drop next year.

Aside from the Infinite Frontier cover suggesting Tim Fox will take on a role in the present before long as (a) Batman same as Jon Kent as Superman, hopefully with Ridley and Derington coming back, it doesn’t feel like there’s a ton of big Batman stuff to speculate on? Aside from the inevitable unannounced Black Label stuff - including probably Scott Snyder’s Nightwing book - we know the basic shape of things. The Batman is inching closer, Tynion/Jimenez are probably on Batman through at least the end of the year, Mora I don’t think stays on Detective because he’s committed to Once & Future but Tamaki presumably does, Taylor/Redondo Nightwing is immediately going to be a fandom favorite, and Gotham Knights is probably gonna suck because boy that doesn’t look very good. We know the broad strokes of where he’s headed for the time being across all media. If I had to take a whack at a big guess, I’d say I’m a touch skeptical about that HBO GCPD show or the Batmobile cartoon reaching fruition, the former because that’s an incredibly charged premise that has to act perfectly in sync with another mass-media project in another medium AND we know there’s already been behind-the-scenes drama, and the latter because that sounds incredibly stupid.

EDIT: Forgot, Bendis said in 2019 he was working on a Black Label Batman book, so wouldn’t be surprised to see that too this year.

[itsclydebitches]

A preview for the Roman Neo book came out. Did you read it? I didn't but I want to hear your thoughts on it.

I just read it now!

The preview gave us the first chapter and the initial interaction of the second, flipflopping between Neo and Roman's stories, much like BTD. I think Neo's chapter has more to discuss in it, so I'll focus mostly on that.

We're not actually seeing things through her perspective (theoretically — more on that below), but rather Trivia's, a girl turning eight the next day. The chapter covers her playing a game of silent tag with Neo after her mom and dad have gone to bed, accidentally breaking a vase and getting in trouble for it. Some of it is cute — I like the image of a young Neo playing games, including the floor is lava, and that she's presented as Trivia's "imaginary friend" — but the rest is a pretty standard RWBY setup. Honestly, Trivia's life feels like a carbon copy of the Schnee's. Her family is clearly quite rich, what with the Mistral oriental rug they're jumping onto, the expensive vase she breaks, a mound of birthday presents waiting, etc. Her father is some kind of politician, a member of the Vale City Council, and he tries to justify his explosive anger with how hard his work is, things he puts up with for his family. Trivia sees his "barely controlled anger" that later turns to "rage." He holds her upside down after pulling her from beneath the couch (her first instinct is to hide) and shakes her a bit before dropping her. Then he vaguely orders one of the women in the room to clean the mess up before going back to bed. Trivia's mother, meanwhile, is the more nurturing figure, but who inevitably gives in to her husband's temper. Her pushes for leniency fall on deaf ears and later, when Trivia still won't speak when they're alone, she flinches, gets mad, and leaves Trivia alone, repeating her husband's order to clean up this mess. She's kinder, but isn't able to control her husband's cruelty and, inevitably, feeds into it.

Sound like any other family dynamics we've seen?

The father — Jimmy — gets a side of ableism with his generally implied abuse. Interestingly, Trivia is mute with her father telling her to "speak up for yourself" (implying she physically can speak, but struggles emotionally to do so) and her mom, as said, eventually grows frustrated too and leaves when Trivia won't talk to her. I will say that I like that the text includes a communication board, even if both parents clearly don't like Trivia using it, and her muteness certainly introduces an unexpected dynamic. It's unlikely that we have two mute characters who just happen to have become friends (with one sneaking into the house and managing to hide from the parents behind a pile of presents for this whole conversation), so my assumption is that Trivia is Neo. Neo, as a young girl, is born Trivia to rich parents (the family portrait on the book's cover) and imagines herself up a playmate named "Neopolitan." Neo is just like Trivia — they're both mute, the text describes them mirroring each other while playing, they're both wearing fancy dresses, Trivia instinctively knows what Neo is "saying" — but she's better, more acrobatic, more confident, more rebellious... everything a sheltered, probably abused girl would want to be. In time, Trivia gains that skill and confidence (floor is lava makes good acrobatic practice!) and rebrands herself as her own imaginary friend. Interestingly, her mother (with brown eyes) flinches when Trivia makes eye contact with her, which one might do if your kid has mismatched eyes and you dislike that for some reason, such as it not being "normal," as they discuss in regards to her muteness. Brown hair and eye, a pink eye... and the last name Vanille. Ta da, with brown, pink, and white — chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla —you get the name Neopolitan, which Trivia eventually takes on as her real name from then on. (The sweets based name might also be a subconscious homage to her kinder parent — the mom's name is Carmel). We see at the end of the chapter that Trivia is giving in to "Neopolitan's" rebellious nature, grounding the smashed vase into dust, smearing blood on the couch, and leaving the room without cleaning anything up as she was told. All of this makes far more sense if we don't read the girls as two people, but one, with Trivia slowing coming into the personality she's imagined for herself.

I like the setup so far. Yes, it has its potentials for pitfalls in how Neo's mutism and "imaginary friend" is handled, but so far the only thing I dislike is the Schnee 2.0 dynamic, which just feels redundant. I got excited for a moment when the communication board came out, thinking that these might be good parents (good adults!) helping their kid communicate however she's most comfortable... but no. Sigh.

Roman, meanwhile, is a lot more straightforward and... it's fine? Not as engaging as the questions that Neo's chapter raises, but solid. We learn that he's 18 (presumably making him a decade older than Neo then) and that he moved to Mistral about a year ago. He's living on the streets and trying not to freeze or starve to death, camping outside a nightclub to find drunk victims to rob. The part of his chapter we get shows him stealing a man's wallet, pretending to give it back, and then threatening him so he gives up his coat and gloves instead (since the guy blew all his money at the club — the main attraction apparently uses her semblance to lure people in). We end with Roman breaking the man's knee anyway, despite his cooperation. It's precisely the sort of ruthless, street-thug, but obsessed with looking good while he does it (the coat is apparently very fine) that we would expect of Roman.

Detail I really liked? Roman apparently spent a long time practicing twirling his cane in front of a mirror — lol. Detail I didn't like? The night club performer whose semblance was “one of those special abilities some people had that often seemed like magic." How does one semblance seem like magic compared to others that apparently don't? They're all insane abilities?? This franchise still has no good distinction between the two.

Myers also flipflops between strong and weak writing a lot. We've got the strong "[The wealthy] held their noses so high, they didn’t notice what was right under them” when Roman robs the guy of his wallet, followed by the terrible "Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be a punching bag?" when he's trying to threaten him. It's a mixed bag. But I will say that these excerpts feel far, far stronger than what I was reading in BTD. Honestly, reading that I kept wondering why so many in the fandom loved his work, but if what I've read of Roman Holiday is consistent across the book and if that's closer to the quality of ATF, I can much better understand the interest. BTD may have been the fluke among three novels, rather than the rule. Which is great!

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [1/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Zelda couldn’t look away from the words as she touched over the embossed typography.

Lilith

Dominatrix

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief. 

She fingered the card, drawing her nail over its edges. It had an entirely over the top design, with a bright red background and black lettering. Despite how over-the-top she felt the graphic design was, Zelda couldn’t look away from the words as she touched over the embossed typography.

Lilith

Dominatrix

As if it had burned her, she dropped the card on her desk. On its back, the card presented the phone number and email address of the woman. Terribly gauche: madamsatan@hellfire.com.

The business card––if you could even call it that––had been slipped out of the jacket of a new book she’d purchased, and since her discovery of it, Zelda’s eyes had been drawn to it, a strange temptation pulling at her.

She’d only bought the book as a way to offer an olive branch to Hilda. If her sister weren’t so terribly awkward around any mention of sex, she would have wondered if she had been the one to slip the card into the book. No, likely the so-called dominatrix had wandered through the shop and decided that the newest bestseller would be an excellent place to advertise her business.

The sheer gall of the woman.

It had been some time since she’d engaged in any sexual relationship. Since Edward’s passing, Zelda’s world had been entirely taken up with raising Sabrina. Hilda had helped, of course, given that she was the original caretaker of Ambrose––but the bulk of Sabrina’s raising rested on her shoulders. Between that and balancing her work at the Academy, Zelda had little time to date.

And in the few times, she did date she would inevitably end up exhausted by the need to care for someone’s emotional needs on top of her family and usually wound up requesting that they never see each other again.

At least if she engaged with a sex worker, she wouldn’t have that issue.

A knock came at the door of her office, pulling her from her thoughts.

“One moment,” Zelda said, before taking the card and hastily set in the drawer of her desk. She should throw it away into the wastepaper bin, tear it up into pieces, and yet she found herself pushing the drawer shut, feeling a strange temptation dim but not entirely die away. “Come in,” she called.

The door pushed open, and her niece stood in the doorframe, bag slung over her shoulder as she stepped into the room. “How was work?”

“Busy,” Zelda sighed, rising from her chair. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Nothing happened, today?” Zelda inquired.

“Well,” Sabrina began, bouncing on the heels of her shoes. “Principle Wardwell did go on a warpath against Coach Craven. That was pretty cool.”

“Wardwell? Isn’t Hawthorne the principle there?”

“No, he left over Summer. It was in the news bulletin.”

Zelda rolled her eyes as if she cared to read that. The PTA and Parent-Teacher nights had always been Hilda’s realm of experience. There were limited choices of schooling in the area, and Baxter High had more students going off college than Riverdale. And like hell, she was sending Sabrina off to some boarding school as her parents had done with her, Edward and Hilda.

Collecting her day planner and unmarked essays, she began sliding them into her bag as she asked, “so why did your new Principle go on an alleged war party?”

“Craven said that Theo couldn’t join the men’s football team. So Roz and I complained to Wardwell, and she stormed off and immediately told him off in the middle of try-outs. It was…pretty awesome actually.”

“It’s definitely a way to make enemies,” Zelda said. “Take it from me, Sabrina. Public humiliation may force someone to obey for the moment, but they’ll look for any opportunity to enact their revenge.”

Sabrina’s lips pressed shut, her excitement dying. “I thought it was pretty great, actually. He should be called out for his actions.”

“And the best place to do that is in a formal setting,” Zelda said as she switched off the office light. Stepping into the hall, she drew the door shut and locked the door. “In a position of leadership, especially one so newly forged, it’s better to think about the long term effects of a stable work environment. Sowing discord will only turn the other teachers against her.”

“Well, the students love her,” Sabrina pointed out defiantly, missing the point.

With a sigh, Zelda drew up and rolled her shoulders. Her niece was sixteen, thinking the whole world revolved around her. Students came and went, but the teachers would remain, and if Principle Wardwell wanted to keep her job, it would be in her interest to make friends with the staff.

“How did your classes go?” she asked, deferring to a safe topic as they walked out of the university’s grounds to the parking lot. Sabrina began babbling beside her, discussing her recent marks in English and History, the study group she’d formed and then quietly toeing away from discussion of one particular class.

“Didn’t you have an exam for French today?”

Sabrina flushed, fiddling with her bag. “I…passed.”

Zelda paused, turning to look at her niece directly. “Define a pass.”

“C plus?”

Zelda bit back the flared anger as she pressed her lips together, watching as Sabrina squirmed under her scrutiny. “Perhaps I should switch to speaking French at home, then?”

“No, I hate it when you do that. Look, it barely makes up my grade, I’ll fix it up with the essay at the end of the month, and then I’ll be back to being an A-minus student.”

“Yes, well, unless you want your allowance to drop—“

“Come on! That’s hardly fair. It’s not like we live in France. I don’t even see the point in why I have to take this stupid class. ”

“Language is important, Sabrina. When you travel, you can’t just go around assuming everyone speaks English. By your age, I already spoke Italian and French fluently. By my twenties, I’d learnt Mandarin, German and Latin. Now, there are few languages that I don’t speak in one dialect or another.”

“I know, but…I don’t even know if I want to travel.”

“Of course you do,” Zelda said. “Everyone travels, or you’ll end up like your Aunt Hilda, working in a bookshop with no idea of how the world works.”

Sabrina went quiet as they arrived at the car. She climbed into the passenger seat, drawing her bag into her lap and buckled her seatbelt with a stony face.

Zelda drew in a breath, setting her own bag on the backseat before sitting down into the driver’s seat. Sabrina had always been soft for Hilda, defending her against Zelda any time she made a sniping comment towards her.

Perhaps the comment had been a little harsh. Only last night had the three of them broke out in an argument after Hilda advised that she would be permanently working at Cerberus Books and not just ‘helping out’ as she initially advised. Honestly, a retail assistant? Hilda had as fine an education as she had, and now Zelda was an academic, teaching at Greendale University, and Hilda…worked in a bookshop.

Not to mention the sudden talks of her moving out. Ambrose was still at university, in his final year of his masters, and Sabrina still had another year and a half before she was off, flying around the world before she settled on a college.

Leave? Unlikely. It was an empty threat Hilda proposed to hurt her.

They drove home in silence, with Sabrina’s growing bad mood taking up the space of the car. By the time that they arrived home. Sabrina didn’t even wait for the engine to switch off before she was unbuckling her seatbelt and running up the steps of the house.

Zelda paused, watching her niece push open the front door, likely to remain hidden in her room until summoned for dinner. She considered following up the stairs to Sabrina’s room and advising of how unacceptable her actions were, and yet the day felt heavy on her shoulders. She didn’t want another argument with Sabrina.

She didn’t want another argument. If Hilda would stop being so selfish, they could actually take the time to raise the children.

Stepping out of the car, she pulled out her bag from the backseat and then locked the doors behind her––not that it really mattered, they were so far out from any neighbours that there was a more pressing concern for a bear to get into the car, rather than a burglar.

She passed Ambrose sitting on the veranda, a book of poetry in grip and a glass of wine sitting next to him (in a tumbler, which she did take offence to, they owned perfectly suitable wine glasses).

“Auntie,” he greeted, looking up from the book. “How fairs the undergrads?”

“Fine,” she remarked. “I had the pleasure of seeing Prudence today.”

“Oh?” he remarked casually. “I had thought she’d have dropped out by now.”

“She asked about you.”

Ambrose seemed to pause, biting on the inside of his cheek before he gave a strained smile. “And should I go running into her arms again because she inquired as to how I was going?”

Zelda stared at him and watched as his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“Don’t apologise when you don’t mean it, or learn to lie better.” She paused, watching guilt wash over his face. “You should speak to her. At the very least it might bring you the much-needed closure you require to move on.” Before he could say anything further, she brushed past him, entering into the foyer of the home.

A door slammed upstairs, signalling her niece’s growing foul mood. But unlike Ambrose, who often drowned the house with music to signal his moods, a stillness followed the slammed door.

Her eyes drew up to the stairs, a part of her wanted to seek out Sabrina and apologise before she snuffed out the very desire to do so. Instead, she drew to her home office and set her bag down, drawing out her computer and essays, preparing herself for evening work to be completed after dinner.

Drawing into the kitchen, she noticed that Hilda was already at the stove, stirring around what looked to be onion and mince. At the same time, she had an assortment of diced vegetables running on another element beside it.

“Evening, sister.”

“Oh! Zelds. I thought it was you.”

“Who else would it be?” she asked, going to the cupboards to pull out the dishes. Usually, it was Sabrina’s job to set the table for dinner, but she could wash up and dry the dishes after dinner, given her impetuous mood.

“Oh, well…” Hilda spluttered, before turning to look over her shoulder. “So, what did you think of Doctor Cee’s little shop? Quite the business, hm? And the café has been busy of late!”

Zelda bit her tongue to stop the first thoughts she had from coming out. She set down the plates before looking at her sister and catching the hesitation.

“It’s…good that you’re happy,” she said, feeling other words rise in the back of her throat. She swallowed them back and smiled at her sister, hoping it came across genuine enough.

Hilda returned the smile, and it was enough to unknot the growing anxiety in her chest. Perhaps they could make it through dinner without another argument.  “And have you given the book a look, yet? It’s flying out of the store lately. A real page-turner.”

Zelda gave a small nod. She’d got as far as the first page before the card had slid out onto her desk.

Swallowing, she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, trying to not think of the words.

Dominatrix. She shivered, remembering what it was like to feel rope twist around her hands.

In her early twenties, she’d engaged in an assortment of different forms of BDSM with different partners, both on the receiving and giving end. And yet something about that embossed lettering brought a flicker to a long lost flame inside of her.

It had been…a long time—at least two years since she’d engaged in anything other than masturbation. The dating pool in Greendale and Riverdale was small enough that, inevitably, everyone knew everyone––and given her position, casual sex would only lead to complications. The last thing she needed was another man at her office, begging for a date.

Or a woman leading insistent voicemails on the landline.

But a dominatrix would be discreet. And it would just be an itch, after all.

A part of her worried. It could be a student she’d taught, trying to make extra money to pay for their education. Or it could be a number of acquaintances––someone from the board?

It could be Shirley. That thought sent a cold feeling down her spine.

“Zelds?”

She looked up, realising her sister had asked her a question. “Pardon?”

“I was just asking if you started the book.”

“Oh, just the first few pages. I’ll get to it on the weekend.”

Hilda squinted at her before stepping forward. “You’re looking a little flushed. You’re not coming down with the flu, are you? You’re always working yourself sick.”

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping away from her sister. “I’ll go tell Ambrose and Sabrina to wash-up, shall I?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose dinner will be made in a moment.”

____________

[villainousshakespeare]

Just one bed fluff with a character of your choosing, if it isn't taken yet?! I'm partial to Loki and Tom, but whoever floats your boat in the moment! Congratulations on 200 followers! You deserve them and more, sweetheart!

Sorry this took so long my dear! Hope it was worth the wait. I decided to do Tom for this. :-)

Kicked Out

Rated T - alcohol use, kissing, implied smut

Lots of fluff!

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

The music pulsed around you too loud for the small space. Mechanically you sipped your watered down margarita, trying to push down the depression that threatened to overcome you. If your friends back home could see you now they would be laughing at how excited you had been. Here you were, sitting alone at a hotel bar. This was not how you had envisioned things at all.

It had not all been bad of course. You loved the play you were acting in. Well, of course you did! It was Shakespeare! Even though you had only a bit role you were understudying Desdemona. And the cast was all first rate. You had already learned so much in just a few weeks! The upgrade in quality from your scrappy theater company where it was a struggle to get male performers who came anywhere near the talent level of the women such as yourself to an internationally renowned ensemble boasting genuine stars more than made up for going from playing the lead to a glorified extra.

If only you didn't find yourself feeling so cursedly shy. You had always had a bit of social anxiety, but until this tour it had never been an issue with castmates before. The theater was the one place you had always felt in your element, confident in yourself and able to mingle with everyone. You wished that were the case now. 

Being assigned to room with Tisha had seemed like a wonderful stroke of luck at first. Like you she was on her first international tour, and was therefore playing several smaller parts in the ensemble. She was bubbly, outgoing, and talented, immediately drawing the attention of everyone around her. Unfortunately for you, that everyone included Michael, the actor playing Othello. He had become visibly smitten with her during the first read through, ignoring everyone else to shamelessly flirt with her whenever the opportunity presented itself. You would have been happy for her if he wasn't married with a child. The situation didn't seem to bother Tisha, who carelessly told you that she saw the whole thing more as a career move than a real relationship. What happened on the road, she breezily said, didn't effect real life, except for possibly leading to bigger roles down the line when he recommended her for future shows.

It was none of your concern, you had told yourself. They were grown adults and for all you knew he had an understanding with his wife. The problem had begun tonight, when they decided to take their relationship to the next, inevitable level. You had assumed that when this occurred, as you had guessed from the start it would, they would avail themselves of his room. After all, as one of the stars of the production he had a large room all to himself. Unfortunately for you, this did not turn out to be the case. As a married celebrity, Tisha had explained to you in hushed tones, Michael's meant had to be careful in situations such as this. He could never be seen having a woman enter his room, much less stay over night! Of course you wouldn't mind vacating your room for a while, would you? She had pleaded with big puppy eyes in a tone that clearly said she did not expect you to say no, and had somehow ushered you out the door, blithely commenting that you should be able to come back in a few hours, just knock before entering to be sure. The door shutting in your face had been cruel and final.

So here you were, sitting by yourself at the hotel bar with a bartender who looked like he would dearly love to cash you out and head home. You could have found one of the other actors to let you crash wish them, but you didn't really know anyone that well yet. The insecurity that flooded you when you thought of knocking on a virtual stranger's door and asking to sleep on their floor was too overwhelming.

"Trouble sleeping?" a voice like melted caramel asked from just over your shoulder.

You choked on your drink, splashing a bit of it onto your lap and the bar in front of you. You would have recognized that voice anywhere. You heard it often enough in your fantasies. But though it had been three weeks since you had begun working with him you still could not believe that you were now hearing it in person as well. Never in your wildest dreams had you believed that you would actually book a show with Tom Hiddleston.

Turning on your stool you saw the man himself standing behind you. He was so attractive it made you want to cry sometimes. You had come into contact with other celebrities over the years, and in almost every case seeing them up close and personal had somehow ruined the fantasy of them. In real life they had each just seemed... ordinary. With Tom, it was the exact opposite. He was handsome on screen or in pictures, in real life he was literally breathtaking. From the top of his burnished gold curls to the soles of his well worn grey boots and everywhere in between he was perfect. 

"You could say that," you laughed uneasily, face turning crimson. You had never spoken to him alone before, and never anything other than vague platitudes at the end of rehearsals or addressed to a group at large. 

"Me too," he said, giving you a half grin. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

What could you do but shake your head and gesture to the seat next to you. Pulling out the bar stool he folded his long, lean frame onto it, stretching his legs out. Your feet dangled like a child's from the stool, but his reached the floor with ease you noticed. Damn, but his legs were long!

"I'm always nervous before opening in a new city," he admitted, signaling for the bartender to come over. He ordered a single malt scotch and another daiquiri for you, requesting that the waiter make it with top shelf tequila.

"Still?" you asked, surprised that he would get nervous given his lengthy resume.

"Of course," he shrugged. "Never trust an actor that tells you he's not nervous. He's either lying or not pushing himself hard enough. The day my nerves go is the day I pack it in. The challenge is everything."

"Well, it's good to know it's not just me," you said quietly with a soft smile. You were nervous of course, even if that wasn't why you were there now.

"This is your first professional show, isn't it?" he asked.

You nodded, surprised that he knew. Was your acting that clunky that your lack of experience showed in just your few scenes?

"I watched your audition tape," he told you, grabbing a handful of bar nuts and arranging them on a napkin. "I wanted to come to the auditions, but Ken thought it might make people nervous. I made sure to watch all the tapes though. You were very good. The passion you put into Lady Anne was remarkable."

You blinked at him, all words deserting you. He had seen that? You were quite proud of your Lady Anne, but he was right. It was hard enough to have Kenneth Branagh watching you audition. If Tom had been in the room, you doubt you would have been able to do it.

"Thank you," you said at last after a long pause while he snacked on peanuts. "I had no idea."

"I like having a say in things like that," he shrugged. "When you're doing a show that's this intense, who you're on stage with is a big deal. Also, both Ken and I are firm believers in giving new talent an oppertunity. After all, him taking a chance on me is how I ended up with my career. What kind of person would I be if I didn't pass on the favor. I was the one who pushed for you to be Desdemona's understudy, by the way."

"Really?" you wished the word didn't come out like a squeak.

"Mhm. In fact, I thought you could have played the part. Producers wanted a name though, and I guess you can't blame them. Have to make their money back. Still, you were quite impressive."

You were saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of your drinks. Tom thanked the bartender and asked to have the drinks, including the one you had had before, charged to his room before leaving a large tip on the bar.

"Thank you again," you said, sipping on your new and much stronger drink.

"No need," he waved it off. "Othello was my big break, you know. I played Cassio in a production with Chewitel Eijifor and Ewan McGregor. It was fantastic, but I always wanted to do Iago. I try not to make dream part lists, I'm a bit superstitious that way, but now that I'm actually doing it I can admit it."

"I would think it would be on any actor's list!" you said, trying to hide the fact that of course you knew about his previous Othello, along with every other part on his lengthy cv. "I would like to tackle it myself some day."

"I would love to see that," he smiled, looking sincere. "You have a great facility with the language. And there is no reason why Iago should have to be male. I must say that I greatly appreciate that we live in a time where the gender barriers for such superb parts are beginning to break down. What other roles do you dream of tackling? I promise I won't tell a soul!"

You weren't sure whether it was the alcohol warming you or the way he smiled and listened to you like you were the only person in the world, but you soon found yourself engaged in a long discussion of Shakespeare that ranged from contentious - you would never agree on who the ultimate Richard III was, with you preferring Ian McKellan and Tom being loyal to his good friend Benedict - to the ridiculous. He had you in stitches when he recounted the story of an actor (he refused to name them) who had so completely missed an entrance on press night for Much Ado that Tom and his scene partner had to improve in verse for three minutes. When the poor man had made it onto stage, he had not had time to put his shoes back on. The review in Time Out the next day had gone on for two paragraphs about the social commentary of having a barefooted Don Pedro. By that point you were on your third drink and laughing like old friends, hunched over and shaking with mirth.

"Oh! Yes!" Tom said suddenly, pulling himself up to standing and holding out his hand to you. "Come on!"

"What?" you asked, totally confused.

"This song!" he replied, enthusiasm shining from his face. 

"It's a good song," you agreed, listening to Michael Jackson's Beat It blaring out from the speakers.

"Well then?"

"What?"

"Dance with me!"

"Tom..."

"I refuse to take no for an answer," he insisted, dragging you to your feet and onto the dance floor.

Tom's energy was infectious, there was no avoiding it. Abandoning the last shreds of your dignity you surrendered to the music and the exuberance of the man spinning you around the floor. He was good of course, you had seen it on videos often enough, but he made you actually feel like you could dance as well. Michael Jackson turned into Prince and then Tina Turner as the two of you made idiots of yourselves in the empty bar.

"Last call," the beleaguered bar tender called, ruining the vibe. 

Looking around you realized that he had put up all of the chairs and wiped down the bar. As tempting as it was to order another drink and prolong the fun, you knew that it was not fair to the poor server. Still, you didn't know what to do with yourself now. Would Tisha and Michael be finished with whatever they were doing? Had it been long enough to go up?

As Tom helped put up the remaining bar stools and finished off his scotch you collected your purse. You stared at your phone, trying to decide whether or not to text Trisha.

"Okay, out with it," Tom said, looking at you with an unwavering stare.

"With what?" you evaded.

"The truth. Why were you down in the bar by yourself? And don't say nerves. I've talked to you enough now to know that you are not the sort to drown your anxiety in alcohol."

"You did," you said, not believing your audacity.

"I came down for tea," he said.

"Tea?" you parroted.

"There was no earl grey in my room. I like to have a cup in the morning while I get ready."

"But you had a scotch! Two of them!"

"Well, I would hardly be a gentleman if I let a lovely lady drink alone," he shrugged. "So. Spill it. What brought you down here all by yourself?"

"Um... it was just... a little crowded in my room," you tried to sound as noncommittal as possible.

"Ah, I see," his quick brain filled in the pieces. "You're rooming with Tisha, aren't you?"

"Yes," you answered slowly.

"So Michael has made his move has he?"

"You know?" you asked, somewhere between mortified and relieved.

"Well, they haven't exactly been subtle," he said with a wry laugh. "Also, he has a bit of a reputation. I had hoped it was just rumor, God knows there are enough of those about me, but it appears in this case there was some truth behind it. Don't tell me they kicked you out?"

"They told me I could come back later," you said quickly, trying for some reason to make them look not quite as selfish and failing miserably.

"Why couldn't they just have gone to his room? No, never mind. Foolish question. You poor thing. I am so sorry you have to deal with this. Would you like me to check with the front desk and get you another room?"

"Oh, no, that's really not necessary!" you said. You could only imagine the talk if that were to happen, trying to explain to the tour manager why there was an additional expense on the invoice. True, it was Tisha and Michael who should be made uncomfortable by it, but you just knew you would be the one to squirm from the scrutiny.

"Well, there is only one thing for it," he said, placing his large hand on the small of your back and ushering you out of the bar. "You shall stay with me."

"What?" for the second time your voice, pride of your acting arsenal, was rendered little more than a dog whistle.

"It's no problem," he shrugged, walking towards the elevator and taking you with him. "I have a large single room all to myself. I'm sure it will be much more comfortable than breaking up whatever your roommate and Michael have going on."

You looked away and bit your lip, trying to decide what to do. It was such a tempting offer. Not that you would ever get any sleep in the same room with this man, but at least you wouldn't have to face the love birds.

"Darling," Tom said, gently turning your face to look you in the eye, "you have no reason to worry. I am not Michael. I would never take advantage of a costar. I just want you to have a comfortable place to get a good night's rest before your performance."

"I never thought... Of course you wouldn't take advantage!" you said with a laugh. As if someone like Tom would try to take advantage of you, you thought. It would be hilarious if he wasn't standing there looking like an overly attentive angel.

"Good, then it's settled," Tom's smile beamed at you. "Come on."

And just like that you found yourself in the unbelievable position of movie star Tom Hiddleston showing you into a large corner hotel room on the top floor. The comparison to your small shared double was insane. You were fairly sure your whole room would fit into his en suite.

"Oh," you gasped, not intending it to be audible.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning to you all solicitous.

"Nothing," you said miserably, trying not to stare at the giant king size bed. You didn't know why you had expected there to be two beds. He had told you it was a single room. As it was there was not even a couch for you to sleep on. Two large over stuffed chairs took up space on the other side of the room, and hard backed ones surrounded the table near floor to ceiling the windows.

"Ah," he said, perceptively following your thoughts. "Yes. One bed. If you like I can sleep in the chair."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" you blurted out.

"I assure you, I have suffered much worse," he smiled. "If you feel uncomfortable sharing, I will gladly curl up in the armchair."

"No, that's just silly," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "After all, the bed is so big you could fit five people in it. As long as you don't mind, that is."

"Not a bit," he said rubbing the back of his neck. "Now, let me find you something to sleep in."

To no surprise you soon found yourself in a pair of long running shorts and a Legend t-shirt. You surreptitiously pinched yourself to make sure this was real. To be dressed in one of the patented Hiddleston outfits was surreal to say the least. 

You walked out of the bathroom to find Tom sitting on the edge of the bed in his own pair of jogging shorts, glorious broad chest bare. Trying desperately not to stare, you shyly walked around to the other side of the bed.

"Left side alright for you?" he asked, always the gentleman.

You nodded and quickly got yourself under the covers, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Tom turned off the light and got himself situated, leaving the bedding down at his waist. In the dim light you could just make out the whirl of hair on his chest as he curled onto his side facing you. Your fingers itched to reach out and feel it, but you managed to keep them to yourself. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like a live fire warming your body. He reached out gently and touched your face with the backs of his fingers, still staying to his side of the wide mattress.

"It was lovely getting to know you, darling," he said quietly. "Rest well."

You smothered the whimper threatening to erupt and rolled onto your side, facing the window as far away from him as you could get without hanging off the edge. Attempting to ignore the pooling desire in your center you settled in for what was sure to be a long, sleepless night.

When the alarm went off you almost jumped out of your skin. Blearily you tried to sit up, but a strong arm around you kept you anchored to the bed. A murmured curse sounded behind you and the beeping stopped. A face buried itself in your hair as you were pulled closer to the wall of chest at your back.

Oh sweet lord! you thought, as awareness of your location flooded into your brain. Gingerly you opened one eye just enough to confirm that you were half way across the bed in the center of the mattress. You must have rolled over in your sleep, you realized. Which of course meant that Tom had also drifted to the middle of the bed to meet you in what could only be described as he the most comfortable and simultaneously uncomfortable embrace of your life.

He felt divine. He body was all pliant skin over hard muscle, Warm and soft and deliciously scented. His obscenely large hand splayed across your waist, just below your breasts, to rest against the stripe of bare flesh where your borrowed t-shirt had ridden up in your sleep. His legs, those impossibly long limbs you had admired in the bar last night, were pressed against you, one rising up to hook over your own. It was heaven. If only it was intentional. Silently as you lay in his embrace your mind cringed awaiting the moment he woke the rest of the way and realized that the woman in his arms was only you, a pathetic cast mate he had taken pity on when she was cast out of her own room.

When you could bear it no longer, you tried to gently pull away from him. Once again his arm tightened around you, holding you close to him. You closed your eyes and tried to think of a way to delicately extricate yourself. That was when you heard your name, mumbled in his honey warm voice made rough by sleep into your hair.

"Stay," he said, snuggling further into you. "Please."

Well, when he asked so nicely! Really, you decided, when would you ever have such a chance again. Surrendering to the bliss, you allowed yourself to sink back against him. You would soak up these moments, you decided. Save them for when you were feeling lonely, or needed a happy memory to see you through a hard time. After all, what could be better than being held in Tom Hiddleston's strong arms?

It was too short a time before the alarm went off again. Tom swore, lifting his arm from around your body to turn it off. You felt him, more fully awake this time, realize the situation you found yourselves in. His body stiffened and his leg quickly slid off of yours.

"I am so sorry," he said, pulling his head from where it had lain in the top of your hair. "Please, darling, forgive me. I didn't mean to take advantage."

"No need to apologize," you assured him, trying to sound as though this sort of thing happened to you every day. "After all, we were both asleep."

"It's just been so long since I've had a beautiful woman in my bed," he sighed, arm rising to cover his eyes. "My body just reacted instinctually."

"Beautiful?" you heard yourself say, a note of disbelief in your voice.

"Can you doubt it?" he asked, sounding surprised himself. 

"Generally speaking," you laughed, thinking that this man calling anyone beautiful was like the sun calling a lightning bug bright.

"My darling, you are stunning," he said, rising up on his elbow to look at you. "You are also intelligent, funny, and delightful. I thought I had a crush on you before I got to know you last night, but now..."

"You have - a crush?" 

"Damn," he said quietly. "Forgive me. I should not have said that."

Slowly, not daring to believe what you had just heard, you rolled over so that you were facing him. Hair mussed and eyes slightly unfocused Tom looked even more devastating than usual. A light growth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and in the dawn light his freckles stood out against his pale skin.

"Did you mean it?" you asked, stunned.

"There are few things as attractive... as sexy as talent," he said quietly, not meeting your eye. "When I saw you act, well, I could scarce keep my eyes off of you."

"You do realize that you are the most talented person I have ever seen," you told him, shock bringing out your candid side.

"You are very kind," he blushed.

"I am very honest," you answered. "You really think of me like that?"

"I think of you all the time," he replied, looking at you at last. "Often like that. I have spent the last three weeks trying to work up the courage to speak with you. When I saw you sitting alone in the bar last night, I thought someone must have heard my prayers."

"I am in a dream," you said. "I am in a dream and any moment now I will wake up and be back in the small black box theater performing for ten people."

"If you are in a dream than I am too," he smiled. "Darling, I understand if you want to leave. Things with me are never simple. It is an unfortunate side effect of the career I have chosen. But if you are willing to try, I would love to court you."

"Court me?" you grinned at his archaic turn of phrase. "Like with flowers and poems and such?"

"If you would like," he said, surprising you once more. "I have written a poem or two in my day, though I am more adept at songs. They are more forgiving. For now, we could perhaps start with breakfast?"

"Breakfast sound wonderful," you said, realizing suddenly that you were in fact hungry.

"I will order room service then," he nodded. "But first, sweetheart, would it be too forward of me... may I kiss you?"

Unable to speak you nodded your head once. Tom smiled, and reached down to grasp your chin gently between his thumb and finger. With an aching tenderness he brought his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and sweet and full of promise. You felt it all the way down to your toes in ways that far more invasive kisses had never moved you. Your back arched and you molded yourself to him, his free arm encircling you to hold you close. Emboldened by the embrace, you let your own hands find their way around him and to his back where they slid down the naked skin in a caress. With a quiet moan he pulled away, and you briefly felt his arousal brush against your let as he let you go.

"The things you do to me," he sighed, fingers lightly tracing your face. 

"I know what you mean," you breathed, feeling light headed from the kiss.

"I started this leg of the tour irritated at Michael," he confided. "Now I am tempted to send him a thank you gift. What do you thing? Champagne? Chocolates?"

"If we give them all that, won't it just encourage them the next night?" you giggled.

"Ah, now you see my clever plan," he teased. "How else can I hope to get you back in my bed?"

"Tom," you spoke seriously, "clever plans are not needed. All you need do is ask."

"Hmm," he grinned, pulling you close once again. "I am suddenly more happy than I can say that they forgot my tea."

"So am I," you smiled, nestling in against him. "You have no idea."

"Well then," he said. "You will just have to show me. Fortunately, we have months to go, and I for one have never been so happy to start a tour."

As you burrowed back together under the covers you could not help but agree.

@yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @nonsensicalobsessions @hiddlesholic