#for me my stories should hold up regardless of whether or not youre surprised by what happens in em

[reel-fear]

👁️👁️

You must tell 👀

*rubs my little hands together* sorry for taking a bit on answering this! My brain has not been braining lately but your ask couldn't have come at a better time bc Grant has been on the mind as of late and I am hyped at the excuse to infodump abt him- [this is gonna be long I am so sorry-]

now for quick disclaimers for anyone reading this that isnt the asker or me- we're not discussing canon Grant Cohen, we're talking my Grant, this black haired dude, that guy. Another fun disclaimer, I was HEAVILY, inspired by Grant's role/character in abomination for my Grant. Taking time to awknowledge every part of his character or story that was inspired by it would make this 10x longer so if similarities are spotted know its very likely I did that on purpose bc I just really love abomination KJHFSDGKJDHGSD-

Alright with that outta the way I'ma talk a lot abt what happens to Grant in the canon of Showtime to explain what I meant and also maybe a bit of me rambling about aus that explore Grants relationship with Sammy n Joey under a more romantic lens. Should be obvious but spoilers for It's Showtime down below~

So Grant in Showtime after he dies ends up joining the ink demon cult, becoming a lost one and earning the title of The Priest.

When the cult was all together him and Sammy worked together to run it. Sammy used his connection to the ink demon to recieve messages and learn more on how to survive in this new situation and Grant made sure the lost ones acted accordingly. [A role not so far off from the one he was forced to take when the studio started facing troubles before his death] Grant also took the job of dealing with sacrificing souls and sending them back to the dark puddles, which sometimes was members of the following chosen at random and sometimes whatever poor soul found themselves captured by them.

However when Malice rose from the puddles and made a deal with the Projectionist to seize a considerable amount of the studio as theirs, the cult was split up, Sammy and Jack forced to flee to the music department and Grant with the rest of the following being down in the area of Chapter 4. This put Grant in a very bad spot, the lost ones were very shaken by this event and since then Grant worries their faith in him has wavered.

An important thing with the ink demon cult was that it is meant to be a more realistic take on how a cult works. The Ink Demon runs the cult, he is the most powerful figure in it and yet the hardest to contact, so Grant and Sammy are little more than middlemen tasked with keeping things running or else they face the ink demon's wrath. Sammy is sadly very aware that the ink demon is not as benevolent as he or the lost ones would like the believe. Grant likes to think being the Priest will at the very least protect him if things go wrong, but he is sadly mistaken.

Grant is in a very dangerous spot, he knows the lost ones beneath him are getting angsty and worried about just how truthfully safe the cult is or if they should believe in the power of the ink demon. But he also knows if things fall apart the lost ones will come to tear him apart long before they go for the ink demon. Despite him merely being a puppet for their lord. A role Grant is not ready to acknowledge, not because he isn't smart enough to see he is just a pawn, but because he chooses not to think about it, less his paranoia eat him alive yet again... A very important thing to keep in mind with Grants character.

Grant did in fact play this role in life as well however, when things started going wrong in the studio, Joey was very quick to turn away from what was going on and continue asserting everything would be fine. Which while a lie he himself believed was a lie nonetheless. However Grant quickly became his right hand man as people like Thomas and Wally started noticing cracks forming all through out the studio. Staff going missing, the ink changing in the way it behaved and an eerie feeling the machine created in both of them.

Grant despite deep down being smart enough to know things were going poorly, parroted Joey's words, hanging off of them himself and doing whatever he could to shut down any attempts to bring to light the things going wrong. Of course, him and Joey both ended up paying the price for their lies, but so did everyone else around them. But unlike Sammy, Grant barely even seemed shaken to see that, like a conspiracy theorist seeing evidence their theory isn't true only makes them double down harder, Grant only seemed to double down on the idea that if he followed every order he was given. Surely things would turn out better this time.

So that's canon to the story of Showtime, but I do want to take a second to get some AU non canon ideas out of my brain centering around Grant and his relationship to both Joey n Sammy. In canon Grant's only romantic interest is Thomas, his literal husband and there is a lot of interesting conflict there, but I fucking love shipping so of course I have a million aus merely indulging in ships I think would also be interesting to explore in their own contexts. In this case, I'm gonna ramble a bit about Sammy x Grant and Grant x Joey and the interesting things I think there are to explore in their relationships in Showtime.

So you might've noticed that while not literally [as saying the ink demon is Joey in Showtime, while somewhat true, is not the entire truth of the situation and simplifies it quite a bit] Grant did end up following Joey to the grave... And then kept following him beyond it. Something that is objectively~ very queer of him.

There's just something so compelling about the idea of Grant yearning for Joey so much, being so close yet so far as his right hand man but not being brave enough to become his lover eventually drove Grant's love for Joey to become an outright obsession. The idea that Grant's feelings for Joey became so intense from how hard he pushed them down it blinded him from seeing the truth of the situation outside of the way Joey painted it. Then dying and his obsession turning into an outright worship of him.

The idea of Grant settling for just being Joey's favorite lackey, his most loyal pet and knowing that's his role but not caring bc at least it makes him stay by Joey's side. Ohh it's an interesting one to say the least. I even did a few sketches of them u can see-

They are doomed by the narrative to me and have been on my mind a lot lately can ya tell? KJDHSFGKJHDFSGKJHDFGSD

However when it comes to Sammy and Grant, I think there is a lot of interesting potential between them too. After all they share being the Ink Demon's henchmen in all of this and to see them both come to terms with that and try to find comfort in each other is such a fun idea to me.

An au where they both decide to ditch the cult and the ink demon and on their own try to figure out what happened to Joey and how to fix things is very compelling to me. I could see their relationship starting out as doing all these things for each other under the excuse they just need comfort until it starts to turn to actual feelings for each other. Both of them coming to terms with the fact Joey was not in fact a perfect person and maybe didn't even know how bad things were getting deep down himself but also finally letting themselves hold him accountable for the lies he told... It's a very fun healing narrative and very in line with a lot of the themes It's Showtime deals with.

Either way, I just really love what I've done with Grant's character in It's Showtime, he's for sure one of the most fascinating to me and the themes his story explores are ones that are important to the story as a whole and by extension me. Umm this turned out very long but I hope u enjoyed the read! Tysm for the excuse to infodump abt him, I was itching for one as u can see KDJHGKJDHFGKJDHFGSD.

[ayaisokay]

The Kids Aren't Alright

* ~ I'm sorry for making this ~ *

Doomers & Fatalism

Regardless of your age, you need a reason to move forward. You need hope. Yet, it's hard to find hope for teens and young adults.

Not a year goes by without an update on the planet's decline (at our hand), wealth is only feeling more unstable and unequally distributed, a pandemic destroyed any hope of sociability for some, and social media does more harm than good when it "connects" people.

There's no true community, nothing to take pride in, there's hardly motivation for ambition or wealth. Hell, we grow up being told we'll be a generation of renters, because it's a statistical improbability than any of us will EVER afford a home without working 3 jobs into our grave.

I can't speak for America, but I know my government haven't made any real effort to prevent renter's from taking that news and slowly inflating rent costs each month.

I'm a part of the generation that is thought to deal with the broadest range of mental health concerns; however, I'm also part of the generation that's most likely to be told to "deal with it," or "grow up," by the people perpetuating our suffering, or the peers that fell victim to toxic hustle culture— enabling the shitty circumstances.

When you start adulthood with so many problems that directly impact your life, most of which come at no fault of your own, you'd hope for help in addressing those matters, but it never comes.

We're told we're lazy, we don't try hard enough, and we've got it easy (which is a demonstrable lie). How is it any surprise we became hopeless doomers? At some point you just get the idea that we were destined to fail.

Threats of War

Now we're told to be ready for World War 3 and I'm struggling to understand why. What values am I defending? Why should I die for a country that doesn't care about me?

Sure, Ukraine and Palestine are in shitty situations, but saying that doesn't require me to do anything. Though they demonstrate something: the government will risk our lives for money, and turn a blind eye to genocide if it suits them.

All that matters is that we're made to feel like our interests align. They don't represent us. They represent themselves.

Don't get me wrong, I don't support either conflict, and I sympathise with the aforementioned nations; however, I am not willing to die for them— I don't think you are. So is it even fair for us to bother complaining? It's not like diplomacy has done a thing so far.

Whether we're roped into a war or not, it doesn't feel like we'd have a choice.

Hobbies and Corporations

Normally I'd propose finding an outlet for everything. I'm not sure that's ideal anymore. Commonplace hobbies like gaming, sports, martial arts, reading, and art, they require 3 things: time, motivation, and effort.

Thanks to hustle culture, holding 3 jobs, running a drop shipping business, and abandoning any meaningful social life is considered just enough and reasonable. That doesn't leave time for personal hobbies, entertainment, or time to actually live. A life like that is no life at all. You're an animal operating on the exclusive goal of survival. You're alive, but you're not living.

Among those of us too physically or mentally scarred to work like our peers, we compassionately took to pen and paper, or software and devices, writing stories, drawing and animating worlds, or making music.

I fear that pocket of joy is getting smaller. AI image generation has already impacted artists, AI voice recreations are already being used in place of some voice actors, and we've all seen the AI voice covers for songs— claiming "you don't need to learn to sing." It didn't take long for me to see "generative AI" being proposed as a source for track samples and stems in music production.

Considering such things, it's hard to motivate yourself to put your work out there. You struggle to justify spending time creating anything, and you're probably not ready to put the effort into producing enough algorithm optimised works per day. After all, no one will see it. No one cares.

That's how it feels.

Social Media

Maybe we still have digital spaces? Really. Are cespools like Twitter spaces you can enjoy? Even Tumblr is quite detached, with small accounts struggling to get so much as a couple likes— nevermind a reblog, and god forbid you get a comment or DM.

That's minor though, it's the relationships that bother me. The ability to lock someone out of your life, within 5 seconds, for the slightest of perceived infractions. You're sensitive and a snowflake if you need boundaries, and you're "rude" and "mean" when you're pushed too far for not establishing them.

You can join a fandom or community and run into those issues, but do you really need more trouble? Ive hung around with furries since I was 13 or 14. It wasn't a furry that SA'd me, and I've never been groomed. But as a child online, I was labelled as a dog fucking groomer (at 15), because I was in a furry community discord server. I don't like to think about how that made the young adult owner of the server feel.

Social media is good for "satirical trolls," who take pleasure in hurting as many people as they can, and then claiming it's OK because they're joking, and you should've known. Is it really worth the effort for anyone else? You know, us "normal people," not bogged down by million strong fanbases, actively managing parasocial relationships and morally questionable stalking.

Closing Statements

I'm not entirely sure why I wrote this post. I guess I'm just another girl crying on the internet when I should save it for the therapy I can't actually afford.

I want to be hopeful, to feel like there's something attainable to desire, or even just things to look forward to. It's been a long time since I woke up and felt there was a good reason to be awake or even alive.

Thanks,

- The Girl That Doesn't Exist

[teaberrii]

Chapter 11: Secret's Out

After ending a five-year relationship, you pour all your energy into work. Your latest assignment? Staying at a popular bed-and-breakfast to gather information. It should be a piece of cake... If only the owner isn't the man you scolded on the street.

Jing Yuan/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

There’s no anger, hate, or any kind of negative emotion in her eyes. They’re almost lifeless, which makes you think that she either cares too much or much too little. Regardless of which it is, neither of them seems to work in your favour.

“She's here for Yanqing, isn't she?” you ask quietly.

Jing Yuan parks the car and shifts the gears. “There’s no other reason why she’d be there.”

You and Jing Yuan get out of the car, and she flashes you a look. “It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, Jing Yuan. You look well.”

“Yanqing’s not here,” Jing Yuan says flatly. “He’s at school.”

“Fine. I can wait. Then, why don’t you introduce me to your new girlfriend while we’re here?”

You and Jing Yuan exchange a subtle look, and it’s you who says, “Girlfriend? You’re mistaken.”

She scoffs. “He was driving you back, wasn’t he? Why are you hiding it?”

You almost ask why she’s so concerned.

“We have mutual friends,” Jing Yuan says calmly. “It’s how we know each other, and I drove her back because we bumped into each other.” She seems to buy Jing Yuan's story as she looks away, slightly embarrassed. Then, he introduces you.

After she says her name, she nods at Jing Yuan. “...I’m his ex-wife.”

Your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute. You want to get on her good side as it increases your chances of getting answers, but her personality is almost taunting you to switch lanes. Still, how will you get her alone to talk to her? You glance at the man beside her. His jaw is as sharp as his eyes. It’s as if he’s waiting to pounce.

She looks at Jing Yuan. “...I’ll pick Yanqing up from school.”

“And take him where? If you’re going to talk to him about whether or not he wants to stay in Xianzhou, I want to be there.”

“Fine. I’ll see you again in the afternoon.”

Finally, the man who has stayed silent all this time asks, “...Shall we check in?”

“Yes. Let’s go.” Then, she looks at Jing Yuan. “...I never thought you could accomplish all of this. I’m looking forward to my stay.”

Jing Yuan raises a brow. “...You’re staying here?”

“I had my fiancé book the stay.” She smiles wryly. “I thought you’d turn me away if you knew it was me.”

 Jing Yuan politely gestures for them to head into the stone villa. “Then, I wish you both a pleasant stay.”

Without another word, she and her fiancé make their way inside.

“...I know she wants to take Yanqing back, but I never expected she’d fly here,” Jing Yuan says.

You sigh. "Looks like we’re fighting our separate battles.”

“They may be separate, but we’re still a team.”

“Corny, but true.”

“Well, my apologies for trying to lighten the mood.”

"Apology accepted…" Then, with a slightly mischievous smile, you say, "After another date, that is."

Jing Yuan almost takes your hand. “A date that comes sooner rather than later, I hope.”

While Jing Yuan goes off to do his managerial duties, you’re back at your cabin researching anything and everything you can find related to Caelus and his uncle. You quickly give up on finding anything about Caelus as there’s surprisingly not much about him besides his death. His uncle, on the other hand, takes you by surprise. He currently holds a management position at a bakery chain partnered with Star Rails. You know them well as they’ve been working with Star Rails for many years. But a question pops into your mind: Was his bad relationship with Caelus why he worked with Star Rails? If Star Rails does have something to do with why Caelus died, surely his uncle must know��something.

You’re mulling over your thoughts when you happen to look outside of the window and see Jing Yuan’s ex-wife. You aren’t sure if the look on her face is one of surprise or awe. Whatever it is, she definitely has opinions about Jing Yuan’s bed and breakfast. You grab your phone and casually head outside, hoping you’ll establish a better rapport with her for the sake of your research.

Once you head out, you know she sees you, but she doesn’t bother saying anything.

"I heard you worked at Star Rails." 

This stops her from getting too far. She looks over her shoulder. “And who did you hear that from? Jing Yuan?”

“No.” She shoots you a doubtful look. “I’m here because of a project they’re working on, and some of my colleagues mentioned you.”

She scoffs. “And you’re so sure that it’s me?”

“I did some research myself since I was curious about what I’ve heard.”

She fully turns around. “...What did you hear?”

Now, you’re certain you have her full attention.

“You sound worried. Is there a reason why?”

"Would you like people gossiping about you behind their backs?" She frowns and looks away. "Why would they mention me if it's your project?"

“Because they’re somewhat related, and… I’d like to know more about the last project you handled at Star Rails.”

“Honey, what makes you think I’m going to tell you anything? What’s past is past.”

“But the past eventually catches up to us."

She stiffens. “There's nothing to say.”

Then, she quickly walks away.

As you watch her leave, you think you’re expecting too much, but she makes it obvious that she knows something.

“Gosh, there’s a face I never thought I’d see around here…” You turn and see March and Welt. March is looking past you with a hand on her hip. “Still… she looks like hasn’t aged a day.”

“Really?” Welt deadpans. “That’s what you notice?”

“What else was I supposed to notice? I couldn’t hear what they were talking about!” March turns to you. “Do you know who that was?”

“Jing Yuan’s ex? Yeah, I know. It looks like you two know her too. Are you friends?”

“I’ve never met her. Only saw a picture or two of her before from Yanqing.”

“Why is she here?” Welt asks.

“Surely, not for vacation,” March says with a scoff. “What were you two talking about?”

“Star Rails.” March and Welt glance at each other. “She used to work there. And… I want to get some information out of her.”

“...Like what kind of information?”

Well, it’s now or never.

“Could you tell me what you know about Caelus and his uncle?”

March and Welt look at each other again. March looks down while Welt smiles slightly at you. “Playing detective, are we, Femme Fatale?"

“Well, this girl ain’t talking before getting a drink.”

Eventually, you, Welt, and March are sitting at an outdoor table somewhere on the resort. March takes a long sip of her pina colada when Welt says, “I didn’t know Caelus as long as March, but he really was passionate about his family hotel.”

"I met his uncle once." March lightly stabs her drink with the straw. "...I don't think he was a bad person, but he and Caelus had different opinions on how they wanted to run the hotel after Caelus's father passed."

“I guess that’s where the bad relationship came from,” you say quietly.

“I think his uncle was also upset that Caelus’s father didn’t give him any hotel rights,” Welt says, and March nods. “He just passed them all to Caelus.”

“...What about Stelle?”

“She was never interested in running a business,” March says, looking at her drink. “She had huge dreams like becoming a space engineer. But…” Her shoulders fall. “She took it real hard when Caelus passed. Like… really hard.”

“...Don’t tell me she…”

“Nothing like that. She left Xianzhou, and… she didn’t want to come back.”

March has her feet on the chair and her knees against her chest. "None of us know what really happened after that."

“She never kept in touch?” you ask, surprised.

“At first, she did, but she eventually just… disappeared.”

“Wait… She disappeared?”

“What March meant is that everyone just lost contact,” Welt clarifies. “But…”

March has her elbows on the table, and she’s bending her straw so much that it looks like it’s going to fall off. “...We found out on the news she died.”

Your eyes widen.

“...The police ruled it as an overdose,” Welt says quietly.

The silence is almost deafening.

“Dan Heng was the first to suspect she was getting involved with the wrong people,” March says.

"They're cancelling your appearance on the show. You should've known better, March." It was just yesterday that March received news that one of her advertisements would be taken down. Her life was spiralling out of control, and she couldn't hold on for much longer. "It's time to grow up."

Before she had a chance to say anything, the line went dead. Then, her phone buzzed again. When she glanced at it, she saw a message from Dan Heng.

Have you talked to Stelle?

March didn’t want to think about her. Not right now, at least. Was that selfish? Was she being a terrible friend? The last time she talked to Stelle, she’d told her that she made some new friends at her new school. But since then, they hadn’t been talking as much.

The people she’s hanging out with… They aren’t good people.

March switched off her screen and tossed her phone aside. She needed to deal with her life first.

“...I never responded to that text,” March says quietly.

You can see it all over her face. Guilt. Sadness. Regret.

“...Caelus’s uncle never held her a funeral," Welt says. "We tried getting in touch after finding out what happened, but he didn’t want to talk to us.”

“I never thought the family relationship would be that bad,” you say quietly.

“When money’s involved…” Welt sighs. “People’s true intentions show, I suppose.”

“...Do you think he had something to do with Caelus’s death?” you ask. “He had a business partnership with Star Rails at the time.”

March leans back. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Maybe he tried to ruin the hotel business somehow.” She nudges Welt. “Sounds like something straight out of a novel." Then, she puts her hands behind her head. "What would be crazier is if Jing Yuan’s ex was in on it."

Welt looks past you, and his face turns serious. March also looks past you, looking slightly confused. You turn around, and the last person you’re expecting to see is the fiancé.

“Um… Can we help you?” March asks.

“You were talking about my wife.”

“...Your wife?” March’s eyes widen. “Wait… You’re—”

The man glares at you. “Stay away from her.” He gets closer. "She told me you were interrogating her." 

“Interrogating her? I was only asking her a question.”

He gets even closer. “And she gave you an answer. She doesn’t know anything.”

You stand and step back. “Why are you so defensive? We weren’t even talking about her.”

“...You had no idea what she had to go through.”

When he takes another step toward you, March and Welt quickly stand. “Hey, weirdo, back off.”

Welt comes up beside you. “Leave her alone.”

The man slides a hand inside his pocket. “Stop asking her about Star Rails.”

“Is something the matter?”

Your shoulders fall in relief when you see Jing Yuan walk up behind him.

“Jing Yuan!” Then, March glares at the man. “This creep was bothering us.”

“I was asking a favour,” he answers calmly.

“In a threatening way,” you say flatly.

Jing Yuan looks at the man. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises.”

The man scoffs. “You sure take their side quick. You aren’t going to bother hearing my side of the story?” He turns around. “Your ‘friend’ here was harassing my wife.”

“I was not,” you say sternly.

Jing Yuan glares at him. “I see what I believe. And what I see is that you’re causing a public disturbance.”

When the man walks past Jing Yuan, he shoots him a glare. Then, March comes up with a hand on her hip.

“Ugh, I wish I could’ve punched him. Harassment, my ass.”

Welt frowns. “He was too defensive not to be hiding something.”

"Maybe he's helping someone to keep secrets," you mutter.

Jing Yuan walks up to you. “Did you get to talk to her?”

“I didn’t get anything useful, but I know she’s hiding something.” Then, you briefly tell him what happened. “She must’ve told him I sounded threatening or something.”

“But it sounds like you have the upper hand,” Jing Yuan says.

Welt nods. “She might start getting anxious about what you do know. The more she sees you’re looking into things, the more nervous she gets. She might come to find you herself.”

“...Or if we’re in one of Welt’s crazy novels, she’ll try to kill you,” March says flatly.

“Now, there’s an idea. I could use that.”

“Regardless, let’s take it one step at a time,” Jing Yuan says, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder and giving you a tight squeeze.

March gasps. “Wait. Are you two… together?”

You and Jing Yuan simply smile at each other.

“After one date? Oh, I bet Yanqing’s over the moon.”

“Should we have a congratulatory party?” Welt asks.

“Is that an excuse to procrastinate on your novel?”

“Do you always have to call people out, March?"

March taps her chin. “What about a day trip to one of the nearby islands? It’s supposed to be sunny skies all week, which means the ferry will be running!”

You don’t see a reason to say no.

◆◆◆

“You can always start over.”

Jingliu and her father are sitting adjacent to each other. She’d been reading on the couch when her father brought up her rejection of the business deal.

“You’d be getting the money you need for your surgery,” her father continues but with more conviction. “You’d be getting your eyesight back.” He leans forward. “Do you know how happy that’d make your mother?”

“I started that business from scratch,” Jingliu says. “I’m not going to sell it and have them turn it into something... that I can't even recognize."

“It’s just a dojo. It's nothing spe—"

“Nothing special? It's what kept me sane. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t do something with my life after I lost everything.”

“...It’s been so long since the accident. Don’t you think it’s time to let go? Let them take it, and you’ll get the money to start something new, something fresh… maybe even something different.”

She can’t. She won’t. And, she wouldn’t.

“I won’t give it up.”

Her father sighs. “How long will you continue living in the past?”

“This has nothing to do—”

“You’re afraid,” her father interrupts. “You’re afraid to let go. It’s why you rejected them.”

“No.”

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“I’m not!” She’s glaring at him now.

The silence lasts only for a moment. Then, she stands and heads to grab a thin jacket.

“Where are you going?”

A pause.

“Out.”

Jingliu is almost to the cafe when she sees a familiar woman walking down the sidewalk. She has half of her face covered with a scarf but Jingliu still recognizes her immediately.

“I’m surprised you came back.”

The woman stops in front of her.

“It’s been a while,” Jingliu continues.

“...It has, hasn’t it?”

It’s been over three years since they last saw each other. Ever since she and Jing Yuan divorced, they kept in touch less and less until they lost contact completely.

She pulls down her scarf. “It’s good to see you, Jingliu. Looks like you’re doing well.

“I can say the same for you. But, why are you here?”

“Are you that surprised?” A small pause. “...Is Jing Yuan seeing someone?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He was with a woman who works at Star Rails, and she’s been sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jingliu raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She sighs. “Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

Before Jingliu can say anything else, the woman walks off.

As soon as Jingliu arrives at the cafe, she sees Dan Heng sitting at a table in the corner. He already has his coffee, and he’s scrolling through his phone when she sits across from him.

“Sorry. Did you wait long?”

Dan Heng puts his phone on the table. “Just got here.”

“So"—Jingliu slips off her coat—"what did you want to talk about?”

Dan Heng glances out the window. “I’m… thinking about retiring as an athlete.”

It takes Jingliu a moment to find her words. She never thought she’d been having this conversation with Dan Heng, her junior who she almost sees as a younger version of herself in terms of diligence and skill.

“...So suddenly? It sounds like it’s been on your mind for a while.”

Dan Heng leans forward and puts his elbows on the table. “Perhaps it’s because I’m falling out of love with the sport. Or, maybe I’m in a slump. I don’t know. For the last few months in the city, it’s been difficult for me to give it 100%, and…”

“People have been calling you on it.” 

Dan Heng exhales sharply. “It’s why I thought taking up another sport would be a nice training break. But the more I think about going back… the more it pains me.”

Jingliu puts her coffee on the table and leans forward. “It sounds like you already know what you want.”

“I don’t have a plan. I don’t… I don’t have anything. If I give this up, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Before Jingliu realizes it, her hand is on top of his. "...It took me some time to figure out what I could do after the accident. You don't need to have everything figured out right now."

“I didn’t mention this to anyone,” Dan Heng says quietly. “If my brother found out, he’d”—Dan Heng sighs—”he’d probably flip.”

“He does see you as his biggest rival, after all.”

Dan Heng looks down. “It feels like I’d be disappointing a lot of people.”

“But if you keep going when you’re struggling, you’ll end up disappointing yourself.”

“...I want to quit, but I’m afraid to quit. It’s a mental struggle in itself. But, I have to make a choice before I leave.”

Jingliu gives him a little smile. “I still remember the day you told me you wanted to achieve another gold at the Global Games. And you did. Getting gold is the highest point of any athlete’s career, and maybe you want to move on to other things, which is normal. It’s human.”

Then, Dan Heng looks her in the eyes. “...Is someone trying to get you to move on to other things when you don't want to?”

Taken aback, Jingliu takes a sip of her coffee. “I thought we were talking about you.”

“...I opened up to you hoping that you’d open up to me. I’ve noticed how stressed you seemed lately.”

Jingliu sighs. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m fine. I've just been dealing with some things that's been happening at the dojo lately. But everything's fine." 

A pause.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she asks.

"Did you know that you rub your thumb against your palm when you lie?"

"...Excuse me?"

"It's something I noticed over the years," Dan Heng says. "It's also something I kept to myself."

Jingliu scoffs and points at him. "I'm keeping an eye on you, kid."

"I said I didn't like being called a kid."

"Then, stop reading people." Dan Heng continues looking at her until she takes a breath. “...Do you know Jing Yuan’s ex is back?”

The look of brief surprise is gone as quickly as it came when Dan Heng knows she is avoiding talking about whatever is bothering her. But instead of calling her out, he decides to go with the flow.

“She is? For what?”

“I bumped into her coming here, and she’s staying at Jing Yuan’s bed and breakfast.”

“That’s…”

“Strange? Yeah… She also asked me about her. “After Jingliu says your name, she says, “It seemed like she wanted to know more about her.”

“One of them worked at Star Rails… The other is working at Star Rails… Maybe that’s why.”

A pause.

“Caelus,” Jingliu suddenly says. “...All of us suspected that Star Rails had something to do with why he died.”

“She wouldn���t be here because of him,” Dan Heng says, looking out the window. “If she did care, the truth would’ve been revealed a long time ago. I hate to think she’s here for Jing Yuan because”—he scoffs—”that would be ridiculous.”

“There’s Yanqing.”

“That’d be a valid reason.”

Jingliu sighs. “I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

Just then, their phones buzz at the same time.

March: Clear yo calendars! We’re going on vacation this Saturday!!

Jingliu chuckles. “I thought you were already on vacation.”

“A vacation from the vacation. It’s how March thinks.”

“Maybe it’ll help you take your mind off things.”

She can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not him she’s talking about.

◆◆◆

Yanqing is reading by himself in the classroom when his teacher comes into the room. “Yanqing, your… mother is here.”

You? You’re here to pick him up? Yanqing is expecting Jing Yuan, but he’s not complaining. He immediately puts his book inside his desk and grabs his things. He’s walking with his teacher to the front door when he suddenly stops.

His teacher looks down. “...What's wrong?”

It’s his mother but not the one he’s expecting. She’s dressed up and wearing heels. As soon as she sees him, she quickly walks over but Yanqing steps back.

His teacher holds his hand tightly. “This woman says she’s your birth mother.”

His mother crouches and puts her hands on his shoulders. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“...Why are you here?” he asks quietly.

“Because I want to see you!” She takes Yanqing’s hand and tries to pull him away, but it’s not just him who hesitates.

“I’m sorry,” his teacher says. “It doesn’t seem like he wants to go with you.”

“I’m his mother.”

“Is that true?”

When Yanqing doesn’t say anything, his mother frowns. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Yanqing.”

“Dad!”

Yanqing runs over and Jing Yuan picks him up. Then, he looks at Yanqing’s teacher and says, “I’ll take it from here.”

His teacher nods, takes one last look at the woman, and walks off.

Outside, Jing Yuan and Yanqing are walking side by side. Jing Yuan is holding his son's hand while the woman trails behind them.

“Is this how you’re going to treat me from now on?” she asks. Jing Yuan stops and looks over his shoulder. “Like a stranger? An outsider?”

Yanqing looks from his father to his mother. “...What's going on?”

She walks up to him and puts her hands on Yanqing’s shoulders. “Do you like it here, Yanqing?”

“Of course I do! Why… Why are you asking me that?”

“I want to take you back to the city with me.”

Yanqing looks up at Jing Yuan. “But… Dad’s supposed to—”

“For keeps. Your father’s job is here, but he can always come to visit you.”

“...I don’t understand—”

“Your life will be in the city, Yanqing. I can enroll you in a private school, and you’ll get to have so many new opportunities, opportunities that you can’t find here. You won’t have to go back and forth like this anymore.”

“...So, I can’t come here and stay with Dad anymore?”

“When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

Yanqing steps back. “No.” Then, he takes Jing Yuan’s hand. “I want to stay here with Dad.”

“Yanqing…”

“...And I want to stay with Mom.” Her gaze softens, believing Yanqing’s talking about her.

Then, Jing Yuan picks him up. “Let’s go.”

“Are we going to see Mom?” Yanqing asks, and Jing Yuan’s heart almost races out of anxiety.

His ex narrowed her eyes. "...Who are you talking about, Yanqing?"

Before Jing Yuan can stop him, Yanqing says your name. And Jing Yuan can see it all over her face. Shock. Disbelief. Anger? Frustration?

She crosses her arms. “...Well, it looks like we need a more formal introduction, Jing Yuan.”

He isn’t sure whether you have the upper hand anymore.

Chapter 12

End notes:

I never intended this but I can see Dan Heng and Jingliu's friendship evolving into an older woman/younger guy relationship XD Strangely here for it though since I like their dynamic in this story.

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @immahuman @queencybow @grimreapersscythe @nqctre @winterpein @asakenajustexistshere

[blueesnow]

(3/6) Jinguji Ren's Private Story [Utapri Live Emotion]

Ch 1: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 6 with Ren)

-Restaurant- Ren: Now then, what should I eat… Lady, how about you? Haruka: O-Oh, I'm okay with anything. Ren: You don't have to hold yourself back. Besides I'm the one who invited you to a meal. Ren: It's kinda tasteless to have a meal alone on my day off, so I'm happy that you come here with me. Haruka: I mean I'm also on my day off too, so hearing you invited me out also made me happy. It's just that, I'm a bit nervous since we're in such an amazing place here. Ren: Don't worry, this is actually one of my acquiantance's place. Here, look at the menu… there's a lot of familiar dishes here, right? Haruka: You're right. There are also pizza and pasta… either of them looks delicious I don't know which one to order… Ren: If you're confused, then shall I gave out my recommendation? Haruka: Really? Then please do! Ren: Well then, it's decided. Owner, mine is as usual while she's- Haruka: (As expected of Jinguji-san, the way he's ordering a menu is also smart. This man definitely suits the atmosphere of this wonderful restaurant) Ren: …And done. The Italian food here is authentic you see and I like how everything they made tastes close to the real thing. Haruka: Wah, I'm looking forward to it…! Jinguji-san is all known when it comes to overseas countries huh. Ren: I often go there when it comes to work or travel after all. I've also known someone who's knowledgeable about Italy too, and I've been there many times since I was a child. Ren: Oh, you see those pictures that they hang onto the wall? I've had a lot of memories of that place.

Ch 2: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 11 with Ren)

-Restaurant- Haruka: That picture, which part of Italy was that from? Ren: Naples. It's a tourist city in the southern Italy with beautiful scenery and many historical buildings. Ren: The people who live there are all jolly and cheerful. And they are also honest and straightforward in their love. Ren: Couples will engage in passionate kisses even during the daytime. Regardless of whether people are watching them or not. Haruka: Even when people are watching them…! Ren: Oops, is that a little too much for you, Lady? But I think that being able to honestly express your love is a good thing. Ren: It's not only just between couples, whether it's friends or family… They don't hesitate to call the person that they love "Amore". Ren: Amore… I love you, Lady. Haruka: J-Jinguji-san…!? Ren: And well, that's how it is. I was doing an Italian greeting just now. Haruka: (That surprised me… To think that's the usual greeting they used… I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest…) - Haruka: Jinguji-san's recommendation are all delicious! Ren: I'm glad to hear that. Spending time with Lady is fun, and I find myself eating more naturally. Since we're here, I think I'll order some more. Ren: Owner, I'd like another one just like this. And also risotto, prosciutto crudo, dolce, and gelato. Haruka: (Eh, you're going to order that many…!?)

Ch 3: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 21 with Ren)

-Downtown- Haruka: I'm sorry to make you pay for me today. But still, I'm surprised. Jinguji-san, you really do eat a lot, don't you? Ren: Ah, my friends also said the same thing as well. …Is it that surprising? (choices) <You have a nice figure…!> Haruka: Jinguji-san have a very nice figure, so…! Ren: Thanks. I'm happy to hear your compliment, Lady. Ren: Of course I'm being careful before my photoshoot, but generally, I usually eat at my own leisure. <I think it's quite nice> Haruka: I think it's quite nice that you eat a lot. The owner is happy as well. Ren: Thanks. Lady really pays a lot of attention to the people around her, doesn't she? Ren: I'm just eating freely, but if Lady says so, then maybe it could be one of my strong points. (back to story) Ren: I like delicious food, so maybe that's why I ended up eating a lot of it. Haruka: Fufu, just watching you eat bring a smile to my face. Ren: …I feel like I could eat as much as I want, as long as I can see those expression on your face. Ren: Can I invite you to go out for a meal again? I know a few of other good restaurants. Ren: Ah but, it doesn't have to be just eating out, going somewhere for fun would be nice too. For the destination…how about Italy? Haruka: Italy!? T-That's… Ren: Haha, I guess I was a bit too hasty. Let's start with a nearby place first, I'll invite you again on our next holidays. Haruka: Thank you! I'll be looking forward to it. Ren: When there's a promise in the future, it makes your heart skip a beat, isn't it. It also makes me more motivated to do my work. Ren: Thank you for giving me strength, Lady. Let's do our best again starting tomorrow.

Ch 4: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 31 with Ren)

Ch 5: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 41 with Ren)

Ch 6: (unlocked if you reached intimacy lvl 51 with Ren)

[lemotmo]

Hi!! I hope you are doing well! I’m a buddie lurker and Painfully Shy so I’m actually a little scared about sending you this, but I wanted to give you an extra extra appreciation to your blog and your posts. It’s been such a breath of fresh air to be able to read level-headed discourse about Tommy’s role in Buck’s story - because it IS Buck’s story (and to an extent Eddie’s, because Buck’s story is always going to be a part of Eddie’s story and vice versa, and that is and always will be canon whether or not buddie happens).

Also, after reading a few of your and your anons’ posts today about how Oliver and Lou don’t get along, I got a little curious and watched that one LFJ/OS interview (never bothered to before) and now I have a lot of Thoughts lol... so I wanted to send you my two cents if that’s okay (otherwise please please ignore me)!

I got a little curious about their chemistry as actors since Buck and Tommy always fell a little flat to me anyway (maybe bc I'm comparing them to Buck with Eddie). And after watching that interview, I am not surprised. I can admit that at face value, I don’t think it was as bad as some people made it out to be, BUT it definitely was not great. Individually, something about Lou’s demeanor just seems so wooden? Robotic? It was extra apparent because Oliver and the interviewers were so much more animated. Regardless, the whole interview felt off and though Oliver did give it a solid shot, they were just NOT in sync with each other.

I suppose someone could argue that they just don’t know each other that well since this is the first (?) and only (??) time they interacted outside of the show. But then I ended up watching an early interview of Ryan and Oliver when they were filming season 2 to compare and… well, there is definitely no comparison. Ryan and Oliver in this interview is SUCH an amazing example of natural chemistry between professional actors. There was a comfortability to their banter and (so much!) teasing, which could have been awkward but they riffed off of each other really really well. And they had just met!

And of course now I'm thinking about the Buddie of it all because I think this is also an example of how platonic chemistry could look like (a la Bobby/Michael and Hen/Chim) and that Ryan and Oliver could be capable of it. But then we get whatever it is that we get whenever Buck and Eddie are on the screen together - which is decidedly much less platonic (“You wanna go for the title?”), much more tender (“I should have been there”), much more sincere (“Because, Evan…”), much more loving (“There is no one I trust more…”), and just so so soft (Buck falling asleep and his permanent spot on Eddie’s couch), etc etc. over the course of YEARS. I have a headcanon that when/if Buck and Eddie get together they will literally be the softest softbois for each other - I’m talking so much (SO MUCH) hand-holding, wearing each others clothes, cuddling, a lot of talking each other up and “that’s MY boyfriend” etc etc etc. they’ll be SO annoying and they deserve it so much after everything. Christopher is constantly embarrassed by his dads which just makes Eddie double-down on the insufferable gooeyness because he lives to embarrass his kid (affectionately) and Buck’s so used to it that he doesn’t even bat an eye - anyway sorry sorry, I completely lost track of this message…

This is the S2 interview I am referencing in case you are curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4asUcdU18ns

So much love to you!

Thank you for your lovely post Nonny!

I agree that the interview with Lou and Oliver isn't as bad as some people make it out to be. It's just that there is zero direct interaction between them and Oliver just didn't seem all that happy to be there, while Lou just kept on talking about himself and his father. BT was hardly mentioned. So, it was literally a 'nothing' interview.

Oliver and Ryan have natural chemistry, I agree. Sometimes you get lucky as a showrunner and you get people with natural chemistry. on 911 Tim got very lucky with Jenn and Kenny, Peter and Angela, Aisha en Tracie and of course Oliver and Ryan. The only ones that aren't currently in a romantic relationship are Buck and Eddie, but they have that same chemistry as the other pairing. This isn't just platonic.

I love your soft Buddie headcanon. Let's hope we'll get to see it someday.

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

Remember this post? Well, I'm continuing that scenario!

Pomefiore with alien Yuu! Not much else to say here, so let's get on with it!

(oh, and @a-small-tyrant wanted me to tag them so, here ya go!)

Vil Schoenheit

"Vil, that really burns..."

Burns? No, that can't be right. It's just face cream. It shouldn't hurt, unless you have some kind of cut on your face, and he's sure you don't.

You continue complaining while Vil applies your makeup

You kept saying that it hurt, that it felt uncomfortable...

Vil just believes you're being stubborn like Epel

And then you start sweating. That's weird, the temperature hasn't changed at all...

"(Y/N), is something wrong?"

Vil quickly realizes that you are in fact not sweating and wow whatever that liquid is it really stings...

"(Y/N), what's wrong with you?! What is this?!"

"I'm sorry! It just happens when I'm scared or stressed, just don't touch me for a while..."

Vil has no idea what you mean by that.

"You're meaning to tell me this is normal? What are you, a poison dart frog?"

You assume you can't hide what you are from him anymore after this incident, so you decide to tell him.

Vil is a bit surprised, but believes you. I mean, you are currently secreting a toxic substance from your skin which is, to his knowledge, not something humans do...

But you still need to look pretty.

"Hold still (Y/N). I won't put anything on your skin, since it clearly hurts you, but you still need to look presentable. Come on, let's get you dressed up."

Rook Hunt

Rook, being the stalker he is, keeps an eye on you from a distance. He thinks you look 'unique' and are worth observing

He can tell you aren't from anywhere in Twisted Wonderland the moment he first sees you

After a few weeks of stalking observing you, Rook finally decides to talk with you

"Greetings, Beauté d'un autre monde! Quite the lovely day, isn't it?"

You find him strange.

Not just strange... dangerous.

Dangerous as in you basically enter fight or flight whenever he's around you...

But Rook doesn't care

Or, maybe he's just oblivious as to the fact that you view him that way

Regardless of whether or not he knew your silly little brain saw him as a predator, Rook continues harassing following you around and talking to you

He thinks you look oh so beautiful!

A beauty such as yourself needs protection.

And Rook will be the one to protect it.

"Ah, Beauté d'un autre monde! It's such a lovely day. isn't it? Allow me to escort you to your next class!"

Epel Felmier

Harveston has many rumors and urban legends of aliens

They steal crops, spread fire blight to the apples, and abduct livestock... or so the legends say.

Epel, upon first seeing you, knows something's up.

You look kinda like a deer, or at least your legs do...

Epel assumes you're fae, because of your legs, horns, and pointed ears.

Somehow you accidentally let slip that you're not of this world...

And, Epel doesn't take too kindly to that information

For a while, Epel refuses to associate himself with you. Along with the abduction of livestock, there were also stories of aliens abducting people, so is that what you were here for? To take him away and study him? He won't let that happen, not on his life.

So for a month or so, Epel avoids you like the plague

But eventually, Epel realizes you're not planning on abducting and studying him. And even if you are planning on that, you're stranded here and probably don't have the equipment to do so

Epel begins teaching you all about apples, since you seem to be just fascinated with them.

"There's tons o' different kindsa apples too. Y'know what, maybe you should come visit my hometown someday, I think you'd like it there! But... I don't think meemaw would take too kindly to ya, so maybe that's not a good idea... don't wantcha spreading blight to our apples, do we?"

[misc-obeyme]

grey Asmo

(Hope you are doing well!!!)

So i was just searching demonic stuff, you know demon names regardless of fandoms or actual mythology

And we know that Asmodeus is a King..and when searching Asmodeus is an arch devil and is also 32 in the ars goetia

Now we are looking at kings, genrals etc Barbatos holding a ranking of a duke and his summoning is impressive

Now let me go back to my boi..he is an archdevil he is one of the weakest archdevils.

There is a ranking system

Like The King of Hell being Lucifer will be the stronger -

The princes / archdevils

Archdukes

Dukes

Genrals

A fun info i saw that Mephiso is the servant to Lucifer in theology however even though he is evil he can be good or redemable

Asmodeus is bascially prince of demons in Abrahamic religions. In Judeo-Islamic lore he is the king of both jinn and demons (correct me if im wrong)

Like Obey me Asmodeus can control anything he wants, and while I was looking at some Magnus content a piece of demonology Asmodeus came up, saying how he can manipulte and control someone's desire

So who is stronger probably Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan

However you fight one of them, your not just messing with nobility demons your mesing with all of hell (MC probably considered nobility)

this should not be taken seriously and its just fun info cuz OM screwed up Asmo for me..

Hello again, Grey Asmo! I'm doing well, I hope you are, too!

I very much believe that all of these entities are extremely different in the source material they're based on.

Before OM, I always thought of the demon Asmodeus as being especially evil, really prone to murder and just generally extremely dangerous. This wasn't really tied to any kind of fictional depiction of him, just what I'd gathered from my own reading over the years.

Because outside of OM and other fictionalizations, in a religious context, demons are meant to be evil. They exist only to create suffering or to cause humans to give in to temptation. They do all kinds of horrible things. That's the point.

I'm not super familiar with their titles and ranks, but it doesn't surprise me at all that Asmodeus would be considered a king within hell or even a prince. I was always under the impression that he was one of the more powerful demons.

That being said, I always considered Lucifer to be the most powerful demon. I kind of see Satan as another name for Lucifer, too, so essentially (outside of OM), I consider them the same entity. And this being is the one who rules hell, therefore everybody else is beneath him in rank and power.

And it kind of seems to depend on various interpretations of the story as to whether or not Lucifer and Satan really are the same being. That's just my own understanding of it, but I think it can vary.

I kind of think of the OM demons, world, and story as an entirely separate thing because I can't get them to mesh in my mind lol.

[maura-labingi]

I was tagged by @little-smartass to self-rec 5 fics, and I've spent the whole weekend picking them out :-D By and large, my personal favourites aren't usually the mosts that are the most popular, but more the ones where I'm attempting something specific with the writing - whether or not I achieve it is up in the air. So here they are, in no particular order, 5 fics that aren't necessarily my masterpieces, but are the ones I love best regardless:

Robot love-child

They were going to go forever if allowed to, Rhodey knew. Tony alone could keep up a monologue argument for several hours. They’d timed it once. Well, he’d timed it. Tony had, obviously, been monologuing.

Pepper beat him to the much needed interruption. “Tony. Tony. Look at me.”

Tony and his, uh, child, turned to face her – and the guy must have a name, right? Except nobody’d told Rhodey what the hell it was, it was probably Rob Stark or something stupid, and Tony would insist that Rob is short for Robot, even though they’d all know it’s just that Tony is bitter about all his fictional counterparts in that weird fantasy series all dying off. And god, he knew Tony had a thing about bold colours, but purple? Seriously? He was going to ask about it later. It was on his list. He always had a list, a Stupid Shit Stark Did list, full of questions. And this one began and ended with Why the hell is your sense of style so gaudy?

For whatever reason, my first MCU fic came as the franchise was entering (what I consider) it's downward spiral. Age of Ultron was a bit meh, but I had such thoughts and feelings about the characters that I wanted to write something, so I wrote a little missing-scene tidbit, where I tried my best to catch the irreverant humour of the first avengers film and a bit of grief that I felt should have been in AoU.

2. That being such a very good surprise

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He meant, obviously, Bashir’s empty plate and cup, his used cutlery, and, at a push, the splotches of sauce on the table. Bashir looked far too ready to run off and leave them, ignoring Garak’s earlier admonishments.

Bashir frowned; he frowned so delightfully, his brow scrunching downward and his mouth falling open into a lopsided gape. Garak rolled his eyes.

“Er, yes,” Bashir said, and then reached a decision, “yes yes, of course.”

Thank goodness, Garak thought, just as Bashir came around the table and leant down to place a halting, soft kiss to Garak’s temple.

A fic entirely inspired by that one b99 scene:

Trying to write someone as clever as Garak while also having him being taken as a fool by Bashir (at least a little) was my tightrope of choice for this story, and I think I got it! It's also, not to brag, incredibly sweet - good if you want a no-stakes shenanigans get-together :)

3. The Morning Brings No Relief

He shall not be happy until they are all away from the elves and in the town itself, fed and watered and, if their luck picks up, not in another jail cell. He traces the outline of the town with greedy eyes, thinking of potatoes, and strawberries, and all the good food that might be found within. His eyes rise to the grey-blue sky, and he prays a little to whoever may be listening; that they might be safe, that they might be well, that they might be –

In the distance, large and threatening, looms the mountain

A little sick-fic, and the last (for now) in a series where I wanted to try my hand at world-building the cultural differences between hobbits and dwarves. Reading back on the series now, it's a little clunky in places, but I still love it. This one holds its places as my fav of the three, shared baths (the indignity!), sneezing (the inhumanity!), and overbearing dwarves (the sheer stubborness!).

4. Rice Wine

Things have been...difficult, maybe, is the best word. Understanding has grown between them, and forgiveness begun, true, but the hurt of betrayal is something that will take a long time to heal. On both sides. So as he heads out of the sun and into the cool shade of his rooms he remembers that he is going in mud-stained clothes to meet a man that is not quite a friend, and not quite his King.

This may take some delicate words, and Bilbo has few enough of those as it is.

The Hobbit was the first fandom I wrote anything in, and Rice Wine is the first fic that I felt was really good. The oft seen trope of 'Bilbo stays and does something in Erebor' was fun to play with, and mixing it in with my attempt to subvert the reconcilliation story often played out in those fics was an exercise in restraint - how do I write a happy ending that isn't necessarily happy?

5. While There Are Green Hills, There Will Be Wood To Burn.

“Meng-fushi, I am giving you the day off to pack.” His da-ge - his dear, stupid da-ge - say while Huaisang watches from around a corner. “You are accompanying Huaisang to his lectures.”

Meng Yao blinks, nonplussed. “Yes, Nie-zongzhu, I have been made aware. And I have already packed - it was not difficult, to set aside a bag for such a short journey. Nie-zongzhu does not need to trouble himself, nor give this one the day off.”

“No, no. I mean -” Da-ge puffs out his cheeks, uncharacteristically awkward. “I have sent a letter to Xichen - Lan-zongzhu - recommending you as a student for the lectures. You will make a fine guest disciple.”

@little-smartass recced this collab between us, and she was right: this years long effort of a 'want-of-a-nail' story, to the tune of "What if Meng Yao was a student at the CR lectures?" is damn good! I'm not sure I can even write a succint little pitch for it, because we put so much into this, so many unseen bits of world building and character work and what if the show had a budget for armies? and -

I'm especially fond of the Yanli chapters - we didn't strictly have one of us write each particular characters, but I think it's fair to say that if smartarss' baby was Xichen, then mine was Yanli, who reads as a chronically ill Austen heroine who would sooner weep than rage. We'd seen a lot of bamf!Yanli stories that turned her into a soft-spoken Jiang Cheng, which felt like a character assassination in the name of cool: the way we wrote her here was an attempt to keep her core character, while giving the women of the untamed some meat on the bare bones of their stories.

I @ any of my mutals or followers who want the excuse to do this - make sure to tag me! I want to see what some of youse have been writing :D

[quickdeaths]

"Who's to say? The manga industry has already begun releasing new works back in Japan." Tasteless though some of them were. Some web novels had already used the Tragedy as starting points for an isekai story, or some sort of alternate history. It was the purview of the 14th division, and the 10th, to make sure those stories were swiftly removed. "People crave entertainment even in harsh circumstances, I suppose." They were both sitting here, after all. "I wouldn't be surprised if film production returns sooner than one would think, though, given the attempt to appeal to as many as possible as a sort of universal balm, I should imagine the situation regarding queer leads to remain more-or-less the same."

Then again, Shinobu wasn't sure she could see it mattering much either way. It would take time before the public would feel safe walking to a movie theater, and perhaps longer still before something new capture the collective attention, rather than most simply returning to old, pre-tragedy favorites in the name of comfort and nostalgia. As far as it related to Shinobu, perhaps it had even less relevance. Their time of casual dating and sex was long over. More likely than not, they'd never be intimate with someone again, so what did it matter if a film represented them or not?

"Don't tell her anything about me." Anzu was there, trying to hold Shinobu's face in her hands, pleading and wrathful in equal measures. "I'm serious, Shinobu-chan. Don't say a single word about me to her. She doesn't deserve to remember me, and if you ever cared about me, you'd respect my wishes and leave right now." It hurt to listen to her, and it hurt to think about her. More than anything, Shinobu wished she could hold Anzu close to her and tell her how she missed her, and how she wished things had been the other way around, but there was no sense in any of that now. This Anzu was only a symptom of her broken, diseased brain.

"It was Miss Saionji." Sonia hadn't asked, but the unspoken question was understood regardless. "She and Anzu were quite antagonistic from time to time, at school." That was why Miss Saionji had gone for her, rather than the more obvious physical threat in Shinobu. It would have been a mistake, if only Anzu had allowed her to take her shot. "But even after everything, Anzu wished to help. She was very convinced, before the world knew the specifics of what had happened, that something had happened. That you were victims of Junko Enoshima as much as anyone else." Whether it was her natural optimism, or her emotional intelligence, she'd known, even as Shinobu herself had been willing to write them all off. It was important to remember that about Anzu, and the most important thing to carry forward.

For a few moments, Shinobu was silent, still, as Anzu screeched and berated her. It was hard to ignore her rage, Shinobu thought, but for Sonia's sake, she'd need to do her best. "I do forgive her, though. Miss Saionji." On the archer's tongue, they couldn't tell if the sentiment was true or not. Part of her forgave the dancer, perhaps. The kinder part, the gentler part, the part more touched by people like Anzu, Seiko, and Sonia herself. "I do. I know that your actions, individually and as a group, were not your fault. I wouldn't be here - on this island, or in your cabin - if I hadn't already forgiven all of you."

The cabin was a bit cold in the evening, with the storm out, and Shinobu lacked any sort of blanket to cover herself with. She shivered. "Although, for Miss Saionji's sake, and her safety, I think that we should be kept apart, and that I not be permitted to be alone with her. When she wakes up, that is." Hands as quick to violence as Shinobu Yaguchi's couldn't be trusted. With how roughly she'd brutalized Byakuya Togami, and how far she'd nearly gone, all for his minor crime of being extremely unpleasant, Shinobu couldn't say with any certainty that she wouldn't outright kill Miss Saionji before someone (herself, or otherwise) stopped her.

The conversation had made them restless, with Anzu's interjections not helping matters. She alternated between obscenities and vulgarities, neither of which were easy for the archer to stomach. They'd made a deal, hadn't they? It had been intended to quiet that loud, angry, bitter piece of her mind, but perhaps ever assuming anything to be so easy or simple was a mistake. Knowing that Anzu would surely follow after her, Shinobu rose from the chair, pulling her bag into the kitchen. Sometime to eat might help, and if not, to stand and shift her weight from one leg to the other kept her occupied.

"Mm, I believe so," she murmured, setting a bag of popcorn inside the microwave and pulling out a pair of collapsible trays from inside her backpack. "When time and availability allowed, of course. She was exceptional. I wouldn't claim to be an expert, but my understanding is that theater is often rather specialized when it comes to the roles one plays, but Anzu had a versatile kind of mastery." She was sitting on the counter beside the microwave, glaring at Shinobu silently. Perhaps even the cognition of Anzu Tachibana was vain enough not to speak over someone singing her praises.

"Whether it was a soft, tragic girl, or a brash, hot-headed hero, or a villainous monster, she was impossible to look away from on stage. Anzu never let obstacles slow her down, either, despite her gender and modern sensibilities presenting an issue for the theatrical establishment." It was nice to talk about her. Her unique personality, her many accomplishments. They'd already made their peace with the fact that they'd never see her smile again, not truly, but speaking at length about Anzu was enough to remember how radiant she was when her smile caught her off-guard, too quick or too strong to be restrained by her performative instinct.

There were snacks in the backpack, laid out on the counter and then distributed in the wells of the tray. What Sonia liked to eat these days, Shinobu still wasn't entirely sure, but hopefully there'd be something to suit her tastes. "Although, that's hardly everything. She loved being out and about, and I believe you went shopping together, or ate together at cafes and trendy eateries, things like that." Almost, they mentioned the time when all three of them ate ramen together on a cold night in February, before thinking better of it. What reason was there to insert herself into a story that should be able Anzu?

Returning to the main room, Shinobu set down two cups of water upon coasters at Sonia's nightstand, then held out a tray for her - a small bowl set in it filled with popcorn, while the other sections had an array of nuts, dried fruit, potato snacks, non-chocolate sweets, and the like. Her own tray wasn't dissimilar, and Shinobu moved her chair closer to the bed for her water to be more easily within reach, before turning back to the movie. "Embarrassing indeed," she murmured, not quite sure how to respond to Sonia's claim of being hideous. It wasn't true, of course, but she had no idea how to say it without coming across as a particular way.

"By the way, Miss Nevermind," Shinobu started, looking over to her rather than focus on the film. "As it relates to bonding over books, or watching movies together, or things like that..." It was too personal. Even if they'd once been friends for a short while, Shinobu had ruined it. Entirely, it was her own fault. If anything, what Shinobu Yaguchi should have wanted was complete depersonalization - to become a helpful spirit without need or want for acknowledgment. But, the rain wouldn't let up until morning at the earliest, and the comfort of Sonia Nevermind's presence balanced out the discomfort of everything else, and perhaps it wasn't entirely inappropriate to desire with her some degree of personal friendship. "Though you may find it strange, or think that I'm crazy, or simply disbelieve me altogether, I enjoy your company."

It didn't seem fair. Even if the films Shinobu had found in the library were likely over ten, or even fifteen, years old, it was wrong that for everything made for teenagers, there was nothing and no one that she could see herself in. She'd brought them to amuse Sonia, the former princess wanting to watch something, anything, that didn't remind her of murder and death, angst and pain, regret and despair. But she wondered if the film choices were grating on Shinobu's nerves: a beautiful girl nurturing friendships before getting her happily ever after with a dreamy, handsome boy in the end. Regardless, she sat in Sonia's cabin and watched them without complaint.

"I do not think it should upset people," She interjected before thinking better of it. Regardless of her sexual conduct over the years, particularly as a Remnant of Despair, Sonia didn't think she had a stake in such a conversation. Love and sex were for people who were desirable, after all: the aftermath of the Tragedy reminded her that they were anything but. It wasn't Gundham's fault she was a monster. "Love comes in many forms. And all of them deserve to be shown, if the entertainment industry can be rebuilt again. I doubt making new films and shows is high on anyone's list right now."

 There was too much that needed to be done just to stabilize the quality of life, something which she was constantly reminded of. Her cowardice, referred to politely as 'healing' (and with a sarcastic edge by one member of the Future Foundation in particular), kept her confined to Jabberwock Island. That, and the still-healing stitches in her foot: putting pressure on it was still too painful to walk save for a few steps at a time, so when Shinobu held out her hand for the disc case Sonia hadn't hesitated to hand it to her.

Her eyebrows raised in interest as Shinobu heeded her order without any resistance. Not that she expected any: her friend had common sense, and darting outside during an incoming hurricane was a disaster waiting to happen. And Sonia doubted Shinobu's lodgings were any more comfortable than her own, even if the latter had gotten rid of much of the clutter and junk that had piled up in her room, courtesy of those in Novoselic who still believed in her.

A poor choice, really: their queen had self-inflicted wounds and spent her time watching old movies made for teenagers, an innocence she'd never be able to reclaim.

But she could try to live vicariously through fictional portrayals, though she doubted an American film would be easy to identify with: American teenagers seemed to have far more freedom to do as they wished than her cohorts both in Novoselic and Japan had ever been granted. Sonia tried to shift her weight, hoping to keep her muscles and joints from locking into one position from sitting in the same way for too long, but it put unexpected pressure on her foot, causing her to hiss gently in pain before flopping back against the pillowed headboard of the bed (fluffed by Shinobu, naturally).

"I am sorry for that," She replied to the beginning of Shinobu's story. Even if by the time she and her friend had likely fled, Sonia had commandeered a plane to return her to Europe so she could begin her rampage through Novoselic and the rest of the continent. "But for the Future Foundation to even recruit you as a fool's errand, as you say, you must have been very valuable to them. But if you and your friend left to return to Tokyo and only you arrived, then-"

She cut herself off as she watched the other woman put the new disc into the player. Of course, it only dawned on her what had likely transpired after she'd said it. "I am sorry for that too. I...I doubt it would have been me or my forces but...if it was, I regret it deeply. I cannot imagine you ever forgiving me for that."

At least with Shinobu's back before her, she couldn't see her hang her head. If she hadn't done it, certainly one of her friends had been the culprit. Sonia opened her mouth to ask but closed it again: maybe she didn't know, maybe she didn't want to tell Sonia who was responsible.

It was better, then, to move on to happier memories. When everyone they both loved was still alive. "Class 77-A..." Sonia repeated, furrowing her brows and trying to force something that wasn't there. So often, her brain felt like slices of swiss cheese: some things, like her exploits as a Remnant of Despair or her time in the simulation or her life before Hope's Peak were recalled in bits and pieces, but other memories were empty holes. Something had been there, but as much as she tried to give them shape, a smell or a taste or a feel or something that would connect her to her past, it remained a fuzzy, distorted nothingness. "I guess there must have been another Class 77, if my friends and I were in the B course. But I do not remember them, I do not remember meeting any of them."

She sighed in defeat, the same sort of reaction she had when she tried to walk more than a handful of steps without her crutches. She'd need Shinobu to fill in what she couldn't remember with memories of her own: unfortunately, it didn't seem like she could be much help, at least with happier times Sonia had experienced and had now been forgotten. "That is unfortunate," She shook her head as several pre-recorded trailers played on the new disc: a sort of torture no one could skip through. Talking to Shinobu was far more preferable. "I wonder if we had been friends, if we would have liked each other. I am not the person I used to be. I doubt you are either. Maybe we could have bonded over books, if we had tried to be friends."

But there was someone she had been friends with, apparently: a girl named Anzu Tachibana, a star of the stage. From the way Shinobu had spoken of her, it seemed she wanted Sonia to remember her. Something that made Sonia feel worse, something to match the pain from the stitches and every time she put pressure on them. Yet Sonia tried again, to force a memory her brain just didn't have. Or if it did, it was buried under some lock that she did not have the key for. A constant state of frustration for her and every former Remnant of Despair: they had memories of experiences they wanted to forget, and very few of things they wanted to keep in their hearts always.

"I apologize," She gave Shinobu a remorseful look. All she did these days, it seemed, was apologize: there was no alcohol in her cabin to numb the pain anymore, trying to repent was all she had. "But I cannot recall meeting an Anzu Tachibana. But you say she was the Ultimate Kabuki Actor. Did I...did I attend her shows? Do you remember how I spent time with her? That might help me remember something about her."

Beyond an interest in the library, it was something they both had in common: both of their best friends had died. Something Sonia doubted the other woman wanted pointing out, so she turned her attention to the television and some sort of choreographed dancing gymnastics routine, American "cheerleading" it was called. She shook her head in disgust at the grand finale of the opening segment, a blonde girl appearing fully naked in front of her entire school. "That truly is a horrifying situation," She remarked, shuddering. "Embarrassing surely. I hate undressing in front of anyone nowadays. It just reminds me of her: a parting gift to ensure I will always be hideous."

[bonkywobble]

The Back And Forth

Summary: You and Sam try to master the art of negotiating.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: fluff, light smut, talks of pregnancy. Minors dni/18+ only.

Disclaimer: I do not give anyone permission to take, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

Word count: 746

A/N: I have been meaning to write Sam Wilson content for ages. Please enjoy!

Main Masterlist

“Okay, hear me out... seven.”

“No.”

“Six?”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, so you wanna stop there huh?”

You’re sure you’ve never looked less impressed in your life.

“Samuel Wilson I am not giving birth to six children.”

His grin is unwavering, the stubbornness you’d grown to love over the past two years now biting you in the ass. And to think that all it took was one bad bird joke to land you in your currently entrapped state - tenderly caged by your fiancé’s arms while he argues in favour of having a metaphorically large family.

Hey handsome, did you know baby falcons are called eyass? We should probably go and relabel all your baby photos so they’re more scientifically accurate.

God, you wish you’d never said anything.

You thought it would annoy him like it typically does, leaving you cackling at the tired expression he would wear. And though his response is always something along the lines of, “hilarious” or “oh, so I’m dating a comedian now,” there was no sarcastic scoffing nor the usual rolling of the eyes today. Instead you had watched his warm gaze grow dark, and only two heartbeats had passed before he put down the groceries he’d been unpacking and calmly stalked his way over to you.

The passionate, deep kiss he’d given you was surprising but not unwelcome and soon you’d both found yourselves half undressed and haphazardly entangled on the couch, clothes strewn along the floor and coffee table. But now it was your turn, and your lover is as incorrigible as the day is long. The second his lips left yours the negotiating began.

“You know seven is the luckiest number in the universe, right?”

“And you realise you’re not responsible for pushing any kids out, right?”

Hands interlocked, he gently rubs his thumbs against yours - a subtle attempt to butter you up. The neck kisses and slowly grind of his pelvis against yours, however, are not so subtle.

“Technically,” he insists, “they’d be our kids.”

“And technically,” you retort, “they’d be coming out of my vagina.”

“C’mon, at least think about it. A couple of mini you and me’s just running around and playing with their cousins,” he suggests between pecks, and god help you the imagery he’s putting into your brain is working. You know he’d make a wonderful father, but you had always believed his job and every danger that came with it meant you thought he would never entertain the idea despite how often you both looked after his nephews. But closing your eyes, it’s hard not to imagine Sam playing around the fishing boat with a smaller and similarly charming version of him; you can almost make out another wide smile as he holds a beaming and beautiful brown-eyed boy no older than three.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed him move until you suddenly felt a cool forehead press against yours. Opening your eyes, you’re momentarily thrown by the intensity of his gaze. He looks dizzy, drunk on hope and lust and love, and you find yourself drowning in it.

Enhanced or not, only your man can make your heart melt with a single look.

Staring back at Sam, you don’t waste any time in reassuring him, “Okay, let’s do it.”

His grin grows smug, like he’d always known he’d win this conversation. But as he dips his head and one of his hands moves to caress your breast, cherishing the idea of watching it swell over the coming months, you snake your now free hand and press your fingertips to his lips.

“Wait a minute hot stuff, I ain’t done,” you say, holding back a chuckle; it’s almost comical how confused he looks. “Firstly, we’re gonna start with one and see how we go.”

He nods furiously before quickly tucking himself into the crevice of your throat and shoulder.

“Mhmm, baby,” he excitedly murmurs, “whatever you want.”

Firm fingertips squeeze your chest before trailing down your body, his hot mouth taking their place. His sensual ministrations leave you spinning, and they’re nearly enough to make you forget your next words.

Nearly.

“And secondly,” you bite out, eyes scrunched in pleasure, nails raking his scalp, “... we’re not naming any of them Sam.”

Snapping his head up, you can almost hear the record scratch playing in his brain.

“But-“

“No buts, Sam.”

He sighs a low protest, head shaking slightly, “But baby, Samantha’s such a pretty name.”

And so the negotiations begin again....

[seijorhi]

Patience of a Saint

An Ushijima x virgin reader commission for the wonderful @hearteyes-candyskies, I hope you enjoy it, bby! 💕

Ushijima Wakatoshi x female reader

TW non-con, nsfw, smut, virgin reader

“Wait, you’re kidding me, right?”

Ushijima simply shrugs, “Why would I joke about something like that?”

Semi and Tendou share a glance, the former hiding a smirk behind the glass rim of his beer bottle. Tendou had been the one to drag them both downtown for ramen in the middle of the night, an impromptu reunion of sorts, now that the volleyball season had wrapped up and Tendou was back in Sendai.

Perhaps his first mistake had been to allow his friend the option to stay with him instead of booking a hotel. Though, truth be told, Tendou would have undoubtedly monopolised his time regardless of where he was staying, and Ushijima would have allowed him to.

They were friends, after all, and that was what friends did. He was just glad that Semi had been roped in alongside him. 

When and how the conversation had steered towards his relationship with you, more specifically the details regarding your bedroom exploits together, Ushijima isn’t entirely sure, but he has no reason to lie to his friends.

The disbelieving look on Tendou’s face, however, makes him wonder if he’s said something wrong. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been dating this girl for how many months now, and you haven’t actually slept together yet?”

At that, Ushijima shakes his head. “We’ve slept together,” he corrects, taking a sip of his own beer. He likes sleeping with you, finds an odd sense of comfort he’s never felt before, waking up to find you curled against his side. 

Most mornings Ushijima has no trouble getting out of bed for an early start. He’s found that lately, at least on the nights you stay over, that’s no longer the case. 

The snort from his right is abruptly cut off into a choking cough as Semi tries and fails to mask his amusement. “He means sex, dude. You haven’t fucked her yet, have you?”

“No.”

The loud cackles from the ex-middle blocker are enough to draw the attention of several other patrons, but Tendou pays them no mind. “Why the hell not? Is she hideously ugly or something?”

“Nope,” Semi answers in his stead, a little too quickly for Ushijima’s liking. But he supposes he cannot blame his friend for noticing your attractiveness. You are, of course, beautiful - he’s told you many times.

A lone, red eyebrow quirks, glittering amusement dancing across Tendou’s face, “Are you… are you having trouble performing, big guy?”

Semi almost chokes on his mouthful, and even Ushijima feels the tips of his ears flush red. “No,” he asserts with a frown. “She…” he pauses, unsure for the first time whether this might be a line that he’s crossing to reveal something so personal between the two of you.

It’s not like he hasn’t discussed sex with them before. He has an almost uncomfortable amount of knowledge regarding the girls the redhead has been with, and Semi is no better.

(Semi was actually far, far worse.)

And truth be told he’s never been shy to share his own exploits with his friends, either. You might be the first girl that Ushijima’s ever loved, but love is not a necessary requirement for sex. He ensured that his partners left satisfied and so did he, there wasn’t anything more to it than that.

But you mean something to him. You mean everything. 

“She… wants to wait,” he says quietly. “She’s-”

Tendou’s red eyes widen, his face transforming into an expression of delighted surprise as he puts it all together. “She’s a virgin?!”

“Hey, dumbass,” Semi grunts, smacking his old friend over the back of his head, “you wanna say that a little louder? I don’t think the entire restaurant heard you.”

Tendou waves off his admonishment with a flick of his wrist, his attention firmly fixed on the ace. “So I was right then? You found yourself a cute, innocent little virgin for a girlfriend?”

Ushijima doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to. 

He can still remember the scared look on your face the first time you stopped him, the way your hands shook and your pretty eyes filled with tears as you explained. Did you truly believe he would leave you over something as simple as that? 

While he might have been… somewhat disappointed, he understood. He loves you, he’s known that for a while. He could be patient, wait for you to become accustomed to him, wait for you to get over your fears and apprehension.

Not that you make it easy for him. He knows you aren’t teasing him on purpose with low cut dresses and too short skirts, cuddling close in bed at night just so you can grind your ass against the swell of his cock, you’re too innocent for such things.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the heat that pools in his gut, the stirrings of desire and twitch of his cock every time you bend over in front of him and he’s rewarded with a perfect view. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s had to excuse himself to the bathroom, bracing himself against the wall, bent over and fisting his cock to the mental image of you spread out naked, desperate and begging before him. 

“Wait, wait, hold up. I’m still a bit ticked off that you’ve been dating this girl for months and managed to hide her from me, your very best friend. I wanna see pics!”

Ushijima exhales, “You will meet her tomorrow-”

But it’s a fruitless endeavour, as Semi’s already scrolling through his phone to pull up your social media. Dutifully he passes it across the table, and Ushijima can only watch as Tendou’s eyes widen and a wicked grin creeps across his face. 

“You, my big, beautiful, brawny friend, have the patience of a saint. My condolences.”

—

He meets you the very next day, and there’s a strange feeling in Ushijima’s chest as he watches you collapse into a fit of giggles at Tendou’s joke, the redhead’s arm slung casually over your shoulders.

He’s pleased that you get along with his old friends, it’s not something he’s ever had to concern himself with with his previous partners. They were nothing more than blips on a radar - not necessarily one night stands, but hardly worth introducing to the people who matter most to Ushijima.

Yet he can’t help but linger on Tendou’s comment from the night before.

You hadn’t told him that you were waiting for marriage. It wasn’t a religious vow you’d taken. It was just that you weren’t ready for sex yet. You asked for time.

And he’d understood. Your relationship was new, and he supposed that for your first time he was perhaps intimidating. You were shy. Nervous.

It was to be expected.

But hasn’t he proven by now that he can be gentle? That he loves you, and he has absolutely no intention of leaving you? You’re the only one he wants to be with - the only one he’ll ever want to be with. If you’re waiting for the right ‘one’ to lose your virginity to, what more does he have to do to convince you that he’s it?

Which makes him consider, watching you smile at him as you duck into his kitchen to grab some more snacks, whether you might not be as invested in this relationship as he is.

He doesn’t doubt that you love him, but even as you sidle up beside him, letting him tuck you to his side where you belong, he can’t help but question whether the true reason you haven’t allowed him to take you as he wants is because you’re still under the assumption that your relationship has an expiration date.

The thought doesn’t sit well with him.

Sex is separate from love, Ushijima knows that, but he’s also firmly of the belief that it can be an act of intimacy, an expression of love deeper than words or other actions can convey. He wants to feel that with you. 

He wants to watch you writhing beneath him, your pussy squeezing around his cock, milking it for all it’s worth, lost in the ecstasy that only he can bring you. 

He wants to know what sounds you’ll make, what pretty moans and gasps he can draw out from you as he fucks you within an inch of your sanity. 

He wants to look in your eyes the first time he makes you cum, wants to take his time, to kiss you slowly, baptise you in pleasure and watch as you surrender yourself completely to the love he has for you. 

Ushijima doesn’t have time to waste on romantic flings and relationships that will go nowhere. You are his future, so it does not make sense for you to keep holding yourself back where sex is concerned. 

The sound of your laugh breaks through Ushijima’s musing and he’s pulled back to the present as you recount the story of how the two of you met to the redhead. He’s told Tendou before, but somehow the way you tell it made it sound better. You paint him in a better light, make yourself out to be the awkward one, stumbling over your apologies when it was his fault that you’d tripped in the first place. 

You don’t have a clue about the weeks leading up to that moment, but it hardly matters. He’s content merely just to listen as you speak, your cheeks warming, long lashes fluttering as you glance up at him with that gentle smile of yours.

He loves you. 

Across from the both of you, he catches the pointed look in Tendou’s eye- 

It will be good for the both of you.

-and comes to a decision.

Unsurprisingly, the redhead just grins brightly when Ushijima corners him shortly afterwards, telling him that he will have to find somewhere else to stay for the night.

“No worries, I can crash at Semisemi’s,” he sings, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “You two need your space, I get that.”

Ushijima nods, turning to leave, only for Tendou to reach out and stop him. “Yes?”

“You know, I kinda like her, Ushiwaka. Think she’ll be good for you, so try not to break her in two tonight, yeah?”

He frowns at the comment, causing Tendou to break into a fit of laughter. 

By now, he should be used to his friend’s ribbing, but the thought of hurting you even as a joke doesn’t sit well with the ace. 

To his credit, Tendou plays his role well. You all but beg him to stay for dinner, but he just mournfully shakes his head, sighing about Eita twisting his arm and forcing him to go watch him and his band play at some local bar.

And then, it’s just the two of you.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have put more effort into making this romantic for you. He’s never had to try with things like that before. He should have cooked dinner, and maybe considered candles and roses, or even music.

Instead, you order takeout and eat it sprawled across Ushijima’s lap, and he cannot find it within himself to mind. The most mundane activities are made better simply for you being by his side, he’s found.

He waits, fingers casually stroking along your arm as you curl up to his side to watch something on TV. You seem to be enjoying it, if the giggles that spill from your lips are anything to go by, but Ushijima finds himself distracted by the gnawing feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, an eagerness that has him twitching to act.

It doesn’t help that he’s all too aware of the softness of your body pressing against his. 

But he won’t have your first time together be on his living room couch, of all places. He has enough patience to wait for weariness to set in, and when you yawn trying to muffle it against his shoulder, Ushijima almost smiles. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

You nod, and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair before helping you up. 

He knows that you like to shower before sleeping, and while there’s a voice in his head that whispers for him to go and join you, Ushijima simply strips out of his clothes, sits on the edge of his bed and waits.

When you emerge from the steam, smelling faintly of the vanilla and citrus body wash he’d bought after the first night you’d stayed over, he stiffens. Instead of your usual sleeping attire (an old tee-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts) you’re clad solely in one of his fluffy towels, hair still damp, skin glistening with stray droplets of water.

“Hey, sorry I forgot my-” you pause, words trailing off as you take in the sight of your boyfriend, utterly naked. For a split second, you freeze in place, eyes wide and lips softly parted, like a deer caught in headlights.

And then, just as Ushijima moves to stand, you snap out of it.

“Oh my god!” you cry, whirling around and clutching the knot of your towel, hiding yourself from his view and burying your face in your hands. “I-I’m sorry!” 

It’s rather adorable how flustered you get by something as natural as nakedness.

“Why wou- you know what, nevermind. I…uh, I forgot my clothes, they’re just on my bag I think, could you, um- could you please pass them to me?”

He spies them, folded neatly on the top of the overnight bag you’d packed. Instead, he reaches out to take your hand and gently tug you back towards him.

“Wakatoshi, what are you-” but your surprised protests are swallowed up as he leans down to kiss you. Yet instead of softening to his touch, allowing him to take the lead as he usually does, you stiffen in his arms, your hands finding their way to his bare chest, trying to push him away.

“Toshi, just- just stop for a second, please?” you gasp, managing to extricate yourself from the kiss.

That won’t do.

He has to be gentle with you, but with anticipation coiling in his gut, his cock stirring at the thought of your almost naked body pressed against his, it’s easy for him to forget his strength as he rids you of the offending material, bends down and hefts you up into his arms. 

“Shh, little one,” he says, ignoring your shouts as he takes the three steps over to his bed so he can lay you down. “I know you’re scared, but you have no need to be. I won’t hurt you. I’m going to make us both feel good, I promise.”

He bestows another kiss against your forehead as he climbs over your trembling frame. 

“Babe… Toshi, please- I-I’m not, I don’t-” your eyes are wide and filling with tears and you’re shaking your head - it fills him with a flicker of unease, but he knows deep down that this is just temporary.

You need this as much as he does, and once he shows you how wonderful he can make you feel, you’ll thank him. 

Cradling your cheek with one large hand, he tries to tell you as much.

But your breath is coming in quick pants, your terrified eyes darting past his broad frame as if you’re trying to look for an escape route while pleas and whimpers spill almost incoherently from your lips, and he realises that words won’t be enough.

He’ll just have to show you. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing you once more before turning his attention to the rest of your body. It’s not the first time he’s seen you bared, of course, but it is the first time he’s been allowed the luxury of taking his time to enjoy it.

Your whimpers are soft and distressed as his lips trail down the column of your throat, resisting the urge to nip and suck at the tender skin, and you squirm under him when his mouth finds your breasts. The sounds you make for him, your choked little gasps only feed the pit of hunger deep inside of him. You must be able to feel his cock, big and thick, rutting up against your stomach, leaving a shining trail of oozing pre-cum across your skin as he busies himself playing with your tits.

They’re soft and pillowy, just the perfect size for his hands to grasp and knead, and the way that you keen for him, jerking a little when he sucks a nipple into his mouth and laves his tongue over the pebbling bud is utterly captivating. You’re so caught up in the attention he’s paying to your chest that you miss the hand that trails down your side, snaking between your trembling thighs.

At least until long, thick digits swipe along your folds. 

Like a frightened little rabbit, your eyes widen and you jolt into action. “Wakatoshi, stop!” you cry, hands finding his chest once more to try and push him off of you, your legs kicking out uselessly beneath him. 

His expression softens, his thumb sweeping against your thigh in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Shh, it’s okay. I need to prepare you to take me, otherwise it will hurt.”

If anything, your expression only becomes more panicked. “No, no, no, no-”

“Let me take care of my girl. You’ll feel good,” he murmurs, and already his fingers are sliding back to your pussy. You’re not as wet as he’d like, but it’s no matter, as his thumb finds your clit, his other fingers returning to tease at your entrance.

The soft little moan you try and fail to bite back as one finger slides inside of you sends a rush of blood straight to his cock. It twitches and throbs, aching for relief and perhaps if you were anybody else, he might throw caution to the wind and fuck you right then and there, regardless of whether you were ready or not.

But as you shiver, gasping as he curls the thick digit inside of you, he’s reminded that he needs to have patience. You are not worth rushing, and despite the feral beast inside of him that’s snapping and snarling to sink into your heat, he wants to savour this.

You only get one first time, and he’s determined to make yours unforgettable. 

“That’s just one finger,” he tells you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, steady movements. “You’re going to take three before I can fuck you properly, understand?”

He doesn’t want to break you in half, after all.

You still writhe beneath him, shaking and jolting as he teases your shining pearl and coaxes your pussy into accepting another finger, and when he lowers his mouth back to your tits to add to the pleasure building inside of you, a sob bursts free.

“Please- please, Toshi!”

A third finger prods at your entrance-

“Please don’t!”

He almost winces at the sharp hiss of pain that escapes you, but he reassures himself that it will only be for a moment. The stretch and burn will give way to pleasure as he fucks them into you slowly. Your pussy is so warm, so tight, sucking the digits in deeper and when rough fingertips brush against a particular spot on your walls and you cry out, Ushijima allows a small, adoring smile to cross his face.

“Good girl,” he purrs, quickening his pace. 

You’ve always been so beautiful to him, but when you cum for him that first time, face flushed and dewy, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try not to scream in pleasure, he doesn’t think there’s anything on earth that could possibly compare.

The same could be said about the way you taste, he thinks, greedily sucking your juices off of his fingers. 

“Wakatoshi,” you beg, lying spent across his bed still reeling from the afterglow of your orgasm as he slides your thighs further apart so he can settle between them. He grunts a little as he wraps his hand around his flushed cock and guides it to your sopping entrance, marvelling at the way you shiver and mewl when he nudges it against your oversensitive clit.

Olive eyes find yours, and he cannot resist leaning down to claim your lips once more as he sinks slowly inside of you.

The sound that escapes him is deep and guttural, but the feel of your warm pussy clenching around his throbbing cock is simply heaven, and he almost - almost - loses control.

Forcing his eyes open, he watches your face as you take his cock, feeling every vein and ridge stretch you out, the pained whimpers that slip from behind clenched teeth. He knows that he’s bigger than average, that his girth is impressive and that even with his foreplay you’re still squeezing around him like a vice, but he forces himself to take it slow, to allow you the time to adjust. 

He almost starts when you reach out to grab him, fingers painfully sinking into the muscles of his forearm as you fight off another wave of tears, so he pauses for a beat, peppering your face with more kisses. “You’re doing so well for me, such a good girl.”

When your grip eases, he resumes moving, drawing his hips back and trying not to curse at the friction your slick walls are creating. 

“I love you,” he grunts, “so much.”

And then he rocks his hips forward - steadily, filling you up again, allowing you to get used to his girth. He kisses you, trails rough fingertips gently along your skin, teases you finding all the sensitive spots that make you moan for him.

Gradually, he feels you relax around him.

The obscene sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin is drowned out by your soft whines and pants as Ushijima slowly picks up the pace. He fucks you deeply, but not roughly, taking care not to hurt you anymore than necessary.

It’s slow and sensual - your body can’t help but respond to his ministrations, and when you clench around him, sucking him deeper Ushijima can’t help but groan, feeling the tight coil of heat in his core burn as pleasure ripples through him.

He wants more. Needs it.

Ushijima’s hands wrap around your thighs, easing them back towards your chest so that your ankles fall over his broad shoulders. He kisses at your calf when confusion flickers across your face, but doesn’t offer any explanation as he snaps his hips forward once more. The choked scream that leaves your lips is beautiful, but he can barely focus on that when he finally bottoms out, his balls slapping against your ass as another hoarse groan leaves him. 

He promised himself that he would be gentle with you, but as your velvety walls quiver and convulse around him and your lips fall open in another soundless scream as your second orgasm hits, he’s not entirely sure that he’ll be able to keep that promise.

There’s a tightening in his balls and he can feel the tether he has on his control fraying little by little as you moan for him, your hips rocking up to meet his fervent thrusts. You’re beautiful, perfect, and he’s losing himself to the feeling of being buried inside of you. It’s indescribable, the way your pussy’s fluttering around him, clenching and pulsing, kissing his cock with sweltering heat - it feels like the very edges of his sanity are blurring as he fucks himself deeper inside of you, his cockhead hitting your cervix with every thrust. He wants to cum, wants to fill you up with his thick load again and again and again, wants you so full it’s leaking out of you-

It won’t be enough, it’ll never be enough.

He loves you, and Ushijima won’t ever be satisfied again without the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, milking him for every drop that he’s worth.

[solinarimoon]

Seeds We Sow - Love as One

New Collection in my Wildflowers series, Sihtric x OC story. I recommend reading that first.

AN: This collection (Seeds we Sow) will be several snippets and segments of Cwen and Sihtric’s lives together in the time jump between season 4 and season 5. A full new story covering season 5 is in the works!

Warnings: Mild sexual content (very mild).

Word Count: 4053

Fields of Wildflowers Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

AO3 if you prefer

The Lady of Mercia, Aethelflaed had assumed the role of leader for her people with humble grace and sacrifice.  Wasting no time, she moved forward with bolstering the peace between Mercia and Wessex and Saxon and Dane.  She continued to supply those along the borders of Mercia and along the rivers and trading routes with fortifications and boroughs.  And the message was clear.  These newly established settlements were to be places of welcoming and community between all who wished to live in peace.  Whether worshiping the one true God or the Gods of Odin and Freya, keep the peace and her Mercia would protect you.  

This push to establish safe trade and community is how Cwen along with Sihtric, and all the other company of Uhtred of Bebbanburg found themselves making a new life in the riverside village of Romcofa.  With the charge of raising young Aethelstan away from the treachery and dangers of the Wessex court and with moving their lives entirely to the outskirts of the land, there was much work and toils to be done.  But today was a day for celebration.  Rumcofa was to be christened with love and happiness.

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

Cwen peaked through the crack of the door at the tiny gathering crowd.  She could see Osferth speaking with Young Uhtred, the two men grinning jovially.  Finan was moving around the tree gesturing to who she assumed would be Sihtric and Uhtred.  Father Pyrlig stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring up from the trunk into the branches of the massive Oak tree where the ceremony was to be held.  Aelfwynn and Aethelstan played a youthful game of tag, dancing in and around the mingling adults.  

Aethelflaed was walking up the small path towards the tree with Aldhelm at her side.  The Mercian Lord fully embracing his role as advisor and confidant to the Lady of Mercia.

“I am surprised Lady Aethelflaed agreed to this,” Cwen whispered, imagining how difficult the day may be for her.  

“Cwen, away from the door,” Eadith chided with a wide grin on her face as she took a gentle hold of Cwen’s arm pulling her back into the room, “the ceremony should start soon and I need to finish your hair.”

The two women chuckled lightly as Eadith gently adjusted a few of the flowers on the small circlet of woven vines that rested on top of Cwen’s auburn tresses.  The white and yellow of the small blossoms contrasting delicately against the dark of her hair.

“What were you saying?” Eadith questioned as she tutted and fussed some more.  She walked to stand behind Cwen and gently weave another braid in her hair.

“Oh,” Cwen sighed, “just that I imagine today may be hard for Aethelflaed… and for Uhtred as well.  Perhaps I should not have asked.” The last was asked more to herself, her voice trailing off in thought. 

Eadith wrapped her arms around her friend from behind and rested her chin on her shoulder.  “She was going to be traveling to Rumcofa soon regardless, Cwen.  They will have to be around one another on occasion.  And the Lady has known you almost your whole lives.  Of course she would be here for you.”

“That’s true,” Cwen signed once more.  She hugged Eadith’s arms around her waist and patted her hand.  “No one else living has known me longer than Aethelflaed except her mother. And we know Lady Aelswith would not be inclined to support me today,” she chuckled lightly, not really bothered by the lack of support from the devout matron, “I suppose Uhtred would be a close second.”

Eadith squeezed Cwen once before letting her go to move over to the table in the small room where they were getting ready.  “I am sure the lady is happy to be supporting you today, Cwen.”

The room had been hastily built in the few weeks they had been in Rumcofa.  It served as bedroom and living quarter in one.  There would be time to build a home later.  The first order of business upon arriving to the new borough had been to break ground on the great hall and begin plans for building the docks and fortifying the security of the area.  Sihtric had promised Cwen that he would provide her with a home as soon as the pressing business was seen to and order established.  Finan planned to build his home alongside them.  Within easy walking distance of the great hall but a bit farther away from the center of the town. Osferth had plans for his own home, although Cwen realized she didn’t know what those plans were. 

I must make a point to ask him, Cwen mused. I hope he will not be too far.  He had mentioned something of plans for a chapel the other day. She smiled to herself thinking of how excited they all were about the prospects of their futures. The establishment of the borough came with a large responsibility but strangely it felt like freedom. 

Cwen took a staggering breath, the rush of emotions she felt welling in her heart making her chest contract and her head feel light.  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.  She tried to take a deep breath, hands placed over her abdomen and closing her eyes

Eadith turned, hearing her change in breathing and noticing the look on Cwen’s face. 

“Hey, hey, no no no.  What is it, Cwen?” She rushed to her side, bringing the small bouquet of flowers she had been fixing with her.

Cwen took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, “It is nothing but happiness, Eadith.  Happiness and maybe a bit of nerves,” she squinted her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth pull up in a small grin,  “That is normal, right?  For a bride to be nervous on her wedding day?”

“I hear that is the way of it,” Eadith assured, grasping her arms and giving them a friendly squeeze.  “But with what we all see between you and Sihtric, I do not think your heart needs to be nervous.”

A small knock interrupted them.  Aethelflaed opened the door and stepped inside quickly shutting the door behind her as she greeted Cwen with a large smile.  “Father Pyrlig is getting Sihtric into place now.  They will be ready to start any moment.”

The Lady of Mercia swept forward and embraced Cwen, “And you look stunning, my dear friend.  Sihtric will think you are a vision. Are you nearly ready?”

Eadith handed Cwen the flowers and offered a warm smile before stepping to the door, “I will see you out there.  Just breathe.  It’s just Sihtric and friends.  That is all.”

“Thank you, Eadith,” Cwen nodded, meeting her friend's eye and once more fighting back tears.  She looked down and took a deep breath, looking at the flowers in her hands.  The wildflowers had been gathered from the surrounding glen earlier in the afternoon by Aelfwynn and Aethelstan.  A task given to them by an exasperated Eadith once she grew weary of their constant interruptions and playing under their feet.

A few more slow breaths and Cwen focused on the flowers, smiling at the thought of the children scampering around the field and picking the blossoms.  Just like they were on that day when we sat on the blanket in the fields of Saltwich, she mused.  A gentle calm slowly filled her, serene and peaceful.  She raised her head to meet Aethelflaed’s face.  

Aethelflaed stood waiting, patiently. As if she knew Cwen only needed a moment to center herself. 

“Thank you, Lady.  For being here.  For doing this.  It means a great deal to me.”  Cwen reached out and took Aethelflaed’s hand as she spoke, gripping it firmly.

“My dear Cwen,” Aethelflaed started, moving to place Cwen’s hand in the curve of her arm, ready to escort her, “We have been friends since we were barely old enough to remember.  Your care and council have not only been of value to me but have saved my daughter’s life.  I had planned on asking you who was to walk you to meet your future husband.  I am honored to present you on your day.”

The friends shared a meaningful look before both started forward, opening the door and stepping into the late evening light.

Cwen immediately found Sihtric standing at the arm of Pyrlig and did not take her eyes away from his.  His face shone with joy as he watched her walk forward with Aethelflaed.  The air was crisp and cool, returning to the comforts of autumn.  The wind shifted and pushed the moats of drifting sunlit dust to dance across their path.   She was vaguely aware of Finan clapping Osferth on the shoulder, Aethelstan running ahead of them to take his place standing next to Uhtred, and Eadith smiling next to Young Uhtred.  But all that was as if on the edge of a dream.  Unfocused.  Her eyes remained held with Sihtrics.

The sun filtered through the branches of the tree, casting streams of light down on them as Cwen stepped to stand in front of Sihtric.  Aethelflaed kissed her cheek and took her hands placing them into Sihtric’s before stepping back to take her place beside Aldhelm.  Aelfwynn shuffled in front of her mother leaning against her and holding her arm..

Father Pyrlig cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but Sihtric leaned forward, interrupting him and speaking directly to Cwen.

“You are beautiful, lady.  A creature sent from the gods,” he whispered, the grin still plastered to his lips.

“Ahem,” Pyrlig cleared his throat again, placing a hand on Sihtric to usher him back a pace, “you’ll get your turn to kiss your bride.  But first let me speak the words, boy.”

Everyone laughed.

“These two young people,’ Pyrlig began, his hands folded across his waist and his feet planted firmly, “have been through many trials.  Faced battles and dangers.  They have both saved my life and I know that can be said by others gathered here as well. They have faced these tribulations alone.  And they have faced them together.  And in each other they have found happiness.  I have witnessed, we all here have witnessed the depths of these two people’s spirits.  We have seen their love.  We have seen their devotion.  So let us here witness their union.  The union of a Saxon,” Pyrlig paused, placing a hand on Cwen’s shoulder and giving her a fatherly smile before he turned and clapped Sihtric on his arm, “and a Dane.  One Christian.  And one Pagan.  One, a gentle and beautiful soul, and one a grimy and uncivilized spirit. A heathen, some might argue,” he quipped jovially, eliciting a laugh from their friends before he continued, “Two different lives.  Two different faiths.  Different upbringings and in many ways, different worlds.  But these two hearts now beat as one.  They love as one.  They ARE one.”

Pyrlig paused and looked between Sihtric and Cwen giving them both a large grin.

“They stand together now for a common purpose.  To live and thrive and move forward in peace.  Let their union be the start of a joyful and prosperous future.  A symbol of what can be achieved, what can be enjoyed when we are united.”

Cwen squeezed Sihtric’s hand as she felt more tears welling in her eyes and a swelling in her heart.  He squeezed her hands back as he brought them up to gently place a kiss along her knuckle.  She was almost surprised to see a misty glint glossing his eye as well.  

As Sihtric lowered her hands, Pyrlig threaded a cloth draped over his arm through his fingers and placed it across their interlocked hands. 

“With the tying of this cloth, your hearts will be bound.”

He turned his eyes to Cwen as he gently wrapped the cloth an additional time, “Cwen, is it your wish that you bind yourself; your heart, your body, and your soul with Sihtric?  To be a partner, a lover, and a friend to him? To carry him in his pain and to share in each other's joy?”

Cwen spoke through the smile and tears that had finally fallen from her eyes, “Yes, it is my wish.”

Pyrlig smiled at her then turned his face to Sihtric, wrapping the cloth in a third swathe as he spoke to him, “Sihtric, is it your wish that you bind yourself; your heart, your body, and your spirit with Cwen?  To honor her, care for her, and be her partner?  To carry her in her pain and to share in one another’s joy?”

Cwen felt her heart thunder as she watched Sihtric swallow before nodding and smiling.  His voice was rich and full of emotion, “It is my wish.”

Her smile grew even larger and she had to fight back a joyful sob.  Cwen was not aware of it but at some point, Pyrlig had unlaced their hands to slip the knot created by the cloth away.  He took the cloth, now an intricate knot and placed it atop their hands.

“Then I give you this charge:  Love each other fiercely.  Love each other in hardship and in happiness.  You are one.  Bound together as this knot.  Husband and wife.  Sihtric, you may now kiss your wife.”

Sihtric released Cwen’s hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close.  She cupped his face as he swept his lips into hers.  She could feel his smile through the kiss and chuckled against it, her own smile stretching to her cheeks. Sihtric lifted her against him and she wound her arms around shoulders.  He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers and placed her feet back on the ground.

“I love you, wife,” he smiled, his words finding her ears despite the hoots and cheers of their friends.  Cwen did not trust her voice to reply.  Instead she leaned in to capture his lips once more.

Pyrlig lifted his arms towards the sky and raised his voice for a final address of their union.

“As your love is now christened here by the eyes and hearts of your family and friends, so let the love you possess christen this new town.  May it ever swell with joy and prosperity.”

He then clasped Cwen and Sihtric on their shoulders, leaning his head close to theirs making them laugh and turn to him.

“Now there will be time to go make little babies, but first let us feast and drink to your happiness.”

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

Tables had been placed outside of where the great hall was in the process of being built.  Plenty of ale and a bounty of autumn dishes had been prepared and were shared with the handful of townsfolk in celebration of the first wedding in Rumcofa.  The air was cool, the fires were welcoming, and laughter was loud.  Here and there small pockets of townsfolk mingled, the atmosphere easy and carefree.  Since they had arrived in Rumcofa joining the scant number of people sent ahead of them to populate the trade dock, Uhtred and his companions had welcomed a steady flow of Danes and Saxons alike.  People looking to build homes and lives in the new peace.

Cwen laughed as she spun in a circle, moving her feet lively to the rhythm from the music.  A few villagers had brought instruments along with them and were playing some upbeat tunes.  Guder, the Danish ale-smith, danced alongside her, taking her arm and his own wife's arm in turn in a joyful and boisterous dance with no clear pattern or steps.  The couple had been among the first new residents to come find a home in Rumcofa.  His skill with crafting ales and his wife, Neel’s sharp wit along with her warm cooking had firmly established them as valued members of the community quickly.  It helped that the pair had an easy nature making anyone around them feel welcome and comfortable.

Guder, smile lines crinkling around his eyes and his nose red from his own brew, slung a fatherly arm around Cwen’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple.  In a gravely but warm voice he said, “Congratulations, Young Cwen.  I hope to see you and your husband as happy as My Neel and I are in the years to come.”

At the sound of her name from her husband, Neel slapped her hand to his chest, “Lay off the poor girl, husband.  You are too far in your cups and she does not need your drunken breath invading her wedding day.”  Despite the words, Neel’s mouth smiled brightly and she too leaned forward enveloping Cwen in a large hug, wrestling her from underneath Guder’s arm and escorted her away to continue dancing.  They chuckled when Guder called after them, “It is a celebration.  What is a celebration without ale?”

“My oaf of a husband fashions himself after Aegir, our god of drink,” Neel giggled, looking back over her shoulder to smile at Guder. “Yes and the men are thankful for it,” Eadith interjected, joining them and the women laughed and clapped as they spun to the music.  The thrum and rhythm of the noise was intoxicating in its own right.

It wasn’t long before Cwen felt strong arms wrap around her waist and hoist her off her feet.  Sihtric’s deep voice laughed at her startled scream before he spun her around. 

“Ladies, allow me to steal my wife away from the merriment,” he hollered over his shoulder as he swept Cwen away before placing her down.  She turned to him and her mouth was instantly captured in another of many loving kisses they had given one another that evening.  Cwen smiled against his lips when the kiss lingered.  A ripple of heat gently slid along her body in reaction to the subtle shift in his grip and the closeness of his body. When he pulled away, she opened her eyes to meet the look of adoration on his face.  

Cwen walked herself backwards away from the music and the festivities.  His hands never left the curve of her hips as he followed her.  The intensity of his eyes and the closeness of his body were dizzying.

“Are you ready to go home, lady?” He questioned.

“You are my home, Sihtric,” she smiled and pecked his lips, “but yes.  Take me home, my husband.”

Deftly and with ease, Sihtric swept an arm underneath her legs and rolled her up into his arms, not missing a single step.  She giggled uncontrollably and held close to him.  He walked the short distance back to their small temporary one room home.  But instead of entering, he strode past it and placed her down as they reached the tree where they had spoken their vows a few short hours earlier.

Taking her hand, he led past the tree and through the sparse woods.

“I thought we were,” she trailed before Sihtric interrupted her with a smile as he squeezed her hand.

“It is a surprise.”  The tone of his voice was low and calm.  Content. “It won’t take long to get there,” he assured her.

Cwen felt her stomach flutter in anticipation of where he would lead her.  She sighed and gripped his arm with her free hand, leaning into him as they strolled.  The noise from the celebration slowly faded as they moved farther away.  Soon all they could hear was a quiet murmur, like the buzzing of bees.  It mingled with the noises of the forest in the night, the trill of the crickets and the chirps of the other night time creatures.  

How peaceful and calm, Cwen thought. ��It is nice to finally have this quiet time. She did not only mean the quiet of that evening.  She was happy they seemed to have settled into the new peace in Mercia.  It was time for life to settle down and treat them all gently.

A few short minutes later, they broke through the line of trees to the edge of the meadow.  It was the same spot where the children had gathered the flowers for her bouquet.  A soft breeze rippled around the field and shadows danced across the grass as clouds passed over the moon.  Sihtric released her hand to wrap his arm around her and draw her close.  The air was cool, but not cold.  It was a welcome coolness after the fading heat of the summer and the activities of the day.  

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest, breathing deeply. He smelt of spiced ale and the forest after a rain.  Of rich earth and a musk that was all his own.  She clung to him a little tighter.

“Come on,” he insisted after a moment, drawing her off towards the edge of the field to their right.  As they got closer, Cwen saw a large blanket strewn on the ground.  

“Is this your surprise, Sihtric?”

“It is,” he replied simply. He took her hand and helped her take a seat on the blanket before stooping down himself and reclining next to her.  He leaned back on his side, propped up on one elbow.  Cwen crossed her legs in front of her and lay back to meet him, placing a quick peck on his lips. 

“This seems familiar,” she hummed, turning her head to now look out over the meadow.  “Was it that long ago, when we were watching Aethelstan and Aelfwynn play in the fields at Saltwich?”

Sihtric murmured his agreement, shifting an arm across her waist to pull her into him as he lay back resting his head on the crook of his arm. “Only then I was not able to hold you close and call you wife.”

“No,” Cwen agreed as she turned onto her side to meet his face, “instead you kept your eyes trained on me like a hawk.  A silent, brooding bodyguard.”

“I did not brood,” he protested mildly. 

Cwen bit her lip trying to stop the smile growing on her face.  Stifling a giggle, she arched an eyebrow at him, questioningly.  

“Ok, I was brooding,” he admitted defeat with a grin, “but you cannot deny there was cause.”

“I do not deny it.  But I am glad to be here now, calling you husband and laying in your arms,” she sighed.  “And now, dear husband, I ask that you take me as a husband is supposed to take their wife.”

“Oh, I have corrupted you,” he laughed as he flipped himself over to hover over her kissing her neck and face.

“Am I not supposed to want to be with my husband,” Cwen questioned, while squirming and giggling from the scratch of Sihtric’s facial hair on her, “how else are you to give me children, I wonder.”  

She howled as Sihtric began tickling her and growling playfully in her ear, “I will give you children, love.  And we will have plenty of practice.  I plan to please you whenever you will allow it.  You have come a long way from the coy and modest woman I first lay with, my dear.” He stopped peppering her with kisses to pull back and meet her eyes.  The traces of laughter faded from his face and he stared at her adoringly.  “You took my breath away today, Cwen.  I feel blessed by the gods, your god and mine that I have found you.”

She felt her own breath hitch and once more tears swam at the corners of her eyes.  Moved by the power of his words and intensity of his heart, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him.  Breathless as he pulled away, she opened her eyes and felt his forehead rest against hers.

“You are the man who has brought me to life, Sihtric.  I love you.  And I will always love you,” she whispered, stroking his face tenderly.

“I love you, Cwen,” he returned before bringing his mouth to hers once more.  

They made love, long and deep and pure.  And after they had both found their bliss and release, they lay entwined in one another's arms.  Both content and hopeful for the future they envisioned together.  The possibility of peace, longstanding and joyful, was finally a reality. 

~~~~~~~~

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[taechaos]

Freaky Idea

Pt. 2 of New Idea

pairing: Stepbrother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, pseudo-incest, smut

synopsis: The last guaranteed day you have with Taehyung is spent with his choice of adventure. You learn a lot of things about the history of freakshows, and how much of a freak your brother is as well.

warnings: mention of murder and somnophilia, riding, manipulation

word count: 3.8k

When Taehyung agreed to being your slave for a month, he wasn’t lying. He was attached to your hip throughout the whole time span, obeying your every command without complaint. You didn’t deem him forgiven, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy his company and compliance. The whole month was a bliss for you.

The first week, the morning after the… event, you had him prepare breakfast for you and your mother walked in on him cooking an omelette for you. She was perplexed, and with her morning drowsiness asked, “You’re home?” before smothering him with a hug. Your father gave him the minimum acknowledgement, and it went by quickly with your mother being surprised every time she saw him in the morning.

The second week, he drove you around and paid for your every need. You don’t know how he has so much money, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he sells drugs or had robbed a bank. You decided to reward him by kissing his cheek every time he bought you clothes and jewelries per your request. He realized he enjoyed spoiling you, and took you shopping in different malls for 7 days straight.

The third week, you met his friend. You had insisted, and he gave in after a short while of you begging because it was difficult to say no to you and rules are rules. His terms were: 1. You're going to act like his girlfriend, and 2. You sit on his lap. Maybe you didn't get it, but his friend Namjoon didn't seem dangerous enough for you to be behaving the way you were forced to. Sitting in front of a burning barrel in the middle of nowhere, Taehyung and Namjoon smoked weed together while you watched them. The conversation was fun, and you wanted to see him again. Taehyung didn’t allow you to question the ordeal. Rest of the week went by a breeze.

Fourth week was relatively calm as well, and now Taehyung is on his final day of slavery. It’s somewhat melancholic for you because you don’t know if he’ll vanish once the clock hits 12. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging your dangling legs while your step-brother inspects the fridge to find you something for lunch. The two of you woke up late this morning, well, afternoon, and you don’t know why you feel so exhausted and sore. You’ve been feeling this way for a whole month now, but you’re growing somewhat used to it. 

“This bitch is empty,” Taehyung grumbles before closing the fridge and standing up straight. When he notices your soft pout, he slithers his way between your legs. “What’s wrong princess? Are you tired?”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you blurt without beating around the bush and peek at him under your lashes.

His brow ticks as he tilts his head. “Did you want to do something?”

“Well, no,” you drawl, “I just wish… you were here more often.”

"You know I can't stay away from you for long," he counters your worries, "especially if you allowed me to…"

"Stop." You distance yourself by pushing him away; you don't want to think about what he was implying. You made it explicitly clear that anything remotely sexual wasn't allowed to be brought up when you were around, and he’s been sticking to that rule until now - to your knowledge, at least. 

“Stop teasing your sister, Taehyung.” your mother enters the kitchen while tying the knot of her robe, now checking the fridge herself. 

He rolls his eyes before turning to her and retaliating, “I didn’t even do anything.” You giggle to yourself and bite your fist. “Did I tease you?” he asks innocently with his neck craned in your direction.

“Yes, he doesn’t even make me breakfast,” you joke with a grin. 

“The fridge is fucking empty!”

“Language,” your mother warns strictly before taking out a box of frozen pizza. “And it isn’t empty. Could you turn on the oven for me, love?” You nod and arrange the heat to 200 degrees while Taehyung scoffs, “I can’t survive in a house with women.”

“Man up,” your step-father butts in monotonously. “You have to rely on your mother to cook to this day. When will you move out? Act your age Taehyung, you’re 21.”

The light-hearted atmosphere dims with the presence of Taehyung’s father. There’s a distinct contrast between your two parents, and you can understand why your step-brother is so rebellious around them. The only thing holding them together is their dedication to religion. 

He only huffs and crosses his arms in response as his dad grabs a carton of juice and a glass from the cupboard. It’s tense in the room until Taehyung leans into your ear and whispers, “I’m only here because of you.”

A light blush tints your cheeks at his sweet confession, although it also makes you guilty. He later convinces you to eat with him in your room, and it’s comfortable in your bed as you chomp on the slices hungrily. 

“Is there anything you want to do today?” Taehyung asks as he chews on his pizza.

“Let’s do something you want for a change,” you answer after swallowing. 

Though he hasn’t been showing any lack of interest around you, you are aware that you haven’t been doing anything fun by his definition. You’re worried that you’ve bored him throughout this whole timespan of being together.

A smirk grows on his face and there’s that glint of mischief in his eyes that you’ve missed. Fair, the last time you saw it was before he traumatized you, but you try not to think about it much like you ignore the constant ache between your legs. 

“There’s this circus,” he begins slowly, “I hear it’s interesting. Would you want to come with?”

You know he’s leaving something out, his cautious tone and aura implicit he knows something you don’t. But you nod anyway, because you still stupidly trust him.

Taehyung’s car is old and retro, but he must have upgraded the engines for how fast he is driving. You like admiring his side profile as he holds the steering wheel, but the view is much more interesting when he catches you looking. It’s a far location, and you’re out of the city by the time he parks his car in the woods. How did he memorize the directions when it took an hour to get there?

“We’re here,” he announces before shifting the manual stick gear with a screech. You exit the car and he is not gentle with the way he slams the door closed, so you do the same. You can see hints of red colors between the cracks of the thin trees. 

“Is it open?” you question apprehensively. The sun hasn’t set yet, but it should be getting dark soon in the evening. 

“Hasn’t been open for a century. You wouldn’t believe the amount of history this place has.”

He takes the lead in his steps, and you follow behind though your gut doesn’t approve. The path isn’t long, and only then do you see the circus when Taehyung moves aside. It’s run down, worn out colors in the curtains, broken glasses on the ground and the circus barely holding itself up. There’s a huge cannon in the middle of the stage, the tip balancing itself on the ground. It’s kind of creepy, but Taehyung doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.

“A lot of crazy shit happened here, you know,” he piques your curiosity, “the clowns were fucking freaks. Any type of physical disorder landed you in here, whether you liked it or not. Even for babies,” he picks up an idle shard of glass, “these were jars. They had deformed fetuses on display on a stand, but the wind must have fucked it up.”

“Deformed fetuses?”

“Yeah, like, conjoined and some other stuff.” You grimace at his description, although it stirs empathy in you. The 20th century sounds inhumane. 

“Are these real stories?” 

“Yeah. And the cannon: they rocketed people from this very bad boy,” he points at it before standing under.

Your stomach sinks as you panic, “It could fall on you!” You pull at his hand and the force makes your chests meet. He smiles down at you before pecking your lips. You stammer, a little mad as he chuckles before walking to a wooden wheel. He makes a star pose after stepping on the metal stand, stretching out his limbs to fit the whole circle. 

“This was the Wheel of Death; they threw knives at targets on this. I think they only targeted females actually...” He nods at you to replace him as he hops off. You go along with his idea and climb on the stand, though it creaks weakly. He takes out a pocket knife from his pocket and you’re about to yell before he hurls it at you. It lands above your shoulder and you immediately scold, “What the fuck, Tae?! Why would you do that! I could’ve died.”

He shrugs with a bright grin, clearly unbothered by your stressing. “My aim isn’t too bad.” He walks over to you and collects his floating knife. “Besides, when have I ever hurt you?”

You bite your tongue and purse your lips with a glare. 

“See?” he whispers. “You can’t even name one time…”

He’s teasing your silence, how you can’t even dare to voice the specific night. You haven’t even told your parents and slept with him right after, and he finds that so interesting: that you trust him with your life. 

“You actually can’t? Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a good brother,” he grins lopsidedly before snapping his fingers. “On with the tour.” He is enthusiastic as he struts past the circus. You shake your head with a sigh but follow him regardless. “So there were sword swallowers, acrobats, strongmen, anything that drew attention. They had a shit ton of accidents and deaths, but you would die if you got boring as well.” Taehyung holds back a bush to let you pass; the place he’s leading you to is a lot more crowded with sages and trees than the previous path. “Once the initial attraction wears off, you’re a goner. They couldn’t survive in that society with those deformities, so it was suicide either way.”

“That is so cruel,” you mumble sympathetically. “This place was like a fractured fantasy.”

“At least they lived for a bit… up until someone ended it.” When he pushes away the woodruffs, you’re met with another rundown site with a few… cages? “This is the trailer. Where they stayed and got ready for their shows. Some were held against their will, and slept with the animals in those cages.”

You gape at your surroundings in shock. The trailer is missing one side of the wall, and the rest have been vandalized with random phrases written in spray paint. You don’t give much attention to the torture cages, because the trailer has a lot more to show. It still has couches on the incomplete hardwood flooring, and Taehyung plops on one. The fabric is torn and dust rises the moment he’s on the seat. “That’s so dirty, Tae,” you pull a displeased face.

“Don’t be rude to the past occupants. Their ghosts might still be around.” He wiggles his fingers as if imitating a monster. He then pats his thighs, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You begrudgingly do so, and he wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you flush against him. “Any theories on how this shitshow ended?”

“Police intervention?”

“Something like that, I guess. One of the acrobats went nuts and shot everyone, so the place was shut down.”

“What?” you widen your eyes at him. “Why did they do that?”

“He was going to be replaced, so he got rid of the competition. Very chilling,” he casually states. “There must be some bullet holes in the walls, but we can check that out later.” His head snuggles into your neck while you’re still processing his words, but you go blank when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your neck. “Right now,” he murmurs, “I just want you to ride me.”

“Ride you?”

“Don’t act innocent, you know what I mean. You said I could choose what we did today… and I want to fuck here.”

“Taehyung… I specifically told you we aren’t allowed to do anything sexual. You hurt me last time as well,” you frown at the mention. 

“I asked you if I ever hurt you earlier. Did you say anything?” he asks condescendingly.

“No…”

“Why are you saying I hurt you now? Don’t tell lies, baby. Besides,” his hand slides down to your thigh as he speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’ve been loosening up your cunt. You don’t even wake up at night anymore. It won’t hurt this time, I promise.”

You had an inkling, the stupid inkling that you tried so damn hard to brush aside. “You fucked me in my sleep?” you force out, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. “And you brought me here just to–”

“Christ, no,” he cuts you off offendedly, “I’m not that sick in the head. I didn’t plan it, but I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. It’s not like I’m going to rape you.”

“You did it once!”

“I was on a lot of drugs then! I’m clean now,” he huffs in irritation. “I’m sorry about that, and I know my apology is long overdue or whatever, but give me a break. I’ve been into you since I was like 16.”

You turn to look at him - really look at him. There’s not a trace of guilt on his face; the roots of his messy teal hair have grown out; the beauty of his naturally downward lip corners; you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess because you don’t know what to make of his confession. He has manipulated you countless times, coerced you into doing things you would never do, and for once you reflect on his personality. This could be one of his schemes in order to get you to do what he wants, and ironically, he was supposed to be doing that for you. Through all of your scrambled thoughts, you only muster a meek “really?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “that’s why I want to be intimate with you.”

Lies, lies, lies, you think before gently pressing your lips against his. Despite your attempt at kissing him softly, he doesn’t cooperate by instantly sucking on your nether lip with vigor, his hands immediately meeting at your hips to gently rock them against his crotch. He bites your lip before swiping his tongue against it, coaxing, “Suck on my tongue.” The awkward angle from where you’re kissing him makes him turn your body to completely face him, your knees landing on either side of him on the uncomfortable chair. It doesn’t matter, because you’re starting to forget the whole setting, just about everything except for him as arousal begins to seep in. Heat pools in your stomach at the switch in mood, and he’s enjoying your compliance as he quietly moans into your mouth. 

While you’re busy relishing in his swirling tongue, he starts tugging down your pants and you help him without looking. You sit up to push it down your ankles and throw it on the floor along with your panties. “What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles breathlessly before leaving wet kisses on your lips and pulling away to take off his wrinkled shirt. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, equally breathless.

“I don’t know, you’re just… so hot when you’re horny.” His boyish smile grows on your flustered face as he says, “Take off your shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits again.”

You bite your lip to suppress your insecurities, but it doesn’t help when you’re left in your bra as you cover your chest. “Don’t be shy now,” he teases knowingly and removes your arms before unclasping the garment. “Take out my cock now.” His tone is gentle with encouragement. You unzip his jeans timidly, but your eyes grow in wonder at the outline of his erection. “I’m so hard for you,” he assures you in a whisper and takes your hand in his to rub himself. “You’re so pretty, and sexy. I fucked you every night because you’re just so irresistible. You understand, don’t you, baby?” 

“I… Yes,” you agree and finally push down his briefs. His throbbing cock stands proudly and you’re intimidated by the size until he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you.” He lightly touches your bare pussy, slick with your arousal as you shudder. He coats your vulva with all of it, giving special attention to your clenching hole as he inserts a single finger. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, and you’re confused by the lack of pain and the desire for more. It feels good and that is a surprise for you as you sink down lower on his finger. He curls it, adds another finger and stretches your walls, emitting a moan out of you. You’re liking it, and you don’t know why; he was so cruel the last time that you were convinced something would go wrong now. Nothing does, and if anything, his fingers make you feel the best you have ever felt though it is not enough. “More,” you beg and he replaces his fingers by pulling you to the head of his cock. He’s staring right at you with hooded lids as he rubs it up and down, making you release a needy whimper. “Please, Taehyung.”

And like the slave he was meant to be, he shoves it in with a grunt. Your scream catches in your throat at the initial sting, but it’s worth it when he screws his eyes shut in pleasure and bites his lip to hold back a groan. He looks angelic under you, although he is anything but. You realize he is waiting for your cue to move, and it flutters your hearts because he is more attentive to you this time. Rather than letting him take the lead, you act on your instincts as you roll your hips. It’s unsteady at first, the foreign position making it difficult for you to adapt to so fast. His audible quick breaths encourage you to take your time in angling your pelvis comfortably, and when an involuntary moan leaves you, you place your hands on his shoulders before sticking to the current stance and going up and down on him. 

“Oh shit, you’re doing so well,” he praises you between gasps, supporting your body with his hands, “feels so fucking good. My good girl.”

It gets to your head, how much he’s enjoying your motions. He meets them with thrusts of his own, perfectly hitting your cervix and blinding you with pleasure. What is it that makes you feel so wonderful in this situation? Is it the touch, or the complimentary fact that you’re the only person Taehyung wouldn’t get bored of? 

Could it be that you’re two of the same?

Maybe he’s the one desperate to please you, you think as he massages your breasts, flicking your hard nipples with his thumbs so graciously. The eerie silence is broken by both of your loud moans, ecstasy sensually building up in knots in your stomachs. Sweat accumulates on your forehead, your hair sticking to your face but not hiding the sight of his erotic expression. You arch your back and grind down on him, and he’s limp on the loveseat as he takes all that you give him so submissively.

It’s your turn to use him, and you actually start understanding what makes him so rash and impulsive in hopes of receiving this amount of serotonin. It’s worth it, the release of control and morals to be with him. “Taehyung, h-how did you do it?” you moan. “Every night, what did you do?”

“I,” he tries to catch his breath, “I used my fingers to stretch you out. One finger, then two, then three.” He groans and thrusts into you fast and hard, “I fisted you at some point, and you came in your sleep, and then on my cock. Moaning and whining every fucking night, like some filthy whore.” You mewl at his crude words. He’s so obscene with you, and you clench your walls in response. “You like being my whore, hm? Little freak.”

“Yes, yes,” you confirm in a whimper, nodding your head as you pass the dominance onto him. He’s fucking into you while you stand on your knees, eyes rolled back with drool about to drip from the corner of your mouth. He starts to rub your clit and kisses your neck for you to tighten around him over and over again; it’s heaven in an empty graveyard. It’s so fucked up, yet he can’t stop. You’re panting as he manipulates your body to mold with his. “I’m close.”

His hands fall on your ass, greedily kneading it as your hips begin to stutter, your orgasm climbing up just as your energy is falling down. It hits you like a truck: the peak of pleasure, accompanied by a silent scream, nails digging into his skin as your muscles tense. “Fuck,” you breathe once his thrusts begin overstimulating you, but it’s not for long as he shoots his load inside you with a groan. He’s twitching as his erection becomes flaccid, and you feel it as he pulls out. 

“Bet it didn’t hurt,” he jokes while you recover from your climax. You’re leaking with his cum and he uses his shirt to wipe you clean, making you shake from how sensitive you are. “I’ll buy you the pill on the way home.”

“Thanks,” you plainly say and stand up to pick up your clothes. You’re trembling slightly and a little achy, but it’s nothing compared to losing your virginity. 

“What? You gonna give me the cold shoulder now?” He’s only in his loose pants and has his shirt thrown over his shoulder. He buckles his belt while you put on your bra. 

“Why did you make us act like a couple in front of Namjoon?” After hearing his confession, the interaction before bugs you.

“What do you mean?”

“Is it because you didn’t want him to think I was single? Because you like me?”

“No, he’s a convicted felon. Crazy motherfucker killed his ex’s new boyfriend,” he reveals with a scoff. “Besides, if you like me, you’d like him as well.”

Putting your shock aside, you realize one thing: Taehyung doesn’t want to be replaced. Does that mean you hold power over him? Or will he do anything at any cost to be in your life?  Regardless of your internal monologue, you only reply with, “who says I like you?”

It’s a joke, and he knows it. As promised, he buys you an emergency pill and another shirt for himself on the way home. His days of slavery are over, and you wonder: where will he be tomorrow? Maybe take his father’s advice… 

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Can't Keep a Secret

Word count: 4300

Warnings: tickling, fluff, reader with an inability to keep secrets, reader with a crush on a certain god of mischief

I'm so excited for 100 followers!! I didn't expect so many people to actually be interested in my writing when I started posting 🥰

This one is based on @atlas-of-the-universe's request here for a fic where Loki tickles the reader to get information of some kind 😉 I hope this is what you were looking for!

This one also has a little more crushing/romantic fluff than some of my other fics at the end, so if you're not into that just skip that part. As always, completely SFW!

* * *

No one ever seemed to do anything nice for Loki. So, when Thor approached you to ask if you’d help him and the others plan a surprise birthday party for his brother, you wholeheartedly agreed to assist. As the Avengers’ best party planner, you jumped at the chance to start brainstorming ideas to make this party the best Loki had ever experienced – including on Asgard. And, if it meant he’d pay a little extra attention to you, well… that was an added bonus.

The only problem was – you were terrible at keeping secrets.

It wasn’t as if you went around spilling the details when someone asked you not to tell the others about something. You knew enough not to just blurt out the fact that you were planning a party. Unfortunately, though, you had a tendency to let your feelings show in your facial expressions. Trying to keep secrets made you anxious, knowing you’d been the one to accidentally say just a little bit too much in the past and ruined other surprises.

The fact that you were the worst secret keeper was no… secret, for lack of a better word. Your teammates frequently exploited this fact when they wanted to know what you were hiding from them. Tony, especially, loved to talk circles around you until he could get you to trip up and give some detail away. On the other hand, they also tried not to let you in on too many details when they were planning a surprise for one of the other team members.

This time, you were determined not to give anything away. You were thrilled that the team was finally going to do something special for Loki, and you were NOT going to ruin it by spilling the beans to the trickster. Thor was probably one of the more trusting members of the Avengers, and he assured you when he asked you to help with the party that he had faith you wouldn’t screw up (quite literally in those words).

You started researching online to get some ideas. This party had to live up to the standards of an Asgardian prince, so you couldn’t just order a few pizzas and beer and call it a party. Plus, Tony had offered to pay for the whole thing (you suspected he felt guilty for having accidentally blasted Loki through a wall in the training room with his new Ironman suit the week prior) so your funds were basically limitless.

Inevitably, though, you were bound to run into situations where you had to spend time with the raven-haired god without allowing yourself to let any details slip.

The moment Loki first started to suspect you were hiding something was when he walked in on a conversation you were having with Thor in the kitchen. You had been asking him about the Asgardian mead his brother loved so much and wanted to know if he could manage to get some here on Midgard for the party.

“What is it about the Asgardian mead that you like so much better than standard alcohol?” you inquired curiously.

“Ha! That is a very funny question, Lady Y/N,” Thor laughed heartily. “As if any Midgardian liquor could so much as hold a candle to the spirits we drink on Asgard.”

“Hey! I enjoy my tequila! Margaritas are arguably a delicious alcoholic beverage,” you bantered.

“You truly believe this ‘margarita’ as you call it could compare to the smooth, sophisticated taste of an Asgardian mead?” Thor countered.

“I must agree with my brother on this one – I have seen this ‘margarita’ drink you speak of, and it is highly unlikely to be superior to Asgardian spirits.”

You gasped involuntarily when you heard Loki’s voice in the doorway, spinning around to face him with a look of bewilderment on your face. He cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized your expression.

“Oh, hey Loki! Didn’t see you there,” you greeted, trying to lean casually against the counter you were standing beside.

“Yes… it appears you didn’t. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Loki folded his arms across his chest, eyeing you intently. “What was it that brought you to the subject of Asgardian liquor?”

“Oh, that? Well…”

“I was just informing Lady Y/N that I have been feeling a bit nostalgic thinking about the celebrations we had on Asgard, when we would drink heartily with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three,” Thor cut in, quickly interrupting you mid-sentence. “Brother, you must recall the time you had a bit too much while drinking with us and…”

“I believe that’s quite enough nostalgia for one evening, dear brother,” Loki cut in, appearing almost frantic as he glanced quickly at you before turning back to glare at the elder Asgardian. “Stark asked me to inform you he requires your assistance in the laboratory. You’ll need to continue this conversation another time.”

“Ah, yes, alright then. Another time,” Thor agreed, winking at you before he exited the kitchen. Loki followed close behind, but not before giving you one last calculating glance before he crossed through the doorway and out of sight. You let out a breath of relief, hoping he hadn’t thought much of the conversation.

You noticed, though, that Loki started conveniently popping up around you more often after that incident. Maybe he didn’t want Thor to have the opportunity to tell you about whatever embarrassing story had occurred when they were younger, you thought. Regardless, it meant that you had to be extremely cautious about doing any planning for the party in any of the common areas.

The second time you nearly let something slip was during a hushed conversation in the training room with Peter after one of your sparring matches. He had pulled you aside after training to ask your opinion about whether he should ask his friend MJ to attend the party with him. He’d had a crush on the girl for quite some time, and now that she knew his secret identity he thought it might be time to introduce her to his Avengers family.

“I’m nervous she might not want to come, but I think it would be a great chance for her to meet everyone when the focus would be on someone else,” he explained. You hiked your backpack up onto your shoulder with your training gear and made your way toward the door to the training room with Peter by your side.

“Why wouldn’t she want to come? From what you’ve told me, she seems to be more of a social butterfly than you are, even,” you asked.

“Yeah… you’re right, I’m probably overthinking this, aren’t I?” he chuckled. “I just don’t want to screw things up!”

“What are you screwing up this time, spiderling?”

You stopped short as you heard Loki’s voice from behind you, making your heart leap into your throat. You turned around, trying not to look startled.

“Oh, Peter wants his friend MJ to attend… a training session with us!” you fibbed, trying to think quickly. “You know, so he can show her his Spider-Man moves!”

“Yeah! That’s right,” Peter agreed, nodding vigorously. “I’m going to go call her right now, thanks Y/N!” Peter scurried off down the hallway, leaving you standing with a somewhat skeptical looking god of mischief.

“Why was Peter asking you about inviting a friend to his training? Would he not have asked Stark?” Loki inquired. You shrugged in a non-committal way.

“Who knows? Anyway, uh, it was nice talking to you, but I’ve got to get going… big assignment to finish up tonight, can’t really stop and chat. See you later!” you blurted, not waiting for a response as you hurried toward your room. Phew, that was close, you thought to yourself, hoping he hadn’t been standing behind you for too long.

Later that week, you found yourself alone in the common room while watching television. You pulled out your laptop during one of the commercials and started searching the internet for caterers, hoping to find something fancy enough to appeal to an Asgardian god. You had thought that everyone else was out for the day, so you weren’t overly concerned about anyone seeing what you were doing.

“What mindless reality television show are you watching today?” The smooth, baritone voice caused you to jerk your head up from your laptop screen and instinctively slam it shut. He hadn’t even been standing behind you to see what you were searching – it was purely on reflex that you closed the computer. Loki raised his eyebrows at you. “I see you aren’t really watching anything, are you? What is it you were viewing on your computer?”

“Nothing! I mean, nothing exciting, really. Just some old photos that I was trying to sort through,” you stammered, standing up with the laptop clutched to your chest. “You can have the TV if you want, though. I have to go… work on that assignment some more. I was just taking a break. It’s almost done!” Loki opened his mouth as if to say something, but you didn’t wait around to let him ask any more questions that might make you give away something you shouldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening in your room, avoiding the trickster at all costs.

The next morning, after getting ready for the day, you grabbed some breakfast before heading back to your room to continue to do some additional party planning research where Loki wouldn’t walk in on you unexpectedly. You shoved the last bite of one of Thor’s pop-tarts that you’d stolen into your mouth as you approached your door, opening it and walking toward your desk where your laptop sat. You always left the door slightly ajar when you were in your room, and so you were quite surprised when you heard the door thump shut behind you, the lock clicking into place.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned around slowly, staring wide-eyed at the god of mischief now standing in your bedroom between you and your only exit. His hands were clasped behind his back, his blue-green eyes gleaming ominously as he stared you down.

“Oh, hey Loki! What brings you to my room?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Let’s end this little charade, hmm?” He took a few slow paces forward into the room, closing the distance between the two of you. “It’s become clear to me over the last week that you have knowledge of some information that you do not want me to become aware of. I’d like you to tell me what it is.” His tone was calm; low, but dangerous. You swallowed hard.

“Loki, I-I’m not sure what you mean. I don’t have any secrets.” You took a step back from the advancing Asgardian, your back meeting the cold, hard wood of your desk behind you.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is up to you,” he threatened, stepping even closer so he was only a foot away from where you stood trapped against your desk. “Tell me what it is you’re hiding, or I will… coerce you into talking.”

“Coerce me? Heh, what’s that supposed to mean?” you asked nervously, your hands gripping the desk behind you.

“I have my ways. I am the god of mischief, after all.” Loki stood in front of you unmoving, a barrier holding you hostage against your desk.

“Even if I did have something to hide, you wouldn’t hurt me. Your brother would kill you,” you warned.

“I never suggested I would hurt you, darling. I would never do such a thing.” He took the slightest step closer. “You seem tense. Am I making you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Good.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Have you decided, then? Will we be doing this the easy way or the hard way?”

“I told you, I have nothing to hide,” you insisted.

“Very well then. We’ll do this the hard way.” Quickly, you darted around Loki toward the door, trying to make your escape. He was faster, though, catching you with an arm around your waist and dragging you back so your back was against his chest. “Tell me, darling…” he growled in your ear, making you shiver, “… are you… ticklish?”

“Wha-“ you opened your mouth to protest but stopped speaking as you felt gentle scratching on your side. You shook your head quickly, suppressing the giggles that were threatening to rise out of your throat. If you stood still long enough, maybe he would give up.

“Do you think you’re fooling me by not allowing yourself to laugh? I felt you tense up immediately the moment I touched you.” He tightened his grip, wrapping both arms around your waist and digging his fingers into your sides. You snorted at the sudden sensation, doubling over to try to fight your way out of his grasp. “As I suspected. You are extraordinarily ticklish.”

“S-shut up, Loki!” you demanded, your muscles relaxing as his fingers stilled against your sides. He released you, allowing you to turn and face him but still standing in between you and the door.

“Now then – are you going to tell me what it is you’re hiding? Or do I need to tickle you until you are begging for mercy?”

You felt your face flush with heat. You’d been tickled before, certainly, but only for a few seconds at a time, and never as a means to pry information from you. Truthfully, though, you were enjoying this playful side of Loki. You were also determined not to tell him about the party – it would be so much more fun if it were a surprise, and he deserved to have fun. You braced yourself, folding your arms defiantly across your chest.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Before you could react, Loki had tackled you, and you found yourself flat on the floor with your wrists pinned over your head. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the dark-haired Asgardian loomed over you, his smirk growing wider.

“I see you’ve made your choice, then. But I should warn you – I don’t do mercy.” The fingertips of his free hand connected with your belly, lightly tracing the soft skin through your shirt. You turned your head so you wouldn’t have to look at him, his knowing stare making it more difficult to prevent yourself from laughing. Slowly, he applied more pressure until he was clawing at your belly with all five fingers, varying between the center and sides and analyzing your expression to evaluate your response.

“I-I’m telling y-you, t-there’s nothing to t-tell,” you insisted, jolting a little each time his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe you.” He shifted his attack to your side, his fingers spidering gradually up your ribcage. Your nerves were alight with ticklish shocks, helpless giggles now bubbling out of your chest.

“W-whyhyhy don’t you believe mehehe?” you asked, your tone starting to sound more desperate.

“You’re not exactly subtle. It’s rather obvious when you’re trying to keep a secret.” Loki was now scratching in between your upper ribs, and your giggles were evolving into desperate laughter. “I see this is becoming more challenging for you. I wonder – should I try to identify all of your weak spots? Surely one of them will get you talking.”

“NOHOHO LOKI!” you pleaded, thrashing to try to free your wrists from his grasp.

“You’ll need to provide me some information, then. What was it you were really discussing with my brother the other night?”

“HE TOHOHOLD YOU!!” You shrieked as Loki’s fingers found purchase under one of your arms, your feet pounding against the floor in desperation.

“Honestly, Y/N, I didn’t believe a word either of you said.” His fingertips grazed the underside of your upper arm, tracing from your elbow down to your underarm and back up again. You hadn’t realized how ticklish the soft skin of your arm could be, but his maddeningly light touch had you writhing to try to evade his fingers.

“STAHAHAP THAT!” you begged, yanking at your restrained wrists to try to lower your arms. Even before you were in this weakened state, the god of mischief was stronger than you.

“Then talk.”

“NEVER!”

“Aha!” he exclaimed suddenly, lifting his fingers away from your arm. You sucked in air desperately, letting out the residual giggles as he allowed you a moment to recover. “You ARE hiding something! You’ve given yourself away.”

“I… but… no I didn’t!” you pouted. He chuckled, a genuine grin spreading across his face at your adorable, disappointed frown.

“It’s too late now. You may as well tell me your secret.”

“I won’t tell! I’ll never tell!” you barked, a sudden surge of bravery rushing through you.

“I’m afraid I must continue, then,” he stated, feigning pity. “Why don’t you tell me where else you are ticklish instead?”

“What? No! I won’t tell you that either!”

“Fine. It’s much more amusing for me to locate your weak spots myself anyway.” Loki released your wrists and in the same motion reached behind him to squeeze above your knees with both hands. You yelped at the unexpected touch, trying with difficulty to sit up now that your arms were free. You reached toward Loki’s sides to try to retaliate but he was too perceptive, grabbing a wrist in each hand using his cat-like reflexes. “You don’t want to do that, darling,” he warned.

“Oh, but I think I do,” you argued, trying your hardest to break free of his grip. He wrestled with you for a moment, successfully forcing you onto your stomach so you could no longer sit up and try to counterattack.

“Now then – where were we?” he huffed as he sat himself down on the back of your legs, pinning you in place. You lifted your upper body up onto your elbows and turned to look at him, keeping a close eye on his hands. “Ah, that’s right. You were about to tell me what you were discussing with the spiderling the other day.”

“No I was-“ your retort died in your mouth as Loki’s fingertips touched down on the backs of your knees. “L-Loki, hold on, don’t you even think about it.”

“Why? Too sensitive?” he teased, tracing one finger along the tendon in the back of your knee. You let out a squeal, only egging him on as he began to flutter his fingers against the thin skin there.

“LOKI I WILL KIHIHILL YOHOHOU!”

“You hardly sound threatening when you’re giggling like a child,” he taunted, tracing along the skin on the inner sides of your knees. You reached back desperately with one hand while holding yourself up with the other elbow, trying to grab hold of his tickling fingers. He snickered at your feeble attempts, reaching up quickly to slide his fingers under your arm so your elbow would buckle beneath your torso before returning his attention to your knees. “This could all stop if you’d just tell me what your secret is.”

At this point, you’d come to the embarrassing realization that you were actually having fun, despite your abdominal muscles aching from laughing so hard. You were also still determined to keep the party a secret, if not for you then for Loki’s own good. You picked yourself back up onto your elbows so you could turn and look back at him defiantly.

“No!” you declared.

“No? I see I must not be trying hard enough, then. Let’s try somewhere else, shall we?” Loki shifted his weight so he could pin your legs down with his shin, his gaze turning down toward your socked feet.

“Don’t… you… dare!” you warned, noticing where his line of sight was directed. He placed his fingertips teasingly against the soles of your feet, maintaining eye contact with you, eyes glowing with mischief.

“I’ll give you one final chance. Spill,” he ordered. You merely smirked back at him.

“Make me.”

Without another word, Loki sprang back into action, his torturous fingertips skimming along the soles of your feet. Frantic giggles spilled from your lips as you tried jerking your feet away from his touch without success.

“I’d wager you’re regretting what you said now, aren’t you?” he goaded, scratching under your toes with one finger on each foot. Your giggles pitched up as you curled your toes to prevent him from reaching the sensitive skin. “Are you prepared to talk now?”

“NEHEHEVER!!” you screeched, still determined to win. Eventually he’d get tired of this and give up, right?

“Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” You practically screamed in ticklish agony as his fingers once again connected with your ribs, darting rapidly up and down your sides and under your arms, scribbling into the small of your back, fluttering against the sides of your neck and behind your ears, never staying in one place long enough to grow accustomed to the sensation. Your laughter fell silent as you tapped your hand hard on the floor, signaling you were giving up. Seeing your signal, Loki’s fingers stilled against you, still pressed gently into your sides as a warning that he could start right back up again at any moment. “Talk.”

“I will… alright… just… just give me a sec,” you huffed, your chest heaving with exertion. Your mind was racing, trying to come up with a plausible lie that would satisfy the god of lies. Your heart sank as you realized you couldn’t possibly come up with something in the next ten seconds that would fool him. It had to be the truth. “I’ll tell you, but you have to swear to me you won’t tell your brother that I told you.”

“That depends on what it is you’re about to tell me,” Loki bantered.

“No, I’m serious!” Loki shifted so his weight was no longer pressed on your legs, and you turned over into a seated position on the floor. “Promise me you won’t tell.”

“Fine. I promise. Now tell me.” You took a deep breath.

“We’re planning a party. For you. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Loki was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. His blue-green eyes searched yours as if trying to find any hint of a lie in your face. His face softened a bit as he began to realize you were actually telling the truth.

“What for?” he asked, his tone flat.

“For your birthday.”

“We don’t celebrate birthdays on Asgard, we have far too many of them to be excited for them.”

“Ugh, Loki, don’t you get it? Thor wanted to do something nice for you! I wanted to do something nice for you!” You held his gaze, trying to prove to him you still weren’t lying.

“You wanted to do something for me?” His voice was low, but there was something different about his tone; something you hadn’t heard before. Hope? Excitement? You averted your gaze down to the floor, poking at the fibers in the carpet with your finger.

“Yeah, I did. You deserve something nice. You’ve come a long way since New York. And you’re… a good friend.” You felt heat rush to your face. You’d nearly revealed another secret, one you had no intention of telling him today. Or ever. Unfortunately, Loki was perceptive.

“That sounded like another lie, Y/N,” he stated ominously. You risked a glance up at him, seeing a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“What?! No, it’s not!” you argued, the warmth in your face spreading to your ears.

“Haven’t you learned not to lie to me by now?” Loki suddenly grabbed hold of your waist, dragging you closer to him. “Or do I need to repeat the lesson?” His fingers latched onto your ribcage, squeezing and kneading with maddening precision. Still exhausted from the previous attack, you immediately caved.

“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I like you, ok??” Loki stopped tickling you, not yet releasing you from his grasp. You covered your flushed face with your hands. “Happy now?”

Loki pried your hands gently away from your face, tilting your chin up with his finger. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them before as he gazed at you, a small smile on his face. With a surge of confidence, you closed the gap between your faces, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back, gently but passionately all at once. When he finally pulled away, he grinned at you.

“Yes, I am happy,” he said simply. You smiled shyly back at him.

“Good.” You hardened your expression a bit, although admittedly it was hard to wipe the smile off your face. “You still have to act surprised. I can’t have people thinking I can’t keep a secret.” Loki laughed at that, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“But you can’t, darling.” He gave you one last poke in the side, eliciting a whine from you. “I’ll do my best to act surprised. I am the god of lies, after all. I should be able to put on a convincing display.”

“Good.” You allowed him to help you to your feet before shooing him out the door. “Now, get out of my room. I still have planning to do.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, stopping in the doorway to look at you. “I’ll go, but only if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”

“Only if you don’t tickle me,” you countered.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t make any promises,” he replied, winking. You sighed, smiling at him.

“I guess I’ll take my chances then.”

[daloy-politsey]

On my first date with Yehoram, I offered him a sip of my prosecco at the hip Tel Aviv bar I had brought him to. He tensed, paused and quietly replied, “I’m not sure if I can. I don’t know if it’s kosher.” I immediately recognized his confession for what it was: a coming-out. I told him that it’s fine, that we can ask the waitress if the wine has a certification, that I grew up in an observant family too. He finally breathed.

I already knew that Yehoram is female-to-male transgender. In fact, it was the only thing written on his dating profile. Over the course of our year-long relationship, and then our seamless transition into friendship late last year, he explained to me that the queer community will often accept that he is trans but not that he is religious. But the same is not always necessarily true of the religious community – and particularly of his family.

There are many preconceptions about his family. The matriarch Mazal, 74, and patriarch Yehiel, 78, were both born in Sana’a, Yemen, and immigrated to the newly-declared State of Israel in early childhood. (Haaretz is honoring their request not to publish the family name.) They are visibly Haredi: Mazal wears long skirts and tucks her hair into modest black caps; Yehiel trims his salt-and-pepper beard, and wears a uniform of crisp dress shirts, black pants and a black velvet kippa.

They speak with heavy Yemenite accents – which have been at least partially adopted by their seven children – and their speech is seasoned with religious aphorisms and allusions. People are surprised to learn that Yehoram, 32, is accepted and supported by his parents, to a degree that is rare even in the secular homes of Tel Aviv.

At their kitchen table in a town near Rehovot, central Israel, Mazal has set out water, juice and a homemade cake. Yehiel has set down a voice recorder of his own, to make sure he isn’t misrepresented. They have a story to tell about being the parents of a trans son, and they have decided that I am allowed to tell it.

Before we begin the interview, both are apprehensive. After much deliberation, they decide that I can publish their names but not their images. Yehiel is a respected figure in religious circles: he serves as his synagogue’s main cantor on the High Holy Days, is a mezuzah scribe and kashrut supervisor for the Chief Rabbinate. He spends his free time poring over religious texts, with Yehoram often alongside him. His son no longer attends the local synagogue in which his father plays so large a role; the congregation knew him before his transition, and it could hurt his family’s reputation.

If someone goes to the rabbi with this article in hand and tells Yehiel that he’s out of the fold, “at our age, there’s no fight left. There’s nothing you can do,” he says. “It would destroy me.” When he thinks I cannot hear him, he says that he suspects that one of his contracts as a kashrut supervisor was not renewed for this exact reason – because of his unconventional family.

But if getting his story out shows religious parents that they can embrace their own LGBTQ children, he wants it published. “I want to help,” he says.

Mazal chimes in. “Both of us do. You hear these stories about parents throwing their children out ... I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you throw out your child.”

She recounts going to the shivah of a friend of Yehoram’s – the transgender queer activist DanVeg, who took her own life in 2016.  “I saw them all in the living room, with their heads on each other’s shoulders. I started to cry. I wanted to hug them all, to go one by one. And they came to me; they saw the look in my eye. There was a man who had become a woman, who came to hug me. And a young girl, and more. I couldn’t take it,” she says, wiping away tears that are coming faster and faster. “More and more of them told us that they’re alone, abandoned by their parents. How can you throw out your child? The child of a human being!”

I get up to hug her, and she cries into my back: “Why? Why would you throw your child out of your house? Why?”

They say they never suspected that Yehoram was different before he came out to them, if not unconventionally, as queer at the age of 18, some 14 years ago.

He did not employ the usual lexicon: “I told them, this is how I am – I’m wearing pants from now on and I’m not interested in men,” he recounts. In Yehoram’s absence, Yehiel recalls it as well. Yehoram sat his parents down in the living room and said his piece, and then asked his parents for a response.

“We got up immediately, as if it were coordinated,” Yehiel says. “We hugged [him] from both directions … and we told [him], ‘You have nothing to be afraid of, no need to worry. You’re our daughter, it doesn’t matter what you do.’” Yehoram then opened his backpack to show a couple days’ clothes inside. “If you didn’t accept me, I would have killed myself,” he told his parents.

From there, they worked to make sure that their son wouldn’t, for one moment, forget that he is loved and cared for. They also made sure that he could live a normal life. “It was important that he be self-sufficient, have a respectable career, be able to build a life without us,” Yehiel explains. “Every day, I’m afraid that he won’t be here. I think about how he can build his life so he’s not dependent on anyone else.”

Mazal and Yehiel tend to refer to Yehoram with female pronouns when he isn’t in the room, and occasionally slip into them when he is. To her, Mazal says, he will always be their daughter. “It’s hard for me,” Yehiel concurs. “[He] should be patient.”

Mazal calls him by his chosen name – an anagram of his birth name – to make him happy. “And to connect with [him] – what can you do? We love [him] either way. [He’s] our daughter.”

There have been difficulties in accepting him along the way, she concedes. But like many parents of LGBTQ children, they are mainly rooted in concerns that he will be able to live a safe, fulfilling life.

No one should mistake their acceptance for liberalism – they repeatedly note that the Pride Parades, with their scanty clothes and glitter, are unsightly. “The left brings it in,” Mazal says. “Non-Jews from abroad, with all their tattoos and whatnot.” However, their embrace of their transgender son and the many queer people who have passed through their doors does not come in spite of their firm religious beliefs, but is the direct result of them.

Yehiel, a lifelong religious scholar, has poured over sources biblical, talmudic, rabbinic and kabbalistic. The kabbalistic concept of the soul provides a simple explanation for the transgender phenomenon, he believes.

“We have the knowledge that Jewish souls can be reincarnated into anything – into non-Jewish families, into animals, even into food,” Yehiel explains. “We were taught that the soul of a man can be reincarnated into a woman, in order to remedy something he had done in a past life.”

When Mazal was pregnant with Yehoram, she had already given birth to five daughters and was hoping for a son. The couple went to a respected rabbi, who told them to buy a bottle of wine for the circumcision ceremony and to come see him 40 days into the pregnancy. Yehiel says that when the time came, it was hard to get hold of the rabbi to schedule an appointment, and they were only able to see him eight months in. The rabbi gave them the blessing regardless.

“The body was already formed female,” Yehiel says, but the prayers had worked: “The soul was male.”

And there is scripture to back up the existence of LGBTQ people within Judaism. “You’re not different, you’re not strange,” Yehiel says. “This [phenomenon] has always existed. It’s in the Torah, and it’s in the mystical sources.” Mazal adds: “It’s a shame that we don’t lay this out these days, to have everything written up and organized to say that it’s all there in scripture.”

At 26, Yehoram told his parents he was transitioning. He underwent top surgery – a double mastectomy – without informing them. “On the one hand, it hurt us,” Yehiel admits. “For us, it meant that’s it – it’s sealed. If he’d told us in advance, we would have told him to wait. Maybe the situation would change.”

But what’s done is done, Mazal says. “What hurt me is that [he] underwent the surgery and I wasn’t there. That ate at me.”

Both loudly agree that the important thing is that he is happy and healthy. “We hope just for success – and thank God there are many successes, so everything is alright,” she says. “I’m just waiting for children,” she laughs.

Yehoram, who has taken a seat next to her, smirks. Mazal jokes about him coming home pregnant one day. He’s slightly irked, but jokes along. A couple of years ago, he froze his eggs through Ichilov Hospital’s fertility clinic for transgender men, and hopes to one day become a father, no matter how he has to do it. His parents strongly supported the move. They have 31 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Yehoram asks a question of his own: Whether his parents want to talk about the time they took him to an esteemed rabbi in Tel Aviv, after he came out at 18.

“After he told us everything, we consulted with a rabbi,” Yehiel relays. “I remember that he got angry and yelled at him. I didn’t like that. He hurt him, and I couldn’t stay any longer, so we left.”

“The rabbi told me that I had lapsed, deteriorated in my spirituality,” Yehoram explains. It’s clear that he remembers it vividly. “That I had fallen.”

After that, the rabbi told him to leave the room, and for his parents to stay. “I heard shouting, and then you left the room,” he says to his parents. “You didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. We were quiet all the way home.”

No one discussed the incident for days after, and they barely spoke at all. After three days, Yehoram says, he asked his mother what had happened after the rabbi told him to leave the room.

“I didn’t know what happened, I assumed the worst. You told me that [Dad] got very angry and told [the rabbi], ‘How dare you hurt and belittle a Jewish soul?’ You said you had to give him however much money, and that you just threw a small bill onto the table and left the room,” Yehoram tells his mother. “It really surprised me. I thought you were on his side, and then I suddenly heard that you were on mine.”

When he is with us in the room, Yehoram sometimes seems agitated by his parents’ insistence that their acceptance has always been complete. He tries to direct them toward other instances, other rabbis they don’t or won’t recall. It is often difficult for parents to acknowledge the pain or discomfort that their actions caused their children, even if they were accidental. Mazal brings out a picture from Yehoram’s bat mitzvah, of them embracing the young girl he was. They look almost exactly the same, 20 years later, beaming. Young Yehoram, in a long-sleeved, high-necked dress, is smiling, but the smile does not reach his eyes.

Elisha Alexander, co-CEO and founder of the transgender advocacy and information organization Ma’avarim, says that even though Yehiel and Mazal’s acceptance of their son may seem unique, he would like to think it’s more common than we assume.

“There are religious and even ultra-Orthodox people who accept their trans family members, but it’s usually in secret. The main problem in these communities is the leadership,” he says.

But if more of them realized that embracing their children was a matter of pikuach nefesh – the Jewish concept that saving a life supersedes most religious commandments and norms – they would be more inclined to find a halakhic solution to integrating transgender people into these communities.

There is also a misconception that acceptance is a binary choice: That any parent who does not kick their transgender child out of the house or disown them has, by default, accepted them. “This could not be further from the truth,” Alexander says. “Accepting your child means accepting every aspect inherent to them, including their gender identity, pronouns and so on.”

When parents refuse to do so, their child may seek acceptance elsewhere. He adds that studies show that acceptance within the family drastically reduces the suicide rate among transgender people.

Knowing this, Yehiel says that any parent in his position must continue loving and supporting their child. “This child can fall,” he says. He does not mention it, but he is aware of the stories and statistics: trans youth who find themselves on the street face high rates of abuse and exploitation. Thirty to 50 percent of transgender teens report suicidal thoughts and behaviors – a rate three times higher than for teens overall. But that figure falls to 4 percent when families accept and embrace them, says Sarit Ben Shimol, manager of the Lioness Alliance for families and transgender children and teenagers.

Yehiel adds that it is the duty of parents to give children the support they need to thrive. “As a parent, it is your responsibility to tell your child: You are my child and you are my life. My life depends on you. Watch over me so that I can watch over you,” he says.

As we get up from our seats, Yehiel looks at me for a moment and asks, “If it’s not too personal – since we already opened up the topic – what is your relationship like with your parents?”

I tell them that I talk to my parents, and especially my mother, almost every day. That it was difficult for them to come to terms with my sexual orientation as well, and that sometimes I have an inkling that it still is, even if they won’t say it outright. But I try to be patient.

“Good,” Mazal says. “It’s important to be patient – they’re learning too.” She embraces me again, and Yehiel rests a hand on my shoulder. They invite me to come again, whenever I like. “After all, you’re like our daughter, too.”

[bobateastay]

Hi! Can I request ateez san x female!reader with real small boobs? I don't mind smut or fluff just whatever you're more comfortable doing. I'm really flat chested (like only just an a cup :'( ) and it's been making me really insecure lately

a/n: hiya anon! i hope that this came out the way you hoped, otherwise feel free to request again!! i understand where you’re coming from with this, my chest barely fills an a cup so i have trouble with it too. remember that all bodies are good bodies, i hope this short fic can bring you at least a little comfort <3

taglist: @pikacuuuuuuu

tags - fluff fluff fluff, slight smut, insecurities, use of push up bras

Word Count: 1′970

Loving San was easy. He was talented in a million different ways - regardless of whether he was singing, dancing or just playing video games, he always did well in what he did. He was kind and sweet. He sent you messages throughout the day when he was working and was happy to help you out with your own chores and responsibilities when he had the time. Most of all, San was honest with you. He was easy to communicate with and was constantly reminding you of how much he loved being with you. So yes, loving San was never difficult. The difficult part was letting San love you.

You knew that everybody had their own insecurities. Your friends worried about their acne or financial status, San worried about his dance skills - it was always surprising to hear what other people were insecure about. Their worries seemed baseless and you knew that their insecurities were really nothing to worry about. Applying this logic to yourself was a different story.

You knew your chest was small. People had a stupid habit of brushing it off by telling you that 'it's not small, you look fine' which only seemed to make things worse. The more you heard that, the more insecure you felt. You weren't looking for someone to tell you that your chest wasn't small and that that was the reason you looked fine - you wanted someone who would tell you that your chest was small and you still looked fine. The idea began to seem unrealistic after a while.

San was the closest you'd gotten to that kind of person. 

Even though his personality was big enough to fill a room and his good looks were enough to make your stomach tie in knots, you found that you didn't feel self conscious around him. When he complimented you, it had a tendency to be on things you'd chosen yourself: 'your outfit looks so cute, spin around let me see!' or 'you should teach me how to do makeup, yours is perfect'. It was a nice change of pace. 

When he asked you out on a date, however, the easy comfort of your relationship with San shifted. 

As you looked at outfits for dates online you found one too many articles telling you that you should wear something to show off cleavage and your heart sunk a little each time you read the same advice. You'd known San for a little while now, so why was it difficult for you to decide what to wear? He'd already seen what you looked like, so why was it so hard? In the end you wore a push up bra beneath a sweater San had complimented before. 

It was strange to feel so conscious of your chest around him, especially when he'd always been able to take your mind off of it before. If San noticed your nervous state, he didn't call you out on it, just held your hand and grinned while you walked to the pizza place he'd told you about. He was just regular San, the way he always was.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?" you asked him as he stood with you in front of your apartment door, both his hands holding onto both of yours. 

"My dorm is full of guys, I doubt you want to see what they look like when they're alone," San said with the same sweet smile you'd come to love recently. 

"What if I do?" you said with a wink and a giggle, San's laughter filling the hallway. Before you had a chance to speak again, San leaned in and kissed your forehead, smiling at the way your hands tightened their grip on his. 

"Call me, okay?" he said as he let go of your hands. Before he left, he stopped to admire you for a moment. "You look really good tonight, Y/N."

The compliment should’ve made you happy but you found yourself feeling worse about your appearance than before. You wondered whether he would’ve said the same thing had you not been wearing the push up bra. Maybe you were just overthinking. You probably were overthinking. That didn’t make it any easier.

The push up bras became a regular thing to wear on dates with San. You tried not to pay too much attention when he complimented your appearance, instead kissing his cheek and changing the subject. It was fine, you told yourself. It was just because you wanted to look your best. If you felt less insecure, you could have more fun with San. You tried to ignore the fact that whenever you took the bra off you were left feeling a little more insecure than you had done before.

After a few months of dating San he finally got a break from all the promotions and music shows he’d been doing lately. There wasn’t even a second of hesitation when you invited him over to your apartment, eager to spend the night with him. You hadn’t thought it through, and why would you? You were excited to sit in his lap and cook with him and most of all to hear all about the performances he’d been working on. If you were lucky, he’d show you some of his favourite dance moves he’d learnt.

What you hadn’t considered, you realised as you were waiting around for him in your living room, was that you really couldn’t sleep in a push up bra. You chewed on your bottom lip, looking at the t-shirt and shorts you were wearing and wondering what you should do. You reminded yourself that San had seen you without a bra before. But not since you started dating, your brain answered bitterly. 

You wondered if he’d notice any difference. The fact that he’d been around female idols who definitely had bigger chests than you while he’d been working lately only made you feel worse. You put on one of the push up bras you’d worn around him before, inspecting your reflection in the mirror. Before you had a chance to overthink anymore or even change what you were wearing, your doorbell rang. You almost tripped over your own feet running to open it, a bright smile lighting up your face upon seeing San.

“Sannie I missed-”

He tackled you in a hug, rocking you from side to side with a loud giggle.

“Ah, I thought I was going to die if I went another day without seeing you,” he whined, kissing your cheek with a happy hum.

“Hey, let me close the door,” you said, ruffling his hair and kissing at his jaw. He let you go with a small huff, hugging you from behind once you had shut the door. “I missed you.”

You weren’t exactly sure what you’d expected when inviting San over, but laying beneath him while he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck felt like a good way to start the evening. You could feel how hard he was through his sweatpants, hips pressed to yours as he sucked on your skin, hands warm against your waist. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, his lips against yours as you cupped his cheeks. He grinned when he pulled back a little, his needy expression momentarily melting into a softer one.

“I really missed you, sunshine,” you told him, moving his hair out of his face. He leaned into your touch, leaning back on his heels and tugging on your shirt for you to sit up. He pulled you onto his lap, groaning when you began to grind against him, his brows drawing together. He kissed you once again, hands slipping underneath your shirt to unclasp your bra when-

“No, San, wait,” you almost shouted, grabbing his arm. He froze, looking to you with wide eyes. “Stop, please don’t take it off.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, moving his hands away to rub circles into your hips with his thumbs. He watched your expression with worried eyes, noticing the way you pressed your lips together. “Hey, what’s wrong? I won’t take it off if you don’t want me to, I’m sorry for not asking.”

You took a deep breath, holding onto his shoulders tightly. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, it’s okay,” he reassured you, words just as gentle as his hands against you. You were trying to come up with something to tell him when your mind went blank, your lips forming a frown as you spoke.

“It’s a push up bra,” you admitted, earning a confused sound from San.

“Are those difficult to take off?” he asked, tipping his head to the side to see your face better. “I don’t understand.”

“My boobs look different without it,” you mumbled, pouting when he held your chin to tilt it upward. His eyes met yours and you saw the same confusion you’d heard in his voice earlier.

“That’s not a problem, baby,” he told you, voice soft as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “You’re beautiful no matter how your chest looks. Stuff like that isn’t important.”

“But they’re so- they’re so small,” you told him, bracing yourself for the same false reassurance you’d been receiving for years now.

“Yeah, they’re small but you still look good,” San told you with a frown, his hands rubbing up and down your waist. “Actually, you look better than good. You’re beautiful and really really hot. Like the hottest girl- no, I’m serious!”

You cut him off with a giggle, hugging him tightly as he tried to finish speaking. Your heart was racing once again, but this time you could feel your chest fill with warmth as you shut your eyes. Finally you’d gotten to hear what you’d been waiting for. San thought you looked good regardless of how your chest looked - he hadn’t told you something you knew wasn’t true. He liked how you looked regardless. You relaxed in his arms, kissing his neck fondly.

“Were you worried about that this whole time?” he asked, clicking his tongue when you nodded. “Y/N-” he stopped for a moment, pulling back to take your face in his hands, lips soft as he pressed what must’ve been the millionth kiss of the night to your lips. “-I love you. Don’t worry about how you look around me.”

Your eyes widened at his words, lips curving into a small smile.

“What? What did I say?” San asked, blushing furiously. He whined when you didn’t answer, letting his hands rest on your shoulders so he could shake you playfully. You'd never thought the first time you'd hear him say those words would be with his erection pressed up against you, but you wouldn't have changed it for the world.

“I love you too, San,” you murmured, his blush deepening.

“Oh.”

You let San lay you back down on the bed, your shoulders less tense this time around. San’s hands were careful as they dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear, the cold air against your skin making you shudder. When you looked at San, you found his eyes already focused on your face, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You really are the hottest girl I’ve ever seen,” he told you, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs until his breath was ghosting over your clit. A whine left your throat as he kissed you there, his fingers gentle as they held your thighs apart. “I’m gonna make sure you believe me.”

The next time his hands reached for your bra clasp you let him undo it, sighing as he kissed at all the marks it had left behind on your skin until his mouth met your tits, his lips pulled into a smile as he listened to your soft moans. The only downside you could think of to finally letting San love you was all of the ridiculously expensive push up bras that you now had no use for.