#given that this is almost 1000 words i really may clean this up and make a proper fic of it

[everylastbird]

I've been thinking of a soulmates style au wherein hualian discover they are soulmates after XL saves HC as a child.

In this AU meeting your soulmate is incredibly rare and very auspicious, so even though HC is a commoner he is recognized as XL's future spouse and taken into the care of the royal family, but sequestered away from XL to maintain decorum. They see each other now and again, and interact during events and gatherings, but otherwise are kept separated. HC is delighted and pines and generally dreams of the day he gets to officially marry XL and be his wife.

(I like to personally use the term 'wife' in danmei specifically to mean 'the spouse that marries into the home of the other', so as he is marrying into XL's home, he would be the bride in this scenario.)

XL ascends, as in canon. Unlike in canon, when a soulmate ascends, so too does your soulmate, and HC ascends with XL.

XL also descends and falls from godhood, as in canon. Ever so magnanimous, JW ~kindly~ allows HC to stay in heaven upon XL's request, as HC didn't break any rules. HC is, however, bound to the heavens, unable to descend to seek out XL.

Centuries pass, and HC becomes known as a God of constancy, faithfulness, and marriage. He is regarded with both awe and pity. Poor HC, who remains loyal to a faithless god of misfortune. Isn't it incredible, how much he is willing and able to endure to uphold the sanctity of his marriage vows? He has a large faction of worshippers, mostly brides and wives in arranged, unhappy marriages, who pray to him for strength.

Few, if any, remember that Xianle fell before HC had the chance to marry XL. That all this time he has remained steadfast and true to his fiancé, rather than his husband. The gods that do look upon him with scorn and judgment. No one expects him to remain loyal to the likes of XL, so who does he think he is putting on this show for?

It doesn't matter what those gods, or even what his worshippers think of him, however. HC is loyal to XL out of love, and devotion. He is not suffering out of obligation. His only pain is that felt by his fiancé, and the pain of separation forced upon him.

And despite what the gods and his worshippers assume, he is not a long-suffering bride who sits and pines for his beloved. While he yearns for the day he can reunite with XL, HC spends his time playing the long-con. After all, is the keeping of house and home not one of the primary roles of any good wife? And the heavens are so steeped in filth. Certainly not worthy of his husband to be.

As for XL, he strives and toils to regain his godhood under the weight of his lost worshippers and the scorn of the gods who once praised him.

More than that, he worries, often, about HC, and his misplaced loyalty. Every now and then XL hears another tale of HC's endless, unshakeable loyalty, but with those tales also come stories of that devotion being nothing more than a shackle. Nothing is ever said of HC's love for his husband, or HC's happiness, only his impressive endurance in the face of obligation to a worthless husband. XL fears that HC is little more than a long suffering would-be bride, held back by XL's mistakes and the fate that bound them together without either of their say.

So XL does his best to regain his godhood, so that he may re-enter heaven and finally free HC from himself for good.

When, after 800 years, XL finally ascends once again, nothing is as he had expected it to be. There is a crowd, but no one is casting judgment or disparaging him. Instead, it seems as though he has ascended amidst the start of a lavish celebration.

As XL stands amidst a sea of joyful revelry, a procession slowly makes its way towards him, and at its end, a bridal sedan.

When the sedan stops before him and a hand moves aside its curtain, XL reaches out to grasp it without thinking. Gently, he leads the bride off of the sedan and onto solid ground.

XL looks up at a veil of opaque crimson silk. He cannot see the face behind it, does not even know, after all this time, what HC would even look like... But in this moment he knows, unquestionably, that this is not just any bride, but his bride.

Part of XL recalls that one of his main reasons to rise to godhood again was to let HC go, to finally allow him freedom from the weight of being tethered to someone like XL. And yet, any thoughts of breaking his vows to HC dry up in his mouth. He has thought of so many ways to say it, so many ways to cut HC loose of him without bringing HC any more pain, but he cannot bring himself to say any of them.

The hand in his grasp turns, and laces their fingers together. His bride's hand is strong, XL observes as though from a distance, unflinching and sure.

"Hello, gege," HC says. His voice is deeper than XL remembers, richer and more vibrant than anything he has experienced for decades, if not centuries. 

"Ah, San Lang, I'm sorry, " he manages to force out through his shock. His laugh is pitchy and uneven even to his own ears. "I'm afraid I'm not quite prepared...!"

"It's okay, gege." A thumb carasses his knuckles tenderly, and XL's throat tightens. "I already have everything ready for us."

[give-grian-rights]

Bets Against The Void Ch3

Well. it’s HERE. sorry it’s a bit short, if I fit in the next events then it would well succeed a reasonable amount of words. about 1500, a few words off.  Reblogs fuel me 1000% more than likes. please enjoy and comment any typos ‘n stuff

my askbox is also temporarily turned back on, for this!! after a few days they’re closed, and i’ll hopefully go back to queuing up a bunch...

This is crossposted on AO3

and for Chapter 1, head here

Chapter 4 is HERE!

and @petrichormeraki Hope you didn’t forget about your Whitelist AU :)

Now that they were settled in their boats, Tommy was given a moment to realize where exactly it was he was going. And, oh shit. The builds he could see were bigger than any one solid, finished structure he’s seen on the Dream SMP.

Pockets of strange, purple clumps of spores poked out by the shore, in contrast to the rest of the island. A portion of hte island, too, was covered in the crimson netherrack. It was absolutely insane- Tommy didn’t think he’d ever seen buildings quite like them.

“...Holy...Fuck..” He voiced, breathless.

The brunnette woman in the boat beside his frowned, peering over her and Grian’s own boat. “We’re not exactly a PG server, but I think we’d all appreciate it if you tried to keep your language just a smidge cleaner,” She’d passively comment, eyes narrowing on the blond boy who turned to glare at her.

“Stress, they’re teenagers.” Grian would laugh, before the blond would be given a chance to respond. “I’ve heard Doc’s drunk ranting. We’re definitely not clean.”

She turned, raising a brow at the dirty blond. “Grian, I haven’t heard you say a naughty word, even once!” She chuckled, tilting her head.

“Sure,” he remarked agreeably, “but I was a teenager.”  Giving a small, sharp smile, he turned his head back out to sea.

Tommy, huffing with effort as he continued rowing his and Tubbo’s boat, felt the fight sizzle out. His defenses dropped, too busy looking at the buildings cluttering the island. Masses of structures, all of varying sizes and designs, were impossible to look away from.

As if remembering suddenly of Tubbo’s lack of perpetual vision, he turned, nudging their arm.

Tubbo practically jumped, almost tipping out of the boat. They pulled their arm out of the water, where they’d been contently dragging their arm along, and tilted their head towards their friend. “Huh? Uh- hey! Sorry. I was spacing out. Are we there?”

“Nope,” Tommy shook his head. “But this island looks insane! Seriously, what the hell? How many of you people are there! What the FUCK is this place!” He gawked, turning back towards the Hermits. Considering Stress only gave an exasperated smile, he didn’t feel too bad with his language.

“Our Cowmercial district! Mind the, uh, terrain. We’re in the middle of handling a.. Disagreement.” Grian chuckled, a wolfish grin sprawling across their face. “Just for the principle, y’know?” 

Tommy stared blankly at the back of Grian’s head, the older Brit unphased.

“..Sure, right. But no! What the fuck! I’ve never seen, like, half of those blocks before in my life! What are those buildings?” He gawked.

The strange, shadowery mansion- intricate patterns and overheads marking each wall, with scales on top. A giant chest! With..Eyes? It was twice the size of the community house! He could see four separate beacon lights! At least!

“Tubbo! There’s a- a huge ass chest with eyes! And a fuckin’ mansion, and it’s all dark and shit! Is- is that a cloud made out of glass, up there? What the fuck!” The boat was practically rocking as he cried out.

“Tommy, we’re gonna fall in, Big Man!” They chuckled nervously, grasping at the wooden walls of the boat. “Are all the buildings huge? I bet they are! I heard Hermitcraft servers always have huge builds!”

“Yes, and there’s SO FUCKING MANY! WHAT THE HELL!”

“You’ll be able to see them in time, don’t worry!” Grian chuckled, drawing his boat into the shore. “We have a lot of builds, we’re almost a year into this world. These are just our shops! You’re more than welcomed to pick up something if you need it.” He explained breezily, throwing his legs over the sides as he pulled himself to land.

“We’re sure you don’t plan on staying long, and we can’t blame’ya,” Stress added on, as Grian helped pull her out of the spruce boat. “But we’re sure there’s some necessities you’ll need.”

Grian beside her nodded, pulling up his Tablet. “I have shirts and hoodies that should fit you guys, and some other Hermits would happily pitch in. We have more than enough resources to house you two.”

Tommy, who’d already pulled himself and Tubbo out of the boat, slumped, rolling his eyes. “We’re fine. Thanks.” He tackled the last word on half-hazardly, his lips drawn down into a scowl.

“Mate, whenever your server’s ready, we’re happy to get you back. Or get in contact with your Server Admin now, even. You just need to say the word to X, and he’ll take care of it.” Stress looked over the two, her brows pinched as she looked over them.

What in the Sun’s name is happening over there to leave these two so roughed up? She thought idly, noting it in the back of her mind to bring them potions later.

“C’mon, we can get you more situated later, if that’s fine with you two. You both need to eat, asap.” 

Food. Right. That’s a thing, Tommy pulled his stares away from the towering structures, naturally slipping his hand back into Tubbo’s.

The two Hermits led their way at a slow and even pace, the two teenagers trailing behind. Tommy and Tubbo both were quietly thankful for this. They were less quiet when it came to Tommy’s rambling, incoherent rants from his attempts of describing the District to his friend.

Whatever works to get them on their way, the pair of Hermits agreed, sharing a look.

It was a struggle all of itself, getting them both on track to the bakery. Tommy had poked his head in every building they crossed, with Tubbo going at an increasingly slow pace, trying to allow their Communicator to describe the complex surroundings.

They made it in decent time to the bakery, all things considered.. Tommy’s jaw dropped at the size of it, bright blue eyes surveying the large, detailed replica of a cake.

“What the fuck! There’s- there’s so many blocks! It looks crumblin’ and bitten! What shit! Tubbo! Tubbo the bakery is a giant fucking cake! It looks so realistic! Holy fucking Prime-”

“It smells so good in here, too! Wow! Does this place just sell cake? Is there enough demand, for that?”

“Wh- are those shulker boxes! What! That’s- that’s like, seven shulker boxes! Is that all just for the shit for sale??? What!”

Both of the teens were incomprehensible. Neither Stress, nor Grian, could get a word in.

“Hey! Guys, both of you, it’s alright, yeah? We have plenty of shulkers. Also, Keralis is..Yeah, probably the richest Hermit, so shulkers for his shop isn’t out of the ordinary at all.

All of us have a buncha shulkers. I’ll clear out some of mine, too, for you to have. It’d make setting up a base much easier, I’m sure.”

...Everyone has shulkers. And he’d be willing to let Tommy and Tubbo just..Have some? No way. Tommy gave a look towards Tubbo, and he could tell the other was as perplexed at the notion as he.

“You guys just.. Just have shulkers- I. Yeah. sure. Rooms with diamond armor and fuckin’ elytras lying around..Right.” Tommy took a breath, fist clenched beside him for a moment.

Tubbo, with their hand holding his arm, above his elbow, gave him a reassuring smile before turning generally towards the Hermits direction. “Thank you, like- so much?” They chuckled, sheepishly. “We really don’t need, like, anything like that. We- we should be getting back to our world soon. Hopefully- uh, probably.”

Grian frowned, humming. “Sure, but I think any Hermit that went even twenty-four hours without working on something, would lose their mind. When you go home, you could give them back. Even if you took them home, I promise that it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

The two teens shared a look. The older brit’s word may sound sincere, but they both knew better than to blindly believe someone, other than each other. Tommy shot a glare to the man, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He scoffed. The dirty blond met his stare, unphased. A relaxed, easy smile remained on their face. Tommy didn’t trust it for a second.

Stress had begun opening some of the shulker boxes, exposing the sweets and goods inside to the starved teens. “C’mon, now.  If you two want to work on some of that later, you can do that. But you’re with us, right now, and it’s time to eat. Grab whatever you’d like, Loves.”

The brunette teen gasped, tugging at the blond boy’s arm. “C’mon Tommy, do you smell that! Oh Void, this place must be lovely! Thank you for bringing us, uh, ma’am! ‘N sir!” Tubbo beams, their smile lopsided.

Tommy glanced around, towards the candy-and-sweets themed furniture in the dining area. Right. Sure. I can deal with this, for Tubbo.

[jennibeultimate]

Personal recap Worlds 2021 - Ladies FS

And of course I am doing one for the ladies. I am just fuming with anger right now. So this might get harsh and salty. Just a warning. I go down from place 1.

I like Anna's skating and musicality and I am actually glad that even if this was neither her best performance nor a performance that touched me it was still the best of those Russians on the podium. If Trusova would have won with her skates I would be even more mad. So congrats little fairy you did it. ❤️ She is a sweet person and she deserves the world. The scoring is not in the skaters hands, but her scoring was...a choice but still a lot more reasonable than Trusova's....

Liza's story is amazing. Just from this point of view it's an amazing achievement. A rolemodel for all figure skaters that they have a chance after their puberty. Her tears when she found out she won over Trusova touched me. So congratulations from the bottom of my heart. 🎉 BUT this was not a silver medal winners performance. Too many mistakes, too little program. One 3A was fantastic but the rest was so and so. I am glad she got ahead of Trusova but it's not a performance I would remember and 69 PCS is questionable at best, compared to Loena, Kaori and Karen it's not right.

Alexandra Trusova...where to start? It would be called a major downmelt if she wouldn't jump quads. Her TES shoot her up high and looking at the protocol technically calls look ok, I would have lowered some GOEs but the TES are hardly my problem. The PCS are atrocious. There was no choreography, no interpretation, nothing left of what seemed to be improvements in the SP in the season. The PCS were way too high. 10 points should go down at least. 56 was what Eva Lotta got and sorry this was worse than her by a lot. And I am sure without quads and without being from Russia, she wouldn't have gotten those PCS. And that's my big fat problem. This was rigged and corrupted PCS scoring at its best. And this program won the free skate??? Wtf. If that's the future I won't watch skating any longer...nothing against Trusova herself but judges are setting the wrong example here. And no I cannot say congrats from my heart because I would have not put her on the podium. It's clear she also benefitted from a lot of the last group skaters not doing well and her high PCS from the SP. I mean everyone trains hard, so not deserved would be wrong to say but just I am not good with this. So still...

Congratulations to the medalists! You fought hard!

Karen Chen is probably the most underestimated of this competition. She came through with two beautiful programs and showed everyone that she was the right choice for this team. I can only applaud👏👏👏 She was imo robbed of the Bronze here. Her PCS are too low compared to Trusova and Liza and others. 4th place is still a very good result for her and saves USA 3 spots for teh Olympics. (wouldn't it be the biggest joke if ladies have 3 spots but the men don't? Not that I wish for it but that's a still a possibility) Her spirals are just A+! 😍 One of the only programs of today worth rewatching.

Loena Hendricks just did that!!! 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥The underdog of this comp just did that! She was the best today. World champion material. Ofc others may have stronger technical content but the cleaness and presentation was the best of everyone today imo. Even if I am not even a big fan of the program but so well suited to her. Really happy for her. 😊

Kaori Sakamoto is the loser of the day. I am still fuming on Kaori's behalf. Yes there was a mistake and yes she has a Flutz but again if everyone gets a pass on edge calls so should Kaori. Edge calls seem only to exist for Kaori. 🙄 She was lowballed in PCS. An almost clean program and 1 point more PCS than the 2 falls skate of Trusova? Sure...🤮 I probably wouldn't fume so much about Trusova's PCS if others like Kaori and Loena would have scored in the 70s but no...admittedly I don't think this was the best version of Matrix...anyway Kaori deserved better. Love you Kaori! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Rika was extremely hard to watch. Heartbroken for her. 💔💔💔She seems to still deal with her ligament injury, still looking at the trainings I thought she would do well. I think not competing and being in such a good position to win this made it mentally tough on her here. I like this lovely program a lot but for today's program 69 PCS was friendly but not when I look at Trusova though...this were just a couple too much mistakes sadly. I hope she can rest well. She will come back stronger! ❤️

I am including Satoko here because she is the other heartbreak for me. 💔 Nothing worked. She was totally out of everything. She is such a magical skater. 63 PCS are just horrid for a skater of her caliber. Puh...I am sad...love you Satoko and happy birthday 🎂 ❤️

I am so heartbroken for Team Japan in general💔😭😭😭😭

Olga Mikutina was my surprise of this competition. When I watched her live at Euros 2020 she fell all over the place, this was such an improvement. Impressive! 👏👏👏Lovely! You got yourself a fan. 😍

Bradie Tennell - I read that her skates broke prior to the SP so that hindered her here. Still I think Bradie did fairly well but too many little errors that lowered TES and PCS are a big joke anyway. Normally I would say those PCS were fair but then we have Trusova and that's where the sense stops for me...

Haein Lee - she is a lovely skater. She is young but a very committed skater to presentation etc. I like her a lot. Not a bad result for a first World Championship. Ofc they were hoping for a 3rd spot but this wasn't a given from the start.

Yelim Kim - my other fairy just dropped a whole lot. 😭 Not much worked like usual. I am so sorry. Such a perfect SP and now this free skate to drop her even behind her teammate. Maybe she wanted too much starting in the last group? The pressure is huge. Haein Lee and Yelim Kim just have the best dresses of this competition! Korean ladies costumes are always A+++❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Lastly I just mention those I liked in the earlier groups:

Josefin Taljegard 🔥 🔥 🔥 She was on fire. Interpretation A+++ her skating and technical content in general are too low to be competitive but I would rather rewatch her a 1000 times than watch Trusova or some of today's other performances ever again. Also I would rather gladly take 24 programs with less technical content and performances like hers than this diaster free in general from today. In other words stan Josefin! ❤️

Eva Lotta Kiibus - her program is well made. Her technical content is good. Her costume is a dream. She can show more of her personality during the program but the basics are great. Love her. 😍

Lindsay Van Zundert - delivered again a wonderful clean program. Very positively surprised with this young lady. 😊

Overall this event was a disappointment. Scoring wise it should not have surprised me. Performance wise it was disappointing as well.

No not a competition worth rewatching. If this is the ladies figure skating of the future then I quit watching ladies. I hate the uneven apply of rules and the playing favorites of the Russians. And also JSF should finally start backing their skaters or Japan will drown in the end.

Sorry for the on going ranting about Trusova's PCS but this is the main problem for me why nothing of everyone else makes sense. And just a clarification, it's not against Trusova, it's the judging and the way this kind of skating gets more reward than ppl with actual programs. It must be disheartening for a lot of skaters.

Bye.

Praying for a better men free skate. 🙏

[wordynerdygurl]

Sticky, Sweet

Author’s Note:  I’m so pleased to tell you that this is the first of my 1000 Followers Requests!  Again, how do 1000 people like me enough to read my words?  I don’t know!!  But I love you all!   Also, bless my beta - @sammy-jo1977​ ... she lets me drag her to hell and back, and goes willingly.  Lots of Love, lady! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader, appearances from many of the Avengers Tower residents Summary:  This was requested by the amazing, adorable and always supportive @alexakeyloveloki​ ... As I hit my milestone, she was having a birthday, and this, I hope will be a gift she’ll enjoy.  You deserve it girl! The request was:  One with Loki and a Curvy Reader where she works in the Tower, maybe the canteen, and people are mean to her and Loki likes her for some odd reason and... smut ensues. I did make some changes, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way, @alexakeyloveloki​ !! Warnings:  This one might give you a toothache!  There’s smut, but it’s sweet!

“Uh, yes.  Might I trouble you for a chocolate croissant and… a cappuccino, large, please.”

You knew the owner of that voice without raising your eyes.  Today he was wearing charcoal grey slacks with straight creases all the way down.  A shirt, starched, bright white, with rolled back sleeves revealing the articulate length of his forearms.  All of his dark locks were gathered over his open collar in a low man bun, which is something you had laughed at other men for doing.  Somehow, the tall, trim man in front of you was making it work in a way that made your mouth water.

Flashing him a megawatt smile, full of promise, “My pleasure!  Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No.  Thank you, though.”, warm and caramel sweet, his response made you melt.

Clearing your throat, struggling to maintain some sense of composure, “A name… for the order?”

“Loki… that’s L, O, K, I…”, his own grin widening at the request.

You knew his name.  He’d been coming to your little dessert cart for months now and every time you asked, just like you did for all of your customers.  And each time he spelled out the letters for you, as if you were taking his order for the first time.  Handing back change only for him to drop it into the tip jar, you let your eyes linger over Loki just a moment more, enjoying the view.

Most of the visitors to Avengers Tower paid you little to no attention.  Outside of offering a cup of joe and a giant cookie, you had no bearing on the day to day business of the super hero syndicate, and that was just fine by you.  Everyone else?  They all had important things to do.  Meetings and appointments were near constant as apparently saving the world took a lot of planning.  And, thankfully, a lot of coffee, danish and muffins.

Of all your customers, the actual, swear to God heroes were the most colorful.  They were also the most loyal of your clients, stopping in at least daily, although, there were occasions where you would see Wanda two or three times in a day.  Especially if you had made those little mille-feuille stacks that reminded her of home.

Thor would buy out your stash of jelly donuts, to the chagrin of the office workers in line behind him, but then divvy them up as a way of apologizing.  Ms. Romanoff had a tendency to whisper her order, lest anyone realize her secret desire for a sinfully sweet White Chocolate Mocha with whipped cream.  Captain Rogers?  His routine was the most straight-forward.  Black coffee, ma’am, Blueberry muffin, thank you so much.

Loki, from the start, had been different.  Unlike Mr. Stark, Loki looked you in the eye when placing his order.  He never seemed distracted by the technology buzzing around or the high ranking officials clustered in these hallowed halls.  Loki also didn’t order 12 shots of espresso, steamed skim milk, no foam, and one donut hole.  No, that was Tony to a t.

But Loki?  This giant guy, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, always ordered your daily special.  Frilly pink cupcakes, jam filled eclairs, fruity hand pies, Loki had tasted them all.  And he still turned up, day after day, eager and kind.  That had to mean something, right?

Honestly, it was the pinnacle of your day when, looking up from the grinder, you’d see him towering majestically over the office drones all in a row.  Knowing that smooth voice would soon be speaking to you, even if it was just to get a snack on the run, was almost enough.  Almost.

Letting your gaze linger after Loki’s retreating figure, you got lost in a daydream, one where you were making Loki coffee in your kitchen.  His lengthy legs tucked under your tiny table, a tray of fresh cookies in front of him as he read, sometimes with his shirt on… sometimes without.  Feeling your cheeks warm up at the image, you shook your head, ready to refocus on the caffeine craving customers still in line.

As closing time drew near, you began the daily task of cleaning up your cart.  Sweeping, wiping, sterilizing, washing, drying.  There was a rhythm to it all and you often found yourself entrained in the work, as usually there were few distractions at this time of day.  

“Excuse me?”  

Spinning, surprised, you barely kept hold of the carafe in your hands as you spotted Ms. Pepper Potts standing at your kiosk, “Oh gosh!  I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

Waving away your worry, Pepper took a moment to introduce herself properly before getting down to business, “I was wondering if you had ever considered catering before?  You were highly recommended by a colleague and I am looking for assistance with an event we're hosting in a few weeks.  What I really need is someone to help with an after hours sort of thing.”

Your heart leapt in your chest, thumping wildly, threatening to bust out of your chest.  Now, you’d be lying if you said that expanding your business wasn’t part of the dream.  Always hopeful that your little cafe cart could somehow be expanded into a little sweet shop or bistro bakery, you had been hard at work for the last two years, slinging lattes and refining recipes until the right moment arrived.

When you said as much to Ms. Potts, her gracious smile lit up, “Then this, my friend, is that moment.”

Details were exchanged, pricing negotiated, plans put in place.  In ten days you were going to be providing The Avengers and their guests with pastries, cookies, coffee and tea.  There was a select menu so that you wouldn't be running around like crazy, which would make prep time easy, but Pepper had told you to be creative.  In short, you were getting your shot and the excitement of that put you on cloud nine.

As you had arranged with Ms. Potts, while the guests attended one of Mr. Stark’s lavish galas downtown, you were given access to the Avengers Suite near the top floors of the tower.  Seeing the building, well past your normal 5:00 pm, was energizing.  Getting to sneak a peek at where the most important people working here spent their days was overwhelming, but you were giddy at the prospect.

In a sweet spot, just inside the expansive glass doors which led to the sky rise patio, you set up your display.  Feeling pretty proud of yourself, you only had to wait a few minutes before the elevator dinged on the first arrivals, including the host and hostess for the night.  "Here we go!", whispering to yourself, you took an anxiously excited breath.

It was hard not to get wrapped up in the glitz of it all.  Tony Stark, wearing a plum colored tuxedo, had his Rolex draped arm around Pepper.  She was stunning in her black column gown, purple jewels at her throat and ears, the perfect counterpoint to Tony’s ensemble.  You struggled not to stare.

More people filtered in, some went to the bar, where champagne popped regularly.  A few grabbed frosty glasses of fresh beer.  And for a time you thought you were invisible among all the glamour around you.  Honestly, you were surrounded by the type of people who graced magazine covers and had in depth chats with Oprah.  That wasn’t you by a long shot.

Then, of course was the difference in your shape and size compared to the elegant group assembled for the evening.  You certainly weren’t as stately as Ms. Potts, nor as thin as Ms. Romanoff because she was trimmer in hip and bust.  Carol, stately and graceful, was a sheet of well hewed muscle.  All of them shone tonight, regal and lovely, while you wore your best black pants and white button down, the uniform of catering professionals world wide.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, temping your coffee pot, your mind churned.  There was no shaking the idea that even though you had been invited here, hired to be here, you were woefully out of place.  And just as your confidence was at its lowest, you heard it… or rather, him.

"Um… yes.  May I have… well… I don't know what to have.  Normally you have something special prepared."

Even over the din of chatter and softly played music you heard his baritone register.  A little flustered, disarmingly charming, Loki’s buttercream smile triggered your own.  Laughing, lifting a small tray towards Loki, "I am keeping it simple tonight.  These here are individual peach melba pies, topped with homemade whipped cream."

"And, what’s that?"  Looking like a little kid, ready to tear into a birthday present, Loki's face lit up with anticipation of what you might be hiding under the cover of a chafing dish.

"Mocha mini-cheesecakes, or-" Here you lifted the silver lid of your best party dish, "-my grandmother's chocolate chip cookies!  What would you like, Loki?"

Hearing his name in your lilting voice, Loki couldn't avoid the hot blush that rolled over him, turning his cheeks pink.  As if your delicious snacks weren't enticing enough, the way your shirt buttons could barely contain the bounty of your bosom made Loki's hunger real in a different way.  It was true that Thor had plied him with a great deal of Asgardian mead at the gala, even as the others drank up the less potent Midgardian spirits, all getting well past tipsy.

And maybe that's why he felt so bold, flirting with you casually, teasing you about your treats.  Also, he was shamelessly ogling your rounded ass in those tight black pants as you bent to retrieve a napkin.  Deep down, Loki longed to know if you tasted as sweet as your sugary confections.  Would you be slick like syrup?  Sticky like cinnamon buns?  Dark and delicious like chocolate fudge?

Shaking those long locks, which you couldn't help noticing were down and free tonight, Loki was struggling to decide among your snacks.  If his thoughts were lustful, your own weren't too far behind, because it was hard not to appreciate the fine figure in front of you.  At some point Loki had shucked his tuxedo jacket and the slim black bow tie that accompanied it.  Again his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows making him casual and cool, red cheeked and rambunctious.  Never had Loki seemed so at ease.

There was virtually no one else around, most of the remaining people were clustered by Clint at the piano singing show tunes, oblivious to you and Loki.  Looking from left to right, leaning in conspiratorially, "Ya know… I could let you have one of each, then you wouldn't have to decide."

Those dark brows arching, bright eyes smiling shrewdly, "You'd do that… for me?"

“That and more.”  It tumbled out of your mouth unbidden, your eyes widening in surprise at your own admission.

Leaning against your table, a lascivious smile on his face, “Do tell.”

And in the low light of the Avengers’ loft, with the soft smell of sugar filling the air, you felt yourself drawn to Loki’s aura.  Biting into your bottom lip, looking at him through your thick lashes, “Um… well… I could make you a little snack bag.  Ya know for later tonight…”

“Later tonight… I really like the sound of that.”  And to his unending surprise, Loki really did.  Maybe he’d find out about your favorite flavors in the dark of night, under the covers in his bed.  And if not, if he was somehow mistaken about your interest in him, then Loki would welcome some little cake that would make him think of you while he sat in his solitary room, brooding over you.

He shouldn’t have worried.  Genuinely smiling, Loki was beyond grateful to see the same look of desire reflected in your own face.  As you busied yourself packing up the little box of selected snacks for the sweet toothed stud, a voice called out, "Lokes!!  Get over here!!  Thor says you can dance and I need proof!"

Wavering slightly, Loki ducked his head in the direction of Sam Wilson's shout, not entirely eager to end your chat.  He was worried that somehow the sugar spun bubble you two were in would burst, and that, well that just couldn't happen.  Conspiratorially, invading your space across the narrow table, "I will be back.  Please, don't go away?"

Feeling like a movie heroine, you felt yourself nod, giggling a little at the spectacle of Loki's clear need.  In the glimmering low-lights, under the clink of champagne flutes and husky hum of conversations, Loki wanted to spend his time with you.  It was surreal and surprising, but you wanted him too.  There was no shame in that, right?

Glued to the spot, feet unmoving, Loki wouldn't leave until you said, "Go on, then.  Show me what you've got.  I'll be right here."

With a cocky grin, Loki loped toward the waiting circle of people and the makeshift dance floor.  Tinny, tinkling piano music was replaced by electronica, pumping through Tony's beyond state of the art sound system.  It felt like you were inside the speaker, thumping and bumping, in time with the dance hall beat.

What a sight!  You guessed it shouldn't have been so surprising, but seeing Loki, normally so reserved in your daily interactions, grinding and bouncing to the rhythm… it made you feel things.  Pulse pounding, deep sighing, clenching your muscles things.  Sexy things.

You could have stood there, enchanted from afar, for hours.  And you would have too, if Thor hadn't stumbled to your stand, nearly toppling the table with his unsteady bulk, "Oof!  A thousand apologies, my dear sweet bakery maiden."

Diverting your attention, you quickly stepped back into vendor mode, "No trouble!  No trouble at all!  What can I get for you?"

"Well, I have been wondering, what did my brother get a taste of that made him smile so wide?  It must have been a truly delicious nibble."  Thor, mimicking a mouse nibbling at cheese, was clearly past the point of sobriety.  

Turning thoughtful for a second, you realized Loki hadn't eaten anything of yours tonight… at least not yet.  So it had been your easy back and forth that made the frosty boy happy.  Smiling secretively,  suddenly supremely pleased, "Um… I have some special items this evening.  Would you like to try a peach pie?"

Blowing a raspberry, rolling his eyes, "Did Loki like it?"

"He hasn't tried it yet!  You'd be first!"  Trying to redirect the sloshed slab of man in front of you, offering the pastry up on a dainty napkin, it’s funny how quickly he snatches it from your hand.  Looking tiny in Thor's enormous paw, he devours it whole, swiping at the leftover crumbs on his chest.

"Delicious!  Another!"  Even shouting, Thor's voice doesn't crack through the party goers busting their moves. Sighing, you hand over another, only to watch it be gulped down without thought or consideration.

Spitting crust at you, Thor bows over the display you painstakingly built to showcase your wares, his weight making the table creak, "You know, my brother normally likes little women."

"Excuse me?"

Waving his hands, pontificating, "Small, shapely… you know the type!  Waifs.  Skinny, like him.  Narrow hips and-" attempting to whisper, "-tiny breasts."

Clearly, Thor was hammered, you knew that.  But what he was saying was just hard to hear.  You didn’t want to be compared to other women Loki had known, and you certainly didn’t want to hear that they were prettier, or smaller, or skinnier than you.  But your roller coaster ride of emotions was derailed when Thor slapped his hand on your table, making you jump.

"Now, you… you're a woman.  Strong, sturdy.  Could really ground him, you know?  Give him children worthy of Valhalla."

In his stupor, Thor couldn't read the warning in your expression.  Willing him to stop, shut up, go away with just your monosyllabic responses wasn't working.  But, alas, the Space God continued on, "It's all your sweets, you know?  Candy and cupcakes and… all those little… What do you call them?  The circles, fried and filled with jam?"

Flat, without feeling, "Donuts."

"Donuts!  Yes!"  Pausing for a breath, which you hoped would last all night long, Thor caught your eye.  "I approve.  Of the match… that is.  Loki has been alone too long.  He needs a thick woman to warm his bed, a fair, faithful filly to take-"

Thor's voice cut out, a thin line of shimmering red glowing around his throat, stopping his words.  You could still see his mouth moving but the sound was, thankfully, muted.  It was then that Wanda slunk close to Norse God, wide orb-like eyes full of knowledge, "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

Mumbling, struggling to sound bright as you gave too much attention to arranging cookies on the tray, "It's ok."

Her delicate hand rested on your own, "No it isn't.  Thor's a buffoon when he's downed too many bottles of mead.  I hope he didn't say anything too… unpleasant."

Waving her off, working hard to regain your composure, "Naw… it's fine… Thank you, though."

Thor, shrugging off Wanda's limited charm, "What's the big idea?  I was telling this lady that my brother likes her!  Her ample bosom, her gracious bum… and he always talks about her tasty cakes!"

Steve, sidling up at the first sign of trouble, grabbed Thor's arm, "Come on buddy.  Time for bed."

"But!  I am not tired!  I want more pie!  And mead!"

Wanda, rolling her eyes, "May I have another?  For the road?"

Quickly wrapping up a few of your crusty delicacies, you handed them over, now eager for the night to end.  It seemed tarnished somehow, spoiled by Thor's observations, like an unrisen souffle.  Glancing at the clock, you were amazed at the time!  It was late even for a late night event and you began packing up regardless of the people still partying their evening away.

You were hoping for a quick departure.  Seamless, silent, without distracting anyone, including a certain raven haired hottie.  No one would notice if you snuck away now, you were sure, and you had already fulfilled your obligation to Pepper.  In fact, with Thor's little outburst, you were well over your allotted time.  And, you reasoned, Loki could find some small little twig, more to his taste, if you weren't there to distract him.

That thought made your throat burn and your eyes water as you quietly broke down your area.  Even now you could see him, a head above everyone else, spinning with a smile on his face.  Loki looked so at ease, you refused to be the wet blanket on his good time.  Besides, flirting was one thing, but Loki wasn’t yours and you were old enough not to be crushed by a crush.

With one last, longing look over the assembled Avengers, you bumped your bottom into the exit door, shuffling toward the service elevator.  As the doors closed, shutting out the jubilation inside, you slumped against the wall.  How could you think Loki would want you?  

Having spent a significant amount of the late evening busting a move, Loki had managed to keep one eye on you most of that time.  Noticing Thor bumble your way, he was nervous about what his brother might say, but Natasha had challenged him to a dance off.  How could he resist?

By the time Loki stopped to catch his breath and collect his cookies, you were gone.  Vanished.  The only trace of you?  A small, golden box, stuffed with your divine delicacies.  Loki needn't see the name scrolled on the label to know it was for him.

But like Cinderella, you had fled and Loki had no way to find you.  Sinking his heart, Loki clutched the box, padding away to his room and the solitude of silence.  At least he had your thoughtful gift of goodies to keep him company.  It was almost enough.  Almost.

For all the numerous things The Avengers were good at, it was a non-hero who observed Loki slide away, sad and silent.  Never one to let a party end on a low note, a new plan was formed to unite the Trickster and the Treat Maker.  But it would need time to rise, like decadent cinnamon rolls, and like those sticky sweet buns, would be totally worth the wait.

When Monday dawned, you loaded up your goods and trudged to work.  For the first time since starting your business venture your heart wasn't in it.  Not when you plated blueberry buckle with lavender scented whipped cream, not when you swirled almond milk into fresh brewed coffee, not when you bagged cheesy bagel bites.

And it was, apparently, to be a day of firsts.  Because this was the only day that Loki failed to make an appearance at your stand since you’d opened.  Thor, pushing people aside, had made a point of apologizing for his behavior.  It was kind and honest, yet, hollow since it didn't make Loki materialize in your line.  But you appreciated it, nonetheless.

Before long, the day was done, your cleaning ritual initiated, your mind wandering.  That it circled back to a certain blue eyed mischief maker over and over wasn't shocking.  Where had Loki been?  Had you driven him off?  Would he come back tomorrow?  

"Ahem… Excuse me!"

Squealing, you dropped the tray you'd been wiping with a clanking clatter, "Miss Potts!  You startled me!"

"I didn't mean to!", stooping to hand you back your platter, she lifted her smart eyes to yours.

"I know… I'm so sorry!  I've been… a little off today."

Shrewd, searching, Pepper looked you over, "You're not the only one."

Laughing nervously, “Oh?  Who else is having a tough Monday?”

“A friend… listen, I wanted to thank you for the other night. It was really wonderful having your exceptional snacks at the ready.”

Allowing yourself a small smile, nibbling your lip nervously, “The pleasure was all mine.”

Pepper, shifting on her high heels, “I’d like to hire you again.”

“Really?”  Snapping your head up at the offer, you were a little surprised by her request.  Even though that night hadn’t ended the way you had hoped, necking with Loki like a teenager after prom, it had still been a lucrative evening for your little start up company.  But so soon?

“Yes! This is a smaller event.  Actually, more of a date than anything.  This Friday evening.  Would you be free?”

Grabbing your phone, confirming the date on your calendar, “It works for me!  What time were you thinking?”

Blinking, Pepper took a minute to contemplate before answering, “Let’s say seven.  Upstairs, on the outdoor deck?”

“That sounds great, Ms. Potts!  How many people are you expecting?”, making notes, head down you missed her gentle smile.

“Just two.”

That made you giggle.  So, it was a night of romance with Tony she was after.  Flashing your benefactor a knowing smirk, “Sounds lovely.”

“I hope it will be!”

You didn’t see Loki all week.  There was rumor going around the tower that he was off on a mission somewhere, very hush, hush.  Your limited intell was gained only because of Thor’s inability to lower his booming voice while waiting for a croissant on Tuesday morning.

It got easier.  Not seeing him in your daily line, not giving him his cappuccino, not buttering his scone.  By Friday you finally felt like Loki was out of your system, which was a good thing, because you knew Ms. Potts was expecting you to knock it out of the park tonight.

“Things are going to be a little different for this evening, if that’s ok.  I thought you could set out your dessert courses here, on the counter, and we’d have someone bring them out to the patio area.”

Unafraid to go the extra mile, you were quick to volunteer, “I’d be more than happy to act as a server if-”

Talking over you, “Oh no, dear!  I have someone for that already.  Really, all you have to do is make sure your treats are in order.”

Slightly crestfallen, but always a good sport, you agreed.  As she’d requested, you had prepared three special desserts for the night, hoping you covered all of Tony’s favorite flavors.  First, lemon cake with a cracked sugar glaze and fresh raspberry sauce to garnish.  Next would be the white chocolate cheesecake studded with plump blueberries and piles of fresh vanilla flavored whipped cream.  Last, and perhaps most importantly, was your personal favorite, tiramisu.  Simple, delicious, and perfect with a strong cup of espresso.

Clapping her hands, Pepper was so pleased at the thought you had put into each plate, “Wow, does this look amazing!  There’s really only one other thing that we need for this.”  

Wiping a stray stripe of sauce from the plate, a piping bag cupped in your hands, you lifted your head, “What’s that Ms. Potts?”

“Why, you of course.”

Stalling in midair, you slowly lowered the tool of your trade, wiping your sugary fingers on the seat of your jeans.  “I’m right here!  What can I do to help?”

Coming around the island now, Pepper drew close enough to take your hands in her own, “You’ve already done it.  Tonight is my way of saying ‘Thank You’... and I hope you’ll accept a small gift as a token of my appreciation.”

As the last word hung in the air between you, the lift doors parted, and Loki stepped into the room.  

Pepper had summoned him, asking only that he arrive on time and not “look a mess”.  Since Loki had never been anything less than elegant in all things, he had no intention of breaking that streak this evening.  If only he knew what to dress for?

So, he split the difference, going for casual cool.  A jet black polo shirt, unbuttoned, clung to him like a second skin, caressing every muscle.  Black trousers and a black belt made him look dangerously seductive as he sauntered closer with each step.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him.  Missing Loki all week made seeing him like this stupefying.  Fuzzy brained and dull minded, you weren’t capable of wrapping your head around what was happening.

“Pepper?  What… what is all this?”  Loki’s husky baritone questioned the set up, your presence, the pretense.  At least you weren't the only one who was confused.

Pulling you along, Pepper maneuvered you next to him, “Loki, It’s all arranged.  Dessert by candlelight, under the stars… FRIDAY, start my Date Night playlist.”  The strains of “In the Still of the Night” by the Five Satins filled the air.

It was right then that Loki got it.  The strange summons, the dress code, the secrecy.  He knew why you were here, with your bespoke baked goods, looking like a snack yourself.  Pepper had listened when Loki recommended you for the first gig, and somehow she had heard the unspoken recommendation of his heart.  A rush of feeling flowed over him at the idea.  

Looking sheepish and flustered, Loki caught your eye, “Hello.”

“Hi…”, bashful yourself, you struggled not to look too giddy.

“See, you’re already on your way.  Have a good night kids!”  

You and Loki stood there, staring, until the click of Pepper’s heels on the marble had faded away.  This is  awkward, you thought, unsure of what to do next.  Here with the man you wanted, you weren’t entirely sure what to do, but luckily for you, Loki knew how to take charge, “Shall we?”

Lacing his fingers with yours, Loki led you to the open deck where a small bistro table was waiting, already set for the two of you.  Pulling out your chair, Loki made sure you were comfortable before taking his own seat at your side, as opposed to across the table.  It was a cozy and romantic scene.

The song shifted.  Now The Platters crooned, “Only You”, and your hand was itching to grab Loki’s under the table.  Before you could, Pepper’s hired server for the evening brought your first plate, and a bottle of Prosecco.  

So far, neither of you had really spoken.  Words seemed too difficult to use when the situation was so formal.  And yet, it really was lovely of Ms. Potts to do this for you… and for Loki.

“Did you make all of this?”

Picking up your fork, giving Loki a small nod, “Yea… I thought Pepper was planning a date night with Tony.  I had no idea that this… any of this… was happening.  Did you?”

“No.  But, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.  She did hire you because of me.”

Taken aback by his admission, “Really?  Care to elaborate?”

Tucking into the lemony piece of heaven in front of him, Loki closed his eyes in bliss, “Hmm… that is delicious.  You are really so good at this!  And that, my purveyor of pound cake, is what I told Ms. Potts.”      

“Well, thank you!  I mean, I knew you liked me!”  

Hotter than opening your oven, a blast of heat swept over you, reddening your cheeks in shock.  Flustered now, you could barely speak, cursing yourself for letting your real feelings slip out like that unfiltered.  Mortified, you grabbed your glass, slugging half of it down in a second.

Loki’s fork froze, almost to his lips, as his own eyes widened.  Sighing, he placed the utensil, covered in lemon and raspberry deliciousness down gently.  Feeling his scorching gaze, you sat stock still, Loki’s wry whisper reaching you, “I do.  And I should have told you that before… before Pepper had to go to such great lengths to prove it.”

“But Loki… I’m just… I’m not…”  Stammering, you couldn’t quite find the best way to explain the reservations you had been carrying, the reasons Thor had so clearly defined.

“You are though.  You are so kind hearted… to everyone.  Even the dullards and bores.  I hear you, you know?  What you say, how you say it.  No one leaves your little station without being complimented, enlightened, enriched.  It is the best part of my day, coming down to see you… and taste whatever marzipan masterpiece you’ve graced us with.”

Starting to feel the bubbles of Prosecco in your brain, your lopsided smile spread at the emotion Loki expressed, “Loki… it’s the only thing that gets me through sometimes.  Seeing you, knowing that you’re in line.  And how cute you are when you spell out your name, like I haven’t written it a hundred times before.”

It was his turn to blush, “I knew that.  I knew it was adorable.”

Playfully pushing against his shoulder, you chuckled, “Loki!  That’s not fair!”

“Then you won’t like this, darling.”  

Catching your arms in his firm hands, Loki tucked your body into his, finding your mouth as you laughed at his antics.  Using his top lip to trap your own, Loki’s bottom lip gently parted, as the softness of his kiss blended into the lemon scented sweetness of his sigh.  His tongue, probing slowly, pressed between your lips stealing a shaky breath for Loki to treasure.

Rising, Loki’s hands cradled your cheeks, ensuring that you couldn’t break away from his kiss.  As if you wanted to!  Your own hands wandered, with one resting on the warm slope of his wide thigh and the other pressed against Loki’s broad chest.

Deepening the kiss, you pushed forward, nestling between Loki’s spread legs.  Trailing a hand along his hip, scooting closer, you moaned at the luscious texture of his tongue on your own.  When Loki pulled back, you followed, unwilling to break the beautiful bond your mouths had sealed.

Swallowing hard, unable to believe that he was really here with the flavor of your candy kisses filling his senses, Loki shook his head.  Seeing your own dazed expression made his heart soar.  He was going to have to write Pepper a thank you note or have you bake her a cake, because this was the best thing that had ever happened to the Prince of Asgard.

“Are you ready for the next course?”  The server, having popped out of the compound, was struggling to hide his own smug smile at the sexy little show you two had put on.

A new song started, the notes drifting through the air, making you smile.  Sam Cooke’s eternally youthful voice sang, “Cupid… draw back your bow…” and Loki slowly stood.  “Uh, please, hold the next one, if you don’t mind.”

Coming around behind you, offering you his hand, “Loki?  What are you doing?”

“What I should have done last week… Ask you to dance…?”   Voice brimming with hope, Loki quirked an eyebrow, anticipating your acceptance.

“About time.”  

Rumbling through Loki’s solid torso, his laugh greeted you as you fell into his arms easily, chuckling yourself.  It was so familiar and yet so different.  His hands rested over the curve of your back, pulling you tighter, controlling the sway of your hips.  Circling the delicate strength of his neck, your fingers teasing into those long locks of tousled hair, you let Loki take the lead.  

Tipping you back, over balancing you but still in control, Loki’s look was pure lust, “I apologize for running late.  I should have-”

Cutting in, husking into the shell of Loki’s ear, “Don’t.  We’re here now.  And besides, you were worth the wait.”

Squeezing you, putting every ounce of feeling into his hug, Loki found it hard to loosen his grip.  Now that he had the thing he wanted, he never wanted to be separated from it… you… ever again.  

Twirling you out, tugging you back in, as the song came to its close, Loki took the opportunity of dipping you low enough for your head to graze the ground below.  Breathless and giddy, you were lifted back to standing, clinging to the demi God before you.  Parting your lips, anticipating another of Loki’s kisses, your eyes fluttering closed, “Sir?  Madame?”  

Shifting his focus from your glossy, eager mouth to the server once more, Loki’s own giggle shining in his face, “My good man, please… just pack it all up!  We’re not staying.”

“We’re not?”  A hint of surprise colored your tone as you took in the ecstatic look on Loki’s face.

Nodding at you, “Nope.”

Waiting only a moment or two for a bag stuffed full of your goodies, Loki slung it over this wrist before taking your hand and leading you through the Tower’s maze of floors.  Of course, he stopped at almost every corner to sneak a peck, pat your tush or cage you against the wall so that his hips were flush against your own as he licked the soft spot under your ear.

“Hmmm… Loki… That feels so good.”  Mewling softly, your nails scratching into his scalp, as he swung open the door to his room.

Ushering you inside, Loki paused only to set his blistering, needy eyes on you once more, “We are not children, you and I.  If you want to wait, I will be patient… but, believe me, my darling little patisserie, when I say this:  I want you.  I want to devour you… I want to know if you’re as sweet as strawberry shortcake or tart like key lime pie.

“I need to see if you-” here he swallowed so hard his Adam’s Apple bobbed, “-sigh when I kiss you the same way you do when you slide a hot cup of tea over the counter.  Or how you’ll sound when you call my name in ecstasy.  Because I’ve already thought about these things a hundred times over.  While I wait in line for a moment of your attention or when I taste those lovely delicacies, you fill my thoughts.

“Do you always smell of vanilla and butter, I wonder.  Will my sheets be scented with marshmallow and marzipan?  Almond and cherry?”

Advancing on you now, hunger heating his look, “But just know, little one, if you do come to my bed, I will make sure it’s the last one you’ll ever need.”

Stepping closer, baiting the bear in him, you bit into your bottom lip, “Are you saying that everyone will know I belong to you… L, O, K, I… Loki?”

“My sweet, sweet thing.  That is exactly what I mean.”

In a flurry of movement, Loki swept you against his kitchen table, the wood strong and sturdy behind you.  Kisses, hot and happy melted you like butter, as Loki spread your legs to stand between them.  When you heard the sound of paper crumpling, “What’s that?”

“Oh!  Our to-go bag!  Your luscious desserts!”  Sounding slightly panicked, Loki quickly removed the items from inside the bag, before turning to you with a look that said trouble.

“What?  What’s that face?”  

“I’ve told you how much I fancy your food… and now you know how much I adore you... “

“Uh huh…”, still unsure about where this was going, your eyes followed Loki as he pulled your tub of whipped cream from the ruined sack.  Snapping off the lid, his long finger scooping out a big glob, only for Loki to brush the airy confection over your mouth.  

Licking the cream from your lips, Loki tongued the seam of your pretty pout, moaning at the burst of vanilla he tasted there, “I don’t know what’s more delicious, your frothy garnish or this mouth.”

“What if I want some, huh?”  Grabbing at Loki’s finger, the one he’d used to snag the sample with, you pulled it into the warm inlet of your mouth, sucking lightly.

Growling low in his throat at the erotic scene before him, Loki issued a command, “Bedroom.  Now.”

Sliding off the table, right into Loki’s space, “Bring the whipped cream though, ok?”

Clothes were shed in a rush.  Each piece unveiling soft skin and new places to explore, reminding you of a creme brulee’s hardened caramel layer.  The way you crack it open, revealing the cool custard beneath the scorched sugar crust, a gift unwrapped for all your senses.

By the time Loki lowered you onto his bed, he had already sampled swatches of your skin, leaving behind the marks of his possession.  His hands never seemed to stop.  First they were dusting over your shoulders, then across your thighs, next on your generous bottom, squeezing hard.

Sighing in contentment, you closed your eyes, lost in the moment of making love to Loki.  As he lay down over you, the press of his rigid planes met the soft curves of your figure, you wrapped yourself around him.  Tangling those rich, dark locks in your hand, forcing your mouths together, panting with shared passion.

Connecting with his hip, you slid your palm over the rise of his bottom, squeezing just a little, “You know, you have a great ass, right?”

Sucking against the ridge of your clavicle, Loki kissed over your jaw, “I do?”

“Oh yea… I watch you walk away everyday thinking, damn.  That ass.”

Brushing stray strands from your face, “That’s funny, because I think the same thing every time you bend over to get those little swizzle sticks for stirring coffee!”

Setting off a fit of giggles, the pair of you with arms and legs akimbo, laughed like children.  There was something so freeing about being naked and comfortable with the man beside you.  Quieting only when you heard the pop of the frosting bowl's lid coming off, you sucked in a breath as Loki lowered his lips to your waiting nipple.  

Playful and pleasing, he released you just long enough to sit back on his heels, surveying the state of you.  "Now, It's my turn."

"Your turn to what, exactly?"

"Decorate!"  Producing an assortment of sprinkles and frosting, sanding sugars and coconut shreds, caramel sauce and raspberry coulis as if from thin air, Loki grinned at you wickedly before setting to work.

For every place that was home to a dollop of icing or a squirt of sauce you were licked, nibbled, nuzzled or bitten.  As Loki worked lower, you squirmed in anticipation, as your pastry chef in training sucked your inner thigh free of chocolate fudge.  Before you could prepare, Loki's tongue parted your slippery center, making you call out, "Oh!  Yes, Loki!"

Parting your swollen sex, circling your stiffened bud, Loki lapped at your sensitive skin gently.  His fingers, long and reaching, stroked into your sticky channel, stretching you sweetly.  Rocking against Loki's oral affections, the beginning of bliss burning in your belly, you gripped him tightly seeking release.  

For his part, Loki needed no encouragement.  Bringing you to the pinnacle, alternately sipping at your slick core, and sucking on your sweet pearl was making Loki ache with want.  Even when you pulled at his onyx locks, inner thighs trembling, struggling to stave off your peaking pleasure, Loki only worked harder, "Don't hold back.  We've already wasted too much time!"

"Uh huh… um… shit… Loki…"  mumbling was the most you could do as you felt a third finger enter you, widening you, readying you.  It was enough.  Cumming hard against him, stiffening and then softening like taffy, you gave yourself over to the pleasure Loki provided.  

Smacking his lips lewdly, licking his fingers, "I knew it… I knew you'd be delectable."

Grinning broadly, happy and satisfied, "Am I gonna get a taste?  You're not the only one with a sweet tooth, ya know!"

"Only when I've had my fill… and I'm not close to being finished, darling!"

Sticky, sweet and satiated, you and Loki lay in each other's arms smiling.  He'd asked about a gift for Pepper and you were already planning a cupcake basket for your matchmaking mentor.  You had just licked the last of your lemon curd from his abs, curling into his side, "I need a shower."

"Oh, yes!  Let's do that!"  Rising, dragging you with him, Loki could picture you under the steaming water, begging him to please you.  He liked that idea!

"And after…"

Pausing to look at you, "After?"

"Can you find me something salty to snack on… ya know, for a change?"

Pressing a kiss to your hand, Loki flashed you that megawatt smile, "Absolutely, darling.  Absolutely."

~~

My Minxes:  @alexakeyloveloki​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @iamverity​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @wolfsmom1​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @mizfit2​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @jessiejunebug​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @capcapcapsicle​ @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @thenatilie @sammy-jo1977​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ 

[fangirlinsweden]

Nexus part 5

Part 5:  The Truth and Apologizing

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Secrets, talk about death and loss (think that is all)

Word Count: About 3200 words

Summary:  Y/N is a pain in the ass according to Steve. She is brought on to missions sometimes by Fury when they need help, but she is wild and does not listen to orders. She does what she wants. Now Fury has given her a place in the Avengers. And Steve is not liking it. Having to deal with her every day. He hates her. Or does he? And what is Y/N relationship with Bucky? They seem to get closer and closer.

A/N: This takes place after Avengers: Endgame, but Steve never left. Tony and Nat are still alive.

This is written for Gab’s @buckysmischief Birthday Challenge. My prompt is: “Did you bring us here to die?” “Obviously.” “I really can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

English is not my native language and I am doing the best I can when it comes to writing.

“I see you,” Steve smirked. “And the way you are acting with Bucky. If you think Hydra will get their Winter Soldier back you are wrong. Bucky is never ever going back to Hydra” You fisted your hands.  “You are not even going to listen to me explain this?” you growled already knowing the answer. “Why listen to more of your lies?” Steve looks you up and down. “I know that you lived across from me in Brooklyn to get close to me, but that backfired when I thought you were spying on me for S.H.I.E.L.D. when you, in fact, were spying for HYDRA. Then you lost Bucky and you had to find a way to get close to him.” You are so mad at that point that you almost hit him. But the sentence where he thought you were spying on him explains why he started avoiding you all those years before. “Joining the team is the perfect cover to get close to Bucky. And now that the two of you are together you think that flirting with me would make me blind to what you are doing.” Steve gives you one final look before he storms out. Apparently finding pictures has been enough proof that Steve needed it. His mind was set and there was nothing you could do at this point. When you walk over to your box you see that Steve had taken two of your favorite photos with him. You want to run after him and get the photos back, but all your energy drains and you end up sitting on the floor. A tear runs down your face and drops down on your hand with your grandmother's ring. It hurt that a man you had seen as a hero your entire childhood up until now thought you were Hydra. At least Bucky knew the truth and deep inside you hoped that that would be enough. To get back from eating breakfast and finding Steve looking through your private things had not been who you had thought this day would be. Apparently yesterday's mission scared Bucky, so he wanted to come clean about the two of you to the entire team. He just wanted to tell Steve first, in private. Bucky had probably been looking for Steve while Steve was looking through your photos. Looking around your room, you did no longer feel at home. You feel violated. Maybe you should move back to your apartment? A picture of your grandmother and grandfather in Central Park caught your eye. You picked it up and knew exactly what to do. After packing up all the pictures and letters Steve had tossed out you closed the lid of the box and walked out of your room. 

One hour later you walked over to the two gravestones that were put up for the four most important people in your life.  “Hello Mom and Dad you said to the gravestone on the left that read:

‘Mary Williamson Y/L/N  Born July 9, 1955 Died November 8, 2004  “A life of beauty and service”

‘James Steven Y/L/N  Born April 4, 1952 Died August 29, 2007  “Brave in spirit, Strong in love”’

“Hello Grandpa and Grandma” you said to the gravestone to the right that read:

‘Lewis Y/L/N  Born May 4, 1920 Died February 5, 2008.  "If I could do it all again, I wouldn't change a thing."’

‘Rebecca “Becca” Barnes Y/L/N  Born September 21, 1922 Died January 10, 2011  "I hate to leave you all behind, but we'll meet again one day."’

You sat down in front of the two graves and felt a kind of peace.  “It all went to hell and I don’t know what to do,” you whisper and feel the tears in your eyes. “I miss you more than you will ever know.” And then you let it all out. 

At the compound Steve had gone to his room for a while before talking to Bucky. Seeing Y/N’s face when he told her he knew she was a member Hydra had put some doubt in his mind, but at the same time there could be no other truth. She had to be Hydra. After a few minutes of peace he went to find Bucky, still holding two of Y/N pictures. Eventually he finds Bucky in the Gym working out. Bucky is spotting Sam who is lifting weights. “Hey, I was looking for you before,” Bucky started to say and was planing on continuing, but something about the look on Steve’s face stopped him. “We need to talk,” Steve says with his arms crossed over his chest and a face that showed no emotions.  “So talk,” Bucky says and looked at Sam. “Not here,” Steve tries.  “Why not?” Sam wonders looking at Steve. “We need to talk about Y/N” Steve is still holding the pictures behind his back. “Whatever you have to say about her you can say here,” Bucky insists and Steve groans. He feels himself get riled up and there is no way to contain the words that he needs to get out. “Y/N is Hydra,” Steve almost yells. There are several bangs around the gym and Sam stands up and crosses his arms. Bucky’s eyes are big. “What did you say?” Sam glares at Steve. “She is Hydra,” Steve gets out again, a bit lower this time. “I have proof.” He hands Bucky the photo’s. Sam pears over at the photos and just shakes his head. “She is not HYDRA,” Bucky roars and Steve takes a step back. He makes a gesture to the pictures in Bucky’s hand. “Your absolute idiot,” Sam shakes his head at Steve. Nat, Wanda, Clint and Tony are walking towards them in the gym looking everything but happy. Steve swallows. “Y/N is my family,” Bucky shoves Steve.  “Just because she has lured you into falling in love with her does..” Steve is interrupted by Nat slapping him in the face. Bucky is read in the face. “I am not in love with Y/N. She is Becca’s granddaughter,” Bucky yells. Steve feels all blood leave his face. What had he done? And why had he not seen that. That explains so many things. Not all, but so much. Bucky drops the photos on the floor and moves towards Steve. “What did you do?” Bucky is standing nose to nose with Steve. The rest is surrounding him.  “And how did you get these photos?” Nat wonders as she picks them up. Steve swallows. “I saw the wooden box in her room and opened it,” Steve whispers. “She found me looking through them and I told her what I thought about her.” Bucky pushes Steve away from him and runs out of the gym. Steve looked after him. “You are an asshole,” Wanda shakes her head. “I could hit you again,” Nat’s eyes are almost black now. Clint has his hand on her shoulder and it is like that is the only thing that is keeping her from hurting him. “You should have come to me,” Tony sighs. “I have known who she is the entire time.” “Then why did you not say anything?” Steve demanded to know. “Because it was her secret,” Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “It is her life and she has to decide when she was ready to share it.” “Exactly,” Sam agrees. “Wait, how many of you knew the truth,” Steve looked at his teammates. “Only Nat and Tony. But the rest of us had our guesses,” Wanda looked at the other who nodded.  “So nobody more than me thought Bucky and Y/N were in a relationship,” Steve was starting to feel more and more bad. “Or that she could be Hydra.” “Nope,” Sam answered. “And you do know that she is friends with about every hero in at least 1000 miles radius?” “Mmmhh,” Steve mutters. That was not something that was on his mind right now. He needed to talk with Bucky and apologize to Y/N. He scratched his neck. “You do realise that most of those people will want to kick you ass when they find out about this,” Sam smirks. Steve swallows and looks around.  “Shit,” He crocs out.   Tony nods and walks away. Nat and Wanda walk away as well, but not before Nat give’s Steve one more of her killer stares. Steve looked at Sam. He had no idea how he would solve things or if he even could solve it. 

You hear someone coming up behind you. It puts you on alert until you hear his voice. “Y/N,” Bucky almost whispers.  “Hey, Bucky,” you turn around and look at him. “You remembered.” Bucky sat down beside you looking at the grave of his sister and her husband and the grave of his nephew with his wife. You had told Bucky that you went to the cemetery when you needed someone to talk to. Even if you were just talking and never got answered it was as you had your parents and grandparents there beside you. “Yeah,” Bucky scratched his neck. “I should have brought flowers.”  “Next time,” you leaned your head against his shoulder. Bucky clears his throat. You knew what was coming next. “Steve..” Bucky started but you lifted a hand. “I know what he told you,” You whispered and felt the tears threatening to start falling again. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “I set him straight,” Bucky put his arm around your shoulder. “I still can’t believe my best friend would think something like that.” “Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about this,” You sigh and play with your grandmother's ring. “Sweetheart, we need to talk about it,” Bucky kissed your forehead.  “No, we really do not,” you say firmly. “This is my fault,” Bucky sigh. “No, it’s not. This is Steve’s fault,” You stand up and start pacing. “He could just have asked, not accused. He has been treating me like shit for years now. Just because he had made some assumptions and never got them checked out. This is just the icing on the cake.” Bucky looked up at you and let you rant. Then he tilted his head. “You have feelings for him,” Bucky blurted out. That made you stop and look down at the ground. Not really knowing what to say. “No comment,” was all you could come up with and it made Bucky cuckle.  “Sweetheart,” Bucky stood up and took a hold of your left hand. “I understand if all of this makes you want to stop being an Avenger.” “Stop being an Avenger,” you snort. “No chance in hell will Steve’s behaviour make me want to stop that. I am stronger, smarter and wiser than letting a man chase me away from my life.” Bucky nods and smiles.  “Atta girl,” Bucky pulled you close and hugged you. “Let’s get back to the compound.” You nodded, closed the lid on your wooden box and lifted it. Bucky nodded towards the box and when you nodded he took it under one arm and he put the other arm around you.  “Where is your car?” Bucky wondered. “I got a ride from a friend, so no car,” you said and Bucky lifted a brow. You smiled at him, but did not elaborate.  “Then you can ride back with me,” Bucky concluded and walked over to black BMW. A car you know that Tony owned. You hoped into the front seat and Bucky secured your wooden box in the back seat, before he took the driver seat. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky admitted. “But you know that you will have to face Steve at some point.” You sink a bit further down your seat.  “I know,” you sighed. “But I will deal with it.” “Good,” Bucky reached over and took your hand. “Just know I am on your side in this.” That made you smile, then frown. “Whatever he did,” you sit up a bit straighter when the compound came into view. “He is still  your best friend and like a brother to you. I don’t want to do anything to destroy that.” Bucky looked down at your hands for a quick look. “What he did and said to you is not easily forgiven,” Bucky sighed. “Even if I know I will forgive him eventually, does not mean you are less important to me. You are still my family and I want you in my life.” This brings tears to your eyes. Bucky saw you as family. A warm feeling spreads in your body and it makes you smile.  Bucky parked the car in the garage and went out of the car. You sit there for a minute taking a deep breath. Bucky opens your car door and holds out his hand, under the other arm he has your wooden box. “Ready?” his smile makes you feel confident. “Yeah,” You say and take his hand. Together you walk to the living quarters of the compound. 

Steve saw Bucky driving the car into the grounds at the compound and that Y/N was with him. He knew that he needed to talk to them. After a while he heard their voices coming toward him and he got ready to talk to the two of them. He had a whole speech ready to go. But when it was only Y/N that came into the kitchen, no Bucky. She stopped the moment she saw him there, but then she walked over to the fridge and took out two water bottles, without as much as look at him again. Steve cleared his throat but still no reaction from Y/N. “Y/N,” Steve started and his mind was blank. His speech had been to both Bucky and Y/N and now that she was standing here in front of him he had no words. She did not turn but started to look through the pantry. “Y/N,” Steve tried again, but she took out a bar of chocolate and placed it on the counter. It made him irritated that she did not care that he was trying to talk with her. How was he supposed to apologize if she did not even look at him? Before he knew what he was doing he had walked over there and tapped her against the counter. She turned to look at him with a stone face.  “I am trying to talk with you,” Steve almost growled.  “I don’t care what you have to say to me,” Y/N snarled at him. “I think you said enough a couple of hours ago.” “Y/N,” Steve growled this time. Y/N yawned. “Do you really think this caveman behaviour will get me to listen to anything you have to say,” Y/N looked down at her nails. Steve felt himself lose control. “I am the leader of this team,” He bellowed. “You will listen to me.” “All I see is a toddler having a tantrum because he can’t get what he wants,” Y/N sassed and stood on her toes so she was almost eye to eye with the angry Steve. “What the hell is going on in here?” Bucky shouted when he walked into the room. “Steve!” That made Steve take a step back and Y/N took the water and the chocolate and walked over to Bucky. “Y/N, I am trying to apologize,” Steve got out. Y/N looked at him.  “No you are not,” She shook her head. “You are trying to bully me into talking to you and forgiving what you said.” With that she walked away. Steve started to walk after her but Bucky stopped her. “Leave her alone,” Bucky demanded. “I am her Captain,” Steve grunted. “I can’t leave her alone. We need to sort this out so I know she can be professional out in the field.” “I have the utmost respect for her ability to compartmentalise and be an asset out in the field.” Bucky snorted. “And if there is anyone who needs to check his professionalism it is you going through her room and acting like a jerk.” Bucky turned around and walked away. Steve stood there looking after his best friend.  “Fuck,” Steve sighed at the same time as Tony walked into the kitchen. “Did you just say a bad word?” Tony smirked but when he saw Steve’s face the smirk disappeared. “I take it the conversation with Y/N and Bucky did not work so well,” Tony patted Steve’s back. “No,” Steve hung his head. “I think I made it worse.” Tony took out a water bottle from the fridge.  “You know,” Tony started then stopped. Steve looked over at him. “My father once told me that an apology needs to be as loud as the disrespect was.” Then he left the room. “How am I going to be able to do that?” Steve said to the room, but since there was nobody there the only answer he got was silence. Steve goes to his room hoping a good night sleep will give him the answers.

The next morning Steve is not sleepy even a minute and he still has no idea how to fix things. His last resort is to google it. And there it is. The best apology in the world. Flowers. He tried to think of a flower that could help him. Red roses felt wrong, those were romantic and apologizing was not romantic. Sunflowers came to mind. Sunny and happy. Steve ran out of his room and took a car to the nearest flower shop and ordered a large bouquet of sunflowers.  Then he hurried back to the compound and walked right up to Y/N door and started to knock. He heard movement inside and then the door opened to Y/N standing there in only a pair of pj shorts and a tank-top.  “What the hell are you doing here?” She grumbles and Steve just hands her the flowers.  “I wanted to apologize,” Steve scratch his neck. “The flowers are a part of my apology. So hmm.. I am sorry.” She starts to laugh and shake hear head. Steve just looks at her. What is happening? Why is she laughing?

There was a frenetic knocking on your door. You wish that it would just go away, but it seemed to only get louder. Sighing you stand up and walk over to the door. The sight outside your door was not what you had ever thought you would see. Steve in crumpled cloths and a big bouquet of sunflowers.  “What the hell are you doing here?” You ask even if you don’t really want to know. All you wanted to do was yell at him for waking you up. It had been a late night the day before since  Bucky and you had ended up going through all of the pictures in your box and you had told him everything that he had missed that included your family. Steve handed you the bouquet. “I wanted to apologize,” Steve said, but he did not really look apologetic. He looked nervous. “The flowers are a part of my apology. So hmm.. I am sorry.” The look on his face and the flowers, it just got to much. You started to laugh. Was he fucking serious? He thought that could be taken as an sincere apology and flowers.. Nope. You handed the flowers back. “Take those before I stick them somewhere the sun does not shine,” you sass at him and close the door in his face. It was oddly satisfying and you crawl down in your bed again.

Steve stood there with his moth hanging open and the flowers back in his arms. What had just happened? He hears a chuckles from the vent over him. “Barton, get down here,” Steve sighs. Clint jumps down beside hi and pat him on his back.  “Thank you for today's laugh,” Clint smirked and start to walk away. “What did I do wrong?” Steve wondered and Clint shrugs and walk away.  “Clint, please,” Steve walked after him.  “Do you really think that sunflowers is a worthy apology for going through someones personal things and accusing someone of being a member of Hydra?” Clint left Steve standing there. Steve looked down at the flowers in his arms, maybe he needed something more expensive. Something more. Steve could not find the words for what he needed,  but he knew where to find it. Google. That sight seemed to have every answer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything Taglist:

@buckysmischief​

@allaboutthebooz​

Nexus Series taglist:

@dee-vn​​

@soleil-dor​​

@readermia​​

@centerhabit

@mylifeiscrazy0423​​

@buckys-other-punk​​

@owhatshername-blog​​

@shower-me-with-roses

@taketimeandappreciate​

[nashidakyouko]

Kisses in Training~Rangshi Week Day 1: Kisses

Also on Ao3

Summary: Kyoshi and Rangi get a talking-to from Hei-Ran regarding Rangi kissing Kyoshi during training sessions. (Don't worry, no homophobes or anything, just exasperated instructors.) Light Shadow of Kyoshi spoilers. // Word count: ~1000 // Rating: G+

-

It had become something of a habit when they trained alone. They had their privacy, so it never mattered before. It really wasn't surprising that they failed to adjust their behavior when they trained together in a group for the first time.

But none of that made it any less embarrassing when Rangi gave Kyoshi one of her reward kisses for finishing a bending set when they were in front of everyone else. Scratch that, not just one of them, but many. The habit wasn't breaking as easily as they'd hoped it would. The only small mercy was that the kisses were always brief and chaste. They were supposed to be training, after all.

Still, every time Kyoshi completed a set without any errors, Rangi pulled her in for a kiss. Now that they had an audience, though, they both were then promptly reduced to sputtering messes when they came back to their senses. But they just couldn't stop themselves.

After this had happened the tenth time, Hei-Ran had been given the unenviable task of talking to the girls about their behavior. The three women stood together awkwardly outside after the day's training was finished. No one seemed to want to be the first to speak. Kyoshi looked at her feet and kicked up puffs of dust, careful to avoid getting any on her clothes that she'd have to clean up later.

Finally, the silence was broken. “This is really how you've been training the Avatar?” Hei-Ran sounded physically pained. As a world-class instructor, seeing her daughter employ such methodology was killing her.

Kyoshi jumped to Rangi's defense. “I-it didn't start out this way, I swear! And if I make any errors at all, I am promptly drilled again or even punished with setbacks to earlier sets or longer stance training sessions. Rangi has been a very strict teacher.” She bowed her head respectfully, trying to ignore her clawing nerves.

“But you are still rewarded with kissing when you preform well. This alone almost makes me feel the need to cut my hair again...” Hei-Ran spoke lightly, clearly not meaning it, though her words still caused Rangi to stiffen.

“I'm sorry, Mother. At the time this started, it seemed a good way to motivate her. And it has worked quite well on that front. But it is obviously inappropriate and we should unlearn the tactic as soon as possible.” Rangi looked away in shame.

Kyoshi glanced between mother and daughter with uncertainty. Honestly, it was embarrassing to have the training kisses keep happening in front of the others, but it was still a sad prospect to lose them entirely. It didn't feel like it was a good time for her to say anything in that regard, however.

Hei-Ran sighed and rubbed her temples. “It's not that the technique is... inherently wrong, given that you are romantically involved. But you must be more aware of your surroundings, girls. What if you were to unthinkingly 'reward' Kyoshi for a well-executed set during battle?”

Both girls' faces bloomed crimson at the thought. On the one hand, something like that could cost them a battle. On the other, kissing in the heat of battle had a certain allure to it that they couldn't entirely deny. Not that they felt they should actually explore that feeling in real battle, of course. That may be a thought to tuck away for another time, though.

After a long moment, Rangi reluctantly met her mother's eyes. “We will stop training in that way.”

“... You don't have to stop completely. Just mind where you are and if you're officially on duty, would you?”

“Why would we be training if she wasn't on duty?” Kyoshi regretted the question as soon as it escaped her lips. The twin sharp looks she earned from the firebenders made her curl in on herself in fear. “Sorry, sorry. Bad question, obviously.”

Hei-Ran turned to Rangi, brow creased in sympathy. “I can see why you call her 'rocks-for-brains' if she's still asking questions like that.”

Rangi quickly faced away towards the sunset, avoiding Kyoshi's shocked expression. Rangi's ears were pink. Another uncomfortable silence fell over them.

“What? Was that supposed to be something private between lovers? Then maybe you shouldn't have called Kyoshi that during training yesterday! Honestly!”

Neither Kyoshi or Rangi replied. Hei-Ran huffed, told them to work on their grasp of their surroundings, then strode off with steps so perfectly measured no one would have guessed she had used a cane only a year ago. Once the sound of her receding footsteps was gone, Kyoshi peeked over at Rangi. She was more relaxed now, but she still stood a little stiffer than usual. Even her armor almost looked a bit sharper in the fading orange light.

“So... that wasn't very enjoyable. Are you going to be okay, my brave little bodyguard?” Kyoshi slipped behind Rangi and buried her head in the smaller girl's neck. Her arms looped around Rangi's waist.

“Are you mocking me? I'm fine, idiot. I do wish they could have sent someone other than my mother to talk to us, though.” Rangi's hands wrapped around Kyoshi's, pulling them up and kissing them through her gauntlets.

“I think that's a big part of why they sent her, actually.”

“Then I blame Kirima.”

“I thought you might.” Kyoshi laughed, nuzzling deeper into Rangi.

Crickets started to tune-up nearby, causing Rangi to realize how late it was already. “Come on, let's go get some food. But no more cuddling or kissing once we get inside for today. We need to work on our discipline.”

“If you want me to eat more, what would possess you to associate food with not touching you?” Kyoshi pouted.

“Then get it all out of your system now, rocks-for-brains.” Rangi turned around and pulled Kyoshi in for a kiss far more intense than any shared during training.

That was an idea Kyoshi had no complaints about.

-

AN: This went completely differently than I originally was thinking it would. I thought maybe Hei-Ran would catch them training like this, but then instead this version of the fic happened and honestly it feels a little more crack-y this way, but it half-way wrote itself. Who was I to stop it? Also, I know, it's been 10 million years since I posted any writing, hasn't it? I feel like my style has regressed, ugh. I've written stuff for 4 days of Rangshi week, hopefully some people like them orz 

Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own RoK/SoK/AtLA or the characters.

[oswildin]

O & K {Prologue} ~ Dhawan!Master x Reader

~ Inspired by @cryptkit drawing. Love this concept. Enjoy the new series! ~

Summary: You, Agent K, gets assigned to keep an eye on Agent O, a newbie who seems to be taking on more than C assigned him.

Warnings: None

Entering C’s office, you raised a brow expectantly at the man. He forced a smile on his lips as you stood with your arms folded.

“Agent K.” He greeted, a slight nod of his head. “Thank you for coming to see me. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. You gladly obliged, taking the seat opposite your boss. “Now, I know you are aware we have taken on a new Agent. Agent O.” He began. “However, I feel he may need some further guidance on the job.” He grumbled as you furrowed your brows.

“And what? You want me to babysit?” You asked, leaning forwards slightly in your seat. He sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “What about my assignments?” You asked.

“I’ve passed them over to Agent M.” He informed you. “You will work alongside O in his own assignments, and you have to ensure he sticks to the assignments he is given.” He told you as you sighed, shaking your head in annoyance. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I can’t have one Agent making the whole of MI6 looking incompetent.”

“Then sack him.” You argued, raising a brow.

“I can’t.” He sighed. “We’re struggling as we are. I’m trying to stop us from going under. Or we’ll all lose our jobs.” He told you, as you licked your lips.

“Fine.” You muttered, standing from your chair. “But as soon as anything happens, it’s on your head, not mine.” You told him, before excusing yourself. Once you left his office, you proceeded down the hall. Why did you have to be the one to be assigned to babysitting duties?

You entered the offices, looking for O as you saw him sat at his desk, folders spread all over the place as you prepared yourself. You marched over to his desk, leaning over it as he looked up, his brown eyes piercing your own pair. He looked confused as you stared down at him.

“I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you.” You told him. “We will be partners from today. Any assignments you get, I’m working with you, overseeing everything.” You narrowed your eyes. “So, any funny business, and I won’t hesitate to report back to C.” You warned. “Got it?” O quickly nodded, seemingly intimidated by your presence. “Good.” You leant off his desk, folding your arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You strolled into the office the next day, sighing to yourself as you remembered what task you had been set for the day ahead. You headed to your desk, glancing over at O’s way as he wasn’t at his own. You rolled your eyes as you threw your bag down, deciding to sit and wait. A few moments later, O appeared in the doorway, rushing in as he looked out of breath and disheveled. You raised a brow in his direction as he tried to prepare himself for the day. You stood from your desk, waltzing over to him as you pursed your lips, taking in his messy appearance as you shouldn’t help but smirk.

“Mornin’.” You greeted, looking down at him as he looked up at you in surprise. “Nice bacon butty was it?” You raised a brow, licking your lips as he furrowed his brows. “You’ve got brown sauce on your lips.” You told him quietly, as he quickly became flustered, grabbing a nearby tissue as he wiped his mouth clean. You smirked once more as he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Right, so. Now that you’re ready. What case have you been assigned today?”

“Oh er...” He searched his desk, lifting up files and folders to try and find the right one. You narrowed your eyes as a file caught your attention. You picked it up, looking at the name.

‘The Doctor’

You opened it, seeing multiple images of different faces; 12 men and 1 woman. You furrowed your brows, turning a page as you saw multiple photos from throughout history, with the person with the same face in each one. O looked up in shock as he stood from his desk, looking anxiously.

“What’s this?” You asked, curious.

“Oh, it’s erm, just a side project... I’ve been working on.” He said quietly. “Nothing important.” He grabbed it from your hand, closing it as he put it away in a draw.

“Didn’t seem like nothing important...” You pressed. “Why are you stalking these people?” You folded your arms.

“I’m not stalking.” He denied. “I’m researching.” He furrowed his brows. “You see, there’s a story... a legend if you will... about an alien who can travel through time, and can change their face.” He told you, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I want whatever you have in your coffee.” You joked. He gave a tight smile as he finally found the right file, handing it over. You took it gently, beginning to read the contents. “Ugh, another boring easy to solve case here.” You rolled your eyes. “Is this really what we are paid to do?” You raised a brow as he couldn’t help but smirk at your words.

“Sadly yes.” He replied. “Anyway, thought this would be right up your alley. Simple. Easy. Done in time for tea.” He challenged as you pursed your lips in annoyance.

“Oh really?” You asked. “Is that what you think of me?” You tilted your head slightly, seeing a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Don’t take it personally.” He responded. “I think that of everyone on this planet.” He muttered as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Including you?” You pushed as he scoffed lightly.

“Well, you saw the file.” He raised a brow. “What do you think?” He challenged almost as he stared into your eyes. You swore for a second you could see something else in them... Something behind the nervous man in front of you. You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away.

“Well, Mr Ego, shall we crack on?”

~

Taglist: @drapetxmaniia @dannighost @imagine-whatever @yourlocalspacebisexual @the-sweet-space-bi @blamerogertaylor @koschei-taylor @koschei-studies @lostshadow12 @hannahlilyyx @wonders-of-the-multiverse @ettorah @nikey-no-likey @imthedoctorlove @twentysomethingloser92 @sometimes-i-feel-like-falling @hellothedoctorisreal @tragic-and-tried @kind-sober-fullydressed @chiswicknoble @sherly-not-obsessed

[coneygoil]

Walking Wounded, part 3

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Part 1 | Part 2

A pot of grits and some links of deer sausage awaited Carol and her daughter as they emerged from the bedroom the next morning. Daryl gestured to the small, round kitchen table for them to sit and he served them breakfast. Carol sat planted there, wringing her hands in her lap and not knowing how to act. She’d never – not once – had been served breakfast by Ed. Not even on Mother’s Day or her birthday. It felt all kinds of wrong to be the one being served, and she almost couldn’t bare to watch.

“Ran out for a little while to pick up some milk from the Dollar General,” he told her as he pulled out the mix-matched chair across from her. “And some other things you and Sophia may need.” He gestured to the yellow bags on the kitchen counter. “Damn DGs are everywhere these days. Surprised there ain’t one in every yard.”

“Thank you,” Carol gazed at the food like she didn’t know what to do with it, “You didn’t have to. I mean, I don’t have any money to pay you back. Ed never lets me—”

Daryl held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t worry about it. I got enough cash squirreled away to spare some. You and your little girl need things and I’m gonna make sure you have them.”

Daryl switched his attention to Sophia sitting next to him. She hadn’t uttered a word in his presence. Not at the diner nor this morning. She watched him cautiously when he wasn’t looking, but as soon as Daryl turned his attention to her, she’d stiffen and avert her eyes to whatever was below her. Even at 5 years old, she’d learned to not make eye contact with her father, and in doing so, learned to not make contact with any man either. Ed would take it the wrong way – like he thought she was ignoring him -- and whip his belt out. Said she had to learn early how to act properly. All it was doing was training her to be a good whipping post for a man just like her daddy.

“How you this morning, Sophia?” Daryl tried. He was just as gentle with her as he was with Carol. “You sleep good?” When she didn’t respond or look at him, he nodded his head. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk. I ain’t gonna make you.” He pointed to the deer sausage on her plate. “You need to eat. That some good deer. I shot it a couple weeks back. Helps keep my belly full every morning.”

“You said your brother lives here too?” Carol asked. Daryl hummed in reply as he chewed up a piece of sausage. “What’s his name? I can’t remember it.”

“Merle,” Daryl sat back, hoping his brother’s sabbatical would be longer than usual. Merle was going to give him hell for bringing a married woman and her kid into their Dixon boys’ abode. “He’s my older brother. 8 years older. We’ve lived on and off with each other our whole lives. He’s really all I got.”

“He won’t mind us being here?” Carol’s concern was written all over her face. She’d met Merle three or four times, but judging by how he talked, Merle didn’t seem like the most pleasant person to be around.

“Whether he minds or not, he’s not gonna have a say. He’s the one always gone off doing his own thing while I’m here. I think I have more a say so than him. You and your little girl need a place to stay more than he does anyways.”

Carol bristled. “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“You’re not. Don’t think you are.”

All the reassurance Daryl had given her in the last several hours hadn’t soaked in. Carol had been conditioned to think herself a burden and his words weren’t penetrating that steel wall. She still felt like bolting right out the door.

Sophia had finally begun to move in her spot. She sipped at her glass of milk before taking a merger spoonful of grits. Carol worried most for her daughter. The child had witnessed more violence in her short 5 years than one person did in a lifetime. Their sudden departure was only going to fuel Ed’s anger like gasoline on fire. How would they survive this?

***

After breakfast, Daryl drove them to pick up Carol’s car to bring back to the trailer. Carol was close to spilling tears when she heard her car had been towed away by Ed. He was a lazy son of gun, but when it came to spite, he had all the energy in the world. The loss of Carol’s car was a huge blow. As they made their way back to the trailer, Daryl could tell she was trying to hold back tears as she squashed Sophia to her side.

She didn’t have a vehicle. Not even a car seat for Sophia. No clothes. Possessions. Money. Nothing. It visibly crushed her like a 1000-pound weight.

When they arrived back at the trailer, Daryl quietly asked Carol to talk with him in the bedroom while Sophia watched tv in the living room. Sophia’s eyes widen as big as saucers in alarm, but Carol assured her that Daryl wasn’t like her daddy. Mommy is safe with him. Daryl had to take a deep breath at the very thought that this poor girl had to be told that.

Carol followed him into his bedroom after getting Sophia settled. Her skittishness had come back tenfold as he shut the door behind them.

“Have you thought about going to a women’s shelter?” Daryl regretted the question the moment the words tumbled from his mouth.

A deep frown line creased Carol’s brow. “I did. Several months back. They couldn’t do much more than give me housing. A few necessary items. Ed found us.” Her voice cracked, and Daryl could see a slew of memories playing out behind her eyes. “He caught us on the street. He brought us back home. He did this to me.” Carol pulled up her sleeve to reveal a burn mark just below the back of her left shoulder. “Made me swear I’d never leave like that again. I was his and had no right to go. I swore, because if I didn’t, I knew he would go after Sophia. He never threatened to, but I knew he would.”

Daryl’s chest tightened like a bow sting with every new horrifying reality that she shared. Behind his own eyes, memories of childhood played out. He shook himself free before he could dive too deep within them. This wasn’t about his past life. This was about the gentle, soft-spoken woman standing in front of him that didn’t have a damn person on her side in the entire world.

If he thought about it – really made himself think – he didn’t have anyone either. Merle was all he had, and Daryl didn’t even have him more than half the time. Carol and her daughter needed somebody on their side. Who the hell cared if he would make it his mission to save her? Maybe in the process, she’d somehow save him too. But, that wasn’t anything to think about right now. She was still married to a bastard that needed to be eliminated from her life.

“Then, it’s settled.” Daryl nodded his point. “You and Sophia are staying here.”

“Daryl—” she wanted to protest again. Claim she was a burden. He didn’t want to hear that bull from her.

“You’re staying and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Crossing arms across her chest like a shield, Carol could only nod in agreement. Daryl’s fight depleted somewhat at the sight of her, realizing what he may sound like to her, no matter how softly he spoke his words.

“But,” he feared for what his next statement would bring, “if you want to go, you can go. Not gonna keep you here.” Daryl’s eyes fixed upon hers. He shook his head. “Not like him.”

Carol offered him a small but genuine smile. “I know.”

***

There was a war raging in Carol’s head. Part of it was trying desperately to convince her to return to Ed. She’d take the beating he’d dish out. She’d end up with a busted face and a broken bone or two. Maybe another burn mark to decorate her shoulder. She’d promise to never leave him again. She’d sob and paw at his legs like the pathetic creature he claimed she was. If she begged enough, threw herself at his mercy, maybe he wouldn’t lay a hand on Sophia.

The other part of her was screaming to keep as far away as possible. Daryl was only a customer at a greasy spoon of a diner she worked at. To most, he was plainly a redneck with not much education behind him. Carol saw that he was remarkably so much more than his outward appearance. Every visit to the diner, he’d treated her with the utmost respect and kindness. He proved to her that there were good men out there. She craved more of that goodness.

When he told Carol she could go if she wanted to – back to Ed in her mind-- she fought with the overwhelming need of what she’d been conditioned to do for the last 10 years of her life. She kept her gaze steady on Daryl, fought the secret battle, and won. She would stay with him. She would accept the protection of his wings and care that he generously gave.

They spent most of the day in the trailer. Sophia seemed content to watch tv and color in her coloring book when she was tired of the screen. Carol couldn’t sit still for long. She felt awkward cleaning up another person’s home, but she had to do something to keep her hands busy and her mind off things. While Daryl was out on the small front porch smoking, she dove into cleaning the kitchen. She paused when he walked back in and questioned silently if it was okay when she made eye contact with him. Daryl shrugged a shoulder giving the okay and sat down at the kitchen table.

“I don’t think it’d be smart to stop by your old man’s house for your things right now,” Daryl voiced his concern.

Carol felt absolutely gross in the clothes she’d worn for 24 hours. She needed a good showering and fresh clothing. Thankfully, she had been able to wipe off the night before. Sophia needed to be clean as well. The girl would develop a yeast infection if she didn’t change her underwear soon.

“We can go to the thrift store up on Pearl St. Been there before. They got decent stuff. Nothin’ stained or torn. Stop by the DG on the way back. Get you and Sophia some underclothes.”

Carol paused from wiping the counter. She’d already scrubbed the stove, wiped down the outside of the refrigerator, and washed and tucked away the dishes and pots from breakfast and lunch. Daryl hadn’t commented about her tidying up his home. She had his unspoken blessing to do what she wanted to do, she guessed.

“Daryl—” She had to question it again. She had to hear his explanation once more to convince her. “Why are you doing this for us? Why do you care so much? I mean, you don’t even know me.”

Daryl fixed her with his narrow gaze. “I know you’re someone that needs help. Let me ask you this, Carol—”

A flutter climbed in her chest at the sound of her name across his lips.

“Has anybody helped you before? Has anybody bothered to ask you if you were okay when there was a shiner blinding like the sun on your face?”

She averted her eyes to the floor and swallowed before answering. “No.”

He pushed off the chair and stepped up to her. “That’s why I’m helping you.” He swallowed loudly, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “That’s why I care. It’s up to you what you do with it. Take it or leave it.”

Carol mulled over his words. It was nearly impossible to believe someone could possibly care for her. She had to chip away the wall Ed erected so strongly inside her head. She had to start today if her and Sophia were to ever have a future. She drew in a deep breath and laid the dishrag over the sink to dry, hoping her words would be answer enough. “Whenever you’re ready to go to the thrift store.”

[artificialqueens]

learning to be silent (multi) — chapter four - roza

[ summary ] : the short program comes to a close and there are tears both happy and sad as france crowns it's medalists. though sadness may come an unexpected connection and friendship can happen at the strangest of times.

[ author's note ] : hope y'all enjoy, this was getting way too long and I cut out about 1000~ words out already, I hope this ties up the loose ends, the long program is gonna be a damn ride let me tell you.

AO3 / My Tumblr / (◠‿・)—☆

— *.✧

There was nothing Shea wanted more than gold, the qualification was so close, she just needed the victory or a tight rein on NHK. Sasha held the reigns tight and the Russian certainly wouldn't let go without a fight tomorrow if it was (somehow) possible for Shea to snatch that first place rank.

Having her support system definitely strengthened her confidence, she knew she had the entire country behind her back and that stress was overwhelming but also helped her to focus on winning, on skating the best she could in France. She hated to sound cocky but she truly was the best chance there was, she knew Adore far too well and Aquaria, she didn't know exactly what to expect yet. She wouldn't downgrade the younger skater considering how much private training and time she got from Sharon but of course, it was her first senior competition: it wasn't expected she'd beat someone like Sasha or even Brooke.

She gave a final wave to the fans as they settled down in silence and blew a kiss to Trinity, Detox and Alaska who sat huddled together, awaiting what was to come next: good or bad, whether she would even have a chance at a medal or not.

I have absolutely the best dress here, thank you Bianca!

The music started and now there was no holding back as the first notes started, her skates taking off as she skated her pattern around the center of the rink before her torso bent backwards, lifting her free leg and extending her arms above the torso to complete a layback spin.

She stretched out her arms as her skates began another traffic pattern towards the judges table, spilt jumping in the air and landing perfectly on the edge of her left skate as she then waited for the lyrics to pick up before taking off from the back outside edge of her foot and turning four rotations the air, not breathing until she landed the quad loop.

Thank fuck.

Ignoring the crowd's wild antics she grinned and continued with the program, playing with the style and lyrics: she had specifically begged Bob to let her do Moulin Rouge for years for the flirty and perfectly sassy exterior to match her own personality and skating style.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental

But diamonds are a girl's best friend

A kiss may be grand

But it won't pay the rental on your humble flat!"

Controlling her body and entering the takeoff phase of her triple axel, her skates left the ice and she spun three and a half rotations before landing on the right back inside edge of her skate. That was a move she had began to nail in junior competitions: it's what Shea was known for and she was beyond happy to be nailing all the technical elements of her program, making sure to submerse herself in all the personality of the song as well.

Two minutes and thirty seconds wasn't long enough to show off everything in your binder of tricks but that's why it was so vital: the free skate was all the elements you want to better your score, the short had less leeway and more assigned elements.

Managing to complete her triple toe, triple loop she was back on track and the applause only fed her inner want to snatch that damn gold medal from Sasha who was sitting in complete awe of Shea's skate, she heard the Russian scream her words of encouragement before she had started the skate and it made all the difference.

Right at the bridge Shea prepared herself for the jump she had mentally prepared herself for since she got her assignments: the quad lutz. She had done it in a harness for almost six months and fell the first, probably, twenty times she had done it.

Entering from the back outside edge of her ice skate she slammed the toepick in the ice and rotated a full four times before landing on the back outside edge of the opposite foot, giving an out of character pump of her fists as the audience screamed and cheered, if there was a time to finally get the move right and executed properly it was during a damn competition.

Completing her second to last jump with a quad salchow she entered a biellmann spin, holding the foot with an extension over and behind her head, forming the signature teardrop shape with the body before she went on her back outside edge of her EDEA skates, turning into a scratch spin for her final move completing it with an immense speed she prayed she wouldn't fall to the ground immediately after.

She jumped one more time before ending her short program with her hands extended in front of her and feet adjusting her position to the center of the ice and then that was it, she had completed another skate and it was officially in the books: she had completed the one move she had prayed to finally accomplish.

The Chicago native screamed happily and covered her mouth in happiness, grabbing as many as the stuffed animals and flowers she could not knowing what would be given to her and what would be taken. Her name was called once more as she bowed and skated across the rink and happily took the time to wave to her fans and friends, blowing a kiss to the cameras as she approached the entrance off the ice immediately jumping towards Bob who happily laughed. "That was everything I've ever wanted your damn skating to be!" She yelled fixing the frizz that rose from her hair as Shea put on her skate guards, running towards the Kiss & Cry.

The two conversed, not wanting to over analyze Shea's jumps and elements right now. They simply took in the moment as the cameras began to pan to her as the announcer called for the scores.

"This is what you've been working for, I'm proud of you." Bob mumbled loud enough for Shea to hear as the silence grew in the French crowd.

"I love you mom!" She yelled to the camera, making a heart with her fingertips as a wide grin shined across her lips, her red lipstick still managing to hang on quite well which was good considering she reapplied a layer before she stepped on to the ice.

Please god, let me have this one!

"Shea Couleé has earned in the short program a combined score of 100.29 points, she is currently in second place."

It took the screams of several members in the crowd and Bob shaking her entire body by the shoulders for Shea to drop her jaw and really take in her score.

The American immediately jumped to her feet and screamed, covering her hands with her mouth. Feeling a sense of disbelief course through her veins staring at Bob who could only widen her eyes and squeeze Shea's hand as she tried to calm down, staring up at the screen that had been displaying all the scores. The number stayed and she had only missed Sasha by her a little over a point. A million little mistakes ran through her head that could've all helped to snatch that gold medal but, she couldn't even possibly complain sitting next to Sasha in a great position before the second group started.

"This is a new season's best."

It was a new best for her and by an absolute indescribable margin of over twelve points. Her long straight hair fell across her shoulders, sweating and now pridefully smiling. Standing up and cheering to the dozens of American supporters who came for their home country's skaters, to see them succeed. For Shea, it was the greatest feeling to know that you made your fans and country proud: she hadn't booted down Sasha but she always could for that long program, it wasn't over just yet.

Jumping up and down the American skater took in all the applause and squeezing the stuffed animals she had managed to pick up from the rink before the volunteers cleaned the rest off.

"Shea Couleé a obtenu dans le programme court un score total combiné de 100,29!"

She grabbed Bob by her shoulders and smirked, attempting to jump on her back and quickly being stopped through the coach took her into a tight hug, groaning. "Jesus, I'm so proud of you." Shea nodded and smiled brightly, getting one more hug. Snaking past and giving a wave to Adore who happily screamed from the other side of the rink, she headed over to the podium area as Sasha quickly stood up and completely mauled her in another hug, this was much more satisfying of a hug than Bob's and Shea wasn't sorry about it.

"I can't believe you didn't beat me, I was so ready to move down to the second place spot."

Her words came as a complete surprise to Shea who groaned aloud. "Stop giving me all the credit, I bow to you my queen."

Their fingertips brushing against each other as they spoke, Sasha laughed sweetly. A quiet smile painted across her lips before she began pulling away from the grip of Shea's hug hearing the announcements for the second group to warm up. Finally calm and sitting, Shea realized she was now firmly placed in silver medal position as Brooke, who was hanging on to bronze best she could was clearly lamenting and stacking the other competition as they warmed up.

"C'mon Aquaria!" She screamed as her name was called from the announcers, Sasha clapped and seemed beyond excited to see Sharon's biggest project finally skate on the senior level. Her platinum hair perfectly hanging off her costume as she adjusted the hair tie, trying to not smile at all the cheers and applause coming her way.

"How do you think Aquaria will fare against the current podium?"

Shea was surprised Brooke had spoke up but didn't exactly like how the Canadian said the question aloud. Her tone clearly pointing towards something else. She wouldn't have minded if it was a genuine response, it's normal to ask: she worked with Aquaria and they both represent the same country. Shea wasn't incompetent. Brooke was clearly just trying to calculate in her head if she'd get a medal or if she was better than the blonde who sat itching every minute more towards a complete mental breakdown.

"I think she could absolutely beat you if that's what you're asking."

Taken aback, Brooke rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers across the couch as she took in a deep breath and clapped as the introduction of the skaters went on. Shea noticed her facial expression change and felt slightly inconvenienced but, she wasn't going to be Miss Congeniality in this conversation and act like Brooke was better at everything, Aquaria was competition big time. Just because she was young didn't mean she couldn't absolutely murder the Canadian's score.

Sasha hugged her Penguin plushie and cheered politely for the remaining five skaters who were now warming up, keeping a close eye on Aquaria. While the Russian wasn't as concerned with winning as Brooke was, she definitely a certain nervousness run through her veins, she had seen her during her junior championships and saw her at the Youth Olympics completely destroy the podium for that gold medal. She might've had a very famous and talented coach who also happened to be her mom but she definitely had passion and skills beyond her years.

I hope I did enough to keep first place.

"So, can I ask about Katya?" Shea leaned over gently, holding her hand, the Russian happily interlocking their hands together as she gave a quaint nod. "Of course, they're just warming up now anyway."

"Is she excited to be in Russia for her qualifications since she's in the Rostelecom Cup?"

It seemed a bit of an odd question, of course it was a good thing: that motherland advantage and crowd did so much good on a skater's motivation and passion to win. Sasha assumed she asked the question due to all the media scandal and harassment Katya was getting for quitting on their coach and moving to America to train permanently.

"She is, genuinely, she feels very calm and collected about the situation that's happening and I'm glad she will be in a better mindset training in Michigan, I believe, than with us in Russia."

The pain clearly visible in her voice as she spoke, staring at the floor. Katya leaving was truthfully the worst thing to happen to Sasha in the last five years: the person she had trained with, lived with and accepted as family finally had enough and left the younger blonde alone in St. Petersburg. Of course, she wasn't mad and couldn't ever be mad. She needed the space and time to heal and if training with Chad and in America meant she'd skate better and feel more stride, then so be it.

Shea noticed how close to home the topic must've been and she felt a bit awful for subjecting Sasha to even more stress during the competition, she put an arm around her shoulder and nodded at every other word, the Russian latching on to her for support. Completely distracted by her tender blue eyes, the American snapped out of it and cleared her throat as she finally regained her conscious.

"I have a lot of close friends who train with Chad in Michigan and they're really excited to get to know her and possibly spend time with her, I just want you to know that she is in good hands."

"I'm sure it's wonderful, I trust your judgement."

The two lovingly stared at each other, completely immersed in nothing but pure relief they were together in the podium as they had hopelessly predicted a few days ago. Shea always was offended how damn gorgeous Sasha managed to look even after skating the most intense short program of her life, she was perfectly pristine and just gracefully sitting in her chair with the penguin plush in her lap, watching anxiously for what was to come.

— *.✧

Some had gotten close to third, namely Adore who stumbled on her quad loop and underrotated her triple toe, triple loop combination. Shea frowned seeing her close friend edge out in fourth place, Bianca rubbing her shoulders and quickly comforting the California native who could only nod at the scores, disappointed.

"Our final skater, representing the United States, Aquaria Coady."

Sharon gave Aquaria a final yell and kissed her head before she was sent on the ice, the youngest of the bunch managing to keep a calm and collected smile. She stood in the center, Noticing Shea who gave a thumbs up as she returned the favor, running a hand through her straight, platinum hair and glanced over at her coach.

Sharon already biting her nails and unable to take her eyes off her own daughter, feeling more nauseous and anxious than Aquaria was.

"C'mon Coady!" She heard from the rink as it silenced, knowing it distinctly as Alaska's voice and her voice only, while Aquaria laughed Sharon felt nothing but displeasure: she knew Alaska was only giving support but in the tense atmosphere and build up it didn't help calm her nerves.

Give me the strength to not murder her after this.

Björk's Oh So Quiet began to blast as Aquaria lifted her edges of the ice and turned her back, lifting her arms and making way past the judges and turning into an arabesque before making her way to the quad salchow.

Sharon could only freeze until she landed the jump, springing into the air and yelling, covering her mouth as her daughter continued peacefully, surprisingly looking more motivated. Sharon's worst fear was Aquaria festering up to the pressure and the applause distracting her from the program but she instead seemed to eat up the crowd and add the passion into the skate.

Her own body swayed along to the music, sometimes she wishes she didn't retire so much earlier than expected of her but seeing someone like Aquaria continue the legacy she had built and bring a new edge and face: it was the greatest achievement of her career and couldn't have made her more proud.

So far, so good: a clean, respectable and fun short program.

Entering the back edge of her foot she watched Aquaria go in deep for the quad loop and she completed it: it was perfect, it was clean, it made Sharon yell again. She looked around and hoped no cameras or other coaches would see her losing it like an absolute maniac. She heard cheering behind her, realizing it was just Bianca and Bob who sat together on the bench beside her in the left corner.

It brought a deep happiness in her heart to know her fellow coaches and old time skating competition were still rooting for Aquaria to push through and make that podium dominated by a squad of American skaters.

Every little element brought a staunch reaction from Sharon who had basically been holding her breath for the last two minutes and thirty seconds, seeing Aquaria perform her final element of a layback spin, her head and shoulders dropped backwards as she arched her back towards the ice she took in the applause and almost fell to the ground once she finished.

She breathed heavily against the wall of the rink, clutching her heart as she waited patiently for Aquaria to come, cheering and clapping for her daughter not wanting to cry before getting the scores: she had executed it perfectly and the only misstep she had taken was possibly a slight under rotated quad but that was up to judges deliberation and not up to Sharon.

The minute her skates hit the carpet again they slammed into each other, Aquaria's hands digging into her shoulders as Sharon wiped the sweat off her forehead and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "Kid, I'm so fucking proud." She whispered in muffled breath. Aquaria taking it all in and wishing she had a camera to capture the moment. However, she was sure the hundreds around them would and somehow she'd find this exact moment on Twitter at about 3AM tonight.

As the two made their way over the Kiss & Cry, Bianca and Bob quickly giving Aquaria the high praise she deserved as she put on her skate guards.

"That was fucking art, magnificent."

"Beat bitch, you and Shea, besides Adore, are the only ones I didn't want to fall asleep to! You also had the best costume made by yours truly!"

Sharon held Aquaria's hands firmly, interlocking their fingers and pressing a kiss to her adopted daughter's forehead. The blonde couldn't have possibly even imagined how much energy and passion she gained being in front of a crowd. Especially considering it was her first senior competition she had done exactly what she came to do: prove everyone wrong. Whatever was to happen now was up to the judges and while in the back of her heart Sharon knew her skating was not up to the same level as Sasha's yet , Aquaria absolutely won the crowd over and had managed to steal Sharon's heart yet again, as always.

"I'm proud of you kid, medal or no medal, tonight you have proved yourself to the world." The words leaving her mouth softly, Aquaria only falling into the grip of her coaches arm, Sharon running a hand through her platinum hair as the screens were still replaying the footage of her jumps and elements up for review, waiting for that score.

The music stopped, Sharon's heart now pounding twice as loud, squeezing her hands tightly and praying she had managed to do enough: she was the last skater and every single hope rested on her.

"The scores please."

Sharon had managed to whisper a distinctly loud and nerve wrecked, "Fuck—" aloud before she covered her mouth, Aquaria giggling and staring away from the camera's as they sat together: mother and daughter, coach and skater.

I just hope I was good enough of a coach to her.

"Aquaria Coady has earned in the short program a total combined score of…"

The announcer stopped and Sharon wanted to die right on the spot, what truthfully was just two seconds seemed to last an entire lifetime. This was the foundation her skater needed to succeed and it would definitely be wonderful to completely laugh in Phi Phi's face for old times sake.

"94.61, she is in currently in third place."

Aquaria's heart stopped beating the minute she had heard the score and she covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes immediately watering and red as Sharon screamed and stood up, still screaming and picking up her daughter by the waist and swung her around. The two separated, both emotional as they hugged again letting the applause and screeches of the American fans speak for themselves.

"You did it!" Was all she could hear her coach scream in her ear as they ignored the French translation and took in the atmosphere, this was truly a photo finish.

"Aquaria Coady a obtenu dans le programme court une note combinée totale de 94,61, elle est à la troisième place."

The younger girl had barely enough time to process: she had won a bronze medal in the first night of her first senior competition, her mom and coach still holding back tears as they jumped in place and held hands tightly, Sharon completely passing out on her shoulder though her smile glowed brighter than all the camera flashes and stadium lights.

Holy shit, I just won a medal, fuck.

Upon seeing the scoreboard she noticed in the corner Shea standing and yelping for the younger American who came running in her arms, the Chicago native laughing with pride once they fell into the couch. The two of them sporting Team USA jackets in Grenoble, the podium was officially two Americans and the Russian who reigned supreme once again.

It was difficult to ignore Brooke who sat in tears, closing her eyes and breathing through her mouth though her fists were clenched and bright red as Aquaria walked over and helped her up, trying to congratulate the Canadian on still, a wonderful result she should definitely be proud of. The older skater clearly wanted to be left alone as she immediately raced off, only stopping to pat Aquaria's back in a silent form of congratulations as she disappeared away from the crowd and cameras.

"Congratulations darling." Sasha spoke sweetly as they shook hands smiling, Aquaria feeling a bit dazed and starstruck upon seeing the Russian who had secured the gold she wanted: if she won the free skate she was advancing to the Grand Prix final's like expected of her.

"Thank you."

Shea and Sasha latched onto each other as they began to adjust each other's laces that were beginning to untangle from being off the ice and pacing around so much. A faint pinch of curiosity ran through Aquaria's brain as she stared blankly at her friend who seemed irresistibly engulfed with Sasha. She had seen Shea smile more in three minutes staring at the Russia's own darling skater than she had the entire season of training.

That would be an interesting match...

— *.✧

Brooke had held it together fine hearing those damn scores, she was beaten and unless she made the podium tomorrow there was no chance she'd qualify for the Grand Prix final, she had already gotten a silver medal at Skate America: this was the final push she had and god , she refused to have this moment be taken away from her by some starting senior who was beyond talented but had barely even began the real work.

Wiping her eyes she put her body against the wall of the deserted hallway, knowing the medal ceremony would begin in a moment and she wouldn't be a part of it. She knew half of her mascara would run dry and down her face by the time she had comprehended what happened. She didn't want to see anyone, not even Manila. She knew her coach would gently hug her and tell her to train for tomorrow, to look at the end goal and not just tonight.

"Brooke…" A voice spoke, closing the door to the hallway locker rooms as the Canadian sat in tears, it truly shouldn't be such a big deal but her body was at it's limit and all the hard work she did with Manila, Detox and Alyssa seemed a great waste even with the free skate still to go.

Her eyes bounced around the room before spotting Detox kneeling right next to her on the bench where she had made a home. "Girl, that was fucking awesome."

Brooke completely broke down at that very moment, choking and stifling back her tears before letting it all go: she felt like she failed her mentor and idol at that very second. The American skater frowned and sat on the bench before quickly wrapping her arms around Brooke's shoulders, letting her completely sob on her jacket.

"I'm so proud of you, medal or no medal."

The Canadian nodded in silence, it was a comfort to hear that but it wouldn't change the fact her chances at the Grand Prix were practically kissed goodbye unless she managed to beat Shea, Sasha or Aquaria tomorrow.

Bouncing her royal blue hair, Detox held her hands and made her lift her head from the floor. "Stop slagging, you're the hardest worker I know, I love those girls with all my heart but you still have all my support and want towards winning the gold."

"I feel like I'm failing you… That I'm failing my own country—" sniffling every third word, trying to compose herself. She was starting to piece together the reason why she was so broken was because this was the first real fall of her career she had, impressive but to have it in France, during a fucking qualification definitely raised her emotions bitterly.

"You better not ever fucking say that, can't name someone I'm more proud of."

"Trinity?"

Detox gripped the bench, eyes widening as she bit her own lips. Ignoring the flush that infiltrated her cheeks she laughed, "Don't play with me, she's a good friend , friend for sure, you're like my hotter daughter who can actually do ballet— you're everything I've ever wanted in a skater."

"You're not just saying that?"

The older skater slapped her knee gently and laughed, head on her shoulder, "I wish I didn't fucking have to, you should already know it's all true."

Tired of wallowing in the stench of the locker rooms, the two got up and held hands tightly as they went out back, Detox finally convincing Brooke Lynn to attend the medal ceremony and not just sit around her hotel room in nothing but sorrow. They walked arm in arm out around the door before taking Brooke to their original seats which were with Alaska (competition) and Trinity (competition).

Politely introducing herself she sat with the three Americans, feeling a bit of an odd one out especially considering the three all trained with each other in some capacity or another. Alaska and Trinity were nice enough out of competition, wishing her luck and saying her skate today was very well done.

The rink had already set up with the podiums and volunteers coming out, the president of the ISU already introduced and standing on the layers laid down to prevent any accidents on the ice, no skates were necessary while walking on these paths and carpeted areas.

"Third place, representing the United States, Aquaria Coady."

The three next to Brooke immediately stood and clapped loudly, whooping and screeching for Sharon's daughter and the bronze medal winner from their home country. The Canadian joined them and clapped politely, simply taking a deep breath, wondering what could have been.

"Troisième place, représentant les États-Unis, Aquaria Coady!"

The music of her short program played as the youngest skater in the competition begun to skate her way around the rink, waving to the stands as she smirked widely. Her smile was definitely infectious as Brooke had to at least give a quaint and visible smile towards her, she deserved it no matter how badly the Canadian had prayed it would've been her.

She stopped her skates and hopped on to the third place podium, proudly standing and being projected on the bigger screens scattered throughout the rink for everyone far and close to see.

"Second place, representing the United States, Shea Couleé."

"Deuxième place, représentant les États-Unis, Shea Couleé!"

Trinity had completely melted and jumped in the stands, screeching for her best friend who came out as her Moulin Rouge program played, spotting the four and blowing a kiss to Trinity who laughed and leaned on Detox happily, shouting her name until she had stopped and Aquaria helped her gently get on the second place podium.

Shea hugged Aquaria, a sweet moment for the camera's and enough to get a reaction from the already antsy and energetic crowd.

Now all that was left was the one and only.

"In first place, representing Russia, Sasha Velour."

"En premier lieu, représentant la Russie, Sasha Velour!"

The blonde skated out in unexplainable joy, the music of her short playing though the crowd completely drowned it out with cheers and appreciation towards the golden girl, who had been expected to take it easily.

Sasha held Shea's hand as she jumped on the podium, smiling widely at the cameras and giving waves everywhere she saw a Russian flag or excited fan, she was completely exhilarated no doubt but still managed to keep sanity and grace with the audience and fans in Grenoble who were now on their feet.

"God she's so fucking good." Alaska groaned aloud, clearly Team Shea and Aquaria for tomorrow though it was looking to be another clear Grand Prix qualification for Sasha who already got gold her previous assignment in Canada.

Grand Prix's were, outside of the Olympics and World's (though even that could be debated): the biggest competition skater's had to look forward to, the Olympics was months away and qualifications had already begun in certain countries. You needed to do well in just one but two separate competitions you were randomly assigned to: Sasha was to be the first definite qualifier if she won gold tomorrow. Katya who had won gold in America was right behind her and was assigned to Rostelecom in her own home country, Detox was also in the same boat as Katya with an added NHK Trophy assignment after Russia.

Sasha bounced happily on her podium as her and Shea whispered idle conversation to each other before the announcer spoke, introducing the ISU representatives and letting the volunteers come out with bouquets of flowers, wrapped and ready for the skaters after the medals were presented.

The ISU president walked first to Aquaria who graciously accepted the medal around her neck and hugged the president who smiled and separated, shaking her hand as the crowd cheered for the newly broken in skater.

Aquaria blew a kiss to who must've been her mom and coach, Sharon who was an utter legend back even just a few years ago before she decided to retire.

Silver was presented to Shea who couldn't keep it in and did a small jump of joy, Sasha giggling beside her and she watched the medal become bestowed upon her. Another hug before she bowed to all the praise and love, Brooke was sure almost a fifth came from her row, mainly Trinity.

The American danced and laughed, gripping Sasha's hand before cheering loudly for the gold medal winner who bowed and politely shook hands before receiving a final hug from the president who took his time showing the Gold medal and putting it around the Russian skater's neck as she bashfully teared up hearing all the applause and love given towards her.

As the flags were lowered, two American and one Russian, the stadium respectfully stood (most already having been standing) as the speakers began to blast the Russian national anthem, Sasha proudly mouthing every word and wiping her eyes as she lipsync though the arena was pact enough to hear the Russian fans singing the words to their anthem with nothing but passion.

"Rossiya – svyashchennaya nasha derzhava,

Rossiya – lyubimaya nasha strana.

Moguchaya volya, velikaya slava –

Tvoio dostoyanye na vse vremena!"

Brooke nodded, it was a lovely national anthem and she could definitely feel the fans singing along and supporting their country and Sasha: overall, it was expected that she would win (let's be honest).

The Canadian said her goodbyes to Detox once she had enough of scrolling through her phone and occasionally adding to the conversation an hour after the ceremony ended before quietly wandering off herself to her hotel room. She was hoping Manila wouldn't be angry she strayed away after the short program had ended. She was really hoping to just find some alcohol around here, a cocktail for her pent up and let out sadness.

As she stepped out of the elevator and onto her floor, duffel in hand she heard a concerning amount of knocks and relentless pounds towards a nearby door in her hallway. Brooke's amygdala completely flared as she jumped the corner and hid behind the corner of the wall, completely horrified. Praying someone was just drunk she breathed in relief once she heard the words coming from the said door thrasher.

"Kameron, bitch! I'm locked out of our fucking room!"

A muffled voice on the phone spoke: "I'm with Brianna, we went to the city outskirts and she's completely wasted already after watching the competition in a local bar, we're about an hour away, we'll leave soon I promise!"

Curiously, Brooke Lynn peaked the wall before anxiously circling behind and tilted her head finally seeing one of her fellow skating competitors she recognized as Vanessa Mateo completely frustrated as she helplessly pounded on the door. The Puerto Rican took notice to the taller figure peering behind her view before putting her hands up, dropping her phone and wallet before Brooke shook her head.

Letting her duffel hit the floor, the blonde went over to help the fellow skater pick up her things. Disorientated, Vanessa gasped and managed once more to drop her wallet: this time Brooke being able to catch it.

"I know you! Oh my god!" She yelled, a jump in her step as Brooke shushed her, slapping her shoulder, it was approaching midnight. "I'm sorry, you're so talented though!" The blonde shrugged, Vanessa scoffed at her lack of self appreciation.

"Bitch, you are fucking fabulous. I said to my friend, Kameron, while we were in the rink watching: Thank god I ain't skating in her assignments! You did so amazing." The sweet talk was very genuine but after a long night Brooke couldn't do anything expect sigh and politely smile, "You're very talented, I loved your Mambo skate last season."

Brooke had heard much about Vanessa, she was extremely popular on social media and always had the greatest Instagram Live's before competitions. Her coach was her god-mother and though she represented Puerto Rico, she happily trained in Florida or Michigan. Their styles couldn't be more different but the Canadian was glad she had the love from another skater who deserved twice as many medals than already collected.

The two exchanged glances of respect and high praise, the shorter skater extending a hand politely, not exactly knowing if physical affection was her thing.

"Vanessa, most call me Vanjie though."

"Brooke Lynn, good to finally meet you in person."

Rummaging through her wallet she managed to take a glimpse at the door, "Locked out?" She asked frowning, that be Brooke's worst nightmare even in France, especially for poor Vanessa who wasn't even a skater at this event and would just be treated as such.

"Yes Ma'am, I'm trying to call my friend who's staying with me but she's with her damn girlfriend as always, chatting it up and getting it on!"

Well that was too much information.

The blonde ran her fingers through her hair and huffed, knowing the staff wouldn't provide her with another keycard to the room especially if someone else had it on them already.

"I know we just met but if you want, you can stay with me until she comes."

Grabbing her bag she swung it around her shoulders as her Team Canada jacket began to reek of sweat and tears, "As long as you don't mind I shower, I smell awful."

Vanessa, completely gutted immediately nodded and sprung to her feet groaning in happiness. "Yes god, I owe you back in alcohol and food which we can order to your door!" The Canadian for the first time in this entire qualification smiled, laughing even.

"It's a done deal as long as you don't eat where my bed is."

— *.✧

Alaska had immediately raced to completely demolish Aquaria in nothing but love and hugs, maybe coupled with loud screeches. Winning a bronze medal at your first international senior competition while simultaneously facing skaters like Brooke Lynn Hytes, Sasha Velour and Jinkx Monsoon? Absolutely priceless.

"You fucking twig, I'm so proud." Her fingers brushing the hair past her face as they embraced, the younger skater only grinning with delight at the teasing as the bronze medal was held proudly around her neck. Aquaria tightly jumped around with the older skater, Sharon watching from a side, genuinely smiling and leaning against the wall with nothing but happiness.

"Thank you, for everything."

The blonde shrugged, "Anything for my Aqua." Her fingers running across the bronze medal in nothing but pride, admiring the workmanship and build of the prize. "Now you just have to listen to Sharon and relax, you have the free dance and I totally think you could fucking murder Sasha Velour by the way."

Sharon butt in, "She is right, you could but you have to rest." She threw Aquaria her keycard, "Go to the hotel and take a bath, you smell like sweat even if it's from winning a medal." Her daughter laughed and didn't complain, wanting to immerse her entire body in a bathtub full of bubbles and lavender essential oils.

An arm suddenly slugged around Alaska's shoulders as Sharon pulled her in and dropped her head in the crook of her neck, the skater grinning in delight. "Someone is either very tired or very happy to see me." Her hands reaching around her waist, keeping open eyes in the open hotel hallway.

"Tired, I hate you." The words coming off quietly with Alaska snickering into her hair, running a hand down her back as she hummed. "I know you do, that's why we live together." A kiss pressed to her lips softly, Sharon pushed her back and held her hand tenderly, "Thanks for coming."

"You're saying that as if I wouldn't die for Aquaria and to see her skate."

The shrug that Sharon gave as a response made the younger woman beside her punch her right in the shoulder, "You really thought I wouldn't come?" The question resonating with Sharon who only opened her mouth before closing it again, wanting to pick and choose her words carefully. The silence was clearly enough of an answer for Alaska who immediately gnawed at her cheeks, bitter.

"Seriously? What the fuck Sharon, you're my girlfriend and Aqua is still my damn training partner."

"You said yourself you're gonna retire! How the fuck am I supposed to know, I didn't know if you'd wanna come see a competition so soon after announcing privately in tears that you were calling it quits on skating!"

Alaska crossed her arms and cocked her brow, "So you think because I'm sad and that I'm gonna retire I shouldn't come?" Sharon stood quiet and sighed, giving up on trying to win a fight that had yet to even start.

"I guess not, what do I know."

"Everything, you're the reason I'm sane my love." Alaska joked as she tangled her fingers in her hair, the blonde putting a hand on the skater's cheek and caressing it as she spoke quietly of how badly she needed to draw herself a bath and order junk food from hotel services.

"Perfect date! We can use every bath bomb I managed to buy yesterday and eat grease!" Alaska called out chipper, grabbing her lover's hand as they walked back to their hotel room, hand in hand, Detox had promised Alaska a lone room tonight since she was gonna go to the city with Trinity after the ceremony and most likely find a joint over there for a night.

Translation: I'm gonna have sex with my crush hardcore all night in the city centre hotel instead of our room, enjoy!

"You are certainly something."

"Would you want me any other way darling?" Their fingers playing before they interlocked tight as Sharon spoke firmly, a smile across her dried lipstick.

"Definitely not."

[cinnaminsvga]

forever fools | tddup!spinoff

→ summary: jieun learns that saying goodbye is a two-way street, and sometimes it's easy to forget to look both ways before crossing.

{or alternatively: here's some sad lesbian angst ft. sana from twice}

→ genre: angst, slight fluff/humor, tddup!au → word count: 5.8K → a/n: this was commissioned by my lovely patron haley, to whom i am forever grateful for. i don't know if this is what you were expecting, but hopefully you enjoy it!! thank you again for being such a great star in my life!! if anyone else is interested in commissioning me for works like this, head over to my patreon (link in description) for more details. without further ado, here’s some lesbian greek goddess angst lmao!!

There’s something strange about looking at an empty bedroom, Jieun thinks as she snaps her last suitcase closed with a note of finality reverberating in the still air. The normally cluttered closet stands forlornly against the wall like a shell, the floor looks pristinely white for the first time in a century, and the window sill is devoid of all the little succulents that Demeter had given her from the first day she had arrived at Olympus. Above all, what unsettles her the most is the fact that the room did not look like it has ever been lived in at all. Jieun shakes her head, a small smile of amusement gracing her face. The cleaning naiads truly do not hold any prisoners when it comes to dust and dirt.

As she looks around her room, it is hard for her to keep the nostalgia at bay. After all, for the longest time, Jieun has called this place home––an oasis away from the terrible migraines and playful chaos that happens on a regular basis while working as an Olympian. It is the one place where she can escape when Zeus’ antics would get a little bit too much. While she did sleep in the same bed as him on most nights (not quite out of her own desire, but rather, because of a sense of duty that compels her to stay faithful to Zeus), she always did like slinking away to her little haven whenever she had the time.

She does not know what this room will be used for, since Y/N has expressed her desire to stay by Zeus’ side. Jieun chuckles at the memory of a red-faced Y/N when she had explained her reasons, saying something along the lines of “I need to keep both eyes on that man-sized toddler” even though her rapidly beating heart and flushed cheeks said otherwise. Oh, the beauty of young love.

In the midst of her contemplations, she hears a knock outside her window pane despite her room being high up in the heavens. Normally, most mortals would be confused as to who would have the ability to climb thousands of meters up into the air, but since Jieun is a goddess (or soon to be an ex-goddess, to be exact), things like this are hardly ever out of the ordinary. Even more so, Jieun knows exactly who the intruder is, because no one else would be crazy enough to disturb her privacy and wear those gaudy winged Gucci slippers with a stupid grin on their handsome face.

“Someone called for the bellboy?” Hermes says in lieu of a greeting as Jieun opens the window for him to enter through. Hermes flops down from the window sill, his Gucci slides thumping loudly against the carpeted floor. He takes the suitcase away from Jieun’s hand, who almost seems reluctant to let go. Noticing her mournful face, Hermes steps closer to her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

“Hey, you doing okay, Hera? I know it must be weird. Hell, I think it’s gonna be weird not hearing you nag me all the time,” Hermes jokes, but his voice drips with sadness. In truth, Jieun always did appreciate Hermes’ presence, especially since the two of them had become gods at around the same time period. Jieun has promised herself that she wouldn’t cry in front of the others, but somehow seeing the usually upbeat god looking so forlorn was making her tear ducts moisten against her will.

“Nah, I’m fine. We all knew this was coming, sooner or later. Besides,” Jieun huffs, pinching the younger’s cheek with a smirk. He whines, but doesn’t do anything to push her hand away. “Even when I die, something tells me that you’re going to be visiting me in the Underworld more often than you did when I was here on Olympus.”

At that, the trickster god laughs, his ears reddening at the accusation that the two of them knew was true. He shrugs his shoulders, the sadness abated for now. There is more than enough time to be sad in the future. “Perhaps. Don’t tell Yoongi though, because I’m going to be using the excuse that I miss you for the next millennia until he starts to get suspicious of my frequent visits.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind either way,” Jieun smirks, ruffling the boy’s hair in endearment. Hermes gives her a wicked grin, neither agreeing nor denying the claim.

“This is the last of your belongings, right? No need to call the Anemoi to help bring your stuff down to your new home?” Hermes says, lifting the suitcase to check its weight. He whistles when he feels how light it is. “Damn. You really don’t have a lot of stuff on you, huh? You’ve been living here for the past 1000 years so I had expected at least a few more bags, if I’m being honest.”

Jieun shrugs, gesturing around her room. “This bedroom was honestly just as much as a storage space as it was a hiding spot, and there wasn’t a lot of room to keep things over the centuries. Plus, I was never into material things, so the things I have are mostly necessities rather than memorabilia.”

Hermes shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips. “Ah, the frugal Asian in you really hasn’t disappeared even after all these years, huh?”

“You can take the girl out of Asia, but you can’t take the Asian out of the girl,” Jieun laughs, pushing Hermes out of her room. “Now get out of my room––I have to start doing last minute preparations for the wedding and I can’t do that with an annoying twink in my room.”

“Who are you calling annoying? That’s no way to treat your bellboys! A tip would be very appreciated, by the way,” Hermes whines, but he slips out of the window regardless.

“I’ll give you the tip of my strap if you keep delaying! Now shoo!”

Hermes snorts, winking salaciously at her. “Oh, you know what this baby boy likes, huh?” he says, guffawing loudly when Jieun goes to grab his ankles from her window sill. Floating outside with her suitcase in tow, Hermes gives her one final goofy salute before he is off to deposit the last of her belongings in her new mortal abode.

Left to her own devices once more, Jieun walks over to her closet, where a single white dress hangs loosely like a ghost. She thumbs the fabric, an odd feeling rising up her chest at the sight of it. This is the dress that she would be wearing to the wedding, an heirloom that has been passed down for generations after each Hera has passed the torch to the next. She remembers the previous Hera wearing this exact dress during her union with the previous Zeus, remembers the way the dress had made her previous mentor look spectral in a way––as if she was already gone before she had even left.

The thought jars her, and she rips her hand away. She wipes her palms against her jeans, feeling sweat start to build for whatever reason.

Unwilling to stay in this empty room for much longer, Jieun is thinking of having some last minute checks with Y/N to see how she is holding up when two small bodies crash through the door in a flurry of limbs. Jieun hardly flinches when the two girls stand up in noisily, their giggles giving her the impression that they may not be as a sober as she hopes they would be. Demeter is the first one to straighten up long enough to shoot her a wide smile.

“Hera! What are you doing here being all mopey and sentimental? You’ve got a party to catch!” Demeter laughs, her potent intoxication causing sprouts to grow out of her head. Hestia smiles, more reserved than the younger (or was it elder? Demeter is certainly older when it came to human years) but clearly just as out of it, as she plucks the small plant and tucks it into her own ear.

“I’m not being mopey,” Jieun frowns, mopey. She gives the two other goddesses an appraising look. “And what party are you talking about? I’m assuming it’s my surprise farewell party from the Facebook event that our lovely Eos accidentally invited me to.”

Hestia gasps, slapping her head comically as she looks at Demeter in disbelief. “That stupid bitch! I told you that we should’ve used Eventbrite instead!”

“Either way,” Jieun interrupts, watching as the two continually sway on their feet. “That doesn’t explain why the two of you are already drunk out of your minds when the supposed party hasn’t even started.” She suspects they must have also gotten a hold of Dionysus’ secret stash of godly pot, because she knows the two girls aren’t exactly the lightest drinkers. Either that or the excessive amount of binge watching shitty Netflix shows has finally caused their limited brain cells to deplete.

“Who says the party hasn’t started?” Demeter grins, tugging Jieun by the wrist and out of her room. Before Jieun can turn to take one last look at her old bedroom, Hestia closes the door with a bang, and somehow Jieun knows that this might be one of the last times she’ll ever get to see it.

Hestia has the decency to shoot her a guilty look. “We weren’t purposefully gonna start the party before we brought you there, of course. But Wendy-unnie over here––” Demeter squawks at the use of her human name, slapping her shoulder playfully, but not appearing entirely as offended as Jieun had expected, “––saw that they were serving spiked nectar that Iris stole from Dionysus so really… Can you blame us?”

Jieun rolls her eyes playfully, a smirk gracing her lips. “Of course, that explains everything. How could I be so selfish?”

Demeter manhandles her until they reach the Chariot Room (which is basically just a garage with a mismatch of vehicles from every time period imaginable; they bypass the Hatsune Miku chariot with averted eyes.) They approach one of the more modern vehicles, parked near the exit of the garage. Jieun looks at the license plate and notices that its Artemis’ silver car that she uses when she does her nightly moon journey.

“Please tell me Artemis actually let you take her car and we’re definitely not going to hotwire it––aaaand of course you’re hotwiring it,” Jieun groans, watching helplessly as the two younger girls start doing who knows what to the poor car. If the car had been sentient, she is sure it would be filing a sexual harassment case with how much tinkering they were doing.

“It was her idea to host the party anyway, so sucks to be her!” Hestia says defensively, her brows furrowed in concentration as she conjures magical fire out of her hands to help… whatever it is that Demeter was doing. Jieun does not want to know where Demeter pulled out the tube of toothpaste from, and why it was needed to hotwire a car.

“I really don’t understand why we need to celebrate my departure anyway. It’s not like I’m leaving forever; in fact, I’m probably going to have to deadbolt my apartment to keep you vermin from breaching my privacy,” Jieun jokes, snickering when she sees the affronted look that Hestia shoots her. “What? You look at me as if I were lying.”

“Well, you look at me as if I haven’t been pestering you ever since I turned from drab ol’ human Yeri and into the banging goddess that I am today!” Hestia says, her eyes lighting up gleefully.

Jieun snorts. “You’re right. You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since you existed. How foolish of me to think otherwise.”

Seconds later, Hestia and Demeter make a noise of contentment when the car whirs to life, signalling that whatever they had done had miraculously worked. (Again, Jieun doesn’t want to know, and the less she knows, the easier it is for her to escape Artemis’ wrath later on.)

“But seriously,” Demeter begins, standing up and hopping into the driver’s seat. Before Jieun can even argue, Hestia takes the passenger seat, sticking her tongue out petulantly like the supposedly “banging” goddess that she was. “Artemis and Persephone planned this party mostly to get back on your good side after they got mad at you for making Y/N marry the thunder twerp. Which, I mean… Can you blame them? He’s a fucking loser and Y/N is… Well. Have you seen her ass?”

Jieun jumps into the backseat, a huff of air punched out of her lungs when she realizes she just sat on one of Artemis’ stray buttplugs, poking itself into the small of her back. Jieun gingerly picks it up, throwing it against the back of Hestia’s head. “Yes, I can blame them. At the end of the day, it’s my decision who succeeds me as Hera and I needed to choose quickly because my time was almost up. Y/N just so happened to make the perfect candidate, so they had no right to be angry at my decision.”

Demeter grumbles. “Yeah, I know you’re right. It’s just that we really thought you were on the lesbians’ sides... No wonder you never showed up to the blood compact, traitor,” Demeter says, no bite to her tone. The smirk on her face tells Jieun that she’s far from mad. “Still, I would’ve loved to have Y/N join our little dyke trysts. Do you think maybe she’s bi?”

“Who knows?” Jieun muses, staring out the window as Demeter clicks for the garage doors to open. The sunny open sky greets them as the three women start driving out of Olympus and to wherever it is that the party was located. If Jieun squints hard enough, she thinks she can see the mortals milling about on earth, where she’ll be in just a few more hours. A mortal, once more.

“And besides, there are other mortal girls that Artemis and Persephone can find,” Jieun says, looking away from the view to glance at Demeter’s reflection from the rear-view mirror. When the agricultural goddess notices, she gives her a knowing look.

Despite her inebriation, Demeter manages to safely drive them to the party, which happens to be the mansion where the nine Muses are known to live in.  Demeter parks the car haphazardly, uncaring for the rules of parallel parking and all codes of ethics as she takes up the entire driveway before turning off the ignition. Hestia is the first to jump out, stretching her legs and ready to race back towards the party.

“C’mon, slowpokes! The nectar is getting warm,” she calls out, rushing towards the door where the sounds of laughter and singing can be heard even from the garden.

“Remind me to keep her away from the alcohol during the wedding,” Jieun murmurs to Demeter. The other girl only grins wildly, and Jieun knows that there really isn’t any use depending on her when it comes to the topic of sobriety.

Jieun and Demeter follow after Hestia to find the party already in full swing. Demeter loudly announces over the din to tell everyone that the celebrant has arrived, and a chorus of welcome’s come from all around. Jieun flushes under the attention, never one to go to full out raging parties in the first place, least of all the ones dedicated to her. Regardless, she walks around to greet everyone, thanking them for coming despite their inebriation rendering most of them useless to anything other than them replying with raucous giggling and hugging.

Artemis and Persephone somehow find their way towards her, stumbling through the crowd and piling their drunken bodies onto her to capture her in the tightest bear hug imaginable. Jieun laughs under their assault, using up all her strength to pull away long enough to see that their faces are already decorated with lipstick smudges and other stains that Jieun has no desire to learn about.

“Jieeeeeeun, you came!” Artemis cries, rubbing her cheeks against Jieun’s. She already feels the lipstick rubbing itself uncomfortably against her skin, but she does not pull away out of politeness. “I thought you wouldn’t come!”

“And why is that?” Jieun asks, awkwardly patting the babbling younger as she starts to hiccup from both intoxication and excessive emotions. “Also, who told you that you’re allowed to call me by my human name, young lady? I’m still Hera to you until tomorrow evening.”

“Sorry, she’s a little tipsy,” Persephone giggles, prying herself and Artemis away from Jieun to let her take her first breath in over a minute. “But seriously Hera, we’re really sorry about how we acted with the whole Y/N thing. We shouldn’t have gone ballistic on you and called you a hetero on Twitter. That was definitely uncalled for and totally barbaric of us.”

“Don’t worry, kids. I was hardly phased by your insults,” Jieun smirks, giggling at the absolute sorrow and guilt contorting the archer goddess’ face. “Really.”

“But it’s so out of line! No one deserves to be called a het, not when you’re so fucking gorgeous and sexy and hey are you free tomorrow evening––” Artemis starts hiccuping incoherently, and Persephone has to wheel her away before she can embarrass herself further.

“We’ll talk later when I sober her up! Have fun tonight, okay? We’re willing to take our ‘punishment’ later for our terrible crimes, if you know what I mean.” Persephone winks, pushing her friend away to the kitchen, probably to get more drunk and grind against each other. Jieun stores away this scene away into her memory for blackmail later on.

After her encounter with the two hosts, Jieun decides to circle the rest of the room. She greets a few familiar faces, including the actual people who live in this mansion. The Muses that she greets are at various stages of drunk, but most of them welcome her warmly despite their incoherency. When Jieun enters the main dining hall, she can only watch worriedly as the Muse of comedy hangs precariously from the chandelier while wearing nothing but a silk black robe.

“Thalia, don’t make me fucking burn your clit off again! The chandelier is going break under your fat ass. Get down from there or else––SOMI!” Polymnia cries, almost missing a stray foot to the face. The crowd hoots at the display, egging the comedian on. “This is your last warning!”

Jieun chuckles at their antics, but she can’t help but notice that she has only seen eight of the sisters so far. Her palms begin to sweat, knowing full well who the missing Muse is and wonders if she might have chosen not to attend due to the argument that still lies fresh on both their minds. She feels the disappointment start to build up in her stomach, thinking that the Muse of tragedy truly wants to avoid her like she had feared.

After Jieun circles the whole living room to give her regards to all the other party-goers, she decides to head upstairs to one of the balconies to get some fresh air. She sees a few more straggling guests, most of them too preoccupied to properly respond to Jieun’s soft greetings since their faces are currently entrenched in other endeavors at the moment. Still, Jieun doesn’t mind as she passes by the bedrooms to the slide open the balcony door and allow the soft afternoon breeze to caress her face.

Since her eyes are closed when she welcomes the gentle wind to blow around her, she does not immediately notice two things.

One, there is a giant ice sculpture in Jieun’s perfect likeness, with all her curves and imperfections open to the world to see. The summer heat does not melt the sculpture, but this is not a surprise when it comes to the power of gods (plus, someone placed a small ice bath around it, though Jieun does not know why that would be of any help whatsoever.)

Two, she is not alone.

Melpomene stands idly by the edge of the balcony, her gaze trained away from Jieun. She knows that the Muse has noticed her presence, because her shoulders are hunched up in a way that only means that she is on guard and ready to flee at a moment’s notice. The Muse of tragedy stares up at the sky, neither of them saying a word as the two of them quietly listen to the muted music from the party downstairs and the sound of drunken naiads prancing wildly in the gardens.

The sun has begun to descend, but Jieun notices the way it slinks across the sky irregularly, almost as if a toddler were just slapping it across the sky like a tennis ball. Instead of the usual twilight transition that is familiar to most people, the sun appears to transform immediately into the moon, as if a light switch had been turned on and suddenly it was night time. The sky darkens immediately, and the world around them is bathed in stars.

Melpomene must have been sensed Jieun’s confusion because she offers up an explanation, voice scratchy from misuse. She sounds sober, unlike the rest of her sisters. “It’s Apollo. Artemis got him to take her shift as the moon for today,” she says, never once looking back at Jieun. She continues to stare at the random spirals that Jieun now knows is the work of Apollo’s disastrous driving skills. Poor kid.

“Well, he only did become the newest Apollo a few months ago. Although, I wouldn’t say that Artemis should have trusted him to do the night shift when he can hardly do his own day shift,” Jieun comments, pursing her lips as Apollo does a steep nosedive before thankfully going back on course.

Melpomene does not reply. The two of them stand in awkward silence, and Jieun has no idea how to break it. She wants desperately to speak to her, knowing that it wouldn’t sit well if she left Olympus knowing that one of her dearest friends stayed mad at her. She fidgets beside her, mouth opening and closing shut as she thinks of something to talk about.

“Hah, speaking of Apollo… Do you remember who came before him? I never even knew his human name,” Jieun starts, already beginning to spew out whatever nonsense comes to mind.

“Never really liked the sixth generation Apollo. He always gave off a lecherous vibe, and we were all so excited to see him leave. I remember how Hermes had gifted him a stink bomb disguised as a bath bomb for a goodbye gift… I could smell the stench all the way from Olympus. I’m lowkey worried that all of you are itching to kick me off as well and pull a stink bomb on me,” Jieun jokes, but her voice cracks imperceptibly, giving herself away.

Even though she tries to keep her voice lighthearted, deep down, she doesn’t even know if anyone will actually be sorry to see her gone. Sure, this party is dedicated to her, but that’s hardly a reason for her to believe that any of these people like her. Olympians are notorious for latching on to any reason to throw a party; hell, she solemnly remembers when Poseidon’s goldfish laid its first egg and they had partied for a whole week.

At the end of the day, she is just another mortal. Who is she to expect that anyone would remember her in a few thousand centuries?

There is something about her words and her tone that makes Melpomene snap out of her silence, eyes blazing with a fury so intense that it surprises Jieun. She gapes at the angry brunette, who corners her to the edge of the balcony until her butt bumps against the cool surface. When Jieun looks over her shoulder, she sees that the naiads from the garden have gone elsewhere, leaving the two of them alone.

Melpomene jabs her finger right into Jieun’s sternum, her hand shaking with emotion. “How fucking dare you insinuate that no one will miss you. How fucking dare you think that anyone would ever forget you!”

For a moment, Jieun is at a loss for words. Jieun splutters indignantly, wondering where Melpomene’s misplaced anger was coming from. She stares wide-eyed at the younger and wonders if her irritation stems from something more. “It was just a joke,” she says, lamely.

“A joke? Is that what you think everything is?” Melpomene laughs, and Jieun thinks the flower inside her heart wilts at the sound. It’s harsh, a sound wave that grates against her eardrums. The younger is never one to laugh without mirth, despite the nature of her role as the Muse of tragedy, but Jieun knows that the tormented tone in her voice is no longer because of the tragic tales she weaves in her stories––

It’s because of her.

“You betrayed us, didn’t you know? We all thought that we had more years to spend with you, and you just suddenly drop the bomb on us that your death day was coming,” she cries out, tears welling up in her eyes. Jieun’s hands itch to wipe them away. “Do you have any idea how terrible it is to find out that the person you love more than anyone in the world is going to leave you forever?”

Love. She loves her.

Somehow, the words don’t make sense to her.

“I’m not going to leave forever,” Jieun says instead, irises flitting about and unable to stay still. Her legs burn where they touch Melpomene’s own, and she wants to pull her closer and never let go. “I already told you last week that you’ll be able to visit me as a human until the Fates cut my string. I didn’t betray anyone.”

The tragedian’s nostrils flare, and she clutches Jieun’s shoulders tightly, as if she was afraid she would disappear if she didn’t hold on quick enough. When Jieun observes her closely, she notices the way her lips quiver with the effort of keeping it together. I did this to her, Jieun thinks sadly. Is this what love does?

“Did I mean nothing to you, then?” Melpomene murmurs, voice shaky as a leaf. She digs her nails into the back of Jieun’s shoulders, but she doesn’t mind the pain if it lets the younger steady herself. Anything. Take anything from me.

“If I truly meant something to you, you would’ve known that things like this matter to me. You should’ve cared, but you didn’t.”

Jieun exhales, tongue thick in her mouth. “Sana––”

“Don’t call me that!” She shouts, wrenching her hands away from her body as if she had been burned. Her absence hurt Jieun more than any of the scars from the wars she has fought––not even the agony of Zeus’ lightning bolt can compare to this pain. Melpomene stalks away from her, and it is only when she separates herself from Jieun that she allows the tears to fall.

Even when she was crying, Jieun can’t help but think that she is the most beautiful person that she has ever seen.

“Mel,” Jieun tries again. It hurts knowing that she has probably lost the precious gift of being able to call her by her true name, and it twists her heart painfully to realize that she will never get to experience the sweet taste of her name on her tongue ever again. “None of us are immortal, Mel. We’re all bound to pass, just like our predecessors. You should have known my time was limited. And besides, we’ll meet again in the Underworld––”

“Don’t you get it?” she seethes. She turns away from Jieun then, not allowing her the opportunity to watch helplessly as the only girl she’s ever cared for starts to openly weep for her, a living corpse. The weight of time has never felt so suffocating until then. “The Underworld is different. By then, it would have been centuries of us having to stay apart, and who is to say we’ll find each other again? Hades told me how difficult it is for lovers to reunite and how they often forget about each other by the time they do meet again. How can you be so nonchalant about this––?”

“Melpomene, my love,” Jieun whispers, and she takes a tentative step towards her. When she gingerly places a palm against her back, she feels the younger tense, but she does not move away. Jieun carefully slides her arms around her waist, embracing her loosely as she nuzzles her face into her back. She takes a shaky breath. “I’m still here, aren’t I? We lasted centuries before ever meeting, and I’m sure I’ll keep waiting for you for another more. Why worry so soon when we have time?”

At her words, Melpomene starts to shake violently, the sound of her sobs echoing into the night. Jieun refuses to let go, trying so hard to make the other girl understand she hasn’t died––not yet. She’s only ever felt alive whenever she’s around the tragedian, and that hasn’t changed even after centuries of stolen kisses in the meadows and whispered promises in the shadows.

Even in the light, those promises will hold true. Jieun will make sure of it.

“I’m scared,” Melpomene eventually says after a few minutes of sobbing, still faced away from her lover in fear of breaking more. But when Jieun gently cups her cheeks to face her, she can’t help but follow her touch like a moth to a flame. Jieun’s heart breaks at the sight of her swollen eyes, the look of pure devastation spilling the contents of her soul to anyone who can see. Melpomene continues, “I’m scared that we’ll forget.”

“I know,” Jieun whispers, and she suddenly notices the wetness on her own face––she’s been crying, too. Melpomene begins to brush them away, just as Jieun goes to brush them off as well. Melpomene lets out a watery giggle when their hands clumsily bump against each other.

Jieun grabs her hand before she can pull away. She squeezes tight. “It’s fine to be scared, you know? And I know it’s hard to see me go, but is it really harder to believe that I won’t leave you alone?”

“It’s not, but I can’t help but worry––”

“Mel, I have to tell you something,” Jieun interrupts, and she tries to sound firm to fully make her understand. She wants––no, needs her to understand that there is nothing to fear. “My time with you has meant so much to me, even more so than the time I spent with my own husband. You know this, don’t you?”

At the mention of the god of thunder, Melpomene lets out another bitter laugh like before, and a single fat tear rolls down her face. “Ah, Zeus. How could I forget? At the end of the day, how am I even sure that you felt the same way I did? I was only a mistress––a secret kept away from everyone because you had to keep your queenly status. Whereas for me? I was just someone you fancied when there was no one to hold, someone to keep your bed warm––”

“That’s not true,” Jieun says, staring wide-eyed at the girl’s accusation. “You know that’s not true. I cared for you more than I can even bare to handle.”

“Don’t lie. I’ve seen the way you look at Zeus,” Melpomene counters, head shaking in exhaustion. She’s no longer angry, only tired from all the worries and anxieties that have haunted her for years, perhaps even for centuries. “You might not know it, but you always did look sad when you looked at him, because you knew that he would never love you the way you loved him.”

“It’s true that I love him,” Jieun begins, taking a shuddering breath. She lets out a laugh of her own, as mirthless and weary as she felt. “But it’s not the same way I feel for you.”

At those words, Melpomene scoffs, pulling away from Jieun. She begins to walk away, gaze downcast as she goes to slide open the balcony door and rejoin the party. “Even now, you can’t say those three words back to me,” she murmurs, putting on the strongest smile she can muster. It disappears just as quickly as the wind.

Before Melpomene can walk away far enough, Jieun rushes towards her and grasps her hand in her own. It isn’t even strong enough to really stop her, and Jieun’s loose grip tells Melpomene that she can leave if she really wants to.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

She doesn’t because she can’t, and wouldn’t want to. Despite all the worries bubbling within her, all of them threatening to erupt and destroy everything that she has come to know and love, there is one thing that keeps Melpomene sane. It is just so unfortunate that the same person who used to make her heart flutter and her soul sing symphonies is the very same person who has the power to cause everything to fall apart.

At the end of the day, she is only mortal. She can pretend to be the Muse of tragedy, who is able to weave sorrow into words just as quickly as a seasoned archer is able to draw their bow. All the talent in the world can never erase the fact that she is just a girl, and she fears just as much as she loves.

When Jieun leans forward, her breath mingling with hers in a slow waltz, the stars reflect themselves off of her eyes. They were made for you, is the last thing thinks Melpomene before her lips are millimeters away from her lover’s, until the space between them is nothing more than something that happened once in a dream. Jieun’s gravity pulls her closer still, until there is nothing more to give.

I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, her heart beat thunders against her eardrums, urging Jieun to hear. She wonders if she has doomed herself, like the protagonists in her tragedies.

Melpomene pulls away for a split second, enough to gather air into her lungs which she will inevitably waste as she presses against Jieun and she is left breathless and lightheaded. This. This is what I will remember during the nights we will spend away from another. I hope you don’t forget them, too.

The party downstairs continues to rage on. The two lovers kiss by the balcony, with an audience of stars to keep them company. Melpomene fools herself into thinking that time will wait for them, if she just prays hard enough.

But she knows how tragedies end, and so she weeps.

[hannahmcne]

Her Royal Highness - Chapter 2

Mal spent the rest of the day hiding far from home. The last few hours, in particular, were under the bridge she'd planned to vandalize that morning. In between the steel supports for the bridge was a small hole about twice the diameter of a car tire. It grew narrower the further back it receded and was about two and a half feet deep. The end of the hole was rounded so if she tucked her legs up she could fit snugly into the dirt. When passersby walked above her, their footsteps would shake the dust from above her. She could hear snippets of conversation float down. Mal had wondered vaguely at first if she'd hear Jay, Carlos, or Evie walk above her, but so far, she hadn't heard anything.

In the dark, Mal chewed on her hair, a nasty habit of hers she'd started a few years ago, and twiddled her fingers around each other as she fumed. She was so mad she couldn't even think. All her life she'd wanted two things: freedom, and her mom's support. Mal wasn't even allowed to use her mother's full name since she wasn't evil enough. And truth be told, Mal didn't know if she'd ever be evil enough. Ever since her failed plot to force Evie to sleep for 1000 years back when she was twelve and Evie was sixteen, she'd known there was something different in her that set her apart from everyone else on the Isle. Something she didn't particularly enjoy, that made her more attached to her gang members as more than just pawns and that kept her up at night listing all the things she could change if only she would be given the chance. She just wasn't sure what to call it.

At twilight, the dirty river started to smell different as the temperature outside began to drop a little. Pollution in the air underneath the barrier caused extreme temperature changes on ground level. She turned her head to watch the light levels change over time. There was dirt down the back of her jacket and in her hair and in her shoes. She wondered if her mother was right and if there might already be palace guards surrounding their house, ready to execute her to free the prince from any blood obligations. On that note, she had no idea how the palace would react. Did they still do the death row? That seemed awfully dark for a country full of heroes. Then again, they did imprison everyone who didn't fit into society onto an island for them to battle it out amongst themselves. They didn't seem overly concerned for any children on the Isle, even though she knew many of them were recorded with, recognized and noticed by the crown.

The shadows under the bridge grew sharper and Mal began to uncurl herself. She crawled through the small hole and grabbed the underside of the bridge to haul herself out the rest of the way and then swing her body up. She grabbed the rusty railing and pulled a numb leg up. She couldn't feel her entire lower back. Once she wasn't dangling up above the smelly water, she stretched her arms up above her head and arched her back.

Mal took her time going home. After all, the sooner she went home, the sooner she'd have to face the idea that her life was about to either change forever or end entirely. And that wasn't an easy pill to swallow. She took the back ways home and soon found herself raising a hand to twist the doorknob when a thought occurred to her.

Her mother was delusional, after all. There may be a likelihood that she had simply made up cursing the prince and whatever had actually happened in Ben's interview with the Fairy Godmother was a fluke completely unrelated to a curse. Maybe, despite what the palace had said, Prince Benjamin was sick? After all, how could Maleficent have cursed the crown when she was sent to the Isle months before Belle and Adam had ascended the throne?

Mal twisted the doorknob and entered. Everyone in the room looked up at her. She stopped momentarily at the attention, then did her best to draw a half-lidded, bored sort of blank stare. Evie, Jay, and Carlos all rose to their feet at once, and that's when Mal noticed all her things had been packed into a ragged purple suitcase and her one-strapped backpack. The sight chilled her more than she could admit. She wondered who'd done that.

"M?" Evie asked. Mal's eyes shot back to her and took in the concern in her blue-haired friend, who wore a blue t-shirt and a blue plaid skirt.

"Sup," Mal said. She looked away from Jay and Carlos and instead turned to examine her dirt-clogged nails.

"Stomp your feet off." The Evil Queen said softly. None of the villains were meeting her eyes. Mal felt a heavy weight fall on her shoulders. They thought Maleficent was serious. The back of her throat grew hot as Mal began to feel angry. This wasn't fair. Maleficent had no proof of what she'd done… yet.

Mal stomped her feet off and brown dirt fluttered out of her hair and jacket. She scowled and shook her head. "I'm going to go change." She snapped and stormed past Evie.

"Your clothes are down here," Jay called after her. Mal stopped mid-march, turned on her heel, unzipped her suitcase and pulled an outfit out before she began to march straight upstairs. No one called after her.

Upstairs, she shook all the dust out of her clothes and hair. She rinsed her hands off in cold water and then got re-dressed in a new, not dirty outfit.

She stalked down the stairs quietly and paused to listen outside the room everyone else was still in. There were whispers, but they were too low to make out. No one was stupid enough to let their voices carry in the room. She walked around the corner and observed the scene before her. Everyone was whispering amongst their parents in separate little groups of two. She walked over to the dining table and took a seat on it, whipping a chair around with her foot to use as a footrest.

"Where's my mom?" She asked Jafar, who was closest.

He wouldn't meet her eyes either.

"Napping," Cruella answered for him. Evie took a seat at the table.

"Mal," She started. "What's going on?"

Mal rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna be honest, I think it was a fluke. I mean, how could mom have cursed the crown when all the heroes were keeping an eye on her? And why didn't they find the curse twenty years ago when he was born?" She shrugged. "She may have just imagined cursing it. Mom's a little wonky anyway."

Carlos and Evie were nodding along to her words, but everyone else remained still. The muscles in Jay's arms were taut. Mal knew he was worried, but it wasn't as if he could tell her that with the villains so close by. Jay was the oldest partner of the four. He'd been with her since the beginning.

The thing was, this whole mess could really swing both ways. Maleficent could have dreamed it all up. Or, this could have been her backup plan all along. There was no way to tell until the palace themselves confirmed or denied it. But Mal didn't want to believe it.

She was her mom's daughter, a villainess. They wouldn't toss her out to the heroes, right?

"Besides," She started up again, her voice growing bolder and bolder. "Mom wouldn't sell me out like that. She needs me here to keep everyone in check. And she cares about me, in her own crazy way. Mom wouldn't just throw me out."

A loud and harsh knock echoed around the room. Everyone's eyes shot to the door. It was only a knock, but with such strength that it sounded like someone was trying to break in. Mal's throat went dry and doubts began to form in the back of her mind, but she quickly swept them away.

Maleficent appeared at the top of the creaky spiral staircase, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Answer the door!" She hollered. Carlos jumped towards the entryway and undid the bolt before he turned the handle. The door knocked against the wall with a rattle and a clang. Outside was a tall man with a neat orange mustache who was dressed in royal blues and another man, equally tall, with dark sunglasses.

"Evening son." He directed this at Carlos. "May I please step inside?" Carlos wilted away from the tall man and his hard, angry eyes. Evil Queen, Jafar, and Cruella all stood to stare at the man. Mal felt her heart slow down and began to panic as the man ducked under the frame of the door and came to stand in front of the table. A gun rested on his hip and the floorboards shook when he stepped. His accomplice followed him into the room with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Outside, more soldiers were standing. Mal stared at them with wide eyes as the edge of the table broke off under her vice-like grip. Maleficent cackled in excitement as she hurried across the floor. Thump, thump, thump, across the floorboards. Hopefully, the neighbors wouldn't mind.

"Glorious! I was expecting you here tomorrow, but tonight will do." She pushed through her villainous counterparts and spread her arms wide as if welcoming the strangers to their very small apartment. The man only glared.

"Maleficent," He spat. "I am here to collect your daughter by order of the crown." The man's eyes darted to eye up both Evie and Mal, as if to see which one she was. It was dreadfully obvious, as Evie had an apple charm in her hair and the back of her shirt was inscribed with 'The Fairest of Them All'. The man stared at Mal with contempt.

"Yes, of course, of course!" Maleficent sang as she walked around Mal and put her hands on her shoulders. She kicked Mal's footstool out from under her as she walked past and Mal almost fell forward in shock. "Here she is, right here, and her things are over there." Maleficent took a hand from Mal's shoulder momentarily to point towards Mal's still open suitcase before she went back to holding onto Mal's shoulders. Mal suspected her mom thought she would run. Instead, she felt like she was going to throw up.

The man in sunglasses frowned and examined her. Mal's lower lip quivered. He took the shades off. He had dark brown hair and an oblong face shape. Clean-shaven, but with neat sideburns. He seemed to be a second-in-command of some sort.

"Lovely." The red-head spat. He snapped his fingers and a man emerged from the hall in the same uniform, but with less insignia. He went and picked up Mal's backpack and suitcase, pausing only to zip her suitcase up. They obviously were not very heavy to him. Maleficent pushed Mal off of the table and spun her around. She kissed both of Mal's cheeks with sickening joy.

"Bye, sweetie!" She cheered and shoved Mal forward. Mal stumbled through Jafar and Evie and stared at the imposing man in front of her. He glared down his nose at her. Evie hugged Mal from behind, and Mal became aware that Evie's face was very wet as the taller girl buried her face in Mal's shoulder and sniffled once before leaning back. Jay hugged her too, but Mal was too numb to hug him back. She could scarcely remember to wrap her arms around Carlos before the white-haired kid stepped back.

The guards stood stone-still and looked around. "Any other goodbyes?" The second-in-command asked. No one moved. After a few seconds, the two men moved forward and planted their hands on Mal's arms. One on each elbow, one on each shoulder. They began to march her to the door.

Mal whipped her head around and called: "Mom." The guards didn't stop, and Maleficent only waved with a sickeningly sweet smile on her lips. "Bring home the gold!" She crooned, holding up two fingers to her eyes and making a motion like she was watching Mal. Soon, they'd walked out the door and out of sight of her mom. The man holding her things was last out the door. Soldiers fell into formation on every side. In front of her, behind her, everywhere. Many had narrowed eyes as they examined her ratty hair and the smudges on her face. For the first time in her life, Mal felt more like facing the ground than looking at the world around her. Her chin felt heavy as she internally begged herself to keep a stiff upper lip.

They marched her down to the area in front of her house, where two pristine white limos were waiting atop the broken street. People had gathered in the square and were shocked to see Maleficent's daughter, pale-white with fright, being led to the vehicle. Mal's head whipped around to stare up at her home, and she watched as the now seven residents looked back at her with stony expressions. Evie was trying to stay her tears without touching her face and ruining her makeup. Carlos was trying to not cry. Dark shadows covered Jay's face so much should couldn't read his expression. Her mother looked gleeful. Mal set her jaw so her teeth wouldn't clatter together.

One soldier with a large gun stepped inside the first one as everyone headed towards the second. It was clear they had all expected a little more of a fight. The two guards holding her shoved her into the limo and the door locked from the outside. A deep, closed-in feeling settled around her chest. At the same time, it felt like a knife had cut the skin above her ribs. Not enough to draw blood, but only to sting. That's when she realized that this must be what betrayal feels like.

The soldier sat on the opposite side of the limo with his gun held at the ready. His finger was braced over the safety switch. Mal swallowed, sank back into the seat, and did her best to ignore him as she heard the sounds of car doors closing. The car began to move. Mal imagined she could hear her mother's cackle and clenched her fists. If wishes came true in Auradon, Mal swore on her name that her one wish would be revenge on her mother for this horrid plot.

________________________________________________________________

They hauled her out of the car to stay in some ruddy hotel overnight. Apparently, Auradon city was much further away than it looked from the Isle. Mal didn't see the two commanders, but the soldier company escorted her in and out. Mal fiddled around in the back of the car and nibbled on some candies they had back there because she was sure she was going to starve to death before they let her actually meet the royal family. Finally, she figured out how to roll down the little screen that separated her and the guards in front who were driving. There were only two. The second car was in front of them.

"Hey." Mal drawled in an exhausted tone, leaning into the driver's compartment a tad. "How long does this trip last?"

For a moment, they both ignored her, and then the man in the passenger seat sighed and turned around to face her a little. It was the dark-haired man with the sunglasses. "It's only a two-hour trip from the Isle to Auradon. But the gates to the palace close at nine and open at seven. Safety reasons. We were sent out at six-thirty to get you. They were closed before we got off the Isle. That's why we stopped for the night. We'll be at Beast Castle's Gates in about 15 minutes."

"15 minutes?" Mal asked, alarmed.

The man nodded. He observed her panic with a curious look, so she quickly masked her expression. "That means less than thirty minutes before we meet the royal family at the palace doors." He told her as she curled her nails into her palms. They still had dirt underneath them from the day before.

Mal sat down so they couldn't see her face and took a few seconds to compose herself. Before she rolled the window back up, she leaned back up and said: "Hey, thanks."

"No problem." The man said, even though he didn't turn around to see her again.

She rolled up the window and moved around in the small space. She noticed another window leading to the outside and wandered over to inspect it. It was unlocked. Mal rolled it down and peered outside. Fresh air spilled into the car, and she gasped. She hadn't ever smelt air like this before. There were beautiful trees and plants outside and pretty houses with porch swings and decorated mailboxes. She examined her reflection in the car rear-view mirror. Her hair was messy, and there was dirt smudged on her cheek. Mal tried to rub it away, but it only smeared.

The window connecting her to the drivers rolled down and a hand appeared holding a handkerchief. She blinked at it for a few seconds and then moved over to grab it. She wiped at the area where the dirt was and then handed it back up. "Thanks again." She told the man in the passenger seat as he put on a pair of wire-rim shades.

"No problem." He repeated and tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. She returned to her spot by the window and let the wind tangle her hair even more.

So, they were going to let her meet the royal family after all. Surprising. She wondered what their plans were. It was still doubtful the king and queen would allow their only son to be openly married to a villainesses' daughter, even if it was required for him to ascend the throne. Doubtful even more so that they'd give her any sort of power to bring her mother over. And even if they did give her any sort of power, Mal wasn't sure she would ever bring her mother over. Why would she? It sounded like the perfect response to her mother burying her in this mess; leave her to rot and descend into madness even more. Mal examined her nails. A hole had formed in her heart, and she wanted, needed even, to move on. In her head, she labeled Maleficent as a thing of the past and went back to wondering about the future.

She wondered if they would marry her to him in absolute secrecy and then kill her directly after the ceremony. Entirely possible, though she still didn't know if Auradon had the backbone to kill people. She frowned and moved once more to the driving window. She rolled it down and drummed her fingers for a few seconds before she cleared her throat.

"Hey?" She asked the guy in the passenger seat. He moved his head, acknowledging he'd heard her. "Um," Mal began. "Does Auradon do death row?"

The confusion the two guards shared was palpable. The passenger seat guy turned around and pushed his sunglasses down his nose as he studied her while the driver adjusted the rear-view mirror to see her. It was the same tall, mustached guy from last night.

"Why do you ask?" The helpful one asked.

"I'm… just wondering." Mal trailed off. "Like, are they gonna execute me?"

The guy took off his shades and blinked at her. "You're sixteen." He said. Mal shifted uncomfortably. "They're not going to execute a sixteen-year-old, especially after having to remove her from an extremely dangerous island in a mission that took over ten hours in all. If they wanted you dead, they would have hired a sniper. Except Auradon doesn't do death row. Or assassins. They just send them to the Isle of the Lost."

Mal sighed. "They can't exactly do that to me." She twiddled her thumbs.

"Yeah." The guy said. He slid his shades back on. "To be honest I don't know what their plans are. If it helps quell your nerves at all, I'm pretty sure there's a line in your mom's spell that outlines your safety, briefly though."

"Really?" Mal asked. So, Mom had at least thought of Auradon possibly executing her. That was comforting. Sort of. Still, Mal wasn't going to do anything for her mother.

"There's a line in Auradon's wedding treaty about that too." The driver said in an extremely gruff tone.

Mal sighed and turned to face away from them. She slid down the wall of the diving screen. "I don't want to think about that." She moaned as she unwrapped a small chocolate from the limo stash.

Passenger seat guy slid his shades off again and began to fiddle with the arms of them. "How much of this do you know about exactly?" He asked Mal. "You seem as confused as everyone else."

Mal shrugged. "I sorta found out yesterday." She admitted.

"Yesterday?" The driver asked in disbelief, looking over his shoulder for a second incredulously. "Your mom's had this thing going for almost twenty-five years and she told you yesterday?"

"How much do you know?" Mal snapped back. "I didn't exactly get the full run-down before she threw me to you lot."

There was no answer. Mal sighed and put her head down in her hands.

"Wow." The driver said after several long moments of silence. "That seems a little too harsh."

"Yeah," the other guard agreed. He slid his sunglasses on and took a deep breath. "Don't worry about it anymore, kid." He told Mal. "Hopefully we can figure something out and you can go back home soon."

"If the palace doesn't kill me, Mom will for coming home empty-handed." Mal blurted out. Neither of the guards said anything. After a while, she moved to the outside window again for the last time. The driver rolled up the dividing window, which was fine with Mal since she didn't want to talk to them anyway.

The car interior was nice with grey seats that were squishy and firm. It smelled like soap and there were little cupholders beside each car. Underneath the window was the collection of candies in small glass dishes that Mal had been snitching from. If she'd been on the Isle still, she would have stolen them and pawned them off for something of real use. Mal filled one of her cupholders with hard, fruit-tasting candies and chocolates, which she snacked on as she watched the outside world pass by. One of the guards kept a careful eye on her from the side-view mirror. She ignored him.

All too soon, the scenery changed and there were no more little houses with pretty swings and mailboxes. Instead, the world became acres of well-maintained trees and flowerbeds. Mal knew instinctively they were coming up on the palace. The outside world lost its luster after that. She rolled up her window and ate her candy in silent misery, stuffing her pockets full of bits and pieces to horde.

The windows, while heavily tinted, were still see-though. When she felt the car begin to slow down, she glanced through the foggy glass and saw a number of figures outside. It looked like the royal family had brought an army. Or the other car had already unloaded and the company of soldiers was waiting for them. She groaned softly and wiped a finger on the outsides of her mouth to make sure it was clean.

The car stopped. She heard the two soldiers up front get out of the car and moved to stand in front of the still-locked door. The door opened and she was momentarily blinded by the sun shining in her face, but then the two guards reached in and pulled her to a standing position and the sunglasses one effectively shielded her from the sun.

In front of her was the crown prince, dressed in a long-sleeve, button-up blue shirt, and black slacks. Four guards stood at the ready in case she wanted to try anything. He looked very surprised to see her. His mouth was open a little and his eyes were flickering up and down her frame. He looked handsome enough. Sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, a nice tan. He gave her an awkward smile that held something in it she'd never seen on the Isle before. Behind Prince Benjamin was Queen Belle, dressed in a yellow air dress, and King Adam, in a suit. Around them were many, many loitering guards with big guns and lethal glares.

Mal steeled her back and crossed her arms as the prince came to his senses and shook himself back to reality.

"Um, hi," He began flatly. Many of the guards exchanged glances and chuckled. Mal raised her eyebrows and averted her gaze. The prince's cheeks took on a red tone. "It's nice to meet you..." He walked a few paces past his bodyguards and stuck out his hand as he tried to meet her icy gaze without freezing.

"Hm, Mal. Best of circumstances, of course," She gave a sarcastic little half-smirk as the nicer guard released her right arm, so she could shake his hand. She noticed when he held on for half a second longer and snatched her hand away to rip him from his daze. The hand on her arm was promptly replaced. She sighed inwardly.

Prince Benjamin cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess it could be better. I'm Ben." He shrugged.

"No Benjamin?" She asked. He shook his head. Mal tilted her head and continued her half-smirk. "I hope you don't have a speech planned, because I need to use the bathroom."

The Prince opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, his father piped up. "Did you have a nice trip?" He asked.

"Oh, splendid." The smirk vanished from Mal's face. She began to frown. "Ripped away from my home and my life gone down the drain in less than a day." The two guards shifted uncomfortably, almost simultaneously.

King Adam didn't appear sympathetic in the least bit. He was fixing her with the exact cold, heartless look she'd imagined him wearing as he locked the villains on the Isle of the Lost. She'd seen it once on TV as a kid and never again since. "Well, hopefully, you and your mother will think about that next time."

Belle swatted his arm and frowned without removing her eyes from Mal. The older queen looked confused, to say the least. She seemed to be trying to take everything about Mal in. "Wasn't she supposed to be a bit older?" She whispered to no one in particular.

The commanding officer who held Mal's left arm in a vice grip cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, she appears to know as much as we do, if not less."

This appeared to be news to the entire guard and royal family, who all wore varying degrees of shock on their faces. The officer continued: "She told us her mother informed her around the same time we arrived to take her away."

Belle finally spoke up, voice wavering slightly. "She had no knowledge of the curse?" She asked.

"It would appear that way." The guard replied.

King Adam still appeared skeptical. "What do you say to all this?" He boomed at Mal.

Mal was not to be intimidated by the former beast. "Is it going to be any different for you to hear it from me instead of him?" She asked.

The king looked extremely annoyed. "Goodness gracious-" He began, but Belle shushed him.

The second guard laughed. "She's quite spunky. Interesting personality." He patted Mal's arm, lessening his grip a great deal.

"I can tell." King Adam responded with a glare folding his fingers together and popping all the joints in them at the same time.

"Dear." Belle snapped at him. It appeared she was still conflicted, trying to pick the right side when she couldn't be sure if Mal was lying or not.

"One more thing before we leave." The nice guard continued. He moved his arm to slide his shades down his nose. As he peered over the rims, he said: "She was very concerned you were only bringing her to Auradon to execute her."

Mal wished he hadn't have said that. She immediately turned her gaze skyward and pretended to be bored. Bored is the hardest expression to see through. If all they wanted to see was a villain, that was all they would see. That was all she'd let them see.

"Execute her?" Belle repeated, sounding horrified.

"Oh, we don't do that." The prince said directly to her. She moved her gaze to his collarbone and watched his mouth move out of the corner of her eye. "That's something the villains do." He continued. Mal made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a scoff. The prince and guards looked at her curiously.

Belle pulled her arm out from her husband's elbow and drifted closer to Mal. "You don't have to worry about that, dear. We're just trying to reach a, um, compromise." She motioned for the guards to remove their hands from her. They did, and Mal rubbed her shoulders.

"We're going to break the curse and then you can go home." King Adam growled.

"My mother will kill me if I go home," Mal responded automatically. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, spitting that out in front of the royal family.

"Not… really? Would she?" Ben asked in disbelief.

Mal rolled her eyes. "Are those words going to mean anything other than what I said if I repeat them?" She asked. Ben looked too shocked to answer.

Belle tried to salvage the situation. "We'll figure something out." She said, even though she didn't sound very sure. She looped her arm through Adam's. "Gentlemen, you're dismissed. Honey, we need to show Mal to her room."

"Yes, of course," Adam grumbled. He made a motion for Mal to follow them as they began to walk back to the castle. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was following and then refused to look at her. Most of the crowd dispersed, and only seven guards remained to follow her as she trailed behind the King and Queen. Prince Ben hurried to walk beside her.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Mal?" He asked as he gained a comfortable stride to match her pace.

"Again, a bathroom would be lovely. Also, not being magically bound to you and still being without a death guarantee would be nice. No offense." She smirked at the tall blonde beside her.

"None taken." He replied with a small smile. "To be honest, I feel the same way. Unfortunately, it's not that simple." He jumped to open the door to the castle for her and his parents.

Mal glared at him and furrowed her brow as she slipped through. One of the guards rushed forward to hold the door so Ben could rejoin the group. "What do you mean?" She asked in a hard tone.

Belle cleared her throat awkwardly as she led the group up the stairs in the main entryway. Mal's eyes flitted left and right to briefly take in the elegant entryway, but she was too engrossed by the conversation to take it in much. "We've already been in contact with the Fairy Godmother," Belle said softly. "She has arranged a team of people trying to rip the curse apart, but they've already admitted they don't even know where to start. The curse has many layers and is very complicated. As of right now, it's a hopeless cause." At the top of the stairs where a large doorway was, a hallway ran parallel to the room. They turned right and soon the front doors were out of sight.

A deep feeling clouded Mal's head. She felt like she was going to be sick. "So, we're stuck?" She asked and started to bite her cheek. She felt very lightheaded.

"Unfortunately, yes," Belle responded. She didn't sound nearly as angry as King Adam about that fact. Mal looked up and met the queen's brown eyes as the older woman studied her. She swallowed.

"What's the plan, then?" She questioned her shoes.

"We, um, were hoping…" Queen Belle responded uncertainly. However, she was abruptly cut off by Ben.

"Here we are!" The prince announced in a high voice. He gestured to a large door, but Mal was not to be distracted.

"You were hoping… what?" She narrowed her eyes and examined each of them, digging in her heels and straightening her stance.

The entire royal family was looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Mal had the feeling it was entirely her fault. Belle cleared her throat again. "We admit, we weren't expecting someone your age who had been equally hurt by Maleficent's curse. Much less someone who wasn't bent on becoming queen. On the contrary, we thought we'd have to hold you off of him, hence the guards." Belle gestured to the few guards who'd followed them up and were busy pretending to not be listening in to their conversation. "We were hoping to marry you quietly and grant you impartial rights to the kingdom so you couldn't bring your mother over while we scrambled to undo the curse."

Mal felt genuinely betrayed. How unfair. "You're actually going to make us get married? Doesn't Auradon have things to protect against this?"

King Adam jumped to defend his country's integrity. "The curse is over 20 years old and is technically hereditary. That means-"

"It's 200 times harder to break." Mal sighed. She looked away from everyone and examined the end of the corridor. The rules of curses and enchantments had been recited to her one too many times.

"Yes." Adam agreed. "How much do you know about magic?"

Mal snorted. "I live on an Island with a Magical barrier around it. My mother is insane and unstable and recites magic laws in her sleep. The most she and I can do is light our eyes up. Believe me, we've tried." She crossed her arms and dug her toes into the carpet as she leaned against the wall.

Ben looked extremely awkward as he rubbed his shoe against the floor. "Technically, you don't have to marry me. Except then I wouldn't be able to be king and we'd have to make a public explanation of some sort." He coughed and retreated a little.

"This is barbaric!" Mal protested with a frown. She balled her fists up and bit her lower lip. "Doesn't Auradon have laws to protect against this?"

"They're not specific enough," Ben answered immediately. "But in the future, we should definitely enforce regular spell checks to ensure that things like this don't slip by unnoticed. I'm not sure why we didn't start out doing that-" Ben suddenly clamped his mouth shut and looked very embarrassed. "But Mom and Dad did do a great job helping Auradon startup. It sure wasn't easy to do everything they did."

"This is so unfair..." Mal sighed as she turned away from the family.

"Tell that to your mother," Adam muttered under his breath.

Mal glared at him. "Sure." She snapped. "I'll let her know as soon as this whole thing is over and I'm sent back to your orchestrated prison so you never have to think about how I'm costing you your throne again. Maybe I'll be able to get the words out before she slits my neck or bashes my brains across the sidewalk for not bringing her over because believe me when I say I'm leaving her to rot!"

Belle opened her mouth again as Adam swelled with rage. "We'll have to go back to the drawing board, as they say." She rested a hand on Adam's shoulder. "We truly weren't expecting someone who wasn't planning on riding this curse to its full effects." There was an apology in her tone, and this was what Mal latched onto.

Adam jumped in, however, and Mal felt a headache form. Did the king and queen have to be such polar opposites? "Do think about it though. We know it's not the best situation, but the kingdom is already rampant with rumors, and-"

"Don't trouble her with any of that." Queen Belle commanded quietly. "This isn't something that should concern the kingdom. This is her whole life we're talking about. She needs to make her own decision." With these words, Mal finally garnered the courage to look up and examine Belle.

Mal had never met a woman like the queen, who was willing to put aside differences and first meetings to help console a teenager whose life was being rearranged. Mal managed a smile at the queen, who seemed surprised, but smiled back anyway.

"We'll try and come up with new ideas of course." King Adam babbled on as Belle started to lead him away.

"Of course we will," Belle said. "And now Mal can be a part of the proceedings. But let's go now. Mal needs to use the restroom, and probably shower too."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Mal said softly. The queen smiled softly and turned to lead her husband away by his elbow. All of the guards followed without order or gesture.

Ben moved out of the doorframe as Mal moved closer to the door. Before she could turn the knob, he began to speak. "Y'know, I won't hold it against you if you choose to not marry me. I'll understand."

Mal blinked. The young prince refused to meet her eyes as pink filled his cheeks. "You know…" She began with a sarcastic smirk. "…in most places they would call that a guilt trip."

Ben's eyes flitted up and met hers. There was no magic in that proverbial contact. "No offense, I'm kind of surprised to meet a villain kid like you."

Mal furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?" She questioned.

He held up his hands in defense. "Not interested in taking over the world for starters. How did Maleficent raise a kid like you?"

Mal chuckled dryly, and it was about that time it occurred to her that her throat was unbelievably dry. That must be why she felt so light-headed. "Usually I'm interested." She admitted as she licked her lips. They were beginning to become chapped. "But forced marriage to the crown prince is slightly more important, you know?" She pinched her fingers together to exemplify exactly how minutely important this was.

Ben laughed, which startled Mal because so far, none of the royals had thought her sarcasm was funny. "Yeah, I guess I can see that." He chuckled.

Mal cocked her head at him and examined his stance. The way he clung to the wall and searched her hostile stance made her furrow her lips in thought. "You're not very confident in yourself, are you?" She asked.

Ben shrugged and looked overall uncomfortable with the question. "I dunno." He trailed off. "I'm still learning the rungs, you know."

Mal watched as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and let his gaze flicker between her eyes, her collarbone, and the floor. "Yeah. Whatever. Anyways, I need to take a shower now." Mal reached for the handle.

"Right!" Ben reached out and opened the door for her, narrowly avoiding hitting her in the nose. "Bye." He waved with a small, embarrassed smile as she ducked under his arm.

"Bye." She waved in return and stepped inside.

The door swung closed, and she fell against the heavy wooden entrance in exhaustion. On the other side of the door, she heard a soft whisper of: "Nice to meet you too." Before footsteps carried the speaker away. She laughed a little. The remark hadn't been mean, or angry, only intrigued. Mal turned and couldn't stop an odd smile that spread around her mouth as she pressed her ear to the door, wondering if she'd hear more muttering from the Prince. There was none, but Mal was still intrigued. What an interesting collection of people.

[ferrethyun]

It’s 3 am...

(This is an unfinished piece!)

Title: It’s 3 am...

Requested: lmao no

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x M!Reader

Genre: Angst? a vent piece

Word count: 1000+

Description: There’s not really a description except for the fact I was having a breakdown due to  my ed and mental health issues so I may have projected a bit? To summarise, reader has a breakdown and Hobi is a concerned boyfriend who wants to better himself,,,

Warnings: Minor self injury? and a sad Hobi

It’s 3 am...

The sound of racking sobs fill the room; a cry for help?

Possibly.

Unfortunately, no one’s around to hear. It’s been like this for 2 hours already; M/ns nails claw at his stomach, arms and legs. Inflamed raw red marks are left in his wake. He saw this coming a few days ago. The slow of his responses, spacing out for what seemed to be hours at a time and the terrifying thoughts that began to occupy his mind at all times. He knew he should have spoken to someone, anyone, even his boyfriend. Clearly, he miscalculated how bad this episode would be; he was bare of all clothes bar boxers at this point; his bed covers were a mess being half on the bed and half on the floor and his body was burning in a cold and warmth at the same time. 

The sheer amount of energy that crying and clawing had taken from M/n ultimately killed him to sleep. It wasn’t a sweet or warm embrace, he knew his nightmares in real life would follow him into the land of make-believe. It’s a nice day out. Not that he’d know that; the only hint to this is the offwhite halo that glows around the blackout curtains in his room. His clothes are everywhere, the results of getting into bed with them on and one by one, taking them off and throwing them somewhere apathetically. It’s been like this for two days already; there’s a low hum of a quiet lullaby being played on the piano thanks to the speakers situated around the room. They wouldn’t be playing had M/ns phone not been on charge the whole time. 

He hasn’t looked at his phone for 2 days. 

It vibrated every 10 minutes for the first day but now it’s almost every 2 minutes that it vibrates. Someone must be panicking or at least concerned about him. M/n couldn’t care, his body and mind wouldn’t let him anyways. 

As he thought, someone was panicking; someone who was immensely concerned. He happened to be M/ns boyfriend and the person who had been setting his phone off every five minutes now. He didn’t understand his boyfriend's mind all too well but it never stopped him from trying to better his understanding; this was the main reason he was so concerned. He had seen the signs but didn’t know how severe it would be. He was conflicted about speaking up and now he knew he was facing the consequences. Hoseok eventually gave in to the nagging consciousness that practically begged him to go to his boyfriend's house. He knew what he was doing may not be appreciated, but he knew that it would be necessary to calm his aching nerves.

Not even telling the others where he was going, Hoseok shoved his phone into his pocket and his feet into his shoes before almost launching himself out the door leaving it to close with a loud slam. He ran down the bright streets; he knew where he was going. He had been there enough times. A few more streets, bright store lights and street corners later and he had arrived in front of the familiar tall building; there had been no time wasted before Hoseok began to scramble up the stairs to the seventh floor. He had taken no time to gather his breath before he continued to run down the hallway, zero regards given about the amount of noise he was making. Eventually, he made it to the familiar dark brown door the silver letters of ‘83B’ nailed to the front. 

With his hand resting on the door, Hoseok crouched to get the spare key from under the mat. With his breath back and a key in hand, he made his way into the apartment. 

It was clean, not an unusual sight. Hoseok knew his boyfriend would rather a completely clean apartment over a slightly messy one. Though what was unusual, was the TV not being on or the radio in the kitchen. In fact, he didn’t see any sign of his boyfriend being in at all. That’s when he heard the soft notes of a keyboard coming from M/ns room. He hoped that he was awake, for the sake of calming his anxious body. As he crept up the stairs, the notes got louder and louder but still not very loud; Hoseok was tempted to call his lovers name but decided against it. Eventually, he made it to the bedroom door, much to his surprise, it was open. 

Hoseok slowly made his way in. 

The sight to him was heartbreaking. There lay the love of his life, curled in a ball in the middle of a messy bed. Despite M/ns hidden face, Hoseok could tell it was tear stained and puffy. Hoseoks heart crawled to his throat at the sight of the slightly raised lines that garnished his boyfriend's skin, they were almost everywhere scattered from his back to his calves. Hoseoks dark eyes began to leak. He wanted to sob, to crawl next to his boyfriend, clutch him to his chest and never let him go. As much as he wanted this, he wanted to be more mature in this situation. So he left the bedroom and went into the bathroom where he knew M/n kept his first-aid kit, the knowledge gained from several dance practice injuries. After grabbing this and placing on the bathroom counter, he then went back into the bedroom of his lover and collected the clothing scattered around the room, placed them in the laundry basket, went back into the bedroom and covered his boyfriend's bare body with the fallen bed covers. 

Hoseok left M/ns room and went downstairs and to the kitchen in the hunt for a bowl that he could fill with some warm water. After getting what he wanted, the male carefully made his way back upstairs and into the bathroom where he placed the bowl alongside the first aid kit, quickly grabbing a body cloth and setting it into the bowl to soak before leaving. The rapper ventured back into M/ns room only to see the bare male sat up, rubbing at his bleary eyes with his knuckle. 

"Hobi?" his deep voice croaked out, thick with sleep and raw from pain.

...

(Let me know if you want me to finish this?)

[daddyslilkitten100-blog]

Explaining the Psychology of The Housewife Bimbo fantasy. 

Explaining the Psychology of The Housewife Bimbo fantasy. 

Your intellegent, thats a given, probably to smart for your own liking, ignorance is bliss means alot to you. I think you feel that if you where ignorant , then you would be happier, and thats why its a fantasy. 

Your a feminist. Let me clarify. Your fine with strong and powerfull women, you think women have the right to equality and to choose, you also think that traditional gender roles should be just as valid of a choice as being a badass independant. 

The bimbo idea really really appeals to you. Its almost a guilty pleasure. Id say this probably is the thing that resonates in you stonger then anything else. To be a dumb and clueless thing who just does what they are told.

You know that its not real. You know you could act the part, but it would be an act, and you would retain your ability to observe and process information. 

I think for you , its choice you want removed. I know "duh" right? But let me try and explain. Housewife for sure, and i want to make that clear. Wife, you want claim on the man that has claim on you, you want to be emphatically everything they need. 

Your ideal situation is complete removal of choice, but the illusion that its there. Your given things like a list of chores. Clean the house, cook the food, do the shopping, make sure tomarrows clothes are out and folded the night before. You can pic what you want to wear that day, you can pick what chores to do. You have just enough freedom to prove yourself and do good, make a choice in a list of thing that have been chosen for you. You can do whatever chores you want, but the chores have already been chosen. You can wear anything you want , but everything you own was chosen or approved for you. You can cook food based on a list of recipies that where approved for you.

You have that freedom, but its not really freedom, you dont have to think any deeper then shallow choices. Your still useing your brain, but preventing it from really diving deep into anything that matters.thats his job.

You want to be sexually objectified. You know sex always is to much for any couple. Its too draining. However you feel that part of your responsibility to him is to work him up and get him off. Not just for the sexyness of it, but to keep him satisfied and to keep him yours. If he is walking around horny and unsatisfied then you havent done your job, as soon as he has a thought about fucking you should be trying to satiate it. So you want to be pretty , you want to be sexy. The brainpower you currently have you want to put into your body, how you can do your makeup, how you can excersise, what parts of your body need work and which ones need maintained to meet his ideal. Being sexy to him makes you feel sexy , and wanted, and secure, and provides a source of pride. 

So if he isent in the mood its your job to get him in the mood, and once he is, to take full responsibility. And by full responsibility i mean not saying no. You know you have limits, you want them pushed. Not completely broken, that would be betrayal. 

If you dont like anal, you want him to request it, you want him to be dissapointed in you if your resistant or deny him, because you know guilt will push you harder to open yourself up then him just taking you. 

Bondage and bdsm is interesting but not because you want to be held down. You dont get into sub space by being held against a bed. You get into sub space when he is selfishly useing your body for his deep desires and reaching his maximum pleasure. The satisfaction of being able to provide that to him far exceeds physical pleasure you may have from the act itself

You are 1000% his, its important to you to make the sacrifice of your standars to meet his, thats how you prove yourself. Once you choose your man, once one has earned the right to call you his. Then you have chosen the man you would give everything for. 

You have limits, things you like and things you dont, the man you choose will have the opportunity to blow all of them away. This makes you suspicious and carefull with anyone you might concider as a possible partner. Your not to terribly shy about saying who you are and what your interests are. You do have a problem with it being a fantasy. You couldent roleplay this with apartner. It is or it isent, your his or your not. Playing the part is a cheep immitation of being the part. 

All in all, you know your not a dumb girl. Your not gonna be. What you want is to be locked into a lifestyle that will make your intellegence irrelevant, to let you focus your brainpower completely on superficial things and choices that dont matter. To be completely secure in the power of your man and sacrifice everything you can to make him happy, as that will make you feel fufilled and wanted. 

You want every consequence of what that means. You want that to mean cooking dinner in pretty dress and him grabbing you and kissing you with every word he cannot say to tell you how much you mean to him. You want that to mean sitting in the backseat of the car sucking his cock parked outside the resturant so he can get his days frustrations out before being out in public, not because you decided to, but because he asked and thats all it takes for you to make it reality. And him asking and you providing can soak your panties faster then any porn. Even if it means you might have to spend 10 extra minutes redoing your makeup in the car and worrying slightly about the few drops of cum that managed to make it on the bust of your pretty dress, that is far less important then saying yes.

It means laying with him on the couch just enjoying the fact you can be so comfortable together doing nothing. Just as much as it means walking around fully dressed in the house in a pair of heels and tauntingly sexy atire all day shaking your sexy ass infront of him wondering at what point your going to get him so hard he shoves you against the dining room table and shows you how much he needs you. 

Your a housewife, who wants as simple of an existance as possible. You want to be pretty and usefull. If it means cooking a nice dinner, or spreading your legs for him whenever he wants it in whatever way he wants to. You want him to take every responsibility from you but one,make him happy, no matter how depraved or silly or humiliating things you have to do to make him happy. And the more rediculous and humiliating and demeaning it is, the better it feels to you because it is the absolute proof of how far you will go to fufill the one responsibility your given. Make him happy

[xyliane]

Candy Machine Gun by Haley bonar, the lyric "your beauty pulls my bones into the ground" the pairing is mito and leorio :D

notes: yeah this uh. didn’t do much with the ACTUAL lyrics but think more about the theme of the thing? yeah that’s my excuse, sorry. (mitorio, let’s say…5 years into the future, 1000 words, blood and knife wounds)

music lyric prompts!

—

The towel is almost completely bled through by the time Leorio opens his apartment door. Mito knows it’s not his fault he takes so long, that he’s even here right now while she and Gon are on vacation is something of a miracle—admittedly, the sort of miracle Gon seems to pull out of his backpack on a regular basis, and the sort of miracle that comes from weeks of planning and endless emails and messages, coordinated to the point that Gon managed to rent an apartment in Leorio’s building for a whole week. But Gon’s out with Killua, and Mito’s bleeding all over Leorio’s doorstep.

The apartment light flickers on half a moment before the door opens, revealing a tired Leorio blinking down at her from behind his glasses. A bleary-eyed, very incredibly shirtless Leorio, who apparently only sleeps in shorts on days when his close friend’s mother shows up to his front door. She’s never given thought, really, to what he might look like under his shirtsleeves, how well built his chest is beneath tan skin, the way that dark hair trails across unfairly chiseled abs and down—

Okay, she may have given it some thought.

“Shit, Miss Mito, your arm!”

She blinks and tries to give him a shaky smile. “I could use a little help.”

He ushers her in, grabbing a large bowl and a med kit on the way to the kitchen. It hurts like hell, even as she’s sat into a high backed kitchen chair and forced to lay her arm on the table. “It’s not too bad,” she insists.

“How long’s it been bleeding?” he asks, soaking his hands in clean water before scrubbing for what feels like months. Mito entertains herself by watching his shoulders flex and tense, a small smile on her lips. It might be the blood loss.

“Miss Mito?”

She shakes her head. “Uh, about fifteen minutes, maybe? I think it’s mostly stopped. I had to take the stairs, the lift’s broken…”

He finishes scrubbing and turns back to her, bottle of saline in one hand and another fresh towel in the other. “Let me take a look,” he says, and gently peels back the towel. Mito hisses as the fabric peels back from her skin, blood coagulated and sticky but no longer flowing freely from the wound. From the relieved sigh Leorio lets out, Mito takes this as a good sign.

“Just a long laceration, it looks like,” he says. “It’s pretty deep, but I don’t think you struck bone.”

She frowns. “I’ve done that before. Don’t have any plans to do it again anytime soon.”

Leorio snorts, a terribly undignified noise from someone who Mito’s almost exclusively seen in suit jackets. Not that he’s ever been dignified, or is wearing much of anything at the moment. “I’m going to flush it, then heal it back up as best I can. How on earth did you do this to yourself?”

Heat prickles across Mito’s ears, and not for the first time in her life she is incredibly thankful for her darkened skin. Leorio carefully begins pouring clear liquid across the wound, a glowing hand pulsing against her skin. It looks almost like how Killua does when he meditates, although Leorio’s is an odd silvery gold glove wrapped only around his hand. How odd. “I was making dinner—”

“At midnight?”

The prickling grows to a feeling more like needles being stabbed into her ears. “I’m on vacation,” she says. He chuckles, but doesn’t press. “And since the boys are out tonight, I thought I’d practice some of the tricks I do at the bar. Flipping bottles, throwing knives…”

Both of Leorio’s eyebrows slowly rise. She can make out how his eyes darken slightly, the sharp edges of his jaw emphasized by the rough stubble darkening his cheeks. “Knives?” he asks, and his voice is low and pools at the bottom of Mito’s stomach like spiced rum.

She swallows.

The bottle of saline runs out, and Leorio seems to shake himself. “So uh. You cut yourself while…throwing knives? For practice? In an apartment downstairs?” he asks, carefully drying around the wound. It doesn’t look so bad, especially with Leorio’s light-gloved hand still pulsing at the reddened skin.

“Oh, no. I’m not that much of an idiot,” she says. At Leorio’s incredulous look, she admits, “I have, in the past, cut myself while throwing knives. Usually from some idiot trying to throw knives at me. I own a bar in a port town, I have to know how to defend myself somehow when I can’t use whatever it is you Hunters do.”

“So you took up knife throwing.”

“And knife sharpening. Sailors who get stabbed cleanly tend to pay their bills more regularly.”

A warm chuckle rises out of his lips. “I thought Gon was the reckless one.”

Mito sighs, blowing her loose hair out of her eyes. “He has to get it from somewhere. I can’t say he got any of my good habits.”

Leorio pauses his soft movements against her arm and looks up, a small smile on his lips. “Having met Ging, the only thing Gon got from him are his looks and the ability to make friends anywhere. Everything else—his big heart, his stubbornness… That’s all yours.”

She meets his smile with one of her own. “Thanks, Dr. Paladiknight.”

“Leorio. Please. If I’m dealing with you at a horrible hour while wearing only pajamas, I’m Leorio.” He glances down, as though belatedly realizing he’s forgotten about his shirt, and turns a delightful shade of pink all the way from his forehead to his collarbone. “Or not wearing anything. Shit. I uh.”

“Then drop the miss. I’m not that much older than you. And I bled all over your abs.”

He laughs, and Mito feels her heart flip over at the sound. He laughs like someone who’s been through too much, but who laughs because he’s alive, because it makes the world around him come to life. “Mito, then. Although I have to say, I like your smile a lot more.”

Her grin widens.

Later, when he’s finished wrapping the wound and explaining how his nen works—and more and more, Mito wants to learn about how to manipulate her own aura, since she has no trouble seeing it already—Leorio glances back at the bloody towels scattered on his floor. “What did you do?” he asks.

She debates telling him it was the knife throwing for a moment too long before giving it up as a lost cause. “I was scrubbing the knives once the food was in the oven and it slipped,” she mutters. “Dropped the fish bones everywhere.”

“Any excuse to see me, right?” he says, and winces when she smacks him in the shoulder. Ging isn’t the one who taught Gon how to throw a punch, either.

[darnitallband-blog]

Yesterday we released what both Tara and I would most likely consider our first bonafide "single". Incidentally, we chose to record "Victim of the Mainstream" first because we thought it was the least commercially viable song in our setlist. After having looked into what it would cost to hire someone to engineer and produce one of our songs, we quickly realized that we were going to have to do our own production.

This was a frightening realization when one considers the fact that we wanted both a "radio quality" production as well as a production we could stand behind artistically...in other words, a production "without apologies".

From start to finish, it took us nearly an entire month to track, mix and master "Victim of the Mainstream". It took almost two weeks just to get a drum sound (before mixing). When it came to guitar, we had first started out with mic-ing my beloved Peavey Heritage VTX with an Shure SM-57. That was going okay until the amp decided to blow both a high tension fuse and a power tube at the same time. After opening the amp up, I realized, this was a much bigger problem than just replacing a couple simple parts, I was going to have to spend some time troubleshooting, yet we didn't have that kind of time on our hands. We only had about one month free from live gigs in which we needed to figure out how to get the perfect production for our needs and tastes. Oh, did I also mention that my favorite guitar that the pick-ups from my favorite home-assembled guitar that my late father had put together when he was a teenager also started to fail and needed to be replaced? Yeah, that too.

So we decided to try amp simulators. Not having a budget, we just had to deal with whatever we could find floating around gratis on the interweb. Going DI with into an amp sim is not easy to make sound authentic. The ears are immediately assaulted by a harsh grainy sound that feels like sandpaper on the soul. Let's just say that it was less than satisfying. For days, I was scouring the internet looking for ways to make simulated amps sound real. None of the advice I found really seemed to advance our sound. Frustrated, I just started noodling around in my digital audio workstation until the sound started cleaning up and I was able to get rid of the bulk of the digital grain that was consuming my life's essence.

Once the guitar sounds started coming together, the CPU on my little laptop began reaching its limit and the sessions were continuously crashing. So we had to commit and bounce all our primitive guitar and drum sounds down .wav files and re-import them into the session with all the effects, eq and compression written on the tracks. Any tinkering of the final sound would have to be done on top of what was already committed, since just trying to open the previous sessions would crash my laptop.

Eventually, we were able to pull together a rough mix between the drums and guitars that we could deal with and decided to move on to the most scary part of the tracking process...vocals.

The condenser microphone I had borrowed from a friend wasn't at all doing our vocals justice, so we did a little homework and went out and maxed out our credit card buying a very nice vocal mic, at least nice by our paltry standards. The nice thing was, that I had 60 days to return it in case we couldn't afford it, which we can't, however, I think we will keep it anyway and just see what happens with the bills later. Oh yeah, I also had to get a new guitar to record/play with which was also a long process, since I generally don't like most guitars...well, don't like is a bit harsh, let's just say that I feel there are very few pieces of musical equipment out there that suit me. Most likely, I am not alone in this sentiment as many musicians become very picky once they pass the beginner stages.

So the mic sounded pretty good, but even getting well-recorded vocals to sit in the mix and sound big and bold can be another daunting task. No matter, little by little, exercising the patience of a Star Wars junkie standing on line outside a theatre on premier night, we painstakingly carved out the vocal sound that we wanted to achieve.

...and just when you think you've got a great mix going, you realize that it's time to master. Well, since we weren't impressed with any master samples we found people offering on the internet for under $1000, we decided to go at that ourselves as well. We didn't think it would be that difficult, after all, we did have some experience doing "home masters" and the mix was better than anything we had done previously...the song should practically master itself, right?

If you've tried mastering songs at home yourself then you know how laughable an assumption that is. So we've pulled up some alt rock tracks that are being played on the radio and juxtaposed them in our digital mastering suite. We tried a little EQ and Compression and came to the rapid realization that we needed to fix the mix before we could really master. We learned that simply attempting to master a song will magnify absolutely everything that is wrong with your mix. So it ended up being another week or so of going back and forth between the mixing and mastering suite until finally, it sounded like the modern radio hits we were comparing it too. We even checked out all the numbers to see if they were comparing to that of the radio hits and they were!!! Shit on shingle were we in shock.

Then we sent it out to a few producer friends of ours along with a couple distant acquaintances to get some outside perspective that we could trust. Taking everything into consideration and begging for the CPU to give us a few more seconds before crashing, we exported the final master and voila...that's what you are hearing now.

We've learned a lot and now we hope to successfully repeat this process throughout the year.

When you're just consuming music, it's very easy to be under the impression the music production "just happens". Many people assume that you simply download Logic Pro X or Reaper and "bam!", you're songs magically appear on MP3 for the world to hear.

I suppose what can sometimes seem even sadder to me is the phenomenon of consumers judging the level of a particular artist's or groups talent by how high their production ranks on the current industry standards of whatever time period the track is produced.

Don't get me wrong, it's not as though I'm claiming that I have never fell "victim" to this "mainstream" way of thinking. That said, since I did grow up listening to mostly underground music performed by bands with very small budgets or knowledge of music production, I feel that I may have been a skosh more focused on the over feeling of the bands rather than their budget. There was even a time in my very early teens when I would actually get angry at one of my favorite bands if they release something too "polished".

What we've come to understand is that there are certain sonic faux pas that will drag down the integrity of the song and/or the musical group as a unit in the ears of the listener. For better or worse, in the ears of most listeners, they won't give your song a fair chance unless it sounds the way a song "should" sound overall. Unattenuated toxic frequencies will turn off many music consumers before they have even given your song a fair chance.

What if we had just left those guitars sounding digital and grainy? Would the song be given a fair chance?

That was the goal of these productions for us. We didn't want our lack of budget standing in the way between our potential fans and our songs. Sure, some people will hate your music no matter how well it sounds. There are mountains of artists out there who are releasing perfectly produced music that I feel is complete garbage and harbors zero artistic merit, and there will be hordes of music consumers who will hear our songs and find it distasteful. C'est la vie.

We're just very grateful (and surprised) that we were able to release something that we can stand behind for the first time. What's more we are grateful for everyone who ends up digging it.

Until next time...

- Spickler

[pamphletstoinspire]

Saint John Berchmans - Feast Day: November 26th - Latin Calendar

Born: March 13, 1599, Diest, Belgium

Joined the Jesuit Order: September 24, 1616 (aged 17)

Died: August 31, 1621 (aged 22)

Beatified: 1865 (244 years later)

Canonized: 1888 (23 years after that)

Patron Saint: Altar Servers

Feast Day: November 26

John Berchmans (note, the final “s” is part of the name) was born and grew up in a Flemish-speaking area of present-day Belgium. His short life (he was only 22 when he died of a sudden fever) was marked by extraordinary piety, even by the standards of the day, which were much higher than our own.

Pray and Work

At the age of 7, John would get up at 5 am and serve 2 or 3 Masses, carefully listening to the sermons (in those days every priest had to say his own Mass every day - it was not enough to concelebrate the Mass of another priest.) For this reason, perhaps, John was later made the patron saint of altar servers. At the age of 9, he would spend hours every day with his mother, who was bedridden with a long illness. His parish priest, Fr. Emmerick noticed all this and remarked that Our Lord would “work wonders in the soul of the child.” John was always especially devoted to Mary, our Blessed Lady, and loved the Rosary, which he would often pray whilst walking along.

Not only did John throw himself into religious devotions with great enthusiasm, he would also try to do more than his share of the chores, or try to take the most arduous and difficult ones. Later, in the Jesuit order, he was the novice who tried hardest to fulfill all the rules. After studying for two years in Belgium, taking his first vows and starting philosophy studies in Antwerp, he set out for Rome to continue his Jesuit philosophy training there. Today this is a comfortable 90 minute flight or an arduous 15 hour drive; John did the journey (due to the Alps a road distance of around 1000 miles) on foot! He had a burning ambition to give his all for Christ, and even to become a saint: “If I do not become a saint when I am young," he said, "I shall never become one.” Perhaps he had a premonition of his early death, or perhaps he realized how creature comforts can paralyse spiritual life in adulthood. Portraits usually depict him holding a crucifix, a rosary and his Shell road atlas Jesuit rule-book.

What his life means to us today

The fierce, passionate “muscular” Christianity of John Berchmans seems unreal, even horrifying to many of today's Catholics brought up on soft-focus posters, self-affirming books and the belief that Christian love means primarily kindness - but let us not be deceived. Jackie Pullinger, who as a young woman preached and lived the gospel in the deadly slums of Hong Kong, famously said that Christians need “soft hearts” but “hard feet.” The seventeenth century was a cruel time all round, with no punches pulled and no anaesthetics. But Catholics like John had the hardest feet imaginable, and besides fortitude (“guts”) and self-sacrifice, they excelled in virtues that the 21st century West ignores or treats almost as a joke, such as humble obedience, temperance, diligence and chastity. Hence St John’s value to us as a guide today lies in his youthful, clear vision in areas where our own times have gaping blind spots.

***

Another Story:

St. John Berchmans was born the eldest son of a shoemaker in 1599 at Diest, Belgium. At a very young age he wanted to be a priest, and when thirteen he became a servant in the household of one of the cathedral canons at Malines. After his mother's death, his father and two brothers followed suit and entered religious life. In 1615 he entered the Jesuit college there, becoming a novice a year later. In 1618 he was sent to Rome for more study and was known for his diligence and piety, and his stress on perfection even in small things. That year his father was ordained and died six months later. John was so poor and humble that he walked from Antwerp to Rome. He died at the age of 22 on August 13. Many miracles were attributed to him after his death; he was canonized in 1888 and is the patron saint of altar boys.

Although he longed to work in the mission fields of China, he did not live long enough to permit it. After completing his course work, he was asked to defend the "entire field of philosophy" in a public disputation in July, just after his exit examinations. The following month he was asked to represent the Roman College in a debate with the Greek College. Although he distinguished himself in this disputation, he had studied so assiduously that he caught a cold in mid-summer, became very ill with with an undetermined illness accompanied by a fever, although some think it now to have been dysentery, and died a week later. He was buried in the church of Saint Ignatius at Rome, but his heart was later translated to the Jesuit church at Louvain.

So many miracles were attributed to him after his death at the age of 22, that his cultus soon spread to his native Belgium, where 24,000 copies of his portrait were published within a few years of his death. He was known for his devotion to the Blessed Sacrament and to Our Lady, to whom he composed a Chaplet in honor of her Immaculate Conception.

Our true worth does not consist in what human beings think of us.

What we really are consists in what God knows us to be.

To merit the protection of Mary, the smallest act of veneration would be enough, provided that it is performed with constancy.

If I do not become a Saint when I am young, I shall never become one.

[In fact, he died at the early age of twenty-two and he had, without any doubt, reached his goal of sanctity.]

As he was dying, he pressed to his heart his Crucifix, his Rosary, and the Book of Rules, saying: These are my three treasures; with these I shall gladly die.

***

Another Story:

Saint John Berchmans - Jesuit Saint - by Fr. John A. Hardon, S.J.

John Berchmans, I thought I would cover all the young Jesuit saints to make sure that I didn't slight any of them. St. John Berchmans was born in 1599 in Berbont, Belgium and died in Rome in 1621 at the ripe age of twenty-two. Unlike Saints Stanislaus and Aloysius who were members of the nobility, aristocratic, wealthy – John was from a very ordinary family. His father was a shoemaker, which I think is quite ordinary. His mother was never well, which mainly explains why he was brought up by a Premonstratensian priest by the name of Father Peter Emerick who taught him his religion, other subjects, and was in the habit of visiting shrines of which there are quite a few in northern Europe. At thirteen, as the younger children were coming along, the father told John to leave school, stop his education, and work in the shoemaking shop. John protested that he wanted to become a priest and shoemaking is not the usual apprenticeship to the priesthood. In any case the father compromised by getting John a job working in a rectory, cleaning, waiting on table, washing dishes and being paid for his education at a local seminary. The priest in charge of the rectory was quite different from Father Emerick. This one didn't take him to shrine; he took him out hunting. In any case, John, in 1615 – that would be the age of sixteen – entered the Jesuit college at Maleen in Belgium. In reading, however, the seminary where he was, there was a risk between the officials of the seminary and the Jesuits for having taken this bright, young, promising seminarian from their hands. A year later he applied for the Jesuits – his father objected, but, let him go. By now you are used to Jesuit's writing. John Berchmans wrote many letters. We have a copy of the letter he wrote to his mother and father asking them to visit him which was quite a distance, even though Belgium is a small country by modern standards. "I humbly ask you" he says "dear father and mother to be so good as to come here on Wednesday evening" – he told them when to come, even suggested how to travel, certain coach or a certain wagon – "so that I may say welcome and goodbye to you and you to me, so you can give your son back to the good Lord, who gave me to you." This reminds me that when I entered the Jesuits after finishing my university education, with a widowed mother, I thought to myself – this would be cruel, leaving her all alone. When I told her, she gave me a piece of her mind, 'you go.' "Okay, mother, I'll go, I just figured maybe you wanted me to be around." I came back to visit her in our home in Cleveland seven years later. John Berchmans never saw his parents again. His model from the novitiate days on, really became the standard of his life and in one short sentence summarizes his whole outlook on Christianity, 'set great store on little things', 'set great store on little things.' He was in the habit from his novitiate days having been encouraged to do so, to write. He wrote, for example, a long analysis (I think I saw a copy of Alphonosus Rodriquez’ “Principles of Christian Perfection.” I think they're on your shelf there – there are three big volumes.) Anyhow, among other things John Berchmans wrote a nice synthesis analysis of those three volumes for his future reference. His mother died shortly after he entered the novitiate. His father then went on to study for the priesthood and was ordained and proceeded to die shortly after his ordination. By this time he had taken his first vows which is – you know in the Society of Jesus we never speak of temporary vows because we don't take them; our first vows after two years in the novitiate are perpetual. We are the only order in the Catholic Church that have been given the rare privilege of never taking temporary vows. I have the draft of the proposed forthcoming Code of Canon Law to be published, most likely, so the latest word is, first Sunday of Advent. In any case, John Berchmans took his first vows which were perpetual and because he was to start his philosophy studies after taking his first vows and the studies were to be made in Rome – how do you get to Rome from Antwerp in Belgium. He was told, 'you walk.' It took him ten weeks. He made it which partially explains his short life. He did his studies under a famous Father Chipovy in Rome, his first letter, John Berchmans first biographer.

The report on his talent or ability shortly after his death by those who were his teachers was that he had extraordinary ability, intellectual ability, capable of taking and mastering several subjects at once that his enthusiasm for studies was unequaled. Now, my friends, having spent so many years in studies, having taught so many Jesuits for so many years, anyone who has enthusiasm about his studies deserves to be canonized.

Another of his fellow Jesuits who knew him observed that 'after Saint Aloysius, I never knew a young man of more exemplary life, purer conscience or greater perfection than John Berchmans. In other words, he had a reputation for being a very holy person already at a young age. Number twenty in my notes, it just keeps me from mixing things up. Here's a quotation from St. John Berchmans that every Jesuit has memorized. Let me give you the Latin first. It sounds so nice—“meus maxime mortificatsio est vita communis.” --my greatest mortification is community life. I repeat there is no statement of any saints that a Jesuit will not agree with more heartily than that one, that his heaviest mortification, his worst penance, is community life. That doesn't mean you don't like your brethren, but, being human, being oneself and living with other human beings, community life is indeed a great mortification.

Again, John Berchmans wanted to make sure that he never exercised his own will contrary to the directives of superiors. So I memorized and jotted down this little vignette: I wish to let myself be ruled like a baby, one day old. I'm not sure what difference it makes, whether a baby is one day or one year old, in any case, John Berchmans figures, let's make the child one day old. In other words, complete childlike submission to those who are in charge of him. John Berchmans was a very zealous student. What he came from, what we would call the low countries, which for our purpose would be Belgium – the climate in Belgium is somewhat like the more temperate climate in say, northern United States, Maine, Vermont, northern Michigan, Minnesota. In any case, Berchmans was not used to the stifling summer weather in Rome. Yet he took his final examinations in May, 1621 and the heat that summer, and the Roman summer starts early, the heat was intense. He prolonged his studies for his exams, did brilliantly, but took sick. He had just worked too hard. So he was laid up in bed, became deathly sick. As he was dying his confessor asked him, “do you have anything on your conscience that you think deserves to be confessed before you die.” He spoke in Latin, as young Jesuits are to always talk in Latin except in recreation. He said, "Mehil omeno" – absolutely nothing on my conscience, a moment before he died. He died on August the 13th of that year 1621. After his death and even before his burial, miracles were reported throughout Rome. Print of course was already discovered and engravings were made of John Berchmans shortly after his death and copies were printed. In a few days, twenty- four thousand of these engravings were sold in his native country in Belgium.

When he was canonized, the Holy Father who canonized him declared regarding the Jesuit rules, 'if you can prove to me that someone had faithfully lived up to this rule, I'll canonize him.' Berchmans was canonized for being an obedient religious. He was buried with his rosary and rule book in his hands.

Now something about his spirit. I would say the first prominent feature of his spirituality was his simplicity of life. There are no reports of ecstasies or raptures. There was not even a report of anything extraordinary that he ever did. You might say he was a 'little flower' before his time; she a Carmelite, he a Jesuit. The implication for us, if we think about them, are breath taking. The secret is to see God's will in everything. Now that everything in Berchmans vocabulary meant not just, well, the things that occur in a given day, I somehow say 'yes, of course, God must be behind it' but, watch this, and he wrote enough and over the years I've read enough of Berchmans to be able to talk for a couple of hours about his spirituality. For him, seeing God's will in the circumstances in everyday life went down to the smallest, even trifling details. We at table don't have set persons across from whom or with whom we sit, say at table, so the fact that it should be so and so and not such and such. It is God's will known and planned from all eternity. For example, what I am saying, that of all places I should be – what is today, August the 24th – a thousand miles from New York in a place called, is it Lake Villa? and that you should be here – thanks for being in Chapel, too – and that of all the yokels that should be saying whatever I might be saying, it would be me, at least to try your patience, in His name, everything. I stubbed my toe, that's God's providence. I lose something, that's God's providence. While I was putting the finishing touches on my notes, when I got a phone call that was an important call, so I was late, four minutes. That is God's will. That you should have had some charitable thought on why I was late or good for my humility in not being exactly on time; that everything is down to the time of the day, the temperature outside, how 'my body feels, what's crossing my mind. Berchmans saw God in everything. In other words, simplicity which must have twenty meanings for him meant; 'I have only one role in life – God's will.' And where is God's will; how do I know God's will; what books do I read; what speeches do I listen to; what novenas do I have to make. You can spare yourself. What is God saying to you, here and now at this moment? How does He want you to act and react, to His will?

Second feature of Berchmans' spirituality. The rule of St. Ignatius, we don't usually call it a rule because of our constitution, but that rule what's composed over a period of years, much prayer, frequent revelations, especially from Our Lady, much study, analyzing different rules of life written before Ignatius' time. It is a very precise and detailed rule. We have, for example, the rules of modesty; we're told, exactly told, how to use our eyes. Ignatius prescribed how we are to use our hands. I'm sure it's one of the least known rules of St. Ignatius. We are forbidden by rule to touch another person's body unless, either necessity or charity required it. This rule, Berchmans kept. We don't want to say to the letter, because that would cheapen it, but he kept it with perfection, so much so that the Vicar of Christ on his own testimony canonized him because of his fidelity to that minute rule of life and mind you, this is a rule for men, do you know what I'm saying, well, the last thing that man, masculine gender, paid that much attention to his detail, the self discipline and the sacrifice that it takes from a man to be faithful to Ignatius rule only one who tries to live that rule can appreciate. Ignatius was a soldier and he knew battles of won or lost by attention to detail.

John Berchmans' spirituality reflects something that I think we very seldom advert to each other … sort of take it for granted. We say correctly that God's grace builds on human nature. Not that God's grace is different in the sense that it's a different grace – no, for different people, but, God is justice, Himself, as far as we can use the verb, adjust for God. For example, the graces that He gives to women I know are different that he gives to men, I know. God just talks a different language. And so with different people of different temperaments. The robust man of steel, the Andrew Bobola, remember? they just couldn't put him to death. God's grace to sanctify him was of one kind, the gentle but firm and faithful Berchmans, another kind of a grace. This is very important in properly appraising God's will in our lives or how we deal so differently with different people. With some, God seems, to coin an expression, to love and to get away with – pardon the expression – you finish the sentence, you know what. Lord! well, God knows what He's dealing with – with others He is severe.

Berchmans came from northern Europe; Berchmans was not from Italy or Spain. I tried to carry on a conversation with four Spaniards this noon in Kenosha, Wisconsin; a priest, a brother, (oh, three people) a priest, a brother and a sister. Well, some English they knew, not much, some Italian that I know, not much, a bit of Latin and Spanish and we managed. I was inquiring about their rule of life. They are called the Lumen Dei, isn't that beautiful? the light of God, a new community just coming into existence, two hundred members – God's grace adjusting itself to the Spanish mentality – different. There is something about the teutonic, because we are talking about the teutonic temperament here, that it's precise, proper, just so. All right, God's grace will be just so. Am I making sense? And that we don't either expect God – what a mistake – to deal with even two of us in the same way. Never compare yourself – or better, never compare the way God deals with others with the way he seems to be dealing with you. Berchmans knew, he was here. There is an individuality about each saint which is completely different from everyone else.

Then, community life. I quote of a famous passage, we learned this in the novitiate and we quote it to our dying day, because it is so, so painfully true: my greatest mortification is community life. That doesn't mean, of course, not that we make other members of the community conscious of the fact that they are a source of penance to make – no. Nor does it mean, it cannot mean, that we somehow regret or wish it were different. Community life is meant, for most people, to be a great source of sanctification. I know what I'm talking about because being the only child of a widowed mother – my father died when I was a year old, he was 26. I never had any brothers or sisters and of the things I knew that drew me to the Society of Jesus before I heard John Berchmans phrase, I thought to myself, "what a break, what a gift, I will inherit a hall full of brothers, people that I can live with and, well, they'll be brothers to me and I hope I'll be a brother to them." I may somewhere along the line, I may have told you, after my first week in the novitiate I went to complain to the novice master – I'd heard about people snoring, but I'd never heard anybody snoring – Mother had her bedroom, I had mine. Though we were living in a dormitory and the noise was deafening, I couldn't sleep. So I told the novice master, "father, could I have a different room?" He said, 'sit down, what's wrong?' I told him. All I remember is two words, "get out." And because I was so dead tired, I finally fell asleep, snoring or no snoring.

God made us different from the moment of conception. Each one of us, the moment we are conceived in our mother's womb, God has to create a soul – our parents don't give us our souls – they must be individually created by God and God creates each soul different. We are different nine months before we're born, put together. One reason, no doubt, is to give us some idea of His own infinite, you might say, bewildering variety of attributes. It gives us, and this is what Berchmans meant: it gives us the glorious opportunity for the practice of charity. I'm not speaking of people being offensive or hurting our feelings or being difficult to live with. I don't mean anything that is morally wrong, just because he is he or she is she and I am me, living with other people places demands on our mutual love which God in His infinite wisdom planned, that's why He made us so different. The word that Berchmans used was mortification, meaning that it's a precious way of not only practicing charity, but of expiating our sins, of making reparation for the sins of others, especially in doing penance for the crimes against love often committed in the name of love in our modern mad world. The 1981 figures of the United Nations for the world were fifty million abortions. Someone, someone, must propitiate a just God for these crimes of hatred, masking – what a mockery – under the name of love. Well, we don't have to go far to search out opportunities for the expiatory love, being gentle, understanding, thoughtful. Being as ready to excuse the actions of others as we are so prone to excuse our own. All of this is locked up in what we so casually call, community life.

Let us ask St. John Berchmans to give us some of his great attention to the little things in life being so important in the eyes of God. St. John Berchmans, pray for us.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.