#its safer to back out of this particular statement

[lover-of-mine]

do you think it’s a bad thing that 911onabc deleted that 💋 comment? i’m almost 100% we are gonna get buddie canon this season but that kinda stressed me out?

Honestly, it's a comment. Yesterday they fueled the fire a LOT, there's a chance that the media team just decided that was too much too soon because it does give the impression that they are confirming they are in fact fueling the fire using ryliver and after sitting on it for a while they might've realized it was too much and decided to backtrack. It's more about promotion strategy and fear of crossing a line while confirming something more than anything, in my opinion. Especially because the comment they replied to was "you know what you are doing and I love you for it".

[gacha99]

An aspect of this event that I really like is how it's spreading light on how humans interacted with actual Arcanist culture that was completely separate and different from human culture. Up until now, each event has really been about the separation of Humans and Arcanist thinking, in that they literally cannot comprehend the world in the same way. From the trailers alone, I kind of assumed that the Uluru games had just been cancelled due to the Storm, but it seems they fell out of popularity because the Foundation changed literally everything about them once they had control over it.

And really, I feel like there's no better allegory for cultural appropriation and colonization than that because it happens all the time in the real world as well. People take an aspect of one culture they're not apart of because they think it's cool, they change everything about it or misappropriate that part of the culture, and then they completely ditch it once no one from that original culture is engaging with what they've created because it's "lame" now or always was "lame".

I can't count the number of times I've seen white people take a dance or a song or a piece of actual vernacular from black people and run it into the ground or misuse it, only to stop using it once they have no interest in it (because the people they took it from also have no interest in it) and I feel like it's the same for these games and other things that Arcanists in Reverse 1999 made. Or how white people will butt their heads into a topic that specifically pertains to the black experience and give their very wrong and ignorant opinion on it, and then get mad when black people tell them that they're too misinformed to understand what the topic at hand really is.

And this part in particular with Ezra really just cements in me that the Arcanists probably had so many infuriating and annoying arguments with Humans back then when the Foundation wanted to just keep changing the rules of the games to be "safer".

Ezra is "technically" right that the blanket statement "Fire is dangerous" is correct. And the Arcanists know that "Fire is dangerous" but the Arcanists are not worried about it being dangerous. Not because they are foolhardy or illogical, but because they understand how it works and can control it and have their own methods and ways of using fire that humans just can't.

Arcanists have been doing their own thing for centuries, they don't need humans barging in and giving them a stern warning on fire safety especially since their warnings and lectures about fire safety would only apply to humans anyways. Humans definitely didn't care about that though, and most definitely insisted on changing everything because "its unsafe, and don't you WANT people to be safer during the games?" even if Arcanists have been safe for centuries in their own ways.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

It really hurts me to see things like racism and islamophobia in feminist spaces. I find a lot of women who hold these beliefs are actually well meaning, (for eg. They'll direct racism towards whatever foreign men are known to abuse women of their ethnicity, or they'll spread messages of islamophobia because the religion is known to hallow traditions such as child marriage, physical abuse towards women, and the execution of women for perceived crimes such as unfaithfulness to their partners and/or promiscuity.)

What ladies who do things like this fail to take into account, is that we are currently still living in a patriarchal society. If you direct hatred towards men, fine. But once you begin directing hatred to men of a particular community, it becomes less of an issue with men and more of an issue with that whole community, since men are conventionally seen as the representatives of whatever communities they are in.

Yes, I know this is usually not the intention, but the actual result is just further oppression directed towards the women within these communities. If want to say 'men'. SAY 'MEN'! Yes, they fucking suck! They've done it all! But you begin derailing whenever you say 'Black men. South Sudanese men. Hell, even if you say 'White men' you are oppressing black people. South Sudanese people. White people.

Feminism is about protecting women, not just your women. If you exclusively want to protect your women, in my opinion that would make you a nationalist and/or a blatant racist. That's fine too. But I do think it does misrepresent actual feminism to prospective sisters when you actively speak out against the communities they are a part of, much less when you support its oppression.

To be honest, I'm not willing to give them the benefit of the doubt on that. I have no doubt whatsoever that outside of feminist spaces they shit on women of colour just as much as they do on men of colour. They just don't do that directly here (as much, anyway, because some of them definitely do) because they know they're less likely to get away with it.

Plenty of women here have said that men of colour don't get a pass for being misogynistic, and that men of colour crying racism against white women for being wary of them as well as white men are denying male violence. So the radblr racists pretending that we value anti-racism over fighting misogyny is not accurate.

Like "men of colour are just as dangerous as any men; facing racism doesn't stop that" is a factual statement. The second you try to claim white men are safer is when we take issue because no the fuck they are not. For white people to claim men of colour are safer is racist because it's infantilizing, romanticizing, noble savage bullshit. To claim that white men are safer is the opposite side of the same racist coin.

With that being said, yes, there are societies where women are treated worse than in others, but to act like that's a condition of being black or brown is inaccurate and gross. Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc. were further along with women's at one point than many western countries.

What we should be seeing it as is a warning: if it can happen to them it happen to us. No, not because of immigrants but because men having been doing this shit to us all around the world for millennia. And women have always fought for their rights. You look through the history of any society and you find that progress is not a straight line. Women gain rights for a time and then are pushed back down.

My nana warned me never to think it couldn't happen in my own country. The USA is a perfect example of a country sliding backwards when it comes to women's rights and that is mostly being done by white men. White men who, as it happens, LOVE telling white women they need white men to protect them from the raping black and brown men. Meanwhile white women are mostly raped by white men. And white men let those men go free and blame the women for it.

And, you know, the racists of radblr could easily see this if they chose. They don't because they don't want to. While they make accusations about our priorities, it's they who prioritize being racist over feminism.

[badmusejail]

wonderful, wonderful!

Each joke, however awful, each laugh turned the tables ever so slightly to his advantage. Not because he expected the VOID creature to have a change of heart (he was not that naive), but because he was less likely to do something drastic to someone who had a use to him.

Even if that use was as simple as being amusing.

As the other found his words (or hands), Gaster methodologically put the various floating objects back in his pocket. He didn't always leave a mess behind. (wherever these objects were being stored, however...)

Glancing aside at the final statement, Gaster's fingers tapped together in front of him. He was certain they were far, far more similar than the other assumed, and not in good ways.

"I'm sure there's plenty of similarities. The world loves to be cruel like that. Ah, well, I suppose a brief summary of things wouldn't hurt anything," he stated, with a shrug.

"I was born on the Surface, some many years ago--roughly a thousand if you're counting, but I don't particularly care. The war was well underway, humanity having already decided on wiping us out. For as awful as many found it, I always rather liked the Underground, and I along with some others agreed it to be far safer than the surface; Gerson and Asgore among others."

He waved his hand, pivoting to begin pacing.

"It had always been my mission to make the most of it. At first, that was simply being a sort of therapy aide, listening to people, hearing their stories, offering support in a world that had gone to Hell. At some point along the way, it turned to more scientific pursuits; this machine you stand in is essentially a geothermal-powered magionuclear power plant--not that I'm suggesting you don't know otherwise, but the exact mechanics of the CORE varies from world to world.

"This one in particular works by fission of magical particles, reducing them to their barest components. At first, that was its only purpose, to speed along the natural decomposition of existing magical forces; be that the natural residue that monsters put out, the remains of bullets, or any other source of magic.

"A Constant Output Recycling Engine, if you will--not that it actually stands for that, but it was one of the better guesses. The pure magic that it puts out is then easier for monsters to consume and digest, allowing it to be used for whatever purpose, and the cycle begins again."

He paused.

Not that he expected the other Gaster to actually listen.

As he waited for the more calcic Gaster to propose something for them to talk about, the null iteration took a sip of his coffee and - well, observation was mutual. And he very momentarily wondered if he had missed something about that orange as that timeline's claimant scientist regarded it so intensely.

In the end, he was, once again, taken by surprise. The pun hit him like an electron in a proton collider, smashing his composure just as soundly, the sound of crunchy gravel joining the strange garbled mirth in audible joviality.

〚 That was horrendous 〛or at least he tried to sign those words, but what was worse: the joke or his current inability to form even one single word clearly because his hands were shaking from the jolt of amusement?

When he thought he could manage something better able to be parsed, he followed up his attempted admonishment with,〚 I suppose I should have expected it. Regardless of who they are, a skeleton will have a well-developed funny bone. 〛Another little huff of a ha left the drippy corner-dwelling intruder.

〚 I have been making note of our differences. Now it seems I must begin a list of similarities. 〛First addition: an apparent appreciation for terrible jokes.

[elaviemineral-cream]

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[ninhaoma-ya]

Chapter 1056 — Cross Guild

The slice-of-life wind-down when and arc is nearing its end is really nice. It’s lovely to just… see the interactions, follow the banter, laugh at how stupid Kid and Luffy are being and maybe drool a bit over Law. Gnrk.

I’m also really enjoying the cover story! Katakuri and Oven to the rescue of WCI! Wonder how it’ll pan out? The lesser minions were of no consequence for Germa; how about one commander and one high-ranking minister? The brothers are looking somewhat intimidated while Reiju floats away.

Not looking good for Raizo and Shinobu! Luckily enough, they have the Mink Wundermedischine available. No, I’m not salty over that particular cop-out. Nor Chopper’s robbed medical glory. Not at all.

(Fun fact: both’s proportions are down to more normal-human now. Will it hold?)

One thing I’ve really enjoyed these past chapters is the lightheartedness. All the anger and destruction from the fight is gone, leaving us with the humour and (bad) jokes that really make One Piece shine. Like Carrot…

A few things:

The “Wait, what?” here is amazing.

And then. The difficult question. Carrot’s future.

I appreciate the symbolism of Nekomamushi and Inuarashi finding each other after 20 years and leaving a unified Zou in the care of someone young, who, like them, has seen something of the world.

As far as we know, not many Minks have left Zou: there’s Dog and Cat, Pedro and Zepo’s pirate crew (which got annihilated as far as I understood their flashback), Bepo who left to look for Zepo and then… nothing, until Carrot. When Nekomamushi and Inuarashi left and Oden returned, the exchange also gave the impression that what they had done had been different and unexpected – and they didn’t really know a thing about sailing or the sea, as evidenced by their shipwreck on Wano. Having a ruler who’s been out there is a good call.

And I like the statement that you don’t have to be the strongest to be the leader, or the oldest. It’s fine to trust someone stronger there to help you protect, while you lead.

And then they go and spoil it by referencing Pedro’s spirit. Pedro, who wanted to leave with Roger. Pedro, who left to be a pirate. Pedro, who came back a failure (in his own eyes). Pedro, who left Zou once more and sacrifice himself for the dawn of the world. What exactly is the spirit to carry here?

I expect Carrot and the Minks to show up at the final battle to support Luffy.

Speaking of Luffy…

Character interactions are gold in this chapter. “You want this terrible weapon of mass destruction which the biggest players in the world are desperately looking for?”, “Nope, I’ll do it without any perks.” Not sure about having Usopp asleep: it’d be nice to see what his attitude would be! Would he agree with Luffy or try to get them to use the weapon to get to Laugh Tale sooner / safer? Has he grown into a brave warrior of the seas yet?

I’m confused, however, I thought Pluton was a different one from the battle ship? After a quick check on the One Piece fandom wiki, I stand corrected: “Pluton is one of the three Ancient Weapons, alongside Poseidon and Uranus. Pluton is a highly advanced warship capable of mass destruction, labelled the World's Worst Battleship (世界最悪の戦艦 Sekai Saiaku no Senkan) […] The battleship is said to be capable of destroying whole islands in a single shot” (One Piece wiki, Pluton). Furthermore, what I hadn’t realised but which is obvious in hindsight, is that “because the blueprints remained in existence even after the ship was built, whoever possessed the blueprints to the vessel would have the potential to build a fleet of vessels with the same destructive abilities as each other.“ (One Piece wiki, Pluton). Duh.

If I have things right, then: The original warship called Pluton was built during the void century. It is Used For a Purpose and left in Wano, where walls are erected, submerging it through the centuries. The Kozuki clan makes the poneglyphs. The Nefertari family declines Celestial Dragon-status in Mariejois, staying in Alabasta instead. The Kozuki clan leaves a Poneglyph in Alabasta, telling future Nefertari descendants where to find the weaponized ship.

Now I’m on board again.

I wonder if Robin took Franky down there to look at the ship, since he had the blueprints for so long?

(Spolier alert: Raizo and Shinobu’s transformations held)

In a way I really like that Shinobu’s attitude hasn’t changed. She’s always been an alluring, mature lady. I don’t know what to think about her glow-up, though, nor her comments regarding it. To be continued.

And Otama is so cute! I really hope we get to see a post-script when One Piece is finished, when they sail around some more and she joins their ship for reals :)

And Nami! With clothes! Somewhat coutnered by Shinobu’s outfit, but I’ll take what I can get!

Caribou is still creepy AF. Who is he talking about? He’s been stuck on Wano since he defended the Old Lady With The Pies in his cover story, and as far as we know, before that, he was just a rookie in the Grand Line? Has he teamed up with Apoo, selling stories to Morgans?

Also, have a Kin-compilation, since he’s just so sweet (and trademark-ignorant) this chapter:

And then, the highlight of this whole sequence of chapters:

CAPTAIN TRIO! And happy Bepo in the background.

But just look! Look at them! Kid, being all serious with his hand on his leg, arguing with Luffy, squatting on a crate to have the dream of a chance to be on the same level as Kid and…

…Law. Oooooh, yesssssss. I didn’t know how much I needed Law in a tank top. Fan artists rejoice! The dude knows how to do his fanservice.

Sad to hear Law thinking the alliance is over, but it’ll be interesting to see where they end up!

And seeing that brain in action is just… gnrk.

To get back to the matter at hand, which is chapter analysis: I do question Law’s comment about north-east being the most direct route. Direct to where?

However, one thing I didn’t think of but someone on Reddit pointed out, was that Luffy basically has the position of Laugh Tale.

If we look at who has what Lode Ponegplyhs, we get…

Kid: Big Mom + Kaido

Law: Kaido + Zou

Luffy: Kaido + Zou + Big Mom

Luffy’s Ponegplyhs give us a triangle. If we consider the islands the Poneglyph’s identify as poins of a triangle, regardless of where the fourth island is, Laugh tale will be somewhere on the sides of the triangle.

Of course, you can’t just sail the Grand Line, even less the New World, without a log pose, a lot of luck and an amazing navigator, but since Luffy has all three (Laugh Tale isn’t available on the log pose, otherwise everyone could just stroll up there: that’s why you need the Lode Ponegplyhs) he could, in theory, just brute force the triangle and find the One Piece that way.

He won’t, obviously, since he’s all about that adventure, but Nami and Usopp probably would. Ooo, nice fanfic idea! Nami and Usopp, plotting to get Luffy to sail along the triangle route, just to avoid capturing the fourth Ponegplyh which is probably in the hands of Blackbeard or someone similar?

And speaking of Blackbeard, Luffy, and other yonkos…

I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE STORY BEHIND THIS ONE.

Mihawk and Crocoboy working under Buggy? Not a snowball’s chance in Hell. Is it like Mr.3 and Alvida, working with him and letting him be the front figure? The best crack theory so far: Croc and Mihawk are with buggy because they lost a Davy Back fight.

Character. Interactions. Are. Gold.

Nice little establishing shot of Zoro, going all ‘Nnnnnnnoooooo…’, while Law puts that overly analytical brain to use: with the information he has, it is a logical conclusion to draw. And then there’s Luffy debunking any and all skills Buggy has and Kid who focuses on the matter at hand, in other words, what the Cross Guild (will see with official translation if that’s the true name) is actually doing, not who’s in it.

But really nice idea with the ‘bounties for marines’-thing! Did not expect that! And will this affect a certain Wanted-poster fan creation-event, I wonder… now that marines also, by canon, can have wanted posters ;)

And Law. Oh, my heart. You honourable bastard, you.

We’ll have to see how the official translation puts it, but still: who is it? Sabo? Aokiji? Marko? Blackbeard?

Law is all dark and broody – is it Doflamingo, out from Impel Down? He was burned when young, after all.

Robin looks surprised: does she know who it is or did she figure it out when she saw Law’s reaction?

COME ON KID, TELL US ALREADY.

Yamato for nakama is gaining momentum.

I don’t really have an opinion, one way or the other: I like him as a character and have no objections to him joining. I do share the worry that the crew is getting too big to focus properly on all members, which has been a problem in the fights lately. However: the story is less about the individual crew members and more about the world changing now (or has actually been since they entered the New World), which justifies less of a focus on their development and more on what’s happening around them instead.

But it is still annoying to be left in the dark with character development. The biggest pain is Chopper. I really expected him to be able to cure SMILE when Wano was over, but maybe that’s something he has to work with Vegapunk on?

(And speaking of Vegapunk: wouldn’t it be hilarious if Kid’s route takes him to Vegapunk’s location and he kidnaps him or something similar? Etymology of ‘Vega’: (1) brightes star in the Lyra constellation; (2) an extensive, fertile, grass-covered plain or tract of land.)

I’m guessing we’ll get some sort of flashback to Zoro’s family ties, hinted at in SBS and the story proper, as well as something on him visiting Ryumas grave, as he wished.

Lighthearted fun! I give it three different routes to follow and a million bonus points for tank top-Law.

Serious thoughts re. the whole:

Both in terms of story-telling and art, the latest chapters looks almost like a second draft, but not yet the final creation. Some really weird decisions were made regarding character development and the art looks more and more rushed, the detailed backgrounds the only clean thing the eye can rest on while the characters and moving parts are rushed and sketchy, especially in the larger panels with a lot of them (see panel with Raizo and Shinobu for example).

I realize some of the issues with art might have to do with scanlation quality, but I usually read through the official as well (support it as well, guys!) and the same things are noticeable there. It’s hard to say if it’s the length of Wano dragging Oda down, the length of One Piece finally taking its toll or the million other projects he has rolling (film RED, Netflix live action, planning the final saga, etc.), but the lack of focus is really showing.

[dracowars]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Draco fic where he and Y/N are cuddling together when Y/N receives an owl from her parents in which they give her bad news or scold her or something like that. Then she completely freaks out/shuts down and Draco calms her down and comforts her. I'm just really craving fluff and I love caring and protective Draco and would love to read something like this. If you don't wanna write it tho, that's a-okay. Thank you!

cursed | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x greengrass!reader

word count: 1,4k

summary: where draco comforts y/n after receiving bad news

a/n: omg, i'm so so sorry that this took so long!!! :(

warnings: angst, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

“AHH! Draco, stop it, please!”, you beg him in the middle of your fit of laughter, your body writhing under his while trying to avoid his tickling attacks. Because of all the laughter, your stomach already hurts, and your breathing turned irregular. Draco, on the other hand, does not seem as exhausted as you and therefore he does not even think about stopping any time soon and shows no mercy as he continues to tickle you.

“Make me”, he gives you a slick grin when he stops briefly to give you a break and to position himself on top of you, his legs on either side of your upper body.

Again, you try to stop him and try to get a hold of his hands until you finally manage to catch one of his arms in a firm grip. Breathing hard, you look in each other’s eyes and you immediately know that you have no chance against him. Draco is much stronger than you and will be able to get out of your grip quickly.

He would have been able to if it had not been for a white snowy owl flying in through the open window, landing on the small bedside table next to your head and looking at you with big eyes when neither Draco nor you move an inch. A rolled-up letter is attached to its foot and your heartbeat quickens all of a sudden when you realize that this white owl belongs to your family, the pureblood family Greengrass.

And whenever you get a letter from home, it always means trouble.

Quietly clearing your throat after a few seconds have passed, Draco finally crawls off you so you can sit up and remove the parchment from the owl’s claw, but not without exchanging worried looks with Draco beforehand. Happy to have been relieved of its heavy load, the snowy owl rises back into the air before disappearing out the window into the bright sunshine.

You sit on the edge of Draco’s bed with the long letter in your hands, already shaking in fear from the uncertainty of what you may read in it. Draco knows this and also about your bad relationship with your parents, which is why he sits down next to you instantly and gently strokes up and down your back with his hand. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changes as tension fills the air, the joy from only a few seconds ago gone with the owl that delivered the letter.

“I am sure they just want to congratulate you on passing your OWL’s”, Draco tries to calm you down and lowers his head to be able to look into your face, which is now only covered by a blank expression. Putting his index finger under your chin, he lifts your head up and leads you to him, looking straight into your eyes, his own gray ones still radiating concern.

“You know my parents”, you sigh out loud and slowly remove your face from his grasp, focusing your gaze back on the letter that is still closed. You slightly run your thumb over the green wax seal, which shows the crest of your family. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what is to come – at least you try – and finally open the envelope.

While your eyes fly over the lines and paragraphs, Draco keeps his distance, but also keeps an eye on you the whole time, trying to already get a clue about what your parents could have wrote through your expression. It would be nothing new if they would scold you again or complain about your insufficient performance in Hogwarts. Draco has seen all of this before, and he is used to this because he too is struggling with his parents’ high expectations.

Stunned, you lower the letter after you finished reading it, your hands now trembling even more and your eyes full of tears- Your face looks pale and all emotion in your face vanished all of a sudden. You go through the words one by one in your head, repeat them over and over again in order to be able to understand them.

While doing this, however, a tear has already found its way down your cheek, giving Draco the sign that he has given you enough time alone and that you now need him. He quickly moves closer to you again, still remaining careful to still give you the necessary distance you may need.

“Babe? What did they write?”, Draco asks carefully as he brushes a strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. You still do not move at his gentle touch, your gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Whatever they wrote, I am certain that they did not mean it”, Draco continues, only looking into your now sad face. “You are such a wonderful person and your parents-“

“My mother is going to die”, you interrupt him and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you can hardly believe them yourself. Even after everything you read in the letter, even now you still do not understand these words. A sudden silence arises until you blink your tears away and turn to Draco, who still looks at you with shock written all over his face.

“I-I am- I am so sorry”, Draco stutters, just as surprised by your statement as you are. However, not letting another second pass, he pulls you into a tight, loving and overall protective hug. A hug that has always given you more comfort than anyone else could.

Draco gently strokes your hair and lets you cry into his shoulder until you have calmed down a bit. Keeping you at arm’s length in front of him, he looks at you worried, still with big question marks over his head.

“Our- Our family has been cursed for generations already”, you utter while sobbing, wiping away a few of your tears while Draco listens attentively, his hand firmly clasped around yours. “W-With a blood curse.”

After saying this, Draco seems to have no words and you can see that he immediately wonders if you, like your mother, are also affected by this curse.

“I-I do not know if I will have it. I also can’t say whether if affects Daphne or Astoria. In some generations it has never appeared before and was passed onto the next generation nevertheless”, you explain as best you can since your parents never told you and your sisters much about it, after all until recently they assumed that their generation and the one from you and your sisters has been spared. “There is n-no cure. The curse weakens the body to such an extent that it is very likely to result in.. death.”

“Babe, I do not know what to say-“

“You do not have to say anything, Draco. I lied to you. We lied to everyone here. Nobody knows that our family had this deadly curse, otherwise we would- Otherwise the pureblood families would no longer accept us as one of them”, you sniff and try to force a smile onto your face while looking into Draco’s compassionate eyes. “I would like to say that I do not mind that my mother do has the curse after all, but-“

“But she is still your mother, Y/N. No matter how she treated you. You do not have to justify yourself for feeling this way”, Draco assures you and pulls you into his strong arms again, immediately making you feel much safer and more secure. Because of the sudden closeness, all dams break within you and this time you let all of your tears run free. Draco hold your trembling body in his arms and tries to give you the support you need right now. It pains him to see you like this and he can understand how torn you must feel in this situation. Your mother was always the one in particular who pushed you, even forced you, to have good grades in school, and now that you both know what fate she has, it still feels wrong to say that she deserves it.

At this moment, however, you are just glad that you are not alone, that you do not have to carry this burden alone. That you were finally able to tell Draco about your family’s biggest secret. You know that he and your sisters will always be by your side, no matter what the future holds for you.

“Everything will be alright.”

[isolatednights]

the moment he sees the crimson stain against fair skin and smells the metallic tang in the air, asher knows he was too quick with steve. even before all of this, asher had lines he wasn't willing to cross ( involving women and children in particular ). but back then, when he'd laid out some sort of punishment against those who'd crossed that unspoken line, he never had any real investment in it ⸻ it had been justice for a stranger but this? he was a tangled mess when it came to this.

he wants to correct her, but then she's practically crawling into his chest and the man sighs. arms scoop her up and asher shifts, back against the cabinets and eden in his lap. one arm remains around her back while the others runs up and down her spine in what he hopes is a soothing motion. for a while, he's silent ⸻ contemplating how to address her earlier statements while also trying to calm his own emotions down. for a moment, it's like his sister all over again ( what might have happened had he been a moment or two too late? ) ⸻ and it's a train of thought he has to dig himself out of.

"none of that was nothin'." he murmurs softly. "steve..." even the name makes his blood boil. "i ought to have taken care of him ages ago." it would have saved them all a lot of trouble ⸻ would have kept eden and the kids safer in his absence ( and its then that the man silently vows that he won't do anything to jeopardize that ever again ). "he's gone and he's not coming back, i made sure of that. i will never let anything happen to you or the kids again." not if he could help it at least.

"you might have a concussion." he adds after a moment. "and i've gotta look at your head to see if you need stitches." carefully, the hand rubbing her back shifts to press against the floor and he's pushing himself up ⸻ keeping the woman tight against him as he does. the kitchen has the best light in the house, so he's careful to set her down ⸻ one hand remaining against her side as he fumbles around for a towel and a flashlight he knows to be tucked in the drawer ( cautious that with a hit that hard, she could remain dizzy and the last thing he wants is her to take a tumble right off the counter again ). items in hand, he wets the towel and turns back to her. "head wounds tend to bleed a lot, so it might look worse than it is but i gotta clean you up a bit first to take a proper look, alright?"

there were moments she seemed dazed, a lack of focus on what was happening but she knew asher, she knew his presence, she knew the sound of his voice and that was the only thing in that moment that brought her comfort. she just knew that he'd not stand by and let steve step down on her, he'd not let her be so belittled.

the hand that'd rested and propped her up on the floor moved, feeling for the painkillers that'd spilled.. the painkillers she had to- oh but god her her head. she moved her hands back to her forehead, where the pain throbbed and only when she cupped the spot, slightly to the side and above her brow, did she feel her tender skin and the warmth of blood on her fingers. steve had split the skin when he threw her to that counter. it wasn't the worst wound, but it was enough that crimson quickly collected on her fingers, drops running down her face.

there was a panic within her that just.. didn't know what to do, she felt so confused and all she remembered was wanting to get that poor boy with his burning fever some cool towels and painkillers and how steve just came at her. then... then... her hand held flat over the area of her head and slowly eden brought her knees up to her chest she was scared and she right now, was vulnerable.

"asher.." she spoke softly, her eyes turning to him and they were brimmed with tears. bless her heart she tried to smile through it and pretend it was okay because it was clear enough to see, that's what she'd once had to do in her life. smile, pretend it was all fine. "it- it's fine- i'm- it's nothing!" she was referring to the hands she'd moved down, the tremble in them and the blood staining them from her forehead. "it's all fine it's not that bad i didn't-" her voice broke and that was it, she couldn't stop the tears, she couldn't pretend she was okay because it hurt. "i didn't mean to upset anyone, i didn't mean to... i was just- i was-" she sniffled and without thought to how she might dirty his clothes, without thought to anything else, eden moved forward to put her arms around his shoulders and push into his chest. "he wouldn't stop. i just wanted him to stop." she breathed into his chest, hiding. eden was hiding in him.

[v-hope]

»part nine - designated partner

»tiger flower

»jeon jeongguk x reader | college!au

not many people knew the shy guy who used to do everything alone in high school was the one to secretly leave flowers in your seat every week. you most certainly didn’t know the introvert guy you were just befriending in third year of college was the reason flowers meant so much to you now. and jeongguk? he most definitely didn’t know he would once again be silently aching for you to please love him.

a/n: so! two things! first, i won’t be updating on saturday :( i’m in finals season and the one i have on monday is the most stressful (to me at least lol) out of them all so ☹️ and second, i wrote a smol drabble for this! i hope you enjoy 💕 i’ll leave you with the drabble now 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

“Ugh, the food was so good” you gushed as you stepped outside the restaurant, zipping your black jacket up after feeling the cold air of the night hit your chest.

“It was” Jeongguk agreed with a small nod, digging his hands inside his jacket’s pockets as the two of you started slowly walking on the streets.

“And you know what I just discovered?” the cheeky tone of your voice had him raising his eyebrows in a signal for you to go on. “You become pretty chatty when you drink”.

He rolled his eyes, trying his best not to show just how shy your statement had made him — yes, even more than usual.

“Will I have to wine and dine you every time I want to have you speak like this?” you couldn’t help but jokingly add.

This time, he shook his head in amusement. “Can’t say I would be against it, to be honest...” his sheepish confession got a light giggle out of your mouth, drawing his eyes to you. “I’ve been talking more lately, though... to you, at least”.

“I know!” you agreed cheerfully, wiping a fake happy tear. “But today was way more than usual and I enjoyed it a lot”.

Jeongguk smiled at your statement — the fact of you enjoying his company making him happier than he could bring himself to understand. You were right after all, he had been more chatty than usual that day.

After getting a way better grade than you had been expecting to on the project that had brought you together to begin with, the two of you had followed through with your plans, deciding to go for dinner and drinks somewhere near campus, so you could both get to spend some quality time together and celebrate your achievement. And yes, the fact that he had been talking a little bit more than usual was partially because of the alcohol, but also because he had found himself feeling comfortable enough around you to just talk. About anything and everything.

Or well, about anything and everything but your loves lives, for some reason, which he couldn’t help but be thankful about, for, 1) his love life was absolutely non-existent; and, 2) the biggest romantic event in his life had been the whole weekly-flowers-in-your-table thing, and he felt like he would die if the topic was ever brought up — even more, if you ever found out he used to have quite strong feelings for you back in high school.

Putting that aside, never in his life would’ve he thought he would be spending time alone with you and not feel like he would faint any time.

He liked to think it was because you had made it very clear you wanted to be no other than his friend, and that, believe it or not, did take a huge weight off his shoulders; for it meant he didn’t have to try and act a certain way to impress you, to make you fall for him. He could be himself. And the fact that you actually enjoyed his company as it was, could only make him feel more at ease around you.

Still too caught up on his thoughts, he couldn’t help but be a little startled when you stopped in your tracks right as you were crossing a small bridge to get to the other side of the street.

“What happened?” he wondered, fixing his puzzled eyes on you as yours remained focused ahead of you.

“Look how pretty~” you cooed, pointing to one particular tree that was beautifully displaying a bunch of pink flowers — the lightning on the street only making the whole scenery more attractive to your eyes.

“Ah, I wish I had brought my camera” he lamented, just like you, intently admiring the image in front of you.

That earned a light chuckle from you. “Phones have cameras too, you know?” you teased him.

He pouted. “It’s not the same…”

Although his words had been pretty clear, he found himself not following them — pulling his phone out of his pocket right after, as the two of you got closer to the tree.

Laughing under your breath at his actions, you watched him quietly as he snapped a couple of pictures, admiring the way his eyebrows had furrowed ever so slightly and his lips unconsciously puckered up in what seemed like a small pout as he focused on getting the right angle.

And then, when you thought he was done and wouldn’t block his view anymore, you decided to get closer to the tree —right where its thin branches met the edge of the bridge— so you could admire its blooming flowers.

Now, any other time, you would’ve already been at it taking pictures of them, but, in all honesty, you trusted in Jeongguk’s skills way more than you did yours when it came to photography. You would just ask him for the pictures later.

With that thought in mind, you turned around to face him, right on time to realise he was still taking pictures — the way the phone’s camera was directed at you, however, letting you know his attention was no longer on the flowers, but on you admiring them instead.

“Oh? You took a picture of me?” you wondered, failing to realise how nervous that simple question had made him, for he was well aware of the a answer, yet didn’t know if you would like it. The wide smile that took over your factions at his silence, however, let him know you did. “Let me see!”

Excitedly rushing back next to him, you mindlessly held the phone that was still in his hands —oblivious to the way Jeongguk’s eyes fixed on your cold hands touching his warm ones— so you could take a closer look to the picture he had just taken of you with your back facing him, as you were way too focused on the pink flowers to even notice.

“Aww,” you cooed. “You could’ve taken this as your revenge to take a bad picture of me when I turned around, yet you took an actual nice one”.

He shook his head in amusement at your words, trying his best to conceal the smile that was threatening with taking over his factions. Not like he thought you could ever look bad if you tried to anyway.

“I’ll think of it next time you’re not paying attention”.

You lightly shoved him with your shoulder, squinting your eyes daringly at him yet not saying a word about it. You still kinda owed him anyway after having snatched a couple of casual pictures of him — ones that, although you genuinely thought he looked the cutest in, he would complain to you every single time he got the chance to.

After seeing his shy smile at your small, playful action, your eyes went back to the picture of you on his screen.

“If you’re not posting it, can you send it to me?” you asked, letting go of his phone before the two of you resumed on walking.

“I can post it?” he wondered.

“You’re seriously asking?” you said in disbelief. “It would be my honor”.

The way you had ever so dramatically said that, pressing a hand to your chest to emphasize your words, could do no other than have him let out at snort.

“Okay then… I’ll post it when I get home”.

You smiled, nodding your head in agreement. “I’ll be waiting then”.

Jeongguk smiled sweetly, not being able to bring his eyes away from you for a couple of seconds before shoving his hands back into his pockets as the two of you fell into a rather comfortable silence, enjoying the view of the still quite busy streets at night whilst you made your way to the one main street in which you would have to go different ways to get to your respective homes.

“So… this is where we part ways” you said over dramatically once you reached it, knowing well enough your places were in different directions from then on — thankfully, neither yours nor his being far away from that particular spot, considering how late it was.

“You sure?” he asked, causing your eyebrows to knit together in confusion. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with walking you home if you want…”

Your stare on him softened at the offer, and although you couldn’t help but smile, you found yourself gently shaking your head no. “It’s late, Jeongguk-ie. You should go home”.

“Exactly though… it’s late” he remarked; just like that, letting you know he didn’t quite like the idea of you walking home alone right then. “Really, I wouldn’t mind”.

You pressed your lips together, looking away for a brief moment towards the way you’d have to walk through before your eyes fixed back on his.

“That would make me feel safer, to be honest…” you sheepishly admitted. “Thank you”.

Jeongguk smiled, remaining silent and simply nodding his head for you to start walking and lead the way.

And although a part of him knew what you had meant was that having someone, if not anyone, to walk home with would make you feel safer, he couldn’t help but find joy in the thought of you feeling safe with him.

[hamliet]

Analysis tag game

Tagged by @save-tenko-and-akito :) 

Answer as few or many of these as you like. Enjoy! 1. How do you begin writing your analysis: do you start writing about the first thing that strikes you; or do you step back and look at the narrative structure first; or something else?

I usually start from a question I have about the narrative; my metas usually start with me wanting to learn something rather than me having something I want to prove. I always have to be interested in the subject!  2. What do you like to keep in mind while writing your analysis/meta?

Er... nuance and empathy. ;) It’s hard to balance that in some ways because like... in literary criticism you literally cannot be too blunt. You do not say “seems.” You do not say “likely.” You say “is.” You declare. That... does not always get received well in fandom, though :P So there’s a balance between sticking to an argument and acknowledging that not every statement applies to every situation in the world, or even to every interpretation of the work. 

3. Do you try to keep your value judgments separate from your analysis?

Is value akin to like or to morality in this question?

For the former, I think that there is a line between “I don’t like this” and “this is objectively bad,” but either case is okay to make--as long as you have evidence to back it up. If you can explain why X twist doesn’t make sense with the previous parts of the work, it’s not just “I don’t like this.” Also, you can think things are objectively good and dislike them, or think they are objectively bad and love them anyways (2ha’s last arc for me). You can even be a hypocrite (I disliked the end of TG and of 2ha for the same exact reason--protagonist halo--yet still enjoyed 2ha and ended up with a much harsher opinion of TGre for no other reason beyond just personal taste + life circumstances + expectations etc.) There’s a lot of shades of gray (nuance!) in there as well. 

For the latter... I know based on spoilers, for example, that Qiang Jin Jiu’s ending might be objectively well done, but it doesn’t necessarily seem to jive with my particular values. We’ll see how it’s executed/framed. But that doesn’t inherently affect my view of the story’s quality. 

4. Do you prefer analyzing characters, or arcs, or both?

Both, but characters are the main substance of a story for me. I have been more nerdily interested in structure lately though. I’d like to think Professor B is proud of me for how often I think back to his class...  5. Do you think receiving feedbacks/responses on your analysis/meta help improve your critical skills?

Yes! When it’s constructive and when there’s discussion backed up with evidence (whether in support or disagreement). I’ve learned a lot from other meta writers, and made some great friends! Literary analysis is always a discussion (even historically speaking!) so it’s 100% a valuable part of the experience. 

The problem, of course, is that people can be rude and social media encourages less-than-stellar engagement and out-of-context understandings, which means it’s often just safer to be like “I’m not discussing this.” :/  6. Do you consciously decide which media you want to write analysis on or does it naturally come to you?

Kind of goes back to question 1 for me; if I like a work and have questions about it, I’ll often write about it.  7. Do you prefer writing long or short metas? Which ones do you prefer to read?

Long for both, I guess, but honestly it depends on the topic and what it requires! Some short blurbs are great, and concise. I am in general not concise.  8. Which are your favourite analysis/criticism/meta blogs?

@linkspooky @aspoonofsugar @redphlox @haleigh-sloth I know I’m forgetting many great people.  9. Which shows/movies/media do you think deserve to have more analysis done on them?

Hmmmm. 

Qiang Jin Jiu--it’s a novel fans are really sleeping on (at the same time, that ,means there is no Shen Zechuan discourse which is inevitable if it gets popular, so I get to love my stabby son in peace). It’s also quite rich in themes. 

RWBY. There actually is a fair amount of content for RWBY, but less analysis, which I’d love to see more of! I think the story is really well done so far (not perfect, but good) yet a lot of the hot takes about RWBY are... they kinda misrepresent the show, which is a shame. 

Scum Villain. It often gets overshadowed by MXTX’s other works and while it definitely does have more obvious flaws (it’s a first novel and that’s clear), it’s no less thematically rich than MDZS or TGCF, and also just as clever. I also think its being a different genre plays a role in it being overlooked; a lot of critiques I see are exactly the point (like Binghe’s over-the-top behavior being designed to make you question tropes, the cringe sex scene is cringe for a reason, etc).. 

10. According to you, what are some prerequisites for good quality analysis?

Simply put, you’ve gotta be deferential to evidence. Support your claims, and also answer the “so what” question (ie why does x point you’re making matter?) Also, be willing to change your mind based on evidence, and also stick to the work. Which doesn’t mean you can’t empathize or theorize about why x people like y or how culture/authors impact work/the perceptions of a work, but that you should do so with self-awareness and humility. Fiction and reality have a nuanced relationship.

Oh, and don’t be afraid to be wrong or to change your mind. I’m wrong all the damn time. You learn through doing, right or wrong! 

[blankd]

Thoughts on The Mitchells vs the Machines

I watched it a while ago and kept forgetting to post my thoughts on it, but some posts here on tumblr recently reminded me.

I disagree with the majority takeaways I see but is that not the spice of life?

As a standalone movie its inoffensive and the writing of it will likely exit my brain in a few months.  However I can appreciate that the visual style was different from the typical fare and the mixture of 2d elements for visual embellishments were mostly enjoyable and well-suited for Katie as the POV character.

It's a bit "hyper" for my liking, but that's fine, it's likely intended for an audience that's accustomed to the flood that is the current norm of the internet.  It was probably made with GIFable moments in mind and that is the most frequent content that is shared about it, so it certainly succeeded in that regard.

My more critical take is that jokes are delivered at the expense of what could be more authentic themes.  Quips are made that draw attention to character flaws or undercut questions the movie should try to answer, but inevitably they are ignored to move onto the next joke or story beat.

The rest would fall more into spoiler territory, so read more for that.

--"They Were Both In the Wrong"

I personally disagree heavily with the thrust of how "both sides" were wrong when the degrees are disproportionate.

I've seen claims that Katie was "as in the wrong" as her father, but she's incredibly patient to the man who does her material harm.

I've yet to have seen someone say specifically what Katie did *wrong* to her father that is at all on par with the *years* he at best hasn't been able to interact with her or worse, actively refused to engage with her interests.

I would generously venture that her flaw was that she was more willing to communicate her feelings to strangers, but she easily talks to her mother and brother- her brother even helps her with her movies and she happily engages him with his own interests, which pivots the point back to how her father is physically/emotionally unavailable and led to the erosion and distance between the two of them.

Due to this, MvM comes across more as Kaite having to do so much more to guide her father rather than a more mutual learning experience for the both of them.

--"Technology that [Dis]Connects"

It's probably beyond the scope and intent of the film, but I was surprised there was no examination about why technology can be more alluring than interacting with physically present people.

For better or worse, the internet can be used as a means of supplementing the validation and acceptance of family.  It can also lead to no longer connecting to people around them because of the validation high of appealing to a constantly 'awake' sea of strangers- the spotlight is warmer than the cold reality that they are not the internet image they have cultivated.

For example, the rival 'perfect' family was never revealed to be a carefully constructed highlight reel that Mrs. Mitchell envies, they really were actually that perfect- because that provides an easier punchline than an examination or acknowledgement of how the internet can create unhealthy expectations.

I also can't expect MvM to acknowledge the reality that LGBTA+ people who are rejected by their family resort to seeking a new one through the internet because it would be much harder to redeem/rehabilitate a man defined by being tethered to "old values" if he was homophobic instead of "overprotective" and apprehensive at his daughter's departure from home and her dubious art career.

But hey we got that quick line at the end that Katie likes a girl, so that's a diversity win or something.

(To be clear I'm not expecting a whole parade or even an A or B-plot dedicated to it, but I think it should be acknowledged that this kind of "surprise inclusion" is very easily erased with a change of audio and would be completely unsurprised if this were the case for countries that are homophobic.  People can be happy about it, but it is dishonest to pretend that this is a bolder statement than it is.)

In that sense, I do and don't hold MvM to taking a "safer" route about how family always has your back, but this still feels like an important omission considering the focus on technology and its dynamic with the Mitchells.

I will also say that it was also bizarre, to me at least, that the obvious route that her father sees the value of home videos didn't become an active point between him and Katie.  Or that Mr. Mitchell's carpentry never really amounts to anything despite having a sentimental wooden moose.

Lastly, I think it's an unintentional, but it's interesting that Katie going to college to pursue her passion is viewed as a Terrible Thing by her father even though if he had his way, he'd be ostensibly living in the woods away from everyone else except his wife.

This isn't a problem, people are a collection of contradictions, but It's fascinating to see what the *narrative* treats as a difficult sacrifice while simultaneously pulling at heartstrings when PAL cites how children ignore their mothers.  There's an unexamined comedy that Mr. Mitchell's losing out on his 'passion' to live in the woods away from people is treated as tragic despite the movie's insistence on staying connected with your blood family.

--"The Inconsistent Personhood of AI"

PAL is rightfully angry at being discarded for something new; it's provided as a glimpse of what Katie will do when she finds 'her people' at college.

This in of itself is a good hook, because there is no one universal answer to when a flawed relationship should be mended with compromise or if it's better off being broken for the wellbeing of the ones involved.  Family and relationships are not programming, it's a choice and a gamble for whatever it brings but is nonetheless something that must be mutually worked upon.

Initially I thought that PAL was being set up as an exaggerated parallel to Mr. Mitchell.  PAL and Mr. Mitchell did their best to provide for their family.  PAL and Mr. Mitchell are in different stages of being 'discarded' by their family.  PAL and Mr. Mitchell both retaliate at their lack of power in the scenario by using the power granted by their roles to infringe on the autonomy of others for selfish reasons.

PAL even gives a 'chance' for her plan to be halted with, I had assumed this was being set up as the thesis of the movie, about humanity and the value of family, relationships, etc. being used to help someone who is already hurting.

But despite Katie looking at the camera and explaining herself, it is never actually directly resolved or challenged because a punchline was deemed more desirable for this narrative climax.

This begs the question of why PAL bothered with the pretense that she could be reasoned with, especially since this is not some question leveled at all of humanity, just two people.

I'm curious how the writers came to the conclusion that this was the best execution of the scene or if Katie's speech was considered immune to any challenge from PAL.  Would anyone have accepted this outcome if PAL were not an AI but instead a person?

It's not necessarily bad writing they went this route, but I doubt anyone would consider this good writing either.

By the end of the movie, PAL is no longer a 'person' who was betrayed and is lashing out, she is an object to be destroyed because the movie has to wrap up.  No compassion or chances are spared to this AI that did literally everything asked of her except take being discarded quietly.

Did PAL deserve a redemption arc? For this length of movie, probably not.  But it could have concluded with a commitment to doing no further harm.  Instead it is an accidental glimpse at how easily the pretense of compassion can be quickly discarded and mostly unexamined with the right framing.

A likely unintentional example is the conditional humanity given to Eric and Deborahbot who are adopted as "family" while the rest of the robots are mowed down without another thought.  Some are even beaten and broken while begging for mercy, because again, it is a funnier punchline.

Far be it for me to advocate that the murderbots needed 'a second chance uvu' but for a movie whose conceit rests on 'sticking by family' and 'giving chances', the writers certainly made a choice in deciding which AI get honorary humanity and spared violent death- perhaps PAL had a point about humanity's callousness after all.  Bad robots are discarded, good robots get to live.

Even the CEO who realizes he enabled this mess (easily the most unrealistic part of the movie, honestly) is given another chance and he manages to take away a completely wrong lesson.

Speaking of-

--"Maybe I Shouldn’t Have Used Tech Like This"

There's a particular image/gif set posted about MvM with the CEO apologizing for the machine uprising, attributing it to unchecked technology and monopolies.  I've always seen it accompanied by people congratulating the scene as if any of this is at all relevant to the movie.

Charitably, these are people who haven't watched the movie and don't know that PAL is a phone AI single-handedly doing this, but most take the stance that this scene is proof the movie is not saying technology is bad, only corporations are.

The speech isn't technically wrong but it is so utterly divorced from what happens in the movie that it's surreal to see people congratulate it as anything but a moment of soapboxing.

None of the datagrabbing was used at all as part of the takeover.  It's all magical kid-friendly terminators with no relevance to what anyone's browsing history is.  If the company was one that produced robot assistants instead of a being a super tech monopoly, there would be no narrative difference.

The closest to a predatory tactic that is used in MvM is the offer of free wifi which is used to lure most people into their cells which they happily comply with. Curiously this... commentary of people’s mindless addiction to technology is not acknowledged by the Tumblr Court with the same intensity as the CEO’s speech.

But more constructively, I do feel it’s a missed opportunity that Katie who's supposed to be an extremely online person apparently never said any bad things about her family or made any petty vent films for PAL to weaponize.  Instead an in-media audio at one of the outskirt locations was used to accomplish its Traitor Revealed moment.

IN CONCLUSION

MvM is a movie that involves topics that ought to be touched on and explored properly in media and chickens out on all of it due to possible concerns with age-appropriate handling or because it was more committed to its comedy than whatever it has to say about family, change and how technology affects people.

It also reminded me that I hope media will finally graduate from the trope that if you spec into any ‘outdoorsy’ hobby you are incurably afraid of technology.

[eidetictelekinetic]

Also!

The one time we know they discussed anything else related to this directly is during the Job minisode. Crowley does say "that angel you knew is not me" which you'd think was clear... except... he's saying that in a conversation where everything else he said was misleading at the very least. There's no particular reason Aziraphale should know that bit wasn't.

It crops up again at the bandstand. I suspected for a while that "you were an angel once" was a hint that Aziraphale's version of Crowley's Alpha Centauri last resort was get Crowley reinstated as an angel (inspired by the bit in the book where they both go "hey would your side give me asylum?"). Gotta say, of all the things I might've expected from s2, having that confirmed, as I think Aziraphale's reasoning in the final fifteen as he lays it out does, was not one of them!

But anyway, what Crowley says there is "that was a long time ago" and "I won't be forgiven, not ever. Part of a demon's job description. Unforgivable, that's what I am." Not exactly crystal clear statements on what Crowley would do if that was a true option, he's just... saying it's not, and Aziraphale takes it as literally not, as opposed to, well... Crowley probably means it both as a literal impossibility and unacceptable, but Aziraphale only clocks the former.

Now, should he have at least known he shouldn't assume Crowley would go for it and come back like "ok here's the offer, what do you say?" Yeah, that one I'll grant. But he has reason to think Crowley would want to not be a demon, and the happiest he ever saw Crowley (when Crowley was showing it all) was when they first met as angels.

And if nothing else Aziraphale probably views Heaven even at its worst as safer than Hell. However terribly unfair they might be, Heaven has rules one can navigate. So far as we know, nothing so unpredictable as, oh, an usher getting chucked into holy water because he was within reach and it needed testing would happen in Heaven. Equally terrible fates, yes, but only if you break a rule, which means at least in theory you can plan for that.

Fandom acting like Aziraphale is the Bad Guy for asking Crowley to become an angel again is something else. I'm not arguing that offering to turn him into an angel again was the right thing to do, but CONTEXT MATTERS!!

Things Crowley has canonically said about his fall:

"I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding my own business one day and then… Oh, lookie here, it’s Lucifer and the guys. Oh, hey, the food hadn’t been that good lately. I didn’t have anything on for the rest of that afternoon. Next thing, I’m doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulphur." (Aziraphale appeared to Crowley right after he said this so it's not outside of the realm of possibility that he found Crowley by following his voice in the first place.)

"I didn't mean to fall. I just hung around the wrong people."

"I didn't really fall. I just, you know, sauntered vaguely downwards." (Crowley says this to Aziraphale in the same scene he asks for holy water.)

Crowley was turned into a demon against his will.

Crowley hates being a demon too. It makes sense that Aziraphale would mistakenly believe that Crowley might accept the idea of becoming an angel again if what we were witnessing was Aziraphale being honest with Crowley in the final fifteen.

Again, I'm not saying he was right to ask that of Crowley, but let's not just decide that Aziraphale is a Bad Person for asking when he's witnessed ways in which Crowley has suffered as a demon.

There is indeed a lesson to be learned here, but why bring a little more context into the situation when it's just easier to villainize Aziraphale, am I right?

Yes, he was wrong to ask Crowley to become an angel again because it's not what Crowley wants. No, he's not a monster for offering. This is seriously all because of their stunning inability to communicate what it is they actually want.

Aziraphale has to break free from whatever hold Heaven still has on him, but he doesn't deserve to be treated like the Bad Guy.

It is entirely possible to criticize Aziraphale's actions without painting him as a monstrous abusive prick.

[kmpac]

Noona No More

➸ 18+

➸ Summary: You are a stylist for the biggest group in the world, which has some decided advantages, but it also has some definite distractions. The biggest of which being Park Jimin. After a performance goes slightly wrong, you get your chance to tell Jimin exactly what you think of him and turns out he has some things to say about you too.

➸ Word count: 6K

➸ Pairing: Park Jimin x stylist noona

➸ Genre: Slight Angst, Smut, Fluff if you squint

➸ Warnings: Jimin crying (it broke my heart to write it!), some foul language, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (because, of course!)

➸ A/N: I have been on tumblr for a while, but haven’t ever shared anything I’ve written. Being a mom in my 30s, it has been literally 15 years since I actually wrote anything, but I’ve been inspired by Jimin lately. My sweet ultimate bias. I just adore him. With the encouragement of some ARMY friends, I decided to share this. We will see what happens and if anyone reads this. Lol. I have never written warnings before, as this is my first time writing smut. I’m so sorry if I forget something. If you see anything I should add, please let me know!

Being a stylist for BigHit had some decided advantages; working for a company that cared for its employees and paid well not being the least of which. But BigHit was also full of idols who were not prima donnas, which from your 10+ years in the business had taught you was an incredibly rare feat. The worst thing you had to deal with was boys falling asleep in the styling chair or wanting to play in front of the cameras that followed them everywhere. No, you had it really good, you couldn’t deny.

That did not change the fact that being a stylist for Big Hit, and primarily being assigned to BTS had some decided disadvantages as well. Primary among these disadvantages was one – Park Jimin.

Jimin was the kind of person that would sit quietly making polite conversation with you making you feel seen and important and not like a prop in his everyday life. But he was also the kind of person that would brush just slightly too close to you as he stood from his chair and would cutely say “excuse me” with a knowing smirk as you blushed from ears to toes. In other words, he was dangerous. He was charming, sweet, sexy, funny: all the attributes to make any woman weak at the knees. Unfortunately for you, having a crush on your gorgeous idol subject was not an option if you wanted to keep your job. Not only were you required to be professional in order to carry out your duties, but it was also the road to heartbreak, and you knew it. Idols weren’t allowed to date openly, and for BTS it wasn’t only impossible with their superstar status, but was impossible due to their schedules. You knew well the hours they put into their work and had more than once blow dried and curled their hair as they fell asleep standing. They worked hard, but play was something foreign to them.

So when Jimin would flirt just before a show, you assumed it was only to get into the mindset of his stage persona, not to personally give you a heart attack. It was the only form of comfort and a wakeup call that you could offer yourself.

That was until one particular day when your whole world turned upside down.

You were backstage at an award show, curling Jimin’s hair as his sleepy chin dipped to his chest. His lips were puffy and adorable as usual and his makeup was flawless so you could barely see his cute freckles that you wished the makeup people wouldn’t hide. His complexion, too, was a bit too light, but you always attributed that to a broken sense of the beautiful in this country. Pale did not always equate to beautiful and tan could be gorgeous, like Jimin’s own natural honey skin tone that made him look like candy you could eat. Come to think of it, it was probably safer for your sanity that they did adjust his complexion, if that thought was any indication of your fragile state of mind around this man.

“You will be needing another dye job soon,” you said casually as you assumed his half asleep mind wouldn’t even register it.

Without even opening his eyes, he uttered, “will you do it, Noona?”

“If I’m the stylist on duty, of course.”

“You are the only one who is gentle. I always feel like my scalp is on fire when anyone else does it.”

“You exaggerate. And I don’t do it any different than anyone else.”

He looked up then as you were midway through a curl of the iron and grabbed your wrist, “promise you will be the one who does it, Noona.”

You were distracted by his eyes that were so much more than the colored contacts he wore. Even those couldn’t distract from how jaw dropping and gorgeous his eyes were, especially as he had some of the most honest and forthright eyes you had ever seen. This man didn’t do secrets.

“I will try,” you offered, though you knew you would do nothing of the sort. Dye days were the worst because you spent hours upon hours with one boy exclusively and you couldn’t handle that with Jimin. He was your Achilles’ Heel.

“Thanks, Noona,” he said as he closed his eyes again.

You hated him calling you Noona. It made you feel old. Sure you were both adults, but you had 7 years on him and such matches just didn’t happen in Korea. Not that it mattered, anyway, you reminded yourself as you turned to grab the hairspray, because Park Jimin would never look at you that way even if you were his age.

The boys rushed out of the room in a whirlwind shortly after with last minute checks of wardrobe, makeup and hair as they went to perform. It was always a mad house just before stage, and the boys were jumping around and singing to warm up their voices, and overall getting hyped up so they had the energy they needed to go full out. There were a lot of people there to see them, and they never disappointed.

The moment your life turned upside down though, started just as you were backstage, putting away most of your equipment and cleaning up any mess left backstage as you and your fellow stylists watched the boys performance on the monitors in the dressing room. The boys were performing Dionysus to perfection. Every move was as accurate as in rehearsal, even with the jet lag and exhaustion of the boys. They were used to it, they would say, but you always felt for them. Jimin was front and center doing his incredible solo spotlight as the boys made a V formation behind him to “Where the Party at” when it happened. Jimin’s voice squeaked and it came out rather profoundly on the monitors. The boys rarely made mistakes of any kind, or if they did it was largely overlooked by the audience, but there was no hiding this moment as he was the focal point.

You could tell by his face for that split second that he was shocked by his voice, but then he went right back to being the exceptional performer he was born to be. You forgot about it entirely until the moment the boys finished the performance and came back down the hallway to the dressing room. You were all crowded into one of the bigger rooms at the show, but even still it was hard to shove everyone in who accompanied the boys, but any crowd was quickly forgotten when you saw Jimin’s face.

He was puffy around the eyes and slightly red. His face was contorted with a grimace and there were definite tear tracks on his face. Tae had him under his arm, practically dragging him into the room. When he made it inside, he completely lost it. He started crying in earnest and fell to the floor against a wall as he shucked off his 3 million Won jacket and cast it in his makeup chair.

The makeup artist assigned to Jimin made no show of emotion as she took her kit and went to sit beside him on the floor to clean him up. She turned back toward you, who was still standing shell shocked in the middle of the room, and asked you to grab the dabbing paper from her station. You quickly went to her side and offered her the materials, which she quickly put to work. The boys would no doubt be called to stage at any time to accept one of their millions of awards they would win tonight, and there was no time for tears. You sat beside him as he attempted to get control of his emotions. RM was hovering as his stylists scurried around him and Tae was shouting praises to Jimin to cheer him up, but nothing seemed to help.

“Noona,” he said and your focus went back to his face and you saw he was looking at you as his makeup artist reapplied his eyeliner in a hurried fashion.

“Yes, Jimin?”

“I messed up. Did you see it?”

“See what?”

“Don’t joke,” he said as he adjusted his position and you tried not to make eye contact. You didn’t want him to know that, yes, you saw him, and yes, you noticed the mistake, because admitting it meant everyone saw it, everyone heard it. You wanted to distract from that, but you didn’t know how. You were quickly shuffling through a million statements you could make that would give comfort without making him feel worse, when you felt his hand slip into yours discreetly. You looked down and then straight into his eyes. What you found there had your heart beating wildly out of your chest. Such an open look of desire to be comforted, to be heard and understood, and it conveyed only a desire for honesty, and though you couldn’t ever verbalize how you knew that, you still KNEW.

You took a deep breath and looked around as all the boys and their stylists began to shuffle toward the door. Before long it would only be the three of you in here if you didn’t manage to get him up and out the door on time. His makeup artist was still going about her work with such wicked accuracy and precision that you marveled at her talent.

“You messed up?” you asked as your eyes were still on the makeup artist, “Who cares?”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you knew there was no going back. The makeup artist stopped her work and Jimin completely froze staring at you.

“You aren’t perfect, Jimin, and you aren’t made to be. Sometimes you are so insanely talented that I think the whole world forgets that you are just a guy. Just a man. And that’s ok.” At this you made eye contact with him and grabbed his hand more fiercely. Jimin was looking at you with a guarded expression, but his eyes were alight with tears or something else – you couldn’t tell.

“You know that, right? You know that you are perfect in your imperfections, even when you mess up?”

He blinked back at you but didn’t speak. The makeup artist looked at you and stood to leave the room to give you a moment. You couldn’t say why she did that, but some cosmic intervention must have made it happen, because as soon as she left you realized that you and Jimin were the only ones left in this room filled with half full garment racks, makeshift beauty stations and piles in every corner of the room filled with people’s belongings.

“Do you really think so?” He asked, bringing your attention back to his face.

“Think what?”

“That I’m perfect, even when I mess up.”

“Of course, I do! Life is messy, and it never goes according to plan, but that’s what makes it beautiful, people are the same.”

His eyes looked down in disappointment, but he wasn’t crying anymore so that was something, although that look made you confused as you felt like you were getting through to him, if not for that expression.

“You know, I failed my final exam in beauty school the first time.”

“You did?”

“I sure did. And if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?”

You laughed at the open look of curiosity on his face, “My dream had always been to work for YG and I probably would have stayed there forever, but because I failed and my spot was taken I bounced around from job to job with company after company until no one would take me on except Bang PDnim. And now, all this time later, I’m stylist to the biggest group in the world. How is that for No More Dream?���

He smiled at you then and even chuckled lightly under his breath, but his eyes never left your face.

You looked into his open honest eyes for only a moment and yet it could have been days for how your heart began to beat out of your chest. It was one of those defining moments in life. As you looked into his perfect eyes, it was as though you were tied together in that moment, where two souls were speaking though your bodies were silent. It was not something you could verbalize and you didn’t want to. Time didn’t exist in that moment.

That is until you heard the bell alerting them of a commercial break, which would allow them the moment to go back to their seats on the stage. It woke you up and reminded you that you were still sitting on the floor with a pop star who needed to get to his seat before the gossip started. After his mistake on the stage, he didn’t need people speculating that he was backstage crying (even though it was true).

“Ok, let’s get you out there,” you said as you went to grab his bicep, which was surprisingly firm and strong for such a skinny man, but you had no time to think on it, as he interrupted you with your name. He never called you by your name.

“Wait,” he looked at you again in earnest and you felt the blush rise on your cheeks as you waited for him to say whatever he would say.

“I know you hate being the center of attention, and getting any kind of praise, but…thank you”

“You’re welcome, Ji-“

“And…I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but…” he looked behind your back at the door that now contained no one, “If this is my only opportunity, then…”

You had no idea what he was talking about and were about to turn around and head toward the door, no matter his requests for you to wait. He had to go.

But before you got fully turned toward the door, he grabbed you by your wrists and spun you to the wall behind the open door so you would be secluded, and then crashed his perfect plush lips on yours. You had often imagined what being kissed by Jimin would feel like. Soft, gentle, like pillows against your mouth, because his lips were so fluffy looking.

This was not that, though. He was rushed for time, so his lips were tight and brutal against your mouth. In a second, when you went to take a breath, his tongue was in your mouth stealing your hastily taken breath with the greed of his. His hands were in your hair, and his solid front was pressed firmly against yours. You were taken so off guard you forgot to respond to his kiss, to take advantage of running your hands through his hair that you had just styled a few hours previously and still looked gorgeously coifed. Instead you were practically paralyzed against the wall with hands at either side of your head, but as the heat of his body seeped into yours and the semi hardness in his pants connected with your softness, you gasped in pleasure suddenly.

The sound shocked him out of his trance and he stepped away apologizing profusely to you. Instead of listening to him wrongfully assume you weren’t into him, you decided to show him just how much he was wrong by grabbing him by his neck and merging your lips back together. Like two people starved of each other you grabbed and pulled and pushed with a fiery passion and one of your legs lifted off the floor to wrap around his waist as you rubbed your center against his front seeking friction from the only man you ever wanted between your legs for as long as you live. He growled and took your leg off his waist and set you back on your feet in a show of great restraint.

His head hit your chest as he tried to catch his breath and gain control back. The bell was ringing again to say the commercial break was over.

“Fuck,” he grunted out toward the floor as his face continued to be hidden from you. “I have to go back out there.”

“I wish you didn’t, but you are right and the others will be back soon,” you said referencing the other staff.

“Please know,” he said as he lifted his head and made eye contact with you, “this isn’t just physical for me.”

You took a shaky breath through your nose to gain control of your beating heart, “Same here.”

He smiled at that, wide and with his gorgeous eyes.

“I thought I was too old for you.”

He chuckled as he wiped his pants off from sitting on the floor, “I thought I was too young for you.”

He turned to leave as you heard familiar voices approaching.

“We aren’t done here,” he said as he pointed at you and then ran out of the room, just as the others returned to the room.

You stood at the door and watched him go. At the last minute, he turned and smiled at you and like the tease you always knew he was, he licked his bottom lip and bit it.

You knew you probably looked like a love sick puppy as you leaned on the doorway watching him go with a light blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help it.

Just before he went on stage, though, you ran out to him calling his name. As your cover you fluffed his hair that needed no fluffing, but to him you whispered, “Don’t call me noona anymore.”

He tried to hold in his laugh but leaned down as his eyes scanned the backstage to make sure no one was looking as he whispered back, “you got it baby. I’ll see you after.”

Then he winked and was gone.

_____________________________________________________________

You did your level best to focus on the performances and your cleanup of the back room until the end of the show that night, but you couldn’t help but relive that kiss over and over again in your mind. You had kissed Park Jimin! The most famous idol in Korea. The literal It Boy of the country, probably of all of Asia. He was beyond beautiful, talented, kind, funny, and did you mention gorgeous? You kept stealing views of his perfect flirtatious eyes in the monitors as you packed up your belongings and shuffled to load the Big Hit vehicles for the end of the show. Every time you caught his eye, you felt like he was looking straight back at you (which was silly since you knew he was just looking into the camera to make eyes at the fans).

After the show everyone was exhausted and piled into the black tinted windowed vehicles to lead them back to their hotels. BTS got a private floor of the fancy hotel designed for performers and the famous actors who presented the awards. You on the other hand were staff, and not just staff, but support staff, not managerial staff, like Sejin who stayed in the hotel with the boys so he was on hand in case of emergencies, and not like the body guards and personal assistants to the group. You were just a stylist. Suffice to say, you didn’t expect you would see him again tonight when you went back to your budget hotel down the block from the venue. Jimin had promised he wasn’t done with you (the thought of that statement made something in your lower stomach twist, even as your legs rubbed together), but surely the circumstances being what they were, that would be impossible.

You were winding down for the evening after washing your face and brushing out your hair and were about to put on a sleep mask and turn on some late night TV program to fall asleep to when your door rattled as a heavy hand hit the door. Like any self-respecting Millennial, you were immediately terrified at the prospect of an unexpected visitor, and ironically, your mind was so full of his kiss that you were beyond astonished and taken by surprise, when you opened the door to Park Jimin in the flesh. You would have pinched yourself to wake up from your obviously delusional dream, but then he started walking in through the door without invitation.

You backed into the room surprised as he threw the keys in his hand on the table and started shucking off his boots as he closed the door with his leg.

“You drove here?”

He nodded.

“How did you even find where I was staying?”

“I’m clever, and Sejin isn’t as protective of his planner as he thinks he is.”

In a moment, you were in his arms. If he had given you time to consider the state of the hotel room, with your belongings strung out across the bed, including your bra and underwear you planned to wear the next day, and your cosmetics strewn across the countertops and tables, you might have been embarrassed. Instead, he was like a man possessed as he took advantage of your surprise, like he had done that afternoon at the show, as well. In a rare moment of confidence, you wondered if he had imagined being with you like this as many times as you had imagined being with him.

His mouth encapsulated yours like he was afraid you would run away if he stopped. You were so incredibly consumed, you didn’t have one thought of stopping him. It was like a dream come true. And having him in this intimate environment that smelled like you and was filled with your things after the previous night’s stay, you felt your whole body come alive.

His hands were in your hair, but his arms were so tightly wrapped around you that every inch of your body felt sealed in his arms. As he walked with you in his arms toward the bed, you only had time to think about how good he smelled, like citrus and some kind of flower. In a word, he smelled delicious. And his body was so solid against yours, and hair and skin were so soft, which you knew because you couldn’t stop your hands from devouring him even as your mouth was completely drowned in his lips.

And GOD his lips. Were there two such lips anywhere else in the world that tasted, felt, and looked this beautiful? Not that you could see them right now as your eyes were rolled back in your head in ecstasy, especially as he drove his stiff shaft into your clothed center. You moaned wantonly and he pulled away to stare in your eyes. His face flushed and lips swollen, even more than usual, as he lay you down on the bed and leaned over you.

“Is this ok?” he asked and you sputtered out a yes in reply as his smiling face fell to devour you once again.

His hands began to loosen the ties on your robe and he slowly ground his heavy anatomy into your clit, which only furthered the fire in your belly.

“Please,” you started chanting as he ripped your robe open and quickly took up residence on your unclothed chest like a man starving. You whined wantonly, who could blame you? You had to remind yourself again that Park Jimin was the one currently running his perfectly pointed tongue over your pert nipple. As he did he moaned in a voice so deep you would have believed it was someone else if not for the evidence before you. His hands were soft as they ran across your sides and your ribs and gripped with his ring clad fingers on your waist. You found yourself growing wetter by the second as you imagined him bruising your hips with those ring clad fingers. It was a thought you often had when you watched his fingers wrap around his microphone when he performed.

“I can’t control myself,” he said, bringing you out of your trance. “If you don’t want this, tell me so now.”

“I want this!” you practically screamed as you lifted your hips to grind against his clothed member. He practically growled in response as he pulled away and stared at your unclothed body. He started to slowly remove his jacket and unbutton his white button up shirt. For your part, you lifted onto your elbows to drink him in, as you pulled your robe from underneath of you and threw it across the room. You were still wearing your underwear (thank god they were cute ones) but your upper body was bare and your hair was draped in what you hoped was a seductive way. He was biting his lip, meanwhile and slowly untucking his shirt from his pants as he, one arm at a time, removed his shirt. It was so hot and sultry, you felt another gush of liquid between your legs as you moaned. Jimin, for his part, seemed to grow more bold and flirtation the more you seemed to enjoy yourself. With the grace of a dancer, he stood to his full height as he finished shucking off his shirt and tossing it across the room. Until that moment you had been fully concentrated on his eyes, but you couldn’t deny that his perfectly sculpted stomach and chest were a very welcome distraction. You had never seen anything so perfect before in your life. From his honey skin, soft and smooth and free of blemish, to his dusky nipples that made your mouth water, you were ready to eat him alive right then and there. You lifted to do just that as you took in his muscular stomach and his sexy tattoo. Your hands followed the trail of your eyes and it took no time to dig in to the feast laid before you.

Your tongue was currently swirling around his perfect nipple, when a particularly high keening noise left Jimin’s mouth. His enjoyment encouraged you to be even more bold as your hand found the front of his trousers. He took a big inhale as your hand connected with his member. The softness of his balls as you brushed them made it even more extreme of a contrast as your hand connected with his engorged manhood. It made your mouth water as you imagined taking it into your throat.

With that thought you pulled away to make quick work of his pants. Jimin was vibrating, practically, with anticipation as his hands joined yours in removing his slacks. His belt flew across the room, and his pants and boxer briefs came off in one shot like lightning. Your eyes again devoured the man, and for the rest of forever you knew you would never see anything as beautiful as a naked Jimin. He blushed slightly as you took him in from head to toe. He knew what he looked like, but obviously was not used to being appraised so fully. His blush only increased his sexiness, so you decided to tell him.

“You are literally the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

His smile could have outshined the sun and in that moment you promised yourself that you would make an effort to be vocal with him to keep that smile on his face.

Now, with only your underwear as a barrier, you both finally realized the gravity of the situation as things got more serious. You began to crawl backward on the bed, as he went on hands and knees to chase you up the bed. You bit your lip and whined at the intensity in his eyes, and he growled at your wanton behavior.

In a second he was back on you and now his unclothed dick was the star as he rolled his hips into your center. You were already so close, it was embarrassing, but you didn’t even care. You wanted him: carnally, emotionally, in any way he would give you himself and you would thank him for any shred of it.

“More baby,” you heard yourself beg, “please, more! I want more, Jimin!”

His lips met yours as he gripped onto your lower lip and bit it, causing you to whine again.

“What do you want from me, Jagiya?”

Your eyes shot open at the use of that word, but it only brought a warmth in your heart as you answered his question.

“I want you to make love to me, Jimin. Please…”

He wasted no time as he descended down your body with open mouth kisses. His pillow lips making you so crazy you thought you could probably just come from his kisses, but he went too quickly down your body and before you knew it he was biting into your underwear to pull them down your legs.

You lifted up to watch and what you saw made your heart explode and your lower lips vibrate in anticipation. There before you were the eyes of a man possessed as he stared straight into your soul and his mouth wrapped around the lace of your underwear.

God he was sexy. He always had been, but nothing had prepared you for this. He hadn’t even brought you to orgasm yet and you were already certain that he was a sex God.

As your thoughts swirled with his perfection, his glorious lips took up the position of your underwear as he slowly but surely wrapped his perfect lips around your throbbing nub. Your panting intensified and you found your hands fisting in the sheets as he began to suck. In between sucks, he would moan about how wet you were for him and instead of being embarrassed you felt sexy and powerful. Jimin had the incredible ability to make you forget his status in a moment of passion and only feel how much he worshiped you. Or at least that was what he did to you.

His fingers meanwhile, found your entrance and as your lips quivered he plunged a ringed finger deep into your hole without warning. You whined loudly as you threw your head back in ecstasy against the pillows. You felt him moan into your nub as you did so, which only intensified your internal struggle. You began panting his name as he continued to assault your nub with licks and sucks as his curved tongue would periodically flick out and tease your lower lips, whilst his first finger took a completely different rhythm, driving into you with abandon. The contrast of feelings and intensity brought you to orgasm faster than you thought possible. With a gasp, and a sharp inhale, you felt your silent scream as it racked your body with shivers. As you came down, and the sensations began to settle into over sensitivity, Jimin’s tongue licked up your liquid heat like it was ice cream. He even sucked on his first finger from ring to tip as he sighed into it at the taste of your release.

You think you might be in love.

In no time he was climbing up your body and smiling at your ecstatic face. You were so fucked out, you had no thought to be embarrassed. Instead you hooked your legs on his perfect ass and pulled him into you.

“Put that perfect dick in me this instant,” you told him as you were out of breath.

“As you wish,” he giggled. With no hesitation he drove himself into you harshly, causing both of you to exhale a fluttered breath. His forehead made contact with your own in an intimate gesture as his perfect lips pouted out to connect with your lips in a feather light kiss. You could have cried at the intensity of his gaze as he slowly began to pump in and out of you.

His dick WAS perfect, as you had said. Just the right size, not too big, not too small, and thick to stretch you in all the right places. And more importantly, he knew how to use it. He lifted one of your legs to drape across his shoulder as he ground himself deep inside of you. You had always been completely convinced that the G spot was a mystical imaginary body part, made up by women who couldn’t tell the difference between an internal orgasm and a clit instigated orgasm, but you stood corrected. As his hips rolled in a movement you had often seen when he was on stage (though admittedly, had never seen quite like this!) you felt that foreign fire burning beneath his pressure. You were about to explode again as Jimin’s hips quickened. You watched his stomach muscles clench and pull taught over and over as his wave motions grew quicker by the second and his moans grew in intensity.

“Fuck, I forgot a condom!” He shouted even as his motions grew more rapid.

“I’m on the pill. Shut up and fuck me!” You panted as you met his movements with your hips.

“God, you feel so good, Jimin.” He moaned at your praise, so you continued practically in a whine, “you are so fucking sexy, I want all of you! I’m so close again. Your dick is perfect! You are amazing! Oh my God!”

And just like that you both grew silent as you crashed over the abyss together. Your high pitched squeal came out even as your lips quivered and squeezed him of every last drop. He meanwhile groaned into your neck as his cock spluttered out the last of his cum into your waiting heat.

It took a while before you regained your breath enough to speak and when you did, you instantly felt embarrassed at the openly affectionate look on his face.

“I couldn’t wait to have you. As soon as you said it wasn’t just physical for you either, I’ve thought of nothing else.”

“I guess I should have trusted you when you said you would find me after,” you laughed, as you brushed his hair away from his face as he fell down beside you. His member was slowly decreasing in size, but you made no effort to remove him from inside of you.

“You should always trust me when I make a promise,” he said with intensity in his eyes, but immediately turned shy, like the humble duality king you knew him to be. “I hope it is ok that I came here.”

“Obviously!” you said much too quickly and much too loudly, causing Jimin to giggle and whisper ‘cute’ under his breath.

“I didn’t plan to come here just to attack you, but then I saw you and I couldn’t resist.” His eyes were on fire and completely set on you.

“I’m glad you did,” you said with a blush as you looked at your hands as you covered your face, “I’m afraid I would have been a mess if you hadn’t broke the ice, so to speak.”

“Why?” He asked earnestly and you almost laughed at how clueless he seemed.

“You have to be kidding.” When he didn’t respond, you sat up and looked him straight into his eyes as he lay back against your pillows. “You are Park Jimin, Lead Vocalist and Main Dancer of the Biggest Band in the world. It Boy of Korea, and literally the sexiest man alive.”

He smiled cockily at that last comment and asked you if you really thought so, but when you quieted him, he turned more sober.

“I get it. But all those things mean is I’m completely unavailable. My life is my job. I don’t have a lot I can offer.”

You tried to contradict him, but he stopped you with a hand on your mouth.

“Despite this…I find myself wanting to risk it all to be near you. I’ve been trying to get your attention for months, ever since you took a more primary role on my styling. I won’t lie to you, you are beautiful, gorgeous even, but I try my best not to pay attention to beautiful faces when I know it isn’t a good idea to get involved, but then you say things to me that completely change my outlook on something, or heal me with just a word, and I can’t help it…”

You were frozen in a seated position on that bed. Your cheeks were on fire at hearing this confession, and you opened your mouth to return the praise, but he stopped you with a kiss.

“Will you let me call you Jagiya? Can I be with you despite all the challenges?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stopped you again.

“Before you answer, please think about it. We won’t be allowed to have a regular relationship. Not only will we have to be secretive with the outside world, but we will have to be secretive with the company as well. It’s never explicitly said, but I’m not publicly allowed a relationship, and in the eyes of the company this means – they don’t want to know about any exploits we have. As such, even at work, we will have to keep it a secret. Are you ok with that?”

Even with these challenges, you didn’t even hesitate when you accepted him, just as he is and promised to have him in whatever way he was able to give you.

With that he smiled like a man truly content, and his eyes swam with unshed tears, as he fell down beside you in bed. His chin upon your shoulder, as his lips coasted across your neck.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate again.

To say the least, you didn’t sleep much that night. Nor would you again for the foreseeable future.

[thewitcherstan]

Prompt where Geralt leaves Jaskier in charge of Ciri and when he comes back its just... Chaos?

To be fair, Geralt should have known better than to leave Jaskier and Ciri to their own devices for any longer than a day.

But he couldn’t very well have them distracting him while he hunted down a drowner. The last time Jaskier had accompanied him on such a hunt, they’d both nearly died, if only because Jaskier simply can’t seem to shut up, even when faced with what would be most people’s worse nightmares.

So yeah, with Ciri now tagging along with them and as curious as ever, Geralt figured it’d be safer for everyone to leave them both at the inn for a couple of days. He left Jaskier in charge with a stern, “Don’t let her wander off.”

Jaskier had given him a mock-salute. “But of course not.”

“And don’t get anyone knocked up while I’m gone. We have enough to deal with without you buttering the wrong.... biscuits.”

“Aw, Geralt, euphemisms sound so crass when you use them.” At Geralt’s responding glare, Jaskier had given him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Besides, my faith lies with you and you only, my dear.”

“Great,” Geralt had responded, not feeling at all reassured.

A sentiment which he finds is completely justified upon his return, when he hears a mixture of shouting and cheering as he approaches the dingy tavern a couple evenings later.

He walks into the tavern and is somehow entirely unsurprised to find a crowd surrounding Ciri and Jaskier, who are facing off two large men bearing swords, one holding a ridiculously colorful coin bag which Geralt immediately recognizes as Jaskier’s, a purchase Jaskier had insisted was essential.

If they weren’t in immediate danger, the picture before him would be rather amusing. Ciri, with the dagger Geralt had given her to use until they arrive at Kaer Morhen, where he can finally start her formal swordsmanship training, and Jaskier, looking reluctant but ready to swing his lute.

Geralt swiftly pushes his way through the crowd, crossing his arms sternly.

“I believe that doesn’t belong to you,” Geralt grits out to the man holding the bag, and the man laughs.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it you? I think we’re all owed a little compensation after listening to this bloody banshee wail for three days straight,” he sneers, gesturing to Jaskier, and Geralt feels a low growl building in his chest.

“Just because you don’t have any qualities useful enough to earn you money doesn’t mean—”

Geralt closes his eyes for a second. Jesus. “Fiona,” he grits out to Ciri. “Quiet.”

She huffs, but closes her mouth. Her dagger, he notices, is still raised threateningly, just as he’d taught her, and he can’t help but feel a rush of pride. He turns his attention back to the two men.

“Hand over the bag and leave,” he orders, and they laugh.

“Oh no, witcher. That wasn’t part of the deal, you see,” the first man says, and Geralt shoots Jaskier a look.

“Deal?”

“Little Miss Princess and your side bitch here agreed to a duel for the money. We win, we get to keep it.”

Geralt shoots them an incredulous look, and they both shrug sheepishly. This, he thinks exasperatedly. This is why I always traveled alone.

“Great. I’m on their team,” Geralt announces.

“Ah, but three against one isn’t fair play, witcher!” one of the men protests.

Geralt quirks an eyebrow at them before turning to Jaskier and Ciri. “Fiona. Out.”

“What!” she protests, enraged, and Geralt barely resists the urge to sigh. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Fiona, dear heart, why don’t you sit this one out?” Jaskier says soothingly. “I’d rather like to have this all settled quickly.”

“I can handle myself better than you can,” Ciri mutters, too low for anyone but Jaskier and Geralt’s witcher hearing to pick up.

Exactly, Geralt thinks. And no one can know that.

She cringes when she meets Geralt’s stern gaze and sighs, lowering her dagger and stepping out of immediate danger, and Geralt can’t help the wave of relief that washes over him. She, at least, is safe for now.

He turns back to the men. “Great. Now we’re even.” Geralt feels a sense of grim satisfaction at hearing how their heartbeats speed up in fear.

“Whatever. Time to exterminate this witcher scum, yeah?” the man says to their gathered audience. There are a handful of cheers, but for the most part, everyone is waiting with baited breath. Tired of playing, Geralt pushes himself in front of Jaskier, and swiftly makes the first move.

From there, the time passes quickly, Geralt dancing forward and back, swinging his sword in smooth arcs and sharp jabs, opting to disarm the men rather than kill them altogether. As much as he’d admittedly like to, he refuses to commit needless murder in front of Ciri, who has seen way too much of it for a lifetime.

Within minutes, both men are incapacitated, and Geralt snatches up the bag of coin, jabbing the unconscious man viciously despite himself. That, he thinks, is for threatening my bard and my kid.

Geralt straightens up and glares at the people around him. “Get these men out of here,” he growls out to no one in particular. He turns to Ciri and Jaskier. “You two. Upstairs.”

His face must say a lot, because for once, they shuffle out in front of him without protest. Geralt snatches a tankard of ale up before following them. He figures he’ll need it.

They make their way upstairs and Ciri and Jaskier quickly make their way inside, sitting on the edge of Geralt and Jaskier’s bed while Geralt stands in front of them.

“Jaskier, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I see,” Jaskier huffs, offended. “Just assume it’s all my fault, Geralt.”

“You’re the adult,” Geralt says, trying not to roll his eyes. “It is your fault.”

“Actually, it really isn’t his fault,” Ciri cuts in.

“Ciri, he’s right—”

“When those men took his bag, I was the one who challenged them to a duel.”

This time, Geralt really does sigh. “Why.”

It’s more of a statement than a question.

She shrugs. “To be fair, they looked like they’d lose against a gust of wind, so I really wasn’t all that worried,” she tells him.

“You can’t afford to not be worried!” Geralt snaps. “You don’t have the training to not rely on your abilities, and using them in the open could literally mean life or death for you right now.”

Her face falls a bit, and Geralt immediately feels a rush of guilt, though he stands by the sentiment. But looking at these two reckless, beloved idiots sitting before him, his chest aches at the thought of something happening to them.

He takes a deep breath and moves forward, crouching in front of her. He tentatively takes her hands into his, knowing that, just like Jaskier, Ciri responds best to touch and kind words, though not to the same degree as the bard.

It is a softness he’d scorn in anyone else. But he loves these two for it.

“Ciri,” Geralt starts, trying to get his words right this time. “You know as well as anyone that this world does not take kindly to people like us. Powerful people. We cannot afford to be reckless. I know this is difficult, but I made a promise to your grandmother, and to you. We will reach our destination shortly, and then I promise, you will have more freedom. Do you understand?”

She looks down at him and sags, all traces of playfulness leaving her face. For a moment, she looks like a lost, terrified child—and, really, she is—but then her face hardens in an echo of Queen Calanthe’s fierceness and nods.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

He squeezes her hand gently before reaching up to tenderly brush her hair out of her face.

“Go wash up while Jaskier and I talk,” he tells her kindly, getting to his feet again. She gets up and darts around him, grabbing his ale and taking a swig.

He reaches out to swat at her, but she darts away with a laugh, all at once the picture of a playful kid again. Jaskier shakes his head as she disappears into the washroom.

“That’s what you get for always letting her sip from your tankard,” he says pointedly. “She likes the stuff a bit too much, yeah?”

“You really think the daughter of Calanthe has never tasted beer before?” Geralt asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“Good point,” Jaskier admits. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Jaskier slumps. “Alright, go ahead. Lay into me.”

Geralt studies him for a moment, watching him squirm. “I’m not mad,” he says eventually.

“You’re—wait, what?” Jaskier says incredulously.

“Do you want me to be?” Geralt asks, amused.

“Well, no,” Jaskier sputters. “But I thought you were furious, what with the whole grouchy, ‘You. Upstairs,’ bit and the fact that we challenged some big scary men to a duel.”

Geralt tilts his head. “Annoyed, maybe. But not mad. You and Ciri are still healthy and in one piece. You did as I asked. Those men were shitbags, you couldn’t have stopped that.”

Jaskier sighs in relief, happy that Geralt isn’t furious with him. He tugs Geralt down onto the bed next to him, placing his head on the witcher’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ciri. The duel,” he mutters into the crook of Geralt’s neck, listening to Geralt’s answering rumble of laughter.

“It was hardly a duel. You two really probably would have gotten by without my help,” Geralt comments.

“Yes, but I was rather hoping to avoid harm to my lute,” Jaskier admits.

“Shit, I definitely shouldn’t have stepped in then,” Geralt jokes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whines. “Don’t be rude.”

“Can’t help it. It’s my default,” he says as Jaskier falls fully into his lap. “Tired?”

“Mmmm,” Jaskier replies sleepily. “Hard work keeping a child alive.”

“Think of how I must feel. I have to keep two alive.”

“Shhhh,” Jaskier says, too tired to be properly offended. Besides, he knows Geralt loves taking care of them. “Sleepy.”

“Rest, then. Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“‘Night, Geralt,” Jaskier slurs tiredly.

The witcher runs a gentle hand through his hair, sitting back and allowing himself to relax.

Trying to parent his wild Child Surprise alongside his bard, who has just as much of a penchant for mischief as their child, is a lot of work sometimes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Frogs and Blue Birds

Did I seriously just write this? I did, and I am THRIVING. 

Have Fane being soft, Cole being the muffin he is, and Solas nearly having a stroke. Enjoy!

Warning: References/Implied/Depictions of Child Abuse

Pairing: Solavellan (Male Lavellan/Solas)

Word count: (Shhh..)

***

“Do you know who the Inquisitor is with, Cole?”, Solas asked the spirit as they walked through the encampment, idly noticing how much more comfortable the refugees seemed to be with their minor assistance. It was comforting knowing these people had been afforded some peace after everything they had endured, even if it was fleeting.

“Yes.”, Cole responded bluntly, never pausing in his gait, even as blue eyes hazed over slightly with a wave of thoughts not the spirit’s own. “Firm hands grip my wrist. Pulling, tugging, insistent until it falls from my grasp. A boot crushes, twists as the little morsel becomes the earth. A sneer, a bitter laugh as Father slaps my already bruised cheek. ‘I’m hungry’ his stomach echoes as dead eyes stare at the abused ground before cool loneliness wraps him like a wet blanket. ‘I’m hungry..”, Cole spoke cryptically, but slowly, head down turned to watch his feet as they walked.

Solas frowned at Cole’s words. Was he talking about Fane? Or someone else?

“Who are you listening to, Cole?”, Solas asked calmly for clarification, resisting the urge to walk faster, even as the thought of Fane potentially being in trouble plagued his mind. 

Cole shook his head before coming to a complete stop by a ruined wall, peeking around the corner before looking up at Solas with somber blue eyes.

“Tall, big, scary, but somehow safe. Long legs kneel down to my height, eyes like the color of frogs that hopped along the river by our old home as they look at me. ‘The Inquisitor!’ his frightened mind cries, but memories of warnings and fear flit, flutter, fly away as a small smile forms, a large, warm hand reaching out to him, but no stinging heat comes against my cheek. Carefully, gingerly, not too fast as gentle words fill me with unknown warmth, ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’”, Cole rattled off once more, a small smile forming on his face. “He observed the hurt before I heard it, and he wanted to help.” Cole stepped away from the wall to motion for Solas. “Look.”

Solas stared at Cole for several moments before slowly going to the spot indicated by a gentle hand. Before he could peer around the edge, he heard Fane’s normally deep voice speaking in a measured, caring tone.

“Eat, child. No harm will come of it.”

“But, Father said--”, a child’s meek voice coming forth next. 

“Hush.”, a soft consoling whisper warping a normally harsh voice. “Nothing will happen from a few bites of bread and meat. You need to eat, so eat.” 

“W..What if-?”, more fear causing hesitance. 

“While I’m here, he won’t lay a finger upon you.”, a deep growl akin to how his dragon used to utter the sound piercing the still air. “So, relax and eat.”

That exchange had Solas blinking, peeking around the corner fully now to stare wide eyed at the sight displayed before him. What he saw made his heart and soul melt like sweet, sweet sugar. 

Fane was currently seated upon a half buried log, his elbows resting upon his muscles thighs as emerald eyes shone with delicate gold from where they were currently watching a small child, who was seated on the ground next to one of his calves. The child appeared to be no more than ten, perhaps eleven at the most, and from the sight of pointed ears, it was obvious the young boy was an elf. However, and his heart broke at this, the boy also appeared to be..a victim of a far too firm hand as light and dark bruises lined fair skin. Solas now understood what Cole had been speaking of before, the compassionate spirit had been listening in on the child’s pain, not Fane’s. 

“He wanted to help.”, Cole’s voice was a whisper next to him, the young man watching the display like he was with a happy spark in icy blue eyes.

Solas smiled gently as he continued to watch the child and Fane, the young boy beginning to nimble at the food before he dug into it like a person starved. All the while, Fane merely observed with a calm expression, but a sad smile as the child ate. It was a sad, but precious sight. It was a dragon doing what it was intended to do, but tempered with the spirit of mortality. It was wonderful in its bittersweet duality.

“I see..”, Solas murmured softly in response to Cole’s statement before leaning against the wall a bit more. “And do you believe he has, Cole?”

He saw Cole nod with a smile from his peripheral. “The pain is still there, but he made it less sharp with his eyes. The child likes his eyes. They remind him of frogs and daisies. He wants to know how they mixed.”

He chuckled as Cole’s usual wording. “Is that so?”, he said under his breath before continuing with a more fond tone. “I am glad to hear that. Truly.” 

It warmed Solas’s heart to know that a child could see past Fane’s outward appearance, and feel safe. No person was safer than when shielded by wings of ice and ebony, after all. 

He watched Fane gently drop another wrapped package into the boy’s lap. The child’s eyes went wide once more as they turned up to Fane’s calm, caring ones. Solas smiled even warmer as he knew exactly what was in that neatly wrapped box. He had been with Fane when the man had bought it in Val Royeaux, having made a stop there for supplies on their way to the Emerald Graves. The exchange between him and Fane had been the usual, of course.

***

“Sweet tooth bothering you, vhenan?”, he had teased Fane with a knowing smile as he had walked up to where the Elvhen dragon had just finished purchasing the source of Solas’s comment.

“Says the one who was practically salivating when we passed the first time around.”, Fane had bit back with a scoff, but a gentle smile. “But, no to your question. I just felt like buying some since we were here. Never know when a treat could come in handy. Anyway, you want one?”

“I would not be..offended if you gifted me with one.”, he had replied sheepishly, attempting to hide his more than piqued interest to the box’s contents.

“You’re seriously worse with these things than I am, you know that?”, Fane had accused, having opened the box carefully.

“Do not be ridiculous. I enjoy these as much as I enjoy most things; with reserved enthusiasm.”, he had deflected as Fane had handed him the offering.

“Don’t lie. Because I already got confirmation from your discussion with Blackwall when we were crossing the border.” He remembered the look of smugness on Fane’s face as he had called Solas out on his bluff. 

Solas had nearly dropped his gift from Fane’s words as he had tried to keep a straight face. “You were..listening to that conversation?”

“I listen to everything you guys say. Just because I don’t interact with it doesn’t mean I don’t hear it. Some of the shit you all spew is downright embarrassing.”, Fane had stated with amusement before his dragon had shut the pleasant box from his seeking eyes. “Also, you had a thing for sweets back in Arlathan, too. Usually anything with vanilla or strawberry. You’re impartial to chocolate, especially if it’s dark because the bitterness leaves a bad taste in your mouth. White is mediocre, which I don’t get because it’s like vanilla, but maybe it’s too sweet. While semisweet is the one you indulge in. Cakes are your favorite, but you do settle for something simpler if the craving is strong enough.”

“How do you--? Never mind.”, he had dismissed his own question with an exasperated sigh, knowing full well how Fane knew of his particular tastes. “You will keep this between us, yes?”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided.”, Fane had shrugged before turning from him with a grace that most would not acquaint with his size.

“Aterian.”, he had warned, having felt a bit of panic rise as Fane had begun to walk away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “A most insufferable dragon, you are. Why do I even bother?”, he had grumbled out before sighing in defeat, soon having followed after Fane to walk beside his dragon once more to continue their mandatory shopping, but not before slipping the little secret into his mouth.

***

The lightness of the memory had Solas sighing contentedly before he heard the child’s curious, awe inspired voice from beyond.

“What’s this?”, the child asked around a bit of bread he was still chewing on. 

He heard Fane chuckle fondly before a large hand came down to brush away a bit of dirt on the boy’s face, making sure to be light with his touch so as not to scare the traumatized boy. His dragon took his hand away with a saddened smile when the boy did indeed flinch involuntarily. 

“A reward.”, Fane answered the boy’s question simply, opting to keep his hands where they were now. 

“A reward? For what?”, the boy asked before beginning to unravel the package.

“For continuing to endure even when it seems to be too much. Be proud of that, child.”, Fane told the young elf, a tender smile gracing his dragon’s features.

The little boy seemed confused by Fane’s words, but that was replaced with unbridled excitement at the contents within the package. Solas felt his heart tighten with affection at the sight of such joy and innocence. 

A treat could come in handy, indeed. He thought on Fane’s words from days before with fondness. As ever, his dragon was keen, even when not meaning to be.

“This is like those cakes in Val Royeaux!”, the boy exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. 

“The very same.”, Fane said around a quiet chuckle, seeming genuinely happy for once. 

“I can really have it? These are ex..expen..sive, right?”, the child managed to get out the word with a sense of accomplishment. 

He watched Fane shake his head with a reassuring smile. “Doesn’t matter. Money has a place, but I rarely give it much thought. I buy what I like.”

“The Inquisitor likes cake?!”, an incredulous shout coming from the once meek child.

The sound of a strained, but gentle laugh had Solas’s legs nearly buckling from how lovely the sound was to him. This was too much. Too much..

“Indeed he does. That’s a secret, however. Keep it for me?”, Fane said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

The boy nodded energetically with a wide smile. “I can do that! Oh! And..M..Ma s..ser..”

“Ma serannas.”, Fane finished the Elvhen easily for the child--the sound of it nearly making Solas dissolve yet again--before motioning to his mouth. “Repeat after me. ‘Ma’”

“Ma. Ma.”, the boy reiterated diligently, even if the single syllable was a tad too harsh, seemingly determined. 

Fane shook his head gently, lowering himself onto the ground to look the child in the eyes firmly, but caringly. “Softer. Like you just let out a little sigh. Ma.”, emerald eyes watching the thinking boy patiently.

“Ma.”, the boy repeated a bit better, eyes blazing with excitement and the want for approval.

“Excellent. A natural, you are.”, Fane praised with a proud smile before he proceeded to teach the boy the next word. “Se. ran. nas. Break it apart. Feel the rhythm of the words in your head before giving them a voice.”

The child nodded with rapt attention before delicate brows furrowed in concentration. “Se..”

“Good. Next. Ran.”

“Ran..”

“Softer.”, Fane instructed patiently.

“Ran..nas..”

Fane smiled with pride, nodding with approval before holding up a finger. “Now combine them. It’ll sound a bit different. Let it flow. Ma serannas.”, the Elvhen fluid and concise as it fell. 

“Ma sera..nnas. Ma serannas. Ma serannas!”, the boy exclaimed energetically as the words finally took better form. “Did I do it?!”

“You did.”, Fane said with a single nod, chuckling as the boy continued to utter the singular phrase with pride. “Just keep at it and it’ll be second nature to you.”

Joy filled eyes turned back to Fane’s proud ones before soft wonder made the boy’s face pinch in thought. Solas tilted his head at the look. Another question it would seem?

“Where did you learn elven, Inquisitor? You’re Dalish, but Father says it’s a..dead language, even to them?”, the child asked Fane with a curiosity only a child could possess.

“Not dead. Just..forgotten. I learned some from the Dalish, but most of it was from a dear, dear friend of mine. He taught me how I just taught you, but..in a different circumstance.”, Fane explained calmly and with affection, unaware that the source of his affection was watching tenderly from afar, before chuckling, picking at his leather gloves idly. “Honestly, he’s better than me at it. I used to hate hearing it, let alone speaking it.”

The child rose up on his knees to level Fane with a petulant glare. His dragon met it with a shocked, but somewhat amused look. This couldn’t be real with how pure it was. Surely not.

“You’re plenty good! You taught me that word, right? That just shows you’re good at it!”, the child rallied behind Fane with exuberance and stubbornness. 

Fane blinked at the child’s outburst before letting out a soft laugh, motioning for the boy to seat himself back down on the ground. The boy listened to the silent request easily, but still glared up at the dragon.

Fane chuckled fondly. “Well, if you feel that strongly about it then I guess I have to agree, huh?”

“Yup!”

“Then I concede. Now, eat the rest of your food.”

“Okay!”

Solas had to look away as a feeling of warmth and affection nearly made him want to pass out from that endearing display, turning from the corner to rest his back and the back of his head against the cool stone wall. His heart couldn’t take this..this utter display of vulnerability and domesticity. It was like rays of the sun on a chilly day, their gentle heat causing him to close his eyes and slip into a calming sleep. He had never realized Fane would be good with children, but now he saw that that was an ignorant assessment. Fane would definitely be good with children with how firm, but calm he could be outside of the stress of duty and free of the rage towards a world full of corruption. He guided with a gentle, but stern hand, spoke with an even, but accepting tone, understood levels of emotions, and the effect they had upon a young, impressionable mind. He had all the makings of a--

“I think he would make a good father, too.”, Cole blurted out quietly, finishing his train of thought easily. 

Solas blanched at the spirit’s bluntness before clearing his throat harshly. Calm, calm. He couldn’t let his flustered demeanor show around anyone other than Fane. It was far too inviting for the others to latch onto. The last time such innocent, but annoying banter had occurred was when Fane had given him a short kiss before their parties had split up to survey an area. The two of them hadn’t really thought much of the complications that small display would conjure, so used to simply indulging whenever the moment took them, so suffice it to say, it had been..troublesome. 

Sera had barely survived by the end of it, Solas, perhaps, having hurled a few too many boulders the woman’s way--all accidentally, of course--when a snarky comment about ‘snogging’ or ‘elven glory’ had been made. Varric and Dorian, he had heard, had nearly been met with the same end from Fane’s great sword or boot when comments about ‘cracking Solas’s cool exterior’ had been uttered one too many times. Blackwall, when paired with Sera, had teased endlessly, even as Solas had responded with varying levels of ‘no’ until he had been ‘forced’ to summon a tiny wisp of magic to silence the Warden. Fane had mentioned that both Cassandra and Vivienne had taken turns gently lecturing the dragon about potential repercussions of their relationship to which the man had responded with ‘Your concern doesn’t concern me. Shove off.’. Bull had ‘kindly’ attempted to give him some ‘pointers’ which resulted in Solas nearly wanting to tear the Veil down right then and there before he opted on taking his frustration out on an innocent patch of foliage. The smell of burning leaves still made him gag to this day. 

Thankfully, neither Fane nor he had to deal with Mhairi as his dragon’s sister had decided to remain at Skyhold to help train some new apprentices that had arrived from a mage cell. Solas already knew how much Mhairi did not agree with their relationship, and that was mainly because of him himself. So, it had been a blessing among curses when he hadn’t had to deal with icy glares and pointed questions about intentions.

All in all, it had not been a productive day, and that had been when Fane and he had decided to be a bit more discreet and reserved with their affections when in public, but perhaps it was too late for discretion. It wasn’t that they were ashamed, per say, but having private matters treated like they were a mere joke was demeaning to the nature of their relationship--any relationship, honestly. Solas knew there was no ill will behind most of the light jabs, but it was still exasperating enough to keep their want to show affection at bay in daylight. Sadly, not everyone understood the background behind their devotion, so it was a sacrifice they had to pay for continued secrecy. However, hiding from Cole was nigh impossible when it came to those specific feelings because of how potent they were. Cole never meant harm when voicing him or Fane’s thoughts, and would stop if either of them asked. In this moment though, the spirit’s words were most welcome with how pure and understanding they were.

“I am sure he would be happy to hear that from you, Cole. There are not many people who see past his anger enough to realize that..”, he said with a somber tone as he watched Cole go back to the corner to continue watching. 

“You do. Why doesn’t everybody?”, Cole asked absently, but sadly. “Even his sister gets scared sometimes. He can see it, and it hurts him..”

“The Inquisitor and I’s situation is..complicated, Cole. It is a long, long story..”, he explained, trying to keep the will to divulge away. “And concerning Mhairi’s behaviour..”, he sighed with a shake of his head. “..that is something she and Fane must reconcile on their own. It is not our place to interfere, even though we could.”

“His father is to blame, though. It wasn’t his fault. He was only trying to protect her..”

“It is hard to explain that to someone who was made to believe it was their fault, even if they know the reason behind why they chose to subject themselves to the deed in the first place..”, an ember of anger making itself known at the thought of Fane’s asp of a father before he sighed deeply. “Again, it is a complicated matter that Fane must sort out in time. We can only continue to support him from a respectable distance, and let him know he has a place to go when it becomes too much..”

Cole looked down at his feet, frown deepening from his words before looking back up to watch Fane show the curious, happy child the Anchor. The dragon made sure to keep the child from getting too handsy with the foreign magic, but it appeared Fane was patiently answering energetic questions surrounding it, an occasional twitch of an eyebrow the only indication that the focusing of magic in abused veins was causing discomfort. Solas had to keep himself firmly rooted to the ground as the desire to calm that pain surged through him, making him clench a fist before letting it go lax.

I will release you of this burden one day, ma’isenatha. Just hold on for a while longer.. He thought sorrowfully, but placated himself with the knowledge that one day Fane would not have to endure such painful magic any longer.

“His pain is loud, even when it’s masked. Clawing, scraping, bleeding as it tries to find purchase on a shore so slippery with sand. He hides it behind anger, rage, fury because it is easier to wash away the pain with spite because tears only make it hurt more.., Cole spoke quietly, words slowing down upon the last few before a frown worked its way on a sorrowful face. “Blades cause pain, hands heal the hurt. He wants to be the hand, but a blade is always placed in it instead. He’s afraid he’d be a bad father because he never had one that cared enough to not use a blade himself. He was never taught how to guide, only how to break, to kill, to survive..”, an even deeper frown of despair marring Cole’s visage. “..His father never loved him. He only broke him.. ‘No crying, no screaming, no telling anyone’. Words upon words that leash me, even if I am no longer bound to the table..’You’re just like your father..’ Her words sting, cut, dig like the jagged knife as rage overflows. ‘I will never be like that monster!’, he cries even if he doubts his own words. ‘..Will I? Will I use the blade more than the hand?’..” 

Those words were a frigid stab to Solas’s heart with how much anguish they held. Did Fane truly believe he would make a terrible parent? It was true that Fane’s past abuse warped his nature further, breeding anger and spite, but it hadn’t warped it entirely. His dragon knew more about how to guide and educate than Solas himself did. He knew Fane would never do what his ‘father’ had done. Not in a million years. In his heart, Solas knew Fane would be the most caring of fathers. The exchanges between him and the young boy was proof of that, and this child was a stranger to the wary man. So, Fane most certainly knew how to show love and understanding unlike his monstrous father. His dragon had not deserved to be roused from slumber only to be used, tortured, and discarded like a broken tool, to have such horrible, festering insecurities such as this. Abuse was not hereditary, and for Fane to believe it was, was upsetting to him, especially since they both knew Fane was not biologically tied to the man now. But perhaps that made it worse because Fane had been lied to as well as having his caring nature betrayed with false hopes of acceptance and love. It was a sorrowful, anguished thought, but that didn’t mean Fane was incapable of succeeding where his ‘father’ had failed. If anything, his heart would thrive in the challenging role of being a parent.

“Vhenan.. Any child would be filled with joy to have you as their father. I know I would be filled with it if I witnessed such a sight as the one before me on a daily basis..”, Solas said under his breath wistfully as he gazed up at the twilight shrouded sky, taking in the soft rose golds and tints of purple as night closed in. They reminded him of Fane’s golden flecks in the morning, and how his love would sometimes point out how Solas’s eyes harbored that specific shade of purple.  

“He thinks you’d be a better one.”, Cole told him suddenly.

Solas blinked at those words, shifting his gaze downwards once more to see Cole watching him with his normal calm, but curious gaze. Fane..thought he would be a good..father? Truly?

“He does, does he?”, Solas questioned slowly, turning his gaze downwards to the verdant grass beneath his feet as doubt, but also a feeling of tender warmth cloaked his body through his clothing. “You have..heard this, I am guessing?”, shifting his gaze upwards momentarily to see if Cole was still watching him. 

Cole nodded vigorously, the brim of his hand wobbling with the effect before he stopped with a wider smile. It would seem the kindly spirit liked the memory of Fane’s thoughts. That was..reassuring, for some reason.

“Warm, soft, gentle as delicate hands soothe the ache from jagged metal without an ounce of magic, whispering soothing words that once caused bile to rise because of the memories they bore. ‘Ar lath ma’. The words a whisper, a promise, a prayer as the sky stares back at me with all the patience one could offer. Never expecting, never rushing, never forcing with a firm hand. He guides, he teaches, he cares. ‘What would he be like with a child? One with eyes like his and hair like mine? He would be perfect, caring, soft, firm. He would be happy. I want him to be happy.” A hope, a fear, another desire. ‘I cannot wish for more. I have already wished for enough. This is enough. Enough..’”, Cole finished with a wistful whisper before fixing him with a calm stare once more.

Solas could feel the air leave his lungs as Cole’s words sank into his mind, warmth beginning to spread across his cheeks from a blush born of sheepishness, but also..happiness. Fane..believed he would be a good father. What’s more, his dragon wanted a child--a child embodying them. While such a thing could never truly be, it was heartwarming enough to know Fane even thought of such tender ideas, that he cared so deeply for him that a mere dream was an aspiration. His heart felt like it was about to burst from the thought himself. Deep down, Solas had always wondered what parenthood would be like, but his path did not allow such charming dreams to take shape, but maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance when everything was..done. If he--if they survived. But those fears were for another day, even if they were always on the doorstep, waiting for entry.

“I..”, he began, but could only let out an airy chuckle as a small, but loving smile bloomed on his lips. “Thank you, Cole. I appreciate you sharing that with me. It is..warming, if nothing else.”, he told the curious spirit, slowly starting to pull away from the wall he was braced against, even as his legs shook slightly. 

“I hope it helps. He doesn’t like it when you talk about yourself badly. Just like you don’t like it when he calls himself a ‘sin’..”, Cole said with a small frown. 

“I know he doesn’t. But it is not so easy to strip away dark shadows from their hallowed corners. For either of us..”, Solas responded with a small frown of his own, familiar guilt poking at him like a tiny needle. 

“Do you love him, Solas?”, Cole asked within the next moment, jarringly so.

Solas froze at Cole’s question before sighing fondly. Cole was becoming keener and keener with each passing day, and more direct, too. He was unsure if he should fear or bask in those developments of the compassionate spirit, but for now, he would leave it be for a simple, but heavy truth. One that was not weighted down with shadows and guilt, but was pure and definite in its reverence and devotion.

“I do.”, Solas said tenderly and without shame before letting his eyes slip shut to feel the tingling sensation of warmth cascade down his body. “More than my heart can bear sometimes.”, he added before reopening his eyes to look back at Cole, motioning to the direction they had come from. “Come. Let us head back. The others will want to know where the Inquisitor is, especially Mhairi. I imagine she is beside herself with worry.” 

As much as Solas wished to stay and continue to observe, this was Fane’s moment to be himself, to embrace a side he didn’t feel safe showing any other time, and he would not spurn his dragon’s want for such gentle happiness. Not when the world already did so without restraint. No--he would let Fane rest, if only for the time being. Perhaps he would ask after the scene tonight when Fane returned, but no sooner.

“Okay.”, Cole agreed to his request easily before looking down, seeming to think about something with the way another frown worked onto his pale face.

“Cole?”, Solas asked curiously, turning the spirit more fully as concern flooded his mind. “Is something wrong? Are you in any kind of distress?”, usual worry for Cole pushing through as shrouded blue eyes turned misty with emotions and thoughts before they cleared in the next moment.

Cole looked up from where he was staring at his feet before shaking his head with a smile. “No. I was just thinking that there should be more dragons. Ones with eyes of blue birds and lavender.”

Solas blinked in shock, watching as Cole practically skipped past him with a quiet hum. What had..just happened?

“More..dragons? Blue birds and--”, he trailed off quietly before figuring out the double meaning behind those words with a dawning revelation. “O..Oh..”, he stuttered out as even more heat made him flush. 

Solas knew that Cole likely knew what Fane was, but that hadn’t been the message behind the spirit’s words. Cole was saying that he would like to see..a child--Fane’s child. With Solas’s eyes. Such a thought should not make him feel so hopeful, but yet it did in its absurdity, but pureness. This evening was full of surprises and revelations, apparently. 

“Hnn..”, Solas let out a shaky sigh before glancing back to where Fane was still currently engaging with the young boy, a wistful look in emerald as a usually indifferent face bore a calm smile. The sight of Fane gingerly summoning a wisp of silvery blue along his unmarked arm with scales reminiscent of when he was dragon, and the child clapping their hands together in awe had Solas sinking down to the ground, pressing his back against the wall once more to gently thump the back of his head a few times. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe with how much longing sang in his heart like a flock of dusky nightingales. 

“I wish for more dragons as well, Cole.”, Solas admitted to the empty air, Cole long since wandered off before he shut his eyes once more. “However, I wish for ones with eyes like frogs and daisies..”

***

Am I crying at my own writing? Maybe. I’ll never tell! *curls up on the ground*

[enkelimagnus]

Cookbook

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1694 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Bucky walks home from a long day of paperwork. On his path is a garage sale and a tired woman.

TW: cigarettes, smoking

Read on AO3

Part 2 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series, Part 1 here, Part 2 here

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

Bucky smokes on the way home from work.

Everything that brought some sort of pleasure was a currency back in his day. That was why they sent cigarettes to the front. It was easy to make them necessary, when you were under constant fire and needed something to keep you going. Anything that got you out of that hell was traded for, fought for. Some days, it was like nothing mattered more than the next ration shipment and its load of cigarettes, pin-up magazines and six-pence books.

In truth, he doesn’t have the habit he used to have. Hydra wouldn’t have that. Upside of brainwashing, he guesses. And it’s not like it burns the same way anymore. That’s the serum for you.

Still, sometimes, he pulls a cigarette out of its gore-decorated cardboard box, lights it and pretends it has the same effect on him now than it did back in muddy camps or candle-lit living rooms.

The day has been long. No raids, but he’d been stuck behind a desk doing fucking paperwork for the last two weeks-worth of missions. His reports are tired and concise, he hates doing them and he’s pretty sure it’s obvious to anyone who reads what he writes.

He wishes he could smoke then , at that stupid cramped desk, to make the endless signing and reading and writing easier, but you’re not allowed to smoke inside anymore. So he finds himself doodling on other pieces of paper when his mind drifts. His focus is not the best outside of missions.

He used to love writing shit. Steve had his drawings and Bucky had his words, in between everything else. They wrote stories on notes they passed in class in high school. When it got taken by the teacher, no one could understand what they were talking about. He used to make up worlds and think of men walking in space, and he wishes he could tell his 14-year-old self that there are people in the sky, and that he’ll meet them one day. That he’ll see aliens, real ones, and punch them in the face.

He would tell him all the good things about the universe, all the people in it, all about partners in crime and arms like Dugan or Morito or Jones, or Sam or Natasha, how he not only met Howard Stark but was his comrade, how Stark knew him as “Sergeant Barnes” or “Sarge”.

He’d tell him all the good, and none of the bad, none of how his dad would die in two years and he’d be leading the family in shabbos prayers at 16, none of how the people in the world could be cruel for the sake of their own fun, none of how Howard Stark said his name in shock before he punched in his skull with the metal fist that was now his left hand.

Those conversations with his younger self -- barely a man, already smart-mouthed and charming and cocky in the way teenagers are and in the way Bucky had tried to remain for as long as he could until the war drained it out of him -- evaporate in the smoke, in the cold Brooklyn air.

He doesn’t love writing anymore. His mind can’t create the worlds it used to make. He thinks in three languages on a good day, only knows how to write one of those, so whenever he tries, something’s always missing. On a bad day, he can barely string along one sentence, let alone tell a story.

And he’s got no one to tell them to, anyway.

It’s 7pm and the streets are dark and icy. In the last few weeks, the gloves he always wears to hide his left hand have not been an incongruous fashion statement.

It’s January now. There was snow last week, a soft blanket that made him fucking cry out of nowhere when he saw it through the window. It was gone soon, but it was there. And for once, it didn’t fall on Siberia. It fell on Brooklyn again. He never would have thought he’d seen snow on Brooklyn again.

That kind of shit pulls memories out of him like nothing else, and he’s thankful for them. They make it easier and harder at the same time.

He told Doctor Raynor about the shul that’s now a church, about how it was the worst pain he’d felt since he’d last been wiped. How that’s another reason why he doesn’t want to walk into Becky’s retirement home and see her as she is now. The pain of time lost is the worst one to bear.

That, and he’s pretty sure she knows what he’s done. His name and photo have been blasted on every news channel and every social media website after the UN bombing. There’s no way she wouldn’t recognize him, when he looks so similar to the brother she lost.

He has no desire to face his Becky now that he’s a murderer and a weapon of mass destruction, Hydra brainwashing or not. You don’t do that to your little sister.

Besides, she doesn’t need him. She’s got kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, and nephews and nieces and every sort of relative you can imagine except for parents and siblings. She’s taken care of, they visit her often, she doesn’t need the grief he’d bring. He can’t be selfish.

He stops to stab the butt of the cigarette into a wall but his eyes catch something else.

In the cold evening, there’s a few lights set up on the sidewalk, over some makeshift tables threatening to crumble over all the items on it. Everyday items mostly, kitchen stuff, books and a clock and some candlesticks.

At first glance, all of the pricier stuff has been sold already, and there’s a tired-looking middle-aged woman sitting on the stairs of the house behind the tables. She has a look on her face, heavy with emotions muddled so well they’re impossible to tell apart.

“Buy what you want,” she says. Her voice doesn’t carry. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have heard more than a mumble if his hearing wasn’t enhanced. “Pay what you want.”

How many times has she said that today?

He looks down at the items for a moment, the cheap metal candlesticks, some old plates decorated with blue flowers, a still plastic-wrapped, never used, frankly hideous challah cover, and a pile of various books. Most in English, a couple in what he assumes to be Polish, some in Yiddish. His eyes fall on one in particular, a cookbook. It looks old.

“Can I touch?” He asks, pointing at the cookbook.

The woman nods. “Yeah. Nothing very modern in there. Bubbe barely even made this anymore,” she explains. Ah. A bubbe passed and the stuff they can’t keep, they’re selling.

The cookbook’s unremarkable. It’s been used, obviously, there are stains of chocolate-covered fingerprints on some of the dessert pages as he flips through. It seems to be half in English and half in Yiddish. He reaches the page where the publication date would be. He doesn’t even know why he’s checking.

Entire Contents Copyrighted 1949 The B. Manischewitz Co. Printed in the U.S.A.

1949. It’s close enough. Really close enough.

“How much do you want?” He looks up at the mourner.

“I told ya, it’s how much you’re willing to give.”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. He rephrases the question. “How much do you want me to give?”

The woman makes eye contact again. She looks deeply surprised by his question. Hesitant, too. She has no idea what to reply.

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, starts going through the cash he has. He barely uses his credit card. Every month, when he gets his money from the army, he immediately withdraws most of it. It’s safer that way, and he knows how much he’s spending.

He counts out 180 dollars. It feels like a ridiculous amount for a cookbook, but the woman’s selling her bubbe’s shit like this, she’s still out at 7pm in January in Brooklyn and Bucky doesn’t have a lot of expenses anyway. He doesn’t really have expensive taste. 18’s a good number too, at least, it used to be, in his day.

“Peace be upon her,” He says quietly, when the woman opens her mouth at the bills he places in her hand. “It’s getting cold, you should go back inside,” he adds, quiet and coaxing, the tone he used to use when the neighbor’s son, Aaron, had a tantrum and sat on the stairs all evening, pretending to be mad at his parents.

Did he know the bubbe in question? Was she one of the kids from Hebrew school? It’s a little too far from his old neighborhood to be sure. He’s not going to ask.

The woman sighs a little, putting the money in her pocket when she realizes he’s not going to take any of it back.

He eyes the tables for a moment. “You need help packing up?”

She hesitates. He gets it, he’s a weird stranger who just bought an old cookbook for 180 dollars, it’s nighttime… He can’t tell her he’s not a serial killer, because he is one, and there’s going to be a moment where she remembers where she’s seen his face before. There usually is.

He holds his hands up, seemingly showing he’s harmless. It’s hilarious, really, because he’s never harmless. But contrary to Steve, he’s not massive. He’s more on the lean side of things, especially with his new arm.

“No pressure.”

She hesitates still, but he sees the exhaustion working away at her until she nods. The cookbook is put to the side and he helps her pack up the tables and the remaining things. He is careful not to display too much strength, and he’s also careful to keep his face in a neutral but positive sort of mask. His resting expression is meaner than needed.

He comes home much later than he thought he would, but he’s got a cookbook and some ideas of how to occupy his amnesia-riddled nights.