#my theory here is that the other men who are obsessed with each other already have sort of settled in. etho and bdubs for example | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zykamiliah · 3 years ago

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Yo!

Okay so my theory is that Kishi always knew that the final villian would be a woman because otherwise Naruto's reverse oiroke jutsu wouldn't have worked. And Naruto was seen flaunting his new jutsu (that he practiced more than Rasengan 😏) from the first chapter of Shippuden. But Kishi took care of not showing it to us. Until Kaguya. Because she is a woman and will only be distracted by naked men. 🙄 And even though war arc was written a bit lazily, he must have known that he will have to introduce a new villian keeping in mind that they had to be a woman. And all the existing villians were men. At least, he must have had the barebones of that idea, even if not fully realized at the time. Kishi mindfully created a situation where Naruto would have to use that jutsu, which really speaks volumes, the jutsu as in. It also didn't escape my notice that Sasuke had to comment on the fact that Naruto's kage bunshin jutsu (often mixed with his oiroke, as was the case when he distracts Kaguya), is an attempt to dispel his loneliness. He distracted Kaguya with his oiroke men, many of whom suspiciously look like Sasuke, and Naruto does think he is cool looking (way more than Sai 😤😂). So that brings us to the conclusion that, Naruto must have practiced making Sasuke looking clones a lot in the blank period. Heheh aww. When Konohamaru makes the reverse oiroke with Sasuke and Sai, Naruto is mad. Because he does feel very very possessive towards Sasuke, as was already established. So he can make Sasuke looking clones to distract women but he wouldn't have Konohamaru making a quite explicit looking reverse oiroke of Sasuke. But again, Kishi guised it under comedy, like usual.

What do you think Kishi's intent here was, throughout? I feel like he played it very cleverly.

Heeeeey! Sorry for the wait, I had a lot going on these past few days.

From my point of view, the author's intent is not so easy to discern. In any piece of media we’ll be reading their work through our very particular perspective, no matter how much we try to be impartial and analytic about it. In the end is going to be OUR reading of the work in question, which often enough aligns with others but not always. Naruto fandom is a pretty good example of that. There are things you can establish as facts (Example: Naruto and Sasuke are important to each other. That’s a fact. Now, the way any fan chooses to interpret the nature of their relationship differs even between fans that ship them romantically) Art is already polysemic, allowing different interpretations of the same work, and I think that in NARUTO’s case Kishimoto tends to be a little (a LOT) ambiguous about some things, be it to have plausible deniability or to touch on themes that he can’t write explicitly.

Kishi mindfully created a situation where Naruto would have to use that jutsu, which really speaks volumes, the jutsu as in.

I’d say that he always had the Sexy Reverse Harem jutsu in mind and was just waiting for an opportunity to put it in the manga. The Last was announced in 2012. Already at that moment in War Arc he had to know how his story would end, and that there would be a sequel and all that entailed. He had plausible deniability if he wanted to try anything “funny”.

As for Kaguya, I really can’t say if he always had her in mind. She’s the most underdeveloped villain in all Naruto, besides maybe Gatou. But hey, he had to create her to make sense of the sequel. Doesn’t mean he can’t take advantage and put something as “questionable” as a bunch of naked men in a shonen manga. And make Naruto say he had practiced it a lot. But of course he’ll never explain that, and will use the plot to distract the reader from those little things he drops now and then. And it works, right? Because the most casual audience has never stopped to think: hold on, is it a normal hetero behavior to obsess over sexy naked men to create a jutsu that Naruto just got to use against one enemy??? Naruto, who wasn’t very good at transforming into other people in the beginning, who failed that first test to become genin, was able to transform himself into Sasuke perfectly in chapter 3? What does it all mean, really? -shrugs- But most people aren’t interested in that part of the story. So Kishimoto can get away with putting very ambiguous stuff into his story as long as he uses a distraction to take the attention from it.

I think the fact that Kishimoto was so insistent on drawing this scene speaks volumes about how relevant he thought it was, or at least how much fun he had doing it. It takes you back to the beginning of the manga, when Naruto used the Sexy Jutsu against his teachers. Sometimes you spend so much time on a story you need to remind yourself why you love it.

But as I was telling you, I don't know to what extent everything was planned that way. Sometimes readers can notice more connections between parts of the story than the author himself, and being a 15 years old manga, we can’t say that something Kishimoto wrote for chapter 3 was intended to have an impact beyond the first arcs of the story. But regardless of Kishimoto's intention, it’s a fact that Naruto spends time and effort on things that interest him, that matter to him in some way. And the fact that he put so much effort into pulling off a reverse harem jutsu with different types of men, all very attractive and different (despite the fact that some have that sexy dark haired look lol Naruto has a type), unlike his sexy harem jutsu which is just clones of his female version, shows how much attention Naruto pays to how other men look NAKED. Does that mean he was ogling guys at the onsen? Did he buy magazines with pictures of sexy men? Did he observe men in the village and practiced how to transform into them? It was something he did frequently, if his comment about how he practiced it more than Rasengan says anything.

It also didn't escape my notice that Sasuke had to comment on the fact that Naruto's kage bunshin jutsu (often mixed with his oiroke, as was the case when he distracts Kaguya), is an attempt to dispel his loneliness.

And you combine that two things, Naruto practicing the Sexy Reverse Harem Jutsu with his clones, his Kage bushin Jutsu being and expression of his loneliness, with this panel from the Road to Ninja Oneshot

...We can take it as canon that Naruto uses that jutsu to play cards with himself, as Kishimoto was the one to draw it. From playing cards to practicing derivations from his original Sexy Jutsu, I’d say it’s not a stretch to think it happened. And since Naruto probably had a lot of time alone in his apartment when he wasn’t on missions…

#zyka reply #sneezemonster15 #zykamiliah-naruto #naruto #sns #narusasu #naruto is gay #naruto meta #zykamiliah posted this #sasunaru #sexy jutsu #sexy reverse harem jutsu

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softkuna · 4 years ago

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Toji Fushiguro || Toy || Fic

The Sukuna one had me like ✨✨✨ Now I must ask, can you- a toji x fem reader and him seeing Gojo eyeing up what's his and her responding to it and then toji being like oh hell no and basically railing her as punishment (degrading kink please it makes me jello) you don't have to write it if your not comfortable btw take your time and stay safe.

Content ║ Toji Fushiguro x Fem Insert. Toji’s shoulder pressed into the wall with such a force the damn thing could’ve dented. Arms crossed tensely against the broad puff of his chest. His teeth ground together, the sound of squeaking canines reverberating in his mind. Toji was seething. For a man with the physical prowess of a god, his tolerance was about as thin as a wet napkin. A wet napkin this woman decided to poke a well-manicured finger into.

Count ║ 1,311 words.

Consider ║ NSFW. Degradation Kink. Objectification. Female Insert (she/her). Alcohol. Grammar issues. Basic degeneracy.

Creator ║ So this is the first NSFW thing I have done like this ;v;. I’m not sure if this hit the mark for ya Anon, but hopefully it’ll do until I can get some more practice. It took a little while since I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing. Honestly this just feels subpar gomen. Enjoy jealous Toji, though -finger guns-.

The club was barely lit with black light and neon strewn about the solid concrete walls in seemingly random intervals. A particularly bright hot pink one cast across her collarbone, dowsing the tops of her breasts deliciously in contrast to the black latex dress. As much as Toji would like to shove her against that very wall, she had a job to do. For him. And he regretted it.

She was pushing her luck when she approached the table with a certain sway to her hips. Gojou peered around the tinted sunglasses, brow piqued in interest. She flashed a smile, smoothly setting a large bottle of some random high percentage alcohol onto the table. Sliding into the booth next to Satoru, the woman leaned a hand on his leg, the other moving to playfully snap the strap of a birthday hat under his chin, “I hear it’s someone’s birthday?”

His head tilted up along with the corners of his lips, “Guilty as charged. Are you my present, doll? Always heard the hostesses here were the best,” His voice purred against the thrum of the bass. She tucked hair behind her ear, eyes flickering back to the ravenette with a dangerous composition. The corner of her mouth twitched up at the obvious frustration resonating in the man. He couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t even dream of it if he wanted any semblance of information on this guy. It was the perfect opportunity to test a theory. Toji was the jealous type.

Toji’s shoulder pressed into the wall with such a force the damn thing could’ve dented. Arms crossed tensely against the broad puff of his chest. His teeth ground together, the sound of squeaking canines reverberating in his mind. Toji was seething. For a man with the physical prowess of a god, his tolerance was about as thin as a wet napkin. A wet napkin this woman decided to poke a well-manicured finger into.

He slammed down a shot, the burn at the back of his throat accompanying the burn of his own gaze. She wasn’t anything to him aside from an in. Yet somehow, the not-so-shaman made it a point to speak with her at least once a week, which usually lead into fucking her like a play thing. The lay was just as good as the information she could pry out of loose mouths. Immaculate. This go around, he needed information on someone in particular. Someone who just so happened to be here with a group. Someone who decided it would be a good idea to get a little handsy with his toy.

“Y’know,” Satoru murmured, “’s pretty sad to be alone in bed for my birthday.” Chilled pads of his fingers rested at the back of her neck. His gaze was hungry and she was a full course meal. Just his type. Perfect shape, perfect charm, perfect headrush. Her hand cupped his ear, whispering something his buzzing mind couldn’t fully piece together against the dense music.

She kept up the sweet act despite not getting a lick of information. The only dirt she dug up was that he could finish half a handle before getting buzzed. By the end of the night, Gojou’s hands squeezed at her thigh like he did her last string of patience.

The last thing Toji saw was the exchange of cards.

As the black-clad hostess passed by Toji, her hand trailed along the muscles of his chest, stiletto nails pressing just slightly into him. He followed close behind until they got to their regular spot. A private room tucked into the corner of the club. Commonly used for rich men thirsting to empty their wallets on a good lap dance. It was sound proofed, dimly lit, and somehow hot pink velvet was a prime design choice to set a steamy mood.

She crossed her arms, gaze hard as the door shut, “So, I’ve got bad new. He didn’t let a word slip-“ The sentence stopped as soon as it began.

“So doll’s got a sense of humor, huh?” His voice held an edge to match the snide smirk flashing over pointed canines. She knew exactly what was up and oh was it a dangerously delectable sight. One that made her cunt throb on nothing but adrenaline. The crease of his brow, the way his lips set into that hairpin curl, the tensing of each thick muscle along his arm – all of it leaving a sense of satisfaction in the pit of her stomach. Theory confirmed. He took a step closer; she didn’t shrink away. A lost challenge if he’d say so himself.

A large calloused hand shoved her onto cushions of the booth, catching her open mouth in his own with a bruising force. The man wasted no time with his prodding tongue, tasting the sweetness of peppermint and lapping it up while fending off her own slick muscle. A hand snaked into the roots of her perfectly done hair, white-knuckling just at the base of the skull. With a sharp yank, her head was yanked back, allowing break for air. Smug and breathless, she chimed, “Jealous?”

Toji blew air out in a single blackened laugh, “I’m not one to share my toys.” Teeth connected to her lips, rolling the flesh then moving to her throat. Purple marked his territory trailing down. The heat of his breath tickled the space directly next to her ear, “Now, you’re going to beg for me to forgive you. Make myself clear, slut?” Toji’s grip on her tightened, “Or is doll better for something getting used?” A rough tug to the back of her hair triggered a low moan from her heaving chest. After so many sessions, she knew he didn’t really want an answer. He wanted a reason go harder.

The hand once in her hair now gripped her jaw, keeping her gaze on him, “Answer me, toy. Or do I need to pull a string to make that cock-obsessed mouth move?” On que, free digits wrapped around the gusset of her thong, second knuckle just grazing the entrance of her heat before he pulled the sodden fabric taught, letting it snap back to place. The impact triggered another empty clench and gasp. Her hips writhed, a sappy pout puffing the bitten lips. More.

Toji maintained her heavy-lidded stare as he brought the knuckle to his lips. He watched as her own parted when his tongue swept up the sweetness collected at the joint. The way her hips rose to match the zipper’s height, the lock of her teeth on her finger, the desperation in her eyes – all of it made his stiffened cock twitch against her adorably hopeless grinding, “Looks like my toy is broken. Guess I’ll just fuck the apology out of it then.”

A wicked grin whipped onto his handsome face. Her mouth opened in rebuttal, only to get interrupted, “This is to teach a lesson, toy. What did you do to deserve the prep?” The gravel in his tone grew slightly dark, “Couldn’t even get the dirt I paid for.” His long digits did work past the gusset, slipping over her entrance, gathering the arousal, “Look how wet you already are for me.” A heated coil pressed in her at the words. She knew what was coming now and every inch of her craved it.

In what seemed to be a single motion, jeans and boxers were torn down. Her dress was hiked up with a satisfying peel, thong quite literally ripped off and thrown to the ground before she was flipped so that her back was pressed against his chest. Sturdy, veined arms wrapped at the backs of her thighs and under her knees. Truly, she was a doll for him to pleasure himself on and he made it a point to do so.

Toji lowered her so that the thick tip of his length pressed against her heart-beating heart. Her walls fluttered around him as he slid in. “For a broken toy, you’re pretty damn tight for me - ready to be played with. Get used- fuck.” Amusement broke through as she bit back a breathless sigh. His cock filled her easily, slick sliding down his shaft and pooling at the base. As he fully sheathed himself, he craned his neck forward, lips pressing at the shell of her ear, “Now, I want to hear you beg, bitch.” With that, the man snaked back and up, setting a relentless pace from the beginning. The sound of skin slamming into wettened skin filling the room along with the aroma of arousal.

She was stubborn. He was tireless. They’d both cum before the apology even had a chance to.

#🥩 .ask #🥩#🥩 .fic #🍺#🍺.ask #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #satoru gojou #gojou satoru #gojo satoru

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visionofhope04 · 4 years ago

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Memories and Dreams

Tim Drake x Reader

Requested: no

Ages: You and Tim are both 18

Prompt: Your dreams are your soulmate’s memories. (You can’t hear anything, you can only see.)

Quick note, I wrote this in April so it might not have my best writing. Also I'm trying to get part 5 of neglected out as soon as I can. Hope you enjoy this!

---

You were looking through someone else’s eyes, seeing everything from their perspective. It seemed as if they were chasing down a group of people. They had been chasing them for about 20 minutes now. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at their faces, but you assumed they worked for Black Mask.

Ever since you were 5, your dreams had been your soulmate’s memories. You knew all about them from their parents getting murdered to them being a vigilante. You weren’t sure which one, since you had never seen their appearance but you knew they wore a cape which got in the way of their sight quite often. They were also obsessed with coffee and barely slept.

You assumed he was a boy. He was still chasing the gang when suddenly, they took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead end. The men turned around to face the vigilante. He extended his bo staff and began to fight them all off. During the battle, other vigilantes arrived and aided him in battle. The vigilantes were Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and finally Robin.

He hadn’t been aware that a thug behind him had their gun aimed at his chest. Just as he turned around, a shot rang out and he dropped to the ground. You instantly shot up and out of bed, panting and covered in a layer of cold sweat. This worried you since it was new. You hoped he was okay and still alive. You weren’t too worried though, because if he died, you wouldn’t be seeing his memories.

Glancing at the clock, you noticed it was 6 am. You usually woke up around that time, so you decided to get ready for the day. You completed your normal routine quickly with half an hour to spare. Deciding to head to school, you exited your apartment. You had lived alone since your parents lived in Metropolis and you had earned a scholarship to Gotham’s top school.

As you were walking to school, you noticed there was a coffee shop. Since you were early, you decided to stop by. You walked inside and waited patiently in line. Once it was your turn, you ordered a black coffee. You had thanked the barista and sat down at a table near the door. You were casually scrolling through your social media and heard someone sit in front of you.

You looked up and saw one of your classmates, Tim Drake. This confused you as he never really bothered to talk to many people. You had interacted with him once or twice and he seemed nice. You thought of him as an acquaintance. He was known as the smartest kid in class. He always knew the answers to every question.

“Oh hi.” You decided to start a conversation.

“Hi, you’re name’s Y/N right?”

“Yeah it is, you’re Tim right?”

“Yeah. So what brings you here?”

“Oh nothing much, it’s just that we have about 20 minutes until we actually have to be at school.” You stated.

“Yeah. I understand. By the way, have you figured out who your soulmate is yet?”

“No, but I do have my suspicions. What about you?”

“I have an idea of who it may be but I’m not sure yet.”

“Well it looks like we’re in the same boat.”

“Haha yeah.”

“Anyways I’m going to head to school now. Feel free to come with.”

“I’m fine. I’ll see you later, bye.”

“Bye.” You threw your drink out and headed to school.

(Time skip to the end of the day brought to you by my hate for school)

School went well as always. You hated school but knew you had to learn somehow. You were heading home as usual until you saw a disregarded newspaper on the floor. It was talking about the vigilantes in Gotham, specifically the Batfamily. Then something clicked. Your soulmate was Red Robin! He used a bo staff, had a cape, and was the only one you didn’t see in your dream.

You were shocked. What would you do now? You can’t just go up to him and be like “Hey, I’m your soulmate so wanna get to know each other?”. If only it was that simple. You came up with some ideas on how to find your soulmate. Idea number one chasing him down which was immediately crossed out since you weren’t about to be desperate.

Idea two was to try and figure out his real identity so you could confront him that way. Idea number three was to just wait. Since waiting would probably be the best option, that’s what you decided to do but also decided that attempting to figure out his identity would help. You were excited to meet your soulmate, you wanted to know everything about him. You weren’t obsessed, you were curious.

As you were walking home, you looked forward to sleeping that night. You hoped whatever memory you were going to be in wasn’t a traumatic one. He had some rather pleasant memories. Others, however, not so much. The worst thing that has happened to you was getting a bad sunburn, while he had evaded death more times than you could recall.

You had finally arrived at your apartment. Placing your bag down and digging through it, you began to complete your mountain of homework and eventually, time started flying by. By the time you had completed all of your homework, it was 12 am. Even though you had missed dinner you weren’t hungry.

You placed all your things back into your bag neatly and shut off your laptop. You made your way to your room and began to prepare for bed. Once you finished, you laid down and got comfortable. You closed your eyes and let the darkness take over.

You were currently in his memory. Your soulmate was in a huge house that was like 10 times the size of your apartment, possibly more. He then ran into Bruce Wayne?! Wait, what? You were bewildered and then everything clicked. Bruce Wayne and his whole adopted family were vigilantes!

How’d you know? Well, every time there was a new addition to the Wayne family, a new Robin showed up either a bit before or after that. They also had the same height. Well, your soulmate isn’t Dick since he already found his soulmate. Jason is a no because your soulmate is short and it’s not Damian because he’s a baby. So that means your soulmate is Tim Drake or rather Red Robin.

Your theory was proven to be correct once his memory had shown him walking into the coffee shop you both met at. You didn’t really know how to feel about it. You did know that you had to tell him though, and you preferred sooner. So that’s how you ended up confronting him at school the next day asking to meet at the coffee shop you both met the previous day.

You were pretty anxious since you weren’t sure how he’d take the news. He could either be okay with it, happy or extremely irritated by it. When you saw him enter the shop your anxiety was amplified. You kept telling yourself to remain calm. He was in front of you, coffee in hand and stared at you.

“Okay so I don’t really know how to say this but I’m your soulmate.” You said quickly. He didn’t seem shocked by this so you assumed he knew as well.

“Yeah, I wanted to tell you too. I found out last night.” He stated.

“Okay so uh want to get to know each other a bit?”

“Sure that sounds nice.”

#tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #soulmate au

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nincompoopydoo · 4 years ago

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DEBRIS AND MISERY

SAME OLD LOKI ; PART 6 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.3k (oops) SUMMARY: You find yourself venturing deeper into finding the Loki variant on the loose with the help of Mobius and Loki while maintaining your temper around the God of mischief and fighting with your own demons. A/N: Downtime apparently lasted for more than a week. I had absolutely no motivation to write but I eventually came around. There’s alot going on in this. Please tell me what you think, what you love, hate and look forward to. Thank you so much for showing so much love to d&m. gif from this gifset by @sersi WARNINGS: Swearing. Imagery relating to death (i think?). You and Loki’s relationship fluctuating like the goddamn economy. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

Blue. Your flight suit is blue.

Your eyes sting with worry, ticking to a pair of hands buckling the straps that lay across your chest. A man secures it tightly, forcing your back against the cockpit chair. Your gaze drifts to the concentric steel rings of yellow, red, and white that stretch overhead and around you—being suspended within a 3-axis gimbal sends another churning sensation within your abdomen.

You hear a voice. It courses through the room and vibrates within your ears like fluttering echoes in a tunnel. It’s a man. He calls out your name from below.

“You ready?”

In your periphery, you see him, tall with slicked-back hair, standing with other men that adorn similar flight suits of blue. You nod, inhaling deeply as your hands reach for the controls. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoes through the room and the machine whirrs to life. The rings begin spinning in tandem, tossing your body in all directions. Your grip tightens around the controls, clicking with every push and pull as you struggle to analyze the spin. But, the machine spins faster.

Faster and faster and faster.

The machine continues to whirr. Your hands are still shifting the controls.

Faster and faster and faster.

Your eyes begin to droop, nausea taking hold of your body.

Faster and faster and faster.

You only hear your breaths; every inhale and exhale—they're loud.

Faster and faster and faster.

Too fast.

Stop.

...

Click. Click. Click.

Footsteps. Not the clicks of the controls. You hear them clicking against tile floors from afar. From darkness, your eyes meet the color brown, shiny and polished—it’s wooden. The sound of the vast building’s acoustics hum in tune with the occasional chatter and echoing thump. You recognize the ambiance and it comforts your hasty thoughts as your brain tries to wreck itself in comprehending your current surroundings.

It’s one of those dreams again. The ones that kept you awake at night since the Sakaar incident, as if reliving the memories of another life. It isn’t yours but the realism to it makes it so complex that your brain cannot even comprehend the experiences during these dreams that occur.

To see, touch, hear, smell, and taste. Do dreams exceed the limit of disconnection and logic? Are dreams to be so immersive that it feels more like a memory, an echo of the past?

Through the turmoil of parsing between what’s real and what’s not, a tap on your shoulder hauls you back to reality. You turn to see Mobius, looking ridiculously exhilarated. Behind him lingers an amused Loki, hands tugging into the pockets of his jacket. The analyst says your name with a tone of equal exuberance to his manner.

“I thought I’d find you here. Do you always sleep at the archives?”

You snort, seizing yourself up as you wipe your face with your palm in hopes of feeling slightly more awake and alive than you were before. “No. Sometimes, I sleep at my desk too.”

Exhausted and sarcastic. Typical you.

Mobius rounds the table to sit beside you, gesturing Loki to his previous spot before he got up and ran away from you without any explanation. He shoots you a smile, lips pressed together, almost hesitant to sit across from you. You watch him through narrowed eyes as you address him with folded arms. “And here you are, back here again.”

Loki cannot fight the growing grin upon his lips, knowing all too well that you're referring to how he led you into an unnecessary chase down the corridors of the TVA for the sake of his entertainment. Well, it was not unnecessary. Things were turning out to be a bore and with the sudden thought of a proposition to help with his case, it doesn’t mean he has to drag out the fun of irritating the hell out of everyone else.

And you are not a bore.

“Loki! Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

You’re outright screaming at him but his long legs only stride faster than yours could handle, slumber still clinging to your face like a thick, waxen mask. He’s so quick, weaving through tangerine hallways, skidding across the tiled floors.

He saunters down the hall with quick feet but doesn’t sprint, clever enough not to draw any attention.

He ought to answer you. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he flashes you a cheeky smile. He swears he saw flames burning in your eyes for a moment.

As you wind another corner, you already see him making one last quick dart through the elevator doors that slide open as it dings unceremoniously. Through your wide-eyed gaze, you signal him with eyes that carry a warning.

“Don’t you dare close that fucking door.” you snarl, voice booming from down the hallway and so does the clicking of the heels of your Oxford shoes as you march towards him like you’re on the hunt for prey.

Loki jams his finger onto the button to close the doors, unable to wipe off his grin. “Don’t you trust me?” is all he says to you, sending you a wink through the closing gap of the elevator doors as he raises his palm to wave you farewell.

You decided Loki wasn’t worth the time he has already taken from your assigned paperwork. So, you returned to your desk with a trace of bitterness in your tongue while attempting to suppress the regret for actually feeling sorry for Loki. Only because you know how it is like to be alone.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. He makes you think he is capable of change, capable of compassion. He makes you think he cares from the way he looks at you with those eyes that flicker the spark of hope in you. This Loki is the same old Loki.

Well, maybe the one in Sakaar had a good chance of earning your trust. But that’s gone now.

You shift in your seat, elbows now leaning against the edge of the table. “And to answer your question, no. I do not trust you. And I never will.”

Famous last words of the variant turned analyst.

Nobody trusts you either.

Except for the grey-haired analyst with the obsession for jet skis and you never understood why. Maybe, it’s because you’re the only one who is willing to put up with his ramblings.

Mobius eyes you and Loki’s interaction as the two of you seem to fall into the rhythm of making things even more complex than it appears. It's all part of his grand plan. Mobius knows you well enough to know you are possibly enjoying Loki's company no matter how much he irritates you. And Loki, it's clear how he admires you and how you constantly surprise him every time he crosses paths with you.

“What would I ever do without your trust?” the God sneers, each articulation of every word wrapped in mockery paired with dramatically placing his hand to his heart. Your eye twitches, the spitfire of your personality ready to fire back with a probable nasty insult. Yet, Mobius places his hand on your shoulder, while the other outstretched towards Loki as if trying to keep the two of you apart.

“Okay, okay. No need to get all riled up now. We only just had a breakthrough in the case, and I’m not letting you kill each other just yet.”

Your anger seems to immediately wash away, replaced by curiosity. You blink at your colleague. “Breakthrough?”

“Yes, and it was surprisingly Loki’s theory. Now—”

“Why do I smell...sulfur?”

You cut his sentence short as a strong whiff of a reeked scent began to descend upon you, billowing in the air. You inhale deeply, brows furrowing in concentration and confusion. An overpowering scent of a decaying body, faint but strong enough to seem out of the ordinary. The archives never smell rotten, always floor polish. Mobius and Loki share a look. Mobius is the one to speak up, attempting to distract you from your sudden strong sense of smell. “Sulfur? What, like when there’s a demonic manifestation? I mean, we are in the presence of Loki—”

“You went to Pompeii, didn’t you?”

In all of the time he has spent with Mobius who had a constant laid-back and confident nature to him, he has never seen him so red in the face. As the situation unfolds, he wonders why Mobius has made it a point to hide that information with so much eagerness which now has proved to be useless. You’re not only intelligent but also quick—only in terms of the mind rather than your physical capabilities.

You can hardly run, but your brain outshines everyone else he has met in the TVA.

Mobius is now waiting for the imminent chaos and mayhem you’re about to bring. You’re going to call him insane like every other time he has suggested an out-of-the-ordinary idea. Causing a scene is one of your talents. He has his hand on your shoulder again.

“You hate Pompeii, Mobius. Why the hell would bring him—Wait.” Your eyes are wide and blinking. “You went to Pompeii. Alone. I know that from the look on your faces. Which means no reset charge...No Nexus event.” You pause, pursing your lips. Then, you avert your gaze to Loki who watches you curiously. “Are you suggesting the variant is hiding in apocalypses?”

Mobius’ laugh comes off like a puff of air. He pats you on the back like a proud uncle. “Back on the game, Agent!”

Loki is slightly impressed. Only slightly.

“Okay, you two stay here. I’ll go get the files. Great work, you two.” Mobius gestures to the both of you with an outstretched index finger, grin so wide as he scurries off. Mobius loves a good case, especially when there’s a breakthrough. And with you finally familiarizing yourself with working together with Loki, everything is finally starting to look up.

The two of you end up finding each other’s gaze and for the first time, you smile at him. It’s small but genuine.

“You know you could have told me.”

“I would have, but you don’t trust me, remember?”

You hum, raising a brow. “And running away was supposed to gain my trust?”

Loki chuckles, eyes flicking to the table. “I never said anything about gaining your trust.”

Your smile grows wider, and Loki decides how he prefers you like this—relaxed and amused.

He oddly sees his mother in you. It’s the way you look at him. Like you know him.

Right, you have met him. Once.

“What was I like? The one you met at Sakaar.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his sudden question that hasn’t got to do with insinuating you.

“The same as you—barely tolerable,” you say tightly, heaving a sharp exhale. ”Just…a lot sadder.”

You hadn’t mentioned how he willingly helped escape your execution because a part of you still believes it all to be a lie. The TVA has your complete fidelity but ever since the Sakaar incident, your trust in the way the system works has been swayed. After years of being trapped in your mind, the question of whether your capabilities in logic have been damaged due to loneliness still begs. Judge Renslayer believes in your incompetence but you believe she hides a secret about the Time Keepers.

The three beings, creator of the TVA, personally convicted you as innocent, allowing you to maintain your job. Nothing of this makes sense.

Maybe Judge Renslayer lost all her faith in you, her second-best analyst because your Nexus event relates to Loki. The one variant that has been causing havoc to the Sacred Timeline. And this Loki, the one that seems to be very curious about your place in the TVA and the Time Keepers, is no different than the others.

You find yourself feeling an uncalled sense of sadness that dwells in your chest at the thought of leaving the only friendship you secretly wished to have maintained back at Sakaar. Before you let yourself fall into the abyss of melancholic wishful thinking, you swiftly direct the conversation elsewhere.

"I’m sorry Mobius referred to you as the devil,” you say coyly. “You really aren’t.”

Loki, who seems to catch on with the sarcastic tone of your voice, leans farther into his seat. “Really?”

A smirk returns to your face. “You're worse than the devil." He snorts, noticing the vague hint of crimson growing upon your cheeks and how your eyes seem to crinkle a little more than usual.

He finds himself swallowing under your stare, fiddling his fingers in an attempt to calm his sudden erratic heartbeat. A stutter under your now kind gaze—no one ever stares at him with a smile. "You are not the first to say that."

There’s another pause; Loki’s face is set with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest in remembrance of how you’re not the first to have treated him the way you did. He’s dangerous but, there’s no reason for animosity. Yet, it all boils down to the lives he has willingly taken. It doesn’t differentiate him from the rest of the TVA.

Mysterious variant.

The devil is always in the details.

Strangely, the work of the devil may prove to be useful in times of cul-de-sacs as an idea comes to mind. “I think...I think I know where you’re at right now.” Your voice is light, distracted by your now running thoughts. You’re on your feet, chair squeaking as you push it back. Your pen is in your grasp and you wave it in the air, reflecting the gears that turn at high speed within your brain.

Frankly, you’re not making any sense. Loki furrows his brows, slowly standing. “What do you mean? I’m right here—"

“No. The other one. The variant. And it has to do with gum.”

You’re still not making sense and it’s clear that in your eyes, he is invisible. You’re the only one in that frenzied mind of yours.

“What?”

You don’t answer him, feet quickly bringing you down the passageway along the vast rows of shelves that stretch along with the floor’s pristine balcony of white and the two of you are back to playing chase and run. Only this time, the roles are reversed.

Mission Haven Hills: not successful.

Really not successful. Far from successful.

You witnessed the doom of bombing the Sacred Timeline, firsthand. Employees scramble at the controls as you watch the screen that looms over the control room. What was once a single line, running along with time has now grown like a tree with fruits of chaos, caused by Nexus events scattered across time and places.

You wished the dust would settle and this was all simply a dream but you realize this was his plan all along.

Bomb the timeline. Distract the TVA.

There is one thing you know about Loki. He is moved by revenge and resentment.

As if you possess some sort of telepsychic powers, a part of you feels that danger itself is within the vicinity of the TVA. The variant is here, you just know it.

You hope Mobius is okay.

Scurrying down the winding hallways, past the hurried time hunters, and past the time theaters, you find yourself heading towards the golden doors of the Time Keepers’ chambers. In a time of uncertainty, your gut is your only source of guidance.

At the end of the hallway, you see bodies on the ground, nearly lifeless—time hunters, either unarmed or batons missing. You plucked one of the sizzling batons from the ground as you cautiously stepped around the laying bodies. You clutch it tightly to calm the blood rushing to your head, pounding along with your heartbeat as you take on the venture into the foyer of the grand chambers with secrets not wanting to be unveiled.

You round the corner, following the wooden panels for walls laid along the entrance. The glowing end of the baton within your grasp reflects off the black porcelain tiles beneath your careful feet. You hear voices, grunts, and shouting as if in combat.

Then, you see them. Loki in his variant jacket and a woman with locks of blonde and streaks of black. She adorns a headpiece of golden horns—one broken off.

Isn't Loki supposed to be at Haven Hills?

Recognizing the presence of another, the two turn to you, daggers still held to each other's throats. Loki eyes you with wide eyes, a silent plea whether to help or stand down, you’re unsure. Your gaze shifts to the woman once more who watches you with an equal resemblance to the other.

Then, it hits you. You recognize the dark emerald cloak she wears. You know exactly who she is. You just never thought it would be a she.

“You!” Your exclamation is bitter, and it’s directed towards the woman who seems to be strangely expectant of your remark as if she already knows who you are. She is L1190, a Loki variant. The one who slashed you with the TVA’s baton, scaring your left cheek. The one who hauled you through the time door and left you stranded in Sakaar for thousands of years.

You know exactly what she has done. She knows what she has done.

“You did this to me!” you gesture to the scar on your left cheek, eyes fixated solely on her, nearing the two with caution. You’re angry. Very angry. All pent-up rage begging to be set free.

Before Loki could even perceive the current situation he landed in between two women who very much want him dead, you’re already swinging the baton to her face with full force but she blocks it with her sword but slightly staggers in her step. You glare at her. She seems a little surprised. In an instant, you take a step back and go for another strike to her rib, but she blocks you again, sliding away and dodging your hit by a mere second. You growl out of frustration, seething through your teeth, and without hesitation, you strike again. The fight goes on—strike, block, strike, dodge. And with every blow, your intensity escalates, each a little harder than the one before. Loki stands there, watching, speechless and frozen.

You strike again, the baton crackling less than an inch away from her face but she dodges just in time, swinging her sword across your face. It grazes your cheek, now a gash of crimson on top of your scar, and with the sudden blow of searing pain, you lose your balance.

The variant spins into a kick that sweeps your legs out from under, knocking you hard onto the ground. The baton rolls out from your grip. Your hand flies to the gash, trickling with blood.

“Hey!”

The brawl comes to a halt. You seize yourself up from the ground, back and head aching, turning to see Judge Renslayer accompanied by two hunters, batons held up in defense position. You were about to reach for your own that was a stretch away when suddenly, you felt a hand grip you by the collar, hauling you to your knees. Her sword held to your neck.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“Go for it.”

Your eyes are wide in shock, all anger towards the variant now turning into this churning feeling of betrayal that resides within your abdomen. Judge Renslayer doesn’t look at you, focus fixated on the two variants—it’s like you’re not even there.

The three start to charge towards you and you involuntarily shut your eyes. Then, as quick as a rattlesnake, Loki grabs the tempad hung at her waist and sends the three of you falling through the ground.

That’s the thing about Loki. He gets inside your head, makes you think that for once, he may be worth not pruning. Now, with your back landing hard on top of him, all you could think about is wanting to strangle him to death.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #mobius #ravonna renslayer

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evilzoldyck · 5 years ago

Text

Hell is Other People

Admiring the heavy rock that was tailored perfectly to match your finger in silent awe you gleamed almost as brightly as the diamond which glittered underneath the moonlight.

You could hear the murmurs of your guests and the faint music of the orchestra playing in the background from afar as you stood in your private balcony to revere the ring that symbolised an emblem of eternal faith and affection. To be quite honest with yourself you hadn’t seen it coming, just earlier in the day you’re mulling over which dress to wear for the evening party that your partner scrupulously planned for since months, now that he had proposed to you in front of all your highly esteemed company it all made sense.

This was your engagement party.

Pleading with a resolute ‘yes’ for an answer, the colossal baroque hall erupted into an applause at the sight of the new happily engaged couple. Wiping a few tears of joy and sharing quick loving kisses from your partner he proudly showed you around where his parents eagerly took you in as part of the family. His Mother held you tight as if you were her very own and his Father kissed the back of your hand cordially in response. You’ve never felt so welcomed before, the warmth of having a real family was one that was foreign but comforting for you.

Taking a break from meeting all the guests he had personally invited to witness his ardent declaration of love, you stood alone in the cool breeze to process all the adrenaline in blissfully. To think, engaged during a peaceful warm season, you couldn’t believe you’re going to celebrate your anniversary every year on such a beautiful weather, making a special connotation to the word summer now.

Suddenly feeling an unwanted presence behind you, your face that was once graced with a contented smile had turned into a sour frown. You knew exactly who would turn the most happiest night of your life upside down, trailing after a bloody carpet and reigning chaos until the dawn rises.

The harbinger of death itself, Chrollo Lucilfer.

“So he’s finally proposed,” his dark timbre voice reverberated through the quiet night, startling such a tranquil silence. “I’d congratulate you on your engagement, but I can’t say I’m quite pleased.” There were hundreds of guards your partner employed on duty at the whole premise, guarding every entrance and exit making sure to keep trespassers at bay to keep this party perfect. Though with all the security money could by at your disposal, you weren’t completely surprised someone like him could get through easily, he is the head of the spider after all, capable of going in and out wherever he pleases.

“Chrollo,” you acknowdleged him with an air of indifference, turning around to the slightly to see him dressed in a fine black suit and tie, oddly appropriate for the occasion. “Where are the rest of the troupe? Couldn’t imagine you pulling off a heist on your own.” It was true, there were many treasures such as valuable paintings and ornaments all held in a considerable amount of monetary value scattered along the place, and even then, there were hidden assets stored deep underground that even you had just learned about, or perhaps he’s come for the family’s precious heirloom?

“No need to be so tense, it’s just me tonight.” He suddenly appeared before you, holding the hand in which the engagement ring was secured onto. Smiling bitterly at the glistening jewellery, he showed no movement or even an ounce of intention to take it away from you, rather he looked to be quite pensive as he studied it with a forlorn expression. “I don’t necessarily like to intrude, but it seems that I was uninvited by your charming fiancé.”

Taking your hand away from his cold hands without ever leaving your skeptical eyes off of his lackadaisical form, he reluctantly lets it go. “The feeling still stands.” Glaring at him with a scathing passion. “There is nothing for you to take here, nothing that you have not already seen before. Leave this people alone, they have nothing worthy of you to steal from.”

“You seem to be quite fond of them,” Chrollo commented motionlessly, closing the space even closer. “Perhaps even more than me.” A distasteful tone from him had you nearly shivering in your heels, however you needed to stand your ground you couldn’t let him ruin everything you worked so hard for.

“I’ve let you had your fun, released you from your ties, gave you time for yourself and now what do you do? Run into the arms of another man.” He trapped you in between his body and the stone carved balustrades. “Don’t tell me I’ve been replaced,” he whispered in bitter disbelief before placating himself quickly and placed a gentle hand upon your cheek. “My dearest friend, do I really stand no chance with you? Didn’t you once held me high in the standing of your heart?”

Your throat went completely dry as he bared his unbridled affections for you. “Once,” you answered truthfully. Years before in Meteor City you both shared the same vision, the same utopian perspective of your future filled with comfort through grim determination. However as time progressed he began to stray further away from what you both shared. You watched his avarice grow beyond expectancy, stepping over bodies to get what he desired without a vestige of remorse or empathy. Time turned him to be such a monster, an unrecognisable stranger who’s oddly keeping you alive by his side. “A long time ago, but now I barely remember the traces of where I held you in such position.”

Chrollo smiled sullenly at your response, as if he was expecting the daggers of your tongue into his heart. “You’re too cruel,” he detached the palm of his hand from your soft skin.

“I can’t help but ask after all this time.” He placed a hand against the railing, thoroughly interrogating you closely. “Was it fun, making me chase after you? Did you enjoy the idea of me grovelling for your attention, for you to spare me a simple kiss? I’ve circled the world for your heart and yet it never seems to be enough.”

He kept the bitter quirk on his lips as he continued, “like I’m never enough.”

Gripping onto the hard stone you willed yourself not to let your knees give out. Though he didn’t show it, you could see the raging storm of emotions in his eyes, the pain and betrayal he felt when you left and the sliver of intention to hurt you. You wanted to calm him down, pacify his anger like you did before when you were both younger. However you couldn’t reward his behaviour anymore, you couldn’t be on the same side where history would echo the time in which evil was left untamed

“What is it he has that I couldn’t give you?” He spoke so softly you could feel the sincerity in his words.

“It’s not something you could give me,” your tone as careful and gentle as ever around the capricious being. Unfortunately that set every fibre of his being on fire.

“Do you even love him?”

You took his challenging words as a personal affront to your integrity. “I find it hard to see if that is any of your concern.”

“He’s nearly twice your age.” Chrollo staunchly dismissed. “I see the way you look at me, you look at me with such anger in your eyes, like I’m the lowest being to walk on earth; a vermin with no moral compass.” The warm night air suddenly turned frigid at the sound of his strained voice that was holding back such malice. “And you’re right, but what differentiates me from you is that at least I don’t lie to myself.”

“And the worst thing is that you don’t even seem to realise it do you? You willingly use others for your own interests and discard them once you no longer had use of them. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself, you and I both know your true nature. You’re exactly like me- in fact you might even be worse than me, robbing people blind. I do my work in the dark but you do yours in broad daylight,” Chrollo stated. “I’m not the only monster here.”

“Don’t talk to me of hypocrisy when you value those philosophical books so much,” you angrily countered, noting how much time he spent on the ideas and theories discussed in heavy literatures such as the Leviathan. “Never have I met someone so ridiculously obsessed with Western perspectives on rules and regulations and yet completely disregards them in practice.”

“But isn’t that what’s so appealing about it? Of course I don’t take these words as gospel when there’s so many critiques to each theory. It’s too nuanced and complex to ever rightfully regulate civil society that who could determine what I’m doing is immoral? For Hobbes I’m merely exercising my right of nature as it is ‘the liberty each man hath, to use his own power, as he will for himself, for the preservation of his own nature,’ you remember right?” He quipped, reminding you of the times he shared his esoteric books with you, engaging in meaningful and intellectual thoughts until the candle burned out.

“I have not consented to the laws of nature and therefore I have yet to surrender my natural rights. Thus the sovereign is illegitimate to me and I’m under no obligation of the state as I have not entered in any form of contract bound by the will and rule of the sovereign. I’m not bound to any laws of this land for I do not conform to the will of others but myself. Plato’s Crito would further support his argument on the laws of consent.”

Scoffing at his misconstrued interpretation you vacantly refuted. “Hobbes also said that if there is reasonable hope in preserving peace to seek and follow it.”

“However I may think it not necessary or the best for my life to be best preserved then I may seek and use all helps and advantages of war.”

“Nevertheless all that is futile for his argument remains that the design of men is the willingness to put restraint upon themselves for a more contented life thereby. We should ultimately consent for the second law of nature requires that we should covenant for peace if others are willing.”

“If others are willing.” He repeated and stressed out the first word. “Do you remember where we lived? No person there would opt for peace, it’s every man for themselves. It is what he hypothetically calls the state of nature, a horrible nasty, brutish and short life, except it’s real. Meteor City is a lawless land and as he states that no contract could be formed in the state of nature. Thus this paradox leaves us in a perpetual natural state of mankind; war.”

“You know there’s more to philosophy than just the Leviathan, Rousseau’s Social Contract and Locke’s Second Treatise of Civil Government has a lot to say on your so called ‘freedom’. There is no advantage to stay in the state of nature, the natural progress of humanity is the establishment of a common political authority for the sake of improving our way of life.”

“Actually Locke and Hobbes states that the state diminishes our sense of freedom but is justified in doing so, by no means did they implied our freedom would be retained, and that, is what I don’t find an improvement.”

“Rousseau would disagree with you, the state is a necessary condition of our freedom for the sovereign is the construction of all through the general will and so is directly exercised by the citizenry. Therefore, this eliminates the tension between political authority and individual freedom.” You sighed, “Chrollo even if you wanted to retain individual autonomy over yourself you’d surely remember Mill’s first sentence on the harm principle, ‘the only freedom which deserves the name is that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so long as we do not attempt to deprive others of theirs, or impede their efforts to attain it.’ In other words, as long as you don’t harm others you can do whatever the fuck you like, but you seem to struggle with that concept of freedom don’t you?”

He suddenly chuckled lightly at your remark. “How are you so quick to mark me wrong as if I had forgotten your favourite book?” You suddenly shifted uncomfortably on your feet as he smirked amusingly at your cornered form. “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the revered Mary Wollstonecraft, we would often read her passages for hours didn’t we? A Vindication of the Rights of a Woman, well, I guess we’re both hypocrites here.”

“What was her argument? That women were rendered weak, lacked the use of reason, had no special moral value?” He droned on and looked afar as if he was in deep thought before returning his sharp gaze to yours. “You had a lot to say about the sexist social arrangements in today’s society, you argued that women are deprived of their natural rights to acquire virtue through the use reason. How Wollstonecraft would be so disappointed if she could see you right now, the most passionate proponent of her work devoting her energies in pleasing and making herself attractive to men.”

“Stop it.” You hissed as he jabbed at your pride, mocking your own words of the past to further humiliate your contradicting present.

“What were the words you used to quote to me? ‘Have women so little in ambition as to be satisfied with such a condition? Can they supinely dream life away in the lap of pleasure and render themselves conspicuous by practicing the virtues which signify mankind? Surely she has not an immortal soul who can loiter life away merely employed to adorn her person, that she may amuse the languid hours, and soften the carress of a fellow-creature who is willing to be enlivened by her smiles and tricks, when the serious business of life is over.’ Aren’t you becoming the women she is scathing about?”

“What’s so wrong with pleasure? Wanting to be taken care of? The want and human need for companionship and love is not one to be jeered at. Might it just even cross your mind that I chose this life instead of ‘building my faculty.’ Those texts described the social conditioning of women back in the eighteen hundreds, women have more options now and are more than capable to choose. Times have changed.”

“Have they?” Chrollo hummed. “Is the pleasure that you insist on promoting for you, or for him?” He rubbed the silky garment of your dress impassively. “Don’t you wish to be more than a pretty ornament? To have purpose and participate in the natural rights of mankind? ‘Virtue, says reason, must be acquired by rough toils, and useful struggles with worldly cares.’ Sure you are provided with goods and raiment but liberty and virtue are given in exchange. You could build your character by the sense of struggle of living-“

“How can you call that living?!” You exploded abruptly, pausing for a moment to realise that you were shaking all over as you stood in your designer heels before him with glassy eyes. “What we did- to those people, those families, it was never enough for you. I may be what I despised in my youth but I’m better off being an indulgence for others rather than taking account for mass genocide; for what I lack in virtue I make up for my own compassion.”

“How kindly of you,” he nodded absently. “Then perhaps we should test it. Referring back on your comment on Mill’s harm principle, you must know then that the cause of evil not only takes account of a person’s action but also their inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable for the injury.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s hypothesise that I would come back on your white wedding day and that I would kill everyone present during the reception, by learning this information, you then would be held responsible for each of their death.” You griped your hand so hard you’re sure that you’ve left specks of bloody crescent moon marks on the palm of your hands.

“I have no obligation of duty towards you, therefore the harm principle does not apply to me for I am not responsible or related for your actions.” You countered at his allusion to the other-regarding actions where a special role of obligation is placed within the liberty principle.

“No unfortunately you’re not,” he agreed. “But him, would you not protect him at all costs? Surely as your soon to be life long partner you would do whatever it takes to promote his health and well-being. If you would simply come back to me before the day of wedding, denounce your engagement and reinstate your affiliation and loyalty towards the troupe everybody gets their happily ever after.” He finally took a step back. “In failing to meet our obligations to others we are actually harming them.”

“I’m tired of your philosophical rhapsodies, if you were to kill others or even yourself I would not hold myself accountable so I suggest you’d best return to whatever matters you currently have and leave us alone.” You’ve grown anxious and wary of the dangerous connotation of his words and with the way he was impishly grinning at you suggested that he saw right through your bluff.

“Its getting late, you should return to your awaiting fiancé before he realises you’ve been gone for too long,” looking back down at the sight of pretty swirls of dresses on the ballroom quietly dwindling down as the night grew longer. “It’s reassuring to see that you haven’t changed at all, I missed our philosophical prattle.”

“I can hardly say the same, discussing Western philosophers on an engagement party is certainly not in the least enlightening, I suggest you turn to the East for matters such as these.”

Chrollo gave a half-suppressed laugh and an amused smile, one that was rare and sincere in which held no trace of malice or cruelty. “Before I forget to tell you, you look beautiful.” You didn’t let your hardened expression change when his comment took you by surprise as he slowly backed away from you and into the shadows.

You heard your name being called out by Thomas where he sighed in relief and ran towards you in a light jog before taking you into his arms. “So this is where you’ve been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he playfully chastised with a turn on his lips. He led you back inside the bright chandelier lit hall to bid your guests farewell for the night, however, you couldn’t help but glance back from your shoulders to see that Chrollo had disappeared.

Though his presence was now absent, his words still rang loudly inside your head. His confrontation of your nature, how the spotlight is too blinding for someone like you and how it’s just a matter of time you would run into the dark once more with your back up against the wall and tangled up in his web seem to be conveyed as a confident prediction rather than insults to your moral character.

Chrollo wasn’t here to steal anything, not even you, he wanted you to come to him on your own accord even if he had to force pieces to make you submit to his will. However, his appearance tonight also wasn’t meant for mere formalities, in fact he made his purpose and intention clear when he first spoke of the day you would finally be wed.

It was a warning.

#this is gonna be the last fic for a while :(#im gonna fuck off for a few weeks since my break is over #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere x reader #hunter x hunter #yandere #genei ryoudan #yandere genei ryoudan #Phantom Troupe #yandere phantom troupe

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cruisingthedemimonde · 4 years ago

Text

America’s Gay Men in WW2

World War Two was a “National Coming Out” for queer Americans.

I don’t think any other event in history changed the lives of so many of us since Rome became Christian.

For European queers the war brought tragedy.

The queer movement began in Germany in the 1860s when trans activist Karl Ulrichs spoke before the courts to repeal Anti-Sodomy laws. From his first act of bravery the movement grew and by the 1920s Berlin had more gay bars than Manhattan did in the 1980s. Magnus Hirschfeld’s “Scientific Humanitarian Committee” fought valiantly in politics for LGBT rights and performed the first gender affirmation surgeries. They were a century ahead of the rest of the world.

The Nazis made Hirschfeld - Socialist, Homosexual and Jew - public enemy number one.

The famous image of the Nazis burning books? Those were the books of the Scientific Humanitarian Committee. Case studies of the first openly queer Europeans, histories, diaries - the first treasure trove of our history was destroyed that day.

100,000 of us were charged with felonies. As many as 15,000 were sent to the camps, about 60% were murdered.

But in America the war brought liberation.

In a country where most people never even heard the word “homosexual” , historian John D’emilio wrote the war was “conducive both to the articulation of a homosexual identity and to the more rapid evolution of a gay subculture. (24)” The war years were “a Watershed (Eaklor 68)”

Now before we begin I need to give a caveat. The focus of this first post is not lesbians, transfolk or others in our community. Those stories have additional complexity the story of cisgender homosexual men does not. Starting with gay men lets me begin in the simplest way I can, in subsequent posts I’ll look at the rest of our community.

Twilight Aristocracy: Being Queer Before the War

I want us to go back in time and imagine the life of the typical queer American before the war. Odds are you lived on a farm and simply accepted the basic fact that you would marry and raise children as surely as you were born or would die. You would have never seen someone Out or Proud. If you did see your sexuality or gender in contrary ways you had no words to express it, odds are even your doctor had never heard the term “Homosexual. In your mind it was just a quirk, without a name or possible expression.

In the city the “Twilight Aristocracy” lived hidden, on the margins and exposed their queerness only in the most coded ways. Gay men “Dropping pins” with a handkerchief in a specific pocket. Butch women with key chains heavy enough to show she didn’t need a man to carry anything for her. A secret language of “Jockers” and “Nances” “Playing Checkers” during a night out. There is a really good article on the queer vernacular here

And these were “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.”

In public one must act as straight as possible. Two people of the same gender dancing could be prosecuted. Cross dressing, even with something as trivial as a woman wearing pants, would run afoul of obscenity laws.

The only spaces we had for ourselves were dive bars, run by organized crime. But even then one must be sure to be circumspect, and act straight. Anyone could be an undercover cop. If a gaze was held to long, or lovers kissed in a corner the bar would be raided. Police saw us as worthy candidates for abuse so beatings were common and the judge would do all he could to humiliate you.

Now Michael Foucault, the big swinging french dick of queer theory, laid out this whole theory about how the real policing in a society happens inside our heads. Ideas about sin, shame, normalcy, mental illness can all be made to control people, and the Twilight Aristocracy was no different.

While cruising a park at night, or settled on the sofa with a lifelong lover, the thoughts of Priests and Doctors haunted them. “Am I living in Sin? Am I someone God could love?” “Is this healthy? Have I gone mad? Is this a true love or a medical condition which requires cure?”

There was no voice in America yet healing our self doubt, or demanding the world accept us as we are. And that voice, the socialist Harry Hay, did not come during the war, but it would come shortly after directly because of it.

Johnny Get Your Gun… And are you now or ever been a Homosexual?

For the first time in their lives millions of young men crossed thousands of miles from their home to the front.

But before they made that brave journey they had another, unexpected and often torturous journey. The one across the doctor’s office at a recruiting station.

In the nineteenth century queerness moved from an act, “Forgive me Father I have sinned, I kissed another man” to something you are, “The homosexual subspecies can be identified by certain physical and psychological signs.”

These were the glory days of patriarchy and white supremacy, those who transgressed the line between masculine and feminine called the whole culture into question. So doctors obsessed themselves with queerness, its origins, its signs, its so called catastrophic racial consequences and its cure.

“Are you a homosexual?” doctors asked stunned recruits.

If you were closeted but patriotic, you would of course deny the accusation. But the doctor would continue his examination by checking if you were a “Real Man.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? Did you like playing sports as a kid?”

If you passed that, the doctor would often try and trip you up by asking about your culture.

“Do you ever go basketeering?” he would ask, remembering to check if there was any lisp or effeminacy in your voice.

Finally if the doctor felt like it he could examine your body to see if you were a member of the homosexual subspecies.

Your gag reflex would be tested with a tongue depressor. Another hole could be carefully examined as well.

Humiliating enough for a straight man. But for a gay recruit the consequences could be life threatening.

Medical authorities knew homosexuals were weak, criminal and mad. To place them among the troops would weaken unit cohesion at the very least, result in treachery at the worst. In civilian life doctors had much the same thing to say.

The recruit needed a cure. And a doctor was always ready. With talk therapy, hypnosis, drugs, electroshock and forced surgeries of the worst kinds there was always a cure ready at hand.

Thankfully the doctors were not successful in their task, one doctor wrote “for every homosexual who was referred or came to the Medical Department, there were five or ten who never were detected. (d’Emilio 25)”

Here’s the irony though, by asking such pointed and direct questions to people closeted to themselves it forced them to confront their sexuality for the first time.

Hegarty writes, “As a result of the screening policies, homosexuality became part of wartime discourse. Questions about homosexual desire and behavior ensured that every man inducted into the armed forces had to confront the possibility of homosexual feelings or experiences. This was a kind of massive public education about homosexuality. Despite—and be-cause of—the attempts to eliminate homosexuals from the military, men with same-sex desires learned that there were many people like themselves (Hegarty 180)”

And then it gave them a golden opportunity to have fun.

The 101st Airborn - Homosocial and Homosexual

“Homosocial” refers to a gender segregated space. And they were often havens for gay men. The YMCA for example really was a place for young gay men to meet.

Now the government was already aware of the kind of scandalous sexual behaviour young men can get up to when left to themselves. Two major government programs before the war, the Federal Transient Program and the Civilian Conservation Corps focused on unattached young men, but over time these spaces became highly suspect and the focus shifted to helping family men so as to avoid giving government aid to ‘sexual perversion’ in these homosocial spaces.

But with the war on there was no choice but to put hundreds of thousands of young men in their own world. All male boot camps, all male bases, all male front lines.

The emotional intensity broke down the barriers between men and the strict enforcement of gendered norms.

On the front the men had no girlfriend, wife or mother to confide in. The soldier’s body was strong and heroic but also fragile. Straight men held each other in foxholes and shared their emotional vulnerability to each other. Gender lines began to blur as straight men danced together in bars an action that would result in arrest in many American cities.

Bronski writes, “Men were now more able to be emotional, express their feelings, and even cry. The stereotypical “strong, silent type,” quintessentially heterosexual, that had characterized the American Man had been replaced with a new, sensitive man who had many of the qualities of the homosexual male. (Bronski 152)”

Homosexual men discovered in this environment new freedoms to get close to one another without arousing suspicion.

“Though the military officially maintained an anti-homosexual stance, wartime conditions nonetheless offered a protective covering that facilitated interaction among gay men (d’Emilio 26)”

Bob Ruffing, a chief petty officer in the Navy described this freedom as follows, ‘When I first got into the navy—in the recreation hall, for instance— there’d be eye contact, and pretty soon you’d get to know one or two people and kept branching out. All of a sudden you had a vast network of friends, usually through this eye contact thing, some through outright cruising. They could get away with it in that atmosphere. (d’Emilio 26) ”

Another wrote about their experience serving in the navy in San Diego, “‘Oh, these are more my kind of people.’ We became very chummy, quite close, very fraternal, very protective of each other. (Hegarty 180)”

Some spaces within the army became queer as well. The USO put on shows for soldiers, and since they could not find women to play parts, the men often dressed in drag. “impersonation. For actors and audiences, these performances were a needed relief from the stress of war. For men who identified as homosexual, these shows were a place where they could, in coded terms, express their sexual desires, be visible, and build a community. (Bronski 148)”

“Here you see three lovely “girls”

With their plastic shapes and curls.

Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?

We’ve got glamour and that’s no lie;

Can’t you tell when we swish by?

Isn’t it campy? Isn’t it campy?”

The words camp and swish being used in the gay subculture and connected to effeminate gay men.

I would have to assume, more than a few transwomen gravitated to these spaces as well.

Even the battlefield itself provided opportunities for gay fraternization. A beach in Guam for example became a secret just for the gay troops, they called it Purple Beach Number 2, after a perfume brand.

This homoerotic space was not confined to the military, but spilled out into civilian life as well.

Donald Vining was a pacifist who stated bluntly his homosexuality to the recruitment board as his mother needed his work earnings, and if you wanted be a conscientious objector you had to apply to go to an objector’s camp. He became something of a soldier chaser, working in the local YMCA and volunteering at the soldier’s canteen in New York he hooked up with soldiers still closeted for a night of passion but many more who were open about who they were.

After the war he was left with a network of gay friends and a strong sense of belonging to a community. It was dangerous tho, he was victim of robberies he could not report because they happened during hook ups, but police were always ready to raid gay bars when they were bored. “It was obvious that [the police] just had to make a few arrests to look busy,” he protested in his diary. “It was a travesty of justice and the workings of the police department (d’Emilio 30).״

Now it might seem odd he was able to plug into a community like that, but over the war underground gay bars appeared across the country for their new clientele. Even the isolated Worcester Mass got a gay bar.

African American men, barred from combat on the front lines, were not entirely barred from the gay subculture in the cities. For example in Harlem the jazz bar Lucky Rendevous was reported in Ebony as whites and blacks “steeped in the swish jargon of its many lavender costumers. (Bronski 149)”

The Other War: Facing Homophobia

“For homosexual soldiers, induction into the military forced a sudden confrontation with their sexuality that highlighted the stigma attached to it and kept it a matter of special concern (d’Emilio 25)”

“They were fighting two wars: one for America, democracy, and freedom; the other for their own survival as homosexuals within the military organization. (Eaklor 68)”

Once they were in, they fell under Article 125 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice: “Any person subject to this chapter who engages in unnatural carnal copulation with another person of the same or opposite sex or with an animal is guilty of sodomy. Penetration, however slight, is sufficient to complete the offense.”

Penalties could include five years hard labour, forced institutionalization or fall under the dreaded Section 8 discharge, a stamp of mental instability that would prevent you from finding meaningful employment in civilian life.

Even if one wanted nothing to do with fulfilling their desires it was still essential to become hyper aware of your presentation and behaviour in order to avoid suspicion.

Coming Home to Gay Ghettos

“The veterans of World War II were the first generation of gay men and women to experience such rapid, dramatic, and widespread changes in their lives as homosexuals. Bronski 154”

After the war many queer servicemen went on to live conventionally heterosexual lives. But many more returned to a much queerer life stateside.

Bob Ruffing would settle down in San Francisco. The city has always been a safe harbour for queer Americans, made more so as ex servicemen gravitated to its liberated atmosphere. The port cities of New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles became the prime destinations to settle. Vining’s partner joined him in New York, where they both immersed themselves in the gay culture.

Other soldiers moved to specific neighborhoods known for having small gay communities. San Francisco’s North Beach, the west side of Boston’s Beacon Hill, or New York’s Greenwich Village. Following the war the gay populations of these cities increased dramatically.

The cities offered parks, coffee houses and bars which became queer spaces. And drag performance, music and comedy became features of this culture.

These veterans also founded organizations just for the queer soldiers. In Los Angeles the Knights of the Clock provided a space for same sex inter racial couples. In New York the Veterans Benevolent Association would often see 400-500 homosexuals appear at its events.

A number of books bluntly explored homosexuality following the war, such as The Invisible Glass which tells the story of an inter racial couple in Italy,

“With a slight moan Chick rolled onto his left side, toward the Lieutenant. His finger sought those of the officer’s as they entwined their legs. Their faces met. The breaths, smelling sweet from wine, came in heavy drawn sighs. La Cava grasped the soldier by his waist and drew him tightly to his body. His mouth pressed down until he felt Chick’s lips part. For a moment they lay quietly, holding one another with strained arms.”

Others like Gore Vidal’s The City and the Pillar (1948), Fritz Peters’s The World Next Door (1949), and James Barr’s Quatrefoil (1950) explored similar themes.

In 1948 the Kinsey Report would create a public firestorm by arguing that homosexuality is shockingly common. In 1950 The Mattachine Society, a secretive group of homosexual Stalinists launched America’s LGBT movement.

References:

Michael Bronski “A Queer History of the United States”

John D’emilio “Coming Out Under Fire”

Vivki L Eaklor “Queer America: A GLBT History of America”

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

The Lesbians

In 1947 General Eisenhower told a purple heart winning Sargeant Johhnie Phelps, “It's come to my attention that there are lesbians in the WACs, we need to ferret them out”.

Phelps replied, “"If the General pleases, sir, I'll be happy to do that, but the first name on the list will be mine."

Eisenhower’s secretary added “"If the General pleases, sir, my name will be first and hers will be second."

Join me again May 17 to hear the story of America’s Lesbians during the war.

#gay history #world war two #queer history #gay #lgbt

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bisluthq · 4 years ago

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Hey! I'm fairly new here and I have a pretty uncommon take on Kaylor. But I just wanna start off by saying I try my best to be as supportive of LGBT people as possible and if they're both bisexual, then I would be 100% okay with that! I'm not trying to "defend their heterosexuality" or anything, I think that's really weird

Okay, so my personal theory is that Kaylor did happen, but that Taylor and Karlie are both straight. I know that might sound contradictory, but I say this based on my own personal experiences based on how I am with my best friend. I think Karlie and Taylor's relationship might have been similar in some ways to ours

Right, so I'm straight and I'm not into women in the gay kind of way (but it's completely cool that some girls are), and I have this roommate who's gorgeous. Really gorgeous, she's like a 10/10 "I would sell my kidney to look like you" kind of girl. She's very attractive, she has like tan skin and long legs and gorgeous brown hair and pretty eyes and nice lips and just like… she's just very good looking. I'm definitely jealous of her body, I won't even pretend I'm not 😪 I lowkey hate her because of it (jk)

We've been living together since not long before COVID started, and we're very good friends. There were three of us before, but our other roommate went back home to stay with her parents until in person classes are back on and we agreed to it and worked something out because she has really bad anxiety so we understood her reasoning for it

Anyway so it's just been us two and because we've been at home a lot during this time instead of out for most of the day like before, we've gotten to know each other a lot better and have become a lot closer. We were already friends from before, but now we're like super close besties, we've been hanging out a lot together and playing board games, watching movies, helping each other with essays, just having long conversations about anything and everything, etc

Like it's been so nice having a best friend that I can be this close to now because I haven't had a best friend since I was a kid

So my friend and I were having like a conversation last year about how hard it's been in quarantine not being able to go on dates and how we miss kissing people, and so we decided to just like, make out for fun you know. I mean, there's not really anything that's inherently romantic or sexual about making out, that's just society that says that. But tbh I think making out with your friends if you want to should be normalized, it's fun and it can even be emotional sometimes. It's not that different from hugging people

After a couple of weeks or so, I think we got bored of just making out with each other and decided to like, fully hook up. It started off because we were modelling lingerie for each other for banter and were pretending we were each other's runway judges and then I think we just decided to hook up with each other as like part of the whole "game". I can't remember who initiated it now, I think it might have been me as a joke lol

Like just in a platonic way for fun, as a kind of substitute until we can go back into society

And tbh I always expected hooking up with a woman to be like mediocre and boring and awkward, but although it was a bit hard to get the hang of at first and there was a learning curve, it's actually very enjoyable. Like I was very surprised actually at how hot it can be, I think I can maybe see why bisexual women and lesbians like doing it

Anyway we both liked it and we just carried on hooking up on the regular and it's been like 8 months now and tbh I just think it's very sweet and heartwarming, like it actually makes me feel a little emotional how we're close enough and care about each other enough that we can even help each other out with the physical intimacy side of things so that we don't get sexually frustrated while we're stuck in lockdown

I just think it's really cool and we even sleep in the same bed most of the time now because tbh what's the point in sleeping alone when you can sleep in the same bed as someone else? It's nicer, like you can cuddle and stuff

Anyway, I think that maybe Kaylor's relationship might have been similar. I think they're both straight but they became really close friends in a short space of time, and that their friendship was so intense that it became physical but in a platonic way

I think lesbians and bisexual women are amazing and I have so much respect for you guys for accepting yourselves in a society that tries to erase you, and I think there definitely needs to be more wlw representation on TV and in movies

But at the same time, I would also like there to be more close female friendships like the one that me and my friend have where you can just talk about everything together and do things that society usually reserves for romantic partners, but in a platonic way. Because female friendship is really important and beautiful, whether that's between straight women like me and my friend who I think is probably straight too, or between queer women because one thing I've learnt during my short time on this blog is how queer women can have very close platonic friendships with other queer women too

I think society just has overly strict ideas of "straight" and "gay". Like for some people, they would hear about two women sleeping together and think "Oh that's gay", but not necessarily because straight women can enjoy sleeping with other women too, like it's normal 🤷‍♀️

I think it's just a result of women being a lot more physically beautiful than men are, like straight women really got the short end of the stick tbh compared to straight men

I also think it's because women are so oversexualized in the media, and obviously straight girls see that too and so we sort of internalize that attraction to women because we're so used to seeing women being presented in a sexual way? Except it's not real attraction with us like how it is for queer girls

Like I'm very much "attracted" to my friend, she's genuinely stunning and just very hot tbh. But I still identify as straight because it's just a case of what I mentioned above, it's a "fake" attraction. And also because men are afraid to compliment other men because it's seen as "gay", but women can be fully confident in their sexuality and still recognize other women's beauty and sex appeal. You see it all the time in instagram comments, and I really love how we're all so supportive of each other like that

Like I can be fully confident in my sexuality and yet still say that some women like my friend are gorgeous as hell and also 100 times better looking than most men I've seen. I'm very much obsessed with some women's appearances but in a platonic way

And I just love the concept of "girl crushes" and I think that from a feminism viewpoint, it's beautiful that we're focusing on other girls and showing love towards other girls too, instead of just to men who, let's be real, don't even fully appreciate it half of the time

I am going to be sad when we all have to return to life as usual and my friend and I won't be able to spend as much time together anymore. I'm dreading it tbh, I don't want it to end yet. And it really sucks that the physical side of our friendship will probably have to stop too once our other roommate comes back because I think she'd definitely misunderstand the situation and think it's something different than it actually is if she ever saw us kissing or something. I really am going to miss it a lot though, I really like how things currently are and it's just really really nice and I don't want it to change :/

Btw I'm sorry if I sounded fetishistic or offensive with any of this, I just get a bit jealous sometimes that you guys get to date girls and we're just stuck with men. Honestly if it wasn't for all of the homophobia and the struggles that you all have to face and the fact that it would feel disrespectful to the LGBT community, I would probably really wish I could change my sexuality to be bisexual or gay instead because I just think women are better. Sometimes I really do wish I was into women in that way because dating girls just sounds so much more appealing to me (in a non fetishizing weird way) but unfortunately I'm stuck with dating men 🤦‍♀️ But I also know I'm lucky and privileged to be straight even though most men are mediocre and kinda gross and I don't mean to be disrespectful because I know you all have to face homophobia and other LGBT difficulties and it really sucks, people are awful. There's nothing wrong with women dating women or men dating men at all, society is just ugly and bigoted

Anyway, does anybody else have a similar sort of take on Kaylor where they think they could have both been straight and just had a very close friendship with a physical side to it? I think it would explain a lot. But like I said, this is just a theory of mine based on my own situation, and I'm also open to the idea that it was an actual relationship and that they're both into women for real, not just fake "into women" like I am.

Also pls feel free to call me out if I accidentally said anything offensive towards LGBT people, I tried my best but if I made a mistake anywhere pls let me know and I'll avoid it next time!

You’re not offensive. Please stop apologizing. And we’re gonna come back to the Kaylor stuff another time because... Honey. You and I need to have a conversation for a bit.

So firstly, I’m not trying to like “diagnose” you and at the end of the day it’s your choice what you want to call yourself but... tbh you might not be straight. Sexuality is fluid not static and exists on a spectrum not in absolutes. It’s not like it’s straight, 50/50 bi, gay and you’re born knowing and there’s no room for anything else. That’s not true. There’s a lot of room in between all of these and labels can change over time. We’re people, not cereal brands, and sometimes we don’t even KNOW the word for what we might be. I’m tagging a tag for you from when we asked people to share their label journeys for you to see. It’s not simple or easy and it’s not just because of external stuff - it’s because figuring this out internally is HARD. If you found yourself having such an intense friendship it became physical, repeatedly, you liked it a lot, you still sleep in the same bed and continue to share all your thoughts and you don’t want any of that to end... I’m not sure you’re Kinsey 0. And I think you might lowkey have a girlfriend dude.

You can obviously prefer men but like... hun I reaaallly don’t think you’re completely straight.

Also: it’s okay to say “I see myself winding up with a man and this is a situationship for right now!” but that doesn’t make you straight because again, sexuality is a spectrum and you can manifest a particular kind of endgame while experiencing other things along the way.

But here’s where you really got me: “most men are mediocre and kinda gross” and “women being a lot more physically beautiful than men are, like straight women really got the short end of the stick tbh compared to straight men” because that’s the kind of thing I used to say in my Bi 1.0 era before I ID’d as a lesbian for a bit and before Harry Styles (KING 🥺) made me bi for real. Hun, no. Straight women like men. Tbh BI women like men. I genuinely, unironically, find Harry and Timmy and Matt Smith to be sexy beasts and I would do dirty things to the former two but maybe not the latter irl in 2021 but yes also him if I could be on that Spain trip with him and Karen where they got sloshed and which I think of often. These men are genuinely fucking beautiful to me in the same way Taylor is and Di Silvers is (okay she’s prettier than all of them but like same ~vibe) and like Megan Thee Stallion is and Indira Varma in everything but especially GOT and Gillian Anderson and Keira Knightley. Like those women are HOT to me and SO. ARE. THE. MEN.

Straight women find SO MANY DUDES hot. So many. Starting from objectively pretty options I just cannot personally understand like Chris Evans all the way through to bitches who are outchea simping for wrestlers and Cole Sprouse. Do I understand? No. But like... that’s straight girl culture and ours is not to judge.

If you’re struggling to find men hot then... you might be gay.

Also, I’m not sure what you mean by “fake attraction”. Like queer women - especially femme women which I assume you very much are - experience the same kinds of feelings straight girls do. We have women we want to be like and look like and find enviable (me and Oenone Forbat) and women we find aesthetically gorgeous (me and Anya Taylor Joy) and we have extremely close female friends who we can spend hours on end spilling our guts to - as you say female friendships are truly special - and without going into personal people that you don’t know, that’s me and Cam and Sim right? I literally talk to them for hours. Like those are not gay feelings. And yes we can chat about those kinds of feelings with straight girls and call them “girl crushes” and not immediately get “caught out” because they experience this exact shit too.

But here’s the thing. They never do and I don’t want in the cases above to fuck these women. It’s not sexual.

The moment I can actually imagine fucking the women in question that’s... gay.

Like it’s not “fake attraction” it’s literally just gay. That’s how we desire women. We want to fuck them. Not all women. Not always. But sometimes we want to get under or on top of one and just really truly fucking make each other moan with pleasure.

I have no idea if Karlie or Taylor are into women. They could both literally be straight. I have no idea.

But I have a better idea about you.

Hun, you’re fucking your roommate/best friend and don’t want to stop.

You’re not “into women”.

You’re into this woman.

And possibly into women more generally.

So I know it’s weird to have to be the one to tell you this, and if you want to keep chatting via anon or in my DMs or if you want me to try collate resources for you from around the web but...

Like.

Dude.

You’re a whole ass part of the rainbow.

Welcome to the community you thought you weren’t a part of earlier today 🌈 ❤️

It’s nice here, sure there’s homophobia, but at least we get to fuck girls and man is it good.

#agony aunat #share your label journey #roommate anon <3

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matchasprouts · 4 years ago

Text

Listen Closer - Chapter 9

[ obsessed with how this has more chapters than the walls <3 wjhbejwehbjewhbjewh ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

“I’m gonna turn off my phone if people keep interrupting my conversations and naps,” Garrett said into the phone as he answered the call, even placing a hand on his hip as if Mark could see his annoyed position.

Mark chuckled on the other end of the phone, and Garrett could hear people talking behind him. “I’m gonna send you an address, and I need you to get here as fast as possible. You’re a specialist now, and you’re gonna pretend to help us figure out this case.”

Garrett paused, completely okay with lying to the authorities but also wondering what the fuck was going on. “Okay… why? Is this a ploy to spend more time with me? Mark, we see each other every day.”

“You said you like to watch investigations. I’m giving you the chance to participate in one.” Oh. So Mark was in love with him.

“I’m on my way,” Garrett replied without hesitation, hanging up and heading right outside for his car. He already knew where it was, so he didn’t need the address, and Mark knew that. He was probably just saying it because he was in front of people.

“Where are you going?” John suddenly asked, cutting off his mad dash for his car. He froze, and turned around with a sigh, like a teenager who had tried to run off before his dad could stop him.

Oh god, this meant he had to bring up the Angel Trap. “Detective Kerry failed her test,” he said, and neither Amanda nor John seemed surprised. “Hoffman’s at the scene now, and I’m gonna watch it. Don’t worry, I’m a good liar.”

John hummed at that, knowing he couldn’t stop him but clearly unsure about him being so close to the police. “Be careful. Try not to talk more than necessary. I trust you, but even the best can slip up.”

“Yeah, fair enough. I’ve gotta go, I’ll see y’all later,” Garrett replied, bouncing on his feet before John gestured for him to go, and then his mad dash continued, resulting in him literally throwing himself into his car.

He was like… ninety percent sure that he was speeding when he got on the road.

---

“Hey, sorry, John kept me up,” Garrett said as he met Mark in front of the building, now following him inside. “So I’m just a Jigsaw specialist? Shouldn’t I have equipment with me?”

“You don’t need it,” Mark replied simply, falling silent as they passed a group of his coworkers. “You, Mr. Whitlock, are just very good at your job.” He paused, looking Garrett up and down. “Is that my shirt?”

Garrett decided not to tell Mark that technically his title should be Dr., instead waiting until he introduced himself to literally anyone. “Sounds about right. I need gloves though.” And then he smirked at the question. “Yeah, it is. You probably shouldn’t leave your clothes in the base if you don’t want me to steal them.”

Mark was quiet for a moment before he sighed, pulling a pair of gloves out of his jacket as they reached the body. He handed them to Garrett, who immediately pulled them on and made a beeline for the corpse.

Of course some asshole stopped him.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men standing in the room when he entered asked him, making him very tempted to glare but instead he smiled.

This random guy was tall, but only four inches taller than Garrett. He had mostly slicked back brown hair, deep blue eyes, and what seemed to be a permanent scowl. He was, unfortunately, attractive. Especially in that suit.

Garrett looked past him, glancing at the woman who he’d been standing next to. She was shorter, with curly dark brown hair that she had pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were a deep brown, and she looked significantly less asshole-ish than her presumed partner.

Finally, he turned back to the man, the small smile still on his lips. “Dr. Whitlock, I’m the Jigsaw specialist. I’ve been working with his traps since he first appeared,” he introduced himself, offering a hand for the man to shake.

He very, very hesitantly took Garrett’s hand, giving it a firm shake before immediately dropping it. “Special Agent Strahm, over there is my partner Special Agent Perez,” he said after a moment of inspecting Garrett, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the woman.

“FBI?” Garrett immediately asked, glancing over at Mark. He had NOT been informed of the fucking FBI, and he was going to have a long talk with him about that later. Garrett had already been accused of being Jigsaw once by the FBI, and he really didn’t need it again.

“When a serial killer gets this many victims, we tend to step in,” Strahm replied, looking up at the hanging body. “Besides, Detective Kerry was our link in the precinct. Of course we would step in when she dies.”

Fuck, Amanda really just HAD to screw him over like this.

“Did you know Detective Kerry?” he asked, looking back over to Garrett, who was now inspecting the wings on the trap, admiring how well he’d managed to get the hooks in her ribs.

“No, I didn’t,” Garrett answered, keeping his focus on the trap. “I only work with Detective Hoffman, occasionally Detective Fisk. I’m sure you know that officers tend to have a specific specialist or informant that they exclusively use.”

Wow. His first day as a fake specialist and he was already rocking it.

Strahm hummed at that, watching him do his “job” before offering his theory. “There’s another accomplice, other than Amanda Young.”

Garrett’s eyes widened for half a second, surprised that they knew Amanda was an apprentice. Did this mean they knew who John was too? Clearly they didn’t know him, or they would have recognized him immediately.

“What makes you think that?” Mark asked, stepping so Garrett didn’t have to. “This could have very well have been done by Amanda Young, or John Kramer-”

“John Kramer is a dying cancer patient, I highly doubt he would be able to lift anyone up. And Detective Kerry is almost twice the weight of Amanda Young, so there’s no way she could have hoisted her up,” Strahm continued, cutting Mark off.

Garrett clenched his jaw at the explanation, knowing Strahm was right not only because he was the one to put Kerry up there, but also because he had pegged John and Amanda exactly.

“Also, we couldn’t find a tape recorder like usual, and there was no jigsaw piece cut out of her.”

… Shit.

Garrett had wanted out of there so bad earlier that he’d completely forgotten to leave the tape, or cut out the jigsaw piece. Mark shot him a look, and he knew he was going to be in trouble later.

It wasn’t his fault that he liked for games to be fair and that it pissed him off when they weren’t. He just couldn't stand staying there for any longer.

“Kramer was a mechanical engineer, he could have made a pulley system, and both of them are only human, they could have simply forgotten-” Mark offered, only to be cut off once again.

“Jigsaw doesn’t ‘forget’ or make mistakes. This was someone else entirely, and I will find them.” Strahm sounded so confident, despite not knowing that he was standing right next to the man he was looking for.

“Well, that’s not my department,” Garrett spoke up, taking a few steps back to get a better look at the trap. “Don’t those mechanisms look like wings? It’s one of the few times a function of a trap has been both aesthetic and actually useful. I imagine they were closed when she was strapped in, and then they opened when time ran out, thus ripping out her ribs. What a way to go.”

He was technically talking to Mark as he explained the trap, but both of them knew he was saying it for everyone else, so it would seem more believable. It seemed to be working, because now someone was checking out the ‘wings’.

Strahm, however, clearly did not like him. Before the agent got the chance to start questioning Garrett though, he looked over at Mark. “Y’all got the pictures, right? We should probably get out of the way of the CSIs.”

Mark nodded at that, glancing back up at Strahm one last time. “I think it’d also be smart to get Officer Rigg out of here. If you need me when you get back to the precinct, we’ll be in my office.”

He put a hand on Garrett’s shoulder, a gesture he leaned into as much as possible, before gesturing for Rigg to follow them out and away from the body. Of course, they split up from the officer once outside, as well as going to their own cars with the silent promise that they’d talk at the precinct.

---

“You forgot to leave the tape AND the jigsaw piece?” Mark was apparently not giving Garrett a chance to recover, tearing into him the second the office door was closed. “You’ve been at this longer than I have, and yet here we are.”

“The game was rigged,” Garrett quickly replied in a vague attempt to defend himself. “I was rigged and I didn’t know and I don’t like it when games are unfair so I freaked out and-”

Mark cut off his rambling with a large hand over his mouth, since he was starting to get a little too loud. Garrett’s first instinct was to bite, but he figured Mark had enough wounds from his inability to keep his mouth closed.

Once Mark was sure he’d be quiet, he removed his hand. “Calm down. I understand. You’re only human.”

You shouldn’t say that to someone with a god complex. Luckily, Garrett kept his mouth shut.

“You should probably go check on Rigg,” Garrett spoke up, grabbing the folder with the pictures of the trap off the desk so he could at least pretend to be working. “He looked pretty shaken up. You don’t want someone like that getting in the way.”

Mark sighed, knowing Garrett was right. Rigg wanted to save everyone, and that would get in the way. “Right. You stay in here, I don’t want you wandering and getting lost.”

“Wow, so much faith in me,” Garrett teased, rolling his eyes before pulling Mark down into a kiss. He’d talk to him about the polyamory thing later, it wasn’t really appropriate here.

“Just stay put,” Mark reiterated as they pulled back, leaving one last kiss on the top of Garrett’s head before leaving the office, leaving him to his own devices.

… Yeah he actually didn’t want to get into any more trouble, so he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and opened up the folder, spreading the pictures out so he could “work”. Maybe he should actually get a job in this, it was kind of fun.

He was getting into the groove of things when the door opened. He looked up and behind him, expecting Mark, but was surprised to see Strahm instead. “Looking for Hoffman? Last I heard, he was dealing with Rigg.”

“He already has, he’s looking into something else right now,” Strahm replied, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “I’m here to talk to you.”

Well that wasn’t good. Garrett settled back down in his seat, extremely aware of Strahm coming up behind him and placing one of his hands on the back of the chair to look down at his notes.

“You said you’ve been working the Jigsaw case since he first appeared, but I couldn’t find any record of you in the files. Care to explain?” Strahm asked after a tense moment of silence, but Garrett already had a response.

“I’m not employed by the precinct. The only person I officially work with is Detective Hoffman, so there’s no need to mention me. Besides, it’s not like I have a huge job, I just look at the traps and tell him what happened,” Garrett answered, humming softly as he continued his sketch of the Angel Trap.

So funny how he’d only had this fake job for like two hours and still had an excuse for everything.

“Fine, that makes sense, but-” Strahm put his hand on Garrett’s shoulder and Garrett, feral bastard that he is, reacted on pure instinct…

… And bit into Strahm’s hand.

For his credit, the agent didn’t scream, instead letting out a gasp that was somewhere in between surprised and pained. He probably didn’t want to make any louder of a sound so he didn’t cause a scene.

The problem with that was the fact that Garrett wasn’t letting go. In fact, he was sinking his teeth in even deeper.

There was blood now, Garrett could taste it, and it just made him want to stay latched on longer. Strahm was to the point of trying to pry him off while still being quiet, letting out little grunts of pain.

“I’ll fucking shoot you if you don’t let go,” he growled, but Garrett didn’t budge, knowing it was a bluff.

Fortunately for Strahm, the door opened, revealing Mark in the doorway. It took him a second to realize what was going on, but he was rushing over to the two as soon as it clicked.

At the sight of Mark, Garrett released Strahm from hold, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, only to lick it off his hand, still staring at the agent.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warned, finally letting go of Strahm’s gaze and instead looking up at Mark. “I think I’m gonna go home now, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll see you later,” Mark responded, accepting the closed file Garrett handed to him and watching him head out.

Strahm was still holding his bleeding hand as he also watched Garrett leave. His face was tinted pink, which Mark found curious but wasn’t going to ask about, and blood was dripping through the gaps between his fingers.

“Let’s uh… get you patched up. I can at least get him to apologize later.”

Garrett probably wasn’t going to apologize later.

#story tag: listen closer #self ship fic #self shipping #self insert #scrap.writing #scrap.ships #s/i: garrett whitlock #mark hoffman #lawrence gordon #peter strahm #romantic: 🦿🩺#romantic: ⛓🕵️‍♂️#romantic: 🖊💧#(poly) romantic: ⛓🩺🖊#chapter 9

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years ago

Note

Domestic fluff, with mechanic, silver fox, soft Tony married to professor Peter. Throw in any other trope we're both obsessed with lol

The Way You Hold Me

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature Notes: Holy. It has been a hot minute since I’ve put fingers to keyboard. I’m so stoked that S’s prompt is the one to pull me out of my slump. I’m a sucker for silver fox Tony & finally couldn’t resist. This is pure, tooth-rotting fluff, so I hope you’re up for some sweetness! Word Count: ~5K Warnings: There’s a bit of smexy in there, but it’s not that detailed. The rest is just indulgence of the love-dovey kind.

Read on AO3 here

To say that Tony was hooked from the very start would’ve been a huge understatement.

Despite never laying eyes on Professor Peter Parker, Tony found himself completely overwhelmed with that obsessive sort of feeling he got when things sparked his interest. The words in their email exchanges were more than enough to draw him in – he could openly admit that strong character and a whip smart brain totally got him going. If his witty words and bright ideas weren’t enough, a quick Google search put the final nail in the coffin. Big brains and immense beauty – who was he to deny the attractiveness in that situation?

When the opportunity presented itself, Tony navigated his way around NYU’s campus, practically jumping on the chance to finally meet the notorious Professor Parker in person. He made his way leisurely through throngs of students until he found the not so surprisingly crowded lecture hall. If professors were as attractive as Professor Parker during his school days, he might’ve paid a bit more attention. Unlike most classes, each student seemed to be completely entranced by the information – or the man at the front of the room presenting it.

Tony rarely got the chance to observe someone else while working – most people that knew about his shop knew about his impeccable brains and talent; which meant a lot of the spectating happened while he worked. Flipping the norm on its head proved to be incredibly delightful – Peter Parker could hold the entire room’s attention without even trying. And man did he know his shit! He spoke about mechanics and fluid dynamics like they were extended pieces of himself, not convoluted theories riddled with mathematical explanations. If he weren’t already taking giant leaps towards infatuation, the time spent watching the professor lecture surely would send him spiraling in that direction.

For a brief instant toward the end of his lecture, Tony caught Professor Parker looking at him. Their eyes met and held for what felt like eons, the other man’s cocoa colored irises were stunning and seemed to become more so the longer Tony looked. A moment of recognition flashed in those deep eyes before he turned back to the class and continued to talk about fluid pumps like nothing happened.

By the end of the lecture, Tony knew a couple of things with absolute certainty – Peter Parker was the most gorgeous person (in every single way) on the planet, and he would do absolutely anything necessary to find a place for him in his life. Though he was getting ahead of himself, Tony could feel the rightness of the situation down to his very core – there weren’t many people who could spark a reaction in him, let alone one that moved him to action. He forced himself to calm down as a flood of students started to pile out of the room, each one looking at him with a mix of suspicion and appreciation – he forewent the hat that morning, so his longer salt and pepper hair stood proudly on display. Even he knew the appeal of that silver fox look.

A soft throat clearing brought Tony back from his contemplative state – he blinked a few times to orient himself before turning towards the noise.

Bright eyes on him had him once again stopping in his tracks; Peter Parker the man looked totally different than the lecturer standing in front of him only moments before. The owlish, almost nerdy look was replaced with a soft smirk and clear, knowing eyes. “Tony Stark, as I live and breathe. I would’ve happily met you at my office.” Peter didn’t seem to blink as he spoke, those eyes following every one of Tony’s minuet movements.

Tony knew in that instant – he wasn’t the only genius predator in that room.

Running a hand through long strands, Tony shifted his feet just enough to lean against one of the chairs closest to him. “I thought I’d catch you in your natural habitat. Even I know professors are never in their offices,” Tony remarked, his words light and just the slightest bit flirty. “Seeing you in action is much more informative than any meeting in your office would’ve been, anyway.”

Peter’s answer came in the form of a face splitting smile, the whites of his teeth showing through the stretch of soft lips. “You’re an actions speak louder than words guy – I like that.”

Grinning, Tony closed the distance between them, his feet carrying him in a manner that he never experienced before. It was as if the inches that separated them were causing physical pain, like if he didn’t get within touching distance that instant, Tony might actually combust. Now toe to toe, Tony stuck his hand out to shake, a daring look on his face. “Actions are the only thing that count in this muddled world, Professor Parker.”

And just like that, a bond developed between them. Aside from working on the research they cultivated over the past few months, Tony found himself seeking Peter’s company out as much as possible. For a little while, he made up lame work-related excuses – Peter was insanely dedicated to their joint academic pursuits and gladly came whenever Tony posed a question. As time trickled on, the questions and requests became increasingly less academic and much more personal. Instead of meeting at the campus library, Tony brought Peter to the big office he kept in the shop or the sanctuary of his kitchen. Slowly but surely, topics moved from engine parts to hobbies and ambitions. Much like the rebuild of a classic car, their steps towards something else were filled with anticipation and an overall feeling of contentment.

Instead of infatuation, Tony started to recognize the floaty feeling as love – the active process of falling into it much less frightening than he initially figured. Despite what the forty-nine-year-old knew about his previous “loves”, Tony found himself learning something new about the topic on a daily basis. Never before did he find someone’s coffee making ritual as endearing as the repetitional process that Peter went through. For the first time in his life, Tony understood what it meant to love every part of a person, not just a few individual pieces that made up the whole.

When they finally took the step towards realizing their love for each other, Tony jumped in headfirst. Being the ridiculously professional academic that he was, Peter didn’t want to mix any sort of business with pleasure, so they waited what felt like several long months to even think about anything other than friendship. Throughout those months, Tony wore out fantasy after delicious fantasy about what having Peter next to him would be like – how his ink-stained hands would feel on bare skin, how plush lips would press against his own. In all the ways, Tony tried to picture Peter as his.

Yet, nothing he pictured even came close.

The first time Peter kissed him, Tony was utterly unprepared for it. Upon their article being published, Tony and Peter planned to celebrate with a home cooked meal in Tony’s surprisingly well stocked kitchen. Throughout their time together, cooking dinner and hanging around the kitchen’s island with a glass of wine in hand became second nature to them – the whole ritual like a deep breath of fresh air after the long days both men waded through on a constant basis. Yet, this time, Tony could feel a crackle in the air – whether it was wishful thinking or fact, he wasn’t quite sure.

As they moved around each other seamlessly, Tony felt himself relaxing in a way that only happened when Peter was around. Instead of anxiety and a never-ending slew of thoughts, a clear head and empty spaces opened up around him. The comfort in Peter’s presence lulled him into a state that, until meeting the man, Tony didn’t know he could achieve. Which is why he was thrown off guard when a firm hand wrapped around his upper arm. Setting down the knife he’d been masterfully chopping vegetables with, he turned his body in Peter’s direction, the touch on his bare skin producing a sensation that sent tingles down to the very tips of his toes.

“What’s up – “ Tony started to say before the softest lips were pressing against his own. Whatever question he wanted to ask flew from his mind, the pressure of warmth and the delicate feeling of getting what he wanted, finally, overtook him. Leaning into the kiss, Tony tilted his head and returned it to the best of his ability – chances like this didn’t come by often and he sure as hell wasn’t one to let them pass him by. His own hand moved restlessly until it found the curve of Peter’s hip; the fingers there dug into jean and fabric and the slightest hint of what could only be warm, smooth skin.

Though it felt like just a second, Tony’s chest was heaving when they finally pulled away from each other. Without much thought, he renewed the grip on Peter’s hip and brought him back in for another kiss, the pressing issue of a lack of oxygen not even registering. Behind closed eyelids, he only saw, felt, and wanted the divine press of lip against lip – if he could live in this singular moment, all would be right in the world.

It was Peter who finally broke away, the redness in his cheeks sending a rush of some unnamed feeling down the length of Tony’s limbs. It felt electric, like shockwaves traveling across the surface of his skin. Sucking in a breath, Tony forced himself to look up and take in the melted chocolate of Peter’s stunning eyes. The black of his pupil practically overran the rich, dark brown, yet the color stood out even more because of that. The compulsion to reach out and touch Peter’s face rushed through him – the thought of more of that warm skin under his hands completely entrancing. Instead, he dug his fingers further into Peter’s hip, the bottom of his shirt riding up with ever clenching gesture.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months. Months, Tony,” Peter mumbled, his words still colored by the slightest pant of breath. The touch of his hand shifted up his arm, those long fingers settling on the naked skin on the back of Tony’s neck like they belonged there (they did). Slight callouses on the palm of Peter’s hand reminded him of the depth of the professor’s knowledge and experience – the roughness there spoke of words written with restless hands and technical brilliance brought about by steady, knowledgeable limbs. Unable to resist, Tony leaned into the touch, his entire being tuned in to the warm caress.

Leaning forward slightly, Tony brushed the tip of his nose against Peter’s, a soft sigh leaving his lips. So many times, he thought about this very moment and the reality of it couldn’t possibly be predicted – everything about Peter seemed like a surprise; every second they spent together another adventure, another excitement added to the list of things to LOVE about Professor Parker. The answering gasp of air against his lips had Tony pressing forward again, their lips meeting in a barely there caress.

“Now you don’t ever have to stop,” Tony finally managed to drag his lips away from Peter’s to mumble. “In fact – I hope you don’t. I really, really, really hope.”

Luckily, Peter hadn’t planned to. For weeks after that night, they flirted through shared time in the kitchen, and teased each other throughout tv show binges and candlelit dinners. No matter what they did, Tony ended the night with a writhing Peter Parker on his lap. With every second spent together, Tony tried to absorb everything he could about the man – how his hands felt gripping around his neck, the way his thighs flexed and clenched with the subtle roll of his hips – hell, even the way the taste in his mouth changed when things went from gentle and tame to overtly arousing. Many times, he wished he were a better writer – the ache Tony felt to document his findings was entirely too overwhelming.

Little by little, they crept towards what could only be considered to be something serious. There was no longer the pretense of academic pursuits to stop them from stepping out into the New York night life together – their dates took on a whole new nature when Tony realized just how well Professor Parker could clean up. It only took one night of Peter’s well-tailored ass dancing against him to know that demanding outings exactly like that one was absolutely necessary for his survival – and ever growing libido

Said libido spent a long time in self-induced isolation and took the magic of Peter Parker to reignite whatever passion seemed to be lacking earlier in his life. Up until the supple curves of his favorite professor sat in the palms of his hands, Tony struggled with the ease of intimacy – his brain ran a mile a minute and couldn’t often slow down enough to thoroughly enjoy the greatness of human contact. Yet, when Peter held him, touched him – something happened; the rest of the world sort of faded away, everything narrowed down to the lightest stroke and talented caress.

And despite the wild flame that seared between them, it still took four months of heavy petting and sleepovers on the couch after too much making out to finally fall into bed together. Tony knew – with every piece of himself – that the second he gave himself to Peter, there was no going back. Whatever addiction he willingly cultivated during their time together teetered on a precarious edge between not enough and too much. Physical intimacy would smash that cliff in half, leaving Tony with an inability to separate himself from the overwhelming feelings Peter made him feel.

Yet, when the moment finally came, every second of it felt righter than Tony thought possible. They didn’t tumble into the room in a tattered state of “can’t wait” and “right now”. Instead, Tony slowly unwrapped the present that a jean-clad Peter Parker presented. His lips mapped the route from a delightfully long neck to cut shoulders, then down from nipple to nipple, and lower – the soft hair leading down to lean hips and a gorgeous cock got more attention than either of them anticipated.

Between the dizzy effect of Peter’s moans and the effort to remember each of Peter’s moans, Tony almost forgot how he found himself two fingers deep in the tightest ass he could recall feeling. His cock, which brushed teasingly against Peter’s thigh, twitched with anticipation with every thrust – the tight clench around them was going to feel spectacular around his incredibly touch starved dick.

Clearing his mind of the more heady thoughts, Tony worked a third finger into Peter’s tight heat – the ability to control himself was slowly crumbling, each second that passed felt like one too many – the need to satiate his overwhelming craving hit him in the chest from one touch to the next.

Long fingers gripped his forearm, forcing his attention away from the pulse and stretch of the warm tightness around him. Tony looked up, his eyes seeking Peter’s without thought.

“I’m ready, Tony. I need you to fuck me. I can’t wait – don’t make me.” Peter’s grip tightened as each word slipped from his lips.

Sucking in much needed air, Tony moved until he could comply – his entire body thrummed with anticipation, his ability to wait seemed to fly out the window in that moment, too. He shifted to pull the bedside table drawer open, but he was stopped again by the hand still clutching his forearm.

“Just you, Tony.”

They locked eyes again, a silent conversation happening between them before Tony nodded, the outstretched hand finding Peter’s hip, instead. With the other, he uncapped the lube and poured a good amount straight on his heat-flushed cock, the cold of it pulling a pulse from him, a small bead of precum forming at the tip. Tony forced himself to take in a deep breath, the touch of his hand as he spread the sticky substance over sensitive skin reminding him how close he actually was. It wouldn’t do to finally be getting what he wanted and not last – he wanted, craved, desired the best of the best for Peter – with him, even.

Another quick shift had him pinning Peter on the bed below him, the forearm of his right arm pressed tightly against Peter’s shoulder – there wasn’t any space between them. When he finally pushed in, Tony let out a noise he never heard before – especially from himself. The moan radiated around the room, wrapping both him and Peter up in the delicacy of pure pleasure and steady connection. “Fuck, Pete – “ Tony couldn’t help but babble, his entire core clenching as he finally, finally bottomed out.

For all the time spent anticipating, Tony didn’t have any sort of word or feeling to describe what being connected to Peter was like. His strong thighs wrapped tightly around Tony’s waist, the muscles squeezing with every thrust – almost like he dreaded the slide out just as much as Tony. The tip of his cock nailed Peter’s prostate with every cleverly angled shift of his hips, the feeling on both ends bringing a new sense of bliss to the situation.

Though he tried to keep his shit together, Tony felt the coil in his stomach spin up uncontrollably, the inevitable end racing towards him without any of his permission. Picking up his pace, Tony untangled their joint limbs just enough to slip his hand between them, his work roughened fingers wrapped tightly around Peter’s cock to time his tight strokes with the movement of his hips.

The wet feeling of Peter’s release splashing against his fingers pulled Tony over the edge, the loud breaths and drawn out moans of the other’s orgasm a tantalizing soundtrack to his overwhelming peak.

He couldn’t remember losing the ability to hold himself up, but moments later, he resurfaced to find his chest pressed tightly against Peter’s with sweaty fingers brushing through his long, graying locks.

“Wow.” Tony whispered after a while, his nose finding its way to the crook of Peter’s neck. He pressed soft kisses and took in long, deep breaths – Peter’s normal scent was something more now, the undertones of it carrying the slightest hint of the cinnamon Tony himself carried around. A slow smile pulled across his lips at the thought – they were both forever changed now, each one another integral piece of the other.

Instead of answering, Peter tightened his grip around Tony, his soft lips pressing kiss after kiss against skin still slicked with sweat.

A while later, they tumbled out of bed and cleaned up in the shower, both men unwilling to put more space between them than necessary after such a powerful experience. Tony reveled in his ability to touch and caress as he washed hot water warmed skin, and then later when Peter crawled into his arms and settled against his chest under the plushness of soft sheets. He let the contentment of it carry him to the cusp of sleep.

Right before he let his eyes close, Tony felt a kiss pressed to the side of his neck and Peter moving impossibly closer. “I love you, Tony,” Peter mumbled against his skin, the sleepiness in his voice making the words sound so fucking special.

Blinking, Tony tightened his hold, his fingers running in smooth patterns up and then back down the length of Peter’s back. “I love you, too. So much.”

----

Eight months later, Tony found himself right back where things started; his eyes took in the entirety of the lecture hall with fond affection. He got to campus a little earlier than usual, his excitement at getting to see Peter too much for him to handle back at the shop. Instead of fretting in the car, he stretched his long legs in a walk across campus. By instinct, or maybe nostalgic intervention, Tony got to Peter’s building without thought – he shook his head at himself, but walked through the doors, anyway. Sucking in the familiar smell that Peter brought back to the apartment every day, Tony kept walking until he was able to take a seat at the back of the overfull amphitheater.

Despite not making any noise as he walked in, Peter glanced up at him, the softest smile slipping across his lips as their eyes connected. A warm feeling sat in the bottom of his stomach – the all too familiar burn of love flaring up inside him at the look.

Never missing a beat, Peter continued through the last part of his lecture like Tony wasn’t even there. Bright whiskey colored eyes watched with fascination, the smile on his face growing with each passing minute. For a long time, Tony’s own intelligence made him feel like a social outcast – there weren’t too many of his peers that could even come close to his level of understanding. Peter, though – his brain worked in a way that Tony not only found interesting, but also wanted to know and explore in the same way he did his own. The rare treat of getting to see it in work made his heart slam in his chest – Peter was damn sexy when flawlessly controlling the classroom.

Unlike most of the students around him, Tony let out the slightest sigh of disappointment at the end of Peter’s presentation – he would’ve gladly skipped their dinner plans to hear Peter wax poetic about diesel; despite the oddity of it, Tony found Peter’s display of knowledge distractingly intriguing.

Tony went against the flow of students leaving the lecture hall to get to his boyfriend at the front of the room, a happy smile on his face as he did. When close enough to reach out and touch, Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, using his leverage to pull him into his arms. Planting a fleeting kiss on soft lips, Tony held Peter tightly to him, his eyes closing from the sensation. He would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for a soft chorus of ‘awes’ that sounded from the back of the room.

“Ms. Pesto, class is over.” Peter leaned back into Tony’s hands on his back to speak to the culprit, a smirk pulling across his face. “Shut the door behind you when you go.”

Grinning, Tony leaned in to press a longer, more intense kiss on already swollen lips. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you’re teaching?” The question was broken up by soft kisses to Peter’s lips, cheek, and chin.

Peter shook his head in answer, a slight giggle falling from his lips. “You neglected to share that interesting piece of information.” Then, “what’s your favorite part? The way my brain works, or how good I look in these pants?”

Tony let his hands run more firmly over Peter’s ass at the comment, his pupils dilating with a sudden rush of arousal. “Most definitely all of the above,” Tony whispered, his fingers digging into the meat of a delightfully thick glute. “You’re my favorite part.”

There weren’t any more words shared between them for a few minutes, the solid weight and press of lip against lip the only thing existing in those moments. Peter forced them apart when the door opened again and a colleague started to descend the stairs. Reading the room, Tony forced himself to calm down and grabbed Peter’s bag from the desk, shouldering it before reaching out to grab Peter’s hand.

Throughout the rest of the night, Tony couldn’t stop the thoughts of how right and perfect things were – Peter drove him crazy with want, but even more importantly, love and adoring affection. For the first time in his entire life, Tony understood what it was like looking at the rest of forever. Popping the question entered his mind a few months ago, just the idea of it made him absolutely weak at the knees. Though he hadn’t given much thought to marriage before, Tony could picture it clearly with Peter – they already did so much give and take with each other, the next step just made sense.

He started to seriously think about it a couple of weeks later when Happy, one of his senior mechanics, brought up a jeweler he frequently bought things from for his own wife. “He does the best work,” Happy said, his hands already busy digging into his coveralls to snag a card from his wallet. “Tell him I sent you – he’ll hook you up.”

The card sat in his grease-covered hands reverently, the small piece of cardstock another piece to the next step with his most favorite human.

Horace, who turned out to be a gifted jeweler and a joy to be around, got him settled with a gorgeous damascus steel ring, the contrasting light and dark metals melding together to tangibly personify Tony and Peter. It was strong, yet delicate – the stunning beauty of it mellow and completely overwhelming. Walking out of the store with it made Tony feel fulfilled – with it soon, he hoped to make Peter his for the rest of his life.

Of course, things never went the way Tony initially planned them to go. He carried the black velvet box with him for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question. Tony knew, despite the pulsing nerves, that Peter would say yes – they were meant to be, he couldn’t be the only one that felt that way. Not when, only after a little more than a year of being together, Peter felt like home. More than anything else in his entire life, Peter felt right.

After a string of long days in the shop, Tony was finishing up his last car of the day when Peter came storming through the side door. The slightly worrying tone of Peter’s voice when he uttered Tony’s name had him standing up too quickly, the hood he was working under smacking him in the back of the head with a dull thud. A slight whimper left his lips, his anxiousness not enough to stop the slight throb of pain.

“Pete, what’s up?” Tony asked, his voice only a little tight in his attempt to keep his slowly building panic to a minimum. They left the house that morning with a stolen make out session and a slight unwillingness to say goodbye – what could’ve possibly gone wrong between then and now? Rubbing the back of his head, Tony finally straightened himself completely, his attention totally on Peter.

His jaw dropped a second later when Peter thrust the very box he’d been worrying over between them, his eyebrow raised. “Want to tell me about this? I left some research on the passenger seat of my car and when I went to grab it, I found this suspicious black box on the seat. What is it, Tony?”

Peter’s eyes were wide, the look on his face telling Tony that Peter didn’t look, despite knowing exactly what resided within the box without the need to peek. Sucking in a quick breath, Tony snatched the box out of Peter’s hands, his knee hitting the floor a second later. That very instant was as good a time as any, he figured.

Pulling the lid of the box open, Tony used his free hand to grab Peter’s, his fingers gripping tightly. “It’s kind of fitting that I find the perfect moment in one of my fuck ups. You make all of the weird pieces of me feel so normal – like they fit, despite being totally obscure. No one, in my entire life, ever made me feel as complete as you do. I should have known that asking you to be mine forever would be as unconventional as I am. Will you be my husband, Pete? I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Instead of answering, Peter grabbed the grimy edges of his coveralls and pulled him up from the floor. His arms wound tightly around Tony’s neck, the space between their bodies getting narrowed down to nothing, the ring box stuck between them. Their lips met in a fierce kiss, spit-sticky tongues sliding together in an instant. Peter kissed Tony’s breath away, the two only pulling back when the risk of passing out ran too high.

“Yeah, I’ll be your husband,” Peter mumbled breathlessly, the pants of his breath making the words even more impactful.

A face splitting grin lit up Tony’s face, his cheeks straining with the effort. He wordlessly put a bit of distance between them, the space just enough to grab Peter’s left hand and slip the ring down his third finger. The juxtaposition of grease and pale skin and shiny metal stood out as he admired the perfect fit of forever’s promise, both on Peter’s finger and in the bond between them.

Leaning back into his new fiancé, Tony pulled Peter into him, their lips finding each other without fail. The perfectly imperfect thing that existed between them thrummed with new life. As they kissed, Tony succumbed to the pleasant ache of being completely consumed by Peter and all of the feelings that always threatened to overcome him. Peter had his back – and would for the rest of their lives. Their love deserved every overwhelming feeling Peter played muse to.

#goindownshipping #starker #peter parker/tony stark #bobbie writes #the way you hold me

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scoundrels-in-love · 4 years ago

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Almost 300 years a week later, here are some of my thoughts on Dan Ah and her actions through ep 11 and 12. I will try not to repeat too much of the points I made here, or elsewhere in my rambles, but if it happens, it happens. + I won’t operate on mindset that you’ve read it.

First, I think her saying ‘apologies are meaningless, I can’t take back things I said, only make up for it’ is incredibly telling of her as person and the kind of environment she grew up in - the high society and family where apologies are dished out hollowly and never followed through with intention of changing something for the better or your behavior. Time and how you spend it is very important to her. She even says as much in her confession and I think it only outlines how much her time is the one thing she tries to have control of, and exert it (over herself as well). Considering the concept of possibly terminal illness that she suffers from, it makes sense. She doesn’t have time to be patient, no one will wait for her, including her own health. Yeong Hwa is the one immovable object that forces her to slow down and readjust her whole approach to life and it’s been... Not comfortable, necessarily, but it’s been functional, so she struggles to redefine it, especially without real example.

Second, there’s lot of parallels to be drawn between her and Mi Joo. And I ended up writing this all backwards, so I am not sure if I’ll manage to include it, but in some ways, Mi Joo’s line about ‘I value myself more than anyone else’ both in the sense that she’s the most important to herself and that no one else values her truly highly is very reminiscent of Dan Ah’s attitude and the way she admitted she isn’t in control of her life entirely o Mi Joo.

And there’s. of course, that moment when Mi Joo responded sarcastically to Seun Gyeom, later to apologize for it, which he took in a stride (much as he had said that he had never felt Dan Ah walked over him unjustly), because he does understand where they come from and how they work, on a certain level (even if he underestimated just how his father would strike and manage to hurt Mi Joo). I think Dan Ah isn’t at place where she cay say that yet, but I do believe sentiment is within her.

If someone asked what motivates Dan Ah, her answer could be similar to Mi Joo’s - fear and obsession, rather than Seun Gyeom’s regret. Fear of being controlled, of being weak and sick, obsession of having and exerting certain power and keeping yourself safe. Now, this point altogether is purely speculation on my part, of course, but that’s my read on the character, but also her anxiety has been mentioned several times and anxiety is basically that - fear, especially of things going wrong/being out of control, if we wish to trivialize it.

And although Dan Ah merely adds that whatever she had, got taken away from her, she basically used same method as Mi Joo - set her goals and opted for the best ‘fake’ that she could get, in this case her company, rather than being football player or the gallery. Both, in the same way, would rather put up walls to not lose what little they have but the men in their lives just... Bypassed them.

It’s interesting to note that similarly as Mi Joo is currently trying to sort ouf what is real and to go for, instead of relying on having a ‘fake’, so does Dan Ah - it’s likely she is planning to expose the illegitimate status of both her brothers to gain what is technically rightfully hers (hence asking her younger brother to side with her even when it will not be comfortable for him).

Third, I think the way she’s seeking out Mi Joo and her opinion is very interesting. And it does loop back to Yeong Hwa as well!

From the very start, we see that Dan Ah actually cares to listen to other people to an extent (she asks her secretary what she did wrong to upset Seun Gyeom, even if she ends the conversation how much simpler it’d be if all of us thought were similar, which is strongly undermined by all of her interactions with Mi Joo and even Yeong Hwa essentially). She is interested in experiencing being opposed and challenged in a way that is not downright demeaning as she does in her family. She finds their view on world interesting, if somewhat incomprehensible, and listens to it, processes it inwardly, even if her initial reaction might be defensive. (Also, it shows from start she’s willing to admit she doesn’t have all answers, same as she does with Yeong Hwa telling him that she doesn’t know what answer he wants - as she would need to know in business deal which is what most of her world consists of.)

But in some ways, I also think she is interested in what Seun Gyeom and Mi Joo have created and how. She basically instantly could tell Seun Gyeom is interested in Mi Joo which is implied as rare occurrence (or perhaps even the only time since she says she’s the last woman he liked and he debunks the theory), she asks several times what Mi Joo sees in Seun Gyeom that makes her so protective of him (which I think is both a way to see how deeply Mi Joo cares for him and to see more of Seun Gyeom). But also in some way, although it is her own act to let Seun Gyeom, she “loses” him to his own path and Mi Joo both. Because I do think she cares for him as a friend, perhaps only one she has.

Although she puts Seun Gyeom’s picture by the trash, it’s actually not taken out for several days and it’s definitely not because the secretary or the cleaner are neglecting their duties. Rather, same way as he didn’t throw away the honey but handed it back to Yeong Hwa, the secretary is aware she’s not really emotionally throwing him away. Because once she likes something, she never really stops, as per her own admission.

So there’s this certain feeling of loss that she can’t quite admit to herself and want to know both what Mi Joo saw and supported in Seun Gyeom and how and a yearning for something similar, because this is basically the first friendship/not work based relationship of the kind that she sees. (The same way she marvels is this how full-blood siblings are supposed to be when Eun Bi is upset about Seun Gyeom’s picture and how she defends her brother and then, Dan Ah actually ‘tattles’ on her so he can protect her, which can be covered up with excuse it was over the schedule, but was it really?)

In fact, she seems to be somewhat envious of relationship her brother has with her secretary, saying he still cares for her brother more and also the way she wanted to be included in the whole cat talk. She is upset when he doesn’t say he’s her person, but employed by the company, she protects him the way she knows how to (regarding revenge kick) and generally cares for him. She just wants someone truly and personally on her side, even though she probably has a hard time admitting it to herself which results in these odd and halfway there and nowhere attempts, especially paired with the fact she doesn’t really know how to establish not-work-related connection on a deeper level.

I will add point fourth here, although it’s still technically third. It’s safer, far more practical and logical to stay detached. But the heart wants what it wants and it’s friendship, connection, being liked for who she is and being challenged but not seen as lesser, with someone who won’t smile because she’s his boss, although that sort of control is precious and hard fought to be had in part of her life.

Caring for something or someone is relinquishing this control, basically inviting the same result Seun Gyeom got taste of at ep of 12, the result she already experienced with her dreams of being football player crushed. Except if it involves another person, it increases the chances of being hurt by them exponentially. And it’s also worth considering that if her relationship with mother was close, she’s also already experienced abandonment and grief of losing someone dear and close. (Which, of the leads, only Mi Joo knows and even then it’s more the absence of reflection what other people around her have which hurts, but in a different way, as per my experience.)

Concept of Mi Joo’s friendship, and Yeong Hwa as a whole, become very images of these unsaid wish fulfillment because they’re not trying to be.

They’re themselves, argumentative and challenging, and teasing, despite her being ‘above them’ in power hierarchy, leveling the field by merely ignoring it, and, initially, she doesn’t even try to get Yeong Hwa sign a contract, it’s only when her own yearning for his work (and for him), and him denying her any of it becomes a problem that she ‘admits’ it was her own fault for not drawing the sort of lines she’s used to with everyone else, and even then she’s not really thrilled about him agreeing to it, because it’s not really what she wants from him, although it’s what would be the safest and make the most actual sense within her world.

Even then, as her employee, he refuses to follow her orders and tells her plainly - if she wants something, she is to be vulnerable and invest herself into it (she actually tries, by smiling because he had said it was cute) and she has to admit to herself and to him, that he has grown onto her, not as a ‘vending machine’ or ‘employee’, but person whose opinion and feelings toward her are very important to her.

Also, it’s very telling how she tells him she belongs to herself, of course, and that he, too, can still belong to himself. She wants him as individual separate from herself, but the thought that he is firmly on her side obviously makes her very happy. In some ways, it’s also upgrade from ‘my person’ claim she makes toward her secretary, a learning curve.

Fifth, I suppose. While I rewatched some scenes to make sure I wasn’t actually misremembering, I started to think of another motif that repeats through her conversations.

Dan Ah repeatedly tells him not to have expectations, sentiments, disappointments toward her. From one side, it’s to draw a clear line of employee/employer and view each other in a detached way (that she tries again and again herself, but fails to), but from other, is it that simple?

She is almost crying when she asks him if he’s really stopped liking her and from preview, we learn that no one has asked her out before, seemingly? Probably because she was too much of a boss ass bitch, but still possibly left with a certain sense of inadequacy and that ‘when I am being apologetically me and I will always be that, I am not likeable although I do not entirely understand why’, as per her wondering why people always think she’s mean when by most of her society’s standards, she is rather thoughtful.

Her want of gallery has been brought up several times, her older half brother often says her pick of artist will never be good enough, her father still sees her as a tool to marry off. She as person with her goals and dreams and what she has achieved, just isn’t good enough for people around her at large.

The moment he cares for her, the moment she inherently becomes capable of disappointing him. The moment she cares for him, the moment she becomes capable of disappointing him. And that thought, of doing that and not enough to Yeong Hwa who has sneakily smiled his way into her heart, the growing awareness she truly doesn’t know how to be in some aspects, is overwhelming and painful and she tries to shut the door to it.

Also, he tells her he likes her no matter what he does, but he hates it, which I imagine is double the punch and she tries to find a solution that would make him happy and stop hating it - the perfect answer, as she would in a business deal, but she can’t, until she commits to the truly mortifying ordeal of being known (as suggested by Mi Joo).

Sixth, I really liked that she (or the narrative) didn’t make fun of Yeong Hwa crying. In fact, she’s eyerolled about her younger brother’s temper, but not really in the present made fun of him for apparently being a ‘crybaby’ in the past. I think that in a sense shows her actual streak of empathy and maybe the fact that she’s familiar with need to cry herself and doesn’t find it ‘weak’ as most ‘tougher’ characters would. Also perhaps that she cares for her younger brother more than she has admitted to herself, similarly as she kept denying she cared for Yeong Hwa and went rather far to hurt him.

#run on #jtbc run on #kdrama #rainy watches kdrama #it's only midnight and I've been writing this on and off for two hours...#and it's 1 of 4 rambles #and I don't even know if it makes sense

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buckybarnabus · 4 years ago

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The Dance of These Things

Summary: Dawn and Bucky go to a gala.

Warnings: Some cursing. Moderate alcohol use. A broken wrist? Mostly fluff

Word Count: 5.4k oops

A/N: Next part of my Snapshots series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Bucky grumbled as they walked through the parking lot. Dawn shot him a look.

“Because Sam is our friend and he asked us to come,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He’s your friend. Not mine,” he said, sounding much like a petulant child.

“He spent like two years of his life looking for you under every leaf and pebble he could find. ‘Not friends’ my ass. I actually think that might even qualify as bestie material,” she teased. Bucky tossed a scowl at her.

“As what material?” he asked. “You know what, no. I don’t care. He only went looking for me because Steve needed help. That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Right, because that makes sense. You’re only friends when he’s not asking you to go to a gala in commemoration of saving the universe,” Dawn drawled. Bucky huffed.

“Yeah, not exactly the place for someone like me,” he muttered. That made Dawn pause. She looked at him as they walked, and it hit her, way later than it should have. She should have known better. Bucky felt like he had no right to be there. All of the extra grumpiness made sense, suddenly, and she could see it then in the furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw. He wasn’t mad, or pouting about having to go to some fancy party. He was nervous. Maybe a little scared.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his wrist and planting her feet. She stumbled just a little in her heels as Bucky’s momentum kept him going for a couple steps. She felt him stiffen up at her touch, but she ignored it. He’d gotten better about contact, after that night she cut his hair, but it still wasn’t exactly easy for him. One step at a time.

He heaved a heavy sigh as she tugged him to a halt, and he looked over her head, exasperation in his face. “Look at me,” she said. He acquiesced after a stubborn moment.

“What?” he snipped. She stared at him. There were a million cliché things she wanted to wax poetic about, but she found herself at a loss. If she said any of it, she knew it would just work him up even more. Calling him a hero would probably send him into hysterics.

“I don’t know,” she said dumbly. She chewed at her lip briefly, forgetting for a moment that she was wearing lipstick. It claimed to be smudge proof. She was, apparently, going to test the claim whether she meant to or not. She sighed and fixed him with what she hoped was a meaningful look. “I get it, okay? My track record isn’t all that pretty either. It’s just one night. Just a few hours. People are here to celebrate being alive and throw obnoxious amounts of money at foundations. You know, if nothing else, we can just sit at the losers table together, and you can watch me get drunk,” she said, offering a sly little grin and a squeeze to his wrist.

Bucky looked at Dawn for a moment, didn’t say anything, his jaw still working overtime with his stress. But a certain softness worked its way into the edges of his eyes as he took her in, and it made a certain little shiver run up her spine. She felt almost exposed under his gaze. A tiny little grin made its way onto his face, and he gently slipped his wrist out of her grip to carry on walking.

“Well, don’t get too drunk. I’m not carrying you through the parking lot if you can’t walk straight,” he said over his shoulder.

He was tense as they walked up to the entrance of the building, people loitering outside, one or two of them staring from the sidelines. Dawn couldn’t be sure if Bucky noticed, but he paid it no mind regardless. She managed to weasel her way in front of him, giving the name to the bouncer at the door. They found Sam not five minutes after going in, and a wide smile spread over Sam’s face when he spotted them.

Dawn let out a low whistle as Sam flounced up to them, giving him an exaggerated once over. “Look at you, Wilson, Jesus,” she exclaimed. “You’re gonna piss a lot of married men off tonight, looking like you do.”

“Please,” he scoffed, giving her a hug and a light kiss on the cheek in greeting before holding her at arms length to get a good look at her. “Have you seen yourself? I think I just fell in love with you a little,” he said. Then, genuinely, “Dawn, you look beautiful.”

“If you two are just going to fawn over each other all night, I’m going home right now,” Bucky drawled. Sam smiled upon seeing Bucky.

“Look at you, man. A haircut, no tactical gear. If it wasn’t for the staring thing, I never would have thought it was you. Didn’t even think you owned a suit,” Sam said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said flatly. Dawn tried to hide her smile. She had all but dragged Bucky, kicking and screaming, to the suit store a few days prior, when he was still adamantly refusing to to go the gala. Sam chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder.

“You look good, Buck. I’m glad to see you came,” Sam said.

“I can change your mind, real quick,” Bucky said. Despite the grouchiness, there was still a little lilt of jest in his voice, and Dawn was going to count that as a success. Not a minute later, someone else was calling for Sam’s attention, and they parted ways with promises to catch up later. Dawn spun on her heel to face Bucky.

“I think it’s time for a drink,” she chirped. Bucky gestured toward the bar.

“Agreed. Lead the way,” he said, a tight smile on his face.

To his credit, Bucky was doing just fine, making small talk with those who approached him, whether it be by Sam’s introduction, a familiar face, or the occasional stranger.

The pair had actually ended up getting separated after a little while, though Dawn made certain to keep him in her sights. A trio of old men had apparently decided to adopt Bucky while Dawn was just a little caught up letting some rich older lady talk her ear off about the donation she was making. Which was fine. The woman could flaunt her money all she wanted for all Dawn cared, so long as she was doing something useful with it.

But alas, that conversation came to an end when the woman suddenly saw someone she knew across the way and promptly forgot about Dawn, gliding across the room as she hollered and waved. Dawn blinked a few times before looking briefly over toward where Bucky sat, to find him already looking at her. She rose a brow at him in question. He gave a little grin and a nod, and she smiled brightly before wandering off back toward the bar for another drink.

She ordered one for herself, and another for Bucky with every intention of meeting back up with him and his old men soon, and leaned patiently against the bar top as she waited. There was a man standing near her- nondescript, a little sweaty- sipping on a beer. She didn’t pay him much mind as she waited, simply offering a polite grin when they briefly locked eyes.

“Hey,” the man said, giving her a weird grin as he pointed at her. “I think I know you.” Dawn immediately had a bad feeling about it.

“I think you don’t,” she responded, clipped, but trying to remain at least a little polite.

“No, I see it now. I definitely know you,” he said, scooting a tad closer. “Can you guess how?” Dawn took half a step away.

“I don’t really do guessing games,” she said, haunches quickly rising.

“You’re an assassin. You kill people,” the man said, and she caught the look in his eye. He was either very drunk, or way too excited to talk about things she didn’t want to talk about. Seemed like a little bit of both.

“That’s a bold accusation to put on someone who potentially kills people,” Dawn said, eyes flitting around for a possible escape.

“It’s true. You’re the Serval, I know it. I saw you in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files when they were leaked,” the man continued, Dawn’s attitude going right over his head. She gave him an incredulous smile.

“Oh, you’re one of those deep diving types, huh? Must’ve dug pretty far into those, the Serval wasn’t very high up in the ranks,” she said, giving the bartender a light thanks as she dropped the drinks off.

“I can prove it. The Serval’s got the brand of the Handler, right on the back of her neck,” the man said, eyes darting to the back of Dawn’s head. At the mention of the Handler, Dawn was suddenly in full fight or flight mode. She was just trying to have a nice night.

“You sound a little obsessed there, buddy,” she said, voice flat. “I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you. Excuse me,” she said, making to pick the drinks up and escape the situation. His hand was wrapped around her wrist, then, strikingly quick for a drunk man. It took every ounce of willpower Dawn had not to drop him right then and there.

“Let me go,” she said, surprising herself at how calm she sounded.

“Come on, just let me see it,” he said, other hand moving toward the back of her head. Dawn was a hairs breadth away from kicking the mans knee out when a familiar whir of metal was swiftly followed by the hand it belonged to. Bucky had the mans floating arm caught in his left fist, twisting the wrist sharply and painfully down and out of Dawn’s face. It happened so quickly, so subtly, no one around them even seemed to notice.

“This ain’t a game you want to play, man,” Bucky growled at the man who’s face was contorted in pain. “You’re gonna leave, and hope neither of us finds you later. You know, especially with her being a potential assassin and all.”

With that, Bucky released the mans arm, and the pair watched him crumple before stumbling off in a hurry, tail between his legs. Dawn didn’t bother questioning how he heard the exchange. They’d been through it before. He heard it all, so he said.

“Were you a drama major in your past life? Because that was pretty dramatic,” Dawn teased, hiding what definitely felt like a stiff smile behind her glass as she took a hefty swallow. Bucky looked her over quickly, assessing her body language for unease.

“A little theatrics can go a long way,” he said when he seemed satisfied that Dawn was mostly fine. “You think it scared him?”

“Maybe a little. That, or the broken wrist,” she shrugged, picking up the drink she’d gotten for him. “Got you a refill,” she said. He huffed a breath of laughter and took the glass.

“You went through all that trouble just for me? You’re a peach,” he teased.

“What can I say, I’m a hell of a date. I know how to treat ‘em,” she shrugged.

“I’m sure you do, Donnie,” he said. They fell into an amicable silence after that, but before either one could decide to start talking again, the crowds attention was drawn to the head of the hall, where the presenters of the gala were starting some big speech.

It really was a nice speech, all things considered. Well spoken, hopeful. Bittersweet, but overall optimistic about the world trying to get back on track. As galas went, full of rich, slightly sheltered people who didn’t really understand that things were still going to be rough for a long time, Dawn supposed it could have been a worse crowd. They had hope that things could be good, given the right resources. It made sense that Sam was so eager for them to go.

Sam had reappeared out of seemingly nowhere not long after the speech had ended, and the music had started back up.

“Dawn, you mind if I steal you from your date for a little while? I’m dying to dance with someone under sixty,” he requested, earning a giggle from Dawn.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Wooing all the old ladies?” she asked.

“I’ve been drowning in Chanel Number Five for like an hour. Please, I need a break,” he whined, coaxing a proper laugh out of her. She turned to Bucky, then, the silent question on her face.

“Go ahead. I’ve got a conversation to get back to,” Bucky said, gesturing toward the table of old men he’d been talking to previously.

So Sam offered Dawn his arm and led her out onto the dance floor. They fell into form easily, and began moving with the music.

“So Bucky made some friends, huh?” Sam asked, raising a brow in amusement. Dawn smiled.

“Yeah. A bunch of old men, naturally. They’re probably just swapping war stories or something, I don’t know. Whatever old men talk about,” she said.

“Of course he’d fall in with them, cranky old bastard,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “At least nobody’s giving him any trouble.” Dawn shrugged a shoulder.

“He’s already broken a wrist tonight, I think he’s filled his quota for the time being,” she said.

“He what?” Sam baulked. Dawn laughed lightly.

“Don’t worry, it was very subtle. We’re staying out of trouble, I swear.”

“No, no. You aren’t getting out of this so easily. Why the hell is Bucky stealth breaking people’s wrists?” Sam prodded.

“The guy had it coming, honestly. He grabbed me. Trust me, I would’ve made a bigger scene if Bucky hadn’t stepped in,” she said.

“You two are going to be the death of me, I swear to God. Can’t stay out of trouble for one damn night, can you?” he said, giving her a little spin.

“Gala’s can’t stop a couple of wild animals, Wilson,” Dawn winked.

“And yet here you are, schmoozing with the best of ‘em,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“I mean, I look sort of nice tonight. Might as well play the part, you know?” she said, earning a chuckle. They bantered easily for a bit before falling into quiet and letting the music guide them.

“You know,” Sam started after a few stanzas. “I don’t think Bucky’s danced since the forties. Steve said he used to go dancing all the time,” he said, pointed. Dawn snorted.

“What, you think he’d go for that now? No way. It was enough work just to get him to come here,” she retorted.

“You should ask him to dance. Since, apparently, he can deny you nothing,” Sam said, still with the stupid pointed look. Dawn was willfully ignoring it.

“I think he’d sooner rip his other arm off. You know how he is about touching,” she said.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t think you’re seeing what I’m seeing, Donnie,” Sam said.

“Oh? And what’s that?” she prodded.

“Right now, I see Sir Grumpalot sitting over there looking like a kicked puppy because someone else is dancing with his girl. Seriously, the dude is straight up pouting.” Dawn shot him a glare.

“I’m not his- he always looks like a kicked puppy, that’s just his face.” Sam smiled at her, a soft, warm thing. She felt small under it.

“To you, maybe. That man is an immovable object when he wants to be. Unless it comes to you. Then, sad little puppy, always ready to please.” She huffed at him as the song ended, and reached up to pat his cheek.

“Alright, Samwise, keep telling yourself that. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Thanks for the dance. Back to the cougars with you,” she said, removing herself from his grip.

“Dawn, baby, don’t do this to me!” he crowed. She shot him a wide smile as she backed away.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You know my heart burns for you. But I think I’ve got a puppy I need to get back to,” she called.

Bucky was scowling at her once she arrived back at the table he sat at with his three old men. “Was Sam calling me a puppy?” he asked, throwing a glare in Sam’s direction.

“You heard that?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. He slid a glass across the table toward her, a refill of her drink. She smiled in thanks.

“I heard you say it. Which means he said it,” Bucky said, clearly grumpy.

“Don’t worry, Buck, you’re not a puppy,” she said, poking her foot into his shin under the table. “You’re a big, bad wolf, huffing and puffing as much as you do,” she said.

“I hope you don’t ever get into comedy. It’s really not your calling,” Bucky grumbled, and Dawn let out a bright peal of laughter.

And then, apparently, Dawn was dancing with one of Bucky’s three old men, because her feet weren’t killing her enough already. She could run around all day and night on missions, but on those, she typically had boots. A few hours gallivanting around in high heels, though? That was definitely another story.

By the time Dawn had managed to slip away from the dance floor, Bucky was looking spacey, tired, and ready to leave. He’d been a good sport over the course of the evening, and broke a drunk guys wrist for her. He’d earned the relief of leaving the gala.

They slipped out into the refreshing night air, after Dawn’s insistence that they at least say goodbye to Sam, and Dawn felt the relief instantly. She’d been riled up all evening, trying to be social and gracious. It was nice to breathe and let the tension go. But with her relief, the pain in her feet and ankles became her main focus. Heels were a curse to womankind, she decided. And Bucky was already a good few yards away.

“You always walk that fast, or are you just that sick of me?” she called out, irrationally grumpy at the pain in her feet. Bucky stopped and turned, looking just a little surprised that she was so far behind. He watched her for a moment as she tried to pick up the pace, and she scowled when she saw the amusement written all over his face.

“You look like a baby deer,” he teased.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You try wearing heels for hours at a time, see how you do,” she said, embarrassed as she hobbled up to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to wear them,” he said, raising his hands in defense.

“I’ve got a knife under this dress, somewhere. Don’t make me use it,” she grumbled.

“You brought a knife?” he asked, surprised. She scoffed.

“Oh, like you don’t have at least ten stuffed in your slacks,” she retorted.

“That’s fair,” he said, then looked back down at her in consideration. “Alright. Come on,” he said, stepping into her space.

“What-“ Dawn was cut off by a yelp as she was suddenly airborne, and she found herself scrambling for a good grip around his neck. Bucky hiked her up higher and started walking, carrying her bridal style through the lot like it was nothing. Dawn took a moment to gather herself again before speaking.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to carry me through the parking lot,” she said quietly, amused. She was also trying not to think about how warm he was, and if she was talking, that helped to distract her.

“That was if you were drunk. Which I’m pretty sure you’re not,” he said, giving her a suspicious glance. She smiled.

“Nah. I can hold my liquor. Maybe even drink you under the table,” she said.

“Right. We are never testing that theory.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not. You’d die.”

She let Bucky drive her car, not trusting her feet to cooperate with the pedals. It was a long, quiet drive back to Bucky’s apartment. They’d spent the drive sort of winding down from the evening, and Dawn was about to bid him goodnight upon parking, but Bucky beat her to it.

“You’ve been drinking. I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive home,” he said flatly. She rose a brow at him, unable to help the grin.

“I thought you said I wasn’t drunk,” she said. He didn’t look at her as he pocketed her keys and started walking.

“Three drinks? Maybe four? Yeah, you’re not driving,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Don’t know where your keys went, anyway.” Dawn smiled softly at his back and followed. She liked when fragments of his boyish nature of years past shone through all the grey he surrounded himself with. It was nice.

He let her borrow some clothes, let her use his shower, and she eventually emerged, clean and warm and comfy. She dropped herself onto the couch and let out a relieved sigh, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes with a grin.

“Feel better?” Bucky asked from the kitchen around a mouthful of food. His stomach had growled angrily the entire drive home. Dawn had tried to get him to eat at the gala, but he just wouldn’t. He moved back into the front room and placed a plated sandwich in Dawn’s lap. She was, admittedly, also very hungry.

“You have no idea,” she said, tucking into the offered sandwich. She watched TV while Bucky took his own shower. It was a familiar routine after sharing many a hotel room. They existed pretty easily around each other, for the most part. It was comfortable. Something safe, easy.

“Did you have to use all the hot water?” he griped without venom upon exiting the bathroom and flopping onto the couch.

“You should have thought of that before you met me. Long, hot showers are kind of my favorite thing,” she said, shoving at his shoulder.

“Right, because I definitely could have predicted some ex assassin, hot water leech was going to prance her way into my apartment one day just for the amenities,” he shot back. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes at her.

“Constant vigilance, Sarge. You can never be too ready,” she said, curling into her corner of the couch as Bucky started flipping through the channels. Dawn’s mind wandered as she stared at the television. The air between them was easy, comfortable. Quiet and content. She found herself continuously looping back to Sam’s words at the gala, couldn’t quite seem to get them out of her head. Bucky liked to dance, once upon a time. She could imagine it, the bright smile on his face as he twirled a pretty girl around the room, the innocence of it all.

“Sam said you haven’t danced since the forties,” she blurted before she could stop herself. She could see him turn his head toward her in her peripheral vision, but he said nothing. “Well. I guess Steve said it, really. Steve told Sam, Sam told me,” she rambled, picking at the borrowed sweatpants.

“Well. It’s a little hard to get some dancing in between brainwashing, bouncing from fight to fight. Turning to dust,” Bucky said, slowly, clearly trying to figure out her reasoning.

“You could’ve tonight. At the gala,” she said, chancing a quick glance at him. He was giving her a look, something carefully neutral and just a little suspicious.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said.

“You could’ve,” she repeated. “I’m sure anyone would’ve danced with you.”

“Not really my scene these days, Donnie,” he said. She chewed on her lip, ignoring the feeling of her heart hammering in her chest.

“What about here?” she asked.

“What about it?”

Dawn gestured around them. “Is this more your scene?” He furrowed his brows at her. Her stomach dropped into her feet.

“This is my living room?” he said, clearly confused. She was going to fucking throw up.

“Dance with me, Bucky,” she said. Maybe she would just die, dissolve into the couch and cease to be.

“What?” he asked, almost a whisper. She squared her shoulders and turned to him.

“Dance with me,” she said. He just kind of sat there for a moment, looking bewildered and caught off guard. It took him a minute to find his words again.

“I haven’t danced since ‘43,” he said, sounding a little breathless. She nodded slowly.

“Yes. We’ve been over this. It’ll be fine,” she said, standing up and crossing the room toward his stereo.

“I’m not any good,“ he argued weakly.

“Who cares? No one’s watching and I won’t know any better,” she said, hooking up her phone and pulling up a proper playlist. She pressed the play button and put the phone down before drifting back to Bucky as the grainy, old music started playing. She quickly muted the television and outstretched her hands expectantly. She made a grabby motion when he still just stared up at her.

“Come on. Just a few songs. It’ll be fun,” she said. He pressed his lips together and sighed heavily, not being overly helpful as he took her hands and let her pull him up. She pulled him away from the couch and they stared at each other for a moment. Bucky’s brows were furrowed, but she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. She could barely hear the music over the blood rushing in her ears.

He still didn’t say anything. Just hesitantly tapped her arm up, looking resigned, a silent order to place her hand on his shoulder. His left hand fell lightly onto her waist, and his right gently scooped up her other hand to hold up in the air. She gave him an encouraging smile, and then they we’re moving.

She let him lead, and it was a shy thing at first, stiff. “See? It’s not so bad,” she said. He huffed a tense breath of laughter.

“This is stupid,” he said. She clicked her tongue.

“No, this is nice,” she argued, giving his shoulder a gentle pinch. She moved with him as easily as he would let her, but he was still uncertain, almost awkward. She found it endearing. It took some time for Bucky to warm up to the idea.

Dawn could almost pinpoint the moment he got comfortable. He tugged her hand, twisted her out for a little spin, and pulled her back into him. She giggled as he spun her, almost losing her footing on the return. His left hand landed on the small of her back when she bumped back into him, and they were suddenly much closer. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the coolness of his metal hand against her spine. She looked back up at him, and she caught a glimpse of that boyish charm he once probably wore so easily.

“I guess it’s not so bad,” he muttered as they continued swaying to the music.

“And you think you’re not any good,” she tutted. They moved around in a little circle for a while. Then, Bucky got brave and started putting some foot work into it. Dawn’s heart was absolutely soaring, and she could tell Bucky was legitimately having a good time, if the softness in his features was anything to go by.

“You looked beautiful, tonight,” Bucky said out of the blue, quiet, like he didn’t want to break the little bubble they found themselves in. “I should have said it before.” Dawn bit her lip against the shy smile threatening to rise. She could only manage a whispered thanks as she felt her cheeks heat up.

“You know. Baby deer ankles and all,” he teased, earning a scandalized gasp out of Dawn. She went to smack him in the arm, but instead, he stopped the motion by gripping her hand tighter and pulling her even closer, flush against his body. Any and all fight Dawn had in her left in a rush. “I’m kidding, Doll,” he said, the words rumbling against her chest. Dawn couldn’t find any words to say, so she rested her head against his chest instead, opting to feel his warmth and let the music guide them.

They danced around the apartment for more than the promised few songs, swaying and spinning and stepping. Dawn only stepped on his toes a few times. And Bucky seemed happy. The tension he usually held in his shoulders was nonexistent, and everything about him just seemed soft and sweet, and Dawn was almost jealous of all the girls he must have taken dancing back in his day, jealous that they got to see that side of him so freely. And she was sad for Bucky, that he’d been through so much, had no choice but to shut himself down. But at that moment in time, the pair of them floating around his apartment, things were good. Everything was okay. There was no mission. No nightmare. No Handler. No greater goal. Just Dawn and Bucky. Just music. Just a little bit of peace.

The song was nearing its end. The crescendo came, the last big chorus, and Bucky spun Dawn around once more before catching her against his chest. He smoothly transferred his weight, held her snug as he got a steady hold of her and dipped her with all the grace in the world. She found herself giggling at the feeling, and then he pulled her back up. He pulled her back up, and she was proud of not messing it up for all of a second before her mind blanked entirely.

They were close. Very close. Both of his hands were pressed into her spine, one warm, one cold, steadying her frame. Her hands landed on either side of his neck. Their noses brushed. They were so close. Dawn felt his breath against her lips, a quick, surprised little puff, and she almost could have sworn her heart stopped beating, that she would die right then and there. Hair had landed in her face with the momentum, and she couldn’t see much of anything, but she felt it all.

Her breath hitched and she froze as Bucky’s nose just brushed her cheek, an almost mindless nuzzle against her skin. She could feel the heat of his lips so, so close to hers. She would barely have to move an inch to meet them. She was pretty sure she was dead.

But, almost as soon as it had happened, it was over. Bucky took a step back, releasing Dawn completely.

“It’s, um,” he cleared his throat, looked somewhere over her shoulder. “It’s late. I’m sure you’re tired. You should get some sleep,” he said. It took Dawn an embarrassingly long moment to collect herself.

“Oh. Right, um. Yeah. It was a long day, wasn’t it,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as spaced out as she felt. She moved on stiff legs to grab her phone and shut the music off. Bucky was standing awkwardly off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“You can take the bed,” he said with a stiff gesture, voice rough. She nodded dumbly and pulled her lips between her teeth before shuffling down the short hallway. She was about to shut the door behind her, hand on the doorknob for a moment. She swung it back open a little.

“Bucky?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?” his voice echoed, quick and a little shrill. Her words got stuck. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you. For coming. I had a nice night. I hope you did, too,” she called out, awkward, unable to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. She didn’t get a response for a minute, and she was about to shut the door.

“Yeah. I did. Goodnight, Donnie.”

Neither one of them knew it, but they both spent a long time staring at the ceiling that night, too wired, too deep in thoughts of What the hell is going on to fall asleep. And when they did, their sleep was as turbulent as whatever it was that they were trying not to feel.

#bucky barnes fic #buckybarnabus writes #bucky barnes #tfatws #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #james barnes #marvel #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #ca:cw #catws #captain america #mcu #bucky barnes x original female character

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prancing-uboot · 5 years ago

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Satsuma Dads Timeline

You know how Golden Kamuy is an awesome manga full of amazing (and super-hot) characters and a great main storyline? So what do I do with it? Naturally I obsess over those two old gremlins: Koito Heiji and Hanazawa Koujirou the fathers of Second Lieutenant Koito and Ogata.

It's probably the most niche pairing ever, and I thought it was just me fixating on that one panel where Tsurumi mentioned they were close friends from Satsuma. But the more I read about the history of Satsuma and the times they lived in, the more I’m becoming convinced that there’s so much of their story written between the lines and that their relationship and tumultuous past is what actually caused and keeps together most of the GK plot. But nobody else seems to see it!

So what do I do with that? I spent my nights in front of my crazywall of historical research, trying to recreate an entire universe of events 50-years before the gold plot starts, just to be able to present to you:

The Satsuma Dads Timeline

Why you Should Care for Heiji and Koujirou

~1850

Koujirou and Heiji* were born around 1850** in Kagoshima.

Heiji might have been older then Koujirou, but not more then 5 years. They were both sons of high ranking samurai (noble bloodline), serving the Shimazu clan.

* Most likely they went by other names in their youth and then changed them a bazillion times to make stuff confusing, but let's skip that.

** That would make them around the same age as Tougou Heihachiro and Nogi Maresuke ** - the chief players in the Russo-Japanese war for the navy and army. Both share a lot of biographical motives with Koujirou and Heiji and Noda might have modeled them a bit after them so I'll include the parallels where possible. I'm not sure Nogi even exists in the GK universe or was he replaced by Koujirou completely. Tougou was recently confirmed to exist. He was also a Kagoshima-boy, and grew up in the same circles so it's impossible that he and Heiji didn't know each other from childhood.

1856-65

Koujirou and Heiji train in the same gochu in Kajiya-cho*. Gochu was a Satsuma-specific education system, relying on small neighborhood study groups in which the older samurai spent a part of their time teaching the younger everything they knew. Starting from penmanship and Confucian doctrines and ending with swordsmanship, and the unstoppable Jigen-ryu.

Teenage Heiji develops a Koito-crush*. on Saigo Takamori (20 years his senior) and follows him around like a lost puppy. Koujirou makes fun of him, but in reality he feels a bit jealous.

* Kajya-cho was a Kagoshima district known now as "Home town of Revitalization" as most of the influential Satsuma leaders of the Meiji Revolution came from there. That also meant that they directly taught the younger generations as part of the gochu. For example Tougou also came from that area. I'm not that sure Heiji and Koujirou were actually from Kajiya-cho, but it being 3km downhill from the Nanshu Cemetary would fit in nicely to the place where Tsurumi and Otonoshin first met so it's likely.

** Gochu was a completely male oriented environment, so homoerotic relations bloomed and were even encouraged (think ancient Greece), hence the term "Satsuma habit" was later used as the synonym of homosexuality in Japan. But for them then it was just a natural thing they sometimes did, and not really an orientation. Koito Otonoshin crushing on Tsurumi might be a bit old fashioned but it's just a Satsuma thing, so of course his dad is cool with that.

1866-67

Both go to Kyoto to serve Hisamitsu Shimazu and there they experience the tension of the Bakumatsu period first hand. They soak up the patriotic moods of the Sonno-Joi fraction, they hear of the the assassinations by the Shinsengumi, they feel a revolution brewing. Being a hot-headed youth in those times made keeping out of trouble very difficult.

1868-69

The Boshin War breaks out. Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa fight to abolish the Tokugawa shogunate. Heiji and Koujirou join up and dispite their young age are given officer commissions*. Coming from a long line of Satsuma’s military commanders it is what they were raised up to do. This war however is nothing like the stories they grew up on. Instead of swords it relies more on modern weapons guns and artillery. What was supposed to be a short battle with the Shogun's forces, turns into a lengthy nationwide campaign of crashing shogunate loyalists long after the Shogun himself resigned. Koujiro and Heiji fight side by side and survive all the way to see the end of it in Hakodate.

* Only the oficers wore the super cool Satsuma black koguma wigs and I definitely do need fanart of that.

1870

Heiji and Koujiro come out of the war victorious. Most of the positions in the new government are taken by Satsuma and Choshu men, so practically any career path is open to them. Koujiro stays with the Imperial Guard while Heiji joins the Imperial Naval Academy in Tsukiji, Tokyo. They compete for the most ridiculous facial hair* and spend their off nights “drinking green liqueurs under red lanterns”

Ogata's grandfather fought** on the other side for the Mito clan (the last shogun was from the Mito-Tokugawa branch). After the defeat his family falls into poverty. They sell their daughter to an okiya because they cannot support her ***.

* The Haitourei edict from 1871 allowed samurai to cut of their chonmage and encouraged them to experiment with western haircuts.

** I’m guessing he was active in the Boshin by the fact that he had an old gun lying around.

*** This "Ogata's mom comes from a fallen samurai family" theory has been going around but I'm not super sure about the time frame here. Usually maiko get promoted to geisha when they're 20-21. That means to already be a geisha when she gave birth to Hyakunosuke she must have been at least 12 when she was sold. That's quite late for a geisha to start her education. Or I might be wrong about Hyakunosuke's birth date, but I'd really like it to be 1879, so I'm in a pickle here.

1873

Heiji finally finds the guts to propose to Yuki, his Kagoshima sweetheart. They marry and a son is born to them - Heinojou *.

Koujirou's family chooses a wife for him **. She's from a good family, likely Choshu to have some useful connections. Heiji comes to their wedding in his fancy navy uniform to congratulate them and say goodbye. He'll be going to study abroad in the France ***. Koujirou feels like it's his funeral wake.

* Heinojou's birthdate is the first solid date we have for them from the canon, so I'm basing the whole “born in the 1850s” on the fact that the expected age of a man to marry was their early 20s.

** Arranged marriage was the most commonplace in Japan then. The families picked the brides because they were most likely to spend more time with her then the husband, taking care of the house and such.

*** In 1871 Tougou went to study abroad with 14 other cadets to Greenwich Naval Collage and that would fit so nicely. The problem is that they went 1871-1878 and Heinojou was born in 1873 *shakes fist*. There were also individual exchange programs though and since in canon Heiji is mentioned to have some french friends I figured he was sent to France.

~1876

Koujirou is stationed in Tokyo, while his wife stays in Kagoshima, taking care of the family home. He begins an affair* with Tome**, a geisha from Asaskusa. With Heiji gone she's the only person he can open his heart to.

After abolisment of the clan system and privileges of the samurai, the dissatisfied Satsuma samurai quit the Imperial Guard en-masse and go back to Kagoshima to gather around Saigo Takamori and brew a rebelion. Koujiro - by then a major - is faced with a choice: to go back with his childhood friends, or to stay loyal to the government. He chooses his career.

* I'm guessing he must have been married already when the thing started, because marrying a geisha wasn't that unheard of and wouldn't really cause a scandal or hinder his career. All three of the Meiji prime ministers Hirobumi Ito, Taro Katsura and Yamagata Aritomo ended up marrying geisha. So Tome being a geisha was not a problem - Koujiro already having a wife was.

** Tome is a random name that Ogata used in his Sugimoto self insert fic. I love the headcanon that it's his mom's name. Because of course he makes everything personal.

1877

In January the Seinan War breaks out. Koujirou fights against his clansmen and his former war comrades *. By September most of them are dead. He is there at Shiroyama where Saigo makes his last stand. Heiji is never going to forgive him that.

When he comes back to Tokyo, Tome doesn't ask, she understands and prepares him angler nabe while he sulks.

* Koujirou's situation is by no means an unusual one. Many of the Satsuma samurai landed lucrative jobs under the new administration and didn't share the dissatisfaction of their disenfranchised clansmen. Even Saigo's own younger brother Judo stayed as a lieutenant-general in the Imperial Guard.

1878

In May, Okubou Toshimichi, the lord of home affairs, who took personal command of surpressing Saigo's rebelion is assasinated, branded in Satsuma as traitor.

Koujiro is not welcome in Kagoshima anymore*. His wife moves to Tokyo to avoid harassment. Keeping his affair with Tome is becoming more difficult. Especially when he learns that Tome is pregnant **

In December Heiji comes back to pick up the pieces.

* Both Okubo and Saigo Judo moved their families to Tokyo because of this situation, so I'm guessing that was a thing. They received some backlash from their compatriots but eventually things normalized (for Judo at least, because Okubo was, you know, slashed up dead in an alley). By 1898 Saigo was acknowledged by the government as a tragic hero and bygones were bygones. Yet Heiji still talks with the Satsuma dialect, while Koujiro doesn’t even have a trace of it left.I wonder if he still used it when talking to Heiji.

** Geisha were not supposed to have sex with their patrons. The fact that she chose to give birth to Koujirou's son tells that she dared to hope that he'll at least acknowledge him.

1879

In January Hyakunosuke is born*

* Ogata's birthdate is a shot in the dark. He could be anywhere between 1878 and 1883. I just really like the idea that he was born right into the middle of such a chaos.

EDIT: GoldenKamuyHunting pointed out that Ogata had to be born after 1881, since Noda placed him as Older than Usami. This ruins the timeline a bit, and I’ll have to think of the way to reorder it to fit. For now, treat the 1879 as canon-defying :(

~1881

After pressure from his parents and from Heiji, Koujirou comes clean and learns to make his official family work. Koujirou's legitimate son, Yuusaku is born*.

From now on he effectively ghosts Tome. Her mental health** begins to waver. Tome quits being a geisha and moves back to her parents in Ibaraki ***.

* Also a shot in the dark. This would make him 23 when he died and 2 years younger than Ogata.

** Before the 20th century the white makeup geisha wore was made out of lead, making them more likely to develop lead poisoning, the first symptom of which is the decline of intelectual ability. Fun fact: lead gets passed down in breastmilk in quantities super-harmful for the baby, so if we go with the theory "Tome went crazy because of lead poisoning" than that would explain so much about Ogata...

*** This is likely due to her health, not due to giving birth. She could have just sent Hyakunosuke to her parents and kept working. God knows how they made ends meet after that. Before they were be so poor that they had to sell their daughter. Now they were much older, she was sick and unable to work, and her child was another mouth to feed. Not to mention the cost geisha education was worse then US collage loans so she most likely had a large debt she barely started to repay. Was Koujiro at least decent enough to pay child-support? Oh god *realises* it was Heiji who was paying them, wasn’t it? *heart breaks*

1886

Heiji and Yuki's second son, Otonoshin is born, 13 years after the first. What's up with that, Heiji?

1887

Koujirou goes to Germany* to study military tactics.

Hyakunosuke (8) feeds his mother rat poison. Koujirou doesn't come to the funeral.

As a result Hyakunosuke is brought up by his grandparents alone. He likes his grandma. They might instill in him the same kind of dislike for the new government as in the case of Kadokura. They definitely install a dislike for his deadbeat dad.

* Japan sent most of the promising officers abroad to soak up the knowledge how to run a modern nation. The army was mostly modeled after Germany (the Japanese were impressed by their recent victory against France) so it's the safest bet that Koujirou went to study there sometime in his life. In 1887-88 Nogi and Soroku Kawakami were sent to Germany. So it still depends if Nogi exists in GK universe and Koujirou just tagged along with them, or are they completely interchangeable.

1888

A new division is formed in Hokkaido. Tasked with guarding the north and developing the land.

1889

Heinojou (16) passes the Naval Academy entry exams with highest marks, determined to follow the footsteps of his father.

1894-95

The first Sino-Japanese war breaks out.

Heiji and Heinojou take part in the Battle of Yalu River. Heinojou is stationed on the flagship Matsushima under admiral Ito Sukeyuki. Matsushima gets badly damaged. 57 men die (including three officers) and 54 more are wounded.

Heiji silently watches his son burning from his ship. Comes back a wreck of a man. Gets awarded a title of Baron under the kazoku system *.

No clue what Koujirou could have been doing then. It’s likely that he was part of the army that conquered Port Arthur (back than still called Lushunkou) the first time around in only 3 days **.

* I need to double-check that with the raws since I'm not sure Tsurumi calling him "lord" is meant to imply he had a noble title, or if it's just a honorific. Many of admirals had titles so it would be highly likely someone with a lineage and a service record like Heiji also got one.

** this experiance would make him a pefect choice for later leading the operation in 1904 so this would make a lot of sense, but it would also be a pretty heavy take, since that would mean he was present during the Port Arthur masacre. And as a senior officer too, so it’s hard to find any excuses for him if that was the case. Did witnessing the atrocities there influence his later opposition to the Japanese expansion into Manchuria? Was his instruction for Yuusaku not to kill anyone motivated by trying to protect his son from sharing his guilt?

1895

Tsurumi comes back from the war and joins the 7th (actually more like he’s demoted out of the 2nd). By then Koujirou is the head of the division *

* I’m guessing Tsurumi had to have enough time to work on him, to be able to learn all about the Koito family troubles and come up with the plan how to use them. Did he get into Koujirou’s confidence? Or was he just reading his private letters?

1900

Heiji stays in Kagoshima and spoils/neglects his second son. Tsurumi "accidentally" meets Otonoshin and they visit Saigo's and Heinojou's graves.

Later that year the whole Koito family moves to Hakodate and Heiji takes control of the Ominato torpedo division *.

* The Ikazuki was a new class of light destroyers specifically made not to repeat the tragedy of too large and too slow Matsushima. No wonder Heiji was willing to move across the country for that.There were 6 of them made in total. Cool factoid: One of those destroyers sunk after a crash with a civilian steamship off the coast of Hokkaido in 1909.

1902

Ogata (24) joins the army and specifically volunteers for the 7th division planning god-knows-what. By conscription he would have landed in the 2nd (Kantou region).

Koujirou doesn't acknowledge him. Tsurumi does.

The Great Hakodate kidnapping takes place. Koujiro sends his best intelligence officer from Tsukisappu to help his friend and keep things discreet. Afterwards Heiji learns to appreciate the son he has left.

Later that year Otonoshin passes the exam to join the Army acedemy.

Fresh out of the academy Yuusaku (21) joins the 7th division. His father, plagued with guilt and bad life choices instructs him not to kill people and not to sleep around.

Yuusaku meets Hyakunosuke. Hyakunosuke tries to get him to kill people and sleep around.

1904-05

The Russo-Japanese war.

In February the war starts with Japan launching night torpedo attacks on the Russian fleet stationed inside Port Arthur. Heiji leads the third destroyer squadron aboard the Sazanami*. They continue the attacks over the next months trying to impose a blockade. After the Battle of the Yellow Sea, the victorious Japanese Combined Fleet effectively traps the remaining Russian warships inside Port Arthur. The Russians can't get out, the Japanese can't get in. Heiji can only wait and watch as the Japanese Army struggles to capture Port Arthur by land.

Koujirou leaves the 7th division behind when he is promoted to a member of staff of General Nogi’s 3rd Army. They land in Incheon in April and reach Port Arthur in August to start the siege. It is a drawn out blood bath. After wasting tons of lives in pointless assaults, the Japanese realize quite late that the key to victory lies in capturing the 203 Hill overlooking the harbor. Koujirou is made chief of staff for this operation.

In October they get the news that the Russian Baltic Fleet has left Tallinn and is on its way to reinforce the besieged Pacific Fleet. The race starts. If Koujirou fails to capture the hill before the Baltic Fleet arrives, the Japanese Fleet will be annihilated, and Heiji along with it.

In November the 7th division arrives in Port Arthur. They don’t get special treatment from their former commander and they’re sent head first to the 203 Hill. They capture it on 5th December, only after the artillery stopped caring weather they hit their own or not**. From their new position they destroy the whole Pacific fleet.

The death toll is 80 000 soldiers. More than half of the 7th is gone. Among the fallen are second lieutenants Hanazawa Yuusaku and Nogi Yasusuke - general Nogi's only remaining son (the first one died earlier in the same war).***

Hyakunosuke thinks that the losses wouldn't have to be this high if they just had more snipers like him. But nobody listened.

* All of the Ikazuki-class destroyers were quite active during the war. I placed Heiji on the Sazanami just because there’s the most info about what she did and when.

** The winning strategy was implemented by Kodama Gentarou. He was sent to Port Arthur with the authority to replace Nogi. He had enough guts to sacrifice soldiers falling to friendly fire in one coordinated assault instead of bleeding them out by continuous suicidal frontal assaults. He didn't officially replace Nogi though, and he let him take the credit for the victory, because they were friends. It's a really cool story.

*** Interesingly enough Yasusuke, was also shot in the back of his head. His father when he saw his body asked only “Was it after he had completed his task, or was it before?”

1905

The 7th move on to Mukden. Koujirou and Nogi along with them.

In May the Baltic Fleet arrives. Without Port Arthur, they try to get to Vladivostok to resupply. Tougou's fleet intercepts them in the Tsushima strait and despite their smaller number, crushes them decisively. Heiji's destroyer Sazanami, captures the destroyer Buyini with the wounded admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky **.

In September the Treaty of Portsmouth is signed. The Trans-Manchurian Railway gets handed off to the Japanese. Later Koujirou strongly opposes the plan to develop it ***.

** Heiji's torpedo division was also responsible to delivering the finishing blow to the flagship Knyaz Suarov. Later this was written on Knyaz Suarov's last moments "While she had a gun above water she fired, and not a man survived her of all that crew, to whose stubborn gallantry no words can do justice. If there is immortality in naval memory it is hers and theirs". Gives me the chills.

*** Did he see that it would lead to more war? Mantetsu was the reason behind the Manchurian Incident in 1931 and later for the breakout of the second Sino-Japanese war, where a really ugly face of Japanese imperialism saw the light of day. So, was Koujirou a good guy all along? This I hope will be explained in the manga.

1906

In January Nogi returns to give a victory report to the Emperor *.

Koujirou "commits seppuku" by his son's hand. "Writes" a sappy goodbye letter to Heiji (probably also by Ogata's hand).

Heiji gets seduced by his son's dashing young commander and does some stupid-treasonous things for him, convinced that Central Command was to blame for pushing Koujirou to suicide.

In November Mantetsu is established.

* Nogi breaks down while making the report and asks to be allowed to commit seppuku for allowing such high casualties. The Emperor forbids him. Nogi waits 7 years until the Emperor dies and commits seppuku on the day of his funeral.

Disclaimers

I would say half of this consists of what already is in GK canon (even if it’s written between the lines) or history. The other half are my free guesses for what I personally think would make a better story ;)

I tried and tried to do thorough research, but in the end I’m just a humble fangirl, and not a historian, so if there’s something I got wrong, missed or misinterpreted please correct me - learning history is a never-ending story.

Sorry for linking directly to the scanlations. Support the manga by buying the volumes if you can.

This list will most likely be growing since I will eventually figure out what Koujirou did during the Sino-Japanese war, and I’m only starting digging in to the details of the Boshin War, so I’m sure I’ll expand upon that.

If anyone ever wants to use this information for a fic, please do. Copy it all if you want to. I don’t mind the slightest. I’ll love you to pieces for writing anything for them at all!

#golden kamuy #hanazawa koujirou #koito heiji

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