#ok. well. loss is inevitable and i think you have a very fucked up way of looking at it that despite all of your personal growth has maybe

[the--days]

so it's like this.

you're young and you're scared and you're trapped in the feywild (happens to the best of us) with the love of your life. You're a half-elf and she's a fullblooded elf but you don't think about it very much because you're barely surviving day to day. And you get offered a deal to get yourself home again, and you take it. And the price of your freedom is that you leave her still trapped there, alone.

And then five years pass. And you age a century in that time, and you grow, and you change, and you find her again, and you're still in love, and you meet people, and you lose people, and you love them too, and you learn, and you start wanting a future again, and caring again, taking care of yourself, taking care of other people--

and after all of that, at the end of things, you find out the man responsible for all of the misery in your short, sad life has cast a spell which gives him complete control and ownership of you- mind, body, and soul (again. this happens to the best of us). And you are given the choice to stay under his thrall, and live a thousand years-- or to age and die, like humans do, and to be free of him.

And the love of your life is there, and you're married now, and she's still a full blooded elf, and you're still a half-elf, and you think about what that means a lot more than you used to.

And still, after everything you've learned-- you choose your freedom. You choose leaving her behind.

[wazzappp]

Alright I figure since Lisa gets her little redux / refresher so does Gabe!

Just a quick refresher so you don't have to scroll all the way back down that tag: Gabe was really REALLY sick and Robbie was getting desperate. The Connections (bioweapon company. A rival to Umbrella Corporation) reached out under the guise of a group wanting to test a new experimental medical treatment. Robbie hates the idea of being away from his brother but Gabe is DYING and they aren't even asking him to pay anything. So they ship Gabe out, do their testing with exposing him to the E series mold (they want to see if Eveline can manipulate the biologies of other people so they introduce him as a friend who needs help. Eveline is so excited to have a real friend to run around with, so she makes him able to run around. His mental disabilities remain but his physical disabilities are basically gone.) and he's better than ever! They get him back on the ship (new facility for more testing. They aren't really planning on returning him to Robbie i mean Robbies just some kid what the hell is he gonna do [<- lol. lmao]). When Eveline throws her tantrum and crashes the ship. Theres about a three month period (instead of three years. i really don't know what would happen to Robbie if he went that long without Gabe) until Robbie pieces together stuff from their video calls and news of a crashed liner in Louisiana and GOES. Thats where the games plot starts.

In the actual RE7 part of this AU Gabe is having. A BAD fucking time. Essentially being Mia's replacement he gets the great privilege of being forced to slam his brother into walls, stab him and cut his arm off (for the small small price of an axe to the neck some shots to the chest and a lifetime of trauma).

(That blood loss is hitting hard buddy you don't look so good)

During the opening I think Robbie is just thinking that if he can get them out of there then things will be ok and thats what keeps him going instead of just breaking completely.

Gabe is having a much better time in RE8. He's a bit wary of his abilities (basically Rose's in reverse. He creates little bulbs and if they have enough time to grow he uses them as an anchor to develop independent mold colonies that he can manipulate). Eventually (after just. a LITTLE freakout [which I kind of want to draw]). He eventually reasons out that this isn't so bad because 1. he is very much in control of this rather than being controlled and 2. It allows him to protect his brother. You cant tell me Gabe wouldn't feel SO BAD about what happened while he was being controlled. Every time he looks at the scars from Robbies spontaneous amputation via chainsaw he feels so absolutely terrible about it.

In RE8 Gabe's big thing is that he wants to KEEP ROBBIE SAFE and BE USEFUL. He absolutely hates seeing him get hurt, inevitable as it is. He doesen't trust Lisa until he sees Lady D go down (she was telling the truth about how to kill her own MOTHER that must mean something). But he doesen't really end up liking her until he sees how well she covers Robbies back. The verdict for future judgement is still out but for now the best path is to trust her.

[yowyowyaoi]

Nagato’s Daily Texts from the Akatsuki

From Hidan

Ok but what pill do you take? Because there’s no way you do her naturally.

Fuck him and his money.

Did you even look at the chair? There was BLONDE hair all over it! It was DEIDARA.

Make two more bodies but make them chicks. Bouncy bouncy 🤤

Just eat it man it’s freaky that we can count every one of your fucking ribs through your shirt …

For the last time I don’t eat them, I just kill them. That’s it. Ask plant-dick!!

Yeah but won’t your bones snap or some shit if you move outta that thing?!

Pleeeeeeeaaase Leader just let me preach one sermon to them all I can convert those fucks I know it!

He PUSHED ME DOWN THE STAIRS!! And then the old bastard blamed ME for it!!

We ALL deserve a raise!! What he gives us barely buys food for the week!

No because Lord Jashin does not consider animals to be sinners. It has to be humans or nothing.

From Itachi

No need, Kisame and I shall bring the tea to you.

If you wish but he’s likely to try and blow me up first.

One of meditation, one on healthy eating. I believe both would benefit you.

Sasori is gruff but he *helps*. His medicine *works*. If you feel awkward asking, command him.

She’s growing very quickly. Already catching mice on her own 🥰

I used to be scared but not anymore. The only thing I worry about is how it will affect Kisame.

I know what she means to you. She will be safe with us, I promise.

Don’t tell anyone yet but we’d be honored if you’d officiate for us. And I’m baking a large cake for everyone to share after.

He gets the job done but the cursing gives me an awful headache 🫤

You weren’t there so I left the dango on your table.

I don’t know if I can do a gengetsu strong enough to make him spend his money 🤔

From Kakuzu

They’re just whining. They’re fine.

The two bounties should be enough to pay our informants with some left over for base repairs.

His entire existence is a waste of money. You’d be doing everyone a favor if you just let me kill him.

For fuck’s sake, let them learn how to hunt and fish! *I* did when I was a young nin!!

I found a cheaper place. Smaller and the three idiots might have to bunk together but we’ll save a lot on utilities.

I have sewn that child’s arms back on THREE TIMES this week. Take away his clay he isn’t responsible with it!

Nothing is immortal. I’ll find a way to end him.

Your woman hits much harder than one would expect. Lesson learned.

What USE is he?! All he does is prance around after Deidara and babble nonsense! I’d bet money that if he took off that mask he’d be the highest bounty in my Bingo Book!

From Kisame

My many thanks, Leader.

Oh, apologies, that was me. I simply ate what Zetsu couldn’t finish.

If that brat even looks at Samehada again I’ll end his entire bloodline 😡

You’re looking rather pale lately. I tell Itachi to spend more time in the sun, perhaps you need to as well.

Define “dangerous” 🤔

We could carry you there. The locals swear that the lake has regenerative healing powers.

A bit more money would be nicer. Itachi sleeps better in Inns rather than camping in the cold.

He’s actually an excellent fisherman but he has to wear gloves or his hand-mouths start eating them raw.

I understand that you worry but believe me, she is more than capable of protecting herself.

I’m glad it makes him happy but I feel like she looks at me and thinks “dinner”. 😳

It’s a book about life after loss. I’m trying my best to prepare myself for the inevitable.

If he starts in on that Jashin crap again I’m taking his head and burying it where noone will ever find him.

From Sasori

Your biological limitations are what holds you back. You would benefit THE MOST from the puppet-transfer process.

You and her can find other ways to “be romantic”. But as easily compromised as your immune system is, I’d strongly advise against that. 

Pushed? What am I, a child? He FELL. I can’t be held accountable for his own clumsiness. 🤦‍♂️

The new legs should be ready no later than three days from now.

I’m happy but falling for him was very clearly a horrible lapse of judgement on my part.

Take the two red pills when you first wake up, the blue capsule before you go to bed, and the small green one with food anytime you think your heartbeat seems irregular.

Mm, well, she is very aesthetically pleasing.

I don’t mind at all. Modifying the Pein-bodies gives me a much needed mental challenge.

I’ve tried to persuade him but he’s made it clear he’s not interested in prolonging his life. I have to respect his decision.

Ah, cake. One of the few things I miss from my eating days.

From Zetsu

We scouted out the location for them. Marked out the easiest way on the map.

He calls us a freak again and we eat his head right off the shoulders. His eternity can be spent in our stomach.

Foolhardy but very amusing. His little explosions liven up such a dreary organization.

The paper dance may have been the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen. You’re truly a lucky man.

If it helps, our share can be divided amongst the others. No need for money.

Ah but the cloak truly irritates our delicate skin. We mostly travel underground anyway, does it matter if we wear it or not?

Can’t imagine a world in which one would *willingly* be preached to like that.

We merely wanted to pet the kitten. We weren’t going to eat it. Licking it was just what a mother cat would have done!

From Deidara

He’s literally just jealous because I look better than him!

It had nothing to do with my bombs, the guy got away because Tobi was watching the ducks instead of keeping watch on him like I told him to!

Of course! I can have your face and hair looking like new in no time!

Ffs I’m not going to explode her! I’m not crazy! Please make Uchiha just let me pet her!

Technically you’re like our father. I’m the youngest so I’m your responsibility. You CAN make him marry me, you CAN make Kakuzu throw us a reception and you CAN send us on a two week honeymoon. Sasori will come around to the idea. 🙃

Come have dinner with us. Kisame made the salmon just how you like it.

I’m not doing it on purpose! He’s not even using his own thread he’s using some cheap shit he found to save money! THAT’S why they keep coming detached!! 😡

What’s your favorite animal? I’ll make it for you.

I’m not a baby he doesn’t need to monitor me!

I would have brought it home because free milk but Kakuzu would have turned him into steaks 🙄

We stopped at the park after. I’ll send you pictures she looked so pretty on the swings

From “Tobi” / Obito

I bet he would if the puppet got put through the wood chipper 😊

He needs to be reigned in, his sacrifices attract far too much attention.

I’m surprised you want to take her there, considering how much you both hate the rain.

Doing the voice puts a horrible strain my on throat. Raw honey helps.

I’ve spent my whole life not going after what I want. I’m going after him. Period. Sasori be damned.

Itachi needs to be *forced* to take the medication. He’s too valuable to lose just yet.

The old man really picked the cheapest phones possible. The reception is horrible. We’d be better off communicating through smoke signals.

Let ME cook once in a while. “Tobi” would blow these fools’ minds.

From Konan

Of course not! You silly asshole 💙

I remember. It’s about the only good memory I have from that wretched place.

Think those new legs of yours can carry you to my room? I’ve got some exercises I think would help strengthen them 😏

Don’t stress out, I’ll deal with them. They’re more scared of me anyway.

Idc what he told you, DO NOT let him turn you into a puppet 😡 If he tries it I’m throwing him in the fireplace.

I mean yeah there’s Hidan and Deidara, but all in all I think this group turned out very well.

I made you a nice dinner. And your favorite dessert 😉

Kakuzu thinks they can live in the same room?! That fool will end up spending more on repairs than it would cost to just give them their own rooms!

All he ever wanted was for us to be happy and safe. We are. We’re very much honoring his memory.

Well you never sneezed around Chibi so the kitten should be fine for you to hold.

Not when they make me gain 100 pounds per bite 😖

I need that to be the case. Very badly.

Sounds like you and I are due for a little vacation, eh?

Working on this technique where I have bombs mixed in with the regular paper. Different colors. I’ll show you later.

Friends to lovers is the perfect story, don’t you agree?

“Mediating” is almost impossible. I just shut the people fighting into a room and pray the room is still intact when I come back later 😓

I don’t care, the Pein body isn’t YOU. I prefer it natural.

It was hilarious I yelled and they all looked terrified. Pretty sure I made Hidan pee his pants 😂

[adagaium]

ok haha wow im ready to cry im going to talk about the crucifixion (with like 2 references)

hey let’s start off with just uh how did this happen. from what we get in game, ardyn was once a healer meant to be the founder king. his method of healing is basically the oracle method. he takes the scourge into his body and saves countless people. when he goes to the crystal, he’s rejected because his soul is tainted. somnus becomes the founder king and it is said that ardyn survives being killed. 

there is also canon artwork that has an eerie resemblance to uh paintings of the crucifixion of jesus christ [1], so that’s how i came to the conclusion that his death was by crucifixion. 

crucifixion is REALLY FUCKING AWFUL and here’s why:

how does a person die? here’s a thing from the guardian.

“’[s]uffocation, loss of body fluids and multiple organ failure. [...] [t]he weight of the body pulling down on the arms makes breathing extremely difficult,' says Jeremy Ward, a physiologist at King's College London. [i]n addition, the heart and lungs would stop working as blood drained through wounds”. 

“[s]omeone nailed to a crucifix with their arms stretched out on either side could expect to live for no more than 24 hours. [s]even-inch nails would be driven through the wrists so that the bones there could support the body's weight. [t]he nail would sever the median nerve, which not only caused immense pain but would have paralysed the victim's hands” [2].

so of course, ardyn is immortal due to the scourge, but he probably died for at least a short period of time, enough for his body to be dumped in angelgard. as cruel as it is, the whole issue of 2000 years could’ve been avoided if his body was left there. while there would be the eerie fact that the body never seemed to change or rot, he would’ve been in a position where the lack of oxygen would basically act as a sedative, keeping him in some sort of stasis.

of course, this would’ve been very hard to maintain, especially since no one knew at the time that he was immortal. the weight of his body would inevitably cause his body to fall, that’s 174 lbs up on a cross, gravity kicks in, that’s part of how people died. 

ok you probably think this is bad, well uh it gets worse. while the usual procedure is driving seven inch nails through the wrists or palms according to paintings, this is final fantasy and the astrals just made ardyn suffer. his body was pinned there by swords from guess what jazzhands the armiger, possibly his own turned against him or somnus’, either way it was a huge betrayal and he never forgot the agony of the betrayal. 

once the people believed him to be dead, his body was taken down and brought to angelgard where his body was laid to rest in a mausoleum. the healing process of his body took a good century, leaving the scars on his hands that he keeps covered with the gloves. on that note, while his body is capable of survival and healing, that means the injuries become scars, not that they disappear, so his whole body is just a traumatizing map of everything he’s suffered and he hates literally everything and wants vengeance on all of existence. 

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

citations

Jha, A. (2004, April 08). How did crucifixion kill? Retrieved May 4, 2018, from https://www.theguardian.com/science/2004/apr/08/thisweekssciencequestions

Langetti, G. B. (1670). Mary Magdalene at the Foot of the Cross[Painting]. Santa Teresa, Venice, Italy.

[kazumasougi]

ranting abt some problems i had with gowr in a needlessly long format below. warning for major gow2018 end-of spoilers below as well

i think like the biggest problem with gowr is like. they spent so much time trying to add new shit that they fell flat on delivering their most prominent plot point. which is deeply deeply upsetting to me honestly. like the entire plot of god of war is that atreus wants to start a war (bring on ragnarok) and he starts recruiting people to help him fight it. while kratos is like you dont know what it means to start a war (coming from the . god of war. lol). all the while atreus is unaware that the jotunheim prophecy states kratos is going to die while atreus takes odin’s side. and like this is an excellent setup because it gives you a conflict and potential consequences. and constantly the buildup is kratos and mimir talking about how he is going to die and how kratos doesnt want to have any regrets so he sets atreus on a good path forward while atreus finds out in another way that kratos will die. the entirety of that culminates in kratos and atreus agreeing that they will forge their own path forward. which is a lovely sentiment

however throughout the game it kind of feels like an empty promise. to be completely honest. like there is not a single point in the game where it feels like kratos’ life is genuinely being threatened. there is no singular event that says “This is the part where he’s supposed to die”, nor is there any follow-through on HOW exactly atreus and kratos avoid their own fate. like. the buildup is completely for nothing. granted there is a point where atreus works under odin and is so convinced that hes maybe doing the right thing and that odin isnt so bad. which is where you would expect the story to go narratively. but the other half of the prophecy is so fully ignored that it feels like all of it was honestly for nothing

not to mention like the game generally just feels… rushed??? like the parts of the story where youre attempting to recruit people to help you doesnt feel very complete. ESPECIALLY when you have to go to surtr to ask him to become ragnarok. like the myth is he and sinmara combine to become ragnarok. reasonably surtr does not want this because that is his wife and they forced themselves to be in separate realms for the sake of not creating Big Scary Monster. and it would inevitably end in both of their deaths. and if i recall correctly in the files of the game there is an unfinished sinmara model so they mustve originally intended for her to be in the game as part of atreus’ quest. but what actually happens is surtr is like “oh your blades are made of primordial fire just stab me with them and ragnarok is good to go without needing my wife” (?????????? YOU ARE IN THE. PLANE OF PRIMORDIAL FIRE. THAT IS WHAT MUSPELHEIM IS. IF THAT MADE SENSE THIS WOULDVE ALREADY TRIGGERED RAGNAROK ANYWAYwhatever who cares) and then he becomes ragnarok without his wife. alright sure. what the fuck. you do not ever visit sinmara until you go to niflheim and you hear crying from some arbitrary direction because she does not have a character model. you just hear her sobbing. its sad but like ok.

but the worst part of this is like Ragnarok shows up at the war on asgard and he is the fucking opposite of helpful. like he is destroying everything of atreus’ forces, which already are so few, and ends up killing one of the more well-developed characters in a twist that does like zero justice to him and anyone. now this isnt me saying freyr shouldnt have died bc this is what happens in the myth. its right for him to. but it was executed SO poorly it hardly left any impact at all. like why bother with the ragnarok plotline if theres no followthrough whatsoever… you dont even see freya mourn the loss of her brother, who we saw was like. incredibly important to her throughout the game

and i think ragnarok’s biggest problem is that while it was clearly made with so much love and care for both mythology and alternative storytelling, it seems like they wanted to focus on. More more more. more mechanics more menus more shitty uis that are genuinely HARDER to navigate than 2018. what the fuck is with the 20 complicated skill trees. it did not need that many moves like whatsoever. i dont even use like 70% of them because they arent practical to use in combat anyway. they changed the way armor works with the fucking. yggdrasil amulet??? what is that. it took several days to figure out what the menuing even was because they made it so much more confusing for no reason. why are there different skill trees for different companions that you have for five minutes total in the game. there was no reason for that. and like it was awesome seeing atreus have a specific skillset for when you play as him as well as his own rage meter but he doesnt use any of these skills when hes kratos’ companion so like…????? what was the point of upgrading him for like 3 short sections of the game

i also fucking hate the use of sigil arrows theyre stupidly finicky and near useless in combat. sorry. force arrows feel like a cheap rebrand of light arrows from 2018 and thats FINE, but i think they shouldve just kept light and shock arrows. the mechanics for the new ones are absolutely awful i did not like them at all. sometimes you know exactly how to solve a puzzle with atreus’ (or freya’s) arrows but you cant get the placement of them right because the way sigil arrows work is ridiculously unclear with its current visuals. i hated using them and i hated trying to play out the puzzles for the nornir chests because the mechanics are straight up bad.

additionally they introduced the spear weapon because you need it to defeat one enemy. now listen i liked the storyline behind this one a lot. some good cutscenes with that one. I HATE USING IT THOUGH… I guess they were like “we need a weapon thats specifically for the ranged combat playstyle!!” which i can understand but isnt that the entire fucking point of having the axe. like. with the recall. the draupnir spear feels unbelievably lacking as one of the main weapons you can have and if im honest IT MAKES SWITCHING WEAPONS UNBEARABLE DUDE. the response time to trying to change weapons has a delay so if you try changing to another one mid combat sometimes it straight up ignores you. which makes fights with enemies that require being hit by different certain weapons all the more annoying. additionally it takes up the same button as bare-handed/shield attacks so its fucking impossible to go barehanded mid combat when you actually need it (which, admittedly, is not as necessary if you dont care about stun or knockback. but i *do* so like…) also it doesnt really do much damage it just does stun. again a fun weapon for people who want to do stun damage long ranged but that kind of defeats the purpose of being able to go barehanded.

also i think the addition of 20 differwnt shields is deeply unnecessary and while i liked the stone wall shield (what a name 💀) the reason kratos uses the one he has at default is like. “it was a gift from my wife!!” which is sweet. and then theyre like “um no actually kratos you can use some of ours because yours broke” (it makes no fucking sense that his shield broke. what do you mean it Broke. you used it for all of 2018) like i definitely enjoyed them more than i enjoyed using the spear but. they didnt need to add so many. they just didnt.

and then they added more types of rage too. and im like jesus christ ENOUGH with the options ??? please???? i dont want this many. they also made the selections of armor deeply underwhelming and i didnt feel satisfied with using any of them other than like. sols spaulders. which didnt even matter because they nerfed the fuck out of every enemy and boss in this game that was actually supposed to be hard. the spiritual successor to sigrun, gna, was like. nothing. it was nothing im sorry that shit was leagues easier than battling sigrun on the same difficulty. and then they introduced the berserkers which is like. ok. the same shit 20 times in a row. whereas you could tell each of the valkyries had their own distinct fighting style, the berserkers are just like. fight this guy! now fight him again. now fight two of them at the same time. i never even killed king hrolf because i didnt give enough of a fuck to continue and i LOVE 100%ing a good challenge. its bad game design its like they just took one of the base berserkers and gave him a substantially longer health bar. maybe this is supposed to be a callback to the travelers from 2018 but those werent made as full bossfights. nor were they interesting enough to be such. comparatively the draugr holes (…) were ok i guess. like they were fine. theyre short challenges that you can very easily encounter way way WAY too soon in your playthrough though

whats more is for gowr it introduces realms that you knew of in 2018 but never got to visit. and they were mostly executed beautifully like i adored seeing all of svartalfheim and i really liked seeing the fimbulwintr versions of realms they let you visit originally, like how niflheim is no longer some fucked up foggy area from ivaldis workshop and how midgard is all snow and ice. but again whenever i visited these areas for optional quests it just felt like More More More…

idk i did very much enjoy playing ragnarok but some aspects of it were just. i didnt like them. and it took up time and effort that probably would have been better spent developing the story further. meeting sinmara was definitely needed to compliment the story arc about atreus acting reckless about the war and its really disappointing that you dont get to. i kind of wish they let this one cook for an extra year or two

[cinnamonest]

I feel like I’ve found my kin, I fell in love with Kakashi when I was like 8 LOL. Can I request some general yandere Zoro headcanons btw? I loved/still love him too 😶

Yes you may ahhh!!!! I love Zoro so much. I love writing for fandoms like this bc shounen anime are... Well, shounen, they're aimed at dudes, so they tend to not have as large of a female audience so there's not a lot of content out there. I love Luffy and there's like zero girl-targeted content for him. I swear I've spent so much time looking for wholesome, decent LuNa (my otp im sorry i just hhhh) doujins that aren't super male-oriented, and there's like... 2. For a 900+ episode anime. 2.

I also love the concept of a yandere in a situation where they CAN'T kidnap you, they're limited by their circumstances, so they have to kind of adjust or go insane. It's an interesting dynamic because it eliminates the norm for yanderes.

I think I mentioned this but I'm not 100% caught up with one piece (I mean, who is?), so I'm just keeping it simplistic and going with kinda basic Zoro and nothing with specific character developments or any spoilers other than his backstory

Yandere Roronoa Zoro (One Piece)

Tws: all the usuals -- yandere, noncon, kidnapping

He meets you while he's lost. I'm sorry I just. Zoro gets lost in the middle of some place they're docked, and you're just such a sweetheart, you see this guy clearly not knowing where he's going, and offer to help him. He's kind of taken aback by your softness and sweetness.

He's not easily made aware of his own feelings. He's a rough and tough sort of guy, and he has dedicated himself to swordsmanship so much that he's neglected to focus on himself and his interpersonal relationships, and he's not really self aware at all of his own feelings, very out of touch with his emotions.

Obviously, even if he tries to shove it down, Kuina weighs heavily on his mind in relation to you. He's another man that has known loss and it's dealt its damage on his psyche. He can't lose another person who's dear to him again.

This results in him becoming insanely protective, one of the most protective yans out there. He's easily one led into paranoia delusions regarding your safety. However, he's an honest and reasonable guy and can be level-headed when confronted. If someone (not yourself, as he thinks you're naive, but maybe another girl like Nami or Robin) tells him he's being overprotective and exaggerating about your safety, he may actually have a moment of self-realization and admit to it. He's capable of being reasonable enough to see it once it's pointed out to him. However... this doesn't stop him. He tries, really, he genuinely tells himself that he needs to stop. But his instincts just kind of take over. It's an impulse, to stop you from doing even the most slightly dangerous things.

Once you join the Straw Hat Crew, he just kinda... clings. It's a silent presence, but he's always there, constantly seems to show up wherever you are. Unfortunately, you can't really... get away from him per se. You're kinda limited to one ship, at least as long as you're out on the sea. Your only option for respite is going to your room or bathing, otherwise, he's gonna follow you, even if he's not saying anything and (very badly) trying to feign indifference, pretending you just happen to be going the same way all the time. He doesn't really know what to say, he's not good with these things, and often he's acting without really thinking too much about it. He won't usually strike up a conversation, he just... is there. Watches. May awkwardly ask a question or make a passing comment.

One scenario I imagine is you jokingly picking up one of his swords and wielding it around giggling and he just flips out, takes it from you and yells at you not to do that, are you an idiot? Do you want to trip and fall and have that impale you? Do you realize how easy it would be for you to slice your arm open by accident? It's startling to both you and anyone watching -- even for someone who gets yell-y as easily as him, it seems like an overreaction. He'll apologize but insist it's a safety thing, really.

And he really tries to hide his more... aggressive nature, because he thinks it will drive you away -- he's a blunt, tough guy with a short-fused temper, and he thinks that's definitely not something women like very much. He tries not to yell at you, not get mad so easy, keep his calm better around you, and might even be nicer to others so that you don't think he's mean. And for the most part, he can manage that. Except when it comes to a very specific, very problematic blonde crew member. His little conflicts with Sanji get worse, to even a point that he's snapping at him so frequently that even Sanji himself is a bit bewildered and caught off guard by it. The others notice they fight a lot more often... and Zoro always seems to instigate it, picking quarrels over the littlest things. In reality, he's afraid of the other's... sleazy nature. He can't have you falling for that bastard. He even starts to get jittery when you're in the presence of Franky, Usopp, hell even Luffy of all people. It's noticeable, and everyone kinda worries for him.

He kicks himself for it as soon as he does it, but he finds himself insulting you nonetheless. It's a terrible habit. He gets so awkward and flustered that it's second nature for him to say something snarky or even rude when you talk to him, and he immediately is just mentally screaming at himself for doing so. This will get a bit better with time, though, if you two talk more often.

Now, even if you can fight, you're never gonna really get the opportunity. In battle, he's clinging to you and protecting you at every moment, even if it costs the others some unnecessary wounds. It's highly uncharacteristic of him, and they notice. He won't leave your side, insisting that you're a weak fighter and that he has to take care of you. You just don't get it, you overestimate yourself, you underestimate your enemies, you're a girl. What, Nami and Robin? Well, they've been at this much longer than you, and they had rough upbringings. You're different. You're soft... fragile. You just can't see it. You're lucky he's here to protect your dumbass.

Due to your setup, well, he can't really kidnap you per se. He undoubtedly would if you two were somewhere else, in another life or another setting, but that's not really an option, and even as a yandere, he would never go so far as to kill or abandon his crew. So, he's stuck with just... slowly, slowly mentally deteriorating.

Now, he's not capable of kidnapping, he's not smart enough to really manipulate you into anything (although he WILL tell you that some of the other guys are out to use you), so, he's left to be the guard dog he inevitably becomes to you. If you avoid him, he'll just follow you. If you don't talk to him, that's ok. If you confront him, he'll just insist he has no idea what you're talking about, and you'll start to feel like maybe you're just paranoid. The others... don't really know what to do, to be honest. I can see Nami/Robin potentially confronting him, but in the end, they can't force him to change his behaviors, and they can't afford to lose him. This results in, gradually, everyone slowly kind of accepting your dynamic onboard. They feel bad for you, really, but... in the end, Zoro's just more valuable to the crew. Sorry. They're not gonna get rid of him, but they don't want to get rid of you either.

If you leave? It may just be one of the very very few things that could ever cause him to leave the Strawhats. It would tear him up, really, it goes against his dreams, his pride, his loyalty, but in the end... his loyalty is first and foremost to you. He'll follow you if you leave. It's a bad move on your part, because this gets rid of the only thing standing between you and kidnapping. Which, at that point, surely will happen. Like his other behaviors, he'll feel bad, he'll try and stop himself, tell himself it's wrong, but you'll end up bound in some dark basement nonetheless. He's one to take a very simple approach. Find you alone, sling you up and over his shoulder and carry you off before anyone can come.

Rejection doesn't faze him. No matter what, he'll remain by your side. Even if you never love him in return. It's just his nature, he's a guardian through and through.

In the end, he'll be right there by your side, scaring off any competitors, clinging to you like glue, ever in your presence like a shadow, forever. Whether you want him to or not. He's just an inescapable force, an unmovable object, and you're wasting your time trying to change your fate.

Now, he's very flustered with anything sexual. Highly embarrassed, lots of shame, and doesn't talk much about it. It just kind of happens. He doesn't talk much during, mostly grunts and the occasional fuck when you clamp down, occasionally asking you if you're ok, if it hurts, if it feels good. It's one of the only very soft sides of him. In the end, he really, truly loves you, and doesn't want to hurt you, he wants you to feel good and just love him. It's a very different side to him, one no one else has ever really seen, it's the most vulnerable he himself has ever been with another person.

He feels shame for it, but initially he'll definitely be one to steal your things, sit outside of your room at night, listening to you through the wall, try and get glimpses of you bathing or dressing. He really, really feels guilty, and he's one that will, once you're comfortably restrained and never going anywhere, just sit down and list out every nasty little thing he's ever done regarding you, just to get it off his chest. He understands if you react badly, and he'll apologize, which is a bit ironic considering how much worse kidnapping you is.

He'll apologize for that, too. He's actually one to do so a lot. He's normally a proud guy, but with this? He knows it's wrong, he knows it's fucked up. He knows he can't stop. And he'll be sorry to the moon and back. Just never sorry enough to stop.

He's actually a pretty vanilla guy. Hand-holding missionary type. And, despite being so embarrassed over it all, oddly romantic about it. It's one of the only things he's ever soft and gentle about, it's almost unbelievable to you that he's capable of being so gentle and slow with anything. But he'll kiss your forehead, really take his time with it all, make you cum on his fingers before ever actually fucking you. Hold your hand, look into your eyes. It would be honestly incredibly sweet if it weren't... you know, taking place in some dark sealed off room after dragging you there against your will.

If he's particularly mad, he can get rougher, but he'll apologize after. It's a lot of harsh grabbing, biting, it leaves bruises that he'll rub over softly, whispering an apology, even if a little part of him likes the way it looks on you.

[beann-e]

Deku believes your dense but, are you really or do you just not want to accept the inevitable?

Deku was always one to overthink , he’d catch himself wandering in his mind as if he was a child at the park most days

So, when the both of you started dating the worries only increased

He believed you were the most beautiful person to exsist inside and out so why would anyone else think you weren’t

He would see how everyone would interact with you

Their behaviors seeming as those who had crushes on you

so you could understand his fear and the loss he felt when he would see you talking to his middle school bully his best friend if you would say

His heart would thump wildly when he would see Bakugou actually saying words to you instead of the occasional grunts he’d give you most days

It started out small with Deku asking you what you two talked about , then it moved on to what’d you two do when you went out yesterday

Until it finally came down to

“ why did I catch you in his room y/n “

oh you were here now actually , you’d just made it to this point not even a few minutes ago

“ Izuku we had a project that’s all baby —swear“

“ it didn’t look very project-e when I walked in to check on you and got cursed out by kaachan — with you trying to push him off of you “

“ he was just playing izuku “ you smiled at him “ that’s it he was just joking “

“ y/n I don’t know if —“

“ babe bakugou Is like your bestfriend right “

dekus body tensed as he sat confused “ I mean if you wanna — if you — maybe you can put it that way — m-maybe yes “

you laughed and wrapped your arms around him “ ok then why would he make a move on his best friends girlfriend that makes absolutely no sense “

deku sighed as he hugged you back relaxing into your hold before he pulled you back by the waist making you stand in front of him “ y-y/n I understand you don’t get a lot of things — their are some things that just fly over your head because you simply don’t understand “ he waved his hands in front of him “ and I — no I — I don’t mean anything and by it — there’s nothing wrong with it — I love you for it “ he moved to play with his fingers to calm himself down

“ but even if kaachan was flirting with you I don’t think youd understand you’d probably just push it off“ he sighed out “ you’d just think he was being extra friendly to you like with me — I didn’t know you liked me until you told me in our quirk fight and then I was confident to tell you the same “

“ it’s fine deku “ you wrapped your arms around him again “ it doesn’t matter even if bakugou does have a crush on me or something weird I only have eyes for you ok “ you kissed him on his lips pulling back to look in his eyes “ it’s not gonna be that easy to steal me away “

If that was the case then how did you guys end up two weeks later in bakugous room once again with deku dropping his flowers he held for you on the floor body shaking as he watched bakugou press his lips to yours your body trying it’s best to push him away

“ y-y/n — baby — wha”

you felt ice run through your veins as you looked up at bakugou who sat on you holding you down on the floor from where you tried to escape his hold as you two were just fighting each other for your project on how different quirks interact

your face dropping to a frown when you looked into the blondes eyes seeing him huff and breathe hard over you until your eyes went downcast and made their way over to deku

“ I—I don’t I actually don’t know what happened“ you said softly hands held above your head in bakugous grip

“ k-kaachan get — get off of her “

“ is that you asking or telling me dumb deku “

“ don’t talk to him like that katsuki “

“ and who the fuck told you to call me my first name“

“ why are you — you don’t act this way when we’re alone “

“ well your dumb fucking boyf — shitty deku just throws me off “

“ I— what — what are you two doing y/n you told me this was a project “

“ it— it is “

“ then why are you still under him “ he pouted “ baby please get up “

bakugou scoffed at dekus words until he moved to stand

you following moving away from the blonde who rolled his eyes at your actions “ you talk about people acting in a different way — look at how you act now that he’s here “

you turned to look at bakugou confused “ bakugou he’s my — he’s my boyfriend “

“ so you don’t act like this when he’s around “

“ what —what are you talking about “

“ we joke all the time about stuff like that and how it means nothing and it’s all stupid — we’re always doing play fights and dumb shit and now all of a sudden your up on your knees pleading to this puppy dog “

“ again katsuki he’s my boyfriend “

“l I-I know I just “

“ you don’t like me katsuki “ you said looking at him

“ you don’t like me or you would have said something when we were paired up so when you made jokes I would have been quick to cut them off if I knew you actually meant them “

you played with your arm that was now covered in goosebumps “ you don’t like me katsuki not like that“

“ I - I don’t your right “ he shook his head “ who the fuck would like someone like you — shitty dekus the only one who can handle your mouth — id kill myself two times over if I had to listen to you one more time in our practices and study times “

you laughed as you turned to deku “ see babe — it’s ok — it was just an accident he didn’t mean to kiss me he must have gotten to caught up in the battle“ you smiled widely “ can we go watch a movie I actually want popcorn “

dekus head moved slowly up and down as he gulped watching as you hopped over to his room in happiness opening the door and closing it

his breath uneven as he was left standing in bakugous room “ I-i’m sorry I just they don’t get—understand a lot of advances sometimes and I have to help them ou— “

“ I meant what I did “

dekus eyes dropped he wasn’t stupid he knew bakugou meant everything— every single advance deku questioned bakugou meant something by it all

“ and i’m not gonna stop — not until they tell me theirselves they want me to “

“ you know their not going to do that because they don’t understand “

“ then I guess you just have to step up your game as a boyfriend shitty green crayon because I plan to up my advances “

he yelled loudly at the green haired boy who was frozen in his place “ and get the fuck out of my room unless your closing the door shitface “

[xsarcasticwriterx]

Wonderwall

summary:Being trapped in space with tony wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to someone except when your running out of food, and water, and happen to be dating the guy who killed his parents...ok maybe it is the worst thing to happen.

Inspired by Into the blue

pairing: tony stark x reader x bucky

warning:starvation,depression,angst, hopeless feeling,cheating,implied smut

note: Don't expect the other chapters to be as long pfft Just this being the first one i wanted to get the entire plot out.

Wonderwall masterlist

Being trapped in space with tony wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to someone except when your running out of food, and water, and happen to be dating the guy who killed his parents...ok maybe it is the worst thing to happen.

This had all started almost a month ago when they were on a mission that meant going off of earth. To find the leader of the aliens that invaded new york. Who gave loki his army. It went as well as you'd expect leading to dead end after dead end. eventually you and tony decided it was time to return back to earth it was smooth sailing until something happened and the ship completely shut down and simply became a vessel floating. Tony tried to figure out what was wrong but seeing no damage and his suit running out of power left him having to go back to the ship and figure out what to do.

Suspecting that they couldn't be out there for more than 2 weeks they rationed the food and water between the two of them for that time. Slowly as time went on they realized they'd be there longer than expected. Slowly supplies ran out and tony was running out of solutions. y/n’s powers started to fall from her control as she got weaker. This made it hard for tony and y/n to be around one another.

Her powers are to control and manipulate thoughts and feelings. she could also make people see her thoughts. similar to wanda's except she couldn't create thought simply spread things she already knew.. Shes has them sense she was 5 and the older she got the more out of control they got. at 17 fury came to her and took her in. y/n and natasha got very close due to being there at such a young age. When wanda came they became close from similar powers. They showed her how to control her powers and use them for good. This felt similar to how she felt then. out of control whatever thoughts or want she had happened at a simple touch. She felt weak and powerless while also being powerful. Tony was currently in his mini lab trying to figure out how he could fix the suit.

y/n sat in the control room on the floor feeling empty. They were currently having to skip eating some days. This was hurting y/n more than tony and as such she could barely move anymore. sitting on the floor she was trying to get up but failing from tiredness. Tony came out his lab to see her eyes closed and head back. The soft breathing was the only way he knew she was still alive. They both looked like a wreck but y/n looked on the edge of death. “hey” tony said softly sitting next to her. “you shouldn't be here” she replied wearly still keeping her eyes closed and head back. “You won't hurt me. I trust you” tony replys sleepily. “mmm thank you but I can't control it anymore” she says softly. “Then I won't touch you” he says.

y/n finally cracks open her eyes. “How are you feeling?” tony ask. How was she? she wasn't sure herself. She felt sick and tired and her vision kept spinning. She couldn't even peel herself from the floor. she simply shrugged. “here” he says handing her an almost empty bottle of water. 

she shook her head “that's yours” she says pushing it back towards him. “I'm not the one about to shake hands with the grim reaper.” tony says pushing back the bottle. she sighs and grabs the bottle. as soon as the liquid touches her dry lips and chugs the rest of the water. 

“Better?” tony ask with concern. she nods “much” she replies with a satisfied sigh. “Tony... do you think we’ll ever get back home?” she ask finally turning her head and looking at tony. He gulps and looks over at her. Her eyes look broken a look once filled with happiness and hope and what felt like the sun is now a glance of tiredness not just as in needing sleep but tired of all of this mess. The look of someone broken and hopeless.

“no” is all he can say. She would know if he lied so why even try. she sighed looking down. “me either.”she says turning to look out the large window. It's all dark outside only light being the stars. For a few days it was such a beautiful view but now it's just a reminder they are floating farther and farther from home.

they sat there just staring out into the emptiness. Tony looked over at her. Her eyes were closed again and her breathing had deepened showing she had fallen asleep. He stood up grabbing a package of food leaving it for her. it was his portion and hers. She needed it more than he did. which is exactly what he wrote on the note he stuck on the package. Even on the verge of death he thought she looked beautiful. The thought threw him off. he shook it off assuming it was the tiredness and being together for so long. she looked very uncomfortable. 

Sitting back down he took off his jacket and laid her down on his lap. He placed his jacket on top of her to keep her warm. He stroked her hair starting to fall asleep himself. his brain starts to get fuzzy with what feels like a dream but not his own. He tried to pull away but felt stuck. The dream was or y/n and tony still on the ship. They were in the lab. They seemed happier. y/n walked over to tony and they kissed. not like it was the first time but like it was just any normal thing. after that tony finally pulled away. It took him a while before figuring out that was y/n’s dream. She had accidently spread her thought into his mind. He felt bad he wasn't intended to see that and she didn't intend for him to. 

Tony was left confused. Why would that be her dream? Why wouldn't she dream of being back at home happy with bucky. feeling her move he shoved his thoughts aside. her eyes opened looking up at him she softly smiled “hey” she said. “hey” he replied he wasn't sure on what exactly to say. She sat up and realized tony's jacket was on her. “This is a nice jacket” she said voice still covered in sleep. 

Y/n handed tony back his jacket. she tilts her head and reaches for the package of food. She reads the note and smirks. “Tony today isn't our day for food” she said. “you need to eat today. now. eat.”  tony said with a stern face. she sighed and opened up the container of food and got to eating it. She started to eat fast before tony grabbed her hand. “slowly or your body will shut down.”  he said. she nodded and ate slower. 

once she was done her eyes started to get droopy again. “hey um y/n?” tony said. She turned to him with a face to show she was listening. “your thoughts accidently got pushed into my head while you were asleep...” he said trailing off. she started to feel her heart speed up. She remembered her dream so she knew what he saw. “uh...” was all that came out when she tried to speak.

Tony shook his head “no no i get it we've been together for over a month ok I just uhm ok” tony said in a panic. Never before had tony been at a loss of words. “tony...” she said softly. “We aren't getting home and you and I have gotten closer than ever and I just I don't know...” she said looking down at the floor. She sighed “I just want the world to stop. The pain to stop for the inevitable of this to not seem so fucked!” she screamed feeling all the pain and anger in her rise. All the hurt she felt over all this time. “I need it to stop!” she yelled over and over. Tony grabbed her face. y/n stopped speaking. “Do you want me to stop it?” he asked looking over her face. She wasn't sure. This situation seemed so stuck and to turn it off would be amazing. She wasn't going to back in bucky's arms....ever. To just be touched and held by someone before their inevitable doom would be amazing. So that was it. “yes” she said softly.

With that tonys lips were on hers. It was soft and smooth. His touches and strokes. His lips and mouth were so soft. Everything he did was as if he would break her. This wasn't rough and wild sex this wasn't tony being a playboy. This wasnt love though it wasn't someone making love. This was the pain of two people who saw no way out. Two friends saying goodbye. 

After they laid together. y/n on top of tony as he held her close to him. his hand rubbed up and down her back as she slowly fell asleep. “Thank you” she said softly before falling into a slumber. He smiled at her. He felt his heart do cartwheels at the sight of her asleep, comfortable, and close to him. He knew this feeling and it frustrated him. He shook his head. He took this as simply being the fact that they had been up there for so long and had just slept together. Falling into a slumber he felt the weight of the world fall off her chest.

The next few days were better but y/n felt her body shut down more and more each day. It was halfway through month 2 of being stuck together. Then the ship shook and the door opened. y/n was sat at the control panel trying to stay alive with all her strength. 

The door opened to the ship and 5 people walked in. The last people that tony and y/n ever expected. Steve, natasha, clint, bruce, and the one that caused the most shock. james buchanan barnes.

[eliemo]

See Yourself Through My Eyes

Summary: Virgil severely misunderstands Roman’s intentions. They both have a lot to work on...but they’re helping each other.

Notes: Yes I’m writing prinxiety immediately after that episode. Enjoy some gays. 

Virgil was pretty sure there wasn’t a single person in the world who didn’t know about his feelings for Roman. 

Logan definitely knew, because Logan somehow knew everything, and Patton was less than subtle about his support or dreaded pity whenever Roman would inevitably brush Virgil off or call him a name during a video. 

There was no way Thomas didn’t at least suspect something. Virgil was a part of him, after all, and he was much more attuned with the aspects of his personality than he gave himself credit for. 

That meant, of course, that Roman also knew. 

Honestly, Roman probably knew before Virgil did. He was the romantic side, always looking for signs of love and affection and passion. Well, looking for it anywhere other than Virgil. Obviously.  

And that was fine. Virgil had learned to accept it a long time ago that his feelings were just...common knowledge that would never be acted upon. 

The fact that Roman knew made him anxious sometimes, and earlier on it had certainly kept him awake at night, but he had to admit there was some relief in that knowledge. 

Roman knew that Virgil was helplessly head over heels for the Prince, and had never once acted any awkward or disgusted around him. They were friends now, the two of them making an effort to get to know each other after Virgil revealed his name, and that was fine with him. Friendship was more than Virgil had ever dared to hope for. 

It hurt a little, sure. Even if it had never been brought up, it was still rejection all the same. And the eyebrow raises from Logan and sympathetic frowns from Patton didn’t help matters either. 

But he’d get over himself. He still loved what he had, the Prince’s company and smiles and squeezes to his hand after a long day. 

It was more than enough. 

Now though...now Virgil was trying to ignore the fact that something was wrong. 

He knew the others well enough by now to pick up on when they were acting differently, doubled by the fact that he was Anxiety- it was quite literally his job to look out for any little signs that he’d done something wrong or someone was upset. 

Roman was working on something new. Virgil knew that glint in his eye, the spark of an idea forming, the air of excitement he carried with him. But it was a bit different this time. He hadn’t mentioned anything outright and he seemed almost...uneasy about whatever it was. 

Logan and Patton were obviously in on it. Patton did an awful lot of giggling which earned a stern look and an eye roll from Logan, and more than once the three of them had abruptly stopped their conversation when Virgil had walked into the room. 

So needless to say, by the time things came to a head, Virgil was already a jumpy, anxious mess waiting for the shoe to drop, for someone to just hurry up and chew him out for doing something wrong. 

He’d really thought he’d been doing well. He’d been trying to at least. Thomas was ahead of schedule, and Virgil had been careful to let him unwind and relax when he needed it. 

It was three days into the strange behavior, the sun beginning to set into the paling gray sky when Virgil left his room in search of the others, hoping he was still welcome for a movie night or family meal. 

Roman was sitting on the couch, alone in the living room, fidgeting restlessly and drumming his fingers along his crossed legs. 

When he saw Virgil, the Prince’s eyes practically lit up as he leapt to his feet, and Virgil resolutely ignored the familiar swoop in his stomach. 

“There you are!” Roman exclaimed, quickly adjusting his sash and running his fingers through his hair. “I was going to come up and get you but I- well I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.” 

Virgil really hoped his blush wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. He shrugged, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’m, uh, I’m not busy. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong! I just want to talk to you about something!” 

That still very much sounded like something was wrong, and he felt his anxiety rise, squeezing shaky hands into fists, but it was hard to completely dread anything when Roman was looking at him so eagerly. 

“Yeah, ok,” he said. “Go for it.” 

Roman looked...nervous. Virgil halfheartedly thought about telling the Prince he was stealing his brand. 

But Roman was talking before Virgil could work up the courage to tease him. 

“Virgil,” he started. “I...well first of all I wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance. I know we don’t always see eye to eye but...I’ve truly enjoyed being able to call you a friend these last months.”

Virgil blinked, not quite sure what to say, struggling to think around the butterflies in his stomach. “Oh. Uh, yeah. You too.” 

God, he was so useless. 

“I’m glad!” Roman cleared his throat, wringing his hands together before continuing. “But...well, lately I’ve...I’m not even quite sure how to say this to be honest. I mean, it’s my job to be good at this but...you make me nervous, I suppose.” 

Virgil made him nervous?

“Spit it out, Princey,” he said with a small smile, hoping to convey that the longer he stalled, the more nervous they would both inevitably get. If Virgil had hurt him or done something wrong, he needed to know. “Did I...Do something?” 

“What? No! Of course not.” Roman took a breath. “It’s...well, I’ll just come out and say it. I believe I’ve caught feelings for you, Virgil. Romantic feelings, if that...if that wasn’t clear. I- er, thought about a more grand declaration but I...figured you wouldn’t like that.” 

For a second, everything froze, Virgil’s pounding heart stopping in his chest. And then the giddy feeling in his stomach was gone, butterflies replaced with cold dread as the pieces fell together. 

It made sense now. The planning when he was away, the conversations abruptly stopping, the nervous excitement, side glances, and laughter…

Everyone was in on it. Because everyone knew about his feelings, everyone knew it wasn’t mutual and that Virgil had accepted that, so everyone thought it would be ok to toy with his heart a bit. They thought it’d be funny. 

“It’s- it’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same!” Roman said quickly, eyes widening at the lack of a response, and Virgil’s heart only broke further. “Seriously I- I don’t want to make things awkward or ruin our friendship--” 

“No, I do,” Virgil said, because what the hell was the point in denying it? Everyone knew. It just wasn’t...talked about. At least, he’d thought they all had the decency not to talk about it. “You know I have feelings for you, Roman.” 

He stared at the ground, at his socked feet on the carpet, refusing to look up and see the fake excitement Roman had plastered on for the sake of a prank. 

“You do?” he heard the Prince say. “You do! Oh- that’s...that’s good! Right? So...so what are we--” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

Virgil knew he and Roman hadn’t always gotten along, and they still bickered occasionally, but he hadn’t thought...he’d never thought he would be so cruel. 

“I...huh?” 

“Why are you doing this?” Virgil repeated, finally raising his head just to try and catch Roman’s smirk, rewarded only with the other’s confusion. “Did you...what, did you all think this would be funny?” 

“What? No!” Roman sounded incredulous, confusion morphing to something a bit more angry. “Dude, I’m confessing.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil hunched his shoulders, turning away to frantically scan the room. “Where is it? Where’s the camera?” 

“Camera?” the Prince echoed. “Wh- you think this is a prank?” 

“Of course it's a prank!” Virgil hadn’t meant to get worked up, but honestly could they blame him for getting angry? Did they think he was just going to stand here and take his heart getting broken? “I don’t know why you all thought this would be funny. Yeah, I get it, I’m an asshole. Doesn’t mean you guys have to--” 

“You’re not an asshole,” Roman said, and Virgil scoffed, squeezing his eyes shut because he was not going to cry. “Virgil. You’re not. Why...why do you think this is a prank? Why can’t I just...like you?” 

“Because I know you don’t feel the same, ok? I know we never talked about it but it’s pretty fucking obvious. And that’s fine. Or it- it was fine until you decided to treat my feelings like some big joke. What, is it because I’m Anxiety? Am I still just some dark brooding villain who can’t possibly experience real love so why not make a stupid video about it? Is that it?” 

He took a breath, still refusing to open his eyes, willing himself to calm down, to stop talking, and get out of the situation as quickly as he could. 

“Sorry, I’m...I didn’t mean to say all that,” he muttered. “Just...god, please don’t upload this. Please.” 

Somewhere along the way his voice had fallen into nothing more than a pathetic whisper, but right now he really didn’t care. Virgil couldn’t see himself leaving his room for the next couple days at least. 

“I’m not recording this, Virge,” Roman said, and he sounded painfully genuine. “I swear I’m not. We can go somewhere else, if you want me to prove it. I promise there’s no camera.” 

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, and he relented with a shaky sigh. “Alright. So then...is this just for fun? Did I piss you off somehow?” 

“No. God, no Virgil I would never…” he trailed off, pausing for just a few seconds. “I didn’t know you felt the same. I had no idea.” 

That got Virgil to open his eyes, snapping his head up and fully expecting to see a joking smile and bright eyes. Instead, Roman’s expression was sad and genuine, and a bit guilty.

“What?” Virgil asked. “You...Roman, everyone knows. Literally everyone.” 

“Well...I didn’t. Truly.” 

Virgil blinked, momentarily at a loss because this was...there was no way. “You’re the romantic side. How could you...how?” 

Roman shrugged, suddenly averting his gaze. “You didn’t know either. I’ve been taken with you for some time now, Stormcloud.” 

Virgil shook his head, desperately trying to block it out, to push down that rising hope and excitement fighting its way to the surface. 

Because...because no. No. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t going to drop his defenses just to be crushed and laughed at. 

“That’s different.” 

“Why?” Roman asked, soft and sincere. “Why’s it different, Virgil?” 

“Because...because it’s you. Obviously I’m going to fall for you, you’re- you’re perfect. You’re...talented and passionate and I’m...I’m me. You’re not going to fall for Anxiety.” 

His words were met with silence, and there was a bit of relief amongst the sorrow in his chest, because if Roman didn’t have anything else to say, it meant this was over. He could just...forget about it and hopefully avoid any future teasing. 

But then Roman took a step closer, Virgil forcing himself not to back up, immediately tensing up and waiting. 

“But I did,” the Prince said. “I did fall for you, Virgil.” 

Virgil shook his head again, looking away as Roman slowly approached, waiting for him to drop the act. “Stop it.” 

“I fell for all of you,” Roman continued. “I fell for your smile, for your laugh- you have the most beautiful laugh, did you know that? I wish I could hear it more, but every time I do I feel as though everything is right in the world.” 

Roman was in front of him now, one hand cupping Virgil’s cheek, and he couldn’t help but lean into the touch despite wanting to curl up into a ball and sob. 

“You represent anxiety,” Roman said. “But you’re so much more. You’re brave, Virgil. I’ve seen it so, so many times. You fight against your fears, against anything that would put us in danger. You protect us. You’re strong, Virge, stronger than you give yourself credit for.” 

“Please stop,” Virgil whispered, and it was such a blatant lie. He wanted this, wanted it to be real so badly. “Roman, I...I can’t--” 

He couldn’t take it. If the rug was pulled out from under him now, after coming so close to what he’d always so desperately wanted...he didn’t know how he was supposed to look anyone in the eye ever again. 

“I can go on,” Roman said. “And I will. I will help you see how easy you are to fall in love with if it’s the last thing I do, because you deserve to see yourself the way I see you. But I just...I need you to tell me you believe me. This isn’t a prank or a joke. I would never play with your feelings like that.” 

Roman...Roman wasn’t cruel. He could get over excited, he could take a bit longer to pick up on someone’s uneasiness, he could be loud or brash, but he would never try to hurt someone he called a friend. He wouldn’t try to hurt anyone. 

If this was a prank...it would have stopped by now. Right? Roman wouldn’t...he wouldn’t let it go this far. 

“Virgil?” Roman’s voice was soft, hopeful, and Virgil warily met his gaze. “I love you. I really, really do.” 

There was absolutely no way to stop the few stray tears that escaped at the raw emotion and adoration in those words, no way to fight against the way his breath hitched when Roman gently wiped them away with his thumb. 

Virgil wanted so desperately to respond, to apologize, to warn Roman that at this point, if this all turned out to be a joke he was never leaving his room again. 

But no words came out, Virgil still frozen in terror and treacherous hope. But slowly, cautiously, he reached forward to lace his fingers in Roman’s free hand. 

The Prince didn’t pull away, didn’t sneer or laugh or twist his face in disgust. He just smiled, and squeezed Virgil’s hand. 

“You can say no,” Roman said after a moment, never moving the hand that cupped Virgil’s cheek. He waited for Virgil to give a tiny nod before continuing. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

And Virgil had definitely stopped thinking at this point, fear and self loathing suddenly losing control to something else, something much more brave than anxiety. 

He nodded wordlessly and before he could even blink Roman leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and Virgil felt his world melt away. 

It was careful and delicate and perfect, so much better than Virgil had ever imagined, and that cold ache in his heart, the one that longed for something he could never have, melted from Roman’s warmth. 

It only lasted a few seconds before Roman pulled away, but they were easily the best few seconds of Virgil’s entire life. If his heart decided to give out now, he didn’t think he would mind all that much. 

Roman didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together, and Virgil leaned into the touch, smiling when he felt Roman rub his thumb along his knuckles. 

“I love you too,” Virgil blurted before he could stop himself, beyond relieved when Roman didn’t immediately shove him away. “I’m...I’m so sorry I thought--”

Roman quickly cut off the apology with another kiss, this one deeper than the first, and Virgil’s free hand instinctively moved up to grip his shirt. 

“I’m not upset,” Roman assured when they pulled back. “I just...hope I can help you see how perfect you really are.” 

Virgil smiled, hiding his blush against Roman’s chest as the prince wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. 

“I forgot you’re a sap,” he muttered against the red sash. “Seriously though, you can be pissed at me for yelling at you.” 

“Well, I’m not. Besides, it all worked out, didn’t it? You didn’t flat out reject me which is...what I was expecting.” 

Virgil extracted himself from the embrace to look up at Roman, and suddenly it was the Prince's turn to quickly look away, brows furrowed. 

“Seriously?” Virgil asked. “You thought I would reject you?” 

“I wasn’t always...kind to you,” Roman admitted. “And...well, I know how I am. I can be loud and annoying and you don’t always like that. I’m not...exactly an easy person to love.” 

For a moment, Virgil had no idea what to say to that. He thought back to all the times he’d mulled over his feelings for Roman, envisioning all the possibilities he’d once thought were impossible. 

He’d tried to talk himself out of loving the Prince in an attempt to spare himself from the heartbreak. He told himself they were too different, too incompatible. It would never work even if Roman did feel the same. 

But now, seeing the Prince stare at the ground with his shoulders tense, like he was waiting for Virgil to agree and call the whole thing off...it was almost like looking in a mirror. 

Maybe they weren’t so different after all. 

“You’re wrong,” Virgil said, grabbing for Roman’s hands again. “So...so I guess we’re both going to help each other. To...you know. See how easy we are to love. And stuff.” 

And ok, he didn’t have Roman’s elegant way with words. But that wasn’t his job, and the Prince seemed to appreciate it anyway, worried frown replaced with a timid, yet brilliant smile. 

“I guess so,” Roman said, smiling never faltering, and Virgil found himself matching it. “I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.” 

That was the last thing Virgil heard before being pulled into another kiss, Roman nothing but warm, welcoming, and safe, and for the first time Virgil allowed himself to let go and relax.

[kettlequills]

ok so this was inspired by this post made by @argisthebulwark - check her blog out! - about dovahkiin soulmates that could feel each other's pain. naturally i ran with the concept of dragonborn soulmates. feat. my ldb laataazin/miraak.

Laataazin has always felt trapped. Before they are Laat-aaz, even, when they are a nameless prisoner, hands-bound, another to be executed through a simple whim of fate. No memories then in the buzzing darkness of their mind, but a feeling of fear, confusion, brief-dawning wonderment on the heels of hot green rage in the drumming space of their chest that was theirs-and-not-theirs. Breath hurting, unused lungs and trembling hands that will not grip round the hilt of the sword Hadvar tries to press into their hands like they know it ought. Like they know scars on their bodies – body, for there is only one Dragonborn, only one.

How dare, their mind rages, how dare the gods try to discard me.

These thoughts, these hungers, these fears, are surely Laataazin’s alone, clear as Masser’s moonlight in the dark sky.

They have known imprisonment, in the cold, whispering bowels of Dragonsreach dungeons, where Mephala murmurs maliciously in every iron bar and chiselled stone, hissing breaths dampening, soft and light as cobwebs falling upon a sleeper’s eye, sanity, safety, sight. Trying to tempt, twist, torment total truth from the prisoner-that-would-be-Laataazin, named Dovahkiin and wrestling the ashes of Mirmulnir into restless ebb. Oil-and-ink in Laat’s nose, and a will that is theirs-and-not-theirs, resistant, defiant, no more daedra than dragonfire, sings firm around Mephala’s words, like the thrum of earthbones a song that refuses to be a bound-and-fooled-slave again.

Don’t complain so much, says the thoughts-that-are-Laataazin, they’ll let you out.

Their dragon-soul, for it must be theirs, is loud, angry, knows their head. It refuses to be quieted, grumbles and snaps at the rolls and reams of papery scrolls the Greybeards set down in front of them, snarling answers in a mother-tongue Laataazin has never known, with the air of distant, impatient distraction, like wings brushing across planes. Laataazin is not much of a reader, puzzles through relearning letters in dusty texts that take bored moments to recall when their body slumps softening into slow sleep. They wake with understanding and vague, boundless frustration, dragon-words in dragon-soul that mutter about Stupid fools and their vapid teachings, you will never learn with these chains on your wings.

Laataazin meditates for endless hours on frigid snowcaps with Paarthurnax’s breath steaming the snow and still thinks of smashing skulls and bloodied steel, still thinks of broken wills and shattered spirits.

It is, they tell Paarthurnax, a losing battle. There is something in them that wants out, and it will stop at nothing, nothing, to claw itself free from the trap locked shut around its howling muzzle.

Mortality is a losing battle, Paarthurnax reminds them. It is their nature to beat against the bars of inevitability, and turn their faces from the grind of time.

Hypocritical lizard, the soul-that-must-be-Laataazin’s mutters, and Laataazin chooses not to share this or the smile it provokes.

Laataazin goes about their divine-driven hunting of twin-souled dragons, who speak to them in a language they know, who challenge them to fights they win, who know them and are stranger to them in a way that only the careless and god-flung may be. They do not want to kill the dragons that are like themselves, who look at the sky and see a glorious road untravelled rather than the distant god-realm for no mortal to cross.

Your soft heart will do us harm, their soul reminds them. Do not spare what hungers to hurt.

Delphine tells them that they are not bloodthirsty enough, that they accept the surrender of too many, and create surrender still where there is not even that. That there is no point sparing monsters, and that Laataazin has a duty, a destiny, a fate.

Laataazin tells Delphine and their soul both that they have chosen a different path. But Akatosh does not make the same mistake twice, and this time, there is no give in the leash of fate wrapped tightly around the neck of the Last Dragonborn.

Ushered by inevitability, they go to face Alduin, and within them their soul rants and raves for its freedom. Fate! Fate! The gods laugh at us.

In Sovngarde, they feel empty, empty. It is a dead place for dead souls, and there is no place for living ties in bodies that breathe and fates that twine. Laataazin’s chest feels cold and dim, unwarmed by so total an omnipresence they had thought it part of themselves. It is not, they know now. There is… something, someone, else.

Gormlaith’s golden hair shines like septims when she smiles at Laataazin, all bared teeth. I knew you would come around, she says, and Laataazin wonders which of them she is talking to, Alduin-that-is-Akatosh, or Laataazin-that-is-trapped. Like standing in a boxful of mirrors, making eye-contact with a thousand versions of an image, an icon, a legend, borne through the ages to consume itself.

It is done. Alduin returns to himself, and fate twirls the key to the shackles of its Last prisoner. Tsun drags their weeping body from the gate and casts it into the realm of air and sunlight, wordless in the face of their inappropriate grief. When Laataazin returns, staggering and coughing out their lungs onto the windswept emptiness of the snow-throat beneath the watching dragon-eyes, feeling slams back into them with all the force of a tidal wave. Pure, blistering rage, fanned so hot it can only be the most animal of panic.

Where did you go? demands the thing-that-is-not-Laataazin. Why couldn’t I feel you?

Laataazin presses their hand to their chest and feels relief, relief, vast enough to swallow the sun.

I thought I had lost you, the prisoner thinks.

Come to me, longs the other.

What force on Tamriel could resist a plea like that? To Solstheim it is and kneeling in the hot ash Laataazin feels the sky all around them open up and his presence close in like breath on their neck.

You are so much louder here, Laataazin tells him, their steps still wobbly from the boat.

You walk on my land now, Miraak replies, and what a wonder to know his name, to touch with travel-sore body land his own has walked, see with dust-stung eyes what his has seen. I grow ever nearer to you.

You did not need to enslave these people, Laataazin thinks at the Tree Stone, watching empty-eyed cultists and blankened reavers work on towering edifices of stone. The mumbling figures remind them of Sovngarde, that terrible emptiness where once a gnawing pain sat. I am here.

I did not think you would come. Miraak’s admission is grudging, a little bitter. But as Laataazin walks through the stone doors of the temple, they hear the clatter of tools dropping, and the shouts of startled reavers.

Laat grins, feels it mark their face wide and feral. Put your best panties on then, for I shall see you soon.

Do not keep me waiting any longer. His pain is audible in the bones that house their heart, his impatience like whips licking the soles of their feet, his eagerness like teeth to their neck. Laataazin opens the Book, and there he is.

“You are shorter than I expected,” is what the soul-of-their-soul tells them, towering over them, crowned in blue and gold like fearless god and dripping ink like blood.

“And you are as obnoxious as I predicted,” Laataazin says, but already they are approaching him, and he does not move away but flinches when their hands meet his chest.

They bear together his pain from centuries of untouched isolation, the nerves awakened by another that burn like needles and dragon-fire, and they bear together the pleasure too, found in smoothing gauntleted hands over thick robes, found in solidity, presence.

I would touch you like this everywhere you could bear it, then more, Laataazin thinks, and their hands come away inkstained when they lift them to cup the golden mask, which tilts, as if its wearer has flinched again at the thought whispered into the ear of his mind like a promise.

The prince that Laataazin favours most is not cunning Mephala who whispers to them in Whiterun, nor Hermeaus Mora, who believes himself masterful gardener of all, but ruby-red Sanguine, who with a gift of a loving if unconventional wife found in a night of revelry wins anew with each feathered kiss their loyalty. It is therefore Miraak who tears himself from this indulgence of touch first, and takes a few steps back. The words of fate are a well-settled cloak employing the ruthless machine of purpose.

“And so the First meets the Last at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak says, ringing, proud. “Tell me, did you enjoy the dregs of my destiny?”

“If you had not turned from your fate to kill Alduin, I would not have awoken,” Laataazin replies, dryly, “so to some extent, yes. To other extents, fuck you.”

“That same fate decrees you must die for me to win my freedom.” Miraak’s mask is expressionless, but Laataazin does not need it – they can feel through the glass of body-barriers the surge and roil of the infection of wounds thousands of years untreated, the bitterness, the fear. It has beat within their heart from the very first moment of their waking in Helgen, as their grief, their loss, burns like wildfires in his.

“Freedom?” says one prisoner to another. “What freedom is this? Aren’t you tired of being what they ask of you? Haven’t you paid the price?”

“Do you not feel how the world has warped around you since you awoke?” Miraak’s hand is tightening on his sword hilt, but he does not draw. “You cannot die, you do not sleep, you are not real, or you alone exist – there can only be one Dragonborn.”

“We will both be free,” Laataazin asserts.

“Time, and reality, would not survive us both,” Miraak says, but Laataazin knows their dragon-soul, and knows he is hungry, hungry, and tired of cages.

Boldly, Laataazin reaches out. Miraak takes their hand, masked eyes searching, like he is a man on open water clinging to the uncertain shelter of driftwood.

“That is Akatosh’s problem,” says Laataazin, “I choose to have you.”

[kjack89]

Impasse (Pt. 3/3)

Part 1 here, part 2 here.

E/R, Modern AU, former relationship. Being stuck together leads to the more or less inevitable conclusion.

Given the sheer quantity of alcohol the man had managed to drink, Enjolras wasn’t at all surprised that Grantaire slept through dinner and all the way until the next morning. He was also, frankly, a little relieved by it. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready to have the conversation with Grantaire about what he had said.

Or, worse, ready to pretend to ignore it because Grantaire couldn’t remember it.

Enjolras honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

But all too soon, the early morning quiet was interrupted by a prolonged groan from the futon, and Enjolras sipped his glass of water with only a small amount of sympathy as Grantaire rasped, “Holy fuck, why?”

“Bourbon,” Enjolras told him dryly. “That’s the answer also to who, what, when, where and how, in case you were planning to ask those next.”

Grantaire cracked one eye open to glare at him. “Why did you let me drink that much?” he managed.

Enjolras just gave him a look. “Have I ever once successfully stopped you before?”

Grantaire groaned again and flopped over onto his back. “No,” he said. “But you still could’ve tried.”

“Maybe I did, and you just don’t remember it.”

At that, Grantaire sat upright, and Enjolras had to bite back a laugh at the man’s hair sticking up in a million different directions. “Oh God,” Grantaire said, eyes wide. “Whatever I said, just remember, in vino veritas is more a guideline than a hard and fast rule.”

“So I’ll take that to mean there are some parts of yesterday afternoon that you don’t fully remember?” Enjolras asked carefully.

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Some parts, the entire thing, something like that.” His expression tightened as he glanced at Enjolras. “I’m sorry for absolutely everything I said or did, by the way, especially if it was, uh…” He trailed off. “Untoward.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Untoward?” he repeated. “You’ve been hanging out with Courfeyrac too much lately.” He paused. “Besides, you’re fine. It was nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He meant for the latter to come off as a joke, but Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “If you say so,” he said instead, not sounding remotely convinced, but luckily, he changed the subject instead of making Enjolras convince him. “But you should still let me make it up to you.”

“How?” Enjolras asked, curious.

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s midsection. “Well, for starters, you can let me take a look at your ribs to make sure they aren’t actually broken.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I think I’d know by now if they were broken,” he huffed.

“Says the man who walked around for over a week with a broken wrist that you kept claiming was just a bad sprain.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Fine,” he finally allowed. “If it’ll get you to drop the topic, at least. Not that there’s anything that either you or I can do if my ribs are broken, but…” 

Grantaire patted the futon next to him and Enjolras rolled his eyes but reluctantly perched on the edge of the futon, hesitating for only a moment before lifting his shirt up so that Grantaire could examine his side. He avoided looking at Grantaire, well aware that the bruises certainly looked bad, and he flinched only slightly as Grantaire lightly pressed against the bruises. “Sorry,” Grantaire said softly. “I know my fingers are rough.”

“That wasn’t—” Enjolras exhaled sharply as Grantaire increased the pressure. “Ok, that doesn’t feel great.”

Grantaire hummed in agreement before looking up at him. “Well, the good news is, based on my own fairly extensive experience with a variety of rib-related injuries, I’m fairly certain they’re just bruised and not actually broken.”

“Pretty sure I said that, but…” Enjolras trailed off, suddenly very aware that Grantaire’s fingers were still lightly pressed against his skin, and he flushed, tearing his eyes away. Grantaire dropped his hand as if he had been scalded, and Enjolras tried not to flinch again at the sudden loss of heat. “Anyway, uh, thanks,” he said gruffly.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “No problem,” he murmured, and for a moment, they sat there, side-by-side, in silence, every fiber of Enjolras’s being acutely aware of Grantaire’s thigh pressed against his, of how he could reach out and tangle their fingers together or rest his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, or— “You’re lucky that it wasn’t worse,” Grantaire continued, as if he was entirely unaware or unaffected by their proximity, and it took Enjolras a minute to even realize what he was talking about.

“I know,” he said after too long a pause for such an innocuous comment. “The police were even more violent than usual, and everyone in the crowd was getting bruised and bloody, and…”

He trailed off, sudden realization hitting. “Hang on,” he said slowly, and as if knowing what Enjolras was about to say, Grantaire quickly got off the futon, making his way over to pour himself a glass of water while conspicuously avoiding Enjolras’s eyes.

As if he knew he would see the accusation there.

“Everyone was getting hit,” Enjolras said slowly, watching the shoulders in Grantaire’s back tighten as he drained the glass of water. “Everyone was getting injured. But there’s not a scratch or bruise on you.”

“You don’t know that,” Grantaire muttered, still not turning around to look at him. “You haven’t seen me naked. At least not recently.”

Enjolras ignored the obvious attempt at what could have been either a joke or a come on (or, knowing Grantaire, both). “Why weren’t you injured?” he asked instead, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Luck, I guess,” he said, his voice sounding equally strained.

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire sighed. “Look—” he started, but Enjolras cut him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me. Not now, not after—”

He broke off, but Grantaire’s eyes flashed to his for a brief moment before he looked away again. “I wasn’t injured because I wasn’t there,” he said flatly. 

Even though Enjolras had put it together, it somehow still shocked him to hear Grantaire admit it. “What do you mean, you weren’t there?” he asked, almost mechanically.

Grantaire shrugged again. “I mean, I didn’t go to the protest.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I thought you were calling it a riot,” he said, the words popping out of his mouth almost without thought, but it was enough to get Grantaire to finally look at him again, his own face flushed a dull, mottled red. 

“Whatever you want to call it,” he muttered. “I didn’t go. I came here instead.”

“But – why?”

“I figured you’d show up here eventually,” Grantaire said, as if that even began to answer Enjolras’s question. “And before you ask me how I knew which safe house you’d go to out of the, what, five we’ve got sprinkled throughout the city, give me some credit.” Enjolras had not even thought of asking that, and wisely kept his mouth shut. “This one was furthest from the action, which means it would take longest to get here, making whoever came here most vulnerable. There’s no way you would ask anyone else to take that risk.”

That had been Enjolras’s exact thought process, but he wasn’t going to give Grantaire the satisfaction by admitting that, and besides, he had a far more pressing question. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I mean, why did you come here?”

Grantaire just looked at him. “You know why,” he said. “I came here for you.”

“But I thought—” The words stuck in Enjolras’s throat, because he knew what he had thought, knew that he had done what he thought at the time was a kindness, but now… “We broke up.”

“I know.”

“So then—”

“Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I want you to bleed out in some safe house,” Grantaire snapped, uncharacteristically sharp.

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say next. “I didn’t realize you still felt that way,” he said, which wasn’t even remotely true, and probably justified the look Grantaire gave him.

“You and I broke up for a lot of reasons, some valid, some bullshit,” Grantaire said impatiently. “But none of them were because I stopped loving you.” He met Enjolras’s eyes, something defiant in his expression. “And I don’t think it was because you stopped loving me either.”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras sighed, but Grantaire didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t remember everything from last night, but I remember enough.”

Enjolras swallowed. “What do you remember?”

“I remember this.” 

Grantaire closed the space between them, kissing Enjolras fiercely, hungrily, but this time, Enjolras didn’t hesitate before pulling away, just a little bit. “And do you remember me telling you this was a bad idea?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, his nose brushing slightly against Enjolras’s as he shifted. “But I don’t remember you telling me you didn’t want to.” He hesitated, his eyes searching Enjolras’s. “Just like I don’t remember you telling me that you don’t love me anymore.”

This time, it was Enjolras who surged forward, unable to stop himself, unable to remember just why this was such a bad idea in the first place. He cradled Grantaire’s face in both his hands, Grantaire’s hands falling automatically to his hips, the two of them slotting together perfectly like they always had.

Like they had never stopped.

They stumbled backward until the back of Enjolras’s knees hit the futon, but before he could even attempt to sit down, Grantaire had picked him up, and Enjolras automatically wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire laughed lightly against his lips. “Fucking Christ, did you gain weight?” he asked breathily.

“Shut up.”

For once, Grantaire seemed only too happy to do so, depositing Enjolras onto the futon before following after him so they could finish what they had started the night before.

----------

“Well,” Grantaire said, his voice a low rumble against Enjolras’s ear as his head was pillowed on Grantaire’s chest. “That’s a helluva way to cure a hangover.”

Enjolras huffed a laugh, tripping his fingers up the coarse hair of Grantaire’s happy trail. “That explains why you seemed to have less hangovers when we were dating.”

Grantaire carded his fingers through Enjolras’s curls. “It’s one reason, anyway,” he said quietly, before bending to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “So now what?”

Enjolras twisted his head to look up at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean…” Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras felt his contentment slipping rapidly away. “Fuck, Enj, please don’t make me spell it out for you. What does this mean for us? Where do we go from here?”

Enjolras sat up slowly, avoiding looking at Grantaire as he felt around, trying to find his boxers. “We don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh.”

The single syllable somehow cut Enjolras more than any of the screaming fights he and Grantaire had had, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself. “I love you,” he said finally, not really seeing the point in continuing to deny it. “If I’m being honest with myself in a way that I’ve been avoiding, I probably always will.” He forced himself to look at Grantaire, to meet his eyes. “But we broke up for a reason, the biggest of which being that we don’t have a future together.”

“We could,” Grantaire blurted, his eyes wide, pleading.

“Grantaire—”

“No, listen to me,” Grantaire said, his tone turning urgent. “I know that I will never be everything you want me to be. But I'm not completely useless, and at the very least, I'd like a chance to try.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s not about you.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath. “My die has been cast, so to speak. And where I'm going when we finally get out of this godforsaken apartment...you can't come with me.”

Grantaire went very still. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but before Enjolras could answer, he recoiled, the blood draining from his face as he finally understood. “You're not waiting for the heat to die down, are you?” Again, he didn’t wait for Enjolras’s answer. “You've been waiting for Combeferre and Marius and whomever else to make all the necessary legal arrangements.”

Even though that part wasn’t a question, Enjolras still nodded. “Yes.”

“You're planning on letting yourself get arrested.” Grantaire’s voice sounded strangely hollow, his expression impossible to read. “And not just on a minor charge that keeps you in county lockup overnight.”

“Yes.”

“So, what, you attacked that cop on purpose?” Grantaire asked harshly.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, that actually wasn't part of the plan,” he said, because he owed Grantaire the truth. “But when I saw what the cop was doing...well, let's just say it accelerated our timeline a little.”

“Do I even want to ask why you're letting yourself get arrested?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras lifted his chin defiantly. “Because once I'm arrested, my defense team gets access to body cam footage, arrest statistics, everything they've been stonewalling us trying to get via FOIA requests. Marius will have a hundred plus subpoenas ready to go the minute I'm arrested on the grounds that my arrest was retaliatory. And if all that happens to get leaked to the public, well…”

He shrugged, and Grantaire just stared at him. “And if, God fucking forbid, you’re actually found guilty?”

“Then I'm prepared to do my time in service of all the people who are unjustly doing time for crimes they didn't commit.”

Enjolras had prepared for this moment so many times before he decided to just end things with Grantaire, prepared for Grantaire to yell and rage and tell him what an idiot he was. The breakup had seemed the easier route to take, but he should’ve known it would come out anyway, that he’d have to sit through it anyway, and he squared his shoulders, ready for anything.

Anything except Grantaire swallowing, nodding, and telling him simply, “Ok.”

Enjolras’s automatic defense of the Cause died on his lips, and he stared at Grantaire. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“No, I just—” Enjolras shook his head. “I sort of expected you to try to stop me.”

Grantaire snorted. “I learned a long time ago that I can’t stop you from doing anything.”

“Maybe not, but…” It was Enjolras’s turn to have a sudden realization, this time seeing the stubborn set of Grantaire’s jaw, the resigned lines that braced his body. He knew what Grantaire was planning, because he’d threatened it before, during one of their fights, when Enjolras had said he was leaving and Grantaire had pinned him down and told him that if he did, Grantaire would follow him. 

(“You’d follow me?” Enjolras had repeated, his anger seeping out of him. “Even if I went all the way to Timbuktu?”

“Firstly, I have no idea what you think you’d do in Mali, but yeah, even all the way to Timbuktu.” Grantaire had leaned in and kissed him. “Face it,” he had whispered, “you’re stuck with me.”)

And Enjolras could see it on Grantaire’s face – he intended to make good on that threat.

“No.”

“No, what?” Grantaire asked.

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I know that look, and Grantaire, you cannot—”

Grantaire shrugged, nonchalant. “Well, unfortunately for you, you are going to be in police custody, so you won't be able to stop me.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Will you.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “I’ve made my choice, and I know it’s not one you agree with, but it is what it is. But you—”

“If you think there is any world in which I would not follow you, you're out of your damn mind.”

Grantaire said it easily, pleasantly even, but his words were edged with steel. Enjolras shook his head and stood, grabbing his clothes to give himself something to do besides sit there and stare at him. “So, what, you’re just going to commit some crime so you get arrested, too?” he scoffed. “You don’t exactly have the kind of arrest record I do. Drunk and disorderlies don’t exactly hold the same weight as inciting domestic terrorism, so it’s not like you can guarantee you’ll get sent to jail.”

“Sure I will,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Mandatory minimums are a bitch, haven’t you heard?”

Enjolras knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Grantaire would figure out a way to pull it off. Even if it took him multiple arrest attempts, or doing something unbelievably, irredeemably stupid. 

Just like he knew that he had to do everything in his power to stop him. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he said sharply. “Not for me.”

Grantaire just cocked his head slightly. “Don’t you understand?” he asked, something almost gentle in his voice. “If you were in there and I was out here…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I couldn’t live like that.” His expression tightened. “I won’t live like that.”

“That’s insane.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But like you, my choice was made a long time ago. Whether we’re together or not.” He looked up at Enjolras. “You jump, I jump. Simple as that.”

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “You can’t—” he repeated, but Grantaire just smiled at him, and the words of protest died on Enjolras’s lips.

“I would love to see you try to stop me,” Grantaire said softly, and he stood, crossing to Enjolras to kiss him once more. 

Enjolras caught Grantaire’s hand. “You’re asking me to choose you over everything I have worked for,” he said, his voice tight.

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m really not,” he told him evenly. “I learned a long time ago that the outcome of that choice would not be one that favored me.”

“But I can’t let you do this.”

“No more than I can let you go to prison without me,” Grantaire said, leaning in to kiss the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “6 to 30 years is a long time. And I…” He shrugged, something catching in his voice. “I mean, I’d probably survive that long without you. But I sure as shit don’t want to.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from kissing Grantaire again, a searing kiss that he could only hope captured everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. “What if I broke up with you again?” he asked when they resurfaced for air, his lips so close to Grantaire’s still that they were practically sharing the same breath.

Grantaire laughed breathily. “You tried that once already,” he whispered. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Enjolras repeated, the reality of it hitting him, the magnitude of what they faced hitting him. “So where does that leave us?”

“Pretty sure that was my question originally,” Grantaire told him with a smirk, though his smile faded slightly when he saw the look on Enjolras’s face. “Same place we’ve always been,” he said with a sigh. “At an impasse.”

“An impasse.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Your choice has been made, and so has mine. You jump, I jump.” He hesitated. “And even though I know I don’t need it, I’d still like your permission.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he said.

Grantaire just smiled again, a little crookedly. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But thankfully, we’ve still got a few days of being stuck in here for me to try to convince you.”

“I love you,” Enjolras said, a little desperately, even though he knew repeating it wasn’t going to change Grantaire’s mind, any more than the opposite would.

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras hand and lacing their fingers together. “After everything. Despite everything. Because of everything. And as much as I wish it were enough – as much as I wish I were enough – I get why you’re making the choice you’re making.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “I just hope you understand the same.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure that he did, or that he ever would, but he knew that it didn’t matter. Not anymore. “So we’re at an impasse.”

“Yup.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Well. At least there’s no one else I’d rather be at an impasse with.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

[tarantulas4davey]

Ufc Fighter Albert Dasilva Headcanons

hello, people who still follow me despite the fact i never post cause i’m a mess. how y’all doin? my favorite ufc fighter won the other day so now ✨this is what we’re doing✨. also i originally sent this thought to @we-are-inevitable ‘s ask box so find that post here (hi jac ilysm mwah mwah mwah)

i also wrote a part 2 so find that here !!

also,,,,, this is fairly obvious. but trigger warning for violence/physical fighting, and well as blood and injury. (it’s a rough gig y’all fjdhdb)

i sincerely apologize in advance for what a mess this post is gonna be i just had a monster and i’m hyped up on the win and this is a hyperfixation i don’t get to talk about very often so feel free to ask questions and HERE WE FUCKIN GO

OK SO

albert is just,,,,,, a violent sports guy. always has been, probably always will be.

most forms of recreational fighting, football, hockey, rugby, fuck even soccer if he gets too into it. he’s just a Built Person, and he wicked competitive, and that makes for violent displays of athleticism

I think he was probably a hockey or football guy in high school, but he was also on the wrestling team cause i said so

then after graduation he got really into kickboxing, just to have something to do cause he didn’t have school sports to play and train for all the time

and then one day his coach is like ‘hey. you’re like,,, stupid good at this. you should sign up for competitions, you might make some money.’

he does, in fact, ‘make some money’, cause in straight kickboxing? he’s pretty much unmatched on the regional scene, which is ridiculous cause he didn’t start training his stand up game til he was 18 or 19

then American Top Team (ATT, it’s a really big MMA training camp that had trained a boat load of the top talent in the UFC) approaches him like ‘y’know if you worked on your grappling you could be a really solid mma fighter’

which is HUGE, but obviously albert can’t pick up his entire life and move to florida to train with them, so him and race (this is me, of course race is with al. supportive boyfriend and number one fan alert <3) find gyms willing to work with him based in new york. then he starts signing up for shit.

he sticks with stand up fighting when he can, he likes it more and cause,,,,, well. it’s more entertaining. the higher your entertainment value, the more people watch your fights. the more people watch your fights, the more likely you are to get noticed by big promotions (like the ufc)

he uses his wrestling to keep grapplers on their feet (he’s got like a 90% takedown defense, what an icon) and he picks people apart.

he has a lot of technical skill, but he also is fiery and passionate and scrappy. he gets hit too much for his own good a lot of the time.

he’s super durable. this man can get hit clean over and over and stay on his feet, but that’s not gonna hold up forever. it takes a loss or two in a row to motivate him to change it

and oh boy does he change it

he spends a month in auckland, new zealand at city kickboxing (one of the best kickboxing gyms in the world, and they lean heavily on tactics rather than just charging forward blindly)

he’s straight up a different fighter after that. he’s quick, light on his feet, and avoids punches way easier while also setting up the angles for his own. he gets signed to the ufc 2 fights later.

his first fight is short notice. no training camp, he’s got 5 days to make weight, AND it’s against a top 10 ranked opponent. no big deal, right?

and albert, being albert, is super chill about it. sure, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, could decide his entire future as a fighter, and he’s barely got time to prepare.

but he’s in the gym every single day of the week, he doesn’t super cut on weight like most ex-wrestlers, and most importantly, it’s just fighting. all he has to do is get in the octagon and punch some dude in the face. he can do that all day.

race on the other hand,,,,,,,,

he believes in albert with his whole soul, he really does, but Fuck watching your boyfriend get hit in the head is no fucking fun. especially when you know that the guy throwing the punches has been training for months, and your guy hasn’t even had a week

so he brings jack for moral support. also cause jack is DEFINITELY a ufc fan and was the only one that would understand what was happening.

at some point in the first round albert gets caught clean, opening a cut on his cheek, which makes race Panic Even More

but he gets cleaned up between rounds, and it’s not swelling so he can still see, and it’s over by the middle of the second.

and albert wins, cause (this is fiction and i’m telling a story) of fucking course he does, and he probably wins with some stupid dramatic spinning back kick and gets clipped on twitter cause he’s just Like That

the part that makes me, as the ralbert shipper, super fucking happy is coming up but i need to add a lil real talk first

considering albert is like,,,, openly in a relationship with a man when he gets into the ufc,,,,, that makes him the first publicly gay ufc fighter. like,,,, ever.

this is realized after his hand gets raised after the ref calls the stoppage.

bruce buffer makes the official announcement, al gets his hand raised, he gets interviewed by joe rogan, and then his coaches, jack and race get to come into the cage

at first everyone things it’s a best friend or something, especially after the dap up bro hug things he gives his coaches and jack

but then albert sees race, and you can watch this boy’s face light up on the camera. then race throws his arms around albert’s neck and albert half lifts him off the ground in a hug around his waist and ok, sure, that’s not the most platonic thing you’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t prove anything

and then albert kisses race. like full, actual, on the mouth in front of all the cameras kiss. cause he doesn’t give a shit.

and nobody’s talking about his spinning back kick anymore, cause Holy Shit That Wasn’t Very Straight Of You Dasilva

but he doesn’t address it, cause every other fighter gets to kiss their wife or girlfriend or whatever in the cage after they win and nobody bats an eye, so why should it be any different for him and his boyfriend?

also, because it needs to be said, statistically there are ALREADY lgbtq+ male fighters in the ufc. like currently, in real life. they’re just not out publicly. the ufc has openly supported queer people’s rights in the past, and is partnered with 4 prominent HIV/AIDS awareness organizations. there is multiple openly queer women currently fighting in the ufc, including amanda nunes, who has been repeatedly called the greatest women’s fighter of all time. but as of right now, there is no openly mlm ufc fighters, so that would technically make albert the first. we love a trend setter. now back to what i’m supposed to be talking about djdhdbd

and eventually interviewers and fans on twitter realize that they’re only going to get one answer to vague questions about sexuality, which is “i’m dating a man and i fight people for a living. if that makes me a revolutionary, so be it bro.”

he includes race in a lot of his answers, especially in interviews where they ask more personal questions or grill him on his mental game, cause he loves race and thinks he deserves credit for everything he does to make al a better person and a better fighter

also, purely for my own entertainment, i think after he becomes champion (cause of course he does) he goes on the joe rogan podcast, and joe is pretty much the only one who gets albert to talk about any of it in a genuine way

he doesn’t get sarcasm or a blunt “can we talk about fighting, now?” like everyone else, he gets a real answer, cause that’s what albert came on to do anyway

he talks about getting together in highschool, and how it was race’s idea for him to start kickboxing in the first place, and what a fucking genius race is and how he’s getting his PhD right now, and how he didn’t want to talk about it cause he didn’t want to be the “gay fighter”, and how that’s a trivialization of his relationship with race and he refuses to let it be seen as anything but what it is, which is the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him

just. Ugh. them <3

THIS POST IS SO LONG HOLY SHIT DHDHDHDH

anyway-

y e a h. albert dasilva would rock anyone’s shit. if i keep having thoughts about this i’ll make one about him becoming champion. thank you for your time ✨

also gonna tag @soaps-posts cause the brainrot is powerful so here you are my dear <3

[broadstbroskis]

ivy- morgan rielly

a/n: i wrote a thing, don’t hate me. very much inspired by ivy from the absolutely incredible new tswift evermore album (you should listen to the whole thing if you havent already and def this song)

warnings: infidelity (it’s a central theme), angst (lots)

-----

The arm draped over her waist tightens just as Ophelia begins to move away. She bites her lip and closes her eyes and she feels Morgan bury his face in her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t go.” He whispers.

“I have to.” She wouldn’t. She’d stay here all night if she could. She’d stay until morning, she’d stay forever...but she can’t. “You know that.” It’s just as quiet, as if they’re both afraid of breaking the spell over them, but by now, they both know that prolonging the inevitable leads only to more pain, more difficulty leaving.

Morgan presses another kiss to the top of her head before rolling away; she feels the cold of his absence immediately, a loss that’s going to stay with her until she manages to find an escape to be with him again. 

Her clothes are scattered everywhere tonight, it seems, which merely means she feels Morgan’s eyes following her around his room as she gathers them. “Stop that.”

There’s the smallest of smiles of his face when she looks up at him, after pulling her sweater back on. “Stop looking at you? Never.” And she’s really supposed to be leaving, but how’s Ophelia not supposed to kiss him after that?

Morgan’s thumb strokes over her cheek after they break apart,  a gentle caress that expresses so much of all the things she knows he can’t-or won’t-say. “Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will.” Ophelia squeezes his hand gently, understanding the true message behind his words, the I love you, that’s just too much to say outright. And then, because it’s too much for her to actually say goodbye, she squeezes his hand once more, and then slips out of his room.

It’s dark still when she opens the door to her apartment a few floors down and the silence is deafening. By all accounts, it should be warmer and homier than the bachelor pad she just left. She’d put a lot of work and effort into making it a home, a place for a relationship to grow, to start a family. 

Right now, it just felt cold and unwelcoming, and Ophelia drops her keys on the table by the door in their usual spot, making a beeline for the master bathroom, not turning any lights on in the apartment until she makes it there. The sound of the shower finally drowns out the silence that’s ringing around her, stops her thoughts from running wild, and only when she steps inside does she let the tears fall.

-----

Ophelia blinks once, and then again, adjusting her eyes to the bright sun shining in through the windows. The other side of the bed is empty, but warm still, like it’s only been recently vacated, and she musters up the energy to climb out of bed and find her slippers before she wanders out into the kitchen.

“‘Morning.” Jon’s scrolling through his phone at the table, likely checking emails, or possibly moved onto his morning social media read thru, his coffee still steaming in front of him. “There’s more in the pot.”

“Thanks.” She returns the small smile he’d sent her and pours a mug for herself, settling in at the table next to him and taking a moment to get used to the usual silence. “When’d you get in last night?”

Jon hums for a second, like he’s thinking about it. “3, I think?”

“Jesus.” She shakes her head; she doesn’t need to look at the clock to know that it’s too early for him to be up and dressed to go back to the office already then. “You need to sleep more.”

Jon stands up with his mug and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

The thing is, she’s not sure he’s kidding. It’s an attitude that he shares with the rest of his firm, a top financial group filled with people just like Jon, always pushing themselves to do the absolute most. It’s not-she’d never begrudge him his success, but really, how well can he be taking care of himself when all he does is go to work, go to the gym, and travel for days at a time?

“That’ll be sooner than you think if you keep going on four hours of sleep.” Ophelia chides gently, standing to send him off.

Jon laughs. “I’ll be home early tonight; how’s that? We’ll go out somewhere for dinner and then come back to bed,” He waggles his eyebrows. “And then go to bed.”

“Hmm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Ophelia says, and accepts the kiss he presses to her cheek on his way out the door.

(He doesn’t make it to dinner, but Ophelia's not shocked; she hadn’t bothered to change out of her gym clothes and orders takeout for herself instead.)

-----

Probably a long shot, but are you free at 3 to go see a house? Ophelia sends Jon the second their realtor confirms the showing, unsurprised when he sends back a thumbs down emoji. She sighs, and confirms with the realtor that she’ll be attending alone-again-and then scrolls around the neighborhood, looking at other houses for sale. If she’s going all the way out to Etobicoke, she may as well check out a few others while she’s there.

Showings confirmed, she dresses for the spin class she’s hitting first and makes her way downstairs, catching Morgan in the parking garage. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smiles. He’s got a couple teammates with him, the only thing stopping her from burying her face in his neck and slipping her hands into his hoodie pocket. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She answers truthfully. It’s been a couple days since they’ve talked, longer since she’s seen him, even just in passing like this; he’s been out of town a lot this month for games. “You happy to be home for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Morgan nods, meeting her eyes, and she hadn’t intended the question to be anything more than what it is, but she catches the double meaning in his answer right away. “I am.”

“Yeah.” She catches herself mindlessly agreeing with him, forgetting about the teammates standing with him watching their every move and smiling gently at Morgan, instead. “It’ll be nice.”

Someone coughs, lightly, but it’s enough to break the moment. She suspects, from the look on Morgan’s face, that whichever one of his friend’s had interrupted had done so on purpose, is putting some kind of story together, and she’s taking that as her cue to go. “I’ll talk to you soon, I’m sure. Catch you in the halls.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat, so she makes her goodbyes instead, and even though they’re not alone, it’s impossible not to reach out and brush her fingers against his arm for just the quickest of touches as she passes.

-----

“What do you think?” Ophelia can feel Pam studying her, but she bites her lip before she answers, knowing that she’s being an absolute pest.

“I just-I don’t really love it.” She says finally, and to her absolute credit, her realtor doesn’t even blink, even though this is the fifth house this afternoon she’s said that exact same thing about.

“What didn’t you love?”

What didn’t she love? Jesus, fucking everything. The bedrooms were too small, the kitchen was laid out terribly, the whole floor plan was a mess. Even petty little things, like the shape of the breakfast nook bothered her about this house. She explains her issues with the house, promising to make a list of what she’s absolutely looking for, and to send over any places she wants to take a look at, before slipping into her car and taking a deep breath.

There’s a text waiting for her from Jon. Going to be late at the office tonight, working on a pitch. Don’t wait up.

Another deep breath. She shoots off a response, a quick ok, and then swipes to another thread. Are you home?

Morgan’s response comes almost immediately. Yeah, just about to order dinner. You want in?

She does, absolutely. Be there in an hour.

Morgan has dinner waiting in takeout containers and plates ready, but Ophelia’s perfectly happy to ignore both of those in favor of pressing herself as close to him as she can and pushing up for a kiss. “Hi.” She says, a little breathlessly.

“I’m certainly not complaining, but what’d I do to deserve that?” He pulls her back in, entangling her fingers with his one hand and using the other to pull her closer. She loves when he holds her like this, keeps her so close that it feels like nothing can come between them, that nothing matters besides the two of them. 

She traces a pattern along his hand and feels him pull her in even more tightly. “Just for being you.” It’s a little sappy, too sappy maybe, but she cherishes every moment she’s gotten to spend knowing him and growing with him. 

The kiss Morgan pulls her in for at that is soft and promising, but he pulls back, looking as if it almost pains him. “Dinner first?” And because she can hear his stomach rumbling, she nods in agreement, with a smile and the smallest of laughs. 

“Dinner first.”

-----

It’s snowing.

It’s snowing and the pond is frozen, but it’s empty, surrounded by evergreens and mountains, already coated in white. The air is crisp, that winter crispness that can only truly be felt in the middle of nowhere, and Ophelia breathes deeply, taking in the distinct scent of winter that she never really gets in Toronto, before it’s overpowered by a familiar one.

When Morgan skates up behind her, he doesn’t stop; instead, he only slows down enough to catch her arm and pull her along with him. 

“Morgan!” Ophelia scolds, but she’s laughing when she does, so he can’t possibly take her seriously.

“Ophelia!” He mimics, picking up speed, ignoring her sudden shriek and skating around in front of her to take both of her hands.

“Showoff.” She nods at him, still leading the two of them around the pond, only moving backwards now, so as to still be looking at her.

“Nah, just want to look at that pretty face more.”

When she stops, it doesn’t even catch him off guard; Morgan just glides the half step closer to her, still grinning as she teases him. “You get to look at my face all the time now.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m ever tired of it.” She loves him so much. How open and honest he is, that he always says what he’s thinking, from the sweetest things like that to anything he’s unclear about. His gentle touches, the warm caresses. His stupid dad jokes. She’d spend forever laughing at them just to see the smile on his face when she does.

“Not yet, at least.” She teases. “‘Ever’ is a lot of time.”

“Still not enough.” Morgan says, and then slips one of his hands into his pocket, coming back out with a velvet jewelry box. “Maybe forever?”

“Hey.” It doesn’t sound right, too distant and too unenthusiastic; it doesn’t match the pure joy in Morgan’s eyes looking at her.

“Yes.” She says, smiling and nodding at him.

“Phel,” there’s a gentle nudge against her neck and she blinks awake. There’s Morgan...but…she blinks the fuzziness of the dream away. He looks unhappy, reluctant, and she gets it, suddenly, when he continues. “It’s late.”

“Oh.” She says quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat. He presses a kiss to the back of her neck, another one on the soft skin where it meets her shoulder. “Mo-“ Morgan lifts his head to look at her, but there’s nothing she could say right now that would bring happiness to his face, nothing that would come even close to the unbridled excitement in her dream, so she keeps the memory close to her heart and gives him a soft kiss instead, before she has to go.

-----

“Glass of red, as requested.” Ophelia smiles in thanks as Jon passes her a glass, but her attention is directed at the monstrosity of a tie that his coworker and best friend has shown up to a corporate event wearing.

“Kevin.” She says, and from the grin on his face, her disbelief is clear. “What is that?”

“It’s fashion, Ophelia.” Kevin says, putting an act of superiority on, but then going right back to his usual, kind of goofy, self. “Naw, I found it when we were in Dallas last week. It’s lit, isn’t it?”

“Lit.” She repeats dryly, taking a sip of her wine to hide a smile as he and Jon laugh. 

The laughs don’t last long, as the three of them are approached by Jon’s boss, and the small talk begins. There’s a client there they want to land tonight, or at least make dinner plans with for a later date, and that’s top priority, but don’t forget to make time for this person too because their contract is up in March, and of course, you can’t ignore the Leafs, especially not so-and-so from the such-and-such’s office because they’re looking to renew the sponsorship agreement after the season, and...

She blanks on all the names. All she needs to do is smile pretty anyway.

She excuses herself after Keith Williams (the client, who agrees to dinner later in the week, another night she’ll be alone) to refill her wine glass, and is waiting by the bar when she feels someone slide in next to her just a step too close. Instead of feeling tense though, it relaxes her immediately, and she leans against Morgan. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles back at her. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Ophelia’d noticed him the minute he’d walked the door, noticed the way his suit was perfectly cut, that the navy brought out his eyes, had had a hard time looking away. “You look okay, I guess.”

Morgan laughs. “Okay, I guess?” He repeats, nudging her side.

“Very handsome.” She accepts her glass of wine from the bartender and smiles in thanks before he leaves them. “It’s a good suit on you.”

She’s sure he’s going to make a comment about how it’s an even better suit off him, but they’re interrupted. “Mo!” Someone says behind them, and Ophelia hadn’t even realized how close they were standing, that she’s curling into him and he’s leaning back, until they have to separate to turn around.

“Mitchy.” Morgan greets, sounding as calm as usual, while Ophelia feels like her heart’s going to beat out of her chest. “Finally made it, huh?”

“Matts couldn’t decide on what shoes he wanted to wear.” Mitch grumbles as the blonde next to him snickers into her palm.

“Worth the wait.” Ophelia looks over at the voice and realizes it’s one of the teammates Morgan had over the other week. She quickly realizes from the look on his face that he’s putting together the same pieces.

“Was it though?’ Mitch is asking him. “That’s the last time we agree to carpool.”

He’s ignored though. “We’ve met before, yeah?”

Ophelia nods. “Uh yeah, I live in the same building as Morgan.” She transfers her wine glass to her left hand to offer her right hand out to shake, catches the blonde’s eyes immediately go to her ring, and ignores the feeling in her stomach as she introduces herself to them.

They’re all friendly enough-Auston, Mitch, Mitch’s girlfriend-but she can’t help but feel like they’re just trying to feel her out for something; she makes polite chit-chat for a few minutes and then excuses herself away from them to go back to Jon.

“Hey.” She says quietly, slipping back into his side.

“All good?” He asks quietly. “You were gone for a while.”

She nods. “ Just ran into someone I know.” He hums noncommittally and she feels a moment of fear for Morgan, but then they’re moving toward that guy from the Leafs office he’s supposed to be talking with and he’s back to all business.

-----

“Can we talk about this later?” Jon zips his suitcase and then looks over at her. “I’ve got to go.”

“When do you want to talk about it?” Ophelia cries frustratedly. “You’re always fucking going.”

Jon glares at her.” Jesus Christ, Ophelia.” He starts rolling his suitcase down the hall and she follows, unable to resist.

“Should I even bother looking at houses still? Or should we just stay stagnant?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Ophelia. I don’t care right now.” The door slams behind him, but for once, she can’t bring herself to be mad about it, too furious about the fight they just had, shouting in circles about things they’ve already fought about. 

Stewing in her anger isn’t going to do her any good, so she changes and heads to the gym, each pounding step on the treadmill relieving the thrumming under her skin. She’s feeling better, by the time she slows it down to her cool down- not quite calm, by any means, but enough that she feels she can run the errands she needs to for the day without snapping at anyone who doesn’t deserve her ire.

She’s in the grocery store when her phone starts ringing. “Hey.” She smiles when she sees it’s Morgan.

“Hey.” She can practically hear him smiling, even through the phone, her airpods still in her ears. “I’m home.”

She’s in the snack aisle at the food store, absolutely beaming at the simplest words, just because he’s been gone for a week. “You are?”

“For a few days now.” He confirms.

“You want to come for dinner tonight?” She studies the cart in front of her. “I’ll cook.”

“You’re cooking? Tell me when to be there.” Morgan already sounds excited. It’s not often she gets a chance to cook for him, but every time she does, he raves about it. 

She laughs. “I’m at the store now; I’ll text you when I get home.”

He’s actually waiting for her in the parking garage when she pulls in and she laughs at him fondly as she parks her car. “Welcome back.”

“Hmm, good to be back.” The kiss he gives her in greeting is quick, too quick, but he makes up for it when he pushes her back against the counter as soon as they’re in her kitchen and the groceries are on the counter.

“Do you want risotto tonight or not?” Ophelia laughs against his lips, laughs again as she watches how torn Morgan looks. “We have time.”

He squeezes her hand. “Never enough.” And she kisses him again, because it’s true. These stolen moments, this borrowed time, none of it felt like enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough to show him all the love she has for him, to show him everything he does for her, all the pain he takes away and the joy he brings to her life. 

“Could you go pick out a bottle of wine?” She says quietly, nodding toward the wine fridge, instead of saying the things they both know are true, but will only lead to her saying something stupid, like asking him to run away with her.

-----

The house comes in Pam’s daily email and Ophelia loves it from the first picture. She requests a showing for as early as possible and goes through her morning routine, trying not to get overly excited each time her phone buzzes with a new notification, until finally, Pam responds that she’ll meet her there at noon.

It’s only two hours, but it’s two hours that she can’t seem to fill, no matter what she does. Time feels like it’s stopped, until finally she gets in her car and drives over.

The stone exterior is even more beautiful in person than in the pictures. The kitchen is straight out of her dreams. The bedrooms are spacious, the family room is open, the basement is huge. She walks the entire house once, goes through again and again, smile growing wider each time.

Ophelia can picture it perfectly. The laughter filling all these nooks and crannies. A small blue-eyed boy always bouncing around, begging for anyone to play hockey with him. A girl, the shine of her dark hair catching all the natural light, eagerly trying to keep up with him. Morgan throwing his bag down the second he walks in the door and scooping them both into his arms to say hello, before coming to her and a baby, greeting them both just as tenderly.

It’s abrupt, the crash back to reality. This house, this beautiful, gorgeous, house can’t be hers. That life isn’t hers. It can’t be hers. It won’t be theirs. 

Ophelia doesn’t feel her legs crumble out from under her, but she finds herself on the floor, hand brushing over the carpet. She doesn’t feel the tears start either, but it’s not long before the sobs are wracking her entire body and she’s unable to stop.

[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 26

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 26: The trouble is, you think you have time

Ok... so it’s been like almost been a year since I’ve update this. Thank you all for being so supportive these last few months! It’s definitely been a struggle, but things are much better now that my Tamlin is out of my life! 

Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel

*** 

Rhys often looked back on his misadventures during his adolescent years and wondered how the fuck he, Az, and Cass were still alive.  Az, arguably the most levelheaded of the family, had often grumbled about his and Cassian’s antics, even going so far as to keep a running tab on the outcomes of their plans, and the inevitable disasters that followed.  Points were earned for both creativity and daring, while any scheme that resulted in major bodily harm, or their parents finding out, resulted in a substantial loss of points.  Last he had checked, Rhys was in the lead, ahead of Cass by a whooping eleven points.  

One of Rhys’s best ideas, and therefore the most idiotic, had led to them breaking into Adventure Island, aptly referred to as Ghost Town in the Sky by Prythian’s elite.  The events leading up to the water park being shut down had become somewhat of an urban legend in their community, and one of the reasons it had since become a popular spot for keggers and raves alike.  The enormous waterslides, a mismatched heap of tarnished metal and graffiti, were as recognizable in Prythian’s skyline as The Heptagon itself, the city’s sleek, pristine capital building.

Born out of severe boredom and an astronomical amount of tequila shots, Rhys had suggested that they climb to the top of The Leviathan, the largest attraction that was still standing in the abandoned park.  Just as Rhys had predicted, Cassian had flashed him a shit eating grin and motioned for Rhys to lead the way. They were nearly to the top of the structure when the rung on which Cassian was standing gave way.  Rhys, a good fifteen feet above Cass, was too far away to do anything except stare in utter horror as Cass dangled from the tips of his fingers, nearly two hundred feet in the air.  By the time Rhys had climbed down, Cassian had already hoisted himself up onto the platform, out of harm’s way.  They had all laughed themselves silly once they were safely on the ground, but Rhys had seen the fear in Cassian’s eyes as the corroded hunk of metal struck the ground far below them.  

That had been the first time in his life that Rhys had felt completely and utterly useless.  He never told anyone, especially not to Cass or Az, but the feeling of inadequacy and helplessness he had felt in that moment, nearly crippling in its intensity, had haunted him for weeks after that reckless night.  

That same feeling, the horrible realization that he was wholly incapable of helping those he loved, settled deep into his bones, into his very soul, as pain flashed across the delicate features of Feyre’s face.    

“You’ve won, Mara.  I’m yours.  Just… just let her go.  Please,” Rhys begged, the words tasing lake ash in his mouth.  Feyre narrowed her eyes, giving him a look that clearly said Shut the fuck up and get me out of here.  Asshole.  Tearing his gaze from Feyre’s, he forced himself to meet Amarantha’s cold, calculating stare.  It was almost poetic, this disaster his life had become.  A nightmare that he couldn’t seem to escape, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried.  His past had been resurrected, brought back to haunt him, and was hellbent on destroying his future.  The future he so desperately wanted to share with Feyre.  He could see it all so clearly.  The life they could have had together, the love they could have shared.  His heart ached knowing it was over, before it even had a chance to begin.  Rhys scarcely dared breathe as he took a single step forward, towards Feyre.   

“Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Amarantha chided, slowly running the tip of her blade across Feyre’s bottom lip, not hard enough for it to cut into her flesh, but enough to get her point across.  Rhys raised his hands placatingly, and moved back a fraction of an inch.  

“Good boy,” Amarantha purred, the corners of her mouth twisting into a hateful little smirk.  She grasped Feyre’s chin, wrenching her head to the side roughly.  

“Where shall we begin?” she mused, scrutinizing Feyre’s face as though she were an artist inspecting canvass.  Feyre wrenched her chin from Amarantha’s grasp.  

“You crazy, fucking bitch,” Feyre snarled, her expression nearly feral.  She tilted her head back and spat at Amarantha.  Rhys almost felt like laughing at Feyre’s audacity.  Almost.  The look of unmitigated rage that burned in her eyes made his blood ran cold, stopping the smallest chuckle from passing his lips.  His breath hitched as Amarantha unhurriedly ran a hand across her check, wiping away any traces of the spittle.  Her expression was fierce, a promise of retribution, both swift and brutal, was etched across her features.    

Amarantha clucked her tongue and said, “Naughty, naughty.”  His brave, beautiful Feyre glared defiantly at Amarantha.  The two woman stood there for a moment, regarding each other carefully.  Every single one of his instincts was roaring at him, urging him to get Feyre far away from this place.  Beads of sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, his breathing growing increasingly difficult.    

Faster than he was able to anticipate, she lashed out, her movements both practiced and graceful, and plunged the blade deep into Feyre’s thigh.  Rhys had never heard anything as terrifying, as devastating, as Feyre’s piercing, shrill scream.  His stomach heaved at the site of the pink stiletto handle jutting out of her flesh.  Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the denim of her jeans and pooling onto the floor.   

“Hush now pet, “  Amarantha cooed, caressing Feyre’s cheek.  Her fingers, wet with blood, left crimson trails across Feyre’s skin.  

“What do you want?” Rhys asked, his voice coming out in a hoarse, broken rasp, betraying the fear roiling violently through him.   Amarantha turned to face him fully, ignoring Feyre completely.  If he could just keep her occupied… 

Amarantha cocked her head to the side, considering his question.   

“Why Rhysand, I thought that it was quite obvious,” she purred, taking a step towards him.    Good.  He needed to get her the fuck away from Feyre.   

“Why don’t you just explain it to me,” he said, taking a step back, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly, gauging the distance between her and Feyre. 

“What I want, my love, is for you to suffer,” she said, practically spitting out the last word.  Amarantha closed the distance between them, her eyes never once leaving his.  She stopped only when she was a hair's breadth away.  Her expression was murderous, rage radiating off her in violent waves.  As she leaned towards him, Rhys had to force himself to stand his ground, to not recoil from her touch  Her lips grazed the shell of his ear as she whispered, “I want to watch you break.  I want to watch you crumble as I destroy everyone and everything that you love.”  Her words hit Rhys like a punch to the gut.  Deep down, he had always known that this would happen, had come to expect it.  He had always known that he was tainted, cursed.  Those whom he loved inevitably ended up suffering.  First his mother and sister.  Now Feyre.  He knew that he had absolutely no chance of walking out of this house alive.  It was far too late for him.  But Feyre didn’t need to share his fate.  He would do whatever he had to to make sure she got out of this fucking mess he had gotten her into.  When she was out, when she was safe, he was going to bring this entire fucking house down around Amarantha.  If Rhys was going to hell, then he was damn well going to take Amarantha with him.  

“For fucks sake Rhys, just punch the bitch and get me the hell out of here,” Feyre sobbed, her face growing paler by the second.  The air was heavy with the coppery scent of blood.  It oozed out of the wound and down her leg, pooling on the ground at her feet at an alarming rate.  She was loosing too much, too quickly.  He needed to get her out of here.  Now.  Amaranths’s heels clacked against the cement floor as she stalked towards Feyre.    

“Such dramatics,” she murmured, running a hand through Feyre’s hair.  She shrank back, her body seeming to cave in on itself as Amarantha wound a strand of her golden- brown hair around a finger.  

Now was his chance, while Amarantha was distracted.  He had to do something, before Feyre bled to death before his eyes.  Ever so slowly, Rhys reached for his weapon, praying Amarantha wouldn’t sense his movements.  He removed the gun from his waistband, his eyes never leaving Amarantha’s form.  Rhys winced as he disengaged the safety, the sound seeming to reverberate throughout the entire room.  

“Amarantha, step away from her now,” he said, fighting to keep his hand steady as he aimed the gun directly at her chest.  Amusement danced in her eyes as she took in the weapon he held.  Feyre hissed as Amarantha’s hand grazed across the hilt of the stiletto, still imbedded deeply in her leg, as she walked around to Feyre’s other side.  Fuck.  Amarantha had effectively positioned Feyre between them, using her body like some sort of fucking human shield.  Amarantha smirked at him, with an air of someone who was about to be named the fucking Queen of Prythian, not someone who had a fucking gun pointed at them.  

“You disappoint me Rhysand,” she said, disdain dripping off of her every word. 

“Get away from her,” he growled.  

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, resting her hands lightly on Feyre’s shoulders.  

“Don’t make me shoot you, Mara,” Rhys warned, taking a step towards her.

“Put down the gun Rhysand,” she purred, the tips of her nails scraping along the skin of Feyre’s neck.

“Get the fuck away from her right now,” he yelled, a note of desperation filling his voice.  

“Why would I do that? Things are just starting to get interesting.”  

“Is this just some fucking game to you?” he snapped, losing the tenous hold he had on his temper.  

“Of course it’s a game silly.  One I intend to win.” 

Terror overtook his expression as Amarantha’s hands roughly wrapped around Feyre’s neck.  Her beautiful, stormy grey blue eyes met his, full of fear and another emotion he couldn’t quite name.   

Feyre’s lips trembled slightly as she gasped out, “Rhys, I…”

Before either of them could react, Amarantha snapped Feyre’s neck with a vicious twist of her hands.  Rhys collapsed to the ground, his knees striking the ground with a resounding thud as he watched the light fade from her eyes.  

***

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[onelungmcclung]

im sorry if you've answered this before im relatively new to the ship hehe but-- how'd mcclung fall for toye? was it in bastogne? before bastogne? in holland? in aldbourne? after the war? what were the circumstances? when did he realize it? and after he'd overcome that high of finding out he's in love, how did he deal with the aftermath once it started to settle in? hehe, i hope this week isnt as rough on you as you're anticipating. sending you much love and strength and calm vibes.

💜💜💜 

ok, firstly, I have not been asked this before; secondly, even if I had no earthly power would stop me from answering it again; and thirdly, obviously no pressure but pls consider coming off anon and being my tumblr friend  

probably everyone is new to this ship lmao

so, I started writing a (probably long) mctoye fic starting in fort bragg or aldbourne and continuing to postwar (enablers always welcome). but for the purposes of this ask, I’m mostly going off character insights revealed to me developed over the course of writing the ask him to dance universe. 

(counterpart to this ask: toye noticing/falling for mcclung)

essentially: mcclung is/would be kind of theoretically ok with the idea of falling for a guy, if it had occurred to him he might fall for anyone right now, but falling for anyone is — for the time being — a concept he has strategically compartmentalised out of his entire thought process. (please clap.)

maybe he’s relatively ok with the possibility falling for a guy because he did not really grow up with white conservatism the way most of the easy co guys did; he’s always been aware of it, and his worldview is not informed by it in the same way. his family is arrow lakes/settler and he has friends & acquaintances among the other confederated tribes. and though he doesn’t take a strong interest in domestic/international politics, he has a more critical attitude towards the us govt and its laws (he’s still quietly angry about the grand coulee dam, constructed during his childhood). he’s never really considered that he might be into men; he likes women and he’s always assumed, without thinking much about it, that he’ll get married at some point; but he’s not particularly homophobic, outwardly or inwardly.

he’s not thinking much about these things when the war comes. he gets drafted into the army, thinks “not with these fucking clowns” and besides the airborne pay is better, and volunteers as a paratrooper. he joins up with easy after he’s completed his jump training.

he is excellent at training, naturally; he’s spent days at a time alone, fishing and hunting, since he was a child. he’s an exceptional sniper and scout. he’s confident in his own abilities. some of the toccoa guys initially assume he won’t be as skilled as them because he didn’t have their training, but in fact he has a headstart on most of them; and he knows it. (if he knew it any better it would probably come off as arrogance, but he’s just very clear on what he’s good at. and if he wasn’t beforehand, the airborne has proved it, to him & everyone else.)

he recognises, of course, that toye is an excellent soldier too (not as good a shot as himself or shifty, but overall one of the best paratroopers in the company), and they’re in the same platoon, so that helps. he never really gets afraid, not while training and not in combat; he just keeps his focus and gets on with it. for the most part, he doesn’t form close friendships until they get into combat.

he has some instinct towards helping and protecting others, but once they’re in a combat zone he realises that’s going to hurt him a lot. while they’re training, he helps some of the guys make their shots by shooting the targets for them; but after they jump into normandy, he avoids befriending the replacements because so many of them are killed early on. it’s — a little — easier that way.

he and toye don’t become close friends before bastogne, but they get familiar with each other’s combat style, and they’re comfortable working together. they trust each other; they’re both good soldiers, and toye is a good nco.

and then of course in bastogne they share a foxhole, and that is (I think for all the other characters as well) an incredibly vital, pivotal relationship. he and toye rely on each other entirely; without that, they’d probably die. they learn each other backwards; there’s no possibility of pretence. he knows what toye’s flaws are (stubbornness, prickliness, a reluctance to accept help), but there’s a lot more about him that mcclung likes, trusts and admires (not that he’d say so), and he knows those things are genuine.

he does his level best to stop toye from developing trench foot when he loses his boots. sure, he pretty much calls toye an idiot for getting into this situation and for refusing to tell the medics, but he does everything he can think of. it hasn’t occurred to him that he cares deeply about toye; it just seems inevitable.

(and he tells smokey to let the medics know. he doesn’t tell toye he’s told smokey, because it’s funnier this way. like everyone else, he’s starved for entertainment.)

but toye gets hit, and they’ve spent months beside each other — sleeping in shifts, keeping each other safe, trying to keep each other warm, kvetching, arguing with each other; he’s put up with toye’s singing and toye’s put up with mcclung talking to himself. a synchronicity and interdependence has developed between them, throughout the war but particularly in bastogne, to the point where it’s almost telepathic. he doesn’t consider what a powerful kind of intimacy this is, both physical and psychological, until it’s gone.

toye gets hit, and mcclung loses him. toye gets hit, and mcclung is blindsided by the enormity of it. you can’t take anyone’s survival for granted, he’s always tried to be careful of that, but losing toye is like losing part of himself.

he’s pretty determinedly unsentimental about everything: he’s not going to fall in love with anyone while he’s fighting a war, and he’s not going to dwell on situations beyond his control, and he’s not going to let himself be distracted by worrying about someone who isn’t here anymore. or at least that’s the attitude he’s internalised, and he takes it so much for granted that he never even considers that he could have fallen for anyone: right here, right now.

but he can’t forget anything that’s happened, even if he’d like to, and there’s no other friendship that can quite replace what had developed between toye and himself. bastogne was when things were at their worst, and toye is the one with whom he survived the worst. without toye, he feels an inescapable sense of wrongness, unevenness.

he’s half aware that he misses joe. he tries not to acknowledge that to himself, because that would mean acknowledging that he may not have any chance to see joe again, that one or both of them may not survive. that’s a line of thought he keeps away from altogether; it’s there, but he won’t look at it.

he knows it’s not his fault toye was injured. sometimes it has nothing to do with being a good soldier; sometimes it’s just luck and timing; he’s nearly been hit himself. he knows that, but deep down inside he wonders if he could have saved joe, by making sure he was in their foxhole before the shelling started. he heard toye and second-guessed himself. he stayed where he was. he thinks he probably did the sensible thing. he still feels guilty about it.

(sidenote: the glaring exception to his “don’t befriend the replacements” rule ends up being babe. after toye, guarnere & compton are taken off the line, he and babe start sharing a foxhole. possibly he could have found someone else, but his protective instinct resurfaces and maybe it helps to take his mind off missing toye. it’s a friendship that comes out of grief and loss.)

he gets through foy, and haguenau, and he focuses on the situation at hand and he doesn’t think about toye.

when they reach austria, mcclung is ordered to hunt animals to feed landsberg’s prisoners, and so he sets up camp alone in the woods. it’s beautiful; it’s peaceful; it’s the first time he’s been truly alone in two years. it’s the first time his mind is able to relax, and the memories come back — prewar life, everything he’s been through since, bastogne, toye — and the thoughts of the future, what he might do after the war.

he’d like to see toye again.

he still hasn’t thought that maybe he has feelings for joe.

and then the war ends, and he has the freedom to decide what to do next. he returns to england, and then ships back to the us. the memory/loss of toye is still a weight on him, and so he tracks toye down and goes to see him. that’s the obvious, logical course of action.

it’s also making him much more nervous than it has any right to.

(for the past year and a half, he’s been compartmentalising very hard because he intuitively understood that as the best way to survive the war. he learnt it early on, and it’s hard to let go of it. he’s convinced he’s handling everything great, very matter of fact and pragmatic, getting the job done, no emotional baggage here, etc etc. this is... not 100% true, but a coping mechanism is a coping mechanism is a coping mechanism. he is doing pretty well; nobody thinks he’s not; so obviously that counts as a roaring success.

but once the war is over, the psychological walls he’s maintained throughout combat — between survival and emotion — begin gradually to disintegrate. he has to let himself become whole again, learn to navigate who he is now, accept that the war has scarred him. he still feels himself to be one of the lucky ones. some of the things he’s been avoiding hit harder than others, and he can’t control that anymore.

insofar as he’s aware of these developments, he considers it extremely unfair.)

but, ensuing stupid panic or no ensuing stupid panic, he commits to meeting up with toye. he figures they’ll catch up, maybe keep in contact, that now he’ll be able to stop wondering how toye’s doing, stop this strange off-balance feeling he’s had since toye got hit.

seeing toye again is actually a lot more than he’d ever anticipated, and he’s forced to acknowledge that maybe there’s more going on here than he’d figured.

he realises he’s attracted to this guy, and he doesn’t know when that started: probably in bastogne, but maybe earlier. it feels new but not new; if he hadn’t pointedly avoided thinking about joe after foy, maybe he’d have figured it out sooner. if they’d made it through the war together, maybe something would have happened between them in europe, but they lost each other too soon for him to know. he’s a little discomfited by these feelings suddenly creeping up on him, but he’s trying hard not to let any of it show: not the attraction, not the unease.

he reasons that his feelings are only a problem if toye doesn’t share them. he thinks he could deal with that, but he is afraid they may not have a friendship anymore, that it was left behind in wartime.

he tells himself he’s not afraid of rejection. but he is. he doesn’t like feeling vulnerable, and suddenly he is.

when he thinks there’s a chance the attraction is mutual, he takes it. it works out for him. they stay together. he accepts that he’s falling in love and he lets it happen.

he falls in love with joe’s courage and honesty and selflessness, and he finds it incredibly hard to actually say that. (this is someone who considers “hanging out with you voluntarily” to be a love language.) he’s moved just by the fact joe wants to be with him, that he’s able to acknowledge that attraction and act on it despite his provincial catholic upbringing lol. he knows that joe’s recovery has been difficult, and he sees how joe is dealing with it, and, like in bastogne, he tries to support him as quietly and simply as possible.

he finds it hard to tell joe he loves him, but he pays attention to what joe does and says, and does whatever he can to make his life better. he never thinks joe needs him there, and he wouldn’t want it that way. he helps joe to adapt their old calisthenics training; they take roadtrips together. they’re still deeply protective of each other, and they still express it via touch, practical acts, and snark. they don’t struggle with physical affection as much as either of them might have worried; they’re a little hesitant at first, but it falls into place.

they’re fumbling their way a little, but they respect each other completely and unconditionally, and they’re kind and careful, and their relationship gets stronger as it goes on. 

and they dance together.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

if you are still accepting questions for the directors cut game, I would love to ask a little about chapter 41 of nostalgia! i ADORE that chapter bc of how much of it ties back to ivars very first pov. feeling lonely and incomplete was something he like actually kidnapped someone to avoid confronting at the start of the story, so having him pour it all out to the priestess (with no guarantee of her staying!!) right before she tells him she’s staying is such a beautiful, full-circle moment.

what do you think it was that got ivar in such an honest/sentimental mood that morning? do you think that outpouring was what really spurred her to tell him specifically that morning? and thank you so much for doing these and giving such deep answers!! they’ve been such a joy to read today!

Hello lovely! Of course I am taking these! Fyi, if you ever have any questions like these, don’t hesitate to ask, this game is so fun! Consider it a permanent game in this blog lol

And ooh, good question! Chapter 41 is one of my favorites too, for the same reason as you! Thrá continues to be one of my favorites Ivar PoVs I’ve written, and both this chapter and Hjarta deal with that so I love them as well.

So, as always, the answer is under the cut :)

Come ask me some insight about my works!

Okay, so a thing that I regret not going a little bit more into (but that I will in Dagblik, the next Ivar’s PoV) is how much it affected him to know the Greeks are alive. Past that initial argument about it, and what followed immediately after, Ivar was still feeling like the wind was knocked out of him well into Chapter 41. Like I annoyingly repeat within this story and its PoVs, Ivar needs certainties, he’d rather hold on to a painful certainty (that she will leave him) instead of having nothing to hold on to; and knowing the Greeks are alive (and that she could leave with them at anytime, since Stithulf didn’t actually kill them, the pull of revenge is less because the majority of her people are still alive, and so the deal isn’t actually a deal anymore, but a death sentence for Ivar) just takes everything away from him.

Ivar did something that felt cowardly, that went against his own desires and the promises he made, to keep his wife with him one more winter by letting Stithulf go. He basically prayed for one more winter in Atfǫr, promising that after having that winter with her he would be capable of facing spring, to face her leaving him (lies, but ok). But when he comes home she tells him the Greeks are alive and have already met with her (Ivar knowing about her leaving Kattegat to meet with them that day is another can of worms that I won’t get into now, but it fucks with his head, a lot), so no matter what he does, no matter how much he fights and whatever plan he comes up with, he loses her. He loses her not when he’s ready to, or when he can prepare himself to lose her, no, he loses her whenever she chooses to leave him, whenever the Greeks demand her back.

This is all to go here: Ivar was the one mourning in Chapter 40. The Reader has a flashback on how Sieghild tells her that a Viking tradition when someone dies is to drink (a lot, to the point of death in some recorded cases, in this manic search for numbness from the pain); yet the Reader mentions how it doesn’t feel like mourning what she is doing, she doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for the woman she leaves behind by accepting she wants to stay. Still, the flashback is there, and I kinda just left it out for interpretation why it was there in the first place. But it was there because Ivar was the one mourning a loss, because to him he had already lost (whatever he does, if she chooses to leave he loses her, either because she up and leaves for Greece, because keeping her in chains brings out a side of her that he made her queen of fucking Kattegat to avoid facing, or because he kills her or she kills herself before being a Varangian’s prisoner). So, his noggin is not in the best place during those two weeks, and it kinda ends up in this drunk Ivar that lets himself forget. He admits it a few times, I think most of all in Ch38, how he can forget that he is going to lose her, and that in those moments he is happy. That night is one of those nights, for most of the night he is touchy, he is a happier side of his drunk self (we have seen how he can be sulky when drunk both in canon and in Ch21 lol), except for that little moment where the facade kinda slips when he tells her about letting Stithulf go.

That night in Chapter 40, directly before the chapter you asked about (I’m so sorry it’s taking me this long to get to the point lol), he recalls their interaction in Kenna where she gets drunk and (with that chapter happening way before they admit their feelings in Ch31) makes Ivar’s brain shortcircuit by whispering that she is happy with him and almost kissing him but not quite. She admitted that night to being happy in Kattegat, being happy with him, and that night in Chapter 40 he goes back to it, asking for reassurance that she is still happy there with him, and initially intending to tell her that she makes him happy too but then she adds an ‘I love you, Ivar’ for good measure and turns his brain into mush, so the conversation goes elsewhere.

This all carries into Chapter 41, where from his perspective, still riding that (inevitably painful at the end) high of letting himself forget, he wakes up to those soft touches he speaks of craving both in this chapter and in Thrá, he lingers in this little world in between worlds of the morning with her where there’s nothing past the two of them, no choices, no Greeks, no nothing. And he intends to tell her that she makes him happy, because this idiot has always and will always share everything.

To sum him up, a meme (I found a screenshot of a tumblr post on pinterest, I have no source for this but it aint mine):

me: i’m a very private person

someone: hi

me: so i’ll start by describing some of my lighter traumas before i get into the real bad stuff

You cannot tell me that is not Ivar, especially when it comes to someone he is into, both in canon and in every story I write.

So, like she says, he gives away secrets and parts of himself like someone trying to hold on to a handful of sand, like he can’t stop it. And he can’t, really. And so he wants to tell her she makes him happy, because she does and he intended to tell her the night before, but then, because a) it’s Ivar, and b) this morning is a morning when he lets himself forget (like I said, Ivar was gutpunched by the revelation of the Greeks being alive, and he was different during those two weeks between her telling him and Galla coming to Kattegat to force her to make a choice, she even admits to missing him at times, because he no longer accepts her affection so easily, or is so freely around her, because in his head there’s too often the ‘this will end, you will lose this, she will be gone, and either enjoy this/her now or prepare yourself to lose this/her by stepping back’; but in that morning he is softer, he lets himself forget and just shares in Ivar fashion what she means to him.

I do not think it was what made her want to tell him, even without that converstion she would have told him that morning/day, since before she even wakes him up he even wakes up she is basking in this giddiness of being allowed to keep this; but both his words from the previous night (him reminding her of what she told him once, of how if you name things you make them real, when he not-so-subtly asks her to tell him more often that she loves him) and this moment of vulnerability, this moment when she truly has Ivar, moreso than she has had him in those last few weeks, makes her have the courage to claim this thing she hasn’t yet named (except towards Freydis in Ch39) and making it real by telling him of her choice.

So yeah, I hope this answer was to your liking! If there’s anything that you want me to explain further, or I didn’t get the question right, or anything, don’t hesitate to shoot another ask! I love answering these, I am still amazed people care enough about this mess of a story to have such questions!

Thank you so so much for asking, and for your kind words! Sending you my love, sweetheart!