#so far apart in society it shouldn’t be possible for them to be so close and yet here they stand

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

simon, the chained lion; eddie, the kicked dog

[haeseolar]

midnight pretenders

kinnporsche - forbidden love, crown prince!kinn, servant!porsche

rated G, 1.4k words

twitter / posted on ao3

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“Kinn,” Porsche gasps as he feels a gentle caress across his jaw. “We can’t.”

Kinn looks at him through hooded lids, his deep brown eyes shining in the flickering candlelight. Despite their closeness, their bodies pressed together as close as possible while sitting next to each other, the gaping maw of emptiness bares its fangs at them. Porsche feels as if he’s viewing himself through a tunnel, everything still in sight but so far away. A few steps away, and yet, still out of reach. Every part of him aches to reach out, to lean into Kinn’s embrace the way he’s done so many times before, and allow his heart to openly yearn and want, but he can’t.

“We shouldn’t,” Kinn corrects, his voice petal soft as the gentle breeze carries the words away into the night sky. “But I want to.”

The gardens are the only safe place they can meet now, hidden amongst the maze of perfectly groomed bushes, surrounded by the blossoming roses in flower beds as their only witnesses. They sway in the wind, their stems bowing and bending but never breaking, always returning to their original stance before the unruly wiles of the air reshape them again. 

“Me, too,” Porsche whispers. The two words come out thick, his throat clicking with a swallow, his chest heavy with remorse. 

It feels like a secret. A treacherous, dangerous one. One that can only be spoken here, in the dead of night, between the two of them. Kinn’s fingers become bolder, his whole palm sliding across his cheek to cup his face, cradling it gently with a reverence he only feels in these moments. Porsche’s eyelids flutter closed, but he forces them open again, not wanting to waste a second not looking at Kinn. 

Their time together is sparse, their schedules and different duties keep them apart. Porsche, the servant to the Theerapanyakul Throne, and Kinn… The Crown Prince, only months away from becoming King. Porsche would do anything to keep them together like this. He’d raze the whole kingdom, sparing only a few that he cared for, abolish what parts of the monarchy he could, and dispose of everything and everyone that came between them, but the fact is that Kinn would not do the same. He hasn’t done it, allowing them to only exist together in a fraction of space and time, nestled away in secrecy, tucked away safely in a corner of their hearts that rarely gets a chance to take control. 

Held by Kinn’s palm, Porsche’s stomach flips, the blood in his veins being replaced with lava, burning and destructive, searing and making his skin feel like it’s boiling. Each touch, each breath, each minute that ticks leaves a permanent mark on him. It may not be visible, but deep down, inside and cloaked amongst his duty, his standing in society, the laws and the ruin this could bring upon them, they’re there.

Porsche shuffles closer to Kinn to press their thighs together, wanting to hook their ankles together. He can’t because it’s too risky. If they’re caught, they need to move apart quickly, and any form of entanglement would make that impossible in a rush. Instead, he places his hand over Kinn’s knee, squeezing it until he feels the joints in his fingers creak with the force. 

“Please, Kinn,” Porsche says desperately. “Touch me.” 

He hears Kinn’s breath hitch, a tiny, forbidden little thing that is lost as quickly as it is found. Kinn’s eyes search his face, his thumb dragging across his cheek, dipping into the corner of his mouth. Porsche opens up quickly, almost too fast, dampening Kinn’s fingertip with his saliva and hot panting. His heart kicks up a notch, pounding against his chest, feeling too big to keep inside of him and to himself. Porsche wants Kinn to feel it, experience how much he makes him want, so much so that it’s like he’s drowning in it. 

“How -” Kinn’s voice breaks, “Tell me how, Porsche.”

Oh, how Porsche’s heart stumbles in his chest, his blood singing, his stomach tugging and swooping, an unstoppable magnetic force between them as he looks at Kinn. His expression is so open, his lips parted like Porsche’s are, a direct mirror of each other, his head tilted as if he’s ready to dive in and capture him in one fell swoop. Kinn seems so innocent, young and guileless, wanting to appease Porsche in every way he can.

They’ve done this all before. Touching is nothing new - not when they’ve spent countless nights together, wrapped up in each other, so tightly intertwined that there was no telling where one of them began and the other ended. Porsche has felt Kinn everywhere - inside him, on him, surrounded by him and completely taken over by him, his scent and taste sending him into a daze. Yet here, there’s none of that debauched need. It’s innocent, precious and delicate, as they know their time is almost up.

Porsche wants to savour this like the finest of wines, or the most delightful smell of the earth after it’s finished raining. Or even the smell of Kinn’s chambers after they’re finished, sweating and panting, raw and real, addictive and electric. 

“Here,” Porsche grabs Kinn’s other hand, guiding it to his waist. Kinn goes easily, their torsos twisting to accommodate each other, spiralling around in a dance. It’s juvenile, a position that even children hold when dancing together in a ballroom, but between them, it’s something entirely different. 

Kinn is so much all at once. He can dominate, command an army, possess and take, selfishly and selflessly. Kinn can also do this: allow Porsche to take control, allow him to encourage and talk, leading him, taking the impending weight of the crown away from him. All he has to do here is listen, thriving off of their mutual attraction, the tension between them and the spark that lights them up. 

Porsche huffs a laugh, feeling his breath ghost across his face from their close proximity, bouncing right off Kinn and back to him. “Aren’t you going to ask me what’s next?”

Kinn’s eyes brighten, going from fervent to amused, “I’m sure I can guess,” he replies, fondly, his voice and face oozing with it. 

A rush of heat spreads across Porsche’s cheeks with it, tinting them pink even in the dark. He’s not sure why he feels so shy at the prospect of being kissed - it must just be because Kinn is the one about to kiss him. He squirms in place, his whole body flushing with nerves, goosebumps skittering down his spine as Kinn holds him still. Porsche wants to throw himself forward, force Kinn’s arms to wrap around him, line up their chests, thighs and hips so everything is touching, all so he can bury himself into the crook of Kinn’s neck and breathe him in.

“Prince Kinn?” A voice shouts, startling them out of their embrace, the magnetic pull becoming a push, forcing them to spring apart and repelling them away from each other.

Footsteps approach, the wind picking up with it. Even the bushes begin to rustle ominously, the roses bowling over with the forceful gust, a few petals breaking off and being swept away into the distance. The peace in the garden shatters, even the elements seemingly angry at the disturbance, seething and screaming with the unjustness of it all. 

It physically hurts being ripped apart like this, not even having gotten a chance for a simple kiss. A sob lodges itself deep within Porsche, vines and thorns surging within him to constrict around his organs, forcing a pained wheeze straight from his lungs. Terror fills Kinn’s once warm gaze now, his features shuttering closed and his whole form morphing into an iron-clad structure right before his eyes. A blink and the soft, tenderness he knows Kinn is capable of is gone, now replaced with a cold ruthlessness that is expected of him.

As Kinn leaves, walking towards the guard with nothing but a longing glance, Porsche understands. Despite all his wants and hopes and dreams and desires, he gets it. They may exist at the same time, in the same place - together - and share all the same feelings and their deepest, darkest secrets…

But that doesn’t mean they’re supposed to.

[biblioflyer]

Picardism

This is part of a series analyzing the finale of Discovery and the conflict between different aspects of the Star Trek fandom. This is in part inspired by and a reaction to a conversation between Andrew Heaton and Tim Shandefur on the Political Orphanage podcast. For more like this, use the Star Trek ethics tag.

I’m going to do my best to present a steelmanned version of what Sandefur’s critiques of the TNG era of Trek are (and this overlaps with Undiscovered Country because while they are a century apart in Trek continuity, they are contemporaries as far as the society and social thought that produced them as stories.) This will be challenging because, to be honest, I found him much less fair and cogent when it came to TNG.

His two big gripes are cultural relativism and techno pessimism.

The cultural relativism is expressed through the much stricter interpretation of the Prime Directive that is in practice in TNG. The sort of interpretation that makes it incredibly difficult, absent some extreme rules lawyering, to save preindustrial people from natural disasters of a sort they cannot possibly fathom, let alone effectively confront on their own. 

Although not directly mentioned, the lack of interest in addressing the collapse of Tasha Yar’s world, a failed Human colony, is also often lumped into the category of Prime Directive cowardice or an overcorrection to the perceived ill advised or straight up imperialist interventions of the Cold War.

I’m not going to exert a lot of effort arguing against this, but suffice to say I think complaints about the Prime Directive in TNG are overstated namely because every time it would have been depraved not to violate the Prime Directive, Picard violates it or allows the crew to contrive a highly legalistic solution that embraces the spirit of the Prime Directive but is probably coming very close to breaking the letter. 

I’m vaguely aware of an Enterprise episode that is widely considered to represent genocide through inaction, but I have not personally seen it.

Notable for Discovery, Burnham violates the Prime Directive pretty flagrantly in Season 5 and in a manner very reminiscent of something Kirk would do, and she gets away with it. Not even a hint of a reprimand.

The other manner in which cultural relativism is expressed is in the arena of astropolitics. 

Picard is notorious in some circles for his willingness to let his ship take a punch and keep trying to talk the other side down. 

The Cardassian peace treaty is widely regarded as not worth the isolinear chips it’s stored on as well as a brazen and immoral giveaway to fascists who were definitely always going to use the treaty to take a breather before their next round of massacres and land grabs.

The Federation treating the Maquis as terrorists instead of freedom fighters is also viewed as rather dystopian.

The Klingons continue to be slavers and brutal thugs and the Federation continues to politely tolerate it in this era.

Sandefur is intensely critical of having made peace with the Klingons at all in Undiscovered Country given no requirements that they change their ways, only wide eyed assumptions that with enough time and engagement they would mellow out. The Klingons are even described as being members of the Federation in a few early episodes before this was quietly retconned to mean allies.

For some bizarre reason that I cannot fathom, Sandefur takes Azetbur and Chang as objective observers and mouth pieces for the writers in Star Trek VI when they describe the Federation as racist and imperialist during the dinner party aboard the Enterprise. 

It's insightful and alarming that some people don’t seem to grasp the concept of an unreliable narrator or can’t tell the difference between being lectured by an omniscient narrator and characters spouting talking points lifted from the real world so that their perspectives feel familiar without granting those perspectives legitimacy. That this phenomenon exists shouldn’t surprise me but in a way it's revelatory because it really goes a long way to explaining how bizarre fandom discourse often is.

Credit where credit is due, Sandefur’s opinions on detente with the Klingons and Cardassians are not ones I’d characterize as unpopular. They’ve especially surged with the Russian invasion of Ukraine although optimism about civil engagement with the morally distasteful already was under siege throughout much of the 21st century. 

While I am personally unabashedly pro-Ukraine with some pragmatic caveats, in other arenas, such as discourse about the Federation’s toleration of unjust societies, I find that there is a very problematic tendency to try to use analogies about individuals or small groups, i.e. confronting a school yard bully or protecting your favorite bar from racist thugs, and scale them up to fit situations involving millions or billions of people. 

Throw in a dash of magical thinking about just how directly you can translate GDP disparities into useful objects in the real world, cultural fluency as it pertains to understanding what makes people move on from traditional (read: "backwards") norms or riot, and the precision with which spur of the moment decisions can be made in stressful situations, and you can easily wind up with a theory of change that paints the Federation as cowardly for not doing exactly the sorts of things that in the real world have at various times left much of Africa, Asia, and South America shattered and under the thumb of warlords based on the theory that the people were not fit for self rule.

Next: Is "Picardism" anti-progress? Also, I try not to get very upset about the idea of applying imminent domain laws to immortal aliens who are, like, just really into farming.

[apollo-gate]

Hi there buddy, my name is Athena. I'm coming to say hi, see how you're doing and this is a chance to ramble about your wips. What's the biggest wordcount you've ever achieved on a wip?

I can ramble

.

.

.

Yeah I’m gonna ramble. (So this is or can be seen as possible spoilers but to some it isn’t .)

Alright we’re to start 👏

The biggest word count is 🧐. (220k.) that is on my novel. Untitled hero is closing in hot. 👀

So Untiled Hero is from the bones of a story. I’m currently writing that is a novel however it is a darker version than the IF. The title is just a date and a name. But that will change.

Untitled Hero honestly has turned into something else like I was original planning on two to three endings and one of the major choices I was planning to make it were it was a set choice no going around it but a very sweet stranger from the coffee shop gave some input when I asked and now it’s a choice.

Powers are a way bigger deal than I can write about. Since almost everyone has power there are quite a few who don’t. And there is a type of discrimination to those who don’t. Just like the people with powers who are shifters. Depending on where your at it can change.

And people who have telepathy well.... 👀. Let’s say it’s a very hard to survive the process.

And the Thrallens a race I created is very complex and if the readers choose to go on Azalea path they will see more of it and why They don’t use their preferred pronouns. The Thrallens are far from perfect and the society structure I had to write it out four different ways before it made sense to me. I am rewriting the scene where Harmony is talking about it. (Harmony is really important especially in Azalea route.)

And for the next few chapters it’s going to be confusing in some parts as the Mc finally awakens something but the fact it can possibly harm the Mc shouldn’t be taken lightly. And I will have a hidden stat for what well that’s for the full release.

Now onto a few other stories I posted about.

Revenge Pact

is about two people agree simply to get revenge.

The Mc in this case got royally screwed. And for once I’m giving the reader what they want to get back at some one who hurt the Mc.

The thing about Revenge pact is that the war that has lasted over 400 years has come to an end. As the country that the Mc was with won.

The Mc in this story was apart of a noble family where they could be werewolves or a dire wolf. But Mc never got that chance. See they were sold to the royal family to be a slave in simple terms. (I left out a few things there but it’ll get explained when I get the demo out.)

Mc simply became devoted to a goddess and got a lot of attention. But Mc couldn’t really connect with people as many looked down on the Mc or just tried to use them. This was because Mc wore a mask to hide their face. This was mainly because of Mc family traditions. (I’ll go in more details in the post and in the story.)

Fox’s Retribution

Is a mafia story I got inspired to write. This time around the Mc is content in there place in the structure because they know if they want they could take it over. And everyone who has seen Fox’s face (Mc) well they know how dangerous they are as an enemy.

Mc does have a child and the reason why the Mc isn’t around will be explained later. (Only two people know about the Mc kid.)

The Idols Mark

Was something I’ve written snippets over the years about just with no serious plot.

The Mc in this story doesn’t need money nor fame to be happy. Why they become an idol and why they did it was simple because her father said she couldn’t. And MCs mom well she was uncaring. (Women was focused on her business like Mc father.) so they neither one really know Mc 😐.

Like the age gap wonder how she knows Diana from high school. Well it’s simple Mc is super smart and skipped grades. (Mc went back and forth to South Korea and America. And A year in Italy. (We don’t talk about Italy.)

Mc has other interest and what they enjoy besides singing and dancing. One interesting thing is a scene I’ve always wanted to write never fitted with my other stories but this one oh boy do I have it ready. 😁

And like everyone who writes I have plenty of stories but to me it’s the need to not feel overwhelmed to do it. I mainly posted the others because those are the ones I’m working on if I’m not doing a prompt to try something new.

Thank you 🙏 for letting me rant a tiny bit.

[spacenutspod]

The early universe, according to the Standard Model of Cosmology, ought to be a fairly homogenous place, with little structure or arrangement. In 2021, however, astronomers discovered a large pattern of galaxies forming a giant arc 3.3 billion light years across. Now, a second large-scale pattern has emerged. This time, it’s an enormous circle of galaxies, nicknamed the Big Ring. Together, the Giant Arc and the Big Ring present a challenge to the Standard Model, and may send cosmologists back to the drawing board. “The Big Ring and Giant Arc are the same distance from us, near the constellation of Boötes the Herdsman, meaning they existed at the same cosmic time when the universe was only half of its present age. They are also in the same region of sky, at only 12 degrees apart when observing the night sky,” says Alexia Lopez, a PhD student at the University of Central Lancashire who discovered both structures alongside supervisor Roger Clowes and collaborator Gerard Williger. “Identifying two extraordinary ultra-large structures in such close configuration raises the possibility that together they form an even more extraordinary cosmological system.” The Big Ring and the Giant Arc are made up of galaxies that are so dim and so faint they wouldn’t normally be visible. However, distant quasars (bright point sources caused by active black holes at the hearts of galaxies) shine light through the dim galaxies, where matter absorbs some of the light. In particular, Lopez and her colleagues were looking for evidence of dim galaxies blocking a Magnesium ion called Mg-II. They found it in data from the Sloan Digital Sky Survey, giving them both the position and distance of the otherwise invisible galaxies. This enabled Lopez to map the galaxies in three dimensions, and doing so revealed the Giant Arc and Big Ring 9.2 billion years away. The Big Ring, spanning 1.3 billion lightyears in diameter. Credit: University of Central Lancashire. At that point in the universe’s history, according to the Standard Model, any structure that exists shouldn’t be larger than 1.2 billion light years across. Yet both the Arc and the Ring far exceed that, and they don’t seem to be coincidental: “We did some statistics and found that the Big Ring has a significance of 5.2 Sigma. This is exceeding that 5-Sigma golden threshold,” says Lopez, referring to the usual level of significance scientists require of themselves to confirm a discovery. One possible explanation for large structures like these is called Baryonic Acoustic Oscillation (BAO). In the earliest moments of the universe, sound and pressure waves, shaped by gravitational interactions, could form ‘bubbles’ of matter across large scales. BAO is allowed by the Standard Model of Cosmology. However, it tends to create spherical structures, whereas the Big Ring is two-dimensional. So a different explanation is necessary. At a press conference at the American Astronomical Society annual meeting on January 10, 2024, Lopez alluded to two possible alternative explanations. The first is that the structures might be evidence for cosmic strings: one-dimensional topological defects proposed in the 1970s as part of string theory. Cosmic strings could, theoretically, have been created in the early universe and would have left their mark on the structure of matter. The Big Ring and the Giant Arc might also be explained by an entirely different model of cosmology, such as the Conformal Cyclic Cosmology (CCC) model proposed by physicist Roger Penrose. In this model, the universe goes through endless cycles of big bang after big bang. In CCC, there is no need for the universe to collapse back together in a Big Crunch, but rather it expands indefinitely, and all matter decays, until, mathematically, the difference between the empty expanded universe and a Big Bang singularity is just a question of scale – and when there is no matter (as at the end of the universe and at the beginning), scale is irrelevant. An expanded empty universe can become the next singularity, restarting the cycle. Importantly, CCC would leave behind evidence of the previous cycle (what Penrose calls an Aeon) in the new Aeon. In other words, it could create structures the size of the Big Ring and the Giant Arc. These are captivating theories. However, so far, no alternative model of the universe, even CCC, has been able to supplant the Standard Model of Cosmology for its sheer explanatory power to describe what we observe in the universe around us. But the Standard Model does have a growing number of cracks and gaps, hinting that it might one day be improved or supplanted. The Giant Arc and the Big Ring together represent one such crack, a place where what we know about the physics of the universe fails to explain what we observe. It is, at the least, a reason to keep looking. Learn More: “A Big Cosmological Mystery,” University of Central Lancashire. Watch the Press Conference. AAS 243, Janurary 10 2024. The post Two Giant Structures Have Been Found Billions of Light-Years Away appeared first on Universe Today.

[roguestarsailor]

Idk but I am getting extra emotional about the concept of Barbie and the context surrounding Barbie since I saw the movie! For me it bring me back to my childhood and being a girl and still having this sense of wonder and possibilities. I feel like these days I’m boggled down by the idea of a future but it HAS to be “realistic” or feels like I have to “settle” or “compromise” and it wrecks me.

I see everyone around building a life with someone or adamantly trying to and I’m still not there…idk if I’ll ever be tbh and it’s like oh I have to be ok with being by myself? Be ok with friends no longer prioritizing our friendships? It’s like be ok handle my one household income situation? And then thinking about the steps it takes to find someone, learn about them, and make decisions with that person in mind ALL THE TIME, and stay and be in LOVE someone for a very long time is absolutely insane.

When I was still playing with Barbie, she was anything and life could have been anything. Now it feels like I’m questioning what I want, what matters and societal expectations. I know people say don’t give a fuck and *I* am the only one who thinks this way but when everyone is doing this I can’t help but wonder why I’m so different and this anticipation dread of when I’ll slowly lose my friends to their romantic relationships and feeling like I have to figure out how to get human connection as they trickle away.

Besides romantic relationships, it’s that I have to compromise on my dream house/apartment to something that fits in my budget (which is very low) rather than make me feel good to live in. Besides that it’s like I want a good community of people who genuinely care about each other and the environment around us, I want walkability, I hate depending on a car (I hate the suburbs!!!), I want things close by and it’s ALL affordable.

I’m so stressed by my financial situation and it’s like I feel guilty buying things I want yet it’s the only thing that brings me a sense of excitement that feels in control and like the feeling that this is going to change my life for the good (a little bit)! I stress about my health all the time because getting older means I cannot eat whatever I want nor really do what I want physically, AND I have to watch my body and be hyper conscious about it aesthetically and presenting myself in an acceptable way where people will be nice and can respect me. I spend so much time having to find clothes that compliments my body type and hide the “bad parts” and then despite working out three times a week and walking close to 10k steps a day, I still look the same and I still not happy visually (to some degree PLEASE MEN I know I shouldn’t but come on it’s a complex situation). I want to play sports and feel that adrenaline but my knees aren’t great and it’s physically hard to do those things with my body type (even with the help of very very expensive and specialized sports bras and leggings) and it’s upsetting.

Barbie could be anything and I projected a lot onto her! Like in the movies, she was a white Barbie and she’s skinny and can be athletic and she’s got Ken, she got friends everywhere, she’s got homes in a walkable community and it’s what I want! There’s cultural trauma there too and being surrounded by very privileged folks puts a huge lens on the things I missed out on because I didn’t grow up that way and how everyone seems so far in life because they either already went through what I am going through or they never had to wonder what making the “right” decision means, or the fears that guided the choices I made and never having this sense of anxiety about the future, about myself, about myself in the context of the rest of society and even this sense of shame by not having and not participating in what’s common…it’s a lot!!!

[rookthorne]

hot damn this looks so good 😈

P.S. THAT WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT

Bucky’s seen a lot of shit over his two hundred plus years of life, but aliens literally falling out of the sky… well. That’s definitely some fucked up shit, right there.

I mean, he’s not wrong! 🤣

It’s fun, actually. Jumping from one abandoned car to the next, reaching up to grab one zooming by on some sort of flying speeder (these aliens came from the fucking sky, flying speeders shouldn’t have surprised Bucky so much) by the ankle and tossing it to the ground so hard it’s head just explodes right off.

“Let the government try to tell me I’m a danger to society now, huh,” Bucky says as he stomps on the alien’s head, just for good measure. “I’m helpin’ out here.”

please, I love his wit so much, this is perfect

He’d know that scent anywhere, but it’s not possible. The scrawny guy who fucked Bucky’s brains out seventy some years ago – the one Bucky has never been able to forget. He’d looked for Steve, casing the same neighborhood they’d hooked up in for weeks, but it was like Steve had just disappeared.

👀👀👀

He’s regretted not biting and turning Steve that night for decades. The only reason for a vampire to go that blood-dumb is over a potential mate. Steve was Bucky’s, and Bucky fucked it up by letting Steve slip out after they had finished.

you are an idiot, Barnes. for fucks sake. 🤣

So, it makes no sense that all these years later, Bucky’s able to smell Steve through all the chaos and commotion.

It really makes no sense that the scent seems to be coming from a… very large, muscular man, wearing a skintight blue suit and a cowl over his head. Bucky blinks a few times, distractedly snapping an alien’s neck when one advances on him from the side, as he tries to reconcile what he’s seeing.

Blood scents don’t lie. He’s undeniably smelling Steve Rogers, but the Steve he knew was definitely not this size. The fuck is happening?

IT’S ABOUT TO GET JUICY!

He doesn’t stray far, though. He has to know why this guy smells exactly like Steve – if Steve had lived this long (which, with the heart murmur Bucky could hear, was highly unlikely without being turned), he’d be over ninety years old. Not a huge beefcake of a guy, swatting aliens left and right.

beefcake 🤣🤣🤣

When he walks up to the group surrounding Iron Man who is flat out on the ground wondering about schwarma of all goddamn things, Bucky blurts out, “Steve Rogers, thought you were dead.”

Steve – has to be Steve, there’s no other fucking way he’d smell the same – twists around and oh. There’s no mistaking those eyes, either. “...Bucky?”

YES BOYS

“Last I saw you, you definitely weren’t built like a brick shithouse.”

After rattling off his cell phone number, which Steve promised he’d remember since he doesn’t carry a phone in his suit, Bucky heads back to his apartment. His teeth ache, and he’s surprised his self-control held and his fangs didn’t drop as soon as he got close to Steve.

I can almost guarantee that it won’t hold for much longer, though. fr.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says when Bucky lets him into his apartment. He gives Bucky an obvious once over and shakes his head with a short laugh. “I feel like I got hit over the head too hard out there.”

you sure, Stevie? YOU SURE? 🤣

“Fucked?” Bucky supplies helpfully, eyebrows raised. His teeth ache, having Steve so close. Steve was gorgeous before, and definitely knew what to do with his cock, but now... well. He looks like he could actually hold Bucky down and fuck him into the mattress without Bucky having to pretend he isn’t as strong as he is.

DOWN BOY!

“They wanted to make me into a super soldier, to help them win the war,” Steve says, face darkening as he looks down at his hands that are on his knees. “Instead, they used me for propaganda until I just couldn’t take it anymore and ran into battle when an entire unit of ours got captured. I’ve actually only been awake, for lack of a better word, for a few weeks. Crashed a plane –”

If Bucky’s heart still had a beat, it would’ve stuttered to a stop. “Into the arctic,” he says weakly. “Shit, that was you? I heard about that. Captain America, they called you. I… shit, I should’ve realized, with that getup you were in today. Had no idea that was the Steve I knew, well. Knew for one night, at least.”

why does this make me emotional

Bucky sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling the sharp edges of his fangs scrape against his skin. He’s behaving, but just barely. His whole body is begging to lean over and sink his teeth into Steve’s beautiful neck. To see if he tastes just as good as he remembers. “Fuck, I bet. I’ve been around longer than you, kid, and some of the stuff these humans come up with… fuck if I know why.”

“Okay, lay it on me. I just fought aliens that came from a hole in the sky, I’m open to anything you have to say,” Steve says, splaying his arms out, which stretches his shirt across his pecs. Damn, Bucky wants to sink his teeth in the curve of those beautiful tits, too.

YOU AND ME BOTH

“So, wait,” Steve says, standing up suddenly. He looks down at Bucky, and this is the first time he’s had shock in his eyes. He starts to squat like he’s going to sit down again but straightens back up and takes two broad steps across the room. “You knew that night? That I’m what, your mate?” He runs his fingers through his hair before looking at Bucky with wide, sorrowful eyes. “Fuck, and I just up and walked out on you.”

“Steve,” Bucky says gently. “It’s okay. It was the 40’s, no one spent the night and risked the walk of shame. I figured I’d find you again, but you had to go supersize yourself.”

Steve Rogers is nothing if he doesn’t go all out, Bucky. SERIOUSLY 🤣

That makes Steve laugh, and his body relaxes as he returns to the couch, this time right next to Bucky. “First off, it’s nice to not be the oldest in the room,” he says, with a glint of teasing in his eyes.

Bucky pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and lets one of his fangs scrape the skin without cutting through. He can hear Steve’s heart rate speed up ever so slightly. “For a twink, you sure as hell knew what to do with your cock,” Bucky says, grinning in delight when Steve ducks his head, heat flushing his cheeks. “Bottoming was always easier, to hide my strength from humans. Not to mention I just enjoy it more,” he says, leaning closer to Steve, their mouths just an inch apart from each other. “Tell me, Steve. Do you still know what to do with your cock? I bet with this new body, you could really show me a good time.”

holy shit

The who, me? look Steve gives him is maybe one of the most adorable things Bucky has ever seen in his entire life.

I can picture it and I have to agree.

“Mmm, what would really be comfortable is if I had time to fuck you right now,” Steve says with a groan, tipping his head back as Bucky moves down to his neck. “But I really don’t want Tony, or god forbid, Natasha busting through your door as soon as I get my cock in your ass.”

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

rip Bucky

Turns out, Steve really knows how to fuck with this new body, and Bucky almost came like a fledgling when it was clear his own strength was not a problem for Steve.

RIP BUCKY

He’d probably move across the globe to avoid running into Steve at any point because he’s a dramatic little shit, but hopefully it doesn’t come to that. He was okay with living without Steve for so long, but now that he knows Steve’s alive? Yeah, he’d have to move to Australia.

if it doesn’t work out…

If Bucky didn’t have a reinforced bed, they’d be on the floor with the frame in shambles.

I mean, that’s the best result of getting fucked, isn’t it…? 👀

(sorry 🤣)

One of Steve’s hands slides up to Bucky’s jaw, and he pulls Bucky into a slow, lazy kiss. “I think I’d like a second date, Bucky,” Steve says, once they’re done kissing.

FUCK YEAH

A hundred years later, Steve has long since retired from the mantle of Captain America. The world-ending events have slowed, but should the need arise, he’ll always answer the call. The only difference being his mate always tags along, now. Someone has to keep an eye on your reckless ass, Stevie Bucky had said when he’d accompanied Steve – without anyone else knowing – on Steve’s first mission after they had gotten together.

OH MY GOD 🥹🥹🥹

They still get a kick out of telling other vampires their story. How they met, and how they met again and fell in love. It’s one for the ages, that’s for sure.

HELL FUCKING YEAH! 🥰

fic: drawn to your blood

Title: drawn to your blood Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Rating: E Word Count: 5043 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: AU - Vampire, Captain America Steve Rogers, Vampire Bucky Barnes, Human/Vampire relationship, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Top Steve, Bottom Bucky

Summary: It’s been almost seventy years since Bucky had a one night stand with his mate. After, Steve had just up and disappeared on him. Now, in the middle of goddamn aliens appearing from a hole in the sky, Bucky smells Steve’s blood. But… that’s not possible, is it?

Notes: Written for the @starspangledsecretsanta a gift for @reagy-jay! Thanks so much to @itsfeistyred for the beta! ♥

READ ON AO3

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || (very dark) 70s!Bucky x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: he tried to be sympathetic to your cause, he really did, but he couldn’t just let you get away with disrespecting him like that.  

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (noncon, plus breeding kink and tons of degradation, like very heavy degradation, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation), misogyny, a bit of dumbification, housewife kink, ‘sir’ kink (brief), choking, implied anal, spitting (not on the reader, unfortunately lmao), quite a bit more than period-typical sexism, awful awful awful this fic is absolutely awful

                            Brooklyn, 1970.

Bucky’s mornings were sacred.  He had his rituals: showering, cooking breakfast, reading the paper and having his first drink and cigarette of the day, all before he left for work.

But throughout this entire week, his mornings had been ruined by the stupid fucking protest in the park just outside his window.  And to think he’d actually paid more for an apartment with a view of the park— he hadn’t realized then that the “view” was gonna be a bunch of hippies creating awful music and an unbearable smell that left his whole apartment reeking of reefer if he dared to open his window.

Attempting to ignore it for a week only made him more resentful with each passing day.  Each time he figured the crowd would surely leave soon or at least be quiet for the night, they seemed to somehow get louder just to spite him.

He probably should've waited until he was a bit less agitated to go down and try to bargain with you, but he stormed down there instead and tapped you on the shoulder when his presence alone wasn't enough to distract you from your incessant chanting.

“Would you consider being quiet?" he asked firmly.  "I have to work in the morning and—”

“We won’t be quiet until women have equal treatment under the eyes of society and the law,” you interrupted to explain condescendingly, shocking him with your icy tone.  He could hardly believe your attitude, in fact he couldn’t remember any woman speaking to him that way in his life: so far, he wasn’t enjoying it.

“I just thought you could be a little more respectful,” Bucky shot back, even more stern.  “You’re not making anyone wanna support your movement by acting entitled and inconveniencing everyone.”

“I’m sorry the revolution is inconvenient for you,” you replied, but it didn’t sound much like an apology. 

He wanted to say more but you blew him off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him confused and irritated and livid.  Up until now he had been quietly skeptical about all this talk of liberation but now he saw it for the poison it really was.  A girl like you— who could've been a real looker with some willingness to try and a better attitude— talking to a man like him with so much hate and over what, a polite request?

This could not be tolerated; he couldn't let you get away with acting like that.  And lucky for you, he was exactly the guy you needed to teach you your lesson.

The good thing about hippies high on shrooms is they aren’t the most observant.  When he returned to the demonstration area the next night, he was able to grab you roughly and pull you back from the crowd with almost no trouble at all, dragging you into an empty alley and clamping his hand down over your mouth as your eyes went wide and your throat vibrated with silent screams.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed against your ear, “whatcha fightin’ for?”

He liked the way it felt to have you squirming against his grasp, using all your strength and not even getting close to escaping.  

“How does it feel to know I can do anything I want to you?” he growled against your ear.  “C’mon, sweetheart, can’t you put up a better fight than that?  I thought you believed in equality… you should be able to get away if you’re as strong as I am.”

He felt your warm tears trailing down around his fingers which held your face tightly, the struggle of your limbs slowing and weakening slightly.  His cock was already getting hard as he imagined the moment you would finally give in.

“You remember me, don’t you?  You didn’t need to be so rude, darlin’.  You could’ve just been nice and none of this would be happening.”

Your elbow shot back into his ribs and he exhaled sharply but didn't let go, grabbing your wrists and holding your arms to your chest as he pinned you to the wall.

"Oh, that's not gonna work, babydoll.  I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, all you're gonna do is make me angrier.  Is that what you want, sweetheart?  To make me angry?" he asked mockingly, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear as you tried to turn away.  “Pretty girl like you would make a great wife, why would you want anything else?”

Ignoring your struggle, he reached into your shirt and purred as he groped your chest, your nipples hardening when he pinched them.  “Maybe I can get behind this bra-burning thing if it means having easier access to your tits all the time,” he grinned.  “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I can see them through your shirt?  Shouldn’t be showing ‘em off if you don’t want any attention.”

As fun as it was to play with your tits, he had bigger plans, so he reached lower to start tugging down your jeans, your legs uselessly kicking as he exposed your ass and thighs.

His cock was already rock hard as he hastily opened his fly and pulled it out with one hand, leaning back to spit on it quickly.  He spread the fluid with a few strokes over his length, figuring it would be enough to get inside you even if he didn’t really care if he hurt you.  

Your eyes went wide and your head bucked wildly as he poked the head of it against your opening, your body fighting a little harder once again.  The irony of that, though, was that you were already plenty wet in spite of what he had expected; it was so much funnier to watch you struggle now that he knew you were not-so-secretly enjoying it.

“Don’t be so dramatic," he chuckled darkly, "I bet you can take a cock real easy since you believe in all this ‘free love’ bullshit.”

He groaned as he pushed into you, impressed by how tight you were— so tight that it made his cock throb right away, your walls pulsing and rippling around him as he filled you to the brim.

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he hissed, smiling as you sobbed harder and struggled a bit more before finally relaxing into his tight embrace.  "You're gonna take it all, baby, every fuckin' inch of me."

A hard sob choked out of you every time he slammed himself to the end of you; he could feel the hatred radiating from you, the way you would kill him in a moment if only you weren't so weak.  But he could feel your reluctant acceptance, too, and the way it was slowly turning into euphoria— you were finally starting to like how it felt to be helpless to him, it was obvious with the way your pussy gave him such a warm and willing welcome while your pretty tits got even harder.

You clearly wanted to hate him, but your body knew better.

"You think I'm a sexist pig, I'm sure," he chuckled, "but I'm really not— I love women!  And you know what I love most?  Huh?"

He felt you nervously shake your head behind his hand and he laughed.

"I love the way you get so dumb when you get a cock in you.  All those useless little thoughts leaving your head when you're finally getting fucked right."

Your cries got louder even though they were still muffled by his hand, your sweet little pussy giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

"It's okay to like it, babydoll, it's what you were meant for.  Made to be my brainless fucktoy… born to serve me," he growled.  “You really should learn to appreciate," he grunted between brutal thrusts, "that your only purpose is to keep my dinner hot and my cock warm.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he felt your walls bear down on him tightly, wetness seeping down around him.

"Oh fuck, are you coming?  Shit," he moaned.  "Looks like you really needed to be put in your place, just needed to be used... god, you made a fuckin' mess, too, you soaked my cock…"

Your little hands tightened into fists, pushing against where his arm held them back, but he stayed steady as he pumped into you, letting himself get a bit lost in the feeling of you while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

It felt so damn good to have a cunt coming around him, but it was even better knowing that you were fighting it and still couldn’t stop it, completely helpless to how good he was making you feel.

You almost screamed under his hand when he reached down to quickly rub your clit, your back arching to try to run away from his touch; poor thing, you were so sensitive it probably hurt you, but he was having too much fun watching you realize you were going to come again.

"Yeah, gimme another one, slut," he grinned, your legs quivering as waves of slick coated him and started to even drip down your legs.  "Can't stop coming like the dirty whore you are, huh?  Bet nobody's made you come like this before— cause nobody's given it to you right.  Nobody's shown ya what it's supposed to be like when a man takes you and makes you his."

From the way you moaned softly, teary eyes fluttering shut, he knew you liked the sound of that.

"Yeah, wanna be mine, baby?  Wanna be my little slut?  Or do you want me to pump this pussy full and leave you here on the ground for any other man that comes by to use you if he needs?"

You groaned softly, a weak little noise, and he felt his cock flex; as much as he wanted this to last as long as possible, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“M’close, honey,” he breathed.  “I’m gonna come.”

He laughed breathlessly when you shut your eyes, like you were trying to go somewhere else in your mind, trying to pretend this wasn’t real.  But it was real, and he wasn’t going to let you forget that.  He was elated to make your nightmares come true.

"I sure wouldn't mind pulling out and covering that pretty face you've got,” he hissed.  “It'd be funny to see you go back to your little march and show them how owned you are.  But not today, babydoll, I think there's only one way you're gonna learn your lesson."

Another muffled gurgle from you, and this time it didn’t even sound like protest.  Maybe you were just too tired for that at this point, but it gave him hope that you could finally behave.

"I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth and you're gonna beg me to come inside you, is that clear?" he grunted, feeling you nod vigorously.  "You're not gonna scream are you?"

You shook your head, and he slowly pulled his hand from your mouth as you gasped for air.  "Please— come in me," you panted.

"Address me as 'sir'," he instructed.

"Please, sir, I— I want you to come," you whined.

He chuckled right against your ear, feeling you shiver in his grasp.  "Honey, I don't give a fuck what you want."

To think you ever resisted your natural desire for submission was absurd now, considering the way that statement made you openly moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll never get it outta you, sweetheart.”

One more orgasm washed over you, making him laugh darkly while he watched you bite your lip to attempt to stay quiet; but that was impossible once he fucked you harder just to spite you, having to hold you tight to make sure he got as deep in you as possible.  Your whole body shook as he slammed into you, and he laughed at how dumb and helpless you looked.

"Bet you're on those new birth control pills," he grimaced.  They really weren’t that new, but he still hadn’t gotten used to them.  "Makes me sick to think you're letting a perfectly good womb go to waste.  Betcha want me to breed you nice and deep, yeah?  Wanna get knocked up?  You don't even care that I'm a stranger, you wanna get your pussy filled by any random man's come so you can have any random man's baby, ain't that right?"

At first he had worried that you would scream or cry for help, but now his concern was more that your moans would be too loud and somebody would catch the two of you in this alley.  Even if it was obvious now that you wanted it, public indecency was still a crime.

Good thing he had a new way to shut you up: his hand tight around your throat, silencing your sobs to blessed silence.  It was so hot to have you entirely at his mercy like that, to feel your pulse beneath his fingers, that he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up his thrusts suddenly.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped, “fuck, y-you… little whore…”

He had a habit of running his mouth when he was right on the edge, and the way your pussy was milking him for all he was worth made him spit out whatever filth he could think of.  

“Stupid fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he fucked you as fast and rough as he could, chasing his high with no regard for your pleasure or your pain.  "Dumb whore, fuck, you stupid— ah, shit— stupid fucking cunt!"

He cried out as he filled you, groaning loudly with every pump of his seed into your waiting body.  Only when he was sure every drop was inside you did he release his grip on your neck, a loud gasp coming first before a few coughs and chokes that only made his cock harder despite having just filled you.

You started to struggle again, and he couldn’t believe it— after everything, did you still not know your place?

There wasn’t much time to relax and enjoy the afterglow when you were already trying to get away, and so he had to hold you tight again while he smiled exhaustedly.

“N-no,” you stammered, and he covered your mouth again as he pulled your head back to rest on his shoulder.  Clearly he hadn’t done enough yet to fuck that word out of you.

“Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he panted against your ear, still catching his breath, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat where it was exposed by his shirt.  “You’ve still got another hole to fill.”

[hewantshisbrideback]

Jonrya AU: Other Engagements

Summary: The remaining Starks gather some time after the Long Night is won to discuss possible plans for marriages and alliances. With Jon crowned King of the Wall, ruling under Daenerys, High Queen of Westeros, discussion of who will reign by his side as queen over the north is paramount. But Jon is not the only wolf for whom a match must be made.

“Proposals," Rickon groaned and tossed back his head, auburn curls glinting. "My spear is still crusted with blood, and we're already talking of politics?"

"And how long a grace period were you expecting?" Arya snorted, shaking her head. Her dismissive words were born partially of relief. 

She had been speaking with the washer women when Jon found her and pulled her away. He had lead her to a small, stony room, recently rebuilt, containing only two windows, a small side table of wood, and her siblings gathered around in a semi-circle as if for a ritual. 

Her hackles had risen in an instant, but Bran had quickly laid her greatest fears to rest. There was no new tragedy to break their hearts, no new disaster to ravage their land; only the tedious intricacies of a civil society.

“A longer one,” the boy groused. Arya imagined that in his mind, there was likely no tragedy more agonizing than such tedious complexities.

“Oh? Are you inconvenienced?” She tilted her head at him. "Shall we postpone rebuilding the kingdom until the armory's polished nice and new?"

"Can we?" He asked. For a moment it was difficult for her to tell whether he was serious. Maybe the boy didn’t know himself. She cuffed him lightly over the head with a scoff just to be safe, and the grin that broke on his lips was wild.

Still, she had to admit he wasn’t exaggerating. Hardly a moon had past since the last dregs of the Others had been sighted, had been felled, and already there were talks of contracts, engagements, and promises between names she recognized only from war letters and fireside whispers.

During the blight, there had been hurried ceremonies in Great Halls, like that between Princess Val of the Free Folk and the gentle Willas Tyrell. However, there was no need for hushed vows in torch-lit gatherings anymore. What was left of the nobility, and whatever names had been gilded by the Long Winter, would want feasts, balls, parades through the streets.

Arya thought she almost preferred a quiet cloaking in the night. Perhaps that was only natural. After all, she had been present for the wedding of Val and Willas, and no better a pair had been made than they.

She recalled what a sight they’d been: the free woman’s flushed cheeks painted orange with firelight, the lord of the Reach’s nervous brown eyes pinned to his bride’s easy smile, rapt and adoring. They had danced for only a short song, but they had whispered all throughout, and had been whispering to each other ever since whenever she saw them.

The warrior princess and her lord of roses. She could count at least three songs that had been written of them since, the battles the lady fought and the bed of flowers her lord laid down for her, but none of them noted how they made each other laugh, how they sat at each other’s side like old friends.

"Bran is right,” Arya blinked from her thoughts in time to see Sansa grimace and continue, “We may have put aside our differences to face a greater threat, but that won't make for a lasting peace now that the threat is extinguished.”

"Fine," Rickon groused, then pursed his lips, surveying the room sullenly. "So, we're looking to pick up a queen already?"

Arya flinched, eyes snapping to Jon. Perhaps Rickon had been right to moan and whine. She knew her cousin would be married off eventually, now that he'd had a crown foisted onto him, but the idea of helping select his bride settled like shards of ice beneath her ribs. She cursed herself. How selfish she was. Finding a queen for the North was in the best interest of all who inhabited it, and here she was, unable to look at this as of yet faceless woman as anything but another competitor for Jon’s attention.

"A queen for the North?" Sansa contemplated, sounding as equally troubled as Arya felt. Her hopes that Sansa might object in her stead were dashed in an instant. "I suppose it bears discussing--”

"We can't," Arya blurted, panic coursing through her like lightning. Her siblings turned to stare at her. She flushed under their baffled eyes. Swallowing her shame and clearing her throat, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "Well, we can't. We can't start making decisions yet. Not on our own. The dragons. They have a stake in this, too."

Jon lingered on her for a moment. She held her breath, brow cocked defiantly, but he made a noise of agreement that showed she need not have worried. "That's true. I'm heir, second to Aegon. Daenerys lets me keep my name, but she will want a say in who shares our blood all the same."

"You're right. It may be one day that the children of your union and hers are married themselves," Bran conceded. “It won't do to decide without her.”

Her sister nodded, expression poised and thoughtful. "That’s true. I suppose there should be some talk between us and her, even Aegon perhaps, before we think about who would be a suitable choice.”

The ice in Arya's chest melted, soft like relief, but colder and heavier, and she made an effort to ignore the stab of resentment at her sister’s next words.

“Jon, you can send her a message, invite her to share her thoughts. Of course, you could always visit her in person as well, if she prefers it.”

Jon's jaw ticked as he nodded, eyes flickering towards Arya, only to snap away as if it burned when she returned his gaze. For a moment, she was petrified. Had he noticed? Had he noticed how upset this talk of queens had made her?

"Alright," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll draft a letter after supper."

His words were disappointing, and his tone was resigned, but it was also familiar. She felt her heart calm. It was no use to fret, over any of it. They were close, and given all that happened, it only made sense for her to be worried. She shouldn’t be afraid for him to see it. 

And at least the decision itself had been delayed some, Arya thought, staring at the ceiling, even if only until Daenerys had enough time to consider the best use of her nephew.

"Great!" Rickon looked around at each of them. "That's that, then, isn't it?” Sansa tutted at him for his impatience, and Bran shook his head, and Rickon threw up his hands. “If we can’t do anything without the queen’s say-so, why stand here brooding over it now? Just wait until she tells you what to do."

“She’s not just going to tell us what to do.” Arya tried not to quibble over semantics with Rickon, as he was still learning the world of kings and courts, but she couldn’t stop herself this time. “Daenerys isn’t a tyrant. No doubt she has prospects in mind, but the choice is ultimately Jon’s.”

“Which is why it’s worth going over the options now,” Sansa added on, “to prepare ourselves for when we do make that decision.”

“And we will,” Bran intercut, "but we can afford to set it aside today. There are still some other arrangements we need to consider.”

“What arrangements?” Jon rumbled, but the stiff set to his jaw and the scowl inching onto his lips made it clear he had some idea and, evidently, disapproved already.

If Bran sensed his ire, he ignored it. “Arrangements for the rest of the Starks."

Arya blinked. She had seen the eyes of visiting nobles and their kin lingering on her brothers and her sister. Even she had received some curious glances. But somehow she’d still managed to overlook the obvious, managed to fool herself into thinking that they had more time.

“Are we really to be parted from each other so soon?” she murmured.

Bran gave her an appreciative glance tinged with grief, and in that glance she felt all those lonely years already spent apart, a splintered pack. After spending this many fighting so hard to reunite, she felt sick imagining any of her family leaving Winterfell. No wonder Jon was on edge.

“I don’t like it,” Rickon grumbled in tandem with her thoughts, and from the looks on everyone else’s faces, they weren't the only ones. 

Sansa had folded in on herself, a brooding edge to her perfect mouth, but with Rickon’s complaint, she moved beside him, tucking his stray red curls behind his ear, a gesture that smacked of their late mother to a degree which hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she muttered after a moment, hand retracting and interlacing with the other, but she could not bring herself to follow through and continue the thought. No one could.

The room was still and heavy with preemptive sorrow, until Arya could bear it no longer. What would they do, sit in silence in this room until the fire dwindled and the sun set? There were meals to be had and men to appease, even just this evening, and waiting wouldn't stall the inevitable. Bran knew that. They all knew that. Sucking in a solemn, silent breath, she asked, “So then which of us is to be married first? And to who?”

Sansa opened her mouth, face wilted with regret, but Bran shook his head dismissing her, and the rest of them mirrored him. There was no need for a defense to be made.

“I’m well aware of the union between you and Sandor Clegane,” Bran assured her. “I would never ask you to break your vows. Aside from this, your first two marriages would have diminished your prospects regardless, one of which still needs to be annulled. Sansa is not an option. I mean you no offense, sister."

Sansa did not look offended. If anything, her expression spoke to some small, secret amusement. Arya was just glad that she wasn't weeping.

“No,” Bran continued, “by now, the attention of our allies has wandered to our other sister, Princess Arya.”

Arya was still beneath her brother’s cool, blue stare. She used to squirm whenever someone referred to her title aloud. By now, she’d nearly grown used to it. After all, she’d answered to far too many ill-fitting names to abandon Arya Stark for her accompanying titles, so she wasn’t left with much choice. 

Now, something in her felt hollow, as though if the wind began to blow, it would whistle through her insides, and she’d be able to hum without using her mouth.

“They intend to offer their sons to Arya." Jon's words were slow and pointed and metered all the way through. “Have they no daughters for you or Rickon?”

“I did not say that they are not looking out for their daughters as well,” Bran reasoned, just as slowly and emphatic as his cousin had. “But of the three of us, Arya is the most attractive option. She cannot give them a royal title, but it’s no secret what she means to you, and the North at large, or that she’s earned the favor of Daenerys. Every wifeless heir on the continent will be interested.”

She must’ve imagined the way his fists clenched. Jon was smart. Men underestimated him, always, but he was smarter than all of them. He should've expected this, even if, somehow, she hadn’t. Of course suitors would seek a princess’s hand. It would not matter to them whether that hand was supple or calloused. Jon knew that. If he didn’t, he should’ve.

If the world had taught her anything, it had taught her that nothing staves the ambition of powerful men. Not even death. Not even ugliness.

“Good.” The word startled her, even more than her sister’s soft hand suddenly pressing to her cheek. But she smiled, albeit with closed lips, as Sansa's furrowed gaze swept over her features like she'd never seen them, like she was trying to absorb all she could for safe keeping. “You’ll have your pick of the lot.”

“Septa Mordane would be quaking to hear such talk of Arya Horseface,” Arya snorted in response, provoking a wry smile from Bran, an expression she sheepishly mirrored.

“Be serious, Arya,” Sansa huffed with a noble frown, hand falling from her face to clutch her wrist in earnest. Arya adjusted her clasp so that they held hands instead, and Sansa's thumb swept the back of her hand in search of comfort. “That silly, old nickname couldn’t be more ill-fitting. You’re quite pretty now.”

Jon made an ill-tempered rumbling noise, and Arya wanted to press him, but refrained in front of the others. He’d been reserved since he was a child, but ever since the Long Night began, he’d been downright secretive. She wouldn’t pry, at least not until she’d gotten him alone.

“It’s true," Rickon cut in, offering a rakish grin. “You should hear the free folk talk of you, sister. They say such things I’ve had to threaten to gut near half of them. They might’ve tried to steal you already, if they weren’t so frightened of Jon. And me, too, of course!”

The others stiffened, but Arya saw his assurance for what it was and spared a moment to thank the old gods for her littlest brother. Though her gratitude didn’t prevent her from rolling her eyes.

“The freefolk have a might different set of standards than the noble lords of Westeros. I can only hope that my reputation is not too far spread. It’s too much harder to see a she-wolf wed than a proper lady,” she drawled, letting go of Sansa as she paused and turned to him with a shrug. “Though I suppose in another world, a marriage with some wily freefolk warrior might've suited, and done well to unite the North.”

Rickon puffed up with pride, though on behalf of whom she had no idea.

“You can’t be serious,” Sansa huffed, then turned an admonishing glare on her brothers. “I know that you have all grown quite fond of the wildlings, having spent so much time with them, but however helpful they’ve been, there is hardly a suitable match for a lady amongst them.”

“A princess, now,” Bran reminded her, and Sansa nodded firmly.

“Suitable how?”  A sneer curved on Rickon's mouth. “I’m not the one who wants to marry her off, but a free man can be good as any lord of Westeros. It wasn’t a wildling who tortured the poor girl in Arya’s stead, was it? And your good Joffrey was a prince. It seems that didn’t stop him from being vile.”

“Rickon!” Arya snapped in warning.

The youngest Stark stared her sister down, burning as remorselessly as the sun, but Sansa’s face was stone and her eyes blue flint.

“That is not what I meant,” she amended calmly. “Of course, the wildlings are no more capable of cruelty than the rest of us. That being said,” her words sharpened to points, like they were her talons, "the lords of Westeros will not stand to see one Stark sister married to a former knight and the other to a wildling. Not when order has just been settled and peace is still in question. If we marry Arya to a wildling, we spit in the faces of our Northern lords and our Southron neighbors both.”

“Aside from that, we don’t need another tie to the free folk,” Bran noted mildly. “With Tormund in our council, Val in the reach, and Jon their chosen king, their loyalty is as guaranteed as we could hope.”

Arya shrugged. “Well, as far as I've heard, if I were to be stolen, I'd hardly be in a position to refuse."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think Jon would be all too pleased to wake up and find you stolen by one of his subjects." Bran was watching Jon as if it were his sole, solemn duty. "I imagine they'd only get so far before he stole you back."

Jon flinched violently and it was a shock, how pale and harrowed he looked. 

"It’s not like anyone could ever steal me away in the first place," Arya reminded him quietly, and when he looked at her, his mouth was pressed into a bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Unfortunately,” Rickon mumbled, and when Sansa and Jon simultaneously turned to glare, he merely scuffed his foot against the ground defiantly. "I mean it. At least then she could've stayed in Winterfell.”

Ridiculous boy. Arya nearly pulled him into a hug, but Bran interrupted her before she could move and his next words kept her still.

"It's not entirely out of the question,” he professed. “It’s possible she’ll find a suitor who will be able to reside in the North."

Arya felt her heart stutter. “You mean, like someone who’s not an heir?”

“No,” Sansa asserted. “If you snub the heir of one house for another’s second son, their entire territory will take it as an offense.”

“No, I was not specifically thinking along those lines,” Bran amended. “There are those with other circumstances under which you may be able to remain.” His eyes slid curiously to one of the windows as he tilted his head. "Ned Dayne, for example. We’ve received word that he intends to act in service to the Queen’s Greater Westerosi Council. You get along well, don't you?"

Jon stepped forward before she could reply, straightened to his full height. His stare was locked on her, stark and unyielding against the pallor of his cheeks, like stones atop snow dunes. "How do you know the Sword of the Morning?"

Arya felt apprehension tighten like a cord around her throat.

This had been the way since they’d reunited.

When Jon introduced her to his allies, she’d beamed like the sun. They had delighted her, despite her jealousy, for all the years she’d spent apart from him, that he’d been with them instead. The jealousy didn’t matter as much as the relief that he’d found friends. She took them as her own. She had been excited for him to do the same with hers. She had been so sure he would, it hadn’t even felt like hope. She’d just known.

But when she brought Jon to Gendry, explained who he’d been to her, he met the smith with suspicious words and a dark glare. When she told him of Hot Pie, or Lommy, or Weasel, or any of the number of sailors and whores from Braavos, he answered only with sarcasm and silence. And the Hound...

Now she’d be the first to point out that Sandor Clegane had not been her friend, or her ally, when they first travelled together. But she would also admit, begrudgingly, that he’d become something close by the time he accompanied her to the Wall with the Brotherhood. Jon had known that. Still, when Sansa brought the Hound into their home as her husband, Arya had heard the King of the Wall bellowing his objections from the other side of Winterfell.

"We travelled together, for a time," she replied carefully. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth. "Not very long.”

“When?” he prompted impatiently.

“When I was with the Brotherhood,” she confessed, “back when it was still lead by Beric Dondarrion.”

“You didn’t say anything.” In other circumstances, these words might’ve been a mere observation, or even an expression of concern, but here and now, they were an accusation.

He had mentioned the Sword of the Morning to her before in passing, but by that time, around the time poor Morgan Umber started running away whenever she waved in his direction, she had heard just about everything he had to say about her friends. So she had decided not to mention it. That would be easier.

Except now it looked like she’d been keeping secrets. She cursed the gods and all they stood for. “He wasn't the Sword of the Morning then — just a boy."

"Oh, just a boy," Rickon snorted. "Just another boy, you mean?"

Jon glowered but said nothing.

"That's right," Sansa tittered, with a sudden little smile. "You’ve collected so many. The blacksmith, the baker. Even that boy from House Umber. And now, the heir of Starfall."

"Gendry wouldn’t be a bad match either," Rickon piped up, a grin forming. Like Jon, he had been wary of the smith when Arya first introduced them, but unlike Jon, that had since changed. There was a higher degree of respect between the Free Folk and the Brotherhood than between either of them and any of the other factions. They worked together more easily, and more often, and Rickon was always with Osha and the free folk. Between this growing familiarity and Gendry's formidable reputations both as the Bull of the Brotherhood and the Arm of Stoneheart, a friendship had formed.

Her sister, on the other hand, had been entirely lukewarm when it came to the blacksmith. It was clear she saw him as beneath Arya’s station, but he was useful and she’d kept any complaints to herself, likely as recompense for Arya’s support for her and Sandor. This worked in Gendry’s favor as Sansa hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, only saying, "Who knew your habit of collecting strays would come so in handy?"

Arya's cheeks warmed. "They're not strays."

Rickon shrugged. "Not anymore, I suppose.”

"They're allies!” She insisted. “They're vital allies."

This time, Bran shrugged. "They can be both," he suggested innocently.

Arya growled and whacked his shoulder gently, turning to Jon for even a drop of support, but the only thing she found was frustration marring his brow. They were stalling again, wasting time. Arya sobered. She felt a bit like a child, finding Jon so troubled and having been so oblivious.

"Jon?” she ventured. “What are you thinking?"

He was quiet for a moment and she thought he might scold them, but instead he responded, "It's as Sansa said before. A knight is hardly a suitable match for a princess, let alone a smith."

Arya prickled at his words. True as they may be, in the political sense, the insinuation that her friends were somehow beneath her would never sit well with her. She knew that Jon was just being practical, that he had too much sense to hold a man's status against his character. 

But then, he seemed to make many exceptions to sense when it came to those she cared about. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry Gendry, but she knew she’d prefer him to most, and she wasn’t about to let Jon discount him without objection.

"Gendry isn't just a smith.” She reminded him stiffly, fighting to remain civil as he huffed and turned away. "He leads the Brotherhood without Banners. He has earned the respect of Westeros.”

"And the smallfolk adore him. He's not just some war hero to them," Rickon added eagerly, looking to her, and she nodded him on. “He means something more. The whole Brotherhood does. They love them.”

"And he may not be a lord, by his own choice," Arya concluded, "but he is a Baratheon. That could mollify at least some of the lords."

"And would it mollify Daenerys? Or Aegon?" Jon snapped. "When it was a Baratheon who killed their family and sent them into exile in the first place? I may be their kin but I can only do so much to protect you."

"I thought that Daenerys granted immunity and legitimacy to Robert's children in exchange for recognizing Targaryen rule?" Sansa asked, hands moving to her hips. "Even Edric Baratheon has bent the knee."

"So how do you think she feels about Gendry, then, the only bastard to refuse her offer of a title and land? And the leader of a band of fools," Jon spat the word like it tasted foul on his tongue, "who reject the authority of anyone who wears a crown?"

Why Jon was suddenly spouting hostility at the Brotherhood he'd vocally appreciated during the war, Arya wasn't sure, but as much as she took issue with his slander, it wasn’t the time to bring it up. "If Daenerys does see the Brotherhood as a threat, then a marriage between us could be a means of establishing peace before a conflict breaks out...”

The look Jon gave her was that of a wounded animal with its prey cornered. She forgot what she had been about to say.

"If you think," he hissed, "that I'm going to risk your life on the premise that it might prevent disputes between that menace and the Crown, then I am going to have to disappoint you."

"And what of Edric Dayne?"

Arya could only watch as Jon turned away to face her sister, whose chin jutted out defiantly at the king. That imperious timbre sent shivers down Arya’s spine. She hadn’t heard her sister take such a lofty tone with Jon in ten years.

Jon, on the other hand, just sounded irritated. "What of him?"

"As a candidate for Arya's husband,” Sansa deadpanned, as unamused with him as he was with her. “Is something wrong with him?"

"Is this not the boy that used to traipse around with the same Brotherhood?" Jon enunciated his words as if he was speaking to someone extraordinarily slow and particularly annoying, and if his goal was to offend, then by the way Sansa bristled, he had succeeded.

"His involvement with the Brotherhood was minimal, contingent on his position as Ser Dondarrion's squire, and has already ended," she pointed out hotly. "It would have to, either way, seeing as he's not just a lord, but the heir to Starfall." 

"And you think as the heir to Starfall, he and his bride will not be obligated to return to Starfall?" Jon replied just as impatiently. "He could afford to pick up the mantle of Sword of the Morning and run around the continent as a knight during the war, but do you truly think he will forfeit his responsibilities at the behest of a girl he knew when he was a squire?"

"But what if he forfeits his claim? If he intends to work for the council, he will."

"Then there is no guarantee he settles here."

“Oh,” Sansa made a cruel, ladylike sound, something like a laugh but not. "Is that all?"

The whites of Jon’s eyes had never been so visible. "Is that all?"

"Is that all, that she may have to leave? Is that your only qualm?"

"He offers her nothing!"

"He's a lord. He's an heir." Sansa lifted a finger with each point she made. "He's a war hero. He's a celebrated ally to the Martells, and to the Targaryens!"

Jon scoffed, loud, and so unlike him at all that Arya's jaw fell a little. "If a king with Targaryen blood is not enough to guarantee peace with the Targaryens, then a marriage to Edric Dayne will do no better! He offers her nothing!"

"He offers her security and kindness!" Sansa roared, calm breaking like the sea against cliffs. "He and Arya are not just familiar with each other — they're friends. Do you understand how rare and precious it is? As far as safety and happiness can go, there's no better assurance than that."

"What of our assurance?" Rickon snapped, stepping into line with his cousin, opposing Sansa. "We can offer her better than that."

"Exactly, Rickon!" Jon crowed, towering above them all even as he leaned in to emphasize his point. "Her family, in Winterfell, is better than that."

Her sister sputtered at his malice, turning to Arya, but she could only stare back, face still slack with surprise. Helpless, Sansa seethed, shaking her head at them all. "And so, what? She will never marry anyone?"

"I don't see why she has to," Rickon grumbled, but Arya barely heard him as Jon crossed over to her, took her by the shoulder, and tucked her into his side. "At least right away.”

"She doesn't," Jon agreed, gaze soft and raw, as if he’d been stripped bare and bleeding before her and didn't mind at all. What was she supposed to do? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Time? But then he said, “She won’t.”

Sansa shrunk back as if slapped and Arya stilled under his arm. This was a voice she'd only heard him wield on the battlefield, or in court, deep as a wolf and imperious as a dragon. He had never been the king with them, not with his family, no matter how they'd fought or what over. But now, he’d raised his head to look at Sansa with narrowed eyes, and did not seem to see a cousin at all.

He continued steadily, "We have every right to keep her."

Sansa’s teeth were small and peeked out from her mouth like she wanted to run but when she met Arya's gaze, her mouth shut. She straightened her posture, her chin dipped low and humble this time. "You are a Targaryen king, but you're not her head of house. You may have a say, but the final word is Bran's."

Jon’s grip tightened and Arya winced as he positioned himself between the two sisters, almost as if to make sure Sansa wouldn’t reach out and grab her.

"Oh, did you forget?" she asked, so elegantly applying salt in the wound.

"It seems Bran has," Arya interjected. "Surely he has something to add?"

She looked to her brother, silently imploring, but he merely made a contented hum. Part of her wanted to tear her hair out, another wanted a go at his. She did not see what was so amusing about their siblings spitting and hissing at one another over her marriage prospects. Jon and Sansa were volatile enough as it is, some days managing genuine cordiality and others only just barely maintaining a facade of civility. This couldn’t help.

"Bran will do what's best for Arya," Jon spoke on his behalf, drawing her even closer, so her chest was pressed to his ribs. His heat warmed her like a furnace. "I trust him with that much. He loves his sister."

"And I don't," Sansa inhaled, eyes wide and stepping back. "That's what you mean, isn't it? Be honest with us, Jon. Arya and I have made our peace and moved past our childhood quarrels, but clearly, you haven't. You still hold them against me, don't you?"

"It's nothing like that," Arya assured her with a furrowed brow, gesturing for her cousin to corroborate. Jon didn't say a word.

Sansa looked down at her and soon deflated. "What would you know? He's an entirely different person to you.” She turned back to Jon, her voice low and scathing. “You’re making me look like a villain for suggesting she marry at all, but I’m just trying to find her someone who will be good for her before it’s too late. I will not allow her to suffer like I did.”

"No, you would just exile her from her home, to live with strangers.” There was no room for argument. There never had been. “Arya has been away from home long enough without you sending her away once more."

"Away from home, or away from you?”

She might’ve said more, she must’ve said more, and Jon must’ve said more too, but Arya couldn’t stand to hear another a word of it. What was the point of this bickering and bullshit? All the while Bran just sat there with that inscrutable certainty as his eyes trailed after Jon, and what did any of it matter?

“Enough!” she howled, pushing at his chest and ripping out of Jon’s reach.

His arm hung in the air for a moment, expression hurt, but she didn't have the time to be sorry.

"Were either of you going to ask me what I thought? Or are you two happy assuming you know what's best for me, as well as the North, and the rest of the kingdoms?" she snapped. Sansa, Jon, and even Rickon all began speaking at once, but she'd had enough of listening for an entire week. “Shut up! I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all of you.” She sneered. “What a waste of time.”

Sansa objected, and Jon tried to defend himself, but it had been, nothing but a waste of time and a strain on their throats. If this was the way things would go, she was better off being stolen by the free folk. She was half tempted to leave her window open in invitation. They might not even have to bind and carry her.

"We are not going to make these decisions in a single evening," Bran's voice raised now, cutting through the clamor like a sword through cloth. "I knew that when I brought it up. Although, I had thought we'd at least get the chance to discuss some of the prospects for Rickon and me. But that can wait for now. We have other engagements to attend to.”

"Right," she croaked. Meals and men. Meals and men. She was supposed to meet with Ser Davos and Lord Manderley. Through the window, the sky was orange. She swallowed, but her throat kept dry. "I'm already late. I have to go.”

She moved to leave, and Jon moved to follow, but Bran called out and asked him to wait as the door swung shut behind her, and that was the last she allowed herself to hear before breaking into a sprint.

X

@mysticalmuddle This isn’t the fic I was talking about before, but I thought you might like to be tagged anyway, seeing as you’re basically the sole reason I ever post my fics! Thank you for all your encouragement, you are amazing.

[sasa-gay-yo]

Levi Reacting to You Being Pregnant

Request: Here 

Summary: You find out you’re pregnant right after you’ve taken back Shiganshina, but you and Levi both know that you couldn’t raise a kid in this world no matter how much you want to. No, you shouldn’t... but the happiness was so tempting.

Timeline: After taking back Shiganshina arc

Art Credits: ? help pls

Levi was blunt with you. He always was. There was no grey area with him, no reason for you to ever doubt your relationship or his trust; Levi was straightforward and to the point. Sometimes it hurt, him not knowing why you would react in such a manner other than his way, but you were with him for so long that you’d gotten used to each other. If he was upset, he needed space and a cup of tea before he could talk in that calm, unwavering tone of his. If you were upset, you just want to be apologized to and hugged at least once before you went on with your day. The problem was, however, that this problem happened because of both of you. There was no one single person who blame could be directed to and you both were upset, probably more with yourselves than the other. You were now stuck in a grey area, and Levi hated grey areas.

“I’m… I don’t think I’m far along. If you want, I can go to Hange and terminate th-“

“No.” You hung your head again, sitting across from him. He had his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk, and a massive headache coming on from thinking about this whole situation too much. He was scary like this because nothing you could say would help. You wanted to go get him a tea and leave him alone, but you also wanted to be held. It was happening to your body, not his.

It happened on the night after everyone returned from Shiganshina almost a month ago. The ten of you that were left. Hands of desperation and longing, ripping off clothes, were trying to get as close as possible to the one thought to be lost forever. The emotions were still on you both, having lost a close comrade and a best friend, you were trying to find solace in each other. Again, you were both upset, both crushed by the loss of that many scouts and of Erwin. However, then, you didn’t need tea or a hug, you needed to be completely wrapped around each other. You needed to know that you were both still alive, no matter if it was only physical. You needed to hear Levi’s heart still beating in sync with yours. In that wave of emotion and passion, the will to be as close as possible, you both had forgotten common biology. After that day, you were swept up with paperwork as now there were only three officers remaining in the Survey Corps that you both may have completely forgotten the climax to that last night.

“You’re pregnant.” Hange almost dropped her clipboard when the attending doctor told you that. She had brought you for a routine checkup, thinking you had gotten sick from lying with open wounds in a puddle of stagnant water and needed serious medical attention for sepsis. Little did you know that the nausea and vomiting had been brought about by the evidence of you and Levi’s passion.

Hange tried to console you, holding you as you cried into her chest, but she too felt the weight of what was to come. You couldn’t afford a child now. Maria was closed and there were countless of expeditions to be planned to finally eliminate the titans. You couldn’t be left out of those, now being a second to Levi’s skill and to Hange’s orders. You asked Hange what it would take to get rid of it, not even wanting to tell Levi because you knew what he would say. You two had talked about it one night in bed, early on in your physical relationship. You two didn’t want kids. Not now, maybe not ever. If there were titans on this earth, you wouldn’t be comfortable having a child on along with them. Hange was the one who convinced you that Levi would be hurt if you didn’t tell him something this serious was happening to you and him both.

That’s why you had told him here in a place so unintimate as the makeshift office in the capital, mere hours before you were to be congratulated by Historia, MPs, and Garrison. When you told him, he was blunt, like he always was and even if you were crying to Hange about not wanted the child, it still hurt the way he said it. It made it feel like it was your fault you were carrying it inside of you. Deep down, he was also in pain, but you knew he wouldn’t tell you that.

“Do… you want the child then?” He wouldn’t look you in the eye. He couldn’t because if he did, he would tell you to keep it. He would tell you that he wanted the child and if it was a boy, he was going to name it Erwin. Yet, the Captain side of him knew the a child would be devastating to operations and to your lives. If you were to fight with Marely, how was Levi supposed to go off to war when he had a wife and child at home? He wouldn’t be able to peel himself away from that heaven he wanted for so long to go off into Marley’s hell. It was for his scouts and Paradis. Their two best fighters couldn’t have a child, because it would be disastrous in the long fight for freedom.

But he wanted to be selfish. So bad. That’s why he was practically grabbing at his hair, trying to tell himself that he couldn’t have it. He couldn’t have peace. He couldn’t have a family. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But, Paradis was safe, wasn’t it? They would be able to defeat the Titans in a few months time, and Shiganshina would be populated again. They wouldn’t have to deal with Marley any time soon, as they were focusing on rebuilding society. Even during the recent meetings they had with Historia and the new government, he felt a small strike of hope brimming in him. By the time you would give birth to the child, it would be a new era. You two would have a house or an apartment and would be overseeing the rebuilding of the walls and agriculture around them. No fighting. No titans. For maybe two or three years.

He shouldn’t.

“After the ceremony. We’ll decide then.” He stood up and walked out, leaving you, sitting broken in his makeshift office. Why did it hurt you so much? You two were being realistic like you always were. It was dumb to have any type of wedding, so you just started calling each other husband and wife. You didn’t need a paper to tell you that. Even when you two started dating, it was four months in when you had to put a label to it because Hange was asking over and over. It was hard to be concrete is a world like this. A world where over two-hundred scouts vanish in under ten minutes.

But, you didn’t live in that world anymore, did you? Marley was here, Zeke was still out there somewhere, but you’d held them off once before. Soon you were to be helping farmers plant, organizing the lay of the land and the crop rotations. You had been born into a farming family, and Historia was going to put you to work since you volunteered. There was nothing violent about that. You could raise a child, just like your father raised you: sitting on a horse with him while you tilled the land. If it were a boy…

You lifted a hand to find tears running down your face. You shouldn’t do it. You shouldn’t. Day dreaming about having a family, about a little Levi running around a farm was dangerous. Once you did this, you would get attached to the growing mass in your stomach and give it a name. Then, you wouldn’t be able to part with it. You were trying to be so blunt and realistic so you wouldn’t grow attached.

Yet, that never worked for you. Example: Levi.

“(Y/F/N)?” Hange knocked twice on the open door, seeing you hunched over in the chair. She knew you were crying, and she knew that Levi had walked out on you. She saw his face as he marched down the hallway. For once, she saw Levi in pain. Hange knew more than anyone that Levi and you deserved normal. You two deserved the child you had mistakenly made. But, you two were also too stubborn to be selfish and turn your loyalties away from your job into making a family. Hange had saw the look on Levi’s face. He wanted to give it up so bad. He never ever wanted to tell his best friend to go die. He was in pain because he was conflicted inside. He wanted to have the child, he wanted to do something for himself for once, but he also had never allowed himself to do that. You were the same. She knew you were. The fact that you were here crying over a child you learned about an hour ago revealed it all to her.

You two wanted this child. You two wanted normal. And now everything was perfect, the time was oh, so right to do it, but you two were so scared of having something so right ripped out of your hands, that you never tried it. You never pushed for anything. Hange wanted you two to try it, and so she would make sure you did. Her two best friends needed this. She knew Erwin would want his two best friends to have this too.

“W-w-we… later. Decide later.” She kneeled down to look you in the eye, seeing how red they were. You needed to stop crying so that the hundreds of people gathered wouldn’t know the terror inside of you. They couldn’t know what you and Levi did.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, (Y/F/N).” She handed you a handkerchief from her coat pocket and you took it gladly. If Levi couldn’t hold you, Hange easily could. She sat on the chair arm, making you lean into her again.

“Hange…” You wanted to tell her. You needed to tell someone. You wanted her opinion too. She was involved in this. If you kept the child, her two captains would be out for the count for a while. You would leave her by herself, and you couldn’t do that. You shouldn’t.

“You want to keep it, don’t you?” You just nodded into her, and she ran her hands through your hair to calm you down. She couldn’t have a full conversation with you, having the award ceremony in thirty minutes, but she could give you encouragement to face Levi and everyone else again. Levi would never be able to tell himself that he wanted the child and act on it. That wasn’t who Levi was. He did things only for others and never for himself. You were able to be swayed, and you had Levi wrapped around your finger, so Hange knew if you went to him now, saying that you wanted to keep it, in nine months she would have a godchild. Her heart beat faster thinking about it. She wasn’t going to tell you that she also wanted you two to have a child so she could teach it all about titans and science and watch Levi’s annoyed face as she did it.

“If you want to keep it, I’m sure he does too. You just have to tell him that. Levi loves you too much. You two deserve happiness for how much you’ve done for humanity,” she cooed to you, trying to make you feel better about the decision she knew you wanted to make. You just sat there, hoping her warmth would make you feel better, but it didn’t. You were scared. Scared of the thing growing inside of you. You never had a mother. How could you be one if you didn’t know one? You were a soldier. You kill people and titans. You’ve had more peoples’ blood on you than you could count. You watched as your team was murdered by Annie’s titan and you were helpless with a broken leg and arm. How could someone like you, someone so violent and broken and… how could you be a mother?

While Levi stood in some random corner, thinking everything over and over again, that thought came to his mind too. He never had a father and barely remembered his mother. The closest thing was Kenny, and he abandoned Levi. What makes Levi so sure he could be a father? Would he be like Kenny? Suddenly not able to be a father, so he leaves? No. No. No. Levi wasn’t Kenny. He would never leave you. He couldn’t. But Levi… he was a murder. He was a killer. Humanity’s Strongest. He was broken inside. How could he be a father to a child when he couldn’t take care of himself? You were the one who took care of him.

Historia had noticed something was wrong with you during the ceremony when she looked into your eyes, giving you a bolo tie matching Erwin’s. The one Levi had on his makeshift desk. It made you scared now, having one like his. Would you end up dead like Erwin? Would your bolo tie end up on Levi’s desk? On some shelf in your child’s room? Levi wouldn’t die, you were confident in that, but what about you? You didn’t want to leave Levi alone with something he never wanted in the first place. You wanted it, not him.

Armin was the one who noticed something off with Levi after the ceremony. Rather than being stuck to (Y/F/N)’s side while talking to the other branches of the military, he was leaning on a column, boring holes into the ground. Armin also saw that in place of Levi was Hange, having your arm in hers. You weren’t smiling or chatting with the officers like you always did, Hange was doing it for you. Armin had never seen you like this and he’d never seen Captain Levi so… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but something set in his stomach when he saw the Captain look up at you. Longing. It hurt Armin’s heart seeing that and he was the only one in the room who did. Why was Captain Levi longing for his wife that was only a few feet away?

Levi was longing for a future. When he saw you next to Hange, he was already imagining what you would look like with a smaller version of you at your side. He was making up so many logical plans for this child you told him you were going to get rid of if he wanted. It terrified him that he was acting like this. Right now, he would look up at you and see a small boy following you along, talking up to the officers like you always did. He saw the same blonde boy, with your hair and your eyes, planting flowers in the little garden you’d made outside of Scout HQ while he sat in the shade and watched. Levi’s heart had only hurt like this in three other situations: when Isabel and Furlan died, when Erwin died, and when he thought you had died in a puddle of sewer water at Shiganshina. His heart hurt because it was going through everything that person should have done. That person’s future. Now, he was sitting here going through the future of someone he had never seen or met before. Why? Why? Because he wanted that child so bad, but if you didn’t, then he would be passive. You were carrying it, so you had a bigger part of the decision than he did. If you didn’t want it, he wouldn’t stop you, but he would still think about the child’s future. His child’s future. What could have been.

It was nighttime when you made contact with Levi again, in your shared bedroom. You almost went to sleep with Hange, scared of what Levi would say to you, but Hange gave you a pep talk. She wanted this baby as badly as you did and that gave you some confidence. You couldn’t stop thinking of the little boy who could have been standing next to his father’s feet at the ceremony. The boy, who had his hair and his eyes, sitting on his father’s lap while he unwillingly talked to the Garrison Captain at dinner about the future plans. What were your future plans?  

You walked in and he was already sitting on the bed, only a pair of linen pants on, staring at the wall above the door. When you walked in, his eyes snapped down to you and you saw what Hange was talking about earlier. Pain. Did you look like this too? Instead of talking, you went to change out of your formal attire and into the sleeping gown you always wore. His eyes were hot on your bare skin and he was waiting for you to speak. He was afraid that if he spoke first, he would pressure you into keeping the child you didn’t want.

Replaying Hange’s words over and over in your head, you closed the door to the wardrobe and turned to look right into his eyes. The pain in his eyes hurt you, knowing you were about to trap him into something he didn’t want. You couldn’t let it go. The child you had. If Levi ended up not wanting it and left, then you would find Levi in the child’s eyes. Somehow, someway.

“I want to keep the child.” You wanted it to sound strong when you said it, like you practiced with Hange, but it was soft. So soft, you worried he didn’t hear it, but he did. He heard it and something inside broke. Something made Levi come completely undone, something you’d only ever see happen after Erwin’s death. Tears.

“Thank gods,” he whispered before standing up to take you in his arms. His grasp was tight, like the day he thought he lost you. He wasn’t holding on to only you, but also his child. Your child. Together. He was holding the first ever pure, unadulterated happiness in his life. That thought would change once your child was born and he held it for the first time in his arms.

You cried too, but that was normal for you in Levi’s presence. He only had a few tears running down his face, but you were overwhelmed. You didn’t think he wanted it, but you could tell he did. He wanted this child as bad as you did. You were happy. These were tears of happiness and relief. It felt so good to finally have something to be happy for in your life.

“I want to keep it too,” he whispered again in your ear, finally being able to push back the emotion that was keeping him from holding you. When you cry, you like to be held to his chest like you were now. When he cried, he likes you to rub his back like you were doing now. It was going to be hard, both of you were still soldiers and didn’t know how to raise a child, but you’ve been fighting for so long, this would be easier than that. It had to be. If you could deal with a titan, you could deal with a child. A child that gave you so much happiness and hope, you could burst.

“If it’s a boy, I want to name it Erwin.” He was the first to bring the emotion in the room back to normal, like he always does. You look up at him with a smile, nodding. You couldn’t see any other name for the child.

“We’ll have to think of another if it’s a girl, but I’m sure it’s a boy.” You put one hand on your flat stomach and Levi imagined you, standing up on the edge of the wall, yelling down at some poor farmer, round as a watermelon. It made him laugh a little.

“You’ve only had it in you a few weeks and you’re certain? I don’t think so.” You glared up at him playful, signaling that you were also back to normal.

“Is it inside of you? I don’t think so.” He laughed again into your hair, leading you to the bed so you both could go to sleep. Tomorrow was a long day of meeting and planning, and now he had to look after two people instead of one. It was going to be backbreaking since you had no care for what happened to your body. Levi was going to have to be extra careful and strict with you, and he was even debating making a rule book he could give to the brats so they could help him make sure you didn’t kill yourself.

The next day, you decided to tell everyone right away. They needed to feel something other than pain. They needed the happiness that even made Levi feel lighter on his feel. You could see on their faces that once you announced it, it worked. It made them take their mind off of the impending threat of Marley, or how they were going to have to go out and kill titans again. Sasha and Historia were grabbing at your hands, getting a glare from Levi, asking about how you were going to raise it and how you could stay in the castle during your whole pregnancy. Even their reactions gave you more joy.

“If you’re like, a month along, then if you think about it,” Connie went off, using his hands to try and count back to the days of conception, “you two did it right after-“ Levi smacked him over the head and everyone froze. This was the first time that Levi had outright hit one of them recently, as they thought he pretty much mellowed out when Historia punched him. Admittedly, the streak of nice Levi scared all of them. You scowled at Levi, patting Connie on the head.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi? Stop hitting them!” Levi rolled his eyes and smirked slightly.

“Well, how many times do I have to tell them to stop saying stupid things that make me want to hit them?” You glared raising your fist at him and he shrunk back a bit to try and dodge it. 

“Why I outta-“

“You shouldn’t hit me, you’ll injure my chi-“ You scoffed again, cutting him off.

“Your child?! Who’s the one carrying it?!” The others laughed on at the sight, finally feeling some sort of security knowing that their two captains were acting normal again. It all felt normal and happy, the tone of underlying bitterness going away as they watched you two bicker like an old married couple. Well, bickering like you two usually do.

“That kid is going to be 50/50 of both of them, and that scares me more than Captain Levi does,” Jean muttered to Armin who nodded in agreement.

“It’s going to be the safest kid in all of Paradis, though. All of the world. With those two as it’s parents.”

“And the craziest, too.” You turned your assault to Jean, hearing those words.

“What did you just say, horseface?”

xx I hope you like it requestor! I think this is one of my favorite things I’ve written so far! 

[everwitch-magiks]

RWRB Fics Roundup

Hey y’all! Once upon a time I had the ambition to post links on here to all the fics and new chapters that I publish on AO3, and I think it’s safe to say that I’ve been an absolute disaster at that over the summer. In my defense I’ve just had so much to write, but that’s not much of a defense seeing as it doesn’t take ages to chuck a link on here. Anyhow. Bottom line is, I’ve severely neglected it, and it’s gotten to a point where I’m just gonna make a post with links to everything I’ve written since June (ish) for you to peruse, so you can see if there’s one that you didn’t catch wind of that catches your eye now. Neat, huh?

So, without further ado, the links! The fics! Let’s go.

Completed works

Love At First Bark General Audiences, AU, tooth-rotting fluff. 3K. “I still don’t know your name, do I?” Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate. “It’s David,” Henry supplies. “Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?” Henry blinks at him. “... David?” “What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.” Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

Shameless Explicit, AU, Henry has a reputation. 14K. Henry has a lot of sex. A lot. He's young and in college and there is no shortage of men to fall in bed with. What better time to explore what he likes and what he fucking loves, as well as to catalogue how to make his many, many partners feel as good as possible? It’s all part of the learning experience. And Henry is a very dedicated student.

Alex has been inescapably aware of Henry ever since that one time they kissed. You don’t just stop being aware of the guy who basically caused your sexuality. So when Henry propositions Alex at a lame frat party, Alex accepts eagerly. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Maybe, if he can just have Henry once, he’ll have a better chance of finally getting over his embarrassing fixation with Henry. It's worth a try.

When The Time Is Right Part four of my sex club series. Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 16K. “Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?” “That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.” “Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.” It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.” Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

Out For A Bite Explicit, AU, suspense and supernatural elements. 3K. Henry's eyes fly up, zeroing in on the reflection in the mirror. There, behind him. The man from the bar. He looks different in the fluorescent bathroom lights. Sharper. There’s a look in his eyes that has Henry shivering all over again. It's greedy. Hungry.

He’s staring right at Henry.

Henry's throat feels dry. His heart beats madly. He's heard whispers of this place, and more importantly of its patrons. He thinks he knows what this man is.

ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn’t have fallen in love with) Explicit, AU, Alex and Henry in DIY Punk & mainstream pop punk, respectively. 34K. Teenage music sensation Kensington have taken the world by storm. With their cool leather jackets and wickedly distorted guitars, they're a pop duo that packs a punch. Or at least they sound like one—their lyrics unfortunately lack any semblance of depth. Alex can't fucking stand Kensington. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to. He’s not likely to cross paths with those British pop losers during his final semester of high school in Texas. And even if he did, he'd never let some stupidly attractive blonde take his focus away from the goal that Alex has worked towards for years: winning the Austin Band Slam with his latino punk trio.

But when Henry comes crashing into Alex's life, with his intriguing piano pieces and piercing blue eyes and slow, purposeful kisses that make Alex burn with want, Alex finds that he might need to reevaluate his stance on both pop losers and distractions. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s better off keeping Henry at arm's length, since it's so painfully evident that Henry will never love him back.

Never Tell Me The Odds Teen and Up Audiences, canon verse, an outside perspective on First Prince as well as a story about a certain Star Wars mural. 2K. "Wait!" Alex yells up to the driver. "Stop! Stop the car!" Up close, it's beautiful. Two stories tall. He can’t imagine how somebody was able to put together something like this so fast.

Ash had never imagined that they'd get the chance to actually meet Alex Claremont-Diaz, and much less get the chance to tell Alex about how that very special Star Wars mural came to be. Although of course, Ash never would have met Alex if it hadn’t been for Farida. Farida and her bold courage, and her warm compassion, and her sometimes infuriating (but always endearing) stubbornness.

yrs. faithfully (with nowhere to go) Explicit, canon verse, a lazy morning in bed leads to something more. 3K. When Alex and Henry wake up together the day before their anniversary, they're genuinely planning on getting out of bed and spending the day as productive members or society. Truly, their intentions are honorable. But a trip down memory lane gets them reminiscing about that night exactly one year ago, when Alex had come running through the rain to deliver some choice words about obtuse fucking assholes.

As Alex and Henry start to relive the memory, they quickly realize that they both remember it intimately. So intimately that they might be able to pull off something of a do-over.

Gadgets and Gizmos A-Plenty A companion piece to dearest Hattie’s soulmate fic. Mature, AU, a look into Henry buying sex toys. Yes. That’s the fic. 2K. There’s a bunch of regulars that Amir knows by name (and, unavoidably, by kinks), but most often Playtime gets one-time visitors. Which makes sense, really. A lot of people don’t seem to want to step into the same adult toy shop twice. So Amir is always a little extra curious when there’s a repeat customer, especially one who is this attractive. And, interestingly, one who’s come back so soon.

The tall, classically handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes left Playtime no less than five hours ago after having purchased a medium-sized, fairly standard vibrator well suited for anal play. And now he’s back. Because apparently, he’s found he needed another vibrator.

If Sex Was A Sport We’d Be Winning Mature, AU, a classic Olympics hookup. 3K. It's remarkable, truly, that Alex didn't even want to be here. He only came all the way to Ariake because June was determined to watch a bunch of prissy ponies strut around to music. Still, perhaps the true Olympic experience lies in the wide variety of disciplines. Or, perhaps, it has something to do with chatting up a pretty blond behind the stables and getting him to show you the inside of an Olympic tack room. As Alex quickly takes to Henry’s sweet smiles and easy confidence, he realizes that just a few stolen moments with this man might turn into his most cherished memory from the Tokyo Olympics.

Alex knows better than to get attached, though. He and Henry live an ocean apart. There’s no way this quick fumble in the stable equivalent of a supply closet could ever lead to anything more. Right?

Talk Dirty To Me Explicit, AU, dom Henry and sub Alex. 9K. Henry studies Nora’s expression for a moment. There’s something about her favourable account of this guy she claims not to want to sleep with again that doesn’t add up. "But you're still not interested in taking him on?"

"He wants more than I'm willing to offer," Nora says frankly. Henry’s always liked this about her—how she doesn’t skirt around the hard facts. It's a part of what makes her so good at dominating. "But you know what? For you, he'd be kind of perfect."

Henry has been active in the local BDSM scene for years and there’s no shortage of men who’d love nothing more than to find themselves at his mercy. But Henry is on a break. He’s not looking for a new partner, but he’s also not expecting to become so intrigued by the man that Nora insists he should meet. Alex is a newcomer on the scene who doesn’t yet know exactly what he wants, much less with who. There’s no way that he could turn out to be exactly who Henry needs. Right?

Date night (please toy with me) Explicit, canon verse, a night out leads to some fun with a toy. 4K. This… this is new. They’ve talked about trying this, about what it’d be like to conceal some of their intimacy in plain sight, about what it would feel like to try and reclaim what is most private to them by flaunting it without anyone even knowing, by daring to take risks again. They’ve agreed that they’d still need to be careful, but they’ve also agreed that it would be interesting. That it would be fun.

And apparently, Henry thinks tonight is the night for it. “Do you trust me, love?”

“Yeah.” Alex swallows. He picks up the box, studying it for a moment. “Do you want… what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go to the bathroom,” Henry says evenly, “You’ll find everything you need in the box. Then I want you to come back and sit down. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Alex taps the box, grinning in Henry’s direction. “I expect we’ll be leaving soon?”

Henry smiles slyly. “If you’re good, yes.”

Ongoing works

Hashtag Soulmates Mature, AU, Henry writes fanfiction. 23K and 7 chapters so far. Alex is perfect and handsome, the golden boy, everybody’s secret crush. So there is absolutely no way that he is the reader who screeches in caps lock every time that Henry posts as much as a drabble. There’s no way. Except Alex just closed his browser fast as fucking lightning, but not before Henry had gotten a good glimpse of the page Alex had open: AO3. ‘Don't Stop Me Now’, Henry’s current wip. The one that Henry literally just updated.

Sweet Jesus. Could it really be?

That... is all! It’s been a productive summer. I’m very excited to continue writing Hashtag Soulmates, and also to start working on a few upcoming First Prince fics that I’m planning on writing. Stay tuned for fics! ♡

[snackleggg]

City of splintering hopes: Chapter 1 "Frosty conversations"

~~~

Ao3

~~~

Frostbite quickly seemed to realise what he had said and stopped talking, immediately dropping his usually happy attitude. Danny was still processing what he had said.

"Hey Frosty?" Danny asked during one of his semi-regular visits to the Far Frozen.

"Yes Great One?" Frostbite replied as he finished up checking that Danny had fully recovered from a terrible case of the ghost flu he had caught a few days ago.

"You and the other Yetis seem to know alot about my hybrid physiology when I don't even know that. How come?" Danny asked. It was an innocent enough question. Jazz had pointed it out just before he left for his visit and he hadn't been able to shake it from his mind since.

"Well, of course!" Frostbite said with a boisterous laugh "You think you are the only Halfa to have ever allied with our tribe? We have always been friends to your kind Great One!" Frostbite said back with a carefree kind of happiness before he realized what he had just accidentally spilled.

Now they stood there in heavy silence as Danny processed the meaning behind Frostbite's words.

"Other Halfas!?" Danny all but screeched as he nearly fell from where he was sitting with the realisation of what Frostbite said.

Frostbite looked uncomfortable to say the least. He seemed to look around at anything but Danny as he replied "Y-Yes of course! You didn't think you and those two others were the only ones of your kind." Suddenly Frostbite looked Danny in the eye with concern "Did you Great One?"

Danny couldn't reply.

By the heavy look Frostbite was giving him it seemed like there was something deeper to this subject than he was realising. Danny just shook his head.

"Mmm no, the only other Halfas I've ever met were Dani and Vlad" Danny said matter-of-factly. By the look Frostbite was giving him it was obvious he was missing something, some unspoken fact that hung in the air just out of his reach.

Frostbite suddenly broke from his gaze as he huffed while looking to the side "That Plasmius should be ashamed of himself to even dare call himself a Halfa. He may be there biologically but none of his actions reflect on your people" Frostbite said with a tone of bitterness, a tone that was slightly sharper than the bitterness he usually talked with when talking about Vlad.

"Yeah, totally agree, 100% but back to the topic at hand I have a people!?" Danny's brain was trying to understand this new revelation. In a way it answered alot of questions that he had never really thought about. How were the ghosts able to tell he wasn't a full ghost. Why had Pointdexter known to call him a Halfa as if it was a common term. Why ghosts just didn't seem all that surprised about the existence of some weird hybrid. Of course Vlad could've had a part in that but Vlad was always too busy in his cheese castle plotting revenge to really interact with many ghosts outside of hiring them to do his dirty work.

But it also brought up a while slew of new questions. Where had these other Halfas come from? Definitely couldn't be another lab accident caused by his parents. Why wasn't there any information about the existence of ghost human hybrids on earth if there were enough Halfas around to be considered a people, a kind, not just an anomaly that repeated a few times but by the sounds of it some sort of society? And most importantly, where were they!? Danny had never ran into anyone like himself apart from Vlad and Dani.

He looked at Frostbite, trying to pick which question was the most important to ask first. It seemed Frostbite was blissfully unaware of his internal struggle as he just went on.

"Well yes Great One. The Halfas were a strong and prosperous people.... I suppose there isn't really a way for you to know that but I am surprised this is the first you are hearing about this" Frostbite said awkwardly.

Danny probably looked like a fish with how much he was opening and closing his mouth without a word coming out. Finally he managed to say something past his shock.

" 'were'?" Danny asked, his hopes at meeting someone like him suddenly beginning to die.

Frostbite just nodded, avoiding looking at him again as a sorrowful look came upon his face "Yes, Pariah Dark" Frostbite said the name like it was something foul and Danny was inclined to agree "wiped them all out when he sensed they would be a threat to his throne"

Danny almost snorted at that.

Pariah Dark sounded like a character in a tragedy or a myth in that context. In trying to stop Halfas from dethroning him he was indirectly responsible for a Halfa dethroning him. Okay maybe not responsible, Danny would've done it whether the race of people had still been around or not but still the irony was there. So was the karma.

Then he focused on the more depressing part of what Frostbite had said.

"Oh" so there really wasn't anyone else. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

"But!" Frostbite said, a little bit of a cheer coming back to him "the ruins of their old city still stands! Maybe, if you are interested in knowing more, you could visit them? Of course everyone here in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to recount stories of other Halfas to you Great One but our knowledge is limited. Even with our friendship with them, they were always a secretive bunch" Frostbite explained.

Danny didn't really know what to think of the offer. It wouldn't be the same as actually talking to another Halfa but it would still be something, right?

"I'll... think about it" Danny said.

He had gone through too many revelations in too short a time span and he really just wanted to crawl into bed and take a nice long nap, which he could do since it was the weekend.

"Of course Great One. It is entirely up to you what you do" Frostbite said with a smile.

The rest of the visit seemed to fly by but the conversation he had with Frostbite was stuck at the back of his head. He kept on wondering about the other Halfas.

Were they nice? What kind of society did they have? Had they ever been to Earth or did they live exclusively in the Ghost Zone? Why were they as secretive as Frostbite said? Even to their own allies? Why had Pariah felt so threatened by them? Were they really that powerful? What will I find if I go to these ruins?

Even after he left to go back home the thoughts of a people just like him, a people long gone, lingered in his mind.

He was distracted.

He knew Frostbite and the other Yetis had noticed it even if they didn't comment on it but Jazz was alot more proactive about these sort of things. She noticed the far away look Danny had as they were eating dinner and afterwards pulled him off to the side as their parents went back down to work in the lab.

"What's up?" She asked.

"Nothing" Danny mumbled. He didn't know if Jazz would understand his dilemma. Sure he was born human but thinking about the possibility of other Halfas, even if he hadn't been born one, it made his core clench with a need to learn more, to find them

"It's obviously not nothing, you've been distracted ever since you came back from visiting the Far Frozen. What happened?" Jazz asked.

Danny couldn't meet her gaze. He didn't know how to fraze it, to tell her about all the spiraling thoughts in his head, the confusing feelings in his core.

"Danny" Jazz said seriously.

Finally Danny caved and told her about the conversation he had with Frostbite about other Halfas. He told her about his feelings and thoughts on the matter. It was like the dam that had been filling for the last few hours had broken and suddenly Danny was exasperated as he finished recounting everything.

"Other Halfas...." Jazz said thoughtfully.

Danny nodded. For some reason he felt guilty, he felt like he was betraying his family by trying to explore this part of himself.

Jazz, thank the ancients for the observation skills she definitely didn't get from their parents, noticed Danny's dip in mood and quickly went to comfort him.

"Hey, you shouldn't feel bad about this. It makes sense you'd want to find and learn about people who might've gone through similar struggles" Jazz said as she put her hand on Danny's shoulder, a grounding gesture which he was silently thankful for.

"But I feel bad about how if I do learn about this then I'll be keeping more secrets from mom and dad. I already feel terrible lying to them about The accident" Danny shrunk into himself. It's not that he wanted to keep lying to his parents but the perpetual fear of them not accepting him hung over his head heavily and he feared now that if he tried to explore and learn about these people who were like him it would only give his parents more reason to distance him from the family if they found out.

"Danny, look at me" Jazz urged and Danny barely managed to meet her gaze. It was determined and honest, an immovable rock he needed in the swirling river that was his thoughts.

"You don't have to go there if you don't want to but you shouldn't jump to the conclusion that it will only make everything worse. Think about it but don't forget that just as many good things could come from this as bad things" Jazz said and Danny nodded along. That made sense.

"Yeah. I guess the concept just kinda overwhelmed me" Danny said and suddenly he felt emotionally drained all over again.

"Go on, get some rest. Sleep on it but there really isn't a time limit" Jazz encouraged and she was right but Danny felt like if he did want to go then it might be better to do it sooner rather than later.

He crashed onto his bed not really knowing what to think. A few hours ago he was excited by the prospect but now he dreaded what he might find at those ruins, what secrets the Halfas kept hidden away even from those closest to them.

Danny almost laughed at the parallels as he thought about his own secretive situation with his parents. He was in no place to preemptively judge.

Finally he went to sleep.

Dreaming of a lullaby he never heard and a city of people he would never meet.

~~~

First | Previous | Next

~~~

I'll be tagging all content do to with this story with the tag City of splintering hopes so if guys want to you can follow the story easier. You can also use that tag for any questions or content you guys make of the story!

Hope you all like this first chapter!

[mimzy-writing-online]

How do you handle casual ableism especially ableism that’s said to be “a joke”? I am blind and I get this all the time and it’s so annoying because I can’t win.

If it’s said by someone I know I probably won’t talk to much, if ever again, I just grin and bear it. If I’m invested in this friendship or know I’ll be working with them a lot, then I’ll say something. But I do have some personal pet-peeves.

“Oh, so you’re blind, but not like, blind-blind.” 

Whenever I explain to someone new that I’m visually impaired and what I see, I sometimes get the “oh, so you’re blind, but not like, blind-blind.” and I just... *internal screaming*

I hate it because it reinforces this hierarchy of “who has it worst in the world” that abled society has. It’s like saying, “oh, you’re blind, but at least you don’t have cancer.” That is insensitive to both people who are blind, people who have cancer, and people who have both. 

Everyone is going through their own stuff, and sometimes it feels debilitating and sometimes it feels normal. Undermining someone’s experiences by saying/implying someone has it worse is terrible and even worse is using that idea to say “oh, then you don’t need this accommodation that badly, you’re not disabled-disabled.”

I am blind. Just blind. I have a condition that highly affects my life and just because there are a few settings where I can pass for sighted, does not mean that I am not blind.

And those people feed my internalized ableism and imposter syndrome so that I begin to think “I’m not that blind, people have so much less sight than me” and begin to feel like I don’t deserve any of my accommodations, even my cane when my worst days hit. My cane, that thing I bought myself that affects no one apart from warning them I can’t see them, but means everything to me.

What I would like to say: “I am blind. What I’m describing might sound like no big deal to you, but it affects my life every day and I will never, under any circumstances, see as much as a sighted person. Please stop comparing my disability to other disabilities.”

“Can you use your cane as a weapon?”

It was funny the first 3-4 times I heard it, but strangers say it to me constantly and it’s just like... “oh, them Lakers” or “How’s the weather up there” or some other cliché joke that has been told to death. And these strangers don’t realize how unoriginal it is because they probably never interact with other blind people, but I hear it all the fricken time.

I’ve explained to friends that I don’t like this joke. And I have an example of it in A Witch’s Memory, specifically Ulric’s second chapter. But like, I cannot control what strangers think is funny.

What I would like to say: “I cannot. Canes are much more fragile than you think, and each one has cost me $50 each. And I’ve had... six? Over the years. And they take weeks to ship to me. I would be terrified of my cane getting damaged.”

“I bet you’re looking forward to robot eyes.”

No. I’m not. I’m really not. Leave my eyes the fuck alone.

This was waaaaaay before I was diagnosed with Visual Snow Syndrome, which is a neurological problem, not an eye problem, even if the symptoms that affect me most are visual.

And as for the ableism, there’s soooo so much in that statement:

“Oh, I bet you’re looking forward to getting cured”

“I think being blind is terrible, I would want robot eyes immediately”

And if I said that I didn’t want robot eyes ever, I’d almost always get:

“I bet it wouldn’t be that bad, you’d be a cyborg. How cool is that?”

I said no the first time. Respect that answer. It’s my body, my eyes. I’m so tired of this debate.

The only form of this conversation I will ever accept is from my best friend who admitted that he personally would jump at the chance for cybernetic enhancements, especially something that reduced chronic pain. There are some more personal issues I won’t disclose, but from his perspective I understood and we came to the acceptance that we had very different stances and that was okay so long as we respected each other’s choices.

What I would like to say: “I have considered this and personally decided that under no circumstances would I ever want this kind of surgery done to me. Please respect that choice and don’t joke about experimental surgeries with me.”

“Just consider me your personal human guide dog.”

Only one person has ever said this to me, but he’s said it several times while acting as my sighted guide and I hate it, not because there is any ableism directed at me, but because he’s calling himself less than human and I wish he treated himself better. He deserves better. My solution is just saying nice things to him every chance I get about how much I care about him and how he is good.

“Fuck you! I love you! Don’t you dare call yourself a dog. You’re amazing and I love you.”

“Well you’re able-bodied.”

Said to me by another person with a disability, specifically a chronic illness, while complaining about why I couldn’t do something for him.

It was my father.

and I just...

I have literally never not been disabled in some capacity.

I remember my ADHD affected me from the early age of six years old and how much that affected my self esteem. I started having chronic health problems (mostly due to anxiety) as soon as I entered my teenage years. The worst was when I was 19. And then I went blind.

I am in no way able-bodied. Do not throw this hierarchy of who’s more disabled at me. I physically cannot handle the task you asked me to do without physical pain following me for the rest of the day. It’s either going to have to get done by someone else, or I’m going to need help. Why do I need to be in pain all day for this?

You’re young, therefore you are able-bodied.

You means nothing in terms of disability! Lots of people are disabled, visibly and invisibly. And if your kid needs disability aids to perform normal tasks like walking safely outside, you shouldn’t be calling them able bodied.

What I would like to say: “I am not able bodied. I am far from it. What you’re asking me to do will either risk serious injury to me or will cause me serious, lasting pain. Please respect my physical limitations.”

“And on your right you and hear, smell, taste, touch the ocean.”

It was a joke by a close friend when we were on a road trip. Also, we were in a car on the freeway, literally, none of those things would be possible from that distance because all I would hear and smell would be car fumes. 

Like, okay, I know I can’t enjoy the scenic view the way sighted people can, but I am enjoying this drive in my own way. Even the visuals I can see are nice(ish). It’s stimulation, something different for my brain. I’m having fun listening to the music and your story while we move and there are shapes and faded colors passing us.

I’m experiencing this amazing road trip.

Maybe it’s not the way you would experience or best enjoy it, but I am having fun, don’t spoil it by reminding me that I’m different from you and that my experience “must be less enjoyable.”

I told him: “I don’t like those jokes. They aren’t funny to me. I don’t need to see it to enjoy it.” And he stopped. He never made another one after that drive.

(He’s also one of those people who has serious anxiety around making someone uncomfortable, and me telling him “hey I don’t like this, can we do this instead” actually helps us both, because I’m no longer uncomfortable and he can trust that I would immediately tell him if he ever did something I didn’t like. If I’m not speaking up, then I am good. And I can trust that he will stop as soon as I tell him to, and that I can always speak up if I need to.)

[arhvste]

dad hcs with your top 3 HQ boys? 😚

my top 3 haikyuu boys? #exciting 😌

-

KUROO, IWAIZUMI AND ATSUMU AS DADS

-

KUROO

he’s always wanted 3-4 

growing up the only child in the household with his grandparents and father got a little lonely when he wasn’t with kenma

so you, y/n his wonderful and beautiful wife, fill his world with much more joy by bearing his children 

you have 3 so far and phew good luck

two boys and a girl 

kuroo has already started teaching your kids his trademark catchphrases 

to your despair your youngest son’s first words had been “oya oya”

your face dropped while kuroos hyena laugh roared through the house

“wHY WOULD YOU TEACH HIM THAT”

“because bokuto dared me??”

for the first few weeks all you can hear is little mutters and screeches of “oya oya” and it’s driving you ✨insane✨

kuroo is however good with kids 

and he will put a stop to it by giving your kid a pacifier to keep quiet

kuroo would love if his kids took an interest in volleyball 

but he won’t force it on them 

he’ll support whatever they want to do

your kid wants to try ballet? kuroo will buy several pairs of specially made shoes

art? kuroo is more than happy to hire a whole studio for the day

swimming? he’ll have a pool installed in your house

material arts? kuroo will find a ninja to train your kid

he wants to be the best dad he possibly can for his kids 

i’m not saying he plays favourites but he does have a soft spot for his little girl

he will absolutely try and encourage her that boys are the worst and she shouldn’t date them until they get his seal of approval

he has a ridiculously high standard for the type of boy your daughter can date

you could be a high achieving graduate, astronaut in training, saved 36 old ladies on the street and a candidate for president 

and kuroo would still be like

“is that it? 🙄”

good luck to your daughter then 

he is there for every event 

his whole schedule will be made around any birthdays, graduations, shows etc

he will make sure of it

he doesn’t care if he’s scheduled a meeting with the highest world leader

if that meeting falls on the same day as his kids sports game he will not be sat in an office chair but rather in the crowd cheering his kid on alongside you

he wants to give his kids the best in life but he also doesn’t want to completely spoil them 

he was raised pretty normally so you and him agreed you should try to at least do the same

however when uncle kenma or uncle yaku babysits his kids 👀

“dad uncle kenma bought me a new pc!”

“uncle yaku bought me a pony!”

that’s it

kuroo will spoil tf out of your kids from time to time just to one up his friends

overall he is such a doting dad

yourself and the kids mean the absolute world to him 

and he appreciates you to no end for bringing them into this world 

together the two raise such humorous, perceptive and successful children 

and he couldn’t be more proud of his family 

-

IWAIZUMI

years of practically babysitting oikawa have prepared him for this 

he has the patience levels built up

he is also extremely responsible and level headed 

the two of you have 1 son who is 4 years old

the toddler has iwaizumi wrapped around his little finger 

iwa denies this though

whenever your son misbehaves or makes a mistake (which is rare btw) iwa is looking down at him sternly

“s/n, you know better than this”

but all it takes it one pout and iwaizumi is all soft again and swoops your son into his arms 

lmao i just know he’ll teach your son to insult oikawa 

“say trash-y-ka-wa! that’s my boy!”

“iwa-chan stop teaching your baby to bully me i can’t even handle it from you alone 😩”

sometimes iwaizumi takes your son to work if you’re feeling particularly tired or have somewhere else to be

he definitely will wear on of those baby carrier harnesses 

that’s kinda hot tbh 

bokuto and hinata are all over your kid while iwaizumi is trying to train team japan

while he manages to get both players back over he notices his son is missing from the portable baby chair he brought with him 

“omi omiiiiii look! baby germs!”

atsumu is running around with your son securely in his arms while sakusa  is SPRINTING away from the blonde shouting profanities at him 

needless to say, iwaizumi tries not to bring his kid along whenever serious training needs to be done

he will bring him to more laid back sessions though

iwaizumi is THE responsible dad of the year

he cooks, he cleans and he knows how to handle your son

by now your son has started to develop into his personality more

being around his calm and level headed dad has really rubbed off on him

he doesn't get too overexcited and knows how to behave well

there is something that bothers iwaizumi about your son though

his first words

“iwa-chan~”

iwaizumi’s face dropped when the familiar phrase left his sons mouth

“shittykawa i will FLY over to argentina to personally beat you up”

“it’s not MY fault s/n likes hanging out with his uncle tooru 😗”

oikawa is a doting uncle too

whenever he can he visits your family and spends time getting to know your kid 

the nickname ‘trashykawa’ did happen to stick though

iwaizumi considered it fair now that your son called his best friend after the nickname he taught him 

another dad who would like if his son took up volleyball, but won't force it

your kid does actually pick it up though 

and he’s damn good at it 

not to be clichè but he will like the position of ace the best

this is to your husband and bokuto’s delight

iwaizumi will be there for every game and will absolutely let him come to work with him more often as he gets older so he can watch pros up close

maybe one day your kid will end up on the very team his father trains

and he’ll be there alongside you cheering him on

-

ATSUMU

atsumu is blessed with the gift of twin daughters

hey, twins are in his genes it was bound to happen somewhere down the line

his girls are the most precious beings to him

other than you obv

to him, you are his heart, soul and everything inbetween

he treats his girls like princesses 

like kuroo, boys are off the table 

“oi if ya think you’re bringin boys home you can think again!”

“baby, it’s only their first day of preschool please calm down 😀”

unless these boys can beat him at setting, they’re not allowed within a 48 mile radius of your daughters

he will defo want you to bring them to his games

put them in personalised jerseys and he will be showing them off to his team and the crowd

every point he scores he’s pointing at you and your girls

“THAT ONE WAS FOR YOU MY PRINCESSES!”

when his team wins he will absolutely bring the three of you out onto the court and pull you all in for a tight hug and shower you all with affection for the world to see

your kids take a liking to sakusa believe it or not

they find his presence interesting in comparison to the other msby players

lmao sakusa will show your girls his flexible wrist trick and they’ll giggle in excitement 

“uncle omi is so cool!”

hang on a minute

‘UNCLE’ omi???

atsumu is in shock 

“how come’s ya nice to em and not to me omi omi?”

“they take after y/n more than you. they're not annoying and gross like you that’s why”

as he’s apart of the dedicated dad society, atsumu will make sure he’s there for every event he can too

if his games fall on the same day as an event with your daughters you can bet ur ass he is there as soon as his game is over

celebratory drinks with the team? not on his watch when his daughter has a dance recital 

any moments he misses when he's playing an away match or can’t get out of training he asks you to record so he can watch it back multiple times later

probably cries when he watches your daughter win her sports match or perform in a dance show

his camera roll is FULL of pictures of you and your daughters

insists on posting them all so he can show the world what a beautiful and loving family he has 

uncle osamu makes sure he tells your daughters embarrassing stories about their dad

“and then your dad turned around and told the girls to stop squealin like pigs when they were only showin their support”

“wth dad that's so rude 😠”

“thEY MESSED UP MY SERVE SAMU SHUT UP”

your family is raised super close 

atsumu always knew he wanted both of your families involved with his daughters upbringing so he makes sure everyone is included and the two girls are familiar with their whole family 

it’s important to him that they’re familiar with his volleyball family too

he loves the fact they're so comfortable and familiar with his teammates 

uncle bokuto and uncle hinata are a hit with the twin girls

but its uncle omi who takes the crown for favourite

there is never a dull moment in the miya family 

and atsumu couldn’t ask for better people to be involved with his daughters upbringing 

-

requests are open!!

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Title: Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The sun feels warm despite the light breeze rustling the leaves as you tilt your head up, propping it against the back of the bench and close your eyes. You can pick up the sounds of children playing nearby, the distant noise of the road half a mile away, and the movement of the trees as you bask in the moment of peace.

When you finally sit up straight once more, you can see Aaron and Jack still standing at the side of the lake, feeding the ducks. You'd taken it in turns, staying with him as he went through the two loaves of bread. You wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find ducks sitting in your front lawn, having followed your far too generous son home.

From beside you, you hear a low rumbling laugh as Jack chases after some of the more aloof birds, trying to get them to partake in his offering as well. Smiling easily, you look up and meet John's eye briefly before you both return to watching Jack terrorize one of the swans in his insistence on feeding it. Must be on a low carb diet.

Satisfied that he was still occupied and Aaron didn't seem to need to tap either of you in, you turn back to your bench companion, fixing him with a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at you, before slumping back and wordlessly giving you permission to ask what you'd been dying to know ever since he'd arrived earlier that morning.

"So, how's it going with Denise?" You draw out the girl's name, a teasing smile on your face. You know that whatever happened must be good. When you'd asked him that, first thing at his arrival, only to be interrupted by Jack's excited voice at his Uncle's arrival, John had merely muttered that he'd tell you later. If he didn't want Jack overhearing, it had to be good.

John shifts, turning and leaning his side against the back of the bench so that he can face you better, leg bent up onto the seat. At the look of bated glee on your face, he shakes his head, quickly dissuading you of any positive sentiments regarding what he was about to reveal.

"I ended it," he admits with a sigh, watching your face crumple in disappointment.

"Why, what happened?" you prod, clearly displeased. You'd thought things with him and Denise were going well. They'd been on three dates already and based on what John had told you and Aaron last time, she was promising. Far more promising than Heather from two months ago. He'd brought that one along to Emily's birthday party that you'd hosted at your new place, and from the moment she'd opened her mouth and made a comment about how Instagrammable your foyer was, it had been downhill.

John's face morphs into a rueful sort of smile. "Honestly? She was a little too freaky for me."

You let his words sink in, the incredulous pull of your eyebrows betraying exactly how ridiculous you found his statement.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He knows how that sounds to you, especially coming from him. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around once more to make sure that Jack isn't about to walk in on anything he shouldn't overhear. "Let's just say we weren't compatible?"

You scoff, but let him get away with just that. Maybe later, after dinner and drinks, he'd be more forthcoming around the details. Though what this girl could've possibly done that was too freaky was beyond you. John wasn't exactly a prude.

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying. Maeve has a few friends that work with her at the lab. I can ask her to see if any of them are single. Cece might know some people she'd be willing to hook you up with – none of her friends, of course. Or, maybe we try online dating? Though it's an abhorrent cesspool of the worst society has to offer, but who knows, maybe someone will emerge as a good candidate."

John smiles at your hopeful tone, allowing you to continue chatting about the various ways he could go about snagging a girlfriend. He knows a large part of your insistence on finding someone for him stems from guilt. He and Aaron had talked about it, with your persistence in finding him a girl growing in magnitude and intensity the closer it got to your impending nuptials. It was as though you were scared that him seeing you marry someone, without having someone by his side, would tear him apart. He's been stalling having that conversation with you. He's not about to crumble at the sight of you marrying someone that isn't him. Hell, even Cece wasn't worried about him anymore. The last time he'd seen her and her kids for brunch, she'd actually given him her own bill of health to attend your wedding. Aaron was right – he had to talk to you about it soon.

" – and well of course we'd get Pen to run a background check because who knows with the internet really. Should try to avoid the catfishers or the crazy serial killers with a vendetta against beautiful blond men – "

Your tirade is interrupted by someone calling your name, causing both you and John to start, breaking away from your conversation to look in the direction the voice had come from.

"Cedric!" Your face turns up at the sight of the man making his way towards the two of you, bearing a smile that could light up any room. John's eyebrows rise, recognizing the name from a few weekends back when he'd been over.

You pointedly ignore his expression as the both you stand to greet Cedric as he approaches, looking wonderfully windswept in jogging clothes. Of course he jogs on a Saturday morning.

The only reason John even knew about Cedric was because he'd been around for the Great Champagne Debacle of 2012. After yet another delivered case of Dom Pérignon, Aaron had had an entirely uncharacteristic breakdown, insisting that you communicate with Cedric Kensington and inform him that you were very much taken and did not need him or his champagne.

"If it's about getting the shipment, I'll get you a monthly shipment," he'd protested in the face of your refusal to go out of your way to call someone you'd briefly dated to inform them that you were taken, thank you very much. You'd told him that it wasn't as if Cedric was placing the order himself. More than likely, he had asked his assistant to do it once and had simply forgotten to tell her to stop once the two of you had ended.

It had been entirely bizarre to see Aaron so worked up over something seemingly small, and you refused to placate whatever insecurity was behind it. Annoyingly, John had been on Aaron's side of it all and the two of them had drank a little too much and added Cedric's name to the mailing list for wedding invitations. Cedric Kensington was a complete class act. The shipment after that was accompanied by balloons and a giant Congratulations sign, much to both of their shame and your complete amusement. It wasn't Cedric's fault that the men in your life were incapable of understanding when someone was kind and giving without expecting a single thing in return.

"It's good to see you again," he greets you with a quick peck to your cheek before turning to the man beside you. "This must be Aaron, congratulations man." He sticks his hand out towards John to shake.

"Thankfully, no," John responds, meeting Cedric's outstretched hand, a smirk on his face as he looks at you to clarify. This was hardly the first time someone had made that particular mistake, especially given that both Jack and John had light hair compared to Aaron's darker locks. You suppose you could see how people made that particular mistake, and the three of you were starting to get a sense of humor about it. Some joke about sister wives had made the rounds one time too many, resulting in you pelting the two of them with pillows with Jack as your second in command.

"Cedric, this is John," you clarify, trying and almost succeeding at hiding your exasperation with him. "He's a friend. But Aaron is actually –" You break off to look around, spotting him and Jack a little further away from where they'd been the last time. You'd really like for your husband-to-be, to meet the man whose champagne him and his new best friend had gotten drunk off of. The story of how John had earned that title had resulted in more than one person upset with Aaron. Namely, you, who had to corral the two of them back home – a feat that was remarkable and which you did not get nearly enough credit for accomplishing on your own – and David Rossi, who until that moment had considered himself to be Aaron's best friend and had not taken kindly to being dethroned. Aaron was still making it up to Dave.

"I'll send him over," John says, nodding at Cedric before walking towards the lake to trade spots with Aaron. Jack still had some bread left to go.

"How're you?" you ask, turning back to Cedric. Of all the men you'd dated between John and Aaron, he was hands down the favorite.

Cedric fills you in on how the business was doing and in turn you were able to share an abridged version of how you were doing as well, as the two of you waited for Aaron to make his way over.

"With the consolidation, I think I'm going to be in DC a lot more," he shares, unknowingly planting a seed in your head.

Right then, you feel Aaron walking up behind you, and turning, in the distance you can make out John chasing after Jack as he races to feed that one difficult swan.

"You must be Aaron," Cedric stands straighter and meets Aaron's eyes, reaching a hand out towards him. "Congratulations, you're a lucky man."

Aaron smiles at that. "Oh, I know."

You watch as the two of them smile and shake hands, exchanging pleasantries. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't have been able to tell that your fiancé had been incredibly bothered by this man only a few weeks back. You can only imagine what John had said to him when he'd gone over to send him your way.

"Hope we'll be seeing you at the wedding," Aaron remarks, an arm winding around your waist.

Cedric smiles and nods. "It's already on my calendar."

"Good!" you exclaim. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He chuckles and agrees, no doubt knowing you're about to set him up with someone.

As Cedric takes his leave, Aaron turns to you slightly bashful, his eyes finding yours with the hint of an apology in them. "He seems like a nice guy."

Your elbow meets the soft part of his stomach as you duck out from his hold. "He is a nice guy. Honestly," you huff, shaking your head. "You and John need to cool it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who added his name to the list," Aaron protests, unwittingly bringing up an argument that was only freshly buried. He hurries to catch up with you as you make your way towards the lake.

"Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop the guy who did, now did you?" You try to keep your face severe in an attempt to get him to grovel just a little bit more, but your amusement at the entire turn of events ends up betraying you.

With a soft laugh and a shrug in apology, he moves his hand down to hold yours as the two of you continue to walk towards where Jack has now managed to talk John into carrying him around atop his shoulders so he can feed (terrorize) the birds attempting to fly past.

"You want him to meet Garcia?" he guesses, brow quirking up in some interest.

You nod. Elliot Greenberg and Penelope had broken up a few months back, citing irreconcilable differences on both their parts and they'd both been rather hush hush about the matter. You figure setting her up with Cedric – well renowned tech tycoon – might help cheer her up. Plus, he was obviously looking to settle down. Who knows, it could work out.

As you approach, both Jack and John turn towards the two of you.

"Mom! Uncle John said we can go to the Zoo tomorrow. Can we?" Jack's cherubic cheeks and hopeful smile look down at you from atop John's shoulders, eyes pleading with you to take him to the Zoo once more so he could sit in front of the giraffe habitat for an hour.

No matter how long it's been since he started calling you Mom, it still tugs at your heartstrings. However, that didn't mean you were about to take that kid to the Zoo for the third time in as many months.

You raise a disapproving eyebrow at John, as Aaron goes to help Jack off of his shoulders. "Sorry buddy, Mom and I have an appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow," Aaron tells him, setting Jack down with an exaggerated groan. "But, you know, I bet Uncle John would love to take you on his own."

You meet Aaron's eyes with a matching smirk, knowing he had no intention of going to the Zoo tomorrow either. If the two of you could wrangle John into free babysitting for the day, then all the better. You were sure the two of you could manage to find some way to occupy yourselves.

Jack's hopeful gaze turns up to John who rolls his eyes at both you and Aaron before telling Jack that Of course he'd take him to the Zoo.

The four of you walk back towards the parking lot, John and Jack racing up ahead while you and Aaron bring up the rear hand in hand. On the drive back, Jack manages to convince you to stop and pick up ice cream and a DVD for the night. Sometime during the latter half of the movie, nestled against Aaron's chest, your eye wanders over to Jack and John on the other couch. Jack's splayed out all across John's space, feet wedged in underneath John's thigh. You can tell he's about seconds from passing out and you weren't too far behind. Your eyes meet John's, sinking into a quick, easy smile before he turns his attention back towards the screen. You end up staring a moment longer, taking in the sight of him and Jack being close in a manner you wouldn't have thought possible even six months ago.

From behind you, Aaron shifts, adjusting you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. You look up to see his deep brown eyes tracing your features, having long forgotten the movie on the screen. It's like he knows exactly what you'd been thinking, his eyes flickering momentarily to the other couch before returning to yours, a peaceful smile gracing his face. With a quick squeeze to his arm, you shuffle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 11

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

Previous

Read chapter 11 on AO3 or read below:

“But, just, if I had the choice,” I say, “I would rather be apart from society.”

We’ve gone around and around a few different points by now. The latest one is the Ghost reminding me that, since betas are one in a thousand, there are only three hundred thousand in the United States, which is less than the population of Wyoming, and I don’t know anyone from Wyoming. They can and do seek each other out, but in a lot of ways, chemical and social, they’re separated from everyone else.

“Would you?” asks the Ghost.

“Well…” I trail off, thinking of the Bomb and the Roach and how they, very possibly, endured de-designation one way or another. I don’t think that’s something I want for myself, not seriously. Sure, I could do without all the complications of heat, but would I like to go through life with dulled senses, knowing most of the population was experiencing something I never would?

The problem isn’t really that I hate being an omega, it’s that I spent my whole life watching alphas, surviving alphas. Wishing I had what they had.

I look at Cardan, who’s been preoccupied with picking at dirt under his fingernails this entire time. He wears a mask of boredom. I know he’s listening, though. He’s good at playing dumb.

“I want to be like them,” I hear myself say. “No, I want to be better than them. That’s all. That’s what it is. And how am I supposed to be better when I’m—” I gesture at myself. I know I look better now than I did before, but I am far from my peak.

Regarding me steadily, the Ghost says, “There’s power in what you are right now, you know. There’s power in driving people crazy for you. A well-placed omega can ruin a political negotiation, a business merger, a marriage. Start wars.”

“Helen of Troy,” I interject. We all know how that went. “That’s soft power. But I don’t want—want…”

I shiver in my chair and hug my arms to my chest. Cardan’s voice is dark and low when he says, “I don’t think she’s up for this discussion.”

The Ghost gives him an odd look, and I say, “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” I quash down panic; the meds shouldn’t be wearing off this soon, but there��s nothing I can do about it. “I don’t want soft power. I want to be taken seriously.”

“Well, you got us to take you pretty seriously,” the Ghost replies. “Cardan takes you seriously.”

I snort. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

“I think that when you get to college, or at least out into the real world, you’ll find it’s very different,” the Ghost continues.

“I live in the real world,” I retort.

“No, you live in a bubble. A rich person bubble. When there aren’t as many expectations—when there are just normal people—alphas and omegas don’t have as much trouble with each other.”

I press my lips together so I can’t remind him that my mom married an alpha and it didn’t exactly end well. “But systems of oppression still exist. How many omega presidents have we had?”

The Ghost holds up a hand. “We’ve been over this. I’m not saying they don’t.” He pauses. “It wasn’t a kind thing Madoc did, sending you to Insmire.”

I blink at him. “How did you know—”

“Well, we did have to do our research on you.” He presses his lips together. “Cardan said you went to school together.”

“Oh, right.” I feel foolish, and also defensive. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan pick up his head. “Well, Madoc isn’t kind. I mean, he can be, but—he isn’t.”

“No,” the Ghost agrees. “If he was kind, he would have sent you to the best multi-designation or omega prep school there was. But he didn’t let you have it easy. From what I know of him, he wanted to teach you to fight, on all fronts. And from where I’m sitting, it worked. I bet your sister isn’t a pushover either. Your twin?”

I almost laugh, thinking about Taryn fistfighting anyone. But I guess we did both learn to lie pretty well. I shrug my shoulders.

“You’ve had the worst of it in high school with entitled rich kids. The real world is more balanced, and you’re more than ready for it.” He pauses. “And there is one more thing, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate me saying it.”

“Go on.”

“Mating.”

Cardan makes a choked sound.

“I don’t mean sex,” the Ghost says, with a glance at him. “I mean finding a mate. It’s something I’ve thought about, as someone who can’t have it. Sure, betas get to fall in love like everyone else, but we don’t get to have that… connection. That belonging.”

Neither Cardan nor I speak for a moment. We are both too busy looking at the ground. “It’s a lot of pressure,” I say slowly. “What if you pick the wrong person? How do you know?”

“You might.” The Ghost sits back in his chair, seeming to retreat back into himself. I have the feeling this is the most he’s spoken in one go for a long time. Then he says, “But what if you pick the right one?”

I open my mouth to reply when I am hit by another full-body shiver, and then my cramps return with a vengeance. I whimper and wrap my arms around my abdomen. “Ow.”

“She’s getting worse.” It’s Cardan who says it. He sounds newly panicked. “You have to help her. I can’t do it.”

The Ghost raises his eyebrows. “It’s okay for me to help her now?”

“Yeah, well, you were doing alright, keeping her distracted, so I guess you’re ready for more responsibility.”

I blink up at the Ghost, who’s already standing from his chair. “You were distracting me? How long has it been?”

“A good couple of hours. You like to argue.” He helps me out of my seat. “He’s not as stupid as he looks, is he?”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “No, he isn’t.” Standing takes most of my concentration, but I look back over my shoulder at Cardan, who’s rigid like he’s grown roots. His hands have a white-knuckled grip on the side of the chair. He nods at me, and I nod back at him and let the Ghost lead me away.

The door to our cell-room had been left open while we were talking around the table, so it’s no longer as stuffy. I let out a groan of relief when I sink down onto the mattress. My gross, terrible mattress. My itchy blankets. I am so happy to be back in a visceral way that I don’t quite understand. Because it’s my “nest,” I guess. I want to wrap myself up in the blankets and curl up in a little ball, but the Ghost is still standing here.

“We have to lock Cardan in with you at night,” he says quietly. He sounds apologetic. “Especially if it’s only me on watch. There won’t always be eyes on him.”

I shrug. “He hates me. I’ll be fine.”

The Ghost’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“Oh, what?” I scoff. “You’re taking your eyes off him right now.”

“Yeah, because I can feel his eyes boring holes in my shirt.”

I snicker. I have decided that as far as people who’ve shot me go, the Ghost really isn’t so bad. “Hey,” I begin, wincing through another cramp, determined to keep distracting myself. “Why are you doing this? The Bomb said she’s sticking with whoever you work for because she owes them. Same for you?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m too far in to get out.”

“That can’t be true. I mean, if you go to the police, bargain for immunity in exchange for testimony…”

He gives me a dour look that says I’m being incredibly naive. “Ask me whose house this was.”

I blink at him, wondering if the connection should be obvious and the fever is slowing down my brain. “Whose house… was it?”

“It was being built as a weekend home for someone’s mistress. It was never finished.”

“Why? What happened to her?”

He looks me over, withdrawing further into himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get you more medicine. You should rest. The second half is going to be harder than the first.”

“It is?” I ask, my voice sounding small and pathetic, but he has already left.

---

I don’t remember much about the next twenty-four hours. Just flashes, impressions, snippets of conversation. People are in and out of the room, making sure my water bottle is full, replacing it if it isn’t, giving me pills, for all the good they do. At first it’s the Ghost, but eventually it’s the Bomb, which means she’s come back. My ears, straining to pick out Cardan’s voice through the closed door, hear the Roach’s laugh, so he’s returned too.

It’s a bad day. It doesn’t take me long to sweat right through my dress, and it takes even less time for my shorts to soak through. The medicine can’t keep my temperature in check anymore, only drive it down to a balmy one hundred. I am miserable, and I am bored. There is nothing for me to do but stare at the wall, and even if there were, I probably couldn’t focus on it. My head feels like it’s being weighed down by a bag of rocks. The only thing that seems fully awake and alive is my libido, spiky and insistent. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this sick and this aroused. Masturbation doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

I am aware of Cardan coming back into the room, hours later. I am aware of his footsteps on the floor, the sound of him sitting heavily on the floor. I get a fresh waft of lavender; he showered again before coming in. Even though I had been dozing and wish again to be unconscious, I do pick up my head to look at him.

“Hi,” I say.

He raises one hand in greeting. “Hey.” He looks less like himself than ever, pale and drawn and wilting, and his brows are drawn. But he’s still handsome. Even the paleness benefits him, setting off his dark hair. Like a vampire. I have the urge to press my mouth to the column of his neck again.

Instead, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Aside from everything?” Cardan sighs. “I don’t know. The Bomb and the Roach came back, but something is weird. They wouldn’t talk about it in front of me.”

“Oh,” I say. That should mean something to me, but it doesn’t right now. I can’t fit the pieces together.

He sighs again, a longer sigh this time. “And I’m feeling like a pretty shitty alpha,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, drawing my knees in tighter to my chest. “Because you haven’t boned me yet?”

Another strangled noise escapes him. I’m getting used to those little squawks. “One, never say ‘boned’ again. And two, no.” He sounds sullen. He rakes his hand through his hair. “Because I’m not taking care of you.”

My brain short-circuits. “What?”

“I talked to the Roach about it.” He pauses. “I mean… if we were paired up, if we were doing this on purpose, it should be me. I should be helping you. Instead I have to let other people do it.”

“But we’re not paired up, and that is taking care of me. In these circumstances…”

I trail off, and he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It sucks,” I say, as if agreeing with him. “And it’s—I’m just scared.”

He tsks, tossing his hair out of his face. “Nothing scares you.”

I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders. “That’s not true. I’m scared all the time. It’s why I’m so angry at everything, everyone. At myself.”

Cardan is quiet for a moment, then says, “I guess I get that.”

I wonder if he does. There is a lot I still don’t know about Cardan. “If the last year has shown me anything, it’s that I can’t control anybody else’s behavior. Locke. Taryn. Valerian.” I shift. “Just me. It’s just me. I’m the only thing in my control.”

He smiles, weakly. “Slow down, Hamilton.”

“It’s Burr. And that’s not the lyric.”

“Whatever. Nerd.”

My own smile is transient. “Anyway, now I’m not even in my control. Now I have to be afraid of myself. So that… it just sucks.”

“Yeah.” After another stretch of silence, Cardan asks, “Are you afraid of me?”

I don’t answer him right away. Because the answer, of course, is yes. Yes, I have been afraid of him for such a long time. Yes, I am afraid of what he represents, the power and the system set against me. Yes, I am afraid of the way he affects me, the things I want to do, the vulnerability in me.

But the answer, in some strange way, as we have languished in our cell, has also become no.

“I,” I begin, but then there is another urgent cramp, another painful jolt of arousal on its heels, and I groan. “Oh, god.”

Cardan’s eyes widen in alarm. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says quickly. “Just… just relax. Just chill. I’ll stay over here.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I manage through gritted teeth, clutching my stomach. It is, of course, worse.

Trying to get comfortable, I toss and turn for ages, but I must fall asleep through the pain because the next thing I know, Cardan is gone again, and I am holding a scrap of soft cloth in my arms. On instinct, I bring it to my nose. It smells like Cardan, that musky smell he’s taken on in the last couple of days. Warmth bursts in my chests like a firework. It’s his shirt. He left his shirt with me. What is he wearing now?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I nuzzle the fabric. It is not exactly soft, a little grimy from lack of washing, but saturated with his scent. I am amazed at how my brain calms just from this one, simple thing. My horniness problem is not solved, though, so I slide my hand into my shorts to take care of it, my face still pressed to Cardan’s shirt. It muffles my cries when I come, but I’m honestly too far gone to care if I am heard. After I am finished, I wriggle out of my dress, pull the shirt over my head, and promptly fall back asleep.

I doze fitfully. Someone comes to replace the water bottle, which briefly wakes me long enough that I roll around for a few minutes before I’m out again. I don’t mind that the mattress is lumpy or that the blankets scratch my skin; whenever something begins to bother me too much, I stick my nose in the collar of Cardan’s shirt and breathe in, which is usually enough to soothe me.

I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or awake when I feel someone press the bottle to my lips and say, “Drink, Jude.” It sounds like the Roach, or maybe Madoc. I open my mouth and manage a couple of swallows of water before putting my head back down and dragging the blankets up over my shoulders.

“Is she still asleep?” I hear Cardan ask. His voice is hushed. The smell of him doesn’t bother me so much now that I have his shirt, but I do scent him and groan softly, pressing my face into the pillow.

“Mostly,” says probably-the-Roach.

There’s a pause, then Cardan asks, “Can I do it?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know, but I want to help.” Something shuffles, like he’s kicked at the floor. “She’s only like this because of me.”

The Roach sighs, then says, “All right. Come over, but be careful.”

I hear Cardan’s footsteps on the floor, and then a hand pushes some of my hair off of my sweaty face, dragging down to skim my cheek. I lean into his hand. It feels so good to be touched.

“Jude, hey,” he says quietly. “Can you pick your head up a little higher for me?”

There’s something beneath his voice, a dark undertow that pulls me down. I find that I want to do what he says, which isn’t a remotely comforting thought. But I pick up my head, and he keeps one hand against my jaw as he tips the jug against my mouth. A little water trickles down my neck, wetting the shirt he lent me, but I swallow most of it down.

“That’s good.” He takes the jug away and sets it back down on the floor. I can hear the strain in his words, like he’s fighting with himself. “Really good.”

His hand finds my hair again, and I would do anything for him to just keep running his fingers through it, but then the Roach says, ��I think that’s enough.”

Cardan disentangles his fingers from my hair and stands; I hear him step back. “It’s just so weird,” he says. “It’s weird to see her like this. She hates—she never asks for help. I’ve never seen her vulnerable.”

“Well, her body’s treating it like a sickness,” the Roach says. “But we’re looking out for her. Another, what, day or so? Less than a day? And she should be free and clear. And hopefully by then this will all be over and we can let you guys out.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and then, “Thanks.”

The Roach chuckles. “Don’t thank me, kid. We kidnapped you.”

“I know, but.” Cardan hesitates. “Is it weird that in some ways I’d rather be here than home?”

“Pretty weird, yeah.”

“Yeah.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he asks, “Jude?”

I say nothing, do nothing. I want to keep eavesdropping. He wouldn’t be saying half of this if he thought I was awake. So I keep my breathing low and even, and let him say what he wants.

But he says nothing, and for a second I think he’s getting ready to leave me alone again. Then I hear him take a step—toward me—and his hand is briefly back in my hair. I feel warm lips against my forehead, soft and fleeting like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I have to fight my every instinct not to lean up into the kiss and give myself away, but then his hand and lips are both gone. I hear the quick retreat of his footsteps, the closing of the door.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper to the empty cell. “You can’t just leave me with that.”

But he can, and he did, because he assumed I was asleep. He left me with the memory of a forehead kiss, with a whispered conversation to dissect, and a tingling feeling throughout my entire body.

“I hate you so much,” I say, curling closer around his shirt. There is no answer but my erratic heartbeat, drumming out a truth I am almost, but not quite, ready to hear.

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