#the things i did say would look silly in comparison like ‘no you might regret it’

[bluevaldezinator]

I’m single again!!!! Wahoooo

Lessons learned: be bold about what you dislike in a relationship. Notice when you’re being isolated because of your partner. Don’t be afraid to think for yourself, you don’t need to wait for friends/family to say you should break up.

[quill-pen]

I should be sleeping or at least in bed, but late-night creativity always seems to hit me hard. Probably because it's the time of day I can actually sit down and just write without being interrupted while everything and everyone else sleeps. I always regret it in the morning though. lmao--kill me!

Anyway, this wasn't supposed to be a ficlet. I was just going to do another little conversation thing like I normally do, but then my mind said, "Ya know, this would be a fun little thing to write." So... I did. I went all out and did. And it was fun! Except it kept me up until nearly 1 am. Again. Oy....

Anyway--on with the ficlet!

Slight NSFW--I'm gonna go ahead and say 18+ and "Minors get lost" just to be safe.

Summary: A quick comparison of two of my favorite ships from my Scroogeverse: Tom and Addie and Ebenezer and Bess. Which couple wins? You decide!

Warnings: Surprise, surprise--most of these are for Ebeness: brief mention of body-shaming, groping, mention of genitals, dirty talking, lusty idiots in love--I'm surprised there isn't more. As of now, not edited.

Toddie Vs. Ebeness

Addie Shaw, soon to be Jenkins, leaned heavily against the front counter of Jenkins' Toys and Games, watching as the owner of the establishment and her fiancé, Tom Jenkins, checked the inventory on the shelves. Every so often, after he'd counted up the amount of a certain item, he would call out to her a number and item name and she would dutifully record it in the ledger beside the proper entry. They'd been at it for a little over an hour now, Tom working down the shelves away from the counter. Away from Addie.

Addie drummed the fingers of her left hand against the pages of the ledger book as she heavily rested her face in her right hand. She knew it was stupid, what she was feeling, but she couldn't help it; the further Tom moved away from her, the lonelier she felt. And why on earth should that have been? He was literally right there in the room with her--he wasn't even out of sight behind shelves yet! Still, silly as it was, she did feel lonely and there was no denying it. She couldn't reach out and touch him from here, couldn't feel his warmth, couldn't smell his cinnamony cologne that she loved so much. Addie let her gaze fall down to hold on the pretty silver ring on her ring finger. Now she understood what her cousin Bess meant when she spoke of true love: You didn't need to be next to them all the time, but, ye gods, did you ever want to be!

A brilliant idea suddenly came to the young woman's mind that caused her rosy lips to curl. It was a little bit more of a Bess thing to do, but it seemed like it could be fun. And Addie knew Tom wouldn't mind taking a break.

Gently slapping her hand against the ledger, Addie leaned even more heavily on the counter and sighed extra, extra loudly, making sure to make it sound dramatically forlorn. She thought she did a decent job.

It definitely worked, for Tom immediately stopped in his counting of the checkerboards and turned to look at her. "Is everything all right, Sugarplum-bum?" he asked, looking a tad bit concerned.

Addie met his eyes, looking innocently at him. "Yes," she answered.

"Only, that sigh sounded rather sad," Tom gently pressed further, his gentle brown eyes looking her over.

Addie bit back a smile. Bess was a genius! "Well, as it happens, I am just a tad melancholy," she replied, doing her best to keep the corners of her mouth from curving up.

Tom hopped off his ladder and moved towards her, looking even more worried. "Oh, yes? Might I ask why?"

Addie put on her best pout and puppy-dog eyes, and she must have done a commendable job because she could see an entirely new level of softness well up in her beau's eyes. She internally cheered and made a mental note to discuss her triumph with Bess later. "Well, if you must know, Sugarpie, it's because it's been an hour and five minutes since you last told me you loved me."

Surprise, realization, knowing, and playfulness all flashed through Tom's eyes in a wink. It was incredibly impressive, and Addie quietly wondered if that's what Ebenezer looked like whenever Bess pulled this stunt with him. "Oh, my!" Tom gasped, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, the other his heart. "Oh, I am so sorry, Peachfuzz, so very sorry indeed! Allow me to fix my mistake!" He swept behind the counter and wrapped the plump woman up in his arms, squeezing her tight as he spun her around.

Squealing with delight, Addie wrapped her arms around the man's neck. Then she found herself being lifted up and deposited on the countertop. She blushed pink and giggled as Tom came to stand in front of her, moving between her legs. She probably parted them for him a little bit easier than a lady should have, but she didn't care. They were practically married after all.

Wrapping his arms around her again, Tom stared into his love's shining hazel-nut eyes and smiled ever so lovingly and fondly at her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he murmured. Another kiss to her temple. "I love you." Her other temple. "I love you." He smooched her cute button nose. "I love you." He peppered her cheeks. "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!"

Addie laughed, trying to push him away and duck out of the onslaught. "Tom-Tom, please! That's a little too much!"

"Ah, there's never such a thing as too much love, my sweet!" He kept up the assault of butterfly kisses all over her soft, round face before finally planting his lips on hers. Immediately everything slowed, the rest of the world falling away until they were the only two people in the universe.

Addie slowly slipped her hands up to cup Tom's jaw to hold him closer, her fingers curling around his delightfully prominent ears. She delighted at how the closely cropped curls of his 'chops tickled her palms. His thin 'stache scratched against her top lip just so, sending tingles throughout her body. The woman felt as though she were in her own personal Heaven, one that was filled with nothing but Thomas Aaron Jenkins. Not that there ever had been, but there wasn't a trace of doubt in Addie's mind--this was love. True love. And it was hers. It was theirs.

When the couple finally broke apart, Tom touched his forehead to Addie's and gazed deeply into her hazy eyes. "I love you, Adelaide Kathryn Shaw" he repeated, softly, slowly, with meaning in every letter and syllable. "With every bit of my soul, I love you. You make me the happiest man on Earth, and I will dedicate the rest of my life trying to make you the happiest woman on Earth."

Addie smiled adoringly at the man, his words touching her very soul and bringing the slightest burn of tears to her shining eyes. Growing up she'd always been the silly fat girl--too plump, too loud, too attention-seeking. Boys and young men had never looked at her as something to take seriously, never mind something to love or desire. But now here she was, a grown woman in love with an absolutely wonderful grown man who loved her back with all his might, listened to everything she had to say no matter how goofy, and wanted her to be his wife and mother of his children. Addie had never felt so special. Or so happy. "You do that already, Tom," she replied to the man. "You make me so happy, I hardly know what to do with myself."

Tom smirked. "Well, apparently, you're so happy, you stoop to your delightful cousin's manipulations in order to get a little extra affection out of me."

Addie giggled. "It worked, did it not?"

The swarthy man grinned and shook his head. "You Shaw women," he muttered, booping her nose with a finger, "deviants the lot of you. I've never seen more mischievous females."

"You love us and you know it."

"Yes. Mischievous and irresistible--a dangerous combination. Good thing I'm a man that's always liked a little danger."

Addie laughed as he surged back in to kiss her again.

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Ebenezer was adding up the family balance book for the month when the door of his study practically flew open. He took a brief second to look up and catch a glimpse of his wife before turning back to his numbers. "Hello, Darling," he greeted her.

With a melodramatic sigh, Bess leaned heavily against the doorpost and pressed the back of her right hand to her head. "Have you no heart, Ebenezer Charles Scrooge?!" she exclaimed, a theatrical vibrato in her voice.

Still adding up the balance, the reformed miser smirked at the woman's dramatics. Bess always claimed she couldn't stand theater, but the woman took such delight in performing melodrama it was hard to believe her. "Well," he answered, "I have a pulse; so judging from that, I believe I have heart--but I haven't been to the doctor for a good while, so I suppose I can't say with certainty."

"No!" Bess wailed, going full Shakespearean. "No, you haven't a heart! How can you?" She pushed off the doorpost and swept into the room. "How can a man profess to have a heart when he hasn't told his adoring and devoted wife 'I love you' since..." she paused and took a deep, shuddering breath, "... since breakfast hours ago! Oh! Oh, the humanity!" The American pressed a hand to her forehead again and the other to her heart and twirled about before "swooning" and collapsing onto the deep rust, chaise lounge across from his desk. She sobbed, stretching a foot dramatically towards the ceiling: "The humanity!"

That caused Ebenezer to roll his eyes and turn away from the balance book to pivot around in his chair and face the actress that was his wife. He smirked amusedly at her. "You never fail to take it up a notch, do you?" he remarked with a snort.

Bess peeked out of the corner of her eye at the silver-haired man and winked with an impish grin, before resuming character. "Oh, the misery! The despair of being a vibrant, vivacious woman trapped in a loveless marriage!"

"Well, you are most certainly a vibrant, vivacious woman, I'll give you that."

"How can I go on? Knowing that the man I love doesn't love me in return--how can I possibly be expected to go on?! Oh, I am a piteous being! A most wretched and lowly soul cast among the broken and downtrodden of this cold, cruel, heartless world! Oh, woe! Woe is me! Woe is me!" Bess threw herself fully across the lounge, leaning far back over the curved headrest so that she was nearly hanging upside down, a hand still pressed to her brow.

The sound of chuckling reached her ears, followed by a book snapping shut. Then there were footsteps lazily crossed the hardwood floor before the door shut. The sound of the lock turning was what caused the woman to snap her eyes open and sit up to look at her husband. The distinguished gentleman stood there beside the door, watching her intently, his eyes dark. A shiver instantly ran up Bess' spine. She watched carefully as he undid his cuffs and deftly rolled up his sleeves, revealing expanses of slender-built forearms covered in attractive salt-and-pepper hair. Defined, wiry muscles flexed beautifully beneath rosy skin, reminding her of the surprising power and strength those otherwise slender arms possessed: The strength to carry her all the way home from the market when she twisted her ankle; the strength to hold her up and pin her to a wall as he rutted into her until she screamed with ecstasy. Bess gulped, looking from Ebenezer's arms up to his leering face. A thrill shot straight through her down to the special space between her thighs that only Ebenezer knew and could affect so markedly. Instinctively she parted her legs a bit.

"Well, now," Ebenezer rumbled as he slowly trod towards her, fiddling with the last few rolls of his left cuff, "it would appear as though I've been a bad husband--neglectful in my duties and leaving my poor, poor wife to suffer for it."

Bess pouted out her bottom lip. "You have been neglectful," she grumped.

"I know, Sweetness."

"Very, very neglectful."

"I know."

"How am I supposed to know that you still love me when you go hours without telling me, Ebenezer?"

"I know, I know, and I'm so sorry, Bess. So very, very sorry." He knelt on the floor before her, (which was quite gallant to do, as he did not have the youngest knees anymore) and gazed up into her face. He smirked and it held a dangerous edge that matched the blackness of his eyes. "As I have been made aware of this... greatest of transgressions," Ebenezer said, his voice soft but dark, "I would very much like to try and alleviate it." He wrapped his arms around the woman's waist and drew her forward to him. "If only you would be so gracious as to let me, Dearest Wife." He trailed a hand languidly down Bess' long leg until he came to the very hem of her skirt. Moving his hand to touch her stockinged ankle, he traced his hand just as slowly back up under her skirt. His long fingers gently pressed into her flesh.

A squeak caught in Bess's throat as a goofy grin spread across her face along with a strawberry blush. Lord, the effect this devilish man had on her--she'd never get over it. And she never wanted to. "I-" she stopped and cleared her throat, "-I believe I could find it within me to be as such." She shivered at the temperature change on her lower legs as her lover slowly pushed her skirt up higher and higher.

Ebenezer smiled wolfishly. "Thank you, my darling. I am undoubtedly married to a saint of a woman." With his free hand, he took up one of hers and kissed her fingers. "I love you." He kissed her knuckles. "I love you." He kissed the back of her hand. "I love you." All the while, his hand beneath her skirt kept on its trek.

Bess tried to steady her breathing and shifted around to allow him more access as he progressed.

Ebenezer was kissing up her arm now, trailing his lips along its length until he reached her shoulder and pressed a firmer kiss there. "I love you," he whispered into her blouse. He turned his face to hers with devilishly glittering eyes and asked, "Is this making things better, my love?"

Bess shuddered a breath and nodded her head, unable to find her voice.

"But not quite enough is it? No, you went hours without hearing an 'I love you' from my lips--a few kisses will not suffice." He moved his head to the center of her chest and pressed a kiss to her clothed sternum, then a trail of them up over her collarbone and the column of her throat.

Bess moaned as his lips gently sucked at her sensitive skin, tilting her head back just slightly. Little twinges of pleasure sparked deep in her belly; heat pooled in her pelvis. How was it possible for anyone to be so good with their mouth all the damn time? She hadn't the time to consider that question as suddenly her man's lips were upon hers, claiming them fully. She leaned into it, tilting her head for a better angle and molding her fully lips to dance with his soft, smooth, slender ones. Without thinking she brought both her hands up to skim his shoulder and clutch at the back of his neck, one hand moving higher to twine into his soft, steely hair. A large hand squeezed her left knee ticklishly, and Bess squealed, allowing Ebenezer the perfect opportunity to plunder her mouth with his tongue. She moaned at the taste of him--he'd sucked on a peppermint recently-- and allowed him to push her deeper into the lounge. Before she knew it, she was lying back with her man stretched atop her and nestled comfortably between her legs. She had no complaints.

Finally, the kiss ended as both parties desperately needed more air than they could find through their nostrils. Hearts racing, lungs heaving, they gazed into each other's lusty, half-lidded eyes. Each party thought the other a spectacular vision with their flushed cheeks and glistening lips. They could have stayed in such a way forever and been content.

"I love you, Elizabeth Felicity Scrooge," Ebenezer rasped, voice as full of adoration and devotion as desire. It warmed Bess' very soul. "I love you so much, I don't believe I could ever voice it effectively to you." The man's lips curled into a delightfully wicked sneer as his once-slate-blue-now-black eyes gleamed with devilry. "Therefore, I believe I shall have to write it out with my tongue and fingers both on and in that delectable little quim of yours."

Bess was sure she could have burned to ashes on the spot with the heat that flared throughout her body. "Ebenezer!" she squeaked incredulously.

A dark, rumbling burr of a chuckle rolled up from deep in the Englishman's chest. "Oh, I love it when you say my name, She-Wolf," he snarled, touching his nose to hers as he glowered seductively into her eyes. He trailed his hand further up her thigh to find it bare and gave it an appreciative squeeze. Its mistress squealed, and he felt his pants grow ever more constrictive. "And I can't wait to hear you scream it again."

Taglist: @rom-e-o @oldmanlusting @the-house-of-auditore-frye @crimson-phantom-designs @purgratoriat @ofvampiirisms

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers chapter 9

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 9

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: This is my first attempt at writing smut!  Please let me know how you like it! If you want to read the previous chapters for this story, you can find them here. Or you can read my other works here.

Warnings: This chapter contains sexual content and is not for individuals under 18 years old.

Word Count: 3895ish

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

“May I join you, Finan?”

Cwen paused to see the Irishman's reaction.  He sat, elbows on knees and face in hands along a bench outside the new Queen of Mercia’s chambers.  

Startled at her words, he sat up abruptly.

“Cwen, of course.” 

Seeing who it was interrupting his thoughts, Finan resumed his slumped and dejected posture.

Cwen’s feet made soft echoes as she padded across the floor to take a seat next to him.

The hallway was thick with heat from the summer air.  Dust moats swirled in the sun’s rays that filtered in from the adjacent window.

Cwen leaned back against the wall and took in the sight of her companion.

“Something weighs on your mind?”

Finan ran his hands over his face and sat up to match Cwen’s posture.

“Other than the current illegal occupation of the city by a jilted rival king?”

“Yes, other than that.”

“Well, you might say something weighs on my mind, yes.”

Taking a breath and staring down at his hands, Finan spun one of his rings. Cwen waited several minutes for him to continue.

“I thought this would be a chance for Uhtred to find another path.  Another destiny for him to fall behind,” Finan leaned forward once more to rest his elbows on his knees.

“When we failed to win Bebbanburg, when we lost Beocca, it broke him. And we lost everything.  Starting over here, in Mercia would have been a fresh beginning for him. For all of us. A place to finally find some peace.”

“Are you so sure that is out of reach now?”  Cwen had not had time to process the turn of events with Uhtred abdicating the throne to Aethelflaed.  Not as Finan had it would seem.  What would this mean for any future with Sihtric.

To have only begun to explore the depths of their feelings then possibly have that torn away from her had not crossed Cwen’s mind until that instant. Suddenly, she felt as if a snake had coiled itself inside her ribs, slowly constricting her heart. 

“Are you thinking about Sihtric now?”

“Yes.” 

Finan did not pry her to speak further of her relationship with his brother in arms. Instead he returned his attention to twisting his rings and ruminating on his own concerns. 

Cwen’s mind raced as she thought about losing Sihtric and the comfort and companionship she had found in him.  Without ever even realizing it, she had begun to place him into her future.  Seeing herself years down the road, it was Sihtric she saw at her side.  But now those images seemed hazy.  As if they had lost their focus with this new information.  If Sihtric were to leave Mercia with Uhtred, where would that leave room for her in his life.

Finan shifted his posture on the bench. It brought Cwen out of her own thoughts to glance at her friend.  Cwen pushed the distressing images to the back of her mind and focused her attention on Finan.  The man looked miserable.

“Have you talked with her?”

Finan’s hand stilled but his eyes remained downcast. 

“To Eadith?” She pushed. 

Cwen watched as Finan raised his head to gaze out the window and take a breath. It was small but his head gently swept from side to side. 

“I know that there is so much yet for Sihtric and myself to understand and discuss with one another. But I can say for my part, I do not regret allowing him to know my heart. We have not discussed it but I plan to now.  Knowing that our futures are uncertain I must speak with him.  But I am sure he does know I care for him.”

“You both would need to be blind to not see it.”

“Well I could say the same to you and Eadith both.”

Finan turned his head to meet Cwen’s face still remaining hunched over upon himself. 

“There is mutual affection between you both. And I do not know her plans for the future but I do feel you should speak with her. But who am I to give you advice?” Cwen finished crossing her arms over herself and turning her eyes to meet the window once more. 

“I would say you are a friend, Cwen. And one who we have all come to value a great deal.”

Cwen shot her eyes towards the Irishman and quirked a skeptical smile. 

“Do you not believe me?” Finan said with a light chuckle. 

“No, I do. It is just hard to accept when I have guarded myself for so long. Even before Eardwulf, I did not easily allow people into my life. Ever since losing my mother as a young girl. Even with Aethelflaed, I’ve kept her at an arm's distance you could say.  She is a few years older than I am and I love and respect her. And I have no doubt she cares about my friendship as well. But I could never bring myself to confide in her about Eardwulf. About what he would do to me. I told Sihtric I did not want to speak it aloud and make it true. But I also did not want to allow myself to let someone else in so close. It may sound strange,”

“It does not sound strange to me. We all deal with our grief and our turmoil differently. I doubt I would ever have formed such a bond with Uhtred or the others if Uhtred had not endured slavery alongside me. So I understand guarding yourself.”

The pair sat in companionable silence for several moments more. The sound of rustling coming from the door to Aethelflaed’s room caused Finan to stand. When the door did not open, he sat back down and leaned against the wall with his legs outstretched. 

“In case you’re afraid of speaking about your feelings with Sihtric, can I offer some advice since you’ve given me yours?”

“Even though it was unasked for?” Cwen replied with a wry smile. 

“Aye, even though it was.”

“Please continue, Finan?”

Cwen met Finan’s eyes as he turned to face her. 

“Trust him, Cwen.  He will not hurt you.  I have never, in all my years knowing the man, never seen him as I see him with you.”

Pausing to process Finan’s words, Cwen spoke softly, “what do you mean Finan?”

“I mean the man can not keep his eyes from you. It started at Saltwic. At least that’s when I noticed it. But he could not help himself for staring at you. I don’t think you noticed,”

“I did,” Cwen replied meekly. 

“Well whatever is between the two of ya, he is fiercely devoted to you and your protection. He is a loyal man and a strong warrior.  But I suspect you could bring him to his knees if you wanted to.  He isn’t a man of many words like myself.”

“Oh, you cheeky Irishman,” Cwen interrupted while lightly smacking his arm. 

Chucking, Finan continued, “But I know him well. And I know he would do anything to protect you, lady. To keep ya happy. To see you are never hurt again.”

“I trust him, Finan. Like I have never trusted anyone before. And we’ve barely even spoken of our feelings with one another. I want to say that this is just silly girlish fancy. To think so much of a thing without time spent exploring it more. But time has not allowed us that luxury. And even without that luxury, I know it in my heart. I can trust Sihtric to be gentle with my love.”

“Your love, Cwen? Is it love for you both then?”

“I have not spoken the words. But in my heart I know, for myself it is.”

“Aye. I have seen love before. So I can say by comparison, it is love.”

“Thank you, Finan. I did not come here to speak of these things but I am happy we have.”

“Me too.”

After a moment's pause, Cwen chuckled. 

“I expect you to let me know once you’ve spoken with Eadith.”

“Och, you won’t let this go will you?”

At that moment, Stiorra rounded the corner and stopped to stare at them. 

“What is it?”

“Get the Lady Aethelflaed. You all must see what is happening.”

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

Cwen stood atop the ramparts next to Aethelflaed and Finan.

Uhtred and Osferth were approaching the gates from the main road followed closely by Sihtric bringing up the rear on a secondary path.  They all had scores of men following in their midst.  

They had raised the Mercian fyrd to bring support to the new Queen of Mercia.

“Lady Aethelflaed, your fyrd is here to support you,” called Uhtred.

While the lady spoke to her countrymen, Cwen’s eyes found Sihtric’s.

Her lips parted into a bright smile which Sihtric returned.

Leaning in to whisper in her ear, Finan said, “I told you I saw it.  And you’ve proved me right.”

Cwen gave no response.  She was too preoccupied watching Sihtric as he and the others made their way back inside the burg’s walls.  Aethelflaed had been able to appeal to King Edward’s rational mind and prove they could and should be allies once more.

Quickly, Cwen made her way down the stairs and across the yard to the stables.

After her words with Finan, Cwen knew she must make time to speak with Sihtric alone.  There was so much to discuss and so much that should not be left unsaid.

As she rounded the corner, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes found him.

He had not dismounted his horse, but instead appeared to be coaxing the grey mare and running his hand down her neck. He had not noticed Cwen’s presence yet.  She took a moment to just watch him.  The line of his jaw and the strength of his arms.  His strong gentle hands stroked the animal, speaking quiet words to still it’s hoofs.  Cwen imagined those hands on her own body, stroking, caressing.

The heat in her body ignited once more. She felt a swelling between her thighs and a pull low in her core.

Sihtric brought his eyes up from his horse and found hers.  Slowly, he brought the animal to her side and his eyes bore down on her.  Neither of them were smiling now.  Their faces both instead betrayed a deeper desire. Sihtric licked his lips which caused Cwen’s own to part as she released a sigh.

“Come with me,” Sihtric commanded as he guided the horse over to a hay bale.

Cwen stepped onto the bale and immediately felt his strong arm wrap around her waist to bring her onto his saddle.  

She rode in front of him, feeling the strength of his grip as he kept his hand securely on her waist.  Her waist twisted to place her back against him with both legs still placed to one side.  She could feel the heat from his breath on her neck and it sent rivers of pleasure down her spine.

Struggling to find her voice, Cwen managed to ask, “Where are we going?”

“Away from the world for a while.”

Cwen brought her finger to interlace with those gripping her hip.  Slowly, as they rode through the gates and past the camps set up outside the walls, Cwen moved his hand to settle on her torso. She felt his fingers grip and squeeze her and she desperately wanted to shift his hand lower on her body.  To feel his touch caressing her sex.  

Instead she arched her back against him and felt his lips ghost along the curve of her neck.

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

They did not make it far.  Distantly, Cwen could still hear the sounds from the camp.  But they were far enough to evade prying eyes.

Sihtric brought his horse into a copse of trees.  The ground was softly covered with moss and a warm breeze drifted through the branches.

As smooth as a cat, Sihtric dismounted from the horse, somehow never breaking his hold on her.

When he moved to ease Cwen from the saddle, he kept his body close.  Cwen slid along him as he controlled her down off the mare.

Keeping his arms wrapped around her, Sihtric slowly lowered her until her lips met his as he guided her down until her feet met solid ground.

Cwen’s hands gripped his shoulders tight and she fisted her fingers into his shirt.

She felt his hands hungrily move to wrap her waist and take grip of her neck.

Their mouths opened, tongues daring to explore.  

Cwen could feel Sihtric’s excitement against her stomach. Thinking of his arousal brought forth even more desire in Cwen and she released a mewling sigh against his lips.

Hearing her sound, Sihtric released her mouth and brought his lips to nip and suck along her collarbone causing Cwen to release even more quavering breaths of pleasure.

“Sihtric,” she breathed, speaking his name like a prayer.  The swelling between her legs was leaving her throbbing.  She felt her body writhing under his touch and was shocked to know how much she wanted more of him.

“Sihtric, please.”

Sihtric moved to pull back, “I am  sorry Cwen. I know I told you I would move slowly,” but Cwen cut him off by capturing his lips once more with hers. 

This time it was slow. Full of meaning. 

When she broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. 

“I know what I said. But I also know things have changed.  Before it seemed we would have time and now,” Cwen paused, bringing her hands to rest behind his neck.  “Will Uhtred stay here now?  Will you stay, Sihtric?” 

Sihtric brought his head back to better meet Cwen’s eyes.

“I can not say, Cwen.  But as much as it pains me, it is likely we will leave and return to Coccham or venture somewhere else.”

Cwen broke his stare to rest her head against his chest.  Her hands moved to grip his waist and pull him close.

“I will return to you whenever I am able. We don’t know what our future will be but I know I want you in it.  However I can have you, Cwen.  If you will wait for me.”

Sihtric’s hands drew long slow lines along her spine.

Cwen took a moment to breathe in his scent and calm her beating heart.  He smelled of open fields and horses and damp woods.  Natural and soothing. Steeling herself, she tilted her head back to stare up at him.

“I do not want to wait to be with you, Sihtric. I want you for my future as well,” her eyes shone as she saw the desire mirrored in his face.

“But take me now, Sihtric.  Here and now while I know you are mine.”

She barely had time to finish her words before she felt the heat of his lips crash into hers once more. His body flush against hers and their hands grasped at one another as if scared they would disappear. With chests heaving, Cwen broke apart and turned her back to him.

Sihtric’s hands never left her body and his lips left bruising marks running along her neck.

Slowly, Cwen stepped away from him and brought her hands up to undo the laces of her dress.

She felt him reach out to help her lift it over her head leaving her clad only in her thin, cream colored shift.  Cwen’s breath stuttered as she slowly lowered the sleeves from her shoulders, feeling gooseflesh appear on her skin despite the steamy summer night air.  The sun had almost completely set, leaving gentle streaks filtering in through the trees.

Free from her arms, she allowed the shift to slide down her hips to pool at her feet.

She heard Sihtric take a sharp inhale of breath then felt as his feet moved towards her and his hands grasped onto her bare hips.  Slowly, Cwen turned her body to meet him.

His eyes hungrily took in her nakedness and Cwen watched as he licked his lips.

Cwen shivered as his hands left her to remove his jerkin and leather.  Once unencumbered, he wrapped her in his arms once more and took her mouth with his.  

Cwen had never been naked in front of a man before and found the thrill of it and of Sihtric’s hands on her bare flesh made her nipples harden and her core become slick with desire.

“Touch me, Sihtric,” she whispered against his lips.

Sihtric took his mouth from her and locked his eyes on to her own.

Cwen left out a small gasp of pleasure as she felt his rough fingers slowly slip between her folds and find the wetness of her desire.

At feeling her excitement, Sihtric could not contain the hungry growl that escaped his lips and he felt his member twitch.

Slowly he began to work his fingers across her, massaging and exploring.  

When he finally slipped a finger inside of her, Cwen’s legs quivered and she felt herself lean into his hand so he could more fully cup her sex.

Another moan of pleasure escaped her lips as he entered a second finger and rocked his hand back and forth across her bundle.

“Lie down, Cwen.” Sihtric spoke low and commanding.

Gently, Cwen lowered herself to the ground while SIhtric's fingers continued their exploration, half holding her from falling and half teasing her with pleasure.  His free hand supported her lower back.

Once she lay beneath him, breathing husky and low, he removed himself and stood.

Cwen’s eyes watched him as he lifted his own shirt over his head, tossing it to lay with her own forgotten garments.

Next, he undid the laces of his breaches and slid them off himself, releasing his erection.

He stood, his nakedness matching hers and stared down at her.

Cwen swallowed the saliva poling in her throat as she took in the sight of him.  Lean muscles from years of training and fighting, littered with scars from battles and survival.  She watched as he stroked himself before kneeling down to settle between her legs.  He leaned his hard body to support himself on his elbows above her, meeting her eye.

“You must tell me, Cwen.  I would do nothing that you feel unready for.”

Cwen could feel her body begging to feel him, begging for release. Her next words shocked her, having never wanted or spoken of something so lurid.

“Take me Sihtric. I want you inside of me.  Teach me what being with a man is supposed to be like.”

Sihtric brought one hand up to stroke her face and she leaned into his touch.  His member was hot and swollen against her thigh.

“You will never need to know that pain again, lady.”

And he kissed her.  He kissed her with a tenderness and an honesty that brought tears welling into Cwen’s eyes.

She felt him reach down to guide himself to her entrance and he met her eyes questioning once more. In answer, Cwen raised her hips to meet him and he pushed himself between her lips and into her core.  

Cwen’s back arched and Sihtric watched her body react to him as he brought himself fully inside her.  Slowly, he began a rhythm of thrusts, shallow at first, allowing her body to adjust to him, then deeper and deeper.

Cwen felt her walls quaking as he stretched her.  As she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the fullness of him, she brought her knees up to wrap around the tight muscles of his ass.

Feeling her move in time with him, Sihtric gripped her hip, leveraging more pressure on her bundle of nerves between them.

Cwen felt his lips along her neck once more and the sensation was nearly enough to push her over the edge.

Sensing her nearing her release, Sihtric pulled his chest up so he could watch the stunning woman beneath him.

“Look at me,” Sihtric commanded, gentle but firm.

She met his eyes, their bodys still pulsating together to an ancient, primal rhythm.  Her mouth was agape, cheeks flushed, and hair sticking to her forehead from a fine sheen of sweat.

“Come for me, Cwen.”

And she did.  Her release rippled through her as Sihtric continued to hold her gaze.  His thrusts meeting her body and sending waves of ecstasy to every fiber of her being.  Cwen gripped onto the sculpted sinnews of his lower back as she arched and pulled him even deeper inside of her.

Watching her come undone beneath him was the single most eroitc and beautiful thing Sihtric had ever seen.

When he could tell she had reached the end of her high, he slipped his arm beneath her and shifted his knees to bring her up and on top of his lap. 

Sitting face to face, she kissed him deep and slow.  Regaining her senses, she began riding him, feeling his own climax building as he watched her.

He brought his hand up to stroke her chest as she arched her neck back to allow him full access.

Cwen continued to ride his length, his thrusts to meet her becoming more frantic and frenzied.

When he reached his peak, Sihtric wrapped his strong arms around her waist and held onto her as her fingers pulled at his hair bringing his mouth to meet hers.

When he was finished he fell back onto the mossy earth, bringing Cwen with him to lay nestled underneath the crook of his arm. Both of them breathing heavily and chests heaving.

“You are the most breathtaking creature I’ve ever seen, lady.”

Cwen raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I want you to know I did not plan to bring you out here with this in mind.  I only wanted time alone spent with you, but when I saw the look on your face in the stables,”  he paused to tilt her chin up so he could capture her mouth once more.  Murmuring against it he continued, “I could not help myself. I am drawn to you like a moth is to a flame.”

“I know what you mean, Sihtric.  And you do not need to explain yourself.  I wanted this and you did everything to make sure I was alright with it.  No one has ever looked at me, made me feel the way I do when I am with you.  I have never let a man know me so intimately.  And I am glad to share that with you.”

“You are my future, Cwen.  No matter where I travel, my road will lead me to you.  I can not lose you now.”

“You have me, Sihtric.  All of me now and all of my future,” she mused while cupping his cheek and placing a gentle kiss along his mouth.

They lay entwined together until the sun had set and the wind began to blow cooler through the branches. 

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

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[iamanartichoke]

I wrote a Thing. It’s extremely long. I’d prefer it not be reblogged; I wrote this for my own catharsis and would prefer it not be circulated, bc of Reasons. 

I changed my mind, okay to reblog. <3 

Under a cut for (extreme, did I mention?) length. 

So I got about 12 minutes of sleep last night, as you do, and around 3am or so I found myself - out of sheer curiosity - going down a meta hole of Ragnarok discourse, trying to figure out where this "satisfying redemption arc" for Loki happened. (I mean, there's a lot of things I would like to figure out, but I started there.) Because I could. 

Basically I was looking for meta that went into detail about how Loki was redeemed in a satisfactory way. The ‘satisfactory’  is an important word here bc there is a redemption arc in the film, in that Loki starts off the film as an antagonist (kinda) to Thor and he ends the film as an ally to Thor, standing at Thor's side. In that sense, yes, there's a redemption arc. I didn't find much (and I had no idea how much people just despise Ragnarok "antis" [I really dislike that word] but that's another topic [that I don't particularly want to get into, tbh]) but I did find some. I read what I could find, and I read it open-mindedly, and overall I came away feeling like, okay, there are some valid points being made here and I can kinda see where they're coming from.

But it was a bit (a lot) like -- flat. Idk. The best comparison I can think of is that it’s like if a literature class read, I don't know, The Yellow Wallpaper for an assignment, and some of the students came away from it feeling like it was a creepy story about a woman slowly driving herself insane, and the other students came away from it incensed at the oppression and infantilization of women in the late 19th century -

- and neither side is wrong, but the former is a very surface-level reading and the latter isn't (bc it stems from looking at why she drives herself insane, why she was prescribed 'rest' in the first place, the context of what women could and couldn't do back then, etc; basically, a bit more work has to go into it). 

[Note: I am not disparaging the quality of The Yellow Wallpaper. At all. It’s just the first relatively well-known story that popped into my head.]

In this sense, I can see the argument for Loki's redemption arc, but I don't think it's a very good argument. Not invalid, but not great.

I mean, for example, I think the most consistent argument I found variations of re: Loki's redemption is that Ragnarok shows Loki finally taking responsibility for his bad behaviour and misdeeds. This includes recognizing that his actions were fueled from a place of self-hatred and a desire to self-destruct in addition to bringing destruction on others. That he probably feels awkward and regretful of these things and doesn't know how to act around Thor, but he figures it out by the end, and decides that returning to Asgard is the best way to show that he's ready to make amends. His act of bringing the Statesman to Asgard is an apology. He allies himself with Thor and ends up in a better place, both narratively (united with Thor once again) and mentally (having taken responsibility and made amends for his past).

And setting aside that he had already made amends by sacrificing his life in TDW (and also setting aside that the argument is made that Loki redeems himself in IW by sacrificing himself to Thanos but if that's the case, wouldn't that imply that he hadn't achieved redemption in Ragnarok or else there would be no need to achieve it again in IW? Or, if you think he did achieve redemption in Ragnarok, then what the fuck did he give his life in IW for? What was his motivation there, and why did the narrative not make it clearer? I digress.) 

- setting aside those two factors, I think this is a very fair argument. Loki is fueled by self-hatred, and he does want to self-destruct, and he does want to inflict that pain on others as well (particularly Thor). No lies detected here. 

However, I also need to know where that self-hatred and desire for destruction (toward himself and others) comes from and for that, we need to go back to Thor 1.

Thor 1. 

Loki starts Thor 1 out as "a clenched fist with hair," to borrow a quote from the Haunting of Hill House (that I tucked away in my mental box of Lovely Things bc it says so much so very simply). He's very used to bottling everything up, pushing it down; he slinks around behind the scenes, pulling the strings to this plot or that. He's "always been one for mischief," but the narrative implies that the coronation incident is the first time Loki's done anything truly terrible. And it all immediately pretty much goes to shit, so Loki spends the rest of the movie frantically juggling all these moving pieces while trying to seem as if he's got it all under control, every step of the way. That's how I view his actions. 

But I always come back to that quote where Kenneth Branaugh tells Tom, of the scene in the vault, "This is where the thin steel rod that's been holding your mind together snaps." In other words this is where Loki discovering he's Jotun is just one thing too many. He can't take it. But though the rod snaps, his descent isn't a nosedive. It's a tumble. As the story progresses, the clenched fist starts to loosen, the muscles are flexed in unfamiliar ways (that feel kinda good, after being stiff for so long), and it culminates with the hand opening completely and shaking itself out. All of that repression, that self-hatred, that rage and jealousy just explodes so that, by the time the bifrost scene happens, Loki's already hit bottom. It's not just about proving his worthiness to Odin. He wants to hurt Thor, too; he, essentially, throws a tantrum. (That's right, I said tantrum.) 

(Note: The word 'tantrum’ has negative connotations bc we normally equate it with a toddler stamping their feet and screaming in the aisle when their parent won't buy them the toy they want. But in itself, the word tantrum isn't infantalizing. It's an "emotional outburst, an uncontrolled explosion of anger and frustration" [paraphrasing from dictionary.com]. That's exactly what happens here [and why Tom called Loki's actions a massive tantrum, but people took that to mean Tom agreed it was childish whereas I doubt Tom meant it that way]).

He's been pushed past his limit, and he does bad things. He does really shitty things. He hurts Thor, he hurts his family. I'm pretty sure he knows this all along so this isn't, like, some revelation further down the line that "hey, those things I did were probably kinda bad." He got the memo already. 

Ragnarok 

Fast forward to Ragnarok, and we're introduced to a version of Loki who's had 4ish years to sit with everything that's happened. To sit with it and not do much else. The rawness of it has faded, and now it seems as though it's just become a thing, like when you move through life aware of your childhood traumas and have more or less just accepted them (and you probably share a lot of really funny depression memes on Facebook, which is kinda the equivalent of Loki's play, but that's probably just me). 

Loki has, more or less, chilled out. He seems more bored than anything else; he's been masquerading as Odin for longer than he ever planned or intended to, so he's more or less ended up hanging out, letting Asgard mind its own business, and entertaining himself with silly plays. This is the version that starts out the movie as an antagonist to Thor - a version that is, arguably, in a much different place [and is a much milder threat] than the version who originally did those Bad Things. 

And of course Thor is still mad at him, and of course they're going to butt heads, because that's what they do (and Thor's grievances are genuine, I’ll add, bc it's not really his fault he assumed Loki faked his death, nor can he be blamed for being pissed about Odin).

One argument framed this version of Loki as being a person who is facing the awkwardness of coming out of a dark place, which is fair. If we're going to frame his actions in Thor 1 as a tantrum, then Ragnarok would be the part where the toddler has been taken home, possibly has had some lunch and a juice box, and is now watching cartoons. They're over the tantrum, and would probably feel pretty silly about it if they weren't, yknow, toddlers. They probably can't remember why they even wanted that toy so badly. If they're a little older and self-aware, they might even be embarrassed for having melted down.

Like the word tantrum, this feeling isn't a thing limited to toddlers. I know I've had a few epic meltdowns as a grown ass adult, and I know I always feel deeply embarrassed afterwards - like, want to crawl into a hole and die. I've said things I can't take back. Adolescents and teenagers throw tantrums, mentally ill people throw tantrums, adults throw tantrums (I mean, my god, look at all the videos of Karens having screaming meltdowns - screaming! - over having to wear masks in order to shop at stores). Humans throw tantrums. And usually, after the feelings have been let out and the tantrum has passed, humans feel pretty regretful and awkward and embarrassed about whatever they did and said in the midst of their meltdown. 

I get all of that and agree it's valid and that Loki probably feels it. By the time Ragnarok happens, Loki's had some time to reflect and think hmm, yeah, probably could've handled that one a lot better. The argument further goes that in order to navigate this awkward period, Loki must come to terms with what he's done, acknowledge that some things can't be unsaid or undone, and begin to make amends. Supposedly, some people feel that Loki becomes a better person because he does "own" everything he did wrong and, even though he feels like a jackass (paraphrasing), he sets that aside to become a become a better person by choosing to help Thor and Asgard at the end. 

Thus, the overall arc goes like this. Loki, Thor's jealous little brother, 

throws a tantrum of epic proportions bc Reasons 

continues to act badly and make things even worse (Avengers) 

has to face consequences for his actions (prison sentence) 

ends up with a stretch of time in which he's free to contemplate and chill out 

feels embarrassed and awkward about how he's behaved

sees an opportunity to make up for it and decides to take it 

helps Thor, saves the day, and ends the film a better person. 

Redemption achieved.

None of this is wrong. The film supports it. It's a fair interpretation. But it leaves. out. so. much.

To circle all the way back around Loki being "a clenched fist with hair," and his actions stemming from his self-hatred, you have to ask - how did he get that way? He didn't end up with all this self-hatred on accident. Generally, one isn't born despising themselves, it's a learned behavior. (I realize chemical imbalances are a thing, obviously, as I have Mental Shit myself, but for argument's sake I'm assuming that's not the case with Loki [at this point in time]). 

Where did Loki learn it? From his family, from his surroundings, from his culture. We see examples of these microaggressions in the first, like, twenty minutes of the movie - a guard openly laughs at Loki's magic after Thor makes a joke about it (the tone of the conversation implies that Thor "jokes" like this often) and though Loki does the snake thing, the guard faces no real consequences. Thor doesn't acknowledge that anything went amiss. Not much later, on their way to Jotunheim, Loki's barely gotten two words out to Heimdall before Thor cuts him off, steps in front of him, and takes charge. Loki doesn't look annoyed at this; he looks resigned. 

Then, for absolutely no reason at all, Volstagg decides to make a jab at Loki ("silver tongue turned to lead?") just because he can. The ease with which he makes this comment and the way that no one else blinks an eye at it implies that this isn't out of the norm. And Loki doesn't react, not really. In the deleted version, he delivers a particularly nasty comeback but he delivers it under his breath, without intending Volstagg to hear it. In the final version, he simply says nothing, though his expression can be read as hurt or stung. Either way, the audience sees an example of Loki being walked all over by Thor and his friends and bottling up his reactions instead of standing up for himself. 

Microaggressions matter. They are mentally and emotionally damaging. They hurt. The implication that this is not unusual treatment for Loki means that Loki's probably gone through this for most of his life. It's like the equivalent of being, I don't know, twenty two and you're the friend who has to walk behind the others when the sidewalk isn't wide enough, and it's been that way since the first day of kindergarten. At this point, you're used to it, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when the jabs come seemingly out of nowhere, for no reason other than to make you feel bad.

(I personally identify a lot with this bc I experienced passive bullying in social settings for years. I was the 'doesn't fit on the sidewalk' friend; I hung around with people who'd pretend to be my friend and would be more or less nice to my face, but would laugh at me and make fun of me behind my back for whatever reasons. And often there'd be the random jabs at me, things that would come out of nowhere to smack me in the face, followed by the fake laugh and “just kidding!" so that I couldn't even get upset without being made to feel like I was overreacting and couldn't take a joke. I'd deal with this socially, particularly in middle school when girls are their most vicious, and then I'd go home and, because I was the only girl with a lot of brothers and because boys are mean and because I am who I am, the dynamic was that my brothers would just endlessly roast me to my face and sometimes it was a "just kidding!" thing, where I was the only one not laughing. But that’s beside the point; my point is that microaggressions, passive bullying, and consistent invalidation are harmful and that shit stays with you into adulthood.) 

So, yes, Loki needs to be held responsible for his misdeeds, and it's valid to say that he recognizes those misdeeds and wants to make amends. I have never disagreed with that. But the problem with this interpretation is that it lets every single other character who contributed to Loki's self-hatred and mental breakdown (let's just call a spade a spade here, that's what it was; he was broken psychologically) get off scot-free.

First of all,

Odin is not held accountable for instilling in the princes a mentality of Asgard first, everyone is beneath us but Jotuns are benath us the most, they are literal monsters. He is not held accountable for pitting his sons against one another (even if it was unintentional, he still did it) with "you were both born to be kings but only one of you can rule" being the general tone of their upbringing. He's not held accountable for his favoritism toward Thor.

Frigga is not held accountable for deferring to Odin both in supporting the above things and in keeping the truth of Loki's origins a secret while doing nothing to discourage the "monsters" narrative. 

Thor is not held accountable for his own tendency of taking Loki for granted (he assumes Loki will come to Jotunheim, he oversteps Loki constantly, “know your place,” etc.. He grants his implicit permission for Loki to be treated as the sidewalk friend in their “group,” a group which is loyal to and takes their cues from Thor as Thor continues to do nothing in his brother's defense).

[Note: Wanting Thor to be held accountable for things he's done wrong isn't vilifying him. Acknowledging that Thor benefited from Odin's favoritism and his own place as Crown Prince doesn't negate Thor also being raised in an abusive environment. I don't think anyone's saying that or, if they have, it's not something I agree with.]

Furthermore, 

Odin is not held accountable for his cruelty in disowning Loki (”your birthright was to die” is never going to be forgotten, speaking of people saying things that can't be unsaid or taken back) and in sentencing Loki to a severe prison sentence (life! only bc Frigga wouldn't let him execute Loki) for crimes that are no worse than what Odin himself has committed (around which the entire plot of Ragnarok revolves! Colonialism (and subjugation) is wrong is, like, a major theme [that people rush to praise, even] here). 

Thor is also never held accountable for not trying harder to understand what made Loki snap (fair enough, he didn't have a ton of time after returning from Earth, but certainly he had lots of time to sit around reflecting while Loki was being tortured by Thanos for a year). He knows Loki is "not himself" and "beyond reason" and accepts it at face value; he questions it once and then lets it go. He's fine with assuming Loki's just lost his mind, and isn't that a shame. (I realize I'm simplifying Thor's emotions but my point is that Thor could've tried harder to figure out that Loki was being influenced and/or not acting completely autonomously.) 

Thor is also never held accountable for - if not facing consequences for his own slaughter of Jotuns - then at least addressing why Loki can't kill an entire race even though Thor tried to do that, like, two days ago. (Granted, it’s difficult to understand how Thor got from Point A ("let's finish them together, Father!") to Point B (this is wrong!), but that failing belongs to Thor 1 (which is not, by the way, a perfect movie).

The interpretation that Loki is fully redeemed because he took responsibility for his actions, returned to Asgard, and allied himself with Thor to save their people is all well and good - but, why is Loki the only one here who has to take responsibility for their actions? 

What about all the loose threads in his story? 

For example, how did he get from: 

Point A (believing himself a literal monster, having a complete mental breakdown, getting tortured and further traumatized after that, etc) 

to 

Point B (Hey, yknow what would be fun? I'm going to write and direct a play about how I heroically died to save Thor and Jane, and I'll go ahead and have Odin say he accepts me and has always loved me. I'm going to do these things because Odin never said this in real life and instead of acknowledging my sacrifice, Thor left my body in the dirt, so someone has to validate what I've done right and that someone might as well be me. And hey, while I'm at it, I'm going to control the narrative on revealing myself as Jotun to Asgard, instead of living in fear of it being found out, and I'm going to do it in a way that they have to sympathize with me and revere me in death, bc they never bothered to do so when I was alive. And Matt Damon should play me, also.) 

to 

Point C (Yeah, I guess I feel kinda awkward about that whole tantrum thing, also I should help Thor and support him being king.)

? 

The answers to these questions are handwaved and the audience takes that to mean they don't matter. Furthermore, framing Loki's redemption around an act of service (more or less) to Thor makes Loki's redemption about Thor. Does Loki make this decision for the sake of Thor and of Asgard, or does he make it for himself? It's not super clear to me, and I think arguments can be made for both. Which, again, is fine, but - whatever.

If we're going to collectively agree, as a fandom, that Loki is complex, that he's morally gray, that he's worthy of redemption and therefore arguably a good person who's done bad things, then why is it asking too much to have it acknowledged that Thor (also a good person who's done bad things) played a part in Loki's downfall and has shit to apologize for, too? Bc one can only assume the reason is that you're taking a very gray concept and making it black and white by saying Loki has to apologize and make amends because he is the villain, and Thor doesn't because he is the hero (and it's his movie). And it's lazy.

This is where the crux of the issue lands. There's more than one valid interpretation, yes. And no two people (or groups of people, or whatever) are going to consume and therefore interpret or analyze the source material in the same way. I think I saw a post recently about how studies have been done on this, in fact. But, there is a lot going on under the surface that tends to get overlooked when exploring Loki's redemption arc in Ragnarok, as far as I can see, and that’s why I don’t consider it satisfactory. 

[I did read similar arguments regarding other issues that are often debated ('debated'), like Loki's magic and/or being underpowered, whether or not Loki's betrayal of Thor was the natural outcome of the situation on Sakaar or not, whether Thor actually gets closure with Odin [if he does, how does he reconcile the father he's idolized with the imperialistic conqueror he's discovered? Why doesn't he hold Odin responsible for covering up Hela's existence and the threat of her return, especially as he knew he was nearing the end of his life? Is Thor's "I'm not as strong as you" meant to imply that he acknowledges those shortcomings of Odin's and that he's okay with them, or that he's just overlooking them, or is he not okay with them but didn't have the chance to get into it bc he was in the middle of battle? T'Challa confronted his father on his wrongdoings in Black Panther; could Thor not have had at least one line that was confrontational enough to establish where he stands as opposed to this gray middle? Can someone explain to me how any of this equates to Thor gaining closure? Please?) but obviously I'm not going to go into all of them (well, I tried not to), bc this mammoth post has gone on long enough (I may not even post this tbh)]

- but my overall point to this entire thing is that when I say I'm critical of Ragnarok bc it's flawed, that Loki's arc was neither complete nor satisfactory, that many things went unaddressed and, due to all of these things, I do not think Ragnarok is a very good movie nor a very cohesive movie, this is where I'm coming from. I have not seen anything to change my mind to the contrary. 

But I am not saying that anyone satisfied with it is wrong, or shouldn't have the interpretation that they do. I'm not vilifying Thor in order to lift Loki up, just acknowledging that Thor is arguably just as flawed as Loki without the stigma of being Designated Villain. I think a lot of these arguments get overlooked or dismissed, and that's fine, but it doesn't make the people who do engage with them hateful, or bitter, or trying to excuse Loki's crimes, or feeling like redemption means that Loki's crimes should be erased rather than reconciled. 

And sure, yes, perhaps we are expecting too much and exploring all of these themes (or wanting them explored) means that somehow we think it should be Loki's movie (we don't). Loki is a supporting character, but he's still a character. And the movie itself doesn't have to delve into all these things - no one's saying that. (At least, I'm not.) We just want acknowledgement, from the narrative, that this stuff was an Issue. 

This could have been accomplished with - 

Some dialogue closer to the novelization (and original script), like Thor and Loki both acknowledging the harm they've done one another and their kingdom due to their Feels.

 A single line of Thor confronting Odin, or even asking "Why?" 

A narrative acknowledgement that Odin did both Thor and Loki dirty (”I love you, my sons” isn't an apology, because it doesn't acknowledge either that there's been wrong-doing or express regret for having done the wrong in the first place). 

A little bit more nuance in the way Loki treats his own past (ie, instead of flippantly telling the story of his suicide attempt, maybe - if it must be flippant - talk about getting blasted in the face with Hawkeye's arrow or sailing through to Svartalfheim [And in that moment, I sang ta-daaaa!]) or whatever. 

I recognize that wanting full, in-depth exploration on all of these issues regarding a supporting character is probably too much to ask or expect - but, I also feel like, if you're going to be professionally writing a narrative (or rewriting/improvising, as it were), it's not too much to ask that a little more care be taken in regards to all of the layers that have contributed to said supporting character's downfall and subsequent redemption arc. I don't think that's an unreasonable thing to want. 

And maybe if there had been more nuance and continuity in how these things were portrayed on screen (ie, if TW had actually done as good a job as his stans think he did), the fandom wouldn't have divided and conquered itself over which "version" of the same character is more valid and whether or not the film did its best to close out a trilogy (not start a new one), to the point where everyone in this fandom space makes navigating it feel like walking through a minefield. 

But, I mean 

(Again, please don’t reblog if possible.) 

Edit: Okay to reblog. <3 

[nyctolovian]

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mikotoba Yuujin/Sherlock Holmes | Herlock Sholmes, Mikotoba Yuujin & Sherlock Holmes | Herlock Sholmes, why isn't there a platonic tag for them.... Additional Tags: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon, Regret, Guilt, Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Y'know, just dudes accidentally being dads.

Yuujin apparently didn't have to worry about knocking the door at 1am because he didn’t even have to wait for more than 2 seconds before the door swung open to an already chattering man. Sholmes had a frown on his face as he talked animatedly, "... checked with me! It is incredibly late. There had better be a proper reason why you would require me to open the door for you at this time. What would you do had I been asleep? You most definitely have your key with you so I don't see why you couldn't just…" He trailed off as his eyes travelled downwards to the bundle in Yuujin's arms.

 A small pudgy hand stuck out from the folds of the towels. Sholmes' gaze travelled quickly from Yuujin's arms, to his face, to the large medical bag on the floor and to his hands before sighing. "Hm… I see." Wasting no time at all, he stepped aside for the exhausted Japanese man and closed the door without a single fuss.

 Yuujin supposed that was the good thing about Sholmes, you didn't need to explain too much to him. And Yuujin couldn't be more grateful for this trait of his tonight; he was in no mood for explaining anything.

 Cradling the infant, he sat down on his bed, which creaked under his weight. The baby made a noise as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. For a second, the blue in her eyes shifted to a familiar brown he hadn’t seen in ages, and Yuujin felt a pang in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the child and said, "I- Well, I believe it's, um, her meal time. Herlock, could you make something for her?"

 Sholmes followed Yuujin's gaze to the large bag he came in with. "Where did you get it from?"

 "The… The mother had it prepared at her home. And I simply… took it."

 Sholmes froze mid-bend to look at Yuujin quizzically. "But that would mean…" He caught himself and shook his head.

 Yuujin didn't know what conclusion Sholmes had drawn from that but knowing him, it was probably scarily close to the truth.

 “It pains me to admit, my friend,” Sholmes said, holding up the bottle and the bag of baby food, “but it seems even my brilliance may have its limits when it comes to the art of making infant food without instruction.”

 “Ah,” Yuujin said as he gently placed the child on the bed. “Right. Of course.” After making sure she was nicely settled, he got up with a sigh. God, how much of an old man he was behaving right now, especially when there was an eighteen-year-old around him daily as a direct comparison. He gestured for Sholmes to join him as he prepared the food, describing the process as they went along.

 As he shook the bottle, Sholmes asked, “You are teaching me all this because you intend to leave her in my care, don’t you?”

 Yuujin flinched. “I… Well…”

 To be asked so directly… but that always was the way with Sholmes, was it not?

 After taking in a deep breath, Yuujin admitted, “Truthfully, yes. I presume that Jigoku and I might be deported soon and I can’t take this child with me… I am supposed to only care for her temporarily but…” Yuujin had no idea what Genshin had meant. What on earth did he mean when he said, ‘if something should happen to me’? None of it made sense… God, his head hurt.

 He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to focus. “Hopefully, it will not come to it but I have to prepare for the worst. I can’t put this child’s future on vague hopes.”

 Sholmes looked back at the infant lying on the mattress and Yuujin recognised the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. His heart squeezed with guilt.

 “I’m sorry. This is a lot to ask of you. You’re the first person I thought of but I know I… I am being incredibly selfish." He shook his head. "Please do forget it, Sholmes. I shall look for alternatives. You needn't worry yourself with this."

 Before Yuujin could say another word, however, the child on the bed began to wail. He snapped into action, rushing to the child. Gently, he cradled her again and rocked her. “Are you hungry? Don’t worry. We have food,” he cooed. He gestured for the bottle and Sholmes handed it to him.

 Carefully, he cocked the bottle to the infant and pressed the nipple to her lips. The crying slowed quickly and the child began to suck at the nipple. She was suckling with such ferocity that Yuujin couldn’t help but laugh at the adorable little face she was making. This baby girl was going to grow up strong, he could already tell.

 He thought of the baby—ah, no… she must be 6 years old by now; no longer the baby he had left in Japan… Thinking about it made him so very tired and guilty. That made it a total of two children.

 Two children whose mothers he could only watch lose their lives to childbirth, unable to do anything as he cried for hours after. Two children who would grow up without fathers because one was killed by the Professor, and the other spent every day on the brink of complete and utter resignation before he was whisked away to a foreign land. Two children he was leaving in the care of others again, because he was incapable. Two children who were supposed to be his responsibility, placed under his care, yet he had abandoned—was going to abandon—them.

 What a useless man he was. He failed at being a caretaker of these children. He was meant to be a father but now it felt like a title he didn't deserve—

 “Can I try?” Sholmes broke Yuujin's train of thought, voice quieter than usual.

 “Ah, of course.” Yuujin shuffled closer to Sholmes, who took the bottle. The infant’s eyes widened and her lips trembled as the nipple slipped out of her mouth for a second. But Sholmes returned the bottle to the infant, who resumed her suckling with what seemed almost like increased fervour.

 “Do not worry,” Sholmes said. “I’m not taking it away from you. You need not react with such sadness and worry!”

 “She’s just an infant,” Yuujin chided lightly. “She wouldn’t know otherwise.”

 “That's right…” Sholmes said. “Your experience of the world is not even 24 hours! There is very much for you to learn, isn't there?”

 Yuujin nodded, but his chest was welling up with worry. Not even 24 hours in the world and, already, her life was looking so… bleak. What on earth was Genshin even going to do?

 No, Yuujin would wait. Genshin looked like he had a plan. Surely, he was needlessly worrying.

 But the next day, Yuujin heard nothing about Genshin other than the news that he had been executed. So he waited for whatever arrangements Genshin might have gotten to pull through. But days stretched to weeks before, as Yuujin had predicted, the exchange was called off officially and all Japanese students were to be deported. And Yuujin was certain that there was no more hope left.

 "It's a bit sad that you still haven't got a name, isn't it?" Sholmes said, lifting the baby up. "After all this while."

 The baby let out a joyful noise.

 "Actually… I've been calling her little Iris for a while. I-In my head," Yuujin admitted. It hadn't felt right for the baby to be completely nameless. But it hadn't felt right to actually name her either.

 "Little Iris?"

 "Yes, Iris. Um… named after my… wife, Ayame. But in English," Yuujin said sheepishly. It felt silly now, but two weeks ago, as he held the child and whispered to her gently, he wondered if giving the baby the name of his dead wife might mean she'd be watching over her too. Perhaps she'd protect the child from any more tragedy and harm. Like some sort of protection charm.

 Yuujin hoped it wasn’t too selfish, asking his wife to watch over two children like this.

 "Iris…" Sholmes repeated. He turned to the child with a smile. "Your Papa has given you a good name, hasn't he?"

 Yuujin felt his ears grow hot.

 "I'm not her Papa, Sholmes," Yuujin said in a mix of exasperation and fondness, shaking his head. "I thought that much was obvious."

 “You worry so much over her, you’re practically her Papa. Don’t pretend like you don’t peer into her cot almost every hour just to smile at her,” Sholmes said.

 Yuujin sputtered in mortification, but he had no leg to stand on in this argument.

 "Besides, as far as I'm concerned, we're Iris' fathers now," he said. "I'll be taking care of her from now on after all."

 Jaw dropping, Yuujin stuttered, "You'll be… what? No, there's no need to do that. I'll search for someone else before I leave. You don't need to do this."

 "It's quite alright, my friend!" Sholmes said. "I, the great detective, am clearly a natural at many things including taking care of infants. You can leave Iris in my very attentive and gentle care!"

 "But that is simply too much to ask of you.” Yuujin’s heart felt heavy, dripping with guilt and distress. “I’ll try—"

 "Nonsense!" Sholmes huffed. "Nothing is too much to ask of me. While I was frankly quite worried at first, time has proven that I have quite a knack for taking care of children. It will be fine."

 "No, it's not right to burden you with this. I shall look for alternatives—"

 "Surely, you won't be so cruel as to separate us!" Sholmes interrupted. "We get on so well after all. Like a house on fire, wouldn't you agree?" He lifted Iris to eye-level, and she gurgled excitedly.

 Yuujin pursed his lips. He sure hoped this was just one of those strange English turn of phrases, rather than something literal. He had been the unfortunate witness to how "on fire" Sholmes could turn a house before.

 Noticing the worry still etched upon Yuujin's face, Sholmes said in a more sombre tone, "Truthfully, that night, I was honoured to be the first person you've consulted about this. It spoke volumes of the faith you have in me. And now, I truly do wish to care for Iris… A part of me also thinks that it would be rather nice if… when you come back, you could come home to me and Iris both. And I know how much you’d worry about her back in Japan." He smiled softly at Yuujin. "What do you say, my dear partner?"

 “I…” Yuujin gazed at Iris, his eyes burning with the threat of tears again. “Thank you so much, Sholmes."

[picturejasper20]

Debunking common misconceptions about the Ben 10 Reboot.

A mutual of mine asked me if could write a post debuking common critiques people have of the Ben 10 Reboot. Some of these critiques are based of  misconceptions and misinformation about the show while others are more subjective, meaning there are a matter of personal opinions.

I’m going to divide this post in different sections. In each section i’m going to try debunking a misconception and explain why i think this isn’t correct. If anyone wants to give their opinion on the subject, feel free to reblog the post or leave a comment.

I’m going to add a ¨Read More¨ since it’s going to be a long post.

1) ¨The reboot only has fart jokes as humor¨

I’m not sure from where people got this idea that the only type of humor the Reboot has are toilet and fart jokes. Does it has some jokes that are based on this? Yes! But Reboot’s humor has more variety than that.

Many of the jokes come from the characters´ reactions to certain events, how silly some situations are and from the dialogue. For example: Episodes focused on Xingo as the antagonist have tons of slaptick and old cartoon humor.

Since the series doesn’t take itself too seriously, it uses this to its advantage to make fun of  tropes, franchises and popular culture. It also has many references to current trends such as youtube and social media, things that the new generation is more familiar with.

If these jokes land or not is up to debate but to say the Reboot only has fart jokes is a bit of a stretch.

2) ¨The Reboot has no plot or worldbuliding¨

This is one of the weirdest arguments for me because if you watch the show you’ll know this isn’t the case. The show has a main arc as well as some subplots. 

I think people get this idea due to how the show is mainly episodic in season 1 unlike the rest of the seasons. The thing is that even season 1 has continuity that is quite important if you want to understand the rest of the series. It introduces villains as well as secondary characters that become important in future episodes. It also has tons of character development for the main protagonists, so, skipping this season would mean missing out their character growth.

By the end of season 1, Ben gets a new Alien called Gax which is the same species as the original Vilgax. It turns out this alien was half of Vilgax’s original power and Vilgax was trying to get it back. The finale is has interesting surprises and plot twists that change the status quo of the series in some ways.

In season 2 is mainly about Vilgax teaming up with other villains to steal the Omnitrix from Ben. These episodes are quite entertaining and help to develop the main characters. What’s more is that Ben gets a new alien called Shock rock and isn’t able to transform into Upgrade, which becomes important in the season finale.

I could talk about Kevin’s character arc, Charmcaster, Glitch, the Forever Knight’s arc, Animo subplot and tons of other stuff. My point is that saying that    ¨the Reboot has not plot¨ would be a huge misconception about the show. It would make more sense if someone complained about how its episodic structure hurts and distracts from the main story arc and it would have helped the series to not have so many episodes centered around the characters going on random adventures.

3) ¨Shock Rock is a cheap copy of Ghostfreak¨

When i first heard about this complain it suprised me a bit. Look, i get why a person could think that "Shock Rock is just Reboot's Ghostfreak" since they share similar stories.

However there are a few differences between the two:

Ghostfreak was possesed by an evil entity, Zs'Skayr, who later escaped from the Omnitrix and did terrible things. This was so horryfing for Ben that for a long time he didn't turn into ghostfreak out of fear of their conection with Zs'Skayr.

In the original series it wasn't really explained how Zs'Skayr got inside the Omnitrix and for how long he was concious about being trapped.

Shock Rock was introduced as a result of a terrible glitch caused by the Omnitrix being rebooted. They replaced Upgrade's DNA pod and allowed Ben to give the aliens stronger versions of themselves.

Shock Rock isn't completely evil and never really tries to escape from the Omnitrix. All that they did was to build that tower to send a signal to the Fulmini. Once the protagonists reboot the Omnitrix again, Ben was able to transform into Shock Rock without any problem.

Both aliens are a bit similar but on a deeper analysis they have different execution in their respective series.

4) "Glitch is a copy of Ship".

This is one i get why people complain about it. Glitch and Ship have many parallels in common. (Both being mechamorphs, they are both sidekicks)

The main difference is that Ship acts like a pet and is able to transform into many electronic devices. On the other hand, Glitch lives inside the kart and can't transform in the same way that Ship does. (However he can in the future, years after developing his powers).

Their backstories and origins differ. Ship was born from a mechamorph that needed help after he crashed his own ship. Glitch was the result of Ben using Upgrade to reboot the Omnitrix in the season 1 finale which forced Upgrade to fuse with Ben's DNA to survive.

Another point i want to add (based on speculation) is that Glitch resembling is Ship seems to be very intentional. I think the creators wanted to Ship to appear again in the Reboot. So they decided to create Glitch.

Keep in mind that the Reboot makes tons of references to the original series and its sequels. It wouldn't be suprising if Glitch is a reference to Ship.

5) "Max is not clever/ is dumb"

I don't really got the impression of reboot Max being "dumbed down". He is one of the characters that acts almost exactly as he does in the original series.

I think this complain come from Max being less serious in this series: He isn't so strict with the kids and gives them more freedom to do what they want. He is also more open minded and has less "black and white" mentality that he had in the original series.

He is still almost the same character, just more easy going and down to earth in comparison. He still acts as a guide for Ben and Gwen. He still has a few arguments with Ben for not listening to him in some episodes.

@theangrycomet made a post a few weeks back about Reboot Max. I think people should check their post because they explain many things that i mention here in more detail.

Here is a link to their post: X

6) "They cancelled Omniverse because of the reboot"

This one is a somewhat old argument. Again, i don't know where people got this idea that reboot was the main reason they cancelled Omniverse.

I have been trying to find an article that could explain the reason behind its cancellation. All i was able to find were fans talking about how it ended because of the low number of toys getting sold. Nothing about the reboot.

It could one of the things lead to Omniverse being cancelled but not the only main factor.

If anyone has more information about this feel free to leave a link in the comment section or by reblog.

7) "Ben is out of character in the reboot"

This something i don't really get at all. Reboot Ben behaves pretty much the same way he does in the OS. He is still cocky, stubborn, competitive, impacient and gets into a trouble.

Is it because he appears to be nicer in this series? If it is because of that then i personally like this change. I found Ben to be more likable in this version. As well as capable of regretting his actions and learning his lessons.

Reboot Ben is a complex character. It has so much development that i would find it difficult for me to sum it up in just one post.

I think fans get this impression since they are more used to Alien Force Ben than OS Ben. That's why they believe Reboot Ben is acting OOC when in reality is he isn't much different from the OS Ben.

If anyone has a better explanation, please leave it in the comments section/reblog.

-----

Okay, those are the most common misconceptions i found after talking with some mutuals. While a few things are a matter of doing fact checking, others are based on my perspective on the series.

Keep in mind that i don't think the Reboot is perfect by any means. It has its issues like slow pacing in the first season or characters that are annoying.

However, if someone wants to give a serious critique, they should try doing a bit of research and fact-check to see if their points are valid. Otherwise,they might look misinformed at best and making bad faith arguments at worse. That's all.

[celestialices]

QUEST!

Greek Mythology x Haikyuu

Haikyuu!Ensemble x Reader

OVERVIEW. You were just a perfectly normal student at The University of Tokyo, when suddenly a bunch of 'normal boys', as they call themselves, appeared in your life and started to squeeze themselves into your life. Always saying something like "You're a goddess, we need to take you back to Olympus" (you brushed it off, saying that it was just a silly compliment) and even absurd sentences such as "You got Medusa's eyes" and "You're really Medusa's daughter!"

003: PLAN OF ACTION

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masterlist

Tense.

That's one word to describe the atmosphere in the pantheon right now. Usually, the after ceremony gathering of the Twelve Olympians plus Hades, everyone would be drinking, having fun, and feasting their eyes on humans just for pure enjoyment. Even Hera doesn't know what to say, normally the one talking too much was her, often bragging about her dearest son, Kuroo Tetsuro.

Unlike others, Hermes is rather enjoying himself, sipping his wine every now and then. This day is truly a blessing. Ever since the Medusa incident, Zeus prevented all his might to keep Olympus on track. He had his sons take care of each problem before it aggravates.

Subsequently, Athena grew tired of the silence. Opting to break it, she was about to say what's been bugging her mind, but paused after locking eyes with the mischievous god. "You fancy these situations, don't you?" Athena is annoyed, no doubt.

Like the bastard he is, Hermes only snickered. "Perhaps."

"Hermes, you did something." Athena hypothesized, the wise goddess is somewhat sure of her assumption. Hermes is the most cunning of them all, the amount of times he tried to bring trouble was uncountable. But he was never held liable, taking in the fact that he did a lot of sacrifices for Mount Olympus. He's responsible for a lot of things too, in comparison of the added vigorous deities, he still remains as the best choice.

"Oh," Hermes acted dumbfounded, behaving as if he didn't know Athena will catch on sooner or later. "Did I?" He teased her. Athena isn't easy to annoy. She would rather ignore all the insignificant etiquettes of others than wasting her time expressing wrath. It's useless for pea-brains.

But with the recent events damaging her calm mind, Athena was easily irked, just as Hermes desired. Thinking of punching Hermes just to get over with it, Athena put on a smile. My punch won't hurt that much. She thought.

"Aletheia and her daughter are here." Ares announced while Athena was readying her fist, making the goddess halt and look at the two deities entering the pantheon.

Quivering in fear, Yachi held her dear mother's hand tightly. This meeting could change their lives after all. Bitterly regretting her actions earlier, Yachi reflected on her previous actions. She should've stayed quiet. If only Hermes didn't interfere, she wouldn't have said anything. Now everything is going downhill, because of a possibly wrong vision.

She just got her powers. Something could go wrong with it, right? But that never happened before. Well, Asami's case with Medusa was a first too. How would one be blinded that a mere immortal is living with them? Especially Zeus! It just doesn't make any sense. She's doomed, that's for sure.

Oh, just stop, stop, stop! Everything was too confusing. Yachi's truly conflicted, she just want pull through and move onto another day.

The two goddesses of truth bowed their heads down, showing their respect for the upper gods. “Good thing you made it promptly after we sent off Sakusa.” Zeus said with a smile. Sakusa Kiyoomi, son of Hygieia, currently under the supervision of Artemis. He was instructed to call Aletheia, after all, he originally planned on visiting to Earth after the ceremony. Artemis reasoned that, hence he can’t refuse.

"Shouldn't we call in Asami?" Demeter asked, feeling anxious. No one really knows what will happen. Demeter was only enjoying Asami's companion yesterday, now things are like this. If this doesn't go well, she'll lose another daughter. Oh, how will she just react to that?

"Before we do," Aphrodite finally spoke, standing up from her seat. "I just want to remind you all that we should set our feelings aside. Whatever the conclusion of this discussion may be, think before you act." She reminded.

This wasn't the first time a mortal was blessed by immortality, but requiring the discussion of the important gods of Olympus surely was. Meetings were typicaly in the hands of their trusted sons and daughters, however; this was too major to be dealt by them.

"Bring her in." Zeus ordered.

Three words made the room tenser. Every deity noticed how Poseidon stiffened, his agitation worsens minute by minute. It didn't help when Asami entered the pantheon, looking frightened. Poseidon locked eyes with her, his heart burning in discomfort. He never saw her like this before.

"Well?" Hera asked, raising her right eyebrow. These kind of situations bores the hell out of her. What Hera likes the most is being straight to the point. Just decide if you'll keep her or throw her out, that easy.

Yachi and Asami stared at each other. Yachi’s face was full of regret, asking for forgiveness. Asami only smiled, hoping that it will deliver her message. That it wasn’t Yachi’s fault, she would never blame her.

Aletheia stared into Asami’s soul, widening her eyes after a span of seconds. Yachi looked at her mother’s reaction, instantly panicking. “What my daughter saw is true.”

Quiet. Too quiet.

“Asami is not one of us.” Aletheia dropped the bomb. Yet no one spoke. Everything was back to square one. In spite of the fact that they prepared themselves for the truth, it was traumatizing.

Poseidon wants to protest, but if Aletheia already confirmed it, there was no way it’ll make a difference. Hades was on the verge of asking their opinions, if not accidentally making eye contact with an unoccupied space. He’s got a feeling that someone sneaked in and is currently listening to their discussion, someone being Suna Rintarou.

As he was walking towards it, his intuition suddenly disappeared. That only means one thing, Suna knew he saw him and left straight away. Hades shook his head, someone will be in trouble. Back to the real issue, “Now, what?” Hades broke the silence.

“Well..” Apollo is utterly dumbfounded. It feels surreal, is that even possible for a god? He can’t believe it. He wants to deny it even though it’s no use. “We can just make her one of us, right?”

“I don’t think we should.” Athena argued, eyes travelled to her before you know it. She is always determined, standing by her first decision no matter what happens. “We should presume that the real daughter is there, with Asami’s real parents. Switching them would be a better plan.” After what she said, almost every deity in the room swerved their opinions. Athena is the wisest, her words are always right.

“I stand by Athena.” Ares backed her up. Their opinions about this matter were alike, that’s surprising itself. They never get along; having opposite opinions is common for them. It’s truly shocking that they won’t debate over this.

“We should first check if the real one is alive and well. Before dealing with Asami. For now, I’ll reside her in my place.” Hestia said.

“No. Lock her up in the underworld.” Hera contradicted, studying Asami’s response to all of this. But all she can see in her face is blankness. Huh, Hera pondered, Affecting her already? “Hades would look after her better.”

Hestia frowned, offended by what Hera said. Just as she was about to retort, Zeus spoke up. “That’d be better. Does anyone disagree?” Zeus was emotionless. His voice is laced with seriousness, but it looks like he doesn’t really prefer that choice.

No one spoke up. Seems like they’re still processing what the hell just happened. “I’ve got no complaints.” Hephaestus spoke for the very first time, just wanting to go home. He isn’t really close with Asami, so he doesn’t care, at all. Being in the same room with the other upper gods makes him want to vomit.

“Then that’s it.” Zeus replied straightaway, evidently scared that he’ll lament his decision and change it abruptly. “May every Olympian send their desired deity in hopes of finding the real deity in Earth? Until they bring her back, they can’t come back to Olympus. So, I advise you to think wisely.”

Everyone was taken aback. Today is just full of surprises.

“Everything will be fine.”

Lies. All lies, everything was obviously not fine. His closest friend, the one who's always there for him, is not fine. Regrets piled up in Yamaguchi's heart. Reminiscing to what happened back there, he regrets not doing anything. Those eyes, those eyes crying for help. He should've ran to her, he should've hugged her and tell her everything will be okay even though it won't. Because it was always like that. They’re always like that.

Everything will not be fine!

It's been hours since the big commotion, hours since the supposedly ‘meeting’ of the upper gods regarding the issue, Yamaguchi never heard any news since then. It was new, since every time there’s a meeting, words will circulate fast.

Hearing Hera's last words were only making him more anxious. Human world? The real daughter? That can't be it. He sincerely hopes that Yachi was mistaken. That this was all a big joke. The consequence will not be that bad compared to what can possibly happen to Asami.

Yamaguchi groaned in frustration. "Don't think too much." Hanamaki said, feeling guilty watching his fellow Aeolian suffer from his thoughts.

"Asami made a big impact to everyone, Yamaguchi. I don't think Zeus will throw her out that easy." Mattsun added. Seeing how Asami's close not only to a lot of superior gods, but also to Zeus' heart, he can easily turn her into an immortal like them, and then proceed like nothing happened. He did it a lot, so it won’t make sense if he won’t do it to Asami.

"Don't know. If all of them agree, then that will happen. Just like Shirabu’s?" Hanamaki said, making sure to choose his words carefully. He doesn't want to hurt Yamaguchi, but he doesn't want him to hope either. In a matter of fact, it's 50/50 right now. No one is sure what the outcome of their decision will be. Seeing it's been hours yet there still no rumors, it's better to expect for the worse.

With the two discussing what the outcome may be, Yamaguchi stayed silent. His mind was still replaying what happened in the courtyard, only snapping out when he heard a voice calling out to him. He frowned and looked around, not familiar with the voice at all. Down! Frustration was evident in whoever voice that is.

Yamaguchi looked down, only to see Oikawa Tooru, the mighty son of Athena, waving a hand to him like a fool. Oikawa gestured a wind after seeing Yamaguchi’s furrowed eyebrows.

Confusion immediately disappeared from Yamaguchi's face after understanding what he meant. Using the ability he received earlier, he made a wind current, and brought Oikawa up to the floating palace, Anemoi.

After a couple of seconds, Oikawa arrived, laughing at the enjoyable ride. It truly feels like flying, it might even be better! Matsukawa and Hanamaki looked at him disgustingly, not getting his questionable humor at all. "I have news." Oikawa said, switching to a serious demeanor. "It's about Asami."

The three stiffened. They were just talking about it earlier, obviously not prepared by whatever Oikawa might say. "Where did you get that news?" Yamaguchi asked. Oh how he hoped it's good news, or else he wouldn't know how to react at all.

“Well, I heard it from Kuroo who heard it from Bokuto who heard it from Atsumu who heard it from Suna.” Oikawa sat down the sturdy tree, glancing at the three’s confused faces. "You know Suna? Son of Hades." He asked, his companions nodding at him. “Heard it from him.”

“You could’ve just said that in the first place!” Hanamaki complained.

“Shut up Makki, I’m talking!” Oikawa yelled. "Well, he used his ability to sneak in the meeting. And gathered a bit of what they've discussed. He left after he accidentally locked eyes with his father, so it's not much." He chuckled, only imagining the wrath of Hades in his mind.

"Just get to the point, Oikawa. What do you know?" Mattsun asked, irritated by how chatty Oikawa is. He always get sidetracked, always adding useless information to whatever story he's saying. "The point, okay? The point." Repeating it since he know Oikawa doesn’t know how to listen.

"My Zeus, Mattsun!” Making a dramatic gesture, “I'm deeply hurt. I, the great god of wisdom and creativity, immediately went here after gathering information. Appreciate me first!" Complained Oikawa. Hanamaki can already tell he's lying, knowing his first go-to person is Iwaizumi.

“Oh, great god Oikawa Tooru, thank you very much for blessing us with your presence!” Hanamaki sarcastically praised. Yet Oikawa still loved it anyway. “Now just say it, Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s playful expression was immediately replaced with firmness. “It’s true.” He paused, wanting to be cautious. “What Yachi said.”

A sigh from Matsukawa,

Hanamaki’s startled facial expression,

And Yamaguchi’s lifeless eyes.

Every reaction they gave can tell how sadden they are with the news. “And.. Mother told me that,” Oikawa continued, staring at the cloud, unable to look at their faces. “The Olympians will send out deities to find the real daughter.”

“Well, that was unexpected.” Sakusa Kiyoomi whispered to himself while wandering at the park. “A mortal, huh.”

Silently enjoying his free time away from the deities, Sakusa took time in strolling away. He has plenty of time to waste before proceeding to do his duties, the reason why he came down in the first place.

However, he was absolutely not expecting to bump into someone. His eyebrows instantly met, he was already walking slowly. How can a person be so dumb to bump into him?

“Oh, sorry.”

Oh, sorry? His frown only worsens when they sprinted away after saying their apologies to him. Sakusa gazed at the person before him, the aura is different compared to other humans he interacted with.

It feels like..

Like he’s encountering a..

His eyes widen in realization, still staring at the person who’s almost out of his sight now.

A deity.

Anemoi - The floating castle in Aeolia. It is often where Aeolians are found. It has four temples; Glacithyia, Scortus, Forphyrus, and Aurus. All protected by the Four Seasonal Winds and their children. 

A/N: Hello! If there are any warnings that I should’ve put, please tell me! There are probably a lot of typographical errors, so please forgive me. I plan to edit all the current chapters next week. ^^ The adventure starts now! The next update will probably be next week, since it’s almost winter break. I just wanted to update before my exams begin, I hope I didn’t disappoint.  Thank you for reading!  send me an ask!  If you have any questions regarding the AU, I would gladly answer them. Or even reviews! It makes my heart happy ^^ 

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XI]

Word count: 5,131 

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

Author’s note: My beta reader gave me a few suggestions and it's truly something that's been bugging me, so I decided it would be better to check with you guys, my readers. I'm writing this story purely for fun so I don't mind changing things. I'm not well versed in writing Character x reader stories and I'll admit the whole concept sometimes escapes me (ahem, fully does) and my beta pointed out that it's become an OC x Dracula fic. This chapter in particular touches into something that may upset some people if they're really invested into the reader POV, which is religion. You may not agree with the reader's thoughts regarding christianity, and I don't want to needle anyone's beliefs because this is a reader insert. My question is: would you guys prefer if I gave the reader a name, in which case she becomes a fully realised character? I'll still avoid describing her because then you can picture her however you like. Longwinded question, I know, but I thought it deserved some explanation. On a more positive note, I made two spotify playlists; one is oriented towards alternative songs (mostly) and the other one is purely made up of classical pieces.

Regardless, ENJOYYY

________________________________________________________

The rest of the trip would have been completely silent if it wasn’t for Portishead’s music. 

I barely looked at Dracula as he dropped me off at the Airbnb I had rented. He parted with a promise to meet me at the wedding tomorrow and an indifferent goodbye, although when I made it all the way to the flat’s second floor, his car was still parked at the front door. When I turned around to throw my backpack on the bed and looked out the window again, the black BMW was gone.

Not even the wide array of DVD stacks inside the Airbnb managed to keep my mind off of Dracula.

After settling in and having a shower, I occupied myself with sitting in front of the TV in the living room and analysing the owner’s collection – an impressive one at that – however, when I picked up a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show I could almost hear Count Dracula laughing as I sang along to Frank N Furter and immediately put the disc back to where it belonged. So I chose something harmless to watch.

As Mulder and Scully bickered about aliens on the television in another episode of The X-Files – really, props to the Airbnb owner for supplying his entire collection to guests – I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time. 

Would Count Dracula be a Scully or a Mulder? Such a silly thing to wonder about, nevertheless I was curious about it. Perhaps if he was here with me, watching TV and making his remarks about what was going on, I would manage to concentrate on the episode playing. 

It had worked out fine last time. Well, for the most part. As long as we didn’t watch anything with sexual undertones such as Interview with the Vampire, I would be fine. For how long, was the question.

I frowned as I rewinded the last 10 minutes on the DVD player. Scully was lying in a hospital bed while Mulder screamed at a doctor when just two minutes ago Mulder had been talking to their boss. Obviously, I had missed more than two minutes, too stuck in my thoughts about the Count.

I glanced at my phone again. 

He’d be gone tomorrow. And I needed to know if he would like Scully or Mulder better.

I took my phone between shaky fingers.

A small part of me, one that was still thinking straight, suggested that maybe I shouldn’t do this on account of that kiss earlier. But nothing of what had happened during that trip mattered anymore, not when I would never see him again. Whatever I did today would have no consequences.

 Are you there?

Count Dracula replied just as Mulder screamed at the doctor, and I still had no idea why.

 Yes.

I typed a message as quickly as I could before I regretted this.

 I can’t sleep. 

I chewed on my lip as I waited for a response but when none came, I started typing another text and then erased it. Inviting him over might develop into less innocent things than simply watching TV. 

I curled my toes. I came this far. I resisted him this long. There was no reason to jump ship at the last second. 

Tomorrow he’d be carted away by the Foundation and while I would very much like to do more than kiss Count Dracula, the idea of giving myself to him and then never feeling his touch again seemed unbearable. 

 Do you want to take a stroll through Gloucester?

I’ll be there in a few minutes.

His reply came so quick that he must have been staring at his phone, waiting for me to send another text.

I rushed to change from pyjamas into jeans, jacket and boots. I had just finished fixing up how I looked when my phone buzzed. Without bothering to read the text, I left the flat, heart beating like a hummingbird’s as I went down the stairs to the building’s front door. 

Count Dracula wore the same leather jacket as earlier, waiting for me just as he had waited hours ago in London.

“Did you walk all the way here?” I asked as soon as I noticed the BMW’s absence.

“I was in the neighbourhood.” He smiled.

“Exploring?”

He smirked but said nothing.

“Eating, then,” I concluded. “Drinking, sorry. I forgot you get stuck in the technicalities.”

“You get used to it,” he said, extending a hand for me. 

I gasped when I placed my hand on his. Someone else’s blood had made his temperature rise from cadaveric cold to match my own but I was too fascinated by how plump his flesh felt to care about an unknown person’s death. 

“You don’t feel like a statue,” I said, squeezing his hand to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.

“You get used to it,” he repeated. “Come. I found a lovely place to break into.”

He pulled me to him so fast that my stomach lurched. I almost lost balance but he wrapped an arm around my shoulders to steady me. 

“May I remind you that I’m human and next time you do this I might throw up in your shoes?” 

My vision was still swimming and I had to lean my body on his until I could see properly. 

“I’ll warn you next time.”

I craned my neck to look up at him, noticing absently that I had my arms around him in a hug. Light coming from a neighbouring house glowed behind his head likening a saint’s halo. Horns would be more suitable, and more alluring. 

“Will I like this place you intend to take me?” 

“More than I will,” he said, securing me in an inescapable hold, one I had no desire to fight. “It’s a cathedral.”

“Gloucester Cathedral?” I loosened my arms around him. “It’s a holy place,” I said and he cocked an eyebrow. “Can you even set foot in there?”

He snorted.

“I can waltz with you in there while reciting biblical verses as long as I don’t look upon the cross.” 

“I’d like to see that. A healthy dose of blasphemy is always fun.”

A slow smile spread on his lips.

“Then you’ll love it.”

To my dismay, he untangled himself from me but still kept an arm around my shoulders in a half embrace. Instead of avoiding him, I circled his waist with my arm, basking on how uncharacteristically warm he felt in comparison to the chilly night. 

Dracula looked at me with furrowed eyebrows, though a grin creeped on his mouth. For the first time, we had exchanged roles – he, doubtful that I was so willing to touch him, and I, sure of what I was doing ever since I struck that deal. 

Pity it wouldn’t last long.

“Lead the way,” I told him. 

  _______________________________________________________

Except for a couple of stray cats and a dog, Count Dracula and I were the only ones wandering through Gloucester’s narrow streets and quaint façades. The moon was hidden but with how bright it glowed, even beneath a swath of cotton clouds, I would guess it was full. 

I relied more on Count Dracula’s eyes than on the unsteady old street lights that seemed to hail from the 18th century, but I didn’t need his vampire eyes to catch a glimpse of a towering Gothic building, concealed behind a row of modern restaurants and stores, all closed now that it was closer to dawn than to dusk, wedged inside small houses stylised in Tudor architecture. 

“Here we are,” said Dracula just as we rounded the corner and faced Gloucester Cathedral.

It was an enormous and monstrous thing yet beautiful all the same in all its complicated detail of spiking roofs and pointed narrow glass that composed huge windows amongst blocks of stone. Sculptures of saints and kings stood watch at the front, arching above the intricately woven entrance. 

“Is there an alarm this time?” I asked as we approached the door. 

“What for? Christians trust their god to keep it safe. There is someone sleeping inside, though. A priest if I had to guess, so we’ll have to be very quiet.”

“There goes my plan,” I said, although I had none. No space for calculated words and carefully measured tone there. All I had left was impulsivity, and saying things without really meaning them provided me with a rush unlike any other. 

“What plan is that?” Dracula questioned, side-eyeing me.

I shrugged.

“What does it matter if I can’t be noisy now?” I snickered. I would have tried being reckless more often if I’d known I would earn so many bewildered looks from Count Dracula. “Open the door.” I bidded, staring at him. “Please?”

Something crossed his gaze, something that made me wish that he would press me against a wall and demand that I tell him about my sordid plan. But he did no such thing.

“Since you asked nicely,” he said, just as he had done earlier during our trip.

Dracula forced the door open with the same ease I would have opened an unlocked door.

My mouth was a little dry but the thrill of doing something forbidden still made my heart thud, despite the fear of being caught. Perhaps I’d been developing a new habit of doing dangerous things such as making deals with vampires, and getting excited at the prospect of desecrating a church with one. I would have to find a substitute to that after he was gone but I couldn’t think of anything that could compare. 

I followed Count Dracula into the cathedral’s nave. 

The massive round pillars surrounding the aisle took away some of the simplicity of the ribbed vaulting, which derived from early Gothic architecture if I remembered my art classes correctly. There weren’t any pews positioned in usual rows as most churches did, and from where I stood I couldn’t spot an altar. The place seemed bare without them but it was still imposing, as most religious things were, I supposed.

The ground's yellowed stone, that one day may have been white, was dappled with a luminescence of blue, red and purple. I whirled around, looking up to find out where that variety of colours came from, and grinned upon finding a stained glass window that extended all the way up to the ceiling. 

“I never liked churches as a child,” I whispered to Dracula, ignoring that he probably knew it. “They creeped me out. I couldn’t understand how some people felt love inside them, when all I felt was judgement. And like I was being watched by saints, angels and Jesus.” I grimaced as I admired the pictures on the glass. Saints looked back at me with their saintly stare. Jesus Christ was pictured at the centre pane. “My parents weren’t very religious but my grandmother was one of those fervent catholics, full of guilt and fear. She used to take me to mass every other Sunday at Westminster Abbey until one time when I started arguing with the priest during his sermon about how illogical the bible is at some points.” I glanced at Dracula and saw him chuckling soundlessly. “I was 13. My grandmother was so humiliated and angry at me that she never took me to mass again.”

“And you were relieved to never have to go back again,” Dracula supplied. “How do you like churches now?”

“I like them as long as I’m just visiting. And I’m not scared of them anymore, not since I won that argument with the priest.” I looked at him. He was making a point of observing the rest of the church instead of gazing at the stained glass as I was. “You were raised christian, too. And if Wikipedia is right, you fought in the name of God.”

“In another life.” He bobbed his head, lacing his hands behind his back as he wandered down the aisle. “Not the foolish, gullible and fearful catholic as Justina was.” Dracula cast a brief glance at me. “My late wife.” He explained but I had already surmised as much. 

Since he had mentioned her without my needing to ask, I felt the urge to goad him with more questions. The urge to see that odd semblance of grief in his face as I had seen weeks ago. The reminder that he was capable of emotion, still. But I left it alone. It was possible he would shut down and assume that distant and impenetrable façade, and then our last date would be over much faster than I was ready for it to be.

“No, you were more the type to rip people to shreds when they didn’t condone your faith.” I lowered my voice mid sentence when my words echoed. 

Following him down the aisle, I noticed that a big apparatus was raised up in a wooden structure ahead of us and it looked like an organ. Had we been alone at the church, I would have climbed up the stairs to knead a few keys just to hear the resounding, spine-chilling noise it would make. 

“Precisely.” Dracula laughed.

“Did you ever do it for fun?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you did.”

He turned around, stopping at the centre of the aisle a few metres away from me. 

“For fun, for boredom, but most of all to instill fear into my enemies’ hearts. Does it still bother you?”

I stopped.

It had when I first found out about it. And although he had just admitted torturing people simply for the fun of it, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as before. I ought to have been disgusted or disapproving, at the very least. It was a little worrying that I didn’t feel any of those things, like I had just discovered a part of me that was capable of terrible cruelty.

“No,” I said. “Not anymore.”

Dracula’s grin was all teeth as if that answer was everything he had been longing to hear. 

“You’re not nervous tonight.” He was still grinning. “You’re usually nervous around me.”

“Usually,” I agreed, smirking. 

Was this how it felt? Not having to worry, not caring about what could happen, not being cautious about every little thing, not minding that he had done horrible deeds and I still wanted his lips on mine?

This foreign feeling swelled inside my chest and my smirk became a grin. 

“Let’s see the rest of the place,” I said, beckoning him with my hand. “There is a door back there and I think I saw something interesting.”

I didn’t wait to see if he would follow and simply turned around, heading to my right where I had seen a long corridor dappled with more colourful light from stained glass. Through an arched portal, I could see the extent of the corridor but it still didn’t prepare me when I crossed the threshold. 

What I thought was only one corridor, was actually two positioned in an L-shape and I stood at the cusp of both. Elaborate lines composed patterns on the vaulted ceiling and walls, fanning into long and curved designs etched in stone and ending in what resembled flowers. Light poured from a collection of stained glass windows and with the way each corridor bent at their ends, I supposed the structure continued until it formed a rectangular. I squinted past a clear glass on a windowpane, and smiled. I could make out shapes of trees and what looked to be a fountain outside. These weren’t corridors but covered walks surrounding a square. Westminster Abbey had something similar.

“Gorgeous,” whispered Dracula.

I turned around to see what he was admiring. His stare was fixed on me, and I had a feeling it had been the same way when he spoke. He moved towards me and the stained glass bathed his face in red. Dracula placed one of my hands on his shoulder and took the other one into his own, extending our joined hands up in a dancing stance.

“I’ll step on your feet,” I warned as he splayed a hand on my back. “I’m not a good dancer.”

“I’ll teach you. Waltzing is easy, and I told you we would waltz.”

In a hushed voice as to not wake whoever slept inside the cathedral, Count Dracula instructed me how, his knees touching mine ever so slightly to point me in the correct direction as I stared down at our feet rasping on the floor, his hands pushing and tugging gently as we swayed to silence. 

After a little while, I felt confident enough not to step on his feet, although I had done it a few times during his lesson, and looked up at his face. We were both a mess of colours and blurry features clouded in darkness as we danced out and into the stained glass light. The air was so chilly that my lungs burned with the effort of dancing, his hand so unrealistically warm on mine as we danced pointlessly – it was surreal, and filled me with an unusual melancholy that I wouldn’t experience something like that again and happiness because I had let myself experience it.

“I dare not ask for love–” Dracula’s words cut through the silence and I drew a sharp intake of breath for what he was about to say. His next words were accompanied by the cadence people used to recite something, which removed some of the impact of what he had first said and I relaxed. 

“ I dare not ask for love – with all

My many sins, both great and small,

I am perhaps of love unworthy!

But if feigned love, if you would

Pretend, you’d easily deceive me,

For happily would I, believe me,

Deceive myself if but I could. ”

I held my breath halfway throughout but continued to dance. The mention of love completely escaped me when he spoke of deceit and I could not help but wonder if he suspected me of it. Did he know I was leading him on and did not care? Or did he know about me and Zoe and this was just a fancy way of telling me so? My heart raced. I hoped he took it not as panic but exhilaration instead.

“Is that in the bible?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“It’s Pushkin. I’ve been reading Russian literature again, old and new and it’s stuck in my head. Pushkin remains a favourite of mine and Anna Akhmatova is a close second from the new generation. Well, old generation, for you.” He chuckled. “The Pushkin stanza sounds better in Russian. Most things sound better in Russian,” he said in an even voice. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he recited the verses in Russian, and although I understood none of it, it did sound better. “This, however, is from the bible. I don’t remember from which book but I remember that I liked it when I was human. I’m translating directly from Latin, though, because that’s how I studied the bible, so I’m taking a few liberties here to make it sound better, and less ridiculously holy. It goes like this:  Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”

“It could very well be Pushkin,” I offered. 

“It could. Ironically, I prefer these verses more than Pushkin’s.” He laughed lightly and I fully relaxed. He sounded like himself, not at all as if he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. 

I did wonder, though, why he chose those verses out of anything else to declaim. Pushkin was a hopeless romantic through and through from what I had read of him. Of Anna I knew little but what I did know spoke of bitterness, death and failed, tragic love. Why suddenly speak of love? He could’ve quoted something else from the bible. Perhaps something to do with Samson and Delilah, since we had joked about it in the past. Anything else would have made more sense, even the parts that made no sense at all and had driven me to argue with a priest years ago.

Was Count Dracula attempting to tell me something? No. Couldn’t be. He was as forward as one could be. And the idea of him feeling anything remotely close to love seemed a little silly. 

He had loved Justina; more than he thought he was capable of, he’d said. But that had been centuries ago in another life. 

For a moment my determination in being reckless faltered and I felt at loss for what to say. 

Dracula let go of me briefly to spin me around in a move I wasn’t as deftly trained in as he was, causing me to squeal at the velocity and trip over my feet. I thought I would fall but he caught me and started moving again in the waltz pattern he had taught me. Laughter bubbled up to my throat in my hurry to catch up with him and the sound of it was amplified by the long walls. Dracula’s laughter joined mine until it became a song for which we danced.

It doesn’t matter, nothing matters.  I thought as I gazed up at him.  He’ll be gone and whatever I say doesn’t matter anymore. I can entertain even the wildest of things because they’ll never happen. Nothing will happen, for the rest of time.

“I’ve got one for you,” I breathed as we spun in a dizzying pace. “The Devil’s hands directs our every move; the things we loathed become the things we love.” It didn’t come out nearly as expertly as his declamation but I was out of breath, spinning and spinning as he commanded. Like a ballerina in a music box. Dracula simply stared at me, the corners of his lips in their own fight of tugging upwards or downwards. “It’s Baudelaire. Have you read it?” I wasn’t sure if I saw him shake his head. Suddenly, we were dancing so fast that I could barely see my surroundings, much less his face. “I know Baudelaire as you know the bible, only the parts that matter, but I know them from heart. There’s one phrase that I particularly relate to, especially now.” I gulped as if I was looking down a cliff. “What can an eternity –”

Dracula stopped abruptly and I gasped, strands of my hair landing on my face as my head reeled at suddenly being motionless. The world still whirled around and I swayed on my feet as if I had forgotten how to keep myself standing up still, but the Count’s grasp kept me in place. 

Interrupting our dance, I realised not a second later, was for the best. I’d been about to quote something very dangerous, something that could land me with both feet on a grave for all eternity with Count Dracula. And I would’ve said it out of sheer wickedness, just because I was tempted about what could happen if I broke a few rules. 

I looked up at his face, heart teetering on the verge of stopping in fear of what I would find in his expression. But Dracula wasn’t paying attention to me. His eyes were focusing past my head. And then I heard it. Footsteps.

Our laughter must have woken up whoever had been sleeping inside the cathedral.

“What -?” A male voice drifted from behind me, sounding panicked and angry. “You can’t be here at this hour!”

“Shit,” I whispered to Dracula. “What now?”

He gave me a lopsided grin.

“This is your warning,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice now that we had been caught. I had time to frown at his reply before both of Dracula’s arms pulled me into an embrace, my feet swinging beneath me. I emitted a sound of surprise but didn’t struggle. “Hold on and please try not to throw up on my shoes, they’re rather expensive.”

I had one valuable second to wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest before we moved faster than I thought was possible. My insides tossed inside of me, suddenly demanding for a way out of my body’s cage. I kept my eyes closed the entire time, too frightened of opening them. I had never gone on a roller coaster ride but I supposed the feeling was similar. 

Gusts of wind assailed my hair and threatened to steal the breath out of my lungs. I was afraid the feeling would last forever until we finally stopped and I landed on safe ground.

“You can let go now, Y/N.”

“Can you give me a second?” I mumbled, eyes still shut. “I think my soul is still trying to find a way back into my body.”

Dracula’s laughter tickled my ear and I tightened my hold on him. He did, too, his fingers pressing gently on the flesh of my back. Slowly, as if in a limp, my senses caught up with me and my stomach settled on what felt like an appropriate position. 

I opened my eyes tentatively and turned my head to the side. Startled, I realised he had brought me all the way from Gloucester Cathedral to the street where my Airbnb rental was located. And he’d done it in a span of two minutes, if not less. 

I tipped my head to look at him, resting my cheek on the cold of his leather jacket. Dracula’s eyes were closed, sets of black eyelashes casting soft shadows on his face, and he was breathing steadily. Not because he needed to, I presumed, but because he was taking in my scent. My lips tugged up automatically; it was odd perceiving that as something sweet but I did.  

His throat moved, drawing my attention. A most devilish thought occurred to me and before I gave myself too much time to dwell on it, I stretched up and nibbled at the skin of his neck. It lasted no more than five seconds but the sound that came out of Dracula would be seared into my memory forever. Raw, rapturous, and chilling at the same time. Satisfied, I let go of him, but he didn’t let go of me. Too fast for me to react, he took my hands and placed them where they had been, and then trapped me into his embrace again.

I had just blurred some very important lines with what I had just done, and yet part of me only cared about the thrill of it.

“Your scar has faded,” he said, and my heart hammered madly. A hand delved into my hair, grabbing a mass of it to expose my neck. “You didn’t really think you could get away with what you just did, did you?”

“Not really. But if you bite me without my consent, then the deal is off.”

“And I have no intention of breaking my word. Don’t think of this as reprisal. It’s more of a gift, such as you’ve just given me.”

Dracula bent his head slowly towards my bare neck, like he was giving me time to protest. I remained silent. It was imprudent, this need to know what he would do, but I wanted to garner every possibility of my time with him to cherish in my heart, forever. And the uncertainty of it made me all the more excited. I stared up at the sky and then his lips touched my throat where he had bitten me, softly, so very softly. And then again, not softly at all. Riveting pleasure sparked to life as if the scar was still fresh and I choked on my breath. Dull teeth nibbled the skin there and a flash of pulsating warmth coursed down my chest and back, spreading gradually in the same way spilled blood spread on the ground: trying to encompass everything in its wake, tainting it with inevitable appeal and fear of what it meant. I held on to Dracula forcefully, more forcefully than one would judge to be adequate, and he laughed against my skin before giving it a long lick. 

“Careful,” he whispered in my ear. “I may interpret your willingness as consent. And I know you well enough to know you won’t give it to me easily. Will you?”

“No.” The word was automatic and I thanked the part of me that still harboured a sense of self-preservation above my heedless desire for him. However, I still leaned all of my weight on him and made no attempt to put distance between us, as I should’ve. “Not easily at all.”

Dracula, showing way more restraint than I had all night, disentangled my hair from his fingers and stepped back. It took everything in me not to launch myself into his arms again but I let my hands drop to my sides.

“You’re dangerous,” he accused.

“Not as much as you are.”

“A different kind of dangerous.” He licked his lips. Could he taste my skin in his mouth? 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one.”

I smiled. Being called dangerous filled me with power. Power over him. I was delighted for only a second before wondering if he would think the same thing tomorrow when I stuck a needle with sickly blood in him.

“The cathedral was a good idea,” I said. “Defiling a church has always been in my to-do list, plus I learned how to waltz. So thank you for that.” I sighed. “I should really go to bed now, and so should you. Isn’t the sun almost coming up?”

He nodded. 

“Before you go–” he looked behind me with obvious disdain at the building I was staying at and then back at me “–what were you quoting before the priest came upon us?”

I gulped.

“I don’t remember.”

He narrowed his eyes, shifting closer.

“You’re lying. I thought we had established that you don’t lie to me.”

“You established that.” I stepped back, conjuring a cheeky smile. “I didn’t.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll regret it,” I admitted. “And I prize my sleep. I prefer not to go to bed with a heavy heart.”

He stared at me for a long moment and I waited under his scrutiny, doing my very best to keep it together.

“Tomorrow, then,” he finally said. “Tell me tomorrow.”

But I wouldn’t tell him tomorrow. I would tell him nothing at all. 

“Okay. Goodnight, Dracula.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

As I laid my head on the pillow that night, I realised I still didn’t know if Dracula would like Scully or Mulder better. And would never know.

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Taglist: @rheabalaur​ @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @deborahlazaroff​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @girlonfireice​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @dreamer2381​ @apocalypsenowish​ @saint-hardy​

[dearlazerbunny]

If/When/Then

Pairings: Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Genre/Ratings: Five Times trope; G, mentions of severe anxiety

Words: 4200

Summary: Or, five times Kyoya didn’t kiss you (and the one time he did)

WARNING: the last bit gets a little angsty

One

“Kyoya. I swear to god. Can we please just-” you rub your eyes exhaustedly, trying to get the harsh blue glow of your laptop out from under your eyelids- “take a break? Or better yet, call it a night?”

The boy sitting across from you on the sofa glances up, his work reflected in his glasses. “How many words do you have?”

“Kyoyaaaaaaaa-”

“Y/N. How many words?” His tone is partially amused but mostly paternal, like he’s asking a small child how many candies they snuck before dinner. If you weren’t so brain dead it’d piss you off, but as it is you’re mostly just petulant.

“Um… three thousand and… something?”

A slender finger pushes his glasses further up his nose. “And the minimum word count is…?”

“You damn well know,” you mumble, before letting your head drop into your hands. One of your elbows is resting on your keyboard, leaving a long trail of jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjs across your half-finished essay.

“What was that?” A socked foot aims a kick at his shin, but your aim goes wide and he dodges it easily. “I believe the answer is six thousand.”

You give a long, heartfelt groan.

Kyoya sighs. He can easily knock out an essay in under an hour, while you require a little more effort- and a lot more bribery. Even if English is one of your best subjects, he knows sitting here for the past few hours laboring over a boring political comparison has to be dragging on you. And he’s been too caught up in his own work to even try to keep your spirits up- something he’s now regretting, seeing the usual sparkle in your eye dull to something uncharacteristically quiet.

“Here.” He reaches over the edge of his perch and feels for the basket of blankets he knows will be sitting there- his sister has a fondness for being wrapped in a minimum of three layers at all times. Carefully, as so not to disturb his own precious computer, he reaches over and drapes a loose-knit woolen beauty over your lap. He even takes a second to tuck the ends over your toes. You watch, fascinated, so used to his fingers tapping out mile-a-minute documents in a harsh staccato that this moment of softness seems unreal. Maybe you’ve already fallen asleep and are dreaming, or it’s a particularly nice sort of 2AM hallucination. Kyoya notices you staring- of course he does, he notices far too much about you nowadays to try and convince himself he only values you as a friend- and very pointedly looks anywhere but your gaze. He’s not sure he could look away if he caught your eye now, hazy with sleep and reflecting starlight from the nearby open window. “Better?”

“Um- yeah.” You settle a little further into the cushions. “Thanks.”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Of course, when he glances over at you not ten minutes later, you’re fast asleep, laptop precariously close to toppling to the floor. He rescues it and saves your work before shutting it down. There’s a slight smile on your face as you dream, and the overwhelming urge to lean over and press a kiss to your forehead makes Kyoya stop still.

His fixation on you has grown over the past few months, that much is clear, but he hadn’t predicted them to progress this quickly this fast. He has his grades to maintain, a club to run, and a company to prepare for. He shouldn’t have time for silly distractions, like categorizing exactly how peaceful you look curled up next to him, or reaching out and brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes.

He shouldn’t. And yet, he does- he always will, for you.

Two

“Remind me again who said this was a good idea?” You squint your eyes as you turn your face towards the sky, which is lit by a brilliant sun. The Host Club is hosting on location this time- a beautiful stretch of beach peppered by towels, umbrellas, waiters offering fruity drinks, and a couple hundred squealing girls. You know. Relaxing. “I think I might like to punch them.”

“You might talk to Mori about a healthy and productive way to manage your rampant anger issues.” You snort and roll your eyes, which in turn makes the corner of Kyoya’s mouth tick up. He’s under an umbrella nearby, neatly marking down figures on his notepad. “Besides, I thought you liked the water.”

“I do, when it’s not so…” you gesture to the gaggle of twenty or so girls nearby, all primping and twisting in their bikinis to hopefully catch the eye of their favorite host- “crowded.”

“Ah.” He can sympathize with that. The smell of salt and brine takes him back to childhood, with the two of you making castles in the sand and pestering the other with seashell-finding competitions. Beach days were lazy days when your parents couldn’t be bothered to have either of you in the house, but to the two of you they were worth their weight in gold. Today, as he watches you stretch into the heat, his childhood friend is overshone by the you of here and now. You’re gorgeous in a simple one piece more stunning than any of the frills the other guests are wearing and hair in a sea-woven braid dangling down your back. Likewise, the Kyoya of here and now is having some thoughts that his five-year-old self have would never even dreamt of.

“I’m going swimming. If I don’t come back in an hour, tell Tamaki it’s his fault for dragging us all out here.”

“Hm? Oh,” Kyoya clears his throat. “Yes, of course.”

You throw him a glance- is he acting strangely? You can’t quite tell; it might just be the heat- before jogging off towards the waves, well away from the party as a whole.

He watches you go, and thinks about going with you, before a guest trills his name and his attention is dragged back to where he doesn’t want it to be.

At the end of the day, the crowd has left, and the club gets a precious hour or so of pink sky and calm surf to themselves. Hikaru, Kaoru, and Haruhi are searching the shoreline for shells and sand dollars; Mori is hauling damp sand for Honey’s massive sand castle; and Tamaki surveys all of them like a proud father. You and Kyoya are sitting a little away, just close enough to the water to let it kiss your toes. “This is more what I remember,” you murmur, a smile on your face, and Kyoya digs his fingers into the sand so they don’t accidentally wind their way around yours like they want to.

“Oh, here.” You pluck your friend’s glasses from his face and use the towel draped loosely over your shoulders to wipe the lenses. When you hand them back, Kyoya has a bit of a stunned expression on his face, making you giggle. “Sorry. They had salt on them. Seemed like it would annoy you.”

“Indeed,” is what he says, willing his tone to be nonchalant or at least neutral. What he wants to say is, do you remember when we were eleven, and you tried the same thing? You ended up getting knocked over by a wave and lost them in the ocean. I was so mad at you, but I still had to hold your hand on the way home so I wouldn’t fall. You didn’t let me trip. Not once.

If he were a braver, bolder, better person, he’d kiss you right now, and see how you taste like salt and sunshine and memories. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t- he lets the Hitachiin twins, who are sneaking up behind you, douse you in water instead. He lets you shriek at them and take chase, threatening to drown them both, breaking the moment and leaving him sitting by the sea alone to remember what was and what might be.

Three

It’s safe to assume that Valentine’s Day is never a dull affair in Music Room 3.  

Everything is decorated with lace and delicate crystal trimmings; the roses are even more bountiful and in every color the human eye can see. The attire is more formal than usual, the cheeks rosier and the lips pinker, and it tends to be the one day when the hosts receive more than give.

Each of their tables is piled high with gifts, cards, baked goods swirled with elaborate frostings. Even though Tamaki keeps insisting that the girls should be the ones receiving sweet nothings, not the hosts, you can tell he’s more than pleased by the growing mound of sentiments slowly dwarfing the other boys’. As it should be, Kyoya supposes.

Honey’s haul is mostly sweets, naturally, and this year Mori also has a surprising armload- apparently one of the only times his admirers hear him speak is when he says ‘thank you’, leading to multiple gifts just so they can hear his voice more than once. Hikaru and Kaoru’s combined mountain looks more like a dragon’s treasure horde than a pile of presents. Haruhi adamantly refused everything until one guest brought her a particularly excellent platter of fish, based on the way she’s been sitting in the corner with her cheeks stuffed for the last twenty minutes.

Kyoya notes all of this with a vague smile, adjusting his calculations and trajectories for the next few months to match the turnout. Valentine’s Day is one holiday he can generally sit out. Sure, there’s a small stack of cards and remember-me’s on the sofa next to him, but his persona as the analytical and aloof host tends to leave him further down in the ranks than the other boys. Which is just fine with him, if he’s being honest- he has manners, but being constantly charming is tiring at best and egregiously aggravating at worst.

“Mother Dearest, it appears you have another card to add to your beautiful collection!” Tamaki flounces over in his wine-colored suit, at least thirty guests in pursuit. “It doesn’t come with a giver, unfortunately- oh! Perhaps you have a secret admireeeeeer!” He wiggles his fingers excitedly and hands over the card with a flourish. “How exciting! A mystery for Valentine’s Day!” His groupies sigh and fan their faces, overcome with the romance and intrigue of it all.

“Thank you, Tamaki,” Kyoya says drily, nimbly plucking the proffered gift from the boy’s fingers. “Please, don’t ignore your guests on my account.”

“I would never! Each and every one of my princesses mean the world to me!” As he and his followers fade back to the other side of the room, Kyoya props his glasses back up on his nose and curiously slides his thumb under the flap of the envelope. It’s a plain white paper, not embellished with hearts or gemstones or ribbon or any of the other garish decorations usually attached to such a thing. The card is similarly simplistic, with only a pencil-sketched heart on the outside and a greeting that reads, “To My Favorite Host.”

Interesting. Perhaps there’s a mystery here after all. He flips it open, not sure what to expect- and immediately has to keep himself from laughing outright. Inside is a crude sketch of two stick figures- one has comically large glasses drawn on its blank face to helpfully distinguish itself as the Kyoya of the pair- and note in chicken scratch: You’re such an asshole, but I guess I love you anyways.

Only one person could be responsible for such a thing. After all, you were never renowned for your artistic talents.  

…

“I got your… note.”

You don’t look up from the book you’re paging through out in the courtyard underneath a spectacular old tree. The leaves frame you beautifully against the afternoon sky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mmm. I found the art particularly museum worthy.”

Now you smile a bit. “Well, you’re a museum worthy sorta guy.”

“Favorite host is quite the compliment.” He’s getting dangerously close to… something; toeing a line he hasn’t touched before, and it’s making his heart race.

“Don’t get too cocky. Mori’s still got like, an eight-pack.”

Kyoya sits beside you, careful to leave several tree roots between you and him. “Why a valentine? I see you every day; you could have just told me yourself.”

“I dunno.” He fixes you with a look, one that says sure, I believe you. You give a halfhearted shrug, shoulder almost brushing Kyoya’s. “I went by the music room. Everyone else had, like, mountains of stuff and I just… felt like you were under-appreciated, that’s all.”

“I see.” A beat passes with nothing but the wind ruffling your hair. “That’s… kind of you.”

Now you do close the gap between the two of you, nudging your knee against his. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Four

Your laugh, Kyoya thinks, is the best thing he’s ever heard.

You’re draped over the edge of his bed, head towards the floor, giggling wildly to yourself as you mutter an inside joke that only make sense to you. Your cheeks are flushed, and the bottle of alcohol you snuck into Kyoya’s room is sitting a few feet away, half full. He’s had a few sips, but he isn’t much for relinquishing his mental faculties so easily. It’s tempting, though, what with you so lazily tapping his shoulder or nudging his side to get his attention- it’d be so easy to demolish all his carefully crafted walls and drown in you.

But someone has to be the responsible one- and if he’s honest with himself, the thought of you or he regretting what happened in the dead of night come light of day makes him sick to his stomach. So he sits primly against his headboard, the computer on his lap a boulder pinning him to his spot, only glancing at you every so often to make sure you haven’t tumbled off the bed completely, despite your absolutely intoxicating mood coaxing him closer and closer to throwing caution to the wind.

“-and you’re just… you’re just a good person,” you continue, meandering through your thoughts. “Like, seriously. Why do you have to be so amazing. It’s so goddamn annoying.”

He desperately hopes you’re too out of it to notice the reddening of his own cheeks. “I am hardly what anyone would call ‘good.’”

“Lies! Lies. And. Slander.” You emphasize every word with a poke to various parts of his body- his big toe, his elbow, his knee. “Like- okay. What are you working on right now?”

In actuality he’s browsing through the Ootori Group’s latest research and development journals, evaluating their recent findings and sifting the unimportant from the extraordinary. But you’re most likely far too gone to actually understand any of that, so instead he just generalizes: “refining new data from the company.”

“Yeah! You wanna be a fucking doctor, that’s like- that’s amazing!”

Kyoya quirks an eyebrow. “You do realize my entire family is in the medical profession.”

“No, your entire family throws their money at the medical profession.” You wave a finger in the air like a drunk scientist hypothesizing their theories. “There’s a difference.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“No, listen you jerk!” You haul yourself up and place yourself face-to-face with your best friend, close enough that Kyoya can see the intensity in your eyes. “It’s one thing to pay for shit, it’s another to actually be in the room when someone is having a heart attack and wanting to save their life. You care. More than anyone I know. And that makes you amazing.” You let out a rush of air, the sudden verve in your words having worn you out. “I dunno. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. Whatever. I’m gonna lay down.” You curl up next to his knee and half heartedly arrange a blanket around your legs before falling asleep.

Meanwhile, Kyoya’s gaze has never left your face. The words may have been spoken by a loose tongue, but anyone could hear the honesty in your voice and see the passion in your eyes. You really think that much of him? Or rather, could you possibly think as much of him as he does of you?

He wishes he could shake you awake and ask you to elaborate. He wishes he could tell you that if he’s amazing, you’re a supernova. He wishes he could get drunk and fall asleep next to you while pressing lazy kisses anywhere he can reach.

His reaches for the bottle, but his fingers barely brush the glass before changing course and clicking off the lamp instead.

Five

God, I hate these things, you think to yourself as you tug on the straps of your dress. You’re not quite sure if you’re referring to the pins sticking your scalp, the uncomfortable formal gown you’re squeezed into, or the entire event in general- actually, it’s most likely all of the above. As much as you love Kyoya and the rest of the boys, you adamantly refuse to attend any of their grand balls. You’re not a fussy person, so the general pompous air of the things always gives you a headache, and you hate wearing dresses anyways. But today you zipped yourself into a slinky black sheath number that’s long enough to hide tennis shoes under the hem, forced your hair into something presentable, and even threw on a little mascara.

Because of Kyoya.

Kyoya, who mentioned in passing that this was the best celebration he’d ever planned, and seemed extremely proud of it to boot. Kyoya, who always grumbles as he slips on his suit, wishing he could spend the night with his charts and figures instead. Kyoya, who always returns to school the next day more stressed than usual, a tight smile plastered on his face as he fends off hordes of fangirls.

The things you do for this boy.

It’s immediately clear when you arrive that you stand out in your ebony gown, a wisp of smoke and night sky amongst a sea of flouncy pastels. Luckily, each of the boys steps up to greet you- a sweet hug from Honey, carefully avoiding wrinkling your dress; good natured teasing from the twins; a particularly extravagant complimentary poem from Tamaki. Eventually you meet Haruhi at the table laden with food, grateful for someone down to earth to laugh with.

After an hour, you’re almost convinced Kyoya finally worked up the nerve to skip the event altogether when there’s a delicate gap on your shoulder. “Would you care for a dance?”

“No,” you say, because that’s what you always say when Kyoya asks you to do something (even if he knows you’ll do it anyways). He smiles and takes your elbow, ignoring the whispers and glares from the other guests- who is she? What makes her so special? Everything, he wishes he could tell them. So many things he it would take him years to count them all.

“I thought you hated these things,” he says when you’re safely tucked in his arms on the dance floor. The fabric of your dress shimmers softly, as though marking you as something uniquely precious amongst all the other attendees.

“I do,” you reply. You’re slowly taking his lead, following the waltz music played by a six-piece orchestra. “But I think you hate them more, so I figured if anything I could help put you out of your misery.”

“Hm. Poisoned boutonnière, perhaps?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of hiding up in the rafters with a blowdart gun.”

Kyoya chuckles, sweeping you along. You’re not a bad dancer, all things considered. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness, though that might be difficult given your choice of attire.”

You grin at him playfully, raising your hem up just enough so he can see your battered old sneakers on your feet. “Nah, I always come prepared.”

It’s such an odd juxtaposition- this beautiful girl in the sinful dress accessorizing with sharpie-covered shoes that are peeling rubber- he can’t help but laugh, a real laugh, perhaps the first one he’s given since the night began. Even out of your element, you still maintain something that is so quintessentially you. He wishes he could tell you how beautiful you look. He wishes he could nudge your sneaker with his dress shoe in a secret invitation to follow him somewhere quiet, to steal small fleeting moments that would make the whole night worth its while.

He thinks about this every time you scuff your feet, hearing the slight squeak of rubber against the polished tile floor.

And the beginning…

“Stop it, Kyoya,” you grit out through a clenched jaw, using all your strength to unfold your friend’s fingers from his bloody palms. His fingernails have dug so far into the skin they’ve left bright red crescent moons dotting his hands. You focus on those, trying to soothe the sting with the fabric of your shirt, because if you look at his face and the tears crawling down his cheeks you’ll start crying too, and that’s not what either of you need right now. “Just talk to me. Please.”

No response. He’s trembling as though there’s a blizzard only he can feel, so you sit him on your bed and wrap him in every blanket you have, leaving his hands free so he can clutch at yours like a lifeline. “Just focus on me, okay? Everything is fine.” You try to keep your voice steady as you murmur anything reassuring you can think of, trying to coax life back into his eyes. You knew his anxiety had gotten worse, but this… this is the most catastrophic yet. You sit cross legged in front of him, so close your knees brush his, and hold onto his fingers for dear life. “Keep breathing. I’m here. It’s all okay.” Please please please come back to me. Come on, Kyoya. Don’t let the demons win.

Slowly, piece by piece, something in him seems to uncoil. His grip lessens just a little, and his breathing becomes audible enough to reassure you he’s still with you. Gently, you put a hand to his forehead, then cheek, testing his temperature. “Hey. You with me?”

Something like a sob escapes his lips, thin and heartbroken. Your own shatters along with it. In an instant you have him in a hug, arms as tight around him as you can possibly manage. Kyoya tucks his head into the crook of your neck, practically collapsing on top of you until you aren’t sure where he stops and you start. He says your name over and over and over again, a hymn only he can hear. You press your lips to his temple just to reassure yourself he hasn’t left you and let him cry; only able to offer comfort in presence and spirit. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you hold him tighter.

“I’m always here. You know that.”

He sniffs and wipes away a tear with the heel of his hand, wincing when the salt burns his cuts. “Idiotic. I apologize for… all of this.”

“Stop,” you say firmly. You bring his eyes up to meet yours, so he can see the fire in your gaze. “You have nothing to apologize for. Ever. Okay?”

Kyoya stares back at you, feeling small and worthless against the monsters in his own brain. Every second spent with you banishes them a little farther back into his mind, loosening the vises wrapping his chest and letting him breathe a little easier. It has almost consumed him today, so he ran to the only safe place he knows-  you. And you had held him and wiped his tears and not for a single second judged him for falling apart.

It occurs to him you are one of the few people on earth who see him for who he truly is, and will still hold his hands anyways.

Ever so gently, he presses his lips to yours- soft, tentative, and barely there. It’s a thank you, and offering, and a question all at once. It’s not the grand romantic gestures he’s planned late at night, wanting to sweep you off your feet in a shower of confidence and joy, or even really a conscious decision- it’s instinct, want, and something like bittersweet love.

You blink at him, eyes wide. “Kyoya… I-”

He stills. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, bringing a hand up to press your fingers against his cheekbone. “Don’t ever be sorry,” you say again, and then you kiss him back. You kiss him like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do; like you’re saying to him what took you so long, you idiot?

He doesn’t know. But he won’t ever make that mistake again. He’ll kiss you every day for as long as he lives to make up for all that lost time, all those late nights and seaside musings and dances with a hand on the small of your back.

When the sun rises, it illuminates a world of a thousand new possibilities.

[scriptaed]

the redmail | 01

♡ genre: angst/fluff; college!au; e2l!au;

♡ pairing: reader x yoongi;

♡ length: 2.4k; 

♡ synopsis: stoic, indifferent, and aloof, you’ve always wondered what made that oddball yoongi the heartthrob of the school; that is, until one day, when you finally catch him red-handed and the origins of his popularity are unveiled—that bastard’s been writing himself his own love letters! [...] // a drabble of the redmail but written in yoongi’s pov because things aren’t always what they seem. 

♡ commissioned by @shadowsremedy​: thank you so so much for the support! eeespecially for requesting this because it was so much fun to write. i hope you enjoy this c: 

The silence she leaves in her wake is overbearing—but then again, how stupid am I to assume otherwise after having just witnessed the outbreak of a ferocious tempest? I knew it would hurt. I knew she would explode, being the untamed girl I’ve come to know much too well. I knew she would face dejection, even if she vainfully concealed it, because she’s never been completely honest with neither me nor herself; and as certain as I was of her dismay over my threat against her necessary albeit forced confession to Jin, the one and only thing of much more certainty was the hurt I would inevitably face. She might not know it—and I, myself, wouldn’t have believed such an absurd claim just a month ago—but I would rather sit through another dozen of her outfit checks than to be the cause of her pain again. 

And that says a lot.

Tsk. Winter is especially relentless tonight. I’ve never been the type to reel at the bite of cold, but the ghost she left behind has me balled up and shivering. I glance around the stretch of the lengthy street overlooking a river and lit by cold blue post lights, drowning myself in the chirps of crickets only to prim at the absence of any passersby. At least no one had to pay witness to the horrific argument that most would only cringe at while watching all those rom-coms that Y/N had forced me to sit through. Not that I really cared what others thought. Knowing Y/N, however, she would have been whining to me about how others would misconstrue the situation and spread false rumors about our lover’s quarrel… that is, if she were even willing to speak to me again.

How long has it been since she stormed off anyways?

I could only scoff at myself in disbelief when a pathetic epiphany dawns upon me. Here I sit, in the middle of a stranded street after spending my entire Sunday night acting as a pretend boyfriend for a girl whose eyes lied elsewhere—and yet, despite having been scolded by said girl and deservedly so, my body remains affixed to the bench and every and any efforts to budge are in vain. 

Why? 

It’s shamefully dumb for me to admit—and I would never do it aloud, for no one, including myself, should have to endure such torture—but I’m clinging onto our last: the last time I shared a seat with her, the last time she held my hand even if in the name of “practice,” the last fragment in time I could relish and smile stupidly over her but only secretly at my own discretion.  

A small puff of white followed by a larger, heavier cloud fills the air as I release the weight along with the burden that remains in my chest. The winter cold sends chills to my bone and the white lights blind me as I unintentionally challenge it to a staring contest, but they all pale in comparison to the daunting possibility of a tomorrow without the daily bother she had forced me to become accustomed to. 

God, I always appreciated quality time with silence, but it’s too damn quiet around here. Where is her endless blabbering when I need it?

Nonetheless, I stumble onto my feet. It goes without saying: my conviction is undeterred. I don’t regret telling her the truth nor do I regret having blown some steam over her silly, Jin-driven fanatic antics that I had allowed for far too long. I had to tell her. It was for the better. She had to get over it, and when she finally does get over it… would she finally recognize her true value? Could she finally appreciate a man who could treat her right? 

...and in her own treacherous words that reverberates through the silent night and wreaks chaos in what was once my perfectly tranquil state of mind: what would I do if, someday, her heart really found its way to me? 

“Pft, second choice to Jin?” I scoff to myself, shaking my head, burying my hands into my pockets, and kicking the rocks to the curb along with my pathetic skip of a heartbeat, “Don’t ‘kid around with me.” 

♡ ♡ ♡

“Oh, Yoongles!” Jin kicks a leg over the other, quickly catching his toppled laptop and returning it to his lap just as I enter the room, “you going out on evening dates now, too, or wh—” he pauses and grimaces once he notices something, whatever it is, on my face, “—what happened?”

“First, you don’t get to call me ‘Yoongles,’” I deadpan, “and second, we need to talk.” 

“Talk? Us?” Jin articulates but I don’t really need to answer for him to realize the gravity of the situation. Propping a pillow behind him and the wall, Jin finally sits up and chuckles nervously, “what’s with you recently? Given, you’ve always been a moody grandpa, but you seem… particularly bothered nowadays.” 

How was I supposed to bring her up without being bombarded by his inevitably nosy questions? And how do I ask him for a favor without spilling the secret Y/N had entrusted me with? It was a hard task, one that I really would rather not go through the hassle of doing, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight otherwise. 

For her, I had to do it. 

Strolling across the short span of our tiny room, I don’t even realize that I’ve been pacing back and forth between our two beds before finally leaning against my desk. The next thing I know, I’ve been staring at Jin far more intently and probably more intensely than a person asking for a favor should have been.  

Thankfully, Jin being the usual albeit irritatingly perky guy he is, he waves my silence off as just another normal day with me, “you need my assistance? What is it? Dating advice? Haha, I knew it! It’s okay, you don’t have to be shy—”

“—it’s about Y/N.”

I make sure to cut him off before he establishes a steady rhythm. 

“Oh,” a smug grin stains his face and I have to remind myself exactly who I’m doing this for in order to hold the click of my tongue, “so that’s who this is all about. What’s up? Finally taking a liking to girls, eh? Well, I don’t blame you. Y/N’s a good catch—”

“—she’s not some fish you can just ‘catch,’’” the words slip from lips just as my tongue clicks. Clearing my throat, I cross my arms and shuffle in place… hopefully enough of a surrender for the favor I’m about to ask. A momentary pause follows but after peeking at him from the corner of my eyes and finding him indulging in his own incomprehensible mumbles, a scoff escapes along with my own unnecessary worries.

Damn, I’m really starting to sympathize with Y/N because he really is a dense one. 

“...although I do have to say she’s changed a lot. Say,” Jin babbles, finally turning to realize that his words have been going in through one ear and out the other, “did you start liking her before everything or after everything?”

“‘Everything?’” I quirk a brow at his question. 

“You know, like, makeup and clothes,” Jin pauses, “well, I guess you’ve never been too close with her until now, so you might not remember—”

“—I remember,” I say much more adamantly than I intended, having to clear my throat before continuing, “she might not look like it, but she’s the same person as she’s always been.”

“Oh?” Jin purses his lips and nods admittedly. “Well, of course you would know. So, after breaking the hearts of half the girls in school, what is it about her that’s finally enraptured the heartthrob himself?”

Of course the heart-breaker himself would ask that. 

A simple roll of the eyes is enough for him to understand that the last thing I would give him is an answer to his question. 

“Oh! You might be silent but you’re also not denying it! I’ll take it as a victory,” he chimes proudly but I only wrinkle my nose at him in distaste, especially when he bounces forward far too enthusiastically and almost tips his laptop off the bed. “Ooh! Oh my God, does she like you, too?” 

“What?” 

Silence befalls the room for what seems to be an eternity. I don’t even realize the extent of my glare until I notice Jin flinching backwards and bracing himself for the scolding I surely would have given if it weren’t for what I’m about to ask of him. 

What is it with Y/N and Jin today? Proposing the most absurd scenarios that could only exist hypothetically? It’s odd, considering how questions don’t usually agitate me like this, but...

I mean, does she like me? How ironic is it that her crush, himself, questions her feelings for me, someone who is simply her wingman only under the conditions of blackmail? 

And if, supposedly in the rarest of chances, her attention has really averted elsewhere, how pathetic would I be as a mere second choice? 

“No,” I grimace, purposely staring him down to get the point across, “no, she doesn’t like me.”

“Oh,” Jin pouts in sudden dismay, “I’m sorry, man. Do you know who she likes then?” 

“Don’t know, don’t care,” I shrug. I don’t know why but something about this topic has me wanting to walk out of this room this very second; and before I know it, my discontent had somehow manifested in what I had always thought to be incomprehensible mumbles, “but if she really did like someone, they’d probably be almost as dumb as her decisions.”

“‘Dumb?’” Jin almost shrills. “You’ve never called anyone dumb before except for me—”

—shit. 

What did I even say? How did he hear me? Never mind that, had I given away too much? Surely not, right? Jin, the most dense of all guys, wouldn’t be able to decipher the message from something as simple as that, right? 

“No,” I quickly blurt, recomposing myself by shuffling in place and putting on a blank canvas that would be my best joker face, “you’re not the only one. I mean, Y/N’s dumb, too.”

“Well, if you know so adamantly for a fact that she doesn’t like you, then you do know that she likes someone…” Jin mumbles to himself. “That would mean you’ve been lying to me thus far… which means…”

Should I stop him now? Should I throw him off track or would that only raise more suspicion? Worse yet, what is this dreadful pain that’s hammering against my chest? It’s almost as if I’m helplessly staring at an impending doom that would soon take my life by storm… because, even if I had threatened Y/N with her secret, what on earth would I do if I really were to have confessed for her? 

“...does Y/N like me?” 

Betraying her is the last thing I wanted. 

“Jin,” I say through gritted teeth because nothing could alleviate the tension brought upon by the drop in my stomach, “I know you have a big ego, but that’s a stretch for even a dumbass like you—”

“—no, no,” Jin purses and my heart almost stops when his eyes flicker from the ceiling and back on me, “you usually don’t care enough about my silly remarks. If I really were being stupid, you would have rolled your eyes and walked off mumbling ‘dumbass,’ but seeing that you’re still here…”

Silence ensues—each second dragging on even longer than its precedent. Shit, why does he have to be fucking Sherlock Holmes now out of all times? If I could, I really would like to strangle my roommate right here, right now. 

I gulp, “what?”

“Well,” Jin frowns at the newly reached epiphany, “I have two conclusions. One, Y/N does like me and that would mean I’ve been completely blind to all her obvious hints. In fact, I feel like shit for being so oblivious!” 

“Pft.” 

I probably shouldn’t have scoffed because that only confirms his statement, but how could I hold in the pleasure of finally witnessing the horror that dawns upon his oblivious self?

“Oh my God,” he gasps in horror, eyes darting to find me in distraught with a finger pointing at himself, “did she change how she dresses because of me?” 

“She could care less what you think.”

“So she did change everything for me!” he cups his cheeks in panic. “And to think that I even laughed at her over dressing up for study sessions!” 

As much as I would like to sit back and watch him frantically putting two and two together, the worry that weighs heavily in the forefront of my conscience screams all the more for my attention with each dire second. 

“Jin.”

His panicked eyes dart to me from his waving mess of a paired hands and he answers meekly, “...yes?”

“Don’t you dare tell Y/N you figured it all out,” my mutter comes with a threatening point of the finger, “and if in the case that you and your dumbass big mouth lets it slip, you better fucking be gentle with her or I swear I’ll crack your skull open in your sleep.” 

Jin arches a brow at me, but the surprise is quickly overtaken by the smallest of smiles. At least the slight upturned corner of his lips is able to put me at somewhat of an ease, knowing that Jin would at least try to keep his word. “Of course. I might not like Y/N that way, but she’s still a good friend of mine.”

“And,” I continue, mumbling, “could you possibly take her out for dinner at least once? She’s been dreaming of it since forever... please.”

Nodding his head, he answers, “sure can do.” I can finally sigh a breath of relief. When a quizzical, smug grin replaces that look of ingenuity, however, I find myself staring him down once again. “But you wanna know what my second conclusion is?”

“No,” I click my tongue,” I don’t.” 

This time, I wasn’t lying. Truthfully and wholeheartedly, hearing his second conclusion was the last blow I could handle after the merciless whirlwind that was today… especially considering how his deductive reasoning has been on an eerily spot-on streak tonight. 

“Well, seeing the usually indifferent you trying to do everything you can to stop me from figuring it all out, I’ve arrived at my second conclusion,” the shithead persists while ignoring your death glares, “you, Mr. Min Yoongi, must be head over heels in love.” 

Shit, I can only cross my arms and look at anything but those irritatingly sparkly eyes of his, because—out of all the most oblivious men in the world—that dumbass has caught me red-handed. 

[another-snape-story]

First Days as Hogwarts Professor

Chapter X

Your first days as Hogwarts Professor were tense. New job required bringing all your professional and communicative skills into use. Quite a big contrast to the hasteless rhythm of empty castle you got used to. You had no time for leisure, even short walks outside were beyond the permissible – lesson plans and first assignments needed to be checked fully booked your schedule. You even had to take your notes for meals to spare yourself some precious minutes.

Taking place beside your offish colleague at the teacher’s table in the Great Hall became your habit, and soon you started considering that chair yours. His company was just what you needed – he never spoke much – actually, he never spoke at all unless you addressed him, what you really appreciated since your thoughts were now lost in working routine, so your conversations often had to be reduced to simple exchange of polite greetings.

Snape on the other hand was secretly dying to know how you were doing, but seeing how busy you were he didn’t dare disturbing you with silly questions. As much as he was pissed with Potter and all the bitter memories of the past which surfaced in his mind with boy’s arrival, he itched to have at least the briefest contact with you during the day. As much as Potter got on his nerves, you – to his utter disbelief – had right the opposite effect.

During meals Snape found himself focused more on you sitting beside him, than on his plate, unconsciously trying to prolong awareness of your presence. The tail of his eye stroked your silhouette every time you came to sight, whether he wanted it or not, and – consternated – he realized that all the shit he has been through in his miserable life still wasn’t enough to destroy him completely, no – fate decided to play another joke on him to see if he could bear more pain and emotional turmoil.

Less than a week passed since the start of the term, but Snape knew he would find you in the staff room at this hour – for some reason you preferred working there, rather than in your office. Little did he know you stayed here just to have another chance to see him.

Absorbed into studying something, you were sitting on the armchair with a pile of notes on your lap, a book on the armrest and two more on the side table, paying no attention to what was happening around. Snape carefully closed the door not to interrupt you and quietly sat on the other armchair watching you from afar. Withdrawn in your thoughts you gave him a rare opportunity to admire your real self, which he couldn’t miss. The way you slightly slouched over your papers as your hand scribbled down some lines, the way you frowned studiously flipping through pages, the way your lips moved from time to time as your eyes ran across the text made him lose the track of time.

Yawning, you tilted your head and rubbed your neck to chase fatigue away, as suddenly you noticed you were not alone and startled.

“Merlin! You scared me to death!” you laughed a little embarrassed. “How did it happen that I missed you? Long sitting here?”

“Not really,” Snape lied. With a straight face he rose to his feet and took a random book from the shelf, pretending it was the only thing that mattered to him at the moment. After looking through its contents, he put it back and took another one.

“Is everything fine?” you dared asking although his look suggested to better not bothering him.

“As fine as it can be after these two dunderheads –” Snape’s face twitched in disgust, “– Longbottom and Finnigan – melted a cauldron in my class,” he snapped annoyed.

“You said Longbottom?” you rolled your eyes displeased, sharing your colleague’s indignation. “This ‘dunderhead’ as you called him fainted (!) in my class! And all we were doing – just making a cut on frog’s carcass! I guess he’d have a heart attack once we get to a real dissection…” you put all your notes aside, weakly sinking back in the armchair. “But it’s nothing in comparison to your destroyed cauldron,” you giggled. “The boy’s a disaster!”

“Oh you find it funny?” Snape frowned. He walked up to you and sagged on the sofa, which stood beside. “There’s more to come. Wanna know the whole story?”

“You bet!” you leaned toward him, your eyes shining with curiosity.

“Well, the cauldron wasn’t empty…”

“No way!”

“Yep,” Snape sighed.  “Cure for boils. The damn simplest potion,” he emphasized each word, “but the idiot managed to screw it up!”

“He spilled it, right?” you assumed impatiently, craving for more details.

“What would you expect? Of course he spilled it!” he complained.

You covered your mouth with both hands. You sympathized with the man and would’ve killed the boy if it happened in your class, but now you felt like bursting into laughter. You’d give anything to see Professor Snape dealing with the chaos which followed this little accident and just couldn’t help.

“It was everywhere!” Snape continued. “The floor, a few desks, even children’s shoes! But…” Snape’s eyes flashed, and a vicious grin appeared on his face. “Longbottom almost turned into a boil himself. It will serve him right!”

“Don’t you feel sorry for the boy?” you sniggered.

“Should I?” Snape’s brow sprang in distinctive manner of his.

You got up to your feet and flopped on the sofa beside your colleague.

“You’re a bad person, Professor Snape!” you declared teasingly.

He answered you with a bitter smile and got serious at once. “Yes…” he whispered. “You have no idea how bad actually.” His head landed on the backrest as he closed his eyes. Your cheerful state of mind disappeared at once. You watched him, pondering what a broken soul must be there behind this impassive face. The one who pleads bad, can’t be bad for real.

“Do you want to talk?” you asked quietly.

“No.”

“Okay…” you followed suit and rested your head beside his, keeping a decent distance.

It was late after curfew. Nothing disturbed the silence but ticking of the old pendulum clock standing in the corner. Its smooth copper bob reflected moonlight each time it swung up to the pale spot on the wall as a reminder that the time still went on. Wishing it would stop, you closed your eyes – the moment was way too pacifying to let it go. Being in the same room with this man – no matter how bad he considered himself – was a pleasure. You didn’t even need words – just sitting next to him turned out to be enough.

For a split second Snape alarmed that you might leave, offended by his harsh tone or his unwillingness to talk, and turned his head to make sure you were still there. And you were. He smiled relieved. He couldn’t get why you put up with him. Realizing how cold and detached he behaved most of the time, he didn’t believe someone would tolerate such attitude. But you did. This made him feel even worse – guilt washed over his heart, tormenting his mind. Guilt. Snape learned to live with it through the years. He was painfully sick with himself.

“How long have you been tenuring this position?” your hushed voice broke the silence while your body remained motionless.

“Ten years,” he answered quietly, his glance wandering the curves of your profile.

Head sloped to Snape’s side, your eyes met his.

“Ten years?! And how do you manage to endure all this?” your hand waved a circle around the room, meaning the whole school in general. “It’s already killing me, I swear! You assured me I’d bore myself to death? So when is it going to happen?”

Snape smirked sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”

“You were right about me,” you admitted with a sigh.

“Dare to explain?”

“The day when I arrived here. You said teaching wasn’t my vocation. You were right, Professor. You were right at every point concerning me so far…”

Your confession made him speechless for a moment. Suddenly you appeared so weak, so exposed before him. You were tired. He knew, if he let you continue, you might regret it the next day and decided to prevent you from making mistakes.

“Then I won’t be wrong, saying you need some rest,” Snape smiled kindly, his quiet voice caressing your ears.

“I do,” you agreed. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll walk you down.” With these words Snape rose to his feet; his tall dark figure approached the side table where you left your notes and picked them up. The man opened the door, holding it for you, and you followed him.

On the way to the dungeons you asked yourself, why a man like him would spend ten years of his life in a place like this? It certainly couldn’t be his choice. But what kept him here? You’ll have enough time to find out.

<<<Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >>>

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof @mayumikurosake @redrehab @space-helen @fluffymadamina nadiigh @theworldisugly-22​ @lukaerith-morningstar​ @sighsinkhuzdul​ @67-chevy-baby @aquila-leo

[sassypantsjaxon]

The first time they kissed was at their own marriage ceremony, which was shortly followed by the consummation of the marriage. Kiku had been uncomfortable with the whole procedure, Ludwig could tell. He wanted to hold off, to wait until they knew each other better, for Kiku’s sake. But those decisions weren’t left up to them.

He thought about that sometimes, when he looked at his husband: was this the life he would have chosen for himself? If the two of them had been in charge of their own destinies instead of being controlled by the Fates, would they have even ever met each other? Not likely.

Hearts may not have been the largest kingdom, but Ludwig and Kiku never would have met without the Fates interference. Ludwig had been born to Hearts nobility, Kiku...had not. Kiku had been marked as Queen since he was born, Ludwig had only received his mark when the previous King died, on his eighteenth birthday.

If it wasn’t for the Fates, they never would have met. It haunted Ludwig more than it should, knowing that. Knowing that his beloved Kiku might never have become his Queen. Knowing that the Fates were responsible for him meeting the man he loved. Knowing that Kiku had no obligation to love him back, and wishing that he would anyway.

---

For Kiku, the marriage had simply been for convenience: he hadn’t needed it to confirm anything about his relationship with the King to himself. The marriage was simply to assure the Hearts that it’s King and Queen were united. Kiku knew he loved Ludwig without the ceremony. 

In any other circumstances, given the chance, he would still love the King. As it was, he knew they never would have met without the Fates placing them in each other’s paths, and for that he was grateful to them. 

---

Sometimes Feliciano thought he was the only one who knew the King and Queen as well as they knew themselves. Sometimes he thought he knew them even better than they knew themselves. He saw the way the worked together in perfect harmony, and he knew the reason why.

When he compared them to the other Kingdom’s royalty, it was obvious that Hearts was different: Clubs’ King and Queen had a frigid understanding that they worked together for the good of their Kingdom; Spades’ King and Queen were always bickering and hardly seemed to get along; and Diamonds’ Queen was so young, not even old enough to be married yet, which made the King overly cautious around her. In comparison, Ludwig and Kiku worked together, understood each other, and were able to communicate. 

Feliciano may have been accused of being an oblivious idiot at times, but even he could see that the King and Queen were truly in love. He wondered sometimes whether he could only see it because he worked so closely with them, or if the two of them were the only ones who didn’t know it.

---

“...And then there’s the anniversary celebration to plan-”

“Anniversary?” the King and Queen gave their Jack mirrored looks of confusion.

“What anniversary?” Ludwig asked.

“Yours, silly! You’ve been married for five years!”

Ludwig and Kiku turned to look at eachother. “Has it been that long already?” Kiku asked.

Feliciano nodded, “I already had some ideas! A parade, and a ball, and the whole Kingdom can put out flags and-”

“Is that really necessary?” Ludwig asked, “It would be an...extravagant expense for something the Kingdom doesn’t need.”

“Yes,” Kiku agreed, “Perhaps those resources could be better used elsewhere.”

“Something smaller then,” Feliciano compromised, “Maybe just some family and friends-”

“I really don’t think any celebration is necessary,” Ludwig gently interrupted.

“I agree. There’s nothing that special about it.”

Feliciano pouted. “Fine. No party then.”

“Thank you.” Ludwig and Kiku said at the same time.

Feliciano had expected them to turn down a large celebration, they were both private people who didn’t like attention. So it was better that he had already been planning something just for them to enjoy.

---

Ludwig looked around the garden in surprise. Everything was light in the golden glow of the sunset: the small table with the nice candlelit dinner, Kiku standing across from him. “What is this?”

“I don’t know. I was told to met you here.” Kiku looked confused.

“...Did Feli send you?”

“Yes.”

Ludwig nodded, “He told me you wanted to see me in the garden.”

“He told me the same thing.” Kiku confirmed, “I don’t understand why though.”

“I suppose because it’s our anniversary. I don’t know why he felt the need to go to all this trouble.”

“It is Feliciano, he probably just wanted to do something nice for us.”

“Then it would be rude if we let his efforts go to waste,” Ludwig pulled out a chair for Kiku, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Kiku sat down, giving his husband a small smile.

The majority of the meal was spent in companionable silence, with occasional comments about the weather or the state of the Kingdom’s affairs. When it was over, the two sat in silence for a few more minutes, neither quite wanting to leave. Ludwig finally stood up, starting to excuse himself.

“Would you like to join me on a walk around the garden?” Kiku asked before he could say anything.

Ludwig hesitated, “In the dark?”

“It’s quite beautiful at night.” Kiku insisted, “But you don’t have to-”

“I’d like to.” Ludwig let Kiku lead him away, further into the garden. Everything looked so different in the purple-blue twilight. 

“This has been nice,” Kiku said, “Having a night away from our responsibilities. Maybe we should do this every year.”

Ludwig nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Is something wrong?”

Ludwig hesitated, “I apologize if our marriage hasn’t been ideal. I’m sure there have plenty of other ways you would have prefered to spend the past five years.”

Kiku stopped walking, “What makes you say that? Have you regretted this time?”

“No!” Ludwig hurriedly amended, “I’ve enjoyed my time with to you. But I understand that we never had any other choice but to be married.”

“And you would have chosen something else?” Kiku frowned.

“No, of course not. As I said, I’ve enjoyed my time being married to you-”

“Then you think I would have made a different choice?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. The Fates-”

“Ludwig,” Kiku forced his husband to look at him, “If I had been given the choice, I would have chosen you. In a thousand lifetimes, I would choose you.” He gave his husband a soft kiss.

When they pulled away from each other, they were surrounded by hundreds of floating lights, gently illuminating them. “What-” Kiku started to ask.

“Don’t question it,” Ludwig murmured before kissing him again.

---

“It’s perfect,” Feliciano said as he watched his friends together in the twinkling lights, “Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t mention it,” the Joker winked at his partner, “After all, what’s love without a little magic?”

[darquedeath4444]

Naruto Fantasy Week - Day 1 - Soul Bonds

For @naruto-fantasy-week

Day 1: Soul Bonds

Pairing: SasuSaku (ish)

Sasuke sells his soul to a spirit as a kid and grows up to regret it (he says he does, but Sakura claims otherwise)

----

Magic was a blessing from the spirits. He who was blessed by a creature of the spirit realm could tap into their own magic cores, something that was usually inaccessible. 

Those who could use magic were simply superior to those who could not, and in the world of nobility, not being a recipient of a spirit blessing brought shame to the family name.

That was the first thing Sasuke ever learnt.

His brother, Itachi, received his blessing when he was still a child. Their father had been so proud, and any attention he might have spared Sasuke in between praising his already prodigal older son, simply vanished. His mother noticed how upset that made him and showered him with affection, but it simply wasn't enough.

Itachi was perfect. He was smart and good looking, skilled with both the sword and with words.

In comparison, Sasuke felt like nothing, was nothing.

The books Itachi read made absolutely no sense to him, and he was told the training his brother underwent was too difficult for him. He often found himself alone in their garden, scared. His mother reassured him otherwise, but Sasuke could feel his family moving away from him because he was useless useless useless-

“Why’re you crying?”

Sasuke looked up. A girl stood a little away from him, eyes wide and curious. 

He had never seen her before.

“How did you get in here?” He asked. “Are you a servant?”

“Ser-what?” The girl huffed. “No, how rude. And besides, I asked you a question first.”

Sasuke was taken back by the strong rebuttal. “So-sorry.” 

The girl smiled. “So, why are you crying?”

“I-I just-” He swallowed. “My brother’s amazing. He was seven when he was blessed by the spirits. My father’s always telling me how good he is. I’m never good enough. I can’t do anything the way he can.”

“How...fascinating.”

Sasuke glared up at the girl, already feeling tears welling up again. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the bright pink of the girl’s hair. “Did you come here to laugh at me?” That was all everyone did. He was old enough to know that 

The girl crouched down in front of him. She reached out and gently wiped at his tears with her fingers. “No, silly, I came here because you were crying. Humans cry because they are upset, no?”

Sasuke hiccuped. He watched the girl slowly raise her hand to her mouth and lick his tears off her fingertips. “Do you want people to look at you?”

“Huh?”

The girl cupped his cheeks with her heads. “There is a certain fear in your eyes, boy, fear that threatens to consume your soul. What are you so scared of? Do you fear abandonment? Do you want them to turn your way? Do you want your father to acknowledge you? Your mother to love you, not out of pity, but because she really does? Your brother to accept you as an equal?”

Young Sasuke knew not of the truths behind the luring words. All he heard was a promise of everything he had ever wanted.

“Yes,” he murmured. 

The girl smiled. “Then accept the exchange, boy,” she said. “Half of my soul, for half of yours.”

“My soul?”

“A promise, a binding, an oath, a soul bond. Accept it, and I will give you the sword with which you can cut down everything that holds you back. You will never be left behind, never be cast aside. You will never be alone again.”

Because the boy was desperate-

Because the girl was fascinated-

they made an oath, and thus, their souls were bound for life 

----

“If you’d told me I’d literally be stuck with you for life, even young, foolish me would have had enough sense to decline your offer.”

“Young, foolish you were told it was a soul bond,” Sakura said. “If anything, that made you even more eager.” The girl floated over him, just out of his swipe range, and peered at him. “If you’d told me how utterly uncute you’d become, I might have reconsidered myself.”

“Regardless, you sure made your promises much more grandiose than they turned out to be.” Sasuke scoffed and walked right past. Sakura let out a sound of complaint and landed behind him before hurrying after him. 

“Hey! Rude! Sas-”

The spirit abruptly cut herself off and Sasuke turned towards her in worry, just in time to see her dematerialize in a puff of smoke. He felt for their link and noted that she was still around, most probably just right there, just now out of human sight. 

“Sasuke!” 

The Uchiha froze, then cursed himself for acknowledging his own name. With a sigh, he waited for the splattering of footsteps to catch up to him, willing himself to not show his annoyance on his face as some unknown girl hurried to catch up to him.                                 

“Can I help you?”

A girl he did not recognize skidded to a halt beside him. “Hi!”

Even in the prestigious Academy for the Magically Blessed, Sasuke’s looks and his family name drew a lot of attention. Sakura found his annoyance amusing, if anything, and he cursed the spirit in his head for leaving him to face her alone. 

The girl did not seem to notice his discomfort as she latched onto his arm. “Sorry, I was wondering if you’d like to-”

“Hands off, human.”

A chill ran up his spine and he felt a cold finger land on the back of his neck. It slowly made its way up, and the hand buried itself in his hair seconds later. Sakura leaned over his head, green eyes glowing. Cherry blossom petals flew around them, floating out of her sleeves and from beneath the hem of her clothes. He could feel her nails, now claws, sink shallowly into his shoulder as she looped her arms around him. “This one belongs to me, girl. You should beware where you place those grabby hands of yours, lest something much more merciless than I rip them off.”

Sakura completed her threat with a sneer, all killing intent and sharp teeth. Karin let out a gasp and quickly retreated a few steps. Sasuke did not bother telling her that if Sakura was serious, three steps would not be enough to put her outside of the pinkette's reach. 

“I am in a hurry,” Sasuke said, unapologetically. “Excuse me.”

Sakura’s display had caught the attention of all those in the courtyard. No one else bothered him as he swiftly made his way through the corridor and back to his dorm room. 

Once out of sight, Sakura let go of him. “So, where are you going?” “What?”

“You told Karin you were in a hurry.” 

“I lied.”

Sakura laughed. Sasuke stifled a smirk and allowed her to loop her arm through his. He made his way back towards his dorm room, dragging her with him. Hopefully, no one would be bothering him there.

Once they arrived, he made sure to lock his door. His friends had the tendency to try and make themselves at home in his room, and he was honestly not in the mood to entertain. Sakura let go of his arm to float over to his bed and Sasuke rolled his eyes, then moved to his desk.

Sakura did a slow spin as she rearranged his pillows to her liking. "So...a thank you would be appreciated." She hissed when one of the pillows toppled from its place on her fort.

Sasuke wordlessly leaned over to pick it up as he pretended to consider this. "...Thank you."

Sakura smiled and took the pillow back from him. She planted it back in place, then plopped down onto it with a satisfied sigh. She closed her eyes. "Any time," she said softly.

Sasuke stayed focused on his textbook until Sakura’s breathing had slowed and he was sure she was asleep before he dared a peek in her direction. 

He didn’t know what Sakura had seen in him that day, back when he had been a powerless child who could do nothing but cry. 

Perhaps she had pitied him; despite how she enjoyed annoying him, she was a gentle, kind girl. Maybe she had seen him crying and had been too young, just as he had been, to know another way to stop his tears. 

Regardless, she was his just as he was hers. The magic that now flowed within him, the flames that flared to life at his fingertips, was proof of their bound souls, and he would have it no other way.

Naruto Fantasy Week Master List

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 1

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo thought he had gotten over the strangeness of being back here. But it was one thing to work on decrypting Even’s replica data, another to work on examining a girl’s heart.

With company.

The console was a sea of old papers and teacups. One of them had finally caved and dragged in chairs. While Ienzo’s knowledge of the heart had only grown over the years, he could scarcely remember how to actually examine one, especially without hurting its owner. Translating the untranslatable into data and then having to translate that into something conveyable… it was a headache.

A loud, pounding headache. Not helped at all by the fact that Even liked to talk to himself why he worked.

Yes. Ienzo was not used to company anymore.

He looked over his shoulder, if so just to stretch his eyes for a moment. Kairi was sound asleep. He got up and tucked the blanket a little more firmly around her shoulders. She would’ve been more comfortable in one of the pods, but to get to them one had to pass through the basement, and none of them were willing to bring that up. It was lucky most of the papers had been digitized all those years ago; nobody could actually manage to go down there.

He’d thought he’d been prepared. After all, he’d worked up here for weeks--longer. But actually putting in that code and walking down the long, long spiraling ramp, seeing the doors of cells--

Another pulse of pain echoed through his head, and he pressed a hand to his brow. “Alright, Ienzo?” Ansem asked.

He shook his head to clear away the headache. “My eyes are tired,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Why don’t you take a break? Get yourself some coffee? You’ve been in here since early this morning.”

“It’s alright.” When he went to sit back down, his knees were weak; he had to grip the back of the chair.

Ansem smiled sadly. “You cannot do your best work if you’re not rested. Go on, Ienzo.”

“And get some sleep,” Even snapped, not looking up. “You’re too young to look that exhausted.”

“Pot, kettle, black. Minus perhaps the youth.”

He scowled. Ienzo saw Ansem trying not to laugh.

The hallways were dark and cold, despite best efforts to repair the shattered lighting. He walked back in a haze, his headache throbbing worse. He used to never be prone to such things.

He saw Dilan in the distance. Neither he nor Aeleus wanted to join in the research, content enough to split their time on construction and guard duty; though it wasn’t like there was much to guard these days. Ienzo could not blame them. He actually envied them, their ability to just leave behind that chapter of their lives. But Ienzo had been the one to volunteer his knowledge, after all. If so many lives had to be lost for what they learned, best to use it for good.

“Stray’s at the door for you,” he said. Rather than the deep blue guard uniform, he was in paint-spattered overalls.

“I’ve told him he’s welcome to come right on up,” Ienzo said, shaking his head. “I don’t know why he always waits at the door.”

“It’s polite,” Dilan said, rolling his eyes. “Though I don’t recall that one being so polite in the past.”

Ienzo shrugged. He didn’t want to think of that time if he could avoid it. Easier to treat Riku like a blank canvas, a stranger. Ienzo suspected that he might do the same. He gathered himself, loosened his ascot just slightly, and went outside.

“Riku. Hello. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

He looked a bit sheepish. “I know you said you’d call if you found out anything major--”

“Yes. That is true.” He tried for a smile, found it too difficult. “There’s nothing new yet. Nothing that we didn’t already guess, anyway.”

“...Right.” He dropped his eyes. In the past several weeks since they’d been doing all this, his hair had started to grow out of the brisk spikes and hung, ungelled, around his eyes.

“I do hope you didn’t come all this way for this,” Ienzo said.

He shook his head. “The committee was helping me with something.”

“...Oh, Sora’s data?”

“Yes.”

“That actually sounds very interesting.”

He chuckled. “Honestly, it’s more like videogames than anything. It’s all just fight data. No memories.” He sighed.

“...Oh.”

An awkward pause. Ienzo had been trying not to look at Riku directly, focusing instead on his unkempt hair, which seemed more white than silver in this light. But actually seeing the young man’s face made him realize that Riku was exhausted too. “I shouldn’t keep you,” he said. “You seem like a busy person.”

“Will you go home, then?”

This seemed like the wrong thing to say; Riku tensed. “No, not home. Not yet.” He brushed at his bangs, but they just flopped back in his eyes. “I’ve been asked to keep an eye on the Land of Departure. Kind of like housesitting, to be honest.” A nervous smile. “I don’t mind it.”

“Land of Departure? You mean--”

Riku’s smile faded. “You know it as Castle Oblivion.”

A long, tremulous pause. Ienzo saw it without meaning to--the fight on the imaginary Destiny Islands, a brutal slash to the back, a basement corner, Axel, the puppet’s hands closing around his throat--

“...You okay?”

He jerked a little. This Riku was not that Riku. He was older, taller, his voice a bit deeper. But the color of his eyes was the same. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“...I know. Lotta bad memories wrapped up in that place. But it’s… it’s not the same.”

“Logically I knew one came from the other, but…” Ienzo shook his head.

Another pause, longer than the last.

“You, and me,” Riku said slowly. “If we’re going to be working closely with her, for her… we can’t… skirt around it much, can we.”

“...I guess not. It doesn’t seem like starting over has been much help, yes?”

“Right. Look, I don’t… hold it against you.”

This surprised him. “You don’t? But--”

A sigh. “Look, I’ve also done things I regret. A lot of things. Holding onto all that… being mad at others, or myself… doesn’t help, and doesn’t make sticking to the new path any easier.” Riku shrugged. “You guys are trying to be better. That’s what matters.”

Riku’s words were evoking something sharp and tight in him. He wasn’t sure what it was. “You don’t have to forgive me.”

“I want to,” he said, and he seemed to mean it. “You don’t have to forgive me, either.”

“You did nothing wrong in that scenario. It’s different--” He felt a flush rising in his face.

Riku shook his head. “Not really.”

Ienzo wasn’t sure what to say. The feeling threatened to strangle him--

“As much as I’d love to philosophize more on the meaning of darkness, I should get going,” he said, with a small smile. “Sorry for dropping by.”

“It’s… fine…” Ienzo said, dropping his eyes. “Safe travels.”

He watched Riku walk off, trying to swallow down the feeling. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. The memories here were bad enough, much less the ones there.

He went inside and decided to try and sleep. Ienzo had never been very good at sleep, not as Zexion, either. Nobodies did not require sleep; it was a much more voluntary process. As was eating and drinking water. The nothingness in their beings could sustain, if willed.

Humanity really felt so intense and so fragile, like he was a piece of glass being flung across the room, waiting for the fall.

Ienzo decided to take a bath, as though the hot water would finally will him into submission. He did miss how clean that castle was, how nothing was broken, how it didn’t take minutes for the water to warm. After the world’s fall, the majority of Radiant Garden--especially the castle--was in abject disrepair. When he was a child, it had taken a full staff to keep the place clean, well-kept, but it had been so--

Memories everywhere he turned. They just felt so--achingly sharp. He didn’t want to think at all.

Ienzo took a deep breath and slid under the water, rendering the off-white tile into ripples.

---

Riku was bored.

No; this was an understatement. The more time he spent here, alone, in the Land of Departure, the more he felt like his mind was turning to mush. The hallways were too wide and too empty, and everything was so quiet. His own footsteps and breath seemed deafening in comparison.

Riku was not used to quiet. If it weren’t for the whispering of Heartless, or the ambient sounds of busy and inhabited worlds, then there were other sounds, like the hush of waves in the distance. He could tell that he was the only person alive here. At first he’d tried to convince himself he liked the peace.

The peace just made him aware of how empty everything was, and how alone he was. At least if he’d been alone on his quests in the past, he had a goal, something to word towards, and in a way that goal hadn’t changed; bringing his friends home safe. Going back to normal. But normal hadn’t been so great either, had it? He’d been so eager to escape it, that so-called prison.

But right now… there wasn’t much for Riku to do to help achieve that goal. All he had to do was wait .

Riku had never been that good at waiting. For several days he roamed the grounds around the castle, looking for Heartless or Nobodies or Dream Eaters or Unversed or something to fight, some small evil to purge or free. But it was clear that there was nothing here, nothing to give him diversion from how utterly useless he felt.

So much for being a Keyblade master. His title felt silly, useless. He was literally just house sitting. For all his supposed power, he couldn’t help Kairi in her sleep or Sora… wherever he was.

If he was at all.

Riku forced the thought from his mind and got up from the bed in the room he’d been sleeping in. Terra had said to make himself comfortable, and there did seem to be a whole lot more unoccupied space for Keybearing students. But still, using someone else’s space made him… uneasy. He even wished he had something to clean , but in one of her many small notes left to him, Aqua had said there were spells that banished grime, and not to worry about it. (It had been kind of funny, though, the first time he spilled some tea; it disappeared into nothing.)

It was clear this place had been a home, some eleven years ago. Riku allowed himself to explore a few rooms a day, aware that, unlike in Castle Oblivion, the space here was finite. It would end. If he wasted it all in one big sweeping day of exploration, then what?

It’d be… just quiet. Just him.

He tried to structure his days. Wake up at a certain time, eat at a certain time, train for a certain amount of time. The spinning rings in the courtyard were useful (and made him question what, exactly, they were made out of), but even they were designed for students.

(Try to ignore the nightmares, of that strange city, of Sora, nightmares that faded into nothing as soon as he tried to understand them--)

He tried to read, to study magic with some of Aqua’s many, many spellbooks, but the theory was hopelessly complicated for his already-foggy mind. He kept thinking of Kairi, lying prone in that small white chair. It had been weeks , how come those scientists didn’t have anything new to say--

Patience. Breathe.

Riku got up and started walking.

If he squinted hard, he could see places where aspects of Castle Oblivion had come from. The moulding here. The planter there. The pattern of the wallpaper in some rooms.

Bringing it up had clearly made Ienzo uncomfortable. That had been a dumb, tactless thing to say. And truthfully… when Riku saw those pieces of that place here… his memories burned too. The darkness had crawled up inside of him, threatening to burrow deep and take over. That burning, aching feeling, its weight, its pressure. The inexorable rush of power when it broke through during those battles.

He looked at his palm. That burn didn’t feel the same anymore. He wasn’t sure it would ever go away , but the temptation had changed, become something he could utilize. Like turning on a faucet versus a crack in a dam.

He wondered if the former Organization members felt the same, or if they’d felt the same pull to darkness to begin with. He realized he could just ask , but then remembering how stricken Ienzo had looked, realized equally he couldn’t . But what about DiZ--Ansem the Wise? Had he felt the same? The old man seemed more approachable, despite the fact that Riku knew the dark side of him too.

Such complicated bedfellows. They did seem to… want to be better people.

He’d heard the stories from Leon about what happened in the basement labs. And he’d seen what they were capable of in Castle Oblivion, and the World that Never Was, and…

What of the things he could’ve done, if he hadn’t fought Ansem--the Heartless one? If it hadn’t been for Sora--

Sora. If not for Sora, and Kairi and Mickey, he could’ve ended up on that wrong path for longer, too.

Riku missed his friends.

[crusherthedoctor]

The Lutrudis Hadeer Characterization Masterpost

A while back, I made a big post about the thought process that went into the design for Lutrudis, as well as her name, species, and choice of weapons. In the midst of doing a bunch of other stuff (like the Eggman Sweet or Shite review, which is definitely still coming guys I swear, please don't leave me D':), I recently figured I could do the same for the character's... well, character, and provide some further insight into how her personality was shaped together. Cause why not, right?

Obviously, we won't be covering literally every single personality trait that Trudy has, like her hobbies and whatnot. If we went over all of that, we'd be so far into the future that Tumblr's search system might actually start working again. No, we'll just be keeping it to the central ingredients that make up the overall package.

1. A cool head? In my Sonic OC?

The recurring cast in the Sonic universe is filled with fiery, hot-blooded sorts in one way or another. Sonic might as well be the love child of Mentos and Diet Coke with how full of energy he is, Knuckles and Amy are both prone to letting their temper do the talking, Eggman... is Eggman, and the list goes on. And while there are a number of characters who are more low-key or even outright introverted by comparison, they still tend to exhibit a trait or two that makes them more in-line with the rest of the crowd, be it youthful excitement (Tails, Cream), a fiery temper (Blaze), or the odd bit of cockiness (Shadow).

So what better way to help make Trudy stand out... than by not really having anything like that at all? Contrary to most of the hot-blooded cast, it takes a lot to truly enrage her, and even then, you'll be lucky to get anything past tranquil fury. She's not particularly hammy either - flowery with her language at times, certainly, but not hammy - nor is she a cocky type, even against the weakest or most ridiculous of opponents, and although she does grow as a person over the course of the story she's involved in, all of this remains fairly consistent.

That's not to say that Trudy is not a passionate person. Far from it, in fact. She has a lot of passion. She just shows it in a different way than the average Sonic character.

2. Lutrudis? More like Unsureofdis.

Uncertain characters are also somewhat rare in Sonic's recurring cast (at least in the game universe), and just like with the previous point, even when they're there, they'll usually have something to counter it. Blaze may have been a bit insecure before meeting and befriending Sonic and Co, but as mentioned, she’s got a fierce temper, and even when she started off on her own, she felt that only she could take care of the threat of Eggman and Inferior Eggman Nega. Likewise, while Silver may have doubted himself about Leslie the Crack Dealer’s Iblis Trigger ruse cruise, he still got cocky when he had Sonic on the ropes, and he could be quite full of himself in the Rivals duology as well.

The point being, they still tend to show some semblance of the same “yep, I'm the one for the job, no questions asked” confidence and swagger that nearly everyone else has, no matter the flavor. Trudy, suffice to say, does not have this mentality. Trudy accepting Sonic and Co's help in dealing with sinister affairs in Viridonia without any haughty protest on her part isn't just because she knows they can handle it, or because they're Sonic Heroes and they'll show 'em the real superpower of teamwork... it's also because she's genuinely not sure if she would be able to take care of the matter on her own.

When she saved Cream from the wrath of the Wraith for example, she wasn't thinking “This looks like a job for Miss Hadeer!”

She was thinking “This could very well get me killed, but I have to help the poor bunny somehow...”

In other words, Trudy doesn't consider herself to be some sort of destined protector who has to do this herself. She constantly second guesses herself, and frequently believes her friends are more qualified and competent than she is. Her only reason for doing her best and helping out regardless is simply because she wants to.

3. A light at the end of the tunnel.

For the sake of tact, it's not shoved in your face relentlessly, but reading between the lines, it can be easy to get a sense of melancholy from Trudy. Particularly due to past experiences, she does indeed have an element of depression within her, and this can occasionally show in her body language and facial expressions, even if she's currently feeling positive emotions.

And yet, notice how she continues being a friendly pony. Notice how regardless of her experiences, and her thoughts on said experiences, her actual behaviour is (mostly) free of bitterness or cynicism, and that she doesn't hide the joy that her new friends make her feel. She's not outright ignoring her experiences or pretending they don’t affect her, because they clearly have affected her, and she's never ignored her scars (metaphorically and literally, the latter being a permanent side-effect of her condition), but she knows better than to let it consume her, so she tries her best to look at the bright side of life even during the darkest days.

It's Sonic's opinion that Trudy's inner spirit is a lot stronger than she thinks, with or without his help. Her refusal to give into misery and lash out at the world foreshadows that he's not unjustified in that belief. That, and it ties into the franchise’s usual taste for optimism and idealism against the odds.

4. Hadeer? More like Hadork.

So, everything thus far helps set Trudy up as a mellow, down-to-earth sort of personality. So far, so good. However, it's still the Sonic the Hedgehog universe we're talking about, filled with many colorful characters of all shapes, sizes, and eccentricities. When a franchise has a larger than life cast in a larger than life world, the characters who are meant to be grounded often risk coming off as boring and could end up easily overshadowed, because the creators or writers often neglect to give them any quirks of their own, usually out of fear that it'll disgrace the character's gracefulness. In fact, I personally feel this was a common problem with Sally, in both SatAM and Archie (mostly pre-reboot admittedly).

IMO, these writers are just being plain old silly. Just because a character is quirky doesn't mean they forfeit all their dignity altogether. Like a lot of things in life, you just have to balance it out, and that's what I did (or tried to do...) with the green equine.

So yes, Trudy is elegant, but she's also a really goofy dancer. Yes, she's gentle and motherly, but she also goes back and forth between being a heavy sleeper and being an insomniac. Yes, she serves as a warmhearted auntie figure for Cream (and a big sister figure for Amy), but she also spends a quarter of her time looking like a ninja with the way her bandana covers her face (whether it be due to cold weather, strong scents triggering her sensitive nose, or doing it in the presence of villains as a mildly theatrical way of visually conveying her disdain for them).

And of course, in the right situation, she can be just as much of a dork as the titular blue hedgehog is.

Which leads me to my next point...

5. “You might know everything I'm going to do...”

Trudy was created with the intention of having a character who is actually like Sonic himself in a lot of ways, but it's not apparent initially.

This sort of yin-yang contrasting routine has been done before a few times in the series, with Knuckles, Shadow and Blaze being the most obvious examples. But with them, their similarities are easier to spot from a distance. Knuckles is more earth than wind, but you can tell he's as stubborn as Sonic is. Shadow's methods and outlook differ, but you can tell he's still a mirror of Sonic (cause you know, he looks like him). Blaze is more distant, but you can tell how she can easily be just as worked up and angered as Sonic.

With Trudy however, if you take her at face value, you would think she's the exact opposite of Sonic. She's an introvert, he's an extrovert. She's got a calm temperament, he can get impatient even at the best of times. She's quite fancy, he's more rough and tumble. She takes things slowly, he leaps ahead without a care in the world... You would think that, outside of them both fighting for good, they would have nothing in common, and that their dynamic would be more akin to Sonic's relationship with Sally, which although they were friends, their relationship could often be somewhat rocky due to their differences in... basically every area and opinion imaginable.

But then you get to know Trudy, and the unfolding of the adventure reveals the rest of what she has to offer. The aforementioned soldiering on in spite of any depressed moments is in itself a small hint that Trudy shares Sonic's philosophy of never giving up. She believes that most people are good at their core, and while she won't excuse especially evil people or actions and will punish them appropriately (albeit with regret that it had to come to that), she's willing to give a chance to those who are willing to take it, just like with the Blue Blur. Not only does she NOT find Sonic's jokes and hijinks annoying, she actually has a similar sense of humor herself. And while reasonable people generally tend to loathe injustice and oppression, Trudy shares Sonic's uniquely intense contempt for it, and believes in one's own personal freedom just as much as the hedgehog does, let alone freedom in general.

In short, Trudy is what you get when you take Sonic's deeper qualities and general outlook on life, and apply them to a more introverted and taciturn personality. The exact same beliefs, but from a different perspective, so to speak.

6. A different kind of intelligence.

Tails and Eggman are the resident kings of scientific prowess in Sonic's world, and it goes without saying that I wouldn't want to do them a disservice by having Trudy one-up them in that department. But that doesn't mean your character can’t be talented in other areas, right? Contrary to what all those Mary Sue tests dictate, your character can in fact have a high IQ without intruding on an official character’s territory.

Therefore, Trudy is pretty good at innovation and craftsmanship in her own right, but whereas Tails and Eggman do it through technology, her field of expertise is more to do with arts and crafts, and to a lesser extent geology. For example, both her bow and her whip were crafted by the lady herself, using nothing but her decorative knowledge and flair.

Outside of that, she tends to know a fair bit about a lot of things in the world, largely attributed to her photographic memory, meaning she's bound to have a few answers no matter the subject of discussion. Granted, she's unlikely to be the absolute number one expert on any of those things, but she's at least a useful jack of all trades in that regard.

7. Feeling a little horse.

I very much approve and flat out adore the idea of Sonic characters having characteristics that remind the audience of what species they're supposed to be, so I made sure that Trudy had a wide selection of little mannerisms that would reveal her for the little horsie that she is. These include, but aren't limited to...

- When she’s fascinated or concerned by something, she’ll lean a little forward with her hands close to her chest, which subtly mimics the act of prancing.

- When she wakes up, she briefly stretches her arms and legs (albeit not too recklessly so as to risk straining her sensitive limbs).

- Her tail has a number of quirks. If she's happy, it might slowly swish to and fro. If she's REALLY happy, it might flick...

- And if she doesn't approve of someone or something, it might stiffen and raise a little bit, as if to helpfully inform the bad guys where they can kiss, if ya know what I'm saying.

- When she's being affectionate with her friends, she might give them the ol' nuzzle.

- When she's in a playful mood, there might be a little skip in her walk, the anthro equivalent of trotting.

- When she's annoyed, she might humorously let out a snort that sounds identical to a real life horse snort. And while she certainly doesn't neigh in the traditional sense, when she finds something hilarious or Sonic's making her laugh with his antics, her laughter can't help but take on a neigh-like touch to it. (The latter was actually a headcanon suggested by @darklightheart​, and I immediately agreed with it because it's cute and funny in equal measures.)

Naturally, she gets all shy and embarrassed when the neigh-laugh comes out, thinking it sounds silly. At least Sonic finds it endearing.

Note that I'm well aware that some of this differs from how real life horses react to certain things. (Eg: tail swishing tends to happen when a horse is agitated rather than happy.) But I freely admit that it's more for the sake of giving the character that extra bit of soul than it is for utmost accuracy. That's the way it goes with fiction sometimes. :P

Interestingly, Trudy tends to get Sonic indulging in a funny hedgehog characteristic of his own. That being, he might curl into a ball if Trudy's being particularly... ~complimentary~ towards him.

And there we are! These are the core elements that make up Trudy’s characterization. If you ever wanted a general list of what makes her tick, then hopefully this post will help in scratching that itch. And if it doesn’t, then hopefully it still proves that more thought was put into her than Scourge. :]

[dimpledkoala]

Vanity (Pride and Prejudice AU) | KNJ

Masterlist

A/N: Hello new Readers! I’m a new Tumblr account and I thought about sharing my work on this platform, as I have fallen in love with many fanfic writers on this platform. I will post a masterlist soon to organize my story, but for now this account will strictly be BTS related. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorite books of all time, and I’ve just gotten inspiration for this AU from none other than my own bias. All seven boys will be included in this story, so please enjoy!

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4,030

Genre: Kim Namjoon x OC (reader’s POV), slight angst

Quote: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

As you always did every morning, you took an early morning walk amongst the grounds of your family’s land. Your family was not one of a high status, but your father was able to support a living for his wife and five daughters. You were the fourth child of the five, and all were still single. However, in comparison to your sisters, there was no hope of you ever being able to woo a man of great fortune.

There was Sophia, the eldest, who was considered to not only be the most beautiful creature in the land, but of the most amiable nature as well. Her beauty and singing voice captured the hearts of many men, though none had the courage to make her an offer of marriage. However, there was one man, Jungkook Jeon, who has been engaging her for the past few months, and the family expected the two to be a wedded couple soon.

Ah, then there was Jessie, the second oldest by only a year younger. She too had similar charms as her older sister, though others, including her own mother, have said her beauty is not as striking as Sophia’s. It might be due to her glasses, but her and her sisters knew that it would be poor of someone to judge her solely on her beauty. Jessie’s charm was found in her talents, such as playing the piano, drawing, and knitting, all which she could do at a high level.

Out of all the girls, Iris had been noted to compete with Sophia’s beauty. She is the most graceful and nonetheless the best dancer at every ball they attended. She did not have the talent to play an instrument, though she was very skilled at cooking and was personable enough to strike a hearty conversation with anyone in her company.

Tina was the youngest, and her youth struck the hearts of many young men. She shared the same talents as Jessie and Iris, but was considered to be the most enjoyable company. She was considered to be the most humorous, and competed with Sophia for being the most amiable.

And you. What was so interesting about you, the second youngest, having been thrown in the mix? You were caught in the shadow of your sisters. Your talents and personality were a combination of the other four, but failed to stand out in a unique way. Unlike the rest, you were of a witty and independent nature. You were not considered graceful at all, as you had a tendency to break things due to your clumsy nature. You did not fall easily for the first guy to try to win your charms, especially if they were at an inferior level of mind to yours. You were the last choice of marriage amongst the Bennet sisters, and honestly? You were okay with that. You had more freedom, and who gave a damn about romance anyway? Leave the burden your mother was oh-so worried about to your elder sisters, who were pressured to find a suitable husband with a great fortune. Being who you were gave you the freedom to explore like this on your own.

Reading was among your favorite pastimes, and on your early morning walks, you read of your favorite stories, particularly plays and poems that were written over a century ago. Shakespeare was undeniably a genius of his time, and his tragedies were among your favorites, especially Romeo and Juliet. It did not make you weep for the star-crossed lovers, rather it made you chortle at the naivety of the two lovers. Two people of a different class status, especially those who had rivaled families, would never be able to successfully have a relationship. You were inspired by these works, and attempted to write a few plays and stories of your own, which you always found inadequate. You were in the middle of reading the balcony scene in Act 2, which read:

“If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.

In truth, fair-”

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by your collision with Tina, who immediately scolded you for not paying attention to your surroundings. By the way you two cursed at each other without proper manner, many would consider you two enemies. However, it was only for a hearty laugh, and as the youngest you both shared a playful nature. Your mother often scolded you for your immaturity, but it did not bother you one bit. Your playful bickering was put to an end by your eldest sister, who had suddenly hushed you.

“Quiet my dear sisters, Mama is telling our Papa of some news,” Sophia said in a low voice as she silently ushered her youngest sisters to come towards her and Iris.

“What’s going on?” Jessie inquired as she noticed her sisters crammed at the entrance to their father’s study. The four sisters silently ushered her to come to them. Immediately, Iris filled her in with what was going on.

“A Mr. Kim and his brother have established a living Netherfield Park,” she whispered excitably. “And both are single!”

“How many pounds? How many pounds?” you and Tina asked simultaneously, curious about the newest bachelors in town.

“5,000 pounds a year!”

This caused all five girls to cause a commotion outside the door, capturing their father’s attention, who opened it to acknowledge their presence. A stern look was etched on his features, but the girls still were lowly gigling as they bowed to acknowledge their parents’ presence. Their mother only sighed, but took no note of their daughters’ eavesdropping. She, like her daughters, were more interested in their father’s response to the situation, which must be dealt with urgently. It vexed her that Mr. Bennet had not even taken the slightest interest in the conversation she had struck with him.

“I do not understand why we must partake in this conversation, my dear,” Mr. Bennet grumbled as he made his way to the drawing room, with all six women in his life trailing behind him.

“Oh Mr. Bennet! You must call upon these gentlemen for the sake of our daughters! Surely you must know what I am referring to? At least one of them must be engaged with these gentlemen!”

“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet. But there is no need. I already called upon the two gentlemen,” replied her husband with a smug grin on his face as the girls cheered and thanked their father, immediately talking amongst themselves.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, how could you? Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” Mrs. Bennet regarded with a huff.

Mr. Bennet sighed at his wife’s usual, overdramatic remarks and replied simply with: “Indeed I do have compassion for your poor nerves, as they have been my constant companion for these past twenty years.”

The witty response caused the girls to giggle in amusement and all at once they began bombarding him with questions about the two gentlemen.

“Are they handsome?” Iris questioned. “Are they amiable?”

“Are they going to the ball?” Tina suddenly asked, stirring anticipation amongst the women.

“Papa, please tell,” you begged, knowing you can always get it your way with him. He had a soft spot for you, for you were the most similar to him in not only looks but in personality as well.

“They are amiable,” noted Mr. Bennet, “and quite the handsome gentlemen too. There is an elder Mr. Seokjin Kim, and a younger Mr. Taehyung Kim. They are currently living with their sister, Ms. Caroline Kim as well, and there have been speculations of a third gentlemen, their cousin supposedly. I have no problem with letting either of the two choosing whichever daughter they please.”

This caused the girls to heighten the volume and pitch of their conversations, and once again did Tina have to ask her question. “Papa, are they going to the ball at Mr. Jeon’s tonight?”

As if to drag on the suspense of the situation, Mr. Bennet kept a straight face before breaking into a soft smile. “I believe so.” He had somewhat regretted his decision to break the news to them, as all six women nearly bursted his eardrums at his announcement. The girls immediately made many changes to their outfits for the night, for it was not often for such an opportunity to come into their lives.

~

“You’ve been quiet all day, Kyra.”

You snapped from your gaze from the mirror and turned towards Sophia, who was doing your hair. Your lips shaped into an expression of uncertainty as you adjusted your slouched posture. “What good does it do to us competing for two men? You’re lucky you do not have to squabble for a man no longer. Jungkook is perfect for you.”

“There is a possibility of three men, might I remind you,” Sophia assured her younger sibling. “Do not lose hope, Kyra. You’ll find your man some day.”

“Only a fool would believe I would chase after him, and a fool would also believe they could win me over easily,” you murmured.

“Besides, you do not have to be burdened of finding a husband if one of us marries rich. And do not forget, if all goes well with the Mr. Kims, we will have connections with others with a high class status.”

At that thought you smiled and Sophia kissed the top of her sister’s head. “You’re so silly, you know that?” Sophia whispered. “Do not fret. I’ll experiment with a new hairstyle on you. You’ll be sure to charm all the men at the ball.”

Your gaze softened at your sister’s actions and thanked her as she continued to work magic with your hair. If none of the men wished to bother with you, you knew that tonight you at least had Yoonji Min to keep you company. She was your closest friend in a similar situation as yours. She was older by a few years. You were to be twenty-one this year, while she was to be twenty-five. You both shared similar personalities and tastes, and during the balls your favorite pastime was observing the crowds of people and soaking in whatever gossip you could find, thanks to Tina’s associations.

In a couple of hours, they had arrived at the Jeons’ estate. Mr. Bennet has claimed he was too exhausted to participate in any social activity, so he stayed home. Lucky him, you thought to yourself bitterly. But you could not let your sister’s efforts go to waste. It was not your best outfit, but it was enough to leave an impression. The inspiration behind the outfit was to have the appeal of a butterfly in the spring. Hopefully it would be effective for the night, or at least result in pleasurable company.

Like any other party they had ever been to, Meryton Hall was bustling with locals, who were already dancing. Iris and Sophia were quick to the dance floor as usual, as Sophia had quickly found the Jeon heir and due to Iris’ quickness on her feet. It usually took some time before the other three girls were asked out to dance, so they found Yoonji and began to converse about the special guests for the party tonight. 

“I heard of the three Kims. Is that whom you are referring to?” Yoonji asked the three of them as they all nodded eagerly. “I am surprised. They are of such a high status... I wonder why they would bother being at this commoners’ ball.”

“We all know that these balls are much better than the pristine ones held in mansions. Much more goes on, and the people are friendlier,” Tina remarked as she took a swig of her champagne. 

Jessie nodded as she took a sip of her drink. “This is a more preferable and comfortable setting. I am sure those boys would like to explore something new for a change, regardless of their status. After all, they are people too.”

“I have very little information about them, but I overheard some conversation between my family and Sir Jeon,” Yoonji proffered, sitting up in her chair.

“Oh yes, please tell us,” Tina said immediately.

“Do you find them interesting at all? Or are they just rich?” you asked Yoonji, whose typically stone-faced demeanor was replaced with a grin.

“Kyra, it is unwise to judge them based off their wealth,” Jessie advised her as she adjusted her glasses.

“But remember, my dear sister, we are only having this conversation because we need that wealth.”

“I have heard the eldest Mr. Kim is one of the most amiable men that people have ever come across. A classic gentleman, who will undoubtedly have all the ladies in the room fawning over him,” Yoonji told them as she thought of other details to relay. “They describe him as very princely. His younger brother is of the same reputation, though he is thought to be less sociably inclined. The younger Mr. Kim is not a hermit, however, and actually is said to have a better sense of humor than his brother, whose humor is noted to be old-fashioned. In terms of wealth, both are equally rich, as they inherit 5,000 pounds a year, which I am sure you have heard by now.”

“At least they have personality,” you said with a grin. “I trust Papa’s opinion of them being handsome. They cannot be worse than some of the men here. Look at these humorless poppycocks. If none of them fall in love with you Yoonji and the rest of my single sisters, then I have no more to say on others’ opinion of beauty.” You brought up a fair point. The other men in the ballroom were ghastly looking, but they were scarce in comparison to the amount of women, therefore regardless you would end up dancing with each common buffoon out there. They would try to hit on you and your sisters, but you knew better than to play around with people not worth your time.

“Kyra, one day you’ll find someone who will catch your eye and then you’ll have to watch your tongue,” Tina remarked, drawing a scoff from you.

Before you could protest, the room suddenly fell silent as the crowd parted for the four guests. So there was another after all, you pondered. The four individuals all had quite a presence, you had to admit. The individual who stood out amongst the rest was the only blond individual, who happened to be the tallest too. While the two handsome dark-haired gentlemen she assumed were the Kim brothers, this man was expressionless and looked absolutely miserable.

“Okay, now who is who?” you whispered to Yoonji as Jessie and Tina focused more on trying to get a proper look at the long awaited guests.

“Mr. Seokjin Kim, the eldest brother, is the one with the elegant eucalyptus leaves on his suit. The taller dark haired male. His younger brother Mr. Taehyung Kim is on the right, whose suit is decorated in the white flowers. Of course, the only female among them is their only sister, Ms. Caroline Kim, and the man who looks and acts like their own personal guard is Mr. Namjoon Kim, their cousin.”

“The one with the quizzical brow?” you asked as Yoonji nodded. “He looks as miserable as me, poor soul.”

“He may be miserable, but he is anything but poor. Those four come from the same family, but Mr. Namjoon Kim is worth 10,000 a year.”

“10,000?!” the three sisters exclaimed in hushed tones.

“And he owns half of Derbyshire, in a beautiful estate known as Pemberly,” Yoonji related as Sir Jeon began to walk them through the crowd.

“The miserable half?” Your comment caused your own self and Yoonji to snort in disbelief at the rich man. Everyone had their eyes on these four individuals, but closely payed attention to the blond Kim upon the spread knowledge of his wealth.

You had come to meet Mr. Seokjin Kim as an amiable and charming individual. He was a flirt and reminded you of a cliché protagonist in the stories you had read. He was also a great dancer you found out quickly. It was no wonder why he drew in so many women. He also was a personable and casual gentleman and fit perfectly within the setting. He made sure you used no formalities when around him, which made you see Seokjin more as a friend than a stranger. You especially gained his respect when you saw the way he admired Jessie from afar and scouted her out, rather than she chase after him. The two of them engaged for the rest of the night, and you shared her pleasure.

The younger Mr. Kim was equally amiable and handsome, and you noticed the accuracy of Yoonji’s information when you found yourself in his company. The younger Mr. Kim was a quieter individual, but when he struck up a conversation with Tina, the two were inseparable. You too shared Tina’s happiness when you realized that not only the elder Mr. Kim, but the younger too took an interest in one of your sisters.

You did not engage at all with Ms. Kim, but found yourself in an amusing situation regarding Mr. Namjoon Kim.

You had not been involved with him directly. You were tired from the endless dancing, and seeing as there were not enough partners, you sat down and observed the dance from afar. You watched in amusement Yoonji attempted to dance with an ill-mannered companion as you took a sip of your champagne. It was then when you noticed Seokjin step out of the dance and approach his cousin, who had only engaged in one dance with Ms. Kim. The two were only a table away within your vision, so you were able to clearly hear their conversation from where you were sitting.

“My dear cousin, I cannot have you standing around in this stupid manner! Namjoon, you must get up and dance. There are plenty of women to go around, and I have never been in the company of such beautiful women in my life.”

“You and Taehyung are in the company of the only pretty women in the room,” the blond noted, fixing his gaze on Jessie and then to Tina.

“Nonsense!” Seokjin exclaimed as he slapped his cousin’s back, causing him to wince. “Look, Namjoon, over there! She’s a rather beautiful creature as well, is she not?” It took you a moment to realize Seokjin was referring to you. “That’s one of Jessie’s sisters. I shall have my partner introduce you two.”

You had unintentionally made eye contact with Namjoon’s cool ones. The intimidating glare he gave off created tension in the air as you turned away. For the first time that night, you heard him speak with any ounce of emotion. “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. It is useless to waste your time on me, Seokjin. Go find your partner and enjoy her smiles.” He walked off with an air of pride, leaving Seokjin frustrated and flabbergasted. There was nothing Seokjin could do, so putting on a smile, he went back to be in Jessie’s company.

Unbelievable. It was utterly unbelievable the way he spoke about you. Well, it could not be bothered if he did not want anything to do with you. In fact, you were becoming amused by the whole situation. You were itching to tell him off right on the spot, but that would make you as proper as he was. You could just bite your thumb at him, but what would that do? Instead, it ended up being quite a humorous discussion amongst your family and friends. It was vexing, but there was nothing you could do about it. You were just going to keep your head up high and find another man or woman worth your time. Yet you could not keep your eyes off that handsome man...

~

You and Tina shared the same room, as the two of you were the youngest. You were not sure if Tina was drunk or not, but her face was stained bright red and completely enamoured.

“He was just what a young man ought to be,” Tina sighed contently under the sheets. “He’s sensible, good-humored, lively. He had such happy manners, Kyra, something I have never seen before in my life. Of such good breeding too!”

“On top of all of that Teeny, he’s handsome. His character is therefore complete,” you stated confidently, pinching her cheek. Tina slapped your hand away and groaned.

“Do not call me that, dear sister,” she whined. “I’m not a child anymore. Unless in return you wish me to call you Kiwi.”

You scoffed and pinched her cheek lightly, and she mimicked the action. “You will always be a baby to me. You are the family’s baby. You will be stuck being called by your baby name at intimate family gatherings as long as we are stuck in this household.”

Tina raised her eyebrow and smirked at you. “Not if I get married before you.”

“Ouch, a real shocker!” You put your fist to your heart for a dramatic effect as you both giggled.

“I do not understand though why Mr. Kim would make such a tiring effort to put up with me.”

“You do not understand, but I do,” you argued. “If I were half as beautiful or humorous as you, Tina, I would not be as oblivious to why Mr. Kim took interest in you that night. You were ten times prettier than all the women in that room. I would think him a fool if he had not taken interest in you.”

“Thank you Kyra, but I think all the men were fools to not ask you to dance.”

You only adjusted your position in the bed by slightly curling in a ball with a sigh. It had somewhat bothered you that after the whole Mr. Kim incident that not a single person had asked you to dance that night. It could not be bothered due to the lack of men in the room, but you still felt slightly offended and irritated by the matter. “It might help if they realized I was a tolerable partner.”

Tina knew you well enough that your sarcastic remark covered your frustrated state. You both sought to ignore and downplay your feelings, which both of you understood about each other. “I did not know the comment affected you that much. I should have been there for you. You should know you are always welcome in the company of me, regardless of whom my partner is. Do not set on solitude, my dear sister. It is not right when you have four other sisters.”

You only grinned in response to her remark. “False. I enjoyed the solitude, and I spent my time making out this Mr. Kim’s character. What a cousin! To think I will be related to such a creature in some shape or form is a horrid revelation, yet unfathomable. You and Jessie are already so deeply in love with those brothers, as they most definitely are for you. You must unfortunately have to put up with him. But do not let my feelings and vexations restrain you or Jessie from your romantic adventures.”

Tina took your hand into hers and brought it up to kiss it. This was something you both did whenever you quarreled or were bothered by something. It was an action that soothed both of you. You did not need the gesture, though you welcomed it, as it expressed your sister’s worries and love for you. “One man should not dampen your spirits. There will be the militia coming to town in only a fortnight. Did you not hear Iris announce it?”

“Of course I did, but you do not understand, Teeny. Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why I will die an old maid. I will not settle, Teeny. Never.”