#think we may have split someone from a book i really like and have participated in the fandom for and id like some advice

[the-call-center]

Two system questions for systems with fictives:

1. How do you deal with fictives from a source you really like, such as your favorite TV show?

2. How do you deal with fictives from a project you're currently working on, such as a book you're writing?

Thank you in advance for any answers!!

[samwisethewitch]

Pagan Wedding Planning (Part 1)

If you're like the vast majority of pagans, you probably have friends, family, or other people you care about who are not pagan. It's highly likely that you will have guests at your wedding who do not share your beliefs.

We can only hope that our non-pagan loved ones are open-minded, understanding, and supportive of our choice of spiritual path -- but realistically, this isn't always the case. You might have friends or family who don't really understand what paganism is or why you would want a pagan wedding. You may have loved ones who have been misinformed about what it means to be pagan by movies, TV, and popular culture. You might even have loved ones who are actively opposed to your religion, or who you don't feel safe "coming out" to.

If it's not important to you that your non-pagan friends and family attend your wedding, great! Only inviting other pagans decreases the chances that you'll have to explain ritual elememts or comfort an uncomfortable guest. If that's the route you want to go, by all means, have a pagans-only wedding. If it is important to you that your non-pagan loved ones are there for this milestone, then you really have three options: 1.) have a pagan  wedding knowing you may have to accomodate non-pagan guests, 2.) have a secular wedding, possibly with a private religious ritual before or after, or 3.) have multiple weddings or split the wedding into multiple events, like a pagan ceremony with a secular reception. (Technically you also have a fourth option, which is to plan the type of wedding your loved ones are expecting. However, I do not recommend this option. Your wedding is about you and your partner(s), not your families, friends, and acquaintances. I've never met someone who compromised on their wedding and didn't regret it.) Let's explore what each of these options might look like. If you decide to go ahead with a fully pagan ceremony, the most important thing is to make sure you communicate up front that this will be a pagan religious ritual. You can include a line on invitations like "Please join us in celebrating our commitment with a Wiccan handfasting ceremony," or "[Partner] and [partner] will be exchanging vows in a Hellenic pagan ceremony." This makes it very clear to recipients what type of ceremony they've been invited to, and it gives them a chance to contact you with questions or concerns. If someone does contact you to ask about the ceremony, answer their questions honestly. They may be genuinely curious and simply want to know more about your beliefs. You might find it helpful to choose a good book about your religion ahead of time so you can recommend it to curious guests. This gives them a chance to feel more prepared for the ceremony, and it also spares you from having to teach a Paganism 101 class while you're trying to plan a wedding. If one of your guests expresses concern or discomfort about attending a pagan wedding (or worse, tries to talk you out of having one), you might have to set a firm boundary with them. Let them know that you value your relationship with them and that it would mean a lot to you for them to be present for your wedding, but that you also value your spiritual practice and feel it's important to have a ceremony that accurately reflects who you are.  Tell them that you hope they are willing to set aside any ideological differences to support you during this important milestone, but you would never want them to do something that makes them feel unsafe or violates their deeply held beliefs just because you asked them to. Tell them that if they truly feel that they cannot be part of a pagan wedding, they shouldn't attend. Keep in mind that some religions teach that it is wrong or a sin to participate in rituals from other religions. If you have a friend or family member who practices one of these religions, you may want to leave them out of your pagan wedding plans. If you want them to know you're thinking of them, send them an invitation but be prepared for them to turn you down. 

If you're choosing to have a pagan wedding, you're probably very open about your beliefs and have loved ones who are supportive. But be aware that there is always a chance your invitations will set off a missionary resonse from one of your guests, especially if you invite people who didn't previously know you were pagan. If you get a call or text from someone who is "concerned about your spiritual wellbeing" or "has some concerns about your lifestyle," refer back to the previous advice about guests who are uncomfortable attending a pagan ceremony. Tell them that you're happy with your current religious practice and aren't looking to convert. Be polite but firm. Make it clear that you respect their spiritual beliefs and expect them to do the same for you. If they keep bringing up the issue, you may need to privately let them know that they are no longer invited to the wedding. Uninviting someone from an event is always awkward, but it's much less awkward than letting that person make a scene during a serious religious ritual. Be willing to have difficult conversations ahead of time to avoid having them on your wedding day. 

But sometimes it's not as simple as not inviting someone. Maybe it's very important to you that your grandmother be present at your wedding, but your grandmother wouldn't be comfortable attending a pagan ceremony. In these situations, you might choose to have a secular ceremony instead.

A secular ceremony is exactly what it sounds like -- a legally binding wedding ceremony with no religious elements. A lot of people associate secular weddings with "courthouse weddings," which is when you and your partner get married at a courthouse or other government building with few or no guests. While this is a popular option, especially for couples who don't want an expensive wedding, secular weddings can be as big and extravagant as you want to make them. The main difference is that the wedding will be officiated by a justice of the peace or an ordained nondenominational minister instead of by a member of the clergy. And, of course, there won't be any overt religious elements.

A secular wedding can be a great option if you're marrying someone who isn't pagan, or if your family and friends aren't very religious. It also allows for a lot of freedom and personalization since you don't have to follow any specific traditions. You can even ask a friend or relative to get ordained (which, at least in the US, can be done online for free) so they can officiate the wedding. The sky is the limit when it comes to planning a secular ceremony.

If you decide on a secular wedding but still want to ritually acknowledge your union or ask the gods to bless your marriage, you can do so in a private, personal ritual either before or after the wedding itself. If your partner is also pagan or is open to participating in pagan rituals, ask them to join you. If not, enjoy this personal time alone with your gods and ancestors.

The third option is to have two or more wedding events. This is the most complicated (and usually most expensive) option, but it's also the best way to make sure everyone gets what they want -- you and your partner(s) get a religious ceremony that is meaningful to you, and your families and friends can still attend a wedding that feels familiar and traditional.

This is also sometimes the best option for interfaith couples. Some religions only recognize marriages that were performed according to their traditions, and many of these faiths don't allow for interfaith ceremonies -- if your partner belongs to one of these religions, you may need to have two ceremonies. Or maybe one or both of you has a very traditional family who want you to have a ceremony that reflects their cultural heritage. For example, a Roman Catholic who is marrying a Heathen with Indian heritage might have up to three different ceremonies: a Catholic religious ceremony, a Heathen religious ceremony, and an Indian cultural ceremony. (This would only happen if the Heathen partner wanted a religious ceremony, since Heathenry recognizes non-Heathen marriages.)

This is also a great option if you're torn between having a pagan ceremony and having a secular one. You can have a small pagan ceremony with just you, your partner(s), your officiant, and a few pagan or pagan-friendly loved ones, then have a secular ceremony or a big reception for your less open-minded guests. You don't have to make compromises, everyone gets to be a part of your wedding in some way, and you can all gracefully avoid any tense conversations about belief or lifestyle.

The downside to the "multiple weddings" approach is that it makes the whole process a lot more stressful for the people planning all these events, which is usually the people getting married. Each event costs money and requires time and energy to plan, plus you'll be juggling multiple guest lists. Depending on how anti-pagan your loved ones are, you may even have to keep the pagan ceremony a secret, which is another source of stress. The last thing you want is to get angry phone calls from relatives who just found out they were only invited to part of your wedding! Ultimately, you and your partner need to decide if making everyone happy is worth that extra stress.

Full disclosure: my fiance and I decided to go the "multiple weddings" route. We had a couple of family members who we wanted to include, but who we knew wouldn't be willing to attend a pagan ritual. At the same time, both of us are very religious in our weird, pagan way, and we knew we wanted to have a religious marriage ceremony. A secular wedding just wouldn't be authentic for us.

We decided to compromise by having a small, intimate, and very pagan ceremony, then having a larger, 100% secular reception later on the same day. Because our ceremony was going to be so small, we would be able to afford both events while still staying under budget. (My mom actually surprised me by offering to help pay for our reception, which was incredibly sweet, but we would have been able to pay for everything ourselves even without her much-appreciated help.) It probably helps that even at our "big" event, we're going to have fewer than fifty people.

If you and your partner(s) decide to have multiple weddings, be prepared to spend a lot of time and stress on the budget. Budgeting for multiple events means you may have to make sacrifices to save money -- for example, you may have to book a smaller venue for the reception so you can afford to reserve a space for the pagan ceremony. While it's possible to get married practically for free if you get a friend to officiate, have the ceremony and reception at a loved one's home, wear clothes you already own, etc., that may not be the type of wedding you and your partner(s) were imagining for yourselves. Sit down with your partner(s) early in the planning process and have a very honest, realistic talk about what you want vs. what you can actually afford.

No matter what type of ceremony (or how many) you decide to have, your family may offer to help you pay for it. In Western cultures, the bride's family traditionally pays for the wedding ceremony and the reception and the groom's family traditionally pays for the rehearsal dinner, the marriage license fee, and the honeymoon. While a lot of families no longer follow these strict etiquette guidelines, a lot of parents still feel like they should pay for something when their child gets married. This can be really helpful, because it can drastically increase your budget. But at the same time, be aware that family members who are paying for part of your wedding may feel like they should be involved in the decision-making process.

For example, if your very Christian grandmother is paying for your wedding, she may expect you to get married at her church. If your parents are helping to pay for things, they may expect to have input on some aspects of the ceremony or reception. This can sometimes spiral into someone else planning the wedding they want you to have while you get given a backseat in the decision-making.

This might be absolutely okay with you. I was glad to let my mom help me plan the reception, because I know she and I have similar tastes and would be on the same page. It was actually a relief to let someone else take over the catering math! When my future mother-in-law offered to pay for our wedding shower, I was thankful because it meant I could let her and her daughters take over planning for that event. More hands, brains, and wallets to help plan means less work for the couple themselves.

At the same time, my fiance and I are paying for 100% of the ceremony costs so we can be sure we have 100% creative control over that aspect of our wedding. It's important to us that we have the ritual we want, without debating over details with non-pagan family members.

This is my advice for other couples: don't let anybody pay for anything unless you'll be okay sharing creative control over that part of your wedding. Your family may not expect to have veto privileges just because they signed a check -- but you don't want to risk finding out after everything has been booked that your preferences have been overruled, or that a relative has backed out on their financial commitment because they don't approve of your choices.

Thankfully, there are lots of events and expenses traditionally associated with Western weddings, so it's easy to find things for family to pay for if they want to contribute financially. Maybe they'd like to host your engagement party or pay for part of your honeymoon. Or you can delegate very specific tasks that you're okay letting go of, like asking your in-laws to be in charge of the flowers or asking your parents to handle the cake. You know your family, and you know how involved you want them to be.

[jerzwriter]

In Another Time...

Book:                   Open Heart (Pre-Series/Hopkins Years)

Pairing:                Tobias Carrick x F!OC (Chenza), Ethan Ramsey

Rating:                 Teen

Category:            Angst

Summary:   Vincenza wasn't the only thing that came between the former best friends, but she may have been the final straw. Now, as Ethan seethes, she and Tobias make plans for a future together until one night changes everything.

Words: Approx. 2,250

A/N: A little background on my HC for "the Hopkins Girl." Ethan and Tobias both fell for Vincenza, who was dating someone else when they all met. The three became friends, but when her relationship ended, Ethan made a move. Though he was displeased initially, Tobias realized they were crazy about each other, and he wasn't ready to commit, so in time, he let it go. But wrapped up in studies and his competition to be the best, Ethan didn't make her a priority, and they split. She leaned on Tobias a lot to get over the breakup, and while neither felt it was a good idea to become more, in time, they did. Time at Hopkins was nearing an end, and they decided to keep things quiet until after graduation. They planned on selecting residencies in the same area and building a future together until...

A/N 2: I'm participating in @choicesprompts first prompt for January 2023; it got me thinking about this timeline of their story. Also, @choicesjanuarychallenge Day 4, Dating/Break-Up/Self-Reflection. (I didn't get to edit much; forgive me! lol)

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“How did you mean it then?”

“You know…in a good way!”

“In what universe could what you just said be construed in a good way?”

They stood facing each other, hearts pounding, chests heaving with emotion.

Neither wanted to be the first to admit their feelings to the other.

“I’m leaving!”

“Wait! Please don’t! I… I’m ready to tell you the truth!”

Vincenza spun around with fire in her eyes. She had been determined not to let him see the pain in her heart, so she cursed the emotion in her voice that quickly betrayed her.

“The truth, Tobias?” She quivered. “Now? What exactly have you been saying for the past six months? All this time? I assumed it was the truth... until tonight!”

“It was the truth! It is the truth!” He insisted, attempting to take her hand, but she pulled it away as quickly as if his touch were fire. He hung his head low, staring at the cracked, ice-covered ground beneath his feet. Perhaps he should just walk away. He was known to be smooth, but even he couldn’t spin this. There was no way to convince her what she overheard was misconstrued. If only he could hit rewind….

“Do we have to go tonight?”

“Chenz!” he grinned, completely disarming her. He knew the power of that smile, and he used it, which is why she turned away, but the spell had already been cast. Her eyes shut, and her head flung back when he began working his magic on her shoulders. He always did this to ease her tension, but deep down, he knew tonight, he was trying to get his way.

“This is going to be the last big party of our med school career. Do you really want to miss it?”

She slipped from under his grip and turned to him with pleading eyes. 

“We’ve been trying to keep our relationship on the down-low… if we go to Stanley’s party tonight, that’s going to be blown sky high.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He implored, and she noted the hurt in his eyes.

“Of course not, but… we both agreed to wait until we left Hopkins to be fully public. I would never deny you… deny us… but we both felt rubbing it in Ethan’s face wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Yeah, six months ago, I believed that. But the novelty has worn away,” he frowned. “You mean everything to me, but we’re a dirty secret. You got to go everywhere when you were on his arm, never a reason to hide.”

“That’s not fair!” she spat. “We are out of here in two months. The future is ours! Yours and mine… not Ethan’s. But while we’re here, I want to add salt to his wounds. Nor do I want to be seen as ‘that woman.” Because you know as well as I do, you’re both men, you’ll get a pass, but I’ll be that whore that came between two best friends!”

“That’s not what happened, Chenza!”

“You know that! I know that! Even Ethan knows that, but it doesn’t matter if that’s not what anyone believes.”

“So it’s other people we’re concerned about? Other people who don’t matter to us for shit.”

“Tobias, I….” she stopped and stared out the window; the sky was already dark. She knew this wouldn’t be easy, but when they both decided they couldn’t fight their feelings any longer, eight months didn’t seem too far away. After that, Hopkins would be a distant memory, and it would have been worth the sacrifice, but now… “Tobias, why don’t you go without me. I want to spend some time looking at my residency offers anyway. So….”

“Forget it,” he sighed, “We’re all adults, and you and Ethan have been apart for over nine months. But… if we have to remain a dirty secret, I’ll stay home too. I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I don’t really want to be out celebrating if I can’t do it with you.”

Tobias headed to the bedroom and threw on his sweats. He assumed this arrangement would be easier, but as he lay in bed listening to the deafening silence, he hoped he could make it just two months more. It wasn’t much later when he heard Chenza walk in.  

“Come on,” she said. “We can’t go to Stanley’s with you dressed like that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

He should have been amazed, not much time had passed, but she looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. His breath was taken away. The black velvet dress he bought on their trip to New York, her chestnut brown curls falling over her bare shoulders, and the make-up he swore she never needed looking perfect nevertheless. 

“You look… you look beautiful. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the party,” she smiled. “And I was hoping you would join me. I picked your black suit up from the dry cleaners,” she winked. “It’s in the closet. I’ll be downstairs.”

“There is no good way, Chenza," he started. "But that was only the second dumbest thing I said tonight; the first was back at the party…. I’m… I’m so sorry!”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he hissed, insulted, though he knew he had no right to be. She had every reason to doubt him. “I was an idiot. I had way too much to drink, and when Ethan started talking shit, I just….”

“You just put him and your stupid rivalry before me! The way it always has been!”

“No, I didn’t… I mean, I did… but I didn’t want to….”

“It was in your control, Tobias!” She scoffed. “Don’t act like you’re the victim.”

“I didn’t say I was... Chenza, can you let me explain?”

The smile on his face was unmistakable; hers was too. He was crazy about her, but even he was surprised at how fast his heart was racing. At how much his chest was filled with pride. Her arm was tucked into his, and when she looked up at him and smiled, he was on top of the world.

“This means so much to me,” he whispered as they walked the path to Stanely’s door.

“You know what, I’m glad we’re doing this too. We shouldn’t have to hide.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“But, Tobias….”

“I know,” he grinned. “We don’t need to hide, but there is no need to rub it in.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and smiled. “Exactly.” 

The door opened, and the night began. There were some whispers, of course, but mostly smiles. Truthfully, most had suspected they were an item for some time. She and Ethan split over nine months before due to no fault of her own. She had nothing to feel guilty about, she reminded herself as Tobias shot her a smile from across the room. While she had been apprehensive, now, all she felt was a relief. The future was theirs, and it was time everyone else knew it too.

Ethan was cordial at first, greeting her warmly if only nodding at T. She wished she could have told him, but he refused to take her calls. But she wasn't going to be overt; she and Tobias would act the way they always had. She was confident the evening would end just fine. 

Tobias joined some of the guys in the billiard room down the hall as Dr. Stanley introduced Chenza to his wife, one of the top psychiatrists on the East Coast. He had told her about his top student and her plans to unseat her. Chenza insisted that wasn’t possible, but the lovely woman insisted that’s just what she wanted her to do, she laid a foundation for others to build on, and she couldn’t be more delighted.

Vincenza was simply beaming, the evening seemed to be going better than planned. No one noticed that Ethan had slipped away. With a bottle of the best bourbon from the bar in one hand and a glass in the other. He found a quiet corner where he could seethe. Tobias’s drinking was celebratory, but he also had more than a few. Still, when Ethan entered the room and sparring began, he thought he was in control. But it took only one question from a well-intentioned professor for things to spiral.

“Have you settled on a residency program yet, Tobias?”

“I’m still weighing my options. I have it narrowed down and hope to decide by next week.”

“And you’re heading to Edenbrook, is that correct?” The same professor asked Ethan. “You must be very proud.”

Ethan stood taller, and his chest stuck out with pride. “I am, despite the best efforts of others, there could be only one selected…, and I’m happy to say… it was me.”

Tobias lowered his eyes and turned away, downing the drink in his hand. Though he had made dozens of excuses, he knew what he’d done to Ethan was wrong. Still, it didn’t lessen the sting of Ethan winning once again. Four years... every time, he came out ahead. Maybe by a point or two, but always ahead. Now, it had been announced. Ethan was graduating first in class. He won the residency they both coveted. He was Dr. Banerji’s next protégé. He won… again.

But Tobias was happy. He was in love, though he wasn’t quick to admit it. He and Chenza had plans, and she was there on his arm tonight. So he wasn’t going to let this get to him. Ethan could have the floor, and it didn’t bother him a bit… at first.

Chenza looked at the clock, it was late, and she was more than ready to go home, but she wanted to spend a little more time with Tobias before they did. She was stopped a few times along the way but finally made it to the billiard room, surprised to hear raised voices. That wasn’t… she considered just turning away; it was probably best not to insert herself. Still, she wasn’t one to run. Making her way down the small staircase, the voices became more clear.

“… I’d be delighted if you selected Boston,” Ethan slurred. “In fact, if something ever opened up at Edenbrook, perhaps I could put in a good word for you with Dr. Banerji. That is if his opinion of you isn’t already set in stone.”

 “Obviously, if I’m in Boston, it will be at Kenmore or Brigham, not Edenbrook. Because I have….”

“Burned every damn bridge you had at the best program in the country. So no matter what else you select, you’ll always be second best. Right, Carrick?”

“Second best?” Tobias seethed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. How about we meet at the ten-year reunion and see who’s second best, Ramsey.”

“I look forward to it. You haven’t bested me once in four years. With your entitlement and morals, or lack thereof, I’m sure the next decade won’t be any different.”

Still unnoticed, Chenza rushed across the room, eager to steer Tobias out of the party before things got worse… but as fate would have it, she was a moment too late.

“Awfully big words there, Ethan. But don’t you worry about me. I’ll still be in a top-tier program watching my star rise. But unlike you, my skills aren’t limited to my chosen profession. So while you’re spending all those late nights huddled close with Banerji, just remember, I’ll be across town in bed with Chenza, reminding her why she made the right choice.”

The room went silent except for the sound of Chenza’s gasp. Tobias’s face fell, and hers crumbled as she ran to the door.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ethan smirked as Tobias rushed away.

“There’s nothing to explain, Tobias. I’ve been a goddamn fool!”

“You haven’t been a fool.”

“Oh! Yes, I have! I’ve wasted four years of my life loving two men who never loved me in return. Do you know how that makes me feel! I’ve never been more than a pawn in your twisted little game!”

“That’s not true! Chenza, we’re picking residencies together. We’re going to build a life together because I love you… not because you’re some prize I stole from Ethan.”

“Really?”  She laughed sadly, tears building in her eyes. “I might believe you more if you lowered yourself to utter those words to me once before now."

“Chenza…”

“Chenza, nothing! I’ve said them to you, right? Countless times! And what have you said in return? You mean everything to me. You have no idea how happy that makes me. But God forbid you ever told me you loved me."

“But I did! I do! I should have said them, but I always thought actions mean more than words, and….”

“...and tonight, your actions told me all I needed to know.”

The tone of her voice struck him, and his stomach wretched; he knew her well, and at that moment, he knew the battle was lost. He loved her, it had never been more clear to him than it was now, and now it was all slipping away.

He watched her collapse against a lamppost, wiping away tears that stung her cheeks in the bitter cold. Delicate snow began to fall and the moonlight cast a magical glow. They should have been laughing, her under his arm, kissing her as they made their way home. They should have shared one last drink, talking about their debut to the world, and the bright future they planned. That was the night he had envisioned.

Instead, he stood several feet away, ashamed of the broken expression on her face. He had seen it before after she left Ethan, and he promised himself he'd never make her look that way... He could have tried harder, he could have begged... he knew he loved her... but he also knew how good it felt when he saw the look in Ethan's eyes when they walked in that night... and he knew it was wrong. He could have tried harder tonight, but Chenza had been put through the wringer by two fools who had a lot of growing up left to do, and she deserved better.

She wiped her face and stood tall; he wasn't surprised at her strength. He had seen it before.

"I'm going to stay with my old roommate, Dawn, tonight. I'll stop by to get my things tomorrow. I don't want to drag this out... it has to be done."

"I'm so sorry, Chenza..." was all he could offer.

"So am I," she smiled sadly. "I really loved you... I really loved you both."

"I know you don't see it now, and I don't blame you. But we both loved you, too. We're just... idiots.... and you deserve better."

"You're right," she smiled. "I do."

"Can I walk you to Dawns?"

"No need," she said, nodding to an approaching car. "She's here to pick me up."

Chenza walked past him and slipped into the passenger's seat., turning to look at him one last time. "Goodbye, Tobias."

"We probably just should have stayed home," he said with a broken voice.

"It's OK," she swallowed. "I'm glad we didn't."

A/N 3: In my HC, Chenza was not the bad guy ... no one was really the bad guy. Tobias and Ethan did love her. They were just two men who were still dealing with a lot of damage from their past and too caught up in themselves to make anyone else the center of their world. In the future, they both apologized to her at separate times. She graciously accepted and thanked them, for helping her to realize her worth.

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Tagging others separately

[umiarumi]

fucking three houses | lorenz hellman gloucester

the whole reason i wrote this collection was because of an inside joke. "wouldnt slut shaming lorenz be funny?"

The resounding tune of the clock striking noon echoed around the monastery, prompting you to perk up from your studies. Usually, you studied in solitude. As outgoing as your allies made you, you always held onto that ease and pleasure being alone supplied you. With how lust-induced your recent activities had been, a little peace and quiet would do you some well-deserved good.

You shut the book regarding tactics your professor had recommended you. The soft shuffles of former students leaving the library and hushed chatter reverberated around the room and halls. Of course, you were at war but there's always time to get better at what you do. You chuckled at the thought of some grizzled lady wielding a sword studying. Well, that is you after all!

Sliding the book back in its respective shelf, you hummed as you remembered Tomas. From what you gathered, the Tomas that the faculty knew was replaced. Unfortunate, but unsurprising knowing the enemies working behind the scenes.

You shifted your thoughts to your upcoming mission. Some scouting mission from the empire detected commotion in Garreg Mach. You huffed at the thought. Of course, you'd expect Edelgard to retaliate but damn, that was quick.

You shook your head, well, it was tea time! Noon meant the yard would be filled with people gossiping and sipping alike, the hobby so ingrained in them that they retained it through the war.

You walked past Seteth, nodding to him. He nodded back, cracking a soft smile. You'd rarely see that emotion! You giddily laughed as he turned the corner, pleased to see he was loosening up.

Walking down the stairs, you passed a rushing Lysithea who didn't even recognise you. You grinned, shaking your head. Always in a rush, that girl! Or, well, woman. She'd like that better.

Sauntering, you caught a glimpse of a certain purple and ginger-headed duo bickering. "Lee! Lorenz! Whatever is wrong, my dear friends?" You cheered, slinging your arms around the two. Leonie raised a brow at you, grinning, seemingly relieved at your arrival. Lorenz, on the other hand, froze up. "Although you may have connections to House Riegan, (Y/N)..." He grumbled, sighing.

"Oh chill, Lorenz!" You guffawed, shaking your head. He'd become considerably more agreeable, but God, he'll hold onto that 'treating commoners with his version of respect' ideal forever.

Leonie nodded with you. "Yeah, buddy." She pointedly looked at Lorenz, crossing her arms. "Well, apparently (Y/N), Lorenz thinks that he can't take me to tea because I'm 'unpleasant'". Hands now on her hips, she turned back to you.

You smirked. "Lovers quarrel?" You asked, shifting your weight.

"NO, DUMBASS!" "Absolutely not!"

You cackled at the yells, waving your hands in front of your face dismissively. They really did act like it!

"My bad, my bad... now, Leonie is a great dining partner! But... I doubt tea is even your thing." You offered, mockingly putting on a wise tone. She slowly nodded, realising you're right.

"Yeah! A good meal is better than tea. Thanks for seeing my point, (Y/N)." She slapped your back before, turning away. "I'll spend this time on training, can never get enough!" She waved goodbye to the two of you, although you supposed it was more to you.

Lorenz sighed, brushing his, admittedly less foul, hair out of his face. "I fail to see why you defend her." He muttered, looking to you. You raised a brow, tilting your head for that added 'what do you mean?' effect.

"Simply put, she wouldn't make a fair tea partner. She accused me of the reason being that she was a commoner, but it truly was not! I explained to her, but she seemed to have not appreciated my honesty, either." He pondered, lips pursing.

"Well, Lorenz! I think you need a lesson in manners." You bluntly asserted, placing your hands on your sides.

"Why I never-"

"Not that you don't have wonderful manners! However, your honesty can be jarring... you come off rude, man." You explained, patting his shoulder.

"So I am to lie?"

"Gah! No! Look, how about we discuss it over tea?" You suggested, exasperated. As intelligent as the dude is, his social cues with... commoners and the rest of us normal people are is abysmal!

He nodded. "A splendid notion! Shall we take this to my dorm? I feel as though the tea court will be filled by now. I also have some delectable flavours and tea sets!" He smiled, leading you away.

You yelped, catching up to him. What was the deal with guys walking briskly away from you?

~~~~

"Please, take a seat." He offered, pulling out a chair for you. You mumbled thanks, sitting down.

Crossing your legs, you hummed. Was this a curse? Was this going to end up in you fucking the most pretentious man? Well, the omniscient presence watching your every move knows the answers.

As he poured the tea into your embellished cup, you admired the colour. "How pretty! And the teacup compliments it!" You whispered in awe, looking back up to Lorenz. He smiled sweetly at you, almost in the way one would at a kitten or puppy.

"I'm glad you have a knack for spotting artistic factors in the simplest things." He said, sitting down opposite you.

"However, on our way here, I thought about something."

You gulped. How was your impending lecturing being turned on you?!

"Y-yes?" You stuttered, bringing the teacup to your mouth, sipping nervously on the steaming liquid.

He eyed you, before humming.

"I doubt you're the most qualified person to teach me about manners." He said, gauging your reaction. You halted sipping on your tea.

Collecting yourself, you placed your teacup back down. "Oh? Why would that be?" You questioned, fiddling with the tablecloth.

"Well, you seem to have time engaging in certain... promiscuous activities, that isn't exactly too innocent or polite." He murmured, sipping on his tea.

Your eyes bulged, hands antsy as they moved to your face to hide your shock.

"For someone so carefree to participate in such... activities in public, you sure do seem to hold a facade of modesty." He replied, watching you sternly.

"Yeah, imagine how it feels having someone know of this!" You gritted your teeth, clenching your arms.

He raised a brow, smiling crookedly. "Certainly you wouldn't mind. Considering you would do so on holy grounds. You and Claude seemed to have not cared. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole monastery heard you."

You gasped, moving to get out of your chair. You didn't need a lecture from Lorenz.

He stood up with you, challenging your gaze.

"When I told Leonie she wasn't well-kempt enough... I suppose you aren't any better." He smirked, watching you bite your lip anxiously.

"Damnit, what do you want!? Don't tell anyone, I'll do anything!" You pleaded, taking a step forward. Lorenz grinned at this, raising a brow. He walked around the table, coming to face you directly. You looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Since you're so eager to offer. Perhaps I could partake in those services Claude recommended to you?" He whispered, hand coming to tilt your chin upwards. Your face erupted in a dark heat, your heart thumping.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

You collected yourself, giving him a sly grin as your hands found themselves around his neck. "Well, if you're interested in a free trial..." You hinted, swaying your hips.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz.

He gulped, smiling crookedly. "You strike a hard bargain, my fair lady. I suppose I'd have to indulge." He murmured, grabbing underneath your knee and pulling your leg up to his waist.

Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Don't fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz.

"Then, please, take whatever you'd like."

Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck Lorenz. Fuck-

Your lips were captured by his own, as you soon felt your weight shift as your body was lifted from the ground. You wrapped your legs around him fully as you were set down on his plush bed

The kiss heated up passionately, feeling Lorenz palm you through your normal uniform. Being a Sunday, no war business was discussed and no armour was worn. He cupped your breasts.

"You're hardly pleasant, ever so brash and callous. But not to fear, I'll mould you into a fair woman. However, I'd say I prefer your unabashed promiscuousness." He hissed, stripping you of your uniform. Soon, your bra and underwear followed.

He shed his own casual uniform, for once in his life, not caring. That was proved as much as he dropped his uniform onto the mahogany floors.

You were pushed down onto the bed as you felt Lorenz slide on top of you, his already hard dick grinding against your slick cunt. You sighed, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.

His hands moved to your breasts, removing his mouth from your own only to kiss up the skin. Poking, squeezing, kissing, licking. He left no stone unturned, or in this case, no skin untouched. His apparent fixation on your breasts soon shifted to your darkened face. He simpered at his work.

"You will be good practice for the future. I suppose a whore such as yourself wouldn't oppose being treated with such behaviour." He proposed, his hands stroking up and down your sides.

"I... I'm not a whore!" You defended weakly. Yet any argument was soon washed away as he began to rub his dick up and down against your vagina.

"Oh? Ah, I see. So making love... no, I should say, carelessly fucking your former classmates one after another was just a hallucination?" He asked, the tip of his dick sliding into your walls for a split second before retreating.

"N-no, that's not what I meant!" You cried out, frustrated at the lack of stimulation.

"Ah, straight to denial, I see! You have skipped explaining and gone straight to denying your needy, sluttish behaviour." He groaned as he felt you pull him closer.

You cried out in frustration before looking away.

" F-fine! You're right that I'm a whore! I'm a whore who loves her classmate's dicks! Now please fuck me!" You moaned, exasperated.

"That's wonderful to hear."

And no sooner than he spoke did he thrust his dick right into your pussy, a silent moan escaping your open lips. He leant over you, feeling your tits press against him. Your legs rose and wrapped around his pistoning hips.

You struggled to get a full breath at the pace he was thrusting at, it sent your head spinning. You couldn't think, you could only feel as you were fucked silly by the one guy you could never like.

Yet, that distaste furthered your arousal.

"You are far from suitable for me. You.." He heaved as you clenched around him. "Naughty. You're brash, loud, unladylike... but you make a wonderful cocksleeve." He groaned into your ear, letting out soft moans.

You felt the coil in your stomach tighten at his words.

"Then... you're just like me! Sinking down... to my level just for some pussy?" You teased, slurring.

He smirked annoyedly. "Tch, I wouldn't say that in your position." He grunted out, holding you tighter as he pistoned harder.

"O-oh! I... you!" You moaned, speech cutting off as you couldn't talk. It was so fast, so hard, so good!

The two of you continued to moan and grunt, accompanied only by the sound of skin slapping. The erotic groans of the man you held such distaste for was sending you over the edge. You hated it so much that you loved it.

To the means of an end, you felt the coil snap as he groaned once more in your ear, the spasming of your walls soon causing him to cum. You felt your ravaged pussy shudder as ropes of hot cum seared your insides. As he slid out, it trailed out.

Lorenz looked down on you, smiling coyly at the sight. "Speechless and fucked silly, that's a perfect look for you."

[wrenhyperfixates]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When you pick Loki’s name for Secret Santa, you are at a loss for what to get him. Some quality time with the God of Mischief sheds some light on the situation. Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff; very long A/N: It’s almost Christmas now; less than a week to go! And a big thank you to my best friend @lokistan​ for writing the beautiful poetry for this story. I love you my bean! Happy reading all :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​ @gaitwae

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Oh my gosh, thank you Nat!” you said, throwing your arms around her shoulders in a hug. She had been your Secret Santa and gotten you the expensive jacket you’d been wanting for months. “It’s perfect.”

Christmas Eve in the Avengers Tower was full of laughter and drinks as the team exchanged Secret Santa gifts. Tomorrow morning you’d be opening regular presents, so it was tradition to set this aside for the night before. It was more fun that way, maybe because you could focus solely on the excitement of learning who had picked your name.  

“You’re welcome. I know you were nervous about being able to pull it off, but it’ll look great on you,” she reassured, hugging you back. “Ok, now it’s your turn.”

You shot a nervous glance at Peter, who flashed a thumbs up. Thor, who was sitting next to you, pat your back. You stood and picked up the carefully wrapped package, all decorated in gold and green. You were nervous about what you had picked, but whether the recipient liked it or not, you were happy that this anxiety of if it was good enough or not would be over. You’d rather know. After all, you’d been feeling this way ever since you’d picked the name a week earlier...

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

“Alright everyone,” Tony said, holding a stocking filled with little pieces of paper. “It’s time for Secret Santa. And remember, if you get me, cash is accepted.”

You gathered around with the rest of the team as they started to pick names. You said a little prayer that you would get Peter, your best friend, seeing as you already had about thirty different gift ideas for him. Wanda would be pretty easy, too, as you were also really close with her. In fact, looking around, you were able to come up with at least some scrap of an idea for almost everyone. Almost being the operative word.  By the time Tony got to you, there was only one slip left. As you stuck your hand in the stocking, you made a silent wish that it wouldn’t be the one person you had no clue what to get for.

Please, you thought. Please be someone I know. Please don’t be...

Loki.

“And that concludes the name picking process,” Tony announced as you cast a dismayed look at the four-letter name on the paper. “You have a week to figure it out, so good luck.

“Remember, no swapping!” Steve added as the group began to disperse.

You looked around for the trickster, wondering why he was even participating. It’s not that you didn’t want him to, just that it didn’t seem like his kind of thing. From the way he was clenching his fists and scowling, you still guessed it wasn’t. Not like you really knew him all that well, unfortunately. When he’d come to the Tower, Loki seemed like he preferred the solitude. You often wondered if you should have made more of an effort to be his friend, wished that you had. There was this one time you were both reading Macbeth in a common area and had gotten into a very animated discussion about it. Nothing more ever really came of that, though, as he left for a mission the next day and didn’t return until two weeks later. By then, you’d both moved onto different books.

Later, you made a trip to the library, hoping to solve the enigma that is the God of Mischief. You were the only two people who went in their regularly and more than half the conversations you’d had with him had been held in that room. Granted they were all short, but you figured it was a start. In fact, you found yourself rather wanting to have a conversation with him right now. Yes, because of the Secret Santa thing, but also because they’d been getting more frequent recently. With every one, you realized how much you enjoyed talking to him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual spot by the crackling fire. You considered just leaving, but decided you should at least make some use of this trip. You’d seen him reading some works by James Joyce most recently, and you went to go look for the one he’d had last. Maybe seeing what he likes to read could give you some gift ideas. Your eyes scanned the shelves, but you couldn’t find it. It was possible you were just remembering the cover wrong. Just as you were about to give up, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Pardon me,” Loki said as you whipped around. “I think you may be looking for this.”

He held out the copy of the book you’d been looking for and raised an eyebrow when you just stared at him blankly for a second. Who could blame you, though? He was standing rather close, and he was... Well, quite frankly, he was hot. With his raven black hair framing his smooth, pale skin, and with striking blue-green eyes that stare into your soul, he was the most handsome man you’d ever met. Then again, he wasn’t really a man, was he?

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes I am,” you said, coming to your senses. “Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much so. I have read it five times now. I apologize for that, if you were looking for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for.” He looked rather surprised that you would say such a thing, and you briefly wondered how many times people had made him apologize unnecessarily. “You could even just keep it if you want.”

“No, that is alright. At least, not until you have gotten to read it, too. Perhaps we could discuss it?” he said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping.

You looked at the title in your hands. Dubliners. You’d read a few of the short stories in high school and hadn’t enjoyed them much. But you were older now, so maybe your tastes had changed. Either way, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have another conversation with Loki. That slight smile and those intelligent eyes were just too captivating.

“That’s a wonderful idea. May I ask what your favorite is?”

“A good question. I think I will have to say Eveline. The way she ends up trapped, the mere emotion in the implication... It’s exquisitely done.”

“Wow, Loki, you have such a way with words. You’re beautiful,” you told him without thinking. As his eyes widened, you realized what you’d said and tried to cover it up. “I, um, I meant that that’s beautiful. The, ah, way you weave words. Sorry, I obviously don’t have the same ability.”

“It is quite alright. They do not call me silver-tongue for nothing, you know,” he said, though he was blushing now. “Still, I look forward to hearing your thoughts. But for now, my dear mortal, I must bid you goodbye. I have a sparring session with my brother to get to.”

He swept into a small, princely bow that made your heart stutter. Hugging the book to your chest, you waved goodbye, feeling much more awkward than he had been. You were also about a hundred times more determined to get Loki a perfect gift. You looked at the book again. It was a special first edition, unfortunately, and you couldn’t really do better than that. Besides, you got the impression he appreciated books more when they were well-loved. So, you could scratch that idea off the list.

You sighed and headed to your room for the night. Maybe an inspiration board could help you figure things out. Unfortunately, that led to you having a poster board with pictures solely of Loki. You’d meant to add other things, but you’d gotten so caught up in how beautiful he looked with his soft pink lips and carefully styled hair and... Ok, maybe you had the slightest, tiniest crush on the trickster god, but it was silly. You’d hardly even been friends for half a year. And yet, he was very hard to resist. You ended up destroying your project, cringing at the idea of anyone finding it and taking it the wrong way.

The next morning you woke up just as idealess as you had been the night before. You had been hoping that you could figure something out if you slept on it, but to no avail. Frustrated, you kicked your blankets off and got ready to attack the day. You absolutely hated the fact that you couldn’t come up with a gift idea on your own, and the last thing you wanted to have to do was ask someone else.

Splashing some water on your face, you had another idea that you quickly shut down. You’d thought for a second that maybe you could buy him some cologne, but then you realized you had no idea what scent or brand he used. In fact, you weren’t sure he used and fragrance at all. The smell of leather, pine, and old books that he had just suited him so well you couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a natural thing. Either way, he always smelled so safe, so wonderful. You cursed yourself for letting your thoughts take that turn again. It was a lot easier to ignore this crush when you didn’t have to be thinking about him 24/7.

Traipsing into the kitchen, you found Peter and Thor having an animated conversation about what was better, pecan or pumpkin pie. You wondered if you could bake something for Loki as a gift, then you realized that still required knowing what he likes. You would get him tea, but you already knew for a fact that was what Thor had gotten him as a regular present. Plus it was a special Asgardian blend, so there was no way you could top that.

“Good morning, guys,” you greeted as you tried to decide what to eat for breakfast.

“Morning,” they chorused back.

You bit your lip, coming to a split second decision. “Can I ask you two a question. It’s about Secret Santa.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Peter said while you took a seat across from them.

“Ok, this is top secret, right? So don’t tell anybody.” They both eagerly nodded their heads. “I know you’re both friends with Loki, and well, I picked his name. I have no clue what to get him, though. Any ideas?”

“I have the perfect idea!” Thor declared as you motioned for him to keep his voice down. “Get him some causal Midgardian clothes. You have excellent taste, I am sure he will love whatever you pick out.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Are you sure that’s not just what you want for him? I mean, he seems plenty happy to wear his Asgardian clothes around the Tower. And there’s nothing wrong with dressing up when you go out.” You sighed when Thor just seemed confused by your words, not understanding that his brother had embraced the Midgardian style as much as he wanted to. “I’ll just consider that a back-up plan for now. What about you, Peter? Any thoughts?”

“What if we just went shopping together?” he excitedly suggested. “Then if we see something we think is good, we can just point it out.”

You hurriedly agreed, anxious to get the gift-buying out of the way. The plan was to head out right after your training session with Nat and Steve. Unfortunately, that meant you were distracted nearly the whole time, leaving you with a few more bruises than normal. You loved your teammates to death, but boy did they ever need to learn how to ease up a little in practice. You stayed a few minutes extra to do some cool down stretches, and in waltzed the trickster god who had been occupying so much of your brain space recently. The way he was flipping and catching his daggers as he walked was slightly mesmerizing.

“My apologies,” he said, noticing you. “I did not think there was anyone else in here. I can come back later if you still need the space.”

“No!” you shouted as he began to turn away. It was a bit louder than you had meant to say it, and you mentally kicked yourself. “I mean, I was just on my way out, so please, stay.”

He smiled and set his things down on the bench next to yours. You eyed the daggers that had just been wielded by his expertly trained hands moments ago.

“May I?” you asked, gesturing to them.

He picked one up and handed it to you. Turning it over in your hands, you noticed that handles were slightly worn, but it was still excellently crafted. The blade had obviously been sharpened a great number of times before and was looking like it might need to be again. You’d never personally used a dagger in battle, but the way Loki was so graceful with them made a part of you want to.

“To be very precise with such a weapon,” Loki began as if reading your thoughts, “requires great focus and skill. There is no room for error when used to block another’s attack, and to deliver a powerful blow, you must strike in just the right spot.” A shiver of excitement shot down your spine as he picked up his other blade and began adeptly demonstrating, moving like a flowing river as he sliced the air. “It is much smaller than most weapons, sure. However, it is just as deadly. And if the sword is an extension of your body, the same can be said for the dagger tenfold.”

You blinked a couple times, beyond impressed by his majestic, fluid movements. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking. Now you just had to find a way to say that without sounding obsessed.

“Wow, Loki,” you finally gasped, unable to hide your amazement. “I don’t know how you do it, but you even make weapons sound beautiful. And you’re very talented, too. I could never,” you nervously laughed.

“You are too kind to me, my dear mortal,” he said, and you felt a spark of pride in your chest that you were making him blush yet again. “You are not kind enough to yourself, though. I am certain you would be excellent. Perhaps you just need to find a teacher.”

“Would you teach me?” you asked, oddly worried to do so. You tried to calm your swelling nerves.

“Well, I did not mean to imply that I should be your instructor, for I fear that I would not be very good at it.” He watched your smile falter just the tiniest bit and found himself rushing to bring it back to full strength. “However, if you so desire, I can certainly try. I must warn you, it will not be easy.”

“Loki, you’d really do that for me?” Your heart beat a little faster in your chest as he shyly nodded his head yes. “I would love to. And don’t worry about going easy; I want to be as good as you.”

“Excellent! We shall have out first lesson, say, at the start of the New Year?”

After the plans were set, you excused yourself so you could meet your friends for shopping. You were late as it was, and you still had to go freshen up. The whole reason for the trip was you, and you’d feel bad to keep them waiting much longer. Still, you stole one last glance at Loki before exiting.

Hours later, you still had no gift for Loki. You barely even had an idea, much to your dismay. Peter and Thor kept pointing out little trinkets, a couple of which you did pick up as a regular gift for him, but your Secret Santa gift had to be a showstopper. Something about him drew you in, and you wanted to give him the most amazing present you could. If only it weren’t so difficult.

You were walking down a street when you happened to notice the trickster god himself in one of the store windows. You waved your companions on with the excuse you wanted to check something out for one of them and entered the shop Loki was at. For a second you considered just watching him to try to get some ideas, but that was quickly dashed when he let out a sigh of frustration. He just looked so perplexed and adorably aggravated.

“Hey, Loki,” you greeted after clearing your throat. “Funny running into you here. Are you alright?”

“Hello, my dear mortal. Thank you for asking,” he said. “I am alright. It is just this blasted Secret Santa.”

“I know what you mean,” you replied before you could help yourself. “But I’m, uh, not going to say who it is. I mean, you can tell me if you want to, but I’ve already told so many people it’ll hardly be a secret if anyone else knows,” you covered your tracks.

“Ah, I see. It is supposed to be a secret, and I do so ever hate to crack under the pressure, but I find myself in dire need of assistance. Do you suppose you could help?”

You beamed at him as you realized you’d talked with him more in the past few days than you had in the last three weeks. If there was one thing you knew, it was you had better be careful, or you’d get addicted to the sound of his voice. You were on thin ice with this crush as it was, you really shouldn’t let it blossom into more.

“Sure! I’d love to. Who do you have?” you finally said, looking around the store. “Wait, let me guess. Steve?”

“Stark.”

“Oh. Well, he did say cash was fine,” you giggled.

“Believe me, I was tempted,” Loki chuckled along with you. “But I promised Thor I would make more of an effort this time around. I do not know what he is talking about, though. Bruce loved his socks last year!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your loud laughter garnered a few stares from other shoppers. Loki’s eyes held only soft admiration, though, and your hands got a little sweaty from how nervous that made you. You subtly wiped them on your pants as you calmed down.

“Well, it you want to get something more personal, I might have an idea.”

“By all means, do tell,” he urged.

“You know that tool set he was talking about the other day?” you questioned, but were met with a blank stare. “I’ll take that as a no, but he was saying he didn’t want to get them because he doesn’t actually need them.”

“When has that ever stopped him before?” Loki scoffed.

“I guess he’s trying something new,” you shrugged. “But anyway, if you got them it would show you were thinking about what he actually liked and stuff. Or maybe that’s dumb, sorry.”

“No, no, it is a splendid idea!” he was quick to reassure you. For a second it seemed as if he was going to reach out and touch your shoulder, but then he thought better of it. “You do not happen to know where they are sold, do you?”

You nodded and led him out of the store you were in, towards the place where he could buy them. You were waiting at a corner for a light to change, amicably chatting. Nothing groundbreaking, just small talk. Regardless, it made your heart beat just a little faster. Still engrossed in the conversation, you took a step out into the crosswalk when the light said it was safe to go. You didn’t notice the car speeding towards you until Loki grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his chest. You gasped as he glared after the driver, who gave no acknowledgement or apology to you. The god’s arms were wrapped around you in a protective manner, and you looked up at his face, appreciating his beauty at this close angle. Given what had just happened, probably not the thing you should be focusing on.

“My dear mortal,” he fretted, looking down at you, not yet letting go. “Are you alright? You are not injured at all, are you? Shall I take you to the hospital wing to make sure?”

“I’m ok,” you reassured him, though a part of you didn’t want to. He seemed about ready to scoop you up and use his godly strength to carry you home. Alas, your moral compass decided that wouldn’t be very fair to him. “Just a little shaken, but you saved me. Thank you, Loki. That doesn’t really cut it, but thank you so much.”

“Do not mention it. I am just glad you are alright,” he replied, though his voice did still have a tint of worry to it. Maybe you were imaging it, but he seemed almost reluctant to let you go from his tight embrace. “Now, you may carefully lead the way. Carefully,” he emphasized.

With a giggle, you brought him to the store where the tools were. After browsing the aisles for a few minutes, the two of you found the shelf they were on. With a frown, you examined the price tag.

“Sorry, Loki,” you said. “I didn’t realize how expensive it was.”

“It is fine,” he replied, looking at the cost himself. “This is actually plenty within my price range.”

You waited outside of the busy store while he made his purchase and checked your phone. You felt a pang of guilt as you noticed a number of missed texts from Peter and Thor.

Sorry guys, you texted the group chat. Ran into someone I know and got carried away. Carry on without me.

Don’t worry, came Peter’s reply. See you back home :)

You pocketed your phone as Loki walked back out, giving you a smile. You looked at the ground to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

“I hope I am not keeping you from anything,” he said as you started walking back towards the Tower. “Is there any shopping I can assist you with?”

You lamented the irony of the situation. Despite the entire point of this venture being to buy a gift for Loki, you were still empty handed. It was tempting to try to ask him what he wanted, but you were sure he was far more clever than you were subtle.

“No, I’m good, thanks. But if you don’t mind my asking, how do you have so much money?” you asked to satisfy your curiosity. “I mean, Tony’s always complaining about how you use his credit card.”

“That, my dear mortal, is simply because I can,” he replied as you both laughed. “I have been around for much longer than you might imagine. I have amassed a certain amount of wealth in my many years.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool, actually. You’re making me wish I was an immortal being,” you joked.

“And tell me, my dear mortal, if you were to treat yourself to something nice, what would it be?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’d go to a nice restaurant,” you finally said. “It doesn’t have to be anything too far from home. Oh! Like, Nobu has really good sushi.”

“Well then, perhaps I will have to pay for us to have a meal there sometime.”

“Yeah! I bet the team would really like that.”

“Actually,” he sheepishly said, bringing you to a stop on the sidewalk, “I meant for just the two of us to go. That is, if you would like to. Maybe one day after we start our training. You are not obligated to say yes, though. The offer for me to pay is still open if you would like to take another friend instead of me.”

“Loki, no. That’s so generous, of course I’d love to go with you,” you reassured him, settling a hand on his arm. Though, admittedly, you were beyond flustered, especially when you realized how that last sentence sounded. “I mean as friends, of course. It sounds amazing, thank you.”

“Well then, I look forward to it.” He brought his hand to rest on yours, and goosebumps erupted on your skin, not only from his cold touch, but the wave of excitement you felt. “And speaking of our lessons, I was thinking you may want some daggers of your own. We do not have to get them now but-”

“That’s it!” you suddenly shouted, then apologized for cutting him off. “Can I borrow your daggers, Loki? To go get myself a pair?”

He offered to come with you, but you waved him off, saying you’d be fine on your own. It was a little suspicious, he thought, but decided to drop it. Handing you the weapons, he bid you goodbye. As soon as he was out of eyesight, you examined the daggers, trying to get a clear picture in your mind of what you wanted.

A few quick stops later, and after gaining permission from Tony, you were in the lab, carefully crafting Loki’s gift. It took a few days, and you were by no means used to doing this kind of thing, but you were finally satisfied with the finished product. You wrapped it and then hid it with the rest of your presents, just waiting to be given to their recipients. With only a few days left until Christmas Eve, you were filled with an anxious excitement to give Loki his gift. There was nothing left to do but hope that he likes it.

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

...You looked everywhere but at Loki as you approached him, nerves bubbling in your stomach. By the time you reached him, his mouth had curled into a soft smile. It occurred to you that you’d never seen him look that way at anyone but you. Building on the confidence that thought brought, you held out the gift.

“Here, Loki,” you told him, averting your gaze again. “This is for you.”

You perched on the edge of the coffee table across from him as he accepted the package with a thank you. There was some light chatter coming from the rest of your teammates, but it felt like the only people in the world at this moment were you and Loki, his fingers skillfully unwrapping the present. You sat on your hands to keep from fidgeting with them. It took all your focus to keep your eyes on Loki and not wandering the room in anticipation. As he opened the lid of the box and revealed what was inside, his mouth formed into a surprised “o”.

He picked up the gift, a pair of new daggers, each with a gold hilt. His name was engraved on it, and there was a band of emeralds at the top and bottom. You’d made them the same dimensions as his old ones.

“My dear mortal,” he breathed in awe, his eyes full of sincerity, coming up to met yours. “This is so thoughtful, so beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Loki. I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do. I love it,” he replied, taking your hand in his for the briefest of moments. He pulled away before anyone could really think anything of it. Neither of you said anything else, instead just staring into each other’s eyes.

“Ok, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, interrupting the moment you were sharing with Loki. “Now it’s your turn. So, who’d you get?”

“Well, actually, I picked your name, Stark. Here,” he said, nonchalantly handing over the gift. Though he seemed completely uninterested, you could tell he was a little nervous. “For you.”

“Alright, let’s see what it is. I swear, this better not be socks or-” Tony cut off, seeing the very thing he wanted. “Wow, Rock of Ages. This is really thoughtful. Thanks. I had no idea you actually listened,” he finished with a laugh.

“You are quite welcome,” Loki said, but he was more looking at you than Tony.

Later that evening, after all the gifts were given out, you were sitting by the fireplace, waiting for the flames to completely die out. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, your feet pulled up next to you, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book open on your lap.

“My dear mortal,” Loki’s voice suddenly said as he appeared in the doorway, pulling you from the words on the page. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed, lest Santa skip this house and move onto the next.”

“Yes, but I have to make sure the fire goes out so he can get in,” you laughed, playing along. “As long as I’m up, I wouldn’t mind some company. Care to join me?”

Wordlessly, he sat down, and you closed your book. The both of you just stared at the dying flames in a peaceful silence for a while. Your mind seemed to be content to be filled with thoughts of Loki; the way he was sitting so close, the way his hands kept brushing his hair away from his face every few moments, the way he’d looked at you earlier when he’d received your gift. After you weren’t sure exactly how long, he gently said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” you replied.

“I truly do your love your gift. It is beyond lovely, your generosity and thoughtfulness a true reflection of what is in your brilliant soul.”

“Loki, I can’t even express how happy I am to hear that. And thank you for your beautiful words.”

“Speaking of,” he nervously said, “the gift that I have for you, it is, well, my words. A poem. I am sorry to say, I would be a little self-conscious to give it to you in front of everyone else. Would I... Would I be able to recite it to you now?”

“Of course, Loki. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m just grateful that you’re willing to share it with me.”

“Alright then, my dear mortal. Here goes nothing.”

You shifted to a more position as he took a deep breath and opened up a journal. You waited with bated breath as he began to speak.

“From your eyes that shine as the brightest stars, to your smile that's a reflection of your radiant heart. From your gentle hands that fit as though they belong in mine, to your laugh that stops my perception of time. You've shown me kindness when I didn't feel I deserved it, you welcomed me into your world with a caring embrace and showed me I am not my mistakes. My heart beats stronger for you, the love that I feel couldn't be more true. If you will have me, I will show you the world, for you have shown me the universe, the place also known as your touch, as your mind, as your heart, as your soul. You, you are my universe.”

He looked at you expectantly, but with a hesitation understandable given what he’d just confessed. You wanted to tell him how you felt just as eloquently, but were dumbstruck that the feelings were even reciprocated.

“Loki,” you said, holding his cold hands in your warm ones. “That’s so beautiful and I-I love you, too.”

He seemed just as shocked as you that the feeling could be mutual. He squeezed your hands, at a loss for words for the first time since you’d known him. With no one to interrupt you this time, you remained lost in each other’s emotion-filled eyes. It was Loki who broke the silence.

“My dear mortal, I... May I kiss you?”

You answered by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. His hands came to cup your cheeks, and yours found his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks. He tasted like heaven, and you sighed against his mouth. You could have stayed that way forever, and yet it could never be enough. Sadly, you had to pull away, but Loki was quick to pull you against him, holding you to his chest as if he didn’t believe you’d stay, didn’t believe he could have something so wonderful.

You stayed like that for a while, conveying things even words couldn’t say in the silence, just holding each other. Eventually, you began talking, enjoying the way a light conversation was flowing between you. Your eyes were drooping shut as you snuggled against his chest, the final embers of the fire going out. You glanced at the clock and saw that it read midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you whispered. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, my dear mortal. I could write you a thousand poems, and still I would never properly express how much I feel the same.”

As sleep slowly claimed you, it occurred to you that you may have never even admitted how you feel without the whole Secret Santa ordeal. It seemed that it had revealed more secrets than you’d ever expected, and for that, you’d be forever grateful.

[neurodihuegent]

[PART ONE] Huey's character development: season 1 to season 3.

with ducktales 2017 coming to a close in less than two weeks, i thought that now was best of all times to create a post of how i think huey has developed as a character throughout all three seasons. please remember, this post is just based on how I see his character development, and you're free to have your own ideas and/or not agree with all of my points!

1.) learning to adjust to new environments/accepting failures: When we were first introduced to huey's character, one of the biggest take aways was that he's a very "by the book" kind of a person, and has a hard time adjusting to foreign environments or situations that he will need to go with the flow and what he already knows, rather than doing everything by the book.

This was mainly introduced in "The Terror of the Terrafirmians!" in season one, where we could literally see Huey scrambling to make sense of the situation, and at some points, spouting out B.S. to make sense of the situation in his head. While he did end up coming to terms that the Terrafirmians are in fact, very real, he still only decided to believe it once it was documented in his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

Progressively throughout the show, we see Huey being put in situations where he has to be able to think quick on his feet rather than anxiously try to sort out all that he knows from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. Because of his personality, Huey not only had a hard time adjusting to foreign environments, but it's also been shown that he has a hard time accepting set backs as well. From what we've seen, it's easy to infer that when Huey has his mind set on something, he will do nothing short of achieving that goal: And when said goal is not achieved, or is starting to look like it won't be achieved, he takes it very personally.

This is especially seen in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks!" and "The Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!": Where in "The Infernal Internship of Mark Beaks", even though Huey was definitely more qualified for the position by a significant amount, when Dewey got the position, his first instinct was to get angry instead of congratulate his brother: Granted, Dewey wasn't completely deserving of the position over Huey, and at this point, Huey was just a kid still learning how to manage his emotions, but his instictive reaction tells a lot about his character at the time. Thankfully, we see this progress with "The Challenfe of the Senior Junior Woodchuck!", where Huey is once again put in a situation where the odds were against him, considering that this time around, Violet was more qualified and prepared for the position than he was. At first, Huey does take this badly, getting super anxious that he'll have to do a challenging, dangerous course that no 11-12 year old probably should be doing, on his lonesome without even the help of the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook, which has been shown to be a source of comfort for Huey. At one point, he is only surviving through the course by creating a talking Junior Woodchuck Guidebook in his head, but even that goes south as he gets so overwhelmed and anxious to the point where he sets it on fire in his head. Eventually, noticing how far he's fallen behind Violet, and realizing how deserving she is of the title over him despite his love for everything Junior Woodchucks, he is able to come to terms with the fact that he lost, and instead of getting upset or beating himself up for it, he gracefully allows her to be announced as the winner, and shows her his full support. This is meaningful, because if this was season 1 Huey, we honestly can not say that his reaction to his loss would've been the same: He probably would've gotten a lot more upset about it than he actually did in season 3.

"Quack Pack!", despite somewhat being more of a comedic episode, also sheds light on how Huey's learned to adjust with a change in environment: He was the first character (other than Donald, who was fully aware) to pick up on the fact that they are in an alternate universe, set inside of a 1990s sitcom, and becomes increasingly anxious about it as a result, especially since everyone was pretty much oblivious of it at first. However despite this, when the family confronts Donald about the wish, while Donald does make a compelling point of how this scenario gives them a sense of normalcy and security, Huey also brings up the fact that despite the hardships they may face, adventuring is an integral part of their new found family. Even though Huey has always been pretty enthusiastic about adventuring, especially in comparison to Louie and pre-season 3 Donald, there has been times where adventuring has caused him anxiety due to being confronted with new settings or situations that he doesn't immediately know how to handle, so considering this, I think that line alone has shown the great improvement Huey has made with adjusting.

2.) embracing "The Duke": in the first two seasons, while we always had somewhat of an idea that huey was the triplet that inherited the infamous McDuck anger, "The Duke" wasn't something that was necessarily explored much in the first two seasons, leading people to believe that it was just for comedic plot. However, in season 3, we finally got an image of what "The Duke" actually is and represents, alongside with how Huey truly feels about this side of him.

Based on my perception of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine", Huey sees The Duke as an entire separate entity from himself rather than just how far his anger can really go, decides to completely reject this side and keep it locked away in his brain. Of course, we've had our early season moments where The Duke "slipped out", but for the most part, leading up to The Split Sword of Swanstantine, we never really got a full glimpse of what exactly the Duke is: and given his personality, it makes sense as to why Huey was rejecting this side of him instead. Not only does The Duke represent one of Huey's most vulnerable states, but knowing how far his anger can go, goes completely against the side of his personality that he does allow to shine: Being orderly, being well put together, and being the brain of his sibling trio, which being blinded by anger would all deter. Despite the strength that embracing his anger gives him, Huey obviously still sees it as a weakness, because it's the side of him he doesn't want people to see, especially those closest to him, because before the events of The Split Sword, Huey didn't exactly have the greatest control of his anger, so while nobody would want to think of it, no one knows how far he could really go if he's pissed enough.

However, thanks to the encouragement of Lena, Huey was finally able to embrace that side of him, and fully gain control over his anger which is something we don't typically see with the infamous McDuck Anger, given that the only way he could defeat Steelbeak who had an obvious advantage, was to tap into his true strength. The biggest takeaway Huey got from this situation, is that his anger shouldn't be treated as if it's a separate entity, or as if it's something to be embarassed of, but to truly embrace that side of himself, and learn how to control it, all things that he was able to accomplish by the end of "The Split Sword of Swanstantine".

3.) building new relationships:

Since season one, it's been hinted that Huey does struggle a bit on the friendship aspect of things. He does have very close relationships with his brothers and Webby, but even these can be hindered by clashing personalities and differing interests. Even though it's fairly obvious that HDLW all love and support each other like family, Huey has never really exactly been shown to have a bond with someone where he shares completely similar interests: Now, this isn't really important in friendship, often times opposites attract even down to the friendship aspect, but it is nice to have someone where you can just sit and chat about similar interests, and do stuff together that you'll both enjoy.

The first time we've gotten a hint at Huey struggling with making friends was in "The Day of the Only Child!", where, if the Beagle Brothers didn't show up, Huey would've been out of luck with finding two other participants for the three-man cookout, considering that everyone else was already paired up and Louie and Dewey were already off doing their own things for the day. Also hinted in that same episode, is the fact that Huey make struggle with loneliness as well (Huey "Be horribly alone." Dewey: "For once!"), given that he's spent most if not all of his life constantly with his brothers and Donald, so even if him and his brothers did have fall outs every here and there, he could always rely on them to be there given that outside of them, he didn't rely have any other friends.

Now, this somewhat turns around in season 2, when we're introduced to Fenton, who Huey not only idolizes as Gizmoduck, but looks at like a genuine best friend and most likely, as an older brother figure. Besides Huey's admiration of Gizmoduck, it's been shown that they bond over their similar interest in science, and in general, Huey is constantly looking out for Fenton and always wanting to protect his best friend from any danger or hurt that he himself can prevent. Despite Fenton undoubtedly being Huey's closest friend, I think that it's also important to shed light on the friendships that he's made that are more in his age group.

Following the events of Astro BOYD!, we are introduced to Boyd and Huey's friendship, two characters that existed in the show prior but never had any interactions. Huey and Boyd bond over their interest in the Junior Woodchucks, something that we once again see Huey get backlash for from his fellow Woodchucks, for being too "by the book" and not just "relaxing and being a kid" (even going as far to label him as a "robot"). Even in Boyd's malfunctioning, Huey is determined to stay by his side until the end, not only because of their shared interests and the bonding they began to do at the very beginning of the episode, but also because Huey understood what it was like to be cast away and treated as less just for being different (or in Huey's words, "wired a little differently"). Even though Fenton is Huey's closest friend by a margin, I would consider Boyd's friendship with him really meaningful, at least given the circumstances of how they became friends in the first place: Two people who were cast aside, for not being what society considered the "perfect/normal kid", and instead of people working with them, they were just cast aside easily. Considering how fast Huey probably had to grow up given the circumstances of living with Donald who, despite being an amazing father figure, dealt with poverty pretty often, it's no wonder why he's very mature for his age and very "by the book", but it's also no wonder why kids who probably didn't have to grow up with those circumstances, would easily be turned off. Louie and Dewey are a lot more understanding considering they grew up in the same setting, but even they dealt with it differently, often leading to their personalities clashing, which is even lampshaded in this episode as another insecurity of Huey's when building relationships ("Are you sure you want me to continue? My brothers are usually *begging* me to stop.).

We're also introduced to another friendship at the very beginning of season three, with Violet. Even though at the beginning, things were a bit rocky considering how anxious Huey was getting from the Senior Woodchuck competition, and his determination to beat Violet, even to the point of leaving him behind when she probably needed him the most, by the end of the episode, we see both Violet and Huey not only reconcile, but start to actually bond. During this high stress situation, Violet was a great source of relief for Huey, using her own experiences of failure to inspire Huey to not give up, and that even if he does lose (which he did) in this specific situation, there'll be more opportunities because he is great when it comes to the Junior Woodchucks. Even when Violet wins, instead of being bitter which would definitely be expected considering that Huey is a child and how much he was anticipating winning, he is able to put his grievances aside and congratulate her because she helped him greatly during a point of weakness. Even if Violet and Huey's friendship didn't end up as closeknit as his and Boyd's, or as prominent as his and Fenton's, I think this was still a meaningful connection for him as Violet was great balance for the anxiety that he was feeling at the time, and despite him leaving her behind, she beared no ill will towards him.

This is only the first part, where I examined what I felt were the key component to his character development over the last three seasons, and the next post will focus on other aspects that weren't as focused on during the series!

[bookstantrash]

A/N: This is an idea that has been living inside my mind for a really long time and I finally gathered courage to write it. But I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so every time I read and edited it I always found more and more faults in what I had written, so I said “To hell with this, I’m gonna post it before I delete the whole thing”

This ended up being way longer than what I had imagined and I have no idea how I feel about it. So buckle up folks, because this is going to be a ride.

In which she makes a friend

After almost three months living in Illyria, Nesta could not recall a single conversation that had lasted for more than three minutes or that had been longer than two sentences. Not that she cared much in holding meaningless conversations about the weather and whatnot with the few Illyrians bold enough to talk to her. Because few were those that tried to talk to her, those that were not scared of her, whose voices did not whisper Other or Witch whenever she bothered to leave the house she now lived in.

So when Nesta sat on the lonely stone bench in front the house – the weather had given a break and gone from “insufferable bone cold” to “tolerable chilly” – to try and calm the raging fire in her veins, a sign that her power was trying to break free, a sign that she was close to breaking and destroying everything around her, she was very much surprised to find an Illyrian child walking towards her.

It was not unusual to have a few Illyrians knocking on the door sometimes, given that she now lived with him due to her sister’s order long ago in Velaris. But since her babysitter had gone to Cauldron knows where, to do Cauldron knows what a week ago, no one had come knocking on the door asking for that overgrown bat. Adding the fact that his house was a little secluded from the rest, Nesta could not imagine why that child was coming over.

“Good...good evening” the Illyrian greeted, stopping in front of her.

“He’s not here” Nesta said, eyeing the child in front of her. The boy – Nesta supposed it was a boy, not older than thirteen, with its short cut curly brown hair, bandaged hands, muddied clothes and scar free wings being the only clue she had – shifted nervously on his feet.

“I...I’m not looking for the General” the boy said “I heard there was a Witch living here. I take you are her”

For the second time of that day Nesta found herself surprised. The boy in front of her had called her a Witch in her face, something most did not.

“I wanted to ask for a spell” the boy’s voice had lost a bit of it’s previous nervousness, and he had squared his shoulders, wings slightly flaring “I don’t have much, but I’m ready to give anything in return”

‘You can’t possible have anything to give me’ Nesta thought, glancing at his ripped and dirty clothes.

“I’m no Witch” Nesta said, getting up and turning her back at the kid, making for the house’s door “Go back to your parents”

~•~

The next day, when Nesta was coming back from a walk in the woods – there was something about the ancient trees and the wilderness that helped her control her inner turmoil — she was baffled to see yesterday’s boy waiting for her.

“I’m sorry for yesterday” the boy blurted out before she could send him away “I didn’t want to offend you. I’m Kaelin”

Nesta’s only answer was a blink.

“I...I only said you were a Witch because that’s what the others said you were” Kaelin’s ears turned pink, no doubt embarrassed to admit listening to gossip.

“I don’t blame you” she said, and Kaelin’s eyes lit in surprise.

No. Nesta did not blame the boy for thinking her a Witch. Because long ago, before the war, before the empt void inside her was as big as the ocean, before she heard her father’s neck crack, she had declared to that annoying camp lord Devlon that she indeed was a Witch. But now, even though her powers were as loud as a beast’s roar in her ears, she did not want to touch them. Could not touch them.

And nothing, not even the hopeful look in Kaelin’s light brown eyes, would make her touch the wild beast that lived within her. She would not give the boy false hope. She would not fail another child. Not again. Not ever.

“If you have problems maybe you’d better tell your parents about it, instead of reaching for witchcraft”

After all, even thirteen year old Illyrians must have foolish mistakes that they would rather not tell their parents about.

“I don’t have parents. At least not anymore” Kaelin’s hard and sorrowful voice was enough to make Nesta resist prying further into his problem.

“I see” was the only thing she said, and she once again turned her back at him, entering that lonely and sad cabin, even though she was feeling rather inclined to talk, a feeling she had not felt for the longest time.

~•~

Kaelin appeared on Nesta’s door three days later, with a black eye, bruised cheek and a split lip that didn’t stop him from smiling and giving her something wrapped in brown paper.

“I thought about it and I realised that my apology was lacking” he started talking non stop, not giving Nesta a chance to say anything except gape at him and the gift on her hands “Father always said to treat everyone nicely, unless they were rude to you. He said it was what mother believed in”

Nesta could only nod and unwrap the paper to discover a pair of gloves.

“Did you steal them?” She asked, connecting the dots between the gloves she held — surely way out of the kid’s status of affordable — and his beaten face.

“No!” Kaelin replied, a bitterness in his voice “I know I’m just a lowly orphan but I’d never take something from another one in such an unhonoured way”

Nesta just grossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“One of the boys from the high families arrived at training with new boots” he gave a sly smile “I fought him for them”

“You did what?” Nesta’s voice rose and she was holding herself back from shaking the boy until he was back into his right mind.

“Fighting between Illyrians is not prohibited. But it’s best if you don’t get caught” Kaelin replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Nesta felt her temper rising.

“You. Come with me” she grabbed Kaelin’s arm and took him inside before he could protest.

She made him sit on sofa in the living room while she went searching for the medic supplies she was sure Cassian had. Once she found it, she went back to Kaelin and started treating his cuts, mumbling the entire time about how stupid and reckless boys were.

“This is nice” he said, wincing slight when Nesta touched his bruised cheek.

“What is nice?”

“Having someone take care of you” he answered “I... I didn’t know my mom. She died shortly after I was born. Father said she was quite fragile”

Nesta trying to not let show how his words affected her. She remembered another woman, dying in a lonely bed just a few years after her youngest child had been born.

“He died in the last war. Against Hybern” he practically spat the late king’s name, hate filling every syllable.

Nesta finished treating him and started organising the materials, to keep herself busy and have an excuse to buy time to know what to answer him. She had never been good at consoling others. And she didn’t know why, but she was afraid her bluntness would end up hurting Kaelin.

“He was a hero” he said firmly, his eyes shining with defiance “He may have been just a mere foot soldier but he was at the front line, keeping Hybern’s forces back”

“I’m sure he was” Nesta replied, trying not to think about who may have said otherwise to him, hurting a child who had nothing “But would he like to see his son picking meaningless fights?”

“It was to get you a gift” Kaelin looked down and poked at the sofa “I’m sure he’d have understood. Besides, I have to fight and stand out if I want to have a shot at the Rite”

“You mean the Blood Rite? I thought everyone participated” Nesta had gathered little information about the Illyrians for the time she had been living in Illyria. There were no libraries, no bookstores, and the books Cassian had about the Illyrian culture and history were scarce and outdated.

“The very one. You are not obligated to become a warrior, but that’s the path most of male Illyrians take. Not that we have many options to begin with” Kaelin’s voice had became serious “Most of the males from the richer families are bound to participate, but the rest.... we end up being mere foot soldiers. Expendable. So no point in making us take part in it.”

At his words, Nesta could not help but think about Cassian. He too was an orphan but had risen to be Rhysand’s Commander and had seven siphons. From what she had heard and seen at the war, that was rather unusual.

“It’s worse for females” Kaelin added quietly.

She knew that. Saw how females were treated on the rare times she got out of the cabin. A scarce number trained. And she did not know a lot about training, but was sure it was not near enough to make them part of the Illyrian army. Or even defend themselves were the worst to happen.

Nesta opened her mouth to say Cauldron knows what — she had to say something, she could not let the boy leave with such dark thoughts — when a loud noise interrupted her.

It was a sound Nesta knew quite well from her time as a human living in a shabby cottage.

A sound she had become reacquainted with after being Made. After that day at the battle field.

The sound of hungriness. The sound of someone who was starving, and had been so for quite a while.

And it was coming from Kaelin.

The Illyrian boy beside her blushed a deep scarlet, trying — and failing — to come up with an excuse. But Nesta knew better. She knew the signs of starvation. Saw them in herself. Had seen it in her younger sisters, when they were not older than Kaelin.

Thin wrists. Sunken eyes. Cheekbones way too sharp. Up close Nesta could properly examine Kaelin and notice that the boy was all bones and little muscle, his skinny built not a consequence of slow metabolism to gain weight, but rather the fact that he did not have enough sustenance to make it possible.

“I have way too much food stocked here. I was supposed to be living with an adult warrior that can eat for five people “ Nesta began, cutting Kaelin’s blabbering “It would be a crime to let it all get wasted”

Leaving him no window to reply, she took hold of his arm, hauling him towards the kitchen and making him to sit down while she gathered whatever food she came across. And she had enough fire in her eyes — she may or may not have lost a little bit of control of her powers due to her racing emotions — that Kaelin did not dare say a word, but just sit quietly and eat what was put in front of him.

~•~

Nesta’s routine had suffered a slight change after that evening. For the past month and a half, Kaelin had been having a meal with her after his training. Every day.

She had made sure to make it clear that she was expecting a visit from him after his activities were over.

He did not dare argue with her.

Today, however, was an unusual day.

Kaelin was late.

Almost two hours late.

Nesta had come to know Illyrian boy better, and one thing she learned about him was that he detested to be late. For him, his promises and commitment were everything, reminding her of another Illyrian she knew – which had not come back in two months. Not that she missed or was worried about him.

She tried and failed to convince herself that Kaelin may have been held back by training. But she did not know why she felt a strange feeling. Her powers were restless, more so than usual.

The air and the trees around her seemed different.

She felt it deeply in her bones.

As if the Cauldron itself — hidden far far away in a island that did not exist in any map ever written — dreaded whatever future thread the Mother was knitting.

As if something had been woken.

As if the winds of change had gone from a light breeze to a tornado, ready to wreak havoc in Illyria.

Nesta could not hold herself back any longer. She needed to know what was happening. To know if that strange song that spoke of a power strong and ancient was connected to Kaelin tardiness.

So into the woods she went.

She walked and walked, until the song in her ears got louder and a new sound appeared, a sound she would not be able to hear were it not for her fae ears.

The sound of someone whimpering.

Quickening her steps, Nesta followed the cries of pain until the wall of trees around her gave way to a small clearing.

And there, lying curled up in a ball, was Kaelin.

“KAELIN!”

Nesta ran towards him, falling on her knees beside his body.

“What happened? Did somebody hurt you?” she smelled blood, and feared the Illyrian whose boots he had “won” had gone after him for payback.

Her mind was racing, her thoughts overlapping themselves. She recalled another winged body, laying on the ground. She recalled another child, crying in pain due to its empty stomach, who had not seen food for weeks.

She would not fail anyone ever again. That had been her promise to herself.

“Kaelin...” Nesta slowly touched his arm, trying to soothe him “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts”

Kaelin whimpered, slowly uncurling his body and tucking his wings. He clutched his abdomen, and Nesta dared to try and touch her power.

She would touch that dangerous beast if that meant she could help the young boy in front of her.

And so she tentatively reached inside herself for that source, trying to recall if any training she’d had with Amren may assist her in the current situation.

She scanned Kaelin’s body, and that’s when she noticed the small drops of blood beneath him. But her powers had not detected any wounds. No, he was not hurt.

However, she finally found the origin of the bleeding. And Nesta momentarily lost her breath.

Because she knew the reason why Kaelin was in pain.

“You are not a boy” she breathed.

Kaelin was a girl.

A girl who had had her first period.

A girl who was passing as a boy. Training like one.

And when Kaelin finally meet Nesta’s eyes, brown eyes shining with tears, she cursed the Mother for whatever future thread she had knitted.

•

Tags: @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @sjm-things @perseusannabeth

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 123

It feels really good to be back writing and posting, I’m going to be super honest.  Thank you again, to everyone who reads and leaves notes on these chapters. You keep me going and encourage me more than you will ever know.

This was originally going to be one chapter, but it went really really long and I didn’t have the heart to leave parts out.  Even splitting it in half, each half is longer than most of the chapters so far.  But I couldn’t help showing how far the Ark has come from simply “figuring out how to exist”!  In my defense, @baelpenrose egged me on, too.  Blame him. :P

Shout out to @zommbiebro, @charlylimph-blog, @books-and-cartoons, all the other contributors for characters in this chapter. INCLUDING @werewolf2578 for Michael Smith, who finally makes his debut here. Finally.

As Maverick and I entered the gymnasium - now larger and more finished than it had been when Arthur and Jokul’s showdown happened several years back - the atmosphere was filled with excitement. Three Terran years previous, collapsible bleachers had been constructed shortly after sporting and skill exhibitions had regained popularity on-par with Pre-End times, and today was one such occasion. Every seat was packed, and Miys was working overtime in multiple bodies, strategically positioned to keep the air filtered. Else-chicks swarmed on the floor, eagerly consuming anything that had been spilled or dropped.

Today, Jokul and Arthur were once again on the floor, in full view of the crowd. Instead of a bloody one-on-one, no holds barred fight, however, they were two of twenty participants in a weapons exhibition.  Between them, Charly bounced on the balls of her feet, scanning the audience - a smile here and there when a container of neon popcorn caught her eye, but a huge grin along with extra bouncing and an enthusiastic wave when she saw our small group.  She elbowed Arthur, who was deep in conversation with Tyche and Coffey on his other side.  All three turned to wave.

“Where’s Conor?” Maverick asked, searching the floor carefully.

I shrugged. “He may be on his way, or in another room, stretching. You know he isn’t a huge fan of crowds this large.”

With a huff, he blew a lock of hair out of his face. “I know it’s his first one of these things, but he’ll be fine. He’s gotten really good. Even Charly and Tyche said so.”

Evania Josue took the floor and gestured for silence, indicating that the exhibition was starting. “Thank you, everyone who could be here in person, and everyone watching from other areas of the Ark, and welcome to our second Von-annual ranged weapons exhibition.  As with last time, combustion weapons will not be used in any of our events, for safety reasons.  We will continue with our order from the previous event, and begin with axe-throwing.”

Cheers erupted, and Tyche, Coffey, and Arthur took their seats on the sidelines. Charly, Jokul, and three other less-familiar faces waved to us as they were introduced, before drawing lots for the order they would go in.  One of the people I didn’t recognize went first, and made a pretty good showing - all six axes hit their targets, regularly striking midway to the bullseye from a distance I could barely hit the floor from.  Charly was second, and Maverick clenched my arm tight enough to make me wince - she was the smallest competitor in this event, but the entire crowd went deathly silent as she lined up the first target.

Thunk. Bullseye, and buried deep.

Thunk. Just left of center.

Thunk. Another bullseye.

Three more axes led to one more bullseye and two just to the right of center. The crowd exploded into cheers, only going quiet as the next person stepped forward.  It was another solid execution, but not quite in the same level of skill that Charly had demonstrated.

Jokul was last, and as soon as he stepped forward, you could hear a pin drop. No one even dared breathe, lest they missed out on what they hoped they were about to witness.  Sure enough, Jokul stood three feet to the left of the first table holding an axe, and started walking at a calm pace. Without breaking stride, he would grab an axe and suddenly it would appear in the center of the target. No windup, no careful lining up of his throws, just ten paces, six axes, and six bullseyes.

Screaming erupted from the entire gymnasium, to the point that Miys was covering their sensory organs. Charly was red in her face from cheering, and I honestly could not blame her - it was one of the most impressive things I had seen, and never ceased to amaze me.  Even Arthur was nodding in approval and applauding.

The cheering died down to a murmur of discussion as the athletes took their bows and the equipment was removed. Charly and Jokul both took seats on the sidelines, while the other three left the floor entirely, indicating they had no other events.  The next event was slung projectiles, which neither Maverick nor I was remotely interested in.

He leaned closely so he wouldn’t distract anyone. “So, I’ve been wondering this for a while now… Those axes are pretty heavy, right?”

I nodded.  I had tried throwing them, but they were close to two pounds in Terran gravity - worse in Von-standard, and obviously front-heavy.

“So, to throw them that fast, Jokul has to have a lot of arm strength, right?”

Another nod.

“How did Charly get up after he punched her?”

I sighed. I’d wondered where he was going with this. “First, he pulled the punch. Second, it was an awkward hit because he was aiming for me. Third, with two cracked ribs and a whole lot of ‘Charly’ involved.”

“So necromancy,” Maverick nodded seriously.

“I can neither confirm nor deny, except that she popped up like he hit her with a pillow.” I shook his knee as something caught my eye. “There! There he is!”

Conor was finally visible, crouched and in discussion with Tyche.  From the way he was running his hand through his hair, he was clearly nervous.  She just shook her finger at him with a serious expression, and whatever she said made him laugh and shake his head.  Probably a death threat, I figured.

He was just in time, as the next exhibition was knife-throwing.  I don’t know if Evan was rigging the lots, but once again the most anticipated participant - this time Tyche - was last. Instead, someone I recognized as Michael Smith was first.  Standing from beside Grandma Kim, he gave an emphatic command to the chocolate labradoodle at his feet and took center stage.

The knife throwing event was ten knives, one target, and timed as well as scored by where the knives landed.  I knew from previous events that Michael preferred throwing knives with a hilt, which made the balance off center.  Nonetheless, all his hits were dead-center and solid, even if he telegraphed his throws a bit much for my liking.

Next was Arthur, who made a show of his one-upmanship by finishing faster and with less obvious movement.  He patted Conor on the shoulder and said something to reassure him as Conor stood for his turn.

The crowd started murmuring as Conor turned toward his target, back on full display.  Rather than pulling his knives from his hip, or picking them up from a table, Conor had found it easier for him to actually keep them slung across his shoulders and drew them like arrows.  I had never seen anything like it, but Coffey had suggested it soon after Conor decided to follow mine and Tyche’s footsteps.  And while his display wasn’t the fastest, or the most accurate, he drew some fascinated chatter from the crowd when switched hands after the fifth knife, with no change in speed or precision.

When he finished, there was enthusiastic applause but none louder than our family. Coffey’s voice boomed out, even louder than mine, to congratulate him before they traded places. Once again, there was hushed chatter as Coffey drew over his shoulder, this time trading off hands with every single knife, and breathless applause when he finished with a tighter cluster than Conor had. He smiled, but his eyes were all for Charly, who was next.

The crowd hardly had time to focus before she started letting blades loose. As fast as she could grab one, it was flying behind the last one, covering the bullseye by the time she was done.  With a flourish, she took a bow that left us all laughing and cheering.  She danced over to the sidelines, sweeping one more bow for Tyche to take the floor.

As soon as Tyche stood, the air crackled with excitement. In the same way that everyone watched the axe-throwing to see Jokul, all eyes were on my sister for this event. As though she was utterly oblivious to this fact, she strode to her marker.  She was still mid-stride when she brushed her hair out of her face and let the first knife fly from the same hand.

Bullseye.

Brushing off her legs saw two more knives, one after the other, hitting their marks. Then a dagger from her left hip, a tactical knife from one boot, and on and on. Each blade came from a different spot, no two the same size or shape. All hit their marks, and all without a single indication of exertion.  The only indication that she finished was when she dropped her hands and tilted her head, studying the tight pattern on the target.  My datapad indicated that she had matched Arthur’s time and close strikes.

When she turned to sit back down, everyone’s brains caught up and the expected cheers deafened us again.  As soon as she reached her seat, Arthur and Charly stood by some unspoken agreement and made ridiculous sweeping bows to her, only encouraging the audience to cheer harder.

Evania stepped forward again, to let everyone know that there would be a twenty minute intercession. The next events needed more intensive preparation, which allowed friends and family to take some time to talk with the participants. Sure enough, the second I was in earshot, I could hear Tyche complaining.

“I got much tighter patterns than that in practice,” she moaned.

Conor, head resting on both hands, shook his head in disbelief. “If you think you were bad, I feel I’m hopeless.”

That had the exact reaction everyone saw coming, as she whirled around in righteous fury. “Conor MacMaoilir-Reid-Okima, I have been throwing any knife I could get my grubby paws on since I was four. You started three years ago. I taught you, Sophia taught you, Coffey taught you. Your throwing has an exceptional pedigree and if I hear you talk about giving up, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Let me use you for target practice,” Arthur intoned, half-joking.

“No!” she insisted. “I’ll let Simon use you for target practice!”

“I’d be safe as houses, if he was aiming for me. Poor guy couldn’t hit the floor with a knife if he dropped it.”

“She never said with knives,” I added wickedly, causing his head to snap up and his face to pale.

“Sophie. Please, that’s cruel.”

I waved him off. “Oh, as if he would ever actually aim for you.  If Simon had to hunt for his food, he’d be a vegetarian, I swear.”

Rolling his eyes, Maverick stepped into the fray. “Conor, you did really well. You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. And it’s not like this is a competition, you were literally invited to just show off what you can do.”

“I still don’t know why… Coff over there clearly did better.”

A dazzling smile flashed as Coffey turned from his conversation with Charly. “Ah, but we are the only two who use that technique! Showing it off here means others may be interested in learning later.”

Hair flew as Charly nodded. “And besides, I could never get the hang of pulling a knife like that. My brain says ‘arrow’, and it’s just confusing.”

I was nodding in agreement and gesturing for Maverick to take Arthur’s seat, when something wet nudged my ankle.

“Sparkles. Heel.”

I turned to see Michael Smith and Grandma Kim had joined us. Unable to resist, I knelt to pet the dogs that accompanied them. “GK, Lyric II is looking more and more like her mom every day.” A muzzle streaked with white fur poked my hand. “Hey there, girl,” I whispered, blinking hard. Lyric was already ten when we were all brought to the Ark, and Hujylsogox medicine could only do so much for dogs.  Permission had been given for her to have one pup, to be trained as both a service and a protection animal, in preparation.

Michael’s animal looked to him for permission before joining in the ear scratches I was dishing out. He was one of the very few certified service animal trainers on the Ark, so when Lyric II was born, so was Sparkles, with the intention that they grow up and train as a working team. Michael’s past was extremely blank and sketchy, but something about him reminded me of both Arthur and Xiomara.  The fact that both of them respected him made me both at ease and suspicious at the same time.

I pushed that out of my mind and focused on the pile of fur before me, begging for belly rubs. “What events are left?”

“The security animal events have been added to this one, to allow time for the other participants to rest more, and then archery, spear/javelin, and thrown projectiles.”

I shook my head at ‘thrown projectiles’, but Charly was the one to speak. “I can’t believe we made a sport out of rock throwing.” When mouths started to open to correct her, she held up both hands and glared. “I mean ‘we’ like ‘people’, not ‘we’ like ‘the Ark’. I am well aware that humans have been killing things by throwing rocks forever. Don’t shoot me.”

“That’s a different exhibition,” Maverick pointed out, eliciting a groan from several people. “What!? It is!”

“I think she would beg to differ.” Tyche pointed to Charly, who looked like she was about to explode.

“Oh, right. Archery - “

“You are IN that event, how could you forget!?” she finally erupted, more out of confusion than anything resembling anger.

“I learned firearms first?” he begged.

Charly grunted and scrunched her face. “Fine. I can accept that as a semi-reasonable excuse.”

I shook my head at their antics.  Despite years of watching the two goof around, it was always adorable to watch men twice her size cower from the feisty ball of energy.

She was still teasing him. “I still think you owe me an apology.”

“Charly, I’m sorry,” he sighed with no real sincerity behind it.

“Mmmm, not good enough.” She tapped her chin with her finger and took out an eye-scorchingly yellow candy bar - which, by now I knew was just chocolate and caramel, but was still cringeworthy to watch. “I think…. You should make me dumplings.”

“Those take forever,” he whined, kneeling and clasping his hands. “You always want them from scratch.”

“They taste better from scratch,” she pointed out around a bite of her snack.

Tyche nodded. “They really do.”

And there it was. He was defeated, as our entire family stared at him in anticipation. With a heavy air, he hung his head. “Fine,” came the mumbled reply. “What kind?”

Quiet cheers sounded, along with fist bumps and in one case money exchanging hands. “Chicken and veg, pork and veg, and seafood,” Charly cackled.

I was pretty sure I was the only one who could hear Maverick mutter “I just got so played…”

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[vemuabhi]

Miss Thief

Hello everyone!!! This is my second story for the Sapphic challenge of One Piece. I hope you like it!

Nami X Reader

Genre : Fluff, Love and long distance relationship.

Word count : 1.4K

A/N : I was listening to EXO Kai Mmmh album (main song clickable) while I wrote this. You can check it out if you want. It got me the feels when I was writing this. (You won’t regret it). I really enjoyed writing for Nami. I hope you'll enjoy reading this one shot!

She tied up her long orange hair before she stepped out of the girls room. The sun shone beautifully and the place was as lively as ever with Ussop, Luffy and Chopper playing on the deck of Sunny. “Nami swan~~ you look so beautiful”, she heard as the blond cook approached her. She smiled and took the orange coloured drink from his tray and thanked him. Within seconds he swooned over the raven haired beauty.

Nami took a sip of her drink as she looked at the log pose on her wrist. She observed the change in the wind and then decided to call out the swords man, who was training. “Zoro”, she called making the swordsman look at her, then continued, “Do check if there is any island ahead”.

He took his towel as he dabbed it on his well-toned muscled. He looked if there was an island, and yes sure he saw one. He turned to look at the navigator and replied, “Yes, we have an island at 11 O’clock. To which the silly trio jumped and yelled with excitement.

“Its been a while since I stole something”, she murmured to herself and smiled evilly as dark red aura surrounded her figure like burning flames.

“EEEEKKKKK!!!!! NAMI IS SCARYYYYY!!!”, Shouted the silly trio looking at her but she didn’t care. She just went to the room again and took out her money stash. She started to divide them into portions for the crew for when they go to the new island. She gave everyone money and charged interest. To which Zoro cursed under his breath, which resulted him getting a punched by her.

Soon, they reached the island and docked on the port. Chopper and Robin went to a book store, Sanji went to stock food. Zoro got lost. Luffy and Ussop went for the food stalls. For the time being Franky and Brook stayed on Sunny. Nami had some time to be alone. She smirked as she looked at all the people. She went ahead and with her smooth skills, she took one purse after another from many people.

She then saw you coming in her direction. Nami slowly walked past you and with one swipe she took your wallet and thought, ‘Piece of cake’. Then for the first time, in her life, a hand stooped her. Nami turned and looked at you. You didn’t let her wrist go.

“Well, aren’t you smooth, miss thief”, you said as you took your purse from her with your other hand and slipped it inside your pocket. Nami didn’t reply so you continued, “You are skilled miss, but I kinda saw you stealing from so many people here. That’s why I carefully walked past you so I could catch you red handed.”

Nami gulped. She was always careful and never let her guard down. Especially when stealing. “How?”, she asked you.

“If I tell you the reason, would you answer my question?”, you asked still not letting her go. Nami was curious. She wanted to know what mistake she did, so she could cover it up the next time and be more careful. She exhaled and said, “Yes, I’ll answer your question, so tell me, how you knew, I stole?”

You smirked at her and pulled her closer to you. You were inches away from her. You looked deep into her beautiful eyes and whispered, “You were so beautiful, that I couldn’t take my eyes off you”, you pulled back still looking at her. Hearing what you said and the way you caught her made her to blush in the darkest shade of red. You chuckled at her reaction as she covered her face with her other hand.

“So, if I may ask, why did you steal?”, you questioned. She averted her gaze from you and replied, “I… wanted to just get more money”.

“Oh! but you look like, you already have enough money. Your clothes seem of good fabric too. Why do still need money?”

“Okay, I love money. I steal from people who look rich, whenever I have a chance”, she responded.

You hummed in response and said, “Please try not to steal from now. You will give them a very hard time.” and let her wrist go and continued, “If you want money, there is a fashion show held on the island, take part in it. I’m sure you’d win because you are beautiful and elegant”. You winked at her and walked away leaving her in a blushing confused state. She calmed herself down and went back to sunny. She opened all the purses and started to count the money, but she always made some mistakes so she kept recounting. Her mind was filled with you. The way you smirked, whispered, winked at her made her to have problem in concentrating.

“Screw it”, she gave up after making mistakes while recounting for the 5th time. She went towards the mirror and looked at herself. She was beautiful already. So she walked ahead towards the island again for the fashion show you mentioned about.

Fashion show which was held that evening was obviously won by Nami. She came forward to collect her prize and looked at the crowd. Sanji was cheering for her but then, she spotted you. Your eyes met so you smirked at her. That made her blush and think of how you made her to participate and win. She took the prize and went back stage. Her heart was beating faster with every second she thought of you. This was different. You were different because you caught her stealing. But… the way her heart was beating so fast just because she saw you wasn’t normal. Maybe this was the feeling she never felt before… “Is this what people call a... crush?” she asked herself then she exited the place with the prizemoney. Sanji greeted her like usual but she didn’t reply. Instead she scanned the place, hoping to see you.

“Searching for someone?”, said a familiar voice from behind her. She slowly turned around and there she saw you. Standing there with hands on your back.

“Mellorine~~~!!”, exclaimed blond and stood before you. You didn’t know what to say to him. Nami punched him and took his spot before you. She didn’t know what to say to you, but yes, she was looking for you. She wanted to talk to you.

“You won, miss thief, Congratulations”, you said as you pulled the bouquet of Orange-Pink coloured roses from behind gave it for her to take. She blushed as she took it. “Tha… Thankyou”, she replied as she took the roses.

“They are called as Baby romantica, one of my favourite kind of roses. When I saw you, you kinda reminded of me of them. Take care of yourself young lady”, you said as you reluctantly turned around to leave. But now, it was her, who stopped you by holding your wrist.

You looked at her. She had the same pink blush on her cheeks.

“I am Nami, Will you tell me your name, pretty please”, she cutely asked making you giggle.

“Y/N, its Y/N”, you said, for which her eyes lit up. You just couldn’t leave her. She captivated you. Like if, she meant something to you, even though you both met that day.

You sighed and asked, “This might have been too soon and you might’ve been used to this but, want to have dinner with me? I know some best restaurants here”. Hearing that she smiled with happiness. You both linked your hands and went towards a restaurant. Leaving the chibi blond on there blushing as he looked at the two of you.

Time flew without your noticing and you both enjoyed each other’s company so much. You both split the bill and then walked on the beach, talking with each other. Maybe it was because of the wine, or the romantic moonlight, you both couldn’t help but kiss. It was passionate with so much affection. Her long orange hair was so smooth and you couldn’t help but admire it when your fingers laced in them. She was exceptional. You both broke the kiss and looked at each other. It felt so right with her.

You both exchanged den-den mushi numbers before she left the island. You both never missed a day without talking with each other. You both for sure knew one thing. You were deeply in love with each other.

The next time you both meet, that will be the day you both will never let go.

XOXOXOXOXO

I hope you liked it! Please forgive me for any mistakes.

Did you like the story or the song. Tell me how you feel by giving me a Like, Comment and Reblog. Thanks for Reading!

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested. 

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no? 

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.) 

           You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

           And then the Battle of New York had happened.

           You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

           But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

           After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.  

           You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

           And now you were about to walk into his class.

           Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

           Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

           You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

           “Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

           You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

           “U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

           Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

           He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s-            “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

           The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

           “Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

           His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

           “You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

           The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

           “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

           Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

           “Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

           “Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

           “Any questions?”

           There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

           “Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

           Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

           “That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

           Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

           He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

           A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

           As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

           A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

           But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

           The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

           Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.            

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink.            “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé  about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

           Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

           This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

           After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

           “This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

           Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

           “(Y/N), is that you?”

           …Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

           Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

           “Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

           “Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

           You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

           “Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

           “Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

           “The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

           “Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

           “Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

           Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

           “It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

           You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

           “Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

           “Thanks, doll.”

           You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

           “N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

           “I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

           Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

           “Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

           “Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

           He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

           “No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

           Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

           You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

           “Steve?”

           He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

           “Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

           “It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

           “Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

           You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

           “I’m just joking,” you assured him.

           “Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

           You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

           Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

           “You ok over there, doll?”

           “Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

           “Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

           “Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

           You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

           For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

           “Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

           You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

           “Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

           You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

           “No problem, hon.”

           You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

           How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

           Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

           Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

           But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

           You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

           He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

           He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

           You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

           His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

           With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

           He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

           His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

           But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

           All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

           He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

           You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

           Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

           When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

           As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

           “Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

           “Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

           You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

           “Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

           When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

           “Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

           After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

           The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

           Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

           When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

           “Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

           “So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

           “For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

           You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

           “If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

           A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

           “…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

           When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

           Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

           “Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

           “Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

           You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

           “Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

           “A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

           “Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

           “Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

           You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

           “It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

           “It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”  

           Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

           “Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

           As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

           “Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

           “Why not?”

           “Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

           You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

           “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

           “No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

           Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

           “Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

           “…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

           “Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

           “What is it?” you asked.

           “Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

           Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

           You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

           “I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

           For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

­­­­______

           You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

           Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.        

           When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

           “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

           “I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

           Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

           Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

           You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

           Dear (Y/N),

           Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

           Sincerely,

                       Steve Rogers

           You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

           You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

           After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

           When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

           “Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

           “…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

           He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

           “I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

           “How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

           Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

           “Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

           You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

           “I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

           Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

           You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

           “U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

           “It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

           “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

           Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

           Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

           “It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

           The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

           “So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

           He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

           “That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

           You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

           “Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

           “Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

           “Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

           “Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

           You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

           “A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

           “That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

           Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

           But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

           “I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

           Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

           “Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

           “Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

           “No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

           Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

           “Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

           “Whatya say?”

           You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

           “I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

           “It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

           You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

           Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

           “I’ll do it.”

_______

           Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

           He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

           Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

           He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

           You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Eighty Two

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 19th, 2003

Emile blinked at Dice uncomprehendingly, then looked at the number in his hand. “And this is it? You’re sure of it?”

“He wasn’t listed by name in the phone book, but I followed him to his address and this is what it was in the book,” Dice said, tapping the paper. “I found him for you. You’re welcome.”

“How do I get him to answer the phone?” Emile asked, slightly hysterically.

“That, I can’t help you with. I know he saw me a couple times, so I can’t exactly approach him. But if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I do believe my services are done.”

“Yes, thank you, yes,” Emile said, passing over the envelope filled with cash. “Thank you Dice. Truly.”

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Thomas,” Dice said simply, standing and holding out his hand, which Emile shook. “Now go get your boyfriend’s brother over here.”

  March 25th, 2003

Emile tapped his foot impatiently as the phone rang...and rang...and rang. He had called this number twice already and he had still gotten no reply. Just as Emile was about to hang up and call again, the line picked up and a very irritated voice exclaimed, “If you’re a friend of Jamie’s, I don’t know how you got this number but I want you to hang up and never call back again, and don’t give this number to her either.”

“Uh, I don’t know who Jamie is, please don’t hang up the phone!” Emile exclaimed in a rush. “Please, please tell me that you’re Toby Picani?”

“...Yes,” Toby said, voice on guard. “Who are you?”

Emile owed Dice his life. “Uh, Emile. Emile Thomas. Uh...I don’t know if you remember me, it was Thanksgiving two-thousand when we last talked.”

“...You’re right, I don’t remember you, and you have ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t hang up.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! “Mostly because I’m Remy’s boyfriend?” Emile tried.

The line was silent for so long Emile wasn’t sure that Toby hadn’t hung up on him. Then, a very shocked voice choked out, “...You’re...Remy’s...boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Emile said, scratching the back of his neck. “And I’ve been searching for you for quite a while.”

There was another pregnant pause. Emile shifted on his feet. “Oh, my God,” Toby breathed. “Oh, my God, I thought I’d never see the day that I’d get contact with Remy again. I thought I’d lost him for good, and now, here you are, Remy’s boyfriend, calling me. Which, speaking of, boyfriend? He finally got the stones to confess his attraction to people?”

“Well, kind of. Our first date he didn’t realize it was a date, but we had been pining after each other for...a month or two at least, so...” Emile laughed. “He said he liked me, but only after the first date.”

Toby laughed too. “Oh, God, that boy is a gay disaster and I love him so much,” he said. “Is he there? Can I talk to him? I really want to talk to him, it’s been too long...Our parents said he had written a letter saying he didn’t want to keep in touch when I realized that Mom had found him. But by the time I realized they had been lying, Remy had moved again and I couldn’t get his address from Mom.”

“My blood is boiling just listening to that manipulative witch’s tactics,” Emile said calmly. “But Remy isn’t home, which is actually why I called now. I was hoping you’d be willing to participate in a little surprise?”

“What sort of surprise?” Toby asked.

“Well, Remy’s been really wound up recently, to the point that one thing goes wrong and he’s about ready to burst into tears. And I suggested that he take some time to destress. A long weekend sort of thing. We have a guest bedroom in our new townhouse. You could use it if you wanted to stay over during that time.”

“Of course! I know how stressed Rem can get. It takes forever to get him worked up, but once he is, it can feel impossible to get him to relax. A long weekend where we can hang out might be just what he needs, though. I have enough paid time-off to come over for up to a week, though I know that you might not want me staying that long. Do you two live together...?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Emile asked.

“No, no problem,” Toby quickly assured him. “So long as I...y’know...don’t have to hear about my brother’s sex life I’m good to go. I was just wondering more for the sake of if I’d find you shuffling around in the morning in nothing but your underwear.”

Emile cackled, before clapping a hand over his mouth. “No, that won’t be an issue,” he said. “When can you come over?”

“Well, I’ll need to clear stuff with my bosses and get packed but I can be there...Friday evening?” Toby proposed.

“Sounds good! I’ll make sure that Remy’s working on his finances for the shop at home in that case,” Emile said.

“Remy owns a shop?!” Toby asked.

“Oh, yeah! He’s starting his own little niche coffee shop on Main Street. It’s called Sleep Easy. If you get the chance, stop for a cup sometime. All the baristas are gonna use Remy’s recipes, and that man is a genius when it comes to coming up with new coffee blends,” Emile gushed.

“Wow, someone who loves Remy that much? I’m super glad you’re a thing,” Toby said. “Nobody I’ve ever known has called Remy a genius before, except maybe me, and I’m not sure if I ever told him that. But he’s super sharp when it comes to culinary stuff, always has been. Like, yeah, he’s good at math too, but his passion usually lies with food someplace.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing to watch him cook, especially considering for a while there I didn’t realize he could because he was always eating granola for breakfast and instant ramen for dinner,” Emile laughed.

Toby chuckled. “That sounds like Rem, all right. He doesn’t like putting in the effort often, but when he does...it’s beautiful.”

“I know,” Emile sighed, thoughts travelling to Remy and him cooking together.

Toby cleared his throat. “Anyway, Emile, I’m definitely coming over, you’d better believe that. I can’t thank you enough for tracking me down. I was annoyed when I realized someone was following me, but if it’s because you wanted your boyfriend’s brother to have contact with him, well, I think I can give you a pass.”

Emile laughed. “Thanks, Toby. I’ll see you Friday, we can talk more then? I think Remy’s coming home soon and I don’t want to give away the surprise. I’ll give you another call when Remy’s busy with something to give you our address, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Toby said. “Thank you again, Emile.”

“Of course, I’d do anything for Remy,” Emile said simply.

The front door opened and Remy called, “Honey, I’m home!”

A myriad of curse words flew around Emile’s head as he said in a hushed whisper, “He’s back, I’ll call you soon.”

He hung up the phone as Remy walked into the room, a relieved, slightly dopey smile on Remy’s face. “Hi, honey,” he breathed, kissing Emile and holding him close.

“Hi,” Emile said softly as Remy pulled away. “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” Remy groaned. “I can’t wait to quit my job. I’ve decided I’m putting in my two-weeks notice in April. The store is opening in May. I can’t wait any longer, it’ll drive me mad.”

“A light at the end of the tunnel,” Emile said with a soft smile.

“Exactly,” Remy sighed. “And I got permission for the long weekend off. You have any plans for what to do then? Go to the beach or something?”

“Nah, I was figuring it would probably be a weekend in,” Emile said with a shrug. “And I’m not sure my managers are gonna let me have off anyway, because they’ve been wobbling back and forth on whether or not they need me.”

“God, that sucks,” Remy said. “I wish they’d give you a straight answer.”

“Even a gay answer would do,” Emile said.

Remy snorted. “Yeah, a gay one would work, too.”

Emile hugged Remy for a half-second before turning to get a snack from the pantry to hide the beaming grin that threatened to split his face.

“You got good news from Dice and that meeting last week?” Remy asked. “I know he was trying to get contact info and that you’ve been swamped for the last five days.”

“He got a phone number,” Emile said. “From a guy who knows a guy who knows someone in the white pages. No idea what the number is for, but he swears that he’s seen Toby around the town when he went to check in-person. So with any luck it’s his number.”

Remy was practically vibrating. “Can we call it?”

Emile sighed. “I just talked with my parents, Rem, I’m tired and I want a break. How about this weekend?”

“...It’s Tuesday, Emile. You want to wait five days?!” Remy asked incredulously.

“It’s more likely he’ll be home,” Emile reasoned, internally begging Remy to not push further. “And besides, if you knew where he lived, you’d drive out there and stay, like, a week, and get fired from your job.”

“I’m quitting anyway!” Remy said, jutting his chin out in challenge.

“Remy, please,” Emile sighed. “We kinda need the money to start your shop, you said you wanted at least another month’s paycheck to work with last month. Just, wait until we have a long weekend.”

Remy scowled. “Emile, I want you to know I still love you, but I kinda hate you right now.”

“I know, I know,” Emile soothed. “But give it a little time. Let yourself relax a little. I know if you call the number and it’s not him you’ll burst into tears tonight.”

“Yeah,” Remy sighed, leaning against the wall. “But I don’t like it.”

“I know you don’t,” Emile agreed. “I just want you to be in the right headspace.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy dismissed, grousing.

Emile took a breath as silently as he could. The anger Emile was feeling towards Remy’s mother was threatening to bubble up to the surface, and he didn’t want to give up the surprise by being angry. Remy would know something was wrong and he wouldn’t give up until he knew the full story.

Remy looked at Emile with desperation and pleading and he asked, “Can we at least try the number? Can you try it and tell me?”

“This weekend,” Emile promised. “I just want to make sure someone’s home.”

“Then let’s call around dinner time!” Remy said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t want to wait for the weekend!”

Emile just shook his head. He would have said something, but Remy’s eyes were growing glassier by the second, and before Emile could open his mouth, Remy dashed out of the room and slammed the door to their bedroom.

Massaging his forehead, Emile groaned. Should he just give the jig up and reveal what was going on? It would probably make Remy happier. Emile went upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. “Hey, Remy?” he called.

“No!” Remy snapped from inside the bedroom. “I’m not talking to you right now! I’m too angry!”

“Remy, I’m sorry!” Emile exclaimed through the wood. “Come on, please? We can call the number tonight!”

He got no response. Emile tried the door, and finding it unlocked, he found Remy staring at the photo album, crying. Emile sighed. “Remy...”

Remy didn’t respond.

Emile walked over and sat next to Remy, looking at him in earnest. “Remy, please? Talk to me?”

“When I’m not tempted to punch you in the face,” Remy said, voice tight.

Emile grimaced. “I really want to help, Rem. I just don’t want to get your hopes up. I mean, he might not be home, this might not be his number, he might not answer even if he is home because he has a stalker and he might only accept calls he knows are coming.”

“I know,” Remy said. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt that you’re not as eager to help as I thought you were.”

Emile felt like a bucket of ice water had been dunked over his head. “Remy, it’s not that I don’t want to help,” he said. “You know...you know when you go to an amusement park, and you get in line for a roller coaster, and it’s really intimidating and you start second-guessing yourself and wanting to delay the inevitable?”

Remy slowly nodded.

“Toby just...isn’t someone we know, Rem. It’s been over two years. He could have changed. And I’m scared of that hurting you.”

“I know you’re worried, but that doesn’t give you the right to block me from calling,” Remy sighed.

“You’re right,” Emile said. “If you want to call, go ahead.”

Remy didn’t respond for a minute. “...I’ll wait for now. This whole conversation proves I’m not ready for it to not be him. Give me a couple days. If you don’t remind me, I might get mad at you, but I won’t kill you.”

Emile felt his heart settle. “I can do that.”

Remy nodded, and kissed Emile’s nose. “Dinner?”

“Please.”

[goodshipsherlollipop]

Self-interview (but not really)

When I heard about @sherlollyappreciationweek hosting a self-interview event, I thought it would be fun to participate, so people could get to know me better as an author.  But, instead of doing a self-interview, I approached some of my readers and asked them to pose questions for me to answer.

I’m not aiming at making this about me personally.  It’s all about me as an author.  If you want to know about who I really am outside of my writing, feel free to chat with me privately.

The name of the person asking the questions will precede each section. As this interview is rather long, I will do it in two parts.

MossRose10

Q: What personal experiences or skills (in broad strokes), besides your faith, have influenced what you write about for your characters?

A: I know I see Molly differently than most people, in a more wholesome way.  When I look at her character on the show, she doesn't seem the type to have a long sexual history, but instead, seems to be someone who has devoted her life to becoming the best pathologist she can be.  I adore her character, and to be honest, I put a lot of my own traits into her - including her love of singing and faith.  My post TFP Sherlock has had his true nature restored by the events of Sherrinford.  Thus, he is emotionally stable and able to love Molly deeply. I can write him that way because I happen to have a romantic, loving husband (lucky me!). A lot of times in my married stories, I draw on experiences I've had that I have fictionalized for the characters.  I usually refer to these in author’s notes.  I also love writing about their children, and put a lot of thought and personal experience into writing for them from watching my own daughters grow.

As for the other characters, I just write them the way I feel reflects their personalities best from what I’ve observed in the show, working on fleshing out their characters more as I’ve continued 3 years worth of storyline beyond TFP. For example, my version of Mycroft has mellowed a lot and married Lady Smallwodd, and John has also become a Christian and is remarried with a son.

Q: What kinds of characters do you find most challenging to write, and what strategies do you use to write them?

A: I don’t think I necessarily have a lot of issues in writing the canon characters because I have watched the show so many times I feel I know them personally.  Probably the most challenging thing is writing for OC’s or peripheral characters I may have brought into a story that we haven't seen a lot of (like Billy Wiggins or Philip Anderson).  I must admit, I have written very little about Moriarty, because most of my stories take place after his death.

dmollyc

Q: What character is hardest to write?

A:  I kind of  addressed this one in the above answer, but I do think I'd find it difficult to write for Moriarty because I'm not sure how well I could get into the psyche of a deranged madman!

Q: Do you get any nasty reviews?

A: Thankfully, not many. Most of the negative ones are people reacting to a story out of context.  They will read a story in the middle of my chronological timeline and then complain that the characters are OOC.  When I write my continuing stories, I assume that people are familiar with the characters as I’ve written them already, so this can cause confusion.

Because of the Christian themes, I have lost readers who object to the theology I present through my characters. Obviously, I will not please everybody.

But generally speaking, people are very kind about my work when they review it, and I especially love the reviewers who immerse themselves into my world of Sherlock and Molly and embrace my post-TFP version of them.

Q: What do you like best about your stories?

A: Probably what I like best is that I've found a unique niche in the fandom in creating a whole Christian theme, and writing a lot of different stories with the same theme.  I've not seen anyone else doing that (although I'd love to see it done by others).

I enjoy writing my own continuing post-TFP happy ending for Sherlock and Molly, expanding their universe and that of the other characters from Sherlock as well.

Also, I enjoy showing Molly as someone with a belief in saving herself for marriage.  It's not going to be a popular idea for the general population, but I know many Christians can relate to that desire to keep sex for that special someone rather than experimenting with every boyfriend they date.  

I also think I do a pretty good job in writing love scenes that are steamy, but still clean, although I’m aware that some readers are more sensitive who find them too steamy.  I write using my own inner guide for how far to take things in the bedroom.  Some stories are definitely steamier than others, but there are certain graphic terms I will never use in my writing because I feel they cross the line of my own comfort zone.

Chelseamh98

Q: How have you overcome the challenges of your vision impairment?

A: This is definitely an ongoing process for me.  When I began writing, my proofreading would just consist of looking over the chapter a couple times to try to errors. I have issues when typing on my iPad because of the flat keyboard surface.  That means I often type a word incorrectly.  To help compensate for that, I have hundreds of words in my “text replacement” section, so that certain words I often mis-type automatically correct to the right word.  I have a bad tendency to hit the M instead of N or vice versa, for example.  A few months after I began publishing, someone suggested I use a text-to-speech app to help me identify incorrectly spelled words.  That did help.  I copy a chapter into the text-to-speech app and watch my chapter in a split screen as I listen to the words.  That has been a big help.  Then, this year, I discovered a free website called prowritingaid, which I now use as another editing tool, and it identifies even more spelling and grammar errors.  So now I find myself writing, proofreading as I go along several times as I write.  When the chapter is finished and I am ready to publish, I do another visual read.  Then I use the prowritingaid site as another editing step. After that, I use the text-to-speech app and listen as I read.  Finally, I copy the whole thing into Google Docs, add italics and bold type and glance through the chapter again to see if Google Docs has discovered any more errors.  It's a very long process, believe me, and it takes so much longer to do the editing and proofreading than to write! For me, the writing part is easy!

Q: Does it (visual impairment) affect the way you write?

A:  Physically, yes.  I cannot use a computer, because I need to be inches away from the screen to see what I am doing.  Sometimes I will sit at a table and write, but usually, I put three cushions on my lap and sit my iPad on top.  Over time, that method has caused me to have pretty severe tendonitis, but I have no other way to write, and it's worth the pain to keep writing! Currently, I am also dealing with frozen shoulder as part of the physical issues.

Also, I have to enlarge my text to write.  I use the Colored Note app for my chapters, set to the maximum size of 36, and when I go into Google Docs, I set the size to 25 so I can read it.

Q: What part about writing do you find the most challenging? What’s the easiest?

A:  As I mentioned above, the most difficult part is definitely the editing/proofreading process because I have to work so much harder than a normally sighted person, and it takes up a huge chunk of time.

Also, I am very particular in trying to write realistic fiction whenever possible.  That means a ton of research. For example, in my story where Molly was shot, Confronting Evil and the Truth, I researched a lot about gunshot wounds and how to care for them.  In A Honeymoon Journey, my characters went to Stratford-upon-Avon, and I researched that location thoroughly for many of the chapters.  In my latest COVID-19 series, I have followed the pandemic closely in the UK and have added many real situations that have happened there.  Research, research, research!

The easiest part is definitely writing the story itself, especially dialogue.  I can hear the characters in my head telling me what to write.  I rarely suffer from writer’s block, unless I am trying to think about how to write a mystery or crime and how to resolve it.

Aslan's Princess

Q: Where do you find inspiration? Is it something specific? Or multiple things?

A: I find inspiration mainly in two areas.  First, from watching episodes over and over and analyzing them. Second, I also find inspiration in my own life, in bringing in real experiences I am familiar with (such as pregnancy and childbirth).  Occasionally I will read a story or a review where someone tells me something that sparks my imagination. My current WIP, The Good Book, was actually inspired by a gif-set one of my readers, Penelope Chestnut showed me.  It got me wondering what would happen if Sherlock suddenly discovered the Bible (shown in TBB) in his bookcase and decided he wanted some answers about the meaning of life.

Justwritebritt

Q: What drives you to keep writing?

A: Certainly, one of the most motivating factors is hearing from readers who enjoy my work.  Readers generally have no clue what kind of power they possess when it comes to encouraging a writer to keep going.  A pat on the back is always a good thing. I wish more people could understand that.

Aside from that, though, I feel a calling from God to keep writing. I like sharing my faith through Molly (and Sherlock). My hope is that people will find my stories inspiring and encouraging.

Q: What/Who can you absolutely not write without?

A:  I cannot write without my iPad.  I use it not only to write, but to research and to watch Sherlock on Netflix.  it's my all-in-one resource!

Q: What is your favorite story you've published so far?

A: I will always love A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage, because it is the “mothership” from which all my other stories spring, but my writing technique was not great at the beginning; there’s an obvious improvement in later chapters.  But, I am also very fond of Sherlock’s Dream of What Might Have Been.  That one tells a story of Sherlock and Molly meeting in uni, and then jumps to the canon, inserting a secret relationship (and child) throughout the series canon. I put a lot of thought into filling in Season 4 backstory as well.

Q: What (in vague terms) story are you looking forward to telling next?

A: I have a few stories in the pipeline that I am looking forward to sharing.  One that steps away from the overt Christian themes is a Pretty Woman AU.  I haven't seen anyone attempt an AU for that movie, and I look forward to sharing it.  Perhaps it will spark interest with a few more readers because it isn't heavily weighted on the Christian theme scale, but is merely one of my more whimsical, creative story ideas. It is the first story I have written that combines elements from both a movie and the Sherlock narrative.

I also have a couple of one-shots that I will publish in the timeline of my WIP Journey to a New Home, one,that deals with the topic of divorce using a Biblical perspective, plus one that sheds light on the subject of depression.

End of Padt 1.

[sippingchai]

Hanging By A Moment

A/N: So, ladies and gentleman. I am back from the dead to participate in @thefanficfaerie​‘s 3500 follower celebration. This is new territory for me, so please forgive me if it’s not 100%.  This one shot is inspired by “Hanging By A Moment” by Lifehouse. There’s a bit of bookstore/coffee shop, modern day au rolled into one. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes AU x Reader, fluff & longing 

Summary: There’s a lot to unravel about Bucky Barnes, Steve’s new hire and long time friend. It was only a matter of time. 

Word Count: 2.3K

“Forgetting all I'm lacking Completely incomplete I'll take your invitation You take all of me”

Spring

The crate weighs heavy in your hands, filled to the brim with old books that have plenty of life left to give. Some of them were well-loved. Dog-earred pages and notes scribbled into the margins for the next owner to stumble upon. Others are almost like new, crisp and shiny waiting for someone to pick them up and give them the attention they deserve. The clock above the double doors strikes 9 and you take the opportunity to flip the switch on the wall with your elbow, illuminating the Open sign.  

Wanda hurries past you, rushing up the wooden staircase to the second level that overlooks the lobby. Spring comes fruitfully this year and the warm weather is more than welcome. Cover to Third Street Books is not by any means large, but being in the heart of downtown means a reasonable amount of people visit the dainty little shop. 

One of the shelves sits half stocked after Wanda’s efforts, books neatly sitting on the bottom shelf waiting for more reinforcements. Balancing the crate against your hip, you prop one of the doors open, slipping the stopper in place with your foot. What you don’t expect when you turn around is a solid mass to run into you, knocking you off balance and sending the crate and its contents tumbling down. 

“Watch it!”

“Shit!” 

You both exclaim. 

Jolted by the impact of your ass on the pavement, you’re stunned by the pair of hands that reach down to help you. Annoyance surges through your system and you shake off the help. 

“Easy there. Just trying to help. You came outta nowhere.” The stranger remarks defensively, backing off slightly as you regain your balance. Ignoring him, you crouch down for the books picking them off from the cement to place them on the shelves. 

“Look, I’m really sorry.” He apologizes, kneeling across from you to pick up the discarded books. 

You intend to tell him off, let him know you don’t need his help but when you finally get a good look at him the ability to speak disappears. The sincerity in his eyes speaks volumes when he gives you an apologetic smile. They strike you the most, blue and bright in contrast with the rugged beard that adorns his face. 

“It’s...it’s fine. It happens.” You manage to calm down until someone interjects.

“You getting into trouble already, Bucky?” Steve from the neighboring cafe yells from his door, grin splitting his face. 

“Looks like it, pal.” Bucky smiles fondly.

“Wait, you know each other?” You ask, perplexed by the conversation as Steve starts to make his way towards the two of you. 

“Steve and I go way back.” Bucky nods. 

“He’s also the new guy I told you about.” Steve mentions casually and suddenly it all clicks. 

The “new guy” was someone Steve was ecstatic over. A childhood friend that he hadn’t seen since he left for university with Bucky staying behind in their hometown. 

“He’s been through a lot.” You recall Steve saying, lost in his own thought when he stopped by during a lull in the afternoon one day. “You could say he’s starting over.”  

To say you were intrigued was an understatement, yet the story of his mystery friend wasn’t Steve’s to tell. 

“You’re already telling people about me?” Bucky groans while he places the last of the books on the shelf. Steve  He stands, smoothing the front of the shirt before offering a hand to you again. This time you take it. He helps hoist you up, and before you realize it, you’re face to face with him. 

“You sure you’re okay?” He checks again. The warmth of his hand disappears, a small part of you disappointed it’s gone so fast.

“Nothing a little ice can’t help with.” You admit, assessing how sore your hip really is. 

“Jesus, Bucky. You break her?” Steve ribs on him, dragging Bucky towards the cafe while he yells over his shoulder. “I’ll bring back some ice.” They both disappear through the door, Bucky taking one one last look over his shoulder catching your gaze. 

“What the hell was that all about?” Wanda laughs as she stands from the door. Her full crate sits, unbothered, on top of the shelf. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” She smirks.

The rest of that week goes by without a hitch. Between new inventory coming in and a steady stream of online book orders, you and Wanda manage to keep busy. 

“Do we want to keep Best Sellers where they are or swap them with New Arrivals?” Wanda stands between the two displays. She absently winds a strand of hair between her fingers while she weighs the pro’s and con’s of each. 

You stand beside her, lips pursed while you do your own assessment. 

“Just keep them where they are. No sense in moving them if we don’t need to.” 

“...but I feel like we should switch it up after all the Spring cleaning we did.” Wanda bounces on the balls of her feet. She’s itching to make it happen. 

“Look, I won’t stop you if -” Before you finish your statement, the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts you. 

Bucky stands at the entrance, two hot drinks in hand. He looks tense while he stands there, taking in the shop in all its glory before his eyes finally meet yours. 

“Afternoon ladies.” He speaks softly. His long chestnut hair is pulled up into a bun and the white apron he’s wearing is a stark contrast to the black shirt and jeans that adorns him. It’s quite a look, you think. A good look. 

“So you’re the one that likes to run into women.” Wanda starts. Unbeknownst to Bucky, Wanda’s poker face is immaculate. It takes everything in you to contain your laughter. 

“That was an accident.” He’s caught off guard. 

“I’m joking.” She smiles in an instant. “Come in, we won’t bite.” She gestures towards him. 

He makes his approach, cautiously eyeing Wanda as he walks across the hardwood. 

“Steve told me you’re regulars.” He starts. “And that I should remember your orders.” 

“Oh did he?” You laugh. His eyes meet yours and you can feel the warmth blossom in your chest again. He nods.

“Told me I should get used to it.” He lifts one of the cups, reading off white chocolate mocha and Wanda reaches for it. She thanks him in the process before taking a sip, indulging in the chocolatey goodness. 

“Well, Steve’s right.” Wanda remarks while glancing pointedly between the two of you. “Anyways, I have work to do. Thanks for bringing this over.” She ascends the staircase and into the cozy office, closing the door behind her. 

“So, I guess this is yours.” He laments softly as he hands you your drink.

“You guessed right.” You smile. The aroma of lavender and bergamot hits your nostrils. “I don’t know if he mentioned it, but you can just put this on our tab.” 

“These are on the house.” Bucky admits. “A peace offering for the other day.” He shifts in his spot, reaching to rub the back of his neck. His nervousness is endearing. 

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” He nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his apron. 

“I guess we’ll be seeing you around then?” There’s a hopefulness in your voice that you’re not sure if he picks up on or not. He does.

“Yeah. Yeah, you will.”  

Summer

That’s how the rest of Spring goes leading up into the Summer. Bucky dropping by twice a week to personally deliver both your and Wanda’s drinks, now iced instead of hot. Sometimes, it’s busy enough that he just leaves them behind the counter. Other times, it’s slow enough and he’s able to chat for a couple minutes before heading back. That awkward tension in the air begins to melt away and you look forward to seeing him. He doesn’t talk at all about what brought him to your neck of the woods, and you don’t bother to ask. 

You do know that Bucky lives with Steve for the time being until he’s able to save enough for his own place. He lived with his sister in the midwest temporarily prior to his move here. Before that, he’d lived in Brooklyn his entire life. Rebecca’s the only family he has left and he calls to check on her often. He’s a fan of blueberry pancakes and other little tidbits that you can’t help but grow fond of. 

The Summer Reads display you’re working on remains unfinished, unable to concentrate when the heat is getting to you. Every window and door is open, but the fact is that that 100+ year old brick building doesn’t have AC and you start to suffer come the end of May. From that point, it only gets worse. 

Wanda is persistent. Always has been and always will be. It’s what you love about your best friend and business partner, yet hate just as much. 

“If I have to see you two fawn over each other again I’m going to throw up.” She complains, disgust in her voice.

“Wanda, please.” You protest, trying to keep your mind of Bucky. It’s not that you don’t have any feelings for him, on the contrary. You don’t know if he’s ready for that yet.

“I just don’t get why you don’t go for it, babe. It’s just...obvious there’s something there.” She reiterates, adding books on the shelves in front of you. You stand there for a moment, mulling over her words. She’s not wrong and you know it. 

Friday evening rolls around and as you start to close up for the evening, the bell from the front door chiming loud. 

“We’re just about to clo - Bucky?” You look up from the register to see him making his way towards the counter. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze is intense, bright eyes taking your features in and he takes a deep breath. 

“What are you doing after this?” He asks and there’s something in his voice you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Uh, Wanda and I were just gonna head to dinner.” 

“No, we’re not.” She yells from upstairs, darting from the office to lean over the railing. “You can take her instead.” 

Both of you respond.

“Wanda!”

“I want to.” 

You return your attention to him. A swarm of emotions bubbling in the pit of your stomach. 

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for the longest time, doll.” Bucky chuckles. He braces his elbows on the edge of the counter and takes the opportunity to lean in closer to you. His beard gone and his clean shaven face in perfect view. “Whattya say?” 

You can’t help but laugh, really. 

“Where are we going?”

You find yourselves tucked away in a corner booth at the Lorenzo’s Diner across the street. It’s nearly empty and the smell of grease and soda permeates in the air but that doesn’t matter to either one of you.

“In short, I did a lot of things I regret.” He reflects as the two of you finish your meals. It’s a lot to soak in, you’ll admit. Knowing that he used to be a member of a gang back in Brooklyn, ex-member that is.

“Wow.” Is the only response you can muster up. Bucky sighs and leans back against the booth. 

“I get it.” He utters. “If this isn’t something you’re into.” He points back and forth between the two of you. 

“Bucky, no. It’s not that.” You reassure him, pausing for a moment. “You just...you just told me you used to be in a gang. That’s a lot of information to process.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sighs, frown set deep on his face.

“Hey, now.” You soothe, reaching across the table to take his hand into both of yours. “Look,  you’re not that person anymore, right?” 

“No.” Bucky whispers. “I’m not. That’s not who I am now.” 

“I believe you. And that’s what matters, Buck. Here. Now.” Your voice trembles and your resolve disappears. “This moment between us is what matters. The ones moving forward.” You squeeze his hand. 

He takes a long, deep breath and that warm smile you’re now familiar with spreads across his face. It’s contagious and you can feel your own starting to unfurl. He leans forward, gently pulling you toward him and his lips meet yours. His free hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek and you find yourself lost in his embrace. It’s soft and sweet and ends a little too quickly for your liking when he rests his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your forehead when he whispers thank you, and he pulls you in again. 

The Following Spring 

Bucky paces around the living room, a few boxes scattered about waiting to be unearthed. It had been less than a week since the two of you moved in together, opting for a place close to the heart of downtown and to work. He shuffles a few of the boxes to the other side of the living room, assessing their place before moving them back to where they originally were. The books you’ve gotten around to unpacking rest on the coffee table but you abandon them to tend to Bucky’s apparent distress.  

“You’re going to wear a hole into the carpet.” You chuckle, walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “She knows we literally just moved in. It’s not gonna look perfect.” 

“I haven’t seen my sister in over a year.” He twists in your grasp and you’re greeted with a kiss to the forehead. The shadow of a beard tickles your skin. 

“I know. It’s gonna be okay.” 

He studies you for a moment, full of warmth and adoration unlike anything you’ve seen before. 

“What is it, Buck?” You question. 

“It’s been...a very long time since I’ve felt a sense of normal.” His gaze never leaves yours, cradling your face in his hands. “Thank you for everything, Doll. For taking all of me.”

“Always.” 

[bettsfic]

socknography: the importance of preserving fan creator biographical data

i wrote earlier on utilizing collections and bookmarks to boost the archival power of ao3, and in that post mentioned how i wish authors would fill out their bios so we can preserve fanauthor information as well as we preserve the fics themselves. so, here is my rant about WHY WE ARE SO IMPORTANT.

for my masters thesis i wrote about the layered pseudonymity of fanfiction authors, and after doing a ton of research, i find myself still thinking of the pseudonymous/anonymous divide as it pertains to fic. we have authors we consider “famous” and ones whose followings eclipse that of traditionally published authors, but unlike traditionally published authors, we don’t put a handy bio at the end of our fics. in fact, if you want to find out about the author, you have to hope they’ve linked somewhere to their tumblr or twitter or dreamwidth, or they have consistent pseuds across platforms. and from there, you have to hope they have an ‘about me.’ but most, myself included, don’t.

unlike traditional publication -- where amazon and goodreads and even the back of the book contains biographical info -- and even unlike the rest of fandom archival etiquette -- which, despite having virtually no committed rules still maintains its organizational structure -- there is no standard etiquette on fanauthor biographical data. 

i speculate the reasons fanauthors are hesitant to write their own biographies is very complicated: 

there is no “ask” for it or existing standard. when i publish stories under my real name, i’m required to provide my bio, which contains my accomplishments, where i got my degree, where else i’m published, and my website. all literary author bios follow this formula, so they’re pretty easy to write. other than this post, i have never seen a request for fanauthor bios. so without an editor demanding it, and without a standard formula or platform to draw from, a total lack of information becomes the norm, and almost any info other than the standard “name. age. pronouns. ao3 name. list of fandoms and/or pithy one-liner” of tumblr or occasional ask game is seen as a deviation from the norm. even ask games get a bad rep sometimes, and they’re transitory, a post you see as you’re scrolling through to somewhere else, not static, like a dedicated profile page.

pseudonymity veers too close to anonymity. an anonymous author cannot have a biography. a pseudonymous author can, but biographies may be seen as defeating the purpose of writing under a pseudonym, or multiple pseuds. a sock account is a sock for a reason -- you don’t want it associated with your main. moreover, i believe fandom creates an environment in which to acknowledge your accomplishments and promote your own content is seen as narcissistic. fanfiction can sometimes be seen as a genre of selflessness, donating time and energy into a community centered around a shared canon, not personal gain. to acknowledge the self publicly is to invite attention, and attention is contradictory to anonymity.

shame and humility. the more information you have on the internet, the easier you are to find. very few fanauthors use their real names, or feel comfortable connecting their fan identity to their real one. i hear pretty constantly how often fanauthors hide their fannishness from their coworkers and loved ones, how only the people closest to them know they write/read fanfic. moreover, you might think “my most popular fic only has 10 kudos and 1 comment, nobody wants to know about me” (which is so not true, but i’ll get to that in a minute).

fandom is constantly changing. with a central archive for fanfiction in place, it’s easier now to be in multiple fandoms at once than it ever has been. if you want to read all sugar daddy fics, there’s a tag for that, and if you’re not picky about canon, you have an entire buffet of fandoms to choose from. communities are growing and shifting and changing shape. i move fandoms, and i keep my friends and readers from previous fandoms. i get dragged to new fandoms frequently. my interests and inspirations change, but i don’t erase my history or identity every time i move, i only add to it. i am always betts whether i’m in star wars or the 100 or game of thrones. but if you only read my fic, you don’t know the stories behind it. many people don’t know i entered fandom in the brony convention community in 2012, or that i was sadrobots before i was betty days before i was betts, or how fandom changed my life and led me through a path of personal trauma recovery, or that i co-founded wayward daughters, or ran the fanauthor workshop, or all these other things about fanfic that is not fanfic itself. 

if you are a fan creator, your fannish personal narrative matters. telling your story helps preserve the metatextual history of our genre.

i think constantly about what our genre will look like in 30 or 50 years, if it will be like other genres that began as subversions of the mainstream: comic books, beat literature, science fiction. genres that, at the time involved groups of friends creating stories for each other, bouncing ideas off of one another, experimenting with or distorting other genres, and which became, over time, well-regarded forms with rich histories. 

maybe one day, like the MCU, we’ll have a dedicated production company that churns out adaptations of longform coffee shop aus written between 2009 and 2015. maybe “BNFs” will be read in high school literature curriculums. maybe our work will end up on the real or virtual shelves of our great grandchildren. and if that happens, if fanfic goes entirely mainstream, how will fanfic authorship be perceived? how will fanpeople in 2080, if humanity is still around by then, interact with the lexicon we’ve created and preserved? what would you do if you found out Jane Austen wrote under five different sock accounts across three platforms over the span of twenty years? how would you, a fan of Pride & Prejudice, even begin to find all of her work?

we have so many social constraints pushing against us. there’s purity culture, which encourages further division of identity -- fanauthors may write fluff on their main and have various sock accounts for underage/noncon fics. if you’re a scarecrow, you’re much harder for a mob to attack. there’s misogyny, which dictates women/queer ppl shouldn’t be writing about or indulging in or exploring their sexuality at all. there’s intellectual property and a history of DMCAs, which, although kept at bay by the OTW, may still have influence on the “illegal” mentality of our work. with social armies against us, it’s easier to exist in the shadows, on the fringe. we change URLs based on our moving interests, and split our identities a million different ways, and keep sarcastic “me” tags full of self-deprecating text posts. we are difficult beasts to catch, because we have not been allowed to exist.

i spent a lot of time today googling the word for “pseudonymous biography” and came up empty-handed (if someone knows of an existing word, pls let me know. “pseudography” is apparently a fancy word for a typo; “pseudobiography” is a fake biography), so for lack of anything better, i’ve come up with the term “socknography” because 1) it’s funny and doesn’t sound intimidating, and 2) it encapsulates the sensitive and complicated way fanauthor identifying conventions work. and also i think “fanauthor biography,” “bibliography,” and “profile” just doesn’t cut it for the actual work of these pieces. they don’t necessarily include IRL biographical data, they include more historical/community context than a bibliography, and the words “profile” and “about me” don’t really inspire interaction, or acknowledge the archival importance of this work.

astolat’s fanlore page is my go-to example. astolat writes under multiple pseuds and has major influence in the history of fandom. she’s also a traditionally published author, but you notice, her ofic novels are not mentioned, nor any other real-life identifying information. fanlore has a really good policy on this in place, for those concerned about doxxing. 

(moreover, i am not suggesting you centralize your socks. they’re socks for a reason. but most everyone has a main, and that main identity has a story.)

there are 2 existing spaces to preserve socknographies. 

fanlore, a wiki owned by the OTW, you can make an account and create a user page (which is different than a “person” page) using a user profile template

ao3′s “profile” page, which is a big blank box in which anything goes

(i’m not including tumblr on this list because i don’t think it’s a stable platform.) 

fanlore’s template is straight to the point and minimal, which doesn’t really invite narrative the same way a literary bio would. ao3′s big blank box leaves us with the question -- wtf do i say about myself? how do i say it? how much is too much? and because of that, most profiles are either blank or only include a policy on translations/podfic/fanart, and maybe links to tumblr and twitter. but let me tell you, if i have read your fic and taken the time to move over to your profile, you better believe i am a fan. and as a fan, i want to Know Things.

here are the things i want to know, or

a potential template:

introduction (name/alias, age, location, pronouns, occupation)

accomplishments (degrees, personal history)

fan history (fandoms you’ve been in, timeline as a fan, how you were introduced to fandom/fanfiction, what does fandom mean to you -- this is where your fan narrative goes)

fandom participation (popular fics/posts, involvement in fan events/communities, side blogs, interviews, etc. 3 & 4 might be one and the same for you)

spotlight (which of your fics are most important to you/would you like others to read and why? what are the stories behind your favorite fics you’ve written?)

find me elsewhere* (links to tumblr, twitter, insta, etc.)

policies on fanart, fanfic of fic, podfics, and translations

*you cannot link to ko-fi, paypal, patreon, or amazon on ao3/fanlore per the non-commercial terms of service

i’ll be working on filling this out for my own profile as an example, but you can also see how my @fanauthorworkshop participants filled out their fanauthor spotlights, and the information they provided. obviously, you should only share that which you feel comfortable sharing, and as your fandom life changes, your narrative will change too. it’s not much different than updating a CV or resume.

tl;dr the goal is to provide a self-narrative of your fan life/identity for posterity. who are you and why are you a fanperson? why do you create fan content? what are you proud of and what do you want to highlight to others? who are you in this space?

[wrestlingisfake]

G1 Climax 30 preview

This is New Japan Pro Wrestling’s annual heavyweight singles tournament, scheduled for 19 shows between September 19 and October 18.  The winner receives a trophy and a contract for an IWGP heavyweight championship match at Wrestle Kingdom on January 4.  Whoever holds the contract is expected to defend it in singles matches, sort of like a championship.  If the IWGP heavyweight champion himself holds the contract, he may name his own challenger for January 4.

The G1 is a 20-man round-robin tournament, split into two blocks of ten men.  Each participant has a match against every other man in his block.  That works out to 45 matches in A Block and 45 matches in B Block.  Points are awarded for each block match, and whoever has the highest score wins the block.  The A Block winner then meets the B Block winner in the final on October 18, to determine the winner of the entire tournament.

Each match is worth 2 points--the winner gets 2 and the loser gets 0.  A 30-minute time limit draw awards 1 point to each participant.  I could do a deep dive into scoring and potentially complicated tiebreaker scenarios.  But through the magic of pro wrestling, scoring is mostly straightforward, and usually each block comes down to two guys who just happen to face each other in the deciding match in the last round.  So I’ll go over the three final shows (October 16-18) in more detail when we get there.

Western wrestling fans are more accustomed to single-elimination tournaments, so newcomers might find the G1 Climax a little confusing and arduous.  It’s nineteen shows, all in one month, with ninety-one tournament matches.  The story is mostly told in the ring, with few if any angles.  And it’s fairly predictable, so a cynic could just skip to the last few shows without missing a lot of bracket-busting surprises.  The actual point, though, is match quality.  Every participant wants to deliver their personal best performances of the year, so you’re kinda guaranteed about a dozen four-star matches.  Besides, it’s perfect entertainment for staying at home binging TV--I have been going nuts waiting for this since the pandemic started.

Let’s take a look at the participants...

A Block

Jay White - The leader of Bullet Club and a former IWGP heavyweight champion.  White has been the de facto top foreigner since Kenny Omega left.  Prior to that New Japan kind of had a “Big Four” (Okada, Tanahashi, Naito, and Omega) that would be heavily favored in big events like this.  Now it’s more of a “Big Five” (Okada, Naito, Tanahashi, Ibushi, and White), and I would argue White just barely makes the cut by virtue of being the top heel and the biggest dick in the company.

Other than a couple of matches for New Japan’s LA-based show, White has been out of action since February.  I actually almost miss the bastard.  Before he left it felt like questions were brewing about KENTA eclipsing him as the biggest dick in Bullet Club.  While they were both away, Bullet Club reorganized around EVIL as the dickiest dick that ever dicked.  I smell a very slow burn storyline.  Since White’s not in the same block as the others, we probably won’t see him meet Evil or Kenta during this tour.  But I expect it will be very interesting which of the posts the best performance.

White’s style is to counter offense, often by going limp on the mat to prevent an opponent from hitting a signature move.  He’s honed this into some very solid chickenshit heel work that gets massive heat from the crowd, but I’ve found it incredibly tedious to sit through.  His matches with Okada, Ibushi, and Ishii will probably be heavily promoted as main events, but I’m more curious to see how his shenanigans will mesh with Taichi, Will Ospreay, and Minoru Suzuki.

Jeff Cobb - He’s a free agent, although it’s been strongly rumored that he’s about to sign with somebody and it’s probably going to be New Japan.  Because of the pandemic, there are a lot of hurdles for non-Japanese wrestlers to come in for a tour, so I’m pretty glad this absolute unit made it in.

Cobb was in last year’s G1, but many of his opponents this year weren’t in his block last time, so he’s got a lot of fresh matchups.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Cobb vs. Okada, Cobb vs. Ibushi, or Cobb vs. Suzuki.

The big issue for Cobb is that he ought to do better than his 8-point performance in last year’s tournament.  To get to 10 he’s probably going to have to score a big upset.  A victory over White is plausible but probably not in the cards.  Okada, maybe?

Kazuchika Okada - The leader of CHAOS and a five-time former IWGP heavyweight champion.  This seems to be a rebuilding year for Okada, as he takes a break from the limelight to give Naito a chance to shine.  That could mean he’s set to come roaring back in 2021, which could mean he’s booked to win this tournament.  On paper he’s a clear favorite, so I suppose he’s my pick to win A Block.  But as far as winning the whole tournament...I’m not feeling it, for some reason.

Ordinarily, Okada is either the defending champion or a top contender, so he loses very few tournament matches, which makes it a big deal for someone to actually beat him.  This year, though, Okada has been feuding with the likes of Taichi and Yujiro Takahashi, and getting pinned by Toru Yano.  So maybe they figure Okada won’t be back in title contention for a while, so it’s okay to make weaker opposition look stronger against him.  If he fails to win at least 10 points, that would be a very ballsy storyline.  At the very least, they might tease the possibility with an early slump.

Okada’s match with Will Ospreay on October 16 is probably going to decide the entire block, so I expect that to be a centerpiece for the tournament.  Okada vs. Ibushi is a rematch from Wrestle Kingdom and should also be excellent.  I’m personally most interested in Okada vs. Shingo Takagi, since I can’t recall them ever meeting one-on-one before.

Kota Ibushi - The 2019 G1 Climax winner, and a former IWGP intercontinental champion.  He represents Hontai, the default “home team” faction for all the purest babyfaces.  Ibushi has been a fan favorite for years, but New Japan never went all the way with him because he was a free agent.  That changed last year when he signed a long-term deal, although I was surprised they still had him choke at Wrestle Kingdom.  Nobody has won the G1 Climax two years in a row since Hiroyoshi Tenzan in 2003-2004, but I could see Ibushi doing it.

The story for Ibushi this year is that he needed to recover from going 0-2 in the Double Gold Dash series at Wrestle Kingdom, and he found new purpose in a tag team with his idol Hiroshi Tanahashi.  But the new Golden Ace team lost the tag title to Zack Sabre Jr. and Taichi, and it quickly became apparent that Tana is the weak link in the team.  So there’s intrigue about whether Tanahahi should pack it in, and whether Ibushi should leave him behind to pursue a top singles title.  An Ibushi-Tanahashi match in the finals would be a really easy story to tell.  Or they might be saving that for a non-title match at Wrestle Kingdom, which would mean neither of them are winning this tournament.

Ibushi has two modes--daredevil flippy guy or stiff strong-style mean guy.  So his matches with Will Ospreay and Tomohiro Ishii are always scary and nuts, for wildly different reasons.  I personally get a kick out of Ibushi vs. Suzuki, because Suzuki is all >:( and Ibushi is all :D

Minoru Suzuki - The leader of Suzuki-gun and current NEVER openweight champion.  Last year’s G1 was so stacked that Suzuki didn’t even make the cut, but he’s back with a vengeance.  The cool thing about Suzuki is that he’s old as balls, but he’s scary as fuck, but he’s not invincible.  So it’s sort of like having the Undertaker in the G1, except he can do four or five jobs and maintain credibility so he doesn’t have to squash everyone.

There are plenty of fresh matches for Suzuki in this field, but I’m particularly interested in Suzuki vs. Taichi, since they’re in the same faction.  Suzuki-gun vs. Suzuki-gun matches tend to be wild, vicious brawls, and I don’t remember these two ever meeting one-on-one before.  This is probably the year to do it, since Suzuki is only getting older and Taichi’s career is at an all-time high right now.

Anyone who beats Suzuki during the G1 should be in line for a future title match, although big-name guys like Okada, White, and Ibushi may pass on it to pursue bigger opportunities.  In terms of setting up future challengers, though, I think Ospreay, Cobb, or Takagi would all make sense.

Shingo Takagi - A member of Los Ingobernables de Japon and a former NEVER openweight champion.  Shingo is big and mean and tough and I like him a lot.  I’d like to think he’s being set up for bigger and better things down the road.  But for now he’s a middle-of-the-pack guy, and middle-of-the-pack guys don’t win the G1.  It’ll be a moral victory if he finishes in third or forth place for the block.

I’m kinda looking forward to all of Shingo’s block matches.  He’ll demolish Yujiro, he’ll give Taichi and Jay White the fight of their lives, and he’ll hang with big mean guys like Ishii, Cobb, and Suzuki.  Takagi vs. Ospreay might have been my favorite match in 2019, so that should be treat this year.

Taichi - One of the IWGP heavyweight tag team champions, and a member of Suzuki-gun.  The tag champs have not appeared in the G1 in recent years, but Taichi is a full-time regular, and he was in the tournament last year, so it’s not like being a tag champ was going to be held against him or anything.

I’m not expecting Taichi to do particularly well, but he needs some wins or else way too many guys will be in line for tag title shots.  It’ll be interesting to see which guys they’re willing to feed to him, because it’s hard to imagine most of the field jobbing to him.

Tomohiro Ishii - Basically the #2 guy in CHAOS and one of the NEVER trios champions.  Ishii is always an imposing obstacle in the G1 but he never actually strings together enough wins to really matter in the endgame.  So I think they’ll make a big deal about the threat he represents to guys like Ospreay, White, and Ibushi, but then they’ll just beat him like it’s no big deal.

Oddly, the one Ishii match I’m really interested in is with Taichi, because they were doing a program last year where Ishii brought out the best in Taichi and motivated him to fight honorably.  I’m interested in how they revisit that.

Will Ospreay - A member of CHAOS and the RPW British heavyweight champion.  Last I heard, Ospreay planned to live in Japan, but he got stuck in the UK when the pandemic travel bans went down. 

I heard a lot about how Will’s mental health was suffering from being away from wrestling.  Then he was distraught about Hana Kimura’s suicide.  Then he got called out amid the #SpeakingOut movement.  If I understand correctly, he was accused of helping to blackball a woman from the BritWres scene because she claimed a friend of his sexually abused her.  So there’s a lot going on here, and I’m not sure how it all will affect his career or relationship with the industry and fans.

In light of the allegations against him, I expect some Western fans will not be happy to see him back in New Japan.  I get the feeling New Japan will ignore the controversy, which may frustrate fans agitating for Ospreay to face consequences.  Speaking personally, I considered Ospreay a sentimental favorite last year, and I’m not sure the things he apparently did rise to the level of “kick him out of the business,” but it feels weird bringing him back like nothing happened.  I’m not sure how he can repair the damage to his reputation, and I don’t think I want New Japan to give him a free pass on doing that.

Dave Meltzer has suggested that, before the pandemic, New Japan planned to start pushing Ospreay hard as a heavyweight, with a lot of key wins in the G1.  If that really was the plan, could the pandemic have changed all that?  I guess we’ll find out.

Yujiro Takahashi - Bullet Club’s resident prelim guy.  This is his first G1 in five years, and even back when he regularly appeared he didn’t score very well.  I strongly doubt he’d be in this thing if they’d been able to fly in more foreigners.  But someone has to lose a lot for the big names to rack up points, and he’s suited to the role.

The most interesting thing about Yujiro is that he’s accompanied by PIETER, who is hot.  Unfortunately, Pieter is not exactly what you’d call an essential worker, which is probably why she hasn’t appeared at all since the pandemic.  Watching a Yujiro singles match without Pieter is kinda like just reading Playboy for the table of contents.  Actually, the most compelling thing Yujiro could do here is a match with Taichi, and that’d mainly be to see Pieter interact with Miho Abe, who probably also won’t be on this tour.

B Block

EVIL - The turncoat who betrayed Los Ingobernables de Japon to join Bullet Club.  Evil captured both the IWGP heavyweight title and IWGP intercontinental title from Tetsuya Naito earlier this year, but lost them back to Naito a few weeks ago.  Everybody was kinda “Really?  You’re pushing Evil?  Really?”  So it’s fair to say he’s got a lot to prove.

I don’t expect Evil to win the block.  But as a recent former champion, he needs a strong showing, if only to sell the idea that anyone who could win the title is a serious threat.  You don’t want to Jinder Mahal this guy, and I think New Japan knows better than to do that.

I think everyone in this block has had a singles match with Evil, but few have worked with him since the heel turn, which freshens up those matchups.  I’m curious how he’ll interact with Yano or Sabre, for example.  There’s obviously a grudge match in Evil vs. Naito, but Evil and SANADA were tag team partners for years, and we’ve conveniently avoided getting Sanada’s take on the Evil turn. 

The big deal, though, will probably be the match with KENTA.  I’d rather see Jay White have to face Kenta or Evil, but this will have to do.  Every Bullet Club vs. Bullet Club match in the G1 kinda plays out the same, but every year I put on my clown wig and hope we’ll see a real rift form in the group.

Hirooki Goto - One of the NEVER trios champions, representing CHAOS.  Last year they made a big deal about Goto reinventing himself at the LA Dojo, but it’s a year later and he’s pretty much the same Goto.  I just don’t have any confidence in him to score a win that’s going to move him up the ranks.  He’s easy to take for granted.

I’m all for seeing Goto pleasantly surprise me with a hot run, but how would he even do that at this point?  I guess he could pin Naito to set up a title match, but that wouldn’t get me to believe he could actually win said title match.  A victory over Evil or Tanahashi would be more doable, but does that really get him anywhere?  Maybe he could beat Sabre to set up a tag title program, but I’m so bored with matching the six-man tag champions against the regular tag champions.

Hiroshi Tanahashi - The eight-time former IWGP heavyweight champion and leader of Hontai.  He’s already won this tournament three times, a stat that puts him up there with legends from the 1990s and early 2000s.  But New Japan has been increasingly playing up the idea that age is catching up with him.  At 43, he’s not the oldest guy in this tournament, but the idea is that his knees are shot and he’s only hanging in at this level through sheer god-given talent.

In principle, you can always do a “living legend proves he’s still got it” story with Tana defying age and the odds to win one more G1.  The problem is, they already did that story in 2018, and there’s no good reason to rehash it so soon.  So I figure he’ll probably get beaten down a lot in the early going, to build sympathy for him having a bad run, and then he’ll rebound to give fans hope, and then he’ll come up short in the very end.

The biggest marquee match in this block is Tanahashi vs. Naito (they’ve been kept apart for a few years now).  But I’m more interested in seeing him battle fellow white-meat babyface Juice Robinson, or mega-dicks like Kenta or Evil that he hasn’t worked with much since they turned.  Of course, the strongest grudge match for Tana is against Sabre, playing off the recent Golden Ace/Dangerous Tekkers feud.  That one’s set for the last day of B Block, and I get the feeling it’s because Sabre is finally going to put Tana’s knees out of their misery.

Juice Robinson - Joliet, Illinois’s favorite son is finally back in Japan.  Juice had a memorable feud with Jay White in 2018 to win the IWGP US championship and take a big leap forward, but unfortunately it’s been choppy sailing since then.  He benefited from feuding with Jon Moxley and the Guerillas of Destiny, but he also lost those feuds.  At the same time, Will Ospreay has kinda leapfrogged him as the top babyface foreigner.  We’ll never know how he might have recovered from all that if not for the pandemic.  But the road back starts here.

Even as a Juice fan I don’t think he has any business winning the block.  But he’s one of those guys that is in striking distance of finishing a G1 with 10 points, and I think that would be a big milestone at this stage of his career.  Trouble is, I don’t even see four matches where he’d be the favorite, let alone five.  To get that 5-4 record he’s going to have to shock someone like Sabre or Kenta, and that’s pretty hard to imagine.

KENTA - Kenta came to New Japan for last year’s G1, and then turned heel and joined Bullet Club at the end of the tour.  Since then he’s held the NEVER openweight title, but he’s probably more infamous for beating up the retired Katsuyori Shibata, and ruining Tetsuya Naito’s celebration in the Tokyo Dome.  In a faction of dickasses, Kenta is the dickest, assest one of them all.  It’s almost admirable, in a dickish sort of way.

Before the pandemic, Kenta’s heel heat was so hot that it seemed like he was a potential rival for Jay White’s leadership of Bullet Club.  Then most of Bullet Club was unavailable this summer, and what was left kind of reorganized around Evil.  So does Kenta just accept being the #3 guy in the faction?  Or does he remind people he’s still in the “who should lead Bullet Club” conversation?  The answer is probably somehwere in the middle.  But his performance in this tournament might give us a clue.

SANADA - The dark horse of Los Ingobernables de Japon, and maybe the whole promotion.  At the end of 2019 I was dead-certain that Evil and Sanada were stuck as the two guys just below the Big Five, with no hope of upward advancement, so they’d just keep winning World Tag League forever and ever.  Now Evil’s been the champ, and Sanada fandom is heating up.  Pretty sure I saw some betting site give Sanada the best odds of winning the whole tournament.  It seems kinda crazy to me, because I’ve been watching him fade into the background for years.  But I sure wouldn’t mind if he just went and won the big one.

There’s not really anyone in this block that Sanada can’t beat.  I don’t think he ever has beaten Naito or Evil, but I certainly believe he could.  Really, the only guy that consistently makes Sanada look like a chump is Okada, who is conveniently in the other block.  Sanada having to beat Okada to win the G1 would be a really good story.  So I don’t know, maybe it really could happen.

Sanada vs. Naito and Sanada vs. Evil are clearly the big things here, but for my money you can’t go wrong with Sanada against Yano or Sabre.  Those matches always go down smooth, for incredibly different reasons.

Tetsuya Naito - The leader of Los Ingobernables de Japon and the reigning IWGP heavyweight champion and IWGP intercontinental champion.  Neither of Naito’s belts are on the line in this tournament, but anyone who beats him during the tournament is practically guaranteed a title shot by the end of the year.  To that end, he will probably lose very few block matches.  But since the point of the tournament is to name a challenger for January 4, it doesn’t do much good for the champion to win.  So watch for him to finish at like 7-2, but still come up short.

The usual pattern for a champion in the G1 is that he loses a couple of matches to set up main events on the Destruction and Power Struggle tours in September, October, and November.  That’s tricky this time because the G1 is so much later in the year, so there will be fewer big shows between now and January 4 to book Naito title matches.  In addition, Naito is a double champion, and has expressed a preference to defend each title separately.  So maybe they could do a thing where he loses G1 matches against, say, Goto and Kenta, and then they book Naito vs. Goto for one belt and Naito vs. Kenta for the other on the same tour.  But it’s pretty clear New Japan is kinda playing 2020 by ear, so they may not even be sure where they’re going with this stuff.

For several years now there’s been a lot of concern about Naito’s body being “thrashed,” and whether he can keep up with the physical demands of a top champion.  In New Japan, working the G1 is the most demanding of those physical demands.  He had a few months in the spring to heal up, but that was a couple of tours ago.  Now the real grind begins, so if he’s still having problems, that probably doesn’t bode well for his long-term career.

Toru Yano - The first KOPW titleholder, representing CHAOS.  Yano’s gimmick is that he seems like a prelim comedy guy, but he’s so good at cheating and misdirection that you have to take him seriously.  He’s not going to win the block, but he can definitely hang in long enough to play spoiler.  Last year he notably handed Jon Moxley his first New Japan loss--it was by count-out, but two points is two points.  You underestimate Yano at your own peril.

Yano’s matches are often pretty short, and don’t involve a lot of hard work for the wrestlers.  It’s sort of like each of the other guys gets a “night off” by playing his game.  Some fans think he shouldn’t even be in there, but I’ve come to look forward to all the different ways he’ll try to steal wins.  For fans expecting “sports entertainment” in the G1, this is your guy.

YOSHI-HASHI - One of the NEVER trios champions, along with Goto and Ishii, from CHAOS.  Yoshi is a journeyman, who just won his first NJPW title after 12 years with the company.  There’s a “lovable loser” quality to the guy, and he has his fan following.  But in terms of the G1, he’s a jobber.  He hasn’t been in the tournament since 2017, and that year he went 2-7.  I’m not expecting much better this time around.

Zack Sabre Jr. - A member of Suzuki-gun and Taichi’s partner in the IWGP heavyweight tag team champions, Dangerous Tekkers.  Sabre’s emphasis on chain wrestling, grappling, and submissions causes the style of his matches to stand out from the rest.  Where other heavyweights train for size and strength, he stays lean and noodle-y to wriggle out of holds.  He’s completely different, which is vital to avoid the feeling that every G1 match is just, like, two strong style dudes slapping the shit out of each other.

Sabre has always impressed me but that doesn’t translate into big pushes for him.  They’ve given him some key feuds over the RPW British title, but it never feels like he’s really truly in the mix with the top guys.  I’d like to see that change, and maybe get him back into the 10-point range.  But in a way he’s kinda like Ishii and Sanada, where they talk like he’s a big deal but then he loses a lot to make other guys look better for beating a “big deal.”

Like I said before, Sabre vs. Tanahashi is a natural grudge match and will probably be the main focus of this tour for Zack.  But I think it’ll be interesting to see how he handles Evil and Kenta now that they’re heels.  And Sabre vs. Sanada is always a treat.

Predictions

I think I’ve talked myself into an Okada vs. SANADA final, but I could see New Japan going in other directions.  Ibushi vs. Tanahashi would be a rehash of 2018’s tournament, but that was a great match so I don’t know if anybody would mind.  The biggest match they could do might be another Okada vs. Tanahashi match, but I don’t know if this is the right year to go there again.

Of course, the G1 final doesn’t have to be a dream match.  You can put the guy who’s going to win in there with someone that nobody thinks can win.  Kenny Omega vs. Hirooki Goto in 2017 and Kota Ibushi vs. Jay White in 2019 were foregone conclusions, but they made you believe that maybe there’ll be an upset when you kinda knew there would never be.  I could see them doing something like that with Ospreay, Takagi, Kenta, or Sanada.  Actually, an Ospreay-Sanada final might be hot because they’d both feel like underdogs, so you wouldn’t feel like one of them definitely has to win.

If that was like picking a Royal Rumble winner, I’d think WWE wants to pick a new guy to push as a top babyface challenger, and Sanada would make sense.  But I’ve seen so many years where New Japan stuck with what works that I’m reluctant to pick anybody outside the Big Five.  So I guess I’m going to pick Okada to win the G1, and then kinda hope I am pleasantly surprised.

[jewishzevran]

look upon the Light so you may lead others here through the darkness

After the Herald of Andraste has some choice words for him, Cullen and Leliana have a talk about faith. [ao3]

A/N: I originally published a different version of this, which was less specific to my canon and took place in Leliana’s quarters. I have deleted it, but kept the title of the piece for the update. I like this version a lot better.

The Herald frowned at Cullen, and spoke with a tone that he couldn't quite place. "But... the Templars have served the Chantry for ages.”

“And in that time, they’ve come to take the Order’s services for granted–" Before he could continue, the Herald made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes, before turning and walking away. 

"Wait where are you going? What's the matter?"  

She wheeled on him. "Seriously? After everything, that's your reason for leaving?"

"You're a Dalish elf, what do you know of the chantry?"

The Herald blinked, and her mouth curled into a snarl as her hands balled into shaky fists. She crossed back to Cullen and stood inches from him, her anger letting her tower over him despite her stature.

"How dare you. Are you so selfish and blind that you don't think it affects us? You think we were all born out of holes in the ground completely isolated? I grew up in Kirkwall. I know plenty of the Chantry, and their supposed peacekeepers. What do I know of the Chantry? What do you know of peace? You wield fear and cruelty like a slavemaster cracks a whip and expect your charges to survive unscathed? If you cage a dog and beat it for years how can you be surprised when it bites? And your "harrowings?" You take young mages, barely old enough to be adults and send them into the Fade with no warning, no training, no advice and expect them to fight demons? If they fail, you kill them, without so much as blinking. Do you write letters of condolences to their families? Do you even remember their names? And if you decide that one of them isn’t fit for the trial, you hold them down and forcibly remove their emotions! Have you not once considered how abhorrent the idea of a tranquil actually is? How egregious threatening people with psychological torture is? And don’t even try to justify it with “it’s for their own good”, whose good? I've heard stories that some poor families promise their children to the Order from BIRTH. Preying on poor and vulnerable families so their children can be groomed to hate an entire subset of the population? Discouraging circle mages from having relationships in case they have mage children? Any children born regardless are ripped from their mothers and given to a chantry orphanage to raise and then recruit as Templars. The most frequent cause of death in circles is suicide, did you know that? Do you care? I had friends in Kirkwall that were raped and beaten, and it doesn’t matter that you didn’t personally participate, you were silent while others systematically abused their charges. The Chantry doesn’t make peacekeepers or protectors. It makes soldiers. You say Anders started a war, but you never even thought about the alternatives. It wasn’t ‘start a war or maintain peace’ it was ‘rebel or spend a lifetime in slavery and enduring abuse at the hands of our oppressors’!  And you would kiss their feet in servitude."

She stalked off, then turned round, stalked back and punched him square in the jaw, with a resounding crunch. The force of the blow sent him staggering back several paces. 

"What do I know of the Chantry, shemlen? I know they massacred my entire people in the name of your God. Andraste spit on your skills being taken for granted. You want to be part of the Inquisition? To work side by side with mages? You need to do a lot of fucking soul searching about why you're really here, Commander Rutherford."

The Herald was crying as she walked away, wiping angry tears from her eyes.  Cullen was left standing dumbstruck. He spent several minutes quietly fuming. 

Maker, she can throw a punch.

His jaw was going to bruise and he could feel it. Then he started thinking about what she said and every angry word attached itself to a memory. He headed to the training grounds. Sword drills would hopefully clear his thoughts.

What do you know of peace?

He thought back to Kinloch. To the words he spoke to Nina Cousland. He begged her to slaughter anyone she saw in case they were possessed.

He thought about psychological torture and the screams and pleas of mages undergoing the Rite of Tranquility being abruptly cut off as that blankness took over their faces. 

He thought about his lessons as a boy, the pride in his teachers' voices as they spoke of the glory of the Exalted Marches and never used words like "massacre" or "genocide". How the elves deserved it. How it was their fault for being savages that denounced Andraste. 

He thought of the mothers who cried and begged when their children were taken to Circles. He thought of the mages that had panic attacks before their harrowing. He thought of the mages he'd personally seen use blood magic or turn into abominations - the mages he then helped kill.

For the first time in his life, he realised that in the moment before they cut their veins open or let a demon burst forth from their chests, every last one of those mages wore the same expression.

Fear. Desperation. Pain.

He remembered one young woman who had run away from the circle because her mother was dying. They'd tracked her down in a barn. She backed into a corner begging them not to take her. There were five of them surrounding her in full armor, and she was alone. Unarmed. 

"Blessed are they who stand before The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter."

He remembered repeating those lines to himself when he was fighting mages. When he was killing them. He felt sick.

"Commander? Are you alright?" 

He blinked, coming back into focus, and realised the dummy in front of him had no head anymore.

"Excuse me," he muttered, and walked briskly to his cabin.

He once visited a prison on templar business. He realised it didn't feel any different to the circle.

"Mages are dangerous. Any one of them can be corrupted." 

Those were the words spoken to him when he joined the order. The ones he repeated to himself over and over. Even here. Even at the Inquisition. He wasn't raised to do good. He was raised to kill mages. 

He once told Hawke that mages weren't people. Her sister was a mage. A Warden now, but–maker no wonder she looked at him with disgust.

"If you cage a dog and beat it for years how can you be surprised when it bites?"

He almost vomited as he remembered the Commander who calmly explained to him and all the other recruits that making a mage Tranquil was like neutering a feral dog - unpleasant, but necessary to tame it.

He remembered someone at Kinloch telling him how some of the Templars left books about blood magic around deliberately so they could apprehend anyone that read them.

He remembered a mage being beaten in Kirkwall screaming in pain and using the blood on the whip to conjure a protective shield around herself. Which they broke through. And killed her.

How did he spend so long utterly convinced that he was doing the Maker's work, when all he did was cause pain and violence? How did he convince himself he was in the right? 

Mistress Lavellan was not the first person to shout at him about this. Maker knows Hawke did it enough. What's different? What's chang–

The lyrium.

He staggered in his pacing around the room, almost falling over as his eyes went to the pile of belongings in the corner that the box he'd had since he was 18 lay at the bottom of. 

The first time he'd taken lyrium he'd hated it, it was disgusting - he remembers his friend Pip vomiting, asking if he had to take it, and the furious Commander threatening to beat him for insubordination.

Do we even need it? Is it even necessary? 

His thoughts turned to Alistair. Oh Maker. He'd never really thought about it, but Alistair left for the Wardens before he took his vows. He’d never taken lyrium, and Alistair could use his Templar abilities without it. He'd seen it. At Kinloch.

Cullen roared in anger and threw a glass at the wall where it shattered.

Lies. His whole life, his whole belief system was built on lies. He'd caused so much pain. So much evil, and he’d never once questioned it. 

How did he even begin to undo his wrongs? He could ask for forgiveness from Andraste, from the Maker, but what good did that do in the here and now?

There was a knock at the door.

"Not now!" 

"Bur sir, you asked for this report as soon–"

"I said NOT NOW!!"

The poor scout scurried away. A minute or two later, a familiar voice sounded outside, accompanied by a gentler knock. 

"Cullen, it's Leliana. Can I come in?"

"Fine." He tried to spit the word but his voice broke, betraying him. He didn't look up as she slipped inside.

"You're bleeding, Cullen." She gestured to her mouth, and Cullen mirrored her. 

Oh. Mistress Lavellan must have split my lip.

"I, ah, had a run-in with the Herald. It probably looks worse than it is."

"Let me–"

"No! I deserve it."

Leliana arched an eyebrow. She glanced deliberately at the shattered glass on the floor and then back to him. "Is there something you'd like to talk about, Cullen?"

"You have far better things to do with your time," he mumbled, turning away, but she grabbed his chin and made him look at her.

"That is not what I asked."

"I am a grown man Leliana, I can–"

"What? Self-flagellate in isolation and bottle up your emotions until they fester?"

Tears pricked in his eyes. He couldn't meet her gaze. 

"I understand not wanting to burden others with your feelings, Cullen, but shutting yourself away helps no one, least of all yourself. How is it better to break things and shout at our scouts through doors once you can't keep a handle on yourself any more?"

His cheeks burned with shame. He started to shake, the compassion in her voice stabbing through him deeper than any sword could.

She frowned a little. "Would you like me to pray with you?"

Cullen couldn't stop the hysterical laughter that burst out at that. As if prayer could fix what he was. What he'd done.

"Sit. Now." Cullen knew better than to ignore the authority in her voice, and as he collapsed into a chair, Leliana knelt in front of him, and tucked a stray curl behind his ear. Her face was dark with worry. She reminded him of Mia.

"Talk to me Cullen. Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything!" He shouted, unable to stop the tears that started falling from his eyes. "She was right! She stood there and shouted and wept and said the word Templar like it was poison and she was right! I killed innocent people because the Chantry told me my whole life that it was my duty to do so! I helped torture and murder children! And it took someone punching me in the face and calling me an idiot to make me even realise that that was wrong! If the Chantry is what the Maker truly wants then I want no longer want any party in it!"

Leliana took his hands. "And if the Chantry is not what the Maker wants?"

"Isn't it?" Cullen retorted bitterly, pulling his hands away. 

"Has He personally told you it is?" She was watching him calmly, as though his whole world wasn't spiralling into the abyss, and he wanted to scream.

"The Chantry speaks the word of the Maker. Everything they do is in His Name."

"That doesn't mean they are right."

He threw his hands up in the air in frustration, and stood, beginning to pace again. "Pray tell, then Leliana. What IS His will, hm? What DOES the Maker want? Did He put me on earth just to suffer? Is this my Trial? Am I failing?"

"The Maker does not make you suffer, Cullen. That is the fault of men."

"Stop being so cryptic!" He was shouting now, he could hear his voice getting louder and louder, and his face going red with anger and grief. "The Chantry speak for the Maker. They are His Church!"

"The Maker did not pick up a pen and write the Chant himself!" Leliana raised her voice too, standing defiantly in front of him. "He did not make the circles, or the Templars. Humans are fallible Cullen. They make mistakes, and words and intentions can be twisted!"

"But-"

"Who is your God, Cullen? Is it the Maker? Or is it The Chantry?"

The question stunned him into silence. His ears rang and he actually staggered backwards under the force with which the implications hit him. For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence, and his own ragged breathing as everything he ever learned fell apart and reformed into something new.

He stared at Leliana in wild disbelief, and she nodded, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

The Chantry and the Maker were not the same.

...the Chantry was wrong.

The Chantry was wrong.

The Chantry could be wrong. And he could still follow the Maker. 

Except.... Could he?

"Leliana..."

She waited patiently.

"How can I ever follow the Maker when I did such evil in his name?"

"I will be blunt, Cullen. There will be people that will never forgive you. Nor do they have any obligation to do so. But that should not stop you. It is never too late to change, or to start anew. True faith comes from action. Be vocal. Be compassionate. Treat mages with kindness and trust, but understand why they might not want it. You keep saying you are not the man you were in Kirkwall? Prove it. Repentance is hard, and will make you uncomfortable. You must work for it, and keep working for it. Remember it is not a goal, but a constant journey."

The words settled over him like a weighted blanket - heavy, but somehow comforting despite the solemnity of the moment.

"Thank you." He hesitated for a moment, staring at the ground, still wiping away the last of his tears. "...will you pray with me?" he asked quietly. "Not the Chant, just -"

"Of course."

Praying in silence was different. He was so used to speaking the words of the Chant and feeling them flow through him. Still, despite the quiet, it made the air in the cabin warm and light.

He felt a calm begin to settle inside him in the wake of his turmoil. He still had questions, and doubts, and guilt... but for the first time in far too long, he also had hope. He wanted to see the Herald and apologise. But that could wait. 

Leliana kissed his head and said " I'll tell everyone you are feeling unwell and you're not to be disturbed. Take some time to yourself. Rest. Start fresh tomorrow. When you want to talk about this some more, you know where to find me."

As she left, she smiled back at him. "Andraste watch over you, Commander."

It was a surprise that his returning smile came so naturally. "And you, Leliana."