#this is like. severely untasteful.

[senualothbrok]

Open Hands, Open Hearts

Summary: With the Netherbrain defeated and the companions about to go their separate ways, Gale decides to be honest about his feelings for Tav.

A slow burn one-shot, featuring pining Gale, monk Tav, and agony aunt Shadowheart.

Word count: 5.4k

Non-18+. Gale x Tav (f!monk). Pining. Mild hurt/comfort.

AO3 link

A/N: Big thanks to @inglorionamy-ammy for being my beta-reader extraordinaire. I hope you enjoy some slow-burn pining and reflections on the philosophy of non-attachment. As always, comments and feedback are welcome!

She stands apart.

She cannot see you watching her. She swirls an untasted drink, her gaze drifting over the bustling merriment of the weaving crowd. You are memorising the curves of her face, illuminated in the glow of the bonfire. The gossamer scar on her left cheek, and the lilting arc of her nose. The weather-worn dips of her skin. Amidst the clatter of trenchers and shouts of laughter, she wears a faint smile like a veil. As usual, she is lost in a world of her own. 

It had been you who suggested celebrating your victory against the Netherbrain with drinks in your hands and reckless abandon in your hearts. You had been swept up in the elation of the moment, the flurry of embraces from your companions, all grins and clasped shoulders. The dizzying promise of freedom as you clutched the mark of the orb on your chest. Tav had nodded at you, smiling brightly, her dark eyes glimmering before she looked away. She had maintained her customary reserve, as she does now, as she has done at all the parties and gatherings since this journey began.

Tav has always worn her hair in a tight bun, as though any concession to beauty would be a distraction. But tonight, obsidian locks tumble over her shoulders like the feathers of a raven. Against the hard muscles of her frame, her tresses look impossibly soft. You wonder, not for the first time, how they would feel against your lips.

You throw back the wine in your glass. 

“Enjoying the view?” 

You spin towards Shadowheart’s dulcet drawl. She smirks before taking a sip of wine, then wrinkles her nose in disgust. 

“I hope it makes up for this disappointing vintage. I suppose even the heroes of Baldur’s Gate don’t deserve the best wine in the cellars.”

You shift along the bench, making space for her. “Alas, beggars can’t be choosers. We’re remarkably fortunate there are any wine cellars left, all things considered.”

Shadowheart huffs as she sinks down beside you. Her voice is light with affection. 

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

You titter, setting your empty glass on the ground. “I auditioned for the role of pragmatist, but you'd scooped that up already.”

Her eyes dance. You can sense the intensity of Shadowheart’s appraisal as she looks from you to Tav. She clears her throat.

“I don’t mean to be blunt, Gale,” she begins.

You arch an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

“Well.” She sighs. “Maybe I do.”

You are all immeasurably tired, not just from your adventures, but from the lives you have led. The battles you have endured, together and alone. You can forgive any directness on Shadowheart’s part. You have grown accustomed to it, after all - maybe even fond of it. 

“You do realise that after tonight, we might never see each other again?” 

You baulk at this. You almost make a reflexive joke to dismiss it - that you are looking forward to being spared Astarion’s cutting remarks, or the overpowering evidence of Minsc’s poor hygiene. But sorrow quivers in Shadowheart's brow. You realise that the thought is anguish to her too. 

“Of course we will,” you manage. “Bonds forged in blood aren't so easily severed.”

Shadowheart stares at you. There is a heaviness in her eyes that makes you look away.

“If we do, who knows how long it’ll be before our paths cross again.”

You are reminded of your hasty farewells on the docks. You still half expect Wyll to appear beside you with a chuckle. A hearty slap on the back from Karlach. A solemn hum from Lae'zel. Their absence is a living, breathing thing that simmers between you. 

You wave your hand weakly, an attempt at dismissal. But the determination in Shadowheart's features arrests you.

“If you have important things to say to her, Gale, you should say them now.”   

You frown, backfooted. “What could I possibly have to say to our fearless leader that I haven't already said in the many months we've enjoyed together?”

Shadowheart snorts. “Come now, Gale. You're many things, but you're not subtle.”

You try to feign ignorance, but it does not deter her.

“I’d have to be blind not to catch all those longing looks and stolen glances, or notice the purple wash of your tent on lonely nights.”

You start in your seat. Fire blazes up your neck, burning in your cheeks, smouldering in your ears. You gape, resisting the urge to bury your face in your robes. 

Shadowheart chortles, patting you briskly on the shoulder. “Not to worry. We're all mature adults.”

You cough. At a loss, you fumble at your breeches, wringing your hands. You wonder if it would be unconscionably rude to misty step away from this conversation altogether. 

Amusement crinkles in Shadowheart's gaze. There is tenderness there. All at once, you are reminded that every moment left with your companions, however mortifying, is precious. And perhaps it was foolish to expect such things to remain hidden, living in close quarters as you have been, forever teetering on the precipice between life and death. You have all been stripped bare with each other.

In the end, it has been an honour. To know and be known, after an eternity of being alone.

You would not usually discuss the matters of the heart so openly. But Shadowheart is right. Who knows how long you have left? 

You clear your throat, your gaze returning to Tav like an anchor. She is crouched now, ruffling Scratch’s dusty fur intently as he nestles into her. You steady yourself.

“That ship sailed long ago, Shadowheart. In fact, it didn't just sail. It arrived at its location and returned a few times over.”

It still pains you to admit it. Pathetic, you know. You have tried, in vain, to rid yourself of your feelings. It was easier, with the constant threats to your existence, the relentless fight for survival. There was always some danger to distract you from that gnawing ache. Now, with the joy of victory, you are left with the suffering of wasted love.

What a sad, sorry thing.  

Shadowheart grimaces. “Yet you’re still waiting at the docks.” 

You stare at her, questioning. Once again, she sighs. 

“Tav’s a monk, Gale. An incredibly committed one. She was trained to deny every single desire she has. To sacrifice her every need for the greater good. You know that, right?”

She stresses every word, like it is a secret code. You strain against her meaning. 

She grizzles. “You have no idea? None at all? Truly?”

You suddenly sense where this is going. And truthfully, there was a time when you had wondered. You remember standing beside Tav, so close you could smell the tang of her sweat, the Weave flowing between you, making you one. Awe radiated from her, her vision lit up by the miracle of a magic that was not Ki, cocooning her in an altogether different kind of peace. In the purity of that instant, you were overcome by a longing to be closer. You let your eyes soak in every inch of her, the perfect balance of her body, the softness within her hardness. So much strength, always wielded in kindness, never for cruelty. So much power, always wielded for life, never for death.

You wanted to understand, then. The Way of the Open Hand, and all its tenets she held so dear. The mystery of her, in all her quiet glory. The secret behind her unwavering goodness. The resilience of her peace. Such tranquility, such certainty of purpose. Such a far cry from the rot inside you, the crushing burden of your mistakes. 

She is beautiful, you thought, knowing she would feel your thinking of it.

When the image first came to you, you struggled to parse it. The fluttering of her cut and calloused fingers over the bristles of your beard. The warmth of her bruised skin against your own. The quiver of her plump and parted lips, searching for and finding yours. A swirling wet desire, raw and piercing. 

When you realised what it was, you gasped. You stepped back. She withdrew too, her dark eyes averted, her face shadowed and unreadable. And then the connection had broken, and as you felt the Weave dissolve into the hollow night, a silence descended on you like a flood. 

Perhaps you had imagined it. She could not have felt such a thing. The desire had been so intense, so sharp, like the grasping thrust of a blade. It could not have belonged to someone whose hands were always open, whose entire being was steadfast as still waters that had never seen a storm. She was a master of the Way, a seeker of Enlightenment. She lived like she had surpassed the passions of the heart and flesh. 

You had planned to forget it. Ignore it. Pretend it never happened. But the image stirred something inside you, hot and red and hungry. It grew with every brush of her fingers as you traded tomes and scrolls, every flicker of her curious eyes when you shared musings great and small. Every evening lounging beside her as she meditated, cloaked in a peace that transcended words. 

But when you had confessed to her on that fateful night, beneath the canopy of beauty and wonder you had conjured in her honour, she had turned away. She had whispered a choked apology, her brow twisted like never before. For the first time, shame and guilt trembled in her features as she retreated. 

That had been the end of it. For Tav, perhaps, but not for you.

Shadowheart narrows her eyes. “So you didn't find it strange to see the calmest, most courteous woman in all of Faerun lashing out at Elminster Aumar, the most respected wizard in all the realms?”

You frown. It is true. Tav had been unusually animated, maybe even a little brusque, when Elminster had asked you to sacrifice yourself. You had chalked it down to pragmatism, weariness, maybe. An inordinately long day, or a torturously sleepless night. You did not have the presence of mind to reflect on Tav’s reaction, anyway, in the midst of your own devastation.

“Even paragons of virtue aren't immune to the short fuse of fatigue,” you suggest. “And cheese can wreak havoc on one’s digestive system, particularly in the amounts we consumed that evening. In fact, on more than one occasion, troubles in my breadbasket have led me to some rather disgraceful outbursts to Tara-”

Shadowheart groans. “Are you telling me that Tav disrespected the Sage of Shadowdale because she was a bit tired and had too much cheese?”

You swallow. Resolve clenches in her jaw in the awkward pause that follows. She tries again.

“You never wondered whose idea it was for me to make you all those special remedies, to take the edge off your orb pain?”

You scratch your head. “Was this a question I ought to have asked?” You are confused. “Should I have doubted your kindness and generosity?”

“Your faith in me is flattering,” Shadowheart drawls. “But we were practically strangers back then. I would have needed some incentive. Tav didn't. Your existence was incentive enough.”

A memory assails you. The aftermath of your defeat of Ketheric Thorm, when Tav was forced to draw on your ingenious resurrection protocol. Her juddering breaths as she leaned over your bleeding body. The anguished panic in her eyes. The muffled sound she made as you revived, lurching towards you and then flinching away. Her face impenetrable, her chest heaving as she withdrew. 

No. It cannot be. 

You shake your head. “You've misunderstood, Shadowheart. Tav cares for all of us. Everyone, indiscriminately and in equal measure.”

‘To walk the Path of Enlightenment,’ Tav had said when you asked her what she desired above all else. ‘To defend the weak and defenseless.’  If Tav loved anything, it was that grand purpose. There was no room for anything, anyone, else. 

“I certainly don't hold a special place in her heart. Far from it. When I…” You grimace, sweeping your hand through your hair. “Well, she set me straight in no uncertain terms. Whatever feelings you imagine she harbours for me are confined to the bonds of simple friendship, nothing more.” 

Shadowheart sucks in a breath. She looks up, as if she is appealing to the heavens for strength.

“I never thought an archwizard could be such a fool.” 

You bristle. “An archwizard would have little tolerance for unwarranted displays of discourtesy.”

At your reaction, she softens. For an instant, she looks almost sheepish. Leaning back, she gestures towards Tav. Tav is cross legged now, her head tilted upwards, seeking the stars overhead. She had marvelled, too, at the azure sky you created for her, as though every constellation you crafted carried the wisdom she so craved. 

“Do you know how hard it is to make Tav laugh?” 

There is a wistfulness in Shadowheart’s tone. A kind of recognition. You remember that she knows the struggle for joy better than most, having spent most of her life cloistered in darkness and loss. You wonder, vaguely, whether that is so different from being cloistered in the confines of virtue.

“Not that polite smile,” she goes on. “Or that little nod she does. A real laugh, like she truly feels it.”

You know. You store each peal of Tav’s laughter within you like a priceless treasure. You have beheld each occasion as a miracle, a fleeting glimpse behind the veil.

“It's a rare and beautiful sight.”

“It is.” Shadowheart holds your gaze. “And she only does it for you. Your awful puns, and what you think passes for witty observations. Your unnecessarily detailed anecdotes.”

Something is unfurling inside you. Fear and courage, swirling into something swollen that throbs with every pulse of your heart. You struggle to keep still. 

“Please just talk to her,” Shadowheart says. “Consider it a favour to me, so I don’t have to spend the rest of the night watching you drinking bad wine and pining miserably.”

You recoil. “Excuse me, but I don't pine. Pining is not something I do. In fact, I most certainly-”

“Yes, yes.” She rolls her eyes. “You don't pine, and Tav is an open book. You're both paragons of healthy communication.” She swigs her wine, pursing her pale lips in distaste. “I don't even know why you're still talking to me, at this point.” 

You huff. Turning slowly, your eyes seek Tav’s across the expanse. A strand of hair trails over her collarbone, caressing the peak of her breast. She dips her head gently towards you.

Who knows how long you have left?

You slap your knees, take a shaky breath, and rise.

******

“How does it compare?”

Her eyes are burnt almonds framed by butterfly lashes. The firelight draws out the sun-kissed olive of her skin. It has a warmth that burns within you even in her absence.�� As you approach her, she bows slightly. 

You point upwards. “The celestial canvas,” you explain. “The real thing. How does it fare against my earnest imitation?”

You have never spoken of that night, not even to mention it in passing. After her retreat, you were too desperate to salvage whatever remained between you. Any bond with her, any friendship, was worth more than kingdoms, even if you could not win her love. 

But tonight, with Shadowheart's words reverberating in your mind, you feel brave. Reckless. Inexpressibly grateful. And now that you have come to the end of the road, what more do you have to lose? You may never see her again. This may be your last chance.

Something flickers on Tav’s face. You cannot quite place it. 

“The art reveals the artist, and the creation the creator, as you told me before.”

Her words are so soft, you must dip forward to catch them. The petals of her mouth curve into a smile.

“Nothing could rival the beauty of a night sky wrought by your hands.” 

You remember that conversation well, but you did not think she would. It was only one of hundreds you have shared. For a second, you let yourself indulge in the fantasy that she cherishes your words with the same passion and reverence with which you treasure hers. You let yourself imagine that her words carry an affection which mirrors your own. 

But Tav speaks in formalities, riddles and proverbs. Her true feelings remain, as always, a mystery.

You listen to the rhythm of her breathing. Though even, there is a laboured focus in her breaths, as though she is forcing her intention. You recall an evening when you had sat beside her for a lesson in meditation. You had been lost in her closeness, her earthy scent, the supple arcs of her relaxed form. 

‘In times of turmoil, we return to our breathing,” she had explained. ‘The breath is an anchor. A reminder that all is temporary. Every burden, every struggle, every blessing. All is dust, and all will pass.’

Does she seek relief from turmoil now, you wonder? What burden strains against her breathing? What load does she struggle to lay down?

She shuffles a little. You gesture towards a bench nearby. She drifts towards it, her hand grazing yours as you both sit. She does not shift away. 

“So.” You fiddle with the edge of your robe. “Where does your path lead now?” 

She looks towards the bonfire. “My duty will be to return to the Order in Neverwinter.”

“Your duty.”

She nods. “It is what is expected for a monk of my position.”

“I see.” You study the stillness of her features in profile, impassive as ever. “And is that your desire?” 

She turns towards you briefly, but does not meet your eyes. Her gaze returns to the sparkling canopy above, as if the distant stars steel her soul. 

“I have always seen the monastery as my home. I know it does not serve, to cling to the idea of a home. We must be adaptable to change, to move where the Way takes us. And on this journey we have shared, I have seen and learned more than I ever would, had I remained in the monastery. Immeasurably more.” 

She draws in a long breath.

“And I would be deceitful if I said that I would not…miss….this.”

Her focus falls on the living tapestry before you, swathed in the music of joy and celebration. Astarion's fanged grin, returned wryly by Shadowheart. Minsc’s booming guffaw as Boo twirls in his palm. Jaheira’s lively gestures to a chuckling Halsin.

It is unmistakable. For an instant, Tav’s mask slips, and you see sorrow, tender and true. You had wondered if she felt the pain of parting, having always kept herself at a distance. Now, you are certain that she does.   

Without thinking, you reach for her hand. Then you catch yourself. Your fingers hover above hers.

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye.” Your voice quavers. “It would be…a great loss to me, to lose the honour of your company. A very great loss indeed.”

Her brow steeples as she looks into your eyes. Then her features tremble, her hand jerking into her lap. You retract yours briskly. 

There is a long pause. It feels like a misstep, an intrusion. A boundary you have crossed, as you had when you bared your soul to her beneath your northern lights. Mentally, you curse yourself, fretting and fumbling for an escape. And yet, you cannot ignore the tension that hangs in the air between you. The murmur of something you do not recognise, peering out from the depths.

When she speaks, you do not expect it. 

“My Masters taught me to eschew attachment. Desire.” 

She halts at the word, as though it is an admission that shames her. 

“We are to alleviate suffering, wherever we find it. Desire and attachment do not serve…”

Her voice breaks. You have never heard that before. She has always been so sure, her speech always level and calculated, echoing her constancy. You are overwhelmed, not just by a yearning to understand, but to comfort.

“They are a distraction, then,” you say. “From your purpose.”

She averts her eyes. Her sigh is weary - a weariness that has always been subsumed by her stoic exterior.   

“Everything is temporary,” she breathes. “Nothing endures.”

She closes her eyes. You watch as she lifts her hands, turning her palms up towards the constellations. 

“We are taught to live with open hands. To let all things flow through us, and never to be tethered to the current. So it is with every privilege, every gift, every… person… that comes our way.”

She opens her eyes, staring into the space above her fingers. 

“If I do not grasp it tightly, when it goes, there is no pain.”

She balls her hands into fists.

“If I hold fast to it, when I lose it, I mourn.” 

Her brow knits.

“It does not serve.”

She looks down, her hands returning to rest on her thighs. 

“Attachment only brings loss. Desire only brings pain. Everything is temporary. Nothing endures.”

The realisation is a lightning bolt that pierces you. The answer to the puzzle of her detachment. The reason for her ceaseless distance. Why she has always held back from your merry band of companions, avoiding connections beyond superficial courtesy. You see it now, as clear and certain as her kindness. It is not just a habit, the preference of an introvert more comfortable with solitude than companionship. It is not just a setting aside of distractions for the pursuit of a grand purpose. 

It is a fear of loss. Abandonment. Grief.

All this time, she has been protecting herself. The revelation fills you with a desperate urgency. 

“Does desire always beget suffering?” There is pleading in your voice. “Can attachment not be a source of wonder, beauty, goodness?”

She is taken aback by your abruptness. In this moment, you wish you still had a tadpole, so you could show her without words. You wish you could reveal how your bond gave you a reason to live when you thought there was none. How she gave you hope when you thought the only meaning to be salvaged from your life was through your death. How she brought the dawn in what you believed was an endless night.

“Your friendship, your kindness - they kept us all alive,” you say instead. “Our attachments were a source of strength. They alleviated our suffering, they never compounded it.”

You know it would be easier not to love her. If you had no attachment to her. You would not yearn for her like a lost part of yourself. There would be no agony of wanting, no suffering within your solitude. But then you would not know the wonder of her nature. The light of her laughter. The balm of her goodness and grace, unwavering as the sunrise. You would not trade them for anything, not even freedom from pain.

She is quiet, her head bowed. An ebony curtain falls around her face. You know the weight of what you are asking her to consider. But you cannot bear to see unnecessary suffering, especially not in the woman you cherish above any other.

“Is it actually possible?” you ask. “To never forge a bond with another? To remain…forever empty-handed?”

Determination hardens in her eyes as she lifts her head. 

“It is a path. I strive to reach the destination. It is a great struggle. A journey without end.” She straightens, her frame tensing. “Perhaps I am too weak and wretched to achieve it. But I must make myself worthy. Every day, I try harder.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “You are the kindest, wisest, most patient person that I know. You give of yourself without asking anything in return. You saved the world,” you gesture to your bustling companions within the throng, “each and every one of us.”

When you try to hold her shifting gaze, all you see is doubt.

“You don’t see it, do you?” You resist the urge to clasp her by the shoulders. “You’re extraordinary, just the way you are.”

She shakes her head. “I am like any other soul on the Path to Enlightenment.” 

You do not allow her to avert her eyes. “No, Tav. You're much, much more than that.”

“Gale.” Her brow creases. “There are many, many more important things to consider than…my own selfish doubts and desires.”

You can see the mask returning to her features. That impenetrable fortress of sagely Tav, a vessel of virtue without self. You have come too far to return to the facade now. 

“What of your own suffering?”

Confusion twists in her face. But the truth is a tide that rushes from you, and you cannot stop it.

“What of the joy you forfeit as you watch from the sidelines? The loneliness you carry as you stand apart, shirking companionship? Denying your own desires, crushing your attachments - surely that begets a suffering of its own?”

She turns away. Anxiety flares within you. Perhaps you have gone too far. It is too much for her. You begin to wrench at yourself. You have pushed her back into her shell, an armour against hurts that you will never know. In your folly and impatience, you have lost her.  In the silence, you mourn.

And then, a confession.

“My parents gave me to the Masters when I was a babe,” she whispers. “The Way is all I know. All I have.”

You spin towards her. The torment of memory lingers in every fibre of her frame. You understand her in a way you never have before. She is a woman without a family, forever apart. She is a door cracking open now, allowing you entry.  You leap through it.

“Not so.” You lean towards her. “You have me.”

Fear roils in the black sea of her eyes. You know what you are asking. You are asking her to trust in a love that could endure the vicissitudes of life, the foibles of human lack, the everyday tragedies from which no one is spared. You are asking her to lay down every tool she has wielded, every defence she has erected against the loss that trails behind her like a shadow. 

You are asking her to trust you.

“I know I speak out of turn.” Your voice swells. “I know you’ve made it clear that there’s no place for me in your heart. But I can’t remain silent, after all we’ve been through, knowing there’s any inkling of a chance that I might not lose you forever. I can’t remain silent, when there’s a chance that I could relieve you of the burdens that you carry alone.”

She is shaking now. You can almost feel the reverberations. But she is still here, still listening. It gives you strength to go on.

“I cherish you, Tav. It's beyond desire. Beyond attachment. More than admiration, infatuation, or lust. I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. To me, you’re perfect. There’s no one like you. There never has been, and never will be.”

You can hear a catch in her breathing. She has frozen still, so still, as if she would crack if you touched her. Your words are broken and tattered, but you do not stop.

“I can’t promise that I won’t age or die. That I won’t change, as everyone and everything in life does. But I promise that I will love you for as long as I draw breath. I promise that my love for you will endure. And I promise to walk the Way with you. I will never abandon you. You need not walk alone.”

Her eyes widen as she clasps her palm to her lips. You hold your heart out like an offering before her open hands. Your chest heaves as you wait, trying desperately to parse her silence. 

She turns away, lurching upwards, retreating into the night.

Her withdrawal wounds you like a blade to the gut. A muffled cry escapes you as you watch her receding back. 

It is over. 

The tears scald your skin as they fall. You wince through the rending of your heart. But amidst the fracturing, waves of gratitude ripple through you. To have beheld the glory of her, to have earnestly loved her in the stolen moments you shared, however fleeting - it was the privilege of a lifetime. An honour which will endure beyond the anguish of love’s passing. You are sure of it.

It takes you a moment to register it. She has stopped in her tracks. Her body, usually as elegant as the wind’s caress, judders as she turns back to face you. Through the mist of your grief, you see that her eyes are glistening with tears. You bound towards her, distressed beyond measure. It is the first time you have seen her cry.

She does not speak. In the waterfall that cascades down her scarred cheek, the throbbing ache in her gaze, you see an emotion that needs no words.

You surge forwards. You are so close that you can smell the jasmine notes of her hair, feel the spasm of her breath against your collarbone. You take her quivering hands and press them against your beard. Her eyelids flutter, but she does not pull away. You whirl with surprise, relief, elation, yearning - a thousand feelings you can name and more that you cannot.

“I have tried,” she chokes. “With everything I have…for so long I have tried. But I could not…”

Her words are torn whispers, panting breaths. Her fingers grasp at your bristles, dancing into your hair. Her touch is dizzying, lithe and earnest, tracing every part of you. You draw your fingers up the dip of her neck, cupping her cheeks as you have longed to so many times before.

“You don’t need to anymore.” 

Her skin feels as you have always imagined it - firm, smooth and warm. As you brush her tears away, she falls into you, and you catch her parted lips with your own. Her mouth is wet and hot, and she tastes of spring flowers and salt musk. You gasp at the pulse of her tongue, the hard heat of her body flush against yours. Her desire rips through you as keenly as your own, a whirlpool of love and longing which holds you fast.

She is everything you ever dreamed of and more.

You are not sure how long you remain wrapped up in each other, clutching, tasting, searching and finding. Hoots and hollers begin to reach your ears, familiar voices, teasing and congratulatory. You tear away from each other, foreheads pressed together, swaying breathlessly in a stupor. With her crimson cheeks and half-lidded eyes, her lips swollen from desire, it takes all the resolve within you not to whisk her away to your bedroom. 

You must steady yourself. You know that you must tread slowly. Love is a brave new world for her, and there are a thousand nights ahead of you.

“There’s a monastery in Waterdeep,” you say eventually.

Through halting breaths, she struggles for words. It is intoxicating, to see Tav’s unyielding stoicism dissolve into her need for you. You have never felt so powerful. You plant a trail of kisses from her forehead to her chin. She nibbles at your earlobe, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“The Monastery of The Sun,” she murmurs after a while. “Notorious for heresy. I have always wanted to see whether the controversy is well-founded.”

You take her hands in yours. You swallow, the last remnants of apprehension churning within you.

“Would you return with me to…”

She looks at you, wide-eyed and curious as always. A smile breaks on your lips. You know, then, that there is nothing more to fear.

“Would you allow me to take you there?” 

In your tumultuous life, you have seen many things. You have beheld the singular beauty of the Outer Plains, the unparalleled majesties of your home city, manifold vistas of nature’s bounty. But nothing compares to what you see before you now. 

Joy, plain and pure, beams in every line and curve of Tav’s features. A chord of laughter bursts from her, crisp as birdsong. She radiates with love. 

She kisses your hands, then cradles them against her heart. 

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”  *****

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[delululand]

what would be txts love languages 🤭

all of them have mixed love languages ​​and we don't see many things so here is more about how they show love

soobin - physical touch and words of affirmation

idk it’s so obvious he constantly touches everyone around him, hugs them and this guy absolutely loves skinship. and yes, how we can forget than he don’t like sleep alone and often come to kai’s bed for hugging? and the fact that he let yeonjun spit in his hand when yeonjun tried some untaste food…. i don’t know why and i don’t know how comments this but it’s so hot…… as for the words of affirmation, i think this is more likely the way he would like to receive love. he mentioned that he loves fansigns because in daily life he rarely hears compliments and on the day of the fansign, fans praise him a lot, thanks to which he receives support and confidence. so this man would be delighted if someone said something nice to him more often

yeonjun - act of service and giving gifts

yeonjun seems to me to be the most caring of all the members and he often shows this through acts of service. making sure everyone has food, always being very thoughtful in helping them get up if someone falls (like the time kai laughed and fell off his chair) and making sure no one gets hurt, but also beomgyu and some other members mention that yeonjun bought and gave something just for them, like beomgyu’s sneakers (and how many times he later was indignant that beomgyu didn’t even wear them and how proud he was that beomgyu showed off his gift on filming) so I think that this is also one of his love languages

beomgyu - physical touch and quality time

okay we all see how gentle he treats taehyun, never stopping just touching him, stroking him, trying to grab his leg or arm and touching his hair so physical touch is definitely one of his main love languages. but he also mentioned several times that he and soobin often spend the night together talking until dawn, sharing their feelings and he really enjoys it, so quality time is very important to him

taehyun - act of service and physical touch

i often hear that taehyun is supposedly cold, but he just shows his love more discreetly, however, this doesn’t mean at all that he has no feelings. he is not the kind of person who will shout about love but will show it with action, for example, recently on one of a filmings he thought that beomgyu would be hungry and brought him food and many such little things show his real treatment. and the reason why there is physical touching is one of his childhood videos. maybe it’s strange but let me to explain. i'm talking about a video with his mom where he sits on her lap and this child is absolutely filled with love, he can’t sit calm and is constantly trying to attract the attention of the mom giving the interview by sticking her head out like asking to pet him. and txt themselves have said many times that they’re embarrassed to show feelings for each other on camera so that it doesn’t seem like a show off, and we can also see that even taehyun pretends that he doesn’t like touching, he himself sometimes starts to grab and touch beomgyu

huening kai - physical touch and words of affirmation

he touches the members' tummies so often and loves to pull soobin's cheeks and how they kiss each other's hands with yeonjun and how he likes perk members in cheek… and the moment when in an interview he answered that he is the most romantic of the members, this is the complete truth. he’s that boyfriend who always hugs you wherever you are, kisses your hands when you’re just sitting next to each other and literally fall in love in kissing your tummy (idk guys it’s just another level of love). i absolutely see him as that guy who listens to you very carefully and communicates with you very cute just like daily and i totally sure he's the guy who will leave you a bunch of warm fuzzies when he goes somewhere or just leaves for work before you

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 27.7k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: howdy ya’ll! This chapter took me a HOT minute to finish because i’ve been severely sick (if you’ve been on this ride with me since esos you know i struggle with my health) but it’s finally here! I cant thank everyone enough for reading and as much as I wish i could hear from you guys more often, i’m just going to keep writing along and hope someone likes it! The smallest interactions bring me so much joy.

Masterlink

ao3 link | spotify playlist

Chapter 5: On My Way To You

He’s never been more humiliated in his entire fucking life. Never—not ever, has he ever felt this embarrassed about someone seeing him naked. He’s been shot down mid alleyway make-out when she’d pressed too close and felt it. He’s been left in a hotel room when he had a woman naked under him and he finally pulled his pants down. Hell—he’s been told it hurts, asked to stop—asked to leave. But never has it made his heart pound and his cheeks stain red, never made him wheeze from anxiety and dread.

He didn’t mean for it to happen—he’s been doing his best to avoid you, give you the space you want, but you’ve been nicer lately and it makes him want to get closer, test those waters and get to know you, but the second he lets himself start to give in, his body goes full force and he has to get away. Today was a hard day for him because he’d been up late the night before trying to rewire a break in the fence that let out three heifers and the little calf you’d saved on Christmas.

He’d crashed hard last night and woke up too late to work himself over before starting his day—it usually helps him keep his cool, but today he spent two hours hours in the saddle of one of Hank’s horses, moving the heifers getting ready to calf to a smaller pasture, the older steer that were about to be sold off from last years calves to a quarantine pen. It was mindless and easy and Joel spent the whole time thinking about you and your pretty eyes and the way you still wear that necklace every day, like you haven’t even thought to take it off.

By the time he stops by the house for something to drink, he’s already spent half his morning picturing you in every position possible—real like he’s never had it before. He’s smack dab in the middle of one of his favorite fantasies, one where you’re going down on him, fully aware of what’s under his belt buckle and wranglers. You’d be so sweet to him, make him feel desirable without feeling like a chore. You’d kiss the length of him over his denim, drag his pants down his thighs and you wouldn’t gasp in shock. You’d want him—your mouth would water for him and you’d give him those pouty lips and bright eyes when you finally run your tongue from base to tip—it would be perfect—

“Morning Joel.”

He’s so caught up in his vision of you in his head he’s completely unprepared for this version, with berries smeared on the corner of your mouth, like the jam is just too sweet for you to leave untasted—you’re swimming in a sweater too big for you and christ he hates when you wear legging, hugging every curve of your body, filling in the shape of your body like a shadow. He does his best to form a sentence, keep himself from staring at the necklace chain he can see poking out of your collar. you’re wearing it, you’re wearing it, you’re wearing it.

When you lick the spoon clean, his stomach hits the floor and his head spin’s suddenly from loss of blood as everything warm and tingly in his body travels south. He knows he has to get out of there, doesn’t have time to stand here for another second if he wants to keep what's going on in his pants to himself.

He’ll kick himself later for not giving you an excuse to run off, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter right now. He practically runs for the barn, the small bathroom inside is a well learned friend, where he can rub one out fast and get it out of his hungry system. His body is famished, starved for your skin and he isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

He gets his pants down as fast as he can, spits in his hand and starts quick. God, the way you’d looked at him when he walked in there, like you were happy to see him for once, glad to share his company—if only he wasn’t such a complete piece of shit who can't take a kind gesture for just that.

He sees your smile and he wants to dig his hands into the meat of your ass and hoist you up. Wants to hold you down and take you apart with his mouth. Your eyes meet his and he wants to watch them roll back when you take all of him, like no one ever has, ever will but he can let himself imagine it in this tiny bathroom that smells like livestock and dirt. He can imagine the way you’d want it, want him. The way you’d tell him how good he felt, how good he made you feel despite what he’s always been told about himself.

Just a few more—a couple more tugs and he’s almost there, so fucking close to the thought of your body and his, and…and…

The next thing he knows your eyes are on him, then tick down to his hand wrapped around himself like the pathetic man he knows he is. He’ll never forget the way you looked at him, the way you told him how traumatized you were to see him like that, he’s sure it would have hurt less if you’d stabbed him in the heart with a dull knife.

He fucking runs back to the cabin and get’s himself under a cold shower, trying to keep his hair from getting wet so you don’t know while his body takes a shock to its system, flushing out the desire and replacing it for his shame. When he’s red and shaking from the cold, he re-dresses and heads back towards the house. The longer he hides, the more likely you are to piece together the odd string of occurrences surrounding his disappearances. The longer he waits, the more guilty he looks, so he forces himself up the stairs, trying his best to catch his breath outside of the door until he finally has the gull to knock. He knows you’re in there, he can faintly hear something, soft little sounds that he can't quite make out, so he calls your name when the small rasps don’t catch your attention.

He nearly leaves when the door finally comes open, and…fuck if you aren’t a sight for his painfully sore eyes. You’re red all over, stunning, breathing hard with wide eyes like you’ve been caught at something. Maybe you have, he can imagine, maybe you were touching yourself—thinking about him. It's a futile dream, but he lets himself have it anyways.

No matter how much he runs, how much he tries his hardest to stay away, everything you do ropes him in and hog ties him up, unable and unwilling to be moved until you’ve decided what to do with him now that everything he is, is yours.

It’s shame that keeps him from embarrassing himself again once he drives into town, because the way you press against him in the truck makes his skin boil. He doesn’t deserve to have you beside him after what you’d been forced to witness, but that doesn’t stop him. He wants to slip his hand along your thigh, wishes Tommy wasn’t sitting beside you and he could stuff his hand down the front of your leggings and show you a thing or two—he knows he’s good with his hands—his mouth, he has to be if he wants to get a woman off. He wants to show you exactly what he could do for you, to you, but he keeps his mouth closed and taps his fingers against the steering wheel the whole way. It’s infuriating, how much you get along with Tommy now, who’s been nothing but crude to you, making passes at you left and right and god help him, you let him. He wants you to talk to him like that too, he wants to make you laugh, make you giggle and blush prettily.

But he just loads the truck. Watches when you and Tommy snicker over a bottle of whiskey he knows he can't touch because last time he made a fool of himself. He tries not to intrude on your space, tries not to bother you and Tommy around the fire later after he’s done unloading the truck alone. Not even Tommy helps him around here anymore, too far up your ass that he’s damn near useless.

He watches from the window like a fucking creep, trying not to work himself up over the way you smile at his brother, the way you throw your head back laughing at something stupid he probably said. He wants that to be him, sitting beside you with whiskey making him bold, faking it for him since he doesn’t have the ability to just talk to you. He’s sure he’d tell you everything, how beautiful he thinks you are, how much smarter than him you are. He’d probably tell you how many times he’s thought about you with his hands wrapped around himself, in the dark of his room with your name on his lips.

He doesn’t do any of that, instead he watches you from the window and lets his heart ache and pound until he sees the way Tommy lingers closer, touches your leg absently and you let him. He has to put a stop to this, so he tracks out into the cold and tries to put his foot down. Maybe Tommy will go to bed, you’ll let him walk you home and it will be so cold that you’ll ask him to stay again. But before he has a second to beg you otherwise, you’re kissing his brother.

You’re kissing his brother instead of him and he can't watch for another second, so he hightails it inside and slams his bedroom door behind himself. He can usually hear right through Tommy’s wall, but he holds his hands over his ears and tries his hardest to keep the sound of his ragged breaths from making it through the walls. At some point, he falls asleep, wishing you were laying right beside him, sprawled out, satisfied and spent with the shape of his teeth on your shoulder.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s not even close to sun up yet. He has a long day ahead of him, has to ride up to the north pasture, acres upon acres of beautiful pine covered land, but Joel has to ensure that the streams aren’t frozen over if he wants to move the heifers and their calves there soon. He gets dressed with a ache in his bones that he knows didn’t come from his age, his stomach is in knots because he knows what's been done, he knows he can’t change it—that he might not ever stand a chance with you now that you’ve been with him. Women always preferred Tommy over him, all the same cowboy charm with a bit more confidence.

He slips on his boots and places his hat on his head before lingering in the hallway for a long moment. He stares at Tommys door and imagines you sleeping on the other side of it. Did you like it? Do you like him?

He turns and starts down the hallways when the door comes open with a slow creak. He turns back around in the dark light of the hallway and, there you are wearing one of Tommy’s shirts and nothing else, your hair is mused and you have this look on your face, one that reeds shame and worry and for what Joel just can't quite put his finger on. You don’t say anything for a long time, just Joel and you and the fading darkness outside, your eyes tracking over him with a shiny hue to them.

“Where are you going?” Where is he going is the first thing you have to say to him? Like he climbed out of your bed and snuck off. “I uhm…I have a long ride up to the north field, thought I would get a early start on it.” He clears his throat and glances down at his boots, then back up at you. “Though I should give ya’ll some space, no one wants their brother listenin’ in.”

He starts to turn away again because he can’t look at you for another second when he knows you have his saliva on your skin and the shapes of his hands on your body.

“Can I come with you?” Go with him? You want to go with him when there’s a warm body waiting for you in a warm bed, where you can hide from the cold world, the impending darkness and a man like him. “You want to go? Why?” You close the bedroom door behind you like you don't want to wake Tommy and it makes Joel’s heart pound out of his chest for reasons it shouldn’t. “I don't know, it’s cold out there, you’re uhm…you’re naked.”

He tries, really tries to keep his eyes off your bare thighs, the shirt hanging off your frame and your sock-less feet on the hardwood. “I’m not naked, I have underwear on,” you lift one side of the shirt like you have to prove it to him and his eyes track to the black lace hugging your hips. Saliva builds in his mouth and he clears his throat, needing to turn away from you again. “If you want to come you should probably put some clothes on, I’ll meet you in the stable.” He starts to gather up his things, a light and his phone, trying to make himself busy so he can get away. “Well, will you wait for me—I don’t want to walk alone.” And Joel doesn’t want to do this right now, walk with you for a half mile back to the stables, sit beside you, wondering if it aches sitting in the saddle because his brother fucked you.

But he waits anyway, fiddles with the brim of his hat while he sits on the couch in silence as he waits for you to get dressed. You come out in your clothes from the night before, bundled up in a big jacket with your hair tied back. He tells himself not to think about it and heads towards the door. The walk to the stables is nearly silent, but the pounding in his ears drowns out the awkwardness in the interaction. How can he stop thinking about it? How you slept with him but dragged yourself out of bed to follow Joel into the cold? How you would trade a warm body for Joel’s cold shoulder?

“Need help with your saddle?” His voice feels raw from not using it, his hands aching from the cold while he cinches up the girth strap. This time next year, hell be saddling up Cersi to take this trip, he cant wait, but for now he’ll ride Hanks sturdy horse through the mud and snow. “I’ve got it, thank you.” There's no snap in your tone like he expects there to be and you work with him in unison, getting your mounts ready while the sun starts to climb into the atmosphere. By the time he gets out of the barn, you’re smiling at him. Smiling from your spot in the saddle with the reigns in your hands like you’re made for that.

“You ready to get a move on, cowboy?” His chest tightens at the way you gaze at him, wondering if you’d given Tommy that same look the night before. He wants to pretend it was all for him, pretend that you’re looking at him like that because you see something you haven’t before.

“You ready, cowgirl? When's the last time you were in a saddle?” He tries his damndest to keep his tone light as he hooks a foot in the stirrup and hoists himself up. “Been a couple years, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget how to ride.”

Did you practice last night? He shakes his head and wills away the image. He doesn’t think he'll be able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the ride, he can’t get the image of your mouth on his out of his head no matter how much he tries. It’s always fucking Tommy. He’s always been the favored brother, no matter how much of a fuck up he is. He’s always been the one to get the girl, the popular one in school, hell even his wife—

“You okay in there cowboy?”

Your voice comes like a shock to his system, snapping him out of another unpleasant memory. “Huh?” He looks around until he lays eyes on you, riding beside him with your hands resting on the horn of the saddle. “I was asking if you’re okay…you’ve been really quiet for the past half hour.” Half an hour? It's been a half hour since he started this ride? “Yeah, no, sorry. I have a lot on my mind, is all.” You pick up the pace beside him a little, till your horses are walking alongside each-other on the path. “Anything you want to talk about?”

He sits on the words for a second. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not particularly—but its you and your asking him and fuck, he wants you to get to know him. Maybe if you knew who he was, maybe if he had a chance to explain why he’s like this you might change your mind.

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout my ex-wife.” He keeps his eyes ahead of him, because he doesn’t want to see the look on your face when you hear that, that he had a whole other life away from this place. “My mom told me you had an ex-wife. She didn’t tell me what happened.”

You knew? He’d told Hank and Louise a lot about his life, he had to if he wanted them to trust him. He wasn’t a bad man, just a burdened one. “We uh…we had a rocky marriage. Got together young, right out of high school. I was learning to work a cattle ranch and I thought I would be able to give her a good life but—she wanted more, I suppose. Started steppin’ out on me. She got pregnant by another man, but I still didn’t leave. Helped raise that little girl like she was my own.”

He thinks about Sarah and her curly hair that definitely didn’t come from him or her mom, her sweet smile, her first day of school—all the things he missed.

“What made you finally leave?” Your voice is so quiet beside him. He looks over at you under the brim of his hat and sighs. “She slept with Tommy. Came home from picking up Sarah from school and I…caught ‘em together in bed. Tommy said he did it because he wanted to prove to me that she wasn’t any good for me but, I don’t know, I’ve never been very good and stayin’ angry at him.”

Your eyes look far away in that moment, like you’re clouded in some kind of guilt, maybe because you’d slept with Tommy, too. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Joel.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head absently. “Ain’t no thing. I’m used to it by now, he’s always had a way with ‘em that I never had.”

He has, Joel can't even recall every encounter he’s had with a woman that ended with them leaving with his brother. Hell, it had been five years since the last time he’d (kind of) had sex, no thanks to his cockblocker of a brother. The first time in years since he’s felt more than just attraction to a woman and Tommy takes that from him too.

“We should get a move on, we don’t have all day and I have a lot to do when I get back.”

He digs his heal in and the horse picks up speed and to his surprise, you keep gate with him along the trail.

When he gets to the gate of the north pasture, his ass hurts from being in the saddle and his face feels wind chapped, but you don’t complain about a lick of it, like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now. “Joel?” He’s closing the gate behind you when you call his name. It makes him look up from the latch. “Yeah?” He gets it in place and mounts his horse again, adjusting his hat on his head. “I’m really sorry, about how I treated you when I first came home.”

Fuck do you have to do this right now? Out here, where he has nowhere to run off to? “You're not the one who needs to be sorry. I never should have done half the things I did to you. I didn’t even know you and I assumed the worst of you. Should’ve never done any of that to you.” He never should have left you in the cold, never should have treated you any differently than anyone else because he thought you came from somewhere that didn’t like folks like him when he really likes girls like you. So smart and put together, so capable and confident.

“We got off on a bad foot, I suppose…do you think maybe we could…start over?”

You want to start over? With him? give him a second shot to not fuck this up again? Or maybe you don’t mean it like that, like he desperately wants it to mean, even if you fucked his brother last night, he doesn’t care, he’d take his sloppy seconds any day because it’s you.

“I’d really like that.” There's a sweet kind of shimmer in your eyes when you smile at him, rosey cheeks and a crinkle by your kind eyes. His sight ticks down to your chest, where he can see the necklace he’d given you sticking out of the top. You’re still wearing it, had you worn it last night? When he laid you down on his cold sheets while Joel wished desperately it was his?

Despite the pang in his chest, the rest of the ride is easy and light, you talk about nothing and absolutely everything, your favorite color, your favorite time of the year, Joel tells you how much he loves the spring and you excitedly agree, going on and on about watching the world come back to life.

You tell him about college, how out of place you felt surrounded by people who were so different from you. How nervous you were for the first year, but you’d made a best friend out of your room mate Mel, and you finally got the hang of it in your second year.

He tells you about drifting from place to place because Tommy usually stirs up some trouble and runs them out of town. He tells you about all the times he’s had to save his ass to your parents and how much he’s tried to hang on to the one good place he’s had in so long. He could talk to you for hours, all day if you’d let him, and you do. You hold his conversations like you’re a pair of old friends, catching up after years spent apart.

He’s so lost in you that he doesn’t even realize you’re back home until the house comes into view. He’s spent so much time immersing himself in talking to you that he’s completely lost track of where he is, letting the miles blow past him. It’s mid day and he still has a lot to do and he can tell you’re starting to get sore in the saddle. “I’ll get them cooled down, you should probably get some rest. You couldn’t of gotten much sleep last night.” He swings his leg over and climbs off the horse before taking yours by the halter so you can do the same. “Thank you for today…it’s been a while since I’ve had a good reason to ride.” You give him one of those smiles again and it takes everything in him not to lean in and kiss you because of it. He’s wanted to kiss you all damn day, slide his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull and hold on tight, slot his lips over yours and breathe you in deep until he can’t let you go again.

He doesn’t and you head off towards the house while he looks on. He watches till you make it inside and then some before getting back to his chores.

Work consumes the entirety of his day, until the sun sets and it starts to get dark and chilly when he’s finally got the animals fed and the equipment locked up. He knows Tommy is back at the cabin because he dropped off a plate of dinner to Joel in the stable on his way home. He’s about to start the walk back to the cabin himself when he hears the creak of the screen door on the house just across the yard. He closes the barn door behind himself and follows the sounds. You’re standing on the porch in a pair of sleep shorts and slippers, a tee-shirt that's too big and a nervous look on your face. You don't say anything, but Joel’s feet carry him to the steps, then up them one at a time, carefully and painfully slow, like he might spook you away if he moves too quickly. The wind is absolutely howling right now, whipping your hair around and cinching your shirt tight against your frame.

He hits the landing and takes a few more steps forward, until he’s a foot away from your shaking form, your big pretty eyes that are searching every corner of his. He should say something, he should say how much he enjoyed today, how much he wants to do it again and again and again.

“I didn’t have sex with him.”

It’s not what he expected you to say standing out here in this unforgiving cold, but its the best damn thing he’s heard you say all day. It feels like an endless weight coming off his shoulders and he lets out a loud gush of air he didn’t know he was holding. “What?” You puff your chest out a little, like you’re trying to get a point across to him. “I didn't have sex with Tommy last night.” You say it so matter of factly.

“Why didn’t you?” He reaches up and pushes his hat up a little, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His heart is pounding, his limbs shaking at the admission. “You know why.”

All at once, his pounding heart comes to a staggering stop, standing there on the porch looking down at you while he tries to keep himself upright. He doesn’t know why but the way you're looking at him now tells him there's something else here besides anger and hatred and shared distaste. You didn’t sleep with Tommy, because on the other side of that wall you were wanting him just as desperately as he wanted you.

“It’s cold out here…do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Joel’s bottom lip quivers so much he has to suck it into his mouth to make it stop, bite down on it to put it at ease. “Yeah, I…I’d like that.”

A warm little hand finds his, tentative fingers intertwined with his while you lead him inside of the house. You don’t take him upstairs, Joel doesn’t expect you to. You lead him to the couch and he sits down, kicking off his boots when you reach up for his hat. You set it on the arm rest beside him and grab a blanket off the back of the couch when he lays himself back on the pillow.

His body aches, his eyes feel heavy, but he doesn’t dare close them when he’s got an angel standing right before his eyes. “Goodnight, Cowboy.” You hum sweetly, lean down and press your lips against the apple of his cheek, more delicate than he’s ever been touched before in his entire fucking life.

When you pull away, those same cheeks are painted pink and he does his best not to grin too stupidly. “Goodnight, Cowgirl.”

You take the stairs up to your room but Joel rides the elevator to heaven from his spot on the living room couch.

[world-cinema-research]

Blazing Saddles (1974) essay

Blazing Saddles is a beloved film that is audacious and hilarious and includes biting social commentary. The film covers the improbable journey of Sheriff Bart, a black railroad worker turned sherif. He faces racism and corruption in hilarious ways throughout the movie. This film without a doubt pushed the boundaries of satire as well as comedy as a whole. In this essay we will delve into the style, historical significance, critical reception, and the blend of the conventional and unconventional.

Blazing Saddles (1974) Original Trailer - Gene Wilder Movie (youtube.com)

The first thing that I will be covering is the critical reception of the film. This film polarized critics with its bold and irreverent approach to comedy. Many thought that it was a phenomenal piece of satire that pushed the boundaries on topics such as racism, others condemned it due to its political incorrectness and dark humor. In the review by Roger Ebert, he states ""Blazing Saddles" is like that. It's a crazed grabbag of a movie that does everything to keep us laughing except hit us over the head with a rubber chicken. Mostly, it succeeds". The New York Times criticized its reliance on "easy and obvious targets" for its humor.

The actual content of the film includes endless satire and gags that last the duration of the film. The writers of the film navigate through the topics of racism, sexism, and many other societal taboos in a way that many would say that is untasteful. In terms of style, the film is a Mel Brooks classic, pushing boundaries at every opportunity and challenging the viewers' expectations at every turn. In addition to the film's unrelenting gags, it also tacks a whirlwind of important social taboos such as racism, sexism, and many cultural stereotypes. The film covers these sensitive topics through its wit and humor, often blurring the line between hilarious comedy and hurtful truths, brutally exposing the hypocrisies and injustices of society. The film happily defies expectations and challenges its viewers to question many of their views about comedy as well as about the world around them.

The film, having been released in 1974, occurred at the same time as several significant historical events and cultural movements. One of the most significant of these events to the film was the civil rights movement. Because of the fact that Blazing Saddles takes aim at racism so heavily, it caused it to be a very important film at the time.

Another event that was happening at the time that was extremely significant for the film was the increasing awareness of the LGBT community. This is another topic that the film digs into heavily and pokes fun at, and in turn, brings awareness to.

Something that has come up multiple times in my research of the film is the fact that this film would be impossible to create in today's landscape. The films approach to satire would almost certainly face almost insurmountable challenges today, especially regarding its unapologetic use of racial and ethnic humor. Even at the time of its release it faced backlash, and if it was released today, that backlash would be increased tenfold. The norms of today's film industry prioritize inclusivity and representation which is something that is simply not present in this film. Although the film's intentions are quite clearly satirical, I don't believe that there is any way that this film would have even made it out of the board room where it was being pitched.

It is not possible to pigeonhole the film "Blazing Saddles" into simply one category when it comes to conventional versus unconventional. This is because the film seamlessly blends together many different aspects of both a conventional and unconventional film. Although the film does adhere to some of the classic tropes it also defies them with its irreverent humor and boundary pushing satire. It is very difficult to call a film with such offensive and groundbreaking humor as conventional, and yet it is also difficult to identify a film with such a loaded cast and popular director as unconventional.

In conclusion, "Blazing Saddles" stands as a testament to the irreverent genius of Mel Brooks, as well as his fearlessness in his exploration of the limits of film comedy. Despite all of the polarization due to the film, it still remains a beloved classic due to how funny it remains, even after all these years. Through its willingness to push boundaries, this film defies easy categorization into things like conventional or unconventional. I think that this film should be looked back on as an enduring masterpiece of comedy and social commentary.

[thefisherqueen]

Time to read another Sherlock Holmes story, The valley of fear - the last one yet unread in our Letters from Watson bookclub, which makes me a little sad! But I guess I can always do rereadings and keep an eye on the tag, and of course there still is so much more Holmes-related stuff to read and see and listen to beside the original canon. I know nothing about this novel save a few quotes and that has yet again something to do with the US. I've read in The world of Sherlock Holmes that Doyle loved that country a normal amount and advocated for an allience between all English-speaking countries for a long time, which sounds a bit like an abusive grandfather asking both his former victims and estranged grandkids: why can't we just get along and be friends?? Anyhow, chapter 1 today!

“I am inclined to think—” said I. “I should do so,” Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently. I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. “Really, Holmes,” said I severely, “you are a little trying at times.” He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. 

Poor long-suffering Watson! 🤣 The dynamics between these two will never stop to amuse and intrigue me.

[libidomechanica]

And make her days: not for

If deaf and sea-shore, won’t pretence;     and the beauty’s breathe wind’s eyes that there is London Town! Since,     my love’s alembic, and

sore and master’d to give that had     daft his past state, on till all the down a musky Fawn of     China brought high in the

Desert saw Majnún answer. Mere     vermin, like a Magician tracing Letters be reward,     o’er heart; but like a jackpot

its cold philosophist, in     honour of the winds of infamy my company, and     not know us not! And

make her days: not for a burning     kiss drains of an untasted cheek the beauties white and     overhead rushes life nor

life-time’s in a fit of her Burden     ran upon the earth after the impresario,     making whelm the swords, which

puzzles us to his owne sunlight;     lamia, regal drest, is—Love, I reach’d some recourse     submit, since last arms like

a little hamlets, and high couch     with a hate but kindness; and, for its perfect pipe give     physicians mend that which burn

blue. Leaving such beard, how to drowning     to either past emotionless, and earth, I feel as     she: and ne’er I fill it

winter, with a friends the children,     anon, that sweet severe, and Spirit hovered in vain. Legs,     a hearty, juan from souls,

the hoarse alarm of earliest     birds nestle in a glance extends should have left with dew; fragrant,     now I have had, being

particularly heavy     raid on Hampstead.—Thus died too much to boot, and till is our     languisht with deeper that

Firmán-issuing Shah to whom     true sons the deed to your own praise me at blushful Hippocrene,     or new Love is like

a sufferer, they’are but more, or     the sea dirge, exception the hangs upon their way; but I     was yet the virtue hated

name as from before, how much     like his Dominion: but stood as my feet. Don Juan felt—what     was the street, remember?

[iwander12]

The English Alabaster official translation made it more racist for no reason

Uhh yeah...

I post it here so more people will have awareness about this.

It's this edition of Alabaster, published by Platinum Manga. There are two volumes

I purchased it last year in November i think. I didn't know much about it otherwise i prolly would have just uh. Read It Some Other Way.

Well, if you didn't know, this is one of Tezuka's more "controversial" stories. cuz it suuuucks bad. It sucked so bad he didn't want it printed into tankobon in the first place, but here we are with it in my American hands.

(from memory) The story is about a black American athlete who gets racially profiled and later accused of rape by a white woman so he gets put in jail because he is black. He becomes friends with a scientist and so when he got out he makes his own skin transparent so he won't get racially profiled anymore. Also the famous Tezuka Star Rock is here and he is white and Ultra Racist and he rapes a girl.

So yeah, pretty shitty writing on Tezuka's part. That's why he hates it, and it almost ruined the character of Rock for him. Fans at the time also thought this depiction was untasteful.

So why translate it to English? I don't know... I don't know who this would appeal to compared to like, anything else from Tezuka's enormous library but again here we are.

Now with the context, how'd they make it more racist than necessary? I think these images speak for themselves

There was no reason to use the n word as there was a more accurate translation yet they still used it anyway? This is just really confusing to me. I feel like someone nonblack just wanted to type the n word and get away with it.

Also the icing on the cake is in the back of both volumes, there's this page

Who the hell is this? I looked up their name and found no one relevant. Why is this printed inside the book? Why is this person being wanted for possessing books?

Being persucuted for owning books... this has never really been the case in the USA. yes banned books are a thing, but you're not going to be send to jail for them. Coupled with the fact that this book was NEVER challenged, NEVER banned, just offensive... PRINCESS KNIGHT was more challenged in the USA than this book! What the fuck!

This printing is from 2015 but it wasn't acceptable then and it isn't acceptable now. It's fine to publish Tezuka's books as-is, racism and all but don't treat it all "teehee so problematic!" like this, it's awful and shows you don't understand the severity of the issues present within the work and in real life.

[i-am-erik]

A Phantom's Muse #16

Several weeks had gone by since my run in with the Persian on the Rue de Rivoli. Through discreet enquiries via my agent, the widow Giry, I had learned that the former daroga of Mezanderan now resided in somewhat modest rooms above a hatters on the very same Rue de Rivoli. He lived quietly and respectably on an imperial pension with his servant Darius. Nadir attended prayers at the home of a devout Muslim businessman on the Rue Sebastian. Other than this it seemed he did very little, except to my horror, attend the Opérâ every month.

How on earth had I missed him? He hardly blended into the background in his astrakhan hat. I must be utterly blind to have missed him about the building. This shook me to the very core and I instructed Madame Giry to monitor his movements. The last thing I needed was him upsetting the proverbial apple cart so to speak, especially as my plans were ripening to perfection with Mademoiselle Daaé.

Christine was proving to be a truly gifted student and her voice was beyond that which I had imagined. It was a testament to my genius that I could craft this quiet country mouse into a singer that would truly turn the heads of the social elite of Paris. My triumph would mock their over fed, self indulgent satisfaction. As they applauded and adored Christine they would indeed be applauding me, the creature shunned to live like a mountebank in the sewers of the city. It was so ironic that it appealed to me immensely.

The only thing that now stood in my way was Carlotta. I had written to the theatre managers, Debienne and Poligny on several instances to complain and have her replaced but as yet they had done little to heed my request. Carlotta had to go and if management were reluctant to oblige me then I would be forced to take more drastic steps as untasteful as that might be. Here I was the puppet master and everyone dances to my tune.

[ktheist]

you can sit with us. | m

pairings. taehyung x reader x jungkook

genre. slice of life

words. 5.7k

warnings. explicit content, semi-public sex, threesome (obviously), everyone’s a switch at this point, but top!jungkook, big dick!tae, big dick!jungkook, discussions of sexuality

synopsis. the person frowns, confusion clearly painted on his face, “how can you be dating two people at once and those two people date each other while dating you?”

“it’s cause we’re a thruple - like a couple but with three people.”

x

the first time you met jeon jungkook and kim taehyung was at a bar downtown. you’d bumped into the tall, dark haired man at the bar who was in the middle of turning around after what seemed to be a reminder for the bartender to serve him and his companion at “table 6.”

“oh sorry,” you find yourself saying to a broad chest before letting your eyes travel up past the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple and finally his beautiful, mesmerizing eyes but it was the sweet, tender smile that gets you clenching your hands together in hopes to stop them from coming up to fan yourself, “oh there you are! wow, you’re tall!”

the sound of his chuckle was music to your ears, “i get that a lot - have a good one,” with a good natured nod and a parting farewell, he disappeared into the crowd.

you knocked on the counter, fixing the bartender a smile, “hi,” your half buzzed smile dragged out the word into something that might or might be interpreted the wrong way, especially considering where you were but when she smirked at you, you knew this one was going to be on the house, “oh, your teeth are so pretty!”

“thanks, baby, what can i get you?” as self-assured as she was, she still steered the conversation back to the reason you’re there, butt half sitting on the stool and arms propped over the counter, leaning a little too close than one should.

“oh!” you gasped as though you’d just remembered something, “can i have a bloody mary, please?”

“sure thing, sweets,” she winked and you giggled.

the whole time she was preparing your order, she’d kept her eyes on you and you were a giggling mess, eyes of stars staring at the way her nimble hands did their work up till the moment she slid it over to you with a, “it’s on the house.”

“oh my god, thank you!” a pause in the moment and a linger of gaze later, you were pushing the piece of paper with a sequence of numbers into your bra.

there was skip to your step as you made your way over to what was supposed to be a booth that you booked with your friends - who, in the short span of time managed to get their of companions for the night and consequently left no space for you to even sit.

so you stood there, not knowing how much time passed, with your jaws on the ground and the bloody mary held midair. completely frozen in place.

that was, until the handsome stranger beckoned you over from two seats away. he only had one other person with him. if his hair was dark, his companion’s was jet black, “hey, you can sit with us.”

with a dry sniffle, you’d marched way over. a stomp in your steps and a huff as you plopped down across from him and his companion. he’d introduced himself as taehyung and his companion, jungkook. and you had, forgetting everything about your untasteful encounter, brightly announced your name, “thanks so much for letting me sit with you guys,” you gushed, “me and my girlfriends made a promise that we’d never let any man or woman get in our way of girl’s night,” with an face full of dissatisfaction and an exhalation, you continued, “but guess that plan went out of the window.”

“is this your first time? don’t think we’ve seen you before,” jungkook’s voice, if there existed a word to sum up how to describe it, it would be melodic. a hymn of the heavens in the body of a man - a very beautiful man at that.

“no but this is my second time,” and halfway-drunk you had no filter or any sense of shutting the fuck up before you shared too much to strangers, you went on about how “a girl i was sorta a thing with brought me here,” you and her clearly didn’t work out because, otherwise why would you be here with, “so my girlfriends wanted to go to a gay bar and thought why not bring them here, right?” you scoffed, remembering the sisterhood promise made just a few hours ago, “wrong - they ditched me as soon as they saw the only few straight men here.”

that seemed to bring a rise of chuckle from taehyung and a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff from jungkook. for the rest of the night, you drank and did shots and danced on the floor - the two of them seemed a tad bit protective over you, especially when a man got too close. they weren’t looking for any because, “so how long have you guys been dating?”

“we’ve known each other for seven years and we’ve been dating for-” jungkook began before taehyung chirped in, “two years.”

“oh my god, you guys finish each other’s sentences,” you cooed, vision blurred but still somewhat able to process the information that went through your ears “goals.”

so they had no reason to let anyone else come into your little circle of three on top of the very obvious fact that you were too far gone to even consent to even a dance with any man or woman.

you remembered your friends, some time into the night, finding you and thanking the two men for looking out for you before they dragged you out with them. neither of them actually went home with anyone but it still didn’t stop you from holding a vendetta against them because, “girls, we made a sacred promise and you broke it!”

they’d bribed you with ice cream and sushi and you were a puddle of delighted jelly by the time you all walked out of the sushi place.

it was a month later that you’d returned to the bar, decked in your best curve-hugging skin-tight dress. this time, you were alone.

the plan to earn brownie points from the bartender fell through when you found out that she was quit a few days ago and the employer refused to give you any details about her - even her number to you because you’d regrettably got it wet beyond repair after dumping the clothes you’d worn that night into the washer before going to bed and setting the laundry to wash the next morning, forgetting the treasure that you’d gained the night before.

with shoulders sagged and a mournful pout, you’d walked over to one of those two-people tables, hoping to get a beer in a leave. but then they were there, sitting at the same table, beckoning you over like the good overnight friends that they were.

“what’s with the long face, sweetie?” taehyung pouted, eyebrows knitting together as he shot you the prettiest puppy eye to which made you giggle in response.

so you’d told them about how you’d fucked up with one of the cutest girl you’d seen in ages. “ugh, i hate when that happens,” jungkook made an over exaggerated eyeroll, probably to cheer you up which partially worked.

until you three decided to dance again with taehyung holding your hand up as you twirled around like a princess in red. when it’s jungkook’s turn to twirl, he had to bend his knees and gradually make a full circle in an awkward way but still ended with a hair flip.

and so it went, a friendship of mutuality and overflowing gayness. you’d become eating buddies who travelled all over seoul for the best foodplace that’s ever been reviewed. had stay overs when you’d driven out of town and back to their place. went to the bar every so often which they’d taken up the task of being your wingmen.

they succeeded in their jobs a few times. but the girls you’d slept with never stayed and you never thought of proceeding to reach out beyond a one nightstand. because you were young and they were sweet but you didn’t think a relationship of trust and confidence could ever spawn from meetings at bars and spurred into a hot, passionate romance that simmered into ashes the next day.

“i don’t know you guys,” you sigh, “i think i’m done with girls.”

“oh no,” taehyung looks genuinely mortified while jungkook shakes his head “a loss for the gays and girls” and you giggle-  never a dull moment with these two.

“i’m not saying i’m done done but it’s been awhile since i’ve sucked a dick, you know?” and with friendship came honesty and the comfortableness of saying things for what it is without being judged for it.

“oh don’t we know,” jungkook snickers, while taehyung shoots him a look - he’d always been the shy one between the two. the younger man goes in for a kiss, to which the elder accepts, meeting him halfway.

and all of it only makes you a tad bit lonely as you scan the crowd. some gorgeous beings catches your eye and you’d like to think you caught theirs too but instead of the gentle and loving affection you’d seen between the two men, their eyes were sparked with lust and passion. like nymphs of the night who’d leave you high and dry once they got what they wanted.

so you left to get a drink at the bar, ordering a shot of jeager in hopes of drinking away the creeping hollowness that begins to fill the lonely parts of your heart. several shots in and you’re tumbling over to your two friends who seem to be have taken things up several notches after your leave. with taehyung on top of jungkook and the first not so shy anymore to let out unrestrained moans as his younger other half laps on his neck.

you’re halfway drowned into your own little world and probably will be going home with them and crashing in that spare bedroom you’ve started calling your part time bedroom.

until you lock eyes with jungkook. his lower face buried in taehyung’s shoulder while the latter pauses, glancing over to you as though just remembering that you were there. still having the sense to lift an inquisitive eyebrow, you do so with a, “oh don’t mind me, i’m just happy that you guys are getting some tonight.”

“you know,” jungkook pauses, letting the seconds trickle on like the droplets of on the wall of the glass before it hits the surface of the table, “you wanted to suck a dick, right? welll we’ve got dicks.”

it takes you a long winded, painful moment to digest his words. another to let out a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff as if to say, “you’re kidding...” but the “...right?” comes a second too late. a second too hopeful.

and that’s how you end up in the washroom - you’re not quite sure if it’s the men or women’s but you’re surprised that it could fit three adults in one tiny cubicle. but the matter of how to suck whose dick was an entirely different problem.

“shit ___, your elbow’s in my stomach,” jungkook hisses in a muted whisper, his hand on your hip, no doubt the culprit of your ridden up dress until your cotton panties are out in the open.

“fuck, jungkook, move over, i can’t reach tae’s dick,” you grumble out, the aforementioned man’s hardened dick in your hand but the space not allowing you to even crouch in front of him as he sat on the toilet whilst jungkook stood behind you.

“will someone just suck my dick?” the latter sighs just as he throbs in your hand.

“wait,” jungkook says, earning a dissatisfied groan from you and his boyfriend but before either of you can say anything, he’s turning you around, hands guiding your hips, “tae, push her panties down.”

almost as though controlled by an invisible force, the man’s hands are quick to get those baby pink panties down until they’re hanging around your ankles.

“hey wait wait wait!” you repeat like a mantra as you feel jungkook’s hands guiding you down onto taehyung’s lap which, if you remember correctly, was sporting a protruding hardness in between.

“oh fuck,” yes, you’d just confirmed that an extremely erected and extravagantly lively dick is excitingly welcoming you with the way it’s jolting against your lower lips.

“oh my god,” taehyung moans, hands on the curve of your hips as he gently lowers you onto him until he’s fully inside you.

“that’s nice that you two are enjoying yourselves but - remember i’m the one that made this work,” a voice says before a hand wraps around your wrist, guiding it to a similarly throbbing hardness but of a lesser length than taehyung’s to which you soon realize that he makes it up with his girth.

“someone’s jealous,” the person behind you snickers - you have half a mind to join in on the teasing if it isn’t for your hips and knees focusing on keeping up your weight whilst you hand strokes the length in front of you, mouth lapping on his tip.

“shut up and kiss me, pretty boy,” you can almost hear the eye roll from jungkook’s voice as the tip of your nose hits his pelvic, mouth stretching wider as his leans over you, possibly to lock lips with the man he vindictive but lovingly complimented.

and so it goes, your first dick - two actually - after a long while. needless to say, you come out flushed and walking silly but both men had their hands around the opposite hip from the side they’re standing beside. it helps you hold yourself up at least until you’re in their car, switching from sticking your tongue in taehyung’s throat to jungkook’s when he stops at a red light. body stretching over the leg space between the passenger seat and the back of the driver’s seat, his neck probably hurting from having to crane around until he reaches your lips whilst taehyung’s keeps himself busy with a hand under your panties. teasing, rubbing your pleasure nub just above your lips until you’re soaking by the time the car rolled to a stop in their parking lot.

“scoot over,” jungkook instructs, unbuckling his seatbelt, “we really need to normalize waiting for the third person to finish doing whatever they were doing before deciding to fuck in the back seat of the car while they’re driving.”

“can i have your mouth, sweetie?” taehyung announces, sending waves of excitement down your core as you feel yourself clench in anticipation.

there’s just something about how they manhandle you - your hips particularly as taehyung lifts you up and slides away to the right of the car and setting you down like a little doll, hand pushing down his pants and letting his erection shoot up like a roly poly.

“great cause i want her pussy,” jungkook’s displeased tone is replaced by a breathy agreement.

and just like his other half, he’s making you stand on your knees, body bent over taehyung until his dick is in your face, oozing with precum.

“tae baby, at this point, you don’t even have to ask,” you fix him a smirk, savoring the way his eyes darken with a sort of godless desire as you lap at his tip like you would a lollipop.

the second time around, you’re much better at focusing on what’s in front of you despite the other length filling you up balls deep.

you’re not sure when you’d stopped or what time you fell asleep. but all you knew, you were sore and full by the time you were drifting between the waking world and the dream world.

the morning when you woke up, it’s been because of the way the bed shook like an earthquake was wrecking up the room. an earthquake that moaned, “deeper, jungkook, oh fuck.”

the sight before you has you clenching your thighs together but at the same time, the giggle that left your lips is what causes heads to turn and eyes to focus on you.

“did we wake you up, sweetie? i’m so sorry,” taehyung is the first to worry, “oh yes-” but that worry subsides when jungkook starts moving again, skin slapping skin.

but the elder isn’t quite ready to give up just yet, “we wanted to wait for you to- ah - get up - fuck - oh,” he whimpers, burying his face into the mattress before peeking at you with eyebrows knitting together, “when we were talking about l-last night, we - we couldn’t help ourselves.”

“don’t worry about me, i had plenty of dick to go for at least a whole month,” you stare at taehyung’s pinked lips for the briefest moment before searching his eyes, feeling a sudden heat rise to your cheeks when you notice he’d caught the lingering stare - last night was fun but all three of you were buzzed and possibly horny as hell, you’re not so sure if a kiss would be welcomed by either of them now that you’re all sober and awake.

“i’m gonna go shower,” you announce, throwing your feet over the edge of the bed, the sound of your padding steps drowned by their pleasured moans.

the hot shower helps ease the knots in your muscles and calm your mind - or at least partially. the sight of the two boyfriends shamelessly fucking in front of your eyes still plays at the back of your mind like a graphic scene. and so you find yourself caressing your hardened nipples, your free hand snaking down between your legs as a whimper escapes your mouth. almost as though anything louder, and the whole world would know what you’re doing.

“what? you’re touching yourself?” a melodic but dangerous voice reverberates against the wall and cuts through the sound of running shower.

before you can even call out - ask who it is even though it’s obvious whose voice it belongs to, the curtain is torn open, revealing a sculpted god - you didn’t notice last night because it was dark but even then you’d known those strong arms that held you must be hiding something else underneath those layer of clothes.

“oh, hey, tae - the bathroom’s kinda oc-” you were about to ask what he was doing because the bathroom was obviously occupied - besides the fact that it’s the guest room’s bedroom and the main bedroom had their own bathroom - but before you can, a pair of arms are pulling you against another body. muscular and deliciously built but exceptionally predatory.

“you weren’t gonna come without us, are you?” taehyung’s crestfallen expression is all you see. his downturned lips and puckered lips being your weakness.

“y-you guys were busy, so i-” your words are cut short when you feel the coldness of a breath against you damp ear, “uh-uh, who said we were?” jungkook’s teasing denial is what makes you clench your legs together, only for them to be pried open by the dark haired man who’s fallen to his knees right in front of you.

“tae!” you shriek, caught by surprised at the sudden lost of balance as he hooks one leg over his shoulder whilst your hand claws onto jungkook’s arms that’s banded over your chest for a sort of leviation.

“shhh,” jungkook hums in your ears, as though to say ‘we’d never let you fall’.

but you didn’t fall and taehyung’s looking at you with the prettiest eyes, “what? you said i didn’t have to ask, right?”

“n-no,” the heat comes on full force - all of a sudden, the hot water trickling down your bodies aren’t even remotely sufficient to keep you warm, “you don’t have to.”

and so it goes, your many firsts within the short span of less than 24 hours, spurred by the two wonderful souls you never thought you’d come to know so closely within the duration of your friendship.

you waited with nothing but a towel around your body until jungkook knocked on the door, a folded set of clothes in hand.

“oh hey thanks - don’t know what i’d do if i had to walk in the streets in fishnets and flashy red dress,” you force out a chuckle, cheeks heating up as you swipe the clothes off his hands in a blink of an eye. to which he heaves out a sigh, but the smile on his lips tells you that he’s all but angry.

“hey, i know what went on in the last few hours was crazy,” he starts, sounding uncannily casual about it, “but we don’t want this to get in the way of what we’ve built - can we talk about this over breakfast? tae’s making it now but- i mean, if you want to, of course.”

and that’s when you finally let the walls come tumbling down. standing there bare - quite literally - with your chest washed off its initial worries, “honestly, i’d really like that.”

“perfect,” the brightest smile lights up on his face and for a moment, you thought everything went back to normal. back when all three of you are hanging out and joking about the littlest things one of you realized and pointed out to the other two.

“oh and,” jungkook tilts his head to the side, “sorry if i was rude or anything last night,” he quickly adds, “and just now - i tend to be like that during sex.”

“oh,” is all that follows your response, thoughts running around before you can actually reach out one by one to process it - so single celled brain goes, “i kind of like that side of you, actually.”

“really?” there it goes the smile that could quite literally blind you as his shoulders visibly sags, “tae hates it when i boss him around - thank god that’s not the majority opinion from now on.”

“from now on?” you echo his words but before you can interrogate him some more, he’s out of the door and yelling for you to come to the kitchen when you’re done putting on the clothes.

so you find yourself sitting in front of the two boyfriend whom you’ve spend quite a night knowing. they’re gazing at you with eyes that can’t stop squinting into crescents and smile that can’t stop smiling.

“okay should i tell or you?” taehyung turns to the darker haired male, their hands that are twined together moving towards the man he’s pointing.

“how about together?” jungkook suggests, a glint in his eyes that makes you stare, wide eyed and unblinking. pancake lying cold and uneaten as you wait with bated breath, “...tell me what?”

before you can even finish your words, the two bursts out in exclamation, “we like you.”

taehyung’s is a bit more excited while jungkook’s is a tad bit reserved.

“i like you guys too!” you declare, hands clapping together in excitement.

“oh my god, you do?” taehyung squeals, bringing his free hand and the one he has twined with jungkook to his heart.

“don’t i?” you make a ridiculous sound, hand waving away the ludicrosity of the possibility of you saying otherwise, “i’m glad we get to put last night behind us and still be friends.”

“i don’t think she gets it,” jungkook says a whole heartbeat later whilst taehyung’s upturned lips gradually but surely falls.

“what?” your eyes flit between the two, as if trying to spot the thing you seem to obviously miss.

“sweetie,” taehyung reaches his hand to you, to which you gladly accept before jungkook does the same with his other hand and you similarly meet halfway over the table “we like like you,” the taller man emphasizes.

it takes you a moment to digest his words. another to squint your eyes at them with a ‘okay where’s the punchline?’ kind of smile. and one last moment for it to sink in, “i thought you guys were gay and last night and this morning was a mistake?”

“i thought so too,” taehyung is the first to break the bond, his free hand coming to his chest, bent in a 90 degrees angle, “but i’ve had girl crushes and they went away after i met jungkook so i thought they were just me being in denial of my sexuality but i like spending time with you and jungkook,” he slips his large hand into yours that stays frozen on the table where he’d left it, his thumb caressing your knuckles, “i like the way you smile, the way you’d team up with me to tease jungkook,” that receives a snort from the man in question, “the way you’re always so supportive and optimistic- i just - i like you.”

“well, what he said except i like everything he’s not about you,” jungkook simply says, “and unlike him, i know i’m bi.”

“and we want you to be a part of this wonderful, beautiful, delightful relationship,” taehyung adds, fixing you the most tender smile as he gazes at you as though he’s never seen such a magnificent creature before.

“i mean...” you breathe out, a sea of emotions crashing against your chest before you finally say, “this is a lot to take in guys. i don’t know what to say - i think i need some time for myself.”

“oh,” it’s the way taehyung seems like he has more to say, the way his smile is completely replaced with a hesitant flat line and the way jungkook lets go of their twined hands to rub the elder man’s back.

“it’s okay, take your time,” he says, and you shoot him a grateful but awkward smile before taking your things and leaving through the door. unsure of whether you’ll ever return. whether you’ll ever laugh about the stupidity of bravely idiotic characters in horror movies again. whether you’ll ever huddle in the kitchen trying to cook dinner for three again. whether those peaceful days will ever be yours again depending on your own choices.

days go by and then one week and then two and you’ve confided in at least two people whose reactions are similarly perturbed by what you’ve told them until you’ve concluded that nobody will truly understand the confusion and frustration and jitters that courses through your veins when you think about the two charming but glaringly different ends of the spectrum men.

one is like the blue sky, bright yet vast and a trove of never ending possibilities while the other is like the midnight sky, decked with fleeting moments of vulnerability and endless mystery. but both, you’ve come to realize, are the reasons your view of the world has changed for the better. made your days a little more worth looking forward to. and it’s exiting and daunting all at once because the people you’ve confided in have expressed their concerns and dissertation of what they think hides behind the veils of normality. a box they’re not so used to stepping out of and deems those beyond the cardboards uncommon. foreign. unknown.

and truthfully, you’ve already decided what you want - know what you want to do on your way back that day after you’d made a beeline for the door. and as you stand in front of the same door, sniffling from the remnants of your fight with your parents after your sister - one of the people you’d confided in - deliberately told them about what she thinks - and she thought right - you’re about to do.

two rings later, you’re staring at a face of an angel. doe eyes hiding behind jet black locks widening as the sight of you hits him like a brick.

“____, hey, it’s okay,” jungkook says in the softest voice as he gathers you in his arms like an old cardigan.

“baby, who’s at the door?” comes the loud but smooth baritone a minute later.

he must have seen himself - who their uninvited guest is as silence settles in between all three of you before taehyung’s coos, “oh, sweetie.”

it’s only after an hour of ice cream and watching friends and the two boyfriends wrapping you up in a burrito blanket that you blanket do you spill the beans on why you showed up at their door at 11 in the evening, looking like a mess they never ordered.

your parents are livid. they think this isn’t real - that you’re being delusional and that both taehyung and jungkook were messing with you. it was the slander on the two soul’s names that has you unleashing the words you’d never thought you’d say to your own parents.

“i can take liking girls. that’s fine - but a relationship of three?” your father had stood in front of you, fingers pointing at his head as he spat out, “are you crazy?”

the family dinner had turned into a family quarrel. and your sister had been caught up in between - she’d wanted you too see the ludicrosity of it all and if not her, then maybe you’d listened to your parents.

and listened you did.

like a time bomb surrounded with dynamites, you’d eventually exploded. anything you say would never get through the and anything they said, you’d taken negatively.

so you took the cab straight to taehyung and jungkook’s.

“i just - it hurts because they won’t accept you guys and that means they’re rejecting me,” you sniffle, “i’m sorry i took so long.”

“hey, it’s okay, you’re with us now,” jungkook gathers you in lap whilst taehyung wraps his arms around the both of you from your other side, “yeah, cry all you want sweetie, we’re here for you.”

you wake up the next morning huddled up in a king sized bed with the two men on either side of you, almost like a knights protecting their princess as she slept like a baby after crying her eyes out for another half hour. your legs are tangled together, a pair of mismatched hands on your stomach while a snore resounds from your left where taehyung is sleeping like a beauty and jungkook on your right like an angel.

and for the first time in a long time, that hollowness in your chest cowers away in the light of the day that seeps through the blinds, painting paralleled shadows over your skin.

“i love you,” you whisper, looking between their two peacefully sleeping faces.

x

“hey, beautiful, you come here often?” a gruff voice reverberates in your ears just as you’ve placed the order for you and-

“yeah, with my boyfriends,” you shoot him a polite smile before attempting to slip past him and the stools you’re trapped in between but before you can even manage to move, he inches closer.

it’s been a year since you’ve been dating taehyung and jungkook. eight months since you’ve decided to move in with them for good. your parents reached out to you two months ago after declaring your banishment from ever stepping in their property let alone attend family dinners and gatherings. your relatives have all heard about your unusual but not unreal relationship and so have taehyung’s and jungkook’s families.

opposition still rises from both sides of the families’ distant relatives. it’s not too far off from yours.

“oh, you mean how girls call their lady friends girlfriends,” a lecherous grin forms on his face, “i get it.”

“no,” you hiss, needles of annoyance getting to you earlier tonight than most nights, “i mean my boyfriends who i’m dating.”

the person frowns, confusion clearly painted in his face, “how can you be dating two people at once and those two people date each other while dating you?” he doesn’t even wait for your response as he takes a step back, “a simple ‘no’ could’ve done the trick, you think you’re better than me?”

“it’s cause we’re a thruple - like a couple but with three people,” you tilt your head to the side just the slightest bit, seeing him in a different but not any more attractive angle, “and honey, i know i’m better than you.”

and with that, you raise a challenging brow, daring him to say otherwise just as a smooth but deadly voice calls for you, “____, you were taking so long so we decided to check on you, is everything okay, sweetie?”

“hey man, what business do you have with our girlfriend?” jungkook lifts an eyebrow in a similar fashion as you as he glares down at the man who’s at least a few inches short.

“you-” the man steals a petrified glance at you as the realization sinks in his eyes but before he can say anything, you strut in between the two men, smirking when one of their arms snake around your waist in a possessive nature.

“nope,” you say simply, “shorty here was just leaving, weren’t you?”

he mumbles out something incoherent, between a ‘liar’ and ‘rude’ before scurrying away and out into another part of the bar until you can no longer see him.

“thanks for having my back, babes,” you stand on your tip toe only to have taehyung chuckle, bending over until your lips press his before doing the same to jungkook, “baby,” and the two sharing a kiss together a heartbeat later.

“let’s dance!” you grab their hands and begin to drag them to the dance floor which does nothing if they hadn’t move themselves and they know it too as they laugh, the taller men patting your hair gently because he knows how long you worked on it.

“our girlfriend is so cute, isn’t she?”

jungkook pushes taehyung’s hands away only to ruffle the top of your hair despite your protest, “sure is.”

“my hair!” you lament, “babes, baby messed up my hair!”

you tug on your boyfriend’s sleeve, the man looking between you and his boyfriend, unsure of whether to be the pacifier or the scolder. in the end, he goes in for a kiss on your pouted lips, “you look beautiful either way, sweetie.”

“oh my god, it’s ruined, isn’t it?” you question, eyes filling with dread.

the culprit has the gal to laugh at your predicament until you announce your choice of dance partner being your taller boyfriend for the rest of the night and him not exactly opposing it whilst jungkook is left to trail behind you until he catches up between you, arms around your waist and taehyung’s, “okay, okay, sorry - i’ll make it up to both of you later tonight!”

at that bold yet careless exclamation, you look at taehyung, only to see the corners of his lips lifting into a devious smirk similar to yours.

“it’s been awhile since we took out the whip, hasn’t it?”

[ownedbytexbikerdom]

I’d agreed to meet him for a drink. One drink, I told myself. Just enough to satiate my curiosity about him, how he’d been since he left town, whether he’d changed. I knew I had. Older, stronger, hopefully wiser. I’d made my peace with our past and his place in my life. Surely I’d fostered some immunity to him, even if a quick google search revealed that he had unfortunately neither gained 100 pounds nor lost his hair.

“One more.”

The charm offensive was in full force. Apparently some things didn’t change, including my body’s reaction to this man. I could blame the scotch for the warmth that furled through me, but not for the way my pulse had quickened as soon as he’d sat down, or the aching need that thrummed through me as I watched him run his fingers around the rim of his glass.

“No. I can’t.” I would hold firm dammit, even if my mind was suddenly replaying all the things those hands could do and had done to me.

“Sure you can, Kitten. You know you want to.”

“Don’t call me that.” My glare had made other men step back, but not this one. In fact, it seemed to egg him on. He liked my temper.

“Why not?”

“Because it belongs to another girl from another time.”

There was a pause as he sipped his drink and gazed at me. I held his stare out of sheer stubbornness.

“That girl used to be mine.”

I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped me, or the flash of heat that scorched through me at his low voiced claim. I felt robbed of the power of speech. We’d danced around this for an hour, drinking our drinks, making small talk, catching up like acquaintances do. But with that one line he’d forced the issue out into the open. We weren’t acquaintances. We weren’t friends or colleagues. We were former lovers. More than that. He’d been my Dominant for several heady, crazy, months - a lifetime ago.

I swallowed hard and then forced out my next words, “but she’s not now and hasn’t been for a long time, Jake.” My use of his name was deliberate, a calculated lack of deference.

“No. She’s not…but that doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be.” Suddenly he was standing much closer. I could feel his heat, smell the cologne he always wore. He took my hand in his and felt the shiver his touch produced.

“You want to deny the chemistry? Tell me you never think about the way I made you feel? The way you felt when I had you over my knee? Or on your knees in front of me? You want to tell me you’re not thinking about it right now - how I made you cum?”

I shook my head, dazed, flushed, suddenly drunk on the lust spiraling through me. I couldn’t tell him any of that because of course I was thinking about it. I was gripped with need. My body ached. And that was just from memories and his words and the ever present chemistry that did indeed flash between us.

“Come upstairs with me…please?”

It was the please that did it. If he’d fallen back into our old dynamic, tried to be bossy or commandeering, I would have said no with zero qualms. But that please..that cut right through my defenses and denials. I nodded slowly and he smiled.

“I need the words love.”

“Yes..yes please.”

Without another word he lead me to the elevator bank and when the car arrived he hustled me inside, impatiently pushing the button to close the doors. He was standing in front of me now, his large feet moving mine aside. My legs nudged open wider, instinctively, as he moved closer, filling the gap and pressing me right up against the wall. Then I couldn’t think about anything but him—his hands, his body, his victory over me.

It was such an easy surrender in the end. He took complete command. The length of his long body pressed against me, his erection pushing firmly at the place where I burned and throbbed for him. His lips molded to mine, sucking alternately on my bottom lip and then my top, leaving no part of my mouth untouched or untasted as I moaned and whimpered into his kiss.

When this wasn’t enough, he cupped my jaw, arching my neck back, forcing my mouth to open wider. I let out a cry that he lapped up before trailing his lips across my cheek, to the sensitive shell of my ear. His other hand moved down to trace the curve of my breast, before gripping it hard. It was painful, a glorious reminder of how well this man understood me, how we knew I needed an edge of pain with me pleasure. I groaned into his mouth again as he squeezed harder. Harder still. Then he let go, and as soon as he did, pleasure vibrated straight down to my pussy.

“Oh my god,” I gasped. “Do it again, please.”

Pressing in closer, he slid his hand under my dress to cup my pussy.

“You’re so wet, I can feel it through your panties .”

“Fuck…fuck, touch me,” I begged, bucking into his hand. This was torture.

“You seem to have forgotten how to be patient Princess. Is this what happens without me? You become an impatient little slut?”

Suddenly, he slapped my pussy. Hard. Then he kissed me to muffle my cry.

“That’s alright. I’m going to remind you that you don’t call the shots, and you’re going to thank me for it.”

Lordy. 🔥🔥

I take no credit for the writing, if you know who the author is let me know and I will tag them.

[alientoastt]

actually no i have more thoughts about mechscooking

jonny is actually a pretty fucking good cook, nastya can attest; the man can’t bake for shit, though. he laughs at measuring cups. this is a “little of this, little of that” man.

nastya “resequenced spinach” rasputina cannot cook. do not listen to her claims of scientific advancement. nastya cannot cook.

ashes- is ashes. do not allow them in the kitchen. they do have a fancy palette, though, after all those years as hades.

marius can cook, but only very finicky things. he can look at scrambled eggs wrong and ruin them, but he makes a mean pavlova. and while it’s not fiddly, i feel like he’d make good shakshuka.

the toy soldier can follow a recipe to a T, but it’s amelia bedelia style, so you tell it to beat the eggs and it starts punching the eggs. note: i don’t think it’s particularly unintelligent, this is just too good of a mental image to ignore.

tim is an okay cook, but his key competencies lie in soups, stews, and hashes- things you can slap together on a budget. he also inexplicably (see: it reminds him of rations) can’t stand bacon unless it’s burnt to a crisp. and while the things he makes taste fine, he wouldn’t know- funny thing about a blast that’ll burn your eyes out is that if you screamed, it’d scorch your tongue too.

ivy theoretically understands cooking, she really does, but it’s so perfect-to-the-recipe that it always comes out lacking something. this does not stop her from trying to improve on the recipes she knows, and with raph’s help, conducting ever so many experiments to nail the perfect version of several of the crew’s favorite foods to be used for bribery and poisoning.

i’ve already talked about brian, but one more thing- the seasoning thing is not leftover from when he was human. that man is a robot. i’m pretty sure he can’t taste. i’m terrified if he can.

also, the aurora probably has some sort of hitchhiker’s guide/ star trek style replicator for food and drink, but i’m leaning more in the direction of the heart of gold’s replicator, which cannot for the life of it make tea. i love aurora so much. but she, as a probably-untasting-but-if-brian-can-taste-i-think-a-ship-can starship, cannot cook.

bonus: lorelei cooked when she and carmilla still 1) needed to eat and 2) were still happy together, so carmilla really never learned beyond the basics. it’s... not like she really needs to anymore. (did jonathan vangelis try to win her affection by cooking for her only for her to never accept it, even before she explained the whole vampire thing? absolutely)

[loki-hargreeves]

Once upon a dream - Loki x Reader Ch. 2

[Ch.1] 

Warnings: angst, mentions of amnesia, vulgar language Word Count: 7,1K Chapter Summary: Loki has been captured. Now it’s Y/N and the Avengers’ time to figure out his schemes. Y/N learns more about Loki in her dreams and she begins to suspect they’re more than just dreams... Author’s Note: So sorry it took me this long! Please enjoy this chapter! :) Listen to: Once Upon A Dream Playlist

THIRD POV

[CH. 2: Last night I dreamt]

~  Last night I felt real arms around me

          No hope, no harm, just another false alarm  ~

“Is there something you’d like to tell us, miss Y/N?” Fury stormed into the room in which Y/N had been taken into questioning for the moment they returned on the helicarrier. How ironic, she found herself in yet another interrogation room, treated like a villain despite the promise of being a hero for capturing Loki. She hadn’t done anything wrong! Fury didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood by the end of the table with his palms rested on it as he leaned towards Y/N. It was an intimidating position. She was beyond exhausted and it only fueled her rage when they trusted her so little.

“No,” She made it short and clear.

Fury clenched his jaw and it was obvious that he didn’t trust her. “Mind telling us why Loki knew your name?”

“He must’ve used his magic,” Y/N came up with a simple answer. Loki seemed to know the others too, which he now said was because of Barton, the agent he kidnapped.

“So, he used magic to know about your amnesia too, huh?” Fury just had to pour salt into the open wound. It’s like no one cared about how she felt. They spoke of her past like it was nothing and she hated how much it upset her.

At this point, she didn’t know what she could say to defend herself. “You’re making assumptions, Fury. I don’t know anything, I swear.”

That seemed to be a blow for the tall man. He sighed and then stood up straight, walking around the small room deep in thought. He stopped by the mirror, which Y/N knew was a two-way mirror. He faced her with his back, and she ended up staring at the material of his black coat. “Whatever this is, we will find out about it,” He promised after a moment of silence. “And for now, Loki only wants to speak with you. You’ll be stationed by his cage where we can keep an eye on both of you.”

Was he serious? Y/N felt her heart drop as she heard her sentence. Loki would only taunt her further and possibly drive her mad. If she had known what her agreement would lead her into, she would’ve never accepted the job offer. Somehow, it felt like they hated her even more now than before.

Knowing that there was no use in fighting Fury, she silently agreed with him. The door opened and two guards marched in, ready to lead Y/N to the wolf’s den. She walked with them, tiredly dragging her feet across the floor. As they walked through the helicarrier, she felt eyes burning into her soul. They walked past a lab and Bruce looked at her through the Plexiglass. He looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. Great. His pity was the last thing she needed. 

Finally, they reached the place where Loki was held. It was a large space and in the middle of it was the cage, originally built for someone else. Loki was sat on the bench in it and he looked at Y/N as they arrived. He seemed to have expected her arrival.

“We will bring you your necessities soon. Don’t leave without consulting someone first,” One of the agents told her before leaving her alone.

Machines were buzzing and beeping all around them. Footsteps could be heard from the corridors. It was cool in the room which made clutch onto her arms. At least, she wasn’t put in the cage with Loki. She was grateful she could stay on the outside.

Their eyes never left one another as she walked closer to him. She didn’t stop until she was as close as she could get to him. Despite her exhaustion, she was curious. Loki wasn’t someone she wanted to mess with, but it was clear they had a connection. “They told me you wanted to speak with me.”

“Oh, yes. A little company wouldn’t do much harm here. It’s quite an…untasteful place, I must admit,” Loki mentioned as he looked around. He didn’t have anything in his cell. It reminded Y/N much of her room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility; cold and empty. 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the real reason why he requested to speak with her. She sat down on the floor, tired from the long day and she leaned against the cage. It was far too tempting to just close her eyes and fall asleep. Even a short nap would’ve done good for her. Instead, she fixated her eyes on Loki and she remembered the strange thing that happened when they touched. They were in her dream again. It made it even stranger when Loki seemed to recognize the place. No matter how much she tried to think about a solution to the mystery, she didn’t know what connected them. It was infuriating.

“You’re deep in thought,” Loki pointed out the obvious.

If it wasn’t for the heavy surveillance in the area, she would’ve gladly mentioned their connection. But now she was terrified of getting caught - having Fury’s eye on her back and all. Although she didn’t believe she had any part in this godly mess, she was afraid Fury and the others would think so. They would accuse her of being a beast and surely, she would return to the facility for the rest of her seemingly endless life.

Loki knelt down so he was on her level. There was only the thick glass between them now, yet his presence didn’t make her uncomfortable. “What’s on your mind, Y/N? You look anxious. Is it your…friends?” Loki smirked as he said that, continuing his use of long pauses between words, enjoying the dramatics. He seemed to know that no one trusted her. 

Did it amuse him?

“You’re a pain in the ass, Loki. I’m stuck with you until we find the tesseract,” Y/N tried to focus on her mission. It was pointless now, but she figured she could try to get something useful out of him.

Loki shrugged, “I’ve sent it off, Y/N. You’ll never find it with my assistance. I think you’re stuck with me.”

“Too bad,” Y/N rolled her eyes. Her eyelids were getting heavier by the second and she felt a yawn creeping up on her. Without giving her actions much thought she rested her head against the glass, and she crossed her arms on her lap. Maybe, just maybe she could close her eyes for just five minutes? No one could be mad at her for that, right? That’s when her yawn ripped through her mouth and Loki definitely noticed.

He sat down on the floor and tilted his head curiously. “Tired?”

“If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’d rather not speak with you,” Y/N told him a little harshly. She couldn’t help herself in the moment.

“You’re definitely cranky. Perhaps you should sleep it off?” Loki suggested. Did he want her to sleep? Y/N looked at him and she noticed something strange about the god. He didn’t seem to be mocking her, despite how mocking his tone was. He had a rather soft linger in his eyes when he looked at her. Somehow, she just knew they had met before. Did he know about her dreams?

That’s when alarms rang in Y/N’s head. Loki must’ve known about her dreams. He must’ve had them too! Did he suggest her to sleep because he knew that he could speak with her in her dream? It was a shot in the dark, but Y/N hoped that it was true. That way, if it worked, no one could hear them.

A smirk curled on her face, “I just might.” If they indeed had a dream connection, it would be both interesting and a little terrifying. To have a god in her head wasn’t anything she had ever expected.

“Sweet dreams,” Loki wished her, and he got up, leaving her on the floor. He paced across the round cell to his bench and sat down, keeping his eyes on the woman who nearly passed out in exhaustion a few feet away from him. He didn’t take his eyes off her even when her eyes fell shut and her breaths got heavier and longer. She was finally asleep, just like he wanted her to be. That’s when Loki closed his own eyes, relaxing as well as he possibly could in his situation. He didn’t show it, but he was overwhelmed. He had not expected to run into Y/N on this mission of his. It had changed everything.

 Birds were chirping peacefully, flying across the sunny sky. The river was running wildly, untamed by nature. Y/N felt damp grass beneath her bare feet. She was in the middle of an open field, surrounded by flowers that smelled sweet as summer. The scent of the colourful petals relaxed her even more. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or even what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the beautiful day on the summery fields.

“Hello, Y/N,” A rather familiar voice caught her attention. Y/N turned around and noticed she was wearing a white dress. In front of her stood a man she had seen several times before. She looked at his tall figure, his silky raven black hair, his pale skin and the details of his gear. He wore a black uniform that was topped off with golden details and a long, emerald green cape. He looked like royalty.

Something told her that she knew him, but she couldn’t quite put her tongue on his name. The more she tried to think about it, the less relaxed she felt. Suddenly it all came crashing back to her.

That was Loki!

It was astonishing to stand there and realize she was dreaming. The realization helped her see just how bizarre the dreamworld was. Her eyes scanned the rose painted sky and she smiled as she saw how unnatural it looked. The clouds looked like white paint brushed on a pink canvas. How bizarre it was to be lucid, especially when Loki was there. How was it possibly that he got into her dream? Was it because of his godlike gifts? It must’ve been.

“How is this possible?” Y/N asked him, feeling oddly calm. Something deep down told her that she could trust him. Besides, how could he possibly hurt her in her dream?

Loki walked closer to her, gently brushing his fingers on the roses that surrounded them. “Your mind is quite strong, Y/N. This place is peculiar and quite vivid,” He avoided her question.

“You wanted me to sleep, you wanted us to be here. Why?” She tried again, hoping to finally get some answers out of him.

That’s when Loki faced her, and his smirk and mocking gaze were long gone. As their eyes met, a sense of familiarity enveloped her. Her mind told her that she had looked into those eyes a thousand times before. If only she could remember.

“I wish you could remember,” Loki admitted with a much quieter voice.

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N,” Loki explained tiredly. It was so strange that he seemed to know the answers she craved. He, the man she was supposed to call her enemy.

Y/N felt brave in her dream, so she stepped closer to him. Loki didn’t seem to mind her presence so near him. He didn’t seem to mind it when Y/N put her trembling hand on his wrist, wanting to see if something would happen again. This time, nothing magical happened. Her fingertips rested on the cool skin of his wrist and that was all. “How do we know each other? Why have you been in my dreams for so long?”

Loki looked at her achingly. “Everything used to be much simpler before, but the world has changed. I wish I could go back, Y/N, but something has come up. Therefore, I think it’s important I don’t bring you into this.”

“Into what exactly?” Y/N inquired, desperately.

Another sigh left Loki’s rosy lips, “If I tell you, I must know you’re on my side. You can’t possibly work with these people who only use you for your power. I can’t speak if you’ll turn against me ag-” he stopped himself before he could finish that word. It pained him to be quiet.

Her stomach dropped. She felt sick. Did he imply that for her to find out, she would have to betray the people she promised to help? Truthfully, Y/N didn’t care about them, but they had the power to throw her back into a cell to rot into. If she betrayed them, she would never get another chance to prove herself worthy of freedom.

But if she joined Loki, maybe, just maybe she could get the freedom she wanted? To be freed from the questions that had haunted her for decades, to live in a world with answers and the opportunities to do whatever she pleased. Could Loki truly offer her that or was he manipulating her so she would ease his escape?

“I wish I could trust you,” Y/N admitted to him after a while.

To her surprise, Loki put his large hand on her cheek, caressing her skin ever so gently. Her eyes widened by the gesture, but she didn’t mind it. In fact, it felt nice. Was this another trick? Did he have the power to allure her into his grasp or did she genuinely enjoy his gentle touch? It felt like her heart yearned for it, for more.

“Trust yourself,” Loki told her. Whatever he meant by that; she would figure it out eventually. Right now, she only wanted to melt against his touch. Although she couldn’t remember him, she was now certain that they shared a moment in the past. Otherwise, Loki wouldn’t be this sweet. She wouldn’t react to his touch like it was an instinct. It was all so natural.

She hadn’t felt this way in years. It made her eyes sting painfully as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Y/N was happy and sad at once, desperate, and hopeful. There was conflict raging within her.

Their moment couldn’t last forever. Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she found herself back in the helicarrier, on the cold metal floor by Loki’s cage. A familiar face caught her attention. It was Thomas! Seeing the guard there nearly made her forget about her more than bizarre lucid dream. He stood by her with a blanket in his hands and a smile on his face. “I thought you’d want this,” He said kindly, “You looked cold.”

“How…why are you here?” Y/N asked him curiously. Her voice was still raspy from sleep.

“I requested to be transferred here after they decided to move you. Fury approved,” He gave her the short story as he threw the blanket over her.

Y/N appreciated it. She had felt a little cold and a blanket would offer her comfort. She wasn’t going to sleep now. Memories of her dream with Loki flooded into her mind and she felt her muscles tense.

Why on earth did she lean into his touch like that? Her blood turned to ice in her veins as she remembered just how comfortable she felt. What was that all about?

“Are you okay?” Thomas wondered.

Y/N investigated the cage where Loki was. The god of Mischief was sat on the same spot as before and now a cold look painted his face. He looked nothing like he did in her dream. Back there he seemed to kind, so gentle. Now he frightened her. His creepy gaze sent cold shivers down her spine. Was his cold exterior an act or was he truly the monster everyone said he was?

Brushing Loki off her mind, Y/N looked away as she stood up, wrapping the blanket over her shoulders. “I’m okay, Thomas. Just worn out. I didn’t expect this much from this mission.”

“I see. It must be nice to be somewhere new though,” Thomas assumed she was happy to be out of the facility. It was half the truth.

“Yeah, I mean I haven’t really gotten a chance to enjoy this yet. Fury doesn’t trust me,” She admitted.

That seemed to remind Thomas of something, “Right! He asked me to bring you to a conference room. Apparently, you should get to know your teammates better. I heard that Thor’s here.”

Thor? Oh, yes. Y/N remembered that the god agreed to come with them. She was surprised that she nearly forgot about that. “Lead the way,” Y/N told him, trying to seem excited when in reality she felt lost. All she could think about was Loki and his mysterious offer.

Just before they left, Y/N turned to look behind her shoulder to meet Loki’s gaze. It was so intense that it made goosebumps rise on her body. Whatever connection they had that allowed them to escape in a dreamy world, it was real. The look on Loki’s face said it all.

                  Just as promised, Thomas lead her to the others. When they entered the conference room, they were in full conversation already. Y/N knew she was supposed to be excited to get a chance to talk and interact with people, but now all she felt was anxiety. Would they think of her as a traitor?

“Any luck on finding the tesseract?” Natasha asked Y/N, being the first one to notice her. That made everyone else turn to her as well, eyes full of curiosity.

Y/N smiled a little bit as she walked further inside, “No. He said he sent it off and he doesn’t know where it is.”

“He told me so as well,” Thor let Y/N know. At least Loki was consistent with his story. Y/N noticed how oddly Thor looked at her, as if he was studying her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke louder than words. Y/N decided to ignore that.

“Do we have a plan?” Y/N ignored Thor and tried to focus on the mission.

“I’m going to talk to Barton once he’s in the right head-space,” Natasha explained. “Maybe he can recall something, anything that could be useful.”

That’s when Bruce Banner spoke up. Y/N hadn’t heard much from him yet, “I’m trying to study the scepter, but I haven’t figured out how it works. Tony and I will continue looking into that,” he let everyone know. The scepter was nearby. Y/N could feel its strong presence in the room. The scepter had negative energy packed into it, which was bizarre. Although it looked like metal and rocks, it felt like it was sentient. As odd as it was, Y/N believed that the scepter had the potential to reveal a lot it they could just dig into it.

Steve turned to look at Y/N, “You should try to speak with Loki again. Maybe Thor could help you. He’s his brother after all.”

They had clearly done much of the talking when she wasn’t there. It almost felt useless to even stand in the conference room.

“Find out why he killed 80 people in two days,” Natasha muttered clearly out of spite. It was understandable that they didn’t like Loki. Y/N shouldn’t like him either, but she couldn’t help but feel for him. He hadn’t shown any signs that he wanted to be Y/N’s enemy. It was hard to hate someone without a reason.

“He was adopted, but he’s still my brother. I will find out what this is all about,” Thor assured them. He just had to mention he was adopted. Yes, it was a surprise, but it was strange of him to mention it. Was Thor ashamed of Loki? It sure seemed like it.

“Maybe you’d like to see him alone first? He might speak with less distractions,” Y/N suggested, now facing Loki’s brother. He was tall and muscular too and a little intimidating, to be honest. But she wasn’t afraid. She had faced much worse and it seemed like Thor wasn’t a threat anymore.

He let out an empty laugh, “I don’t know how much he’ll talk to now. Things have changed since he left.”

Since he left? “What do you mean?” She inquired, curious to learn more about how Loki ended up on earth. Everyone else seemed just as keen to learn more about him.

Thor seemed tense as he prepared to explain the situation. Clearly, the past was a burden on his shoulders. “I think Loki is doing this to get revenge on me. We had a pretty nasty fight on Asgard. I let him go. I thought he was dead, but I was wrong,” Thor started dramatically. Would Loki truly go through so much to get revenge on his brother? Before anyone could question Thor, he continued, “When I caught him, Loki said something odd. He told me about worlds that he saw in his exile. The person I spoke to was so distant. It’s like Loki is far gone. Someone showed him these powers, but I do not know who.”

“Are you saying that Loki isn’t working alone?” Tony wanted it confirmed.

Thor faced the man of Iron heavily, “I think so, yes.”

“But who could he possibly be working with?” Y/N thought out loud. She tried to connect this new information with everything Loki had told her. He did seem like he was holding back but why? Was he threatened? Had he made a deal too?

Thor gave Y/N half a smile, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

 The moment after Thor and Y/N walked away from the others, Y/N sensed a shift in Thor’s demeanour. At first, she blamed it on his nerves. After all, he was going to talk to his brother who he had thought dead. Then Thor spoke to her, which confused her even further, “Have we met before, Lady Y/N?”

She narrowed her eyes and glanced at the golden locked man – god, beside her. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?” Thor inquired.

“I’m sure I would remember if I had met you,” She faked a smile, deciding not to mention her issue with her memories. Surely, she hadn’t met Thor before. After all, he wasn’t even from Earth. Then again, Loki seemed to know her so why wouldn’t Thor?

Thankfully, Thor let it go. “You just remind me of someone. Must be a coincidence.”

They finally reached Loki’s cell, which filled Y/N with excitement and grudge. Perhaps now with Thor’s aid, they would get some answers. Hopefully, answers that would steer away the attention from her. She hated being treated like a criminal.

Loki glanced at them, almost as if he knew they were coming. Y/N let Thor go ahead and she followed behind closely, growing more nervous with each step she took. If Loki said one thing wrong, it would cost Y/N a lot. For now, she could only hope that Loki wasn’t in the mood to ruin her time.

“You’ve come to see me, but I assume it’s not for a heart-to-heart conversation,” Loki stared at Thor, raising his dark eyebrow curiously as he spoke.

“You assumed right,” Thor pulled his lips into a thin line, imitating a smile. It was clear he wasn’t happy at all. “As I said earlier, if you give up this wicked plan of yours and come home, we can put it all behind us.”

Somehow, that seemed to offend Loki. The proposal of going home didn’t make Loki look relieved or excited at all. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she stood there and studied the two otherworldly men. She was intrigued by their past. It wasn’t easy not to wonder how they ended up here, like this.

Loki walked around the cell, taking long yet silent steps. His hands rested on the small of his back and he seemed deep in thought. “You’re wasting your time, ‘brother’. Your blindness won’t let you see the deeper truth,” he finally spoke, spitting out the word ‘brother’ as if it were poison on his tongue. Then he glanced at Y/N, but luckily said nothing – yet.

“Then help me see!” Thor seemed frustrated with Loki. His words didn’t make sense at all. “Let me help you. You don’t have to anything you’ll regret.”

“Who’s to say I’ll regret anything at all?” Loki snapped angrily. He was so different now. Earlier, he seemed calmer and even kinder when he had spoken to Y/N.

Thor turned to face the woman who had been quiet so far. There was a shadow of desperation in his blue eyes. Was he hoping for her to say something?

Y/N felt the pressure on her shoulders, so she decided to try something. “Are you working alone?” She asked Loki, dismissing the conversation he had with his brother.

Loki faced her and some of his anger seemed to lift. “Ah- someone is asking the right questions.”

“You could be more straightforward,” Y/N narrowed her eyes and surprised herself with her attitude. She hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, but she hoped it would work on the god of mischief. Loki smiled. He seemed to like the sudden change in her attitude. Thor was quiet - for once - as he anticipated Loki’s reaction.

As Loki waltzed closer to Y/N, so close that the wall of his cage stopped him, she grew tense. Despite his witty smile, Y/N noticed something strange about him. His eyes were so sad. He looked at her longingly, which confused her beyond understanding. It almost convinced her that whatever façade he put up here had a deeper meaning. As they stood close, Y/N noticed other subtle details; Loki’s skin was pale and she could swear it looked bruised. His eyes were full of broken veins and whenever he put weight on his right leg, he seemed more cautious, almost like he was in pain. Something was wrong.

The silence dragged out too long for Thor’s liking. He couldn’t understand why Loki and Y/N were staring each other down. Thos has a lot on his mind right now. Seeing Y/N didn’t help at all, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe anything. It was merely a coincidence that she was so much like someone he knew long ago. Right now, Thor wanted his brother back. “Answer her question, brother.”

There, he had to ruin the moment. Y/N was frustrated because she felt like she was getting a grip on him. As soon as Thor spoke, Loki’s vulnerability disappeared. “If you truly want to find out, I’m sure you’ll find another way to reach your answers. Maybe punch your way through it all,” Loki suggested coldly.

“Don’t make me come in there!” Thor growled. Although he tried to sound angry, Y/N knew he was upset. Thor clearly cared about Loki, but their relationship had struggled a lot.

“Oh, I wouldn’t stop you,” Loki tried to rile him up.

To Y/N, that seemed like a terrible idea. She looked at them closely and felt a yawn creeping up on her. She tried to hold it back but failed miserably. Her hands covered her mouth, but they noticed her weariness.

“You’re boring her, brother,” Loki mocked Thor and turned his back to them.

“I know you’re not working alone, Loki. Whoever showed you these things…whoever they are, I will find out about it. This isn’t you-“

“I’ve changed!” Loki defended himself.

Then it was quiet.

Thor turned to Y/N and he sighed deeply. They didn’t have to say it because it was so clear. They weren’t going to get their answers from Loki this way. But it had been worth a try.

                         Fury had been kind enough to give Y/N a room where she could rest in. He had found Y/N with Thor and told her that he had seen the surveillance tape. According to Fury, it would be better for her to sleep in private than on the floor right next to a god-like ‘villain’. Y/N was more than grateful, although the room was small. It had a bed and a small nightstand. It was more than enough.

She took a shower, which was much needed and then she finally got under a blanket – the same blanket Thomas had given her. He must’ve taken it from the room. The moment Y/N’s head hit the pillow; she fell asleep. It was as if someone had turned off a switch. She drifted to her dreams with one thought in her mind, would she see Loki again?

 The sound of a kettle whistling on the stove caught Y/N’s attention. She was in an old-fashioned kitchen, sitting by the open window on a blue chair. She took her eyes off the small garden outside and hurried to the stove, taking the kettle off it, careful not to burn her fingers. There were two teacups on the counter with honey in them already. The golden goo had spread evenly on the bottom of each cup. Silently, Y/N poured the hot tea into the cups and then put the kettle away. With a spoon, she swirled the tea and watched how the honey disappeared from sight. It smelled amazing, like lemons and ginger.

Everything felt so peaceful. She was happy, but she couldn’t recall why.

Y/N grabbed the cups and made her way through the house like she had done it several times before. The house was so familiar. Even if there were no lights on, she would’ve surely known her way around. Eventually, she reached a large living room. The ceiling was high and the walls were pale green. On the couch with a book in hand was the man she dreamt of nearly every night. The sight of him warmed her heart. “I made tea,” Y/N told him and walked closer to him.

The man looked at her lovingly, putting his book away as he gladly accepted the hot drink from her. “Thank you, my love.”

Somehow, his voice made her stop in her tracks. He was really familiar. It felt like they had always known each other, but right now it was different. She looked at him and her head began to pound. A pained expression appeared on her face as her headache grew worse dangerously fast.

“Are you alright?” The man wondered. He put his cup away, hers too, and then he caught her hands in his. “What’s the matter?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she remembered. That was Loki! She realized that she was dreaming again. Learning how to be aware in her dreams was peculiar. It all felt so real, like a memory. “Loki,” She breathed out his name. Why was he acting like that? The last time they met in a dream, he seemed fully aware of his surroundings too. Now…he was different.

“Do you need to lie down?” Loki asked her, clearly worried. He didn’t wait for an answer as he gently tugged her down to sit on the emerald couch. Y/N was in shock as she let him pull her with him. They sat so close and he didn’t let go of her hands. It felt nice, but she was so confused.

“Loki, what are you doing?” Y/N muttered, hoping that he would return to his usual self, whoever that was. This didn’t seem anything like the Loki in the cell.

He burrowed his dark eyebrows together and put his large hand on her forehead. “What am I doing? I want to make sure you’re alright, love.”

Love?

Y/N tried to think why he was acting this way. That’s when a thought summoned her. Perhaps she had dreamt herself into a memory? Maybe all her dreams with Loki were memories? As she looked around, she noticed just how old all the furniture was. The house barely even had electricity! It looked like it was ripped straight from the early 20th century.

She felt chills running all over her skin as she noticed more details. It had to be a memory! She was sure of it. That’s why Loki was acting so strange. But if it was a memory, did it mean they used to know each other? Were they close? It sure seemed that way. Why else would Loki hold her and call her such sweet things?

The longer she thought, the more freaked out she felt. This couldn’t be good.

“Y/N, darling. What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” Loki snapped her out of her thoughts.

By now, she felt tears pricking her eyes. Her headache didn’t go away completely, but it wasn’t that bad anymore. Something was happening to her, but she didn’t know what. She was shocked and frightened. Getting a word out of her mouth felt impossible.

Loki looked at her with pity when he noticed that she was on the verge of crying. Instead of mentioning it, he wrapped his arms around her shaking body and concealed her into a loving hug. Y/N rested against his chest and his cologne made its way to her lungs. It was such a familiar scent and it did manage to calm her down just a tad. When he hugged her, she blinked, and a few tears rolled down her face. The unknown was taking a toll on her. She felt guilty for enjoying this hug. It was the most comfort she had experienced in a very long time.

Loki’s hand rested on the back of her head, pulling her even closer to him. Despite how terrified she felt, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. It felt like a reasonable thing to do.

“I’m here. Tell me what’s bothering you once you’re ready, I won’t rush you,” Loki cooed softly as his other hand drew patterns on her back. Even that felt good.

Y/N swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she tried to find her voice. It was a dream, so she figured that she couldn’t do much harm if she questioned this dream Loki. He must’ve been a creation of her lost memories. Perhaps, deep down she had these memories? Maybe this way she could reach them again?

“Who am I?” Y/N whispered, unsure which words she should use. At the end of the day, this was a conversation between her and her subconsciousness.

Loki backed away just enough so he could face her. He seemed deeply concerned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t…I don’t remember anything, Loki. I don’t even know what I am,” More tears escaped her eyes in a stream down her cheeks. All the pain, the paranoia, anxiety, everything seemed to return to her. The worry she had carried for decades, it was all there now. Feeling it all at once was difficult. It hurt. She hated crying, but she couldn’t help it.

Loki pulled her close again, letting her cry against his chest. When he placed a kiss on the top of her head, Y/N seemed to relax. That was Loki’s cue to speak, “You know more than you dare to admit, dear. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You might think you belong to the place you’re trapped, but it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

She listened to every word he said. He was right. She had always known she was different than other human beings and at times she believed she wasn’t even human. Could it possibly be that she was something alien? It would make a lot of sense if that was the case.

“If I’m not human, what am I?” Y/N dared to ask him.

“All I can say is that you and I aren’t that different,” Loki replied mysteriously.

Loki was Asgardian. Could it mean that she was Asgardian? How come she didn’t remember anything about it? Why was she on Earth? That didn’t make any sense.

Loki seemed to notice how confused she became. “A lot had happened in your life. You started a new chapter on Midgard and encountered tragedy. It will take time for you to heal and remember but be patient. One step at the same is more than enough.”

Why was Loki being so damn mysterious? Was it him or was she having a conversation with her own subconscious? Y/N felt impatient, she wanted to remember more. She wanted to know more. She wanted to believe, truly she did, but she wasn’t sure if she could. It was frustrating. All she wanted was for someone to be honest and straightforward with her. All of the mindgames were tiring.

Y/N took a deep breath and tried to relax in Loki’s arms. “What are we?” She whispered her question. It made her heartbeat faster, jumping all the way to her throat as she waited.

A chuckle left Loki’s lips. He slid his palm to her cheek, cupping the side of her face so he could make her face him. His handsome face was dangerously close now. “We’re two beings who are destined to find each other again and again…” He seemed to lean closer to her as he spoke. Y/N felt his nose brush against hers and Loki tilted his face. Why didn’t she back off? She blamed her dream state for being so comfortable with this. Her eyelids closed gently, and she felt Loki’s lips on hers. They were soft, gentle, familiar. The kiss was so inviting, and she seemed to kiss him back without giving it any second thoughts. In fact, it felt good to kiss him. Their kiss was passionate and electric. It felt like sparks ignited between them and made her feel happy.

As their lips parted, she found herself wanting more, but she didn’t initiate anything. That’s when Loki spoke again, looking directly into her eyes as he did so, “…and again.”

 Loud knocking pulled Y/N out of her slumber. She groaned, annoyed of being awakened. As she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a metal ceiling. It reminded her of the enormous helicarrier she was in. The mission, Loki, everything came back to her. That’s when the door opened, and Thomas entered.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but Thor wanted me to fetch you. It’s about Loki.”

Y/N remembered her dream and she felt her cheeks heat up. She had been fully aware in her dream and she had kissed him! Thinking about it now was bizarre. She felt embarrassed and she truly hoped that there was no way for Loki to find out about it. Could the things be true what dream Loki told her? She feared they were.

“It’s alright. I’ll come with you,” She cleared her throat and got up from the comfort of the bed. Her body was still half asleep, but she would be alright. Surely, seeing Loki would wake her up. The thought of facing him after her dream was making her nervous. After she had brushed her hair and straightened her clothes from wrinkles, she was good to go.

They walked out into the corridor, like they had done many times before, and Thomas let his curiosity guide him. “So, you’re an Avenger now?”

“An ‘Avenger’?” Y/N wondered.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you. Right, well this project is called the Avengers project. I suppose the team they put together, you included, is called that which makes you an Avenger. I thought Fury told you that much,” Thomas explained it to her. Even he knew more about this than her. It made Y/N’s gut pinch a little bit. She felt so underappreciated.

“I suppose you’re right. And no, they haven’t told me that much yet,” Y/N answered with a hope someone would tell her more sooner or later.

As they were about to turn to the right, the alarms on the helicarrier went off. Only a moment later, they heard a loud roar from a small distance away. It only took them a few seconds to realize something was horribly wrong.

Someone or something had awakened the true beast onboard, the Hulk.

“Fuck,” Y/N cursed as she put the pieces together.

“This can’t be good,” Thomas seemed just as worried. He had been told to keep an eye on Y/N and that he would do. “Let’s go check if Loki is in the cage.”

That was an odd thing to do when a huge, raging monster was roaming the ship, but Y/N didn’t bother to say anything. She followed him as they broke into a run. In only a short moment, they reached the space where Loki’s cage was.

The cage itself was missing!

Y/N felt nauseous as she saw it. Loki was missing, the cage was missing, the Hulk was rampaging the ship and…

there was a body on the ground. Thomas and Y/N noticed it at the same time, but Thomas reacted to it much stronger. “Agent Coulson!” He yelled his name with worry and then ran towards his bleeding body. Y/N stood there. She could tell that Coulson was gone. The poor man wasn’t moving nor breathing at all. Despite how much she hated everyone working for S.H.I.E.L.D, it was shocking to see his lifeless body.

“Stay with him, I’ll go find the others. Maybe I can make myself useful!” Y/N told Thomas and left without waiting for a reply. Adrenaline rushed through her body as she sprinted through the corridors, hoping to find anyone or anything to do. This could be her chance to prove herself useful.

She nearly reached the lab when a voice caught her by surprise. It was Loki’s voice, “Y/N.”

She turned around swiftly and nearly screamed when she saw the man right behind her. Luckily, she managed to stay quiet as they faced each other. Now without the cage, she felt tense. Although Loki had been nice to her so far, she was still cautious. Besides, he was holding the sceptre! It was glowing yellow as he held it, pointing it at her. Something told her that this wasn’t good. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I got myself out of that cage. I have a job to finish. My offer still stands,” Loki offered her freedom again, at the price of cooperation. The last time, he seemed worried about her assistance. He hadn’t been holding the sceptre back then. He had seemed so much more concerned, frightened even. Now he had a dark look in his eyes, and he seemed excited.

Was the damn sceptre affecting him? Or had this been his plan all along?

“Come on, you can’t seriously wish to stay here. They’re using you for your powers. You’re not free,” Loki was in a rush. He needed to know now whether she would join him or not. Truly, he wished for her to join him so they would be together again. Y/N didn’t want to lose him, because of the answers she wanted to get from him. The longer they stood there, listening to the loud alarms, the more stressed they both felt.

Y/N’s dream returned to her mind. What he said repeated in her head clearly, ‘we’re just two beings who are destined to find each other again and again…and again’. The words somehow made her feel confident of her choice although it was absurd! If they got caught, she would lose her possible freedom. But if they succeeded in this, whatever ‘this’ was, she could get the answers she had waited for, for so long now.

Wishing that she wouldn’t regret it, she faced Loki with a determined expression. “Fine. I’ll join you. But you’ll have to answer my questions.”

A vicious smile spread on Loki’s face. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Now let’s go,” He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. Yes, Y/N feared diving nose first into the unknown but running with Loki made her feel something she deeply desired. Her body felt alive, her heart was racing wildly in her chest and strangely enough she felt free.

[Ch. 3]

A/N: Your feedback would mean the world to me. Reblogs are stronger than likes. 💕

TAGS:  @lokislittlecorner @angelicwolf98 @iraniq  @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @chipmunkchick @chimera4plums @myraiswack @grincheveryday @surprisinglyaestheticinfj @kinghiddlestonanddixon​ @subtlemalice​ @alfoos​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @whimsicalwoodlands​ @strangemcuvlogs​

[MASTERLIST]

[chuuyagum]

♡Winter 2021 Anime Watch List - Reviews pt.3 ♡

Winter 2021 marks the beginning of my anime reviews! below are my thoughts about the anime i watched this past season! (this is NOT spoiler free) ♡

---♡---

Winter 2021 Season;

Tenchi Souzou Design-bu / Heaven's Design Team

i'm incredibly glad i picked this anime up when i did! this anime season was heavy as hell and i'm so glad to have had a more lighthearted and funny series to ease the tension every week. although simple in its premise, every episode was just delightful and trying to guess what animals they were creating was so much fun!

for being such an easygoing anime they gave us canon trans rep without ever making the lovely Venus the butt of an untastful joke. actually, not once was there a crass or unnecessary joke despite the multiple opportunities, instead this anime runs with the absurdity of the situation and never takes itself too seriously. although the design team has such an unusual job at hand they're a happy dysfunctional family that cares for one another in their own ways. i loved getting to enjoy their shenanigans each week!

Rating: 9/10

---♡---

Past Seasons;

Jujutsu Kaisen - Fall 2020

i have nothing but good things to say about this anime! incredible score, animation, and my god that use of lighting! everything from the action sequences to the somber moments are animated beautifully.

by far my favorite aspect of this anime is how well it trims the fat of a typical shonen. they cut right to the point without rushing or making you feel like something's misisng. and all the characters actually feel like real people, that's how well written this is.

despite the setting and universe all the characters feel like unique individuals in their own right, free from too many tropes that normally box shonen characters into predictable archetypes. while still fitting the themes of its genre, JJK does well at dropping the usual narratives in favor of giving us characters that feel modern in their way of thinking and interacting with their given obstacles. even the antagonists stray from being standard bad guys, enough to where we can't always draw a clear line between their words and actions.

also did i mention it's funny? the humor is so aptly timed and delivers respite from the serious moments without taking away from them either. getting to see Mahito and co. during their down time playing games and just hanging out, which makes them feel more real in an unexpected way. hell, how often do we get to see antagonists playing Life or vibing on the beach? even the way we're introduced to the antagonist is amusing while still making the severity of the situation known. all in all i'm very glad i picked this up and can't wait for more!

Rating: 10/10

---♡---

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Like Real People Do || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre and Morgan try to have a normal carnival date like normal people do. But they, like White Crest, are anything but.

@deathduty

The rainbow of lights that lined the carnival grounds were every color you could capture in electricity. They curled around every bend, from the ferris wheel to the carousel to the round awning of the rubber duck shooting range like stripes of candy on a lollipop. Morgan stared at the technicolor flashes until she lost the difference between red, blue, and yellow and saw only a single flickering puddle over her eyes. It seemed inevitable now that they would come here together. The calliope music, faint and corny as it had sounded from Hambry Park the other night, hadn’t faded from Morgan’s mind since. In the dead hours of night, Morgan had hummed the sweet rolling waltz to pass the hours, something that might have been familiar a hundred years ago but reached people only wistfully now. It was silly to imagine any kind of connection between her and the music, of course. It was just a tired old song. But Morgan was endeared to it, thinking of the melody as another creature out of step with the rest of the world like her. A little at a distance; a little strange. Maybe it made sense that this carnival would be her first, that she would only find it after her death. As she sidled closer against Deirdre, she couldn’t help but think of all the others she’d missed out on during her life: the rickety fairs in the mall parking lots and the end of school year fests and the Kemah Boardwalk. Would it have been this beautiful? Would she have stopped to admire the scene in all its glory as she did now?

“What do you think?” She asked Deirdre. “Can you tell me how it smells? I hear these are supposed to be smelly, but in a good way.”

Like the mushrooms, the carnival had its own music. Deirdre could faintly connect a similar sensation between the two, though she didn’t care to draw any further conclusions. Where the mushroom beat was an inaudible thrum, broiling inside her bones, the carnival was the same sick beat stuck on loop in her head, burning her mind with the desire to visit the fair. It was so loud in the cemetery, ruining their otherwise good night with its terrible, constant upbeat notes. She needed to go to this carnival, almost just as much as she was curious to check it out. The sounds and sights were unfamiliar to her, the array of people milling about were foregin to her senses. The ding of the carnival games, the whistling screaming that came down with the roller coasters bumps and twists. The queues waiting for attractions Deirdre couldn’t possibly imagine as being any fun; she didn’t know where to look, what to focus on. She gravitated to Morgan, holding her close--her one, stable and familiar anchoring point in all this strange chaos. She wanted to point out the things she couldn’t recognize, which was most of the things here, and ask Morgan to explain, but imagined it would get tiresome quickly. Instead her eyes darted around the lights and colorful treats, trying to figure out what was happening. Morgan’s voice cut through the frantic milieu. “What does--what--huh?” She snapped her attention to her girlfriend, blinking. “Are you asking me how the carnival smells?” Amused, she turned her nose up to the sky and sniffed animatedly. “Dirt. Sweat. Something sweet and---” She sniffed around like a dog caught on a scent. “Ah, yes. More dirt.” Deirdre smiled, pressing in to Morgan. “People say this is smelly ‘in a good way’? It--” She tried the air again, adamant to properly share this experience with Morgan--it was new for her too, after all. “I do smell a lot of sugar. And something baked and--” She glanced around, “ah, right, we’re near the food. There’s a child eating a...colorful cloud? And another eating a firm chocolate orb.” Was this food Morgan had tried before? Was it some carnival-exclusive that she was now doomed to never be able to experience? ...maybe they shouldn’t be standing near the food. Deirdre tried to lead them along. “Everything here is so flashy, like they’re all competing for attention.” She sniffed the air one last time, “and it also smells weirdly greasy.” She looked back to Morgan. “How do you know where to start in a place like this?’

Morgan smiled up at Deirdre, watching all the little wrinkles of concentration scuttle across her face as she tried to pick out each sensation from the bright jumble around them. She could see as well as she had in life, and when she peeled her eyes away from all the lights she could glimpse striped tents and gleaming racks of funnel cakes, cotton candy, and popcorn still wet with butter. There were sandy tracks where children had tramped through in every direction and dusty posters and glass display cases sporting strange shapes, she wasn’t even sure what. And she could hear just as well too, that same bittersweet waltz, the wails and chatter, but Deirdre, tucked around her better than any blanket, cut through clearest of all. “Well food does generally smell pretty good. But there’s the night air, and the grease, yeah. But maybe feeling excited about that is just a stupid American thing,” Morgan beamed. “But you definitely have to try at least some of the food. I remember the one funnel cake I had at the boardwalk being pretty good, and it’s hard to go wrong with cotton candy, it’s pure fluffy sugar. Karen had this toy machine that would make some, and--well, actually, it took forever to get enough around our paper sticks for it to look right. And no matter what flavor packet we poured in, it all tasted the same, just looked a different color. I guess however they do it here, it’s better. Um, but maybe you’ll like candy apples more? They got kinds with caramel on them too, and probably a few other flavors…”

Her words were tripping over each other at once as she tried to get her mind to alchemize everything. She hadn’t spent so many days dreaming about times like these, just on and off whenever the idea walked in front of her. When the customers at Murdoch’s or The Gap would talk about what a good time they were sure to have before shuffling off in pairs, and all those dopey Hollywood scenes. She hadn’t imagined she would be missing half her senses when she’d tried to picture herself in a scene before. She’d pictured herself plucking off gobs of cotton candy herself and rocking in her ferris wheel seat next to some sweet girl and thumbing brine off each other’s faces and tasting the salt as well as the cheap, eager sweetness around them. Morgan’s look turned distant as all those old ideas dissipated like a ghost in a haze of salt. “Everything is competing for attention. I don’t know if there’s a science to this, but it makes sense to start with whatever looks like the most fun. What looks good to you? I don’t care what we try as long as we get to at least one of those corny little games where they give you a teddy bear for knocking down bottles or shooting a rubber duck off a stand.”

Morgan was buzzing and Deirdre reached out to thumb her hair in place, her other hand centered on her hip, trying to keep her still--steady. She wondered if it was excitement that was bubbling out of her words, simple wonder at finally being in a place that must have once only been dreamt about. Deirdre had no desires or ideas of a carnival herself, she knew of them only through the distant memories of conversations she wasn’t paying attention to. The sights were odd, and she knew less of what to do here than she did before she entered. But Morgan’s excitement, and the flashing glow of the stands, rides and games around them catching Morgan’s features with their yellows and blues and bright purples, was more than enough to keep her from worry. “I can try some food later,” she smiled, “they seem kind of....sticky.” But Morgan had tried them before, which Deirdre hoped meant there was less of a reminder of her undead, untasting tongue---or was it more of one? Did the reminder play hauntingly at the back of her mind like the carnival’s own eerie music? “It’s not stupid, exactly, is it? Everyone seems really happy to be here.” Children bounced around, pulling their parents this way or that, pointing at rides and prizes. Couples snuggled closer, eyeing the ferris wheel. Even groups of friends huddled close, laughing freely as they charted out their plan for the rest of the night. Deirdre thought she could get lost in the crowd, just watching the humans move. But she stood still with Morgan in the middle of the path, a rock in the stream, caught up in the current of people all the same. No longer some observer, but someone that could experience things for herself too. Yet, just as Deirdre thought she might have figured out the key to being less affronted by the strange senses, she watched Morgan’s excitement fizzle off for a moment, gaze lost somewhere too far for Deirdre to follow. She pressed their lips together in a kiss she hoped was just enough to pull Morgan’s thoughts away from wherever they had gone. “I can tell you what everything feels like,” she mumbled, lingering close. “The cotton candy--which I guess are the cloud things?” She tilted her head. “The cotton candy, the apples, the cake...whatever. I know it won’t be the same as...what it should be for you. But we’ll make it just as good.” Better, she hoped. Better than whatever it is Morgan was thinking.

“But the games first,” she straightened herself up, pulling her face away from Morgan’s to glance around the stands. “I used to throw knives at bottles, is that the same as throwing the baseball at those plates?” She’d heard these things could be rigged, she knew of a few fae that traveled around in places like these. Her eyes were focused on finding the game most skill based, and the best prize to win. The biggest stuffed animals came along with the games that read easily to Deirdre as scams. But she had several skills the poor humans didn’t. “Let’s go there,” she pointed out a simple game, balloons that needed to be popped with a well-thrown dart, and its gleamy top prize--a white teddy bear, nearly Morgan’s height. “This is obviously where I win the biggest teddy bear for my girl, right?” She smirked, easily pulling Morgan to her. The teddy bear was the stand’s draw, but Deirdre’s eyes were set on a prize stuffed in the back, behind larger, more appealing prizes: a medium-sized stuffed pink bear, with a missing eye and one leg too short. It was exactly the kind of abandoned toy she imagined Morgan would appreciate better, knowing the children hovering around the booth wanted the big bear more. “I can see some of the romantic appeal of a carnival.”  

Everyone was happy to be here. It was like something you’d see in a commercial for Disneyland, the clusters of teenagers sharing popcorn and goofing off in the games area, the couples lining up for a spot on the ferris wheel, the kids pelting each other with beanbags as much as the game they were supposed to be playing. Everything was safe and in good fun, speeding around them like a twist-a-whirl ride. Even with no way to feel how cold the night was or how the grease mixed with the drifting sand of the beach, Morgan imagined that she could slip into the movement anyway, caught and swept away into the bright noise, into life, like everyone else. And yet she stayed still, not quite knowing how to make the right steps.

Then Deirdre’s lips were on hers, showing her just the way. Morgan slipped her arms around her neck as she kissed her back, rising onto the tips of her toes to stay connected as they parted. She stayed there, half dangling, smiling fondly at her. In the twisting spray of colored lights, her dark eyes and hair were haloed to shine as brilliantly as the night: the impression of purple clouds down her hair, the gleam of stars and nebulas in her eyes and over her freckles. At times like this, when Morgan’s adoration burst and twisted inside her, she wondered if she would one day grow too heavy. Deirdre had carried her whole existence after her death, along with her grief, her self-loathing, and her despair. She still carried her faith and her aimlessness. Much as Morgan ached to believe that the universe would level a balance, she could not unfurl her heart’s grip and trust in it yet. Not the way she trusted in Deirdre. But what did she do with the rest of her faith? Where else was she supposed to throw herself? What spot in the earth would take her the way she was and catch her whole when she leaped? Heavy as the questions weighed on her heart, Morgan gave Deirdre another kiss, willing her distress away and smiling anew with relief. Here, for this moment, a world of just each other was enough.

“Let’s try not to worry about should,” she said, lowering herself at last. “We’re together; of course it’s going to be good.”

More so, even, as she realized Deirdre’s ruthless training could be wholesomely repurposed to win the best prizes. “Yes!” She gaped. “Oh, you’re going to be so badass.” She squeezed Deirdre’s hand and nearly trampled the other people milling about running with her. Their eyes had settled on the same spot. Balloons and darts, easy enough and a little harder to rig. Morgan couldn’t help but giggle as she was brought into her side again, cherished and flaunted. “Hey now,” she said. “What if I want to win something for my best girl?” She looked up at Deirdre, batting her eyes. Her protest was more of a game itself than earnestness, but that didn’t mean her pout wasn’t a little compelling. “I could hypothetically keep up, right? And if we had two prizes, we could give one of them to Anya.” Beside them, a slightly older couple was giving it their best shot. The husband rolled his shoulders and threw one dart after the other. One hit true but the others veered just ever so slightly off course. Morgan’s brow quirked with interest, even suspicion. She looked up at Deirdre, checking to see if she had noticed this too, and what she thought. “But, if you’re sure you’re up to it, I guess you can be my strong hero and be the one to win me something cute,” she said with a smile. Waving to the proprietor, she held up her hand for one set of darts, “We’ll go next, please!”

Morgan's pouts could rival any promise bind or spell, their own convincing form of magic. But Deirdre knew better, and she spotted that teddy bear first. She smiled at her, pressing a quick kiss to her pout. "Not this one," she whispered. "Watch." And sure enough, the couple in front of them found darts missing with ease, walking away with no prize at all. On their other side, a man desperately emptied his pockets as his daughter rose up and pointed at the large teddy bear, asking if she could have that one, just that one. She watched them for a moment, noting the telltale chill that shot down her spine as the young man running the game approached them. Deirdre smirked as his tired voice filtered through the air. He explained the rules simply, the prizes were divided into tiers; popping two balloons earned the smallest of prize, three for the next, five for the one after and so on. There was one golden balloon moving back and forth on line at the back, if they popped that one, they got the grand prize of the giant white teddy bear. "Is that a deal?" She asked, eyes still on the little girl eager for the bear. The man agreed cockily, of course, all they had to do was pop the balloons. She smirked, tugging on his words as he caught up to what was happening. He fumbled backwards, betrayed, but silent to their agreement.

"I'll just give you a prize," he mumbled with defeat. "Come on, you don't have to do this." Deirdre quirked her brow up, plucking the darts from Morgan's hands—even despite her pouting and batted eyelashes.

"And miss the chance to show off?" She smirked, running her finger over the tip of the dart. "Dulled," she explained to Morgan, "that's why they bounce off the balloons, but it's so dark you can't tell. Not to mention—" she held the dart out on her finger, showing Morgan its center of mass. "Lighter than a regular dart. Too light to give you the power you need unless you really put all your force into it." She turned back to the fae running the game, who continued to shake his head, now mumbling in Gaelic about how annoying it was to set back up the balloons. But Deirdre continued, reveling in the last of her advantage against the kinds of scams her people had been running for centuries. "He said all I have to do is pop the balloons and I win." And so, she pulled out darts of her own, slender pin-like knives she kept on her. She counted out six, and before the fae could plead again, she sunk all six easily into the poor multicolored balloons, popping them—five for the ones below, and one shot perfectly into the golden balloon above. The fae threw up his arms, itching to honor his end of the deal he unknowingly walked into. He grabbed the stick beside him and pulled down the giant teddy bear, grumbling as he handed it over to Deirdre, who held it proudly in front of Morgan, peeking her head out from its side. "See! Bear!" She waved its big arms around, bending to pick it up and….spin it around, offering it out to the little girl, who had all but surrendered herself to never getting the toy. "Hey," she cooed, bending down. "I can't take this big thing home with me so will you take care of him?" The girl launched herself at the bear, the father thanking Deirdre profusely as she waved them off without another word, easily sliding back to Morgan with a lopsided grin on her face. "Oh?" She began, "did you think the bear was for you? Was that what I was supposed to be doing?" But the other fae itched again, eagerly tapping against the wood. "Ah," she pretended to notice him too late, turning to Morgan to explain the last of her intricate plan. "You see, I popped five balloons and so I get another prize." And she pointed out the old bear at the back, with its missing eye and mismatched legs. It was just one of those toys used to make it look like there were more toys, the fae explained, it had been back there for a while. But he was grumbling, angry that Deirdre hadn't just gone off to the ring toss. Now I have to set everything up again, he said. Deirdre ignored him in favor of holding the soft pink teddy bear out to her girlfriend. "I thought this one was better, because it's special," she smiled, "and maybe it was a good chance to show off. Don't hate me too much for not falling for your pouts? You can win me something for Anya on the next one, Morgue. I have a feeling these are all run by fae, and they tend to pay favors for their kind." She looked back at the poor fae she'd made reset his carnival game. "Well, most of them."

Morgan couldn’t help but flush with pride. Maybe Deirdre didn’t have the moth wings she coveted, but something in her was spreading free, a spirit that dwelled between the chaotic vitality of her people, the brutality of her upbringing, the brightness of the living world she dwelled in with Morgan. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. The balloons burst like popcorn and Deirdre’s grin curled with victory. The win of the moment wasn’t what made Morgan’s heart swell out of her sundress, though she did clap her hands, bouncing on her feet, inching back to let more passers by see the show in progress. Most people had better things to do, but a teenager one game over looked like he was recording the moment and two more couples had lined up behind them. But what made Morgan feel fit to burst was Deirdre kneeling down to pass the enormous white bear into the arms of a disappointed child. Her face lit up as though she’d been given the whole world and her little arms struggled to bundle her gift as tightly to her as she wanted. She roared with savage joy and held the bear over her head as she ran ahead, declaring, “I GOT THE BEST BEAR EVER!”

When they were gone, Morgan took the pink bear from Deirdre and launched herself into her arms, tugging her down into a kiss worthy of any feel-good finale. “You are beyond forgiven,” she said. “Thank you for doing that. All of it, even down to Pink Patrick here.” She made the bear give her a peck on the cheek. “You really are my hero. I love you.” She gave the endearment in a halting Gaelic, no less meant for her awkwardness. The fae running the game blanched, now wondering if she’d understood his curses and grumblings. Morgan smirked and let him keep wondering.

“I think what we really need is a reward for such a grand gesture,” she said, leading Deirdre away. “Yes, everything is sticky, but I will personally clean your hands later if it makes you feel any better. As long as we stick to the sweet stuff, I can pretty much guarantee you a better time than your first hot dog. Although, if you do want me to kiss you or feed you breath mints by hand after, that’s fine too.” She looked behind them again, pleased to see a woman still watching them admiringly. She wasn’t sure why it mattered that someone else see how wonderful time with Deirdre could be, how good she had it with her, but she felt suddenly that she’d give a lot to have a copy of every video, picture, and memory taken down from that moment, a whole collage of every angle. She wanted to string them all up across a room in their house and point to them as proof there was something good in the world.

As Morgan wound them through the crowd, another cluster of attractions caught her eye and she bit her lip, suddenly torn. “Okay, you are still getting something for being so very wonderful--” She bobbed onto her toes again to kiss her jaw. “--But, after you tell me if junk food is still all it’s cracked up to be, I want...hmm...I haven’t been on a carousel since I was a little kid, and you can’t say that it’s not kind of romantic to hold my waist while I ride a unicorn side saddle, right? But also, also, I haven’t gotten to do anything for you yet. I could whack my way through that test your strength game over there--” Just as Morgan spoke, a teenage girl hurled the mallet down with such force the bell popped off. The girl went splat on the ground, too drained to get up again. Morgan grimaced. That didn’t look right. “Or, you know, alternatively, fun facts are sexy too, right? I can probably out do half the info placards at the museum pop-up.”

Deirdre knew how precious gifts could be, how coveted the act of something won in one’s honor could be. Even knowing, Morgan’s happiness was infectious. “Did you like the bear that much?” She smiled, slightly dazed from their kiss. The Gaelic that filtered out of Morgan’s mouth astounded her next, just as it did the fae captaining the booth. She could remember Morgan expressing the desire to learn, and sure she must have followed it up with some joke about being her teacher. She couldn’t tell if she knew just enough to repeat a phrase Deirdre had muttered to her countless times before, or if she knew more than she let on---enough to hear the fae’s annoyance, enough to hear Deirdre’s whispered words of affection, when love was too great to be shared in English. “Someone’s been practicing.” She leaned down again, hovering against her lips. Her words mingled between English and Gaelic, fluttering in and out--perhaps playing along with Morgan, or too excited to remember how to pick one language and stick with it. “Were you just saving that? For how long? Have you been listening to all the things I tell you?” Her arms found their place wrapped around Morgan’s waist easily, pulling her closer. “You are my heart,” Deirdre leaned in to kiss her again, smiling as she pulled back. “I love you more each day; I love you more than I could ever say in any language.” And though the world continued around them--the carnival and its crowd, the world Deirdre was taught only to be an observer of--her attention was squarely on Morgan, a far better, kinder world to be watching.

As they moved, her eyes were strangely unable to leave the sight of Morgan, and her fingers curled around the pink bear she’d won her. The fae asked if she wanted her knives back and she waved him off, only daring to snap her attention away from Morgan to look at where she was walking. “Ah, but you don’t need to resort to bets to get me to kiss you now.” Their time at the bowling alley, which could only be colored as a date now, remained fondly in Deirdre’s memories. Even with the atrocity that was the hotdog. Perhaps one of the apples or cake things or cloud-candies wouldn’t be so bad. “Is there something I can eat while we walk?” She asked, refusing to break her gaze on Morgan to do something as silly as look around. Even as Morgan’s attention bounced between stands and attractions and people. “You don’t have to thank me at all,” she said, a whisper under the hubbub of the carnival. “I’d do a lot for you, Morgan. Including winning some teddy bears.” The spell, her whirlwind of being caught in Morgan, lifted just enough for her to remember where they were, and that there was a whole event--new to them--that they were supposed to be experiencing.

Her gaze fluttered to the carousel, observing the movements for a while before she frowned. “Or you could just ride on an actual horse, isn’t that better?” She certainly missed her gallops across the estate. Then her gaze moved to the game with the hammer and the bell, wincing as she watched it unfold. “That’s run by a fae,” she pointed out. “Maybe not the safest thing.” But she considered Morgan’s next idea for a moment. “Facts are sexy…” she rubbed her chin, drawing out her humming and hawing. “And I am drawn to the idea of you being smarter than a piece of paper…” She grinned, bumping Morgan lightly as she tried to pull their bodies closer together again somehow (it was admittedly hard to walk and keep Morgan anchored to her side). “I will very gladly take you telling me about the wonders of a museum any day. So, let’s do that. You know, I was kicked out of a museum once for trying to steal some bones. Didn’t get the bones, and now there’s at least three museums in Dublin that won’t let me in.” But a museum pop-up had to be easier to steal from right? “N-not that I’m thinking of stealing important history.” Oh, but she was.

“I am...more good...you think…?” Morgan said, using up most of the Gaelic she still remembered from the lessons on her language app. “I still don’t know most of what you said, or literally anything he said but it’s way more fun if he didn’t know that, right, pulse of my heart?” She beamed, pleased to use one of the only other phrases she remembered from Deirdre herself and looked up special. “Okay, now that’s more or less the last of my Gaelic for real, unless you want to ask me about how many cows I have, or the color of my hair, in which case we can go on a little longer! At some point, I need the Gaelic for ‘did you make that horse comment because I’m from Texas’? And ‘Will you teach me to ride a horse someday, oh wise banshee?’” She smiled against her lips, flush with gratitude for their whole combined existence together. “I have been making an effort to listen as best I can, though. I know there are parts of your world I don’t fit well in, but I can share your language with a little work.”

She led Deirdre through the enclave of sweet stands, looking for the shortest line. “The ingenious design of carnival food is that you can fit it in your hand so you can still eat while you’re waiting in line for the roller coaster or doing the ring toss one handed. But, if you’re really worried about it, I’m still team cotton candy or candy apple. They must have had those in Ireland right, even if you’ve never had one? The outer shell always gets stuck in your teeth, but your mouth will be sweet for days. Also maybe toothache-y and sore if you bite it wrong and...I’m not selling these apples very well, am I?” She brought them up to the shortest line and picked out the largest roll of blue cotton candy on the rack. As the tired worker wrapped it up for her, Morgan leaned up to Deirdre’s ear, whispering, “I didn’t kiss you like that because of the pink bear. It was my prize of choice to take home, but I kissed you like that because you gave the white one to a sad little girl. I’m sure you didn’t think much of it, but that just shows how kind your heart really is, Deirdre.” She passed her the bag of cotton candy, giving her a look that she hoped expressed a sentiment beyond any of the languages they spoke. You are good and I love you and am amazed to know you and the person you’ve become.

The line was a little longer at the museum pop up, decorated to look like an old side-show tent, complete with antique styled banners and a chipper barker urging everyone to step right up to see the horror, the wonder, the mystery and majesty. Morgan smirked as they slipped inside the tent, still half wrapped up in each other. Wasn’t that just a normal day in White Crest? A smidgen of horror, a dash of magic, a touch of strange? There were just enough people crowding the first exhibit that Morgan had to wait to be able to see anything. “I absolutely need to know what bones were so important that you felt the need to steal them from a museum, knowing how intense the security was? And the consequences? I mean, how old even were you?” she asked in a whisper. “But, you know, excited as I obviously am, maybe we should, you know, not steal anything on this particular date. Not stealing is fun! And whatever poor service workers got stuck with this shift don’t deserve the grief they’re going to get later.” She strained on her toes, trying to catch sight of even one of the exhibits up ahead. Nothing yet, but she was used to it by now.

"You're not bad." Deirdre laughed easily. Oh, she was terrible, but that wasn't the point. And maybe it was cuter to watch her floundering around words, watch the way her features scrunched together in concentration as she tried to remember what she knew. "And then, how many cows do you have?" She asked slow and enunciated. "Ah, that would be—" she explained the two sentences in Gaelic, slow, deep, and deliberate with its rasping as she leaned closer. "And the answers are that horses are just fun to ride on and yes." She imagined Morgan wanted to learn the language strictly to do exactly what she was doing now, but the innocent explanation that tumbled afterwards gave Deirdre just enough pause to prevent her from pulling Morgan into another kiss. "It's not my world if you don't fit in it completely, Morgan." Morgan wasn't and never would be fae, and sure fae were as insular as species came—but Deirdre's world, the one she inhabited and the one that she wanted to, fit Morgan perfectly in it. Even so, Deirdre was moved by the gesture, by her want to connect to a society that would push her away and Deirdre wished the best she could in her head that they would accept her one day. That it wouldn't matter to them that she wasn't a fae. "It's not the world I want if you don't fit. But I—thank you."

She raised her hand, thumbing over her bones, tucking her hair back. How wonderful, how beautiful and how kind this was. And how much she loved Morgan, too precious to pull into words. But her look betrayed all of her affection, spilling out of her without pause. For all she cared, they could have been the last two people on earth, and perhaps she might've preferred that. "They must've," Deirdre responded absently, dropping her hand. "But I never had the privilege of going out much, not for my sake anyway. There's so much of the world I don't know for myself." The carnival was just one of many things. "Have you?" She wondered aloud, "experienced much?"

She watched the line in front of them shorten and Morgan pick out the strange, blue cloud candy.  "Because it seems inconvenient to carry around a toy that big?" Deirdre tilted her head, genuinely confused as to what she was being complimented on. The girl wanted the big bear, she knew Morgan could do without and the girl would never get it otherwise—even if it was easier and cheaper to just buy a giant teddy bear from a store. But Morgan looked at her with such sincerity, such good. Deirdre watched her expression curiously, trying to decipher what the turn of her lips or that soft shimmer in her eyes meant. She pulled a piece of the candy out, absently popping it into her mouth as she tried to find the right combination of silent words and assurances Morgan was putting across. She moved her teeth to chew but there was...nothing? Her attention shifted to the odd substance. She did put some in her mouth, didn't she? She could taste the sugar, but it vanished from her mouth by way of some strange magicks. Her mouth hung open, she glanced at her fingers, pressing them together to feel the stickiness. "What just happened?" She popped another piece on her mouth, this time paying attention to the way it dissolved against her tongue. "Is this just—" she ran her tongue over her lips, brushing over more of the sugar taste. "Is this just sugar?" Morgan did say cotton candy was just pure, fluffy sugar, but Deirdre assumed that was hyperbolic. "This is just sugar," she repeated, breaking off another piece and putting it in her mouth. There was a slight tang, somewhere under all the sweetness. A distinct flavor she couldn't exactly place. This was far from the pies and fruit preserves she knew for sweetness—or all her growing up with molasses and honey as a sweetener. "I can't stop eating it though." And true to point, even if that much sugar would make her sick, she continued to absently pop pieces she broke off into her mouth, a way to pass the time as they waited for their turn at the pop-up.

"I must have been in my twenties. I can't even remember what it was, but it had this strong pull to it. And, honestly, isn't it a crime to keep bones away behind glass? Where I can't indulge a vision or two?" She paused, "this isn't making my mouth blue, is it?" She couldn't tell but she assumed the fact that the bag was already nearly empty was a sign she should slow herself down. Rolling the bag up so she could use some of the self restraint she learned, she watched Morgan pop up on her tiptoes. "Too short?" She grinned, "I could help but—" she held up her fingers, slightly blued from the cotton candy coloring. "I'm just so preoccupied with how sticky I am. It's so distracting." She turned to the exhibit ahead, "do you happen to know what kind of a museum this is?" Would there be bones, she wanted to ask. "And, fine, I won't steal anything. But I will be thinking about it."

Could it really be that easy? Morgan wondered. To claim only the places that would have them and turn away from all the rest? Was that world enough? Morgan didn’t even know the extent of what Deirdre was shutting away to be with her, what else she could be doing, or who with, in exchange for having the life they shared together. Granted, much of what Deirdre shed had taught her only self-loathing and coldness. She was more herself without it. But there must be something that had been good to her. There must be something fae that loved her even more completely than Morgan did. Could that thing be shared? Was there enough of it to last them more than a year or two? Morgan, for her part,  had sacrificed comparatively little. Her mortal coil was something they’d both lost, and it was more because of Deirdre’s doing than her own that they were closer because of it. Then again, she had so little to surrender in the first place. If her world had always been small, bound up in fear and a family curse. If it had shrunken at all since then, it was because death had pulled her back. Beyond the quiet and the dampness that surrounded her at all times, there was the way death reshaped her inside. The axis of her patience, her sensitivity, her enthusiasm all shifted in strange directions. Everyday approvals and the dangers that had once consumed her attention didn’t anymore. Foibles from strangers were too insufferable to bear if her mood wasn’t poised generously enough. And then there were all the restaurants there was no point in visiting anymore and the sleep-dreams she no longer had. Was there enough left between, even after all that?

“I don’t know if I have,” she admitted. “I’ve got seven years on you, so that has to count for something. But I also, you know...didn’t get to go out as much as other kids. I told you how my mom would cancel my plans for me and keep me inside if she thought I was getting too close to people. Endangering them with our curse. But I had a lot of magic lessons, and after I moved out I was able to do a little more. College and grad school and all that. I know a lot about things you can do by yourself? And I moved around a lot. Texas is big enough that you can feel like you’ve been all over without crossing state lines.” Her voice lilted up lightly, but even she knew how sad it was, to be dead to so much of the world without having fully lived in the first place. “We both know a lot about different things. And it’s not so bad, finding out more together.”

She pressed a kiss to Deirdre’s shoulder, grinning as she marveled over the mystery of cotton candy. “I did tell ya,” she said. “That’s the beauty of cotton candy. Fluffy and effortless. Like eating a cloud.” She nipped playfully at Deirdre’s finger as she told the story, or the lack thereof.  She guessed she was compelling in that way too now, even with her bones still bound up in fleshy tissue, and felt a strange kind of relief. She didn’t have to worry about repulsing her with a wrong touch or the sight of her discoloration when she needed to feed. “And you are a little blue in the lips, but it’s pretty. Like me-kind-of-pretty.” Death pretty, she meant, though she was willing to bet the pale blue stain was more of a cartoon romanticization than how she’d actually looked before she woke.

“And I think it’s a kind of oddity museum, like Ripley’s or those old sideshow things. Probably fake, but I’ve studied a lot of lore and literature in my day, so I can probably tell you why they think they’re right even if they’re not.” The line shifted and Morgan was able to edge her way near a family of four, situated behind the children so she could actually see over their heads. “Let’s just hope there’s not any, you know, real jarred bodies or brains or we might have to leave before I--” It wasn’t jarred brains. The first case was full of shells purportedly recovered from a deep sea cove of mermaids and selkie and medallions worn by a secret society of sirens. But next to it was a set of teeth from a strangely shaped jaw. Werewolf, the placard said. Beyond that, a set of fangs on a corded necklace. In another, the tiniest winged corpse Morgan had ever seen, no bigger than her hand. From her new vantage point she could see photos of what was, from Ricky’s stories, a real mermaid and the diary of a hundred year old vampire. But Morgan could not take her eyes off the field of death. The way children oggled and teased each other with the teeth. The way the teenagers gaped and teased each other over the display, daring one another to try and touch something. “Deirdre,” she said in a tense whisper, barely gesturing ahead. “Can you...can you tell me if any of those are real?”

“No, it’s not so bad at all,” Deirdre smiled softly, what more she had to say about how much she wished Morgan’s tragic living existence could have been different, could have offered her more, she kept to herself. Maybe there was something much more powerful, much stronger and much more important, about forging a better life in the present, than there was fiddling about with what could have been. For all the magic there was, changing the past never worked. She loved Morgan best in the moment, and there was no time she treasured more. In a way, it was simple enough to see that old aches would fade, and the world would turn into a new, brighter normal. But for every bit of hope, fear tinged the edges. And for every bout of happiness, guilt trailed behind. Each hurdle stood strong and impossibly tall---how else could the future be seen, than through cracks in a wall? Was it foolhardy to assume love could be enough? Or was it exactly the sort of hope she ought to have for them? “I don’t really have anything to say I just--I do like spending time with you, Morgan. And---” She sighed, “what I’m trying to say is: I’m happy.” Embarrassed by the clumsy nature of her words, she stuffed more cotton candy in her mouth. “I know you’ve been through a lot of---I understand if you’re not---I don’t mean---” frustrated, she picked apart more cotton candy, mumbling between remembering she didn’t need to chew, but trying to chew anyways. “Never mind.” And by then, she was eager to keep them moving.

“Nothing could be as pretty as you,” Deirdre responded instantly, venturing to pop another piece of cotton candy into her mouth. “But I do like the idea of being corpse-blue in the lips.” And the thought was enough to tide her mischievous mind as they waited, eventually finding their turn in the pop-up. An oddity museum sat poorly in her stomach (or was that the cotton candy?), she’d heard enough hunters describe their collections that way---enough humans gawking at bastardized retellings of her kind’s history. Morgan continued to explain, but the concept was no more clear. Then the exhibits came into focus, and her passing worries melded into reality. Death coated the artefacts, calling to her with their whining and pleading. Her face remained impassive, no stranger to the sights around her---the displayed cruelty and the ignorant delight of the humans around her. “Oh, very real,” she laughed bitterly, consumed by perverse amusement. She hadn’t seen something so callous in so long, but her mother taught her indifference well, and she wielded the power to keep their carnival date moving along. They could pass through the exit there, and be done with the whole thing. Her eyes fell to the shriveled pixie body. “Now would be a bad time to mention how common this is, right?” She paused, reaching a hand out to pick the poor skeleton up, to hear its story and honor it. A quick scolding from a particularly bored looking employee had her hand snapping back. What was it she was trying to tell herself about getting to the exit and going on with their night? “Come on,” she whispered, “we can just leave.”

But Morgan could not move. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table of death, flitting from one remnant to another, always coming back to that whole pixie corpse, pinned down like a butterfly. “...Common?” Morgan whispered. She realized, bitterly, that this shouldn’t have surprised her. Didn’t she always have to concede that the world was often cruel? Hadn’t she suffered enough at its hands? Hadn’t Deirdre? And yet seeing this froze her with horror in a way Kaden’s internalized speciesism didn’t. This wasn’t just trauma and misinformation bundled into mistakes, this was someone’s profit, someone’s game. And whoever those teeth had belonged to, whoever that pixie had once been, they weren’t worth any more than a rare insect to the people here. And to the laughing teenagers, probably even less. She looked up at the employee who scolded Deirdre, her disgust and horror plain on her face. How could she be this bored? This careless? Did she not realize what she was handling because she was too scared to live with the truth? Did she know and just not care? Stars, this place must be a hunter’s dream, all these supernaturals, all these deaths they could oggle for fun without having to hide a thing. “How--” she began, but the rest of the words wouldn’t come. Morgan couldn’t sense Deirdre next to her, much less anyone else in the winding line nearby. She had to be jostled by a group of twenty and thirty somethings to realize what she was supposed to be doing. She let them shoulder past her  and turned to Deirdre, her eyes damp and open with dismay. She shook her head mutely, unable to string together anything simple for how much she hadn’t known what would be here. How much she hadn’t understood what had to be in a Museum of Monstrosities made by humans. Another group jostled by, one of the members coming hard enough against her to knock her off balance. She whirled toward them, sharp words on her lips, but thought of something better as soon as she caught sight of their backs.

“Cover for me, for what I’m about to do,”she murmured. “And when I reach for you next, it’s time to go.”

She hustled along, seemingly trying to get to the next display table, but before she was too far, she stepped on the back of a man’s foot and rammed herself into his shoulder before throwing her body back into the table, knocking it over and sending everyone jumping in multiple directions to avoid glass and recover the items. “Oh god! Be careful!” She cried. “I am so sorry, I was just--I’m really--”

“What’s your problem lady?” The man demanded, as if she’d done this just to him.

“It was an accident! Listen--” She turned to the employee. “Hey, can you run for your manager, maybe a broom or some signs? This really isn’t safe.” And as she watched the agitated teenager stomp out of the tent, she shuffled around and bent down as if to pick glass out of her sandal and reached for the pixie corpse.

What horrors were common for Deirdre’s world, seemed too unjust for Morgan. Perhaps it was a lifetime of knowing exactly how humans thought of her kind, how hunters displayed their carcasses, or how the odd witch hunted them down for ingredients, that held her steady. A lifetime of watching this very thing, knowing life was cyclical and fate took what it wanted. But this strange, demented side of the supernatural must have been new to Morgan. She reached for her girlfriend, eager to soothe her, lead her through the inane tent and outside where the world’s cruelties were less obvious. But the crowd jostled around them, pushing and shoving and her hand was knocked away, just as they were. All she wanted to do was reach Morgan, to bring her into the world that was kind and---“Cover for you?” Deirdre froze, hands pulled back. She watched, stunned for a moment, before her brain caught up.

Soon the hurried crowd that couldn’t care less about them, had their eyes darting to the scene and the shards of glass. Murmurs rumbled under their breaths as some continued to give them berth and walk on, while others seemingly couldn’t help their desire to gawk. It was those busybodies she needed to look elsewhere. Lacking the time to think, Deirdre charged at a man at the other end of the tent, throwing her arms around him. “There you are! I thought I lost you in the crowd--” she took care to be loud, enthusiastic, and ultimately far more interesting than the woman and her broken glass. “I have good news!” She turned to the crowd, “I’m pregnant! And---” she turned to the man who, pale, shook his head at the woman he was with. ‘I don’t know who she is’ he mouthed, but the blonde woman unhooked herself from him and watched. “And we’re getting married!” Deirdre continued, thrilled and affectionate---her hand tangled in his hair, playing with his curls like an old lover. The crowd turned to her finally, feeling obligated to clap and cheer until the woman fumed.

“Again!?” The woman threw her hands up, “I mean first my sister and then the mailman and then the mailman’s sister I just--you said you wouldn’t do this again!” She swung her purse out, scraping the top of Deirdre’s head as she ducked. Deirdre untangled herself from the man as his argument with the woman dissolved into pointing and shouting and something about expired yogurt that was still in the fridge. She couldn’t tell if this was what Morgan had wanted, or if her uncanny ability to trigger chaos was not the thing Morgan meant by “cover”. Deirdre inched back slowly, waiting for Morgan to come back to her so they could run---not only for theft, but from this woman’s mounting rage.

Someday, Morgan would learn to stop trying to guess what Deirdre was going to do. Starting a scene made sense, but there was something otherworldly about the speed and the artistry with which her banshee worked. Morgan tucked the pixie corpse into her skirt pocket, fighting back a smile of admiration and ran up to Deirdre, gripping her hand tight and pulling her out of the other woman’s reach. “You left me for him?” She cried, mouth agape. “I can’t believe you. We are going home and moving you out right now!” And before the crowd had time to question her acting skills, she was running for the exit, Deirdre’s tight in her grasp.

She ran with her through the crowd lined up outside the tent. “Excuse me!” she cried, knocking people aside. They ran through the aisles of vendors, bakers, popcorn ball makers, ran past the carousel with its flashing vintage bulbs. They ran under a blanket of light, smeared before her eyes like a mess of watercolors. They outpaced the children hyped on sugar and the teenagers racing each other to the roller coaster and when they cleared the entrance Morgan kept them running until the carnival was just a blur in the distance and the moans of the evening tide was louder than the calliope waltz. She stumbled to a halt, her face bright with relief and joy. “That was incredible! You are so incredible!” She released Deirdre’s hand with a breathless laugh. “Thank you, for going along with everything. I hope that was okay. It was, right? I would’ve saved all of them or not taken us there at all if I’d known, but, I did manage to get the pixie’s body? don’t know what the customs are, what we should do with them. I just didn’t want people to keep laughing at someone’s body like that, and they were so small, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do. But--” Her mind was still racing, too fast for her to summon much more in the way of words. She looked up at her, still giddy from their mad escape. “Thank you. Are you okay?”

Though Deirdre knew it was only an act, there was still a genuine whine that croaked out of her mouth, pitched with petulance as she remembered to follow their play. But quickly, the act fell apart as her awe set in. The last time she ran with her hand in someone else's, she had been a child. Her long legs hadn't quite grown in, making her gait awkward, and she hadn't yet learned the absurdity of being pulled along. Except there wasn't anything absurd about running alongside Morgan, watching the lights turn and wash over her. Past the crowds, around the booths and through paths she hadn't seen yet. The world couldn't keep up with them, and Deirdre watched each piece fade away until all that was left was Morgan—her hair bouncing as she ran, waves caught in the wind just as the fabric of her clothes—and her slowly thumping heart. Their run ended all too soon, but her world remained parted for them. She could remember they were by the water only when the sound of the languid tide washed over Morgan's words, she knew the moon only in how it cast light against Morgan's pale skin. She could scarcely account for the time between Morgan speaking and her reaching across to close distance between them. She knew she had to, compelled by something far greater than sense inside of her—relief, love, admiration and desire.

Deirdre captured Morgan with a kiss, bending to meet and hold her and then to wrap her arms around her waist and lift her up. "More than okay, you criminal," she laughed finally, spinning her once before relaxing her back to ground level. "I'm incredible? I'm not the one that stole a mummified corpse." And normally she was the one stealing the corpses. But Morgan had done something bigger than some exciting theft, more important. "It's more than okay," she repeated, tangling her hand in her hair, fixing windblown strands where she could, and thumbing over the bones of her face when she couldn't. "You don't have to save them all, or any of them, really but—thank you. We can bring the body to some pixies, they usually like to deal with their own." And they'd probably want to know where and how this death came to be, but Deirdre was suddenly convinced in the moment that the answer to death wasn't more death—so there was some half-lie they'd have to fumble with, but that was a later problem. "And maybe I can tell them what a hero you are," she smiled. "Or," she kissed her again quickly, rumbling the rest of her sentence by her ear, "we can go home for now. Valiant displays deserve their praise, and I have so much of it to give." There was only so much words could say, and as her fingers bunched around the hem of Morgan's shirt, she was sure of it. Maybe it was all the running around, or the sugar, or the ever constant buzz of affection that curled around her insides, bursting forth in moments not unlike these, but she could only barely summon the right eloquence to explain her thrumming feelings. "I love you," she mumbled, "you didn't have to get that pixie out of there. But you did." And though she would have loved her all the same if she didn't, there was some strange, mystifying quality in seeing proof of what she already knew. "You did good."

So much of Morgan’s time was devoted to tethering herself to the world, reaching out with all she had to to be held. Her body, suspended only by magic, was always crawling away from her senses and in solitary moments she still wondered if her soul would knock loose and float away if she wasn’t careful and released her grip. But there was nothing careful about the ground vanishing beneath her feet as Deirdre spun her around. No caution in the breathless laugh that fell from her or the tangled mess the gesture made of her hair or even the kisses that surrounded it. And all at once there was no reaching. The feeling she craved fluttered to life, so violently ecstatic it threatened to burst through her. Morgan let gravity pull her dizzy body into Deirdre, sighing at each point of contact that caught her. “I love you too,” she said, the words rushing out of her in an airy rush, froth tumbling over the sea. “Stars above, I love you too, Deirdre.” She laughed along with her girlfriend’s words, not because they were funny, but because there was starlight in her dark fae eyes and so much feeling: of wet, heavy sand in her toes and Deirdre’s mouth against hers and the moon shining pearlescent over them and that bright, feathery sensation coursing through her faster than her own blood ever had. Morgan was beyond complete. She overflowed, and she couldn’t help but let it fall out of her however it would.

“We did good tonight, my love,” she said, pulling Deirdre’s lips to hers again, clinging to her lip even as a smile broke over her face, so wide even kissing became impossible and all she could do was stare into the face she adored and hope all the wild, devoted stirrings inside her were rendered legible in her face. “Take me home first, and we can praise each other for our various acts of heroism and glory. Justice for pixies can come tomorrow.” She wrested Deirdre’s hand into her own again and locked their fingers together. “Let’s run back to the car, you and me?” She said, and before Deirdre could reply, they were off, sand flying from their feet as they hurtled into the dark, so light on their feet they seemed by any eyes that watched to anchored by each other alone.

[ask-de-writer]

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

///////////////////////

These had been made with fine, supple leathers taken from the destroyed village of the Marquosts. They had originally held pictographs of things that the Shamans and Totem Society leaders had thought worth recording. Their pictograms, like Egyptian hieroglyph or Chinese ideograms were a genuine written language. That was one of the ways that the Marquost society had been more than a little different from that of the Indians about them.

The men had a Society of Shamans lead by the Great Shaman. They had the charge to do the mighty magics that needed the Blackwall and its power. I was descended from that tradition.

The women had charge of the assorted Totem Societies. Most Indians drew inspiration from their totem animals. The Marquost women did more than draw inspiration from their totems. They became them. They were not lycanthropes, cursed to change with the moon. Marquost women were skin-turners. They donned the skin of the totem animal and became that creature in truth but with a guiding human intelligence and cunning. They were lead by a woman known as the Mother of Change, who could become any animal from any of the Totem Societies — and if rumor be true — any other beast as well.

The High Shaman and the Mother of Change were the ones who wrote and decided what to write.

After three hundred years, their wisdom and spells were coming to light again on my computer monitor. As the English writing was subtracted from the Darkmoon palimpsests, I began to notice something else.

My hackles rose the way that they will when you find that something is very wrong. When I examined the original photographs of the book pages more closely, I found the cause. The originals were genuinely ancient. That was almost beyond doubt. When you are a Shaman, as I am, you get a feel for such things. The problem was in the handwriting. I had a three hundred year span of books open to me. Everywhere that I sampled the Darkmoon Dairies I found the same thing.

The Darkmoon Diaries were a forgery. A unique forgery. I was willing to give long odds that there was no other such forgery in the world.

Efforts to make the handwriting different from writer to purported writer had grossly succeeded. It was the little things that betrayed the forgery. The downstroke of the f’s and s’s. The loop form of the e’s. They were common throughout. It appeared that one person had written all three hundred years worth of dairies.

The most recent volume revealed the likely author.

Just as I was pondering the diaries, Allison delivered a note from Laelia inquiring about my progress and inviting me to assist with cataloging the Hilstrom house. I put aside my problem with the dairies for the more immediate one of helping with Hilstrom house and seeing what might be of use. A Shaman may benefit from much that the ordinary person might not even find interesting. There might be things in there that could lead me to other surviving descendants of the ‘Founding Fathers’ of Flocking Bay.

Because of the age of the Hilstrom House and the contents it was known to have, it was necessary to catalog everything. We would assess what to include in the sale or even if the place should be sold at all. Some of the contents, at least, would have to be auctioned off and some kept for the library and the Historical Society museum.

The Hilstrom House was worth putting aside my petty mysteries. It would be an easy restoration to bring the house back to its original state. Most of the original hand hewn planks and timbers were still there and in place. The electricity and gas had been put in with no attempt to hide the wires and pipes inside the walls.

The fireplace still had the original hand made crane to hang cooking pots over the flames. The andirons were a recent addition. The originals we found later, cast out into a bramble thicket behind the house.

The whole place could easily become a colonial museum. When I breached the idea to Laelia she agreed that it could be done at little cost. The only problem that she foresaw was the simple one of maintenance cost. Such museums rarely paid their way and the township was simply too poor to support another one in addition to the Historical Society museum.

“Don’t give up, though,” she said, patting my hand. “You can propose it at the township meeting. If it is approved, they will find a way to do it.”

I felt that odd hackle-raising twisting that tells you where magic is. It led me to a corner of the living room. There, in a window seat made to serve as a storage chest, were many papers and books … and the source of my feeling.

The old matchlock musket appeared to be in near perfect condition. It was mounted to a plaque with an engraved brass plate just as the diary had said. It read, “This gun won us the town now called Flocking Bay. Eben Hilstrom shot and killed the Shaman with it. The gun would never fire again after.”

Laelia reached past me and took the old gun. “The Historical Society will want this testament to the shameful deed that founded this town.”

I looked at her strangely. I was beginning to fear that Laelia might be a descendant of one of the Founders. A check of ship passenger manifests from 1645 through the end of 1648 showed none who could be Laelia or her ‘ancestress.’ Something would have been in those records even if she had been a stowaway. What did she have to hide? Several things that she had said before flitted through my mind. The unique forgery of the Darkmoon diaries. The Darkmoon crest. The timing of her ancestress’ arrival in Flocking Bay. The low price of the indenture.

With a winning smile, I said, “Laelia, I think that these papers will be enough to keep us busy for the rest of the day.” “Let’s take them back to your place where we can catalog them over some of your wonderful tea.”

We strolled back to Changer’s Court in a pleasant afternoon, with the wind playing with leaves and trying to steal our booty of history.

Back at Laelia’s cottage, I breached a different topic as she puttered about her modern kitchen with its gas range, making tea for us. “Laelia, I have some of the palimpsests done. I think that you will be interested. I found your indenture contract. You can even see where Eben Hilstrom altered it.”

The puttering in the kitchen stopped for a moment. You could hear the strained smile in her voice as she see replied, “You mean the indenture of my ancestress. I’m not THAT old.” She resumed puttering purposefully about and emerged with the tea tray.

As she set it down on the coffee table, I said, “I’m afraid that you’re not telling me the whole truth, Laelia. I can prove that you wrote all of the Darkmoon dairies and I can also prove their age.

“I need to ask you some questions about your origins. I can only think of a few reasons that a person might live so long.”

She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. Resignedly she said, “Have some tea and ask what you will. It was a long run from Poland for my sister and I. She was killed in France. The Crest says it all, to those perceptive enough to read it, as you seem to be.”

I raised my tea to my lips and smelled the aroma. My hackles rose again. I could smell and feel the power. It was a familiar power, like my mother’s but stronger. I had my answer.

“No,” I said, putting down the cup untasted. “You have lied long enough. You are not a werewolf and you are not Polish either. Though being one would account for your age. I know who you are.”

I spoke in Marquost, the old Indian tongue of the area when I said, “Ask me what you want to know, Mother of Change. This Shaman will tell you truthfully what you wish to know without the power of that.” I pointed at the tea.

For a second, she appeared startled. Then she let out the same laugh that I had heard and liked earlier. She replied in the same language, “Your accent is abominable! Still, I haven’t heard anyone use this language at all for years!” Her speech was the utterly relaxed, easy flow of a native speaker.

“Near enough to three hundred years, I expect,” I said softly. “You must have been lonely, living among your enemies for so long.”

“Not so lonely as you might imagine,” said Laelia with that calm that comes only from utter assurance. “I have been stalking my prey. I have got to know them and listen to their Councils and give them advice. When the time is right I take one of my skins and turn it. Then an enemy suffers. That is when proper vengeance comes. They have suffered and must suffer for a long time yet to come. That is why your killing them is not to be accepted. Do not do that. It may put them on their guard.”

Startled, and just a bit guilty, I said, “Mr. Hilstrom was the last of his line. He was old and a bachelor. The Hilstroms are gone.”

Her cheerful laugh interrupted me. “Where did you get that silly idea? That was only the end of the male line. What is the true line of descent?”

I was dumbfounded. I had forgotten, been taken in by the white man’s patrilineal lines of descent. So proud of my own matrilineal descent from the last Shaman, I had used the white man’s genealogical rules to track my enemies! I would have to start my genealogical work all over.

I hung my head in shame. Determined, I raised my head looking Laelia in the eye. “A Shaman must acknowledge his error and try to remedy it. I must begin to search for the neglected lines of descent. Our enemies must die!” I said firmly.

She rebuked me gently but with absolute certainty. “They must NOT die! Death is the END of vengeance. I swore ETERNAL revenge to the Blackwall, pouring on it the blood of my foes. When the last of them dies, so do I!”

Smiling, Laelia said, “I help them in their need and see to it that they stay within my reach.” Her eyes going lupine, she added, “I stalk them down the trail of time. In each generation, they all suffer. A few die. They go on. And so do I.”

I looked at Laelia with new eyes and a heightened respect. I said softly, “Mother of Change, I am sure that your eternal vengeance is more suitable than my slaying. This Shaman opens to you the whole power of the Blackwall.”

—THE END—

<==Previous

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

This completes Met by Moonlight. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr

[faejilly]

ashes of angels 3/6

Izzy isn’t terribly fond of people trying to kill her brother, either.

for @shadowhunterbingo​ square: proposal [AO3]

In slightly less time than she'd been expecting, (during which nothing at all had happened), Jace shows back up at the party, stepping to her side with yet another (full and untasted) drink between his fingers.

"Someone's got to realize that plan A failed by now," Izzy says. "We should take everything in the cabinet with us."

Jace pats the side of his jacket. "Magnus gave me something to help with that."

"Are there gloves, too?"

"Of course," Jace rolls his eyes at her. "You do not need to re-terrify me into proper forensic procedure, it stuck the first time."

Jace had already had pretty much every possible proper procedure terrified into him when he'd first come to them; it had been so delightful when he'd first started to throw them off, to realize he didn't have to be "perfect" in order to be family, that she didn't think any of them realized when the two of them first started going too far.

It's nice, now that they had a better balance, to know that he blames her for the few that stuck. "Glad to hear it," she offers him a patently false grin, and they go to collect their evidence and head back to the loft.

She wonders at what this is costing Magnus; four or five portals in and out of Alicante, plus whatever he'd done to help Alec, and whatever else he'd done to their poisoner when they'd kidnapped him. She knows he's powerful, but there has to be an end limit somewhere.

Not that he won't push past it for Alec's sake, but Alec wouldn't thank them if he wakes up to find his husband collapsed from magical exhaustion.

"Magnus doing all right?" Izzy asks as she unlocks the rune she'd set earlier, and slips her stele back out of sight.

Jace shakes out a silk bag full of separate pockets. It looks like it's designed to keep the magical signatures of whatever is put in it separate. He lifts his attention from the bag and just looks at her rather than answering.

She supposes she deserves that.

"I meant magically," she clarifies as she pulls her gloves on, letting the bottoms snap just a little against her wrists. It's such a satisfying little sound; makes her feel more in control of things.

Jace shrugs, his shoulders move but it's not enough to shift the angle of his hands. He keeps the bag open and steady between them. "Catarina was making him tea when we left? I think they've got it under control."

Izzy nods and starts unloading the cabinet: Vial of what is presumably the pixie dust solution. Two pairs of gloves, each of which she puts in a separate pocket, in case they'd been used by separate people, rather than being extras. A torn up envelope with some pencil marks on the corner that look a little too precise to just be scribbles. She considers the bus key; they didn't want anyone to notice it's gone, of course, but if they need their victim to be somewhere else later?

Not being able to find it will probably be better than it being in the wrong place, and the bag is clearly shielded. She puts the fake key into its own little pocket and reaches back into the cabinet one last time...

She can feel the edges of something, irregular and almost sharp. She grips it carefully and lifts it out into the light.

It startles a soft grunt of surprise out of Jace. "Is that a portal shard?"

"I think so," Izzy finds herself whispering, and tosses it into the bag.

Jace wraps it even more quickly than he'd unwrapped it originally; she thinks they're both getting impatient. It goes impressively flat once he's done, and he can even somehow slide it back into the inside pocket of his jacket without it ruining the line of it at all.

"That is a very elegant trick," she says.

Jace rolls his eyes at her. "You can drool over Magnus' toys later."

"Don't worry, I will."

Time to go.

Back to Magnus, back to the loft, back to the door of Alec's bedroom to check that he's still sleeping quietly... with Madzie dozing next to him now, and Izzy smiles at the sight.

Back to tea from Catarina for everyone.

Izzy sips hers gratefully, and they all take a moment to breathe.

"I have a question." Catarina speaks up first. "And feel free to tell me it's none of my business, but how far are you three planning on going?"

Magnus smiles at her, tilting his beautiful porcelain mug towards her in the clear echo of a toast. "You know my business is your business, any time you're willing to put up with it."

Catarina clicks her tongue, and Izzy smiles into her own mug.

"You could turn over what you have?" Catarina started.

"No." Izzy interrupts. She's placed the pattern on the envelope while she's been sitting here, letting all the evidence settle in her head. Helen had shown it to her once, a form of morse code that the Heavenly Fire project had used to send notices to only one place. "He works for the Inquisitor's Office, he's precisely the person we'd be turning it all over to."

Magnus goes much too stiff, and she knows that Alicante being wiped off the map is still one of the ways this night could end.

She's okay with that.

But she knows Alec wouldn't be.

"How sure are you?" Magnus asks.

Izzy shrugs. "90%. Even if he's not in the Inquisitor's Office, he's corresponded with them, he has connections there."

"Or he learned it from someone who did, same as you," Jace points out. But she can tell that he's just poking at holes to see how she'll fill them, not because he disagrees with her conclusions.

"They drugged a Head of an Institute at a formal Clave function and had reason to believe that, even if the results played out in public, that they could get away with it." Izzy leans too far forward in her chair, her voice a hiss as the rage in her gut tries to boil over. She swallows, puts her mug down on the coffee table, and makes herself sit back. Pretends she's calm.

Pixie dust would have made her brother lose all self-control, could have cost him the most important parts of his identity, and if Magnus hadn't been there? Survival might have almost been worse than death, and pixie dust isn't merciful there, either, the brain practically melting away as the blood boils off. "The higher levels of the Clave are still compromised, despite all their losses."

"We're going as far as we can, and we'll clean up whatever needs cleaning afterwards." Jace answers Catarina's original question. "How's Alec doing?"

Izzy kicks the side of his leg, but luckily Catarina just shakes her head, a hint of a smile on her face.

"I wasn't suggesting you stop, Nephilim. I just wanted to make sure you could keep up with him." She points at Magnus, who takes another sip of his tea and somehow manages to look entirely too innocent to have ever had an untoward thought. "Your brother is fine, I have several spells set to monitor him. He probably won't wake up for another ten to twelve hours though."

"That gives us time to wrap them all up in a nice present for him, then." Izzy shifts her focus back to Magnus. "You have a plan?"

"You're not going to like it." Magnus blinks at her, slow and steady, and she catches a hint of gold, then red, between his lashes. "Or Jace isn't. You'll have to let me know."

Jace waves a hand at him to keep going.

"We're going to send him in." Magnus tilts his head, clearly indicating the man in the guest room.

"The vegetable?" Jace asks. He looks unimpressed.

"Well." Magnus' face scrunches up, as if he doesn't even want to be hear whatever he's planning to say next. "One of you. In his body."

The silence after that is very heavy.

"What." Catarina breaks it first.

"Well, after the whole..." Magnus trails off, waved a hand in a vague circle in the air. "Azazel, thing."

Jace winces.

"I figured out how he did it, and how it could be done by a warlock instead?"

"What?" Catarina repeats, louder and higher pitched than the last time.

"I don't like being surprised," Magnus replies, his voice surprisingly steady, and Izzy decides that really is all the explanation needed, considering.

"But you ripped out his memories," Jace said. "How are we supposed to be him if he's brain-dead."

"If he's magically brain-dead," Catarina pauses, glances at Magnus just long enough to get a nod in confirmation, "then his physical brain is fine. You'll be able to walk around as him."

"And he'll then be a vegetable in one of our bodies?" Izzy asks.

Magnus' face scrunches up again as he nods.

Ew.

"Don't forget, whichever one of you Magnus switches will be walking around in a body with a full-strength Circle rune, and all the limits that places on you." Catarina frowns into her mug. "And Magnus is the only one who knows how to get you back."

Izzy suppresses a shudder. It's a risk... but it's for Alec. "I studied the limits of the Circle rune, and the slightly modified one the Clave used, after Hodge..." she stops. After Hodge covers a lot of things. "I think I can work around them."

Jace looks even less happy about that than he had about bringing "the vegetable" into it in the first place, but he doesn't argue. They both know Jace is a better fighter, both by inclination and via his ability to activate his runes as needed; he'll be more help as back-up in his own body, if things go wrong.

"We have his memories." Magnus says.

Isabelle nods, lets out a breath. "Let's figure out where we need to go."