#who wants to play as the bear in risk of rain 2

[selfkaiharness]

I fucking love John Silver so much that i just wish that a captain skin mod exists for him...

OH WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE...

IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?

It's a dream come true for me i wish i can finally cry

[frau-wilhelm-klink]

Well, I finally got around to doing these! It's a little long – and some of my takes may be unpopular – but these are still my headcanons🤷🏻‍♀️ (Had to make a few minor edits to 'em now that I'm properly awake, though.) So without further ado, buckle up and take a peek under the cut!

The Germans

Schultz:

1) Is definitely not a Nazi! Cases can be made for him being both neutral and pro-Allied, but I like to think of him as neutral. He isn't a man who's into politics or anything like that, he just wants his toy factory back.

2) Low-key thinks of Hogan and his team as additional nephews, so does his best to be somewhat responsible while still being the fun uncle.

3) Has privately asked Hogan off screen to make sure he, his family and Klink aren't blamed and/or arrested for crimes they didn't commit after the war. Schultz doesn't think that would happen...but given everything that went down after World War I with the Treaty of Versailles, he isn't taking any chances.

______

Hochstetter:

1) Is a hardcore, unapologetic Nazi who hates the Geneva Convention's very existence. Only tolerates it because of Klink's insistence that his prisoners be treated humanely, and despite the disrespect he shows the kommandant, Hochstetter is aware he's outranked.

2) Has gotten to the point where he's obsessed about Hogan more than a teenager with a celebrity crush. Like, he's just a legitimate stalker at this point🤣 Hochstetter is determined to prove Hogan is Papa Bear at any cost, if for no other reason then so his superiors will stop assuming he's not mentally all the way there.

3) Is very good at his job, surprisingly enough! Hochstetter makes a damned fine detective when he's not dealing with anything involving - or potentially involving - Stalag 13. Fortunately for the boys, he tends to let his hatred and obsession with Hogan blind him to a lot of things, resulting in him dropping the ball on more than one occasion. (Most notably, the episode with Group Captain Roberts.) Of course, Hogan being able to play him like a fiddle doesn't help Hochstetter's case either.

______

Gertrude Linkmeyer:

1) Knows in her heart of hearts that her husband Otto is probably dead. As Burkhalter once told her, that's usually what 'missing in action' at the Russian Front means. But Gertrude won't ever admit that out loud because as long as she keeps denying it, she can hold on to the fragile hope that he might still be alive. Is still internally grieving for him nonetheless, though.

2) Contrary to popular belief, doesn't actually want a romantic relationship with Klink. She likes him and thinks he's cute, but she's mature enough to know you need more than that to be happy in a relationship. However, Gertrude is going along with her brother's attempts to force the pair into marriage for two reasons.

She can see Klink appears to be somewhat naïve in a few ways, and she wants to protect him from women who would use him...of which there have been a few. As stated above, Gertrude genuinely does like him as a person in his own right, so she figures a platonic marriage of convenience would be the best way to accomplish that goal. (He would also be much safer too - nobody in their right mind is gonna risk Burkhalter raining his wrath down on them because they messed with his sister's husband.) But Klink keeps pushing her away because he doesn't realize what she's trying to do. It's very much a 'I'm trying to help you here, dummkopf!' kinda vibe.

Gertrude knows Burkhalter (supposedly) barely tolerates Klink, and it baffles her as to why he would constantly try to shove them together at all in that case. The tension alone would make the holidays a living hell. But she says nothing, choosing to obey his wishes like a dutiful sister should. Gertrude is smart enough to see the grave error in judgment Burkhalter's made for himself; she's just waiting for her brother to figure it out after it's too late so she can have the last laugh.

3) Actively 'wears Burkhalter's rank' (aka uses the 'My brother is a general' card) to get things done if she really wants to. Has also used her relationship with Burkhalter behind the scenes to keep him from sending Klink off to the Front on several occasions for the reasons listed above.

******

The POWs/Allies

Kinch:

1) Is the majority brain cell holder, and therefore the only one who has a hope in hell of stopping Hogan when he gets on a roll.

2) Is on a first-name basis with Hogan in private because the two of them are friends. Nevertheless, Kinch only uses that privilege when he really needs to get Hogan's attention...usually for something critical.

3) Is utterly fascinated by all types of communicative technology. Radios, telephones, TVs...you name it, Kinch is interested in learning more about how it works.

______

LeBeau:

1) Is a mother hen whenever anyone is sick - especially Newkirk and Hogan - because he knows they don't take proper care of themselves. Will deliberately wait until Newkirk is too sick to protest, then shove foods that are extra French down his throat as part of their friendly ongoing French-English rivalry.

2) Is perpetually miffed by Hogan's blatant refusal to let him and Newkirk go on Nazi-killing sprees. Legitimately wonders if Hogan has actually lost his mind on occasion as well.

3) Gets frustrated sometimes because he doesn't understand all the references (such as sayings, terms, etc) to American culture in the barracks. Relies heavily on Kinch (and to an extent, Hogan) to explain them to him.

______

Newkirk:

1) Hates any and all authority figures with a passion, due to having had all of them treat him like dirt because he's poor. Hogan is the one exception to that rule - Newkirk would do anything for his CO if asked. He appreciates how Hogan sees him as a person and values him for his skills, as opposed to his financial status.

2) Will never admit it out loud, but is a serious worrywart, especially when it comes to Carter or LeBeau.

3) Would rather die than ever admit he needs help. Newkirk was raised to believe every bit of help comes with a price, which is why he's extremely hesitant to ever ask for even the smallest thing.

______

Wilson:

1) Dearly wishes Hogan would give him some advance warning whenever the team goes out on missions so he can go to bed earlier. That would be much appreciated, considering he often gets dragged out of bed to patch up one or more of them at all hours of the night. It's one of the reasons he's a grumpy, salty medic. (The other part is because everyone always gives him lip and he's sick of it.) He's trying to help them stay healthy; the least they could do is be grateful!

2) Would absolutely sedate Newkirk and/or Hogan - and in his CO's case, has threatened to do so more than once - if need be. Literally keeps two small containers of makeshift anesthesia he had Carter whip up set aside with Hogan and Newkirk's names on it, just in case.

3) Has zero qualms about taking advantage of the fact that a medic's orders override anyone else's, including Hogan's. Every time the colonel gets sick, the two go through a similar song and dance.

Hogan insists he's "perfectly fine" (even if he sounds like death warmed over) and tries to leave to take care of his men.

Wilson tells him to stay put.

Hogan declines and says he's leaving.

Wilson tells him to stay put again, followed by threatening to have Schultz hold him down on the infirmary bed while he (Wilson) ties him to it.

Hogan indignantly squawks something to the effect of, "You wouldn't dare!"

Wilson - who has an evil little smile by this point - replies, "With all due respect, sir, try me. Either you can willingly stay put until I clear you to leave, or you'll be doing it involuntarily. Medic's orders. So, what's it gonna be, Colonel?"

Hogan reluctantly gives in.

Wilson chalks up another win, all while questioning his life choices and mentally bemoaning the fact he has the world's worst patient for a commanding officer.

______

Crittendon:

1) Isn't as stupid as he appears to be. Didn't buy his rank - that would imply he's not talented enough to earn it on his own, and he would see that as an insult. Even if he had, Crittendon would be hard-pressed to keep it if he was truly that big a screw up. Nepotism only gets you so far. Plays the fool on purpose so people will let their guard down around him, thereby enabling him to make multiple escape attempts. Unfortunately, he's pretty lousy at escapes, so he always gets recaptured.

2) Genuinely means well, but still manages to mess things up. Part of it is because he's too into his role of the idiot officer; the other part of it is being easily distracted. Has deliberately interfered with Hogan's plans more than once as well. Crittendon is a veteran of WWI, so he feels he's the only one of the POWs who knows how to fight a war properly. He sees it as his duty to educate them how things should be done.

3) Was still mentally stuck in WWI the first time he was captured. At some point between his transfer out of Stalag 13 and his next appearance there, Crittendon realized the Nazis have no honor, and that the rules of WWI have all but been chucked out the window. This explains why he did a 180° shift in attitude regarding Hogan's operation. Went from a 'Oh dear, you poor, misguided Yank...you really have no clue how to fight a war properly, do you? Let me teach you how the game is played' vibe to a 'Right, Jerry may not have any honor now, but I still know better than you, old boy. More war experience and all that, wot wot?' one.

______

Marya:

1) Is, essentially, the female version of Hogan. She's just as smart as he is. But in a era where a woman's opinion holds less weight, she has to get creative with her scheming. Plus, Marya likes keeping Hogan on his toes. Not only does it ensure her wits stay sharp, it gives her great joy to frustrate him to no end solely for the entertainment value.

2) Also enjoys making over-complicated plans, same as Hogan does. Sure, she could level with him about what she wants to do from the start, but where's the fun in that?😂 She wouldn't tell him everything anyway; she's smart enough to know you should never put all your eggs in one basket. Marya is well aware Hogan is a great leader, but she also knows firsthand from life in the USSR that even the strongest leaders can fall, and she doesn't want to be caught in the backlash if that happens.

3) Is hardcore crushing on Hogan. (Can't blame her for that; he is very handsome.) Tries to let him know - and thereby enable him to make the first move - by flirting with him constantly. When that doesn't work, Marya begins doing the same thing with LeBeau, trying to make Hogan jealous enough to kiss her and mark her as his woman...which eventually works. Persistence for the win!

The rest of my headcanons about Schultz and Newkirk can be found on this document, along with my ones of Klink, Burkhalter, Hogan and Carter.

Also, if anyone is interested, I did write out Klink’s experiences in both wars here. It's told via flashback, however, which is why it abruptly jumps from World War I to World War II despite being in story format.

What are your top 3 headcanons for Hogan's Heroes in general?

What are your top 3 headcanons for each character?

[geeky-politics-46]

You Belong To Me - Part 4

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Part 1, Part 2, & Part 3 of "You Belong To Me"

Pairing: Sinister Stephen Strange x Reader, Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Sinister makes sure you feel at home in your new universe in very intimate ways & Stephen learns an important revelation as the others make a plan to rescue you.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - fingering, dubious consent, deception, manipulation, breeding kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, lactation kink, cum play, jealousy, language, toxic relationship, kinda cheating?, lying, mention of potential pregnancy complications (mild), canon level violence.

In case you didn't hear, there will now be 5 parts to this story so this ends on a cliffhanger! Thanks to a very long filthy opening section. Corrections will be made as I find them.

You stood in one of the arches of the crumbling Sanctum staring out the window across the room. You walked over & ran your hand down the pane of glass. Somehow it wasn't broken. Or perhaps he had fixed it. He had been trying to fix various bits of the Sanctum since you arrived. Making the place more habitable. Warmer & safer for you & the babies when they came. 

He didn't want you to leave the Sanctum, even with him there. At least not for now. The risks of someone coming, trying to take you back to your universe, was too great & he couldn't protect you outside the Sanctum walls. Not that there was much to do in this universe. There were no other people, besides you & Stephen, & many of the buildings & surroundings were in a half destroyed state.

The weather was the same as it always was in this universe. Dreary. You didn't miss the sunlight or oppressive heat, you did miss the rain though & storms. You missed people watching too. The silence was somewhat refreshing. You didn't miss the horns & the construction at all, nor the sounds of people. You did miss the birds. 

You felt his arms slide around your waist before coming to rest on your pregnant belly & a series of soft kisses landed down your neck before his chin came to rest on your shoulder. It still felt a little different. You had convinced him to trim the goatee a little. Even he admitted it felt better, although according to him having you there he felt like a brand new man altogether. 

He felt... happy. For the first time in years. He couldn't even remember how long. He hated seeing you long for things that you could no longer have though. Things you had left behind for him. He swore he would figure out a way to give you that world back or to fix this one for you. 

"I'm sorry this poor excuse of a world is what I can provide for you my love. I promise I have a plan to give you more. To create the most perfect paradise for us. One where we will be safe for eternity. It will take a little time though. In the meantime I can't say that I don't love having you all to myself else every moment of every day."

"I'm also sorry that now, because of him," the last word coming out as a growl, "I couldn't wait until after the babies were born to bring you here."

You reached up to cradle his face in one hand & put your other hand over his on your belly. For a guy who seemed to strike so much fear into Wanda, Wong, & the other Stephen this man seemed like a teddy bear to you in these moments when he was vulnerable. Like a little lost puppy who had been shown love & compassion for the first time. You turned your face into his & nuzzled your nose into his cheek before placing a few kisses there.

"I love you my darling. All that matters is you are here with me & that our babies are safe. I know you will protect us. We don't need frills & material things as long as we have our little family. I would rather burn that world to the ground than be back there with him, with her. After what they did. Perhaps we can do that together? A little date night before the babies arrive. Besides, I think you like being able to fuck me on any surface of this place at any hour as many times as you want without interruption. Why would you want to go changing that?" 

You started to sway your hips side to side softly rubbing against his groin. He could feel your lips curl into a mischievous smile. Part of what had attracted him to you in the first place was your wicked side. The other Stephen hadn't even realized your devilish potential, both in & out of bed, but he had. All it took was a little corrupting influence & you became quite a little hellcat. His little hellcat, his naughty kitten.

"Sounds like you might like that part of this universe too. My naughty little kitten likes being able to get fucked anywhere at any time. Especially since you are trying to get me hard rubbing against me like that. All you have to do is ask & I will happily make my pretty life wife scream in pleasure. Does my kitten want to play? Hmm? Does mommy want daddy to make her feel good?" 

His voice now getting gravely as held your belly a little firmer & pressed his hips forward into yours. The 2 of you had been practically insatiable for each other since you arrived here. You knew it was partly pregnancy hormones, but it was partly because of how special he made you feel. His devotion to you, to pleasuring you, was almost overwhelming but fuck if it didn't make you feel incredible. 

You knew he had a dark side. In the back of your mind a small voice told you that you should be afraid of him. That you should be afraid of this place. That he had probably used some unsavory methods to lure you to him like a cat to catnip. In these moments though, when he made your skin feel electric & your brain short-circuit, you really couldn't give a flying fuck. You wanted to ask him, to confront him about what tricks he pulled, but the second his lips or tongue were on your skin you got amnesia & it all felt fine again.

You hummed in agreement as you felt him starting to gather the bottom half of your dress up in his hands. The soft fabric tickled as it slid up your legs, stopping just as it crested above your knees. You knew was waiting for you to answer him. He loved hearing you beg for him to do naughty things to you, loved hearing how much you wanted & needed him.

"Yes please, daddy. Make me feel good. Show me you own me Stephen. That I'm your good little wife. Wanna make you feel good too. Use my little pussy baby. Wherever you want. Whenever you want."

"That's my good girl." He purred his praise in your ear as he finished pulling your dress up to your waist. You ass & pussy now bare to since you saw no reason to wear underwear anymore. They just slowed you down & got in the way, whether you two were getting frisky, or one of the babies decided your bladder was a trampoline. 

He started licking behind your ear before placing small kisses on the shell of it. You could hear & feel as his breathing sped up. You tilted your head to the side to grant him better access. He bit your earlobe in approval before sucking on it. Once more he ran his nimble tongue up the outer edge of your entire ear. Following every curve & divet, making a show of following your anatomy. He placed several small kisses from your temple to the tragus of your ear. Barely pulling his lips away from your flesh he whispered directly into your ear, giving you goosebumps.

"I think I should fuck you right here against this window, don't you? Not that there is anyone to watch, but imagine if there were. Imagine if they could see me fucking my pretty perfect wife. See how beautiful you look writhing on my cock. Imagine how jealous they would be. Knowing that I'm the one who put those babies in you. That I'm the only one who gets to fill you all full of my cum".

One hand rubbing circles on your pregnant belly & the other moving down to dip between your legs. Moaning against your neck when he ran his long fingers over your slit, feeling how wet & warm you were, before coming back up to tease your clit. 

Your mouth falling open & you gasped at the feeling of his delicate light touch in contrast to his harsh nipping & sucking at your neck. The hand you had on his cheek now gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling harder when he found the particular spot on your clit he knew you loved. Your other hand grabbing at your top to pull it down & expose your engorged breasts before starting to tug lightly at one nipple then the other. 

"Of course if they were to see you like that, I'd have to pluck their eyes clean from their skulls. Only I get to see my sweet wife being a dirty little slut. Isn't that right kitten? Let me hear you purr, just for me." 

He suddenly brought his hands up to the top of your dress & ripped the fabric down the middle. It took several tugs to tear all the way through the dress but he did it fairly effortlessly. You let the fabric fall from your body & turned to face him. Sliding your hands up the lapels of his robes letting his eyes rove up & down your body.

You shook your head and tutted at him, teasing him a little as you let your hands trail down to rub at the bulge growing in his robes. You kissed him lightly as you slid your hand into his pants & started stroking his cock. Quite literally purring when you felt his warm member throb under your welcome touch.

"So possessive Stephen. You should let them watch. Let them see how much I want you & only you. You know only you can satisfy me, & fill me. Only you can do this to me." 

You brought one of his hands back & placed it on your bump. Smiling as you gazed at him. The flash of a sweet smirk & pure love showing through that briefly reminded you of the other Stephen. Your heart still aching at the thought of him cheating on you with Christine. To clear the thought from your head you gripped the base of his cock tighter making him growl & the sweetness in his eyes turn back to lust. He could immediately tell where your mind had gone at the change in your touch.

"Don't think about him, my love. Just let me fuck him out of your mind. If he even dares to think about darkening our doorstep I will make him regret the day he even breathed in her direction. No one could ever compare to you. Come let me sit you up on the piano & devour that beautiful pussy. Let me make my wife, my beautiful queen & the mother of my babies, cum all over my face. Let me worship you kitten."

You moaned against his mouth as you slid your hand out of his pants & up around his neck. Letting him lead you backwards toward the grand piano before lifting you up & setting you on the very edge. You leaned back slightly & braced yourself with your hands as you watched him pull back the bench. He had left your legs hanging down over the keys so he could sit on the bench as if he was going to play a brilliant concerto. In his mind he essentially was, only he was playing it on your body not the piano. 

He flipped the bottom of his robes out of the way with an extra flourish as he eyed you. He slid his palms up your shins & put your feet to his chest, admiring every inch of flesh he touched. As his hands hit the tops of your knees you let your index finger trail over the black & purple wedding band that matched the one you wore. Sighing softly at the thought that the man about to take you apart was your husband. You looked in his eyes & mouthed a quiet "I love you Stephen."

He kissed one kneecap & then the other whispering "I love you too. My beautiful wife". He was still in somewhat disbelief that his plan to make you his had worked out so well. Sure he had to fool you into thinking that the other version of him cheated on you, hurting you in the process, but here you were. You loved him too. You really loved him. You had said it yourself, & you didn't just love 'Stephen Strange'. You loved him, & he worshiped the ground you walked on. 

His rough palms moved to slide down the inside of your legs displaying your glistening pussy for him. He placed the arches of your feet over his broad shoulders so you were spread wide for him.  He couldn't refrain from licking his lips at the sight of you. You were his favorite treat. 

He ran his hands up toward your core as he started placing open mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Slowly bringing his face closer to your cunt. Taking the time to feel each time the muscles in your legs involuntarily contracted at his touch.

Once his long fingers had settled at the crease of your hips so he could gently massage your pubic mound, he used his thumbs to stroke your flushed pussy lips up & down. Feeling your wetness continue to grow & leak from you  as he toyed with you. He groaned to himself when he stopped to pull your lips apart & open your warm pink walls to him further. 

Watching as you hole clenched at the feel of his breath on you. Your hips starting to rock back & forth as you began  to whine for more contact. He was a little conflicted at the sound of your pleas. On one hand he wanted to tease you more, & hear all the little needy sounds you would make for him. On the other hand, his cock was already so hard it was painful & he needed to taste you before he fucked you.

"Stephen, please. I need you."

With that request he flattened his tongue & licked the entirety of your pussy. From your entrance to your clit. He made sure to get as much of you with that first lick as he possibly could without looking away from your eyes. A wanton ragged moan was pulled from your chest as he punctuated that first lick with a small suck of your clit. Smiling devilishly as he pulled his mouth away. 

He stayed close enough to place light licks & gentle kisses at random on your pussy. Making sure to surprise you by occasionally swirling his tongue over your clit. Each time making you jump & whimper in pleasure.

"Is this what you want, kitten? My mouth on your pussy? She tastes so good. So sweet." 

He moaned as he took another wide long lick up your pussy before you could say anything to answer. Not that you could form words anyway. He was so very good at leaving you speechless when he did the most sinful things to your body.

He licked at you over & over leaving as much saliva on you as he could before he began sucking at your clit. Pulling his mouth away then sucking you back in. The small wet sucking pops his mouth made almost echoing off the walls & vaulted ceiling. 

"What about my fingers darling? Should I stretch your tight little hole open on them? Would you like that?" 

His index finger was already busy stroking the very bottom of your entrance. Again he wasn't planning on waiting for a response. He slid it inside you before quickly adding another to his assault. Once he could hear the wet squelching of his fingers thrusting into your cunt over the sound of his mouth on you he turned his palm upward & added a third finger. Making sure to crook them at the angle he knew would make you cum the hardest. 

By now your legs were no longer sitting on his shoulders, but held in the air as wide as you could manage while still supporting yourself with one arm. It wasn't the most comfortable position but it had him hitting all the right spots & giving him as much access to your tender cunt as possible. A huge mirror that was hung on the wall across the room capturing the debauched image of the two of you. 

As the fire in your belly started to build you grabbed his hair with both hands. You could feel his smile as he moved one arm around your waist to keep you from falling off the piano into his lap. He let you grind his face against your pussy however you wanted. His mouth moved with even more fervor the harder you pulled at his hair. He loved letting you use his mouth like this as he fingerfucked you. 

He loved letting you use him for your pleasure, so he let you set the pace. He matched the speed of his fingers to the speed you set for his mouth. Quickly letting the ball of energy build in the pit of your stomach right up to the point of boiling over. Right as he felt you about to spiral into orgasm he began shaking his head back & forth as he worked his mouth over every part of you he could reach. Sending a vibration rattling through you & pulling the last string needed to unravel you.

You came with a guttural groan that echoed through the whole Sanctum. Bucking hard against his face as he held onto you. Continuing to lick & at suck at you as you slowly came down from your high. He made sure not to waste a drop of your nectar, drinking you in like a man deprived of water. 

Once your movements had settled into shudders & whimpers he began kissing up your body as he started stripping himself of his robes. The sight of him disrobing renewing your hunger for him. 

When he reached your breasts he pulled back & began to study your chest. At some point during his play with you, your breasts had started to leak. It was far enough in your pregnancy you were starting to produce milk & the oxytocin release from your orgasm must have triggered a milk let-down.

He was hypnotized as he watched the liquid slowly trickling from your nipples. A lust heavy moan tore from him at the sight. Stopping his movements just shy of pushing down his pants. His throbbing cock had to wait a moment longer so he could enjoy your body, & it's new reflex, just a little bit more.

"Oh kitten, look at that. Look at your pretty little nipples starting to leak milk. Just when I thought you couldn't make me crave you more. Such a good mommy already." 

He slid his hands up your ribcage to the outer edges of your swollen engorged breasts. Glancing up at you to make sure you weren't too sensitive as he squeezed your breasts together & ran the pads of his thumbs over both nipples. It stimulated a few more drops to pool & drip downward. You could tell by the look on his face exactly what he wanted, & when he looked at your body with such reverence you couldn't say no to him.

"Does daddy want a taste? Does daddy want some of mommy's milk first? Daddy's the one that helped put it there after all. They're Daddy's titties too."

You brought his face up to kiss him & running your fingers through his hair, putting on your biggest doe eyes & saying those words as sweetly as possible. What he wanted was a new incredibly intimate gesture. You wanted to assure him & his desire. 

His eyes were closed & he melted into your lips. He loved that you could read his body. He practically whimpered as you asked him. You knew he secretly hid a very needy side.

You sat up further & let your hands fall down his chest to his undone pants. Passionately kissing him, letting your tongue lick at his lips as you finished pushing his pants down. Smiling as he gasped when his cock finally sprung free. You gripped him in one hand & stroked him a few times, using a firm enough grasp to let a few drops of pre-cum gather at his slit. 

You collected it on your fingers as you cooed against his lips, "Take me to bed daddy & you can have all the milk you want." You then licked & sucked the pre-cum from your fingers moaning at the taste of him. 

With a wave of a single hand you felt the soft bed materialize underneath you, propped up by several pillows, & your lover's body carefully lowered down against yours. Arching your back as you felt his long hard shaft sliding through your soaked folds.

He immediately started lapping at one nipple then the other. Cleaning up what had already leaked from you. Then he wrapped his lips around one of them & began sucking lightly, moaning when the warm liquid started to flow on his tongue. 

After a minute or two of suckling on one breast he switched to the other. Looking thoroughly drunk when he finally had his fill. He buried his face in your neck & began nipping & sucking at your ear letting you hold him close. 

"Kitten, I love you so much. Every inch of you is perfection. Your pussy was fucking made for me. The moment these babies are out of you I'm filling you up full again. Tell me how badly you need my cock kitten. Beg for my cock."

He had positioned himself at your entrance & so the head of his cock pressed right where you needed him but he didn't push into you. He added just enough pressure to tease you, but you could tell by the fact he was frantically starting to rut against you faster that he was getting desperate. So were you, & your hips started to move to meet his. Each thrust letting him start to slip into you little by little.

"Please Stephen. Fuck me, make love to me. You make me feel so good. I can't believe I ever did without you. Fuck me daddy."

He let himself slide into your fully at your plea. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, before biting at each other's lips. Your foreheads pressed together as he started to frantically thrust into you. 

He fucked you fast but made sure he wasn't too rough with you being as far along as you were. You both watched as his long hard cock sank into your swollen pussy glistening with your arousal as he pulled out only to thrust back. Watching your pregnant body take his cock was quickly pushing him toward climax. 

"Can I cum on your beautiful breasts kitten? Please let me cum on your tits & your belly. Want to see you marked with me inside & out." 

He rambled his request against your lips. Moving down to kiss & suck on your breasts while he waited for your answer. Smiling at the whining noise you made when he flicked his tongue fast against your nipple.

"Yes daddy, however you want. Cum on my belly, my breasts, my face. Wherever you want, baby."

A few more thrusts & he pulled out. He started rubbing your clit with one hand & rapidly fucking into his other fist. Watching your face contort with pleasure from his touch as you pressed your breasts together for him. Presenting your body to him. 

"Cum for me kitten. I wanna cum on you as you cum. I know you're close. Listen to your pretty little purrs. Fuck I'm gonna cum so hard, there's gonna be so much. After I paint you you can lick it up like a good little kitten if you want."

The thought of him marking you like that made you cum hard, writhing underneath him & crying out his name. He growled as he gripped himself hard & cum started streaming from his cock. Streak after streak, stretching from your belly to your breasts. A couple ropes even spurted up to your chin & mouth. You happily licked up any that landed on your lips. 

He milked every drop from himself, letting his cock cum to rest on your swollen belly. He leaned back admiring your form as he used the hand he had used on himself to spread his seed across your chest & belly. He wished he had a camera.

"I think you like seeing me like this. Covered in my husband's cum. I like it too. I like being your little cum covered wife. I love you Stephen."

He leaned down to kiss you as you rambled in blissed out exhaustion. He marveled at how enraptured he was with his sweet dirty wife. The object of his every desire. Perfect in every way. Your eyelids were growing heavy & you were starting to drift in & out. He conjured a warm wet cloth & cleaned both of you up before tucking you under the covers with a pillow supporting your belly & him cuddled in behind you. 

"I hope you know I will do anything for you my love. I would kill, I would steal. Anything. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you safe my darling wife. I will take that universe for us. Let him live in this crumbling place, we deserve that world. That future. The 4 of us."

--------------------------------

Stephen sat up bolt upright in his bed. He had been dreaming of you again. Of the two of you in the throes of passion. Of his hands & lips on you. Of him inside you. He despised those dreams. 

There were no words for how much he despised those dreams, because now he had learned that they weren't just dreams. They were a look through the eyes of a variant of himself. More often than not it was the variant that had taken you from him, & he missed you so much his heart actually hurt. 

Sometimes when he woke he swore he could still taste you on his tongue & feel your legs wrapped around his waist. He could still hear the little noises you made each time he thrust into you, warm & wet, & it tore him apart all over again. Especially as he watched your pregnant belly grow bigger. Even if he wasn't the biological father, he desperately wanted to be. Wanted to raise them with you. Anger & heartbreak hitting him like a tsunami.

He picked up the glass on the nightstand next to his bed & downed its contents. It looked like water, but a quick whiff of the substance would reveal the glasses' true contents. He winced at the burn in his throat & threw the now empty glass against the wall shattering it to pieces. It made him feel better seeing the fragile crystal shattering as it hit the rich dark wood, even if it was only marginally & momentarily. 

The Cloak of Levitation came running in, if it could even be called running, at the sound to make sure its master was unharmed. It's collar dropped in sadness when it realized the reason for the crash. 

Strange buried his face in his hands, the shaking in them had gotten worse again since you had been gone. He let out a few tears & muffled sobs before sniffling & moving to get up from the bed. Shaking his head to clear the emotion visible on his face. Snapping at the sentient garment, "I'm fine."

He went to the bathroom & the dark aura that he now bore followed him as he moved. The cloak sagged at the new attitude the sorcerer carried. Even it knew that he was treading on tenuous ground at what he would do to get you back.

In the library Wanda, Wong, & America had been working non-stop trying to formulate a plan. What Stephen was unaware of was that during the daily walks she had made you take, Wanda had planted a small failsafe mechanism in your mind in the event you fell prey to the variant's manipulation.

It allowed her to mentally keep tabs on your location, even once you had moved universes. She knew exactly where you were, & whether or not you & the babies were safe. She had kept Wong in the loop since you disappeared, but until they knew how exactly to get you back they didn't want to tell Stephen & have him go on multiversal breaking rampage.

They also shared in the knowledge that one of the babies you carried did in fact belong to this Stephen. They were saving that fact for a key moment. To give him something extra to fight for. They knew the knowledge of the true origin of your pregnancy was what shattered him. They were hoping that this knowledge would help put him back together. 

They would go to the Sanctum in the universe with that sinister version of Strange, they knew that was where you would both be. It was where he would be the most powerful & in control. As Wanda worked to pull your mind free of his manipulation, Wong & Stephen would fight the variant of Strange. America's job was to get the book & destroy it. Without it his hold on you would be easier to break.

America was the one who would get them to you since she was the one who could open the multiversal portal. The question was could it be done with just the 4 of them? Bruce & Tony weren't comfortable with any of the non-magical Avengers going. So that ruled out the 2 of them, Steve, Bucky, Nat, Clint, Rhodey, & Sam. Scott wasn't sure how the multiverse would compare to the quantum realm or affect the power in the Pym particles. So that took him out too. They decided it would be too dangerous for Peter to help either.

Vision & Thor were the only 2 left who could serve as backup. Since Vision had the mind stone & was an android they figured he was safe, & he had some knowledge of the multiverse. As a god who was used to traveling by the Bifrost they figured he had a hearty enough constitution to handle it. America would only bring them if they were out of other options. 

As Stephen came storming out of his bedroom he strode right past them without casting a glance. America turned to greet him as he walked right past leaving her mouth hanging open & a hurt look in her eyes.

Wanda reached out to console her, rubbing her back with one hand & using the other to steer her back to where Wong was still standing.

"Leave him be. He dreamed of her again, I can sense it." 

Wong grimaced & hummed in agreement with Wanda before voicing the obvious. It wasn't worth a fight right now. They were close to having their plan ready. They would need him later & they should save his patience.

"The dreams seem to be what's upsetting him the most. He's always the worst in the morning."

Wanda pursed her lips together. She couldn't exactly blame Stephen. God only knows what she would do if she found herself in the same situation. She imagined the hurt & anger would be unbearable.

"If you saw the kind of dreams he's having, the things he's seeing, you wouldn't blame him. Trust me."

By the end of the day they had set the rest of their plan. It would be up to Wanda to untangle your mind, but first they had to get that ring off of you. Wong had determined that it was what had acted as a shield against her magic. What would happen to your captor would be decided by his own actions. Now they had to rally Stephen. 

They found him where he practically lived now, in the library. Going book by book, he was leaving no page unturned. No spell unconsidered. Even the ones he knew he was treading dangerously to entertain. Every painful dream of his other self's hands on you & cock inside you driving him closer to using them. 

He rounded a corner & found the 3 of them waiting for him around a table covered in books & empty bottles. 

"What? I'm busy."

"We have a plan & we need you." Wanda made an appeal to his emotion. "She needs you, & they need you." 

"In case you forgot, they aren't mine." His eyes flashed in hurt & anger. His voice caught in his throat as he spoke. 

It was Wong's turn to take over the conversation. That way if Stephen started yelling it was at him, not America or Wanda. Especially now that they had to tell him the part that would really hurt.

"Strange, we learned something else, we were wrong. One of the babies is his, but one of them is yours. That's why they were growing unevenly. Only one of them was, is, being aided by his dark magic."

"What? You're lying. She said… that's not what she told me, when she… when he took her." 

He wasn't so much accusing Wong of lying so much as praying that you were. If one of the babies was his then that meant maybe he could still get to you, maybe he could still get you to come home willingly. It would mean he still had a tether to you. You still had a tether to this universe. It would be much easier for them to undo whatever he did.

"We think, we're pretty sure, she just said that to hurt you. Whatever thoughts he has been planting in her head to get her to leave willingly, he was also trying to turn her against you. To break her trust in you. It would only make sense she would lash out if he made her believe… that." 

Wong knew better than to mention the thing you accused him of, what you were sure he had done. He & Wanda had come in just to hear you scream at him that he had slept with Christine in your shared bed. They both knew he hadn't & he never would, but you were under the influence of dark magic. 

Stephen began pacing back & forth as he ran his hands down his face. He felt half hysterical. He didn't know what emotion to feel. If he got you back he would have loved the babies even if they weren't really his, but the idea that he was really the biological father of at least one of them lit a new fire in him. One way or another he had to get you back here. 

"Stephen? Are you okay?" America questioned unable to read his expression.

Using his magic he pulled 4 chairs out from the table.

"What's the plan?"

--------------------------------

He purposely had America drop him somewhere in the city well away from the Sanctum. If the other Strange saw the portal it would give away any element of surprise they may have had. He would find his way there & try to reason with the variant. They all knew there was little hope in that, but it would be the best way to ensure your safety. They would wait until Stephen called for them to join, keeping an eye on his success from their universe. Using Wanda's powers to channel his in order to keep a visual & mental line of communication open to him.

He entered the building without any trouble & made his way up the staircase. Hearing his footsteps echo he knew his presence had now been detected, but his variant made no attempt to slow or stop him. He made his way to the center of the room to stand in front of the large window bearing the seal of Vishanti. Turning in a circle he surveyed the room, watching for any hint of a moving shadow or glow of magic. If he got lucky maybe you would find him or he could find you without interference. 

"Well well, hello Stephen." A voice boomed through the hall & encased the entire room around him. Purposely attempting to startle him with the volume.

He rolled his eyes as his variant strode forward from the shadows & leaned against a pillar with his hands casually held behind his back. Of course he found himself before he found you. His own ego now on display to him through his doppelganger.

"Did you come looking for something? I don't think there's anything of yours here. I think everything here has pretty thoroughly been marked as mine. Speaking of, any interesting dreams lately?"

A taunting grin playing on his lips. He knew that your former Stephen had been an unwilling voyeur to some of your naughty escapades since arriving. If he had the ability the sinister Strange would have ensured that Stephen had to watch every single one the way he had watched every time your former lover touched you when he couldn't. It would only be fair to make him watch. 

Maybe if your former lover begged nice enough, he would let him watch you both in person before he killed him. Now that you belonged to the man who truly deserved you. 

"What is he doing here?" 

You emerged from the shadows of the adjacent room. Your melodic voice pierced through the thoughts of both men & they immediately turned to look at you. The two pairs of matching icy blue eyes moving over your body with two very different emotions.

Stephen's eyes immediately clouded with tears when he saw you. You looked like a poison flower, beautiful but deadly. Your skin less flushed & vibrant, the inky black dress you wore made the contrast even more sharp. Your whole aura had shifted to a deep smokey purple that matched the magic Sinister Strange used. You were without a doubt under some sort of magical hold. 

"What did he do to you? Are you okay? Are they okay?" 

His voice cracked slightly as he reached his hand out as if to touch you. His gaze pleading for you to answer him.

You placed your hands over your pregnant belly assuming a protective posture as Stephen took a step toward you. The ring on your finger was glittering & glowing seemingly to tease him. 

His dark copy cast a snide laugh as he strode up behind you & placed an open mouthed kiss on your neck. Making the gesture as lewd as he possibly could. Leaving his eyes on Stephen as he placed his left hand over yours on your stomach to show off his matching wedding band. 

"Oh come now Strange. I know that you know what I've been doing to her, & how much she has been enjoying it."

He trailed his right hand up your arm & teasingly across your breast to tilt your jaw so could nip at your ear. Enjoying every second he could of getting to play with his stolen toy in front of the other man.

You snapped a quick, "I'm fine. We're fine." Hoping it would move the conversation forward.  Tilting your chin down to glance at your belly, pursing your lips to keep your emotions in check.

Your patience with their pissing match was already running thin. You still loved the man across from you. He may have broken your heart but you didn't want to watch him physically suffer. The longer he stayed the more danger he was in. You knew that as well as he did.

Stephen's lips curled up slightly when he immediately you were referring you yourself & the babies. Not the other version of him. He swallowed hard & nodded in acknowledgment of your response. He decided to take a chance & address you again.

"I don't know what he showed you, but I would never cheat on you. Please believe me. Please just come with me & we'll figure everything out. I know one of the babies is really mine. Even if you never forgive me, none of you are safe here with him." 

"Stephen, stop! I've made my decision. The other baby is his regardless. I'm not going with you." Your right hand clasped the bicep of the man whose arm was wrapped around you, trying to feel as steady of yourself as you sounded.

"Why don't you go run home to your little Christine, Doctor. While you still can." Your husband gritted the threat through his teeth & pulled you tighter to his chest Turning his gaze down to you he started to paw at your neck & chest again. 

"We have much more… stimulating things to do, isn't that right kitten?"

Your former lover huffed in irritation at him, turning his attention back to his copy.

"Let's ignore the fact that you have her under some form of control, but you know that you can't keep her here. This universe has suffered an incursion already, bringing her from another universe is risking the collapse of both universes. If you love her & your child, both children, like you say you do you'll let her leave."

Sinister Strange was starting to get beyond irritated with him. He had given him a chance to leave unscathed, for the time being anyway, but he chose to stay & continue to run his mouth. He shouldn't be surprised, it's exactly what he would have done.

"Well before you manage to harass & upset my lovely little wife even more, shall we get this over with? Or would you & your friends like to put up a fight first? Makes no difference by me, as I planned on taking your Sanctum from their cold dead hands after I finished with you anyway. Of course you could just give it to us willingly. Call it a wedding present perhaps?" 

That was the moment a blue star opened behind Stephen. Wong, Wanda, & America stepped through to stand behind. Wong immediately put up his shields as Wanda & America moved to flank the 2 men but neither took a defensive stance.

Sinister Strange kissed the back of your hand & moved his hands away from you before starting to slowly walk toward them. You instinctively backed up to the wall & started stepping toward the corner. Your hands cradling your belly even tighter. You knew his magic was protecting you somehow, but you didn't know to what extent or for how long if he was fighting both Wong & your other Stephen.

You made eye contact with Wanda & she made clear she was heading to help shield you from any stray bursts of magic. Your gaze told her not to press her luck & anger the dark sorcerer instead by doing anything stupid like trying to take you. You could see her grudgingly agree by holding her hands up by her face. As long as her crimson colored magic didn't appear she wouldn't warrant any magical retaliation for now. America slowly began approaching you from the other direction, the evil variants gaze boring into her a warning that would only let one of them within arms reach of you without intervention.

Once she had made it within running distance of you Stephen finally answered. He glanced back at Wong who made eye contact with him signalling that they were all ready. It was now or never.

"Looks like the Sorcerer Supreme isn't gonna go for that idea." 

A purple ball of energy materialized between Sinister Strange's hands as he grinned menacingly at the 2 men. He chuckled darkly to himself.

"Yeah, didn't think so." 

--------------------------------

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Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories for everything or for a specific charector. It's currently a lot of Strange & Bucky. ❤

[sunsents]

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

[rayquazing]

A lot of baby/pregnancy fic tends to focus on the end of pregnancy/the beginning of the baby’s life. But I wanted to do a little character study into Levi, so here he is over the course of 10 hours after learning Hange is preggo~  (mildly nsfw)

Ao3

10 Hours

Hour 0

 “So...” She faces away from him. Her single eye locked on the sky beyond her window. Hange Zoe, fourteenth Commander of the Survey Corps, will not turn to face him. She is sat at her desk, hands folded on its top. Levi cannot see her expression, but he expects that it is as grim as her tone. 

He braces himself for bad news. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The birds beyond the window stop singing. The clouds cease their trek across the cerulean sky. Levi’s breath is stuck in his chest, a painful lump between his lungs. 

“Come again?”

This time she does look at him, pinning him to the floor with an emotionless glance over her shoulder. 

“Pregnant. Expecting. Vertically impaired bun in the proverbial oven.” 

The short joke is lost on him. He exhales sharply, like someone punched him in the gut, “Oh.” 

Hange sighs and resumes her staring out the window, “Just think on it. You don’t need to say anything right now.” 

Levi swallows thickly and gladly takes the excuse to exit the room. His head is spinning, heart thundering in his chest. Pregnant. It doesn’t feel real yet. 

He retreats to the relative safety of his quarters. 

Hour 1

Levi punches a hole in his wall with a snarl. Untoward anger radiating through his limbs. 

Sheetrock and plaster rain down, dirtying his pristine floor, further incensing him. He kicks a second hole in the wall, shouting with the impact of his booted heel. More debris falls. 

He paces back and forth, occasionally tugging a hand through his hair. He’s sweating, he feels filthy. 

But he knows that Hange isn’t lying. This is not the sort of sick joke she would pull. But they had been so careful, hadn’t they? 

He replays the penultimate moments of their last few encounters over in his head, and quickly realizes that they haven’t been as careful as he’d thought. There is nothing quite like losing himself in the depths of Hange... Commander Hange. 

Shit. He curses himself and perches on the foot of his bed, resting his head in his hands. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do now? 

Hour 2

Eventually he finds himself spread eagle across his bed. His eyes trace along the wooden grain of the ceiling. His head still spins when he thinks too deeply about anything, and a strange ache has settled into his chest, like a fist around his heart. 

Does he love Hange Zoe? Would it be fair to bring a child into the world if he didn’t? 

They’ve never said the words aloud to one another, but he knows in his heart-of-hearts that he does love her. She anchors him to reality, instills in him a drive to live where there might have only been despair. 

His fists clench and unclench rhythmically in his linens. Levi shuts his slate eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm and steady himself. 

He is in love with Hange Zoe. He can admit that to himself now, in what feels like the most dire of circumstances. 

But can he love a child? Is there enough room in his heart? 

He rolls onto his side and covers his face with a pillow. 

It still feels unreal. A bad dream playing out before his waking eyes. 

Hour 3

He oscillates back into denial, then anger. 

Who are they to bring a child into this terrible, cruel world? An Eldian child, a scapegoat, a martyr for Marley to string up and burn. 

She has to be lying. Hange cannot possibly be telling him the truth. No Walls, no Gods, no omnipotent powers could be so terribly sordid as to bring an infant into the world now. Not while they are on the brink of war. 

Hour 4

He remembers his childhood; years spent wasting away in a whorehouse. Starving while his mother wasted her ill-gotten wages on booze. Levi was a bastard, fatherless. The only male role-model he’d ever had was Kenny, and look where that had gotten him. 

“I can’t be a father,” he whispers into the dying light of his quarters. 

He doesn’t know how. 

Hour 5

He takes his supper in the mess hall when he would normally eat within the privacy of his quarters. He hopes that the noise might distract, that interacting with his... his kids... might help him to better grasp his current situation. 

The irony of it isn’t lost on him as he sits in silence amongst his young comrades. In a way he has been a father to them where their own had become titan food. 

He watches Sasha scarf her food with abandon, Connie teasing her between his own hearty mouthfuls. He watches Jean roll his eyes at the two of them, then take a moment to proudly pet the patchy stubble that has begun to grow in around his chin. 

Levi listens to Armin excitedly pontificate to Mikasa and Eren about Marlean cuisine and meal customs. Mikasa listens on in contented silence, a small smile on her lips. Eren’s eyes are distant, like he isn’t listening at all. 

Levi wants to smack him on the back of his head. The twerp has been acting up a lot more as of late. Secretly, it worries him. 

His kids. 

Who needs a baby when they have it this good? 

He sighs and looks down to his tray, food untouched. 

They’re Hange’s kids, too. 

Their baby. Theirs. 

Hour 6

He returns to his quarters, stomach tied up in painful knots. He remembers Kenny, how the man had taught him the cruel, ruthless ways of the Underground. 

He remembers Isabel and Furlan. How he had allowed himself to love so selflessly only to be burned and brutalized in the end. What if that happened to Hange? Hange who he had come to rely on more than anything, anyone. Childbirth was a dangerous thing, everyone knew that. Even with the new, fancy anti-biotics being imported from the mainland the risks were high. 

What if he lost her? 

Her remembers Erwin who he had loved as a father, a brother, a martyr and a dear comrade. He remembers his Commander dying on that rooftop in Shiganshina. He remembers the blood. Icy blue eyes cold and dead as Hange peeled back his lids. 

Levi’s stomach rolls and he flips his upper half over the side of the bed and promptly vomits onto the floor. 

Behind his eyes an image has begun to take shape. Hange laid out in bed, naked from the waist down. Bloody, sweaty, weak and dying as a shapeless creatures squalls on her chest. 

“No,” Levi rasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He feels so weak, so helpless in the face of this indominable thing. The sleep that takes him is unbidden and restless. 

Hour 7

Levi dreams of a cabin tucked away amongst the massive boles of the trees beyond wall Rose. Smoke rises from the chimney, filling the crisp forest air with a pleasant, homey smell. 

Sunlight breaks through the canopy and speckles the ground. Everything is bright and beautiful and alive. The simple wooden door of the cabin beckons to him, and he is helpless but to answer its call. 

Inside the space is cozy and quaint. The kitchen and living area inhabiting the same space. Hange is waiting for him, sitting on a small, plush sofa. She isn’t wearing her eye patch, revealing the milky iris and silvery scar she usually guards so carefully. 

“Levi,” she beams at him. For a moment he is stunned by her simple, unkempt beauty. 

He knows he is meant to be anxious over something, but suddenly he cannot remember what it is. 

He sits down beside her takes her face between his hands and kisses her. 

I love you, he wants to admit the truth. He’s ready. But his lips will not part. The words will not pass his tongue. 

When they part Hange’s expression darkens, long shadows falling over her hawkish features. 

“Levi...” she breathes. 

Shadows begin to creep in from the corners of the cabin. The walls suddenly feel as though they are caving in, and suddenly his peaceful dream has become a nightmare. 

“You’re pregnant,” The sound of his own voice is alien and distant in his ears. He feels small. Smaller than usual. Miniscule and helpless. Why can he speak now? 

Hange nods and then the pair of them are besieged by shadows. 

Hour 8

Levi sits bolt upright in his bed, sweat is gathered on his brow and sharp shivers wrack his limbs. He pants and wipes his face with his palm. 

“Fuck,” he curses. 

He’s used to nightmares, but more often than not Hange is in bed beside him waiting to soothe them away. 

Here, in his quarters, he is completely and utterly alone. 

Levi doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

He tugs on his boots and stumbles out into the hallway, not caring how disheveled he must appear to any passers-by. He wants to be with Hange, he’s cursing himself for leaving her alone to begin with. 

How selfish does that make him? He’s not the one bearing the brunt of this burden. It isn’t his body and life that are at risk. What must she be feeling now? All alone because her lover left her in a fit of selfish upset. 

When he reaches her door he doesn’t bother to knock. It opens with a rush of air and he finds her where he left her; sitting at her desk, gazing out the window. Her elbows rest on the dry ink of a half finished letter. 

“Levi?” She spins sideways in her chair, facing him entirely. 

He shakes his head and closes the distance between them in two easy strides. He seizes her face between his hands and kisses her roughly, because he isn’t good with words, so he’ll show her how he feels. 

“Mmpf!” She makes a noise of surprise, but then she melts into him, hands lifting to rest on his chest, then caressing around to link behind his neck. 

When they part she gives a small, sad smile and says, “I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight.” 

“I was being an idiot,” Levi grunts, and he helps her to her feet. “A selfish idiot.” 

“No you weren’t, Levi. It’s a lot to take in, I know,” her thumb brushes his lower lip. “I love you.” 

Hour 9

The words are difficult to speak, so he shows her out he feels. He shows her in the reverent way he peels her clothes from her body, the rough, desperate caress of his touch, the slide of his thin lips over her chin and collarbones and breasts. 

He holds her hips and kisses from her navel to her abdomen, and he kisses her there too because despite everything he does want this baby. He loves this baby already, because it is him and it is Hange. The best of the both of them taking shape in her womb. 

Levi abandons all gentleness as he makes love to her. It is animal. Primal. His hands will leave bruises on her hips, and his lips suck hers swollen. 

When he finishes, just after her, he doesn’t bother to pull out. It doesn’t matter anymore. And as he pumps himself into her he whispers raspy and desperate into her sternum, “I love you.” 

The words hurt in such a sublime way. He’s never said them before, not once in his life. But here he is, speaking them, meaning them, bleeding them from his soul into hers. 

He loves her, and he’ll love this baby, too. 

Hour 10

They lay in bed, Hange’s fingers comb rhythmically through his hair, and she presses the occasional kiss to his crown. 

Levi has one arm wound around her waist, his cheek pressed into her sternum, his other hand cupping her abdomen, thumb caressing gentle circles into the skin there. 

“I know you’re afraid,” Hange finally speaks. Her voice is soft and loaded with emotion. “I am, too. But I think we deserve this, Levi. It’s a chance for a life beyond the Survey Corps, for a real family.” 

Levi tilts his head up and kisses her gently. She’s right, but he still cannot help but remember his vision and his nightmare. 

“There’s so much that could go wrong,” his voice is pained. He holds her tighter. 

Hange sighs and rests her cheek on his head, “You’re not wrong, but we’ve got eight months to figure things out, okay? For tonight, just hold me.” 

Levi sighs and melts into her, shutting his eyes. 

In Hange’s arms his sleep is dreamless. 

[nonegenderleftpain]

Yes thank you! Thank you so much for pushing for accessibility, even if you can't convince everyone. It means the world just knowing there are folks like you in the field.

To piggyback off what you said in the tags about Dark Souls fucking with people's brains - I have noticed a consistent increase in 'git gud' behavior from people in the past few years because of this, and it's really heartbreaking. I love games. I play video games every day. They're how I've survived the crushing monotony of disability keeping me stuck in my apartment since 2017. I play all kinds of different games, from sims like House Flipper to open world RPGs like Skyrim to roguelikes like Binding of Isaac and Risk of Rain. I enjoy the challenge of video games, and the puzzles keep my brain awake since I can no longer read long-form narratives like fiction novels, much as I miss them. I can no longer hold on to the words without the context of images to keep my brain fog from greying the text. Games are my way of still getting to enjoy stories in an interactive way, and I love them so, so much.

But in the past few years, games have become harder and harder for me to access. Open world games are becoming more and more unforgiving, bringing in real-time dodge and parry elements that are required to survive. This is fine - there are plenty of games that work that way and plenty of gamers that enjoy that kind of thing. But what I'm finding is not that I can't do these motions that are integral to the game, but that if I mess up (my thumb slips, I get a muscle spasm, my brain fogs), there is no room for error, and I end up dead.

Now, the reason this is a problem is that when you die in a game like Tears of the Kingdom, it does not reload you at the beginning of the fight. It reloads you wherever you saved last. Again, this makes perfect sense - that's how save systems work. But that means that if I am caught off-guard by an enemy and make an error, I now have to retrace my steps from where the last save or autosave was. Were I abled, this would be an unfortunate consequence of not being prepared, and I would retrace my steps and move on. But I am not an abled gamer. Being set back and having to retrace my steps takes me sometimes three times as long as my abled friends, between orienting myself (I do not have a sense of direction due to my learning disability), trying to remember what I was doing (the stress of dying suddenly and being thrust back to my last save can rattle my memory), and having to check and see what I lost during death. This is a frustrating enough experience that a sudden death will put me off playing for days (I actually *never finished* BotW because it was frustrating me more than it was entertaining me).

Now I want to contrast this with a game with a difficulty slider - I'll use Skyrim, because I am most familiar with it. First, Skyrim has a *quick save* button, something that makes it infinitely easier for me to not end up having to travel back as far upon death. I use the quick save button while playing Skyrim at least once a minute, as part of my gameplay loop. Secondly, the difficulty slider allows me to travel from place to place with my difficulty all the way down, then turn it back to something more challenging for me during meaningful fights. I don't die to the random bear that I didn't see coming through the brush, and I show up to the fight with Miraak intact. The slider allows me to play on days I'm in too much pain to play at my best, not having to go weeks between game sessions if I'm having a flare up and then having to completely relearn the controls. It allows me to learn hard fights gradually, turning the difficulty up as I get the hang of it instead of throwing myself against a wall I cannot hope to climb. And most importantly, it allows me to play games with my *friends,* who are much more skilled than I am. I can sit down and play Borderlands 2 at noob difficulty with a friend and the game adjusts for the difference in our character levels to keep it balanced.

There is this elitism I see from people towards disabled gamers that makes me sick, where we don't deserve achievements and completion if we can't play like they do. I have over 400 hours in Skyrim, and every achievement in the game - because the game allows me to use the console for things that would otherwise be enormous barriers. I can artificially raise my carrying capacity, so I don't have to focus on the inventory management and can instead focus on the story and the world. And if I want the immersion? I play survival mode, where carrying capacity and inventory management actually matter. I've put more hours into this game than almost anyone I know, and if people knew how much I use the console, the people I know who think that's really cool would dismiss me out of hand as a "cheater."

And what's so bad about cheating? Most games are not competitions, but so many people treat them as such. It's exciting to see "1% of players have this achievement" and know you're one of them, but is it worth the exclusivity if it means others never get to experience the game? It's cool to know how few people have all these achievements, but if someone just cheated them all in cuz they wanted a cool icon on Steam, or because there was one glitched, or because they couldn't physically get the last one they needed, it doesn't take away the satisfaction I got when I completed the last achievement (I kept "Get Married" til last, just to kick it off with a celebration). How people choose to play does not hurt you as a gamer and it does not hurt you as a *developer* to allow more people the means to play your game. It's much more likely that someone is going to use a console debugger to fix a glitch than to cheat through a level.

And if they ARE cheating through a level they can't beat, it means they want to see what's on the other side, even if they can't do it themselves. That should be a compliment - you've done so well with creating something beautiful that they went out of their way to find a way around their limitations to do so. Don't punish us for it. We want to be part of your creation. Let us.

Dear game designers:

INCLUDE A DIFFICULTY SLIDER ON YOUR GAMES PLEASE.

Signed, a disabled gamer trying to play Tears of the Kingdom with my fucky hands and lack of hand eye coordination

[monsoonblooms12]

Belamour (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set after Book 3, Pooja finally gets Ethan to dance in the rain.

A/N: A silly something born out of my love for rains and my binge listening to 80s Bollywood classics (I have no idea what kinda mess this is tbh). Also, my first song based fic🤎

A/N 2: The song lyrics are indented (Translation in parenthesis)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: General

Word Count: around 1.5K

Category: Total fluff

Warnings: None that I noticed

Song Inspiration: Aaj Kal Yaad Kuch by Mohammed Aziz

READ ON AO3

A pair of summery blue orbs insistently stare at the world beyond the glass windows.

A world that was now being washed by the consistent droplets that came down from the adobe of clouds to meet their origin.

Their drum was usually henotic, tranquil for him.

But at the moment, it only added to his irritation and deepened the void of disappointment that had formed in his chest.

In another room of the same house, a pair of amber orbs watched the magic of nature with a child-like wonder.

The pleasant, dewy petrichor spread around her, and the mellifluous tunes of Earth's own orchestra made her forget the fast turns her life went through in the past day.

In the faint light, she picked up her hand and let the jewel, the stone that was nothing less than a promise of forever, shine like the billion stars that dot the sky at nights that are devoid of clouds.

As the iridescent lights make her eyes sparkle, a vague idea forms in her brain.

Her thoughts float to reach the person who gifted her happiness, and a smile lit up on her face.

There was a mix of challenge and love in the quest she was about to partake and she was determined to succeed.

In slow, soundless steps, she made her way out of the room and out of the house.

A blur went past and his trained eyes were quick enough to catch the motion.

Shaking his head with realization, he followed behind.

As the steps took him down, and he stood under the shade of the multi-floored skyrise, she stayed yards away from it.

Her hair was wet, her skirt twirling, her face bright and beautiful.

He felt his heart race, whispering an urge to join with hers.

He restrained himself, but the scene in front of him was so spectacular that he doubted just how long his restraint would last.

After what felt like an eternity, she turned to him, half of her face golden under the street lights, the other half bearing the monotones of black and white.

She looked like the personification of their love.

Her life the golden, and his the black and white.

He could write sonnets to describe the picture-perfect scene that played before him like a film, but all he did was stand still, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to speak the words that hadn't already been spoken, his well-thumbed thesaurus gathering dust in the labyrinths of his mind.

She looked at him with a longing, a spoken call for him to join her as the rains continued to fall and purify the earth.

All he did was shake his head in silence.

She took it as a challenge, and he already knew how it was going to end.

For a minute he got lost in her memories, reminiscences from a time, from a moment that passed too quick, yet slow enough for him to remember every moment of it.

And suddenly, the faint tunes of a song brought him back to the present.

Every word of the foreign seeming language lucid clear, setting in a cascade of emotions and bringing pictures etched in past pages of the novel of life, making him go on a trip down the memory lane.

Aajkal Yad Kuch Aur Rehta Nahi

(Nowadays I don't seem to remember anything else)

Ek Bas Aapki Yad Aane Ke Bad

(Once your memories enchant me)

Yaad Aane Se Pehle Chale Aaiye

(Please come to me before the memories reach me)

Aur Phir Jaiye Jan Jane Ke Bad

(And then leave only after my breath leaves me)

The truth of the words came with an epiphany.

Every day of knowing her had been a way of painting the monotones of his life in colours he thought didn't belong to him.

Every moment she had ever spent away from him had made him yearn for her more than ever.

And yet he was foolish enough to think that miles of distance and hundreds of hours could make him forget her.

All the distress he felt could have been so easily ended if she had been with him then.

And now, as he dreams of an aeon with her, he promises to only let her go when his breath leaves him alone.

Apni Aankhon Me Mujhko Basa Lijiye

(Allow me to settle in the world of your eyes)

Apne Dil Me Mera Ghar Bana Dijiye

(Make a home for me in your heart)

Kya Karu Dil Kahi Aur Lagta Nahi

Pyar Me Aapse Dil Lagane Ke Bad

(What's the fault of mine if I can't concentrate on anything other than you, since our hearts connected by the string of love)

As the minutes pass by, melting into each other to form an hour, he loses all tracks of time.

And amidst the sweven he was living in right now, at a moment he could not pinpoint, she had taken his hand into hers and now he stood, lost in the amber of her eyes, forgetting all about the shower that now fell upon him.

As she continued to mutter the tunes in a harmony that went on in rhythm with the rain, he wished he could live in the world of her orbs.

To see the world as she saw it, to live the life from her perspective.

All he wanted was home in her heart, a tiny place on the lands of her soul.

Ishq Ke Maine Kitne Fasane Sune

(I have heard many tales of epic romances)

Husb Ke Kitne Kisse Purane Sune

(And stories about beautiful people from bygone eras)

Aisa Lagta Hai Phir Is Tarah Tut Kar

Pyar Hamne Kiya Ek Zamane Ke Bad

(But I feel I have been broken and got mended by love after centuries)

In muted harmonies, the two of them twirled, forgetting the world around them.

The way their eyes held onto each other, as if holding onto their lives, reminded him of the tales of love the folklores talk about.

The romances of princesses and maidens, and of beauties who earned their fairytale.

But as her palm stroked his cheek in a feather-light motion, he concluded that all those tales faint in front of the story of theirs.

There were no royals, no cruel witches setting up spells and no poisoned apples.

There were just two people, broken by the storms life made them navigate through, fitting perfectly as if parts of a whole.

He tried to remember if he had ever experienced anything as he did now, his lip tracing her ear as his hands wrapped around her waist.

It didn't even take him a second to know the answer.

He hadn't.

Aapka Naam Dil Se Nikalta Nahi

(Your name never leaves my heart)

Dillagi Me Koi Zor Chalta Nahi

Dillagi Me Koi Zor Chalta Nahi

(No force is strong enough to stop the meet of two hearts)

Aapko Bhul Jane Ki Koshish Bhi Ki

(I tried a hundred times to forget you)

Aur Tadpa Hun Main Bhool Jaane Ke Baad

(And suffered a suffering of pain and agony once I forgot you)

The rains accelerate and become a downpour. The mist envelops them but there was no care for the changing environment.

The distance between them ceases to exist as their hearts finally get the pleasure of beating in unison.

In the next moments, she whispers close to his ear, the last of the melody, and it's his story.

The story of how he couldn't get rid of the five-lettered name since the first time he ever came to know about it.

Of how no force in the world could stop two hearts from meeting if that's what destiny had in plan for them.

Who one loves and who loves them back determines so much in one life.

And for him, it was a chance, a risk he was scared to take, dreading the destruction it may cause.

After all when had anything ever-blossoming flowers in the city of his soul?

But this time not only did spring finally arrived with its flowery footsteps but also led to a discovery of himself, a part of him that was buried under layers of snow from the winter that reigned in his life for years.

She taps twice on his heart, indicating how he had tried to forget her, all those years ago. And how he broke himself in the process.

As she hummed the last lines, he bowed down in front of the forces that brought the two of them together.

He thanked the stars which aligned the way did to let him fall for her and agreed to hide, to let the rains fall, to let him have this night with her.

And looked in awe at the woman who brought about the sweetest catastrophe mankind has ever known.

And without uttering a word, he picks her and kisses her, saying all that was left unsaid with it.

PS: I actually have another version of the song, that I sung specifically to go with this, but Tumblr is giving me troubles to upload it. Do let me know if you would like to hear it someday.

Anyways, If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags🤎(Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @izzyourresidentlawyer @phoenixrising308 @adiehardfan @quixoticdreamer16 @a-crepusculo @cordonianruby @gryffindordaughterofathena

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010 @headoverheelsforramsey @estellaelysian @shanzay44

Ethan x Pooja: @aleynareads @choicesaddict5 @stygianflood @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @takemyopenheart @mm2305

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[luthienne]

Your blog's *chef's kiss* and I wish to ask do you have any quotes or what comes to mind when it comes to love mingled with grief/pain? Like losing someone at the stinging cost of the other? Or looking at a completed wonderful thing but knowing the pain and blood it stands on to be that way? Or when you look at someone realizing you now share hearts whether youd like it or not, that no bond in both your lives will ever come close to what both of you have(1)

how the love stiches both of you up, how achingly tender & vulnerable & warming it is and almost crying looking at where it is, how it is, what it became and what it grew from. Would love to hear if you got any that pops to your mind❤(2)

you are so kind! thank you, angel ♡ here and here are posts that reflect love mingled w grief/pain and tender/sweet love. here are a few more quotes that sort of encompass both for me:

“Not a day passes that I do not see ourselves, you and me, as we were when we met first. Every day of my life I see that.”

James Joyce, Exiles: A Play In Three Acts

“We can never go back. I know that now. We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the heart’s longing. All the years of my life I thought I was searching for love I found, retrospectively, to be years where I was simply trying to recover what had been lost, to return to the first home, to get back the rapture of first love. I was not really ready to love or be loved in the present. I was still mourning — clinging to the broken heart of girlhood, to broken connections. When that mourning ceased I was able to love again. I awakened from my trance state and was stunned to find the world I was living in, the world of the present, was no longer a world open to love. And I noticed that all around me I heard testimony that lovelessness had become the order of the day. I feel our nation’s turning away from love as intensely as I felt love’s abandonment in my girlhood. Turning away we risk moving into a wilderness of spirit so intense we may never find our way home again. I write of love to bear witness both to the danger in this movement, and to call for a return to love. Redeemed and restored, love returns us to the promise of everlasting life. When we love we can let our hearts speak.”

Bell Hooks, All About Love

“My heart is full not of guilt, or shame, or remorse, but of grief… Everything has become too terribly mixed up.”

Boris Pasternak, in a letter to Leonid Pasternak, from Letters Summer 1926: Pasternak, Tsvetaeva, Rilke

Jamie Anderson // Art piece by Ikenaga Yasunari (x)

“But if it’s love, by God, what is this thing? If good, why then the bitter mortal sting?”

Petrarch, from the ‘Canzoniere’ (tr. Mark Musa)

“bittersweet, undefeated creature – against you there is no defence”

Sappho, from Poems and Fragments (tr. Josephine Palmer)

“And if I should pick out the good in you – each shard of broken light, like glass from the wreck of such beauty, and look at that – or one golden afternoon when you hovered above me in rapture, oh half god – how would I bear to lift my hands, how would I bear to close my eyes and let you fall, and love be damned?”

Cecilia Woloch, “Lucifer, Full of Light,” Carpathia

Ada Limón, Bright Dead Things; “The Good Fight”

“...and if I cut myself, it was you I bled.”

Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

“I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.”

Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper

Henry Dumas, Knees of a Natural Man; “Valentines”

“No te nombro; pero estás en mí como la música en la garganta del ruiseñor aunque no esté cantando.

I never call your name, but you are in me like the song in the nightingale’s throat even when it’s not singing.”

Dulce María Loynaz, Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems; “Poema LVII” (tr. James O’Connor)

Marguerite Duras - India Song (1975)

“I am sad because I love you, because I love you so much, and because I am not a bee to buzz with you lightly. I am not a flower, not a tree, not a rain-hewn stone. I am not a storm or a cresting wave, not a thorn or a vine. I am not the sun stinging the water, not the moon on the snow. I am not a star in the dark. I am not the dew-wet wind, not the cloud-stained dawn. I am only a girl, a small, plain girl, a girl who must smear her lips in honey to be found sweet.”

Amal El-Mohtar, The Honey Month

“Whether it was the quality of light or the clarity of my feelings for you, I don’t know, but there was softness and no blurring. ‘This is not a lie,’ I said to myself. ‘It may not hold, but it is true.’”

Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

“He takes her in his arms. He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you but he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end you're dead, nothing can hurt you which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.”

Louise Glück, from Averno; "A Myth of Devotion"

Anna Akhmatova, Final Meeting: Selected Poetry (tr. Andrey Kneller)

“Your dying is my dying. / In you I exist—to live or not.”

Euripedes, from Alkestis (tr. Anne Carson)

Richard Siken, “Scheherazade” 

“First love tempts / then puts out our eyes.”

Salma al-Khadra al-Jayyusi, from ‘Dearest love - III’ (ed. Charles Doria), Women of the Fertile Crescent: An Anthology of Modern Poetry by Arab Women (ed. Kamal Boullata)

Interactive :: House Saints by Hala Alyan

“We were the heartbreak of truth. / We were willing to break even more.”

Andrea Gibson, from The Madness Vase; “Close For Comfort”

“God, what are you doing to me? / What am I doing to myself?”

Adonis, from ‘Concerto for the Veiled Christ’, Selected Poems (tr. Khaled Mattawa)

“No. I was not afraid of him; but of myself. I seemed reborn in his unreflective eyes, reborn in unfamiliar shapes. I hardly recognized myself from his descriptions of me and yet, and yet – might there not be a grain of beastly truth in them?”

Angela Carter, from “The Bloody Chamber”

“It is true we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.”

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus

Keaton Henson, “Alright”

Velimir Khlebnikov, The Collected Poems & Writings of V. K. “My Darling,”

“But love is impossible and it goes on / despite the impossible. You’re the muscle / I cut from the bone and still the bone / remembers, still it wants (so much, it wants) / the flesh back, the real thing, / if only to rail against it, if only / to argue and fight, if only to miss / a solve-able absence.”

Ada Limón, Bright Dead Things; “In A Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me”

The Letters of Frida Kahlo: Cartas Apasionadas, tr. by Martha Zamora

Letter to Diego Rivera, July 23rd, 1935

“I want to give you everything. This is called a sickness.”

Camille Rankine, from Possession

Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours: Love Poems to God; ‘Lösch mir die Augen aus: ich kann dich sehen’, tr. Anita Barrows & Joanna Macy

“Love that incorporates, that devours the other person, that cuts the tendons of the will. Love as immolation of the self.”

Susan Sontag, from Reborn: “July, 1958”

[pillage-and-lute]

Thicker Than Water (Part 2)

Part 1, (Here) Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

Here we are y’all, it only gets sadder before we heal the hurt.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of all the eyes he could have met, purely by chance, in a forest while running from people who wanted to kill him, Yennefer’s were not the one’s he would have chosen. He wasn’t sure who he’d like to see right now. Geralt definitely, but also not. It was only a small mercy Geralt wasn’t with his witchy lady love right now.

She met his eyes, intense and unexpected, like heat lightning. She looked him up and down, lip curling, disgusted and pitying, but somehow not as unkindly as he’d expected. She turned.

“Geralt,” she yelled. “I found your pet.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. 

He was about to turn and...run? Hide? What could he do? But then a pale face peeked around a tree. White blonde hair, bright, cautious eyes. 

Then the girl gasped and ran forward.

“Dandelion!” The rising cry of delight frightened birds from the trees and a blue blur rushed at him. He was slammed to the ground by a rather bedraggled princess and he had never been so glad. 

Of all the people he had burdened, he’d never felt like one around Ciri. Her arms were a vice around his neck. He hadn’t been hugged like that since his sister had passed away and he sat up in the cold, damp leaves, clutching her to him. She looked up at him with a face like a moonbeam.

“I found the white wolf, from your stories,” she said. Her eyes were big and trusting and she seemed to expect Jaskier to be pleased and proud. And he was. He had no doubt that Geralt and Ciri would be good for one another. The issue was that now he had to deal with--

“Jaskier.”

Shit. Geralt. 

He stood, setting Ciri gently down and brushing himself off. He turned.

“Hello Geralt,” he said evenly. He hoped it was evenly. Don’t yell at me, he thought. Don’t tell me I’m a burden again, as he stared into impassive golden eyes. I know I’m a burden but just let me leave, I won’t bother you again but I can’t bear it.

“Dandelion can come with us, right Geralt?” Ciri said. The White Wolf raised one eyebrow.

“Dandelion?”

Ciri clutched Jaskier’s hand in one of her mittens. “He played at my name day banquets, all of them, but Jaskier’s hard to say when you’re a baby.”

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes and it felt like a physical blow.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“Little highness,” Jaskier said sweeping his most over the top bow. “I am afraid I cannot stay, and shall have to part from your delightful company.”

“Is Nilfguaard not looking for you,” Yennefer said cooly. 

“They’ve yet to find me.”

“Yet,” Yennefer said. “Isn’t good enough.” 

“If they find you they’ll know our secrets,” Geralt said. That hurt. Jaskier would rather die. That Geralt thought Jaskier would give him up, even if they hadn’t parted as friends, stung like salt in an already gaping wound.

“Jaskier you have to come with us,” Ciri said, dragging on his hand. “Please I’ve seen so few people I know come with us.” He couldn’t resist that. He was strong but not that strong. He looked to Geralt hesitantly.

Geralt wouldn’t want him along. He was a shit shoveler and a burden who would only eat their food and make them move slower. But as Geralt had pointed out, Nilfguaard wanted him dead too. They could just kill him here and now. Geralt could have his life’s blessing, but he wouldn’t because he was a good man.

Geralt nodded. “Come,” he said in that rough rumble that Jaskier had missed. 

He was coming along. But this time was going to be different. Jaskier wouldn’t be a nuisance or a burden. He wouldn’t talk too much, or get into trouble. He wouldn’t use up rations. He wouldn’t complain. Jaskier set his teeth like steel agains words falling out and nodded. 

They slept that night in the forest. It was cold and winter was reaching icy tendrils towards them. Yennefer had a magical tent, but it could only sleep two. She and Ciri claimed it and Jaskier could see why. Yennefer was strong as always but her posture drooped sometimes. She was exhausted. Jaskier had heard of the battle at Sodden, and could only image. Ciri of course needed somewhere warm to sleep. Geralt and Jaskier just pitched tents on either side of the fire. 

Jaskier hadn’t eaten with them that night, telling them instead that he’d eaten earlier. 

He hadn’t, and his stomach burbled unhappily as he set his tent, but he hummed low so that Geralt wouldn’t hear it. Between risking annoying Geralt and using rations that the others needed, Jaskier would be annoying. It hurt to think of though.

His one man tent was little more than cloth draped between some sticks, but it could be folded up and it was light. He’d patched it so much that it looked like a quilt, but it would keep some of the rain off. He glanced at the moon, almost totally obscurred by clouds. It looked like rain. 

Ciri begged for a song and a story but he told her he was too tired.

It was partially true. He hadn’t been eating well lately, preferring to drink his meals, and he’d been walking for days, but he was never too tired to perform, simply too wary of fraying Geralt’s nerves.

It did rain that night, and the pitiful tent dripped freezing water onto him, and the ground was cold and damp and he woke up soaked and shivering before dawn.

No one was up. That was rare, Geralt slept like a tree. As in, he didn’t. Half winks and meditation were most of his sleep schedule, the occasional deep sleep left him snoring and out for at least nine hours, but Jaskier had seen that perhaps a dozen times in twenty years. 

Now, though, the mosring was still and the light was dim, causing grey shadows to lurk on the edge of vision, and yet somehow it wasn’t ominous. His body ached and he was cold. Not a patch on him wasn’t damp and clammy, and an acorn or a rock had dug into his back all night. 

Regardless, he packed up his tent and gear, changing into some, only mildly dryer, clothes, and then he went in search of firewood. 

Jaskier had to stray much farther from the camp than he would have liked to find dry wood, but he found enough to soon have a small fire crackling merrily. He’d even found some berries he recognized for breakfast. If he foraged now, he wouldn’t eat the much needed rations.

Geralt crawled out of his tent and hummed appreciatively at the fire. That felt good. Jaskier had done something right. Not a burden.

“Look at all this fog, Geralt. Like a blanket don’t you think?” Jaskier said, poking the fire into a better arrangement. “Reminds me of that time we...” He trailed off. Geralt was scowling, face like a thundercloud and eyes like lightening. Jaskier hadn’t seen that much anger on a face since...

The mountain. 

Right.

And here he was prattling on right after he told himself he wouldn’t be a burden.

“Well, you remember,” he finished lamely. Did Geralt remember? The fog in the glen, when they’d crawled from their bedrolls into a morning made of clouds? If he did remember, did he remember it fondly? Jaskier had spent most of the day coming up with rhymes for fog and bugging Geralt for his opinions.

Another time he was a nuisance, probably. 

Jaskier huddled in on himself, wrapping his worn traveling cloak tighter around his shoulders. The berries really hadn’t been enough, and he wondered if he should have some of the horrible traveler’s loaf from his pack. He decided to save it. If he could wait until lunch, or better yet dinner, the food would last longer. Less of a burden.

He wanted to play his lute, the sexy girl had been languishing for days now, but his fingers were too cold and stiff to play. And he’d annoy Geralt. Even worse, he might wake Ciri from her much-needed sleep. 

He pulled his girl out anyway, not to play, but he carefully tended to the strings, plucking each quietly once or twice to check the tension, then he brought out his cloth and carefully waxed and polished the wood.

It wasn’t unusual for a good lute to last twenty years. But twenty years on the road through dust and mud and rain was different. Constant care and an oilskin cover were his saviors. It might not have been worth it for any other instrument, but this was Filavandrel’s lute. Somehow it seemed like the only instrument worthy of singing about the White Wolf. 

He put it away.

He didn’t sing about the White Wolf much, since the mountain. He didn’t want to break his own heart again every night, and a low profile had been to his advantage. 

Somehow though, it made him sad, and he thought of Professor Fredegar, the master of poetry at Oxenfurt, or he had been.

Fredegar had been an old man. He looked like he’d been made out of parchment and had somehow ingrown his clothes, like a turtle in a shell of thick woolen sweaters. He had been quiet and his hands shook, and Jaskier had liked him. He’d been kind and had wonderful stories to tell if a student came to his dusty office and sat with him a while.

There had always been something sad in the back of those pale eyes, though.

He’d been a great poet, still was, but in his prime he’d written the Saga of the Flame, a trilogy of epic poetry. The stories individually in the saga were well known about the Continent, but the whole tale... 

The first part told of a young man, engaged to his blind ady love, but without money for marriage so he traveled to foreign places. Many smaller adventures were had and the first book was pretty jolly. 

The second book was him seeking fame along with fortune, and forgetting his lady love for the sake of his pride, wanting someone grander than a blind village girl. Then he lost a battle of wits and was greatly humbled. 

The third book found the man stumbling home, getting lost along the way. He returned to his village almost twenty years after he’d left, and his love had died, succumbing alone and uncared for to a return of the illness that had cost her her sight in her youth.

It was a true tragedy, and one that didn’t advertise itself as such until the last moment. It hooked a reader into emotions so deep they could drown. And there was a quality, something heavy in the story, that told Jaskier that at least some of it was real. He would look at Fredagar, sometimes, the way his eyes were so sad and faraway, and think about how the man had written a masterpiece and retired in barely middle age, rarely writing more than a sonnet here and there. There was a harp hung on the wall of pale wood, like that of the man in the saga, but Fredagar never touched it.

And then the man had died. He’d been one hundred and two, according to the chancellor of the university. He was buried by maybe a dozen faculty members and half as many students. And Jaskier had stood there, on that bright summer day at the graveside, and sworn that he wouldn’t live his life inside a university, to be buried and mourned by no family or friends besides some half-grateful students.

Yet, lately, it didn’t seem so bad. 

He’d finished Her Sweet Kiss, and it was a true hit. He’d raised the reputation of Geralt, and witcher’s as a whole. Whatever happened, Jaskier’s name would be remembered forever. He could retire. Put Filavandrel’s lute in a glass case in a tiny office and teach ungrateful, hungover brats about meter for the rest of his life. It sounded nice, in a way. To settle down, and leave all thoughts of witchers and monsters and magic and wars behind him.

He couldn’t though. He’d been dragged into this and he’d have to see it through.

His stomach burbled unhappily and he glanced over at Geralt to see if he’d caught it. The witcher was staring at the ground, glowering like he would turn it into ash if he could. 

Then he looked up and caught Jaskier’s gaze.

Jaskier was too slow to avoid pale gold irises, but looked away anyway. Geralt crossed to him from around the fire, boots crunching on leaves and frost.

Don’t break my heart again. Jaskier thought. I’m trying.

Geralt placed a hand like an anvil on Jaskier’s shoulder and he looked up.

“Ciri is glad you are here,” Geralt said. Then he continued to Yennefer’s tent to wake them up.

Ciri is glad, Jaskier could read between the lines. I will tolerate you for her sake. She is glad you are here. I am not.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No! You dumb boy! Geralt means ‘I am very glad you are here but so is Ciri and I’m a grumpy fuck with the emotional intelligence of a mollusk!’ 

Anyway, here it is at last. Still gets more whumpy before it gets better.

[singingvio]

LEGEND OF MANGA LISTS: Top 5 SADDEST Moments in the Zelda Manga Series!

((NOTE: Twilight Princess mangas and the Skyward Sword excerpt in the Hyrule Historia are excluded from the mangas considered in this list.))

1. Volvagia’s Demise (Ocarina of Time part 1)

In chapter 3 of Ocarina of Time, part 1, the story depicted is titled “An Old and Beloved Friend.” This chapter mostly depicts Link and Volvagia’s fight, along with their backstory depicted solely in the manga and not in the game, as it isn’t canon. The chapter starts with Link’s bow out, a single arrow ready to be embedded in Volvagia’s skull, only for Link to falter. The dragon burns Link and nearly kills him, only for Link to be healed by Sheik.

Link insists to the Goron Link that he can’t fight Volvagia. Sheik makes a fairly robotic comment while playing his harp that the only way to subdue Volvagia is to kill him, and Link loses it, yelling at Sheik, “That’s easy for YOU to say! There must be some way to make him remember me!” Sheik shows him exactly what disasters are happening due to Volvagia’s tantrum, Kakariko and Goron villages close to destruction, and Link sadly recounts the story of how he and Volvagia met before his inevitable battle.

Link saw him as a baby, locked in a cage with a price of seventy rupees in Castle Town. Link bought the dragon and set him free, only for Volvagia to bite his hand and burn his hair with his flames. Link tries to ignore the dragon later, when it follows him, but then Volvagia ends up burning a Stalfos that had been sneaking up to kill Link. Link then befriended the dragon, and Volvagia said his name aloud, and the memory fades as Link is brought out of his story by someone warning him that the volcano is about to erupt.

Link, in a futile, heartbreaking effort to make Volvagia remember him, yells out, “It’s me! Link! Remember me!” Seeing as this does nothing, Link drives his sword into Volvagia’s flesh, beheading him. At his final moments, Volvagia remembers Link and starts to cry, calling his name out one last time to an expressionless Link as he dies.

2. Ghandi’s Defeat and Link’s Following Despair (A Link to the Past)

In Act 3 of A Link to the Past, Sacrifice, Link and Ghandi (a character created to be Link’s friend and travelling companion exclusively in the manga) travel through the Dark World, saving its inhabitants from fates worse than death to pay for their sins. When Link talks to a gossiping monster of a swamp, it is revealed that Zelda is at Turtle Rock, and Link heads there immediately. Ghandi, however, stays behind.

Ghandi claims that a bandit can’t risk her life just to save someone else, and Link argues that he only got this far because of her helping him. They inevitably split up, and Ghandi worries silently about Link and confesses to herself that she’s had a crush on him and can’t bear to see him reunited with Princess Zelda, as he clearly loves her instead.

Meanwhile, Link makes his way to Agahnim at Turtle Rock, to free Princess Zelda. Agahnim calls on a giant, firebreathing hydra to stop Link from saving Zelda, and Link, thinking nothing of it, defeats the monster with ease. Link comments on the monster’s strength, saying, “It’s kinda weak, for such a big…” and then he realizes. The monster vanishes into smoke, revealing the broken body of Ghandi, who isn’t dead, but very close. Link is heartbroken, and immediately hatred fills his heart as he turns on Agahnim for making him fight Ghandi.

Agahnim points out what Link is becoming, a hateful wolf, and Link watches his own body transform in horror as he cries out in agony. Zelda  manages to break free of her crystal cage, and heals Link from his beastly form. Together, they manage to heal Ghandi before she dies as well, and the two are properly reunited.

3. Pirate Captain and His Lady (Oracle of Ages)

In chapter 7 of Oracle of Ages, The Pirate Captain, Ralph and Link are stranded in an unknown body of water on a raft, trying to get back to the mainland to rescue Nayru. They’re rescued by the Pirate Captain, a man worn away to only soul and bone, as is his crew. Ralph and Link ask him how long he’s been sailing, and he replies that he doesn’t know and is very tired.

The Captain and Link discuss Link’s sword and its fine craftmanship, and then the Captain notices Ralph holding the Harp of Ages, and asks for a song. Ralph obliges, playing a traditional waltz, and the captain is happily lost in the memory of when he was in Labrynna, dancing with a fine lady under the stars. He says, “I remember this song from when I danced with her! We were in love, and the world was ours. Until it ended, and I set to sea to forget. But I could never forget… not her.”

He then makes a bold declaration, one soon revealed to be one of many when Link reads his logbook, that he will make it back to Labrynna to reunite with the lady he still loves to this day. As the ship is caught up in a horrific storm, Link gets his hold on the Captain’s logbook, reading in horror the logs there. “Day 23: set sail for Labrynna. Encountered a storm. Day 145: Storm. Day 317: Storm… They’ve been stuck in this storm forever!”

Link and Ralph attempt to escape the ship in their fear that they won’t be able to, and the Captain attempts to stop them. Link manages to tell the Captain that if he lets them go, he can fix things for him and his Lady, and the Captain, on the brink of tragedy as he lets Link and Ralph go, his final words are a request to Link. “If y’see this lady on your journeys, lad, tell her… the Knight who set sail… will love her for all eternity.” He shows Link a picture of Queen Ambi, and with that, he disappears without a trace, and is never shown again.

4. Shadow Link’s Final Stand (Four Swords part 2)

In chapter 12 of Four Swords part 2, The Four Sword Forever, we see the Four Links’ final stand against Vaati in order to save Zelda. Previously in the manga, Shadow was resurrected using the power of the Dark Mirror after a crushing betrayal from Vio, the smart, collected side of Link he’d thought to be his friend before his temporary defeat. The Dark Mirror is the source of all dark magic, including his life force. Shadow was resurrected right in front of Zelda, who was staring sadly at him, and he yells at her angrily to not take pity on him, as he hates it.

Zelda is then enshrouded in a dark cloud, and Shadow panics, asking Vaati what’s happening to her. When he realizes Vaati is going to kill Zelda, he completely breaks down, taking a quick detour to help the Links by disguising himself as Vio before going back up and grabbing a chair Zelda had been sitting in prior to her slow poisoning in the cloud, throwing it at the Dark Mirror with a scream and breaking the center of it.

Finally, in the final chapter of Four Swords part 2, the Links are almost where Shadow, Zelda and Vaati are. Shadow is incredibly weak, putting almost all his weight on the side of the Mirror. Vaati panics, yelling at Shadow that if he destroys the mirror, Shadow will die too. Shadow grins at Vaati, before saying, “That’s all right. I came out of the Dark Mirror. And with it’s power I woke you. How fitting that I use it to destroy us BOTH!” And with that, he shoves the mirror to the ground, successfully killing Vaati.

The other Links find his body lying next to the mirror, thanking him, and Shadow starts to close his eyes when Vio yells at him to “hang in there!” Shadow then calmly recounts what his life is like as Link’s shadow. “A shadow… usually only ever follows its body. It never gets to lead the way. Today I faced the enemy… on my own. It felt pretty good, but that still doesn’t make me… part of the body.”

Green (the leader and most ‘Link-like’ of the four) tells him the opposite, telling him that he’s their friend, and Shadow, with newfound energy, gets up and reaches towards the other Links, only for him to fade into the light and disappear, dying permanently and for the last time as the other Links stare at where he once was.

5. Skull Kid’s Backstory (Majora’s Mask)

In chapter 9, Fierce Deity Link, the Moon is stopped by the four Giants in Termina. Link sees Tael and Tatl reunited, and notes how sweet it is before thanking the Giants and joking with Tatl about how long it took for them to arrive. Skull Kid, meanwhile, shakes in the background, knocked to the ground and not getting up. In a moment of clarity, the mask not having control on him in his moment of emotion, Skull Kid despairingly recounts his tale.

Skull Kid sadly says that he didn’t mean for this to happen, only wondering why the Giants left him. A flashback is then shown from Skull Kid’s point of view, the Giants getting ready to leave as Skull Kid desperately tries to hold them back. “Why?! No! No, you mustn’t! Hey… Wait! I said wait! Don’t go! Hold on! I said wait! Don’t go! Can’t you hear me?!”

He cries out, many times, sometimes even trying to forcibly hold the Giants back and failing drastically. He ends up falling off a cliff, still trying to catch up with the Giants as he’s battered and bruised, still crying, “Don’t go!” He’s then seen travelling across the desert, tripping and folling multiple times, when he accidentally steps in a bird nest. The birds immediately attack him, yelling at him to watch where he’s going and that it’s fun to hurt him by pecking him.

Skull Kid shakily reaches a hand up to keep going, but gives up as rain pours down on him, tears pouring down his face as he stares at the ground in defeat. The flashback fades out, as Skull Kid says a truly heartbreaking line before being taken over by Majora’s Mask once more, initiating the final battle. “I guess… we never really were friends… after all. They didn’t even say goodbye. Nobody likes me. But with this… Everyone will do what I want! This MASK is my only friend!”

RUNNER UPS

Mask Creations (Majora’s Mask) - The deaths of Darmani, the Goron, and Mikau, the Zora, when Link dons both masks to fulfill their final wishes. Darmani, to see his son again and make the child happy, and Mikau, to spend at least one more concert with Lulu and the other members of his band.

Great Mayfly Fairy’s Transformation (Minish Cap) - The transformation at the hands of Vaati of a lovely singing fairy, with a beautiful voice. Link wistfully mentions that she looks a little like Zelda and Vaati, in a fit of mild hysteria at this point, transforms her into a horrible moth creature. Her transformation is shown to be painful and heartwrenching, as is her defeat.

Deku Tree’s Death (Ocarina of Time part 1) - The famous death of the Deku Tree, in manga format. Link is told of his quest by the Deku Tree, and that the Deku Tree is going to die in the next few minutes. Link cries and even punches the tree in a fit of anger and sadness, crying that the Deku Tree can’t leave him until the Deku Tree inevitably dies and Link must leave on his quest.

Green’s Defeat Against Vio (Four Swords part 2) - When the four Links are finally reunited, Green, Red, and Blue face Vio and Shadow in a battle to the death with Green fighting Vio. Their battle comes to a close as Green falls to the ground, seemingly stabbed through the gut as Vio walks off victorious. Red and Blue yell at Vio and cry over Green, until it’s revealed after Vio and Shadow leave that it was all a ruse and Green was only knocked out.

Zelda and Link’s Meeting (A Link to the Past) - Link finds Zelda in a dungeon, and Zelda tearfully recalls how she had almost given up hope of rescue, stating that she thought she had been all alone until Link had finally found her. Link then embraces her, stating that he heard her voice and she was never alone.

[poison--ivory]

Get Back Up Chapter 2

Warning: Injuries 

Fast moving blurs of greenery past by the window, leaving Anthony to be at peace nearly this whole train ride. He's only been on here for a day and so far it's been fine, but now he had another six hours, which felt even longer than the whole day trip. He knew he should have brought something to entertain himself, he did grab his phone before leaving, but he wanted to save his battery life and he was pretty sure Val could track his calls. Well, before he removed the implanted tracking chip every stripper had installed when hired. He had his gal pal help remove the chip, which she did with no questions asked. To be honest he was still terrified that Valentino could find him even without the tracker. He couldn't back down now, he needed to stay strong. That's why you ran away in the first place and why you borrowed some cash from ya gal pal. You made it this far, no backing down.

  Snapped out of his stupor, a sharp yell caught his ears. Piercing his eardrums, startling him for a second before finding the source of the ear damage causer.

       A mother across from him was tending to a baby who seemed to be having a screeching match with them self was the source that interrupted his train of thought. He didn't mind considering he heard worse when he was in his family's business. The scream of final breath is terrifying compared to this lullaby of wails. Tears stream down her reddened cheeks, tiny fist balled up and her legs kicked out. Anthony chalked it up to her being hungry or needing a diaper change, but he already saw her leaving the bathroom to change her, and still more cries and whimpers came forth. He really didn't mind the screaming, but that did not mean others didn't loath the noise. He witness two men and a teen girl try to argue with the mom, not making the situation any better with all the goddamn yelling. Fuckers even wanted to get her kicked off the train at the next station.

       Right before he even could stand up to defend her, a middle aged man sitting in front of him stood up. He had sleek black hair with strands of grey and he sported an aftershave. The bags underneath his eyes proved he needed sleep and bad, mainly those bloodshot eyes needed rest. With a gruff voice grunted out a response, "Can you people shut the hell up, your making this trip effing longer with all your babbling. Crying more louder than the actual baby." The two men had a glaring match with the guy before returning to their seats. The girl still wanted to argue, but was snatched by her embarrassed friend sitting next to her. The man sat back down with a huff complaining under his breath that he needed a drink and smoke. This guy sounds like fun and I will emit, he's a little handsome. Although it is tempting to flirt with that sweet piece of ass, he still needs to stay on the down low. Just in case any of Val's friends were anywhere near him.

      Everything settled down soon enough, everyone minding their own business now and our quiet journey to Louisiana back on track.

         Anthony decided that sleeping was the best time consumer, chiefly with his sore body that was taking its sweet time healing. He felt like vomiting, and the motion of the train didn't really help with the nausea. Paired with the flame that rose in his chest felt unbearable. Groaning he gazed out the window into the orange and blue sky. The purple mixing in beautifully complementing the blue tone and splashing in with the orange, so nicely. This was enough to keep his mind away from the pain spreading throughout his body.

    With his mind at ease, he fell in the darkness of his subconscious thought.

_____________________

       Jostled awake by the sudden force of the train skidding to a stop, startled him enough that his heart was still rushing with adrenaline. People were already single filing out the doors, with the exception of the mother and that black hair man. He's helping the lady out with her bags, while she carried her baby carrier. Before he knew it he was the only one in the car booth, rushing to gather his suitcase and tripping on the way out he managed to make it safely outside without any trouble. Well besides the bruises and the fractured pinkie he noticed when getting out that cab a day ago. He set it right and splintered it without any difficulty. His chest felt like it's on fire and his leg flared up again when he moved it. C'mon now , Toni you made it this far. You can bear through the pain a little bit more. (y/n) will take care of ya, you just need to bear the pain. You got this. He mustered up the strength to carry on and passed the passengers.

    The trip to her house is fucking far, and to add on to that she does live in bum fuck nowhere. A loud rumble came from the dark sky and he felt a prickle on his face. Fucking rain. I could hail a taxi, still have a thousand left I grabbed from the apartment. Full on buckets of water hit the ground, covering his body under a minute.

        limping off the platform and into traffic of bodies of people hustling into different shops and corner stores. Lights illuminated the night like lightning bugs. The smell of seafood and the scent of breads made his mouth water.

      The city bustling with energy that kind of made Anthony feel contempt with his life in a long time. The cars cruising down the street reminded him some southerners still had old cars fashioned back in the 1940's. Not all, but he saw the occasional cruiser and nearly yelled when he saw a yellow cab and by that he yelled out loud. Shocked when the cab did see him, but didn't question and shot himself in the taxi.

"Take me to this address, will ya?" He handed the scrap paper to the guy, who nodded and placed the address in.

    A string of coughing fits caused his throat to get scratchy and sore. Cursing to himself that he better not have caught a cold. Clutching his sides to ease some pain he felt by compressing his waist. The cabbie asked if he was alright, and he answered he's just dandy.

      It didn't take long to navigate through traffic and into more urban areas. While the cab driver was in his own world listening to the radio, Anthony couldn't stop thinking about how he was going to just walk up to her house and convince her to let him stay. He started to rehearse his lines in his head without sounding, so desperate. If he was being completely honest with himself he never called her and ignored some texts she sent. He was not a great friend when it came to (y/n), with all the kindness she gave in return he gave back sarcasm and annoyed looks. But, she never hated him,I hope, you had to have done something awful for her to hate you. Not saying she doesn't dislike certain people that rub her the wrong way.

      Groaning and clasping his hands around his leg. It went completely stiff, he couldn't feel his entire right leg give out. Fucking perfect. Blowing air through his clenched teeth, tried to bare through the itchy, tingly feeling running through his calf and thigh. Should have gone to the hospital before coming here, just didn't want to take risks.

       I'm coming, (y/n).

_________________________

       Humming to yourself you tended to the dirty laundry that the kids wore the other day. They thought it was a great idea to play in the muddy brook, out in the woods. They both came through the back door soaked head to toe with brown water and thick mud. Scarlett and Sage had to take three baths for the dirt to scrub off. Leaving the corner tub a muddy and crusty disaster. Al at the time had the day off, which he spent with our son, Liam. He's a quiet kid, and I mean the most silent four year old you could ever meet. Which is ironic considering you married the loudest man on earth. You could be in the basement and still hear Alastor speaking to some of his friends. He hates it when you bring his voice in question or he twists it around to point out your too soft spoken way of talking.

       Loading the last batch of clothes in the dryer, you slightly sped walk down the hallway and turned into the kitchen. On instinct headed straight for the coffee machine. Grasping the coffee grounds and filters to place them in their rightful order, before filling up the water tank. Pressing the on switch and strutting away to the fridge to gather eggs, bacon and bread from the top cupboard. Which you nearly died trying to reach for.

    Peering out the window, the morning sky is still dark from the oncoming rainstorm. The backyard nearly flooded with puddles on puddles of water, The kids aren't stepping foot outside today. Sighing you knew if they stayed inside your gonna have to clean extra hard, those two are very animated. They'll never run out of energy, you could fuel a city with all that kinetic energy.

     A soft thump came from the ceiling above and you guess that Liam fell out of bed. . . again. He's been doing that for a week now. Nothing a doctor visit told us that he was just having really physical dreams. The disorder called REM Behavior Disorder, causes people to rapidly move in their sleep, ranging from person to person. In our case Liam hallucinates, sleepwalks and talks out loud distinctly clear. Dr. Romero  prescribed him small amounts of melatonin and if the medication wasn't working he could up it. You really hope it wouldn't come to giving you four year old too much medication. A long creaky noise filled the silence followed by small thumps of feet hitting hard wood. You hear your child sliding down the carpet padded stairway and dragging his feet through the living room and into the kitchen. Your little Liam blankly stared up at you, rubbing the sand out his eye. "Mommy, can't sleep.", trailing over to you and draping his arms around your knee.

"Come here, baby." Picking him up was easy, regarding that he was born pretty early, six months to be exact. " Do you wanna sleep on the couch?" He nodded slowly gazing over at the sofa.

"Can I have milk, please?"

"Of course you can, warm or cold?" He answered warm in a small voice. Then slowly sauntered across the hall into the living room, leaving your field of vision soon after.

   Setting the pot down on the stove top and pouring the milk in carefully. Turning the heat up to medium before walking off to prep for breakfast.

   Al usually likes his breakfast salty with bitter, black coffee. When you first started going out you noticed his taste very quickly. He hated sweets and anything that didn't meet his standards in culinary. Which he spent most of his time in the kitchen teaching you his method. This was passed down to your twins. They hated anything remotely sweet, you learned to drive around the troubling situation by making less sweet cakes with whipped cream and fruit. They love that sour taste of blueberries the most.

  Liam's more like you who like sweets, but not over the top with the sugar. He loves eggs, but has a thing where he trades his bacon for sausage. He told you that he likes the texture of soft meat better than tough and breakable meat. You were quite surprised with his change of vocabulary, since he's just four and you still hear him talk with a certain baby tone.

  Shaking your head, you glanced out the window again while the bacon sizzled on a low flame. A yellow cab pulled up to the house and dropped off a tall, lanky hooded figure, who walked, well staggered their way up to the path to the door. Who could that be? Husk was supposed to come by tomorrow, maybe  he arrived in Louisiana earlier than expected.

    But he would have texted right?

      Pulled from your thoughts a few sharp hits to wood knocked you in functioning mode. Hesitantly stepping across the kitchen, and peering down the hall. You stared anxiously toward the thick wooden door that protected you and your family from the outside intrusions. Approaching the door with caution, you played out events in your mind of outcomes that could happen. Standing in front of the door, another round of sharp knocks frightened you and given rise to a series of fluttering heartbeats.

   Taking in a quick breath and slowly released it. Grasping the door knob, unlocking the all four locks before leisurely swinging it open to face a tall man.

     The drenched frame of a tall, lean man propped up outside the entry way of your house, placed an eerie sensation down the curve of your back. He seemed to be clutching his sides in such a constricting grasp, harsh coughs drew up small amounts of blood splattered on his chest. Groaning the guy began to saunter forward, losing his footing he suddenly, started to fall onward towards you. Barely catching the heavy set male's body weight you endeavor the pressure and drove your tiny body under the male.

Petite fingers latched onto the thin male and crept him over to rest upon the cushioning coach. Gazing down at the poor man face you gasped in bewilderment. Even with his face bloody and bruised you could still make out the who was laying on your couch.

"Anthony! What the hell happened to you?"

 Another coughing fit hit him hard before sputtering out a response, "Got m-myself into some real serious s-shit." He tried to manage a smile, but ended up coughing up more small splatters of blood. His gaze wandered over to the other side of the couch. "Where'd ya g-get the kid from."

"We should worry more about the guy coughing up blood, than me having kids." Fun fact about your life you've experienced so many illnesses and deaths in your family that you felt like you could diagnose his illness. "Are you having any chest or throat pain?"

Gagging Anthony responded, "B-been having both f-or awhile n-now with muscle p-pain and n-nausea. F-fucking. . . headaches too." Your father had the same symptoms when you still lived in his house.

"I think you have pneumonia, Anthony. I-t's treatable if we take you to a hospital tight n-"

"No! no, to anything that c-could lead that j-jackass finding me."

"What did you get yourself into, Tony?" Pinching the bridge of your nose and slightly furrowed your brow. If he didn't want medical treatment, then I guess I'll mend him back to health. He is my friend, that did kind of ghost you. But, that doesn't matter right now, I need to save a life today. "Let's move you into the guest room. Not that far of a walk, just down the hall, c'mon now."

   Heaving his dead weight up you persevered to the kitchen hall and took a left down the well decorated hall. Pictures of Al and the kids with wild game and the occasional picture of you here or there. Two of the photos consist of you holding newborns. You never did take the time to situate yourself in the photos or you just forgot  while in the moment.

The floorboards creaked with each steady step you take. Some splats of blood dribbled down his chin and landed on the floor. You made a mental note to scrub the floors with bleach later on today. Leaning Anthony on the wall for a quick second to open the guest room door. Pulling him back into an embrace and hauled him into the room setting him down on the bed to rest. You left the room to gather clean bandages, ointment, tylenol and hot pot of tea. By the time you left to retrieve the tea Anthony wrapped his body in so many blankets he could get his fingers on.

"Are you that cold?" Considering turning up the heat in the house you were about to leave, but a hand snatched your wrist back.

"Wait, don't leave." You could see the isolated look in his eyes. Veering around you gazed down at the pale man.

"What is it, Tony?" A quizzical look on your face. "You can talk to me you know that, right?"

  He shrugged, "Can we just talk, like about your life." He waved his hand off to the side. "Like the kid in the other room."

"Oh, my son Liam. He just turned four."

"Yeah, but who got ya knocked up." You handed him the tea cup and he carefully grabbed it.

"My husband and I have three children and we've been married for ten years." Smirking at his agape facial expression.

"M-married and not one, but three kids. Wait when did you get married!"

"I did invite you through text and letter. Did your address change?"

    He opened his mouth to come up with any excuse, but sighed running his fingers through his hair. "Don't be pissed, but I did. . . well. . . ghosted you." Hearing that did make you feel beyond ignored, but keeping in touch with friends is hard and you tried your best to shove down deep in your jar of insecurity. "And I don't really check my mail anymore to be honest."

 Taking a deep breath and letting it out you really tried not to get mad at him, but didn't trust your voice in this particular moment.

  Anthony opened his mouth, but was cut off, by an amused tone in voice.

   "Was I not invited to this magnificent show, darling~."

[pastelwitchling]

Warning; mentions of child abuse.

***

Michael had met Alex Manes when they were only twelve. Of course, he was sure Alex didn’t remember. But Michael did.

In fact, his memories of Alex were the only parts of his childhood, save for the moments spent with Max and Isobel, that twisted his heart in a good way.

Michael had just returned to Roswell with Reject Foster Parents Number Who-Gives-a-Crap, and had shown up to his first day of his new middle school in hand-me-downs from the last kid his foster parents had — ah — taken in. The others had not been kind about it.

As soon as Max and Isobel had gone to class, Michael had been cornered in front of a tree outside. Several larger kids, much too large to be in middle school, smiled thuggishly as they called him names and pelted him with bits of their discarded lunches.

Michael had fought as many off as he could, but the odds had been too big and he was shoved roughly against the tree, his breath knocked out of his lungs. He had clenched his fists and tried to control himself, terrified of unleashing his powers, but also desperately wanting to pummel these pricks into the ground.

Then, out of nowhere, a kid forced himself past the small circle the thugs had formed, and stood between Michael and them with a large branch in his hands.

“Leave him alone!” he screamed, batting away a moldy apple that had been making its way towards Michael’s head. “Go away, now! Don’t ever bother him again!”

The kid shouldn’t have been so threatening, but the anger in his voice and the intensity of his gaze made Michael glad he was on his side. The bullies glanced at one another nervously, and Michael heard one mutter to his friend, “You know who his dad is? Don’t piss him off.”

The crowd scattered as the kid took another swing, and he and Michael were left alone. He dropped the branch as if it burned him, then he began picking up candy wrappers and plastic bottles from the discarded food off the grass, paying Michael no mind.

“I didn’t need you to do that,” Michael said.

“‘Kay.”

“Those guys didn’t scare me.”

“Didn’t think they did.”

Michael hesitated, watching him carefully. “Then why’d you help me?”

“I hate bullies,” was all he said.

Everything about him screamed, Don’t come near me! It was a look Michael had come to know too often in himself. And yet this crazy kid had risked himself to help someone he didn’t even know.

“Hey,” Michael ventured. “Who’s your dad?”

He tensed. “Why does that matter?”

And Michael studied the way this kid held his left arm closely to his side, the way he kept glancing around as if expecting someone to come out and attack him, the way he scrunched his shoulders as if trying to hide his neck completely beneath his jacket collar.

“It doesn’t,” Michael muttered finally. This boy was a mirror image of himself. He had the same dark circles around his eyes, as if he’d spent the night watching his bedroom door instead of sleeping. The same hollowed cheeks, as if he would’ve preferred starving to having dinner in his own house.

This kid was abused, there was no doubt about it...

And still, he’d jumped in to save me without a second thought.

“Here,” he said, pulling out a tightly wrapped — now squished — peanut butter and jelly sandwich from his back-pocket.

Michael stood. “What is this?”

“They stepped on your lunch, right? Take it. I made it myself.”

Michael’s stomach grumbled, and he blushed, taking the sandwich quickly. He unwrapped it and took a bite, the bread so soft and the peanut butter so creamy that his eyes burned. He unwrapped the rest of it, shoveling it into his mouth and finishing it in a few bites.

His eyes fell on a name written in marker on the plastic, probably to keep siblings from taking it.

Alex.

“Alex,” Michael tried the name out on his tongue, and the tips of his ears heated. He cleared his throat. “So that’s your name? Alex? Alex what?”

But when Michael looked up, Alex was already making his way back towards the school building.

Perhaps you think that had been it. That for the following five years, Michael had only watched Alex from afar without ever speaking to him, but you’d be wrong.

There was one other time they had talked, just one. Rain had poured down heavily on the window next to which Michael sat in class. They’d been assigned two worksheets to quietly finish, but Michael had completed the entire text book by the first two days of school.

Michael had been balancing a pencil on his nose, waiting for the others to finish, when he spotted a familiar someone running around the building outside. He was holding his raincoat tightly around him, his head ducked against the wind.

Michael followed him until he couldn’t see him anymore. He immediately stood, raised his hand, and asked to go to the bathroom.

When he made it outside, he looked for Alex. He was immediately drenched. He thought maybe Alex had been beaten so badly that he couldn’t bear even be in class in case anyone saw. But when Michael found him behind the building, he was very surprised with the scene that met him.

There Alex was, curled on a dry bench, pulling a small kitten from his coat. The kitten was shivering, but Alex kept it tucked in against his dry shirt, petting it and murmuring to it soothingly. He pulled a water bottle from his backpack, but as he couldn’t let go of the kitten he struggled opening it.

And Michael had no idea why he stepped out, why he opened his mouth at all, but before he could stop himself, he found himself saying the words, “Here. Let me.”

Alex looked up, startled, his dark brown hair covering his eyes and dripping wet. Michael felt his cheeks turn red as he sat down beside him. He uncapped the bottle and poured some water into his palm, hovering it awkwardly before the kitten.

The kitten was black with patches of white. It stared at Michael’s hand as if it didn’t know what he quite was, clinging to Alex warily.

“Come closer,” Alex said quietly enough that his words were almost lost in the rain. “It’s okay.”

Michael did as he said. Alex’s hands were trembling from the cold, but he seemed more concerned with keeping the kitten as warm and comfortable as possible.

Soon, the kitten hesitantly reached out and had some water. When it seemed content that it was safe, it comfortably drank. Michael felt oddly proud.

“Thanks,” Alex sniffled, and Michael now realized his voice was heavy.

“You’ve got a cold,” he noted.

“I’m okay.” Alex sniffled again. “Don’t you have class?”

“Mmhm.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

Michael shrugged. “I’m okay.” He could’ve sworn he saw Alex’s lips twitch. He nudged at the kitten with his chin. “Where’d you find it?”

“She always comes here, looking for food,” Alex said. “I’d take her home, but my brother Flint is allergic.”

“She’s so tiny,” Michael said, and gently pet her head with his other hand while she drank.

Alex nodded. “I found her soaked and shivering under a bush.” He coughed. “I couldn’t just leave her.”

Michael searched his face. “You’re really nice.”

Alex blinked, surprised. Michael felt his face flash hot. Was it always this warm? And why did these heat waves only hit him around Alex?

“Uh — I only mean —” he cleared his throat. “People usually want something back. What... what do you want back?”

Alex frowned. “I don’t get it.”

Michael pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Weird. Why’d he suddenly want to smile so much?

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

They sat in silence for a while, until the kitten had had its water and was curled up inside Alex’s coat.

“Hey,” Michael said tentatively. “What’s your name?”

“Alex Manes.”

“Manes?” Michael knew that name. It was pretty famous in Roswell. A family of military men, heroes.

Alex hummed in response. He seemed to be acknowledging Michael’s suspicions; he was a soldier, trained to live life one way and doing his best to make it his own.

“Um,” Alex mumbled. “What’s yours?”

“Michael Guerin,” he said before he could consider his answer. Michael Guerin was not his real name, but he didn’t know what his real name even was. He thought about telling Alex that it was just the name of the guy that had found them in the desert years ago, that he thought about changing it someday, that Alex really could’ve called him anything else. Then —

“Cool. I’ll call you Guerin.”

“C-Call me Guerin?”

Then it occurred to Michael; military family. Calling people by their last name might’ve been a habit Alex had picked up. Michael wondered what other traces Alex’s family left in him.

Alex shrugged a shoulder, still petting the kitten. “You look like a Guerin.”

Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest, but he owed that to the cold.

Well. He couldn’t change his name now. It’s what Alex was going to call him from now on.

“Then call me Guerin.”

Michael slumped back against the wall, watching Alex as he watched the kitten, the rain playing loudly in the background, letting Michael pretend for just a moment that this boy was not going to become his entire life.

***

Typed this out on my phone. It’s now 2:10 am. So tired. Really, really badly want a kitten.

[thecrenellations]

Return of the Thief Notes, Part One: The Book of Pheris, Volume I

Notes from my first read, October 2020. (Part Two | Part Three | TaT)

Contents:  "So, so, so” watch, Costis watch, swearing, trashing the king’s attendants, being objectively wrong, boundless enthusiasm and love 

I promise I’ve had more developed thoughts since these often incoherent ones, but I’ve enjoyed having these notes to refer to - for sentimental reasons and for  entertainment, so here they are, for others who enjoy liveblogs and/or being whisked back in time to their first read of this wonderful book.

Format: Page number. My thoughts (Context?)

Dedication, Table of Contents, Exordium:

There it is – to Sounis

Exordium – vocab #1

Interregnum?!? Alyta?

Pheris!!!

Yeah I love him from the first page

MOIRA

MOCKING COMMENTS HELP! Gen lives!

A new level of unreliable narrator

Moira, messages of Gods, Pheris, messages of __

Wtf is going on in this study? A zoo?

high king vs great king vs annux?

okie dokie dude

Chapter 1

1. Susa – Costis

2. Infirmity – who gets to be hero/tell story (I started reading right after the book launch, in which mwt spent some time talking about her writing influences and decisions connect to this question - Pheris isn’t her first disabled protagonist and storyteller, of course, but it was lovely to meet him properly directly after hearing her talk about it. Book launch foreshadowing part 1...)

Melisande?

Is this why he wasn’t taught to read?

3. Always the summer

Bees!

4. Hunting cat… hm…

Ok … shrine … 😬

5. Once again we start with a disaster or having to flee

Which Eugenides precipitated

Bite!

Little monster :(

6. Falling…

:(

7. :( :( :(

His purpose? D:

8. YIKES

Chapter 2

9. Hello there! (Gen!)

Massive chair?

10. CRACKED WATER JUG (amphora motif???)

11. Triangle from seal!

Gen that’s rude to Pheris :( (“He will fit in very well with my attendants”)

Wait. This must have happened before ACoK! (nope)

12. :(

Xikander … never made an impression before

How old is Pheris? (lol)

13. Philologos come thru!

Royal closet reappears!

14. Hello weird secondhand scene!

He is Eugenides

Marina…

15. Petrus? GALEN? OH SHIT! 

Is this why Galen was called? (nope)

16. Hell yea Petrus

Miras’ golden balls oh no

All these previously unnamed sucky attendants!

17. Ula – goddess of hearth and healing

Ok … Galen … or a god? Eugenides????? (why did these options occur to me before Mr. Shows Up At Your Bedside At Night himself)

18. Finally the attendant floor plans I crave + hunting scenes!

19. EXCUSE ME he slept through Sounis + Eddis wedding!!!

Again – high king!

20. So Ion is beautiful … hmm.

Yeah … Sejanus has facets. I like it.

21. Clearly no one would know what king would do … lol

Don’t mind me just sorting the attendants on a spectrum of awfulness!!!

22. SO SO SO – ION!!!!!

How many fucking attendants are there and how many are on my hit list!

Is “the necessaries” bathrooms or like … him stealing? (just the bathrooms ... the Gen-Pheris parallels were really getting to me at this point)

:(

23. OH MY GOD THE UNIFIED CREST

Also … frogs. Frogs.

24. Big day for Gen huh

Definitely an aura of Something as he writes about Gen

25. HELLO EVERYONE

26. Sorry Kamet, Pheris does the physical descriptions better. They’re beautiful

I’m blacking out at Eddis and Sounis

27. Jesus Christ. The bear.

Cousin time!

Under the table is the new up on the roof!

Uh… twin imagery ….

Gen’s feet!

Jesus. The matching

28. Cleon … wtf? A cousin?

A trial for Sophos?

Show! Us! Sophos’s! Shoes!

29. If u throw things out the air shaft you might hit the king

Was it a chicken?

Lol nvm the guy at night is Gen. That is … very sweet

- Showing up at night

- Accent

- Complaining about Petrus

- Swearing

- One hand

I am judging Costis and Sophos for not describing the paneling in Gen’s room!

Chapter 3

30. Was it a chicken?

An earring huh, good hand huh

31. Literally screaming “NO!” at Gen. Don’t joke about dying! I am killed by Gen on annux day. This is. My boy. Yes he is perfect. Yes he will refuse to get up. I love him. I died on page 31

Philologos is still the best of them

32. Dancing bear indeed

Always the powdered gold

Ruby!!!!! <3

Aww a smile!!! <3

Pheris he likes you!

33. They both love invisibility and lost it … I cry

Erupt like the sacred mountain excuse me!

OR WORSE return to bed! Lol

34. He’s Eugenides when he’s talking to Attolia

Ouch hero talk

! from Irene!

My queen!

Hey Phresine!

They way we do <3 he’s hating it but he’s so comfortable with her

Sister and bro mention! C’mon!

I love them

EYEBROW

35. Honestly that’s a yes (“I have no idea what you mean, my queen”)

It’s so cute they hang out in the morning … like how long was it even since they’ve seen each other lol

:( tough walk for Pheris

Is it prophecy time?

Lol how long does this construction take?!

Also … she’s pregnant, huh? but no one knows (nope)

Is befriending someone weaponized as a prank count for Gen’s enemies to friends list?

Also SHOW ME the magus. I know he’s here!

36. Pheris excuse me, why not recreate this!

Lol cast off language of history indeed

Feel the thrum of the goddess!

EXCUSE ME… a minor goddess? Mystery goddess? Or Philia?

Oh Gen

37. Well, Gen, someone is having a worse day than you.

Damn, how far we come.

Aww Sounis, babe, I love you and so does Gen

[drawing of the four of them sitting in a row]

38. Artadorus???? Pomegranate?

39. HEIRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A friend! Also lol. Two smiles, for Pheris and Heiro..

40. Yesss Melheret joke in action.

Costis has left tho right?

Jesus, Melheret

SHE GAVE HIM A HORSE (I COULD NOT DEAL with this entire conversation, but then again I could not deal with this whole book.)

41. I love them all so much

“on that horse, you will look like a king” I can’t with her sense of humor

He sure did say that

I feel like I’m missing something with the fight on foot thing … remembering battles?

Helen called him Gen!

Sophos stop talking about yourself and bringing apricots into everything lol

Lol these bystanders don’t know how lucky they are. Nor does Pheris, yet

42. She’s protecting him

Also … Gen … you didn’t want to be a soldier.

43. Guards have capes

2 startled men … hm …

Oh Gen. The fucking brutal echoes…

44. :( :( :(

Gen tell your wife you’re sick!

The attendants are so dumb

45. So, so, so :(

Tell who? Petrus?

Wink!

Yes?

46. Bleeding! Salt! Lemon! Heck no! What is he, a piece of meat?

Oranges?

47. “savoring each bite as if it were my last” ... Same … but with this book

Hmm… Alyta! Goddess of the gentle rain! (despite this “hmm,” I did not put the pieces together)

48. Oh no Teleus! And someone?

Aw he realized <3 lemon water

49. Gen eat your broth lol

50. I love them.

Ion’s really trying to make up for what he did that one time

51. Without the approval of the great goddess HAHAHA

I love them. Cousin time! Growl?

Idk whether or not to be reassured, Gen.

Wow Cleon I do not like that. Also didn’t he die? (...)

Comma (“I am not, Eddis”)

Go smack him!

52. Gen I love you.

Helen I love you.

He’s so bad at self care but I love him

Chapter 4

55. love that our narrator just disappears and reappears

56. Attolia’s brother’s bedroom? Yikes. Ominous. A detail in a story we’ve already gotten, different every time <3

57. fucking attendants. 3 good ones. Medander you were beneath Costis’s notice before but I hate you. Costis didn’t have time for you or Xikos or Xikander and nor do I

58. interesting pawn talk!!!

59. <3 Pheris :(

The Gen comparisons though

:( :( :( :(

60. flamboyance <3

Cemphora bush

Bees

61. I love him

62. I love them

Also lol “Your majesty?”

63. Name … hm … (“I have deliberately omitted [my tutor’s] name here”)

64. more twin imagery I swear

WAIT … it was his birthday! Not just Annux day?!! Gen was born in late summer???

Attendant list thank you

65. laying it all out there, huh … (that one Gen quote)

Lol they’re the same but Pheris likes horses

66. Insellia! Hello nice to meet you

67. Gen that’s mean. (“He is hardly even half of one.”)

68. Coleus leves???

“I am Eugenides.” <3

Gen why

69. Gold cups???? Hmmmmm. Also lioness. Def invoking Costis. (they’re probably not the cups, but STILL)

Earth….

70. Moira! Hi!!! Rainbow shawl!

Like a rabbit!

Pester!

I’m … very sad he uses his Attolian accent with Helen

71. Aaah so good

Mortals

Moira knows another messenger?

Does he think he can’t die in battle?

72. hmm are they WRANGLING?! (Galen and Petrus and my Fire and Hemlock word association)

Kill that pastry Irene I love you

morning training with his … guard? (Is that the whole guard or a guard? Costis senses tingling once again.)

73. Oh gen.

Ouch! (“to send people to their deaths and not risk my own is contemptible”)

Is she implying he’s paying Therespides?

74. Interesting Cleon plan. So many doubles

OUCH. (“Only if he comes back from the dead.” I assumed Lader had died in the war; it’s a different ouch now. I love that they both accidentally say things to each other that poke old wounds, and it’s not a big deal but it’s also not dismissed! Their relationship has come so far, and I love them so much.)

75. Verimius – Lavia – Celia??? Somebody is queer in there!

A GUARD

This scene confuses me. Xortix? Layteres? Aris! but dice thing is less political … so maybe? (just wait....)

76. So many reasons to hate Medander

Hey Costis! You exist! KoA happened!

Gen is just … still so uncomfortable and miserable. He chose, he has people, but still.

RIP Clopius also WHAT

77. Lol Hilarion’s grand statements

78. Yorn Fordad Hello!

Luxurious mustache

The mighty Pents?

Besin Quedue – she’s coming 4 you watch out

79. RIP Baron Hippias

Chapter 5

80. Spring! Plays! Cenna!

81. Oh dear

Oh dear

At least they said he was pretty

83. ?!? :( wine

Uh oh. Stockpiling

85. What even.

AAAAAAAAAH COSTIS

86. Omg Irene. Hissing. I love her.

Also … Gen’s the viper

Also this scene was written by Pheris.

Damn.

87. oh no.

What better man

She fucking quoted Howl. I love them.

Also, bees (this scene killed me)

90. Falling?

Oh shit

Also … Juridius and Pheris, Susa and Costis (comparing demands for information)

93. oh my god (IT’S THE WINDOW SCENE)

Oh my god

Uh

94. She! Called! Him! Gen!

I love this and it scares me

Lol Chloe

Irene you learned from her though

95. D:

96. :(

97. water stuff

98. what the heck

OH NO (Quedue scene)

Hm

100. yikes

Omg

Wow.

102. yikes yikes YIKES

103. a blade has protruded from his chest (tbt to The Thief)

jesus

106. shit

Did Gen hit him?

108. lol Phresine

109. lol

I want genuinely every character’s reaction to this shit

Chapter 6

111. what the heck Gen.

112. like a god [crown doodle]

114. Perma?

116. Gen. Gen. Gen. Do not.

117. AAAA (god intervention)

122. Juridius to Dite

124. bye Iolanthe and Ileia! Tell us about Caeta and Silla.

125. did not expect so much Ion

Chapter 7

127. Fryst god of winter

She laughed!

They’re so married

128. OH SHIT (Costis ship is sighted and I remember what’s about to happen next)

Interesting timing

He rode the horse home?

131. Beauty and good, beauty and kind

134. The gods’ goodwill

Keep them safe <3

135. Is that his MOM?!! Wtf (it was!)

Pheris steal those earrings!!!

RING! SMASH BOX!

137. AMPHORA EARRINGS (and flowers)

138. I love Phresine

139. Why do I feel like all the game birds are pigeons

140. meanwhile Gen’s been hanging out with Kamet. Shit. I cannot.

WELCOME HOME BOYS!

HELL YEAH KAMET ATTEND THOSE MEETINGS!

RELIUS COME THRU

141. lethium soup! The reversal

Safe for you

142. of course he knew <3

143. Kamet time! I love him. We get to see Kamet!!!

Also … echo of Gen’s notes on Mede

145. very handsome. … gaycostis vindication (referring to @costis’s url at the time and this post. Little did I know what else was to come in the next chapter and then a few months later with the adaptation news...)

Do you know who I am?

Chapter 8

147. Of course he’s a cartographer

A favorite huh

148. of course she didn’t tell us his age!

149. the angsty window staring I crave

Music!

151. adventure, huh

I do have a soft spot for Melheret

152. concerned about amphora gift

153. Glad they can be well and united in spite!! (Gen and Melheret)

154. Pheris loves math and I love him

155. Hello Teleus. Hello olives

Lol Relius is not into math

156. pigeons. Inkpot!

157. yeah honestly. He tortures people. He was NOT tortured by the king

159. lol (“I have noted the elective nature of certain behaviors” ... I love Relius and Pheris.)

160. The Invitation! I <3 it

161. EXCUSE ME WHO

Legarus!

FOLKS HERE WE ARE (I cannot overstate how wonderful it was to read this page. I did not know who the poem was from, and “Someone loves me very much, even with all my faults” is even sweeter to reread, but it’s just ... his confidence is so different from the tentative consideration of a new philosophy of trust and love we see in KoA. And there is subtextual queerness in the books before this one, some more apparent and some more subtle (and what is obvious to one reader may be subtle or invisible to another, in these books especially), and there is the attendant love triangle a few chapters back, but HERE - here, Pheris acknowledges the real feeling and love in Legarus’s disastrous relationship and tells us directly that his lover was a man, here he seamlessly makes it clear how bi and poly Relius is, and he quietly ties these relationships and realities to his growing understanding of the world. It’s not subtext. And there’s a lot more to come, but this page really hit me, and sort of promised the “more to come” while assuring me that what had come before, more subtly, was there. I used to have heteronormative readings of both these books and myself, and when Thick as Thieves brought them crashing back into my heart after years away, I knew better about myself, and I saw that - or the possibility of that reading -  reflected in the new book, and it was such a good surprise. It meant a lot, and this page meant a lot, and that is why I’m writing a small essay to accompany this note.) 

Lol wow

162. Where are you traveling, man (this question remains)

163. Fuck you, Orutus

164. Stole an inkpot!

165. the map!!! (Kamet’s)

166. I love them!

167. The Math Master hmm

Am I an oracle (Nope! :) )

[navegandoaciegas]

the love you deserve III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He was the guy at the Triskelion, they say he’s the one who killed JFK.”

It can’t be real. Your Jaime visits and plays with lonely, sickly kids in hospitals because he remembers what it was like growing up with his asthmatic, diabetic friend Steve. Whoever this Bucky guy is, he’s not your Jaime, your Jaime could never harm a fly. Your Jaime is good, he’s compassionate. Surely your friend must be wrong.

Warnings: hurt!bucky, hurt!reader, angst, fluff, lying, cheating, drug use, alcohol consumption, language that Steve Rogers wouldn’t approve of.

A/N: AU where Civil War and Thanos never happen, Tony forgives Bucky and he retires. I’m not a native speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes :)

This is part 3, please like and reblog and let me know what you think of it :) feedback is always appreciated! 

Part 1 Part 2

Las Vegas, Nevada

You cheated on James, and that’s a fact. Would you have done it if you weren’t so intoxicated? Is it relevant?

You could take responsibility for your choice. You could admit to yourself and to him that it wasn’t a drug induced mistake, that it was the stupid decision you took in the spur of the moment because you were hurting badly and you wanted to punish him for the pain he put you through.

You could tell him that you got to the club with the intention of doing something stupid, that you put yourself in the condition to sleep with a random guy whose face you can’t recall and who fucked you even if you were gnawing for teeth uncontrollably, your mouth was likely foaming and your pupils were blown to hell.

Did the substances flowing in your veins give him consent, or did you? Are they to blame, or are you?

On another note, the one that comes out when rage surges in you, can you even cheat on a man who isn’t who he says he is? Is it cheating if he betrayed you first?

You’ve never been more conflicted in your life.

The anger you felt is still raging inside of you. You close your eyes and think of all the lies he fed you, of all the little ways he in which he deceived you.  

You don’t know what’s worse: letting the searing hot flames of anger destroy you or wallow in guilt and regret?

In approximately 4 hours you’ll be landing in New York where you know James is going to pick you up, most likely with a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolate.

You could never mention sleeping with a random man after finding out his true identity and continue your life in peaceful, ignorant bliss.

You could confess to cheating and blame it on his deception and your altered state.

You could omit the cheating incident and jump straight to the part where you yell at him for failing to mention who he really is.

You have 2233 miles to figure it out.

New York

You’re being exceptionally quiet today, and that’s a first. 

Bucky was expecting you to start rambling about how hangovers hit you harder than they used to before, how you’re getting old because nowadays you feel your head pounding and your stomach churning all day after a night out. He was willing to bet that the first thing you’d do as soon as you landed would be to complain about Vegas’ blazing heat and the outrageous price of bottled water in airports, like you always do when you come back from travelling.

Instead you’re silent, because you have a headache you said, and you’re being less affectionate than usual.

He furrows his brows when you skip on hugging him and go straight for the car, but he doesn’t let himself think too much about it. You’ve probably just drunk too much, which combined with Nevada’s scorching sun is a recipe for disaster, so he stays quiet and drives you to your apartment. His important announcement is going to have to wait.

His quaint, cramped apartment is tranquil except for the tapping of the rain on the window sills.

He was coming back from a session with his therapist when he got caught in the rain, and because he’d been riding on his Harley he’s now dripping wet and in desperate need to get cleaned up. 

He decides he’s going to take a bubble bath with those little balls of foamy soap you bought him; you’ve told him that these ‘bath bombs’ are very relaxing when you want a ‘self care’ night.

He heads to the bathroom and turns on the water as he takes off his wet sweater and jeans.

He normally avoids staring too much at his reflection, but today he does. 

He has a few scars scattered around his chest and stomach, but they don’t compare to the angry and permanently flared, marred flesh around his left arm. If he looks closely he can still see the marks where he scratched and pulled the the skin in an attempt to rid himself on the prosthetic.

His therapist is a nice man in his 50s who doesn’t ever make him feel judged. He’s been trying to get him to accept his metal arm as a part of himself instead of a disjointed appendage that has done more damage than it could ever do good.

He mentioned something about associating positive things to his arm, or something like that. It can be watering a plant, petting his cat, caressing your hair, holding your hand.

Anything to trick his brain into thinking his arm can do good too. 

Sometimes it works, other times the only thing he can see himself holding is Maria Stark’s throat as he chokes her to death.

He’s been trying hard, but he knows he won’t make his peace with the prosthetic if he doesn’t come clear to you.

He talked about you today. The doctor suggested it’s time for you to know who he is.

He agrees. Steve agrees. Sam has been threatening to call you for months. Natasha doesn’t need to vocalize her threats: one look with those green eyes and she manages to be scarier that the metal chair.

He’s going to tell you before Jade’s wedding, he’s resolved. Can’t risk anyone recognizing him and causing a scene if you don’t hear it from him first.

To be honest, he’s terrified. 

He’s been doing a lot of reflecting since you’ve been gone, and the more time goes by, the more he feels like a lying scumbag.

At first, he was scared he’d lose you because of the Asset. He was scared you’d have a mental breakdown if you knew what kind of monster he is, and you’d leave him. You’re so beautiful, good, smart, you deserve so much better than he could ever be.

In his selfishness he couldn't bear to never hold you again. 

But as time goes on he’s realizing that if he doesn’t speak up soon, he will be losing you because of his deception.

He knows now you would accept him regardless of his past, his crimes, his murders, his nightmares; you already accept all his little quirks, his constant need for reassurance and affection, his unusual ineptitude with technology, his elusiveness.

He knows that what’s left of his life he wants to spend it with you. He doesn’t need a wizard in a sentient cape to know that in all the universes out there, he loves you in every last one of them, that he’d fall off that train a thousand times over if it meant he could one day be with you.

You love him and he loves you, he’s never been more sure of anything.

Anything except how angry you’re going to be when you find out he’s lied to you all along. He can only hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive him.

Your roommates aren’t home when you get there, and Bucky is glad about it. He needs to have you all to himself for the evening.

“Hey, I’m going to take a shower, you choose the movie, ‘kay?” you say, and you stand on your toes to peck his lips softly. He smiles like the lovesick fool he is and opens up your phone to try and order a pizza for you both.

After multiple attempts at calling the place and using the website with no success, he sets on asking you for help. You’re in the bathroom but the water is not running yet.

The door is ajar, and he almost knocks and comes in when he freezes. The smile he had on his stupid face falls and the pounding in his chest is probably loud enough that you can feel it too, even if you don’t have super soldier hearing. 

Through the crack of the door he can see you’re naked, with your back facing him and your hair pulled up. 

Normally he would blush and close his eyes or turn around to respect your modesty, but now there’s nothing he can do except stare at you with wobbling lips and watering eyes.

Your whole body is littered with love marks, trails of red, angry scratches and deep purple bruises on your lower back, hips and arms.

He wants to think it’s not what it looks like, although it's pretty obvious. He wishes he could unsee what’s in front of him, plain as day: the unmistakable proof that you did what he never thought you would do.

He backs away from the door silently and settles on the couch, calming himself down from the panic attack he feels coming. He’s crying silently, tugging his hair painfully. He doesn’t want you to see him cry. He doesn’t want to look like a pathetic mess in front of you.

His heart hurts so much it’s hard to breathe. 

The water is still running when he finally manages to gain control over himself.

His mind is swimming with questions and accusations. What did you do, exactly, and why did you do it. Why did you feel the need to be intimate with someone else. Is it because he won’t be intimate to you? He’s sure you’re better than that, this can’t be about not being able to resist your urges, can it? Or maybe it is, and it’s his fault for forcing a sexless relationship on you? 

You’re always so honest with him. Sam says it’s a good sign that you always give him your phone for whatever reason he needs it for and you never worry about it, he says it means you have nothing to hide from him. You’ve never shown any sign that your feelings towards him had changed, and he’s been trained to look for the smallest of changes in people. 

Who is he? Did he mean something to you, or was it just some meaningless sex? Were you sober? How much did you drink?

He can’t believe you would cheat on him.

He’s still beating himself up about it when he hears the bathroom door open, and you come out wearing one of his oversized hoodie and a pair of leggings. You smile at him, and he tries to smile back despite the pain when you join him on the couch and snuggle in his arms.

The world is collapsing on him and yet all he can do is hold you close and cradle you in his arms. He nuzzles your hair, inhaling the distinct smell of coconut and peaches to ground him himself.

He can’t lose you.

You had 2233 miles to figure it out.

You didn’t.

You smile when you see him on the couch. You snuggle in his arms and relax in the comforting scent of the detergent he uses, the one that reminds him of his Ma. 

You feel his steady heartbeat and instantly calm down. 

You can’t lose him.

If he thinks you don’t need to know, then he doesn’t either.

[wistfulcynic]

For the end of year asks. You’ve answered 10, 8, and 3, so I want 1, 2, 4-7, and 9... don’t shoot me please... 😘

Of course, if you’ve already answered some of the others, you can skip those too...

😲. I’m... not sure that's how you play the game?? But okay, buckle in. 

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

I’ve written a lot of things I liked this year. Unlike previous years I don’t think there’s anything I don’t feel good about. I think for favourite I’d have to go with ...and held her in my arms, because it turned out pretty much exactly as I envisioned it and I like the intensity of the pining, and The Bend of the Arc, because it was such a stretch for me and I really like the end result. That and the comments on it were just so lovely. 

2. What’s your least favourite thing you wrote this year?

As I said above I’m happy with everything from this year, but I guess the one I'm least happy with is where none intrudes. I kind of feel like my head wasn’t quite in the right place and I wrote it too quickly. It could have been better if I'd taken more time. Ironically, it is my most popular Tumblr post ever. 

4. Which of your fics this year was most successful?

On Tumblr, it was where none intrudes which still continues to get random notes. On AO3 (and I'm discounting Moonlight here because that started last year) it currently stands at Error 404 by a single kudo over the stars through our souls. 

5. Which of your fics do you wish was more successful?

I guess that depends on what successful means? I wouldn’t have minded more people reading A Uniquely Portable Magic because I think it’s some of the best descriptive writing I've ever done, but the ones who did read it gave such amazing feedback I consider it a success. The Fire of the Frost had the worst reception I’ve ever experienced on Tumblr, which I kind of expected because sequels are always less popular than the original and Moonlight was also a dud on Tumblr. But I’m still disappointed, I had thought it would do a bit better than it did. Like I thought it would flop but maybe not leave behind an actual indent in the ground. 

6. What’s your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

Oof. I’m sure I'm overlooking something, but one scene I really like is this one from The Bend of the Arc. There are a couple of good exchanges in that fic I think but this one is where we really see the connection between them. Putting it below a cut as it’s long!

Emma popped the last bite of soufflé into her mouth and resisted the urge to lick her fingers. Instead she sipped her champagne and looked around for another tray. One passed by bearing what looked like tiny donuts and she almost dove to grab one. Biting into it, she found that it was savoury and filled with a feather-light truffled chicken mousse. She closed her eyes on a moan of delight, and when she opened them again Killian Jones was standing in front of her, watching her with an expression she found deeply objectionable.

“Well, darling, I do hope you’re not here for me this time,” he said.

Emma sneered. “I’m not.”

“Learnt our lesson, have we?” he replied with a smirk.

She ground her teeth. “I’ve simply got bigger fish to hook,” she said.

“Indeed. Considering that I am an entirely innocent man.”

She snorted.

“That infuriates you, doesn’t it,” he observed, smirk deepening. “That I walked free.”

Nearly a year’s worth of frustration and righteous fury bubbled up inside Emma, bursting forth before she could stop it. “It’s not right!” she exclaimed. “It’s not justice!”

“No, it’s just not perfect justice. Though one certainly could argue that a decade spent under the thumb of a madman is more than enough punishment for whatever crimes I committed.”

Something in his voice troubled her, a pained sincerity that niggled at her conscience. She ignored it. “Rationalise it all you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” she retorted.  

“Oh, I have no trouble sleeping,” he said, stepping closer and leaning into her space, hips first. “Though occasionally I do forgo it voluntarily, in favour of more… enjoyable activities.”

“You’re filthy.”  

“I certainly can be,” he purred. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Well love, we both know that’s not true.”

“Oh do we?”

“We do. You’re something of an open book, you see.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am the opposite of that.”

“You’d like to be. But for those who know how to look, your tells are obvious.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted, standing straighter and observing her with blue eyes that went, between one blink and the next, from flirtatious to coolly assessing, sharply analytical. She felt a flare of alarm in her chest, and the worrying suspicion that she may have underestimated him.  

“The relaxed posture,” he said. “That’s one. You’re a woman of action, rarely still. If you stop moving you start thinking, and you, Emma Swan, hate nothing more than being in your own head. You’re tense all the time unless you’re pretending not to be, as you are now. Playing the role of carefree society girl, perfectly at home in these glittering surroundings where you are in actual fact deeply uncomfortable.”

She attempted a laugh. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”

“You’re holding that glass so tightly you’re in danger of snapping the stem, and you’re digging the heel of your shoe into the floor. It takes a lot of effort to maintain that outward calm, which is why you don’t normally bother. You hate artifice, bullshit as you would call it, and your plan tonight is to get in, get your mark and get out. After you’ve eaten your fill of the food, that is.” The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “Do correct me if any of this is wrong.”

“It’s all wrong,” she snapped.  

“Now, love, don’t you start to bullshit.”

Emma’s fingers clenched tighter on the champagne glass and she deliberately forced them to relax. “Why don’t you just leave me alone,” she hissed.

His eyes softened, and heated with an expression that made her belly clench. “Because you intrigue me,” he murmured.  

“Well you disgust me.”

He laughed. “Liar.”

“How dare you—”

He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, his fingers close enough that she could feel the heat of them but not their touch, and when he spoke again his voice was rough. “You’ve a delightful pale pink flush all across your skin, your pupils are dilated, your breathing shallow. And your pulse—” His hand glided down her arm and wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressing gently onto her pulse point. “It’s racing, love. I don’t require any special skills to pick up on these tells.” He caught her gaze, his own heated and intense. “Would it help if I confessed that the attraction is entirely mutual?”

“No!”  

“Pity.”

She tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held fast, leaning closer still to murmur in her ear. “He’s over by the fountain.”

She wouldn’t look, thought Emma. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes as Killian released her and the heat and intoxicating scent of him moved away. She didn’t want his help, didn’t need it. Resented it. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking and of course there he was. Her mark, standing in front of the fountain at the centre of the room.

“How the hell did you know—” she spun around but Killian was gone.

7. What’s your favourite piece of description or narration?

Unquestionably the beginning of Portable Magic. 

He’s not sure what draws him through the door. The look of it, perhaps, the twisted grain and the knotholes, polished to a patina by centuries of wind and rain and hands upon it. Some hands much like his own and others very different. He finds comfort in that, as he places his hand on the door. His hand.

His only hand.

On the other side of the door is a bookshop. He knew that of course, from the sign in the window, another thing tempting him inside. It’s far too long since he read a good book, too long since he let himself get lost in stories other than his own. He’s not quite ready for what he sees.

The shelves are made of the same wood as the door. Carved from it, it seems. Hewn might be the word. The knobbly, knothole-y wood that even his limited carpentry knowledge tells him could not form straight shelves. It doesn’t, yet they hold the books. Row upon row of them, dizzying rows. His head spins when he tries to look at them, like a kaleidoscope or a funhouse mirror, too many things, too many angles, too little space.

He blinks, and everything is fine again. It’s just a bookstore.

“It’s just a bookstore,” he tells the cat in the window, a huge grey tabby with long, silky fur and pale blue, unblinking eyes.

“Of course it is,” the cat replies. “What were you expecting?”

“I—what?”

“Meow,” says the cat.

...and this paragraph 

He sits at the table and opens the book at the top of the pile, glances into it, and is absorbed. It’s the tale of a lonely man, a wanderer without a home who finds his place in the hearts of those he meets along his travels. It grips him so entirely that he fails to notice Ruby as she sets a pot of tea before him, with a mismatched cup and saucer and a plate bearing a thick slice of cake, fragrant with lemon and dotted with plump blueberries. Absently he prepares his tea—a splash of milk, no sugar—and sips it as he reads. It has a bright, floral aroma but a rich flavour that reminds him of the Earl Grey his brother favoured, and he has to pause for a moment to allow the ache to pass. It does, faster than it once did, and so he risks another sip and sighs this time in pleasure. It’s delicious. He settles deeper into the chair and the book, sips the tea and nibbles the cake and doesn’t notice either one disappearing or the afternoon sunshine fading into twilight beyond the windows until Ruby comes to clear the table with a clatter of silver on porcelain. 

9. If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

I have a difficult relationship with all the perfect things (that I doubt) because part of me loves it and part thinks maybe I should have made some different choices. I guess it’s just that there are so many options for that scenario and I kind of want to write all of them (but also there is NO TIME, so don't get any ideas, woman!). 

-

um, I would say send me an end of year ask, but Krystal has ASKED THEM ALL

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 5

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

The story continues...

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / …  HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read. 

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr! 

Chapter 5

Xichen has no idea what he’s supposed to do with himself. The guards outside his door make him believe he is not free to leave the tent. He considers unpacking his things, but as soon as he opens the trunk with his clothes, he panics and slams it shut. It feels like an acknowledgement that this is his life now. This tent, this language, these people are the rest of his life, and he can’t bear it.

So he plays the guqin, which is a fine instrument. The music soothes him, and he considers shifting to a song of power. Would it work to play Silence or Rest? Could he send enough of these barbarians into sleep to escape? He dismisses the thought. Even if he could, it would risk the treaty the warlord has already agreed to and maybe even endanger his brother’s life. He has chosen this, he reminds himself.

Hours pass, and the darkness in the tent deepens. His nerves jangle, and Xichen wishes he had at least played Tranquility. Huaisang did not elaborate on whether this tent was meant for him alone or whether he would be sharing it with the warlord, but Xichen is aware that he is a bride, of sorts, and he expects that sooner or later, the man is going to demand that Xichen fulfill their treaty. The thought makes Xichen lightheaded and his fingers stumble across the guqin strings before he can compose himself.

It is finally too dark to continue playing, and Xichen rummages through his trunks to find candles. He lights them with a touch of magic, one thing he has not lost, at least.

“Et orodit eko doro eta aranakeram,” a deep voice says from behind him, the sounds of the unfamiliar language harsh in his ears, and Xichen nearly drops the candle he is holding.

“Elder Brother says you look beautiful in candlelight,” Huaisang translates, flushing and shooting the warlord an aggrieved glare that tells Xichen they must be brothers indeed.

Xichen reddens too. He lowers the candle so it isn’t as obvious, but the grin on the man’s face says he wasn’t fast enough.

“Edi eta dikani eko? Da adi eidar eko em outam?”

“Elder Brother would like to know if you are hungry, and if you would join us for dinner,” Huaisang says. “Also,” he adds, “There are lights.”

The boy draws a pattern in the air with two fingers. Crooking them at the second joint, he pulls a kind of darkness from the air and flicks it toward the roof of the tent. Tiny golden globes illuminate around the perimeter of the tent and into the apex, almost as bright and welcoming as sunlight. It looks completely different from his own power, and Xichen is fascinated by the novelty before he remembers Huaisang’s question.

It’s not much of a choice. He hasn’t eaten since before he arrived this morning.

“Yes,” he says, forcing a smile. He chose this, he chose this, he chose this, he tells himself savagely, over and over and over. Eventually, maybe, it will be enough.

The food is richer and spicier than he is used to but not inedible, although the tea is atrocious—too dark and too pungent—and Xichen can barely keep it down as he listens to Huaisang. The warlord is surprisingly talkative, asking Xichen about the music he had been playing earlier, whether he needs anything for his comfort, his opinion of the art that decorates the tent, even about the local plants and animals. He very carefully avoids asking anything personal or anything about Cloud Recesses, and Xichen can’t decide if it’s strategy or kindness. 

It is strange to eat this way, answering questions and waiting for a translation. But, Xichen supposes, it’s no more strange than talking over dinner, which is forbidden in his home, or talking this much at all. He’s never used words excessively. The Cloud Recesses is a quiet place, and his brother is a quiet person, so their words were selected judiciously and sparingly.

“Thank you for allowing us to join you,” Huaisang says at the end of the meal. “Elder Brother asks if you will play the guqin?”

The warlord interjects, watching Xichen’s expression closely. “Odero ti mau odinga. Odero di he ti roka em ateipa.”

“Elder Brother says you may call him Mingjue if you wish. And you don’t have to play the guqin if you don’t want to.”

Xichen doubts that very much, but he nods serenely and returns to the guqin. It occurs to him that it very likely belonged to someone else recently, perhaps a resident of Qinghe or Ouyang. His stomach roils and threatens to spill the dinner he just ate, but he steels himself. He is not a squeamish child. His clan has taken spoils of conflict as well, and it is no more or less noble, even if the scale is different.

He plays for a few minutes before he looks up. Huaisang is gone. The warlord is sitting across from him, legs folded and arms crossed. When they had met earlier, he had been wearing the full leather armor of a man used to sitting a horse—thin and flexible, reinforced around the chest and thighs. His nearly black hair had been pulled back, a tight cap of what had looked like braids. Now, Xichen can see that they are indeed tiny braids, dozens of them twisted into thicker plaits and loosely arranged on the back of the warlord’s head. He is wearing black wide-legged pants and a deep blue tunic with an open jacket woven in vibrant shades of red and yellow. For Xichen, who never wears fewer than five robes, it is scandalously little clothing, and he can see the outline of the muscle on the warlord’s chest when he inhales. Xichen glances away, but he makes the mistake of looking at the man’s face.

The warlord is watching Xichen with that same flickering smile, there and gone before Xichen can properly verify its kind. His relaxation, and perhaps the lack of armor, makes Xichen realize he’s not as old as he looked earlier. His skin is the rich color of aged tea, whether natural or from the sun, Xichen can’t tell. A stray thought—you will find out eventually—makes his breathing stutter. With a flare of exasperation at himself, Xichen acknowledges that yes, the man is handsome, but it should make no difference to his behavior. He is cool water. He is a quiet breeze. He looks back down at the safety of the guqin.

He doesn’t hear the warlord get up—how can such a big man move so quietly—until his fingers touch the edge of Xichen’s long hair.

“Soft,” he murmurs, and Xichen jumps, knocking the guqin to the floor and scooting to escape his surprise.

His heart is pounding, and he stammers, “You...you speak my...my language?” It feels like a betrayal.

The warlord’s mouth quirks in what is definitely a wry and apologetic smile. He holds up a hand, an entreaty for Xichen not to move, and kneels forward. He runs his fingers through Xichen’s hair again, holding up a lock of it. This close, Xichen can see that his eyes aren’t the pitch black wells they had seemed, but a deep brown, like the color of rich earth after the rain, with flecks of gold near the pupils. They tip up at the corners, making him look curious. Or perhaps he merely is curious.

“Soft,” he repeats. 

Xichen is paralyzed.

The warlord brushes the back of his hand against Xichen’s cheek. “Soft.”

He touches his thumb to Xichen’s mouth. “Soft.”

This time, Xichen knows enough to expect the kiss. The warlord slides both hands behind Xichen’s head to pull him forward, but instead of Xichen’s mouth, he kisses his forehead, just below the band of silk that every member of Xichen’s family wears until their marriage. If this had been a contract with one of his people, or even another clan, Xichen would have removed the ribbon on his wedding night, but he is not certain of the protocol in this situation and anyway, the warlord can’t possibly understand its significance.

The man is motionless, not pulling away, not moving closer, but his breathing shifts, deepening, perhaps less regular than it had been before. Slivers of ice glide down Xichen’s spine. Warm breath tickles the space between his eyes, and the warlord seems on the cusp of a decision.

And then he kisses Xichen’s mouth. He isn’t cruel, but he isn’t chaste either, angling his lips against Xichen’s and pressing into him. He catches Xichen’s lower lip in his and tugs. It feels like a rope tied directly to his groin, and the sensation almost makes Xichen moan; he only barely stops himself before the sound escapes. The warlord’s long, straight nose drags against Xichen’s, a silent demand, and his tongue flicks across the line of Xichen’s lips. Xichen’s mouth drops open, either from surprise or desire, and he can’t hold back the muted groan at the feeling, the unbelievable fire, of the man’s tongue touching his. He leans forward, closing his eyes, willing to accept this duty, but with a soft sigh of resignation, the warlord releases him.

They stare at each other, the warlord’s eyes searching Xichen’s, and for once, Xichen has no idea what expression is on his face. The man raises an eyebrow. Asking permission? Critiquing his performance? Xichen doesn’t know. He hadn’t asked permission before, but either way, it seems safe to smile, so he does. Whatever the warlord had been asking, Xichen seems to have given an acceptable answer. The man smiles back, and Xichen is stunned, absolutely stupefied, by the way it transforms his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and carving deep dimples into his cheeks.

“Da iko auha oriho,” he says before he leaves, and although Xichen has no idea what he’s said, it doesn’t really matter. (1)

He curses some ingrained notion of courtesy that won’t allow him to keep calling a man he’s kissed “the warlord” anymore.

Fine.

Huaisang had said his name was Mingjue. Xichen could say his name. 

It was only a word.

Mingjue.

Translation Notes

(1)  Da iko auha oriho. / I will return tomorrow.