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spnae · 2 years

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Chapter 19 Baby Blue

“Good heavens woman, I’m not sure I’ll be able to move tomorrow after all that,” Giles was saying as he and Zara got off the elevator back in the entryway.

“Just think, I used to get paid good money for services like that,” she grinned. Zara had put him through his paces on the stairs and gave him some exercises to do to help him with his recovery.

“What ever made you leave physical therapy in the first place? Clearly you were good at your job.”

“I changed a lot of things after my husband died. I loved PT, loved helping people but I just needed something different. The music shop might have its slow days but I do well enough. I love the sense of community I get where I’m at. Heck I even love the tourists who come in and clean out my shelves. I do online sales too and it’s more than enough to keep me above water. Especially since my daughter is still hanging on for the time being. She’s saving up for a place of her own. If she keeps booking appointments the way she has been she’ll have it in no time.”

Zara was just about to leave when the front door opened. Faith and Callum walked in.

Callum was a little taken aback to see Zara there, “Mrs. Cambell? What are you doing here?”

Zara laughed, “Bloody hell Callum. How many times have I told you to call me Zara.”

“Sorry ma’am old habits. I was just surprised to see you here.”

“Likewise, I’m here visiting a friend, what are you doing here?”

Callum hesitated and looked at Faith, “My girlfriend lives here,” he said a little bashfully.

Zara eyed him approvingly, “I see. Nice choice Faith.”

Faith adjusted the large paper bag in her arms to shake Zara’s hand, “Good to see you again,” Faith glanced at Callum, “Yeah I kinda think I might keep this one.”

“Had a rough start, but he’s really turned himself around. Grown into a fine young man now.”

Callum laughed, “Oh come off it, Mrs— eh, Zara. You know you love me.”

“Aye, the son I never had.”

“So who’s at the shop? Is Gemma watching it for you?” Callum asked.

“Oh aye,” Zara looked at her watch, “Speaking of Gemma, I really must be off. She has an appointment and I need to get back to the shop before she has to leave.”

Callum moved from in front of the door inadvertently pulling Faith with him, “Alright then, tell her I might have some work coming her way.”

“Is that so Callum? I thought you decided you were done after that last one.”

“Oh I am done for now, this is for the Lass here. She’s got one started, she wants to have finished.”

“He showed you my daughter’s handy work did he?” Zara grinned mischievously.

Faith nodded, “She’s an amazing artist. I’m pretty sold, I want her to finish this one.”

Giles looked puzzled, “You don’t mean the one on your arm do you?”

Faith laughed, “Nah, this one isn’t anywhere I’m advertising to you.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

“Oh Rupert, as much as I like you now, sometimes seeing a little hint of the old ‘Ripper’ wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Zara grinned. Then she straightened up, “Alright children, I’ll tell Gemma to expect your call. I’ll see you later, Rupert. Don’t forget what I said about that leg.”

“Don’t worry about me. Thank you for the torture.”

“Not in front of the kids,” she winked, kissing him on the cheek. Soon Zara was back in her car heading into town.

Callum followed Giles into the living room. While Faith put the bag of blood in the refrigerator next to the smaller one Ursula had gotten earlier. In the living room Giles settled himself down on one couch and propped up his leg.

“I trust you two had a good evening,” Giles said a little dryly.

“The best. She’s quite a woman.”

“Yes she is. She has grown to be quite important to us here.”

“Faith told me how you’ve become like family to her. That’s important, family is everything.”

Giles smiled, “Well if Zara approves of you I can certainly give you a chance.”

“Not sure Faith would give you a choice on that. Not sure I would either come to that.”

Faith came back in and sat down next to Callum on the other couch.

“So Zara is your friend Gemma’s mom. Crazy,” Faith said, turning to Callum.

“I’ll say. Mrs. Cambell is one of my mum's closest friends. She’s bound to tell her I was here. Gemma and I were thick as thieves when we were young, still are really.”

“I bet she’s got some stories.”

“That she does.”

“So is this friend, just a friend or—“

“Never serious if that’s what you’re getting at. We grew up together, tested the waters when we were teenagers but that’s about it. We’re much better as friends.”

“She was your first wasn’t she?” Faith punched him lightly in the arm jokingly.

“Well yeah, course she was, not like it’s a big deal now though.”

“Oh I really need to talk to this chick,” she laughed.

“Oh God, I am definitely in trouble now,” he laughed.

Faith patted his leg and turned to Giles who was laying with his glasses off and his arm over his eyes, “How was your visit with your special friend, Giles?”

“She reminded me she had originally been trained as a physical therapist.”

Callum laughed, “Oh, she got you didn’t she? She worked with my dad when he hurt his back. The doctors told him he’d need to walk with a cane after his surgery. Mrs. C, worked him hard but he’d be the first to tell you it was worth it. He’s still working and plays with his grandkids without a cane.”

“And can pick you up.”

“Never know he ever had a problem at all.”

“Oh I’m sure. Right now my whole body hurts.”

“Do you need one of your pain pills?” Faith asked.

“No, no. I’m alright. I’ll be fine with a little rest.”

“Where’s the baby?”

“We didn’t want Zara seeing him so Buffy had the girls take him upstairs. I think he’s in the fourth room.”

“And Buffy and Spike?”

“Probably upstairs, I haven’t seen them since Zara got here.”

“Alright that’s fine. Is there anything you need before we head up there ourselves?”

“I think I have everything I need at the moment. That little session with Zara reminded me that I really must be getting things for myself as much as possible. I’ll call out if I need help with something.”

“Might have to call loud. Come on Cal, you want to see what a demon baby looks like?”

Giles clicked his tongue, “Now really Faith the child is not a sideshow freak.”

“Never said it was, just thought Callum might like to see one. I’m kind of curious myself. I haven’t seen too many. They’re usually pretty gnarly.”

“Most demons don’t reproduce in what we would call ‘the traditional way’, but these ones do. The child is actually kind of cute.”

Callum turned to Faith looking at her a little confused, “Do I even want to know what he means by that?”

Faith took a moment before she answered, “Honestly, no. I really don’t think you want to know.”

“Fair enough. Alright, let’s see the little dude.”

“What are we calling the kid anyway?” Faith interjected.

Giles raised his eyebrows a little and replaced his glasses, “I’m not sure we are calling him anything.”

“He’s with the girls, you know he’s got a name by now. We’ll go check it out. This sounds like a nice easy introduction for Callum.”

“Much easier than most, I should say.”

Faith led Callum up to her room checking in on the girls along the way. Callum set down the canvas messenger bag he had with him on the chair. Although he had been upstairs a number of times in a professional capacity this was the first time he had been on the third floor, and in Faith’s room.

“Buffy wasn’t kidding when she said you liked weaponry,” he said, taking in the decor. He raised his eyebrows as he spied the crossbow and swords above the bed, “Those secure?” He asked.

“Oh yeah they’re secure, but you can check them out. I mean I’ve never tested them out with a guy in my bed, I got the swords after my ex split.”

Callum walked over and examined one of them, “I’d say they should hold.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, business first, then we can settle in.” Faith strode out into the hall and knocked on the door. A moment later the door opened a crack revealing Spike’s pale form. His hair was disheveled and he was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs with little battle axes printed on them.

“What is it, Faith?” Spike grunted.

“Sorry to wake the dead. Where’s Buffy?”

“We were both trying to get some shuteye before taking a shift with little-boy-blue. Oh hey Cal….” he trailed off as he turned his head towards the bed distractedly, “Look I’d better get back over to her. I think she’s having another blasted nightmare. We’ve got an alarm set. Come get us if things go sideways or if Peaches calls.”

“Go get your girl, I’ll check on stuff here.”

“Cheers, love,” Spike said, closing the door on them.

“Peaches?”

“He means Angel,” Faith directed him towards the stairs.

“Peaches though?”

“Yeah I never got that one either. Captain Forehead I get...”

“Takes talent to come up with a good nickname, some of the best don’t make sense to the rest of the world.”

“Are you developing a little man-crush?”

“No, I just appreciate a good nickname, is all.”

“Xander is another one who’s got a knack for it.”

“Now who's that?”

“Buffy’s Mr. Fix-it.”

“Your construction guy, yeah?”

“I might’ve popped his cherry, but he’s her construction guy,” she gave him a wide grin. “Except that Giles has him chasing down a bunch of old safe houses looking for books and artifacts that might help us out. Word is that he is returning to Europe any day now, today or tomorrow maybe. I forget what she told me.”

“The travel bit sounds exciting.”

“I think he just needed some time after everything happened. His girl didn’t make it.”

“Was she a slayer?”

“Nah, ex-vengeance demon. Used to annoy everyone with sex stories about her and Xander.”

“Seriously?”

“Everytime she did, I just shut her up by reminding her who had him first. Got her every time. Kinda feel bad about it now…”

“Still though, doesn’t sound like she had much of a filter.”

Faith shrugged as they reached the top floor, “Ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Faith knocked lightly on the door before letting herself in. The baby was making loud screeching sounds as Ursula was struggling to change his diaper as little blue feet kicked around wildly. She didn’t even notice Faith and Callum in the doorway.

Addison came from behind them from the elevator and rushed into the room “Sorry it took so long, Babe, I almost forgot about the goat's blood and sort of had to start over to add it,” she said in a rush.

Ursula finished changing the little blue baby and put him over her shoulder as Addison handed the bottle over to her along with a quick kiss. They both sat down with him. Ursula adjusted him in her arms, offering the bottle to him tentatively. The baby took the bottle immediately, happily sucking away.

“Aww look, mein Schatz, he is doing just fine now.”

“Looks like the goat's blood is a big hit,” Faith interrupted.

Both girls looked up, “Hey Faith, we didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow,” Addison said.

Faith shot Callum a rye look, “Yeah I wasn’t going to, but figured I should be closer to the action.”

“Not really much action, just baby care. Never thought we’d be doing this during training.”

The baby finished the bottle in record time. Addison draped a burp cloth over her shoulder and took him from Ursula. She patted his back and the baby let out a little burp with a tiny fireball and a puff of smoke.

“Never saw a baby do that before,” Callum said wide eyed.

“You want to hold him?” Addison asked.

Faith stepped up taking the baby, “Give him here. Ok this is by far the cutest demon I’ve ever seen. Just don’t grow up to kill people ok? I’d hate to have to chop off your head little man.”

“Don’t think that will be a problem with this guy. His kind pretty much avoids human contact altogether according to the books. Although they have been known to drown people and can defend themselves pretty effectively on occasion. Sinking ships and stuff. But you know, most of that is from the olden days. Any more they don’t seem to pop up unless it’s self defense.”

“See I don’t have major problems with that. Kid got a name yet?”

“Yeah, we’ve been calling him Alun, he seems to like it. Don’t you Alun?” Addison crooned.

Faith raised an eyebrow, “Do you mean Alan?”

“Nope, Alun.”

“It’s one of ours, Lass.”

Faith raised an eyebrow.

“Celtic, Lass. Not unheard of.”

“Oh, ehh ok. Alun it is then,” she said bouncing him a little she turned to Callum, “Do you want a turn? This is the tamest first demon encounter you could hope for. Unless you count Spike, but he’s only seriously dangerous to other demons nowadays.”

“I’ll start with the wee one before I get hit with the real thing.”

“You hang around us long enough and you will,” Faith said dryly as she passed the baby to him.

“Hey there buddy-boy,” the baby scrunched up his little face and gave him a dubious look, “Not much different than my nephews really.” With that, Alun started fussing, “See, just like my nephews when they were this young,” he said as he handed the baby back to Addison and Ursula.

The minute Alun was back in Ursula’s arms he settled down and started to giggle, “Sort of makes me think we should do this for real someday, you’d be a great mom,” Addison said as she fixed a strand of Ursula’s chin-length auburn hair.

“You too…” She said leaning in for a kiss.

“Gotta say, looks like you girls got it handled. Buffy and Spike are up to bat next. We’re going to disappear for a while after I check things out around here.”

“I’d say don’t do anything we wouldn’t but you kinda already are,” Ursula smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. Keep it clean in front of the kid. Oh, where are Zari and Wendy?”

“Crashing in with the level threes. Kinda keeping this baby-vill for now.”

“Alright, we’re out.”

“Night, Faith.”

The two of them made their way down to the fourth floor, “Now this looks familiar.”

“You spent enough time up here working on the bathroom. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in Slayer stuff I probably would have been up here watching you work more.”

“I seem to remember you checking in pretty frequently.”

“Couldn’t exactly jump your bones while we were both working.”

“Especially with Angus there the whole time.”

“Might have enjoyed the show,” Faith teased as she checked the rooms. Satisfied that all the girls were present and accounted for within the castle, Faith turned to Callum, “You hungry?”

Callum crooked a smile, “Is that a trick question?”

“I could use a little something, now you mention it.”

Callum bent down to kiss her, pinning her against the wall at the end of the quiet hall. Faith pushed him back a little, “Technically, I’m not even supposed to be back yet,” she grinned.

******************

It was Friday morning when the phone rang. Callum automatically reached out an arm and grabbed the phone. Without looking, he answered gruffly “Hello.”

“Eh— Hello?” Angle hesitated, and checked the number he had dialed, “Is Faith there?

“Who the ruddy hell is—” He started to ask before cutting himself off and looking at the phone in his hand. He put the phone back up to his ear, “Sorry about that, mate. Picked up Faith‘s phone by mistake. You must be, Angel, her American friend coming to visit.”

“Ah, yeah… her American friend. Is Faith there?”

“Course, she is. I’ll get her,” Callum moved the phone away from his face and rolled towards her, “Faith, wake up, Love. Phone for you.”

Faith moaned sleepily, “Tell’em I’m busy… unless it’s Angel.”

He chuckled, “It is Angel, Lass.”

Faith moaned, turning towards Callum, “Shit, I feel like we just went to sleep.”

“Could have stayed at mine, Love.”

“Like we would have slept any more there than here?”

“Fair enough, Lass. Don’t leave your mate hanging on the line there,” Callum smirked. Angel rolled his eyes as he listened to the two of them talking.

Faith took the phone from Callum, “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Making my way to you and Buffy I’m guessing. She sent me a ‘911’ text saying to get to Edinburgh and now she’s not answering her phone. I’m almost to Edinburgh but I don’t know where I’m going from there. There’s also a sunlight issue in play here that’s going to make things tricky if I don’t figure something out quick. Who the hell is that with you anyway?”

“That’s Callum, my guy, you’ll meet him. I bet Buffy and Spike are tied up with the situation we have going on here. We’ve been going in shifts and it’s their turn. We need you to put a stop to it and set things right. Just tell me when and where and we’ll come get you. I’ll bring a blanket.”

“Eh sure, thanks… eh Faith?”

“Yeah?”

“Spike… is he— are they—“

“Yeah man… real serious too. Are you going to be alright man?”

He was silent for a moment, “Is she happy?”

“Any more and I’d barf; no joke.”

“I huhh—“ he cleared his throat, “What’s the problem? Sounds like she’s got all the help she needs, why do you really need me anyway?”

“Kinda a long story, some demons called Minch or something. I’ll fill you in when I see you. Now, when and where?”

“Oh, great… this should be loads of fun,” he grumbled.

************

Angel leaned forward from the back seat of Faith’s blue vintage Volkswagen. “So basically you needed me because Spike is a sucky diplomat?” he said sarcastically, once Faith had filled him in on the situation.

“Well, yeah that and he doesn’t speak the language.”

“He was always a subpar student.”

“Learned plenty from you from what I hear,” Faith snipped.

“Man enough to call for help when he knew he couldn’t do the job himself,” Callum interjected.

Angel sighed, “Look, Callum is it? I appreciate you seem to have something super-duper-special going on here with Faith. But you don’t know me well enough or lived long enough to teach me life lessons. I’ve got 250 years worth of life experience, and you don’t know Spike like I do,” he growled the last sentence.

“Knock it off. He’s not wrong, Angel. So you have history with the guy and can remember when women couldn’t own property, so what?.”

“Or when George II was King.”

“Sure, that too… Angel, man. I love you like family and we need your help with this, so I’m just going to say it. Get your head out of your ass. Maybe learn a new life lesson here since you’re so good at dishing them out. And for the love of sanity remember that zero of this is about Spike and your ex getting it on every chance they get. They’re in love with a capital ‘L’, you need to let it go man. Let her go, because she’s already gone.”

Angel sat back in his cramped seat in the back of the little car, crossed his arms and mumbled something incoherent under his breath. The rest of the drive back to the castle was a quiet one. Callum rested his hand on top of Faith’s, interlacing their fingers on top of the gearshift. She glanced at their fingers and back up at the road with a grin on her face she couldn’t describe. It was simple but powerful and unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

************

It was late afternoon before they got back to the castle. As promised, Faith had supplied Angel with a blanket to protect him from the car to the door.

“Come on in, Angel. Welcome to Slayer Central.”

Angel stepped over the threshold and murmured his thanks. Once inside, Faith eyed Angel critically as he took in his surroundings.

“Angel?”

“Faith?”

“We good?”

Angel bobbed his head, “You and I are good. I can’t make any promises about Spike. We had come to sort of an understanding in LA…”

“And then he and Buffy got together. You must’ve known.”

“I knew he was freaking out because of some nightmares he had about Buffy. Started insisting he had to go find her. I thought he was going nuts the way he was acting, but I probably would have gone with him, if I’d been able to. Sort of hoped that even if he did find Buffy she'd just say ‘thanks for the help’ and send him packing.”

“Like she did with you in Sunnydale?”

“That was a totally different situation—“

“Yeah whatever you got to tell yourself. So you got your choice, you can either crash on the couch down here or the one up in Giles’s room. Personally I would take Giles up on his offer, you’d get a lot less teenage girls wanting to watch TV.”

“I’ll take the quiet one.”

“Good choice.”

“So where is everyone?” Angel asked.

“Probably outside or upstairs. Grab your gear and I’ll give you the dime tour.

***************

Spike stood in the doorway watching Buffy as she laid the baby down for a nap. The little guy had fallen asleep clutching a lock of her hair. Buffy had to carefully pry his little fingers off of her hair to free herself. Once she was free of his tiny grasp she was able to lay him down in the makeshift bassinet and back quietly out of the room. Spike moved into the hall, still watching her as she closed the door quietly.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Drive and work retail for starters,” she smirked, “Ballroom dancing?”

“I’ve seen you dance and I’ve seen you fight. I bet you could handle it if you tried.”

“Says you.”

“I’m serious, you’re really good with the little tike.”

“Funny, considering the only baby experience I have is from when Dawn was a baby… which didn’t actually happen, so that’s just weird.”

“Better than mine.”

She raised an eyebrow and moved towards him, “I am going to pass the baby baton to the next lucky contestants. I think I need some food, are you coming?”

Spike raised a hand caressing her hair, “Love to. Little tike spit up on me earlier. I smell like sodding bloody-vomit and formula, it’s revolting.”

“I was trying not to say anything.”

“You go down, I’ll be along after I take care of this and change.”

Buffy kissed him, “You weren’t so bad in there yourself, you know. I mean yeah there was the puke, and the thing with the fire… but you got it under control.”

“Oh yeah, fire burping baby and you got your hair down.”

“I didn’t have a problem. Maybe he just likes me more.”

“That’s probably it,” he continued looking at her for a long moment.

“Earth to Spike. You didn’t go catatonic on me did you? Because I’m pretty sure we haven’t got this mind thing figured out enough for that.”

Spike chuckled, “I just love seeing you like this, is all. Just want to commit it to memory.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she reached up to kiss him, “Even if there is another super hot vampire staying with us.”

Their lips met and Spike began to deepen the kiss when Buffy started to pull away, “Umm, Honey, yeah. You were right about the bloody-vomit and formula thing. Super gross,” she patted him on the chest, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Tried to warn you,” he smirked. He continued to watch her as she headed downstairs.

#fanfic #buffy the vampire slayer #bound #buffy fanfic #buffy x spike #spuffy #spike x buffy

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elnotwoods · 2 years

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For someone who didn’t vibe with parts 1 and 2 of episode 12 as much as I have hoped I would…

I must say that the ending we got is all that could have asked for.

Pat and Pran happy, living their lives and building each other up. Supporting each other, being there for each other while still being so disgustingly in love it’s unreal.

I know I felt a bit disheartened while watching live because I felt that the first two parts just took too much time away from other things but you know what? That’s fine too.

I guess the last episode was more of an epilogue, a bit of a “where are they now” thing rather than a typical last episode that would maybe address some issues.

Because at the end of the day, Pat and Pran did what felt right to them at the time. They were still young, with their parents supporting them through university and the real reason for the conflict freshly revealed. That was not the time to fight with their parents about the relationship. It could have ended even worse, one of them would have certainly been moved away for sure and the parents would have interfered more.

So ultimately, yes, they hid the relationship.. from them. The people who stood beside them this whole time, and Wai, knew about it. They literally found their small little family that accepted them and helped them be happy the way they chose to be.

And they didn’t hide it for long. At least I don’t think they did. They sure think they’re slick and discreet but they can’t stop looking at each other with hearteyes. Their parents must have notice way earlier than what we saw after the time skip. Just the look on Pat’s mother’s face when Paa mentioned that Pran is back home. She literally brightens up and asks in a very hopeful voice if he’s back home for real. She knows. Ming knows too but his pride and also the shame he feels won’t let him acknowledge it just yet.

But at the end of the day, they all know. They don’t address it but they know. They’re finally letting their children do whatever they want to do because at the end of the day they can’t control them anymore. Can’t dictate how they should behave or who they can or cannot interact with. And I feel like they finally realised that the conflict is their own, it’s not something their children should be involved in.

It’s such a relatable thing for queer people too. Our parents and people we love might know about us being gay, but they sometimes just can’t be part of that. They don’t like being reminded that we’re different, that we live a different life that they have hoped we would live. So there is shared knowledge between us, we know that they know… they know. But we don’t advertise our relationships to them, because actually, it does not concern them. And it’s not because we’re ashamed or fear their reactions.. no, we choose to have them in our lives on our terms while still living the life we want. If our parents aren’t part of this portion of our lives, it does not mean it isn’t valid, cherished or desired. We just separate those two to be able to enjoy both to its full extent. And if the parents decide to be more involved, they have to show that they did the work and that they deserve to be a part of it.

And I think that’s exactly what Pat and Pran did. They’re still in a committed and loving relationship and if their parents want to be part of their lives fully, they have to do the work. Pat and Pran did their part and now it’s their parents time to step up.

#you know… i have a lot of thoughts about the finale #most of them are positive some are negative #but overall #i love that they got to protect what’s important to them #pran x pat #el’s thoughts #bad buddy

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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Brain topic du jour is reflecting on the frankly weird as fuck pattern in Dick’s life where....he barely ever experiences losses one at a time. Most of the loss he’s experienced in his life is compounded by him losing multiple people and other elements of stability all at the exact same time.

1) When his parents died, in some continuities this is coupled with him losing his extended family of his aunt and cousin as well, with his uncle left comatose and on life support for years before he eventually died as well. Even in continuities without Richard, Karla and John, the loss of Dick’s parents is compounded by the additional loss of his circus family in the sense that he was taken away from them by the state and their constant reassuring presences in his life were no longer comforts he was able to rely on.

2) When Jason died, Dick didn’t just lose his brother, as the tragedy was compounded by Bruce’s reaction. I’ll never be able to gloss over the effects of NTT #55, personally, because I think its too key to Dick’s entire characterization and the specific direction his character took in the years that followed this, to like....disregard that Bruce however unintentionally, while lost in his own grief, added to Dick’s own sense of loss for Jason in probably the worst way possible. As by kicking Dick out and telling him to leave his keys, Dick - having no way to know or guess that they’d ever reconcile, just like he never actually went back to the circus being a regular presence for him - to Dick, this was in essence the equivalent of his childhood tragedy all over again. Losing not just one family member, but his whole family in one sweep, and all the comforts and stability offered by a home he was forced to leave. Even Dick’s contact with Alfred was minimal for awhile, because why would the guy who basically JUST saw history repeat itself and was like, well I know how THIS tends to play out.....why would he think that if Alfred felt forced to actually choose between his loyalties to Bruce and Dick respectively, that Alfred would pick Dick over the man he’d known and raised from childhood himself?

3) Titans Hunt. I know I harp on this one a lot, but you can’t deny that it fits the pattern. Dick didn’t just lose one friend and teammate.....he lost Joey, he lost a good four or five lesser known Titans who nevertheless were people he viewed as directly HIS responsibility to keep safe. With these tragedies compounded by the fact that though comics played out a lot more slowburn and extended stories over years back then, like.....the aftermath of Titans Hunt was still everpresent and directly died into Dick’s reactions and emotions during the Mirage storyline and everything that happened with the failed wedding and his breakup with Kory AND the fact that he was literally forced off the team he’d basically founded, by the government agency that took over the team and appointed Roy as its leader in his stead.

3) Graduation Day. The second time the Titans disbanded it was again not due to a singular loss, because Dick didn’t just lose Donna at this point, but also Lilith died in the exact same story and though Lilith is criminally underused, like, she’s also one of Dick’s oldest friends. She was literally the first Titan to join after the original five. This then led into the Outsiders era, where Dick was shown to still be reeling from the losses of this story for an extended period of time, and in a fun parallel to the Titans Hunt aftermath, Dick was also ousted from his leadership of THIS team by essentially a vote of no confidence by his teammates (and uh, Bruce too, literally).

4) The Blockbuster arc. Where Dick’s emotional state was due to a continued string of multiple losses. He lost his apartment building and almost every one of the neighbors he’d built a community out of, as we’d been shown him actively involving himself in their lives and vice versa for YEARS before this point. Then he lost his circus, his childhood home, burned to the ground and with dozens of deaths - both spectators and actual performers Dick had known and loved as a child. Then he lost his relationship with Barbara, his sense of self-security and autonomy to Tarantula, he lost another teen vigilante who died in his colors, the mantle HE’D created, when Stephanie was believed dead in War Games, and it all culminated in losing the city he’d invested himself in as his CHOSEN home, the place he dedicated himself to protecting, when Chemo blew it up.

Oh just for the record - my nonexistent passport to the magical kingdom of Narnia for a fic that raises the point when bringing up Tim’s losses in the Red Robin era, that like.....ALL of the above happened at literally the EXACT SAME TIME as all Tim’s referenced losses occurred. Obviously Steph meant more to Tim than Dick on a personal level, but I also included her largely as an anchor point to the timeline, to show how that death, and not long after that Jack Drake’s and then Superboy’s.... occurred right smack in the middle of one of the absolute WORST periods of Dick’s life. To be clear, I don’t intend this to suggest that no actually, Dick had it harder than Tim - nah.

No thank you. Hard pass. I hate that sort of thing even in support of my own faves over other characters. No, instead the thing I’d love to see explored more is just in light of the SPECIFIC angle fics take here - that Dick’s actions while Bruce was lost in time showed an obliviousness to everything Tim had lost lately - for literally ANYONE to bring up or introduce into the timeline here an awareness of everything Dick had lost AT THE EXACT SAME TIME PERIOD. To establish that actually, Dick didn’t just ‘not understand what it was like’ - rather, its more accurate to say that nobody in universe around this time ever shows an awareness of Dick’s own losses and says oh wait, that doesn’t track then.

Because obviously, with this stuff put in proper perspective, Dick understands VERY VERY WELL the exact thing we’re accusing him of not understanding by being oblivious to Tim’s losses that he’s not actually oblivious to because he tries to talk to Tim about them all the time, while meanwhile its everyone else who has absolutely mum to say about the fact that Dick’s emotional state is compromised to hell and back at this point, not JUST because of losing Bruce, but also because *gestures wildly* literally ALL OF THE ABOVE in the exact same time frame Tim’s extended losses happened in.

And okay I am going to indulge in slight tiny itty bitty pettiness and point out my ire that so many fics set during this time tend to recite listicles of Tim’s losses, with Steph, Kon and Jack Drake at the very top of said list....while paying no attention whatsoever to the fact that STEPH WAS LITERALLY BACK BY THE TIME THE RED ROBIN SERIES HAPPENED. She’s LITERALLY a person Dick sends to check up on Tim after Tim turns Dick away when he tries himself. How are you gonna stress the impact Steph’s loss has on Tim when you’re not even acknowledging STEPH’S RIGHT HERE IN THE EXACT SPECIFIC CANON STORY YOU’RE CITING??? I just. afhioskhflafhlafhklfahlfa.

And not to put too fine a point on it, but you know who ELSE was also back at the same time? CONNOR. Superboy LITERALLY was already back to life by the time the Red Robin series even began. Like, the issue where a resurrected Kon and Cassie (Wonder Girl) have a heart to heart about the fact that Tim and Cassie ‘connected’ during his absence and Connor stresses that this doesn’t bother him or make him feel negatively towards either of them at all, because hello, he was literally dead at the time, why would he mind that two of the people he loves most in the world sought comfort in each other? Yeah, that issue? Literally came out BEFORE Tim even became Red Robin.

I MEAN. I’m just saying, when people constantly take shots at Dick’s choices during this period because of how much Tim had lost before Bruce already, in order to shift focus away from the fact that Dick lost Bruce every bit as much as Tim did......and you repeatedly emphasize the SAME three names as the focal point of Tim’s losses while paying no acknowledgment whatsoever to everything Dick lost at the exact same time Tim lost these three.....it quickly becomes kiiiiiiinda relevant in my opinion THAT TWO OF THE THREE NAMES CONSTANTLY MENTIONED AS BEING TIM’S LOSSES ARE NO LONGER EVEN LOST BY THE TIME THE SUBJECT COMES UP. Again, I’m just saying! Pettily, mind you! I am aware of the pettiness, I just beg awareness of like *again gesticulates wildly at all of the above* ALL THAT!

LOL.

But I digress.

5) When Bruce was believed dead while he was lost in the timestream. Again, Dick didn’t just lose the father who had been the only parent in his life for almost TWICE as long as his first parents......this was coupled with the loss of numerous other sources of stability in Dick’s life. There’s the matter of his personal sense of identity and self-expression....Dick FOUGHT against becoming Batman, trying to handle Gotham in Bruce’s absence as Nightwing for as long as he could, because he knew being Batman was very much NOT going to be good for him. He put so much of himself into building his identity as Nightwing, establishing himself in that role, that self-image, that yes, I maintain it was an actual LOSS for Dick, to feel like he had no choice but to give that up and everything it meant to him and his own life, in order to essentially live Bruce’s life for him in his absence.

Because it wasn’t just being Batman that Dick was struggling with at this time....he also had to act as the patriarch to the Wayne family, essentially raise Bruce’s ten year old son, step into Bruce’s old role in Wayne Enterprises, all while getting no acknowledgment for any of this, for literally LIVING his father’s life instead of the life Dick had worked so hard to build for HIMSELF....because of course Dick’s actions and struggles couldn’t even be advertised beyond the family and close friends, because the whole point of him doing all this was so that nobody else even realized that Bruce wasn’t really there anymore. Dick didn’t just assume Bruce’s responsibilities. Dick assumed Bruce’s life, so thoroughly that most people didn’t even put together that Bruce was ‘dead,’ between Dick handling Bruce’s actual roles and responsibilities while Hush made public appearances as him.

Like, when you’re living someone else’s life so completely that nobody can tell they’re even gone....how on earth does that leave any time or space for you to have ANY kind of life of your OWN, y’know? Not to mention the fact that like in so many times previously....all this meant that Dick couldn’t even afford to let his grief for his own losses show, because he wasn’t supposed to be grieving any losses in the first place, that was the whole point of the con!

Additionally, couple this with the fact that throughout this time period, Dick didn’t have Tim to lean on at all, because it was never that Dick kicked Tim out or neglected him or didn’t care....he’d actively stressed how much he needed Tim, because the partner Tim was convinced Dick chose ‘over’ him - Dick was the first one to admit back then that he DIDN’T trust Damian yet, couldn’t afford to, because he was all too aware that Damian didn’t give a fuck about him yet and couldn’t be guaranteed to step in to have Dick’s back - because that required mutual trust that Dick literally just hadn’t had time to build yet. And add to THAT the fact that during this time, Jason was actively antagonizing the family and Dick in particular at every turn, trying to bring them all down and basically write over what all of them saw as Bruce’s legacy with Jason’s own version of what he thought that should look like.

Also also, take into account that unlike how often we see fanon depict Dick as just too stubborn or proud to ask for help, there’s the fact that he actually had very few avenues TO ask for help! As already established, he DID ask Tim for help. Not like Jason was an option at this time, and Dick’s friends weren’t actually just sitting waiting in the wings and groaning about the fact that Dick was trying to do all of this solo....nah, they kinda had their own problems, which Dick was all too aware of?

Like the fact that in the wake of Final Crisis, it wasn’t just Bruce that was believed lost. Many other key Leaguers like Martian Manhunter were dead or lost, with others struggling to fill the gaps left in their absence. Cry For Justice happened right after Final Crisis too....that story where Lian was murdered? So it wasn’t like Dick was remotely going to try leaning on Roy when Roy had just lost his freaking DAUGHTER and very much wasn’t handling it well (and not to overshadow Roy’s loss at ALL, but please let’s not act like Dick - who had literally been the person to put a baby Lian in Roy’s arms for the first time and had known that girl for pretty much her entire life - like, it shouldn’t be used to detract from Roy’s loss at all, but it shouldn’t have to, to just acknowledge that Lian’s loss right at this exact time was painful as fuck to Dick, who’d loved his niece like crazy.)

The pattern of compounding, concurrent losses in Dick’s life. I’m just saying. Its there.

And it extends into the New 52 as well, where Forever Evil came right on the heels of Dick losing his circus in THIS continuity to the Joker, just as a way to hurt him in Death of A Family. And with the aftermath of Forever Evil and Dick’s own literal death, being like....the complete loss of Dick’s entire life, even though he was revived quickly. That didn’t mean he got to live HIS life though, since Dick Grayson was believed dead and he was told had to remain so, so its like fuck whatever he actually wanted to do as he went about on the Spyral mission aka something that pinched his own sense of morality and personal agenda at every turn and was kinda the last thing a therapist would recommend for a trauma recovery period, lol. And like, for all the focus that was paid to how Dick’s family were hurt because they believed they’d lost him when he was actually alive, let’s not forget that for all intents and purposes, Dick DID lose his family in the wake of his resurrection because he was flat out told over and over that due to what ‘he’d LET happen to him’ he was an ACTIVE danger to them, and thus wasn’t allowed by Bruce to contact any of them or lean on them to any degree, until Bruce got amnesia and stopped blocking Dick’s pleas to return home by just not being there to pick up the secret phone line at all.

(And omg, the obliviousness that just EMANATES off the hot takes that Dick had a ‘choice’ in all this and he still CHOSE to do what Bruce told him....like. LOLOL, stop being pissy about me bringing up the term abuse apologism when its literal victim blaming to paint the guy who had to be beaten into ‘agreeing’ to the Spyral mission in the immediate wake of the trauma of DYING, all while his father vocally blamed him for his own suffering and the ‘threat’ he now posed to his family, keying directly into the guilt complex Bruce knows damn well is at the core of most of Dick’s motivations.....fucking please. There’s no choice in all that. That’s active emotional, mental and physical abuse aimed at directly manipulating Dick’s actions, delivered by the guy who knows Dick best in the world and whose approval - particularly when Dick is at absolute rock bottom aka Current Location - matters more to Dick than just about anything because his sense of self-worth has more in common with dog shit than actual dog shit does. Or something. Idk. That analogy got away from me. But like. You get it.)

BUT. I. DIE. GRESS. (I guess).

Aaaaaaanyway, so yeah! That repeating pattern throughout Dick’s life of ‘loss? What loss (singular)? My losses only come in groups, lolol, fuuuuuun’ - mmmm. Yeah. So that’s what’s on MY brain right now. Thoughts?

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki's Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 14: Ynatu's Auction House AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around. RATING: T

AO3 Link: here NOTES/WARNINGS: A little bit of bloody violence in this chapter so be warned if you're squeamish.

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Kuna watched as Loki paced back and forth in front of her, taking bites out of their last piece of bread. He had one arm bent behind his back, the other holding the bread in front of his face. He stared at the floor as he walked, his eyes occasionally darting from side to side as if reading an invisible page. He muttered to himself and shook his head, turning on his heel and going back the other way.

“So, if the Masters needed to trace back slaves to their families, should they show potential with magic, how would they do that?” Loki asked, his mouth full of another bite of bread.

Kuna stared at him. He had been pacing back and forth all morning, asking her periodic questions about her home-system. She answered what she could, but it did not feel like they were getting anywhere. “Um, well, they could look at the little chip in my back,” she said.

She contorted around, stretching her arms behind her back until she was just touching the area around her shoulder blades. She reached under her shirt. “Here it is!” Her fingers rubbed a small patch of skin behind her left shoulder blade.

Loki dropped his bread in horror. “You have a microchip in you?” He dropped to his knees and felt her back, being careful around the bandaged areas until he found the spot Kuna showed him. He could feel a small, hard, lump just under her shoulder blade, deep below the skin.

“Mmm-hmm,” Kuna nodded. “The auctioneers scan it when we’re being sold to get all our information, like how many masters we’ve had and how old we are and what jobs we can do. I think it says who all of our old masters were and probably our families too.”

“I cannot believe they microchipped you,” Loki said, rubbing it with his finger. “Why didn’t you tell me? Does it hurt?”

“No! And you didn’t ask!” Kuna cried.

“All right but as soon as we’re done, this thing is coming out.”

Kuna pouted, regretting her decision to tell Loki about the chip.

“How do they scan this thing?” Loki asked, replacing Kuna’s shirt.

“With this little scanner gun thingy,” Kuna said. She pantomimed a small, handheld device, measuring it with her hands in the air. “I don’t know what it is. The auctioneers carried it with them... with their whips.” She shuddered at the thought. “I don’t wanna go back there.”

“It will be fine. We just have to steal one of these ‘thingies,’” - Loki copied her gesture - “from one of these auctioneers, scan your chip, and then we can figure out who, or at least where, your parents are. I’m sure they kept that information. Your people sound as paranoid as SHIELD.”

“Who?”

“They’re... never mind. Once we know where to find your parents, we can go to them and force—I mean figure out who cursed you.”

Kuna looked at him flatly. “Are you going to kill them?”

“What?! No! I won’t! I’m not!”

Kuna looked down at the floor in thought.

“If I did that, we wouldn’t get the information we need,” Loki continued.

Kuna did not respond. She folded her hands in her lap, occasionally picking at her palms.

“Listen, darling. You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. I will handle everything. And I won’t kill them, I promise.”

Kuna nodded, slowly.

“And I will be with you the whole time we’re there.”

“Do you think they ever loved me?” she asked.

Loki sighed. “Mmm. No, probably not.”

Kuna stared at him in shock.

“But my real parents didn’t love me either. So, you’re not alone.”

Kuna went back to picking at her palms.

“But… I love you,” Loki said, bumping her shoulder with his.

She smiled and hugged him. “I love you too.”

***

They arrived on a planet in Kuna’s home-system, in a dark alleyway that smelled putrid and damp. Loki’s nose crinkled at the foul smell, but Kuna took his hand and led him away. The city was closely quartered, with the buildings and houses nearly leaning onto each other across the streets. Stone and wooden buildings were packed together and stacked tall enough to topple over. Loki could see several different styles of architecture in one building alone, seeming to grow younger and more innovative with height.

“Where are we, Kuna?”

“This is called Yaraai. It’s a city where a lot of Freepeople live on the planet, Ynatu.”

“Freepeople,” Loki said.

“People who aren’t slaves but aren’t masters either.”

“How original,” Loki muttered.

He had not had any real direction when teleporting them back to Kuna’s system. He figured any planet in the system would have a slave auction where they could find an auctioneer with a scanner. This planet seemed to be the right place.

People passed by in dirty tunics covered in soot and who knows how many layers of grime. Loki could see at least a few different species of hominid-like beings. Torileena’s markets had not been so densely populated as this city. Loki had been quick to vacate them for the tranquility of Torileena’s massive trees. However, now he was quite interested in this system, despite its rather primitive culture.

A scaly, lizard man with a long tail and yellow eyes with slitted pupils watched them pass by as he leaned against a post. A woman with a copious amount of fur covering her entire body sold some kind of clothing that Loki thought was likely made of her own fur. A human-looking man shouted on a street corner about slave auctions, touting slaves starting at 10000 turans. Loki scoffed in disgust. Kuna’s shoulders slumped.

Kuna suddenly squeezed his hand and started to pull him to the side of the busy street. Loki looked up and found everyone standing against the walls, leaving a clearing through the middle of the street. Kuna tugged harder on his hand, but he ignored her. A man clad in fine robes was walking down the middle of the street towards them, clearly the cause of all the drama, trailed by several people wearing the same shackles he had found Kuna in.

Loki’s eyebrows raised at the sight of one of these masters Kuna was so afraid of.

“Loki! Get out of the way,” Kuna hissed at him, pulling on his arm. Her voice was quivering with fear.

But Loki stood his ground. Taking Kuna’s hand, he marched up the street. The Master stopped some yards ahead, aghast at the pair walking towards him. His slaves bumped into each other at the sudden stop and peeked around either side of him to see what was happening.

Loki walked with purpose, ignoring the gasps and whispers of the people flattened against the walls on either side of them. In truth, he quite liked their looks of shock as they passed.

Unable to free her hand from Loki’s, Kuna kept her head down, trying with all her might to disappear.

“This is preposterous!” the Master said loudly. “Get out of my way, yara.”

“What did he just call me?” Loki asked Kuna.

“It’s a nasty word for Freeperson,” she whispered. “We should move. He has right of way. He’s a Master.”

“I beg your pardon, yara,” Loki said haughtily to the Master. “I am no Freeperson. I am a god. And you’ll get out of my way before I smite you into a grease spot on this dirty street.”

There were gasps. A baby started crying. A man in the crowd fainted. Loki marched on, dragging Kuna with him. The Master took a step out of the way, mouth hanging open. The slaves skittered to the wall, away from Loki. Everyone watched as they passed by. Even the birds stopped chattering to watch.

Kuna was having a panic attack. Her chest heaved as Loki strode on, unfazed.

“I told you, I’d take care of everything,” he said to her.

“You’re crazy!” she breathed. “He could have killed us.”

“Bah, I think he’s a spineless little cockalorum,” Loki said, smiling at her.

Kuna was convinced he had gone truly mad. They approached the man advertising slaves.

“Where is this auction taking place, sir,” Loki asked politely.

“At the auction house, of course!” he replied.

Loki gave a stolid laugh. “Of course. And where might that be?”

“Follow this street til you see the big building.”

“The big building?” Loki asked, raising a brow at the big buildings all around them.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Right,” Loki scoffed.

“Don’t let those fools mark you down for that girl, now!” he called after them.

Kuna gasped and hopped a few steps to catch up with Loki as he walked. She knew the building when she saw it. Tall and black as night. The reliefs on the front showed slaves holding up the pillars of the building. Statues lining the angled roof depicted the first masters that had enslaved evil magic users. They glared down at her, accusingly.

Loki watched all manner of people filing in and out of the front of the giant building. The masters were easily recognizable as the cleanest and most well-dressed. The freepeople, he figured, were those who were dressed dirtily, speaking in hushed tones with masters as they walked by. However, he did not see any slaves.

“Kuna, where are the slaves?”

“Th-they go in the back way,” she whispered. She took his hand and pulled it close to her face almost speaking into it. “It’s much worse back there.”

“I can imagine.”

He knelt down in front of Kuna. “We’ll be quick in there. I know you don’t want to go in there, but we need to find one of those auctioneers and get that scanner.”

Kuna shook her head as he spoke. “I don’t wanna go in there,” she whispered, shaking her head. She felt suddenly foggy, like she was swimming in her own mind.

Loki looked at the auction house. Of course, he knew why she did not want to go in. He could not imagine the torture she had endured in this place. But he did not want to leave her alone either. He didn’t trust any of these people not to swoop in and try to kidnap her.

“I understand,” he said. “Tell you what. We’ll have some fun with it. I’m going to show you a trick I observed in the streets of Asgard more than a few times. It will help us get in and out of there as quickly as possible. We’ll be off this stinky planet before you know it.”

He whispered in her ear their plan. Kuna shook her head in fear, staring at the auction house while Loki explained the trick.

“It’ll be fun,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound like fun at all.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” He put on his most persuasive smile, batting his eyes at her.

Kuna rubbed her arms and looked up at him. She felt confused, suddenly disoriented like her mind did not wish to focus on the task at hand. But Loki’s shining smile reassured her. She sighed, “Okay.”

She pulled up her hood. It slid down over her eyes. Loki chuckled and pushed it back.

“Oh! I almost forgot! I found this tucked away in my pocket. It used to be mine, but I think it’ll fit you.”

He pulled out a small golden crown with two curving horns protruding from the front. Kuna gasped softly and touched it.

“Just like mine.” He patted his brow.

Kuna put the crown on and beamed up at Loki.

“Perfect,” he said.

She took his hand and they walked into the crowded building. They entered into a large room, lit by sparking magic torches. The room was the same black coloured marble as the outside of the building making it dark and foreboding. Stages lined the walls of the room, each with lines of slaves being bought and sold. The echo of men shouting prices and children wailing made Kuna shudder. It was hot and humid in the crowd. Kuna felt like she was suffocating.

“Do you see any of them?” Loki asked over the chatter.

Kuna stared at her feet. She did not want to look up at the stage where slaves were being showed off and bid on and sold in front of them. She could smell blood, surely from a slave with fresh flogging wounds. Other foul smells attacked her nostrils. She pushed her face into Loki’s leg.

“Kuna?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to do the same with her ears. And nose.

“Kuna? Which one’s the auctioneer?”

She shook her head.

“Hey, you there!” someone shouted. “Are you buying or selling?”

A man approached them. Kuna was shaking like a leaf. She stepped behind Loki’s legs, trying to hide herself behind his cape. She made the mistake of looking up at the man. His eyes were stern, and he glared at her when she met his eyes. She quickly looked away. He was shorter than Loki, with blond hair, a round face, and a smell like stale beer.

“She looks like a good chew toy. I own a beast-fighting ring on Honerquin. I’d be interested in buying her if you’re interested in selling,” he continued to Loki.

Loki looked at the man aghast. Kuna hid behind his legs. Her knees shook with fright. The shaking continued all the way up to her teeth. She felt like she would pass out. She stared obediently at the floor.

“I think they’d love her. Squirts like her always get the crowd roaring, if you know what I mean,” the man went on.

“No, I don’t think I do,” Loki said, his voice level.

Kuna was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Her head felt like it was swirling. Loki wouldn’t really sell her, would he? What were they doing here? Why did he bring her here?

The man had started babbling about his fighting ring and all the beasts he had. Kuna wanted to throw up. She wanted to be anywhere else but here. Why did Loki want to be here in this awful place talking to this awful man?

“Well?” the man said, impatiently. “Are you going to sell her or not? I’d offer you a good price.”

“This one’s had enough of this system’s foul beasts, I think,” Loki said, coolly. “However, if you’d point me towards one of those auctioneers, I’d be grateful.”

Kuna let out a little gasp and clutched a handful of his trousers.

“Ha! New here, are you?” he spat at Loki’s feet and harumphed through the crowd towards another stage and began bidding on the slave for sale. A tear tried to escape Kuna’s eye, but she blinked it back as Loki looked down at her.

“Pleasure,” Loki growled, taking Kuna’s hand again. “Come on, we still need to find one of those auctioneers. Have you seen one yet?”

Kuna shook her head without taking her eyes off the ground.

“Hmm.” Loki looked around, scanning the crowd for someone that looked like the ones Kuna had described. “Look, I think there’s one right there. Come on. We’ll be quick.” He grabbed her hand.

Kuna dug her heels in but slid on the marble floor. Loki was much stronger than her. Why did he want to talk to an auctioneer? Did he really want to sell her? Her heart was pounding as they walked straight towards a burly auctioneer. The handle of a whip rapped at his side. She inhaled deeply, her back tinging at the thought of the magic lash he might be able to conjure. Her eyes darted to his other hip; the scanner was held in a small holster and suddenly, she remembered what they had spoken about outside.

“All you have to do is swipe it from him,” Loki had whispered in her ear. “I’ll distract him.”

Kuna had not liked the sound of it at all. She was not sneaky. The auctioneers were ruthless. They would get caught for sure.

“It’s a classic trick. One man distracts the target, the other reaches into his pocket and grabs his coin purse. The target never knows until they’re long gone.”

She glanced up at him. He nodded back at her with a sly grin. Swallowing hard, she let go of Loki’s hand. Loki hit shoulders with the auctioneer. He turned and glared at Loki.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going!” he barked at him, turning to face Loki.

Kuna skirted around his other side as he turned and gingerly reached up, sweeping the scanner off his hip.

“Excuse me,” Loki said, louder than he needed to. “Apologies.”

“Ruddy tourist,” he grumbled, glowering at Loki.

Kuna tucked the scanner under her cloak and kept walking. Loki made an apologetic bow towards the man before walking away. Kuna took Loki’s hand again once they had passed by the burly man. Her heart was pumping with exhilaration. That had not been as bad as she thought it would be. And the auctioneer didn’t even see her!

Loki escorted her towards an exit. They walked down in front of the crowd, in front of the stage. Kuna glanced up and locked eyes with a young girl, a slave, being sold. She gasped as a memory flashed before her eyes. Light in the darkness, tiny hands offering food, and blue eyes. The slave’s blue eyes.

Loki didn’t see. He had his eyes set on the exit.

“Did you get it?” he asked as soon as they were clear. He led her down an alleyway just off the square.

Kuna revealed the scanner from her cloak.

“You did it! Oh, I knew you could, Kuna!”

Loki squeezed her into a hug. A darkness seemed to lift from her mind, and it felt clearer. Her doubts about being sold again melted away in his embrace. He took the scanner and hid it away in his pocket.

“Now, we can get off this dreadful rock,” he said.

“Loki?” Kuna asked, softly.

“Hmm?”

“That girl back there. I know her. She saved me once, I think,” she whispered.

“Saved you?”

“Can we…” She looked back towards the auction house.

Loki looked back. “What?”

“Can we free them? Those slaves?” she shuffled from foot to foot. “I know her,” she repeated.

He sighed and looked down at her. She looked up at him with big pleading eyes, her lips pouting.

He looked at her sternly. “I don’t know where you learned how to do this face thing but it’s not going to work,” he said, folding his arms and trying to look away. Kuna stared at him, her eyes still pleading with him. “Oh, all right. I think I know of a few planets we can teleport them to but that’s it.”

A big smile crossed Kuna’s face.

“Come on, then,” Loki said.

They walked back towards the building. Loki followed Kuna towards a rear entrance. There were carts and wagons with metal cages around them. Loki grimaced at the sight. He could not imagine how horribly these people were treated. A large man approached them and brought his attention back.

“This entrance is for auctioneers and masters only,” he said.

“Bold of you to assume I’m not a master,” Loki huffed.

“Pah, wearing that? Yeah, right. Shove off, yara.”

Loki shrugged, turning as if to leave. Kuna took a few steps back with him. In a swift, sharp movement, Loki turned back, throwing all his weight into his arm and punched the auctioneer square in the face. The man fell flat on his back, knocked out cold, blood gushing from his decimated nose and broken teeth.

“This is fine Asgardian leather, thank you,” Loki said, straightening his armor. “That takes care of him. Come on. Let’s be quick.” He started towards the doorway.

“Loki?”

“Hmm?” Loki stopped short and looked down at Kuna.

“Could I have the real dagger?” Kuna asked, politely.

“I thought you could just look at all those guards in there with those big, pouty eyes. If it worked on me, I’m sure it will work on them.”

Kuna frowned.

“No?” Loki produced the dagger for her. “Fine.”

“I promise I won’t cut off my fingers.”

“Do me a favour and cut off their fingers.”

“Okay!”

He handed her the dagger and they walked into the auction house. This room looked much different than the marble-clad atrium in the front. The floor was covered in straw. Cages were stacked against the walls, crammed full of men, women, and children in chains. Loki covered his mouth and nose at the stench inside. The appearance of two strangers caused a stir in the cages but the slaves remained quiet, with their heads down.

“Oi! What are you doing in here?” a man’s voice rang out. He rushed towards the centre of the room from a door that led out onto a stage. Pulling his whip from his side, he raised it, ready to strike. The slaves in the cages cowered. Even Kuna took a step back, grabbing Loki’s pantleg with one hand and raising her dagger with the other.

Loki held up his hand. A green sheen whisked over the man, and he froze in place.

“Hold on, sir,” Loki said. “We’ve got a tiny warrior-in-training here. If you wouldn’t mind being her practice dummy,” He looked down at Kuna and smiled. “Don’t go easy on him, darling. Go on. Go get him.”

Kuna put on her best warrior face and ran towards him. Loki unfroze the guard and watched Kuna carefully. He would not let anything happen to her, of course, but she deserved to get back at one of these horrendous people after all they had done to her.

The man fired off a blast of magic. Kuna tumbled out of the way. Loki hissed and waved his hand at the man. There was a flash of green and a crack. The man cried out, grabbing his now broken arm. Kuna regained herself. He threw out his good arm for another magical attack, but Kuna slashed at him. His fingers thudded to the floor. He screamed in pain.

Now, with two useless arms, the man stood no chance against little Kuna. She leapt up again and took a stab at his chest. He collapsed on the floor. Kuna turned and looked back at Loki for approval. He smiled at her. The auctioneer lifted his head slightly from the floor behind Kuna. Loki gestured towards him, and Kuna squealed, kicking him in the head. He did not move again.

Kuna skipped back over to Loki, beaming.

“Aww, that’s my little assassin,” he said, warmly, caressing her head. He could see the terror in the eyes of the slaves as they looked at him.

“He’s a fingerless cockalorum!” Kuna said, between breaths.

“That’s right.”

“There’s a control panel over there,” Kuna said, pointing to a standing computer by the doorway to the auction stage.

Loki strode over to it, examining the screen and various buttons. He picked Kuna up.

“Which one?” he said. “You read them. Which one reads, ‘Open’?”

“Mmm,” Kuna looked over the buttons until her eyes landed on a green one with the word ‘OPEN’ written beneath it. “That one!”

"Good job!” Loki said. “Well, go on!”

Kuna smiled and pressed the button. All the cage doors swung open at once, but the slaves did not move. Kuna’s smile disappeared.

“You’re free!” she said. Loki put her down.

“We’re going to lead you somewhere safe. Where you can find new, free lives away from Masters,” Loki explained.

“Quickly!” Kuna said, urging them to come out of the cages. “We won’t hurt you!”

The young girl Kuna had seen earlier stepped out of a cage door. She had red hair and blue eyes; her face speckled with freckles. Kuna nodded at her and smiled. She tiptoed closer, eyes glued to the floor. Kuna held out her hand to the girl and she gingerly took it. Kuna led her towards the back of the room where they had come in. Some of the other slaves began to edge out of the cages, following after them. Loki watched, proudly.

There was a shout from auction stage and heavy footfalls.

“Hey! What’s going on here?” a man bellowed. A whip cracked in the air, making everyone, including Loki, flinch. Slaves darted back into the cages.

Loki wheeled round, ready to fight. As if in slow motion, a silver glint passed his vision on his right side and the man in front of him stopped in his tracks, arm raised for another crack of his whip. The hilt of Kuna’s dagger stuck out of his chest, just below his throat. Loki’s mouth fell open. He turned slowly to see Kuna standing a few feet behind him, hand still extended from the throw. The slave girl cowered behind her. The thud of the man’s body hitting the floor behind him did not change Loki’s expression of shock and fatherly pride.

“I think we should leave,” Kuna said.

“Right,” Loki said. He retrieved her dagger from the auctioneer’s body and hurried the slaves out the back of the room. “Get out of those cages now unless you want to be slaves forever!”

It was dark out now and the streets were practically empty. He opened a portal with the tesseract.

“Quickly, now!” he addressed the slaves. “Go through the portal!”

“Loki!” Kuna cried.

Loki turned round and saw several angry men marching towards them, including the smelly, round-faced man from before.

“That’s them!” he shouted.

“Go!” he yelled at the slaves.

They jumped and started running through the portal. Flashes of magic began to light up the square as the masters and auctioneers let loose upon the slaves.

“Kuna!” Loki called. In a moment, she was beside him. There were still many more slaves left to go through the portal. They needed to fend off the oncoming masters.

Loki looked down at Kuna. “Help them get through the portal,” he ordered. “I’ll take care of this.”

She nodded and went back to the portal to usher the slaves through.

Loki turned on the masters. A flash of green light sent several of them flying back. The masters sent off red lightning-like zaps, sending sparks flying up from the ground around the slaves. Loki blocked them with a warding spell. A small child ran away from the group of slaves, crying and confused. A master conjured a silver whip and cast it towards the child.

Kuna leapt in front of him. The whip snapped tightly around her arm. She winced but turned back to the boy and pushed him back into the group. The master at the other end of the whip yanked hard on Kuna’s arm. She took several jaunted steps forward and pulled back. She pulled out her dagger and tried to cut the whip, but it did not give, even under the sharp blade. More red lightning snapped around her, sending sparks up towards her eyes. She tried to shield her face, but the man pulled on her again.

“Papa!” she cried at Loki.

He whipped around and threw knives at the master holding her. The man fell backwards, and the silvery whip melted off of Kuna’s arm. She ran to Loki. Nearly all the slaves had gone now. Loki was trying to keep his eyes on the remaining masters, who were bearing down on them.

“No!” Kuna cried out and Loki felt her run away from his side. “Let her go!”

She ran towards a master who had the red-haired slave girl in his grasp.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he grunted, struggling with her. She screamed and cried, reaching for the other slaves at the portal entrance.

Loki turned to follow Kuna, but the masters attacked him all at once. He threw another ward to hold them off but could not hold it up and fight them off and go after Kuna all at the same time.

Kuna reached the master and slashed at his leg. He had been struggling with the girl so much, he had not even seen Kuna run up to him. The gash she left on his leg was deep and he collapsed as his leg gave in. Kuna grabbed the girl’s hand but before they could run away, the master wrapped his arm around Kuna’s middle and hoisted her up.

He gasped. “You?” he growled, recognizing her.

Kuna let go of the girl’s hand and shouted at her to run. Thrashing in the man’s arms she got one of her hands free and clawed at him before sinking her teeth into his flesh. She bit down harder and harder, tasting blood in her mouth as the man writhed and swung her around by his arm. Becoming dizzy, she let go and flew back a few feet, rolling across the ground. Sitting up, she spat out the master’s gross blood and flesh. She scrambled to her feet and ran back towards the portal.

The blue-eyed girl stood just outside the it, waiting to see if Kuna was all right. Kuna reached her and started to push her towards the portal, but the girl took Kuna’s arm and started to pull her through as well. She pulled back.

“No! I can’t leave!” she turned to look back at Loki who was ferociously fighting off the masters and their guards. “You go!”

The girl nodded and disappeared through the portal with one last look at Kuna as it closed behind her.

One of the masters held up a cannon-like gun, aiming it right at Kuna. She gasped and tried to roll out of dodge, but the gun fired off. A net flew out of the cannon’s barrel, spreading out like a spider’s web, with round, heavy rocks attached to the ends.

There was nowhere for Kuna to go. The net wrapped around her, tripping her up. She hit the ground hard, white stars flooding her eyes, her arms twisted at odd angles in the net’s grasp. Her dagger had dropped out of her hand when the net hit her and now lay a few, agonizing inches out of reach. She tried desperately to get an arm free of the net to reach for it but saw the ropes start to glow a deep shade of red.

Her body was suddenly wracked with searing, white hot pain as the magic imbued in the ropes attacked her. They began to tighten fast around her. She wriggled and writhed to break free. The masters swooped in; one had his arm outstretched to snatch Kuna up.

Loki leapt over her, standing astride the net.

“That’s mine!” he snarled at them. His fists were glowing a phosphorescent green. Slamming his fist down on the ground, a blinding flash of green light exploded around them, sending out a shockwave that reverberated off the buildings, making them shake and shiver. A blast of magic hit each of the masters, killing them instantly and sending their bodies flying backwards, some hitting walls, others hitting the ground with sickening cracks and pops.

Loki faltered a moment. The explosive spell had caused his head to spin and his vision to blur. Kuna caught the hilt of the dagger with her finger and pulled it towards her. Through the pain, she tried desperately to cut the net.

At that moment, a deafening roar filled the square. Loki jumped and turned to see a fully armored gigagrunt staring him down. The enormous creature that had once chased them off Torileena, was now surrounded by several dozen armored soldiers, holding various weapons. He could see the glow of magic in some of their hands.

“We’re leaving!” he announced, more to himself than anyone else.

He hoisted Kuna up and opened a portal as the gigagrunt charged them down at full speed. Leaping through, he could still hear the pounding feet and angry roars of the monster as the portal closed and they were safe on the other side.

They had teleported to Torileena, its massive trees creaking above them, as tall as skyscrapers. It was quiet and still, their entrance into the forest causing a sudden silence of birds and other lurking creatures. Kuna squirmed in Loki’s lap and whimpered.

“That was close,” Loki muttered. He looked down at Kuna and found that the net was still tightening itself around her.

“Shit!” he cried, and desperately tried to cut the ropes loose.

“It won’t cut!” Kuna choked. She held on to a rope that was tightening dangerously around her throat.

Loki dropped the knife and grabbed two sides of the net and pulled hard. The rope dug into his fingers as the fibres of the rope began to tear under the stress. Finally, it gave way with a fizzling, popping sound as the magic in it was released. He unraveled the ropes from Kuna’s throat and body, tossing them aside.

She jumped up at him and threw her arms around his neck, crying into his hair. He sat back against a tree and hugged her, rubbing her back as she calmed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, fearing but knowing the answer.

She sniffled and sat back in his lap, rubbing her forearm where the master’s whip had wrapped around it.

“Let me see,” Loki said, gently pushing back her sleeve. She winced as he pushed it passed angry red burns on her arm. “Oh, oh,” he said, softly. “That looks like it hurts.”

Kuna nodded slowly. If she nodded too much her head spun.

Loki looked her over. She had a scrape on her head where she had hit the ground and her face was pocked with black marks from the sparks that the master’s lightning had caused. Her neck was red from the ropes but the thick scars from her old chains seemed to protect her from any lasting damage. A few other superficial cuts and scrapes and a multitude of bruises but nothing broken.

“I think I can hear water,” he said. “Come here, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

He gently lifted her up, carrying her on his hip. She put her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. They came to a small stream of crystal-clear water babbling over rounded pebbles. Loki knelt down and sat Kuna on a nearby rock. He brought over some water in a bowl he conjured and dabbed a cloth into it.

He cleaned her face first. The sparks did not leave any burns and the scrape was only surface level, but Kuna still winced when the cool cloth touched it.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki said. “That didn’t go to plan at all.”

“But they’re safe now, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he said.

He took Kuna’s arm and cleaned it. She watched him, keeping her eyes down. He wrapped her arm in some bandages and replaced her sleeve.

“How did you know her? That girl,” Loki asked.

“We were owned by the same Master once. That one that I bit. I remember he had a ziganberry orchard. He made me climb the tall trees to get the ones out of the very top. One time, they made me climb up a dead tree to get some of the last berries out of it. A branch broke and I fell. I squished all the berries I had picked and broke my arm. The Master’s men were so mad at me. They flogged me forever. Then, they locked me up in a barn where they kept bad slaves. I was supposed to stay there for a week without any food or water, so I wouldn’t do it again.”

“So, you wouldn’t fall out of a tree again?”

She nodded. “That girl… I just remembered her eyes. There was a loose brick in the barn, and she would pull it out and push ziganberries through for me. One time, I looked out to see who was there and saw her looking back at me. We never talked. She worked in the Master’s house, I think. I think I would have died if she didn’t give me those berries.”

There was a somber silence around them as Kuna looked at her hands. Loki didn’t know what to say.

“Where did you teleport them to?” she asked after a while.

“It’s a very nice planet that I found in my travels. Pretty secluded and inhabited by very kind and welcoming people. I think they’ll have good lives there,” Loki said. “And all thanks to you,” he added, giving her a soft poke in the chest.

Kuna shook her head, blushing. Loki smiled and picked her up again. “You were very brave, you know. And I’m sure that little girl is very thankful for what you did. She saved you and now you’ve saved her. And, of course, that master has a lovely scar to remember you both by.”

Kuna smiled, abashed.

They walked to the base of a humongous tree. Its massive roots created large, sloping walls as they dug deep into the ground. Loki picked a nice spot to sit and rest. He was completely exhausted by the spell he had used on the masters and the massive jump they had taken with the tesseract. His head ached and he felt dizzy. He would need time to recover before doing anything or going anywhere. Kuna, too, was exhausted, and already nodding off on Loki’s side.

He tried to cast a duplicate to watch over them, but it sparkled and faded away. His shoulders slumped in shame. He didn’t even have to strength to hold up a duplicate.

Pathetic.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, you again,” he thought.

I never leave.

“Clearly.”

Loki closed his eyes and concentrated hard on making the voice go away. He hated being this exhausted. It made him feel normal and that made him feel vulnerable. Looking down at the snoozing Kuna, his eyelids began to droop as well. He fought against sleep. They were not in a safe place. The last time they had both been here, they had nearly been trampled by a monster. There was no telling what was lurking in the trees. He did not want to wake up in a kapkas mouth or worse, staring down a wild gigagrunt.

He pulled out the scanner Kuna had taken and fiddled with it. Pressing a button on the side, a screen illuminated on the front of the scanner.

SCAN CHIP ID

The words flashed at him. He blinked and looked down at Kuna. He did not want to disturb her. She was peacefully sleeping, curled up next to him.

So soft, the voice hissed.

Loki grunted disapprovingly, folding his arms. He stared into the brush. There was no movement. No wind. It didn’t seem to reach the forest floor like it did the canopy. He looked up towards the towering tops of the trees. He wondered if rain ever reached the ground through the leaf cover above. Surely it had to. There were plants growing down here.

The effort of thought only made him more tired.

Just give in.

“No,” he grumbled firmly, as if saying it aloud would make the voice stop.

Why are we wasting time on this child, anyways?

“What else would you be doing?” Loki scoffed in thought.

Figuring a way out of the mess you’ve made. You know he’ll find us.

“He has his hands full with all that Avengers business. Dead army and all. I think we’ll be fine, thank you.”

Complacency will be your downfall.

“Go away,” Loki muttered through clenched teeth.

He settled in next to Kuna and put his arm around her. He figured resting his eyes for a short while wouldn’t hurt.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Father #Submitted fic #Loki's Daughter #chapter 14 #traveling-classicist

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amymel86 · 3 years

Note

Hello! Do you have any bits of your awesome writing to share for WIP wednesday?😍

I just saw this anon!

And thank you for asking <3

This is a bit more of this as yet untitled 'post-apocalyptic/fertility/modern arranged relationship???' fic. The first bit I posted on tumblr is here and as before, some things are not yet decided (like town names) and things may change...

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, darling?” Her mother’s voice on the telephone was a balm to her soul.

Sansa’s finger brushed the soft vivid petals of the small potted iris she’d bought at the store today. The iris symbolises hope, wisdom and courage among other things and she prays that the pretty purple and yellow bloom will lend her some of those. “I’ve got to try something, Mum,” she says, turning her attention to the two separate bundles of paper in front of her. Two men, two candidates, two different futures. Sansa had filled out all the matching service’s extensive questionnaires and scrutinised all the information she could find on the program. It seemed simple enough – you’re rewarded for helping to repopulate. In turn, the authorities help to pair you with someone who should be a good match dependant on all the information they have about you. The aim is that this new generation of children are raised in the traditional family unit. That had appealed to Sansa. “I can’t seem to find the right guy all on my own anyway,” she said into her phone.

“How do you know it will be safe, though?”

“It says here that my situation will be monitored by my own caseworker. I can call them any time I want. They’re not just going to drop me at the guy’s house and just leave us get on with it.”

“Hmmm... tell me about them? These men that they’ve narrowed down for you.”

“One’s called Waymar, he’s a financial advisor here in the Vale,” Sasna pauses, looking at the man’s photograph on his paperwork before fishing out the other. “And the other is called Jon, he owns a farm in the Reach.”

“None in the north then?” Her mother has been itching to get her back home. “I just wish there was a way to know that either of them were good men, Sansa. That’s all I want for you.”

Sansa put the two photos together. Two possible fathers for her child.

“That’s what I want too.”

***

“Shit! Holy fucking shit!” Jon says to himself, hanging up from his phone-call. “Mance!” he yells, bursting out of his trailer to find the old man. “Mance! It worked! It fucking worked!”

He’d relented. When Mance first put it to him that he should sign up for that weird government breeding program or whatever the fuck it was, he thought the old man’s last brain-cell must’ve fried up in the sun. But if they were going to make it easier for them and it meant Mance could keep the farm (and Jon could carry on living there rent free), then it was worth a shot. So he had relented. He’d filled out what seemed to be a gazillion and one questions about himself, his politics, his views on family and finances and education and fucking... art and shit. These damned government people wanted to know everything about him down to whether he scrunched or folded his toilet paper it seemed. He’d even had to lie. He didn’t like doing it, but there was no way that a fertile was going to pick him if he didn’t. So, he fished out an old photograph – one taken before the bar brawl that lost him his sight in one eye, and he’d also lied his asscheeks off by claiming he had ownership of the farm. He knew – he knew – that these lies are just more things that were going to trip him up one of these days but with Mance urging him on, he’d signed that damn form and offered himself up for the program.

And now a fertile had chosen him.

Him.

Fuck, he might throw up.

This can go one of two ways. Either completely up Shit Creek without a paddle – with his lies and reality crashing down on top of one another, leaving them exposed... or, his fertile somehow looks past his deceits and sticks with him and they-... well, shit, he could actually become a father. No-one becomes parents these days, especially not ‘round here. Fertiles flock to the big cities, to men with bigger pockets, or they work for couples who can afford to pay them off in exchange for a kid or two.

“It worked?” Mance asks, rolling out from under an old Ford pickup that needed a new exhaust. “They sendin’ us a peach?”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not sendin’ you anyone, old man. An’ don’t call her that – they’re-“ Fuck, what did the council call them on all that paperwork? “Reproductively abled.” He’ll have to remember that if he doesn’t want to offend her.

“Well, shit,” Mance grins. “What did I tell ya? Knew your pretty face was good for somethin’!”

Jon frowns. “Ain’t so pretty no more though.” He might have to go get himself a patch to cover his milky, sightless eye. It’s fine most of the time since Mance is the only one he sees unless he’s going to drink at Hobb’s, but he certainly doesn’t want to put off his ferti- reproductively abled friend who’ll be arriving in three weeks.

“She got a name? Your new peach?” Mance asked, earning him a glare.

“Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

Mance grunts and nods. “Sounds fancy.”

Yeah... It did sound kinda fancy he supposes. Jon’s first reaction had been that it was a mighty beautiful name, but now he thinks of it...

“Shame we can’t look her up – see if she’s a beauty or not.”

Jon can’t remember a time when that was an option. He was barely 11 at the highest point of the virus’s hold. Government officials had deemed certain channels on the internet were causing more harm than good by spreading false rumours, incorrect statistics and completely counterintuitive medical advice. The whole thing was shut down, now deemed illegal, only to be reconnected again three years later apparently looking like a foreign landscape from the one before. The internet was no longer a platform to socialise, only government approved informative sites remained. Mance says it’s better this way – that all people used to do was post vain images of themselves for attention anyway.

Jon wouldn’t mind seeing a vain image of Sansa Stark right about now though.

Not that it mattered terribly. As long as they get along and she decides to stick around she could be as ugly as sin. In fact, she probably will be, won’t she? Most pretty ferti- reproductively abled women stick to the cities and its high-fliers.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You just gotta keep her happy here and-

“Mance?” he asks, an issue coming to mind. The man grunts in acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is she gonna sleep? She’s not gonna want to stay in my trailer.”

The man grins in response. “I’m glad you asked, boy. I’m glad you asked.”

***

Her caseworker was meant to meet her at the train station. It was quite a drive to the farm and he was meant to pick her up, make sure she’s safe and happy and introduce her to Jon.

That hasn’t happened.

“Please accept my apologies, my dear,” Mr Baelish said down the other end of the phone. “There’s been a mix up with my schedule. We can set you up for the night at a local motel or ask your match to come and get you. Which would you prefer?”

Sansa eyes the dirty looking motel across the street from the train station. Everything here at [[INSERT TOWN NAME]] seems a little on the... rundown side. Maybe the sooner she gets to the farm, the better. Plus, her tummy is all a flutter with anticipation to actually meet Jon. She’d wound up swaying towards Jon as a match due to a few reasons; 1 – he does not live in, around, or anywhere near Harry or his crazy mother. 2 – he owns a farm, and that had conjured up hazy daydreams of idyllic country life. Sansa may enjoy big nights out in the city, drinking her dirty margaritas and feeling her bones vibrate against the base beat in a nightclub, but she knows that’s not what she wants to raise a child around. A child will want to run barefoot through wheat fields and chase chickens and milk cows and –

Let’s just say Sansa has a few ideas and that they all helped to sway her away from city pleasures and towards farmhouse life. And Jon

And last, but not least, reason number 3 – Jon himself. Put side-by-side, his and Waymar’s photographs looked rather similar if truth be told, but Jon won out on something that Sansa just couldn’t describe. Looking at his photograph gave her goosepimples along her forearms because it was like he was looking right back at her. There was something in the depths of his eyes – a kindness? A wit? A strength? She’s not sure, but she couldn’t find the same qualities when she stared at Waymar’s likeness. And his answers too. His questionnaire was full of how he’d like to teach a kid how to walk and ride a bike and fix a... a tractor for heaven’s sake! And so her head was flooded once more of this idyllic life where they got up to watch the dawn stretch over the farmland and they’d grow their own vegetables and she’d bake a pie every day and it would just be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Sansa glances around the near abandoned train station.

This doesn’t look so perfect right now.

“Could you please arrange for Jon to come and get me, Mr Baelish?”

***

It’s been an hour and fifty-six minutes precisely since Sansa last spoke to Mr Baelish to arrange her match coming to get her. An hour and fifty-six minutes of sitting on the curb, waiting, surrounded by her three suitcases. She’d started off by sitting at the nearby bus stop, purely because it was somewhere to sit and she had a clear view of the road, but after the rude bus driver insisted that if she’s sat there, she must be wanting to hop on his bus, Sansa decided to park her butt on the dusty, sun-baked curb instead. Her legs were beginning to numb and she was starting to get a headache from the sun beaming down on her head. The curls she’d styled into her copper locks have likely lost their hold by now. What a waste. Opposite, on the other side of the street, beside the dirty little motel, there was a tiny bar that advertised the fact that it hosted exotic dancers at the weekends with a blinking neon sign. Next to it was a hunting and fishing ‘emporium’ and beside that was a vacant store with an old dirty sign that read ‘Blouses & More!’. Presumably, the ‘& more’ still wasn’t enough to keep that fine establishment in business in this funny little town. At the end of the block was ‘Tarly’s Drugstore’ and Sansa had been debating with herself whether or not she should haul her suitcases over to go buy a drink and a magazine for about the last hour and fifty-five minutes.

But she hadn’t wanted to miss Jon Snow’s arrival.

Jon Snow, who seemed to be pulling up outside Tarly’s Drugstore in a dusty Ford pickup truck right about now. Sansa stood, expecting him to come right on over considering how long she’d been waiting for him, but she found herself wondering if she’d got it all wrong when she hadn’t caught a good enough look at him before he darted straight into the store.

Sansa is done with waiting. She grabs her smallest case and places it on top of her larger one, trying her darnedest to roll all her luggage across the road in a lady-like fashion. She could feel the eyes of several passers-by on her while her stiletto heels clip across the street. In turn, her own gaze fell to Jon’s cream-coloured truck. Its front bumper looked a little rusty and wonky too. There was a big gash in the leather of the bench seating on the passenger side. On the truck bed, there were a number of items, including a rocking chair that seems to have a couple of spindles on the chair-back missing, and a new double bed mattress wrapped in clear plastic. Sansa was almost done frowning at the state of the vehicle when the over-door bell of the drugstore tinkles.

“Holy shit,” he curses. And yes, it definitely was Jon standing right in front of her. Only... well... his hair was tied into a knot at the back of his head and.... and... he was wearing a black eye patch? “Uh,” he stood there, arms laden with bottles from the store as the gaze from his one good eye quickly darted down her frame and back up again. “You’re her, right? You’re Sansa Stark?”

Sansa found she could only nod, looking him up and down, like he was with her. He was in jeans with oil smears, some tough, heavy looking boots, a somehow pristine white vest and flannel shirt with the arms ripped off.

Speaking of arms...

Gods-damn! Sansa’s focus was momentarily derailed...

“Sorry, I-“ Jon starts before his grey eye drops to the floor and then returns to her, looking a little bashful. “I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

Oh boy. He may be wearing an eye patch right now but this man could win over a thousand girls with that smile, Sansa’s sure of it. She resists the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. She’s here to find out if they’re well suited enough to start a family together – she needs to keep her head and think rationally, not allow herself to be swayed by his rugged country boy charm. It was Harry’s looks that enticed her in the first place – and look how well that turned out for her?

“Thank you,” Sansa says, blinking back at him before his words truly hit home. “Didn’t they give you my photograph?”

Jon shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Huh.

“Did they show you mine?”

Sansa bites her lip and gives a nod.

Jon grimaces. “So I guess you weren’t expecting this?” He points to his patch.

Sansa shakes her head. “No... did you... did you do something to injure it?”

Jerking his head, Jon begins rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s a long story... but... it ain’t gonna get any better, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh.”

They stood, staring at one another for a heartbeat or five before Jon sucks in a breath over his teeth and glances down to the bottles he clutched to his chest with one arm. “I tried to get you some things to help you feel at home,” he says, “these are the nicest smellin’ soaps ‘n’ stuff from Tarly’s.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replies, knowing full well that she brought her Highgarden Floral Scents bathroom range with her.

Jon chews on his lip as he eyes her suitcases. “Lemme get those for you,” he offers before dumping the bottles in his arms into the truck bed and reaching for her luggage. Sansa’s heeled shoes seem welded to the spot. Jon notices. Scrubbing both hands down his face in resignation, he takes a step closer to her and Sansa realises for the first time, that he had dirt beneath his fingernails. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “It was a shitty thing for me to do,” he offers, his words low and husky. Sansa feels the timbre of his voice set off a trickle of gooseflesh down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him, momentarily confused.

“About this,” he explains, brows high on his head as he points to his patch. “I shouldn’t have sent that old photo of before this happened, but – fuck – even my ex-girl won’t acknowledge I exist anymore with this and I knew I shoulda been honest about it but-“

“This ex-girl...” Sansa suddenly found herself left with a sour taste in her mouth. “... does she still mean something to you?”

Jon licks at his lips, his eye falling briefly to her own. “No, ma’am,” he shakes his head.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #but late #oops

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tellmealovestory · 3 years

Text

Planning

Summary: Planning for the wedding has begun with choosing a color palette.

Notes: Also posted on my ao3. Part of Something More

I know that it’s been awhile since I’ve last posted and even longer since I’ve updated this and for that I am so sorry. The past few months have been rough and I’ve been struggling to write anything, but I’m trying which is what counts I guess.

I haven’t forgotten about Something New - there’s for sure one more part, possibly two, but for now here’s something and again I am so sorry for how long it’s been taking me to get these posted.

Warnings: Surprisingly none - unless you count idiots in love falling more in love.

"Black and yellow?"

"No."

"Purple, orange and black?"

"No."

"Red, white and blue?"

"Bucky, no!" Laughing at his suggestions you playfully shoved his shoulder as he shot you a grin full of mischief. “Besides, I think those are more Steve's colors."

“You opposed to pastels?" His grin only widened when you wrinkled your nose in distaste. "Red and pink?"

“Red and pink isn't the worst idea you've had," you mused, a thought working its way into your mind as you eyed the mess that surrounded you.

“Sweetheart-,” he started, but you silenced him with a look.

Reaching for a bridal magazine, one of many that laid scattered across the floor of the living room where you were both currently seated you flipped through it while Bucky continued to rattle off suggestions. Frowning, you pushed it aside before grabbing another one. Finding what you were looking for you showed him a spread with dark reds and pinks and a gold that had the barest hint of a shimmer. It was for a Valentine’s Day wedding and while you weren’t getting married on that date you still thought it was pretty.

One look at his face told he wasn’t impressed.

"Neons would be better,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, his fingers flicking a brightly colored post it note that was sticking out from the magazine.

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Maybe."

“James!”

And this time he was the first to laugh, the richness of his voice filling up the room and drowning out the sitcom dialogue that drifted from the television a few feet in front of you.

He made it difficult at times like these to get and stay annoyed at him, but nevertheless you made an attempt with a glare shot in his direction. It was useless though when he was looking at you like that. All bright blue eyes shining with a love that still managed to steal your breath anytime he glanced at you. Laugh lines around his mouth and before you had a chance to warn him that he was seconds away from not having any say in your wedding colors he was tilting his body towards yours, lips landing on the side of your head. An innocent kiss, but it sent your heart spiraling.

Almost as much as when he murmured against your skin with breath that was warm and smelled of the chocolate ice cream you’d been sharing, “Alright, show me what you were thinking.”

Waking up your sleeping laptop that rested on the coffee table you expertly navigated the rabbit hole of Pinterest. Scrolling past boards you had created for flowers and centerpiece ideas, dresses and cakes you found the one titled colors.

A sea of palettes stared back at you; turquoises, magentas, oranges and yellows. Mints and whites. Pastel purples and soft pinks, creams and pale blues that screamed romantic. Greens and blushes. Purple and grays.

And finally, towards the bottom of the board a mix of navy blues, grays and burgundy. Burnt oranges and peaches. Sunflower yellows and dusty blues.

A collection of colors that reminded you of him.

“Something like this I thought.” Chewing on your lower lip you glanced from Bucky to the screen and back again. Anticipation thrummed through your veins as you waited for him to say something.

“It’s a lot of blues.”

“You look good in blue.”

“All the burgundy?”

“You also look really good in burgundy.”

“You really picking colors based on how I look in them?”

“No,” you scoffed with a quick roll of your eyes that he saw right through. “Okay, fine, but it’s not the only reason.”

“You gonna share those other reasons?” He asked, leaning forward to take a closer look.

"Um... I... like those colors?" Even to your own ears the words rang false. "And they're a better choice than the random ones you were shouting out." There another reason added to your list.

"Y/N," Bucky said, amusement dripped from his voice and he bit back a smile as he pushed the laptop towards the middle of the coffee table.

For a moment the only sound in the apartment was that of a commercial advertising pizza.

Turning to you he cradled your face in his hands. "You know no ones gonna be looking at me," he said softly, the pad of his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. "They're all gonna be looking at you and how beautiful you are."

"I haven't found something to wear yet."

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart."

Biting your lip your eyes danced between his and you couldn't help asking, "What if I get a really poofy dress and I end up looking like a cupcake again?"

It was a struggle for Bucky not to laugh at the mention of a cupcake. A million memories ago, but he could still remember that night. Your fathers wedding to his new, younger bride, the hideous pink dress she had made you to wear, the endless teasing you had endured from him, the new nickname he had bestowed upon you before you banned him from ever calling you that again. In his mind it didn't matter if when your wedding came you wore a dress that made you look like a cupcake, drenched in pink that looked as if it came from a jumbo sized bottle of pepto-bismol you'd still be beautiful in his eyes.

Dipping his head down he brushed his lips against yours in a kiss sweeter than any cupcake he had ever tasted.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered again, his mouth moving over yours slowly. "You’re still gonna be the most beautiful person in the room, cupcake."

It was hard to kiss him back when your lips were curling up into a smile, a laugh bubbling to the surface followed by a rush of memories at the mention of cupcake. He hadn’t called you that in years and though you still hated it you didn’t have it in you right now to tell him to shove it.

“Is that your way of telling me you hate my choices?” You asked, breathless from the feeling of his lips against yours. “No,” he laughed, stealing another kiss. “It’s my way of saying you should really give my suggestions another chance.”

“Buc-,”

“I’m kidding!”

Another kiss, this one to your forehead as the commercial ended and the sitcom returned. Turning your attentions back to the screen at the same time you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes scanning through the options again, his for the second time and yours for what felt like the hundredth since first compiling the list.

“I really do like these colors. Especially this one,” you said, bringing up a palette with dusty and navy blues, marigold and a hint of dark green.

No matter how many options you had looked at you kept going back to it. It was pretty and it was an added bonus that he looked in most of those colors.

“That the one you want?”

Biting your lip you switched back to your second choice. Navy blue, maroon and gray. More colors he looked good in, more colors that you had been drawn to, but in your heart you knew which one you wanted.

“Yeah, but what do you think?”

“I like it,” he said.

“You agreed to that awfully quick.” Your tone was light and you couldn’t help asking, “Are you only saying that cause you’re tired of looking?”

“No. ‘M saying it cause you like it.” His eyes darted down to the shiny engagement ring that sat pretty on your ring finger. Lifting his gaze up he continued, “And cause I don’t care about the colors.”

No sooner did the words leave his mouth and he was left scrambling to explain when he saw your widened eyes.

“Sweetheart.” His hand slid along your cheek. “Whatever colors you choose are gonna be fine, but I’m not gonna be paying attention to them. Our friends and family might, but the only thing I’m gonna be paying attention to is you and how I’m finally marrying the woman of my dreams.”

His words sunk in amid the closing credits of a sitcom and as tears welled in your eyes and your laptop drifted off to sleep the only words you could manage were a breathless, “Oh, Bucky.”

You had never thought planning your wedding would be so emotional.

You kissed him softly, savoring the way his lips moved against yours in a practiced ease that still made your stomach fill with butterflies. Just as he was about to deepen the kiss you pulled back with a start and a flurry of questions.

“Wait, if you don’t care about this why did we spend two hours looking and why did you offer such awful suggestions?”

Bucky swallowed, his cheeks flushing deep pink. “You asked me to,” he said simply, before adding on as his cheeks turned even darker, “Maybe I wanted to make you laugh a bit.”

Mission accomplished.

Parting your lips to speak he beat you to it saying, “I also wanted to spend time with you and I know how much planning this means to you.”

It felt as if your heart was going to burst right out of your chest. You didn’t know anyone who would willingly want to spend that much time going over colors, debating between two shades that were nearly identical when they could have been doing something they enjoyed.

Searching for the words to tell him all of that you came up empty, settling with a simple, but true, "I love you, Bucky."

Which you followed up with another sweet kiss, once again marveling at how lucky you were to be marrying him.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #my writing

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soulvomit · 3 years

Text

stuff with gender anguish about not fitting in with today’s current gender constructions

From another post I made: I need to talk about 20th century gender norms at some point as a living breathing 20th century fossil and how different it was. To most straight people, being gender non conforming meant gay, trans was on the far end of the gay spectrum, and gay was associated with being socially Not Normal at a time when you had to be Normal to get a white collar job. (The whole Normalhood thing im gonna talk about is VERY connected to mid-late 20th century construction of the white middle class.) Apropos of gender specifically... I’m not sure how 90s/00s genderfluid/genderqueer map to NB, or whether they do. It’s a big reason I am weird about IDing as NB - because it seems to mean something else than my particular understanding of my identity as it was formed in the 1990s. (Another thing is my social world being more people over 45 at this point and also I’m in a hetero relationship.) Part of 90s GQ stuff was that you could identify as a man part time, a woman part time, you could contain multitudes. “Woman-identified person with a male side” was a legit identity within that, so was “man-identified person with a female side.” You could be one person in the streets and another in the sheets. You could be several people in the sheets, especially if you were aligned with kinky culture. (And for a long time... I was.) There was a greater sense in the 90s and early 00s in genderqueerness culture that you could be GQ for no other reason than wanting to be and it wasn’t assumed to be bundled with physical dysphoria or even desire to change your public social identity. Some spaces - like West Coast geek culture and goth culture - had enough flexibility baked in that we didn’t really need to go to LGBTQ culture to explore our identities, and there was a whole geek queer sensibility that was evolving alongside of the broader LGBTQ culture that was definitely its own... thing. And while people *say* that NB doesn’t mean any one particular thing or any of these things, that’s not always the message I get when visible NBs on TV/in film are almost always at present one very specific image or “type” of person, and that doesn’t resemble me. NB representation on TV amounts to presenting NB as a third gender with very specific codified behaviors (androgynous AFAB person who binds and has body dysphoria). The message I get is that whatever my experience is, is better described some other way. Also the discourse around relationships with NBs is that a relationship with an NB is necessarily a queer relationship yet having been in relationships in and out of LGBTQ culture, I’m not really sure how to distinguish “a queer relationship.” My relationship is non-traditional in lots of ways and we’re both gender non-conforming in lots of ways though it doesn’t parse to most people because it’s along the lines of stuff that shouldn’t have ever been gendered in the first place. What my partner does not ever question however is his actual gender identity. The thing is, actually publicly identifying as anything but a woman would create weird problems in my life in terms of social dynamics, and other stuff, and probably an unpredictable series of ripple effects downstream. But - that... just means I’m closeted, right? And closeted doesn’t mean your identity doesn’t exist or isn’t as unreal as someone who isn’t? And what if - as a “shapeshifter” - my relationship to myself within my relationship *is* part of that shapeshifting? One of the things is that I’m in a heterosexual relationship. My relationship *is* one of my few spots where I’m happy in my skin, let alone happy in the world and I have no complaints with how I’m perceived in this relationship, and part of it is that practically every assumption about my gender is true, or has been true at some point, including the fact that I’m fine with being seen as a woman in the context of my relationship. It’s in other spaces besides the intimate, that gender stuff makes my skin crawl. My deep interior gender identity is “pixels floating in the ether, which can assume any shape or form.” My gender identity among other people in non sexual friend spaces is “friend.” My partner identifies as a cis het man. I don’t feel like my relationship has any special quality that’s different from queer relationships I’ve been in, other than identities people have. If my partner doesn’t feel our relationship is queer then I don’t feel it is, either... though it’s not exactly *traditional.* I don’t feel like our relationship is different from our hetero neighbors’ relationships regardless of whatever history I have. I have no way of knowing what my ostensibly-female ostensibly-heterosexual neighbors’ interior identities really are, or what their history is. And because we’re monogamous, it just never ever comes up. Our social world is about half queer and half not so nothing has changed. After decades of only dating people who had LGBTQ identities, and having a particular social world, now I’m with a cis het man from that same social world and nothing really has changed about the shape of my life. I’ve moved between different spaces my entire life, sometimes I perceived myself as a boy in a girl’s body, but sometimes I didn’t, and don’t. And gender is one of the spaces in which I feel like a chameleon. There seem to be a ton of gender expression based communities that disappeared since the 90s that either disappeared or were erased from discourse and that makes this weirder/harder to talk about. Another thing is that a lot of the discourse around pronouns (if pushed I’ll say I’m she/they but I am literally comfortable in anything, depending upon context) makes me really uncomfortable. Even in LGBTQ spaces it makes me uncomfortable. There’s the me that my friends know, and some of my family knows, and it’s a big enough world to contain that part of me at this point. I would rather not put my identity under a microscope in any space that matters. It’s weird but I wish I could just be “they” in the work, creative, etc, spaces, without the loading of what “they” means. I wish it meant nothing about the people who love me, or who I love, or how I love, or how I live my life, besides what pronoun I use. But it doesn’t mean nothing. That is why I hope more cis identified people will actually identify as they in the public sphere. There are plenty of spaces in the public sphere that I don’t think should be gendered at ALL. My wanting to be a “they” is in some ways more about wanting public anonymity and having formed my sense of self - at a tender time - online, than about my gender identity. Which means I’d be potentially appropriating “they” from people for whom it IS a deep identity, and yet... haven’t I spent half of my blog talking about how I’m not exactly the gender identity I advertise?? Haven’t I spent a long time up to now advocating for “they?” Isn’t feeling like a they, evidence that I’m a they? And the thing is, this is such a YMMV issue and the problem is that EVERYONE has competing access needs with EVERYONE ELSE. Anything one queer person wants or needs seems to oppress some other queer person, and it sucks. But sometimes I wonder if I even need to just recognize how cis het passing my life is and acknowledge my privilege. The thing is though at that point... is it how much oppression we’ve experienced or are currently experiencing, that alone makes our identity? That’s as silly an idea as saying I’m less of a Jew because I haven’t personally experienced a hate crime. And yes there’s a lot to shared oppression experiences forming group identities, but I’m not talking about group identity. I’m talking about personal feelings of identity.

#My chest stopped bothering me after my reduction #like - the relief was profound and being a size where I could go toward any expression I wanted based on a change of clothes - was enough

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lilyclawthorne · 3 years

Text

Escaping Expulsion Thoughts (once again very stream of conscious-like while i rewatched the episode so there’s a bunch of stuff here)

i fucking knew odalia was gonna be an oracle, i knew and i hate that for her family. i’m not sure if this necklace thing is specifically a form of oracle magic or not but im assuming it is, and either way the second i saw it happen that made my stomach twist. the fact that she just keeps this direct line to her daughter at all times feels so disturbing

so, i get that the joke with glyph lessons here is that eda and lilith are probably acting the exact same way they did when they were younger, but it does also feel a little odd for me. in my post for episode 1 i talked about how it felt like lilith probably missed the structure of the coven, and maybe even having an authority figure, and it does concern me a bit that it could be projected on to luz here.

also, i saw someone mention that they thought lilith could be regressing a bit, which is interesting seeing as she’s been in the coven since basically being a child and now that she’s out, she could be going backwards because that was probably the last time she had a personality of her own instead of one that was carefully crafted to be socially acceptable for others. and to be fair, the few moments in season 1 when we see glimpses into the true lilith, she is pretty childish.

anyways lilith has such pretty handwriting i love it

gus!! witch puberty!! do not worry buddy eda will get your name eventually. probably.

amity went out and murdered those fairies for luz didn’t she

i need to know why the heck bump has no choice in the matter of the expulsion. typically a pta (or pca in this case) wouldn’t have power that much stronger than the principa?? so i wonder if the blights have something over bump, or if its even just something such as donation money they’d withdraw

odalia blight you gaslighting bitch “I’m appalled you’re not in class right now what are you thinking” YOU MADE HER COME HERE

PLEASE i know gus and willow are sad here but the whole “live off the land” thing and “water you one last time, with my tears” are so fucking funny ok

GO LUZ, YOU TELL OFF ODALIA

i feel like alador doesn’t really care what’s going on and just wants to be back home making his abomination inventions, also he seems to have an affinity for different creatures as well which is an interesting detail

i love that willow stated they would get back in on their own right in front of alador and odalia. these people fucked up her friendship and caused her a lot of trouble that she shouldn’t have had to deal with so i love that she’s unafraid to speak like that in front of them

between the first & second episode, and some of the seasons trailer, it seems like Lilith may have an affinity for ice magic? which is interesting seeing as eda was always a fan of her “spicy toss” aka some fire magic. interesting to see the two of them as fire & ice basically

i LOVE how much bump loves luz, willow, and gus. it’s kinda really sweet, but again it feels so concerning that he had no choice in the matter. makes me think he’s more likely to eventually rebel against the standards that have been in place for so long at some point. (also abominations coven for bump!! interesting!! i appreciate seeing the coven marks included on the adults so far)

what is it with these kids and being dragged off by their hoods in this episode

love that the blights address includes “right arm”, also i took a quick look up of the word “bruegal” which is boulevard they live on, and it’s probably just a coincidence but the first google result was actually for a european think tank that specializes in economics

yknow i actually have wondered about layering glyphs on top of each other and making a super glyph the way eda did, so good to know that would NOT work out

luz you’re really gonna give the blights their own flowers??????

it goes by so fast but please take a moment to take in and appreciate the design of that blight entry room/living room-esque area and it’s combination of abomination and oracle decor. also the blight family portrait.

i could talk about alador and odalia and their relationship dynamic here, when luz is meeting with them, but i think it’s best to save for the end, but i will say i don’t think it’s just odalia controlling everything (though she does control a lot) and alador just suffering and being silent.

the more i stare at odalia’s hair the more i feel like she has an odd receding hairline

love that the abomination kept the cat shape luz gave it and that amity knew immediately from that

WILLOW’S DADS!!! I LOVE THEM! I love how much they want their daughter to have a great education even if they have to be the ones to do it! (even if it could come across as a little intense) Although, the fact that they’re prepared to teach plant magic to her makes me question why they put her in abominations once again. (wish we could’ve gotten a glimpse of their coven marks!)

odalia is definitely the one who handles more of the parenting and alador is more distant. at least that’s what i get based on the twins specifying to amity not to tell their mom specifically

absolutely insane that odalia is just letting the abomiton destroy the whole place to kill a child

“stay away from my luz!” oh my god,ohmy GOD

i like how lilith can’t tell if these are normal noises or distress ones. really sums up life in the owl house. also lilith? kicking doors in?? this combined with “I AM A WITCH, UNHINGED” tells me she’ll be as chaotic as the rest of the owl house in no time and i am here for it.

the music when amity jumps in to protect luz is absolutely killing it here i need a soundtrack now

YES AMITY DESTROY THE NECKLACE (and oh god please don’t let odalia give you something even harder to remove or destroy)

Luz is blushing!! The feelings are starting to be returned!!!

“Luz, Willow, and Gus are my friends!” love it. love the open declaration. love that she’s telling her mother off. love that i have something to check off my bingo board already.

okay, i know a lot of people have already suggested that alador is smiling here because he can tell luz and amity like each other, but i’m pretty sure it’s only because he’s noticing how much amity’s magic has grown and improved

small detail but i love the smoke from the units order sign filling the background while odalia is fuming herself

oh? alador has had the ability to tell odalia off and successfully calm her down this whole time? and chose not to use it till now? yeah he sucks too. he very clearly has a plan for amity as much as odalia does as well, but he’s much better at seeing the long-term goal

“the glyph combo, copyright me, lilith” im screaming, lilith you DORK

ok i really wish eda or lilith asked where luz had been. i’d kill for these sisters to go off about how much they hated the alador and odalia in school, as well as threaten to hurt them for hurting luz.

the statue lilith made and her reaction to the gold star she received re-emphasizes my concern about her need for approval and for an authority figure. (ok but her noise at the gold star WAS very cute tho)

alright lets get down to business on the blight parents. so far i definitely do not view their relationship as being one-sided with odalia in control. honestly, i think they do have a sense of mutual respect for the other. to me it seems like all alador really wants to do is focus on his work and nothing else, and odalia seems not only more than happy to let him do so, but willing to take care of everything else the company needs, and he seems fine with that and going along with whatever because he only has to do his part. and clearly his abomination tech combined with her showmanship/advertising (and honestly probably some oracle magic) has clearly made them successful.

so what im saying is that i think their power in their relationship is actually pretty balanced, if it looks otherwise that’s just because that’s how they best function together, with odalia being more forward and alador being more distant, and therefore they’re very much both to blame for shitty parenting.

also I know some people have joked about the blight family name coming from odalia (which is also a dumb joke like why is it funny if the family name comes from the woman and not the man) but anyways I definitely do think blight is aladors family name and odalia married in simply because he takes the whole blights keep up their end of the deal thing much more seriously than odalia. probably something that’s been taught to him since he was a kid yknow, whereas she was super ready to ignore it when it inconvenienced her.

as for the very final scene with them and the golden guard, i had an interpretation of it that i saw, but it seems that everyone else ive see react to it so far saw something different than me so maybe i’m just plain wrong. but like, i have this feeling that maybe the blight parents, while they do want power, might not be as aligned with the emperor and his coven as we may think?? not saying they’re good people, just that there could be more going on here. but idk, i’ve seen no one else interpret it that way yet so i won’t go off about it unless either someone wants to know more of what i thought or if i ever actually make myself get around to making a separate post about it.

#the owl house #owl house #toh #escaping expulsion

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gyucore · 3 years

Text

long live the king

pairing: mage!hueningkai x noble!reader

tags: fluff, royalty au, friends to lovers, hueningkai can do magic

word count: 3.3k

prompts:

011: "May I have this dance?"

019: "I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."

020: "You look incredible in that."

Tonight had been advertised as the night to end all nights— a masquerade ball held by the king at the palace, and a brightly lit ballroom decorated with gold and the continent's finest silk, adorning the kingdom's rose insignia. Entertainers and musicians positioned around the vicinity to perform their best acts and tunes, and the gates were left wide open to welcome everyone who wanted to join in, given that they tried their best to dress for the occasion.

Today was an event open to all the kingdom's citizens, from high seated nobles to common men by the streets, everyone was welcome to participate in the king's annual ball. However, that fact didn't matter for a family such as yours. Your father was the Marquess, which meant that you were invited to every single ball or gathering held by the nobility for the nobility. At least, that was how it had been until the incident.

The peering eyes of both the nobles and commoners alike have left you frozen on your spot by the pillar. Your bright red ball gown, although beautiful, was not helping you hide away from the eyes of the crowd. It was evident they were all thinking the same thing.

The unfortunate daughter of a fallen marquess.

News had gotten out about your family's crisis and had spread to the public like a disease. The Grand Marquess losing money, property, and power: The fall of a great noble. The story made headlines for weeks on end— rumors mixing in with the truth, and eventually, everyone had drawn the same conclusion. Pitiful.

You worry about your parents at the other end of the room, doing their best to mingle with the other nobles. The heavy atmosphere was weighing down on your chest.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try to think of the things that calmed you down: the rustic smell of old books at the public library, the warm feeling you'd get when the rays of sunlight touch your skin as you sit by the window with your face buried deep into your favorite classic, the bright smile the common mage boy would give you everytime you crossed paths—

"Wow."

A familiar voice brings you back from your thoughts.

"You look incredible in that." The same bright smile you'd envisioned earlier now stood in front of you.

You gaze in awe at the man before you, dressed in what you could only describe as the most beautiful and elegant ensemble you'd seen tonight. The way the white suit hugged his waist left little room for the imagination. You doubt even the king himself could top this off.

"Lady Y/N. I believe fate must have brought us together in this fine evening." The man gently bends down, taking your hand and planting a kiss so fleeting that you barely felt it. Even with the golden mask on, you could easily tell who it was.

"Kai.."

"Ah, and here I was hoping I'd be a little more mysterious tonight." Kai holds back his laughter as he gazed upon you once more. You can't help but do the same.

Tonight, he looked nothing of a common mage but that of a king himself. If you hadn't known him beforehand, you would've mistaken him as so, especially with tonight's main event— the reveal of the king's successor. But alas, what the mage boy had going on for him was merely for appearances. A commoner like him could never be king in a world where even dreaming of becoming one was considered to be of highest absurdity.

"I thought you said you weren't attending?"

Kai shrugs, folding his hands behind his back. "And refuse my lady when you so graciously asked me out?"

His response catches you off guard. "I don't recall ever asking you anything of that sort."

"You asked if I'd attend."

"And that counts as asking you out?"

Kai chuckles. "When you asked me with such a cute look on your face, it was difficult to think you weren't looking forward to me being here."

And he was right. Given your circumstances, Kai being here with you was like a breath of fresh air. You'd been praying all night that he'd magically arrive to help you take your mind off of things, and you felt like crying out in joy when he actually did.

Kai looks around, seemingly getting a sense of the pressure you were in. "Shall we take a stroll around the garden, my lady?"

You follow his line of sight and spot the royal garden just outside the window. "I'll let you accompany me if you drop the whole my lady business."

Kai purses his lips as he takes your hand in his. "Can't you let me be fancy for one night?"

Every moment you'd spent with Kai up until this point had been the highlight of your days. As the daughter of the Marquess, you'd spent most of your time holed up inside your manor. Women barely got any education aside from the usual classes on manners and societal etiquette, and that included nobles as well. But that never stopped you. Once a week, when the guards changed shifts by the gate, and the maids and butlers were all busy with the weekly general cleaning, you'd take the opportunity to slip out in disguise, undetected by anyone. The main goal was to get to the public library and obtain access to educational material— ones that didn't involve any prim and proper rubbish that you've read over a thousand times.

The first time outside was rather difficult. You barely managed to get inside the library's more educational section while passing as a man. However, every succeeding attempt became easier and easier until coming out in secret and gaining access didn't seem like that much of a hassle anymore.

At the library, you were free to read any book you want, and used this opportunity to brush up on some business and economics as well as some of the basic sciences. You spent the first few months stocking up on knowledge until you felt it fine to relax a little and start reading novels to pass the time without the help of a disguise.

There was a section in the library that you hadn't checked; one that you'd deemed unnecessary as it only contained children's literature. It wasn't until you'd heard the sound of a man's voice followed by children's laughter that you felt compelled enough to take a peek.

"And then, the dragon swooped down onto the village and attacked the innocent villagers! ROARRR. Breathing fire as hot as, well, uh— FIRE!"

You slipped up and giggled at the young man's amusing narration, piping down a bit after realizing that he had noticed you from behind the shelves, throwing a knowing smirk your way.

It was then that he pulled down his cloak. Wavy brown locks gracefully reaching the back of his neck, bright eyes that could make any person let their guard down— he looked around your age which made you feel more at ease.

The young man steps back, dramatically breathing fire out of his mouth as the children cheered. Some were yelling at him to continue until only smoke came out, and you swore you heard one of them ask if he could make the fire turn green. Ridiculous, you think. But you were no different from these children, only being able to stand there in awe at the young man's trick. Perhaps turning the fire green wasn't such a terrible idea.

You've heard of mages among the commoners before, and had met a few that visited your manor but this was the first time you'd seen one in action. The flames that came out of his mouth looked awfully hot but the young man didn't even blink or showed any signs of pain.

He stops the fire and clears his throat, now kneeling down to face the children. "The villagers were worried sick! What would happen to their crops, their produce, their livelihood? If only a hero would come along and save them!" He makes an overly exaggerated wail before gasping.

"Well, who do we have here? A warrior has come to save the villagers!" The young man points at your direction and you feel your blood run cold as all the children in the room had turned their attention towards you, hopeful.

"A young maiden has arrived to slay the evil dragon!"

You quickly shake your head at his statement, holding your arms out in a cross. "No, kids. Don't believe what this man says. I am not a warrior, and I'm certainly not here to slay any dragons"

The young man raises a brow, getting up from his spot. "Then why do you have the magical sword that was forged to slay the mighty dragon?"

"What sword?"

The young man snaps his fingers. "That sword."

The weight on your hips dip on one side and you couldn't believe your eyes as a sheathed sword had magically manifested beside your waist out of thin air. "How did you— wait, is this a real sword?! You can't play around with real swords in front of children!"

The children turn towards the young man in confusion.

"Well, kids. Do you want the kind lady to slay the dragon with a real sword?"

"YES!" The children cheered.

The young man turns to you with a smile. "You gotta give the kids what they want, Miss."

An exasperated expression makes its way to your face. "I am not slaying any made up dragons!"

"Now, what's all this talk about slaying dragons?"

Taehyun, one of the stricter librarians, had come out of nowhere, surprising everyone. His eyes scan the room and quickly notices three things: (1) the dangerous sword hanging on your waist, (2) the excessive amount of children in the room when the sign on the way in definitely mentioned a capacity of only five, and (3) someone let the mage boy inside the library again. The culprit was evident.

"Jung Kai, I swear to the heavens I will—"

"Alright kids, time to go! We'll end the story next time!" The young man, Kai, rushes the disappointed children out of the section before they heard something they shouldn't.

You were about to walk away yourself but was quickly stopped by Taehyun's hand blocking your path. "Kai, didn't I tell you that you're not allowed to perform magic inside the library? And seriously," He confiscates the sword on your waist, holding it up in the air. "Violence?"

Kai looks at you and grins. "I suppose we could've gone with a more romantic ending. Something like the warrior's kiss saving the dragon from his curse, and he turns back into this super handsome, super cute, and super macho mage."

The way he shamelessly described himself left you speechless, and you steal a glance at the librarian who looked as equally disgusted as you are.

"Just clean up the mess before you leave. And that means you too, Miss Dragon Slayer."

"But I didn't even—" You cut yourself off after Taehyun dismisses himself from the room.

The section falls silent and Kai walks up to you, a smile ever present in his face. "I'm guessing this is the start of our new friendship?"

And that was what started it all. Everytime you'd visit the library after that, you seemed to bump into Kai more often than you liked. He saw through the disguise the first time he saw you wearing it and had promised to not utter a single word to anyone. The mage boy was much more reliable than he seemed to be, often helping you in your studies and teaching you more than the books ever could. Sometimes, he'd convince you to take a stroll around town and had shown you sights and wonders you wouldn't have expected to see inside the kingdom.

Before you knew it, Kai had become someone you'd cherished, and someone whose company you genuinely appreciated. He was patient and understanding as your makeshift mentor, and was this fun and outgoing guy whenever you two were out together. Kai became the first friend you'd made on your own regardless of status and the only friend you wished to keep by your side.

"I take it that the people in the ballroom were too much?" Kai speaks the moment arrived at the garden.

"Please. I couldn't even breathe in there." You play it off with a chuckle but thoughts of worry still plague your mind. "I'm guessing you probably know by now."

"About what? The fact that you're the daughter of the Marquess or that the Marquess has been in a crisis for a while?"

"Both."

Kai reaches for your hand, holding it reassuringly. "I've known for a while but that doesn't change anything now, does it? We became friends without the burden of our status, and we'll stay as friends regardless."

You hated this, hated how he always knew exactly what to say. The heat rushes up to your face and you squeeze his hand tighter, avoiding eye contact. "Thank you."

But truthfully, there was a little voice in Kai's head that wished you could be something more. Not after you'd shared those intimate moments alone at the library at dusk, not after he rushed in to catch you in his arms when you fell while shelving a book on the top shelves, and especially not after you almost shared a kiss after saying goodbye that night he'd helped you sneak back in.

Even now, as he lovingly gazed at your silhouette beneath the moonlight, he'd hoped that he'd have the chance to tell you how he felt. But then again, the chance could be right now at this very moment. The two of you were, afterall, at the king's ball.

"So, how were the gentlemen earlier?"

"What?" You raise your head to face Kai.

"I've no doubt that hundreds of people had been lining up to dance with you all evening." Kai grins as he gently lets go of your hand.

"Please, I haven't danced at all tonight."

"I find that quite hard to believe."

You sigh, recalling the events from earlier. "No one would want to be seen dancing with a fallen Marquess' daughter now would they?"

"Not when you look this beautiful?" Kai jokingly walks around you and you shy away from his gaze.

"You know I never say things I don't mean, Y/N." Kai bends down and holds your hands in his. "And believe me, I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."

"Is flattery your main personality trait now?" You say as an attempt to not let his compliment affect you any further than it should but fail miserably so.

Kai stands before you with an unreadable expression. You'd argue this was the most serious look he's ever had since you'd met him.

"Care to dance?" Kai asks, leaning in closer, your faces merely inches apart. You feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, and you're almost afraid he might hear.

The moonlight casts a shadow on Kai's face, and despite the darkness, his eyes glistened, reflecting your own as you stared into his. You've never seen anyone look so beautiful. And here he was, telling you that you're the loveliest person he's ever known.

"Right now?"

Kai nods, taking off his mask and tossing it over to the side. "And I'd like it if we could dance without our masks too. I've been wanting to get a good look at your face all night."

You chuckle, removing your mask and tossing it to to the ground next to his. "And how do you suppose we dance without music? My reputation's already dirt at this point and I do not want to be branded as the crazy noble dancing at the royal garden in complete silence."

Kai fails to suppress his laughter, holding on to your shoulder to maintain himself upright. "Well, I wouldn't want to let my dear lady look crazy now would I?"

"And what are you planning to do?"

"Well, I am a mage." Kai smirks as he manifests a scepter out of thin air, leaving a trail of golden dust flurrying down.

This was the first time you've ever seen it in person. Kai had mentioned how he needed the aid of his scepter to perform high level magic, but he'd never taken it out in front of you until now. One look at the scepter and anyone could tell not just any old mage owned the darn thing. It looked majestic by all means, intricately decorated with gold and topped off with a brightly colored red gemstone you couldn't seem to identify. You'd heard that mages often created their own unique gemstones as a manifestation of their mana but for Kai's to be red, which had been said to be a quite powerful variant, made you wonder just how powerful your friend had been.

"And here we go." Kai takes the scepter in his hand and drives it into the ground. The impact causes a wave of light to burst from the scepter and spread throughout the reaches of garden. In a split-second, the wave of light rushes back into its source, compressing into a huge orb of light lifting up into the sky, rivaling the moon with its glow. The orb splits into smaller pieces and starts to dance around the garden, leaving you in awe at the spectacle.

Kai finds himself grinning from ear to ear at your reaction. He'd studied magic as an expression of rebellion against his father but now, he'd found another purpose to perform these little tricks of his. He places his hand on your waist and pulls you closer. "Wait for it."

The orbs of light find their places around you, slowly taking the shape of various instruments you've seen inside the ballroom, from strings to percussions, and even wind instruments. Smaller pieces of light continued to hover the surroundings, resembling glowing fireflies in the dark.

"Kai, this is beautiful." You look up at the young man, and he steps away, bowing his head as he plants yet another kiss on the back of your hand.

"May I have this dance?"

His eyes meet yours and you feel your heart skip a beat. It was rather difficult to explain. The Kai in front of you right now had been the same Kai you've always known, but somehow.. different.

You raise your hand for him to take, guiding your other hand to find perch on his shoulder, and his finding its place on your waist. With the first step, the instruments started playing. It's a piece you've heard before, one that Kai had fondly hummed nearly everytime you were together at the library.

It was as if the world had faded into the distance, and at this moment, there was only you and him, dancing alone in the garden. He pulls you close, his hold gentle and warm. Kai spins you around. The heel of your shoe collides with a rock, and you nearly stumble back until Kai manages to grab you by the waist on time, pulling you back into his arms.

You spot the smirk on his face under the moonlight, and you press a finger against his lips. "Not one word."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Kai lets you go, and you quickly grab a hold of his arms to find balance.

"Of course you weren't."

"Well, I do have something I have to tell you. A few things, actually."

You cock a brow at him, and he steps forward. "I'll tell you the most important part first."

"And that is?"

Kai reaches out to cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes as if asking permission. You didn't need to say anything for him to understand, and he closes the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours. The feeling was foreign but certainly welcome, and you soon close your eyes and reciprocate, wanting to feel more of his soft lips, and wanting to hold him closer and closer.

For long had you held out on this, on actually acknowledging your growing feelings for the lad in fear of having to live with the thought of him not feeling the same. But in this moment, you felt a heavy burden being lifted from your shoulders.

"Kai, I.."

The light from the orbs dim down and soon dissipates. Kai pulls away, gazing upon your flushed face. "You mean the world to me, Y/N. I don't think my life would ever be the same without you."

The trumpets blare in the ballroom, a signal that the new king was to make an appearance soon. You feel Kai's hand around yours. "As for my other confession, I think it's best we head back first."

He leads you back into the ballroom, and disappears the moment you find your parents in the crowd. You join them in the center as everyone gathers to get a glimpse at the new king.

The herald makes his way beside the grand staircase, straightening himself up to make the announcement that every citizen had been waiting to hear all evening.

"Presenting the next in line to the throne, to rule the vast lands of our esteemed nation, and lead us into a continuing era of prosperity! Our future King, His Royal Highness, Kai Kamal Huening!"

The doors open, revealing Kai, your Kai, adorned in the royal family's crest, robes, and jewelries as he made himself known to his loyal subjects.

Behind him was public librarian, Kang Taehyun, who had been revealed to be serving as one oc the King's advisors, and now, for the new monarch.

"Long live the King!"

Kai could pick out your from the crowd in a heartbeat, hos gaze meeting yours as he flashes you his signature smile. You couldn't believe what was happening— Kai, your best friend in the whole world, had just confessed his love to you. And now, that same Kai had revealed to you and to the public that he had been the future ruler of the country all along. The crowds cheered.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King." You whisper to yourself, wondering what the future has in store for you.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt fic #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai imagines #huening kai x reader #huening kai imagines #hueningkai scenarios #hueningkai fluff #.reqs

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kaibacorpintern · 3 years

Text

the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

++++

Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life?

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting.

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like.

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit.

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip.

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric.

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound. He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto.

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat!

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking.

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

#fanfiction #intern memo #rivalshipping #a lite snack... once i've written up a few more i'll cross post to AO3 #okay good Night i am. wiped the fuck out

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imhereforbvcky · 3 years

Text

Watch Me Run - Part 17

Masterlist - Series Masterpage - Part 18

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader)

Chapter: You finally make contact with the Avengers again but everything is not as it seems. Or rather everyone.

Word Count: 1928

A/N: the next 2 chapters are more “Move the damn plot, Mee!” than “yes, brain! Deliver some flowing, symbolic prose!” I’m not thrilled about it either, but here we are.

The village was small. Hearty in the way towns are that have crawled out of the wilderness, just barely keeping the wild at bay. It was rugged and worn, and if you’d been there by yourself, you’d have passed right through without marking it.

Bucky pulled the creaking truck beside one of the larger single-story buildings. You’d have guessed the shutters hadn’t been painted since they were installed sometime in the late 1960s. The windows were probably last cleaned around the same time. The concrete wouldn’t need painting. No, eventually it would crumble into the dust whence it came.

For now, the entire side of the building had taken on a soft brown patina; decades of road dust streaked grey with the steady drip of melting snow and ice. Most couldn’t have picked it out of a line-up from the other buildings. Nothing distinguished this one as a government building except the sign in the filthy window of the door advertising its hours of operation. You doubted very much if their adherence was strictly enforced.

“Only library with wifi for the next hundred miles,” Bucky had told you as he gassed up the truck for the drive. You’d yawned and handed him a coffee in a white styrofoam cup. The liquid was black and cloudy as the sky overhead. Even the 3 creams you’d dumped into yours had done little to brighten the stale, hefty brew.

The library door groaned when Bucky drew it open for you. Not the gentle squeak of a place welcoming a new guest. No, this was the deep angry howl of a door stubborn and calloused in its disuse. The woman scowling at you from behind the counter stood as the physical embodiment of the very sound. Grey wisps of hair tumbled out of a hastily tied knot, a worn and grease-stained flannel hung on heavy shoulders over top of a fading wool knit. The collar had begun to fray long ago, as had this woman’s patience.

“Hi.” You offered as pleasant a smile as you could find, a customer service smile, though you were the customer.

The frown didn’t budge one millimeter. Her eyes though, turned to Bucky when he stomped heavy boots on the rug at the door. Muddy slush from the day-old snow dropped off his boots in clumps.

“Please wipe your boots outside,” she scolded.

“The snow’s right up to the door—“

Her head snapped and her eyes burned with the sort of anger only a stern teacher could conjure.

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded before cracking the door just enough to knock his boots on the brick wall.

“Do you need somethin’?” she asked you. Not, ‘Can I help you?’ Not, ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ Not even a, ‘Are you lost?’ This was a terse, ‘Honey, I know you’re lost and I know trouble. I want nothin’ to do with either.’

“Yes,” you jumped forward, matching her eagerness to rush you out. “I’m um… I’m not from here and—“

“Well I can see that.”

Bucky stepped in then, a scowl as deep as her own. He turned it down on you though. If you could kick yourself, you would. One of his rules of being on the run – don’t give away unnecessary information. Not who you are, where you’re going, who’s coming for you, not even what you need. Be nondescript. This was a difficult rule to follow when you were a nervous talker, when your sympathy scale was off the charts and the best way you knew to communicate was to connect in a personal way.

“We need to use your computer,” Bucky said simply. “You have internet here?”

She pointed to a back corner of the building. “Yeah. We even have indoor plumbing,” she grumbled.

“Well, she hates us,” you fidgeted, leaning close to whisper at Bucky’s shoulder as he led the way toward the computers. “You remember people you hate. She’s going to report us or something.”

Bucky chuckled as he looked back at you. “To who?”

“I don’t know… a Mountie? Loki could be anywhere right? Anyone?”

“Loki is from another planet. He’s not Interpol. There’s no hotline running for us. Far as she knows we’re a couple on a fishing trip.”

“Really? You don’t think she’ll remember us?”

He shrugged, pulling a chair over beside the one he took in front of the computer. “She wouldn’t have remembered some idiot who forgot to wipe his boots. Probably gonna remember ‘I’m not from here, please like me,’” he teased, donning a high squeak of a voice.

You smacked his arm with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I sound like.” A glance over your shoulder at the woman unfurling a cough drop at the desk. “She just looks so unhappy. How many people smile at her in a day, you think?”

“Not enough,” Bucky agreed. Grim places made for grim people. Harsh living and meager needs made even the softest people harden at the edges. Necessity, he called it. Survival.

“See. I might be the weirdo that cowered at the library door, but she’ll have a story to tell her partner when she gets home. Bet she’ll laugh about it.”

Bucky chuckled, sparing a glance over to you as he booted up the software. The computer was ancient and it made a dissatisfied grinding noise at the request.

“You laughed at least,” she nudged his shoulder with her own.

“That wasn’t a laugh,” he argued, failing to stifle a grin. “That was a… a snort at best.”

“Oh come on. There was at least a chortle.”

“A what?”

“A chortle! Look it up, we’re in a library. Ma’am!” you hollered, turning over your shoulder and waving.

“Knock it off!” Bucky laughed, reaching for your arm and pinning it to your side.

“Ma’am, could you point my friend here toward the dictionaries, he needs to look up a word—Umpfh!”

He’d clapped a hand over your mouth, the other still firmly wrapped around your arm, enveloping you thoroughly.

“No, we’re fine with the computer. Internet, so helpful,” he hollered, over your muffled chuckle.

The soft tickle of breath on his hand, the gentle shake of your laughing shoulders set off that warm, brightness in his chest. He was smiling down at you as he let go.

“Well I definitely got a smile, at least,” you nudged when he did lift his hand away. “You don’t smile enough either.”

“I smile.” His brow crinkled, like he wanted to scowl, but then… he would be proving your point. So he kept a half a smirk on his lips.

“Well, yeah, everybody smiles sometimes. But you rarely, and you never laugh—“

“I do too. I laughed yesterday when you fell on the stairs.”

“That was rude. You didn’t warn me they ice up like that.”

“It was funny,” he shrugged. “You looked like a cartoon. You should’ve seen your face.”

“You should see your face, Sir Scowls-A-Lot.”

“Scowl?” His eyes went wide and the smile threatened to erupt into an astonished laugh.

“Yes. You have the worst case of RBF I’ve ever seen.”

“What the hell is RBF…?” he wondered. But by now you were talking over each other, arguing and laughing all at once.

“People say, ‘If looks could kill…’ but, really. When you’re grumpy it’s like… if looks could kill, gimme Captain America’s shield because, nothing could stop those silver bullets.”

“It’s not that bad,” he rolled his eyes, typing away on the keyboard.

“It is. I mean, it’s fine, it’s a good looking face, so it works. But it’s a definite scowl.”

“A good looking face?” His entire visage lit into a grin now. His grey eyes were sharp and glittering like the cat that got the canary.

You were suddenly, glaringly aware that you’d been carrying on about all the little looks you’d noticed about your indefinite bodyguard all while you were still pressed tight against him from shoulder to hip. Heat flooded your cheeks and nose and throat at a record pace as you scrambled for a proverbial ripcord.

“Oh, you know you’re handsome.” When had denial ever worked for anyone? Misdirection, was clearly the way out. “Don’t act like I’m the first person to tell you that.”

He was still as marble for a long moment while you picked at your nails. The grin had dimmed a little, no longer a beaming mischievous thing, it had settled to a gentle warmth. He was Bucky again, the one who carefully assuaged your fears, who listened, who made eggs when hot pockets wouldn’t do.

“No,” he agreed finally and you looked up at the sweet softness of his tone. “First time in a long time it’s mattered to me, though. For some damn reason… I care what you think.”

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony’s voice thrummed angrily through the computer’s speakers. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Bucky took a sharp breath, deep into his lungs, breathing in the last of the stillness between you and taking it with him when he turned to the monitor. “Yeah,” he said and then he was talking to Tony. Something about a Doctor and the big bang and some powerful stones. But you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky.

Tony was irritable. Fuming, actually. The “doot-doot blub-blub-ting doot-doot” of the videocall ringtone repeated again, fueling the inferno. Waiting on technology was not something he was accustomed to. Waiting for inelegant, vulnerable technology that was too old to exist to project an image of the inside of his offices out into the world, well that would have been an a resolute No before today. But his teammates are nothing if not stubborn. Barnes most of all.

“Finally!” he sighed, leaning forward and peering at the image. “Why is it so grainy. I can’t… That’s a terrible picture.”

“It’s good enough,” Dr. Strange deadpanned beside him.

“No that can’t be it. Connection’s bad or something. They can’t even hear us talking!” He began waving haphazardly at the screen, hoping to catch the eye of the soldier or the stone-keeper.

That’s when he noticed what was actually on the screen. Bucky’s arm around you, tightly. A laugh. The goddamn Winter Soldier, your guardian for this mission, looking down at you as though he…

“Holy shit,” Tony mumbled, leaning closer. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah, you have to allow the app to access your microphone,” Strange rolled his eyes, entirely missing the point.

“Hey, Rogers?” Tony called just as Steve strode into the room, slightly out of breath. “I think your bestie has compromised the mission.”

His eyes were glued to the screen as Steve leaned his shoulder with a hand on the desk to get a closer look.

“Indeed,” he hummed through a grin as he watched the screen.

“What?” Tony frowned up at him.

Steve shook his head minutely. “Bucky’s fine. He’s only ever failed one mission. And I’m not this mission.”

Tony’s frown never lifted as his eyes darted over Steve. Doubt clouded them for but a moment. He hammered a quick line of code into the digital projection of a keyboard and swiped the screen away.

“Hello?? Is this thing even working??” Tony asked after patching the room’s audio systems through to the rudimentary video conferencing software. “Barnes, can you hear me?”

Not a second later, Steve – or rather Loki projecting himself as Steve – noticed a slight shift in the cameras in the room. One after another, they made slow sweeping turns until he stood squarely within each and every frame.

Part 18 >>

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bodyguard bucky #bucky fanfiction

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helbramstrauma · 3 years

Text

Carnival Date

Reki Kyan x Fem!Reader

Summary: A new relationship meets an internal struggle of crowd anxiety, but it is very fluffy and comforting.

TW: Depictions of a panic attack

car·ni·val

/ˈkärnəvəl/

An annual celebration held in a community to lift spirits and celebrate upcoming holidays or anniversaries

“Look” an overly joyed Reki barges into his workshop, making you jolt from your seat in surprise before looking over at a flier he is wiggling around making it impossible to read, but whatever is on that flyer has definitely caught Reki’s interest. You hold his hand to still the movements of the paper advertising the annual community days, which is something you haven’t gone to since you were younger. You always had work to do around the house or had to study for an upcoming exam, but it was just an excuse because you didn't really enjoy crowds. You often got lost and with that, you would lose yourself in thought until you spiraled into a panic attack. However, looking at Reki you could see the excitement radiating off of him and it is contagious.

He is practically sparkling explaining how he always had to babysit his twin sisters at the festival, but this year he’ll be able to get out of it because he can play the girlfriend card. Reki is already making plans before you know it- before you even had the chance to object to anything he is saying. Of course, you want to go with him, but you just got to know Reki, he doesn’t know about your social anxiety and you are honestly too embarrassed to bring it up. You wouldn’t dare break his spirit, so you’ll just have to suck it up.

The day has finally arrived, Reki has been talking about it nonstop all week, he would even drag you to the location to watch the people set up the rides and tents, even that morning he couldn’t keep his eyes off the road watching the variety of food trucks drive towards the location. It makes you so happy to see him beaming like this- it almost makes you forget that other people will be there too, as his energy is large enough to make you forget about other people in the room.

That is what drew you to him in the first place, it was dark and you didn’t quite know where you were, you were coming home from a classmates house with who you were working on a school project- he lived on the other side of your high school then you, plus you don’t get out much, so despite living here your entire life it still was foreign to you. You were walking through a small tunnel staring at your phone for walking instructions to the nearest bus or train station when you came across a small skate park. There were two boys, one had pale blue hair that stopped right before his shoulders- who you now know as Langa, but beside him was like this ball of sunlight in the dark, his expression made him glow. The way he gleamed with excitement over his friend made you slightly envious of his demeanor and outlook on life. However, once you got to know Reki more you just fell in love so quickly, he was so friendly and excitable it was impossible not to love him.

Here you are standing at the bottom of a set of stairs hand in hand with each other waiting to go up, you can already hear all of the people gathered up top and you can’t help but feel your stomach drop, but you continue to smile and laugh with Reki up the steps until you are greeted with a couple of isles of food stalls and rides sprinkled around. Most of the rides were for children however at the very back was a tall Ferris Wheel, some of the paint was chipping off of it, but the lights still gleamed slightly in the daylight. Once you saw the top of the hill, you noticed not all of the stalls were set up and there were not as many people as you thought would be there. You audibly let out a sigh of relief which doesn’t go unnoticed by Reki but he still chooses to ignore it, only giving your hand a light squeeze before pulling you towards the row that contains all the games. A couple of them were still hanging prizes and a few of them had young families beside them.

However, he doesn’t spend long looking down the row before pulling you into the arcade tent. The extension cords were not well kept but all of the systems were working, and it provided a calm atmosphere.

“I bet I can beat you at Mario-Kart” Reki exclaims before pulling you over to a machine to get you guys tokens for the machines. “We’ll see about that” you challenge taking a token and putting it in the machine. You can’t tell how much time has passed before you guys run out of tokens after playing all the classic arcade games you can think of plus a skee ball showdown. You even won each other stuffed animals from the claw machine; it was as cliche as it can get. You were hugging the turtle wearing a small top hat Reki won for you as he went to the bathroom. Once you are alone and outside the dark arcade you notice the large crowd that has gathered, you can’t help but lose yourself in the space. The voices of the moving people slowly become disembodied as you begin to spiral. Your vision begins to blur until all you see is moving lights and shapes, and eventually, the conversational noise is too much to bear as it is replaced by a sharp ringing noise. As reality starts to lose its grip you are drugged into a dark place with you and your thoughts, bringing back old memories and reliving past trauma. A warm liquid begins to roll down your cheek and chin, however, you cannot tell what as you are starting to uncover repressed memories.

“Y/n?” a voice says softly, pulling you back into the crowd, you see a tuft of red hair and a worried face. After blinking a few times you realize it’s Reki, he takes his yellow sweatshirt sleeve and begins to whip the tears that have started to fall down your face. In a cracking voice, you can muster you say in almost a whisper, “Sorry”.

“What are you apologizing for,” He asks, speaking up slightly but keeping the same softness to it, “Are you alright? Do you want to go back to my house?” he asks slowly but with urgency.

“I’m fine, can we just sit down for a bit,” Reki nods, looking around frantically for a bench but all of them seem to be full until an idea comes to mind. There are only a couple of people in line for the Ferris Wheel. He guides you towards the structure leaning over your shoulders as a way to shield your peripherals, keeping you from seeing the true size of the crowd effectively keeping your anxiety at ease. Once you reach the front of the line a small booth comes up and the operator lets you on. He keeps your body tight against his, you bury your face into the side, m

#anime #fanfiction #SK8 the Infinity #reki kyan x reader #reki kyan #sk8 reki #mentions:Langa #tw: panic attack #sk8 the infinity x reader #sk8 #carnival #very cliche #established relationship #reki x reader

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adhdeancas · 3 years

Text

Dean Winchester (and the script leaks last night) possessed me to write this.

Dean happens upon Chuck's latest book: Carry On. Except it ends differently than it really went, and the ending? It's really fucking bad.

tw: suicide mention, transphobia (quickly shut the fuck down)

Dean doesn’t make a habit of going to bookstores. Not because he hates books, contrary to what Sam might think; he just prefers to buy used books. There’s something comforting about a book that has already been worn and read over and over, that already shows how much the previous owner loved it. Plus, y’know, big corporations are evil and all that. And Dean only allows himself to overlook that when his stomach or his wallet wins over his hatred of the shitty mass-produced products.

This time it was Jack who won; he’s obsessed with this new fantasy series and the new book just came out, so there’s no way he can hunt it down on Ebay. He makes his way to the fantasy and sci-fi section, eyes roaming over the displays of new releases, and his eye catches on something that turns his blood cold.

“Supernatural: Carry On, The Final Book of the Winchesters’ Epic Journey” takes up a whole table, the generic and overly serious cover jeering out at him.

He storms over to the display, anger covering up for the way his body feels light as a feather and like lead all at once, and picks up a book. “Why is Sam always fucking shirtless?” he mutters, the only thought that allows itself from the mess inside his head to his mouth.

“Book sales.” A voice behind him says. He turns to see a teenager with their arms crossed over their work polo, pierced lip fixed into a customer-unfriendly frown.

“People want to see that?”

They snort, a small grin turning up the corner of their lips. It reminds Dean of Cas. “No. But that’s what advertisers think all ‘women’ want,” They use air quotes.

He raises an eyebrow and asks. “Women?”

They shrug and uncross their arms, leaning back against the display table behind them. Their nametag says Jadyn. “Supernatural’s biggest block of readers is queer. I’d go out on a limb and say a lot of those the marketers think of as ‘women’ aren’t, or if they are, they aren’t itching to see Sam’s six pack.” Jadyn smirks.

Dean takes a second to digest that, then grins down at the book, thinking past Sam’s apparently badly-received nudity now. “So how’d they like it?” he asks, waving the book a bit and looking up at Jadyn. Apparently they know a lot about the fans of the books, and for once, he’s proud of the way the story ended.

Jadyn’s face sets into all hard lines. “Most people fucking hated it.” they say bluntly, then, probably remembering that he’s a customer, correct. “Sorry. I mean, it got some good reviews, mostly from people who like Wincest, but beyond that, it had some problematic plot points.”

Dean winces at the reminder of the ship between him and his brother, then scrunches his whole face together in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” Why would Wincest fans like it? What was problematic about their end?

Jadyn shifts from foot to foot. “I don’t wanna spoil anything for you-”

“I don’t care about spoilers, just give me the short version.” Dean says quickly. A quiet panic is rising in him, and suddenly he has a horrible feeling that he’s not holding the truth in his hands anymore.

“Uh, okay… Well, the most obvious thing is the bury-your-gays thing, then there’s the fact that it completely contradicted the rest of the lore. And it was ableist, misogynistic, and messed up, like, every character’s arc.” they take a breath, clearly worked up by it. “Even if they changed any of the details too, it was all built on Dean’s death, and that’s just bullshit. Sorry.” they apologize again, apparently mistaking Dean’s stricken expression to be in reaction to their rant and swearing.

“No, nah, you’re… you’re okay. Uh, thanks.” he waves a hand and wanders away from them, only remembering Jack’s book when he’s almost to the register. He manages to make his way back and find the damn thing, but he’s still in a fog when he gets to the register.

“Did anyone help you in the store today?”

“Huh?” he looks up and meets the middle-aged cashier’s gaze for the first time. Brent, from the nametag, looks at him impatiently. “Oh, yeah, uh… Jadyn. Jadyn helped me.” Brent scoffs and starts typing with a shake of the head. “Uh, is there a problem?” Dean asks, a little annoyed at this cashier’s unnecessary attitude. He usually doesn’t care if an employee’s rude, because they have to deal with assholes all the time and honestly Dean isn’t much better, but this one gives him a bad feeling.

“No, no, sorry. It’s just - “Jadyn’s” got this idea that he’s a girl. Makes everybody call him that name now too. Just-” Brent shakes his head. “I mean, you get it. Their generation, everybody wants to be special.”

Dean glares. “No, I don’t get it, Brent.” He says through gritted teeth. “Seems to me like Jadyn probably deals with enough assholes like you that her asking for a little basic decency is the exact opposite of special. Sounds pretty normal, actually.” He can see the fear creep into Brent’s eyes, and he knows the cashier is reacting to the murderous look in his eyes more than his actual words.

Brent hands Dean his bag of books with a quiet, “Here you go.”

Dean snatches it away. “Oh, Brent?” he checks over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and then leans across the counter into Brent’s space. “You should find a new job, one where you don’t have to interact with other people. At least until you learn how to stop being a piece of shit.” He starts to ease away but thinks better about it. “And if you think that’s a suggestion, it’s not. My husband likes this book coming out next month that I’ll need to buy, and if I see you here when I come, well… it would be really embarrassing for you to tell all your little friends that you got your ass beat by a ‘special’ guy, huh?” He pats Brent on the cheek condescendingly and leaves with a huff.

Damn transphobes.

He only remembers the book once he’s back in Baby, and he takes the time to drive out of town before he pulls over to read it. It’s an old abandoned church, the cross long since fallen from the roof and the doors hanging off their hinges. He sits on the steps just because being in Baby seems claustrophobic for once in his life, and going back to the bunker to look at this is just… not happening.

Dean only skims the beginning to see that it starts the same. The ground erupting with bodies, hell spitting out its most-conveniently placed nasties, Rowena sacrificing herself, Cas leaving. His throat closes up at that, at Chuck’s description of Cas’s heartbroken expression as he climbs the stairs of the bunker. He clears his throat and skips to the end, right past Cas’s death that he doesn’t have the time to think about right now, past them defeating Chuck and then stops. He goes back a few pages, trying to find the disconnect.

The story’s different.

After Jack takes on God’s power, in the book, he’s totally fine. Not almost vibrating out of his skin or anything, not crying like the three year old he is because he’s scared. Not like it really happened. He just smiles and leaves him and Sam, and they let him go.

Dean scoffs, skimming over the story as it just gets more ridiculous.

In the book, he doesn’t even try to save Cas. They barely even mention him. And they never mention Eileen, either. In fact, Dean notes disbelievingly, practically the only characters in the last few chapters are him and Sam. They’re hunting again.

“What, is Chuck trying to keep the series going?” he whispers to himself, anger flaring through him. They let Chuck live, and he decided to write obnoxious fanfiction about them? He’s gonna kill that shameless little fucker. For real, this time. He deserves it.

In the book, Sam and Dean torture some vampire mime, and they enjoy it. Dean cringes; this is really what Chuck thinks of them. Then they tussle with more vamps in a barn and-

Dean’s brain stops working. He rereads the scene again and again.

“There’s something in my… something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.”

Dean Winchester dies in a dirty barn, on a piece of freaking rebar.

More than that, Dean realizes on his fourth read-through. This Dean? He tried to drag out his speech, Dean can tell by the way he pauses for fucking drama. He would never do that. He would never talk to Sam for fifteen hellish minutes when he could be trying. Trying to live, so he can actually get his life back on track, get his family back. No, he made that speech stalling. He made that speech so Sam wouldn’t try to save him.

“You gotta admit, I had one helluva ride.” He was strangely calm.

Chuck made him kill himself.

Dean reads the rest of the book through blurry eyes, reading an ambiguous and nothing-ending, one where he’s somehow happy to be dead and driving around in heaven alone while Sam raises a kid into hunting and cries about Dean decades after he’s died. Eileen isn’t mentioned. Cas is mentioned once, and Bizzarro-Dean doesn’t even think about seeing him, apparently. The whole book ends with a hug between him and Sam, both dead. Both alone.

Dean rips the ending up. He tears through the stupid paper covering and keeps ripping the pages up until they’re the size of confetti. His lower lip wobbles. He throws the whole thing against the side of the building, and it tumbles through the broken doorway and drops into a pile of dust and dirt. “That isn’t the fucking ending.” he grounds out, knocking his hand against the flimsy handrail. It gives a little under his fist and he kicks at it. “That isn’t the fucking ending!”

He’s having a panic attack. Again. He tries to take deep breaths, but they’re gulping, too big, they’re making him panic more. He scrambles back to Baby and grabs his phone, presses the first number on his favorites list and waits for him to answer on speaker phone.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” Sam sounds like he’s been laughing. There are voices in the background, and Dean tries to convince himself one of them is Eileen.

“Hey Sammy.” he chokes out, trying to sound normal. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and then the sounds in the background. “Nah, Rowena’s just over.” he says casually.

“So those voices in the background were-”

“Rowena and Eileen, yeah. They’re trying to convince me we need to go to Mexico. For the beaches.” A smile in his voice. Dean lets out a sigh of relief. What’s up, Dean? You need something?” The smile drops, and Sam’s worried.

Sam’s okay. Sam’s okay. “No, nah. Hey, you heard from Donna lately?” Dean just needs to triple-check.

“Uh, no, not since Sunday dinner… Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, she just- she hasn’t been answering my texts. Just wanted to make sure.” Dean lies quickly. His breathing is still uneven, but his body is settling into uneven shakes.

Sam sounds skeptical. “Yeah, well, she did tell us it’s been pretty busy at work lately. Y’know, everybody going out for the first time with COVID, getting stupid. Plus, y’know, nowhere’s drowning in EMTs right now.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath, a distant memory of Donna talking about that coming back to him.

“Pretty sure you were setting up a D&D session with Charlie while she was talking about that,” Sam laughs. Dean knows he means it as a subtle jab, but there’s too much relief flooding through him to care. Still, a string is pulled taut in him, and Sam can’t fix that completely.

“Gotta go, Sam,” Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else, and goes to his next contact. It rings for far too long, and Dean’s heartbeat picks back up to thundering.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out. “Cas, you know I love you, right?” He needs to test all the bounds of this, to make sure, just to make sure. Make sure Chuck isn’t still fucking with him. Because apparently, Chuck won’t let him be queer. Not in his story. Not out loud.

He can hear Cas’s eyebrow raise through the phone, and his chest is overcome with stupid fondness. “I would be a little worried if you didn’t.”

Dean grins widely. “Like, romantically. I’m in love with you. Because you’re the love of my life and I’m bisexual.” He says it all like it’s a checklist, like he expects some cosmic being to slap a hand over his mouth before he gets each next phrase out.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been married almost two months.” Cas is smiling. It happens everytime he talks about their wedding. Dean adores it. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, now it is.” His whole body relaxes, still vibrating with leftover panic, but satisfied. “I got Jack’s book.”

“Oh, good. He’ll be so pleased.” Cas pauses. “Dean, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean eases off the ground and sends a last look at the dilapidated church before climbing into Baby. “Just- read a bad book. I’ll tell you about it later. When I get home.”

#i fixed it #god fucking damn it #dean winchester #destiel #saileen #saileena #sam winchester #castiel #eileen leahy #castiel winchester #jack kline #roweena #my writing #ficlet #deancas #trans dean #trans woman OC #tw: transphobia #tw: suicide mention

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rymndsmth · 3 years

Text

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy!

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling.

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive.

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend.

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about.

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed.

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung and his girlfriend).

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller.

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores.

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place.

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion.

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned.

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea.

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot.

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing.

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition.

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later.

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood.

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived.

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history.

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide.

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen.

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter.

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons.

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag.

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush.

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it.

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest.

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all.

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued.

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though.

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips.

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush.

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her?

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him.

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors.

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table.

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you.

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down.

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished.

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his.

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow.

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did.

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin.

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers.

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes.

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.

#*throws this and runs to take my dog for a walk*#jang han seo #vincenzo #fics.n

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electrictoes · 3 years

Text

People Like Sunlight

For @dailysvu’s Sonny Carisi Appreciation Week

Day 7: Secrets (AKA another excuse for a “how the squad find out” fic)

Read on AO3

The Saturday morning trip to the zoo is long belated - Noah and Jesse have been asking to go for months but with one thing and another - Elliot Stabler crashing back into Liv’s life, Amanda’s father stumbling back into hers - they’re only now finding a day when they are both free from both professional and social obligations.

They meet at the entrance to the zoo, Noah calling out when he sees them approaching. Amanda’s got Jesse’s hand held tight in hers to keep her close by; Sonny has Billie on his shoulders already, and Amanda’s sure he’s going to regret telling Amanda not to bother with the stroller, that he’d carry Billie when she got tired, but Billie’s having the time of her life, shouting Noah’s name when she spots him from her vantage point above the heads of the crowd.

Liv greets Amanda first; a hug for Jesse and a wave to Billie, “I didn’t know you were joining us, Carisi.”

“Is that okay?” Sonny asks.

Liv smiles at him, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t mean to crash your day, I’ve just been spendin’ a lot of time with Jesse an’ those animal books Noah gave her. I just wanted to-”

“I thought it’d be nice for the girls to have both their godparents here,” Amanda cut in when she spotted a question in Liv’s expression - most likely focusing on a lot of time. “And he’s carrying Billie, so I don’t have to.”

Liv nods, “It’s fine, Noah was already feeling a bit outnumbered.”

“I wasn’t,” Noah protests, but he’s grinning, “Hi Uncle Sonny!”

Sonny lets go of Billie’s right leg to give Noah a high five, then ducks his knees so that Billie can do the same - it’s endearing; Amanda loves the way Sonny is with the girls, but he’s been this way with Noah for just as long, and it’s always brought a warm feeling to her stomach, one she didn’t have a name for until recently.

By early afternoon Noah and Jesse are grumbling about their legs hurting - Billie is yet to walk anywhere so she’s doing just fine, although Sonny definitely looks like he could do with a break even if he won’t admit it - so they stop for a picnic. Jesse and Noah chase each other around the grass once they’d finished eating, Billie has dozed off with her head on Amanda’s leg and Amanda strokes a hand gently through her hair as she sleeps.

They chat quietly about their plans for the rest of the weekend, about their day so far, about the weather; it’s nice, spending time just relaxing together, the sounds of the children’s laughter making its way back to them.

After about fifteen minutes of chasing each other, Noah and Jesse return to their picnic blanket, Jesse crashing into Sonny and reaching for her water bottle while Noah sits next to Liv. Once they’ve caught their breath Noah looks over at Sonny, “Hey Uncle Sonny?”

Sonny turns to Noah, his hand on Jesse’s back, steading her as she takes a huge gulp of water, “Yeah?”

“Can you come to our house and make pancakes for my breakfast tomorrow?”

Sonny’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as Liv shakes her head at her son, “Noah, that’s not really something you can expect Uncle Sonny to do.”

“But he went over and made pancakes for Jesse this morning,” Noah protests.

Sonny resists the urge to look at Amanda as he stumbles out an excuse, “Well, only because we were-”

“He didn’t come over for pancakes, Noah,” Jesse says, turning onto her back and leaning against Sonny, feet digging into the picnic blanket.

“You said he made real pancakes not from a box.”

“He did!” Jesse yells, sitting upright and ignoring Amanda’s reminder that Billie is sleeping, “But Mommy and Uncle Sonny had a sleepover first,” she adds.

Noah’s eyes go wide and he turns to look at his mother, but Liv isn’t giving anything away.

“Hey,” Amanda says, “Why don’t you guys go over and see the sea lions again - let Billie finish up her nap.”

Jesse, who has no idea what she’s just revealed, jumps happily to her feet, but Noah - who at nine years old realises that this is kind of a big deal without understanding why - is reluctant. He wants to watch how this unfolds.

“Go on, Noah,” Liv says, “Jesse’s too little to go by herself.”

The three of them sit in silence as Jesse tugs Noah down the bank towards the sea lions - three pairs of eyes on the children and none of them on each other.

“I think spending time with Jesse and Billie is good for him,” Liv says, and then she turns to look at them both, “So, a sleepover?”

“Well, it got late an’-” Sonny starts, but Liv fixes him with a look.

“Don’t lie to me, Carisi,” she says, taking a sip from her bottle of water, her eyes drifting between the two of them.

“It’s still new,” Amanda admits, reaching over to place a hand on Sonny’s knee. “It’s not a secret, we’re just-”

“Not advertising it?” Liv nods, “Well, whatever the two of you do in private is your own business,” she says, “But if it gets serious, then-”

“It is,” Sonny interjects, resting his hand on top of Amanda’s, “It’s serious. And we will do whatever we need to, work-wise.”

“I’m really happy for you both,” Liv tells them.

Sunday morning is more chaotic than usual this week. They’re going out to Staten Island for their first official Carisi family gathering and Amanda is nervous enough without her children running rings around them both. The girls had chosen this morning to sleep until a reasonable hour for the first time in their lives - meaning that Amanda’s assertion they didn’t need to set an alarm was proved wrong - and she already feels like she’s two steps behind. Jesse has changed her outfit twice, and Amanda has given up trying to brush her hair; she leaves her in the girls’ bedroom choosing which jacket she’d like to take and seeks out her youngest who had slipped out of sight while Amanda was persuading Jesse not to select a third t-shirt - Sonny’s escaped the chaos by taking Frannie for her morning walk; no little shadows accompanying him today because no one is ready to leave the house.

She finds Billie in the living room, crouched down behind the couch and looking very suspicious.

“Billie? What are you- is that Uncle Sonny’s phone?” Billie has Sonny’s phone gripped in her sticky hands, she’s grinning down at and doesn’t look away until Amanda tries to take it from her.

“Billie’s,” she says, gripping the phone tighter.

“Give it to Momma, please,” Amanda tells her, a firm look on her face which actually works for once; Billie releases her hold on the phone just as Amanda sees the video filling the screen, “Oh- Chief, I-”

“Good morning Detective Rollins,” Garland says, smiling at her, seemingly unconcerned by having a conversation with her two-year-old at 10am on a Sunday.

“I’m so sorry,” Amanda said, “Did Billie call you? I don’t know where she-”

Before Amanda can finish her sentence, she hears a key in the lock, the sound of Frannie’s paws on the wooden floor, and Sonny’s voice sailing down the hallway towards her, “Hey, Rollins - do you remember me puttin’ my phone down last night?”

“It’s here,” she says, but before she can warn him that she’s got Garland on a video call right in front of them he’s pressing a kiss to her cheek as he reaches for the phone, his eyes going wide when he realises.

“Chief - I didn’t- everythin’ okay?” Amanda ducks away, leaving him with the phone in his hands; she picks up Billie before she can cause anymore chaos and carries her towards the bathroom to try and rid her of the sticky residue on her hands and face.

Sonny joins her in the girls’ bedroom a few minutes later; she’s brushing Jesse’s hair back while Billie runs in a circle around them. He gives her a reassuring smile, “He just wanted to check on somethin’ for the Dyer case, Billie must’ve answered it, probably didn’t even mean to,” he tells her. “And he, uh- he said not to worry about Billie, Abby used to be grabbin’ at phones and stuff all the time. He gets it.”

Amanda finishes tying Jesse’s hair back and turns to look at him, “And?”

“He didn’t say anything outright about, uh, us. He didn’t ask and I-” Sonny stops, looking down at the phone still in his hand, “Oh.”

“What?” Amanda asks, standing up and walking towards him, avoiding Billie’s invisible running track.

“Email from Garland,” he says, turning his phone towards her once he’s opened the email - the subject line is Disclosure Paperwork and there’s one file attached.

It has been the worst Friday night Amanda has worked in a long time - she had been ready to clock off at midnight; head home and slip into bed next to Sonny; he’d let her lie in a little in the morning, tell her to get some more sleep while he got up with the girls. But a call came it at 11:25 about a missing foster kid, and now it was nearing 3am, she was exhausted down to the bone and emotionally drained - and that was pretty good shape compared to Kat; equally worn down, but with a split lip, a black eye and shaking hands to go with it. Amanda had been two steps behind her walking into that room, and she’d been quick to take down the perp, but the shock of the violence combined with the sight that greeted them when they looked up - it was enough to bring the most seasoned detective to their knees.

As they grabbed their things at the precinct, Amanda found herself watching Kat, her stiff movements, her quiet, lost gaze. She knew that look, and she knew what came with it, “Where are you going now?” she asked.

“Home.”

Amanda frowned, “Is Celine still out of town?”

“Yeah,” Kat nodded as they walked towards the elevator together, “She’ll be back on Sunday night.”

“I don’t think you should be alone,” Amanda said, protectiveness coming over her.

“It’s fine,” Kat shrugged, “I’m not going to show up at my parents’ house in the middle of the night.”

“Come back to mine,” Amanda said - it wasn’t an offer. She’d worry about letting Kat into the spaces of her life, her relationship, that she’d been keeping quiet another time; her priority right now was keeping her partner, her friend safe - she hadn’t been quick enough to prevent the physical injuries, but she’d definitely sleep a little better knowing that Kat wasn’t at home on her own.

“You’ve got kids to worry about, I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Amanda said firmly, her hand gently on Kat’s arm stopping her from walking away, “Look, we’ve got to look out for each other. You know how many times I made Carisi sleep on my couch when we were partners?”

Kat smiles at that; probably picturing Amanda forcing Carisi into her apartment after a tough shift. It was never that difficult with Carisi though - suggest dinner, time with the girls, and he’d always say yes.

“Alright, okay,” Kat gives in as the elevator arrives.

“It’ll be loud in the morning,” Amanda warns her, “But it’s better than being alone with your thoughts.”

She slips into bed later than planned; she’s set Kat up on the couch, told her to knock if she needs anything during the night. Sonny rolls over almost immediately when she touches a hand to his bare arm, and he gives her a sleepily smile, “You’re back.”

“Hey,” she whispers, “Keep you voice down; Kat’s here.”

He frowns in confusion, “Everythin’ okay?”

“Tough day - night,” Amanda tells him, and his arm comes around her in comfort, “Better she’s not alone.”

“Course,” Sonny says, pulling her little closer; he knows what that’s like. He glances up towards the door, “Do you want me to-”

“What? Sneak out the fire escape?” she shakes her head, smiling at his ridiculousness, “No, we’ve got a few hours before the girls are up, we can figure it out then.”

Amanda has slept maybe three hours when Jesse comes hurtling into the bedroom without knocking - they’re working on that - and rushes over to the bed, speaking at a volume far higher than necessary, “Mommy, Kat’s on our couch!”

“I know, baby,” Amanda says, reluctantly opening her eyes to see her five-year-old leaning in inches from her face, “She slept over. Don’t wake her up.”

“I wanna watch cartoons,” she protests. Sonny reaches for his phone on the nightstand and leans over Amanda, waving it sleepily at Jesse.

“You can watch on here,” he offers.

Jesse grins, “Can I get in bed with you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, clambering over Amanda’s body to wiggle into the small space between her and Sonny.

“Just don’t call anyone,” Amanda says as Jesse takes Sonny’s phone.

Amanda doesn’t go back to sleep - the cheery cartoon sounds coming through the phone speaker keep her on the edge of wakefulness, but some time passes before she hears Sonny and Jesse whispering to each other.

“But the sun has been up for forever,” Jesse is saying, her negotiation head on. Too bad she’s trying to out manoeuvre a prosecutor.

“That’s because it’s summer,” Sonny tells her, “Mommy and Kat got back very late last night so we’ll let them sleep a little more first.”

“But I don’t wanna stay in bed.”

“Okay,” he says, and Amanda smiles to herself, knowing Jesse definitely thinks she’s winning this argument. “You can stay here and watch cartoons on my phone, or you can come with me to walk Frannie.”

The bed shifts beside her and Amanda opens one eye to see Jesse wrapping her arms around Sonny’s neck pleadingly, “But I want to watch TV in the-”

“Nice try,” Sonny says, tickling her sides until she lets go. “That wasn’t one of the choices.”

“Fine,” Jesse says, with no small amount of drama, “Let’s go for a stupid walk.”

“Jesse-”

“We don’t say stupid,” Jesse sighs, “Sorry Uncle Sonny.” She climbs over Amanda to get out of the bed, creeping out of the door in a way she probably thinks is quiet.

Sonny presses his lips to Amanda’s shoulder as he climbs out of bed, “I’ll make it a long walk. Want me to take Billie too?”

“If she’s awake,” Amanda says gratefully, leaning up for a proper kiss before he gets dressed.

The apartment is quiet, but Amanda still can’t get back to sleep - she heard the door go, Sonny and the girls leaving as quietly as he could get them to, but sunlight is streaming in through the curtains and she’s too awake now to drift off. She gives up after ten minutes and goes to take a shower. On her way back down the hall she hears the sound of her old coffeemaker coming to life, and walks into the kitchen to see that Kat’s awake; the bruise on her eye is purpling but her lip looks less swollen than the night before, “Good morning.”

“Hi I was just making a coffee-” Kat gestures to the machine, she looks a little uncertain, or maybe that’s just the tiredness seeping in.

“It’s fine, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks for letting me stay, it was good not to wake up in an empty apartment,” Kat says, taking a second coffee mug and holding it up to Amanda who nods.

“Any time,” Amanda assures her.

Once they’re both sat in the living room with their coffee mugs in their hands, Kat looks over at Amanda, a smile on her face, “So, I saw something interesting this morning.”

Amanda bites her lip, preparing for what comes next, “What was that?”

“Counsellor Carisi… creeping out of your bedroom,” Kat looks very pleased with herself as she takes a long sip of her coffee, waiting for Amanda’s response.

Amanda doesn’t see any sense in denying it, “Yeah, you probably did.”

“Don’t worry,” Kat says reassuringly, “I’m not going to say anything to the captain.”

“It’s fine,” Amanda waves Kat off, “She already knows - we disclosed two weeks ago, we’re just not advertising it.”

Kat’s eyes go wide at that, “Wait, what? I never- well, you two have always been kind of,” she shrugs, “At least since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Amanda smiles, “We kind of have.”

Amanda knocks once on Sonny’s office door before pushing it open, “Hey Counsellor,” she says, a smile just for him as she slips into the office.

“Hey Detective Rollins,” Sonny says, a smirk on his own lips.

She crosses the room and perches on the end of his desk, “Work call,” she tells him, but she isn’t in any hurry to rush him along.

He leans back in his chair, closing the case file he has open and looking up at her, “What do you need?”

“A warrant for Delugo’s phone records,” Amanda tells him - it is the primary reason for her visit, although she probably could have asked him over the phone, waited until he dropped the warrant off to see him. She likes finding excuses to come over here though, to see him in Counsellor Carisi mode in his own office, even with the mismatched paint and dented filing cabinets. That isn’t new with the change of their relationship - she’s been looking for reasons to swing by the DA’s office ever since he left SVU.

Sonny knows that, knows full well that if it were any other ADA she’d have just phoned, “Alright,” he nods, leaning forward, his face much closer to hers, “but it’ll cost you.”

“Oh, is that so?” Amanda asks, fingers tracing up the tie she’d watched him put on earlier that day, “What’s the fee?”

“Hmm, I think we can negotiate something-” he says, leaning in until his lips are hair’s breadth from her own. She closes the gap without hesitating, taking his bottom lip between hers as she draws him close.

They’re interrupted by the door opening, and a familiar voice groaning at them, “Oh no. Not today.”

Amanda pulls back from the kiss, turning to look at her sergeant over her shoulder. “Fin,” she grumbles, “Don’t you knock?”

“Door’s open,” Fin says, “Didn’t realise it was getting all R-rated in here.”

Sonny rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair, “It was just a kiss, Fin.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Fin says, hands up, “I don’t know anything.”

“Everyone else already knows,” Amanda says, enjoying the way his expression changes. She is kind of touched that he would have been willing to deny all knowledge if she and Sonny were carrying on a secret relationship though.

Fin frowns at being the last to know. “Since when?”

“Your wedding,” Amanda smiles, “Not wedding.”

“Damn,” Fin shakes his head, “You’re welcome.” He steps fully into the room, holding out a manila folder for Sonny to take. “Liv asked me to drop that off on my way to the courthouse.”

“Thanks Fin,” Sonny says with a nod.

As Fin backs out of the office Amanda stands up, moving around Sonny’s desk, “I better get back. I forgot Fin was in court today.”

“I’ll let you know once I’ve got that warrant,” Sonny says; he’s not keen to see her go but they’re balancing this personal/professional life thing pretty well on the whole - and it’s easier saying goodbye when you know you’re going to be going home together.

“I’ll owe you that fee,” Amanda says, enjoying the way his expression changes as she glances back at him over her shoulder. She knows he’s watching her go; he’ll keep his eyes on her until she’s out of sight and then he’ll pick up his pen and get back to work - a smile still lingering on his face.

Summer’s drawing to a close - afternoons like this one will fade away, replaced with the dim light and cool breeze of the Fall. It’s been the best summer Amanda has had in a long time - for a lot of reasons, but chief amongst them has been letting herself have something she’s longed for since she was a child - the genuine love of a man who she loves right back, her children’s laughter filling their daily lives, friends who have become family around them and there for them.

Before summer ends and Jesse, Noah and Abby go back to school, Garland and his wife have invited them all over for a backyard barbecue, and it’s the first time they’ve all been together outside of work since the not-wedding - the first time she gets to walk into a space filled with their friends, her fingers slotted neatly between Sonny’s.

Jesse and Billie raced ahead of them through the house and into the backyard, chasing the sound of Noah’s excited yells; Amanda and Sonny follow Lamai out to join them; the sun is warm, the scent of good food wafts across the yard, music’s playing softly in the background. The children are huddled together at the bottom of the yard, and from the looks of Billie’s face they’ve already managed to sneak some cake from somewhere.

Sonny releases her hand, a kiss to her cheek before moving to where Fin and Stabler are standing near the grill. Amanda takes an empty seat next to Liv, turning to greet her friends - they’ve all got stupid smiles on their faces and she laughs, shaking her head, “What?”

“Nothing,” Liv says, “It’s nice. Seeing you two like this.”

Amanda bites back a comment about Stabler’s presence - she knows Liv is genuine and she wants to embrace it - so she just nods, leaning back in her chair as the conversation returns to its earlier topics, her gaze moving between Sonny and the children - and then to Sonny and the children when he abandons his spot by the grill to check up on them; within seconds he’s on the floor, a pile of kids on top of him as he dramatically begs for mercy and Amanda has never been more in love with this ridiculous, wonderful man.

He catches her eye across the yard and gives her a wink; yeah, she’s definitely in love.

#carisi week #sonny carisi #rollisi #svu #rollisi fic #amanda rollins #svu fic #my fic

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