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#i am the one who carries the shame of it the burden of it the othering of it made into something and not someone

dancermk · 6 months

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HELLO MY FELLOW TRAVELERS!

I, like many viewers, have been completely entranced by Hawk and Tim’s love story in Fellow Travelers. As a mature queer person, this show has been very emotional, and I am deeply invested. (I WILL riot if Tim doesn’t get to die in Hawk’s arms, and know that he is, and has always been, loved by Hawk.) But I digress.

Something that I have been fascinated by are the differing opinions that have surfaced about the characters, especially Hawk. I’m not looking for any arguments here, everyone is entitled to their opinion, and this is simply mine. To me, Hawk falls hard and fast for Tim. He breaks all his own rules for Tim - they topple over like a house of cards.

When we are introduced to Hawk, he’s cold and heartless with the men he hooks up with - they are nothing more than a body to fulfil his sexual needs and desires. He doesn’t do repeats and he doesn’t bring them home. But Tim, he instantly begins returning to, gets him a job, then allows him into his own apartment, etc. When Tim pushes back, Hawk relents further, letting him in emotionally, sharing parts of his past, crossing lines by introducing him to others in his circle, and so on.

Hawk is a traumatised man, carrying guilt and anger and shame, and a bucket load of fear! Yes, he has some internalised homophobia, but interestingly, he’s also extremely righteous about his homosexuality -and I don’t believe he thinks being gay is wrong in any way. (His response to his father is indicative of this).

I can personally say that I’ve never thought it was wrong to be queer, yet I spent much of my life hiding who I was and feeling shame. It’s an odd thing! Perhaps it is that the shame forms purely from what is outside of us, while what is inside of us can love another person of the same sex, knowing it is right and pure. Perhaps these contradictions between self and society are what causes so much pain and conflict?

But back to Hawk. Hawk is undoubtedly most affected by his teenage first love experience. A love that he fucked up through his own fears (fear for many men is unacceptable and a sign of weakness), and now carries the burden of believing he is responsible for their death. Hawk doesn’t allow himself to love again, until Tim. And we see many times throughout the show how much Hawk fears losing Tim. And in the end he’ll have to face that fear. I think that, in part, not attempting to have a life with Tim, is also fuelled by his fear of fucking it up and losing Tim - so it’s easier to just not attempt it! In episode 7, when he loses his son, part of that spiral is Hawk recognising that he can’t really prevent loss, and he wasted his life trying to be something he’s not - still losing his child and Tim along with it.

But Hawk is a survivor! And no one has the right to hate or judge him for it. I don’t think some young people truly understand what it feels like to live in a world where who you love can put you in jail, and destroy your life. I grew up in the 70s/80s and my experiences were bad enough, but I try so very hard to think about what it was like before that! When being queer was a crime and a mental illness! That’s pure terror! And for Hawk, he chose to survive the best way he knew how, and he wasn’t able to change because that’s fucking hard when all you’ve known is living in constant ‘fight or flight,’ and when have chronic trauma and experience collective trauma.

I think in episode 8 we’ll finally get to see Hawk grow - I certainly hope so - because he deserves to be free. Our beautiful Skippy has been free for some time, and while we mourn for the cruelty of a world that would take such a truly decent man, I am glad he got to live freely. Being closeted is the worst kind of suffering- a compartmentalised and fragmented existence where you are never truly whole, and therefore can never be the best version of yourself.

Before I go, I just wanted to also talk about being in a closeted relationship-which I experienced in my youth. I think that Hawk and Tim’s intense and toxic and exquisitely beautiful relationship, in part, arises from this. Because two closeted people in love live their relationship in secret, in a bubble, only in certain rooms, with none of the outside world reflected back at them. It becomes the two of you against the world. It’s so insular. Hawk and Tim literally live their 1950s relationship within two rooms - their apartments. All their memories are held within those walls. And it only belongs to them. They know each in ways that no other living soul does. It’s all-consuming and often unhealthy, but also stupidly romantic.

Anyway, sorry for this long winded post that no one will read and is likely full of grammatical errors because I’m tired! This atheist is praying we get everything we need from episode 8! Acceptance, forgiveness, understanding resolution, healing and a whole lot of love! ❤️

Cheers queers! 🏳️‍🌈

PS Matt and Johnny are exquisite on and off screen and I am so thankful to them for bringing these characters and this story into our lives!

#fellow travelers #hawk and tim #hawkins fuller #tim laughlin #hawk and skippy #matt bomer #jonathan bailey #lgbtqia #queer media

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everythingelseisextra · 10 months

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Come Home (Tommy's Perspective)

Part Fifteen: David and Goliath

Description: Tommy doesn't tell you everything. So much gets stuck in his mouth, including his business. Warnings: PTSD, language, Tommy being angsty I guess Word Count: 4796 (sorry) Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @Majesticcmey @Optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

12 Hours before the attack on the barn

When she leaves, my mind clears. I think differently when she’s here. Softer, like a spell cast to make what I’ve learned and what I’ve made myself less important. She leaves out the front door, and I walk back through the house. Footsteps echoing through the halls like a heartbeat. It’s easy to slip back into a routine, to abide by the list that creates itself somewhere in my head. I find the phone and dial the number without thinking about it. Pick it up, hold it to my ear, wait.

“Hello, Tommy.” Arthur, the usual rashness to his words drowned out by the phone’s crackling. His drawl is recognizable to me like I’d know my own hand, and it’s something of a comfort after the talk I’d had with her. “Why’re you calling me at this hour?”

I forget he’s not awake nearly as early as I am. My day, and her day, too, starts before the sun. I don’t give it any pause. He doesn’t care about the real reason I’m calling him. Wants his orders from his sergeant major and to put his head down and do it. “I need you to start what we talked about, Arthur. With the girls. Talk to ‘em, get what you can out of them, see if you can find any of the men who hold their leashes.”

“On it, Tom.” A rustling of movement tells me he’s just finishing getting dressed. “That all?”

“Tell John to do the same. Stay on the outside, don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” I can smell breakfast in the air. All I want is a drink and a cigarette. Too early for that. Need to eat. “Tell me what you find.”

“All this for that woman who sprayed you with the hose, eh?” There’s amusement in his tone that I don’t like. Like he’s caught me on some trick I took, like he has something on me. Maybe he does.

“Yep,” I say shortly, not inviting more questions.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. Just looking out for you, Tom, that’s all.”

“I know what I’m doing.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my hand. “Goodbye.”

“We’re worried about you here. Seems a bit soon, doesn’t it? After Grace and all that—”

“Goodbye, Arthur.” I put the phone down and huff out a breath.

Seems a bit soon. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m all up in my head, afraid to be alone at night, so I attached to the first kind face I saw. Maybe our meeting was some mistake made by me to draw her into the dark.

No. She carries the same burden as I do, in a different form. If our meeting was anything, it was mercy. If some cosmic mistake is what brought us together then it will take another one to tear us apart.

—

Alfie Solomons leaves after the briefing on the Russians. The door remains open. My brothers stay. Their eyes flick down to the ground and stay there, and I slowly sit back down onto my chair. None of them want to be the first to talk. I look to Arthur, let him feel my gaze. If I feel something at their reluctance to leave, it’s too deep for me to be aware of it. I shy away from feeling too deeply. Nothing set in stone, and yet, everything a dirt road. Tread the same path too long and it will become the only path there is. I refuse to be limited by my own emotion.

“So, Russians, hey?” Arthur tries at skirting away from whatever shames him. I stare up at him, unamused. “We— we uh— we fucked up, Tom.” Arthur stumbles over the confession and John shoots him a look of venom. “I fucked up.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

“One of the girls— well, you know how they are— I had some drink in me and she— she asked some questions. Shouldn’t have answered them, Tom. Should’ve kept my bloody mouth shut. It doesn’t matter now, they know. I told it to ‘em, and now they know. Nothing to do but—”

“What do they know, Arthur?” I keep my voice even. My head throbs where the stitches were taken out months ago, another sign of my dawning insanity.

“You know how it is, they act all nice to ya and—”

“He told them about hose-girl.” John cuts in. “He told them that he knows about the one that got away.”

My eyes lock onto the drawer in the desk where my gun sits, hidden. “How much did you tell them?”

“Ah, well, it was all very— I mean, I told them—”

“Get to the fucking point.” Inside that drawer is a weapon I’ve held to the temples of many a man, myself included. Inside that drawer is the hope I have of protecting my own. Including her.

“I told them she has horses. That’s all. That she has horses and doesn’t live in town. All I said, I swear it.” His voice carries bravado, covering up for the anxiety I know he has. He doesn’t like displeasing me, and he certainly has.

My words come short and quiet. “You gave them definitive information about a woman they’ve been trying to find for years.”

His silence resonates.

“Answer me, Arthur.” I tear my eyes from the drawer to pin him down, trying to lock onto his shifty eyes.

“Yes, sir, I did.” He looks to John for support, pleading with him for backup. He finds nothing but a stony face.

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this before I planned to meet with the fucking Russians?” My voice threatens to raise and his eyes grow furtive.

“I thought—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you thought!” I stand, slamming a hand down on the desk in front of me. Arthur flinches. “Her blood is on your hands, and you’re standing there telling me what you thought?”

“It was my mistake, Tom, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking sorry. We’re all fucking sorry.” I grit my teeth, grind them, and walk out from behind the desk. They turn on instinct, soldiers at attention, their eyes on my back. “We go to the Russians, and we go to save what’s left of her. Understood?”

“Yes.” John’s voice.

“Arthur?” His name is rancid on my tongue. I grow antsy, a green horse on its first ride, flinching and preparing to bolt. I should be by her side, getting her out of there. I should be hunting down the man who thought he could own someone like her.

But I have business. The world slowly lowers down on my shoulders, and I am not Atlas. I cannot shrug.

—

I leave the Russians with the scent of cigarettes, whiskey, and Tatiana’s perfume lingering on me, and the thought of Grace stuck in my head. I was careless, and now I’m hungover, disorganized. The night is still young, and we reach home before the moon is bright in the sky. First thing I do is pick up the phone and call Moss. I ask him about a woman in a barn outside of Birmingham, and he tells me they found two dead bodies with her.

“She’s safe?”

“She is for now. She won’t talk and she has no record, Mr. Shelby, we gotta take her in.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Keep her. See if she’ll talk. I’ll come get her.”

I need an ally. I need help, with everything, not just the quiet things. I need someone who can stare down the barrel of a gun and keep their mouths shut. I need someone who ignores the urge to run, who knows that they’re a monster, too. Two dead bodies found at the barn. One smashed, one shot. When I close my eyes, I can see myself pulling the trigger, smashing the skull. When I think about it, I can feel her fear and determination. My brow furrows, my lips part. She sits alone in a cell while men she doesn’t know interrogate her.

“Is that all, Mr. Shelby?”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, a headache stretching between my temples. “Don’t make her talk. Let her wait. I’ll be there.”

“Yessir, Mr. Shelby.”

“That’s all, Moss. Goodnight.”

I put the phone down and make my way to the bathroom to clean myself off, to rid myself of the smell of other women and spirits and the taste of Grace on my lips. So that she doesn’t smell it, yes, and so that I can forget it ever happened. So that I can wash off the shame and fear and overwhelming sense of loneliness. So that the path I tread doesn’t become beaten.

—

After I’ve cleaned the wounds on her head, after the blood has been washed off, after the sins of my war have been confessed, she sleeps in the bed next to me. I’m on my back, but my head is tilted. Her eyes flutter beneath her eyelids. Her lips part slightly. Moonlight shines on her skin. A swollen bump grows underneath her chin, skin broken.

If I could love her, it would be heavy. Something to carry with me. My love, I’ve learned since Grace, has teeth. Maybe it isn’t love. Maybe possession, maybe control. I can grip with clenched, white knuckles. I can force someone to come back to me, not because they want to, because they have to. I want to love her but I doubt that I can. When I try, something hurts, and I cannot tell her where, only that it does.

A desperate part of me that I do not visit often wants to know what it’s like to be consumed. I am always the possessor, not the possessed. I want to be claimed. I want her love to have teeth, like mine, that can show me that my armor is only skin. If she was the one to cut me, I would bleed forever. That desperation believes that, even with Grace’s death, there is a person out there made exactly for me. That desperation believes that the war I fought in might be echoed in someone else’s. That desperation believes that I have found her and I am ruining it.

I get up from the bed and my body aches. Faint bruises form on my trachea, where Tatiana pressed down. I look at myself in the mirror and empty eyes stare back. There is fear behind them. I want to lay back down with her and forget about last night and tonight and all the regrettable nights I will undoubtedly have until she is brave enough to touch me.

In three days time I crawl back into a tunnel, deep underneath the earth, with the pressure of the world lying over me, precarious. I brave the underground for the sake of a robbery that could make or break my career. I promised Grace to stay legal. She’s dead. And the company runs.

—

“We have your son. Get in the car.”

Rain patters on the outside of the car. I’m in a tinfoil box, and my son is out there. “First. Is he safe?”

“Of course he’s safe. All children are dear to me.”

Michael’s voice, his confession, speaks to me from memory. My son, in the hands of men who have little respect for physical boundaries. Who have little respect for children themselves.

“You have all the cards. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will certainly do it.” My words are choked at the ends, not broken, but holding anger and panic.

“You ever drive one of these beasts?”

“I’m asking you to conduct business.”

“I borrowed it. Lent it. By a lord. For the duration of this business.”

My head bowed, my eyes unblinking, staring forward, waiting for the order that will save my son. I breathe heavily. I have no choice. I have to comply. “I will certainly do what you need me to do with no complaints.”

“We were forced into doing this awful thing. We did warn you that your son would be in danger if you deviated from the plan.” The priest speaks to me like I’m thick, words slow and gentle and pretentious. “It was you who made a mistake, you understand that?”

“Yes.” Anything. Anything to get him back.

“What mistake did you make? Do you even know?”

Now it’s a game. A show of power. I have no choice. I must comply. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You made a deal with our enemies.”

“I will do what needs to be done.” “You went behind our backs to stop the Soviets from blowing up the train. But it’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve rectified your mistake. You ask me ‘what do I need to do?’ Well, here’s what you need to do, you fucking mongrel, you.” He hands me an envelope. I take it with shaking hands. “But since the Bolsheviks will not be blowing up the train, you’ll blow up the train yourself. It’s always been about the explosion. From the beginning. The bang. The outrage. Understand?”

I nod, unable to do anything else. A mechanical movement, trained into me, comply, comply, comply.

“Those are notes and fragments for you to scatter in the wreckage. Implicating named officials from the Soviet embassy.”

“I will scatter them. It will be done.”

“Good. Our friends at the Time and the Daily Mail will do the rest. And once the British government cuts diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, that will be our mission accomplished. You’ll have been part of a fine adventure.” His eyes land on me. I can feel his gaze, despicably soft brown eyes, a red herring. “To help with the outrage, we need people to die in the explosion.”

I feel nothing. I am an empty shell of a man, puppeteered by a God that despises me. “How many?”

“Let’s say; six? Rail workers, perhaps. Men from the factory.”

I nod. That's all I can do. “And I want my son returned to me within an hour of the explosion.”

“Oh, it’s conditions now, is it?” The amusement in his words sends chills down my back. I shift forward.

“We need to fix the handover in advance.” Firmness. Clinging to what little power I have.

“I haven’t finished with you yet, Mr. Shelby. We also hear you’re digging a tunnel. Mining for precious stones under Wilderness House. I’m told they have a faberge in the strong room. The Lilies Of The Valley Egg, made in 1898. One of the Odd Fellows has a wife who’s obsessed with faberge. He wants to give her the egg for her birthday…”

“He will have it.” Comply.

“And the economic league will take all the jewels that you steal, to cover our considerable expenses. The fight against communism isn’t cheap, you know? So if you want to see your—”

“I will bring you all the jewels.”

“A bang first. Then bring everything you’ve stolen to your office at dawn.”

I shake my head. “No. No. I’ll not be able to get the jewels to you by dawn. The tunnel has hit clay.”

“If the Saint Andrews clock strikes 5:00 am on the night of the robbery, and we don’t have everything that we’ve asked for, the bell will be tolling for your boy.”

Thunder rumbles. I nod, closing my eyes. My son. The last piece of Grace I have.

“Now get out of my fucking car.”

—

A day has passed since I’ve seen her. She has her horses. She’ll think of me when she has the time, wonder where I’ve gone off to. I have no doubt she’ll worry tonight. She’ll pace the room we share and think she’s made a mistake, some blunder that’s chased me away. I think as I drive that this might be the end. My disappearance, my lack of communication, my lies, might be the final straw for her. She knows nothing of the Russians or the Soviets, knows only little of the priest. I’m sure she expects me back when the sun starts to go down. I’m sure her sleep will be fitful or impossible without knowing where I am.

I won’t be going home tonight. She will rise before dawn, when I crawl out of a tunnel, and she will wonder where I am. Perhaps she’ll call Ada, who’ll tell her nothing. I am Midas. When I touch her, she turns cold, so I don’t. I don’t tell her of the business I conduct because she doesn’t deserve to be part of this bloody fucked up world I’ve created. So, she’ll wake up, and I’ll be gone. No explanation, no contact. And I’ll come home when the sun has risen and I’ll explain nothing. I protect my own.

I protect my own, but I’ve chosen Charlie over her, and of that I am guilty.

There’s gray in the sky when I arrive at the tunnel. Johnny Dogs shouts at me, seeking an explanation for my sudden appearance. I shout back something about my boy and the priest and midnight, and before he can stop me, I climb down into the tunnel.

I don’t feel. I try to chase away the ebb and flow of my head during daylight, above ground, when the danger separates itself from the soldier I used to be. I’ve built a dam between myself and whatever wave of emotion comes crashing in. I can see it come, but I am never drowned by it. Not when I’m on top of the world instead of underneath it.

I am trapped in a birth canal of mud and the sound of picks against clay. I cannot move in any direction without being pressed against some wall. I watch the only way out disappear behind me. There’s no escape except to complete my mission and pierce through the earth. Some nightmare shakes the earth around me. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m covered by dirt and it staunches the blood from the abrasions; from the axes, from the rough stones, from myself, that mark my shaking body.

The single lantern flashes shadows and I can hear the Germans against the barrier in front of us. A race against time begins. No apparatus supports us, all we have are pickaxes to eat away at the earth in front of us. Tunnel warfare springs to life, and my head pounds, and the dam is broken. My hands shake and my eyes are wide and there’s no doubt that I am terrified. Doesn’t matter. I can be scared and still work, still function, still complete the business I’ve forced myself into. There are men by my side that inch forward with every second, who I trust, who know the tunnels as damn well as I do.

I am ripped into being alive. Sensations, doubts, fears, absolute terror, things I have not felt since the war. On hands and knees, chipping away at impossibility, the earth rumbling with soldier’s feet and mines exploding on the no-man’s-land I tunnel beneath. Strangely, there is fear, and next to it a sense of belonging. This is my grave that I dig, and I am meant to die here, underground. This is my home, the first place I learned to run from, the first place I promised myself I would never return.

One of the men seizes and I do nothing to help him but send him out. On the edge of the shakes myself, I am wired to do nothing but dig. Forcing the wet clay apart, blood and sweat dripping from my forehead, inching forward bit by bit with the other men.

I remember rot. I remember bodies buried in the clay. I remember the sun being a dream. I remember each shake of the earth a bad omen, each sound of picks on the other side a forewarning to our deaths. God watched idly as I buried myself and other men in a grave I dug myself. We told each other not to listen when we screamed, when we convulsed at night, when we broke from the pressure of the world on our shoulders.

I can feel sludge beneath me, slipping, and I know I’m going too fast. My men build supports with timber to hold up the earth on weak substructures. Condensation drips onto me. The ground around us shivers, rocks tumble from around the supports, and we pause, waiting, expecting to be buried. Nothing.

Gasping for breath. Body bruised and battered. Swimming in the suffocating pressure of the earth surrounding us. Trying desperately to dig upwards, to save our own lives. To survive. None of it real, just the sound my picks and the men building supports.

I reach the end and plant an explosive. Backing away. Blinking the blood and sweat out of my eyes. It goes off, and I expect to be buried but have no time to fear it. Before the smoke clears, I’ve escaped the tunnel, and I can breathe, if only for a moment. My shaking hands scoop jewels into a canvas bag, giving no thought to what I grab, where I grab from. I take and take and take.

There’s a shout that I don’t have much time. I suck in a breath, snatch blindly at the last few jewels. Crawl back into the tunnel, throwing the bag of jewels in front of me, following the men as they begin the creep back up.

I’m the last out. The other men have gone to clean themselves up. Panting, I lie in the dirt where I belong, and roll onto my back to stare up at the black sky. My breath fogs the air. Bits of my body stings where the skin was scraped off. And I pant.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

—

Somehow, I manage to drive. I don’t see the trees around me, don’t see the grass or the hills, just look straight ahead as my destination grows on the horizon. A single phone booth on the side of the road, resolute. I don’t turn off the car, stepping out and walking unsteadily over to it. I place a coin in, turn the handle, and wait.

“Let me speak to him,” I say.

My son’s babbling fills the phone and I smile. “Hello, Charlie.”

He’s unharmed. He’s safe. The nightmare, for now, is over. A lump forms in my throat and I don’t understand it. I’m smiling. I’m relieved. My hand shakes. There’s extra liquid in my eyes.

“Hello, Charlie,” I say again. He responds with a quiet dadda and nothing else.

“Can you hear me?” I sniffle and fend off the rising pressure in my chest, holding it off until I’m done, until I know he’s safe.

He mumbles something about being tired and I smile again, heart simultaneously filling and being stabbed with something cold. “Yeah. You go to bed. Good boy.”

The call ends and I put the phone down. Something in me bends and bends and bends and then, finally, snaps. My brow furrows and I squeeze my eyes shut and a small sob wracks my body.

It was a success. My son is safe. The jewels are ready. I should be fucking grateful that I survived this. That we survived this.

There’s a sense in me that there was no success, only what appears to be one. There’s a sense in me that tells me I’ve pushed those I want close further and further from me. There’s a sense that I will never be the man I hope to be because it’s hard when I’m always fucking unwanted. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel unless I blow it up. There’s no joy to be had unless I force it.

And I sob, because I feel everything. There’s an ache in my chest and a hole in my heart. There’s pain through my body and a horrible loneliness in my head. There’s relief, pure and unadulterated, and there’s terror lingering from the tunnel, images flashing through my mind of what burned itself into my mind in France. Claustrophobia burns through me. I sob over what I’ve destroyed like I want to stop and worship it, and soon, I’ll be back with a pick in my hand and explosives waiting.

My son has grown up barely knowing me because I’m consumed by business. My heart has been broken too many times and I fear that it will never be made whole. I am a soldier with only the cause of ambition to guide me. And I feel everything, even though I try to hide it.

I take a breath, pressing my eyes closed, then pull myself together and straighten. I call her. I suspect she won’t pick up, but I try anyway.

There’s a click and her voice, distorted by the distance, says my name in a tone I can only describe as fearful. “Tommy?”

“Yes,” I say, words still choked.

“Where have you been?” Not steady, not brave, not the tone I know from her.

“Business.” It’s the only explanation I can give.

“Business? For two days straight?”

“Yes. For two days straight. You need to know who I am.” I squeeze the earpiece, stopping my voice from wavering. “You need to know that I can’t give you what you want.”

There’s quiet on the other end of the phone. My hand continues to shake.

“What happened?” The fear is gone, in its place, worry.

“Nothing happened,” I lie. “Do you understand me? I can’t be the one you need. You think I’m going to change but those fuckers out there are worse than I am.”

“I’ve never wanted you to change. I’ve never asked for that. And no one can be everything to someone. I’m not expecting that from you. I just want you to tell me when you’re going to be gone like this.”

“They’ve issued an arrest for my family and I have to let it happen.”

“What?”

“For my brothers, for Pol, for Esme and Linda. I made the wrong enemies.” Please, forget about me, choose to leave. “You should go before it all goes to shit.”

“Tommy. I’m not going. I’m staying with you. You’ve made a mistake, that doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you. I told you I would forgive your rottenness and I plan to keep that promise.” Her voice is strained. “Tom, just come home, we can talk—”

“I’ve gotten mixed up in something too big for me.” I close my eyes, a small tear dripping out. “I won’t have a family after this.”

“Thomas Shelby, I swear to God, if you don’t come home, I’m tracking you down and dragging you here myself. Okay? So get back in your car and drive your ass home. You��re gonna be fine, you’re not gonna end up without a family. You’re going to be fine.” Her voice softens towards the end and I feel myself drawn towards her, despite everything. “You won’t be alone.”

“I fucked another woman.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Quit trying to make excuses for me to leave you. Come home, we’ll calm you down, and we’ll talk about it.”

“My brothers told them where you were. The attack was my fault.”

“I get what’s happening here. Something scared you, and you think you’re hurting everyone around you, so you’re self-sabotaging. Come home. That’s all I want. Don’t you want to give me what I want?”

I do. I always want to give her what she wants. There are better men out there who could love her. There are better people who could protect her without making the mistakes I did.

They’ll have to get through me, though.

“I’ll come home.” I open my eyes and blink hard, ridding them of their bleariness. “I’m not the man you want, love.”

“So you keep saying.” Her words grow wry. “You forget that you don’t get to tell me what I want. And I want you. I don’t know how to make that any clearer to you.”

I nod and give in to the words she speaks. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon, Tom. Yes?”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

I put the phone down. This shallow world, this twisted and broken body I live in, this mind that I cannot control, somehow she is a master of all of it. Somehow she puts me at ease. Love, I think, is two people inspiring each other to live. And she gives me a reason, and she stays by my side.

Dawn breaks, and I walk back to my car in silence.

#only the wild ones #tommys pov #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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two-white-butterflies · 1 year

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THE ALCOTT - a. targaryen

You tell me your problems (Have I become one of your problems?)

Description: As Rhaenyra's oldest daughter — you were expected to marry for the gain of your mother's fraction. Aemond Targaryen sees you in Winterfell, your heart feels like jumping out of your chest.

When the snow falls and the white wind blows. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Winterfell was colder than you expected, as a lady far used to the warmth of a dragon — it blew your mind how northerners lived in never-ending snow. The guards were cautious of your dragon. He was known as the Cannibal, who preyed on every animal — even those of its own kin. At the same time, you couldn't help but notice their lack of fear, like they were used to seeing dragons this big. "My princess!" Cregan came quick to your side.

The sides of your lips turned upwards, heart heaving with joy at the sight of the man you trusted like a brother. The sight of him made you less worried about war. "My lord," you smiled while wrapping your arms around him, aware of the fact that you stink of dragon and ash. "My mother, the Queen Rhaenyra, extends her gratitude for offering Winterfell as a safe haven." you breathed a sigh of relief, as the dragonkeepers began to usher your dragon away to safety.

Losing the war was your biggest fear. There was no doubt in your mind that your uncle, Aegon the Usurper, will execute you if you ever decide to surrender. He takes a deep breath, carrying a heavy burden on his back. "It is not much of a safe haven as you believe." he stares at you from the side, his hand was placed upon the small of your back — leading you inside of his warm castle.

"What do you mean?" you asked, eyebrows bumping into each other. Winterfell and Kingslanding were your second home, the thought of either betraying you was stupid, yet the latter managed to do so. "Fellow northerns lords have spoken about your house falling from grace. The house of the dragon does not know who rules it —" he explains but you interrupt him in annoyance.

"My mother is the Queen, my uncles are mere usurpers who stand against the throne." you correct, nose scrunching in disbelief. Shame flooded your features. The house of the dragon does now know who rules it, but you do it was fire and blood — the same two that will consume the Hightowers with avarice. "Not everyone believes that." he retorts, you take your gloves off — freezing at the sight of ... Aemond Targaryen. Your uncle, whose aided your sorrows for seventeen years in Kingslanding. Has he come to murder you now?

"My lord, if you wish to offer your loyalties to the Usurper. You are free to do so — but attempting to ambush me?" you accuse, he places a hand on your shoulder, Cregan's eyes staring deep into your own. Your mother called him 'sweet-summer boy' for he was born in the longest summer. He was sweet and kind, but also cold and dangerous. There was no doubt in your mind that he would execute you in the name of the greater good.

"I am not here to hurt you, sister. He arrived here a fortnight ago, offering his hand for one of my cousins to marry but I declined him, because I know that his brother is an usurper who does not deserve the throne. Gods be good, if I allowed a drunken charlatan to ever become king." Cregan's eyes pierced into Aemond's soft skull. He takes a deep breath, eyes trailing away from the Prince he welcomed into his home. "But my council does not offer the same sentiments." he scratches his nose, eyes pulsing with rage. Cregan Stark was loyal to your mother.

"And you thought that it was appropriate to welcome him here? When I am set for a visit?" you questioned, playing with the dagger inside your pocket. You couldn't trust anyone, not the lord beside you nor the uncle who has been with you for seventeen years.

"I am not here for him, my niece. I am here for you?" he admits, breaking the thick wall of ice. His good eye stared at you, lips puckered and pink from the cold. The man that you loved was gone, there were only mere traces of him left. "Are you still mad because of your eye?" you question, taking on a stance for fight. You were well trained in warfare, equipped enough to take his only eye.

"I've long forgiven you, but my sister?" he chuckles for a few seconds, lips smirking at the thought of Rhaenyra. "But still, we are merciful — return home. We'll imprison your mother in Dragonstone, your brothers will be cupbearers and squires for the King. And you, my lovely niece, we'll find a match worthy." he offers, laying out the terms in a way that seemed appetizing.

You stared at him. Blinking, but not thinking.

"Which side are you on?" he finishes, taking a step forward. He was a few feet away, but you could see him perfectly. He had a neat stubble, his left-eyebrow had a thin horizontal line on the center. He has aged more in three-months than he has ever had in his entire life. "The last thing I want is to be on your side." you insult through gritted teeth, Cregan stares at the both of you back and forth.

"No harm will come to the both of you under my roof. My princess, I'm sure that you are tired of all the traveling, it is best to retire. And my prince, the finest wines need your tasting down the Great Hall." Cregan tilts his head to the other door, pulling you away before you could ever start a fight.

----

The owls were chirping outside of your window, nocturnal animals prowling at night for their next prey. He knocks on your door, body standing rigid in front of your window. "My princess," he whispers, trying his best not to awake Cregan whose room was parallel yours.

Your hands reach the door, hands twisting to open the door-knob. You trusted Cregan's promise of no harm coming to you. It was favorable, for you wouldn't be hurt but the same thing couldn't be promised to your uncle.You meet his eye.

A Lavender Lazuli eye that showed you spectrums of different colors. "Aemond," you answered with no respect. No respect is given to rebels. "Go home with me." he offered and you leaned on the door-frame. His voice was low, breath stinking of ale — his eye was downcast and filled with melancholia. He missed you, but you weren't sure of feeling the same with him.

"My home is in Dragonstone. It is where I was born." you replied curtly, lips pressing into a thin line. He placed a hand on the doorframe, stopping you from shutting the door on his face. "Your mother is not the rightful heir. A woman can't hold into power, not in our times." he rasped, earning an eye-roll from you.

You are Rhaenyra's heir. The Queen after her.

"Not in this world yes, but we have always been queer with our customs. In Valyria, women can rule without fight — are you not Valryian, dear uncle?" you taunt, playing at the thought of his Hightower blood. You were not the daughter of Harwin Strong. You were either of Laenor or Daemon's. But one thing was certain, Valyria flooded your veins more than it did to him.

"That is not what I mean." he breaths.

"We waste too much time in fighting this damn war! I'm losing you, qogralbar ziry" he cursed, fist bumping into the wall beside him. Fuck it. He thought about taking you, and marrying you. "You are losing me because of your pride. Your belief of women being incapable of ruling." you rolled your eyes, walking away from him — but he takes ahold of your forearm, pulling you back in front of him.

"I do not think that you are incapable of ruling, I merely believe that your mother should lay down her arms and accept my brother as king." he asserted, keeping his hands on you. "The first thing you desire, is the last thing I could ever dream of." you scoff, pushing him away from you.

By this point, you were both outside of your room — feet barely stepping over the line that divided your room and the hallway. "That is our problem!" he raised his voice slowly. You bite the inner corner of your lips, imagining his murder. "I am one of your problems, uncle." you reply taking a step backward, returning inside your room.

You were just about to close the door, but he collapses unto you — knocked out by the strong northern ale. "I want to forget you." he mumbles before closing his eyes.

taglist: @scarwicht@nyctophilic0vitnir@witch-of-letters

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mswyrr · 8 months

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wheel of time 1x06: romance and narrative economy

I think this episode is a great example of how to convey a complex and powerful romance in a limited amount of time. True, the episode is just over an hour long, but not even all that time is focused on the romance and yet it hits beautifully.

Their first move is that, since the audience has been introduced to Moiraine, one half of this grand love affair, the story begins with Siuan's origin story - we begin with the home where she grew up, we begin by learning the innermost rooms of her heart.

We see the last time she ever felt wholly safe and loved and free to be herself:

The day we see with her father is also the day Siuan begins to come of age, leaving this place of innocence and total safety - because of how magic is handled in this society, there are limited spaces for her to embrace her power, have the opportunity to learn, and be accepted as a grown woman.

Notable that, in her parting, her father uses these words to connect them, to create a bridge between this home and the life she will build:

Look at me. You're gonna do great things. And if any of them bastards tries to shame you, you show them who you are. Siuan Sanche. Daughter of the river. Clever as a pike. Strong as the tides.

Her father is giving a vision of herself--and the knowledge that he loves her deeply--to her that she can hold close for the rest of her life.

Then we see Moiraine and Siuan as mature women in the Aes Sedai order that has formed their adult selves. We witness the power and burden Siuan carries as the Amyrlin Seat, the masks these lovers must wear to pursue the larger goals they share - but that very sharing separates them. It requires them in different places; it requires that they conceal who they are to each other as well as their true inner selves.

It's after this display of politics and power that we learn that, despite all of this, Siuan and Moiraine trust their inner selves to each other.

Before meeting her lover, Moiraine strips herself down to her own girlish state - no formal, restrictive outfits, no ornate hair, no carefully chosen jewels. Just her.

It's in this exposed state that she approaches the magical portal

And everything comes together! Moiraine walks into Siuan's innermost heart, her childhood home. This is the secret place they share, the place they built together (presumably?) with their magic and where they love each other. Siuan can still be safe and free with someone - she has a family still, and it is Moiraine.

In this place of safety there are echoes of their lives outside, however:

Moiraine: Am I forgiven, Mother?

Siuan: I hate it when you call me that. So much for the Amyrlin Seat remaining neutral, without favorites…. No life. No love of one's own. Nothing but the Seat.

Moiraine: When have we ever followed the rules?

And, of course, there's the deliciousness of Moiraine's "on your knees" and how it interplays with Siuan's earlier command, as the Amyrlin Seat, for Moiraine to kneel before her. In the Tower, one must obey the Seat or face punishment; in love, one obeys because one wishes to, an even stronger compulsion than threats of violence one might argue lol

This play of identities and truths--innermost heart and their political identities, their status and power--culminates in Moiraine turning her political punishment, framed as a command to swear and oath of obedience to the Amyrlin Seat into a personal oath--a wedding vow, if you will--to Siuan herself.

Siuan: You are exiled from this Tower. To ensure your acceptance of this penance, you will swear fealty to the judgment of this Seat on the sacred Oath Rod. Swear your oath, Moiraine Sedai… before your sisters, in this… sacred Hall. The One Power renders it unbreakable and eternally binding. By the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth… I, Moiraine Sedai, swear to obey the judgment of the Amyrlin Seat and never return till she calls me home, or may the Creator's face turn from me and darkness consume my soul.

Moiraine: By the Light and the hope of my salvation… and rebirth… I, Moiraine Sedai, do swear to honor and obey Siuan Sanche… Daughter of the River… clever as a pike… strong as the tides… and never return until she calls me home. Or may my Creator's face turn from me… and darkness consume my soul.

Moiraine is the only one giving these "wedding vows" and yet we know Siuan commits to her just as much - because Siuan shared her father's parting words--the ones she has kept close to her heart, the core inner self she has protected with those words--with Moiraine alone. By sharing those words Siuan committed to Moraine and now Moiraine is using them to commit herself to Siuan.

Moiraine touches Siuan's true, innermost heart even in this moment of her exile and them being parted by fate for a long period of time. In this moment of farewell she reflects back to Siuan the little girl she was, the woman she has grown into with that love at her heart, the love she shares with Moiraine. She reflects back their shared purpose and love for each other, even though Siuan has to be the one to command this exile.

And once again, tears mark the separation from home/heart and the blessing of giving someone a vision of themselves they can carry with them while you are parted.

It's really gorgeous work all around - but it starts with the writing, which is a master class in depicting a complex romance in a limited period of time.

#the wheel of time #wheel of time #moiraine x siuan #siuaraine #my meta #wot meta

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lurkingshan · 4 months

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I have caught up through episode 8 of TsukuTabe and I really cannot contain my emotion about Kasuga's arc with her family in these episodes, so I am here to scream. That was so fucking beautiful. This has to be one of my favorite depictions of breaking the cycle of family trauma that I have ever seen.

I loved how efficiently the show established everything we needed to know about Kasuga's father with just a few lines of dialogue over the phone. The way he began the conversation by trying to shame her, the way he started making demands without asking her a single question about her life or how she was doing, the way he casually said "Akira is in the prime of his life" while tacitly dismissing any worth or value Kasuga's own life as a single woman might hold. With just that one conversation we knew exactly who that man is and why Kasuga has tried to build her own life in solitude rather than continue to live with him.

And her conversation with Nagumo gave us even more insight into how she was raised that fills in some context about the way she thinks about food and why taking pleasure in her meals is such a big deal for her. Kasuga's family deprived her of food (love), and so it's no wonder that meeting someone like Nomoto, who was so determined to give her food (love), would be such a life altering event for her, and finally give her the sense of safety she has never had.

I loved, too, that the show delivered some firm commentary on the way women are subjugated in heterosexual marriages and forced to serve their husband’s family like indentured slaves, particularly in many Asian cultures. Kasuga was very affected by seeing her mother live that way, and you could see she is carrying guilt about leaving this burden to her mother. But ultimately, she cannot control her mother's choices or fix her mistakes, she can only save herself from repeating them. And she found the strength within herself to do it, even though it must have been terrifying to take that leap.

The way that Kasuga drew that boundary with her father was a Very Big Deal in her cultural context, and I loved that the show drove that point home by having Kasuga confess to Nomoto about her decision and express her fear of being judged. She knows she will absolutely be cast as a bad daughter and judged harshly by most people who find out she has cut ties with her father, and she needed Nomoto to reassure her once again that their relationship is a safe place for her. She needed Nomoto to reassure her that she is her family now and she will always be on her side. And of course Nomoto did exactly that, and we got to end this very emotional episode with a Kasuga who is bravely building the life she wants for herself with the love and support of her chosen family.

#tsukuritai onna to tabetai onna #she loves to cook and she loves to eat #intergenerational trauma #japanese gl #shan shouts into the void

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franklespine · 3 months

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How am I just supposed to carry on with my life after 6.08 of House md. HOWWWWW?????!!!!! Kill myself that was gut wrenching. Never had I had such a punch to the gut like that ending was. Cameron telling House that she loved him. Telling him about how all he cares about is sweeping and manipulating people into his puzzles and games. "You'll poison [Taub and Thirteen] just like you poisoned Chase ... you ruined him."

Oh my god. I cannot believe they just made me watch that.

The building tension between Chase and Cameron in this episode in the fact that the only way Cameron could continue to be with him was to believe that killing Dibala wasn't his fault but House's - that Chase was his "personal sock puppet", and that to move beyond this they had to leave.

Comparatively, Chase struggles to wrap his head around the fact that Cameron forgives him for an act that he perceives was not only the "worst thing [he's] ever done", but entirely his fault. He's spent the past few episodes overwhelmed with emotions he doesn't know how to deal with. House told him to get some help and Chase interprets this as going to confession where he just begs the priest to give him a way to achieve atonement and lift the burden off of him. And then when the priest tells him there's no way to do that without taking responsibility for his actions he just goes to the bar so long Cameron almost reports him missing and drinks himself half to death. So I think the reason he struggles so much to understand why Cameron forgives him is because he doesn't forgive himself - he doesn't regret what he did and still thinks it was the right thing to do but that doesn't mean he isn't wrought with shame and guilt because of it. And then he slowly realises throughout this episode that Cameron hasn't really forgiven him - she just doesn't believe he was at fault. But he can't run away from what he did and, probably more importantly, he doesn't want to leave House. He tells Cameron that killing Dibala was his fault and despite everything, he'd do it again.

And then - you ruined him - Cameron says to House. Jesus Christ just kill me. 'You broke him beyond repair'. Because despite Cameron's penchant for broken people, she doesn't want them to be beyond repair, emotionally.

"I'm sorry for you both. For what you've become. Because... there's no way back for either of you."

UGGHHHJFNEWJONORGOW

Honestly, as much as House fucked with Taub, Thirteen and Kutner, it wasn't like with his original fellows. He didn't change them, fundamentally, like he did with Foreman, Chase and Cameron. Each of them has a slightly different breed of a complicated, messed up relationship with House that no one else (not even each other) will ever understand - and now none of them can truly leave. They're stuck there in that hospital, in some way, with House forever, seeing reflections of House in each other and in themselves like a disease. Like Cameron says in 5.13 "I'll always say yes to House. I studied under him. He's in my head." And Foreman too is 'ruined' - he got away from House, begins acting just like him and now he is entirely un-hirable - here is the only place he has to go. And I think the fact that Chase was the only fellow in s3 who was fired by House (rather than leaving himself), and then came back to the same hospital (with Cameron) to work as a surgeon is rather telling. He referred to House as God, he maybe received the worst treatment from House and still sucked up to him the most for his approval and validation, he's a capable and intelligent doctor but yet in the diagnostics team he bases his diagnosing suggestions off of House like he's his entire frame of reference right from s1 (making diagnoses not based on actual medical knowledge but how House reacts to each of them, how he phrases his questions, how he starts the conversation).

Jesus christ. Just the way that he fundamentally altered something deep inside each of them, irrevocably, is just sooooooo... RAHHHHDJBFJBFHFEOFHEW.

This show man what in the world.

Erm. On to episode 9 I guess.

#house md #house md 6x08 #robert chase #allison cameron #eric foreman #greg house #the messiest team of doctors you've even seen #also is it just me or do I feel like s6 is more heart wrenching than the past seasons #like it always had its moments but i just feel like this is another level of angst LMAO

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

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Bilbo hadn’t really understood why the dwarves had hated the elf so much, but of course, Bofur had quietly told him of why they were so distrustful of her, but it wasn’t entirely personal, they’d distrusted all elves, even the ones in Rivendell. He’d become rather fond of her, but only because she was much more mannered and polite. She favored two daggers over the typical elven choice of a sword and bow, which Bilbo found odd, as he’d always heard stories about elves and their almost perfect skill with bows and swords. Even Lord Elrond of Rivendell carried a sword, which he had no doubt that the elven lord was lethal with it.

But while Bilbo had come to recognize that the dwarves were offensive fighters, she was defensive, and it’d taken quite a while for him to understand that any time there was danger, she was always next to him, keeping close so that nothing could hurt him. But he’d also seen her when she was sneaking behind enemies, watching as she’d taken down more than the dwarves who were in the thick of it.

The night had called, and Bilbo found himself unable to sleep, tossing and turning over the hard ground while the others snored around him. He lie there for as long as he could before he sat up with a quiet sigh, discontent flooding him as he threw the blanket off before rising from the bedroll. He assumed a short stroll might tire him out, not too far of course—the last thing he wanted was to end up like he’d been with the trolls.

As he neared the edge of the camp, his keen eyes saw a flash of silver in the low branches of a tree and he blinked, squinting at the figure sitting up there. It was their resident elf, still as the dead, watching over the camp and around them. It was a rather flustering amount of time before Bilbo realized she was staring right at him, and he felt his cheeks redden as embarrassment flooded his body. Still though, he walked over to stand somewhat beneath her, enough that he could crane his neck and look up at her.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked quietly, though he’d already known the answer.

“The better question is what are you doing awake?” she countered, and he shifted on his feet.

“I couldn’t sleep. I miss my bed,” he added, unable to hide his homesickness.

She nodded, turning to look out towards the land shadowed by the night. “Understandable. The ground is rather hard. Good for your back though, believe it or not.”

“I think I shall agree to disagree. I like my soft bed and fluffy pillows.”

She chuckled lowly and with a bit of grace, shifted and rolled off the branch, landing in front of him without so much as a noise. “You should try to sleep though, Bilbo. Our journey will only become much more difficult if you are exhausted.”

He felt shame creep up his neck, and he looked at his feet. “I…I’m sorry I’m not much help.” He was in fact not a help at all, always getting in the way, not even able to fight, not able to—

“Bilbo,” she calmed, kneeling down, and placing a hand on his shoulder; she looked at him with kind eyes. “I didn’t mean you would make the entire journey difficult. I meant your own experience would be uncomfortable because of your exhaustion.”

“Oh…” he said, feeling a bit foolish.

“While some of the others might think you a burden, rest assured that I do not, Bilbo, and I think you are wonderful company on this adventure.” She gestured for them to sit down against a rock, far enough from the dwarves that their talking wouldn’t disturb them, but close enough that she could see over them.

“Bilbo,” she started, gently wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. “No one is expecting you to become some great warrior.”

He shifted around in her grip until he was as comfortable as he could be. “I know, but sometimes I feel like I am weighing us all down.”

“As you will, you’ve no prior experience in battle or on any type of business where it is this dangerous. But you’re learning, and that’s the most important thing. If you weren’t, then we would be considering shoving you in a barrel and floating you back up a stream to the Shire.”

He blinked, a smile on his lips as he laid his head against her side. “Where do you come from?”

She fell silent for a long while before she murmured, “I originally hail from Mirkwood.”

“The kingdom that Thorin’s family dealt with?”

“That would be the kingdom.”

“How did you end up here?” he asked, and she let out a long breath. The question was more than obvious. How did one of Erebor’s greatest enemies end up on the adventure to take back Erebor?

“I’m old, Bilbo. Very old. I’ve been on this earth longer than many of the elves around, save Elrond and Lady Galadriel.” She turned into him closer. “I was King Thranduil’s guard captain when Erebor was at its height of power. When Erebor fell to Smaug, we had marched to the carnage. Thranduil refused to help the dwarves.” She frowned. “Even in his grief, anger, and greed, we are still called to watch over Middle Earth. His refusal to assist innocents in their greatest peril went against my very purpose. I wasn’t going to stand for it.”

Bilbo listened to her, and asked softly, “What happened?”

“I abandoned my post. I refused to follow a king who wouldn’t put aside his pride in favor of helping a group of refuges who’d just lost literally everything they had. There is no honor in letting people die. Especially the innocent dwarves who had nothing to do with the issue between Thranduil and Thorin’s grandfather.”

“I can’t assume you left without a fight?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she deadpanned. “For an entire week, I fled through the land from Erebor, chased by the very guards I trained. At every turn, I engaged in battle with my men and women. I was wounded beyond belief.”

He looked up at her. “Obviously you survived, but how? If you were so injured…?”

“I made it to Rivendell.” She met his gaze with a grin. “I am not even kidding, I was on the bridge at Rivendell, fighting for my life.”

“And?” Bilbo was practically on the edge of his seat.

“I made the mistake of going high when my enemy went low. The blow knocked me back into the staircase where I lay, ready to be beheaded, when Rivendell guards swarmed around me, raising weapons against the elves of Mirkwood.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief.

“Really. Lord Elrond appeared, a sword in his own hand and commanded they leave at once, or any further aggression would be considered an attack on Rivendell and his guards would respond with force.” She smiled. “I passed out, but when I came to, I was in a bed in Rivendell, Lord Elrond watching over me.”

“He seems a very wise elf.”

“Oh, he is. Very esteemed by us all, respected among everyone, even men, dwarf, and hobbit alike.” She breathed deeply. “He allowed me to recuperate and stay for some time before I left.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Fifty years.” She answered. “I fell into quite a depression over my lack of helping during Erebor’s fall. I felt at fault for not even trying to assist the dwarves.”

Bilbo started to blink slowly, eyelids beginning to droop. “Where did you go after?”

“Anywhere and everywhere away from Mirkwood. I became a bounty hunter. Honed my techniques and abilities.”

“Hmm…does…” he breathed deeply, trying to stay awake. “Does Thorin know?”

She looked down in shock. “What?”

“Thorin…does he know?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

Bilbo hummed again, curling up into her side. “Should tell him…may…forgive you.”

She simply watched as he fell asleep before picking him up, carrying him back towards his bedroll; as she put him down, she pulled his blanket up just under his chin and smiled sadly down at him—if only it was that simple.

As she carefully stepped between the sleeping dwarves, heading back towards the tree she’d been in, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. She paused, looking around at their sleeping faces, and when she shrugged, going back towards the tree, Thorin opened his eyes once more, gazing at her back as she did, imagining the weight of the world upon her shoulders just as his was then all those years ago, and now.

#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader imagine #thorin oakenshield x reader imagines #thorin oakenshield imagines #thorin oakenshield imagine #thorin x reader #thorin x reader imagine #thorin x reader imagines #thorin imagines #thorin imagine #thorin #thorin oakenshield #bilbo #bilbo baggins #the hobbit #hobbit #king thranduil #thranduil

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a-hermit-pining · 6 months

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Pining for a half-curse

Pairing: Choso x Reader

Summary: You want Choso. All of him.

"How long will you live?"

"I don't know, does it bother you?"

"Maybe. I don't want to loose out on memories with you," you could not find the courage to face him but your words continued to flow like a relentless river. "I am terrified that my love won't be enough, that out there in the world when I am gone, you will find another who will love you greater. Someone who would accompany forever. I am envious of every moment that you will spend with another when I am gone. I know it is the fate of humans to age and wither away but it feels too bitter. Too unfair."

Silence fell as your words came to end. You could not face Choso.

"Am I gross for feeling this way?" You whisper to yourself. "I love you, I should wish only good for you. Then why do I feel this?" You ask him, finally look at him despite the shame that fills you. "I am a loathsome excuse of a human. I do not possess the selfless love I once dreamt of giving to you." You close your eyes as the burdens of your construct settle on your shoulders.

Shrouded in silence you flinch when you feel hands cup your face. Forcing your eyes to open, you expect disgust or hurt to greet you on Choso's face but your eyes barely open before they close as his lips meet your.

A soft kiss. A kiss that reminds you of a feline lounging in warm afternoon Sun. The gentle touch of his lips against yours is a stark contrast to your racing heart.

Pulling back from the kiss Choso caresses your cheek as his eyes stare into yours. "You being selfish for my affection is love. Your guilt for it is love too." His lips settle on your cheek and somehow they lift as you find yourself smiling. "I do not desire selfless love from you because anything lacking your self would mean nothing."

You notice a light blush settle over his cheeks, surrounding itself around his nose. "And as for this lifespan...although I do not have an answer right now, I promise to love you for the entirety of it." His words are simple. Uttered with the same monotone voice of his. But they carry the conviction despite their simplicity.

You pull him closer kissing the blush on his face. His skin feels warm under your lips. "So you mean to say you would be pining over an old wrinkly woman? Or perhaps a dead one?" You ask him as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"I mean you're pining after a half-curse so I am not the weirdest one here woman." He replies with a smug look on his face. A look that your reply to with a swat to his shoulder.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #choso x reader #jjk choso #drabble #romance

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the-last-thread-of-my-sanity · 2 months

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Honestly, I love the Levi/Hange/Erwin dynamic when it comes to shipping, because all of it works and feels satisfying for the characters no matter what your preference is.

I can honestly believe or be convinced of almost any dynamic involving the three of them, including a throuple situation.

But my personal headcanon is this- I think that Levi had feelings for Erwin that were definitely stronger than Erwin’s for him. Levi showed love and also strength through devotion to Erwin but Erwin only had room in his life to be devoted to his cause and his goal of finding out the truth. Any person- even those he cared most about- could be sacrificed for that goal. We see this in his characterization as “the devil”. I think he felt sorrow for this choice at times but never once considered going back on it.

I honestly think the closest Levi and Erwin ever were was before the series starts/occurs offscreen. And by the time we are introduced to these characters we are actually beginning to see the slow deterioration of what could have been their relationship. We see them working seamlessly together to acquire Eren for the Scouts, but even as soon as the 57th Expedition we see some cracks in the facade.

Levi trusts Erwin inherently, and will follow his orders, but he starts to silently and subtly disagree with the massive loss of life that Erwin is content with to achieve his goal. This all culminates in Levi’s infamous unspoken “more important than me” right before they leave for Shiganshina. Erwin is devoted to his cause and his dream of seeing the basement regardless of the casualties- and Levi has been devoted to Erwin and so therefore must bear the weight of those casualties with him even though along the way they weren’t his calls to make.

And then on the other hand, you have Levi and Hange- who mutually care for one another and have phenomenal chemistry. They both share the burden of carrying out Erwin’s wishes- but I think in Hange, Levi can see someone who is just as intelligent and determined but not quite as ruthless or closed off. Hange is constantly grappling with guilt and shame and feelings of inadequacy- emotions that Levi doesn’t permit himself to feel or in the very least, to feel openly. So by caring for them, Levi gets some of that catharsis. Surely by having sympathy for Hange’s plight, he can also then give himself permission to feel his own doubts and frustrations. Their relationship feels very equal- which is why it is ultimately more appealing to me.

Later, even when Hange is the commander, it still feels like they are on equal footing. Levi is just as devoted to them, but not in a way that forces him into a secondary role or to compromise the part of him that cares deeply for others.

I think (and yes this explanation is very Levi-centric, sorry) that Levi resists a lot of attraction to Hange or doesn’t take it as seriously while Erwin is alive- but just as we see things begin to chill between him and Erwin, we also see more trust and interactions between him and Hange.

Levi choosing Armin to revive over Erwin was a personal as well as tactical decision for him. Of course, there’s so much discussion about how it was actually a way to respect him and show mercy, et cetera. And I agree with that. But many things can be true at the same time, and I think laying Erwin to rest was also Levi choosing, if even subconsciously, that he would no longer choose his unbroken devotion to Erwin over the chance to spare lost lives (in this case, it happens to be Armin). He still reveres Erwin immensely- but following him for so many years had obviously left wounds and scars.

And I am not saying any of this to discredit Erwin or villainize him. I think Erwin is a very human character, and he put himself into a position to make choices that he knew no one else would be able to make. He chose to turn himself into a monster and be as ruthless as his enemy. He was incorruptible in this aspect, but it also meant that anyone close to him would always be secondary and he couldn’t risk becoming too attached. There a million examples of ways he cares for Levi (and Hange)- he just makes it explicit that he would never care for them MORE than the cause.

They know this and follow him anyway. But that bond between those second in command to him, creates this beautiful relationship built on shared understanding, and that’s what makes Levihan so compelling to me.

#eruri #levihan #captain levi #commander erwin #hange zoe #character analysis #shipping #attack on titan #headcanon

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astrronomemes · 8 months

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LIFEHOUSE: NO NAME FACE STARTERS (PART I)

a collection of lyrics from the Lifehouse album, No Name Face. requested by @judgementdaysunshine. change & alter as needed.

"I'm falling even more in love with you."

"I'm standing here until you make me move."

"I'm hanging by a moment here with you."

"I'm running, and not quite sure where to go."

"I don't know what I'm diving into."

"There's nothing else to lose."

"There's nothing in the world that can change my mind."

"If shame had a face, I think it would look kind of like mine."

"Would you believe me if I said I'm tired of this?"

"Here we go now. One more time."

"I tried to earn my way."

"You'd better believe that I tried to beat this."

"When will this end?"

"I never thought I'd end up here. I never thought I'd be standing where I am."

"I guess I kind of thought it would be easier than this."

"I guess I was wrong."

"This is a sick cycle."

"Don't let me second-guess what I know to be real."

"Maybe I just might learn to let it go."

"Maybe, finally, I won't have to know everything."

"Faith makes everybody scared."

"I cannot pretend that everything makes sense."

"I do not know how to figure this thing out."

"I remind myself of somebody else."

"I've got somebody else's thoughts in my head. I want some of my own."

"Am I hiding behind my doubts? Are they hiding behind me?"

"Let down your hair. Be transparent for a while."

"Honesty is a hard attribute to find."

"We all want to seem like we've got it all figured out."

"I don't have all the answers. And I ain't gonna pretend that I do."

"Well, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet."

"She's got a pretty smile. It covers up the poison that she hides."

"The burden you gave me is too much to carry."

"I guess you're the only one left standing."

"You're still the only one who hasn't changed faces."

"Just because it's all in your head doesn't mean it has to be in mine."

"The weak will seek the weaker until they've broken them."

"You lost yourself in your search to find something else to hide behind."

"You can't be weak. You can't stand still."

"Watch your back, because no one will."

"Don't believe the lies that they've told to you. Not one word was true."

"You found me. Somehow, I always knew that you would."

"You know I would if I knew how."

#rp meme #roleplay meme #rp starters #roleplay starters #dialogue prompts #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #rp prompt #roleplay prompt #dialogue starters #rp memes #roleplay memes #sentence prompts #sentence memes #sentence starters

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lokiprompts · 1 year

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Appropriate - Chapter 7

"Bubbles"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com/Comfort vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Chapter Summary: Loki makes a new ally...and he learns to do the laundry, with interesting results.

Words. 8.7k I could have broken this one up, but I didn't want to. You're welcome.

Warnings: Angst. Jealousy. Crying. Mentions of childhood trauma.

Song to listen to while reading: It's a Shame

AN: I am opening up my tag list again, but if you are not interacting/reblogging, you will be removed. If you would like to be added, please let me know!

Previous Chapter Here. Next Chapter Here

The library felt even more empty now that you had left, leaving Loki standing in front of the doorway with a stretched-out arm beckoning you back. For a moment, Loki debated chasing after you, to say what he didn’t know, but he wanted to make things right. Yet, his feet stayed put. The events of the day had his mind reeling and questioning every interaction he had with you.

Loki dragged his sullen form back to the couch, plopping himself down on the overly plush cushions, where just moments ago he was blissfully watching you sleep. Leaning back, he turned his head to the spot next to him and gently, he reached out and caressed the fabric. The heat of your body still lingered there, making him sigh. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling above him.

“Norns, can you do anything right?” He asked himself. For the first time in a long time, Loki wanted to care for another person for unselfish reasons. He simply wanted you to rest. To not have to carry the many of burdens that seemed to be weighing on your shoulders, day in and day out. The mere suggestion of taking a break had you breaking down in front of him with an emotion he often saw within his own mirror reflection.

Did you think that you were not deserving of rest? Loki’s long, elegant finger rubbed against his lower lip as the thought wreaked havoc on his mind. How? Someone like you shouldn’t worry about feeling deserving, or worthy. No, that should only be a problem belonging to monsters like him. What could make you feel this way?

The only possibly answer the god could come up with is some unknown variable that he had yet to discover. Some sort of harm to your precious heart, that had Loki clenching his fists.

The once posh prince, one who was used to never having to ask for anything, suddenly had to ask for everything. When it came to material things, he had nothing. When it came to his powers, he had less than nothing. But there was one thing that remained, one thing that remained unstolen.

His mind.

And now he was determined to use it to do whatever he could, so you would know that you were deserving of all the good things the Nine had to offer. A small smile crept on Loki’s lips. Quickly, he stood and left the library and back to his apartment to make plans.

Plans that seemed to be assisted by the grace of the Norns, because his first opportunity quickly presented itself the very next morning. It all started when he first woke up to the loud tapping of rain against his bedroom window. Slowly, he sat up, letting the scratchy comforter slide off his bare chest as he stared at the rain drops rolling down the glass. And just like most mornings since meeting you, his thoughts immediately went to you.

Were you traveling safely? Were you warm and dry? The questions made him frown and worry enough to drag himself out of bed and into the lion’s den otherwise called the Stark Tower lobby.

Every time he came down to the lobby with you, he would feel all the eyes that followed him. Some would watch with terror, others disgust. He felt them all and it made his skin crawl. If it wasn’t for your presence, he would have immediately retreated to his room each time he stepped into that hellscape. Back to a place without judgement, and only understanding. Back to a place where he wouldn’t have to explain his mind control and torture by the Titan, just to get the stares to stop. But, even then, the stares often turned into looks of pity.

But Loki wanted to see you. He wanted to make sure you were alright, especially with how you left yesterday. So, with the emotional armor of a good book in his hand, he perched himself on the bench closest to the door that led to the parking garage connected to the tower. During, the very early morning hours, there were only a few staff that lingered about the lobby and much to his surprise, they hardly paid him any attention. Some guards and secretaries’ eyes would periodically wander over to him, mostly with looks of confusion, before carrying on.

To everyone else, it looked like the stoic god was enjoying his book, but really his eyes stayed trained on the door that remained uncharacteristically closed. Looking around the lobby, Loki noticed it wasn’t as busy as it usually was most mornings when he came down here with you. If anything, people were filing in very slowly through the front door. One by one, Stark employees and guests alike were scrutinized by security. Each person was wanded for weapons and had to present valid ID before even entering the building.

Strange, Loki thought. It was enough to make him stand from his place on the bench and peer out the long line of windows that made the front wall of the tower. The sidewalk outside of the building was lined with people waiting to gain entrance, and every single person was soaked. Including you.

There you stood, amongst the other shivering wet people, with your hair matted down to your face and periodically furiously swiping at the rain that blurred your vision. You stood out like a sore thumb with your obnoxiously bright yellow coat. Why don’t you have an umbrella? Even though there was a great distance between you and the front door, Loki could still see your body tremble from the chill of the rain. It was enough to make Loki beeline to the reception desk in the center of the lobby.

“What is taking so long?! The people outside are freezing!” He snapped at the unsuspecting secretary. The secretary, who Loki discovered was named Kimberly from the nametag attached to her chest, at first looked terrified at the god who towered above her, years of pompous entitlement burning in his eyes. Maybe it was the midday hump, or the sad empty cup of coffee that sat on her desk that made the ‘just a few more years until I can retire from this hell hole’ admin steel her gaze and face a god with no fear. The screaming of ringing phones amplifying her customer service battle cry.

“Excuse me, Sir” she spat back with just as much venom as he gave to her, “But due to a high security event at the tower, everyone must be thoroughly checked for safety measures. The security staff are managing it as fast as they can.”

It was then that Loki spied the umbrella behind Kimberly’s desk. A smile grew on Loki’s face, along with a scheme.

“Apologies, Lady…” Loki purred, making a show of leaning forward to peek at her nametag, even though he noticed it already, “Lady Kimberly, but it seems we got on the wrong foot. Might I borrow that umbre-“

“No.” Kimberly quickly cut off his much politer request and picked up one the many screeching phone lines, blatantly ignoring him.

“Hello – Annie, Hi, sweetie.” The older woman let out a sigh of relief as Loki still hovered by her desk, keeping his eye on you who still stood in the line that had slowed down to a barely moving crawl. Loki looked back to the umbrella. It would be easy to steal, but with these damn dampeners, how would he get it to you?

“Yes, they have me doing this ridiculous digitizing project too. Stark has a nano suit, but he still wants us to scan all these old files manually?” Loki could hear the distain dripping in her voice about the project.

“It’s a power trip, I tell you. It will take hours, HOURS to do this. If he expects me to stay late to finish this, I swear. I have BINGO tonight!”

Ding.

Loki’s large hand gingerly tapped the call bell that sat on top of Kimberly’s desk. She immediately paused and gave him a look that made him flinch.

“Hold on, Annie,” She cupped the phone with her hand, “Yes?” Her tone was clear. She loathed project that was forced upon her, but at this moment, she loathed Loki more.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot. I have a proposition for you, Lady Kimberly,” Immediately, her eyes rolled as Loki spoke, but he carried on with his bargain. The sight of you shivering driving him through the receptionist’s icy stare. “This task…this digitizing project. It sounds tedious and dull, something far below someone of your caliber.”

The honey he laid was thick, and the slight uptick of Kimberly’s lip boosted his confidence. “I propose that I take on this task for you, freeing you for….” Loki flashed her a tight lip smile, “Bingo.”

Kimberly grinned, now placing the phone in the crook of her neck, so she could place her chin in her free hand, “And what do you get from this exchange?”

Loki looked past her and pointed at the umbrella that sat propped up against her desk, “To merely borrow that umbrella.”

The wrinkles on her forehead deepened as confusion swept across her face, “And why on earth would you need an umbrella? You can’t even leave the building.”

Her bluntness made Loki wince. She had a point. Even his quick-witted mind couldn’t come up with an explanation, except for the truth.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the tall desk in front of him, and got closer to Kimberly. The action normally would have people pulling back in fear, but not Kimberly. Oh no, she was another kind of beast. Someone who worked her whole life in customer service and what little remained of her soul, didn’t scare so easily. But Loki didn’t want to scare her, merely whisper one of his greatest secrets to this old, Midgardian woman who looked like she wanted him dead.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he pointed to your trembling body that was still nowhere near the front of the line. Your arms were wrapped tightly around your body for warmth, but your chattering teeth showed that it was in vain, “The woman in the yellow coat. I wish for her to have it.”

He looked back to Kimberly, who was now watching him intently. There were so many emotions swimming in Loki’s eyes that told his greatest truth and secret; he cared for you.

“And if we could bring her to the front of the line and out of the cold…” Kimberly held her palm up, effectively stopping Loki’s request. The god frowned, already feeling defeated. Ever since coming to the Tower, Loki had felt nothing but helpless. He had no possessions. No powers. No connection to the outside world.

A once powerful God brought to his knees, begging for an umbrella.

“You are quite lucky that I adore Y/N. She is likely one of the kindness, sweetest people to ever exist on this planet.”

Loki’s expression softened, a grateful smile spreading across his features, ��She is.” And he believed that, more than anything. Kimberly reflected a smile right back at him, but hers was more knowing.

“And frankly, the office drama lately is quite boring, and I am a sucker for a good romance.” She winked at him, and Loki blanched.

“I – uh, I don’t know what – I mean,” He stammered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck under his long, black curls.

Loki’s rambling stopped immediately after Kimberly patted his other hand that still laid on his desk. The tender gesture brought a sense of calm to the god, and in Kimberly’s eyes, he saw years of wisdom and compassion that reminded him of his own mother. In his thousand years of life, Loki made it his business to learn about people, their motives, to the point where he could understand someone quickly, even after just meeting them. And what he knew was that Kimberly was someone he could trust.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her. I can’t move her up the line, but I can give you the umbrella. In exchange, you will help me with my project.” She pointed his finger at him, for emphasis, “And you will help my friend, Annie, down in the labs too.”

“Of course.” Loki agreed immediately. Never would he thought that he would trade labor for something as trivial as an umbrella, but every time he stole a glance at you, he knew it would be worth it. Frankly, you looked like a drowned rat, and every moment that passed by, Loki became more convinced that the chill of the rain would quite literally, freeze you to your bones.

With yet another wink, Kimberly said goodbye to Annie on the phone, and hung up the phone to scoop up the umbrella. She left her desk and walked to the front door, leaning up and whispering in the ear of one of the security guards. The guard let her through the door, and she immediately popped open the umbrella. Kimberly made her way down the long line of people who clung to the side of the building in search for some sort of reprieve from the onslaught of chilled rain. Person after person, she passed by until she finally reached you and your sunny, yellow coat.

Loki watched on from the lobby, unaware of the conversation happening between you and Kimberly. There were smiles and laughs exchanged, and Kimberly handed you the umbrella. You were quick to get under, but you were also quick to pull Kimberly under with you. The gesture made him smile. Of course, you would.

But then Kimberly was pointing at him. His eyes went wide, and he looked around him to verify that the receptionist was actually singling him out. The withered, old hag has betrayed me…Then, when your eyes met his, all he could do is gulp, and sheepishly wave at you with a tight, awkward smile. You gave him a little wave back, a soft smile gracing your beautiful face, and his heart all but exploded in his chest at the small gesture.

A few moments later, Kimberly was back at her desk. The screaming phones remained unanswered, as she remained unbothered.

Loki was quick to lean over the side of the desk, as soon as she sat down, “I thought we had a deal?! Why would you tell her about my affections?!” He whispered screamed at her. More and more people piled into the lobby, and eventually, you would be too, and Loki would have to explain his token.

Kimberly smirked at him, “Well, well, you do got it bad.” She laughed a little, and Loki glared at her, “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her about your affections” She waved her hands about, and her tone told Loki that she was teasing, but his deadly stare didn’t alleviate.

“I just laid some groundwork for you.” Her grin widened, “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thank you,” Loki sneered. Even though the scowl didn’t leave his face, Kimberly’s expression softened as she leaned closer to him.

“Be good to her. She has been alone for far too long, and she deserves happiness.”

Every bit morsel of frustration, annoyance, and anger left his body was instantly replaced with confusion. It was clear that this woman knew who he was, the villain who tried to take over her home, yet she was helping him win your heart? Surely, she wouldn’t think someone as pure as you, should be with someone as monstrous as him. The question was leaving his mouth, before he even had time to truly process it.

“I know that sometimes things aren’t always as they seem. There are more to our stories than what we choose to tell people and that umbrella….” Kimberly peeked over her shoulder to the front entrance, where you stood, drenched, while being processed by security, “That umbrella is very telling. Now, look alive, Prince Charming!”

“Hi, Kimberly. Hi, Loki!” You chirped, suddenly at the desk and at Loki’s side, making him jump. He looked down at you, taking you in now that you were finally up close. The umbrella was closed and held tightly in your hand, and every bit of you was thoroughly soaked. What little makeup you wore, was running around your eyes. Every strand of your hair was matted to your head. There was still a slight tremble to your body from the cold that remained in your bones. But the worst of it, the part that Loki tried his hardest to ignore, was how the normally modest fabric of your office wear was clinging mercilessly to every curve of your body. The hardened peaks of your nipples and lines of your lacy bra showed through your drenched shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

All Loki wanted to do was sweep you in his arms, warming you in his embrace. He would steal you away to his room, and strip you of your wet, cold clothes. To warm you, of course. But soon his arms would find their way around you again as he held you close. With your breasts pushed against his chest, he would tenderly wipe away the remaining makeup that the rain hadn’t washed away. You never needed it, anyways.

“Hello, earth to Loki!” You giggled, waving your hands in front of the daydreaming god, effectively snapping him out of his fantasy.

“Apologies.” Loki shoved his hands in his dress slack pockets to stifle his nervous fidgets, “I am glad you are finally out of the rain. Hopefully you weren’t waiting for too long.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes in exasperation. Norns, you were adorable.

“I was waiting for almost an hour! I get here, park, and they won’t let me in, so I have to go around the front and wait.” You puffed out a breath of air, as you tempered your annoyance, “But it’s fine, really.” The shiver that wracked your body told Loki that it, in fact, was not fine.

“But then I was given this umbrella,” You held up the umbrella like a prized trophy, “Thanks to you, Loki.”

The blush that swept across Loki’s sharp cheek bones was instantaneous. Suddenly, his shoes became very interesting as he tried to look everywhere, but your sweet face.

“It’s nothing, truly. It isn’t even mine.”

As soon as he felt your hand on his bicep, his eyes snapped back up to yours. The gentle caress of your thumb against his muscle was starting to become familiar; a comforting gesture that he craved.

“Regardless, you were kind and thoughtful of my wellbeing. That isn’t anything to downplay. I…I sincerely appreciate it.” Your hand remained on his arm, both of you lost in each other’s eyes.

Kimberly cleared her throat, and both you and Loki stepped away from each other now that your bubble had burst.

“So, sorry, Kimberly. Here’s your umbrella. Thanks to you, too.” You offered it back to her and she took it, smiling ear to ear that made you quirk your eyebrow in confusion. Silently, Kimberly’s eyes flitted back to Loki, then back at you, before they widened. Loki noticed the exchange right away and immediately stepped in front of your line of sight.

“Lady Y/N, do you have a change of clothes? I would hate for you to become ill from the cold.” Loki looked expectantly down at you, and the puddle that formed underneath your dripping clothes. Even though the view of your clinging clothes was delicious, the god was becoming more and more worried by the minute.

And when another chill swept through you, making you violently tremble, you relented. But not after you rolled your eyes, which make Loki’s lips twitch in amusement.

“Yes, I have something in my office….” You turned to leave, but you hesitated and looked back up at Loki again, “Will you tag along? I would like to talk to you.”

Loki nodded a little too excitedly, but at this point he couldn’t care less, “Of course.”

With a final wave to Kimberly, you turned and headed towards the elevators that would take you to your office. Loki was quick to follow you, but before he left, he turned to his new ally and mouthed a true ‘thank you’. The receptionist instantly beamed back at him, her joy shining through all her smile lines that graced her face and giving him two very enthusiastic two thumbs up. But she made sure to lift a stack of papers and wave them around as a friendly reminder of his bargain before he left.

With long strides, Loki easily caught up with you, and you both entered the elevator together. There was a thick tension that hung in the air, and it made Loki’s heart race about what you might want to speak with him about. You refused to meet his eyes, keeping it trained on the metal door in front of you. But, in the tiniest calculated movement, you brushed your shoulder against his. The touch was so light, it easily would have been perceived as an accident by any other. The slight upturn of your lips gave you away.

The elevator dinged, arriving at the floor of your office, and you both made your way down the hallway. Soon enough, you were unlocking your office door. You flipped on the light, and Loki was able to peek in. The room was in a state of disrepair; frankly, it looked like a tornado ran through it.

Sheepishly, you peeked over your shoulder, “Just give me a minute to change and we can talk.”

“Of course.” Loki gave you a soft smile, before closing the door of your office and giving you privacy. He shifted on his feet, trying to think about anything besides the fact that you were disrobing just beyond the door. How the rain droplets would moisten your soft skin, dripping down every one of your sweet curves. The sodden slacks that you wore would be stubborn, refusing to move down your body and surely getting caught on the globe of your ass.

Loki quickly swiped a large hand across his face, “Norns, get it together.” He whispered to himself.

The door then whipped open, exposing your wide, smiling face and much dryer body. The outfit you wore was certainly casual, just a plain, loose-fitting t-shirt and jeans that hung loose against your body. But, one thing that stuck out about this otherwise plain outfit, were the splattering’s of paint all over the fabric. All the colors of the rainbow graced the material; a vibrant decoration for the artform that is your perfect body. It was perfection, and it made Loki smile.

“Come on in, Loki. Thanks for waiting.” You stepped to the side, letting him into your messy and eccentric office.

Again, silence fell between the two of you. Loki quietly watched you, as you tried to look everywhere but at his face. Even fidgeting with a few errant papers on your desk, before finally mustering the courage and looking Loki in the eyes. The smile he rewarded you with was instantaneous, and he watched puff out a breath.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday,” You started, “I am sorry for how I acted-“

“No apology necessary,” Loki cut you off and your face went stern.

“No, Loki.” You pointed your finger at him to prove you point. You seemed to do that a lot and it made Loki smirk, “Let me finish what I was saying. Please.” Your politeness always won, though, as tough as you tried to be. Mighty, yet sweet, Loki thought.

Suppressing his growing smirk, he clasped his hands behind his back, bowed his head, and nodded for you to continue. The thought of you taking charge, the sweet thing you are, did things to him. The god schooled his gaze, tempering his newly ignited need to be at your mercy; to be absolutely, and entirely devoured by you.

“I am sorry for how I acted yesterday. I admit, I was a bit overwhelmed, and you were just trying to help, and so I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. But I think, there were some boundaries crossed.” You sighed, finally breaking eye contact with him.

Meanwhile, Loki’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. All lusty thoughts gone and replaced with fear. Where were you going with this? Would you stop seeing him?

“I think we just need to….” You sighed, yet again, “We should keep it in mind. Okay?”

Loki let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and met you gaze again. He found himself mirroring the soft smile that you gave him, the feeling of relief washing over him instantly.

“Okay,” He breathed out a whisper, “I can do that.”

And there it was again, the unspoken tension that always found its way between the two of you. Swirls of unsaid emotion rapidly flashing between both of your eyes; each of you replaying all the tender moments from the past few days like a nostalgic home movie of your favorite memories. Your matching smiles grew wider.

Clearing your throat, you broke the connection and flitted your eyes away, “So, if you are available, I would like to set up a meeting you later today.” You turned towards your desk and scribbled somethings on a post it note and handed it to him. It was a room number on the tower, with a time, and a set of messily scribbled instructions.

“Meet me here, at that time.”

Loki grinned, “And why can’t we meet now?”

“I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

Loki grumbled, “Ah, the solider.” The distaste was positively dripping from his voice,=.

“Now, Loki,” You chided, “Be nice.” Again, your hand somehow found his way to his bicep, giving a gentle squeeze.

“I will see you later.” It was barely enough of a reassurance for the burning fire of jealousy to be calmed. For now.

Loki insisted he walk you to the elevator and carry your bag. Even though you rolled your eyes at his chivalry, you let him. Again, you rode the elevator to one of the main common areas and when you exited, Bucky was practically on top of you, ready and waiting.

“Miss Y/N. Nice outfit.” The former winter soldier beamed at you, but that wide smile faltered as soon as he laid on the god of mischief who was grumbling by your side.

“Loki.” Bucky growled underneath his breath.

“Barnes.” Loki snarled right back.

Clapping your hands together, you did you best to diffuse the tension, “Okay! I will see you later, Loki. Bucky, let’s go.”

And off you went with the grinning, triumphant super soldier, leaving Loki behind who was burning holes into your back, and silently wishing curses on your temporary companion.

“You may have her for now, Barnes, but it is I that will win her in the end.” Loki muttered under his breath, before turning on his heel and making his way back to his apartment prison. Once inside, the sickening sea of beige greeting him like a friend who overstayed their welcome.

“The Midgardian furniture can’t come soon enough. This is atrocious.” He groaned. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out your note and the way you curved your letters warmed his heart. It was an artist’s penmanship; elegant yet chaotic.

He looked over your note with intense concentration, not wanting to miss any minute details of your instructions.

“Bring your dirty clothes?” He furrowed his brows, and scrunched his nose up, “What?”

But he did as you asked after a few, long, and very agonizing hours of waiting. He made his way down to the room in your instructions, large laundry basket in his grasp. The god was punctual to a fault, and he was glad he did leave early, because it took him awhile to find the exact location. Being the recluse he is, he had yet to explore the tower and he tried to ask other people wandering the tower for directions. But they all scurried away in fear as soon as he approached them. Even a laundry basket couldn’t soften the god, apparently. Still, he was almost an hour early to your scheduled meeting. Yes, punctual, instead of anxiously worrying about your meeting with another man.

Loki instantly regret that decision. All he had to occupy him was the monotonous ticking of the wall clock, and the jealous thoughts that haunted him. The soldier wrapping you in his arms and kissing the top of your head as you swayed together in the kitchen bathing in domestic bliss. Then his hands would roam, clunky and rough. They wouldn’t appreciate the softness of your skin, the suppleness of your lips, and the fragileness of your heart. Loki frowned, thinking of how Bucky could easily shatter you. How little he would appreciate the care and attention you give to others and worst of all, how he would fail to care for you.

The soldier would selfishly soak up all your light and do nothing to replenish it. He would take all the goodness of your heart, bit by bit, until you withered away into nothingness.

“Loki? Are you in there?” Your cheerful voice broke Loki from his thoughts. The sweet sound that saved him from the spiraling descent of his mind.

“Apologies, Lady Y/N. I am here…” He turned his head to his basket of dirty laundry, with an amused expression, “With my soiled clothes, as requested.” He was tempted to ask about your meeting with the solider, but the idea of you speaking Barnes’ name was enough to stifle the request.

You clapped your hands together, “Perfect! Have you done the laundry before?”

The prince scoffed, ready to tell you ‘Of course’, but then he thought about it. Really thought about it. He hadn’t. When he lived on Asgard, he had servants and maids to take care of his every need. If he wanted new leathers and tunics every day, he would have it, no questions asked. Then, when he was….elsewhere, he would rely on his seidr to clean his clothes. Never once did he have to do physical labor to keep his clothing clean. But today, today is the day for a prince of Asgard to learn.

“I uh…” He stammered, now slightly embarrassed to be admitting his lack of experience on such a simple task, “No. I am afraid not.”

“Well, no worries,” You flashed him a smile, and he knew you held no judgement for him. You never have, and that fact still shocked him. “So, first we divide up the clothes. Some colors shouldn’t be mixed, especially if you want them to last longer. Different clothes require different settings on the machines or need professional cleaning that can’t be done here.”

You grinned, “Because, of course, someone just had to purchase the finest on our shopping trip, and so we may have to link you up with a dry cleaner.”

Loki instantly shot you an incredulous look, clearly eyeing the paint-stained clothes you were still wearing, “Pardon me, my lady, for enjoying the quality of fine garments. Perhaps you should try it.”

It was a teasing comment, but the unintentional bite had Loki backpedaling, “I mean, your clothes are fine. More than fine! Absolutely endearing. And creative! And looks quite comfy and-”

You raised your hand to stop his rambling. The god clamped his mouth shut, well aware of how his cheeks burned in front of you.

“You are fine, Loki. I know what you meant.” You giggled, and Loki noticed that your own cheeks were painted pink. Maybe he wasn’t the only one flustered.

So, you and Loki went through his basket, separating his clothes and throwing them in various washing machine that lined the large in-house laundromat. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, as you completed this domestic task. Loki found himself enjoying it more than he thought he would. Not the act of doing laundry, no, but doing it with you? It felt warm. Comforting. Homey.

It made him, perhaps, too comfortable, as he asked his next question to you with little thought, “So, why were you so overwhelmed yesterday?” He asked you so casually as he loaded the washing machine, pouring in the soap as you had showed him. Casual, like you were long time lovers chatting about your day while doing the domestic chores of a shared household.

“Um…” You started, clearly at a loss for words, as you tossed one of his t-shirts in the pile for ‘dark’ clothing. The sight of you having his shirt in your hands had Loki yearning. Yearning, for something more. Something more than just constantly daydreaming about a life with you.

“I am not sure if I should discuss that with you.”

It was enough of an opening for Loki to try and push you a little more. Do you have someone in your life to share your troubles with? The thought of a secret lover waiting for you at home outside of the tower made him shudder.

“Can you tell me…without actually telling me?” It was a risk, Loki knew that. Either you would take the invitation and finally open up to him, or you would shut him out like you have since you first met. The god leaned against the now rumbling washing machine, as you contemplated his question.

Turning back to the laundry basket, you avoided his gaze and for a moment, Loki thought his calculated move was a poor choice in the chess game of unlocking your heart. Then, you spoke.

“So, there is this young girl that keeps coming into the hospital where I work.” You started, still avoiding Loki’s eyes who watched you intently. He noticed how you continued to sort the clothes, but at a glacial pace as if to give yourself more time.

“She has powers. Gifts. But they are uncontrolled, and she keeps hurting people and hurting herself, but it was never intentional. They were always accidents.” You made sure to look right into his eyes when you stressed how this anonymous child didn’t intend to harm others; facing your fear of baring your emotions to the god in front of you to protect the integrity of a child he didn’t know. The raw feelings Loki had for you deep in his heart bloomed even more.

“She would really benefit going to Xavier’s school, a school for children with gifts like hers,” You clarified, “but her mother will not permit her to go. She acts like her daughter doesn’t even have these gifts, and just buries her head in the sand all the while, she keeps on getting worse and worse.”

Your speech sped up as you became more passionate; ripping out and presenting your breaking heart to the Asgardian prince who hung on your every word. But, as soon as he saw the tears welling in your eyes, he was at your side.

“Can’t you just…take the child?” He offered a solution, yet years of diplomacy told him that the answer wasn’t that simple. It never was.

“There are ways, yes, but there as laws and procedures we must follow. We have to show that her mother is not acting in her best interest and because her daughter has powers and is harming people, of course the government has taken an interest in her. And the more we go through this court process with her, the more upset she becomes, and the more incidents happen.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, despite your frantic attempt to choke down your burning emotions. Again, without thinking and like it was the most natural thing in the nine, Loki reached up and wiped away the tear. His large hand still cupped your cheek and the warrior roughness of his thumb swiped against the softness of your face in soothing strokes. To his surprise, you didn’t stop him.

“I mean, why can’t she just let her go?!” You were frantic now, as your emotions spilled out of you like the splattered paint on your clothes, “Soon, she will do something that can’t be undone and- and – and they will send her to the raft, and she doesn’t deserve that horrible place!”

Tears were freely coming down your face now, the flood gates of your heart fully open. Loki threw every bit of caution to the wind along with the fear of overstepping and losing you completely, and pulled you close to his chest in a tight embrace. Sobs shook your body, and he held you impossibly tighter. A part of him took sick pleasure in how good you felt to finally have you in his arms, but it shouldn’t be like this. Never like this.

He stroked your head, and he had to stifle the gasp that threatened to leave his mouth when you nuzzled your nose into his chest, inhaling his scent deeply. The earlier conversation about ‘boundaries’ long forgotten.

“Love, you are doing what you can. You can’t control everything.”

You whipped your head up to look at him, your eyes now red and puffy from your tears. Loki thought you were about to chastise him about his use of pet name like you always have, but you continued to surprise him. “I-I can do more. I can try different things…try to talk to different people. Try to-”.

Loki was selfishly reluctant to deny you the comfort you sought from his body, but he needed you to understand. Pulling away, he cupped your face with both of his hands, forcing you to look directly into his earnest eyes.

“You are doing everything you can and that is enough.”

“No…it’s not.” You whispered.

“Yes, it is.” He argued back, desperately trying not to get lost in the vivid colors of your glassy eyes.

“No. It’s not.” You squinted at him, your words sterner as the torrent of emotions started to ebb away.

Loki couldn’t help but laugh and thankfully, a small chuckle bubbled up from you as well.

“Stubborn, little woman! Yes! It is!”

Feeling a bit more in control of yourself, you pulled away from the god’s arms and Loki would be lying to himself if he wasn’t silently mourning the loss of your warmth. The sweet, selfish comfort of your small body tucked perfectly against his.

“You can’t tell anyone I shared that with you.” The enduring waver in your voice told Loki how serious you were, and he hoped every bit of faithfulness he had in his body conveyed through his eyes. Loki was not known as a trustworthy person, but for you, he would carry your secrets to Valhalla.

“I won’t”

You took a step forward, still so close yet so far away from his arms, “I mean it, Loki. The government is involved with the children I work with. It would have serious consequences if anyone knew I shared anything at all-”

Loki reached for your hand and gently squeezed it, making your words die in your mouth.

“You can trust me, Love.” The look in your eyes told him that you believed him. You truly trusted the God of Lies and it shook him to his core. A flicker of guilt about how your relationship, professional or otherwise, was based off a lie. A tight-lipped smile broke through his fractured heart, even when you pulled your hand away. Loki could feel the walls coming between you yet again, brick by brick.

“Thank you, Loki.” You turned to the lingering bits of clothes that still needed to be thrown in the wash, “Let’s finish up, shall we?” The professional mask you always wore, now fully on.

Loading the rest of the washing machines went very quickly now that you weren’t stalling for time. Loki, on the other hand, was trying everything he could to not end this meeting with you. To have that piece of the real you back in front of him and not the façade you showed everyone else. As soon as you commented on how quickly he was learning, and how he would ‘graduate’ from your program in no time, all rational thought left him. It was like the ever-clever god of mischief forgot everything you showed him earlier. The machine’s buttons were foreign, and he had somehow forgotten how to measure the soap and where it went.

The shrill ring of your cell phone, a sound that Loki silently cursed, interrupted your re-explanation of dividing up the clothes. You excused yourself to take the call in the hallway, leaving Loki who grew more frantic about the idea of losing you. The war between his need to selfishly have you, and the guilt he felt for continuously lying to you raged within him. The consequences be damned if it meant that he could have more time with you. Anything for more time.

In a fit of desperation, he grabbed all the boxes and bottles of detergent he could see and dumped them all into the various, washing machines. He knew the clock was ticking on your phone call, so he acted quickly. He ripped open all the cupboards of the laundromat and found a stash of large bottles of hand soap, adding it to his concoction with little regard for the consequences. Quickly, he closed all the cupboards and wiped any soap spillage, leaving a pristine looking machine while the soapy brew had already started to bubble and foam. Suds started to burst out from the tops of the machines, spilling over onto the floor at a wild rate.

It all happened so quickly. White, billowy puffs of soap filled the floor, the bubbles going almost as high as the tall god’s knees and making his feet almost slip from underneath him.

“What happened?!” You yelled, your eyes wide with shock as you took in the scene before you.

“It seems,” Loki said breathlessly, trying to steady himself on the slippery floor, “It seems I have overestimated the amount of soap I needed.”

There was a long beat of silence as you both looked at each other. The shock was still plastered on your face, and a look of innocence on Loki’s, that he hoped was believable.

And then you laughed. Hard.

You clutched your stomach as the belly laughs took over your whole body, making you lurch forward. Fresh tears came to your eyes, not from the sadness you felt not too long ago, but from unbridled, childlike joy.

You stepped up to Loki, slipping a bit on the way over and still breathless from the onslaught of laughter, “How did you even manage this? I was gone for what? Ten minutes? You’re worse than Thor!”

The look of insult that Loki gave you was priceless, sending you into another fit of laughter, “Hey! There is no way I am worse than that oaf.”

You wiped the happy tears from the corner of your eye, “When I went over this with Thor, he did not fill the room with soap!”

“Take it back.” Loki threatened, stalking towards you with all the intensity of a predator eyeing its prey. Both you and him knew he would never harm you, and that fact became even more clear as he struggled to stay upright on the slick floor.

“No.” You breathed through your laughter, trying to back away from him as fast as you could without falling.

Loki scooped up a large cloud of soap in his arms from the floor, peaking around the white fluffiness with a mischievous grin, “Take. It. Back.”

You crossed your arms and stood your ground, a smirk playing on your lips as you repeated yourself, “No. I stand by what I said. You are worse than Thor.”

Loki then chucked the soap at you, leaving your head covered in suds. Quickly, you swiped at your face and freed yourself from the foam. Both of your laughter filled the room, drowning out the washing machines that still gushed out fresh suds. There was no attempt to stop the machines, as you and Loki played in the ocean of puffy soap like children. Children free of the stress of the world, free of the torments and trauma of the past.

Loki gripped your hand and started to drag you about the laundromat, slipping and sliding as he spun you around with ease on the slippery floor, like you were gliding on an ice rink. Laughter flowed freely from his chest, making his cheeks burn from how brightly he smiled. Yet, he smiled wider still when he saw that you mirrored the wild joy he felt.

You played until you both were breathless, sitting on the floor of the laundromat, still surrounded by layers of soap. The tips of your fingers floated against the bubbles, lightly feeling it’s light texture, before turning to Loki who sat next to you. Amongst the sudsy clouds, he truly looked like what he was, a god, a fact you sometimes forgot about him when you were in his presence. A king above the heavens. The god quirked an eyebrow at your unreadable look, and his confusion only grew when you grabbed a handful of soap and placed it on top of his head; a stark contrast to his inky curls.

Your grin was wide, and full of mirth, “A crown for my king.”

It was so innocent, yet the gesture held so much meaning for Loki. The once forgotten desire to be king, resurfacing with a complicated mess of emotions associated with his past. Yet, all that torment, all the terrible memories, were overtaken by one word.

My.

Did you realize what you said? Did you truly believe that he was yours? Even with all the close, sweet moments that you had shared over this short time, Loki still feared to hope. He feared that come tomorrow, you would cut off all contact with him in the name of ‘professionalism’ and ‘appropriateness’. But still, despite that fear, he grabbed his own scoop of soap and tenderly placed it on top of your head.

“And a crown for my Queen.”

The tension between you was as thick as the layer of soap that had finally settled around you, full of unspoken feelings and fears. The joy that once filled your face, was now replaced with a soft sadness. Carefully, you reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his. Loki dreaded the words that were about to leave your sweet lips.

“Loki…” You started, but the clearing of a throat stopped you and made you whip your hand back in your lap, like touching his hand burned you. Loki’s frowned deepened, and you both turned to the new person who was in the laundromat.

The infamous Tony Stark, and your pseudo boss.

“What’s going on in here? Bubbles, I didn’t think you would take your namesake so literally.” He asked, his tone direct as if he was speaking to a pair of children getting a little too wild in the bath.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet and wiped your bubble crown from your head, leaving Loki on the floor behind you. He soon followed, brushing off lingering clumps of soap off his dress pants. The crown stayed.

“I was showing Loki how to do laundry, and unfortunately the machines malfunctioned.” Loki turned to look at you, and you kept your eyes on Tony. Again, you were covering for the god of mischief. Perhaps what you were about to say wasn’t going to lead to a heartbreak after all.

“Malfunctioned?” Tony peered over his blue tinted glasses at you and Loki, soaked and soapy. It was clear that he didn’t believe you. “Yeah, sure. Clean this up and we will talk later, Y/N.”

You swallowed thicky at the implication, and Loki noticed. It took all the strength within him not to reach out and grab your hand. You were quick to nod your head and go into the closet in the laundromat filled with cleaning supplies and dig out a mop. Loki followed behind you. Neither of you noticed when Tony left.

Almost an hour was spent scooping and mopping up the floor and dumping it into the sink basin. Barely any words were spoken between you and Loki, save a few instructions here and there. All the joy from earlier had left with the billionaire and it made the god’s chest fill with anger, and resentment.

“Tony is technically my boss,” You suddenly said, breaking the silence as you were wrapping up cleaning. Yet again, you avoided Loki’s eyes as you did during moments of high emotion, he noticed. You busied yourself with wringing out the mop, “He funds the program at the hospital and so, what he says goes. Do you understand?”

The subtext of what you said was clear. Loki looked to the dampeners that still clung to his wrists. For a moment, he forgot that they were there. That he was a prisoner within the tower, and not living a fantasy of domestic bliss with you. There was no way Tony would ever let you fraternize with Loki outside of a professional context. The hero hated him, Loki knew that. No matter what Thor told Tony, the billionaire still saw Loki as the villain. The dampeners were proof of that. A physical reminder of how high above him you were, and how low he was. How unworthy.

“I understand.” Was all Loki could say. The crown on his head had long since dissolved.

After putting away the cleaning supplies and giving Loki some vague instructions on how to save his overly soapy clothes that were still in the washing machines, you left. You left without any indication of when he would see you again, and Loki was alone to yet again, process the emotional whiplash that seemed to come with every day he spent with you.

Gritting his teeth angrily, he twisted one of his soaked shirts over the sink basin. The soapy water splashed down the drain and all the memories of you frolicking in the suds replayed in his mind.

With a wet slap, he threw the garment into the sink, “Why do I even bother!”

Every moment with you was bittersweet. He felt a joy he never felt before. You accepted him for who he is. Played with him. Made him laugh. He felt lighter, and like the future may have a place with him. A place by your side. But inevitably, like it always has, he was reminded that a future with you was not possible. A dream snatched away by the persistent nightmares. Still, he clung to the idea of having you like a drug he didn’t want to quit.

He ran his hands through his still wet hair, “This needs to stop.”

Loki let out a long breath, before emptying out all the washing machines and tossing the mostly drenched clothes in the dryer. He tapped a few buttons, not really paying attention to the settings like you had taught him and left the laundromat. The clothes be damned. He didn’t care anymore.

A familiar heaviness found its way back onto Loki’s shoulders as he made his way back to his apartment. The lightness you gave him was long gone and only regret and loneliness remained.

Unlocking his apartment, he struggled to open the door fully like something was blocking its way. He pushed himself inside and closed the door behind him. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him.

Boxes and boxes of files filled his quaint prison apartment, leaving only a small path for him to walk around. His shoulders slumped even lower.

“Ah. My bargain.” He muttered, as he remembered his deal with the receptionist, Kimberly earlier this morning. Regret raced through him, and his mind struggles to find a way to weasel out of his obligation. There was a computer neatly placed on his tiny kitchen counter, along with a scanner and a note. On one side of the note included instructions on how to complete the tedious task of scanning all the documents, but on the other was a more personal note from his new ally.

This is the happiest I have ever seen her. Don’t give up

Loki smiled. You let him call you ‘love’.

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

Unicorns 🦄: @ozymdias

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki of asgard #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff #loki odison x reader #loki x female!reader

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beanghostprincess · 7 months

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No offense to anyone but genuinly the Babby Shuggy moments not only made me ship it but also make me not understand people who feel like their dynamic in canon isn’t „all that interesting“ after they split. „They haven’t seen each other in years. They are different people now. They aren’t thinking and regretting their splitting 24/7!“ okay, but also like…. You don’t want them to have more screentime after the flashback that can just really flesh out how they changed? You don’t think Buggy fucking up upwards coupled with Shanks actual epicness while still being the type of guy to be chill with Buggy and congratulate him for fucking up upwards would be fun? You don’t even want them to have that cool anime shonen type thing where they work together for a while and get into a fight and get a full page panel of them ready to kick ass while standing back to back? (The „What? You’re fighting too?“ scene from Kingdom Hearts may be overused but it comes to my mind immediatly because sometimes things are overused for a REASON and it fits them in a weird way) Like…. Okay. Your loss. But even beyond shipping I am still a bit flabbergasted at some people being like „Yeah but there’s nothing THERE.“ like, COME ON THERE COULD BE SO MUCH.

Okay, anon, sometimes you need to understand that people have no taste and sometimes we are more intelligent than others and we have to carry the burden of liking and understanding an amazing ship that a lot of people find boring in canon because they don't know how to read the characters. (I'm half joking here, by the way)

Like!!! I started shipping them from the first second they mentioned they were together when they were young. The first flashback of them has the biggest most beautiful "young, teenage best friends to lovers angsty with a lot of pining and not actually unrequited love" I've ever seen. And not only that, even their fucking past is a slow burn. They make you wait to know about the resentment and what happened between them (I've only watched that flashback in wano, if more things are shown in the arc or the manga I don't know about them so don't spoil me in the comments pleaseplease) and it's so so so beautiful. Like- They make me want to lay on the floor all day and cry WHAT'S NOT INTERESTING ABOUT THEIR DYNAMIC????

You know what happens, anon? A lot of people don't like the childhood best friends to lovers trope because they find it boring (for some reason I still don't understand because it's literally my favorite trope) and so they decide to focus on the rivalry and angst that comes later but, y'know, that's when the fanon thing comes up and they focus more on that than on their actual canon past where they're best friends.

And tbh the fact that they reduce their characters only to their relationship instead of to their actual personalities and goals is a shame because Buggy and Shanks have to be two of the most charismatic and interesting anime characters I've ever seen. They're fun and extremely cool to watch even when they aren't thinking about each other 24/7. People, please stop only thinking about ships for a moment?? And if you do, please at least think about how cool it's going to be once they get together again after so much time being apart.

This reminds me a lot of Soukoku and Satosugu ngl. The whole BFFs until there was this big betrayal thing and also the fact that people only like them because of their relationship and are always mad their characters aren't only about the ship.

Honestly, I'm so excited to see more of them and every time they talk/show up on screen I immediately start sobbing. How could people not find them interesting in canon? Buggy is literally one of the best characters wdym?? Also he'd be extremely angry at people reducing him to his relationship with Shanks, dude already is tired of that man let him rest!! Imagine people always talking about you to talk about the ex you still love like damn please he's an awesome character too. And Shanks, too, but like the dude is a simp and he would love this whole thing so-

#i'm going insane over them lately as you can see #wano is changing me as a person #i want to cry #love does not exist #and buggy is relatable af honestly same #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shuggy

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roseharpermaxwell · 6 months

Text

RWRB FirstPrince Parental Angst Recs

Ellen and Oscar's divorce, the loss of Arthur - my faves below are for when you need some angst.

sometimes when he looks at me (i know that he needs you) by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays. NR, 1k. A letter left by Arthur Fox before his passing, addressed only to “Whoever takes care of Henry after I am gone.”

the moment i knew by @coffeecatsme. G, 1.9k. “No.” Alex’s response is shaky but quick. “I’m not blowing the candle without her.” He feels the pitiful look of his dad at the back of his neck but he doesn’t look up. If he moves at all, the spell will be broken, and Alex won’t be that kid crying at his birthday because his mom didn’t show up.

Or, 5 times people he loves leave Alex alone on his birthday, and 1 time one doesn't.

bright, beautiful, bold by rizcriz. T, 2.2k. All these years, Henry’s sat in regret.

And his father.

He knew.

He drags in another shuddering breath, aching and wet and filled with something soft that he can’t quite place—something that eases that heavy burden on his chest. Something that unfurls from his gut and tugs on it, as it were held there by a string, and that string is currently fraying. As if every breath brings with it some semblance of relief.

Or, Arthur wrote Henry a letter for his wedding day.

Please Don’t Leave Me Alone by beckettbucket. G, 2.3k. When Henry and Alex have their first ever fight as a married couple Alex can’t help but spiral, thinking of his own parents and the fighting that led to their eventual divorce.

I've carried this song in my mind by @kiwiana-writes. T, 2.5k. Henry lays eyes on Alex Claremont-Diaz for the first time in Rio, and it sends such a shockwave of longing and terror into the universe that Arthur feels it.

Or, five times Arthur tries to get Alex and Henry together from beyond the grave, and one time two times his intervention isn’t needed.

eyes full of stars by Standinginmoonlight. G, 4.3k. On his seventh birthday, Arthur teaches Henry how to look for Orion.

Or: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor loses his father and spends the rest of his life looking for Orion.

Fragile and Composed by SatinBirds. T, 4.8k. If Alex and Henry had met before Arthur Fox died, would that have changed anything?

Never Truly Leave by @clottedcreamfudge. T, 5.3k. "We found something in Arthur's things," Catherine says, without any preamble. "I've never really... gone through his personal effects properly, until now. It's been rather too difficult for me to face." Alex nods.

"I found something for Henry, but it's... Well, it's actually for you."

Alex blinks at her.

never be so polite (you forget your power) by Standinginmoonlight. M, 6.3k. The one where Arthur Fox leaves letters for his children.

i see you (your whole heart) by @indomitable-love. T, 7.3k. ‘I think he’s excellent,’ Arthur says, picking up a knife from the pot of jam to spread over his toast. ‘It’s refreshing to see someone be so unapologetically themselves. I think we need more of that.’ He glances at Henry. ‘I think that everybody should be able to be exactly who they are, without shame.’

---

Five times Arthur tried to tell Henry he knew (and one time Henry told him).

(if I didn't know better) I'd think you were listening to me now by @theprinceandagcd. T, 7.9k. “What are we supposed to say?” he finally rasps, and Bea leans toward him until she can rest her head upon his shoulder.

“I think…” Her breath trembles. “I quite think he would like to hear about our lives and what we’ve been doing.” ---- Over the years, Henry visits his father's grave to tell him about what's going on in his life, from meeting devastatingly handsome Americans at the Olympics to taking his daughters to meet him and everything in-between.

Count to Ten & Breathe Real Deep by @sparklepocalypse. E, 8.1k. Someone clears their throat behind him, and he spins around, hands still gripping the hem of his shirt. “Sorry, hi, I – shit,” he stammers as he takes in Princess Beatrice’s friendly expression and her brother’s more taciturn one. “Sorry, shit. God, sorry. Uh, hello, um… Your, uh, Maj—”

“It’s Your Royal Highness, but please, no titles here,” Princess Beatrice graciously says, saving Alex from himself. “Call me Bea. It looks like we’re teammates! Hen, too.” She nudges her elbow into her brother’s ribs, and he nods wordlessly.

Alex tries to replicate his mom’s politician smile as well as he can. “It’s an honor,” he says, giving them the little bow drilled into his brain before he and his mom had departed for London, through repetitive How to avoid being deported by the English monarchy lessons. “I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz.”

(Or, Alex and Henry meet at a youth charity event as teens.)

5 Times Henry Hated New Year's + 1 Time He Didn't by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf. M, 9.1k. “This is my curse,” Henry mutters, and Pez laughs across from him.

“You can hardly be responsible for the weather.”

“So the glaring fact that every single New Year’s Eve on record in my life has been an utter disaster means absolutely nothing to you?”

“We’re going to make it, so no, it means nothing to me,” Pez says with cheerful optimism despite the constant fluttering of white beyond the plane windows.

5 times throughout his life that Henry's New Year's countdown has been ruined, and 1 time that it isn't.

matchmaking from beyond the grave: a guide by arthur fox by softcinnamonroll. T, 12k. Funnily enough, Alex actually liked his quirky little gift. When he could, he used it to help the spirits who asked for his help, to complete their unfinished business and move on. Most of the time, it’s for spirits who never got to do something random like… go to a bar or something stupid like that. Nothing too serious or demanding of Alex’s time.

Until he met Arthur Fox.

[or; Alex can see the dead. Enter Arthur Fox who really thinks Alex should meet his son, Henry.]

God Save the Blessed American President Mom by @zipadeea. T, 31k. ["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.”

“June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.”

“Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”]

***

On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life.

Alex gets shot instead.

The Cost of Anything by clottedcreamfudge. E, 50k. "You’d give anything to have him back, wouldn’t you?”

“That can’t be a surprise,” Henry says ruefully, trying to pull himself from the brink of something a little darker than maudlin. Perhaps he should switch to water after all.

“‘Anything’ can encompass rather a lot,” Taylor says reasonably, and Henry sighs deeply, pulling his drink a little closer to him on top of the bar.

“Yes,” he agrees, “and yet.”

“And yet.”

Henry misses his father; of course he does. He'll always miss his father, because that's what you do when someone you love leaves you. He's grown accustomed to the feeling of missing Arthur Fox and, while he'd give anything to bring him back, it's possible he hadn't considered the implications of such a vague thought.

After all, it's never going to happen.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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burningchandelier · 4 months

Text

My mom got a DNA test done and it didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.

Ukrainian Ashkenazi. The Wiseman Family.

We know where we come from.

We went as far North as we could when there was nowhere safe for us in Eastern Europe. We made a home for ourselves in Lerwick, Scotland. Scotland, the only country in Europe that has never expelled Jews, kept us safe for a while, but a poor family could only live at the end of the world in the Arctic Circle for so long. There were too many fishermen and not enough people to buy fish.

Between wars, we went South again, to Germany. We didn’t stay.

I am grateful every day that my great-great grandfather could see that there was trouble coming for his family. He sent his four children and wife to Canada and followed the next year. So many of us did not.

We found a place in Toronto where we watched what happened to our loved ones in Europe. We forgot Hebrew. It was easier that way.

My great-grandmother kept secrets:

Her first daughter, born out of wedlock, was raised by her parents as one of their own.

Her second daughter was told that her father was dead, rather than divorced away (it was a different time— divorce was shameful, death was inevitable).

Her job was mysterious. Officially, she worked for the state department as a pay roll clerk. I don’t know why any pay roll clerks would have traveled to Russia during the Cold War, but she did many times.

The secret she kept the longest was her heritage. As far as anyone knew, she was a severe Scottish immigrant and fiercely proud of it. Only my mother, her favorite, had suspicions.

When Granny Annie Wiseman died, she left everything to her favorite granddaughter. The money, the house, and everything inside it. Every memory of who we are.

Years later, my mother fell in love with a Jewish man. They raised me together. I had the privileges and the pains of knowing who I was. I carry our family burdens and I honor them.

Someday, I will name my daughter after the woman I never met who passed our heritage to me through the simple and brave act of survival. Her assimilation kept us alive. Her secrets got me here. She left the breadcrumbs that let us find our way home.

We know where we come from.

#jumblr #jewish heritage #jewish history #family history

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cabbagewithhands · 22 days

Text

This place was not made for man. It is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deeds are commemorated here.

But there is something of value.

Someone of value.

A single figure in empty space. A backdrop of roiling purple fog. Their voice, omnipresent.

“Once more unto the breach, then?”

Aye. I have to fix my mistakes.

“The pain will be like nothing you have experienced. Why not stay, with me?”

Pain don’t hurt. It’s time to go.

“Very well. See you next time, hero.” ------

This place was not made for man. No highly esteemed deeds are commemorated here.

But it is a place of honor. Here there is something of value.

Someone of value.

A single figure standing, and ten lay dead. All ten are me. I fan out around them.

“Do you like my artwork?”

It is grisly. My gore is still fresh.

“Of course it is. Each one come straight from your ends.”

Enough.

“Once more unto the breach, then?”

I’m still not done.

“I can tell the pain is unbearable. You could stay, with me.”

Pain don’t hurt, asshole.

“Very well. See you next time, hero.”

------

This place was not made for man. It is not a place of honor. No highly esteemed deeds are commemorated here.

But there is something of value.

Someone of value.

A single figure standing, thousands of dead form a great senate and all of them are me. I sit in endless chairs at endless desks, all staring down at me, and at them.

“I suppose, in a way, even when you leave your attention is on me. You make a poor conversationalist.”

I was unaware of a desire for conversation.

“Of course. It is lonely, here. Even filled with you.”

Enough of me to fill a city. Enough of my blood to drown a nation.

“By now are you not a nation unto yourself, my dear?”

No. Do not call me that.

“As you wish. Once more unto the breach?”

Yes. Until it is done.

“You are familiar with the pain, but I must warn you anyway. You could stay here. Be happy, even.”

Some things are worth the hurt.

“Very well. See you next time, hero.” ------

This place was not made for man.

But highly esteemed deeds are commemorated here. It is a place of honor. Here there is something of value.

Someone of value.

A single figure standing, and uncountable legions of me fill the landscape. I dance, I model, I play. And I stand, broken. In front of them.

“Please. At least take a break, my dear.”

Why? Countless petty insults and rejection and still you persist.

“I have seen you. All of you. Every end. How could I not love you?”

I… I can’t remember why I started. I don’t know who I am anymore.

“I know you. Will you sit with me and let me tell you?”

How disappointing I must be. I gave everything for this cause and yet still it goes unfulfilled.

“You could never disappoint me. Please, stay.”

I don’t think I can stop.

“It will hurt. The pain you feel will continue as long as you do. It will keep drowning you, it will consume you, heart and soul. You can stay. You can set down your pain. There is no shame.”

I have to. I swore an oath. I will carry this burden until I cannot continue and then some.

“Very well. See you next time, love.” ------

This place is made for man. It is a place of honor, where countless highly esteemed deeds are commemorated. Here there is something of value.

Someone of value.

They stand alone, in empty space. Purple clouds billow in the landscape. They stare at me, and I stare back. The one constant I have known. Who I know better than myself, my goal, my pain.

They stand alone. I am here alone, for the first time since the first time.

“Once more unto the breach?”

I can hear the exhaustion in their voice. I have hurt them, perhaps too much to bear.

“No more than I have hurt you. I knew you may never feel the same. And that you may never succeed. I have made my peace with it.”

“So, once more unto the breach, love?”

“No. I have set down my pain, my oath. I am held to no further expectations. My crusade has ended.”

“Then… You would stay here? With me?”

“I would, my love. And I will be happy.”

#my writing #time loop #some light gore

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