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thelastarchangelaskblog · 3 months

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Seventh Year: Reconciliations Bonus Scene 8

Can still scarcely believe First Born is done. I am able to share another scene I had been sitting on for a while. Keep in mind that while this one takes place during Reconciliations, it's best read after the last chapter unless you want some spoilers about things.

Or maybe you do want spoilers. I don't know.

I'm slowly starting up the process of shifting all these bonus scenes over to AO3, so please leave a comment and a kudos. :) And please reblog this or leave a comment/reply! <3

On AO3

Bonus Scene 1

Bonus Scene 2

Bonus Scene 3

Bonus Scene 4

Bonus Scene 5

Bonus Scene 6

Bonus Scene 7

“You can see him, right?” Draco asked Luna.

Luna looked at him, blinking. “Yes. Why?”

“Does he – is he different?”

It was a moment before Luna responded, expression thoughtful. “He’s…closed off. More withdrawn. It was bad when we first came here, but since then…it hasn’t really changed.”

“He keeps saying it’s fine and nothing he can’t handle,” Draco said. “That we were expecting worse than what it’s been. I think he isn’t sharing everything.”

Luna chewed her lower lip, looking down at the book she had been reading. From the cover, it seemed like a romance of a blue person swooning into a rugged blond man’s arms. There was a dark tower in the background backlit by lightning. “He normally doesn’t. Have you tried speaking to him?”

“Once,” Draco admitted. “The first night. I didn’t think trying again would get me anywhere else and…” There had been something else that cautioned him not to push too hard here, though he had wanted to shake Michael until answers fell out. Something about the look in Michael’s eyes.

“I don’t think he’s likely to share much with me either,” Luna said regretfully. “He’s…hiding.”

Draco blinked. “Hiding? We see him every day.”

Luna shook her head. “Yes, but he’s still hiding.”

Draco was still baffled. “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that, Luna.”

Luna shrugged, cryptic as ever. “I know Susan has asked some questions, but it usually leaves her wanting to hit him with a pillow.”

Draco understood the sentiment. “…Do you mean hiding by how he’s withdrawn?”

“I don’t think he wants me to see,” Luna said, “but I don’t think I could see what he doesn’t want me to. But I can see enough that it’s…wrong. I was hoping it would get better. He smiles more now.”

He did. It was nice to see. Though Draco wished those smiles were in a slightly different context than Dummy asking them embarrassing questions about the hygiene habits of wizards. Ginny had admitted Dummy reminded her of her father and that was a comparison Draco hadn’t wanted to make but now couldn’t stop himself from doing so.

“I know there’s a saying about everything having its own timeline,” Draco said, “but I don’t think waiting longer will do anything here.”

“It might, but it would probably take a very long time. We might be old then.” Luna sounded thoughtful.

“…I would prefer for that not to be the case.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Luna closed her book and put it to the side. Her expression was thoughtful.

Draco hesitated a moment, then offered, “Some of his siblings have been trying. Gabriel, especially.”

Luna looked up at him. “Do you want to ask?”

“No.” Draco made a face, then sighed. “But we have to.”

There was no response from Luna but she stood up, nodding at Draco.

Draco had no idea where he was going. It wasn’t to Michael, who was with the others who were getting lessons on weapons from an overly eager Asgardian who had been too excited to share how to use the sharp, pointy swords in the armory. However, he didn’t know where to find Gabriel.

He could always pray…

Luna ended up asking one of the cleaning staff that wasn’t a metal “robot,” and the two were directed to a small side room that Draco would never have found on his own. Unfortunately it wasn’t just Gabriel in there. Raphael and Lucifer were present as well.

Lucifer was sitting on the back of the couch, those keen grayish eyes fixed on the two of them as they entered. He didn’t say anything.

Gabriel looked like he’d been in the middle of pacing, coming to a stop to also look at them. Raphael stood at a wall, looking almost uncomfortably like Michael. Draco could really see the familial resemblance.

“You’re not lost, are you?” Gabriel asked after a long moment of silence.

Draco shook himself, stepping forward. “We were looking for you.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “Well…here I am.”

“Michael…we’re worried about him, and he isn’t talking.”

Gabriel grimaced, glancing at Raphael and Lucifer. “Yeah…we’ve been giving him space. Not too sure how well that’s working out.”

“He’s hiding,” Luna said. She looked between the three of them, biting her lip and pressing her fingers together. “You – you can see that, can’t you?”

They all turned to look at Luna, expressions intent. Even though he wasn’t under their attention, a shiver ran down Draco’s spine.

For her part, Luna didn’t budge, keeping her head high.

“What do you see?” Raphael asked curiously.

“I – I see him. But he’s… It’s not like it was before. He’s pulled back.”

“It was different before?”

“Yes.” Luna didn’t turn away, still looking them in the eye. “But here – it’s… He’s all curled up. It’s – it’s like the Snorkacks when they’re injured. They hide in their shells.”

They looked at each other again, seeming to communicate silently and probably actually doing so given they were angels.

“Is that not something you noticed?” Draco asked.

Gabriel pulled a face. Lucifer grimaced, looking down at the floor. Raphael looked worried, eyebrows scrunched together.

“Michael’s always been hard to read,” Gabriel said slowly. “Even for us. And, well…he’s not given us much.”

“Are you not supposed to know him better?” Draco demanded. “You’re his siblings. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Gabriel looked pained. “You’re right; it should. Unfortunately…it hasn’t for a long time.”

“Then aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I did,” Lucifer said, grumpy. “I brought you here.”

Draco blinked, looking at him. “I rather thought you did it to prove a point.”

“I did.”

Draco squinted at him, thinking Draco’s point and Lucifer’s points were two different points.

“We’ve tried,” Luna said when Draco continued staring at Lucifer. “And it does help, but he keeps saying we can’t really understand and that this is all to be expected and he deserves it.”

Gabriel muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse, rubbing a hand over his face. Lucifer looked even more pained. Raphael seemed like she had a question answered she didn’t really want answered.

“That’s why we’re here,” Draco said, looking between each of them. “He keeps telling us we wouldn’t understand. Even if we ask for more, he doesn’t want to share.” He scowled. “Because he thinks we’re too fragile for it. I presume it wouldn’t be the same for you.”

Gabriel snorted, still covering his face with a hand. “No. There’s other baggage with us.”

“We don’t want to be old by the time he’s willing to share,” Luna said, pleading. “We – I don’t want him to keep hurting. Not when something can be done.”

Raphael drew in a long breath, relaxing from her rigid pose by the wall. “I can speak to him,” she said quietly.

Gabriel glanced at her. “You sure?”

Raphael nodded. “I know what it is he’s going through. I’ll speak to him.”

The three archangels looked at each other for a long moment before Raphael nodded and disappeared with the sound of fluttering wings. That just left Draco and Luna together with Gabriel and Lucifer.

Which…Draco wasn’t sure what to do here. He felt odd making small talk with Michael’s family, especially these two.

“Raphael knows what she’s doing,” Lucifer told Gabriel in a low voice.

Gabriel hummed in response, expression slightly distant. “Usually.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a wry smile.

There wasn’t any other conversation, at least not where Draco or Luna could hear. He shared a commiserating look with her, then just settled in to wait.

Draco wasn’t sure how long it would take, but emotional conversations should take a while, right? If anything happened, he was relatively certain Gabriel or Lucifer would tell them with that strange link they all shared. So they could wait here—

Raphael appeared in the space she had left several minutes ago, looking not at all like she had just had an emotionally intense conversation. Draco knew Michael had trouble with telling time because angels were above human conceptions such as time, but surely a conversation couldn’t have happened that quickly?

“Well?” Draco demanded. “What happened?”

Raphael glanced only briefly at him, turning her attention towards Gabriel. “He says he would like time.”

“We’ve been giving him time. It’s not been doing anything,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Not long enough,” Raphael disagreed. “We had so much time, Gabriel. Time he hasn’t had.”

…What the bloody hell? No. No. They weren’t just going to leave Michael like that, were they?

Luna looked just as upset, so that was good. She glanced at him, and they turned towards the angels to protest, though Gabriel beat them to it.

“What exactly did he say, Raphael?” Gabriel asked. “Wasn’t it you who told us he’s masking?”

“Yes, but I understand that. I went through it myself. He and I – we’re very similar.” Raphael hesitated, looking as uncertain as Michael did sometimes. It was uncanny despite the different physical features. She sighed. “He said there’s no issue. Pointed out we’re very similar and that he needs time. The same time I needed. He was…reassuring.”

Oh, of course. That was Michael in a nutshell. He could be so very reassuring that he had everything handled.

Draco choked out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face and pinching his nose.

“He asked that we trust him,” Raphael continued speaking. “Trust that he knows what he’s doing.”

When Draco looked up, he saw Gabriel also now rubbing a hand over his face. He seemed frustrated, which was relieving. It seemed like Gabriel wasn’t about to just let it be like he had before. It seemed like Michael had been right that Gabriel was trying.

He glanced back at Luna, who was worrying at her lower lip and looking at Gabriel. On seeing him looking, she gave him a brief smile, reaching out to squeeze his arm. She didn’t let go.

“Like this, sister?” Gabriel’s tone was warm and reassuring. He sounded…different, and Luna’s hand on Draco’s spasmed, her eyes widening.

Draco looked away from her face, watching Gabriel in confusion. Raphael seemed taken aback, the most surprised Draco had ever seen her. There was no such surprise with Lucifer, though Draco was unable to read what was on his face.

“It’s going to be okay, right?” Gabriel said, smiling. His tone was gentle, still very reassuring. “Hey, I got it handled.” He laughed, flashing a quicksilver grin that brightened his face. “It’s all good, yeah? There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Gabriel—” Raphael protested.

Luna squeezed his arm again, inhaling sharply. Draco glanced at her and then back at Gabriel, unsure of what she was seeing.

“I got this,” Gabriel said, reassuring and calm. It was much bolder than Michael’s statements but no less reassuring.

“This might make things worse,” Raphael cautioned.

Gabriel glanced at Draco and Luna, shooting them both a reassuring smile. “Things are already fucked, Raphael. Besides, fixing things is what I do.” He disappeared an instant later. Unlike with Raphael, there was no sound of wings.

Lucifer sighed, looking over at Raphael. “That is what Michael did to you. He’s very good at it – always has been. Gabriel is as well, though I can call him on his bullshit.”

Raphael’s lips were flat. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Lucifer said. “Not always. He’s good enough to hide from me at times.” There was a rueful twist at his mouth, a grimace of sorts.

“What was that?” Luna asked. “He…changed.”

Raphael and Lucifer both looked at her, the motion so similar Draco was reminded they really were siblings.

“He’s part human,” Lucifer said after a moment. “You probably saw his soul.”

“Is that…what I’m seeing in you, too?”

“Yes and no. I’m not part human. I’m an artificial intelligence.”

Draco checked with Luna to see if that was a term he should know and was relieved to see Luna looked just as uncomprehending.

Lucifer laughed, though the sound didn’t seem unkind. “Artificial intelligences have been theorized in Muggle books by your time. Some scientists have even made attempts at creating some, though they’re very rudimentary. What Gabriel – Tony – created is a truly self-learning program that’s able to evolve and grow on its own. You’ve met Dummy and his siblings; they’re just like me.”

That didn’t really explain much for Draco. Dummy, Butterfingers, and You seemed like humans, even if…very weird ones. That didn’t need to use the bathroom.

“Have you seen a computer?” Raphael asked them.

It was another word Draco was unfamiliar with. Thankfully Luna also shook her head.

Lucifer hummed, expression thoughtful. “Consider it…like a spell that’s able to respond to you. You have spells you can use to search for things or write things down, but what if they were suddenly able to predict what you need? Extrapolate from previous habits to determine what should be next? And what if they were able to speak to you?” On seeing understanding fill their expressions, Lucifer nodded. “There you go. That’s an artificial intelligence. Well, roughly speaking, anyway.”

It was…kind of him to explain that to them. Lucifer didn’t need to, but he had. It was…very odd.

“I’d try talking to him myself,” Lucifer said, “but for a variety of reasons that’s…not a good idea. Gabriel’s the next best bet, since he’s as stubborn as they come.”

“Michael’s pretty bloody stubborn, too,” Draco reluctantly admitted.

Lucifer snorted. “I know.” He sounded fond. “But between those two…I’d put my money on Gabriel.”

Draco wasn’t sure how much to believe Lucifer, but Raphael didn’t seem to disagree, so he supposed that meant something.

Luna squeezed Draco’s arm again, then finally let it go. Draco had entirely forgotten she was even holding it.

“Thank you,” Luna said.

Raphael shook her head. “We should thank you instead. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“You should have known,” Draco said.

There were twin grimaces.

“We knew,” Lucifer said. “But we were hoping it would sort itself out. Obviously it didn’t.”

Nothing ever sorted itself out with Michael unless someone went ahead and poked him. Michael was only ever insistent on change when it came to others.

“Obviously,” Draco said instead.

There was a faint, answering smile that flickered over Lucifer’s lips.

They didn’t say anything else for some time. Draco stuffed his hands in his robe pockets and considered the artwork in the room. There were a few paintings on the walls, much less bizarre than the ones in Michael’s room and with more normal subject matter such as books, water, or a serene landscape with a tree being struck by lightning. Much more normal.

The carpets in the room were all very soft and a multitude of colors and patterns. There were some very thick blankets on the couches. Despite the ostentatious nature of this room being inside a palace, it was clear it had been designed primarily for comfort.

It was the exact opposite of a similar room in Draco’s own manor. Which was only to be expected but still disappointing.

Draco was in the middle of contemplating the design styles of the pillars when something skittered over his skin. His hairs rose on end, and he swallowed, his stomach churning with dread. Luna had also stiffened, so he wasn’t imagining things.

Yet it was Lucifer and Raphael’s reactions which alarmed him. Both of them looked in the same direction, at the far wall, clearly on edge.

Something vibrated through Draco, and it almost felt like the earth beneath his feet shifted before as suddenly as it had come, it was gone and it felt like a weight had lifted. He drew in a sharp gasp, feeling like he’d been under water.

“Was that—” Luna sounded just as breathless.

“Gabriel did it,” Raphael said, relieved.

“You should stop doubting him,” Lucifer said.

“There are very few I don’t doubt, and while Gabriel is one of them, Michael is the second. Though in this case, it does seem that Gabriel out-stubborned Michael.”

Lucifer hummed, still looking at the wall. After a moment, he glanced back at Draco and Luna. “Gabriel took him off world, but they’re fine.”

“That didn’t feel fine,” Draco said.

Lucifer shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Is that the first time Michael’s been somewhat emotional?”

Draco didn’t quite want to answer that, not to Lucifer, but Luna shook her head without hesitation.

“He probably kept it under control then, not wanting to hurt you. This was slightly different. Gabriel moved them so he could let it out.”

“Where?” Draco asked.

“Off Asgard.” Lucifer’s expression was slightly distant. “Though Gabriel’s hiding, so that’s as much as I can give you.”

Draco pressed his lips together. He had to trust Gabriel had Michael’s best interests at heart. He didn’t have a choice here.

Why couldn’t they have been enough for Michael? Why was it that his old family, the ones that had hurt him, were the ones who could speak to him and actually get him to listen? It wasn’t fair.

“You should speak to Steve.”

It took Draco a moment to realize Lucifer was speaking to him. He looked up at him, frowning. Steve?

Lucifer shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “It might help.”

“Help with what?” Draco asked warily.

“With everything between you and Michael,” Lucifer said. “I’d normally suggest Loki, but he’s…probably not the best idea here, so Steve.”

Draco went cold. “What about Michael and me?”

Lucifer took a moment to answer, watching Draco closely. “You’re in love with him.”

Mortification suffused him, hot and scorching. He wanted to turn around and run. Who else was able to see that? Was Michael? Had he just been too polite to say anything?

“Not judging,” Lucifer said gently, “but we’re not the best ones to give advice on this. I’m uninterested, as is Raphael, and Gabriel just now realized Loki’s been more invested in the relationship than Gabriel’s been. Steve was human, and he can give you some advice. He’s good at that.”

“Why do you care?” Draco forced out through numb lips.

��Michael’s my brother,” Lucifer said simply. “He cares about you. And judging by how things have been going so far, he’s never going to do anything about it.”

“I would have thought you’d be happy enough just laughing at him from the sidelines.”

Lucifer’s smile was strained. “…No. Never. It was…never like that.”

No, it was just that he’d killed Michael.

Still…Steve wasn’t terrible. He was…very Muggle, but Draco hadn’t interacted much with Muggles at all. Steve seemed nice enough. If Draco wanted to talk to him.

“You don’t have to,” Lucifer said. “It’s just a suggestion.”

Draco double-checked that his Occlumency shields were still tight, which they were.

“It may take them a while,” Lucifer said, “so no need to wait here.”

Luna grabbed hold of Draco’s arm. She hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, Samael.”

Lucifer’s smile this time looked more genuine. “Anytime, Luna.”

Draco knew that Lucifer had another name, though he hadn’t thought about using it. Not when his motives were still so unclear.

But maybe they were less so now.

“That went well,” Luna commented once they were out of the room.

Draco would reserve judgment until he saw Michael again, but he could hope, couldn’t he?

He’d let Luna tell the others what happened.

Draco saw Steve a few more times over the rest of the day, usually alongside a few of the other Muggles. Though Michael had said they were part angel now. Angel-Muggle? How did that even work?

They looked human enough, but so had Michael. Yet these also behaved human in a way Michael had never managed.

Steve seemed nice enough. The others looked up to him, usually literally as he was the tallest of Gabriel’s friends, but he also seemed the most approachable. As far as suggestions went, approaching him wasn’t a bad idea.

But it just seemed…odd. That Steve and apparently also Loki both loved Gabriel.

He considered the option for a while, staying clear of the others and their worrying over Michael. It was well into evening by the time he’d made up his mind, and then he had to find Steve, which took some time given how large the palace was.

He eventually found him in an interior courtyard, one with a small fountain burbling in the middle. There was grass and some small trees in the corners, along with benches. Steve was here, but so was Peggy, the two of them sharing one of the benches. They had drinks in hand and seemed to be sitting in companionable silence.

It was startlingly intimate, and Draco almost turned around and left before Steve noticed him and waved him over.

“I can come back,” Draco said, awkward.

“It’s fine,” Peggy assured him, smiling. She squeezed Steve’s hand.

“You can have a seat,” Steve said. He seemed to realize a moment later that he and Peggy were on the only bench and the next one was too far out of earshot to be comfortable. “Or…hm…”

Draco solved the issue by conjuring a chair. It wasn’t very comfortable, but conjuring wasn’t his specialty.

“I forgot you could do that.” Steve looked down at his hands briefly before smiling up at Draco. “You wanted to speak to me?”

Draco hesitated. “…Samael suggested it.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “She did?”

Draco blinked. “She?”

“Sam doesn’t care either way. It amuses her when people try to guess.”

Draco could see that. “What’s the right guess?”

“Ne,” Steve answered, which didn’t even sound like a word. More like a butchered “no” like how Americans butchered the English language with their accents.

“Ne,” Draco repeated slowly. “Which is…?”

“Nothing, really. When I said Sam doesn’t care, ne really doesn’t. Angels aren’t male or female; they just take pity on us.” Steve’s voice was wry.

Draco frowned, looking down at the cobblestones. He knew Michael wasn’t actually the human he looked like. He hadn’t thought further beyond that and what it meant.

“If Michael hasn’t said anything about it, it’s likely he doesn’t care either,” Steve said gently. “From what Tony’s said, they tend to go by what their vessel is. Some are different – like Sam – but it’s a safe bet usually.”

Draco leaned an elbow against an armrest, unsure exactly of how to best broach this topic. “Samael said…you’d be the best one to speak to about…relationships.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose, then lowered. “Oh. Well…” He glanced askance at Peggy, who seemed amused. “I guess…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to help, but sure.”

Great. Now Draco had no idea how to ask what he wanted to know beyond being blunt.

Steve took a drink from his cup. His ears looked a little red. “I’m not actually in a relationship with Tony. That’s…Loki. It’s been too long for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve.” Peggy sounded reproving. “He loves you all the same.”

Steve shrugged. “I know. It doesn’t change that it’s been a very long time.”

“Some things haven’t changed.”

Steve’s smile was rueful. “No. That’s true enough.” Sighing, he looked back at Draco. “Angels don’t love like we do. Like humans,” he amended.

“I know that.” Draco barely kept the annoyance out of his voice.

“I’m not saying that to warn you off it,” Steve said. “It never worked on me before. But you need to know what that means so you can decide for yourself. For an angel…when they love something – love someone – that’s what they focus on. They make decisions based on that, on that love. It can be…dangerous, having that power.” He tapped his finger against his cup. “Castiel’s the only one I know of who’s in love with a human like that.”

Draco frowned. “But you and Gabriel… Tony…”

“He doesn’t love me like that,” Steve said plainly. “He doesn’t love Loki like that either. But he loves us all the same, differently than with others. It’s not all focused on one person.”

“He has his favorites, you mean.”

“Yeah. That’s one way of putting it.” Steve’s smile was wry. “And Michael… I don’t know him well. I don’t know him at all, really. But I can see he loves all of you.”

“I know that.” That wasn’t the issue. Michael had made that so painstakingly clear before.

Steve sighed, giving him a small smile. “I’m guessing he wanted you to find someone else and be happy?”

Draco said nothing.

Steve nodded, still with that small smile that seemed far too understanding. It would have upset Draco if it also seem entirely genuine. “They can’t love like humans. Like you do. But it doesn’t mean they can’t commit. It just means you make something of your own – something different.”

Draco looked down at the cobblestones again. “What do you have?”

“I have his friendship,” Steve said. “I also know I can talk to him and he’ll always be there for me. He gave me a home, and I’ll never forget that.”

Stealing a glance at Peggy showed no jealousy on her face, just simple understanding and love.

“You did find something else,” Draco noted.

“Ah…well…” Steve scratched at his cheek. “That was all Tony, really.”

Draco tried to imagine Michael finding him a date. For some reason he just pictured Michael dropping some random person in front of Draco and disappearing, like a cat.

“It wasn’t new,” Steve continued. “Peggy and I…we had something before I ever met Tony, but it didn’t work out at the time. Tony gave us a second chance.”

“I see.” Draco didn’t quite have that chance. It had only ever been Michael.

“We’re not the same,” Steve said. “Michael isn’t Tony. Whatever you decide to do, it’ll be yours. But you’ll have to make it yourself because it’ll never be the same as what humans have.”

Draco pulled on his sleeve, fingering the fabric. “I don’t… I don’t want pity.”

“I understand that. I wouldn’t want it either. I know Tony doesn’t do things out of pity, but I don’t know about Michael. You know him better.”

Draco couldn’t see Michael doing anything out of pity. He shook his head. “He wouldn’t.” Yet he also didn’t know if Michael would be open to the possibility of revisiting this topic. Not after he’d so clearly stated last time that Draco was too young and needed to find someone else.

“Loki might be a better idea to talk to,” Steve said after a hesitant moment.

“…Samael said he wasn’t a good idea.”

There was another moment of deliberation. “I’ll help,” Steve said firmly.

“This I have to see,” Peggy said dryly.

Steve rolled his eyes, huffing. He was smiling, though, as he stood. “Would you like to talk to him?”

Draco had only seen Loki in passing. The most he’d seen of him had been that first day, and they’d been swarmed by everyone else so Draco had never spoken a word to him. “Is he more likely to give better advice?”

Steve winced, though he was still smiling. “Well…I’m sure you’d be better able to read between the lines than I will. And he’s been involved with Tony for much longer. Otherwise I could snag Castiel somehow, but I don’t think his advice would apply. He’s…very different from the others.”

Draco wasn’t sure if Steve was aware that he made it sound like Castiel being different was a bad thing. Or maybe that was just Draco.

“Your help would be appreciated,” Draco said eventually. “I’ll speak to Loki.”

Despite this being Steve’s suggestion, he did seem a little worried. He also seemed to know exactly where to go, leading Draco unerringly to a bedroom. The style didn’t seem to fit Loki. There was too much junk in there, along with a floridly pink blanket. Loki seemed more like he preferred darker colors.

Loki was out on the balcony, not even deigning to come inside when they entered. “Is this an emergency or can it wait?”

“Not even for some old friends?” Steve said cheerfully, heading to the balcony.

Loki didn’t even turn around to face them, looking out at the twinkling lights of Asgard. “I was unaware we were friends, Steven.”

“Ally, friend, whichever you prefer.” Steve set his cup down on the railing, glancing over his shoulder at Draco. “Tony isn’t back.”

“I trust you have not come here to inform me of matters of which I am already aware.”

“Not quite.” Steve leaned against the railing, facing Loki. “Draco has some questions. I tried my best to help out, but I think your input would be more valuable.”

At this, Loki did finally look back at Draco. His green eyes briefly skimmed over Peggy before dismissing her and settling on Draco. “I assume your questions are not about the magic of this realm.”

Draco shook his head. “It’s…about your relationship with Gabriel.”

Loki arched an eyebrow. “Why would that interest you?”

It was almost like talking to another Slytherin. No matter. Draco was good at that. “From what I understand, angels don’t have relationships.”

Loki scoffed. “Gabriel is not just any angel.”

“I know he’s partly human.”

“That is not of which I speak.”

“I’m aware he’s different, but he is still an archangel, isn’t he? Steve told me a little.”

“Did he?” Loki shot an innocent Steve a sharp look. “Why are you so interested, little dragon?”

Draco resisted the urge to bristle at the name. “Michael’s my friend.”

“Yes,” Loki drawled, “a fact of which I am aware.” He paused, pinning Draco in place with a sharp look. “Gabriel is not Michael. Comparing them will not help you.”

“I’m aware they’re different,” Draco said, cross. “That isn’t why I’m asking. I’m asking you because you’re in love with Gabriel, but from what I understand, Gabriel isn’t.”

Loki was very still.

It wasn’t the same sort of pressure as with Michael, but Draco still had the impression of having poked something he shouldn’t have. He didn’t move.

When Loki spoke, his voice was silky, dark, sending shivers down Draco’s spine. “Who are you to say what Gabriel feels and does not feel?”

“Loki.” Steve’s voice was quiet. Something warm and protective curled over Draco, feeling very different than Michael.

Loki bared his teeth. “Steven.”

“I told him.” Steve’s voice was steel now. “Of all of us, I have that right.”

Loki sneered, then turned away. “You were dead, Steven. Don’t presume to know what you missed.”

“I was dead, but I wasn’t blind. I saw what happened.”

“Did you really?”

“I saw enough, and I know Tony.”

Loki turned back towards Steve, eyes glittering. “You were not the one with him over the millennia. Over the thousands and millions of years I remained by his side. You were not the one who took his mind off the loss of you, after you could no longer bear the weight of existence. Do not presume to tell me you know Gabriel after everything.”

If it had been Draco, he would very likely have called it quits here and decided to come back when Loki wasn’t quite so agitated. On the other hand, Steve didn’t budge. He just looked at Loki, lips pressed together. He would absolutely have been a Gryffindor.

“You’re right,” Steve said eventually. “You’ve spent more time with him than I have. You’ve known him longer. But he’s still Tony. And I doubt that what he told me all those years ago changed. Am I wrong?”

Loki stared at Steve for a long moment, eyes piercing, before he finally turned away again. This time it was to look at Draco. “You wish to know of my relationship?” His voice was cool. “I fail to see why you would. His brother would do you no good, but very well. He cannot give you what you seek. They are not human; they do not feel as you do. You will devote your time and energy into it but get little in return but for what they are capable of.” There was no vitriol in his tone, just a cold reiteration of facts.

Draco blinked at him, taken aback. “…You speak of that like you aren’t in a relationship with one of them.”

“Irrelevant. You wished my advice; you have it.”

“It’s relevant. You…seem to resent him.”

“Resent? No.” Loki scoffed, laughing. “I knew what he was capable of. I knew what he was able to give. The better question is, do you?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Draco asked, fingers curling in, hidden in his robes. “I’m looking for more of an explanation than one offered by one of them.” Because he loved Michael but he did know that words were not Michael’s strength.

“I fail to see why you are here,” Loki drawled. “His brother leaves much to be desired, but I suppose there is no accounting for taste.”

“I suppose not,” Draco said coolly, “as you’re speaking of matters you know nothing of.”

“Nothing?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “You were not present when Gabriel suffered as a result of his brother’s inaction. You did not see what happened because Michael refused to act.”

But Draco could see exactly why Michael had been so stuck for so long. He could see why Michael had drawn in on himself like a crumple-horned snorkack when people like Loki rubbed it into his face. “No,” he said, clipped, “but you weren’t there when he changed. When he regretted what happened and what he didn’t do. I don’t know Michael from before, but I know him now, and I like him now. He chose to continue being my friend despite everything I did. I would be a very poor friend if I held his past actions against him when he’s given me a second chance.” He paused. “A second chance people like you refuse to give him.”

“I give him nothing he does not deserve.”

“Loki.” Steve sighed, the sound reproving. “Draco. Enough.”

“You were with me at the time, Steven, or have you forgotten?”

“I didn’t forget,” Steve said wearily. “But I also don’t hold grudges like you. More importantly, it’s about Tony.”

“Gabriel forgives far too easily.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, he does, but that’s his choice, isn’t it?”

“And this is mine.” Loki turned his gaze back to Draco. “You wished my advice? Then know he cannot love you like you love him. The love he has is different, and you must decide if that is enough for you or if you would prefer that of a human.”

Draco swallowed, meeting and holding Loki’s eyes. His anger cooled slightly. He wasn’t foolish enough to turn aside advice like this. “You don’t seem the type to settle.”

Loki smirked, leaning back against the balcony railing. “I have not. His love is not the same, but it means all the more for those he gives it to. He chose me. Would your Michael choose you?”

Draco didn’t know. “I appreciate it,” he said instead. “I don’t agree with your opinion of Michael, but I appreciate that you were willing to lend your advice all the same. Thank you.” The words tasted like ash.

Loki’s smirk widened. “Well. Thor could learn something from you about how to flatter someone.” He looked back at Steve. “If there is nothing else emergent, then I would highly suggest you leave.”

Draco knew a dismissal when he heard one. He left the room with Steve and Peggy shortly behind him.

“Did that help?” Steve asked him once he closed the door.

Draco looked up at him, somewhat reminded of a large dog. “It’s given me something to think on.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Steve said. “My door’s open if you need to talk to someone about it. Or you can talk to your friends about it. I know it’s easier if you’re able to share it. And in my case…talking to Tony about it would have been really awkward.”

Ah yes. About as awkward as talking to Michael about this and getting a very stilted response because while Michael was good at many things, he was not good at emotions. Draco was very painfully aware of this.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Draco said. “Thank you for the assistance. I’ll let you two be.”

He had some things to think on.

#first born #my writing #the last archangel #bonus scene #seventh year: reconciliations

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blufayth · 2 years

Text

'' so i'm guessing this is where we part ways huh, '' their enemies have been defeated and so their alliance has come to end. a silence lingers along with the question of if he will ever see dimitri again. but he does not ask and instead he settles for a smile and an extended hand. however before flying off he calls the other's name once more.'' if you ever find yourself near the border of almyra do drop by for a visit, i'll be sure to host a grand feast at the palace in your name. '' @regancrested

doubtlessly, claude makes a remarkable comrade and a BETTER friend. the mere sight of claude on his ship, ready to set off far away from fodlan, from him was a pointed dagger at his heart that he no longer dared deny. memories of their shared time as students flooded his mind, from the day they met, from the nights they accidentally spent .. and the evening they danced him far away from the TROUBLES of their lands. sleeping by claude’s side, it seemed as though nightmares never quite reach him as they usually could. there’s little telltale signs on dimitri’s ever NEUTRAL expression regarding the thoughts running his mind at the prospect of this departure. he’s a SENTIMENTAL fool to a fault .. but perhaps it was because he’s grown used to saying goodbyes for the LAST time. his heart tightens at that admission, and his throat is set on fire at any words that dared crawled out of his ribcage. this need not be a sorrowful goodbye, not if he does not make it so. briefly, he closes his good eye to shield himself from such a DESPONDENT sight, a little pent up breath tucked away in his chest now blew past his lips. he’s never the clingy sort — on the contrary, he’s accustomed to letting go .. all of the GOOD things in his life and the man that he became now never stopped paying the price for it.

if he were to say he wanted claude to stay, would claude hate him ? if he were to take claude’s hand and promise to be his home, would claude forgive him ?

all he knows is that fodlan will not be the same without him. dimitri would not be the same without him. perhaps it was SELFISH of him to even entertaining the thought of taking claude away from almyra .. but therein still lines the BEASTLY side of him .. that is tired of losing everything. and at this moment .. claude was his EVERYTHING.

staring down at claude’s extended hand, and then back up at the ever cloudy smile upon claude’s face .. he then takes claude’s hand into his own, very LIGHTLY tighten it in a gentle squeeze. there’s no telling where the source of his following AUDACITY came from, perhaps the sea breeze has BEATEN out the courtesy out of him, take apart every shred of humility and wariness that he worn over the years to GHOST past the ones he loved.

in an instant, he draws back his arm, his hand still holding onto claude’s own .. and tugs the prince of golden deer off the ship and effortlessly catching him by the waist before any unfortunate accidents happened. all eyes were on them now .. both their friends ( or stalkers of their COMPLICATED relationship for good few years now ) watching with bated breaths. and despite their audience, dimitri’s expression remains indomitable still.

❛ if i were to express my desire in your presence by my side, will you indulge my selfishness ? ❜ dimitri asks, his voice somber as the prospects of parting ways, but a silver of hopeful at the happier alternative. his gaze drifted over claude’s every feature, from his forestry eyes where light freely peaked through the boughs — down to his lips where all his SECRETS were kept behind his beguiling smiles. every little things that he loved and yearned to know more.

❛ if were to say .. the place we belong is where we can freely hold each other this close, will you offer me a chance to prove it ? ❜

#regancrested #☆ ❜ REGANCRESTED → my love‚ will you trust me with your hands in mine? ( dimiclaude. )#BOY U ARE NOT GOING!! ANYWHERE!!!!!!

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jamescecils · 1 year

Text

for: @thmagdalene

a letter, marked by an unfortunate residence in an unfortunate place, is delivered under instruction, directly to the lady herself; as to avoid any detection by her odious spouse.

Dearest Alice,

The people here function in lower positions which degrade morality - I safeguard myself from the Florentine's debasement of all sacred. Concerning the identity of the pretender, I have as of yet entertained a suitable answer to be delivered; I neither entertain nor care for this visit, but for that question. The Percy girl is a surprising presence - I own I was not prepared. With all her fire, she is sensible and severe; she tramples Julian under heel. I do not doubt he would be averse to sharing her fire - she shines in her best in this presence. Their amusing and well-acted scenes of antipathy cover my deficiency in interest, and my obvious relief of direction, in your absence.

I long for the delicate life of your complexion - your letter alone shall rouse me; I am listless, servant to sloth and whatever beast love and lust bear as a bastard. The devils which find tenement in me, cry sore and; yet they still refused to be exercised. If so much unholiness can rise from my person, may not an equal influx of a good, sacred essence, one day be brought forth? I, the volatile, pleasure loving little man; I am apologetic, repentant - my contrition is that I have left your side, but the bed I occupy is one I unlawfully claim. I think only of you. Your hair, flying loose in combat or revelry, is still an angel's hair; glorious, under a halo. Place you now before any slug or lady, and one would witness you cut through the masses like a scimitar through flesh. With malicious intent, you may think I pen thee- I do not possess as many faults as I wish. I do not trouble myself with the loss of dignity in my missives; my veins are dark with a tincture, the essence of love. It is not a mere tenderness I feel for you - but of a stronger, more formidable sentiment, who is seated not only in my heart, but in my head. Unblushingly I would carry on a system of deceit and subrafuge to love you; I posses the art of making the most of what I know.

It has been remarked I am quite the specimen - I have no control over my passions. The obstinacy of my sex is to love within confines; I enter into a strong battle with it, of exaction and the expulsion of impulse. What does it matter if I fail in my pursuit of your heart? It would do me good to fail. I shall make a simpleton, an example of myself - pay whatever fine, in knowledge I extended to you every inch of my person. I am by nature a cypher; I deny all the reclusive peace of knowing my true person. Yet it would take the darkest angel of God's kingdom, demanding his pound of flesh, to extract all of me I have given you. There is no higher starting point than the one your love affords me - dear Alice, do I have an ounce of reason in these words? I would do well in a reply less emulous of men greater than I; but I am never prudent, when it in involves you.

Recall my warm affection for you as you reserve judgment on this letter - my faith, in your deep excellence. I must tend to the Florentines; they are bearish and repellent. I do not write to show my talents; I wish only, to express my love.

Forever your most humble servant -

With love,

James Cecil

#alice

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nyandereneko · 2 years

Text

Balancing Deficits

Word Count: 716

Summary: “They’d managed to check one box off the itinerary, surely they could make all the repressed yearning up to each other later. Presently, there was still much work to be done.”

Author’s Note: Happy day 7 of yumeweek!! It’s the last day and I kind of can’t believe it, I didn’t fully expect I’d actually be able to keep up with it and post every day but I’m so glad and proud of myself that I did, and I look forward to sharing even more content for these ships in the future because they make my heart sing :’) also shout out to the first piece featuring my other BigTM genshin f/o, we don’t know shit about him so I hope my characterization doesn’t end up proving completely OOC, but even if it does I guess this is my version of him I can adjust however I see fit hfieshfs as always thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs appreciated!

*****

“These are the documents detailing some of the more questionable accounts, but I can assure you my lord Harbinger that our agents are doing everything they can to—”

Nova allowed the stranger’s irritating babble to fade into the background of her awareness as her dark eyes narrowed on her prey. Tail twitching with the amusement of a curious kitten, she swatted at the delicate metal chain that hung so temptingly before her. If it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale of their blasphemy and ignorance. And if she hadn’t donned the visage of a cat prior to falling victim to said creature’s instincts in the midst of her master’s confidential exchange, she would’ve likewise found herself on the receiving end of some admonition of a similarly grim nature.

But she was little more than a harmless kitten at the moment, and the man who’s lap she’d claimed was just the Harbinger that’d deigned to extend a hand to her in the throes of her debilitating isolation. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had incited his rare, irrational show of benevolence; it was a weakness and a curse that served no purpose in his line of work. Such sentiments had no place in any facet of his life as far as Pantalone was concerned, yet this poor unfortunate soul had somehow managed to override his defenses and brush against his own withered spirit—presuming perhaps erroneously that he even had one.

When he’d first laid eyes on her shivering form trapped in the confines of that cold steel prison, he hadn’t felt much of anything; at least that’s how things had seemed at the time. Before she’d burrowed past his defenses, before she’d torn through his heart like a desperate gale and saturated his psyche with her very being. Up to this point he’d understood that there was no room left in the Harbingers’ hearts for anything beyond their illustrious Tsaritsa and their lofty, crafty aspirations and schemes. Nova had succeeded in cracking the boundary of the world that held him hostage for better or worse, and moving forward together rather than floundering alone certainly sounded like a prudent plan to him.

As long as he had someone to rely on…as long as she didn’t mind his company.

“Take care of it, you know my expectations well,” the Harbinger counseled his naive underlings with an air of haughty disinterest. With a disappointed sigh he turned his attention to the devious kitten reveling in her playful insolence, the pressures of his mind instantly allayed by the mere sight of her. “I have more pressing matters to attend to, and I do so loathe wasting my precious time on petty excuses and paltry results. Should the task prove too demanding for you…well, I’m sure you’re well aware of how the Fatui prefers to balance their deficits.”

The nervous dejection plastered on his agents’ faces made Nova’s eyes roll as she continued her batting. They were past the point of no return, and everyone present was privy to the reality of their doomed fate. Meetings like this were largely a formality, one that had become noticeably less distressing in the wake of Nova’s addition to his traditionally monotonous routine. He didn’t want to admit it, to himself or to anyone else, but as Pantalone captured her paws in his grasp he realized there was nothing he wouldn’t do to preserve and protect the precious creature that melted into his touch like snow.

In the aftermath they slipped away to some secluded corridor together, seeking to collect themselves before they moved on to their next task. Even as her paws transformed to proper hands against his own he found himself bewildered, entranced by her mystical allure. Glove met glove where they bridged their touch, and Pantalone brazenly leaned in to press their foreheads together. Nothing more, nothing less; there was still a chance they could be discovered, and the enticement wasn’t worth the risk when they were free to express their affection within the confines of their own trusted quarters—his trusted quarters, to be precise.

They’d managed to check one box off the itinerary, surely they could make all the repressed yearning up to each other later. Presently, there was still much work to be done.

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humanwheatleyslefttoenail · 3 years

Note

why do you ship chell and glados if glados is basically her mom

Okay this is actually a pretty common misconception in the fandom that unfortunately a lot of people have taken as canon, but I’m feeling nice so I’ll answer your question.

Basically, anon is referencing a theory from around 2012 that Caroline is Chell’s mom. The evidence for the theory is as follows:

- The turret opera calls Chell “bambina”, which means “little girl” in Italian

- Chell’s name can be found on a Bring Your Daughter To Work Day science project

- GLaDOS references the possibility of Chell being adopted multiple times

- GLaDOS is significantly nicer to Chell after discovering she’s Caroline

And, anon, you’re right, it does sound like a pretty good argument at first glance. The problem is that a lot of these points don’t actually hold up to scrutiny.

For example, although “bambina” literally translates to “little girl,” it’s often used in the same way “baby girl” is used in English - it can mean child, but contextually it’s usually a flirtatious term. (Source: Cambridge Dictionary)

For Chell’s science project, it doesn’t work as evidence for the theory because GLaDOS killed the scientists around 1998-ish, when Caroline had presumably been uploaded several years earlier and Cave was already dead. Also, Chell’s in her 20′s, and since we know from Lab Rat/Portal 2 that people don’t age in stasis, and that Doug put Chell at the top of the test subject list only weeks after the takeover, Chell was 28 at the time of the takeover. The science project is really only an Easter egg and doesn’t actually fit into the canon timeline let alone prove anything about Caroline and Cave.

GLaDOS talking about Chell being adopted is a pretty strong point, I’ll admit, but also it’s important to remember that maybe half of what GLaDOS says is true. And even if we take what she says at face value, she also says there’s a man and a woman in stasis with Chell’s last name, which could not have been Cave and Caroline because they were already dead at that point. And the official book Final Hours Of Portal 2 confirms Cave and Caroline were not married and could not have shared the same name anyway. It was also the 50′s, an an unmarried couple of two likely famous people having a child would’ve been scandalous, and yet we see no hint of something like this affecting their company.

Also, although GLaDOS is nicer to Chell after the Caroline reveal, that’s not necessarily indicative of a mother-daughter relationship, and neither is any of their interactions. It’s just. GLaDOS being friendlier.

Finally, when this theory was made (and let’s be honest - it still is happening) Chell was constantly whitewashed to hell and back.

Chell is Japanese-Brazilian, and Cave and Caroline are white, so it would be a near impossibility for her to be their biological child (and insisting otherwise is kinda. just. whitewashing). And although people will cry “adoption!”, based on what I’ve previously proven, that’s pretty much impossible. This theory that somehow she’s Cave and Caroline’s daughter erases an important part of her identity. [Disclaimer, I am white, but this is what I’ve heard from around the fandom]

With all that said, the idea that she’s the daughter of Cave and Caroline really doesn’t hold weight when you really analyze the canon. It’s surface level analysis that doesn’t hold up. And honestly? The idea kinda cheapens the story. It’s much more powerful that GLaDOS learns to care about Chell and becomes kinder than just. Oh, she remembered she’s related to Chell.

But to actually answer your ask.

Why do I ship them?

Well, they aren’t mother and daughter, I think that’s pretty obvious now. But if you actually look at a lot of subtext in Portal 2, without the lens of the mother theory, it’s actually pretty romantic!

I know that sounds ridiculous, but bear with me!

Now - it’s totally okay if you don’t ship them. I get it. Their interactions in Portal 1 and the first half of Portal 2 are toxic if not outright well. Y’know. Murderous. I completely understand why that turns people off from shipping them, and ultimately, shipping is a personal thing. To each his own.

But before you judge me, let me present my case.

Exhibit A: Portal

Portal is kinda gay. No, really. Chell and GLaDOS are enemies in this game, but the entire focus is on their relationship (good or not) and the power struggle between them. They are opposites, two sides of the same coin, different representations of opposite ideologies. People have analyzed Portal as a relationship metaphor, or as a metaphor about women’s role in society - either way, the heart of Portal is the complicated dynamic between Chell and GLaDOS.

That’s not necessarily enough to code a romance, but a lot of popular (and especially popular queer ones) ships begin with opposite ideologies, symbolic powers colliding. Portal cements their relationship as a toxic one, something on the verge of falling apart and hurting both parties in the end. The ending image, of Chell and GLaDOS side by side after the battle, reinforces the symbolic parallels between the two.

The companion cube is also pretty symbolically important to this interpretation. It’s literally a representation of someone’s heart, and you are told to protect it and preserve it under GLaDOS’ orders, and then you have to destroy it regardless of how you actually feel about doing that. You are destroying GLaDOS’ heart, so to speak.

There’s also the ending song, Still Alive. The lyrics speak for themselves.

They hint that GLaDOS’ feelings about Chell are more complicated than they may appear (if she’s not being sarcastic...) and she literally talks about Chell breaking her heart (also, think back to the companion cube. Yeah.). The entire song is structurally similar to many a breakup number, with the laments of “I’m glad it happened, but also leave.”

At the end, we also see that the long promised cake GLaDOS was supposedly lying about was real the whole time. Before Portal 2 came out, it was mostly interpreted as a stinger ending (along with the nicer lyrics of Still Alive) to make you question GLaDOS’ true motives and intentions.

She actually did have a real cake waiting for you. (Side note - not really evidence, but in Argentina, “torta” means cake in Spanish. It’s also a slang term for lesbians. So. Do with that what you will). The cake is what GLaDOS offers you to lull you into the sense that she cares about you, so discovering that “the cake is a lie” wakes you up to the realization that she doesn’t. Except then the idea is subverted one last time, at the very end, showing that the cake is real and at least some of what she said she meant.

You also see the companion cube. You know, GLaDOS’ symbolic heart?

Now, okay, you might be thinking I’m extrapolating a bit too much. And you might be right. But Portal is not the only game in the series, and if you’re asking me about Cave and Caroline you obviously know about Portal 2.

Exhibit B: Portal 2

If you thought Portal was gay, Portal 2 turns that up to 11.

Even before GLaDOS wakes up, you’re treated to some visual subtext. A few of Rattmann’s drawings representing the events of Portal 2 focus a lot on the relationship between GLaDOS and Chell, with more of the cake symbolism.

In this, you can see a face layered on top of GLaDOS. This could be foreshadowing about Caroline, and likely is, but also resembles his other drawing of Chell. It insists that Chell is a part of GLaDOS, or reinforces parallels between Chell and Caroline, hinting at something either way.

In this picture, we also see Chell standing on top of GLaDOS, in the same position where the overlay of the feminine face was, again referencing the parallel. It also presents them as opposites, fundamental parts of the same thing and both connected to the same basis, but on opposing sides.

When GLaDOS wakes up, she returns to her antagonistic role, but there are more hints to something deeper just like in Portal.

Here, in her awakening lines, she references Chell not unlike an estranged ex. Also worth noting that GLaDOS is pretty much the personification of testing (in a sense, she is testing since she can control all of Aperture like an extension of her body), and insinuates that Chell loves to test. And that she reciprocates that feeling.

In test chamber 10, she says this:

It’s supposed to be threatening, but it does read as almost... sentimental.

There’s also another chamber with companion cubes in Portal 2. I already talked about their symbolism in Portal, and the same pretty much applies to them here. However, GLaDOS says something interesting about them during this level:

Once again, meant to be intimidating, ends up coming off as “well, GLaDOS, why were you going to give Chell a heart shaped representation of yourself that says ‘I love you?’” And you might think I’m stretching the GLaDOS’ heart metaphor thing a little far here, and I might agree, if the companion cubes didn’t literally sing Cara Mia for you.

Cara Mia is the turret opera from the end of the game, which is all about how much GLaDOS cares about Chell. More on that later. But the companion cubes play a song called Love as A Construct, and when you get close to them, they sing a specific part of the song that has the tune of Cara Mia. These things literally exist to sing about GLaDOS’ feelings.

Which makes this line a lot more. For lack of a better term. Tsundere-ish.

Then, right before the escape, she starts talking about the confetti from her fake surprise.

I really don’t have to explain this one. What else does GLaDOS consider an inconvenience but might miss anyway? Or, more aptly, who else?

Then, during the escape, she teases a (fake) final test chamber in front of you, and forms the panels in the shape of a heart. No, really.

Up to this point, a lot of the points I’ve presented are interspersed with a fair amount of antagonization on GLaDOS’ behalf, more Foe Yay than anything actually hinting at something deeper than GLaDOS being conflicted about whether she loves or hates Chell. But things really ramp up after Wheatley’s betrayal, when the two of them are forced to team up. (I should also note here that “enemies to lovers” is a pretty classic queer romance trope.)

Here, GLaDOS is put on an equal level with Chell and they have to rely on each other if they want to survive. For the rest of the singleplayer campaign, GLaDOS becomes a lot nicer and even friendly to Chell. There comes a point where she starts referring to Chell as a teammate, calling them “we.” She begins to consider them one unit, two opposites unified. Here’s what she says after the lemon rant:

You can not only see her using we, but actively talking about how her and Chell are going to fight Wheatley together. There’s also that last line - “let’s explode with some dignity.” GLaDOS has fully accepted the very likely possibility that she and Chell might die together. That she might die on the same level, and the same team as Chell. And she seems... surprisingly okay with that, as long as she and Chell go together.

It’s during the Old Aperture levels that Chell and GLaDOS also discover that they have a lot in common. This is the part of the game where GLaDOS figures out she’s Caroline, that she’s human. Or, that she’s like Chell. And Chell discovers (from what we can tell anyway) that Caroline is kind, that she’s funny and smart and so many of these things she never noticed about GLaDOS before. Now also with the knowledge she is fighting alongside another human being.

You can also draw parallels between Chell and Caroline, both intelligent women ultimately betrayed by their seemingly innocuous male friends before being trapped in Aperture and forced to team up with one another in a way that will free both of them. We see that really, GLaDOS isn’t that different from Chell - she too has been imprisoned in this place against her will, but in a completely different way. Once again, the idea of two sides of the same coin applies here.

I’ve written another meta about this before, but I also think the whole idea of repressing a part of your identity and hating it, before bonding with another woman and then realizing that it’s okay to be like her and to be on her side. It’s okay to be yourself and meeting her is what helps you discover this new part of yourself. Is kinda inherently gay. GLaDOS’ discovery of her own humanity just fits so well into a queer realization narrative, to me at least.

Then, Chell and GLaDOS escape Old Aperture and have to get through Wheatley’s tests.

Here, GLaDOS isn’t just begrudgingly on Chell’s team. She’s actively helpful. She wants to help Chell solve tests, defends her from Wheatley’s insults, and makes jokes to lighten the mood. Things that can really only be explained by her caring about Chell, especially the part about the insults. See below.

After the two escape Wheatley’s testing track, right before the boss fight GLaDOS has a few other things to say.

GLaDOS is not going to betray Chell, because of some kind of conscience. But she could easily ignore that back in her body, and yet? Here she’s deciding not to, and for no good reason. She didn’t have to say that to Chell, but she did, because she cares and she wants Chell to live.

And then, moments before the fight:

The final lines imply that GLaDOS does not think of Chell as an enemy anymore, and that it doesn’t matter what Chell thinks because they are in this together and they are getting revenge together. It’s pretty heartwarming to be honest, to know that even in a fight that will almost certainly kill you, she is there rooting for you and caring about you, even if you don’t feel the same way about her. It no longer matters to GLaDOS whether you even reciprocate - you staying alive, you making it through is enough for her.

So Chell fights Wheatley and sends him into space, all well and good, and at this point, GLaDOS has the option to kill Chell. But not only does she not, she actively saves Chell, and holds her hand in the process. If you don’t believe me:

And not only that, but when Chell goes unconscious from her injuries, GLaDOS sits and waits for her to wake up. It’s also implied that GLaDOS carries her to the elevator, since it’s where she wakes up but not where she passed out. In the scene where Chell blacks out, you can also hear the part of Love As A Construct that sounds like Cara Mia. Yeah. Yeah.

If you think that this cannot possibly get any gayer, you are wrong again, because then GLaDOS makes her final speech. Which is really just a love confession, let’s be honest.

The “surge of emotion?” Do you mean love, GLaDOS? And the idea of GLaDOS considering Chell her best friend, despite everything these two have done to each other? The idea that GLaDOS, out of all people, forgives someone?

Except this isn’t even Chell’s final send-off. GLaDOS writes her an entire opera of turrets, that sing a literal love song. (Note what I said earlier about the use of the word “bambina”).

It really can’t get any more obvious than that. “My (affectionate romantic term here), my dear, I adore you.” How. Is. That. Heterosexual. In. Any. Way.

So Chell goes to the surface, set free by GLaDOS (think of the saying “if you love something, set it free), and you think that’s the end. Until GLaDOS gives you a companion cube so you aren’t alone on the journey, and from the burn marks, you know it’s your first companion cube. Her original heart, her first gift to you, a piece of her that she wants you to carry with you to remind you that she does care about you after everything. It also gives the lyrics to Still Alive a much more genuine meaning.

Portal 2 ends, and then the ending song, another GLaDOS number plays. Just like Still Alive, Want You Gone is structurally a break up song and very obviously about GLaDOS missing Chell and “counting on” (read: caring about/loving) Chell’s tendencies and quirks.

She’s accepted Chell completely, and yet also given Chell the one thing she wants most. Only wanting Chell gone can mean GLaDOS not wanting Chell in her life anymore, but can also mean she wants to give Chell the freedom she’s wanted for so, so long. It’s the best thing she can give.

In the co-op campaign, GLaDOS also references still caring about Chell.

And that’s the end of the Portal series. Except. Brace yourself. Despite the games being over, there is STILL more subtext somehow. It gets. Even gayer.

Exhibit C: Supplemental Evidence

Valve has made a lot of extra/cut content for the Portal series, and I’ll be looking at some of it below.

This official valentine from Valve shows GLaDOS offering a romantic partner cake, which as we’ve established before, is very symbolic of GLaDOS’ feelings about and/or relationship with Chell.

There’s a lot of other concept art and official art that emphasizes their relationship too. See below.

There’s also some cut GLaDOS lines that are even gayer than the source material and again, sound like confessions or references to a breakup:

The idea of “discovering things about someone”... how much more obvious can it get?

The developers have even confirmed a lot of my commentary on Chell and GLaDOS’ relationship in The Final Hours Of Portal 2. See these quotes from the book/this post:

The devs literally describe it as a romance. They use terms like “cheating,” they wanted to write a romantic duet, JoCo purposefully wrote the endings like love songs. It is literally, blatantly said by the creators of the game that their relationship is interpreted romantically. By the creators of the game.

And if Word of God confirmation isn’t enough for you, have a song written for a cut alternate ending by GLaDOS’ voice actress, Ellen McClain. The song is literally nothing but GLaDOS talking about caring about Chell, about not wanting her to die/leave GLaDOS alone, about wanting to bake a cake with Chell, about waiting for Chell to wake her up. It’s so genuinely sweet and sad, and really, really romantic in the most heartwrenching way possible.

JoCo also came back for the Portal levels in Lego Dimensions, writing one final breakup song for GLaDOS to sing about Chell. It comes off as GLaDOS not wanting to admit she misses Chell even though she obviously does, trying to replace their relationship but failing, and even explicitly forgiving Chell/wanting her to come back.

Also, the “finally I understand,” as if only now GLaDOS understands just how deep her feelings for Chell are... What else can I say?

In Lego Dimensions, GLaDOS also outright rejects anyone who isn’t Chell.

In Conclusion:

Why do I ship Chell and GLaDOS?

Well, ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether I ship them.

Because I think it’s glaringly obvious Portal does.

#chelldos #chell #glados #portal #portal 2 #tw fatphobia #whitewashing #fandom racism #long post

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luvyanfei · 3 years

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anon said. ooo a new blog! can you do confession headcanons where xiao, childe, and scaramouche react to reader confessing to them and the aftermath of it? thank you!

a/n. xiao’s is kind of terrible ;; ue ue gomenasai

“i love you, [character’s name].”

SCARAMOUCHE.

huh? is this some kind of a joke? if so, it’s definitely not a good idea to mess with his feelings like this, especially when he also shares the same sentiment. scaramouche is almost impressed by your boldness. not everyone has the nerve to confess their love for a harbinger in front of their own faces, after all. when he’s hit with the realization that you’re serious, he secretly pinches himself to make sure he’s not in a dream.

the sharp pain that comes with his nails making contact with his flesh affirms that this is real. he stifles back a genuine smile, choosing to stay calm despite the bliss he’s currently feeling. “i guess it can’t be helped. hmph, you should be lucky i’m rather fond of you as well, [name].” he says that, but he’s the fortunate one to have successfully stolen your heart before others can claim you for themselves.

unfortunately, his time with you is quite limited due to his affiliation with the fatui, so any fleeting moments are captured in photos from the kamera to look back on. he secretly carries a picture of you while he’s out of town on important missions so that he won’t miss you too badly. he fondly looks at your still, yet smiling face to cheer him up after a tough work while everyone else is asleep. well, almost everyone.

“hmm, who’s that in your hands, scaramouche?” childe asks, gesturing to the photo the harbinger is admiring fondly. scaramouche rolls his eyes to hide his slight embarrassment and hesitates a bit before he answers.

“oh them? their name is [name], my... sibling.” childe almost gapes in disbelief as he looks at the blue-haired man in shock.

“you have a sibling? why didn’t you tell me? they’re so cute!” the 11th harbinger squeals in delight, which honestly irks poor scaramouche. he scoots away to give himself some space as he tucks the picture in his pocket for safe-keeping.

“you didn’t bother to,” he explains matter-of-factly. “now if you’ll excuse me,” he stands up from his crouched position and dusts himself, “i’m going to take a walk, alone.”

he wanders through a dark forest and grassy fields, until he finds himself standing on top of a cliff, the moon glowing brightly above. he peers up at the twinkling stars in the sky and imagines you beside him, watching the breathtaking view together. humming an unfamiliar tune to himself, scaramouche muses over the past and replays your confession over and over again. if he could, he would respond differently than he did before.

‘i love you.’ those three letter words echo in his ears like a melody and he allows himself to smile.

“i love you too, [name].”

XIAO.

he automatically perks up an eyebrow in confusion. what? is it just him or did you seriously admitted you love him? xiao stammers for a brief second, no words spilling out from his partially open mouth. what is he supposed to say? “thank you?” “i love you too?”

when he pulls himself together, xiao shakes his head and frowns. his answer is clear and simple: no. you mortals don’t understand just how dangerous it is to get close with someone like him - a yaksha. drowning in the brink of debt and despair, he doesn’t need you to suffer all the same. the dejected expression on your face pains him to a considerable degree, yet he convinces himself, this is for your own good.

since then, he avoids you like the plague in hopes that your feelings for him will disperse into flames. you deserve someone better, someone who won’t place you in harm’s way, someone unlike him. out of kindness, you still visit him from time to time while you go and do your daily commissions, but your interaction is heavily tense and an air of discomfort seeps through your gaze. why does his chest hurt as if he was impaled with a knife and so much more when you look at him like that? the thought of breaking down and revealing the truth that he’s also in love with you tempts him eagerly, but his pride and anxiety tides over his desires.

you, on the other hand, is aware that xiao harbors feelings for you. you discovered this secret of his when you climbed the stairs to the spot on the balcony where he was to surprise him with a greeting, but your ears captured a faint voice in the night breeze and you couldn’t stop yourself from eavesdropping on the little conversation xiao was having with himself. he muttered about “rex lapis”, the fate of liyue, and etc. you were about to leave him to his own devices, but the next words he said stopped you in your tracks.

“will [name] accept me if i say i love them? probably not, i suppose.” you left before he could spare a glance in your direction and a smile graced your features as you happily walked away. and being the persistent individual that you are, you inquire verr on why he’s acting so cold towards you, desperate to seek the answer you need. “xiao is, as you’re well aware, a yaksha who’s experienced hardships throughout his life, and probably lost loved ones along the way. i’m sure,” she turns to look at the setting sun in melancholy, “he doesn’t want to hurt anyone important to him again.”

you plan ahead of time for the best way to approach him without giving him any chance to escape. unfortunately, this is the only thing you can think of as you place a hand on either side of his head, trapping him between you and the wall. xiao looks at you curiously, devoid of amusement. he crosses his arms and frowns.

“what are you doing?” your hands twitch and you chew on your bottom lip nervously before you explain yourself.

“i heard from verr why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, that you don’t want to hurt anyone important to you, but...” you trail off to blink back the tears threatening to burst.

“it hurts, when you ignore me like this.” your voice is quiet enough that he needs to step closer to hear you. “it hurts how selfless you are. can’t you be selfish just once? i meant what i said and i’ll say it again. i love you.”

xiao stammers, at a loss for words, before he starts sniffling and buries himself in your arms, crying out apologies as you stroke the back of his hair and gives a closed-eye smile. “it’s okay, xiao. i’m sorry too, for not realizing how much you’ve been suffering by yourself. you don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore,” you say, looking into his tear-filled eyes, “i will always be here with you, no matter what path you choose to take.”

“even if that path may eventually hurt you?” he whispers in a cracked voice, fingers curling around your sleeves. you nod.

“it’s worth the pain as long as i can hold you in my arms, like this.” he chokes out a bitter chuckle and wipes away the glistening tears.

“i love you too, [name].”

CHILDE.

the harbinger blinks his cerulean eyes once, then twice, and... you find yourself pulled into his arms, as his lips uplift into a jovial smile. “really? you love me? [name], i had no idea you held such deep admiration for me.” you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle as you wrap your own arms around his body, fondly reciprocating his affection.

he’s the fastest to accept your confession than the other two men. you’d bet he would scamper to where he’s staying at to tell every grain of detail to his adoring relatives.

he writes letters to his siblings about your daily dates and the progress you two are making in your relationship. they tease him for the most part, but they’re happy that he’s found the love of his life and requests that he bring you along with him on his next visit. childe smiles in relief, content that they accept you already despite never meeting you and he asks you if you’d like to come with him to his home country where you can introduce yourself to his family. without hesitation, you agree instantly, eager to meet the siblings he gushes about.

snezhnaya is colder than you thought, as you hug yourself to preserve your warmth, even with the layers of clothing wrapped around you. “we’re almost there, [name].” childe notices your trembling and rubs his gloved hands against your back. “sorry, it’s a bit chilly here, but please bear with me.”

you nod and continue on. when a building enters your field of sight, childe stops and grins shyly at you. “this is the place.” breath materializes in front of you as he gestures for you to head on in. almost immediately are you greeted with a little embrace as a young boy wraps his fingers around your waist and grins up at you.

“so you’re the one who big brother said he’s in love with? have you kissed before? when is your wedding?” the child bombards you with questions excitedly and a girl has to pull him away from you, tonia, you guess.

“teucer,” childe scolds gently, a light blush colouring his cheeks, which does not go unnoticed in his siblings’ eyes, unfortunately for him.

a wedding, huh? seeing the sparkle in your eyes, the laughter in your voice, and the warmth of your touch as you idly chat with his siblings makes him hope, that maybe in the distant future, he’ll brave himself to take the next step to further deepen your relationship, for he wants to be with you always.

as he tucks away the last sleeping child, childe wanders in to your shared bedroom, surprised you’re still awake. “you really love them a lot, huh childe?” he nods seriously, as you pull him to lie down comfortably into bed.

“but do you know something else?” his breath tickles your ear as he intertwines his fingers with yours, offering a meek smile. you shake your head and nuzzle closer to him.

“i love you too, [name].”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader

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anaveragebibliophile · 3 years

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All For Him

Young!Legolas x Thranduil x Wife!Reader

Summary: Lord Elrond comes to Mirkwood to ask a favor of his oldest friend, Thranduil. However, the stoic, unyielding king isn’t as willing to follow through on the request because of the danger it will put his family in.

Honestly, when you stumbled into your husband’s study that morning, you didn’t expect to feel so puzzled and flabbergasted. You didn’t anticipate Thran’s summons to be anything more than a request for information about Legolas (which you were happy to provide), a question regarding supper, or an idea for date night. So the last person you expected to see was Lord Elrond, the ruler of Rivendell, arguing with his trusted confidant and friend of many eons near the balcony.

“Thran, what’s going on? Is everything alright?” you queried as you stepped into the room, incisors biting into your lower lip.

“Queen (y/n), what a pleasant surprise,” Lord Elrond replied, consequently ending the argument, as he walked over to take your wrist and place a chaste, respectful kiss on the back of your hand. “My sincerest apologies for not seeking you out sooner.”

“That’s quite alright, Elrond. You know that. I too wish I had known you were here earlier, but I unfortunately got sidelined. We took a short walk in the gardens this morning, all three of us, when Legolas ended up tripping on a very small rock. Thranduil and I tried to utilize the open--and what we thought was a safe--space as a way for him to grow more comfortable walking without our help. That strategy worked well for us. Until today. None of us had seen the ant-sized pebble roll over his tiny heel, making him lose his balance and unknowingly place his hand on a grounded bee’s stinger to stabilize himself.”

“My goodness! How is he doing?”

“As well as can be expected. As he got himself up, he whimpered a little bit which isn’t normally like him. Even if he takes a tumble, he’ll usually still maintain his normal demeanor--sweet, timid, and smiley. But once we saw his palm start to swell up, we knew something was wrong. Thran rushed him to the healer, who was more than willing to keep an eye on him. Ever since then, he’s been given herbs to reduce the swelling and irritation at the site of the wound as well as water to keep him hydrated. Thank you for asking.”

Once you finished sharing that traumatizing experience, you looked over to your husband, whose face was devoid of color. Out of the two of you, he had been the most panicked over Legolas’ well-being. ‘Is he breathing?’ he’d asked. ‘What if he has a reaction to the toxins?’ he’d wondered. ‘What if we didn’t get him to the healer’s quarters in time?’ he’d said, voice cracking under all the emotions. Unfortunately, the man is an aggressive worrier who feels the most stress when he’s involved in a situation that’s completely out of his control. His son inadvertently getting stung by a bee? Yeah, definitely an event that drove your husband up a wall.

“He’s doing fine, Thran. He and I cuddled in his rocking chair for about twenty minutes before he fell asleep. Before that though, he did want me to tell you that he loves you,” I said, trying to soothe him as best as I could given the circumstances.

Even though Legolas is still quite young and not fluent in Sindarin yet, he does have a few sentences that he likes to use every now and again. His favorite though is ‘gi melin’, the Sindarian version of ‘I love you’. Anytime he’s reunited with you or Thran, he’ll smile so wide (with his one tooth showing itself off) and almost shout the words out (as if you won’t hear him clearly without that extra pizzaz). Both you and your husband agree that it’s probably the sweetest thing your little leaf has ever done (and Legolas is the epitome of sweet).

“I love him too. More than life. Which is why I cannot allow Sauron’s ring and its company to enter Mirkwood. I am sorry, Elrond, but my answer is final. You will not be able to change my mind on the subject,” your husband said.

“Sauron’s ring? So young Frodo is alive then, is he not? I heard about your daughter saving him from the hands of the Nazgûl but wasn’t sure of its veracity,” you mentioned.

“Yes. He is recovered and wishes to continue on the quest to destroy the ring at Mount Doom. However, we are trying to avoid the company’s traveling in the open at night and are looking for places for them to seek refuge. I am trying to convince Thranduil to offer his kingdom, but it seems that that has been more difficult than I originally presumed. He fears for your safety and Legolas’ too much.”

Speaking of Legolas, a soft knock on the door soon presented you with the little leaf in the arms of his nanny, Elva.

“Legolas, darling, what are you doing up so early?” I asked, my lips perking up into a small grin.

“Ada, Nana!” he blubbered, pointing to us. “Gi melin, gi melin, gi melin.”

“I apologize, Your Majesties. As you can see, the prince woke up a bit early from his nap. All of the maids attempted to keep him occupied in his chambers, but it was no use. He only wanted to see his nostairi (parents),” Elva explained.

“That is quite alright, Elva. I have not seen enough of him today. Thank you for bringing him to us,” your husband responded, moving over as Legolas reached out for him, and, once in his arms, began snuggling into his chest. “Hello, iôn nîn. I hope you slept well.”

“How’s his hand, Thran?”

Your husband took your question as an opportunity to lightly pull Legolas’ right arm out from where it was hiding in front of his stomach. “It is still a tad swollen but not too severe.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear.”

“Nana, gi melin,” your son whispered behind your husband’s robes.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you responded, lightly running your fingers through his hair and down his back.

Watching the interaction ensue, Thranduil softly smiled down at the two loves of his life. The first one--his wife--who taught him the beauty behind exuding kindness, positivity, and light. The one who guided him back to the meaning of life. And the second one--his son--who embodies all the genuine goodness that his wife bestowed upon him in their early years together. He’ll never know how he got so lucky, but that unknown answer will never prevent him from being grateful.

“Ada, gi melin,” your son quietly hummed as he lifted himself up to kiss Thran’s cheek.

“Iôn nîn, gi melin as well. Very much.”

But then the unthinkable happened. Your little leaf turned his body away from Thranduil to look at Elrond. “Gi melin!” he shouted, a smile creeping up his face (with his lone tooth on display).

“Well, I cannot say I am not shocked,” the lord responded, just as confounded as the rest of the group. Although Legolas was a very empathetic elfling, the reality was that he only shared that sentence with two people: his parents. So his sharing that sentiment with another-- a person he doesn’t spend every day with, let alone see once a month--was very odd, yet exciting in its own way. In your mind, maybe this was a sign that he was feeling more comfortable around his parents’ trusted friends. Maybe he saw the camaraderie in the room and felt soothed by it. Maybe he was no longer experiencing such debilitating episodes of timidity.

“It appears he has taken a strong liking to you, Elrond,” you responded. “And now that you know the depth of his affections, are you truly going to permit an evil, dark presence permeating Mirkwood’s halls?”

He pondered that question in no time at all before saying, “No. I will not be the one to put this child at risk. Perhaps Frodo and his company can stay a few extra days at Rivendell. It really is not a problem.”

At that declaration, you and Thranduil humbly nodded (hiding your smiles as best you could because this was a serious matter after all). “Thank you, my friend. Your concern for our son is much appreciated and will never be forgotten.”

“I know you would have done the same for me had I been in your shoes. Legolas deserves to be safe and comforted in his own kingdom without his parents having to worry about whether the ring will wreak havoc and harm him in the process. Besides, I want to return to Mirkwood in a few months’ time and still be on his list of love.” And everyone, including Legolas, giggled at that.

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atundratoadstool · 3 years

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Hi!!! I'm doing sketches of the Dracula characters and I'm wondering what your opinions on Quincey's race would be? In chapter 5, Lucy compares herself and Quincey to Desdemona and Othello (who was a Moors, Middle eastern or black) and I was wondering if that means Quincey is maybe multi/biracial? But the book never mentions his skin color?

Okay. I’m going to give a bit of a complex answer here. (cw for discussion of racism and mention of lynching)

So talking about Stoker and race is a bit of a dicey question, and I’m going to open by saying that the man was an appalling and vile racist (even for his time period) and that many of his non-Dracula works go out of their way to emphasize the inhumanity of Black and Indigenous people. I feel that--much like Lovecraft--it is absolutely every fan and adaptor’s right to ignore what Stoker’s actual intentions for characters’ racial backgrounds might have been and to work with his narrative in ways they find compelling. With Quincey, I should note that there are lines in Stoker’s working notes that might connect him to the term “necktie party,” which might be in keeping with his reprehensible pro-lynching sentiments in works like Mystery of the Sea or Lair of the White Worm. As such, I think it is possible to portray Quincey as incredibly white and possibly of a violent white-supremacist stripe if an adaptor wishes to compose a work that is critical of the protagonists. I think it's also possible to ignore whatever Stoker's ideas about the character might have been and to craft the sort of Quincey that they wish to see.

I will also say, however, that Stoker was also frequently interested in mixed race heroes, and he often juxtaposes them with the characters he racially vilifies and with characters defined by their overwhelming whiteness. There seems to be an idea that pervades Stoker’s works that overly “pure” white lineage produces weak-willed, sickly, or monstrous human beings (Esse Elstree, Lilla Watford, Arbella Marsh) and that characters of mixed descent (Mimi Watford, Don Bernadino) possess a personal strength and fierce sense of determination that gives them an edge over both their white and non-white counterparts. I think one can also argue that Stoker does this same sort of positioning with characters who are never explicitly mentioned as non-white. Grizzly Dick, the unfortunately named forerunner to Quincey from The Shoulder of Shasta, is also described as being in some way analogous to Othello, and he is very clearly meant to be understood as a wholesomely rugged American alternative to both the novel's sickly white female lead and Stoker's racist caricatures of American natives. I'm hesitant to say that characters like Dick and Quincey should definitively be understood as mixed race, but they definitely occupy a narrative space that is shared by Stoker's mixed race characters. As such, if one actually is invested in keeping with Stoker's ideas for the character, I think it is completely possible to read Quincey as mixed and as somebody that would register as visibly non-white to modern audiences. The Lair of the White Worm's Mimi, who is the most explicitly mixed race heroine in Stoker's oeuvre, is half Burmese and is described as "as dark as the darkest of her mother’s race" (and given Mimi's frankly undeniable status as Mina 2.0, that I feel she provides grounds for reading Mina as of being of mixed descent as well).

Basically, though, the TL;DR is that Stoker was horrible about race and you should feel free to ignore his intentions and interpret Quincey as you see fit, BUT if looking to Stoker's intentions appeals to you, there is ample room to read Quincey as non-white.

#bram stoker #dracula #the mystery of the sea #the shoulder of shasta #the lair of the white worm #quincey p. morris #racism #Anonymous

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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soft deception. [diluc x reader]

pairing: diluc x f!reader prompt: you love your boyfriend, you really do. he’s just so, so trusting in you that you can’t help but to trick him every now and then. (alternatively: you give diluc the world’s ugliest onesie as a christmas present and now that it’s all over, you want to go back in time and punch yourself in the face for unleashing this curse within your household.) word count: ~2.5k warnings/genres: humor, fluff, sfw but like... adult jokes at some points a/n: purely self indulgent, nobody requested this, tried out a bit of a different writing style. i wrote this to try to cheer myself up, so hopefully it makes you all happy! no beta reader though (but i never have one anyways)

You had a tendency to think of yourself as the funniest person in Teyvat at times.

Especially when you had Mondstadt’s most gullible eligible bachelor wrapped around your finger, desiring to cater to your every whim. Sure, the two of you were like two young teenagers in love despite being much older, to the point where it was a mental workout to restrain yourself from leaving purple and blue marks all along his neck, desiring to hear praises stutter on his lips as you show the man the love he has lacked over the years. It didn’t help that he also had those cherry-colored eyes that pierced into you, the only eyes to ever truly see you for you. In your humble opinion, the best part about Diluc Ragnvindr is neither his wisdom nor his love, but his ass.

Unsure if Barbatos is actually able to listen into your thoughts or not due to Venti’s uncanny capability to make jokes about thoughts you know you have never uttered aloud whenever Diluc turns his back to the two of you at the bar, you quickly rectify your thoughts and mumble an apology to the potentially omniscient alcoholic bard.

The best part about Diluc Ragnvindr lies within his ass... umptions. His assumptions, specifically about the inherent truthfulness he believed to be in your statements. Your boyfriend, as much as you loved him, is an extremely gullible man. Such a fact is even written on the ceilings of every room, but it never hurts to double-check. If you are Teyvat’s jester, then Diluc is Teyvat’s fool, but he is a fool in love.

The calculated, reserved man only lets himself be duped by you. No matter how many times you trick him, he’ll listen to your exaggerated claims and boisterous words with widened eyes, immediately trusting your words as he trusts you wholeheartedly.

You thrive in such an environment, manipulating Diluc to your liking. Not in a bad way of course, as the thought of hurting even a single hair on his head makes your stomach churn and nausea arise. Rather, you find amusement in tricking him with subtle sleights of the hand and little white lies, before revealing your cards at the end of every show and reveling in his flustered nature. You long not to hurt Diluc, but you relish in the way his milky skin turns to a rosy pink upon realizing your deception.

In simpler terms, you love to prank your red-haired, stoic boyfriend in order to see the shy smile and bashful eyes that accompany his revelations of your actions.

Being the funniest, sexiest woman in Teyvat with the most attractive, most trusting boyfriend in all of Mondstadt leads to raucous laughter on your behalf and flushed cheeks on your boyfriend’s behalf during many nights within your shared home. With Diluc’s confidence in you, you are unstoppable.

Such arrogance had a tendency to bite you in the ass.

Especially now. Right now. You’ve never regretted duping Diluc more than you do at this moment. For Christmas, you had given him two presents, his actual present and one designed to be a joke. Diluc, bless his heart, had not interpreted such a present to be no more than a simple gag and had politely smiled at you as he held the gift up, inspecting it with poorly disguised distaste in his eyes. The gift in question was a pajama onesie you had found within the clearance section of some decaying Mondstadt boutique, but these weren’t just any pajamas. It was the ugliest piece of clothing you had ever seen.

The offending onesie glints in the light of the fireplace that illuminates Diluc’s face and your poor excuse at a poker face as he analyzes his gift. It is decorated with a variety of misshapen owls, feathers formed by multicolored, poorly sewn sequins. Each owl has two octagonal, almost glowing, gaudy amber-colored rhinestones for eyes, yet each rhinestone is a slightly different shade from the others, as if they had been left out in the sun, forgotten about. A santa hat is perched on the heads of each owl and a candy cane is loosely held in at least one wing of each owl. The onesie even has built-in feet, with owl-shaped grips on the bottom that barely cling on for life in a failed attempt to provide the user traction. Diluc quickly attaches to such a concept and tries to use it as an out.

“It’s… lovely,” He finally manages, doing his best to keep his voice even as he smiles at you. You can see the pain in his eyes. “But I do not believe the feet will fit me.”

You widen your eyes in sadness and bat your eyelashes at him innocently, as if such a sentiment truly wounded you. “Can you hire a tailor to fix them? I spent a lot of time picking out this gift and I think it’s perfect.”

Diluc’s smile breaks and horror creeps into his eyes upon realizing there’s no way out of the predicament he’s currently in. As he breaks his intense ogling of the onesie to look at you, his faux smile is plastered once again on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes and it wavers, but you simply give him a cheery grin in response.

“Of course, dear,” Diluc responds, albeit a bit despondently. Your heart twists a bit and- no, no. Guilt is not allowed in the heart of a true comedian. “Anything for you.” His eyes are empty as his smile slowly drops into a thin line. Your expression of glee is a sharp contrast.

“Yay!” You giggle and clap your hands together once as you pop up from your seated position. Diluc’s woeful expression alleviates upon seeing your seemingly genuine reaction and he manages a small smile once more, this one a bit more genuine. “C’mon! Let’s try it on!”

After wearing it the rest of Christmas night, Diluc not only wears it past the reasonable date to keep wearing Christmas merchandise after Christmas is over, but he wears it multiple times per week. You know he’s only doing it to see your fit of giggles every time he does so and that Diluc wants nothing more than to see you happy, but you’re beginning to hate yourself for such a gift.

The inklings of self-hatred explode into full self-loathing when Diluc reveals he found an identical onesie while shopping and that he purchased it in order to be able to wear around the house more often. You have to hold yourself back from narrowing your eyes at him as he holds up the offending, nearly identical onesie, albeit in a different color. Unlike you, Diluc isn’t a bully. There’s absolutely no way he’s joking right now. Maybe. You aren’t sure.

The end of January rolls around and you’re ready to wrestle Diluc for his Pyro vision and burn these damn onesies yourself. Every time Diluc joins you in bed, ready to clock in for the night, he’s wearing the archonsforsaken Christmas outfit despite Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching. If you wear a cute outfit and lie on the bed, hoping for Diluc’s attention? You’ll certainly get it, but there’s more than just his eyes watching you. There are the artificial eyes of the owls watching the two of you, their beady little rhinestones judging you for your premarital sins. Whenever you reach out to stroke his arm or thigh reassuringly, you’re met with the feeling of cheap flannel and pilled fabrics.

Unfortunately for Diluc, Kaeya is your hero in this situation as he arrives to Dawn Winery unannounced and interrupts you and Diluc reading in bed together. The cavalry captain hadn’t even bothered to knock, swinging the door open with zero fear of what he might have found inside. But, upon seeing the two of you, Kaeya freezes.

“What the hell is that?” Kaeya nearly screeches in horror, pointing at Diluc.

“I’m sure you know what Diluc looks like, Kaeya,” You respond in an annoyed tone. You loved Adelinde, but why had she let Kaeya up to your and Diluc’s chambers without any warning is beyond your comprehension. “You only have one eyepatch, not two.”

Diluc does a poor job at stifling a chuckle next to you, his book now resting on the nightstand next to him due to the intrusion. He wordlessly sneaks an arm around your waist and you lean into his chest instinctively, trying your best to ignore the scratch of the sequins against your cheek.

“No, not that,” Kaeya says, unperturbed at your slight against him. “That! That thing he’s wearing! It’s awful!” His finger shakes in the air before the blue-haired man doubles over in laughter. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, holy shit.”

You look up at Diluc, who is flushed a deep crimson in embarrassment and whose brows are furrowed.

“I must admit,” Diluc clears his throat, voice diffident. “It has grown on me.”

Your heart melts at his confession and you scoot up a bit in his grasp, causing him to look at you in confusion before you press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. Adoration swims in his irises as he looks at you and softly smiles, forgetting about Kaeya’s presence despite his brother’s noisy, ceaseless laughter. Sure, the onesie might be a joke that you want to throw into a fire and pray that it burns in the pits of hell for eternity, but Diluc’s defense of your present in the face of Kaeya’s mockery warms even your cold prankster heart.

“Diluc,” You whisper lowly, not wanting Kaeya to hear. It was unlikely he would anyways, as every time he looked up at the two of you in the bed in front of him, Kaeya would burst out into peals of laughter once more. “Where’s the other onesie?”

Diluc looks at you, confused. “It’s in the laundry room. It should be dry now.” Before Diluc can ask you why you need to know such information, you’re breaking free of his grip, stumbling out of the bed, shoving past Kaeya and nearly sprinting out of the room in a hurry. Kaeya and Diluc both watch you leave, equally bewildered.

“Why are you here?” You hear Diluc ask his brother as you flee the room, but you don’t stick around for the rest of their conversation. They can be emotionally constipated together, you have more important things to do. Seizing the freshly-cleaned onesie, you shut the laundry door and shimmy it over your current pajamas, one of Diluc’s old shirts and a pair of old shorts. You have to hop around a bit to get the fabric to settle in just the right places and, dear Barbatos, this thing is uncomfortable.

Diluc must really love you to put up with this outfit every night. Before you can melt into a puddle of goo at the thought of your essentially perfect boyfriend who would do nearly anything for you, you storm out of the laundry room and back into the bedroom, climbing back into bed with Diluc wordlessly, settling your legs underneath the covers and guiding Diluc’s arm back to its rightful place around your waist.

You press another kiss to Diluc’s cheek as he stares at you with an unreadable expression. Despite having recovered from his earlier flustered state, his cheeks quickly return to the shade of red you adore so much. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t stick on this onesie just to shamelessly ogle your boyfriend and kiss him senseless. No, you wore it to spite the man in front of the two of you, whose expression is now morphed into one of horror.

“There’s two of them?! One was already a crime against humanity, but two?!” Kaeya is aghast at such a concept. Diluc’s gaze breaks off you and he tightens his grip around your waist as he glowers at his brother.

“We have a third one if you wish to continue intruding in our home,” Diluc proposes, his voice having a slight edge to it. Kaeya holds his hands up later.

“Alright. I’ll see you later then. Bye, (Y/N)~!” Kaeya quickly ejects himself from the conversation, not even bothering to spare his brother a goodbye in his hurry to leave before a onesie can be thrust upon you.

“You look adorable,” Diluc confesses before pressing a kiss to your forehead. This time, it’s your turn to fluster and you look away, startled by his forwardness. “I always like seeing you in my clothes.”

“Oh… thank you,” You murmur sheepishly, but Diluc grabs your chin and lightly guides your face to look at him. A shiteating grin breaks out across his face.

“I appreciate your support, darling, but isn’t it time we stop this ruse?” Diluc questions and your eyes widen in surprise. “Unfortunately, my brother is correct. These outfits are quite… awful.”

“I like them!” You interject, unsure as to why you’re defending the outfits you had just been wishing for the destruction of.

“Is that so?” Diluc challenges, eyebrows raised as you nod your head furiously. A soft chuckle escapes his lips. “(Y/N), I know I might be dumb at times, especially when it comes to you, but surely you can’t think I’m dumb enough to believe this lie.”

You narrow your eyes at him and fold your arms in contempt. “There is no way you’ve called my bluff this early. Kaeya told you I was fucking with you, didn’t he?”

Diluc’s smug attitude is replaced with that of a scolded puppy, unable to look you in the eyes. “... Yes.”

You can’t help but press yet another kiss to his face, this time gracing his jaw as you pepper light kisses down his neck. “You’re correct. I absolutely loathe these ugly clothes. It’s not even Christmas anymore. But I’d be damned if I was going to let that gremlin insult something of yours.”

Diluc laughs genuinely and he brings your face close to his, pressing your lips together in a sweet, chaste kiss, before pulling away far too soon for your liking.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I should probably change now that the joke is over,” Diluc explains. You raise your eyebrows at him and he lets out a sigh. “The fabric is itchy.” Your boyfriend clambers out of bed and you unabashedly watch him change into a more comfortable outfit, admiring the way his lithe muscles move as he puts on a new shirt. Diluc turns around and looks at you expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to change too?” He asks as he climbs back under the covers with you, but you softly smile and shake your head in response.

“No,” You coo. “I think it’ll stay on for tonight.” You wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his shoulder exaggeratedly.

Diluc groans at your words and you realize he shares the same hatred of the onesies that you do. But, as Diluc’s chief prankster, you’re determined to get the last laugh, even if the dumb fabric scratches against you all night.

#not sure how i feel about this one tbh! it's certainly a different style of writing i feel #but reader in this is extremely similar to my own personality (for once)#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc scenarios #*writing #*diluc #*fic

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wickwrites · 3 years

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Wonder Egg Priority Episode 4: Boys’ and Girls’ Suicides Do Mean Different Things (But Not in the Way the Mannequins Want You to Think!)

So, let’s talk about this for a second. After I got over my initial knee-jerk reaction, I realized I wasn’t sure how to make sense of exactly what the mannequins were arguing for here. So let me rephrase their statements to make the argumentative structure more explicit: Because men are goal-oriented and women are not, because women are emotion-oriented and men are not, and because women are impulsive and easily influenced by others’ voices and men are not, boys’ and girls’ suicides mean different things – girls are more easily “tempted” by death, and therefore, more likely to require saving when they inevitably regret their suicide. While Wonder Egg Priority, so far, seems to agree with the vague version of the mannequins’ conclusion, namely that boys’ and girl’s suicides mean different things, it refutes the gender-essentialist logic through which that conclusion was derived.

The mannequins choose a decidedly gender essentialist approach in explaining the difference between girls’ and boy’s suicides; they argue that the suicides are different because of some immutable characteristic of their mental hard wiring (in this case, impulsivity, emotionality, and influenceability). Obviously, this is a load of bull, and Wonder Egg Priority knows it. The mannequins are not exactly characters we’re supposed to trust, seeing that they’re running a business that is literally based on letting these kids put themselves in mortal danger. As faceless adult men, they parrot and possibly represent the systems that force these girls to continue to be subjected to physical and emotional trauma (it’s probably more complicated than this, but four episodes in, it’s hard to say more). So, we’re probably supposed to take what they say with great skepticism. Also, the director, Shin Wakabayashi, has recently said that in response to these lines, Neiru was originally going to object, “When it comes to their brains, boys and girls are also the same,” (which unfortunately is not exactly true and is somewhat of an oversimplification, but the sentiment is there). While that line ultimately did not make it in, Neiru does reply with a confused and somewhat indignant, “What?!”, a reaction that gets the message across. Neiru is not a fan of gender essentialism, and as a (more) sympathetic character, we’re supposed to agree with her.

That is, the differences between boys and girls is not something inherent to their biology or character, but something constructed by culture and experience. This rejection of gender-essentialism is apparent in Wonder Egg Priority’s narrative, which takes a more sociocultural perspective on the difference between boys’ and girls’ suicides. It says, well of course boys’ and and girl’s suicides don’t mean the same thing, that’s the whole reason why we’re delving into the experiences specific to being a girl (cis or trans) or AFAB in this world – to show you how girls’ suicides are influenced by systems of oppression perpetuated by those in power (ie. the adult, in this specific anime).

And all the suicides we’ve seen up until now tie into that somehow. For instance, Koito is bullied by her female classmates who think that Sawaki is giving her special treatment. This is a narrative that comes up over and over again, in real life as well: that if a young girl is being given attention from an older man, then it’s her fault – that she must want it, or at least enjoy it somehow, and that it signifies a virtue (eg. maturity or beauty) on her part. And if Koito is actually being given such treatment by Sawaki, an adult man in a position of power over her, that is incredibly predatory.

And we all know that child sexual abuse is something that overwhelmingly affects girls, with one out of nine experiencing it before the age of 18, as opposed to one out of 53 boys (Finkelhor et al., 2014). Regardless of whether Sawaki was actually abusing Koito or if the students only thought that he was, Koito’s trauma is ultimately the result of this romanticized “love between a young girl and adult man, but not because the man is predatory, but because the girl has some enviable virtue that makes her desirable” narrative. Similarly, in episode 2, Minami’s suicide is driven by ideas related to discipline and body image in sports, which while not necessarily specific to female and AFAB athletes, is framed in an AFAB-specific way. For instance, take the pressure on Minami to “maintain her figure”. Certainly, male athletes also face a similar pressure, but we know that AFAB and (cis and trans) female bodies are subject to closer scrutiny and criticism. We know that young girls are more likely to suffer from eating disorders. And Wonder Egg Priority situates Minami’s experience as decidedly “about” AFAB experience when her coach accuses her change of figure due to her period as a character failing on her part.

Likewise, episode 3 delves into suicides related to “stan” culture, this fervent dedication to celebrities that is overwhelmingly associated to teenage girls. And Miwa’s story, in episode 4, explicitly shows how society responds to sexual assault. When Miwa does have the courage to speak up about her assault, she’s instantly reprimanded by basically everyone around her. Her father is fired because her abuser was an executive of his company. Her mother asks her why she couldn’t just bear with it, telling her that her abuser chose her because she was cute, as if that’s supposed to make her feel better about it. Wonder Egg Priority shows that this sort of abuse is a systemic problem, a set of rules and norms deeply engrained in a society and upheld by all adults, regardless of gender, social status, or closeness (to the victim). Wonder Egg Priority says that, yes, girls’ and boys’ suicides have different meanings, but it’s not due to some inherent difference between the two, but the hostile environment in which these girls grow up. Girls are not more easily “tempted” by death, they just have more societal bullshit to deal with.

But Wonder Egg Priority goes further than just showcasing how girls’ (and AFAB) experiences are shaped by sociocultural factors. The story also disproves the supposedly dichotomous characteristics that the mannequins use to differentiate girls and boys (i.e. influenceability/independence, impulsivity/deliberation, emotion-orientation/goal-orientation). If the mannequins are indeed correct, and that girls are just influenceable, impulsive, and emotional, you’d expect the girls in the story to be to be like such too. Except, they aren’t. Rather, they’re a mix of both/all characteristics. This show says that, certainly, girls can be suggestible, but they’re also capable of thinking for themselves. For instance, when Momoe asserts her own identity as a girl at the end of episode four, she rejects the words of those around her who insisted that she isn’t a girl. If she were as suggestible as the mannequins believe her to be, that would never have happened – she would have just continued believing that she wasn’t girl “enough”. But, she doesn’t because she is equally capable of making her own judgements. Likewise, Wonder Egg Priority shows that girls can be impulsive, but they can also be deliberate and pre-mediating. When Miwa tricks her Wonder Killer into groping her to create an opening for Momoe to defeat it, she’s not doing it out of impulse – it’s a pre-mediated and deliberate choice unto a goal. And Wonder Egg Priority continues, girls can be equally emotion oriented and goal oriented. Sure, the main girls are fighting because they have the goal of bringing their loved ones back to life, but those goals are motivated by a large range of emotions, from guilt to anger, grief, compassion, and love.

Being emotion-driven doesn’t mean you’re not goal-driven, and vice versa. In fact, in this case, being emotional drives these girls toward their goals. In other words, none of these traits that the mannequins listed are either “girl traits” or “boy traits”. Being one does not mean you can’t be the other, even if they seem dichotomous at first. Wonder Egg Priority’s diverse cast of multi-dimensional female characters allows it to undermine the mannequins’ conceptualization of gendered roles, refuting the idea that these (or any) character traits should be consider gendered at all.

As an underdeveloped side thought, I think Wonder Egg Priority’s blurring of gendered roles is also well-reflected in its style. There’s been a lot of talk about whether Wonder Egg Priority constitutes a magical girl series, and I think that’s an interesting question deserving of its own essay. Certainly, it does follow the basic formula of the magical girl story: a teenage heroine ensemble wielding magical weapons saves the day. But it also throws out a lot of the conventions you’d expect of a magical girl story – both aesthetically and narratively. Aesthetically, it’s probably missing the component that most would consider the thing that makes an anime a magical girl anime: the full body transformation sequence, complete with the sparkles and the costume and all that. Narratively, the girls are also not really magical girl protagonist material – they’ve got a fair share of flaws, have done some pretty awful things (looking at Kawai in particular; I still love you though), and aren’t exactly the endlessly self-sacrificing heroines you’d expect from a typical magical girl story. On the other hand, the anime also borrows a lot from shonen battle anime. We get these dynamic, well choreographed action sequences full of horror and gore, the focus on the importance of camaraderie between allies (or “nakama”, as shonen anime would call it) exemplified through all the bonding between the main girls during their downtime, and in the necessary co-operation to bring down the Wonder Killers. That said, this anime is not a shonen; the characters, types of conflicts, and themes are quite different from those that you’d find in a typical shonen. The bleeding together of the shonen genre and the magical girl genre, at the very least (and I say this because I think it does way more than just that), reflects Wonder Egg Priority’s interest in rebelling against conventional narratives about girlhood and gender.

#wonder egg priority #wonder egg priority analysis #wep #w.writing #my writing #anime analysis #analysis #anime #w.analysis

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deadbiwrites · 4 years

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a video of supergirl grabbing lena luthor's ass starts circulating and it's very embarrassing for sc but extremely funny to their friends

(I am SO sorry. Where do these hide? Why do I never see them? How long has this been here?!

Anyways, have some cute nonsense!)

The day starts like any other, honestly.

Like, sure, Kara’s never thrilled when she wakes up 20 minutes late and has to use superspeed to get through her morning routine and into the office on time, but it happens regularly enough that she’s just sort of used to it by now. Like, the sky is blue, the grass is green, she manages time poorly. Whatever.

But she does get to work on time, with just enough to spare that she can make a brief detour to Nia’s desk for the coffee her protege has already bought for her, thank her profusely (with perhaps minor promising of firstborn children), and slip into the morning meeting just as Snapper, James, and Lena start handing out assignments for the day.

“Well, well, good of you to join us, Ponytail. Let me guess, a family emergency kept you out all night again?”

‘I mean, that Abraxian wasn’t my family, technically, but someone’s family, so…’ “Something like that. Sorry.”

Lena catches her eye and quirks a brow in question, but Kara just shrugs easily and sips her coffee, pulling a silly face at her friend when Snapper’s attention moves away from her. When her eyes uncross, she can tell Lena is fighting not to laugh, eyes sparking with mirth as she bites her lip. Kara takes another sip of coffee, feeling a bit smug that she can get Lena to smile without even having to say anything to her. That’s real talent, right there.

Especially since Lena has to stand up at the front with James, who has been by turns cold, dejected, and surly toward her since their breakup (a big, real, final one) a few weeks prior. Lena had said that the whole thing was a mistake, that she should’ve never gone for it in the first place because she’d been right the first time- they’d had some chemistry, after all, but it certainly wasn’t compatible long-term.

Which… Kara can certainly relate. Like, a lot.

Especially about the whole… James being kind of wounded about it part. That part had really sucked- when he’d done it with Kara, who he’d gone on like, a date with, it’d resulted in him deciding to become a vigilante. Rao only knows what he’ll do when it’s someone he dated on and off for over a year...

“Ponytail!”

Kara jumps, realizing too late that her wandering attention hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes, sir?”

Snapper rolls his eyes. “Great, now that you’ve stopped orbiting Saturn, you wanna go get that article started?”

Kara’s eyes widen slightly in a panic as she realizes that she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Uh…” Behind his back, Lena catches her eye and nods subtly. Thank Rao. “Yes. I super do.”

Lena snorts, James sighs deeply, and the meeting is adjourned.

“So what exactly am I supposed to be doing today?” Kara asks Lena as they stroll out of the conference room together.

“Well unfortunately for you, you have to interview a big-time CEO. You have a meeting scheduled with her in three hours.”

“You?” Kara asks hopefully.

“You’re very sweet,” Lena chuckles. “No, Elena Watts. She’s a real estate developer, and she runs a nonprofit organization for homeless youth. It’s one of the articles we’re doing for next month’s spread. Contrary to popular belief, Cat and I weren’t the only women with high-profile jobs in this city. ”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool! Have you met her?”

“Not personally, no, but I have donated to her charity- it’s a very good cause, especially the outreach they do with queer youth.”

Kara elbows Lena gently. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mmm, maybe. But if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”

Kara clutches a hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Why Miss Luthor, what a blatant abuse of power!”

Lena shrugs. “I’m a Luthor, darling, I have to keep up appearances somehow.”

“Ouch,” Kara laughs. “See you at lunch?”

“Only if lunch includes a milkshake- I have a teleconference with both boards today. Unless you feel like joining me?”

“Wow, well as fun as that sounds, I’m gonna go do literally anything else.” Her comms crackle to life, alerting her of a hostage situation downtown, and Kara sighs. So much for a work day. “Alright, well, I’m, um, gonna go… see what I can find on Elena Watts. Maybe over another cup of coffee at Noonan’s.” She widens her eyes a bit, trying her best to convey that she’s going to be on Super-duty for a little while.

Thankfully, Lena picks up on it and grins. “You just want sticky buns.”

“Lena, I always want sticky buns. They’re like, my second favorite thing to eat.”

“Oh? What’s the first?” Lena asks, voice just a bit lower than usual.

Kara opens her mouth and closes it, flushing slightly as she averts her gaze and adjusts the laptop bag on her shoulder. Stuff like that has been happening more and more, and she’s not 100% sure what to do about it. Because on the one hand, it makes her stomach do flips and tie up in knots and makes her brain do this… staticky thing where nothing filters in or out, just a pleasant buzz of how funny and smart Lena is and how much Kara likes hanging out with her and being flirted with (because that’s definitely what’s been happening, even if neither of them is really ready to address it) and just generally looking at Lena.... who is currently biting her lip and grinning up at Kara, and that buzz makes her kinda dumb, which is just really unhelpful. But on the other hand, it’s also kinda awesome and Kara really enjoys it, and-

“Kara?”

She spaced out again. Crap.

“Um. What time are you free for lunch?”

Lena sighs, seeming slightly disappointed that Kara isn’t flirting back at the moment (and thank Rao Lena can’t read minds), but she smiles back easily enough as they step off of the elevator. “I should be done by two.”

Feeling emboldened, Kara turns so she’s walking backwards in front of Lena and grins. “It’s a date,” she says with a grin, ducking forward to press a quick “friendly” kiss high on Lena’s cheek. She whirls and jogs out the double doors, leaving Lena smiling exasperatedly after her.

It is genuinely baffling to Kara that people still commit crimes in National City. It’s not even an ego thing, really, since Kara tries to keep herself humble (even when she manages to wrap up a hostage situation within twenty seconds of arriving on-scene without injuring any of the criminals or damaging the building too badly). Like, yeah, she gets that there’s a certain element of crazies who just sorta gravitate to places with a local hero, the big-bads who have their own suits and geek-toys and abilities. Them, Kara gets. Kinda sorta. But the regular ones, who are armed with like, pistols? Or knives? Just regular man made stuff without even the benefit of magic or kryptonite or something?

Why?

She’s sure that if she asked, Lena would have some sort of statistical thing about large cities and poverty and all sorts of other factors that would end up making Kara feel like a jerk for being uncharitable to the criminal element of her city, but at the moment she’s mostly too annoyed by the fact that she has to spend her weekdays chasing them around instead of chasing stories.

Once all the hostages are freed and the cops secure the scene, Kara departs, flying into the alley behind Noonan’s and changing into her regular clothes before she heads inside to do a bit of research before her meeting with Elena Watts in a few hours (just because she’d used it as a cover doesn’t mean it was a bad idea…). She finds her favorite little two-person booth tucked into a quiet corner, plugs in her laptop, and gets to work, asking the waitress to please keep both the coffee and the sticky buns coming.

She gets a surprising amount done by the time she needs to leave for the interview, having a good foundation for what she wants to write and who Elena Watts is.

Ms. Watts turns out to be a pretty nice lady around Eliza’s age, if a bit busy and distracted by the steady flow of people in and out of her office. She answers all Kara’s questions with aplomb, happy to elaborate on most every point and eager to draw attention to the rising issue of homelessness among children and teens in the US.

“When I was young, my dad lost his job at the auto plant. It was supposed to be a temporary layoff, but the factory never reopened. We ended up losing the house, and we lived so far from our extended family that staying with them wasn’t much of an option. We lived in our SUV for six months, sleeping at shelters every now and again, if we could find one that allowed families to stay together. We showered at the local YMCA. Five people and a dog, living and sleeping in an old station wagon- even now, it sounds ridiculous. Eventually, we got back on our feet, but I never forgot that. It was just six months, but it was- and remains- the scariest, most uncertain time in my entire life, and it shaped me in a lot of ways I didn’t expect. And there are kids and families who do that for years. I just want to help them the way I wish that someone had been able to help us.”

At the end of the interview, Kara thanks her profusely for her time and for sharing her story before hurrying off to CatCo to type up a draft for Snapper (“What’s wrong with you, Ponytail, why is everything you bring me sappy and sentimental?”), which she finishes an outline of just in time to send it off before running to Big Belly and L-Corp for lunch with Lena.

She greets the newest in a series of secretaries (Anna? Amy? Ava? Lena’s really missing Jess, these days, but from what she’s told Kara, Jess is kicking butt in her new role as VP of Operations and will probably take over for the COO when he retires in a few years), and the girl waves her in distractedly.

And that’s when Kara’s day goes from normal to not, because inside the office are two masked men holding a stone-faced Lena at gunpoint on her balcony and demanding… something, probably. Kara’s a bit distracted by the loaded gun aimed at Lena’s head.

“Hey!” she yells, attracting both their attention. They whirl on her and Lena’s eyes widen in alarm, and Kara suddenly realizes three things- 1) she’s in her Kara Danvers clothes, not the supersuit, 2) she can’t speed into the suit now that they’re both looking at her, and 3) she has no plan.

Crap.

“Who the hell are you?!” one of them demands.

Kara… doesn’t have a good or snappy answer for that, and instead does the only thing she can think of- she throws the large milkshakes she’s carrying at them as hard as she can.

Which, in retrospect, is too hard, apparently because while yes, it is both funny and gratifying to see two grown men get absolutely leveled by a tasty dairy treat to the face, the one closest to Lena manages to elbow her in such a way that she falls backwards over the rail with an instinctual scream that makes Kara’s heart fly into her throat. She whips off her glasses, and by the time she’s out the window and speeding toward Lena’s flailing form, the suit is materialized. She gets under Lena, catching her carefully and dropping a bit further before slowing down (because she’s been made aware that when she doesn’t, the people she’s saving may as well be hitting the pavement), finally coasting to a stop about 20 feet from the ground.

Lena’s face is screwed up in a forced sort of focus, her hands clutching tightly at Kara’s shoulders and cape as she holds her breath.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks quietly.

Lena swallows thickly and nods, eyes still firmly closed. “I’m alright. Thank you- I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of that one.”

“What was that? What did they want?”

Lena cracks an eye open. “Oh. you know, just my quarterly assassination attempt. I think my mother was starting to miss me, so she wanted to reach out.”

Kara snorts. “That really shouldn’t be funny.”

“Maybe not, but here we are.” Lena shifts a bit in Kara’s arms, cheeks a bit flushed from the adrenaline rush, and clears her throat. “Not to be rude, Supergirl, but do you think that perhaps we could continue this conversation… on the ground?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sorry. I forgot we were, uh, flying.”

Lena chuckles as they ascend slowly back up to her office. “You forgot you were flying?”

Kara shrugs with an easy smile. “I guess you have that effect on me.”

Lena huffs a laugh against Kara’s neck, eyes squeezed shut again. They alight on the balcony, finding the two men still unconscious, covered in Kara and Lena’s lunch. Lena sighs as Kara sets her down, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, sorry, I sorta… panicked.”

“I was so looking forward to a milkshake too…” Lena laments playfully.

“Well, then I have good news and bad news,” Kara says. She reaches out and gently wipes a bit of her own chocolate shake from Lena’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, tucking it into her mouth on instinct to get a taste of it. “The good news is, you do, in fact, have some shake on you!”

“Whats the bad news?”

“Also that you have some shake on you.” Kara laughs, gathering the two men in her arms and hefting them a bit so they’re easier to carry. “I’ll get you another one. Be right back.”

She drops the men at the police station with a brief explanation before flying back into the office. Lena hands over her discarded glasses with a wry grin.

“I figured you’d need these before the police arrive.” She’s putting on a brave front, but she’s clearly still more than a bit rattled, if her too-bright eyes and thundering heartbeat are anything to go by. Kara steps closer and opens her arms in invitation, and Lena doesn’t hesitate to step into them. “Thank you,” Lena says fervently, tucking her face into Kara’s shoulder and wrapping her arms tight around Kara’s waist.

“Always,” Kara promises, daring to press a reassuring kiss to Lena’s temple (and getting a bit of Lena’s strawberry shake for her troubles) before wrapping her up even tighter in her arms. “Are you actually okay?”

“I mean, my fear of heights has been reaffirmed,” Lena jokes, “but aside from that, I’m not hurt.”

“Good. I don’t like, love people pointing guns at you. Just so you know.”

“I’m not a fan either, for the record,” Lena drawls, burrowing even closer. “Even though I know you’ll save me, it still puts a damper on my day.”

Kara huffs a laugh. “Same.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Lena’s calmed down enough to stop shaking and calls her assistant (Audra, apparently) in, telling her what’d happened and that the police would be arriving shortly to take her and Kara’s statements, and please advise the security team to let them up discreetly. After the cops arrive, it’s a blur of questions, and Kara has to concentrate on telling the story of how she’d panicked and thrown the milkshakes at the men, and one of them had knocked Lena over the balcony (all true), and Kara had yelled for Supergirl, who had knocked the men out on her way to Lena (also technically mostly true. Technically. Mostly.). The police are sure to tell Kara that next time, she shouldn’t throw things at people with guns, and also to tell them both how lucky they are that Supergirl had shown up when she did.

“She’s always there when I need her,” Lena agrees, throwing a sly wink over the officer’s shoulder at Kara.

Kara just shakes her head and smiles. Even almost dying isn’t enough to make Lena not flirt with her. The woman is truly a marvel.

Kara’s comms crackle again, accompanied by Alex’s custom ringtone on her cell, and after assuring the police that she has no issue with giving another statement if they need her to later, hurries over to the DEO (making a quick stop in the back alley to change into her suit).

When Kara arrives, she’s told that J’onn and Alex are waiting for her in the Directors’ offices. She makes her way there, waving to the agents and scientists she knows. But it’s very weird, because every time one of them sees her, they start giggling before quickly hurrying off in the opposite direction. Like, literally everyone is whispering and pointing and giggling, and it’s giving Kara such visceral flashbacks to high school that it’s all she can do to not check her cape for a taped on sign that says ‘Kick me’ or ‘Freak’.

(Kids are mean.)

By the time Kara gets to her destination, she’s fully paranoid, sure that someone’s playing a prank on her, somehow, and that everyone but her is in on the joke. She opens the door with more force than intended and catches it just before the handle puts a hole in the wall, throwing Alex and J’onn a sheepish smile. She closes the door extra gently and leans against it heavily. J’onn and Alex just stare at her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Busy day, Supergirl?” Alex asks, and after half a lifetime of spending time with her, Kara recognizes that she, too, is trying not to laugh.

Kara’s had enough. “Okay, do I have something on my face? Or on the suit? Is someone messing with me?”

J’onn’s brow furrows. “No.”

“Then what’s the deal? Why is the entire DEO like… laughing at me? Did someone accidentally vent the lab fumes out into the main hub again?”

“No.”

“Did someone see me crash into that billboard last week?”

J’onn’s frown deepens. “What?”

“No,” Alex answers.

“Then why is everyone laughing at me?!”

“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because of that,” Alex muses, nodding toward the big TV on the wall beside Kara.

She steps back to watch the news coverage of her dealing with the hostage situation this morning and frowns. “What, those guys? That was routine, what’s so funny about tha-”

“No, no, not that. That,” Alex clarifies, cranking up the volume.

“...reports are saying that the CEO of L-Corp, Lena Luthor, experienced an attempt on her life early this afternoon. Sources claim that she fell from a considerable height-”

“Hey, she was pushed,” Kara corrects.

“Shh!”

“...caught by Supergirl, who may have gotten a little… familiar with her.”

And there’s a video (clearly recorded on a cell phone but not the worst quality Kara’s ever seen) of Kara catching Lena and slowing to a stop above the sidewalk, of them talking quietly, of Kara’s hand definitely on Lena’s-

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Alex drawls, clicking the TV off with relish, a large, evil-big-sister grin spreading across her face. “Congratulations, Supergirl- the world just watched you grope Lena Luthor’s ass.”

“But I’m not- I wasn’t groping, I was catching! My hands weren’t… If it was groping, I’d be all up on her, and I wasn’t!”

“Camera begs to differ. It’s already trending on Twitter in National CIty.”

Kara puts her head in her hands and groans. “Why?! I was trying to save her!”

“You were definitely trying to save part of her,” Alex agrees. “Granted, it’s a very nice part...”

Kara’s head pops up, and she shoots Alex a look that’s between a pout and a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Alex feigns confusion. “Am I supposed to be helping?”

“Alright, enough,” J’onn cuts in before Kara can retort. “We just wanted you to be aware. I don’t think that this is going to be taken for anything more than it is- a humorous moment in the middle of a successful rescue. You shouldn’t worry about the press.”

And truth be told, Kara isn't worried about the press- she’s worried about the fact that she’s going to have to face Lena after this. Lena, who she knows for a fact has google alerts set for herself, Kara Danvers, and Supergirl, a gesture which is normally actually sweet and kind but is right now definitely gonna bite her in the-

“Okay! So, is that all?”

Alex blinks, looks over at J’onn, and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Try not to make a habit of groping your crush when you’re in the suit.”

“I wasn’t groping her-”

Alex grins. “So you admit you have a crush? Interesting…”

“Alex!”

J’onn’s prediction is mostly right- no one seems to be taking the shots of her grabbi- saving Lena as anything other than a funny blip of a moment in their coverage of it.

He was wrong about the sheer scale. The clip had gone totally viral in a matter of hours, and seemingly every major network in the country has run the clip at least once as a bit of filler-fluff, and almost every major network anchor (including the ones at CatCo, the traitors) has made at least a passing joke about Supergirl being ‘Super-Handsy'.

Which means that Kara is very late getting back to Lena’s office with replacement food. But like, she’s been busy, okay? It’s not like she’s avoiding Lena, or something, because she’s embarrassed- which she isn’t, because she didn’t do anything bad or wrong and-

Anyways, it’s well past sunset by the time Kara gets to Lena’s office door again. She hesitates outside it for just a moment before shouldering the door open and knocking tentatively.

Lena’s attention jerks from whatever she’d been absorbed in to Kara, and a relieved smile blooms across her face. “Hey there.”

Kara finds herself equally relieved to not experience a repeat performance of earlier scary situations. “Hi,” Kara says, unable to resist smiling back. She raises the bags and cup carrier. “I bring grease and milkshakes. Again.”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving,” Lena says, rolling her chair away from her desk and rising into a deep and probably much-needed stretch. Kara very determinedly does not stare at the slight sliver of soft tummy that appears between her blouse and skirt at the motion. “I’ve been staring at this screen for several hours. And Sam called to yell at me- she says hello, by the way- she and Ruby are in town next weekend.”

“Good!” Kara crosses the room to the couch as Lena does, easily spreading out the veritable buffet of fast food she’d brought over the coffee table. “I mean, not good that she yelled at you, or that you’re still at work, Miss Luthor,” she says pointedly, receiving only an unapologetic shrug in response. “But good that, um-”

“I get it,” Lena chuckles, resting a hand lightly on Kara’s knee and boy, if that doesn’t make Kara’s brain go fuzzy and dumb again… “Thank you, for checking in.”

“Of course I was gonna check on you, Lena,” Kara huffs. “Plus, I know you probably didn’t get lunch, so…”

Lena hums around a mouthful of burger, chewing until she can politely speak again. “Well it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” she teases with a sly grin.

“Oh, yeah, totally. Slaved away over a hot stove for this- I just wrapped it in Big Belly wrappers so you wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Very clever.” Lena pops the lid off of her milkshake and drags a fry through it (an advanced culinary delicacy Kara had horrified her with initially but had eventually become a bit of a guilty pleasure). “Although I have to say, traditionally you’d have to buy me dinner before you grabbed my ass.”

Kara chokes on a pickle. “Oh no,” she groans, dropping the burger onto the wrapper on the table and dropping her very red face into her hands as Lena laughs beside her. She peers out from between her fingers. “I am so sorry, I was just worried about you hitting the pavement and like, catching you in the least jarring way and I wasn’t paying attention to where my hands were and I didn’t even notice until I got back to the DEO and-”

“Well I have so say, I feel a bit offended that you didn’t even realize you were copping a feel...” When the only response is another groan and a deep flush spreading from Kara’s neck to the tips of her ears, Lena relents. “Kara, Kara, it’s fine!” she laughs, pulling Kara’s hands away from her face and giving them a grounding squeeze. “Nia’s been sending me memes about it all day, which has improved my mood significantly. On the grand scale of fallout from assassination attempts, this one was at least funny.”

“I know that’s supposed to be comforting, but all it makes me wanna do is wrap you in bubble wrap forever,” Kara informs her.

“Pass on that. But seriously, don’t worry about it- I know it wasn’t on purpose- unfortunately for me, you’re too noble to do something like that,” Lena laments playfully.

And whether it’s the knowledge that Lena is not, in fact, upset, the overall weirdness that has been this day, or this delicious burger fueling it, Kara feels a bit emboldened. “Hey Lena…”

“Yes?”

“What if I wanted to grab your butt? Just, y’know, as a hypothetical. For future reference.”

Lena quirks a brow at her, fighting a smile as she contemplates this. “Hmm. Strictly hypothetically?”

Kara scoots a bit closer on the couch. “Sure.”

“Well, you’ve already bought me dinner…”

“And lunch, technically. Even if I gave it to the bad guys.”

“True. Plus you saved my life, so that gets you some points, probably.”

Kara pauses in her sly scooching. “Oh, hey, wait, no, that’s not-”

“Kidding, Kara. I know you’d never use that to your advantage. I, however, have determined that strong moral fibre and nobility do, in fact, earn you more points, which is my choice on the matter and you get absolutely no say in it.”

“Oh. Um, alright, I think.”

Lena stares off into the middle distance, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully against her chin. Finally she shrugs. “Yes, I think you’re fulfilled the prerequisites for a bit of grab-ass today.”

Kara snorts, Lena laughs, and soon enough Kara takes her up on the offer.

“Hey Kara, remember that time you grabbed Lena’s ass and it made international news?” Nia asks around a mouthful of mushu pork.

“You mean last week? Yes, I remember,” Kara drawls. Beside her/halfway sitting on her lap, Lena snorts.

“That was the best.”

Alex glares. “Um, excuse you, no. No it was not. I had to sift through so much thirsting over my sister on like, every social media platform. It was the worst day of my life.”

Brainy’s brow furrows. “Surely that cannot be correct, Alex. Statistically speaking-”

Alex holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Trauma can’t be measured, Brainy.”

Kelly chuckles and presses a consoling kiss to Alex’s cheek, and it makes the tough agent melt into a doe-eyed puddle of mush that Kara snorts. And she says they’re gross... Kara sneaks a glance at Lena from the corner of her eye, and she catches Lena looking at her. She leans close and jostles her gently as she drops her head onto Lena’ shoulder. “We’re never gonna live that down, are we?”

“Probably not.”

“We have the worst friends.” When this elicits nothing but a chuckle, Kara tips her head back to see Lena still looking at her, a soft smile playing at her mouth and shining in her eyes. And like, this whole thing they’re doing is new, with the kissing and the actual dates and the... everything else. But the thing where Kara catches Lena looking at her and she doesn’t look away? That freakin’ knocks her out, every single time. “Hey,” she manages.

Lena grins down at her. “Hi.”

So yeah. Maybe the initial circumstances weren’t ideal, and she doesn’t love the mockery that’s been heaped upon her by all of her friends and loved ones (including Winn, who’d sent a missive from the future that literally just said ‘LOL’). But the fact is, Kara muses as she surges up just enough to kiss the corner of Lena’s mouth, that she doesn’t regret a thing.

#supercorp #prompts!#asks open #ask response #supergirl fanfic #kara x lena #humor #idiots #international news about idiots #kara danvers #lena luthor #i'm also deeply sorry that this is so long on mobile #i swear there's a read more that's supposed to be there #but alas

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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awarmbowlofhomemadesoup · 3 years

Text

AceAro Miles Edgeworth’s Platonic Crush on Phoenix Wright Headcanons

Platonic crush: the desire to be platonically intimate with someone without romantic or sexual attraction. Intensity like any kind of crushes can vary.

In Childhood:

When they were children, Miles would often talk more about Phoenix than Larry, to the point that Ray Shields began teasing him about having a crush on Phoenix. And Miles would be like, “No?” because last time he checked he wasn’t experiencing that “heart stuff” that he sees in zany cartoons.

When they have to sit and rest somewhere, Miles would read a book with at least his knee touching Phoenix. Or if there was enough space, his back touching Phoenix’s side. No, Larry, it’s not a snuggle, now hush. (Similar to how a cat would lounge at their favorite owner’s side while casually not looking at them).

As much as he enjoyed them as the Signal Samurai trio, his favorite moments were just talking with Phoenix about anything under the sun -in the early hour before class or when they have dropped Larry home and it was just him and Phoenix.

He often looked forward to the quiet instances that Phoenix would hold his hand while they’re walking home alone since Phoenix is more at ease with affection than he was.

Some teenagers hollered at them for it and Phoenix let go, embarrassed, while Miles was wondering why he was embarrassed when they both know it was because they were good friends. So he just stubbornly grabbed his hand again and dragged him away from those immature buffoons.

Miles was neutral when it comes to Valentines Day. But when Phoenix received a box of chocolates from a girl he likes, Miles became more aloof and disinterested. He wondered why there was no celebration for friendship. Idle time was spent on thinking what gift he would give Phoenix if there was a proper day for celebrating best friends. (Larry is also his best friend but he doesn’t have the word that distinguishes his friendship with Larry and friendship with Phoenix.)

Miles was disappointed that he was unable to find the specific term between best friend and deeper best friend. Even his father doesn’t know. Gregory Edgeworth assured him he would find it someday.

Being someone who thinks ahead, Miles knew that someday Phoenix might not prioritize and value their friendship as much as he does once Phoenix would get a girlfriend. Miles tried very hard not to think of the time they would be in middle school.

After Gregory’s death, Miles never received Phoenix’s letters as von Karma wants to isolate him from his original home. Even when Miles appreciate the song request from Phoenix dedicated to him, von Karma made it clear that sentimental relations will distract him from perfection. Plus, Miles thought it was a one time and that Phoenix probably had a girlfriend to dedicate himself to by now.

In Adulthood (Platonic Crush to Queerplatonic Attraction to QP Love):

Early Career. When Miles received college Phoenix’s letters, his first reaction was confusion. Out-of-the-blue this ghost from the past was asking him why he was being called Demon Prosecutor. Second reaction was stonewalling. There was no point delving about how a person used to make him feel.

State vs Fey. After the trial, Miles told himself he developed an intellectual hyperfixation towards Phoenix Wright as he arranged his brand new custom chess set with the “spike-y” pawns. He was half-right. If only he wasn’t so entangled with von Karma’s opinions on “sentimental relations”.

State vs Powers. Miles’ platonic crush resurfaced somewhere after Will Powers’ case and Phoenix asking to defend him.

State vs Edgeworth. He faintly realized at the moment Phoenix had smiled at him in relief once Miles got acquitted, that Phoenix was someone he wanted in his life. If only Miles deserved so.

Miles would never admit he finds a unique sense of enjoyment in working with cases where Phoenix had to defend. He doubted if a lot of people experience intimacy in rivalry.

State vs Skye. Unfortunately, Miles have bigger things to deal with like coming into terms with a mentor that had both raised and twisted him, struggling to find a new norm as eyes watched him, his very story available to the public, then having to face the Skye case that made him question everything he was as a prosecutor.

It all became too much and he wasn’t thinking straight and one of those thoughts was that Phoenix was better off knowing a better person than him.

State vs Engarde. The belief was instilled when Phoenix got mad at him for faking his own death.

After having a talk and Miles realizing that cutting people off abruptly was more of a dick move than he thought, he and Phoenix kept in touch after.

In the space he had given himself in Europe, Miles decided that aside from becoming a better lawyer, he wanted to be the friend Phoenix deserved to have in his life, with the same intimacy they had in childhood that he still couldn’t name.

State vs Iris. Miles was pretty much neutral around Iris. If Phoenix would decide to rekindle his relationship with her (though the deception made him wrinkle his nose no matter how true Iris’ feelings were at that time), he wouldn’t care as long as he and Phoenix would still be in good terms as partners. Even if Phoenix would not put as much special connotations as he would in their partnership. That was all he could ask for after everything.

Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth. Whenever Kay would tease him about “that man”, Miles would just look at her dryly. At this point, he should know not a lot of people would understand.

7-year Disbarment. Phoenix’s disbarment drew them closer together after Miles’ was finally able to contact him when Phoenix shut everyone out. Miles couldn’t do much being in Europe but he does what he could from flying them to Europe so that Phoenix could help him with his cases to caring for Trucy.

Their commitment for each other only grew from raising Trucy together to righting Japanifornia’s legal system.

Miles wished he could kiss Phoenix on the forehead without making it weird. It just felt like Phoenix needed it. Comforting Phoenix with hugs and handholding, at least, was never questioned for romantic interest.

When Phoenix began to study for the bar again, Miles often enjoy Phoenix falling asleep on his shoulder. Unseen, Miles would smile before poking him awake.

He enjoys movie nights with the Wright family where Trucy and Phoenix would snuggle close and dinner/banter with Phoenix every week.

Fantasies of sleep-snuggling with the man he admires and trusts the most and has an intense emotional-intellectual connection? Of course, he does. “So near and yet so far” has never been so painful in that one time they have to share a bed.

After Phoenix got his badge back, Miles was pretty much satisfied. His life was more stable, inner and outer, than it had ever been. Phoenix and Trucy’s life were also stable. Miles now felt more confident and comfortable in their bond and Miles would do what it takes to keep it as a part of his life.

He may have felt a little thrill when they both become comfortable enough for Phoenix to be casually affectionate with his touch -an arm around his shoulder as they laugh about something, a hand on his arm when asking about a case- it felt like back in their more carefree childhood.

State vs Wyatt. Miles was pretty much ruffled with questions about marriage directed at him of all people. But if he has to marry someone, it might as well be someone he knew so well and trusts so much. Miles may have opted out some of his opinions in marriage but he was no longer the person who would lie to himself of who that someone would be.

He wanted... something. He wanted a sort of exclusivity with Phoenix. The idea of Phoenix dating other people made Miles realized he wasn’t the type to share. The revelation itself was frustrating when he was neutral or repulsed of varying degrees when it comes to different romantic and sexual acts.

With a combination of finally having the words to describe what he wanted in Google Search and help with his therapist, the name of what he wanted with Phoenix was a queerplatonic relationship with a compromise on whatever would be Phoenix’s romantic/sexual needs from him. If Phoenix would have him as so. And if Phoenix wouldn’t... well, their friendship had been through a lot of things, this one event wouldn’t change it much.

(This is from my own experiences and wants as someone in the acearo spectrum. I’m not the universal experience for acearo and it can be different for everyone else.)

#ace attorney #narumitsu #wrightworth #miles edgeworth #mitsurugi reiji #why is this so long #sorry i don't have the spoons to commit to writing a fic #I tried my best to organize it without being wholly familiar with the Turnabout Titles #sex-neutral romance-neutral aroace miles edgeworth

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wingsofhcpe · 2 years

Note

“you stayed?” “of course i stayed. why wouldn’t i?”

For our heartrender husbands?

TRAUMA PROMPTS // “you stayed?” “of course i stayed. why wouldn’t i?” [ASKS OPEN]

It is scarcely a month after they’ve officially started dating, that they have their first argument as a couple.

Ivan has been spending the evenings in the company of General Kirigan, assisting him in military tactics and the organisation of field operations. Fedyor is usually asleep by the time he returns to their chambers. Well- Fedyor’s chambers, but they’re sharing for obvious reasons and have not yet requested to move to more spacious living quarters. There’s a single bed in the room, and they are forced to huddle in it together if they want to sleep side by side. Ivan is unused, to say the least, to that amount of physical contact during moments of repose, but he does not object to it. He likes it, even. He likes to watch Fedyor’s chest rise and fall with calm, measured breaths, he likes to gingerly tuck errand strands of dark hair behind his lover’s ear as he sleeps. There’s a certain peace in such moments that he has never felt before. He would be content to sit there forever and watch the man who holds his heart sleep, safe and sound.

Unfortunately, the General disagrees with the sentiment.

“I’m not against my Grisha having the occasional tumble,” he says one night, when the two of them are sitting by the carved map table in the war room, “not as long as it doesn’t influence your work.”

“Have I displeased you in my duties, moi soverenyi?” Ivan asks, jaw and shoulders squared, posture impeccable as ever. Yet his heart twitches with worry- he has not neglected his duties to spend time with Fedyor, not as far as he can tell, but maybe the General has noticed something Ivan himself is blind to.

Kirigan shakes his head a fraction, dismissing the question. “No, of course not. But I must express my worries. You and Fedyor seem to spend every waking moment together… but to sleep in the same room makes it more official, does it not?”

“Yes… I suppose.” Ivan says stiffly, unsure of what the General is trying to say. Kirigan hums thoughtfully, sipping kvas from a crystal glass.

“Your priority is the Second Army. The cause.” He says, and Ivan rushes to nod, afraid to disappoint his General.

“Yes, of course. I would never neglect my duties for Fedyor.”

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. It startles him, the simplicity of it all; the knowledge that if he had to choose between Fedyor and the Second Army, it would be hard to pick the latter without having second thoughts. He might not actively decide against performing his duties as he should, but part of him would always think of Fedyor first.

If the General realises he has been lied to, he refuses to show it. He only inclines his head just so, choosing to show that he trusts into Ivan’s better judgement and sense of duty.

“That is good to hear. But I would like you to spend all but one nights of the week separately.”

He voices it as a request, but Ivan knows it is an order. He flinches inwardly, but his face remains closed off and as impassive as ever when he nods.

“As you wish, moi soverenyi.”

As expected, Fedyor is less enthusiastic when it comes to complying with their new set of orders.

“I don’t understand.” He says, his brow creased in worry first, then outright anger. “What right does he have to ask that of us? So what if we want to spend the night together, huh? We’re just sleeping, after all.”

They’d been hesitant to do… other things when in the secluded company of each other, both because of Ivan’s inexperience, Fedyor’s reservations and the pragmatic fact that Ivan usually returns to their shared living space after Fedyor has already fallen asleep. Ivan tries to ignore the flustered heat that spreads across his face, and looks away.

“It is… improper.” He manages. “I’m second-in-command. I cannot sleep around like…”

He bites his lower lip and doesn’t say it, knowing how bad it’s going to sound. But Fedyor is more than clever enough to piece the words together, and Ivan can feel his heartbeat spiking up in fury.

“A whore? That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” He snaps. “I know you don’t think me the most modest of Grisha inside the walls of the Little Palace, but I thought at least you wouldn’t be critical of that. Guess I was wrong. You’re always critical- oh, unless it comes to the General’s orders, of course. Then your critical thinking skills revert to those of a lump of mouldy cheese!”

He shouts out the last part, much louder than Ivan would have liked, and he cringes despite the knowledge that there’s nobody else inside the room. He’s not sure how to respond to that; tell Fedyor the truth? That the General believes Fedyor is going to leave Ivan eventually and move on to his next plaything? The younger Corporalnik does have quite the reputation of a massive flirt, after all. But he’s told Ivan nobody has made him feel like that before. Was that a lie? Ivan hadn’t detected any hint of deceit in Fedyor’s pulse, but after all, who would want to stay with someone like Ivan for more than a few months, at the very best? He was hardly boyfriend material and he was perfectly aware of that fact- he was grumpy, solitary, he couldn’t always properly express his emotions, he simply did not know how to be a good partner. He had always been by himself in every sense of the world, barring his peculiar and prickly friendship with Zoya Nazyalensky. How could he expect the living ray of sunshine that was Fedyor to chain himself to him? Fedyor would leave him eventually- not because Fedyor himself was a whore or anything close to that, but because Ivan simply wasn’t good enough for someone like him.

He knows he could try to voice out these worries. To articulate the fears and insecurities that have been plaguing him for so long, to apologise to Fedyor for the harshness of his words and to ask him to help him find a solution on how to deal with the General’s demands. He could ask Fedyor to do this together with him. To act as the brave man Fedyor so unflinchingly believes him to be.

Instead, he says the stupidest thing he could have thought of at that moment.

“Maybe the General is right.” He drawls, voice emotionless as Fjerdan ice. “Maybe we’re nothing but distraction to each other.”

He turns his back and heads for the door, but doesn’t make it out before Fedyor’s panicked voice reaches his ears.

“Wha- what’s that supposed to me? Are you- are we-… a-are you breaking up with me?!”

There’s heartbreak in his tone, and Ivan doesn’t know whether it’s his heart or Fedyor’s that he can feel shattering into a million tiny pieces. His shoulders slump, but he forces himself to remain silent as he walks out of the room.

He slams the door behind him and leaves Fedyor to wonder, his silence more of an answer than his words could have ever provided.

Ivan doesn’t see Fedyor for the rest of that day, or the day after. He attempts to talk to the other man, but the door to Fedyor’s room is locked, and he receives no answer when he knocks on it. He’s not even sure Fedyor is inside; he can hear no heartbeat, but Fedyor is an exceptionally skilled Heartrender. He might as well be masking it to make Ivan believe the room is empty. Regardless, the result is the same- Ivan is forced into an undignified retreat, sulking back towards his chambers and feeling as if the world has come to a violent end.

The third day after that particular argument, Ivan is sent to the field near Kribirsk to intercept a group of druskelle that have infiltrated the border. Normally it would be nothing but a chore for someone as strong and experienced as him- but his mind has been preoccupied with gloomy thoughts, with regret and with an inexplicable amount of anxiety ever since he’d argued (broken up? He frankly has no idea) with Fedyor, and he cannot bring himself to focus on anything but the last conversation they had, playing his cruel words over and over in his head and condemning himself to eternal damnation for his heartlessness.

Needless to say, he’s quite… distracted. He’s nowhere near as careful and precise as usual on the battlefield, and as the universe seems to have set out to kill him one way or another, he earns a druskelle dagger to the side for his efforts. Kefta protect you from bullets, but not from blades, apparently. Fabrikators sure seem to have their priorities straight. Why make something that protects you from close-quarter, common weaponry at all?

The wound isn’t nowhere near fatal, but it’s painful enough to startle him and break his concentration, which results in his attacker swiftly gaining the upper hand and grabbing Ivan by the neck, bashing his head against the nearest tree trunk. His world explodes in million bursts of tiny lights, and all sound dulls into a distant echo as darkness closes in.

His last thought before he passes out is something he has never thought he’d ever say or even consider:

‘The General was wrong.’

It isn’t Fedyor presence that distracts him.

It’s the absence of him.

When Ivan wakes up, head throbbing and side aching as if someone has poured gasoline into his wound, is that he’s back home. Or, well- in the infirmary. Still, he’s safe and inside the walls of the Little Palace, which is comforting enough on its own. At least he didn’t die, though he might as well when word of his blunder out there reaches General Kirigan.

For now, though, he’s quite alive, but considering how much everything hurts he’s not entirely certain that’s for the better.

With a frustrated groan, he flutters his eyes open and lets his vision adjust to the dim afternoon light that’s pouring in from the windows. His blurry vision slowly clears, and the first thing he comes face to face with upon fully regaining consciousness, is…

“Oh, thank the Saints.” Fedyor gasps from his perch by Ivan’s bedside, warm brown eyes luminant and lively as molten chocolate as he gazes down at Ivan. He hasn’t been crying, but Ivan finds he knows him well enough by now to figure that he was close. Fedyor is on his knees the following moment, having abandoned his chair and sliding to the floor next to the cot. “How dare you scare me like that, especially after what you pulled the other day!”

Ivan blinks, reconsidering the fact that he might actually be dead and that this may be heaven or hell- to be honest, he’s not exactly sure which is which, not yet. But Fedyor’s hands cradle his own, warm and steady and alive, and Ivan can hear his worried heart kicking against his chest like a panicked horse. For a moment, he wonders whether the past three days had been a nightmare, that they never really argued. But- no, the hurt in Fedyor’s eyes is still there. Their argument had not been a dream. Still, Fedyor doesn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon, which fills Ivan’s cold heart with warmth and happiness and confusion and delight, and emotions that he cannot even begin to find words for. Normally he’s not a man of many words, but suddenly there are so many things he wishes to say; that he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean a lick of what he said the other day, that he’s never, ever leaving Fedyor and the General can go to hell for all he cares, that he has never been in love before but he’s pretty certain this is what it’s supposed to feel like, that he was half a man without Fedyor and that he’d rather die than be without him. That even if Fedyor left him, the time they’d spent together would have been worth it, that Ivan would hold it close to his heart as a man holds a candle while wandering in a dark, endless tunnel.

He wants to say all of this, and so much more. But in the end, all he manages is a hoarse, broken “you stayed…?”.

It’s Fedyor’s turn to blink, momentarily startled as if he, too, cannot believe Ivan’s complete and utterly disappointing lack of eloquence. But a moment later his face breaks into a grin as bright as the sun itself, and he lets out a sound between a chuckle and a sob.

“Of course I stayed. Why wouldn’t I?”

Ivan almost shouts ‘why would you? Why would anyone stay for me?’, but he forces himself to be a little more vocal about it, lest he causes another misunderstanding.

“I thought… After everything I said to you… that you wouldn’t want to.” It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s a start. Fedyor lets out a sigh, his eyes looking down at their joined hands as if contemplating what would be a logical answer.

“You’re an idiot.” He says in the end, and Ivan flinches despite himself. “But you’re my idiot, Ivan Hartvigsen, and I’ll be damned if I ever leave you just because you’re an absolute moron.”

Ivan is, as is often the case every time Fedyor opens his mouth and says something particularly nice to him, rendered speechless for a few seconds.

“You… mean that?” He manages eventually, and Fedyor just laughs to himself.

“Yes, you brute, I mean that.” He murmurs then bends down, bringing their foreheads together. “And I don’t care whether or not you believe me, because it’s true. I’m not leaving you. Nobody will ever make me feel the way you do.”

Not ‘nobody has made me feel that way’. ‘Nobody willmake me feel that way.’ The difference is only slight, and Fedyor might have not even altered the sentence consciously, but to Ivan it means so, somuch more. A promise; that’s what Fedyor’s words are. The promise that he will never love anybody as much as he does Ivan.

He doesn’t realise he’s teared up, not until Fedyor places a warm, gentle hand on his stubbled cheek and wipes a tear away with his thumb.

“Look at you,” he croons, “tearing up on me. And I thought that between the two of us, I was supposed to be the lovesick fool.”

Ivan snorts and looks away, but as hard as he attempts to scowl he cannot hide a small, delicate smile that’s tugging at the corners of his lips. Fedyor laughs again, and leans in for a kiss. He’s slow, hesitant, letting Ivan push him away if he wants to- but Ivan would have liked nothing more than to kiss Fedyor like that for hours, days, for eternity if possible. He kisses back with unexpected eagerness, and Fedyor gasps surprisedly into their lips. The kiss is deep, slow, passionate, and even as his side protests the movement, Ivan sits up and pulls Fedyor close to him until the latter is sitting haphazardly on his lap.

Fedyor draws back after a while, breathless, cheeks flustered and lips bruised from the intensity of their kiss, but he’s glowing like the brightest star in the night sky.

“You should rest.” He says softly, although his hand remains on Ivan’s cheek. “I… I’m going to get back to my room. Before the General descends on both of us like an avenging warrior of old.”

Three days ago, Ivan would have accepted this, would have even praised Fedyor for his adhering to the rules Kirigan had set. But now…

“You don’t have to do what the General says.” He cannot speak ill of the man that gave Ivan the life he has now, of the man that is, after all, responsible for him and Fedyor meeting, but he will not let his beloved walk away, either. “I mean- you can, if you want to. But you can also stay. If you want. Because I want. I want you to stay, that is… why are you laughing now?”

Fedyor has nearly keeled over with laughter, a sound so lively a joyous Ivan thinks his heart might burst out of his chest cavity.

“Yes, Ivan, I would very much like to stay with you, in case you haven’t noticed already.” He manages amidst the laughing fit that’s overcome him, and Ivan finds himself smiling along, so happy he can barely register the thrill of it.

He shifts a little and presses himself against the wall next to the cot, wordlessly inviting Fedyor to lie by his side. It’s exactly what the other Heartrender does, and soon they’re snug in each other’s arms noses touching, as if not a day has passed from the last time they lay like that together in Fedyor’s bed. The cot isn’t nearly as comfortable, but Ivan doesn’t care. He would sleep in a bed of hot coals or of never-melting ice, if it meant he’d be with Fedyor.

And no matter what the General says, he’s certain there’s no changing his mind about how he feels. Ever.

#my writing #sparklingrainbowdragon #fivan #fedyor x ivan #heartrender husbands #fedyor kaminsky #ivan no last name #shadow & bone #thank u for the ask <3 #insecure ivan my beloved

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

Text

hi enjoy this random snippet of a sad ysijwa extra that has to do with Niall coming over to Harry’s place one night when he’s feeling particularly emotional about missing his family

///

They sit in silence for a while on Harry’s elegant couch, listening to his record player churn out songs from an era long lost, the music notes duller than usual. The duo takes turns drinking from the bottle of bourbon, which Niall had fetched from his cabinet before wandering down to Harry’s flat, staring out at the city with all its twinkling lights coming from surrounding buildings and the traffic down below.

Niall speaks first, his voice low and heavy and thick from the alcohol, which is so unlike him since his accent is usually so airy and full of joy. “I miss them, H.”

Harry takes a long swig from the bottle, his mother’s opal ring clacking against the glass. The small stone feels like a metal barbell on his finger, as it always does whenever he gets in such a somber headspace. He extends the glass container towards Niall, his face remaining neutral as he watches a car run a red light, a chorus of angry honking and distant yelling following the risky move.

His voice is just as dense as Niall’s. “I do, too.”

His friend takes the bourbon, setting it on his knee and studying the amber liquid hollowly, watching it swish around along the sides of the bottle. “I miss my sisters.”

Harry exhales slowly, a prickling sensation washing across the backs of his eyes. “I miss mine, too. And my parents.”

His eyes slide over to the liquor in Niall’s possession, an ancient memory surfacing in the murky fog in his mind, clearing its way through the clouds created by the liquid in his system. The burning in his eyes gradually funnels towards his sinuses, making his nose sting with longing dread as he recalls his past. “Bourbon was my dad’s favorite.”

Niall looks over at him with sympathetic curiosity reflecting across his dim eyes. The icy blue that is usually present has faded away, replaced by a sad grey that Harry rarely ever witnesses. Over the years, Niall and Harry have come to an unspoken agreement that whenever they are hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia and pain regarding the people they had lost, the person they will come to for comfort will always be each other. Despite the fact that the lives they had led back in the 19th century were somewhat different, they can both relate to the notion of having been the head of their respective families, both emotionally and literally, and it’s a commonality that all of their other friends are lucky enough not to share. They were both the sole, eldest sons bared by their parents, which meant the weight of their loved ones’ futures had rested on their shoulders alone.

Niall was the main father figure for all his sisters growing up, considering their actual father was constantly slaving away in the fields of their farm, breaking his back in order to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. He and his mother raised his siblings to be as strong and independent as they could, since one day they would be married and have to take care of a household of their own. Niall was meant to take over the family farm when the time came, and pave his own route to a brighter future where he would have a wife and children to help him get by. When the famine worsened, all of their dreams crumbled to dust right along with their only means to survival, and Niall sacrificed his own rations and well-being towards his sisters in an effort to aid them in making it out alive. It was a futile attempt, unfortunately, since malnutrition weakened their immune systems and left them vulnerable to diseases that very few women ever survived. In the end, he and everyone he cared for died due to the terrible conditions set upon them by the famine, and all of his life’s work perished right along with his beating heart.

When it came to Harry, his story of being the leading man of his family was almost just as tragic. He was set to inherit his father’s blacksmith business, which was the only source of income his family had ever known, and since owning the shop would be vital to his success in society, he sacrificed his youth in preparation for the responsibility that would be set on his shoulders once he came of age. He very rarely allowed himself any free time to relax or intermingle with people of his own age, which resulted in his stunted social skills and lack of romantic suitors. He was nearly thirty when he finally began looking for a lifelong partner, at his mother’s concerned behest, and the one he found turned out to be the first and last he’d ever have in a manner he never expected. With his disappearance from the family lineage, all of the obligations he’d carried were passed on to his sister instead, which was a burden he had hoped she’d never have to bear. Ownership of the business shifted to Gemma’s husband, and though it was saved from being abandoned, it no longer belonged to the people who founded it, and the sentimentality behind its creation was therefore lost to a great extent.

In the end, both young men felt like they had failed the people they loved the most, and they never got to say a proper goodbye before being torn away by a cruel reality neither had asked for.

No matter how many times they’ve been in this same position, Harry will never get used to seeing this dampened version of the lively Irishmen. It’s like he’s looking at a shell of the person he so well knows, hollowed out by the debt of the people and connections he left behind. It feels like he’s looking at the corpse his friend was meant to be.

“He always managed to get a bottle around Christmas time.” Harry continues, his sight still trained on the bottle in his friend’s grasp, as if he can see the clips from his past replaying across the reflective surface of the beverage inside. The edges of his lips twitch as a happier recollection dawns on him, the dark circles around his eyes seeming to sink deeper into his skin as fond melancholy settles across his features. “I remember the first drink I ever had was bourbon, actually. It was at a Christmas ball the town was holding, and it was open to the general public. My dad pulled me aside and offered it to me; told me not to tell mum or that she’d skin him alive. I was fourteen.”

Harry releases a tight laugh, his vision growing blurry with tears. “He said he’d had his first drink with his dad, as well, and that he wanted to uphold the tradition.”

“How was it?” Niall murmurs gently, his tone encouraging instead of prying. He wants to guide Harry through his feelings, just as Harry always does with him.

Harry’s chapped lips crack into a full smile now, another strained laugh vibrating in his chest. “It was fucking rank. I spit it out the second it touched my tongue and nearly threw up my dinner.”

Niall joins his friend in laughing, instilling some much needed humor into the dark ambiance of the room. “Pussy.”

“I’d never drank before!” Harry defends, giving him a flat scowl. “And bourbon is a pretty brutal alcohol to lose your liquor virginity to.”

“I suppose. Still doesn’t change the fact that you were a sissy.”

The vampire narrows his eyes pettily. “How old were you when you had your first drink, then?”

Niall squares his shoulders proudly, puffing out his chest a tad as he answers the question haughtily. “Twelve. It was scotch, and I downed it like a fucking champ.”

“And now you’re a raging twat with severe alcoholic tendencies. A lot of good that did you, huh?”

“At least I didn’t embarrass myself in front of all the girls at that ball. No wonder you didn’t get laid.”

“I was waiting for marriage!”

“Tell that to the psychotic blonde with nice tits and murderous intentions.”

Harry snorts, kicking one foot off his coffee table and shoving Niall’s knee with the heel of his boot. “Piss off.”

The pair remain quiet for a moment, the comical atmosphere gradually fading away. With a shaky breath, Harry continues his story.

“Dad said it was okay. He said he’d reacted the same way, and that I would eventually develop a taste for it the older I got. He said that one day, he wanted me to—” His voice cracks with sudden emotion, and he sniffles roughly to get himself back in order. But despite his best efforts, he can’t stop his accent from quivering as he lets out his next sentence, the words sour and painful on his tongue. “He said that one day, he hoped I would do the same with my own son.”

#ysijwa!blurb #payne!!

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