#“hell is a teenage girl” in poetry i fear

[serenelity]

dried honey on her lips

daisy chains on her throat

tiptoe, tiptoe, watch the cracking cobblestones

terror in her face and opalescence in her eyes

used up body in flowing gowns, brown, beautiful and bloodsoaked

[hereliesmyaprilheart]

Girls after their first experience with the male gender:

May God bless the hands that hold the knife for gold to pour down of my wounds.

May my sinful soul be granted redemption by the sword that rips the wicked out of my sinews and bones.

May your holy ways scavenge for any bit of me that can be considered whole.

May my screams be worth of a cantor and the heavens to hear my prayer.

May this simple mortal being find peace out of the guilt that this world has brought.

[m0nst4rrrr]

there’s no room for sadness when anger is all that’s left

[r0ckah0lic]

Do you really love me? Or just the thought of me.

[eashmo]

7 minutes in hell, or is it heaven? Part 6

-Please Pick Up-

Warnings: eventual smut, fluff, and lots of angst. Billy is an extremely soft boyfriend to y/n

Love confession time from both sides!!!!!

In the Y/n pov, there are some quotes from some of my poetry work, so please enjoy and see how i'm such a hopeless romantic.

Also, it is set several weeks later from the last chapter, so there has been major secret friendship development. Felt if I wrote all that. It would have dragged.

~~~~~~~~~~~

*Billy's POV*

The lawn was trashed with empty kegs and red solo cups, toilet paper littered the trees and house, the smell of sweat, alcohol, weed and throw up was a stale scent everywhere I went while loud music seeps through every corner of the rooms.

Drunken students everywhere, some who I had never seen before making out with each other, random teenagers picking fights with each in the backyard and in the living room. I scoff.

I didn't want to be here. I would rather be with Y/n. Parties didn't feel the same after the last party with her, and her not being here it was boring.

Mumbling in disgust, I avoided people as I best I could, especially escaping from girls that try to throw themselves at me. While I was in thought, a junior bumps into me.

"Watch where you are going, you little shit," I angrily say as I grab his collar, lifting him off the ground with ease.

"S-s- sorry man, I didn't see you there." He says with fear in his eyes.

"Whoa now, Billy, give the loser a break and take a swig of this stuff that Heather brought." Tommy says as he come stumbling through the living room.

"Just don't do it again, nerd." I release him, and he fell to the floor.

"S-sorry again." He said as he ran for his life.

"Tommy, I'm gonna head out, I'm tired of this shit show." I say.

"Dude, you're drunk. You can't drive." He states.

"Fuck off I'll be fine I've done it before remember?" That was the last thing I say to him before I slam the front door.

The drive was longer than I thought. Maybe I should have sobered up some. I pulled to the side, noticing a payphone on the side of the road.

I was thinking about calling Tommy to come pick me up, but he was more inxoticated than I was, so I rang the next best person.

*RINGING*

"Hello?" A tired female voice spoke.

"I'm giving you a night call to tell you how I feel."

"Billy, are you drunk? What's wrong are you ok?" Her voice was filled with concern.

I shook my head like she could see it.

" Yes, I'm drunk, and no, I'm not ok, I have to tell you something that you don't want to hear.... I wanna be more than friends."

"Hargrove, where are you? Do you need me to pick you up? She asks.

"I'm at the old warehouse, but please let me get this out." I plead.

A small "ok" was only said.

"I need your hands on my body, I need your eyes only on me, I need your smell to engulf my senses, I need your lips on mine. I need to be with you physically and mentally. You're my breath. you're my lifeline in this miserable world. I swear my fucked up thoughts get calm when you stand by me. I feel your eyes on me all the time. The feeling always goes down my spin like electricity. Please tell me you will be mine. Tell me are more than overthinking stolen glances." I finally breathe.

*silence*

"We both know I'm just scared to really date you, but you have me mesmerized. I want to be yours." Was the last thing she said before I heard the dial tone.

*Y/N POV*

Hanging up, I run out of my room, almost killing myself on the stairs. Grabbing my dad's spare Ford Escort keys, I'll thank him later, but now is not the time.

"Love can sometimes be painful. Still, it was the only thing I had ever known when it came to him. All my love I had for him, the only person who gave me butterflies was him. Day and night, all I could think about was him. The only person I couldn't imagine my life without..... was forever him." I think to myself as tire screeched on asphalt.

"Please still be there, I'm going." I plead.

Turning the corner, i saw his Camaro still there. He was sitting on his hood with his head down.

"Thank god" I say.

Billy's head whipping up upon hearing my car, screeching to a stop. His eyes were wide when I tackle him to the ground. "Hmpf," he weezed.

Giggling a "sorry" while placing my thighs around his hips. We are lying in the soft grass.

"William Hargrove, let me explain... your hair, muscles, and body were never that I fell for you harder than before. Sure, they helped, but it was your personality that you've shown me these several weeks. The personality that lies beneath these ocean blue eyes, your captivating voice that melts my insides. The life behind your smile was the reason I fell in love with you all over again. It's like I'm walking into heaven when I see you." I say, breathing heavy.

"I love you, you asshole." I laugh.

Staring up at me, his grip on my thighs with his large hands tightened slightly with my words.

"I love you too, baby girl." His voice breathy as he leans up to capture my lips with his. The kiss was soft but slightly possessive.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He officially asks.

Nodden my head shyly "yes"

"Use your words, princess." He smirks.

"Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend." I say.

He captures my lips once more, feeling the love pour into the kiss leaves me lightheaded.

As I got off of him I stuck my hand out for him to take. "Let's get you into bed, baby"

"Ugh, don't look at me like that, you idiot, you know what I mean." I scoff.

"Not my fault you look so good right now in your sleep clothes." He laughs as he heads to my car.

"He's unbelievable." I thought following behind him.

Previous Chapter

Part 7

Masterlist

2023

[hatsunevivi]

sunday, july 28th 2024 - 12:30-1:00 pm

sometimes i wish i was a boy so i could have a meaningful friendship. it sounds insane, kind of but it makes sense in my mind. i’m not saying this to sound like “girls aren’t cool” or whatever that’s the opposite of what i mean. but the way that boys are friends is something that i desire deeply, to be close to someone and not have anyone think anything weird of it. male friendships are easier or atleast i’ve heard that, maybe i’m wrong about that too. men don’t cry as much as i do, men don’t apologize for every other thing and men don’t fear you hating them so often. maybe they do, but it’s braver on them. when it’s on someone like me, a dinky teenage girl, it feels like too much salt on a potato chip. you grab it, expecting something good just to have to drink a shit ton of water afterwards to recover. i don’t wish to be a boy, i like being a girl. atleast i think i do. i can’t imagine myself as anything else, though i wish to be so much more. my traits are wanted in boys my age, but not in hamster-built girls like me. what does it mean to be a boy? are you a boy as soon as you step onto the dirt track road? are you a boy as soon as you break a bone? but then again, what makes you a girl? nail polish on your cuticles? glitter running down your cheeks? back to relationships, i’m getting sidetracked. there’s something manly about being able to admit that you love someone, something vulnerable about it. i admit my love for people more than not, i am not ashamed to be full of love. i’ve been told that the ability to love people is a gift, to be able to share my feelings is a privilege. but people don’t really take it as they should, “i love you” has become such a regular statement that no one thinks about it when they hear it. i love you means more than you think, i don’t just go around telling everyone i love them. i tell my parents that i love them and my bandmates but that’s it. maybe i’m overlooking it, being too sensitive about small things. but i find beauty in everything, there is always beauty. i look at the small things, the warmth of my cardigan or the plush softness of your lips. or maybe the way my throat burns when i try to talk, i’ll end up shutting up and you’ll fall asleep. i see myself in really odd things, i write poetry about small references from cartoons i watch. i see myself in awkward white boys and rubber ducks, i see myself in that one kid who’s always vomiting on the field. i see myself in the claw machines that are rigged, i see myself in an ugly nail polish color that only your grandmother would use. i play it cool more often than not, but i crack sometimes and start asking what the hell is actually going on. is this normal? is this the “normal teenage girl experience”? i have no fucking clue.

[renaissancerepose]

and like each seat of a ferris wheel

the anger makes its way back around

it is hot and ear-piercing and desperate

it is a reckless teenage girl

and a misunderstood child

and i don't know why i feel this,

i-will-never-belong-here feeling,

no matter where i place the "here"

this feeling as though i am a

bum note,

awkward silence,

ground gears,

a loose stone.

you maneuver these populated places with such ease,

while i hold a sort of fear behind mine eyes

that these folks can sense like dogs.

i drag my body through hours of physical pain

in an attempt to create a strong enough fortress

to keep the grief and the love and the sorrow and the passion and the rage from bubbling over,

onto the plates of hunger onlookers.

and while i know the comfort of love is only won through the mortifying ordeal of being known,

i fear tainting the portrait you've painted, or rather i've painted,

of myself that is hung in your head.

if you peel back the layers of acrylic

you will find arsenic.

and i love you far too much to allow myself to poison you.

i have drowned myself in every drop of love you have blessed me with thus far

and i fear to lose it,

to perish of dehydration,

to not only scare you away as a scarecrow does the crows

but to also let the blackness in my heart

pollute the clean white of yours.

these men have dragged me to their own personal hells and back

and i am calloused for it;

i want to be your salvation,

not the tragedy that haunts your past.

you deserve the moon and i am but a mere admirer of she;

from afar, out of reach.

"i want to give you everything,"

we whispered to each other as the hours grew late,

but what you don't understand is that

you are already everything.

you are everything to me.

if you read but a fraction of my poetry you would understand the truly frightening amount of love i carry for you;

i once feared loving you so much that you would become washed away in the waves,

that you would not hold your ground under my insurmountable love,

but i have discovered that your strong legs keep a steady stance.

my shiny new fear is what you'll find at the bottom of my ocean.

[baeddel]

I feel like so many people go to such great lengths to, like, frame the use of the term "tropes" as being some sort of recent aberration of people's relationship to "literature" because it's a shibboleth used by a particular subset of the reading public who, by and large, tend to be incredibly obnoxious and frustrating, but so few have the simple gal to speak as Jack Nicholson once did in "As Good as It Gets" when he stated "People who talk in metaphors (or in this case tropes) oughta shampoo my crotch" and so instead they appeal to some sort of higher intellectual power (literature) to legitimize what is a perfectly reasonable (if often seen as unseemly) feeling to harbor for other people.

lmfao yes you're right. it's weird because being so interested in THE WESTERN CANON was something i always felt i had to be a little apologetic about. it belongs to the old world of bourgeois values that we ought to sweep away. but now you go on tumblr and you find teenagers defending the civilizing virtues of the Western Classics, who may not even be from the West. what the hell is going on? after reading one girl's rant about commodity-worshipping fanfic and the authentic culture embodied by Dante's Commedia i searched 'Dante' on her blog and she'd never talked about him before. she had never read Dante. you know what she did read? fanfic. it's literary bulimia. the example of Dante is instructive as an example of literary conservatism; the transformation of Dante from a political radical who wrote shocking poetry from exile into the father of Italian literature was a deliberate depoliticization on the part of the society he spent his life contesting martially, politically and artistically. the same gesture is repeated more or less anywhere the shrill cry of L I T E R A T U R E resounds, from the anxious Victorian Oxbridge professors who attempted to suppress Old English philology, fearing it would precipitate a return of the ancestral Anglo barbarism that Latin learning had arrested, to British colonial India, where English classics were taught to Indian children to damp the flames of revolutionary longing. who can tell the difference between the Victorian apologists and today's online literati, who seem to really believe fandom narcissism is a gofer on the golf course of civilization? Let Guattari play the outro: "The concept of culture is deeply reactionary..." [pg 21]

[narotahm]

In Spain, they are creating a monthly leave for women to take when they have menstrual related illness. In America, a woman was arrested after she experienced a stillbirth.

I remember as a child being taught that ours is the most advanced, most equal society on the planet. I read about how slavery was ended, and the black people went free. Hooray! Women now can vote, and are just as good as men. Yippee! We Americans are free to criticize our government, and no one else in the world is allowed to do that. How modern!

Mind you, this was the same era that started the Iraqi war, existed in a cold war with Russia, caused the Rodney King riots, and I as a little girl in a middle class family desperately wished I was a boy, because I was tired already of constantly being told no.

I decided not to have the children that I so desperately wanted. What world would they inherit? What benefits could I pass on when I myself have nothing? When I found out I was pregnant at 38, I cried. I have a beautiful, vibrant child of color. I fear for him.

I work a job that exhausts me to my core, earning a salary that would have delighted me 20 years ago. Now I can't afford to move out of my parents guest room.

Our world resembles a dystopian novel, and I could give a damn about some shitty teenagers love triangle. It's all just a distraction. We aren't really living in hell, we have smart phones, and access to the inner lives of rich celebrities. That's almost as good as a house, a car, food to eat, education, a working healthcare system, and a government that gives a damn. Right?

I don't know any more. I meant to write a poem about this topic, but it turned into a rant instead. This country is killing my artistic soul. There's your damn poetry.

[redhoodieone]

Wrong Number Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Uh…I don’t really know what to say other than…enjoy it! Hopefully, I can post Part 3 sometime next week.

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, Text Message Nudes, and Mutual Masturbation.

I’m in complete shock. I know I’m frozen because I can’t literally take my eyes off the text message Jason sent to me. It’s clear; it’s in black and white, staring right at me.

Do you ever think we’ll meet each other?

He wants to meet me. Jason wants to meet me in person!

I want to text him back, but my mind is full of many ridiculous questions and the fears of Jason being a serial killer, or rapist, or just an insane Arkham escapee blows up in my head.

Before I knew it, I see the three bubbles on my screen.

I’m sorry. That was selfish of me to ask you that even though we’re still practically strangers to each other. Forget I asked, please?

My heart suddenly hurts like fuck. The pain I’m instantly feeling is very familiar. A broken heart?

It’s pure agony when I notice Jason texting me again.

I’m not going to be able to text tonight, sweetheart. I’m working late with my brothers. I’ll text you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams.

I can’t believe I did this. How could I do this to a guy who’s been so funny, so sweet, and such a good friend in only just four days through text messages?

I seriously fucked up. And now I have no one to talk to until I fall asleep.

And as strange as it is, I only sleep well after I talk to him.

 ————————————————————————------------------------------

And true to his word, Jason texts me at five in the morning, only to let me know he made it home safe after working with his brothers.

We only spoke about our jobs once. He told me he works alongside police officers and tracks down criminals and helps brings justice to the city. He seemed almost hesitant to tell me and turned the conversation to me as if he doesn’t like talking about work. He made it clear that he would rather keep his work private, and I didn’t push him to tell me more. I didn’t want to ask a lot of questions, even if I’m sometimes curious about it, because I wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable about it.

I had told him I’m a waitress at the local diner just a block away from GCPD, and how I’m a late-night writer who dreams of publishing my novel on love and loss. And after I confessed about the book I wrote to Jason, I noticed he was very enthusiastic about that and even told me he wants to read it.

And as the shy and insecure person that I am, I became embarrassed and said no.

That only fueled the fire between us. Jason went on to explain he loves to read. His favorite literature consists of Shakespeare (particularly Hamlet), George Orwell’s 1984 and Animal Farm, and even poetry from Edgar Allen Poe.

He even went into depth of how The Tell-Tale Heart mirrors his own reflection of life and stuck with him during a depressing time in his life.

It wasn’t until after we shared our love for literature that I found myself falling for Jason. As ridiculous and insane as that sounds, I couldn’t help but feel as if he’s the missing piece in my life.

It’s as if he’s the words to my story.

Important, but very valuable to a writer.

I was basically on a high that had me grinning like an idiot, giggling like a moron, and jumping in my seat as my stomach twists and turns like a roller coaster, when Jason refused to take no for an answer after I said he couldn’t read my novel. He even said his dad has connections to businesses in Gotham and could even help me get it published.

As much as I would want that, I couldn’t help but feel that it seems too good to be true. What if his dad took my novel and publish it as his own? What if I get cheated out of a contract and didn’t get paid fairly like I should? What if it’s basically a soul-sucking scam to just fuck my entire life up?

Jason must have sensed my hesitation after that, because he then began to tell me about his brothers.

How his older brother Dick still treats him like a kid, even though Jason is taller and stronger than him.

How his younger brother Tim is a computer nerd and often geeks out over the oddest things.

And how his youngest brother Damian is really a demon spawn, who tries to be tough shit, but is really a soft teddy bear.

He even has a sassy but wise butler, Alfred, who frightens him and sometimes reminds him of Vito Corleone from The Godfather. But the older man loves Jason as much as his dad, Bruce.

The stories about Jason’s family are the best. I always find myself excited to see what he texts me about his family.

How he and his brothers fight over their dad’s car, how they wrestle and spar to see who’s the strongest one, and how whenever one’s in trouble, the other three are already finding ways to save or bail the troubled one out.

It all makes me feel good to know they’re a close family. Especially when my cold, harsh reality reminds me I don’t have a family.

My parents died when I was just fifteen years old. I was in the school library alone during afterhours; reading on a beanbag chair because I didn’t want to go home. At that particular time, my parents were hanging around a different crowd. A crowd that was into drugs and gambling, and possibly other illegal activities I don’t even know about.

So, I chose to stay in the school library that night, sitting in my favorite beanbag chair the librarian allows me to use, reading a favorite horror book, munching away on a hot pocket (a snack also from the librarian), and just enjoy the silence but comfortable environment I would call home.

Then I was told they died in a car accident, but after eavesdropping on Commissioner Gordon and the other cops, I heard there could have been a hit on them.

The car accident happened only a block away from our apartment.

The brakes were cut.

The car was burning too much oil.

The airbags were taken out.

Many noticeable factors couldn’t pinpoint the real crime. Eventually, they just called it a “car accident”, and everything fishy about the case was ignored and never brought up again.

I suffered and struggled a lot in foster homes until I turned 18. I didn’t have any other family members to get into contact with, so I had to make do with the foster care system. After being shipped to three unstable and cruel homes, the last family only dealt with me until I turned 18 and I was soon kicked out. I did get lucky enough to get a job at the diner I’m working at since the new manager needed a pretty young girl to serve the customers.

I even went to Gotham Community College for a year but dropped out when I couldn’t pass any math and science classes.

It was fucking hard.

Science was confusing as hell.

Math was just evil and useless.

I hated those classes so much.

I only passed my English classes because reading and writing only made sense to me.

I even took a creative writing class and poetry class only to discover I want to write.

I want to be a writer.

So, I dropped out of college and decided to work full time at the diner as a waitress. Since no one wants to live and work in Gotham, I’m lucky enough to work morning and night without any issues. As dangerous and scary Gotham can be, I have nowhere else to go, so that’s why I stay here.

Maybe that’s why I’m eager to meet Jason. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I do need a little unpredictability.

Chances.

Risks.

The more I consider meeting Jason, the more I can imagine him being my family.

Or being a part of his.

Maybe.

 ————————————————————————--------------------------------

“You’re not going to meet him, right???” Stacey raises her voice at me in sheer annoyance and panic. She crosses her arms and glares at me to answer her. “Right, Y/N???”

I sigh as softly as I can while wiping down the booths and tables for the night. In the midst of a battle, I find myself growling with irritation when I can’t wipe away the sticky maple syrup spills on the hard surface.

“He could be a fat, old man who picks up on teenage girls! He’s probably some 40-year-old loser who still lives on his mom’s basement playing Street Fighter with kids! What if he tricks you into meeting up in a hotel room and has his way with you? Then what, Y/N?! Does that sound like a good idea to you?!” Stacey snaps.

I exhale deeply and stand up straight; after leaning over the table to reach the opposite side for some time. Turning around, I face Stacey Patterson, a tall, petite, pretty blonde, fresh face girl straight out of high school. She’s a waitress like me, and after only working here for a year, we’ve become close friends; always looking after each other in dangerous Gotham City.

“I didn’t say I was going to meet him, Stacey. We’re just talking about it,” I answer timidly.

Despite being five years older than Stacey, she still intimidates the hell out of me. Whether it’s her 5’11 height, loud voice, or natural evil glare, I can never speak up or defend myself. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t take a stand.

Because what if I actually piss her off? What if she stops being my friend?

Because I don’t think I could live in Gotham and not have any friends and not know anyone.

Stacey is like my best friend, and her friends Amber and Holly hang out in our group. Stacey even says they’re my friends, too, even though I clearly know they only put up with me because of her.

And if Amber and Holly aren’t my friends, then I’ll just have Stacey. And if I don’t have Stacey, I’ll only have Jason.

And who knows if Jason is who he says he is, and if he’s even real.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Y/N! You’re totally thinking about Jason! You’re thinking about meeting up with him because I could see it in your eyes!” Stacey declares. She waves her arms around to emphasize her point. “You like this guy! You have feelings for a guy you’ve never even met!”

“That is not true,” I argue weakly.

“Yes, it is! And we don’t even know if it’s a guy!”

“Jason is a guy, and I can tell!”

“Oh, really? How? Do tell.”

I stare at Stacey with a serious expression, except my cheeks are burning with embarrassment as usual. “He...comes off like a guy. I know he is. I can tell through his text messages,” I say.

“Anybody can sound like anyone through text messages. That’s how people catfish victims online!” Stacey argues.

“I’m a writer, Stacey. I just...have a feeling, okay? I know Jason says who he is, and I believe him,” I say strongly, as I push a lose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’m doing this the smart way, too. When he and I decide when we should meet up, I’ll let you know. Maybe we can make it a group thing. I bring a friend. He brings a friend.”

Stacey sighs in defeat when she realizes I’m not backing down. She glances up at me with a stern face. “Fine. When you two decide when you’re both going to meet up, I’ll be there. I’ll be there to make sure he’s not on America’s Most Wanted, and to make sure he doesn’t try to lure you to his mom’s basement. BUT...you have to go on a date. A REAL date with a guy we both know, AND who could be good for you,” she states loudly and clearly.

“But Stacey-”

“Hey! Only until this Jason guy comes to Gotham and we meet him! Until then, I want you to give this guy a chance. A fair chance! For me...please???” Stacey pleads. She pouts and gives me her puppy dog eyes, which she knows I always give in to.

I’m too nice. Mom always said I was too nice, and that one day it’ll get me in trouble.

I’m still wondering when that’ll happen.

“Okay, I’ll give this guy a chance. I swear I will,” I promise and salute her. “But who’s the guy?”

Stacey grins in success and hugs me tightly. “Good! Because you’re like my sister, Y/N, and I just want to see you happy. You deserve it,” she says softly. “And it’s Chace. Remember him? He’s the drummer from, WakeHell. He moved in right next door to me, and I know you two will hit it off right!”

Chace????

Oh yeah. I know him.

He’s a total bad boy. A bad boy I don’t even think I could deal with.

I force a smile but then frown, because the only guy in my life who makes me happy is Jason.

Who I only text.

Who I haven’t even met.

 ————————————————————————---------------------------------

The next day is a lazy day since it’s my day off. I spent the majority of it sleeping, doing laundry, and just doing minor cleaning around my apartment until it’s 9:00 P.M.

And Cruel Intentions is on TV.

Lying on the couch with my second glass of Vodka Cranberry, I find myself really buzzed and horny. Ryan Phillippe back then was hot, and him making out with Reese Witherspoon is doing things to me.

My phone bings. It’s Jason.

What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?

Just a night in, a cup of glasses of vodka and cranberry, and Cruel Intentions is on TV.

I barely realize I’m buzzed and texting Jason. But my horny side doesn’t care.

I sorry I’m buzzed right now lol.

LOL no worries. I just came back from the bar with my brothers. We had a successful night and decided to get some drinks. We even had Tim and Damian use fake I.D’s.

I laugh and snort. Thank God no one heard me do that.

That’s good...we wouldn’t want Tim and Damian to be left out. They’re your baby brothers, Jay.

Jay? I really like it when you call me that. And I especially like you buzzed. LOL.

I like me buzzed too! I think I’m way more fun and free!

LOL!!! Exactly, princess!

I smile down at my phone. I love it when he calls me princess.

You said you’re watching Cruel Intentions? I just found it on TV. Wow...this movie’s old LOL.

Shut up!!! I find young Ryan Phillppe sexy in this movie!

You seriously find him sexy??? The guy’s a whiny brat! A pussy! Fuck, this movie woulda been sexier if we actually saw the douchebag eat out Cecile and saw him fuck Annette AND Kathryn!

I gasp out loud and giggle.

Then it would have been a porno! Not a movie! Hahaha!!!!

That’s fine with me, princess!

I softly whimper at just the thought of Jason watching porn. Closing my eyes, I imagine how he would sound, touch himself, and look when he’s pleasuring himself.

My eyes shoot open when I hear Sebastian telling Cecile he wants to kiss her…down there. I quickly turn my attention to the TV and watch the movie. Even though he takes advantage of a clueless, drunk girl in the movie, just the thought of him eating her out makes me clench my thighs.

It’s been too long. WAY TOO LONG!

The last guy I was seeing didn’t like to eat me out; claimed it was disgusting and unnecessary to do before sex.

As if sucking his dick was glamorous AND fun!

My thoughts are interrupted when Jason texts me.

You’re quiet tonight…does this scene turn you on???

The laughing emojis he texts me should hurt my feelings since I can easily be embarrassed over sexual things but…he’s right.

I’m turned on with just the thought of getting eaten out.

I boldly text Jack back. Unashamed and VERY buzzed.

You have no idea. Just imagining him eating me out, writing the alphabet with his tongue, and making me have an explosion is making me wet my panties right now.

I laugh to myself just seeing that Jason read my text message and is responding fast. The texting bubbles have never looked so good.

You’re…you’re wet right now????

Yes. Soooo fucking wet.

A surge of drunken confidence hits me, and I quickly shove off my pajama shorts until they’re on the floor. In just my white tank top and pink panties, I bravely slip my fingers into my damp panties and rub the wetness against my sensitive clit.

And with my other hand, I raise my cell phone and snap a picture of fingers in my wet panties.

And I send the picture to Jason.

I bite my lip in anticipation when I see he read my text message and saw my picture. The texting bubbles do not appear on the screen. He’s not texting me back.

Frowning, I wonder if I freaked Jason out. Maybe I crossed the line. Maybe I made him uncomfortable. Maybe I’m just not sexy.

Suddenly, my phone beeps. Unlocking my cell phone screen, I see two text messages AND a picture.

Oh, fuck sweetheart…that’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy…

Jason sends me a picture of him wearing his boxer briefs, and his hand holding his hard, thick cock, showing me the outline and shape of his boner.

Delicious. I can feel my pussy clench just from imagining Jason fucking me with his cock.

Fuck doll...you’re doing this to me.

I whimper pathetically and can’t help but continue to rub my clit and respond back. I can see my juices staining my panties.

Are you touching yourself too?

Fuck yeah. Just seeing your fingers playing with your wet, pretty pussy got me hard. I’m jacking off to your picture.

Would you want me like I want you?

Fuck yes, sweetheart. I probably want you more than you want me.

I slip a finger inside my pussy and moan. My thumb runs fast hard circles on my clit, and I’m soon pushing in two fingers. I’m fucking myself crazy, but I imagine Jason is finger fucking me because my fingers wouldn’t get me off so fast.

And his fingers are thick. His hands are fucking huge!

I bite my bottom lip. “Fuck...I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” I whisper to myself. I snap another picture of my fingers shoved in my pussy, and how I’ve gotten wetter. I send him the picture with the truth.

I need to cum so bad. I wish it was you touching me.

Yeah? What would you want me to do to you, doll?

Fuck that picture’s so hot.

I’d want you to finger me. Eat me out. Fuck me hard.

Jason sends me another picture of him stroking his cock but with his hand in his underwear. I can see a wet spot where his tip is; stained with his precum. I want a taste of it so badly.

Fuck I would baby. Your pussy looks so good enough to eat. I’d fucking eat you out until you can’t cum anymore. I bet you taste delicious.

Oh fuck…I’m so close. I want your cock so bad, Jay. You’re gonna make me cum…

Rub your clit harder baby. Fuck your pussy fast and hard with your fingers. Imagine they’re my fingers, baby. I’d fuck you so hard and deep. 

I want to see your cum, okay? Take a picture of that pretty pussy and show me what I did to you.

I do what Jason says. Behind his words, I can feel his authority. Even though I can’t hear Jason’s voice, just reading his words makes me burst like fireworks. My thumb rubs my clit harder, and I crook my fingers just right until I push against my g-spot until I cum. My orgasm is intense, and I force myself to snap a picture of my soaked underwear and fingers. I sent it to him with a lazy smile.

My phone beeps. Jason sent me a picture of his thick, juicy, cum covering his abdominal muscles. I smile a little with pride. 

Fuck that was hot, sweetheart. I needed that. 

Me too. Now, I’m sleepy. 

LOL, I’m tired too. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.  

Okay…goodnight Jay.  

I roll over onto my side and shut off the TV. Pulling my UGG throw blanket over my body, I snuggle up to fall asleep. My phone beeps again. Opening one eye, I reach over to read the text message. 

Goodnight doll. Sweet dreams.  

[lairofsentinel]

Talking about the smidgens we saw of Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

Updated, AGAIN, because the hell of new aspects we saw when some bugs were sorted out. Warning:  all this analysis was done for game versions 4.1.83 and 4.1.84

Well, I had to rewrite all this because the explorations of dialogue options and the bugs being, somehow, solved, allowed me to see small details from Gale that stand out or end up being more than curious to me. I'll list his main features to make things short (hopefully), and useful for... eventual fics:

Gale is a char who approves any good treatment to animals (and creatures in general). He has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes.

He doesn't like gratuitous murdering which is implied in the anecdote he told us about how he stopped a massacre in a Waterdeep city inn just by buying a round to everyone. It is also implied in his approval in most situations; even in the one with the ogres having sex.

He gives you disapproval most of the time if you use violence and intimidation as your first approach in solving a situation. He prefers eloquence, diplomacy, and negotiation. However, he is flexible enough to approve a performance-intimidation in front of goblins to avoid bloodshed. Point (2) is primary. So... he truly is a pragmatic char. It's not white and black: “never use intimidation/lie” or that kind of over-simplistic view.

He likes logical and reasonable conversations. An action that earned his disapproval can be undone if the main char (MC) talks to him and explains their reasons. You can disagree with him without having approval penalties most of the time. You can question many situations and, as long as it remains a mental exercise, there are no penalties. That surprised me a lot. Most characters disapprove you if you wonder about a potential situation, but Gale no. He is the scholar, he will allow a safe space to think around things without being too judgemental. We will see if this attitude lasts in the full game. No wonder some players see in him “the Teacher” archetype. Quite so.

He was an Arch wizard while being Mystra's Chosen One, and fell from grace when she put him aside. What is hard for me to grasp is if he remained Chosen One and therefore able to cast silver-fire during that intermediate period when he stopped having Mystra's whispers and his folly with the netherese taint. We know that in that moment Mystra removed herself from his life completely. But before, she has only stopped whispering and sleeping with him. So far I understand, being her Chosen One doesn't imply sleeping with her, most of the time.

He was a teacher (not surprising, since his over-explanation vices and details such as the pronunciation of “Trashj” make us suspect it), and had some students that he could not keep longer since their ineptitudes irked him. 

Unlike the stereotypical “scholar” type, he knows how to cook, since he has been doing stews for the party in the camp. He also loves baths. A bit siding with the stereotypical “scholar” type, but a nice change for a “standard adventurer” type, in which most of the time it is implied that they are stinky with “animalistic” scents and uglier descriptors. No, Gale likes his lavender-scented baths. Good. 

He is an over-thinker strategist. And also a char who takes responsibility for his own mistakes to the point that, when he dies for the first time, a programmed image is activated to help anyone to revive him. Despite the fact that he is dead and can give a shit about that, he is still responsible of the catastrophe that may happen if that weird magic orb stuck in his chest erupts.

He is also forcing me to check the dictionary like no other game has done in a while... the fucker uses uncommon words a lot of the time. Smidges? really? Gale is a hard char for a non native English speaker.

We can assume that during his teenage time, he was a pretty prideful peacock to the point to be blind at the reality (well, yeah, he romanced a goddess; if that doesn't give you a hell of a ego boost...) He remembers his young self's pride with a thick level of regret. He is now a mature scholar that, for a change, does not patronise you or thinks of himself better than anyone. Sure, he over-explains a lot, but that's something that most scholars/teachers do when they are worried that, maybe, they won't be understood.

He is confident in his years of study (for that reason he is a capable wizard despite having lost Mystra's favours), but he acknowledges his limits. Which is a nice change to see in the “scholar” archetype, the typical know-it-all. He knows a lot, he knows that he knows (it would be ridiculous to hide his knowledge), but he is human, and like he says: “humans are fallible”. However, it’s more than obvious that he has a big ego for everything he does, which makes sense since he follows a motto in his life: “try to excel at everything”. High accomplished scholar lifestyle, indeed.

If you don't share the Weave with him, he will state that nights are lonesome. It seems he truly is looking for some connection with a keen fellow mind. Probably it's this loneliness which triggers his urge to see Mystra's face during the night. We also know he, in general, lives in constant fear due to the Netherese taint in his chest. So, very lonely, and very scared. 

I don't know if this is his poet side unable to be switched-off or it's another implication of how he sees sexual encounters: he never says sex (at least in my many runs, he never did it). He always gets around the word: love-making, art of the body, intimacy. For a scholar who is so prone to use the technical word for everything, and has already stated he is not coy at all, the use of these metaphors make me wonder if it's because he always conceives sex as something more than mere physical pleasure. For him, it seems to come with a more emotional connection (which makes sense if we think he will only sleep with those who connected to him through the Weave). Another small detail that may confirm this is when he asks the MC if the “other night” was wonderful. If MC claims it was “fun”, Gale shows a certain degree of uneasiness by that word choice, making us infer that he certainly doesn’t see sex as “fun” but as something else, deeper. 

His tadpole dreams are about Mystra (rather obvious). His most desperate desire is forgiveness. Mystra's forgiveness.

Mystra was his first love. The affair did not last long. And since soon after her abandonment he looked for the Primal Weave book and was infested by it; one could assume he has been focused on solving his problem for the rest of his life than putting some energy in romance, especially if we think about (13). It's hard to say with certainty (especially with banters like these), but since he is a char that you can only sleep with if you share a mind-connection through the Weave, it seems less plausible that he could encourage into casual relationships during all this period of his life looking for a solution to the Netherese orb. If he got previous relationships, they may have been meaningful, but clearly not enough to win over the goddess’ and his urges to see her, lol.

He did not mind Mystra having many other lovers besides him. It seems to be the same with the MC, since he will insist in sleeping with them even after the party and even after the MC slept with someone else (however, that only occurs if the romantic connection through the Weave happened.) This fact combined with (13) and (15) make me wonder if he certainly wants to be with the MC too badly, even in an open relationship. We need to see the rest of his romance to be sure.

Since he looks for forgiveness so desperately, he is a char who will forgive most mistakes made by the MC if they acknowledge them.

He is a char who knows how grey and complex situations can be. This is inferred by the way he speaks of the tiefling girl who tried to steal the idol in the Grove: “She is not innocent, but that doesn't mean she is guilty.” (of course there is a lot of self projection there). This is also implied in his (surprising) approval of raising Mayrina's husband and giving her the control wand to search for a solution in Neverwinter. That shows that he can accept the fuckest weirdest situations, recognising that “sometimes we can’t choose situations but we can try to do our best, not always having the best results”. Also self-projection.

He appreciates his privacy to the point to leave the MC if the abuse of the tadpole power continues. However, and honouring (4), you can abuse of these powers and convince him with reasons: if you don't lie to him and explain that you have a responsibility with the group to know what happens with his secret, he will understand, and despite disapproving the MC actions, will remain without major troubles.

Certainly, as long as you give him reasons and logical concepts, he can almost understand everything with no disapproval or at least little one.

Consent and negotiation are vital to him, apparently. However, this aspect reaches a flaw. He was too angry with Nettie when she almost killed the MC, and he made a short speech about how nobody has the right to decide your options for you. Yet, in his romance scene, we see that he deliberately hid his true relationship with Mystra and his bomb-condition in order to sleep with the MC. In fact, during the party, if the MC tells him that doubts if he is the one they want, Gale will drop a curious argument: “That’s because you’ve yet to find out what your’re missing” (implying that he himself is what you need), followed by his most curious “Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside”. That coming from a scholar is rotten, lol. He tries every convincing argument to sleep with the MC (if they shared the moment of the Weave, of course)

This happens in every variation of the path: whether the MC sleeps with him in the party, or afterwards, Gale will always wait for sharing a night with the MC before speaking the truth. It's hard to read this aspect since, he is a char who, apparently, needs a mind-connection with his partner for intimacy (see (12) and (13)); so this terrible strategy is like his way of trying to guarantee that the MC will not abandon him. I guess there is something along those line, specially if we keep in mind the book he explained: a book which is not only about the art of the body and the night and sex, but of other things such as conversation, exploration, and acceptance of oneself and the other. He is expecting with this night to reach the MC to a certain degree of intimacy in which, despite the raw truth, the acceptance will prevail. Remembering (16), he truly wants to sleep with the MC, baaaadly. And somehow everything feels like he wants to push things in a subtle way to a certain degree of commitment. Following the concept in (12), I think he has been alone for too long, and desperately needs someone in his lonesome nights and in helping him to deal with his burden. Finding someone who connected to him through the Weave (such a personal experience for him as it is) made him a bit desperate or eager. We know his emotion for the MC may have grown over those days since the connection with the Weave. In two occasions he or the MC can ask if both of them think about that moment. Gale says yes with such enthusiasm, that it may imply...that maybe, he has been thinking about that more times than he truly wants to tell the MC. The Weave moment had such a strong effect on Gale that, if the MC spent the night with another companion and rejects Gale’s proposition later, he will trail off a sentence that implies he was convinced that the MC and he were heading into something serious and deep.

Of course, once he sleeps with the MC, he confesses the truth right afterwards, accepting--without approval penalties--the harshest responses that the MC can give. He clearly knows that such manoeuvre was truly disloyal, especially contrasting it with all his speech of consent and rights to know about the true situation one is in. In the next morning, he acknowledges it was a rotten thing to do and apologies. But this shows that his principles can be bend and even be broken when it comes to emotions. I'm still a bit wary of his emotional stability, what can I say.

Mystra is more than an ex-lover for him, it’s magic. And Magic is everything for him, even more than life. I wonder if, given the opportunity, Mystra forgives him and asks him to return to her side, would he accept it without second thoughts leaving the romanced MC? It's true he also acknowledges that all that fascination he had with the goddess was a product of his youth; he knows he was a plaything in her hands. But I don't see he got over with it. He still idealises her, as such a good poet does. Idealisation, especially when a Goddess is involved, is a terrible thing to fight against for the next partner. No matter what speech of loyalties and consent he states during the whole game, the MC knows that magic and Mystra are Gale's Achilles’ heel, and factors in which they  can’t predict his behaviour.

We also know that, because his bomb-condition, he tries to take all the opportunities to enjoy the little things of life that make him human.

Gale is a straightforward and honest (mostly, let's say) char. But we can see that he prefers to be honest in most situations, except in his Achille’s heel. Even when he wanted to hide all the stuff about the bomb in his chest, he did it by explicitly warning us that he was hiding something he did not want to talk about. Which is an honest approach considering the hardcore burden he carries and the immediate rejection it can mean if the truth unfolds too quickly among strangers.

When it comes to concepts, Gale has the symbol of the storm attached to him. So far, we see he talks comparing things with storms or storm elements: his lack of knowledge to explain why they are not Mind Flayers yet: the silence before the storm; the fear that rushes into his body when the Weave orb asks him for magic to consume: the thunder of a storm reverberating in his soul, the day it will erupt: the lightning striking, the consumption of magic: water running through a sore throat, Life itself: a tempest. When he asked the player if they were a wizard, he explains that he needs an Arch wizard and compares them with a Tempest. If we see the main image of Baldur's gate 3, it's clear that his main element is electricity/storm... so... full witch-bolt-guy here.

[updated later] The Weave moment is important to romance Gale. Leaving the moment in ambiguity will give the MC another opportunity to make their intentions clear during the scene of the Loss. However, remaining vague will lock Gale into a friendship path. What happens during this scene may suggest that the ambiguity in the Weave was enough to keep Gale thinking about the romantic possibility, but he will not engage into it by his own, which confirms (15). Unless the opportunity presents itself clearly before him, he will not pursue the MC. Further details [here].

Last moment detail: Gale says “I cherish you” when he explains he will await death alone if the Netherese orb goes out of control. I was not sure if that meant something more or less than love or like (I can’t not overlook the subtle meaning of the words coming from Gale’s mouth, he is a poet and his word choices matter). Checking the dictionary I found that “cherish” (in a relationship) is defined as to hold or to treat as dear, to feel love for and to care for someone deeply and tenderly. This man went straight into a commitment relationship without thinking it twice, and without (I believe) the MC knowing it either xD. 

Let's see how these characteristics shift or develop deeper once the full game is out there. Now we have to wait a lot :(

To see videos where all this stuff is inferred or explicitly said, you can check [here]

More videos added later [here] and [here]

More content of bg3 in general [here]

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend… and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Surprisingly enough, the expected mock and scorn had stayed absent after the incident with the boggart in April. A few odd glances occasionally, and some abruptly ending whispered conversations whenever Robin entered the room had been the most of it. Her roommates had been even more neglectful, even more supremacist than usual, and it had gotten quieter rather than louder in the ranks of the people who despised her. For a while Robin had been deeply suspicious about it, but once the stressful period before the final exams had begun, she had forgotten about it like everyone else seemed to have. Thus the remainder of her third year had once more been filled with calm study nights in the potions classroom, borrowed books from Snape, and the occasional visit to the greenhouse or gamekeeper’s lot for some helping out on the weekends.

Summer had arrived before Robin felt even remotely ready to head home. She had been quite heartbroken to leave behind her sanctuary in the dungeons, and to put another pause to the constant stream of borrowed books and late night snippets of academic conversation with her potions professor. Somehow, leaving Hogwarts got harder every single year and she almost felt guilty that there was so very little that excited her about going home. But she did, she had to, and the days spent in her family home ticked by like grains of sand in a desert that were slowly blown away by the wind only to gather elsewhere.

Still, Robin picked up two habits over the summer: drinking instant coffee at all times of the day, and journaling.

The former had started by chance one day, when they had run out of tea at home and Robin still had felt like having a hot drink. She’d actually discovered that she enjoyed the taste, after years of not bothering to try it, and she’d scolded herself for not remembering if they served coffee at school. Thus she made sure to bring a jar of instant coffee for the next term, and to simply multiply it if there was no other way of getting coffee around there.

The latter habit, journaling, had also started by chance, but not quite entirely. Robin had for the mere sake of it chosen to participate in a two-week creative writing workshop that was offered by one of her mother’s colleagues, and afterwards chosen to keep up the habit that had started out as a mere class project. Admittedly, she had felt rather pathetic in the beginning, to write sappy poetry and badly phrased short stories for class, but eventually she had found a mode of writing that didn’t make her feel like an overly dramatic teenage girl. In the weeks following upon that, she filled up the entire class journal and then moved on to a nicer one she’d bought with her Christmas money on a day trip to London.

During the very same trip, she had also come across the small bookshop where she had bought some of her still most beloved potions books during her first year Christmas break, and unable to resist, she had gone in for a moment. However instead of returning with a giant stack of books like she had feared she would, she had only bought a single one, and that was one she already possessed indeed. The book on literature spells. She planned on giving this copy to Snape once term started, as a thank you maybe, or for any other reason she could think of before then. Honestly, she had just been thinking about him every once in a while over summer, wondering what he might be doing between school years, and when she had discovered the spell book in that shop, it had just felt like the right thing to do to get it for him. Who knew, maybe he could make use of it at some point… At least he’d seemed almost as reluctant to return the book to Robin as she always was to return his own books to him.

So that’s what she packed for this year: books, coffee and more books. Hopefully that would get her through fourth year.

… … …

The very evening she returned to Hogwarts, Robin let herself into Snape’s office to place the spell book on his desk together with a note explaining that it was a gift from her as a thank you, then she locked the door behind herself and headed to the welcoming feast. Honestly, while she did feel brave enough to give it to him in person, she had come to the realization that it would probably make him less uncomfortable if she didn’t. Thus she had come up with the idea on the train ride here to simply place it in his office before the feast, and so far that plan had also worked out.

As every year, the sorting took forever and the speeches were redundant, but still Robin found herself glad that she wasn’t the one to be upfront, waiting to be sorted into a house again. But she also felt more prone than ever to wonder if the hat really had put her into the right place… the abyss between her and the other Slytherins was growing constantly, and she had no intention to counteract it. It was a miracle that she still hadn’t been mocked for her run-in with the boggart last year…

At least there were three years of students below her now, and that meant that almost half of the student body in Slytherin wasn’t in conflict with her. Rather on the opposite, actually, seeing as the younger students didn’t seem to care about Robin at all. She liked that quite a lot, to simply be nothing more than ‘one of the older students’.

Thus she found herself seated between a group of second years and a group of third years during the feast, which left her to herself and her own business entirely. She used the time during the meal to take inventory of the teachers at the head table, or so she told herself, while she merely spent a few seconds making sure that every person was (at least looking to be) alright, and then let her eyes linger on a certain potions professor. His hair was a bit longer than it had been before summer… but otherwise he seemed to be just the same. Robin found herself smiling to herself before she knew, and a sense of calmness overcame her like it usually only did in the evenings in his classroom. A nice change to the usual discomfort she felt during dinner.

The calm lasted for the entire evening, even as Robin returned to her dorm to pack up some books and papers to do what she’d been looking forward to all summer: studying in the potions classroom. Her roommates were sitting together in a corner of their shared bedroom as always, only acknowledging Robin in the form of weird looks and giggles directed at her, but not with a single word whatsoever. That wasn’t new though, and Robin didn’t let them ruin her surprisingly good mood with their condescending pretense of superior exclusivity. Should they talk about her behind her back, if it made them happy… Robin didn’t even care.

She made her way through the overcrowded common room and into the hallways, taking in the comforting, stuffy darkness she had missed so much. Would Snape be joining her in the classroom tonight to work in companionable silence as always? Robin found herself hoping he would.

Before she could even cross into the right hallway however, the door to her right flew open and she was pulled into the room with a surprised yelp.

“What, pray tell, were you thinking?!” Snape’s drawled hiss reached Robin’s ears before she even realized that she was standing in his office, her back pressed against the inside of the door, with the potions professor an arms’ length away.

“…What?” She frowned at him in the dim light, more confused than anything. Her heart skipped a beat though. “Thinking about what?”

“Why did you give that book to me?”

“I… just thought it would be more useful, for a change, than giving you chocolate as a thank you. I thought you would appreciate it.” She replied positively, even though she felt desperately irritated by his angry demeanor.

“Maybe you shouldn’t think quite so much about things that you know nothing about and that aren’t of your concern. I am not your friend!” He snapped with a threatening glare directed solely at Robin, and her heart squeezed together for an overwhelmingly painful moment in return. Then it sunk down dead into the depth of her chest, and she felt almost numb in equal sadness and anger. There wasn’t any appropriate reply she could give to that, only many necessary ones. To hell with it, if it was her place or not, she needed to say this, and he most definitely needed to hear it.

“Maybe you should learn to accept the kindness shown to you, before people give up on showing it to you in the first place!” She replied in an equally angry manner and held his gaze despite the tears that welled up in her eyes now. Oh, to hell with it indeed.

“People have given up on more than that a long time ago.” He spat, almost bitterly, leaving Robin to feel even more shattered.

“Well, I haven’t!” Her reply came in an instant, without even having to think, and the anger was making room for sheer overwhelming sadness now. She didn’t care if her voice sounded as hurt as she felt when she spoke on. “And I won’t, so stop trying to make me.” Finally the tears rolled down her cheeks, like small angry rivers, but Robin didn’t even bother wiping them away. “Keep the bloody book or don’t, but I will keep on being nice to you no matter what you do to prevent it! I won’t hate you, not even when you so desperately want me to… I never will, so just get over it already!”

Without waiting for a reply, or any reaction even, Robin turned on her heels and left the room, heading down the hallway back towards her dorm. She didn’t feel like studying anymore. She felt like hiding under her covers and crying as silently as she could.

… … …

The incident on Sunday night heavily tainted Robin’s first three days of term, even as the sadness turned into a hollow ache that was a constant reminder of their fight. Maybe she had overstepped her boundaries, maybe she had done something wrong indeed… Maybe he was right to be angry. But then again, she refused to believe that her kindness had been wrong, and she definitely refused to let him scare her off with his stupid defensiveness. She had meant what she said, she wouldn’t give up on him, and her own determination in that surpassed everything she had known to be certain of before. To be honest, she was quite surprised by her own stubbornness in this… and by the desperation with which she clung onto it. Sure, Snape was her favorite professor, and probably also her favorite person in the castle… but she hadn’t really known before just how much she actually cared. It left her feeling a bit irritated with herself, every time she thought about it. She really shouldn’t be caring about him quite that much, as he had made it abundantly clear that he was not her friend. Only her professor. Who happened to have chosen her as the only person he was nice to. Sometimes. Oh bloody hell, he was the only friend she had, and she should finally admit that to herself. Even if she wasn’t his friend in return, he definitely was hers.

And exactly for that reason, Robin refused to let the Sunday encounter change the way she behaved, nor the way she thought. She still came to the classroom every night to study, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, but she didn’t see Professor Snape there even once. If he chose to return to how things were before he snapped at her, or even scold her for the way she’d dared to speak to him, she’d be here. But it was not her place to try to fix something she hadn’t broken, and neither did she believe that she should bother him any more than she already had. Because no matter what had happened, she still didn’t want to disappoint him, and she didn’t want to lose what she had gained over the course of the past three years.

Thus Robin only saw him at meals during the next four days, until it was time for the first potions class of the term on Friday morning. She didn’t feel particularly hungry, hadn’t ever since Sunday night, and thus she decided to come to class early. Without giving any thought to it, she unlocked the room and made her way to her usual second row seat, lost in thought about the book she had been reading for most of the night, since she’d been unable to sleep. For a while she simply stared at the wall ahead, not even existing in the physical reality, until at last the first students started to enter the room with enough noise to break Robin out of her thoughts. And that’s when she realized that her desk wasn’t empty. Had it been empty when she’d come in?

A small frown creased her forehead as she picked up the parchment-wrapped object, and carefully unwrapped the precisely folded layer of paper. The first thing that fell into her hands was a box of Skittles. She couldn’t help the short, surprised laugh that escaped her lips upon that, and she smoothed out the creased piece of paper to read the words that seemed to only appear on the page upon her touch.

Robin.

I unfortunately found myself unable to acquire any chocolate over the course of the week, but I hope that sweets of a different kind have the same value to you, as means of saying thank you. You were quite right, I do appreciate the book. But I also appreciate the gesture. Despite what I previously said, I ask you now to never stop thinking, especially about matters that aren’t of your concern. Nobody is quite as good at it as you are. - S

Robin read the note again, and another time, and yet again, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself as her heartbeat picked up in its pace. Sure, he wasn’t really apologising for his behavior, but he did something equally remarkable, if not something better. He actually tried. To accept a kind gesture, and to make amends for what he’d done. Robin wasn’t so sure if that had ever happened before or if it would ever happen again, but she would value it as the outstandingly special occasion it was. He would certainly not have done this if he truly didn’t care about what she thought of him. He wouldn’t have bothered if he thought of her like everyone else.

“Miss Mitchell, will you stop grinning like a lunatic and demonstrate how to correctly dissect a deathcap without hurting oneself like an imbecile?” Snape’s voice, in full professor-mode, suddenly drew Robin out of her little bubble, and she realized with a start that the entire class was present, silent and looking at her. Oh geez… she must’ve spent more time reading that note under her desk than she had realized.

“Certainly, sir.” She replied then, still unable to stop smiling (especially at his badly feigned scowl), and quickly hid the note in the deepest corner of her pockets. Then she subtly swiped the Skittles into her backpack for equal safekeeping, and made her way to the front to demonstrate what she’d been asked to do. The smile did not leave her face for the rest of the day.

________________

After the rather extreme ups and downs of the first week, things settled back into what had almost become routine now. Robin spent her time in Snape’s classroom, borrowing books, studying, doing assignments, and more often than not these days he would be there as well. At some point Robin had brought her instant coffee (since regular coffee was only served at breakfast here), and with a simple aguamenti and a spell for boiling water, she’d made herself a coffee the wizarding way in under a minute. Upon the curious and humored look Snape had given her in return, she had offered to make him a cup as well, and to Robin’s surprise he had answered with a simple 'Please’ instead of the usual discussion that preceded his eventual agreement. Thus, they fell into the habit of drinking coffee in the evenings, as an addition to the companionable silence they shared while each working on their respective tasks. Some nights they wouldn’t exchange a single word, only take turns at making the other coffee in a silent agreement to not talk about this developing habit. Eventually Robin simply left the coffee in his classroom instead of bringing it every day, and even after two months of keeping up with this ritual they still hadn’t run out.

Unfortunately, two months after the start of term was also when 'it’ happened again. The thing Robin still hadn’t found a name for. It was a perfectly ordinary Sunday night, Robin had had coffee with Snape over their respective work, and she had gotten all things done that she had planned to do over the weekend. More, even. She had gone to bed feeling calm and content, and had soon fallen asleep within a few minutes. Every bit the normal Sunday. But then the nightmares had started, and thereby the beginning of Robin’s personal purgatory.

She was walking through the school. Cold stone beneath her bare feet as she moved through the hallways. Soundlessness. Eyes focused on the darkness around her, emptiness around her. Now, then, another! A flash of darkness… a boy, a body. A puddle of blood, pooling around his small body like a black lake. Lifeless ink. Coldest contentment. She moved on, moved along, hid away, crept into a room, like fog… a flash of darkness. Another body, more blood, another lake. More room, A room, empty, she crept, it was cold. A flash. The room, filled with bodies. More. Hollow eyes, dead stares, dead stays. Blood. Everywhere, in emptiness. She walked on. The dungeons, blackness, hallways. Hollow eyes, a mirror… she walked, cold, empty eyes. A laugh. A door, her room… her bed, herself. Her sleeping body, her dead body, broken, soundless. Hands covered in blood, a wicked smile, bloody lips. Emptiness. A laugh, a scream. Pain.

Robin woke up with a strangled cry, shaking like dry leaves in the autumn wind as her eyes mirrored the sky’s heavy tears. Oh god… it had only been a dream. Only a dream. Her heartbeat had become so fast that she pressed a hand to her chest in an attempt to soothe the pain. She felt entirely too hot and too cold at once. A quiet sob escaped her trembling lips and she pressed her other hand to her mouth to keep quiet. Too late for that.

“Shut up, jay! People wanna sleep here…” One of her roommates grumbled from the bed to Robin’s left, and Robin nodded vainly into the darkness as she felt utterly defeated. She couldn’t, not with… those emotions, it was too much… she felt like dying. As quietly, as quickly as she could, she slipped into her boots and fled from the room, going for a direct dash to the bathrooms. It was closer than anywhere, the only place she could think to go. Her mind was entirely flooded with fear and pain and foremost a defeating deafening numbness, and she couldn’t suppress the tears even if she tried to. Bloody hell, she was going mad, it was too much, too strong, too deep… she was drowning and sucked under by the current of her own blind panic.

The moment she reached the secluded solitude of the girls’ lavatories was when she finally broke down entirely and surrendered to the violent sobs for as long as they came crashing over her like brutal waves. She’d lost every sense of time, of space, of herself… it could be hours, it could be minutes. Her heartbeat increased even further to a point where her vision became blurry even beyond the tears, and Robin actually felt afraid that she would die. Now, here, alone. It didn’t have to make sense, it just was. And it was horrible.

But the sobs died instead of her, and her heartbeat ceased to stab her chest. However the calm that followed came at the price of an absolute and allconsuming numbness, an emptiness of a kind she had never known. She wasn’t crying anymore, she wasn’t even feeling anymore. She just sat on the cold ground of the bathroom and wasn’t. Ceased to exist for a while. No thought, no emotion, no Robin. Nothing.

Yet, at some point, a spark of ice cold reason within her mind made her return to her room and lay back down in bed. She still felt nothing, and stared at the ceiling in the darkness for as long as it took her mind to pass out at last.

That was the first night.

… … …

On Monday Robin was an absolute wreck on the inside, a victim more of the calm’s cost than the storm. She didn’t look any different to anyone but herself in the mirrors, and those she avoided to refrain from looking into her own eyes. She had done plenty of that last night.

And yet, the sleepless night came at even more of a cost when Robin made a public fool of herself in herbology. Her mind was still so wound up in processing the events, the pictures of the previous night’s horrors, that she didn’t notice Professor Sprout walking up behind her while talking loudly about the task they were to accomplish. As the woman clapped a hand on Robin’s shoulder, a random gesture she did with plenty of students who seemed to not be listening, Robin jumped so badly that her entire being fell into a kind of odd stasis. She shrieked, then froze completely as if petrified and merely stared ahead with terror in her eyes that soon was replaced by the tears of the initial surprise. Admittedly, Robin had always been a bit jumpy, especially when caught dwelling in the corners of her own mind, but this was a new level of sheer and utter overreaction that yet she could do nothing about but to bear it out.

The other students started snorting and whispering, and Professor Sprout asked Robin if she was alright, but Robin’s heart was only so slowly calming down to a normal pace again that she merely could nod after a few seconds of forcing herself to realign with reality.

After classes were done for the day, Robin fled from the castle as soon as she could. Her feet carried her down to the lake, to the shore she always found comfort in… and after half an hour of kicking herself in the butt for being so overwhelmed by a simple nightmare, she finally felt ready to go back to normality. It had only been a stupid dream, some subconscious fear that had manifested itself in terrible and bloody pictures. But they were only that; pictures her mind had come up with. With at least some motivation returning, she made her way over to Hagrid’s in order to offer her assistance in this evening’s feeding of the creatures the gamekeeper was responsible for. After all, she always found delight in Hagrid’s silliness, and the animals’ good appetite.

… … …

A purgatory wouldn’t be what it promised if it wasn’t a place for the tortured soul to dwell in once more. And thus it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Robin that she woke up screaming the very next, and also two nights later, heart and mind grabbed in panic by the very same dream. The same pictures, the same darkness, the same bloody deaths. While she was yelled at by her roommates on both nights again, this time Robin resisted the urge to run and simply gripped onto her bedding instead, so tightly that her knuckles turned white, in an attempt to get rid of the excess energy. Eventually her heartbeat slowed down, the panic faded, and the numbness returned to her mind to let her fall into a restless sleep.

The following evening, a rainy Wednesday, Robin went to study in the potions classroom as always, but she decided against the coffee. Maybe all that caffeine was finally taking its toll on her… Maybe it was what caused the nightmares, the restlessness, the overwhelming tiredness she felt by now. Ever since Sunday she hadn’t had all that much sleep, and if there was such a thing as a battery in humans, Robin’s was close to running out. Still, she made a coffee for Snape once she got to the room, as it usually was her turn first and she somehow didn’t want to skip out on the ritual altogether. It had a calming effect on her, and she enjoyed being able to do something nice for him.

For a while they sat in comfortable silence as usual, until Robin dared to look at the clock and an existential dread overcame her with a start. She didn’t want to return to her room so soon… didn’t want to go to bed. In all honesty and truthfulness, she felt absolutely terrified of falling asleep. Or rather, of dreaming.

Maybe she should talk about it. She wanted to talk about it, and the wish to put into words what she was experiencing grew stronger by the second. The only person she wanted to tell was sitting only a few steps away, and yet Robin felt as if there was an ineffable distance between them that couldn’t be overcome. A distance that only existed in her mind.

“Professor?” The words left her lips before her head caught on. Damnit, Robin! “Can… I mean… do you have a moment to spare?”

“I never do, but go ahead.” He replied without looking up from his work, and Robin felt like someone had poured lead down her throat into her chest. Maybe she shouldn’t bother him with this… he surely had enough on his mind already, and on his desk. Her heart squeezed even more at the prospect of bothering him.

“Uh, I…” She started, but her entire being was heavily protesting in return. If she told Snape now that something as pathetic as nightmares was breaking her so much, he would never see her as anything more than just a stupid little kid. Robin didn’t know when that had become so utterly important to her, but it undoubtedly was now. And it was stronger than her fear of the dreams. “I… finished your book already. I mean I, uh, planned to return it on Friday after class, but… I’m short on other reads, so I thought that maybe… I could borrow a new book today?”

That was a more than decent save, or so Robin thought, seeing as her mind was currently rather preoccupied with different matters.

“Feel free to go into my office and pick one that interests you.” He answered a few seconds later, motioning to the only half closed door on the far wall behind him. Still, he didn’t look up from his work.

Robin sighed to herself and made her way to Snape’s office with the book she had almost finished anyway, placing it on his desk before letting her eyes wander over the shelves. He’d never let her pick before, especially not out of his entire collection of books… He must truly be beyond busy if he let her do this now. Maybe it had been a wise choice to spare him from her pathetic problems for once. She couldn’t come to him crying, every time something went wrong in her life! No matter how much she felt inclined to. She couldn’t be around him and bother him with her nonsense all the time! No matter how much she wanted to.

For a moment Robin simply stood in the quiet calm of the office and stared at the wall of books in front of her. She was a fool, an idiot even. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew why she was feeling what she felt, why she cared as much as she did. She just didn’t want it to be true. It scared her, in the overwhelming kind of way that one experienced only when moving on from the sheltered walls of home to the endless horizons of the world beyond. It wasn’t the first time she had fallen for someone… but it was the first time that mattered. Still, it was wrong and stupid and pathetic and obviously hopeless. Nobody could ever learn of it, and Robin would make sure that nobody ever would.

She rolled her eyes at herself then, and at her own dramatics. This probably was just another result of her sleep deprivation, another joke her mind was playing on her… A silly crush on her professor, an infatuation born out of too much studying and too little sleep. She’d bet her good grades that it would all be history by Christmas! Actually, she wouldn't… she knew herself too well for that. But she also knew that she had gotten fairly decent at ignoring things until they disappeared by themselves, and thus that’s what she would do. Maybe, if she was lucky, they could stay at the almost friendly level they were at now. That would already be a great deal more than what she could have hoped for. And whatever stupid things she was feeling for her professor would disappear before long, and be forgotten for good when she just ignored them. She had to. Bloody hell, these nightmares were really breaking her spirits if she allowed herself such sappy thoughts. She was being ridiculous.

With a sigh, she picked out a book on ratio theorems and stepped back out into the classroom. “Sorry it took me so long… I just couldn’t decide, with all those great options.” She said as neutrally as she could while sitting back down and placing the book on her desk a little too defeatedly.

“If you continue at this rate, you will have read all my books before the end of term.” He commented, sounding almost amused, but Robin couldn’t bring herself to smile. There was too much on her mind, too much dread for the night that would follow all too soon.

“Well, you better get some more then, huh?” She tried to joke, but it came out flat and awkward, and Robin looked down at her hands. Maybe she should just go to bed and hit her head against the bedpost until she passed out. Without wasting another thought contemplating it, she packed up her belongings and rose to her feet. “Sorry, I… I’m not feeling so good tonight. No more use studying. I’ll just… go.”

At that Snape’s eyes finally rose to meet Robin’s, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. She wondered what he might be thinking, just looking at her with a frown, but she didn’t ask and at last he did the speaking for her. “Some decent rest might do you good.”

Robin let out a bitter snort in return. “Yeah, huh… why didn’t I think of that." 

Snape looked fairly irritated at her sarcastic tone, but she couldn’t help it. It was time to go, before her tired mind could do any more damage. "I’m sorry. Really. Goodnight, professor.” Two seconds later, Robin slipped out into the darkness of the empty hallway. And so falls the night.

______________________________

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[adaodinson]

Would she?

Here´s the fourth and final part of this story, it’s a bit shorter that the others but I think it’s okay. I´m sorry it took me a bit longer to upload it, I was having exams and didn´t have time. I´m happy about this ending.

In the story there is a song that´s in Spanish, but I put it in English directly, it is still beautiful. If you speak Spanish I recommend it, it´s called La cosa más bella by Eros Ramazzotti.

Relationship: Marcus Moreno x Fem Mexican reader (it is in English and most of the dialogues are too, her being Mexican is more about the story).

Summary: Missy is tired, even Miracle Guy is tired, so instead of waiting, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: Age gap, reader is Mexican, a bit of swearing.

Part 4

Today, today was the day you would ask Marcus on a date. After all, he liked you enough to have kissed you, you knew that. Then, why the hell were you so freaking nervous? You had been trying for a week to ask him out and you were always either interrupted, or you chickened out. You had also been waiting for him to take that step, but he was just as nervous as you were. The both of you had been feeling like teenagers since you met each other, but it all grew after the kiss you shared.

Missy had been in the middle of everything. She was really getting tired of your bullshit. She had seen both her father and neighbor practice in front of the mirror how to ask the other out, and it was getting more and more frustrating.

The girl reached her limit one day that you went to pick her up at the Heroics building, you were taking her home because Marcus had to go to a mission. As the fool he was, her father insisted on waiting for you with Missy, and she actually thought he was finally gonna say something, but what happened made her scream to her pillow the second she got home.

It was a pretty hot day, so you were wearing a short-sleeve shirt and a couple of loose pants that happened to highlight your ass amazingly (of course this Missy didn´t notice like her father did). As you walked from your car to the pair, you dropped your keys and bent over to pick them up. On that second Marcus´ words disappeared. He wasn´t the type to care at all about the physical aspect of the people he felt attracted to, of course there were things that drove him crazy, but they were never “necessary” for him to be with someone. The thing with you was, that you had everything he had ever dreamed of, physically, spiritually, mentally, just everything, and that happened to include your ass.

You genuinely didn´t notice his reaction, you were too busy looking at his own ass. He was standing next to Missy, she was facing you but he was facing his side, as if he wanted to look at you and make sure his daughter wouldn´t notice. The pair of black jeans he was wearing fit him perfectly and you wanted time to freeze just so that you could stare for as long as you wanted to.

Both of you tried to erase those thoughts, but it was impossible. The thing that upset Missy so much was that, the whole time you two were together you were occasionally looking into each other´s eyes, immediately looked away, blushed like crazy and repeated. Not one word was said by either of you and the romantic tension between you was so big, even a lady that was walking by started laughing at the scene. The lady and Miracle Guy.

He had met you before, he liked you. He really thought you would be great for Marcus and so did the rest of the Heroics, but they also knew how weird Marcus was when it came to this type of things, so after that particular scene, him and Missy created a plan to get you two together.

You woke up from your afternoon nap by the sound of your ringing phone. You quickly stood up and felt yourself get dizzy by the action. You walked over to where your phone was and checked it, it was Missy.

-Hey, listen, I need your help- she said with a worried tone. All the sleepiness you had disappeared.

-What happened? Are you okay?- you asked worried.

-Yes, yes, I´m fine, I just have a small problem. My period just started and I forgot to pack pads so my jeans are stained. Do you think you could go to my house and bring me a new pair? I´m in the Heroics´ building in the bathrooms next to the main training room-

-Yes, of course, don´t worry, I´m on my way- You said and hung up. You questioned if the Heroics would have extra jeans, you thought they would, but if Missy felt uncomfortable asking someone from there knowing she would have to explain why she needed them, you weren´t one to question her.

You drove fast, not wanting to leave her waiting for too long stuck in the bathroom. The moment you arrived you went looking for the training room. Some of the guards there knew you from the other times you went to pick Missy up, so there was no problem.

You bumped into Miracle Guy, and after saying hi you asked him where that specific room was, saying you needed to talk to Missy and she had told you she was there. He walked you over to the place you were looking for and happened to find Marcus on the way. He seemed a bit nervous and was carrying a bag of something, so you immediately thought Missy had probably asked him to get her some stuff too, or you were too lost in his eyes to really question the girl´s reasons.

-Missy?- You asked. He just nodded.

Miracle Guy smiled for himself, but neither of you noticed. You both walked into the room and immediately heard someone locking the door behind you causing you two to turn your face to said door, not noticing what was behind you.

-Wait, this isn´t a bathroom, what´s going on?- You spoke out loud to no one in particular. Marcus just looked at you with a confused gaze.

-No, this isn´t a bathroom- He said in between giggles- But I do wonder what´s going on.

Shortly after, you jumped at a voice that came out of nowhere.

-Listen you two, Marcus you were told Missy was here at the office -Miracle Guy said your name- you were told Missy needed you at the bathroom-

You looked at each other and saw the same lost look in the other one´s eyes. That was when you saw it. Your jaw dropped at the sight of what was behind you. You couldn´t believe it.

-It will take forever for you to accept how you feel about each other- now it was Missy speaking- so, we are just showing that you do share your feelings.

Now it was Marcus´ turn to look around and freeze. In the middle of what was supposed to be an office, there was a small squared table with two chairs, candles, white rose petals (Missy knew you didn´t like red roses), two covered plates, a CD player with the music you both loved ready to be played and a smaller plate in the middle of the table.

You felt your heart jump in both excitement and fear. You didn´t want to look at Marcus and see disgust or disappointment, but you forced yourself to look for his face and what you saw was the look someone gives to the most precious thing they have ever seen, and he was looking at you. His beautiful brown eyes were staring at you with such a love you never imagined possible, and to your surprise, you didn´t even have to command your brain to do the same thing, you were already looking at him just like that.

He slowly walked over to the table, his eyes never leaving yours. He opened one of the chairs for you and once you were seated, he chose a CD and played it. When you realized what song he had chosen you felt tears running down your cheeks, and before he could seat down himself, you took his hand and led him to the middle of the room, asking with your eyes for a dance.

I don't know how we started, the story that has no end, or how you came to be the woman I asked for all my life. With you what´s needed is passion, and a touch of poetry, and wisdom because I work with fantasies. And if I can tell you that there will never be anything more beautiful than you, something more beautiful than you, unique as you are, immense when you want, thank you for existing.

You danced to the slow beat, both of you singing the song softly while staring into each other´s eyes. You had never been this happy, once more you felt tears running down your cheeks, and even saw one racing down Marcus´ face.

At the same time, you both got closer and in the blink of an eye, your lips were perfectly connected. Your breaths mixed once again and became one. You felt his strong big hands holding your waist, and you settled your own on his broad shoulders. It wasn´t needy, or fast, it was everything you needed. You could have stayed like that forever, feeling his soft lips covering yours and then returning him the favor. You kept kissing as you danced until you were out of breath. He pressed his nose against yours and the two of you had the biggest smiles the world had ever seen. You wanted to stay like this, in his arms. He wanted to stay like this, with you. It was perfect, just perfect. Not even your wildest dreams could compare to this moment, and the more you thought about it the wider your smile got. This isn´t a dream, not anymore.

Taglist

@ravennight41

[softbiker]

Born to Run - Chapter 16

Warnings: cursing, angst (sorry not sorry)

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: And we’re back - buckle up, folks. Things are starting to get rough around here. I apologize in advance for this. But thank you for continuing to read and follow this series! Only a few more chapters left...but we’ll see how long that takes me lol. As always, let me know what you think!

He had seen her text about being late for dinner, shooting back that he didn’t mind, that they’d be doing some work at the club this afternoon anyway. That part was mostly true - he was already on his way to the clubhouse to tell Steve Rogers to calm the fuck down. As an afterthought, he’d tacked on the little kiss face emoji, restraining himself from typing out the three words he’d like to say instead. She responded with a thumbs up.

And then - radio silence.

Bucky tried to be cool about it, be the chill boyfriend; Y/N had a full time job, quite a demanding one, and he understood that. Hell, he was damn proud of it, of her and her brains and all her hard work. Smart, beautiful, and making her own way in the world. She may not have been the biker type, but she was certainly a badass.

And she wasn’t texting him back.

Typically, they were in touch throughout the day - she told him about her patients, and he’d sympathize, let her complain. He told her what he was up to at the club - so far as he could - or sent her stupid pictures from the internet to make her laugh. They were never too clingy, neither of them wanted to be that couple, but there were never more than a few hours without some type of correspondence. He loved that about them - how they always wanted to talk about everything and nothing.

He refreshed his messages again, thumb scrolling upwards through the string of unanswered texts from his end, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach as he noticed the little read receipts at the bottom.

What the hell did you do, Barnes?

**********

Y/N massaged her temples, holding her face in her hands. Across from her, Natasha was silent. The muted hiss of the oxygen machine and the steady pulse of the heart monitor were the only noises in the room; they weren’t loud enough to drown out the alarming scream of her thoughts.

And just this morning, just a few hours ago, she thought she loved him. A liar. A stranger.

“An FBI agent?” she repeated, less a question than an incredulous echo of the words she didn’t want to believe. They bounced around her brain until the syllables collapsed, meaningless and hollow.

“So all of you are…undercover? With the FBI?” Y/N finally looked up at Natasha, whose cold green gaze was cracked with something like pity. Nat nodded, pursing her lips.

“I’m CIA, actually,” she amended, swirling her long-cold coffee cup in her hands. “So is Barton. Little bit of a difference.”

Y/N glared sharply at her, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, it makes a huge difference which intelligence organization you’ve all been lying to me about.” She could hear her voice rising, the sharpened steel edge of her words. Palms flat on her knees, she sucked in a deep breath, counted 10, tried to calm her mind.

When she first came here, sparse belongings shoved into the trunk of her car, standing in the driveway of an empty home in a lonely town, she had had nothing. No one. She left it all behind for the sake of her future, finding a way for herself. Alone, unsure, afraid she was making a terrible mistake. And in spite of that she pushed forward, committed to keeping her head down and serving out her time until she was free to go back to her life. Her real life.

And then…Bucky happened.

A swirling sense of vertigo sent her mind reeling. How had she let this go so far? How had she fallen in so deep with a man she clearly didn’t know? Who was this girl, this version of herself who leapt without looking and left motorcycle tracks in her wake?

Small and quiet, nearly drowned out by the rushing of her own blood, a voice in the back of her mind whispered:

A girl in love.

No. No. She couldn’t - didn’t - love him. Because he wasn’t real, only a mirage, an idea. A simple illusion she had stupidly fallen for.

A tissue appeared in front of her face, offered in Nat’s nail-bitten fingers. As she reached for it reflexively, YN realized she was crying.

“I know this must be hard for you,” Natasha ventured, bloodshot eyes cautiously following the path of the tissue across Y/N’s face - one eye, then the other, then her sniffling nose. “You and Barnes have something really special -”

“No.” Y/N cut her off. Her lips pressed into a firm line to keep from trembling. The poor tissue was crushed to a ball between her hands. She swallowed harshly, throat aching, before speaking again.

“No,” she sighed, a little calmer; in her mind, a vault door clanged shut over her heart. She imagined herself spinning the spoke handle, the lock mechanisms tumbling into place with cold precision, sealing her in. “We’re not that serious.”

Nat raised a skeptical red brow. She’d barely seen Bucky at the clubhouse in the last month; he was all but moved in to Y/N’s place. They’d come to family dinners with the Avengers, and then go home together - home. They both called it that.

“Still,” Nat went on, treading lightly as she could. “This is a lot to process - but we’re still here for you. I’ve already made some calls. We can find a new residency position for you, an apartment somewhere-”

Y/N was already shaking her head.

“Keep it. All of it.” She stood from her chair, tossing the wrung-out tissue into the waste bin beside her. Chin lifted, she stared down at Natasha where she still sat, bewildered and bleary-eyed. “I don’t want your help, your money, your connections - I don’t want any of it. I’m done.” With the back of one hand, she wiped away the last of her tears. “I want nothing to do with the Avengers - or whoever the hell you are.”

Pursing her lips, Natasha nodded. She looked paler and more tired than ever; the cuticles of her thumbs were picked raw and close to bleeding.

“If that’s the way you want it.” She folded her hands together in her lap. The white bones of her knuckles appeared delicate and small beneath the skin. “Good luck, Y/N. I really mean that.”

Y/N nodded at the prone figure in the bed, motionless and silent, eking out life with each drip of his IV.

“Looks like you need it more than I do.”

When she was gone, Natasha stared at the empty doorway for a long time, barely blinking. A nurse walked by, glancing in for a moment before turning sharply away from her thousand yard stare. Shifting in her chair, she reached over and rested a hand on top of Nick’s, both their fingers cold and dry, soft breaths the only noise between them.

**********                                                                                                

“Buck. Listen to me - we don’t have any more time.” Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest, sympathetic but firm. “If you really care about Y/N, you’ll help us pull out of this op. It’s the only way to keep her safe.”

Bucky rounded on him, a mutinous fury in his eyes.

“Her safety is the only thing I care about,” he said, clenching his teeth. “Why do you think I’ve kept her out of all this? I haven’t told her a damn thing - and now I’m supposed to expect her to just uproot her entire life? How exactly do I explain that, Steve? Huh?” He raised both brows in a dare, a push against Steve’s immovable self-righteousness. Steve didn’t budge.

“How about you try telling the truth?” He dared right back, not one to back down from a game of chicken.

Bucky’s heart clenched, a mixture of defensive anger and guilt and fear swirling in his gut at the thought. It was the simplest and hardest thing he could do now. Tell the truth. His lies weren’t without good reason, but they were still lies. And what if she couldn’t forgive them? His throat felt thick and dry as he tried to swallow.

“I can’t lose her, Steve,” he whispered, voice scraping. “I…I can’t.” Bucky leaned back on the work bench behind him, gripping the edges of the table with tight fingers. He stared down at his feet. “I don’t even know what I’m doing’ this for anymore.”

Steve’s arms feel to his sides as he looked at Bucky, soft blue gaze filled with an aching sympathy. Their jobs - both before, when they were deployed, and now, back home but still in the field - had crowded out any room, any hope, for a normal life. Marriage. A home. Children. Things they didn’t think to want when they were young and signed their lives on a dotted line. They hadn’t known what they were giving up.

Steve shuffled over a few steps and eased onto the bench next to Bucky, the table groaning in protest at their combined weight.

“It’s really that serious with you two, huh,” he mused, knocking Bucky’s elbow with his own. “Never seen you so caught up on one girl before, Buck.”

Snorting, Bucky looked around the garage, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well.” He toed one of his boots against the scuffed concrete floor. “This is different - she’s different. Jesus, Steve, I-I think…” he sucked in a fortifying breath. “I think I love her.”

Steve’s brows shot up. He’d never heard Bucky say those words. He’d had his fair share of girls - Bucky was never hard up for dates, not even as a gangly teenager; his pretty eyes and charming smile and half-quoted poetry books helped him out with that. Steve was the more serious of the two, talking about “the right one” and looking for love. Bucky just liked to have fun. Of the two of them, Steve never imagined that Bucky would be the one wanting to settle down first.

“Wow,” Steve breathed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, hey, Buck that’s…that’s great.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, pal.”

Bucky looked up with a hopeful smile, meeting Steve’s eyes with a bashful look. Bucky Barnes. Bashful. Steve had really seen it all.

“Thanks, Steve.” Bucky ducked his head back down. One of his hands reached absently to tuck his hair behind his ears. “I’ve…never felt like this before - about anyone.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Steve grinned.

Bucky’s shoulders dropped and he sighed deeply.

“I just don’t wanna mess this up with her, you know?”

“Then maybe it’s time for the truth,” Steve said softly, staring at Bucky’s profile. “The longer you wait…”

“I know,” Bucky sighed again.

“So what are you waiting for?” Steve shook his shoulder again, offering an encouraging smile. “Go see about your girl, you idiot.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky shook off Steve’s hand, rising from the work bench. His bike was waiting for him across the garage, the sleek chrome glinting in a beam of afternoon sun. He snatched his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door and shrugged his shoulders into it, reaching to the pocket for his keys.

“I’ll catch you later, Steve,” he nodded. Glancing back over his shoulder, he licked his lower lip. “Wish me luck?”

“You won’t need it - not if she’s the right one.”

“Yeah, yeah, there you go with that shit again,” Bucky waved him off, swinging a leg over the bike and starting the engine. He tried to tell himself that it was the rumbling of his bike that set his stomach fluttering. He wished Steve would have told him good luck.

 **********                                                                                                  

She had a duffel bag sitting by the door, socks and boxers that wouldn’t quite fit bursting from the top. Her heart stumbled and then picked up again at a breakneck pace when she heard the grumbling of his bike outside, the rattle of his keys in the front door.

“Baby?” He called as he poked his head in. “I thought you were gonna be home late?”

There was a long pause, a chasm of silence she couldn’t begin to cross. She knew he could see her in the kitchen, her back turned, hands gripping the edges of the sink. Her chest felt tight and she realized she was holding her breath.

Bucky felt his palms grow clammy again, and he flexed his hands, cracking the knuckles of each one alternately. Looking down, he saw the duffel bag by the door, a lonely sock hanging from its open mouth.

When he was 12, Bucky had finally convinced his mom to let him go to a local amusement park with his friends. Coasting on his sugary soda high and sticky-fingered from cotton candy, he and his buddies had sworn to ride every last ride - even the Devil Drop. An impressive 250-foot installation that attracted thrill seekers all year round, the ride lifted him up, up, up - until he was certain he could make out the roof of his house in the distance. And then, with ruthless ambivalence, the ride dropped their carriage. Stomach plummeting, legs glued to the seat, he’d screamed and gripped the bars of his harness and screwed his eyes shut, waiting for it all to be over. When he clambered down from the ride, his knees shook, and he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck just before he threw up in the bushes. He’d never gone on a ride like that again.

But he remembered this feeling.

“Y/N.” His feet were heavy and slow as he moved towards the kitchen, as though he were wading through water. “What is this?” She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the sink, refusing to look at him. Tongue heavy in his mouth, he tried to swallow. “Baby, you’re scarin’ me. What’s going on?”

One hand pressed against her heart, she took a deep breath. Then two.

“It’s over.” She set her shoulders and finally turned to face him, her eyes dry but red-rimmed. “We’re done.” With a nod, she gestured to the lonely bag by her front door. “I’ve packed up your things already, and I want you gone - tonight.”

His mouth fell open in shock.

“What- no. No! Honey, what are you talking about? Please, just talk to me - I don’t understand-” he begged, taking another step towards her. She flinched back, pressing herself against the sink.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m upset about-”

“But I don’t!” His eyes were wide, pleading, and he fought to lower his voice. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

Something in it, that innocent, loving look in his eyes, made her snap. A hidden angry part of her, all teeth and bloodlust, began to roar.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t know who the hell you are!” He’d never heard her raise her voice before, and it frightened him, stopped him cold in his pursuit. It gratified her, the way he paled and took a step back. “What’s wrong is that you’ve been lying to me from the moment I met you! I mean - what the fuck was I supposed to think when I found out that my boyfriend’s identity is just a character he invented cause he’s undercover with the goddamned FBI?”

Bucky’s mouth had gone dry and he tasted bile in his throat. The furious heat of her gaze was too intense and he looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots, unable to meet it.

“How did you find out?” he asked a moment later, still staring at the floor.

“Natasha.” Y/N folded her arms. “I ran into her at the hospital.” Reaching for her coffee cup on the counter, she took a small sip, grimacing when she realized it had gone cold. “You might want to go visit your friend, by the way. He’s in pretty bad shape.”

Shaking fingers raked his hair back from his face as Bucky’s mind raced, trying to think of what to say.

“I…I know you must be angry,” he started - judging from the look on her face, it was a gross understatement. “But I hid this from you to keep you safe. Please believe me, I would never lie to you-”

She laughed, harsh and sad, and shook her head.

“That is unbelievable coming from you - all you’ve done is lie to me since we met!”

“It’s my job, Y/N,” he said, jaw clenched.

“Exactly! And I don’t want any part of it!” Her lower lip trembled, but she forged ahead. “Coverups and secrets and lies…that’s not what I want. I can’t build my life around that.”  

And there it was - the real challenge, the question she wouldn’t ask, the question he had been afraid to answer.

“You don’t have to.” His voice came out quiet and hoarse. “I’m quitting.”

A beat. He’d caught her off guard, and he watched as she quickly reassembled her defenses.

“What do you mean?”

Cautiously, he took a step forward; when she didn’t back away, he held her gaze and took the plunge.

“I mean I’m leaving the FBI after this,” he said. “It’s not what I want anymore, either. I…” a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “I want you. I want a future - Y/N, I’m in love with you.” He heard her breath catch, and he closed the last few feet between them to grip her hands in his own. He wanted to say it again, just to taste the sweetness of the words. “I love you, sweetheart. So, wherever you wanna go, let’s go. Let’s get outta here, baby, let’s run and not look back. It doesn’t make a difference to me; all I’ve gotta do is finish this job and then I’m out. I’m all yours - I promise.”

In her head, she could see it, a supercut of daydreams and hopes - the two of them moving furniture into a cramped apartment in the city, adopting a dog and lining the window sill with tiny succulents. A white dress. A pair of rings.

Closing her eyes, she gathered each thought, snatching each one by the wings as it flew by, and placed them all in her vault. She let the door swing shut, hearing the heavy bolt slide home.

Calmly, firmly, she pulled her hands from his grip.

When she opened her eyes again, it was like meeting a stranger - she was standing right in front of him but he’d never felt so far away. His fingers grasped at empty air and his throat closed up. He wanted to get on his knees, beg her not to say the part that came next.

“It’s too late for that, Bucky.” She took a step away, out of his reach. He didn’t try to follow. “I’m sorry, but…” she shook her head. “I just can’t forgive this. I’m-I’m really sorry.” Lifting her chin, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, took one more step backwards. Bucky felt cold all the way down to his boots. There was no mercy in her gaze - no hatred, either. She had shed her tears, and would give him no more.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

[ewdaviddd]

folklore think piece

for a lower case album such as this, i will be writing a lowercase think piece on the subject. i will not explain why. you get it or you don’t.

the 1: i have never been in love or any type of romantic relationship that left me with lasting feelings of any kind. but, on my fourth listen through of this song today, what once was just a promising and fun intro to this peasant girl summer gut punch, brought me to actual tears as i sat on the toilet in my lime green childhood bathroom as if i were mourning the one that got away (another great song). however, i am an expert on being hung up on the past, the “what could have been”, and made up hypotheticals. this song also introduces the film motif seen a lot in this album. i think dating an actor has really gotten to her. anyway what a killer way to begin, top notch stuff. how can a song be so fun and so soul crushing at the same time?

cardigan: when did taylor wear black lipstick? this is important to me. an old cardigan is an inherently bisexual article of clothing. that is not an opinion. i read it somewhere today and i believe it. this is the tip of the queer-coding ice berg in folklore, never fear. another reference, “tried to change the ending / peter losing wendy”. this year i wrote a movie script where both peter and wendy were both gay. coincidence? probably. basically this one is classic taylor poetry on every level and it being one of a trio in a larger story makes it that much better. yet again, high school romance is not a universal experience (like for me for instance) but haunting my “what-ifs” is going to haunt me for a long time. and the thought of someone saying i was their favorite cardigan makes me want to scream into a pillow.

the last great american dynasty: my favorite ts songs have always been the ones with detailed characters and stories and this one introduces the trope of the “mad woman” who comes back later on as well a long with many fun character details. at first this song is just cheeky and cute, very visual, a fun world to jump into. but then this particular stretch of lines makes your heart drop into your chest and reminds you why taylor isn’t just always fun and always cute and always creative, she also holds the ability to nimbly sock you in the gut when you least expect: “fifty years is a long time / holiday house sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.” my jaw is still on the floor. and i’ve never bought a house myself. but i’ve spent numerous christmases having a marvelous time ruining everything (so i’ve been told) so this song still applies to my life.

exile (ft. bon iver): i’m gonna be honest. for as long as i can remember i have strongly disliked bon iver and i never remembered why. it is a matter of principle at this point. i just don’t trust him. but then taylor announced she wrote a song with him which filled me with tremendous anxiety. but i can rest easy. much like “the last time” this song is a ts and male artist collaboration i can get behind. also the film motif again: the only time i’ve left a theatre when i didn’t like a movie was never because movie tickets are so expensive and if i’m shelling out 11 dollars to sit in a chair, i’m staying the whole time no matter how bad the ending. but i probably would have left my sister’s keeper if i had seen it before if i’m being honest. so i get it. thats why i read spoilers for everything i watch before watching it, because the anxiety of worrying about how it ends make me not enjoy it in the first place. the end of this song: the call and response felt… ethereal? i felt like i was watching a broadway musical from the splash zone seats, crying as i was spat on.

my tears ricochet: this song is what i picture stepping outside in the middle of the night when an inch or so of snow has just fallen and i can see the flakes fall in front of a street light sounds like. or the scorned secret ex lover throwing themselves onto the coffin demanding to know why they weren’t enough.   which is to say it feels like a sign from some sort of god. yet again, haunting is brought up, an overt reference to the fact that this album will live in my brain rent free for eternity. for some reason this song reminds me of the relationship between hamilton and burr when burr kills hamilton. that could be because i just watched the disney+ recording last week. one lives, one dies, but neither survive, both pay for it. Which is a super romantic and understanding view on murder. both musical experiences equally chilling and moving. if i die under mysterious circumstances this will for sure be played at the funeral.

mirrorball: first off, this is my mom's favorite which is very important. also, it has skewered a very specific but also universal insecurity of mine; existing just to please others and yet miserably failing. it is comforting that ts is not a “natural’ and feels she must always “try try try” because i too lack natural ability, but also rarely “try” even just the one time. the best way i can describe listening to this song is walking through a silent disco where everyone else is listening to some classic lady gaga jam and you are listening to a calming lullaby sung very far away. but don’t let the soothing sounds fool you. it still will have you reflecting on what it means to look and be looked at. a dark rabbit whole, like falling through the looking glass. i’ve never actually read that book though so i could be wrong.

seven: i’m dumb and on my first listen of this song i thought she “hit her peak” at 7 clock as opposed to age seven. but i always saw taylor swift as someone with an early bedtime. also a fun discovery while writing this, “seven” is the 7th song on the track list. clever. although this song is young and innocent and so nostalgic for a time when screaming ferociously was a widely accepted form of expression, it also sounds like a very old secret someone is whispering to me. a love from long ago that lasts beyond the person being in your life, passed down to me and it all just sounds a little gay. not just because of the specific line to hiding in the closet. but that certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. when i was seven i was definitely in love with girls and assumed that was just what friendship was, playing pirates and making plans of running away together.

august: the eighth track for the eighth month. her mind. also my birth month so that’s special. controversial opinion: from what i’ve read most people seem to think illicit affair is the third song in the triage of teen love. i will strongly make the case that it's actually this one. first of all, the subject: a short lived summer fling, which is specifically mentioned later in “betty”. the central heartbreak of this song is liking someone who always belonged to someone else. yes, this song is a window into a different summer, far from pandemic central and the escapist imagery is delightful. but a whole song from the pov of the “other woman” to james and betty is just so much more fun. and there are two more specific lyrics that prove my point. “remember when i pulled up and said "get in the car”” you will see later comes back from the other person’s perspective. and most of all: the repeated line, “meet me behind the mall”? only teenagers make plans to meet up behind a mall. i rest my case. so now we have cardigan and august. two pieces of the puzzle.

this is me trying: i’m glad i now have a succinct message to send to anyone when they ask me what the hell i’m doing at any given moment. this song just sounds like regret and waste in the most self-assured and confident way. this is “back to december” with the training wheels off.  i have no apologies for my efforts at wasting all my potential. but in this song, taylor has opened her arms to me in a warm embrace and has forgiven me for all i’ve done wrong and reminds me to not take for granted the “try”. okay mom. i’m crying again, but okay.

illicit affair: this is the kind of thing that makes you feel sixteen, living in a dull suburb, while secretly screwing your 38 year old married neighbor who’s rich but wants to be an artiste. aka like a character in euphoria or something. it’s sexy and dangerous until you think about it and then it's just dingy and creepy. but this song starts and stays beautiful. most importantly, this song is too sad and depressing frankly, to be a part of the trilogy. we could never forgive james for leaving such a mess and making her a fool. you don’t want to be this girl. you want to walk up to her and shake her and yell “you exist and will not be ruined by any dumb man”. and that’s feminism.

invisible string: is it reductive if i say this one’s about joe? all my non-stan friends have asked me which ones are about him. we forgive them and point them in this direction. because it is lovely and beautiful that we are all tied to our soulmate for our whole lives before we ever meet them (because that would in fact mean that there is someone out there for everyone which might be naive or dumb but i am both of those things and whats the point of living if you don’t believe in the power of love). this honestly gives me “begin again” vibes in the best way. it’s red-era level with the wisdom of lover-era tay. sublime.

mad woman: the second mention of the “mad woman” as both taylor herself and the character in the story. as usual, tay stays calling out double standards and the manipulation of women into “going crazy” for expressing reasonable anger. I, personally, wish i could say “fuck you forever” without someone saying i’m “overreacting”. this is my least favorite song on the album and i’d still listen to it three times in a row and need to resist the urge to set a man’s lawn on fire. just girly things.

epiphany: i know she said this one is about her grandfather’s experience in the military but all i imagine is a slow montage of harry style’s character in “dunkirk” on the beach. and it’s beautiful. and much like my sophomore in high school self reading “all quiet on the western front” it evokes a pain from deep inside me that engulfs a loss i could never describe and a sadness too awful to witness. you will listen to this song and feel absolutely powerless to the will of the universe and it’s cruelty. and the faint but steady heart monitor beep in the background… i’ve never seen “grey’s anatomy” but i can imagine why it has so many fans sobbing. and let me end on this: two soldiers in some old war (meaning both men based on dunkirk) watching each other like this and living and dying together…gay.

betty: the first verse was pulled directly out of my subconscious fantasy of being in love in high school and it being so wonderful and painful and dramatic. and taylor riding a skateboard… is a mood. the song has been out for less than a week and it’s already a cold take to talk about how this is her gayest song to date (close runner-ups being reputation’s “dress” and “cardigan”). but of course i will still talk about it. the lyrics embody such authentic awkward gay energy (see the lesbian in booksmart for reference) and having been a 17 year old only three years ago, i can say with reasonably good authority that no 17 year old straight boy could stand in front of a crowd of peers and beg forgiveness from a girl he hurt. it’s just not realistic. these are all awkward, over-dramatic, young girls stumbling through love. and it’s awesome. james is the speaker of this song, and the subject of “august”, the summer fling that was never truly there due to james’ love for betty, the titular role of this song. thus completing the love triangle. and there are so many obvious references in this song to both “august” and “cardigan”. rhyming cardigan with car again makes me want to light myself on fire in the best way. i love it. “i dreamt of you all summer long” is the final nail in the coffin for the girl in “august” who was clearly just a place-holder. totally separate from taylor swift, my favorite word is porch. so the amount of times it appears in her lyrics is wonderful. say it out loud. it just feels nice. anyway, this song makes me want to be young and dumb and in love. the second can really only be tolerated because of the first and third. i hope the story has a happy-ending. if james were a boy i’d wish him the plague.

peace: the coming-of-age movie starring james and betty (and inez) is over. we have come to “the age” i guess. there’s a thought that’s gonna fester. if this song was just the line, “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” over and over for four minutes it would still smash me to pulp and fill my body with helium gas. i can and will cause a car wreck when this comes on the aux. if this song is what being grown up is like (bare in mind grown up to me is like, 30) then i’m ready to be done coming of age. because i already worry if i’ll be at all enough for anyone and way too much for someone at the same time. but like all good poetry, this song isn’t about what it “means”, but how it “feels”. and this is new york city, the summer, pouring rain, a long walk home, desperately fearing and hoping they are there waiting for you.

hoax: a one-sided conversation between me and my stubborn clinical depression. i too, constantly stand alone on the cliff demanding a reason. one has not yet been presented. it operates both within and and against me. i could be bigger and stronger than it. but instead i tend to it like a prickly plant. (“no other sadness in the world will do”). there is nothing both sadder and funnier then the scene in “avatar: the last airbender” when prince zuko stands alone on a cliff screaming at the sky for lightning to strike him. i don’t know why this song reminds me so much of that. what a way to end such an emotional rollercoaster. it is so emotionally draining that it simply forces me to start folklore again from the top and listen to it all over again.  or take a long therapeutic nap.

there are no skips. and it will still surprise you on your 267th listen. proceed with caution.

i knew you, in a past life maybe. i have not met you yet, but folklore has made me believe you exist.

@taylorswift 10/10 good work

@taylornation this had to be shared and i don’t have a twitter so

[queen-scribbles]

OC Questionnaire-Xaeryn

@haledamage​ challenged me back to do this again, and we all know I have a plethora of OCs. :D Second most developed Shepherds of Haven MC’s turn. 

GENERAL

name: Xaeryn Shrike

alias(es): Ryn, Mage, Speaker, Xaer(only Red and sometimes Pan get to use that one)

gender: female

age: 28

place of birth: unknown, raised in Westwood 

spoken languages: just common, I think. She can read a bunch of languages that are arcane, dead, or both

sexual orientation: straight

occupation: Captain in the Shepherds

APPEARANCE

eye colour: deep blue

hair colour: black

height: 6′

scars:only one; small diagonal line up the outside of her left index finger.

burns: none

overweight: No

underweight: Not anymore, but she was kinda scrawny as a teenager

FAVOURITE

colour: gold, green, blue

music genre: classical, especially anything stringed

movie genre: historical drama

tv show: I feel she’d be the type to have, like, a soap opera on in the background and not really be paying attention but still somehow know and remember most if not all of what’s going on

pastime: reading, sketching(mostly landscapes, sometimes people)

food: sweet glazed buns

drink: khav with milk

book: any and all are good, but she especially loves anything on history and magical theory(does have a super secret soft spot for poetry no one but Red knows about)

HAVE THEY

passed university: the in-universe equivalent, yes. She studied at the Solhadur Mage Circle and learned all she could there

had sex: no

had sex in public: no

gotten pregnant: no

kissed a boy: yes

kissed a girl: no 

gotten tattoos :yes, she has her favorite constellation on the back of her neck

had a broken heart: not romantically, no.

been in love: ....yeah. Thinks she is again

stayed up for longer than 24 hours: what self-respecting scholar hasn’t at least once or twice?

ARE THEY

a virgin: Yes

a cuddler: not really? Her idea of cuddling is letting someone sit close enough in her personal space their shoulders/arms are touching

a kisser: Once she gets into a serious relationship, she will be :3

scared easily: No. It’s hard to ruffle her in general

jealous easily: she’d say no, and it would be 99% true

trustworthy: Extremely. Once she gives her word, she’ll keep it come hell or high water

dominant: She comes off that way, but it’s largely confidence and determination

submissive: When someone has a better plan than her

in love: *steeples fingers*  Possibly

single: currently, yes

RANDOM QUESTIONS

have they harmed themselves: not intentionally. (that scar on her finger is from her, uh, learning curve with a dagger)

thought of suicide: Nope

attempted suicide: No

Wanted to kill someone: Not kill, but there’ve been a couple she’s toyed with maiming

rode a horse: Yes.

have / had a job: Yep. Former bodyguard, current Captain in the Shepherds

have any fears: helplessness, being alone, failure

FAMILY

sibling(s): none

parents:  Tressa and Cedric, both deceased

children: none yet

pets: no, thank you. She’s okay with animals, doesn’t want the responsibility of caring for one, though