#Guilt and Gratitude. Regret and Respect. Longing and Love.

[zu-is-here]

What does Dream think of Nim in post dark cream?

farewell, Mother

[12/21] Happy birthday to Dream & Nightmare ★

Dreamtale by jokublog

for the atmosphere:

[colouredbyd]

wow, first of all, thank you so much for such a thoughtful, heartfelt message — i honestly can’t express how much it means to me that you connected so deeply with the characters and the story. when i write, my biggest hope is always that people feel what the characters feel — that they don’t just read the words but live in those moments with them — so hearing that you’ve been thinking about it nonstop and that it reconnected you with the characters just fills me with gratitude.

about a part two — yes, i’ve definitely thought about it, but here’s the thing: if i wrote a sequel where there was immediate forgiveness or a quick fix to the brokenness, i don’t think it would honor the weight of what happened in this fic. this moment is meant to capture the fracture — that sharp, painful space where trust is broken and everything feels fragile. the reader, especially, is so traumatised by what’s happened — it’s not just physical scars in the hospital ring but emotional wounds that will take years, maybe decades, to fully heal. this kind of trauma isn’t something you just put a bandage on or erase with a single apology.

headcanon-wise, i imagine the reader carrying this trauma deeply — there’s this constant hyper-awareness, moments where she flinches at sudden touches, where her eyes drift away because she’s trying to protect herself from reliving the pain. the silence between conversations, the way people look at her like they’re walking on eggshells, and her own fear of being fully seen or understood — it all builds up this wall she struggles to lower. she wrestles with the secret she was never supposed to carry and the betrayal of those she trusted most, which colors every interaction and fuels her anger and confusion. she might have nightmares, flashbacks, and moments where the weight of what she’s endured feels unbearable — especially knowing those scars will be a permanent part of her body and memory.

for the boys and reader to really find their way back to each other, i imagine it takes something earth-shattering — like the first war you mentioned — to break through all the pain and silence. something so devastating and raw that it forces them to confront their fears and failures together. i see that as a turning point where the slow, messy process of forgiveness begins — not perfect or linear, but real. the kind of pain that stitches wounds shut by sheer necessity and shared survival.

with remus, i love how you picked up on their bond growing through shared pain and understanding. i think the bite changes the dynamic profoundly, making them mirrors of each other in suffering and survival. that moment of them supporting each other physically, leaning on each other, is symbolic — it’s not just about walking away from trauma, but walking forward into something new, together. i can easily see the reader slowly becoming more like remus — whether literally becoming a werewolf or sharing in his experience — and that shared identity deepening their connection beyond words.

james and sirius feel so real in this story because they’re flawed and deeply human. james’s protective nature paired with his occasional arrogance, and sirius’s guilt wrapped in his defiant humor — it’s such a complicated dance of love and regret. sirius blaming himself for the consequences of his actions and struggling to find a way back in without feeling like an outsider — that’s a deeply painful place to be. but i also believe that over time, with honesty and vulnerability, they would find their way back to each other. the healing wouldn’t be fast or easy, and there’d be a lot of angst and rawness, but ultimately that tension would make their reconciliation feel earned and powerful

thank you again for your kind words and for holding space for this story. i might write a part two one day, but it would have to respect that the healing process is slow and layered — not rushed. trauma shapes people, and the scars, both seen and unseen, mark their journeys long after the immediate events. so much of the story is about that difficult, painful liminal space between breaking and rebuilding, and i want to honor that.

i’m also really grateful for your encouragement — even though i get praise here and there, hearing things like this truly keeps me going. it reminds me why i write, why i pour myself into these stories, and why every word matters. so seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me.

and yes — water, snacks, and self-care are definitely on my to-do list. thank you for the reminder! you’re such a blessing too, and i’m sending you lots of love and gratitude back <333 💞🧸🌷💌

hey, can i request a poly!marauders fic where remus ends up hurting reader so bad durig a full moon, like lots of angst and obviously u can pick a fit ending. i love ur writing, ur so talented!!

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: A prank gone wrong shatters the quiet trust between four lovers, leaving behind wounds deeper than any scar. In the aftermath, two broken souls face the wreckage with guilt clinging to skin and silence weighing heavier than blame. When forgiveness finally flickers to life, it does not erase the pain but dares to ask if something softer can still survive.

warnings: graphic injury, blood, post-transformation trauma, emotional breakdown, panic attacks, guilt, bathing scenes (non-sexual), intense regret, betrayal, depiction of self-loathing, partial nudity (non-sexual), heavy angst, complex grief, subtle references to recovery and healing. basically The Prank but with some comfort

w/c: 10k

a/n: this was abit challenging to write but i loved the idea <3

masterlist

Secrets are heavy things. They press against the ribs, nestle deep in the cavity of the heart, whispering their weight into your bones. 

You’ve carried theirs for months now, cradled in the hollow of your chest like something fragile, something dangerous. It lingers in the spaces they leave behind, the silence that drips from their mouths when they think you’re not listening. 

It’s the way Remus flinches when you touch his hand sometimes, the way his eyes flicker with something haunted, something raw.

It’s James, all restless energy and tight-lipped smiles, his gaze skittering away from yours at the end of every month like he’s afraid of what you might see there.

It’s Sirius, with mud caked on his boots and leaves tangled in his hair, laughter too bright, edges too sharp.

You know them. You know them like you know the lines of your own palms, the shape of your own breath. You know the way James’s voice softens when he’s apologetic, how Sirius’s grin goes crooked when he’s lying, how Remus’s shoulders tense when he’s afraid.

But this is different. This is not a harmless prank or a secret rendezvous. 

This is something that twists in the pit of your stomach, something that grows between them like tangled roots, thick and unyielding.

You feel it most in the silences. Those quiet moments where the world narrows to the space between heartbeats, and the air feels heavy with something unspoken.

You see it in the way they look at each other sometimes, as if speaking without words, as if deciding what not to say.

You wonder if it’s you. If you are the fracture in their perfect, unspoken language. If you are the secret they cannot share. It claws at you, fangs of insecurity sinking deep. 

Because you see it—the way their eyes meet across rooms, quick glances like unspoken conversations, the way they slip away without a word, leaving you in the warmth of the common room fire, staring into the flames as if they might hold the answers.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be patient, but patience is a fraying thread, and you feel it unraveling more and more each day.

You hate it—the way your mind spirals into questions you don’t want to ask. Are they tired of you? Are you a burden? Something to be set aside while they run off to do God-knows-what in the dead of night?

You imagine them whispering secrets you aren’t privy to, huddled together under the weight of something important, something sacred, and your chest aches with the hollowness of being left behind.

Sirius still kisses you like you are his favorite sin, hands tangled in your hair, mouth all heat and promise. James still pulls you onto his lap with that bright grin of his, fingers tracing circles on your hips as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. Remus still holds you like you’re fragile, cradles you against him with a gentleness that feels like both love and apology. 

But it’s not enough to quiet the questions. Not enough to drown out the whisper of doubt that lingers in the back of your mind.

You start to second-guess everything. The way Sirius’s gaze sometimes flickers away when you ask him where he’s been. The way James laughs off your questions with a joke or a grin, always deflecting, always distracting. The way Remus looks at you with eyes full of ghosts, haunted and hollow, like he’s holding back an ocean of secrets.

It gnaws at you, eats away at your resolve until you can’t tell if you’re being paranoid or perceptive.

Sometimes, you catch them whispering in low voices, huddled together in the corners of the library or just outside the common room door.

They fall silent the moment you approach, smiles too bright, voices too loud, shifting to jokes and easy laughter as if nothing at all is wrong.

But you see it—the way Sirius’s hand will linger on Remus’s shoulder, the way James’s fingers brush against Sirius’s arm, a silent promise, a wordless reassurance.

You feel like you’re chasing shadows, hands grasping for something that slips through your fingers every time you get close. You want to ask them. You want to demand answers, to force them to share whatever it is they’re keeping from you. 

But you don’t. Because some part of you is afraid of the answer, afraid of what it might mean if you tear down the walls they’ve built and find yourself standing alone on the other side.

So you wait. You wait and you watch, heart heavy with the weight of secrets that are not yours to keep, wondering if there will come a day when they finally decide to let you in—or if the door will remain locked, the key hidden away in whispered conversations and midnight disappearances.

Because secrets are heavy things. And you are tired of carrying theirs.

The day unfurls like fraying ribbon, slipping through your fingers faster than you can hold on. There’s a heaviness to it, a weight pressing against your shoulders as you move through the halls, weaving between groups of students who laugh too loud and talk too fast.

Marlene walks beside you, her voice a gentle hum, but the words blur together, softened by the roar of your thoughts.

You think of them—of Sirius’s sharp grin and James’s steady hands, of Remus’s soft-spoken words and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. You think of the way they’ve always been yours, and you theirs, a tangled mess of limbs and laughter and quiet whispers beneath the covers. You think of the way it feels like coming home, like belonging.

But lately, there’s been something else.

A flicker of something that passes between them, a look, a whisper, moments that pull tight like thread, snapping back before you can catch hold of it.

It’s the late-night disappearances, the hushed conversations that end the moment you step into the room. It’s the way Sirius’s eyes dart away from yours sometimes, how James’s smile falters, how Remus’s hands shake when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You try to brush it off, try to bury it beneath logic and trust and the weight of their love. But it festers in the quiet moments, slipping in through the cracks when you’re alone, curling around your thoughts and whispering things you don’t want to hear. It’s loneliness, sharp and unyielding, and it grips tight, leaving bruises where you can’t see them.

Marlene’s hand finds your arm, squeezing gently. “You alright?” she asks, voice softening at the edges.

You blink, dragging yourself back to the present, to the corridor stretching out before you and the sunlight slanting through the windows. “Yeah,” you lie, the word sticking to your tongue like tar. “Just tired.”

She hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. You’re grateful for it. The silence stretches out between you, comfortable and warm, and you let it hold you for a moment, let it cradle you in something soft and unspoken.

But the weight is still there, pressing at the back of your mind, a whisper of something fragile and breaking.

By the time you reach the dormitory, the ache has settled low in your bones, a steady thrum that makes you want to curl into yourself and hide from the world.

Marlene offers you a soft smile and a quick hug before she disappears down the hall, and you watch her go, feeling the space she leaves behind like a phantom limb.

You push open the door, and the warmth of the room spills out to greet you, soft and familiar. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and the soft murmur of conversation drifts through the air. For a moment, you just stand there, watching them.

Sirius is sprawled across the couch, his head in James’s lap, eyes half-lidded as James’s fingers card gently through his hair.

There’s something unguarded in the way he leans into the touch, the tension bleeding out of his frame with each gentle stroke.

James is murmuring something soft, too low for you to hear, and his other hand is resting on Sirius’s shoulder, grounding him.

Remus is curled up in the armchair, a book spread open across his lap, fingers idly tapping against the spine in rhythm with whatever thought is playing behind his eyes.

He looks peaceful, brow unfurrowed, mouth softened at the edges. It’s a rare thing—to see him unburdened, unbothered—and you don’t want to break it.

You linger in the doorway, watching them, and for a moment, it’s enough just to exist there, on the edge of something beautiful.

But then Sirius glances up, his gaze catching on yours, and his eyes brighten.

“There she is,” he drawls, a lazy smile stretching across his lips, though you can see the way his hand trembles where it rests against James’s knee. “Wondered when you’d come back to us.”

You force a smile, stepping into the room, the wooden door groaning behind you. The space is warm with the soft glow of lamplight, and you take in the tangle of limbs, the way Sirius leans so comfortably against James, the way Remus’s long fingers are still pressed into the spine of his book. It looks like belonging, like home.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re standing on the edge of it, fingers curled around the windowsill, peering in.

You clear your throat, and three heads turn towards you, Remus’s eyes softening the instant they land on your face.

He’s the first to rise, marking his page with a quick slip of parchment before crossing the room in a few long strides. His hands are warm when they cup your face, eyes searching yours with a tenderness that nearly unravels you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. His gaze is steady, achingly gentle, and it makes something splinter in your chest.

You lean into his touch, your hands wrapping around his wrists. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, voice catching at the edges. “Wanted to be with you. All of you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or something darker—but it’s gone before you can name it. He nods, presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“We’re right here, my love,” he says softly. “Always.”

You hear movement behind him, and Sirius appears at his side, James right behind him, both of them looking at you with expressions that tighten the knot in your chest.

“Come here,” Sirius says, and you’re pulled into the warmth of their arms, the scent of cedar and smoke and something distinctly theirs flooding your senses. It’s grounding, familiar.

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

When Remus pulls away, his hand is gentle at your back. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft as spring rain. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

His eyes are warm, and the softness there unravels you completely. You nod, and let him lead you towards the bathroom, his touch a tether in the quiet.

The bathroom is softly lit, shadows dancing along the tiled walls as Remus moves about, turning the tap and letting steam fill the space.

He turns back to you, his hands finding yours, guiding you gently to the edge of the tub. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice like something sacred.

Steam curls at the edges of the mirror, blurring the reflection into softened shapes and tender echoes. The bathroom is awash with warmth, the flicker of candlelight catching on water droplets that gather and run down the tiles like tiny rivers.

The tub is filled nearly to the brim, wisps of lavender and cedar curling through the air, softening the edges of everything sharp and jagged.

You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself as Remus’s hands work at the buttons of your shirt, fingers deft and gentle.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble, just unfastens each button with practiced ease, his gaze steady and patient.

When the last one comes undone, he slides the fabric from your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of cotton.

James is already rolling up his sleeves, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something unyielding in his gaze, an anchor that keeps you grounded even when the world feels like it’s fraying at the edges.

Sirius is beside him, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed, a grin softening into something tender as he watches you, eyes bright with a fondness that makes your heart twist.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice soft but unsteady.

Sirius’s grin widen just a bit, a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds.

“Can you blame me?” he drawls, pushing off the counter to step closer. His hands find your shoulders, warm and grounding.

“We’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world standing right here. You expect us not to look?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you look down, eyes catching on the curve of your bare feet against the tile.

Remus’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, gentle and grounding. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and achingly tender. “Look at me.”

You do, slowly, and his gaze is steady, unyielding. “You know we love you, right?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve heard before, one you’ve answered a thousand times.

But tonight, the weight of it settles heavy in your chest, and you swallow hard, your throat bobbing with the effort. “I know,” you whisper, though it wavers at the edges.

Sirius’s fingers brush your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you do,” he says softly, and his voice is raw, stripped down to something real. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, thick and heavy with unspoken things. James steps forward, his hands settling at your waist.

“Whatever that pretty mind of yours is telling you, it isn’t true, darlin', you know that, right?” he whispers, the words slipping through the quiet like a prayer.

His thumb strokes gentle circles into your hip, grounding and real.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and James’s smile softens at the edges. His hands guide you to the edge of the tub, and Remus’s hands are still at your shoulders, steady and sure.

“In you go, darling,” he murmurs, and you let them guide you down into the water, warmth curling around your skin and washing away the chill.

The water laps softly at your shoulders, steam curling around your face. Remus kneels beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lean back,” he says gently, and you do, letting your head rest against the lip of the tub as he scoops water into his hands, drizzling it over your shoulders.

James is at your other side, his hands gentle as he brushes back your hair, fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Sirius perches on the edge of the tub, one hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the water. His thumb strokes lazy circles there, his grin soft and unguarded.

They work in tandem, hands moving with practiced ease, soft murmurs passing between them as they pour water over your skin, rub gentle circles into your shoulders, your arms.

It’s reverent, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world just to be here with you.

“You’re safe here,” Remus whispers as his hands brush over your collarbones, his eyes steady and sure. “With us. Always.”

But your breath catches, fingers curling against the edge of the tub. Safe. Always.

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning you want so desperately to believe. “For keeps?” you whisper, and the question is so small, so fragile that it barely breaks the surface of the silence.

Sirius’s hand stills on your knee, and he leans in, eyes dark and unflinching.

“For keeps,” he answers, and the promise hums between you all, ancient and unbreakable.

His thumb resumes its gentle circles, grounding you back into this warmth, this moment.

A grin breaks across his face, wild and free, and James lets out a breath of laughter, his hand squeezing yours beneath the water. “See?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod, the knot in your chest unraveling just a bit, the warmth of their hands grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

For a while, it’s just that—the gentle lap of water, the steady rhythm of their hands, the murmur of their voices threading through the quiet. They wash away the ache, the doubt, until there’s nothing left but warmth and the soft thrum of belonging.

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

You close your eyes and lean into the warmth, the steady rhythm of their hands soothing the ache in your chest.

But then, James’s hand splashes against the water, breaking the stillness. His eyes flicker with something bright and mischievous.

“Would you look at that?” he grins, flicking a bit of water towards Sirius, who jerks back, sputtering.

“Oh, you absolute menace,” Sirius huffs, eyes narrowing with playful fury.

Before you can blink, he’s scooped a handful of water and splashes it back, catching both you and James in the crossfire.

You squeal, hands coming up to shield your face, but the damage is done—water drips from your lashes, and James is laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained, the sound filling the bathroom with unrestrained joy.

Remus, who had been standing up to grab towels, turns back to see water arcing through the air, James slinging droplets at Sirius, who’s now fully on his knees beside the tub, splashing back with reckless abandon.

His eyes widen, a hand on his hip. “You lot are absolute children, you know that?”

“Only sometimes,” Sirius counters with a grin, flinging another handful in Remus’s direction. “We’ve got to keep it interesting, haven’t we?”

A flicker of laughter escapes you, and Remus’s stern expression softens, though he rolls his eyes. “I’m gone two minutes, and you’ve already started a war.”

James shrugs, unbothered, droplets dripping from his hair. “What can we say? We’re efficient.”

Remus sighs, grabbing a towel and shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re all impossible.”

“And you love it,” Sirius quips, leaning back with a splash. Remus just shakes his head, moving to your side with the towel, his eyes softening as he meets yours.

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, voice warm and steady. “Let’s get you out before these two flood the whole place.”

The night slipped away in a haze of warmth and whispered jokes, Sirius launching playful jabs at James, who retaliated with splashes that left the room echoing with laughter.

By the time Remus pulled you from the water and wrapped you in soft towels, your heart felt lighter, the fog of your earlier doubts dissipating under their hands.

The four of you ended up tangled in blankets, Sirius still chuckling softly at some joke James had made, Remus’s arm curled around your waist, his breath steady and warm against the back of your neck.

You drifted off like that, wrapped in them, feeling—if only for a moment—that maybe everything really was as perfect as it seemed.

But morning brings clarity. You wake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the space beside you empty but still warm. The muffled sounds of conversation drift from the common room, low and hurried, punctuated with soft laughter.

You follow the noise, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and catch sight of them huddled together—Remus’s face drawn and pale, Sirius leaning in, his hands gesturing wildly, James with a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

They don’t notice you at first, too caught up in their whispered words and secretive glances. You hover in the doorway, something heavy and unyielding curling in your stomach.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them like this—locked in some private world that you are not a part of. But this time, it’s different. This time, you can’t shake the feeling that whatever it is, it’s breaking them apart.

When James catches your eye, his expression shifts—softens—but there’s something guarded there, too, something that makes your breath catch.

Remus straightens, running a hand through his hair, and Sirius plasters on a grin, too bright to be real.

“Morning, love,” Remus greets you, his voice softer, wearier. “Did you sleep well?”

And just like that, the walls go up again.

Whatever it was, whatever they were discussing, it’s hidden behind their smiles, and you feel it like a bruise.

You smile back, but it feels hollow. “Yeah… I did.”

But doubt settled in your bones, curling thick and unyielding around your heart. Something was wrong. And for the first time, you were sure of it.

You dressed quietly, Marlene’s chatter a distant hum as she twisted her hair into a knot and rambled about Quidditch practice. Your hands worked methodically, tying laces, fastening buttons, but your mind was elsewhere.

Something was off. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the gnawing unease that hadn’t left since the whispers and the lingering glances.

You tried to shake it off as you made your way to breakfast, but it lingered, curling around your ribs and pressing tight.

Classes dragged. Potions felt endless, Slughorn’s voice fading into the background as you stared blankly at your bubbling cauldron. Transfiguration was much the same—McGonagall’s sharp eyes missing the way your quill stopped moving halfway through her lecture.

Even Charms, which you usually enjoyed, was nothing more than a blur of flicking wands and murmured incantations.

By midday, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard, the chill biting at your cheeks as you made your way toward the edge of the castle grounds.

That was where you usually found them, tucked away from prying eyes, sprawled out beneath the trees or leaning against the stone walls, thick scarves looped around their necks and laughter dancing in the air.

But when you approached, there was no laughter. Just low voices, hushed and clipped. You stopped short, slipping behind a stone column, heart hammering in your chest.

You knew it was wrong, but curiosity rooted you to the spot.

“…tonight, then?” Sirius’s voice was the first you recognized, low and edged with something you couldn’t place.

“Has to be,” James replied. “Full moon, and if he’s right, Snape’s already sniffing around. Bloody idiot’s got a death wish.”

Remus didn’t speak, but you could hear him—his sigh, heavy and weary, like he’d aged ten years since you’d seen him at breakfast.

You peeked around the edge, just enough to catch sight of him leaning against the stone, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed and distant.

He looked exhausted. Worse than yesterday. Worse than last week.

“Full moon?” you whispered to yourself, brows knitting together.

Why would that matter? And why would Snape be sniffing around? You racked your brain, but nothing came up. Nothing that made sense.

Then, footsteps—too light to be James or Remus, too quick to be Sirius.

You shrank back, just in time to see Severus Snape stride up to them, black robes billowing out behind him. You clamped a hand over your mouth, confusion sparking like wildfire in your chest.

Snape? With them? They hated Snape. Always had. There was the incident with the Potions classroom first year, the hex Sirius threw at him in third, the prank James had pulled just last term.

And yet, here he was, standing just a few feet away, chin lifted defiantly as he glared at Sirius.

“You’d better not be lying, Black,” Snape sneered, voice dripping with disdain.

Sirius just smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would I lie to you, Snivellus?”

“Just be there. Midnight. Near the shack.”

Snape’s eyes glittered with something sharp and dangerous. “I will.”

You barely heard the rest, heart thundering in your chest.

The shack? Midnight? What the hell was going on? Your mind whirred with questions, none of them landing long enough for you to grab hold. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

You were going to follow them.

Whatever this was—whatever they were hiding—you would find out. You had to.

Night came slow and heavy, the castle settling into stillness as you pulled on your cloak, heart thrumming with anticipation and something else. Fear, maybe. Or desperation.

You slipped through the corridors on silent feet, weaving between shadows until you found yourself near the Entrance Hall, waiting. Watching.

They moved in silence, slipping through the doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.

Then James and Sirius, their footsteps softer than usual, expressions set and grim.

Whatever Sirius had told Snape, James and Remus clearly didn’t know about it—the tension rippled off them, sharp and electric.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before following, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to stay hidden.

You ducked behind a tree, watching as James pulled something from his pocket—a small, rounded object that glowed faintly in the moonlight.

He pressed it against a knot in the tree, and the branches stilled, frozen mid-sway.

You sucked in a breath as they disappeared beneath the roots, vanishing into shadow.

Remus had looked like he was seconds from collapsing, his steps unsteady, shoulders taut with strain. James and Remus didn’t seem to know about whatever Sirius had told Snape—it was clear on their faces, etched in their tension and the way Remus’s hands shook slightly as he vanished into the darkness.

Whatever lay beyond that entrance, you were going to find out. Even if it broke you.

The night stretched out heavy and silent, moonlight bleeding silver across the grounds. It felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that seeped into bones and lingered there, whispering unease with every breath.

You shivered as you waited, huddled in the shadows just beyond the Entrance Hall, heart pounding in your ears. It was a reckless idea—mad, really—to follow them out here.

But you couldn’t ignore the coil of dread tightening in your stomach, the way it had wound itself around your ribs ever since you’d heard them talking near the courtyard.

They moved in silence, slipping through the great doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

His footsteps were slow, hesitant, and you could almost hear the strain in his breathing from where you hid.

Something was wrong—you’d known it for weeks—but tonight, it clung to him like a shadow.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before you moved, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to keep your distance.

You waited, breath held tight in your lungs. That’s when you saw him—Snape, creeping through the shadows, eyes alight with that familiar, hateful gleam.

He moved with purpose, hands shaking with adrenaline as he approached the now-frozen branches of the Willow. He stopped just shy of the entrance, glancing around before taking a tentative step forward.

Before he could slip inside, James appeared, blocking his path, wand raised and voice sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Snape sneered, lifting his chin. “Black told me. Said there was something interesting inside. Something you three have been hiding.”

James’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re not going anywhere near there.”

“What, afraid of what I’ll find?” Snape taunted, his voice a venomous whisper.

James stepped closer, the tension snapping taut between them. “I’m warning you, Snivellus. Turn around. Now.”

Snape glared, fists clenching at his sides. “Why? So you can keep covering for your precious friends? Or maybe it’s because you’re afraid of what your little club is really up to.”

James didn’t flinch, his wand steady and gaze unyielding. “Last chance.”

But Snape didn’t back down. He only smirked, the kind of grin that made your skin crawl. “I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

He took another step forward, but James moved quicker, wand tip sparking with light. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand flew from his hand, clattering against the frozen earth. For a heartbeat, everything went still—no wind, no whispers, just the heavy thud of your heartbeat crashing in your ears.

“That’s enough,” came a voice from behind them.

Sirius stepped into view, arms crossed over his chest, expression caught between amusement and something sharper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

James didn’t lower his wand. “What the hell were you thinking, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just a bit of fun. Snivellus is always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Thought I’d give him something to find.”

James’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your mind? Remus is in there! What if he got in? What if he saw?”

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand. “James, please. He wasn’t actually going to get inside. It’s just a bit of a scare.”

“A scare?” James’s voice rose, disbelief cracking it. “You think this is a fucking joke? He could have died, Sirius. Remus could have killed him—and it would have been your fault!”

Sirius’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “Well, he didn’t. You stopped him.”

James took a step forward, wand still in his hand, knuckles white around it. “You’re not listening. You don’t get to just...just throw people into the line of fire for fun. That’s not a prank, Sirius!”

Sirius’s eyes flashed with something dark, but he swallowed it back. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” James shot back, voice trembling with fury. “Remus doesn’t even know. You did this behind his back! I swear, if he finds out—”

But before he could finish, a sound broke the argument—a low, guttural growl that rumbled from the depths of the shack, primal and raw.

You froze, heart leaping into your throat. It was followed by another, more desperate sound.

“Remus,” you whispered under your breath, fear coiling tight and sharp in your stomach.

You slipped through the tangled roots, heart lurching as you reached the back of the shack.

Its wooden slats were splintered and rotting in places, gaps wide enough for you to catch flashes of movement inside. Shadows flickered across the walls—elongated and monstrous, twisting with the flicker of lamplight.

There was a small hole, nearly hidden behind a stack of fallen branches, just large enough for you to fit through if you were careful.

You hesitated, breath clouding in the frigid air, before steeling yourself and crawling through. Your hands scraped against rough wood, splinters catching on your palms, but you ignored the sting.

The shack groaned under your weight as you landed inside, breath catching in your throat. It was dark, the air thick with the scent of dust and something metallic that made your head swim

Your breath puffed white in the cold air, heart pounding, every instinct in your body suddenly screaming at you to stop—to leave, to turn around, to run. Something was wrong.

Inside, the shack was musty and dark. Dust hung thick in the air, floating in the moonlight that poured in through the cracks in the boarded windows. Broken chairs lay in jagged pieces, shadows clinging to every surface. It was too quiet.

You rose slowly to your feet, brushing dirt from your knees.

Your eyes scanned the room—empty. No sign of Remus. No sign of anyone. Only the stale scent of old wood and something sharper, metallic, and wrong.

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Sirius?” James’s voice, loud, shaking.

Snape’s voice cut through: “You’re all bloody mad—”

“You brought him here? To this place?!” James roared. “You think this is a game?! You told him how to find Moony?!”

A scuffle. Scraping feet on frozen earth. Something breaking.

Then Sirius, laughing—a harsh, ugly sound. “It was a prank, James! A joke! He wasn’t supposed to actually come!”

“A joke? A bloody joke?! He could have died, Sirius! Or worse—Remus—”

The argument grew louder, more violent, their voices crashing against each other like waves. You blinked, unsettled, heart pounding harder now—not just from what they were saying, but from something else. Something inside.

You turned, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Why had James been so desperate to keep Snape away? What was so dangerous, so hidden inside this shack?

You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of how thick the air had become. Your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you didn’t know why.

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

The wolf stood there, bathed in shadow and moonlight. Towering. Muscled. Massive. Its amber eyes gleamed like twin suns, fixed solely on you. Its breath came heavy, the sound guttural and animal and wrong.

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

You screamed as its weight slammed into you, hurling you backward. You crashed to the floor, your head cracking against the boards with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across your vision, stars blooming behind your eyes.

You barely had time to breathe before it was on you.

Claws tore through your coat, then your skin. Blood spattered the walls. You screamed again, voice raw and terrified. The wolf’s snarl was deafening, fangs snapping inches from your face. You scrambled, twisted, tried to crawl away, but it was no use. Another rake of claws—your shoulder. Your side.

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

From the front of the shack, you heard the door shake violently.

“Moony!” James’s voice, frantic. “Moony! No!!”

“She’s in there!” Sirius screamed. “She’s in with him!”

You kicked, thrashed, felt blood soaking into the wood beneath you.

The shack shook from the weight of them slamming into the door.

“Open it! Open it!” James was screaming.

You tried to call out—but your throat barely worked, raw with terror and smoke and blood.

“Remus, Stop!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking.

“It’s her—it’s her!” James bellowed. “Moony, no, no, no, no, gosh!”

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

And you lay there, barely breathing, praying they would break the door down in time.

You stumbled back, heart slamming against your ribs, and the beast—Remus—stalked forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with each step. His eyes—those eyes you’d known for so long, gentle and warm—were wild now, feral with hunger and rage.

He lunged, the force of it sending a gust of wind spiraling through the room. 

“Remus!” you cried, voice cracking with desperation, but there was nothing human in his gaze—just the moon’s curse and the monster it carved from him.

He turned, shoulders heaving with each breath, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that primal hunger.

He snarled again, saliva dripping from his fangs, and you scrambled backward, mind racing for an escape.

Your back hit the far wall with a thud, dust and debris scattering from the impact. Remus prowled closer, head low, eyes locked onto yours like prey.

You were shaking, adrenaline burning through your veins as you searched frantically for a way out—any way out. But there was nothing. Just you and him, trapped in the confines of this cursed shack.

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

Agony burst across your stomach as claws tore through you like paper. Your scream shattered the silence.

Blood spilled hot and fast, soaking your clothes, splattering across the floor. Another slash—your thigh, deep and unrelenting. Your vision fractured with pain, body writhing beneath him as you tried to crawl away, but he pinned you easily.

Claws dug into your ribs. Fangs grazed your shoulder. You could hear your own heartbeat, deafening, drowning everything else out. The air stank of blood and sweat and the sharp edge of death. You sobbed, barely able to breathe, choking on the taste of iron and fear.

Then—the shack door burst open with a splintering crack.

Sirius came first, Padfoot in full form, fur bristling, eyes blazing.

He threw himself at the wolf with a savage growl, tackling Moony off you with all his strength.

The force of the impact sent them both crashing into the far wall. You were left gasping, blinking through blood and splinters and shock.

James followed—Prongs—before shifting back mid-step, falling to his knees at your side.

“Hey. Hey, no, no, no,” he breathed, voice shaking, hands hovering over your wounds like he didn’t know where to touch, where to start. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you weren’t. You could feel yourself slipping, the cold creeping in.

You turned your head just enough to see the trail of blood stretching behind you, the smear of crimson across the wood. Your hand twitched, fingers stained red.

The last thing you saw was Sirius, still fighting tooth and claw to hold Remus back, and James’s face—ashen, eyes wide with something between guilt and horror.

You were here because they kept secrets. And secrets are heavy things to carry.

-

You woke to pain.

It throbbed in waves, hot and pulsing and sharp, blooming in your abdomen and thigh. Every breath was a struggle, every inch of movement a riot of agony beneath your skin.

The air was cold, sterile, heavy with antiseptic. The ceiling above you was white stone, too clean, too quiet. The scent of blood clung to your skin. You blinked, your vision swimming, your mouth dry and thick with the taste of iron and betrayal.

And then—realization. It hit like another wound. Remus. The wolf. Lycanthropy. That’s what they had been hiding. That’s what James had refused to tell you, what Sirius had laughed off, what Remus had always tucked behind those sad eyes and hollow smiles.

You remembered it now—his eyes, glowing in the dark; the snarl that tore from his throat; the claws, the fangs, the way the pain swallowed you whole.

He had mauled you.

The door creaked open with a quiet groan, and James was there in an instant.

He nearly stumbled into the room, hair wild, eyes wild, like he hadn’t slept. His chest was heaving as he rushed to your side, voice already breaking.

"You’re awake—thank Merlin—" He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching for your hand but hesitating at the last second when he saw the bandages wrapped around it. "You—you're okay. You're safe now. We got you out. We—"

But before he could finish, Sirius was in the doorway, shoulders tense, face pale and drawn.

One step in—and James turned on him like a storm breaking.

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

"No!" James shoved him, not holding back. "She’s bleeding, Sirius! There was so much blood—I couldn’t—I didn’t know if she was breathing—"

Sirius’s voice cracked. "Jamie, please—she’s my girlfriend too—"

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

"Don’t fucking 'Jamie' me right now, Sirius! Remus is out there asking where she is, completely clueless about what happened—what the fuck are you gonna tell him? Huh? You gonna say you brought Snape In as a prank, and instead our girlfriend snuck into the shack and got ripped apart?"

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

Sirius flinched like the words had struck him in the face. His eyes were glassy now, guilt etched so deeply into the hollows of his cheeks it looked like it might never leave.

His lips parted as if to defend himself but there was nothing firm behind the breath he drew in. Nothing solid enough to hold against James’s rage.

“I didn’t know she followed—” he tried, voice trailing off into silence like it couldn’t bear the weight of the truth.

“But you knew what that shack was,” James snapped, louder now, voice raw and fraying. “You knew what Moony was. You knew what would happen.”

They were so close now they could’ve been mirrors of fury and betrayal. Chest to chest, heart to heart, breathing like it hurt.

The kind of closeness that had once meant brotherhood, now sparking with something jagged and breaking.

“You think saying she’s my girlfriend too makes it better?” James’s hands were shaking and his mouth twisted like he was choking on grief. “You endangered all of us—Snape, her, Moony—because you wanted to mess around like it was a fucking joke.”

Sirius tried to speak again, but his voice came out cracked and too soft to stand on. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to,” James said, and this time it wasn’t a shout. It was something worse.

His voice dropped into that space where hurt lived, where betrayal was a living thing in the room.

“That’s the problem. You never think past the spark of it. It’s always a fire to you, isn’t it? A dare, a thrill. And now she—”

You were sitting up now, breath catching like it didn’t know how to move through your chest anymore.

Their voices filled the room like smoke, thick and impossible to swallow, and still they didn’t see you. Still they didn’t stop.

The anger curled in you like a second pulse, slow and volcanic, fed by the sound of your name twisted in their mouths like an afterthought.

You looked down at your body, at the map of pain they’d drawn across your skin, at the bandages tight around your arms and side and thigh.

You reached for one with trembling fingers and peeled it back slowly, too slowly, like your body was a secret you weren’t supposed to see.

The wound beneath was deep and still red-raw, an angry thing that refused to scab. You stared at it, not blinking. As if staring long enough would make it make sense.

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

What stared back at you were jagged, red scars, the kind that didn’t heal clean. Bite marks turned purple at the edges, cruel crescents sinking into your skin like the moon had tried to eat you alive.

Deep gashes crossed your side in a brutal lattice, torn flesh barely held together by uneven stitching and the trembling hands of someone too late. A shudder rolled through you, slow and relentless, like something crawling beneath your skin.

You would carry these forever.

Your hand rose to your neck, fingers ghosting over the place where you remembered teeth grazing bone, where the pain had cracked you open from the inside.

You didn’t need a mirror to see it. It was carved into memory. A sob caught in your throat, not loud, but sharp enough to hurt.

"Get out," you said, your voice low and cracked like dry earth before the storm.

They didn’t hear you. They were still yelling, still wrapped in their own pain, their own shame, drowning in the echo of their guilt while you sat there bleeding.

"I said get out!" your voice shattered through the room like glass, and the noise stopped instantly.

The silence rang.

They turned to you slowly, like they’d just remembered you were there, like it hadn’t occurred to them that the thing they were fighting about had ears and a spine and a soul.

James took a hesitant step forward, his eyes soft with apology, but you met him with something he hadn’t seen in you before. Not fear. Not even heartbreak. Just fury, quiet and precise, the kind of anger born from betrayal that simmers instead of explodes.

"You kept this from me," you said, each word dragged from somewhere deep, somewhere scorched.

"All of you. You let me walk in there blind. You let me bleed for a secret that was never mine to carry."

James opened his mouth but no words followed. Nothing could. His guilt hollowed him, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Sirius looked wrecked, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you, but your eyes stopped him cold.

You didn’t want to see his sorrow. You didn’t want to be comforted by the hands that led you to the edge and watched you fall.

"I almost died because of your secrets," you whispered, and though your voice trembled, it rang with steel. "Because none of you trusted me enough to tell the truth. You called it love, and then you let me be devoured by it."

They were silent. Boys made of noise, finally quiet. And somehow that silence was louder than their shouting ever was.

You looked at the door, then back to them, the air around you sharp as broken promises.

"Out," you said again, quieter now, but it cut deeper for it.

Neither of them argued. They didn’t beg or explain or try to fix what had already bled too long. They just turned, slowly, and walked away.

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

But because it sounded exactly like the moment you realized you were alone.

It echoed louder than the shouting, louder than the pain, louder than the memories still clawing at the edges of your mind. The silence didn’t offer peace—it rang like a scream swallowed too late, like the lingering howl of something wild and ruined.

You sat there in it, trembling, your hands shaking in your lap, the gauze dark with the slow seep of blood.

You stared down at them, fingers twitching like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe none of this belonged to you, not the pain, not the scarred skin, not even the breath you were struggling to draw in.

Each inhale scraped your throat like broken glass, each exhale trembled beneath the weight of everything they never told you.

The tears came suddenly—choking, ungraceful things, messy and aching. They clawed up from somewhere you hadn’t known existed, from the place where trust once lived.

They spilled past your defenses, soaked your cheeks, made your chest rise and fall in ugly, shuddering sobs.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth to trap the sound, to make yourself small, but the grief pushed through your fingers anyway, raw and human and desperate.

You didn’t want to be here. Not in this bed, not in this room, not in the body that remembered every second too well.

You didn’t want to be near that shack, or that truth, or those boys whose love had been too conditional, too secret, too much like a trap. Not when it all still clung to your skin like smoke, like something scorched into you that wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed. Pain flared like fire beneath your skin, sharp and blinding, but you gritted your teeth and bit down on the sound.

You forced yourself upright, spine shaking, the world tilting like it didn’t know where to place you anymore. You reached for the nightstand, knuckles white around the edge, and steadied yourself against the weight of gravity and grief alike.

Madam Pomfrey would return soon. She would ask questions—about the bite marks on your shoulder, the blood staining your sheets, the torn muscle stitched back into place like fabric.

Dumbledore would be informed. Whispers would curl through the corridors. Rumors would spread, sprouting like weeds in spring. You could already hear them.

You didn’t want to lie. You weren’t sure you even could. But the truth? The truth was worse.

The truth was a monster’s name whispered behind closed doors.

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

The truth was pain that had no neat answer, no punishment that could make it make sense.

You took a step. Then another. Every motion dragged behind the last like you were underwater, like your body was remembering how to exist and failing.

It hurt in places you hadn’t thought could ache—bone-deep, nerve-deep, the kind of hurt that didn’t just throb but screamed.

You passed the mirror near the infirmary door and caught sight of yourself.

You stopped.

Your reflection stared back like something unrecognizable. There was dried blood in your hair, matted at the roots like rust. Bruises bloomed along your collarbone and down your arms like ink spilled under the skin.

The bandage over your ribs had darkened, blood soaking through in slow, patient circles. Your lips were cracked. Your eyes—God, your eyes.

You looked like a ghost still wandering the world, too stubborn or too broken to realize it had died.

You turned away before you could recognize yourself, before your reflection could speak back all the truths you weren’t ready to hear.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

The hall was dim and quiet, cloaked in the kind of stillness that only came long after midnight had folded over the world. The torches burned low, their flames flickering soft shadows across stone, and even the portraits lining the walls seemed to sleep, their painted eyes closed or turned away.

Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness—slow, uneven things that barely registered, like the castle itself was trying not to notice you. Each step jarred your side, sharp pain flashing behind your eyes, blooming like lightning beneath your skin.

One hand clutched your ribs, your breath catching each time your heel met stone.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. Maybe you should’ve screamed louder when it happened. Maybe you shouldn’t have followed the sound at all.

You could trace every mistake in your mind, each one lit like a torch in the dark, but none of it mattered now. Not really. Not when the damage was already done. Not when the blood had already soaked the floor, your skin, your memory.

You were already bleeding.

You made it to the end of the corridor before the tears found you again, rising from the pit of your stomach like a storm breaking loose. You crumpled without grace, back to the wall, forehead pressed hard to the cool stone as if it might hold you together.

You didn’t bother to stifle the sob that slipped from your mouth, cracked and breathless. Let the castle hear it. Let the ghosts carry it through the walls, let them whisper your name into every corner of this place. Let every brick and beam know exactly what had happened. Let the truth echo where their silence had lived.

You were in this mess because people you loved had looked you in the eye and decided you didn’t deserve the truth.

And through the sobs, through the broken air and the trembling of your limbs, that thought was the one that stayed.

This didn’t have to happen.

You could’ve stayed safe. You could’ve stayed whole. But they let you walk in blind. They let you bleed for something that was never yours to carry.

Pain flared again, a cruel spike up your side, white-hot and dragging like a knife pulled slow—but it was nothing compared to what twisted beneath your ribs.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, to the bandages under your robes, and for a moment you hoped the sharpness would ground you, keep you tethered.

Instead, it felt like drowning, like trying to breathe through water, through memory, through the echo of a scream that wouldn’t stop playing behind your eyes.

You thought of the Shack. Of the way the air smelled inside, coppery and wrong. You thought of the creak of old wood under your feet. Of the sound his bones made when they broke—sharp, wet, unforgettable. Of the stillness just before the scream shattered the world.

And you broke.

The sob that tore from your throat wasn’t soft. It was jagged, ugly, ripped straight from the center of you. Another followed, then another, and then you were falling—knees folding, back sliding down the stone, until you were curled on the cold floor, cheek pressed to it, chest heaving with each desperate breath.

Your body shook with the force of it, and still the sound came, raw and real and unrelenting.

It was too much. Too much to carry. Too much to name. Too much to bury beneath bandages and silence.

You didn’t even realize you were whispering his name until it left your lips.

"Remus…"

Just a breath. A ghost of a sound. But it shattered something in you. Cracked the dam wide open.

Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he had done.

And somehow—God, somehow—that made it worse.

That you had been ripped apart by someone who would never remember. That the hands that once traced poems into your skin had unknowingly rewritten you in blood.

That the boy who looked at you like you were the first star he’d ever seen was the same one who had carved your name into the floorboards with claw and fang.

You curled in tighter, arms wrapped around your ribs, trying—failing—to hold yourself together. But everything inside you was unraveling. Your breath hitched, broken. Your fingers trembled like your bones were afraid. You could still feel it—all of it.

The weight of him, wild and terrible. The heat of breath on your neck. The moment skin gave way.

You remembered his smile. The one he saved just for you. You remembered how his voice softened when he said your name, like he couldn’t believe it belonged to him for even a second.

You remembered how he once said, “You shouldn’t love me.” And now you knew why.

Because teeth remember hunger. Because wolves don’t ask permission. Because even the gentlest boy can disappear beneath the moonlight.

But oh, God, you hated that he didn't know. That he would wake up in the morning with his soul intact while you were left stitching yours together in the dark.

You pressed your hand to the wound at your side, felt the throb of it echo through your whole body. You wanted to forget. You wanted to go back. You wanted him to be anything but the thing that had hurt you.

You didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

The boy and the beast. The hands that once brushed your cheek like a promise, and the claws that had torn through your skin like paper. The mouth that had whispered your name like it meant something—and the one that had bitten down to the bone. It was all the same now.

One shape, one shadow, stitched into the fabric of your memory with blood and betrayal. You couldn’t separate him from it. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

You pressed your forehead to the cold stone wall, the chill biting into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire still burning inside you. Your tears came hot and fast, streaking your cheeks, scalding your lips.

You tried to swallow them back, to bury the noise, but your body wouldn’t obey. You wanted to scream. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to tear yourself apart just to match the way he’d already broken you open.

But all you could do was sit there. And feel it.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved him. You hated that the boy who had once kissed your temple like it was sacred was the same one who’d left you bleeding in the dirt.

Maybe if they'd told me, you thought bitterly, each word laced with salt and fury, I wouldn’t have followed that sound.

Maybe if they’d trusted me with the truth, I would’ve run the other way.

Maybe if I’d known what he was, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to forgive something that nearly killed me.

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

The pain grounded you for a moment. Not enough. You remembered James shouting. Sirius pleading. Both of them drowning in their own guilt and still too proud to hand you a life raft. They hadn’t told you because they were afraid. Not for you—but for him.

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

You forced yourself to stand, legs trembling, hands white-knuckled against the stone. You thought your knees might give out, but you didn’t care.

You had to see him. You had to know. If he still had your voice in his bones. If anything in him recognized the destruction he’d left behind.

You limped through the hallway like a shadow. The castle around you was too quiet, too still, as if it knew something had gone terribly wrong and was trying not to breathe.

Your side ached with every step. The bandages beneath your robes were warm and wet, and you didn’t want to know if it was fresh blood or just the old wounds leaking again. It didn’t matter. You felt hollow. Not empty—stripped.

You walked past the portraits, but none stirred. Even the ghosts seemed to shrink from you. Maybe they recognized you now. Not as a student. But as someone touched by death.

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

Your heart twisted violently, nausea rising. You quickened your pace despite the pain, your breath hitching with every step. The ache in your chest sharpened as you turned a corner and—

Remus was screaming.

James had both arms locked tight around him, teeth grit as he struggled to keep Remus from hurling himself down the corridor.

Every inch of Remus's body fought against him, wild and unhinged, as if the rage had torn through muscle and bone and made something feral of him all over again.

"You brought Snape?!" he shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "Are you fucking serious, Sirius?! You brought him—there—knowing what I am?!"

Sirius didn’t move. He stood like a statue, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I didn’t think he’d actually go in," he said flatly. "I thought he’d get scared. Turn back."

"You thought—?" Remus’s breath hitched, then came out in something like a growl. "You don’t get to think, Sirius. You don’t get to gamble with that."

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

"And where the fuck is she?! Why is no one telling me where Y/N is?!"

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

"Don’t what?" Remus twisted around to face him. "Don’t ask why no one will look me in the fucking eye?! Don’t ask where the girl I—" His voice caught, strangled in his throat. "Where is she?"

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

You stood at the far end of the hall, pressed against the stone wall like it might hold you up if your legs gave out. Your shirt was torn at the shoulder. The bandages had come loose. Blood had soaked through. A thin line of bruising curled along your cheekbone. The mark on your collarbone—his mark—was dark and angry and violet.

Remus's gaze dropped to your arms, your limp, slow steps. Then back to James.

"I did that," he whispered. The words seemed to strike him in the throat. "Didn’t I?"

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

Remus folded to his knees like his body had finally realized the weight of the truth. His hands hit the ground. He stared down at the stone like it might split open beneath him.

"Tell me I didn’t," he murmured. "Tell me I didn’t do that. Please, James. Tell me I didn’t do this."

No one spoke.

"Tell me I didn’t hurt her," he begged, louder now. "Tell me I didn’t—"

"You don’t remember," you said.

Your voice didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.

Three heads snapped toward you. But you only looked at him.

Remus's breath caught. He looked like he’d been stabbed.

"I—I don’t remember what happens," he stammered. "I never do. I wake up, and I’m—covered in blood, and I never know if it’s mine or someone else’s and—"

He clawed at his own sleeves, nails digging through fabric, through skin, desperate to feel pain that might match what was screaming inside his chest.

James tried to steady him, arms still locked tight around his shoulders, but Remus tore away with a howl that didn’t sound human.

“I tore her apart,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “I—I felt it—I smelled blood—I wanted it—Merlin, I wanted it—” He curled forward like the words had gutted him, fingers clutching at his head.

“I should be locked up. I should be dead.”

“No,” James said firmly, stepping forward, but Remus flinched and scrambled back like he’d touched fire.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—I’m not—I’m not safe—” He looked at you again, and this time, he really saw you.

Your limp. Your wince. Your bruises and the slow, shaking breath you took just to stay standing. His entire body stilled. Then: he crawled backwards, hands raised, like distance might erase the horror.

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

“I hurt you—I knew I would—I told them to keep me away—I told them—fuck—”

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

“Remus,” you said again, louder this time, voice cracked but sure.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, voice barely more than a strangled whisper. “Don’t come near me. Please—I’ll hurt you again. I will.”

You took a step forward anyway, ignoring the scream of pain in your leg and the sharp crack of your ribs.

Every breath was a jagged knife, but something inside you refused to stay still.

“I said don’t!” he roared suddenly, flinching hard enough to slam his back against the cold stone wall. His hands flew up to cover his face, as if he couldn’t bear to see the damage—your pain, his pain, everything shattered between you.

“Please. I’ll ruin you. I ruin everything. Don’t—please—”

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Each step was a struggle, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Five staggering steps. Then you dropped to your knees in front of him, breathless and broken, the room tilting around you.

And then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him.

Every muscle tensed, every breath caught in his chest. For a long, endless moment, he didn’t move at all.

You were warm. Solid. Real. Against the ruins of his skin, against the guilt that was tearing him apart from the inside—you were alive.

And you were holding him.

He tried to pull away, voice frantic and raw. “No—no, don’t—I don’t deserve this—I hurt you—”

“I know,” you whispered softly, your voice a fragile thread in the silence, sinking into his hair, his chest, every ragged breath he took. “I know.”

He started to cry again—violently, uncontrollably. The kind of sobs that wrench a person apart from the inside out. His body shook like he was trying to shake free from some invisible weight dragging him under. His breaths came in ragged, broken gasps, each one tearing at his chest with fresh agony.

You could feel the rawness in him, the shattered pieces trembling just beneath the surface. And still, you held on tighter, as if your arms could somehow keep him from falling all the way apart.

“You’re not a monster,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, a lifeline thrown across the storm.

You said it again, over and over, even when his head shook so hard it seemed like it might come off his shoulders.

Even when he whispered, so broken it barely sounded like words, yes I am.

Even when his fingers clawed at the floor, desperate and frantic, as if tearing at the ground could tear him out of his own skin.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a monster. You’re not.”

Your words became a chant, a prayer. You said them so many times you thought your throat might break.

But still, you kept saying them. Because if you didn’t, who else would? If you didn’t believe it for him, then how could he ever believe it for himself?

Then, slowly, painfully, he collapsed into you. It was as if he’d been falling forever, and for the first time he found something to catch him—a place to land, even if it was fragile and trembling beneath the weight of his grief. His body sagged against yours, heavy and defeated.

You cradled his head in your shaking hands, fingers threading through his hair as though anchoring him to the world. You held him through the sobs, through the storm, through the unbearable silence between each tear.

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

Your voice cracked, raw with all the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling down your cheeks. Your throat burned like fire from saying it so many times. Your bandages pressed painfully against his skin, a sharp reminder that your body, too, was broken. But still, you said it—because someone had to say it.

Because sometimes forgiveness is the hardest thing to give and the most necessary thing to hear.

“I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Remus broke completely. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as if you were the only solid thing left in the world.

His face buried deep in your shoulder, muffling the desperate whispers of I’m sorry that spilled from his lips like a litany, like a prayer, like a curse he couldn’t undo. The weight of those words hung heavy between you, suffocating and real.

Maybe some wounds could never fully heal. Maybe some mistakes could never be undone. But you held him anyway, steady and sure, even when your own body trembled with pain.

Because sometimes, love is the only thing strong enough to hold two broken people together when everything else falls apart.

He didn’t look up. His head hung low, shoulders trembling with a quiet, desperate shudder. His breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and uneven, like the air itself was betraying him.

Your fingers found his face, trembling as you gently cupped his cheeks, warm beneath your cold touch.

For a moment, he froze—still as if your presence was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Look at me,” you whispered, voice soft but firm.

You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling, heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it. “Remus. Please. Look at me.”

Slowly—agonizingly slow—his eyes lifted, meeting yours.

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

It wasn’t guilt. Not even horror. It was grief. Endless, bone-deep, all-consuming grief.

Like he had already buried you somewhere inside his mind and didn’t know how to find his way back to the living world. Like a weight pressed so hard on his chest he couldn’t breathe without breaking.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing a tear away as it slipped silently down his face.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady.

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

“It’s not,” he croaked, voice raw and broken.

“But I’m here.”

You let the silence stretch between you, letting your touch be the anchor in the storm of his pain. Letting the quiet speak the words you both couldn’t say aloud.

Then, with a gentle nudge, you reached up and helped him to his feet. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t question. Just followed as you led him down the corridor, your fingers laced with his, your steps slow and uneven.

He swayed as he stood, unsteady, eyes still glassy with unshed tears. He didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of him either.

Your fingers laced through his, and you took a small step forward. He followed. Another step. Another.

You guided him through the corridor like that, hand in hand, limping slightly with each movement but refusing to stop. His steps were heavy, dragging, as if every footfall carried the weight of what he’d done. But he followed you.

When you reached the bathroom, you nudged the door open with your shoulder and led him inside.

The light was dim. Everything smelled like old tile and lavender soap. The only sound was the drip of a tap and the hush of your breaths. You turned the knobs with aching fingers, letting warm water spill into the tub, steam curling into the air like a kind of gentleness neither of you had known in days.

He stood by the door, unmoving.

You stepped toward him again, slower this time, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He flinched.

“I can go,” you said, voice low, careful.

He looked at you—just looked—and then, finally, shook his head

You peeled the tattered shirt off his frame, revealing bruises and scratches and old scars that mapped out years of hurt across his skin. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away. You undid the buttons of his trousers, helped him step out of them, folding them into a soft pile on the counter.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you with wide, haunted eyes, as if each tender movement was something he couldn’t understand.

Like he didn’t know what to do with this softness.

You reached for his hand again.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s warm.”

He let you guide him into the tub. The water rose around him, lapping gently at his arms and shoulders. He shivered—not from cold, but from everything.

You knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out. Then, slowly, you brought it to his skin.

You washed him the way you’d cradle something delicate.

You ran the cloth down his arm. Across his shoulder. Behind his ear. Over his chest, where his heart beat wild and trembling under your hand.

You bathed him in silence, each movement slow and deliberate, as if you could wash away the weight of everything between you. Your hands trembled slightly as you carefully wiped the dried blood from his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles where the skin was torn and raw.

You cleaned the sweat that clung to his brow, cool and sticky beneath your touch. Then you pressed your palm gently over his heart, feeling the faint, uneven thud beneath your palm—a stubborn, fragile reminder that it was still beating, still alive.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there, water swirling around him, eyes distant and unfocused, lost somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t reach—yet.

But you promised yourself, silently, fiercely, that you would reach him. No matter how long it took. No matter how many walls he built around himself.

He was still there when you finally broke the silence. Your voice was soft, almost fragile, like a whisper carrying through the fog.

“I wish someone had told me,” you said quietly, not daring to meet his gaze. “I wish you had told me.”

Remus tensed beneath the water, muscles knotting, and you felt it through your fingertips. You wrung the cloth between your fingers, heart pounding with every second of silence that stretched between you.

“I don’t care how painful it would’ve been,” you added, voice steadier now, more certain. “I deserved to know.”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words themselves carved into him. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

Your tone sharpened, the raw hurt breaking through your calm. “You didn’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to protect me by lying. Not when it nearly killed me.”

The weight of those words fell heavy into the space between you. For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the cloth.

Then his eyes lifted slowly, meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever—fragile, vulnerable, full of everything he’d been too scared to say.

“I didn’t think you'd ever look at me the same,” he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “If you knew.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat, sharp and sudden, breaking the tension.

“You think I don’t see you now? You think I’m not looking at you, right now, with every part of me?”

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something almost like hope.

“I see you, Remus. All of you. I see the way you flinch from love like it’s a blade. I see the grief carved into your silence. I see the boy who would rather bury himself than risk hurting someone else.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands—wounded, trembling, wrapped in ragged bandages—and the pain in your voice was honest, unfiltered. “But I also see the boy who never trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that… that hurts more than any scar.”

He looked broken, hollowed out in a way that left your chest aching, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t close his eyes. Instead, his voice came, raw and low.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of your words settling between you like a fragile promise. “Yes. You should’ve.”

The steam from the warm water curled around your faces, softening the harsh edges of everything unsaid, blurring the sharp lines of pain into something almost gentle.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing in the shared silence. Then he leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours, a quiet gesture that spoke of tentative hope and fragile trust.

“I want to try,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”

Your own voice trembled as it broke free. “Start by telling me everything.”

He nodded again, slower this time, like anchoring himself to the present. And with that, something shifted—an opening, a fragile thread weaving back between you.

And this time, he did.

It came slowly at first, like drawing words from the marrow of his bones—halting, rough, like he’d forgotten how to shape language without flinching.

He told you what he could remember from that night—shards of memory coated in blood and fear, barely coherent. He told you what it felt like to lose himself, to slip out of time, to wake up in a skin that didn’t feel like his own.

The nightmares that curled around his ribcage. The silence that tasted like penance. The months—years—spent learning how to live without letting anyone close enough to see the damage. How he'd convinced himself that silence was kindness, that distance was protection, that truth was a luxury people like him couldn’t afford.

And still, you listened.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t turn away. You let his voice break against you like waves on a cliffside, let him collapse into pauses and shake through the parts he couldn’t finish. You held the silence between his sentences like it was something sacred. Even when it hurt.

Even when it cracked open something raw and old inside your chest. Because somewhere inside you, you knew—this wasn’t just a story he was telling. It was a confession. A quiet unraveling.

Not everything was said. Not everything could be. There were still silences he couldn’t break open and wounds you weren’t sure how to touch. But it was a beginning. A single stone placed in what might one day be a bridge.

And still, there was so much more.

The things Sirius had done—reckless, cruel, even if born of desperation—hung in the air like smoke that would not clear. You had not spoken to him since it all unraveled. You were not sure what you would say.

You didn’t know if Remus would ever find it in himself to forgive Sirius, or to trust him again. Some things fracture differently. Some betrayals do not bleed clean.

And James, with his steady eyes and soft-spoken guilt, had kept his own silences. Even he, who had always tried to protect you, had made choices that left you cut open.

All three of them had lied in different ways. Lied in the name of protection. Lied out of fear. Lied out of love. And those lies still lingered in the spaces behind your teeth. You hadn’t even begun to decide what to do with that.

You knew, deep down, that some scars would not close. That no amount of tenderness could undo certain kinds of damage. That some trust, once fractured, might never return in the shape it once held.

You had changed. They had, too. And now you would have to figure out if those new shapes could still fit beside one another without splintering again.

You would have to grieve what you’d lost—who you’d been before all this. You would have to learn how to trust again, not just them, but yourself. Your instincts. Your worth. You’d have to forgive the parts of you that stayed too quiet, too long. You would carry this with you, no matter how far you ran—these bruised memories, these broken truths—but you didn’t have to carry them alone anymore.

Healing would not be a soft road.

There would be nights you’d wake trembling. Days the anger would rise without warning. There would be guilt, and fear, and moments when you weren’t sure if you could keep choosing to stay.

But there would also be mornings, slow and gold. There would be laughter again, strange at first, then easier. There would be cups of tea gone cold on the windowsill. A hand held out when you least expected it. A voice calling you back when you wandered too far.

But you also knew this. You were no longer alone in it.

You helped Remus out of the tub when the water turned cold. He was quiet, pliant, letting you wrap the towel around his shaking shoulders. His head tilted toward yours as you led him through the dim apartment, your steps slow but steady, his breath catching in the hush between rooms.

You found him a fresh shirt, helped him into bed without asking, and tucked the blanket over his trembling limbs. He lay still as stone, but his fingers found yours. And held.

You sat beside him, watching the moonlight shift across the floorboards, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

When Remus finally turned to face you, his expression was soft with exhaustion, but something in his eyes had steadied.

He took your hand again, thumb grazing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of you.

“Do you think,” he asked, his voice just above a whisper, “there’s a chance for us? After everything?”

The question lingered between you. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just honest.

You took a breath and met his gaze. “Yes,” you said. “I do.”

His hand tightened gently in yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting that answer settle inside his chest.

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

You blinked, heart rising painfully. You didn’t hesitate.

“For keeps.”

a/n: this is so over the place, i am so sorry anon </3

[lothiriel84]

Take Your Aunt's Advice

Valiantly ignoring the heat creeping to his cheeks, he took the time to reflect on such an extraordinary proclaim, and decided he only loved her more for her frankness and her implicit trust in his resolve to always be respectful of her wishes.

A Pride and Prejudice ficlet. Companion piece to From This Day On. Asexual!Elizabeth.

For the first few months of his marriage, Fitzwilliam Darcy had considered himself the happiest man in England. His darling wife was everything he had not even allowed himself to dream about once, her liveliness brightening every single aspect of his life – the once silent halls of Pemberley now resonating with her tinkling laughter, and the light-hearted teasing she reserved especially for her husband. Even Georgiana appeared to come out more and more from her shell, and it warmed his heart to watch the two women he loved the most in this world grow closer than sisters over such a short span of time.

As for more private matters such as his marriage bed, he had no reason to regard them as other than most satisfactory. He had very quickly surmised that Elizabeth was nowhere near as eager for their nightly encounters as he himself was, but he honestly thought nothing of it, as it was his understanding that such was an entirely common occurrence for most married couples within his circle. Putting down her occasional reticence to the different sensibilities between the sexes, he strived to do his utmost not to impose upon her more than strictly necessary, and was rewarded with her warm acceptance when he sought her out to fulfil their marital duties.

(Not that he would ever consider such a blessed event as their joining as anything even remotely resembling a duty, but he blushed even to think of disclosing the depth of his own desire to any gently bred female, even an outspoken one such as his dearest Elizabeth.)

Therefore, he was quite shocked upon learning that Mrs Bingley, of all the members of her sex, was very nearly as enthusiastic about their marital relations as Bingley himself was, and was even known to be the one to seek out her husband on occasion. As much as he deemed such confidences from his friend as entirely inappropriate, he couldn’t seem to stop dwelling upon them, as he found himself questioning everything he held true about his own marriage.

Surely if someone as modest and reserved as Jane Bingley was eager for her husband’s attentions, that had to be an indication of the extent of her affections for said gentleman, and he could not help but question the reasons for Elizabeth’s apparent disinterest in the more – ahem, physical – aspects of their union. Could that be a sign that the deep, abiding love she had professed for him had already started to lessen, or even worse, that she had mistaken her feelings of gratitude for a warmer regard, and was now regretting her choice of a husband?

Blinded by his own confusion and hurt at such a devastating prospect, he could think of nothing better than to distance himself from one he now perceived to be a most unwilling spouse, and resume his old mask of cold indifference to protect himself from further disappointment.

.

“How could you do this to her, William? I am ashamed of you, truly.”

Never in his life had he witnessed his sweet, timid sister raising her voice in anger, let alone so fearlessly confront the brother she looked up to almost as a father figure. He was so astonished he forgot to be affronted at such an unprecedented interference on her part, and stood as if rooted to the spot as she relayed the depths of Elizabeth’s despair at his heartless rejection, and how long it had taken for Georgiana to calm her distress sufficiently for his wife to succumb to her exhaustion.

Not even after his disastrous first proposal had he experienced such intense feelings of guilt as he did right now, as he listened with horror to a most vivid depiction of Elizabeth’s misery – for it was clear she now perceived him to be the one regretting his choice of a wife. Suddenly, he felt like he could not bear such a state of affairs to continue a moment longer, and with a few quick words of thanks for his sister – and the promise he would do his best to earn her forgiveness, as well as that of his most beloved wife – he parted from her and rushed to Elizabeth’s chambers, praying to God that he wasn’t too late to fix yet another unpardonable mistake of his own making.

.

In the aftermath of their reconciliation, Darcy thanked his lucky star for his wife’s forbearance, and vowed he would do better by her from that day on. He even went so far as to acquire a certain book concerning the secrets of female pleasure, and applied himself with the utmost diligence to practicing the insights he garnered from said text, much to his wife’s barely concealed amusement.

“That is most considerate of you, dear husband, but I meant it when I mentioned I am perfectly content with your manner of pleasing your wife. I am starting to suspect I will never derive as much enjoyment from the act as you clearly appear to take, but it matters not to me, and I wish you would come to regard the matter in the same light. I may not be as – eager, as I hear some ladies are, but I do enjoy the closeness afforded by our marriage bed, and it fills my heart with joy to know I am the one attending to your pleasure.”

Valiantly ignoring the heat creeping to his cheeks, he took the time to reflect on such an extraordinary proclaim, and decided he only loved her more for her frankness and her implicit trust in his resolve to always be respectful of her wishes.

“Dare I hope I will still be allowed to practice from time to time?” he enquired, somewhat hopefully. “I have it from an excellent source that is the only way to further your natural talents.”

“I dread to think what Lady Catherine would say if she knew you intend to apply her precious advice to such a scandalous field of study, Fitzwilliam,” she teased him laughingly, even as he traced her bare leg with hesitant fingers, pausing when he reached the hem of her nightgown.

“You know very well I wasn’t speaking of my aunt,” he replied with mock severity, waiting for a confirmation of her willingness for things to proceed any further. Elizabeth held his gaze and nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as he pushed the fabric out of the way.

“Such a shame, for you know how much she enjoys being of use,” she jested, guiding his hand to its intended destination.

.

No sooner had Mrs Bingley been safely delivered of a healthy child that Mr Darcy noticed a dramatic shift in his wife’s demeanour. Elizabeth was most happy for her sister, that much was clear, but he would often find her sitting quietly on her own, as if deep in thought. He suspected her of feeling remiss in her perceived duty of providing him with an heir, and was considering his best approach in assuaging her concerns, only to be left reeling at her uncharacteristic forwardness as she began taking the initiative in instigating their more intimate encounters.

He allowed himself to succumb to his baser desires for nearly a whole week, by which time his conscience started demanding most forcefully that he behave like the gentleman that he was by birth, and ascertained the reasons for his wife’s most recent behaviour. It took him all the willpower he possessed to stop the slow progression of Elizabeth’s wandering hands, and explain in no uncertain terms he would not allow this state of affairs to continue unless he was satisfied she was not putting herself out for his sake, nor out of a sense of misplaced duty towards society’s expectations.

“It’s nothing like that, Fitzwilliam,” she shook her head, impatiently. “But we have been married for as long as Jane and Charles, with nothing to show for it so far.”

“If this is about Lady Catherine’s latest letter,” he began, only to snap his mouth shut as his wife turned her back on him, her head bowed as she stared intently at her own hands.

“You know I do not care about your aunt’s cutting remarks, but I am starting to think she wasn’t that wide off the mark on one particular instance.”

“And that would be...?” he ventured at length, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder in what he hoped would be perceived as reassurance.

“I did not realise it myself until little Charlie was put in my arms, but I – I desire to be a mother, Fitzwilliam. I long for the day when I will finally be holding my own child – our child, my love. And there is only one way to make that happen, as you well know.”

Overcome with a sudden vision of his beloved Elizabeth presenting him with a dark-haired infant with her fine eyes, he quickly gathered her in his arms, pressing a row of urgent kisses down the side of her neck.

“Shall we practice some more, then, dear wife?” he smiled into her skin, made no attempt to forestall her when she reached again for the fall front of his breeches.

.

Never had Fitzwilliam Darcy even considered the possibility he would one day reassess his previous conviction that the happiest, most blessed moment in his life had been the one in which he had finally been joined in matrimony to the one and only woman he had ever loved. Not that his wife would ever fault him for shifting said preference to the exact instant his newborn daughter had been placed into his arms. It had not been an easy birth, and he was beyond grateful that mother and child were now as hale and hearty as they could be, and he spared a silent prayer that God would keep them both safe for many long years to come.

“I love you,” he murmured with a sudden rush of feeling, bending down to press a soft kiss on Elizabeth’s brow. “Both of you.”

“I know, my dear,” she smiled tiredly, gazing fondly at the infant sleeping against her breast. “It is only a shame that quite a number of our relations will be most disappointed in our little Anne, simply because she was born a girl instead of a boy.”

“Hang them,” was out of his mouth before he could check himself. “She is my daughter, and I will not allow a word to be said against her, even if I have to break with all our relations.”

“We can but hope it won’t come to that,” Elizabeth sighed, extending her free hand for him to take. “In the meantime, I guess we shall have to keep practicing until a boy comes, or we find ourselves with a brood of girls, much as my parents did.”

Beset by the much too fresh memories of the endless, agonising hours spent outside the birthing room as his brave little wife fought for her own life as well as that of their babe, Darcy shook his head in turn, most vehemently at that. “If Anne is the only child we are ever blessed with, I shall be content. Do not speak of such matters right now.”

What he did not tell her was that he was, at that moment, fully prepared to forsake all future intimacies between the two of them, if that meant ensuring he would never come this close to losing her again, and she would keep gracing his life with her companionship and her love for many more a decade.

(When little Thomas joined his sister a few years down the line, no one was more surprised than his own parents, for as it turned out, you need not always practice as frequently nor as assiduously as Lady Catherine appeared to believe. It was probably fortunate that she never learned of the Darcys referring to their marital activities thus, or she would have probably died of apoplexy right on the spot.)

[yourwitchmama]

Tarot Meanings: The Cups Suit

Ace of Cups

Upright: New beginnings, new relationships, new romance, love, happiness, joy, conception, fertility, pregnancy, celebrations, socializing Reversed: Sadness, pain, unrequited love, blocked or repressed emotions, infertility, miscarriage, pregnancy issues, breakups, bad news, cancelled celebrations or social events

Two of Cups

Upright: Partnership, unity, love, compatibility, happy couples, potential soulmates, relationships, harmony, balance, equality, attraction, connection, proposals, engagements, marriage, mutual respect Reversed: Disharmony, disconnection, imbalance, inequality, incompatibility, unhappy couples, arguments, breakups, separation, divorce, ending partnerships, losing friendships, abuse, dominance, bullying  

Three of Cups

Upright: Reunions, celebrations, parties, socializing, gatherings, indulgence, festivals, festivities, gatherings, happiness, wedding, engagement party, graduation, baby shower, happy times Reversed: Over indulgence, gossiping, bitchiness, lack of social life, lack of friends, cancelled celebrations, broken engagements, cancelled weddings, miscarriage, termination, cheating, affairs 

Four of Cups

Upright: Regret, refusing offers, missed opportunities, stagnation, apathy, disillusion, focusing on the negative, self-absorption, depression, boredom, nostalgia, remorse, yearning, frustration, weariness, meditation, daydreaming, fantasizing Reversed: Seizing opportunities, letting go of regret, end of stagnation, motivation, enthusiasm, being proactive, interest, focus, self-awareness, focusing on the positive, gratitude, zest for life, re energized

Five of Cups

Upright: Sadness, loss, grief, despair, abandonment, guilt, remorse, regret, trauma, bereavement, mourning, heartbreak, unwelcome change, emotional instability, focusing on loss, focusing on negative emotions, isolation, loneliness, emotional baggage, divorce, separation, anger, disappointment Reversed: Moving forward/ moving on, accepting help, healing, forgiveness, re-joining the world, releasing emotions, letting go of grief, letting go of regret or guilt, letting go of sorrow, overcoming despair, releasing emotional baggage, acceptance

Six of Cups

Upright: Children, childhood memories, past influences, yearning, homesickness, nostalgia, reunions, playfulness, youthfulness, innocence, creativity, kindness, goodwill, simplicity, childishness, immaturity, sharing, gifts, charity, family, support, protection, childhood issues, childhood abuse Reversed: Letting go of the past, focusing on the future, maturity, growing up, leaving home, independence,  rose-tinted view of the past, boredom, lack of creativity, stagnation, being stuck in the past, resolving childhood issues, childhood abuse, stolen innocence, completing therapy

Seven of Cups

Upright: Lots of options, choices, multiple possibilities, opportunities, picking and choosing, decisions, procrastination, dreaming, fantasy, illusion, wishful thinking, imagination, hallucinations, meditation Reversed: Reality, clarity, sobriety, poor choices, lack of choice, opportunities or options, lack of spiritual growth, feeling trapped, avoiding issues,  decisiveness, reality check,  missed opportunities, focusing on the superficial/materialistic

Eight of Cups

Upright: Abandonment, abandoning plans, walking away, letting go, travelling, escapism, reaching limit, self-analysis, self-discovery, introspection, looking deeper, withdrawal, disappointment, looking for the truth, loneliness, leaving a bad situation, emotional strength, courage, fatigue, weariness Reversed: Fear of moving on, stagnation, monotony, accepting your lot, lack of self-awareness, lack of emotional maturity, staying in a bad situation, faking happiness, low self-esteem, lack of self-worth, clinginess, fear of commitment, fear of abandonment

Nine of Cups

Upright: Wishes coming true, realizing dreams, happiness, cheerfulness, joy, positivity, optimism, satisfaction, success, abundance, prosperity, achievements, rewards, confidence, high self-esteem, triumph, celebrating, entertaining, fame, acclaim, recognition, pleasure, sex, sensuality, pampering Reversed: Shattered dreams, nightmares, unhappiness, devastation, misery,  negativity, pessimism, disappointment, lack of success/accomplishment, disadvantage, underachieving, unrewarding, low self esteem, addictions, eating disorders, self hatred, arrogance, immaturity

Ten of Cups

Upright: Happiness, family,  happy families, reunions, homecomings, family gatherings, marriage, long term relationships, stability, security, harmony, abundance, domestic bliss, happy ever after, caring, children, fun, play, creativity, soulmates, fate, destiny, good luck, blessings,  well being, fulfillment Reversed: Unhappy home/family life, dysfunctional family, broken home, lack of security/stability, divorce, separation, conflict, disharmony, lack of teamwork, rocky relationships, keeping up appearances, non traditional families, not wanting marriage/children, infertility, miscarriage, social services, losing your home, homesickness, isolation, foster families, family secrets, neglect, abuse​

Page of Cups

Upright: Child, inner child, youthfulness, idealism, sensitivity, dreamer, inner voice, spirituality, psychic, messages, good news, naivety, crush, admirer, becoming emotionally mature, romantic proposals, engagements, pregnancies, marriages, births, romance, artistic, kindness, loyalty, beauty, fashion, style   Reversed: Childhood issues, sexual abuse, bad news, broken dreams, cancelled social events/engagements/ proposals, bad news, obsession, envy, jealousy, vindictiveness, emotional vulnerability/ immaturity/wounds, becoming sexually active, promiscuity, seduction, ignoring inner voice or inner child, being obsessed with image, attention seeking, childishness

Knight of Cups

Upright: Romantic proposals, offers, invitations, taking action, following your heart, chivalry, gentlemanly behavior, being swept off your feet, charm, attraction, dating, affection, warmth, gentle, caring, sensitive, artistic, creative, imaginative, psychic, graceful, tactful, diplomatic, peace loving, negotiator  Reversed: Unrequited love, heartbreaker, manipulator, one night stand, cheating, deception,  disappointment, revoked offers or proposals, bad news, procrastination, obsession, trouble-making, tantrums, moodiness, turmoil, lack of diplomacy, avoiding confrontation, jumping to conclusions, creative or intuitive blocks

Queen of Cups

Upright: Mature emotional female, security, femininity, loving, warmth, sensitivity, kindness, happiness, intuition, romance, loyal, faithful, shy, easily wounded, pretty, beauty, daydreamer, psychic, empath, creative artistic, inspirational, healer, listener, counsellor, caring, supportive, good mother Reversed: Emotional immaturity, insecurity, lack of trust, lacking direction,  weak, giving too much, overly-sensitive, needy, shallow, frivolous, silly, self-centered, disorganized, depressed, sulky, smothering, bitter, vengeful, manipulative, spiteful, disloyal, unfaithful,  blocked intuition, stifled creativity

King of Cups

Upright: Mature compassionate male, calm, caring, friendly, sympathetic, wise, tolerant, diplomatic, balanced, affectionate, romantic, charming, devoted, family orientated, generous, easy going, married man, good husband/partner/father, loyal, faithful, spiritual guide, counsellor, Reversed: Emotionally immature male, overly emotional, overwhelmed, anxious, uncaring, unkind, gullible, depressed, cold, repressed, withdrawn, moody, unbalanced, controlling, rape, violence, deviance, manipulation, affair with married man, cheater, conman, blocked creativity, ruthlessness

[fatefulfaerie]

Unspoken

Fic-art trade with @kitycatinahipsterhatt. You drew two pictures so here is 2,000 words!

It’s a long set up before what you actually asked for happens but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

There was once a time when the princess loathed when the knight chosen by the sword that seals the darkness would accompany her. She would hate the subtle sound of his boots treading behind her, she would begrudge the way his stoic stare would fill her with discomfort, even when she couldn’t see it. 

But, most of all, she detested the sight of the ornate sword strapped to his back, the constant reminder to Zelda that he was perfect, that the champions were perfect, that the kingdom was perfect and when they all looked at her to be the same, they saw only a disappointment.

Zelda had learned since then that the eyes that wore on her, that degraded her and belittled her and objectified her and weaponized her had in fact done the exact same to Link. The only difference is that he internalized it, resorting to a superficial quietude while she externalized it all, taking her frustration and anger out at everyone who didn’t deserve it, including herself.

Once she learned how much in common she actually had with her knight attendant, how wrong she was that they couldn’t be more different, she began to look at their time together much differently. In fact, she had come so far as to absolutely love when the knight chosen by the sword that seals the darkness accompanied her.

Close friends to the princess knew that she had accumulated a great amount of feelings for her companion, and that these feelings became more and more of a romantic nature by each passing day.

She loved his blue gaze and how it had started to soften around her, she loved the sound of his approached footsteps, and she loved every single part of him, even the sword strapped to him, the way he yielded it with such conviction, such purpose, such strength. Although she felt guilty for it and wished he could be free from it, he was strapped to the sword much like she was trapped to the kingdom’s expectations, and she loved that it had brought them together.

However, there were days every once in a while when Zelda had a temporary knight attendant in her company, the King insisting upon Link being given a day off. It always seemed like Link wished to object, and Zelda was starting to believe that the reason why was because he may be in love with her too.

Nonetheless, it was these dull, Link-less days where her heart thumped normally and her excitement was quiet. She spoke little with her temporary knight attendant and her thoughts ran rampant with thoughts of Link.

At the end of this one day in particular, she followed her instincts to the stables, her path lit by the moon’s light. She knew how much Link loved his horse and she knew his restlessness. If given a day off, there was no way he wouldn’t go for a ride.

And, surely enough, he was right where Zelda thought he would be, the princess blushing and smiling adoringly at the sight. 

Link was sitting on the hay-strewn ground with his legs crossed criss cross honey sauce, spoiling his horse with apples as he pet her mane with an endearing smile.

Zelda stepped forward with an unspoken invitation she would later regret detecting, her footsteps making a noise that alerted Link immediately.

His head had popped up and yet he didn’t move in the slightest. His lips parted as he gazed at her transcendent figure, outlined by the light of the moon. She truly was a vision he felt undeserving of, but before he could revel in his love for her any longer, he remembered his protocol.

He quickly hastened to a kneel, bowing his head.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said, remaining in his respectful reverence of the royalty before him. “I was not expecting you. Do you have need of my assistance?”

“Not at all,” Zelda replied. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just…”

She shrugged her shoulders in what was probably the most elegant way possible, her hands clasped before her and the movement slow.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” she continued. “It was…strange, not having you around I mean.”

“Was my replacement not suitable?”

“Oh, he was,” Zelda responded. “I just—“

Zelda stopped herself, walking forward and placing her hands on Link’s biceps.

“For goodness sake Link, stand up,” she said as she prompted him up to standing, which he complied to. “You don’t have to bow to me,” Zelda said, shaking her head as she rescinded her hands.

“Protocol says otherwise,” Link said with a slight smirk. Zelda put her hands on her hips.

“Well I’m the princess and I say that you are never allowed to kneel to me again,” Zelda said. “And you be sure to remember that.”

“How could I forget an official order from the princess?” Link asked as he picked up the bag of apples from the ground. “But if you don’t mind, I’m pretty sure that not bowing to the King is a punishable offense, so I’ll keep doing that. Apple?”

Link had offered one of the red-colored fruits forward and Zelda giggled and how his mind worked. Another thing she loved. His chaos.

Yet, however flattered she was, she shook her head.

“No thank you,” she said politely. “I don’t like apples.”

Link squinted his eyes, pausing for a moment as he studied Zelda.

“You’re actually serious,” he said. “How is that possible?”

“The kitchens always prepare them baked,” Zelda said. “I never liked the consistency or the taste.”

“That means your kitchens don’t know what they’re doing,” Link said as he put the apple he offered pack in the bag, tying the canvas bag secure. 

“On the contrary,” Zelda said defensively. “They prepare plenty of good meals.”

Link almost laughed.

“Baked apples are a peasant recipe,” he explained. “When people had to make something good out of having almost nothing.” Link offered his hand. “Luckily you’ve run into someone who knows how to do it properly.”

Zelda took Link’s hand slowly, with a daring glint in her green eyes and a pink blush streaking her cheeks.

Link led her to just outside the stables, where a cooking pot sat. Two small stools stood next each other and Link politely guided Zelda to sit on one of them before Link sat next to her. Brushing shoulders, their hearts warmed.

“Your kitchens probably prepare these in those large furnaces,” Link explained as he coated an apple with goat butter, letting the water in the lit cooking pot simmer. “Rookie mistake. It dries out all the flavor.”

Link tossed in the first apple, readying the second.

“Thank you for doing this,” Zelda said, expressing her gratitude, “and on your day off, too.”

Link shook his head.

“I don’t consider spending time with you as work, Your Highness,” Link said. “Your company is frankly a pleasure.” He tossed the second apple in as Zelda considered for the millionth time if her feelings matched his.

She theorized upon it in the comfortable silence that followed, bracing her arms against her thighs.

Link eventually served the hot-buttered apple using a pot lid as a plate. He cut up the first apple and arranged them like a blooming flower around the second, which he put a thick slab on goat butter on that started to melt almost immediately. Zelda was already amused by how carefully he prepared it, but when he took a small white flower that was growing near his feet and used it to decorate the plate, Zelda could think of nothing else but her assumption that he perhaps was in love with her too.

Link offered the plate forward and Zelda found herself enjoying the carefully-prepared apple immensely. In fact, with the both of them sharing the plate, the dish was gone quickly, Zelda’s opinions of apples officially swayed.

“That was marvelous, Link,” Zelda said as she set aside the pot lid, soon thereafter smiling naturally at Link, whose gaze was as warm and soft as hers. “I’d thank you again if I didn’t already know you would humbly try and reject my gratitude.”

“It really was no trouble, Your Highness,” Link said. “I would do anything for you, even on my days off.”

Zelda studied him with scanning eyes, trying to figure out as he stared at her whether or not the coloration of his cheeks was from the heat of the fire or from an infatuation with her.

Her Highness felt an impulse overcome her and, with a courage she would later regret, she aimed her lips for his. 

Yet, Link immediately backed away from the threat of her kiss, going to far as to scramble to standing up to get away from the possibility, panting away his anxiety.

Zelda was completely embarrassed and overwhelmingly saddened that the prospect of her kiss was so abhorrent. Little did she know that Link was preparing himself to spout probably the biggest lie of his life.

“I’m sorry, I…” Link stammered, shaking his head. “I…I don’t feel that way, I apologize if I led you to believe that I—“

“No,” Zelda interrupted loudly, standing up as well. Her embarrassment eroding within her and making her feel sick. “No, it…it was my error. Please think nothing of it. That’s an order.”

Link knew he wouldn’t be able to follow that one. His regret ached within him and his blue eyes melted with concern for the girl whose heart he just broke, he inhaled to correct his lie with a step forward, yet Zelda interrupted again.

“I should go,” she said, backing away. “I…I’m sorry, really, I…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Link reached for her as she ran back to the castle, deciding against calling after her as he closed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh.

He sat on one of the stools, burying his face in his hands. The fire beneath the pot lid crackled chaotically like the regret in his heart.

——————————————————————————————————

Zelda couldn’t sleep, her embarrassment and her guilt keeping her up. Her mind endlessly thought of more and more apologies she owed for her childish and frivolous impulsiveness and pretty soon, she found herself heading to his chambers to voice them. Despite her heartbreak, she felt horribly guilty for his discomfort.

Being the knight attendant to the princess, his quarters were rather close. Zelda walked down the hallway of her own quarters in her white nightgown, about the make a left turn to where his quarters where before a voice stopped her at the corner.

“I panicked, okay?” she heard Link say. Zelda immediately glued herself to the wall, listening and yet out of sight. “It happened so fast. I wasn’t expecting her to do that. My instincts pulled me away, and it’s probably for the best.”

“You would rather break her heart than anger the King?” Another voice asked, likely another knight. “That’s some pretty big commitment to your job. I thought you said you loved her.” Zelda eyes widened. “Not two days ago you said—”

“I know what I said,” Link interrupted, “and I do love her. It hurt so much to break her heart, but I…I just…I mean look at it this way. Some rumor gets out that we are having an affair and even if we’re not everything falls apart. I may even be decommissioned and…and I wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore. Acting on our feelings just increases our chances of that. We have to focus on the calamity. Besides, the kingdom already sees her as a failure. I can’t add to that.”

“You say that now but you two are not going to last that long without banging it out, I can tell.”

Link’s face went red immediately, and so did Zelda’s.

Link’s fellow knight chuckled.

“You said yourself that she is the love of your life,” the knight continued. “Jokes aside, I know you won’t be able to hide that. Your duty to the King and to the sword is important and I get that. It’s important to me too. But there are things that are more important, and I think you already know that.”

There was a bout of silence, Zelda waiting for more words to hang her hopes on, to swell her heart and to color her cheeks as they already had.

“No matter what happens, keeping it in is going to hurt you two more than anything,” the knight continued. “But hey, what do I know?”

“More than me, somehow.”

The knight gave small laugh.

“Get some rest, Link,” the knight said. “And don’t worry about this too much. Love is a blessing. Treat it like a curse and that’s all it will be.”

And with that, Zelda heard footsteps, the knight obviously leaving Link to his thoughts and ruminations. Zelda held her breath as the knight turned the corner, keeping quiet and still as she pressed against the wall. Luckily, it worked, a knight in silver armor passing her without so much as a glance. Zelda attributed it to the helmet, that offered very little peripheral vision. If the knight did see her, he would have followed protocol and bowed to his princess.

Zelda, relaxed by the knight being out of sight, was still resolved to see Link. Thinking she would converse with him where he was still standing by his door, she turned the corner without looking. Haphazardly, she ran right into the blue-eyed knight that was coming to speak with her in her chambers.

They winced in pain and complaint and annoyance before looking up and seeing the other, eyes changing immediately to emotions of an arresting and paralyzing realization, that Zelda was within earshot of that conversation and that Link now knew that. They panted heavily in anticipation as their eyes changed again, to a connection of unabashed love.

Link and Zelda both surged into each other, securing their lips into a deep kiss that came straight from their hearts, and thus had endless fuel. Zelda hands were entrenched in his hair and, as they continued, her fingers had pulled off completely the band that secured his ponytail. Link had one hand on her cheek and the other around her waist, holding her in such a way that it was apparent he never wanted to let go.

He spun her around amidst the kiss, slowly peeling his lips from hers as he set her back down. They opened their eyes to each other and smiled and the wordless, mutual acceptance of their love. 

Later that night, Zelda went to sleep soundly with Link’s kiss goodnight still faint on her lips.

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 20

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Angst, PTSD, anxiety, suicidal thoughts.  Rated M

Taglist @utterlyinevitable @binny1985 @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations  @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268  @cinnamonspongecake @romewritingshop @freckles-spangledvampire​@mercury84choices​  @curiousconch​

______

Chapter 20. I’ll Stand By You

I'll stand by you

Take me in, into your darkest hour

And I'll never desert you

 Whatever cloud of anxiety and fear had been following her since she got out of the quarantine room, now it seemed in suspension. Right above her head, waiting for the proper moment to come back and shower her with the consequences, with the realizations that inevitably death brings in.

Her family was being like a dome, a bubble protecting her from hurt and pain, and from any damage she could do to herself with her mind. With her thoughts. With the memories, the guilt, the I-should-haves. She could see everything outside, wandering, waiting for any nook to sneak into, but somehow her family managed to catch them before they could reach her.

  No one had doubts that there would be aftermaths, that at some point she’d have to face them, but they wanted to delay it as much as they could.

Bryce had identified the anxiety she felt at the thought of being alone, so now everyone was attentive to not leaving her alone.  

Her mother had identified the guilt was slowly consuming her. It was the sadness in her eyes, her fingers fidgeting distractingly. It was sometimes just a mother's instinct.

But despite all the effort everyone was making, no one could stop what happened inside her head at night. Somehow, she felt like she was in that quarantine room over and over again. The same heavier sensation on her chest. The feeling of being scared and tired. Of wanting to leave. But someone was pleading her to not go, something was pulling her back to the ground.

When Eleanor went to see Rafael the next morning, it made everything worse, even if she was happy that he had survived.

He was fragile, it would take him a long road to recover, and it was all her fault.  Why she had to let him accompany her? Why she had to put him in such danger? Why she ruined his life like that when he had plans? When he wanted to start over?

The only thing she had managed to do was screw his future up. His life.

Verónica knew what was happening. She saw the pain in her eyes, the rage brewing inside her, she saw her knuckles turning white over her knees, her hands grasping the blanket over her tights, the imploring look she gave Rafael while he was speaking. She had seen it so many times. The guilty look. It wasn’t the first time that she was taking responsibility for something that was completely out of her hands. And it wouldn’t be the last time either. But she knew how to handle it. Mothers always know.

 As Verónica knew when she was feeling bad, she also knew the best ways to put her out of her misery, to distract her, to not let her mind sunk in guilty and self-deprecation. “Honey, is that true that Bryce braided your hair?” she asked, while she was combing her hair after returning from Rafael’s room.

She felt the exact moment her body relaxed at the mention of Bryce. Then, she chuckled, and a bright smile rested on her face. “Yes, he did. And I still can’t believe it.”

“I have to say he’s pretty good at it. It barely loosened overnight, and you have amazing waves in your hair now.”

“Heh. Please repeat this in his presence. Or not. He won’t shut up about it for a week.”

“He deserves to be proud of that talent. Well, more than a talent, this is a skill. A very useful skill. Now you don’t have to worry about doing your daughter’s hair all by yourself because he’ll deal with it pretty well. Maybe even better than you.”

Eleanor glanced back at her, flushed, “Mom!”

“Oh, sorry, darling, could be a son too, there’s nothing wrong with boys having long hair.”

“Mamá…”

“Well, maybe you don’t want to have kids, and that’s respectable, sorry for being too intrusive.”

Eleanor giggled, amused, “You really liked him, uh?”

“Is there any other alternative, Ellie? He’s too likable. Too charming. And he’s been an angel with you.  I don’t feel nothing but gratitude towards him.”

“He’s been amazing. Not just now. He has always been this way…”

Suddenly a knock on the door interrupted her, “Can I come in?”

Eleanor looked at the door where Keiki was standing with a mix of shyness and surprise, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw pain flashing her eyes, “Keiki! Yes, come in!”

The girl walked towards her and, in a surprising act, hugged her, “Ella! I’m so happy you’re okay!”

She had never done that before. Hug her and speak to her with such sincerity. The had become close by the weeks, but she never had shown any spontaneous affection towards her, not even to Bryce. “Keiki! Oh! Thank you. And I’m so happy to see you again! I missed you.” She said, her eyes glimmering with emotion at the gesture,

“Me too.”

Eleanor smiled at her and then Keiki looked at Verónica, standing at the other side of the bed. “Oh, let me introduce you to my mom, Verónica. Mom, she’s Bryce’s sister, Keiki.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bloom, nice to meet you.” She said, giving her a brief nod.

"Hello, Keiki, nice to meet you too. I’ve heard so much about you!”

“You have?”

“Oh, yes, Ellie has mentioned you lots of times! She says you're incredibly smart and sass and she loves spending time with you. Must be she misses the role of elder sister.”

Both girls laughed in agreement. Then, Verónica got up from the bed and walked towards the door, “I’ll leave you to it, girls, I’ll call mom.”

“Okay send her and Tata a kiss, please.”

“Sure, honey,”

“How are you feeling?” Keiki asked once Verónica closed the door behind her.

“Still a bit tired, but I can’t complain.”

“Bryce told me Rafael woke up this morning.”

“Yes! And he’s doing fine. Now we are waiting for Danny to wake up. You can go to see him too, I’m sure he will be happy to see you.”

“My volleyball buddy.”

“The biggest treason you could’ve done to you brother.”

“Oh, please. We both know how much he loved kicking my ass that day.”

“Well, yeah.”

Suddenly, Keiki chuckled, “You should’ve seen him yesterday at lunch. Freaking out.”

“Freaking out?”

“Yes, he told me he would meet your parents at night, and he didn’t know what to do, what to say… It was hilarious seeing him freaking out when… he usually doesn’t freak out with anything… Well, if not involves cooking, of course”

“Why didn’t I notice? To me he looked pretty composed when he came back.”

“Well, at home he was rambling, saying he would screw it up, wondering what he would do if they didn’t like him.”

“No way! He was really freaking out! I would’ve never imagined he would be nervous about that, I mean, he’s the King of Smooths.”

They both laughed, “He told me he wasn’t in that situation since he was seventeen, and… well at that moment the situation was very different because our dad was already in jail, so it’s understandable the bad experience.”

“But now nothing of that matters, he’s a very accomplished young man.”

“Now he’s Mister Imaginary Boyfriend.”

Eleanor snorted, “Oh god, he told you?”

“Yeah, he told me every second since he met your parents. He woke me up when he got home and had me until 3 am gushing about it.”

Eleanor and Keiki laughed and kept catching up and laughing for a few hours until the teen decided to visit Kyra and then Rafael, so Eleanor could have some rest.

The following days weren't very much different. Benjamin returned to Detroit, but her parents would stay in the city until she was discharged.

Danny woke up two days later. He’d have to remain in the ICU for a long time, but he’d be fine. Even if Eleanor had seen Sienna happy for Rafael’s and her recovery, just when Danny woke up she was the same Sienna again. With hope in her eyes, with the glimmer that characterized her kind and sweet smile. Her happiness was now complete.

The next day after Danny woke up, she was discharged, just in time to attend Bobby’s funeral.

The dome she’d been in the last three days couldn’t protect her from what was coming. Even if her parents and Bryce tried to convince her that she didn’t have to attend Bobby Gunderson’s memorial, she insisted that she had. That she was fine enough to attend.

Physically yes, she was. But the moment she set a foot in the memorial, Eleanor realized that emotionally, she wasn’t. She would never be.

It was so tangible how the dome started to vanish. How the pain, the guilt, the regrets, everything, was coming to get her.

And the guilt… the guilt soaked her to the bones.

Seeing the pain in the other person is painful. But seeing the mix of gratefulness and envy in the family is hard to manage. Because Eleanor can’t help but think that Bobby’s wife was glad that the rest survived but can’t help but wonder why her husband had to die,  why he was the only one who’s gone, why he was the only unfortunate. Why just him and not Eleanor, or Rafael, or Danny. Why she wasn’t as lucky as Verónica and Robert, who had their family complete.

 And Eleanor can’t blame her.

Why it had to be him when she was the responsible one? The Senator was her patient, she had discovered that Travis was poisoning him, she should’ve informed Ethan, and Banerji, and the police, and not deal with the situation by herself, let alone involve innocent people.

If someone deserved to die, was her. It was her fault what had happened. Mrs. Gunderson didn’t deserve any of the pain and sorrow she was feeling, nor her family.

The rest of the afternoon went in a blur. She lost track of time and space for periods. Sometimes she focused on the conversation she had in front of her, sometimes her mind wandered. Sometimes the guilt was too big she couldn’t think about anything else. Sometimes she couldn’t think about anything.

She wasn’t alone any minute. Whether she was with Bryce, her parents, or her friends, she was wandering through the service and reception like a wave in the middle of the sea, moved by external impulse, and not by her own will.

A couple of hours later, while Bryce and Eleanor were talking to Jackie and Aurora, her parents approached to say goodbye. They gave a grateful hug to her friends and thanked them for the umpteenth time for all they did for their daughter. Then, Eleanor and Bryce led them outside, where the taxi was waiting for them. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here, sweetheart?”

Robert and Verónica gave her a worried glance. She was paler than when she got out of the hospital, and Verónica could read the haunting in her eyes.

Even if Eleanor knew her mom probably read her, she gave both her parents a reassuring smile, “Yeah, mom, don’t worry, I’ll be staying with Bryce and Keiki so she’ll keep me company while Bryce is working.”

“Okay, but if you need anything, please call us, okay?”

“I promise,”

Robert pulled her into a hug while Verónica did the same with Bryce, “Visit us soon, Sunny. You could stay with us if you’re getting bored here, you know? We will always be happy to have you."

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks dad,”

“And of course you too, Bryce, visit us soon with Keiki, I’m sure she’d be delighted with the lovely spots that we have in Cincinnati to take pictures of.”

"Thank you, Veronica, we'll plan a trip for sure. Hope you have a safe flight."

Then it was the time for Bryce to say goodbye to Robert, “I know there’s no need, but take care of my Sunny, alright?”

“Of course, Robert. With my life.”

“Please call us if you need anything, if you need help or if something is happening with Ellie. You have our numbers now.”

“I will.”

 *

Hours later, when they arrived home, Eleanor went directly to bed. Her head was bumping and couldn’t handle another word with anyone. Bryce decided to join Keiki in the living room and watch something on the TV. She’d been alone most of the day.

Now that she was out of the hospital, the idea of being alone wasn’t as hard as it was at Edenbrook. She was alone in the room, but there were people near. And Bryce’s room didn’t remind her of the attack, and she didn’t feel like someone would appear from anywhere and would threaten her life again.

In fact, now she was relieved of being alone, at last. Now she could let all her feelings flow.

Her mom had been filling her with questions, comments, and ideas to not let her think about the attack, and even if Eleanor was grateful for the help she had given her, somehow that just had made her accumulate things. Accumulate thoughts, feelings, anger, guilt.

She buried her face in the pillow and cried, anger exploding in her core like a balloon that can’t hold any more air.

She was so mad. With the world. With herself. Above all, with herself.

 She deserved misery, pain. A man had died because of her and her irresponsibility.

She didn’t deserve people worrying about her.

What was her purpose after this? Why had life decided that her life was more worthy than Bobby’s? How could she live with his death on her back? With the suffering Rafael and Danny will have to endure to recover?

It was all her fault.

She didn’t know how much time she cried, but after a while, she started seeing flashes of that horrid night. The night she should’ve died.

At first, it was calm. Bryce was lulling her to sleep. For a moment, everything felt fine. But then it was all darkness and pain, and a voice breaking the silence in the middle of the darkness, pleading. “Please protect her. Don’t take her away. Don’t take her away from me. Please. Please,” she could hear while a tight grip was pulling her by the hand.  

 She was floating in midair, tired, ready to go. Her whole body was aching. But the grip on her hand was like an anchor, it wasn’t letting her go very far. Something kept pulling her to the ground. She didn’t know what or who. It was dark.

But then she saw Bryce’s face over her, his arms around her, and he was sobbing incessantly. Tears spilling down his cheeks and to the window of the hazmat suit, “Please, stay with me, stay with me” he begged, pulling her life like a kite flying away in a storm.

“Bryce…” She tried to whisper, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move or speak. She was exhausted. But she could see him, she could hear him.

She had never seen him like that. So broken. So… desperate.

It was in sorrow. Desolation. But it wasn’t real, isn’t it? It was just a dream.

“Stay with me, please. Babe, don’t leave me, please. I don’t know what I’d do without you, please.” She could feel the lump in his throat aching with every word. The desperation in his grip, the fear with every inch he pulled her against his chest. She knew it was a dream, but something about it felt so real. So familiar.

“Bryce…” She tried again.

“Please don’t leave me.”

She wanted to go. She was tired. She deserved to die. She was the one who should’ve died.

But Bryce didn’t let her.

“Elle, babe.”

Why didn't he just let her go? Couldn't he see the pain was too much? That she couldn't live with herself after what she did to Bobby?

“Babe… Love, wake up. Wake up.”

And then she opened her eyes and found Bryce, no hazmat suit, no tears, just a concerned look on his face in dim light, “Babe, what happened?”

She looked around, trying to distinguish where she was. It was his room. The lamp on his nightstand was turned on, there was absolute silence in the apartment. Bryce was sitting at the edge of the bed with boxers and a shirt on, his hair disheveled. They both had been sleeping.

“I was… dreaming…”

And as she remembered her dream, rage suddenly started to boil inside her. Unstoppable, unbearable. All the rage and guilt and anger that had been brewing inside her, was unleashed now that she knew it had been him, “Why didn’t you just let me go?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why you held me and begged, and prayed to keep me alive… When I was so tired and I…” Eleanor covered her face with both hands in exasperation, “I… I wanted to go but you didn’t let me, you pulled me to stay with you, but I shouldn’t be here, Bryce… I should be the one... I don’t deserve to be here”

Bryce’s face disfigured at her words and shook his head instantly, “Don’t say that,” his voice was indignant.

"But it's true. I'm responsible for this. Bobby shouldn’t have died. I should have. He didn’t deserve to die, I was the stupid one who thought I could deal with the situation…”

“Elle, you’re not responsible for this, the only one to blame here is Travis. He wanted to kill the Senator, he brought the canister. You just tried to save him.”

“But I… I did it all wrong. I should’ve called the cops, he was dangerous, I put everyone in danger… And an innocent person died.”

“And just for that you think you should’ve died?”

“I-, if there was someone that should’ve paid the price, that was me. Not Bobby, or Raf of Danny. I ruined their lives.”

“No, Eleanor. The only one who should’ve paid the price was Travis, and he paid it with his life. It should’ve been in jail, but he did pay.”

Silence.

Bryce’s words made sense. But that didn’t stop her from feeling all the rage she had inside.

But the rage wasn’t actually towards Bryce, she realized. It was towards herself, for wanting to live, for fighting for her life and succeed, when she didn’t deserve it. Bobby deserved to live. “I don’t know. It’s just that… I can’t stop feeling guilty, all the time, Bryce. When I see Raf, Danny, suffering, when I saw Mrs. Gunderson, her daughter, all his family suffering, I feel terrible. I am responsible for this, and I’m here, alive, safe. I’m the least affected of all. I don’t deserve to be here when I brought so much pain with my actions.”

Bryce gave her a sad look as his eyes started to glimmer, then he laid down beside her and pulled her towards his body, “Babe how could you say that? You deserve to live. What you did not deserve was to die, to die because of some stupid psycho who didn't give a damn about anyone else but his revenge. He's the only one who should've died, and he did. Unfortunately, Bobby died too, but that’s not on you.”

Eleanor shivered at the feeling of his touch, of his comforting and soothing touch. She looked deep into his amber eyes and for a moment, things weren’t as horrible as it seemed. “But how… How can I live after this? What can I do with all this anger I have inside? How I stop feeling anger towards you for… For not letting me go? Towards myself for surviving?”

“I think that’s something you have to figure out with time, babe.  I know this is all dark and horrible right now, but with the proper help, it will get better. Soon you’ll understand that this is not your fault. Just don’t give up.”

Eleanor nodded, and then she nuzzled her face against his chest, his lips brushing her forehead as his arms enveloped her in a tight and warm embrace.

After a few seconds, she couldn't help but whisper, "Was it real?"

“What?”

Eleanor parted from him a few inches so she could see him in the eyes, “What I dreamed? You really said those things and… held my hand… like you were trying to hold me to life?”

Bryce couldn’t hide the conflict in his eyes, how reluctant he felt about responding to her, but after a few seconds, he nodded, “Yes. I didn’t leave your side, and I didn’t let go of your hand for a second. I was scared that you would go if you… If you felt alone.”

 “Would have been that difficult if I had died?”

“How… How can you ask me that, Elle?” His voice broke all of a sudden, as if the last source of strength had crumbled inside him.

“It’s just… you were so desperate. I… I’d never seen you like that. I could have never imagined you could break like that.”

“I broke a lot of times that day, actually, but I didn’t want you to see me like that. I wanted to be strong for you, but at that moment… You were so fragile, so in pain… that the idea of losing you was… too much, more than I could handle…” Bryce sighed and wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. Eleanor stroke his hair, looking pensive at him.

Then his eyes looked at her for a few seconds, deeply and thoughtfully, like he’d never done before.

It was with a vulnerability that had never seen in him, not even that night at the quarantine room, not even in the shower while she was crying her fears away, not even the night he told her about his parents and Keiki.

It was raw vulnerability, and not by chance or by the circumstances. He was choosing to show himself like that in front of her. He was opening a door that had never been opened. And it was heartbreaking. Her heart ached at the sight of it.

“Eleanor you… You’ve been the only person that has loved me… That has loved me for who I am. That has seen the broken pieces of me, my past, my mistakes and… and even still has kept loving me.” A shiver cursed down her spine as the words reached her ears, just as it happens when a heartbreaking truth is revealed. How? How this could happen? “Even before you said you were in love with me, you loved me like no one else ever did. Without judging, without wavering.” His voice was tremulous, his eyes threatening with tears again, but he looked so, so earnestly at her that for a moment she didn't recognize him. And in fact, she didn’t know him. She was meeting Bryce for the first time. The real Bryce. The Bryce under layers and layers of protection built over the years. The Bryce she always wanted to meet. Where she wanted to dive in.

Her brain couldn’t process such truth. She could’ve never imagined that no one… No one had loved him unconditionally. How? How so many people could miss him?

  “It took me years to come to terms with the fact that I lost my parents. I never did with my sister for some reason, and now she’s here. I always thought I’d be alone my whole life… But everything changed when I met you.  I could trust someone for the first time. I could love someone for the first time. That's why I was so scared at first when you met Keiki. Because it would've been extremely difficult for me to overcome our breakup in case you choose Ethan, or simply because you didn't want me. But then I chose to let you in… And… is it beautiful as it is frightening. The fear of losing you is worse.  I would’ve never overcome it if you’d gone, Eleanor.  That’s why… I was so… desperate. So hopeless, because I don’t know what I’d do if I lose you. You mean too much to me.” He couldn’t go on. The lump in his throat was too painful.

Eleanor pulled him into a hug and kissed his temple, “Bryce, my love… I…” She couldn’t continue either. The truth hurt too much. So she simply held him and pulled him towards her chest, stroking his hair, kissing his temple, letting him know that she was there for him.

 “I’m sorry, it’s just I… I can’t stop thinking about that day, about the moment I found out you were in danger, when I saw you there, scared. When… when you started crying because the pain was too much. I still hear your screams sometimes, and it breaks my heart every time I think what you went through” He shook his head, trying to suppress the memories but he needed to let all out. “And… I can’t stop thinking about the moment I held you in my arms and suddenly you felt so heavy that for a moment I thought you were…” He needed to say it. The word had been eating him alive all those days, and he knew he needed to say it to find some kind of closure, to face this idea with reality. "I thought you were dead."

But the reality was that she wasn’t dead. She was with him.

“I thought you were dead and I…” He held her like clinging to life. Almost like how she clung to him in that quarantine room.

You never know when the roles can be reversed.

For the first time in days, Eleanor felt thankful for being alive. Even if she still felt guilty about Bobby's death, at that moment she realized how much more damage would've done her death. The pain that could've caused her family and friends. The pain that could've inflicted in Bryce. How devastated he would've been. And she didn’t want that. He didn’t want more suffering for Bryce. She wanted her happiness.

So, somehow, somewhere between all that pain, all those fears, all those tears, and late-night confessions, Eleanor found some sense of purpose. A reason to stay alive, to stay positive, a reason to heal.

She knew it wasn’t a definitive solution, that at some point she would find her path again, her own sense of life, but right now, when all was dark and painful, Bryce was pulling her back to life again.

“But I’m here, I’m here my love, I’m with you. And I’ll always be, I promise.”

His love was saving her again.

_____

A/N: This chapter was larger, but I decided last minute to cut it because I honestly didn’t want another chapter with more than 6k. Who knows if I’m going to keep my own promise next chapter haha

Thank you so much for reading! ❤

[lanzhanlanzhan]

Wei Wuxian - On Loving Lan Wangji

(Or 'I was supposed to be writing fanfiction but my character notes got ahead of me and now I have another meta')

One of the most charming things about CQL!Wei Wuxian is this: up to the end, I don't think he has realized that he is in love with Lan Wangji.

I mean, we know. The world around them knows. Heck, I think even Lan Wangji knows, because bless this boy, I think he resolved his own 'I am in love with Wei Wuxian' arc even before the show's half-way point.

Wei Wuxian, though? I don't think so. Funny enough, in CQL-verse, there were already hints of something promising between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji even before Wei Wuxian's death, unlike in the novel where Wei Wuxian was completely in the dark and only developed feelings for Lan Wangji in his second life. CQL-verse though gave them that foundation of them being two people who were drawn to one another from the start, who became friends and even established a bond so close they can consider themselves as soulmates. Again, all these before Wei Wuxian even died.

I would like to once again send my heartfelt gratitude to Xiao Zhan for all those interviews that gave us a glimpse of his headspace as Wei Wuxian. In a few of these interviews, Xiao Zhan mentioned how part of Wei Wuxian's next life involved having to resolve things in the last one, and this actually included his learning to trust Lan Wangji again. 

In his old life, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had to struggle with a beautiful relationship on the verge of collapse, brought by Wei Wuxian's seeming refusal to let go of his ghost cultivation path, and Lan Wangji's conviction that Wei Wuxian had to return to sword cultivation because any other path would harm him. The tragedy of it all was that they were both in the right—Wei Wuxian required an alternative path to fight for what he believed was right despite having lost his golden core, and Lan Wangji (who did not yet know about Wei Wuxian's core) was also correct in that ghost cultivation was affecting Wei Wuxian's psyche. All these came to a head at Nightless City, with Wei Wuxian, heartbroken over having lost the people he fought so hard for, went against the whole cultivation world. In that state, he also saw that Lan Wangji was still against him, tried to stop him, even though Lan Wangji himself was still conflicted though his heart was still with Wei Wuxian in the end. 

Now, this time it would be Wei Wuxian's character song that makes things interesting. His character song seems to be set while he was in that space between his two lives, looking back at a life that strayed so far away from where his good intentions would have wanted it to go. He recounts his life, but interestingly and heartbreakingly, when we reach the chorus, although the words are actually never the same, the lines are nonetheless about the same single thing:

Chorus 1:

I have tried to take a jar of liquor with a smile

And once fought with the most beautiful person in Gusu

Chorus 2 (here, the lines dedicated to the subject are even longer):

I was once stunned by someone

And teased the cloud patterns with my fingertips

The sudden vibrations of a zither

I wonder why I am remembering these deep in my dream

Chorus 3:

I also once had someone in the mortal world

To love and to long for

The chorus always starts talking about Lan Wangji—and yet, it doesn't really sound like Wei Wuxian fully realizes how much this person means to him. He looks at it from a distance, perhaps because it was a life that was already over and he was regretful about how things had ended. The feelings are bittersweet—and just wow, those lines where Wei Wuxian calls Lan Wangji as "the most beautiful person in Gusu" are just too powerful for my poor, weak heart. Note though that with Wei Wuxian, this could mean either he did think of Lan Wangji as the most beautiful person in Gusu, or he just took it for granted that Lan Wangji was known as the most beautiful person in Gusu. Or it could be a bit of both, with not a lot of overthinking because... ah, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.

Fast forward now to after Wei Wuxian's resurrection. We know he and Lan Wangji were not in a good place because Wei Wuxian hid from him at first. He got anxious when he heard the juniors talking about Hanguang-jun, and actually discouraged them from calling him over. This was the man he once called his soulmate! How bad of a fall-out had theirs been for things to change so drastically. It definitely took some time for Wei Wuxian to feel comfortable around Lan Wangji again. 

Two things, I think, softened Wei Wuxian. First, Lan Wangji's drunken confession in CQL-verse was that he regretted the events leading to Wei Wuxian's death. It made Wei Wuxian realize why Lan Wangji was looking for him in the first place, all this time. He sought to comfort Lan Wangji and explained that he was not to blame. We can see Wei Wuxian was moved by how gently he took care of Lan Wangji that night, drunk as he was. 

Second was Lan Xichen telling Wei Wuxian about the events after his death, what punishments Lan Wangji endured and how he retained his faith and conviction about Wei Wuxian even after all of that. Even the story about their mother was telling; it was a glimpse of how strongly and stubbornly Lan Wangji loves someone, and how deeply that love goes, even if he does not say anything in words. Lan Xichen reminded Wei Wuxian of how adamant and persistent Lan Wangji had been about saving Wei Wuxian in his past life. Wei Wuxian said that it was unnecessary for Lan Wangji to have done these things, to suffer through his loyalty to Wei Wuxian especially when Wei Wuxian was already dead. But somehow it must have proven something to him, too, and gave him a sense of security with Lan Wangji.

After these things, love (or at the very least, trust and attachment) just seemed to develop naturally from there. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are good together especially as "partners-in-crime", so to speak. They are a very effective team, and while this goes to show how naturally compatible they are, the adventures they go through just also strengthen the bond between them. What finally cemented their relationship in this second life, resolving any other doubts Wei Wuxian might have had with Lan Wangji, was that face-off at Lanling, where Lan Wangji had the opportunity to deny Wei Wuxian again in order to retain his respected status in the cultivation world. Lan Wangji refused, announced that he knew it was Wei Wuxian from the start, and told Wei Wuxian that it wasn't so bad, walking in this path of his. 

They were noticeably inseparable from there. What makes my heart sing about this is that this time, Wei Wuxian is more actively sticking to Lan Wangji. He needs no one else other than Lan Wangji, has complete faith in him. Back in Yi City, we saw how confident he was that Lan Wangji would win against Xue Yang, he was not even worried when he took the kids to safety. Then at the Burial Mounds, when he drew the spirit attraction enchantment on himself to drive away the corpses, he refused any other help, saying Lan Wangji was enough to protect him. 

There were many other instances. In Lotus Pier, he was constantly with Lan Wangji, and even presented him to his family. He accepted insults about himself from Jiang Cheng, but not even his guilt towards Jiang Cheng would allow him to let his brother insult Lan Wangji. Even his asking Lan Wangji to take him away from Lotus Pier after the confrontation with Jiang Cheng was telling, because Wei Wuxian used to be self-sufficient and was uncomfortable asking for help. But he was doing so freely with Lan Wangji. 

Even before entering the Guanyin Temple, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had a conversation about Wen Ning—another staple in Wei Wuxian's life—needing to find a life for himself. Interestingly, the thought that Lan Wangji (who was about as attached to him as Wen Ning was) similarly needed a life free from him did not even occur to Wei Wuxian. He would let Wen Ning go, but Lan Wangji stays.

Then, at the Guanyin Temple, when he found out that everyone seemed to know about his losing his golden core, Wei Wuxian checked with Lan Wangji first, asking, "So do you also know?" By this point, Lan Wangji had become a far first in his mind, far from everyone else. Wei Wuxian looks to him first, and before facing anything else that remained against him, he has to check first that things between him and Lan Wangji were okay.

This is also why the last episode is so heartbreaking. After the events at the temple, Wei Wuxian whisks Lan Wangji away and makes a run for it. Escaping did seem to be his intention, too, because when Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui—the most harmless, loyal people to them both—caught up to them, Wei Wuxian looked disappointed that they were caught.

Of course, he then learned that Lan Sizhui was none other than their beloved A-Yuan, and that was a heart-warming reunion all around. Eventually though, Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning said their goodbyes, and Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, wondering where they would go. He never thought to even ask Lan Wangji where he would go, never thought it would be anywhere Wei Wuxian wouldn't be, because already he learned to be secure that Lan Wangji would never leave his side. In a way, he took it for granted that Lan Wangji would no longer leave him, but to be fair to Wei Wuxian, after everything that had happened and given his own feelings towards Lan Wangji, it was an easy assumption and mistake to make, to have that sense of security towards someone to whom one's heart was so drawn to.  

Somehow though, I do think their parting might have done Wei Wuxian some good. Again, Wei Wuxian is a dense motherf*cker not the type who digs deeply at his own mind and feelings (heck, the boy falls asleep during meditation, and never forget the 'Do you like Mianmian?' incident), doesn't label things and just rides those feelings out openly and freely. Time apart from Lan Wangji could have given him more space to assess what he was feeling for the guy, what it meant to miss him, how badly he was missing him, and so on. And we know he missed him badly, because who in their right mind would play their theme song atop a mountain, looking like they were about to cry? How afraid he was to look behind him and find that maybe Lan Wangji wasn't really there, that it was all in his head… oh, Wei Ying. 

So, yes. We did not get the "I love you's" (nor "that night, I really wanted to sleep with you!" lmao) in the drama, but this also makes sense because Wei Wuxian probably also did not even know, or did not know what to call it, or whatever the heck they were. But spending those days (perhaps even months or years) away from Lan Wangji were clearly difficult for him, enough for us to know that their reunion would bring Wei Wuxian such relief, he likely would never let Lan Wangji go again. And maybe, just maybe, when they meet again, that's when it all comes to Wei Wuxian, the feelings he isn't able to keep anymore, and he would just burst out, "I miss you! I love you!"

[papatonyinsandiego]

I am dying, and that’s okay: an extraordinary life-history of love and accomplishment

My full-body paralysis is accelerating.  I have come to acceptance of my eventual fate.  Here is why:

Dozens of doctors, nurses, specialists and other professionals have done their very best for me.  Whatever medical predicament that has shown up in my life has proven to be so rare that it can’t be identified, cured or slowed down.  

So be it.  I can’t keep fighting it, because it just stresses everyone out, and doesn’t improve a damn thing.  The last year and a half have proved that.

We all die eventually.  If I were to be hit by a truck, I would die quickly.  I would hate to go away without hearing from my loved ones first, and without telling THEM how much pleasure it has brought me to know them.

Life stuck at home would be boring if I was alone and friendless.  I am as far from alone and friendless as any human could ever be. My loved ones (particularly my husband of nearly thirty years) have been vigilant, loyal and attentive.  Every day is an exercise in gratitude and blessings.

Now that so MANY fine folks know what is going on, I get love all day, every day.  It’s a little overwhelming, but I am coping.  I’m going out with a bang, but one that just keeps happening over a stretch of months.

I have never been motivated by awards - I have always been determined to achieve RESULTS, over and over, for my entire adult life.  Well, I can’t do that any more, so now it’s time to allow people to give me loving approval, blessings and awards, big and small.  I continuously get emails, phone calls and texts, with folks checking in, which thrills me, and fills my days with loved ones sharing kindness, and generosity of spirit.

We are completing our relationships with each other, while we have the chance.  What could be better than that?

If it was just the QUANTITY of friends that was showing up, that would be pretty darned nice.  However, the folks checking in are examples of QUALITY that have brought richness and deep, meaningful satisfaction to my entire life. Absolutely nothing else could bring so much joy to my existence.  We are loving each other for the very best reasons.

I am glad to say that my love for so many people has been returned at full measure, all along.  My natural, affectionate ways have made me show up with the personality of a big, sweet Saint Bernard puppy. 

That was because I had made a conscious decision to be that way, all of the way back in 1976.  

At that time, I was a desperate young leather punk who had survived a violently abusive childhood, and had attempted suicide twice already.  I was heading downward fast, until the day that I asked my oldest brother what I had been like as a small child.

He told me that I had been the sweetest child ever - Whenever there was something fun going on, I was right in the middle of it.  If someone was sad, I was the first one to comfort them.  If it was time to dance, or to sing loud and proud, I was the one who got the party started.

In the course of that long-ago, brief conversation, my life transformed instantly.  I made an adult decision: the only path out of my deep despair was to be true to my loving, open-hearted and generous nature.  I decided to treat everyone as my favorite sister or brother, and to always see the majesty and worth in everyone.  I have never regretted that decision.

Shortly after that, I found my Tribe - I was surrounded with love, respect and mentoring in the gay leathermen's community.  While I was in my early twenties, I interviewed men who had been together since the 1920’s, 1930’s and 1940’s, asking them how they had managed to make their love last.  I questioned hundreds of older, wiser men, asking them about interpersonal dynamics, finances, sex, coping mechanisms and everything else that could help me to be a better man.

Then, things got so very much worse, just a few short years later.  The men in my life started dying, and FAST.  The men who had meant so much to me were the first to go, and I felt so incomplete - I had never had a chance to tell them how much they had impacted my life for the better.

At that time, nobody knew how AIDS was spread.  Was it transmitted through saliva, or touch, or could it be breathed in through the air?  We were all terrified.  The tightly-bound community that had shared the 1970′s rocket-ship to the stars instantly crumbled as we ran away from each other in terror.

I showed up at the hospital to visit a young man who had changed from a thriving, lively 21-year-old into a dying man in only three weeks’ time.  Nobody would go near him or comfort him. The nurses and doctors wore those full-body Hazmat suits, IF they even dared to enter his hospital room.  Most didn’t.

My young friend was dying fast, and he knew it.  In his fear and despair, what he wanted more than anything else was to be HELD, but nobody would come within fifteen feet of him.  As I stood in the doorway, he cried and cried.  I made a fateful decision that I have never regretted.  I crawled into that cold, sterile hospital bed with him, and I gave up my fears.  I held him, loved him and comforted him.  

This shocked the shit out of the medical professionals, but I didn’t care.  I was there in that same hospital bed, holding him on his final day, telling him “It’s okay to go now.”  After he died, I kept going back to the hospital again and again, and did the same loving service for around fifty men as they were dying.  I knew none of them before I came to them - they were all my brothers in need, and I had pledged whatever was left of my life to bringing them comfort when they needed it most.

While this was going on, I was attending two or three funerals a week, for years.  I stopped counting at 140 friends and loved ones who died in my life.  This left a terrible wound in my heart, and I suffered terribly from Survivor’s Guilt.  For years after, I stopped allowing myself to have friends, because I couldn’t bear the pain of investing in someone, just to watch them die.  AGAIN.  I had burned out.

Then, one day, I realized that I couldn’t hide out from life any more.  My life had led me to the point of taking on leadership in the kinky leather community.  Nobody loved us, wanted us or trusted AIDS-ridden, kinky scum like us.  So, _I_ would love us.

I started creating thousands of “Guaranteed Safe Spaces” - social events that were kindly, sweet and manifestly diverse.  I was determined that every man who showed up would KNOW that he was welcome, valued and would get what he needed most - affectionate brotherhood.  At that point in gay leathermen’s history, sex was easy to find, but true friendship and long-term love was difficult to find and maintain - We were too wounded from loss, and fear of intimacy.

My goal was to end the AIDS Holocaust phase, and to bring on the NEXT phase, which was kinder, contained more variety and was downright joyful.  I worked every day to make this happen, until I couldn’t any longer.  

My physical limitations have caused me to hand away the next phase to those who have gladly taken on the job.  I am surrounded by those men and women who have brought their courage, heart and idealism to the challenge of uniting us all in the best expressions of ourselves.

In the old days, San Diego’s kinky community was a toxic stew of bitterness, competition and zero-sum philosophy.  Decades later, we are known worldwide for having the lowest level of cynicism of any city on earth.  I like to think that I had some small part in San Diego’s well-earned reputation for sweetness, diversity and cooperation.  It takes a village to make that happen.  We all have to agree that we will settle for nothing less, and we DO.

I can rest now, knowing that the bright, eager and idealistic faces among us are taking on new challenges for the new days ahead.  I know these folks, having intensively mentored and befriended many of them.  I trust their bountiful natures, their true hearts, and their admirable character. I’ve seen our worst days, and after so many years, I see that our best days have arrived.

At this end of my life, I am endlessly grateful for the true friends who have brought me the deepest satisfaction.  I never got around to making my first million dollars, but that was never the goal.  In my opinion, I am richer than I ever could have imagined.  Yes, I have had challenges and setbacks, but with so many folks standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me over the years, we are co-creating the possibility of younger generations standing upon our shoulders.

I can ask for nothing better.  My work here is done.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hi ash! i know you said before that you're not autistic you just did a lot of research to depict chris realistically- do you have any advice for finding resources on writing disabled characters that isn't like... horribly abelist? im writing someone with an intellectual disability from head trauma and who is nonverbal, and i want to get it right but everything online seems very autism-speaks-y. im autistic and semiverbal but i dont have an id and i want to be realistic and respectful.

I cannot speak with any expertise or sense of speaking from enough experience to be taken as an expert here, and defer as always to those with lived experience with intellectual disability!

But I will give a few more general tips for what to do when looking to write a character with a neurological makeup that doesn’t match your own, as far as what has worked for me with Chris:

1. The story should never be ABOUT their lived experience if you do not also have it. Chris’s story is not about autism, or being autistic. I would never presume to try and write a story like that because, whatever my intentions, I don’t have that knowledge that comes from living it. I would at BEST be taking the experiences of others, their voices. At worst, I would be someone standing with a megaphone shouting over those who deserve to be heard.

Making the disability what the plot revolves around is... generally just not going to be a good idea, in any sense. It’s moments like this where I feel like it’s best to defer to the writers who have lived it, instead. 

This is not to say “never write someone different than yourself”, because... I don’t think that’s at all good advice. I think that way lies stunted writers who never push themselves. But it does mean “do not center the story on this thing if you have not experienced it and don’t have that knowledge and understanding”.

2. At the same time, don’t try to be coy or dance around or hide the disability behind purple prose or refuse to acknowledge its reality. Trying to make a disability sound cute, or talk around it instead of speaking it out loud, can be minimizing or shaming in ways that I think it’s easy to miss, if you don’t live with that disability yourself! To me, this touches on one of my hugest pet peeves - characters who are written as having a particular neurodivergence in media, or shown on tv, but they never expressly admit to it or name it. 

I know I hesitated with Chris, more because I didn’t feel comfortable giving him a diagnosis until I understood autism better myself, and I do regret how long it took me to embrace that reality about him. I just thought it better to err on the side of researching before I embraced. But I do feel some guilt about waiting so long when I had readers who were identifying so heavily with him, and I kind of knew, but just didn’t feel comfortable owning it yet.

3. On a related note - disabilities in a story that become melodramatic tragedy or turn the disabled character into a ‘redemption story’ for an abled character. This is so, so prevalent in common media and pop culture and once you recognize it for what it is, it’s so hard to not see it in so many places. Think of how many movies, novels, etc contain a disabled character who exists to teach abled people some virtuous lesson about living life to the fullest or ‘what it really means to be human’ blah blah blah blah blah. Don’t do that. Please. (I mean, I kind of feel like you definitely won’t, but I’m just speaking very generally here). If you find the story going in a direction in which abled people learn something from the disabled person, please think very carefully and critically as to why the story is heading in that direction.

Language alone can also be a problem here - think about the difference between openly describing a character moving around their life with a wheelchair vs. calling them “wheelchair-bound” or “reliant on a cane”, when the cane or wheelchair may actually represent freedom to that person - an aid they need, yes, but one that allows them to live with far more agency than they might have had otherwise. 

To describe them, especially from their own POV, as “wheelchair-bound”, may ring false to disabled people who understand that the wheelchair isn’t a cage, but a tool that allows that individual person to feel less caged by being able to more freely leave home.  

(This varies person to person, just providing an example)

4. Educate. Research. And don’t just do so by asking people with disabilities to tell you their stories. I often express gratitude to the autistic readers, those with ADHD, etc who spoke up about Chris, talked about their own experiences, identified with him, found him very resonating for aspects of their own lives. 

These stories, this information, this sharing of their lives was given freely to me, and I’m fucking amazed and grateful for how welcomed Chris was, and how willing readers were to share about themselves when talking about him.

Their willingness to speak about these things is something I treasure. But I absolutely would never believe that a single person owed me the story of their life to make sure I got Chris right. That was my responsibility, you know? I try to keep in mind the concept of ‘emotional labor’. Asking a disabled person to be your resource is asking them to give, and give, and give of themself. They may want to give you that kind of labor, they may not. But I definitely wouldn’t ask it of anyone without understanding it was something they were happy or felt comfortable giving.

Research, on the other hand, is essential. You mentioned things being “autism speaks-y” when trying to research on your own, and oh god, do I feel you. It sucks that autism speaks is the first thing to pop up when trying to research the lives of autistic people - and in my research, I was lucky to already know AS sucks and write them off and anyone who heavily referenced them as not helpful. I can see how someone might not know that, though, and stumble on them and believe they were a helpful resource for writing autism when they... well. Nope. 

Try to think about the express disability you are writing for this person, and why, and then go research! I looked up “books on autism recommended by autistic people”, and found some invaluable books, yes, but also papers published online, websites, etc! Each of them vetted and looked over and recommended by autistic people, so I knew I was getting information that came from people with those experiences and that understanding. A good example - I picked up a book on the history of diagnosis and treatment of autism in the United States, mentioned it here, and @redwingedwhump recommended a book called Neurotribes... which turned out to be immensely more helpful, spot-on, and provided some really excellent foundational information I wouldn’t have found in the first book at all.

There’s a lot of information out there on Traumatic Brain Injuries and their lasting effects on individuals who receive them, so I would start there. What you’re describing sounds like a TBI with lasting effects! So I would start your research there, and also look up being nonverbal separately, as well as combining the two. Make sure you’re not just looking at the top links - often paid ads or problematic organizations that are able to pay more for better exposure - but also scanning for blogs, nonprofits, lived-experiences stories, too.

I found a lot of information on the second or even third page of results i would never have seen if I only stuck to the first. Remember the algorithm on search engines is usually showing you what other people are clicking on, not necessarily the best source.

5. This is one you the asker already know, but I want to include it for general reasons: do not ‘dumb down’ the thought processes of a nonverbal or semi-verbal person. I see this in fiction surprisingly often, and I think it’s this sense we have as abled people (’we’ just meaning I’m including myself) that being verbal is required to have a highly complex thought process, and it’s... it’s just fucking not. Speech and though are related but not completely wound around each other, and the ability to verbalize is not the same as the ability to think. 

Like I said, I know you know this, asker, but it’s something I see in fiction/media and it drives me up the wall. So I wanted to include it.

6. For the love of God, do not use medical terminology unless you actually know what you’re doing/talking about. Many disabled people or those with serious medical conditions become what amounts to experts on their own diagnoses, because they have to. They have to be experts to receive the care they should be able to rely on. If you constantly fuck up terminology - trust me - it will be noticed, and it will take people out of the story or hurt their ability to suspend disbelief while reading.

There are ways to do medical scenes/conversations with doctors that avoid falling into this problem! I would just be very very careful to heavily research before using any complex terminology.

7. This disabled person does not exist to evoke pity. They are a human - nuanced and multi-layered - living their life, and their story should always, always reflect that. I don’t really have anything else to add to that.

I would love to hear further advice from anyone with anything else to add.

[itswhumpday]

I loved that last post about "them first". Always a classic. Anyway, I have a prompt. Character A has a heart condition they've kept secret from character B who finds out by accident from character C. Or maybe A has chronic illness. I rarely see something like lupus or Lyme in whump and there's so much opportunities where those are like guilt and feeling worthless or not wanting to tell the person they're dying

I did a lot of heart research for Blood Bags, so I decided to use some of the knowledge here and go for the first option! I really tried thinking of scenarios to make lupus or lyme work, but I just didn’t feel like I knew enough about them to portray them adequately.   Also, I’ve been doing a lot of hurt to my characters, so... Here’s some comfort!

“You really don’t have to come see my parent”, A says. “They’re fine! Besides, they don’t want you missing your classes.” 

And that’s ridiculous. How could B not go? A’s parent has been like a parent to them too since they’ve started dating. They’ve taken them into their house when they had nowhere else to go, helped them get back on their feet when they lost their parents. What was a couple of classes in the face of gratitude? And what kind of partner would they be if they weren’t there for A?

B drives through most of the night, sleeps a bit at a motel and goes right back to driving. Finally, they reach the hospital and ask for a visitor’s pass. The receptionist explains how to get to the room. 

A’s parent is ecstatic. 

“I can’t believe you’re here!” They say, opening their arms for a big hug. “A said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Me? No way! I had to come.” B pulls a chair up to the bed. A’s parent looks a little thinner than they did before, but overall alright. “You gave us quite a scare, I’ve heard.” 

“Tell me about it.” A’s parent puts a hand to their chest and takes a deep breath. “All this time and we didn’t even know.” 

“Well, how can you know when you’ll have a heart attack?” B asks, their brows furrowing. 

A’s parent stops dead in their tracks. 

“They didn’t tell you.” 

“Tell me what?” 

“Ah. Ah, sugar. Why would they do that? What an incredibly uncomfortable situation…” The parent shakes their head. 

“What is it? You’re scaring me.” B goes to the edge of their seat. 

“Ah, well… Is just that… This whole thing… It wasn’t so random. Doctors think… Doctors say it’s a… Quite a rare condition.” They mull over their words, like they’re choosing it. “It’s called a Long QT syndrome. It’s a… A heart thing. Messes with the rhythm. It doesn’t have a lot of symptoms, it just… Flares up.” 

“Ah. That’s… That’s terrible, I’m sorry.” B says, although they have a feeling that is not all. “I wonder… I wonder why A didn’t tell me.” 

A’s parent’s eyes avoid them. They clear their throat. 

“There’s really… You see, there’s really no way of knowing. Not until… Until it flares up, but it… It’s often… Often hereditary. They… We don’t know. I’d assume… I’d assume that’s why.” 

It’s like the whole hospital suddenly became quiet. The machines, the nurses, even the vending machines, perfectly still, perfectly quiet. B looks at their hands, realizing how powerless they were. They’d driven all night for a surprise and they got a surprise alright.

“Ah.” They murmur. 

The rest of the day is just as unusually quiet.  

 ***

After A and B return to university, A still doesn’t say anything. 

B didn’t stay long enough to see their partner that day and they don’t know if their parent told them anything. Either way, A acts like they don’t know. They meet before class, they have lunch together, sometimes they meet for studying in the library. 

Many times, B catches themselves looking at A, wondering if they’d always feel this fear. Imagining that one day, what happened to their parent could happen to them and B would be powerless to stop it. They’d lie awake at night, imagining A was alone in their room, dying. Sometimes they’d text them and get ever more worried when they didn’t reply, even though it was the middle of the night. The only way they could sleep in peace was when A was safe between their arms, breathing slowly against their chest, in total violation of dormitory’s codes. 

“Okay.” A finally says after a study session. “Spill it. Why are you acting weird?”

“Weird?” B begins putting their books away. 

“All… Clingy and stuff. Are you worried about something?” 

B hesitates, pursing their lips. A sees right through it. 

“Well?” 

“I, uh…” B starts. “I went to see your parent a couple weeks ago… In the hospital.” 

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t see you there.” A’s eyebrows furrow.

“I went there in the morning. You weren’t there. And, uh… They told me what it was. What it really was. And… I just…” 

A shakes their head, rubbing their face. 

“And you’re worrying about that. See? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d be like that.” 

B feels like their heart recoils a bit after this comment. 

“Well, you’re my partner. I worry about you.” 

“You don’t have to. I’m fine. I’m young and healthy and it’s not certain that I have this thing.” A also starts to put their things away. “I came to college to escape my parents worrying about me. I don’t need another parent.” 

“At least you had parents to worry about you. It’s not as bad as you make it sound.” B says, looking at their own hands. Their face is red and hot. They want to end this conversation already. 

“I’m sorry, B. You know that’s not what I meant.” A sees they’re being rough and their expression softens. “I just… I’m fine.” 

“So did you test it? Are you sure you don’t have it?” 

A shrugs. 

“No… I... I didn’t test it.” 

“Well, why not?” 

“Because!” They pick up their things and stand up. “Because what if I do have it? Will I have to restrain myself until I’m old?” 

“Uh… Yeah? If you want to live until then!” B stands up too. They start walking out of the library under ugly stares. “How can not knowing be better?!” 

“It just… It just is. Alright?!” A’s voice climbs up when they stepped outside. They take a deep breath. “Listen, I… I don’t want to talk about it anymore. This is my decision. And if you don’t like it… Well, then…”

“A.” B stops them, with a serious tone. “Please. We’re both stressed. We shouldn’t do this now. We don’t want to do anything we’ll regret.” 

A opens their mouth to retort, but close it. They bite the inside of their mouth. Their expression falls and they seem about to cry. 

“Okay.” They say in a small voice. 

B is about to open their arms and pull them in for a hug, but they race down the stairs and out of sight. B sighs, predicting another round of sleepless nights. 

 ***

A doesn’t call. A doesn’t answer texts. Sometimes B sees them going to class, but they don’t meet eyes. All of their friends are asking what happened, but B can’t say. It’s not their secret to tell. So they just shrug and say it’s something A needs to figure it out on their own. The question keeps popping up, however. “Are you two still together?”. 

Of course they are, B thinks. They wouldn’t be able to feel this calm if they weren’t. They’d been together since high school. It couldn’t have ended that day at the library. No harsh words were spoken, nothing had been discussed about this. They weren’t over, not yet. 

But it sure feels like it. Lonely lunches and cold nights, solitary walks and endless rereading of past messages. B begins to wonder if they were wrong, after all, if they should have minded their own business. But it was hard to follow this line of thought. A means the world to them. Not to know if they were sick of not… Was scary to say the least. A world in which they weren’t there… It was terrifying. 

 ***

It’s late and B is laying awake once more. There is a storm raging outside. The sound of rain used to help them sleep fast. Not today. 

There is a knock at the door. They sit up and look at their phone. 2AM. Who could it be? Having nothing better to do, they get up, dragging themselves to the door. 

On the other side A is standing, all wet from the rain and trembling. 

“Hey.” B says, opening their arms before they could think of anything else to say. A slides into them, hugging them tight, crying. “What’s wrong?” 

“I did it. I did it, I took the test.” 

B holds their breath, but A doesn’t continue. 

“And?” 

A hugs them tighter. They take a little longer to reply. 

“I have it.” 

“Oh.” 

They stand there, halfway to the hallway for a long time, B holding A. They caress A’s hair, rubs their back. This is exactly what they were afraid of. But when they’re standing here, holding A… It doesn’t feel so daunting. 

“Hey.” They finally say. “Come inside. I’ll make us some tea.” 

A nods and lets themselves be guided inside. They sit on the bed, like they did so many times before, while B fills up the electric kettle on the bathroom sink and plugs it in. They sit down next to A, taking their hand. 

“I, uh… I didn’t mean to stay away, I…” A sniffed, rubbing their sleeve under their nose. “I just… I didn’t want to be sick. I thought… I thought I could make it go away, I…” 

“Hey.” B stops them, brushing their wet hair away from their face. “You don’t need to explain. You were right too, I need to respect your wishes. I just… I can’t help worrying about you. Because I love you, you know.” 

A smiles. 

“You say that like it’s so simple.” 

“What?” 

“I love you.” A tries it, playing with the hem of B’s shirt. “It’s easier when it’s with you.” 

B smiles, leaning over and kissing their forehead. They stay in silence, listening to the water boil, but not wanting to move. A sniffs again, cuddling closer to B. 

“I don’t… It’s… It’s not fair. That I have this. I never did anything. I was just… Born with it.” They say, their voice climbing up as emotion takes over. “And I… I’m so scared… And— And— I just— I didn’t want to do it alone.” 

B squeezes them tighter. 

“You’ll never have to do it alone.” B touches their forehead to A’s. “Whatever you have to do to… To keep it manageable, to work around it… We’ll do it together. I’ll be with you the whole time. Okay?” 

A looks up at them, their eyes still filled with tears. They’ve always had trouble accepting the things B so willingly presented to them. But in that moment, they feel so relieved that they can’t help but believe. They believe in B more than they believe in anything else. 

“Okay.” 

B gets up and brews them two cups of tea. They cuddle together in the single bed, listening to the storm outside, sipping tea and telling secrets. Tomorrow was terrifying. But tonight was good. 

Remember, my askbox is always open for requests (all that I ask is time to get to them!) 

And if you read it all the way here, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi!

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

a/n: a three-part fic because i didn’t want it to get too long in one post. this is my first time working on an au and hinata so i hope i did him justice. beta-ed by @taeiliee ​ iloveyou mom always <3

i. 》 ii. 》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ "Tangled with another's eyes–nevermind, you were never mine," ✧･ﾟ: *

Your fingers drummed against the table, eyes intent on the ginger sat before you. “So, what do you say?”

He looks away, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his seat. Hinata Shoyou wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous under your gaze, especially when you were the one basically asking him for a favor, “B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

When you don't respond, Hinata decides to raise his eyes to look at you—your face looks solemn, and somehow… something about it, something about you just draws him in. This time, you were the one staring outside the glass wall of the antique cafe. His heartbeat quickened, breath getting caught in his throat—

‘...beautiful,’ was the only word he could find to describe that moment, even if your eyes had a faraway look in them. Hinata knew your true wish was that this never had happened, and that you were talking to Kenma instead.

If only he never went back to the restroom.

You tried not to heave a sigh at your impulsive and brash decision, and at his innocent question. But what can you do when your life's on the line? Ten years left in your life may seem like a long time but, “It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

You had the sudden urge to cough, and, upon doing so, Hinata could only watch as your pale hands covered your mouth, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor entered his ears. There was a bit of blood that ran down your nose, and he immediately reached for a table napkin. More than guilt, it was worry that bubbled from his chest. 

Even if you had explained it—this sickness—that you had, he still found it ridiculous.

You saw nothing but the disbelief in his eyes, desperate to get a grasp at this uncanny reality.

You saw yourself in them, in his constricted pupils and lids widened—reminded of the first time you discovered that you were sick with a rare disease you thought only exists in fiction.

The Hanahaki Disease, a disease acquired from garnering an unrequited love, was something that no medical doctor could cure nor control—anthosectomy, the surgical removal of flowers, was nothing but a temporary solution.

One must be loved in return to be free from it. 

Apparently in your case, the disease has “mutated”. That instead of flowers or petals blooming from your lungs, money would begin to collect in them, beginning from coins and eventually into large bills as it grew worse over time.

You only discovered this fact just two, about three weeks ago, during breakfast, after a lone coin dropped into your cup of coffee, mocking you as it floated; the aftertaste of iron and aluminum on your tongue. 

“Our family inheritance… came from their chest—even your mother’s.” your father muttered regrettably, with a hint of disgust, back turned to you in the study. 

“I didn’t expect for you to catch the disease this early, and you’re doing so well with your current business projects,” he heaves a sigh, fingers grazing through the spines of the books, before pulling a velvet-covered hardcover, worn out from time.

“How long… has this been going on, dad? Is this some sick family tradition?! So… does this mean…?” you couldn’t even say the words—you haven’t even confessed and yet, having this disease only meant that Kozume Kenma didn’t feel the same way you did.

Finally, your father sits before you, sliding the title-less book towards you. He explains further that you read its contents—the ancestral diary—about the history and the findings made by your predecessors.

He calls for your name softly when your wide eyes never left the book in your hands. He looks over you sympathetically, “I thought that by hiding this from you, I was protecting you from harm.” Your father’s eyes squinted, wanting to reach out to you but his conscience telling him he failed you as a parent was stronger.

“But y/n, don’t give up… don’t be like them, like me,” your father says this with blood dripping from the corner of his lips, before clutching his chest, spitting bills of varying amounts out his mouth. 

“I never thought ten years would pass by so quickly,”

You look at him, mortified at his pallid face, standing up in worry, going to his side. “Who…?”

With a weak smile on his lips, your father utters your mother’s name, voice just above a whisper, tender and soft at hearing her name come from his own lips.

“And I don’t regret it. Loving her is the best decision I’ve made, even if she didn’t want it.”

You spent the next week with him, until he breathed his last, inevitably leaving you to face this battle of love and pain on your own.

As if everybody’s expectations from you weren’t high enough already, now that you were alone, it skyrocketed through the roof. Even as you knelt before the portrait of your father, refusing to talk to anyone on the first day of his wake.

You heard their whispers, you knew their motives—nobody really cared about the life of a rich man, they only cared about the man’s riches. You shut down any and all talks about businesses to potential or lifelong business partners; the least they could do was respect you and let you mourn.

On the third and last night of the wake, someone unexpected came to pay his respects.

“Kenma…?”

“Hello, y/n. I…” he looks away shyly, a few strands of hair falling to cover a portion of his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to squeak out. His hand reached out to you, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, all over a black-white envelope.

Seeing Kozume Kenma in a formal suit, bun loosely tied by his nape, awkwardly scratching his cheek; you could feel the ice in your heart being slowly thawed by the scene before you. You would’ve finally smiled; you would’ve pulled him in just so you could cry out into his chest.

But you felt suffocated, and the slap of this impossible reality you couldn’t dodge stung against your bare and open heart, pulling you back and keeping you rooted in your place.

You knew his apologies were meant for condolences—but your father wasn’t the only one who died. You mourned for your own demise, wishing you could bury these hidden feelings along with his ashes and leave everything behind to start anew.

But secrets turn into regrets, and buried feelings would only grow.

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you took the plastic bag in your hands, the sensation sending sparks to your nerves. You didn’t hear yourself mutter your gratitude, only the sound of Kenma’s soft gasp. The back of his hand wiped the tear stains off your cheek, “How long have you been holding back, y/n?”

‘A long time, Kenma,’ you wished to answer, but you knew you or your words didn’t matter to him as much as you’d have liked to. Even through the tears that blurred your vision, the love in your eyes for him was clear.

Kenma awkwardly pulled you close, a hand behind your head to press your face against his chest, while his other arm remained by his side. His actions strongly reflected how he felt nothing more for you than just a friend and a board director—he didn’t even choose to hug you.

But the unheard truth didn’t stop you.

Behind the lids of your eyes, you saw little moments of joy you had shared with Kenma—maybe it all began with an inevitable meeting in your office, unlike the usual video conferences he would attend. Working with someone your age with the same prospects and visions was rare for you in the world of business—you mused, this feeling was mutual.

Then the meetings became less about business, and more for just the heck of it.

You daydreamed about him, seeing his smile from the corner of your eyes when you were alone. His intelligence was a given, so maybe it was his soft-spoken, honest nature; or the way he was athletic even if he stayed in his house majority of the time.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Because really, it was more of feeling so at peace when you were with him. You couldn’t hold back being yourself when you were with Kozume Kenma because despite hiding behind several secret doors you’ve put up all your life, the scrutiny of his sharp, cat-like eyes opened each of them, finding you over and over.

You didn’t want to lose that sense of familiarity. So, you chose to ignore the signs that you were indeed falling for him. And by doing so, your life was now reduced to a mere ten more years, caught at crossroads, burdened with making the decision between continuing your family’s horrible legacy or carving out your own place in his heart and have him learn to love you.

The words of your father echoed in your head.

And it bounced off your lips, “Kenma… please stay, just a bit longer,”

“Kenma, are you he—oh?”

Hinata Shoyou peeks from behind the corner, checking if he didn’t get lost in your family’s large home. His presence made you shy away from Kenma, clearing your throat before the ginger-haired man was introduced to you.

He offered you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, fitting for the shade of his hair and contrasting the dark hues of his clothes. “Kenma and I go way back, he actually sponsors me!” his cheeks were dusted pink, both embarrassed and excited. “Now I play for a team in Division 1,”

‘Ah, he’s that kind of person,’ was your initial thought. Hinata Shoyou seemed so easy to read, pure and unadulterated intentions out in the open for everyone to see. What’s fascinating was that he makes it seem so easy to not let that be a vulnerability.

Spending a few hours with someone whose energy was bigger than him—cliché as it sounds, but it was akin to standing beneath the rays of the sun. Hinata Shoyou radiates warmth upon your frozen heart, even if for just a moment.

It was a different kind of peace. And you looked forward to seeing more of his large smiles.

Just… not this soon.

Maybe it was fate playing tricks on you. The timing was quite impeccable.

Kenma went ahead first, Hinata had to go to the restroom. Soon as you stood up to see him out, you cough, coins falling to the floor. One of them finds its way towards Hinata, rolling and stopping when it hits his foot.

“Oh? Lucky!” he picks it up, hears more coins hitting the floor that he has to look for the source. Hinata sees your back hunched over, money around your feet. As he was approaching you, he said sheepishly, “y/n-san, is this yours? I was about to take it—!”

“y-y/n…y/n-san… are you… okay?”

Hinata flinched as you glared at him, voice seething, words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell Kenma.”

Hinata nods once, pocketing the coin he had in his hand on instinct, before scurrying away.

You let the incident pass, as you had the cremation and burial to worry about in the meantime. But a few days after, all it takes you is a phone call to Kenma and a few texts to Hinata—which leads you to the present wherein you and the athlete agree to meet at a café.

“Now that you know, here’s the deal I’m offering you, Hinata-san. I’ll sponsor you in exchange for your silence. And…” you take a sip from your coffee, watching him from over the rim of the cup. Hinata was uneasy, confused, and shocked at the illness you had. It was as if he were in a volleyball game, forced to take in so many things at once.

“Hinata-san, go out with me. Let’s date. What do you say?”

“E-Eh…?! B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

“It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

Hinata stood quickly, contemplating just how he was going to help. He has to bite the cheeks of his mouth, looking over you with worry as hundred and five hundred yen coins spilled from you. You felt his hands slightly shaking when he gave you the table napkin, and in return you motion for him to take a drink so he could calm down.

“Sorry about that—so, do you agree to be my boyfriend? If you need time to think of a response, I can give you two days, because I have to go in a few minutes,” you say this, looking at your wristwatch while slowly gathering your things.

“y/n-san,” Hinata began, still standing by your side, looking down to meet your gaze. “I… I agree. Because I want to help you in any way I can, just to give back, with how generous you are and… because you don’t deserve this. But why does it have to be me?”

His words struck something within you, but then your own sorrows blocked him out. “Your timing was just perfectly terrible. I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems, Hinata-san.”

Hinata felt his pulse quicken at how you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. His unease somehow was replaced by something. But your next words broke his trance, “There is only one condition that you have to follow,”

With a smile that never reached your eyes, Hinata feels his own heart break at how you were like a broken porcelain doll, red lips moving so easily to convey words, convey the one law you’ve forced him to follow and would eventually break—

“Never fall in love with me.”

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​ 

[doctorgerth]

May I have headcanons about Doflamingo, Lucci, Katakuri, Bellamy, and Kid's respective girlfriends seemingly betraying them for the World Government but then much later, after her mysterious death, it's revealed she didn't betray them and instead protected them

Of course, my dear! This was really interesting to come up with ideas for, and I honestly made it way more angsty than I had imagined, so I hope that’s okay! Also, I left out Lucci simply because he works specifically for the World Government, so I couldn’t think of a way to write a situation for his case. Feel free to send in another Lucci request since I had to leave him out for this one! Or if you’d rather see another character in this same scenario, you can send that in instead. Thanks for such an interesting request and I hope to see more from you, anon! Enjoy ~

*Putting it under the cut, as it is a little lengthy!

An Alleged Betrayal (Doffy, Katakuri, Bellamy, and Kid)

(Angst)

Doflamingo:

- it all plummeted when Diamanté got intel of you working for the World Government

- Doffy just broke into maniacal laughter; how could he be so foolish falling for a treacherous woman as yourself?

- he should have known your loving eyes and kind smile was all a ruse

- you really tricked him, and he actually found that quite amusing

- not only were you capable of making Doffy, a renowned bachelor, fall in love with you, but you also managed to completely pull the wool over his eyes in the process?

- pure rage was all that fueled his veins for the next few months up until the announcement of your death in the papers

- for a while, Doffy wouldn’t even mourn your death

- you were a traitor, a liar, a deceiver

- he would have killed you with his own bare hands had he been given the chance

- he feigned happiness and closure, knowing you got just what you deserved, but he couldn’t shake a certain shameful feeling

- was he ashamed that he wasn’t the one to put that bullet through your head? was he ashamed he couldn’t protect you? or was he ashamed he couldn’t make you actually love him, like he had loved you?

- when word spread that you died protecting Doffy from the World Government, he couldn’t even be thankful for it

- all those months just wishing he could have torn you apart limb by limb, all those months he spent regretting every single second he wasted on your pathetic, lowly life…it was all unjustified

- you were the pure, loving girl he had shamelessly fallen for from the beginning

- rage fuels his veins once more, but it’s a fire that can’t be extinguished until that murderer is rotting in the deepest pits of hell

Katakuri:

- his suspicions on your true intentions began when he had overheard a strange transponder conversation between you and an unknown source

- he wanted to trust you from the beginning, but something in his gut warned him otherwise

- you were too perfect, loved by everyone in his family, even by Mama!

- you created feelings he’s never experienced before, giving him a love he’s always yearned for in a partner

- of course you would betray him; no one is that loving, especially towards a monster like him

- he was completely undeserving of your care for him

- when he had heard that you were leaving for the World Government, he was shattered

- in front of his family, he tried to act like he was unfazed, unsurprised, disinterested

- what was most important was to focus on the trouble the World Government would bring onto his family

- but when he was alone, he couldn’t mask the sheer heartbreak he was going through

- he would take longer time during his meriendas, the deliciousness of donuts never completely satisfying the empty void in his body

- it was hard, he really fell for you, and he wanted so desperately to trust you during the entire relationship

- but, you proved him to be right about his distrust for you, and god he never wanted to be more wrong in his entire life

- at least he was somewhat prepared for this, but hearing about your death made it even harder

- months of suppressing his emotions caused him to lose sleep at night

- everyone grew worried for their big brother, and he grew irritated trying to make everyone, even himself, believe he was okay

- when Brûlée brought the good news: his beloved s/o was never a traitor, you were merely protecting him and his family and died in the process, Katakuri finally snapped

- though it wouldn’t be the first time Brûlée had seen her invincible brother on his back, she was nonetheless disheartened at the reason

- he immediately collapsed, exhausted from feeling so many things at once for so long and from wracking his brain so many times to stow away those emotions into the darkest depths of his mind

- he tried so hard to feel nothing for so long, ultimately making him feel everything at once the entire time

- those last unexplored emotions, guilt, loss, and forgiveness, sat neatly atop the camel’s back, adding to the piles and piles of regret, hatred, and distrust, that was already threatening to make the poor camel collapse

- finally, the back was broken, and so was Katakuri

- he would sleep for days on end, forcing himself into solitude until he could offer you two some closure

- he closed his eyes every night, praying he’d wake up the next morning feeling contentment towards your resting soul

- he found it hard to sleep though, coming to the realization that the “gut feeling” he was so worried about, was actually a gut reminder to give in and trust you, wholeheartedly

- had he done that, he knows you would be alive and going to bed with him every night, just as you had been months ago

- waking up to your loving smile would be the only way to make Katakuri feel at peace with himself again

Bellamy:

- denial is all Bellamy feels

- there’s nothing in this world that can tell him what you did to him is true

- Bellamy puts a lot of trust and loyalty into the people he admires, you being no exception

- he realized the hard way through his disappointment with Doflamingo, but you…you were supposed to be different!

- you two had the whole world in your hands, love and time were on your side, you were going to conqueror the world together

- it didn’t matter how or when, all that ever mattered was that you had each other

- and now you’re just…gone?

- Bellamy refuses to believe it

- the girl he loves, the only person he trusts with his life would never, ever betray him for the World Government

- he wishes he could ask you, he wishes he could have one last conversation with you; closure is all he needs

- but you’re gone, permanently, forever

- there’s no more conversations to be had, no way for you to know how Bellamy still loves you and how he forgives you for everything

- when the truth got out that you had died from protecting Bellamy from the World Government, he had finally smiled for the first time in a year

- it was a broken, tattered smile, almost like he had completely forgotten how to, but it was warm and accepting

- he was right about you all along

- words couldn’t express the gratitude and pure joy Bellamy felt about finally knowing he gave his complete trust to someone so worthy

- it was still difficult to sleep without you, but he could finally rest at night knowing you were loyal to him to the very end

- he makes it a point to live his life in your honor now, making sure he wouldn’t disappoint you for dying for him

Kid:

- many poor towns and innocent civilians have lost their lives from his emotional rampages

- he has been completely lost in his feelings

- on one hand, how the fuck could you ever have the balls to betray Kid?

- on the other, he knows you would never dream of doing that to him…right?

- was he just another pawn in your sick little game?

- was every endearment, every tender, loving word that came out of your mouth all just a lie?

- why would you ever turn him into the World Government?

- he should’ve known a savage, merciless man like himself would never win over a kind and compassionate woman like you

- you were like the sun in the sky, warm, bright, and inviting

- he was like a wild tornado, unpredictable, unrelenting, and severely destructive

- had he pushed you, tormented you beyond repair?

- he could fix this right? Captain Kid can fix anything

- once he found out you were returning home to him after protecting him from the World Government, he was elated

- god he was really going to rip you a new one once you returned to him; he could never fully forgive you for worrying him as much as you had

- but, most importantly, he vowed that he was going to love and protect you unconditionally so you would never abandon him to do stupid shit like this again

- he waited days, and days, and days…

- he grew tired of hearing the phrase ‘no sign of her yet, captain’, to the point that he hardly asked anyone anymore; he searched for you every day and every night on his own

- he spent many sleepless nights listening intently for the splashing of waves against your small boat, your sweet call of his name, signaling your arrival

- but all the sea offered him was a void-like silence

- once the papers hit that you were killed by the World Government for protecting him, he found it hard to forgive you, but mostly himself

- he spent one too many nights drowning himself in countless bottles, wracking his brain to figure out where it all went wrong

- were you in the wrong for leaving without telling him your plans?

- was he in the wrong for being such a ruthless pirate, being the target of many naval ships and officers?

- if he had just been a normal person, you two could’ve settled down in a quiet town, just the two of you, with no threats or worries about protecting the other

- but he wasn’t normal, and you knew that

- you knew exactly what you were getting into when you accepted the invitation onto his ship

- he loved you for your acceptance of him and for your thrill of adventure; he gave you just that during your brief time on his ship

- he tried to remember all the times he told or showed you he loved you, and they existed, few as they were

- the memories brought a smile to his drunken face and he was happy to know that he did something right

- you knew he loved you, that’s why you sacrificed yourself for him

- he wish he could hug you one last time, tell you he forgives you and that this wasn’t your fault

- he always imagines that if he had held you just a little bit closer and a little bit tighter the day you woke up and decided to pick a fight with the government, that you would still be here with him

- the threats would be imminent, but at least you could tackle them together

- now, he has to face things alone

- but he can at last sleep at night knowing he gave his heart to the right woman; that you would own it until he joined you again, wherever you are

[probably-not-star-lord]

How to Get the Girl (Peter Quill x reader x Thor)

A/N: I received this request a really long time ago so I would like to emphasize that this is going to take place before Infinity War and NOT after Endgame. This fic will not be the same as the scene from Infinity War but it will be pretty similar. Also, I’m sorry if you’re a hardcore Thor stan, but the reader is going to pick my boy Peter Quill over Thor.

Request: i want an avengers imagine where Star-Lord and Thor are both fighting over the reader and they keep flirting with her and she’s torn between them, constantly going to rocket to talk to him about all of it ? Just tons of fluff!! Thanks girly!! ❤️❤️

(I lowkey changed this request up a bit because I made it more angsty than fluffy so I apologize for that but I hope you like it anyway)

Summary: Two men in your life seem to be fighting over you. One of them is Peter Quill, your best friend in the whole world and the other is Thor, a man who randomly crashed onto your spaceship. So, will you choose legendary outlaw Star-Lord or the God of Thunder?

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

-

Thor landed on the Milano only mere moments ago and it is already like he is making himself at home. After crashing into the ship and making brief introductions, he gets right to work. The brawny man sifts through most of the belongings that the rest of the Guardians own and begins searching vigorously for something to eat. He mumbles to himself about his home or a hammer or something while the team just gives him dumbfounded looks. You aren’t used to random visitors like this.

“What do you think of this guy?” Peter leans over and asks you. His arms are crossed over his chest and he nods towards Thor with an eye roll.

You shrug. “He seems okay, I guess.”

“Okay? He seems okay?” Peter scoffs. “Y/N, he is going through our stuff and insulting us.”

“Do not doubt the beautiful, muscular man, Quill,” Drax states.

Rocket waltzes between the two of you and kicks Peter in the shin. He winces slightly at the pain. “Show him some respect!” 

“First of all, OW,” Peter says. “Second of all, he doesn’t deserve any respect if he thinks he can just come in here and steal our shit without listening to us. This dude is essentially saying ‘fuck you’ to my leadership over the team.”

“I don’t mind him being here,” Rocket declares. “And since when are you our leader?”

“Since always!” He shouts, his annoyance growing by the second. “This is my ship in case you forgot. You’re supposed to be listening to me.”

Rocket laughs an obviously fake laugh. “That’s a joke. If anyone is the leader of this ship it’s gotta be me.”

Gamora rolls her eyes at the two idiots and steps forward to get a closer look at Thor, who continues to rummage through cabinets and drawers. “Can both of you please stop? I’m more concerned over the fact that we have a stranger on our ship than who is the one giving orders on it.”

“She’s referring to me,” Peter mumbles under his breath angrily.

Rocket snickers. “I think you mean that she is referring to me.”

“Shut up!” You yell. Both of them remain silent. “Gamora is right. We need to deal with the man on our ship instead of having the same fucking argument over and over again.”

“You’re right, Y/N. I was thinking exactly that,” Peter agrees, approaching you. “We should-”

“This one shows promise,” Thor interrupts. You turn around to notice he is standing right behind you, his large figure towering over your body. “If there is anyone on this ship that demonstrates leadership, it is this fine, young lady here.”

You blush. “Well, thank you, Thor.”

“You do not need to show your gratitude, Lady Y/N, as I was only speaking the truth. Everyone else on this ship appears to be a moron, except for you and your green friend.” He smiles brightly at Gamora.

“Hey, let’s get one thing straight,” Peter scolds. “There ain’t nobody on this ship that’s a moron.”

“That’s right,” Rocket defends, smirking triumphantly.

Thor studies Rocket for a moment and then grins. “My apologies, morons, the rabbit also demonstrates intelligence.”

“Rabbit?” Peter questions.

Rocket hollers in celebration, ignoring the rabbit comment. “Now you’re starting to make sense.”

“What exactly are you doing here, Thor?” You inquire.

“I have just come from Earth where I was fighting off large armies of intruders in order to save that planet from destruction for what was most likely the hundredth time. My work colleagues down there often need my help because nothing they can do can compare to being the God of Thunder,” Thor brags.

“You’re the God of Thunder?” Rocket repeats it to the group more than asking it as a question.

“Yes and I need to return to Asgard, which is where I’m from, but my friend Heimdall did not open the Bifrost for me. I found that rather odd so I decided to fly up to space using this..” He holds out his hand and a large hammer attracts to it. Thor grips the hammer and spins it around in his grasp a few times with a cocky grin. “...and now I am wandering space hoping to catch a ride home.”

“Uh, does anybody have any idea what this guy just said?” Peter asks.

“Thor needs to get back to his home planet, Asgard, and he is wondering if we will give him a ride,” Gamora explains.

“No, absolutely not,” Peter insists. “He ain’t staying.”

Rocket rolls his eyes at Peter. “All of those in favor of giving Thor, the fucking God of Thunder, a ride to the ass planet he’s from, raise your hand.”

Your gaze falls upon the rest of the Guardians as you watch most of them raise a hand. Rocket, Drax, and Gamora all raise a hand. To your surprise, Mantis does not raise a hand, most likely because she doesn’t understand or she’s not paying attention. Obviously, Peter doesn’t even flinch as he stands completely still. All of their eyes land on you. You’re the tiebreaker.

“Lady Y/N, I must say that I have been to numerous worlds and you are by far the most gorgeous woman I have seen in all of the realms.” Thor flirts, causing a smile to rise to your lips. Peter looks to you and shakes his head, but you ignore him.

Slowly, you raise your hand. The team cheers and Rocket mentions he can fly the ship to Asgard if Thor gives him general direction. All of them run off to the flight deck to learn more about Thor as you hear him began to share extravagant stories about Asgard and fighting on Earth. He has to explain at first that Earth is what all of you know as Terra. Everyone admires Thor as he goes on and on about his life. The only people left in the hallway are you and Peter.

“You really want that dude to stay here? On our ship?”

Your gaze falls to the floor. “He doesn’t seem so bad. I like him.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows and stares you down. “What you like is his stupid, blonde hair and his unreasonably big muscles.”

“What are you, jealous?”

“So what if I am?” Peter shouts. “Thor just waltzes into the Milano one day and all of a sudden the whole fucking team is in love with him. All of you sided with him over me, who is your commander despite what Rocket says, and I’m not allowed to be upset about it?”

“No, Peter, I mean are you jealous that he was flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he mutters. “I don’t get how that’s relevant to this conversation.”

“It’s fucking relevant because the only reason you don’t want to help out Thor is that you’re worried I’ll like him more than you,” you argue.

“You think I care if you fall for that guy instead of me?” Peter gestures to the flight deck angrily. “I don’t give a shit who you want to fuck, even if it’s a random stranger that’s been on the ship for two fucking seconds.”

“Listen to you! Now you’re putting words into my mouth!” You scream. “Why are we even fighting over this in the first place? Thor is going to be gone soon after we take him back to his home.”

“We’re fighting over this because you sided with Thor over me when I’m your best friend who has always been there for you. You sided with a stranger just because he’s hot and flirted with you!”

“I sided with Thor because you’re acting like a jealous idiot!” You spit. “Thor is being nice to me and he obviously means well. He deserves to get back to Asgard and it doesn’t matter that we’re helping him get there. So, sorry that I sided with Thor because-”

“Because why?” Peter pushes. “Because he complimented you? Because he flattered you into letting him stay?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Newsflash, Y/N, not everyone needs to be the fucking God of Thunder in order to know that you’re the greatest girl in the entire galaxy.” Peter snarls and then storms off to his sleeping quarters, slamming the door behind him. 

After he walks away, you feel a pang of guilt. He was right, Peter has been your loyal, best friend ever since the Guardians were formed. He’s always been there for you and sided with you no matter what. Over the past few years, you’ve developed feelings for him. The rest of the team knows and you’re almost certain Peter knows as well. He often flirts with you which leads you to believe that the two of you could be more than friends, but you also are aware of the fact that Peter Quill is a known flirt. Now that he practically just confessed to feeling the same way, all of it became much more confusing and you can’t help but regret not having his back this time.

Peter protected you during the prison break when the Guardians first met.

Peter saved your life when you fought Ronan.

Peter chose life with you over life being a God with his father.

Peter stood up for you in every argument the Guardians have had.

Peter helped you escape from unwanted men at bars numerous times.

Peter is your best friend and no one can compare to him. Especially not a random Asgardian crashing on the Milano.

You start to head towards Peter’s quarters when someone stops you. Unsurprisingly, it’s Thor. “Lady Y/N, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course,” you respond with a smile.

Thor pulls you aside and leads you to the table in the main area of the ship. It is almost as if he doesn’t know you live here, walking you to the spot and pulling your chair out for you. The two of you take a seat and Thor leans over the table with his elbows propped up on the surface. He is awfully close to you and you’re unsure how that makes you feel. You study his face. Thor has such gorgeous, chiseled features and bright, blue eyes that you could get lost in. He’s tall, muscular, and attractive. The man is a God, but does he compare to Peter in your eyes?

“I want you to know that what I said earlier was not just to sway you into allowing me to stay,” he says. “I truly find you to be wonderful.”

You smile weakly. “I appreciate that Thor, but I-”

“Forgive me, I know we only just met and I am being rather forward but I know I won’t be staying long on your ship.” You lean in closer to Thor and listen to what he has to say. “I felt connected to you the moment I first laid eyes on your beautiful face and I believe something brought me to this specific ship. I think that something is you.”

“Thor...”

“I want you to come back to Asgard with me,” he blurts. “It would only be for a short while in order for us to get to know one another better, but if you happen to fall for me, we could certainly make arrangements for you to stay in my kingdom indefinitely.”

“Kingdom?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head at his statement.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention that I am also the King of Asgard.”

You laugh at his statement and Thor chuckles as well. He really does have it all and you admire his perseverance with you, but he’s not Peter. “I think you’re great, Thor, I really do. It’s just that I’m kind of with someone else, sort of.”

“I understand. You’re in love with the moron who believes he rules over this ship, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you state. “You’re absolutely right that he’s a total moron, but I can’t help how I feel, you know?”

Thor tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as his blue eyes bore into yours deeply. “Believe me, Lady Y/N, I know.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Peter interjects, his face red with frustration.

“There’s the moron now!” Thor chants.

“Peter, it’s not what it looks like.”

“She’s right, we were actually talking about you.”

Peter groans and puts a hand up to Thor. “Save it, God of nobody gives a shit.”

“Peter, be nice, Thor is just trying to help,” you defend. “I don’t give a fuck what Thor is doing especially now that I know it’s you that he’d like to be doing,” he says. “I actually came out here to apologize and to you tell you how fucking in love with you I am, but I see you that you wouldn’t want to hear it.”

Peter storms back off to his room as you sit at the table with your eyes filling with tears. You clearly hurt Peter and that is the last thing you would ever want to do. Thor places a comforting hand on your shoulder as he lets you cry it out for a couple of minutes. Some time passes before he eventually speaks up.

“I sincerely apologize, Y/N. I never meant to come between you and your love.”

You pat Thor’s arm. “It’s all right, Thor, it wasn’t you. Peter and I have never been very honest about how we feel and it was only a matter of time before one of us got so jealous that we got hurt.”

“I am almost certain that the two of you will work it out,” Thor reassures. “He seems to love you an awful lot. I am sure he will understand.”

“Thank you, Thor. I’m sorry about everything you had to put up with today. I bet there are plenty of women dying to be with the God of Thunder. You’ll meet someone new on Asgard way better than me.”

Thor brushes it off. “Of course, Lady Y/N. I should have known there was already a man madly in love with you. Now, go get him.”

Thanking Thor one last time, you head toward Peter’s quarters. You’re about to knock but you hesitate at the door. You decide to give him some more time to cool off, knowing Peter is so stubborn he won’t believe you or listen to you right away anyway. Retreating to your own room, you fall onto your bed and sleep the day off. Meeting Thor and arguing with Peter was extremely stressful and resting for a while is exactly what you need to recover from the annoyance of having too many men on the ship trying to get with you.

Sleeping is only a luxury for so long, however, as Rocket comes barging into your room only a few hours after you drift off. You groggily whine to him about how he’s an asshole for disturbing you from your sleep, but he ignores your remarks.

“What the hell is going on with you and Quill?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“We all know about that, Y/N, you’re not exactly great at hiding your feelings for the jerk,” he laughs. “Besides, I saw the two of you being dramatic and I told him to get his fucking act together. I said if he wants the girl he’s gotta go after her. He listened to me, but he still seemed pissy. So, what happened today?”

“Well, Thor being here and flirting with me made Peter kind of jealous so we got into a big fight. Then Thor basically asked me to move to Asgard with him so-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Rocket stops you. It feels like you’ve been interrupted every time you’ve tried to speak today. “Thor wanted you to go back to Asgard with him?”

“Yeah.” Rocket cackles at your statement. He can barely breathe he is laughing so hard. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You and Quill have been wanting to fuck each other since the beginning of time and then all of a sudden a random God wants to be with you? And you’re still in love with the idiot in the next room?”

You glare at the raccoon. “Can you take this seriously, please? I need your help with this.”

“Y/N, I’ve known you and Quill for a few years now. No matter how annoying he is and no matter how much better than him you are, the two of you belong together,” he says sincerely. “It’s just fucking science or fate or whatever it’s called.”

“Thanks, Rocket.” You mess with the fur on the top of his head. “I was really torn there for a while. I’m glad you helped me figure out what to do.”

“No problem, it’s what I do.” Rocket jumps off of your bed and heads out the door. He shakes his head and mumbles to himself on the way out. “Torn between Quill and a God.”

“Hey!” You hear a familiar voice bellow down the hall. “You’re forgetting that I’m part God too.”

“You wish you were still part God!” Rocket retaliates.

Peter enters your room and quietly shuts the door behind him. “Can you believe that raccoon? What a dick.” Both of you laugh as he takes a seat on your bed beside you. “Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. He places one of his large, warm hands on top of yours.

“But, it’s not okay, Y/N,” Peter continues. “I was totally out of line and I let my jealousy get the best of me. If you want to be with Thor and go back to ass world with him then you should do that.”

“Asgard,” you correct with a chuckle.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Peter snickers with you. “The only thing I care about is if you’re happy.”

You place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers creeping up into his light brown locks. Pulling his face forward, you smash your lips onto his. He gives into the kiss immediately. The kiss is passionate and sweet, making up for the silly argument the two of you had earlier. Reluctantly pulling away, you press your forehead against his. “Peter, you make me happy.”

He smiles, his green eyes looking into yours with such kindness. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Peter Quill.”

“It’s about damn time!” Rocket yells. “I told you that you’d get her, Quill.”

The next morning you and the rest of the Guardians arrive on Asgard. Thor collects his belongings, along with some of the things he stole from the Milano and gets ready to depart. He comes up to you and grins widely. “It was lovely to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

“And you as well, Thor.” Peter places an arm around you, showing Thor his place. It’s nice knowing that after all these years of misunderstood feelings and bickering about jealousy, you are finally Peter Quill’s girl.

“Yeah, hopefully, we’ll see you around,” Peter states. Thor walks over to Rocket and Peter chuckles. “Not,” he whispers in your ear. You lightly hit him in the stomach for being rude. His response is to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek. 

“I get that the two of you are finally happy but I hate that you’re going to be together as a couple now,” Rocket says. “It’s disgusting.”

“I think it’s quite nice,” Thor beams, patting Rocket on the head. “Maybe we will meet again, rabbit.”

“Maybe,” he agrees happily.

“Farewell, morons.”

permanent taglist: @lolabean1998 @thisismysecrethappyplace  @crazystarlady @gloomybisexualemo @yougottalovefandoms

marvel taglist: @verkyun

peter quill taglist: @quillxgrady

[mamusings]

Supernatural Season 2 thoughts

Continuing with my rewatch. This season kicks up several gears on season 1. Overall the storytelling is much better. There is a less formulaic approach to the even the MOTW episodes. Its inventive: you get one from the perspective of the ghost (Roadkill), two that layer in the boys run ins with the law. The first 4th wall breaker (Hollywood babylon), first alt reality (What is and what should never be) and I think the first straight up comic one (Tall Tales). This works much better. S1 episodes give you: a kill, work out the lore, find the creature and kill it right back. Instead of s1 espousing the lore and developing the brothers as a team, we now get to explore the show's moral compas and the complexity of what brotherhood means within it. I think Hollywood Babylon riffs off ditching the initial importance placed on accuracy in how Spn presented itself in it's own storyline. Yep we like story telling thank you, realism isnt really the point. The monsters and sub plots more clearly refract on the season themes and plot.

Supporting characters are another aspect of the shows blooming. They are a much more varied and interesting bunch. Gordon helps explore a key issue for the show - the distinction between being a hunter and a killer. Its significant he appears twice - it's a big issue. The psychics Andy and Ava are fun. Bank heist dude Ronald garners the right mix of derision and respect - I'm not sure spn homages to freaks and geeks hit the right note most of the time. And theres the Roadhouse crew and Bobby who really help flesh out what can become an overly confined universe.

The first third explores grief. You get the contrast in Sam and Dean's personalities in how they try to deal with John's death. But you also get the sense of them learning from each other as the season progresses. Dean tries talking. Sam tries keeping busy. Both grow while staying themselves. Nice. You also get a switch from s1 dominance of Dean's concern for Sam, with Sam's concern about Dean's increasingly high octane behaviour here and it's a nice switch. With grief you get guilt. Sam's is the easier too little too late regrets. Dean's is the motherload of guilt that John sacrificed himself for him. Given the shows dominant theology is Christian I find it hugely interesting that the focus here is on the receiver of the sacrifice. The overwhelming guilt Dean feels underpins the opening episodes, gets hammered home in Crossroads and then comes back for an even bigger bite when Dean does the same to Sam in the finale. Bobby's anger with Dean and Sam's devastation leaves me little doubt that as much as we all love that Sam is back, Dean did wrong here. Although maybe Dean's guilt comes from his low self worth. Sam might cope very differently?? But I do think the zombie episode declarations of 'what is dead should stay dead' make the point that thus wheeling and dealing with death cant be good. I personally find the idea that moral rules dont apply to Sam and Dean because of love is a weak one. I think fandom does spn a disservice by reducing something really complicated here into 'well they are soul mates'. Loving someone is not an excuse to chuck the rules out the window. But maybe the show itself descends into a moral free for all with no underpinning message and the blame lies there? I'm not sure. In a way that is what I'm trying to figure out with these commentaries.

What works better in explaining why Dean does to Sam what John did to him is the other big theme of season 2: the idea that right and wrong isnt black and white. This is the focus of lots of episodes some of which explore whether hunters are just killers. And others that explore at what stage something becomes evil and why. Both these questions are crucial in relation to Sam's destiny and how each of them should respond to that destiny. The first half of the season sees Dean trying out his fathers black/white approach and the hardening off of himself he thinks he needs to achieve in order to kill Sam should that becomes necessary. Its the mid season finale that finally answers that one for Dean. Sam goes proper bad, Dean doesn't kill him. Along the way, with Sam's prompting, Dean questions not only his father but also the morality he had assumed of his hunting so far. How Dean outgrows John is a huge theme for me. I find it fascinating because he remains the same kind of man as John. Tough, difficult etc he diesnt become Sam. What he changes ir accepts are that what he prizes isnt what John prizes, but rather the people he loves and he learns that this isnt a failing or a weakness. But it's a long long road.

Sam wrestles with the fact that he may turn evil trying to find ways to hope and ways to cope. He takes a leaf out of the Dean playbook at gets drunk. He prays. He looks for a safety net getting Dean's to promise to off him. Dean promises to save him, but the message in Heart is that sometimes the only way to save someone is to kill them. However, the other message is solving things one step at a time, making the right play for the circumstances and not drawing one arbitrary line somewhere - be it between people and non-people or even that evil acts make you irredeemably evil. Slippery stuff, but that's what makes it interesting.

One thing I really like in this season is how the brothers begin to influence each other. They are still a study in contrasts, but they try out each others approaches and they've learned to value what the other brings to the table. As Sam says in the opener they have just started to be brothers again. Their relationship is so supportive that the comic Tall Tales reminding us how much they wind each other up is a needed counterpart lest things get just too damn sweet. The disturbing siblings at the centre of 2 episodes is also sends the message that it ain't all roses too. Andy has an actual evil twin. The ending of Playthings with the sisters is filled with creepy foreboding is particular to this episode. One sister gives her life up for the other and it feels wrong. Of course its foreshadowing other famous brothers but let's leave that alone just now.

In terms of Sam and Dean, their brotherhood seems to have kicked the S1 Sam and Dean team up into formidable. Their run-ins with law enforcement moves our perception of them beyond boys hunting into being increasingly impressed as they outwit cops and feds. It also moves their interactions with outsiders beyond gratitude from victims towards validation from peers and this feels important. There's the seamless teamwork with code words and all. But more importantly trust and loyalty - Sam is unswayed under police questioning in The Usual Suspects. Folsom Prison Blues most explicitly highlights Dean's almost fanatical sense of loyalty and paying your dues.

This pays off in the final two parter. As strong as All Hell Breaks Lose 2 is, part 1 is a yawn fest. But what is interesting is that while Sam does his best to found a team, Azazel can just pluck them off one by one by appeals to each person's individual self interest. The only one of the psychics who gets that the only way to win is to stick together is Sam. In my view Sam learned this from Dean. Dean is always playing the stronger together card. At this point in the show, brotherhood is about solidarity, trust and loyalty. That's actually the message here far more than love. Of course they love each other. But that alone wouldn't have got them this far. What gets them here is sticking together. When Dean finally surpasses John in killing Azazel he gets his moment of John unqualified approval and love. But right after comes the key dialogue of the season. Sam says 'you did it' and Dean replies 'I didnt do it alone'. That seems to me to highlight what's been going on so far. Learning not to do it alone. Learning to lean on and accept others. That's where the Winchester boys outgrow their upbringing and themselves.

Addendum: the angel episode House of the Holy deserves a mention. Its so finely balanced between being about angels and not when viewed on it's own. Its only on rewatching that the effects and props leave you in no doubt that even if F. Gregory isn't an angel this episode is about angels. Its curious as to why it's in season 2 rather than maybe in s3 - no angel appears until season 4. I refuse to count Gabriel in s3 as an angel appearance as he's for many seasons yet still just the trickster. So why? Maybe it's to help us understand the significance for Sam? Angels give Sam hope - making it even more awful for him that he is the object of their suspicion. Or is it about the need for faith, which tellingly Dean hadn't got.

#supernatural #spn #sam #dean #winchester

[kurtty-drabbles]

Coraline au (Excalibur)

N/A: The Krees will show their ugly face later. Right now, I want to kill two birds with one peeble here as I have some ideas for this chapter.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @discordsworld @bamfoftheundead

Joining Excalibur was in the spring of the moment. Ever since the Inhuman´s situation was resolved nicely (or not) the X-men seem to agree that Kitty is a valuable asset, but, she deserves some time off.

Fear. They fear me.

As her new album is almost ready the fans will have to speculate a little more. Quicksilver is making loud noises against Kitty blaming her for the death of his wife.

But...she was cheating on him for years.

Musing back to that particular encounter Kitty knows that interaction could have been better. Speak how his wife was blatantly cheating with the Human-Torch is not a good peace talk and now the Avengers have a new mutant to hate.

Even after Quicksilver found out that his wife was indeed cheating on him it didn´t stop his resentment for Kitty to wane but allows his mind to process things differently.

Oh yes, revenge and guilt. I can understand that.

"Can you?" a male voice draws attention to the left side as Nightcrawler is there next to her admiring the lighthouse. Her doe eyes blink for a moment as she now sighs at IT´s presence.

"I guess you can be happy to know you can still surprise me, and you think I don´t understand revenge?" she said looking at him bemused as she formed a fist. There´s something almost casual in this gesture.

Nightcrawler seems amused(and Kitty can swear he´s a tad bit turn on) as he continues speaking. "Oh no, revenge you can understand, but the nuances are something different. Pietro Maximoff loved that woman even if she horribly cheats on him. And you killed her, oh don´t look at me like that," he offers a smile to Kitty and she can see his fangs. A smug smile indeed "when you made the wish you share culpability as well. Not that I´m opposed to that"

Kitty is still bemused but let him speaks as Nightcrawler seems to have a point. Go to the point already.

"Thank you, my point is...Even though his wife horrible cheat on him, Pietro still loves her and won´t forgive you for causing her downfall" Nightcrawler explains "humans can keep resentment like no other"

"Oh...I see. We humans can be complex sometimes" Kitty ponders loudly and crosses her arms.

"Yes, some humans are so complex" his eyes stay on Kitty´s figure for a lingering moment." By the way, why you accept to be in Excalibur?"

Her reply was too easy. "I´d not like to stay still for long"

____________________________________________________________________________

Magik and her friends join Excalibur out of the desperate means to be away from prof X and also to not be linked only with the X-men, however, inwardly, Magik is regretting this option.

Karma is the voice of reason and she seems to think this idea a brilliant one, in fact, she seems to get along with Kitty wonderfully. "She killed the shadow king. I can respect that" "Well, I didn´t kill him, but, thanks") and the others New Mutants seem to be over the moon that such celebrity in the team.

Nightcrawler is charming enough and everyone appears to respect and adore him. Captain Britain always ask his opinion and Nightcrawler has always sage advice. 

Of course, he has...He´s an abomination of outer space.

Nightcrawler can only smirk at Magik and mutter one line to the powerful sorceress. "Say hi to my dear Belasco to me" and that´s enough to make Yana want to leave the team.

Belasco, either in a good mood or just fearing his boss´s reaction, warned Magik that IT hates rude people and if she just leaves the team it will have dire consequences.

"The best you can do is craft wards to protect you. The boss, to put nicely, does not like rude people and think they´re a fine meal"

Her second line of defence is one Kitty Pryde. Really, who is Kitty Pryde? and why IT is so attached to her?

________________________________________________________________________

Excalibur is getting lots of praise, and most importantly, well deserved praise for help in not only save people from villains but, help to solve conflicts in the continent.

Of course, Excalibur´s leaders Captain Britain and Gloriana are blind to see that each old conflict that they solve...opens a new one. And each time they miss Nightcrawler´s joyful smile or Kitty rolling eyes.

As a token of their gratitude Dai Thomas manages to get them a free week in a nice resort. No one is complaining. Except for one person.

"Beach?" Kitty asked more to herself than to anyone. People are excitedly talking about this beach. Beach has salty water and water is something that Kitty will never see the appeal.

"You´re not a fan of water?" Kurt asked whispering in her ear. Too seductively to the point Moira cover Rhane´s eyes. The body language of Kitty and Kurt is too intimate to be merely a whisper, to be mere friends, but, no one will make questions if they don´t want to answer.

"No, water is dumb," she speaks looking serious to his eyes.

"There are many dumb things there" Kurt agrees amused as his tail wrapped around her waist gently. Moira has to take Rhane out and explain that some adults don´t know the meaning of privacy.

__________________________________________________________________________

The beach is as wonderful as everyone assumed. Everyone is jumping in the cold salty water and playing with the water, however, Kitty is the only one that remains dry and stuck on land.

"Well, you won´t let even the water touch your feet," Kurt asked wearing a thong and knowing very well some tourists(women and few men) are looking at him with great interest. Kitty is somewhat impressed, brother and disgust by their apparent lust.

Well, he has a nice tentacles.

"You´ll be here until everyone leaves?" he asked sitting next to her. Kitty nods in a grumpy cat style.

"I see. Well, I´ve all the time in the world, Katzchen" he said and lay his head on her lap. "you would hate Ancient Egypt" his tone is amused as a chuckle escapes from his lips "or maybe you would have loved"

"Not the Nilo River that´s for sure." she replies in a grumpy fashion and looks at her back for a moment "you know, people think we´re together and will sell those photos to any tabloid"

"Good, hope they catch my good side"

"Your tentacles are hard to capture in a photo" she jokes "but everyone likes blue"

They remain like this for a moment, until, Kitty saw Meggan getting hungry stares from some ''dudebros'' as she likes to call and for some reason makes a strange question (after Meggan flip them off and put those ''dudebros'' in their places)

"Listen, why are you still with me? Why not look for someone like...Meggan?" she asked feeling nervous about suddenly.

"I don´t want Meggan, I don´t care for a person´s body. The women I slept in the past are more about reproduction than anything else, now," his eyes are on her, not the eyes of his mask, his real ones "if you think I´m a cheater then let me remind you that I´m not human. I told you once and will tell you again. You´re my mate. No matter how many women with big boobs or ass we encounter. You´re my mate" his eyes are staring at her enough to transporter her conscious to his realm. Nothing unheard or new for her.

However, the blue fire present is new.

"So no need to be jealousy" Kurt replies calmly as their bodies remain in that position, in the beach as if nothing happened.

"I wasn´t jealousy," Kitty said feeling his laughter as his body vibrates in her lap. "I wasn´t. I was just looking out for Meggan, I know what happened with women you slept to get ''magical child'' and well, Meggan is a nice person she does not deserve that"

"True" Kurt concedes "but fret not, I'm not interested in Meggan in any form, now, you" his smile is anything but innocent "would be a lovely mother"

"I know, your tentacles and fangs may have awakened something in me, but, is not enough to make me carry ''magical child'' for 9 months" she concludes.

Rhane is getting back from the kiosk with a popsicle when she spots Kurt and Kitty making out in their little private spot, well, is not that private. And while she knows is wrong to stare.

Rhane can´t help. There´s something different there. Something forbidden and god-like. Should she get closer? Should she pray?

"Rhane?" Moira is exasperated as she covers Rhane´s eyes and taking her away from that scene. "We talk about that. Remember? those two don´t understand privacy, oh, but they will. I´ll have a word with them later" her tone is not really as strong as she would hope for. Rhane still has the desire to workship the couple.

Meanwhile, on the planet Hala, Minerva is reporting to the Supreme intelligence some important news.

"So, the Inhumans have no claim to that planet? Good, we´ll act quickly" Supreme explains briefly as possible and the conversation should end there, but, Minerva adds one piece of advice.

"There´s a ...human, I believe, who seem to work with Chaos itself. Wouldn´t that be a problem?" Minerva asked as Supreme is not pleased.

"Not if we stay away from his plans. Change the course, we must find out what IT wants and avoid at any cost" she is looking at the files using her tentacles(even though she has a human-like figure) "uhm. It seems IT is in Excalibur at the moment. No ties with the X-men or Avengers. We have our first target." A cruel smile plays on her humanoid face "and enter in contact with this Quicksilver. He may be useful for later"

Minerva bows and is dismissed. Supreme has one goal in mind, aside helping the Kree to be the most powerful nation(to guarantee there´s no one better than the Krees) she wants to be above one of the Outer Gods.

"Eternity, Gaia, Zaorva, whatever her name may be. I´ll be superior to you"

[danvssomethingorother]

The Blood on his Hands

Summary: Don let Jonas do a lot of things, he did a lot of things for Jonas, but he would never regret anything like he would regret what he let Jonas do to Rusty.

(I’m not very patient....please just take this. I ship Don/Jonas now....)

---

That day wasn’t very eventful. It was strange to think now, one of the most important days of his life was uneventful and even boring.

Jonas had been spending every day in the lab, no adventures to be had, he wouldn’t be going back to his wife for a few more days. New York had been quiet, so he just wanted to spend time with Jonas, the man had lit a spark in him, an exciting spark he hadn’t felt in so long.

He had been drinking with Rodney and Horace was gossiping his ear off, Kano was near him as always. They all had to be patient, Jonas had been going off on another project, he was nearly finished, almost there he promised hours ago.

He was being secretive about whatever he was working on, nothing too abnormal there, the man loved his secrets and Don could respect that hiding a few of his own. Don had to wonder what he could be working on down there that would be nearly as amazing the robotics he had already created or the space station he would be launching after cutting a few more pieces of red tape.  

“My blasted wife found out about him! Now she keeps bugging all my belongings!”

Don took a deep breath and squirmed a little uncomfortably at that, it was unlikely his wife was as resourceful as a mercenary like Mz. Quymn but it still struck uncomfortably close to home that it was wrong for him to be here at all. He was no better then Horace hiding his boyfriend from his wife, she was only mad because Horace was sleeping with her rival sure but just thinking of upsetting his own wife made him squirm.  

He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be sharing Jonas’s bed like he was, he shouldn’t even be interested in Jonas like that but….

He couldn’t finish his own thought as Jonas finally appeared, slamming the door open so hard it smashed against the wall leaving another hole that would need to be fixed.

“Oh wonderful! You are all still here!”

“And where would we have gone?” Don chuckled, all his guilt of betraying his wife gone seeing Jonas here. There was always something alluring, captivating and above all else comforting about his presence. He was larger then life and stood above all else, promising anything could and would happen and it would all turn out fine afterwards.  

“Knowing you lot, you would have found an adventure without me,” he chuckled lightly.

“Enough with the damn secrecy,” Rodney moaned slamming his cup on the table hard as he rose from his spot on the couch, “What the hell could be so damn important you call us all out here and make us wait three damn hours for you to show up?!”

“I had to make certain everything was ready, Ben and I have finally made a big breakthrough in the world of science after months of trial and error.”

“You say that every god damn time you enter the lab,” Rodney said with a stern glare, “You tried to spin your damn light bulbs as some kind of break through.”

Jonas frowned, Don could see he wanted to correct his friend but unlike him, he dropped it continuing on what he had brought them here for.

“To put it frankly since you are all in a mood,” Jonas sighed out just as annoyed as the rest of them now, “I am a father now.”

Don knew he had no right to feel that sting of jealousy, he had a wife back home, he shouldn’t feel spiteful at the thought of Jonas finding someone to settle down with, to stop whatever they had going on together.

Jonas just gave him a gentle smile, fondly cupping his cheek almost talking directly to him.

“Not with a woman, through cloning.”

“Oh not that nonsense again,” Horace sighed, “If anyone finds out---”

“And no one shall, you are my most trusted friends, I think I can trust you with this,” once more he was looking right into Don’s eyes and Don just smiled sheepishly back, after everything, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Jonas. Jonas had already proven he would anything and more for him.  

That’s when he first met the little life that would become his world, wrapped tight in what looked like Jonas’s spare lab coat. Held tight by Helper beeping not towards Jonas but towards him.

Jonas smiled at him as he hesitantly took the small bundle, breath stopping catching sight of that red hair for the first time. He held him as Jonas began babbling about the science in making him, all Don could see was how tiny he was. The way he reached towards him with his little fist.

He had given up on having children so long ago after finding out he was unable to but he knew Jonas was giving him a second chance.

He held the baby tight, not caring how he came into this world, just knowing he was his world now.

---

Much later, he sat in Jonas’s room unable to put down the child. He was so tiny, he couldn’t imagine him being a clone of Jonas, he was little and frail and everything he knew Jonas wasn’t.

Maybe he was thinking of cloning wrong, he didn’t know.

He remembered admitting to Jonas his shame and humiliation at the thought of never being able to sire a child. He had wanted one so long and knowing he would never achieve that dream had put a damper on his marriage. He still loved her, how couldn’t he? But she never felt as understanding about his anger and pain as Jonas had.

Jonas just always knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do to help brighten your mood, he had a bright magnetic personality and Don couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

“What are you naming him?”

Jonas paused in taking off his cloths, humming a moment before settling on the bed beside him, wrapping his arms tight around him and resting his head on his shoulder looking down at the baby.

“I was hoping you would decide,” he huskily whispered into his ear, “I didn’t tell the others because of course they wouldn’t care but I used your DNA to help make him.”

Don felt like crying, Jonas always gave and gave, he never knew what to do to repay him. His smile fell though knowing he couldn’t stay here forever, this would all have to stay another half of his life. There was always going to be Don Fitzcarraldo and Blue Morpho. Don would return to his wife and her warmth and Blue Morpho would always have Jonas and his generosity and thirst for adventure.

He stared down at the baby in his arms and now something more, something he would never have with his wife, only Jonas.

“If this little one turns out healthy and lives through the year, I was hoping to use this technology to help you and your little woman have a child to return home to.”

Don didn’t say anything for a moment, his smile giving away his gratitude for the man, smiling brighter as he kissed him on the lips.

“Thaddeus Venture,” he mumbled finally staring at the slumbering child curled against him.

Jonas chuckled at that gently tapping the baby on the nose, “He looks more like a Rusty to me.”