#and then I physically cannot stop drawing buildings for hours

[inreverievvv]

Bdoubleo100 house drawing I did ‼️‼️ plus an alternate version because I'm indecisive

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 5 - Sans Y Penser

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... mildly angsty situations, some flirting and interesting proposals.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. HERE BE PLOT. A lot of things happen in this one afternoon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Le Havre, September 1939

The port city of Le Havre is bustling with travellers hauling suitcases and steamer trunks, all walks of life converging on this point of exit. You weave through the crowds from the train station as a trio, headed for the bright red awnings of the company sailing to the USA. Benedict and Eloise hang back as you approach the ticket window. 

“Name?” the brusque man in the booth opens with a crisp American accent.

“Y/n y/l/n,” you smile politely.

“You are not on the manifest,” he sighs after a pause to scan down the paperwork, impatience colouring his tone.

“But I must be,” you frown, “I was given this here…” 

You push your ticket under the window, clearly marked with today’s date. 

“Fraudsters,” his economic response.

“But… they were from your company? Outside your offices in Paris? And wearing your company livery? They… They said I could bring forward my sailing date from August to today. They took my original ticket and gave me this! It looks the same!” Panic rises in your voice with each sentence, dread churning behind your ribs as you realise you have likely been duped. 

“I'm sorry, ma’am, but that is not a valid ticket,” is his monotone reply.

“Oh god. What can I do? May I buy another ticket now?!?”

His responding laugh is a loud bark, “Hah! Ma’am, we are booked up for weeks in advance. There is a long line every day of people hoping for last-minute availability,” he signals to a line of weary-looking, luggage-laden folks under a makeshift shelter.

“But I….” you feel your eyes watering and dread in the pit of your stomach like you are falling down an endless chasm. 

“Ma’am, please step aside; I need to ensure valid passengers can board this ship…” he warns in a tone that is wholly without sympathy.

With a weak nod, you stumble away, back towards Benedict and Eloise. As you draw closer, their faces are a picture of concern, realising something is amiss. As you tearfully recount what happened, Benedict seethes, and Eloise wraps her arm around you, looking pained. 

“I’m going up there. This is unacceptable!” Benedict grits out, righteous indignation fizzing from his very being.

You have to hold out a hand to physically stop him. “It's likely no use,” you appease.

His ire deflates a fraction at your hold on his coat sleeve. “At least let me try, y/n,” he modifies after a few beats.

“Alright,” you relent, dropping your hand, “but I do not expect a different answer.”

You and Eloise cling to each other as you watch Benedict remonstrate with the same man and then a different one at the window. All the while, your stomach is in knots, equal parts fear and hope.

It's five or more minutes before Benedict returns to you, his face pinched.

“I was not successful,” he screws his mouth, looking away as if he cannot meet your eye as he says it. “They don't seem to care that criminals are posing as agents for their organisation,” he rubs his eyebrow in irritation. “I would report it to the police, but it's not their jurisdiction here, and it still does not solve our dilemma…”

“Thank you anyway…” you breathe, “for trying at least…”

There is a long silence as the three of you stand there, stupified by the conundrum before you. The chime of a clock on the harbour building breaks your thoughts.

“It's 3pm. Your sailing back to England is in less than an hour. You should go. You two leave without me,” you demure.

“NO!” they both exclaim in almost comic sibling unison.

“I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’m not leaving you alone here for god knows how long until there is room on a ship to America. You can’t be alone. This isn’t Paris; this is a port city. It’s definitely not safe,” Eloise rattles off, looking at you imploringly.

“She’s right,” Benedict concurs. “You were safe in Paris together before the war. You are not safe here. A beautiful young woman. You are a target for thieves or even worse. You cannot stay here alone.”

You try your hardest not to let Benedict calling you beautiful derail your whole thought train, but it’s futile. Your mind is scattered like a pile of wooden toy railway coaches.

“I... I could return to Paris?” You finally suggest after what feels like an eternity of buffering. “I could call to check for last-minute availability every morning. It’s only a couple of hours by train. I’ll be always packed and ready to go…” you argue, not as yet realising the naivety behind your own idea.

“Paris will be the first target for Hitler’s invasion,” Benedict says gravely. “It could be much worse to remain there…”

“So what am I to do? I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t…”

“There is only one solution, and that is for us to remain here as well until you can secure passage out of the country,” Benedict shrugs.

“Agreed,” Eloise nods emphatically as you go to protest.

“There are many more sailings back to England, and tickets are easier to come by,” Benedict points out. “We can move our tickets up. At least by a few days until we can devise a plan.”

 “Wait… if there are no ships to America, why don't you come to England with us?” Eloise pipes up in a lightbulb moment.

“I have nowhere I could stay…” 

“Nonsense! You will stay with us at Aubrey Hall. Won’t she, Benedict?”

“Oh yes, of course. There are plenty of spare rooms,” he assures.

“Gosh, umm... Maybe? I…” you hesitate. The whiplash of the last few minutes and the generosity of their offer momentarily overwhelm you. “That's very generous of you. The problem is I don’t know for how long it would be, or even if I should. My parents only agreed to me living in Paris under the watchful eye of Solene. This… this is entirely other…”

You startle as Benedict places his hands on your shoulders, pulling your attention to his sincere expression. “Y/n, you need to worry less about what your family thinks and more about yourself - what you need and your safety. This is escaping impending war; it’s a completely different circumstance from how you arrived here. The decisions you make right now have to be selfish and unburdened by expectations. It’s easy for others to judge from the distance of safety. But look around you. This town is teeming with people clambering to leave the country before an invasion. We do what we have to in unpredictable circumstances to survive.”

“You sound like a soldier,” you murmur.

“It’s what my father was,” he replies, releasing his grip but not moving away. “As a very young man in The Great War. He was lucky to survive, being an officer away from the front lines, but he taught me many things before he died. And one was about always making the smart choice if you can see one, even if it feels uncomfortable. The smart choice here is to escape by any means necessary. We all know Hitler has his sights set on France, especially Paris, as the figurative and cultural capital of Europe. You must get out. You must come with us.” You are captivated by his hazy eyes as he speaks, your heart beating fast as his face and voice grow softer. “Please. I could not live with myself if we left you behind,” he admits in a much quieter tone, but the plea is no less impassioned.

You cannot help it. You stare up at him, transfixed. Stanley has never been so eloquent. Or indeed so invested in your well-being. 

“Alright…” your hesitancy soft, “but you must let me pay you for my ticket…”

His face seems to light up at your acquiescence. “One day… maybe,” he smiles.

And so that is what he does - leaves you and Eloise ensconced in a nice bistro overlooking the harbour with a large bottle of white wine as he walks over to the ticket office for the ferry company and swaps their tickets for a few days hence and purchases an additional ticket for you, steadfastly refusing to tell you the cost for it even for many weeks hence.

While you are in the ladies' room, Eloise strikes up a conversation with a young man in uniform at the adjacent table; you fondly roll your eyes as you retake your seat and leave them be. Your gaze, however, is never far from the window, to where Benedict last left your line of sight, somehow anxious for his return.  When he reappears, striding purposefully towards the cafe, your chest flutters hard, his coat swishing around his legs, his hat at an attractive slant. If there is one thing you swear you could spend a lifetime doing, it’s watching Benedict Bridgerton just… be. 

“Any luck?” you ask as he arrives and doffs his hat, taking a seat on your other side, throwing an exasperated glance at his little sister and the uniformed man.

“We are set to sail Thursday,” he smiles and signals for the waiter, ordering a glass of Beaujolais. “I also stopped in the post office to call Solene. She has said we can stay as long as we need to at her sister’s cottage a few miles from town.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” your shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like hours. “But wait, I remember she said there is only one bedroom,” you point out. “You’ve been sleeping on our sofa for days now… you deserve a bed. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No. Also, I’m not sharing a bed with my sister,” he shudders, “she kicks in her sleep!”

“Oh, thanks. So I guess you want me to have bruised shins, then??” You laugh with gusto, the ricochet day making all your emotions heightened, seemingly bouncing from one extreme to another. Right now, a strange bubble of joy at this lighthearted exchange.

“Not at all. In fact, I’d happily share with you instead to save your legs from the abuse!” 

You know it’s said in jest, the comedic relief of the moment evident on his face, but still, a shot fires in your chest at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You decide to make light of it, even as your heart quickens.

“How do I know this kicking is not a problem that runs in the family? And you’re way stronger than her!”

“You can tie me down if it would make you feel better!” he chuckles loudly. 

You flush all over, the very thought so beguiling yet scandalous. And yet you cannot stop your mouth running away with you, this flirtatious banter too tasty to resist, the wine you’ve been drinking far too quickly for the last half hour loosening your lips.

“I think you would enjoy that far too much, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, raising an eyebrow with a giggle.

His cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink even as his eyes dilate rapidly, a corner of his tongue flicking out to pull his bottom lip under his teeth. It makes you want to sink your teeth right there, this impulse to be so physical with someone discombobulating. You've never had such errant, feral desires for Stanley. 

“You're probably right…” he rumbles quietly after a pause. 

You dare to hold his gaze even though you know it’s a mistake. This nightmare of a day makes you uncaring of propriety. He looks as wild as you feel inside, a glint in his eye that is at once permission and danger. 

“Theo here has been telling me all sorts of helpful information,” Eloise leans in, breaking the spell between you, a slight slur in her voice from her wine. 

Theo nods to you and Benedict. On closer inspection, he appears to be in a British soldier uniform. 

“I have to get back on duty,” he explains apologetically as he rises from his seat, “but I hope the information I’ve provided to your sister here will help.” He adds with a tiny salute.

You look surprised at Eloise as she just shrugs. You thought her up to her usual flirtatious banter, not researching. Benedict looks impressed too. You both, however, don’t miss the note he slips to Eloise before he takes his leave. Perhaps not purely intelligence gathering, then.

“Theo is helping process entry to Britain for foreign nationals wanting safe harbour. The numbers have spiralled since the war was declared.” She begins to explain when he is out of sight. “There is sadly a waiting list. But there are a few ways to skip the queue…

“Those being?” Benedict prompts before you can.

“Having family relatives residing in Britain already or, top of the pile, being the spouse of a British national.”

You slump your shoulders. “I have no relations there. Uncle Robert was visiting, but he was already at sea returning to America when the war was declared,” you explain, wishing he had stayed a few weeks longer.

“I wonder if we can find any paperwork forgers around?” Eloise ponders aloud.

“Eloise,” Benedict's tone is one of brotherly warning and disapproval, “we will not be taking that route.” his tone striking a chord of finality.

“But… how else can we get her into the country without bending the rules?” she exclaims at him, frustrated, gesticulating.

“I’m thinking…” Benedict grouses back, rubbing his chin and looking deep in thought.

Eloise leans back in her chair and twists her mouth into a pout. She takes a swig of wine before twisting to you and casually making a suggestion that flips your entire being.

“You could marry this one,” she jokes, shrugging and gesturing at Benedict. 

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. A tidal wave of a hundred different feelings crashing through you at once.

“I’ll do it…” he offers, quick and quiet.

“El, don't be ridic…” your denial, spoken over his, dies on your tongue as you process what he said. 

You can't help it, you gape open-mouthed at him. As does Eloise.

“You would?” you stutter.

He nods, mien sincere, but you could swear there is more, too, a rousing intensity.

“I was joking, brother,” Eloise frowns.

“It's the only solution that guarantees her passage out of France,” he argues, “that's the most important thing here…”

“But marriage? That is such a sacrifice… I could never ask that of you…”  you shake your head, even as your stomach feels like a rollercoaster.

“That's why I'm offering, so you don't have to ask,” he shrugs as if this is not a big deal. “It is not me who has to make the sacrifice. It is you who has an intended…”

Stanley.

Your face falls as you think of the consequences. Marrying Benedict, if only for escape, would wound Stanley beyond belief. Your father, both your parents, in fact, would vehemently disapprove. 

“We can annul it as soon as we get to England…” he assures.

“French marriages can be annulled, brother, yes, but in France. Not in England,” Eloise pipes up, ever the font of knowledge.

“Then I will grant you an immediate divorce,” he amends.

“I can't believe you are taking me seriously,,,” Eloise mutters, but both of you seem to ignore it.

“I’d still be a divorcee, damaged goods as my father would say…” you wince at the phrase but know it to be accurate in Long Island, as much as you hate it.

“I don't know how else to help you escape, y/n,” Benedict implores, slightly alarmed. 

“Keep thinking!” Eloise interjects hotly. “I won't have my poor best friend here shackled to a Bridgerton brother. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve such a sentence, however short.”

“Eloise!” you scold without thought, “don't be so rude about your brother! He's wonderful….”

You immediately flush with embarrassment as she looks at you suspiciously. You dare not even look over to the subject of your praise, but you can feel the weight of his stare.

“But umm yes, let's keep thinking…” you mumble, embarrassed, looking down and picking at your cuticles in your lap.

“I need a bloody cigarette,” Eloise pronounces, suddenly standing up, her chair scraping loudly over the tiled floor.

“Sister, you do not smoke,” Benedict frowns up at her, again with that air of elder sibling forbearance.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugs, her tone defiant, “and this situation definitely warrants one.” She jabs her finger by her side to emphasise her opinion.

With that, she marches up to the bar and orders one but does not return to the table, shooting you both a look before heading to the wall outside and sitting alone, staring out at the horizon and taking deep draws.

You and Benedict sit in silence, heads bowed in thought for what feels like an age, only interspersed with small sips of wine. 

“I honestly can't think of another way out of this mess…” Benedict sighs, breaking the hush. “But I understand it's such an enormous decision; you need time to consider it.”

You are scared by how much your heart and mind are screaming, ‘I really don't, I will marry you,’ even if your gut churns with the idea of how you will explain it to everyone. You look up, and again, those blue eyes bore into yours. Sincerity, concern, empathy, and something that looks dangerously like desire. You could get lost in that look. Forever.

“I’ll do it…” you whisper, knowing you are playing with fire… and yet yearning to be burned.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[see-arcane]

Do you have any writing tips that work for you?

I acknowledge that the first draft's probably going to suck.

There are probably holes in it and the same sentence repeated ten times and enough typos to make the dictionary gain enough sentience to cry in despair. That's fine. That's how first drafts are supposed to be. Future drafts exist to fix that. me @ me: Do Not Worry About the First Draft.

If I don't have to write in cold blood, I do not do it.

Unless I'm writing something on the clock for a job, I am writing for me, me, me. Scribbling is my hobby. My beloved terrible sandbox to play in. If I am not having fun building X Sandcastle, I pivot to Y Sandcastle. Because sometimes it's not always a matter of, 'Oh, you just want to get through the boring part to get to this neat scene!' Sometimes a story just loses its flavor in the moment. And if I'm not having a good time with it, oftentimes I'm writing garbage I'll end up deleting anyway. Not worth throwing that time away. No Fun? No Write.

I get inspired! (positive)

Reading or watching something with the Vibes I want for my current project gets my brain battery going. Sometimes I'll even catch myself going into 'parrot mode' to break through a writer's block by going, "Well, if it was happening in X Universe and using X Style of storytelling, what would it sound like?' And then I'm off.

I get inspired. (spite. loathing. hatred and bile unending.)

Being inspired to make something new in the footsteps of your most beloved storytellers: uwu🌸

Being inspired to make literally anything without inhibition, be it a story or a bowel movement, because either one would be a step up from the flaming legacy of horseshit inflicted on you by a Particular Piece of Media: owo 🔪

I can't stop. I can't stop.

I have two Word documents open right now. I have ten notebooks in use. I cannot go one (1) day without writing unless I am physically paralyzed with illness or pain, and even then I am thinking of Things I Will Write once I'm upright. My Muse is the most giving one around, but said giving is hitting like a waterfall and I am perpetually flattened into the Earth's crust by the sheer abundance of WRITE WRITE WRITE blasting into my head at all hours.

But on that note, one of the best things for my writing?

Forcing myself not to write.

Seriously.

Taking a break that involves Absolutely No Creation of Text is vital. Reading. Drawing. Watching a new movie. Making a meal that takes more effort than 'dumping some Cheerios and an apple in a bowl to eat next to the computer/notebook.' It all helps me unplug and not go insane with making scene after scene after scene. Writer Brain needs to cool off with Non-Writing things or it'll catch on fire*.

*Read: Lead to full burnout on a story that I genuinely wanted to work on. What a waste.

[ladyfogg]

The Arrangement - Part 1

The Arrangement - Part 1

Fic Summary: Drowning in problems of his own making, Arthur Havisham seeks the aid of the one person in the world who knows him better than anyone else. But what will it cost him this time? (Part 2) (Part 3)

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Arthur Havisham/Male Reader

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, Mentions of Abuse (physical proof of abuse), Mutual Pining, Oral (Male Receiving and Giving), Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Internalized Homophobia

A/N: Alright so I started writing this when I was watching Episode 4 and then the end of Episode 5 happened and I saw red. Needless to say, I needed to write something to give Arthur the love and comfort he needs.

The night is biting cold, snow whipping around in a swirling vortex of ice and wind.

Late is the hour, barren streets proving Arthur Havisham should not be out. And yet, he is, his boots and walking stick echoing on the snowy stone. He does not feel nor notice the cold, his veins and belly filled with the heat of the gin he downed before leaving his small room. His back still aches, sharp pains every time his shirt brushes against the fresh cuts. It had taken all day to work up the courage to leave, only doing so when he was sure Compeyson would not be returning.

As he approaches the daunting building, he cannot help the cacophony of emotions rolling around in his stomach. It almost makes him sick but he pushes it down. However, that could also be the gin.

Arthur stops just shy of the gates, staring at the manor he hasn’t visited in years.

If it were up to him, he would not be here. He would not even be considering such a path. But as it was, he is desperate. Meriwether Compeyson has proven to be far more dangerous and more trouble than he’s worth. His interests are purely self-serving and if Arthur does not get the help he needs, he will have more than his reputation to worry about. His very life depends on it.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur opens the gate and follows the path to the front door.

A servant answers after several knocks. A young woman, one he’s never seen before. Then again, it’s been ages since he’s stepped foot in this house. She welcomes him in with a bow and offers him a place in the parlor where he can warm by the fire.

“Whom shall I say has called when I speak to the master?” she asks in a soft voice.

“Tell him Arthur is here to see him.”

She nods and hurries off to do as she’s told. Arthur takes off his hat as he stands before the fireplace, the heat of the flames trying to chase the chill away. It’s failing miserably because the chill Arthur is feeling has nothing to do with the winter night. He stares at the clock on the mantle, studying his reflection on its perfectly polished surface. He looks tired, his hair and clothes not as crisp or clean as he’s accustomed to. There are dark circles under his red eyes. He had stopped crying hours ago but it hasn’t yet faded. To him, he looks every bit the desperate scared man he is.

Footsteps sound on the main stairs.

Arthur’s heart races in time with them, listening as they draw closer, his breathing increasing with each second that passes.

“Well, well, well, as I live and breathe.”

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for the onslaught of emotions as he turns around to face you.

He’s not prepared. He thought he would be, but the moment he lays his eyes on you everything else melts away leaving you the only thing in focus. The state of your clothing suggests he interrupted your evening routine, as he knew he would. A simple white shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves loose around your crossed arms. Complimented by finely tailored trousers and shiny black boots.

“I apologize for the late hour,” Arthur says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Unfortunately, I could not wait until morning.”

“You’re always welcome here, Arthur. I believe I made that clear once upon a time.”

Yes. Yes, you did. Arthur remembers it vividly despite his best efforts. He finds himself fiddling with the hat in his hands. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You regard him with a carefully schooled expression. He knows you’re taking him in, seeing the same things he scrutinized in his own reflection.

“Come,” you say, motioning for him to follow. “Leave your hat and such here. The maid will take care of it. You look like you could use a hot meal and a large drink.”

You’re not wrong.

Hands shaking, Arthur leaves his hat, coat, and walking stick on a nearby chair before following you out of the parlor. He knows where you’re leading him. He remembers running through these halls when you two were boys, hiding out and listening to your fathers talk business.

Pass the main dining room, down the small hallway to the left, and into your favorite room in the house, the sitting room. Your father made it yours when you grew into adolescence and Arthur remembers the lengthy chats the two of you shared in those comfortable winged-back chairs. Someone, no doubt the maid from earlier, had already brought the fire back to blazing and a silver tray sits on the table between the chairs.

Grateful for the warmth, Arthur takes the one on the right out of habit. It’s so ingrained from his younger years that he doesn’t even think about it. Although, when he means to lean back, he is stopped by pain and must remain sitting up straight.

You close the door behind you. He feels you watching him, feels the intensity of your gaze on the back of his head. When you cross the room and take the chair to Arthur’s left, your expression has changed. As it always did when you were alone.

Arthur envies you for that as much as he hates you for it. It’s a skill he has yet to master and yet you make it effortless. You make a lot of things effortless.

On the tray are two meat pies still warm but by no means fresh from the oven. Along with fruits and cheeses, and a steaming pot of tea which you pick up. You pour him some first.

“Tea isn’t exactly the drink I was hoping for,” Arthur says.

“But it’s what you need. You look chilled to the bone. Is the fire warm enough?”

It’d be easier if you weren’t so nice to him. Arthur almost prefers the opposite, when your personalities clash and that underlying rivalry bred into you by your fathers and their business comes to the surface. It makes what he has to say even harder.

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur says.

You hand him the tea and when he reaches for the cup, your fingers brush.

And linger.

But then you’re pouring your tea and he thinks he may have imagined it.

“Why are you here, Arthur?” you ask. “We haven’t spoken in years. Not at length at least. Not since that day.”

Yes. That day.

Arthur reminds himself of his purpose and does not dwell on the memories. “I am afraid I find myself in trouble,” he says. He’s holding his tea but has yet been able to take a sip. “And I can’t find my way out.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“The dangerous kind.”

You study him over the rim of your cup. After a thoughtful sip, you put it down. Leaning forward, you rest your elbows on your knees and give him your full attention.

“Start at the beginning,” you say.

Arthur does. He tells you everything. About the will, his meager inheritance. His plan to manipulate his sister into signing things over to him. How he enlisted the help of Meriwether Compeyson, and how he’s been blackmailing Arthur to serve his own means demanding money that he does not have.

He does not mention the beating. It is hard enough being so open, he cannot bear the thought of revealing the physical pain his adversary inflicted on him.

By the time he’s done, you haven’t said a word. However, you do pinch the bridge of your nose and hang your head. “Bloody hell, Arthur. What were you thinking?”

“Things are out of hand. It was not supposed to be this way.”

“That is an understatement. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”

Arthur is hanging on by the thinnest of threads and his anger flares at your words. “I don’t need a lecture, I didn’t come here for that.”

“Then why did you come here?” you ask, your voice tinged with agitation. “Why did you come to me of all people? You could have spoken to Amelia, let her know what this Compeyson is planning. But you didn’t. You came, to me.”

Arthur puts his untouched tea down. Doubt seeps into him like the icy winds outside. “This was a mistake,” he says. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem. I should not have brought it to you. I thought—”

“What, Arthur? What did you think?”

Arthur can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. Doesn’t want to because he already knows what he’s going to see in them. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your evening. I will take my leave.”

He stands, fully intending to flee back into the cold streets, to flee your warmth, to flee the intensity of your gaze that always seems to burn into his very soul.

A hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. He turns to look at you. You’re standing now, so swift he didn’t even hear you move. “I want to help you, Arthur. I just need to know why.”

Arthur swallows thickly. It’s so difficult when you’re this close. When you’re touching. He pulls his arm from your grasp.

“Because despite the fact that you know my secret, I know yours too,” he says, trying to pull himself together.

You look amused. “Planning to blackmail me as well then?”

“If it comes to it. You’re a confirmed bachelor. You’ve never taken a wife. People talk.”

“I see, so you think planting rumors will do the trick? I’m a powerful man, Arthur. My connections run deep. Ever since my father died, my word is law with my shareholders and it will take a lot to convince them I am anything other than an upstanding member of society.”

Arthur’s temper flares once more, that fire of shame fueled by the inferiority he faces first with his sister, then with Compeyson, and now with you. “How upstanding would they think you to be if they hear you were caught on your knees for another man?” he asks, stepping forward in his anger.

You meet his outburst with a smirk, leaning in even closer, sharing his space. “And whose cock was I sucking, Arthur?”

And there it is. The truth. The dirty awful truth that sent Arthur into a spiral of self-loathing and immense shame. His cheeks flush red and he purses his lips, lacking a response for the mere fact that he has none.

You know you have him. He knows you have him.

Taking a moment, you step away and cross the room to your desk. It startles Arthur to realize you still work from this room, even though your father’s study is yours now by right. You open the drawer and pull out a thick stack of papers. Arthur is rooted to his spot, unable to do anything but watch you.

“Do you know what these are?” you ask, holding them up so he can see yet not turning to face him.

“No.”

“They are your letters. Every letter you ever sent me. Even the ones from childhood, when I was shipped off to boarding school and we were separated. Haven’t gotten any in a few years but they’re all here.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat. His breath catches in his throat and he finds himself dizzy. “All of them?” he asks in a soft voice.

“All of them. Every single one.”

“Why did you keep them?”

That’s when you turn to look at him. “Why do you think?”

Arthur has no response. He wishes he did. He wishes he knew what to say. Deep down, he knows why he’s here. Why he came to you even as he tells you otherwise. You stand there staring, waiting for him to say what he cannot.

After a moment, you sigh and put the papers back. “How much do you owe Scrooge?”

“Fifty.”

You grab something from your desk before crossing the room toward Arthur. You hold out a bundle of money, far more than fifty. “Take it, it’s yours. Pay off the debt and keep your share of the brewery. It was foolish to put it up anyway.”

Arthur doesn’t allow himself to feel relief just yet. “What will this cost me?”

You sigh and grab his wrist again, this time it’s to put the money in his hand. “Despite what you may think, not everyone in this city is out to get you. Pay off your debt and go back home.”

“I don’t have a home to go back to,” Arthur says hotly. “He left everything, everything to Amelia. All I was left with was a lousy ten percent and told to figure it out. And it’s all because of you.”

You snort with amusement, sitting in your chair. “Tell yourself what you want, Arthur, but I never forced you to do anything you didn’t want. I didn’t force myself on you. And, as I recall, you kissed me first.”

That…is true. Arthur can deny it to himself all he’d like, but this is you he’s dealing with. You who knows him, the real him, better than anyone else. You who have always been there when he needed you.

And you’re here even now when Arthur abandoned your friendship.

“I’m not ashamed of who I am, Arthur,” you say. “Never have been. As furious as my father was, I didn’t backtrack. You may have been able to pin it all on me and that suited your father all well and good, but me? I told my father how I felt. And when he died, I was ready. Fully ready to be penniless. And yet…” You wave a hand to indicate the house around you.

“I’m glad to know your father loved you no matter what,” Arthur says with bitterness in his voice. “While I have been paying for who I am every single day of my life. Suffering, alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone!” you snap, getting to your feet again. “For god’s sake, Arthur! I’m here! I’ve always been here! You were the one who ran away and you were the one who ended our friendship. And I’m sorry that your father couldn’t accept you. But I will not apologize for mine.”

Tears threaten to fall. No matter what he does, Arthur can’t stop them. He turns away so you won’t see. You don’t let him. You slip your hand into his curls and pull him against your chest in a hug.

Despite himself, Arthur melts into the embrace. It’s been long, far too long. He’s forgotten how this feels, how wonderful it is to have your solid frame against his, to feel your hand in his hair and your arm around his waist. He cries, lets the tears go as strangled sobs break through his pursed lips. He does not know how long he stands there crying into your shoulder. But it’s long enough for the tears to eventually fade. He’s too tired, too drained to shed anymore.

Arthur closes his eyes and savors the moment. He doesn’t try to pull away or push you because he can’t bring himself to do either.

Your heat and scent envelop him, triggering memories of years ago when the playful innocence of youth turned into something else, something more.

He was the one to kiss you first, a chaste peck on the cheek in the heat of the moment. Then you looked at him and the next thing he knew, he was covering your mouth with his, yanking you in close and throwing caution into the wind. It never occurred to him in the moment that it was meant to be wrong, that he should not have those feelings. How could it be when you kissed him back with equal passion?

No kiss with anyone else matched it before or has matched it since.

You draw back from the hug, wiping the tears from his cheeks before pushing his curls back from his face. You’re staring at his lips and he aches to close the distance, to give in to the desires he buried deep down long ago.

But he can’t.

He breaks the embrace, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the money still in his hands. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll repay you as soon as I am able.”

“You don’t have to.” You shove your hands into your pockets. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“It is late. I should leave. I’ve taken enough of your time as is.”

“If you insist. I’ll show you to the door.”

In silence, you walk back down the hall. Hearing your footsteps, the maid rushes ahead to gather Arthur’s things.

“Thank you, Marina. I will see Arthur out myself. You may retire for the evening,” you tell her.

She nods and leaves. You take Arthur’s coat and hold it out for him to easily slip on. When he does, it puts pressure on his cuts and he lets out an involuntary hiss. He can sense your concern but ignores it. While he puts on his hat, you open the front door to reveal the beginnings of a snowstorm. Arthur busies himself with the gloves in his pocket, trying to appear as though he’s putting them on when really he’s stalling. He can’t bring himself to leave yet, doesn’t want to leave your warmth so quickly.

“You be careful out there,” you say, motioning to the weather. “Lord knows we’re due for another blizzard. Are you sure you’re okay to walk? What about this Compeyson fellow?”

“I am sure he’s thoroughly distracted at the moment. I will be just fine.” He hopes.

You study Arthur for a moment. “Do you remember when we were young and would sneak out of the house to avoid our studies?” you ask with a smile.

Arthur smiles back, recalling the memories with fondness. “We’d use the old servant’s entrance in the gardens. Until your father boarded it up.”

“There are many advantages of being master of the house now,” you say, leaning on the door. “For one thing, I can undo things my father did. And, since none of the servants who serve me ever served my father, they are completely oblivious to such facts.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat. Your tone is casual, however, your words are anything but.

“If someone knew where to look, should they be inclined, they’d be able to sneak in without anyone being the wiser. Food for thought, Arthur. Have a good night.”

He's left on the doorstep without another word.

He has the money, can repay Scrooge, and figure out everything with Compeyson in the morning. Maybe with what’s leftover he can buy himself a few days reprieve from the scoundrel.

Arthur slowly exhales and turns to face the cold winter’s night once more. He gets to the front gate, opens it. And yet, he can’t help but look back at the house, the place where he discovered himself in ways he never imagined. The heat of your hug is lingering and before he realizes what he’s doing, Arthur closes the gate once more.

He leaves tracks in the freshly fallen snow as he follows the all-too-familiar path around back to the gardens. Your thoughts on the weather were accurate. Arthur is in the midst of a full blizzard now and he knows his footprints will be gone in moments.

Where the old entrance once stood is now a wall of ivy, dead and snow-covered. Arthur pushes it aside, his eyes falling on the simple wooden door. He tries the handle and it yields to him.

Arthur pauses, weighing the consequences of what he’s about to do before he steps through.

The hall is dark and cold. He listens for the sounds of movement but finds none. Arthur knocks the snow from his boots before ascending the old wooden staircase. It doesn’t creak as he’d expect it to, like it used to. The boards must have recently been nailed down to prevent such noise.

A single door stands at the top of the stairs and Arthur walks through it. There is resistance at first, which he eventually realizes is because the door is hidden behind a thick tapestry. He finds himself in the familiar hallway that hasn’t changed since his last visit. He doubts it has changed much in generations.

At first, he makes for your room until he remembers you’re not there. Why would you be? You’re the master of the house.

Up the main staircase, quiet as he can be, Arthur ascends to the top floor where the master’s suite is. Like the rest of the house, its dark say for the light on under the door. His heart is racing, has been since you hugged him and now it’s threatening to escape his chest. Anticipation and apprehension are fighting for dominance.

Arthur takes a moment, collects himself, then turns the handle. It is not locked.

This is a room he’s never been in before. He steps into an entrance chamber, draped in tapestries and fine art. The first thing he notices are the shoes you were wearing sitting by the door. Taking your lead, Arthur removes his wet boots. He leans his walking stick against the wall. His hat, gloves, and coat find purchase on the floor as he sheds his outer layer before making for the main bedchamber.

Your back is to him this time. Your bare back.

You’re standing in front of the fireplace, your hand resting on the mantle. All you are wearing are your trousers. Arthur studies you, allows himself to admire and appreciate the image before him. You’re no longer the young man he used to know so well. Then again, neither is he.

When he starts to walk toward you, you turn to look at him.

Your steps match his and the two of you meet in the middle of the room in a desperate kiss.

Your hands cradle his face, your mouth hungrily seeking his. And Arthur lets you, wants you to, can’t help but finally give in to what his body has been craving ever since you were caught that fateful day.

He wraps an arm around your waist and clutches you close. His hand comes up to lay over yours, making sure you don’t stop cradling his face because now that you’re touching him, he needs more.

Arthur’s legs hitting the bed takes him by surprise. He didn’t even feel you push him. Or did he pull you? It may have been a combination.

Your hands reach for his trousers.

He can’t help but moan, mouth still furiously attacking yours in a frenzy of teeth and tongues. His hands freely roam your back, marveling at the soft skin, wishing he hadn’t run away. How could he think he’d be able to live without you? Without the way your mouth nipped at his, or how your quick hands open his trousers with deft fingers.

You draw back, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide with desire. “Is this what you want, Arthur?” you ask in a low voice, your nose brushing his. “Once this happens, truly happens, you can’t take it back.”

“I don’t want to take it back.”

“Are you sure? There will be no hard feelings if you do.”

Arthur cups the back of your neck and tugs you down into a kiss. He wants this. He wants you. Has wanted you for as long as he can remember. There’s been a dark hole in his heart the last few years, ever since he pushed you away and he doesn’t want it anymore.

It’s your turn to moan, your turn to melt against him.

The solid weight of you is thrilling. Arthur can’t stop touching you, his hands exploring your chest while your mouths hungrily seek each other’s.

His trousers are open and now that you have his permission, you slip your hand into them, wrapping around his cock.

Arthur moans, a deep satisfied sound that resonates through his whole body. It’s been too long since you’ve touched him, far too long. His body comes alive, back arching in an attempt to bring himself as close to you as possible. Your free hand tugs down the collar of his shirt, exposing his smooth pale neck to your eager lips.

How can this be wrong? How can the world tell him that your love isn’t real? It’s real to him. You’re more real than anything Arthur has ever known. Your hand starts to pump his cock with sure strokes. You remember what he likes, remember how to squeeze and rub just the right way, the way that makes Arthur a trembling needy mess.

He's wearing far too many layers.

You must have the same thought because you yank his shirt free from his open trousers and slide your hands under the thick material. Arthur suddenly remembers the marks on his back a second too late. Your hand finds one and he yanks away with a hiss of pain.

Your eyes are wide. “Arthur,” you say in a low, careful voice. “What happened?”

The shame is back but for an entirely different reason. Carefully, Arthur pulls his shirt off, eyes trained on the ground and rimmed with unshed tears. He closes them when you gently turn him around.

He hears the sharp inhale when you lay your eyes on the cuts. The next thing he knows, he’s roughly turned back to face you. “Who did this to you?! Was it him? Was it Compeyson?”

Swallowing thickly, Arthur nods. You take his face in your hands, tilt it up so he’s looking at you. Arthur lays his hands around your wrists when he meets your eye.

“He will pay for this,” you say, your tone one he is unfamiliar with but sends a shudder down his spine. “He will never lay a hand on you again so long as I am still breathing. Did he hurt you elsewhere?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I swear it.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“I’m far too distracted to feel it at the moment.”

Bare chest to bare chest, Arthur pulls you into another kiss. Teeth nip at your bottom lip before his tongue fills your mouth. He sits on the bed, bringing you with him as he lays down. Your sheets are soft and cool to the touch, easing the aches of his sore back.

With a moan of pleasure, you return the kiss. Arthur takes your hand and slides it into his trousers. You start to stroke him again and heat starts to lick through his belly, hotter than the best drink money can buy. The constriction of his trousers makes it difficult for you to stroke him properly. He hastily shoves them down his hips, freeing himself in the process.

Your lips leave his as you make a trail down his chest. You mark red spots upon pale skin as you do, claiming Arthur as yours. Because he is yours. He’s always been yours. He may have denied it but he’s never forgotten it.

You place an open-mouthed kiss on Arthur’s hip bone. With both hands, you peel the trousers off, sliding into the floor as you do.

“Now, what was that you said about being on my knees for another man?” you tease.

Arthur pushes himself onto his elbows, a stray curl falling into his eyes. He’s too focused on you to notice. “I don’t remember,” he says with a small grin. “It was a long time ago. I must have forgotten.”

“Allow me to refresh your memory.”

You drag your tongue along his weeping length and Arthur’s eyes flutter, threatening to close. He forces them open, forces him to watch you take his swollen tip between your lips. The sudden wet heat is overwhelming and Arthur’s head falls back with a moan.

You’ve always had a wicked tongue. When you were lads, your sharp words and quick wit constantly caused trouble. It wasn’t until you both were older that Arthur fully appreciated it.

Now he appreciates it more than ever.

Falling onto his back, Arthur’s eyes flutter closed and he surrenders to the sensation. Feeling your mouth slide down his cock, deliberately slow, his breathing speeds up. By the time you have all of him, he’s audibly panting. You draw back, almost letting him fall completely out of your mouth before taking him again.

You repeat the motion, one hand holding him at the base. Working him in and out of your mouth, you start a steady rhythm, your hand soon following the same path. Arthur is beside himself, gasping and squirming in the bed, unable to do anything but lay there and feel. When he dares to look down at you, that unbelievable heat courses through his veins at the visual of your lips stretched wide around his length.

It's too good. It’s too much. It’s been far too long and Arthur is not going to last. Already he senses the overstimulation, feels how his hips are trying to meet your mouth, but are unable with you pinning him in place.

He says your name, whispers it before reaching down to grip your head.

To his dismay and relief, you stop, letting him slide out completely before dropping harsh kisses to his thighs.

You smirk up at him. “I’ve forgotten how beautiful you look like this.”

Arthur’s forehead is dotted with sweat already and he needs to run his hand through his hair to push the curls away. “Come here,” he pants, forcing himself to sit up.

You stand, your hands busying with the strings holding your trousers closed. Arthur reaches out and makes quick work of them, desperate to see you. To feel you. His mouth waters and when your trousers fall to pool around your ankles, Arthur immediately slides your cock between his lips.

“Fucking hell,” you swear, digging your fingers into his curly locks. “Always so…ambitious.”

Arthur’s eyes flutter closed as he bobs his head up and down, taking more and more of you each time he does. He’s out of practice, sloppy in his over-eagerness yet determined to make it as good for you as it was for him.

You’re hard against his tongue. He can feel the way you twitch, taste the beads of precum before they slide down his throat. He’s a man on a mission, a man possessed by lust. And by you.

Lord help him, he wants to be possessed by you.

When he draws back, he lets you slip out of his mouth, his chin pressed into your stomach as he looks up at you.

Your thumb traces his full bottom lip and he sucks it for a moment before saying in a breathless voice, “Take me.”

With a guttural moan, you bend down to kiss him, sharing his taste while he shares yours. Both of you move at the same time. Arthur crawls backward up the bed while you step out of your trousers and join him, laying your body over his.

He can feel your cock along his. And then you shift, and you’re ever so slightly grinding against his arse and he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to handle more. If he even can handle more.

For everything that’s been familiar, this would be new. You two never got this far before. Though judging by the way you move, how you reach for your nightstand to withdraw a small bottle, Arthur suspects it may not be as new for you as it is for him.

There’s a moment, a twinge of jealousy he cannot contain. He pushes it away. Won’t let it mar this perfect moment. After all, he was the one to walk away. He cannot fault you for finding comfort in someone else.

When you draw back, your eyes are shining with love, and Arthur can’t help but smile, his hand stroking your cheek.

One more kiss is placed on Arthur’s lips before you sit back on your heels. “Spread your legs, love,” you tell him, your voice rough with desire.

Arthur does it instantly, letting you see all of him. You groan, eyes taking him in before meeting his.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life. And my heart.”

The bottle is opened and you pour some of the contents into your hand before placing the glass vial back on the nightstand. Arthur finds his mouth occupied once more with yours as you kiss him. He feels your hand slip between his legs and a warm, wet substance is gently rubbed across his tight pucker.

Arthur freezes for a moment, but your kisses relax him. You make slow, gentle circles with the tip of your finger, spreading the lubricant before pressing ever so slightly against the tight ring of muscle. Arthur’s breathing hitches at the first bit of resistance. However, when he calms again, your finger presses harder until it begins to slide in.

After that, Arthur is unable to stay still. His mouth attacks yours, desire building as you carefully work him loose, first with one finger. His hips move on their own, rising and falling, trying to assist you while also seeking relief. Another finger is added once Arthur is positively grinding against your hand. It’s not enough. He can’t stand to wait any longer.

Drawing back from the kiss he looks up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. “I need more.”

“I’m working on it. So bloody impatient.”

Arthur kisses you harshly, his teeth briefly tugging on your bottom lip when he pulls away. “Now!”

“Fucking hell I missed you.”

You sit back once more to grab the bottle. Arthur takes it from you, pouring the substance into his hand this time before working it up and down your cock. Your hardness is exhilarating. Just the thought that you’ll be inside him soon is enough to make his own cock weep again.

You grab Arthur’s legs and when he sits back, you push them up against his chest, hands gliding down his thighs. Arthur watches you line yourself up, the head of your cock glistening in the firelight.

Then, you carefully press into him.

Arthur doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until you stroke his hair back from his face. “Just relax, love. Breathe and relax “

Following your instructions, Arthur lets out a shaky breath which turns into a moan as he feels you slide deeper into his body. He has to open his eyes, has to watch your face come closer as you push yourself into his ready and willing body.

He feels the brush of rough hair against his arse and with a loud gasp he realizes you’re now inside him. He’s full of you, finally yours after all these years. What a waste. He could have had you ages ago. Your jaw is clenched and he realizes how much restraint it must be taking for you not to move, to wait until he's accustomed to you.

Arthur is done waiting.

Wrapping his legs around you, he grabs your face and yanks you into a kiss. Your hips draw back slowly before thrusting into his heat and Arthur sees stars.

You take him, first with gentle thrusts but quickly turning into something else. Something more carnal and urgent. He knows you, knows you have fantasied about this as much as he has. Did you think of him? When you were with another or alone with your own hand, was Arthur’s face the one you pictured?

He doesn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Arthur relishes the fullness, groans and calls out your name, forgetting and not caring who may hear. Because there’s no one around to hear. No one to catch you or interrupt. The servants are floors away, blissfully unaware that their master is buggering Arthur Havisham into his mattress.

The secret, forbidden nature of your coupling makes Arthur’s heart race even more. How can love be forbidden? If there is a God, why would He put you in Arthur’s life if the two of you were meant to be apart?

Something inside Arthur snaps and he knows he will never be able to bury these feelings again. He does not want to. He is going to do everything he can to be the man you deserve, the man you know he can be. And at night, when the two of you are alone and away from prying eyes, he’ll have you and you’ll have him.

The thought of it turns him on, makes him want you to take him as hard as you can, make him see stars for hours.

Though, he doesn’t think either of you will last that long.

He can tell when you’re close, remembers the signs well enough though he’s never experienced them from this angle before.

“Arthur,” you pant against his lips. “Arthur, love, I cannot hold back much longer.”

“Come for me,” he begs, blunt nails digging into your sweaty shoulder blades. “I need to feel it this time.”

A moment later, you do. You come inside him, your hand slipping between your bodies to wrap around his hot length. It only takes a jerk or two for Arthur to come as well, coating both your torsos in pearly strips of white. He keeps coming, more than he’s ever had before, vaguely aware it’s been a long time. Longer than he cares to admit.

Your thrusts become sloppy and then slow until you eventually stop.

Arthur’s body is humming and he can’t help the noise of disappointment when you slip out of him and collapse onto your back by his side.

Trying to catch your breath, you lay next to each other, chests heaving. Arthur feels wonderful and uncomfortable at the same time. His wounds are starting to ache and his cooling release is becoming sticky.

You give him a quick kiss. “Wait here, love.”

Arthur smiles at the term of endearment, liking it more and more each time you say it. He watches you cross the room naked to a basin in the corner, where you dip a cloth in water. You bring it back to bed and gently clean him off, first his stomach then between his legs, placing feather-light kisses wherever you can.

Arthur chuckles as you do. “That tickles.”

“Stop being so tasty then.”

You draw back and clean yourself, before tossing the rag aside and climbing back into bed.

Arthur turns to his side so you’re facing each other, his legs twining with yours. He’s more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life. Though sleep threatens to take him, he fights it, wanting to remain awake in your embrace for as long as possible.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” you say, stroking his cheek. “Right here with me. In the morning I’ll mess up the guest room bed and tell the maids you came back when the storm was too dangerous.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” You kiss him tenderly and he smiles, kissing you back. “As for this Mr. Compeyson, don’t you worry about him.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything. See, unlike him, I don’t have to resort to violence to get what I want, not that I would not love beating the man within an inch of his life. When you’re rich, you can pay people to do that for you. I daresay, if he’s not careful, he may find himself the victim of an unfortunate accident. This city is a dangerous place after all.”

Arthur feels relief. Still smiling, he runs his fingers up and down your arm that’s draped over his waist. “Would be a shame if he met a most unfortunate end.”

“Tragic. Absolutely tragic. There’s only one thing you need to do for me.”

“Name it.”

“Make amends with your sister.” As he narrows his eyes you place a finger on his lips. “Hush, don’t say anything, just listen. First off, this isn’t her fault. Second, patience is a virtue, Mr. Havisham. The best way to get what you want isn’t to stomp and yell. It’s to play along, bide your time.”

Arthur raises his eyebrow, kissing your finger before kissing your palm and then your wrist. “I know that tone,” he says, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. “You have an idea.”

“To join our family fortunes and became the most powerful families in London? To plot and scheme for a way to keep you by my side for the rest of our lives? How positively absurd.”

Grinning now, Arthur pushes you onto your back, draping his body over yours. “I think we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“I believe we already have, my love.”

[chocoenvy]

heyo, it’s me pretty anon. (i like it better than bully anon too :))

i think i fucked up

so, i’ll keep this simple since i need to go to bed cause it’s like 4:30am and i get up at 8 lmao.

since the cruise my dad and step-mom decided to physically split as well. my dad is signing for a divorced in the next couple of days. my step-mom is in a completely different state rn with her youngest daughter and mother. my mom mom doesn’t know about the divorced and honestly i think no one’s told her since we don’t wanna hear it.

so um, i haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to anyone about this stuff since i live in a small town and everyone knows everyone yknow? so firstly, thank you for letting me vent. it’s nice to talk to someone the same age anonymously. you give good advice.

anyway, all of this has kinda been building up on me, which is super weird cause i thought i wouldn’t care. i’m a senior in high school rn so it’s not like i can’t go visit her once i graduate. and my dad and step mom are both encouraging me to keep up a relationship with her. she wasn’t really around much and when she was it was only ever good one on one since with my dad it would be borderline abusive. (or maybe actually abusive, i’m not really sure i know how to identify it. it just seems normal to me)

my dad also asked me if i had contacted my step mom like a couple days after she left. i’d been wanting to but i had no idea what to say to her. so i didn’t. he said to me, and i don’t think i’ll ever forget this, “oh. i thought you loved her.” in the most casual tone. my heart is broken. i got really upset with him and he literally could not comprehend why. i’m starting to second guess myself if i loved her or not. i know for a fact that i did, but does she know it?

so yknow the new ios 16 update? weird change of pace i know but i swear it’s important. well i just decided like an hour ago to get it and i fucking hate it. fun fact, if you have spotify on and your phone turns off then they change YOUR LOCKSCREEN to match the spotify song. wtf. well i started off hating it cause i had to scroll through over 2,000 photos just to find the exact same ones i was currently using (it’s venti and xiao btw) and i started hyperventilating.

well i was doing my daydreams when i realized the spotify thing. and i completely stopped. i had a full blown panic attack for at least 45 minutes. i was hyperventilating so hard i honestly thought i was going to passed out. i later down so i at least wouldn’t fall and everything.

i think i panicked because of all the penh up emotions that i have going on rn.

after i finally calmed down, i went over to plug in my chrome book for school. and then i remembered i had an eyebrow razor in my backpack…

i think you know what i meant when i said i fucked up.

it was only four cuts. not deep enough to draw blood except for one, all tiny on my thigh where no one can see them. i can’t believe i did it though. and the worst part, the absolute worst part is, the relief i felt? it’s like i actually have control.

i know you said the ice cube method. i’ve actually told other freinds going through a hard time about it too. but at the moment, i just wasn’t thinking straight.

im scared im gonna do it again. any ideas on what i should do? lol

with love, pretty anon

HELLO PRETTY <33 I'm so sososososo sorry for answering this so late but!

tw: self harm, relapses, sensitive topics

It's completely valid and I cannot fault you for relapsing it is a very normal part of healing. So long as you get back up, everything will be okay I promise.

But! I remembered an app that I had come across some years ago. I forgot the name and when I tried to look it up i found calm harm.

The app I thought of describes self harm as a wave. The want to harm yourself flows in and then out. It comes and goes. The trick is to distract yourself before the feeling takes over your actions. Calm Harm definitely helps with it from what I've seen. I've never tried these apps though. There are also counters that count how long you've gone without cutting if that kind of thing helps.

Would definitely recommend! As well as watching videos or creating a playlist full of videos/songs that make you happy! Find something that makes you happy and hold onto it for when you need it! I can completely understand not being in the right state of mind and forgetting it which is why you should have it on your phone so you can access it before you can access something else. It also helps if you're ever in public - or even in private - and need to calm down.

Gather resources to prepare for these down times. It'll help!

I understand that self harm can feel good, god trust me I know, but it's not worth it. There are other things that can make you feel better than self harm can. And I can't speak for you but after I self harm I just feel so much shame?? And fear?? Mostly because I don't want someone to find them but I just feel ashamed.

I can't explain it and I really don't have much room to talk because I'm still stuck in self harm. But if it means anything, I would be very proud to see you heal from this <3

I'm glad you can talk about this anonymously but if you ever need to talk to me one on one my dms are always open <3

Take care! And I'm sorry for answering so late, I hope you're okay <33

[blvcktheblog]

What's so special about it, I can also do it!

The typical response to digital marketers and their work.

So, as a marketer, you're trying to establish and build a business's brand identity and presence not only digitally but physically, esthetically. Hours spent on designing the perfect digital/Print Ad that will draw the attention of the desired demographic. Hours spent on ensuring business pages remain consistent, Hours spent on figuring out what strategies to implement and what campaigns to run in order to get more page interactions. Hours spent on studying algorithmes.

Some strategies don't work, therefore alternatives need to be established. Sometimes, most of the time, there is no marketing budget, and you can only depend on organic reach, Hours spent, to only gain 1 to 10 new followers a week..

What's so special about it? I can also do it! To save more money, to stop using the service of a specialist, can you also spend between R10 000 & R12 000 a year on photoshop subscriptions? Can you also spend between R20 000 & R100 000 on a laptop that can handle the amount of pixels you work with in order to gaurentee a quality high resolution image, not to mention the designing of an ad from absolutely nothing but a blank canvas. Can you also memorize each and every social media platforms image measurement requirements and alter each ad to fit that requirement. Can you also spend between R50 & R500 on monthly stock photo subscriptions in order to avoid copyright enfringements? Can you also work from templates that require bleeds and have specific colour and format requirements. I'm sure you can depend on your free downloadable photo editing applications which restricts you ALOT, results in low resolution imaging that cannot be used for print, I'm sure you can use PowerPoint to put together random images and fonts for a digital ad. I'm also sure that that will bring down the consistency of your social media presence and the credibility of your business. I'm also sure the low quality digital ads will give potential customers the wrong impression of your product or service.

Moral of the story, if you're vision is to build credibility on the quality of your service or product, then rather trust in the marketer you hire, it costs money to make money, listen to their input, criticizing our work and the time we spend on ensuring that YOUR business looks as good as the product or service is, isn't the way to go, my business is independently owned and operated, I personally put in alot of effort into what I do, I learn about your business and your demographic daily WITH YOU, marketing is a trail and error kind of thing, until it's established what works, it may be different for every business. I am passionate and criticising my work, and telling me that I may charge too much(often too little or never at all), honestly hurts because I know what I put in every day, and I know the quality of my designs are of TOP quality.

If you believe you can do it, don't complain when business is slow, or clients demand discounts from you because your brand identity speaks, if you look cheap, you'll attract cheapskates.

[axesilly]

i cant afford therapy so im going to talk about my troubles on here because i dont know what else to do 👍 i dont know if this will reach anyone but it might make me feel better. sorry if its a bit lengthy, ive had these feelings for a while

for the sake of anonymity and my own safety i will not be mentioning any names of people, towns, or schools :]

so im in college, im an art major. im from a small town with nothing to do except go to a mall the next town over and im going to college in another small town 5 hours away from home. this small town also has jack shit to do unless you drive 45 minute to an hour away. im currently in my spring semester of my freshman year and i have gotten so absolutely mentally and physically drained since i got a fast food job. i got a job making pizzas at yknow one of those big chain corporations pizza places, and the store i work at has only been open a few months. its absolutely chaotic and no one knows how to do anything except a few select people. my boss, the general manager, also doesnt know how to do anything because its his first time doing something like this. one of the other managers also only works there because hes friends with the general manager and he is not the greatest person, as he tends to sexually harrass the staff including a friend i made there. now ive already put in my two weeks last saturday, but that doesnt take away from how drained this job has made me.

Since the spring semester started ive been constantly piled with work (one week i was scheduled 6 days in a row when i had a big project to work on, i had a breakdown at work to my general manager), writing assignments, and project after project. (not even kidding my drawing professor gives us a new project the same day we turn one in) in my senior year of high school i loved fine arts and i believed that i wanted to follow in my art teachers footsteps and pursue my love of art and make art for my career. and while i do still love fine arts and making art, i just cannot do this constantly. since just before my spring break i started not going to my classes as consistently and i swore to myself i would start going again after the break. well that break just made it worse it seems because everything has just gone more and more downhill. i have still been missing classes because some days its difficult to get out of bed and i do not have the motivation to go to class just to sit there and not be able to pay attention for an hour/hour and a half. im behind on a project for one of my classes because i havent gone since ive been back from spring break (two weeks). i have an exam for one of my classes soon and im not even close to prepared. i had a 3 page essay due last night i started but havent finished (luckily i can turn it in a little late). it may sound lazy but these are my real struggles with my mental health. i feel trapped here. i do have a license and a car, i do have transportation so i can go places, but its such an old car it has so many problems (one which has arisen recently being if i stop somewhere and turn my car off, it wont crank back up immediately and i have to wait 10-15 minutes, and once it is on i have to revv it to make sure it stays on). so because of car problems and currently living in a small town im frustrated because it feels like i cant go anywhere to do anything fun. i feel trapped in my dorm and in my mind.

now comes the college problem. the college i go to currently is a nice school, i get 8 meals a week on my meal plan included in my tuition. theres several places to choose from the eat at, theres a gym, free health exams i think. but its driving me insane seeing the same old brick buildings every damn day. i currently dont have a roommate so im in a dorm by myself which probably contributes to this feeling of lonliness. i dont really have many friends, i had more last semester but they did not keep in touch. i do have one friend that i appreciate very much and she always worries and wants to help when she sees im upset. shes a real one. but seeing the same things, learning about the same repetitive lessons every single day, has driven me insane. my art history class has been the same topics since the start of the semester, its all been about works of art pertaining to jesus, and mary, and god and the angel telling mary shes pregnant and marys purity and this symbolizing that and i understand why its important to learn about these works of art and how they have shaped art today, but i cannot stand hearing the same things over and over. im not a christian, and i dont believe theres anything wrong with christianity as long as youre not hurting anyone with your beliefs, but these topics are so repetitive ever class i have. the semesters almost over and we havent even gotten to modern art yet, and in my opinion thats what truly matters to learn about because thats what we as artists would need to look at to have a reference for how we should make our art right? art is about expressing yourself and we need to see how others making art in the modern era are expressing themselves as well. and on the topic of expressing ourselves, my drawing class, every single project, my professor has us stick to such strict criteria. one of my projects my professor actually really liked, i liked, but she took points off because i had my girlfriends name written very small where you could barely even see, because we were not supposed to have any text. i feel like i cannot even be creative and truly express myself with these projects. i dont feel like i have any real freedom with them. i love fine arts and i love making art, but not when its like this. i want to be able to make my own art that actually expresses my feelings, not someone elses criteria. because of all of this my grades have been rapidly dropping.

now i have already made the decision weeks ago that i will not be returning to this school in the next fall semester. i discussed this with my mom already as she does the majority of my paperwork and things for this stuff. she wants me to transfer to a college closer to home so i can atleast get a general studies degree. but thats not what i want to do either. she told me not to flunk my classes this semester because that will make it difficult to transfer me to another school, but how do you expect me to get good grades when i constantly feel like im in hell in my mind. i mentioned wanting to maybe take a gap year, she doesnt want me to do that. school is horrible for my mental health like this, i dont understand why society thinks we should just have everything we want to do with the rest of our life figured out immediately out of high school. well i dont. and i dont want to stay in college immediately out of high school. i want to go live my life! me and my girlfriend are long distance (we have met in person several times and shes actually coming to visit me this month, but just seeing each other for a week at a time is not enough) and i really want to go live with her! i want to enjoy living and living with the person i love more than life itself! i currently dont feel like i can do that here or back home. i want to move somewhere else with my girlfriend so we can both be happy and love life. i want to move out of state to a slightly bigger city, nothing crazy like new york or atlanta, but just somewhere bigger than a small town with nothing to do whatsoever. i do have a place in mind but im not going to say where. and when i move, after a year i can qualify for in state tuition and pursue something that makes me happier. ive always loved animals and marine animals so i was thinking i could major in zoology and marine biology and work at an aquarium or something while im working on my degree. and i dont fully know how the paperwork and things work for transferring and such, especially after a break, so i could be in the wrong, but is it really wrong for wanting the best for myself?

and to be honest with myself i know exactly why im in college and its not to get a degree. i was raised constantly being compared to my siblings. my brother is trans (which my parents are very obviously not too fond of) dropped out of college and joined the military. my sister dropped out of college after a semester, got married to a horrible man who she just recently divorced after having two children with him. and being compared to them all my life, especially to my brother, made me want to be better than them. i wanted to be the one, as the youngest, to be the first one to get through college immediately, all four years, no problem. but its just too much for me. and dropping out, moving away, im terrified. im terrified that my parents will be disappointed in me. im terrified of that face my mother makes, that tone of voice, when shes disappointed in me for something. im terrified of getting lectured and told why everything i want is wrong. its irrational. and im terified if i move away i wont have her support anymore. i wont have her to lean on when i need help with something. i was never taught where to go or how to do stuff for applying to colleges and transferring. i barely know how to do my taxes.

now i really dont know what this article-like rant of a tumblr post is gonna do. i know i dont really have a following and i dont really post on here. but i just thought itd make me feel better to collect my thoughts and put them all together like this. so far the only people concerned about me have been my girlfriend and a couple of my friends ive told about these problems. not even my professors are concerned about me, i havent even gotten a single email or question about how im doing. they say theyre all for mental health but when a student stops coming to class as often suddenly and starts failing or not turning in assignments its none of their business and i must just be getting lazy and im a horrible student yknow? anyways i think thats about it for this. again i dont really know what this will do but i hope someone has advice or support or something. im going insane here.

love to anyone else suffering similar struggles <3

[joesanimationblog]

Reflection and Evaluation of Learning 3

I dedicated an hour 3 days a week to drawing practice and this was really helpful for this project, While most of my drawings weren't very good the goal was not to produce great art but rather to practice my mechanical skills so they would transfer over when I started to animate my film.

I broke down my hour into different smaller sections dedicated to specific tasks. Using animation books as a guide for my practice and trying to apply the knowledge from books like Drawn to Life, The Animators Survival Kit and Cartoon Animation.

First I loosened up by drawing whatever the state of my desk was that day, I found this was helpful for honing my eye as with animation I have been in a bit of a slump through only drawing things from my head. I would draw my desk once and give myself about 5-10 minutes to do this.

I would then spend 20 minutes drawing faces of my characters in different poses and another 20 minutes drawing the characters bodies in different action poses, this was the most helpful thing I practiced and eventually my practice became entirely this section.

After this I spent about 20 minutes on google earth going around Brighton and drawing out the perspective and lines of the buildings, I tried to vary this practice based on the different type of shots I would encounter while working on my films, I found this helpful but as I'm not a background artist (nor do I plan to become one) this section of my practice routine was least useful. As a result my time spent working on backgrounds lessened in favour of drawing characters.

I would then give myself about 10 minutes to reflect and note down any ideas which might be helpful next time practiced, many of these were from the books I used to further my understanding of the problems i faced while drawing or the traps id fall into which led to a lack efficiency. I would look at these notes at the start of my next drawing practice. Some of the main ideas which I noted down are written below.

Consistency of characters - Before drawing characters check their proportions and design logic, this makes everything fit together.

Simplify Forms When They are Far Away - less detail makes work faster and doesn't always make a difference to the viewer

Emotions are Bigger in 2D - try and push the pose as far as possible. extremes make communication stronger but make sure your extremes fit the characters personality or visual style.#

Squash and Stretch - of course this is a key part of animation but something which I noted down is to be wary of the physics of the characters body parts. Some parts of the body are hard and some are soft, hard parts squash and stretch much less than soft parts.

Balance - poses, faces and character designs all rely on balance or imbalance, proportions and movement are tied together.

Don't focus on useless things, some things are out of reach but don't let that stop you from doing what you can elsewhere.

Its really unfortunate that I am unable to share these drawings as I don't have any means to photograph them as my phone broke while uploading my blog. I will try to include them somewhere if I manage to source a camera but my drawings were mainly done in thick posca pens and mechanical pencils so I cannot attach digital copies sadly.

References

Blair, P. (2020) Cartoon animation. Mission Viejo, CA: Walter Foster.

Stanchfield, W. and Hahn, D. (2013) Drawn to life. New York, NY u.a: Focal.

Williams, R. (2012) The animator’s survival kit. London: Faber and Faber.

[thecuriouskit]

Exile

I need to come clean with everybody as to my current relationship with my immediate family.  I have disowned and exiled myself from my parents.

Okay, to begin... My sister is understandably wary of me because of some inexcusable things I did to her while we were children and the fact we don't really have that many common interests.  She is loyal to my parents too and has been used as a go-between by my parents before.  Unfortunately actually trying to build a relationship with my sister and brother-in-law hasn't been too successful.  My niece gets scared of me, probably because of the beard and her general unfamiliarity with me, but mother (not my sister) also gatekeeps me so I can't help out... it's not a matter of not needing to... I want to help so I can learn, as well as the principle of unconditional love.  That aside, every idea I've had has been shot down by my mother or is twisted in a such a way that it is impossible to fulfil, and the gatekeeping will stop the rest.  Cases in point... I had the idea to build a model traffic light for when she turns 3, using some knowledge of electronics and woodworking - normal children don't like traffic lights, according to her, which was also an indirect stab at me, since I loved the things at 3, but now it's a source of ridicule for her.  She said she would want a doll instead, betraying her heteronormative views by assuming such a thing even before any strong interests or orientation could possibly cement themselves.  I could teach her chess... only if she shows interest... well, my sister and mother don't own chess sets, so how will she ever show interest?  Mother suggested I could teach her piano... she threw the piano out - my paternal grandmother’s piano I might add - because 'it was taking up space'... well, she herself was never able to play it.  To get back on point though... how could I ever teach her in that case, especially as I have no means to practise myself?  Since my sister and I don't have a relationship, I've given up hope of ever having a relationship with my niece by extension.

Now for my parents.  In December 2021, while venturing to my niece's 1st birthday party, I was in a bad mood because I was fed up of my mother's fakery and shallowness, and while walking up a stairwell, I commented about mother dressing above her class while my father was behind me (I really don't know why I actually said that to be honest, and it was certainly extremely rude).  In response, my father actually spanked me.  My reaction was one of violation and helplessness, because I immediately knew there were no witnesses (mother had her back to us, and later verification confirmed she would stand by my father) and no legal recourse.  That and my father is better than me in every way possible... physical strength, killer instinct, legal knowledge and general charisma to draw people to his side.  Due to a bad set of circumstances, I was unable to leave because I had left my house keys at mother's house and my debit card was lost (and cancelled) and, due to being Christmas, a replacement would not come for a while.  What it meant is that I couldn't return to my flat, my mother's house or catch a bus, which meant walking 8 miles in the rain, with it getting dark in an hour, and having to stand and wait outside anyway.  So I just hid in a different room and refused to participate.  My father initially tried to gaslight me in what really happened, and then justify his actions.  Ultimately it confirmed I was still a child in his eyes, and now I know I cannot trust him walking behind me because his first action is to physically and, in some people's eyes, sexually assault me.  I did tell one of my cousins later that he sexually assaulted me (since I felt so violated, I called it that) and she told me that I can't say things like that and will not support me.  After clarification about the actual actions, she said she would have beaten up her father if he did that... well, your father is not my father and I don't fancy my chances against my father even with martial arts training, because he himself is martial arts trained, is a former rugby player, runs triathlons and it would just look mindless assault and hence turn the legal situation against me.  On top of that, he is the de facto patriarch of the family, so people are naturally loyal to him.  And what am I but the autistic black sheep?  I have not forgiven my father for his action, and I refuse to.  And I refuse to be anywhere near him even to the point of refusing to go to family gatherings because of his history of micromanaging me, occasionally publicly humiliating me when I 'embarrass' him and otherwise me always being in his shadow and expected to uphold his expected image of me.  So, the only logical solution is to completely disown myself from the family and become a pariah and find my own path.

Now for my mother.  My relationship has always been shaky with her due to her mocking if not outright hostility towards my interests and moral code, as well as her just using me for the skills I do have, like being a designated driver or fixing her computer for free.  She is also self-righteous to a dangerous degree.  She claims she wasn't raised a racist and follows feminism, but some of the things she says reveals that she is entitled, privileged and dangerously racist and heteronormative.  For example, with the incidents of police brutality in the USA, she just said "if they had listened to the police, none of this would have happened", and she doesn't understand how "White Lives Matter" is racist and wrong, is against "Black Lives Matter" and instead follows "All Lives Matter".  For the heteronormative things, see above with my niece.  When she is not any of those, I sense she tries to score brownie points with me by gossiping about me or telling people about my problems because she feels 'they have a right to know'.  For the brownie points, I was dating someone who was genderfluid at one point, and given some of the comments dad had said later (suggesting I bring a partner, when I've been a forever bachelor) implies that mother blabbed to him when I told her that I was seeing someone.  Mother doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut, like she complained to her friends about the choice of name for my niece even before I knew (I overheard) and before she was even born.  Not to mention, mother told me about my sister's pregnancy before my sister could tell me herself.  How?  "Has she spoken to you yet?" "No, why?" "Then you haven't heard the good news." "What, she's pregnant? "YES! How did you know?" "What else would it be?" (admittedly I pulled a bit of a "You just told me" trick on her, but she completely opened herself up to it).

But what led me to disown my mother?  During August, she and I went to the Lake District for hiking and camping.  The upcoming family gathering with my father's side of the family was really eating at me because I really did not want to be in the same room as my father.  Eventually I broke down and confessed my fears to mother.  We found a solution and I felt better off for it, but she later used it against me.  When I had a meltdown after getting sprayed by a standing tap, she simply told me that I could have chosen not to react like that, because so what? It's only water.  And my outburst is unacceptable in a family camp and she had been up since 6am (I don't know why she brought that up... maybe to show she was suffering more than me?).  As a result, I left.  I packed what I could (most of it was locked in her car and I had no access), so I took what I could and ran away... I caught a bus and then a train back to Brighton.  Thankfully, having learnt my lesson from December, I kept my keys and debit card on me at all times.  When mother arrived home a day afterwards, after briefly asking if I was okay, she tore into me again, especially not letting go of my father smacking me, and she also mentioned the fact I had assaulted her back in 2013 and she had gotten over it and not called the police.  I told her that she should have done and I was fully expecting to get arrested that night.  As for my father?  Well, according to her, I still hadn't apologised for 'making him hit me'.  Well, after hearing that, there was no way I was going to apologise.  I was done.  I knew right there and then I would have to disown my mother too.  So I packed what I could and left.  Also, because I was so sick of her gossiping and using my achievements or whatever as bragging rights, I took my graduation picture off her wall.  She told me to put it back because it was hers and she paid for it, and I refused and simply said I was going to destroy it.  And left.  I later gave back her bag and also gave her my copy of her house key... broken in two.  However, i had forgotten her drink holder that was still attached to my rucksack... a small fabric thing about the size of a wallet when it was all folded up.  She used my sister to get that back from me, and I used the opportunity to get my sleeping bag and tent from her house as a trade... I also stated that it was to be complete, untampered, undamaged and unmodified in case she had the idea of cutting it out of spite.  And after I picked them up without ever facing her, I was gone from her life.  I sort of regret not getting the Lego out of the loft (I can see her throwing it away or maybe giving it to my niece because it was taking up space in 'her' loft), since I would have liked to play with that, but I can see her refusing because it's 'inappropriate', and it's a loss I can live with.

When it comes to her shallowness, she always falls back to things belonging to her or the fact she paid for something or how much it costs her.  Leaving a light on for more than a few seconds gets me a reprimand, as is leaving a fingerprint on the light switch because everything must be ultra-clean.  Of course, if I ever turn it on her (like when I called her out for leaving the bathroom light on), it's never her fault, because she'll be coming back in a few minutes and it will take more energy turning it off then on again.  Granted, my absent-mindedness is the bane of their existence, and I curse myself for it.  Hearing "why can't you do X like everybody else?" only further destroys my sense of self worth because my answer of "because I'm not everybody else" is not acceptable.  I've also learnt that she doesn't actually value my opinion.  Besides my interests being something I must shut up about unless it suits her needs (i.e. teasing me to her boyfriend or using me in place of a professionally paid service).  The previous year, she got stuck on Swirral Edge on Helvellyn (a mountain in the Lake District).  I told her she could do it and tried to guide her towards footholds (I had done this the previous day when she got stuck on another mountain), but she refused and said she was going the long way, even though it would add several miles to our journey and require a bus ride back to the car.  However, as soon as a COMPLETE STRANGER (another hiker) suggested the same things and started to guide her, she succeeded easily.

At one point in the recent past (before everything went wrong), I did try to find common ground and offer to play a board game with her (something my sworn sister Mitch suggested).  She refused, saying that I always win, even when I suggested backgammon, a game neither of us are particularly good at, but she would rather play Ludo with my niece instead, someone who is far too young to play yet.  I don't want to call her a coward because that's what I am, but that was another incident that affected me and my opinion of her.

I know I'm not the good guy in this, and anyone will point out how much my parents have sacrificed for me, especially due to my condition that makes me struggle to fit into society.  I know I am selfish and don't think about other people, and sometimes I simply don't know how to.  I'm not a person who you want to be friends with.  But it has reached a point where I'm expected to destroy my individuality and suppress my sense of self for the sake of social expectations and upholding the status quo.  I can't ever hope to change society or people who use the excuse that they are set in their ways due to their age, so all I can do is exile myself and live in a way that may ultimately be self-destructive, but at least true to myself.  But what makes me truly the villain?  I am well aware that I am the last person to carry the Moreton family name, and it will die with me.  If and when I get married, I'm taking my partner's name.  Finally, to cement my exile, I am also discarding my name.  I am no longer Gareth.  I am now Kit.  And no, I'm not taking it from Ratchet and Clank 5... "Kit" was my fursona long before the game was devised.  Moreton will be discarded once I find a better surname.

I am a coward, yes, but at least I can now live and die by my own terms, plus avoiding conflict, even if it means exile, is better than constantly facing it.  And honestly?  I feel so much better for it.  I know I go against every written principle, but I hate my mother and I refuse to forgive my father, and I'm growing to hate him too.  Why?  Because forgiving him will condone and enable his actions, and hatred is the only thing I have that's stronger than his anger that he was used to make me cower and submit to him in the past.  If it comes to that again where his anger takes over, since it's always his way or the highway (something my mother admits to and indirectly supports), my hatred will be enough to stop me succumbing to fear.

I am no longer my parents' child.  I am no longer John Gareth Moreton.  Now there is only Kit.  I will live by my own terms, probably die alone and be buried a pauper's grave and my memory lost to the sands of time.  And I am content with that.  One might ask "what's the point?", given that we're born, we live, we die and we're forgotten, and most people cannot hope to leave their mark on the world, for better or for worse, but the meaning of life is to live, not survive.  So live.  If it harm none, do what thou wilt.  Live your life, so long as you don't trample over others.

Live.

[hellbentrapture]

I feel like I am reaching my breaking point. I know this feeling is temporary, I know it will pass, but holy fuck am I overwhelmed.

CW/TW: housing insecurity, death, funerals, morbidity, fear, anxiety, ableism, illness, caregiving, trauma, PTSD, C-PTSD, bureaucracy, food insecurity, suicidal ideation, hellworld, capitalist hellscape.

---

I’m at risk of losing my home. The owners of the building I am in hired a realtor to try and sell the place, even though they originally told my landlady they would wait a couple of years. I literally cannot afford to move for the foreseeable future. And honestly, I’ve made this place a home - I would be very sad to move before I am ready. I could be fine, the building might not change at all, the rent might not go up, and maybe they won’t turn out the building to upgrade and renovate. But all of these things have happened to me so like...

My mother and I need to talk about when she dies. Which I know is something that needs to eventually happen, especially these days where so many people are suddenly passing. And she is disabled, not the healthiest. I just. How in the worlds could any of us ever afford a service or such for her. And like. I am still planning to make my living will and what not because who knows what could happen to me. I simply don’t have the time or energy to deal with all of this right now - I’m in my last week of the Summer semester, and I only have two weeks off.

I am terrified to go back to school in the Fall/Winter. I am being forced into in-person 8am classes for the upcoming semesters, with instructors that will not accommodate my disabilities - not to mention the hour+ of transit I will have to do, which will be even worse in the Winter. People won’t be wearing masks. My disabilities are mostly invisible. I’m just so scared. Further, I am going to literally have to advocate for myself and the student body, and challenge NAIT because so many of us are angry and hurting, and NAIT’s behavior has been inexcusable.  

I’m helping take care of my seriously ill neighbor and his cats. Establishing my boundaries for this is going to be something I will constantly need to put energy into, especially because both he and my landlady asked if I could do things for him when he gets home from the hospital. And like. I just can’t - there’s times I can’t physically do things myself, not to mention the lifetime of trauma (from childhood) of taking care of my disabled mother and such.

I am still in the process of appealing AISH. All I can do right now is keep submitting documents and wait. I was going to go through the appeal process but you can’t submit new documents that would otherwise change their decision? And the letters all said they were firm in their denial, so what’s the point of the appeal process.

I am so tired of food insecurity. I am rationing my food because I literally do not have enough to eat. Now, I am even more stressed about how I am going to manage travelling and being in-person for school when I may not be able to feed myself. I also have no real control over what food I do have, so much of it triggers my severe GERD and IBS.

My suicidal ideation has been at an all time high. It has become so bad, I find myself stuck in thought loops of “I just want to die”, and I literally have to fight myself to stop it. This terrifies me. I have so much life ahead of me and yet, I am in such agony. I am so tired and in so much pain, and it feels like everything is against me - and I mean, the government and NAIT literally don’t care about me and are punishing me because I am disabled, queer, and poor. It’s so hard to draw a breath past this when I feel like I am choking on the cruelty.

[frecklystars]

i know this is my most repeated broken record phrase i ever say when i vent but oh my fucking god i hate my fucking job. i can feel that THIS is the year that i am going to quit. i’ve spent 6 years hating this place but it wasn’t until a few months ago that something in me is snapping and saying i just truly cannot fucking do this anymore. i cant just sit here and think “i hate this job” and feel like im stuck here. 

i dont care if everyone in my family works for this company. i dont care if they say “oh well you’ll hate your job anywhere you go, so you might as well stay here to build your future so when you retire at 65 you’ll be completely set” bitch i am not going to LIVE to 65 if i stay here. self harming on my lunch break every day isnt normal. making myself physically ill on purpose isnt normal. crying when my alarm goes off because i dread going into work isnt fucking normal. maybe everybody else is able to tolerate this place but i know im not going to survive much longer unless if i change something

i feel rly weak and pathetic compared to the many 17-18 year olds who work here while also going to college or others who are graduating college and working 35+ hours at this place and, they’re fine? they can function? and i can barely get out of bed in the morning?? i can barely cope unless if i’m thinking about fictional characters??? i’m too broken to work here, there’s something severely wrong with me bc everyone can complete very basic tasks and yet it feels like the workload is too much for me, or i am just not fit for this place no matter how badly my family wants me to be. i have no goals. i have no dreams to work toward. im a college dropout just working retail. but. i dont want that to stop me from leaving. i want to be able to wake up for work one day, whatever job that may be, and tolerate it. i dont even have to love it, i feel like thats impossible. but i want to wake up and think “i am making money today and after i make money, i will draw something nice for myself” and not “oh my god i wish i were dead. maybe i will attempt to be Unalive just so i wont have to work” like i want to be a normal person with a normal job who makes sufficient amount of money so i dont feel like im going to go broke if i want to buy a box of macaroni at the grocery store

[shreddedleopard]

Thoughts on chapter 137, and why it makes complete sense and cements the themes and lessons of Attack on Titan.

I have so many thoughts, I just want to word vomit them out at a million miles an hour, but I’ll try to do this in some sort of order and not my usual chaotic mess.

Attack on Titan is about family and belonging, and THIS is the dream that Ymir was drunk on. This is ‘that scenery.’

Ymir, the founder, just wants to belong somewhere. With someone. She wants to be loved and valued as a person, not as a slave; not as someone who merely fulfils a role. In the latest chapter, Zeke explains how he failed to understand her, but Eren did.

Look at Eren’s words to Ymir in this moment, several chapters earlier:

All Ymir has ever wanted is to be held. To be loved like a person. To feel that connection because of who she is, not the role she fulfils.

Eren understands this, in contrast to Zeke, who once again tries to impose her role upon her:

Ymir has been hanging around in paths all this time, unable to fully die and let her consciousness pass on to the next world, because she needs to find this thing that she’s been searching for since the start of the story.

It’s not just about romantic love. It’s about connection. That sense of being understood and belonging with someone else, whether that be romantically, platonically, as family ... we keep seeing the same theme brought up throughout the entire manga.

Who else is a character that constantly searches for the same thing? Mikasa.

She has so many parallels and yet also opposites with Ymir. Ymir is told she is a slave, she obeys the king, that is her role. And she accepts it. Because she believes that it’s the only way to find happiness; to find this belonging she’s been craving. However, unlike Ymir, who does not truly love the king, I believe that Mikasa does truly love Eren - what form that takes doesn’t necessarily matter to me at this point. It’s just about connection.

Whether Eren feels the same, tragically for him, doesn’t matter. Because Eren knows he is destined to be the one to end the cycle of hatred and free Ymir. And that will ultimately cost him his life. That is why, when Zeke asks him what he will do about Mikas’s affections - which have nothing to do with her bloodline and everything to do with him - Eren cannot answer. That choice has sadly been taken from him.

When Eren asks Mikasa what she is to him, I think he genuinely wants to know at that point. I think he cares about her so deeply and wants to know she feels the same way, and it’s not just about him being ‘her saviour’. But as we’ve seen before, Eren cannot afford to stop for too long and dwell in the moment, because he must push on towards freedom - the freedom of Ymir and the Eldian people from the curse of the Titans.

This brings his conversation around the table with Armin, Mikasa and Gabi into a whole new light. Eren insults his friends in an attempt to push them away from him - because he knows he won’t be around to live that ‘long, happy life’ with them. So instead, he wants to push them to confront their feelings in the arms of others. He pushes Armin to really consider what Annie means to him, and for Mikasa, I believe that Eren intends her to perhaps look towards Jean, who is truly willing to give her the love she has always sought from Eren. Because again, so tragically, Eren will not be around to provide that for her - regardless of whether it’s something he wants or not. His own wishes no longer matter on the path he has been set upon.

Back to Ymir. Eren tells her, he will put an end to this world:

He doesn’t mean the human world; the living world. He means the world of paths, where Ymir is trapped, unable to let go of the souls of dead Eldians, because she’s still searching for that connection she craves so much. Her paths world is an attempt to quell that feeling of loneliness she’s been plagued with, but ironically, she’s more lonely than ever, stuck there, serving the bloodline she’s created from a place of misery and duty, rather than love.

The rumbling and the destruction of Marley is a very tragic consequence of what Eren has to do to put an end to the curse of the Titans. He’s searched for another way to no avail; we’ve seen his remorse when he apologises to Halil or Ramsey in chapter 131:

I think the anger and devastation that’s unleashed in the rumbling, is a result of the hurt and mistreatment both Eren and Ymir have felt at points in their lives.

Eren understands that to destroy the paths realm, first this devastation is necessary, because he’s seen it in his future memories, despite the conflicting feelings it’s evoked from him - he doesn’t really want to destroy humanity outside of the walls, but his own future is telling him that he must and he will. But it’s not Eren’s emotions that drive this initial destruction - it is Ymir’s. These emotions are no different in nature than the ones that Eren felt in response to Armin’s childhood bullies - that sense of unfairness and need to lash out at oppressors - but tragically, unlike Eren who in that moment of intense, irrational emotion had only his fists to vent and release, Ymir is in possession of one of the most terrible and destructive weapons there is - hordes of colossal Titans. And in that moment where Eren finally gives her that validation she has been searching for, and allows her that feeling of release from the duty she’s felt she needed to fulfil for thousands of years, Ymir releases that frustration and anger too and sends them walking.

This theme of the oppressor and oppressed switching places in an endless cycle of revenge and stealing from others what has been stolen from you is a theme that we see repeated throughout not only the AOT manga, but also soundtrack and additional content too.

Eren was right that it would be Armin that saves humanity - because Armin is the one that makes the connection in paths - he understands what is being shown to him with the leaf - and tragically, it actually highlights how, even up until the very end, Eren and Armin knew each other very well. Eren trusted Armin to make sense of what he’s had to do - even if it’s only Ymir that he understands, because while Eren is the one to give Ymir her freedom and unleash this terrible devastation, Armin is the one who must stop it.

But how does this idea of family and connection tie in to the rest of the events in the chapter, and wider manga, and what’s up with Historia’s pregnancy? And how is paths going to be destroyed, if the rumbling has been stopped and Ymir is free, but the Titans are still around?

This is where the rest of our cast fit in - namely Zeke, Levi, Historia and Reiner. If my theory is correct.

Eren gave Ymir the validation she needed and that sense of connection, freeing her from her role, and this bought that final bit of time needed for Historia to give birth to her child. Why is Historia’s child important? Because it is the ‘new dawn’ we’ve seen foreshadowed repeatedly throughout the series. The birth of a new history. And this comes in the form of a new bloodline, no longer infected with ‘parasite’ of the founding Titan.

Unlike Ymir’s bloodline, which stemmed from a place of duty and slavery - as she was ordered by the king to take ‘his seed’, and carried the parasite of the creature that bound to her within the depths of the tree, creating the paths realm and an almost purgatory type space free of death or heaven or earth or anything, Historia’s bloodline will be ‘cleaned’ because of the genes of the child’s father. And not only this, it will be born out of a moment of love and connection, rather than duty. This new combination will make it impossible for a child of the royal bloodline to become a Titan. There will be no coordinate - no link for Ymir from her paths realm to the living world, because the last link to her bloodline - a Titan with royal blood - will no longer exist.

This really brings home the gravity of the moment where Levi cuts Zeke down - he’s the last of the royal Titans, but the reader knows Historia’s baby is about to be born - will they inherit the Titan, and the cycle will re-start?

They will not. The cycle will be broken with them, because - and here’s where it gets wild - Historia’s child is not a Fritz, or a Reiss - they are an Ackerman. They physically cannot turn.

Why does all this fit in symbolically? Let me draw your attention to the genre of Seikaikei.

Attack on Titan uses this idea with our two Ackermans.

We have both endings. Eren and Mikasa, our bittersweet ending, where Eren ultimately chooses the fate of humanity over his relationships with Mikasa and Armin, and Levi, who, in a moment of selfishness, allows himself to put aside his role for a night - probably at the railroad banquet, where he was supposed to be making sure the likes of Eren and Yelena were kept apart - and indulges in this connection that he’s formed with Historia. You can read my 10 reasons post if you want to for why the heck I would think these two would form a deep bond - it’s all there in the Uprising Arc. They have been the same as Ymir - yearning for a sense of love and connection, but bound by roles neither of them asked for or particularly wanted - reluctant heroes comes to mind. Remember how freckled Ymir’s parting wish was for Historia to live for herself?

The result is an accidental pregnancy which, ironically enough, is what is going to annihilate the curse of the Titans and save the world. How poetic that the Titans will not be ‘driven out’ by hate, violence, and destruction, but instead by love, connection and new life.

Remember Kenny and Uri’s miracle?

Kenny and Uri’s chapter, ‘Friends’, was exactly halfway back into the manga. History moves in repeating cycles in AOT, and we see things change slightly each time, on this journey to freedom. At this point, the Ackermans and royals were one step away from where they needed to get to in order to build this paradise - and Levi and Historia complete the cycle by becoming ‘lovers,’ tragically, the thing that Eren and Mikasa could not become, because Eren had to undertake the rumbling and be the one to free Ymir from her sorrow and loneliness. She can make the choice now - will she fight to be reborn as Historia’s child - fight for dominance with the Ackerman bloodline - or will she concede, finally laid to rest because the cycle has been broken by two people that love one another, just like the couple Ymir saw long ago and wished for.

Remember how Eren asked Zeke whether the ackermans act the way they do from a place of duty or genuine feelings? He needed to check it was the real deal that would break the curse, and finally lay Ymir to rest peacefully, after 2,000 years of hatred and searching. She will see that her descendant, Historia, finally has what she always dreamed of. That idea of dreams pushing us onwards - Ymir’s dream is realised through Historia and Levi.

As for the parasite itself? I believe Reiner will be the one to lock it in a Crystal prison with himself, deep underground.

A new dawn will come, and a new world will be built from the ashes of the old.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver. 

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs. 

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity. 

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence. 

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching. 

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man. 

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily. 

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

 “Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher. 

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Sixteen ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3021

Warnings: None

A/n Every chapter, you all make me smile so much <3 Thank you!

Haldir leaves and I let out something halfway between an exhale and a groan.

What. Was. That.

My room, which is a very respectable size, felt like a matchbox as the space between Haldir and I minimized. He went from weeks of keeping a consistent physical barrier between us to ghosting his hands over my arms, my hips, my waist…It’s…new.

And when he held me close, his chest so nearly brushing against my back—

I shake my head against the onslaught of scenarios that run through my mind.

I should not be thinking of him this way.

Haldir is a friend, a guide, an instructor, nothing more.

I let out a deep breath and begin to pace, trying to work off this newfound energy. Haldir and I trained for nearly two hours, I should be exhausted. Instead, I feel wide awake, invigorated, jittery, like I couldn’t possibly go to sleep. I groan, taking my hair out of its bun and letting it fall around me. I stop in my tracks, glancing at the spot where Haldir and I stood so close together just moments ago.

I cannot stay here.

I tear through the open door, turning right and taking the staircase that leads to the first floor. I turn left and, before I know it, I’m standing in front of Alex’s closed door.

I knock.

The door creaks open. “Hey,” he greets, opening it wider to allow me in. “What’s up?”

“I uh,” I purse my lips, having not really thought through my plan. I do need a distraction though, and being out of my room is already helping clear the fog from my brain. My eyes catch a pile of books on his nightstand. “I came to help you research, if that’s okay.”

His face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’ve read those three so far,” he gestures to a small stack by the window, “and there’s nothing helpful in them. Everything else in English is fair game. Is there anything specific you want to look into?”

“Fæs.” I’m surprised that the answer comes to me so easily, but as soon I speak the word, I know it’s true — I do want to learn more.

Alex nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, I think I’ve got a couple books on that here. Let me….” He trails off, spinning in a circle as he searches for a specific volume. “Ah.” He squats down and grabs a book near the foot of his bed, reaching it up to me.

An image of Haldir, crouched on the ground, hand warm against my ankle, staring up at me with such intensity, so much confidence—

Alex stands and I look to the ceiling, trying to will away the image and the feelings that come rushing along with it.

“What makes you want to learn about fæs? Isn’t that an elf thing?”

I purse my lips, stalling until the embarrassment fades enough to look Alex in the eye. “Haldir mentioned that humans have their own version of a fæ — a little weaker, a little different, but generally the same concept.” An idea begins to take form, and I roll with it. “I was wondering if—assuming that our fæs remained unchanged between our homeworld and Arda—well, if we could use it somehow, tap into it and reclaim our memories. If anything were to remember, wouldn’t it be our spirits?”

Alex nods slowly, a grin tugging at the edges of his lips. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Great thinking! Let me know if you find anything.”

He settles into the couch, leaving the bed for me. Gratefully, I cozy up against the pillows. I open the book, skimming the introductory chapter, which is basically just a summary of the core concepts Haldir has already explained to me. When I’m on chapter three, the sky passes firmly into night, and even the plethora of candles Alex has lit aren’t enough to keep my eyes from straining.

I pull my knees to my chest and lean forward, glancing over at my friend. His cheeks — which had been gaunt when we first reunited, now take a healthy shape. His shoulders no longer hold vestiges of tension — they lean relaxed, leisurely, against the back of the couch. Even in the limited light, he squints his eyes and continues to read, seeming intent on soaking up as much knowledge as he can.

I rest my chin on my knees. “I need to ask you something.”

He looks up, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Okay?”

“Are you alright?”

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “Cosima…”

“No,” I protest. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable, he needs to talk about things. He’s been bottling it up since he arrived in this world and it hasn’t done anyone any good. “I mean it.”

Alex groans, shaking his head. “Fine, okay. It’s…strange.” He pauses, but I wait, holding out hope that he’ll continue. He does so, slowly. “I’ve…gotten myself to accept that I’m in a different world, but I can’t wrap my mind around the how. That’s stressful. We don’t have a solid plan to return home, nor do we know if we’ll find one. That’s depressing. And, I have flashes and snippets of memories, but otherwise, I feel like I don’t know who I am.”

My heart breaks. Here my friend is, hurting, lost…

And I’ve left him completely alone.

Alex tilts his head to the side, contemplating. “But I do feel better than when we arrived, or even just from a few days ago. Having things to do, feeling useful and like I have agency for the first time…it’s really good for me. And, well,” he dips his head then raises it again, leveling his eyes on me. “It’s helped me realize something else — that I owe you an apology.”

I blink in surprise. I’ve been the one that has pretty much abandoned and ignored him. I should be apologizing.

“On the road, I said some pretty mean things, and I isolated you from your friends and tried to take control. I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I was…” he sighs, shaking his head, “scared out of my mind. I already felt like I couldn’t do anything to fix the problem, and then on top of that I felt like you had completely given up and it was my job to save us both. And I know now that’s not the case, but for a while…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re just more adaptable than I am, I guess.”

I push myself off the bed, cross the room, and sit next to him on the small couch. Automatically, he throws an arm over my shoulder, the movement so familiar and easy that he must have done it a thousand times before. I lay my head on his shoulder, the bone there pressing against my ear.

I take a deep breath. “If we had really been kidnapped, or injured, or anything more realistic than what actually happened,” he gives a small, tired laugh, the movement shaking his shoulder, “you would’ve been the one to get us out. I know it. Even now, you’re the one putting in all the hard work to get us home. I’m sorry I’ve pretty much left you to handle it alone.”

He squeezes my upper arm gently. “I appreciate it, but I don’t blame you. I get it.” He shrugs again, a measure of sadness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like you remember anyone enough to miss them. If you have people you like here, of course you’d focus on them.”

I feel my lips pull into a guilty frown. “They like you too, you know. You all just need to spend some more time together—”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing a smile onto his face. “It’s okay, honestly — we just don’t click. But I have you, and Baranor and I get along well, and I have this project to work on. It’s enough for me.”

I sigh, resting my head against his chest. I hope that’s true.

{***}

At breakfast, Lavandil and I make plans to meet at her shop. She gives me directions and I hurry up the stairs to my room, changing out of my tunic and leggings and into something a little more fun for my first day of work. I settle on a dark purple gown, one that billows down my arm in puffy gossamer sleeves and has a slight, sparkly train. I’m probably a bit overdressed, but knowing Lavandil’s extravagant wardrobe, I’ll fit in just fine. I bound down the staircase, eager to discover the market and the shop. I turn left, intent on exiting the building.

And crash into the middle of someone’s chest.

Hands grip my upper arms, steadying me as I stumble back. Once I’m righted, I look up, and my mouth falls open.

“Cosima—”

“Haldir—”

Both of us freeze, having spoken at the same time. I purse my lips, waiting for him to go first. He raises an eyebrow, evidently expecting the same of me.

But I can’t make the words happen. His hands on my arms send my mind right back to the tension of last night, to the room that started light and open and turned more intimate than it should as the night went on.

Haldir’s arms fall to his sides. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you turning the corner. Are you alright?”

I nod, my eyes darting from his chest clothed in a cobalt blue tunic up to his eyes. The intensity from last night is gone, now replaced with a noticeable degree of hesitance.

Interesting.

Did he feel something last night, too? Or does he know I did, and now feels awkward around me?

That last thought sends a wave of stress through me. Was I horribly obvious? Have I messed everything up?

“Are you off to Lavandil’s shop,” he inquires, pulling my mind away from these anxiety-inducing thoughts.

“Yes.”

He quirks a smile. “Then I imagine you will be seeing a lot of my brother today. He has a tendency to hang around there.”

“Probably a result of him being in love with the shop-owner,” I quip, voice going high with nerves.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

We fall into awkward silence.

Haldir clears his throat. “Well, enjoy your day.”

“You too,” I nod, crossing paths with him to exit the building.

Once outside, I take in a gulping breath.

Did I create all that weirdness? Or is he struggling to figure out how to act around me, too? And why?

Things have never been strained or awkward between myself and Haldir. Once he got over his initial suspicion of me, we got along easily. I feel like he understands me better than the others and, if I had to pick a favorite, as Rumil prompted me not so long ago, it would be, without question, the supposedly-stern Marchwarden leading our company. And, based on the amount of time he spends with me of his own accord, I would say he enjoys my presence, too.

So, that begs the question, what could have happened to turn all that ease on its head and replace it with stilted, awkward, unsure interactions? We were fine until last night—

I suck in a breath.

My brain, apparently useless until I looked the issue straight in the eye, starts piecing together instances of my time with Haldir, forming a terrifying and exhilarating picture.

Sleeping between me and the entrance to our camp so I wouldn’t be frightened. Spending hours alone with me lying on a blanket staring up at the stars. The way he panicked and looked after me when I had my migraine. Big things like that and smaller ones, too — the way he teases me, the way he always makes sure I’m cared for, whether that means sharing from his canteen or sending me with food when I’m likely to miss dinner. The way he’s conscious of my fears—heights, orcs, you name it—and provides support without coddling me, enabling me to handle and face them on my own. The way his arms, so gentle yet so secure, held me close, even for just the smallest of moments.

Could we…have feelings for each other?

Could this rapid and strong attachment to an ellon I met mere weeks ago be something other than friendship?

With a sinking feeling in my gut, the momentary rush of excitement falls into something much more sinister. Something that, in any other world would be a wonderful, thrilling feeling—the one I am developing feelings for maybe, potentially, might see me the same way—is here, horrifying.  

Because elves live forever and love only once.

And a human lifespan is dismally short.

Rumil’s face after our conversation yesterday, crestfallen and saddened, comes to my mind.

If my mere friendship with these ellyn will cause them grief when I’m gone, then even entertaining these thoughts about Haldir….

It’s deplorable.

From the heart of the city, the bell chimes. I’m late to meet Lavandil.

I shove down the ache that makes my lips quiver and hurry down the path that will lead me to the market.

The distraction of working with Lavandil will be my lifeline.

I cannot allow my feelings for Haldir progress any further. So, though I’m not sure how effective I’ll be, I swear not to think about him for the rest of the day.

{***}

“What happened last night between you and Haldir?”

Damn.

I made it two hours.

I swallow, trying to seem busy as I hang a tapestry on a display. “What?”

Lavandil comes up beside me, using her height to hang the art properly. “Rumil told Orophin who told me that Haldir came back from training with you and seemed quite flustered.”

My body runs hot. “Did he?”

“Mhm,” she nods decisively. “Apparently he returned to the room in a rush, wouldn’t say a thing, and then spent over three hours at the training grounds, sparring quite harshly with some of the guard.”

Even though the tapestry is hung, I pretend to fuss with it, not brave enough to meet Lavandil’s eyes. “Nothing happened. Maybe he just wanted a better workout — I can’t imagine I was much of a challenge.” I try for a joke, and mercifully, she gives me a pity laugh.

Her demeanor softens. “Cosima, you know there’s nothing wrong with having an attraction, or even feelings.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with it,” I shriek, much louder than I meant to. I look at her with wide eyes, surprised by my outburst.

Thankfully, no one is in the shop, and Lavandil only regards me with calm eyes, no judgement in them.

“I’m sorry,” I hurry to apologize, sitting myself in a chair at a nearby table. On top of it sits a beautiful garnet tablecloth — Lavandil’s work. She sits across from me.

“It’s alright,” she smiles kindly, resting her elbows on the table to mirror me. “I had a similar disposition when I realized I loved Orophin.”

“I don’t love him,” I correct quickly.

She puts her hands up in the sign for surrender, though her bottom lip pulls like she’s trying not to make a face.

“I don’t,” I insist, putting effort into keeping my tone non-angry. I lower my voice, worried, perhaps irrationally, that Haldir himself will go waltzing by and hear my dreadful confession. “It’s, at most, an interest, and probably not even that. Likely more of a curiosity.”

“Well, interests are nothing to be ashamed of.” Her tone matches my low volume and carries in it a gentleness I could never hope to emulate.

“Yes, they do!” My voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Lavandil, he is an elf. You know I’m human. The two don’t mix well.”

She huffs. “There’s nothing to say that. An elleth here, Arwen—”

“Is walking into a tragedy,” I cut her off.

Lavandil’s eyes narrow. “Too many people see it that way, and it is getting quite old. Do you know what I see? Two souls in love. Though their futures are bleak and incompatible, their presents are filled with joy and love and the connection that can only come from two fæs who want each other so badly finally bonded. They would still face pain if they ignored their love for each other — so why not give themselves what joy they can?”

“But she will die—”

Now it’s Lavandil’s turn to interrupt. “Arwen is fully grown. She is wise, and I trust that she knows herself well enough to make the choices she has. Her life is ultimately her own. She can spend it how she pleases.”

I press my lips together, head falling to stare at the deep red tablecloth. Despite Lavandil’s conviction, her words do nothing to allay my fears.

The only thing that awaits an elf bonded with a human is grief and death.

Arwen may have made her choice, but so have I made mine.

“Rumil said elves can take centuries to fall in love. Is that true?”

Lavandil pauses, caught off guard with my change in topic. “I-in some cases, yes. More that it could potentially take that long for an elf to admit they are in love. Often, even if they are not ready to accept it, their fæs know. And even then, that is the timeline in the most rare of cases. You know, for Orophin and I it only took a matter of—”

I raise my eyes to her, pleading. “Lavandil.”

She sighs, staring at me like she wishes I had asked her something else. “Fine, yes. Elves fall slower than humans.”

I take in a deep breath, nodding.

Good.

Because if I have only just noticed these feelings, chances are, if Haldir were to follow suit, he is way behind. The instance Lavandil described from last night, the other hints that show he might be feeling something…I can end them now.

I have time to stop this.

I have time to save him.

A/n So, funny thing, @errruvande got pretty close to guessing Cosima’s reaction to realizing her feelings for Haldir, so shout out to Liza!!! Seriously though, love her, love her blog, I’d definitely recommend checking her account out! Thank you all for reading! 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande 

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[willow-tree-writes]

❀Lady Who’s Waiting❀

Peter Pevensie x Reader

Summary: Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. Especially when it comes to you being offered to marry someone who isn’t the High King himself.

Request: N/A

Author’s Note: This one turned out a lot longer than I originally was going to write it. Sorry if the end seems weird, I really wanted to get this out early today.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mention of Arranged Marriage

!I don’t own this gif!

“Where is she?” Lady Rosaline muttered under her breath as she stalked through the halls. She was looking for a certain lady-in-waiting who was late for an important meeting.

You were cuddled up in a corner of the library, dozing off while reading a beautiful romance between a simple maid and a spectacular knight. Time had slipped you by as the story captivated you.

The slamming of the library doors jostled a couple of bookcases as well as jostled you from a state of unconscious consciousness.

“Lady Y/N!” Lady Rosaline practically shrieked upon seeing your startled, curled up figure. “I have been looking for you for the past hour! The Kings, Queens and Prince Rilling have been waiting for two!”

You quickly stood up and placed the book you were reading down. “I am so sorry! I must have lost track of time!”

Before she could say anything else, you bolted from the library and made your way to the main hall. That’s where everyone would be. That’s where you were supposed to be.

You stopped right outside the doors, quickly fixing your hair and dress. Pushing the door open drew everyone’s attention.

The four Kings and Queens were seated at their thrones while Prince Rilling and his parents, the King and Queen of Archland, were standing in front of them. There were a couple knights scattered here and there.

You swallowed your nerves and stepped inside. “I am terribly sorry for my late arrival.” You speak as you walk up to the Kings, Queens, and Prince.

Prince Rilling made a step closer to you, gently taking your hand. “I am just glad you are here.” He placed a light kiss on the back of it.

“As are we all.” Peter’s voice boomed in the large room, causing you to clear your throat a little and take your spot between Susan and Lucy’s thrones.

King Deminon, Prince Rilling’s father, didn’t seem to take his eyes off you. “Now that Lady Y/N is here, I presume we may start talking about our request?”

Peter shifts, as if the topic was one he didn’t want to discuss. “As I’ve told you before, King Deminon, I do not think it is right to marry off one of my sisters.”

Susan and Lucy nod, already knowing that was coming.

Prince Rilling cleared his throat a little, pulling himself into the discussion of his marriage. “I understand your reasoning, King Peter. Might I suggest another candidate?” He looked between his father and Peter.

You shuddered a little at the term ‘candidate.’ It made it seem like a girl was only useful for him to marry. You wouldn’t lie, he was a looker, but your looks had been drawn to a different royal from the moment you stepped into Narnia with him.

Your attention wavered as King Deminon nodded and Peter hesitantly nodded.

You didn’t listen as Prince Rilling made his reasoning for the lady he had in mind to Peter. You didn’t listen as he hyped her up to his father. You did hear as he uttered her name. “Lady Y/N.”

Everyone’s eyes turned towards you once again, while your eyes found Prince Rillings. 

You had nothing against him, but you didn’t want to marry him. You couldn’t marry him. How could you marry someone when you didn’t love them? How could you marry someone when your heart was stolen by another?

You glanced at Peter, catching his eyes. There was a flash in them. A flash you couldn’t quite discern. Could it have been jealousy?

He looked away from you and towards the Prince who was awaiting a response. “I am sorry, but I cannot permit that either.”

“Why not?” King Deminon stopped his son from speaking with his own question. “She is a mere lady-in-waiting. Easily replaceable.”

You tried to keep any sort of emotion free from your face. Partly because you didn’t want anyone to know what was going through your head, but also because you didn’t know what was going through your head.

Peter was about to say something when Susan cut him off. “Lady Y/N is family to us. There has to be another way to form an alliance than through marriage.”

You brushed off your dress a little as you stepped down from your position. “Excuse me. I am just going to get some fresh air.”

You didn’t hear a word uttered as you walked away from everyone and out of the room. You didn’t utter a word or even breath as you made your way out to the courtyard.

It wasn’t until you were there and you knew you were alone when you finally let out a breath. A breath that let so much out of your body.

You knew Narnia and Archland had been working on coming up with an alliance, but you had never been told the details. Everything about this place was still new. Building alliances through marriage was a thing you thought only happened in the Middle Ages.

A hand brushed your shoulder as your mind made its way back to reality.

Your body couldn’t make up who the hand belonged to. Your heart told you it was Peter - comforting you - while your heart said it was Prince Rilling - trying to persuade you to marry him.

My mind had won the battle, as Prince Rilling crossed before you. “I am truly sorry for suddenly drawing you into this.”

You shake your head a little, giving him the softest smile you can muster. “It is quite alright.”

“Lady Y/N,” he lightly took your hand. Your reflex was to pull it away, but you didn’t. “I know we have just met, but I find you absolutely captivating.” That would be the first time, you thought. “And if you will give me a chance, I would love to try and win you over.”

You didn’t know how to respond to him. He truly seemed nice, but you knew you could never bring yourself to feel the way for you to marry him. “Your Highness,” you paused, sighing a little. “I must be honest with you. I-”

You were cut off by the opening of the courtyard doors and two sets of footsteps clicked in.

“Y/N. Prince Rilling.” Susan and Lucy walked over to you and the Prince. “We are sorry to interrupt, but we must be getting ready for the ball tonight.”

Prince Rilling nodded his head and took a step away from you. “I do hope you consider my offer, my lady.”

You already had. Your mind was made up. But he couldn’t know the truth. “Of course.”

----

You felt like you were going to be suffocated with how many people decided to attend the ball. You had been told it would only be a few - a small gathering. If this is what was considered small gatherings, you’d pass on extravagant festivities.

With a glass of wine in hand, you made your way through the sea of people and to the balcony. With fresh air filling your lungs, you’d be able to start enjoying yourself. If you weren’t interrupted.

“Still not much of a party person?” Peter made his way beside you, leaning on the balcony railing.

You smile a little and shake your head. “You said this was going to be a small gathering.”

“I swore it was.”

You turned and gave him a playful, ‘Yeah, right’ look.

He laughed a little. “I’m serious. Susan said it was just to be a few nobles. Not the entirety of Narnia.”

You laughed this time. “She’s just ambitious.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence. A conversation didn’t need to be constantly flowing between you two. It was nice.

Peter cleared his throat a little as you took a sip from your glass. “So, how was your talk?”

Glancing his way, you furrow your eyebrows. “What talk?”

“Your talk with Prince Rilling.” He said as if it were obvious.

You shrug, looking away. “It was just a talk.”

“Nothing is ‘just a talk’ with Prince Rilling.” Peter somewhat grumbled.

His tone caught you off guard. He wasn’t necessarily not the jealous type, but you had never really seen this side of him. There was never any instance where he had to be jealous. He was the High King. Who could be so special to get the High King jealous?

You turn your body to face the king, setting your glass down on the balcony sill. “Peter, are you jealous?” You didn’t really want to ask it, but there was no way around this topic.

He scoffed and looked out at the view. He was avoiding your eyes. The eyes he found himself longing to look into far more often than he should. “Jealous? There’s nothing about Prince Rillings that I should be jealous of.”

“You should let Edmund stick with green, my King.” You grabbed your glass from beside his arm. Drinking up the rest, you started to head back into the party.

Peter’s hand grabbed your arm with a tenderness that had not been previously in his voice. “Where are you going?”

You decided to play around with him. “I am thinking of going to talk to Prince Rilling.” You were probably going to mention Peter’s behavior to Susan. “And accept his marriage proposal.” She and Lucy are really the only people that really know what’s going on inside their brother’s head.

His face twisted, but to what you could not tell. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

You thought he was going to say, ‘Don’t joke with me like that,’ or something like that. But you were very wrong.

“Don’t marry him.”

You froze in your spot. Yes, Peter had declined the offer when Prince Rilling first suggested it, but that was in front of everyone, before anything could happen. Here, now, there was something else in his answer.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted to push him. Not physically, but verbally. “Why?” Why didn’t he want her to marry? Didn’t he want her to be happy? Prince Rilling wouldn’t make her happy in the way she wanted, but he didn’t know that. Peter didn’t know anything.

He was silent. 

He didn’t know how to answer your question, for he wasn’t being honest with himself.

You sighed, shaking your head the slightest bit. “If Susan or Lucy ask about me, tell them I went to retire for the night.”

Disappointment soaked your form as you made your way out of the party and to your bedchambers. The answer you were hoping to get from him failed to be leaked. The answer you knew you’d never hear wasn’t received.

Everything was silent as you changed from an elegant ball gown to the most simple nightgown.

Your bed was warm, a welcoming change from the chilly night air you had to endure while talking to Peter.

Eyes shutting themselves, you expected sleep to take over when a knock rang out throughout your room.

A light sigh escaped your lips as you didn’t care to move. “Come back tomorrow, Susan. I’m quite tired.”

The door cracked open anyways, ignoring your request.

“I’m not exactly Susan.” Peter’s voice grew louder as he got closer to your bed.

You turned in bed and sat up upon hearing him speak. “Peter? What are you doing in here?”

“I came to talk to you.” He stopped a couple feet from your bed. 

You sigh again and get up out of your bed. Walking over to your wardrobe, you pull your robe off it and wrap it around your body. “Now’s not a great time.”

“It certainly can’t wait.” He pressed onward, taking your hand as you started to walk out of your room.

“Peter, please.” I look at him, wanting more than a minute of peace and quiet. “There’s nothing else to talk about.”

He didn’t let go of your hand, pulling you closer with it. “I don’t want you to marry Prince Rilling because he isn’t fit for you.”

“What?” You were more confused if anything right now.

He looked as if he was hesitant to answer that question, as simple as it was.

You groaned, shaking your head. “Would you just spit it out, Peter?”

“You’re not just a mere lady-in-waiting to me. And not because your family, like Susan says.” He decided it right to stop his sentence there. As if you 100% understood what he was talking about.

“Then what am I to you, Peter?”

You expect him to stay silent. You expected him to let go of your hand and walk out. You didn’t expect him to be upfront and blunt. “You are a lady that has found her way into my heart and refuses to leave.”

If anything would knock their air out of your lungs without touching you and causing your face to burn brightly with no fire near, it was that line leaving his lips.

This time, you were the silent one.

You didn’t know how he was taking your silence as he pulled you even closer to him.

You placed your hands on his chest, looking down. “I am a lady-in-waiting.” You pause, looking up at him. “A lady who’s been waiting for you, Peter.”

His serious expression broke into a smile, as did yours.

“Then I better not keep the lady waiting any longer.”

He leaned down, not wasting a moment more to wrap his arms around your waist and give you the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had.

[crystaljins]

River lead me home | 09 FINAL

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis:  Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Ahhh. We’re finally here. At the ending. 

I feel like so much happened since I started writing this fic. I’ve been through so many ups and downs, and so have my characters. And you guys are probably the same; I wonder what adventures you guys went on as I posted this? I hope they were fun ones. 

Anyway, thank you for sticking around for this long journey home. I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and I hope you enjoyed following these guys on their adventure. 

Till next time, my loves.

Tags: @blue1928​ @veeparkersstuff

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s a long journey home. The three of you stay with the mice long enough to see the first of the recovered victims poke their little noses out of their burrows. The mayor, a harried, round little mouse with hay coloured fur and absurdly long whiskers, cannot express his gratitude deeply enough, other than to procure the three of you a comfortable stay in a nearby inn. 

The journey back is only slightly less fraught with danger. The Saishtas think the two of you are dead, and not long after you part ways with the mice, new begins to circulate in the local areas that the might, evil Saishta queen has died and that her kingdom has fallen into disarray. You come across one or two of the insidious lizardpeoples after that but none of them approach or acknowledge you. Why bother, when they failed to save their queen?

After hearing that news, it’s more of a relaxed journey. You all head on from town to town, purchasing supplies and another bed roll for Jungkook. Jin is strangely eager to spend what little currency you have on the most comfortable bedroll he can find, and when Jungkook suggests he just continues to share in the interest of saving funds, Jin nearly has an aneurysm. 

Jin’s behaviour is probably the strangest part of the journey. He’s not cold or standoffish like he normally is when having a crisis, but he’s definitely gentler. More reserved but also warmer. It’s not unwelcome. In fact, you can’t help but wonder. If the war had never come, would this be the life you had with Jin? Endless adventures amongst the thrilling dangers of your home realm? 

You bring the thought up to Jin and Jungkook one night, while the three of you huddle together over a fire, snacking on some of the dried meats you’d purchased from the last town. 

Jin looks surprised at the thought. 

“I’ve always thought it would be you and Taehyung going on the big adventures.” He points out. “The two of you were never able to hold still, even for a moment.” His smile is warm and fond as he recalls your childhood. 

“You’d have been dragged along.” Jungkook counters through a particularly chewy mouthful. “You’d probably be married to (Y/N) and forced to follow her around keep her out of trouble.”

Oddly, you expect Jin to flush, or protest, or attempt to strangle Jungkook. You certainly feel a bit flushed at the thought. But Jin is unfazed- he merely offers a secretive smile and tilts his head curiously at you. You couldn’t decipher the look if you tried, but it has your throat feeling tight. 

You change the conversation topic after that, but it’s not the only way that Jin has changed. A few days later, the three of you are attempting to cross a little slippery creek when you lose your footing. 

You stumble over a few rocks and land on your hands and knees. Even in the deepest part of the creek it only comes up to your mid-thighs when you are on all fours. 

Jin skids to a stop beside you, crouching before you in the water. He doesn’t seem to care about the way his clothes become soaked. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands. You take stock of your injuries- a scraped knee, a bruised shin, the palms of your hands rubbed raw. Nothing that won’t be gone in an hour or two. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure him. 

He nods awkwardly for a moment and then offers “I could kiss it better?”

It takes you a few blinks to comprehend his words, and even then, it makes you re-evaluate the severity of your injuries. 

“What?” You demand, shocked. He shrugs and looks away. 

“Like when we were kids. I could kiss it better. You used to always refuse to stop crying until I kissed you. We could try that again.” He offers nonchalantly. You must have hit your head. It’s the only explanation. You can only stare, your mouth dropped into an “o”. 

“I guess that’s a no.” Jin finally says, oddly sulky in the way he says it. “Just thought I’d offer.”

You wish you could say that it’s the strangest of his behaviour, but it’s not. The rest of the journey goes like that- if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jin was flirting. Albeit, in a weirdly awkward, tentative way. Even Jungkook notices it. 

“Do you think he’s finally gone mad? Maybe the extreme social media detox has made all his brain cells shrivel up and die.” Jungkook whispers conspiratorially one night while the two of you wonder a small village that is throwing a little festival. Colourful lanterns line the streets and the various creatures that inhabit the village are dressed in bright colours. Jin had decided to stay back at the inn but the two of you had wanted to explore. 

“It’s the only logical explanation.” You concede, as much as it physically pains you to agree with Jungkook in anything. 

“All I have to say is, if this is how he flirts I have no idea how he gets so many dates.” Jungkook laments, and your eyes widen. 

“Stop.” You laugh. “He’s not flirting. It’s Jin. He thinks of me like an unwanted houseplant.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” Jungkook asks suddenly. His gaze is probing, and the mood is oddly serious for what you thought was a joking conversation. 

“What?” You ask, caught off-guard. 

“What if he’s actually flirting? Hypothetically. What would you do?” He questions. 

You go silent, as you contemplate your answer. Honestly, you’re not stupid enough to entertain the thought of Jin liking you back. But something about Jungkook’s earnestness has you genuinely considering it. 

“I don’t know.” You finally admit. You sigh, suddenly feeling tired. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks, tentative and almost gentle. He tilts his head curiously. “Do you like him?”

The question startles you. It feels like it’s been so long since you came to term with your feelings that you forgot not everyone else was aware of your revelation. Honestly, even to yourself it had filtered to the back of your mind. An unchanging fact, rarely acknowledged. The sky is blue. Jungkook is annoying. You are in love with Kim Seokjin. 

“I do.” You finally admit. You’re reaching the end of the street where most of the festivities are taking place- the crowd is thinning and more distance separates each lantern. 

“Then, if he were flirting... wouldn’t the answer be that you’d date him?” Jungkook asks. He’s pulling a face like he’s working out a rather complex maths problem. “Why don’t you know what you’d do?” 

The two of you settle at the end of the street. Roughly hewn chairs are scattered randomly across the little square. In the corner, a large, greyish being snoozes, and a small group of little humanoid trees laugh over something and chatter in a foreign language. 

“I feel like there’s too much to sort out first. Like... to date him I’d have to be better. I’d have to have a job. And I’d have to have apologised to my mother. I’d need to stop spongeing off the people around me. And maybe live out of home. Be a proper, human adult.” You list. “The me that I am now... I couldn’t date Jin. I’m not... I’m not...”

“Good enough?” Jungkook finishes the words gently. There’s a sad look in his eyes, and it surprises you. 

You nod. 

“Yeah.” You admit, and your voice is oddly choked. It’s weird- you had thought you were at peace with your feelings. You were meant to be happy with whatever scraps of affection Jin threw your way. But you’re not- there’s a deep, miserable ache in your chest that won’t go away. 

Jungkook uses his sleeves to dab at the tears you didn’t even know were slipping down your cheeks. 

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook offers. “Jin doesn’t actually care about that stuff. The only reason he makes a big deal out of it is because he thinks you’ll be happy if all that stuff works out.” He tells you. “And hey. Someone once told me that the best things are the scariest to start- maybe this is one of those times?”

After that, you call it a night, and Jungkook doesn’t bring the topic up again. But you can’t forget his words. The closer to the portal the three of you draw, the more the ache in your chest grows; the closer you get to going back to normal life. What happens to you and Jin when you step back into the human realm? 

What if Jungkook’s words are true? Would you... would you have to return to normal? Could you have more? Is it stupid that a part of your stupid, traitorous heart longed for it to be true with each new step towards home?

There’s a surefire way to find out; if you ask him. But you can’t. The words die in your throat every time you even consider it. You remember how he freaked out when Jungkook suggested it earlier on the trip. He likely already knows your feelings despite your denial, and it is only your constant denial otherwise that allows the two of you to exist in this strange limbo. If you stopped denying them, he’d have to address those feelings and then what? It would be back to square one- the avoidance and awkwardness as you cling to the shambles of your friendship.

You can’t go back to that- you’ve fought so hard to fix what is between you, to salvage things. Would it be worth risking it, just in the hopes that you and Jin could be more?

The night before you reach the portal, all the nerves and worries you have build up to the point that you find yourself gazing up listlessly at the canopy overhead. The branches interlace and you can perk glimpses of the stars beyond. This is the last glimpse you will get of these stars. You have already decided you won’t come back here. It’s time to stop looking back and only look forward. 

Yet, despite your resolve, despite everything, sleep evades you. Tomorrow, real life awaits. An existential sort of dread has gripped you.

With a sigh, you sit up. To your right, Jungkook has curled into a tight ball as he peacefully rests. But to your surprise, Jin’s bedroll is empty. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him move. 

It doesn’t take long to locate him. Only a short distance away, where the vegetation is a bit lighter and a clear patch of sky shimmers overhead, Jin lounges peacefully. He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky overhead as the starlight gilds his face in breathtaking silver. 

Wordlessly, you step towards him. A twig snaps beneath your feet and Jin whirls around in surprise. When he spots you, he smiles and gentle pats the open space beside him. 

Awkwardly, you settle beside him, hugging your knees to your chest. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He questions, his eyes closed serenely. The soft sound of wind and distant sounds of wildlife filters through the night air. 

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice heavy with a sigh. He blinks open one eye to peer curiously at you. It’s the most relaxed and open you’ve seen him in a long time. “What about you? You couldn’t sleep either?” 

Jin shrugs. 

“I could have.” He informs you. “But I thought I’d enjoy my last night in this realm instead.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Jin has made it clear throughout the trip that this journey has been anything but enjoyable. 

“Enjoy?” You say, only slightly incredulous. He nods and opens both eyes to stare up the sky. 

“I’m as shocked as you.” He concedes. “This place has only ever meant bad things to me. It’s why I could never understand your fixation with it.” 

You grimace.

“I kind of get it now, though.” He admits, before you can complain to him. “It’s a pretty beautiful place.” 

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Jin shrugs. 

“You did.” He answers simply. 

“M-me?” You’re not sure why you stutter; perhaps it is the strange look to his eyes as he turns fully to face you. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek against them, watching you lazily. 

“Yup.” He says, as if it’s the easiest confession in the world. “When I used to think about this place, all I could think about was the night we fled. My dad didn’t even time to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed me by the wrist and held on so tight I had bruises. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember the place that had caused us so much pain. And you... you were such a shell. I felt like one of my best friends had died in this realm and I was so angry at what it had taken from me.” His gaze is distant with recollection. “And then I was mad at you, because you couldn’t forget no matter what I did.” He gazes at you. “But now it’s finally given me something.”

You’re startled, by his heartfelt words. You’ve always known Jin hated this realm, hated the way the beings of this realm had driven you all out. But you didn’t know you had such a huge role in his opinion of it. “You.” He finishes. “So I guess I can’t really hate this place after all.”

You’re struck speechless in that moment, and your heart swells with an overwhelming feeling. You already know you love the man before you, but in that moment, you’re shocked at just how much. A feeling bubbles up at the base of your chest- your heart feels fit to burst. 

“What do you mean?” You ask- is this feeling hope? What does Jin mean, when he says the realm gave him you?

Jin merely shrugs. 

“I’ll let you speculate.” He tells you, shooting you a coy smile, an oddly cheeky look that he’s given to his friends before but never to you. But then his expression shifts into something more serious. “I think there are more pressing things to discuss first, though. Like why you’re sitting here with me instead of sleeping?”

The warm feeling from earlier instantly evaporates as you recall the reason for your melancholy. 

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You confess. “About going home. I’ve... I’ve really enjoyed this trip. And I’m excited to go home. But I’m just so...” you struggle to find the word. “So...”

“Nervous?” Jin suggests. He shuffles so he’s just a bit closer. His shoulder brushes yours- if you extended your neck, you could rest your head against his broad shoulders. A strange electricity buzzes through your body at the thought- it reminds you of your fight over the fungus a few days ago. The air had felt strangely charged then as well. 

“Yeah.” You admit, swallowing past a dry throat. “There’s a lot to do, back home.”

“Back home?” Jin echoes, and then his smile turns warm. His mouth carefully forms the word “home” and his eyes wrinkle into two joyous crescent moon shapes. “I guess there is.” He acknowledges. “But you’ve already made the first step. You’re calling the human realm home.”

That startles you. Obviously, it is your home. But you hadn’t realised how instinctive that had become until this moment; at some point the human realm had stopped being that uncomfortable alien place, and had become the place you’re meant to go back to. Home. Jin watches you process the words carefully before he speaks again. 

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He tells you softly. The tone to his voice is oddly vulnerable and delicate. Something delicate hovers between you like the flutter of a pixie’s wing. “You said you wanted to work things out together, right? So, you don’t have to be nervous because I’ll be there with you.”

He looks away and his expression is surprisingly shy. “I know you said I don’t have to be the guy with it all worked out, but I still want to try. It makes me happy. Being there for you. So even if you’re nervous... we’ll work it out together, right?”

It is that exact moment that you figure it out. Earlier, you had been uneasy at Jungkook’s line of questioning. You didn’t feel worthy of Jin’s love and affection, and that made you afraid. Because you couldn’t bear to lose him. You still can’t bear to lose him. But gazing into the warm eyes before you, you know you won’t ever lose him. The two of you have braved death together- you’ll make it through anything. 

You feel lighter then, and you offer Jin a smile. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. Jin smiles back. 

“Any time.” He whispers back to you in answer. 

Sleep comes easily after that, and so too does the end of your journey. All too soon you stand before the portal back home. 

The trip feels like it’s taken a thousand years and no time at all at the same time. By your calculation, the entire journey has taken almost a month, with all the detours and misadventures. That means almost six hours have passed in the human realm. Jin has almost definitely missed his dinner plans, and your mother is probably starting to wonder why you aren’t home yet. 

“What will you do, when you go back?” Jin asks. Jungkook has already stepped through and you’re surprised that Jin is making conversation now, of all times. 

“Apologise to my mother.” You say easily. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save my snapchat streaks and apologise to Joon.” Jin shares. He’s nervously twisting his fingers together. The energy he gives off is like an uneasy teenager about to do a huge public speech. It’s a big contrast from the person her was last night. Like he’s bracing himself for something. 

You thought you’d be bracing yourself too. On the other side is hard work and futile dreams and a bleary, dull city. 

But on the other side is your mother, your friends, your family. Your evil cat waits for you on the other side; the life your father dreamed of for you is on the other side. You had thought that so much in your life is wrong, and now that the portal is here, you realise that it’s not. It’s just life. Things go wrong and things go right. Like the path of a river, cutting through the vast, unknown wilderness. You had been thinking of it this whole time like you’d flip a switch and things would be easy. But that’s not what it’s going to be like on the other side of this portal, and it’s not really what you want things to be like. It’s an adventure of a different kind. 

And it’s an adventure that you want to share... with Jin. 

You remember what Jungkook had said- the best things in life are the scariest to start. And you’re scared now. No, you’re terrified. But if you’re this scared, then you know that this moment is going to be huge. Life-changing. You can’t keep the words in a moment longer. You don’t want to. You’ve spent too long running and fearing and hesitating and overthinking. But you’re confident, that the two of you will survive this even if he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’re ready to take that risk.

The river loves those who take the plunge.

“Jin,” you call, and you thought that if you ever did this that you’d be lost for words. But you’re not. Because you’re finally ready. Last night had solidified that for you. The words come easily. “You remember how you said that I look at you a certain way?”

You turn and face him, and he looks bewildered. 

“Like you’re my hero.” You recall. And then you steel yourself and meet his gaze. It’s the same eyes you’ve known all your life. The same eyes you want to look into for the remainder of your life. “It’s because you are my hero. No, actually, it’s more than that.” You assert, and he just stares, completely dumbstruck. “I look at you like that because I love you. Because I admire you and think you’re strong and brave and kind, and even if you’re not the guy who has it all together, I still feel the same way. And I lied when I said I just wanted you to be my friend. I thought it was enough, but it’s not- I want to be your partner. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your girlfriend.” You say. And then you summon all the exciting fluttering feels in your chest and let it pour into your smile. “I love you, Kim Seokjin.” 

Before you stands something you never thought you’d see. Kim Seokjin, the mastermind behind the Jant, is completely speechless. And then slowly, very slowly, he opens his mouth to give a response. 

“Are you dead?” Jungkook demands as the upper half of his body appears once more through the portal. “It’s been like 30 seconds in that realm which is approximately ten years in this realm if my maths is correct!”

You spring back from Jin. You’re startled at how far you have to step back- had you really been standing that close? 

“R-right.” You stutter. You feel like you’ve been caught cheating on a diet or something equally scandalous. “We’re coming.”

Jin just looks annoyed. 

“No we’re not. Give us a minute.” He snaps at Jungkook, placing a palm against Jungkook’s head and shoving him back through the portal none-too-gently. He then turns urgently back to you. “What did you just say?” He demands. His intensity has you cowering slightly- your bravado from earlier leaves you. 

“I said “we’re coming”?” You recall, attempting to divert the topic, but Jin steps closer. 

“No you didn’t. You said you love me. And that you want to be my girlfriend.” He accuses. 

“If you knew, why did you ask me?” You grumble. And then your expression softens. “But yes. I did say that. And it’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I know you could have any girl you want and I won’t be mad if you want someone else.” You reassure him quickly. He just stares, offering you no indication of whether he’d processed your words. It’s uncomfortable, but you suppose your words were going to be uncomfortable. You’re changing the very nature of your relationship by voicing them aloud. “But if you were willing... maybe you could give me a chance?” You trail away. 

Still, Jin just continues to look at you blankly. He looks like he’s a robot that just encountered a programming error. Hesitantly, you reach out to tap his shoulder, just to make sure he hasn’t died or suddenly been transformed into stone. 

A hand shoots up. It grabs your wrist, halting its movements. Jin’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?” He all but screeches. You flinch- you hadn’t anticipated a jant in response to your confession. “YOU HAD THE WHOLE TRIP TO SAY YOUR FEELINGS AND YOU SAY IT NOW? YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED ONE DAY?”

His nostrils flare as he releases your wrist so that he can point accusingly at you. 

“You had all your chances! You could have said it on the way to the forest spirit! Or when the Saishtas were chasing us! Or when we landed in the ravine! You’ve had literally the whole trip and you wait until right before I’m going to confess?” He spits out in that rapid-fire way that you’ve never seen another person be able to replicate. 

And then you process his words. 

“Wait-“ you say, hoping to abort the jant so that you have enough time to comprehend what he’s saying. 

It’s no use. 

“Seriously! I had a whole plan, (Y/N)! We were going to go to dinner and I was going to buy you flowers and I was going to ease you into it! But no! You just had to beat me to it, and for what? For what? So that you can make a half-assed confession right before we step into an alley next to a brothel?” He laments. 

“It’s not half-assed-“ you protest, because you’d poured your heart out to Jin. 

He steps in menacingly. 

“Take it back.” He demands. Your eyes widen. 

“What?” You cry, defensively. To your credit, you only cower a little which is an impressive feat for someone on the receiving end of a jant. 

“Your confession! Take it back!” He orders. 

“No!” You argue back. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You are!” Jin counters. “You’re going to take it back and we’re going to do it properly, over dinner, and you’re going to have washed hair and I’m going to-“

You don’t let him finish whatever stupid thoughts were filtering through his brain. If he wants a proper, romantic confession, then he’s going to get one! You hear a sharp intake of breath from him as your lips press to his. They’re slightly chapped after such a long period of rough travel, but the sensation is still pleasant. Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel like you’re about to burst. 

It takes Jin a moment to respond. But when he does, it’s with an intensity that is almost frightening. You’re startled by the way he pulls you close. It’s like the electricity from last night, but multiplied a hundred-fold. If you thought your heart was ready to burst before, it is nothing compared to the way molten lava fills your chest when his hands come up to gently cradle your face and deepen the kiss.

When you finally recall that oxygen is something you need, Jin pulls away and searches your gaze. His hands slide down to your waist, resting delicately along the flare of your hips. His face is bright red but his eyes are determined. 

Something about the way he is looking at you has you feeling shy. 

“That was weird, huh?” You stammer, trying to cover the way you feel so completely overwhelmed. “Sorry.” Your heart is dancing in your chest. It’s all too much for one person to feel and you’re just not really sure what to do with the sensation. Did he feel it too? This weird tension, like you’re a balloon about to pop?

Jin doesn’t break eye contact and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. 

“Hard to say.” He finally says, breaking his long spell of silence. He then grabs at either side of your face, puckering his lips obnoxiously. “I think we need to try again to be sure.”

You barely have time to protest before he’s attempting to pull you in for a second kiss, although you slap a hand over his mouth to halt his advance. 

“Wait!” You accuse. “You can’t just kiss me and not respond to what I said!” 

“I already told you.” He snaps. “Your confession doesn’t count until we do it properly. Now if you excuse me-“ He grabs you by the elbows and tugs you back towards him, attempting to kiss you once more, but you stop him with a hand pressed to his chest. His expression turns pleading. “Just one more time.” He requests.

You swallow, and gaze into his eyes. It’s not an unfamiliar look, you realise. He’s looked at you like this before, but you now realise what the emotion was behind that look. 

“I love you.” You tell him. “I told you like this because yes. I couldn’t wait one more day. I don’t want to wait another day without you knowing. I love you.” You say one more time, just for good measure. 

His expression crumbles and he sighs in resignation, before pulling you tightly against him. His embrace is warm, and secure. It’s no different from all the other times he’s hugged you in your life, and yet nothing is the same.

“Fine.” He says, into the crook of your neck. “But I’m not saying it back until we have a proper date.” 

He pulls out of the hug and the love in his gaze is overwhelming. It’s not a confession, per se, but his intent is as clear as day. 

He loves you. You know he does.

“Deal.” You say back, and his response is his eyes crinkling up as he offers you that special smile, the one that he only shows when he’s really, truly happy. “But you’re paying.”

“How about we save any important conversations for the side of the portal where we’re not in constant mortal danger?” Jungkook demands, his head once more poking through the portal. There’s an awkward silence as he glances between the two of you, and then he groans. “Seriously? You had the entire journey to sort this out and you waited until now? You couldn’t even just leave it until after dinner?”

“Sorry!” You apologise quickly, going to follow Jungkook’s lead through the portal. But a hand wrapped around your wrist stops you- you hadn’t even noticed Jin had grabbed you. 

You turn to gaze questioningly at him, and he shrugs, shifting his hands until he can interlace his fingers with yours. 

“Wait. Let’s go together.” He requests, then pauses. “Can we?”

Something about this moment feels monumental. Huge. You’ve braved enemy encampments, crossed mountains. You’ve gone free-falling into giant ravines and overcome furious forest spirits. 

And yet this moment feels like the start to your biggest adventure yet. From this point on, real life starts. You smile at Jin and he returns it. 

“Yeah.” You say. “Let’s go together.”

Jin’s reply is covered by Jungkook’s annoyed call through the portal:

“What did I just say? Hurry up!”

                                                             ~Fin~