#event that gave me near constant anxiety over the course of a few weeks. and i wish i was kidding.

[5-pp-man]

whennnn is Kotoko's voting going to enddd i wanna get the results. i NEED to know how jackalope is gonna address the mess that was Kazui's round of voting 😭😭

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC | Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter: Loki will do whatever it takes to find out what is wrong with Alexis. 

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis groaned as the medics lifted her onto the gurney, but she didn’t wake.

“Take care with her!” Loki snapped at them, rushing to Alexis’s side, grabbing her limp hand. “She is pregnant.”

The medics shared a glare fully prepared to inform him they knew how to do their job when Tony caught their eye and waved them off. Best not to make Loki any more angry than he was. At least not until they sorted Alexis.

“Of course, sir.” The taller of the two nodded at Loki. “We are heading down Dr. Cho. I assume you are riding down with us?”

Loki nodded and followed them to the elevator. The eyes of every Avengers followed the three of them along with the gurney and willed the elevator doors to ding close. The moment the doors closed, Tony spun around to face the room.

“Okay, everyone has exactly three seconds to explain WHAT THE HELL is going on?”

The room exploded into conversation as people pointed fingers and yelled accusations and theories. Steve, Tony and Bruce cornered Thor to pump him for the “full story.” Nat sat quietly off to the side, worried about Alexis. A loud whistle cut through the din. Everyone turned to face Clint.

“They’re in a relationship.” He stated with no facial expression.

Tony blinked at him. “Well, yeah, a weird baby daddy, cohabitating thing. We all—”

“No, I mean they are in a romantic relationship. They are sleeping together. If you ask me, they’re in love with each other.” Clint huffed. He stepped forward to come toe to toe with Tony. “They know about you and Banner’s bet.”

Bruce blushed and flailed. “There’s no bet. I don’t know what you are talki—”

“When are you going to learn? I hear everything that goes on around here?!” Clint slammed his hand against the sofa. “I was in the vent when you made the bet. We decided to teach the two of you a lesson.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Loki, and Alexis. They pretended like they were on the outs, breaking up to get even with you two meddling.” Clint crossed his arms.

“So is this fainting spell just part of an elaborate prank to get back at Tony and Bruce?” Steve piped up. “I should have done Loki would pull some sort of shit like that.”

“It’s no joke.” Thor finally joined the conversation. “I know my brother better than any of you. That was genuine fear in Loki’s eyes. Whatever is ailing Lady Alexis is no prank.”

Everyone stared at Thor in shock, confusion, and anxiety. Nat snapped out of her daze.

“I’m going down there.” She stomped off towards the elevator. Clint caught her elbow.

“Nat. Give them space. Give him space.”

Her mouth fell open. “But I can…” she protested.

“No, you can’t. There is nothing you can do down there but be in the way.” Clint continued.

“JARVIS!” Tony yelled into the air. “Send hourly updates on Dr. Randall to all the Avengers.”

“Yes, sir.” The clipped British accent responded.

“Thanks, Tony.” Nat gave the group a small smile.

Tony’s own brain was running fast, but he kept his worries to himself. He clapped his hands together.

“Alright with that sorted, they get on with the day. The world isn’t going to save itself.”

With hesitant motions, the rest of the team moved along. Clint disappeared to wherever he disappeared to. Bruce headed with Tony to the labs while Nat and Steve headed to the training facilities to work off some excess energy. Thor headed off to his quarters, too concerned over his brother and Alexis to get much else done.

-

Dr. Cho relegated Loki to a hard plastic chair off to the side as she examined Alexis. Loki paced instead. He could see everything that was happening through the clear glass panels separating the examination room. Things did not appear to be going well by the expression on Dr. Cho’s face. Three hours later, Dr. Cho came out to update Loki.

“There is nothing physically wrong I can find with her, Loki.” Cho sighed.

“And the baby?” Loki wrung his hands.

“Strong heartbeat, moving around. Do you want to know the sex? I did an ultrasound.”

Loki’s brows rose. He hadn’t thought about knowing the sex of the baby. His eyes darted to Alexis’s lying on the hospital bed. Hooked up to tubes and machines, eyes closed. It was a punch to his gut.

“We haven’t discussed it. I will wait until she wakes up to decide, if that is alright with you.”

Helen nodded. “Of course, Loki. I am still waiting on a few lab results to come back, and then I am sending them off to a few specialists. I would suggest going back to your apartment where you can be more comfortable. I will make sure JARVIS alerts you of any changes in her condition.”

“If it is all the same, I will just stay here.” Loki widened his stance as if Dr. Cho would attempt to forcibly remove him from the medbay. If it were any other circumstances, she would point out the 180 turn of events since the last time Loki was here with Alexis.

“I can only offer you a hard plastic chair.” She gestured at the standard issue chairs throughout the rooms. “And strong coffee.”

Loki gave her a sad smile. “I have been in worse situations. With far less pleasant company.”

Dr. Cho smiled back and then nodded before walking away to analyze all of Alexis’s results. Loki pulled a chair close enough to Alexis’s bed to hold her hand and sat down as his fingers weaved in with hers.

“Please wake up, darling.” Loki pleaded. The only answer he got was the steady beep of the machines monitoring all of Alexis’s vitals.

-

“Brother…” Thor rocked Loki by the shoulder. Loki’s long frame crunched up on two hard plastic chairs. His arm tucked under his head to act as a pillow. Nothing about his posture looked comfortable. After several hours of no changes in Alexis’s condition, Loki dozed off.

“Brother… wake up.” Thor shook him more forcefully this time. Which rewarded him with Loki snatching his wrist with his quick reflexes.

“Must you continue to wake me, Brother? Leave me in peace.” Loki groaned as he unfolded himself, joints cracking and popping. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s almost midnight, Loki. You never came back. I came to check on you.”

Loki glanced out to the window to confirm that it was indeed the middle of the night. He gave Thor a wry smile. “Well, as you can see,” Loki gestured up and down his body. “I am alive and well, so leave me be.” He waved Thor away.

Thor sighed and spun a chair backwards to sit near Loki. “While you may be alive, you are clearly not well, Loki.” He spied his brother’s hand intertwined with Alexis’s. “Barton told us.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t lose her, Brother. I love her.” His voice hoarse and cracking. “And our child…” Loki’s head dropped to the bed.

Thor reached over to comfort Loki, not knowing exactly what to say. “Lady Alexis is strong. How else could she have endured all these weeks living with you?”

The two gods chuckled at Thor’s joke. “Very true. I have not been on my best behavior.” Loki added.

“And now?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“I have definitely not been on my best behavior.” Loki smirked.

“You were always one for mischief when it came to your lovers.”

Loki’s mood darkened, thinking back to Sigrun and his father. And the events leading him here. Alexis and his unborn child. He wondered where he would have ended up if he had agreed to the arranged marriage and Odin’s meddling. Loki imagined miserable in a completely different way than he was now.

“You were right, Brother.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Loki gave another thin smile. “About love being worth the trouble.”

Thor chuckled and smiled. “I have not always been the best at telling you, but I have only wanted the best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I am. I was. I am?” Loki questioned. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Thor stood and offered his hand. “Go upstairs, Loki. Eat and sleep in your bed. I will stay with Lady Alexis for the rest of the night.”

Loki’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Thor.”

The two embraced and Loki wearily rose and left the medbay to sleep and eat before the next day. Once he left, Thor settled his oversized body into one of the undersized chairs. He stared at Alexis’s still body, her breathing shallow and even. The only sound was the constant beeping of the machines.

“I imagine you to be some kind of witch.” Thor spoke to Alexis. “Because it would take powerful magic to tame the beast that is Loki’s heart.”

-

Three Weeks Later

Alexis was still in a coma, and Loki was no closer to any answers why.

“What do you mean there is nothing physically wrong with her?!” He bellowed at Dr. Cho. “She is in a coma!” Loki jabbed a finger at Alexis’s room.

Tony arranged to move her to a more private area of the medbay and set up a second small bed in the corner since Loki refused to leave. Meals appeared from thin air. Although he suspected Nat was to blame. Even Steve came down to offer what little comfort he could. Loki now stalked the floor. Tony moved all non-essential personnel to another part of the Tower after getting several HR complaints.

“I don’t know what else to tell you. Her vital signs are stable, as are the baby’s. She is just asleep. By all accounts, she should be awake.” Dr. Cho explained.

Loki flipped a table, sending his dinner flying around the room. Helen took several steps back.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Loki screamed.

Alexis’s machines rang an alarm, and the screens flashed. Helen rushed to the machines while Loki grabbed Alexis’s hand.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” Cho piped up while she checked some printouts.

“Apologies.” He said with an eye roll. “What happened?”

“Her vitals spiked and then dropped. Triggering the alarms.” Helen glanced over at him with a grim expression. “They are stabilizing.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

Dr. Cho sighed. “They are stabilizing at lower levels. Whatever is keeping her unconscious seems to be for lack of a better word… draining her.”

Loki stormed out the medbay without another word.

-

Thor was just getting ready to relax for a meal in his apartment when Loki burst through the door without bothering to knock.

“Do you mind, Loki?” Thor rose to face his brother. “I am about to eat.”

“I need to go to Asgard.”

Thor stared at Loki. “I don’t think that is a…” Thor then realized what happened. “What is going on with Lady Alexis?”

Loki collapsed onto the back of the couch. “In simple terms, she is dying. And no one can help her here. She needs our healers. I need to go to Asgard.”

“You realize Father is in Asgard.”

Loki gazed up at him, his eyes rimmed with red and sunken in surrounded by dark circles.

“I am well aware of the implications of my return. But if you were in my place, if your love was slowly dying from the inside out, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save her?”

Thor sighed. “We can leave within the hour. I will inform the rest of the team of our departure while you make arrangements for Alexis to travel.”

Loki nodded and Thor headed for the door. Loki grabbed his arm. “Thank you, Thor.”

Thor covered Loki’s hand with this own and squeezed. “I am sure the healers will be able to help.”

“I hope so.” Loki replied glumly. “Because I am out of options.”

-

They were greeted by not only Heimdall but Frigga as well when they stepped back onto Asgard.

“Loki!” Frigga rushed to his side. Alexis’s body slumped against his chest while Loki cradled her in his arms. She noticed the roundness of Alexis’s belly. “I see what the fuss is about now. Let us get her to the healers. We can catch up later. Thor, the Allfather requested your audience.”

Thor nodded and took off towards the palace as Loki and Frigga whisked Alexis to the healers.

-

Loki paced outside the doors of the healing chambers while Frigga sat with him, reading a book.

“You will wear the floor out.” she commented with a smirk.

“Just another thing for Odin to blame me for. The replacement of the palace floors.” Loki sneered.

Frigga ignored Loki and pressed on with other things. “She’s pretty. How did you meet?”

Loki spun around to face her. “Do you care? Does it matter?”

Frigga set her book down on the chair as she stood to face Loki. “It matters when she is carrying my grandchild.” Frigga reached up to cup Loki’s cheek. “It matters when she has also is carrying my son’s heart.”

Loki gazed at his mother with wet eyes. “I—”

The doors opened and Loki’s mask fell back into place.

“You can come in now.” The attendant announced. Loki pushed past her.

Alexis laid out on the stone slab. Three attendants hovered over her. One operated the Soul Forge while another took notes. A third injected something into Alexis’s arm.

“What are you giving her!? She is—”

“We are well aware of her condition.” The head healer spoke. “I must admit it stumped us at first. But once we calibrated the Soul Forge for Vanir physiology, it was clear what was going on.”

“Which is exactly what?” Loki blinked as his brain processed the rest of what was said. “Wait, Vanir?!”

Frigga’s eyes darted between her son and the healer, ready to step in if necessary. The healer, oblivious to what was going on, continued explaining.

“In the second trimester, Vanir babies’ magical abilities manifest, feeding off the mother’s energy. The injection masks the magic until birth. She will need to continue taking it once a week until she delivers.”

Loki stumbled backwards. “Will she—”

“Recover? There should be no lasting effects to her or the baby. Except maybe a wicked headache and increased appetite.”

Loki allowed a few tears to fall onto his cheeks. Frigga grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you.”

Frigga cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could have the room for a few moments?”

The attendants nodded. “Of course, my Queen.” Everyone shuffled out of the room with a rustle of fabric. Loki made no move until the heavy doors closed behind him with a thud. Loki collapsed against Frigga.

“I take from your response, you were unaware of Alexis’s lineage.”

Loki gulped. “She never mentioned it.” He kneeled besides Alexis, the color returned to her cheeks. “You are going to be fine, my love. We have much to discuss when you wake.” Alexis groaned. Loki kissed her cheek. “It’s time to wake up.”

Frigga smiled at the sight of her son so fully devoted to someone. And the prospect of a grandchild. Her first grandchild. She would be lying if she said Loki was her first guess of the son to give her a grandchild first.

Alexis’s eyes fluttered open. “Loki… where am I?”

Loki’s tears wetted her skin as he sobbed. “Home. My home.” He smiled at her. “I thought I had lost you.”

She blinked a few times to adjust to the light. “Home? The Tower?” She noticed they were in a massive room with stone walls. “Where are we?”

Loki helped her sit up. “On—”

The doors slammed open and Odin strolled in, followed closely by Thor. “—Asgard and you will be leaving presently.”

Loki stepped in front of Alexis. “She will do no such thing. She is sick.”

“She does not belong here, Loki. And neither do you.” Odin responded cooly.

Loki nodded. “Still as inflexible as always, Father.”

“Loki, this is your Father?” Alexis peeked from around him.

Odin’s eyes caught Alexis, and he froze, the blood draining from his face for a moment before the mask of indifference fell back into place. But Loki and Frigga caught it.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Father, what have you done?”

[missbugaboo]

Soulmate Scam (1)

Adrien knew who his soulmate was. Period. Ever since he'd first met her, ever since his heart had made that cheerful dance of recognition in hist chest, he'd had no doubt that she was the one – the only one – destined for him. If only said destiny didn't have other plans for him.

All sides of the love-square, though mostly Adrienette, SOULMATE AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Next chapter

Chapter 1: No One but Her

Adrien Agreste first dreamt of his soulmate on the very night of his sixteen birthday.

It wasn't anything too extraordinary – it was commonly known that the vision of one's significant other half was bound to appear in one's sleep sometime during the last week preceding or the first week following their birthday. The fact that it was also universally acknowledged that it rarely happened on the night of said birthday (and that the probability of it actually happening was lower that once in fourteen times, as a simple calculus might suggest) made no difference. It wasn't irregular, it wasn't surprising. It wasn't unnatural, either.

It was a little unusual, that's all.

Now, Adrien knew all that. He'd heard various theories about soulmates as he grew up, even though the topic surely wasn't a favourite in his own household. Still, he had friends, and ones that were all eager to discuss the matter with him. Whether it was a four year old Chloe or a fourteen year old Nino (or Chloe again, as her interest in the subject had never quite seemed to cease) didn't matter much. The subject was intriguing, exciting, mysterious; it sparked interest in everyone he knew, even if they were not at all willing to admit it to their classmates like Alix or Max or even Chloe at some point.

How come Chloe was a representative for all the examples his mind brought on?

Well, that didn't really matter, either. The facts were: he was very much into the idea of soulmates. His friends were into the idea of soulmates, too.

And that was not unusual at all.

Of course, the romantic in Adrien clung to the idea, imagining the moment when he would finally learn his significant half's identity. Even as a kid – or maybe especially then? - he found the idea of this half-magical bond alluring, both because of its supposed power over people's life and the mystery that it was still wrapped in. He was probably the only child on Earth who could successfully beat little Chloe in regard of enthusiasm, and one of a very few who did not lose their drive as they stepped into adolescence.

Where others faked indifference, he showed that he was thrilled; while they gave in to fear and anxiety, he spoke about his faith. He wouldn't let the anxiety take over him and extort the joy of wait, and he certainly had no intention of allowing the fear to dictate him his steps.

Which, considering the talk he'd had with his father at the wee age of eight, was a miracle of its own.

And yet, it would be a lie to say that his view on the subject did not change during the years. Not in terms of excitement – that part was a constant, even if the outer indications of it had at some point became more low-key (and well, this time it was Gabriel Agreste's advice at work). The change had nothing to do with age or his classmates' view on the topic and certainly not with the teasing (or cynical) remarks he'd heard from those older and supposedly more mature than him.

Like the ones given by Audrey Burgeois whenever Chloe asked her about it.

No, the real alteration lay somewhere else and though his friends couldn't have said where if they tried to, Adrien had no problem determining it.

He knew.

He knew who his soulmate was. Period. Ever since he'd first met her, ever since his heart had made that cheerful dance of recognition in hist chest, he'd had no doubt that she was the one – the only one – destined for him. No matter how many times she rejected him, he kept believing that it was only a matter of time before she understood the connection and realised what he'd known since day one. He hoped with all his being that she would not need an actual dream to tell her that, but if worse came to worst, he would accept that scenario as well.

As long as she chose him in the end.

That didn't mean he hadn't spent the two weeks preceding his birthday being giddy with excitement, so much that even his father had taken notice of that. Gabriel didn't say much on the subject, obviously, except the casual question of whether Adrien was feeling fine or if maybe his flushed cheeks and starry gaze were in fact an indication of a nearing fever. The boy denied quickly; and yet, he didn't dare go as far as to summon the real reasons for the change in his appearance, even though that meant being sent to bed early in a way of precaution.

He knew all too well how his father reacted to the mere mentions of soulmates.

So he had nodded and followed suit. He'd made sure he acted calmly, both in and out of the house, just to make sure he wouldn't provoke any more questions of the sort. He'd almost started to hope that his father had once again forgotten when his birthday actually was.

And so it had gone on for six long days, during which he'd unconsciously ensured that his behaviour at school was just as indifferent as it was at home. Since he had never made a big deal of sharing any details about his hopes with his classmates, the change was not as noticeable as it might have appeared to be. Nino was surprised but said nothing; Alya teased him with a few comments, but did nothing but that. And as for Marinette...

Well, Marinette had seemed to be a bundle of nerves since the beginning of the week, going from pensive to excited to combative in a matter of minutes sometimes.

He really hoped she was alright.

Still, no matter how much he cared for her, how much he valued her friendship and wanted to prove himself worthy of it, he couldn't bring himself to focus on her state more than on the event he was nearing. Had he had any reasons to believe she was unwell, he would have looked into it no doubt. However, he'd known her for too long not to be able to distinguish real trouble and hurt from what was nothing but confusion on her part.

It was clearly the latter that was happening this time, and Alya's words only confirmed that.

It was fine.

So it seemed to him, anyway. On the night before his birthday he was as agitated as ever, or – since it was the first time when he allowed himself to open up a little about it – even more so. He was eager, he was enthusiastic, he was ready to take on the world. He did feel a little nervous, which was also a first (and probably the reason why it came as such a surprise to him, as predictable as it was) and which was quickly reflected in the way he moved and spoke.

There was edginess in his step as he paced around his room; there was a frown on his forehead and a trembling of his hands.

And yet, none of these could compete with the hope and happiness that filled his soul and fuelled his heart, radiating from his whole silhouette regardless of the anxiousness mentioned above.

It was truly miraculous that he was not glowing in a literal sense yet.

"Oh, will you just go to bed already?" Plagg whined loudly as he munched on his piece of cheese and grimaced at the boy before him. "Seriously kid, you don't even know that you will dream of her tonight. Nobody said it would be on your birthday, and even if, I'd say tomorrow still counts as your birthday night. So calm down, will you?"

"You know that I can't" Adrien answered, with mixture of joy and apprehension ringing in his voice. "It's too great to just push it aside. It's too much and too soon and yet, not nearly soon enough..."

"I swear to Fu, Adrien, you say one more word and I'll throw up all the cheese I've had today," the kwami retorted. "You really are taking it too far."

"I am not," Adrien denied. "Oh, come on, it's the most important night of my life! You could be at least a little more understanding for once."

"I've been more than understanding for the past two weeks. We both know that this fake indifference you displayed in front of Nathalie only worked because you felt you could take it out on me twofold as soon as she was gone. I haven't stopped you, I haven't complained – no more than I usually do, anyway. Still, even my patience has boundaries and no amount of cheese can move them any further."

"Now that's new. I thought your love of cheese conquered all."

"Somehow, it fails to help with a teenage-love-caused nausea."

To that Adrien only laughed, before throwing himself down on the coach and reaching up to scratch Plagg behind the ear fondly. The little creature bristled and wiggled, pretending not to be moved by the affectionate gesture... and then gave in to it completely, purring contentedly in the same way he always did.

Adrien's grin widened at the sight.

"Come on now, I'm not that annoying, am I?" he asked cheerfully as he continued to stroke Plagg's ears and chin. "Also, I bet I'm not the only Chat Noir who fell in love with Ladybug."

"As if that made it any better," Plagg muttered in response. "Seriously, I don't know what it is about that spotted costume that makes you boys lose your minds before you even have a chance to have a proper talk with her. It's unhealthy."

"Oh?" Adrien hummed, amused. "So not only am I not the first to fall for her in general, it's also an all-cats tendency for it to happen soon. Somehow, I feel relieved."

"Before it gets to your head, you should know that your was still a record time. As I said: unhealthy."

"Or maybe simply romantic?" Adrien let out a long, dreamy sigh. He kicked off his shoes and stretched on the coach comfortably, before continuing. "Also, how could I not have fallen in love with her? It's not because she has made some great entrance and swept me off my feet all at once. In fact, she was the opposite of that: clumsy and insecure, a little awkward and surely lacking faith in her own skill. Hell, she was practically drowning in all that self-doubt.... And yet, that didn't stop her from trying hard."

"You mean, she delayed her great entrance for a day and then impressed you twice as much as she would have otherwise."

"You can laugh all you want, I know what I felt," once again, Adrien contradicted him. "And that 'delay', as you call it, wasn't something she'd planned – it was a natural reaction on her part but then it only showed how deep her courage truly ran. How much she had to struggle, how difficult it was to accept that new, crazy path Master Fu had chosen for us... And still, she did accept that. Now, if that's not impressive, I really don't know what is."

This time, Plagg only sighed.

"There really is no talking you out of this one, is there?" he asked wearily, even though his tiny lips were curved in a small smile. "Gosh, you really are hopeless."

"I do care for her, Plagg," the boy lying next to him responded, his own voice having a new seriousness to it. "I know it seems silly. It probably was at first: a shallow crush, derived directly from my being amazed by what she did that day, contradicting Hawkmoth despite her own fears. But even if it was... It's been almost three years now. We became friends, and partners, and... so much more, even if still refuses to see it in a romantic light. She is my soulmate, Plagg. There's no one else that could take that role but her."

"And what if you're wrong?" Plagg suggested quietly.

Adrien shook his head. "I can't be. It's just not an option, not when even the Guardian of the Miraculous called us one another's yin and yang."

"Except in this case the yin and the yang may remain platonic and still work just fine."

For the first time in week's Adrien felt the kind of anxiety that was not accompanied by the usual enthusiasm and faith. His brow furrowed as he gazed up at his friend, his heart speeding up while his blood ran cold; his jaw tightening unconsciously as he thought it over in his mind.

"You can't really mean that."

Once again, Plagg sighed, and flew closer to the boy's side.

"Look, I don't want to scare you here," he explained evenly. "I'm not saying that you should give up on her, or that you should lose all faith and resign yourself to a life with some random girl who will surely take her place. I don't know if she'll appear in your dreams today – heck, we can't even be sure if it really will be today. But that's what this whole thing is about, Adrien: no one can be certain about this thing until it's actually happened. I know how you feel about her; I know you want your special dream to confirm what you've believed so far. And you know that I want you to be happy."

"So where's the hatch?" Adrien asked.

"No hatch. I just... I just want you to make room for a possibility where it's not Ladybug who turns out to be your other half. So that you're at least in some way prepared if that's the case. Can you promise me to try that?"

Adrien's reply wasn't an immediate one. Quite the opposite: the boy seemed to be taking full advantage of the time he had, staying silent for as long as appeared proper to him – and then a little longer than that. Motionless, he lay like he did before, with only his eyes shifting; and even they remained fixed on one spot on the ceiling, after he'd looked away from Plagg's solemn face.

Because that was no light matter.

Adrien was well aware of that, of course. It wasn't that his buoyant demeanour was an act, or that it was his way of fighting the fears that had somehow found way to the very core of his vulnerable heart. He wasn't hiding behind it – simply because he had already faced those fears a long time ago.

How could he not have, with Ladybug rejecting him so many times so far? He might have been naive to some, but he wasn't stupid for sure. He wasn't selfish, either, and for that reason he simply had to consider a situation in which his Lady did not respond to his affection, no matter how many dreams of one another they'd shared.

She meant everything to him – he wasn't going to throw himself at her if she was certain she couldn't love him back.

No matter how much the mere thought of it hurt him.

"I just can't imagine it being anyone but her," he said softly (a little longingly) at last. "I know it still might be. Someone I've never thought of before or maybe even someone I haven't even met yet. But it's like... it's something the logical part of me realises, while the more emotional side screams to forget it as something completely absurd. My brain tells me to keep my options open; my heart calls me a traitor for even considering that."

He rolled over to his stomach and rested his chin on his folded arms. "So yes, I do have room for such a possibility. And if my soulmate turns out to be someone who isn't Ladybug, I promise you to do my best to know her and to love her, even if it's in a very different way. I just -"

He stopped abruptly; then he pressed his face against his arms and muttered, "I just pray to God that I don't have to."

Again, silence fell on the room, with nothing but the sound of the two of them breathing to disturb it. It was Plagg's turn to caress his Chosen, with a gentle touch of his little paw brushing the cheek of the boy he was supposed to protect. Adrien smiled weakly at the display and turned his head a bit, just enough to be able to see the kwami with more than his mind's eye.

"You really should just go to bed, you know," Plagg murmured with his usual fatigue. "Otherwise you'll fall asleep right here and then wake up from discomfort in the middle of your most important night. And you wouldn't want to do that halfway through that soulmate dream, would you?"

"I sure would not," Adrien agreed readily. He lifted himself up and jumped off the coach in one swift movement, yawning and stretching as he stood up. "I still need a shower though – which is all the more annoying if I think it may actually chase my sleepiness away. And not being able to fall asleep, tonight of all nights... Now, that would be far worse than the disrupted sleep you mentioned before."

"Well, I'd say the amount of sleep you've been getting lately is the best guarantee of good rest tonight," Plagg offered derisively. "You hardly slept at all because of your excitement, it should have been enough to wear you out."

Adrien couldn't help but yawn again.

"You're right. It has," he admitted. "Alright, shower it is. Then I'm gonna go straight to bed, tuck myself in and just relax. That should be an invitation enough for my body and mind to feel the sleepiness as well, right?"

And then he was off, determined not to lose another minute of this very precious time. He was back in no time, calm and warmed up, more than ready to face the destiny that – he was sure of it – was finally going to show its face to him that night.

It was a few minutes past ten when he reached his bed at last; it was half past when he finally fell asleep. His dream came to him at three, at the darkest hour and the most trying time.

And when the sun showed itself some time around five...

...it found him sitting up abruptly, with a cold sweat flowing down his neck and his big green eyes wide with shock and fright.

Because he hadn't dreamt of Ladybug that night.

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 20/?

May I? - 20/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

A/N: Hey guys! I’m back. Sorry for the delay. this chapter gave me a bit of trouble. Also, I’ve been playing a LOT of DND lately and it’s eating up all my muse. Anyway, I hope to have the next update sooner than this one. Enjoy.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @geekygwen​

Faith didn't know what to think. Her emotions were running rampant, though part of her was still in complete shock at what she had witnessed. She had never seen that look in Data's eyes before. The strength of his punches was unfathomable. Honestly, she was surprised Fajo was still alive.

His normally serene face had been twisted into a frightening mask of rage. 

“What happened over there?” Riker asked as he led her to sickbay. 

She told him the events of the evening, in short, clipped tones that made it clear she didn't want to talk. Riker listened, stoic face remaining passive until she mentioned Data losing control.

Only then did his mouth twitch into a frown, eyebrows knitted together with worry. Yet, he didn't look surprised.

“Has this happened before?” Faith asked.

Riker nodded. “Once. Not too long ago. With a Borg who was attacking him. Data said he ‘felt' angry.”

“This wasn't anger, Will. This was rage.” 

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been scared of him. In that moment, when he turned to look at her, his fists covered in Fajo’s blood, she didn't know what he was going to do.

Seemingly sensing her distress, Riker put his arm around her shoulders. “Listen, Faith. Data would never do anything to hurt you. You know that right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. It was just...it was scary to see him lose control that way.”

They arrived at sickbay in time to see Beverly and her staff rushing to stabilize Fajo. Once he saw the scope of the man's injuries, Riker seemed to give Faith a look of understanding.

He led her over to one of the empty beds, making sure she sat before he left her side.

“How is he, doc?” Riker asked Beverly.

“He's been severely beaten. There is massive internal bleeding and several broken bones,” Beverly listed as her assistant injected Fajo with a hypo. “His pulse is weak but steady for the most part. I think he's going to live.”

Faith sighed with relief. It wasn't for Fajo’s sake however, it was for Data's. If he had killed Fajo, she did not know how he would take it. She suspected he was already confused and overwhelmed as it was. 

He had always been adamant that he could not feel emotion. She felt he could on some level, in his own way. Now it seemed he was evolving, experiencing emotion from a human perspective.

And I shied away from him when he probably needed me, Faith thought, angry at herself. Way to go, Faith.

Riker and Beverly spoke in hushed tones but Faith was too lost in her own muddled thoughts to try to eavesdrop. She watched Dr. Crusher and her staff move quickly, doing everything they could to take care of Faith's captor. 

It took some time but eventually, Fajo was stable. Riker left to go report to the captain and it was then that Dr. Crusher came over to help Faith.

“Not exactly the romantic weekend we discussed, huh?” she teased with a soft smile, gently examining Faith's broken wrist.

“I mean, it was great right up until we crashed. I'll tell you all about it sometime.”

Beverly smiled. “You better.” She gave Faith a hypo for the pain before she went about closing the cut on her cheek and setting her wrist. 

For the most part, Faith was still and silent. She felt awful for how she reacted to Data and knew she had to talk to him. But she suspected the captain would have a lot of questions for him and there was no way of knowing how long he'd be tied up.

“You're good to go,” Beverly said as she wrapped a brace around Faith's wrist. “The break is healed but I want you to wear this for a few days to keep it straight. Only take it off to shower. Other than that, you need rest. Your body is exhausted and not just from the injuries.”

“No, not just from that.”

Beverly looked at Fajo before glancing back at Faith. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”

Faith shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Just this and a phaser blast to the hip a few days ago.”

Beverly ran the tricorder over Faith's old injury. “Minor internal bruising but that's about it. Again, I prescribe rest. At least a day or two before active duty.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Do you want something to help you sleep?”

“Yes.”

Faith knew she wouldn't be able to rest on her own. Beverly seemed surprised at her immediate acceptance of the help. 

“There are a few homeopathic remedies programmed into the replicators,” she said. “I'll send you my favorite. If that doesn't work, some see me and we'll administer something.”

“Thanks, Beverly.”

She smiled and patted Faith on the knee. “It's good to see you in one piece.”

“It's good to be back.”

As Faith was getting to her feet, the sickbay doors opened and Deanna appeared. Faith knew the counselor was looking for her. She had suspected she would be sought out once the Oz’ods were handled. She was sure her wild emotions had hit Deanna the moment she appeared on the transport pad.

“Hey, counselor,” Faith said with a wry smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh hush you.” Deanna gave her a big hug, which Faith returned. “We were so worried about you.”

“I'm okay. Honestly.”

Deanna glanced at the unconscious body of Fajo, then back to Faith. “Let's walk,” she suggested. 

Faith allowed herself to be led from sickbay, eager to get back to the familiar safety of her quarters.

“How bad was it?” Deanna asked once they were out of earshot of anyone.

Faith didn't answer at first, unable to verbalize her feelings. Deanna didn't push, only kept her arm around the young woman as they walked.

“It was the worst thing I have ever experienced,” Faith admitted. “We were separated at first and I had no idea what Fajo had planned or was trying to accomplish. He used me to get Data to do his bidding.”

“And Data did it.”

“Yes. Eventually, we were allowed to be together but we were obviously being watched. If it wasn't for the Oz’ods help, I don't know what we would have done. How did you find us?”

“Once we were able to establish communication with the Oz’od we had in custody, we realized what was happening. They were able to tell us about Fajo’s ship and where he liked to orbit. Once our repairs were done, we immediately began the search.”

“I'm glad you did.” Faith leaned on Deanna for support. “All I wanted to do was get us back home.”

Deanna squeezed her shoulder. “Well, you're here now and it looks like Fajo got what was coming to him.”

“Will Data be reprimanded for what he did?”

“I can't say. I do know I want to see him twice a week now instead of once.”

“He must be so confused.”

“You are as well.”

Faith sighed deeply. “I am. But I can't think about that right now. This isn't about me. I need to be there for him. I was so cold to him a few minutes ago.”

“You're entitled to your reaction,” Deanna said. “It is not an unusual response to detach yourself emotionally from an emotionally charged moment. Data will understand if you explain it to him.”

Faith fell silent. Her body felt like it weighed a ton and her steps became harder to control. She briefly wondered if Beverly had secretly slipped her something but more likely it was the lack of proper sleep and sudden drop of adrenaline.

Deanna showed her to her quarters, pulling her into another firm hug. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon and we'll talk more, okay?”

Nodding, Faith hugged her back. “I will.” And she meant it.

Once she was alone in her quarters, she realized that it was the last place she wanted to be. She had been alone too long over the last few days. She couldn't stand it anymore. After gathering a few personal items, she immediately left, heading for Data's quarters instead.

When she arrived, Barclay was just getting there as well.

“Faith! You're back!” he said. “It's...it's good to see you. I was just about to feed Spot.”

“Thanks, Reg,” she said. “I'll handle it. I think Data will be tied up for a while. He appreciates you taking care of Spot for him though.”

“It's no trouble, she's a very sweet cat,” Barclay said.

He took in her disheveled appearance, along with her wrist brace. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Faith admitted. “But I will be.”

“If-If you ever need to…” Barclay stopped himself. “I mean...I better than anyone understand anxiety.”

Faith smiled. “I'll keep that in mind. Bye, Reg.”

He gave her a small wave as she slipped into Data's quarters. Just seeing the familiar surroundings was enough to put her at ease. Spot came out from the closet, stretching and yawning. When she saw it was Faith, not Data or Barclay, she turned around and went right back to her sleeping space.

“Nice to see you too,” Faith chuckled.

She replicated Spot’s dinner, then sat on the bed to wait for Data.

It felt strange to be back. Over the last few days, she had lived in a near-constant state of heightened anxiety, and to finally be in a safe space was disorienting. Spot came out to eat and once she was done, she seemed curious about Faith and wandered over.

Faith was surprised when the cat headbutted her leg, rubbing herself along Faith as she asked for attention.

“It's just because I'm the only one here, isn't it?” Faith chuckled, reaching down to scratch the cat behind her ears. 

The cat jumped onto her lap and began loudly putting. Faith continued to stroke her soft fur, finding the action oddly soothing.

It was only twenty minutes later when the doors opened and Data stepped in. As soon as she saw him, Spot meowed and made a beeline for her owner. 

“Hello, Spot. It is good to see you as well,” Data said, picking the cat up. His eyes fell on Faith and he gave her a look of surprise. “Faith...you are here.”

“Would you rather be alone?” Faith asked, reaching for her bag. “I can go back to my quarters.”

“Please stay,” Data insisted. “I was under the impression you did not wish to be in my company.”

Faith winced. “I'm sorry I made you think that. I just needed some time to process what happened.”

“I understand.” Data put Spot back down before he joined Faith on the bed. 

They both remained silent as if neither one knew what to say to the other. Data was the first to speak.

“Faith, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you no longer wish to be a couple?”

She had anticipated his question, remembering how he had mentioned something similar during their first date.

“Oh, Data, babe.” Faith wrapped her arms around his arm, hugging it close. “Of course I still want to be with you.”

“That is a relief. I was concerned my outburst may have changed our relationship.”

“Well, I mean, it has,” Faith said. “But not in that way.”

“In what way are you referring?”

Faith wracked her brain trying to find a sufficient way to explain her muddled thoughts. “Seeing your partner in such a raw emotional state is bound to change things. You've seen me broken down more times than I can count. I guess, with all your talk of lack of emotions, even though I firmly believe you feel things your own way, your outburst completely blindsided me.”

“Me as well,” Data said. “It has not happened that way before. I was not anticipating it.”

“I know that now. I should have realized it then as well. I'm sorry for pulling away.”

Data studied her closely. “Faith, are you frightened of me?”

Faith took a deep breath. “In that moment, I was. But I'm not now.”

“I do not wish for you to ever be frightened of me,” Data said. “I cannot control these new emotional responses and if I hurt you in the process, I will be unable to forgive myself.”

Faith cupped his cheek, pulling him into a kiss. It was deep but chaste, meant to provide comfort when her words could not.

“I trust you, Data,” she said when their lips parted, her forehead coming to rest against his. “Whatever is happening to you, whatever emotions you develop, we'll figure them out together. I promise.”

“Thank you, Faith.”

They embraced and remained sitting for some time until Faith remembered they still wore the clothes Fajo forced them into.

“I should change,” she said, drawing away and plucking at the ruined dress.

“As should I,” Data agreed. “You may use my lavatory if you wish to wash.”

Faith gave him a coy smile. “Will you join me?”

“While my skin does occasionally become covered with dirt, it eventually cleans itself so I do not require…” He paused, realizing what she was offering. “I see. You are being solicitous.”

Faith giggled. “Yes, I am. In a sense. We don't have to engage in anything sexual. I just want to be close to you.”

She slowly stood, offering her hand to Data. He studied her with curious attention, his brow furrowed in the most adorable way.

“Yes, I will join you.” He accepted her hand.

Faith smiled and led him to the washroom. Once inside, she turned on the shower, making sure the temperature was to her preference before turning back to Data. He remained stock-still, clearly unsure of how to proceed. 

Taking the lead, Faith removed the shawl he had fashioned for her before turning her back on him. “Can you unzip my dress?”

Data's hands were gentle as they took hold of the delicate zipper, dragging it all the way down until the fabric around her loosened. She sighed when she felt his hands glide across her skin beneath the fabric, pushing it off her shoulders.

The flimsy fabric gave way easily, pooling down her curvy frame and falling to the floor. Faith stepped out of it and towards the shower, disposing of her brace along the way. With an inviting glance over her shoulder, she smiled at Data before stepping into the shower.

The cascading hot water immediately put her at ease. She heard the rustling of fabric and then Data was there with her. She turned to face him. 

It was strange seeing him in such a human setting. Faith never realized how much she truly saw him as an android. She needed to do better, to be better. She needed to see him as a person, no different from herself.

When she kissed him this time, he responded, one arm sliding around her waist while his free hand cupped her cheek. The heat from the shower and their bodies was intoxicating. It made her head spin.

How could I fear this man? This sweet, wonderful man? she thought to herself, moaning softly as his tongue hesitantly prodded her lips. 

She opened for him, allowing him to taste her as she molded to his slick wet body.

“Faith.” He breathed her name between kisses. “My body is becoming aroused.” 

She could feel the swell of him against her stomach and it sent a bolt of pleasure through her. “Mmm, mine too,” she hummed in response.

“You did mention not doing anything sexual. If we continue kissing this way that will not help the situation.”

Faith chuckled, pulling back slightly to peer up at him through her thick eyelashes. 

“Probably not. Do you wish to stop?”

“If you wish to continue, we can.”

Faith looked him directly in the eye. “Data,” she said. “Do you want to stop?”

He processed her rephrased question, studying her closely. “Yes,” he said. “It has been a long day and you need your rest.”

Smiling with understanding, Faith gave him one last peck before withdrawing from his arms. “Okay, you're right. I am feeling a bit woozy.”

“Let us finish washing and then get you to bed.”

Faith took Data's hands and covered them with soap, gently scrubbing the dried blood off his knuckles. She knew he could do it himself but she didn't want to pull away this time. She wanted to show him that she wasn't scared anymore.

Data watched her closely and though he remained silent, she was sure the symbolism was not lost on him. He helped her clean herself next, hands ever so gentle as they spread the lather across her light brown skin. 

After they finished, Data stepped out and brought Faith a large fluffy towel. Together they dried off and dressed in fresh clothing.

Faith wore a pair of loose pants and a large shirt while Data had his uniform.

“Dr. Crusher says the replicator has some home remedies to help me sleep,” Faith commented once they left the bathroom. 

“I shall get you one,” Data insisted. 

Faith combed her fingers through her hair, leaving it loose to dry faster. Once she was comfortably seated in bed, Data brought her a steaming mug of tea.

“I believe it is what is known as ‘Sleepytime Tea’,” he explained. “I added honey to sweeten it as I know you do not like bitter tea.”

“You're the sweetest, thanks.” Faith took the mug and allowed it to warm her hands. “Are you going to jump back to work while I sleep?”

Surprisingly, Data shook his head. “I do not feel it is appropriate to work after such an ordeal,” he said. “I would much rather provide you comfort at this time.”

“Are you sure? I really don't mind. I like falling asleep to you working. It's soothing. I know laying here can be a bit boring for you.”

“I want to lay with you.”

Faith smiled at his words. “I'd love nothing more.”

She drank her tea and slipped under the covers while Data disposed of her mug. He joined her a moment later, immediately pulling her into his solid embrace.

Although Faith was exhausted, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Even with being comfortable and safe in Data's arms, her brain would not rest. The tea had made her drowsy but she still fought it. The irrational part of her brain kept making her picture Fajo bursting through the door at any moment.

“Faith, can you not sleep?” Data asked after some time had passed. 

“I'm afraid to close my eyes,” she admitted.

“We are on the Enterprise. You do not need to be afraid.”

“Logically I know that.”

Data nodded with understanding. “But anxiety does not follow logic,” he finished.

“Exactly.”

“Computer,” Data said. “How many lifeforms are currently in these quarters?”

“Two lifeforms: human and feline, as well as one android.”

“Computer, are the locks enabled for these quarters?”

“Affirmative.”

Data offered Faith a smile. “Does that help?”

She smiled back and snuggled closer, allowing her eyes to finally close. “Yes, it does. Thanks, babe.”

Data kissed her forehead. “Rest now, mi alma.”

Faith opened her eyes again, staring at Data in awe. “Data…?”

“It is the term of endearment I have chosen for you,” he explained. “Do you not like it?”

“I...I love it,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

Data smiled softly and adjusted the blanket around her. “Then I will continue to use it.”

Faith smiled back almost sheepishly, heart skipping a beat as the memory of her native language sliding so effortlessly off Data's tongue.

As she drifted off to sleep, all she could think about was the meaning behind his words. He had often mentioned his thoughts on spirituality and the idea of whether or not an android could have a soul.

She was honored that he had decided he did and that she was it.

[doe-s-labyrinth]

Saviour

Saviour - Arthur x F!reader | Oneshot

Word Count: 5,308

Warnings: Angst, execution

They weren’t coming.

Nobody was going to come and save you - and the two weeks you had spent in that prison of a cell was proof of that.

The familiar damp, grey walls of the Strawberry jail had become home, and the little you could see out of the window bars was comforting. Two weeks in that grotty cell was enough to make anyone go insane. The little amount of food given every two days didn’t help in the slightest - and your clothes always felt wet from the constant dripping of water on the walls. The cot - now nothing could be as comfortable and homely as your bed back in the camp, but you’d somehow managed to sleep on the dingy fabric for the past few nights. They obviously hadn’t washed it in years, and you could smell every other person that had ever slept on it. The floor would have been cleaner bed if it wasn’t for the disgusting amount of cockroach carcasses you’d kicked into a corner.

Two weeks had been an absolute hell, of course you had been through worse, but the boredom you felt caused the two weeks of rotting away to be a firm contender with spending 3 days of being tortured in an O’Driscoll camp. You still had deep scars from that event, but you hadn’t told the Irishmen a word, and for that you were proud.

But at least then you were occupied. You’d had far too much time to think in that Strawberry jail cell - resurfaced memories that you’d blocked out, theories on how you could have escaped the bounty hunter that had once caught you, a comeback for Grimshaw’s relentless nagging.

Yet you couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid you had been to get caught - while wearing a dress of all things. It had become loose during the two weeks of little food and activity - a visualisation of the weight you’d lost, and the mud on the fabric had caused the outfit to become itchy and unclean.

It wasn’t like you weren’t being careful, but the increase of security in the town after Micah’s outburst had affected things. You were simply there to visit your mother’s grave - it was nearing the anniversary of her death and you’d welcomed the distraction with open arms. The tension in camp had increased after moving to Beaver Hollow, and all the secret conversations of leaving the gang was becoming heavy on your conscience. Of course you didn’t want to leave - you were all a family after all.

But the reality of playing happy families had turned stale months ago, everybody knew it, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it. The bank robbery in Saint Denis had really set a damper on everyone’s mood - and with the loss of Hosea, Dutch had no rationalisation in his plans, and it had been costly for everyone.

You couldn’t wait to get away for a while. It was originally meant to be a four day trip - head to Strawberry, visit your mother’s grave, and head back to camp. You didn’t want to leave for too long - the Pinkertons had been hot on the gang’s trail after all, and you didn���t want to abandon them. You’d told them of your plans and nobody seemed too fussed, so you didn’t wait before leaving. You had offered Arthur to come since it had been some time since the two of you had spent any time together. You’d barely seen him after he returned from Guarma, but Dutch had him doing all sorts of work. He was always busy, and you didn’t doubt that if you all still lived in Blackwater then he’d come along in a heartbeat, but things had been hectic lately and you understood that.

The entire trip had been peaceful until you entered Strawberry, and the alone time had been nicer than you thought it would, but things seemed off and the atmosphere was almost eerie. Nobody was very talkative - and for the small reserved town that wasn’t uncommon, but the uneasiness you felt was more off-putting than usual to say the least.

You’d only decided to wear a dress to visit your mother’s grave - you wanted to look nice for her, and she’d always loved seeing you in them even if they weren’t your favourite thing to wear. You’d missed her greatly, and placing some fresh flowers below her headstone was calming.

A nice drink was needed after visiting her, and so you’d decided to head to the saloon. You didn’t plan on having much, just a single bottle of beer to destress, but of course someone just had to recognise you. You could remember the interaction as clear as day, and you cursed yourself for letting it happen.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” The drunk man’s words were slurred and his was accent thick throughout his sentence.

You’d tried to ignore him, all you wanted was to finish your drink before heading to the hotel, and you couldn’t wait to take that damned dress off. But of course he had to try and get your attention once more. You felt his greasy hand on your shoulder and you couldn’t help it when your jaw stiffened.

“Let go of me.” Your voice was clear and threatening, but of course he took it as a joke. The drunk laughed and mocked your words as you took a short sip of the alcohol in your hand.

“Wait, wait - I know you!” He bellowed, his wide grin showed off his lack of teeth.

You stiffened up at his words, and what felt like a hundred pairs of eyes moved to your back from the drunkard’s loud banter. Yet you turned to him, pushing yourself off of the bar you were leaning on, and standing straight as you gazed at him with a sickly sweet smile,

“Oh, you must have me mistaken with somebody-”

“No, I know you! You were walking with those - uh, Van Der - uh, what’s his name? Van Der Loins?” His rambling mumbles cut you off and your breath visibly caught at his words. More eyes looked curiously at the mention of the well-known name, and you were frozen in your place. You were about to move to leave when someone else stood up, pointing at you as he yelled,

“Aye - I recognize 'er too! she’s one of ‘em!” He shouted, his yelling just as slurred as the man beside you.

“That Micah bastard killed my brother,” another voice shouted from the growing commotion.

Your hand shook from where it hovered by your thigh - under your dress was a handgun, but a single pistol stood no chance against this crowd and you wouldn’t trust your shot with the anxiety building in your chest. You prayed to stay calm - but your nerves were getting the better of you as more and more people joined in on the yelling. Why couldn’t Arthur be there with you? He would know what to do - he wouldn’t let this happen.

“Get ‘er!”

Your widened eyes shot to a fairly large man pouncing at you - but thankfully your reflexes were quicker as you moved to run out of the saloon. The heavy downpour drenched you within seconds as you raced out of the bar - your horse was in the stables for the night, sheltered from the storm, but maybe you could make it-

A firm grip on your bicep pulled you back into a set of strong arms that easily lifted you up - you struggled and kicked at the perpetrator as the crowd that had gathered cheered at your capture. You screamed out as your foot collided with the man’s crotch, causing him to drop you onto the wet mud on the road,

“You bitch!” He roared, his fist colliding with your cheek and sending you back into a puddle before you could get up.

The crowd swarmed you, arms grabbed at you as you yelled out, desperate to escape them.

A gunshot rung through your ears, catching the attention of the mob. They cleared a path and the town's Deputy came into view before you, his gun still raised as he took in the scene. But he must have already been informed as he shot you a sickening smirk,

“Someone’s gotta pay for the rat’s actions.”

And so they carried you to the cell and set your date to hang.

You’d learned later on that Micah had killed the Deputy’s father during his mass-shooting - and he had definitely made you suffer for Mr Bell’s actions. The first week had been full of beatings that you were sure weren’t allowed, but the Sheriff would turn a blind-eye whenever they happened. Bruises littered your skin, but the lanky man’s punches were no match when compared to an O’Driscoll’s, and for that you were thankful.

The long wait period between your incarceration and your execution date was surprising, there was only one other man in the jail when you had arrived, and he had been hung two days after your entrance. Jail’s didn’t usually wait - they liked to have a free prison if they could, but you bet the lengthy period had something to do with the Deputy’s ‘payback’. Nobody ever answered when you asked about it, but you had a feeling that they were using you as bait. If they wanted Micah himself then they would be sore out of luck, he didn’t like you very much after you and Arthur became official, but at least this gave more time for word to spread about your incarceration.

The thought that you and Arthur were even together still made you smile, even if it had been a year. You couldn’t deny that the relationship had been rocky lately. The reappearance of Mary in Arthur’s life had set you on edge, and you were uneasy even with Arthur’s endless reassuring.

'We’re just friends’, his words rung in your head like a ghost’s whisper. You wanted to believe that, but you knew their past together, and that Arthur had never really gotten over her. The night’s he’d stay up after he saw her again worried you, and his denial of your comfort had hurt.

The two of you hadn’t been very close since you saw him with Mary in Saint Denis. He’d taken off that morning in a hurry after receiving a letter, and you’d thought little of it considering he was always rushing off to places unknown. Hosea had sent you and Charles into the city with a wagon to get some supplies, and on your way into the general store you’d spotted Arthur. His presence had brought a smile to your lips, and you were about to call out to him until you saw a giggling Mary at his side, her arms clinging onto his.

It felt like you’d been stabbed when you saw them, and Arthur looked the happiest he’d been in months. They didn’t notice you as they walked down an alley into god-knows-where, but you still stood frozen on the pavement, biting back tears and chewing on your lip.

Charles had noticed your shift in mood when you were leaving, but you didn’t spill a word of what you’d seen despite your friend's prying. You didn’t speak about it to anyone for weeks until Abigail pulled you aside one night and made you confess. You’d been acting like a zombie ever since you’d seen the couple, and Arthur hadn’t noticed your upset demeanour with all the time he’d spent out of camp. Those who had noticed had been worried, and Abigail had had enough of your moping.

With a bottle of whiskey and your best friends comfort, you spilled your guts. Abigail listened and offered you her solace - you had to stop her from storming over to Arthur and giving him a piece of her mind. But your mood brightened after that weight had been partially removed from your shoulders, but then the bank robbery happened, and Arthur went missing.

The time without him had let you think about the situation with a clear head - or as clear of a head as you could have with the amount of chaos. You'd managed to convince yourself that Mary would stay out of your relationship - that you would believe Arthur for now. You didn't want to lose him - he was one of the best things that had ever happened to you.

You were the first to greet him when he finally came back and found you in Lakay - even if the two of you had been distant before it happened, his complete absence was a horrible time. You had run outside when you heard Sadie call his name, and he was barely off the stolen horse before your arms were wrapped firmly around his torso. You couldn’t help but cry into his chest when you felt him hug you back - and for a second, everything felt whole again.

‘I’m here now, don’t cry, Sweetheart.’

You'd spent the entire night of his return together, and it was one of the best you'd had in a while. He’d held you so tightly, like he never wanted to let go of you again, and you gladly returned his feelings.

Your brain would always trick you into thinking he was laying in the cot beside you when he was gone, but when you’d reach out for him all you’d feel was the chilly swamp air. And now it was the same once again. You’d imagine that he was right there with you. You could imagine his strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer whenever he felt a chill in the night. His hot breaths on the back of your neck, and his snoring that never really bothered you. You even missed the way his beard would brush against you whenever he let it grow out, and the way he would always whisper sweet nothings to you whenever he thought you were asleep.

But now you were alone again, tears rolling down your cheeks with nobody to brush them away.

But there was one thing you had thought of over and over again in the past two weeks. It was almost all you’d dreamed about when you could sleep, and you could only hope that the past would repeat itself.

He’d saved you when you were trapped in the O’Driscoll’s basement, beaten and bloody, and he’d killed everyone there in a rage for what they’d done to you. You would often fantasise about seeing his face through the window bars of the cell, his ever calm expression would be filled with determination to get you out, and then you would run away back to camp together and spend the night holding on to one another like you did back in Lakay.

But the wall had been reinforced after Micah’s escape, and the machinery Arthur had used in their great escape had been moved so it couldn’t happen again. A stick of dynamite would do the trick - but your time was wearing thin, and your belief in your lover was slimming.

It had been two weeks since you were put away after all, or that was what you could tell from the shift in the sunlight you could see. Your hands clung loosely onto the window bars from where you stood, gazing at the lightrays, picking at the few blades of grass you could reach.

A crash behind you caused you to jump, your arms retreating back inside the cell as your eyes moved to the commotion. The Deputy closed the cell door behind him, a large bucket of water in his hands before he put it on the floor, some of the water sloshed and spilled onto the already damp ground.

“Clean yourself up, your hanging in an hour.” his accusatory finger pointed at you as he spoke, and he was about to leave until he turned to you again, “Too bad we couldn’t’ve had more fun.” the slimy man sneered, but you refused to reply as he left, locking the door behind him and shooting you one last snide smirk.

Your breath caught in your throat when the Deputy had finally left, and your knees felt weak as you fell to the floor. Tears brimmed your eyes as reality set in - your time was up. Your shaky arms reached out and pulled the bucket of water closer to your crumpled body. The least you could do was freshen up for your big show. But you didn’t doubt that you looked a mess. Your hair was greasy and knotted from the caked in mud and your skin was bruised and dirty. The cold water stung your arms as you rubbed the dried mud off, the skin was red and raw underneath. Your teeth held your bottom lip captive as you moved to dunk your face in the icy water.

The ‘bath’ was refreshing while it lasted, and you felt a bit better about yourself when you’d finally cleaned the mud from under your fingernails. You’d even managed to wash most of the mud out of your hair before the Deputy returned, rope in his hands.

No words were spoken as you stood and willingly let him tie your hands behind your back. Your legs hurt from their lack of use as he moved you forward and out of the cell, but the relief of finally leaving the small room was enough to mask the pain.

He pushed you through the door of the jail and down the wooden steps, but you couldn’t help but smile and take in fresh air. You’d forgotten how nice the air was outside of the musty cell, and if you hadn’t already been crying then you would have teared up.

But the Deputy spared you no time before he was forcing you to walk again. Your eyes caught sight of a large crowd - and you knew that they were there for you. They were there to watch you hang, to watch 'justice' be served. Even if you hadn’t committed the crime, you were associated with the perpetrator, and they were desperate enough to watch anybody pay for their losses.

The noose was already tied and it hung like a daunting reminder of what was about to happen. The crowd silenced as you neared and the countless amounts of eyes watched your every movement like hawks as you were walked up the wooden steps and onto the stage.

Nobody spoke a word as your eyes met the crowd, searching the people for any familiar faces - the least your ‘family’ could do was be there for you in your final moments. Nothing met your gaze but the angry stares of Strawberry’s townspeople as they awaited your death.

Steady tears glossed over your rosy cheeks as you were placed to stand right behind the noose, the Sheriff cleared his throat, and your breath hitched once more as he began reading from the paper in his hand,

“Fair citizens of Strawberry...” You rolled your eyes at that - this conviction was in no way fair, but nobody would testify for you, not when they knew who you associated with, “for as long as any of us can remember, it is justice that separates us from barbary.”

Your heart ached - not at their savagery, but the fact that the last time you saw your family, nobody had been happy. Times had been so rough lately and everynody was still mourning for Hosea and Lenny. You loved them all, but none of them knew what was happening to you right now - or they did know and they just weren’t coming to help.

The Sheriff’s eyes moved to you and your heart almost stopped at their evil glint, “Yet justice itself can at times be barbaric.”

He stepped forward and addressed the crowd once more, they watched on with interest, ready for main event, “For sometimes a man is so savage, the only way to deal with him justly is by savagery. Micah Bell is one such man.”

You let out a long breath at Micah’s appearance in his script, this was unethical and inhumane, you weren’t exactly innocent yourself, but you weren’t being hung for the crimes that you had committed. You were being hung for crimes Micah had committed. But the people were desperate to see someone swing - and you were the innocent they were about to watch.

“He has murdered, robbed, stolen, escaped and abused our town seemingly with impunity. Today justice catches up with him in the form of Ms Kingston.” the Sheriff’s arm extended out towards you and the Deputy pushed you forward a step before tying the noose around your neck.

He tightened it to a point past uncomfortable and you winced as he let go, the rope digging into the skin of your neck painfully as a few more tears spilled from you eyes. You couldn’t explain the flurry of emotions that ripped through your soul as you stood, tip toed on the trap door in an effort to lessen the pain of the rope. The crowd let out a few cheers before being swiftly silenced by the Sheriff. You swallowed thickly and your teeth bit onto your bottom lip as you put on a brave face. Arthur wouldn’t be scared if he was in your position, but you were terrified. But you had to be strong for yourself - it would be over in a second, and the pain tearing through your heart would be over.

“Your sentence is that you are to be hanged by the neck until you are dead.” The Sheriff’s words held no remorse as his eyes met your pained expression,

“This is not a task we take lightly, it is not a task we enjoy, but it is a task we must carry out if our civilisation is to prosper.” The lack of emotion in his voice was a cruel irony to his words.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you felt the trap door beneath you move - it was only an inch, but it was a sick, taunting taste of what was about to occur, the Sheriff turned to his Deputy and another man who stood next to the lever that held your fate, “Gentlemen, are we ready?” you assumed they were as the Sheriff quickly carried on with your sentence,

“Ms Kingston,” he began, and your breathing became erratic as you prepared for what was to come - but not even the noose around your neck would compare to the pain you felt of having to leave your family behind. Your heart yearned for them and you wished they could hear your subtle prayers of goodbye, “may God, in his infinite wisdom have mercy upon your soul.”

His words burned through your ears as you were forced to stare out at the anticipating crowd, and before you could think another syllable, the trap door beneath you disappeared.

But you fell straight through, the tail of the rope hit against your shoulder, the ends blackened and burnt. You barely had any time to think as a gunshot rung out and a body fell on the stand above you, and the crowd yelled out in screams and yells, quick to run for cover and pull their own guns out.

“Stay quiet,” a voice behind you said as you felt the bindings on your hands be cut, your eyes moved to the familiar voice, landing on a focused Charles,

“Charles, oh my-”

“I know, but we have to go.” He was quick to cut your reunion short as he helped you to your feet and took hold of your wrist, pulling you down the street with him in a qucik run,

“H - how did you know I was here?” Your voice caught in your throat - you still couldn’t believe what was happening, had they really saved you? Your brain hurt from your confusion, you were so ready for your fate, yet not ready at all.

Charles pulled you behind a tree as a bullet whizzed past your bodies. Your hands held onto his arm as he kept you out of sight. You still couldn’t believe he was here - and as you watched dead bodies fall on to the street you knew there were others here too.

“When Arthur noticed you hadn't come back, he started asking around. Figured something like this might have happened, and then we caught wind of a 'well deserved hanging' happening in Strawberry,” Charles did his best to answer your question while he aimed at a man behind a crate. Yet there was little time for more questions as he rushed you from behind the tree and down the street.

Arthur met you at the crossroads, and you couldn’t help waterfall of tears that left your eyes from just the sight of him. Your heart felt like it was exploding from all the emotions that flurried inside of you, and the look in Arthur’s eyes as he saw you only caused you to cry harder. Relief and concern, worry and love - you couldn’t shake the look he shot you as you were pulled over to their hitched horses.

They’d been shouting at each other as you were pulled along, too overwhelmed to keep yourself moving as reality drew you back in,

“Come on, darlin’” Arthur said as Charles let you go so he could mount his horse. Your eyes met Arthur’s as you turned to him and your hands immediately cupped his cheeks, slightly squishing his face. You had to know he was real, and time seemed to stop as his own large hand moved up to cup yours, you’d never seen his eyes look so gentle - his expression so soft in a time of such high pressure. You wanted to leap into his arms, hug him so tightly and keep him all to yourself for the next century or two. The way your heart calmed when you were in his presence made you feel almost lightheaded and-

“Hate to ruin the moment, but we gotta go!” John's voice yelled out, completely obliterating the tender moment, but he was right. Now was not the time, and you would have plenty when you were safe.

Arthur was quick to cooperate as he helped lift you onto his Arabian before getting on himself. His arms held onto you as well as the reins and your head moved back against his chest as he raced to get you out of that hell of a town.

John and Charles were quick on your heels, but went their separate ways as you left Strawberry as to not raise any more suspicion.

“I can’t believe you came for me,” you whispered once you were safe, walking on a unused trail in the direction of New Hanover. You felt Arthur let out a heavy sigh from where you sat leaning against him. The sun was beginning its descent into the sky as you trotted on and Arthur let out a laboured breath,

“We should have come sooner.” his words were heavy and laced with so much guilt that it caused your chest to swell. Your hand reached out and squeezed his thigh in a comforting yet forgiving manner,

“Don’t - you came,” You started, your heart felt heavy, you thought he wouldn’t come and now you those thoughts forced you to carry a guilty conscience - but it was nowhere as guilty as what Arthur felt for leaving you there. “That’s all that matters.” you words were genuine and soft, bringing tears to your puffy eyes once more.

Arthur didn’t say another word until you reached Valentine, the sun had set an hour before your arrival and he left you to tend to his Arabian for a few minutes while he walked into the hotel and rented a room for the night.

Your lips formed a small frown as you moved off of Arthur’s stead, your hands brushing through her glossy coat as you tied her to the post for the night. Arthur came out after a minute and signalled for you to go inside.

“I paid for a bath,” he stood awkwardly and his eyes refused to meet your own, “I’ll bring ye same clean clothes once you're done.” He didn’t bother to wait for a response before moving to walk up the steps and see which room he'd been given.

Your eyes met the floor briefly before you walked through the halls and opened the creaky bathroom door. You could have been shown a bath or a hundred bars of gold at that moment and still chosen the bath, it looked so heavenly and the steam in the room immediately eased you.

You were quick to undress and get in, your body completely relaxing for the first time in weeks. But even with your body submerged in the warm water - you couldn’t help but think of Arthur. Wasn’t he happy to have you back? He’d saved you and yet he was acting like you were a complete stranger. Your teeth bit onto your bottom lip for the thousandth time that day - it was an effort to keep yourself from crying again, but you were already drained of tears from the emotional day you’d had. Your hand moved to your neck where it was still sore from the noose - a reminder of your almost demise.

What if he didn't come? What if he’d left you to swing? But he hadn't’t - he’d saved you - so why weren’t the two of you making up for the lost time? He was leaving you to yourself - he probably thought it was what you needed, but you’d already had two weeks without him, and that had been enough to last you a lifetime.

You cleaned yourself properly before leaving the bath, determined to get to Arthur as quickly as possible and show him how much you’d missed him. One of the bath girls handed you your clothes and it took you less than a minute to put them on. It didn’t take long after that for you to reach your hotel room, your hand hovered over the doorknob for a second - hesitating. But you’d already made your decision. You wanted to see him.

You opened the door to find Arthur sitting at the edge of his bed, his jacket hung lazily over a chair, and his head buried deep in his hands. His head shot up at the sound of you, and you slowly closed the door behind you before walking over to him.

His eyes were red and he was embarrassed as he tried to hide it from you, but your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up and meet your gaze. You knew why he was like this - it was the same with the O’Driscoll’s, and Arthur was beating himself up over it. He’d promised to never let it happen again - but it had, and this time it was much worse.

“Arthur,” your voice was full of comfort and emotion as your thumbs traced his cheekbones, “its not your fault-” you couldn’t finish as he angrily got up, frustrated with himself, he walked to the other side of the room.

“I let it happen. Two damn weeks-” he cut himself off as he took in a deep breath and tried to calm himself, his hands forming fists at his sides, “I almost lost you.” he was tearing himself to shreds over it. You watched with an even gaze as you made your way over to him, trying again.

Your hand seemed small as it held onto his large bicep, turning him gently to face you. You smiled up at him with glossy eyes, “I’m still here,” You whispered calmly, your heart swelled for this man - his eyes finally met yours as he took you in for the first time in weeks. His eyebrows were furrowed - he didn’t understand how you could just forgive him so easily when you were littered in bruises and scrapes.

“Arthur, I’m here.” Your words were filled with love as you held onto his cheek once more, raising on your tiptoes slightly as your eyes flickered between his. “I’m alright,” You spoke quietly as you held onto him, pulling him closer as you rested your head on his shoulder and hugged him tightly, “I’m alive, because of you.” You whispered and you couldn’t help but place a small kiss on his neck.

All you wanted right now was him, and as his arms slowly held you back you knew you had him. In that moment you were his and he was yours, and that’s all you’d longed for for the past 2 weeks you’d spent locked up and away from him. You’d dreamed about this moment, and now that it was finally happening, it didn’t feel real.

You both needed some convincing, so your grip on him loosened as your fingers travelled the length of his arms until they were holding onto his large hands. Your eyes stayed on his as you stepped backwards, leading him with you until you reached the bed. You let yourself fall onto it, pulling him on top of you. His eyes searched yours for any trace of hatred - but he found nothing but love as your hands moved to his shoulders and then his neck.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.” you whispered with such purity - as if you were an angel forgiving every sin he’d ever committed. He couldn’t ask for anything more as he hovered over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he neared you. He watched as your lids flickered closed peacefully, and his followed suite as his lips found yours in a tender kiss. He was being so gentle and soft - as if he were move too quickly or too roughly then you would disappear or break.

But you needed him, and you filled the kiss with passion as you pulled him closer, onto the bed. You’d missed him so much and now you finally had him all to yourself. He held onto you so tightly as he laid you down completely on the bed, you showed each other just how much you missed one another in your embrace. He’d never been so loving and you’d never needed him so badly - but that night you were each other’s saviours.

Your lips pecked his from where you lay cuddled up beneath the blankets. Arthur was like a furnace against you and it was the warmest you’d felt in weeks. You were at ease as he kissed over the marks on your collarbones and neck before you finally relaxed in his embrace. Your eyes watched his with love and you couldn’t deny just how much you loved this man - and he felt the same way. Life wasn’t going to be perfect after this - you both knew that, but you could always relish in these moments of pure love. You would never let yourself doubt him again. He would always save you, and you would always love him.

A/N: Hello! I hope you like it - this was my first fic on here with rdr2 and jeez is it a long one. Feel free to send any requests or just send a message, I’m always here for you lovelies~

[hollandorks]

Hotlanta

Chapter 4

Summary: A fun night in Atlanta forces the reader into a fake relationship with celebrity Tom Holland in order to save both of their careers.

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction, entirely made up by me for me. I don’t necessarily condone the behavior in this fic, nor do I actually know Tom, Harrison, or the other real-life people who feature in it. Because of this, they might not always act like themselves based on what we know about them.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8  Chapter 9   Chapter 10

Word count: 4172

Author’s Note: IMPORTANT: I’m pretending in this chapter that the LA Infinity War premiere happened in May, as was originally intended. Also, I know I ignore a lot of stuff that actually happened at the premiere and gloss over it, but I wanted to focus on the relationship, not the events. See if you can spot one of my favorite tropes in this chapter (it’s super obvious). As always, thank you for reading and please give me feedback because (honestly) it’s the number one motivator for posting more often. That’s just how it is. Give feedback for stuff you like! Not just for me, but all authors. Enjoy! 

Y/N–Your Name

“We’re taking a what?” you spluttered to Tom.

“Private jet,” he repeated slowly. “Marvel’s taking care of travel and expenses.”

You stood in stunned silence. It had been almost a week since you’d visited the Spider-Man set. Almost all of your evenings since had been spent with Tom, minus Sunday. Zendaya had called to invite you over to borrow her stylist--with Tom footing the bill, as promised--and you had spent the day with him working his magic and crafting a look for you. She had another event to plan for and had already had the stylist fly out to Atlanta.

“How do you feel about gold?” he’d asked. You weren’t sure whether that meant the dress or the jewelry or both, but you’d seen the outfits Zendaya had worn and decided to trust him. He was the professional, after all. That, and gold and purple were sort of the “theme” for the premiere.

“Okay, so Marvel is paying for me to go? I’m going for free?” you stuttered. You thought that you and Tom would be taking a regular plane. You followed Tom to the car and driver that would be taking you to the airport.

“Well, it’s work for me, so really they’re just paying for me to go.” He winked. “But since you’re my plus one, it extends to you.” He gently tugged your overnight bag from your hands and tossed it in the trunk with his own.

“Chivalry is dead,” Harrison sighed as he placed his own bag in.He was going with you to the airport, but would be flying in a regular plane around the same time you and Tom left.

“Hey,” you said, struck with a sudden thought as the car pulled away. “If I’m your girlfriend, does that mean Harrison is my assistant too, when he’s on set?”

Tom considered this. “You know, I think it does. Harrison, do anything Y/N says from here on out.”

Harrison looked betrayed. You and Tom couldn’t help laughing at his expression.

At the airport, security ushered you through to a private tarmac after a short goodbye with Harrison.

The jet was amazing. You’d never been in anything other than the cheapest plane seats, and thought your eyes might pop out of your head as you stared around at all of the lush seats and features.

“So,” Tom said once the plane levelled out in the air. There were too many clouds to see anything of the ground. “Tell me something I don’t know.” When you looked up at him, he was smiling.

“Um, I’ve never been to California,” you ventured.

“Me neither,” said Tom in such a casual way that you almost believed him.

“Yeah right, movie star,” you said. It took you a moment to realize why his expression changed; you remembered the story of how his dad used the nickname to piss off Tom. You grinned, hoping to ease the tension. “Tell me something real.”

And just like that, Tom was smiling again. You’d learned that much in the past week--he smiled easily and laughed often and couldn’t hold a grudge to save his life. You’d taken to trying to embarrass him, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

“I’m legally not allowed to get sunburn on my face while filming this movie.”

You snorted in surprise and tried to cover it up with a cough. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I walk around on set with a giant umbrella. The tan lines have to match from scene to scene. They put sunscreen on what’ll be exposed every day.”

He started talking about his experience filming the Spider-Man movie. He mentioned a specific scene, looking at you expectantly.

You stared guiltily back. “I, uh, haven’t seen it.”

Stunned silence. “What?”

“I’ve been so busy the past year, getting ready for this internship, that I haven’t had time to see any movies. I haven’t seen any Marvel movies since...Doctor Strange?”

Tom’s mouth was hanging open in shock. “You haven’t seen any of them since then? Black Panther? Thor?” You shook your head. “But--but we’re about to go see Avengers! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner, we could have spent all week catching you up!”

You shrugged. “It didn’t seem important. I don’t mind being spoiled.”

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes.

You talked and joked until Tom dozed off in the middle of a sentence. You took a sneaky picture of him sleeping with his mouth partially open and sent it to Harrison--because of course there was free, not-shitty wifi--for just a little bit more revenge for the stunt double incident.

As the two of you were ushered through the airport and into a car waiting to take you to the hotel, Tom kept up a steady narration. You wondered if he was trying to distract you from thinking about the premiere that was just in a few short hours. If he knew how nervous you were. No matter what you did, you couldn’t help imagining, over and over again, tripping on the way into the theater...in front of thousands of people and cameras. More than once, you were convinced you were about to throw up at the faintest thought of the event.

So nervous were you that you barely paid attention to the lavish hotel, courtesy of Marvel. A bellhop led you and Tom to the elevators and up several floors to your room. You thought Tom was talking about the only other time he’d stayed in the hotel, but couldn’t be sure over the loud, incessant pounding of your blood in your ears.

Before you knew it, you were standing in the doorway of the hotel room as the bellhop closed the door behind himself.

You walked forwards and saw the enormity of the room first and the enormity of the bed second. One bed. Only one bed. Your anxious brain took a long minute to process the lack of another bed.

Tom snickered. “Looks like we’ll have to share.” He gave an over-exaggerated wink.

“Ha ha, what a hilarious prank, Tom,” you said flatly. You looked around for the door that would lead to your room. “Where’s my room?”

Tom’s smile faded a little. “Uh, about that. Turns out, since we’re dating, Marvel provided us with a single room....” Silence stretched and expanded between you.

There was a couch in a corner, a miniature living room. You grabbed your bag and put it on the couch. “I’ll sleep here. It’s no problem.”

“What, don’t want to share?” Tom teased. Upon seeing your expression, he amended, “Don’t be stupid, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“It’s your hotel room, you get the bed.”

“You’re doing this for me, though. You get the bed.”

Impatience reared its head in your chest, born of the constant anxiety you’d been feeling all day. “Take the damn bed, movie star.”

Tom glowered and crossed his arms. You mimicked him. You wouldn’t break. He’d sleep in the damn bed whether he liked it or not.

He finally sighed, went to the bed, and pulled some pillows and the extra blanket off of it. You tried unsuccessfully to hide your triumphant smile. He set out the blankets and pillows on the couch...and flopped down on top of them. He crossed his arms again.

“You take the bed,” he repeated smugly.

You threw your hands up. “Well, we can’t both fit on the couch!”

Tom smirked. “We could.”

You rolled your eyes, but glanced at the bed. “Why don’t we just...both sleep on the bed?”

“Oh, so you do want to share?”

You ignored him. “It’s huge, We can just, like, make a pillow wall in the middle. It’s practically a mile across.”

Tom shrugged, moved the pillows and blanket back to the bed, and flopped down on it in exactly the same way he had on the couch.

Before you could do anything else, there was a knock at the door. A team of hairstylists, makeup artists, and all manner of other people came rushing in like a tidal wave. A familiar man--Zendaya’s stylist--entered with two garment bags held aloft.

“Y/N, the bathroom is your dressing room tonight,” he called authoritatively, entering said bathroom and returning with only one garment bag. Half of the people split off and went into the bathroom. You followed with trepidation. No way the bathroom could be big enough for all those people.

You were wrong. The bathroom was huge, at least half the size of the room. There was an amazing, marble-walled shower and a jacuzzi tub big enough for a party. You slipped your travel shoes off and the floor beneath your feet was warm. Heated?

The little team of stylists--only four, not as many as it had originally seemed--got set up and plunked you into a seat to begin working.

“I hear this is your first big event,” the woman doing your makeup said as she brushed something cool across your face that smelled of lavender. “Nervous?”

“Unbelievably,” you murmured. Someone grabbed your feet and you let out a little shout of protest.

“Pedicure,” said a voice near the floor. You relaxed.

“Don’t be,” said the first woman. “Tom’s a natural. He’ll look out for you.”

An unnamed emotion blossomed in your chest. It was quickly squashed by nerves.

Time passed both slowly and quick as lightning. Before you knew it, you were being ushered into a small walk-in closet attached to the bathroom to put on your dress. The woman who’d done your makeup--Hilly--stepped in with you to help. She unzipped the garment bag and you saw a flash of gold before she began unceremoniously tugging your clothes off.

Is this how Katniss felt before the Hunger Games? you wondered a bit hysterically as the cool material of the dress slid over your skin.

“Ready for the first look?” Hilly asked and spun you towards a full-length mirror.

The gold dress was the first thing that caught your eye. With lace that looked like gold-leaf, it showed off the best parts of your body in a way you didn’t previously know was possible. It was simple, elegant, but the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. You couldn’t believe it was real, that you were wearing it. You couldn’t believe you could look like that in such a dress.

Your makeup was understated, more natural, as was your hair. Everything had been designed to enhance you--you looked different, but still like you. There were little flecks of gold in your hair and around your eyes. It was fancy, but not too fancy.

“I--wow. I think I should date famous actors more often.”

Hilly laughed. “Should we show him?”

You knew she meant Tom. You were suddenly more nervous than ever--and not about the premiere. What would he think? Would he tease you about it? Would he like it? A brief flash of his warm hands on your thighs that night in the club danced across your mind and was gone. You nodded to both answer the question directed at you and to shake the image away.

The first to see you was the rest of your little team and the man who’d made the look possible. They all gasped and oohed over you while making tiny adjustments here and there.

“Everyone’s going to think you’re famous,” Hilly said with a mischievous grin.

“Well, I kind of am now, aren’t I?” you joked, though the impact of the words nearly choked you.

You led the way into the main room. Tom was looking in a mirror of his own and gently tucking back an errant curl. He caught your eye in the reflection, opened his mouth to say something, and froze.

“Wh--Hey--Wow, Y/N.” He turned around from the mirror. His eyes slid down and then up again as he took in the dress. He was dressed in a deep gray suit with no tie, lined with subtle gold, no doubt designed to compliment your outfit. The shirt underneath the jacket was purple. His hair looked more red than brown in the light. Without either of you noticing, everyone else had slipped away. He looked great. Better than great. Minutes had gone by without either of you saying anything, simply staring across the room at one another.

“Your hair,” you said unthinkingly. “It’s red.”

Tom laughed, though his cheekbones were tinged with pink. “How have you not noticed that?”

“It looks brown all the time!”

You were spared more humiliation by the chiming of Tom’s phone. The car was there, ready to take you to the event.

Tom held out his arm. “Ready?”

“No,” you answered truthfully.

As the car weaved through LA traffic to get to the theater, Tom gave you tips on interviews and pictures. The more he talked, the more nervous you got. You wondered for the millionth time what you’d gotten yourself into.

Tom seemed to notice. He reached over and brushed his hand against your arm. “I’ll be there the whole time. It’ll only be about thirty minutes to an hour for pictures and interviews, then the screening.”

You nodded, throat too dry to answer.

“If you ever want to leave, just let me know.”

You managed a smile. “Okay.”

The car pulled up to the premiere in what seemed like seconds after you’d left the hotel.

Tom stepped out of the car first amidst wild, shrill screams. He reached a hand back for you and helped you out. The volume increased tenfold. There were flashes, people screaming your name and Tom’s, and even some scattered applause. Tom’s hand settle in the small of your back. What felt like a stampede thundered in your chest.

Tom leaned in close which only elevated the screams even further. “You okay?” he asked. His fingers pressed into the bare skin of your back left exposed by your dress. You focused on the pressure of them, solid and warm.

“Yeah,” you said.

The first photo opportunity was not twenty feet down the carpet--which, you could see now, wasn’t that long, thankfully. Tom pulled you in close, posing like a natural. You straightened your back and smiled as a hundred flashes went off at once. You glanced at Tom to see what expression he was making. He caught your eye and smiled warmly. The photographers went crazy, shouting your name, telling you two to kiss, to smile, to pose in different ways and look in different directions.

Tom steered you away from the cameras.

“Well,” he said, close to your ear again to be heard, “seems like they love us.”

You were feeling braver now. This wasn’t so bad, not with Tom there. “Oh, don’t lie. They love me.” You winked at him.

“An interview is next--I’ll handle that, just wait off to one side.”

You did so, watching as Tom charmed the interviewer--and pretty much anyone else within a twenty foot radius to him.

“Who’ve you brought with you tonight?” the interviewer asked, though she definitely already knew based on how she was smiling at him.

“That’s my girlfriend, Y/N,” Tom said with a brilliant smile. He waved at you a little. The cameraman turned to catch your little wave back. “I thought everyone else deserved to see how beautiful she is.”

You flushed deeply and ducked your head while the interviewer let out an appreciative sigh. It’s not real, you told yourself. He’s just acting for the camera.

Near the end of the carpet, you somehow ended up in front of the cameras alone. You weren’t sure how it happened or where Tom had gone, but suddenly every eye was on you. Your smile faltered. You tried to look for Tom without looking like you were. You didn’t want the cameras to see how you felt inside--like your heart was going to explode out of your chest, like you were about to vomit, like you were about to run for it without second thought.

And then, there he was.

“There you are,” Tom said calmly. He wrapped an arm firmly around your waist and walked down the carpet a little ways where it was slightly less crowded. “I was just catching up with Chris, and you were gone.”

“Alright, Y/N?” he asked.

You started to nod, then shook your head. “Can we just--go inside?”

You thought he might deposit you inside and finish the interviews and photos, but instead he kept an arm around you, and took you inside the theater where it was much, much quieter. The knot in your chest loosened a little.

“I don’t think I like the spotlight,” you said after a moment. Tom finally released you.

“It’s hard to get used to,” he admitted. His brown eyes stared into yours. “We don’t have to stay. And you don’t have to do anything like that again. I’m sorry I even--”

“No, it’s okay,” you interrupted before he could continue on. “I’m your girlfriend, I needed to be here. Plus, I haven’t seen the movie yet, remember? And I--oh my god, is that Chris Hemsworth?” Your words choked to a stop as you caught sight of Thor himself.

As Tom introduced you to his costar, you somehow managed to keep it together and not sound like too much of an idiot. As he introduced you to other cast members--some of whom you weren’t as cool with, namely, Robert Downey, Jr.--you retreated further into yourself. Was this what it was like to act? You couldn’t remember much of what you said to anyone. None of it felt real. None of it was real. You weren’t really Tom’s girlfriend. This was all for show.

You barely noticed that you were shivering as you entered the theater. Tom, in the middle of a conversation with someone you didn’t recognize, wordlessly took off his suit jacket and put it around your shoulders. You inhaled his scent and found yourself vividly remembering the night you two had met. You looked at the boy next to you, pretending to be your boyfriend to save his career, and remembered what it was like to kiss him.

As you watched his hands move as he talked, you made yourself a promise. You wouldn’t fall in love with him. No way. You couldn’t afford to. He was out of your league. All you had to do was make it a couple of months, be his friend, and things would go back to….well, if not normal, things would go back to something closer to normal than this.

Don’t you dare fall in love with him, you told yourself.

The movie was amazing, of course. Tom was in much less of it than you expected, but his performance was great. You barely recognized him as Peter Parker despite having seen him on set switching between himself and the character. 

Tom seemed to enjoy the movie immensely. He gasped and laughed with the audience, tensed up during the action sequences, and had wide, unblinking eyes throughout the end scenes of the movie. 

“So,” you’d said on the drive home. “How are you in this next movie if you’re dead?”

Tom had only winked and remained silent.

As stressful as it had been, the premiere had effectively driven your biggest problem from your mind.

There was only one bed.

The moment both of you stepped into the room, Tom visibly relaxed. You hadn’t realized he’d been so tense.

“Now that’s over,” he murmured as if to himself.

You showered first, and quickly. You felt more and more tension leave as bits of gold washed out of your hair and down the drain. As Tom showered, you climbed into bed and under the covers. You put three of the extra pillows end to end in the middle of the bed. By the time you heard the water shut off you’d managed to calm yourself and settle back against the pillows.

It’s fine, it’s king sized, it’s not a problem--

Your silent self-reassurances were cut off with an audible choke as Tom stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but gym shorts, water dripping from his curls onto his bare chest.

You tried to cover up the sound you’d made with a small cough and hid your flushed face behind your phone as best you could. You peeked at him as he fumbled around and pulled out a phone charger. It took you by surprise, seeing him half naked. You were vividly reminded of how you’d ended up in this situation in the first place. Of him pressed against you, your back against a wall. Of your fingers finding the front of his jeans.

“Eyes up here, darling,” he said with a smirk. Your face was on fire. It’s not any different than when he’s in his swimsuit, you said to yourself, though it was completely different.

Your brain scrambled with a way to turn the situation around as Tom serenely plugged his phone in, still smirking. “Earlier, on the carpet, did you touch my ass because you’re my fake boyfriend, or because you like my ass?”

Tom whirled. “What? I didn’t--No!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “I’m kidding. Or am I?”

He glowered as he sat on the edge of the bed and shook his still-wet hair like a dog. You covered your head with a complaint. He crossed one leg with his ankle over the opposite knee, the foot bouncing.

“What the fuck is that on your foot?” you asked.

“A tattoo,” he said without looking up from his phone. “Of a spider.”

“Wow, you’re a nerd,” you teased, rolling onto your side. You didn’t want to look at your phone, see how you’d made a fool of yourself in front of thousands of people. Tom asked about sightseeing the next day before flying back to Atlanta in the evening--this time on a regular plane--until he climbed under the covers on his side of the bed.

When the lights clicked off, it was if the bed became three times smaller. You could feel every movement Tom made as he got settled. You could hear every breath. You even thought you could feel the heat of his body begin to radiate towards you underneath the comforter.

“You know,” you said quietly, without thinking of the words you were saying, “if you’re my boyfriend I should get to know your deep, dark secrets.”

Tom made a small noise that sounded like half a laugh.

“Like, did you masturbate today?” You pressed your lips together to hold in the laugh.

A choking sound came from the other side of the bed. “I--you--what?”

“Man, you’re way too easy a target,” you laughed. “Two for two.” Apparently, it was easier to embarrass him with fewer people around.

“Fuck you,” he mumbled, but laughed after a second.

His face lit up in the dark as he checked his phone. Was he looking at pictures from the red carpet? Was he seeing the panic in your eyes? Was he noticing how obviously you didn’t belong to the same world he did?

You couldn’t stand it any longer. You opened Instagram and searched for the event. There were thousands of pictures, hundreds of them with you in it--and it had only been a few hours. You looked at the pictures that specifically tagged Tom and read the comments. And surprisingly, overwhelmingly, they were...nice. They ranged from They’re so cute together!! to She’s so pretty! and everything in between.

There were a few bad ones mixed in, and those were the loudest. Please don’t let them actually be dating, one said with a broken heart emoji. Another complained, I bet Tom doesn’t even like her. It’s probably his cousin or something and he’s just being nice. Yet another just said Ew! with dozens of exclamation points and vomit emojis.

You sighed a little and put your phone back beside the bed.

“What?” asked Tom, whose phone also clicked off.

“It’s nothing,” you said automatically.

“Tell me something I don’t know, then” he offered. You smiled into the darkness.

“It’s just hard to get used to the fame, I guess. Some people are mean.” You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you.

Tom was quiet for a long minute. “It is hard. I still don’t think I’m used to it. You have to learn to ignore the comments people make, though. They’re always going to mean. What were they saying about you?”

“Just typical stuff--She’s probably his cousin and he’s being nice, that dress looks stupid on her, there’s no way they’re really dating.” You smiled ruefully. “They were right about part of it at least.”

“That dress looked amazing on you,” Tom said, as if it were fact. Heat flared in your cheeks.

“Thanks, movie star.”

He groaned then sighed. “Thanks for doing this,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

The silence expanded, and you thought that Tom had fallen asleep until he said, voice thick with sleep, “You better keep your hands to yourself tonight.”

You laughed and relaxed a little further into the soft bed. “Says the guy who grabbed my ass.” But Tom was apparently already asleep.

Don’t you dare fall in love with him, you thought again. It’s not real.

Tag-list 

@avengersinfinitybeard  @chasingsuperheroes @spidey-spooked @mendes-holland @thatdivlife @agirlwithpointlessideas  @fangirling-all-day-everyday @thefriendlyneighborhoodspidey @augurydemon @mj4president @abunchofsemicoherentwords @narnianlights @beautifullydisconnected @solarspidey @wowspideyholland @punkass-potato @wordsinwinters @peter-hollands @sexy-sea-basss @sherizaraiyah @chinalois @riverdalerebel @soldierstark @staaardustt @sidespidey @johnmurphys-sass @never-surrender-yourself @butterfliesslugswormsandothershi @aelin-firehearts-court @wonderyoung @fandomscombine @spider-mendes @queensholland @jinx4karma @hollands99 @isabellamozzarellla @marveltomjunkie @itsmyfuneralokay @clairesrainbow @penisprkr @let-me-luve-you @traveller-lover-dreamer @rowaelinfeyrhys @classicidiocy @i-love-superhero @lorewin @sithskywalkers @casualprincess77 @thisisthetragicstoryofme @annahenni @unreasonablyexcited @kosterfield @girl-in-the-chair @ohmwreckr @tomsfireheart @singleandlonely @peterparkyourassonme @infinityonfiction @dottirose @stevieboyharrington @jamiemac26 @shortiegardengnome @i-regret-this-already @its-livelovelife @theharrisontomytom @entersomethingcleverhere @dandockandburdalion @man-of-vibranium @styles-bucks @daringbanshee @pb-bonniegold @chronicles-of-jess @darlin-you-bitch

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning

Chapter 5 – Always Afraid

*Updated*  I am sorry to bombard you with these posts.  I but I wanted to get all of the updated chapters up before this weekend, well just cause.  Enjoy.

The moment Kiaya had arrived back in the cabin she sat on the bed and tore open the bundle that was all she had left of her belongings. The robes were nothing more than scraps of cloth holding the bundle together. Her leather breeches were completely serviceable, and her shirt was fine beyond a slice in the arm and some blood stains. It would be nice to have a change of clothes. Her sketchbook was gone, but she had expected as much. It was too easy to lose, and there was so much to learn in its pages.

Kiaya was stalling as she tried to fight off the panic about the necklace. The last thing in the bundle was her coin purse. At the sight of it, Kiaya’s eagerness suddenly turned cold and her hands shook as they hovered over the small leather bag.

“What are you waiting for?”

You are always afraid.

“That’s stupid and sort of untrue.” Kiaya’s voice trembled as she spoke aloud in the empty room. “What is the worst thing that can happen? You don’t get it back? It’s just a locket.”

Kiaya sat frozen as she trembled with an internal battle.

“Open. The. Damn. Bag.” Kiaya growled through gritted teeth as the mark throbbed, tinting the leather green.

In one move she opened the bag and dumped the contents on to the bed in front of where she sat. She held her breath as her eyes roamed over the metal pieces pooled together, trying to distinguish the right shape and colour of her locket. The moment her eyes focused on it and her fingers wrapped around the familiar object, the air whooshed out of her lungs as she fell on to her back, tears of relief streaming silently down her temples and soaking into her hair.

She had fallen asleep like that, fully dressed, clutching the locket in her hand.

---

Kiaya opened her eyes after barely enough sleep. As she lay there listening to the sound of a sleeping world, the early hour and the solitude began to release her demons.

It had taken ages for Kiaya to speak of the anxiety she didn’t understand or the darkness in her mind that forced her to believe the worse of herself. With the events leading to her arrival at the circle and those horrible first few years, the only thing keeping her alive was Evie and the promise she had made long ago.

Kiaya shook her head and forcefully rolled off the bed, the familiar pattern of her thoughts leading her down to the dark hole that she so often found herself trapped in. She fastened the necklace around her throat and quickly changed into the breeches and shirt from her old life. She added the lightly armoured coat she had chosen instead of robes. Kiaya hated robes with a passion, and she had decided while struggling up the temple valley that she would rather run around this country of ice and snow butt-ass naked than try to run and fight in robes ever again. However, the poor selection of lighter armour in the Inquisition supplies had almost called her bluff. Thankfully, it had been decided that she, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas would not leave to meet this Mother Giselle for a few days, to give all of them time to recover. She had taken advantage of the chance, and had spoken to the blacksmith, placing an order for light armour that would actually fit.

If I’m going to do this I’m going to do it as comfortable as possible. 

    You can’t do this and you know it. You will only get more people hurt.

“None of this is my fault,” Kiaya whispered to the room.

    But you’re still involved. Where you go people get hurt.

Kiaya tried to forcibly ignore the dark thoughts whirling in her mind, fuelled by the grief, exhaustion and fear that had been her waking life for what seemed like weeks. She had to get out, distract herself, do something, anything. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and tucked a knife into the hidden sheath at her back.

She would bet her last coin that both the Spymaster and the Commander had set a watch on her cabin. She debated for a moment whether it was worth the energy to cast a spell to hide from watching eyes before she wrapped herself in silence and shadow. She slipped out of the cabin and out of the village.

I need to think, plan, clear my head.

  You’re running away.

I am not. I just need space to think, to breathe.

  You might be running in circles but you are still running.

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

It had been Lydia who had been the first person after Kiaya’s grandmother to really get past the barriers She had built around herself and who had started to help her trust again. Her mind shied away from the memories of her journey to the circle and the life she had found there, both good and bad. All her memories brought hurt and pain that she wasn’t ready to face yet. She instead tried to concentrate on the mantra Lydia had given her.

Breathe. Ride the lows; they end. Remember the highs; they will come again.

As she faded from tree shadow to tree shadow, putting as much distance between the village buildings as she could, she chanted under her breath, trying to drown out her doubts and fears.

I am strong. I am loved. This will pass.

---

Cullen was up early, before there was even a hint of dawn in the sky. He had gotten used to waking early as a recruit and it gave him comfort to stick to that routine. It was a small comfort.

Last night’s dreams had been different. He could feel heat rising in his face. It’s not unusual to dream of her. She’s the centre of all this, she’s the key to closing the Breach, of course she would be on my mind. Cullen busied himself getting ready to start his day. He preferred to get his own fighting drills out of the way early; easier to avoid the constant interruptions that the rest of the day brought.

As he got dressed, his mind slipped back to yesterday and his first actual meeting with the woman he now knew as Kiaya Trevelyan. He was not convinced that the benefits of using the Trevelyan name outweighed the negatives, but Josephine was firm in her belief that it would help. She and Leliana also had plans to use Evelyn Trevelyan’s name as well. His concern was not alleviated when he had asked the Herald if they would come after her, and she had joked about it.

But Josephine seemed very confident in her ability to work this to their advantage. She would know. Cullen would never like politics no matter what form they came in, and was happy to leave it to the skills of Josie and Leliana. However, the safety of Haven and all of its occupants was his concern, and he still hadn’t figured out the best way to ensure that any more attacks against the Herald would be prevented, especially if they were going to involve hired professionals in the future.

He had hoped to have a chance to talk to her himself after the meeting had concluded, however, the Herald had not seemed eager to talk to him or anyone, having bolted from the room at the first opportunity. Cullen had noticed how she had stiffened when he was introduced as well as when his history as a templar had come up in discussion. He tried to ignore the irritation that these reactions kept sparking in him, but it was one step at a time.

Cullen prepared for his daily training routine, dressing in a light shirt and pants with his sword strapped at his side. Shield and armour drills were better with a sparring partner. His early morning drills were just for him, to centre him, to sweat off the nightmares and headaches and pain in his muscles that seemed to be almost constant since he had given up lyrium.

He left his tent. It still bothered him how easily everyone seemed to defer to this woman that they still knew so little about. Leliana was still waiting to receive information from the Ostwick Circle, and she was frustrated that it was taking so long. Something was going on there, she was sure of it, and had dispatched some of her spies to find out what it was. Cullen would admit that they needed the power to close rifts, but it was premature to bring her into the top ranks of the Inquisition. Cassandra, however, and surprisingly Leliana, had insisted.

He scowled as he tried to silence the echoes of the vitriol that Knight-Commander Meredith had fed him through the years in Kirkwall.  It had been four long years and his guilt at his compliancy with her hatred methods still haunted him.

Cullen was lost in his thoughts as he walked the path outside of town. As he neared the quiet grove of trees that served as the fallen’s temporary resting place, he suddenly heard a raised voice that snapped his body into action even before his ears realized what he had heard.

Maker, please don’t tell me I have failed already…

Cullen broke through the undergrowth blocking his view, sword in hand, and froze just before crossing into the clearing.

—-

Kiaya wandered in circles around the village, keeping out of the way of the patrols, for what felt like hours. Dawn had finally made an appearance, filling the hills with a pearly grey light, tinged with the sickly green from the Breach that seemed to reach everywhere. Kiaya found herself in a clearing filled with snow covered mounds neatly laid out in rows. It took her a moment to realize where she was. She had emerged into a grove almost completely surrounded by trees. She could see a path that touched the far side, probably leading back to the village. It was what filled the grove that sucked the breath from her body and made her heart lurch and stutter. It was beautiful; the silent rows of wrapped bodies were covered with fresh snow, forming gentle rows of white that cast sharp black shadows in the early morning light. The entire grove was a field of white and black waves.

Kiaya was hit by a wave of grief and guilt that caused her body to shake. This was where they had chosen to rest the dead that were recoverable from the temple as well as the soldiers who fell fighting the demons at the temple.

“How can I bear this?” Her own faint voice barely reached the edges of the clearing, but the effect of breaking the silence was immediate.

“You’re the Herald of Andraste... this is your fault... you killed her... YOU KILLED HER...”

She whirled around to see a young elven woman rising from the snow not ten feet away.

You fucking idiot, you know people are trying to kill you.

The woman was shaking, body tense like a bow string but something in her face stopped Kiaya from drawing her dagger.

I hope I’m reading this right.

The woman attacked her.

---

Cullen was on the wrong side of the clearing to do anything but stand and watch.

The young girl had flown at Kiaya with no skill or training behind her but pure fury in her favour. The girl was taller than the Herald, but was thin as a sapling. The Herald was close to twice her weight, which she used to her advantage as she ducked under the first wild swings aimed at her head, and wrapped her arm arms around the girl’s body pulling her into a secure embrace.

Cullen watched as the Herald held the girl tightly as she flailed against the woman’s back, then almost as quickly collapsed against her sobbing onto her shoulder. The two women sank to their knees in the snow; the words the Herald was saying were overrun by the sobs coming from the girl.

Cullen slipped deeper back into the shadows of the trees, shaking his head in disbelief as he silently sheathed his sword. He kept his hand on the hilt, watching the two women talking.

His sudden relief at seeing the Herald unharmed and not in any danger quickly gave way to confusion, and the whole situation didn’t do much to alleviate his worries from before. He watched as the Herald got the girl back on her feet and helped her gather up her meagre belongings from under the snow.  He was too far away to hear the whispered words but they shortly resulted in the elven girl heading toward the village. How could that have possibly worked?

---

Kiaya watched as Lyra disappeared into the trees. She hadn’t chosen to take the path, which was probably a good thing since the Commander was barely managing to remain concealed as it was. She attempted to surreptitiously wipe away the tears and snot that were the result of the emotional conversation she just finished.

The sound of footsteps was quickly muffled by the powder on the ground and after only a few moments, silence descended on this resting place of the dead. Kiaya told herself that she wanted to wait until the young woman was well away before she called the Commander out of hiding but in truth she was trying to calm herself and it wasn’t working. Her mind swirled with thoughts and memories, each one coming faster than the last. Waves of panic crashed over her; her lungs unable to draw air, and her vision started to dim around the edges.

I can’t, I can’t do this. Not now.

The sound of the snow crunching as the Commander shifted his weight brought Kiaya sharply back to herself.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I am stronger than this fear.

“You can come out now Commander.” Good, steady voice, just get out of here without being an ass.

“Herald, are you alright?” Cullen moved around the edge of the clearing, approaching her quickly. Kiaya kept her head slanted down looking at the man as he drew near. Maker’s fuck he’s big, I mean tall, I mean, Shut up.

“Herald?” He’s talking to you answer him...

“What? Of course I am alright. What the fuck are you doing following me?”

Wait. Why are you attacking him? He didn’t do anything! Her emotions were determined to run the full gambit today and when the panic had been corralled the anger had rushed in to take its place.

She could see the hurt and confusion in his eyes as her words froze him to the snow. The accusation in her words, and the sharpness of her tone had not sparked his own temper, surprisingly, as he instantly stiffened his posture and his brow drew down into a scowl.  “I wasn’t following you. No one is following you. I heard shouting as I passed and came to investigate. I am glad my aid was unneeded however, if my presence is unwelcome I will leave.”

He spun on his heels and strode off as quickly as he had approached. Kiaya watched him go, her rage now at herself where it belonged.

“I am such an idiot.” She groaned aloud and dropped her face into her hands. “Ok that’s it: no more human contact until you can behave yourself.”

Waves of self loathing were lining up to drown her as soon as she let them. With one more regret filled look in the direction the Commander had gone, Kiaya slowly made her way back towards her cabin.

Thanks Loves.  Reblogs welcome.

[ommil]

Keto Diet and Self-Esteem: My Confidence Has Skyrocketed

I’ve read so many people repost getting their mood in shape after following low carb vs keto diet if you will for some time. Sounds like those too good to be true stories. Here’s one really encouraging. I’ve felt really anxious and depressed cause of personal matters I had going on. It didn’t really make me feel how I feel on Keto. Literally a week in and my skin looks much clearer and I don’t feel so anxious in public, matter of fact I actually look people in the eyes while talking to them. I feel so amazing and wonder why? Read further to learn about: Overly focusing on food: It’s addict-like behaviorDiet sustainability and satiety relations,MCT oil and bulletproof coffee for easy road into ketosisHow to avoid sugar rollercoaster for boredom eating?Diet and self-esteem my confidence has skyrocketedKeto sustainability: craving sugar and carbsHow low carb gave me mental clarity?

How Low carb gave me mental clarity?

My experience was something close to this. Only on Keto am I able to focus on what people are saying and not just my reaction to the anxiety of social interaction. It's funny you mention drugs, because I was on Percocet for a couple of months before this diet, and the anxiety-stripping effect is very similar. Who knew I could feel the same way without the nausea and spaced out feeling all the time. Yet one important caveat. For those of us with depression, there is never a for-sure silver bullet. Keep an eye on your mood, be thrilled, but be wary of being sure you are "cured " with a week of keto. Don't let it creep up on you or go off meds or therapy until your doctor tells you! Just always follow doctor’s advice and medication. And yet in addition you can keep experimenting with nutrition and personal preferences. Know however that excluding completely some foods could be harmful to your health.

Experiencing a better state of mind and body with keto style diet

Satiety is tied to nutrition rather than protein or fat. Some people put it this way. They are experiencing a better state of mind and body. They feel so much lighter and filled with more energy if they compare it to the days they was craving sugar/carbs. The ketogenic diet causes less inflammation in the body and therefore less stress/anxiety. Also, ketones are a much better and more reliable source of energy for the brain and that's why many people who switch to a ketogenic diet experience less brain fog and have a better mental clarity over time.

Keto sustainability: craving sugar and carbs

Sugar negatively affects gut bacteria so they aren't as happy in a high sugar environment and send anxious signals to the brain. One vivivid experience form comparing sugary foods with standard low carb diet: Birthdays, weddings, vacations, and anniversaries. I can feel the anxiety building within an hour of eating trash. I enjoy sweets every now and again. I go back to my super basic diet of eggs, select veggies and meat with coffee tea and water to drink and my mental health returns to normal within 24 hours. A calm slowly trickles over me and I feel fantastic. Sugar actually kills bacteria or prevents it from reproducing which is why it's used so much as a preservative. We have a symbiotic relationship with tons of bacteria so we feel better when they are in balance.

Overly focusing on food: It’s addict-like behavior

Ketogenic diets boost satiety because they're some of the most nutritious diets on the planet. After I eat sweet-tasting things, even keto-friendly ones, I start planning for the next sweet thing, and that can become my sole focus. I also start overly focusing on food in general. It’s addict-like behavior that comes with all the self-centeredness that addicts can display—grouchiness when I can’t get the thing I want, secret eating, etc. I would love to be able to pop into a convenience store on a hot day and pick up a diet soda or bake up some tasty keto treats. I now confine my consumption of sweeteners to events that have a strict beginning and end, like vacation.

Diet and self-esteem: confidence has skyrocketed

My confidence has skyrocketed too. I'm a VERY anxious and self-conscious person, very shy but since losing the weight I’ve lost, since feeling stronger and better, I am much more confident in public.  Started keto and hoping a better mental balance would be a benefit. Part of it is a new mindset the weight loss and feeling like 'this is something I'm doing for me, with myself and for myself' and taking back that control has really helped. Boredom eating is probably one of the main reasons 3/4 of the US is overweight or obese--a lot of people have a lot of time to just sit, and bingeing on movies seems to go hand in hand with bingeing on food especially processed ones.

How to avoid sugar rollercoaster for boredom eating?

After I eat sweet-tasting things, even keto-friendly ones, I start planning for the next sweet thing, and that can become my sole focus. Sugar rollercoaster is a great way to describe it. It really is an addiction, worse for some of us than others of course. When it is in constant supply, just a few hours without can lead to symptoms of withdrawal--aka 'hanger'. I truly don’t get "hangry" when I fast, my self-esteem is way higher which automatically puts me in a better mood. Keep in mind there is more money made on processed foods, and keto is focused on whole foods. So by choosing easy food you also choose sugary loaded crap food.

MCT oil and bulletproof coffee for easy road into ketosis

MCT oil and had bulletproof tea every day at the beginning. I discovered you don’t need MCT oil or the like to remain in ketosis. And that a big salad with salmon an avocado and olive oil vinaigrette was just as keto as a thick steak. Fat bombs might be excessive but I thought the great benefit of having fat heavy meals was that it helps fill you up so you aren't hungry later. The negative views of keto are based on the views that you have to load up on fatty meats and MCT oil, etc. Not true! I eat fatty meat too, just not every day or in huge quantities. My take is you still can use carbs for energy in some form but you mainly use fat so it doesn’t matter how you get your fat just make sure you do. You gain a lot of energy with butter, but be aware of calories. You don't have to consume butter to be in ketosis but you will feel a lot better if your macros are inline.

Diet sustainability and satiety relations

The ketogenic diet causes less inflammation in the body and therefore less stress/anxiety. Satiety is tied to nutrition rather than protein or fat. Food like meat and cheese are really nutritionally-dense, and processed foods and grains tend to be very lacking.  If you're truly not sedentary, then having more fat ensures that you have more energy. So, it makes sense that ketogenic diets boost satiety because they're some of the most nutritious diets on the planet. You can get steamed chicken and broccoli in most restaurants. A little soy sauce and you got yourself a decent keto meal. You can find something keto to eat near anywhere. I've go to a different restaurant a few times, and almost everyone I know has been supportive in choosing keto style food. If it's still early keto adaptation days for you, there's a lot you're still figuring out. Stick to what you know will work, but as you learn you'll develop the ability to spot more options almost anywhere. Read the full article

[carpethefanfics]

Duality.

Because it’s about time I also share with you my love for Remadora.

And although canonically this pairing felt forced, for my own enjoyment I feel like their relationship developed much differently. And I love the angst that accompanies the progression from Wolfstar to Remadora so here we go.

Part two here.

Enjoy.

He walked through the door of Grimmauld Place, his bag over his shoulder and his wand clutched in his hand more tightly than it usually was

He always found it eased his mind if made sure he was constantly on the defensive until after he was through the door

Once he was his body would relax

The tension partially falling away as he released his muscles for the first time in weeks

He sighed at the relief of his aching shoulders, his aging bones

But was suddenly overcome

A feeling of overwhelming weakness

The last four months had been a series of incessant transformations, blood lust and, of course, blood loss

He groaned as he walked through the house, his muscles cried out and his head throbbed

He just wanted to sleep

To have some peace before Sirius came home from his own mission later that evening

He had planned to be away for much longer than four months until his cover had been blown and Greyback had nearly ripped his jugular from his neck

He had run

And apparated almost immediately

Not daring to turn back even for a moment

He then spent the past few weeks in hiding

Choosing caves and dark forests over back alleys and sleazy shops

He didn’t want to show up somewhere that they would anticipate

He wanted to keep fellow members of the Order off Greyback’s trail

And now that he was finally, finally, okay to return home a weight had been lifted

The constant high from running from Greyback left him on edge 

But for now he was .. the term safe didn’t feel normal to say anymore

Nonetheless the Death Eaters tailing him had returned to building Voldemort’s army

Thankfully he had gotten enough information in the short time he had been there

Maybe now they could put up a real fight against the Dark Lord this time

He pushed the thoughts from his head as he padded up the stairs into his room

He would find food and Mad-Eye later, right now he just needed to settle himself in and allow himself the pleasure of falling asleep in an actual bed

Maybe even into a dreamless slumber

He fell flat on the bed as soon as he approached it, he ignored his stomach which was rumbling loudly and allowed his eyelids to fall shut

He let himself fall into a stone cold sleep until a cold sweat started across his forehead and his mind jolted him back into reality

The night terrors after a mission often meant many sleepless nights

He had hoped being so worn out would offer him some peace but he was used to this by now

He glanced up at the clock beside his bed; it had been no more than an hour since his return, he groaned loudly

His stomach began its rumblings again and he sighed heavily as he pushed himself from the bed

He strode out of his room to find the kitchen, find something to quell the hunger pains, but as he swung open the door he was surprised to find Sirius

His eyes immediately narrowed on one of his oldest friends when he realized his head in his palms and his body was hunched over the counter

Remus kinked his eyebrow at the sight and spoke weakly

“Padfoot, you’re here”

The man’s head jolted up to see Remus, his eyes were wide and dark with red rims

He looked as though he had been awake for days, like he had been crying

Remus froze and his stomach lurched

“Rem-”

“What happened?”

They were the first words to escape Lupin’s lips as Sirius raised himself from the counter top and flattened his palms against it

Sirius looked back down, his mouth pursed and his eyes hard

He opened his mouth several times before he actually spoke

Remus’ anxiety heightening each time

“They knew. I don’t know how but, they knew”

Sirius’ fingers turned in towards to clutch against his palm

Remus could see him close his eyes as he spoke as if the memories of whatever events had occurred while he was away began swarming him

Remus kept his eyes fixated on him

“Is everyone okay?”

Sirius kept his eyes closed, “For the most part.”

Remus’ mind was racing a mile a minute so fast he could barely stop himself from asking all his questions

But he remained quiet

He had known the man long enough to know he had to let him take a few deep breaths before his eyes would flutter open and his words would come

The wait was agony but when Sirius finally stood straight, turned around to lean against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, Remus’ ears perked up

“No one died”

Sirius eyed him gently

And Remus understood immediately who his glance was referring too and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in

“Then what’s going on?”

Sirius looked at the fire that was crackling in the kitchen, his voice quiet and irritated

“Everything was going so smooth. Too smoothly honestly and I should have known. But I didn’t say anything and it got so fucked up so fast.”

Remus was clutching the door knob harshly; the sharp corners of the pristine crystal were cutting into his fingers but he couldn’t stop

The tension in his shoulders returned and his eyes were glaring now

He needed to know

“Bellatrix was practically on top of me before I even realized but Tonks …”

The air in Remus’ throat hitched at the name, his mind going to the worst possible scenario and the overwhelming guilt of the fight they had came rushing back to him

It was just before he left

She had leaned close to him

Her eyes closed, her breathing soft

“Come back to me”

Her hands gripped the opening of his jacket

And the overwhelming warmth that spread throughout Remus was all too much

He had let her push too far

Let her come to close

He couldn’t hold it back

Everything inside him burst through the wall he had built

Every demon came out much more angrily, much less hesitant

He hadn’t been able to get the sight of her broken face out of his mind for weeks

It was still there if he sought it, tormenting him, telling him he was a weak, unctuous, a coward

“She dove in front of me. I tried to stop her Remus I did but she- She got hit …”

Remus didn’t know what to do other than stare, his eyes blinking wildly, his mind completely blank

“I’ve seen people be hit with the Cruciatus Curse before, but this- this came from Bellatrix. It was – It- I-”

Sirius felt the words rolling and bubbling off his tongue but no words were coming to him other than the image of Tonks flat on her back

He was trying to keep his eyes off Remus, he didn’t want to see the reaction, didn’t want to see the disappointment

He had tried to protect her but the woman was one of the most loyal he had ever met, the most brave

Remus tore his eyes off Sirius to stare at the ground as he spoke

The image of Nymphadora withering on the ground, her piercing screams, the green glow that would encase her body

It was overwhelming

He felt complete and utter rage, he wanted to find Bellatrix and throw her malice right back in her face

The image of himself, of his claws and his teeth ripping and biting and tearing at her pale skin sped through him

But he could barely move

He had tried to protect her by staying away from her and it had resulted in breaking her heart

Now she had been attacked and he wasn’t there

What had happened if it hadn’t been the Cruciatus Curse?

The thought alone affirmed that he needed to see her, make sure she was okay

“Where is she?”

Sirius turned to Remus, the man’s face was hardened but his eyes gave him away

The look of worry was plastered in his furrowing brows, his straight mouth and his glazed eyes

As Sirius opened his mouth to speak but they were interrupted by the sound of a loud pop, the noise normally attributed to apparition, followed by loud cursing

They looked at each other, wands instantly clutched in their hands

There was another pop and then a booming voice sounded

“EVERY BLOODY TIME”

Remus didn’t even turn to look at Sirius as he bolted from the kitchen into the front hallway

Sirius was right behind him and nearly toppled over him as he realized Remus had stopped

They were standing before Tonks, her hand clutching her arm and her shoulder pressed into the corridor’s wall

She had a deep gash on her cheek, it appeared fresh and her body was trembling

Mad-Eye appeared to have similar markings on his face as he looked up to see them

“Fucking Dolohov must have been tracking us. Couldn’t even get two bloody seconds to fix her up before they were on top of us! Fought our way out easily enough, thought it’d be best to come here”

Tonks eyes were squeezed tightly, her face was mucked with dirt and blood, her hair was a mousy brown rather than its usually effervescent pink

She spoke quietly, so quietly that if anyone had been speaking they wouldn’t have heard her

“Home”

Then she crumbled forward and Remus was lunging to catch her

She toppled into his arms, her head on his chest and her limbs limp around her

“Get her upstairs.”

Remus didn’t hesitate to scoop her into his arms and rush her to his room

He didn’t know why he picked his room but he figured if she was like this he wouldn’t be able to get much sleep anyway

Mad-Eye and Sirius trailed behind him as he slammed open the door with his foot and gentle placed her on the bed

Her breathing was shallow, her pulse extremely faint, and he could feel his blood pumping loudly in his ears

Remus stood against the wall near the door watching patiently as Mad-Eye worked over her

He watched him heal the markings on her face

Ones surely caused by dark magic

Ones sure to scar

And he could feel Sirius’ eyes on him rather than on her

And it wasn’t jealousy anymore that Remus could feel boring into him

Wasn’t like the possessiveness Remus once felt 

And he knew, once Sirius left the room, once Sirius turned away, what was coming

To be continued...

[jjbrozier]

Lenses

Summary: Lena has a thing for Kara in glasses. Kara notices.

---

Kara doesn’t need to wear her glasses at home.

She knows this. In the comfort and safety of the apartment, there was no need for her to conceal her identity, and from this high above the city, the buzz of the streets below were rarely enough to bother her even without the lead-lined spectacles.

Yet, sometimes she still did.

Maybe it was because they brought her some small comfort, gave her fidgeting fingers something to adjust whenever her anxiety got the better of her.

Maybe it was because wearing them meant being able to relax a bit, not having to stay alert for robberies or shootings or fires from midair as she often did.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she’d noticed Lena’s...affinity for them.

It wasn’t spoken, per se. It was conveyed in the way Lena would find ways to be in near-constant contact with her, the way her heart fluttered slightly when she first noticed that Kara was wearing them. It was barely-there lip bites and the soft, not-quite-innocent press of lips against her jaw. It was neck massages that weren’t asked for (but still readily accepted) and heated glances and the way that Lena would ultimately find herself straddling Kara’s lap before too long.

To be honest, Lena’s “thing” for her glasses had become borderline pavlovian. Almost consistently, the days on which Kara would slip the frames on in the morning would end with both women spent and slightly sweaty, curled up together in the sheets of their bed.

Today was one such day. It’d been a long week for both of them. Lena had had back-to-back meetings, conference calls, and press conferences almost every day, her feet not crossing the apartment floor until well after midnight each night. Kara, too, had her fair share of irritations over the past few days; between Snapper’s harsh comments and several grueling brawls as Supergirl - the most recent of which nearly caused her to blow out her powers - the stress of the week had eaten away at her sunny disposition, dimming her typically radiant light.

But not today. Lena had taken the weekend off and Alex had insisted that Kara take the weekend off to recuperate, so by the time that Lena strolled out of their bedroom around eleven in heather grey Calvin Kleins and an off-white sweater, she found the Kryptonian curled up in a chair by the long panel windows, a campy scifi novel in hand and glasses perched upon the bridge of her nose.

Lena didn’t want to distract her, for now. She just allowed herself a minute or two of comfortable silence while gazing upon her girlfriend, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth contentedly. Sitting there, in boyshorts an oversized L-Corp tee from one of Lena’s marketing events a few weeks prior, her legs tucked up text to her in the comfort of the plush recliner, she looked so...Kara.

She emerged from the kitchen a short while later, feather-light pancakes piled high on a large, white plate for Kara and coffee, more cream than anything, in a heavy blue ceramic mug for herself. The clatter of the plate against the coffee table startled Kara, who jumped slightly in her seat, causing Lena to chuckle softly. After gathering herself, Kara smiled warmly at Lena and moved to sit on the large black couch beside her. As Kara ate, glasses still on, her girlfriend - her fiancé, after last night's dinner - snuggled in beside her, leg pressed against hers and one hand resting innocently on Kara's bare thigh.

The Kryptonian smiled to herself, knowing where this would lead. Adjusting her glasses, she forked the last of the pancakes, moaning softly as the taste of maple hit her tongue once again.

"Baby, those were delicious," she said, turning to smile at the CEO tucked securely against her side. Kara smirked, almost imperceptibly, as a plan hatched in her mind.

Swiping her fingertip across the final few droplets of the sweet, sticky syrup, she grinned innocently at the woman beside her, her eyes poorly disguising the desire that threatened to blow her pupils wide. "Here," she said, bringing her finger to Lena's lips. "Try some."

Lena's gaze was heavy and hot as it locked with Kara's own, eyes unmoving as the finger slipped between plush lips, the CEO's tongue swirling around the hero's fingertip softly. She released the finger gently as green eyes fluttered closed before meeting bright blue ones once again, her token smirk playing on her lips.

"Delicious."

A whimper snuck its way out of Kara's mouth, feeding the growing hunger behind Lena's eyes. Using her arms as support, she pulled herself up off the couch before settling in the Kryptonian's lap, one leg on either side of strong thighs.

It wasn't new to them, this sense of intimacy, but the glint of the rings on their fingers certainly was. Kara thought back to the night before, to the rooftop picnic and soft love songs; to kissing and dancing; to that moment, under the stars, when they looked at each other and felt the world stop spinning; the the one right after when both of them dropped to one knee because of course, of course they would try to propose on the same night, and she smiles.

So when Lena's fingers carded through her honey-colored hair with a whispered "may I kiss you," it was all Kara could do to sigh out an "always" before their lips meet.

But a second later, she was giggling against Lena's mouth. She couldn't help it, Lena's fingers had traced the sides of her glasses and confirmed Kara's budding suspicions about the CEO.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Lena asked, her eyebrow cocking up in the way she knew made Kara's heart skip a beat.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for me in glasses, Miss Luthor," the hero teased, trapping her lower lip playfully between her teeth.

"Hey, that'll be Mrs. Danvers to you soon." Lena smiled at the thought, caught up in the lovingly playful aura that seemed to surround her beloved. "And besides, what if I do?"

Kara's hand reached up to cup Lena's face, thumb brushing softly against her cheek. "I don't mind, you know. I just don't understand." That slightly puzzled, tilt-headed look overtook the blonde, who somehow managed to now look even more like a puppy.

Relaxing her posture a bit, Lena brought her arms to rest upon Kara's shoulders softly, her head falling to nuzzle into the junction of the honey-haired girl's neck and shoulder, laying a soft kiss on the skin there.

"I don't have to share you like this."

"What do you mean?" Kara asked, brow furrowed. Lena pulled back and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, one hand moving to gently run through the girl's hair.

"Without them, when you're out there as Supergirl, I have to share you with National City, with everyone who relies on you. And I love that, I do. Your heart, your selflessness, is one of the main reasons that I fell for you.

"But when you're here, away from it all, with those adorable glasses on even though I know you don't need them..." Lena added, her hand tightening in golden hair and tugging just so, lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the tan skin of Kara's neck. "When you're here, I don't have to share you."

She smirks devilishly against the girl's increasingly warm skin before moving up slightly, nipping at Kara's ear and whispering. "When you're here, you're all mine."

Kara's hands flew to Lena's body, one to her hip and the other on her neck, guiding her towards Kara's eager lips. When they kissed, it was a clash of lips and teeth and tongues and emotion, a promise and a prayer and a thank you. Warm hands skimmed the hem of Lena's sweater and tugged lightly before she nodded her permission, their lips separating just enough to allow the garment to slipover Lena’s head and onto the floor.

More skin was revealed as Kara, too, shed her top, leaving the two both very shirtless and increasingly turned on, a tenderness cloaked in heat as lips, teeth, and hands wandered and explored bodies that each knew by heart. Kara kissed and nipped her way down Lena’s neck, her collarbone, her chest until she finally, finally reached her breasts, dipping to capture a pebbled nipple between pillowy lips as the dark haired woman writhed and moaned above her, hands buried deep in Kara’s hair.

“Bed. Now,” Lena managed, and Kara, despite Alex’s orders not to over exert herself, wrapped Lena’s legs around her as she stood and all but ran to the bedroom, her girlfriend’s hot center pressed against ever-rippling abs through the fabric of her underwear.

Kara settled between Lena’s legs after setting her down on the bed, head propped up on a large pillow for more comfort (an unnecessary but tender gesture that hinted at the golden heart that lay within the blonde’s chest, making Lena’s heart flutter even still). Hooking her thumbs under the band of the CEO’s Calvins, Kara looked to Lena with a question in her eyes, one answered by hands in her hair and a half-whimpered plea of “please, Kara.” A second later, the underwear were pulled down ivory legs and discarded somewhere across the room, and Lena felt warm, full lips press a soft, slow kiss to the skin just below her navel.

Warm hands ran gently across Lena’s sides, her stomach, her thighs, her skin heated and flushed as she arched, breathing heavily, black hair splayed across the white satin of the pillowcase. She could feel the tender press of Kara’s lips on her inner thighs, the dulled dig of the corner of her girlfriend’s glasses on the flesh of her leg, before blue eyes peeked out from behind false lenses to meet green, and the press was gone.

“Good?”

Lena nodded quickly, desperately. “Good.” She whined as Kara ran her fingertips dangerously close to her center, seemingly absentmindedly “Please, baby.”

Kara chuckled softly before ducking down and capturing Lena’s now-swollen clit in a soft, languid kiss, and a moan tore its way from the back of the raven-haired girl’s throat. Smiling against Lena’s hot center, slick with her arousal, and Kara gazed up at her fiancé, eyes locking as she set a leisurely pace with her tongue.

The moans creeping out from Lena’s throat increased in pitch and volume as she watched the girl between her legs, glasses still on, drag her skilled tongue up the length of her. Lena’s eyes fluttered shut and she arched, head thrown back against the goose down pillow, as Kara’s name passed her lips amongst a string of expletives.

From the quickening of the CEO’s heart, Kara could tell that she was close, even without Lena’s plea for “oh god, more, Kara, please.”  She threaded her fingers through those of Lena’s free hand - the one not currently tangled in long, blonde hair - and brought the others down just below her mouth.

Lena wasn’t expecting the two fingers that slid into her, and they were met by a strangled cry, her grip tightening in Kara’s hair and where their fingers intertwined, pressed against the mattress at her side. “Kara, oh fuck…”

The Kryptonian’s pace, both of her tongue and hand, picked up, fingers curling just so to brush the spot she knew made Lena fall apart. She hummed low when her actions were met with piercing moans from the woman beneath her, the vibration sending an extra shockwave through Lena’s core that was just enough to push her over the edge with cries of Kara’s name amidst praises and, on occasion, an “I love you.”

So maybe Lena returned the favor by letting a still-bespectacled Kara ride her face shortly thereafter.

And maybe Lena has a thing for Kara in her glasses.

But Kara certainly doesn’t mind.

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

THERE’S A MAGIC TRICK toward the end of Darío Guerrero’s 2017 film Rocío, which documents the death of the filmmaker’s mother, Rocío Meneses Díaz. A magician at a Halloween party makes a few small toys disappear, then reappear in a child’s hand. The scene is a flashback — one of many, all clips from Guerrero’s childhood home movies. The trick ushers in footage of Rocío’s final days, pairing life’s mysteries with death’s realities.

It is rare to encounter such an unyielding portrait of dying in film. Many depictions — when not sensationally violent — can seem cursory or mawkish. But Rocío doesn’t flinch. The film bears witness to the excruciating course of an incurable illness, the cancer steadily killing its subject. Guerrero walks us through the intensely private discussions the family must have about wills, cremation, where Rocío’s ashes should rest, and whether she would prefer to die at home in the United States or in her birth country of Mexico. Rocío herself is warm, funny, fiercely perceptive. It is difficult not to fall in love with her, and it is shattering to watch her fade away. Still, the film manages to revel in wonder, revealing death as a process not just wrenching but also magical.

¤

Death is a topic often skirted in this country, as if denying it is akin to defying it. In the United States, we pay enormous economic and emotional costs for our reticence to speak openly about dying, from a majority of Americans not having their end-of-life plans in place to individuals being forced to face their gravest fears in silence and isolation.

Such ardent disavowals are historically and globally atypical. In A Brief History of Death (2014), W. M. Spellman traces how dying has been a central preoccupation of human civilization. Since at least the eighth millennium BCE, when the inhabitants of central Turkey’s agricultural settlement Çatalhöyük buried the dead beneath their living spaces, we have kept death close to us. By the end of the 19th century, when births and deaths both took place in the home, Americans were far more familiar with many aspects of dying than we are now. Before it became largely confined to hospitals and hospices, death was more like the event in Guerrero’s film: openly discussed and communally shared, its magic celebrated.

Rocío’s magic is not naïve. It is a tool of reflection and engagement. Some scholars have advocated that magical perspectives be taken seriously within professional practice. A nascent field of social research, these inquiries attempt to define what magic actually is. In his 2008 book, The Sorcerer’s Tale: Faith and Fraud in Tudor England, Alec Ryrie argues that magic occupies the ambiguous spaces that science and religion tend to avoid. It conjures the “inexplicable,” the things that happen before our eyes but that we don’t (yet) understand.

Rocío seems to share Ryrie’s view. Sitting in the family room, her back turned to her son, Rocío cautions Darío to be careful with the knife he just dropped on the kitchen floor. “How did you know it was a knife?” he asks. “Because I’m your mother,” she says. “That’s mother’s intuition.” The film captures such everyday enchantment, including unorthodox therapies, the magical touches of loved ones and caregivers, and the uplifting landscapes of familial homes and ancestral homelands.

Magic disrupts. Where conventional wisdom advises us to suppress matters that defy rational thought, a language of magic uniquely illuminates the ineffable processes of trauma and grief. By embracing the eccentric or implausible, magic suspends invidious value judgments, providing a compassionate approach to subjective differences.

Magic is also agnostic. It celebrates ambiguity and acknowledges that we don’t have all the answers. Today, skepticism is often embraced as intellectually sophisticated. But, as Ryrie notes, during the Renaissance — when new continents were being discovered and the Earth was suddenly thought to revolve around the Sun — cynics were scorned. “[W]hen you have adopted a new mathematics, a new astronomy, a new geography and a new religion,” he writes, “why balk at a new magic?”

Magic continues to pick up the slack in areas where reason and faith fall short — deficiencies of which Rocío persistently reminds us. Guerrero’s father, debating whether to go to church to pray for his wife, laments, “You’re supposed to ask some pendejo for help. It’s all bullshit.” Later, while speaking to Darío, his grandfather tells him, “The Earth is round. There’s no arguing that.” “What keeps the water from falling?” Darío asks. “That’s it,” affirms his grandfather. “What mystery keeps all the water in place?” That a scientific answer exists is irrelevant. Outside the house where Rocío is dying, wondering what holds everything together is contemplation enough.

¤

A central theme of Rocío is that impermanence is, paradoxically, the only reality we can trust. Change is a constant to which we are forced to acquiesce. Dreaming, waking, breathing, becoming. Death, Rocío illustrates, is just one more transition in a series. Death — a transformation that breaches our reality — displays magic’s most elemental character. The death of a loved one can appear almost like a kind of tragic trick. Something permanent has been lost, violating the world as it should be.

We have established mechanisms to protect us from the shock of death, sequestering it within certain rituals and institutions. But Rocío reveals the illusory nature of these supposed safeguards and the limits of our capacity for compartmentalization. This becomes particularly apparent in the way Guerrero manipulates narrative time. The film’s seamless slippage between past and present makes it easy to lose your bearings. But there are also times when the cuts can seem quite jarring. The film’s flashbacks work the way our memories do: suddenly prompted by the emotions of the moment.

Guerrero is an especially adept editor. Disparate as they may seem, the clips he chooses connect precisely, each preparing the essential truth of the next. Nestled between footage of a fading Rocío is a video of young Darío playing in the family’s backyard. “The rose has withered,” his father says while filming flowers along the fence. Memory, time, and place are not neatly partitioned but in constant, messy relation with one another. This scene reminds us that the line separating us from death is as thin as the line distinguishing our memories from our present realities.

The film also highlights the role administrative systems play in the regulation of our daily lives. Two social systems emerge as central: immigration and health care. While making the film, Guerrero himself had a harrowing experience with immigration authorities. An undergraduate at Harvard, he traveled to Mexico to be with his mother during her treatment but was uncertain — despite being a DACA recipient — whether he would be allowed to return to the United States. The story made national headlines when he was eventually granted temporary humanitarian parole, allowing him to fulfill his mother’s final wishes: to carry her ashes to the family’s home in Los Angeles and then complete his degree.

As for the health-care system, Guerrero documents what happens when we come face to face with the limits of our medical knowledge. When young Darío tells his mother that she defied the odds, surpassing the “matter of weeks” the experts gave her, she responds, “Those bastards. Now I’m not leaving.” She refuses to succumb, and Guerrero makes a point of showing us the downside of hope. Rocío drinks countless health smoothies and swallows Chinese weevils like pills. “First one to vomit loses,” she laughs. Finally, she enters treatment at a holistic center in Tijuana, where she submits to chelation therapy, a flavorless diet, and hyperthermia sessions. She can barely eat. There are ants everywhere and spiders on the walls. “Maybe if you vacuumed this place there would be less bugs,” Rocío says. “We don’t have a vacuum,” the nurse replies. When Rocío expresses doubt, her husband takes his frustrations out on her. These moments are some of the most painful to watch. In the film’s final scenes, when she is too weak to respond, he apologizes: “Forgive me for everything I couldn’t do.”

The treatment center directs our attention less to the futility of alternative medicine than to the fictitious nature of every promise of salvation. The film examines the immaterial distinctions between prayer, magic, and experimental treatments, the elusive border between future and past, and the imagined margins that separate cultures. In the face of death, such divisions only grow in absurdity. The film suggests an alternative to our death anxieties: if the structural features of our physical and political worlds are contrived, then maybe, like magicians, we can bend time and space to our will, empowering ourselves far beyond our fragile bodies and transient systems.

Rocío opens with a passage from a poem by Nezahualcóyotl, a 15th-century Acolhuan philosopher: “Is it true that we only exist on the earth? Not forever on earth but only for an instant?” If the film is to be seen as a response to this question, it would seem that the answer is “no.” Who is to say we can’t reorganize the chronology of our lives as we see fit, living as if past, present, and future run forever alongside each other? This is what cinematic flashbacks always offer — an alternative construction of time, in which people never age, death is suspended, and return is possible. It is — as hope, magic, and curiosity have always been — an attempt to bend the rules as we know them.

¤

Played over footage of Rocío’s funeral procession is a toast from her quinceañera: “Rocío, wherever you go, near, far, and in between […] from this point on, all the joy that exists in the universe will fall upon you.” Just as we might see the twinkle of a star that has long since faded, Rocío’s light has not dimmed. There is a place where Earth has yet to be, where you and I have not been born, where our loved ones are still alive.

In Rocío, magic references our collective capacity to insist on confidence over doubt, determination over vacillation, optimism over pessimism. Such emotional fortitude is what drives humankind to innovate, create, and discover. Chemistry, physics, astronomy, medicine — each was once upon a time ridiculed as “magic.” If — as Ryrie observes — magic, science, and religion are long-lost siblings, then perhaps we could take magic’s sisterly advice “that incredulity and credulity can sometimes be just as stupid as each other.”

Before the final credits roll, we are shown a home video of Guerrero’s parents, newly married. “The enchantment has worn off,” Darío’s father jokes. Hearing these words after Rocío has passed seems a heartrending nod to hope’s end. But we can also hear them as originally intended, in jest. The honeymoon is not over. This family is forever enchanted.

Darío used to sit in his mother’s lap. In the film, she lies in his. “It’s the same,” his father says. From generation to generation, we carry the dead. There is nothing more powerful than feeling our loved ones in our bones, in every word and action, long after they’ve gone, not as faint remnants but as substantive continuations. Rather than half-dying in grief, we become a testament to those we’ve lost. Rocío reveals life’s most exquisite, magical charge: to embody the transcendent by living for our dead.

¤

Meghan Gilbride writes about art and culture. More information can be found at her website.

The post Death and Magic appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2I0VcId

[meowlexandragrace]

Reflections, Creativity, and Carrie Fisher Quotes

The year is coming to an end and it’s left me catching my breath and looking back on 2017- on what went well and what didn’t. It was an amazing year for growth in personal relationships in my life. In contrast, the world around me seems to be constantly on fire (and right now that’s both a metaphor and a reality in Southern California). I’m constantly re-imagining where I fit in this dumpster fire of a universe we live in right now and over the past few years it’s changed a lot. That’s both terrifying and exhilarating because the older I get, the less I know exactly where I want to end up. It’s teaching me how to learn how to let go and see what the universe has to offer me.

Letting go has always been a really hard lesson for me. I’ve learned it time and again, after working myself to consistent mental breakdown, never stopping to take care of myself or stop to ask why I am even doing what I'm doing. That became a part of my personality and I thought it made me tough. Growing up, I would win awards in sports and at school for being the most dedicated, the hardest working, I was the one who wouldn’t sleep if it meant getting a project done. Hard work always pays off, it’s true. If I have ever gotten good at anything, it’s not by luck. If I’ve ever gotten anything in life, it’s because I worked my ass off for it. I’m a stubborn Capricorn, through and through. But sometimes, you need to learn when to save your energy for what is really important.

I always thought because of this mentality, I would be a career driven woman for my entire life. It’s always been what I thought would happen, I would get good grades and go to a good college and get a good job. Except, I seem to get stuck at that last part, over and over and over again. The logical part of my brain knows, duh, of course I’m still young and just because I don’t have a solid “career” figured out doesn’t mean that I never will. Then, the anxious, somehow always louder part of my brain just keeps screaming “F A I L U R E !” Every time I would scroll through Instagram and someone else younger than me got a good job, I would get insanely bitter. Social media in general could be a really big anxiety trigger. Most of the time, people are only posting the best parts of their life. We all do it, and it makes the most sense. That’s the easiest part of your life to share with the entire world on the internet- your best self. Putting your mistakes online puts you in an vulnerable position, so most of the time we don’t do it. That still doesn't mean we have to compare our worse selves to someone else's best self. 

That loud voice inside my head screaming “failure” started seeping into everything I did. If I went out with my friends and did something I enjoyed, it was always shadowed with a layer of guilt knowing I could be doing something more productive. If I took time to rest, I was obviously a lazy millennial who wasn’t worth anything. If I spent time with family instead of going to a networking event, I obviously deserved to be a failure because I wasn't working as hard as someone else, even if I was really making myself happy.  The opposite was also true- if I did work on writing, working out, eating healthy, whatever it was- it was never enough. The constant pressure to be more than I was started making nothing feel like it was worth trying for. It felt like any effort was futile, and why bother.

As I was reflecting on the year, I decided to focus for a bit on what went well. I just sat for twenty minutes (put a timer on and everything) and wrote about what I liked about last year. It all came back to my personal relationships blossoming. Things like spending time with family and barbecuing in my parents backyard, running around with my dog, late night board games and drinks with friends, and meeting the love of my life all gave my life meaning again. The older I get, though, the more I realize a career isn’t what’s going to make me happy, it’s the moments in between with the people I love. If you look at the longest study done on happiness, they actually found two things were consistent- the ability to learn how to let go of what’s not important to you and having solid relationships in your life. We’re essentially all looking for a family of some sort, whether that’s in the traditional sense or not. We just want a group of loved ones to belong to, who we can depend on through thick and thin. It’s becoming more clear to me that this is what’s the most important thing in my life- my inner circle. Who knows, if I had become this boss-ass-business person straight away, it might have taken me so much longer to realize the importance of the community I was building around me. So, it was time to let go of what I perceived as my biggest failures, because I was succeeding in ways I hadn't realized.

At this point, I stopped looking at things like, why continue to try at anything when it’s not going to get you anywhere and started thinking how can I improve my life so that I can do more of what I love? What did I still feel like was missing? After changing my perspective, I realized that what I want more than a specific career is to create art and connect with other people. I want other people to feel less alone, because when you feel alone it does start to feel like everything you do is pointless. This is where the terrifying part is- that really isn’t one specific job. There isn’t exactly a job market on LinkedIn for “creative person who likes to write and make things and just really needs to get paid for it so she doesn’t have to be homeless someday.” The moral of the story is- I still don’t know what the heck I’m doing, maybe even less so than I thought I did at the start of this year.

At the beginning of 2017, when I sat down to think of a new year's resolution, I came up with something pretty vague. Instead of making a really specific goal like “lose ten pounds,” I thought how I could have a new mentality to change the year for the better. A Carrie Fisher quote that I couldn’t stop reading came to mind. For background, she happened to die on my birthday last year, and for some reason, that really affected me. I became obsessed with reading interviews she did, watching video clips of her and just taking in all the magic and badassery. A few of her words echoed in my head, “Stay afraid, do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow. ” As someone who suffers from anxiety, I liked the idea of allowing myself to be afraid instead of trying to control the fear. That became my mantra of 2017. It opened up my mind to new opportunities- I started working on a novel this year, I started this blog, shit, I even tried online dating (that last one ended up to be the most successful thing I tried last year!).

I would like to say, instead of overthinking things, I just let go and did them, but that would be a lie. We’re taking baby steps here, people. I still overthought everything I did. My anxiety didn’t just disappear (though, I did eventually get medication and help for the anxiety). I just did things while I overthought them. For example, when I work on writing a blog post, I just start writing what I’m thinking about that week. Usually I sit in the bath or in bed and journal my feelings until I have a complete thought that I want to expand on. My thought process is never full or complete when I start out and I tend to be thinking about at least six things at once (and one of those things is almost always what I’m going to eat for my next meal). I have to mine through the thoughts to make sense of things before I share them. After that, it takes me about a week to write it, agonize over it, edit it, format it, and post it. That’s plenty of time to overthink things, but I’m still creating, I’m still regularly posting. In the end, I’ve been pretty happy with a lot of what I’ve made, overthinking and all!

That leaves me to where I am now and what comes next. Similarly to last year, I’m not setting one specific goal for the year. I tend to try and stack up a lot of smaller goals like this week I’m going to pack healthy lunches for work, or like this week, since it’s near the holidays and I am a serial collector of junk, I decided my goal was to go through my bedroom and make a pile of stuff I wanted to donate to Goodwill. Little things like that that actually will make a difference, one week at a time tend to add up more for me. Instead, I thought about what I wanted more of in my life and when it came down to it, I just want to be more creative. 2018 is all about how I can bring creativity in my every day life, right here, right now!

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up work. Sadly, I’m one of the many people in life who has to go to work for a living. I still would love to find a job doing something I’m even somewhat interested in because I actually take joy in doing work on things that I’m interested in. I just think I’m going to take a step back and take a more broad look at what I want out of life. Right now, it’s to be more creative in my everyday life. I’m trying new things, even if I don’t know if I’ll be any good at them. I want to surround myself with creativity and see what that brings! Even though I’m trying things that sometimes scare me, I’m planning on sharing them with all of you who wish to follow along on the struggle bus with me.

What about you guys? What or who makes you happy? What worked out in 2017? What helped you survive the insanity this year brought? Comments below!

xoxox

[soovaryit]

Lets talk about SSRI’S (wooooo)

I wrote this because a couple of years ago, I was in need of a non-sensationalist or provocative review of SSRI’s. This is obviously entirely subjective and my own experience, but when I was researching meds for depression on the internet, literally ALL I saw were horror stories. I appreciate that the horror stories do happen and no medication is to be taken lightly (even if, more often than not, doctors throw whatever they want at you without so much as a conversation). Also I appreciate that the internet is a shit storm of misinformation and you shouldn’t neccesarily being looking for medical advice on there but you know we’ve all done it. ANYWAY.

I went on Sertraline (an SSRI) at the exact right time in my life. I’d had a deeply awful year when it came to my health, relationships and money (just to name a few) and I felt completely hopeless and devoid of any strength, motivation or joy. I was in near constant pain with endometriosis and was reeling from a horrible yearlong encounter with someone I should never have known. I had quit my job(s), left everyone I knew behind and gone to a new city to re-join the world of academia after seven years. Looking back, I don’t know how I could have thought that going on medication was some kind of dramatic choice because I honestly would not have coped without it. For those who are wondering what the conversation with the GP goes like, they are usually keen to get you to into therapy whilst being on the medication and I found the combination very effective (and HARD of course but endlessly worth it). It’s really important that you be honest with them about all the bad feelings and don’t minimise them. A lot of the time as soon as your dark, upsetting thoughts are shared they become a lot less consuming. So even if you’re not at the stage where you want to talk to a doctor, you can try and confide in someone close to you (my inbox is always open and I will always listen – but please bear in mind that I don’t have medical knowledge and can only advise you based on my own experiences). At the same time as beng prescribed Sertraline, I was put on the waiting list for ‘Step 3 High-Intensity Counselling’, basically a talking therapy that explores your childhood and past experiences to help understand where your continuing feelings of depression might come from. The first few weeks of Sertraline were difficult but bearable, mainly anxiety and physical symptoms like twitching and leg restlessness that interrupted my sleep. I also experienced one of the rarer side effects – urticaria (which is a fancy way of saying I got really rashy and hivesy). Although my GP didn’t mention these side effects, I know that they’re pretty common and if you’re worried about any of them when you go on an SSRI I would definitely contact your GP to make sure all is well. The Sertraline was excellent for the following months and the course of therapy had helped me figure so much out. It was the reason I started this blog, started to feel that I could be more open about my mental and physical health and start to find my own boundaries when it came to relationships. The side effects did, however, catch up with me and these were the ones I couldn’t deal with. THE DREAMS. Up until I started these meds I had the most pleasantly dull dreams imaginable. Then along came these chemicals that made me have the most vivid, bizarre, twisted scenarios play out in my head every night. At first, I kind of found it funny - I would write them down on my phone and almost weirdly look forward to what I would dream about. But they turned from surreal and harmless to disturbing and triggering within a few months and I felt they were actually quite detrimental to my mental health. I became anxious about falling asleep and I would dream so deeply that I never felt I had properly woken up. Reality and dreams became blurred together in my memories and I sometimes felt as if I was losing my mind, unable to establish events that had actually happened from what was happening in my head when I slept.

Another significant side effect was the loss of human connection I felt. This is a weird one, and again a feeling I initially enjoyed as I’ve always been deeply empathetic and felt other people’s feelings almost to the point of discomfort. With Sertraline it honestly felt like a switch had been flipped and I could be the ‘rational’ person I thought I’d always wanted to be (contrary to now where I feel rationality has absolutely little value to me lolol). I enjoyed that feeling for a while. Having always been a deeply emotional person, I felt like I needed a break from myself – my overthinking, over loving, over everything – and again, Sertraline provided that. I threw myself into university work and absolutely adored it. I dated someone and was able to stay distant, think sensibly about what I wanted from the relationship and end it when there were red flags.

All in all, Sertraline gave me A LOT. It gave me better mood stability and the ability to get up and go most mornings. Coupled with therapy it allowed me to do the most imporant thing - forgive myself for feeling so hopeless. The part of me that felt extreme guilt, that I was a burden and that no matter what I was just not good enough quietened down and allowed me to live my life.

It’s still strange to me that depression is considered only a mental health problem when the symptoms are often so physical - not sleeping, not eating right, no energy, no ability to socialise or connect with others. The body and mind are intrinsically connected and that's something we can't forget when discussing mental health. SSRI’s can really help with the physical effects and in turn the mental ones, but it’s important to check in with yourself and establish the pro’s and the con’s on a regular basis. It’s also important that you don’t believe the hype around them (the media love to trash them, doctors love to think they fix it all) - and make a choice based on you as an individual.

 The feelings that come with depression - hopelessness, low self-esteem, an urge to harm ourselves - can directly leak into the formation of relationships and the day to day of our lives and it’s important to keep a check on that and be able to speak openly how you’re feeling openly. It is difficult but imperative to your happiness. If you don't vent the bad it can be impossible to appreciate the good.

I realise none of this has been very profound but I simply wanted it to be a non-intimidating piece on anti-depressants. I went to a mental health awareness course last week where we endlessly discussed medication, psychiatry, counselling and everything in between. After a lot of talk on pills, therapy, etc, the resounding opinion was that honesty and empathy with yourself and others is a very important part of the healing proccess. Sometimes it's not the medical professional, or a pill or a therapist that makes the difference. Sometimes it's just the person who says I believe you and I'm here. And we can all be that person.