#ive only ever tried to make things fair and equal

[yikes-aemond]

I love you. It's ruining my life. (Part IV)

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader (no descriptions of reader except that she wears dresses and has long hair)

warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, death 

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood plan for the future. Things don’t quite go as planned. 

word count: 5.1k 

author note: Thank you all so much for your patience! I will not lie—this part was a struggle to write. I think I rewrote it at least three times, and I am still not sure if I’m absolutely satisfied. Fair warning, I’m putting our lovebirds through the ringer, but do not worry—I’m a girl who loves a happily ever after. Also, no smut in this part, but stick around for part five. Happy reading!

part i can be found here, part ii here, and part iii here.

“Have you lost your mind?” 

You could not have heard him correctly. Surely Benjicot Blackwood had not just asked you to marry him, while you were half naked. 

You hurried to adjust your dress and cover yourself in a desperate attempt to establish some sense of dignity and propriety in this moment. Had you not been overwhelmed by the day, had you not been so taken off guard, you might have responded a little more kindly to a proposal from your beloved.

Benjicot laughed as he watched you try to gather your wits about you. He followed your direction, adjusting his breaches so that everything was tucked back into its proper place.

Once you were both decent, Benjicot reiterated, “I am quite serious. We should marry this evening.”

You shook your head, mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he was saying, what he was asking. For years, you had watched Benjicot from afar. Watched the way he grew into a man, into someone that people feared and respected in equal measure. Being with Benjicot was always your dream. The one you had tucked away in your heart for years, never to see the light of day should you dare to do the most dangerous thing in all of Westeros—hope. 

And now he was asking you to marry him. You felt unbalanced, unsteady. Your head and your heart were at war. 

You managed to get off the bed. Needing a moment to collect yourself, you put some distance between you and Benjicot and moved back across the room to the fireplace. 

When you turned back to Benjicot, you saw that he had not moved. His eyes were fixed on you, that predatory gaze locked onto your form, waiting for your response. 

That look in his eyes never failed to make you squirm. The weight of that stare made you think he could hear every thought in your head, all your secrets and dreams. 

You sighed, breaking eye contact and said, “You know that our families will never allow it.”

Benjicot stood then, and slowly stalked toward you. With each step, you felt your heartbeat pound louder against your chest. You had thought that the longer you spent in his presence, the more you would become used to him. But you could not deny the effect Benjicot had on you, on your body. 

Benjicot took your hands in his, and pulled you against him. Placing your hands on his chest, he rubbed his thumbs over the scrapes you had gotten earlier in the woods. Had that only been this morning? Time seemed to hold no meaning in this room. A prison that now felt like a sanctuary. 

“That is why we must marry tonight.” Benjicot smiled, and then placed a kiss on your brow. “By the time they find out, it will be too late.” 

You pulled back, just enough so that you could look at his face. “And do your really expect your father and Black Aly to welcome me into the family with open arms?” 

Benjicot was still smiling, still so sure of his plan. “They will once they see how happy we are. How much we love each other.” He shrugged before continuing, “And we would not be the first Blackwoods and Brackens to marry. Others have done it in the name of peace.”

“But our families do not seek peace now!” You practically shouted, frustration coloring your tone. “We are on the brink of war, and our families stand on opposite sides.”

You tried pulling away, but Benjicot tightened his arms around you, stilling your struggle. Whatever good humor Benjicot had was slowly leaching from his features. “You know as well as I do that Queen Rhaenyra is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.“Of course I agree with you, but that does not change the fact that my father will disown me if we do this. I will never be able to return home.”

Benjicot pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered against your skin,“Would that be such an awful thing?”

You felt your heart jerk at his question. The idea of never seeing your family again, of never being welcomed home, of never eating your cook’s fruit pies or riding through the moorlands outside of Stone Hedge on a misty morning, or gods never visiting your mother’s gravestone, was enough to send a wave of nausea through you. 

You hid your face against his chest. “My father was not always the most loving, but he is my father. For all the faults you may find with him, he has never been cruel to me.” 

Benjicot felt the shift in your mood, could practically feel the sadness and desperation radiate from the points where you touched. He knew the sacrifice he was asking you to make was no small thing. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort the turmoil within you. 

You could not stop the tears even if you wanted to. You did not wail, did not scream at the unfairness of your situation, did not rail against the old gods and the new for cursing your families and subjecting them to an endless blood feud. For what else could this ancient, hateful grudge between the Blackwoods and Brackens be except for a curse? 

Even if you could convince your father to bless a marriage between you and Benjicot, any children between you would be enlisted to the war. Generations of prejudice had proven that. It was no matter that the Bracken or Blackwood on the other side would be a cousin. No matter that no one could remember how the hatred between your two families even began. No matter how senseless the bloodshed would be. 

This was your and Benjicot’s world. You could not run from the truth of your situation, could not hide from your fates. Not if you wanted your love to withstand.

And even though the thought of never going back to Stone Hedge was devastating, the thought of never seeing Benjicot again was unthinkable. Never hearing his voice or his laugh. Never seeing his smiles. Never having him hold you in his arms. You could not bear the separation, not after having a taste of what your life could be like together. 

Your tears slowed and your breathing evened out. Whatever doubts that had plagued your mind were banished. Resolution steeled your spine. You took a fortifying breath and lifted your head from Benjicot’s chest. With a watery smile on your face, you said, “I accept your proposal, Benjicot Blackwood.”

Benjicot’s joy was infectious. Smiling wide and bright, he lifted you into his arms and kissed you with such a reverence that left your breathless. Gods, you loved this man. Wanted him again and could not imagine ever being parted from him. The very thought of being separated was enough to send a panic through you. 

You wrapped your arms around Benjicot’s neck and tangled your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. You felt his joy in that kiss. And you let that joy into your heart. Let it fill and warm you. In this moment, you allowed yourself to be happy. 

The impossible dream was becoming a reality. 

When Benjicot had proposed, he did not have an actual plan. He did not have any rings or a marriage cloak. As a Blackwood, he preferred to have a ceremony before the old gods in front of the ancient, colossal weirwood tree in the godswood. 

Because there were no clergy associated with the old gods, the current Lord Blackwood usually performed marriage ceremonies at Raventree Hall. But seeing as his father would likely oppose the marriage, that left Benjicot with few options. With a little convincing, or in Benjicot’s case, a little threat of bodily harm, the maester finally agreed to perform the ceremony. 

You could not stop smiling as Benjicot snuck you out of your rooms. With each passing hallway and corridor, you felt your excitement grow. You could barely contain your glee as you clung to each other, arms linked and hands intertwined, as you made your way into the godswood.  

The maester stood before the weirwood tree, with only the moonlight and a few lanterns to light the way. Hundreds of ravens were to be your witnesses. On any other night, feeling the weight of all those eyes watching you might have felt unsettling. But nothing could spoil this moment, nothing could come between you and Benjicot— 

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” 

Every muscle in your body tensed. Panic settled in your chest, and you felt your stomach drop. 

Black Aly stood at the edge of the godswood, her bow and arrow knocked and poised to strike.  

You felt the world shift. One moment you were standing beside Benjicot, and the next, Benjicot stood in between you and Aly, putting himself in the way of the arrow that had been aimed at your chest. 

“Lower the bow, Aly.” Benjicot’s voice was hard and low. You watched as he moved his hand to the hilt of his dagger, ready to draw the blade at any moment. 

Even from a distance, you could see Aly roll her eyes at Benjicot’s actions, but she did not lower her bow. “Do not overwork yourself, nephew.” 

You grabbed the back of Benjicot’s cloak, pulling slightly as if to hold him back. You glanced wearily back and forth between the Blackwoods. Two warriors preparing to battle. The last thing you wanted was for there to be violence. For surely a duel between Bloody Ben and Black Aly would be a fight for the ages. 

Benjicot’s body was tense as yours. He did not truly believe that Aly would hurt you. Aly was tough but fair, and underneath her brash attitude and hostility, she had a gentle heart. But he would not risk you. Would not allow anyone to threaten or harm you. Not when he had the ability to protect you. 

Benjicot pulled out his dagger. “Put the bow away, Aly. I will not ask again.”

You wanted to step in between them like you had done in the fight with Aeron. But this situation was different. This was two Blackwood who were taking the measure of each other, testing how far the other was willing to go. You could not intervene, even if the sight of an arrow pointed at Benjicot was enough to send your blood running cold. 

After what felt like hours, Aly lowered her bow. Sighing, she returned the arrow to her quiver. Only then did Benjicot sheath his dagger. 

“You sure have a flare for the dramatics, nephew.”

Now it was Benjicot’s turn to roll his eyes. “Says the woman who had an arrow aimed at my betrothed.”

Your heart fluttered at the word. 

Aly huffed out a laugh. “Is that what she is to you? Your betrothed? I do not recall your father agreeing to any such arrangement.” 

Benjicot remained in front of you, a barrier between you and Aly. “I asked for her hand, and she accepted.”

Aly stood with her hands on her hips, eyes directed toward the heavens. She looked as if she were searching for patience amongst the stars. When she cut her gaze back to Benjicot, you could not miss the look of pity that flashed across her face. 

“Benji, you know that you cannot marry her.” 

You reached for Benjicot’s hand, needing his touch and warmth to ground you in this moment. Whatever happiness you had felt, whatever joy that you had shared, was now slowly falling through your grasp. 

Black Aly would never allow you two to marry. Not like this. 

But Benjicot’s stubbornness was no light thing. “I love her, Aly. I will marry her, and you cannot stop me.”

Just as Aly was about to respond, you saw her face pale and expression grow uneasy. And when you heard the voice behind you, you understood why. 

“You would be wise to reconsider that position, son.” 

If you had thought you felt panic before, that was nothing to the sickening feeling that plagued you now. 

Because standing on the opposite side of the godswood, directly across from Aly, was Lord Samwell Blackwood. Benjicot’s father, and your own father’s sworn enemy. And with him stood a dozen Blackwood guards, each looking between you and Benjicot with expressions that ranged from disbelief to disgust. 

You had never been formally introduced to Lord Blackwood. He was a rather tall man, with hair as black as a raven’s wing. His close-cropped beard was the same. Like Benjicot, his gaze was enough to send a lesser man cowering. And right now that gaze was cold and enraged and fixed on you and Benjicot. 

If Benjicot had not been holding your hand, you would have been trembling. The two of you were trapped. 

“Are you so eager to start a war, Benjicot?” Lord Blackwood asked, his tone was like ice. “For some Bracken wench?” 

You felt Benjicot’s hand tighten around yours, almost to the point of pain. One glance at Benjicot told you that he was furious. His glare held that feral edge, and he was close to snarling. Bloody Ben was backed into a corner, and he looked itching for a fight. Even if that fight was against his own father.

“You will mind how you speak about my lady, father.” Had you not been so fearful for your life and his, you would have thought that declaration rather romantic. 

Lord Blackwood did not look impressed. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you and your lady have brought to our door, Benjicot?” 

“We wish to marry, father.” Benjicot glanced at you as he said, “We love each other.” 

A long suffering sigh escaped from Lord Blackwood as he motioned for his men to stand down. “That does not change the fact that she is a Bracken. You cannot simply marry her without expecting there to be consequences.”

“I am prepared to accept any consequence if it means we can be together.” The surety in Benjicot’s tone was enough to ease the fear that had gripped you since you had been discovered. You could help but give him a small smile. 

A smile that Lord Blackwood did not miss. “And you, Lady Bracken?” Lord Blackwood sneered. “Are you prepared to face the consequences of this marriage? Your father will seek retribution for this little act of rebellion. Are you prepared to have blood on your hands?” 

Now you were the one who squeezed Benjicot’s hand. Lord Blackwood terrified you, and so did his words. You did not wish to be the cause of another fight between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, did not want to send anyone to their death because you fell in love with someone who was never meant to be yours. 

Benjicot nudged his shoulder against yours, offering you what strength he could. With him standing at your side, you found the courage to meet Lord Blackwood’s gaze. “Whatever trials and tribulations may come our way, Lord Blackwood, I am prepared to meet them with Benjicot as my lord husband.” 

Even without looking at him, you could feel Benjicot’s eyes on you as you held your own against his father. Could feel how proud he was of you for defending your future together. 

Taking another breathe, you could not help but add, “You speak of my hands becoming bloody,  but I could not think of anything more fitting for a woman betrothed to Bloody Ben Blackwood.” 

The silence in the godswood was deafening. 

Every person and creature seemed to be holding their breath for Lord Blackwood’s response. You did not dare break eye contact with him, determined to hold your ground and prove yourself worthy of being Benjicot’s wife. 

Lord Blackwood finally moved his gaze from you and back to Benjicot. “We will treat with Lord Bracken tomorrow. Offer him a parley. You will ask his permission to marry his daughter. You will accept his decision, no matter what he says.” 

“Father! You know he will not—”

But Lord Blackwood had heard enough. Holding up his hand, he demanded silence. “Those are my terms, Benjicot. Be grateful I am allowing this much.” 

A weariness had settled over Lord Blackwood’s features. Although he was still a man in his prime, in that moment, he looked aged and tired. As he turned to leave the godswood, he said, “We stand on the brink of war. The Targaryens are at each other’s throats since King Viserys passed. Soon House Blackwood will be asked to choose a side, and you have allowed your foolish heart to guide your choices.” 

You could tell Benjicot wanted to protest, wanted to push back on his father’s orders. He knew as well as you did that convincing your father to allow the two of you to marry was going to take an act of the gods. 

And even though Benjicot knew when to pick his battles, knew when he had lost a fight, he could not help but have the last word. “There are worse things to be guided by than one’s heart, father.” 

Benjicot’s words gave Lord Blackwood pause. For a moment, you thought he might respond, might reprimand Benjicot for his lack of respect. Only when Lord Blackwood continued walking out of the godswood did you feel like you could breathe again. 

The Blackwood guards followed their ledge lord, leaving you, Benjicot, and Aly in the presence of the ravens. You could have collapsed from exhaustion. You felt wrung out from the day. Too much had happened in such a short period of time, and your body was protesting. 

Aly approached and stopped just short of you and Benjicot. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Benjicot rounded on Aly, and with animosity in his voice, he asked, “Why did you stop us?”

Aly stared at Benjicot like he had grown a second head. “We’re trying to prevent a war, Benji. Had the two of you married, Bracken would have shown up here with a thousand men seeking your head. You might love each other, but is that love really worth the lives of hundreds? Thousands?” 

“You are overreacting—”

Aly shoved at Benjicot’s chest. “And you are being an idiot! Use your head, Benji. If you had married in secret, the Brackens would have stopped at nothing to avenge that insult. You know that, even if you are too blind to see it.” 

With a softer tone, Aly continued, “Be grateful your father is supporting you in this. He could have just as easily returned her to Stone Hedge. You have a chance.”

Benjicot scoffed. “A chance? Do you really believe—”

“Enough.” You cut Benjicot off before he could say another word. You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “My father may hate Blackwoods, but he is not unreasonable. We will convince him.” 

You could tell that Benjicot was struggling to control his temper. He was still running hot from the confrontation with Aly and his father. Bloody Ben was lingering too close to the surface. You pulled his face toward yours and pressed a kiss to his lips. Nothing more than a gentle peck, but enough to distract him. 

When you pulled back, you could see that some of the edge had worn off. Benjicot’s face was calmer, less hostile. “I love you, Benjicot Blackwood. I do not plan to give you up without a fight.” 

Benjicot smiled at your words, the soft smile he reserved just for you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. “My brave girl. I pity any man who would dare cross you.”

You held each other for a moment before Aly cleared her throat. “If you two are finished, I’m going to escort little Bracken back to her rooms.” 

With a quick kiss to your head, Benjicot released you and said, “Sleep well, my lady.” 

You did not want to leave Benjicot, but you knew there was no way Aly was going to let you stay with each other. As you followed her out of the godswood, you could not help but take one last look at Benjicot. 

You nearly stumbled when you saw him. Beneath the ancient weirwood tree, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by ravens, stood Benjicot. His head bowed as if in prayer. 

You did not have to guess what he was praying about. You only hoped that the old gods were listening. 

The only neutral territory acceptable to both the Blackwoods and the Brackens were the boundary stones near the old windmill. The day was overcast and cold, with the wind tearing through the cloak Aly had lent you.

Aly had not left your side since collecting you from your rooms that morning. You and Benjicot had been kept separated for the entire journey. You had asked for him, begged Aly to allow you two a moment alone, but she had refused. Lord Blackwood was keeping both she and Benjicot on a tight leash until this matter was settled. 

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You had tossed and turned the entire night, too anxious to close your eyes for fear of what your dreams may hold. You might have been confident with Benjicot the night before, but in truth, you had no idea how to convince your father to allow you to marry. 

The Brackens had arrived first. 

A host of about fifty men had gathered on their side of the boundary stones. A sea of red and gold with a few horses scattered in the mix. You did not miss how all the men were armed with swords at the ready. 

And in the front, seated atop his favorite war horse and adorned in battle leathers, was Amos Bracken. Your father.  

Amos Bracken was not as tall or built as Samwell Blackwood, but you knew your father to be a proficient swordsmen and respected fighter in his own right. You had no doubt that should this come to blows, he would hold his own. 

Aeron stood beside him. A united front against their perceived enemies. And while your father’s face was blank of all emotions, calm and controlled, Aeron’s disdain for the Blackwoods was clear for all to see. 

The Blackwood host equalled that of the Brackens’. You had ridden to the neutral ground on the back of Aly’s horse. You had tried to spot Benjicot all morning, but there were too many men, too much chaos. The closer you got to the boundary stones, the more you felt Aly tense in front of you. 

When you finally stopped, Aly directed you to the front of the vanguard. She had drawn her bow the moment your feet hit the ground. 

Your first sight of Benjicot sent your heart thumping. His dark hair was mussed, as if he had run his hand through it multiple times. But that was the only sign that Benjicot felt uneasy. His posture was relaxed, and his mouth was fixed in a smirk, like this meeting was an every day occurrence. He showed no fear. 

Aly stopped you slightly behind and to the right of Benjicot. You saw the moment when your father and Aeron spotted you. Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Aeron’s face twisted into a mix of shock and disbelief. 

You swallowed down the fear and anxiety. Swallowed down the nausea that threatened to upend your breakfast. Swallowed down any uncertainty you felt. You had to present a strong front to your father and his men. Otherwise, they would pounce on any hesitation and demand that you be returned home. 

Lord Blackwood broke the silence first. “Amos. A pleasure as always.”

“Cut the shit, Blackwood,” Lord Bracken snarled, “and return my daughter to me.” 

The words were not unexpected. You tensed as Aeron shifted his hand to the sword at his side, stomach twisting as he gripped the hilt. 

You exhaled a long breath and fixed your gaze on your father. “I am well, father. The Blackwoods have treated me kindly.”

Lord Bracken’s face darkened, and you instantly regretted speaking. “I do not want to hear a single word from you.”

Your cheeks flamed at the dismissal, but you refused to lower your eyes. Refused to cower before your family. “Then I am sorry to disappoint you, father.”

“You insubordinate, ungrateful—”

“Lord Bracken,” Benjicot interjected, stopping your father from insulting you further. “I am here to ask for your daughter���s hand in marriage.”

You did not so much as breathe as you waited for your father to respond. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

The longer you waited, the more panic seeped into your veins. But when your father finally responded, you wished that he had not. 

With a sneer on his face, your father glared at Benjicot when he said, “I would sooner feed my daughter to one of those Targaryen dragons before marrying her to some Blackwood cunt.” 

You had felt like someone had knocked the air from your lungs. You had never seen such hatred on your father’s face. Had never heard his voice sound so cold and cruel. You knew that he hated the Blackwoods, but to sentence you to death rather than let you marry? 

You looked at your father like he was a stranger. 

You heard angry shouts and curses behind you from the Blackwood host. Felt that the bloodlust in the air had upped a notch. 

Lord Blackwood held up a hand to silence his men. “Careful, Bracken.” 

“My daughter was taken by your son. Subjected to gods knows what. I will not be careful, Blackwood.” 

“That’s not true, father!” You shouted, launching yourself to stand before your father. You had to find some way to convince him, some way to get him to listen. “Benjicot and I are in love. Please, just listen to us.” 

Your father scoffed. “Love? Between a Bracken and a Blackwood? Do not make me laugh.” 

The Bracken host jeered at your father’s word, laughing and snickering at the very idea of you and Benjicot being together. You even heard a man call out, “Blackwood whore!” 

You did not see Benjicot move. Did not see him reach for the dagger at his hip. Did not see him launch the blade into the air. 

But you could not miss the dagger embedding itself into the man’s throat. Could not miss the splattering of blood or the final wheeze of breath the man took before falling to the ground. Dead in the blink of an eye. 

A scream tore from your throat. You whipped around to look at Benjicot and found Bloody Ben instead. His eyes held that crazed, feral look, but there was no smirk.

Every Blackwood and Bracken standing in that field un-sheathed their weapons. 

“You may insult me all you wish, Bracken!” Benjicot called out, moving forward. “Call me a cunt. Call me craven. I do not care.” He stopped next to you and took your hand. "But I will cut down any man who dares to say such vile insults to my lady. Of that, I promise you.”

Your father did not look pleased by that declaration. If anything, he looked more enraged than before. “You violate the terms of this parley, Blackwood. You have spilled Bracken blood. I have the right to demand your head. But I will settle for the return of my daughter. Now.” 

You were close to tears. Nothing you or Benjicot said moved your father. He was determined to hold onto his hatred, to see the Blackwoods in the worst possible light. But you could not give up—you had to try. 

“Father, please,” your voice broke at the words, “I know that the feud between our families has lasted for a millennium. I know that the thought of a Blackwood and Bracken being together, of loving one another, is inconceivable to you. I know that this is not the life you wished for me. But I have lovedBenjicot since I was a girl.” You took a quick glance at Benjicot to give you strength. “And he loves me. I humbly ask you to grant our union.” 

Your father refused to look at you. Refused to acknowledge your words or pleas. You clutched Benjicot’s hand tighter. For you knew what was coming. Knew that your father was about to crush whatever hope you still held onto. 

Ignoring you and Benjicot as if you were insignificant, he directed his words to Lord Blackwood, “I do not give my blessing to this marriage. Return my daughter to me or we will have war.” 

Your vision swam and your ears began ringing. Somewhere in the distance you heard Lord Blackwood sigh and give the command. Your hand was ripped from Benjicot’s, by whom you did not know. You felt as if the entire world had spun off its axis. How had everything gone so wrong? 

One moment, you were standing next to Benjicot, his warm hand against yours, and then in the blink of an eye, you were on the other side of the boundary stones, with Aeron leading you away.

You felt as if you were disconnected from your body. Aeron’s arms were around you, guiding you. You were vaguely aware that he was trying to say something, speak to you about what had happened. But you felt nothing. Heard nothing. A numbness had settled over you. 

Only when you heard Benjicot call out your name did you snap. 

You shoved against Aeron, tried to run back across the boundary stones to Blackwood land, back to your love, but Aeron held firm. You struggled against him, screaming and hitting and kicking, but your strength was no match for his. 

You looked across the field to see Benjicot being held back by three men. He was snarling and raging, but the men held firm and forced him to his knees. You watched as Aly tried to speak to him, tried to calm him down. 

But there was no calming Bloody Ben. Not now. Not when his lady had been taken from him. 

When Benjicot saw that you were watching him, saw that you were struggling against your own constraints, he stopped. His eyes were wild and fierce and held the promise of retribution. With laboring breaths Benjicot shouted across the field, “I will come you for you, my lady!” He vowed. “I will always come for you!” 

You sobbed at his words. Sobbed for the happiness and hope that you had felt only hours before. Sobbed for the future you might have shared together.

For the second time, you were forced to leave Benjicot behind in this accursed field. Only this time, the heartbreak was so much worse. You had gotten a taste of the impossible dream, gotten so close to getting everything you wanted.

Your dream had become a nightmare. 

final author note: I know! I know! We have to suffer before things get better. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Love you babes xx

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[dateamonster]

Two Strange Magic thoughts that I had:

1) it is interesting to me how, for all that it is movie about fairies and elves and goblins, based on Midsummer Night's Dream, magic seems curiously absent; only one who shows magical abilities is Sugarplum, who is visibly entirely different sort of fairy from everybody else, and even then she more, makes potions than any inherent power?

2) I know I am overthinking it because it is just gag and bit given conventions in this sort of cartoon but; we see Bog courted by insects and animals and later Roland gets together with one of foiled suitors (the fly); so I wonder how sentient are animals in here, whats their relationship to more humanoid creatures, and how do relationships work?

yea yea yea now ur gettin into it.

personally i rly like how sparingly magic is used! it prevents the story from turning into the kind of thing where either everyone is always using magic to kinda arbitrarily solve all problems or else magic is obviously present but left largely unused in a way that makes you wonder why more people dont use it to solve the plots problems.

im also in favor of creatures that are kind of fantastical in nature but not inherently capable of wielding magic, and i like that plum is very noticeably set apart from other fairies by her use of it, to the point where (by my interpretation at least) she appears to have been physically transformed by it. and she does use some magic outside the potion making! mostly to change size and shape and make little mini-me fairies for dramatic effect lol so fair point. i guess its implied some kind of magic must have been used to trap her but i dont think we ever learn exactly who did it or how. makes ya think!

to the second point, first of all, i love how many bugs are in this movie!!!! ive said before i think probably a lot of the more animal/insectoid creatures in the dark forest are in fact goblins whove just evolved to look like that, but it def does raise questions about like. the lizard who gets love potion'd for example. like i think were supposed to take her as literally an animal because she doesnt talk and tries to eat sunny and dawn at the beginning, but then again she certainly wouldnt be the only sapient creature in the movie who also fits that criteria! and roland rides a squirrel as a mount so clearly thats got some weird implications if animals are fully intelligent here!

like yea its fantasy cartoon logic but its interesting! for all intents and purposes the dynamics here seem to suggest, at least to me, that animals and insects and such are thinking creatures but that they are still largely driven by the same instincts we know them for in the real world, and that the fairies and goblins and so on just kinda live with the fact that their world is populated by beings that both can and may communicate with them as equals, but will still try and eat them just because a lizard is big and an elf is small and full of meats and that generally overrides any common ground they might have as intelligent lifeforms. its dark, i kinda love it!!

[donnerpartyofone]

ok not to make big assumptions about you because we are strangers but i genuinely think your brain works a lot like mine, but i am the exact opposite of you i did terribly at school because i hated authority and mindless memorizing - hear me out - and got by on my intuitive understanding of stuff. But in the same way that you do i cannot understand anything that someone else tries to explain to me for the love of god i am the most unteachable person on earth. People have tried SO HARD teachers and tutors and everything but if i do not understand something myself there is not one person one earth smart enough to get me to do that. Im also really academically successful & ive gotten prizes for my creative essays, but i think the difference is that i hated *hated* authority so bad that the anger drove me to reject "mindless memorizing" as something even worth doing at all ever & only ever followed my curiosity & interests in things (the sense of excitement you described). It takes time but ultimately the degree of understanding obtained is much deeper & more satisfying than the kind generally demonstrated by people who understand what is explained to them in school settings. Im assuming a lot here & keep in mind that im just some rando but i would like to suggest that you try just following your inner curiosity & stop deffering to other people when it comes to how to understand something. Do not look for teachers, just information that you find exciting, & see the people who "get it" not as teachers who are superior to you but as your equals who just happen to have been doing it for longer. People you can talk to & who just have information you can glean. Most of all abandon conscious efforts to do school stuff. Resist impulses to be a good student & learn facts by heart or whatever. You'll remember things if they're important. Do what feels good and excites that inner curiosity you feel and don't think about grades or results or people's opinions but just the joy of understanding for your own pleasure. You can and will understand math and quantum physics if it feels good to do so, I promise you.

i really appreciate you and i have so many different reactions to this, i want to try them out. one thing that i believe really deeply is that teachers and similar authorities are very reliant on the idea that there is a correlation between following the rules, and maturity and intelligence, when the very opposite is obviously true. the reality is that kids who try things out for themselves, who determine for themselves through experience whether a rule is fair or rational or productive, and who are not afraid to be judged by others in the course of their experimentation--those kids are certainly demonstrating a lot of maturity and intelligence. i mean yes of course there are kids who don't do the work or follow the rules for less admirable reasons, but the idea that obedience and conformity are symptoms of a well-developed mind is just an oppressive myth that is especially convenient for people who work with children. and like of course i judge myself for not having those rebellious qualities like ever, but it's complicated, i was suicidally depressed as a small child and very afraid of being in trouble or disappointing people, and i honestly think that one of the reasons i got so good at memorizing things and generally operating by rote is that it turned out to be an excellent survival mechanism for navigating the world of adults.

i also believe in the direct correlation between pleasure and aptitude. i mean i'm sure there are exceptions, like you might get really great at a job you hate if your very survival depends on keeping the job or performing it safely, but in general i think you get good at what you enjoy, and that cultivating whatever forms of joy you experience can ultimately enhance your powers. but i don't believe that it necessarily WILL. i certainly know people who are bad at and/or not smart about things they love, they just don't let their shortcomings stop them from doing whatever the thing is (and therefore they lead richer lives even if they're not accomplishing anything in the traditional sense). i think i'm more in that category. all the stories i told happened to be about school probably because i'm hung up on JUDGMENT or not being competitively good at anything, but the unspoken reality is that i'm a pretty self-directed person. i tend to approach things that i care about hobbyistically, in order to pursue whatever thrill got me interested in the first place, and SOMEtimes this leads to some cool outcomes, though not always. there's a lot of different kinds of things that i love, conceptually, and i go through all the steps of learning about them, practicing them, researching them, getting advice from other people, or even having somebody else do the thing with me when all else fails, but i just cannot seem to develop any competence these things. i think i've had all the opportunity in the world to grow in different areas, but i'm just a very limited, low potential person.

anyway i hope this doesn't come off like i'm trying to convince You Personally of something, you've already been completely fair about how you're just speculating and speaking from what rationally seems like similar experiences. i do appreciate what you're trying to say here and i know that there is truth to it in general. i'm just now using this message as a prompt to work out some of the other things i think about this general topic. the one thing i guess i have going for me, although it's a double-edged sword, is that i don't quit at things. part of this is for a not-good reason, i came up in this environment where the law was that if you are perceived as "negative" or defeatist or something, then you're basically a bad person and you're not worth dealing with and any misfortune that happens to you is your own fault. and then it's like, if you fail or just don't excel at something, then THAT is a symptom of the aforementioned Bad Person problems. like in that world, if you don't succeed, it necessarily means that you didn't even try, which is a fake idea and the subject of one of my favorite social media posts of all time. but anyway, even with this bad motivation for soldiering on, i do sometimes enjoy the benefits of persistence, one of which is just the sustaining belief that maybe something good will happen later on. even though i think i've had enough negative experiences trying to do something with myself that it would be rational of me to just stop trying, the stubborn inner belief that "anything is possible" keeps me getting out of bed every morning. even if i'm not getting anywhere, at least that makes me a less burdensome person.

[sturkillerbase]

It's All Coming Back to Me in Waves

PART IV

Summary: You watch the Aurora Borealis together, and think back of the time you first saw it together. You get nervous when Din stands too close - very close. Din gets nervous because he proposes a cute little idea.

Genre: Fluffy fluff

Warnings: Indirect mention of male body parts. Very brief, blink and you'll miss it.

Words: 2.5k

A/N: I hadn't imagined reader living so far North or South in her planet, but this is a work of fiction about another work of fiction, so I think I can get away with placing the Aurora Borealis wherever it is that reader lives. I also know you can't exactly forecast it???? But, well, work of fiction. ANYWAY! This one is really cute and I hope you'll like it!

Intro; Part III; Part V;

It Feels Like Yesterday

The colorful lights danced on Grogu’s huge eyes as he waddled in circles around the porch, reaching his little arms up in an attempt to touch the Aurora Borealis. He cooed and pointed up every time he’d look to one of you, amazed by the sight and making sure you were seeing it too. It was hard to choose what to look at to be fair: up in the night sky, the lights danced in a unique way that could not be compared to anything you’ve ever seen; down here there was Grogu, equally incomparable in terms of cuteness.

And behind you, the sweet and loving laugh of the man you were still very much in love with, his voice unfiltered for he did not have his helmet on.

For several years after he left, you had tried to deny your feelings for Din. It seemed like the right thing to do. Eventually though, you gave up, and only admitted those feelings to convince yourself that they were now gone, buried deep in a past you did your best to avoid.

It was all in vain. The moment you laid eyes on him, hugged him, smelled his scent and heard his voice again, it all came back, like a strong ocean wave cruelly pushing you downward because you had your back to it. All those years of lying to yourself erased in mere seconds.

Right now, you and Din sat on the porch floor, facing opposite directions, a little apart from each other, keeping a watchful eye on Grogu and on the twinkling sky.

“I had almost forgotten how beautiful they were…” he admitted in a low voice, and it sounded slightly strained as he held his head facing upwards, absolutely delighted. It was just as magical as the first time.

“They are, right?” You answered back in an equally low voice, not wanting to disturb the moment. “It’s hard to describe it in words. You have to see it.”

“I really thought I’d never see them again.”

“‘Never’ is a strong word.”

“It is…” He trails off. “I guess I’ve always had a tendency for pessimism.”

You two laugh softly together. He knew you agreed, you didn’t have to say it.

Comfortable silence fell again, and soon Grogu waddled to Din’s lap, looking for warmth in the growing chill the night air brought. It was way past midnight, and he fell asleep soon after the lights dimmed into nothing, revealing back the stars on the dark sky.

Din stood up and took the baby inside, placing him on his new floating crib that you had built after finding out what had happened to the previous one.

Din came back, closing the door on his way out, and sat down again. This time, he sat closer to you – a happy accident that initially made him freeze and widen his eyes, but that he soon found enjoyable the moment he felt the bit of warmth coming from you.

You also got nervous when it happened, caught by surprise. But the warmth was comfortable, and the fact that it came from him made it even better. You two, very slowly, allowed yourselves to finally rest your backs on one another, not exchanging a word in the process.

You were now sitting just like you did all those years ago, on the very same spot, for the very same reason. It was strange how it seemed to have happened just a couple days prior and decades ago at the same time. The memory was fresh in your minds, just like the memories of every moment you shared in the past, but it came to you with the bitter taste of being so, so distant.

“I…” He started, but hesitated. “Do you remember the first time we saw the aurora borealis?” You smiled to yourself - so you weren’t the only one thinking about it, huh?

“Yeah… How could I forget?” you leaned back a little bit further, letting your left hand wander to your side. “I was so excited about seeing them, and even more when you came back in time to see them too!” He giggled.

“And I didn’t know what it was! All that time flying in space, and I had no idea what you were talking about at first.” He left out a soft snort, amused by his own cluelessness. He didn’t miss it when he saw your hand show on his peripheral vision, and he wondered if it was a reflex of your memory, if it was on purpose, or if it was for no reason at all. “I was glad that I could share that experience with you, though.” He smiled to himself, and so did you.

“I was glad, too.” You answered, still smiling, and he could hear it in your voice.

He leaned back a little as well. You felt his right hand rest lightly on top of yours, an unsure touch, his skin not as smooth as it used to be. But then again, neither was yours.

You turned the palm of your hand upwards, and the movement to interlace your fingers was simply muscle memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12 years ago

“How come you’ve never heard of it?” You asked Din, your eyes fixed on the night sky, afraid to miss the moment the lights would show.

“I don’t know. No one ever mentioned it to me.” Din stood by your side, helmet on, eyes equally fixed on the sky.

“I think you’re going to love it! I mean… I’ve only ever seen them on paintings and illustrations, but it looked beautiful.”

You two stood outside on the back porch, eagerly waiting for the nature’s show to start. There were slight chances that it wouldn’t happen, but the forecast mentioned that the chances of it does happening were much bigger, and you were hoping for the best.

You started to rapidly move up and down on your feet, trying to shake the cold away.

“Just go inside and grab a jacket.” Din said, and not for the first time.

“And miss the moment it happens? Not an option.” You insisted.

He sighed loudly – louder than he really needed to, but you paid no mind to him and started to rub your hands over your arms, the long sleeved shirt you had on doing very little to keep you warm. He looked at you and sighed again, and as you turned your head to stare at him, you saw him stepping behind you, and you moved your body along to look at him, a questioning look on your face.

“What are you—” you started, but he cut you off.

“Stay still.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you back to your previous position. “I’m warming you up. Not in the mood for taking care of you if you catch a cold.” He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, letting you know that he was just kidding. He would take care of you for as long as you needed if it was ever the case.

He slided his hands off your shoulders and through your arms, crossing his own in front of you and pushing you closer to him. He was taller than you, broad shoulders and strong arms shielding you from the wind, his body unbelievably warm. You fit perfectly in his embrace, like you were built to one another, and you felt like you were in your own (not so) little protective cocoon. You were surprised by his actions to say the least. You had never held each other like this. Sure, you had danced very closely together a few weeks ago, and you still daydreamed of that moment nearly every single day, especially when he was away. But this felt different, closer, more intimate. He also had his full armor on that day, and now he had only his casual clothes on, save for the helmet.

Past your surprised state, you suddenly started to register his body against yours: his chest pressing into you with every breath he took; his painfully strong and warm arms holding you firmly in place; his scent slowly encasing you; his thighs brushing against yours, legs slightly apart so he could hold you better, closer; and, if you paid closer attention, you could feel… well, him on your lower back.

“Is this okay?” He asked. You blinked rapidly and swallowed thick before you answered.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s okay. Thanks.”

Once he had your approval, he held you closer. You started to panic, wide eyes no longer facing the sky but the wide open fields in front of you, even though there was nothing there. It felt good to be like this. Damn, it felt great! But your mind wandered places you were not planning to, and you felt your entire face heat up, silently thanking the Maker Din could not see you.

“Are you feeling well? You’re shaking.” Din asked, lowering his head to look at you, genuine concern in his voice.

“I-- I’m fine. It’s just the cold.” You lied the best you could, and he started rubbing his hands on your arms to help you feel better.

You took in a long, deep breath, trying to focus on getting back to your senses. You cursed at yourself, all deprecating words you could think of. There he was, trying to keep you warm and actually worried about you, while you were losing your mind over the feeling of his body – one part in particular more than the others - against yours. You’d slap yourself at that moment if you could.

“Oh, look!” He said, excited, pointing up.

Slowly, the Aurora Borealis spread through the sky, faint at first, but soon getting stronger, tinting everything on the ground in a unique shade of green. That was thankfully enough to take your mind off everything that had been going through your head.

To your surprise, the lights moved. Paintings and illustrations were still, you knew that, but no one had ever mentioned to you that the lights moved.

The shades got more intense, and suddenly there was a bright pink light along the green ones, shifting together, hues of blue and lavender peaking in between. It was the most wonderful thing you had ever seen, and you were in absolute awe.

But then, a thought occurred to you. It was when you remembered that, although Din was just as silently stunned by the view as you were, his visor didn’t allow him to see things as the human eye. It had many filters, built for tactical activities, for hunting, for war even. But not for this, and it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t enjoy the real thing as you did.

“Din, you should see this as it really is.” You said, stepping out of his embrace, even though you didn’t want to.

“What do you mean?” He looked at you.

“You can’t see half of its beauty with your helmet on.” You explained. “I’ll go around the house so you can take it off.” You smiled and turned away to go to the other side of the house, where you weren’t able to see him and he would be comfortable to take his helmet off and enjoy the view.

“No, I—Wait!” He said, slightly panicky, making you stop and turn to him immediately. He cleared his throat before speaking again “I—I’d like to see them with you…” he admitted in a lower, shaky voice. Your mouth hung slightly agape, surprised.

“I’d like to see them with you too, Din…” you smiled fondly at him. “But… We can’t.”

“Um, I have an idea.” He said and grabbed your hands, guiding you to the center of the porch. “We can sit back to back.”

“Oh! Yeah… Yeah, that works!”

“You—You can rest your back against mine, too. So you won’t be so cold either.” He said, rubbing his hands over each other in nervousness.

“Okay” you said, holding back a dumb smile because you were both entertained by his cute and shy manners, and because he’d just said he wanted to be with you.

“Okay” he said back, still nervous, but starting to settle since you didn’t turn him down, like he always thought you would.

You two turned away from each other and sat down cross legged. Then, you heard the low hiss of his helmet as he took it off and placed it on the wooden floor in front of him. It sounded heavy, and you wondered how he was able to keep it on all of the time. You knew he’d been wearing one since he was a literal child, so he must’ve gotten used to it. Still, you felt bad for him.

You rested your backs against each other, and having your source of warmth back against you felt great.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, and you realized you hadn’t heard his unfiltered voice from this close before. You liked it.

“I am. Are you?”

“I am, too.” He sounded calmer now.

You looked up again, admiring the sky. For Din, it was like he was seeing it for the first time again.

“You were right” he said “They look so much prettier in the naked eye.”

Din was amazed. The lights danced in hues he had never seen before, moving in ways he wouldn’t know how to describe properly. He looked at the horizon, admiring the way everything was covered in a fairytale-like green shimmer, the surface of a very far away lake twinkling like it was a living star.

Star…

You were like a star to Din. He loved the way your eyes beamed whenever you were talking about something you liked, whenever you were happy. Your smile, just by itself, was like a beacon of light, guiding him home. You, just being you, shone brightly to him. Oh, how beautiful you must’ve looked under the shifting lights of the aurora borealis!

It took everything in him not to turn around and just look at you. Admire you. Capture how dazzling you were and etch it in his memory forever.

But he couldn’t. And so, he had to content himself with what he had. Not that it wasn’t good, it was great: the wonderful view, the feeling of holding you in his arms previously, you sitting back against him now, the joy in your voice, how you cared about him; it would all be kept in his memory and close to his heart.

You leaned back further against one another, tilting your heads so you could look at the sky right above you. You placed your hands on the floor for support at the same time, and you felt his hand just beside your left one, brushing against each other.

Very slowly, you held each other’s hands: first, he placed his pinkie over yours. Soon, his fingers were over yours, curled just enough to hold them gently. Then, you turned the palm of your hand upwards, and your fingers laced almost immediately.

You smiled to yourself, feeling happier than ever, wishing this moment could last forever.

And so did he.

Taglist:

@scorpio-marionette

@supernaturalgirl20

@misspearlssideblog

@becksxoxo

@eylaudie

[godofplumsandthunder]

Twisted Fate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cancer, both Bucky and reader have cancer, Major Character death, brief hospital terms mainly reffering to cancer treatment. References to amputation.

A/N: This was written for the lovely @eurynome827​ 2k celebration. I got a lovely quote of lyrics from Hadestown, which I wanted to do something that was based off of the musical, but I couldn’t figure anything out. Then I had a big anniversary come up and this was came out instead. It’s very angsty, I cried a lot, and well I hope you like it.

The low, steady hum of the fan fills the awkward silence. The psychiatrist, newly assigned to the case, still doesn’t feel comfortable. “Case number 32557038” was widely known in the health care center. The whispers and rumors floated their way down the hall, past the copy machine, filling the office with this chilling tale. Some regarded it as a terrible series of bad luck, others thought it was an act of some benevolent God, pouring his rage on this poor couple. Dr. Breynord, after reading the notes on the file, Breynord knew that this case was perhaps the worst case of bad luck she ever saw in her career, and, maybe it was her stubbornness or naive belief in medicine, but Dr. Breynord was going to help this poor man get the peace he so desperately needs.

“James,” Dr. Breynord’s voice breaks the silence of the office, “I’ve read what my colleagues had to say about your case, but, I’d like you to tell me what has happened if you feel comfortable.”

Shifting in his seat, James sighs, with a small nod of the head, he starts at the beginning.

Bucky Barnes was used to change. Granted, it was other people’s change, but it was still change nonetheless. The poor folks that sat next to him each clinic visit changed, his caretakers changed, it seemed as if the whole world changed around him, while he was stuck in some perpetual hell. Every day dragged out in the same dull, and nauseating feeling, and at times, Bucky felt he was in an endless loop, forsaken by some deity he didn’t believe in. But, for however long Bucky has left in this fallen and cruel world, he’ll remember when you walked in, shattering the miserable purgatory he was banished to, he’ll always remember the day you changed his life.

It happened during his first transfusion session after his surgery. His arm, still wrapped in bandage, IV tubing leading straight to his heart, pumped his body full of liquids, as he waited for the toxic poison to enter his body. He always found it ironic, the “medicine” that was supposed to save his life, that was too dangerous for the nurses to touch with their bare hands, was willingly flushed into his body. Hair loss, mouth sores, and muscle aches were the better side effects. He can’t help but think about what is coming, especially as he sees his nurse, Thor, come over with the freshly made batch of poison [STRIKE THROUGH], chemotherapy as his doctor would want him to call it. Hanging the bag on his IV pole, Thor looks over at Bucky, giving him the “I’m going to go on a rant about something you should care about” look. 

“Now James, we’re getting a new patient today. It’s their first transfusion. They’re going to be sitting in the pod next to you. I swear to the gods, I best not hear another complaint about your attitude.”

“Me? An attitude? No, I think you got me confused with someone else. I’m the brightest little ball of sunshine here!” Bucky can’t help but chuckle. It’s not his fault he wasn’t a “warrior”, blasting “Fight Song” 24/7, as he sips on a kale smoothie with coffee suppositories shoved up his ass. T

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Barnes,” Thor shakes his head as he cleans up his station, “don’t think I won’t throw your bald ass out of here. That cancer sob story, won’t work on me.” 

Bucky goes back to his phone, already feeling the effects of the chemo. No matter how many anti-nausea meds they fed him, Cisplatin always makes him sick. So, he had the right to act like a grumpy old grandpa. While he scrolls through his social media feed, seeing all the accomplishments, brags, and just shit of his friends, Bucky hears your sniffles, as you make your way down to the end of the Oncology clinic, taking a seat next to Bucky. Even if Thor hadn’t given him the heads up, he would have known you were fresh meat. One infusion, his mom asked him how he could tell. It was easy for Bucky, it all had to do with the eyes. A cancer diagnosis shatters you. It kills all hope, light, and goodness that’s in you. You turn completely numb to the world, to the point where your own wailing and sobs feel muted. Bucky saw all of that in your eyes. Behind the puffy, redness, saw the shards of hope, the fear of the unknown. Before you could reach your seat, you stumble, spilling your possessions that you carried all over the floor. Bucky watches quietly as you quickly pick up your items, collapsing into the chair next to him. 

“Sorry I couldn’t give you a hand, only have the one,” he wiggles his stump, and he's met with silence. Talk about a rough crowd, he thinks, his nephews love his stumpy jokes. “So,” Bucky continues, “what are you in for? I’m a sarcoma, in the arm.” You sniffle as you turn your body to look at this new man.

“Leukemia,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper. It takes a real effort to say it out loud because then it makes all of this real.

“That’s good then,” the “sarcoma” man says to you, and Bucky can see the confusion, and pain on your face.

“How is that good? How is cancer good?”

Using his arm, Bucky points around the room, giving you a tour of the room.

“See him, that’s Riley, he has an inoperable brain tumor. That young kid, with the Switch? His name is Peter, his body is chemo resistant. So yeah, leukemia is good. If you haven’t learned it yet, not all cancers are made equal.”

“Oh,” you barely make out. What were you supposed to say to that? 

=====

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he actually enjoyed having your company. Your treatments lined up and so you both got to know each other well. Bucky enjoyed having someone close to his age that understood his problems. And it also didn’t hurt that you had such a great personality, you got Bucky’s dark humor (and it went without saying that you understood it was his way of coping), and you looked great. Not many people can rock a bald head. And Bucky has seen his fair share, and he can say with confidence, you rocked it. Not covering it up with caps, scarves, or wigs. Because why should you hide away? For the first time since his diagnosis, Bucky had a purpose. So, while his immune system allowed him to leave the house, he picked up a bouquet of fake flowers (neutropenia life, am I right?) and a box of chocolates to take with him to the next transfusion. When he got to the clinic, Bucky was a bit worried to see that you weren’t next to him. Instead, there sat Barb, 75 years old with breast cancer. 

“Oh sweetie, are those for me?” Barb looks at the flowers in Bucky’s hand. 

“No!” He snaps, as closes the curtain that surrounds his chair. He hears some huffs and complaints from Barb, but frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Bucky only has one thing on his mind: you. 

“Are you alright? You’re not here at Club Med” Bucky texts as quickly as his one hand would let him. Dropping his phone, Bucky stares at it all while the nurses prep him. And because of damn, HIPAA, none of the nurses can tell him where you’re at. Minutes turn into hours, and by the time Bucky’s infusion ends, you still haven’t responded to him or shown up at the clinic. 

“Hope you’re okay. Call or text me. I'm worried” Bucky sighs, realizing how much you made his chemo treatments more bearable. How your laugh could make him forget of the poison he had to take, or how the light in your eyes could make him forget, even just for a bit, how much his arm stump was hurting. You were a drug, more potent than any he’s had before, and Bucky was becoming addicted. He’s picking at the hamburger he got for dinner, not having much of an appetite when his phone goes off. Seeing it’s from you, he rushes to answer. 

“Y/N! I… Where were you? I missed you today. I had to sit by Barb and…” The sounds of your cries cut Bucky off. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, Buck. I… Got some bad news today.” 

“Where are you?” He asks. He knows you’re alone, and speaking from experience, you never want to be alone when you get bad news. He knows from experience.

“Buck…” you sigh, “It’s fine. Really.” 

“Please, Y/N, I know what it’s like to be alone after getting this kind of news. Please, let me be there for you.” Breaking further down into tears, you cry at Bucky’s actions, actions of love. 

“I’ll send you my address,” Bucky gathers the flowers and chocolates as he rushes to your apartment, breaking a few traffic laws to get there faster. When he gets there, the image of you, opening the door, eyes swollen from crying breaks his heart. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Bucky sweeps you into his arm, as he closes the door behind, “tell me what’s going on hun.” 

You both sit on the couch, the bag with the flowers and chocolate lay at your feet, as you stay in Bucky’s embrace. 

“I’m… I’m dying Buck!” You manage to say in-between odds. “Dr. Fair... gave me three months to live. There’s nothing else they can do.” You break down in his arms, that last straw finally breaking, as you tell your newfound best friend, the person you were supposed to beat cancer with. Bucky tries his best to remain strong, to be the rock, the foundation you need, but you’re not the only one that is losing a friend. You sit in each other's embrace, as you mourn. You cry for all the missed opportunities, laughs, and memories that won’t be made. 

“What am I going to do,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. 

Kissing your head, Bucky pulls you in closer, “we, are going to make these three months, the best three months you’ve ever had.”

Bucky lives up to his promise, spending every hour he isn’t in the hospital with you. The time you spent together changed your relationship. Neither had to officially say the words to make your relationship official. It was just you, and Bucky. Holding each other close, as the tempest waged on, trying to beat you into submission. You go on walks in the park, picnics, and one night when you both had the energy, went skinny dipping. Your logic being, what are the cops going to do? Arrest two cancer patients, with one of them being terminal? You threw caution to the wind and simply lived. Lived, breathed, and loved. Things seemed to be perfect until reality hit.

Your body wasn’t keeping up. Your cancer was spreading faster than they predicted. The doctors couldn’t give you an explanation as to why the cancer was spreading so fast. It shouldn’t have been. Soon, home hospice came, to try to make you more comfortable. And like the good partner he was, Bucky spent every minute by your side. That’s why, when you felt the inevitable coming, you felt your body give in to the tiredness of fighting, you grab Bucky’s hand. 

“I love you, James Bucky Barnes,” you weakly say, giving him one last affirmation, as you went to sleep, for one last time. 

As Bucky wakes up from his nap, feeling your cold body, he tries to ruse you back awake. Once he realizes what has happened, the last bit of humanity inside of Bucky snapped. He lets out a blood-curdling scream, as tears stream down his face. He strikes your face, pleas escape his mouth. Pleas to you, to a God he has long stopped believing in. His body shakes, his tears wetting your hair, as he holds you for one last time. 

=====

“Oh James,” Dr. Breynord grabs herself a tissue before handing Bucky the box of tissues. “I truly am so sorry to hear that. I want you to know that I am here to help you get happy again, and to heal.”

Bucky sighs and turns away from the doctor as he wipes his eyes. “You’re just like the rest of them. You didn’t listen to me.” 

Breynord was surprised that this was Bucky’s complaint. The other doctors had warned her that Bucky could be sarcastic, standoff-ish, and even flat-out rude to them. Breynord thought she did a good job listening to his story, what did she miss.

“I… I don’t think I understand what you mean, James.”

Bucky lets out a heartless, empty laugh, “you want me to be happy again. I’m never going to be. Not only do I have to live with the guilt of surviving, when she died, in my arms, but I’ll also never find another soul like hers. We had a connection, you know. It felt like we met before. When I held her in my arm, and her arms would wrap around me, it felt like I had the whole world in my arms. I didn’t need anything else when I had Y/N.” 

“So tell me doc, what’s the point of carrying on?”

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Type 2

Word Count: 10,755

Overview: You were diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes in high school and ever since then, you’ve been able to manage it without a problem. Sticking to a schedule and monitoring your blood was easy, but then came Jimin and suddenly, you found yourself hiding it all from him. But when your blood sugar drops dangerously low in the middle of the night, Jimin’s the only one you can call for help.

Pairing: Jimin and Reader

Genre AU/Rating: - Established Relationship AU - Medical Condition AU - Slice of Life AU - Angst - Fluff  Rated: PG-13

Warning: In order of appearance-: Implied bullying, extreme thirst, lack of appetite, weight loss, passing out, type 2 diabetes, drinking, swearing, insecurities, needles, mention of blood while using a blood glucose meter, extremely low blood sugar.

A/N: This is not the story of everyone who goes through Type 2 Diabetes. Not everyone has it when they’re in high school. This fic is loosely based on my experience with caring for my mother who is diabetic, and based on my own family’s history with this condition. My mother who almost her entire family is diabetic, so it was only a matter of time that she would become diabetic, except she was able to keep from being diagnosed until her mid to late 50s. That is not to say you can’t be diagnosed as young as high school or even in middle school, it can happen, I went to middle school with a girl who had a pump in 8th grade. This is just one story.

Master List:​

Music Playlist:

Part of the Intimacy Anthology Project

©thatmultifandomhoe 2020. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

It first started in high school.

But when you actually sat down and thought about it, the early symptoms were there a year prior in eighth grade. More often than not, your throat was dry, so you always had a water bottle next to you. Back then though it wasn’t as bad. Plus, any conversation with one of the girls who wore makeup every single day – it was always shocking when they announced that their mothers let them – swore that drinking a gallon of water a day, would help with maintaining clear skin.

Whether or not there was logic to this declaration was to be remain hidden – many years later you would learn that actually, there was no science between drinking water and having acne free skin – you and all the other girls hopped on the train. It was because of this promise of clear skin, that no one batted an eye when you began going through a bottle a day, or the fact that you were using the bathroom more often as well.

You were fourteen. Your body was changing, nothing made sense anymore. Happy one minute, then curled up in fetal position as that depressing Sarah McLachlan commercial played on the TV, and you were telling your parents that they needed to adopt a kitten because it was the right thing to do. How were you even supposed to know that what was happening, actually wasn’t all that normal?

Mom simply handed over your water bottle, a bag of the secret stash of chocolate, and a heated rice bag for the cramps, and everything was decently better.

You only thought the sudden extreme thirst was…part of it all.

In freshman year, you were going through bottles to the point that you bought a cute reusable water bottle that you decorated with stickers, never willing to admit how many times you had tipped it back for it to be empty. You weren’t exactly the poster child for going green and advocating climate change, but you weren’t stupid either and knew that the plastic bottles weren’t going to help the Earth.

The popular girls from eighth grade had surged up the ladder, and were now the queens of the freshman class and upturned noses. No longer were they giving compliments or suggestions on how to blend eyeshadow, or discussing the latest trends in fashion. Instead, they ignored the good mornings in the hallways from girls, and laughed as they slammed textbooks out of their hands. Smiles turned into grimaces, and helpful tips morphed into jeering and mean comments usually centered around everyone’s looks.

While you tried to not let their lies get to you, you couldn’t help but pause by a mirror and turn every which angle possible, trying to see the flaws that they pointed out all the time. It was confusing because to be perfectly honest, you were average. There was nothing that made you stand out from the crowd, nor did you hide in the shadows, you were simply in the middle and that never bothered you.

You never gave them the satisfaction of letting them see how their words affected you on the simple fact that they didn’t. Maybe you’d shrug, or raise an eyebrow, before turning away to drink from the trusty water bottle by your side. They meant nothing to you, but everyone around you thought that they did. Friends were quick to jump on the reassurance train, their gazes lingering on the food you barely touched. Even when it was taco Tuesday, you’d barely eat half of it or even less before getting full.

No one seemed to believe that you were full, or that drinking two whole bottles of water by noon made it impossible to shove more than a few bites down your throat.

Dinner was always hard. Sat between mom and dad, the looks they’d give each other as they watched you push at the small amount of food on your plate never went unnoticed. You’d lost track of all the times that mom came into your bedroom to ask if everything was okay, if the girls at school were saying things, or if there was perhaps a guy you were trying to impress. If only you’d gotten a dollar for every time someone asked you that, you would have been a millionaire by sixteen.

Soon you were making excuses to not have to eat around people, saying that you had made up a plate of whatever was left in the fridge and weren’t hungry. At school you started bringing a brown bag lunch. Since you weren’t eating the food you bought, it didn’t make sense to waste money on it. It took a while for your friends to get that you just weren’t hungry, but eventually they knew not to bring it up, letting you eat as little as you want and drink water.

That was fine with you. You were fine, that was what you told them and you wanted them to believe them. You didn’t want them to know that every night before bed you stood in front of the mirror on your wall, turning side to side and every which way to see the new curves from your chest to your hips, or the gap between your thighs.

They didn’t need to know that you despite the fact that you’d refill the water bottle three times a day at school, you’d refill it four additional times at home. Or how your belt now had extra holes that you had punched in it an attempt on your part to keep what was happening a secret.

Every weekend was reserved for sleepovers, movies, and at home facials with you and your friends, equally rotating between everyone’s house to keep it fair on who hosted. It was how you were able to relax and have fun, but it was hard to hide the sudden changes. At first, you started arriving already in your PJs, that way none of them had to see you change, but then they stared as you barely touched any of the snacks. The same ones that you all used to bake together. Then every time you got up to use the bathroom they’d sigh, having to pause the movie or wait for you to come back to continue playing whatever board game was out.

After three attempts, you stopped going to the sleepovers, giving some excuse that you weren’t feeling well, or that you were behind on a pile of homework. Whether they believed it or not, your friends accepted it without a second thought.

Those months of confusion and sudden changes felt like they were moving at a snail’s pace, but then one day you blinked and it was two days before Christmas, and none of your clothes fit you anymore. Everything was hanging on you, you were in the bathroom multiple times within a couple hours, and your throat felt like it was filled with sand that no matter how much water you drank, never seemed to offer any relief.

It was a vicious cycle that no one could ignore anymore. You weren’t yourself anymore, barely even a shell of the human who you had once been.

The morning it happened you had once again been in the bathroom going pee. When suddenly, your head felt heavy, too burdensome for your shoulders, so you leaned back against the wall to relieve yourself of some of the weight. Black dots filtered in your vision as you cleaned yourself up, the toilet flushing as you stumbled to the sink. The water rushed from the sink as you stood in front of the mirror, barely able to make out your own reflection and going fuzzy when you walked out of the bathroom, forgetting to turn off the water or the lights as you left. You didn’t remember even opening the door.

Someone had been walking by at the moment, although they didn’t know it, you felt like your mind was underwater, unable to think let alone speak as you tried to go back to your room. It was your mother. She stared wide eye at you stumbling around the hallway like a drunk and when she called out your name, you didn’t even hear her.

She called your name again. Then a third time. It was on the fourth that you looked over at her, your mouth moving and filled with sand, only nothing come out. The last thing you saw was her running towards you. Then it was dark.

The next time you’d open your eyes it was with a stark realization that you were no longer at home. A glance to your left revealed box monitors and tubes of all types, one of them connected to the IV in your arm and the other going to a monitor that was attached to your pointer finger. The bed wasn’t comfy and at some point, someone had changed you out of your PJs and into a light green hospital gown.

The door opened as a nurse in blue scrubs walked in, her blond ponytail pulled high up as she carried a chart, smiling when she saw you.

“Good to see that you’re awake,” she said, coming to your side to read the numbers, marking some notes down. “How are you feeling?”

Wetting your lips, you tried to speak but like always, your throat was dry.

The nurse glanced over and seeing your struggle, held up a finger as she walked to the connected bathroom, water suddenly running before being turned off as she came back with a plastic cup.

“Go slow,” she instructed, helping to bring the mattress up so you were sitting as she gave you the cup.

It took a few minutes, but when your throat wasn’t so dry, you tried again. “What happened? Where…where are my parents?”

She was changing out the IV bag for a new one, and you wondered if your body had really emptied that packet dry. “You passed out hun, but don’t worry, your parents just went to get some snacks from the vending machine. I’ll go get them and then the doctor will be right in to explain everything.”

“Am I okay?”

Her badge turned right side, showing her ID and that her name was Jenna. “Everything will be fine. The doctor will explain and answer any questions.”

You watched as Jenna connected a new IV bag, once again reassuring that she’d be back with everyone before leaving the room as the cold liquid entered your veins, surprising you with how good it felt.

Jenna kept her promise. First bring round your parents who hurried to hug you, telling you how worried they were about you and asking how you felt. In only a few short minutes the doctor came back with the nurse, smiling as she pulled out a chair to sit on.

It wasn’t cancer, nor was it anything uncommon that would puzzle the doctors on how you got, but rather something that you had heard of all the time in health classes.

You were diabetic. Type two to be exact.

They had run some blood tests and from what they were able to tell, your blood sugars had dropped low during your sleep and hadn’t gone back up when you woke. Combined with the loss of weight and dehydration you were experiencing, your body’s natural instinct was to protect itself and, in this case, that meant passing out.

The doctor reassured that it at least explained the various changes you had been experiencing, and as grateful as you were to finally understand what was going on, it now meant that your way of life was going to change, again.

Now your life revolved around using a glucose meter to check your blood sugar throughout the day, taking medicine that would help regulate your numbers, cutting back on sweets and various other foods that had tended to make them high. Slowly but surely you were able to gain back some of the weight you had lost, and the trips to the bathroom slowed down. You were living a new life trying to find the perfect balance.

One thing had been made clear by the doctor that day. This was lifelong. It was never going to go away; it was something that could only be managed.

So, you managed. All through high school, and then all through college, you managed to maintain your numbers, discovering that when you felt sluggish and off it usually meant your blood sugar was either really high or really low. Besides that, you normally felt fine and took shots at mealtimes and before bed to help regulate your levels.

That was the second, biggest change in your life. Every pill and medicine that the doctor prescribed to help with your levels had its side effects, and the world must have had a grudge on you because every single one made you ill or have a reaction. Usually insulin was a last resort option, but in your case, it was the only thing that appeared to help.

Downside to taking the shots were the prices, they were the true killer, but like everything in your life, you managed it all. Your parents of course worried, and the day you had moved out was perhaps the most nerve wracking for them. You were going to be on your own for the first time ever, it was a big moment, and as much as you appreciated and loved them, it was time for you leave home.

Having this new lifestyle didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything; your life was perhaps more or less the same as any other adult that you knew who was your age. Went to work five days a week as a dental hygienist, spent the weekends catching up on chores, and binge watching the latest shows on Netflix.

The only thing missing, was a love life.

It wasn’t that you didn’t try. There were multiple first dates and a couple second dates, but rarely was there a third. No matter what you did or how you tried to explain it, they all got uncomfortable when you mentioned that you were diabetic. At first it didn’t seem like it would be an issue. But when you’d get up a few minutes before the meal came and you’d explain that you needed to take a shot, they all clammed up. Like they were suddenly realizing that what you were more trouble than you originally appeared to be. That you actually had a condition that affected your life.

After that they’d stop calling, the texts they’d send were more apologetic and that they were busy. There were never anymore dates after that, and unable to help yourself you’d check their social media, not surprised when there were new pictures with a new girl, usually captioned with some type of heart emoji.

If they were dumping you for something that was out of your control, then you were the lucky one for avoiding what could be a toxic relationship. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It was good that you were waiting for the right person, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How could anyone decide that you weren’t worth the time simply because you needed to take insulin?

You were a human being. Nowhere did it say you didn’t deserve love.

Despite that mindset, you once again found yourself coming home from a date that had no future of a third. Tossing your keys on the bed, you rummaged around your purse for the two cases stashed inside, still dressed in the cute outfit that had taken a majority of the morning to decide on. The cases themselves were adorable, and pretty cheap on Amazon. The first was purple and no bigger than your palm while zipped up. The second one was a light blue wristlet that was slightly longer.

You sighed while setting them on the nightstand, resentment filling your heart. The purple bag contained your pen and glucose meter with the test strips, and the other had your insulin, alcohol wipes, and spare needles. They were the very things that you needed to stay alive. They told you your numbers, it was how you decided on how many units to take with meals, and yet, they appeared to be a part of the reason that you couldn’t seem to hold on to a relationship.

It just fucking…sucked.

No longer caring that you had spent several hours to get the curls just right, you ran a hand through your hair. Mike had made it clear after your explanation for why you needed the light blue case just to go to the bathroom, that there wasn’t going to be a second date.

Which is fine, you thought, kicking off your heels and pulling your legs up to sit criss cross on the bed. He only talked about himself the entire time. And his ex-wife.

Maybe it was because you were telling them early on. Wasn’t there some unwritten rule about not talking about medical things on the first couple dates? Granted, a majority of them wanted to go out to eat for the dates and you couldn’t exactly not take a shot, but it wasn’t like you were doing it right there at the table. You always went to the restroom and used the stall with the changing table to be able to lay everything out.

Glancing at the two cases, you pressed your lips together. This was a major part of your life; it was part of your identity. But maybe…maybe if they didn’t know? What if you hid this from the next guy? It probably wouldn’t do much, if it did, were you really going to hide such an important part of yourself in the name of love?

They always seem to run off when I tell them, you thought. What’s the harm in waiting, and seeing if it’ll last more than a few dates before I tell?

It seemed pretty extreme. But there was only one way to find out.

As you settled back against the pillows, turning on Netflix once again, you couldn’t but hope that this didn’t backfire on you.

“You did what?”

Pressing your lips together, you rested your forehead against the fridge. It was a bad idea to tell you best friend what you had done. You knew that she’d say it was wrong to lie, to hide such an important part of your life from him. She was the voice of logic and reason, which was terrifying at times, but that was Kayla.

Grabbing the milk from the fridge, you glanced over your shoulder. She was staring at you, eyebrow raised as she tapped her nails against the table, waiting to hear your excuse.

“I…I haven’t told him.”

“And you’ve been dating for how long now?”

You stirred the mug until it was caramel in color, starring down at the coffee and partially wishing that you could shrink and run away from her reaction. “Three months.”

“Dude!”

Wincing, you stashed the milk away to carry the two cups of coffee to the table, setting Kayla’s down on the cozy you had out. She thanked you, absentmindedly stirring the spoon out of habit.

It was a Saturday ritual the two of you had since meeting in college. The two of you bonded while waiting in an excessive line for coffee on campus, and despite it being ridiculously long, neither one of you was willing to leave. Coffee was what you considered your life blood, and funny enough, so didn’t Kayla.

That day forward, the two of you always got coffee together before classes, and on Saturdays you bought a box of munchkins with iced coffee before retreating back to the lounge to relax and bitch about anything and everything. She knew about your diabetes, didn’t mind that you could only have a few treats before stopping, and when she hung out in your dorm room, she hadn’t been uncomfortable with seeing you having to take a shot.

After that semester, the two of you became roommates for the reminder of college. Even after graduating and moving out in the real world, getting real jobs, Saturdays were still for coffee and bitchin’.

“Walk me through this decision again?” She asked, reaching over for one of the glazed munchkins.

You lightly tapped the spoon against the rim of the coffee mug, slouching in your seat as you wrapped your fingers around it. The warmth spread through your fingers instantly, soothing a few nerves for the moment. Kayla was your best friend yes, but she also had very strong opinions.

“I was just, sick of finding dead ends,” you answered, staring down at the mud colored coffee. Just the way you liked it. “Every time I had explained that I needed to take a shot to manage my blood sugar, they all froze up. And then they’d tell me after the date ended that it wasn’t going to work, or they’d ghost me without any warning.”

It sucked. It really did, but for once you just wanted to be with someone and be happy. There had already been too many times that you’d gotten your hopes up over a guy only for it to end, without even an explanation no less.

Kayla covered your hand with hers, gently squeezing when you looked up at her. Her red hair was pulled up in a ponytail, her freckles scattered across her face and body. She refused to cover them up with makeup, and even then, you wouldn’t dare let her do so either. As much as you treasured her, you had witnessed first-hand her attempting to do makeup so badly that it nearly sent you to cardiac arrest.

“Hey,” she softly said. “Those guys were dick bags, there’s no need to beat yourself over them.”

Chuckling, you raised the mug to your lips, glancing in the living room. The apartment wasn’t the largest or the fanciest, but you were able to leave a piece of yourself in each room. Sunlight streamed through the bay window and through the dream-catcher you had hanging on the lock. Bailey, Kayla’s little teacup terrier, was taking advantage of said light and was napping on the couch.

“I’m guessing I should have sent them all to you?”

“Of course,” Kayla agreed, leaning back in the chair. “I would have kicked their asses and told them what type of scum they are.”

You reached over for your own munchkin, placing it on the saucer to break it in half. “Sorry, but I think you’ve missed your chance.”

“Dammit.”

Amused, you popped a piece into your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the chocolate. Life had certainly taken the two of you in directions that neither of you expected, but you treasured these Saturdays. It was like nothing had changed and you were back in college, talking about the classmates that annoyed the crap out of you, pointing out the cute ones, and procrastinating on the assignments that needed to be done.

“So, are you going to tell me about him?” Kayla asked. “Last thing you said was that your neighbor was setting you up. Does he deserve the best friend approval?”

At the thought of Jimin, you were grinning into your coffee, coyly trying to avoid eye contact with her as she squealed. Her reaction was so strong that it woke Bailey up, causing her to bark a few times. Which was more adorable than it was intimidating like the dog probably thought.

  Flipping your phone screen side up, you went to go find a picture of him for her. “He’s very, very sweet,” you said, handing the device over for her to scroll through. “And kind. He works at the animal shelter in town, loves to take Polaroid pictures, and he indulges in my coffee addiction.”

“I love him already.”

You grinned at that, taking a drink as she cooed and laughed at the various photos, and you began to tell her the story about how you met him.

As much as you hate to admit it, you had been apprehensive about your downstairs neighbor set you up with his friend for a blind date. It wasn’t that you were complete strangers with Taehyung - the guy was pretty chill and kept things interesting with constantly dying his hair - it had been more along the lines that you didn’t know much about him besides the conversations the you shared before going your separate ways.

According to your neighbor, your dating life – or non-existent one – hadn’t gone amiss on him either, and conveniently had a friend who was also in the single pool for quite some time, so he thought it would be nice to help you out. Actually no, he flat out told you he was setting the two of you up for a date. With only a moment’s hesitation were you able to say no dinner dates before he disappeared inside, tossing a thumb’s up over his shoulder for you and shut the door.

The next morning when you left for work, there was a sticky note on your door telling you to be at the 10th annual Flower Shower festival that Saturday for one. Jimin would be waiting at Paws for Days, the animal shelter.

The Flower Shower festival the town’s way of sharing their love of flowers and nature with everyone. Every shop that decided to participate in the event was assigned a different type of flower, and with that, they decorated their stores with it. They were then automatically entered into a contest to see who was the most creative with their assigned floral. First place was given a trophy stating that they were the winners of that year’s festival, and second and third were given ribbons and a plant of their choice.

What made it such a hit, was perhaps was the event that gave it its namesake. During the day, not only were there flowers decorated on the storefronts, but each company was able to hand out coupons for their flower that could be turned in at one of the many floral shops in the area. There were stalls for making and selling flower crowns, jewelry, perfumes, anything and everything imaginable that could incorporate flowers into a product filled the streets to be sold. Even food vendors went all out with all the stops.

Filling in any empty spaces were local artists, using any and all varieties of flowers to create sculptures, sometimes of small animals that a person could hold in their hands, to ones so large that it required ladders and multiple hands to help. Face and body painters had kids and adults of all ages waiting in line, eagerly handing over the few bucks to be decorated with flowers and various other decorative forms of flower power.

It was like the hippie movement met modern times for a day.

Perhaps the most beautiful of all the events, was the parade that happened at the end of the day. The festival couldn’t last all night since it would be hard to see the flowers, so the ending parade occurred at six. All the contest participants and winners walked along with the vendors and painters, each carrying baskets with flower petals or single flowers to throw out to the crowd, and while they held the attention of everyone, up on the rooftops of all the buildings were volunteers who waited for their to cue to toss buckets of petals on to the crowd below. It was as if the entire world was hitting pause on the bitterness of life, to enjoy a moment of beauty to take a shower, made out of flowers.

You never knew what it was about flowers that had the entire town obsessed with them, there were at least six shops dedicated to flowers and bouquets – one at least in particular focused mainly on gardening tools, sculptures, and fountains – within the downtown area.

Which made having your first date with Jimin at the Flower Shower festival all the more pleasing. It was more exciting and had plenty of things to do than going to another restaurant, but at the same time, a bit nerve wracking. Not only was it another first date, with a guy that you’ve never met in your life, hoping that your neighbor hadn’t set you up with some weirdo. This was the first date you were going on with the decision to not tell him about being diabetic.

Even though you weren’t going to bring it up, you still packed the cases into your purse, not wanting to risk needing it and not having them on you. After dressing in shorts and a loose flowery blouse with sandals, even doing your makeup lightly to match with the summer theme, you were ready to go out. Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, but your hand had been shaking to the point that you had to set down the mascara brush or stab yourself in the eye with it.

This was your first chance at seeing if it really made such an impact on your love life, making it felt like you were stepping into the dating scene all over again. That was what made it terrifying. This simple date would tell you whether or not you weren’t able to hold a relationship because of your lifestyle, or if it was because of you.

If it was because of the needles, then that you could understand. Not everyone was fond of them, and dealing with having to give yourself shots four times a day can be annoying at times, but if it was because of you in general…well, that was the ultimate sucker punch to the gut.

Before you could let yourself get lost in the sink hole of self-doubt, you forced yourself to leave, locking the door without even thinking to double check that you had everything that you needed. Luckily, you did.

It was to your advantage that you lived downtown. Walking to the shops only took five, maybe ten minutes if you were feeling lazy and with the location of Paws for Days in mind, you headed down the street in its direction.

The sun was high in the sky, occasionally blinding you when you passed by the tall buildings and gaps in the trees, but you felt the heat of the sun on your arms, and saw the clear bright blue sky overhead. It all helped to take your mind off what Jimin was like. Hell, you didn’t even know what he looked like. All that Taehyung wrote was that he would be outside by the shelter’s sign.

Nearing the heart of town, you weren’t all that surprised to see that nearly everyone in town was walking the streets, making it almost impossible to tell them apart from the people who were working.

Paws for Days was a street down from being smack in the center of town, and resembled a large farmhouse with floor to ceiling windows on the front entrance, allowing everyone to look in and see the cats and occasional dog walking around the front of the store. They took in animals of every breed, and were also a no-kill shelter. During the warm months it was common to hear dogs barking in the larger fenced in area behind the building as the animals played and ran about, enjoying the time out in the sun.

As you neared the shelter, it was the sound of barking and kids laughing that made you smile. In their front lawn, staff had set up play pen areas for the smaller dogs to sit out on the grass and roll around. Parents with babies carefully held them as they leaned down, allowing their child to gently pet animals and laughing as their palms get licked. There were other areas for the larger dogs, but a large banner that was attached to the shelter’s roof stole your attention.

Paws for Days 10th Annual Adoption Day!

You hadn’t realized that in addition to it being the tenth anniversary of the Flower Shower festival, it was also an anniversary for the shelter as well. Staff was walking around with blue shirts with the name of the shelter written in black, a little black paw print serving as the period. Flower crowns made out of orange cream roses sat on everyone’s head, and as you looked around, a group of people around your age appeared to be constructing a giant sculpture of a…well, it had paws and the lower half of an animal body.

Maybe later you’d come back and see what it turned out to be.

Continuing towards the shelter, you tried to look for the sign, but with a swarm of people walking in your way so they could either play with the animals or actually go inside to adopt, it took a little longer to reach your destination.

  When you finally broke through and stepped away to the side to catch a breather, you were able to see the shelter’s wooden sign. To no one’s surprise, there was a stone statue of a cat and dog sitting next to each other, with a bird on top of the dog’s head. It was adorable.

The man standing next to the sign however, was godly looking.

“No, fucking way,” you said, taking advantage of the fact that he was looking at his phone to stare at him.

The fact that his hair was dyed wasn’t shocking – you had partially expected that considering Taehyung was always dying his – but the mix of pink and orange hues suited Jimin so perfectly that it appeared natural on him. The sunlight glinted off of the silver chained earring he wore along with the silver rings on his fingers, all while standing out in a black t-shirt and jeans despite it being warm out. To top it all off, an orange cream rose flower crown that matched his hair color perfectly, was carefully placed on his head to resemble a halo, and he held on to a spare in his free hand.

Taehyung had completely, and utterly, forgotten to mention that his single friend, was insanely hot.

Maybe…maybe that’s not him, you thought, carefully wetting your lips as you walked over to him. Maybe this is some other guy, standing right where Taehyung had said, and was waiting for someone else.

He slipped his phone into his pocket before you were able to reach him and looked up, meeting to meet your gaze. The wire framed sunglasses he wore were tinted with pink lenses.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was soft and gentle, putting your nerves at ease as he smiled widely when you got closer. “You’re Taehyung’s neighbor, right?”

You shyly smiled, nodding as you supplied your name, which only helped to make the corner of Jimin’s eyes crinkle as he repeated your name. To you, your name was just that, a name. Nothing more and nothing less. But hearing he say it, it was like a pretty melody slipping out of his mouth.

Jimin held up the spare flower crown, pressing his lips together as he chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got you one. Is it okay if I…?”

“Of course,” you answered. It was sweet that he had gotten one for you, and as he stepped closer to put it on your head, you felt your cheeks warming up at how close he was. You were even able to catch a whiff of his cologne, just the faintest scent that wasn’t overwhelming like how some people tended to bathe in perfume.

“They’re roses,” Jimin explained, adjusting the crown so it sat on your head like his. “Orange roses. I had to ask for them specifically in case any of the animals tried eating them. Roses at least, are not as poisonous as a lot of other flowers.”

“They’re still toxic to them though, right?”

Jimin leaned back, quirking an eyebrow as his smile softened to grin. “Well, I don’t recommend eating them, for either animals or humans. They’ll probably make you sick...”

“He’s a smartass just like us,” Kayla interrupted, grinning as she handed you back your phone.

Laughing, you nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he can be. But he’s just, one of the sweetest guys I’ve met.” Double tapping your phone, the lock screen revealed itself to be a picture of Jimin. You had taken it one day when you went and visited him at the shelter. He had been holding one of the calico cats, even rubbing his nose against hers, and your heart melted at the sight. Now your heart melted every time you turned on your phone.

“And he really has no idea?”

The room fell silent then. Which wasn’t surprising considering that the two of you were introverts at heart, but together, you were loud and proud. Add in coffee and the entire world better watch out.

“Jimin’s seen me check my blood,” you slowly answered. The phone screen went black when you didn’t swipe it. “He saw the meter one day, so I explained that with my family history, that I have it as a way to monitor my blood.”

Usually, you had been so good about hiding your meter and needles when Jimin came around to your home. For some reason on that day, it had slipped your mind and the next thing you knew, Jimin was holding it up and asking about it.

You weren’t outright lying. The family history wasn’t that decent, and you did have to check your blood, so it was more of a partial truth. Maybe it was because he had seemed curious and interested in the item, but ever since that day, guilt had been gnawing away at your heart. You were still avoiding the truth, and if you wanted this relationship to work out, the only way it could would be if you told him.

Looking away from the coffee, you pressed your lips together upon seeing the way Kayla was gazing at you, her eyes softening as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly. There were no words needed however. You knew that it wasn’t going to end well if you remained silent, but the lingering fear was still there.

What if it was too much for Jimin? What if after you told him, he decided that it wasn’t worth it? That you, weren’t worth it?

It was all just…terrifying.

“You know,” Kayla gently said, reaching out and reassuringly squeezed your hand. “If for some reason, it doesn’t work out…Bailey and I got a spare room for you to have.”

She had offered you the spare room more times than you could remember, especially after graduation, but you loved the town you grew up in. It was home and had everything you always wanted. But you squeezed her hand back tightly, looking up at her with a smile.

“I thought that was Bailey’s room?”

“Oh, it is. She’s fucking spoiled rotten. You’re the only human being I’d sacrifice my queen-sized bed for a bunk bed.”

Laughing, you shook your head as Kayla joined in. Even Bailey tried barking at the sudden noise.

You had to tell Jimin the truth. There was no if, ands, or buts about it. For right now, you were willing to pretend for a little bit longer, wanting to savor in his love before it all came crashing down.

You leaned over Jimin, stretching your hand out for the wine glass on the coffee table, his palm sliding down your back to your hip as you moved about. When you settled back against his side, the wine glass in hand, his chest shook as he chuckled when you tried to take a sip only to realize that you would have to sit up to get a decent drink.

“Oh shush,” you murmured, lightly swiping at his shoulder.

It only made Jimin giggle even more though, and a glance at his own wine glass that was sitting on the wooden floor by the couch revealed it to be empty. You were still on your first, knowing full well that there was a chance that a glass of your beloved Witching Hour Red Blend wine might spike your blood sugar, but Jimin had finished his first one within a half hour after arriving for dinner.

Not that you were going to judge. It was Friday night, neither of you had work tomorrow, and it was so damn good. There was no harm in letting loose and indulging in the fun adult drinks.

His keys were on the coffee table next to the black wine bottle along with his phone, and you must have eyed them for longer than you thought because next thing you knew, his hand was trailing up your back as he pushed himself up, capturing your attention.

“Sleepover?” Jimin said, locks of his pink hair falling into his gaze.

Smiling, you hummed in agreement, partially relieved that he wouldn’t go out driving, and partially thriving at the idea of waking up next to him tomorrow morning.

“Good, that means I can do this then…”

You frowned at first, suddenly gasping as the glass clinked against the rings on his fingers when he took your glass and raised it to his lips, successfully drinking about half of it in one gulp.

“You have your own glass,” you whined, pouting at the small amount he had left for you.

Jimin only grinned, setting the glass down on the table before pulling you close until he was able to claim you for a kiss. His lips tasted rich like cherries, and whether it was the wine talking or not, but he felt more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever had.

He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip before slipping in, his arms wrapping around your waist as the kiss grew in intensity, your hands unashamedly going under his t-shirt to roam up his body. Before you were able to crawl on top of him, he broke the kiss.

“No offense,” Jimin said, kissing your forehead to make up for suddenly stopping. “But your couch sucks to have sex on.”

That put a halt to where you mind had been going, recalling the one time the two of you ended up fucking on the couch. It had been rushed and both of you were too horny to even think about going to the bedroom.

“Yeah,” you agreed, giggling as you stood, taking the bottle and slipping your own glass between your fingers. With a coy smile, you walked backwards to your bedroom. “Good thing I have a fucking awesome bed though.”

His laughter filled the room as he swiped up his own glass, hurrying after you, and not just because you were holding the rest of wine hostage with the promise of sex, but because you were the one sweetly carrying his heart.

Blinking your eyes open, you frowned as you stared up at the ceiling, cold sweat making your hair stick to your forehead, the sheets wet underneath your back. You glanced to your side, the bright red numbers of the clock reading 3:00 A.M in the dark room, and on your right, Jimin’s soft snores reassured you that he was still asleep.

So why were you wide awake?

With careful movements, you moved so you were sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring how the air hit your wet back. It was as if someone had turned up the heat despite it being summer. Everything was pointing towards a bad dream, it wouldn’t have been the first time that you woke up from a nightmare, unable to recall it but be drenched in sweat. It was with that mindset that you leaned down to pick up Jimin’s shirt, slipping it on to go to the bathroom, but the moment you stood on your own feet, the world slanted.

You barely caught yourself against the wall as you stumbled forward, feeling lost in a haze as you kept walking until you felt the sharp coldness of wooden floors on the bottom of your feet. The faint glow of the orange nightlight in a socket was blurry, acting as a guide as you stumbled around, trying to reach the kitchen table.

The meter. You needed your meter.

Head heavy, your heart raced in your chest when you suddenly felt the floor underneath you. A sharp pain slicing through your hip and a harsh whack had your leg aching, but it cleared away the haze, allowing you to think as you leaned against what you felt to be the couch.

Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness but you didn’t dare risk standing, but you couldn’t just sit there. There was nothing within your reach for you to grab and make noise. The last time something like this had happened was back in high school, and that had been when you ended up in the hospital. Whimpering, your body felt heavy as you tried to move, the soft pap sound of footsteps echoing in the short hallway barely catching your attention.

“Baby? I heard a thud, you okay?”

The light suddenly came on, burning your eyes as you tried to move, but like when you had first stood up, your head felt twenty pounds heavier, forcing you to lean back against the couch.

“What the fuck? Baby?!”

Jimin’s feet slammed against the floor as he hurried to sit in front of you, eyes wide awake as he cupped your cheek and wrapped an arm around your waist to bring you to rest against his chest. His fingers were blissfully cold compared to your heated skin, and for several moments, all you could focus on was his touch, unable to hear him call out your name several times.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shakily inhaled as you tried to focus and ignore the way the world seemed to suddenly tilt again. “My meter,” you said, your voice hoarse. “I need to check my blood. Something…something’s wrong.”

Vaguely you pointed towards the kitchen table, but luckily, Jimin had seen you place the meter there on multiple occasions. After leaning you against the couch again, he hurried to the table, pushing random notebooks and mail out of the way to find the purple bag. With a tug at the zipper, it revealed the meter and pen you needed.

“Hey baby, stay awake, please.” Jimin said, gently touching the side of your face, still holding on to the bag and its contents. Despite having watched you use them; he didn’t understand how to work the machine.

Maneuvering his way behind you once again, his legs were on either side of you as he pulled you to his chest. The shirt you wore was damp and he tried to move your hair off your neck and forehead.

It took a few moments, hands fumbling as you put a test strip into the meter and using the pen to prick your finger, the blood pooling up without even having to squeeze the area. The screen beeped as it calculated the glucose level, beeping again with a final result.

“It says fifty,” Jimin read aloud. “Is that…is that not good?”

“No,” you said, eyes wide as you stared at the meter, knowing that it would get worse if it got any lower. “It’s too low, I need…sugar. Orange juice, ice cream, something.”

Lifting your hand up to the arm of the chair, you tried to pull yourself up to get something, but Jimin’s heart raced at the prospect of you trying to walk around in this state, so he held you tighter to keep you on the ground and stood up himself.

“I’ll get it,” he said. He didn’t even give you a chance to argue. Instead he hurried to get the food you had mentioned, already figuring that you needed stuff that either had natural sugars, or were found in the junk food.

His arms were full with food and dishes when he came back, not knowing what exactly you wanted or would be best for this situation. Even though he wanted to help out, wanted to make this easier and go away, he had no idea what to do. Never in his life had he come across a situation that was like this. All he knew was that from the way you were moving so slow and how there was little to no color to your skin, this wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t how you wanted to tell Jimin. Out of every scenario that you’ve mulled over, this wasn’t even in the top twenty. To find you in a state like this so soon in the relationship must be a scene out of a nightmare for him.

Seeing the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream he had gotten out, you reached over and grabbed it along with the spoon. The treat was rarely touched since it was stashed away for special occasions that you treated yourself to, but this time you took a spoonful of the Half Baked delight, wishing that this was a chance where you could relax and enjoy it.

While you were eating that spoonful, Jimin quietly removed himself from you. He didn’t speak as he went into the bathroom, the water running loudly in the otherwise silent house before it was turned off just as quickly, and returned to his place behind you. It was without a word that he gently gathered your hair, bringing it into the messy bun that you always threw it up in when the two of you decided on having a lazy day. The task at hand was almost all but forgotten when the cold cloth was set on the back of your neck.

The gesture itself had your eyes stinging, the reality of everything suddenly crashing around you and how this could have gone if Jimin wasn’t here. The shirt was originally Jimin’s and while his clothes usually hung on you, had been clinging to your skin and making it impossible for you to forget about. It hadn’t been the biggest concern you had at the moment, which forced you to put it to the back of your mind for the time being.

A stray whimper escaped your lips, capturing Jimin’s attention as you set the ice cream container down to cover your face with your hands, silencing the cries and trying to hide from him. He wasn’t running away or staring at you like something was wrong, nor was he accusing you of lying and deceiving him. Instead, he simply rested his chin on your shoulder, leaving soft kisses on your neck and cheeks.

“Don’t cry baby,” Jimin murmured, tilting his head to add a kiss to your shaking shoulders. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s get your blood sugar where it needs to be.”

As reassuring as that was, it only made you cry harder, the tears slipping through your fingers and dripping on to your thighs. He was right. You needed to focus on your blood sugar, but his soft whispers and the way his hands gently rubbed and squeezed your legs meant so much more.

For the first time in so long, a guy wasn’t disgusted by you. Instead he was here, doing the things that he could to help, and he was loving you.

When you finally felt like you could keep going, you sniffed and lifted your head, the lightest of touches caressing your cheek had your heart thumping. Again, you checked your blood. It went up ten points, but you sighed, and scooped out another spoonful of the ice cream in an attempt to raise it. It would probably be sky high by the time morning arrived, but it wasn’t going up fast enough at the moment.

Over the course of an hour, you sat on the floor in-between Jimin’s legs, checking your blood every ten minutes to see if it had gone up, and alternating between spoonsful of ice cream, cups of orange juice and peanut butter crackers, a combination that had your nose scrunching up every time.

Jimin stayed the entire time, only getting up to put away some of the food that you weren’t eating. Even after that he retook his spot and held you just tight enough to remind you that he wasn’t letting you go.

By the time it finally reached one hundred, you pushed the container of ice cream away from you and leaned back into Jimin’s embrace. It was still low. No longer did you feel out of control of your body, the sweat had dried to your skin and if you were to stand, you were certain that there wouldn’t be any more stumbling on your part. Although you doubted that Jimin would let you out of his sight for the next few days.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Wide awake in the dead of night, apparently not seeing any other option, Jimin reached out for the ice cream and took a spoonful for himself. The gesture itself was so simple, so ordinary, as if the two of you always woke up at the hour dedicated to artists who found solace under the stars and moon, to share a pint of ice cream on the living room floor, that you giggled.

Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Jimin’s mouth curled upwards at the sound of your laugh. He hadn’t realized that this scare would make him miss such a pretty sound so much. Licking the rest of the spoon clean as he maintained eye contact with you, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively to make you laugh once more.

As much as you would rather spend the rest of the time making each other laugh and eating to your heart’s desire, you knew that he was owed an explanation to everything that’s happened.

“I was diagnosed in high school,” you said. Your gaze fell from his face to the floor, only then noticing that Jimin didn’t have any pants on. He had come rushing out in only his boxers and stayed in them this entire time. “I’m a type two diabetic, which means that my body produces the insulin that it needs, but for some reason my body doesn’t process it and rejects it.”

Jimin patiently listened to your explanation. As you spoke, the invisible weight that had settled on your shoulders when you decided to hide this part of your life was being chipped away at, piece by piece until it felt like you were free. The nerves didn’t fly away, instead they settled nicely in your stomach for the time being, not making themselves known until you closed your mouth, waiting for his reaction.

He took a deep breath, moving his hand to run it through his hair. “Does this happen a lot? Your levels dropping like this?”

“No. This…” you set a hand on his thigh, shaking your head. “I don’t know what happened. I took my shot before dinner, and then I took my night one.”

“Baby, I never saw you take any shot.”

Pressing your lips together, you closed your eyes, the butterflies having found the perfect moment to take flight right then and there. This was it, the moment you had been dreading this entire time. “I… I had my bag with my insulin pens and needles hiding in the bathroom.” You admitted.

His eyes scanned over you, making a mental note that you wouldn’t look at him and how your kept on rubbing your arm. Suddenly it made sense why you were always sneaking off to the restroom anytime the two of you went out to eat, and how you’d tap your nails and watch for the waiter when it took longer than you expected for the food to come out. “How long have you been hiding this?”

“Since we started dating.”

Jimin’s arms tightened around your waist, the reassuring weight of his head on your shoulder was now gone, and in that split second, your heart stopped. He was moving away, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be with you anymore, he—

Suddenly you were no longer staring at the floor in front of you, but Jimin’s bare chest until his fingers lifted your chin, forcing you to look him straight on. His dark brown eyes that usually disappeared when he was smiling and laughing, appeared to be drowning in the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“Why…why wouldn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice light and cracking with every word while his bottom lip trembled. “What if I wasn’t here? You…you could have been on the floor until morning. And if this is how you get when it’s this low, it would have been worse if you waited to get help, or until someone found you.”

His hands were roaming around your back as he spoke, unable to settle down, like he had to constantly reassure himself that you were conscious and talking to him. It was only when he shook his head, a soft coo leaving his lips as he cupped your cheeks to run his fingers underneath your eyes, that you realized that you were crying too.

Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against yours, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you had hid this from him. All he could think about was you being alone when this happened. It tore at him the possibility of you ending up in the hospital, or worse, you laying on the ground until you either made your way to a phone, or someone stumbling upon you on accident.

It plagued his heart, making it ache as he tilted his head to gently kiss your forehead. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

It was such a simple reason for why you didn’t, but one that was without a doubt, rooted in your own selfish desire to protect yourself. Most importantly, to protect your heart from having to deal with constantly being let down by the men you let into your life. The idea had sprung out of fear and doubt, but every day that you spent with Jimin was enough to set those thoughts aside.

All the silly dates. The terrifying night where he let you help him dye his hair, the way his fingers traced your body with paths he long since memorized, and an afternoon where the two of you stayed inside while rain pattered against the windows when he suddenly said I love you, were enough to make you realize that Jimin wasn’t going run away.

Your eyes stung and tears slipped faster down your cheeks as you moved to press your forehead against his chest, his arms hugging your tightly. There was nothing for you to grip on to except his body, but you held on to him anyway.

Sensing that this ran deeper than you were ready to admit, Jimin gently kissed your cheek, resting his head against yours as he held you, softly stroking your back. His own back was sore from being hunched over for the last hour or so, and sitting on the floor was starting to leave an ache in his ass, but he was going to stay right there. As long as you needed him, he was going to be there, wherever and whenever you wanted him.

“It’s okay baby,” he said once your tears slowed down in volume. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

Those words had you wanting to cry all over again. For the first time in so long, someone wanted to stay with you, to help you, to love you for you, and that included the fact that you needed to constantly check your blood sugar and take insulin with your meals, and an additional one before bed. It was terrifying, a first, but so freeing at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shakily kissing his chest in an attempt to fix some of the damage your secret has done. “I’m so sorry Jimin.”

He didn’t speak. Instead, he kissed your cheek again, his arms tightening just the slightest. Condensation from the ice cream was pooling on the floor and the mini candy bars that he had found were scattered about. Your meter was right beside him. Outside, the birds that had made their homes in the trees near your apartment were singing their sweet lungs out, a noise that usually made both of you want to bury your faces in the pillows. This time, it had Jimin looking towards the bay window and the sheer yellow curtains.

It was still dark out, but within an hour, the night sky would give birth to morning.

Glancing down, he saw that your legs were already wrapped around his waist. With no other reason not to, Jimin carefully stood up, using one arm to pull himself up by the couch and the other keeping a hold on you. He ignored the yelps and questions that left your mouth.

Instead, he settled down on the bay window and stretched his legs out in front of him, only loosening his grip on you when he was certain you wouldn’t slip and fall on the ground.

“What are you doing?” You said, cautiously letting go of Jimin to straighten up. It wasn’t the first time that he ever picked you up without warning, in fact, his habit of doing so was close to becoming normal. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t like a warning in advance occasionally.

He leaned backwards against the window pane, drawing his right leg up until he was able to prop his arm on his knee as he smiled at you. “Have you ever seen the sun rise?”

The question was so random, so opposite of everything that had been happening for the last hour and yet, your mind honed in on it and took advantage of the its simplicity. Shaking your head, Jimin’s smile grew as he tapped his thigh. His own way to gesture for you to turn and rest against his chest that you had learned early on in the relationship.

“The ice cream’s going to melt.”

You turned around however, once again leaning backwards against Jimin’s chest as his free arm encircled your body, pulling you firming in place.

“We’ll take care of that later. We’ll take care of everything later, I promise. Right now, I just want to watch the sun rise, with you.”

“You’re not mad at me?” You suddenly asked, staring at the early morning sky.

The other apartments and houses in the neighborhood were nothing more but shadows for the time being, and you weren’t entirely sure if the living room was facing the east or not. You didn’t tell him that though.

“No baby,” Jimin softly said, staring at the sky as well. “I’m a bit disappointed, and honestly, I’m still a little scared about what happened. But I’m not mad at you.”

Feeling his chest lift with a deep breath, you relaxed in his embrace. This wasn’t the end of the conversation. He deserved a real explanation for why you never told him, and he would get it this time.

As you shifted slightly, Jimin adjusted his arm with your movements, a soft chuckle escaping when you played with some of the silver rings that he had forgotten to take off before going to sleep.

“I love you.”

Your fingers paused, watching his fingers move and lace themselves with yours, calming your heart so it was no longer racing. Any butterflies that had been hanging around in-case there was a to be a second round of sudden doubt finally settled down, allowing you to enjoy this moment with Jimin. Instead of fear, a blanket of content draped itself on top of you.

“I love you too,” you said, bringing his hand up to your lips to kiss.

Somewhere out there, a bird was returning the melody of another song under the moonlight, and running on only a few hours of sleep wasn’t ideal. While it wasn’t the night that you planned or expected to have, as you waited for the sun to rise, Jimin occasionally running his thumb over your knuckles, there wasn’t anywhere else you wanted to be.

It wasn’t planned, nor was the leading up to it ideal, but it was pretty damn perfect.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hey you beautiful people! Last chapter of Part I. 

MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII | XIII

Chapter 14. 1978.

           Darkness was infinite and pain would linger on forever. There was no hope; hope was the biggest illusion human kind had manufactured in order to keep going when there was absolutely no fucking point. A black void was everything that ever was; nothing more that the absolute nothing. She felt weightless, as if the waves of the raging black sea could tear her to pieces, throw her to the rocks. Then, she felt as heavy as the universe – drowning in the mere thought of water. Her body felt tired, her mind was restless; not in a good way. She though that life went on but to her, that was the saddest part of it all.            It could end two ways, both equally tragic. Either she would die amongst the rest or she would live. She didn’t know what worse. Truly, never having the chance to see her family again or staying behind? Her entire body got goosebumps and her hands were trembling. She had tried to drink her problems away, just for a few hours, but it only made her sadder, lonelier.                Until she left. She wasn’t celebrating – she couldn’t celebrate the new year. Each passing second, fate was approaching them, faster than she had ever realized. Usually, it was the past that made people sad; well, she was the exception to that as well. She really wanted to go home, for this to be over, to give up Hogwarts and magic and the people. She just wanted her home back, her life, her choices – the ability to choose.                          She was making a run for it. After half an hour of pretending, she said her goodnight, only to few people – well, to the Potters. She couldn’t deal with questions and avoided them like bullets. Once the doors closed behind her, all the silence of the world crushed upon her; and it was louder than the loudest sound. It was suffocatingly loud. Refusing to go back inside, she climbed to her room, kicking her heels off, before even closing the door. A soft tune was stuck in her mind and the Greek poem that accompanied it – the moonlight sonata.              

Let me come with you.

This house can’t bear me anymore.

I cannot endure to bear it on my back.

You must always be careful, be careful,

to hold up the wall with the large buffet

to hold up the table with the chairs

to hold up the chairs with your hands

to place your shoulder under the hanging beam.

And the piano, like a closed black coffin. You do not dare to open it.

You have to be so careful, so careful, lest they fall, lest you fall. I cannot bear it.

Let me come with you.

This house, despite all its dead, has no intention of dying.

It insists on living with its dead

on living off its dead

on living off of the certainty of its death

and on still keeping house for its dead, the rotting beds and shelves.

Let me come with you.

Oh, are you going? Goodnight. No, I won’t come. Goodnight.

I’ll be going myself in a little. Thank you.

              She softly spoke the words to the still air as she was looking outside of her window, a wave of nostalgia crushing to her like a tsunami. She was deep into her thoughts, into her world of roses, poems, stardust and a serene chaos. She felt at peace in the midst of a hurricane, within dramatic lines, written by poets with elegant noses and strong beliefs. The music kept repeating memories, stirring them up as it went on. She didn’t want a happy ending, she sadly realized; she wanted tragedy, passion and catastrophe; she wanted everything and nothing. She wanted absolution. Just like every heroine in the ancient tragedies; it was in her nature.                      He didn’t dare to speak, to make a sound; he held his breath in fear of waking up from the tender dream he was having; a vision right before his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but he felt pulled towards her as if he had no other place to be; as if he was meant to be in her room. She knew that someone was watching her, and she already guessed who but took her time to face with him, with an all-knowing smile.               He was caught of guard, trying to retain his posture and temper or he would just turn around and run away for good. Feeling rather ashamed that he got caught, not that he was invading her privacy, he looked at the floor, blushing ever so slightly. She really didn’t mind. How could she?                    “Do you like it?” she airily asked him, as she remained by the window. He gulped. He knew she was talking about the poem he heard her recite but he couldn’t shake her image, entering the ballroom. Yes, he loved it.                        “I didn’t know that one” he admitted quite subtly. She wasn’t surprised; it was by a Greek poet and it was an intense portrayal of the subject of loneliness and alienation of the uncommitted individual. The lady in the poem represented that part of the old world, which the poet thought it was condemned to perish with its aristocratic past because of its aversion to adapt and participate in the process of change. She thought that if anyone understood that feeling, was him.              “I know” she melodiously informed him. She was enticing and it was hard for him to stay away. Not that he wanted to, in any case. No, he didn’t know which magical poem had stolen her heart but he did know that she was standing under the moonlight, her essence becoming ethereal. How evident it became? She didn’t believe in happiness and that scared him; he could feel for her but even he believed that there has to be a better way, it has to get better. She seemed to contradict him by simply suggesting that there was no point in … well, anything.              Such a hopeless wanderer’s soul, she had. She was made from a different material, a nihilist and an idealist, a desperate romantic and a catastrophic pragmatist. How wonderfully vague her outlines were. Maybe it was because she was wearing a gold waterfall for a dress, but he knew better – he just couldn’t stop gawking.; to be fair he was an 18-year-old boy.            “Why did you leave so soon?” he asked her without hesitation, as if al the barriers had collapsed under the moonlight. She solely focused on his eyes and he could not avert his gaze.                   “Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques - I believe it is” she quoted Verlaine and that, he did know. Sad beneath fantastic disguises. Why would she ever feel that way? He was only fooling himself. He was lying, pretending not to feel the way he did, pretending that there was nothing between them, pretending he was happy torturing Marlene, pretending everything was fine and the way they were supposed to be.         “Votre âme est un paysage choisi” he quoted back, letting her know that his French was so much better than hers and that he paid attention to the details. He truly did. It was almost inappropriate for her to like him or even to think about how his eyes shined liked spilled mercury under the moonlight. However, the biggest problem was that it was unrequited.                             He took one step towards her direction, fully aware of the fragile moment they shared. She saw the shift in his eyes and her entire mind was screaming to her to shut up. Everyone else was probably celebrating in the midst of an upcoming war but she was fighting another one all on her own. Keeping secrets from the people whom their fates were sealed and she could not do a thing was becoming heavier by the second and that broke her.        

           “What – what is really happening here, love?” he questioned her with a slight anger lingering on in his voice – anger that he didn’t know he was experiencing. She was surprised by the very thought of him being angry. He wasn’t angry at her per se, he was really shaken off about not being in the known, having blanks that he had to fill by himself when it should have been her answers instead of his imagination.              She wanted to tell him everything and then her mind went to the time he spent in prison for no reason at all, and she swallowed hard. How would she ever be able to come clean about that. Remus was a bit easier – yes, he was still very hurt and shocked and everything in the middle but Sirius… it was always different with him. It was always different when it came to him – she was …                  “I want to tell you but it’s too much. Please don’t ask me to be honest with you. Not on that level. Anything else, I will answer. Not that” she finally told him. At least, she was acknowledging all the hypocrisy and all the lying, he thought. He wasn’t looking for that answer though, he wanted the real reason behind her entire existence in his life, and so he closed the gap between them. His tall frame was towering over her, her back was pressed to the wall next to the window and his eyes were piercing her face for clues.                    “No. You don’t get to do that. I have been nothing but honest with you about everything. You don’t get to hide now” he pushed further, making her arch her eyebrow. As he realized that he had overstepped the boundaries, he tried to take a step back but her finger was already poking his chest through his unbuttoned shirt and undone tie.                  “You? Honest? Really? Is that what you tell yourself before you go to sleep? That you are honest with me? Or that you’re honest with yourself? Because neither -                        “Fine, what do you want me to say?” he cut her off, revealing his hot temper with a flush that appeared in his face – something she had never seen before and she had to remind herself that this Sirius was not the one from the books. He wasn’t a character anymore; he was a real person – breathing down on her.                            She closed her eyes, not wanting to create any more tension that what had already been created but he was not having it. He wanted answers, now more than ever, even if he knew that he, himself, had been lying all that time – this was not the same. He was lying about his feelings; she was lying about everything.                        “Who are you? Who could you possibly be to come here through the fucking sky? To come here and turn everything upside down. To make me question things that I thought I had figured out long ago. To make me jealous of my own best friend and to make me want to destroy every sound thing. Who are you?” he bombarded her with accusations that he wanted figured out now. And all it took was one hot second before she screamed the answers back to him, each hitting like a bullet to his heart, each being louder and louder only to finish off with a dead silence.                        “You think you are the one suffering? I have been trapped here for too long, I miss my home, my family, my life. I want out. I am done playing a stupid part in this scenario. I know everything. I know how are you going to end up, when, where, who dies, who lives, who fucking betrays – because I came from the sky. The fucking sky. I don’t know how or even who I am anymore. I thought you were a book character and every single thing was only real in my imagination and the pages of seven books. But no. I fucking live in the damn past – not mine. NO. A past from a different possibility. Twenty years before my birth date. And of course, out of every mistake I could possibly make, every choice gone mad, I had to - ”.

           Usually, there were two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When people were afraid, they tend to pull back from life, when in love, the open up to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance. And while fear was easier, almost natural to them, they knew that they had to step outside their comfort zone.                  Not finishing off her sentence, leaving it there hanging in the middle of the thick air between them, was her way of giving him space to decide and her a breather. Her mind was yelling at her to stop and think about all those things that actually mattered but not every act was a result of sensibility. Her accusing finger was still on his chest; as a matter of fact, her entire palm was being pressed against his skin – not his shirt anymore. The information was not new to him; he knew, deep down he did.              Each night before he would fall asleep, he was trying to decode and figure her out, even just a bit. He was repeating the things she had said during the day, realizing just how much of an insight she had and wondering if it was just that or… It started of small, a few words of more than wisdom were spoken, a few things were said that she could not possibly know about… and the ever-present aura of secrecy. Her tattoos were one thing, her words were another. It wasn’t news to him and she noticed that. Her anger calmed down to a side smile.                “But you already knew” she concluded and her touch became gentler against his chest. Gentle as a fire. He looked at her with a desperate look, as if he wanted to do so much, to say so much but couldn’t. Sirius was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a cheater.             Instead of pushing her against the wall and kissing her like he had already pictured in his head about a million times, he stepped back and he sat on the bed, eyes always glued to her.              “I think I did” he agreed, more to his own mind than to her words. She took a deep breath and used the chair in front of the boudoir, to the left of the big window, facing him while at the same time keeping her distance.                          “I still don’t think I can tell you everything, Sirius” she softly apologized but he shook his head.                    “It’s okay. It’s okay if I am the one dying, love, or the one going mad. You will tell when or if you’re ready. I’m sorry for… this” he said, indicating the space between them but she brushed it off. How much longer would she able to keep it hidden from James and Peter, she didn’t know.                  “Sirius… it’s not that simple. I know what I know from the books. So, basically, from I come from, the dimension and the time period, you, the boys, Hogwarts… magic, everything is fiction and contained within seven books that are not even about you. While these books go on, you are older and have gone through a lot. I know that part. I don’t know if it will happen the way it was supposed to, since I am here and I wasn’t supposed to, I think, but I also can’t change much in this plot. Or even if I can, I don’t know if I should. Messing with time and history is not something I am looking forward to do. Although, if I could change some things, I would without blinking” she admitted, staying as close to the truth as she could, without revealing too much. How could she face him and tell him what was about to happen to him in a few years? He wouldn’t even get to turn her age before Azkaban… and that hit her differently.                        “I know that there is something dark in the things you are not saying. And I know that I am neither the one who dies nor the one who lives from the way your eyes never met mine when I said it. Maybe the one who goes crazy but not exactly. That’s okay. It would happen either you were here or not. It’s better that you are. I don’t know if it is for you… I cannot imagine the weight of all those things. I am sorry” he told her sincerely. They shared so many things; intuition, depth, passion. And a five-year gap.            “So you see, celebrating didn’t feel appropriate” she concluded airily. But he looked at her in a perplexed expression.                  “On the contrary. We should. Now more than ever. Because after all, we only have this moment, isn’t that so?” he proposed and she was astonished because he was right. He didn’t want to talk about it more, knowing that something bad happened to all of them, and that she didn’t want to say what. He understood her – it was cruel, such disastrous things being delivered by her. She held answers to questions they hadn’t even thought about yet. He could never blame her for not coming forward. Even though he wanted to be her confidant, the one she would spill her heart out he knew that she wouldn’t. Some things were better left unsaid… but…not forever.                      “You should go back to your friends” she suggested, as she felt worn out, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dress and makeup.                                  “I thought we were friends” he chuckled darkly, earing a fixed glance from her piercing eyes.            “Oh Sirius. You and I…we could never be friends” she admitted and there was not a single shy cell in her body. Her entire mind had shut up and every word coming out of her mouth was a sharp slap across his face, hitting him with the truest statement she could have said. He licked his lips and tamed his tongue not to respond the only way he truly wanted to as he got up and buttoned up again, to rejoin the party.                      “Remus knows?” he asked but it came out as a bold statement. He was jealous he wasn’t the first one to know this, or how her lips felt against his. He shook the image out of his head and focused his eyes one her. She was radiant but she wasn’t fooling anyone – she might have worn a gold dress but she was the moon, dark, secret and almost untouchable. Almost.                    “He does” she confirmed, realizing just how jealous he could get. She didn’t like possessiveness, mainly because she was the one being possessive in her previous relationships, but with Sirius…she could, perhaps, turn a blind eye. He was unexpected in every way, to her. He was biting his lip, deep in thought. It was tragically doomed and yet he found beauty among the disaster. It was fragile and soft, so tender but raw, catastrophe pouring down at everything. It was problematic – making homes out of people. But he had never felt more at home than with people; his best mates, his school, her.  His house never felt like a home and yet he was surrounded by it. And now, a strange feeling washed over his heart. What was he doing, letting her go?                He waned to kiss her, without a warning, with permission, without even deciding to do so but simply because he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him and he wanted it back. But there was that small voice, so ever faint, that told him it was not the time nor the place to do so. He had to physically stop from heading towards her rather than the door. And he didn’t know why he stopped.             “Love, I…” he started but she gave him a sharp look.                        “Don’t” she whispered and he left with a heartbreaking look on his delicate features.       

           She found an excuse not to return to the party. She would find an excuse to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible, otherwise her entire being would implode and no one would even notice. She would just collapse under the pressure of knowledge and no one would even understand how hard her life had suddenly become. She was the girl who wanted to know everything, who went looking for knowledge every place she visited and she had become the girl who wished she didn’t know the future, who was oblivious and blissful, who stayed silent and didn’t challenge the world.                It was too early. Too late maybe. No one was partying, no one was in the living room, no one was making any sound. She tiptoed around a bit. The fireplace was livid, calming and consuming at the same time as if it was calling to her. Everything will end up in flames. Not ice, but hellfire. It was the saddest thing she could have thought of. Protecting a breakable heart. What if she got the chance to leave?              “Would I?” she whispered to herself. No. And that feeling of knowing that she wouldn’t be able to leave even if she did find a way, that she wouldn’t go back to her own family and her own life, that very feeling made her realize that this was indeed her home, that the people in this reality were her family and that this was her now. And she had to fight for her home and her family. She had to at least try.              “We missed you at the party” a soft voice caught her off guard. She took a deep breath. This was it. This hide and seek had to end. Once she turned around, he saw how serious she was and immediately understood that something was off. His eyes were tired but alert, his whole body language was signaling that he was able to grasp the severity of whatever she had to say to him.                        “There is something I need to tell you but you’ll need to sit down, James”.

__ Taglist: @must-be-a-weasley-92​ @megalificent​ @fific7​ @maraudersangel​ @tb-ctn 

[misscorn]

Day 6 Confession

Day 6 of @takaritsuweek 😄😄

***

Masamune stumbled into his apartment at a fresh 2:57 in the morning, completely exhausted, but relieved. One of his author's had had a nervous breakdown causing an issue with getting the manuscript and then once Masamune did finally get his hands on it he realized the author had been so reluctant because it was complete trash and then the printers were giving him a tough time and-

Masamune took a deep breath. It was fine. He got it done. He was the editor-in-chief of their department for a reason. There was no use stressing over it anymore. No, now was the time to let his exhaustion hit and allow himself to pass out on his bed.

It had been like this for the past few days now, Masamune coming home so late after a grueling day at the office. It wasn't even hellweek, no, instead it was just Masamune's own personal little hell made special just for him by whatever God or Goddess thought it was funny to mess with him. Not to mention all this trouble meant he hadn't gotten to see Ritsu outside of work recently, which pissed him off to no end. Hopefully it was finally over.

Only, there was one small, teeny tiny problem left.

His living room light was on.

Masamune knew for a fact that he did not leave his light on before he left for work. He wasn't so careless. Did he have an intruder in his home? Shit, he was too tired to deal with something like that.

Slowly and quietly, Masamune peeked around the corner and was shocked at the sight in front of him: Onodera Ritsu, on his couch, clearly focused as he made and reviewed edits.

'I must be so tired that I've started hallucinating.' Masamune thought to himself. Still, it was a nice hallucination. A life in which Masamume comes home to Ritsu after work is a life Masamune longs deeply for.

Masamune did give Ritsu a spare key in the past, but there was no way the brunette would ever actually use it. Right? Carefully, Masamune approached the Ritsu-mirage, not disturbing him out of his little work bubble until he reached forward to gently pinch his cheek.

Ritsu nearly leaped to his feet, smacking the hand away and pressing himself against the other end of the couch to get away from Masamune's touch. "You scared me!" He complained, placing a hand over his heart, feeling it race.

"You're real?" Masamune stared.

"Of course I'm real! What are you even talking about?" Ritsu huffed. "I came over earlier to ask you to review my edits, but you weren't here. Then I remembered you gave me a key and I decided to wait." Ritsu explained briefly. "...Are you mad that I used it?"

"No! Please, feel free to use it every single day. In fact, forget ever going to your apartment and just move in with me." Masamune said as he flopped on to the couch beside him.

"N-Now you're just speaking nonsense." Ritsu said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Maybe they could still go over some stuff before the two of them went to bed. However, Ritsu went wide-eyed at the time. "Three in the morning?! What are you doing coming home at three in the morning? It's not even hellweek, yet, moron!" Ritsu scolded. How had it gotten so late? Ritsu must have completely lost track of the time.

"Eh? What are you getting so worked up for?" Masamune yawned.

"Editor-in-chief or not, you still need to take care of yourself, which includes getting a proper amount of sleep! Did you even eat dinner?"

This felt wrong. These roles should definitely be reversed. The irony wasn't missed by Masamune.

"Aw, are you worried about me?" Masamune asked, his tone teasing, but instead of Ritsu blushing or quickly getting defensive and denying, the brunette frowned and crossed his arms.

"Of course I'm worried about you!" Ritsu said.

Masamune shrugged. "I'm fine, a few late nights at work never killed anybody."

"A few? How often have you been coming home this late?" Ritsu asked.

Masamune's tired brain tried to make sense of the timeline of these past couple days before he finally responded. "I think this is the fourth night." He said.

"Takano-san!" Ritsu exclaimed in a disapproving tone. Ritsu had thought that Masamune seemed a little out of it at work lately, but he hadn't been that worried since he trusted that if Masamune needed time off then he would take it. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"It's fine, it's fine, let me see your edits." Masamune said.

"Absolutely not." Ritsu stood and grabbed Masamune's hands, somehow managing to pull him up as well. "You are going to bed. Right now."

Masamune, irritable from his tiredness, made a sound of protest. "You're not my mother, Onodera. I can put myself to bed when I'm ready."

"Obviously you can't." Ritsu put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the taller man.

"Stop acting like you're the most responsible adult in the world and like you haven't literally worked yourself to the point of passing out. It's annoying and hypocritical."

"I know I'm not, I never said I was! And I'm seriously trying to get better at not overworking myself, so don't even throw that in my face." Ritsu said, starting to get equally as irritated.

"Why are you even really here?" Masamune asked, crossing his arms.

Ritsu was slightly taken aback by the question, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again. "I-I told you, I wanted you to review-"

"You would not have stuck around this long just for that. Yesterday you probably would've rather died than use that spare key I gave you. So why are you here? To nag me to death? To scold me like a child? I'm a grown man, Onodera, I don't need-"

"Why are you allowed to care about me, but I'm not allowed to care about you?!" Ritsu demanded, balling his hands into fists. "Why can you fuss over me and bandage me up when I'm clumsy? Why can you take care of me when I'm sick? Why can you be concerned about my well being, but I can't be concerned about yours without being annoying?! Isn't that part of what love is? Looking after one another? Why can you smother me to death with what you call 'lovey dovey' stuff, but I'm not allowed to love you back?! I love you, damn it, so let me!" He looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.

Masamune merely stood there, gaping at Ritsu's outburst and confession. "Ritsu, I..." He started, for once looking off balance and unsure.

"It's not fair. It's not fair if I'm the only one who has someone looking out for me." Ritsu said, a soft sniffle escaping him. "I want...I want to take care of you too. I want to be sure that you're okay, too. B-because I l-love you." He gripped the ends of his sleeves, using them to rub away some tears. So embarrassing...this was totally embarrassing. Mortifying, even. It was enough to make Ritsu want to quit his job, crawl into bed, and never come out from under the blanket.

Masamune stared, processing Ritsu's words as the brunette started to hurriedly gather his things. "S-Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I-I'll just go now." Ritsu said, quickly walking past Masamune, still trying not to burst into tears.

"Wait!" Masamune grabbed him by the wrist, not letting him get far. "You think I'm just gonna let you go after you say something like that? Idiot!" Masamune pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly both as apology and as a means to keep him there. "Don't go. Stay the night here." Masamune pleaded, giving his body a gentle squeeze. "I missed you."

"...I missed you too." Ritsu said softly. "That's why I came over." He admitted. "I...I just wanted to see you. I figured the edits would make as good as an excuse as any." He let his head fall against Masamune's chest.

"Say it again." Masamune requested, raking his fingers through Ritsu's hair.

"I wanted to see you."

"No. Tell me you love me again." Masamune began to tear up as the weight of Ritsu's words finally started to sink in.

Ritsu's shyness returned to him, his moment of courage over, but the sound Masamune's pounding heart was enough to make the brunette confess once more.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[peachyteabuck]

study buddy, part iv

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: for the first time in her life, natasha romanoff freaks out about a test grade. luckily, you’re there to coach her through it. 

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,253

trigger warnings: talk of past drug abuse, mention of sexual assault, heavy smut, fluff, unhappy childhood mention 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three

You’re already soaking when Nat teased the head of the toy at your entrance, your arousal evident by the sounds of the silicon as it rubbed against your slick, smooth folds. With each drag a whine escaped you, each second that passed by met with another flood of heat across your skin. “Ple-ease,” you sniffled as fat tears welled up in your eyes and your voice broke from overuse. “Please, Mommy, please”

Natasha just let out a hearty laugh, moving the strap away and replacing it with her fingers. As she spoke, she just barely dipped them inside of you. “Oh, c’mon baby girl. Was that not enough for you? Do want Mommy to give you more? Huh? Are you such a greedy little slut you can’t appreciate what your Mommy gives you?”

You nodded furiously, your “yesyesyesyesyes”s just above a low whisper as you rolled your hips. Your words slowly but surely turned to babble. “yes mommy yes please I’m your little slut I want more please give me more.”

Natasha laughed again as she leaned forward to invade your line of sight once more.

“Mm, might have to be careful and fuck you nice and slow,” she mumbled into your collarbone, the bruises still deep purple. The thin layer of sweat that had formed there made her smile. “Don’t want to break this perfect little thing I’ve been gifted.”

You shook your head violently, grabbing at the sheets so hard your fingers went cold and where each bone met the next ached. “No, no no please, please fuck me Mommy please please touch me please fuck me please.”

Natasha remained unconvinced by your whining. “You poor little thing. I just neglect you so much. Don’t I?” You struggled to speak as she moved to straddle your waist. The heavy toy moved as she did so, occasionally hitting your stomach as she sat upon you. “Hm. Maybe you should get yourself off if you don’t want to answer me, is that a fair punishment?”

You still didn’t respond with the words Natasha wanted, mind too fucked out to sob properly, let alone speak. Still, the fear of disappointing her cut through the fog, and you nodded weakly.

The woman above you smiled, the eponymous image of something wicked that wanted to make you come in whatever way she saw fit. Beside you, placed expertly by Natasha with equal distance between each toy, rested at least four different vibrators of varying strength and shape. If you were lucky enough to get off at your own hand, it’s unlikely Natasha would allow you to choose which weapon will lead to your destruction. Somehow, that thought is worse than anything else she could do to you; forced to bring yourself to the edge (or deny yourself such release) without the dignity of choice but ultimate control over choice of action seems like stories of ole, when disgraced knights caught in their desertion were forced to sacrifice themselves in front of large crowds with the weapon chosen by their ruler.

Empty promises of autonomy, spiritless last chances at reclaiming pride…that’s what they all were.

But you still can’t find it in yourself to complain when Natasha slipped the most powerful of the set into your hands – a battery powered Hitachi colored a matte black – and told you to edge yourself. Your throat burned by then, each breathy moan felt like it’d been ripped out of you with acrylic lesbian porno nails. That sure as Hell didn’t stop you, though, from moaning with each roll of your hips as the woman above you flipped it on.

It didn’t stop Natasha, either, as she cradled your tear-stained face with her pussy-wet hands and told you not to stop until she said so.

“C’mon, baby,” she cooed. Her lips grazed across your cheek as she did so. “Do what you’re told, lemme watch you. Show me how cute you are when you get yourself off.”

It’s so much so quick, every sensation making your whole body shake violently. Natasha mocked you as it became too much, sneering when she pulled the toy away from your center and you screamed in protest. “Can the little slut not take it, hm? Does Mommy not letting you cum make you sad?”

You didn’t say anything, terrified of worse punishment.

Natasha slapped your chest, leaving your breasts angry and hot. “Answer me.”

“Yes!” You cried. “Yes Mommy I want to cum, please let me cum!”

Natasha just rolled her eyes. “What you need doesn’t matter. And keep whining like that…” she paused to pinch one of your nipples and ignored your wails. “I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

This continued three, four, five more times (how many you still can’t exactly be sure), each worse than the last. You’d get there, right at the peak, right at the edge of the mountain, right before one jumped into an ocean, and then-

“Stop. Now. You’re done.”

And then you’d cry and whine high in your throat and thrash around. Somewhere between your lip starting to bleed from you biting it and your drool forming a pool on the sweat-slick pillow she started to fuck you, a horrible and terrifying slow pace that was steady and painful and holy shit you didn’t even know they made fake cocks that big.

Natasha laughed as a particularly poignant thrust almost made you lose feeling in your hands and feet, your strangled weeps sounds that only encouraged her. “There we go,” she murmured, reaching over to grab a bullet vibrator before she turned it on and slipped it under the strap on. She only got more feral, fucking you harder as the vibrations gave her more pleasure than she expected, more pleasure than she ever could’ve dreamed of.

It was almost too much, the feeling of your body under hers and the sounds of your moaning and begging mixed with the soreness in her muscles of her abdomen and the tightness just beneath that, the sweet vibrations on her clit and the sight of you – all stretched out with your knees pressed to your heated ears and jaw slack and eyes scrunched shut and hair wild against the pillow and something, something incoherent but still so beautiful falling from your swollen lips.

Some words, not most, but some, she could decipher. “Mommy, mommy, please please don’t stop I’m gonna cum please make me cum.”

And oh, did she make you cum.

It didn’t feel the same as the last time, doesn’t feel as sudden. Deeper almost, earth-shatteringly so.

Natasha’s wearing the same shit-eating grin, though her eyes are much more hazy and tears prick the corners of them as well as your own.

“You keep soaking my sheets like this, babygirl, Mommy’s gonna have to make you pick up the tab,” she chuckles as she pulls out of you.

For a moment you just laid there, twitching and gasping as the aftershocks rolled through you, as your pussy clenched around nothing and as your eyes cried without any tears. You couldn’t speak – each time you tried the words fell away from your brain before they could be said.

“You good, baby?” she cooed, rubbing her thumb over your chin and bottom lip.

All you could do is mmm as the world slowly rebuilds itself around you. Natasha chuckles at that, laughed as she pulled the strap-on off and tossed it in the bathroom to be cleaned later. At that moment, she simply grabbed what she needed for aftercare – including the special lotion she had bought for you when Sam had dragged her to Bed, Bath, and Beyond a few days prior.

She cleaned between your legs with a washcloth dampened with cool water – something that normally made you flinch and hiss, but then did nothing as you laid there and panted with your eyes firmly shut.

“You’re always so good for me, baby,” she cooed once she was done. You were too tired to do anything except give a soft smile in response. “You want to take a nap before we gotta leave?”

You were asleep before Natasha could finish her question. She chuckled nonetheless, and kissed your temple before throwing the cloth in her dirty laundry bin (one that you bought her when you had discovered – horrified beyond what you thought was possible – that she just piled all of her dirty clothes into one corner “like some sort of thirteen year old boy at summer camp,” as you had said). She curled up under the thick, heavy blankets with her legs around your waist and arms around your chest.

It was nice, the silence. Natasha welcomed the sleep that pulled at her eyelids, and soon the two of you were asleep just as the rest of the world roared to life.

The alarm – one of several you had in your phone that go off at oddly specific times – woke the both of you with some loud jingling that may or may not be the music box version of some hit emo song that was popular around the time Natasha and you would’ve been in middle school.  

It’s almost an hour after that when you finally regained control over your body, heart returning to a normal pace and legs not aching (too badly) every time you tried to walk. As you slipped on the easiest clothes possible (see: a hood of Natasha’s and some old sleep shorts of yours), you finally noticed Natasha offering you your phone.

“Let me walk you to class?” she more suggested than asked.

It was sweet, and you grinned widely at her and nodded wordlessly as you reached for your phone before you grabbed your backpack and she grabbed her own. It was an interesting juxtaposition, to see your powder blue Jansport artfully stuffed to brim with colored pens, notebooks, sticky notes, highlighters, and your laptop with exactly one (1) sticker (of a cat trying to climb an adorable small cactus) verses Nat’s beat-up backpack that only held one five-subject notebook, a pencil case with five (5) black ballpoint pens, two Mountain Dews, three Monsters, and a half-drank carton of orange juice. Maybe it was dorky to giggle as Nat’s thumb rubbed circles onto the back of your hand, but you didn’t really care. Little butterflies populated your stomach and limbs, but they aren’t nervous. They were too excited to be nervous, preoccupied with the intimidating pretty girl who had accepted you into her tight personal bubble.

The walk to campus wasn’t far, cliques of freshman with lanyards around their necks and frat boys wearing Supreme became more frequent as you neared the on-campus housing area.

When you breach the official campus it’s another ten minutes until you make your way into the hall where your class is being held. Just as the two of you sit down in your seats way in the back, the professor comes in, calmly places his light brown leather briefcase on the table at the front of the class, and then coolly announces that the class will be having a “surprise assessment.”

“You’ll get forty-five minutes once you hear the sound of the timer starting, any unfinished assessments will receive a failing grade,” the professor said with some paradoxical mix of apathy and malice. With each passing second, the lecture hall becomes more and more ablaze with increasing heart beats and sweaty palms.

Immediately, you could feel Natasha tense next to you. As the TA helped pass the quizzes out, you tried to take a moment to grasp her shaking hand. As you wrap your fingers around hers, you tried to reassure her. “It’ll be okay,” you mouthed. “I promise.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just sucks in a deep breath and clicks the (your) mechanical pencil to push the lead forward before writing down her name and the date onto the misleadingly thin stack of perfectly stapled paper.

The TA is a dick, even you’d admit that. But she sure does know how to perfect mundane tasks.

As you start on your own quiz, you realize that this isn’t that hard. It’s a few multiple-choice questions, a short essay about Lacan’s influence on Butler. Most of the short-answers questions focus on Baudrillard’s theory about the Gulf War – specifically the role of the media. You’d studied for this, you’ve studied with Natasha for this. Sure, the question on Zizek’s death drive might be a bit tricky, but you’re sure she can figure them out – she’s smart, you’ve explained this to her several times.

With that final thought, you began.

The finished “assessments” were dropped off on the long oak desk set in the center front of the lecture hall, the messy collection of hand-written essays balanced precariously on top of each other – not unlike a late-stage Jenga game with a $1500 an hour fee.

Your walk home with Natasha was just as tense as expected, just as silent and robotic as you’d think she would be.

“For what it’s worth,” you said as she opened the door to her homestead. “I think you probably did well.”

Natasha, in all her dismalness, said nothing.

It didn’t take long for her to rid herself of her pants and position herself on her side of the bed with her laptop opened on her stomach and bottle of alcohol opened in her hand.

She furiously refreshed her grade portal exactly once every 10.76 seconds - just long enough for the page to load, her to log back in, see the lack of grade, sigh, take a swig of dessert wine, grimace at the cheap taste of said dessert wine, and refresh the page again once more.

You were sitting next to her on her bed, trying to proofread and edit the day’s biostatistics notes. Mostly you were putting formulas in their proper formatting, redoing graphs, and color-coding headers and vocab – something you did all the time.

Though, now this relatively-easy study technique had become much harder to do than normal because you were doing it one-handed, your non-dominate one resting under the soft, white t-shirt of the anxious redhead – trapped between the heat of her skin and the fabric adorning her body. Occasionally, you’d run your thumb over the knobs of her spine as an act of comfort, but you’re not sure how helpful the gesture is.

Eventually, you tried to reason with her.

“You know the prof said he’d have them by 8:30 tonight and it’s…” you checked the small clock in the corner of her laptop screen. “Five. Fifteen. And fifteen, sixteen…why do you have the seconds showing on your clock?”

Natasha sighed before taking a particularly long drink of the overly sweet alcohol. “I just…” she shrugged. “I’m just super worried about this, okay? I don’t want to do poorly on this assessment. It’s just important to me.”

You nodded silently before you closed your designated biostatistics notebook, placed it under the nightstand, and curled up into your lover’s side. You were wearing a light pink sweater with a matching headband, black cotton panties, and fuzzy white socks. Natasha placed her face into your shoulder and inhaled the complementary, flowery scents of your deodorant and body wash, pressing her skin into the comforting fabric.

“I get it,” you told her. “You want to do well. Do you want a distraction, or…?”

Natasha sighed, shut her laptop, and pushed it to the carpeted floor. “I don’t even know. I feel like if I don’t think about it then I don’t care and then I’m gonna fail because the magical almighty karma I’ve delicately balanced will tumble on top of me like a Jenga tower.”

For a moment you didn’t speak, unable to find the precise verbal response to such a poetic string of words.

“I just meant ‘do you want some head’ but,” Natasha moved to laugh into your shoulder as you tried to finish your thought through your own giggles. “Yeah, that works, too.”

As you both barked laughter into each other’s skin, all the worries that had surrounded her halo of deep red hair seemed to have vanished, dispersed to bother some other college student with a lifetime worth of debt on their shoulders. With the corners of her lips and the thick of her cheeks sore from the sudden happiness, Natasha curled herself into your side with her chin where your arms met the rest of your body. As easy as pre-algebra, your hand found its way through her stress-mused hair and your fingers worked out some of the knots that have found themselves a home atop Natasha’s head.

It’s silent, the only sound in Natasha’s ears the lazy thump, thump, thump of your heart and the occasional rustle of covers as your legs became entangled like the complicated French braids you’d put in other girl’s hair on the rare occasions your mother let you sleep over at a friend’s house. One of the rare childhood memories you don’t need a therapist’s house to reconcile, a smile spred across your face as you remember how your thin, nimble fingers became worth more than gold to the group of long-haired twelve year-olds who couldn’t quite emulate the fanciful hairstyles they found in American Girl magazine.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Natasha asked as she ran her fingers over the seam of your sweater.

You shrugged – carefully, as not to displace her head. You said nothing.

Natasha prodded. Whether it was to take her mind off the impending doom of the surprise grade or because she was curious, you didn’t care. “C’mon, you know you can tell me anything, right? Just tell me what you were laughing at!”

Again, you shrugged. “I don’t know, middle school I guess.”

She grimaced, you could feel her scrunched nose even through the thick fabric. “Ugh, middle school. What’s so funny about the worst three years of your life?”

“I had worse years,” you told her honestly. “Had a few good times, is all. Was thinking about the dumb shit I liked and did.”

Natasha immediately pushed herself up, wide eyes bearing into yours. “You, the sweetest and most innocent and wonderful nerd this university has ever known did dumb shit?”

Before you could respond she was pushing into you, bouncing you against the pillows under your back with reckless abandon.

“Tell me!” She nearly screamed. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tellmetellmetellmetellme!”

You were laughing much too hard to fight her off, simply pushed at her with weak hands ad you hoped the much stronger woman would let up. “Give me as second to breathe and I’ll tell you!”

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, face hurting from such pure happiness.

“My mother was super overprotective and overbearing, but every once and awhile she’d let me go to a sleepover. And I figured out if I could do intricate braids all the girls would want to be my friend, and some of them turned out to be super nice,” you tried to calm your mouse-like heartbeat with deep breathes to no avail. “I was just thinking of those good times.”

“That was a lot more tender than I expected,” Natasha admitted with a huff before she fell onto your chest once more. “I thought you were gonna tell me you like, did drugs or something, like sneaking out at night or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, your hand resuming its position in her hair. “Nah, I’ve been this way my whole life.”

A beat passed after Natasha released a small humpf and resigned herself to cuddling with someone she would barely hesitate to call “boring.”

You’re the one to fill the silence, hoping to bridge the space between the versions of you Natasha does and does not have the (dis)pleasure of knowing. “You know, you’ve never told me about what you were like before college.”

Natasha shrugged, as she knew what to say but not how to say it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t like, cool or anything. Just super depressed and spent a lot of time doing drugs and coding.”

In a move incredibly unexpected, you touched the pad of your first finger to her nose. Natasha, struck by the sudden intimate contact and your undeniable cuteness, did not know what to do.

“It sounds like you were as boring as me,” you giggled. “Just a lot less sober.”

Natasha let out a small laugh, pushing your hand away. “Boring is a good word,” she mumbles. She’s staring off into space now, thinking about how much that time in her life sucked. Once she skipped school for three days straight to take Adderal and snort coke and hack into a nearby tech startup, a CEO of which had groped a friend of hers at a party a few weeks prior. A few years older and she might have been a member of Anonymous, but instead she was stuck in the basement of her house wishing whatever upper she’d bought from that sketchy kid down the street would kill her.

“Babe,” you said with a low voice. It cut through the thick of her thoughts but didn’t free her from their deathly grasp. “You okay? You need anything?”

Nat visibly snapped out of it, turning back to you with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m,” she exhales deeply. “I’m fine.

She flicked your bottom lip with her thumb and stared at your face with focus you’ve only seen painting her features when she’s typing code or working out the kinks of a program or whatever the fuck it is she does. You’re normally too distracted staring at her to fully process her long-winded explanation of what she does for her internship and classes and job.

She’s too pretty, you couldn’t help it.

“You have the softest lips I’ve ever felt,” Natasha mumbled. Her eyes skipped between your glassy eyes and shallow breaths. “Somehow, every day I find myself more and more enamored by you.”

A lump – in the time Natasha had spoken those first and last words – had formed and lodged itself in your throat. Still, you attempt to find your post-verbal footing in your shared affections.

“That’s the sweetest and most sexually charged thing anyone has ever said to me.”

The pair of you immediately fall into a fit of giggles that has both of your bellies and cheeks aching with pure joy that comes from such a statement. Soon your fit of laughter dies down and a quiet settles over you, one that comforts rather than urks you. It’s a canyon’s worth of time later that Natasha moves back up so your faces are nearly touching.

The kiss she gives you is tender, much more so than any other touch she’d graced you with. It’s not so much a surprise – it’s not as if you had never kissed before – but it is…different.

Your hands are still tangled in Natasha’s shirt, and hers have found themselves on either side of your face.

“This,” she only speaks when you pull away to breathe. “Is an excellent distraction, by the way.”

Again, you release a small giggle that is soon silenced with kisses that soon turn deep and desperate as she pushes you down further into the shitty mattress with her now-displaced hands.

But, as your kisses get keeps and her hands travel South, Natasha takes a moment to come up lay small pecks on your cheeks and nose.

A few moments pass with the pair of you gazing into each other’s eyes as if there were complicated algorithms behind them.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” she asks – whispering low as if you’re some feral cat she’s trying to trap…or maybe something less morbid. You should probably stop thinking any person trying to give you affection is doing it to ensnare you in a complicated plot for more views on their Snapchat story. Still, as Natasha pushes herself up to kiss you – you can hear the guffaws of the popular senior girls from beyond the bathroom stall you cried in.

“Baby,” Natasha���s voice cut through the memory in jagged motions, enough so that your eyes aren’t screwed shut but your hand still feel the cold of the stall door’s nearly-broken lock that keeps said door closed – the only barrier between you and your tormentors.

“Baby, are you okay?” her voice was genuinely concerned – and the lack of ulterior motive had you sobbing. “C’mon,” Natasha held you close, pressed to her and her soft shirt. “Baby, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

It’s hard to do anything but cry – loudly – as she pets your hair and peppers your face with kisses. Her smooth voice is calming, almost enough to stop the tears from soaking your cheeks – but each trauma from elementary to high school still cut into your blurry vision.

You don’t know exactly when you’re able to stop the flow of tears, but it seems to culminate with your eyelids fluttering shut and body slumping against the woman who holds you so tight.

This, Natasha thought to herself, is heaven.

The woman stayed awake for a little longer, wanting to savor the sweet moment a little longer.

Still, the darkness with your steady breathing and blissfully warm skin soon coaxed her into falling into a sleep deeper and calmer than anything she’d ever experienced before. Somehow, she didn’t even shoot awake when her laptop PINGed when her grade updated. But, then again, how could anything like that matter when she had you?

//

@stuckys-whore​

[litwitlady]

whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still (4/6)

Read on AO3. - A chapter ahead over there.

Warnings: mentions of murder and childhood abuse

iv. Max

‘And Max. He’s your brother? You were found together?’

Michael nods but frowns. ‘We’re brothers in theory, I guess.’ 

‘In theory? Explain that.’ Dr. Sampson hands him a cup of coffee and settles back into her seat. 

He shrugs. ‘He and Isobel were adopted together. I got thrown into the system. Once I returned to Roswell, we struggled - I struggled.’ He clears his throat and takes a sip of the coffee. ‘He can be a condescending dick. And as de facto leader, he pisses me off - a lot.’

‘Have you ever been close?’ Dr. Sampson has a voice that lures things from you - ugly truths that you never made a conscious decision to admit. To yourself or anyone else. Michael decides it’s her superpower. 

‘Once. Back in high school. Before all the lies.’

She smiles warmly, trying to soothe the answers loose. ‘I know you two aren’t blood related, Michael. And that your relationship is often strained. But do you still think of him as your brother?’

‘Only sometimes.’

***

Michael doesn’t immediately go to Max. He drags his feet for a couple of weeks and is happy to continue doing so, but Isobel has other ideas. She begins orchestrating reasons for family meetings - their doppelganger problem, Liz and Max’s emotional crisis, her desire to cook some new recipe. 

None of her plans work. Michael too stubborn and Max too oblivious. It’s not until Max unexpectedly climbs down into Michael’s bunker that avoidance is no longer possible. And he comes at the worst moment. Michael is already fuming - his newest calculations providing nothing but bad news. No matter how many simulations he runs. It’s frustrating, but not nearly as frustrating as when he’d run into Alex and Forrest that morning. At the Crashdown having breakfast, hands touching across the table. This time they had noticed him and he honestly wishes they hadn't.

‘Not in the mood, Maxwell.’ He doesn’t bother looking up from his worktable.

Max ignores him and slides a stool over, sitting far enough away that Michael can’t reach him. Already playing defense to Michael’s anger. ‘You’re never going to be in the mood for this, so sit down and listen.’

Michael laughs, bitter and sarcastic. ‘Fuck you, Max.’

‘I don’t want to be the leader of this anymore.’ He motions vaguely around the bunker.

That certainly grabs Michael’s attention. ‘Come to handover your letter of resignation?’ He sits down on his own stool and smirks at Max. ‘Because I accept. Long live Queen Isobel.’

‘Not Isobel, Michael. You.’ He’s looking at Michael through those big, brown puppy dog eyes - full of sincerity. Not a single hint of humor anywhere on his face.

Michael laughs anyway. ‘I don’t have time for this, Max. Go brood somewhere else.’ 

Max stays quiet but he doesn’t move. He watches Michael work for a long time. It frustrates Michael because it’s always been one of his favorite strategies. Wait him out until he crumbles - which Michael always does because Max can be a patient motherfucker once he digs his heels in and decides to be an asshole.

The air around them thickens and when Max clears his throat, Michael comes the tiniest bit unhinged.

‘Alright, fuck! Say what you came to say. I’ll listen.’ He only half means it, but Max seems satisfied enough. 

‘Sheriff Valenti confessed something to me a few months back. Something I’ve kept from you and Isobel.’ He stares down at his hands and grimaces. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you or what any of it meant or even who I was anymore. And that was wrong. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, Michael. Especially with you.’

Michael rolls his eyes at Max’s melodramatics. ‘Spare me the contrition, Max. Just spit it out already. I have work to do.’ 

‘It wasn’t you in the group home who was drawing all over the walls. It was me.’ Their eyes meet over the table and a heated silence falls around them. Michael blinks slowly, not comprehending what he’s just heard. ‘I was the deranged, damaged kid. And I think I’ve known that all along.’ He shakes his head and breaks eye contact, staring back down at his hands.

More silence. Several moments stretching long between them. Finally, Max sighs. ‘Say something.’ Emotion straining his voice. Eyes welling with tears.

Michael continues to glare at Max. Not believing he has the audacity to cry. He tries to stand but it’s like he’s glued in place. And instead of his normal white hot rage, a calm coolness washes over him. Pooling in the bottom of his belly. Michael knows that feeling is hate. Pure, icy hatred. He’s not unfamiliar with the feeling - Jesse Manes, Kyle Valenti, Flint Manes, Noah Bracken. Sometimes the list seems endless.

‘Explain it better, Max. Make it make sense.’ Every word pushed through teeth clenched so tight he’s worried they’ll break.

The tension surges between them, the temperature palpably rising in the windowless bunker. Michael’s not sure he’ll hear anything Max says - not with the ferocious pounding in his head. Blood pumping through his veins like icy sludge.

‘All my nightmares as a kid - the times Isobel literally had to mind-walk me so I’d calm down. My obsession with the symbol - the way I’d doodle it over and over again in every notebook I ever owned. And then the tattoo.’ His voice cracks, high-pitched and frantic. ‘Now, with all that devil talk? Michael, I couldn’t have survived what you survived. I’d have killed more than some random pervert in the desert.’

Michael stalks towards him, fists raised. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? I was kicked around - slapped, beaten, burned. And that’s all supposed to be okay because you were safe? From yourself?’ A strangled noise rises from Michael’s throat. ‘I was never loved, Max. Not ever. Not once. All so you could be protected and loved, held tight by the perfect fucking family?’ 

He takes several steps forward, fisting the collar of Max’s jacket. The urge to wrap his hands around his brother’s throat throbbing in his fingers.

Max grips Michael’s wrists softly. ‘And yet, you are the most loving of the three of us. Of anyone I’ve ever met. And no that’s not fair, but it’s the goddamn truth.’ He pounds his fist on the table and Michael flinches, dropping his hands away and stepping back. Watching as Max’s tears finally crawl down his cheeks. ‘You’ve always had the most control - ever since we were kids.’ He throws his hands up in submission. ‘You’re not the murderer, Michael. I am. It always had to be this way.’

A manic sort of laughter overwhelms Michael. He can barely believe what he’s just heard. And by someone meant to love him. He turns his back to Max and moves as far away as he can. The rage inside him festering into something almost sentient. He closes his eyes and counts backwards from twenty - inhaling and exhaling around every number. Like Dr. Sampson had suggested whenever his anger tries to get the best of him. 

Michael can choose to take back control. To let it all go. Even if the other person doesn’t deserve such kindness.

And it works, mostly. Some of his tension drains away and the weight on his chest subsides enough for him to breathe again. He’s still angry - still furious. But it’s a low, simmering heat now - not the numbing white hatred that had consumed him earlier. His head is spinning with this sudden rewrite of his life and there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now. And that person is certainly not Max Evans.

Michael slowly turns around and shakes his head at Max. ‘I need time. Maybe a lot of time.’ He needs Alex. ‘I miss my brother. I’ve missed my brother for a long time now. But the truth is, Max? I don’t recognize you anymore.’

Max nods. ‘I get that. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.’ He starts to walk away but stops with one foot on the ladder. ‘I won’t tell Isobel yet. To keep her out of your hair for a while. However long it takes for you to process all this.’

‘I’ll tell her when I’m ready, Max. You don’t have to keep making all the decisions and putting in all the work. We can’t be a family until we’re all on equal footing.’ He moves towards Max. Not necessarily because he wants to - because he doesn’t. Not right now, anyway. But he knows that some future version of himself will want this. That Max needs this and Isobel. Maybe even Liz. So, he wraps his arms around Max, quick and tight. One sharp clap on the back. ‘Maybe take a trip to California.’ He pulls back. ‘I hear it’s nice this time of year.’

Michael returns to his calculations and Max leaves, already planning the best route to California in his head.

[writingstruggles]

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren: a character analysis

OK, first things first: THIS ISN’T A STAN OR ANTI POST. This is a character study, and if you can’t handle this character getting impartial concrit, just don’t read. If, however, you don’t agree with some of the points I’m going to make and want to have a healthy discussion about it, then I’m all ears. I don’t think my opinion is the only valid one, so feel free to try and change my mind.

And second things second: I tried so hard to love the sequel trilogy, but when it became clear after TROS that the studio had no plan other than making money, it became very difficult. I’m aware that the main problem for all the characters is the lack of general planing in this whole mess of trilogy, so keep this always in mind while reading this post: the first problem of this character was that the studio didn’t even know what to do with him.

1. Does Ben Solo becoming Kylo Ren make sense?

I checked the comics to get his background better. He had a happy childhood traveling a lot with Han and Leia, but when she discovered about the First Order, she sent him to train with Luke while Han and Chewie ran undercover missions for her. This is important: up to this point, he had a good relationship with his family, even if he was already being pulled by the dark side of the Force. It was during his adolescence that he started to be really seduced by Snoke, hearing the voice he thought belonged to Darth Vader. After the Luke incident, he did explode the cabin and thought he had killed his uncle, but he was not the one who killed all the other students and destroyed the temple: that was Snoke’s thing. He did kill some of his fellow Jedi apprentices later on, though. So, his turning points were Luke’s treason and Snoke’s coordinated abduction. And I would like to point out: the Sith training involves torture and brainwashing, so the first wrong impression I would like to correct about this character is that he was not simply a dick and revolted teen who ran away to join a cult.

BUT, there are some huge problems here. The first one is that when you watch the movies, you don’t learn anything about that aside from Luke’s part. In the way he’s presented in TFA, he’s Leia and Han’s son who betrayed his family, destroyed his uncles’ dream and joined the dark side for no reason. OF COURSE half of the audience wouldn’t like him. That wouldn’t be a problem if they just wanted him to be a villain like Darth Vader was, but it’s very clear that there was a plan (at least for one director) to make him a supposedly redeemable character. And how can we sympathize with his character like that? Even after we get to know what Luke almost did, the next question is simple: ok, so why he didn’t go back to Han and Leia?

And here is the second huge problem: we learned that after Ben leaves Yavin IV, Luke vanished, and Han and Leia broke up and went back to smuggling/leading a rebellion. And I can’t stress this enough, this doesn’t make any sense. The sequel trilogy killed Luke, Han, and Leia’s characters. These three characters that we have known for years would never, ever, had abandoned Ben Solo. Leia F*cking Organa and Han shot-first Solo would have brought their son back or die trying. Luke Skywalker is not a coward, he wouldn’t go into hiding and abandoned his only sister to clean up his mess during another war, let alone close himself to the Force, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to feel if she was in danger. Just remember Han risking his life to save Luke in Hoth; or Leia leaving the rebellion to rescue Han from Jabba; or Luke straight-up disobeying ghost Obi-Wan and ghost Yoda to save Han and Leia, even if that costed the war. They were older and different, for sure, but we are talking about the quintessential things, the things that make these beloved characters themselves.  

(THIS ^^. This right here is the spirit of Star Wars)

So no, in the way it was done in the movies, Ben Solo becoming Kylo Ren doesn’t make sense to the audience, and that’s a huge problem. A friend of mine suggested once that instead of being a rip-off of ANH, TFA should have been a movie about the beginning of the First Order (because after we defeat the Empire on episode VI, episode VII starting with ANOTHER all-powerful evil government already dominating the galaxy and exploding planets just throws away all the previous movies’ efforts) and about how Ben Solo becomes Kylo Ren. Just imagine if Rey, Finn and Poe had interacted with Ben Solo before he becomes evil: the stakes would have been so much higher, and it could have been well done. It would have made this character more human and likable.

2. Kylo Ren’s motivations: what does he want?

If the OT was about hope, I think we can agree that the ST’s themes are legacy and belonging. Having their protagonists, Rey and Ben/Kylo representing two apposite sides of those things was one of the best ideas for the new saga.  Rey looks for belonging in the past she doesn’t know, while Kylo wants to abandon Ben Solo’s past and find his place in his future as Kylo Ren.

In that sense, his character arc was somehow solid. In TFA, it’s clear he’s still struggling with the dark side and feels the temptation of the light: he loses control easily, and he’s not doing anything unless Snoke orders him to. Ok, but why? Why is he clinging to Darth Vader’s ideals and staying in the sith path? Basically because he thinks it’s too late, and he has no other options. Which brings us back to the problem with Han and Leia: his parents didn’t go after him, they chose to go back to their old lives – of course he would think there’s no going back for him now. “But he is an adult man and could make his own decisions.” It’s a fair point, but again: sith training corrupts you and even if he had escaped, the only thing that would happen would be Snoke finding him again. It’s kinda like leaving an addiction: you supposedly can do it by yourself, but it is so much easier if you have help. Not a simple promise or offer, but actual, constant, and present help. I can not stress this enough, but I insist that one of the main problems with the sequel trilogy was not explaining in a satisfactory way HOW and WHY he turned to the dark side and stayed there.

3. Han Solo

Okay, I will admit: maybe my opinion on this specific topic is biased, because Han Solo is my favorite SW character. You may call me out as a fangirl if you don’t agree, but my point is: making Kylo Ren kill Han Solo was a bad idea. They basically killed the character for half of the audience, with zero chance of redemption.

It’s because it’s fratricide. Unless your father is Satan, the Emperor, or someone as equally villainous, fratricide is just that bad. It’s not easy to redeem a character who commits murder, but one that kills his own father? Who happens to be one of the good guys? And one of the most iconic and beloved characters in the franchise? There were other options to give Kylo Ren a tipping point, a conflicted moment that didn’t involve killing Han Solo. But they did, and he killed him. And now he’s no longer a villain we can sympathize with: now we think he’s a monster.

4. His interactions with Rey in TLJ

(I’m not wearing shipper goggles for this. I don’t even own shipper goggles when we are talking about Star Wars.)

Kylo Ren is conflicted after killing Han Solo, (and I will make a small pause here to reinforce how good Adam Driver’s acting was. He’s the only responsible for all the likable parts of Kylo Ren, especially in this movie). Kylo is once again unstable and Snoke is displeased with him, and for a moment we think he finally turned completely to the dark side, until he pauses before shooting Leia’s ship.

The force bond was the most interesting part of the movie. I don’t agree that he used it to manipulate Rey: if anything, he was completely harsh and blunt and kind of a dick to her, but he didn’t lie. He told her things how he saw it, with so much conviction that she started to see his side of the story. And since she was probably the first person in years that actually listened to him, his decision of murdering Snoke and inviting her to join the dark side makes very much sense.

We are talking about motivations and his are simple: let the past die, forge a new path. When he kills Snoke and no longer has a master, he only has one option: to become the master. That’s why he takes over the FO, and wants Rey to be his apprentice. Does the character suffer from sith-tunnel-vision? Definitely. But it makes sense. His decision-making is not overly complicated: he feels alone, and he wants a purpose: he decides that the solution for both is Rey joining him in the dark side. When she refuses, he still has one purpose: the FO.

This is, however, the point where he turns his back to the light completely: on Crait, he orders the FO to explode the Rebel Base and kill everyone, knowing full well his mother was in there. He orders them to exploded the Falcon out of the sky, once again knowing that Chewie and Rey are on board. When facing Luke, he repeats that he will kill Rey and the rebels. His transition from conflicted sith apprentice to the new villain of the franchise was actually well done.

And exactly because of that, the next topic pisses me off so much.

5. The continuity problem between episodes VIII and IX

Introducing Palpatine here was bad for so many reasons: backtracking Rey’s arc, making us think about Palps’ sex life, insisting on beating a literal dead horse when there were new things to explore, etc etc. And it was also bad for Kylo Ren’ arc. As I said before, the way they finished episode VIII, everything pointed to Kylo becoming the final evil Rey would have to face, and that would have been awesome. We didn’t need Palps, or ANOTHER all-powerful evil army ready to conquer the galaxy with exploding-planets-tech (seriously, is Alderaan a joke to you, Disn*y?).

  But, in the third movie, they went back and decided they didn’t want Kylo Ren to be the ultimate villain anymore. They wanted him to be redeemed. And that’s not bad per se, but an actual redemption arc needs to be planned, and I think we can all agree, there was no planning in the sequels. And again, FRATRICIDE. So they introduced an old, more powerful evil to make Kylo Ren less evil and less of a threat in comparison. And evil so definitive, and with such a bullshit connection to Rey, that it makes Kylo reconsider his previous promises of killing the last jedi and going back to the plan of making her turn.

And so, his character spends the movie going after Rey, to tell her the bullshit truth about her parents, to convince her to join him. At least his arc is still somehow solid, because once he’s decided on his path, he doesn’t lose control like in the previous movies, and his body language is more firm and lethal. Which, honestly, thanks Adam Driver, he knew the character way better than the director at this point.

He finally comes back to the light when Leia dies. Although it was rushed, I agree that, at that point, it was literally the only thing that could have made him turn. Rey reminding him that he wouldn’t be alone if he hadn’t chosen the dark side helped, too. It was clear that the moment with Han Solo was supposed to be with Leia, but I’m really glad Harrison Ford agreed to come back to fill in the role for his old friend.

6. Ben Solo

Okay, there’s so much to unpack here. When Ben Solo finally comes out to play, it’s very good. We can finally see some things that explain Kylo Ren better – it’s so obvious how awkward he was in his own body trying to be an evil sith lord when he is clearly a natural disaster. He still suffers from tunnel vision, but at least now it’s Skywalker-do-or-die tunnel vision. It’s like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, and the way his actions scream Han Solo makes me, once again, wish the first movie had been about him, and not the whole “find a map/ Star Killer base was ANOTHER ridiculous idea / I know R2’s alignment is chaotic bastard but COME ON”.

Star Wars has a notorious story with pulling Force powers out of nowhere, and I’m not going to pretend to be an expert in SW lore, so I won’t complain about the dyad thing (and the weird stuff with the light sabers). I honestly liked the concept. There’s a lot I have to say about the final battle against Palpatine, but I think it would fit better in a future character study about Rey (God, that’s going to be another long ass post). I just want to add that after Luke insisted on her taking both light sabers to Exegol, and after all the crazy stuff Ben did to get to her, they should have, you know, actually fought side by side against 85% dead Palpatine? Aren’t these two idiots supposed to be stronger than that?? I’m not complaining about Rey bringing him down “alone” since she is the protagonist yada yada, I just wished that Ben had done something, instead of being thrown into a hole.

(Palps did that out of spite because of his grandfather? I bet he did.)

I won’t say I didn’t cry hearing the voices of the past jedi talking to Rey, because I definitely did. If anything, it was great to see so many beloved actors getting a chance to honor such iconic characters. But are you freaking shitting on us? Where were ANY of those assholes when Luke, Leia and Ben needed them, like, ten years ago?? “Well, force ghosts should not be used as ex machinas, and they don’t see the future” Tell that to episodes IV, V and VI. Anakin, Obi Wan and Yoda can show up for Vader weird funeral/party with ewoks but they can’t send a jedi signal for the Skywalkers to warn them about Sith bullshit about to happen? “They were probably ahead in the world the comes next and they didn’t have a way to come back, they just talked to Rey because Exegol is a Force nexus and-” And so is Ach-To. And so is Yavin IV. And so is Dagoba (Yes, Snoke sent Ben there for training). Look, I have no problems with Force Ghosts, I love them bastards. I’m just so freaking mad with the lack of coherence in this trilogy. If they did not talk to the Skywalkers – and I’m sure at least Luke and Ben asked Obi Wan/Anakin to show themselves A LOT – they should not have talked to Rey. It was a crowd please moment, for sure, but it was another gigantic middle finger to Ben Solo (before he becomes Kylo Ren).

And then Rey died, and Ben brings her back. I know how many funny jokes are going around in the fandom about how resurrecting Qui-Gon or Padme would have saved the galaxy so much trouble, but again, I’m okay with that. It was previously established that since they were a dyad, they had this living Force between them (although it was rushed in the final like everything else). And it does make sense Ben doing that: he had just come back to the light, and his parents were both dead. Han and Leia were gone because of him, the last time he saw Chewie was as his captor, and before that, he got shot by him, etc, you get the idea. He had nothing else, only this: the chance to make it right by a person that genuinely cared for him. Exchanging his life for Rey’s was nothing: he knew that his family would be waiting for him in the world that comes after.

So, did I like the Bendemption? It. Was. Not. A. Redemption. It was the right choice, and it made things right between him and Rey, because she forgave him for everything. But that’s it. He did not face the consequence of any of his previous actions. “But he died for her!” And we just established that it was not a difficult choice, considering that he had literally no reasons to stay alive if Rey was dead. If you want to see an actual redemption arc, go watch Avatar the Legend of Aang.

And finally, the kiss and the death. Okay, I know I’m digging my own grave by addressing that, but my mama raised no coward. Here it goes: it was fan service, pure and simple. It’s there to make part of the fanbase happy. Good for you, reylos, but to us, not shippers, it came out of nowhere. And I’m not questioning if they had feelings for each other or not: I’m talking about pacing and characterization. I’m not 100% convinced that Rey, as a character, as she was presented to us so far, would have done that. It felt out of place, and it broke the immersion of the scene. I was emotionally invested on what was going on, I was happy to see Ben smiling at her and everything, but then suddenly they were sucking faces and the “FAN SERVICE” alarm was so loud in my mind that I immediately lost interest. If they wanted that in the movie so much, there was probably a better way to do that.

It makes sense that Ben had to die to bring Rey back: one life for another and everything. I still think that, story-wise, it would have been better if none of them had died a ridiculous death, and Ben had faced the consequences of his actions as Kylo Ren, but okay, moving on.  The main problem here is what happens after he dies: nothing. Absolute-effing-nothing. He dies, he disappears – which, again, I won’t question because Leia was involved and Skywalkers do whatever they want with the Force and I’m no expert – but that’s it. Rey, the same Rey that had just jumped his bones fifteen seconds earlier, doesn’t even mourn him. She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t do anything for him in the end, she just goes to Tattooine because it makes sense to the Skywalker saga to end where it started. She sees more of those Force Ghosts who never appear when they freaking should and that’s it.

Why is it bad? Well, first, like it or not, Ben Solo/Kylo Ren was one of the main characters and he deserved an actual final. Finn and Poe too, but those are long posts for another day. And second, it makes the fan-service in that kiss scene more evident. You can’t have the girl kiss him and in the next scene act like it didn’t matter at all. “Ok, then it was a thank-you kiss and there were no real feelings of loved involved”. But that makes it worse, it would be even more completely out of character for Rey – who avoids physical contact with people on the regular – to just kiss someone as a thank-you. Do you see how the math does not compute? If she had feelings for him, and therefore kissed him, she should have mourned him. If anything, she should at least miss her other part of the dyad thing. And if she didn’t mourn him because she didn’t have actual feelings, then she should not have kissed him. A little consistency, it’s all I’m asking.

7. Conclusions (aka tl;dr)

He was a somehow consistent character, but the lack of plot for the sequels was a huge problem. If the trilogy had been about Ben Solo becomes Kylo Ren – Kylo Ren kills Snoke and becomes the real villain – Rey faces Kylo Ren and she either saves him or kills him, it would have been so much better than the mess the studio did.

His story in the comics is so much more complex than what it is shown in the movies, but what they did to Han, Leia and Luke was a crime.

It was clear that one director had a vision to give him a redemption, and the other to make him the ultimate villain.

Adam Driver did what he could to make this character solid and somehow likable, let’s thank him for that.

There was no reason to bring Palps back,

Rey’s actions in the final are contradictory,

He should have stayed alive to face the consequences of his actions,

and the studio is charged guilt for getting our hopes up just to crush them with their lack of interest in doing something descent for the fans.

But again, that’s just my analysis of this character. Feel free to disagree with me, I would love to see what other people think about Ben Solo/Kylo Ren.

[punkscowardschampions]

Joe & Ronnie

Joe: Hey

Joe: my flatmate has some work I reckon your mate might be interested in

Joe: but it’ll sound a bit dodgy coming from me so you wanna pass it along?

Joe: moneys alright for no real work, depending on how you look at it

Ronnie: never done any work as a secretary myself

Ronnie: write your own fucking love notes

Joe: I see that

Joe: your accent down the 📞?

Joe: no cunt here’d understand you, never mind the demeanour

Joe: yeah, well, it’d really seem that way

Joe: but I actually need someone to take her off my hands

Ronnie: racism as foreplays playing to the wrong crowd hes more into homo bashing

Ronnie: errr dunno how you read his demeanor mckenna but he aint taken a her off anyones hands since before any of us had phones

Joe: i’ll keep that in mind

Joe: well homophobic of me to not tell him myself so he’s welcome for the freebie

Joe: not actual escorting

Joe: she does art, her life drawing class needs a model

Joe: I ain’t fucking doing that

Joe: tell me I ain’t 📖 him right on that one

Ronnie: fucks sake if youd said it was cash for cock wed be done talking already

Joe: I just did

Joe: sound, she’ll be made up, she’ll get off my case, and he’ll get £15 an hour, apparently 👌

Ronnie: sexist not to ask me

Ronnie: pass that on to your little gf

Joe: weren’t her idea to ask Charlie

Joe: you’ll have to take up that grievance with me as well

Joe: I’ll just point out it’d be even weirder if I’d have asked you

Ronnie: you wish

Ronnie: how much £ you offering me to bang you

Joe: if I did no point paying you to do it for her and her class and not me

Joe: that’s an interesting take on cucking though, loads that would go for it, I’m sure

Ronnie: ill write it down as youve made me go hunting for a pen in this shithole

Joe: cheers

Joe: take 20% commission or whatever

Joe: or take the IOU I owe him for doing this

Ronnie: you said it hed do this for fuck all ill take the lot and mary wont know it was a paid gig

Joe: if he can fend the flatmate off, undoubtedly a load of art gays he can have his pick of

Ronnie: that what youre telling yourself for why you dont want me to do it yeah

Joe: you wanna do it?

Ronnie: i want you to admit the reason you dont want me to is cause he scrubs up enough for horse girl and her course mates not to stage an intervention

Joe: not what it is so no

Joe: I know I don’t want to get my shit out in front of a load of middle class kids who know fuck all about fuck all, so I assumed as much for you

Ronnie: dont ever assume fuck all for or about me

Joe: why do you wanna do it so bad when like you said, you can pocket the cash and get him to?

Ronnie: i dont wanna fucking do it

Joe: well that’s grand ‘cos I reckon Sophie wants to see dick so

Joe: she’d be really let down

Ronnie: usually what gets you off

Ronnie: but im made up youre in love now like

Joe: please, she either don’t get it’s weird to ask me which means she’s some kind of special

Joe: or this is the start of her 50 shades fantasy and I have to be the let down to end all let downs and i’m already doing my best

Ronnie: rem is right to pay for it when she could just walk in on you taking a piss or having a shower

Joe: when you’re just a creep and not a predator 💔

Joe: not the girl my parents warned me about

Ronnie: if theyd be the type to go down the stables theyd have seen the other side of her

Joe: you’ve got your own daydreams, alright

Joe: put out the feelers, who isn’t a little gay these days, right

Ronnie: go ed and pass on ive got a bigger dick than him and she will have

Ronnie: i dont dream 💔

Joe: shame she isn’t equally inspiring for you

Joe: or anyone, really

Ronnie: cry about it with him when youre done pimping

Joe: what do you dream about then, when you’re awake

Ronnie: what you cant read me

Joe: clearly not

Joe: dashed your modelling dreams

Ronnie: blind and not able to read braille must be dead hard for you

Joe: is that sympathy?

Joe: or you offering me 🖐 to 👩🏼‍🦲 time

Ronnie: again you wish

Ronnie: 💭💉

Ronnie: cant make it any easier to understand soz

Joe: maybe I do

Joe: far as 💭s go

Ronnie: fuck maybe you do or you dont

Joe: well it ain’t why I don’t want to get my arms out for her

Joe: not tried it

Joe: but not a no

Ronnie: give a shit what you do or dont want to do for or to her

Joe: that is a no, tah

Ronnie: tell her not me baby

Joe: that’s not a big sister duty?

Joe: gutted

Ronnie: wouldnt know im the middle kid dorothy does that for us

Joe: i’ll ask him when i’m crying on him then

Joe: make a change for me

Ronnie: hot

Ronnie: rack up the ious like a fat line hes gonna be made up

Joe: oi he’s like family ain’t he

Ronnie: &

Ronnie: you wanna fuck your mam

Ronnie: not oi ing you

Joe: well you get to think about me and him, you gave me her and you, not fair

Ronnie: life aint soft lad

Ronnie: and stopping at thinking about shit is the difference between me and you

Joe: I get it, you’ve gone there

Joe: purely here for the homophobia

Ronnie: your kinks match 💘

Ronnie: purely there so the lads dont kick off before hes got his kicks

Joe: see, you’ve got it in you 💘

Joe: the sisterly thing

Joe: my hate don’t get expressed by putting me in him though so I won’t run my mouth

Ronnie: not what ive got in me but im not giving you the talk just cause your ma didnt

Joe: you want a virgin to defile reckon Soph and her mates are prime, vampira

Ronnie: set it up with her ill show if i get no better offers

Joe: lucky girl

Joe: no more nights in doing doodles of cute girls that look like you

Ronnie: we dont look alike youll have to accept theyre of you

Joe: i fit less than you, by far

Ronnie: fuck off

Joe: sorry

Joe: it’s weird, say the least

Ronnie: i fit nowhere she made sure i dont

Joe: ditto

Joe: so buzzing i can write shit songs about it though

Ronnie: no

Ronnie: weve got fuck all in common

Joe: just the same mother

Joe: who put her shitty genetics and choices on us both at different times

Ronnie: i ain’t got a mother you cant cross out the un from wanted and act like its the same word

Joe: incubator then

Joe: she was 19 and still fucked, don’t think they had a five-year plan down

Joe: worse if she did, the state of

Ronnie: she made 1 choice for me shes still controlling you

Ronnie: were not the fucking same

Joe: you reckon

Ronnie: if you wanna claim it aint her fault youre this big of a pussy try it

Joe: you don’t think it’s my fault?

Joe: woah, just say you love me

Ronnie: i dont think about you when you aint trying to compare us

Joe: hot

Joe: I’ve thought about you plenty

Joe: uni ain’t that interesting

Ronnie: you came looking for me werent the other way round

Ronnie: you ain’t interesting to me mckenna

Joe: you reckon you’re fascinating, yeah?

Joe: fair enough

Ronnie: if your flatmate knows anyone doing doc film making they can wank over me lying in the gutter when youre done

Joe: nah

Joe: you don’t want control of your narrative

Ronnie: i dont want a narrative

Joe: then i’ll be the only wanker

Ronnie: in your dreams

Joe: well you painted such a lovely visual

Ronnie: black screen would get you going can stay in your own fucked head with no interference then like

Joe: Static is my kink

Joe: you know me so well

Ronnie: your fucking kink is not shutting the hell up til i do

Joe: i’m a gentleman

Joe: and i’m taking that review

Ronnie: youll get a lengthy one from my big brother when you are

Joe: you don’t have to settle for hearing it and getting your kicks second-hand

Joe: I’ll have to be somewhere to be unavailable for this life drawing class

Joe: let’s do something

Ronnie: what you paying me to babysit

Joe: you can ask my mammy or you can see what you can get

Ronnie: if i was gonna talk to her it wouldnt be about you

Joe: thank god

Joe: so take the risk

Ronnie: of what

Ronnie: boring me is asking too much of you

Joe: that’s surely a given

Joe: risk anything but

Ronnie: if I need rescuing again ill call you thats the only given Joe: you’re worse than her

Joe: christian grey or superman, like

Joe: gonna be BFFs yous, I can tell

Ronnie: you dont like being compared to cunts youre nothing like either funny that

Joe: touche

Joe: come on, what would convince you

Ronnie: if youre gonna beg then beg and if youre gonna show me something do it

Joe: I know you’d like to hear me beg but I can’t tell what you’d wanna see

Ronnie: then the answers nothing

Joe: nah

Joe: the answers you want to wait or you wanna be disappointed

Ronnie: why the fuck would I want either of those things

Joe: that’s what I’ll give you then

Joe: the opposite of that

Ronnie: thats meant to convince me yeah

Joe: nah, I am

Ronnie: like fuck will you

Joe: see, you want to be disappointed

Ronnie: ill be disappointed want has fuck all to do with it

Joe: if you don’t come and see

Ronnie: come where

Joe: see me

Joe: i’m new in town, I don’t know where to go

Joe: fuck sightseeing

Ronnie: [somewhere she’d hang out]

Ronnie: go there

Joe: now?

Ronnie: whenever you dont know where to go

Joe: okay

Joe: and I’ll see you there when you don’t

Ronnie: when im not fucking either of our flatmates

Joe: when you’re done being disappointed

Ronnie: when you prove yourself as not

Joe: you’ll see

Joe: I can’t show you over the phone

Ronnie: you could

Ronnie: im going nowhere on a bullshit promise cause im not a meff teenager

Joe: and I ain’t young enough to think that’s a good idea either

Joe: pictures not doing no favours

Joe: if you’re there and i’m there

Ronnie: big if

Joe: I never know where to be

Ronnie: newborn i heard you

Joe: something like that

Joe: if you can’t leave soph alone I’ll do my best begging 🥺

Ronnie: she cant leave you alone id be doing you a favour

Joe: true

Joe: wouldn’t wanna be caught doing that though

Ronnie: let you do the clean up after ive killed and ate her id be caught well fast for that instead

Joe: you’d get caught for being three times your size

Joe: she’s a big girl

Joe: you should share, be sworn to secrecy

Ronnie: doing her a favour i shouldve said

Ronnie: fuck all going for her

Joe: way to get in shape

Joe: she’ll appreciate us using her blood for something artsy on the walls

Ronnie: ill ask the basic white bitch i live with to give me a clue

Joe: 🍆 will be appropriate for her

Ronnie: 🐎

Joe: they might reckon she did it with her dying breath

Joe: very artist of her, dying how she lived

Ronnie: hurry the fuck up with your confession song if you want credit

Joe: you wanna hear me confessing so bad

Joe: but I might be able to hand that in so

Joe: hold on

Ronnie: it aint me whos a choir boy

Joe: ugh, I wish

Ronnie: cant chat shit about us having the same fantasies ive been touched by a old bloke wearing a dress and i dont rate it

Ronnie: standard surrounded by homos night out

Joe: yeah, and the nuns are never the hot kind

Joe: if they didn’t self-flagellate they’d be entirely uninteresting

Ronnie: 💔

Joe: yeah, it’s tragic being this bored/boring, say it ‘fore you have to bother

Ronnie: didnt invite you to no pity party and if thats where youre trying to get me to turn up to dont bother is right

Joe: you mean you don’t wanna talk about your feelings?

Joe: like you said, like being left alone with my own fucked up ones too much to try and start a therapy session

Ronnie: what fucking feelings dead above & below the waist like

Joe: dangerously close to sharing there

Joe: you got your 💉 already then?

Ronnie: wouldnt be this chatty if i had

Ronnie: unlucky you

Joe: I’m the one that wants to see you

Joe: so I’ll cope

Ronnie: cant even spell martyrdom proper so youve fucked yourself looking for a pat on the back off me by matching the definition up

Joe: i’ll just ring mum up yeah

Ronnie: your da if not but it wont have the same satisfying end for you like

Joe: 💔

Joe: validations the last thing i need

Joe: had a whole lifetime

Ronnie: you crawling back to me with a boner for the accent your mummys losing is the last thing i need

Ronnie: get on the scouse samaritans

Joe: don’t reckon that’s a job you’ll get any time soon either

Joe: ‘less the purpose is to make sure people go through with it

Ronnie: couldve fooled me if it aint what else is talking a sad cunts ear off about their problems gonna do

Joe: attention seekers anonymous

Ronnie: no need to meet you there i earned all them badges as a kid 🧷🩸

Joe: wouldn’t be caught 💀 obvs

Joe: keeping it secret adds another level of masochism anyway

Ronnie: does it fuck

Ronnie: keeps you feeling like a smug bitch you can still pass

Ronnie: miss me with that pussy shit

Joe: nah, that’s that i’m in control shit

Joe: it’s not that

Joe: the only thing you might be smug about is how oblivious everyone chooses to be

Joe: if it weren’t also depressing as fuck

Ronnie: dont give em the choice

Joe: why?

Ronnie: why the fuck would you want to

Joe: don’t need to be my mother’s next cause celebre

Joe: she can force the therapy and concern on any of the others, I don’t wanna get better or have to fake like I’ll even try

Ronnie: then dont

Ronnie: cut off your umbilical cord and wipe up the blood trail

Ronnie: not like she tries very hard to herd back the black sheep

Joe: maybe they know and don’t give a fuck 🤞

Joe: I know I ain’t going back so whatever

Ronnie: & you reckon weve got anything in common

Joe: just 50% of our DNA

Joe: never said we were twinsies

Ronnie: if youd have said id have spat in your face 1st time we met get it collected and the tests run

Joe: I wish

Joe: has your face healed

Ronnie: wheres the fun in letting it do that

Joe: 😏

Joe: we can pretend that’s inherited if you need

Ronnie: not 5 i dont play pretend

Joe: if you keep digging, reckon the ink will be gone and it’ll be pure scar tissue

Ronnie: calm the fuck down i can hear how turned on you are about it from here

Joe: spoilsport

Joe: just thinking, scar that only vaguely looks like 🍒s might be well more rugged for my transformation from baby to independent real boy

Ronnie: laughing cos i like pain not cause youre funny

Ronnie: when you see or hear it from wherever youre lurking

Joe: you don’t leave room for me to get the wrong idea, you’re alright

Joe: all them fucked ones are mine alone and already there

Ronnie: get your girlfriend to draw you a pin up & dont tell her youve changed the lass horse head to look like your mas

Ronnie: masc for masc in your bio before you know it and 🦋 tramp stamp to follow

Joe: you know my dad already has a tattoo that looks like her, no bullshit

Joe: and another dead girl on the other arm but that’s a whole other boring story

Joe: playing dress up is off the cards too if I’m ever gonna be a big boy

Ronnie: where do you keep his severed arm when youre not using it to fist yourself and how old were you when you cut it off

Ronnie: if we re telling stories

Joe: 😂

Joe: where we keep the horse

Joe: that en-suite is massive

Ronnie: if he finds out it was a paid gig ill know where to crash

Joe: still gutted she don’t wanna see you naked

Ronnie: youre a liar if you dont wanna see her face seeing me

Joe: don’t know if anyone could be bothered to look at her when you’re about but yeah

Joe: the trauma would really fuel me and make her much more bearable to live with

Ronnie: youre welcome like

Joe: gotta stop being nice to me

Joe: you know stalkers, give ‘em an inch

Ronnie: telling me what to do is the fastest way 🖕

Ronnie: and i know you dont have an inch to give me making the best of this shitshow is what an optimist like me has gotta do

Joe: obviously you’re that type

Joe: not having it in common will have you back 👍

Joe: you’re inspiring, like

Ronnie: chop off my arms and legs and get a camera set up in the en-suite

Joe: you’d fit in my cello case then, could take you everywhere

Ronnie: course youve had a measuring tape out

Joe: hate to kill your optimism with 🍆

Joe: have a go at pushing it back in

Ronnie: how longs your tongue reckon that could kill any girls optimism

Joe: 💔 if it was only good for chatting your ear off

Ronnie: [send him a picture of your weird gross split tongue because obviously]

Joe: [how does that not make you lisp, or does it, I always think that]

Joe: that’s why you’ve not had an invite

Joe: 🚫🐍

Ronnie: gutted

Joe: you know you can show up and do whatever you wanna do whenever

Joe: I’ll take you back

Ronnie: this performance art is meant to what just scare her or teach you how to get her to back the fuck off as well as

Ronnie: im not a fucking tour guide mckenna & you can get yourself evicted without my help

Joe: you know I meant to Dublin

Joe: don’t think it’d take much to scare Sophie off, give it a month for us to both get comfortable and she’ll see what I ain’t

Ronnie: fuck you

Joe: I said if you want

Ronnie: dont need your permission to do anything i want

Joe: don’t think any of ‘em are that lax with their socials

Joe: you’d need directions

Ronnie: ive had years to find em & we dont both hang about with horse girls from kent

Joe: can’t say it’s your loss

Ronnie: shut up about it then

Joe: 🤐

Ronnie: 🖕

Joe: got a whole fist here, you can keep it

Ronnie: sizeist

Joe: told her yours is massive like you said, it’s fine

Ronnie: i said bigger than his not a horse shes in for a disappointment

Joe: gotta 🤞 she’s an optimist like you babe

Ronnie: unlike you shes gonna wait to see what i do with it before telling me to shove it

Joe: you just wanna blueball me for the pain

Joe: go on, for your lols

Ronnie: she wont want me at all unless youre gonna watch

Joe: and you need a witness so I get time too

Joe: I’ll do it, torturous as it’d be

Ronnie: the iou is gonna torture me too

Joe: if you’re lucky

Ronnie: not the dna half we share 💔

Joe: damnit

Joe: what’s good about being Scouse?

Ronnie: now the beatles are dead youve got fuck all to live for

Ronnie: noted

Joe: only the good ones

Joe: I dunno, anything good about it never happened, left when I was a kid and we still lived in a shithole with shitheads

Ronnie: get in line she left me in a shithole with shitheads 1st

Joe: where were you

Joe: wonder how close it was

Ronnie: what the fuck does it matter

Joe: it makes her more/less shitty depending

Ronnie: it aint gonna change my opinion and I dont give a shit about yours

Joe: fair enough

Ronnie: get cosy with charlie hed take you down memory lane

Joe: not before he’s got it out for the art class tah

Ronnie: you didnt say when

Joe: [probably an evening class like tomorrow or the next day, then the same time a week later]

Ronnie: too fucking late the pen is in pieces

Joe: sure it isn’t the first time you’ve left him a note in blood

Ronnie: hes only gonna cry about it & take the shine off his modelling debut

Joe: awh

Joe: message him 🧓🏼

Ronnie: fuck off calling me old

Joe: 😏

Ronnie: ill write him a note blaming what a twat you are for what hes gonna walk in on

Joe: what mess have you made

Ronnie: havent killed myself yet

Joe: and you’ve not stopped talking so no OD’ing

Joe: possibilities are endless still

Ronnie: yeah

Joe: come out

Joe: we can get new ink to dig out

Joe: whatever

Ronnie: you gonna suck his dick this time

Joe: I’ll just pay the old-fashioned way

Ronnie: flashy cunt

Joe: what being a student is all about

Ronnie: and youre too special to poison your blood how the rest of em do

Joe: I’m not opposed but I can do it alone, I don’t need to go to a sweaty student bar that plays shit songs and has a load of sad Soph clones giving it 🥺

Ronnie: you can get another tattoo without me holding your hand

Joe: I could

Ronnie: go do it 🦋 baby

Joe: have mentioned its not about the tat, yeah?

Ronnie: nah not that ive heard

Joe: come on

Joe: i want to see you, i’ve said loads

Ronnie: youve said loads of shit yeah

Joe: shit i mean

Ronnie: why

Joe: why wouldn’t I

Ronnie: thats your answer then fuck it

Joe: you don’t need to ask ‘cos you know

Ronnie: i did ask and you said why the fuck not

Ronnie: like its nothing

Ronnie: like you didnt turn up uninvited into my life not long ago

Joe: then tell me to leave

Joe: like it’s that easy

Ronnie: i didnt tell you to fucking appear

Ronnie: just cause youre a kid dont make me the dead fish you won at the fair

Joe: I never had the choice

Joe: she told me about you, talked about you all the fucking time

Joe: you’ve always been in my life

Ronnie: and youve never been in mine

Ronnie: im not gonna carve out a place for you now cos you want it

Joe: Alright

Joe: do it then

Ronnie: dont tell me what to fucking do

Joe: I’m not going unless you say it

Ronnie: no shit this is fun for you

Joe: like fuck it is

Ronnie: im the car wreck youre craning your neck to keep looking at

Ronnie: thats all the fuck this is

Joe: lie better

Ronnie: you dont care about me or what this feels like

Joe: I can’t take it back, you know now

Ronnie: you dont wanna take it back

Joe: I can’t, what’s the point pretending

Joe: I never said I was a good person

Joe: being sorry won’t change anything for you

Ronnie: its all your christmases & birthdays im west as this course youre gonna keep on spinning me out

Joe: Piss off

Ronnie: lie better cunt

Joe: So you’re allowed pity parties, yeah?

Joe: 👌

Ronnie: calling you out on your bullshit is allowed if youre crying thats your problem

Joe: if all you want from me is for me to go away, consider it done

Joe: you can’t hack it, my apologies

Ronnie: tell me why if im so fucking wrong

Joe: I like you

Joe: I want you, to get to know you

Joe: I can’t just stop it, not for myself

Joe: So make me

Ronnie: stop telling me what to fucking do

Ronnie: fucks sake

Joe: you ain’t saying anything

Joe: what do you want

Ronnie: I dont want you to like me

Ronnie: fuck is that

Joe: yeah, it’s obvious you go to great lengths to be unlikeable

Joe: not going to tell no one am I

Ronnie: so hate me soft lad

Joe: I’ll give it a go

Ronnie: ill make you

Joe: give it a go then

Ronnie: where are you then

Joe: [give a location of somewhere near your flat ‘cos don’t need to actually set you on the flatmate rn and that’s likely where you were]

Ronnie: [obviously we’re just gonna show up however long that takes us without another word like !?]

Joe: [just so much eye contact ‘cos what you gonna say what you gonna do]

Ronnie: [definitely gonna take him somewhere sketchy as hell to the level that like Charlie doesn’t know we still go there/we’d never take him ever like you wanna get to know me okay bitch buckle up]

Joe: [can’t let you hook up or shoot up yet ‘cos chronological but go along with this obvs]

Ronnie: [it would make sense if you made out/almost hooked up though because the vibe for the next convo was very much oh fuck what are you doing here we didn’t mean to run each other like this but also v flirty]

Joe: [agreed, and allowed, it’s the obvious vibe but any untold drama can happen to stop you in whatever dodgy place so makes sense]

Ronnie: [literally and just because you can’t shoot up together yet does not mean either of you have to be in any way sober so]

Joe: [hundo, we’re not saying he’s never done a drug lol, he clearly abuses his prescription as is so like, there’s plenty to be done without going there]

Ronnie: [and if we wanted to we could say that you watch her do it here and now before you do it together anyway because you’d both get a weird kick out of that]

Joe: [tea, bet you did not see this coming for your uni experience lmao]

Ronnie: [meanwhile she’s old enough to have left, do you wanna grow up babe? No? okay]

Joe: [the way you’re rolling with this, we know you’re fucked boy but pop off]

Ronnie: [I can’t overstate how much she’d be doing the absolute most to try and scare him away like I dare you to go back on what you said]

Joe: [we know you’re not gonna, soz babe, is very rude how he’s just waltzed in but truly did not say we were a good person lol]

Ronnie: [we know she’s not either and also is here for it more than she will ever express until we’re literally years into this]

Joe: [hi your mother’s daughter, but no, you actually have a reason this is messed up but we’re into it from the off and not pretending, risky af strategy boy]

Ronnie: [is there anything we wanna say happens that has lasting-ish consequences other than the make out/ almost hook up ie a tattoo or a fight with injury potential or an arrest lol]

Joe: [hmm, the possibilities, maybe a fight to show you can, could be about anything, it’s that sort of place]

Ronnie: [that is such a mood I love it and yeah could literally be you’re a new face or could be her fault because of the aforementioned doing the most]

Joe: [totally, and that’ll be an easy way to separate you and not meet until the next convo]

Ronnie: [exactly dr phil]

[sargentr]

my fave drarry fics of all time, part one

so, after discovering i’ve officially been reading drarry fanfic for 4 years now, i decided to show my (quite big) list of favorite drarry fics. there are 46 in total, but i’ve listed 10 down below. the first three are my absolute favorites but the rest are equally as good

most of my notes are fresh from when i wrote them post-reading. i’ve changed some, seeming less like a crazy unstable bitch, but fuck these were all emotional as fuck. enjoy

ps: i dont really know how to tag people i dont follow. i cant try and tag the authors later. soz!!

pps: most of these i read when i was really into a bottom!draco phase, so most of them contain that, some are switch tho (as it should be, yikes past me)

1. Everything That Happen is From Now On / ~43K 

After surviving a brutal assault, Draco tries to navigate the tumultuous waters of his mind, and embrace a bit of love and trust in his life. After all, the smallest steps forward can begin to heal the most fractured of souls

okay so before i get in to how beautiful this story is, i wanna say that it does touch on rape quite explicitly. i cried like an idiot reading the entire thing, because draco’s pain is navigated in the most beautiful and realistic way. it touches on a subject very risky for me, very personal, and i still can’t think of a better drarry story. draco’s very draco about it all, and harry is very harry about it all. it’s just perfect, and messy, and tender, and sad. i’ve reread it more than any other fic, and it doesn’t disappoint. 

2. Pocket Full of Starlight / ~46K

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine.

ah yes. the magic of kid fics. the TASTE

parent trap au. i read this one recently, like 3 months back, and absolutely fell in love with everything about it, partially because the parent trap is legit one of my top 10 favorite movies of all time. its just. the essence, the IDEA, is soooo mf beautiful. i cant get enough of reading when harry or draco finally meet the other twin, or how they cant stop loving each other even after 11 years. my heart clenched throughout the whole thing. 

3. Temptations on the Warfront / ~180K

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes. 

this was the first drarry fic ive ever read, and before this mf i HATEDDD this pairing. so you can imagine how much it took to convince me otherwise, bc i was 100% scorbus before this.

to be fair, horcrux hunting with draco involved is, possibly, my favorite trope ever. its unique. theres tension, both sexual and life threatening. in some ways it romanticizes the war, but fuck it it aint a real war. 

slowest of burns. amazing. life changing. long as hell. nothing else to be said except read it right now i demand it.

4. Clouding the Senses / ~58K

As everyone returns to Hogwarts for a final eighth year, some people are coping better with the aftermath of the war than others. After encountering a very drunk Draco Malfoy one night, Harry realises that maybe those that lost loved ones aren’t the only ones trying to escape the war. Blaise Zabini seems to think Harry can help Malfoy, that the Slytherin might actually listen to him. Harry is not so sure. Dependence is a tricky thing, and one addiction can quickly shift to another.

everyone that reads drarry loves 8th year fics, but this ones just kinda different from all those normal (yet entertaining) ones. draco’s an alcoholic in this, and one night harry tries to help him and whoops, one thing leads to the other and they start having casual sex. its really, really amazing how both draco and harry navigate the addiction, i really cant say it has any flaws. 

i know the author got a lot of hate on their fics and thats why they took them down, but they’re truly one of the best drarry authors out there. i’ve reread this a couple of times, and the tenderness, the love and confusion is all very on character. a+

5. Restraint / ~153K

Someone casts the Imperius curse on Draco Malfoy, and whatever the instructions may be, Harry finds himself an unwilling target. The encounter leaves him torn between pleasure and revulsion. As they fight in the aftermath, a tense game begins. Harry fights to convince Malfoy, and himself, that he was not affected by that initial encounter, or any of those following it.

Faced with a series of escalating encounters, Harry must come to terms with desiring things he never thought he could, things he wishes he didn’t respond to. They each use signs of arousal as weapons against each other in a mad struggle to finally shame the other into backing down for good. 

But it’s only after the game is over that Harry starts to understand.

this is by the same author of clouding the senses, and i read this just this week. at first, it’s shocking, because it plays around with consent in a very unsettling way. when communication comes in, and its starts getting healthier, you can really understand where the author found the idea of playing with consent. it is, in my opinion, 100% characteristic of how they would behave post-war, with that grief and confusion. it’s also dom/sub in some parts, and that’s mf hot. 

it also has my favorite tropes in it, but it’s a spoiler to say which one. i’ll probably mention the trope in the list along with a bunch others, but when u finish reading you’ll know which one ;)

6. Humbug / ~30K

Draco has been taking his casual relationship with Harry for granted. Visits from four key ghosts the night before Christmas just might shake up his priorities in life.

(felt like it was valid to just paste what i wrote in my notes app after reading this)

(FUCKKKKKK HOW TO EVEN START?!!!?? just a fucking bonus, draco is THE best bottom o ever exist i love my bottom son so much. this story isnt only amazing it’s excruciatingly painful to read, harry and draco have been sleeping together but harry is completely in love with him. draco doesnt see how much harry cares for him or how much hes hurting harry by treating their fling like its just that, a FLING. with that, draco is haunted by three ghosts. one of the past, the present and the future, AND THEY SET THAT IDIOT STRAIGHTTTT 1800000/10. the gays DO KEEP MF WINNING!!!

7. in your arms, rests my world / ~24K

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it.

“You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

the friends with benefits trope doesnt ever disappoint, top 5 tropes fr, especially if its also 8th year. harry and draco get into their little thing, but of course nothing ever is simple between them. by the preview, you can clearly see how much draco likes harry (also another 10/10 trope, the ‘i’ve been in love with harry potter since i was 11′ one). my only tiny issue with this is that harry fucks it up just a tad, but it of course adds up to the drama of it all, which i absolutely love.

noting it also touches on non-con/rape and, and all in all, is extremely angsty. one i was tense from beginning to end. but i am gonna say it ends amazingly and v happily.

8. Playing the Hero / ~29K

Nobody kissed me like Harry did. He kissed like he flew; he kissed like he duelled - with his whole being, not caring about anything else. I had never felt as vulnerable as I did when he kissed me, seizing all and any control I had over myself. But when Harry kissed me, I felt free...

so the thing about angst is that it ignites that mf feeling side u that even tho it hurts you cannot get enough of. this fic was EVERYTHINGGG. it made cry and laugh and smile. also another trope i absolutely adore is them breaking up and not being 100% ok with that, bc ding ding!! YALL STILL LOVE EACH OTHER!! 

i cant describe how i felt, honestly. i would just paste my notes (i wont bc spoilers) but it looks like i went thru sum shit. deadass

9. fine i’ll hold my breath / till i forget it’s complicated  / ~ 15K with the two parts

Harry and Draco become friends with benefits, and Harry thinks it's more complicated than it actually is.

u know, fluff is a drug. i dont know if its beucase 90% of drarry fics are about angsty get-togethers, but i had butterflies in my stomach when i read this. its adorable. draco is so clearly in love, he jusT SMILES A LOT I CANTTT. 

its cute. i love it to death. have some fluff before starting your day.

10. Un Noël très parisien / ~14K

When Draco crossed paths with Auror Potter at a political function in Paris, he was not expecting their former animosity to change into something rather more intriguing. But he could be certain their casual flirtation would not last more than the night, couldn't he?

look. i know i named a lot of my favorite tropes here, but i cant end this without mentioning how much single dad draco affects me. i love scorpius and how much he changes draco in every fic he appears. i love parent draco and i shant be silent about it (especially when scorpius is legit just a year old in this. i died)

as it states, harry and draco have a one night stand but draco thinks thats it, that it was all he was ever gonna have. he’s wrong of course, and the path it takes, with both scorpius and harry there, just melted my mf heart.

well kids that’s all i have for now. imma work on a part two with 10 other fics i really love!1

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

part vii

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

Welcome back, friends! I know it’s been a long time since I updated, and I’m sorry for that - I just finished up my junior year of college, and combined with all of the protesting an unrest going on in the US (where I’m from) it’s been hard to write on schedule. On that note, I want to say that as a person and a writer I unequivocally stand with the Black Lives Matter movement and those protesting for an end to police brutality, the demilitarization and downsizing of the police, and equal rights for all - noting especially that these issues particularly affect LGBTQ+ people of color, particularly Black trans women. I am always striving to keep myself as educated and informed on how to be an antiracist, and encourage everyone to take a look at https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ for resources to educate yourself, donation links if you’re able, and petitions to sign. Breonna Taylor’s murderers still have not been arrested. I love writing, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Please reblog as always, and pop into my inbox and let me know what you think!

part vii

February 14

Dress like I’m going to a diner? Cass was more than a little confused as she pulled one leg through the pair of her good jeans (the ones without ripped knees, she wore them out with Mat and to less-important meetings and even to church once or twice when she was feeling particularly daring) as she slipped into her pea coat, toying with the button by her wrist as she opened the door to the crisp February air. It wasn’t snowing, but it was cold enough that her hands were still jammed firmly in her coat pockets. She could see her breath when she breathed out. Matt pulled up a few minutes, an apologetic look on his face as he slammed his hazards on and scrambled over the chair to push her door open. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Mat said breathlessly. “Parkway was backed up.”

Cass waved him off. “It’s not a big deal, just crank the heat up.”

“I know you said you didn’t want anything too fancy, so I hope you like it,” he added hesitantly, looking in between her and the road as he turned a corner. 

Cass squeezed his hand that was hovering just above the gear shift. “I’m sure I’ll love it, Mat.”

It really had been hard for Mat to figure out what to do for Valentine’s. He was leaving the next day for a weeklong road trip, but it was still, you know, Valentine’s, and he wanted so badly to get it right. So he tapped Jordan, called Tito, even somehow got ahold of her roommates to ask them what they thought she might be interested in. He wouldn’t admit it, but there also might have been a text or two back home to his sister for a second (third? fourth?) opinion. He wanted it to be perfect, but even more than that, he wanted it to be her. Dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant and a Tiffany’s necklace might be all well and good, but it didn’t really matter if the proverbial shoe didn’t fit. The handful of Valentine’s dates he’d gone on in the past had mostly been the standard roses-and-chocolates type, and while Cass did love chocolate, this evening meant so much more to him than any previous attempt. 

He didn’t want to do anything to mess it up, anything to jeopardize what was hands-down the most meaningful and serious relationship he’d ever been in. He’d dated girls for longer, sure, but there was something about what he had with Cass that made him feel like she had been in his life forever, like she was already a permanent fixture who made everything else make sense. They drove down the island of Manhattan, his thumb running back and forth over the palm of her hand until he pulled into a hotel parking lot. Cass looked at him quizzically. “Easiest place to park,” Mat said by way of an answer. 

He parked, opening Cass’s door and helping her out. “Where are you taking me?” Cass said with a small laugh, looking across the street at the dozens of couples taking an early dinner. 

Mat held up a finger. “It should be...right up here,” he said, double-checking his phone. “Ah-ha!”

A dusty green awning and flyer-covered window greeted the couple. It was a pizzeria, and it was perfect. It wasn’t just the fact that, like any sane person, Cass loved pizza, but the fact he knew what she wanted and prioritized that over any expectation or preconception about what the “right” way to celebrate was. And she could really go for a dollar slice. 

They squeezed into a two-top table in the corner. Cass hung her bag on the back of her chair, scooping back to go order at the counter. When it came to food, Mat was a simple man with simple tastes. He liked pepperoni. “I got us garlic knots because it’s Valentine’s day and I love you,” she said, setting down the trays, “and also because I’d willingly murder a man for garlic.”

Mat picked one up, biting in and nearly moaning. God, these are good. “Babe, you’re going to be a lawyer. You can’t just go around getting yourself arrested for murder. I don’t think your garlic defense would go over well with the judge.”

Cass shrugged. “I can get myself off.” Mat raised an eyebrow. “Ew!” She threw a packet of red pepper at Mat, promptly hitting him square in the chest. “Get your mind out of the gutter. There are children present.” To be fair, aside from them the restaurant was filled mostly with high school students, nervously holding hands and sipping each others’ Cokes while they tried desperately to make small talk. And to be fair, she could get herself off. 

“Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing?” Cass asked, biting into the last bit of her crust. 

“In a minute,” Mat said, twisting around to rustle through the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out a small, flat square box, sliding it over the table to her. Cass traced the edges delicately with a finger. 

Mat smiled softly at her. “Open it.” 

Cass tapped the box against her palm until the bottom fell softly into her hand. Inside, nestled in a cloud of cotton, was a beautiful silver bar necklace. It was simple, elegant, not too flashy. But it was her, and it was hers. 

“I know you don’t like me spending money on you,” Mat shrugged, “but you deserve nice things. You deserve to be treated well.” He reached over the table to tuck a curl behind her ear. 

She picked it up, touching the chain, clasp, pendant. “Turn it over,” Mat said pointedly, with a smile on his face. Cass flipped it. There was an engraving on the back — well, two, really. 10-28-20. That one she knew. That one was their anniversary. WWRD. That one she didn’t know. Glancing back up towards Mat with a confused look on her face, she raised an eyebrow. “What would Ruth do,” Mat supplied. It took Cass a moment, and once she realized, she almost fell over, dissolving into peals of laughter. What would Ruth do? “I know I’m nothing but a filthy Canadian,” Mat started, “but I also know you love her and look up to her. You don’t just have a mug with someone’s face on it for no reason.” That was true. For Secret Santa last Christmas, Ryanne had 100% gotten Cass a mug with Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s face on it. And she 100% used it every day for her morning tea. 

“Plus, I read on Wikipedia that before she was a judge, she was a lawyer and did a lot for women’s rights and stuff. Which is really cool.” Cass nodded. That’s sweet, she thought, he actually did his homework. 

It was Cass’s turn to turn to Mat, leaning forward and cupping his cheek gently. He leaned into her touch. “It’s beautiful, Mat. I love it.”

“Let me put it on for you?” Mat asked. Cass nodded, he stood up and shuffled behind her, delicately grabbing the necklace and brushing her hair to one side. Cass shivered at the touch of his fingertips. After a few seconds, he managed to clasp it, leaning down and brushing a kiss on her shoulder before walking back to his side and grabbing his jacket. “You ready to take off?” His eyes flickered down towards his watch. It was nearing 7:30. “We’ve got to be somewhere by 8, but they said to get there early.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Cass asked curiously.

Mat cracked a grin, sliding her hand into his as they walked out of the restaurant. “You’ll see.”

Two minutes of walking later and Cass was staring into the lights of Broadway. Even living only a few hours away, she had only been once before. The Lion King, in 5th grade. Her little sister Eliana was more of a theatre kid than Cass; field hockey and lacrosse kept her too busy in high school, any spare time she had between sports and work study was spent spending time with friends or reading old books. Eliana was four years younger than her, and when she got the lead in Heathers, Cass had never been happier to live only twenty minutes away from home. El killed it, she got to have a night at home, and was able to make pancakes with her mom in the morning. It was a win-win-win scenario. But Cass still loved musicals, listened to soundtracks while she studied, tried to make the drive once a year to Boston  — Eliana was at BU — to see a winter or spring show.

So when she was suddenly looking up at the ten-foot-tall poster for Waitress, her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. “Do you like it?” Mat asked hesitantly. “We can find something else to do if you’re not into it, I know —”

Cass cut him off, squeezing his hand tightly and standing on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s amazing, Mat. I just didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, really. This is such an...unexpected gift. But I love it.” Mat relaxed. He genuinely was nervous about the choice; her roommates had told him that she liked the soundtrack and she had recommended that Sara Bareilles album to him way back in October, but he didn’t want to assume that meant she’d want to see it live. Mat was glad that he was wrong. 

Mat gently pulled the tickets out of his coat pocket, flashing them to the usher and handing Cass’s to her. “You ready for a show?”

---

“So, what did you think?” Cass asked as they walked out of the theater. 

“I liked it!” Mat said. And he really had liked it. Some of the music definitely confused him, and he didn’t understand how quick changes were physically possible, but it was good. “Earl’s a class-A dick, though. Jenna’s much better off without him.”

Cass nodded. “Correct.”

 March 4 (thurs)

 Cass glanced down at her watch, making sure it was a good time to call. It was just after 6 in New York, which would mean it was...5 in Winnipeg? Was that right? Mat probably hadn’t gotten to the arena yet, or if he did, it was more likely dinner than training or warmups. Clicking on his contact, it rang for less than ten seconds before Mat picked up. 

“Hey babe! You good?” It wasn't per se unusual for them to call each other — especially during road trips, they tried to talk or FaceTime every day — but it was usually Mat who called first, and usually just after games. So it was understandable that he was a little confused. 

Cass giggled. “I’m good, really good. Got some good news, just wanted to hear your voice.” 

“Awww,” Mat teased, “you loooove me.”

Cass didn’t really blush, but if she did, her cheeks would be scarlet. “Yes. I do. Shut up.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Just teasing you, babe. Good news, eh? What kind? Did you hear back from any of the places you applied yet?”

“No,” Cass huffed. “Not that.” She had sent out her résumé to somewhere around ten different firms and nonprofits, mostly in New York, but some as far south as D.C. and as far north as Boston. She had also sent in an application for a clerkship at the Supreme Court months back as some sort of pipe dream, but hadn’t heard anything back and had long since abandoned it as a lost cause. “I’ve done a few interviews, but nothing permanent. It’s still pretty early, though.” And that part was true  —  out of everyone in her circles back at school, there were maybe a handful who already had jobs lined up after graduation, most of them having evolved from summer associate positions they’d taken with some highbrow firm in Manhattan. Or D.C. One was even going to London to do something very intellectual-sounding with trade negotiations. 

“I know you’re probably a little nervous, and I totally get that. But don’t worry, Cass. You’re incredible and so smart and so qualified and someone’s going to see that, even if it takes a little longer than expected.” 

“Thanks,” Cass said, breathing out deeply and smiling softly. Mat was getting good at reading her, so good that he could tell when something was bothering her even without being face-to-face. And he gave damn fine pep talks. 

Mat cleared his throat. “So. Good news?”

Cass screwed up her face. “Good news. Right. I just got out of the office, and you know how I said I was almost done with my hours?” It had taken Cass longer than usual to finish her experiential requirement, since nearly all of her peers got it knocked out in a summer and she, obviously, was a little more busy when it actually came to term time. “Mhm,” Mat responded. “I just got done with the last of them today!”

Mat was confused. “So...your good news is that you’re finished? I thought you liked working with Chris?”

“Right, yeah, I do.” Cass tried to backtrack. I should have explained. “Chris told me I’m welcome to stay on, and I’m going to. I genuinely like what I’m doing. Since I’m not doing it for school anymore, he put in a request for a status change with HR, and it just got approved. So,” she paused for dramatic effect, “the good news is that now I’m getting PAID.” 

“Awesome!” Mat said. “You’re going to be the one making the big bucks now.”

“I’m making 16 dollars an hour. It’s barely above minimum wage, but it’s nice to finally get something back.” 

Ten minutes later, after they had hung up, Mat leaned back in his hotel bed. He really was proud of Cass, unbelievably so, but hadn’t yet admitted to himself just how nervous he was. Not about their relationship, really, but about where things were headed. He absolutely saw them together as a long-term thing and at least from what Cass made it seem like, so did she. But they hadn’t really spoken about where they saw this whole thing going, or what it would look like, or really anything beyond vaguely discussed plans for the summer after her graduation. The uncertainty wasn’t really concerning him. Mat’s new contract locked him in through 2026, so he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And he wouldn’t want to, he loved hockey and loved New York and loved his team. 

Cass was a whole different story. She was probably the smartest person he’d ever met, and Mat knew that she could and would be able to go just about anywhere for a position. She didn’t have to stay in New York if she didn’t want to. And sure, New York was a pretty good place to be a lawyer — it didn’t take a genius to know that — but the worry kept popping up in the back of his mind that she’d get an incredible offer somewhere like California or Chicago or even somewhere international and would leave the city. Leave him. Mat would never dream of holding Cass back from her dreams. It would be a dick move and she’d worked way too hard to let everything go to waste. But the idea of doing something long distance, like true long distance, scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t just that he’d miss the sex or seeing her in the stands at games or early morning coffee dates, but Mat thrived on closeness, he thrived on intimacy of all kinds. It would terrify him to have to be away from someone who meant so much to him for so long. But this was Cass, his Cass, and if he’d go through it for anyone, it would be for her. 

I’m overthinking this, Mat thought, as he flipped his phone over and over in his hands. Don’t make up problems where there are none. 

 March 13 (sat)

Cass tapped her fingers nervously as she walked through the doors of the Islander’s practice rink. It was family skate, and Cass couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t quite belong. 

“There you are!” Mat said, his bag slung over one shoulder as he greeted her with a kiss. “You ready? I know Tito and Paige are already down there and they’re starting to get on the ice.”

“Yep!” Cass said brightly, forcing a smile and grabbing his hand a little too quickly. 

Mat raised one eyebrow. “Alright, what is it?”

Cass dropped the face. “It’s just...this seems different than all of the other things I’ve gone to. It’s not like when I’m in the box at games or we go out with the team or I hang out with the girls when you guys are on a road trip. It’s like,” she let out a huff, “this is small. This is close. This is meant for family, wives and kids, and I’m not...I’m not family. I’m your girlfriend, sure, but…” She trailed off. 

Mat squeezed her hand. “I plan on keeping you around for a long time, Cass. You’d better get used to it. And besides,” he said, looking at her softly, “wives have to start somewhere.”

Luckily, Cass didn’t have time to get too into her head, because she was suddenly engulfed in a bear hug from Paige. “I know we got coffee on Monday, but it’s been too long, Cass. I swear, you’re working too hard.”

Mat chimed in. “Tell me about it.” Cass swatted at him. “She’s been studying and editing and sending in her résumé to every office she can get her hands on.” He sat his chin on top of her head, arms crossing in front of her chest to hold her hands. 

“Alright, Mr. Clingy,” Cass giggled, twisting her head to look up at Mat. 

“But you looove your clingy boyfriend,” Mat whined, leaning down and softly kissing Cass. 

She scrunched her nose. “Regrettably so.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You ready to go out on the ice?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded, taking a pair of skates from the rack. By the time she had unlaced her boots and set them to the side, Mat had already tied his hockey skates, an extra pair he kept in his practice bag. 

“Let me,” Mat said, gently taking the skates and kneeling down in front of her. 

Cass rolled her eyes, but her cheeks heated all the same. “If you insist,” she said, holding her left leg out. 

“Okay, Cinderella,” Mat chuckled, holding her ankle for support as he wiggled her foot in, pulling the laces tight and tying them. “Double knots are more secure,” he said, blushing, as he finished the second skate. 

“You’re cute when you blush,” Cass said, pinching Mat’s cheeks, which only made him go more scarlet. 

He straightened out the knot, reaching out a hand so Cass could stand up. She steadied herself on the skates. “How much skating have you done?” Mat asked as he led her to the door. 

Cass shrugged. “A little? I went a few times as a kid and the girls and I go to Rockefeller Center around Christmas every year, but not a ton. Skating’s an expensive enough sport as it is, and my parents were already having to deal with coming up with the fees for Noah before he started working.”

Mat grimaced. “Yeah, I get that. I hate it, how cost prohibitive the sport is, and I try to help out back home when I can, but knowing that there’s so many kids who love the sport and could be so good,” he took a tense breath, “but aren’t able to because their families don’t have the means. It’s really shi—” He cut himself off, noticing his teammates’ children skating around. “It sucks.”

“It does.” Cass nodded. “But I know you have a good heart, and I know you’re helping where you can.” She gave a half-smile as they stepped onto the ice, her hand gripping his forearm as she tried to find her balance on the slick surface, which had been passed over by a zamboni right before the group’s arrival. “Wipe that smile off of your face,” she said, sticking her tongue out. 

“Yes ma’am,” Mat said with a grin, pulling her along. 

---

After an hour or so of skating, Cass had gotten the hang of it enough to where Mat was good to step off the ice for a few minutes and talk to some of the boys. “They have goldfish,” he had mentioned. “I think the snack table’s supposed to be for the kids, but I’m not above theft in situations like these.” So Cass skated around with Paige, Lauren, and some of the other WAGs, nearly all of whom were much, much better skaters than herself. 

“For someone who grew up on hockey, you’d think this would be way easier for me than it is,” Cass grumbled, tentatively pushing off from the sideboards. 

“You’ll get it eventually. I believe in you,” Paige said, poking her cheek. 

She grimaced. “Hopefully. I can see the Athletic’s morning headline now: ‘Cassidy Cabrera Shaw, Girlfriend of 2018 Calder Trophy Winner Mat Barzal, Falls on Face While Attempting to Skate.” 

“Sue them,” Paige suggested.

Cass laughed. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Wish I could.” She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “No grounds for defamation if it’s true.”

“Laws are dumb.” 

“They can be,” Cass admitted, looking over to the bleachers. “You want to go get drinks? I think I saw Whiteclaws in the adult’s cooler, and I know how you feel about those.”

Paige was already halfway across the rink. “Only if all the limes haven’t been taken!”

Cass shook her head, turning like Mat had taught her and skating over to the benches. Paige had gone over to sit with Anthony, a lime Whiteclaw successfully in her hand, and it took Cass no time to find Mat. He was sitting in the second row next to some of the other guys, and he was holding a baby. A very cute, very small baby. She gingerly made her way over to the group, catching Mat’s eye. He beamed at her as she took a seat next to him. 

“And who’s this little cutie?” She asked, smiling at him. 

“This is Milo,”  Mat said softly, turning him slightly so she could wave at him.

Cass absentmindedly remembered asking whose son it was — an offseason trade from Colorado, she vaguely recalled processing the contract at work — but she really couldn’t say which one. But she stroked Milo’s face with one finger, puffed out her cheeks at him, and suddenly he was in her arms and everything else fell away. She bounced him for a few minutes, easily falling back into her old routine — she was an older sister, after all — before handing him back to Mat, who was clearly having some separation anxiety. 

Lauren sat on the edge of the bench, gently touching Cass’ shoulder with Collins on her hip. “He looks really good like that, doesn’t he?” She asked. Cass’ cheeks burned. She didn’t know anyone had seen her looking over at Mat and Milo. “Yeah, he does,” she said, a soft smile crossing over her face.

 March 26 (fri)

 A steaming cup of tea in her hands, Cass threw her head back against the couch, knocking her reading glasses askew. She straightened them with a huff. There were two days until the deadline for the law review, and she still had two articles to get through for last-minute edits and spelling checks. It was just past 11, which normally wouldn’t have been all that late for her, but she had been staring at her computer for hours and it was beginning to take a toll. She had been at the library until 8 or so, making more than one trip to the coffee cart in the lobby before she realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere sequestered away in a cubicle on the fourth floor. The Islanders were playing that night, so Cass shot Mat a text that she was headed over, packed up her bags, and headed over. 

He had just given her a key the week prior, and it was her first time using it. Even though he constantly told her she was welcome to go over, whether he was there or not, she had more than her fair share of nerves as she jingled her keychain, thumbing over her apartment key and mail key and car key and key to the house back in Connecticut before she opened the door. She set the kettle to boil and grabbed the little-used box of English Breakfast from the cabinet before crashing on the couch, where she had been pretty much ever since, save for a bathroom break after a thrilling review of a paper on recent intellectual property rulings of the 2nd Circuit Court. 

The doorknob turned and Mat walked in, shower-damp hair, still clad in his gameday suit with his duffel slung over his left shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he said, dropping the bag and walking over to the couch to plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Still at it?”

She nodded ruefully, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. I ordered takeout earlier in case you’re hungry, there’s an extra gyro in the kitchen,” she pointed to a bag on the counter, “and they threw in free baklava if you’re still hungry.”

His eyebrows perked. “Baklava?” Cass had discovered early on in their relationship that hidden beneath his curated meal plans from the team nutritionist and smoothie kits was a surprisingly committed sweet tooth. She was a stress-baker, and Mat had been more than willing over the past few months to serve as her taste tester for cookies, pies, and anything in between. 

Cass giggled. “Yeah. Better get it before I steal the last piece, though.” 

Mat returned later with the pastry on a napkin, shrugging off his suit jacket and collapsing onto the cushion beside her. “Anything else interesting happen today?”

Cass shrugged her shoulders. “I had yoga in the morning like usual, which was fun. I tried a hot yoga class today, though, and you would not believe how much I sweat. It hurt my soul.”

“No pain no gain, baby,” Mat chimed in. Cass rolled her eyes at him. 

“But then I had law review and my Entertainment Law seminar before I headed over to the office. Pretty normal, they had me looking over some leasing agreements for the next season. Called my grandma, she’s shipping my serape stole over next week and needed my address,” Cass added.

“Serape stole?”

Cass adjusted her position on the couch so she was facing Mat. “It’s a Mexican thing. You know how graduation gowns usually have stoles for the school or whatever?” Mat nodded. “It’s pretty common to have cultural ones too, Black students will often wear what’s called a kente cloth stole and Mexican and some other Latinx students have serape stoles. Give me a sec,” she said, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her photos. “Here’s a graduation photo of me and the girls from UConn, Ryanne’s in her kente stole and I have mine.”

Mat looked bewildered. “Why are you wearing so many of them?”

Cass laughed, realizing which photo she pulled up. “Okay, fair enough. So there’s the normal school one on the bottom, then I had one for the honors program, then on top of that is the one from my sorority, then on top of that is the serape. Most of the other photos it’s just one or two, like in the ones when I’m with the sorority or the Mexican Student Association or whoever. We thought it would be fun to take one where we’re just drowning in stoles and leis. Made us feel fancy.”

“You do look very fancy,” Mat said, leaning his head on her shoulder. “You also look very tired, Cass. You need to go to sleep.”

Cass scrunched up her nose. “I’ve only got the two papers left to look over, and I’d really like to get them done before I head back. Get them all knocked out, y’know?”

“Stay here,” Mat said easily, as if it wasn’t even a question. “Stay here, you can finish reviewing them in the morning. Plus, I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t taking the subway alone at half past 11.”

Cass sighed. He had a point. “Fine,” she said slowly, “but you have to promise to wake me up if I don’t get out of bed by 8. Okay?”

Mat gently took her laptop, setting it on the coffee table. “Okay. Now go take a shower and hop into bed, pretty girl. You’ve had a long day.”

“Thanks,” Cass said, smiling gratefully and padding down the hall to the bathroom. Shedding her clothes, Cass stepped into the shower, expecting to use Mat’s Old Spice shampoo — which, to be fair, didn’t smell half bad — when a white floral bottle caught her eye. She had mentioned offhand once that she was picking up a new bottle of shampoo, and Mat must have been listening more than she gave him credit for. Because, without asking, he had gotten one too.

[riajade01]

Rishi Peace Talks

So I am extraordinarily slow. Real life has been busy recently, sapping my creative spoons. But @captainderyn and @tishinada both sent in prompt asks. “Everyone wants to be somebody” and, “I would like to see you try”, respectively. I wound them both into one longish prompt. In a plot twist, we’re getting a POV from my Knight, Czessara, from a bit later in the main Maraverse.

*************************

"Anyone else?" the Sith woman demanded.

Silence.

Czessara held her breath, the humidity of Rishi gathering along her hairline. The Wrath's sense had drawn tight enough to vibrate. She wanted to believe this woman, despite her title and her actions against the Republic, would prove less unstable than other Sith Czessara crossed path with. More a Lord Praven than a Darth Angral.

But Darth Marr had to pull the Wrath off of Scourge once already during this meeting, and that was before the revelation of Vitiate's plan to eat the galaxy. What was it like, to know the being you deified and had anointed you as his chosen was exactly what the enemy said he was?

"No?” the Sith sneered. “Well I have a gift for you both." She picked up the two droid chassis she'd dragged, sparking and smoking, into the Rishi safehouse. With a grunt, she hurled one at each faction leader. Czessara tensed, ready to jump to Master Shan's defense, but the thing thudded to the floor at her feet. 

"The Emperor had these shadowing me. I killed three others. Maybe there are clues here."

"This is an unexpected sharing of intelligence, Wrath, that we accept," Master Shan said carefully. "But we know where the Emperor is. My agent has gathered intel that points to Yavin IV."

Czessara felt Theron stiffen. They both stood behind Satele, Czess on her right, Theron on her left. Czess caught Theron's eye and tried giving him an encouraging smile. He grimaced and looked away. 

She supposed she deserved that. She had left him, after all. She was so sure at the time it was the right thing. Now, after months of fearing he was dead, that the last words he had from her were dispassionate Jedi logic, she wasn't nearly as sure.

The meeting broke up. Czessara blinked - she had missed the entire end of the conversation in her musings.

Across the room, Satele, Marr and Beniko were already disappearing up the corridor that led to the exit. Only the Wrath remained, staring at Scourge. The former Wrath met his predecessor's gaze calmly. 

"I will not apologize for doing what was necessary to stay in Vitiate's good graces," Scourge said.

"Captain, your knife." The Wrath held out her hand without looking at the officer behind her.

The officer hesitated. Blue eyes shifted to his superior. His sense was surprisingly still - she supposed serving Sith required a certain amount of defensive control - but Czessara knew that look. It was the way Theron looked at her. Interesting.

Finally, he drew a vibroknife from his belt and laid the handle in her waiting hand. If there was any doubt of his affections, the way his gloved fingers lingered on the Sith's hand put them to rest. The Sith's face softened ever so slightly at the touch, before her fingers wrapped around the metal. 

There was nothing inappropriate about it, and honestly Czess herself wouldn't have noticed if she weren't so full of her own pining, but an unexpected jealousy stabbed through her. She'd left Theron to return to her work, but this Sith brought her... lover? husband? openly to a peace talk with her. It wasn't fair. She forced the thoughts aside and focused on the weapon.

"Your leaders have brokered a peace, Sith," Czess warned, stepping to Scourge's side.

"I'm not an imbecile, Jedi."

The Sith removed her glove and drew the blade over her palm. The bloodied knife hit the duracrete, spattering Scourge's boots.

"Are you sure you know what that means, young one?" Scourge asked, his voice soft. "I could kill you where you stand and custom would be on my side."

"I'd like to see you try," the Wrath retorted. Czess found herself agreeing. The thirty seconds between when the woman launched herself at Scourge and when Marr and that officer dragged her away showed her to be more than Scourge's equal. "When this is over, I expect you to honor my challenge."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her officer following in her wake.

Then they were alone. Well, alone with Scourge. But of her crew, he was, oddly, the person who judged her the least, for this connection at any rate.

"Did you hear that?" Theron grumbled. "I'm her agent. I don't know what I expected. She barely acknowledges me in privet, it's not like she'd do it in front of the entire damned Empire."

Czess put a hand on Theron's arm. "I know. In this instance, at least, she's probably trying to protect you."

"Mara already knows who I am. Satele knows that thanks to my debriefing. She just..." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "It's like my name has too much meaning and no meaning. We all want to be somebody, you know?"

He sounded so lost. It made the bruises on his face stand out even more. Bruises he got from his own ancestor. Maybe it was a blessing Jedi were taken from their blood families. It left room for them to create a family of their choosing. Which probably wasn't the point, but after everything she'd been through, Czess found herself caring less and less.

"You're somebody to me, Theron," she said, fingertips ghosting over his cheek. She had a little bit of healing ability - negligible, really, but enough to calm the swelling in his face a little.

"Am I really?" He didn't pull away, but he'd gone still under her hand. "Don't yank me around, Czess." 

"If you weren't, you wouldn't have left a gaping hole in me when you disappeared."

His face lit up, sending warmth radiating through her senses. "I did what I had to, but I'm sorry that it hurt you."

"I know. I-" Czessara... 

She froze. That was Orgus Din's voice. A vision of a small Rishi hovel flashed through her mind.

"I have to go," she said, stepping back.

"Right."

"Theron," she began.

"No, it's fine."

"Come with me."

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"I'm feeling a pull in the Force. Come with me to investigate."

Orgus Din might not approve. She still felt a lot of affection for her old master, but he could stuff his approval.

"You- really?"

She laughed. He looked so perplexed. He had access to the entire holonet and most of the Republic's information nets in his head, but she could still stump him. "Yes, really. I missed you."

"Czess, I- this-"

"Accompany your Jedi or do not," Scourge interrupted, "but she is right, we must go."

"Who am I to argue with a Sith?" Theron joked, taking her hand.

"From what I just witnessed, you argue with plenty of Sith," Scourge said. "I'm pleased for Czessara's sake you showed unusual wisdom in this instance."

"Is he like your older brother or your wingman?" Theron stage whispered.

"People can be two things," she replied, grinning at Scourge. "Come on."

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part thirty-three

Hi! I apologize for this taking a literal hot minute. I got a little more than preoccupied with my new John Watson fic, Deception, but just because I have started that story doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about this one, I promise xx.

Weeks pass and oddly enough as they do, you get better.

           You’re up and walking now, thank God. You thought for a moment you might go absolutely insane if you didn’t start walking somewhere, even if just down the hall and back. Sherlock found it both endearing and terrifying, watching you walk down the hallway, IV pole in hand. John and Mary were thrilled, of course, that you were up and moving again, both finding Sherlock’s worry equally heartwarming and alarming.

           Sherlock isn’t sure what he’s worried about, honestly. He’s not worried about you getting better because that would be ridiculous. How absurd a worry is it that he’s worried you’ll get better? It makes no sense. Well, it makes some sense. He’s not necessarily worried about you getting better as much as he is worried about you wanting to be all the way better too soon. He doesn’t want you to push yourself, that’s all.

           He nearly groans at the thought. Sentiment. It’s taken over his brain.

           The end of January comes and with it comes your discharge date. You are more than thrilled. You’re ready to be back at Baker Street and out of this dreaded hospital gown.

           Which, in fact, is why you ask John to fetch you an outfit to wear home. Preferably a jumper and some leggings, which he delivers – along with Sherlock’s coat.

           Sherlock catches himself smiling as you swing the coat over your shoulders, happily sighing to yourself as you tug on it. You catch him looking at you, raising your eyebrows.

           “What is it?”

           “I missed seeing you in my coat,” Sherlock replies bluntly.

           You try to hide the blush that crawls up your cheeks. “I missed wearing it. Now, who is our ride?”

           As soon as you ask, a knock sounds at the door, opening to reveal Detective Inspector Lestrade.

           “Greg!” You grin, stumbling over his name only a bit until he smiles brightly, glad to see you’ve remembered his name. “What on earth are you doing here?”

           “I’m taking the two of you back to Baker Street,” he pauses, nodding to Sherlock. “Brother’s orders.”

           Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

           “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?” You smirk.

           Lestrade’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

           “Mycroft,” you snicker, watching Lestrade glare at you. “I’m only teasing.”

           “Yeah, right. I’ll be just outside. Car’s ready whenever you are.” He exits the room shaking his head, but nevertheless, glad to see you’re seemingly back to your old self.

           Which you are, for the most part. Apart from the sore shoulder and the sore ribs and the scar that will forever be on your stomach, you’re back to being your old self.

           Sherlock’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You chuckle, leaning into him, leaning your head on his.

           “Are you ready to go back to Baker Street?” You ask.

           “I suppose,” he sighs. “It’ll feel much better now that you’re coming back with me.”

           “Oh, charming,” you breathe, turning around in his arms. You lose yourself there, your faces so close you can pick out each and every color in his eyes. Before you have any idea of what you’re doing, your hand reaches up to cradle his face, your thumb stroking his cheek.

           He reads your mind, like he always does, closing the gap between the two of you. It’s these kisses, the tender ones, that you’ve grown to love. Even when he gets a bit bold, his hands holding your face as he slowly tries coaxing your mouth open. You give in, letting him in – just as John opens the door.

           “Are you— Okay—”

           The door slams closed, causing a laugh to bubble out of your chest as you lean your forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I think we’ve just scarred him for life.”

           “Oh, well.”

           “You can come in John,” you call out. “We’re decent.”

           A very awkward John Watson opens the door a second later, Mary right next to him with quite possibly the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen on her face. You give her a look, mostly telling her to behave, which you know sounds ironic.

            “Uh, we’re about to head out, but I wanted to warn you that there is a lot of press outside, so you might have some cameras in your face…”

           “Wonderful,” you comment, trying to keep the stride going and cut out the awkwardness. “Well, I think we’re about ready. You’ve got all my stuff.”

           John nods. “It’s all back at Baker Street.”

           You smile. “Then I think we’re ready.”

           You walk out of your hospital room for the last time, making a pitstop at the front desk to ask about a patient. A specific patient.

           “Hi, would you happen to know if Mary Josephine has been discharged yet?” With Sherlock standing behind you (and the ominous security guard Mycroft provided), it doesn’t take the nurse long to check the records.

           The woman nods. “She was discharged a week ago.”

           “Oh, okay,” you smile. You had wanted to see her once before you left.

           “But you’re…Y/N L/N, correct?” You nod. “I think she left…” She rummages around on the desk before she finds it – an envelope. “Yes, she left this for you.”

           “Oh,” you chuckle, taking it and tucking it in a pocket on Sherlock’s coat. “Thank you.”

           “No problem, love.”

           You turn around, smiling to Sherlock now, letting him know you’re officially ready to go. John and Mary left to find their car a few minutes ago, so it’s just you, Sherlock, the security guard, and Lestrade now.

           Lestrade walks ahead of you and Sherlock, Mycroft’s security guard walking behind. You hear Lestrade speak on the radio to someone, presumably someone outside, letting them know you’re walking.

           You feel oddly out of place, walking with security around you. You’re so used to despising those that need this kind of protection. Now you’re one of them.

           Lestrade pauses before he opens the door, giving you a tired look. “We tried to tell the press not to come, but they did—”

           “Lestrade, it’s fine. I’ll be okay,” you assure him. “Let’s just go. I really want to be back at Baker Street already.”

           “Alright,” Lestrade sighs, pushing open the door.

           From then on, it’s a blur. Cameras are flashing, reporters are yelling. Hospital security and police are keeping them from completely swarming you. There is a brief moment of clarity when you feel Sherlock’s fingers lace with yours, and practically on cue, all of the cameras flash at once, all of them wanting a picture of the great Sherlock Holmes with his apparent girlfriend.

           To be fair, you and Sherlock haven’t even talked about labels. Even just the idea of the paper writing about you being his girlfriend sends a swarm of butterflies to your stomach. It almost makes you want to ask him about the specifics of your relationship, but you know that’s for another time.

           Whether or not you’re dating is not a good question to ask in the back of a police car as he’s trying to calm you down because you’ve zoned out completely since stepping outside.

           “Y/N? Love, are you alright?”

           You blink, finally hearing him this time. “I’m alright.” You try to offer a smile to ease his worry. Sherlock squeezes your hand lovingly before practically resting your intertwined fingers in his lap. He’s being protective, that you can see and feel just by the way he’s keeping your hand close to him.

           It’s sweet. And exactly what you need.

~~~

You’re a bit exhausted, so the last thing you expect is for Mrs. Hudson, Molly and her fiancé – gosh, he looks so much like Sherlock that you’re genuinely blanking on the poor guy’s name, but to be fair, you have been in hospital for a month – Mary and John to all be standing in the living room at Baker Street yelling, “Welcome home!”

           Now you know why Lestrade took the long route here. Not to avoid traffic like he said, but to stall so all of them had time to get here and set this up.

           “Oh my god,” you chuckle, immediately turning to give Molly a big hug. “You sneaky bug. You told me you had to work today.”

           “I did,” she smiles. “I had to work on setting all this up,” she gestures to the banner hanging on the wall, obviously carefully hung to not cover up Sherlock’s yellow smiley face.

           “Thank you all,” you shake your head in disbelief. A year ago, you were a drug addict with nowhere left to turn. And now here you are, standing in a room with all of these people – with family and friends, two things you never thought you’d have, but they’re all here. “And you,” you turn around to face Lestrade. “I knew something was wrong with you when you took that God-awful way to get here.”

           The Detective Inspector merely shrugs. “I don’t like traffic,” he winks.

           “Yeah, yeah,” you smirk, narrowing your eyes. You catch a glimpse of the security guard Mycroft provided standing at the bottom of the stairs, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. You know Mycroft is busy – and that he and Sherlock don’t exactly get along – but you’re a little disappointed he isn’t here. But, at the same time, you know he isn’t one for these things, so you shrug the feeling away.

           “Y/N.”

           You spin back around, searching for the source of the voice only to find Sherlock in the kitchen, nodding for you to come closer. You give him a strange look – He’s been acting strange all morning, if you’re being honest, so you walk closer to him.

           “Can I talk about something with you for a moment?” He pauses, glancing up at all the people in the flat. “In private?”

           You’re now more worried than anything, so you slowly nod, following him back into his bedroom. Which you find strange, but oh well.

           You step inside, nerves eating away at you as he shuts the door and…locks it.

           “Sherlock, what’s—” You’re immediately cut off by him pushing your back against the door, pressing his lips to yours in that stupid sinful way he’s always done.

           You forget about everything when he kisses you. You forget that you’ve barely been home for five minutes. You forget that the press nearly swarmed you half an hour ago outside the hospital. You forget there’s people – your brother, included – just on the other side of this door, in the living area. You forget there’s a Welcome Home party happening just outside.

           And when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, you let out a surprised squeak, causing him to pull away for a moment, leaning his forehead on yours. You open your eyes then, but his remain closed. You could probably stare at him like this, up close, for ages if you really had the time. You want to.

           “Sherlock,” you murmur, your fingers brushing through his curls. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I need to remind you that my brother is just outside.”

          ��He chuckles softly, opening his eyes. There’s a playful glint in them, so you give him a look, trying to show him you’re serious.

           “I promise,” you whisper, “you can have me all to yourself tonight, but for right now, there are people out there.”

           He shrugs, that playful smirk teasing his lips. You wish he wouldn’t smirk like that. All it does is make you want to kiss him. “We can be quiet.”

           “Sherlock Holmes!” You scold, smacking his chest lightly. “Stop it now. I’m serious.”

           “Fine,” he rolls his eyes dramatically.

           “Sherlock.”

           “Hm?”

           “Put me down.”

           “Oh, alright,” he mutters, letting go of you legs and gently setting you back on the floor. “Better?”

           “Mhm,” you nod. “One more.”

           “One more what?”

           “One more kiss,” you reply sheepishly. You know PDA isn’t exactly his thing, and it definitely doesn’t need to be his thing when your brother is around, so the least he can do is kiss you once more before you have to return to the party.

           He smiles, tilting your head so he can properly kiss you one last time.

           “Okay,” you sigh, straightening your coat and smoothing your clothes. “Into battle,” you tease him, pulling open the door.

           You jump back, Mary standing right outside in the kitchen with raised eyebrows. “Seriously, you two?”

           “What?” You defend, but you’re red. You’re so red that it’s giving you away.

           “Oh, you’re blushing,” Mary snickers. “I’m only teasing. Do you want some champagne?”

           “Sure,” you chuckle awkwardly, ignoring Sherlock’s smug smile as he brushes past to retrieve his violin from the window.