#maybe it’s like. they just really want to make their metaphor text somehow. idk

[sammygender]

supernatural does this really fascinating/strange thing where they write a metaphor for something, but then also directly show the something at the same time. so you have john winchester raising his kids to be hunters (metaphor for abusive childhood) but also, aside from that, being flat out abusive. you have sam winchester repeatedly being possessed by things without his consent (metaphor for sexual assault) but also, aside from that, being sexually assaulted. you have dean winchester becoming more and more violent as result of a mark that makes him addicted to something (sort-of a metaphor for alcoholism? they’re clumsy about this one) but also, aside from that, being an alcoholic. it’s such a Choice. i don’t have anything else to say it’s just something i’ve noticed

[daechwitatamic]

VI. Don't Think About Him || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

You try - and fail - to figure out who and what you want.

Section Warnings: excessive drinking, bar scenes, language, kissing, groping, maybe grinding idk

WC: 6k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sunday October 28th

Fire burns low in the hearth, but my feet itch and beg to go, into the night where the wolfpack hunts, into the storm of wind and snow.

I can hear only their hunting song. The blizzard steals from me my sight. I have no map to traverse this land, But I peer wistfully into the night.

The wolves, the storm, the wild land, Even still I must decide. I know despite the dangers, I can’t afford to stay inside.

“That’s fucking terrible,” you mutter, closing your book and scooting it away from you in disgust. “Wolves? Am I fourteen? For fuck’s sake.”

Still, it does touch on how you feel: like proceeding forward will result in you getting ripped to metaphorical shreds - but staying here, stuck in the familiar just because you’ve deemed it safe, would somehow be worse.

“Talking to yourself?” someone asks, and you jump with a shriek. 

“Namjoon!” you scold, as you register that it’s him in the doorway. “I thought you weren’t home for a few more hours!”

He crosses the room and tosses his bag onto his bed. “Yoongi has a lead foot.”

“How was it?” you ask mildly.

Namjoon wiggles his head, indicating both good and bad. “The brewery was really fun,” he says. “And it was nice for us all to hang out and talk at the house. We all used to dorm together… it’s been weird not living in the same place as them. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

This makes you smile. You’d been to that dorm once or twice, but you’d refused to hang out with Taehyung there because… well, dudes are stinky. And you’re not a clean freak by any means, but it was a little gross over there. 

“Well it was lonely and boring here,” you report. “I’m glad you’re back.” 

You’re instantly unsure if that was too forward, too much. Namjoon going away the literal day after you’d kissed him had given you plenty of time to think in private, but it had also given you room to sow doubts in your own mind. But Namjoon smiles shyly, pleased, so cute it makes your toes wiggle.

“I’m glad to be back too,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower and unpack. Have you made plans for dinner yet? We could order later?”

You hadn’t, but you have a feeling Taehyung will want to hang out after two days away. “I have plans,” you lie, figuring it will end up being true. 

“Ah, no problem then,” Namjoon says easily, and heads into his room, closing the door behind him with a little wave. 

You text Taehyung - “welcome home!! dinner later?” - and get up to start some laundry. By the time it’s done washing, and drying, and you’ve folded it, he still hasn’t answered. 

You try again - “hello??? this is y/n, looking for signs of life???”

This time, the response is almost immediate. 

[4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: sorry [4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: can’t tonight

In the end, you walk to campus alone, eating by yourself in the far corner of the cafeteria. You’ve splurged on ordering too much lately when these meals are built into your tuition. Besides, you don’t want Namjoon to know that your “plans” fell through. 

Friday November 2nd

Angel on the right… Devil on the left… 

You look side to side, conflicted. Such a strong case for each. 

“Are those for tonight?”

You jump, spinning away from the two Halloween costumes you’ve laid out on your bed. It’s not like Namjoon to come over to your side of the apartment; in fact, you’re not sure he’s ever talked to you while you’re in your own room. It’s usually you going over to his door to bother him, if you aren't both in the living room or kitchen. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I can’t decide. You’re coming?”

“I think we all are, except Yoongi,” Namjoon tells you. “I’m going as a detective. I have a magnifying glass and everything.”

You laugh. “I can’t wait to see that. Any thoughts on which way I should go tonight?” You mean the costumes. You’d texted Taehyung for his opinion and he’d returned with, “flip a coin”. You’re not sure why you expected anything else from him. 

“I think that’s going to depend on your mood,” Namjoon teases. “How are we feeling today? Naughty or nice?”

You raise your eyebrows. Was that… outright flirtation? “What if I’m feeling both?” you ask.

He laughs. “You need one of those half-and-half costumes. I’ve seen them in the stores.”

You have too, but you think they’re cheesy. “I think I’ll go devil,” you muse, a finger on your lips as you consider. “The angel wings are pretty cumbersome. And the bars are going to be slammed.”

“Naughty it is.” Namjoon flashes you a grin and disappears from your doorway, throwing over his shoulder, “No complaints from me!”

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the giggle. Well this is new, and damn, you want to keep playing. 

You Uber together to the first bar of the town’s Halloween pub crawl, the guys waiting for you outside. Taehyung howls in laughter at Namjoon’s long coat, fedora, and magnifying glass. 

“I see the devil won the coin toss,” he says to you, grinning.

You roll your eyes, still a little peeved that he couldn’t take anything seriously, even when you needed him to. This was a trivial thing, but still. It wasn’t a lot to ask.

Jungkook hands you and Namjoon a flyer with a QR code - it listed the locations of each bar and what time the group would move, in case you got lost or missed the exodus. Inside, you have to pay to get wristbanded, but the wristband earns you special prices at each of the stops. 

“This does not go with my costume,” you pretend to pout, the bright yellow wristband glaring against your short, red dress.

“I think everyone will understand,” Namjoon teases. Taehyung appears on your other side, pointing out the little laminated sign that advertises this bar’s drink specials. 

“You two need to catch up,” he insists.

Three hours and two bars later, you think you’ve achieved this. You and Taehyung cling to each other’s arms, holding each other up, somehow taking turns being the one who needs help staying upright. The first two bars had offered specials on shots, but this one only has special offers for mixed drinks and beer. 

“Do we pay full price for shots, or do we let The Man tell us it’s time to settle down?” you muse loudly into Taehyung’s ear.

“Don’t start with that shit,” he tells you. “This is Halloween, not a hippie convention.”

“I see at least four hippies,” you sniff indignantly.

“I think you’re seeing double,” he counters. “No more shots for you.”

“You aren’t in charge of me!” you yell, and head for the bar at a clip, ankles crying for mercy in your heels. You grasp the bar in both hands when you get there, steady yourself, and then reach up to fix your horn headband, which had been starting to slide. You thought Taehyung was right behind you, but when you turn to look, he’s talking to a girl in a mermaid costume. 

Of course.

It’s fine.

The bartender finally catches your eye and you flash your wristband, indicating you’ll take the special. He nods, turns and picks up a bottle. A body settles beside you; you turn, expecting that Taehyung caught up, or maybe Jungkook stopped by for a beer. Instead, a guy you’ve never seen before smiles at you. 

He’s in scrubs, complete with a fake stethoscope (you think it’s fake, anyway) slung around his neck. His nametag reads Dr. Love. You laugh out loud. “That’s so corny,” you say, your filter well and gone for the night.

Luckily, he laughs too. “It’s sewed on!” he protests. “I honestly almost Sharpied it out, but I thought that would look even stupider.” 

He’s really cute, you notice. He looks… clean. Older. 

“You look…” he trails off, letting his eyes roam to your feet and back appreciatively, “phenomenal. Is there an angel wandering around here looking for you?”

You grin. “Just me.”

If Kim Taehyung can find a hookup everywhere he goes, why can’t you?

But as you lean against the bar and take a sip of your drink, your eyes scan the bar before you. In the mirrored wall behind the team of bartenders, you can see a slightly distorted view of the patrons and all of their costumes. 

Your eye catches on a detective. 

Namjoon’s eyes hold yours through the mirror, though he’s about six seats down from you. There’s a tiny smile on his lips as he sips at what looks like a beer. A smile that says maybe he should have expected this. It’s the same face he’s seen on you when Taehyung does exactly what he did tonight. 

Beside you, Dr. Love is asking you something, but you don’t hear him at all. You don’t want to be here, in this spot, anymore. You want to be six seats over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, interrupting him, plastering a sickly-sweet smile on your face. “I just found one of my friends, and I’d lost them. Enjoy your night, though!”

You slip away before he can protest more than a syllable, before you can really register the disappointment on his face and feel guilty about it. Better luck next time, Doctor, you think, as you make your way to Namjoon.

As soon as you’re close enough he extends an arm, making a space for you right next to him. His arm tucks you closer, protective. He walks with you towards the far end of the bar, where it’s marginally less crowded. Once you settle into a spot there, he doesn’t remove his arm. His fingers rest on your bare, body-glittered shoulder, moving imperceptibly now and then, as if they have their own agenda. 

“Are you having fun?” you ask him. 

“Loud bars aren’t usually my thing,” he answers. “But the costumes are great.”

There’s a lot of alcohol in your system; your filter’s taken a hit. “I like this,” you sigh happily, closing your eyes for a second. You think you sway on your feet a little. The arm around your shoulders tightens.

“Like what?” His voice has gone deep, and you shiver a little. You want to kiss him again; you’d blame the shots but you’ve been thinking about it since it happened. The drinks just make it louder.

“Your arm around me,” you tell him honestly, and he ducks his head, dimples appearing along with a blush.

He shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re drunk,” he accuses playfully.

“It’s a Halloween pub crawl,” you point out flatly. “I’m supposed to be drunk.”

“That’s a fair point,” he allows. Then, he peers at you through squinted eyes. “Are you okay, though? How drunk are you?”

You consider this. “Drunk enough that I want to kiss you again, to hell with the consequences. Not too drunk to remember that there would be consequences.”

The playfulness leaves his face; it’s too obvious not to notice. “Consequences like what?”

It’s a challenge. He knows you know it.

“Namjoon,” you say, a little pleading. Don’t. 

“Consequences like Taehyung would see?” he presses. His voice has gone hard. He’s tiptoed around this issue before, but it’s the first time either of you have ever really given it life.

You feel like you want to cry. “Are you mad? About Taehyung?”

He softens. His fingers brush your shoulder again, absently. “No,” he admits, deflated. “No, I guess I’m not. But we both know that’s what you meant.” He removes his arm from your shoulders. It hangs listlessly at his side. You feel its absence painfully, like it had kept you tethered and now you might float away.

“Hey,” you say sharply, and reach for his hand. You miss and get his wrist, but you hold it like your life depends on it. He looks at you curiously. “I like you,” you tell him firmly. “A lot. I’m trying not to mess everything up - with anyone. But he’s my family, and if I lose him…” You take a deep gulp of air, trying to will your pulse to calm, your stomach to settle, your eyes to clear of stupid tears. “I have no one left. It feels… delicate,” you finish finally. You need him to understand. You wish you were better at explaining.

Namjoon twists his wrist from your grasp gently, but takes your fingers in his. “What about me?” he asks, voice a little pouty. “We aren’t delicate?”

You smile at him, relief giving you more of a high than anything else could right now. “No,” you say, and touch his chest lightly, just over his beating heart. You brush your hand down his chest, drop it to your side, and turn to stare out at the crowd. “No,” you say again, finishing the thought. “You aren’t delicate at all. You’re steady. That’s something I really like about you.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between you, tension building like a bassline, and then he gives a tug to the hand he’s holding. You turn back to look at him.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asks plaintively. 

You open your mouth immediately to answer, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t think about him when you answer that,” he commands seriously, fingers clutching yours so tightly it almost hurts. “Don’t think about anything else but you and me. What do you want?”

What do you want?

“I…” you start feebly, unsure how you’ll even finish the sentence. “I want…”

Jimin rushes up to you, breathless, grabbing both of your arms. Namjoon drops your hand like it’s burned him. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t let on. 

“We have to go,” he pants. “Literally right now. Jungkook hit on some huge guy’s girlfriend, it’s about to be a thing. Help me find everybody?”

“Where are they?” Namjoon asks, quickly setting his beer glass on the bar and reaching for your drink too. You let him take it, eyes wide. 

“Taehyung grabbed Jungkook and ran - I think they’re outside. Have you seen Hobi? Or Jin?”

“Jin left with a girl two bars ago,” you supply, glad to be able to help. 

“I see Hobi,” Namjoon says, craning his neck to scan the crowd. “I’ll go get him. Y/N, go with Jimin, we’ll meet up outside.”

He moves without waiting for an answer, wading through the crowd in what must be Hobi’s direction. Jimin takes you by the hand - it feels much different than it had felt a minute ago with Namjoon - and leads you through the crowd hurriedly, dodging people left and right. You look over your shoulder as he pulls you, trying to find Namjoon in the sea of people, but you can’t.

Outside, Jungkook seems to be arguing heatedly with the bouncer. 

“Come on,” Taehyung is telling him, looking honestly pissed. “Let’s just go. The night’s already ruined, let’s just leave.”

You pull away from Jimin and head for Taehyung. 

“Hey,” you say softly, resting a hand on his arm. He turns on you, still furious, but you don’t waver. “Take a breath,” you tell him softly. 

His temper gets the best of him sometimes. 

He shakes his head, angry, but you see his chest move as he obeys anyway. A second later he says, more calmly, “Come on, Jungkook, we can even go somewhere else if you want. We won’t have fun here, that guy’s friends are all worked up in there.”

Jungkook relents as Hobi and Namjoon join you on the sidewalk. You slide your hand off of Taehyung’s arm, feeling weirdly guilty. 

“We rallying?” Hobi asks hopefully. “Or did we kill the buzz?”

“Rally!” Jimin cheers, going over and shaking a sullen Jungkook’s shoulder. “Come on! The night prevails!”

“I’ll go somewhere else,” Taehyung says. 

“I think I’m done,” Namjoon says, glancing at his phone for the time. “I’ll Uber from here.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung asks, looking to you. For a second, you’re not sure why. Then you realize - you either have to Uber home with Namjoon, or opt to continue on with the rest of the guys. 

The angel whispers that you haven’t hung out with Taehyung as much lately. 

The devil whispers that you and Namjoon could be all alone.

0-2 for the angels tonight.

“I’m tired,” you say. “I’ll Uber with Namjoon. You guys have fun though. JK, try to keep it in your pants.”

He flips you off wordlessly, still sulking. 

They all tell you goodbye, Taehyung giving you an extra-tight squeeze with his hug, and they walk down the block to find another bar. You turn to Namjoon, who’s tapping at his phone to order a ride. 

What do you want? His question floats in your head. 

You don’t know. You want too much, too many things, too many contradictions. 

It seems like Namjoon knows, and forgives you. He silently holds out a hand, waiting. You take it, keeping it tight in yours, not letting go even as you slide into the backseat of the Uber, as it weaves through the neighborhoods until it stops in front of your building, as it drives away, leaving you lit in red taillights before vanishing around the corner.

You’re standing on the sidewalk in front of your building’s front door, Namjoon’s hand in yours, your eyes sleepy but your pulse racing. 

He tugs you towards the stairs, and you think he’s going to lead you inside. Instead he spins you and presses you back against the stone balustrade, one hand splayed across the middle of your spine, the other cupping your jaw as he kisses you insistently.

You open immediately for him, giving a happy noise low in your throat. His spare hand, the one not holding you up off the rough stone below, grips the back of your neck for the barest of seconds before continuing down - rubbing patterns past your shoulder blade, the middle of your back, down to the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip, the meat of your ass. He’d better appreciate every curve, you squeezed into spanx for this dress. 

You grip at the lapels of his ridiculous detective coat, the earth spinning in circles around you in a blur. You’re aware of only where your hands bunch the fabric, of only where his teeth and lips and tongue clash with yours, of only the fiery path his hand traces up and down your body. You melt into his touch, wanting more, trying to pull him closer, trying to get lost in each sensation.

He breaks the kiss to nip a line of sharp nibbles down your neck. You whine, trying to give him more room. His hands come to rest on your ribcage, thumbs not quite reaching your chest, which has to be a conscious decision on his part. You can feel the cold night air on your thighs; your dress has ridden up. This snaps you out of the moment a little. 

“Namjoon,” you murmur, but it comes out a little whiny as he continues to nibble down near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “We should go inside.”

He stills, then pulls away, eyes seeking yours for any signs of discontent. “Yeah,” he says finally, one syllable all he can handle. “Come on.”

He releases your body gently, letting you find your balance on the pavement. Then, he leads you up the stairs and inside. In the threshold of the apartment, you look at him, a question on your face.

“We’re both really drunk,” he says apologetically, reaching out to brush some stray hairs away from your face. “We should probably cool down a little.”

He’s right - you know he’s right. 

“Yeah,” you say, letting the front door close behind you. “Okay.”

You press one palm against the wall for balance as you fight with your shoes, sliding them off one at a time. 

Namjoon’s in his room, but the door hangs open. You pause in the doorway of your bedroom, realizing you have a problem.

“Um, hey,” you call across the living room, and he takes a few steps to come look at you. He’s lost the hat and the long coat, and his button-down is undone, revealing a tight, white undershirt beneath. “I promise this isn’t a come-on,” you say, biting back a smile. “But I legitimately can’t reach the zipper on this. Can you-?”

“Of course,” he says, crossing the living room. You turn your back to him, presenting the zipper. He gently sweeps your hair off of your nape and places it over your shoulder. You shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms, and you hear him hum a pleased noise at your reaction. You feel him fumble with the hook-and-eye at the top, and then the zipper sounds. He pauses halfway down your back.

“That good?” he checks. “You can reach that?”

“Yes,” you say, turning back to face him. He’s still got a bit of your lipstick on his mouth, and it makes you have to fight off a smirk. Down, girl. “Goodnight, Namjoon.”

He looks at you for a long minute, expression unreadable. Finally, he says, “Goodnight,” and steps back out into the darkness of the living room. When he gets to his room this time, he closes the door behind him with a soft click. You stare at the inch of light that comes from under his door for a minute before hurrying to close your own door against the dark.

Sunday November 4th

You spend most of Saturday in bed, heart and head both pounding, which means you have a lot of homework to cram in on Sunday.

After you shower and eat, you set up in the living room to get some work done. Namjoon’s door is halfway open, and you can hear the clacking and bass thumps that mean he’s writing in there. 

Midafternoon, he appears in his doorway, stretching widely. Your eyes skim the inch of stomach exposed with the stretch and then flick back to your page before he can catch you. 

“How’s it going?” he asks, heading into the kitchen. 

You twist your mouth, eyeing your laptop and the text spread open on your lap. “I guess it’s going. Sort of.” 

“What are you working on?” he asks.

“A paper for one of the bullshit general classes,” you tell him. “Which makes it more challenging, because I deeply do not care.”

He laughs at this, then plops onto the couch a few feet away from you, a water bottle in his hands. 

“How about you?” you ask. “It sounded like it was going well.”

“It was going okay,” he agrees. “I reached the end of a scene, so now I need to like… process, look at what’s coming next. I might take a short walk and let it marinate in my brain a little.”

You smile. “How come you never work out here?” you ask him, just curious. 

He gives a quick, self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t get anything done. I’d just talk to you.”

You flush, feeling your face heat up, and bite back a smile. “What if I refused to answer?” you offer. “I could just sit here like -.” You mime zipping your lips, still fighting a smile. For good measure, you lock it up and throw the key over your shoulder.

His smile grows. “Wouldn’t help. I’d still be able to look at you.”

Your blush intensifies; you’re tempted to go stick your head in the freezer to cool your cheeks down. “I’ll turn around, then,” you tell him.

His grin turns wolfish. “I assure you, that will not solve the problem.”

Your jaw drops. “Kim Namjoon!” you scold, but you’re giggling.

“I’m just being honest!” he defends, laughing deeply, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Anyway, why? Does it bother you that I stay in there?”

“No,” you say immediately. “You can do what you want.”

He gives you a knowing look, like he’s used to your bullshit and isn’t falling for it. When did that happen? “Don’t get prickly,” he warns. 

“Don’t compare me to plants,” you grumble. 

“Do you want me to work out here instead?” he asks gently, smiling at you like you’re adorable, which just sets your prickliness off even more.

“I don’t know what I want,” you retort.

There’s a long, stretchy silence as you both consider just how true those words are, on several different levels. 

Finally, Namjoon gives you a nod in goodbye and heads back to his room. 

This time, he closes the door gently behind him.

–

Taehyung invites you out that night, to see a movie you’d been talking about. You tell him yes, as long as you can go to the earlier showing. But then you start to feel… guilty. Unsure.

You want to ask Namjoon if he cares if you hang out with Taehyung still. He’s bothered by some aspect of your friendship, obviously, but you don’t know what it is. Is it only the fact that Taehyung is a bit of a barrier for you two? Or is he threatened by the whole friendship? 

You lay sideways across your bed in the fading late afternoon light, considering this. You imagine asking Namjoon. You think his answer would probably be, do what you want, I’m not your boyfriend. 

Which, fair. That conversation needs to come first. Are you together, do either of you even really want that? 

In the end, you don’t bring it up. When it’s time, you do your best to sneak out of the apartment, hoping to avoid any conversation about it at all.

Taehyung’s car idles on the street below, and you let yourself in the passenger side and buckle up. You’re anxious, you realize, as Taehyung starts complaining about an argument he had with Jimin back at their place. You’re afraid he’ll ask something that will lead the conversation to Namjoon, afraid that he’ll catch you tripping up, clue in that there’s something worth his attention there. 

You can’t lie to him. He knows this as well as you do.

That’s why he never asks you questions he doesn’t really want the answers to.

You’re anxious for nothing, because Taehyung talks about his own shit for the whole drive to the movies, and the whole time you’re in line for snacks, and for the whole time before the movie starts as you sit in the back row of the theater munching on overpriced popcorn.

But the movie is good, and you get pulled into the fictional world, and when the lights come on you find Taehyung’s arm casually over the back of your seat. You hadn’t even noticed it was there. 

“I can’t believe Jimin wouldn’t come see this,” Taehyung scoffs as you file out of the theater and back to the lobby. “That was so good! Just because he doesn’t like that one actor?”

You’re curious if Taehyung would have still asked you to join him tonight if Jimin hadn’t turned him down first. 

But, like Taehyung, you don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared to hear the truth. So you don’t ask. What would be the point?

You wonder during the drive home if you’d feel better talking to Taehyung about what was going on with you if the guy in question wasn’t his friend.

Maybe.

But only a little better.

Monday November 5th 

Unlike the Monday before, Namjoon leaves for campus without you on Monday morning. You aren’t sure if he’s upset with you, or if he just needed to be there early. You’re too cowardly to ask. 

You need some support.

If it’s not coming from your “best friend”, you’ll have to outsource. 

You trudge through your morning class, eat as fast as you can - alone - in the cafeteria, and head to the student center. You get to the store well before your shift starts. 

You aren’t allowed to clock in yet, so you kill some time doing reading for class in the stock room. The second your shift starts, you’re at the front registers, uncomfortably close to Kris’s personal bubble.

“Yes?” they ask you archly, eyeing your proximity suspiciously. 

“I… have a confession to make,” you say, your voice as quiet as you can make it. You’re barely moving your mouth, you’re trying so hard to not actually say these words. “There… has been… perhaps… some kissing.”

Kris is stunned into silence for the first time since you’ve known them. Eyes wide and jaw slack, they stare at you. Then, they clarify loudly, “By you?”

You growl in exasperation. “Don’t be cute.”

Kris beams. “Can’t help it, it’s ingrained in my DNA.”

“I need you to be just a tiny bit serious,” you tell them, “because I am having a full-blown crisis.”

Kris sobers instantly. “Wait,” they whisper. “Crisis? Explain.”

“I kissed…” you cast your eyes around the bookstore, making sure no one’s lurking, “...the one I live with.”

Kris gasps. “You did not! You kissed him? Not the other way around?”

“I did,” you admit, feeling yourself flush again. “Twice. Well, the second time he started it, if you want to get technical.”

“I do want to get technical,” Kris whispers, voice almost reverent. “I can’t fucking believe this. So, why the crisis?”

You take a deep breath. Which factor to start with? Because you don’t want to give up on Taehyung yet? Because you don’t want to risk altering that friendship beyond repair? Because you don’t know if Namjoon will be able to handle your best friend being a guy - a guy that you’ve had feelings for?

“Because I don’t know what I want,” you say, the simplest truth. “I can’t get my head straight.”

Kris cocks their head. “If you didn’t know Taehyung - if you removed him completely from the situation -.”

“Impossible,” you protest.

They hold up a finger to silence you. “If you removed him from the situation,” they continue over you, “would you want to pursue things with Namjoon?”

Guilt hits you like an ocean wave, tugging you down, down, down. “Yes,” you whisper, because that part is just true. There’s no wiggle room, no if’s. You like him. You want to see where it will go. If there were no chance of losing Taehyung in the mix, it wouldn’t be a question at all.

“Y/N,” Kris says insistently, leaning towards you. “You are not doing anything wrong here. Taehyung is your friend. Nothing else - and that’s his fault. You aren’t, like, betraying him by catching feelings for someone else. He can’t expect you to sit around waiting for him until you die!”

“He doesn’t expect that,” you say, still in a whisper, because suddenly your throat is tight in that way it gets when you’re upset. 

“You need to talk to Taehyung,” Kris tells you gently. You groan. “And the conversation should not be you asking for permission, either!” they continue, impassioned. “You need to tell him I’m seeing someone and you need to be okay with it.”

“But they’re friends,” you protest. “It’s so messy. I’ve never had messy before.”

“You’ve never had anything before,” Kris points out.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble. “Yes I have.”

“Nothing that mattered,” they correct. “Nothing with feelings.”

You slump onto the counter. “I hate this.”

“I’m telling you,” Kris says airily. “If you don’t talk to them, this is all going to blow up in your face. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“Why do you have to be right all the time,” you complain. Kris smiles beatifically.  

When your shifts ends, your feet take you not towards home, but towards the academic building where Namjoon’s “office” is. 

You’re thinking about your conversation about Kris; you’re thinking about the idea of fairness. 

It isn’t fair, as Kris said, for Taehyung to expect you to wait indefinitely for something that was probably never coming, to hold you emotionally hostage.

It isn’t fair for you to do the same thing to Namjoon - to keep him waiting, wondering, unsure if you’ll ever be completely in it. You know that’s the reason things have kept progressing so slowly between you. You’ve felt guilty letting it get any further, felt afraid of those damn consequences. And if you had to bet, Namjoon has been trying to wait for you to sort it out, to make the choice - to choose him. 

You can hear the low tones of his voice as you approach down the quiet hallway. Only the staff are normally back here, sometimes one or two students who need to speak to a professor, so there’s not a lot of foot traffic. 

You linger in the hallway, leaning against the wall and messing around on your phone, far enough away to not be able to tell what Namjoon and the student are discussing. When the student - a young guy who looks absolutely dejected as he passes by you - exits, you slip past him and lean against the doorway. Namjoon doesn’t notice you right away. It’s clear that his hours have ended and he’s packing up his stuff. When he does notice a body in the doorway, he jumps, inhaling sharply in alarm.

He slumps against the back of the chair when he registers that it’s you.

��I’m usually the jumpy one,” you giggle. 

He gives you a sideways smile as he leaves over his bag on the floor, messing with the clasp. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else. What are you - I mean, what’s up?” 

“What am I doing here?” you tease, catching his slip. You feel a little nervous, but you’re determined to do this correctly, to treat him better. “I came to see if you wanted to walk back together.”

Namjoon goes a little still, and you hurry to add, “It’s okay if you don’t! It didn’t make my walk longer or anything to come here first. I just thought I’d check.”

He lets you babble. He does as he’s been doing since the beginning - he waits you out with a patient smile. 

“So…” you finally finish, the nerves fluttering and hopping around your stomach. “Do you? Want to walk back with me?”

He stands, lifting his bag from the ground and hoisting it onto his shoulder. “Yes,” he says simply, giving you a tiny smile. 

You follow him down the narrow hallway, back down the stairs you’d climbed a minute ago, and outside. It’s a nice day - bright and sunny, chilly but not freezing. Campus is busy, and you have to people-dodge a little as you cross the main section, the crossroads of the two main paths. 

The second you cross through the front gate and step onto the city sidewalk on the other side, Namjoon silently reaches for your hand. It’s different from last time, in the rain - not urgent, not pulling. It’s gentle and tentative and, weirdly, somehow sensual the way his thumb runs over your knuckles as he glances sideways at you to see if you’re okay with this.

You give his fingers a tiny squeeze.

You walk together in silence for a few minutes, and then Namjoon asks you quietly. “How was your day? You had class this morning? Was it for Thesis?”

You smile up at him, happy to have someone to talk to about this. Kris would listen, you’re sure, because Kris is a good human, but they would much rather talk about romance. And Taehyung… it’s November, and Taehyung has asked you about your classes or your thesis exactly zero times. 

“No, not for my thesis,” you tell him. “Just a regular lit class. It was okay! I was so tired, I could barely stay awake… I think I’m still recovering from the weekend.”

He laughs. “Can’t imagine why,” he teases, voice going a little deeper. “I’m sure you were a perfect angel all weekend long.”

The joke - that you’d dressed as a devil - is not lost on you, and you grin up at him. “Clever,” you say.

He beams back, proud. “Sometimes,” he allows.

“How about you?” you ask. “Did you have class before your TA hours?”

“Yep,” he says, nodding. “Unfortunately, it was a research-based class.”

You groan in sympathy. “First thing on a Monday morning? Fucking ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m not much of a napper, but damn, I could use a nap.”

At the apartment, you decide to watch a show you’re in the middle of, and you settle on the couch with a throw-blanket over your legs. Namjoon appears in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at you a little balefully.

“Can I… do you mind if I read out here?” he asks.

You scramble to sit up a little making room on the other side of the couch. “You don’t need to ask,” you say, a little appalled that he’d felt the need. “You live here! I never mind, I promise.”

Appeased, he makes his way over and gets comfortable on the other side of the couch. It occurs to you that this is how you and Taehyung usually spend your time - on opposite ends of the couch - but you shove the thought away. 

You glance at him now and then as your show plays, and a few times you think you catch him watching more than reading. In between episodes, you notice his book face-down on his chest, rising and falling in deep, even motions. His head leans back against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids flutter as he dreams. 

Smiling a tiny smile, you fluff your blanket to cover his legs, and press play for the next episode.

<- Prev || Next ->

Thank you so much for being here!!!!! What did we think of what I lovingly call "the Halloween Pub Crawl Fiasco"?!

Section VII will drop on Friday, February 24th! I hope to see you there!!

[foiazoli]

First Silmarillion Readthrough: Valaquenta

And we’re back with my series of sort of live-blogging my thoughts on the Silmarillion as I read it for the first time! For an intro to this thing, see here, or check out the tag “baby’s first silm read” where all of my previous posts are archived.

We’re into the Valaquenta today, and we finally get into some descriptions of the Valar individually! Jumping right on in;

Manwe: Bird and Wind boy, understands Eru the best, and so gets to be king. Fairly good reason to be made king tbh, I had previously thought he was king because he was strongest (excluding Melkor, who is evil) which imo is not a particularly good way to go about choosing kings.

Varda: Star Queen, she’s got light in her face? Given she’s the star lady I’m not sure if that’s a metaphor or not tbh. Melkor has beef with her cause she told him to fuck off, good for her. The elves love her best and named her Elbereth which the text treats like a great honor but the appendix tells me translates to “star-queen” which. Is a literal description so idk how that's supposed to show supreme veneration or whatever but sure.

Ulmo: Ocean man. First description: “He is alone.” Ominous start, he used to be besties with Manwe but prefers hanging out in the ocean to going to council meetings, big mood. When he’s incarnate, he inspires dread. These descriptions really capture the feeling of the raw power of the ocean and its confusing otherness, I dig it.

Oh the sea-longing! Ulmo directly inspires it in people via going up rivers and playing his shell-horns? Interesting LoTR tidbit tie-in. He gets more info than Manwe via the streams etc. somehow. Considering Manwe is the lord of air and all of these places have air in them I’m not sure how that works, but maybe he’s just not listening as directly? It does also say that Ulmo never abandoned elves and men, and considering this section is after Manwe’s, you can read that as an implication that Manwe did abandon them.

Aule: we get told of his strength (slightly less than Ulmo) before his domain here, “all the substances of which Arda is made,” the phrasing of which suggests a broader scope than I had previously thought. Earth, stone, metal, gems, jewels, etc. are all classic Aule, but “all substances” would include water and air, no? We’ve already got Ulmo and Manwe, so the answer is almost definitely no, but why then say all substances when you mean a much more limited subset of things? And then his domain specifically includes “the basins of the sea”???? That can refer to the rock/earth that the water is resting on, but would be very odd phrasing.

Yavanna: First thing we learn about her: Aule’s wife. Jirt please. Second thing we learn about her: Giver of Fruits, “lover of all things that grow in the Earth,” from trees to moss and “secret things in the mould.” 

Struggling with how to interpret the bit about “mould” here, are we talking about fungus, or mould as in a form used to create things? My first instinct was fungus since we’re talking about plants, but the preceding words about secrets makes me wonder if we’re actually talking about Yavanna making slight deviations in her various creations that nobody but her ever really notices and enjoying the craftsmanship involved. Now you may be wondering, “Zoli, why the fuck would this ever matter?” because my friends, mold is typically something people don’t like, want to get rid of, see as ruining their food/bathroom/kitchen cabinets etc. If Yavanna made and likes mold, then we have evidence of decomposers being intentional, thought being given to things not lasting forever, of a circle of life, decay existing outside of the marring of arda. This doesn’t really line up with how the Valar have been acting, getting mad at Melkor for ruining their things, the vibes are that they intend for their creations to be eternal and last forever, so Yavanna making mold would be extremely notable. The second interpretation loses this circle of life being an intentional thing, and brings us back to the valar intending for things to be unchanging. Lots to think about, all from a single homonym!

Anyway, sometimes she takes an incarnate form as a tree instead of a person, neat.

Namo: controls the dead, and “knows all things that shall be, save only those that lie still in the freedom of Illuvatar.” So this is why fic writers tend to make him omnipotent. Still, things that happen because of people’s free will are outside of his foresight…. Which makes me wonder what is included? I would say natural disasters, but the Valar can control those so that feels like it should fall in the category of things dictated by free will that he can’t see. Do we have a larger philosophical discussion here about how maybe certain actions and events are written into the music of arda, and men/elves/ainu can only make decisions around that? How do we figure what makes a point written into the song vs. a decision of free will? I’m struggling otherwise to see how Namo has foresight at all, if he can’t see that which is made by free will, but “knows all things that shall be” has a gravity to it that implies that there’s a lot there. Idk, foresight in Tolkein confuses me, maybe it's one of those things that he just hadn’t completely ironed out before he died. And he only pronounces dooms at Manwe’s bidding, that’s interesting. Maybe with his all-seeing-ness he struggles to tell what’s important? Maybe he doesn’t care? Lots to dig into here.

Vaire: gets a singular fucking sentence at the end of Namo’s paragraph, Jirt your sexism is so blatant here. “[W]eaves all things…into her storied webs…” describing her works as webs is very interesting. Literally every fan-interpretation I’ve ever seen has her works in Mandos being tapestries, so I suspect that’s mentioned elsewhere, but web implies something more organic to me. I’m picturing Vaire as a spider now, which isn’t particularly relevant(until we get to Ungoliant), but interesting. A web also implies a little bit of messiness that other products of fabric arts don’t typically have. I tend to think of the Valar’s works as complete, perfect, exactly as intended, etc. but a web… a spider made that to serve a purpose, and it can still serve that purpose even with mistakes in it. But what exactly is the purpose of Vaire’s works? To provide the dead in mandos with information about events? To simply record the history of Ea? For whom? To what end? Her works reside in mandos, but Namo is said to have perfect memory, what need does he have for recordings of events? So much to dig into here, partly because Jirt gave us so little to work with.

Irmo: “master of visions and dreams.” He’s got gardens, and then his two sentences are up and it’s on to his wife lmao. It seems like the more abstract the domain of the Vala, the less we get about them. Irmo and Namo are both Feanturi, and they both deal with foresight, and that’s all the information we get about the matter! Why! Tell me how it works dammit! Visions and dreams being linked both makes sense on the surface, and also implies some odd things when you think about it. Dreams are created by your subconscious (we think, dream science is not great atm and was undoubtedly worse in Tolkein’s time), so does Irmo being the patron of both mean that visions have the same source? Visions about things unrelated to you that are also true seem like they would have to have an exterior source right? Is Irmo the source? Is he a conduit for visions and passing them to people from Eru? Again, so many questions, so few answers.

Este: a healer, “and rest is her gift”. An interesting view of healing, although it tracks with what I would expect of Tolkein’s views at the time of writing. When I think healing, I think doctors, surgeries, physical therapy, therapists, essentially people actively doing things, rather than like, sending someone to the seaside for their health (that’s a bit of an older time period than Tolkein, true, but the point stands) which seems to be the direction Este goes in. We also learn in her paragraph that the other Valar come to Lorien to “find repose and easing of the burden of Arda” so we know that the Valar can feel tired, which I find interesting to note.

Nienna: “...her song turned to lamentation long before its [the music of Arda] end, and the sounds of mourning was woven into the themes of the World before it began.”  Okay so Nienna is metal as fuck actually? Good to know. And she spends her time not among happy people in Valimar, but in Mandos consoling the dead and “turns sorrow to wisdom”. I’ve got a new favorite Vala everyone, she’s cool as hell.

Tulkas: full name Tulkas Astaldo, that doesn’t flow as nicely as the other Valar with surnames tbh. In meaning it’s perfectly fitting, ‘the valiant’ is here to kick ass, wrestle, not go to council meetings, and be friendly. yeah sure that tracks. 

Nessa: First characteristic: wife of Tulkas. Second characteristic: sister of Orome (who hasn’t even gotten an intro yet?? Every other time someone is introduced as a spouse or sibling the other person has already been introduced, but nooooooo Nessa is more importantly defined as the sister of someone we don’t even know than as her own actual person. Fuck you Jirt.) As far as her actual personality, she’s fast, likes deer, and likes dancing. So what is she the Vala of then? Coordinated feet? What does she do? Come on Jirt.

Orome: In love with middle-earth, pissed as hell at Melkor for ruining it. Loves trees as well as hounds and horses, and the Sindar call him Tauron!?!?! Hello Tolkein linguists, politely banging down your doors to get the etymology for Tauron and Sauron??? The index/appendix thingy says Sauron means “the abhorred” Whereas Tauron is “forester” or “lord of the forests”. Pardon, what? We got a single letter difference here. Wtf. Anyway, his horse and horn are important enough to be named and given a full sentence or three of description for some reason.

Vana: “the ever-young,” flowers sprout for her and birds sing for her. Married to Orome, younger sister of Yavanna, and that’s all the characterisation she gets!! Another female Vala so un-fleshed out I’m not even clear what her domain is, flowers are Yavanna’s territory and birds are Manwe’s, so… youth? Whatever in the hell that means. How does one govern youth? And not in a “how do you get the kids to do what you want" way but in the way that the Valar are the Powers of the World and have Government in their DomainsTM way. 

And then we get the excuse that this is what the Eldar know about the Valar, and there’s untold other things to know about them etc etc. So we could conclude that Vana and Nessa and recluses who the Eldar never see and therefore know nothing about, EXCEPT, Nienna is explicitly said to not spend time with living Eldar and we know a good bit about her, so find another excuse for your sexism and not fleshing out your female characters Jirt. 

8/14 are considered Aratar, the “high ones” and are more powerful than the other 6. Interesting that Tulkas is not included in this but Orome is when in Orome’s overview it specifically said Orome was “less strong than Tulkas”. I guess the elves think Tulkas is stronger, and they’re wrong? I wonder if that perception came due to Tulkas’s actions in fighting Melkor or something else.

The first paragraph on maiar is chock-full of interesting tidbits

The elves don’t know how many there are

Most don’t have names in “the tongues of the children of Illuvatar”

Maiar are in middle earth, but choose to not make themselves visible to elves and men

We get introduced to some familiar names; Ilmare, Eonwe, Osse, Uinen. Uinen was apparently as important to the Numenoreans as the Valar, that’s cool. Osse and Uinen contributed to Melkor’s hate of the sea, as Melkor tried and temporarily succeeded getting Osse on his side to deal with the ocean for him, but Uinen dragged him back into serving Ulmo. Little bits about Melian and Olorin here too.

The section on Melkor starts intelligibly enough, but this line on his motives is confusing to me: “He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness.” I’m following up through the part about burning, but how do you get from burning to darkness? The light/dark stuff is largely metaphorical, but the only way I can parse this is to make it about Melkor burning out his (insert whatever here) and being left in the dark, but I’m a little lost on what he’s supposed to be burning here. His remaining goodness and virtue maybe? We’ve already covered that he was evil because he wanted dominion over arda and was wreaking the other Valar’s shit to do it. What more do you need to justify calling him evil?

Then we go on to talk about how he always had maiar servants, and also accumulated more in various times. Some of these maiar servants were balrogs, Sauron was there and particularly strong/evil, and then the Valaquenta just ends!

I have so many questions!! I want to know so much more about how the Valar function, not just what their domains are (and in some cases, clarification on what their domains actually are as well). If any of you are really into any specific Valar and have any info to share, please do! Nienna is gonna start off my favorite character list for the Silmarillion, she just seems super cool.

[leecherish]

1, 2, 3, 6, 9, 10, 12 15, 17, 20 from the deep writer asks <3

1. what's the fic youre most proud of?

hmm, right now? might be "the price of growth", it went through a lot of iterations, and i'm really satisfied with the end result! the entire fugo zine was such a nice and pleasant experience, i think i gained a lot from it <3

2. what's a fic that took you to an emotional/dark/hard place?

"a brand new doomsday" is a fairly old fic by now, but it was a very mentally exhausting process to write that one. i needed to dissect my own relationship with grief pretty thoroughly, which is why it remains probably my rawest fic (even though i'm not that proud of it anymore). more recently probably "if not in this life then maybe in the next", although i would rather phrase it as me writing it as a result of being in a dark place emotionally. same with "the eyes deceive". there's a lot of unspoken parts of myself in those ones haha.

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

oh, all of them! but if i had to pick just one, it would probably be "the eyes deceive". like i just mentioned, i wrote that after the hardest winter of my life, and it can be seen on a lot of its aspects. ofc it's still a fanfiction, not a vent post, but let's just say bruno's "i want to escape from this body... or at least make it my own" came from. a Place

6. what's the hardest part of the writing process for you?

editing hell. i've become pretty proficient at banging out loose first, second and third drafts, but the process of making it consistent and flow well is always a lot of painful and hard work >_< i need to somehow improve myself when it comes to this, because right now, the aspect of having to edit anything over 10k just feels... literally impossible haha.

9. what's your writing process like?

that’s a difficult question to answer. it really depends on various things, such as my mental state, how much time i have, etc... but if i had to simplify and generalize it as much as possible:

get the idea for a fic

write a loose draft of what i want it to contain, maybe some scene fragments or pieces of dialogue that appeared in my head

sleep on it, sit down to refine it, continously adding new details. minimizing the research at this stage, as well as looking for the perfect synonyms. that can come at the editing phase

connect the standalone scenes one way or another. finish draft,

enter editing hell. put on a three-hour piano/post-rock/lofi hip-hop/whatever helps me focus in that moment. suffer. take breaks.

once finished, bask in the euphoria then sleep on it.

proofread it one last time then if i decide to post it, forward it to my beta and then post it to ao3. experience the greatest high of life.

idk if this is useful for anyone sgdshdg if you have any specific questions about my writing process then idk. shoot

10. how has writing positively impacted your mental health or overall mood?

oh, it’s a great outlet for various things! it helps me to express things i struggled expressing, gives me a place to put the emotions that are difficult to deal with. in other words, it’s cathartic, even if i don’t end up posting it. and most of all, it’s connecting with people. knowing that people read my fics and get something out of it, be that a smile or perhaps even a tear, it’s unimaginable and insanely flattering, not to mention getting comments or fanart! it really made me feel like i left some sort of mark on the fandom and in this world, as sappy as it sounds.

12. What’s your perfect environment to create/write?

hmm i can write basically anywhere tbh. but i do really like having a hot drink nearby at all times!

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time?

hard to say! but i think my unsage of the language improves with every piece i write. i think i particularly improved a lot when it comes to descriptive text and metaphors, i used to be shy with those. and i think i’m better with pacing lately too, although that part is always difficult to estimate!

17. What’s the best engagement/interaction/feedback you’ve received from someone who’s read your work?

WHEW how could i mention just one. receiving fanart blows my mind every time, it’s like, you mean the words i wrote, projected an image into your head??? AND you drew it?? it’s bonkers!! same with people writing comments, i don’t get a lot of them (i doubt any writer my scale does), but i save all of them and occasionally reread them when i need a little pick-me-up <3 but the most memorable interactions i possibly had is when one time i would mention a fic of mine on twitter, and people would go “YOU WROTE THAT??”. it really made me feel like i have reached the people i wanted to reach, and that is such a precious feeling!

20. What’s the greatest gift you’ve gotten from your writing?

believe it or not, i can actually feel my writing abilities paying off whenever i’m writing assignments for school LOL. i just do the same thing as i would do with a fic, first i bang out the draft, and then continously refine it... i’m grateful for all the experience i accumulated thanks to writing, it really helps me out in these cases! but most of all, like i mentioned before, it’s the connection that i establish with it, with my friends and everyone who reads my fics. it’s a teeny-tiny community of its own! posting my fics online and having people read them makes me feel heard and understood, and most of all, accepted. sappy again i know, but i wasn’t always given these things during some of my life stages! but it was good to learn that those never last, and ultimately, all of us deserve to make their voice heard etc. cheese cheese cheese

[spacedikut]

risks ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary:  “Hi! Do you take requests?? If you do, can I please request a Spencer x Reader (Including the BAU), where they are dating and the reader is a year or so younger than spencer, but just as smart and very loved by the team, and one day she has to save the team from an unsub and gets really hurt and after everyone is safe they are all really worried about her?? Idk if that made sense at all. Love you work!” 2898 words

a/n: do i know anything about bombs or surgery or post-op procedures? No. did i still have a lot of fun writing this? Yes . i hope you like it! this specific request has been sent to multiple fic writers which i didn’t know until i’d already written and posted BUT the good thing is every writer is different so every request will be approached differently

masterlist

“No.”

“Hotch-“

“I said, no.”

“My girlfriend is stuck in there with a psychopath, Hotch! I can’t leave her in there!”

“I know, Reid. But I need you out here, alive, rather in there, dead.”

Spencer glares, “She could be dead in there for all we know.”

Emily winces from behind Spencer. Hotch stands, hands on hips, trying to think logically despite the situation, “We can’t afford to think like that.”

“He has a bomb! He-he-“

“Reid.” Hotch says, tone authoritive to show he’s playing unit chief and not old friend Hotch, “I need your head in this. We need to profile him to figure out the best way to negotiate – we can’t do that if you keep threatening to act irrationally.”

Spencer scoffs. Derek steps forward and pulls Spencer aside to talk him down from the metaphorical ledge he’s standing on. He’s one second away from running right into that abandoned building that everyone had just evacuated, bar you, and straight into the arms of the man who now has you hostage with a bomb ready to be detonated whenever he pleases.

Hotch already tried calling and negotiating. The man scoffed, voice gruff, and rumbled, “Either I get what I want, or both me and the pretty agent are getting blown to bits.”

In hindsight, they should’ve been more prepared.

Storming the abandoned warehouse, the team expected to find the remnants of a crime scene – they profiled the warehouse was the base of operations for the unsub, a place for him to store all his supplies, and because it had made the news that the FBI were on the case, they assumed he would’ve started running the second he felt them closing in.

He didn’t. He’s ready to go down with his ship, and you’re the unfortunate one that found him. And his homemade bomb.

Derek found the bomb-making equipment. He shouted in his comm for everyone to evacuate, and Spencer realised the second he stepped outside that you were not there. And you hadn’t responded to any calls after stepping into the building.

All it took was one call from the too proud unsub for them to realise your life is in the balance and for Reid to stop thinking rationally.

Spencer should’ve gone with you. He knows you can handle yourself, you’ve saved his ass enough times, but if he’d just.. followed you instead of JJ. Maybe you’d both be in there, or, even better, out here. Alive. Safe. No hostage situation in sight.

Suddenly, several shots ring out.

The team ducks behind their SUVs, Hotch having to drag Spencer down when he doesn’t react, just in case he decides to run straight in.

“It wasn’t the bomb!” Derek calls across, their heads beginning to pop up from behind the vehicles.

Spencer breaks free from Hotch’s grip and sprints into the warehouse. Bomb be damned, there were exactly six shots fired – the exact amount you have in your revolver.

Also the exact amount he has in his revolver.

“Go! Go!” Hotch shouts. The team all charge after Spencer, separating and flowing through the hallways and doorways of the warehouse – there’s this sense of dread running through all of them. There’s something so unique to the panic you feel when someone so close to you, someone so dear, is the one in danger.

There’s a screech from the back of the warehouse. It’s filled with agony, anguish and unadulterated pain – loud enough to reach every nook and cranny of the premises.

“I need a medic!”

Spencer’s throat burns from the tormented yell that leaped from his throat when he found you. There’s so much blood, and it takes Spencer longer than it should to find where your wounds are: two shots to the stomach, one too close to your lungs for comfort.

Although, none of this is comforting. Your eyes are closed.

The unsub is dead. The team looks around the room and easily pieces everything together: you both shot at the same time. You were able to give fatal hits and Spencer refuses to let the hits you got become deadly too.

They spare little to no attention to the bomb – the bomb squad stampede in and analyse it. Their focus is you, if you’re breathing and if the blood has stopped and how weak your pulse is.

It’s too weak. Spencer chokes on a sob above your body.

“Spence, you gotta move,” Derek’s voice is gentle despite the chaos around them, two medics taking Spencer’s place when Derek pulls him away.

“She-she- I can’t-“

“I know, kid, I know. We have to let them take care of her.”

The team is frozen around you as a stretcher is brought it. You’re being given oxygen, the medics are frantically shouting all kinds of things that Spencer doesn’t register – he follows behind you, shoulders slumped and cheeks wet, scanning you from head to toe constantly to see some display of life within you.

Hotch tells him to ride with you to the hospital. He doesn’t bother sparing the team a glance – he needs to keep his eyes on you because if he doesn’t he’s terrified you’ll disappear and he’ll never see you again and never hear your voice and never get to hear you say “I love you” ever again.

He’s terrified.

+++

You’ve been in surgery for hours.

Spencer’s still covered in your blood. He sits next to Derek, who just force-fed him half a granola bar, leg bouncing while he bites his nails.

The whole team is waiting impatiently. Hotch hasn’t sat down once, JJ has been on the phone to Will and Henry several times so she doesn’t go crazy, and everyone has been taking laps around the hospital to burn off some… fear? Apprehension? Just to do something?

Penelope broke several driving laws to get here. She came in, makeup smeared all over her face and hiccupping as Derek caught her when she approached them and collapsed. It took her an hour and a half to calm down.

“Reid.”

Spencer doesn’t move.

“Reid, kid.”

Derek nudges him. He looks up, lips chapped and bitten raw, and looks at Rossi who holds his to-go bag.

“You should change.” Rossi says, a warm smile on his face as he speaks quietly.

Spencer stares at the bag, then his shirt and sweater vest. He nearly vomits – your blood is everywhere. It’s dried now, a testament to how long you’ve been on that table, and he feels himself getting choked up all over again. He wishes he could help you. He wishes this wasn’t happening.

The guilt sinks in.

If he’d stayed with you. If he’d followed you. If he’d found you a little earlier. If they’d realised who the unsub was quicker. If they’d come to the warehouse more prepared.

Maybe you’d be here. Maybe it would be him on the operating table. God, he wishes it was him.

He needs you alive. He needs you.

“C’mon, Spence,” JJ whispers. She can’t speak any louder or she’ll cry. She takes the bag from Rossi, gingerly takes Spencer’s hand and pulls him towards the toilet just a little way away.

She opens the door and holds it open for him, gesturing with her head for him to go in.

“It’ll take you five minutes. I’ll be right here.”

He sniffles and nods, a tear sliding down his cheek, and heads in.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when they hear the lock of the door.

Spencer hasn’t moved since he got to the hospital and you were hurried away straight into surgery. Your eyes opened in the ambulance and Spencer could only cry harder – you used every last bit of strength you had to grip Spencer’s hand and passed out again.

He hasn’t spoken, either. No one can blame him. But changing clothes, cleaning your blood from his hands and forearms and it’s somehow on his neck, that’s progress. It’s about as good as they’ll get until there’s an update on you.

Spencer slumps back out of the toilet, walking clumsily towards his friends with his head facing the floor. The room is too bright, his eyes are beginning to sting from crying, and his heart is hurting because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. All of it is giving him a headache.

You know how to help him with his headaches. You always know how to help him. You.

There’s movement from the large doors next to Spencer. A doctor comes out, looking frazzled and still in scrubs, and says, “Y/N Y/L/N?”

They all stare.

“She’s stable.”

Penelope lets out a verbal gasp and a “Thank God,”, both Emily and JJ’s heads fall in their hands in disbelief and even Hotch’s head falls back as he lets out a sigh of relief.

Derek’s hand grips Spencer’s shoulder. He’s too shocked to say anything.

“Can we see her?” Derek asks. He knows Spencer will want to see her the second he can, and he’ll spend every moment with her until she’s fully healed.

The doctor gives a pitiful grimace, “Only one at a time, unfortunately. These next twenty-four hours are vital and we don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“I have to see her.” Comes Spencer’s voice, weak and fragile as he still chews his thumb.

Hotch nods, “Of course. Spencer, you stay with her and we’ll come back later.”

He then nods towards the rest of the team and they all filter out slowly, all acknowledging Spencer in one way or another – Penelope kisses his head, Derek and Rossi give his shoulder a squeeze, JJ, Emily and Hotch tell him to text them if he needs anything.

He knows they don’t want to leave, but Spencer would fight every single one of them if any even tried to see you before he could. He needs to see you for himself. Needs to see you breathe.

“Follow me, sir,” The doctor says, “She might look a little off-putting – she had more injuries than we thought. But she’s steady and strong, so we’re confident she’ll make it through.”

She gestures towards your room. Spencer nods and gives a tight lipped smile, mumbling, “Thank you.”

When the door’s pushed open, Spencer chokes on a cry.

He remembers the only time he was shot: that one time in the leg. It wasn’t much. It was a shock to the system, but ultimately he was fine. He’s come to love the scar thanks to you - you’ve placed plenty of kisses on it for him to see it and instantly think of you and the love you bring.

Which is exactly why he can’t lose you. He loves you too much and he knows you love him and he’s never been so sure of anything or anyone in his life until you and he swears to God if you’re taken from him-

He takes a deep breath, pulling the chair towards your bed as close as possible as he moves to interlock his fingers with yours and grip tightly.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

+++

Penelope is the first to visit. She waddles in, flowers, chocolates, a card, a cuddly bear and some food for the good doctor in her arms. When she walks in she realises Spencer is knocked out in the chair next to you. She’s not surprised; she didn’t want to leave you, but Spencer needed to be with you.

She pokes him gently. And again, when he doesn’t respond.

He jumps awake, immediately going to rub his neck that is stiff after spending hours at an awkward angle.

“Morning, handsome,” Penelope smiles. She hands him the food she brought and, after sparing a glance to your sleeping form, he takes the bag and digs in.

“Thank you,” He says quietly. Penelope looks at you.

“How is she?”

“Not bad. She hasn’t gotten worse, and that’s all I can ask for.”

Penelope leans over and presses a kiss to your head, “She’s a boss. She’ll be up and at it before you know it.”

Spencer pauses in his eating and watches you, feeling nothing but love and pride, and his lower lip began to quiver. He clears his throat and looks away.

His eyes have been rubbed raw from Spencer trying to stop his tears and from trying to stay awake all night, just in case you woke up. He doesn’t remember when he fell asleep.

Derek appears then.

“Hey, you two,” He’s also carrying flowers and a cuddly bear (the team knows you so well – the way to your heart is stereotypical gifts). He gives Penelope a side hug and shoots Spencer a nod, “How you feeling, pretty boy?”

He rubs his eyes, “I’m awesome.”

Derek chuckles, “Uhuh.”

He looks at you, then, and his smile becomes tighter. Penelope grips his arm and tugs him towards her, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“You two look cosy.”

All attention is snapped to you: half lidded, voice coarse, lips dry. Spencer drops the bag of food.

“Hi, pretty,” He grins, eyes filling with tears again when he stands and leans towards you on your bed. God, what do you do to him?

His forehead rests against yours and you close your eyes in comfort. His smell fills you, all familiar and oh so welcome after whatever the hell you went through. Your whole body aches, breathing feels strange and almost unknown, and you’re acutely aware of the tubes in your nose.

Spencer pulls back suddenly, eyes jerking open, and grabs some water for you, “Here, drink.”

You do as he says, gulping it down and gulping down a second and third cup.

“I’ll get the nurse,” Penelope says, having to tear her eyes away from you because you’re awake and it fills her with so much happiness to see you okay.

After a quick visit from the nurse, you’re told you have to stay for a further few days and you pout at the thought. No one likes hospitals. No one likes being stuck in a hospital.

The whole team arrives and Derek and Penelope offer to go meet them to catch them up on everything before they come in. Everyone knows it’s really so you and Spencer have a second alone.

The second the door closes, Spencer kisses you. It’s eager and full of angst. You wish you could wrap your arms around him and pull him in tight, but everything hurts. So that’ll have to wait.

“You had me so worried,” Spencer gasps, forehead against yours and hands cupping your face, “So, so worried.”

“My apologies,” You giggle. It hurts to do it, but Spencer makes you so happy, even in a dreary hospital. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He smiles. He feels like all the tension has evaporated from his body - you’re here, you’re okay, you’re awake, you’re as perfect as ever. “You had everyone scared.”

“I have fans?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at you. You just woke up from being shot and going through a long surgery, and you’re joking around?

He loves you so much.

Your arm slowly moves up to loosely hold his wrist. Your eyes look glassy, suddenly.

“I love you, Spence.” You breathe, “My first thought when I got shot was I’d never be able to say that to you again. I love you so, so much.”

Spencer grips your face tighter and pulls your lips back to his. There’s so much passion in the kiss; he wants to tell you he loves you every second of every day for the rest of his life, and he’s trying to show that.

Now you’re here, he can do that. Thank God he can do that.

“I love you too. So much. I’ve never been as scared as I was when I found you, I-“ He gets choked up again, “If you ever do something like that again, we will have issues I swear to God Y/N-“

“Kiss me again you idiot,” You say, all smiles.

When the whole team roll in, Spencer is perched on the very edge of your bed, hand in yours, thumb rubbing back and forth. They all smile at you, holding various gifts that get you very excited, and tell you how glad they are you’re okay.

Derek’s brows furrow, pointing at your heart monitor, “Now what happened while we were gone, cuties?”

Everyone looks towards the monitor, where your heartbeat is still high from kissing and being close to Spencer after being scared you’d never be able to again.

You and Spencer blush, “I’m just very happy to see my team.” You say, trying to suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek smirks at you both, “Just couldn’t keep your hands off eachother, huh?”

Spencer sputters, “It would be so inappropriate to do anything like that in a hospital, Morgan! Actually, hospitals…”

As Spencer rambles on, you scan the room and find yourself tearing up. You feel so cared for and loved, surrounded by the people you consider family and holding the hand of the love of your life. You’re so lucky, you realise, despite the situation that led to this, to have such amazing people so close.

You move and lean your head against Spencer’s shoulder and, mid-sentence, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

It’s an honour to be so loved by such lovely people.

[fangirlandiknowit101]

30 BTS writer asks: 1, 12 + 18? ❤️🌻

Almost forgot to add - thanks for asking<33333

1. What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Unsurprisingly, it was for Naruto and Sasuke/Naruto. You can still read it in all its glory, even on ao3 lmao. Might be hard to believe but that fic (Unsuspicious title, don't ask why it's called that I have no explanations) is really the absolute first thing I wrote that counts as a fanfic. I didn't write about other people's fictional characters before that. I didn't really write much outside of school at all, not sure how I lived my life tbh...

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

I answered earlier that I want to write a horse rider au at some point, but what I'd also like is to write a real enemies to lovers fic. Like, actual enemies. But it might be too angsty, so who knows if I'll ever make it lol.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Aah you guys really want that commentary don't you... maybe one day I'll release a version of tswm with director's commentary for the whole thing hahahahaha (jk I'd never have time to do that)

But alright, I'm gonna take the opportunity to comment on another scene in tswm that I definitely this deserves it, it's the reunion scene between Naruto and Sasuke in chapter 49! I hesitated to pick this one bc it's so long and emotional, and also I don't want to add any accidental spoilers... but oh well. Here we go!

[My comments will be in bold text, this starts almost at the beginning of the chapter, right when Sasuke meets Naruto in Kaguya's place.]

He reached out with a hand, the bright light reflecting in the half-moon in his palm. It glowed, and just like that, his hand wrapped around another’s.

Naruto.

He sucked in a breath, lungs desperate for air. Naruto stood before him, chest heaving, hand clutching Sasuke’s so hard he feared it might break.

Their shared beat rang loud in his ears, eyes wide as they drank each other in. The darkness had given way to white, fuzzy light, their bodies floating, suspended in air.

“Sasuke,” Naruto whispered, as if afraid to drown out the sound of their connection.

Honestly, I tried my best to make it as painful as possible. That's all I wanted lol. At first I had no idea how to write this scene, but then I just got a feeling and tried to write it in words.

There was no hiding in this place. It was similar to that strange place that seemed to exist between them when they fought, blows connecting, hearts open. Between one breath and the next, it would be gone, their shared hearts lingering long after.

Nothing more poetic than that special place Kishimoto created for them when they exchange blows... extremely gay.

Here, there was only the two of them, the heat of their bodies as Naruto reached for his face.

“Am I dreaming?” Naruto wondered, fingers stroking along Sasuke’s cheekbone. “You look so real…”

They sank down, slowly, until their feet touched solid white. He shivered, the tips of Naruto’s fingers touching his chin, his mouth.

“It could be a dream,” Sasuke said quietly, exhaling as Naruto came closer.

“I can feel your heart,” Naruto murmured, his forehead coming to rest against Sasuke’s temple. “I missed you so much.”

Images flashed before Sasuke’s eyes, impressions of the world from Naruto’s perspective. Menma as the kyuubi. Kakashi, entering through a window. Iruka, hand gentle as he reached over the table.

Sakura, pain drawing her face tight. A mountain of paperwork. Snippets of conversation. The overwhelming pain of loneliness, like walls closing in on him.

He puzzled together enough pieces to make sense of the days since they separated.

Must be convenient to just read each other's minds... I should stop making fun of my own writing. But anyway, I felt very clever when I realized I could skip explanations between them and just let them see each other's memories of the past few days. I think it fits that they could see it through the other person's eyes, all the emotions too. Especially how painful it was for Naruto and how much he was trying to keep it together in front of his friends, and still failing. It gives Sasuke a better understanding of what would have happened if he'd decided to leave after one year passed (and I'm still bitter at Kishimoto for doing that in canon.)

“Naruto,” he sighed, lifting a hand to sift through soft strands of hair, closing his eyes as Naruto pressed into him.

Hearts bared, he felt Naruto’s desperate longing as his own. It mirrored his own pain, the aching emptiness filling his chest. Little by little, the cold was pushed away by warmth, Naruto’s mouth touching his cheek, his jaw, his throat. It burned against his skin, each point of contact erupting into tendrils of heat that seeped into his body.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Naruto confessed, lips shaping the words onto Sasuke’s throat. “I couldn’t go back to you, I-“

Sasuke turned his head, capturing his mouth. The words were lost between their lips, swallowed by the sudden surge of need. Naruto’s arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him in place. A fever caught him, leaving him dizzy and faint. He felt emotions between them like a physical caress, like they swirled in and out of their bodies, like a strong wind playing with fallen leaves.

Pain. Longing. Fear.

Happiness. Comfort. Love.

Naruto kissed him like he’d die if they stopped. He might, for all Sasuke knew.

Don't mind me, I was just crying buckets as I wrote this.

Their hands were still clasped tight, their palms pressed together, keeping their marks in contact. Teeth dug into his lower lip, but he could barely feel the pain over the onslaught of emotion. It was overwhelming, to share Naruto’s heart so fully. Was this how Naruto had felt, when Sasuke had touched him by accident? When Sasuke had shared too much of himself, and Naruto had been unable to give him the same in return.

I think it actually wasn't as overwhelming for Naruto when Sasuke accidentally touched him. This place that Kaguya controls just amplifies things a lot.

No such restraints now.

Their souls were on fire, like chakra flames billowing around their bodies. It was too much to make sense of, and yet it felt as if they’d always been this close, always been one and the same. Naruto fit inside him like a key, like Sasuke was now unlocked, his body no longer keeping him prisoner.

“Naruto,” he breathed out, over and over again, every nerve ending alight as they held each other.

I was listening to this song called Heat Up by Giant Rooks as I wrote this (that's where the chapter title comes from and honestly the lyrics are just *chef's kiss*) and I really tried to use as much metaphor as I could, idk if that makes it sound boring haha but for once I was definitely thinking very hard about every single sentence. And I tried to make it as "alive" as I could, so you'd feel it rather than have it described to you.

An eternity later they calmed down, mouths sliding lazily over each other, heartbeats finally finding their shared rhythm. Their foreheads pressed together, Sasuke’s eyes fluttering open to meet deep blue, their usual strength faded into self-doubt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, running his fingers through Naruto’s hair, thumb tracing the shell of his ear. “Don’t hide from me, not here.”

Aww look at Sasuke, so in tune with his emotions. He really is an all or nothing kind of guy. If they already share everything in this place, there's no point in having secrets. Besides, his worst fear is Naruto losing confidence because of something he said or did.

Naruto let out a sharp breath, lifting their clasped hands between their chests.

“I missed you,” he said again, eyes closing in pain. “I’m so happy you’ve been okay.”

So much pain. Sasuke struggled to make sense of it, so much of it reflected inwards, towards Naruto himself. He could understand the longing, the absence of him like a gaping hole. It mirrored his own pain, pain he’d locked inside his heart within a steel cage. It flowed freely now, wrapping around Naruto’s in recognition.

But the rest… Naruto let out a sob, and yet he was smiling. Sasuke pressed another kiss to his lips, unsure of what to say.

I know Naruto did that whole waterfall thing where he embraced his evil side and totally let go of all his negative energy... But you can't tell me he's 100% okay and only happy and never feels pain. When will Konoha start offering therapy... Jokes aside, at this moment in time Naruto is so conflicted. The whole time he's been worried about Sasuke leaving him, and telling himself that Sasuke would be happier in the other dimension, and that logically he should let Sasuke stay, but he absolutely doesn't want Sasuke to leave him. It's the most selfish thing he's ever felt, I think, this need to have Sasuke by his side. And he's got so much on his shoulders, just piling up, everyone relying on him to somehow magically fix the world. And he's afraid of failing, of acknowledging to himself that there are parts of him that aren't ready to shoulder this burden, that he's still hurting, that there's still a part of him that could have become like Menma. He's supposed to be completely selfless but he isn't, and he thinks of that as a character flaw, a personal failure. And that's kind of where his resolution to not become hokage comes from. Because he doesn't think he can remove this selfish parts of him, and so maybe he should embrace them instead.

“Sasuke, it’s so strange…” Naruto started, his words slow, carefully chosen. “You understand Charasuke so well, but Menma… I can’t accept him. And now I realize, he shows the ugliest parts of me. The parts that I’m afraid of.”

They both leaned back a little, to see each other’s faces. Light played over Naruto’s features, blurring him at the edges. Sasuke cupped his cheek, tilting his chin up so that their eyes met. Now that he knew what to look for, he could feel Naruto’s fear.

“It’s always there,” Naruto confessed, raw honesty in his voice. “The fear of losing you. The fear of not being strong enough. The fear of becoming hokage, and failing.”

Sasuke opened his mouth to say something, to reassure him, but Naruto shook his head quickly.

Sasuke, on the other hand, he never held himself up to be a good person. He's well aware that he has weaknesses, that he's putting up walls so he won't have to deal with emotions and stuff. But he does believe (a bit blindly) in Naruto, I think. Even though he thinks Naruto won't succeed, it's not because of anything that Naruto does or fails to do. He thinks it's because the world won't follow him, that Konoha isn't capable of change. But he never thought that Naruto would actually give up or have these kinds of doubts.

“Let me say this. I didn’t understand it at first. Menma always rubbed me the wrong way. I know you don’t like him either, but for me… It’s like looking at myself and knowing I gave up.”

He drew in a deep breath, his fingers trembling around Sasuke’s.

“And now, here, I can’t avoid that fear. Because all of it… all of it is for you, Sasuke.” He swallowed, and through the fear, Sasuke saw his determination. “You asked me, if there’s any room in my head for anyone but you. And there isn’t.”

Naruto's brain is 99% Sasuke and 1% ramen, that's just fact. That aside, this might be one of my favorite quotes in the fic.

Frowning, Sasuke bit the inside of his cheek to stay silent. Naruto was working up to something, he could tell, and part of him couldn’t help but think it would end the two of them.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Naruto said, drawing the pad of his thumb over Sasuke’s eyebrow, the touch equal parts reassuring and painful. “I can hear your thoughts, you know. Do you really believe that I would choose anything else over you?”

A lie caught on Sasuke’s tongue. He didn’t want to believe it, but what place did he have by Naruto’s side? How could he be all that Naruto wanted him, needed him, to be? How could he be someone that others would accept walking by his side?

Oh, Sasuke. Always so ready for Naruto to cast him aside. He doesn't want to stand in the way of Naruto's dreams *wipes tear*

“I don’t believe that you would want to,” he replied, eventually. “But maybe you should.”

They stood for a long time, looking at each other. Sasuke felt torn in two directions. He wanted to tell Naruto to never leave him. He wanted to say that he’d accept anything. That he’d remove himself from Naruto’s presence to make the choice for him. That he couldn’t, wouldn’t, stand between Naruto and his dreams.

That he’d known, all along, that the other dimension was only a dream. An impossibility. That he accepted this, and wouldn’t resent Naruto for choosing the village over him.

I think the difference between Naruto and Sasuke here, is that even though they both think the other should maybe leave them for better things, Naruto is much less ready to actually give Sasuke up. Sasuke is more of the martyr type lol.

“You deserve me,” Naruto said, voice dark with conviction. “Don’t you dare think otherwise. Don’t you understand? If you saw what I’ve been doing the past days…”

Naruto lifted their joined hands higher, shifted his grip until he held Sasuke’s palm open in front of himself.

“I thought only of you. I cared only about you. What good is the village to me, if you’re not there?”

His heart felt too heavy in his chest. Naruto’s words rang through his ears, the implication behind them ensnaring his heart until Naruto held it in his hand, too.

“I don’t want any of it, if you’re not with me.”

Sasuke lowered his eyes. He couldn’t allow himself to give in. He’d already given so much, and although he knew that Naruto would have this, too, it was too much in this moment.

“Sasuke… When are you going to recognize that you’re a good person? That even if our relationship hadn’t changed like this, I’d still need you beside me?”

I wanted to write this part so badly... To make Naruto tell Sasuke that he's a good person. That Naruto thinks so, at least. It's one of the first things I thought of for this scene. Not that Sasuke agrees haha.

“Me, a good person?” Sasuke raised his eyebrows, meeting Naruto’s gaze again. He recognized the stubborn glint in Naruto’s eyes, and sighed. “Even if that was true, you’re smart enough to know it’s not enough.”

Slowly, Naruto pulled his hand closer, his grip turning gentle. Sasuke caught himself holding his breath, as Naruto’s lips connected with the mark on his palm.

“You still don’t understand,” Naruto murmured, the movement of his lips tickling Sasuke’s skin. “The past few days, what have you been doing? Caring for the children, when I wasn’t there to do it. Putting Charasuke before yourself, comforting him in the ways he needed you to. Holding yourself together. Trusting me to come back.”

This is where we acknowledge exactly how much Sasuke has changed. Naruto spent the days apart thinking only of Sasuke, even to the point where he was neglecting his friends and duties. Sasuke, on the other hand, stepped up to fill the role he thought Naruto left behind, hiding his pain behind helping others. Ultimately trusting Naruto to hold his promise to come back. Also, I just want them to be soft with each other T_T

Staring at him, Sasuke’s breath caught in his chest at the swell of pride Naruto felt for him. Was it true, that he had changed so much? In Naruto’s eyes, he had. It was startling, to realize how Naruto thought of him. But Naruto had changed too, he thought. They had grown closer, in a way he didn’t think they could have in their own Konoha.

“I think Charasuke is a bit like you,” Sasuke said, lips twitching upwards at Naruto’s affronted look. “He needs physical comfort. I don’t mind giving it to you, and I guess I don’t mind giving it to him either. You both tend to do whatever you feel like, anyway.”

“You used to mind.” Naruto looked serious, reaching out to touch Sasuke’s mouth as if to prove his point. “Suddenly, you didn’t.”

The smile slipped from Sasuke’s lips. Naruto was right. A few weeks ago, he did push Charasuke out of the window. To be fair, Charasuke hadn’t liked him much back then, either, and the circumstances had been very different. He did understand him better now. If Menma represented Naruto’s fears, Charasuke represented everything Sasuke wanted in life. But Charasuke didn’t have Naruto, didn’t have Menma with him either, and maybe that was why Sasuke wanted to be there for him. His connection with Naruto was precious to him, had kept him going, had kept him questioning himself even in his worst moments of darkness. Had given him a reason not to give up on a life that wasn’t filled with pain and hatred.

Naruto made it worth it to change. Was he hoping to help Charasuke change, too?

Spoiler alert... yes you were, Sas.

Perhaps Kaguya had something to do with it, but maybe, even without her influence, he would have reached this point anyway if given enough time. Time they didn’t have back home. It surprised him to realize that Naruto had thought of this already. That he felt selfish for wanting Sasuke to go back with him, when he knew it would be painful.

“You minded when I touched you, too,” Naruto added, as a reminder that they were talking about the two of them.

“I didn’t.” It was easy to confess. “I couldn’t allow myself to accept it, but I never minded. And now…”

Even if Naruto could read most of his thoughts in this space, it was difficult to say the words.

“I was afraid to have more of you. I still am.  Because I know they’ll never accept it.”

Sasuke vs homophobia :( Can't really kill that with a sword. Sasuke was definitely in love with him before they went to the RTN dimension, he'd just buried it so deep that he had no idea it was there or what it was. If you separate love from attraction it's not really gay, is it? (It is)

Naruto kissed him again, desperately. There were so many thoughts swirling between them, a mess of images and emotions overshadowed by the overwhelming fear of losing each other.

Naruto’s guilt, for not being able to reach Menma like Sasuke reached Charasuke. Their worry for each other. The frustration of being forced to wait. Sasuke’s slow realization of how much Naruto meant to him. How much his family meant to him, even a different version of them.

“I can’t be without you again,” Naruto said, swallowing thickly. “There’s so much I want to say and I don’t know how.”

“I’m here,” Sasuke promised. “Any way you want me to be.”

Even though it hurt, knowing the struggle that lay ahead of them, how Naruto had struggled only the past few days.

He wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes, but Naruto’s hands holding his face between them made him open them again. His expression was serious, almost solemn.

“I think you’d be happier if you stayed there,” Naruto whispered, searching his eyes. “You can’t deny it. I know they’d take care of you, and I can tell that your bond with your family is important to you. In a different way than ours, but still. I’d forgive you, if you chose them.”

Stop sacrificing yourself, Naruto. I don't like it.

“How could you say that?” Sasuke grabbed Naruto’s wrists, glaring at him. “Even after everything you said about how you can’t be without me, how you’d never choose anything over me, and you still think I would leave you? Even when you can feel my heart, you think I won’t choose you no matter what?”

Sasuke calling him out, as he should.

He knocked their foreheads together, tightening his grip.

“You think I’d choose happiness over you?”

How could he be happy, if Naruto wasn’t there with him? It wasn’t even an option. He cared about Charasuke, that was true. And the other version of Itachi, of Shisui, his family… Even the Sakura of that world. But how could they compare? Losing Charasuke would hurt, but it wouldn’t rip his soul apart. Staying with them would be a life, but it wouldn’t be living. How could Naruto think of himself as selfish, and still be so incredibly selfless when it came to Sasuke? What was he supposed to do, to make Naruto trust him once and for all?

“If I deserve you, why wouldn’t you deserve me in turn?”

Naruto didn’t have an answer to that. Sasuke hadn’t expected him to, and he felt him struggle with the concept. Naruto’s hero complex wasn’t doing either of them any good.

Like, I personally don't like the concept of anyone deserving love or not deserving it. Love is something you give, freely, regardless of how society values the other person. The love you give isn't less worth depending on the person receiving it. But I think the both of them are so traumatized that they need to make peace with this concept. They kind of need to be told - yes, you do deserve love, and I will give it to you. Naruto's hero complex is like... we don't have time to unpack all of that.

“You want to do this the hard way?” Sasuke continued, tone sharp. “I’ll do it with you. I don’t think you’ll succeed but I’ll do it.”

He gathered up all his resolve, all his conviction, pushed aside his own reservations.

“Saying you’ll forgive me… that’s a lie. You wouldn’t. You never would. And I wouldn’t want you to, anyway. If you wanted me by your side and I couldn’t do it, you’d be right to hate me.”

“I could never hate you.”

“Then I’d hate myself.”

Bearing each other's burdens and all that...

Naruto made a face, as if to disagree, but Sasuke felt him smile despite the topic of their conversation.

“What kind of role reversal is this,” he muttered, pressing his thumbs into Sasuke’s cheeks childishly. “I don’t even know why I’m arguing about it.”

“Because you love me.”

They stared at each other. Naruto’s eyes widened in shock, but Sasuke held his ground. What was the point in pretending anything else? It all made sense like this, and perhaps deep down Sasuke had always suspected it, even before he returned to Konoha.

“Y-you can’t just say it out loud!” Naruto spluttered, slapping his hands onto his own face instead, hiding behind them with a groan. “Stop being so smug about it!”

Me, while I wrote this: Yeah, you can't just say that out loud! The pain of being perceived. I am suffering with Naruto.

“I won the argument, didn’t I?”

“Ugh, shut up!”

Feeling lighter, Sasuke wrapped his arms around Naruto, leaning his cheek against the top of his head, Naruto burying his nose in his neck. He’d deny it when they were back in reality, but he could feel that Naruto wanted the body contact, and he was unable to resist it. It didn’t take long for Naruto to calm down, releasing a huff into Sasuke’s neck.

“Maybe we can just stay in this place forever,” he said, sneaking his arms around Sasuke’s back.

“You’d miss ramen too much.”

If an emotional scene doesn't end with a joke, what are you even doing with your life. But writing them hug was like, releasing so many endorphins. I'm weak to it.

It was strange, to talk and immediately feel every thought behind the words, every emotion on full display. Naruto’s amusement radiated off him, and it was his turn to feel a little smug as he concentrated on everything that Sasuke felt for him.

When Naruto started imagining long days spent in bed, Sasuke rolled his eyes and decided they’d been emotional enough for the time being.

Sasuke like, I can accept the lovey-dovey stuff, but I draw a thick line in front of the bedroom door. He's got some work left to do lol.

Idk if any of this made any sense but... there you have it!

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 1

Here are my extremely unfashionably late takes! They’re long, so strap in if you want.

okay, I genuinely thought the scenes in Gumb’s basement were ripped from the film for a second. extremely well done.

I both appreciate that they’re acknowledging the Bureau-mandated psych eval Clarice would have to go through (not sure she’d have to have another one a year later?)...

...but I sure wish they hadn’t chosen to open this show in a therapy-like session. it’s going to be subject to enough NBC comparisons as it is.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is so pretty, and in the same almost, idk, elfin kind of way Jodie Foster is.

“Bride of Frankenstein”! a novel reference! and a Hannibal Lecter reference even though they can’t use his name! I’m excited

I was afraid of this part, though--everyone’s going to call her “Clarice” aren’t they?

it’s very significant that in the books, Hannibal is virtually alone in using her first name to address her; even Ardelia calls her “Starling.” but of course this series chose “Clarice” as its title, so...

“the checkout lady at the Safeway asked me to autograph a melon” omg

so Clarice has supposedly been “mandated” to see an FBI therapist for an entire year? hmm.

tbh, this feels kind of like a proxy for Hannibal’s scenes in the movie, especially with the therapist calling her “Clarice.” not sure if I dig it.

“...given that your last therapist was an inmate” Hannibal reference #2!

they’re explicitly talking about Hannibal without being able to name him and it’s hilarious, frustrating, and immensely satisfying all at once.

there’s no way to avoid talking about him altogether without being disingenuous to Clarice’s eventual character arc, so I’m glad they’re ripping off the band-aid early

“you let that relationship be intimate”  Yeah, Clarice and Hannibal’s relationship IS intimate and YOU! SHOULD! SAY IT!!!

it’s kind of ridiculous for this guy/the show not to acknowledge that little trainee Clarice was sent to see Hannibal by someone who should’ve known better. That Crawford was doing it with the intention to save lives doesn’t mean he didn’t use the shit out of Clarice.

that’s not to take away her agency or minimize the choices she made after she met Hannibal. She wouldn’t have been in a position to make those choices if Crawford hadn’t arranged it, though.

even if they don’t have the rights to Crawford’s name, either (I have to assume that’s the case) couldn’t they at least mention this??

“hasn’t seen her own family in years” Are they actually going to address Clarice’s maybe-dead-maybe-not mother (depending on the canon they adopt, book or film) and possible siblings??? Please tell me they are!

Clarice’s “egregious” PTSD doesn’t have much to do with Buffalo Bill ofc, and this therapist seems to be making excuses to be the first in a long line of men getting in the way of Clarice’s career goals...

...which she recognizes and confronts him about. Call him out!!!

*Anthony Hopkins voice* That’s my girl.

the way she’s been written in this scene gives me a lot of hope going forward! she’s funny, she doesn’t take any sexist bullshit, she’s calm and polite but you get a glimpse of the rage underneath. 

wow, they promoted Senator Martin to Attorney General!

the opening credits (if you can even call them that) are a let-down, though

she has her beads!

can anyone who’s not Hannibal please stop calling her Clarice

wonder if they’re going to touch on any of the extreme tension that existed between Senator Martin and Clarice in the novel? they didn’t interact in the movie, but in the book, Martin is under intense stress, and it doesn’t go smoothly.

of course in “Hannibal,” Martin invites her to “ride horses,” so they obviously reconciled after Catherine’s rescue and kept in some kind of touch.

and speak of the devil: horses! (and Catherine)

“I can’t have a reputation, I’ve only done it once” Thank you for being the voice of reason, Clarice.

“Paul Krendler” *ugly screaming commences*

“you don’t have any people, Clarice” Aaand that’s the plot of the Hannibal novel!

looks like they even gave her the ring Jodie’s Clarice wears!

oh yeah, this Krendler looks like a sumbitch if I ever saw one. No one will ever be as perfectly cast as the dude in Silence imo, but a much better fit than Ray Liotta. 

“small carat, but it’s a sweet ring” A very in-character observation probably directly informed by her comments about nail polish in Silence.

she mentions this victim’s nail polish (!) being “tasteful,” and I shrieked a little again.

I understand it’s necessary for Krendler to be a douche, but there’s not even going to be any payoff for the audience (or Clarice) when Hannibal eats him, so boo.

wait...wait, why aren’t Clarice and Ardelia in their Alexandria duplex? They’re not just best friends, they’re roommates! For the entire seven-year story! GIVE ME THE DUPLEX!!!

BUT points for Ardelia bringing Clarice a treat, since she was always leaving her candy bars in the Silence book!

Clarice interacting with the washer/dryer is a nice nod to the books, too.

speaking of... “What did we learn in the laundry room back at Quantico?” For some reason this line made me actually cry, I guess because this whole episode has been such a love letter to something I love so dearly, and it’s making me emotional.

FIRST PRINCIPLES!

DESPERATELY RANDOM!!!

wow, the men in Clarice’s new office giving her lotion as a hazing “welcome” gift is awful, and now I’m just mad (which is the point of the scene ofc).

so this ex-military OC is the John Brigham stand-in, I take it?

if that means John Brigham won’t be here, No Thanks.

Clarice telling him she’ll drive...a tribute to Dana “Why Do You Always Have to Drive?” Scully, perhaps (who was herself inspired by Clarice) as well as a nod to Clarice’s love of cars?

“Why do they call you the bride of Frankenstein?” Sorry, I don’t have the legal rights to tell you about my last intimate relationship.

“Already on my way to West Virginia Granny Witch” Look, this show could crash and burn from this scene on, and it would still have been worth it just for these first 25 minutes.

I like that Clarice is shown wanting to help people, and the scene of her with the baby is a nice call-back to the eventual shoot-out at the beginning of “Hannibal”...but I hope they don’t try to domesticate her too much. Clarice needs her hard edges. To be tough (reasonably so)--a cub growing into its big cat’s claws.

also, somehow I doubt that Miss Valedictorian spent her six years in the Lutheran home “changing a lot of diapers,” but sure, okay. If her siblings are alive in this, she might have changed their diapers!

even though Krendler’s a real dickwad so far, he’s not slimy enough for me. Needs more grease.

“I got a call from your therapist who’s concerned that you might genuinely flip out” I really do not like this subplot Sam-I-Am. Aren’t the huge glass ceiling/Boys’ Club obstacles enough?

seriously, though, I know Hannibal tells her that the metaphorical lambs will come back--at the end of Silence, though, she’s at some kind of temporary peace, not in danger of “flipping out” any time soon.

if Esquivel really is our Brigham stand-in, I’ve got...problems with that. He was Clarice’s teacher and became her friend, not some Krendler double-agent. (Also worried they’re setting him up as a love interest for her which...eesh, no thanks.)

and sorry, I actually hate that Catherine kept Precious the dog in this.

I have no problem with Catherine being a character, or with her interacting with Clarice...that said, I don’t know if her being shown as severely traumatized and reaching out to Clarice as a form of emotional lifeline is...a good idea?

I understand the symbolism of Catherine’s smashed mirror, but...smashed mirrors are already a Thing in this series (albeit not Clarice’s chapter in it), and that’s all I can think of here.

Catherine’s a victim of unthinkable trauma. Nevertheless...she’s talking to the woman who saved her life. Who risked death to do it. I just don’t like the way this scene is written. Apparently, in this show’s canon, Catherine hasn’t gotten the help she needs. But Clarice isn’t her therapist, and it’s upsetting to have Catherine being all “I’ll never be safe and neither will you.”

how does Catherine remember “the mannequins, the autopsy table”?? And why is she throwing them in Clarice’s face?

I’m going to stop talking about this scene now because it’s making me angry and a little upset, which is maybe the point? I just don’t think it’s written well. If Catherine’s going to be a recurring character, I hope she’s shown getting professional, medical help.

Clarice finding the victim’s papers in the box of pads is a direct callback to her finding the photos in the jewelry box in Silence. Nice.

let’s agree that Hannibal and Crawford are both in Ardelia’s (too-cutesy-for-me) book

another nice little X-Files homage?

I have some qualms about that big climax, but...meh. It was capital-F Fine.

Yikes, this is a full week late. Thanks for reading this entirely-too-long post through to the end, if you’re still here! 

To sum up my thoughts...

The Good: 

the visual connections to the Silence film (that green coat/blue knit scarf combo in particular)

Rebecca Breeds’ performance overall so far

Clarice’s strong writing/characterization

her sense of humor and her inclination to call out bullshit

maybe it was just me, but I also got a sense of Hannibal’s influence on her in some of her dialogue--her blunt observations--and I love it

Ardelia Mapp

the repeated in-your-face references to Hannibal Lecter

the respectful, non-exploitative way the victims were treated by the narrative.

let’s just say, not all Harris-inspired shows managed to do this. :)

the many, many allusions to the novel

“you let that relationship be INTIMATE” !!!

The Bad: 

the near-constant implication that all Clarice’s trauma stems from her experiences in Gumb’s basement

I just don’t understand this one...it’s not supported by the text imo

the “Clarice-is-a-psychological-loose-canon” subplot

almost everyone calling her “Clarice”

NO DUPLEX IN ALEXANDRIA! Boo!

Esquivel maybe replacing Brigham

the narrative choices they’ve made surrounding Catherine so far.

Seriously: please let Catherine seek/get help instead of screaming “HELP ME” at Clarice, who after all risked her own life to save Catherine’s, over the phone.

The Ugly: Paul Krendler, lol. Confession time: I also don’t care for the way they’ve styled her hair. Not sure why it bugs me, it just...does.

Overall, I’m thrilled to death with this. I was so afraid it would be disappointing, so even if it’s not a five-star episode (and pilots rarely are), it’s a great beginning! It’s beyond amazing to see our girl on the screen again. Just this hour-long episode did her character way more justice than the entire Hannibal film. Despite its shortcomings, it’s such a loving homage to characters and a story that mean a lot to me, and I love it just for that.

Going forward, I’d like to see more of Clarice as a person. Her hobbies and interests--cars, sharpshooting, running, fashion magazines stuffed under her bed, horseback riding, her total inability to cook...anything would do. I of course want to see more of her with Ardelia. I want to hear more about her backstory and find out which version of it (truly orphaned when her father dies or sent away by her mother) they’ll choose to explore. And while we all agree that this show is about Clarice and she don’t need no man, I won’t lie: I’d gobble up more sly references to Hannibal. He’s her endgame, after all.

I’d also like to really see the warrior underneath. There are flashes of her in the last twenty minutes of this episode. But Clarice Starling is a big cat, she’s a warrior, she’s between iron and silver. I’d hate for her to spend most of this show doe-eyed and traumatized. I want her to be ferocious, to see the woman who’s a match for the monster.

Krendler needs to get nastier. He should make us feel like we need to shower. In the novels, he wants to use Clarice--only for her body. And when she won’t allow him to, he takes his revenge. That’s what makes him so particularly awful. Let’s amp him up here.

And finally...maybe I’ll appreciate Catherine’s scene more on a second watch. Maybe I’m not being sensitive enough to her trauma, her struggles. But I didn’t like the way that scene was staged or scripted, and I didn’t like the suggestion that she just hasn’t gotten help after a year and is subsequently taking her pain out on Clarice on some level. I hope future episodes handle this subplot, and her character, a bit better.

Please let me know if you guys would like me to do another of these monstrosities for the next episode. (I promise it won’t take me an entire week this time!) And thank you again for reading!!! 

[majicmarker]

so i’ve had a lot on my mind lately — the good, the bad, the ugly, you know the drill. i’m used to the bad and the ugly, but i think (and ofc by my therapist’s rec) i need to give a little credit to the good, too. not to mention the good is largely comprised of people, and those people deserve a sports stadium wave, yk? idk shit abt sports, whatever, but i know what the wave is and it’s like the grandest gesture i can think of, SO

listen, y’all. to get real here, i hate fandom. my time spent therein has been hit-or-miss, but the misses got me hard and contributed to some major self-loathing, etc etc. we’re not gonna get into the specifics, i don’t owe that to anyone, but suffice it to say things got Rough.

but so much of it can be so, so good. and rn i want to keep on my rose-colored glasses, and the rosiest parts for me have always been @kitten1618x and @mygutsforgarters

(quite a few others, too, but i no longer have everyone’s info. and some ppl are newer friends, or relationships that have moved more slowly. i have mad love for u guys too, obvs, but ik melissa and gus irl so we know each other More and they’re who this post is rly about atm. pls know i don’t want to harsh on anyone’s feelings)

the tl;dr version of events is i met them both via fanfic. i happened upon theirs like “bitch!!!! **i** wanna do this, they’re bomb as hell” and then i made them be friends w me. they’ll tell you they wanted to be friends w me first, but that’s not important bc **i** am the one making this post, so they can both like,, suck it.

ANYWAY.

@ melissa : so bitch listen. here’s the thing abt melissa…… i found her while browsing jonsa fic back when i cared abt GOT, and she brought me back to what i loved so much abt romance when i first started, way back in junior high, what’s up. i bad a fascination w historial romantic epics for a loooooong time — those formative yrs, amirite ladies??? — but girl i could never write it so well as melissa. immediately she struck this balance between the drama you expect from historicals and the levity of a good romance, and i was just like, “hand to god this woman must be published already, surely???”

(she’s not, but that’s ridiculous so we’re gonna skip that)

(also she’s busy?? we’ve been friends for like six years and i will never know how many kids she actually has, but the point is she’s a goddamn superhero and i’m obsessed w her, MOVING ON)

i just Had to be her friend for two reasons: 1) she’s too talented, and b) i have said that abt 2 ppl my entire life and she was the first, so i was like, “AH YES MY HOLY GRAIL”

so ofc i slid into her DMs just as effectively as that one guy i had a crush on when i was sixteen and he’s still shooting me texts every valentine’s day bc of the societal pressures i guess (it is Far Less Effective these days, he’s my age and therefore too young for me, gross, but i digress), except me and melissa go way stronger.

she reminded me of why, half a lifetime ago, i started writing romance — bc it’s fun, bc i want to. bc i can do absolutely anything i want, bc who else is gonna read it but me and whoever i share it with? it was all up to me what i wanted to do with it, and i could do anything. nothing really mattered but what i wanted, and i hadn’t felt that way abt anything in such a long time — let alone abt something i used to love so much.

melissa’s writing is so beautiful, it’s everything i wanted to achieve when i was fifteen and never got around to perfecting. and i’m totally okay w that now, bc what do i need to do myself that she’s not already doing/wants to do in the future? when i found melissa’s writing i found a missing part of me — a part i’d maybe lost, maybe i gave it up, idk, but it was totally gone until i found her fics and they fucking clicked. i had to reach out bc there was a part of me that was a part of her, and she helped me find that again w/o even knowing it.

so i found melissa via GOT, and from the start she’d been trying to get me to write some bethyl. years and years, she dropped not-so-subtle hints — and by “hints,” i mean legit directives that i watch just enough TWD to write her some beth/daryl fic. real crafty, she is.

eventually the stars aligned: i was bored w the same dynamics i’d been writing for years, i wanted smthn new, i was restless, i was line editing a bethyl fic she’d written, and — again — this shit clicked. her fic made me want to explore this dynamic i’d never done before, so i watched the prerequisite episodes (no more than that tho, i super hate the show and i’m begging y’all to not @ me abt it anymore). i found smthn that i’d been missing, smthn that challenged and excited me and brought me back around to why i love romance and, more importantly, why i want to write it myself.

so as i was starting to write bethyl, i was poking around the ao3 tag to get a feel for what had been done, what hadn’t, anything i might be missing. and goddamn BAM —

@ gus : this is where u enter dramatically thru a red velvet curtain that i don’t wanna touch (Metaphorically bc you do romance better than me and i’m cool w that bc your talent simply Cannot be touched, and Literally bc i hate velvet) — i was like, “please for the love of god let her want to write contemporary romance, i need some good fckin food”

i happened upon “doo wah diddy diddy” first. ofc the summary hooked me, forget my usual hard no against pregnancy fics (i have issues w pregnancy and that’s all anybody Needs to know, back off), but This Bitch !!!!!!! has a way with words and i wanted to be friends w her straightaway. lmao too bad for her, now she’s stuck w me

gus’s fics gave me what i wanted without having to write it myself. her style is so distinctive, she hits the notes between porn and Actual Affection that is missing from uhhhh, every romance i’ve tried?? (why is everyone so intent on the sex part?? fckin chill. at best it’s unrelatable and at worst u sound like u’d rather wear someone than fuck them, check urself)

she writes w such care, she wants you to know what she’s doing here, and what she’s doing here is combining the physical and emotional needs of both characters w/o infringing on anyone’s comfortability. you root for these characters bc they simply want to be together, no strings (and if there are strings, damn, they talk abt it).

gus makes you believe in love in the modern age. like, not to sound like one of those ppl who post fckin “no one in this generation knows how to love!!!1!!11!!” memes on facebook, those are dumb, but gus’s writing made me think “yeah man, love ain’t dead, it’s just abt how we approach it.”

(if y’all haven’t guessed yet, i have some hang-ups abt relationships. i’ve goddamn earned those. but melissa and gus both brought me back to where i needed to be — in this place where, yeah, we’ve got some shit to deal with, but we all still deserve the things we want, and those things are achievable. i could not have gotten here without them, so jot that down.)

gus is Real, she’s funny, she’s unapologetic in the way she writes. ofc she has her personal hurdles, but who doesn’t?? and tbh nobody writes a sex scene like gus does. physical, realistic, but balanced w the emotional depth that makes you root for these characters bc you can Feel how much they want each other — not just sexually, but in the less-erotic aftermath of that passion. it continues to blow my mind, bc i’ve never seen anyone do what she does. i can’t even pinpoint the specifics, bc she just… Does It. and you’re reading it like “yeah bitch that’s it,” and That’s It.

it’s fckin wild.

these two — my best friends, the lights of my life, both of whom always make me crave chicken tenders at THE most inconvenient hours bc somehow we always talk abt chicken or ice cream or ultimately DQ, but they're both so hot idec — have something special.

i really, really want them both to know that: it’s not just in how they’ve treated me as a friend, but who they are as people, in their creative pursuits. i’ve never known support the way they’ve shown me; i’ve never known this much enthusiasm or investment or belief that i can do what i want with my talent. i want them to know that i feel the same way abt them and their works.

sometimes, when i look back at their writing that completely kicked my ass, i still can’t believe that they’ve become two of my best friends. it’s totally bonkers. they’re This Talented, and they wanna be friends w my spastic ass? GIRL. i’m out.

i’m not always the best at being present, at giving people what they need when they need it. but with everything that melissa and gus have given me in the past few years, i need them to know this — honey!!! i need all y’all to know this, bc i know fandom shit is hard, but you should know some of these friendships are so, so worth all that bullshit, so —

they have so much to give, so much to say, so much to offer. i could not have kept going without them. i couldn’t believe in myself without the faith they’ve given to me. i hope that i can always give that same faith right back.

and that, babes, is what real soulmates are all about.

[gostaks]

the thing about my anxiety is I... basically never worry? Like, people describe these thought spirals and internal arguments and whatever, and I just don’t experience anxiety like that. I have two anxiety modes: avoidance and SHEER ANIMAL TERROR.

(or: Alan tries to figure out why they felt weirdly alienated by most depictions of anxiety. cw for discussion of anxiety and a brief, non-graphic mention of an intrusive thought about injury)

In avoidance mode, I literally can’t think about my problem. It...’hurts’ is probably the best way to describe it? If I need to text someone back and I don’t want to, I mentally flinch away from even thinking about texting them back. I avoid the first screen on my phone because the sight of the messages app makes my whole body tense up. If I want to Get The Thing Done I have to come at it sideways, because otherwise my brain will stop generating words and forget how to move my hands and make it so I can’t do anything at all for hours.

SHEER ANIMAL TERROR is like getting a bucket of water dumped on my head. Most of the time, I don’t even experience an emotional response. I’m just suddenly in a body that is convinced that something is wrong everything is wrong run run run. It’s honestly kinda hilarious to experience? It also feels very much like being trapped in a glass box inside my head while I try desperately to reason with an outside, barely-rational entity. It used to come with intrusive memories, and then later unmoored-in-reality intrusive thoughts, but now mostly I get zero explanation or understanding of why it’s happening right here right now.

(there’s also Fidgeting which is like SHEER ANIMAL TERROR but it’s really far away)

And the fact that this is how my anxiety works means that a lot of portrayals of anxiety feel very alienating to me? Because people represent worrying as a stand-in for anxiety (which is a common and valid experience, it’s just not my experience) and it’s like is this how I’m supposed to experience it? Am I doing anxiety wrong? Have I somehow failed mental illness?

I just looked it up and apparently ‘worry’ is a specific and explicit requirement for Generalized Anxiety Disorder which means that some subset of these things is true: {I’m massively misunderstanding what the DSM means by ‘worry’, I was horribly misdiagnosed, I’ve forgotten how I experienced anxiety during the last period where people were Diagnosing Me With Things, the way I communicate about my subjective experience does not always accurately depict my subjective experience}.

I recall trying to explain to a fairly early therapist concepts like ‘I don’t have anxiety spirals, I have anxiety cliffs that I jump off so one second I’m fine and the next second I’m living in a dumpster fighting raccoons for boots to boil with no intervening steps’ and ‘most of the time my anxiety manifests as nonverbal agitation and nervousness, not negative self-talk or specific thoughts about bad things’ and ‘I keep having highly unpleasant thoughts about my shoulder blades being abruptly removed that make it hard to focus’ and her either not understanding or trying to pattern-match these things to worry.

(for as long as I can remember which in this case means the last 5 years at best, I’ve related more to depictions of OCD or PTSD than ‘worrying-anxiety’. And, maybe for obvious reasons, highly-metaphorical depictions that don’t try to accurately represent someone’s Actual Internal Experience In An Authentic Way unless the metaphor is a metaphor for worrying in which case it becomes alienating again. IDK at this point in my life I don’t meet the criteria for either OCD or PTSD so this is a Truly Useless Data Point)

Anyway brains are squishy and there’s nothing wrong with not neatly fitting into a category or not matching the most common experience of anxiety. But like... what if I’m having internal experience wrong?

[janiedean]

idk if you've ever talked about this, or if someone has asked before, but do you think it's possible that brienne could be the "younger, more beautiful woman" from cersei's prophecy? I just read a post by someone who had a theory about that and while I'm not fully convinced, it also makes a surprising amount of sense. the "younger" bit is obvious and as far as the "more beautiful" part is concerned, it could mean different things (like "beautiful on the inside" or since beauty is subjective, (c)

(c) it could mean "subjectively more beautiful", maybe to jaime or something). because the prophecy does say the "younger, more beautiful woman" would take from cersei everything she holds dear/loves, and I know she loves power and herself most of all, but it /could/ include jaime. and tbh, brienne has already "taken" jaime from her, since he went with her instead of responding to cersei's letter. also, if he's the valonqar, it stands to reason he's going to be the one to kill her, and I (c) always thought if that happens, it'll involve brienne somehow (like jaime will kill cersei in order to save/protect brienne somehow). so do you think there is a possibility that brienne /could/ be the "younger, more beautiful woman" from the prophecy? I know everyone thinks it's dany, but I think it'd be much more interesting if it turned out to be brienne. especially because cersei would never in a million years see it coming. and I'd love her utter shock lol.

first thing: my pal @robb-greyjoy​ once wrote excellent meta about the specific possibility of brienne being the younger and more beautiful queen and jaime actually getting kingship and honestly it’s a lot better put together/thought than any theory I have on that specific prophecy so I’ll just go and say that his opinion on the subject is imo fairly well-thought/sourced and honestly if it happens it’s probably gonna go like that for those reasons.

second thing: the maggy prophecy is the one on which I don’t have VERY SURE ANSWERS (differently than the aa/tpwp one) because it’s worded VERY vaguely and cryptically for very good reasons EXCEPT that I have a pet crackpot theory I’ll discuss at the end of this. buckle up because this is gonna be long as fuck but when it comes to prophecies I like to basically tear that shit apart by comma XD

 now, what I mean is, we have:

“Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”“Will the king and I have children?”

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she said. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

now, this shit is worded VERY carefully for a reason (as tyrion said: PROPHECY IS A MULE THAT KICKS YOU IN THE TEETH) and when it comes to asoiaf prophecies I think the most important part when analyzing them is that the solution is never the one the characters think or that seems the most obvious to them. like, tldr but when it comes to azor ahai/tptwp I’m 100% in the jon snow camp because of the death that COMPLETELY FULFILLS THE REQUIREMENTS GOING BY BACKROADS/HINTS AND NOT BEING OBVIOUS and like... for US it’s obvious but for people in westeros? JON SNOW being azor ahai is basically wtf forreal, it’s not narratively obvious for THEM. anyway never mind my opinion about jon being AA, that was to explain how I go at this kinda shit. now, sadly for us, the OBVIOUS canon elements to decipher the maggy prophecy are not all there because again, let’s go in order:

“Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”

now this bit already is problematic af because if we go at it STRICTLY LINGUISTICALLY:

‘until there comes another’: this already is a minefield because in english it could both be ‘another queen’, or ‘another woman’ or ‘another person’ and it’s not specified at all whether that person is male or female, just younger and more beautiful - now, I once used that loophole to write crack fic where JON was actually that person but I mean... it could absolutely be a man as far as grammar says, so like this younger and more beautiful person could be a) a new queen, b) another person either male or female we just don’t know;

‘take all that you hold dear’: problem is, now here we’re on another level of interpretation because that implies deciding what cersei holds dear. now, I absolutely do not subscribe to the school that she holds dear her children bar joffrey and I think she thinks she holds jaime dear but the only things she holds dear are a) herself, b) the iron throne, c) power, d) her position. so, do we go with what cersei thinks she holds dear, or what she really holds dear?

and that’s problem one.

problem two, the other bit:

“Will the king and I have children?”

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she said. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

this also has a SHITLOAD of language to unpack, specifically:

‘will the king and I have children’ + ‘sixteen for him and three for you’. obviously robert had sixteen bastards and she had three with jaime but she asked WILL THE KING AND I HAVE CHILDREN so if maggy’s replying separately like will he have them and I will I have them it adds, if it’s implied that cersei’s three are with the king then it gives more credit to @robb-greyjoy​‘s theory about jaime getting kingship at some point (even if I think that’s going to go to jon eventually but there could be others in between);

‘gold shall be their crowns’ also implies that myrcella gets to reign before she inevitably dies but nvm we can at least suppose that all of those three kids die period BUT if we include them in the ‘all that you hold dear’ part then younger and more beautiful whoever they are has to be somehow involved in it but I would exclude that option tbqh;

‘when your tears have drowned you’ has to be after losing all she holds dear because cersei crying for any other reason is out of the question;

also, if her aerys wildfire plot is also book canon (and I think it is) then it has to be after that, too, so we can put it safely either at the end of six or early seven;

‘the valonqar shall wrap his hands’: now this one is THE minefield. first thing: we can absolutely and utterly exclude that it’s tyrion because cersei thinks he is (same as we can exclude margaery from the younger and more beautiful pick of people because cersei thinks it’s her), and not just because cersei is REALLY unreliable in the sense that until now ANY TIME she’s assumed something it turned out to be the contrary, but because as stated above: the person is not who the narrative would make characters assume. AA is jon snow and no one in westeros would even consider it (melisandre HAS R’HOLLOR SPELL IT FOR HER AND SHE DOESN’T GET IT) and the valonqar is no one obvious. now, I used to think it had to be jaime because the text specified he’s younger than her technically and because she doesn’t expect him to be at all BUT there’s also a few reasons why I don’t know if jaime’s the most likely candidate now - I prob. had too much time to think about it BUT...

a) jaime doesn’t have hands, he has just one, and choking someone with a fake hand is usually not a good idea if you don’t want a fight;b) cersei is convinced that they’re going to die in a murder-suicide dumbass way and him killing her is still half of it and eeeeh idk;c) jaime does not need any further trauma tied to her tbh I mean I don’t think he’d gain anything by killing her and certainly not catharsis;d) I’m 99,9% convinced that jaime and brienne post-stoneheart go looking for sansa together (remember that he hasn’t been seen for weeks when cersei asks where the hell he disappeared at the end of adwd) and swearing fealty to her together and going north which would put jaime way out of the way geographically (sure he could come back later if there’s a book equivalent of the cersei/jon/dany meeting in the pit but TO KILL CERSEI SPECIFICALLY esp. if at that point he’s left her for brienne for good? dunno.) also I’m also 100% convinced that the prophecy bran had in agot where he saw sansa in a snow castle with three people defending her from a giant is jaime/brienne/sandor vs gregor unless I remember it wholly wrong but nvm;e) jaime’s thematic journey is also to get the fuck away from cersei and have his own life and idk if being the valonqar works with that;f) choking is... a fairly personal and cruel method of killing someone so unless this is metaphorical (possibly) idk if I see jaime who has been seen favoring clean, quick deaths and wanting one for himself would kill someone by choking when it’s slow, painful and he’d have to literally watch her life disappear from under his hands, and that someone being CERSEI I mean even not loving her anymore I can’t see him wanting to make her suffer when killing her if he did that at all;

also: it says ‘the’ valonqar, not your valonqar. cersei thinks it’s HER valonqar. but maggy never said that;

moral of the story: it could literally be ANYONE’S FUCKING YOUNGER BROTHER not necessarily hers;

and on top of that............ large mega extra spoiler: no one especially not maggy hasn’t said that the valonquar and younger and more beautiful aren’t the same person. like, I might be reaching here, but like.... you can’t rule that out.

so like, at the end of this entire delirium I think we can reasonably say the following:

cersei’s going to lose her crown before she inevitably dies;

her downfall will have to be tied to someone younger and more beautiful than she is but we don’t know if it’s a queen or if it’s not;

she’s dying choked or anyway suffocated and whoever’s doing it is someone’s younger sibling not necessarily hers;

tommen and myrcella are dying before she does;

it’s not tyrion;

it’s sure as hell not margaery.

now, again, we can reasonably suppose that her trial in the book ends like the one in the show ie she blows up the sept with AT LEAST the high sparrow and margaery inside it. and that’s like all about it.

now, again: I do like the idea of brienne being the younger and more beautiful person that takes jaime away from her, but I highly doubt it’s likely if it means her being QUEEN or taking cersei’s actual place, but if everything cersei holds dear also means power and her throne..... I don’t know how brienne is gonna do it. I mean, out of any woman in the run she’s the one with most likely chances and for those reason I refer you to damien’s meta above because like I 100% agree with that reasoning given that it happens, but as stated before if she’s off with jaime doing knight shit and saving sansa and hopefully getting him laid it might cause issues. I also would exclude sansa categorically bc she’s going north and that’s where her story’s headed so she’s not coming back to KL to take cersei’s place and dany seems way too obvious too me and also I don’t think cersei’s lasting until dany even gets to westeros in the book timeline imo. sure dany’s a valonqar, but also.... why the fuck would dany choke cersei when she can feed her to drogon? I mean, still more likely than sansa or marg (who’s toast) but less than brienne and still not exactly working out.

that said: as far as I personally am concerned, I’m more leaning towards thinking that the valonqar is a man but not cersei’s (also because to choke people you have to be strong and brienne choking cersei is out of the question she wouldn’t do that she’d give her a clean death if she had to kill her) and I’m not excluding that the valonqar is also younger and more beautiful.

NOW, thing is: at this point anyone is a good candidate. I mean, again, with these elements I could give you a mostly convincing case of fucking jon snow being the valonqar AND younger and more beautiful that would crumble on itself the moment we’d go back to the choking because jon wouldn’t choke her to death he’d have no reason, but other than that: jon’s younger, book version jon’s most likely more beautiful than she is ON THE INSIDE AT LEAST (show version is way prettier lmao), jon has the best claim on the iron throne among the current people if you’re a targ sympathizer or if stannis dies along with shireen (probable tho not like in the show) so if he takes the throne he would take away everything she holds dear. AND jon is actually a valonqar if you consider him rhaegar’s last son.

except that as stated it makes no sense with the choking and time-wise it makes no sense, right?

right. so now I know we’re wildly beyond the original purpose of this question but follow me a moment because I have a crackpot theory about this that MIGHT ACTUALLY NOT BE SO CRACKPOT. 

step one: we have stated that the valonqar has to be a male younger sibling of someone’s who would have very good reasons to choke cersei. and we established that younger and more beautiful takes away everything she holds dear which to me is not jaime but her throne. we also can reasonably assume margaery dies when cersei inevitably explodes the sept and that tommen/myrcella die after SOMEHOW.

step two: who is someone’s younger sibling who is alive in the book and who would want to choke cersei for revenge and who is reasonably near king’s landing at this point in the narrative? idk but this dude is not dead in the book:

I mean, would work, right? knight, certainly not weak, cersei’s sent him on a death mission and has written him for dead, would certainly want to avenge his sister disfigured or not. could work as younger and more beautiful too except that he’s most likely disfigured now, but I mean, how the fuck would loras even do it?

step three: who are the two assholes who are technically about to invade storm’s end? aegon vi targaryen and jon connington. what happens after they most likely take it? they realize that stannis’s residence was actually dragonstone or most likely move on to dragonstone. who is on dragonstone?

yeah, exactly.

step four: so let’s say that meanwhile news arrive that cersei blew up margaery and tommen’s dead. loras most likely doesn’t appreciate. also let’s remember that aegon’s requirements to get into his kg are ‘you should be willing to die for me’ and that’s it and loras was ready to die for tommen but I MEAN NVM THAT.

step five: let’s say loras decides he’s Done and wants revenge so he teams up with them to turn his cloak on cersei and helps them get to king’s landing - possible, especially since no one would stop them with stannis being north.

step five: is aegon vi targaryen younger and more beautiful than cersei? most importantly, does he have a claim to the throne (nvm if he’s real or fake it’s not important now)? even more important, varys is in king’s landing keeping cersei’s ruling on a fucking respirator because he’s waiting for aegon and jonc to get there and he needs her there because she’s a weak ruler and she’s insane so people would of course want her deposed and varys has been planning that for fucking years. long story short: aegon vi targaryen fits all the younger and more beautiful that will cast you away parts of that prophecy and cersei doesn’t even suspect that he exists, while loras fits perfectly the valonqar part of it and would have very good reasons to want to choke her to death if she killed his sister. and even if loras was not the valonqar... aegon is someone’s valonqar (rhaenys’s) and like he probably wouldn’t have reasons SPECIFICALLY to choke her to death but I mean if cersei went off about his mother or something like that.... still more probable than jaime given all of the above.

conclusion, at the end of this goddamned mess of a novel: the younger and more beautiful person who’ll cast her away and take what she holds dear (her throne) could very well be aegon and the valonqar could be loras.

idk if I’m betting real money on it but I think I have a pretty solid case here. IDK GUYS.

tldr: I like the brienne theory but I’m skeptical on how it works and while I absolutely would not bet real money on the above, I think it’s...... more textually plausible.

thanks for coming to my ted talk and sorry for having gone completely off the rails with this question but if it actually happens I want it written down somewhere that I actually had thought this through XD

[bizarre-dollhouse]

Real Ciel is Kind of the Perfect Villain for a Horror Story...

Even though I have issues with chapter 141 (particularly the *haha I was there the whole time* awkwardness), I cannot for the life of me stop thinking about the panels with Real Ciel.

I mean:

I wanna break down RC in this chapter, because my favourite parts of Kuro are when it turns into a legitimate horror story, and this chapter was kind of excellent in my opinion.

Real Ciel has only been in a handful of chapters in his villainous state, so I can’t say that he’s the best horror villain or anything. I can say that I think, as a concept, he’s the perfect antagonist for this story. Or any horror story.

More under the “keep reading.”

1. Body Horror

(I’ll be referring to the panels posted above when I’m writing this post)

When people hear the word “horror,” the first thing that comes to mind is usually “body horror” (gore, deformity, corruption of the flesh, etc.). I don’t think there’s any real gore in this chapter, but the first panel is...really unsettling. You can see his ribs and the dead stare that he has. The fact that he’s filled with tubes (presumably for oxygen) and submerged in some unknown chemical make him look even more sick and weak and gross and sad slkdfjalgkj.

I especially like the decision to keep his eyes half open and lifeless; it makes it ambiguous as to how well he’s perceiving his surroundings (ie how much discomfort and/or pain he feels). It’s creepy.

The second panel also has an element of body horror. His eyes, mouth, and hands make it look like he’s in both physical AND psychological pain. It’s both body horror=empathy (”Oh my god that must be so painful”) and body horror=fear (”He looks like a monster!”). Holy shit do I love that panel. Fuck. What a good panel.

All of this is even better because he looks like “Ciel.” AKA the protagonist that we’ve been following for 141 chapters. IDK for me it makes it creepier because one of the things that consistently gets to me is the idea of well composed characters being corrupted and/or losing that composure (the circus arc and the green witch arc are by far the most disturbing parts of Kuro for me because of this...as well as episode 9 of season 2, which almost made me throw up when I watched it as a teenager). My point is that watching someone who looks like OCiel be so physically damaged and psychologically fucked makes it worse.

2. (Perceived) Power/Psychological Horror

The only people who are willing to talk down to Sebastian are:

-the reapers, because they’re also supernatural beings

-Frances and Nina, because they don’t know he’s an all powerful hell-born abomination and think he’s just...a weird guy.

RCiel is the most condescending motherfucker. It’s like he’s so blind to the fact that he could lose even though he very much knows what Seb is and has already been fucking annihilated by him, just not his body. This confidence could come from the fact that he’s already dead or he sees himself as genuinely superior to everyone.

He’s also condescending to OCiel, just in a different way. “You are weak. Don’t go outside, you might get sick. I will protect and defend you. I forgive you for being “naughty.” I am very creepy and controlling. I am the superior strong one. You are a baby. You are pathetic. I have a psychological hold over you.”

So yeah, Real Ciel’s confidence is kind of unnerving. It adds a bonus element of psychological horror: he’s not 100% psychotic (yet), but he reminds me of Annie from the early chapters of Misery (a character who is revealed to be psychotic and is also the most terrifying villain fucking ever. Misery made me feel so fucking sick to my stomach and gave me heart palpitations. I am revealing way to much about myself but I want to drive the point home that RCiel is a scary motherfucker).

3. Ethereal Beauty

The fourth panel posted above is just...fucking phenomenal. It has that element of body horror since it looks like RCiel’s corpse is melting and then morphs into the cereus bloom. More accurately, it’s like he’s being born from the bloom; much like the Phoenix metaphor. This post (link) points out the symbolism of preserving youth and beauty through the cereus bloom, and I’d also like to point out that the bloom is made from other experiments and that adds to transcendent nature of RCiel (like, “the others could not truly escape death, but I am the perfect, complete one”). 

This panel sans text could easily be a painting in a gallery (but maybe that’s just my aesthetic preferences speaking idk). It’s beautiful and shows a type of birth and a type of transcendence, but Kuro’s audience knows that it’s more like a fall from grace disguised as something beautiful. The borderline grotesque appearance of his body adds more to the disturbing element of the panel. 

It’s like the concept behind Griffith from Berserk and Ryo from Devilman; figures that appear heavenly but have a very dark purpose in their stories. It’s...cool? I don’t really know how to describe it better, but I guess the key word is “corruption.” (Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t one of the meanings of Ciel’s name “from heaven?”)

4. Sympathy

RCiel died when he was 10 years old. He was then, against his will, brought back to life as a soulless corpse. For the moment, it seems like he doesn’t mind being this way, but that concept as a whole is still tragic. I especially like the theory that, while Undertaker was able to age up his body, he wasn’t able to move past the mental development of a 10 year old. 

I kind of (strongly) dislike the RCMT because that idea really blunts the tragedy. That being said, I think it’s possible that RCiel was somehow fooled into aiding the culprits, which would actually make it more tragic. More on this story as it develops, I guess. 

A villain like Kelvin was terrifying and psychotic, but not really sympathetic. Madam Red had a backstory with emotional weight, but she wasn’t especially scary. Both of those (I think) are good antagonists, but RCiel potentially embodies the best of both worlds. I like it.

So yeah, anyways: Yana Toboso keeps ruining my life because like a year and a half ago I had completely lost interest in the series, but the damn recent developments starting from last June keep gripping me.

Here’s hoping chapter 142 is another good one.

[queenmabscherzo]

DVD commentary - Targeting, Ch. 26

this is the second part of the chapter. i didn’t want to do all the post-game interviews and stuff, i mean, that is what it is. but i really like talking about the boys :’) so for the anon who requested chapter 26, here’s most of it:

Winning is a hell of a drug. And the crash? That's apocalyptic.

It starts during the trip to the hotel, the mundane reality of a bus ride that reminds Steve—it's not Hollywood, here. (obv this is a reference to big sports movies, which would end with the championship or whatever, but also any time i can make an MCU reference and like tap on the 4th wall, that’s fun.)

It all feels so big when you're standing in the middle of the stadium, in the middle of 70,000 fans and 4000-watt LEDs (i looked up “stadium lights” btw, which is one of those dumbass things that you feel like you have to research and then reread it a year later and ur like “oh ok lmao”), but when you drive away, when you watch the horizon and the dark night sky swallow that stadium right up, it doesn't feel as big anymore. It already feels like two lines of text on the NCAA Wikipedia page. (the best moments always go by too fast, don’t they, Steve) (luckily he’s got more best moments yet to come)

And now that his mind is reeling back to the dirt and the desert, all Steve can think about is Bucky's glassy eyes. He wracks his brain, running through their conversation over and over so he won't forget: something about hurting Steve, something about forgetting phone numbers, checking on Sam Wilson, (bucky rly cared a lot about sam, ngl. Protective Bucky Barnes made it a personal goal not to let freshman phenom Sam Wilson get hurt IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER)

I love you.

Steve taps his foot incessantly through the drive to the hotel. (in retrospect i should have made a parallel between this bus and the high school bus hnng) The rest of the bus rocks with three different group chants and a tuneless rendition of "We Will Rock You" that the white boys must have started. (mannnnn i remember sports buses ……. I remember in middle school one of our fav bus songs was “stacy’s mom” …)

Steve texts Bucky a simple You okay?, but doesn't expect a response and doesn't get one.

When they finally reach the hotel, Steve's internal systems are going haywire. The euphoria of victory has nosedived, but he started so high in the atmosphere it's becoming hard to breath—the imbalance of oxygen—all the meters in the cockpit spin out of control—(speaking of mcu references) he just wants to know if Bucky is okay. He just wants Bucky to be okay.

So Steve's pretty much delirious when they enter the hotel, split into groups, and go their separate ways. He drifts onto an elevator with Sam and the Bradleys. When they reach their floor, Steve turns down the hall for his room on autopilot—then stops in his tracks.

There is a man in black leaning against his doorframe. The corridor is empty except for this dark motionless figure with a duffel bag strapped to his back. Steve is suddenly very conscious of his breathing.

(in early drafts of targeting, i sent bucky to the hospital at the end of the game. Not like in a Serious way, just in a precautionary way. he just hurt his head so they might as well get it checked out, right. in the early drafts, i had steve and his teammates visit bucky IN the hospital. i considered Rumlow being there, or pierce being there. I also considered Steve punching Rumlow for being gross. But yeah. Hospital. That lasted in the drafts for a long time, actually. It’s not a bad idea, but it’s logistically hard wrt getting him out of the hospital, and like, has more serious implications than necessary. I’m all about hurt/comfort but i didnt wanna beat bucky up too bad.)(and obviously the hotel room is ……. GREAT)

A voice sounds from behind Steve: "Did Eli lock himself out again?" (AGAIN!!!) (I wanna know that story lmfao)

Steve's friends all laugh. (steve does not laugh. He knows who it is already. nerd.)

"I'm right here!" Eli protests from the back of the group.

"That's not Eli," Steve whispers, pace accelerating—heart accelerating. He breaks away from his teammates and strides down the hall, like tripping, like falling, like pointing the nose of the plane straight toward the earth. Like plummeting forward and just barely catching himself with every step. (one time i had a coach describe “running” as “falling forward and catching yourself” and idk how i feel about that metaphor in practicality but it sure works right here lmao)

The dark figure looks up as Steve approaches, but doesn't move.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist and kisses him on the lips. (we all KNEW who it was right? It’s one of those surprises u know is gonna happen but you still can’t wait to see it)

Numbness starts to creep up his limbs—probably from the buckets of adrenaline careening through his bloodstream, a fire and flood (thank u @ vance joy) every fifteen minutes since the game started. But God, his heart is so big, right now, so loud and so real. If any heart could take it, it's Steve's.

What kind of kiss.

Steve has never kissed anyone like this. A direct line to all the empty spaces in his chest.

(this is the third time they’ve kissed, now. The first time being when bucky was freaking out in his hotel room a couple weeks ago, and pretended it didnt happen. The second time was in millenium park, aka steve’s christmas present to bucky lol. And of course, a lot happened between that kiss and this one. I’d like to think they both changed, as people, even.)

(have you ever been caught off guard by an incredible kiss when you were the one giving it???? Maybe that’s just me, because i’m so casual and careless at all times. But have you ever gone in for a kiss and Meant it, but still the other person doubles down and gangs up on you somehow? That’s this kiss. That’s this kiss for steve. Steve is like, “there’s nothing left to say, i just have to show him”; and bucky is like … still kind of thinking every kiss with steve could be his last. So he gives it all he’s got. I guess. Idk if i’m describing it v well but. What kind of kiss.)

All of Bucky is so strong: (OH YEAH that’s also rly important, i cannot stress how fucking Strong bucky is and how much i love him for it) (besides the fact that he’s been through so much and survived it all …. He’s still GOOD.) (STOP im gonna cry about bucky barnes for a bit) Steve can feel it under his lips and under his fingertips, the molten resilience warm and dormant under Bucky's skin. Steve presses harder and leans closer. He can't get close enough. His hands press into Bucky's spine, and he still can't get close enough. He opens his mouth and Bucky sighs and draws him in and he still can't get close enough.

One of his teammates whistles. Steve and Bucky don't let it stop them, this time. (oh don’t worry, i did not forget about the other boys, those poor poor babies. Isaiah is probably like :o and Eli is probably grinning and like smacking his brother on the arm until it bruises. Sam is prob the one who whistled.)

Steve's body systems are all rebooting. He can't feel anything that isn't in contact with Bucky—which is fine—that's perfect, he doesn't need anything else—

Then Bucky touches him, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. (have you ever kissed someone and just forgot they had hands until they USE THEM??) (anyway) Bucky's hands come to rest on his face, leaving fingerprints on Steve's jaw, like lavender and cirrus clouds. His hands slide behind Steve's neck, and his fingers thread through his hair. He finds the dimple at the base of Steve's skull and whimpers.

Steve has no idea what his own hands are doing. (LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!) (they on bucky’s butt!!!!!!! I’m joking, they’re WHEREVER YOU WANT THEM TO BE.) He can't focus on more than one thing, and right now, that one thing is the feel of Bucky's bottom lip under his own.

He can't get close enough. He presses in for more contact, from knees to navel to sternum. He backs Bucky into the wall, and he can feel the jolt when his fingers are trapped between Bucky's jacket and the wallpaper. (a jolt!!! He prob was a little forceful …………… *eyes emoji*)

Bucky breaks the kiss and hisses and presses both hands to Steve's chest.

Horror washes over Steve. "What's wrong?!"

Bucky grimaces. "Sorry," he pants, eyes fixed on Steve's mouth.

"What—no, don't be—what's wrong?" He steps back, but keeps his hands on Bucky's waist in case he needs—anything. Support? What's wrong?

"Sorry. It's…" Bucky swallows. His eyes flicker. Steve can see the faint green of a lingering bruise near the bridge of his nose. "Dislocated shoulder." (in early drafts, this was a collapsed lung. In retrospect, that’s prob because it might have required the hospitalization. I think the shoulder injury is more … symmetrical, tho.)

Beat.

"You—you have a dislocated shoulder?"

"Wait, you what?" That would be Eli, stepping closer, eyes wide. (athletic trainer eli!)

"Well." Bucky looks down again. "It's relocated now." (thanks buck. Thank you for that elaboration.)

"When did it happen?" Steve asks.

"That—when me and Wilson went up for that deep pass. And landed on top of each other."

(“Bucky and Sam both go up for the ball; it twirls off their fingertips; they tangle in mid-air, and they both go down hard. Steve jogs toward them, heartstrings strumming dominant chords in his bloodstream.

Sam Wilson gets up first, moving stiffly, both hands on his lower back. When Steve offers him a hand, he waves it off even while he winces. Steve glances downfield. Bucky's teammates are helping him to his feet and stuffing his shoulder pad back into his uniform.”)

Steve wracks his brain. "On the last play?"

"No," Bucky says. His eyes dart between Steve and each of his teammates. "Before. We were winning. It was a go route."

It's all kind of a blur in Steve's memory: images of Sam Wilson in deep coverage, Bucky lining up as a safety, zone reads, go routes, post routes, slant routes. He can remember Sam tumbling down on the sidelines, and something occurs to him: "Was it the fight?"

"No," Bucky answers, and Sam speaks at the same time: (<3)

"No," Sam says, staring at Bucky, a nauseated expression curling his lip. (because that play was … A LONG time ago) "No, it was in the third quarter. Right after halftime," he clarifies, and everyone knows he is right.

Steve begins to feel a strange, localized ache in the hinge of his jaw. "You played the whole second half with a dislocated shoulder?"

Bucky shrugs. And then winces. (he’s sO CUTE. and dumb. BUT CUTE.)

"Holy shit," Isaiah breathes.

"I mean, we popped it back in, first," Bucky backtracks.

"Still," Eli hisses, then leaps into action. "No wonder it hurts—Steve Rogers and the kiss of death, over here." (tbh i thought of this joke before i even decided on an injury lmfao.)(i am not funny.)

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Eli talks over him. "Come on, come inside, I have a couple ice packs in the freezer." (ELI IS SUCH A DAD™!!!!!) Eli fumbles with the key-card and shepherds Bucky into their room. Once they're inside, he relieves him of his duffel bag—working carefully around his left shoulder—and shoves it at Sam without looking, then guides Bucky onto the end of a bed. Once he is settled, Eli turns to rummage through their mini-fridge. "Steve, grab me one of our hand-towels, yeah?" he orders.

Steve does so. When he returns from the bathroom, he stops in his tracks. Bucky is perched on the edge of Steve's bed, a little wide-eyed, but calm. Eli hovers over him, inspecting Bucky's shoulder. Sam sneaks the duffel (i only included this fucking duffel bag so bucky could sneak his Secret Documents into Steve’s room lmfao)(and so Sam could make the “overnight bag” joke tbh.) next to the TV, then catches Steve's eye and shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile.

The entire tableau punches all the air out of Steve's lungs. (same) (obv i really wanted steve’s friends to accept bucky, and i’m nothing if not Dramatic. so. Here we are)

Steve eases onto the corner of the empty bed. Eli doesn't even acknowledge him, his focus trained on Bucky. "They check you out?" he asks as he prods the left side of Bucky's back with well-trained fingers.

Bucky nods. He gazes at Eli the way you might gaze at someone who speaks to you in a different language, but nevertheless does so very earnestly. (i mean it’s safe to say bucky NEVER expected a reaction like this, not only because his own coaches/staff aren’t this nice, but also bc like, these guys are his rivals, lmao) (and he also is prob thinking about what a dick he was to Steve a week ago)

Eli tugs at the collar of Bucky's windbreaker and asks if he can remove it. Bucky lets him help without speaking and without moving his left arm much. Once the jacket is gone, Eli has better access to Bucky's torso.

"Hospital?" Eli asks.

Bucky shakes his head. (LOL)

"Broken ribs, too?"

Bucky nods. (ok ok ok . i worked very hard not to let eli fall into a trope where he just existed to “take care of bucky”. Because i wanted him to rly be the character who cared about sports medicine and … about PEOPLE. So i established it earlier, with steve, with sam, with his major, with his brother, with his kids, everything. And he really knows what he’s DOING. he sat down with bucky for like a single minute, and could tell he had loose tissue and broken ribs around the relocated shoulder. And he’s made something of himself, here, of caring about people. He’s cared about his brother for years, when no one else cared, and now he’s gonna make a living taking care of hurt athletes. I also think it … kind of fits with comics!eli, who was such a sweet bean and just wanted to be a good superhero and live up to his grandpa. I rly rly rly absurdly love eli bradley, guys.) (also contrast him with steve, who wants to take care of people but has no idea what he’s doing; isaiah, who has a good heart but isn’t good at showing it; and sam, a good friend who’s a big goof.)

"Did they scan you?" Eli goes on, and doesn't wait for an answer. "There's loose tissue, I think. Can you lift your arm?"

"Not really," Bucky says, and proceeds to lift his arm (LMAO YOU ASS). He almost makes a ninety-degree angle.

"I mean, I haven't seen the scans or nothing," Eli says, and sounds genuinely sorry for it, "But I think there's some kind of tissue damage. Maybe not torn, but ... Can't believe they didn't take you to the hospital."

"We have doctors," Bucky says dumbly.

Eli dismisses that with a wave. "Did they give you anything?"

Bucky blinks.

Eli beckons for the towel, which Steve hands over. "Any drugs?" Eli clarifies.

Bucky huffs, a small sour sound that could be laughter. "You'll have to be more specific."

Steve, Sam, Isaiah, and Eli all stare at Bucky.

Steve thinks back to the NAC Championship Game. "Pump me with enough drugs, and even I can't tell I'm injured." It could mean so many things. Even at American State, players take shots to stave off the pain long enough for a football game. Sam Wilson comes to mind, and his small doses of painkillers and muscle relaxants to alleviate the back spasms. (if you’re into that kind of thing, meaning semi-unpleasant-medical-commentary, look up “toradol shots” and “football” and some articles are more biased than others but yeah, it’s sketchy either way.)

But Bucky sounds so angry. It's the tone of voice that draws Steve's imagination to dark places.

Eli is the first to recover. He holds up the ice pack, now wrapped in a towel. "I mean anti-inflammatories," Eli explains, "or something to knock you out overnight."

Bucky accepts the ice pack. He turns it over between his hands. He looks thoughtful. He picks at a stray thread on the towel. He doesn't speak.

Sensing the toxic discomfort in the room, Steve is about to step in when Isaiah clears his throat.

"So his arm's not gonna fall off or nothing?"

Eli blinks, then ducks his head. "I mean, he said it hurt," he says sheepishly.

"You ain't have to assault him and force him to strip," Isaiah points out. (isaiah is really a big sweetheart, he just doesn’t express himself well lol.)

"I don't mind," Bucky mumbles.

Sam interrupts, then. "So what do we call you?" (and sam is ……  sam.)

Bucky and Steve both stare at him, mouths open.

"You know," Sam explains. "Do you go by … James? Or Barnes? Can I call you Bucky, or is that like a pet name? 'Property of Steve Rogers' or whatever?" Steve blushes. "Or do you prefer the Winter Soldier?"

"Anything but that."

"Bucky Bear?"

Bucky snorts. "Nice ring to it."

"But really," Sam says, smiling now. "I'm gonna hack into Steve's phone and steal your number so I can send you a ton of pictures of me with the trophy. (this is true, and definitely definitely happens.) (except the part where sam hacks into steves phone. He just gets buckys number. Hes not shy, pls.) So. What name do I save you under?"

"... Bucky's fine," he replies with a bemused half-smile.

Steve gazes at him. There is a perfect ache in his chest, like too much color bursting inside and not enough space.

"… out of it. Earth to Steve Rogers." (ISAIAH!!!!)

He snaps back to the present when he hears Isaiah speaking. "I'm—what?"

Sam cackles, which Steve thinks is pretty unfair, since it's his fault Bucky just knocked all the air out of Steve's lungs.

"Maybe we should go," Eli says gently.

"Hell yeah it's time to go," Sam says, rubbing his hands together. "We're going out, right?" He grins at Steve. (sam …… is too young to legally drink. I’m crying. i mean not that it’s hard for young people to get alcohol but he’s literally 19 and asking to go out. He’s so full of life and he’s so RIDICULOUS!!!!!!!!!)

Everyone in the room stares at him, shifting awkwardly.

"I don't think they're coming," Eli says.

Isaiah takes Sam by the elbow and steers him toward the door. "We can still go out."

"Wait." Sam plants his feet. "Steve, you …" (like sam’s not CLUELESS here, he just saw them make out for crying out loud. He’s just got so much energy and they just won a BIG GAME okay, it just takes him an extra second to process things. Which, i mean, is relatable.) He looks at Steve, then—looks at him—and seems to see something new; then he looks at Bucky, then Steve again, back and forth. "Oh."

"Sam—" Steve tries, but Sam interjects.

"Holy—okay, okay, I mean, he did bring an overnight bag and shit," Sam says, gesturing towards Bucky's duffel.

Bucky's face turns an impressive shade of crimson. "What." (he most certainly did not. Well, staying-overnight wasn’t the primary function of the duffel bag. He was maybe hopeful. maybe.)

"Sam—"

"I think you just took their relationship to the next level," Eli cuts in with a sly look.

Sam, on the other hand, has gone from mortified to elated in the span of about four seconds. "What's in the bag, Soldier?"

Bucky levels him with a scowl to match the nickname. "Toothbrush and a box of condoms." (LIIIIIES. There’s only like 3 condoms. And they’ve been in there for months. but still.)

Beat.

Sam is the first to laugh; Steve joins in, but it's weak because he's reeling with embarrassment. And distantly, definitely turned on.

"Right. We're leaving," Isaiah says pointedly. (poor frikin isaiah puts up with SO MUCH!!!!! His roommates are so ridiculous and horny and he never asked for this except he totally moved in with them and knew full well what he was getting into and is maybe into it, but anyway, anyway.) (housewarming didn’t come out of the blue that’s all i’m saYINg.) (isaiah’s BLUSHING.) Sam Wilson is laughing too hard to protest.

After a small commotion ("There's Advil in my bag!" Eli says, just as Sam calls, "Always use protection!"), and the hotel door latches with a heavy bang. Steve can still hear his teammates in the hallway, but they are muffled and unintelligible, and they fade away fast, leaving Steve alone with Bucky.

Neither of them speaks right away. Bucky is still sitting quietly on the end of Steve's bed, staring, unfocused, into the middle distance. Steve takes the opportunity to look at him. Properly, and all, without sticking his tongue down his throat or bashing his injured shoulder into a wall.

(fun fact: the following transition is a fucking bitch. I don’t think it’s great but i’m an awkward loser, so i was like ok, how do i get them to say i love you and fuck already? Like in a Realistic Fashion. Realistic for dumb jocks.) (rolls eyes forever)

Bucky is in black sweatpants and black Nikes with red soles. The back of his white T-shirt has a list of dates—probably a catalogue of Southeast State National Championships—while the front bears the Southeast logo: a red elk skull with wicked hooked antlers. (check out the “targeting art” tag, a couple people have drawn this and i love them for it) (what else would make a “tundra” logo”...? idk) His face looks better than it did a week ago. Just a little swollen. Steve probably wouldn't even notice if he didn't know to look. There's a string of bruises on Bucky's arm and his knuckles are tore up and there's still dirt clinging to his nails, but all that's just standard football wear-and-tear. He's got a couple days' worth of stubble, and there's a little crescent patch on his jaw where nothing grows; a small white scar from God knows where, God knows when. His lips are parted. Steve wants to kiss him again. But between the corridor and now, this moment with silence and an ice pack wrapped in a crisp white towel, it doesn't seem so easy, anymore.

"You doing okay?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes snap back to life and he looks at Steve. (bucky is so spacy lmao awww) (honestly bucky is a lot like me. I think of all the characters in this story, he’s the most like me.) "Yeah." Just yeah.

"You want to use that ice pack, or stick it back in the freezer?"

Bucky looks down at the bundle in his lap, like he forgot it was there. His chest rises and falls.

"Here," Steve says, and stands up slowly so he can slide onto the bed next to Bucky's bad shoulder. He gently takes the ice pack and folds it against his arm, the outside of the ball-and-socket joint, right along the seam of his sleeve. "Good?"

"I dunno," Bucky croaks. "You don't have to—I should probably go." (like seriously, second guessing wild, impulsive decisions? Assuming people don’t care as much as you care? That’s just relatable, man.)

A knot twists in Steve's stomach. He presses into the ice pack a little harder—not too hard—just enough to feel present.

"Why did you come, anyway?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes track to his duffel bag, (he came because he wanted to bring steve those documents that incriminate Pierce. He came because he wanted someone to validate him. To validate how bad he felt. To validate the abuse he’s gone through. To tell him he’s not imagining things. He came because he likes steve and he misses him. He came because his sex drive is wild. He came because if he stayed in his hotel room, he would lose his mind.) then back to Steve. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm sorry I hit you," he mumbles. (and he came to say that, too. he’s been feeling bad about that for a long time.)

Oh.

How ridiculous, Steve thinks. What a small, silly thing, now. He's sitting here with an ice pack to Bucky's mangled shoulder, counting the bruises up Bucky's arms and his face, and that's just the ones Steve can see. He's sitting here in good health and a golden haze of victory, and Bucky is apologizing to him. How absurd. "Oh—Buck, don't worry about that."

"No, look, I'm obviously … messed up and all," Bucky launches into a stammering speech. "I'm sorry I hit you, and yelled at you, and … kissed you. (sorry about the mixed messages, to be specific) I guess. I'm—I just—I want you to know I didn't mean all those shitty things I said. And the game today, I didn't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine," Steve assures him. "I promise."

"Right." Bucky cracks his knuckles. He doesn't look convinced. "Anyway. I've been fucking with you for weeks now, (by “fucking with you” he means stringing steve along and then pushing him away. Toying with him. Which is how it looks, from certain points of view. It’s not how steve felt, but it certainly could be read that way.) so it's cool if you don't believe a word I say." (bucky was 100% lying in chapter 23 when he told steve “I was messing with your head” [with regards to kissing steve]. At the time, he was in a really dark, messed up place, and he was really angry with steve, and thought they would both be better off apart. They couldn’t mess each other up anymore if they were apart.)

Steve gapes at him. "Buck … You were mad. You had a right to be mad." (for the record, i PERSONALLY don’t condone bucky punching steve. But steve is more forgiving than i am, and more deeply [and unhealthily] attached to bucky)

The look in Bucky's eyes is so specific. Such a localized pain. From a distance he seems hard, and strong, towering marble, but if you look from the right angle you can see the anguish buried in the rock. The fear and sorrow in David's eyes, despite the calm repose of his limbs. (as in michelangelo’s david. I kind of get michelangelo vibes whenever i watch TWS, the scene with bucky in the bank vault.) (but i knew him.) (from the right angle, David looks very scared. And it’s the same with bucky, i feel.)

"I'm real fucked up, Steve." He sighs quietly. "I should go."

Bucky lowers his shoulder to wriggle out from under the ice pack. Steve lets it fall to the bed—instead, he grabs Bucky's knee.

"Don't go."

"I shouldn't have come. Steve ... I don't want to keep hurting you."

Steve has never been able to deny Bucky anything, but this—he read this wrong, before. (when he just let bucky go after hitting Steve) Bucky begged Steve to leave him alone, and Steve has let him go too many times. He'd thought he'd been doing what was best for Bucky. All this time, Bucky thought he was doing what was best for Steve. (isn’t that kind of the point. Of the story. Of them.)

"You won't hurt me," Steve promises. "You haven't hurt me. None of that was your fault."

"I hit you."

"You think I can't take one lousy punch?"

Bucky snorts; he doesn't smile, not quite, but he looks amused, and Steve counts it as a win. "Wasn't lousy. (BUCKY IS BIG) I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. You were hurting too." He pauses there, feeling sober again, and he braces himself. "Bucky, can I ask you something?"

"What."

"Who gave you the black eye?"

He scoffs. "You were on the field. You saw. Wasn't it Creed's elbow?"

"Bucky," Steve scolds him gently. "I mean last week."

He ducks his head and doesn't answer.

"At my house," Steve prods. "Bucky?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Was it Rumlow?"

Bucky laughs, low and bitter.

"It was, wasn't it?" (steve has probably been thinking this ever since he saw it, considering he also overheard rumlow being an ass in bucky’s hotel room a few weeks ago)

"No. It … wasn't Rumlow."

Steve's not sure he believes him, (did you guys believe him?) but doesn't press the issue. He owes Bucky a little privacy. Just asking is what matters, for now.

Bucky looks up at him through long, long lashes; the same way he has always looked at Steve, (LIKE ON THEIR BUS IN HIGH SCHOOL) a bright blue, the hottest part of a flame.

"Quite a pair, aren't we?" Steve says through a watery smile.

"What's that mean."

(means we’re both selfless shits and we both know it. means no matter how bad we’re hurt, we both still want to take care of other people first.)

"Means I'm here for you, Buck," he says, soft and insistent. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky shakes his head. There might be a smile leaking through his granite mask.

Now or never.

"About what you said," Steve says carefully. He squeezes Bucky's knee and rubs small circles into his thigh. "You know, after the game?"

Bucky cringes. "Oh, god. I'm sorry about that too." (NOOOOOO--)

"Don't be sorry," Steve whispers—begs, even. Please don't be sorry. Not for that.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Bucky says. The muscle of his thigh twitches under Steve's grip. "I was caught up in the moment, you know, and it just came out, and it was totally wrong-place-wrong-time, I'm sorry."

"Did you mean it?" Steve breathes, almost inaudible, because he can feel the cracks under the surface.

Bucky covers his face with both hands. "It's—yeah, Steve, yeah I meant it. I just … shouldn't." (FUCK SPORTS AND TOXIC MASCULINITY AND HOMOPHOBIA AND FUCK IT ALL and give bucky a hug 2kforever.)

"Oh, Bucky."

When he looks at Steve again, his eyes are red. "You don't have to say it back."

"Are you kidding me?"

Bucky blinks. "Um."

"Listen to me, Buck." Steve sinks to his knees between Bucky's feet and looks up at him. It's dizzying. It makes his head ache just to think of it: all the years, all the football games, all the doodles passed back and forth in class, all the times Bucky treated Steve's injuries with ice and stupid jokes. He reaches up to take Bucky's face in both hands. "Listen to me," Steve says again. "For as long as I can remember, every single day of my life, you were the most important thing in it. The best thing. Bucky, I was in love with you before I even knew what that meant."

"Steve—"

"And then you were gone. Just gone, and I felt so … much. There was so much, and I didn't know where to put it all." Bucky is crying openly, now, his nose red and his eyes shining. "God, I don't want to feel that way ever again," Steve whispers. "So yeah, I do have to say it back." He smooths the tears from Bucky's cheeks. "I love you," he says. He says it out loud for the first time in his life as he looks into Bucky's eyes, the eyes he has known and for years, for decades, for centuries upon centuries. "I love you, Bucky."

(i practiced that love confession during my Long Commute for months before i ever published it.) (such a balancing act, making it sound like something a person would say, and also make it very very meaningful. And like ….. Adequate for these 2.)

Bucky's lips blossom for him, parting like the gentle pink petals of morning. At first, all that escapes is a sob. He blinks, hard, and tries again:

"You're a punk." (bucky’s response was not a balancing act and did not take nearly as much effort, it’s the most in-character thing i’ve ever written lmfao)

Steve grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You are such a punk."

There is water gathering in the creases of Steve's palms. "Is this okay?" he asks, wiping away more tears.

"This is the worst." Bucky sucks in a breath, and then grabs both of Steve's wrists and squeezes. "Yeah it's okay."

"Okay," Steve says. He feels his own throat growing hot. They're both going to end up crying, probably. He gazes at Bucky's lips, the chapped creases and the swollen spot where he always bites down on it. Steve smiles. "I'm kind of afraid to kiss you again."

"Afraid."

"Well, yeah, Buck, it always seems to go wrong. (I MEAN HE’S GOT A POINT!) I try to break your arm, or you end up puking everywhere—" (a stranger whistles at us in millenium park--)

"Shut the fuck up," Bucky demands, and pulls Steve in for a kiss.

It is stiff at first—more overwhelmed than anything—their noses and their lips crushed together because they need it so bad. Because if they didn't kiss right now they would probably both erupt into color and flame and leave a crater behind in the Arizona desert. After a moment of desperate contact, after the reassurance that this is real, this whole night has been real, Steve relaxes. He strokes Bucky's jaw and parts his lips. (i wrote this sex scene between a dress rehearsal and a concert. A pretty major gig actually with a big symphony in a decent-sized city. I don’t LIVE in that city, so i had nothing to do between the rehearsal and the show, so i sat in a philly cheesesteak bar and wrote smut.) (i was also very anxious about the gig at the time.)

Bucky's hands are restless. They flutter like sparrows from Steve's wrists to his face and his elbows and finally, the fabric of his shirt, where they cling tight and pull him closer. He drifts back, stretches onto the mattress and pulls Steve on top of him. Not that it takes much coaxing. Steve goes hungry and willing. He wraps an arm around Bucky's waist and helps him shift farther onto the bed. Steve nudges a knee between Bucky's thighs, and that doesn't take much, either; Bucky's legs spread easily, (*eyes emoji*) and draw Steve in, and how absurd is this, now. It's phenomenal, the goosebumps that break out at the base of his spine and sweep straight to his skull.

Bucky kisses like an ocean. Writhing and fluid and breathless, pulse as natural and magnetic as the tide. He wraps Steve in white foam and surges against him. (this metaphor, for example, gives me vivid deja vu for that restaurant where i wrote it.)

Steve's left arm is trapped between Bucky and the mattress. With his right, he gropes for Bucky's hand and tangles their fingers together. Bucky's heel hooks behind his knee and he smiles, but doesn't break the kiss.

Steve grinds against Bucky's hip bone. That earns him a delicious groan.

Bucky gasps softly as he breaks the kiss. "I should probably be careful, you know," he whispers.

"You—? Oh," Steve says, scrambling up onto his elbows. "Sorry! Are you okay? Does this hurt?"

"No, not really," Bucky says, adjusting his left arm. (a resounding “yes” if i ever heard one) (he’s fine tho, he’s fine. just. you know.)

Steve can't imagine—just—at all. He just can't imagine. He can't picture hurting until it doesn't matter anymore. He wants to fix it so much. He wants to take away all of Bucky's hurt. "Is—? We can take it slow, if you want. I'm sorry. Is this—"

"Steve." Bucky spreads his fingers through Steve's hair and smiles. "I said careful, not abstinent." (if you could not tell after reading targeting, i really wanted to attack the stereotype where bucky is a wilting flower who needs to be coddled by Everyone. including but not limited to their Bedroom Activities)

He leans up to plant a soft kiss on Steve's chin.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"I'm not trying to pressure you though," Steve shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. (but also, i mean, steve is very very very sweet and i love that about him. It’s not offensive. it’s seriously fucking sweet.) "We can stop if you want."

"Steve Rogers, so help me, if you fucking stop now, you'll—I'll—I will … I'll do something. I can't think. But I'll do something. And you won't like it." (tbh i couldn’t think of something clever to say, and you know what? that seemed like the most accurate depiction of bucky’s state of mind)

Steve couldn't argue if he wanted. "Oh yeah?"

"Fuck."

"You don't want me to stop?"

"I don't want you to stop."

(at this point, i was picturing like, bucky hasn’t actually Had Sex in awhile. Like a year, even. he’s probably made out with someone in the dark corner of a bar or maybe fooled around in a bathroom at a frat party. which, getting a half-assed hand job 2-3 times a year is nice but it’s not exactly intimate. actually, it’s not even nice. anyway. bucky might be .. even more sensitive than usual. Especially since it’s….. steve.)

Steve leans in for a kiss again, a rich slide of lips against teeth. He tugs gently at the hem of Bucky's shirt and drags his fingernails across the ridges of his stomach.

The noise Bucky makes is sunset and surf and sin. Steve kisses that sound. He slides his left hand out from under Bucky's back and into the front of his pants. (STEEEEEEVE!!!!!!! GET IT STEVE!) That's a good reaction, too: Bucky's hips jump, as if jolted by an electric current.

Steve wants to know every single one of Bucky's reactions, wants to learn every perfect way to make Bucky squirm. He fumbles with Bucky's waistband, and that is fingernails against Steve's scalp; he wraps a hand around Bucky's dick, and that is a hiss of air through teeth; he strokes once, up and down, and that is a low whine in Bucky's throat. He tightens his hold, and that is Bucky's hand slipping into Steve's pants, grasping him and caressing him in return, which—damn, you know. (YEAH DAMN!!!)

Steve trails kisses along Bucky's jaw until he finds the soft spot under his ear. Bucky's pulse speeds up, his breath speeds up, and his hand speeds up.

"Oh, God, Bucky," Steve groans.

That's all it takes. Bucky arches his back, spilling over Steve's fist, gasping for air. (bucky came SO fast in this scene lmfao i’m dyin. I still am not sure if it’s like …. TOO fast. Like unrealistically fast. Or … unkind of me. But i just. he hasn’t done this in awhile, he’s with STEVE, steve just confessed his LOVE, all the game day adrenaline--yeah i mean, at the end of the day? same, bucky. same.)

As Bucky spirals back to earth, his grip on Steve's cock tightens and his pace quickens. Steve grinds down into his hand, desperate and fevered, and it doesn't take long for him to come, too. (i mean i guess it’s been a few months for steve too……...lmao ….)

And that—God Almighty—that doesn't feel like a small thing. That feels like a great deal more than two lines of text on a Wikipedia page. (SWEETHEARTS!!!!) (they’re so corny. STEVE is so corny.)

Steve tries to catch his breath, panting hard against the hollow of Bucky's shoulder, leaving a warm, damp patch in the fabric of his shirt. Bucky twitches under him. Static currents and shallow breath. The dappled violets and whites and yellows of the sea at sunset.

Steve is careful not to crush Bucky underneath him. Even in the dense fog of sex and happiness, he is so, so conscious of Bucky's hurts. If anything, Bucky is more delicate, this way; supine and pale and fragile under the tips of Steve's fingers.

Steve traces the lines of Bucky's abs—Jesus—he would count them if he could see straight. He wipes his hand on Bucky's hip bone and asks, "You want to clean up, or anything? You're welcome to use the bathroom."

"You hinting?"

"Am I—? No, it—I just—"

Bucky is grinning, though. (if you know me at all, you know i can’t write a whole sex scene of like, ocean tides and starlight and fragile hearts or whatever. There’s gonna be a joke about a condom or like, the realistically gross follow-up. I AM WHO I AM.) His stomach shakes with laughter, and Steve gapes at him—miles of smooth skin, threads of cum shining on his stomach. It's terrific and terrifying and it's obscene. (terrific AND terrifying!!! Steve, sweetheart!!!) Steve can't even think in words.

Bucky pokes him, hard, right near the collarbone. "You want me to clean up?"

"… I don't ever want you to leave this bed again," Steve breathes. (STEVE, on the other hand, is a much bigger sap than me.)

Bucky just laughs some more.

"What are you giggling at?"

"I ain't giggling." (oh texas boy)

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't giggle."

"What do you call it?" Steve says, running a fingertip from Bucky's sternum to his bellybutton, a slow, subtle trail.

Bucky covers his eyes so all Steve can see is his smile and the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

He can't get enough. He drinks Bucky in like a drug, every detail, every little meaningless deed. The way one side of his smile is higher than the other; the fine hair on his arms; the mess on his stomach, drying and tacky and glistening in the lines that define his abs; the way his knee sways back and forth; the T-shirt bunched up under his armpits.

"I don't giggle," Bucky repeats. Then he uncovers one eye to look at Steve. The tip of his tongue peeks between his teeth. Steve wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss it all.

"Okay," he whispers. "You don't giggle." He kisses Bucky's elbow, which is the nearest thing within reach.

It must tickle, because a noise escapes Bucky's lips. A noise that is absolutely a giggle. (i don’t think he’s laughing because he’s ticklish, at least not 100%. ;) ) "Shut up," he says before Steve can even open his mouth.

"Not a word."

[yyuryyubicuryy4me]

library conversation

oh sorry you snuck up on me. yeah sorry i had to come in through the east door cause there was construction on 24th. ohhh ok i always drive in from the other side so i didn’t have a problem. so... have things been going well? yeah i guess. idk i’m just trying to get all this work done. what’s it about? it’s a story. like, creative writing? i mean not really but i think of it as a story. go on. ok well. hmm idk how to introduce this. just imagine like, this... apple farmer. he farms apples. he lives on a huge ol orchard. apple orchards are a thing, right? yeah i think so. ok so anyway this farmer is modern, up with the times, he’s got all the latest genetically modified organisms growing and he’s got everything optimized for peak apple performance. and he grows a lot of apples. there are a lot of varieties, but that’s not important, what’s important is that all of these apple trees are growing apples. i’m not sure where this is going. just hold on, i’m getting there. so i guess in some little square of this farmer’s land he’s been nursing a whole new group of apple plants to adulthood. so they’re all little saplings right. so he uses all his cool farming techniques to make the plants grow bigger and make lotsa apples. ok so this is the deal... all of the trees grow normally. they all get bigger and grow apples. but this one tree, it isn’t growing any apples. literally all of the trees around it are just bowing down because they’re so heavy. from the apples. but this tree is barren. it’s healthy and otherwise completely normal, it’s just missing the apple part. is it supposed to grow apples? well, i mean, all the others trees grew apples. wouldn’t you expect this one to too. no, i mean like... was it genetically different somehow? what the hell, this isn’t the far future. we don’t just have the whole genome of an apple tree sequenced, you think we can find that out in this situation? i still don’t get it. is it like a metaphor for evolution or something? you have to have babies to be a complete person? no, it’s not about evolution or the baby thing. then what is it about. it is what it is. i’m gonna need a little more guidance here. you’re saying that the apple tree is like, a mutant? uh, i guess? but not really. this is stupid, just tell me what it means. it doesn’t mean anything! it’s just, this is the... ok. how about this. the apple tree, or i guess just the tree is just different. it didn’t take the same path as everyone else, and there’s nothing it could do about it. we always need to realize that sometimes people are born different? no, god, oh my god, it’s, the, the tree is its final form. the final form, it’s, the tree has reached its final form. it’s ultimate form or whatever you wanna say. this is as far as it will get from an apple-bearing perspective. we think of apple trees as always bearing apples but sometimes, maybe, they just don’t. so the apple tree has to look for a friend just like it somewhere? what! no! there’s no follow-up, this isn’t a story! but i mean, surely if THIS apple tree had the mutation or whatever there’s another one like it out there? they can find out why it isn’t growing apples and fix it. it can make a friend. no. why no friends? not that, the fixing it thing. it can’t be fixed. why? because this was a special tree, it just noticed it was different because it was surrounded by a bunch of normal... a bunch of more common trees. all the other ones are in the wild, and they just look like normal trees. nobody cares about whether they grow apples or not. but this tree will bring awareness to apple-less apple trees, right? no!!! it’s, it doesn’t matter that the tree doesn’t grow apples! it’s not important! it’s just a fun fact. it’s a useless factor in the tree’s life. it’s still living just fine without apples. how would you react if i came up and i told you i was infertile? would it really matter in the grand of scheme of things? i mean, i guess the world would go on if you weren’t able to have kids, but a lot of people have kids. a lot of people want kids. that’s a very important factor in a lot of people’s lives. no, it... it doesn’t work that way! jesus! it’s, i, i, the... it was a bad analogy! you can adopt, you can foster. you can’t adopt or foster... a gender, can you? you can’t change who you’re attracted to. i mean, people try on labels all the time to try and discover themselves. and you can’t really change who you’re attracted to on purpose, but sometimes it does change. sometimes you realize things about yourself. i’d say that’s change. so you’re doubly wrong. stop!!! you’re making a different point than i’m trying to make!!! that’s because your story is bad! it’s bad, i don’t know what it’s trying to say but i don’t like it. it’s mean. i think it’s important that the tree doesn’t grow apples, it’s different, people can tell just by looking at it. that has to have an impact on its life. what if the farmer cuts down the poor tree? it’s still helping him, isn’t it? no! they wouldn’t kill me!!! the apple thing, the, it isn’t important, that, that’s the whole point! no one cares that the tree doesn’t grow apples!!! it’s not a big deal! if i were an apple farmer i would think that was a big deal. i think, whatever you’re talking about, like really talking about, you don’t want it to be a big deal. but it is a big deal. it isn’t! it isn’t important, it’s stupid, it’s irrelevant!!! nobody asked! nobody asked. nobody asked and nobody cared about the apples. it’s! it’s stupid! it’s! it’s! it’s! i’m leaving now. shut UP!!! shut up you’re wrong!! i don’t want to. the. bye. text me when you calm down and you’re willing to talk about this without hiding behind a wall of bad metaphors. shut up, it’s, it’s, it’s

[onlyfools-fall-foryou]

my long overdue skam appreciation post 👏👏👏

Skam is such an amazing show. The filming is so unique (somehow subtly giving a different feel than anything I’ve ever seen. not too cliche, not too offsetting) and the colors are (subtly but intensely) pretty, and I love the mix between texts and real situations they alternate onscreen. the angles they filmed it really gets me too, like when the characters are lying together, you can see what’s going on and their interactions from all the angles they film it at. 

this post will be heavily spoilery. i’m gonna start of with seasons 1 and 2. those two seasons are so raw and real, especially eva’s season, we can all relate to her and what she feels when she’s alone in the school yard, personally I related to Eva a lot because my parents are rarely home and I have to do everything for myself and my brother. I’m not as lonely as her when I’m home because I have my brother, but I guess his company is the equivalent of eva’s friends like the squad and jonas, isak who are over often.

they put little details out of the camera’s focus (in season 3, at the start of episode 5, you can see even’s arm behind isak and i thought that was someone walking in but realized it was even stroking isak *squeal* and the gigantic hickey at the back of even’s neck in epi 8).

the music is timed perfectly, mixed with a bit of humour. in season 1, after eva finds out about isak, the music kicks in with ‘jealousy’ and I thought that was really freaking perfect. (not to mention the ‘i wanna fuck you’ of season 2.) i love how they cut music off abruptly with cues like the door closing, it really signifies the change of the character’s mood and emotional state, and the song choices are spot on. 

In season 3, there’s a lot of romeo and juliet 1996 songs. I love romeo and juliet and i loved that season 3 was heavily indulgent with elements from it (like the pool make out, songs, that eye contact they have in episode 2). it makes me very happy.

i love how they treat the major/minor and minor/minor characters. the major/minor characters in season 2 and 3 would be eskild and linn, and in 1 it would be someone like ingrid. also did anyone else notice magnus in season 1 because i saw him a couple times when i was watching it again like when vilde comes to the party and passes out magnus rushes to help her etc. for the next two seasons, we don’t see a lot of ingrid and sara, but they’re still there dancing at parties or there on school grounds. i love the fact that they keep them barely in attention (does that line make any sense lol), other shows don’t really care to do that with their minor/minor characters. whenever there’s a party scene (end of s2, start of s3) i rewatch again and again to see that little bits of ingrid, iben, etc. linn and eskild having fun at the end of s2 makes my life. (also, ingrid and iben are really beautiful. (as minor characters.) just wanted to put that out there.)

they really have details that are unnoticeable and noticeable at the same time. and the acting and chemistry is so superb, and it’s real. not only with the romantic partners, but with friends like the boys’ gang and the girls’ gang and eskild/linn/isak, eskild/linn/noora, what really got to me this season was isak texting eskild that everything was fucked and eskild just responding with jeg kommer, i’m coming. just that. not to mention the way the squad is there for every one of them consistently. everyone taking noora to the police and standing behind her while she gives her statement, sana comforting vilde while she nervously talks to the kosegruppa, jonas, magnus, mahdi actually caring and constantly asking about even, the girls cleaning vilde up and making her breakfast in season 1. i don’t know if i’ll ever get friends/people that genuinely care for me, and their relationships are beautiful.

it’s unbelievably (compared to other shows) real, like, we’ve all taken the am i gay? test and taken advice from reddit. the way they actually use things we actually use like instagram, facebook, texting etc makes it more real and the way they treat these sensitive subjects delicately without tiptoeing around it is just amazing. 

not to mention it being humorous and witty, like when magnus breaks the fourth wall and gives a shoutout to nrk, when isak and even get caught in the pool, eva pushing jonas off the bed and jonas flipping her off when her mom gets home, these are just a couple humourous bits that were particularly memorable to me but there are so many more.

in the end, my favorite part about it is that it relies on the audience to be smart enough. a lot of movies that i recently saw did not do this (cough fantastic beasts cough). maybe it’s because i’ve spent countless hours watching things and now i can predict everything, but most movies tend to feed me little bits of information at a time or give me just enough that it won’t be boring, but skam gives me a lot of information and trusts us to follow along, idk. to think about it, skam’s story isn’t that complicated, is it? but i somehow feel like there’s so much more information and story than what is presented, maybe it’s because it’s so emotionally charged or maybe because it’s packed full with metaphors and references (bible, romeo + juliet, even talking about sonja’s “aluminum leg” being a metaphor to his bipolar disorder), but it feels like a lot and the writers do a beautiful job of giving us the right amount of information.

(last bit, i love that when they wake up it actually looks like they’ve been sleeping)

3 words to describe it: raw, real, relatable.

[5hfanfiction]

Everything is A Metaphor

Chapter 2

* * *

Listen to: Vienna by The Fray

“Is there really no way to reach me?”

————————————————————————————————————

She feels- as much as she hates to admit it -the same way she did when her dad died. At first there’s a shock, a sudden dizziness and the vivid feeling of all your blood draining into your heart, so that it can beat faster; the nausea, the inability to breathe or form words other than ‘No, you’re lying!’ But then comes the realization that no one, not even the devil himself, would lie about such a thing. This is real. This is happening.

Lauren is in her dorm room, on her bed, barely held together by Lucy’s arms. She keeps trying to speak, wants to speak; but all that comes out is “No, no, no,” over and over again, her head shaking side to side. If she could just focus on the present- on her being in her loving girlfriend’s arms -she’d be able to at least mumble something relatively coherent. Instead, the past keeps replaying in her head.

“Hey, that would be great, actually! I’m Camila.”

“I’m-“ And she freezes right there, her hand half-extended as her face goes white. Her lips tremble for words-any word-but really, what the hell can you say in a situation like this?  Instead, Lauren simply stares at the girl until her vision blurs-from panic or tears or both, she can’t really tell.

“Whoa, Lo! You look like you’re gonna be sick.” Dinah feigns concern, throwing an arm over the shorter girl. “Here, why doesn’t Lucy take you back to your dorm?” She cocks her head out so that Lucy can see the panic in her eyes. “Right, Luce?”

That’s really all Lauren can remember, anyway. There’s Camila, then Dinah, then Lucy, then one more look back at Camila and Dinah. The worst part is, Lauren can see Camila’s face so clearly in her head: her brown eyes, wide with concern; Lips not so chapped anymore, but still bright pink; Hair a little all over the place, but somehow perfect the way it is. She is almost exactly the same, almost exactly how Lauren remembers her. Camila wasn’t freaked out by Lauren’s episode. Instead, she was incredibly worried. And if there’s anything about this girl that Lauren holds close to her heart, it’s her automatic concern for complete strangers. Camila was and, thank god, still is, the type of girl to take a homeless person out to dinner. Talk to them. Learn about their life story, all for the price of a single meal. And in Camila’s eyes, what could be better than that; that feeling of helping another?

But Dinah-…She just stood there. Impatient. Annoyed. Not one fucking look of regret. And that, almost more than anything else, is what really killed Lauren. She knew this was happening. She knew Camila was the new student, all along. And she didn’t do a damn thing.

Lauren launches into a fresh bout of sobs. Camila. Back, as if from the fucking dead.

After what seems like hours, a knock at the door forces Lauren and Lucy to finally depart. The latter runs over to the door, wanting the intruder to go away as fast as possible. The sight of her girlfriend’s concern almost makes Lauren forget how fucked up her life is. Almost, until she recognizes Dinah’s face peeking from behind the doorway.

As if sensing the anger rising behind Lauren’s tears, Dinah instantly raises her hands in defense. “Just hear me out, okay?” She steps inside the room without invitation, brushing past Lucy harshly. “I was going to tell you-“

She freezes. The girl before her is not one she recognizes. They’ve known each other for years, and yet Dinah has never, never seen Lauren in such a distraught state. It doesn’t compare to how she looked when Camila first left. No, this is worse. The girl lay in the same clothes from earlier, though the collar of her black t-shirt is almost entirely soaked-through from tears. Her face is red as a third-degree burn. Her entire body shakes, even when she isn’t coughing out a sob. She looks so small, fragile; like a little kid who’s just been told their dad isn’t coming home.

Something sinks in Dinah’s chest. “Lauren-…” She tries again, but the words keep getting stuck in her throat. Shit. She didn’t mean to fuck up this badly.

To make things worse, Lauren simply stares at the girl, her red eyes seething with tears. There is so much inside her, so much anger, so much sadness, so much of everything. She can’t hold it in any longer. The emotions inside her erupt into two words.

“Fuck you.”

Lauren’s voice is so ragged that for a moment, Dinah isn’t sure she heard her right. She furrows her brow, prompting Lauren to repeat herself.

“Fuck you,” She trembles, shaking her head. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” She screams so loud she can feel her vocal chords tearing apart; so loud that her gag reflex is triggered, and she has to cough frenziedly to avoid throwing up right then and there. Terrified, Lucy runs over to the girl. But Lauren pushes her away.

Dinah tries to speak. “Lauren-“

“You kept this from me,” Lauren continues, barely coherent. “You knew she was enrolling here and you kept it from me! You fucking-!” She breaks down again then, losing her battle to string words together. The worst part is, Dinah’s still trying to defend herself. Lauren knows it from the annoyed look on her face, her crossed arms. It makes her feel like a fucking madman, like she’s speaking to a damn wall. Does Dinah really not realize how much wrong she’s done?

“Jesus, Lauren,” Dinah throws her head back, her eyes rolling. “Do you blame me? Really?” She gestures toward the girl. “You’re a fucking mess! Damn straight I kept it from you. You really think finding out on the anniversary of-“ She stutters then, not wanting to worsen the blow. “Today. You really think me telling you today of all days would’ve helped anything? I didn’t think you’d be in school, Lo! I was going to tell you, I just…I wanted to avoid all of this.” She gestures again.

But Lauren isn’t buying it. “No,” She says through gritted teeth. “You knew for days, you had to of. They wouldn’t just throw something like this on you in a day’s notice. I’m not fucking stupid-“

“Okay.” Dinah uncrosses her arms, as quickly as one would reload their gun with ammo. She takes a deep breath through her nose, focusing a hard stare at Lauren. Make no mistake, Dinah loves Lauren like a sister- hell, like more than a sister. But she’s tired. Tired from Camila, tired from the debacle between her and Lauren, and tired from-

Well, tired from Lauren as a whole.

“Listen,” She continues, her voice low. “Yeah, you’re right, I did find out a few days ago. I didn’t tell you because I know how bad you can get during the week of the anniversary. I didn’t want that to be the only thing in your head the night of. I didn’t want you to suffer like this. Sorry if that was my mistake.”

Her voice begins to tremble with anger.

“But don’t you dare,” She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare turn this on me. You think you have it bad? What if you were the one who had to show her around because you’re the dedicated student advisor? What if you were the one who had to pretend like everything’s okay for her sake? Don’t forget you aren’t the only one who lost someone! You aren’t the only one she forgot.”

The speech is enough to make Lauren feel a pang of guilt, but only briefly before she finds her will to fight again. The thing about Lauren is that she’s stubborn, especially when it comes to Camila. The girl is too sensitive a subject for her to simply submit. “I-“ She begins, but Dinah shoots her a fiery glare to let her know she isn’t finished.

“Take today,” She nods condescendingly, like an uptight parent might. “Take tomorrow morning. Take the entire fucking week, I don’t care. But don’t come near me, and especially don’t come near Camila, until you’re over it. I’m sorry this is so fucking hard on you; it’s hard on me too. But I had to get over it for her sake, and so do you because she isn’t going anywhere and I know damn well neither are you.”

Her words are quiet enough to not shake the walls of the dorm, yet the edge in her voice shakes Lauren to her core. She opens her mouth one last time as a weak attempt to justify herself, but Dinah swiftly turns around and steps through the doorway. Before slamming the door, she adds: “You have a second chance to redeem yourself. Don’t fuck it up.”

The moment she leaves, Lauren crumbles into tearless hysteria. And even as Lucy holds her, coos to her, tries to keep her together, Lauren doesn’t mumble one word. She simply shakes, quiet and open-mouthed.

Maybe brokenness isn’t red-faced and damp with tears. Maybe brokenness comes after all the gunshots of cracked throats and irritated eyes.

Maybe brokenness is the afterthought. Maybe that’s the metaphor here.

————————————————————————————————————

Lauren doesn’t know how long she’d been asleep for. She can’t recall the exact time she fell asleep, and how much she actually rested in that timeframe rather than drowning in her thoughts. All she knows is her bones are heavy, her eyes still burn from crying, and her throat feels like she ate the blanket that’s currently covering Lucy. She must’ve kicked the blanket off in her sleep. In fact, she must’ve kicked Lucy off in her sleep, too, because the girl lay silent a few inches away, curled up with her pillow.

“Shit,” Lauren mumbles, running her hands over her face. Lucy doesn’t move, fast asleep, and Lauren curses herself for expecting something different.

When she checks her phone, her stomach lurches. It’s not because it’s already ten at night, or that Normani’s five text messages are pushy and suspicious. It’s not even Dinah’s apology message. No, it’s the last message Dinah had the nerve to send.

“I’m sorry about earlier. IDK what 2 say, except that im sorry and i love u. And on the bright side, Mila seems already really into u. Idk…i guess I’m sorry if thats hard to even comprehend rn. I just wanted to let you know, I guess, for the future. Maybe to give u some hope. Again, I’m sorry bout earlier. U kno I love u.”

Lauren chuckles dryly.  It would make sense for Camila to be instantaneously attracted to her, whether it’s a romantic interest or not. That’s just Lauren’s luck. She looks up to the ceiling with tired eyes, smiling sadly as she silently asks god, ‘Are you even up there?’

She gets no response, and she laughs again. Typical.

So between the nameless god, the deceptive best friend, and the ex girlfriend who is, essentially, brainwashed, it’s no wonder that Lauren chooses to venture into the night just before the clock turns twelve. It’s also no wonder that of all places to be in, she chooses the student bar.

And with the dreadful Jauregui luck she’s inherited, it’s of course no wonder that after a few drinks, she begins seeing things. Things that aren’t really there. People. People like Camila. Camila herself.

But before Lauren can do anything, she’s pulled out of her stool and dragged to a low-lit corner of the bar.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? A-Are you out of your mind? Have you finally reached that point, Lauren?”

It takes a moment for her vision to focus, but when she sees the short, light-haired girl she hasn’t seen in months, she chuckles.

“Hi, Ally.”

The two girls go as far back as Lauren and Dinah do. In fact, the three of them-no, the four of them, including Camila-all used to be best friends. But after the accident, Ally simply couldn’t look at Lauren the same. Every time she tried, all she saw was a broken shell of the girl she once knew. They still forged a relationship, though. Things only got bad about a year ago, when Lauren got into a fight with Lucy because of the whole Camila-Anniversary-Thing. She’d gotten drunk as a result, and when Dinah stopped answering her calls, she slogged over to Ally’s room in the next building over. Let’s just say that things didn’t go over well with, you know, the whole drunk-over-Camila thing. It just stirred up too many buried memories in Ally.

“So this is your go-to now?“ Ally continues, moving her shoulders so much that the martini in her hand shakes. “Camila’s back, so you have to get drunk? Are you really that weak?”

The insults roll off of Lauren’s chest, her body shielded with armor made from whiskey. She smirks. “Dinah told you.”

“She didn’t have to, asshole! She’s my new roommate.”

That sobers Lauren up a bit. She blinks for a moment, processing Ally’s words. “I-“

“She’s here, dumb-ass. I thought we’d celebrate her first day here but clearly that was a bad idea on my end.” Ally shakes her head in shame. “I really thought you were going to change, Lauren. Do you even remember what you said to me the last time we spoke? ‘I want to change, Ally! I want to do right by her.’ God, was I wrong for believing in you for once.”

The insults batter Lauren’s shield of alcohol, hitting it again and again until it is finally punctured. Lauren wasn’t just drunk off her ass. Camila really is here- here! In this ratty ass bar. What was Lauren thinking? She opens her mouth to defend herself or apologize or just say something. But Ally cuts her off again.

“You need to leave, Lauren.”

After a moment of searching her mind, Lauren finally says, “You can’t kick me out.” Jesus, she’s so drunk she can’t even find it in herself to apologize.

Ally sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Just stay away from Camila, okay? I’m serious; this isn’t a warning anymore.”

“And what are you soooo afraid of? That I’ll buy her drinks? Make out with her?” Lauren smiles sadly. “Offer to drive her home?”

It’s a disgusting comment, even for a drunk Lauren. Ally finishes off her martini before speaking.

“I get that this is hard for you,” She says in a low voice, sounding just like Dinah from hours earlier. “I get that you must feel guilty, and confused, and just…heartbroken. I understand the want to get drunk, to just forget that any of this is happening. But you can’t run from this, Lauren. You can’t run from her. Not again.”

Ally pushes past Lauren before she can even formulate a response.

Lauren focuses her eyes on her hands, noticing the harsh scars circled around her palms. They’ve been there since the accident, she realizes. They haven’t faded- won’t fade unless she gets treatment. The scars are a part of her, and she has to live with that. Folding her hands palm-side down doesn’t make the scars go away, either. Just minimizes the time she has to face them. She has to stop running away.

From the scars, from Camila, from all of this. Lauren can’t continue ruining her life just to compensate for the injuries done to Camila. She-the old Camila, the one she once knew-wouldn’t want that. In fact, if the old Camila was aware of Lauren’s downward spiral, she’d be heartbroken.

And Lauren’s tired of breaking people’s hearts.

She hurries past the crowd of people dancing to get to the bar and pay her bill. She pushes past a couple twerking, another who can’t keep their hands off each other’s pants zippers. At some point, a hand grabs on to her shoulder so fiercely she has to elbow someone near by to get loose. The end result is her loss of balance as she escapes the crowd, stumbling into the person nearest to her.

“Whoa there-“ The voice says, but Lauren cuts them off.

“Shit,” She heaves, catching her breath. “I s-swear I’m not as drunk as that m-makes me seem-“

But as she blinks and fixes her hair, desperately trying to compose herself, her vision clears once again. The girl before her is a figure not drawn by alcohol or depression, but reality.

Lauren trembles as the name stumbles out of her mouth.

“Camila.” Her mouth fills with a vile taste, like burnt food.

The girl smiles warmly, brown eyes widening with surprise. “You remember my name?”

And as much as Lauren wants to make a snarky remark, she can’t bring herself to say anything more.

No, instead she bends over, holding her stomach.

Instead of word vomit, she, well-

She actually vomits.

————————————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not the first time I’ve been puked on. You’re fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s then that she breaks down. She hugs her knees to her chest, buries her face in-between them, and cries; huge, ugly sobs that tire her shoulders out. Lauren can feel her face growing red, her throat raw. This episode is even worse than the one from earlier, which-frankly-was previously thought impossible. And yet, the pain feels lighter tonight. As she’s crying next to Camila, sitting on the sidewalk in the chilly New York night air, there is something different. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the argument with Ally. But the crying feels more like venting, how it should feel to a normal person. It feels like the pain is escaping through every tear. And it is awkward and weird and fucking insane to be sobbing in Camila’s presence, but the moment reminds Lauren that this isn’t the first time she’s cried in front of her. For Lauren to not let it out would be running away. Fuck that.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Camila finally musters, eyes darting every which way as if to confirm that this is really happening. Then she latches on to Lauren’s arm, tugging at it gently as a means to get the girl to look up. But she doesn’t. Instead, Lauren sobs harder, louder, as if to block out Camila entirely.

“Those shoes were like $20 anyway!” Camila shouts, feigning a smile. “I can buy a new pair at Target for probably less! It’s all good!” But Lauren keeps on sobbing, drunk off-amongst other things-the release it gives. Camila pleads, “Don’t cry, blue skies? Please?”

And Lauren lifts her head up, as if feeling a new wave of nausea come on; a new wave of memories; flashbacks; nostalgia. She stares at Camila, eyes glassy with tears but-

But there’s something more. Her lips quiver as she starts, “You still-?”  She knows she can’t finish the sentence. You still say that? Instead, she shakes her head, letting it fall back between her knees. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks, but her eyes are closed for the most part. She tangles her hands together over her forehead, trying to grasp the reality at hand. Then she-

Well, she laughs. It’s a tired, broken sound, but the two girls make a mental note that it’s much better than the sobs.

One of the best memories Lauren can recall is, surprisingly, when Camila first told her she was moving away. They were sat at the edge of Lauren’s roof, like always, passing around what little alcohol they had managed to steal off their parents. This mixture in particular combined brandy, whiskey, and rum all in one flask. (Gross indeed, but Camila had insisted that it’d be better for them to learn to hate alcohol early.) There was really no proper way to announce the news, so Camila simply interrupted Lauren once she was tipsy and rambling.

“I still really want to go to NYU. I know you think I’m just applying for your sake, but-“

“I’mmoving.”

Lauren eyes her with a look of suspicion, raising a brow.

Camila refuses to meet her gaze. She keeps her face angled forward, her eyes hidden behind locks of stray hair. “Friday.” She manages. “I’m moving. To Texas.”

A silence moves in between them, separating them to such a degree that not even Camila’s dad could achieve it. Lauren fumbles mindlessly with the cap of the flask, her eyes staring at Camila. Looking, but not seeing. Hearing, but not listening.

“Please tell me you’re drunk.” She says, throat suddenly dry.

Camila shakes her head.

“Camz, please-“

Camila shakes her head more violently, turning her gaze towards Lauren for the first time. Then, seeing the truth in Camila’s eyes, Lauren shakes her head, too. “No, there’s no way-“ She begins, but the sight of Camila’s eyes becoming glassy with tears pushes Lauren over the edge. She propels herself off and away from the edge of the roof, dropping the flask of alcohol as she does so.

“No, no way in hell. If he really thinks he can just up and ship you off to fucking Texas of all places, he’s got another thing coming.” She paces carefully up and down the slope of the roof. “You can stay with me, or, or-!”

Camila mumbles softly,“Laur.” She meets Lauren’s eyes, then drags her gaze away again. “It’s over.”

Lauren shakes her head. “No. We can figure something out-“

“I’m moving in three days.”

“No, no, don’t tell me that! We can’t just give up-“

“We aren’t giving up, Lauren. We never had a chance, not with my dad. You know that.”

Lauren slips down the roof with each statement. “Are you forgetting that he’s a bitter, tired-ass! You can’t-“

“I have to.”

“Camila!”

“Lauren.”

“Please,” Lauren finally skids next to Camila’s side, taking a seat on the edge. “This is my fault! He shouldnt be punishing you. I-I’ll promise to keep my distance from you in public. I’ll sign a restraining order if that’ll make him happy! Just please-“ Her voice cracks as her eyes fill with tears. “Don’t let him take away the only good thing I have in my life.”

That’s when the both of them broke down, sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Lauren had never been so intimate with Camila, not in this way. The honesty, the aching in her voice-

The fact that she really did believe Camila was the only good thing in her life brought Camila to tears. Then, of course, came the revelation that they were losing each other, probably for good. This was a split no one could control.

After a while, Camila whispered, “Don’t cry, blue skies.”  Lauren only remembers it now because it was such a stupid, yet adorable thing to say in the midst of a disaster.

“I think I’m just drunk,” Lauren says now, wiping her face with one hand. She musters up enough courage to look into Camila’s eyes, and she notices the same jolt of concern darkening the brown in them. A few fresh tears roll down her cheeks, but not out of sadness; a drunken anger or disdain. No, these are tears of hope. Hell, maybe even joy.

Maybe memories can be forgotten, erased. But there are some parts of you that you just can’t change; certain aspects that are hardwired into your chemical make-up. Maybe Camila forgot about Lauren, but maybe there are parts of her that haven’t changed. Maybe the parts of her Lauren loved most haven’t changed.

Seizing the moment, Lauren speaks before Camila can say a word.

“Walk me back to my dorm, please? I promise I won’t cry anymore.”

Camila looks at her with shock, her mouth dropping open before curving into a ridiculous smile. She shrugs, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Is that a no, Cabello?”

Camila raises a brow. “You know my last name?”

Panic. “We-“ Lauren begins, but stops herself in all her drunkeness. We knew each other, once. We were actually lovers at one point, haha. She shakes her head, mouth suddenly dry.

“Dinah told me.”

“And did Dinah tell you anything else about me?”

Lauren raises a brow. “Should she have?”

“Mm, not from her, no. But from me? You have a lot to learn-…” She pauses, at a loss for words.

“Jauregui,” Lauren answers. Then, smirking, she puts out a hand. “Lauren Michelle Jauregui, at your service.”

Camila takes Lauren’s hand, pulling the girl up with her as she rises from the curb. “Karla Camila Cabello,” She says, stepping closer to Lauren. “But don’t tell anyone.”

And the two of them are so, so close, faces inches away. And Camila is smirking, like she’s discovered the most clever saying in the world. And Lauren is smiling anxiously, trying to convince herself that if she drunkenly stumbled and crashed her lips into Camila’s, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

But then she hears Dinah and Ally’s voices mixing in her head. Don’t blow it. Don’t fuck it up.

Instead, Lauren grabs Camila’s hand. “Lead the way, Brown Eyed Girl.”

Camila freezes at the nickname, her head tilting as she observes the lightness to Lauren’s eyes. She doesn’t say it, but the way her brow is furrowing tells Lauren she’s confused.

She mumbles, “Why does that sound so familiar?”

And there’s that shred of hope again.

Lauren tries to hide her smile, shrugging like the most oblivious girl in the world. But as they start towards the Arts and Sciences dorm, Lauren thinks to herself:

It should sound familiar. It should, it should, it should.

———————————————————————————————-

AHHHHH thank u all so much for the positive feedback pls keep it coming Im terribly self-conscious with my writing lmao 

have a nice day!! hopefully this didnt make u too emo (:

[seven-oomen]

Lol, as someone who once gave a friend a 20 minute lecture on why she WOULDN’T like my then favorite anime (no really), I tend to not judge anyone else getting carried away about things.  And I have never really had any friends that watched/were interested in TW, so there’s a few years of suppressed enthusiasm that keeps boiling over into stream-of-consciousness text explosions (as you have seen.)  I’m just glad someone else is enjoying the insanity.

And don’t worry, it does feel very in character, and I genuinely didn’t expect any different from him right now (and it’s still plenty fluffy.)  But it wouldn’t be me reading a slow burn fic if I wasn’t internally screaming and about ready to reach into the story and shake one or more of the idiots involved.  The intense frustration just means the slow burn is doing exactly what it’s supposed to.  XD

I would say that I was sorry about causing workplace distractions, but frankly I would be lying.  Also, having given it more thought because my brain wouldn’t let me do otherwise, I decided that for full roleplay effect, it would have to be Noah as the elegant homeowner with the luscious maid, and Peter as the strong, self-assured Alpha cop who just wants to make sure the Omegas are properly “taken care of” (oh god, why can’t I stop…I seriously have NO IDEA where this came from…)

And I feel like Chris would be movie Morticia, because he’s more prone to drama in his wardrobe, whereas Noah would the less flashy (yet still attention grabbing) 60s TV Morticia.  (If Peter were to ever join in he’d totally have to wear the version Christina Ricci did a couple years back in order to maintain his title as King of the V-Neck)  Also, just for variety, and because I love the outfit, Melissa would be Lily Munster for contrast (I mean, Scott’s beta shift is totally Eddie Munster anyway, so it all checks out.)

I admit, I was pretty proud of the quilt thing when I thought of it.  It just really felt like something they would do for Peter after everything they’ve all been through.  Another random family thought; does Ben give Rabbit to one of his older siblings when they move away to college (or a group of them depending on where they go), or hand it down to a later one?  Because either one seems like the kind of thing he would do.  Do they make him and the other younger kids new patchwork wolf plushies out of the leftover scraps for Peter’s quilt, and throw in a few pieces from one of Peter’s shirts so everybody’s represented?  Does Malia ever have Peter teach her knitting or crochet so that she can make Kira a wolf fur scarf as a courting gift?  (Thinking about Hale Pack craft ideas makes me feel less guilty about all the craft projects I am not currently working on.)

That video was so precious!  Oh god my heart!  The huge paws and sad eyes and tiny little noises!  I imagine they eventually invest in one of those huge multi-room tents that they can just scatter with blankets and the most durable air mattresses they can find (those claws are sharp.)  They have a bunch of those family size sleeping bags for everybody to share.  Watching Peter cram his huge, fluffy bulk into one between his mates is endlessly entertaining to all, and occasionally borders on peak Moon Moon antics (yeah, he could just shift back, but then he’d have to like, put on pants and shit.) 

Also, not to drag everything back down to the gutter (as though I ever truly leave it), but speaking of running through the woods, do Chris and Noah ever combine their survival/nature abilities to plot out the quickest route to the Nemeton, talk Peter into going for “a walk”, then having Chris help provide a distraction while Noah gets some of the nearby tree roots to shift up and around Peter’s feet as stealthily as possible (like an adult version of the handcuffing Stiles to the desk thing), until he’s good and tethered, and then just being kinda like “catch us if you can” and hauling ass towards the Nemeton to see if they can get there before Peter breaks free and chases them down for, uh, “anniversary celebrations”, shall we call it?

Oh, and I keep forgetting, but I loved that whole thing a while back about Jackson being average Intelligence, but high Wisdom?  (And Charisma, let’s not forget that stat XD )  Ever since my friends and I played D&D back in college, “high Intelligence, low Wisdom” has been a recurring code phrase in our group that basically meant “highly educated, yet somehow still a complete idiot” (which, to be fair, does accurately describe a fair few of my friends), so I legit cackled at seeing it pop up to explain characters in TW.

I hope you’re feeling better after some sleep.  Those days when the focus is just gone and everything is just sort of fuzzy are terrible.  And really, don’t worry about how extensively you react to my nonsense.  One of my biggest worries when I start gushing about fandom and nerdery is that whoever my audience is will end up bored or overwhelmed or something, so knowing that others are enjoying it is plenty for me. :D

I’m still pretty scatterbrained today but my therapist said that it’s probably a combo of ADD, my trauma therapy and my brain trying to heal, and low B12 levels in the blood. Sleep did help though to clear it a little. 

Right now I’m calming myself down with Last of us Gameplay videos and some snacks because I had to go to the hospital today for getting blood drawn. My hormone levels need to be checked every three months for Hrt. And that ain’t stopping because of the pandemic. XD

So, yeah, I need a breather. But other than that, I’m having a pretty good day today.

And that does make me feel a lot better, knowing that the slow burn is doing its job ^^.  You can’t see me smile, but I’m smiling.

Noah as the elegant homeowner with the luscious maid, and Peter as the strong, self-assured Alpha cop who just wants to make sure the Omegas are properly “taken care of” (oh god, why can’t I stop…I seriously have NO IDEA where this came from…)

Please don’t stop, this is fucking golden.

I can just imagine Peter handcuffing Noah to the bed. (Noah can get out of them any time he wants, but he enjoys it far too much and plays along.) And he ropes Chris into undressing Noah and orders him to ‘take care of the master’s needs’. Of course, the poor innocent omega maid is extremely happy to do so. 

I like to imagine another favorite roleplay of them is a role reversal. With Chris as the ‘werewolf bitch in heat’ and Peter and Noah as the hunter couple who trains the wolf to be a good bitch and do their bidding. It’s all in good fun though, they have safe words just in case things get too real for any of them.

Not that the Omegas in this particular story have heats, I gave them a regular menstrual cycle like we have in humans. 

(As in this case Alpha/Omega is a metaphor for trans bodies and I created this universe as a universe where trans bodies are fully accepted and the norm. So a guy with a vagina isn’t a strange thing, it’s just an Omega male. I like to write universes like that because I am trans and it’s nice to see a world where I would be normal. Or well, you know, I hope you catch my drift. I don’t want to seem offensive. Or is it offensive if I give my opinion on things as a trans guy? idk... doesn’t matter.)

And I feel like Chris would be movie Morticia, because he’s more prone to drama in his wardrobe, whereas Noah would the less flashy (yet still attention grabbing) 60s TV Morticia.  (If Peter were to ever join in he’d totally have to wear the version Christina Ricci did a couple years back in order to maintain his title as King of the V-Neck)  Also, just for variety, and because I love the outfit, Melissa would be Lily Munster for contrast (I mean, Scott’s beta shift is totally Eddie Munster anyway, so it all checks out.)

I mean, I feel like this whole point I just sat there nodding like, yeah, no actually that’s a good point. Also, yeah Peter would defend his title as King of the V-neck. Have you seen his collar bones? They deserve to be out. And that little bit of chest hair that’s peeking out, that’s all carefully curated and maintained ok.

Another random family thought; does Ben give Rabbit to one of his older siblings when they move away to college (or a group of them depending on where they go), or hand it down to a later one?  Because either one seems like the kind of thing he would do.  Do they make him and the other younger kids new patchwork wolf plushies out of the leftover scraps for Peter’s quilt, and throw in a few pieces from one of Peter’s shirts so everybody’s represented?  Does Malia ever have Peter teach her knitting or crochet so that she can make Kira a wolf fur scarf as a courting gift?  

Absolutely. Ben gives Rabbit to Allison when she goes off to college because he feels like his sister might need him the most. After all, she’s going to Stanford (Like her dad Peter) to study Psychology (or maybe Biochem?) and Lydia is going to MIT to study mathematics. So they’ll be apart for a while. And she definitely needs Rabbit.

Jackson is going to Stanford (or maybe Berkely) to study Criminal law or maybe Economics? (Peter studied business law at Stanford, Jackson seems like he might follow or do a variation of ‘the Hale family business (Law))

Scott would go to Community college I feel and study veterinary medicine. (He doesn’t seem to be the type to get into a top university.)

I feel like Malia could get into a university, but she would probably choose community college and study electrical engineering or mechanical engineering. Idk why but I def see Malia as someone who could open up their own auto repair shop.

Stiles gets into law enforcement like his dad. Either by joining the police or like in canon, he joins the FBI.

Kira gets into nursing school and follows in Melissa’s footsteps to become a nurse, she works in pediatrics.

Isaac goes to community college and studies behavioral or developmental psychology and starts working with abused and troubled youth.

I’m not sure about Erica, Boyd, Liam, Theo, Mason, Corey, or Hayden though.

The older kids do make Ben a new plushie though, as well as plushies for the twins and the youngest sibling. And they scrape together all these pieces of clothing, some of Peter’s shirts and turn them into little wolf plushies for the kids.

And Malia definitely does, she has Peter teaching her how to knit, how to crochet, how to carve wood. She’s very crafty like her dad and takes to it with ease. She makes Kira all sorts of things, scarves, mittens, a beanie, a sweater, a quilt, a blanket. Honestly, Kira never has to run out of things that can keep her warm. And she adores Malia for it.

That video was so precious!  Oh god my heart!  The huge paws and sad eyes and tiny little noises!  I imagine they eventually invest in one of those huge multi-room tents that they can just scatter with blankets and the most durable air mattresses they can find (those claws are sharp.)  They have a bunch of those family size sleeping bags for everybody to share.  Watching Peter cram his huge, fluffy bulk into one between his mates is endlessly entertaining to all, and occasionally borders on peak Moon Moon antics (yeah, he could just shift back, but then he’d have to like, put on pants and shit.)

And I know right! It’s so adorable, I just melted. And they definitely do,  they buy a huge tent and fill it with either durable air mattresses or those sleeping mats you can get for camping. And a lot of sleeping bags and pillows. In enclosed spaces, Peter goes full moon moon. Malia keeps a Tumblr of all the pictures of her dad wolfing out and dorking about. She tells everyone on Tumblr her family runs a wolf rescue and this is just her dads and the Alpha of the pack that bonded. People buy it because it’s Tumblr, why wouldn’t two gay dads run a wolf rescue?

EIther that or people are convinced werewolves are real and moon moon because a new synonym for werewolf. They start sending Malia requests for more moon moon antics.

Also, not to drag everything back down to the gutter (as though I ever truly leave it), but speaking of running through the woods, do Chris and Noah ever combine their survival/nature abilities to plot out the quickest route to the Nemeton, talk Peter into going for “a walk”, then having Chris help provide a distraction while Noah gets some of the nearby tree roots to shift up and around Peter’s feet as stealthily as possible (like an adult version of the handcuffing Stiles to the desk thing), until he’s good and tethered, and then just being kinda like “catch us if you can” and hauling ass towards the Nemeton to see if they can get there before Peter breaks free and chases them down for, uh, “anniversary celebrations”, shall we call it?

These boys live for the chase. And they know just how to get Peter distracted enough. It involves Chris, a make-out session, and some uh, advanced distraction tactics on his knees. Noah absolutely binds Peter to a tree and two haul ass over to the Nemeton where Peter catches Chris and has his way with him while bending him over the stump. That’s actually how he ends up getting pregnant again. (Although it is somewhat planned, they’d been trying for a few months anyway.) But yeah, it’s definitely an anniversary thing.

And a birthday thing. Actually, I think it’s also a roleplay thing. They’d definitely enjoy all of it.

God I love these conversations ^^ <3