#the only times ive been close to happy are when ive been naive and ignorant

[norrizzandpia]

Used (LN4)

Summary: A bet can do more harm than good.

Warnings: i dont think ive ever wrote something this angsty, its very sad so be warned, lando is a back stabbing bitch but hes stupidly in love, literally stupidly, insecurities, loss of virginity, major betrayal, sad ending but there will be a part 2 bc as we all know i cant do sad endings

Note: im very sorry for this one

Word count: somewhere in the 4k’s

When Oscar got into F1, Y/n promised herself she wouldn’t follow her brother around the paddock like a lost puppy. With cameras all around and prying eyes, she wanted to come across as independent and strong rather than pathetic and small. For a while, that translated, but it got lonely after a few months. Missing her brother as he was busy doing interviews or creating connections, and losing her parents in the mass of people, she always found herself alone. That was until Lando fully came into the picture. He hadn’t wanted to overstep boundaries with his teammate by befriending his sister, but the boy couldn’t resist when he continued to catch glimpses of her struggle to fit in. She was too young to hang out with any of the racers’ girlfriends, yet too old to hang out with the children of powerful people. She was only 19, still figuring out what life was, why she was here, and what she was meant to do. So, overcoming his own anxieties, Lando approached the girl on a rainy Sunday when the race had been postponed because of the wet weather.

“Can I sit here?” He had said, smiling lightly at her as her head slowly moved up to make eye contact with the popular driver.

She had moved over on the bench, nodding quickly as if she was afraid any time in which he had to wait would set him off.

At first, things were awkward with Lando not knowing anything about her and Y/n being too shy to form any words in front of the boy she thought was cute. Nonetheless, after 20 minutes, words were spoken, and conversing became second nature.

Gradually, Lando felt Y/n warm up to him as she realized the driver was someone she found solace in.

Her first friend in Formula One.

Everyone in the paddock began to take note of the budding friendship quickly evolving between the sister and the driver. While people were happy to see a new connection growing, Oscar was weary. It was no secret Lando had a track record of sleeping around, pretending to be close to women for only one night in order to get what he wanted. The women in question always understood the pattern and never found offense or distaste with it, but Y/n wasn’t that mature, Oscar knew. His sister was still naive and her lack of attention toward media outlets played into her lack of luck as she didn’t realize Lando could be around for all the wrong reasons. Oscar did, though, and he made it incredibly clear to the British boy that any impure advances on his sister were not, and never would be, welcomed.

“You pull any weird shit and I’ll have your head.” He said sternly to Lando in a tone that no one had ever heard come out of the Australian before.

“I’m not going to, Oscar. I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but we’ve realized we just have so much in common. There’s nothing else behind it, I promise. I just like your sister’s company. That’s it.” He reassured.

And, for a while, that was true. Lando saw nothing else behind their friendship, however, that soon began to change. He noted the way he became so comfortable being touchy with her or giving her impromptu compliments about how pretty she looked that day. Being experienced in that realm of life, Lando also noted the way her cheeks blushed ever so slightly under his eye, and he couldn’t ignore the way his insides twisted at her subtle happiness over him.

They danced around each other and their feelings for some time until a drunken night changed everything. Lando had invited his friends from DJing over, one of those people being Martin Garrix. The men had laid themselves out on Lando’s luxurious couch with beers in hand, chugging away as they gossiped like 13-year-old girls.

The conversation came easily with these people as Martin interrupted and changed the topic to something a bit more interesting, “Lando, I gotta ask. What’s going on with you and Oscar’s sister?”

At this point in their relationship, Lando was still in the stage of denying any deeper feelings for her, “Nothing? What do you mean?”

Martin shook his head as the boys around him knowingly eyed each other, “Come on, you two are definitely sleeping together.”

“No, we aren’t.” He said immediately, not understanding why he had become so invested in protecting Y/n’s image.

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed, “So, you two aren’t sneaking around behind the brother’s back?”

“No,” Lando said firmly, but his defiance on the subject proved to worsen his situation as Martin set his beer down and looked at him with a mischievous look.

“Then, I have a proposition for you.” His arms rested on his knees as he leaned forward.

“What?” Lando mirrored his stance.

“Obviously, you know I have that really big gig next year at The Cabin in New York.” Lando nodded, “Well, if you can get Y/n to fall in love with you, maybe even sleep with her, I don’t know, then you can play it. Play the set at The Cabin.” Martin’s idea made Lando’s eyes bulge out of his head and his body leap from the couch.

The alcohol in his system proved to do its job by impairing his judgment as he didn’t ask questions or try to understand why Martin would get off on playing with someone in that way. All the boy did was scream his agreeance and then excitement for playing at The Cabin in New York.

“YOU ASKED MY SISTER OUT!?” Oscar had screamed in fury at Lando 2 days later.

Putting his hands up, Lando tried to talk down an aggravated teammate, “Listen, Oscar. Listen,” He pleaded, “I didn’t see it coming, really. But, I…” The words felt sour in his mouth as the guilt for what he was about to embark on set in, “I didn’t expect to fall for her, okay? I just did and I hope you’ll trust me enough that I’m not going to play her like I do the others. I wouldn’t hurt you like that and I especially wouldn’t hurt her like that.”

His words seemed to calm the blonde boy as he looked Lando in the eye, trying to decipher if he was being truthful. And, even though he wasn’t, Oscar found Lando’s spewed sentences to be genuine.

“Fine, but, I’m serious, Lando,” Oscar shoved a finger into Lando’s chest, “if you pull anything, I won’t hesitate to find crazy dirt on you and blackmail McLaren into firing you. Trust me, I’m smart enough to ruin your whole career.”

His threats went in Lando’s right ear and out the other because he found his British accent flooding the room they stood in as he said, “I promise, nothing will happen.”

—

“Is there any specific you want for tonight, my love?” Lando whispered against her skin as they lay in his bed, tangled together after a busy morning of meetings and conversations discussing their announcement of their relationship to the public with McLaren’s PR teams.

She breathed against the crook of his neck as she toyed with his shirt, “No, just excited to go out with you.”

He chuckled as he breathed the scent of her shampoo in, “Me too, baby.”

After nearly 3 months, the couple had fallen easily into the norms of a romantic relationship. Having not yet slept together or fully opened up and shown the other dark parts of themselves, they had a long way to go, but, at that moment, the two were content.

Content with having casual dates, hidden under baseball caps and sunglasses to keep from someone seeing them and outing their newfound connection. Content with the star gazing they had scheduled a few weeks back for that night, fulfilling something Y/n had mentioned she wanted to try.

They found themselves lost in the sky, weeds surrounding them as they lay side by side on a thin blanket to separate them from the rough grass beneath. In a quiet moment with Y/n’s fingers pointing out constellations to him, Lando sunk into himself.

His past few months with her had proven to be a lot more interesting than he had expected. Pretending to be in love with her started to feel less like a forced feeling and more like something he had been destined to feel for her and her only his whole life. The guilt ate away at him, but the love that was slowly consuming him for her trumped it every time.

“Lan? You still here?” Her sweet voice cut through his thoughts, making his head turn to meet her eyes.

He smiled at her, “Yeah, sorry, just lost track of my thoughts, I think.”

Her hand trailed up and down his stomach, “You okay?”

“Mhm, just don’t want to leave.” He nodded, looking at her so she could understand that he didn’t just want to leave this moment, he didn’t want to leave her.

She cracked a small smile, “Oh, me neither.”

A beat of silence went by before she sat up and turned to look down at him, “When did you realize you wanted more than just a friendship between us?”

This question was something he was anticipating and absolutely dreaded because, if he were to tell the truth, he would have to tell her she was a bet with his friends and that was the only reason he had been pushed to confront his underlying feelings for her. Although, wanting his gig, Lando tried to tell a white lie.

“I don’t really know when it happened. I just know that one day I really liked talking with you and the next I just liked you.” Simple and sweet, he thought. That was the trick to getting away with this.

Her blush complicated things and the butterflies in his stomach over her smile laid out the strong counterargument to his mind.

“Hm.” She said as she lowered herself back to the ground.

Lando’s curiosity took over as he asked what she meant by the ominous sound.

“Just that, I didn’t expect you to like me. I mean, you’re past is a lot of picture-perfect models and well-rounded, intellectual, impressive women. Not a 19-year-old kid whose major is undecided as she enters into her second year of college.” Her words struck a deep cord within his chest that he couldn’t not play.

“Is that all you think you are?” He was complicating the situation further, he understood that, but to think Y/n didn’t understand how amazing she was was something he couldn’t ignore.

She shrugged her shoulders, “Well, Lan, what else would I be?”

He was internally shocked at her obliviousness to her own perfection, “‘What else would I be?’ Y/n, what? You’re not just some lost college kid. You’re Oscar’s best friend and the person I would call first no matter what the situation. You’re so much to everyone around you. How can you not see that?”

Her voice came out trembly as she stared at the stars, “It’s hard when your brother’s constantly outshined you your whole life. My parents never realized they had another kid when I was growing up. It was all about Oscar and his races, his success. I never lived up to anything to actually make them notice me.”

His heart broke for the hurt little girl she was clearly entrusting him with, “Y/n, look at me.” His hands wrapped around her jaw to turn her head to the side, their eyes meeting in an intense stare, “Oscar could never outshine you and the fact that you’ve gone your whole life thinking anyone, let alone your brother, has the ability to take other’s attention from you is preposterous. You are the first thing that catches people’s eye when they walk into a room. You’re intoxicating with the way you carry yourself. You’re not just a confused child, you’re you. You are your best friend’s safe space, Oscar’s go-to person to brag about, you’re my favorite person, and, even though you might not think so, your parent’s pride and joy. You’re so many things, darling. Just because you aren’t an F1 driver doesn’t mean you don’t mean something. If it means anything, to me, you mean everything.”

His forehead rested against hers as he whispered the words to her, her eyes closed against his skin as she took in what she had longed to hear since she was 7. Lando’s thumbs rested against her cheeks, collecting the soft tears as they fell from her eyes.

“Sorry,” She whispered as she tried to back away from his hold, apologizing for the wetness that was pooling around his fingers.

However, Lando was quick to pull her back in, “No, don’t apologize. Letting me in isn’t something I’m afraid of, Y/n. It’s something I’m grateful to experience.”

She nodded, at a loss for words as she reveled in his gentleness. His hold on her tightened as he pushed her against his chest, whispering words into her ear.

Words that spoke truths he believed deep within himself and words that complexified the bet he had made.

—

“So, tell us what’s going on with you and the hotshot driver!” Y/n’s best friend, Paige, exclaimed at breakfast weeks after Lando and she had gone public.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, “Nothing! We’re just together. It’s not that serious.”

Paige reeled back in her seat, sending her a questionable look, “Really? ‘Not that serious’? Are you kidding me? He took your virginity!”

“Shh!!! Shh!!” Y/n jabbed a finger in her friend's face in response to the loud volume accompanied by the exposition of her situation.

“Sorry!” Paige squeaked, looking around to make sure no one had heard her, thankfully no one had. She continued, “Does he know?”

“That it was my first time? Yeah.” Y/n informed as Paige smiled triumphantly at the girl across from her.

“So, was he sweet? Did you like it?” Paige fired off the questions.

Y/n blushed, being taken back to the night before where Lando had assured her he would be gentle.

He had.

“Yes, he was very sweet. We got back from the date and decided to watch a movie. During it, we started kissing and then, you know, one thing led to another, and…”

“You told him.” Paige finished her sentence.

Y/n waved her head slowly to the left and right, “Well, it started getting intense, so I just let him know. I tried to be pretty nonchalant about it, come off like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but the moment he heard it, he was telling me how much he cared about it.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“He just wanted to talk about it, wanted to make sure I wasn’t rushing into anything and that I actually wanted to do this with him. He told me how he didn’t want to screw anything up and how he really wanted it to go well for me, so if I needed him to change anything, I could just let him know. He was really big on communication through the whole thing and, honestly, it made things so much easier. And, then, after we were done, I got up to leave, but he acted like I had just said he wouldn’t ever win a world championship, and then insisted on me staying. Paige, he was so perfect.”

The two girls giggled together as they dug into their food, “So, you’ve let him in completely then?”

Y/n giggled, not having a clue of what was to come, “After he saw me completely naked and I told him about my deepest insecurities? Yeah, I have. I just hope this doesn’t backfire in my face.”

—

Lando was Y/n’s first love. There was no doubt about that. So, surprising him at the Silverstone Grand Prix sounded like a good idea. However, as she and Oscar stood outside his Driver’s Room door, accidentally eavesdropping on his conversation with Martin, the world proved to her that being there entirely was a horrible idea.

“Mate, I think it's gone too far. I want to back out of the bet.” Lando’s muffled voice sounded through the wall as Oscar and Y/n glanced at each other, matching confusion on their faces.

“No way, Lando. We made a deal. I don’t want to do this gig, I’ve done it so many times before it’s boring now, but for someone like you who has never done it, it’ll be fun.” Martin pleaded.

Y/n could practically hear Lando shake his head, “No, Martin. We should’ve never made it in the first place. I don’t want to play at The Cabin. Dating her for a bet is so cruel. I should’ve stopped it so long ago. I should’ve told you ‘no’ immediately.”

She didn’t even really comprehend what his words meant for a few minutes. She just stood there, eyes fixed on the door, trying desperately to figure out a way to explain away what he had just revealed.

Oscar’s hand gripped her arm as he watched her realize Lando’s true intent. His lip trembled, trying to keep the tears at bay, as his little sister broke in front of him. Her mouth opened and closed before her eyes watered and her gaze was shooting around the hallway in an attempt to find her brother. The fact that he was right in front of her didn’t translate in her brain, which had been in immediate turmoil once it dawned on her.

“Y/n, I’m right here.” He repeated to her as he slowly coaxed her into his embrace. Blind rage threatened to fill Oscar’s body, wanting nothing more than to storm into Lando’s room and rip him to shreds, but, as his sister quietly sobbed in his arms, he knew she needed him more than his fist needed to collide with Lando’s face.

Fortunately, his room wasn’t too far, so they weren’t seen by anyone as they made their way. The tears never ceased, only intensifying once they found themselves tucked away in the privateness of his own four walls.

“I was a bet?” Her choked sobs fought to silence her, but she continued to repeat the words as if it could cause her confusion to be fixed.

She clutched onto her older brother as she willed herself to go back in time and never step foot in an F1 paddock. Her mind raced as it tried to erase their time together and the love she had for him, the love she still had for him.

—

Hours after crying so much the tears dried up, Y/n found herself numb as she poured steeped the tea bag into the steaming hot water. No longer caring if she ran into him, she stood in the middle of McLaren’s hospitality, still trying to understand when she went wrong.

When she started loving him in the way that she did now. Even after finding out it was fake, his love for her was fake, she can’t stop the way her heart still beats for him.

The way, even after he had hurt her as badly as he did, she still searched for him in the crowd.

Oscar was off doing an interview, something he begrudgingly went off as he wanted to sit with his sister longer, as she made her walk back to his resting room.

Her attention was on the warm temperature that surrounded her face when she sipped her drink, she didn’t see the man of the hour turn the corner nor did she see the way his gaze landed on her or the way he began running toward her, confused as to why she was here.

“Y/n? Love, what are you doing here? I thought you had a test you couldn’t skip?” His voice forced feelings into her body whether she liked it or not. However, this time instead of feeling suffocating sadness, she felt pure, bewildered rage.

Turning around, she met his eyes, “What set do you think you’ll play at The Cabin?”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed together at her question as well as the look on her face he wasn’t accustomed to.

“What?” He asked simply, not believing she could know.

She took a step closer to him, letting the betrayal take control, “When you play in New York at The Cabin, Lan,” Her smile was sickly and incredibly fake, “What are you going to play? I was thinking that one remix you have that you said makes the crowd go wild. I mean, it has to be big seeing as you went through so much trouble to get the spot. Ya know, dating me for a bet and all.” She took his silence and blank stare as an invitation to keep going, “Inspiring, really, Lando. The amount of dedication you must have when it comes to being a DJ that you would exploit someone else’s vulnerability, allow them to tell you all the internalized bullshit they’ve struggled with their whole lives, and, then!” She exclaimed, her voice translating ferocity rather than joy, “And then!” She dryly laughed, “Take their virginity just to spice things up! Wow, Lando, you have a certain level of determinedness I think society doesn’t address enough.”

His hand reached out for hers, but she quickly pulled her own back to her chest, looking at him in disgust, “Y/n, let me explain.”

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, she turned around, hightailing it to Oscar’s as she heard Lando follow her.

“Y/n, I’m serious. Please, there’s an explanation. Listen to me, baby. Please, I’m begging you.” He pleaded with her as he continued to reach for her, but he was always just a little too late.

“Y/n, I never meant for it to go this far. I though-” He tried, but Y/n was whirling around and jabbing a finger into his chest as she interrupted him with a fiery gaze.

“You never meant for it to go this far? Really? That’s the best you can give me!? I was lonely and you took advantage of that! You didn’t mean for it to go this far? Are you kidding me? You should’ve never even looked in my direction. You’re sick in the head for knowingly taking my virginity! For taking what was supposed to be something special and eventful, something meaningful, and twisting it into some stepping stone all a part of your grand plan to gain a bigger audience for your hobby! That was mine. That moment, when I allowed a guy I trusted and loved to take something so sacred, was supposed to be something I looked fondly back on. That part of my life, my girlhood, you exploited for your own personal gain. Where the hell do you get off? I trusted you. I told you things about my life, about myself, I’ve never told anyone before, and, what? The whole time it was a bet to you? A task you had to complete in order to turn some tables at a club in a dirty city?”

He stared at her, trying to peer into her soul and tell her all the things he didn’t know how to say, but, with all the hurt he had presented her with, she didn’t see him. She didn’t see the anguish he was going through over his actions catching up with him and abusing someone who was completely innocent. She didn’t see how hard he was trying to tell her he loved her and he always had.

“Y/n, it was never that to me. Please, you have to understand. You’ve always been so much more to me. Y/n, I love you-” Once again, she was shutting him up.

“That’s not love, Lando, and it’s pathetic you think it is.”

With that, she stepped into her brother’s room, closed the door, and locked it. Effectively, shutting Lando out.

For good or for the time being, he didn’t know.

[bojackhorsemanobviously]

more good reddit takes that ive wondered too

What do y'all think was going on in Charlotte's head when Bojack stayed with her and her family?

When Bojack goes to New Mexico we get a good idea of why he is doing what he's doing, even though it's objectively weird to show up at the doorstep of an old flame after 30 years and then playing house with their family for a couple of months.

I find Charlotte's actions a lot harder to understand though. Maybe that's just because she's not the protagonist but still. She expressed to Bojack that she was aware of his feelings for her before she left LA. She seems to think it is strange that he just shows up out of the blue and she seems aware that he's not telling the full truth of why he's there. She tells him she's happy that he's there and invites him to stay though, letting him become weirdly close to her family. To the point that he's almost a part of it. Bojack is even talking about finding a job in the area. Most disturbingly, she observes (EDIT: or at least, could have observed) that he has a weird and immature relationship with her teenage daughter (think about that conversation Charlotte, Bojack and Penny have about that boy not taking Penny to prom for example).

The whole time I was watching this I was like, why is she so cool with this walking red flag staying indefinitely? Why is she sometimes kind of flirty with him, like when they share a beer after Penny's prom? Have they talked at some point about how long Bojack will stay? What are they to each other now?

And then Bojack tries to kiss Charlotte and she suddenly voices all the things that have seemed off since the beginning. She says they don't really know each other, that he is disturbing her family life, that he has been acting strange/dishonest, that she has to put her foot down and protect her family etc. She isn't wrong but I can understand Bojack's confusion here. I feel like he got some mixed signals from her. It's not really an excuse for him trying to homewreck (and definitely not for trying to sleep with her 17 year old daughter) but her behavior is confusing.

I feel like she must have sensed that he was really there because he was still interested in her. What was in this arrangement for her? What do you guys think her motivations in this whole situation were?

______

She definitely had some lingering feelings for BoJack. Her calling him a coward before she left felt like a way for her to put the sexual tension between them in a way that puts the burden on him. While she probably loves Kyle, it’s possible the fire between them died down over 20 years. She was attracted to this idea of her old friend she had feelings for and wanted to keep him close.

She was still faithful enough and cared enough about her family to not do anything before the prom night, but him living with them could be a way to stay close to him.

For a non romantic reason they also recently lost their other old friend Herb. She was probably nostalgic for that time in their life and knowing they could die for any reason wanted to spend more time with him

___

I think the writers firstly intended to do a spin on how irl, having a friend be that close to the family and living with them like it's a sitcom is actually a bit strange and not as innocent as you would think.

I think Charlotte had lingering feelings for Bojack as well, she doesn't outright tell him no either when he confesses his feelings to her. She just states that she has a family and that he's going to ruin the life she built. I think she was either in denial of her own feelings, or she thought she could ignore them and maintain a friendship with Bojack. It was the kiss that forced her to finally confront what was going on.

Ultimately it's a little bit on both of them that this happened (not the daughter thing obviously). Bojack shouldn't have tried to steal Charlotte away, and Charlotte should have nipped it in the bud, because only a naive person thinks this situation is normal or not see the implications.

[isekaisyouwithmyforearmlaser]

god im so fucking sick of people telling me theyre so proud of me for taking in my little sister like this is fucking easy in comparison to everything like the moment i tell them it isnt hard for me cause i used to be a full time nanny they go "well still at your age its different" like yeah and it was different when i used to give my mom baths when she came home completely shitfaced when i was 10 but you didnt see me fucking feel bad for myself or anyone tell me how proud they are of me even my mom ignored it and didnt acknowledge the factg that i took care of her more than she ever raised me LAST FUCKING WEEK but i cant be annoyed i just have to smile and go thank you im so young and naive and then they give me unsolictied advice and tell me im so strong like holy fuck die die die die and i feel so bad because this week ive been so fucked cause of work and my little sister is gone from her friends and i got enough money to pay 10 dollars for tickets to see this movie she wanted to see cause she lost her childhood dog yesterday (and i know its probably dead but when she asks me i say god is with it and keeping him safe) and i thought here i can cheer her up and then my car got stuck and then i was sitting there for an hour trying to dig it out and some guy comes up and tries to help and then he just goes well its stuck good and i start freaking out and he says that its not a big deal and i need to calm down andd i nearly fucking went nuts on him i just told him to fuck off that he doesnt know me i didnt ask to raise a child right now i had plans and dreams and i cant even fucking be mad theyre all being ruined because its not like i had the willpower and discipline to really see them through anyways and im just so fucking mad right now and i feel like ive been so mad ive just been hiding it and im so fucking mad at everyone i know and im mad at myself now my mom only calls me when shes asking for money and all my friends say you cant blame yourself about the hospitalization like you were going to kill yourself and its like no matter what i do i wasnt good enough for my little sister because now we are broke as fuck and all my friends are throwing a fucking pity party for me that makes me want to kms cause the only way i know how to feel useful (which up until this point i felt very useful because i was the sole provider for my family) is by giving money and the moment i gave a shit about my self my entire family got evicted and everyone in my life just turned the other way. MY BROTHER who fucking molested me just ignores me when i beg him to help not for me (hes never given a shit about me ive always just been some cum rag to him) but for our siblings but he ignored me and his fucking wife has the balls to like my family photos on xmas with me and my papaw and my little sister fuck them fuck them all fuck everyone i know what a bunch of assholes. everything i do now is for her. and everyone keeps trying to convince me to take my sister away from my mom.

theyd sooner traumatize my sister more than try to actually help my family. im so fucking sad and i cant even donate my plasma just to make ends meet because i have fucking PTSD AND IM TRANS and they have to get signed off otherwise what?? i might contaminate their fucking plasma ppool with my peepee genes??

and im this close to just doing sex work to get by im so fucking mad and i dont want to ask for help i just want to do things right and none of this is fucking fair but its even less fair for ema cause she tries so hard to be happy buut i know shes so sad. and i was so overwhelemed and freaking out i had a tantrum because things didnt go according to plan and that guy just stared at me and left and i realized im always going to be alone like this but the least i can do is do something for her and i cant even do that and i was so mad i couldnt hug her and i felt bad but i just needed alone time but now shes alone and i dont know what to do because i just need to be alone but i cant have her be sad and she just wanted to see this movie and they wont refund me and im so fucking mad and god. god is the only one even here for me. everyone else left cause i got "too much" from drinking or i was "tgoo mean" or i just act weird or i am too distant or im too needy and honestly i dont think i care about anyone anymore. im so fucking empty and im so fucked up that the only people i can get off to are people who look like my brother and i fucking hate him. and i want to tell him soo bad that i remember everything. i remember when he used to kiss me when i was asleep in highschool cause i wasnt sleeping i was just too scared to move. and i remember when he left for 5 years i thought it was my fault for not taking the hint and letting him have something romantic with me wit hmy fucking brother. and now i cant have a normal realtionship without having panic attacks in bed and freezing up and dissassociating and everyone thinks its so funny because i havent had sex and its like bro who the fuck would want to after that. god i fucking hate everyone right now

[jawllines]

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump. 

Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with: 

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records. 

2. Ask Harry. 

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first. 

or

Y/N’s questions are answered and Harry’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?

(TW: mentions of murder, suicide, abuse, alcohol/drug use)

part 1

part 2

part 3

iv.

For four years, Harry had been stuck in a meadow.

Not a beautiful one that flourished beneath a vivid blue sky, with colors aplenty and life in abundance. It was cold; clouds hung low and heavy with icy rains that pierced his skin with every drop. The world was grey, the flowers were dead, the life was dormant, and Harry was alone. Stagnant in old memories that he wished to forget, haunted by new ones as the days passed and grew shorter, the night came quick and stayed long, his insides hollowed and his skin froze. Each passing day felt empty, bunnies with chubby paws and gurgling, giggly faces brought small beads of happiness but bunnies had to sleep, and he has to work.

Numb -- he felt numb and bitter, starving for warmth in four years of winter. Even his tears had frozen, the hot sting no longer brought comfort but more pain. And he lay there among the dried yellowed grass, wondering when it might get better. He lay there the first year wondering if his marriage was a mistake, and the second year he questioned if it would’ve been better if they had not met. The third-year he ponders if he were ever meant to be loved-- he wonders if it was supposed to feel this rotten. Had love stories no truth to them? Had all the authors been lying? Within the bad, there was always some good, but Harry hadn’t felt much good for three years by then. The fourth-year he wondered if it was his fault, all of it, just as the wind whispered in his ear. Maybe had he done something different then nothing would have happened. Maybe if he had been different then everything would be fine. Maybe then the bunnies wouldn’t have eyes that didn’t match his own.

It had started with a speckle of sunlight. The kind that appears at the end of a sluggish storm that came in the afternoon, filled the streets and soaked the soil of ditches with rain. Clouds withdrew, revealing the sun had begun sinking past the horizon, only thirty minutes or so until night inked the sky, but even for those few minutes there’s comfort. Reddish hues cut through the gloom, half the sky is dense clouds that ease to another town and the other half are cooed promises of a stormless day come morning. That’s how it started. . .just a little bit of sun with a giggle that drowned out the thunder.

The next day, the rain stopped. He blinked up at the clouded sky questioning why it had stopped pelting his skin like glacial stones -- it had been so long of this he panicked for one moment, maybe two (maybe three), but he tried to make do with it. His hollow stomach growled for the first time in ages, the scent of almond jam tarts slithers through his nose and makes his mouth water. The sun peeks out through the clouds to giggle again, teasing him with a few minutes of warmth -- the bunnies came to bask in it too, from beneath the burrow he’d made for them. One he lay on top of to keep them from the rain. They nudged at his back, demanding to come out, and so he rolled over and let them and they enjoyed the heat as well.

Each passing day the sun shows itself more and more, first timidly -- meek and mild, a little unsure. It smiled at Harry though he rarely smiled back. . .his cheeks were frozen how could he? But slowly he thawed; he could move his head again, look side to side, visualize the grass was now lush, healthy green, and wildflowers in an assortment of colors had begun to bloom. When the sun first came, he’d been so guarded. . .so worried. . .so angry that he couldn’t welcome the feeling of it kissing his skin. As each day passed the sun grew warmer and brighter, and as each day passed, the grass grew greener and the flowers more lively, and as each day passed, Harry’s smile grew bigger.

Harry liked laying in this field much better, bathed in golden rays.

And Harry liked waking up with Y/N beside him.

She was a rather heavy sleeper, or so Harry found which confused him greatly. The few times he’d woken her with his nightmares, somewhere behind all the murky fog of him trying to gain his footing back in reality, he would wonder how she woke so easily. Was he really that loud or did she rise at the sound of a pin colliding with linoleum? It had been the second night she’d coaxed him back to sleep that he realized it had been the former as it was easy to quietly slide out from the cocoon of her arms and the blankets that she’d made to bring him comfort. Y/N slept like a log -- he’s sure she could sleep through a marching band storming up and down the halls of the hotel -- but she always woke for him. Woke for him and coddled him.

Harry hated needing it, but he loves it while it’s happening. In ways it felt like a guilty pleasure; something that he indulged in though he probably didn’t need to, akin to an extra scoop of ice cream on his waffle cone, or staying up an hour later to finish binging a show. As he came down from the horror that his subconscious had fed him, to melt in Y/N’s arms was very pleasant. She felt like sun but she smelled like spring rain, and she held him like she knew how much he needed it. Like she knew how good it felt for him to be in someone’s arms. . .how happy he was to not wake up alone.

He preferred this though -- to wake with Y/N beside him, no memory of a night terror tormenting his brain as he blinks his eyes open. Y/N was not curled as close to him as she had been when they’d fallen asleep and while this made him pout for a moment, he is glad to watch her from this angle. She was close enough to him that he felt her warmth diffuse from her body beneath the sheets, but far enough that he could make out all of her features without having to move his head. All he does is press the corner of the pillow from his face with his fingers so his view isn’t obstructed at all.

This wasn’t a creepy thing -- he knew if she woke it might look like a creepy thing, him just watching her, but Harry was simply looking. He enjoyed the calm that her face contained; soothed and undisturbed. He could tell from one look at her face when her mind was racing, whether it be the faint furrow in her brow or the way she starts playing with her lips with her fingertips or nipping at her nails absentmindedly. That spacey glow in her gaze when she stares out the windshield of the car lost in a daydream that Harry wished to join her in. What does she think about when she spaces out like that? Harry would love to know but he found himself too shy to ask most days.

Too shy? It was novel, the idea of him being shy. Had anyone in his life known that he got absurdly shy and flustered when it came to this girl, they’d find it laughable. He wasn’t like this normally. . .even after everything that had happened, he was able to put on a brave face and fake the character that he’d always presented himself as. To make people more comfortable, to force the pity out of their stares when he walked into a room, to make himself feel normal when he had every reason not to.

But when he was with Y/N, he felt all jumbled and rearranged, his thoughts knocked together like the beads inside Charlie’s little rattles. It made little sense to him but his feelings never made much sense to him, even the ones he thought he’d understood. As a young boy, he’s always felt his emotions so intensely, like they could encompass his being sometimes, both the good ones and the bad ones. Rarely did they ever make him act out, but his mind was constantly going, it felt, and his mum always told him he was governed by his heart. And when he grew and chose to be more analytical, he’d thought he’d pressed that all aside. At the point that Y/N had entered his life, he’d made the assumption he’d grown out of it.

He’d been wrong.

That was okay though, wasn’t it? It was alright to feel things but they were so big. That’s the only way he knew how to describe them -- incredibly big, ardent, impassioned. Did she feel these just as he was? When she saw him, did her heart race unreasonably fast? Did she feel bashful beneath his gaze? Was she happier when they were together? Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

Why couldn’t Harry just ask?

The ache in his knuckles reminds him of what he’d done the night prior, mixed in his emotions regarding it. His reaction to Emmett had been boorish, and how he took the guitar even more so. After the little anecdotes, Y/N had shared with him about the kind of man Emmett was, it filled him with such hatred. Such hatred and spite for a man that he had not once met, but had raised memories from Harry’s own brain that he could not leave ignored. He hated him. . .he hated him for what he’d done to Y/N -- hated him for the broken look in her eyes at the thought of him, at what life he’d taken from her.

And he hated him for his own personal reasons. . .selfish reasons.

How could there be so many of the same type of person in the world?

Y/N wriggles in her spot, her brow pinches as her arms emerge from the covers and reach toward the headboard, a soft groan stirs from her chest. Harry held his breath for a moment -- should he look away? If she opened her eyes to find him staring at her, would she be unsettled? Would they be okay like she said they would? He hoped so. . .he really, really hoped so.

Her eyelids flutter first, before she blinks, squinting against the sharp morning sun that filled the room. Only a moment passes before she turns to him, a small, sleepy smile pulls at her cheeks. Eyes puffy from sleep, Harry struggles not to coo aloud -- she’s terribly cute.

“G’morning.” Her voice sends sparkles through his body; glittering, dazzling, iridescent bubbles.

“Good morning,” he cleared his throat after his gravelly response, and watches as Y/N pushes herself up from the mattress, but her bottom lip pouts, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She nodded, “Mhm,” it’s gentle how it leaves her mouth, it makes him want to protect her from the world, “You made me all sticky last night.”

Harry’s brows raised -- he hadn’t thought she’d mention it. If anything, Harry half expected them both to pretend it hadn’t happened. It probably shouldn’t have but at the moment, Harry had not considered what it might mean afterward. All he’d known was in that moment, he needed to touch her, and taste her, and feel her in every way imaginable.

It would hurt, Harry thinks, if they had to pretend that things hadn’t changed. Harry’s body, his mind, his heart sang too loudly for him to drown the sound of it out and play pretend. He had felt her against him in every way imaginable the night prior and still it hadn’t felt like enough. It had been a part of the reason he’d tried his best to hold out for as long as he could. If that were to be his only time with her, he wanted to make it count, but even then. . .even with how much they did and how long they did it for -- he just wanted to be even closer.

And he almost can’t stand it. Almost can’t stand how much he wants her.

“I cleaned you up, Sweetheart. Did I not do a good job?”

Y/N tilted her body toward him, and very suddenly did she plop across his torso, words muffled from where her face was pushed into the covers, “You did alright I guess, but I need a shower.” He smiled, laying his hand flat across her back, rubbing circles over the cotton fabric of his shirt she wore and he felt her melt; her muscles ease and her bones jellied, “Don’ wanna get up yet.”

“Don’t have to,” he murmured, “Can sleep as long as you like.”

Y/N’s response is a low hum that vibrates from her chest to his belly. The familiarity in her actions brings relief to the tension he’d been stacking in large blocks throughout his body. He had filled with such dread that they might revert back to their old, sheepish tendencies in how they regarded one another. Part of the reason he’d watched her wake, he’d admit, was because he’d been so happy that she was still there and he had to make sure for the first few minutes that it wasn’t a lovely dream. That Y/N was right beside him resting, not sat in her room in deep contemplation about how to go about reorienting their situation to how it had been.

Of course, if Y/N told him that she was uncomfortable and that things were weird, he would respect whatever decision she’d make in response to it.

He is, however, more than delighted that that wasn’t the case.

Still, he voices his concern slightly, in case he was reading her actions wrong. He doesn’t stop rubbing on her back as he begins speaking, and she startles some as he’d just woken her back up, “We are okay, yes? We’re still good how we were?”

Y/N re-earths her face from the blankets, lying on her cheek so she could face him. Her face looked so soft -- Harry’s tempted to reach his fingers out to stroke against her cheek, but he stops himself, “Are you worried?” He does not waste a moment before giving a solemn nod, swallowing thickly when her fingers find the bare skin of his chest, stroking there gently, “Why?”

His brows furrow, trying to deviate his attention from her careful caresses, “I. . .we did a lot last night,” he murmured, “I’m worried that you might regret it a little.”

“I’m glad you said it, ‘cos I was g’na say I was worried you regretted it but I’d been too embarrassed to ask,” she moves her hand to cradle his cheek, and Harry’s face warms as he lets his eyes flutter closed, leaning against her soft palm, “I don’t regret a thing,” her words were sincere, “We’re silly.”

Harry nodded, a small smile painted his face as he allowed himself to get sucked into the moment. Free of his memories, free of his worries, free of anything. . .anything at all that doesn’t have to do with being in this bed. It feels good. Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good in a long time.

Harry doesn’t think he’s felt this good ever.

“We’re silly.” He repeats.

                                                             .                       .                       .

Feeling things could be a lot sometimes.

Emotions could be cumbersome.

At least that’s how they had felt before, especially with Emmett. Y/N always felt like her emotions were trudging through sludge, grappling for the edge of a riverbank but being dragged back into the murky water. They were conflicting and confusing; they didn’t feel good at all. And they dwindled so thin that by the time she was packing her things in her car, the tears she cried were out of frustration that she was the one who had to pick up and move her life around, not because she was sad she lost him.

But these feelings for Harry have always felt so. . .light? That didn’t feel like the right word. Not light in the way that they weren’t intense for her, because they were earnest and enthusiastic -- but they didn’t feel heavy. It had felt like Emmett was always at her hips, yanking her down to the deep end of a pool she’d drown in. With Harry, he pulled her hands gently toward fields and hills of green, where they floated just above the soil, giggled and tumbled and skated their fingertips along the morning dew.

She felt calm with Harry. . .her feelings were big, and they were good.

For the rest of their time in the city, things had felt as if they changed but in the same breath, they hadn’t much at all. Harry is still as tender as he always is, and he still trips and fumbles over his words. As they had grown to know each other his stony exterior cracked progressively but it had felt that he’d dragged down a full wall for her. Maybe two even; she’d taken a chisel and sledgehammer to the mortar fixing the stone together and carefully broke it. A soft glowing center had been revealed but only sometimes, she found. Only sometimes would he hold onto her for a little longer than normal. Only sometimes would his gaze linger. Only sometimes would it look like he might kiss her, but he pulls his lips into his mouth instead.

Y/N doesn’t push him because she knew there were at least two more walls left fixed around him, and both of them are components of life before her. Whatever had happened, had left Harry a broken man, and no matter how desperately she wanted to know everything about it, she wouldn’t pry. She even tried to stop quietly theorizing about it all, though Anne does not make it very easy at all.

Last night they all went out for one last dinner together, and when Harry and his father excused themselves to go to the restroom it was only Y/N, Anne, and Charlie left at the table. Charlie had found his way into Harry’s lap at some point throughout the night, and Harry passed him off to Y/N’s lap when he’d left the table, but he pulled off one of his rings so that Charlie could keep playing with it. Y/N held the marching teddy ring between her thumb and forefinger as his chubby hands gripped around it and he marveled silently.

Anne smiled gently at her as she pierced a piece of steamed broccoli onto her fork, “I want to thank you, Y/N,” she had begun, before she twisted her body around to look at the direction of the bathrooms then turned back to face her, “I’ll be quick about it, the two of them never wee for long. I want to thank you because. . .well, I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he seems less. . .less miserable than he has been these past few years. I know part of it could just be the healing properties of time, but something tells me you bring a lot of light into both his and Charlie’s life.” Slowly she shook her head, “He’s misunderstood, a lot of the time. He always has been, even when he was a child.  Just loves with his whole heart and some people take advantage of that. I don’t know the nature of your relationship but I just ask that you continue to treat him kindly, no matter if it is platonic or not. God knows he needs that after what she put him through,” she hovers the broccoli over her mouth, “Though I hate to speak ill of the --”

Y/N wanted more. She wanted to take Anne out for coffee after dinner, find themselves a secluded booth in the back, and ask her every question that she could possibly think about what she didn’t know. Deep in her marrow, she knew it would be wrong to find out from someone who wasn’t Harry, but it would be easier wouldn’t it? Y/N would know and Harry wouldn’t have to relive the traumatic events for her to know. It would be the easiest solution, she’d think.

But before Anne could even finish her sentence, Harry appeared. The worst of it was she couldn’t even be irritated with his sudden reappearance, because the smile he gave her was sweet enough to melt her heart as he placed his hand on her shoulder then squeezed past her to get back to his seat, “Through the windows, I saw a candy store. It’s the same chain that has those fudge-dipped Oreos you like. Would you like to stop there after dinner?”

There was very little Y/N could take from Anne’s brief testimony. At this point from the judgment of character alone, Y/N had long since abandoned the idea that he could have killed his wife. The part of her that is immersed in the world of stories, dark literature, and mystery, tells her that she’s naive to trust him so wholly. That certitude like this would personify, walk with her hand-in-hand off the ship on a wooden plank, and there she’d find her naivety with a sword to her throat, telling her to jump.

Y/N could be intuitive when she wanted to be. When she truly opened up her heart to a situation and saw it for what it was, and despite quite a few attempts of trying to make the accusation of murder make sense, she simply couldn’t. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it straight from his mouth though. Just because she had made up her mind about the idea of him killing her, didn’t mean she knew the details that led to that judgment from the town. Who heard when about what and why; there was no way to know other than the two ideas she’d come up with:

1. Break into the police department and look through classified records.

2. Ask Harry.

She thinks she’d try her luck fighting off a policeman first.

How could she just ask? There was no way to, she was certain of it -- no appropriate way to, at least. Any way that she tried to phrase it in her head sounded too nosy, too forward, too abrasive. Not only had she come to the conclusion that she didn’t believe he could kill his wife, but she’d also come to the conclusion that it was simply impossible to string the right words together so she could question why everyone would think he did. What was their relationship like before? He’d said they’d gone on trips -- that she’d liked the sun, and her only solace moving somewhere as dreary as the vacation town they inhabited was the beach. And she knew that Anne didn’t like her, for some reason or another -- that she put Harry through a lot. But that’s it.

That’s it.

If she thought about it for too long, her head ached. And when her head ached, her brows knit and she’s staring off into space without thinking all too much about it. So she hadn’t realized that Harry had even appeared back beside her in her hotel room, until she felt the tenderest of caresses just along her jaw, something he typically only did at night. When she turned to face him, his fingertips met her face, smoothing out her brow with the pad of his thumb, “Your head is hurting,” he murmured knowingly, the icy mint scent of his gum flutters along her nose, “Do you want to rest? I could finish packing for you.”

“How did you know my head was hurting?” Harry continues to rub her brow until she’s relaxed the muscles in her forehead, and the tension begins to dissipate from her shoulders.

“I’m observant,” he murmured, letting his hand fall away from her face but he slips it down, letting it rest on the curve of her throat, “You slept very little last night. Could feel you tossing and turning.”

It was true; she’d fallen through the rabbit hole of her thoughts as she’d spent many nights doing, only now when she was doing it, chances are she was laying beside Harry. One of the things that had changed was their need to find an excuse to sleep in the same bed, which was a blessing. Now, how Harry asks, is by offering her a shirt to sleep in while he feeds Charlie his last bottle for the night, cradled in the crook of his arm. Y/N gives Charlie plenty of cuddles and kisses, they lay him down in his crib, and the both of them get ready for bed themselves.

All of it feels very domesticated, especially the bits where after they’ve washed their faces and brushed their teeth, they crawl into bed and Harry finds them a movie to watch that they inevitably speak through half of, then get invested in the last quarter. Y/N thinks Harry finds it easier to touch and cuddle at night; this is when things feel most different than what they had been. He indulges in soft caresses, gentle squeezing, pulling her flush to his body, and skimming his fingers all along her skin, giggling when she shivered like he found joy in rousing goosebumps in his wake. The way Harry holds her spoke for how touch starved he’d been, and Y/N melted beneath the attention. Especially since this was when he was most open and willing to give it.

The night prior, he’d fallen asleep after one movie and the half of a second one (typically he tries to wait for her to fall asleep first, but she had taken to combing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and when she peeked up at him as his eyes began to flutter shut, he scrunched his nose at her, “Thank you, Darling”), and she’d stayed up. Her mind chattered at her, tweeted thoughts like a rose-ringed parakeet. What had Harry gone through? That would make him have horrible nightmares? That would make people think he was capable of murdering his wife? That his mum would thank her for bringing light into his life? The whole dark mess of it was so lost on her. It just made her want to hold him, kiss his rosy cheeks, protect him from the world and only share him with the sun and the moon.

After she had gotten up to have a wee, checked on Charlie, and crawled back in bed, she didn’t want to disturb him by weaseling her way beneath his arms again so she stayed on her side. So she tossed and she turned, wondering and searching for answers she couldn’t pull from thin air. Maybe she could just call his mum -- she’d given her, her number -- she could call her, ask her, sit on the phone for hours because she loved to talk (Y/N would guess that’s the outcome of a relatively silent husband) and she’d divulge every nitty-gritty secret Y/N knows she’s been nearly frothing at the mouth to tell.

But she couldn’t. . .she just couldn’t.

It was after she’d sighed to herself, quiet enough that there was no possible way she woke him up, but she felt a hand meet her side. His forearm slid along her hip, tucked around her body, and dragged her from her spot to meet him back in the middle. Y/N gave a questioning hum as she rolled around to look at him, but his eyes were closed, and he still appeared to be asleep. That is until his lips parted, a small, tiny smile at the corner of his mouth, “Sleep now. I’m giving you half of my sleepiness to help you.”

She rested her head on his chest, packaged all her inquiries in a tightly bound bundle, and tossed them outside for the night.

His notice reminded her of this, and her shoulder slumped as she tipped her forehead against his chest, “Aish, I forgot I woke you up last night. I’m the worst bed buddy.”

Harry rests his chin on her head, “Don’t say that,” he murmured, “You take away my nightmares and you smell like how I think the moon might, so you’re the best bed buddy.”

So gentle. Soft. How could he ever even hurt a fly?

Did he have something dark in him? Y/N wonders what it might have looked like to see him with Emmett, as she slid her arms around his waist and hugged him to her body. This rare display of daytime affection made whatever relationship they were developing feel real. More than just a drunken romp after emotions had run high; something tender and warm. Something that Y/N could get lost in.

“I reckon you take the title of best bed buddy. You gave me half of your sleepiness, remember?”

Harry hums, “Mhm,” he pulls back, letting his lips touch to her temple, “And I’ve just given you a quarter more. Lie down Sweet thing, I’ll pack the rest.”

Just as Y/N’s flipping back and forth between lying down for the nap or sucking it up and packing the rest of her things after taking paracetamol or two, there was the telling babble that told them both someone was awake. They unwind from each other, turning around to see that Charlie had woken up from where he’d been napping in his car seat. Y/N peeks around Harry, brows rising at the big, bright eyes that stare at them tiredly, “Well look at that! The absolute sleepyhead just woke up.” She made her way to Charlie, clicked the buckle that secured him to the seat, and fit her hands beneath his armpits, “C’mere, you little sloth. Say good afternoon, Daddy! I slept so long so that I could have an extra good time on the way back home, hm?”

Charlie lies his head down on her shoulder, holding out his chubby fingers toward Harry who made his way over easily. He took Charlie’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, before pretending to eat them, and smiling triumphantly when a bubble of giggles is the result. The scene makes her heart warm, but not nearly warm enough for her to not remember their check-out time was briskly approaching.

“Here,” she murmured, handing him over to Harry, “Cuddle, and I’ll finish packing, yeah? I’ll save my quarter of sleepiness for later.”

“Could I --” Harry began, just as she was about to move toward the bathroom. When she pauses and looks back toward him, he has that shy look on his face again. . .the one that appears just before he starts to fumble over his words a bit when he asks her something. Whether it be for a cuddle, or if she’d like to visit someplace with him, or if he wants his hair played with, “--could I kiss you?”

She tries not to smile too hard as she pushes up to kiss him.

And she presses an exaggerated kiss to Charlie’s cheek too.

                                                                   .                      .                        .

Being back at home is. . .different.

They got home around dusk; the sun sank low in the sky, disappeared behind the tree-line, and with it the end of their trip together. Coming home from a vacation always felt a bit off, after pretending another place was your home for a little while. Rooms were stiff, the air was stale and un-lived in, and it took about two hours of lighting candles, pushing open windows, turning on fans, and turning on every light and telly so that it wasn’t so quiet. Silent, and weird, and lonely without the people she’d been with.

Even though Y/N had technically had her own hotel room, by the end of their trip they had been spending every night together. She was with Harry, Charlie, and Marzipan which was much preferred than the stillness of a flat post-vacation. If she were honest, she struggled not to tear up as Harry was helping her take her suitcase from the trunk, and to hide her emotions in an effort not to appear clingy, she hugged him and hid her face in his throat. Harry curled his arms around her tightly. He knew though -- in the weird Harry way, he knew how she felt, even though she was making good on not letting it show on her face,  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Sweetheart,” he dipped his face into her hair, pushing a chaste kiss to her head, “I don’t start at the university again until next week, and I’ve only got a bit of work to do at home, so you’ll be bothered with me all day.”

Harry kissed her cheeks and sent her to her flat with Marzipan. She aired the place out, desperate to make it feel less uninhabited, and had even shoved her linens in the wash before she showered (which made for a very cold shower -- after so long of being gone, she’d forgotten that warm water for her sheets meant frigid water for her body). Marzipan reacquainted herself with her surroundings and though it all smelled of her, she even appeared to be discontent with the change.

Around 10 PM her phone buzzes on her bedside table, just as she had moved her linens into the dryer while simultaneously regretting washing them at all (she just wanted to lay down at that point). Brows pinched, she reaches for it and sees Harry’s contact on the screen -- had she forgotten something? Why would he be calling her?

“Hello?” She held the phone close to her ear, “Harry? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Harry responded, and he paused for a moment, just silent on the other end until he cleared his throat, “I -- well, I believe this was much less embarrassing in my head. I don’t mean to sound as if I’m fixed at your hip, but I missed your voice.” A dish clatters on the other end of the line, and he mutters a small ‘shit’ before continuing, “It’s -- um. . .it’s very quiet without you here. Not that I think you’re loud or anything I just. . .yeah. I just miss you.”

Y/N is incredibly fond; her heart swarms with warmth that stretches it three sizes too big for her chest, and she feels soppy and softened. Her lips curl in a tiny smile though he can’t see it, she wonders if he’ll be able to hear it in her voice through the receiver, “I miss you too,” she responded, brushing her hand against her cheek, “It just feels weird.”

“I’m not keen on it. Which is why I -- well, I wondered if you would like to stay on the phone with each other? Would just tell you to drive over now but it’s so late, I don’t want you on the roads.” He explained to her, “I had thought about just coming to get you myself, but then I’d have to strap Charlie back in his seat and for some reason, I feel he would not appreciate being woken up.”

Soft -- she would say it again, and again, and again. Harry made her feel so unbelievably soft, she’d reckon if someone tried to hug her right now she’d mold into the shape of their body. It’d been so long since someone had evoked such strong emotions from her and she just isn’t used to it anymore. All the heart racing, the stomach flutters, the sweaty palms, the goosebumps. . .everything.

“Yes, I’d like that,” she sat down on her bare mattress, tracing the diamond-shaped dips and curves of the upholstery, “If you’re falling asleep and I’m talking too much, you’ve got to tell me though. I’ve just put my bedding in the dryer so it’ll take me a minute before I’m actually lying down.”

Harry hummed, “I should’ve thrown mine in the wash, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

“No you shouldn’t have, ‘cos I’m miserable now,” she lamented, “Would give anything to just pop my head on the pillow and pass out.”

“Poor thing,” he murmured, “You don’t have extra bedding?”

She flopped down, tucking the phone between her ear and the uncovered pillow, “Harry, I’m lucky to even have the ones I do now. Hate spending money on bedding, it’s too much! Especially if it’s anything worth sleeping in.”

“I get what you mean,” the sound of running water cuts on, and she hears the sound of ceramic plates clinking together again, “Plus, it’s few and far between you find something aesthetically pleasing, innit? And then it’s got to match your room. White is the easiest to match but I reckon if you’re an on-the-bed-eater then that could be a bit problematic.”

“No kidding,” she agreed, “I guess for like -- I dunno, cum stains -- white works out though.”

”Christ,” she could picture it, Harry shaking his head in the way he does when Y/N says something he wasn’t expecting that may have been on the side of vulgar -- he did it several times when she would briskly and casually mention the fact that he’d morphed into something short of a male Aphrodite. He’s shy -- he’s always been shy, but he just manages to get shyer in the bits that he should be confident in. “I guess -- I guess, yeah for cum stains, that’d work out wouldn’t it?”

“Mhm,” she let her eyes close for a moment, “What’ve you got to do tomorrow? Tell me all about your engineering and I’ll try to keep up.”

He does.  Harry explained the project that they were currently working on and Y/N attempted to understand the large words and abbreviations he was using, but eventually she did have to tell him to bring it down to a freshman at college level so that she could at least kind of follow. It made sense that he was a professor, and a good one at that, because he knew so much but was able to break it into smaller bits and pieces so that she could digest it. When she had questions, he had full-fledged answers that swiped away the dark areas. By the end of it, she was halfway certain she could take a crack at computer engineering (like running their coffee orders and half understanding what they were discussing around meeting tables, but still a better understanding than she had in the first place).

Around 12 AM, Y/N’s made her bed up and sat star-fished staring at her fan blades whipping above her, listening to Harry’s syrupy voice tell her about his trip to Scotland he took with his parents when he was around 15. Explained to her that he met a man there who taught him how to play guitar in the two weeks they were there, and connected him to a woman who would further his learning in London. Harry had mused about how he had used to hope to be a musician of some kind, but he never thought he’d been good enough. Y/N told him that he’s silly because she thinks he’d be lovely.

“You’ll have to play for me,” she told him, rubbing the corner of her pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger, “On the telecaster. Y’know that’s yours now, don’t you?” Knuckling tiredly at her eyes, she suppresses a yawn so she could continue speaking, “Not to re-gift something from my ex or anything, but it’ll only collect dust in my closet.”

Harry, who had long since finished his nighttime routine (he’d politely excused himself to brush his teeth and wash his face), sounded like he was shuffling in his bed, “Wouldn’t you want to sell it? You could make a pretty penny off that, Sweetheart, especially the one you bought. It would feel wrong to have it wasted on me.”

“Wasted on you?” Y/N scoffed, “How could it be wasted on you? I don’t care about the money, I just want it to have a loving home. Now if you don’t want it because it’ll just be a hassle I’m sure I could pawn it off on someone, but nothing could ever be wasted on you. You’re the whole reason I even have it back!” Lulling her tongue over her mouth, she wiggles her toes at Marzipan who eyeballs her from the floor, where she had been sat for the past twenty minutes falling asleep, “Which -- could I ask you about that?”

He’s silent for a moment -- a pause long enough to make her regret asking, to disrupt how smooth the conversation had been going before her question -- but he does respond eventually, “You can ask me anything you want. Anything at all.”

“How did you get it back?” She swallows, “Like, I’d assume from your knuckles he hadn’t just handed it over.”

Harry, again, pauses for a moment but this time it seemed like he was only gathering his thoughts, “When you had gone to the bathroom, I went to the green room they had to get it back for you. I know you hadn’t asked but. . .well, it didn’t seem right for him to have it. Not after what he had put you through, you know?” Y/N hummed, encouraging him to continue, rolling out the muscles in her shoulders that had gone stiff in her idle sitting, “So I went in and I asked for it back, and he was. . .difficult about it. He offered to pay for it and then told me I was trying too hard and that you weren’t “worth it”. . .so I punched him and said a few choice words. I’m --” he sighed to himself, “I’m not a violent man, I just couldn’t -- I can’t stand when someone acts like that. . .like he deserved that guitar. I apologize for resorting to violence though. I shouldn’t have done it without speaking to you first, and now that I recount the details I feel a bit silly. Barbaric or summat -- like -- I’m sorry for talking in circles, I feel like I’m talking in circles. ” He does another deep sigh, Y/N can almost feel it against his cheek, like the content ones he lets out after they’re finally cuddled in bed but with a slightly annoyed lilt, a warm and gentle puff, “It frustrated me and I acted out, but I don’t regret it. It’s your guitar.”

Y/N dipped her face back into the pillows, tingles zip down through her body like sparks of electricity as he recounted the story and began to fumble around his feelings. He doesn’t realize how much she appreciates it though -- how refreshing it is to hear him speak. It always sounds so open and raw, like he’s saying the words as soon as they pop in his brain. Brisk pauses, talking in circles, expressing how something had made him feel and how he feels now because of his actions.

“Harry?” She shuts her eyes, pretending that he’s laying across from her.

His voice is small but clear, “Yes?”

“I think you’re amazing,” she began, “And I think, you don’t have to apologize for anything because if you would have first cleared it with me I would’ve suggested more barbaric antics, like kicking him in the chest and something with fire.” A breathless giggle comes from the other end, she smiles a dumb, big smile that makes her cheeks hurt, “Thank you for standing up for me. If anyone ever says something to you, I’ll kick their ass, how about that?”

Another chuckle leaves him, Y/N feels as if she’s swallowed it, feeling it warm her bell, she keeps her eyes closed and melts into the mattress while Marzipan jumps up and claims the space behind her back.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

                                                         .                             .                            .

It was rare that they went into town together.

Well, not so much rare as it was relatively nonexistent. The only time they’d been here with each other, they had made a beeline to a private beach where they couldn’t be disturbed. It was simply them, the fine grain sand in tiny hills and mountains and the gentle plodding of waves against the shoreline. They hadn’t even stopped for food or sweets, and Y/N couldn’t blame him -- if it were her in his situation, she would avoid the town at all costs.

So, it was safe to say she had been surprised when he suggested it.

They’d been back from their trip for four days, which they had spent re-acclimating to life at his house again. Y/N got back into the pattern of her regular nanny duties while Harry got back into his work, though he does take a few more breaks than he had been prior to their trip. These breaks last a bit longer than the old ones did as well, and are typically ended with a kiss to her temple and a raspberry blown into Charlie’s neck. If he takes a break while she’s sat in Charlie’s room during his naps, he scouts her out with a snack of some kind and will sit in there with her for a little while as they share it.

One night, Harry had asked if she would like to stay over and of course, she had agreed to it. Their day went as normal, Y/N put Charlie to bed while Harry finished up the course plan he’d been working on for several hours. After she showered and got ready for bed, she slunk down to the kitchen and brewed lavender vanilla tea, before pouring the both of them a cup and finding her way to his office. Despite the door being cracked open, she knocked first and waited until he called for her to enter before she did so.

“I made us tea!” She began as she entered, smiling gently when his eyes met hers, “It’ll help get you ready for bed too, since your brain has been so busy all day, reckon it should calm you down.”

Harry looks surprised -- the kind of shock that might light someone’s eyes if they weren’t expecting something. She thought he’d have heard her bumping around in the kitchen, but she wonders if he’d assumed she was only making some for herself. If he had even paid mind to the disturbance in the quiet at all. The apathetic look he’d been giving his computer prior to her arrival is replaced by one of gentle delight; his lips pluck up at the corners, “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured as she set the mug down on a coaster, “Thank you -- I appreciate this a lot.”

“Of course,” she smiled before fixing her handle on the mug, about to pivot on her heel to make her way out of his office but his fingers loop around her forearm suddenly, “Oh! --”

“Why are you leaving?” He inquired as Y/N steadied herself, and he plucked her wobbling mug from her hands to set it down on the desk.

She nodded toward his computer, “I figured you were still working,” she explained, then motioned to herself, “And I didn’t necessarily want to annoy you today.”

The skin between his brows crinkles as he shook his head, “You could never be a bother to me,” he responded, no teasing lilt in his voice that would have matched her own -- he seemed almost offended that she would even suggest such a thing, “Stay with me. We can drink it together.”

“Yeah?” Harry nodded earnestly, “Well, alright. I guess I’ve always kind of wanted to try sitting on that couch --” she turned again, her mind set on going toward it, but Harry’s grip only tightens around her wrist, stilling her. 

“Wait --” he began, but when their gazes locked, his cheeks pinkened quickly; she thought it was cute, how easy it was from him to blush, and she thinks if she reached out they would be warm to the touch, “ -- I. . .well, this feels silly now,” he shook his head at himself, and sighed heavily, “With you, I always act and speak before I think things through, it’s very -- it’s troublesome, for me. I get flustered too easily.” 

“That’s okay,” she told him, “Just means every word out of your mouth is authentic. Plus,” she succumbed to her desire, reached her fingers out, and touched the warmth of his cheeks, “I think it’s a bit cute.” As always, he leaned into her touch like he was starved for it -- just wanted her near. . .as close as possible, and then even closer than that. “What were you going to say?” 

Harry’s hands found the hem of her shirt and he ran the pad of his finger along the seam but he was never one to avoid looking into her eyes. No, instead he stared at her, pupils fixed on her face, “I wanted to know if you’d like to sit in my lap? Not in a filthy way!” He rushed to say, “I just wanted to hold you for a little while, if that would be okay?” 

“Of course!” She used her knee to push his chair out further, plopped down on his thighs, and wiggled until she could settle. Y/N would have been a little coyer about it had the situation been with any other person, she thinks, but Harry responded much better to this. He asks for things like she’ll judge him for them -- like he’s worried her reaction to his inquiries will be poor, that she will be disgruntled or angered by them. And Y/N’s goal was to make sure he knew there was not a doubt in her mind when she agreed to do something that he suggested. He had good ideas, she wanted him to know that. 

Albeit startled, he acclimated to her position on his lap easily. He slung his arm around her waist, and held her still and close, scooting them both nearer to the desk. He reached for her mug and placed it into her hands before picking up his own. After a sip, he hummed low and dipped his forehead against her shoulder, “You’re always so warm,” he murmured, “And soft.” Once he set his mug down, his fingers floated up toward her neck, stroking against the delicate chain of the necklace he’d gotten for her, “I’m glad you like this.” 

“How couldn’t I?” She responded, raising her hand to his knuckles, “It’s a very thoughtful gift. How did you know I liked rubies, hm?” 

“I didn’t,” he spoke into her shoulder, “Really, it was one hell of a guess. The jewel was just so beautiful it reminded me of you.” 

Y/N felt her face heat up, “Aish, here you go -- always buttering me up,” she turned some, craning her neck to look at him, “Flattery will get you nowhere, y’know? If you want me to do something for you, all you’ve gotta do is ask.” 

Harry nuzzles back and forth, his face brushing and crumbling the back of her shirt. She’s not sure if he’d been doing it to shake his head or if it was a sign of his affections, but either way, Y/N hummed and poked his thigh, pushing for a response. “I’m not buttering you,” he murmured, “You deserve to hear these things. They’re the truth after all.” 

“So there are no ulterior motives to all these sweet words?” Harry shook his head once more, “Then what’s poking my bum?” She had noticed it after she had shifted on his lap the first time in an attempt to get comfortable and had been toying with the idea of mentioning it. They hadn’t done anything sexual since New Years', just cuddles and caresses, but the opportunity really hadn’t arisen. And Harry, well, she couldn’t imagine him initiating anything, with how much he second-guesses himself.

His response had been to squeeze her tighter, and tuck his face deeper into her shoulder, and she hummed once more “Hm?” 

“Sorry,” his words muffled, his tone bashful, “I -- I get them sometimes, when. . .it doesn’t have to necessarily be because I’m turned on, y’know?” 

Y/N leaned back into him, “Ohhhhh,” she tutted her tongue, “Like an affection stiffy then, yeah? You big softie.” She slid her palms against his forearms to carefully unwind him from around her waist despite his protesting whines, as she sunk to the ground, the thud of her knees muted by the rug, “Get your kit off, I know a good remedy for affection stiffies.” 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” he murmured as she fit herself between his legs, her hands firm on his knees when she split them apart, “I could do you instead.” 

Her brows pinched and her mouth pouted as she looked up at him, “Hm? But I want to do you,” she told him, then tilted her cheek against his knee, keeping her gaze fixed on his, “Do you not like blowies?” 

Harry’s cheeks are such a rosy pink -- he’s so damn shy, she couldn’t stand it (in the best way). Such a domineering, strong-willed man all flustered and red-faced from just her speaking about having her mouth on him. It made her head spin in circles. 

“No, I -- I really like them, but --” he shuffled his hips, his hand found her head and he stroked her temple, and if not for how mesmerized by him she was, she might have let her eyes flutter shut, “-- I just don’t feel like I deserve one if I haven’t made you cum yet.” 

For fuck sake. 

Y/N slid her hands up his sweatpants and pulled at the drawstring of his sweatpants until the knots are undone. She tucked her fingers into the waistband and started to tug, before he finally raised his hips to help her get them down, “Technically we’re at an uneven orgasm ratio. You got me off four times, I’ve only gotten you off once.” Y/N found quickly that Harry hadn’t bothered with underwear at all, and she swallowed thickly as she looked at him. It felt like the first time all over again; the delight and the nerves, the way her mouth waters. The head is swollen, ruddy, and wet -- he was so big that she knew once she got her lips around him, only a quarter of the way down would feel like an absolute mouthful. She could already feel the ache in her jaw. 

“Well, you’ve -- oh,” he paused when her fingers looped around the base, “I mean if we’re being. . .if we’re being technical, you’ve made me cum plenty. The thought of you at least.” 

She didn’t know what to do with the information. The knowledge that Harry got off to the thought of her -- the imagery that invades her brain is enough to make each of her cells feel electric; sizzling and sparking as she pictured it. Harry is in his bed, surrounded by his crumpled bedding, face heated and body flushed as he works over himself. She imagined what it must have been like. Had he been trying to fall asleep but his mind danced toward her? Had it started out as an affection stiffy or was it pure arousal? What did he imagine when his fingers were wrapped around his cock? Was she riding him while he sat on the couch? Did he fuck her roughly over his desk, or was it soft sweet, and tender in his fresh cotton sheets? Maybe he’d even imagined sticking his prick deep in her mouth and fucking her face? Did he look as shy as he did right then? 

It was difficult to bite back the lewd noise that crawled up her throat, so she plugged her mouth with the head of his cock and stifled it against him. Harry’s head tossed back as her lips stretched over the tip, lulling her tongue against the slit where precum deliciously oozed. Y/N mustered all the spit in her mouth to drool over him -- she wanted it to be wet, sloppy, and messy for him -- wanted it to feel as if he’d dipped his cock into a warm pool. He deserved it, or at least she thought he did. 

Plus, she thought, if he kept looking down at her so shyly, with his knuckle tucked between his teeth as he watched her, she would just have to clip off a part of the moon and hand it to him. 

Despite her desire to keep watching him, Y/N had to tilt her head down so she could take more of him into her mouth. Her tongue stroked against the underbelly, slicked across the throb as she forced herself downward. Though her gag reflex was dodgy, she hummed to suppress it, sending vibrations down his shaft. His thighs squeezed around her body, her eyes watered once she got him to the back of her throat. She was only able to keep him there for a few seconds before she had to slide off, popping him out of her mouth before she gasped wetly. Strands of spit and his precum attach them to each other, but they bow and snap once she starts to twist her hand up and down quickly. Her lungs burned as she sucked in a breath to make up for the fact she hadn’t really been breathing well through her nose. 

She cradled his prick to sponge wet kisses down the side of it, down to his balls where she suckles and drools as she peeked up at him and felt a shiver run down her spine. Harry already appeared so fucked out, his chest heaved, his knuckle still tucked into his mouth to keep quiet. “Hey,” she panted, swallowing the spit that had collected in her mouth, “I want to hear you.” The hand that wasn’t preoccupied with his cock, she used to grab his wrist and pull down, “Let me hear you.” 

“Sorry,” he let her take his hand, but he maneuvered them so that he could slot their fingers together, and he held her hand tightly before he rested them on his thigh, “Haven’t had this done to me in a while, and with it being you I -- well, I’m just a bit of a mess.” 

“I like messes,” Y/N murmured against his head before she flicked her tongue along the frenulum, “Do you wanna hold my head? Or you could stand up and fuck my throat -- I’m good with either.” The moan that left his lips was well worth taking a moment to breathe, and she shivered at his whimpers when she circled the pad of her thumb at the underside of the head, “I just want you to feel good.” 

Harry squeezed her hand again, “I don’t know, Sweet girl, I just -- oh! Oh, fuck, baby,” Y/N had sunk back onto his prick by then, without a thought other than sucking him down and sucking him dry. He deserved it -- she thinks that if she could for him, she would stay on her knees for days on end and leave her mouth open for him to use as he pleased, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep doing that.” 

Again she hummed and sank as low as she could go, her throat spasming around the head while she used the other hand to cup his balls and his thighs tighten around her again in a little hug. It restricted the movement of her hand a bit, but he mewled, goosebumps pebbled over her skin as she felt him throb against her tongue once more. She drags off of him again for another breath, only this time she doesn’t tug at him while she does so. 

Y/N wondered what she looked like to him from this position. She’d only ever let one boy take a polaroid of her before when she’d been on her knees for him, and when she’d witnessed it after the fact she cringed. It was blurred, but the angle was awful and his thumb was halfway in front of the lens, so after he fell asleep she took it, cut it up into little slivers, and saved it to burn in the next bonfire she attended so that she would never have to look at it again. It had put her off blowies for a while, actually, but she had thrown all caution to the wind when it came to the man sitting above her. She hadn’t concerned if she looked pretty or not, she just wanted him to feel good, but now as her chin is wet and her lips no doubt reddened and swollen, she wondered if he thought she was still pretty. 

Maybe with anyone else, she would be far too self-conscious to ask, but with Harry, she doesn’t worry about it. Isn’t even the least bit nervous when she swallows and asks, “Do you think I’m pretty?” She murmured, blinking up at him.

Harry didn’t waste a second to respond, “I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Even like this?” Her hand began to move over him slowly, and she watched with delight as his eyelids fluttered, “Even all messy?” 

Another whine slithers from his throat, long and drawn, low and pitiful, “I --” he sucked in a deep breath, she watched as the air filled his lungs through a heave of his chest, “I always think you’re beautiful,” he admitted, “I think you’re an angel.” 

Satisfied with his answer, Y/N tucks the head of his prick in between her lips again but stays put. Only lets him sit against her tongue, trying hard not to smile when he makes a little desperate noise, “Baby,” he wiggled, “Please!” 

“Hm?” She hummed against him, and he bucked his hips a little in response. 

His hips stuttered away from her, “Sorry -- sorry, I --” she squeezed the hand she still held of his, encouraging him to do it again. It took him a minute to understand what she meant by it, but when she stayed in her place and squeezed his hand a second time, he rocked his hips up into her mouth again, “You want me to --” 

“Mhm,” she hummed again, and Harry does it again, and again, and again, stroking against her tongue and fucking shallowly into her mouth. She feels him throb again, and she knew it was going to happen soon; her insides bristled at the thought of him filling her mouth.

“So good,” he murmured, his head tilted back, “So, so, so good, fucking hell,” he panted, “Your mouth -- I’m g’na cum,” his hips jutted forward, “I’m g’na cum, I’m g’na cum.” 

The ache in her jaw burned only slightly, but she began to bob her head and started moving her hand. She wanted him to cum, and the quicker the better, honestly, because she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. Y/N thinks she would have pushed herself just to make sure that he came, no matter how long it would have taken, but this was much better, she’d say, at least for her mouth.

His other hand did eventually find her head, and he doesn’t slide his fingers through her hair but he does lie his hand on the back of it. The pulse drums in her mouth, she tilted the head against the inside of her cheek and all his muscles go taut as a bow while he squeezed her hand tightly. His groaning is loud, he didn’t bother to muffle it at her request as he began to spurt into her mouth. It’s warm, so much of it filled her mouth and if she could smile at the joy of it then she would have but she had to keep all of it. She worked him through it, twisting her palm against his shaft until he squeezed her hand again, this time for a different reason as she kept on him until he was twitching and sensitive. 

Y/N pushed herself from her spot on the ground, and took hold of Harry’s chin, and used her thumb to pull his lips open. It took him only a moment to understand what she wanted, and he opened up for her easily, as she fixed their lips together and pushed his cum into his silky mouth. Harry moaned against her as he tasted himself, and once she parted with another little peck, she pulled back and swallowed the rest. He swallowed as well, staring at her with spit-slicked, fuchsia-colored lips as he panted. 

With the back of her hand, Y/N dragged it across her mouth to dry it, “You cum a lot,” she was careful in how she handled his softening prick, tucking it back into his sweatpants that she helped him tug up, “It tasted good though, so I guess that’s alright.” 

“Thank you,” he wrapped his arms back around her waist when she sat back down on his lap, where she had been before, “You’re wonderful. I’ll make you cum next, yeah?” 

“Mm,” she hummed, “I’m good for t’night, just wanted to do you.” The lavender tea was still warm, she could feel it from the ceramic that heated her fingertips, as she passed it off to his hand, “Since I have the most wonderful-est mouth in the world though, you could make me cookies or something.” 

Harry took a drink, she wondered if it sank warm and comforting in his belly, “I don’t have anything for making cookies, Pet, I’m sorry,” he continued before she could pout, “But -- well, I thought maybe we could go into town tomorrow. A picnic on the beach might be fun if you’d like that -- it’s supposed to be a bit nicer out than it has been. We could even stop by that bakery you like so much and get sweets, yeah?”

“I love picnics, but --” she stopped herself, the words dance on her tongue but she shot their feet and watched them crumble because she couldn’t say but you hate going into town, don’t you? Since they think you killed your wife? -- no, that wouldn’t do. Her stupid brain had been just seconds from ruining a nice moment, and no matter how badly she wanted to know the truth, she didn’t necessarily want to find out after his prick was in her mouth. It felt like a heavier conversation than just post-orgasm cuddles on his chair, “-- but I didn’t bring my basket.” She settled for instead and she watched as the concern that had been building on his face dissipated, “I’ve got a wicked picnic basket but I think I either lost it in the move or it’s still at my old place.” 

“That’s alright,” he began to rub her back with his free hand, “I’ve got one. It may not be as spectacular but it will do.” 

She pushed a kiss to her cheek, “Okay, good,” she told him, “Now finish your tea, I’m exhausted.” 

                                                         .                             .                           .

They cuddled that night; Harry liked to be a big spoon so he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. 

There is a nightmare -- a small one, nowhere near the extent of the other’s that she’s woken him from -- so she doesn’t have to wake him up as abruptly nor aggressively. She merely spun in his arms and petted at his face, murmuring for him to wake up only two times before his eyes blinked open. Before she could say anything, he reached up and held her hand closer to his cheek. 

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I’m awake?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, “You’re awake.” 

Harry nodded, “I’m awake,” he agreed quietly, his eyes fluttered shut again, “I love you.” 

Y/N’s brain doesn’t really catch it -- how could her brain catch anything, really? She was so sleepy, and Harry was so warm, and soft, and she wormed her body closer around his. 

“Love you too.” She murmured but her mouth is filled with marbles and her brain doesn’t catch that either. 

                                                              .                          .                         .

“Baker bezzy!” Adam cheered when the bell on the store door’s knob clinked against the glass at their arrival, a grin stretched wide on his mouth as he stuck his arms out high in the air, “Oh, how I’ve missed you -- but the cash registers have missed you more, m’sure of it.” His brows shot straight to the sky once his gaze shifted over to Harry, “Mr. Styles, always a pleasure! And Mr. Charlie, looking dashing.” 

Y/N loved a warm welcome and Adam was always keen on giving them. Charlie was strapped to her chest in his best picnic gear, dungarees beneath his purple coat and buckled shoes that Y/N knew she was going to pop off at some point so he could stuff his toes in the sand. He held her finger in one of his hands, flashing gummy smiles with a singular tooth that had begun to sprout, and Adam waved at him with three fingers. She was appreciative of his treatment toward Harry most of all though; despite his clear surprise that he was seeing him for the first time in what may be more than a year, he covered it well. 

“Hello,” Y/N smiled brightly, “My wallet surely hasn’t missed you though if I’m honest.” 

He holds his hand over his chest, “You wound me, but I’ll let it go. Lucky for you, I’ve just pulled your favorite out of the oven.” 

“Cinnamon rolls?” She gasped, and Adam used both of his hands, waving them toward himself. 

“Yes, yes, you can say it -- Adam, you’re the best, you’re so cool, oh my god what would we do without you -- wouldn’t be the first time I heard it, and you know what?” He plucked off the glove on his right hand, typing something into the register quickly, “They’re on the house, ‘cos I missed you lot so much. Take me on your trip next time.” 

Y/N thanked him about a dozen times before picking out what else she would like, and looping one of her fingers in Harry’s belt loops to tug him closer to the display, “D’ya want a chocolate puff? I dunno’ what that is but it sounds yummy.” 

She effectively racked up a little too much, but it’d been so long since she’d been here so she deemed it only appropriate. Plus, she got free cinnamon rolls which made it a little better. Y/N tried not to spend so much time speaking with Adam as she usually does, especially when she’d realized quickly that Harry was not adding much to the conversation. He probably felt awkward -- Y/N might if she hadn’t been down walking about town for a while, unknowing of how he might be received. Adam had been kind outwardly, but were his thoughts filled with malice? Was he looking at Harry up and down, debating on whether or not he was a cruel being?

Adam had been the one to bring it up to her, but he was also the first to disagree with the population consensus. Harry didn’t know that though -- all Harry knew was that Adam was working smack in the middle of a town that thought he’d killed his wife. Y/N couldn’t say that she would be up for much conversation at that point either, but she still tried to incorporate him into the conversation though he was more so responding with polite smiles and nods. There was little tension behind it but she could still sense his discomfort and ended the conversation with a wad of cash as her gratitude; he told them to come back soon and sent a wink in their direction.

She thought nothing of it -- he always winked, whether it be to her, or the older women that come in, she reckoned he was just being a flirt. It had been so insignificant, actually, that after they made their way to the private beach, laid his lavender-colored “bleach blanket” out to sit on, and unloaded the basket (that was filled with sandwiches, chips, fruit and veggie slices, the cinnamon rolls they’d just gotten for dessert, and some mashed peas and sweet potatoes for Charlie to eat), when Harry said, “He likes you,” Y/N is more than confused.

“Who, Charlie?” She had pulled him from where he was strapped on her stomach, flipping him around so he was sitting in her lap, leaning against her torso and staring out at the ocean, “I’d sure hope so, he has to see this ol’ mug often enough.” Y/N popped open the container of mashed peas, while she let him hold onto his spoon, his fingers wrapped tightly around it while he marveled at the ladybug figure on the handle.

Harry shook his head pensively, “No, not Charlie,” he responded, and in turn, Y/N’s brows furrowed, as she took the spoon from Charlie and dipped it in the peas, “Your baker bezzy. . .Adam.”

A scoffed laugh left her mouth as she gaped at him, “Adam?” Her movements pause, the spoon stopping just short of Charlie’s mouth, and a frustrated whine peels from the back of his throat, “He absolutely does not like me!”

“I think he does,” he twists his ring at the bottom of his pinky finger, but instead of bashfully looking to the side his eyes bore into her own, “How he looks at you and talks to you -- he winked at you and gave you free cinnamon rolls. . .” he trailed off, before repeating firmly, “I think he does.”

“I think that he’s just a bit of a friendly flirter and I leave good tips,” she shook her head again, “But like me? Not like that, I’m certain of it.”

Harry straightened out his back, “How do you know?”

It hadn’t been what she was expecting, and she’s flustered as she fumbles over, “Because I just know! I figure I could piece together if someone had feelings for me or not.”

“You didn’t know I had feelings for you,” he pointed out, reaching forward to wipe away some of the food that had dribbled onto Charlie’s chin before wiping it away with a napkin, “I’d been -- I’d been enamored by you since the first week we’d met, and you had no clue, did you?”

Her eyes bulged wide, as she exclaimed, “No you weren’t!” Because she wasn’t that blind, was she? The first few weeks they knew each other Harry had been so cold and closed off; she would shuffle back and forth anxiously behind him while he methodically made his morning coffee hoping he wasn’t moments from telling her she was fired. As time went on, they’d certainly gotten closer, but she would have had to say that bridge was crossed further than just a week of meeting, “Harry, I thought you hated me that first week.”

“I was incredibly fond of you. More so than I should have been and more so than I particularly cared to admit at the time. You smelled like fresh linen and sweets all the time, and your smile always reached your eyes; I never imagined you would feel even remotely the same for me, so I tried to be as distant as possible with you working in my house but it was difficult -- you made it very difficult.” Again, Y/N wishes that even for a moment he would break away his gaze, because she’s captivated by his words and mesmerized by the way the sunlight brought sparkles to the green of his irises, “When you held me for the first time, it felt like my insides had melted and it was all I could think about for weeks after.”

Her heart was hammering, thundering in her ears, “Harry --”

“And I was so cold toward you because I hated myself for feeling that way, but it felt good to be warmed in the light that you emit. All of that is beside the point,” he huffed out a breath, pointing his finger toward himself, “If I could hide that right under your nose, then he could definitely hide liking you behind free cinnamon rolls and cheeky winks.”

It took Y/N a while to find what to say, her mind racing a hundred thoughts a second, but she felt as if no response she conjured up would be good enough. Her heart filled with butterflies, that fluttered down to her stomach and made her giddy all over. She felt like a kid again, as she flushed warm, so it was only reasonable that in true teenage fashion her response was to nudge him with her foot, trying not to grin as hard as she wanted to.

“Harry,” she began, “You’re jealous.”

A disgruntled look took his face, and for a moment Y/N almost regrets saying it, but then he responds.

“I am,” he admitted, shoulders slumped and for the first time he shifts his gaze from her to the ring he’s twisting around his finger, “Like a petulant child,” he sounded upset with himself, giving a strong sigh, “I am jealous that you may have feelings for him because I think you two would do well with each other. And I -- I fear that I’m not very fun.”

His honesty is a lot, but it’s refreshing. Like breathing the air of a meadow far from the city smog that sat heavy in the lungs, where the grass is green and dewy, the flowers have all blossomed, it feels like living in a painting and it smells like renewal and it’s clear as looking through crystals. He speaks from his heart; his words are sincere, and it makes her feel like she’s floating. She wishes he didn’t look so grumpy about it though -- and she wishes he didn’t think that he wasn’t fun.

So Y/N plopped the spoon back into the peas and set it off to the side for a moment, placing her hand on Charlie’s tummy and keeping him pressed to her body as she began to shuffle from where she’d been positioned. She carefully avoided the food they had set up, but she urgently pats at his thighs until he gets the hint to spread them open. Y/N spun around so she faced out toward the water again, only this time she pressed her back up against his torso and lied against him, settling Charlie back in the cradle of her crossed legs, taking the peas in hand.

“If I had feelings for Adam that surpassed friendly, then I would be in the bakery kneading bread or summat. And if I didn’t have fun with you Harry, then I would avoid every chance of seeing you outside of your house for more than a few minutes at the time,” she tilted her head back, craning her neck so that she could look up at him some, and she finds that he’s looking at her, “If I wanted to be anywhere else right now, then I would be, but I’m not because I want to be with you.” She knocks his foot against hers, “Aish, you’re silly.”  

Harry smiled, his hand cradled the side of her face and petted at her jawline tenderly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, the waves crash against the shore in a particularly loud burst but he’s so close she can still hear him clearly, “I know I worry too much. I’ve never had this amount of reassurance before.”

She grinned, “Well if it’s reassurance you need, then I’ve got a load of it!” Y/N dipped the spoon in the peas and fed Charlie again, “I love a bit of reassurance myself, so I try to dish it out as much as possible, y’know?”

He dips his forehead against the back of her head, and breathes in deep, wrapping his arms around both her and Charlie.

Harry says nothing but he doesn’t have to.

Their lunch is pleasant, the sun is warm, and Charlie fell asleep soon after they had finished, resting with his cheek on her chest and his arms slung around her body. Y/N was moments from sleep herself, with her belly full and her mind swimming in drowsy clouds. It hadn’t helped that Harry was petting so gently at her arm, accompanied with murmured stories of his childhood by her request. Harry had always told her that he’d grown up with money, and from the time spent with his parents that much was clear, but she was curious by the extent of it. Growing up her family hadn’t been in the worst shape, but definitely not the best, so the polarity of their younger years was interesting to her.

He’d told her about the birthdays that he had, one of which included him and his four closest friends taking a trip to Disney World. His parents covered the entirety of the visit, along with bringing Harry’s nanny along so that she could watch over all five of the nine-year-olds (which clued her in that paying for nannies on their trips was a standard practice Harry had carried over). Nothing had been off-limits, he’d told her, that whatever he had set his eyes on he got and Y/N mused over the possibilities of all the things his nine-year-old self had determined he needed. Shirts, stuffies, figurines -- he told her his mum had kept them all, and each year on his birthday she sends one of the stuffed animals with his actual gift (which she’d been doing for eight years now, meaning that he had gotten at least eight stuffed animals and with the price of those things? Christ!).

And then he told her about his first kiss, back when he was 11 under an apple tree at his Nan’s farm, with the daughter of a family friend. He told her it was horrible, and he’d been so nervous that he’d cried leading up to it, but he regarded the memory fondly. Harry kept in touch with her for years after and had even been the first person she’d come out to when they were teenagers -- he came with her on her first date and spied from a distance because she had watched one too many crime shows and had been positive she was going to be kidnapped, but it went well. When the date had gone to the restroom, Harry slid over to the table and slipped her money to pay the tab and get ice cream afterward.

Y/N had inquired about his schooling, and he told her all the ins-and-outs of the private school that he’d attended. He said it had been pleasantly boring, but went on to tell her an extensive four-part story about a student-teacher relationship that somehow managed to last three of their four years there. It had pulled her from the dreamy state she had slipped into, finding that she’d slipped down so her head was in his lap as she opened her eyes and gaped up at him, “That’s like -- like, incredibly illegal.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry had agreed, “I always knew something was up with the bloke — he ate raisin bread every lunch period.”

A horrified gasp left her mouth, “No, the monster! Why every lunch period?”

“Couldn’t tell you. It was very unsettling.”

After that, Harry started describing a trip that he’d taken to Japan during cherry blossom season, and went into extreme detail about how the air smelled, and how the wind felt against his skin. He told her that words and pictures would never be able to translate how beautiful it was, but he tried his best to as he traced looping patterns with the tips of his fingers onto her cheeks. That’s when her eyes had fluttered closed, and that’s when she started falling into a pleasant slumber. Harry still spoke though she knew he could see that she was falling asleep, but he doesn’t mention it other than caressing her jaw and murmuring, “Sleepy thing.”

Y/N is unsure how long they are there, but she is very sure that she’s never been more comfortable in her life. And as he coaxes her awake, she opened her eyes, squinting at the sun that still sat high over them while she tried to refocus on his face, “Hm?” She hummed and Harry giggled brightly.

“I said let’s get you two home, Angel,” he helped guide her from his lap, but he doesn’t rush her -- just a gentle hand on her back as she cradles a still-sleeping Charlie to her body as she sat up, “When I checked the weather they called for rain in an hour or two. Reckon it wouldn’t be very fun to get caught up in the storm.”

They clean up after themselves thoroughly, and Y/N carefully places Charlie in his holder that was fixed on Harry’s chest this time. As they walk toward the car, Y/N can tell that Harry is deep in thought but she doesn’t question him on it -- she didn’t like to pry or push him to say things if he wasn’t ready to, which made it all the more gratifying when he did open up to her, even about little things. Though this thing, apparently, had felt very big to Harry -- at least the furrow in his brow was telling her that.

“I --” he began, and Y/N paused, her hand wrapped around the handle of the door, humming to let him know she was listening, “I need to go to the store.”

She controlled her features well enough, she’d say, because her brows don’t skyrocket at the suggestion of going in an even more public area than the bakery, “Oh? What d’ya need?”

With a clear of his throat, he explained, “We ran out of creamer and paracetamol,” his fingers are clutched tight around the keys but he finally digs the pad of his thumb on the button to unlock the car, “It’ll only be a moment.”

Y/N popped the door open, “Well that’s easy enough! I can pop in for you if you want. Or we could go in together too!” It rolled off her tongue -- she tried to act as natural as she could about it; she couldn’t let him go into that store alone. The thought of it gave her hives all over, “I might as well pick up a few things myself.”

Harry gave a ruminative smile, one that barely reached his eyes and only twitched the corner of her mouth by the smallest of quirks. It was very reminiscent of the sort of smiles she’d been privy to when they’d first met, and she’d not realized how much she hadn’t missed it at all. She liked the smiles that she received now, big and bright, rosy cheeks but a beautiful light behind his gaze. No, this one was cold and contemplative -- this one spoke of loneliness and pain.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go in by yourself.” Harry questioned and she didn’t waste a moment, nodding quickly.

“Of course,” she popped the door open, “Yeah, we’ll both go in then. In and out, right?”

He was nervous. Even if Y/N had not an inkling of a clue about his past (and his present, she guesses) with this town, she could feel the tension thick and heavy in her chest. It makes her shuffle uncomfortably, silence filling the car apart from the tick of his blinker as they made their way to the market. Her heart hammered as he parked the car, and it continued to hammer as they got out of the car, Harry placed Charlie into his holder against his body and they walked toward the store. Y/N tried to lighten the mood even just a little, and again she got that tiny little smile, that made her shoulders sink just slightly.

She thinks the tension eases when they walk through the doors and are not immediately stoned. Y/N isn’t a hundred percent sure what the both of them expected, but she guesses something to that extent was what had built up in their heads. A deep breath in and she tried one more time, and squeezed his shoulder once as a silent reminder that she was right there beside him, “They have those red bean buns here, right? I’ll get us some of those.”

Harry scrunched his nose at her, “I think your body functions solely off sweets now, doesn’t it? If not for me  you would not eat any real food.”

It felt as if both of them had been holding air in their lungs but finally sighed out, and each passing minute without a scene breaking out among the others in the grocery, the more they both relaxed. While she could still feel Harry’s worry, he had even begun joking some with her, not letting his guard down but making an effort not to let on how uncomfortable he was to her.

Y/N had really thought they’d made it through the whole store without any trouble, as she slipped the red bean buns into their basket. Harry had been right in the middle of asking her if she’d like anything else while they were still here, just as they passed a woman in a purple knitted sweater. If Y/N hadn’t been staring at one of the stitches at the back of the neck that was just a bit loose, she may not have caught it, and maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t. Maybe it would have been better if her ears hadn’t perked up to hear the uttered, “Disgusting,” that left the woman’s mouth as her gaze caught Y/N’s.

Her brows dip as she paused, her upper half had already been turned and her bottom half followed so she faced the woman fully, “Excuse me?” Y/N said it without thinking, and Harry hums as if he thought she was speaking to him, “Ma’am, what did you say?”

The woman had little shame as she turned to face Y/N, face pinched as if she were revolted, and Y/N’s heart began to sink as she realized what was happening, and with Harry right beside her no less, “I said disgusting,” she put emphasis on the word, “For him to show his face here. We all thought he’d moved.”

Y/N scoffed, “Listen, you need to --”

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice cut through her sentence, his hand resting idly on her shoulder, drawing her attention from the woman, “It isn’t worth it. We should go home.”

The pain in his eyes makes her heart sink lower; she felt as it eroded in her stomach’s acid, and the fight in her had been snuffed out like a small flame beneath a shoe. Y/N looked from the both of them, perturbed by the situation, conflicted only slightly as she swallowed and began to turn away from her. She would have left to -- for Harry’s sake, she would have left and pretended that it hadn’t happened at all until he felt comfortable enough to bring it up -- she would have, really.

“Yeah, why don’t you go home? Wife killer.”  

She really would have.

“Actually, I think you’re the disgusting one,” Y/N had begun as she turned back around, “To say something so cruel. He lost his wife and you’ve decided that it’s his fault? You’re the worst kind of cruel -- downright evil,” her nails pinch into her palms, “You’re awful!”

“Y/N --” Harry tried again, but the woman cut her off quickly.

“He’s the awful one!” She seemed shocked Y/N could have even suggested otherwise, “You’re new here, Honey, so I’ll let you in on what your boyfriend did. He killed his wife after treating her awfully -- cheating on her!” Her words were vile, and to say all of this in front of Harry. The rage that lit through her vessels was enough to make her feel like she was burning up, “And he got away with it ‘cos he can afford fancy lawyers to cover up the truth. So before you go around calling people you don’t know evil, look at the man beside you. And learn some respect.”

Y/N took a small breath, just a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Fuck off.”

“Excuse me?” The woman’s brows raise.

“Respectfully, Fuck. Off.” Y/N’s glare was undeviating, but she could feel eyes on them -- other people watching them closely, though they wouldn’t show it outright, “Were you there when it happened?” She stepped forward, “Or are you God? Some deity?” The woman appeared confounded, like her argument should have been able to sway Y/N, “I don’t think you are -- I think. . .I think you’re a foul creature that thinks you have the right to judge a situation you had no part of. And I think you should think about someone’s feelings before you start saying something with no real basis other than word of mouth from other people just as rotten as you. You really need to do some soul searching if you think that this is the proper way to confront anyone about your feelings. I hope you think about this before you go to bed at night.” She stepped back, closer toward Harry before taking another small breath, “You’re lucky you didn’t wake the baby, or you would have really upset me. Goodbye.”

With this, she turned back on her heel,  and carefully guided Harry by his shoulder to follow her as he let the basket sit on the ground where they’d been. Her eyes burned with tears of frustration and anger, as the look on his face when the woman had first stopped them replayed over and over again in her head. Maybe if she had fought him on it -- maybe if she had just fought him a little harder, he would have stayed in the car and she could have spared him from having to hear that woman. She gave in too easily, and when he tried to get them to leave, she stayed to fight which. . .well, she doesn’t regret saying anything that she did, but she does regret making Harry look bad if she had.

All she had done was bring more attention to them -- she blew it out wide open and brought everyone into his business. She wouldn’t be shocked if he were upset with her. . .no matter her defending him.

“Y/N,” he says her name, but she doesn’t respond at first, swallowed in her thoughts she barely registered that he’d said anything, “Y/N.”

“Yes?” She responded, her hand sliding from his shoulder and back down toward her side.

He paused for a moment, “You knew?”

For a moment, everything freezes.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart hiccuped over a beat; Y/N’s fingers twitched where they sat at her sides, her lips hung open waiting for her brain to muster a response -- anything. Could she figure out something to say? Anything at all?

“Y --” she sighed, her blood roaring in her ears, “Yes,” she answered, shoulders slumping in defeat, “I knew. But not -- I didn’t know at the start at all.”

“How long?” Charlie began to blink his eyes open, slow as a pleased cat, “You knew for how long?”

Was he angry with her? Y/N couldn’t tell -- she couldn’t read him at all and it made her palms sweat. She hadn’t been technically lying but she still felt immense guilt suffocating her at the realization that she hadn’t been entirely truthful either. Not that she ever had the opportunity to just. . .bring it up, but still -- fuck, she didn’t know what to do.

“Since the third week.”

                                                       .                            .                         .

The ride to his house is silent.

Not the comfortable one that they sometimes fell into; like when she’s so focused staring out the window that no words come to her mouth, where the engine’s lulled purr and Charlie’s small giggles and babbles fizzled through the quiet. The kind where Harry had much recently started placing his hand on her thigh, resting it there with no real purpose other than to touch her. One where she feels content and calm, and if she let her eyes flutter shut she could drift off to sleep, the sun disappearing and reappearing as they drive past trees creating pink flickers behind her lids.

No, this wasn’t like that at all.

There was no noise. It felt like even the car had sensed the tension and held its breath waiting for one of them to slice words through the quiet. Her gaze was trained out the window but her fingers shook and her heart raced -- she could hear it thumping in her ears. She should have kept her mouth shut, she’s decided that if she hadn’t said anything at all then everything would be okay. If she had ignored the woman’s tasteless murmur, then she and Harry could have been laughing right now. Maybe they would have sat at one of the park benches, or pushed Charlie on the swing. Maybe Harry would share one of her sweets with her while the sun began to sink. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so downtrodden and gloomy.

Clouds thick with rain pulled in from the North and had Harry not mentioned them earlier, she would have thought the weather had changed with the mood. It was befitting, at the very least, the heavy drops spatter the glass as the gates open for them, and the loud iron hinges that usually make her cringe is a welcomed piercing into the silence. If it were a normal day, Y/N would joke that they should ditch the gate and invest in a moat instead  -- she thinks Harry might have chuckled.

Y/N half expects him to tell her to go home, but he doesn’t. The first words he spoke after about 20 minutes of nothing was a gentle request to take Charlie in, and warning her that Niall would be stopping by for something. She vaguely remembered him mentioning Niall earlier before all this, so she doesn’t panic that he was lifting her of her duties and going back to how things had been before her, but the thought had still arisen, no matter how fleeting.

“Do you need help grabbing everything?” She inquired, but he only shook his head.

“I’ll be okay.”

It was rotten -- this feeling that had begun to overcome her was as rotten as the wood in a forgotten cabin and as dense as sludge from the bottom of a polluted river. This was her fault. . .god, if she had just kept her stupid mouth shut!

But how could she? The lady had been so spiteful and so cruel, and to witness it happening rather than just theorizing about it, made it much too real. At that moment, the weight of what Harry had been going through here had finally settled deep in her chest and it made her sick. She didn’t know what happened but she knew he had vivid nightmares -- she knew the lost, faraway look that would take over his face at the mention of his wife, and she knew the pain that crossed his features every moment he’d uttered how he doesn’t really go to town.

They all so viciously passed judgment on them for something they knew absolutely nothing about and Y/N defended him for something she knew nothing about. It felt as if it had happened either seconds ago or hours ago like she was caught in a figure-eight of time that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be -- seconds, minutes, hours. Tears still burned behind her eyes but she refused to shed them, as she hid away for a little while with Charlie in his playroom. The only time she comes out is just a little over two hours of them being home when it was time for Charlie’s supper. Just as she’d stepped onto the hardwood from the last step, the doorbell rang and Y/N was quick to answer it.

Niall is revealed once she pulls the door open, and the warmth of his grin combats the chill of evening air that rushed in the foyer, “Hey, Y/N!”

“Hi,” she smiled, stepping out of the way so that he could step in, “How was your winter break?”

Niall loosened his scarf from around his throat, “If Mr. Styles asks, it was dull, boring and I couldn’t wait to get back to work, but between you, me, and Charlie, I wish we had about four more weeks of it.”

She led them in and went to the kitchen while Niall made his way to Harry’s office. Y/N fuddled about making Charlie’s dinner, but could only stomach a glass of water for herself as she fed him. Normally she would dance between giving Charlie some, then eating a bite of her food, and making idle chatter with him as she did so. She still tried to chatter at him so he didn’t notice the difference, but she knew he could feel something was off. Babies were smart little things, and they could read energy better than anyone in a room like they had built-in radars that either dampen or strengthen with time.

Instead of feeding off it in a bad way and getting fussy, he’s just extra cuddly though. Held one of her fingers while she slid mashed carrots into his mouth and cooed at his puckered lips while he tasted it. No matter what happened today, this little guy knew no different -- just another day for him. . .she longed to switch places.

Just as she had wiped his face clean of his food and filled the dishwasher with what she used, the door to Harry’s office opens, followed by a call of, “See you, Mr. Styles!” So she turned her body toward the opening to the kitchen so she could bid him a farewell too, and soon enough he pops into the frame, “Hey, I’m heading out. Mr. Styles said after you lay Charlie down to come speak with him,” Y/N’s breathing hitched, Niall raised his fingers that he had crossed with a grin, “Hope it’s for a raise. See you later!”

“See you later,” she called after him but it was weak, and her heart (that had just finally begun to settle) began to hammer again. It continued to do so as she pulled Charlie from his seat, and all throughout his nighttime routine. She still tries for him, smiling at him, humming, and talking as she washed him clean of the day, blew raspberries into his tummy after she lotioned his skin, and dressed him in something warm and cozy. Charlie would fall asleep if she set him in his crib, she knew that, but to soothe herself and prolong what may be an intense conversation, she sat him in her lap and read him a story. Even after he’d fallen asleep in her arms, she pressed her nose to his soft hair and tried to calm herself down.

Eventually, it couldn’t be helped any longer. Her nerves got the better of her and she lowered him into his crib, turned off the light, clicked his sound machine on low, and crept out of the room quietly. She knew Harry would still be in his office because she hadn’t heard him go to his bedroom, so she walked down the steps and tried to soothe the worry from her bones as she grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen. No matter what, it was still Harry -- still the man who was always so gentle and kind with her. Today had thrown him off -- it would throw anyone off, so she understood why he was so quiet and distant. She would be too if the circumstances were flipped.

Still, she hated how this felt, as her knuckles knocked against the wood and she held her breath, waiting for him to speak.

“Come in.”

One more deep breath and she pushes the door open, and instead of making her way to his side like she had been doing, she stood at the door awkwardly, waiting for him to speak first. If she had been the one to initiate this then she would have prepared something to say, but she stays quiet -- he invited her down, so he had something to say, and she was keen on hearing it. Harry stood in front of his desk, his bum resting against the lip of it with his legs outstretched, and he held himself up with his hands on either side of him. He doesn’t avoid her gaze, locking it with her own, and she watched as he took a deep breath of his own, blowing a small stream of air through pursed lips.

“First, I want to apologize,��� he finally started, and Y/N swallowed thickly, “I shouldn’t have -- I shouldn’t have subjected you to an environment I knew could have been hostile. We should have gone home and I should have just ordered it.” Her brows knit immediately, and she opened her mouth to refute that, that could have been his fault in any way but he held up his hand, “Please, Sweetheart, I -- I need to -- I need to get through this.”

She nodded, the twist in her belly partially satiated by the term of endearment -- he wasn’t mad at her, at the very least -- that helped a great deal.

“I should have, but I hadn’t because  -- because things just feel so normal with you, and I wanted that. . .I wanted to go to the grocery store with you how we could in the city, and to be normal here. I thought that maybe we could, but for my own selfish reasons, I didn’t think it through nearly enough.” He shook his head at himself, “And I apologize for shutting down the way that I did on the ride home. It was naive of me to believe you could work for me this long and not know what is thought of me here. I think a part of me thought you might know but you had always -- you had always treated me so kindly, and you never asked questions so I had suspicions that you may have heard a passing word of it but not in great detail.” One of his hands, he combs through his hair, sighing before he started again, his voice shook only slightly with the first syllable before he got a hold of it, “I told myself several times that if you. . .if you had ever asked what had happened to my wife, I would tell you everything. I would open my heart to you in every way imaginable before you could -- before they could say anything to you. So I was frustrated finding out that you had already heard that side of it, and that I wasn’t able to speak with you before you could think that I was a murderer --”

“I don’t,” she cut him off firmly, “I don’t think that at all.”

His lips twitched again, in a small smile that just barely reached his eyes that tilted down to the floor, “I want to tell you,” he took in a shaky breath, “I need to tell you, but I’m scared. I haven’t. . .I haven’t really told anyone the whole thing, but --” he looked back up to her, “Do you want to know? Are you -- are you willing to listen to me?”

“Yes, Harry,” she answered with assured conviction, without even a moment passing by, “I want you to tell me everything. If you want me to know then I want to know.”

He nodded,  “Okay,” he murmured, “Can we sit?”

They positioned themselves on the couch, and Y/N took the decorative pillow that would be pressed against her back and sat it in her lap. She curled her arms around it, her fingers idly playing with the tassel at the bottom left corner just to give herself something to do. Harry was preparing himself to speak, and despite how relieved she was to finally get the story, she felt her heart clench in pity for him. Re-living it would be difficult, but he wanted to tell her -- he said he needed to tell her -- so she would listen.

“Ebba and I had met when we were 18 but had only been officially together for 2 years before we started to have problems,” he finally said, shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch, his fingers fixed around the ring he’d been playing with earlier today, “It was little stuff at first -- little fights and grievances, but we both had decided that it was normal, that kind of thing. Couples bicker and argue because they love each other enough to, that’s what my mum had always said and it had always sounded about right. So we would have tiffs and make-up and it would be well again, but. . .well, the arguments started getting a little worse, especially around our anniversary. She kept accusing me of cheating on her, again and again, and again, but I hadn’t even so much as thought about another woman since I asked her on our first date.” He stared at a spot on the floor -- he looked far away, “And it’s a shit feeling being accused of something like that, so I would fight her back.”

“You’d think we would have taken a break or something to cool off from each other, but we were 23 so instead we moved in together. Thought maybe if we were around each other more then questions of infidelity could be shattered because we would be around each other more. This is around the time I started really gaining my footing in the industry, you know? And Ebba -- well, she’d already had a well-established place at her mother’s company so she was doing just fine. We played happy home for a little while in the new place in the city but it went. . .it went bad again, a few months in. She became very. . .aggressive when we fought, like -- like smashing things and breaking things, but I always figured that was kind of my fault. Could never admit when I was in the wrong about something so I’d just keep pushing her, y’know? Or it had felt that way at least, like no matter what I said I would just push her and push her and push her. But we --” he dipped his head down, staring into his lap, “We loved each other so much, we didn’t want to end things. Had plenty of conversations about ending it, and she’d even packed her bags a few times but we’d never go through with it. If she left, she’d show back up at our flat the next day.”

He took a small breath, pausing for a moment like he was collecting his thoughts again and Y/N offered him the water that sat at their feet. Harry nodded and took two drinks before he continued.

“My mum suggested couple’s counseling, ‘cos she and my father had once when they were younger, so we did. The woman they had gone to see was still in practice so we went and did about 12 sessions. It worked for a little while, or well enough that I thought proposing was the next best step -- we had re-entered that honeymoon stage again and it felt like we were on top of the world. So I proposed and we got married, and it was good for a few months but then I got a promotion,” he twisted the cap back on the bottle, setting it back where it had been on the ground beside her leg, “So I was traveling less with her, and I had less time off but that was a decision I made for myself, the company hadn’t made it. I wanted to -- for selfish reasons. . .it was all for selfish reasons. I wanted more money and I wanted to climb up the company and to learn from the best, but I couldn’t do that if I was spending summer weeks in Cabo. But I never -- I was never clear behind my motives for doing it, so she thought I was just trying to avoid her. Avoid her and “fuck some old computer prick’s wife” is what she would say. And the more we would fight, the longer I would stay at work, the less we would see each other.”

Y/N’s mind was spinning; it felt like Harry was dropping pieces of information that she followed closely behind to collect, fixing them into a timeline that he’d created. Her heart was still beating quickly.

“The first time I caught her cheating, she cried to me after I walked in on them -- it was some bloke from her job, I think, but she had thought I was gone at a business conference for a week. We’d had a massive fight before I left about me leaving, so I had changed my flight a day early to surprise her. The flat was trashed and she was there on the bed with him in our room. I wanted to leave -- to stay at a hotel for the night but she was sobbing, and she was drunk, and I couldn’t leave her alone. So I stayed, and the next few days were rough but then we talked it out, and we cried, and it was good again.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile, “That happened only one more time in that flat, but it technically “didn’t count” because we were on something of a break. I didn’t really see it as that kind of break, but I hadn’t been clear, I suppose.”

It was hard to hear him reflect on it, still finding fault in things that he shouldn’t at all find fault in. Her chest ached for him.

“I went back to school for my Master’s in an accelerated program when I was about 25. I told her I wanted to teach because I wanted to share my knowledge and help students put their best foot forward how some of my good professors allowed me to. Which was true, for the most part, but most of me just wanted to be away from her. I couldn’t handle it anymore -- the fighting, and the breaking, the yelling and the. ..and the hitting. It just felt good to not be home, but instead of being honest with her, I just found more reasons to not be alone with her for more than a dinner or two. I regret that. . .I regret not being honest.” He took in a shaky breath, “2ish before she died, we moved out here, and that was the real end for us. It started out kind of good, like always but then she started disappearing for days at a time. She had started drinking a lot and partying, and the worse our fights got. I tried to get her help -- I could see she was unhappy and this was never the life she wanted to live. It was too close to her father, and she hated it, and so I tried but she didn’t want it. She would say that she wasn’t addicted to anything, she was just having fun because life with me was miserable. I told her I wanted a divorce.”

His eyes had started to become glossy, she noticed how dewy they looked from the glow of his lamp, so she placed her hand on his knee and stroked it carefully with her thumb.

“At first she didn’t fight me on it, only packed her bags and said she would be with her mother for a while. A week later she came and told me that Charlie was in her belly and he was mine -- it was bittersweet. For once I understood why people tried to make marriages work for a child’s sake, and for nine months we were. . .fine. We weren’t awful but we weren’t good either -- we were just fine. But when Charlie was born I. . .” he paused, “When he was born I just had a feeling. A sick, disgusting feeling but it was there nagging at the back of my head and I couldn’t quiet it. So one day when she had gone out with her friends, I took Charlie and we got a paternity test.”

Y/N forces her face to stay neutral.

Her breathing pauses entirely.

“5 days later I found out that Charlie wasn’t mine,” his brows furrowed, and he shook his head, “I confronted her about it. I didn’t -- I didn’t care that he wasn’t mine, I had already fallen in love with him but I needed her to know that I knew. I wanted to know who his real father was. I wanted to know why, if there was any doubt that he could have been mine, did she not tell me. She got upset, she took Charlie and went to stay with her mother again. I didn’t see either of them for 4 months, until -- until one day someone knocked on my door but they were gone before I’d gotten there, and in their place was Charlie. It was too cold for him to be out there so I brought him inside first and I made sure he was warm and taken care of before I called her. I called her again, and again, and again, and again. Niall was there for that, which -- well, he really shouldn’t have been here even while he’s a TA but he was struggling with the material for an exam in one of his other courses and asked me to help him. I hadn’t been on campus so he drove out and we’d been studying in my office.” He explained, wiping a tear from his cheek, “I wonder. . .I always wonder what must have been going on in his head to see his professor like that. Couldn’t bring myself to look at his face but he was playing with Charlie for me, while I was pacing.”

“I checked her location and saw she was in the city, and I -- I apologized and begged Niall to sit with Charlie while I went to see if everything was okay. I just had this horrible feeling, because it hadn’t felt like the other times where she would just disappear and not answer my calls. If she was in the city already then it couldn’t have been her to drop Charlie off, someone else had. Halfway there I got a call from her mum and -- she was sobbing, and asking if Ebba was with me. If I knew where she was, and I told her I was on my way there. She told me that Ebba had written her a letter and left it on the counter for her, for when she got home. She said she was going to -- she said she was done with it all. With everything -- with life.”

It’s getting harder for him to continue, tears fall freely from his eyes now but he still won’t allow himself to truly break and Y/N’s hold on his knee tightens.

“She was at this bridge -- it used to be really popular a decade ago but they started construction on it that never finished, so it was basically deserted. By the time I had gotten there, the police were already there and they were -- her body was covered at the river below the bridge. I cried into the dirt, and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until an officer’s hands touched my back and he sat me up. Her mom showed up around then too. It was awful. . .it was so, so, so fucking horrible.” He wiped at his face again, “When they actually looked over her, she was -- she had a lot of different drugs in her system.”

“And everyone. . .everyone in this fucking town had thought I killed her and after. . .and after all this time, it started to feel like it. I would have -- I hadn’t seen her for months at that point, there was nothing I could have done, but they look at me like I’m a fucking monster. Like I pushed her off the bridge myself. There stupid fucking theories -- they didn’t think I could hear them but I could. How I didn’t act like Charlie was my son because I resented him and his mother. I love him with my whole heart but those first few months after her death and even sometimes now I’m just so. . .I’m so scared that his biological father will come for him. I didn’t want to -- it sounds stupid now, but I didn’t want to get too close so it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he was taken from me, but even that didn’t work. I’m stiff and stuffy but I love him, and even though the whole relationship was nothing but tattered ribbon by the end, I would have never hurt her. I had. . .I didn’t love her anymore. I hadn’t felt any true love for her for years at that point, but I didn’t want her dead, and with a child in this world no less! But no -- no they made me out to be a killer.“

Y/N is overwhelmed by all of it -- every single word had been more and more difficult to process, and there was no hope of her being able to formulate a response that would do him any good just moments after he’d finished telling her. Sympathy and sorrow weigh in her muscles as she moves forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Harry’s body and dragging him into her own. As if had taken a sledgehammer to the last stonewall he had up around him, he sobs. He holds her close, even tighter than he has after a nightmare, and he lets every emotion that he’d been bottling up out all at once. It’s heartbreaking; her own tears wet her cheeks.

She isn’t sure how long he cried, but it wanes slowly, reduced to hiccups and sniffles. Y/N would have held him to her chest as long as he wanted -- all night and into the morning if that’s what he needed -- but when he’s finally settled, he begins to withdraw. His cheeks are red and wet, his eyes are puffy, his lips are bitten swollen and fuchsia red -- he looks absolutely fucking exhausted. Y/N cradles his face in her hands and guides him to look at her, stroking the damp skin of his face with her thumbs as she spoke.

“Thank you for telling me. I know it must have been very hard,” he nodded, “I don’t think I could ever have the right words to say, to absolve you of any guilt you’re feeling, or to make any of your pain go away, but I do -- I do want to tell you,” his lips quiver, “That Charlie is your son, even though you don’t share blood. You’ve raised him, and you care for him, and when he sees you you can just tell that he is yours, and no matter what happens nothing can change that fact. And I wanted to tell you, that you were not at fault for her death. There was nothing you could have done, so you cannot blame yourself for that, because she was sick Harry.  And you can’t solely take the blame for what you’d been through in your relationship either -- it was abusive. You’ve been through so, so much and nobody should ever have to go through anything like that,” she leaned forward, and pushed a kiss to his forehead, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I wish I could take it all away.”

Harry took in a shaky breath, “Thank you for listening to me,” he murmured, “And for. . .and for not believing them and what they said about me. And for telling Mrs. Stuart off in the grocery. And for. . .for everything,” he dipped down, touching their foreheads together, and he giggled a small bit, “I want -- I want to get better. To process all the trauma of it so I can be the best version of myself for you and Charlie. Reckon I should probably look into therapy.”

Y/N breathed out a laugh, “I think that may be beneficial, yeah. Think everyone could use a bit of therapy -- nothing shameful about it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I think I’ll do that.”

                                                     .                              .                               .

Y/N had not foreseen how light the air around them would be. Even lighter than before; if a week ago it felt like floating on clouds with him, then now they move when the wind blows even a gentle gust. It’s good and it’s freeing, and if it feels as if there’s a weight off her chest then she knows Harry must feel a weight off his.

It was a lot — all of it was so much, and she doesn’t think she could truly comprehend the pain that Harry had suffered through but though it hurts to know, she’s glad to understand him more. To understand all his stony bits and all his worn, weathered bits. To push a piece that had been missing in the puzzle and see the full picture — and while it was agonizing to retell, she noticed how even now Harry has softened more, and she had already thought he was as soft as he could’ve been.

As if he were porcelain, Y/N treats him delicately. She knows how he must feel right now, exhausted and raw; his inner thoughts and the source of his nightmares cracked open and spread out before the both of them. He deserved to be touched kindly, and gently. With warmth and love and care. Y/N knew it wasn’t her responsibility to pick up the broken pieces and tape them back together -- that would be too much work for any one person to do for another -- but she vowed right then to help him. In her mind, she promised to hand him bits of tape when he was sticking parts together or helping him reach his back. She’d support him in any way she could because she. . .she felt so deeply for him. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt this way for anyone before -- she knows she hasn’t, actually.

She drew him a bath and sat with him while he soaked in the tub, the both of them just wanting to be close. Needing to be close. He had offered for her to climb into the tub but she politely declined, “Let me take care of you for tonight,” she murmured, “I’ll take you up on that tomorrow though if the offer still stands.”

“The offer will always stand.”

Y/N shampoos his hair for him, massaging his scalp and soaping up the strands for no other reason than she knew it would feel good. They understand it without words, which is why Y/N simply sheds her clothes and digs through his drawers for a shirt to sleep in as he dries off. And it’s why she crawled into his bed beside him, immediately adhering to his side, their legs tangling and their arms wrapping around each other like if they even for a second thought about letting go, the other would float away.

Y/N pushes kisses all over his face, loving on him in every way that she could because she could and he accepted it happily. His smiles were soft and sweet and made her melt. She just wanted him to remember that he was with her, right now, in the present -- away from that. Away from the pain and the hurt. The look in his eyes when she paused and just stared at him for a little while said everything that she needed to know without words, but when he said it aloud, it felt even sweeter.

“You mean the world to me,” he hummed, the pads of his fingers smoothing over her temple, stroking down to caress her jaw, “I love you.”

Her heart swells full, and she bites down a grin that threatens to split her cheeks.

“I love you too.” She responded, lowering down so her face was pressed to his chest. He’s warm -- she lets her eyes flutter closed as she immerses herself in him. His essence and his being; she breathes him in greedily.

Harry is quiet for a moment, long enough that she thinks they may be going to bed for the night, but he chuckled suddenly.

“Weird,” he murmured, “Feels like we’ve said that before.”

[everlarkficquestions]

Whatever Day it is Today Stumped Day 36

It’s another Sunday ?? Stumped Day!

Sometimes we straight out get stumped. So every few months we will pick a Sunday when we’ll post of a list of asks that we need your help on.

In this round, we are focusing on asks for specific stories.   If your ask for a more general “type of” story is not included, it does not mean we are ignoring it, it just means we need more time to research and answer these asks.

If  you know the answer to any of these asks please shoot us a message/  ask/  with the Post number and the fic details and we’ll add it and give you a shout out with our thanks.  Any links you can provide will also be super helpful.

Thanks!

Post 1 , Post 2 , Post 3, Post 4, Post 5, Post 6, Post 7, Post 8, Post 9, Post 10, Post 11, Post 12, Post 13, Post 14, Post 15, Post 16, Post 17, Post 18, Post 19, Post 20, Post 21, Post 22 , Post 23, Post 24, Post 25, Post 26,  Post 27, Post 28, Post 29 , Post 30, Post 31, Post 32, Post 33, Post 34 and Post 35 can be found here - and there are still fics we need your help with.

597. weepingmilkshakesandwich asked:there's a fic that I can't find where Peeta takes Katniss to the lake and Effie gives Katniss a bikini that becomes transparent in the water, but Katniss has no idea. Could you help me find it?

598. weepingmilkshakesandwich asked:any where k and p go to the hob and sae makes fun of them?

599. eversnarkly asked:Hey! I was wondering if you could help me find this story that focuses on Katniss only dating older guys and eventually dating Peeta's older brother, until she discovers that he's immature and then gets with Peeta, who's her age. I think it was posted on tumblr as a one-shot and also features Rue as her friend. Rue's brother is Thresh, who's older and dated Katniss in the past. Thanks!

FOUND! Closing the (Age) Gap - Savvylark (Thank you, @daydreamsandcaffeine!)

600. alwayseverlark asked:Hello!! As always thanks so much for your work! This is the best blog ever!!I am looking for a AU- modern setting, where Katniss returns to her town and Peeta is going to marry Delly, but Katniss still loves Peeta (I’m not sure if she never told him or broke with him), they have a conversation in the back door of the bakery (they are sit down on the stairs)Does it ring a bell?

601. myminemind asked:Hi! I was wondering if you'd help me find an everlark fic I think it's in ff . net where katniss and peeta's daughter was attacked when she played in the woods..? I think the daughter's name is Grace but I might mix it up with other fanfic I read.. it's been a long time but I'd love to rediscover it if possible thank you so much for all that you do!! :)

602. crazedfangirlofmanythings asked:Hi, Hi yall! Been a bit but I'm lost. I'm not sure we're i read it, but its where Katniss and Gale go out into the woods. The have to keep away and Peeta is taken in the Capitol. She finds out she's pregnant and has to lie to the world that its Peeta even thought she doesn't love him. Anyone got ideas? It's killing me!

FOUND! Could this be Spectator by FanficAllergy? (Thank you, @rosefyrefyre!)

603. acromioclavicular3 asked:Hi! I think I left an ask of this before but I kinda remember some more details.I was looking for this smutty fic where Katniss and Peeta are having dinner, possibly celebrating an anniversary or a birthday. Katniss gets jealous at a waitress.They go home. Katniss is upset and in their bedroom Peeta asks why. She reveals that it's because Peeta was giving the waitress a smile that was hers, that was only meant for Katniss. As they begin to undress Peeta reaizes Katniss isn't wearing anything underneath the dress the whole time.Peeta proceeds to make it up to Katniss by seductively removing her clothes for her and touching her slowly saying things like "these eyes are yours" as he looks at her, "these hands are yours" as he dips his fingers between her legs....Basically Peeta saying that everything he is is "yours"  to Katniss.I thank you in advance!

604. stupidsatsuma asked:Hello! The fic I’m looking for is one that, if I recall correctly, was an angsty story with a happy ending.  Pretty sure it’s a neighbors style AU, but one where Peeta is slightly older. Katniss always wanted him to be her first, but then he goes off to college and I think she ends up asking another one of their friends (maybe Finnick??) to be her first. I can’t remember if she follows through with this other guy or not, but I am sure it was everlark endgame (because of course!) it just was a bit of a trip to get there. Maybe I overlooked it on one of the master lists, or maybe I’m even getting my fandoms mixed up? (Entirely possible, there are so many to keep track of...) Either way, thanks in advance and have a great day!

605. allflowerscatchthesunlight asked:Hey! I’m looking for a fic that was on ffnet. Katniss gets pregnant with peetas baby between catching fire and mockingjay. Peeta I think was captured then returned. When the baby is born and after the war when they’re in district twelve katniss becomes distant and lives alone in her victors house. Peeta ends up taking care of the toddler girl. Katniss slowly rebuilds her relationship with them both. Really sad :(

606. sweetjentlehome asked:hey! im looking for this fic: it is about gale’s pov watching peeta comfort katniss after a nightmare at night. there’s no dialogue between katniss and peeta as gale cannot hear them, and i also remember that it was like snowing so peeta wraps his scarf around katniss neck and the next morning in the everdeen home prim comments on the scarf. im so sorry this sounds so confusing

FOUND! Gale’s Window - JavisTG

607. supreme-doritos asked:Hi! first off i just wanna say your page is amazing!! ive read so many ffics bc of it so thank you <3   i was wondering if you know of any catching fire fics where katniss isn't as naive and actually sorta knows whats going on/is more aware that her actions have consequences? also do you know of any fics where katniss is friends with the other victors (eg she won before the 74th games or she is just nicer etc lol)? thank you so much!! :)

608. luckyphoenix asked:Hi! Are there any fics where Peeta has a nickname (From family, friends, or K)? I’ve read some where he’s called peanut by his dad or angel by K but I can’t remember where?

His dad calls him Peanut in these:

See Right Through My Walls - HPfanonezillion

Catch Me As I Fall - HPfanonezillion

Katniss calls Peeta “Peanut” in this one:

Fifty Shades of Peeta - mrspeetamellark

609. makennalovessunshine asked:I know there are a lot of fics that show the affects of Peetas abuse from the capitol but do you know of any that show the effects of his moms abuse. Like flinching when someone makes a gesture cause his first thought is that there going to hit him or anything simialar?💚

Let Me Fly - FanficAllergy & RoseFyreFyre

610. emilythelegend asked:Any touch starved katniss fics??

611. atfhj asked:Hi! Do you know of the story where Katniss was dating Gale and Peeta was Gale’s apartment neighbor. I think it started with Katniss showing up in a trench coat (w nothing under) on Peeta’s door instead of Gale’s. Also, do you know one where Katniss is Peeta’s personal assistant? I remember one where Peeta was older than Katniss and they both went to Finnick and Annie’s wedding, which was back in Peeta’s hometown.

FOUND!1) Rain, come again - orphan_account (Thank you, @emilia206!)

 - or -

This ficlet - atetheredmind (Thank you, @allie-rose!)

2) Baked - peetazeus (Thank you, @finnickfoxes!)

612. stonyspideypool asked:Hey! I can't remember what this fanfic is called but it is explicit. And katniss and peeta are in college I think they are best friends.. or it might be gale and katniss but she gives him a blowjob when he's trying to work or somethin and gale walks in but he doesn't know I can't remember what it's called.. there's also another one where she does it in the bakery. Sorry I can't remember 😅LOVE THE BLOG BTW❤💙❤💙

FOUND! Part of this sounds like the second chapter of Saint Peeta by thegirlonpeetamellark. (Thank you, @bellairestrella!)

Do any of these fics ring a bell? Please let us know!

[thehollowprince]

What would you say are Scott's main character traits (including flaws)?

His compassion, his empathy, his resilience, his refusal to give up or back down. Scott was essentially the heart and soul of this show. Without him, none of the events that took place over the six (eight!) seasons would have been possible.

I. Compassion - as a positive trait

To me, this is Scott's biggest character trait. This defined him more than anything else throughout the series. It also set him apart from any other werewolf that we saw throughout the show's run. Where Peter or Derek or Deucalion were angry and power-hungry, Scott wasn't. Scott just wanted to be a teenage boy, be on first line for his lacrosse team, and date his girlfriend. Scott's compassion, his care for the lives of those around him, was what allowed him to overcome the manipulations and machinations of his various foes. Him wanting the best for others was what usually allowed him to turn his enemy's allies against them, by showing them a better way.

One of my favorite lines in the show summed up Scott...

"Scott doesn't care about power-- he cares about people."

Understand, when I praise that sentence, I'm not hating on people like Derek, who craved power, which was understandable given how powerless I'm sure he felt after everything he went through. No, my issue with Derek was never his quest for power, but always with how he went about doing it.

And that was his (Scott's) philosophy from day one. It's how he managed to get Allison out of her aunt's clutches and get Derek to fight against his uncle. It's what allowed him to sway Isaac (and Boyd before he and Isaac switched roles) to his side and away from Derek's pack.

I will always remember the way Isaac looked at Scott during Raving when Scott clarified that he didn't want him (Isaac) to get hurt.

It's what allowed him to calm Boyd and Isaac down in season three, as well as have the twins try so hard to join his pack. On and on that cycle went, with former enemies becoming allies, the biggest example of which being Theo.

Theo was Scott's biggest rival. He managed to do what no other villain on this show ever did. He brought Scott to his lowest point, drove his pack apart, killed him, and after everything, Theo wanted to be a better person, because of Scott.

Sidenote: I think that's why I loved Theo as much as I did. Theo was a perfect example of what Scott could have become if he'd followed the path that Peter laid out for him.

II. Compassion - as a character flaw

Like any great characterization, a character's greatest asset can also be one of their biggest flaws. And while I do think that Scott's compassion was his greatest strength, I also believe it was his greatest weakness. Scott's compassion, his desire to see the best in others, was something that others took advantage of.

Once again I bring up Theo, because whereas others, like Peter or Gerard or Deucalion, simply looked at this from their jaded world view, thinking Scott was naive, Theo was the only one to take actual advantage of Scott's trusting nature, using it to worm his way into the pack and sabotage it from within, as opposed to hammering on it from the outside.

Now, I feel the need to say that it wasn't as bad as some parts of the fandom make it out to be. There are those who "watched" Teen Wolf that will swear that Scott invited in every serial killer and homicidal maniac that came across the show, even after they attempted to kill him, and that's simply not the case. While he was a very trusting person, once you broke that trust, it had to he earned back.

Scott never fully trusted Peter again after his many attempts to take out Scott. Derek spent the latter half of his arc gaining back Scott's trust after repeatedly breaking it in the first two seasons. When Theo came back, Scott didn't give him a bro-hug and say "It's all good". Theo had to earn back every inch of Scott's respect that he so casually threw away.

It was Scott's compassion that also led him to make some pretty risky mistakes, such as invading Corey's mind or attempting the trap with Hayden as bait that ultimately got her and Liam captured by the Dread Doctors. Scott's compassion was what made him bad under pressure, as we saw whenever one of his plans fell apart, he grew frazzled and anxious, because he wanted to protect everyone.

To once again sidebar here for a second, part of me also wonders if Scott was so trusting in response to Stiles' paranoia.

Scott: "Why can't you trust anyone?"

Stiles: "Because you trust everyone!"

Its like a chicken-or-egg situation.

III. Intelligence

Scott's intelligence is often overlooked because it's not as flashy as Lydia's, but he is a highly intelligent character. And no, I'm not just talking about "emotional intelligence", which is often tossed out as some sort of consolation prize, but actual, book-smart intelligence.

People will often cite the first season, when Scott got back a bad grade as proof that he was a poor student, while completely ignoring the fact that said grade had the phrase "this isn't like you" on it, telling the audience that before all these werewolf shenanigans started happening, he had better grades. Something he turned around as the show progressed, enough to get into AP classes. It was Scott who deduced that the Dread Doctors were creating chimeras. It was Scott that figured out what was taken from the Ghost Rider by Douglas. It was Scott that outsmarted Gerard and Deucalion, who managed to trick the trickster (Nogitsune) and to devise a plan that took out the Beast and Theo, as well as denying Gerard his prize.

Scott was incredibly intelligent and people need to recognize and appreciate that.

IV. Empathy - Emotional Intelligence

Scott's empathy was another huge asset of his throughout the show. His ability to empathize with others, particularly those who opposed him, completely threw those around him off guard. Where someone like Peter or Derek (season two) or Theo (season five) would look at someone's circumstances and see that as a way to manipulate them into getting what they want, Scott looked at those same people and empathized with them, accepted their pain for what it was and not as a tool.

In my opinion, that's why Scott and Lydia worked so well together. They were both used and abused by Peter, and tossed aside when they were no longer useful.

It was Scott's empathy that allowed him to connect with Kira and Liam when they were coming into this world. He'd gone through that, scared and confused and he did everything in his power to ease that transition for them. Same with Malia. He recognized that she spent a large chunk of her life as a rabid animal and that it wasn't her fault, giving her the room to grow and come back to herself on her terms. It was him recognizing that Allison had been manipulated by her grief and her grandfather, his refusal to hold that against her because he understood, that inspired Allison to come up with her own code.

Scott understood those around him, and by just being a good person who believed in others, he inspired those around him to be better.

V. Resilience

No character got knocked down as many times as Scott did, and he got back up - every single time.

***

To close off, I want to talk about another "flaw". I don't necessarily view it as a flaw, but I know that some parts of the fandom did, so it needs to he discussed.

The most common flaw that Scott had was the same flaw that his entire pack had - they were teenagers!

Scott was a sixteen year old boy who was bitten by a werewolf and had his entire life thrown upside-down. People often seem to forget that and demand that he be a perfect person (despite not demanding that of other characters) and its aggravating. He got jealous, and angry, and insecure, and he was allowed to. He was allowed to enjoy the little moments of happiness, like getting a good grade or dancing with his girlfriend, because he was a child forced into a world of warring adults who sought to take advantage of him (and others) at every opportunity.

[jaskiersvalley]

HEY I JUST WANTED TO SAY THAT YOUR FICLET ABOUT GERALT BEING ILLITERATE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I had to put down my phone and whimper when he pulled out the card 🥺 can.. can i humbly request a pt. 2 in the future please? (also,, ive gone through the entirety of your blog too and its. so. good. while ive been chillin’ quarantinin’ reading your fics have been my very favourite thing to do!!) ♥️

Nonnie, you and @ohnomybreadsticks have both given me inspiration for more. It’s gone in a slightly different direction with the whole Wolf School in on the thing now. But, hopefully, you’ll enjoy this addition just as much. Best of luck with the quarantine! I’ll be posting stories fairly regularly for the foreseeable future which will hopefully keep you entertained and out of trouble!

The illiterate Geralt story can be found here.

Jaskier’s School of Self Care for Lost Wolves

It was a known fact that Jaskier loved too much and too freely. Sometimes, he even fell in love with those he hadn’t met but felt they needed love all the same. Which was how he ended up with emotions towards witchers he hadn’t met beyond Geralt occasionally letting a name slip. It wasn’t the same kind of love he held for Geralt, it wasn’t all consuming, he didn’t want to kiss the other witchers silly but it didn’t burn fiercely and involved a lot of throws and warm cuddles. Because, as Jaskier had helped Geralt work on his reading and writing, he realised something. None of the other witchers knew how to do that either. Which was how Jaskier ended up demanding he be allowed to go to Kaer Morhen with Geralt. He had a whole winter to remedy the mistakes their teachers had made. It wouldn’t magically make up for all the neglect but Jaskier would be damned if he didn’t try his best to slowly build scaffolding around and start the process of patching in the holes.

The journey back to the old keep was more hazardous than Jaskier had even dared imagine. It didn’t help that Geralt told him most witchers died on the path, either too naive and new on their way out or too tired or injured on the way back. That was utterly appalling and Jaskier was in half a mind to demand that a new path be devised to make sure all witchers could get home and get the care they needed. Even if Geralt insisted this was for the best, an injured witcher had no prospects after all. Rather than argue, Jaskier kept his mouth shut and began scheming.

There weren’t many witchers left, the school of the wolf was a dying breed but, along with Geralt, three other witchers returned and Jaskier was delighted. It seemed that the whole family was together again. Not that they acted like a family, more like a bunch of pissy cats trying to establish territories because they couldn’t figure out how to share and snuggle. That did disappoint Jaskier, he had a lot more work cut out for him than anticipated. Still, he could put the beginnings of his plan into play.

“What are you doing?” Lambert sounded so utterly offended when he came across Jaskier settled comfortably between Geralt’s legs, both of them stretched out on a fur in front of a fire. Jaskier was holding a book and Geralt was reading aloud in a low, rumbling voice.

“We’re enjoying a good story. Care to join us?”

Snarling, Lambert stalked out of the room and Jaskier shrugged. It was a start, even if it wasn’t an auspicious one. However, it set things into motion because not two days later, Eskel had approached Geralt in the kitchen, softly quizzing him on reading.

“I could teach you,” Jaskier volunteered as soon as he heard, deciding to ignore the wide eyed, almost sheepish look from Eskel.

That was how an hour was set aside each day where Jaskier sat with Eskel, leafing through well loved books that Geralt had used, sounding out words together. After the third time, they ended up with a secretive audience in the form of Lambert lurking just outside the door, listening in. In the end, Jaskier left a book in his usual hiding spot and waited for Lambert to come to him. It took longer than he had anticipated, Jaskier had been shooing Eskel out the room and hanging around to tidy up after their lessons for a good week before the book was thrown by his feet.

“Stop mocking me.” Lambert had his arms crossed defensively over his chest and was glaring in a way that would have sent bolts of fear through most people. Just as well that Jaskier wasn’t like most. He’d seen the posturing, the anger and lashing out in Geralt before, knew all too well what lay below it. With the greatest simplicity, he picked up the book and sat down, opening it and giving Lambert an expectant look. After a beat, the witcher sat down next to him.

That was three witchers on their way to literacy but something still bugged Jaskier. Thankfully, he didn’t have to say anything because Lambert took matters into his own hand. He had a book with him one breakfast, furiously trying to catch up with the other two and master ‘See Spot Run’ at record speed.

“Why did you never teach us to read?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs, greasy fingers leaving marks on the pages.

A silence descended on the table as eyes turned to Vesemir who, for the first time since they knew him, looked uncomfortable.

“It wasn’t needed,” he began. “A witcher can’t read a monster to death.”

Understanding dawned on Jaskier then and there. He put his fork aside and stood with an “oh you poor dear”. It was barely audible over Vesemir’s mumbled “I was just a fencing instructor.”

Walking around the table, he easily settled on Vesemir’s lap, ignoring all social conventions regarding touch. Looking up at the witcher, he smiled.

“It’s never too late to learn.”

Given the possessive nature of witchers, one would have expected Geralt to get jealous. However, he seemed content for Jaskier to do as he pleased, spending time with the other witchers. All too soon, all four of them were piled together on rugs and chairs around a fire and frowning over their respective books while Jaskier flitted between them, helping and encouraging where it was needed. It was obvious Lambert struggled the most, the letters dancing before his eyes and never quite settling which made him growl in frustration and his book often went flying across the room. Only once did it land in the fire.

“I’ve made a decision,” Jaskier announced during a quiet afternoon. “You’re all coming along wonderfully with reading and I have so much more to offer.”

Four witchers looked at him a little fearfully, wondering if they weren’t enough. They didn’t say anything as Jaskier walked out of the room but the sadness was palpable. Until Jaskier returned with his beloved lute.

“If anyone wants to learn any music, I’m happy to teach them.”

While reading was a chore for Lambert, he took to music like a duck to water when shown songs, able to replicate the chord sequences Jaskier showed him quite quickly. He had a special love of raunchy singing songs. The only sad thing was that there was only one lute or any kind of musical instrument in the whole of Kaer Morhen. Though Jaskier was more than happy to sing along to whatever tune Lambert was picking out. Soon, they had a whole repertoire of witcher drinking songs they would happily belt out while the others thumped the table in time with the beat.

By contrast, Eskel seemed content with the softer side of things. In fact, he had taken a real shine to sonnets and would often be found discussing them in depth with Jaskier. Occasionally, Geralt joined in but he didn’t find as much joy in dissecting whether the “sweet smell of faded summer” was in fact a statement about the passing of seasons or whether it was the soft lament of two lovers growing old.

“What are you doing?” Vesemir’s voice pulled Jaskier from his quiet introspection. It was early, the sun was barely poking out from behind the mountains but he was out in the courtyard with Geralt sat on a barrell and frowning into a book.

“Stretching,” Jaskier replied, sunnier than the weather. “I learned a series of movements to keep the body supple and the mind engaged. It helps me keep up with Geralt.”

The wink he sent Geralt’s way was enough to have him raising the book to hide his blush. While everybody knew what was going on between them, Geralt didn’t like to shamelessly advertise it. He was a private soul by nature.

“Come.” Jaskier beckoned Vesemir. “Let me show you.”

They worked through poses, Jaskier explaining a little about each of them. While they looked simple and easy, Vesemir was surprised to find that they gave the gentlest workout he had ever had. By the end, he was pleasantly tired but not in a way a training fight would have worn him out. It was, for want of a better word, rejuvenating. It had him as close to a smile as he usually got.

Over the course of the week, it went from Jaskier stretching in the courtyard while Geralt read to Jaskier and Vesemir. Until, silently, Eskel joined them one morning, standing next to Vesemir, a little nervous but a smile from Jaskier had him easing into the flow. The next morning, soft lute strums accompanied their exercises as Lambert sat opposite Geralt and his book, playing something gentle. The grateful look Jaskier shot him was enough to get him scowling, even if the music never stopped.

Spring was just around the corner. The witchers were all sat around the cleared dining room table with parchments in front of them, quills in hand. Eskel’s tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth as he focused on his work.

“Just remember, this means you can keep in touch with each other. Enchanted crows can deliver your letters now.” Jaskier was playing soft music as the others perfected their penmanship. Well, all except Lambert who had taken to doodling, letters getting lost in the pictures. But that was okay, he could always draw his sentiments, the others would understand.

By the time it came to leaving Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was content and happy. He had four witchers who looked so much more self confident in their abilities. Because while he had kept their attention on the arts, it was inevitable that they all bonded. It wasn’t all that unusual to find at least two, if not three of them piling on top of each other with a book, getting lost in adventures they didn’t have to live through. Someone else’s struggles were so much more satisfying when the fear of death and failure didn’t hang above their heads.

Three witchers and a bard stood in the courtyard, horses loaded up as they prepared to leave on their respective paths. Only Vesemir stood in his usual attire and a soft smile creasing his face.

“Safe travels to you all,” he said, meeting the others’ eyes in turn.

“What will you do?” Eskel asked. “You usually accompany us at least some of the way.”

The smile turned into an excited grin and Vesemi gestured vaguely towards the keep. “My path for the year is one that is a tight circle. The library here needs some attention.”

Pride made Jaskier beam. He stepped forward and gave Vesemir a hug. “I expect many a wonderful tale from the library when we’re back next year.”

That sealed it. The next winter, they were all going to return with more stories. Eskel even kept a diary to share with Jaskier in case Geralt was stingy on his details for songs. And, when they all reconvened at the start of the next winter, Vesemir had tomes from the library ready to read stories from while Lambert turned up with his own lute on his back.

[goldenfawnwriting]

Birds of a Feather- Part 8 Hawks Fic

Summary: Finch goes forward with the surgery, hoping everything will go right. When it comes to a lengthy healing, will her relationships survive?

A/N: Woohoo, it’s starting to finally come together, I was like super close to deleting all of this lmao

Warnings: Angst of course, major surgery, the good stuff lmao

Finch laid down on the cushy hospital bed after changing into her hospital gown. To say she was nervous was an understatement. This surgery would change her whole life, hopefully for the better...

Asami took her hand as they inserted the IV, Finch wincing with the poke. She was the only one with her today, Hawks was busy, although she didn’t expect him to come. It wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything absurd like that. 

The doctor came to give a brief summary of what their goal was today and Finch only nodded along. She already had been told this in countless appointments before this and honestly just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. She just wanted to fly already. She was so, so very excited and at the same time impatient, for the first time in her life.

Asami gave her a small wave and a promise to see her when she got out as they rolled her away, into a large operating room. As Finch glanced around she noticed almost everything was metal, aside from the shiny creme colored floor. 

“Alright hun, we’re gonna get you all done up with the anesthesia.”

She only nodded in response and a mask was placed over her mouth and nose before they had her turn on her stomach, laying the bed all the way flat.

“Alright you ready?”

The anesthesiologist asked. Finch gave a hum in response to confirm.

“Alright, you can count to 10 for me.”

“O-oh ok.. 1...2...3-”

“Goodnight.”

And she was out. 

^^^

It took 5 hours of work to rebreak the bone and reform it correctly, grinding down the calcium deposits around the joint that had developed from years and years from no use. It took a little more time since the bones of her wings were hollow. 

When she woke up she was still laying on her back, her wing stinted in place to ensure it wouldn’t move. She groaned as she stretched her neck, his vision still fuzzy from the anesthesia. She blinked and blinked, trying to clear her vision before she finally set eyes on Asami sitting in a chair at the side of the room. 

“Hey Birdie! It went perfectly!”

She spoke softly. Finch suddenly felt nauseous, leaning over the side of the bed where Asami promptly held up a bucket, letting her empty her already barren stomach. She wasn’t allowed to eat before the surgery. 

“The nurse will be here in a minute ok?”

She reassured her, wiping her mouth for her with a small tissue. She was so thankful to have such a good friend. That was when she noticed the flowers on her side table. It was a huge bouquet of blue hydrangeas, sprinkled with violets and baby’s breath. She knew instantly who they were from. 

“Oh ya-”

“Mr. Hawks..”

Finch croaked. Her throat was super sore from the ventilation tube. 

“Ya he stopped by but you were still asleep. He seemed pretty excited for you though. You should give him a call when you feel up to it, although I’m sure he’ll stop by again.”

She rambled, the nurse finally knocking on the door and letting herself in. 

“Hi there Kore! How are you feeling?”

“My t-throat is sore...”

“Of course, of course, I’ll get you some cold juice, would you prefer apple, orange, or cranberry?”

“Um, Apple is fine.”

She replied lowly. Her throat really was sore. 

^^^

It was two days later when Hawks stopped back in, bringing a whole other giant bouquets this time purple themed, with lavender and deep purple roses and of course, baby’s breath. It was even sprinkled lightly with tiny yellow buttercups. She wondered how much these cost for him to bring her but decided to push it out of her mind. 

She was nearly exploding with excitement. She just wanted to be out of the hospital and in the sky. Little did she know that was a long ways off still. She had to wait for the bones to heal before even starting physical therapy, and of course that would take forever. There was a naive part of her that was ignoring all of that at the moment. 

“Aw Hawks, you didn’t have to bring me more flowers!”

She chuckled as he set them down on the other side table. He smiled widely at her.

“Of course I did, you’re my best girl, chickadee.”

She blushed hard and pulled her self up to stand at the side of the bed, grabbing the pole with her IV bag and wincing at the stiffness in her legs. The nurses only took her to walk around once a day but she felt like she could really be home at this point. 

“It stretches as far as the other one now.”

She mumbled, showing off the wrapped and stinted wing, now as long as the other when she stretched the other. 

“That’s amazing Finch!”

“I just can’t wait till I’m healed and can start working on flying...”

And trailed off, looking over at her newly fixed wing. It was different being able to see it all stretched out. Her feathers were mangled from the surgery though. 

“And they said it’ll only take about 6 to 8 weeks to heal it, then we can get started on the physical therapy.”

He nodded enthusiastically and gently hugged her. 

“I’m so happy you did this, honestly, love bird, you’re gonna love flying, I just know it!”

She smiled widely in reply and he stayed for about another hour to just chat before he took off again. She was beginning to to hate the fluttering in her stomach when she saw him, the blush that creeped onto her cheeks when he laughed at her or gave her a coy smirk. She knew she was setting herself up for failure but she loved the feeling. She’d never been so exciting or adoring over anyone. 

It only made the next 7 weeks feel like an eternity.

[fleur-pixi]

Caffeine buzz

Chapter 6: Take 57

Felix: so operation make Marinette lose all her friends and fall in love with me and break-up with adrien take 57

Lila: yes and don't forget we are making Adrien fall in love with me

Felix: yes yes I remember now how are we going to do it this time, it's so much harder now they are dating!

Felix: you will have to be the one to spill coffeenette's coffee because I need her to fall in love with me and she already hates you.

Lila: of course, and how are you planning to make her love you? Are you gonna get her coffee?

Felix: of course ive bribed very coffee place in town not to give Adrien coffee and only me so that I will be her saviour instead of... him.

Lila: yeah yeah. and now most importantly, how are we making Adrien fall in love with me?

Felix: hmmm that's a difficult one

Lila: so you never thought about how Adrien will fall in love with me?!?!?

Lila: he likes heros, maybe I should lie to him and say I am a hero. I am very conniving. and then he will fall in love with me in no time.

Felix: Yeah but how would you prove it?

Lila: I just have to be confident, people love to hear what they want to hear

Felix: that's true and Adrien will fall for anything

Lila: true, he is very new to the outside world.

Felix: yeah he is, he's so naive.

Lila: yeah, I just need to ask him to help me study and then invite him to the park while I am at it and tell him i am a hero. He will leave that Marinette girl.

Felix: let's do it. I'll distract Marinette just as school ends, that's when her coffee wears off.

Lila: yes and that's where I drop her new cup of coffee and drag Adrien away

Felix: exactly

-just as the end bell goes-

Lila: *drops mari's coffee* oops clumsy me, I am sorry Marinette.

Coffeenette: demonic gremlin! I will make you pay!!

Lila: I am so sorry, Marinette. I heard that Felix has coffee you should ask him to give you some, I am sure he will be happy to share.

Coffeenette: I am ignoring everything your saying but first where is Felix!?

Lila: he is in front of the school *away from Adrien so I can get to him*

Coffeenette: (storms towards Felix)

Coffeenette: where!

Coffeenette: is my joy!!!

Felix: hey Marinette, how are you doing today?

Coffeenette: I said where!

Felix: (hands her coffee) here

Coffeenette: yes!!! Me me me!!! I could kiss you!

Felix: yes for you and that would be great

Coffeenette: I said I could not that I would. You can leave now.

Felix: very well, but if your intrested I know a amazing coffee shop. I was going there myself, you could join me.

Coffeenette: No. where is my boyfriend, he always has joy for me?

-meanwhile-

Lila: Adrien! I've been away so much and missed so much work. Could you pleeeaaassseee help me catch up. Will you meet me in the park?

Adrien: sure I could help you, but first I need to go to find Marinette.

Lila: don't worry about her, she's with Felix she'll be fine.

Adrien: of course I am worried about her, she is my girlfriend. And why is she with my brother?

Lila: he is getting coffee with her. He wants to have a good relationship with her cause you guys will be spending more time with each other at your house, he thought it would be a good idea.

Adrien: awwww my brother is forming friendships. That's so sweet, I shouldn't disturb them.

Lila: exactly. So study?

Adrien: sure

Lila: yay. Walk with me? I'm all ready to go.

Adrien: ok, let's go.

Lila: (smile)

Adrien: we should start with physics, it's my favorite subject

Lila: oh nevermind that now. We have time.

Lila: oh nevermind that now. We have time.

Lila: let's talk about you

Adrien: but I thought we were going to study?

Lila: we are!

Lila: your hair is so messy, here let me fix it (smoothes his hair so he looks Luke felix)

Adrien: studying about me? And thanks for...fixing my hair.

Lila: (giggles) your so funny.

Adrien: thanks, I like to think that I have a great sense of humor.

Lila: you do

Adrien: That's a lie, everyone hates my sense of humor.

Lila: what, No!

Adrien: admit it, you think I am lame

Lila:how could I admit something that's not true.

Adrien:whatever I should go find my girlfriend she's probably worried about where I've disappeared to. If you need help I'm sure someone else can help you, maybe get a tutor.

*Adrien walks away*

Lila: hey come back, Adrien!!!

Adrien: sorry I can't hear you!

Lila: ugh *leaves* I will get him to love me later

Adrien: yes she fell for it

*Adrien walks up to Felix and Mari*

Felix: *sees Adrien* we should go and get the coffee before the shop gets closed for the day.

Coffeenette: leave! O my gosh! Leave!

Adrien!!!!

What is wrong with your face?!

Felix: but what about the coffee?

Adrien: Don't worry I'll get it for her

Felix: brother I insist, I want to be a great friend to your girlfriend.

Adrien: no I insist I get coffee for MY girlfriend

Felix: but I want to support you as the brother that I am, and make sure your girlfriend doesn't hate me

Coffeenette: well if you stop Adrien from getting me coffee I might just!

Felix: fine, your both are free to leave.

Coffeenette: yay! Let's go boyfriend

*leave together*

Felix: its not like they can get coffee, I paid them not to offer any kind of service to him.

*enter random coffee shop together*

Adrien: Good evening, can I order 2 cups of coffee?

Random service person: certainly monsieur Felix

Coffeenette: *hmmm that's weird oh wait the hair*

Adrien: * confused and thinks they just mistaken them for being twins and ignores that* thank you

Service person: here you go two coffees one for the miss and one for the charming young man.

Adrien: oh, they are both for her

Coffeenette: smiles. Thanks Adrien! Love you *kiss on cheek*

Service person: whaaaaa

Coffeenette: *russles his hair* there

Adrien: your welcome Marinette. I love you too *kisses her cheek back*

Marinette: *smiles And sips coffee joyfully*

Service men: wait but then... oh

*walk out together *

Felix:*sees then with coffee and approaches* but how? I paid them not to provide any kind of services for you.

Coffeenette: you did what?!

Adrien: why would you do that to Marinette!

Felix:*realizes what he just said* I did that to you Adrien, and you don't have to know the reasons.

Coffeenette: you did what?!

Felix: *remembers that the girl he is trying to make her love him is there* nothing, enjoy your day.

Both: *confused as hell*

Felix: please, pay me no mind *leaves*

Mari: what just happened?

Adrien: I don't know, my brother is so weird

Mari: me neither. What do you say we blow this popsicle stand

Adrien: yeah, let's go!

[whaticannotshowyou]

So so SO happy youre back friend, ive missed you terribly. I have been sitting on a bunch of prompts of your husband Lambert in hopes of your return. I have to ask, do you have a preference for lambert being taken advantage of, or bad guy lambert who takes advantage of others? Or both! Lets say he seduces some rich noble boy, only to be too rough with him, and he ends up getting his payback ten fold? 💣💣💣

Oh I’m happy to hear I’ve been missed <3 Even happier to hear you have some Lambert prompts up your sleeves!

Personally I like him being taken advantage of, but he is a piece of shit so it’s not like he is innocent. He is the type of guy who does bad stuff and then gets a taste of his own medicine, only magnitudes worse.

And your idea is... delicious. Lambert being on a contract for some Lord and there among the rich assholes of the court is a young, naive boy with too much money and too little adventure. He is invited to stay for dinner with them to discuss the contract in question, but spends most of the time staring the boy down and seducing him. After dinner the lordling offers to show Lambert around the estate, his father praising his initiative.

It’s less of a tour than it is Lambert teasing and groping the guy, getting the best moans and breathless pants from him. It takes about a third of the estate for them to abandon the idea and move to more private quarters. Lambert whispers the filthiest things he can think of, smirking as he is obviously treating the noble to a world of kinks he never even knew existed. He talks about tying him up and using him, taking him without prep and spitting in his face as tears roll down the boy’s face. It all seems fine as it surely makes the boy stand to attention in more than one way. The problem comes when Lambert never truly understood the concept of overstepping one’s boundaries.

He does as he promised, using leather straps to tie the boy to the bed frame and revelling in how he squirm on top of the sheets. He rips open his shirt and trousers to the noble’s shocked dismay, passing the first of many mistakes for the night. With far too little prep he enters the guy, groaning at the tight heat and rocking himself inside with far too much friction for a human to endure. He keeps up the filthy little monologue he had started back by the gardens, telling the kid what a whore he is and how good he fits on his big witcher cock. Surely he was made to just be fuck doll for Lambert, not some rich and esteemed nobleman in charge of people, am I right? He ignores the tears and the boy’s vigorously shaking head as he leans in close and and tells him about his brothers. How he should kidnap him and make him their sweet little cock sleeve for the winter, perhaps.

When he tries to speak up and protest, maybe even tell the witcher to stop this, Lambert does one of his biggest mistakes. He slaps the guy, effectively shutting him up before telling him not to speak unless allowed.

Lambert leaves the room as soon as he is finished, an asshole in all his rights even if he doesn’t fully understand to what extent. He doesn’t have time for emotions after sex, especially not with some stuck up kid he fucked mostly for the convenience of an attractive guy being his little breeding hole for the night. The next day he leaves for the contract and comes back to collect his bounty, everything going well.

At least until he is caught by hired men who are paid to act out the lordling’s revenge.

[curioussubjects]

now speak of ruin

Pairing: dean/cas

Rating: T

Words: 4150

Notes: all i have to say for myself is that the divorce narrative these past episodes didn’t have to be so deliciously understated, so here’s something to fill that negative space. section I has been posted before (x)(x)(x), but i just couldn’t stop there. here’s the result; enjoy! title and outro are both by carl phillips, respectively “directions from here” and “detachment.”

(ao3)

--

I.

The sound of the bunker's front door closing hits Castiel like a death knell. He sighs at the thought; such dramatics are entirely too human. Some 10 years ago, barely a blink in time, the thought would have been, well, unthinkable. It's a messy thing to walk away. To know that there is no such thing as closure.

Humans heal with time, Castiel knows this. But angels are creatures of permanence. Eternal. They were not made for changing. He has been angel and human alike; thinks he has landed somewhere in between. What is healing then, for a creature like Castiel? When will Jack's loss be less like a hemorrhaging? When will it feel like an ache, persistent and manageable? There are books for this, but Castiel isn't sure they are meant for him.

There are books about heartbreak, too. Books, and movies, and music, so much music. Castiel knows them. Minutely. He knows the stories humans have told about love and lust. Love and redemption. Forgiveness. Love at the right time. Love at the wrong time. Metatron made sure he knew all of it. Minutely. But Castiel doesn't know if there are lessons for him there. Much less companionship. He knows there's a space in his heart Dean lives in. Has always already lived in. It's a messy thing to walk away. Untidy. There's no such thing as closure.

These things were not made for him, but they are his nonetheless. Castiel feels immensely, minutely, human. 

Castiel walks to his car, and his his footsteps are heavy, sorrowful. His muscles are tight, his grace contained, yet he feels he is falling apart. Very human, that. Feeling had become second nature. Effortless and inescapable. Leaving the bunker, leaving Sam, leaving Dean had not. Inevitable, maybe, though to think it causes a cold panic to wash over him. 

And it's fascinating how human emotion comes in contradictions: hot tears and cold dread. All things Castiel thought were not made for him. How monumental that he's here now sitting frozen in his car with his thoughts racing. To think he didn't know how, before. Before Dean. Before. 

But maybe Castiel has finally learned a lesson, if only just the one: to know when, if not how, to leave. Another change, then, the after. Whatever that is. Whatever that feels like.

*

The sound of the bunker's door closing hits Dean like a death knell. And then silence.

The door closes with a heavy thud, and for a second, two, a heartbeat, everything quiets. The hush feels like cotton in his ears. Or water, maybe. Thick until it pops. Rings. But until then there's silence. Time ticks a little slower, imperceptibly so-- or just enough to be unsettling. 

The door closes with a heavy thud that drowns everything else, until Dean hears the bunker come alive around him. Quietly, at first, then insistent. The refrigerator hums, and the bunker itself hums with old static. The pipes settle, and Sam's mattress creaks, his chair drags on the floor. Dean can hear the false starts of his breathing, the shallowness of it. The tight noise of his hands holding the table. The ringing in his ears, the echo of the door closing with a heavy thud and the quiet the quiet-

But the bunker is not quiet. Not ever, not even after the door closes with a heavy thud. The sounds of the bunker become jumbled and undifferentiated. They buzz and buzz until Dean can't tell each sound apart anymore: his breathing and his hands, Sam in his room, the door, the door, the do-

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't. 

It's the absence of sound. Of words Dean could ever only say to himself. Words Dean could barely say to himself. Words like: Stay. And: I'm sorry, and I think I hate you a little. But I don't I don't you just scare me. Or maybe: You're wrong. You got it all miserably wrong and Stay. But Dean doesn't know how to be honest without spilling his guts on the floor. He never learned how to say these things without love turning into a length of rope. Love that doesn't hurt. Love that doesn't sound like light extinguishing and ashes on sand. Love that doesn't sound like a door closing. 

So silence. So the door closes with a heavy thud.

II. 

When Sam asks after Cas, Dean doesn’t say much of anything. He shrugs, says he’s gone. He doesn’t know where. He lets Sam fill in the blanks. It’s Cas, after all. He’s left before; nothing unusual. Sam frowns, and Dean goes to his room. The silence follows. 

Later, there’s a case, and it’s like old times. Sam is quiet, but it’s okay because Sam’s still shaken up about Rowena and God and Jack and Mom. It’s understandable. They’ll work the case; it’ll help. It has to.  So they drive. Sam looks out the window, naps, and hums, distractedly, along to the radio. Dean pays close attention to the highway, to the feel of the steering wheel, the hum of the engine, and the music playing. He doesn’t glance at the backseat through the rear view mirror. He doesn’t. Not once.

There’s a case, and Dean is fine. They’re getting back in the game. Moving on. 

They find the monster, a vampire –a kid. Dean does what needs to be done. It’s the job, and he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t think about the kid kneeling down in front of him. Resigned. Doesn’t think about the blade in his hand, or the gun, or the cemetery. Another kid on their knees. Resigned. 

On the drive back to the bunker, Sam isn’t quiet anymore. Dean tries to be reassuring. God is gone, they have their freedom. For everyone they lost, they have to keep going. He talks more than he has in days. Sam’s weariness and grief is a palpable thing in the soft light of the road. The case was supposed to help. Dean’s words were supposed to help. Yet, Sam can only offer the possibility of a better tomorrow.  It should be enough, Dean thinks, but there’s that hush that has been plaguing him for days and days. The echo of footsteps. The sound of silence a heavy thud.  

What if you don’t feel better in the morning? 

Sam doesn’t know. Dean drives.

III.

So God wasn’t gone, and it’s too much. Dean wonders over and over again about what in his life has ever been real. His body tenses, and Dean can feel anxiety flutter in his chest. It’s not restlessness, though. Dean exists in static, which is better than allowing his thoughts to take over. It’s tenuous, and won’t last. He’s too aware of the hints of Has anything mattered? Was there a point to all the pain, the hurt...fuck, the joy? floating around in his brain. 

Dean has been staring at his bedroom wall for hours. The beer bottles pile up beyond his notice; the drinking mechanical and ineffective. It’s exhausting, this stillness. He’s just waiting for something to happen, for him to lose it. He finds himself, suddenly, thinking of last year when him and Sam accidentally summoned their father. The happiness that soon gave way to grim acceptance that John couldn’t stay. Dean had felt guilty that he desperately wanted things to go back to normal. And he felt proud that he built a life he could own. Could tell John he had a family. Had people to love. To care for. Dean had a home. Now, the memory is bitter. Neither life was more real than the other. It was a puppet show, all of it. 

He wants to break something. To rage and yell. But he doesn’t; he stares at the wall. Drinks. He hasn’t been sleeping. Before Lilith, Dean dreamed of the vastness of the bunker’s rooms. All empty. Silent. Still. Sometimes, he woke up with a voice in the back of his head echoing in a relentless refrain: We are. We are. We are. The sound had been so comforting it had hurt more than it had helped, but it was better than the alternative: the empty spaces Cas left behind. It’s insane, but Dean misses dreaming of that kind of heartbreak. The naive ignorance of it. Ignorance of still being trapped in Chuck’s story. Dean had felt like hammered crap, but at least he had been free. Finally. Except. Except: God wasn’t gone. He and Sam hadn’t been free at all. There’s a secret and selfish part of him that wished he had never known about Chuck and his obsession with them. That he could keep the happiness he carved out of an astounding amount of suffering.  

We are. We are. We are.

IV.

Castiel had never remained human for long stretches of time, but he came to understand dreams. They were largely simulations, expressions of intense emotion, or an aspect of trauma. His time with the Winchesters could easily be comprised of all three. In all, Castiel would never call his time with Dean, Sam, Jack, and everyone else a nightmare. There had been nightmare enough in the past years, but knowing he wasn’t alone was a comfort. Castiel felt safe with the Winchesters, even if he often doubted his value as part of their family. In his car, watching the sun set in the horizon, Castiel misses them. But that’s done now. It was a good dream. Extraordinary. Yet, a dream, nonetheless. And if Castiel knows anything of dreams, is that no matter how much they linger, they eventually end and fade away. 

The bunker is days behind him. Castiel had been driving with little purpose; his only interest outrunning everything he left behind. Driving really was distracting, he has come to understand. Soothing in its constancy. However, Castiel wasn’t built for idleness, he needs some kind of goal. He’s not too sure what people do when they get away from their lives. Where do they go to hide, but not lose themselves? Castiel has no desire to go to Vegas or sit around in a motel watching daytime television – not that he minds daytime television, of course. Castiel needs a bit of peace, and just like that he has something of an answer.

There was a dream once. Not his, obviously, as he was still fully an angel at the time. But in his memory, now, it feels like the dream was his, too. If only for a little while. Castiel thinks of a quiet pier on a lake. The air smells like early Fall – notes of Summer still lingering here and there. There was a breeze, he thinks.  Just enough that the water wasn’t still and eerie. The lake had been beautiful even to his detached eyes. His purpose then was to deliver a warning to the dreamer. Castiel remembered looking at Dean while he fished, content in a way Castiel had never seen him be before. Despite the years since that dream, Castiel still knew very little about fishing, but he knows it must be remarkably peaceful. 

With a decision made, Castiel takes the next exit and parks at a convenience store, so he can find the nearest lake. Maybe he could rent a cabin. He’s not very good at this, he realizes as he scrolls through his phone. The leaving things behind. The letting things go. Mostly, Castiel doesn’t want to be here in front of a Flying J looking for a cabin by a lake. He wants to be home. He wants his son to be alive. Castiel wants his family, to love and care for them and to be loved and cared by them in return. But that was done now. Faded like ripples in water and a dream almost forgotten.

*

When Dean hears Cas’s voice over the phone, the sudden jolt of irritation surprises him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would keep hunting – though he knows it should have – and it certainly hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would use the FBI line. Not when he had been ignoring Sam’s texts and voice messages. Cas can be pissed at Dean all he wants, but Sam is still his best friend, and Sam worries. So, yeah, Dean is pretty damn irritated.

Cas’s clipped tone doesn’t help. Cas had been perfectly capable of contacting them, willing even. Just not enough to let them know he was fine. Fuck, that he was alive. That he hadn’t somehow been caught in Chuck’s crosshairs. That he had gotten their warning about Chuck still being around.

Well, Dean has Cas on the phone now, and clipped tone be damned he was going to say something. Tell him to stop ignoring his fucking phone. He does, and immediately hangs up. That’s that. Cas knows. Dean doesn’t feel much better, but he did his job.  

And Sam can stop worrying.

V.

Swayze’s goes up in flames in the Impala’s rearview mirror. Dean grips the steering wheel and drives until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick. It takes a while, but he settles enough to see the tank is close to empty. Soon after, while Dean waits for the tank to fill, he checks his phone. He barely has time to register his heart skipping at seeing Cas’s name pop up several times in his notifications before he’s getting back into his car and driving home.

Much later, Dean drops heavily onto his bed sighing the sigh of the drained. It had been a long day. Hell, a long week. Month, even, probably more. Dean, not for the first time that day, thinks he should’ve stayed home. Shouldn’t have jumped at the first case that caught his eye and left Sam alone. Except...Sam hadn’t been alone. It’s why he wanted to find an excuse, any excuse, to get far away from the bunker. Not that Dean wasn’t happy for his brother, or happy that Eileen was back. He was pretty damn happy. Eileen’s return had been their first win in a long time. So, yeah, Dean was grateful that his brother had gained some of his cheer back. But Dean was having a hard time being around Sam and Eileen without wanting to crawl out of his skin. Every time they’d throw little smiles at each other or stare just a beat too long, it left Dean feeling raw and unsettled. He needed some air, some space from the thing between Sam and Eileen, and the empty chair next to his.

Seeing Lee again had been thrilling, a reminder of some of the few moments Dean had been truly carefree. He felt it again that night at Swayze’s, and the tension between him and Lee was easy. Fun. Dean hadn’t know how much he needed that. For the first time in weeks he let himself forget about Chuck and his games. About mom and Jack and Rowena getting caught in the crossfire. About Cas. Dean desperately wanted to forget about Cas, at least for a while because he couldn’t stop thinking that nothing they’d been through mattered, that what he and Cas were to each other was probably some B plot Chuck came up with for his own amusement. Either that or Chuck didn’t care about anything past rebooting his greatest hits through him and Sam...and if that was the case, then Dean had let one of the few real things he had slip through his fingers. It was overwhelming to think about. A weight he couldn’t shake off. 

Lee’s easy smiles had been a welcome relief. Not that the night could’ve remained an uncomplicated and fun time with an old friend, a night reminiscing their dumbest and best decisions. Laughing about the time John had almost caught them in the middle of a drunken make-out. Or hunts that left them feeling on top of the world with purpose. No, it ended with Dean having to put down someone he cared for, someone he had been half in love with years ago. Yeah, part of Dean wished he hadn’t ended up at Swayze’s. He wished he had stayed home because Sam would need him. That he could’ve kept the rosy image of Lee intact in his mind. But another, larger, part of him knew that Lee needed to be stopped, and Dean needed to remember why he had to stop him. He had needed the harsh reminder that Chuck or no Chuck, he wouldn’t stop doing his job, and making sure the world was a little bit safer on the off-chance it was all part of a show. What he and Sam did had to matter because the people they saved mattered. 

Dean had wanted to tell Cas all of this once he knew Sam was okay, but Cas had walked out before he had done more than take a steadying breath. Dean figured he’d deserved it; Cas had tried talking to him too, before. So the words rot and die in his throat before Dean even knew exactly how to put his thoughts into words. How to explain the anger and hurt than clung to him as well as the love and the fear. The fucking guilt and regret, too. But Cas didn’t want to hear it, and that was fair. And for all that Dean knew why Cas could barely stay in the same room as him, knew he owed Cas an apology, Dean was still so angry at him for leaving. Always leaving, and damn the consequences. Even if it got people killed (and his grief for Mary is still so fresh months later), even if it got him killed. And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Cas walking into a lake, Cas’s wings burned to ash. And it’s Dean who has to deal with the aftermath. Dean is the one building funeral pyres, or carrying an old trench coat and waiting to be haunted, or drinking alone in his bedroom wondering what he’s supposed to do when morning comes and he still feels like he has a hole in his chest. He had also wanted to tell Cas that because maybe Cas would finally get it and just stop. And maybe he’d stay with them. With Dean. 

Dean rubs his eyes, turns on his side to face his bedroom door. He can see the faint sliver of light coming from the library from under the door. Dean knows Cas is probably sitting in the library, reading in his chair. Or doing god knows what on his phone. Texting Claire, probably, regardless of the late hour. He should go to him. They should talk; they wouldn’t be interrupted with Sam and Eileen fast asleep. They could talk quietly in the night, they could listen to each other, if only Dean could figure out how to get up and do it. He can’t, but he stares at that sliver of light until he falls asleep.

*

Castiel feels at ease for the first time in weeks. It should be strange that he does, he has very little reason to, the only improvement since the last time he had been at the bunker being that maybe they had a way to neutralize Chuck. Yet the bunker is familiar in a way no other place on Earth is to him, especially when it’s just him and everyone is asleep. The bunker was always his in the small hours of the night. It’s very human, he thinks, to be attached to a building. To the smell of old books and home-cooked meals he can’t even taste properly, to the sounds of familiar footsteps and the hum of the television. The clacking of keyboards. Castiel suspects he feels like this only partly because of his failing Grace. He knows he’s too sentimental for an angel, and has somewhat learned to embrace it. Humanity is burdensome and uncomfortable, but it has its advantages. So Castiel accepts the simple contentment of being home.

It’s all far from ideal, regardless. He hadn’t felt comforted while everyone was awake. Not since Dean had returned, anyway. Seeing Dean again had been...its own challenge. It shouldn’t have been surprising to him to be unnerved at Dean’s presence; talking to him on the phone had been difficult enough. Castiel could barely look at him much less stay in his presence, so he fled before Dean could say anything else. Or say nothing. Castiel isn’t sure which would’ve been worse. He tries not to dwell on things he can’t change – another lesson long overdue – but Dean is vexing in a way nothing else has ever been. And for all of Castiel’s sentimentality, he still can’t even think of Dean without hurt and anger rising in his throat desperate to get out.

Castiel wonders, in the silence of the library, if the strain will eventually lead him to leave the bunker behind again. After Chuck. If they make it. He feels a little guilty on behalf of Sam. Castiel had read the texts, and he’ll do better by him. Sam is a good friend, but Dean is something else entirely. They hurt each other more than they don’t, but when they don’t….Well. It’s everything. Castiel knows how easy things can be between him and Dean. Knows the simple joy of watching television together and laughing about things that hadn’t been particularly funny.  They could sit quietly. They could create happiness out of nothing and have it feel effortless. If only they let themselves do it. If only.

If he were ever asked, Castiel would say that one of the cruelest lessons humanity has to teach is that, sometimes, love simply isn’t enough.

Sitting alone in the dim lights of the library, Castiel feels incredibly and terrifyingly human. He finds himself trying to parse out the significance of being back in the bunker after leaving for good. Castiel has left before many times without meaning or wanting to. The last time he meant it. Yet here he is. Castiel never quite manages to leave the Winchesters. He glances at the hallway, in the direction of the bedrooms, where he knows Dean isn’t actually asleep. It tugs at him, his awareness of Dean. Distracts him from his thoughts and leads them astray. In the end, it’s human foolishness that allows him to entertain the idea that maybe if Chuck can be defeated, there can be room for him here still.

Another human lesson, then: there’s nothing so miserable that hope can’t salvage.

VI.

The hush sound of voices drifts from the kitchen to greet Dean good morning. He stops before he reaches it, letting the sound of breakfast and conversation fill in some of the corners of the bunker. It’s good to have sound and people around, all things considered.

Dean lets it simmer, and closes his eyes. Just for a minute. Just enough to pretend it’s any other day, before Mom and Jack were gone, when Dean wasn’t so strung out: He’d walk into the kitchen and mumble good morning to his family. Sam and Cas would turn to him and smile; they’d carry on their conversation. Dean would fill his mug with coffee before joining them at the table. Despite still being far too sleepy to follow their discussion, Sam would try to include Dean just the same, with fondness in his eyes. Cas wouldn’t try, choosing instead to move closer to Dean until their shoulders and knees bumped.  Dean would smile into his coffee, feeling warm inside and out.

When Dean opens his eyes, the daydream fades, and the bunker looks a little dimmer than it had before. There are still voices coming from the kitchen. There’s coffee and those he loves. Safe, for now. He’ll take what he can get.

It’s a chilly morning. Dean squares his shoulders, and walks in.

*

The irony of returning to purgatory isn’t lost on Castiel. He wants to laugh, absurdly, as he faces the rift. They have to prepare before entering, which causes the simmering hysteria in his stomach to morph into dread. Nothing good can come of this expedition. Dean knows it as well as he does, but here they are filling duffel bags with supplies.  

The pull of purgatory feels inevitable, somehow. Not unlike a wound poorly healed. A jagged scar that is always more tender than the skin around it; a place you can’t help but worry repeatedly, or brush against without meaning to. Castiel remembers that about being human: the way fresh wounds would close and change his body irrevocably.

They don’t talk about purgatory, not since the first few days after Castiel came back. They still don’t talk about purgatory, even as they ready themselves to return to it. However, Castiel notices the distance between him and Dean diminish incrementally. 

They don’t talk about purgatory, but they haven’t, by any means, forgotten it.

--

“it was lonely

though we did not say so”

[hlwim]

Not All of Me Will End [1/3]

Summary: Nothing remains of her but what must be left behind. Tags: Character Death, Cancer, Tragedy, Angst, Bittersweet, Post-Canon Pairings: Royai, Edwin, Havolina AO3  ff.net

who lives

Smoke gathers beneath the ceiling’s blackened tin tiles—a match for her mood, and for the roiling green clouds that gather low over the city. Riza could add a little cirrus stream of her own, but all she has is the cigarette holder to tap against her lighter, ivory clacking on silver again and again. They’ve been waiting nearly an hour, stiffly side by side and still in uniform, as though either of them will be going back to work afterward.

“What’s the point of rank if I can’t use it to get anywhere?” Roy sighs, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, and he smiles at her. He doesn’t know the way that she knows. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” she says. “I’m sure it’ll only be a few more minutes.”

A wave of vertigo ripples upward between her eyes—and the half-filled lobby blurs into a slumbering beast, churning, burbling, gasping with thickened lungs. The steady heartbeat of patients marching the corridors and tangled in their IV lines, the thrumming of each slippered footfall that plays her broken nerves to insentience—she calms by pressing her fingernails deep into her palms, carving long purple furrows across the spongy flesh.

The nurses chitter like insects across the floor, hiding their oddly jointed limbs beneath dark blue dresses, pressed leather boots, starch-white aprons crossed over the back. Hats pinned to hair carefully pulled into uniform curls—such dreadful little halos. One of them approaches, with black eyes and pin-pricked red lips and a slithery grayed tongue.

“Captain Hawkeye. Doctor Hauer apologizes for the delay. He’s prepared for you now.”

Roy’s hand on her back is not subtle or standard politeness—he has caught her twice in the last month from falling back down the stairs. Something in the exertion of climbing would send a sheet of foggy blackness across her vision and then, just as her fainting spell during the commemoration parade, Riza would groggily wake to find herself propped up by his steadying arm. Even now they are keeping to a slow pace, passed on every fifth step by an annoyed orderly or harangued custodian.

Doctor Hauer’s name is at last set on the glass of his door, in careful white etching—he’s new from the north, highly recommended and with a fellowship purchased directly from the führer’s considerable coffers. At least, from all this meaningless mess, Central City Hospital can boast of retaining the best diagnostician in the country. He won’t look like much in print, but she can imagine, somewhere in a distant memorial garden, his stately stone glower presiding over a mossy plaque dedicated to his advances in various medicinal sciences. Such men are almost never properly paid tribute in life, so she can find some comfort in knowing she probably wouldn’t have lived to see it regardless.

“I’m sorry,” he says, no preamble, no offer of tea, “but it is exactly as we feared.”

“Cancer.”

“Yes.”

Riza nods. She knew, in all the ways that Roy did not, and his fingers tighten painfully around hers.

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I spoke to my colleagues in West City and East, and they both concurred with my initial reading. The shadowing on the film clearly indicates wide-spread metastasis.”

“What does that mean?”

Hauer glances at Roy and then back to Riza. She can, to some extent, respect his desire to keep her the center of the conversation—but it feels so unnecessary. Like the broken beaks of a thousand furious birds, rain begins to peck at the glass behind the good doctor’s head.

“Although the size of the mass in your lungs leads me to conclude that it is the originating site, your previously described symptoms—dizziness, hallucinations, blackout spells—strongly suggest that there may be a mass in your brain as well.”

He points, with alarming accuracy for not even bothering to turn his head, at the tacked-up transparency of her chest. The closest she will ever get to witnessing the true complexity of her own desiccated husk, save for running a knife beneath her ribcage and peeling back what flesh is found there.

“It also appears to have reached your lymph system. We could draw blood to confirm the presence of malignant cells moving throughout your body, but at the current rate of growth, in a matter of months…”

A twisting grimace.

“As they say, truth will out.”

“Is that—is that how long…?”

Hauer’s eyes are a brackish-green, painted with flecks of yellow by an unsteady hand. In one eye, the sclera holds a streak of bright red, and the pulse it hides could almost be visible, she thinks, by changing the angle of her observation. His left eye flickers first, followed by the right a quarter-millisecond after.

“It’s difficult to say with any accuracy. The disease process is unique to each person.”

“So then what’s our next step?”

She is not trying to memorize this moment or even Roy’s face—she is merely observing the cool milky sheen of his skin, the youthfully short lines bundling above his brows, the click and clack of his tongue and teeth as he seeks a futile reprieve. They—Hauer and Roy, and not Riza, who folds up her hands in her lap and watches Roy’s face without feeling the slightest change in her own—discuss medication and surgery and radium therapies with such naive hope cutting their lips to ribbons.

“No,” Riza says. The birds have left the window—for all its crescendo, the storm was brief and will have left only a discomforting haze to line the streets and sidewalks.

“Riza, there’s still options—”

“Not for me.”

“But they’ve had success—”

“In skin cancers. And most of the patients went on to develop a different cancer and died anyways, after a few years.”

He wants to protest, his eyes a pair of open wounds twisted wide by the gears of coming grief. The clouds have cleared from his side first—he sits in a shower of sunlight and reaches to her, delicately seizes her hands and pulls them to his lap. They stand sharp as plucked feathers against the dark wool of his uniform.

“I read the same studies as you,” she finishes.

“But it could work.”

It is difficult to explain the logic of what remains so… obvious. Hauer has withdrawn, content to study the bleed and retain his commentary. Riza, in a half-remembered instinct for solace, runs her narrow thumbs across the wide expanse of Roy’s palms.

“Cut me open,” she says, unblinking, by force of love and misery willing the certainty to bridge the empty air between them, “and scoop out what they can. Then weeks under one of those awful lamps or even worse—a tube of radium sewn up inside me until it burns through.”

He shakes his head as she speaks—his imagination is well-stocked with atrocity and no doubt illustrates each word with a facsimile of what its truth might be.

“Is that what you want for me?”

Ruined by all of it—torn open and shredded by the indifferent abyss. She sees him as one might see a lone telegraph pole with its lines all cut loose, fading fast into a horizon that welcomes no minute alteration. He squeezes her fingers, trying to coerce heat from his calloused skin into her. He speaks very quietly—not a whisper, but an inability to draw sufficient breath for each word.

“I want you to live.”

She smiles, somewhat, tempering the cruelty with a cold sigh and a tremor which passes, without origin or end, between their joined hands.

“Well,” she says, “I’m not going to.”

Roy’s car has broken down again, so they take a black taxi back to Central Command. The driver seems to sense their disquiet and leaves the divider up, assuming possibly that they have a need to talk—but they only stew in a long silence. The rain begins again, and ends, and then restarts and finally quits the greened sky for yellowing pastures somewhere south.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the hallucinations?” Roy asks. He speaks to the closed window, hands curled to fists in his lap, brow knit, frowning, eyes darting from face to face when they stop near a crowd. He will want a solution from his frustration and will find nothing.

“I don’t know,” Riza says. “It only happened a few times. I thought sometimes it hadn’t happened at all.”

Anger rolls from his shoulders in cutting waves. It radiates, and she wants to lay her hands along the span of his back, to absorb his heat and make it her own, to become the yawning, roaring void that has opened inside him: a little well of sadness, which seeks an ocean to drown it.

“I’m sorry.”

Their attendance at Grumman’s table is required, and she tells him immediately, wishing no delay to the plans that now must follow. He rages, of course, stalking the edge of his favorite Aerugian rug as he narrows his sights on the appropriate prey.

“I built that hospital!” he snarls, expelling foul breath with the lie. “Every brick belongs to me, and if they think they can reject my granddaughter for treatment—”

“I don’t want treatment,” Riza says, turning her fork to cut into a fig. “I made the choice.”

He softens to speak to her, just as always—she is glad, again, that he had no choice but to give her up as assistant. Familial affection is smothering at any distance.

“But, my dear heart, you’re far too young to give up.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, arranging her plate and cutlery for the ease of the maids, who will sweep the room spotless once they’ve gone through to the library, each night making such quick work of erasing all traces of their disorderly occupation. “I’m going to die.”

Grumman rages through the nightcap, malcontent as always with realities outside his making. Roy won’t defend her outright, but he’s far enough to her side to ignore Grumman’s attempts at alliance. Riza nurses a tiny glass of port, happy to let silence be her best answer.

She is the last to leave the library but stops short of climbing the first step. Roy will have found a room for himself somewhere in the east gallery—still trapped by the old etiquettes. They will not share a bed under this roof, which seems a trifling thing and yet—she can almost relish the possession of feeling again—some silly part of her is hurt. No matter that they’ve made love before, or that long before the tendrils of this nightmare began to tug at her ribcage, they had made such public promises.

Grumman had demanded an announcement and then disseminated one himself, when neither of them proved obliging. An alert of required celebration, and the drab party that followed—she thinks she still can smell the smoke of dusty candles and the flowers left too close to open flame. Smoke like meat, like the rabbits she hung inside that big hollow oak and the door she’d made of bark to cover, to pack with clay and come back later when Father lost his patron and they’d gone three weeks without anything but bread and foraged apples—

Riza curls her fingers around the ugly finial at the base of the bannister, feeling the weakness drain through her grip. There is no smoke here. The engagement party was months ago, and all its guests have gone home to sleep. Very carefully, she slides down to sit on the last carpeted step.

This is not the main staircase of the house—the grand incline that sweeps from the gilded foyer up to the narrow walk which runs from the east wing to the west—but a disused passage back to the kitchens. The sort of walk servants might have taken fifty years ago, slipping surreptitiously from their rooms in the attic to the basements. What need did they have for decoration? This landing holds a vase long empty of flowers, a dusty candelabra, and an overly-ornate bureau. And overseeing all, the painting.

Liesel Grumman, aged sixteen years, preserved and pickled in a brine of oil pigments and glaze. Her hair is styled in loose curls, her narrow body draped in white, and her hands are clasped primly on her lap—not one on top of the other, but palm to palm. Her eyes are blue, her throat bare, and her skin smoother than the brushstrokes that conjure it.

But the varnish is yellowing. The painting has gained a haze, and the corner of the frame is chipped of its gild. Riza shuffles herself forward along the carpet, not quite steady to stand on her own, until she is kneeling at the base of the bureau, looking up into her mother’s eternally averted gaze.

Berthold had had nothing to say on the subject of his late wife—other than that she was late and his wife—and Liesel had left precious few letters for perusal. Vaguely, Riza remembers a cardboard portrait of their wedding buried somewhere deep in the cellar: a matching pair in black, Liesel smiling gently and Berthold scowling.

If there had ever been anything like a journal of hers, Grumman never spoke of it. Despite the elopement which had separated them forever, he seemed to still think of his daughter as loyal, darling, sweet, pure, incorruptible—but her gaze in the painting is more dead than demure. The bureau is weighted and steady as Riza ascends, leaving her shoes to topple in the carpet, her elbows digging into the rough panels on either side.

Her eyes are a detached, icy blue. Round, large, surrounded on all sides by sclera barely distinguishable from her snowy white skin. Riza presses gently on the prick of her mother’s painted iris, flattening the peak. She didn’t really look like this. She never could have—and anyway, if she did and Riza knew, the memory is gone now in a foggy haze of black.

It is happening more and more—things Riza knew not because she could conjure the memory itself but because the vague shapes of it still threaded themselves in and out of other recollections. Impressions of a movement, of a tree weeping leaves into a river, a negative space between thought and thought, marked out only by its absence. It’s creeping closer as well, swallowing whole days and nights of solitude. She finds herself frantically scribbling out every thought that might someday find importance, before they can flit away from her fingers.

And what she does remember still—played out before her helpless gaze like a zoetrope glued to her face. A whirling vortex that melts to a view of Eastern Command, where Grumman brought her to the painting before even telling Riza who she was. Who she was—peering down from above the fireplace, amber-trapped, perpetually pre-elopement, pre-death, pre-decay, prevented from any comment on her own current condition—and he leered like a supplicant, offering up no sacrifice worthy of the penance sought in such adolated immortality.

Riza slides from the bureau unsteadily, spiked with sudden fear that the world has shifted itself while her back was turned. And it has—the shapes of Grumman’s old sitting room recede, bleeding backwards into carpet and empty wall and worn step, and her own shoes, kicked over and empty. She can’t remember how to get back to her own room, or what twists and turns will take her to where she is supposed to be. This isn’t home—it’s a stop in the pilgrimage to the end, and she sets her left hand on the wall, ready to resume.

By morning, Grumman has attained some level of acceptance. He is the last to come down for breakfast, white-faced and gray-shadowed, and he takes his seat without bothering to bring a plate.

“I’m going to see General Armstrong today,” Riza says. A maid woke her in the parlor at sunrise and lead her back to her room, where she slipped uneasily behind the mask of a dressing gown and slippers.

“You don’t have to,” Roy says, as his spoon scrapes across the bottom of his cup.

“I should,” Riza replies. “I want to.”

The grapefruit tastes like nothing, but she still winces. Grumman’s butler, with a stare of gravest concern, brings the old man some eggs and sausages, which he does not touch.

“When you return,” he says, barely managing to unfold his napkin, “we might discuss hiring on a nurse or two. To help out.”

“There’s no need. I’ll be going back to the house next week.”

His lip curls up like a burning leaf.

“You can’t possibly—”

“It is my home,” Riza says steadily.

“Wellesley is too far.”

“I had a telephone line installed. The tenants left last month.”

Roy’s stare shifts up from the newspaper he hadn’t been reading, fixing on her—furious, offended, incredulous. He must have thought they were in this together. Riza stares back, her mouth flat as her mood.

“I’m going back to the house,” she says. “There is no argument.”

“Riza, please, you must be reasonable about some of this—”

“Every Hawkeye,” she says, slow and deep and clear as a tolling bell, “for two hundred years was born in that house, and now the last of us will die there.”

Grumman’s fogged glasses clink against his spoon, and he sets his fingertips against each eyelid.

“I wish you would stop saying that word,” he mutters.

Roy waits at the bottom of the stairs with her dress coat—undeterred. They have covered the subject of stubbornness extensively in their time together, so she just sighs and turns around, allowing him to slip the sleeves up her arms and slowly pull each button through its slit. Her whole uniform has been freshly mended for this: its last exercise in the sun. The piping is bright white, the braids are neatly aligned in rows, and each metal pin of rank and office and regiment sparkles with shine. He keeps himself to civilian clothes.

His leave of absence has no doubt been expediently approved, or sits atop that neglected pile of forms awaiting the führer’s signature. Another piece in its waiting place.

They could take Grumman’s car, but she doesn’t want Armstrong to be immediately defensive. Roy orders a cab, and she almost wishes it could be the same driver as yesterday. This one is fine enough, although he smiles with too many teeth. Riza dislikes him instantly and wants, viciously and without cause, to see him frown instead, thinking to dim his irreverence with a remark about her condition. But that was her father’s way, never hers, and the impulse passes.

Roy keeps to his side of the bench when she steps in and settles against the door. She is beginning to miss him, even inches apart, and soon he’ll have his chance to miss her as well. Without hesitation, Riza slides her hand across the polished leather padding and slips her fingers between his.

He looks at their hands first, and then up to meet her gaze. She’s still half-sure he’ll pull away. There is nothing to say to the darkness growing behind his eyes.

The Armstrong estate suffered yesterday’s rain just like the rest of the city—every time, Riza expects it all to be unblemished and opulent, recently emptied of party guests and yawning for new attention. But instead, it is a quiet house hunched up and drawn in, dripping from its cornice like a near-empty wine bottle, unstoppered and tipped on its side.

There is a butler to let them in, and another butler to announce them. Having no business but escort, Roy is shown into the library, and Riza takes the next step without him.

Maybe they’re not all butlers. Three of them stand against the wall in the stately dining room, livery pressed to sharp creases and stares scalding. There must be one table for parties, and this smaller table for every day. Lieutenant General Armstrong sits at the head, newspapers spread on her left and correspondence unopened on her right, with her picked-over breakfast plate neatly in the center. Her brother is also on the right, sitting far down the table—but no doubt as close as she would allow—and he stands when Riza enters.

“Madame General, Captain Hawkeye to see you,” the door-opening non-butler says, bowing deeply and backing from Riza’s peripheral vision before returning to upright.

“Good morning, Captain Hawkeye,” Alex says. “Would you care to join us for breakfast?”

“Thank you, no—I’ve eaten already.”

“Is there some urgent matter?” the general interjects. “I didn’t send for you. I thought you were off planning your betrayal of a wedding.”

She does not look up from the newspapers, squinting to follow her forefinger across the narrow print. Alex gives her a look of almost matronly disapproval.

“Olivier doesn’t mean that, Captain. We’re both very happy for you.”

“Don’t speak for me,” she snaps, now lifting her coffee for a sip—obstinance. Riza used to find that horribly endearing in a commander. “The captain’s choice in romantic partner has already been reflected in her annual review.”

“Olivier, don’t be impolite.”

“I wonder if I might speak to the general alone,” Riza says. Her knees are beginning to strain, and the heels of both feet grow hot. She might have laced her boots too tight in her haste to leave.

“Of course, Captain. Please excuse me.”

Alex nods, rises, and ushers the butlers from the room. The general turns to her correspondence, unfolding a concealed pair of reading glasses and setting them on the end of her nose.

“I can’t believe the cheek of you bringing that worthless cur into my library.”

She loves scolding over a meal. How many bottom-rankers had Riza brought to her table at supper, every one of them knock-kneed with hunger-strengthened fear, to receive a lashing of words no less capable of stripping flesh from bone than the stiffest leather strap?

“It’s bad enough you’ve accepted him—and now he follows you around everywhere like a sick dog, so eager to throw his victory in my face.”

She points with a butter knife.

“You know I take this all as a personal offense.”

“I know, ma’am.”

But what could she do about it? Her refusal would have changed nothing more than—distance? Perhaps Riza would never have gone in to check. The air around Briggs is so thin, and she’d been teased for her inferior Western lungs more than once. Perhaps one morning an enlisted aide would have been sent to her bunk, to rouse for inspection, and she would have just been found, blue-lipped and silent forever.

“Don’t tell me that he’s gone and knocked you up. The thought of that idiot propagating—”

The sting is surprising.

“I’ve said something cruel, haven’t I?”

Riza opens her eyes—surprised again, to find that she had closed them. The general has set aside her letters and her papers and hidden once more the glasses she wants no one to know of, and she watches Riza with her hands folded on the edge of the table.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s serious. And I’ve made some mockery of it.”

The overly-familiar upward rush of illness—Riza is standing close enough to the table to grip the back of a chair before she can completely collapse.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I’m afraid I must sit in your presence.”

The general returns to her own seat slowly, too startled to conceal her concern. Beneath the table’s edge, Riza’s hands are shaking.

“What’s going on, Captain?”

“I came to submit my resignation, ma’am.”

She nods. She might be angry, disappointed, annoyed—but none of this shows in the knit of her brows.

“And I can’t refuse. No matter if I wish I could.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Is it—is there anything—”

A fragment of a generous offer. A lilt in her voice, a downward shift in tone, maybe even something close to a tremor. They are not—will never be—anything resembling friends. And there is such deep relief in it.

“But I’m sure the führer’s exhausted every possible avenue—to confirm…?”

Riza says nothing. The general nods, sliding into her earlier pose, back rigid against the chair, hands shuffling through the correspondence pile, eyes averted—but Riza knows she is not done just yet.

“You’ll stay here, with your grandfather?”

“No, ma’am. I own a house in the Western District. We’ll go there in a few days, when the rest of my affairs are settled.”

The room has reoriented itself around its own wavering silhouettes. Riza can stand without shaking, and she sets the chair back against the table with a muffled click of polished wood on wood. She can even manage parade rest, fixing her stare on a single flower carved into the painting frame directly above the general’s head.

“I’ve briefed Lieutenant Falman already on my projects and as specifically as possible on expectations in serving as your interim adjutant.”

“There will never be an equal replacement.”

Riza’s fingernails bite briefly into the flesh of her palms.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I suppose that’s it, then. You are dismissed.”

She never looks up. Riza could imagine a slight twitch passing through the general’s occupied hands, but why bother? This is almost exactly what she wanted.

Yet another butler meets her outside the dining room. Roy has broken the containment of the library, and he does not smile at her return.

[ultraviolet-fox]

rant

don’t read if you’re sensitive to certain topics

this is something I’ve been through recently and I need to let it out. I saw Gabbie Hanna’s video today and it really sparked up some feelings about my personal life.

Recently ive been in a toxic friendship. It was good at first I’m not gonna lie but it quickly started to turn to shit. for the first 6 months it was fine but then he started to catch feelings for me. I had a boyfriend at the time so I couldn’t date him nor even felt anything for him so needless to say he got really upset over that. Sometimes he would just ignore me and never talk to me without even telling me what was wrong and I’d get so confused and I would get mad at him for not telling me anything. Like how could I fix anything without him telling me what was wrong? Every time this would happen I would always blame myself first before anything. (This happened a few times and I was in a really dark place so I would always make excuses for him.) I got so fed up one time and he told me it was because he liked me, that he ignored me because he couldn’t bear the thought of not having me. Of course I felt really bad and I tried to comfort him but he just, wasn’t there anymore? Like I said, I was really fucking depressed so I would do anything to make him feel better which led me to kiss him while I was still in a relationship. My biggest regret to this day. I told my boyfriend afterwards and we broke up obviously. Having just broken up with someone, I was so mentally fucked and I needed a friend with me so I had him. I would do anything to make him happy.

Though he’d always get so upset because he would always think about the fact that he could never have me instead of being appreciative over the friendship we did have. I always gave in and gave him what he wanted because I needed a friend and it seemed like he was the only one there for me. I always let him kiss me, fuck me, touch me, even when I didn’t want it. But I never wanted to stop it because I knew, I knew he would blame himself. And that was my weakness.

I want to please everyone as much as I could. And I did please him. But at the cost of my mental health.

I would always be the one to end it but eventually one hang out would lead to us making out and me feeling guilty about it after. But I couldn’t say no. How could I? After I said no, he’s always so depressed and I felt like I had to babysit him to make sure he felt okay.

He told me he loved me multiple times and honestly I believe it. The way he looks at me, talks to me, talks about me, I do believe he loves me—but no one should ever treat someone they love like this.

He would get jealous even over the little things. He would get upset over me hanging out with my girl friends, guy friends, hell—even my own boyfriend when I had one. He got so upset because apparently I was “having fun with them and I couldn’t with him.” He was so possessive over me, even though I wasn’t even dating him. That was a red flag but I proceeded to ignore it.

I eventually felt like I had to cut off all of my friends and only hang out with him to make him happy. Here’s another thing: I’m a really shitty texter, I prefer irl shit but he couldn’t get over that fact. He claimed I’m not a shitty texter and I just choose to be one. And you know what, I believed him. So I actually started putting effort into talking to him. I texted him so often because I knew that’s what he wanted. I’m that kind of person that never texts anyone for a week but always asks people to hang out but he couldn’t grasp on to that. He got so upset when I wouldn’t text him for a week, even though I’m not obliged to text him every single fucking day.

Not only that, whenever I would complain about anything about my life, he would be so unsympathetic. Actually—he would, but it would always end up being about him and his life problems rather than mine. It’s like he doesn’t even listen?? I remember I was complaining about my mom and how rude she is, and this fucked proceeds to say “that’s weird, your mom usually seems supportive of you” like ?????? Excuse me ?????????? I’m literally complaining about my mom and you say that, basically disregarding everything I’m saying ??????? But I brushed it off. Because that’s what I do. I’m so afraid to lose friends so I keep them around even if it meant sacrificing my mental health.

Here’s a deeper darker story, we were at school for a fundraiser and we saw each other and started talking. Of course I was still his friend because I was so naive at the idea that he was emotionally abusing me. I ended up confessing everything I’ve been feeling for the past month. My depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, etc. I told him all that. He was really sympathetic and asked if we could go to my house and so I said yeah we can. We started talking and I noticed him get a bit flustered. I ignored it because I thought he would have self control but I was wrong. He pulled me on his lap and tried to kiss me but I said no. He asked why not one more time? And I said, we always say one more time but there’s never one more time. He got really upset and he wouldn’t talk to me and I just wanted him to talk to me so I asked maybe we should cuddle? And it worked, he did feel better but at what cost? He eventually started touching me and I kept grabbing his hand and trying to stop him but he wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t say anything because I don’t know why? I could’ve said something—why didn’t I? He took off my clothes while he took off his and then started to have sex with me, I didn’t like it at all but I knew if I said no he would hate himself. I eventually got so fed up that I told him stop. I said stop. Multiple times. But he didn’t stop. But after that we sat down. He tried sitting down next to me but I didn’t let him get too close to me. He eventually left and I couldn’t get over what happened. In a way it felt like I asked for it. Because I was the one that asked him to cuddle, but I was the one that couldn’t say stop at first, because I was the one that couldn’t stop his hand from touching me. I was mad at him and confronted him about it but he apologized for it and for some reason I believed his intentions were good. But I never should’ve been his friend. I hate saying the word rape because it seems so weird that a friend would rape me. And it feels like I’m calling out for attention. But it was. Anyone can do this to you and it fucked me up. But I kept being his friend because I needed one.

After a month there was a time was when I led him on a bit. And I admit that. I led him on because that certain day was so perfect, I had to have attention. He asked me out and I said, wait for my answer because I love the mystery. And this was a time when it was going good for once. But A few days past and I’ve been thinking about it, thinking about the fights we’ve had and how incompatible we actually were and no matter how much I forced myself to thinking that I liked him, I didn’t. It was one of those where you know you’re gonna break up. And I couldn’t have that. I told him no and he got so upset/confused. He asked me to talk irl and we eventually did.

Fun fact: he never actually told me we were talking at my house so when our friend dropped me off at my house, he got out of the car with me and it sparked a curiousity in our friend. So not only, was there drama in our relationship, he had to make our drama THEIRS. but there’s more to that later :)

So there we were at my house. And he asked me all these questions saying why? Why would you do this. And I said sorry for leading you on but I mentally cannot get myself to date you. And he tried so hard to convince me rather than just accepting the answer no. He said “why not test the waters out? Why not just date me?” Like are you fucking serious? I repeatedly said no, and that was the first time I have EVER said no to him. He tried to kiss me but I rejected him and I told him, I’ve been “hoeing” around a lot, you don’t want to date a girl like me. And this fucker said to me “if you’re such a hoe why can’t I convince you to do it with me?” And I Just was in disbelief that he just fucking said that to me. I replied with excuse me? And he apologized and that was when I realized, I can’t date a guy who even remotely thinks that’s an okay thing to say to someone. I repeatedly told him no and then he started overthinking and got really upset and got his friend to pick him up. It was only until later, I realized he sent his friend a message “hey not to use you as an Uber or anything, but can you pick me up later? I’m about to do something really hard” SOOOOOO NOT ONLY DID HE SPARK IN INTEREST IN OUR FRIEND THAT DROPPED US OFF, HE TEXTED ANOTHER FRIEND THAT ONLY LEAVING UNANSWERED QUESTIONS ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP. he literally made what was our business, their business, his whole entire friend group was in on it now and that made me so fucking mad.

I eventually met up with the friend that dropped us off later that day and I told him everything that happened. He comforted me and told me he understands, and that he and all of his other friends are on my side rather than his which is such a relief to hear because there has been rumors about me and the other guy.

After that whole situation I was still his fucking friend for some reason. We hung out for one day and my mom suddenly decided to ground me so I couldn’t go out anymore. I was okay with staying home but I didn’t talk to anyone for a week.

This fucker proceeds to unfollow me on social media, and not only that, asks me to remove him from Snapchat. Call me an over dramatic person or whatever, but you don’t fucking ask someone that?? Like 1. It was so fucking uncalled for and 2. What kind of fucking person asks someone to remove them from Snapchat? And it just made me so mad because the amount of times he would get mad at me for removing him from my social media’s.

FYI: I have a spam account on Instagram and I post stuff about me drinking/smoking and he gets upset at me whenever I do it so I just remove him whenever I post about that

But anyways, I got so fed up and i realized all the shitty things he has ever done to me. I know he misses me but god I don’t miss him. He never appreciated our friendship one bit, he only wanted more. I broke up with my boyfriend to make him fucking happy. He manipulated, mentally and physically abused me. And now I am so drunk on the idea that no one is ever going to love me for who I really am. Because that relationship fucked me over so hard.

[notsoguiltykpop]

I would love to read a ghost's Yoongi or maybe JK POV but that level of angst would probably shatter my heart. (I would read, enjoy and love it anyway lol) - 🍑

I feel like you probably didn’t want this, but here you go~

The Ghost in Apartment 1403 drabble from Jungkook and Yoongi’s point of view

Jungkook slid the door to Namjoon’s hospital room open slowly. Yoongi had gotten a phone call almost as soon as they had set foot in the building, giving him some time alone with Namjoon. It was always weird visiting him like this, seeing the IV stuck in his arm, hearing the whirring of the machines and the beep-beeping of the heart monitor. Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to. 

He knew it was stupid to keep hoping that Namjoon would one day open his eyes and life would return to the way it had been. The doctors had been very clear that that was highly unlikely, and that even if Namjoon did wake up one day, he probably wouldn’t be the same person he had known. People didn’t often recover from this sort of thing, Jungkook knew that. 

“Hey, Namjoon.” He said as he pulled a chair over so he could sit by Namjoon’s bed, it had become something he didn’t even think about anymore over the last five months. “It’s me, Jungkook. I’m here just like I always am every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Are you sick of me yet?” He paused as though waiting for a response. 

“That girl–the one that knew us in highschool that I don’t remember taking a math class with? She showed up at the studio today, I think she must have missed you. I showed her around, she’s really nice and kind of cute. I still can’t believe you never mentioned her.” Another pause. 

“You and Yoongi must have fought over her. That’s why she said she and Yoongi have a complicated relationship, right? She picked you over him, so maybe that’s why you never talked about her. I’m surprised we never run into her here, though. She clearly cares about you, so she must visit.”

“Anyway, enough about her. Work has been crazy busy recently. Yoongi and I have been picking up as many jobs as we can, but we can’t keep up. And I think Yoongi still blames himself for what happened, thinks if he hadn’t lost his temper with you that you somehow wouldn’t have gotten hit by that car. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I can tell. But don’t worry about us, Namjoon. We’re managing. It’d just be easier if you were here.”

Jungkook looked down at his hands for a moment before reaching over and holding Namjoon’s limp one; he read online that was supposed to help. “You’ll get through this. You have to.” 

It was then that Jungkook thought, for just a second, that Namjoon’s hand slowly and slightly gripped his own. 

Three weeks later, there was no improvement. Jungkook had wasted no time in calling a nurse, and the next thing he knew he was shoved out into the hall as a doctor hurried in and tests were done. He wasn’t technically family, so couldn’t over hear anything to do with Namjoon’s medical records. Taehyung came to wait with he and Yoongi only for the three of them to be told hours later that it probably didn’t mean anything. 

“They’re going to monitor him closely. There was a spike in brain activity, but he still isn’t responding to his name or acting on command.” Namjoon’s sister had told them. “The best thing we can do is keep visiting him and talking to him like we have been, and not jump to any conclusions.”

Yoongi visited him one late night after a fight with Jungkook. He couldn’t believe how naive Jungkook could be sometimes. To have let a complete stranger into Namjoon’s office, to believe such a stupid lie like they knew each other in high school… Though, maybe that was on Yoongi, too. You hadn’t been the only one to lie to Jungkook that night. 

Yoongi had known perfectly well what an impact his words had on Jungkook. Ever since they first met, when Jungkook was still an awkward middle schooler and Yoongi was going through his angsty-punk phase, Jungkook had always taken his older friends’ words to heart. Yoongi knew this, knew that if he said it was true that Jungkook likely wouldn’t even question it, and he had lied to his face.

Yoongi wasn’t sure why he couldn’t bare to speak the truth that night. Maybe it was because while talking to you, Jungkook had looked the closest to happy that he had been in a while. What was the harm in letting him think you were an old friend?

And he had known you in middle school, so you weren’t just some stranger. Back then, you were sweet, cried easily, and the only time you made a fuss about anything was when you were standing up for someone else, even for Yoongi one time. You couldn’t stand injustice. You didn’t have a malicious bone in your body back then, so how bad could you be?

But a lot could change in the years that you hadn’t seen each other. Yoongi certainly had. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that people would crush anyone they thought they could get away with, so Yoongi had made himself as prickly as possible to make it clear to the world that he wasn’t someone to mess with. In the process, he had pushed people away and closed himself off. It was something Namjoon was always lecturing him about, saying that he should be kinder, give people the benefit of a doubt sometimes. 

“Hey Namjoon, it’s Yoongi.” He said as he dragged a chair over to sit by Namjoon. “Namjoon, I…I can’t do this.” He said as he propped his elbows on the bed and sunk his head into his hands. “I’ve been trying so hard to look out for them, I have. But Taehyung has been MIA for the last three weeks, he’s been ignoring Jungkook and my texts and calls. The only reason we know he’s okay is because Jimin ran into his mother at the grocery store. She said being around us is just too hard for him right now. I guess I get that.” Yoongi took a shaky breath. “I think he and Jungkook fought about something before he cut us out, I don’t know about what, though. You’ve always been better at sorting out that kind of thing than me. They talk to you. 

“I just make things worse. Like tonight, when I should have been telling Jungkook that everything would be fine, that we’d figure it out somehow, what did I do? I blamed him. Oh, by the way, your album has been leaked onto the internet under a different name, and it’s my fault. None of this would have happened if I’d been honest with Jungkook. But I was just trying to protect him, Namjoon. That’s all. I didn’t know.” Yoongi gritted his teeth, he needed to pull himself together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Namjoon.” 

Yoongi’s phone started ringing, and he was about to send it to voicemail when he saw who it was. 

“Jungkook.” He said, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Yoongi, it’s me.” He recognized your voice instantly. “Look, Jungkook is here–in my apartment, I mean. He’s drunk, and I don’t think he knows which way is up let alone where he lives. Can you come get him?” 

After retrieving Jungkook from your apartment–he still couldn’t believe you were living where Namjoon used to, it took your stalking to a whole other level–Jungkook suggested getting something to eat. He still seemed a little on the tipsy side, but at least he could walk on his own. 

Yoongi stopped right before they entered the restaurant, looking down at his shoes. “Jungkook.” He said, and the younger turned around, tilting his head to one side and raising an eyebrow quizzically. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi said. He had asked himself what Namjoon would say he should do, and the answer was simple: apologize. “It wasn’t your fault, not at all. I never should have said it was. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”

Jungkook studied him for a moment. “If you want to point fingers, it’s her fault the songs leaked, not yours or mine.” Jungkook said. “But that isn’t the only thing you’re saying sorry for, is it?” 

That was the unnerving thing about Jungkook; he could read Yoongi even when he was sure there was nothing to give away what he was thinking or feeling. “Sometimes I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t lost my temper with him that morning.” Yoongi said quietly, still not looking directly at Jungkook.

“And I’ll probably always wonder if she would have gotten those files if I hadn’t literally unlocked Namjoon’s door for her.” Jungkook slung an arm around Yoongi, something that had always mildly annoyed the elder. It was a reminder that Jungkook was a good head taller than him, and wasn’t something Yoongi appreciated. “But we can’t beat ourselves up over ‘what if’s.’ We’re doing our best, and you know what? I think Namjoon would be proud of us.”

Yoongi nodded. Jungkook was right, they were both doing their best in the situation, and that was what counted. That was what Namjoon would have cared about, and there was nothing more that they could do. 

“Let’s get some lamb skewers, I’m starving.” Yoongi said, ducking out from under Jungkooks arm and heading for the door to the restaurant. “You’re paying, by the way.” 

“Hah, no way. You owe me.” Jungkook snorted, sending a text to Taehyung to meet them there. Maybe he’d show up, or maybe he wouldn’t, but it had been too long since the three of them had seen each other outside of a club or the hospital. If there was one thing Jungkook was sure of, it was that Namjoon would want them to be happy, and that was what Jungkook wanted to be that night.

[edales-drabbles]

Hive is Home Drabble 1 pt 3

Themes: Heroes vs Villians, frenemies, protective families, accidents, hiveminds

Summary: Espers are people with powers. Some are good and some are not so good. Ervin is from a family of adopted Espers who work as heroes but lives in his own city attending university. Then he gets hurt on a mission and the ‘villains’ are now going to have to deal with his family. Including the guy he actually likes. Joys.

Previous

“Hello!” Torleif declared brightly as he strode into the hospital, carrying a vase of brightly coloured flowers. “How is our Blackbird doing?” He declared, grinning with his goofy smile at Ervin and Oisin. He was radiating happiness and rainbows with a good dose of cheerfulness that was far too bright for the average person. He also still had his wasp logo on his jacket, though his outfit was currently civilian.

Ervin groaned, closing his eyes and resting his head backwards. He was in pain and in no mood for this. It had been bad enough having Oisin look after him without Torleif and the hive appearing.

“I thought your alas was different?” Oisin asked lightly and just a touch too naively.

“It is. Tor and Smiles just prefer to call me Blackbird,” Ervin muttered darkly. “Go away, Torleif. They reduced my meds. I’m in no state to play games or be cheerful.”

“Nope! This had been the first time all week that the Hive has been able to see you without your father or one of your more intense brothers,” Torleif declared, placing the flowers down and playing with them a little bit. “We thought some flowers would cheer up your room. They are fake so the hospital let them in,” he explained calmly. “We aren’t planning to play games with you.”

“Should I call Dad?” Oisin murmured softly, sensing danger. Ervin hummed, forcing himself to open his eyes and look at Torleif. He was wishing he’d taken Nelson up on hiding a dagger in the room. Torleif was not someone Oisin could fight on his own. Torleif was big and muscular, Oisin was like Ervin and Nelson, slight and small. Ervin had avoided tangling with Torleif for the most part.

“Don’t bother,” Torleif smiled, his tone turning a touch darker. “We won’t let the call go out,” he promised, grinning with too many teeth.

“Tor,” Ervin warned, as Oisin stood up ready to fight. “Don’t taunt the baby. What do you want?” Oisin was 17, almost 18. Their Dad had gotten the paperwork sped up so Oisin would be a Bertram before he became a legal adult. Unlike Nelson, he hadn’t spent his childhood being trained by a cult. He had come into his powers by accident and Darkstalker had swept him up before one of the darker elements had trapped him.

“Not the baby,” Oisin grumbled but was still on his feet ready to defend himself and his older brother.

“Well, Nelson isn’t and you were the last to be adopted so congratulations. You’re the baby,” Ervin teased, watching Torleif carefully. He was still grinning goofily. It was almost as unnerving as Smiles. Only Smiles used makeup for the effect and this was just Torleif naturally. A big friendly giant, who happened to be in a collective that wanted complete power over the world. Very dangerous.

Torleif laughed and walked over to the clipboard at the bottom of Ervin’s bed. “You’re too young for integration. You’re a baby,” he noted, looking at the papers. “I see what you mean. Your meds were high. Hopefully, the pain will fade soon. How does it feel?”

“Tight?” Ervin offered, waving Oisin to sit down. Oisin scowled but lowered himself back down to the chair. Ervin resisted the urge to smile. Nelson wouldn’t have, nor Kane. The rest would have. Dad would have thrown Torleif out of the room at the first sight of a wasp badge. “When I move, the skin feels tight. It’s healing well according to the nurses. No complications yet,” he recited calmly, reaching over to take Oisin’s hand. Oisin settled more, his green eyes deeply distrusting of Torleif.

“Likely a good sign. We had Yui drop by once or twice to help. We wanted to her make sure you didn’t get an infection. Only your father scared her off after the second time. He’s very intense,” Torleif mused, sitting on the bed. “Very protective,” Torleif murmured, the echo of the Hive getting clearer with each word. His eyes were silver ringed now too.

“Most fathers are,” Ervin pointed out. “I warned you once before my father would be upset if something serious happened to me,” he smiled sweetly. “You laughed.”

“I didn’t,” sniffed Torleif, suddenly himself again but the hive was still behind his eyes.  

“Smiles did,” Ervin retorted and Torleif winced.

“To be fair, we didn’t realise who you were connected to,” the Hive murmured, rubbing Ervin’s legs idly. Possibly possessively. They saw Ervin as a potential. He knew this. He used it against them. “He would not have laughed at a threat like your father. We only wish we had known before the incident that it was you connected to him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Oisin asked warily.

“What do you mean? I know it was a trap not meant for me, but …” Ervin trailed off, watching Torleif’s face. “You wanted Darkstalker to come here,” he breathed.

“We did not know you were the one connected to him,” the Hive repeated.

“I mean, the motifs are similar,” Oisin pointed out calmly. “It’s kind of obvious.”

“Not to us, it would seem,” Torleif rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “We should have checked before setting that trap. We want you. We didn’t want to damage you like this. As it is Kerrim stopped you being killed and you will recover well but we never wanted to hurt you like this.”

“Just someone else,” Oisin challenged standing again, anger pouring from him. “What if it had been me or Grace? Or Nelson? Everyone else is 18 but you won’t integrate someone under 18. Would you have burned them to death in molten gold like you tried to do with Ervin? The others are older but that doesn’t stop the fact they are our family! Would you have killed Kane or Rue because they are adults? That would not be the way to get Dad to help you.”

“Oisin,” Ervin murmured warningly. It was too late.

“Grace is under 18?” Torleif asked softly, but Ervin could already see in his eyes Oisin had given them exactly what they wanted. Confirmation that his adoptive father and Darkstalker were the same person.

“No, she…”

“Enough,” Ervin hissed grabbing Oisin’s sleeve. “Do you want to give them our home address and home phone while you're at it? Remember who you are talking to!”

“Grace is 18. Oisin and Nelson are not. Everyone else is old enough to be integrated. This is good to know. A new Queen does best when her court is familiar faces,” the hive buzzed, almost none of Torleif’s mannerisms left in him as the Hive took full control.

“Her?”

“Well, her is the traditional term. His, maybe their preferred. We will see. We are deeply sorry you got hurt so badly Ervin but our plan has occurred. It’s time for Darkstalker and the crows to become one of us. Do not fight us. You shall be left to heal in the hospital peacefully while we sort out the crows. Young and old,” the hive promised, Torleif’s neck clicking as it moved in an unnatural way.

“Oisin, you need to run,” Ervin breathed. “Get word to the others. It’s a takeover.”

“But!” Oisin protested.

“No, I think he’s fine right here,” the Hive grinned. A hand shot out to grab Oisin’s wrist but Ervin kicked upwards, blocking the hit. His back screamed in pain as it was bent into a weird angle as Torleif’s arm pulled his leg upwards. There was a crunch and pain burst from his ankle.

“Run!” Ervin yelled, grabbing Torleif’s arm in a desperate attempt to delay them.

Oisin ran. The hive threw Ervin from the bed against the wall. The alarms went off and Ervin heard himself screaming as his back felt like it was on fire again. The hive picked Ervin off the floor roughly and dumped him back on the bed as nurses ran into the room. They said something but Ervin couldn’t hear him over the pain. It was like the gold was flowing over him again.

There was a strange sensation and then black.

—-

When he came too, Smiles was at the end of his bed, whittling away at a piece of wood. Smiles looked at him and nodded. “Shouldn’t have fought, you hurt your back,” Smiles scolded, continuing to carve at the figure. “Our Queen is most unhappy with you.”

“Torleif would have hurt Oisin,” Ervin breathed, looking around for clues about how long it had been. The monitoring screens were still there, though the beeping was off. An IV was connected to his arm again and he could smell fresh dressings on his burns. The world was a little fuzzy suggesting his pain relieve had been put high due to this. “The Hive can’t use his body well. You have already crippled me.”

Smiles paused. “It’s been six hours. We haven’t caught anyone yet. We apologise for hurting you again. And for using Torleif. Oisin is more delicate than we first thought,” he admitted. “And we have not purposefully nor permanently crippled you. If we had, we’d ignore the accords, kidnap you and put you under nanite treatment.” He sniffed at the end.

“By the accords, shouldn’t Oisin have been safe here?” Ervin frowned. The accords kept people safe from interference in the hospital. Yui was a weird case where as long as she was healing people, she was given a free pass. Everyone else had to back off here.

“He’s never been registered to the city,” Smiles shrugged. “Loophole.”

Ervin looked down at his ankle. The one Torleif had crushed. There was now a cast there. “Fuck,” he cursed, no wonder his pain meds had been upped.

Next

[survivormontenegro]

Episode 11: “Recalibrate How I’m Playing This Game” - Caeleb

okay I'm writing a long confessional then going to bed.

Jules was robbed. I was really gonna idol them when Jones/Caeleb told me Jules was getting votes, but Jules was only getting 5, and I naively thought both that Jason wasn't going to flip and Tom wouldn't self vote AGAIN ASKDLJFAF.

I'm frustrated because I love Jules. Jules was robbed and deserved better than having to deal with Alex who like will tell Jules they made a mistake and ugh. I'm frustrated that I didn't idol Jules, even though it wouldn't have been smart and would've put me in a tough game spot, its just all super tricky sigh.

in other news, Jones/Mo/Mitch need to go. I'm super proud of Mo for doing something (like genuinely) and not playing passively, I defo underestimated him, but him and Jones have way too much sway on this tribe, tied to Mitch who is clearly able to work people.

I think a good end-group for me would be Me/Benj/Tom/Julia. I really really like Caeleb but he actually is playing super smart, so I really don't think I can have him sticking around much longer.

I think a good new bootlist is: Jones > Mitch > Mo > Jason > Caeleb

I'm just frustrated because Jules was robbed and really did not deserve that, Mo/Jones are too powerful, and now so is Mitch. I'm gonna idol one of them out, and I'm going to love doing it.

Holy fuck what the fuck that worked. Ok so here’s what just went down, Jules said to Jason that she’d be fine voting out either me or Mitch. People were leaning towards Mitch. We had like 20 minutes left and we started discussing and I threw out to Jones, what if we get Jules out, but she kinda ignored it and carried on with the Mitch plan. Because Jules has a lot of connections I can understand why Jones would be hesitant. So then I throw the pitch rob Caeleb and Mitch throws the pitch to Jason and they’re both on board. But that would of only been five people. Meaning it most likely would of tied so we were like ok I guess we’ll just vote Mitch. BUT THEN BENJ GETS ONLINE and he’s like “Yeah I’ll vote Jules.” SO I SCRAMBLE BACK TO CAELEB LIKE WAIT VOTE JULES WE HAVE THE NUMBERS. SAME WITH JONES AND JASON. WE GET JULES OUT. Which of course is sad because she’s literally a sweetheart and she’s super funny, but she had so many people in her corner and her and Ali combined was a scary combo. BUT I MEAN I HAVE A COOL GAME MOVE IN MY POCKET NOW THAT I DID (with Mitch) BUT WOW ME.

Whew chile!!! I must admit that vote was VERY scary and VERY hectic. I thought for a moment my game was ending. Thankfully my social relationships with people allowed me to stay and send the person who was targeting me home (Jules). Now this is GREAT for me because i trusted Jules the least on the merge tribe. The communication thing never worked out between the two of us but i still find her to be a very nice person :). In regards to the vote, Mo/Caeleb, Benj, Jason, and Jones all voted to save me. To me, I feel like this means im in a really good position because everyone likes me enough to SAVE me. Up until 5 minutes before the deadline, I thought i was done for. I gotta be careful with who I work with in the future because my threat level is rising. People in touchy subjects saw me as the one who thinks they are running the game but are not, but man is this far from the truth. I'd like to say that although I didn't know what was going on COMPLETELY, I still pretty much helped/forced the target onto the person who went home. Ian- Told Alex about how I suspected Jason and Ian of being a duo (correct assumption according to ali) and everyone ended up splitting between the two (I did not care who went). Alex- I pushed very hard for alex to go because he was so dang controlling and i found that very threatening. Jules- targeted me first but I never trusted her because of how little we spoke. When she decided to target me it was the icing on the cake. Hopefully these next few rounds are smooth sailing because we NEED easy votes for at least a little bit.

okay so i am trying SO hard for immunity, like its not even funny. i think i have 100+ points right now, with more videos uploading and with more planned photos tomorrow. immunity would be SO sweet, because that'd guarantee me a spot in the F8, and with my idol F7.

in other news. if i haven't said it enough, it must be said again. BENJ IS SUCH A KING. like today he told me he wants to go to F4 with Julia and Tom. I truly, truly could have shed and wept real tears. That is exactly the F4 I want, like EXACTLY ,and Benj agrees, and we are going to make it HAPPEN.

He also wants to separate Mo/Jones this round... and like honestly, I'm so down. Like I think he wants to vote off Mo versus Jones which I think is a bad idea, since Jones is a better talker and more of a threat, but his argument about Jones being a shield makes some sense.

my ideal bootlist moving forwards for the season, although it requires like julia/tom to stick with me and benj pretty tightly, is:

Mo/Jones > Mitch > Jason > Mo/Jones > Caeleb > F4: Me/Tom/Benj/Julia

and also since i love doing this for no reason, this would be my ranking of those left if i was to go to jury this round:

Mitch > Jason > Jones > Benj > Caeleb > Julia > Mo > Tom

Mitch is SO savvy, and so likable, and I could see as a definite winner, having survived so much. I can't decide if Jones is a threat because she is just so likable, or if she is actually palying super well, but I have both her and Jason very high in my opinion. Benj is so smart, I feel like he probably isn't considered as such by the other threats, but I hear him talk game - he is super woke. Caeleb is actually playing a very smart game too, flipping back and forth. I definitely underestimated him in early merge, his MIND. Julia I think is super game-savvy, just her style gets in her own way sometimes. Mo I feel like definitely did stuff last vote, but I see him as Jones' shadow/goat right now so would need to see much more. Tom I'm stuck because him self-voting twice I think almost definitely excludes him from winning so its hard to tell how I'd feel about him in an FTC. the main thing is that... we shall see.

BUT I AM WINNING IMMUNITYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Sending this now bc I forgot. Jason beat me in reward OOPS but I can still possibly win immunity,,,,,? Maybe?

Eek me at jules being voted out, honestly i didnt really know what was going to happen at that tribal for the sole fact that everything started moving whilst i was asleep but im kinda shocked that it ended up being jules.... Like i personally wouldnt have made that move right now maybe in like 2 more rounds. Its quite scary the fact that mitch got so many people to turn on jules when i thought she was quite the loved player. So I've gotta keep an eye out for him he's probably playing the best game atm but i think ill try to take him out sooner rather than later

I think I might have to recalibrate how I’m playing this game. I honestly didn't think I was all that close to Jules so her cursing me kinda surprised me. SO, that means I think a lot of people are gonna be cursing me in the upcoming rounds. Not that I am planning a lot of blindsides, I just feel a lot closer to the people actually left. Julia might be the only one that wouldn't curse me at this point, but also she might because she doesn't like me all that much. And being cursed a bunch might put a really large target on my back too.

y'all i just found another idol im SCREECHING. and its a boujee one too, a sapphire idol. I'm so AHHHHHHHHHHHHH, i know where 2/3 idols are for sure, I'm truly screaming.

This was me an Mitch on call when we realized we had the numbers to vote out Jules

heres the thing, i prefer the selfie scavenger hunt when im on a team because that way im motivated to get stuff done out of fear of letting everyone down. where as by myself, i let myself down all the time. ali is scary good at comps and im lazy.

ALI FOUND THE MERGE IDOL AND ITS A SAPPHIRE IDOL AHHH!!!

IM SO HAPPY FOR HIM/US BUT ALSO LOWKEY PISSED BECAUSE I GET ALL THE BRIDGE STEPS AND THEN HE GETS LUCKY AT THE VERY END LMAO. AGAIN.

BUT OH WELL ATLEAST ITS NOT SOMEONE ELSE!!

And if I had any doubts (I never had) about him betraying me before I have 0 now.. u like have to really trust someone to tell them u have 2 idols LOL I could literally expose so much right now

BUT IM NOT GONNA WOO!!! BEST DUO IVE EVER HAD! Like I know it will be hard to beat him at the end but idc I want that duo story for us

Literally an idol magnet king I knew I chose the best ally on day 1

sapphire idols sound kinda annoying tho cuz u cant choose who its played on . like what if ur plan actually works and u idol the person u wanted gone LOL

lowkey would rather a normal idol ?? anyways ali went off in immunity and its final 9 idk who will go but I kinda want like mo gone (king) but we have no strategic bond so.. plus he will slip by to the end otherwise

I doubt that plan is gonna work tho cuz idk how to lead votes!! im flop sheep!

Update on idol hunt - I'm killing johnny

Update apparently I’m running a vote KSKSKKFMFMFFK take back EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT NOT NEEDING POWER LMAOOOO

ok so Storytime

I’m talking to Tom at like 5:00-6:00 ish, and he says he hasn’t heard anything but he’d be down to vote Julia if other people were voting Julia (at this point this is the only name and it was said by Tom and that’s it)

At this point I tell Mo what Tom said (Bc tom and I were talking about Mo) and he said he wasn’t surprised Julia’s name was brought up

Talk to Mitch at like 7:00 ish and he’s apparenrly being targeted by Ali and for whatever reason I have this hero complex and I wanna save him all of a sudden?? I also feel like he’ll be a big shield down the road that everyone else would want out over me so it makes much more sense to keep him? SO I tell him about Julia.

I Run to Mo, tell him about Julia plan he’s on board. MOs talking to Caeleb, and Jason wouldn’t go behind Mitch’s back. So that’s already 5 people I think voting Julia, 6 if we include Tom and 7 if Benj also knows. Which I’ll probs tell him.

So ya??? Turned an idea into a plan!! I’m doing that y’all. Idk?? I’m proud. I don’t need need this much power after this round or else my ego will be the size of my dick but!!! Idk guys I’m proud of myself.

(Literally only 35 minutes later)

Literally having a stroke tonight laid ease

Uhm apparently Tom/Jason/Ali had an alliance and were trying to get me out and tried throwing me under the bus to Julia and tried saying shit I didn’t say,, so ya,,, :)

Tom tried twisting it like I was the one who threw Julia’s name out bc apparently she’s inactive? Which is cute,, I said jack shit about that. So ya.

Um I’m voting Tom tonight now. I’m an indecisive bitch tho so it might change but. Fuck Tom. We gotta break up this alliance apparently. Julia’s the only person that’s said shit to me this whole day about what’s happening so I’m more likely to believe her than anyone else sooo ya. Fuck Tom. Fuck these men.