#while also obviously having deep rooted issues that’s she’s trying to work through

[chloesimaginationthings]

i absolutely love your characterization of movie vanessa,, like she is so mentally unwell but also she is full of whimsy!

The duality of Vanessa Shelly,,

[buffysummers]

hi! those are my tags on your xander gifset. i have followed you for a long time & am pretty familiar with your opinions and the things you make (and am a massive fan of the vast majority of both!!!) and i know you obviously dont just pick the most memeable moments for the alphabet sets!! but i did just wanna message you to kinda stand by what i said -- the xander set specifically (and ive seen most of them!) i think does excessively highlight his negative qualities. more than half of the gifs are from the first three seasons and almost all the rest are from the seventh--i think xanders flaws (the misogyny, the toxic masculinity, insecurity, possessiveness, etc) are important and you should show them! i love xander so much because of how he grows. but when i say you have his best and worst and your opinion on him shows, i mean i think you chose to dwell on his early shittiness and then add in his best late moments, at the cost of using the gifset to show the growth that happens over the course of seasons 4-6. and i didnt really mean it as a criticism just an observation! and im not trying to fight, just wanted to explain what i was thinking, please take this in good faith. i love your blog and your thoughts and gifing talents make the buffy fandom a better place.

Hi! Thanks so much for saying that 🩷 I definitely did not think you meant to fight, so don't worry! I can be overly sensitive because the Buffy fandom tends to be overly critical of people's work, and often their criticisms are not based on the actual text of the show.

So, I just want to defend why I did that for his set, if you don't mind?

So, Xander's gifset is 18 gifs. Which, is a lot. I am not sure if you make gifsets yourself, but this takes a very, very long time. As you noted, Xander is not my favorite, but I also don't hate Xander. Having said that, I did not particularly enjoy making his set because 1) he is not a fav of mine, and 2) I knew it would flop because a lot of people do hate him. So, it did feel a bit like I was wasting my time because I knew very few people would appreciate the hard work and time I put into making the set.

As for the reasons why I chose those scenes for the set, I will walk you through it since I know you actually like Xander and would perhaps be interested in knowing my thought process behind each gif. (for anyone else who is reading this, I am referring to this set)

I start off every set with an introduction to the character, and more than likely, it's the character's introduction to Buffy, as she is the titular character and it's her show. The only exception is Tara, because while Tara is most definitely important to Buffy (especially in season 6), their development comes later on, and Tara is Willow's girlfriend. (Tara was the only romantic interest character set I did that was not for Buffy. I should also note I only did Angel for Buffy. So, two romantic interests in total.)

I chose this gif for a couple of reasons. The first was to display Xander's willingness to help Buffy, which also displays his bravery. The second was to show his toxic masculinity, how he appears to not only struggle with the idea of a woman being more important/powerful than him, but this is also a deep-rooted issue that we see a lot in the show. Given how important he is to the show, I did not feel the need to show several gifs concerning this trait because it would be overkill.

Xander's main function in the narrative is to serve as Buffy's friend, but he's also the classic "pines over the main character" trope. I thought this moment with the bracelet was sweet. It shows that he cares for her, but it also shows how awkward and nervous he is about potentially displaying those feelings.

Well, this is just a big moment for both characters. Xander, after pining for Buffy for the entire first season, finally admits to his feelings for Buffy. This takes a lot out of him.

A huge heroic moment for Xander, especially since she just rejected him. There were a lot of scenes I could've chosen, like him showing up to Angel's apartment, or him not caring about potentially dying as long as he could help Buffy. Ultimately, I chose what resulted of his bravery, ie: saving Buffy.

I chose this scene for a few reasons. The first is to show his loyalty to Buffy. Out of all the Scoobies, he is the only one to stay with Buffy the entire time she's in the hospital and he guards her room in case Angelus shows up. But, as is the case with a lot of his decisions in the first three seasons, his actions are motivated by his romantic feelings for Buffy. He hated Angel long before Angelus, and he even admits as much. This scene shows Xander's feelings and loyalty to Buffy, while also highlighting his hatred for not only Angelus, but his jealousy regarding Buffy and Angel's relationship. There is a reason why Angelus says this to Xander. He knows this will get under his skin and hurt him the most.

This is perhaps the first gif that truly just highlights his toxicity. Again, his feelings regarding Buffy/Angel and Angelus is his main narrative function in season two. There are (almost) no layers to this scene, in my opinion. He says this because he's jealous. I don't truly believe he cares all that much about Jenny for a lot of reasons, but mostly because of what happens in 7.05. Also, Buffy would never, ever want to simply erase or forget about Jenny's death, especially because of how much she loves Giles. She's also just a very compassionate person. What he says to her is simply untrue, and he only says this to hurt her because, once again, he's jealous.

I mean, this moment is too important to not include in the set. It is the worst thing he does in the entire show. So, even though it piggyback's off of the previous gif, you could say this is him putting his money where his mouth is. Before, he merely voiced his disdain for Angel/Angelus. This is him acting on it. This is him taking his jealousy to an entirely new level. This is pure selfishness.

The Scoobies really, really suck in "Dead Man's Party." They are super dismissive of Buffy's feelings and they minimize her trauma. They are all too concerned with how Buffy's disappearance impacted them, while overlooking where she's been and why she felt the need to flee to begin with. That is not to say the Scoobies's feelings shouldn't be factored in, but this scene perfectly encapsulates the messiness that is this episode. And Xander is by far the worst in this episode, so that is why his set gets the gif. Also, as stated above, Xander's character is very deeply tied to Buffy. He has a richly developed arc, but it mostly revolves around her, unlike Willow.

I tried to include more of the dialogue from this scene, but it covered his entire face and looked ugly. But I do think "I like the quiet" is powerful enough on his own. An outstanding moment for Xander. Such a great episode, overall.

This is so, so sweet and also shows you how much Xander has grown. It also highlights his emotional intelligence, which we haven't seen a lot of at this point in the series. Could this have to do with Angel leaving? Maybe. But he sees that Buffy is down, and takes the time to pick her up and support her. It's a wonderful friend moment.

I don't think this needs to be explained much. He saved the world. A courageous moment and this also displays his emotional intelligence and his ability to reach people.

I included this gif because 1) it's funny and 2) it's a good piece of exposition.

This is him reflecting on his years in high school and showing appreciation. A very good moment for him.

Supporting another Summers sister while also providing good exposition on his narrative purpose.

We all know he's the comic relief, so I thought it was best to include at least one gif that states that.

This shows his bravery once again. He lost an eye, he has no special powers, but hey, he still wants to go down fighting standing next to the woman he loves. (I still believe he is in love with Buffy. Fight me!) This scene is also reminiscent of when he followed her in 1.02, 1.12, and when he and Willow wanted to look for Buffy in 2.14.

This is a cute moment between them, and also very true. He brought Buffy back to life twice, and he also played a huge part in why she survives after Warren shot her.

So, while I agree that there's a lot of gifs from seasons 1-3, and 7, I think this set accurately encapsulates his function within the show's narrative. I did not include any gif from season 5, it is the only season that did not get a gif. And I thought a lot about that season. I could have included his relationship with Anya, or maybe his career taking off, but I just don't think that is as important as his relationship with Buffy and Willow.

If you look at Willow's set, for instance, there's a lot from season 6 because that's her season. I think Xander serves the narrative more in the early seasons, and in the final season, which is where he's at his best.

I did my best with the set, and I think I did a good job, even if you maybe don't agree with me. I hope you have a better understanding of the set now!

[writerfae]

Happy birthday, Henry!

Today's fact of the day made me feel really bad for Aiden. (In a good way, but you know)

I just imagine him on the first birthday after Henry left trying to cheer himself up by saying: more cake for me, but it obviously doesn't work.

In honor of Henry's birthday, I wanted to ask what would have happened if he had been raised by Cameron?

And since this is a very angsty question (I presume), here's something more lighthearted:

Do you think Henry ever just looks up at the sky when Aiden does something needlessly reckless/ self sacrificial and asks whatever entity created them (*cough* you *cough*) how much of this is the abandonment issues and how much of it is just simply Aiden?

Hello! Henry said thank you. And then went back to sitting in the corner crying because he read today’s Henry fact of the day (he only found out today).

I have often thought about what would be if Henry was raised by Cameron instead.

In fact, that’s exactly what I meant when I once said that given the circumstances, Henry would stand on the other side of the story. I think he’d be a quite different person too.

First, he’d grow up a lot less loved. While I believe that in his own twisted way Cameron cares for his son, he wouldn’t be a very present much less loving dad.

There’d be other people showing him affection, but in general his childhood would be a lot more disciplined and a lot more cold and distant, what in return I think would make him more cold and distant too (or like, bad at emotions).

Deep down though I think Henry would still be kind. That’s just too deeply rooted in his character to be erased even through Cameron. At least he’d be much more merciful than his father, though he would often mask it.

Cameron would train his son ever since he was little to fight so Henry would be very good at it. His father would be proud (not like he would say it) but also a bit jealous cause Henry is more skilled and also more intelligent like in general.

Of course giving his connection Henry would also be a knight of the alder in this scenario. One of their best even.

He’d still be a good talker, someone with radiance, so he’d probably have a pretty high position with them.

And more than that (that’s kinda a spoiler but whatever) - he would’ve been raised to be the sacrifice for the Alderking’s reawakening and he’d probably knew it, thinking it’s his purpose and destiny.

Being raised as a fae would probably also mean that his magic would be stronger and better trained, I think Nyx would teach him.

His relationship to both Aiden and Callan would change too, of course.

If Henry met Aiden as a knight and knew he was his half-brother he’d probably hate him at first. After all he got to live a happy life with their mom while she abandoned Henry (that’s what he’d be told at least).

But Aiden would still try to get along and get Henry away from the knights. I’m sure he’d manage to get Henry to talk and even get him to open up to him.

As for Callan, there’s two options: either they never got to meet or they met at a feast by chance. Maybe they would start a secret friendship or they’d both be secretly crush on each other but both knowing it can’t be.

A Henry who was raised by Cameron and also be a knight that was only born to be used (be it as a weapon or a sacrifice) would be much like canon Henry in the human world: unhappy but too loyal to his family to do something about it.

So maybe he wouldn’t be so different after all, he’d just be a bit less emotional intelligent and quite a difficult opponent to deal with for Aiden and co.

Also yeah, I think Henry curses me the gods at least once a week for making Aiden do things that give him a heart attack. The poor soul really didn’t know what he did to deserve this.

[favefandomimagines]

Couples Therapy (b.b.)

Summary: Dr. Raynor decides to bring you in to Bucky’s therapy session to resolve some of the deep rooted issues the two of you had

AN: i love bucky with my whole heart but sad/angry bucky is such good fic fuel and i lowkey was inspired by a tiktok i saw but i can’t remember the creator

You and Bucky had a complicated history. And that was putting it rather lightly. Steve had recruited you and Natasha to track down the Winter Solider before realizing it was Bucky. 

And not only was HYDRA wanting to wipe out Steve, they needed you gone too. You were the only obvious threat to not only HYDRA, but to their asset as well. Your powers were something from a different universe to them and if they couldn’t have you as a weapon, you needed to be stopped. 

Bucky had tried to kill you on multiple occasions while he was still under HYDRA’s mind control. It wasn’t until you and Steve found him in Bucharest did you get to see just how broken the man really was. 

You helped him get to Wakanda rather than being thrown in an American prison. T’Challa asked you to stay, to give Bucky a sense of familiarity while in Wakanda. You were there when he came out of cryo and you helped him navigate a seemingly normal life.

After everything that had happened to the two of you, you wanted to break down the walls he had built up over so long and he actually let you. An actual relationship had developed between the two of you when everything was simple. He told you how grateful he was for you, how he didn’t know if he could fully recover if you weren’t there to help him. 

But it all went to hell very quickly. It seemed he wanted nothing to do with you after a few months of sharing an apartment together, trying to start over. You tried and made an effort to see if he wanted or needed help, but you received nothing but low grumbles and head shakes.

It was hard to accept the fact that the man you were in love with, wanted to basically cut you out of his life. It hurt you more than you thought it would, so you stopped trying. 

Bucky expected to get another text from you one morning after you got to work, and that text never came. Later in the evening, just before 9:00, you would usually make him a cup of tea to calm his nerves. That cup of tea was also absent from Bucky’s evening routine. 

You even stopped leaving food on the counter when you knew he was very prone to skipping breakfast in the morning. 

Dr. Raynor, Bucky’s therapist, noticed a change in his behavior. He was more irritable than before and the sound of your name made him tense up. 

“James, what’s going on with Y/N?” She asked. “What do you mean?” He asked before clenching his jaw. “I mean, how come every time we talk about her you get upset?” She questioned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky said. 

“Alright, we’re going to try something.” Dr. Raynor said, standing up from her chair. She opened the door to her office and gestured to someone in the waiting room.

When she came back, you followed behind her, which caused Bucky to sit up straight. “Y-Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asked. “Dr. Raynor asked me to come.” You answered, avoiding looking at him directly. 

You sat down at the very end of the couch, but even then it felt like you were too close. 

“What seems to be going on with the two of you?” Dr. Raynor questioned. “Nothing, we’re fine.” Bucky answered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Y/N?” She asked. 

You were quiet for a moment, feeling Bucky’s eyes practically burning a hole in the side of your head. But he wasn’t communicating with you anymore. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed you off. Now, he was forced to listen to you. 

“We are far from fine.” You said. “Elaborate, please, Y/N.” Dr. Raynor said. “Ever since we came back from the blip we haven’t been the same. He doesn’t talk to me, we barely have a meal together and if we do it’s in complete silence.” You explained. “Y/N, that’s not true.” Bucky replied. 

“James, let her talk.” Dr. Raynor told him. “I understand what he’s going through. Spending years of your life as another person is obviously going to change you but we don’t speak. We live together, in the same apartment, and yet this is the most we’ve talked in weeks.” You said. 

“You never start the conversation, that’s why.” Bucky commented. You turned to look at him, giving him the most incredulous look. “I have, James. You push me away. I can’t keep doing this, how the hell do you expect me to keep loving you if you won’t love me back?” You snapped, eyes welling up with tears. 

The room fell into a tension filled silence before you stood up. “I think I should go. Thank you, Dr. Raynor.” You said, head down trying to keep your composure.

You walked out of the room and kept in your feelings until you get to your car. Letting out all of the frustration, anger and sadness as you hit your steering wheel a few times. That was no doubt going to cause your hand to bruise but in that moment you didn’t care.

Bucky returned home shortly after Dr. Raynor had ended the session for the day and you had not arrived. All of your belongings were still there, which was a good sign. You hadn’t left him just yet and maybe there was time for him to fix things.

It was around 9:00 that evening and you still hadn’t returned home. Bucky’s mind went to the worst case scenario as to where you would be. Did you get hurt? Did you actually leave without getting your stuff? Were you with someone else? 

He continued pacing the floor when he heard the front door unlock. Bucky watched you walk in the door and stopped in the middle of the living room. 

“Where have you been? It’s been hours, I thought something bad happened to you.” He scolded you. “Oh so now you care?” You commented. “Can we talk? About what happened today?” He asked. 

You placed your keys on the counter as you sighed and ran your hand through your hair. It was then Bucky saw the red and slightly blue marks on your hand. “What happened?” He asked urgently.

“I hit my steering wheel because I’m so frustrated with you and whatever we are.” You snapped. Bucky sighed lightly and you expected him to brush you off again. “No, Bucky, you are going to listen to me and you are going to talk to me. This relationship is as one sided as it gets and I’m sick of it. I’m tired of having to make you love me, it shouldn’t be like that. We should be each other’s constants, not wanting to get away from each other. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say it.” You ranted. 

“I do want to be with you, Y/N. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. I don’t have an excuse for pushing you away. I’m struggling trying to get back to normal and make amends. I’m so sorry, doll. I never meant to hurt you.” Bucky said. 

You looked at him in a stunned silence, deciding what would be best for the two of you. You wanted to be with Bucky, you loved him but you couldn’t be in a relationship where there was no communication.

“Then you need to talk to me, Buck. We can’t keep going on like this. It’s not okay.” You said. “I will. Whenever there is something bothering me, I will tell you. I will listen to you, I won’t brush you off because I don’t feel like having the conversation. I promise I can fix this.” He said.

You looked at him for a moment, trying to find any sign of an empty promise but you couldn’t see any sign of one. 

“Okay, if we can do that, we will be okay.” You said. “Good because I can’t do this without you.” Bucky. said quietly. You gave him a warm smile before he walked closer to you and pulled you tightly into him. “I’m sorry, doll.” He whispered. “It’s okay.” You whispered back. 

Bucky pressed a light kiss on the top of your head as he just held on to you. 

[jilytho]

if only in my dreams

Lily has been having some dreams about James but of course that in no way means she has any feelings for him of any kind

Read below or on AO3 or FFNT

The dreams started about a month into October of Seventh Year. They started slow at first and innocent enough, fun little dreams of the Marauders and Lily’s friends all sat near the fire playing Exploding Snap or chatting at dinner. Slowly, however, they started to shift. Instead of it being all of their friends together, they began to focus in on just her and James. Sometimes they were outlandish and artificial the way dreams could be, like the one where she was a star quidditch player and was playing his team but all of the other teammates were octopuses, or the one where Paul McCartney was their Transfiguration Professor. Fun and ridiculous and clearly too dreamlike to be of any real consequence to her but certainly notable. Yet other times they were so completely and utterly simplistic, domestic even. Calm and casual, just them sitting and laughing and holding hands. Everytime one of those occurred, Lily would wake up feeling content, at peace almost. Then the realization set in and the contentment quickly turned to horror. Those were the scariest dreams of all.

After the first few she was able to write them off as a coincidence, simply neurons firing in her brain as a way of dealing with spending so much time with him during the day as co-heads. Especially as they became friends over those first few months, it was really simple and logical, just her brain dealing with him being so present in her life and working it out as she slept. Considering it’d been years of them fighting and screaming, the sudden shift to friendship and laughing was obviously a lot to process.

The dreams didn’t occur every single night, at least not at first, more like once or twice a week at max. Just enough for her to spend some time thinking about them during a boring Ancient Runes class and processing them, but certainly not enough to cause any real worry or concern over her well being.

Even when they increased in frequency, from twice a week to six times a week plus that one time she zoned out and started daydreaming during History of Magic (which didn’t really count because he was sitting next to her and smelled so good of course it was going to leech into her dreams). It wasn’t hard to rationalize those either. It was completely logical that she’d daydream about lying on the Quidditch pitch alongside James, looking up at the stars together, hands intertwined, because after all they had stood near each other in Astronomy that day and he had pointed out Venus’s moons to her. It was natural, truly.

And it wasn’t difficult at all to make the connections between that day at lunch when she’d almost tripped but he’d caught her with a strong arm wrapped around her waist with that evening, when she had dreamt that same arm was wrapped around her tightly as she sat in front of him on the back of his broomstick as they flew over the school.

They were just dreams. Harmless imaginings of the imagination and the kind of stuff that was covered in day one of Petunia’s psychology courses at muggle Uni. Easily explainable and not in anyway shape or form telling of any real emotions she’d possibly be having.

Except that considering how simple and natural some of the dreams felt, she occasionally started mixing up what had happened between dream James and Lily and real life James and Lily. Was it real James or dream James that had brushed her hand while passing a quill in Transfiguration and set a wild blaze of electricity firing all up and down her arm? Did she actually hear real James’s breath hitch when she had brushed against him while reaching for the bottle of scalamander eyelashes during potions? Was it real James or dream James that she had stood so close to, close enough to feel his chest rising and falling against her as they hid from Filch in a cupboard?

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise (but of course it still was) when the dreams turned a little more… intimate. When instead of dreaming of lunch in the Great Hall, the scene began to shift to lunch in the Three Broomsticks, just the two of them, followed by hand holding through the streets of Hogsmeade.

Friday night escalated things to nightmare level. Lily had been studying in the common room with Dorcas when the team returned from practice, led by James. Sweaty, grass stained, hair mussed, quidditch gear wearing, James. Lily felt her throat tighten and heart accelerate. His eyes landed on her and instantly smirked, nudging Marlene to point them out before the pair of them headed straight towards her.

“Evans, Meadows,” Lily’s mouth was too dry to respond. She nodded weakly as Marlene flopped down next to her and looked at her strangely.

That image of him haunted her, snuck deep into her subconscious, permeated her thoughts and took root there to flood her dreams. Filled them with him, sweaty and red, but for a reason far different from quidditch, leaning over her, whispering into her ear while she gripped his shoulders and left scratches in a trail down his back.

She couldn’t meet his eye the next day at breakfast.

This process seemed to repeat for the next several weeks: notice something about James during her waking hours that her subconscious would latch onto for the evening, wake up embarrassed, flushed, unsatisfied, and try her hardest to ignore him and stop the cycle. She never succeeded.

The night that really ruined her was right after they’d been partnered in defense. When she’d struggled with the incantation and he’d placed his fingers overtop of hers to show the correct positioning. When she felt how strong and flexible his hand was, how warm and long and rough his calloused fingers were. She felt shivers up and down her neck as he breathed closely to her, smelled mint on his breath, smelled the warm musk that was just so James.

All night she twisted and turned in her sleep, feeling those fingers trace up and down her arms, down her chest, twisting and lapping around the valley of her breast, circling each bud, pushing lower and lower, carving out waves of electricity as they squeezed her hips until she could just feel his fingers circling her clit. She could feel the callouses, could see him smirking at her as he’d bring his head down to meet his fingers, following the same trail of his fingers with his mouth, leaving a series of kisses across her skin.

She’d woken in a tangle of sheets sticking to the sweat on her skin, his name on the edge of her lips.

It’d taken a long, ice cold shower, to clear her head successfully. She stood in the freezing water attempting to justify the dream as just a way for her subconscious to deal with the fact that her close friend was decidedly fit. She tried desperately to cling to the idea of the dreams being a symptom of teenage hormones. However, in spite of her most sincere attempts, it was becoming shockingly clear that the dreams were much more a symptom of her real, genuine feelings for James. Romantic feelings. Spurts of butterflies and rampaging elephants that flooded her heart when he smiled. The fact that he could make her feel so on edge with excitement and anticipation when she saw him coming yet also immediately comfortable and the ability to talk to him about anything.

But she missed her chance. He’d been into her before, sure, but that was long over now. He’d essentially told her as much back in September, when he asked for a ceasefire now that they were both Heads. He’d told her he had grown up and would stop asking her out and bothering her if they could be civil, wasn’t that admitting that he’d left any possible romantic feelings for her behind him? He was over her. He was over her and it wasn’t his problem that she’d just now begun to realize how very badly she wanted him, all of him. She’d just get past it too.

How she was going to possibly get over him when his every waking action filtered through her dreams each night was the real issue. Her fingers were beginning to go numb from the frigid water, nearly shaking as she reached to turn the water off.

She wrapped her towel around her tightly, sheltering her like armour as she met her reflection in the mirror. Cheeks still flushed.

“Get over it,” she whispered to herself. She’d avoid him. That was the best solution. The only way to remove him from her dreams was to remove him from her waking moments as well. It’d be hard to avoid him forever, but at the very least she couldn’t be alone with him. Groups would be safer.

XXX

The next several days were difficult. Filled with eyes flitting away, nodding answers to his questions that had clearly been asked to engage in a conversation, ducking into bathrooms as he came down the corridor, and in a moment of absolute desperation brought on when she saw him standing there waiting for her in the doorway after potions, clearly attempting to walk with her which was essentially an ambush, and she had no choice but to strike up a conversation with Slughorn on the merits of using crushed salamander spleens verses the ever controversial chopped spleens. He’d gone on for about six minutes before James had given up and moved on to lunch, Lily counted to thirty before cutting Slughorn off and dashing away.

In the end she lasted three days of almost complete avoidance. He found her in the library. She’d done her best at hiding, choosing to study in the dusty Arithmancy section that maximum one person and one ghost seemed to visit per year and the table needed a solid Scourgify charm before she was able to sit down. She’d made it through half of her Charms essay before his hands slammed down on the table.

“Lily, I need to talk to you.”

His voice was tense and without looking up she could envision his rigid shoulders and sharp jaw looming over her. Her grip tightened on her quill as she set her shoulders and took a breath.

“Little busy right now, can it wait?”

He scoffed and pulled back the chair opposite her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not avoiding,” she squeaked, sneaking a glance up to see his gaze locked in on her and quickly averted her eyes back down. “Just busy, very, very busy.”

She could feel the eye roll.

He reached out across the table and closed the textbook she’d been reading from with a thump, forcing her to meet his eyeline with a glare that he unflinchingly met with his own.

“You can’t prove anything,” she crossed her arms across her chest.

“The only proof I needed I got when you suddenly, desperately had to talk to Flitwick about the best technique for forging charms which we all know you mastered three years ago. Or when you needed to discuss that stupid Salamandar debate with Slughorn that was clearly boring even you stale.”

He stated it all dryly, matter of fact, leaving no room for question or debate. They sat there silently for 93 seconds (she counted) as James leaned back in his chair, a vision of casual confidence.

“Fine!” She broke first. “I’m avoiding you. Are you happy? Are we done here now?”

He barked out a laugh, dropping his hands onto the table and folding them together. “We’ll be done when you explain whatever it is I did that made being around me so awful when we were just getting to a place where I thought we were friends, or at the very least capable of being in the same room and having a civil conversation.”

“I think it's time I go.” She pushed all her stuff into her rucksack hastily, hearing an ink well shatter as she did, and practically running to the door. One of the only benefits of the Arithmancy section is that it at least had a fast exit route, away from the main drag of tables, up the side of the aisles. She could hear James scrambling out of his chair and running to catch up with her but she refused to look back, getting as close to running as she could without risking the wrath of Madam Pince.

She was so close to the exit, the taste of freedom on the tip of her tongue. If she could just get out of the library, she could go left out of view and hide in an alcove until he passed or gave up looking. From then it’d be a simple matter of hiding away in her dorm for the next two to six days before she felt capable of facing him. She was rounding the corner to the exit, nodding tightly to Pince, when she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist and yank her into the nearest aisle.

She stared longingly over her shoulder at the exit as it disappeared as James pulled her along, weaving through aisles. Past Charms, past their table in Arithmancy, straight through Potions, all the way deep into the Divination section where the dust on the books appeared to be older than Lily and James combined.

It was there he finally stopped. Pulling her to the center of the aisle and standing strong in front of her.

It was silent for a tic as she stood there counting the seconds, mentally hoping that if she stayed quiet long enough, James would give up and leave.

Instead he cleared his throat. The noise was jarring in the otherwise silent aisle and without thinking her head turned on its own accord away from the dusty tombs to meet his eyes instead. Big mistake. His eyes were positively smoldering, a storm of hazel and gold glaring down at her. She’d always loved his eyes.

“What?” she bit out, forcing herself to break eye contact and stare somewhere around his shoulder instead.

“Start talking, Evans.”

His shoulders looked solid, no way she could charge past them. The way his shirt was pulling taut across them made her wonder if they’d feel as solid as they appeared and how’d they feel on her hands if she dug her nails into them while she-

She ripped her eyes away from his shoulders and down to his shoes instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, studying his laces and fidgeting slightly.

He scoffed and brought his free hand to her chin to tilt her gaze up to meet his once more. There were the eyes again.

“It’s a little late for all that, Lily.” He spoke slowly and quietly, as if she was a young deer he was worried would scamper off. “Now talk to me or I swear to god I’ll learn Occlumency just to get a peek at what you’re thinking about up there.”

Well that was a horrifying thought. Her brain reeled through all the images he’d see if he had actually taken a peek, his body pressing hot up against her, the two of them sitting in a sunlit field, picking dandelions, him wiping away a butterbeer mustache off her top lip as they laughed in the Three Broomsticks, him winning the Quidditch Cup and picking her up to spin her around in front of everyone.

“There,” he whispered accusingly, “that blush all over you right now? You’re hiding something from me, Evans, and that ends right now.” The tone was soft but the words were strong, gaze remaining level with her own, eyes searching her own as if the answer was written within them.

“I’ve been having dreams,” she blurted out, too flustered to be aware of her words and instantly regretting that they had come out. Her insides shrank as she squirmed under his gaze, shifting her weight.

He held steady, keeping his hand still tight on her wrist, not allowing her to move more than a breath away.

“What kind of dreams?” Nothing had changed in his voice, still controlled and level.

“I don’t know!” she snapped out, voice far louder than his own, “the embarrassing kind, okay? Are we done?” She twisted her wrist out of his own, somewhat surprised when he allowed her to. She was free, a part of her knew she should run right now and make her grand escape but a much larger part wanted to see what James would say, do, now that the truth was coming out.

She could practically see his wheels turning, mentally piecing together her words with her actions and the ramifications of it all. He was being too quiet, taking too long, and the words were boiling up in her now, desperate to fill the silence.

“They’re just dreams, okay? They don’t actually mean anything, it’s really not that big of a deal even,” she insisted, repeating the words she had spent the last several weeks telling herself out loud for the first time.

“If they don’t mean anything, why are you still blushing like that? And why would I be avoiding me? And what kind of dreams are the embarrassing ones exactly?” His brow was furrowed and a hand was rooted in his hair.

“They’re just stupid and random and unrealistic,” she spluttered, feeling the blush reach down to her toes.

“So tell me about one!” He demanded, “what happened in the most recent one? Did I kill you or something?”

“Oh please you don’t get it at all, you buffoon.” The embarrassment quickly was turning into rage and the words were pouring out.. “You didn’t kill me, you kissed me. Okay? More than kissed me really. You happy now?”

James was decidedly not happy. His expression turned only more incredulous with each passing second as her words took effect on him. His left hand dropped from her wrist to join his right firmly rooted in his hair, pulling and twisting.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for a response, a realization, a reaction, anything. But instead he just stood there. Dumbfounded or disgusted or downright confused.

The seconds ticked by and her discomfort level rose as each one passed. The rage faded back to embarrassment and formed tears pricking at the back of her eyes, blinking furiously and squeezing her nails into her palms to try and stop any from leaking out.

“Are you going to say anything or just stand there ripping out your hair?”

He continued to stare, unmoving.

“Goodbye, James,” she spat out, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and pushing straight through him.

She heard him splutter something and got about six steps ahead before hearing his thundering steps behind her catching up to her. She pushed ahead until she felt his hand grip her shoulder and turn her around again

There was a scream on the tip of her tongue as she was pulled around to face him. “What, Jam-”

Her exclamations were silenced as he pushed his lips down onto hers. She hesitated for a moment in shock before throwing her arm around his neck and pulling him against her, leaning up on her tiptoes and responding enthusiastically. His hand from her shoulder pushed up to caress her cheek, other hand pressing hard and unforgiving into her hip.

“Was it like that?” The words were a whisper, hot against her face, barely a breath of space between them. “In your dream, was it like that?”

She barely nodded before pulling his lips back down to meet hers.

It was harsh and unyielding and not the kind of first kiss she had ever imagined for them but was certainly something taken right out of her dreams. She felt his hand tilting her head, adjusting their angle to fit perfect against each other as his tongue reached out to meet hers. Hot and heady and unbelievably perfect.

She didn’t notice them turning until her back was pushed up against the shelf. Corners and spines of the dusty volumes pressing up against her barely registering when there was so much of him to feel up against her. His scent surrounding her entirely, permeating the air around her until all she could think, smell, feel was just him.

He pulled back again, still barely a centimeter away and clearly reluctant to do so. “Wait, wait,” he heaved, “what exactly about a dream like that is ‘unrealistic’?”

She stammered unintelligibly for a moment, head filled with fog and fist curling tighter in the fabric of his shirt to anchor herself and him next to each other, “I just meant that we were friends now and you didn’t want to be…. you know.”

He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, “enlighten me.”

“With me! Romantically speaking!” Her cheeks burned again, and eyes flitted down to where her hand was twisting his shirt.

Until she heard laughter. Actual laughter. One quick look at his face confirmed it, James Potter was actually laughing at her.

“Dear God, Evans,” he brought his hand to caress her cheek, thumb tracing her lower lip. “Evans, if I ever, and I mean ever, say I don’t want to be with you ‘romantically speaking’ you might as well Avada me right then and there because that is clearly an imposter.”

He didn’t give her a second to respond, crashing his lips back down onto hers.

And then he was snogging her again, harder. This instantly shut down her brain, eliminating the potential to analyze the implications of what he had just said because of course there would be time for analysis later but right now, in this moment, there was no time for that. There was no time for that because James Potter was snogging her in the depths of the library and it was so much better than any dream she’d ever had. She had no idea how long they’d stood there snogging, hands pulling hair and bruising skin and leaving her so utterly weak in the knees that she became vehemently grateful for the support of his arm around her back and the shelf she was leaning on. Minutes, hours, days, years, until she was so out of breath that she was practically sighing against his lips as they both slowed down, exhausted but so unwilling to separate, lips still brushing as they breathed in and out.

Her eyes remained closed and she pressed their heads together, lips no more than a centimeter apart.

“Hey Evans?” He sighed out, kissing her again chastely.

She hummed in response, rubbing her nose against his lightly and pushing up for one of those chaste kisses of her own, feeling his glasses press into her nose.

“Go out with me?”

[spandexinspace]

Tie That Binds

Nura isn’t prone to sneaking up on people. She doesn’t try to walk quietly, her heels clicking against the floor, and she doesn’t care if the door to the lab makes a swishing sound as it opens. Considering that Querl doesn’t even look up as she enters she doesn’t exactly have to anyway.

She’s sure he knows it’s her though. Probably rigged his ring to detect who enters the lab or something equally asocial. She watches him work for a while, hunched over a worktable and seemingly fully occupied with assembling something that’s blocked out by his back. His hair hangs around his head like a veil of gold, obscuring what little she might otherwise have been able to see of his face.

And so, her mission starts.

Nura crosses the room and places her hands on his shoulders. She can feel his muscles tense up beneath her fingers and see the way he raises his shoulders ever so slightly and stills his hand. Surely he knows it’s her, but as always his discomfort seems rooted in something deeper than unfamiliarity. She runs her hands up his shoulders and gently pushes his hair, just long enough to fall a couple of centimetres below his collarbones, towards his back.

Without actually moving much at all he glances back at her and scowls.

“What do you want, Nal?” His voice sounds scratchy and tired. His eyes a ringed dark green and she feels a pang of pity for him.

“I’m just making sure you look at least a little bit presentable.” Nura combs her fingers through his hair, carefully working out any knots as she goes along.

“Why?” The tension in him seems to ease ever so slightly, his shoulders dropping down to a more normal level of high strung. To her surprise his hair is mostly smooth, obviously not treated with any particular care or fancy products judging by the faint smell of standard issue soap, but also not neglected. She would almost have expected him to not pay attention to it, but he has always upheld some basic level of personal care. Normally she wouldn’t find that particularly impressive, but knowing what she knows about him, and guessing what she doesn’t, she feels like it warrants some praise. She’s not sure she’d been able to do the same under those circumstances.

“Because we’re respectable superheroes and we need to look the part. I’m simply helping you achieve that.” She doesn’t really know why he let his hair grow out after keeping it short and neat for as long as she’s known him, but she knows that he doesn’t know what to do with it. She gathers his hair into a low ponytail, wraps one hand around it and slides a white hair tie off her wrist and over it. She twists it once, which seems to leave it tight enough to stay in place. "There you go, neat and tidy," she says, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. Under the bright lab lights the silvery threads in the tie sparkle amicably. "I didn't ask for this." Querl seems to spring back into motion the second her hands leave him, turning around to glare at her with about as much fervour as a sullen child. "You didn't have to, I foresaw it." Not true, but the deep sigh and eye roll it earns her makes it too funny to pass up. Nura pulls out the rest of the hair ties, a mix of glittery whites and purples, and throws them onto his work table. "You’re welcome, just tell me if you need any more help," she coos as she turns to leave.

He never thanks her. Not that she expects him to, he seems to have a hard enough time thanking people for solicited help. He keeps wearing the ties though and she considers that at least something of a win.

[pla-teau]

WANDAVISION SERIES FINALE THOUGHTS

WHOEVER’S CUTTING ONIONS NEEDS TO S T O P.

hayward | i was one of the many few who really wished death on the man cause he’s just the worst. this man emptied his clip at two children. i’m glad jimmy was able to pull a fast one on this dick and that darcy hit him with the ice cream truck and very happy to see the man being taken away in cuffs.

vision vs. vision | while i would’ve enjoyed seeing them fight it out until one completely lost, it wouldn’t be vision without some philosophic conversation. it’s true vision fashion. he doesn’t fight unless it’s a last resort. he’s logical and can assess other means in which to deter a foe. truly enjoyed the scene and now i’m just curious as to where tf white vision yeeted off to after regaining the memories from hex!vision? some have speculated possibly wakanda since that is the place where he died. twice. i would love to see him possibly interact with shuri since she would’ve appeared in the memory montage that hex!vision provided him with alongside other events from infinity war.

agatha (aka not mephisto) | overall, i loved agatha as a character and i’m glad she wasn’t killed off by the end of the series. i know she was more villainous in the show but i’m glad they somewhat neutralized her even if it was by cruel punishment brought upon by wanda to keep her trapped in westview as a nosy neighbor. it keeps the door open for us to see more interactions between her and wanda. i’m also glad that she was the foe wanda had to go against. i know many (like myself) speculated mephisto would appear and be revealed but i’m happy i was wrong about that. this is the first entry into phase four and to spill out a big bad right away? probably not the best move. i know ant-man 3 is planning on introducing kang the conqueror so i wouldn’t be shocked if mephisto is used as a red herring to distract us from the actual big bad of the phase, kang the conqueror (while still keeping mephisto around obviously for future battles and possibly use him as a big bad down the road).

family is forever | i was sobbing when seeing the hex start shrinking down in the distance outside the boys’ window. i love that wanda and vision made the move to put them to bed as a way of saying goodbye so they wouldn’t have to see them disappear. i hope to see these same boys come back cause i think no matter what your theory was on them, viewers fell in love with them. if planning for young avengers, i cannot wait to see them be a part of it. given that these boys weren’t real and not actually wanda’s children, i think they’ll go the route that they’ll find each other even if not as a blood related family but reincarnations that know that wanda was their mother in one instance and see her as a mother figure (alongside their actual mothers, of course). i just love them and i really wish they stuck around but i know this won’t be the last time we see them!

wanda’s outfit | i love it and i think pays homage to her comic book costume while still fitting the aesthetic of wanda and the mcu. love the attention to detail and the pattern on her headpiece. someone on here also pointed out in a post how it resembles magneto’s suit and it makes me love it more because of that. in conclusion, this is the scarlet witch and she’s hot.

wanda and vision’s farewell | if i was sobbing at billy and tommy’s fate, i was wailing by the time these two started saying goodbye. we learn that the main reason vision was able to be created the way he was by wanda was because of the mind stone. while she is the scarlet witch, she was exposed to and enhanced by the mind stone that ended up becoming vision. like she said, it’s a part of her. he lives on in her and overall, this scene just cemented that these two are meant to be together. they are going to be that power couple in the mcu moving forward, together or apart. we know these two are meant for each other and have so much love for each other and will find their way back always. while they may change, the one thing you can bet your ass on is that they fucking love each other.

ralph bohner | the twist that no one saw coming - peter is ralph. it’s clear that he was being controlled by agatha because the moment monica took off the necklace, he woke up from her spell. a lot of people are swirling around to say that he’s probably woo’s missing person. we don’t know that and it’s something that’s left unconfirmed. while i would’ve enjoyed the reveal to be peter actually being peter from the x-men universe, i’m also happy he isn’t. yes there was a lot of fanfare and hope for this series to introduce the multiverse but in retrospect, it would’ve been too much to throw at us at the beginning of phase four. throwing in the multiverse right away would’ve taken away from the series being about wanda (separate point i’ll get to at the end). do hope to see evan peters in a future mcu project, though!

wanda’s story moving forward | i hope wanda becomes a sort of anti-hero for the future. this does set up her appearance in doctor strange 2 and i can’t wait to see what she does. while agatha said she’s destined to destroy the world and her power exceeds the sorcerer supreme’s, i hope the writers don’t make wanda into this villain that loses her logic because of extreme power. wanda has proven agatha wrong already by acknowledging the error in her ways. when she realized she was hurting the people of westview, she let them go and stopped hurting them. she learned that yes, she is hurting them without knowing so what she has to do is let them go. wanda has learned throughout her years with the avengers the consequences her powers can have on people. we know she’s never been trained by a witch and yes, that makes her dangerous with her chaos magic. the second post credit scene shows us that she’s determined to teach herself even if it’s through the darkhold. in seeing what she’s done and the power she holds, i think wanda will be this gray moral character. she holds a great deal of power, the most powerful being on the planet at the moment, and that can cloud her judgement at times. despite being an avenger, this show has really shown us that wanda is alone. while she was with the avengers, what have they really done? they kept her in check and helped her utilize her powers for good but then when civil war happened, she was detained and treated like a weapon of mass destruction. the avengers are clearly nonexistent and those that are around, haven’t bothered with her. i also hope that this new phase of marvel kinda tears down the original avengers and their actions because while intentions were good, not everything or everyone was perfect and there’s consequences. and i hope those consequences are shown through the main characters of this phase like wanda.

the complaints | while i loved this show so so much, i did have some issues. while i enjoyed that this show fleshed out more of wanda’s past, i’m sad that they didn’t confirm or at least try to make wanda jewish since they completely erased her romani roots from the comics. this goes back to my whole thing with representation which i’ve mentioned before in response to an article. while i love elizabeth olsen’s portrayal and care she has for wanda, a romani actress still should’ve been cast from the beginning. the least they could’ve done was at least make her jewish even if ever so subtly because that is the other half of wanda’s identity, even if it’s been retconned often. if they are never going to confirm her as magneto’s daughter in the mcu, at least honor that aspect of her identity if you’ve erased one major one already. representation matters and i wish they tried to do right by the character since they clearly paid close attention to other aspects of her comic book history and took a deep dive into her mental health. come at me for these thoughts but i’ll stand by them. another is just directed at the press for the show (i’m looking at you paul bettany). while fans went ham on the theories and marvel will do anything to misdirect you, i think there should’ve been a clear up from marvel about bettany’s claims of a big cameo coming in the series when it was about himself. i get you don’t want to spoil the show and the big surprises it may hold for the audience but still. i think there should’ve been someone behind the scenes or bettany’s publicist could’ve kinda told him to stop hinting at a super duper big cameo. yes, fans got carried away but i think when you’re doing press for marvel, it should be somewhat common knowledge that fans are going to analyze and try to figure out wtf is gonna happen. it’s fun theorizing, don’t get me wrong but when it’s gone the way it has for this show, i think it leaves a lot of people unsatisfied. i’ll admit i was being a clown thinking i’d see patrick stewart as professor x again since he’s an actor paul’s never worked with before and would be a huge fan service for the audience like in the mandalorian season finale. tldr; crazy fan theories comes with the territory. my final grievance actually has to do with the set up for monica’s engineer. i was also hoping we’d someone big or someone that could be big in the future, possibly it was a skrull at the end but the tone and way monica talked about it, i think it was underwhelming to see a character that we came not to care too much about.

final thoughts | overall, i loved this show and it was refreshing to see marvel embrace the magical side of their universe as it continues to expand. the cast was amazing. everyone in the cast and crew deserve awards because this really gave us a show about wanda. i think a lot of people lost that (including myself) with all the theorizing; goes back to my complaint about press for the show. it gave us a show that dealt with trauma and grief in a way we haven’t seen before in marvel’s cinematic universe. i’ll admit i didn’t care much for wanda as i did with the others but this show made me care for her a lot more and made me a bigger fan of her and vision’s story. it grounded itself in dealing with wanda’s grief and trauma in a new way while also exploring her character more. so i’m happy that we didn’t get a super big cameo or that the multiverse wasn’t confirmed because then the tone and attention would’ve shifted away from this story being about her. i hope marvel can give us shows like this that make us care about a character’s emotions and feelings rather than just how cool and badass they look in a suit. it was clear that the cast and crew made this with such love and care that had good storytelling and kept us on edge every week. i hope that marvel can show us these types of stories and ranges from characters in future movies as well.

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Good Together

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 9,300 (sorry!)

Summary: You and Bucky have a very tumultuous relationship -- but you’re good together.

Warnings: Smut!! Angst maybe.

A/N: Inspired by “Good Together” by SHY Martin. This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think and I’m so sorry if this is terrible!! Just let me knoowwww also sorry for making it so long!

...

I've been working on myself and on my patience But sometimes that shit don't come easy And I see you've been tryin' your best to give me explanations But words don't really cut it lately

“Buck, would you just listen to me,” you spat, emphasizing the last three words, shaking your hands in significance. He continued calmly putting the dishes away; you knew it was a façade: his relaxed shoulders, plain face, raised eyebrows – all a ruse to make him look like a victim. “Turn around.”

He spun quickly on his heel, still holding the clean plate in his hand, facing you with a strong tone of expectation: expectation that you had something really fucking good to say if you had to interrupt him putting the dishes away, especially since you ask him every day to help out with the chores. “Yes, dear?”

You rolled your eyes almost immediately as the term of less-than-endearment slipped off his tongue. “Listen to what I’m saying – ”

“I can multitask, (Y/N), thank you very much.” He continues on his merry way unloading the dishwasher, turning his back to you once again.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An inhale and exhale through your mouth; so quiet yet you’re sure he heard you. Focus, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes and finding your peace. He wants you to snap. You took another deep breath, craning your neck in a circle, listening as the top of your vertebrae cracks with a loud pop! “All I’m saying,” you begin smoothly, “is that you need to stop acting like a baby.”

He scoffs, eyebrows raising in doubt. “What part of this is being a baby, (Y/N); enlighten me.” Patronizing fuck.

You swore that talking to him took more patience than raising a puppy – hell, at least the puppy would learn to listen to you. “You’re always like acting like the victim; such a martyr. I try to bring up one thing with you – have an adult discussion – and suddenly you act like it’s all my fault and that I’m crazy? Like I’m the bad guy here.”

You can feel him roll his eyes through the back of his head. He shrugs. “Look, (Y/N), all I was saying was that you were bitchin’ over nothin’ – all I did was apologize.”

You actually laughed arrogantly, reminding him what he stated earlier, laying the sarcasm on as heavily as he did: “oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that I have eyes and like to use them to look around.” You narrowed your eyes at him, finally gaining his full attention as he fisted the cutlery. “Sorry, how does having eyes justify you eye-fucking the girl behind me?”

“I wasn’t even staring – ”

And you snapped. In his defense, you maybe sounded a little shrill when you flipped out at him; your voice did, in fact, raise about twelve octaves. “You were literally undressing her with your eyes, James.” You threw up your hands in the air, exaggerating a groan as your head dropped back. “You probably have x-ray vision, don’t you?” You accused, almost jokingly. But as he narrowed his eyes as he hesitated to say something back, searching his mind for the proper response – but you were too fast. “You fucking do, don’t you, you piece of shit. Of course – ”

The sound of shattering glass cut you off immediately. You opened your eyes and straightened your stance to be faced with Bucky, butter knife in his hand, and a plate, split perfectly in half, sitting on the counter beside him. His blue eyes were squeezed tight in control, his flesh hand gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles had gone white. You stared at the porcelain dinner plate, feignedly wondering if that’s what he wanted to do to you.

Deep down, you knew he would never lay a hand on you; he always insisted on throwing or breaking something when he became so frustrated with his anger – with you. He’d gone so far as to throw a lamp at the wall (in the opposite direction of you, of course); thus, showing his intention to release his anger and not an intention to hurt you. The two of you had been working on different ways to channel his anger; however, as he stated: he was used to a life of destruction, so that’s how he vented. He found that it got the job done: it got you to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have x-ray vision, don’t be a child about it.” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially considering how he still hadn’t put the knife down. “I wasn’t even starting. I glanced at her – in her direction.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, though. That’s the issue that he didn’t comprehend. You let out a sigh, speaking calmer than you had all night. “Bucky, I’m just sick of having this same conversation, please,” you pleaded, taking a step closer. He remained silent and still, eyeing you as you approached him. “I feel like I’m not asking for much.” Stop staring at other girls while you’re on a date with me: not much. It was not only infuriating, it was embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting the knife on the counter beside the pieces of plate, turning his head down. “I didn’t mean to be doing it. I just get distracted.” His voice was quiet, almost child-like as it rose in inflection.

You were torn. You could believe what he was saying, hoping that this time he’d actually be telling the truth: you knew he had a short attention span, and he did have a tendency to space out a lot. But you were caught between believing that and the fact he had spaced out in the direction of a girl with a significantly low-cut blouse. These other times, he liked to play the victim-card, blaming his less-than-appealing tendencies on his poorer qualities that, technically, nobody could refute him having.

You’d learned to read through his words, though. And this time, it was the latter.

Remember when our love was precious We thought what we had was the best, yeah Now every answer's a question Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now

Your fights had grown frequent.

Your relationship had grown volatile.

Not that it wasn’t based on your tumultuous roots – but it had just gotten so much worse lately.

This relationship started off fairly normal, however, the cherished affair the two of you shared quickly became tainted through the media. Countless news outlets had gotten word of the coupling instantaneously, leaving the two of you swamped with paparazzi and yelling passerby’s every time either of you left your houses. It was quite the shock that James Buchanan Barnes had a girlfriend – a regular girlfriend, too; a non-Avenger. People were quick to sell you out, too. Close friends and even some family selling information about your relationship (and even just material about you) to make a quick buck.

It had gotten the best of the both of you early on. Bucky was tired of being constantly followed and photographed. He was a man who had grown used to solitude and, while he was slowly but surely adapting to twenty-first century life and everything that came along with that, all of the flashing lights and constant yelling made him want to climb into a hole and live in the dark forever.

You, similarly, were extremely unaccustomed to this. Suddenly, you were on the cover of magazines, reading articles about yourself in People & Us magazines, scrolling through stories of yourself on Snapchat. Old friends, people from college, even some work colleagues sold stories about you to the tabloids. Maybe some of the resentment that you held towards them reflected upon Bucky. You didn’t think about it often, but maybe there was a correlation – an unfair correlation, obviously. Your hatred on the outside world didn’t equate to hatred towards Bucky, but you still aimed it towards him quite a bit.

Bucky, never slow to defend himself, returned said animosity right back at you. The two of you picked each other apart until you were both bloody and raw.

Tonight was no different.

The entire evening, meant to be romantic, turned into a fight. You both intended for event at Stark Industries to be uneventful: a night of mingling with friends, reminiscing in old stories, and drinking expensive champagne. It started off halfway decent, that is, until you started meeting more of the people that worked at the Tower.

You had no problem hanging out with the rest of the Avengers – especially Sam, who you bonded with through teasing Bucky (nothing but love, of course), but when it came to meeting a couple other supporting agents, you were a little out of you element.

Take, for example, Agent Toller, who came up to you and Bucky early on, greeting him kindly with a hug and introducing herself to you with a handshake.  “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)! Bucky’s told me so much about you!” You smiled genuinely at her statement, responding and continuing the conversation. It, of course, came to a point where she slung her arm around his and stated matter-of-factly: “You better keep him locked up. I know a lot of ladies wanting to get their hands on him.”

Your lungs deflated. Including herself, apparently. “I’ll do my best,” you reply through gritted teeth.

Then there was Agent Rivers, who straight off the bat ignored you. She came up to Bucky telling him she finally mastered the thigh-grip, a move, she later clarified, made notorious through Black Widow. “All that time in the gym finally paid off, huh,” Bucky teased.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she beamed back, touching a hand to his arm.

He rolled his eyes playfully, chuckling. “Please, just playing the dummy – as usual.”

She merrily smacked his arm, grinning. “Don’t say that, Buck.”

You stood next to Bucky, staring up at the man blankly. Rivers trotted off once she caught wind of you glaring at Bucky. Plucking another glass of champagne from the passing server, you took a long sip, finally asking: “So, Buck, what would be your part in her mastering this thigh grip?” It was a bit condescending, a little irked, and extremely sarcastic. The image of her perfect legs around your boyfriends neck did not sit right with you.

Was he more of a flirt than you remembered? It had been ages since he’s properly flirted with you. It was nothing to get angsty about; its not like you had anything to truly worry about. He came home every evening, spent the night in your bed with you; save for when he went on missions, but surely, he wasn’t accompanied by any women you had to worry about, at least – Natasha and Wanda had your full confidence. But it wasn’t the women that bothered you; you shouldn’t have to worry about Bucky. No matter how many beautiful, strong, talented women flirted with him, he should shut them down – not flirt back literally in front of you.

A few more introductions played out exactly like that, so a few more glasses of champagne were necessary for you to get through the evening. At one point you actually started having a good time. You’d left Bucky to chat with the boys while you found sanctuary in your girlfriends off to the side. You were able to air out your grievances, confidential information falling onto open ears. They took your mind off it by bringing up their own drama, in which you all openly made jokes and critiques, the liquor now fully streaming through all of your bloodstreams.

Once the party started to clear out and even some of the Avengers began to leave, Bucky swooped by your pow-wow and wrapped his arm around your waist, whispering a quiet “ready to go?” in your ear. You and Bucky walked out with Sam and his girlfriend, chatting casually.

As you expected, as soon as the pair spilt off from you two, everything fell silent. Not the good silent: the silence that swirled around you two as your gazed at stars together, the silence as you laid napping in each other’s arms on the couch, the silence that comforted him after a nightmare, accompanied by your fingers curling through his hair. No; this was the silence filled with tension; it was the kind of silence that you’d rather die than have to ride home in the car with him not talking to you.

You bit your lip when you brought it up.

He actually laughed, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his lap. He turned his head to you momentarily, a glint in his eye as his smile mocked you. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They’re all throwing themselves at you!” You clarify, exasperated, throwing your hands in your lap, turning towards him underneath your seatbelt.

“I can’t help that, can I?” He shrugged it off, turning back to the road, reclining farther in his seat, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Smug bastard.

“Yes, James. It’s called personal space and we all have it.” You spoke slowly, enunciating each work clearly. “It would really kill you to tell these girls to stop touching you?” He pulled into a parking spot in front of your apartment and got out of the car without even letting you finish. You followed suit, trialing him up the few steps to the front door. “Every single woman you talked to had her hands all over you.”

He shoves the door open, leaving it wide open for you. “I wasn’t touching them, was I?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back. He groaned and pulled at the tips, acting as if any sort of physical torture would be more preferable to this conversation. “No, my hand was on you the whole entire time, (Y/N). It’s not an issue.”

You slammed the door, crossing your arms over your chest. “Really?” You questioned, tone and volume raising significantly. “So, you don’t care about them touching you in front of your girlfriend? It’s not an issue? Forget it just pissing me off – you don’t think that was fucking embarrassing for me?”

He shrugged earnestly, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

Taking a page out of his book, you pick up the closest thing in arms-length: the half-empty wine bottle you’d left on the table from earlier. You don’t intentionally aim for Bucky, but maybe you weren’t seeing as clearly as you thought you were. It narrowly swipes past him as you drive it into the wall, only marginally missing him because he took a step sideways. His eyes are wide momentarily, turning his head from the large red splotch dripping down the white wall back to focus on you. Instantly, his posture changes: he’s standing upright, more alert – no longer seeing you as annoying instead of nonthreatening; his chest puffs out, his eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a firm line as he glowers at you. “What. The. Fuck.” His teeth are barred, the words coming out bitterly.

“Oh,” you scoffed, unable to hide the smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t like it when I do it to you?” If you were in his position, you’d want to slap yourself. You were only taunting the beast, speaking to him in such a patronizing tone. You couldn’t help yourself, though; it was finally a taste of his own medicine: to be treated like a child. You bit your lip, trying to smother the smile pulling your lips as you watched with half-lidded eyes as he strutted towards you.

“You don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in challenge. “Says who?”

He stares down at you, another stride forward, consuming all the space left between the both of you. Taking one more step, he backs you into the wall. Your shoulder blades make contact with the cold plaster. “I do.” His voice was rough, about six octaves lower than usual, volume barely above a whisper, yet so much anger in his tone. You laugh, breathing out, sneering at him. “You better wipe that smile off those pretty little lips.” His voice did not waver; there was no inflection nor cadence of amusement.

Your smirk does not faulter. “Make me.” His metal hand snakes around the base of your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck. He watches in amusement as your smile quickly drops into an open mouth, gasping as you struggle to take in a sharp breath in shock.

His hips press into yours, hip bones jamming into each other’s. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in closer to you, chest against chest. “Not so funny now, is it, baby?”

You and me we never say we're sorry Hands around my body Fucking 'til we're good Fucking 'til we're good And we promise we'll do better Both go down together Fucking 'til we're good

You stare up at him under your eyelashes and focus all your energy on inhaling and exhaling through your nose – this wasn’t your first rodeo.

He watches you, jaw tense, flexing at the sharp contour under his ears. You feel his angered breath as it warms the air over your nose. He grinds his hips up against yours, just moving ever so slightly, pushing his thigh in between your legs. You narrow your eyes at him, clenching your own jaw and huffing out a sharp breath. Your hands flew up to his metal forearm to have something you could hold onto as your oxygen left your lungs.

He leans in once again to whisper in your ear. “What’s that, baby?” He coos condescendingly. He kisses the spot just under your earlobe, the sensitive skin sending a jolt through your body. He trails a few more kisses under your jaw, just above his hand; each kiss becoming progressively longer and sloppier. He makes his way to your other ear, now pressing his lips right up against the cartilage. “You got more to say to me?” His metal fingers and his left leg. His thigh hitches farther up, you’re now practically sitting on his leg – trying to stabilize yourself on your tiptoes. His fingers squeeze your throat, causing you to shut your eyes as you release the breath from your lungs with a whine. He hums in response – you can feel his smile pressing into your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes open at the sudden loss of contact as his grip loosens and he shifts back in front of you, face-to-face. He stares at you through the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose in front of his face, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. You imagine you looked the same way, completely disheveled, staring up at him with nothing but desire. Your legs clench around his thigh, pulling yourself farther down onto his muscle-bound leg.

Bucky leans down, slowly diving in for the kiss.

But he stops too soon, his bottom lip just brushing yours. You try to meet him halfway, struggling against the sturdy grip on your throat. You can’t help but groan, eyebrows pulling together in need as he beams down at your joyfully. “You wanna tell me what you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” you whine, hips now moving ever so slightly against his thigh. You couldn’t move much, considering you were barely balanced on there, but you could manage.

“Touch you?” He questioned, quickly swooping forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely. As soon as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, he tore himself far enough from your lips to speak in a hushed tone: “Touch you like those girls were touching me?”

Fuck. Immediately without thinking, you release his forearm where your hands previously rested, pushing back on his chest as hard as you absolutely could. He stumbled back a couple steps, completely taken off guard. God, you were so hot when you were aggressive like that. He loved pushing you to your breaking point: to the point where you’d begin to assert yourself towards him. He loved when you stood up to him, reeling in anger, just so he could take charge and show you who was boss.

It was an adrenaline rush for him.

For you, too.

You stood before him, fists clenched in rage, staring at him. He was just barely smirking, eyelids half shut, a hungry look on his face. Ever the challenge, he would conquer you.

You nearly jumped when he pounced, taking him up against you, legs twined around his back, arms locked behind his neck. His tongue was hot on yours, meeting in a seething hot kiss. His hands immediately palmed at your ass underneath your cocktail dress that had now ridden up to pool at your waist.

As he began up the stairs towards the bedroom, you broke the kiss – with a displeased groan from Bucky – and laid a sloppy trail of kisses and licks along his throat and to his ear. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw (his weak spot), touching your tongue to his hot skin, following it with another kiss. His steps stuttered, his knees buckling as he took the next step. He groaned deep somewhere in the back of his throat, pinching your ass, a quick slap ensuing afterwards as he regained his footing and kicked open the bedroom door.

He tossed you on the bed, wasting no time in grabbing the back collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and onto the floor in one swift motion, completely disregarding the row of buttons sewed along the front. You took the hint, shimmying off your tight dress while laying on the mattress. He followed suit with his pants and underwear off next. As soon as the cool bedroom air hit his body, he was throwing himself on top of you, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and unhooking your bra. He discarded your underwear next, pitching it over his shoulder, fingers immediately finding your pussy and sinking in.

He took you by surprise, eyes squeezing shut and knees involuntarily closing together. Bucky used his hand to hold one leg down, prying them apart completely. He looked between his hand – his fingers pushing in and out of you completely soaked – and your face – eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open. He didn’t know which view he liked better. “Shit, baby, you been this wet the whole time?”

That was the thing about Bucky – he was a talker. If he wasn’t egging you on, then he was filling the room with his vulgar commentary and dirty talk. He added another finger, pumping in and out of you faster, obscene sounds blocking out anything and everything he said. He moved his metal hand from your knee to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, contrasting to his other movements. His metal hand was great – sensitive, temperature resistant; better than his flesh hand – but, god, there was something about feeling your wet cunt on his own skin drove him crazy.

You gasped, quickly biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm. “Oh yeah, baby? That feel good?” He huffed, thumb whirling on your clit faster. He hunched to lay a kiss on your breast, meeting you hallway sitting-up to capture his lips with yours. You released the sheets you’d been clutching, instead opting to fist his hair, pulling his mouth hungrily to yours. As your body throbbed and your pussy clenched around his fingers, you moan into his mouth, falling back onto the bed.

Bucky sat upright on the bed and watched you as you laid on the bed completely blissed out; hair splayed across the mattress around your head, chest heaving up and down, legs shut – shaking ­– but knees pulled together, arms once pulling taught at his hair now limp on either side of you.

He waited patiently for about forty-five seconds for you to open your eyes. As soon as you did – without enough time for your eyes to even focus on him, he grabbed your waist, flipping you on the bed, gripping your hips to pull you ass to his face. He truly was a face-down ass-up kind of guy. Not that you minded.

You squeaked, burying your face in the sheets as his hand slapped your ass; his palm following to rub away the burning hot sensation it left behind. You felt his tongue drag a long line up from your clit to your tight hole, taking extra note to curl inside your leaking pussy.

Bucky wasted no more time in straightening up and giving his cock a few pumps, smearing his precum all the way down to the base. He grabbed your hip in one hand, guiding his dick to drive into you with the other. He sighed, your soaking wet, tight cunt squeezing him as he pounded into you from behind. He took hold of both your hips, balancing himself on his knees, pulling you backwards on his dick as he rifled his hips forward.

His momentum drove him forward, nearly folding on top of you, your ass pushed dangerously high in the air, tits and face pressed firmly into the mattress, muffling the sounds that escaped you every time the tip of his cock drove into you. His metal hand remained gripping your hipbone, his other palm pressing flat into the curve at the small of your back, pressing your arch deeper and ass further up as your ribcage met the top of the mattress.

He pounded relentlessly into you, the tiniest change in position making your pussy even tighter around him. “Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Take my fucking dick, baby.” You couldn’t help but release a short breathy moan every time his dick brushed against the very edge of your cervix.

Bucky gathered a fistful of your hair in his metal hand, half slipping out, the other half tangled dangerously in between the death grip of his fingers. He hauled you up, causing you to yelp as you tried desperately to push yourself up. He never let go of your hair, instead using it as a vice to keep your back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest, yelping as he did so.

The pain subsided quickly as his other hand found your still sensitive clit, rubbing it with fast, loose circles. You dropped your head, no longer resisting him pulling it back, falling against his shoulder. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed, driving his dick upwards into your wet cunt; the soft pants you made egging him on.

He waited until he could sense your orgasm – feeling your muscles clench, your body stiffen, temperature rise – before he let himself cum, pumping thick ropes of his cum deep into you. His fingers didn’t stop working on your clit – in fact, they moved even faster even harder. You came with a shriek, his hand finally releasing your hair, allowing you to drop forward onto the mattress.

You didn’t move – couldn’t move – but Bucky followed suit, hovering lowly over you, pressing kisses down your spine, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy around his dick still warm inside of you.

We don't do no, we don't do no conversations We don't talk the way we used to You act like we're all good sometimes, you know I hate it 'Cause it's so obvious it ain't true

“Hey, Buck,” you called from the kitchen as he walked through the front door. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even look in your remote direction. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys on the table, and walked directly past you to grab a snack from the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” you mention, watching as he already began devouring the left-over chicken legs from the other day.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he had a bad day. You continued chopping the onion, minding your business, silently cursing him out. He can’t even give you a simple hello back? Yes, a bad day makes anyone want to come home and eat a whole meal, but does it really give him the excuse to eat a whole meal right as you’re working on dinner in front of him? If you knew his plan was to eat cold chicken for dinner, you would’ve gone out to eat by yourself instead of making supper for the both of you.

As you started working on mincing the garlic, you mulled over last nights’ events. The two of you had it out, sure, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d fought, made up, even cuddled when you went to sleep. Now today he was going to flat out ignore you with no rhyme or reason. Unless something did happen – something regarding his coworkers? It wouldn’t be impossible, you thought to yourself, bitterly slamming the knife on the cutting board.

“Can you chill with that?” Bucky grumbled, finally looking in your direction, mouth full as he spoke to you in an irritated tone.

“I’m chill,” you mumbled, scraping the contents of the chopping block into the pan, a sizzle filling the silence that now washed over the two of you.

“What’s your problem?” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he took another bite.

“You’re my fucking problem.” You earnestly didn’t mean for him to hear it; if it weren’t for his goddamn super soldier hearing, he wouldn’t have.

He sighed heavily. “What did I do? I’ve been home all of two-minutes.”

You abandoned your pan, turning on your heel to face him. “You’re always ignoring me.”

“What?” He questioned, dropping the container on the counter and raising his hands up. “I can’t enjoy silence anymore? Do you want me to hate every aspect of my life?” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting what he said, but lacking the filter to be able to stop himself. He just wanted for once to be able to have a conversation – actually, he wanted for once to not have to have a conversation – but to have one without arguing would be a gift from god.

You lay the wooden spoon on the island counter between the two of you, the smell of burning onions and garlic now very fragrant in the space between you. “Damn, I wish I knew you hated your life earlier,” you sigh. He rolls his eyes, preparing a refute about how you always seem to blow things out of proportion, but you cut him off before he can open his mouth. “I would’ve left a long time ago.”

He’s the one who was always incapable of talking. One small thing ticks him off and suddenly the only thing he’s capable of doing is shutting himself in a dark room alone. He’s always shutting you out and pushing you away; and all you every try to do is something nice for him – making him dinner, offering an open ear to ramble off some steam – but he always ends up throwing your good deeds back in his face.

Not anymore.

You simply walk out the door. You took your purse, your keys, put on your shoes, and left him standing alone in the kitchen with his chicken.

Maybe it was an overreaction. However, you felt that it was fine based on how he acts like this every day. Was he doing it so you’d fight, and he could just have angry sex with you to make it okay later? Did he genuinely not want to talk to you – ever? If he really hated his life – and you in it – he would surely let you know? Unless this was the actual way he was letting you know? He didn’t call out after you, he just rolled his eyes and let you walk out the door.

Not extremely surprising, but it did hurt your feelings a bit. How could it not? The man you loved for the past two years, put up with this tumultuous relationship for, dealt with his mood swings, waited for him to come back home to you  – all that for him to tell you he hated his life? His life that you entered and made so much better; at least, that’s what you thought.

So, you gave him a day. If silence and peace was what he truly wanted, you’d give it to him. You crashed at your friend’s place that evening, taking that bumpy couch so Bucky would have his time alone.

The only issue is that he didn’t call you the next day. He didn’t call or text.

He was waiting for you to come back to him. Understandable but annoying – aggravating. You (and your friend) hatched out a plan. You waited until he left for work before you returned home, grabbing a few necessities: clothes, toothbrush, the works, and heading back out to her place. There was no doubt that he would know you were gone. This happened twice before. That you became so irritated with him that you left for the night. But you went back the next day, coming home to him lounging on the couch with not a care in the world, hindsight told you that much. You’d simply laid on top of him, his arms snaking around your waist and your face buried in his neck. He waited for you to come back because that’s what he knew you’d do.

This time, you wanted him to reach out. To see if you were okay. To see if you were coming home. You felt like the only one putting in effort and you were so tired. That effort, of course, was shown in the fights the two of you had. You might be able to pin 75% of said arguments on you; but yelling at him was the only way to get through to him. Boy, he loved to fight. You’d honestly never seen him show off such emotion. You brought everything up – the other women all over him, his attitude problems, everything that bothered you. But he never said anything to you. He was so apathetic towards you that he barely spoke to you anymore. He didn’t ask how your day was, he didn’t get jealous when another guy flirted with you, he didn’t even respond to you saying hello – he was completely apathetic.

You waited four days: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Monday, actually, you called in sick for work. You were caught between sobbing to your friend about how much Bucky didn’t care about you and wanting to show up to the Avengers Tower with your fists clenched and a certain red-headed Russian spy to back you up. There was no word from him. He obviously saw some of your things were missing; hell, he probably knew exactly where you were, too. He just didn’t do anything about it.

He obviously didn’t care, so you wouldn’t either.

So good together Maybe I'm crazy Maybe we're crazy No one loves me better Than you, you, you, you

It was clear that you were broken up. Neither of you said anything, but you slowly started to move out of your shared apartment, taking small amounts every day while he was at work until you were fully moved out and into the spare bedroom at your sister’s place on the other side of the city. It made your commute to work a little harder, now having to take two trains and walk a couple blocks; but you learned to appreciate the city, the architecture, the weather. Living with her was great – she was a built-in friend; but it wasn’t living with Bucky.

You were a little heartbroken – maybe more bitter. He just let you go without a fight.

Without a single word.

It was four months of binge-eating, wine-drinking and moping around about Bucky before you had a date. The date itself was fine. The guy was cute enough, funny enough, sweet enough. Your sister convinced you to go out with him again. You almost used him just to take your mind off Bucky. You felt bad about it, but he technically knew you and Bucky dated not long ago.

Everybody knew. It was in the tabloids. They photographed the two of you separately. They connected the dots after they hadn’t seen you and him together for a few weeks. Instead, they only got photos of you or him doing mundane things: you grocery shopping, Bucky going for a run around Central Park; you sitting on the train on your way home from work, Bucky saving the world.

Although you never grew to like having paparazzi take photos of your every step, you’d grown accustomed to it. You never made the front page or headline news, more reserved to as a style-guide or just a few Buzzfeed articles about yourself. Bucky, however, made headlines a lot. You had to speed walk past the newspaper and magazine stands around the city because you didn’t want to see him: whether he was decked out in armor, fighting bad guys, or simply smiling alongside Steve and Sam as they enjoyed one rare night out – you didn’t want to know about any of it.

You continued to see Oliver, almost seriously now, but trying to see past the whole using-him-as-a-rebound mentality. You’d gone on a few more dates, and, before you knew it, he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. He was awkward in a cute sort of way – couldn’t be more of the polar opposite of Bucky.

Bucky had a demanding, intimidating presence; Oliver stood lanky and slender. Bucky was every bit of tall-dark-and-handsome; Oliver was fair and pale. Bucky’s attitude read toxic, masculine, and provocative; Oliver read like a nerdy-teenager, meekly quiet.

While there was nothing wrong with Oliver, he just wasn’t Bucky.

There was another aspect in which Oliver didn’t hold a candle to Bucky.

In. The. Bedroom.

You may not have been in love with Oliver, but, damn, after six months a bitch gets horny. It was fine at first, you were going to throw a dog a bone and not judge him too much the first round. After all, he was genuinely nice and seemed to care about you a lot, so you weren’t about to crush his heart just because he couldn’t make you cum the first time.

You’d grown to a certain level of intimacy with Bucky. One minute you could be making love – softly, sensually; the next minute he could be choking you and fucking you senseless. A long time was spent building the light affection between the two of you, before either of you even got comfortable with the toxicity and animosity that surrounded you – that egged you on, riling each other up until it was too much and you’d just explode. And maybe that was your problem. Each of you had too much pride and hidden hostility that it engulfed you. You’d lost touch with your younger selves. That became your downfall.

You tried not to think about it too much. Especially when you were in Oliver’s bed and he was kissing your neck. Exactly the position you were in at that exact moment.

His lips were sucking a hickey on your neck as he fucked you slowly. You laid flat on the bed, his elbows bent on either side of your ribcage, head tucked under your jaw. “You like that?” He whispered, dragging his hand down your stomach, fingers desperately trying to find your clit.

You laid there like a dead fish. There was no way you were going to be able to stand this for any longer. You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him off your body. “Let’s switch,” you suggested.

He laid down in your place, allowing you to hop on, reverse cowgirl, fucking yourself the way you wanted.

Bucky liked it when you did that. And you liked the way that Bucky would’ve let you use his dick to get yourself off, smacking your ass along the way, spurring you on. “Fuck, I love it when you ride me like this, baby,” he’d groan, snapping his hips up to match yours.

Oliver stayed quiet, breathing heavily as he watched your perky ass bounce up and down in front of him. You were just getting into rhythm when he began to groan behind you. No, no, no, please. One more minute, you begged, cadence not faltering. Before long – before you came­ – Oliver finished, leaving you with no other choice than to lay on the bed beside him. He pressed a breathless kiss to your lips. “That was amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “Did you cum?”

Yeah fucking right. You kissed him again, humming in neither confirmation nor opposition. He got up and shimmied to the bathroom to dispose of the used condom. You shut your eyes and nearly face-palmed yourself.

God, Bucky had ruined you.

Ruined your emotions, your life, your perception of love.

Ruined you for any other man.

So, laying in Oliver’s bed, unsatisfied, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d want to off yourself if Bucky slept with someone else – especially Toller or Rivers. You were broken up. It had been months – nearly a year. Hell, even you were technically sleeping with someone else.

But just the thought of him treating someone else the way he did you – pulling her hair, fucking her, eating her out, making her scream his name like it was the only word she knew – it devastated you.

You promise yourself not to ask and never to find out.

If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? If it isn't love, tell me why do we feel so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? So good together

You broke up with Oliver that night. It was better for everyone.

You felt it best to take this time to focus on yourself. Hell, you spent your whole past relationship focusing on Bucky, you spent all of your time with Oliver focusing on how he wasn’t Bucky.

This was about you. It was about your career, your health, your sanity.

Your broken heart.

No matter how hard you threw yourself into your work, how much you worked out, how much you refined your cooking, how many self-help books you read – you felt empty.

You got promoted at work, you built your confidence up, your pallet refined, you loved yourself more than you ever had – something was still missing.

And that’s how you ended up with your phone ringing against your ear, Bucky sitting silently on the other end.

He agreed to meet you. As you walked up the stairs from the subways station, your heartstrings tightened as you walked around your old neighborhood. It had been a year since you’d really been back here; you’d passed through occasionally, but never wanted to take your time travelling down the streets, as it was too painful. There were too many memories of you and Bucky walking hand-in-hand down these streets.

You strolled down your old block, stopping in front of your old apartment. Books and plants cluttered the front windowsill, CDs stacked along the side, bright lights shining across the windowpane, a shadow cast over the glass.

Of course Bucky sold the place. You left. He had no reason to keep it. He had a place at the Tower. He had people there. He had a life there.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing the collar of your coat higher around your neck, shielding yourself from the cold New York winter evening. You turned the corner at the end of the block, seeking shelter in the coffee shop. Bucky agreed to meet you here; it was neutral ground for the both of you. You’d had plenty of dates there, Sundays spent catching up on work and getting coffee. There were no bad memories here, no fights, no fowl words, no animosity. Only hand holding, hot coffee, and shy smiles passed from over the small tables.

You pulled open the door to the shop, sighing in relief as the warm air hit your cheeks. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

There he sat, fifteen minutes earlier than you planned, wrapped in that navy-blue sweater you loved – you loved to wear – waiting for you. You couldn’t feel your legs. You couldn’t take a step forward.

You barely recognized him. Obviously, you’d never miss him. He just looked so different. His hair was cut – short. He was clean shaven. He was a completely different man.

He stared you up and down. You looked good, he could tell even with your thick winter jacket and tall boots. He missed your face, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smell – everything. He waited for you to walk over to the table; it took about two more minutes of you staring at him before you even made your first step closer.

You finally took a seat at the opposite side of his table, a large latte already waiting for you. Your hands were shaking as your held it against the porcelain cup. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His handsome blue eyes. His chestnut locks brushed back nearly away from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones and jawline. You loved his long hair, you loved grabbing it, you loved the way it hung in his eyes, contrasting his blue eyes; it made him look so edgy. But this Bucky. Ladies’ man, charming, mesmerizing. You’d only seen pictures of Bucky like this, but you couldn’t believe how alluring he actually looked in real life.

Bucky with long hair would fuck you raw until you screamed yourself raw – Bucky with short hair would smile while doing it.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice failing you as you dropped your eyes to your latte.

You saw him nod at you from under your eyelashes. He lifted his own coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip before clearing his throat, gaining his full attention. You bit your bottom lip, staring at him wide-eyed. “So…” he began softly, giving you a half smile. “You’re the one that called me here.”

You stared blankly at him. He was right. It had been over a year and you’d called him up. Why? The answer escaped even your own mind. You didn’t know what compelled you to call him or what your plan was going to be once you actually sat down in front of him. “I guess…” you sighed loudly, dropping your eyes again. “I – I was wondering…” You lost your voice again.

“Why I never called?” He finished for you. He looked sad, once you finally gained the courage to raise your head again. He stared blankly at you, very matter-of-factly. You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He confirmed your nod with one of his own, taking another sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think I should drag you down anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like old times. “Stop playing the victim, James. That’s why I walked.” You took the first sip of your latte, cooled now after it had been sitting out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but you were right. Just like old times. He shrugged casually, trying to keep his cards close to his chest. “I just thought you’d be better off without me.” He stops himself from reaching across the table and taking your hand. “And that’s being honest.”

You nodded, processing his words. “We weren’t good for each other, huh,” you muttered over the rim of your glass.

“It was kind of toxic,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle following after. He tugged his knit sleeve farther up his arm, flexing it behind his head and pulling at the tips of his hair at the top of his neck.

“You hair looks nice,” you throw in, filling the silence that had fallen between you.

“Thanks. Just needed a change-up,” he replied, dropping his hand to the tabletop.

You nodded softly. You leaving his life wasn’t enough change? “I just wanted you to want me to come back,” you blurt. That’s the change you were waiting for.

He slowly let out his breath, shifting in his chair. His eyebrows raised at the accusation. “I don’t know how you could think that I didn’t want you back.”

“Buy you didn’t say anything,” you protested, laying your hands on the table, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Every time I left – you never tried to call, text – nothing.”

He brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing his jaw firmly. It was his old habit dying hard; back when he had a beard, he used to scratch at it all the time, you used to run your fingers against it, used to revel in the feeling of it brushing roughly against your thighs. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “I didn’t know what I was doing – I was stupid. Look, I thought about what I said to you for days; Every day that you’ve been done, actually. I treated you like shit.”

“Well,” you interjected. “It goes both ways.”

Neither of you could hold back your smiles. God, you treated each other like shit. But that didn’t stop either of you from loving each other as much as you did. “A little pain with the pleasure,” he mumbled, drinking his coffee. “So, you called me just to ask me that?”

You sighed, now your turn to awkwardly scratch the back of your head. “I missed you.”

And that’s how you ended up at the Avenger’s Tower, Bucky throwing you on his bed. He laid on top of you, bringing his lips to yours. You fisted at his sweater, trying to tug it off of him, Bucky breaking off the kiss just to pull it off his back, his lips finding yours once again. You kicked off your boots as Bucky unbuttoned your jeans, making quick work pulling them off your legs. You sweater followed suit, lifting your torso off the bed so he could peel it off you. As soon as your skin was exposed, Bucky’s lips attached to your warm flesh.

He trailed his tongue and wet lips against your collarbone, trailing it down your chest, then between the valley of your breasts. He quickly pulled off your bra, throwing it on the ground beside the bed. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He continued downwards, kissing the underside of your breast and down your ribcage.

Your breath hitched as his tongue dragged across your warm slit; he let out a low moan, reveling in the taste he’d been missing for so long. His hands found your inner thighs, pushing them apart, pinning them to the bed. Your hands slid through his hair, grabbing handfuls of his chestnut locks, short strands slipping through your fingers.

He laid his tongue flat against your slit, pointing the tip to curl between your lips to taste your juice. He circled his tongue gently at your clit, his hand finding your lips, spreading open your pussy and spreading you open with two fingers. He pumped in and out of you slowly, indulging himself in your velvet cunt.

He hummed against your clit, kissing it softly before groaning into your folds. He added a third finger, joining them with his tongue as he stretched you open, licking his fingers clean afterwards. He ate you out with vigor, rapidly fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

As he continued tongue-fucking you, he pulled his fingers out, holding them up to your face. He looked up at your from over your pussy, holding his fingers to your mouth. “You taste so good, baby,” he whispered against your clit.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. You shut your eyes, swirling your tongue around his first two fingers as you sucked of the salty taste. You moaned around his fingers, Bucky’s face burying itself deeper into your pussy. As he sucked your clit, you sighed, dropping your head against the mattress and shutting your eyes tightly. You were surrounded by darkness and a sudden bright light.

He kissed your sensitive clit, kissing up your pubic bone and making his way up to your lips. “I missed your sweet pussy, baby.” You moaned, something about his low voice whispering against your lips, talking about how good you tasted that made you melt.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, fingers dragging through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I need you.”

He sighed, staring down at you. You were glowing. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glazed over and shining, skin luminous. “I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, gazing into your eyes in admiration. “And I want you to know that I’m not letting you leave again – ” he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his tongue running against your bottom lip. You parted your lips to accommodate his tongue, although he pulled away from you. “And I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Your heart was heavy as it leaped into the back of your throat. Your breathing shallowed – and it wasn’t because of Bucky’s bodyweight laying on your chest. You blinked the tears away from your eyes, willing for them to not fall in this exact moment. “I love you, James.”

After two chaste kisses to your lips, he buried his head in the crook of you neck, lining up his cock with your entrance. As he pushed into you, he sighed against your collarbone, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He bit into your shoulder, you eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bottomed out inside of you.

You hadn’t been stretched like this in so long. You felt like you could be torn in two as he impaled you. It hurt in all the best ways.

You gasped as he pulled out of you, quickly shoving back in – he bit his lip, nearly cumming in that exact moment. You were so tight, so wet. Nobody could fuck you like this – nobody could make love to you like this.

He took hold of your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, calves resting against his collarbones. He took a hold of your upper thigh with one hand, intertwining his fingers with yours in his other hand, pressing it into the mattress. He angled his hips directly on top of yours, pounding straight on top of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hot, steamy room, your sounds muffled by Bucky as he swallowed your moans.

He kissed you sloppily, his cock pulsating in your pussy, you writing underneath him – it was driving him crazy. It had been over a year since he had you under him: a squirming mess. You almost had to push him off of you – out of you – it was nearly too much. His wet lips on yours, his hot breath on your skin, his words whispered in your ear, you overly sensitive clit. This is what you’d been missing: all the pleasure that made the pain so worth it. The endless fights, the ruthless words, the meaningless fights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, it was the moment in which you both came simultaneously, in which you both silently promised each other to love each other forever – to never make the other hurt that badly again.

[that-wizard-oki]

if your up to rambling about it more, how would arc 3 have gone with morganthe there?

Alright anon, and all who happen to be interested in my damn theories... after 2 very long days, here are my... general... ideas on how Arc 3 might have gone with Morganthe present.

This is a long one my dudes. Grab a snack, take a seat, and if you make it to the end, thanks for reading. 

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Morganthe & The Wizard’s Character Foil would be the cornerstone of this arc.

Y’know how everyone talks about Zuko and Aang being one of the greatest character foils in fiction? Well, in a nutshell, I think that Khrysalis part 1 & 2 (and arguably the entire second arc) built up this wonderful relationship between Morganthe & The Wizard- one that i think could easily be just as memorable and clever as the aforementioned. 

If you’re unfamiliar with my thought’s on this idea, here’s a rundown:

All throughout arc 2, Morganthe’s dialogue towards the wizard is usually focused on things they both have in common. We’re both students of Ravenwood, both have studied under Merle Ambrose directly, we were both considered prodigies, respectively. Some other characters also bring up things here and there, most notably Tse Tse Snaketail in Mirror Lake (which, by the way… mirror lake…c’mon) who claimed “she (Morganthe) knows you better than you know yourself!” 

Azteca is when we really begin to see the foil between Morganthe and the Wizard start to be set in motion. Azteca itself is the first time I think our wizard is truly and utterly overwhelmed with obstacles- Between the impending doom of Xibalba, the raising of the Undead (once again, mind you), the revival of our last greatest foe, AND the fact that Morganthe, the puppet master behind this all, is always one step ahead of us the entire time. 

A huge moment for the Wizard IS that we fail in Azteca. This is where our wizard has to face the sting of failure, and it runs deep. While the wizard has thus far fought against evil within the Spiral for the sake of justice and protection, NOW the wizard's motivation to go after Morganthe has shifted from the general expectation to do so, to something MUCH more personal. Our desire to ensure Morganthe is defeated, is forever tied to our own sense of self worth- if we don’t defeat her, we are a failure.

 We can easily see the parallel between this and Morganthe’s motivation, which has thus far been fueled by her desire to show Merle what she’s capable of- and that she will go to the greatest length to prove so. 

In Khrysalis, we see the Wizard grow into a similar mindset. They’re much more rash in how they go about pursuing Morganthe, learning ways to try and fight her more evenly when the time comes, and eventually hunting her down. It snowballs to the point where our wizard, despite several warnings, decides to release the god of chaos under the presumption that he will aid them in their goal to defeat the shadow queen. Even more alarmingly, Spider reveals to the Wizard that Morganthe was actually infused with this great power (not stolen, like the arachna had claimed), and that the arachna had groomed her into a weapon of mass destruction by design. Despite knowing that Morganthe was just a puppet on strings this whole time, our wizard still feels that defeating her is the only way to truly avenge themselves. THIS is what Old Cob was hoping for. He WANTED the wizard to be so self absorbed in the idea that Morganthe’s very existence was something that the Spiral, that the Wizard themselves needed to be cleansed of. 

And we played right into the palm of his hand, and after we defeated her, Spider released his children and nightmares into the world. However, It is not gratifying relief we are met with. Instead, there is only a long, daunting, shadow, and it’s in our likeness.

This was a little watered down, but these parallels between Morganthe & The Wizard has always been so interesting to me, and when Arc 3 began, I was fully expecting Morganthe to return in SOME way and the wizard would have to go through a self-reflective journey WITH her in order to really come to terms with what they did, or that Cob was hurting them instead of helping.

Of course, that’s not what we got… but to answer your question now anon- what do i think Arc 3 should have been with Morganthe there, with all this in mind? 

Obviously, Morganthe and the Wizard need to have their development & closure- but let’s take a deeper look into how that would work for the both of them.

First off, Morganthe needs a reason to return. Character wise, she has a few purposes:

She was the closest one who had been connected to Old Cob. Even if most of it was him manipulating her, they shared a connection through Morganthe’s intrigue of Shadow Magic, and perhaps she had directly communicated to him at one point. 

Besides Spider himself, she probably knows more about Shadow Magic than any other being in the Spiral. She WAS the one who re-discovered the existence of Shadow Magic, after all. 

To expand on this reason, I think Morganthe might have even figured out ways to connect with her own Shadow in more uh, constructive ways, than perhaps Spider and Raven (I’ll get into this later). 

With these factors, I think Morganthe being present in Arc 3 means that she would have been a very valuable asset in helping the Wizard & crew go after Spider/Raven simultaneously.

Now, I think a really fun way to integrate Morganthe into Arc 3 more seamlessly, is to have a plot point that alludes to her still being alive. Otherwise, I don’t think the Wizard/anyone else would bother trying to revive or find her JUST for the sake of “maybe she would be helpful”.

Remember when, after we defeated Morganthe, Old Cob informed us that we had “absorbed too much of her power, and that it would consume us” and so we have to give it back to the land? 

Well, what if when we did, that “power” held her memories, her very own Shadows? And when we returned it to the land, those Memories might’ve returned to their place in time?

Take Morganthe’s memory in Wizard City for example- the one rooted in when she accidentally lost control of her powers when attempting astral spells. This specific part of her shadow, not being able to return to a physical vessel, found its way back to its place of origin. Maybe Diego, upon training students in combat, runs into issues with a “specter” of some sort haunting the battle grounds, and reports these disturbances to Ambrose. As the game normally does, Merle would reach out to us about this problem.

I think a good time frame for this to happen is after Mirage/before Empyrea- arguably, this is the Wizard at their lowest point. Mellori has just been captured, we just found out she’s Raven’s Child, and BOTH gods are now not in our favor. That way, when we investigate the Arena in WC, and find out this ‘specter’ resembles a young Morganthe, the wizard would truly feel overwhelmed with the idea of her still being alive/out there WHILE all this is happening. 

Whether we tell Merle or the Arcanum scholars first isn’t super important, but the point is that Morganthe potentially being alive is now an additional problem on top of everything else at hand. As the scholars, wizard, and perhaps Ambrose/additional characters problem solve what to do, they begin to bring up the character points I brought up earlier. I think Velma, being the shadow scholar, would mention that Morganthe WAS the shadow queen, and might be useful as a prisoner to help get information on Old Cob’s plans/biddings. I think Ione would agree, and that Morganthe could also be potentially working under him in some way, and that making sure she is a controlled variable is most important right now. The last thing the Spiral, or the wizard, needs is a wild card threat.

I think… knowing that the Wizard had just lost Mellori, and among other things, Velma would request to assist the Wizard in this task, since it is Shadow-magic related and she’s only been able to learn about this school of magic through what little has been available outside of Khrysalis. The wizard, though I think reluctant about the idea, doesn’t argue against her coming along. 

If you follow my idea that Velma had gone to Ravenwood with Morganthe, and they’d been good friends there, I think Velma coming along to investigate this matter is also important- perhaps when they both return to the Duel Arena and try to confront this memory of Morganthe’s, the wizard’s first instinct is to fight it into submission, but Velma might take a more gentle approach, as she remembers the likeliness of an old friend. 

The memory becomes more in control of itself; Seeing Velma, it was reminded of a pleasant part of itself- friendship, comradery amongst fellow wizards, instead of just abandonment and loss as it had been previously engrossed in. 

Once calmed, the Memory can “think” more clearly, and does its best to answer the inevitable questions; what are you? How did you get to wizard city? Is the “real” Morganthe still alive? And so on... Obviously the memory has a limited understanding of what they’re asking. Eventually, they piece together that there are OTHER memories out there, and they need to be found and returned back to their physical owner- Morganthe. 

I won’t go into the big details here, but they then travel to Avalon and Khrysalis, maybe even places she had been as a pirate, to find the other two missing Memories. Velma probably learns a bit more than she was expecting to, and the Wizard’s consciousness, especially when they get to the memory related to Khrysalis, starts to weigh heavy. 

Any who, these three memories are collected, and being extensions of Morganthe herself, are able to help navigate the wizard, Velma, and perhaps other Arcanum members (for safety reasons because that's the literal queen of shadow right there lads) to where her physical body resides. 

Using one of the ships in the Arcanum, they are led by the memories into the dark sea of space, not too far off from Khrysalis. Soon, they come across a swirl of rubble and shattered remnants. Weaving their way through, a cluster of fragmented glass paves the way to an abandoned vessel, sleeping gently, frozen in time and protected by her own demise. They’ve found Morganthe’s body. 

Simply put, the memories return to her, and the wizard/Velma contains her comatose body to be brought back to the Arcanum.

Once they’ve returned with Morganthe, a lot of things could happen, and since this is all just theory of something that’s already passed, I’m just gonna list off some of those things that I think would have been interesting to see, so, here goes lol (warning, this turned out to be a lot longer than anticipated I'm SORRY lol)

Morganthe would have maintained in a comatose state for at least a bit once at the Arcanum. The main issue now is figuring out what to exactly do with her now that she is alive. 

I’ve kind of enjoyed the idea that Ione/other scholars would be pushing for some sort of trial- she did technically commit genocide against the Aztecasouars, and no one but the wizard, except for MAYBE Velma since she was also retrieving her memories, knows that she was being controlled when she had done so. 

I also think the idea of a trial, something rooted in judgement, would provide an interesting setting for just allllll the damn shit to be let loose. Like Morganthe would wake, finally free of the shadow that the arachna had pumped into her body, free of Cob’s very voice in her head, only to wake to find she'd murdered an entire civilization, among defiling the dead, and is being held accountable for doing so. Everyone’s obviously against her, for good reason as they think, but the Wizard’s just here like “I know this bitch was literally forced to do these things but I never told anyone about any of that because I wanted to just believe I was right, and I still have this grudge against her for making me feel like a failure, so I kind of just want to see her imprisoned or worse” and of course you have Velma, who just got her long lost friend/childhood love back, is now faced with the possibility of losing her again, and FINALLY you’ve got MERLE who’s probably just silently taking all this in as it unfolds, since he has had a very fixed perspective on the whole ordeal and doesn’t even know what to believe. 

I don’t wanna spend too much time on the ins/outs of this idea, but generally, even if this wouldn’t have happened, the group learns (perhaps through Velma’s advocation, since I doubt the wizard would be doing it) more about Morganthe’s situation, maybe even that the wizard knew this whole time and never said anything- but the general consensus becomes that, since Morganthe isn’t working for Cob (she might even speak of how much she probably despises him for what he did to her), and because she’s so knowledgeable on Shadow Magic, it might actually be best for the Wizard and her to work together to try and rescue Mellori. 

Obviously, both of them are reluctant about this, though I think the wizard is more so. Morganthe might actually have a soft spot for the Wizard, seeing a lot of herself in them, and also having tread on similar paths. I think it would be so, so fun to see Morganthe try to connect with the wizard, but the wizard constantly shuts her down or ignores her because they don't want to admit they’re so similar. But then you have the moments where they have to help each other. Maybe it’s when both have to go into the Nexus to get Mellori back, and Morganthe has an easier time weaving through this Shadow Plane because of her experiences with it, and the Wizard really has to trust her to help lead them through it. In turn, maybe Morganthe actually struggles when they reach Ravenwood in the Nexus because it triggers those memories of being expelled and cast out, and the wizard has to help ground her so she doesn’t slip into this un-reality. Like! That feels so powerful and moving to me- that despite being used and pitted against one another by Spider, they learn to work past those false feelings and really begin to see each other eye to eye. 

Though I think it is important to bring up they are dealing with slightly different parts of their Shadows- Morganthe is a step or so ahead, having already connected with them. Now, her goal is to accept them, and while I think she has more or less accepted her three memories from earlier, the fourth one, the one of her as shadow queen, the one where she isn’t just her, but also Spider controlling her… the part she doesn’t want, but remains true. To accept her rage, her anger towards Merle that mirrored Cob’s anger about Raven- this is her true challenge for this Arc. 

Remember how I said Morganthe’s motivation in Arc 2 was to prove Merle wrong and show him that she was powerful? Well, now it’s to extract revenge on Old Cob in a similar way. Logically, she knows killing him would mean the end of the Spiral, so the struggle for her is to FIGHT against that desire, the rage, accept it, acknowledge it, and convert that energy into something that can help her and others heal from the scars of the past.

Alongside Morganthe interacting and coming to terms with herself, her shadows, everything, I think the Wizard must learn to let Shadow into their own life. Shadow is not this evil thing that they think it is- it, as Spiders is as well, a necessary part of all life in the Spiral. Instead of casting it away, we have to know that the parts of ourselves we don't like aren’t what define us, but we should see and acknowledge them so they don't consume us; which i think  the wizard is at risk of. 

Any who… that’s a lot, but ultimately, I think when we come to the end of Arc 3, to the Husk, The Wizard & Morganthe have to make the decision to completely trust in themselves and each other. As Spider said worlds ago, we are both the Children of Light & Shadow. I know Arc 3 presents the wizards at the Scion, a balancing force between Mellori and Bat, but I’m gonna be honest, I think it would be much more compelling for BOTH the wizard & Morganthe to act as this “middle ground”- Literally thus far everything about them screams yin and yang; the wizard primarily hailed as the harbinger of light, Morganthe as the umbra queen- yet they are not completely The Light or The Dark- they both have a piece in each other, they both work together, they balance each other out. 

Perhaps a stronger set up to still include Bat and Mellori is them simply realizing that they are not their parents- they do not have to do what is expected of them just because of who or what they are, they can choose to support each other as siblings, instead of taking one of their parents sides and hurting each other. They, like the wizard and Morganthe, can work together as one. 

This way too, the weight of having to be the Sole Person balancing everything all the time, ISN'T put on the wizard- it can be shared by another.

ANYWHO… I know I'm rambling a bit at this point, but similarly to Arc 3’s end, they’d work past their own desire for revenge or pride, and combine their strengths to become what we originally see the wizard transform into during the fight with the Storm Titan; a Child of Light and Shadow.

Also, here’s a few side things I’d like to see happen in this Arc, as well as the final conclusion for Morganthe’s character. 

Morganthe being protective of the Wizard, and the Wizard being protective of Mellori I stated earlier that Morganthe see’s a lot of herself in the wizard, and can feel responsible for them in some way. The same goes for the Wizard and Mellori- there’s this interesting domino effect they've got going on in terms of that, so i just think some dialogue reflecting this dynamic between the three would be fun. 

Though once Mellori and the Bat are united, Morganthe would definitely  have Some Feelings come up regarding her and her own brother. I think it would be fun for Morganthe to be extremely wary of Bat for this reason, and also because he’s the son of the God who used her power and body for his own gain. Maybe Morganthe has a sly line towards Bat, or something about her being like “I’m watching you” because she doesn’t want to see another person go through what she did with Malory. 

Also…. Morganthe helplessly being unable to call Mellori “Mellori”, and instead says “Mallory” every time because That’s Baggage! Morganthe’s like, “Wizard, we gotta get Mallory from the Nexus!” or something and everyone’s like “... you mean Mellori?” and she’s like “... that’s what i said, right?” like this shit is so, so funny to me. 

Also Morganthe eventually warms up to Bat, seeing him be a Good Older Brother in part 2. Ideally, it would also be nice to see her open up to him about Mallory, and they just have a Moment about shitty families, trust issues, having done bad things because What Else Can You Do?… god, that stuff hurts my soul. Let your Siblings Heal Kingsisle, i will not rest until they do lmao. 

Oh yea! How could i forget the biggest thing outside of the wizard/Morganthe- Merle and Morganthe! Wow do those two need some damn closure together. I’m not stuck in a definitive way that this could happen- Generally though, I think Morganthe would be avoidant of Merle at first, as she feels that she ultimately failed to do what he cast her out to do when he banished her, which was to “find her true self” and learn to control astral magic. Not only was she unable to do that, but she was unfortunately roped into the arachna, and we know the jist of what happens from there. On the other hand, Morganthe is also angry towards Merle- if he wouldn’t have banished her, and instead been patient with her powers and helped her learn, NONE of what she had to endure in Khrysalis would have happened. 

For Merle, his perception for so long was that Morganthe's endless curiosity drove her into Shadow Magic, and thus became the Shadow Queen- with this thought, his act of banishing her was justified because she was just a lost cause either way. Now, however, he’s realizing that that wasn’t the case at all- instead, she was truly trying to learn how to master astral magic and control her powers, and unfortunately others decided to take advantage of her curiosity and ability- so he’s trying to grapple with the guilt of inevitably putting her through that. 

They both are understandably scared to confront each other, and I think their avoidance would carry out through to Empyrea part 1, maybe even a bit into part 2. Again, i don’t have a definitive thing in mind (since Merle isn’t super active in arc 3 anyhow), but perhaps they’ve been put into a situation where they just simply cannot avoid one another- or maybe Morganthe’s having a hard time convincing the wizard or Ione or someone on what they should do next, Merle tries to interject, “Morganthe, perhaps-”, but Morganthe snaps at him, “ and I certainly don’t want to hear what the man that caused all of this has to say about it!” … silence fills the room, Merle taken aback, Morganthe looking him dead in the eyes, meaning what she said but regretting it as the first thing she said to him. She huffs, storms out of the room...

With just a nod to the others and the wizard, Merle leaves and follows her out, maybe she’s pacing around the end of the halls, and when she sees Merle she just starts pouring her heart out in anger. “Don’t you follow me out like that, don’t you pretend to care for me now! You couldn’t possibly understand what’s at stake here, not that you would take the time to understand anything you don’t know!” she huffs, angry with him and herself, “I know I was curious and naïve and stubborn, but where were you!? Why couldn’t you help me, why, why was the only option for you to to take the only thing I had left and send me away?” this is where her anger starts to fade and she’s becomes quieter, yet still stern, “The worst of it is that I told myself I'd do what you never could, and when I did, I’d return to prove you and everyone else who looked at me and saw a failure, a monster, wrong... but I never got that far. I only got to the point where some forgotten God of chaos decided what my ‘true self’ was for me… and like the curious, stupid little girl I was, i played right into his hand-” and here she’d become overwhelmed and start talking more specifically about her anger towards what was done in Khrysalis, ending with “and through all of it, and even now, even though I’m so, so angry at you, I still wanted you to be there for me. Why weren’t you there for me?” 

I like the imagery that, the whole time Morganthe has been unraveling her thoughts and emotions at him, Merle has been slowly moving closer and closer to her, and when she says this, she melts into his arms, sobbing- finally getting that comfort from him that she’s wanted all this time.

Merle, now holding her, begins to speak softly, “You don’t have to forgive me, but I am truly sorry for all that has transpired from my own failings. In all my years, turning you away has remained one of my deepest regrets.” This is getting a bit long, but the main points I think Merle would make in his apology towards Morganthe, is that ‘her true self’ is not something anyone, not even he, should define for herself, and that Merle thinks she has already found her true self, and that it’s not being Shadow Queen, it’s not being a puppet, it’s not being a failure or his apprentice or a monster, but being in tune with yourself- something she had started doing with her own Shadows/Memories.

Anywho. Sorry for the heavy dialogue but i think about these two everyday and just want them to HUG IT OUT MAN… AAAAA

Furthermore; I think a very fitting End for Morganthe’s character is that she, upon Merle’s request, would become a professor of Shadow Magic at Ravenwood, with the idea that she could properly introduce Shadow to wizards in a controlled environment, and help erase the stigma surrounding it. Not only do i think she’d make a great professor or teacher because of her enthusiasm towards magic, but i think it would be satisfying for her to help others who might have difficulties with magic/their powers since that was a core reason for her own suffering. Also, her and Velma are DATING and are cute shadow scholar lesbians together, it’s cute af, thank you, moving on. 

Lastly, the Wizard would have some closure, or at least tools to eventually reach closure about the things I've talked about  in this post. Hypothetically, arc 4 could have then been focused on the wizard’s self-journey to become in-tune with their shadows and memories. 

SO uh… yea i think that’s the overall ideas i had about how Arc 3 might have gone if Morganthe was a factor. I haven’t actually spent a lot of time thinking about Morganthe in arc 3 though, since the arc is now finished and we’re onto arc 4, and i always enjoy trying to implement new lore, like the sewers, into these theories, and even who or what Morganthe is- bt this was fun to revisit! I do think her being in Arc 3 would have been most fitting thus far though, so i always like coming back to the what-could-have-been ideas :’D

But yea! If you’ve made it this far… Thanks for reading lol. And if you want me to go more in depth with anything i had mentioned in this post, because some things i decided to gloss over for simplicity's sake, feel free to ask :D

Anywho…. Bye oTL

[residentlesbrarian]

The Fourth Book I Read In the Dark: Of Expectations and Other Relatabilities

Of Gryphons and Other Monsters by Shannon McGee

Hey, guys, sooooo...this is aaaawwwkward. I wrote 95% of this review when I wrote the other Books I Read in the Dark series for the blog, but the ADHD hit me and COVID was still you know...a thing! So I am gonna post this review, finished of course, OH, but also pay extra close attention to the conclusion alright! Hmm...this is a bit like a time capsule...here are my concentrated thoughts from 6 months ago while I was slightly delirious on books and darkness. So go forth and uh yeah this one is...you can just feel the feral “I haven’t had access to proper internet so I’ve been curled in the corner like Gollum with my books” energy coming off it so...enjoy?

Okay, so yeah, I really didn’t have a reason to end my last review that way I just wanted to, so sue me for injecting a little excitement into a series of posts about me literally sitting in my house reading nonstop for 2 ½ days, my reviews my rules. Back to manufacturing my own excitement shall we!

It’s Day 2! I’ve just finished my last library book, whatever will I do! I could always reread The Neverending Story for the 1,273rd time, but I have a need. A need for GAY! I rack my brain, there has to be a solution. My town is without power, my local library won’t be open, but then it hits me. It’s so simple! It’s meant to be really! Like the universe knew this was coming and it made sure I was prepared! Like a prepper stockpiling mental SPAM for my stimulus needing ADHD riddled brain! I have an entire shelf of books that I haven’t read yet! Way back in Clexacon 2019 my best friend (Lookin at you @justalifelongphase) gave me way too much money from missed birthdays and Christmases all at once before the con started because the world has deemed it impossible for us to live geographically close to one another. Anyway, I went a little book-buying-crazy and have not had the time or opportunity to read any of them since then. Their time has finally come!

I figured after going full whimsy with The Lost Coast and sci-fi superhero with Dreadnought and Sovereign why not take a dip into more traditional fantasy, also this one was first in line on the shelf, yay for not having to actually make a decision! No more dawdling, let's get right into the review!

Unicorn Rating:

Blurb: Taryn always loves and hates gryphon season. She finds the lesser gryphons more cute than anything but the ever present fear that a greater gryphon might be just out of sight is terrifying, and this gryphon season proves to be the one that will change her and her families lives forever! Just let a girl herd her sheep in peace!

Disclaimer: I will try my best to not spoil anything from the book, but my book loving rambles may give more away than a traditional review. Here we go! Ramble time!

Review:

I genuinely enjoyed this book. It took me a bit longer to get through it than the others, but I think that was a combination of three things: A. I was starting to feel the fatigue of reading so much in such a short amount of time. B. Our local Wal Mart had power restored on Day 3 and our entire household went on a trip to buy non-perishable food stuffs and I was like a solitary confinement prisoner being let out into the yard for the first time in months when my phone picked up a wifi signal and it was a bit hard to get back into the swing of reading after talking to other humans, even virtually, that weren’t imaginary or in my head. C. Our power was finally restored on the afternoon of Day 3 so yet again I was inundated with the draw of technology and all of my friend-os I hadn’t talked to, but the book had drawn me in enough I did the most unmillienial thing and left my phone in a different room to charge while I finished this book before going back to the land of technology and interwebs. That should tell you something.

McGee was able to write this story in a way that pulls you in so you care about what happens to these characters and this little mountain town. You learn just enough about the world to understand where they fit within the overall weave of it, but you aren’t given a Tolkein-esc dissertation on the world lore. I felt the worries and the fears. I was concerned when the routines had to change. I mean she made me care about the freaking sheep! Sheep, people! One of the reasons I think this works so well is we are so firmly rooted in the head of our protagonist, Taryn. Imma use that lovely bridge I just built to skip right on over the plot section of the review to get to the characters first, don’t worry we’ll circle back round to the plot. I always do, but I just wanna talk about my newest set of brain babies.

Taryn is a character that, if the title of this post is anything to go by, I found very very relatable. Now I know relatability can be pretty subjective, some people can latch onto something with the all consuming, “It me!” While others just stare on dead eyed not understanding the appeal. I feel like Taryn could be that kind of protagonist. You are either going to really relate to her or you won’t understand where she is coming from at all. I obviously fall in the former category. I was the quintessential middle child, still am really, though my relationship with my parents has shifted now that I’m an adult. More mutual respect and friendship than parent to child. I always did my best to pick up the slack, if ever there was any, and just tried my best to be as little of a burden as possible to my parents. I see so much of that aspect of myself in Taryn and how she sees her place at the farm and even in the town, she has her place and her role, but those expectations are heavy. One of those expectations being that she will inevitably get married and help take over the farm from her parents and have kids to continue the line. The fact she finds the lesser gryphons that flock near the farm far cuter than any of the local boys that she will eventually have to choose from to fulfill that inevitable expectation is just...sad at best and down right tragic at worst. And her family doesn’t help matters either. They won’t let her forget that she will have to settle down with one of these local boys, a boy who would make a good husband and take good care of her and the farm. She knows that, logically, but she also wants to be in love, like her parents, and she just doesn’t feel like that for any of the boys in town. She doesn’t know how to make those two things line up. It’s a struggle between her head, the obligation of what she has to do, and her heart, what she really wants for her future, to be happy in doing what she has to do. Wow, I went off a little bit there, but this was my long winded way of saying I have never read a protagonist that really captured the utter confusion of being raised in a heteronormative environment without it being drenched in internalized homophobia and fear. Protagonists like this seem to always know something is off but just don’t have the words for it so they just hide it because they know it’s “different” and out of the norm, but Taryn is just livin’ her sheep herding life and ain’t got no time for these boy crazy fools. She knows her mom wants her to find a good boy to court her so she can marry someday but she’s still young. She’ll think about that tomorrow, and she just repeats that ad infinitum. The thought that maybe she doesn’t fancy any of the boys because well...girls...never even occurred to her. It's not how things are done in this small mountain town, not because of homophobia reasons, but just stubborn tradition reasons. We are even told there is a gay couple living in town who are staples in the overall dynamics in town, instrumental even, but the idea of having a lineage, being able to pass your land down is so ingrained no wonder poor Taryn was so in the dark about her own probable gayness till it slapped her in the face. As someone who was raised in a medium sized Oklahoma town...girl I feel you. I was 22 and in the middle of Appalacia, way up in the mountains for college when my gay awakening popped up and said “Hello!” Everything that never quite made sense in my life came into perfect clarity. Not quite what happened with Taryn, but the arrival of Aella surely helped, as pretty girls are want to do. Oh look a segue, good, cause I could talk about Taryn for literal hours and I’ve already gabbed about her too much for this review.

Aella, you smooth motherfucker. Like I wish I could possess a quarter of the smoothness that you do. Like I’m lucky to string sentences together around a pretty girl, but here you are just strutting about being the smoothest of smooth. Honestly, I just...I can’t with you Aella. On a serious note though Aella is a character that served as showing Taryn a glimpse at the world beyond her small mountain town, as much as she had no desire to leave, unlike her brother. Nope, sit down, we’ll get to you, Michael! Oh, we’ll get to you. She’s traveled and has stories from all over and she is fairly open about the fact that she only likes girls, but she doesn’t have land, responsibilities, and a family line to continue. She just gets to live her life the way she choses. And y’all know I am a sap for the hard dark characters that are totally softies underneath that rough exterior. I think Aella was a great foil to Taryn and great at showing her what she could have if she was willing to leave, to stretch what she was allowed to wish for, but of course the biggest issue with her wishing for anything was...Michael.

Michael was such an interesting character. I loved him. I hated him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to punch him. Again as with the town and the people of the town I was so deep seated in Taryn’s head and feelings that her conflicted feelings about Michael and how he was acting became my feelings on the matter. Not enough to not separate a tad and see what was coming or at least try to predict it as I always do when reading, but emotionally I was right with Taryn the whole way. The one thing that really pushed Michael from just a character I was conflicted about to one I really wanna give a swift kick in the nads to, is that he knew. He knew all about Taryn’s absolute lack of romantic inclinations toward any of the boys in town and her doubts that she would ever find someone to love and marry to take over the farm. He was the only person she confided these fears in and he still selfishly followed his own pursuits with little regard to her or her worries. You sir, are a terrible brother and overall a shit human, so sit your ass down and shut your mouth.

The plot for this book was so embroiled with the characters and their journeys that I can’t talk on it much but the twists at the end and the final climax was very satisfying for me and left me excited to dig into the next book. Also something of note that I didn’t talk about in the character section cause I felt it was dragging on a touch, I really only talked in depth on our three biggest players but there is a very colorful cast of side characters ranging from Taryn’s nervous pony to the boy-who-cried-gryphon neighbor no one can stand to the troupe of hunters led by Aella’s mother to Taryn’s best friend Nia, all of whom play important parts in building that sense of caring about the people of this town and the town itself, which in turn made me deeply care about the outcome of the plot at the heart of the story. And the sheep! The god damn sheep!

One thing I do want to say before my final thoughts is that whoever designed the cover of this book in a genius because as I dug into the story I found myself constantly closing it to spout off about theories of what I thought was happening on the cover and what it all meant, I was kind of reader fatigue delirious for most of those theories but some of them I was right! I might have reenacted the Captain Holt “Vindication” gif IRL just because it felt too good not to. I just love when a “cool” cover turns out to be so much more than that once you’re “in the know”. So yeah, now y’all know to pay attention for that.

My final thoughts on this book are pretty positive. I can tell the author is building us toward so much more, hence the name of the series, Taryn’s Journey, and it feels like it. This is only the beginning and I honestly can’t wait to take the next steps with her.

Queer Wrap-up:

Hey it’s me from the future...present...whatever...so, this is when I stopped writing the review six months ago and there is a reason for that. I, kind of, agonized over what to rate this book on the scale. Multiple times having to call my brother and go back and forth just to then repeat the same arguments with myself as soon as I got off the phone. Now why was this such a hard terrible no good awful back and forth well...SPOILER WARNING...seriously anything past this point will be spoiling some character beats for the majority of the book...okay? We understand one another. DANGER ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE...or you know scroll on.

So, Taryn is never confirmed to be queer in the text of this book. Now you would have to be wearing the tightest hetero goggles in known history not to see the heavy HEAVY subtext saying THIS BITCH GAY! It’s basically a full grown elephant painted sparkly rainbow trying to hide behind a dead shrub aka not hiding at all. I so desperately wanted to give this book four of those darling unicorns but in this rare case I just don’t think I can justify it. We have a protagonist that is still figuring herself out, which is amazing that we get to see that and go on the journey with her. Some of the things Taryn does and thinks are queer coded as hell, especially if it involves Aella who is explicitly gay on the page, but Taryn herself never express whether she herself is queer. Which, fair, other really important and traumatizing things were going on and I love that about her as a character, she didn’t meet Aella and suddenly that was all she could think about. Aella, of course, is representation who I’m counting because even though she shows obvious interest (you smooth motherfucker) in Taryn she is so much more than just a love interest and her character isn’t just boiled down to her sexuality. Now in this wrap up I’m also including the doctor and his husband in the town. They are very minor characters but they give us interesting insights into the town and the people. They are accepted and treated well in town even if some do almost, pity isn’t the right word, but they seem sad that they won’t be able to have any kind of legacy or lineage. As I said in the review it’s not homophobia it’s being stuck in your ways and it’s an interesting take.

Links:

Shannon McGee Website

The Storygraph

Okay so this one is a bit of a mess. Pieces of it were written 6 months apart and most of it was written while I was kind of delirious but hey at least I can say it’s honest. I still stand by everything my past self wrote and I still really enjoy thinking and talking about this book and am excited for whenever I get around to reading the sequel to continue on Tayrn’s journey with her. This is a book I probably would never have known even existed without ClexaCon and trolling through artist alley for literally every table that had books on them. I guess, moral of the day is maybe you won’t just find great books on library shelves but on unassuming convention tables too and it never hurts to look. Trust me, I’m a lesbrarian.

Oh bet you thought this post was over. I did the sign off and everything but oh no no! I have some info and such to impart. I am WELL AWARE these reviews have been fairly inconsistent to down right sporadic. Well, this is just a little info dump letting you guys know I am gonna be putting up one more review after this one that I wrote ages ago and I mean AGES (think years, as in multiple) and just never got around to posting and then the old blog is probably gonna be going through a PLANNED dormancy while some pretty big stuff is coming down the pike. You may notice visual changes and other stuff before anything else is announced but just keep an eye out. To quote the Fates from Hercules, “It’s gonna be big!”

Okay now for the actual sign off, I got shit to do! No one look behind the curtain, it’s a surprise!

[detroitbydark]

Part 8

Characters: Commander Fox/Reader

Summary: things are getting interesting

Warnings: mentions of past smut but nothing really steamy.

A/N: this needs to be done as I’m tired of staring at it. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

Padme Amidala was a dream to work with; polite, considerate, appreciative. Truly one of the few people in the Galactic Senate that Fox truly enjoyed. Her ability to rally those around her to her cause and spark loyalty in her followers was something he couldn’t help but admire and though her strong willed personality had put them at odds at times (when keeping her safe out weighed her desire to throw herself headlong into danger) he would always consider himself a fan.

Which made it all the more irritating that he was on detail for Raxallian Thrug, the sniveling chakaar from Cantonica. Every vile cliche Fox had ever heard about politicians was on display in Thrug. Deceitful, underhanded, slimy- the list went on and on.

Fox stands at attention behind his current charge as he leans to the aide at his side and whispers what amounted to filth into his ear as Senator Amidala gave an impassioned plea for aide to the outer rim, heavily under siege from seppie forces.

Did Thrug not realize Fox could hear every disgusting comment he made about Amidala or did he simply not care what a clone may or may not hear. Clenching his hands into fists, Fox wasn’t sure what option bothered him more.

Trying to block the senator out he looks past him, scanning the crowd for any anomalies, anything that stood out or could indicate an issue.

Rule’s voice crackles through his helmet comms. “She’s really worked up over this”.

Aside from the HUD and the various other bells and whistles the buckets were equipped with, the ability for private comms was one of the biggest perks in Fox’s eyes. No one ever needed to know they were talking.

“Seems to be, yeah” he hums in agreement.

“She said to say ‘hi’ earlier. You think she’s got a crush too?” Rule teases.

Fox rolls his eyes behind his visor. He doesn’t justify that with a response. Padmé Amidala was not interested in the likes of him, she merely cared about those around her. Even if she did, his interest lay elsewhere.

Interest wasn’t the right word though was it? Not after what he’d done. Not after what he’d said. He’d said those words, those words, to not one other soul in his life. He honestly had never even thought about the phrase before he was quieting her with it. They had just been one of the many things he- and many other troopers- absorbed over time about their progenitor’s culture. Mando’a spread like wildfire when spoken in barracks and war zones across the galaxy. They were just men without history, without a background or roots, looking for meaning and belonging outside of someone else’s war.

He’d been supremely thankful (and also a little miffed) when she hadn’t questioned him any further on his amorous declaration. Hadn’t she even been curious? Obviously she didn’t feel the same. How could she?

He’d taken her in a way he’d only dreamt about, done something he had relegated to his most private fantasies. But she’d encouraged it. She’d asked for more. For more explanation, for more of everything. Even now the memory of spilling inside her, of the way she’d sobbed out her release and quaked in his arms sent a thrill through Fox. He was a man nursing a borderline obsession and it was going to end badly for the both of them if he wasn’t careful.

“Commander?” Rules voice breaks hesitantly into his thoughts.

“I hear you, Rule. Whatcha got?”

“I’m not sure sir. I just got a flash of something in quadrant three, northwest corner. HUD picked up a wonky looking heat signature.”

Fox’s eyes scan to the coordinates that pop up on his display, a balcony two levels above where he stood guard behind Thrug. It should have been unoccupied. That was the game plan, no guests above Guard eyesight.

“Ryk?” Fox’s voice is brisk as his mind starts working through the possibilities, adrenaline slowly seeping into his system. “Come stand with the good senator while I look into this.”

“Yes Commander?”

Fox has approximately three minutes to think of all the horrible possibilities. Snipers, Bombs, Seppie Sympathizers. Each one offers a new and more complicated amount of paperwork. And more headaches.

Always the headaches. They were getting worse each week. More frequent. More intense. More of a pain in his ass.

Mouse had noticed. Mouse always noticed. This morning she’d crawled over him, still only in his shirt, and gone digging through the ‘fresher cabinet til she’d found a bottle of pain pills. She’d come back with the bottle, water, and a cool cloth for his head. He would have fallen to his knees and worshipped her if his head hadn’t caused such a revolt. She’d laid with him, legs straddling his hips and body sprawled over his, before the sun came up and done her weird little miracle massage along his forehead even though he knew she was exhausted. It had helped but hadn’t cured him. Even now the dull ache followed him.

Ryk slips into Thrugs box and if the politician registers one clone has traded places with the other, Fox will be surprised.

He takes the steps up to the supposedly empty balcony dragging his deece from the holster as he gets to the door, eyes drop to the weapon to check settings. The door is slightly ajar and he can see a quick flash of movement through the crack.

He counts silently to three before his boot connects with the door control, slamming it open. It’s a tense moment as he finds himself face to face with the singing blue plasma blade of a lightsaber and a pair of blasters, identical to his, pointed dead center mass at his being.

“Commander Fox” Anakin Skywalker’s voice is cool as it greets him. The curse that escapes from Captain Rex at his side is less than formal.

“Fierfek, Fox…” he grumbles lowly, something Fox vaguely hears as something about shooting his shebs off.

General Skywalker retracts his blade and both clones lower their blasters, pausing for a tense moment before holstering the weapons.

“General. Captain. This area is off limits. If I may ask, why are you up here?” He aims for stern military Commander but he can’t help the cringe under his bucket as Skywalker raises a brow in his direction. “With all do respect General” he adds as on afterthought.

Rex must sense the brewing tension between the pair as he steps into speak for his general. “We were just trying to get a good spot to listen to Senator Amidala speak. We’re both fans.” A look passes between the pair that Fox can’t decipher. Skywalker rolls his eyes at his captain before turning back to Fox.

There was no love lost between the general and the Commander. Too much had happened that set their paths intersecting- and not for the better- for them to meet with anything but anxiety (from Fox) and thinly veiled contempt (from the Jedi).

The Jedi waves his hand dismissively turning his back to the clones. It raises the small hairs on the back of Fox’s neck. He should be used to this by now, the brush off, the outright disdain that he and his men had been forced to become accustomed too. In the name of obedience and loyalty he has to handle the general’s brush off with an acceptance that he doesn’t feel.

He turns stiffly as the roar of the crowd rises up to them. A quick glance over his shoulder shows Skywalker staring down at the young Senator with a look in his eyes that felt, at once, both foreign and all too familiar to Fox.

“Fox?” Rex’s voice rises over the sounds below. “I was wondering if I could talk to you? I was going to just stop at your office but since your here now-“

Fox’s bucket cocks to the side. anything Rex has to say to him wouldn’t be in front of the Jedi. “my office is fine. I’ll be there all afternoon”

Rex looks as if he’s about to argue but he stops and gives him a nod of affirmation. There was history between them and if something had to come of it then it would be on Fox’s terms. In private.

“Commander? You ok?” Ryk’s voice crackles through his helmet comms.

“Yeah, Ryk, nothing worth seeing here.”

———-

Your body throbs dully, the pleasant soreness from last night sending a shiver down your spine each time you think back on it. Everytime you think of Fox your body reacts, a warm flush of color to your cheeks or a full feeling in your chest that can only be one thing. Kriff. You were in deep and you couldn’t help the smile that played on your lips when you thought about him.

You move through the cafeteria line, slowly gathering a few things for a light lunch. You weren’t particularly hungry but you grab a sandwich and a bag of protato chips along with a small cup of fruit. And the largest mug of caf available because you were exhausted. Fox had not let you be done after your initial romp. Your cheeks flame hot as you remember waking in the middle of the night to his tongue lapping are your cunt and the soft groans he made between praising you for taking him so well and telling you how much he wanted to have you again and again.

You wonder if anyone can tell the filthy thoughts you're having, how you were remembering Fox cleaning up his release that had leaked from your overly full core.

You needed a cold shower. Or your Commander.

“Mouse!” Sargent Wren elbows through a trio of troopers to get to you. He smiles brightly as he places his own food on your tray and takes it from you. “I’ll carry that.”

You give it up, knowing that there was no use in arguing. Wren falls in at your side as he grabs a pair of ration bars and adds it to the tray.

“For later” he explains. You’d never in your life seen people that could put away so much food. Hound had once explained it was due to a higher than normal metabolism and, while they’d been engineered to run on the dense ration bars alone, if given the option, each clone could put away seemingly half his weight in food at each meal. Nearly every one you’d met had a viscous sweet tooth on top of it. You’d learned the hard way after the candy stash you’d kept in your desk drawer had been discovered and raided but a group of “unknown perpetrators“.

Ryk and Rule had promised to look into it, Rule with bits of chocolate still clinging to his lip.

“All by yourself today?” Wren asks conversationally as the pair of you find an unoccupied table. You know what he’s asking. You’ll have to inform Fox that the pair of you were the worst kept secret in the Guard.

“Senator Amidala had a speech today. He’s pulling protection detail.”

“With Amidala?” Wren has shoved a large bite of sandwich in his mouth and struggles to swallow as he asks the question. You push a canteen of water to him.

“No. Thrug I believe.” The Sargent makes a sound of understanding as he gulps down a drink. He coughs once as the food goes down.

“That sounds about right. Since The incident with Skywalker’s Padawan he hasn’t been pulling detail with the senator. Word is General Skywalker is a bit protective over her. Unfortunately the Commander is a two time loser in the generals eyes.”

The fruit in your cup is a bit too ripe, but you eat it regardless, chewing thoughtfully. Wren is right. You hadn’t noticed the change but now that it was pointed out you wonder how you’d missed it. Maybe Fox wasn’t the only one carrying on an unheard of affair, not that you could blame the Jedi. You’d only met once (and for a second at that) but you’d found Padmé Amidala to be courteous and warm, much more like senators Chuchi and Organa than the loud blustering career politicians from other worlds.

You keep your mouth shut. If you'd learned one thing it was best to stay out of matters involving Jedi. Public opinion on the war and the order itself had been wavering as of late. Your concern was with Fox and the men of the Coruscant Guard and while what happened with the Senate and the war would affect them on a grand scale you’d come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t control that. You could, however, control things in their daily lives. Make things easier in little ways. It was a small consolation but it was what you could offer.

It was more than some, who claimed to be for clone rights, did. A glance around the cafeteria shows the self segregation, clones and civilian contractors at separate tables not mixing or interacting. A group of troopers to your right argues good naturedly in Mando’a. Wren smothers a smile as he listens in.

“What’s so funny?”

Wren looks up at you, confusion then clarity lights his face, “just a joke” he gestures toward the other clones. “It’s stupid” he dismisses.

You huff a breath. Maybe you wanted to hear a stupid joke. Not for the first time you wished you knew the language the troopers bantered in.

“Really Mouse it’s not even that funny. Like, ‘your mother’ jokes? We don’t even have mothers.” Wren rapidly tries to explain and hold up your hand for him to stop.

“It’s fine. I get it. You’d think I’d have picked up some Mando’a by this point anyway.”

Wren shrugs as if agreeing with you. “I could teach you a few words if you want?” He offers. He waits while you think. “Come on” he presses.

You shrug, “ok, cyar’ika” you throw back at him.

His flashes a toothy grin, “easy- and I can guess where you’ve been hearing that one- beloved, darling. It’s a term of endearment but I’m sure you’ve learned that by now.”

You fight back a blush, hiding behind a big gulp of caf. “Something like that.”

He goes on unprompted with simple words for child, mother/father, outsiders, Jedi. You try to burn each into your memory.

“Al’verde Fox” he offers and you shrug.

“Leader Fox?”

“Close! Very close Mous’ika” Wren is an enthusiastic teacher. He makes an encouraging gesture with his hands, “try again”.

You think carefully before your next attempt, “Commander Fox?”

Wren slaps his hand against the table with a laugh. You jump slightly at the loud noise. “Yes! Good job! Now” he offers, “you tell me something and I’ll translate it”

The words don’t even pause at your lips before they slip out. Your accent is atrocious and you're not sure if it comes out correct. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”.

The phrase catches Wren mid-drink and he seems to choke before he’s able to swallow down the liquid on his mouth. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“Yes, wow” he sobers “wanna tell me where you heard that doozy? Or should I guess?”

“Well are you going to tell me what it means or what?”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum” he repeats, the words flowing off his tongue easily and without the stilted tone you’d used “I know you forever” he says softly.

It’s a pretty phrase and you say as much.

“Pretty is an understatement. It’s the Mando equivalent to a declaration of love.”

———

Fox paces his office floor as he flips through screen after screen of requisitions. This was the part of his job he hated most. The supply clerk was in charge of getting all orders together, but as Commander, he had to give final authorization for every order going through. It was mind numbing, monotonous.

A soft knock comes mid step and he gives a sharp bark to enter. Between dealing with Thrug, his unexpected run in with Skywalker and the Captain of the 501st, and the new stress inducing realization of the depth of his emotions for his little Mouse,Fox feels off-kilter. He doesn’t like it.

Mouse enters bearing a ration bar, a mug, and a smile that makes him forget his raw nerves.

“Caf?” He asks enthusiastically. She shakes her head and gives him a skeptical smile.

“Tea. A little less stimulating this late in the afternoon.” She sets both on his desk before leaning against the duraplast and taking him in.

“What?”

Something soft tugs at the corner of her mouth. She shrugs, “just wondering why you're trying to wear a tread through the floor. That’s all.”

The eye roll he gives is big and dramatic and she chuckles quietly. He moves to the desk, tossing the datapad down. It doesn’t take much to work her bottom back onto the surface and step between her legs. She looks hesitant, staring up at him, her lip between her teeth in that telling way of hers.

“Something wrong, Cyar’ika?” Gently, his gloved hand cups her cheek and she tips softly into it. He places a soft kiss on the crown of her head before her eyes flutter shut. She’s so kriffing soft. He scarcely believes he’s allowed to handle anything so delicate and fragile. Fox’s fingers slip to her chin and angle her mouth up to him.

“Was your day really that bad?” She probes. Fox can feel her feet hooking behind his knees and pulling in til he was flush with her body.

“S’much better now” he’s being purposefully evasive. Mouse didn’t need to worry about the things that had been weighing heavily on him, nor did he want her to realize that she was one of them. He slides his mouth over hers, sharing his breath and taking in hers in return in a soft reverent meditation masquerading as a kiss. Being wrapped up in his precious girl does seem to make everything better, the tension pressing in on his chest eases. The soft sigh that slips past her lips as his teeth nip at her is the best thing he’s heard all day.

One hand splays across his chest while the other grips behind his neck. She mewls sweetly as his tongue tastes her. Sweet girl tastes like caf-

“Commander Fox-“ Fox has missed the tell-tale slide of the door and curses mentally.

Mouse makes a distressed noise as the deep voice cuts through the room. She pushes ineffectively against Fox’s chest as he squeezes his eyes shut. Fox doesn’t move as Mouse scoots back enough to slip her legs from around him and rise to her feet. She looks up wide-eyed and accusing, as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing. Her cheeks are a vivid shade of pink. Her look is one of absolute embarrassment.

He wants to lean in and kiss her swollen lips again, tell her there’s nothing to fear or worry about because he had her. Of course, he can’t do that but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to. He watches as she smooths her skirt and mutters something about getting back to work.

Fox can feel eyes burning into his back. He knew the voice as well as he knew his own. Some believed that clones were interchangeable but any person who’d spent any amount of time should be able to tell him or Rex from their other vode. Little things like accents they’d picked, how they worded their thoughts. How they carried themselves.

“Captain Rex. It’s customary to knock before entering.” Fox spins to see his visitor turning away from his furiously blushing secretary as she scurries past him and out the door.

“My deepest apologies” What Rex says and his tone don’t exactly match up. Fox has a feeling he’s given the Captain free entertainment and a serious bit of gossip to bring back to the front. “I was unaware you were preoccupied with- such an important engagement.”

Fox smiles, a thing full of teeth and thinly veiled menace. “I can understand how you wouldn’t understand such things, ner vod.”

Rex’s helmet shakes and Fox can hear the quick huff of dark laughter that filters through his vocoder before he’s reaching up to remove his helmet. “I'm really sorry about that. You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was” Fox agrees, moving to sit at his desk and motioning for Rex to sit across from him. He hesitates a moment and Fox wonders if he’s ever been offered a seat in any meeting. Is he relegated to standing over the shoulder of Skywalker like a well healed akk dog? He doesn’t ask. “What can I do for you today?”

Rex sits straight, his face a composed mask. This wasn’t a social call though that was no different from any interactions they’d had before.

“I need to apologize for the incident with my shinies.” The stiff pseudo apology catches Fox off guard. He sits quietly for a moment. The two clones staring at one another.

“Ok.”

“Ok? That’s it?” Rex’s voice is wary.

“Am I supposed to throw a fit? Yell and scream that I want their buckets on a platter? What would you have me say Captain?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose, “look I get it. Trust me. Since-“ he angles away from the other clone. “I get I’m not ever going to win a popularity contest and yeah, it was not kriffing fun. Actually, it was about the least amount of fun I’ve had in a while but what am I supposed to demand? Demotion? Reconditioning?”

Rex flinches at the last word.

“Exactly” Fox feels as if he’s made his point. “So if that’s all you wanted…” he lets the words hang in the air between them. Rex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“That’s not it.”

Fox can feel what’s coming next, always knew it would come.

“I need to know about that day. I need to know why you killed Fives.”

The Captain’s stare is unyielding and Fox feels like he’s under a microscope, rigid and without escape while the clone across from him dissects each move and every word he’s about to say. He’s never backed down for a fight in his life but right now, right here? He wants to do nothing more than get away.

“He had a gun.” Fox draws a steadying breath but his voice comes out shaky and he's disgusted at his own weakness washes over him. “I told him to stand down. I told him to get on his knees. Even after he grabbed the kriffing thing I told him not to do it. I-“

“Why didn’t you just stun him” Rex’s voice rises above his, anger bleeding into every word as he leans forward, planting his hands on the desk as he rises to his feet.

The invasion of space throws Fox off. He rolls his shoulders briefly trying to ease the tension that was growing there. The spot behind his eyes throbs. “The settings were wrong. I- I don’t know how but the kriffing setting was wrong.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that”

Something in the arch of the captain’s brow, the accusatory nature of what he was in insinuating sparks white hot rage in Fox’s chest. The photos on the wall rattle as he rises to his feet, his fist meeting the wall behind him.

“What are you saying?!”he asks turning on the blonde clone. “Are you inferring that I had it out for him? A vod I’d never met? That I went looking to kill a brother?”

Rex flinches back. Fox’s knuckles throb. He focuses on the growing ache, uses it to stay grounded. His voice is low, a pained snarl.

“His death will never leave me. I pulled the trigger that ended his life. Do you know- can you understand what that feels like?”

“He said this was bigger than us” Rex pushes on, seemingly paying no mind to what Fox had said.

“And that means I was in on a conspiracy?”

“Damn it, Fox” Rex growls, “you said you don’t know how your blaster ended up throwing bolts!”

Something about that catches Fox right in the gut, steals air from his lungs. As quickly as his rage had swollen it subsides and he’s left to sink back down to his desk, forehead cradled in his head.

“Bigger than us” he repeats Rex’s words- Fives words- quietly.

“He mentioned a conspiracy to Kix” the blonde clone doesn’t sit but he’s posture loosens.

“Conspiracy?”

“Something that went all the way to the top. Said the clones and the Jedi were in great danger.”

“Tell me more.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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"You've got to be joking…" Robin groaned to herself more than to either of them and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Right… this still was a public place, even at night. After a second of collecting herself, she put on her game face and continued her way towards Snape's desk, where he mentioned for her to sit down as well. Honestly, she was only glad that she didn't have to sit at her own desk like some idiot in detention, and that probably was the exact reason why Snape made her sit up front with him now. At least Robin chose to read that intention into his actions now.

"Hey, why doesn't she have to write a stupid three page essay on valerian root?!" David complained a second later, with clearly more of a pout to his tone than would leave any room for dignity.

"Because unlike someone I'm not in detention." Robin replied neutrally but with a deathly glare. "Now shut up and do your work."

Surprisingly enough, David actually looked quite intimidated in return, but Robin had the faint idea that this might be more due to Snape's glare than her own. Huh, maybe she should have let him handle this… with him being… the professor… and all that… Robin looked down at the book in her hands and took a deep breath to counteract the heat burning on her cheeks.

"McGonagall found him sneaking around the hallways with one of her own students. A second year girl, who should be serving her own detention with Minerva right at this moment." Snape said, much to Robin's surprise. She hadn't expected an explanation for the ongoings, and certainly not coming from him on his own account. But she also couldn't help the barest hint of a smirk that came to her lips.

"So that should be the infamous tall-and-older girlfriend he keeps bragging about? I must say I'm disappointed… Is she tall at least?" Robin mumbled, hiding her smirk by looking down as she placed her book on the desk between herself and Snape.

"No." He replied in perfect indifference and Robin had to snort, however very quietly and very shortly.

"Pity…" She brought out in almost the same level of indifference that for her as well as for him was but a mere charade at this point.

"I can hear you, you know that?!" David complained, and this time Robin remembered her place for once and kept quiet.

"You already have two weekends worth of detention, should we make that three, Mister Thompson?" Snape asked with that particular expression that literally gave every student the jitters in utter terror. Well, every student but Robin, but he hadn't used it in her in a long time, so who knew how she'd react… Robin wasn't too keen on finding out. David looked back down to his work, probably intimidated just as much as angry, but at least he seemed to stay quiet this time.

"So, uh, yes…" Robin started to get back into work mode and effectively stop herself from getting tempted into sassing Snape. With David around, he surely would scold her rather than smirk, and she didn't have the nerve for that tonight. So back to the facts it was. "As I was saying earlier, I haven't memorized the entire book. But while flipping through the pages on my way back down here, I came across something interesting on page 132."

Without a word, Snape moved to flip to the mentioned page, and his frown melted away as he read over the text. However it returned once he reached the next page, and Robin hoped she hadn't suggested something entirely stupid and unrelated. Only once he'd read all three pages of related information, he finally looked back up at Robin. "Have you read the entire instructions?"

"Well, I hardly had enough time for that on my jog back here." She shrugged. "I read the description of the functionality, not the instructions or additional information."

He looked minorly surprised at that. "And that sufficed for you to believe that it might be of use?"

"I suggested it because it looked promising." She corrected. "One has to start somewhere. If it's rubbish, we at least know what we're NOT looking for."

"Interesting approach." He mused, and Robin felt momentarily stunned by how close that comment had gotten to an actual compliment. "I believe you discovered something that might very well be worth a try."

"But… maybe we should look through the rest of the book as well? Maybe there's another spell that fits even better?"

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes without any annoyance in them, and went to flip to about the middle of the book. "Up to which point do you sincerely remember the contents?"

"The last page I can remember for sure was about… repairing broken spines… it had a very peculiar picture in the top right corner. Somewhere in the 70s or 80s…" She sighed and gave him an apologetic half smile. "I always remember the contents and the layout better than the page numbers."

After a few seconds of flipping through pages, Snape pointed to the page Robin had described. "This one?"

"Yes! Page 78… I wasn't too far off then." She smiled to herself for a moment. "Up to that one I remember what every spell was about."

"Good." He merely said and started scanning every page from that point on. Seems like Snape put an odd lot of confidence in Robin's memory… but she really was certain about the contents up to that point. It was all very basic, short-term restoration and spells for every-day practical use. The one about broken spines on page 78 was the first one that was a bit more complicated and unusual in its use, and that is the only reason why Robin had remembered it. It was the first one she didn't care to remember.

For a moment Robin watched Snape reading, but then she felt stupid looking over his shoulder, even if only figuratively. He could assess these spells way better than she could, and if he found something suitable for the occasion he would probably show it to her. Maybe.

With a silent sigh she let her eyes travel over the almost empty room. It was an odd perspective to be looking out over the class from this side of his desk… but one could really see almost everything from here. Everything, happening in front of you. Nothing in your back. Yeah, Robin felt comfortable sitting here. Then she studied the desk itself, along with the few things on it. Perfectly organized chaos, as always… but for once she actually understood the system behind it, which pleased her quite a bit. She'd happily trade desks with him any day, and that even though she couldn't even imagine switching seats with someone in class. She'd been sitting in the same spots in each of the classrooms for over two years now… and she doubted that she'd ever willingly sit elsewhere. The great hall however was a different issue, she'd never had a specific seat there, so she was fine with switching tables in there. But this was a classroom, and she felt oddly comfortable in a space that wasn't her own. Huh…

Her eyes then fell upon the mysterious tome this entire fuss was about in the first place, and she was grabbed by curiosity. "May I… take a look at the book we aren't currently working with?" She inquired carefully, prepared to be right about being denied but equally prepared to be surprised.

"Be careful, it is… delicate." While delicate didn't seem like the word he had wanted to say, and she got a decent idea about why he didn't speak his mind once she heard David quietly groaning over his essay, Robin still understood the sentiment. This book was important, somehow. So she gave him a small nod with a sincere and serious expression, before she carefully moved the heavy thing over to her end of the desk.

The first few pages looked decent enough; there were handwritten descriptions of spells, some strange symbols and drawings… nothing that stood out in particular. But once Robin had actually read a few pages, she couldn't help the deep frown that creased her forehead. "This is absolute gibberish! It may look valid, but anyone who spends at least a little time studying this book would realize that these aren't even workable spells."

Now that got Snape's attention immediately, and seeing as he had finished skimming over Robin's book anyway, he turned his attention towards her entirety. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You see… for once, the actual words for the spells aren't even given. Not one single time! I mean alright, one could argue that the book is meant for wizards so advanced that they don't need words. You know… people like you." She regretted saying that the moment it was out. But maybe he would overlook the accidental compliment if she just continued. "However, what definitely strikes me as odd and leads me to the conclusion that this isn't even meant as a proper spell book is the technical terms used throughout the descriptions, as well as the names of the people mentioned."

Now he definitely looked curious, deeply intrigued to be exact, and even people who weren't practiced in reading his microexpressions would be able to see that. "What, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"I'll gladly tell you in a moment, but just answer me one question first, please… because otherwise I'll feel really stupid in my assumption." Robin said quietly, not because she felt insecure, but because she couldn't have David hear this in case she made a fool out of herself. "When do you think this book was written?"

"I assume the manuscript itself is from the second half of the 16th century, but it was obviously rebound several times up to this point, which makes the binding by far younger."

"Okay. Okay…" Robin nodded to herself for a few seconds as her brain tried to make a coherent line out of the many different strings of thought in her mind. Then her eyes lit up as she started to explain. "So, the thing is: most of the terms, all the ones I know at least, are directly taken out of Renaissance culture. It's a colorful mixture of philosophy, architecture, literature, music… And the names, I recognize them from this time period as well. But they all have nothing to do with magic, not even the slightest bit. It's like… putting numbers into the alphabet!"

Snape seemed genuinely interested in what Robin was saying, and he looked up from the book to meet her eyes. "How exactly did you come to know Renaissance culture?"

"I had a lot of time two summers ago and attended some classes. At a muggle university. I know, not very appropriate for a Slytherin, but oh well… I was horribly bored. To be honest, I had already forgotten most of the things I learned, but reading these names and terms now definitely brings back a lot of it. I mean, I at least know that they're things from the Renaissance." She shrugged with one shoulder, as she felt like the biggest nerd in history and yet the biggest failure for having forgotten most of those classes already. "Anyway, if the manuscript was written in the 16th century, that would explain the Renaissance influence. Now, I do have some more… theories, about the book. But I wouldn't want to bore you, sir, I'm sure you already know all of this and I'm just… babbling. Sorry."

"In fact, I was previously unaware of this connection to muggle history and culture, and I dare say I would not have learned about it without your babbling. So please, do enlighten me about your theories." He said calmly, giving her one of those still entirely unreadable looks. "You have my fullest attention."

"Well…" Heat rose to Robin's cheeks once again, and she couldn't quite believe that she had discovered something he hadn't yet noticed. "The book is basically a spell book written with muggle terms… and it surely requires extensive knowledge of both worlds to write something like this. So my first assumption is that the author was a half blood… or a muggle born. But it doesn't matter, actually. The thing about knowing both worlds really leads me to believe that the author knew what they were talking about, and thus the gibberish was intentional gibberish. And if the gibberish is intentional, it makes me wonder what the intention of this book is in the first place. You say a page is missing… What if the entire book was merely created to hide that one page?"

Going by the look Snape was giving her once she had finished her sentence, Robin had just said the dumbest thing in the existence of nonsense. Great. Insecurity finally showed on her face as she still held his gaze. She just wanted to help him, to solve this mystery…

"I agree." That was what he finally replied, before briefly gazing at the still working David and then looking back at Robin. "Your theses… will serve as a decent basis for any further efforts."

What?! He thought she was right?! Robin's lips curved up into a small smile. "Uh, if I may ask, sir… did you find a spell for restoring the page? If it really is the sole purpose of the book to hide whatever is written on it, I'm actually even more curious to know what its secret is."

"Likewise." He mused, quietly enough so that Robin could barely pick up on it, but then he spoke up in a normal voice. "I still consider the method you suggested the most suitable." Upon Robin's frown, he added, "Page 132."

"Ah… Maybe I should consider reading the entire thing then." She smiled and carefully closed his book, while switching its place with her own book on the desk. Only then a thought caused her heart to sink in an instant. "I mean… you surely only asked for my assistance in this because I have literature spells in my possession. I… could lend the book to you, if you'd like that."

"Indeed, my intention was to borrow this particular book from you." He said with the gravest expression he had worn all night, and Robin found her heart hollowing out even more. Of course he wouldn't want her to actually partake in any of this… she'd merely been lucky to be included up to this point. But… it was hard to let go of such a great mystery. Of the illusion to be useful, the illusion to do something important for once. That was until he spoke on. "However I cannot deny the fact that you improved my understanding of this book immensely. And… neither can I deny that you are the most reliable assistance I have. Could you imagine yourself to-..."

"Yes." Robin cut in before he could even finish his sentence. "I… sorry for interrupting, but I would very much like to keep assisting you."

She actually got a not-smirk in return. "In that case, I suggest you to read those three pages now."

With a nod, Robin picked up the book and leaned back in her chair while flipping to the correct page. She wouldn't allow herself to get all too excited about this… she was, but this situation required a certain professionalism, and she would do her best to display that now. It didn't take her long to read the three pages, twice even.

"It's… a potion?!" She finally stated with an incredulous expression. "That's weird…"

"Why do you think it is a potion instead of a spell?" He asked then, but this was a professor-question, not a Snape-question.

"Well, seeing as you said a simple restoration spell wouldn't work, it certainly has something to do with the fact that spells aren't strong enough to counter or reverse the magic used to remove the page in the first place. The magical properties of various ingredients combined in a potion however should be strong enough for that." Robin replied without thinking much about it, and placed the book back on the desk with a shrug.

"Good." He looked fairly pleased with her reply, which pleased Robin in return. "You have studied the list of ingredients required for this task, yes?"

"Yeah, I've studied the entire procedure. Twice."

"There are… a few required ingredients I currently do not have in my possession." He kept it vague, eyes flicking to David for a second before returning to Robin. She understood. "We have to get our hands on those first, before we can start on the potion. You are aware of the time it will take to prepare the procedure?"

"Yes. I am." She stated in determination. "No problem with that." The potion would take two months to make… honestly, if anything, she was sad that it wouldn't take longer. Who knew if Snape would ever allow her to help with something again once this was over?

Before either of them could continue, they heard a quiet snoring coming from the Slytherin boy, who had literally fallen asleep over his essay. Robin snorted, and Snape rolled his eyes in return.

"I truly cannot say Minerva could have picked a worse time to drop him off with me." He muttered, grabbed a random journal off the stack at his end of the desk, and then rose to his feet to walk over to the sleeping David. With an unforgiving glare, he smacked the boy in the head with the journal. "This is detention and not your bedroom, Mister Thompson."

"I-I'm sorry, sir…" David immediately brought out as he startled awake, frightened eyes looking up at his professor.

"Seeing as it is well after midnight, you may leave for now. However I expect you to return right to this spot after breakfast."

"Yes, sir…" David sighed in defeat as he rose to his feet, and jumped once Snape snatched the essay from his hands. "Goodnight, sir…" With that, he shot one quick look at Robin before scurrying out of the classroom.

"I hate that child." Snape muttered as he returned to his desk, and Robin couldn't help laughing at the dry honesty. She really couldn't agree more… but she knew it wasn't her place to comment on it.

"So, where will you get the missing ingredients?" Robin asked instead, while he sat back down. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Seeing as I will be stuck with Mister Thompson for the entire weekend, I would highly appreciate if you could indeed… run a few errands."

"Yes, of course! What do you need me to do?"

"Tomorrow is the fourth Saturday of the term, correct?"

"Yes?"

"That means you will get to go to Hogsmeade for the first time, and I ask of you to go indeed. There is a small shop that sells various ingredients for rare potions to anyone who pays enough, off high street obviously. A black building with a golden inscription over the door. I would like you to go there tomorrow. Follow the second alley going to the right off high street to its end, then turn left and you should come across the shop after a minute's walk." With that he turned to face the desk rather than Robin and got out a snippet of parchment to scribble a quick list on it. Then he handed the paper to Robin. "If I'm not mistaken, you should be able to get all of this in Hogsmeade. Tell the man in the shop that I sent you, and you shouldn't be refused nor expected to pay straight up."

"I will do my best, sir." She answered with what she hoped was a positive expression of professionalism and not an overly excited smile. Going to Hogsmeade hadn't really been on her agenda up until this point, but it also wasn't like she had any other plans for tomorrow. After all, she still was only too glad to get to help with this entire mystery. Surely running errands for him would be better than whatever she would've come up with, for nothing that had to do with the potions professor was ever short of interesting in the first place.

"Certainly I do not have to tell you that this entire endeavour is to be kept between you and me. Furthermore I expect you to take your involvement in this as seriously as I do."

"Of course I take this seriously!" Robin gave him an incredulous look that probably let on a bit too much of her hurt expression along with it. "Have I ever given you a reason to doubt that I'm absolutely serious about my work and studies?"

"No." His reply came fast and with certainty. "I am well aware of your dedication for all matters you concern yourself with. However you ought to know that in my terms there is no casual participation. I take your involvement as seriously as my own, and I expect you to do the same."

"You're my professor, of course I take you seriously!" Robin still didn't quite get what he was aiming at. Maybe she should consider going to bed soon… her brain was getting slow.

"Not me, Mitchell!" He rolled his eyes in that exaggerated annoyance once more. "You have to take yourself seriously! I do not have the time or nerve to listen to a self-deprecating speech every time before you voice a thought of yours. Speak your mind and I… will refrain from scolding you, should your comment be redundant."

"Promise you won't yell at me when I say something stupid?" Robin inquired carefully, even though she finally grasped where he was coming from with that statement. Actually, it was rather nice what he was saying. He took her seriously, and demanded for her to be in this completely or not at all. That's really all Robin could've hoped for.

"I do not make promises." Snape answered with a frown as he leaned back in his chair. "But I tell you now that I will not yell at you unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Good enough for me." Robin smiled ever so slightly, feeling both incredibly excited for this private project but also incredibly worried that she will somehow screw it up and make him regret that he put enough trust in her to allow her to assist in the first place. Well, she would just have to be better. Better than she was now, and better than he expected her to be. Just… what did he expect of her to do, exactly? For now, running errands. She wouldn't let him down right on the very first task (nor on any other, actually).

"You look exhausted." He stated then, perfect indifference with a hint of a sigh. "You should go to bed. There isn't any more to be done until tomorrow anyway."

"Yes, sir." With a small sigh she got up and made her way over to her backpack on her own desk, grabbing it on the go as she continued towards the door. Really, she was indeed exhausted and doing herself a favor rather than following his order by heading to bed now…

"Your book, Miss Mitchell." His voice stopped her a few steps away from the door, and Robin turned around to him once again.

"You should keep it for now… with the other book I mean. Isn't that what you would prefer anyway?"

"It is indeed." The not-smirk was back, and so was the lifted eyebrow. "I should assume this is more than fair after lending books to you for two years."

"It surely is." Robin smiled, tiredly, but sincerely nonetheless. "Goodnight, professor."

"Miss Mitchell?" Again, his voice stopped her just before she could open the door, making her turn to him yet again with a question on her face. He spoke on before she could voice it. "Hogsmeade certainly isn't a dangerous place by any means, but since students are rarely seen venturing off high street, I would still advise you to be careful when going to that shop tomorrow."

While he looked perfectly indifferent in that statement, rising to his feet and gathering up the two books from his desk with an expression of utter boredom, the very attempt to hide anything from his face that could have given off the impression of concern or care actually was what gave him away. Just having noticed that made Robin's smile brighten inevitably.

"I will be careful. No need to worry about your precious ingredients." She couldn't help adding that second sentence with a small smirk, and upon receiving a small glare and a not-smirk in return, Robin finally made her way back to her dorm.

… … …

If Robin had felt like she was anything more than just a third year student last night, Saturday morning definitely had every intention to put her back into her place.

First, she had decided to actually make somewhat of an effort in terms of dressing for being errand-girl today (seeing as she hadn't forgotten what Snape had said about her representing the Slytherin house and his own person), and thus she'd ended up with the same old, large and black turtleneck jumper she fancied, tugged into some blackish drainpipe jeans and kept in place by a black belt with an admittedly very scratched silver buckle. Oh well… concessions had to be made. Her mom always said black was classy and staid… and while Robin didn't agree on the 'staid' part, she still wanted to appear classy today.

Her choice of wardrobe however led to the first instance that tried to put her back into her place, namely her fellow students, who didn't cease to make comments from joking to mocking to insulting during breakfast. Well, in comparison to the other third years, with their colorful shirts, patterned dresses and generally average thirteen-year-old style of clothing, she did stand out a lot. Robin looked quite a lot more like some of the sixth or seventh years, if anything… But she suffered through the comments in silence on the outside, and just a hint of doubt and shame on the inside. Maybe she should make an effort to fit in more… but then she looked at everyone again, seriously, and the thought flew out of her mind to never be considered again. Nope, not gonna happen.

After breakfast, the real issues began. Equipped with her trusty leather backpack that was (as always) stuffed with anything she could possibly need, ranging from parchment and books over snacks to a rain jacket, and of course the list of ingredients she was to acquire, Robin stepped out into the courtyard in sincere appreciation of the dark grey clouds in the sky. Way better than sunshine… that only ever made her eyes hurt.

"And where's your permission slip, Miss Mitchell?" McGonagall asked then, eyebrows risen and clearly expecting something Robin wasn't sure about.

"My… what?" Thus came her very eloquent reply.

"The permission slip signed by your parents for this instance? Allowing you to leave the castle grounds in groups of at least three students to go to Hogsmeade?" McGonagall prompted again, and a new existential dread overcame Robin upon the professor's words. Fuck.

"I… I didn't think to let them sign it. I… thought it was more one of those 'for your notice' kind of things." She replied in a faintest hope to somehow fix this situation. "I mean, I traveled the entire country of England by myself over summer! Well, not the entire country, obviously, but I traveled by myself, alone, WITH their explicit permission. They would probably laugh at me if I asked them for permission to go on a fifteen minute walk away from home now!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Mitchell, but rules are rules."

"But that's ridiculous!" Robin couldn't help the exasperated sigh, nor the inevitable rolling of her eyes, as she threw her head into her neck to angrily glare at the sky.

"I do not make the rules, but I'm still obliged to follow them. As are you." The professor pointed out, then added a bit more kindly, "If you are so certain that they will allow you to venture out on your own, you can always send them a letter before the next Hogsmeade Saturday in two weeks and have them sign their permission."

An idea sprung to Robin's mind immediately, born both of McGonagall's words and her own refusal to accept her fate. "So it does not have to be the specific slip given to us before term, but a handwritten approval would suffice?"

"In my eyes, yes." The professor frowned. "However I…" Her voice trailed off as she watched how Robin took off her backpack and dug her arm into it to the shoulder.

Upon seeing the professor's astonishment, Robin merely said, "Extension charm… helps with carrying the books." Then she took out a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen she usually didn't use for Hogwarts business, and wrote a quick note. It read: 'Hereby we allow our daughter Robin Mitchell to leave the castle grounds in groups OR by herself at any time not officially prohibited by the school rules.' Then Robin handed the paper to McGonagall.

"If my parents sign this, would it suffice for me to be allowed to leave the school grounds also by myself whenever we are officially allowed to go to Hogsmeade?" She asked the still astonished professor, and put her stationery back into the bag while waiting for an answer.

"Usually students simply break this rule instead of asking for permission. It merely applies to third years anyway, to ensure they get used to the new freedom before abusing it." McGonagall finally replied with a doubtful expression.

"Well, I'd rather change the rules to fit my needs than break them, to be honest." Robin shrugged. "That's usually less stressful for everyone."

Now McGonagall straight out looked incredulous and yet undoubtedly humored. "In that case, if you get your parents to sign this piece of writing, then yes, you may go on your own this year as well."

A smile spread on Robin's lips. Part one of her plan had worked, at least. "Great. Where can I find you in approximately twenty minutes, professor?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are plotting, Miss Mitchell, but I can assure you no owl will be that quick."

"I'm not planning on using an owl, professor… I'm planning on bribing a house elf." Robin replied with a hint of mischief in her tone that even she could hear herself. "They are very nice, actually, if one is respectful and kind. And as far as I know, there is no rule against asking them for a favor."

"Indeed there isn't… However they are not a replacement for owls in any way."

"I have no intention to make them do anything they don't want to, which is not to say that I could in the first place. But I think I can offer them something in return that may convince them to do me this one favor." After a few seconds of silence, Robin added, "Please, professor… I really need to go to Hogsmeade today. And seeing as the only thing holding me back currently is a missing signature from my dad, I have come up with a perfectly by-the-rules plan to get you just that. Just because it's not commonly done this way doesn't mean it's any less legitimate."

"You certainly are creative in your sheer determination to make it to Hogsmeade today." McGonagall sighed. "I'm heading to the teacher's lounge now, should your efforts lead to the desired result."

"Thank you." Robin gave the professor a bright smile, then made her way towards the kitchens as fast as she could without running. This had to work… she would not stop even one second before those damned ingredients were on Snape's desk.

It took Robin a good ten minutes to convince her favorite house elf, who she had gone to for chocolate cake in the middle of the night more often than she liked to admit, to do her this favor. Not because the female elf (whose name Robin had learned to be Buttercup) would've refused Robin, she'd never do that, but because Robin had to convince her to accept a bar of Twirls in return. Finally, after explaining the advantages and necessity of fair trading to the entirety of the kitchen staff, Robin could get the young elf to accept the trade. Five minutes later, after apparating from the Hogwarts kitchens to Robin's family home in Oxford and back again, Buttercup happily exchanged the now signed permission slip for the chocolate bars Robin was handing her. Really, bless the house elves for being able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts, and bless Robin's brain for remembering that at such a convenient time.

After saying thank you and making sure Buttercup actually liked Twirls, Robin was on her way to the teacher's lounge in an instant. For once a plan of hers was actually working out the way it was supposed to, and honestly the feeling of success sufficed to gather up enough confidence to knock on the door and ask for McGonagall. The professor didn't actually seem all too surprised anymore when Robin handed her the now signed note, and without further ado she allowed Robin to head to Hogsmeade at last. If Robin wasn't mistaken, she even saw McGonagall smile in amusement for a brief moment when she finally turned to leave.

______________________________

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[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 58 - The deal, the name and the prince (Part One)

In the previous chapter: Angie meets Jerry outside the diner after work. He tells her he wrote some new songs he's not sure about and he convinces her to go and listen to the demo in his car. There are three tracks: one is for Andy Wood, one is for his dad and the 3rd one... we'll never know, 'cause Jerry stops the tape before the singing starts, apparently because the song's got something to do with her. Jerry opens up and vents with his ex girlfriend. Angie tells him that no matter what happened between them, she'll always be his friend and will be there for him when he needs her. Jerry takes her home and almost tries to kiss her but nothing happens. Angie's not so sure about the promise she made to Jerry and about her determination to always act as the good girl who does the right thing. Angie calls Eddie and they have a playful fight about her mysterious second name and the petname Eddie chooses for her. The situation escalates when Angie innocently tells Eddie she met Jerry. The singer gets mad at her on the phone. Meg tells her roommate her friend Jane from New York had called looking for her. Angie tenses up, leaves the apartment with an excuse and calls Jane from a payphone. Next morning Eddie apologizes to Angie and admits his jealousy issues and they make up. Eddie can feel she's hiding something but doesn't want to push.

***WARNING: THE BEGINNING MAY SOUND STRANGE AND YOU’LL WONDER IF YOU’RE READING THE RIGHT FIC. BUT IT’LL MAKE SENSE IN THE END, TRUST ME***

***

Kingdom of Talmaren, year X of the New Era

Prince Alexander ran the back of his hand across his mouth to clean off the blood that had just splattered on it. Luckily it wasn't his. The battle had left him exhausted and without strength but there was no time to rest: Basil was surely a warrior as good as merciless, and also a sadist and a pig. To see him reduced to a lifeless ragdoll, sprawled on the floor of his dark Lord's bedroom, would make most of the people of the West Lands breathe a sigh of relief. Anyway he was just the stupid lackey of that monster called Kaspar, who was still damn alive.

Kaspar, King of Talmaren, known as The Bloody, the man who, as soon as he ascended the throne, had started a war that had been dragging itself for almost ten years, and who had already destroyed five of the seven known kingdoms. Among them was Senaria, Alexander's homeland. Officially the war called for mere territorial expansion but it hid a totally different purpose. That purpose laid before the prince's frozen eyes and had the features, now almost unrecognizable, of the woman he loved, her arms chained to the iron bedpost of His Majesty's bed. Her legs had been let free, presumibly because, even if she had used them to defend herself, there wouldn't have been too much she could do. Coriliana's face was a shapeless mask of hair and dried blood, whereas her body showed a horrible veil of bruises. Except for a vulgar necklace of black stones he had never seen before, the young woman was completely naked. Alexander's eyes were focusing on her ample bosom, where he'd often found comfort after the battle, his mind clear of every thought, until he caught a glimpse of an imperceptible movement of the necklace. Up and down.

She was still alive.

There was no time either to celebrate or to take a breath and lick one's wounds, Alexander rushed to the bed and just went at the chains like a crazy person to break them. He kept calling her to try and wake her up from her painful slumber, mental shelter from the abuse of any kind Kaspar and his clique must have subjected her to in the latest weeks. Setting her free wasn't easy. He was striving with his sword trying to deliver effective blows but of course he had to be careful not to hurt his Coril. His... She wasn't his, she couldn't be, she was special, a future queen, actually a future goddess. She was on another level and that couldn't have been possible, not anymore. But his heart would have belonged to her and to her only, for ever.

Finally the chain that blocked her left wrist broke under Alexander's blade and her arm fell abruptly on the bed, also for the weight of the cuff and the piece of chain that remained attached.

Alexander went fot the other chain. On his knees on the bed, holding the sword with both hands, he hit the metal with rage until he broke that too, almost at the same moment the legitimate heir to the throne of Senaria felt something brushing against his hip and a tentative and weak squeeze. He stared at her for a moment, maybe Coril's eyes were still closed (who could tell from that mess) but her hand was looking for him. In that moment Alexander felt some relief, together with a deep shame: he hadn't seen Kos' future Queen for months, he couldn't remember how long it was since he had last held her in his arms, since he had tickled her body with his fingertips and his tongue, since he had pushed himself inside her. Now the woman he loved was there, lying naked right under him, and as he looked at her, although she was unconscious and ravaged for Kaspar's torture, he was ingloriously aroused.

He came to his senses almost immediately, tried to move Coril delicately until she was almost sat down, then he wrapped her in his woolen cloak. They had to be quick but he couldn't take her out of the castle like that, that would be humiliating for her. Furthermore the biting cold of Talmaren's winter could have worsened her already precarious conditions.

In a second he picked her upon his shoulders like a bundle and ran towards the door of the chamber of horrors. She seemed smaller to him, he had carried her many times and never as a dead weight and he had never felt her so light, so fragile. He walked fast, but warily, the large corridor. He slowed down when he thought he spotted a moving person's shadow, most likely a man, projected by a torch at the end of the passage, where the corridor turned to the right. He took his hand off his sword only when he recognized Gabriel, his younger brother. He sped up again and nodded at him. Gabriel froze and reciprocated, slightly lifting his head, then he noticed he had found her and gave him the signal the coast was clear. The whole situation was so spine-chilling that it was impossible to just believe that but Alexander could swear he saw a smile appear on his brother's face.

The small army led by Alexander had camped on the banks of the river Neeto. To avoid the patrolling, they had thought about crossing the forest to reach the castle. Along the way they had suddenly found themselves in a small clearing, showing up out of nowhere in the middle of the thick wood, and the Prince had decided to make it their base. The fortress was almost at an hour walk distance and Alexander thought that, for saving Coriliana, a silent attack in the middle of the night, with a bunch of knights getting in without attracting attention, would have been more effective than a siege. For the purpose he had chosen twenty men to follow him, Gabriel included, leaving the rest of the infantry at the clearing.

He was now cursing himself for that choice as he walked his way backwards through the path climbing down on the Zham Mountain, the base of Kaspar's residence, trying not to lose balance and fall in the void. He breathed a sigh of relief when the downhill finally ended and the wood appeared, until he figured out paying attention not to trip over exposed roots and to avoid being slapped by overhanging branches, and also being careful Coril wouldn't get hurt either, was equally difficult.

He thought back at the way his brother had looked at him when he told him he would have taken care of Coril. Gabriel would have covered for their escape, together with the other knights, and then looked for Kaspar's spouse. If everything had went according to their plans, a few threats would have been enough to make her say to them where her husband was. Gabriel had understood the orders and had taken his leave with a bow, but not before giving a poisonous look to the Prince. Alexander had to forget that woman, he knew it well, and he would have done it, there was no need for the others to remind him repeatedly. He would have taken one step back one day, he knew he was out of place in Coriliana's heart, but he had to take care of her first, make her feel better, prepare her to the future that awaited her. A future on command, which didn't include Senaria's Prince on her side, if not as an ally in the war against the Bloody Kaspar and his people.

The profecy was clear.

He heard the sound of water, the river Neeto was close. He recognized the signal his brother had traced on a tree trunk on their way to the fortress and turned left. He followed another direction and found himself on the waterfront. Suddenly he felt Coriliana moving and holding on to him as much as she could. He was considering stopping. He would have made her sit down for a while, then he'd have quickly run to the river to collect some water in his flask. Then he'd have rushed back to her and had her drink some, through small sips, and he'd have used the rest to wash the blood from her face and hair. Without wetting her too much obviously or she would have caught a fever in such a cold weather. He'd have reassured her, the camp was close. He'd have told her that it was over and that she'd be better, that those creepers wouldn't touch her anymore, that he'd kill Kaspar with his hands. Or he'd have just stayed with her, in silence, looking her in the eye as she drank. He slowed down as he thought of her plump, wet lips, when these softly brushed against his left cheek in a dry kiss and whispered:

“Gabriel”

Alexander felt his knees give way. Suddenly the burden on his shoulder seemed too heavy, it was crushing him, but he quickened his pace nevertheless. He didn't mind the branches hitting him on his face.

Now poison had a completely different taste.

God, I'm sorry Coriliana but you're such a bitch. I shake my head and chuckle as I turn the roller knob and remove the paper from the typewriter. There's really nothing to laugh about anyway. I live in a shitty apartment in New York, I look out any of the two only windows and all I can see are bricks. I'm single, I'm alone, I don't even have a cat because the landlord doesn't allow any pets. I hear a weird noise, like a ring. The phone? I don't even have a phone, every time I need to call someone I have to leave the house and walk up to the phone booth right in front of the chair shop at the end of the road. And by the way, what's with a shop that only sells chairs? I don't expect it to offer complete furniture sets but it could at least have stools, armchairs, tables too. No, you can only buy chairs at Planet Chair. Like the one I'm sittin on right now, which comes right from that fuckin' shop. I buy chairs at Planet Chair and write bullshit for a living. What have I become? From an aspiring Hollywood screenwriter to cheap romance writer tha-

I wake up with a jolt, sweating and panting.

“What the fuck” I comment my shitty dream aloud. Thanks a lot Morpheus, what the hell have I done to you? I let myself fall back down on the bed and take a few breaths. The fantasy part was interesting after all, and Prince Alexander was definitely something, also because he looked a lot like Eddie. I'd have gladly skipped the part about my eventually disgraced future though. The phone keeps ringing and for a minute I'm afraid I'm still in my terrible nightmare, then I realize it's my actual phone ringing. I stretch my hand across the nightstand and manage to grab the phone on the second attempt, after it fell on the floor the first time.

“Hello”

“Is it Friday yet?” the Prince's, ehm, I mean Eddie's voice brings me back to another kind of dream.

“No, Eddie” I instinctively answer with a yawn, following the unwritten script of our recent favourite game.

“Hehehe what do you mean no? Today, it is!”

“What?” I feel I'm waking up completely, even though I don't want to. 'Cause I think that if I put some effort, I could close my eyes, fall back asleep, pick up the dream where I left off and quickly get to the point when that Coril bitch dies and Alex is alone and ready to be comforted by someone, who could be anyone. Like the farmer's daughter, who's like the exact replica of me but hot, skinny, blue-eyed and with straight teeth. Nobody had straight teeth in the Middle Age anyway though. There were no braces. There were no dentists either. It was a miracle if they got to their forties and still had like four teeth in their mouths. It was a miracle if they got to their forties.

“Are you still asleep? It's Friday, for real”

“Not really. What time is it?” I can understand why Eddie's impatient, especially after our little fight the other night, but I had no idea he'd go as far as calling in the middle of the night to celebrate the date.

“It's eight o'clock. Sorry if I woke you up, I thougt you were awake for a while now. Don't you have class this morning? I thought it was the last day before...”

“WHAT?! EIGHT O'CLOCK?” my braincells wake up all together as soon as they realise the alarm clock didn't work and I'm late. A quite unique occurence. I mean it's very unlikely for me to forget about setting the alarm and, even if it happens, it's impossible for me not to automatically wake up on time all the same. Panic is so immediate that I get up, grab random clothes and rush to the bathroom cursing under my breath. After five minutes at least I realize I forgot something. I run back to my bedroom and look for the phone. Can't find it. Then I go straight to the bathroom once again and right in the middle of the pile of clothes I retrieve the cordless phone “Are you still there?”

“Yes, you know I love listening to you on the phone”

“You haven't heard much I guess, except for a lot of curse words”

“Uhm not that many”

“And the sound of me brushing my teeth”

“And peeing”

“EDDIE!” the hair band I was using to put my hair up slips from my hands and is shot in space like a bullet, ending who knows where.

“Uh I heard that too, it's not my fault”

“GOD THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING!” I cover my face with my hand, as if Eddie could see me.

“That's real intimacy”

“Couldn't you just hang up?” I whine as I'm scanning the bathroom's floor looking for my hairband.

“Nuh, the live commentary of your madness was too entertaining, kitty”

“Well kitty here is not entertained at all” ok, if I start using this pet name too, I'm screwed.

“Come on, it's not that bad”

“Kitty is very embarrassed now”

“I can fart on the phone if you want, that makes us even and you don't need to be embarrassed anymore”

“Hahahaha fuck you, Eddie!” I insult him when I finally find the hairband, right on the radiator.

“Anyway, I'm seriously shocked: you forget things too, you know, like us mortals”

“See? Things can go beyond my control too”

“Wow, you're human”

“Anyway, I gotta go now, 'cause the human being here is extra-late and has to take a shower”

“Does it bother you if I follow that one live as well?”

“Why? Does the sound of water relax you too?” I pass the phone from one hand to the other as I take off my pyjama top and throw it into the pile of dirty clothes.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I'm interested in. Running water. It's not like I think about you naked in the shower or anything”

“Come on, I can't stay on the phone, I gotta go” I'm thinking of a long list of jokes about Eddie's horrible taste but I have no will or time to make him upset so early in the morning. Well, early... it's already past eight. Past. I take off my pants and kick them in the laundry basket.

“You know you could have brushed your teeth directly in the shower to spare some precious minutes? You're clearly a newbie at being late”

“And I hope I'll stay a newbie. I'll call you after lunch, ok?”

“Ok... Wind?” I stand up straight and the panties I was taking off remain rolled up around my knees.

“...”

“Angie?”

“Uh...” I look around, lost and uncomfortable, as if I found myself suddenly naked in front of Eddie. And after all, that's the way it is.

“WAIT, DID I GET IT RIGHT??”

“Almost”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ALMOST? AM I RIGHT OR NOT?”

“You are... half right” I finally remove all my clothes and take a towel.

“Half?”

“I'll tell you later, gotta go now” I get into the bath tub and place the towel on the stool right next to it.

“Later my ass, tell me now”

“It's half the name” I'm standing in the tub, late, phone in one hand and showerhead in the other, can't we just postpone this conversation?

“So you're WindSomething? Or SomethingWind?”

“Exactly”

“Exactly what? First or second one?”

“Later Ed, byeee”

“OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE, ANGIE?!”

********************************************************************************************************************************

“Thank you, huh? Goodbye, sir!” I address my greetings right at the back of the guy who's just bought a carton of Pall Mall Extra Mild smokes and left without saying a word to me. I can understand someone may not be in the mood for talking, socializing or interacting like a human being from time to time. And I'm the flag bearer of the idea that you can't judge the others, especially strangers, because you have no idea what shit they're going through. But, even in my darkest moments, I never forgot to say good morning or thank you to the shop assistant, the waiter or the check-out girl. Cause these people are already working shitty jobs, exploited and underpaid, and shouldn't be deprived of their dignity as well. And by the way, I'm pretty sure being kind is free. This customer must have had a really terrible day though because he doesn't reply to me and almost doesn't notice the person who's getting into the mini market at the same time, barely avoiding a collision.

“Hey, watch where you're going!” as soon as I hear him cussing at the cigarette guy, I look up to his face and now it's me colliding with a pair of keen green eyes.

“You showed up early Stone, your girlfriend gets off in half an hour” Hannigan talks to him before me, as I'm occupied nibbling on a hangnail on my thumb.

“Uhm can't we make it a little sooner? We've got soundcheck at seven” Stone looks at the clock on the wall right behind me and adjusts the Chicago White Sox cap on his head, the one he wears every time he wants to piss Eddie off a little. That means at every show.

“Oh wow, Grace, I didn't know you were part of the band too, what do you play?”

“Grace is not part of the band. She plays... me, she gently strokes the strings of my heart, music that gets my soul vibrating.” Stone keeps talking with my boss like I wasn't here but I'm not upset, the thing actually amuses me. It's like I'm watching an episode of The Muppet's Show, that is more or less the way I feel every time Stone talks to someone about me “And if I can't vibrate, I can't perform”

“If Grace performs in labelling cereal and stocking the shelves up, I'll let you go vibrating wherever you want, ok?” the boss talks about me in third person too, as if I wasn't present, and at this point I finally have a reaction.

“Ok, thanks. I'll do it immediately” I check my thumb to make sure I didn't bite it all off together with the hangnail as I leave to go to the storage room.

Stone. What the hell are you doing here, Stone? Well, I know what you're doing here but what I'm asking is... how? I mean, you disappear for days, to let everything I told you sink in. And it's not like I wanna blame you for that, I understand you. But what about now? You show up just like that, like nothing happened, to take me to the show? Without asking me first? You didn't even ask me if I wanted to go, if I have something else to do. You basically didn't speak to me.  Your heart... I'd rather make your teeth vibrate hitting you with the price gun instead!

“Do you need help?” I turn around when I hear his voice and I'm this close to making my previous fantasy come true.

“No, thanks” I set the correct price and start labelling the boxes.

“Don't you have another of those tools? Ok wait, I'll line them up for you, so you'll make them faster.” Stone starts piling up the boxes all in the same verse, so as to make it easier for me. Once he stacks three piles, he walks away and comes back in a minute with two empty cartons, where he puts the already priced cereal boxes.

“Why are you better than me at my job?” I'd want to tell him with a frown, an arrogant tone, a pissed off mood. But in the end, I tell him smiling because I missed him and I'm happy he's here. Because if he's here, it means everything's alright. Or not?

“I'm just better at organizing, that's it.” he shrugs and gives me the kiss I've been waiting for since I saw him on the door, while his hand crawls along my arm until he steals my pricing gun “Go refill the shelves, I'll go on here”

“Ok, boss”

“What happened now? Did Hannigan make you label the whole storage room? You should have been faster, I taught you the method” Stone comments on me being late as I get into his car.

“Sorry, I had to get myself ready somehow. If I had known before, I'd have left my apartment looking more presentable” I go on as I check my eyeliner work in the wing mirror.

“What does it mean if I had known before? I've been telling you about this show for weeks” Stone looks surprised and I can't understand if he's really stupid or just acts like one.

“I knew about the concert, I didn't know if you wanted me there...”

“The fuck are you talking about? We also agreed you'd come to the soundcheck too”

“Yeah, but we agreed on that before...”

“Before?” so you're just gonna play dumb and act as if nothing happened?

“Before our talk. You know, the talk...”

“So what? The talk didn't change anything”

“No?”

“Of course not, I don't think that the Ok Hotel has a policy of prohibiting entry to people with prosthetics” so the answer to my previous question to myself is that you are stupid. Because, even if  you're doing it on purpose, you do that because this is what you are: a jerk.

“And between us?”

“We didn't set up any policy between us”

“Did the talk change anything between us?” the only way to interact with Stone in cases like this is ignoring what he's saying and following your logical train of thoughts, waiting for him to consider you worth talking to for real.

“No, why?” he snorts because this time he has to answer seriously.

“Well, I don't know, you ghosted out for days, I haven't heard anything from you”

“I was busy, you know that-”

“Don't fuck with me, Stone, you clearly said you needed time to make up your mind”

“Well if you knew, then there was nothing to worry about, right?” Stone smiles and thinks he can solve everything with a shrug and turning on the radio. But he's so wrong.

“So?” I ask him turning off the stereo and earning a surprised look from him.

“So what?”

“Did you make up your mind?”

“Yep”

“And?”

“And now... my mind's made up” has he become a man of few words all of a sudden??

“And couldn't you shed some light into my mind too, please?” I'll light him up too, after showering him with gasoline, if he doesn't stop acting like this.

“Do we have to do it right now? I got the show tonight and a lot on my mind ri-” I don't even let him finish talking and I've already unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door, since we're at a stop sign “Where do you think you're going now?”

“I'm going home, see you when your mind's free” I reply as I shut the door and walk towards the closest bus stop, while Stone drives beside me slow with the window open.

“Grace, get back in the car, come on”

“I'll get back if you're talking, if you're not I'll pass” I answer as the other upcoming cars honk at and overtake him, yelling swears at him.

“Ok, I'll talk, just get in”

“I don't know” he could be much more convinced and convincing than this, if only he wanted to.

“Ok, OK!” Stone stops and turns off the engine, puts on the hazard lights and gets out of the car. He then walks past me towards the bus stop and sits down on the bench “So? Didn't you want to talk? Come here, let's talk” he pats the room beside him gesturing for me to join and sit with him.

“You're the one who's got something to say, I already told you what I had to tell you. And I understand it's something hard to digest, believe me, I do. But I'm also expecting at least some kind of honesty from your side. I mean, ok, you're here so I guess you wanna keep this thing with me going but-”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You guess? Did you have any doubts about that?” I'm slowly getting to the bench when Stone tugs at my arm and makes me sit down not so gently.

“Well, you said you needed time to think”

“To think about what a dick I was. About how many times I hurt you without knowing, maybe on that same night, using the wrong words or looking at you the wrong way, over- or under-reacting. To think about how much you trust me, how much must this relationship matter to you if you decided to tell me, about how long you must have pondered the way to do it and the timing. To think about what I can do to make you understand that it matters to me just as much and that I trust you the same way. To think about treating you differently and treating you exactly the same at the same time, not changing anything at all and being the usual asshole. To think about what I can give to you in this relationship that is just as significant, how I can help you, or at least understand you, what my added value is in all this. To think about how I can be close to you in this situation, but without bothering you. About how I can find the right key. Oh and I think I found it, you know? That's what I thought about, well, part of that, I thought about a lot of things, but questioning being with you or not wasn't one of them, I never had doubts about it, not even for a second, you can be sure about that”

“Ah” ok he found his words.

“Ah? I said like a million words and you were the one who wanted to talk and ah is all you got?”

“And what is it?” now I'm the one without words. Well, I got four.

“What is what? Ah?”

“The key, you found”

“Oh that. Well, Gaby Pearce”

“Who?”

“My nemesis in third grade”

“Uh, little Stone had a crush!” I have no idea where he's going with this but thinking about baby Stone instantly puts a smile on my face.

“No no, the story's not about little boys pulling girls' pigtails on playgrounds because they're in love, we used to really hate each other. Actually Gaby tried to kill me”

“What?”

“She actively pushed me off the swing at recess”

“Hahaha maybe it was about little girls kicking boys in their asses because they're in love”

“Well, she must have loved me a lot since she gave me a severe head trauma and I spent almost one month in the hospital, plus two of rehabilitation treatments”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, that sucked. When my mother arrived at Virginia Mason's Hospital she was devastated, she saw me awake and ran to hug me. I looked at her and called her Bread. She fainted”

“Bread?”

“I don't know if this thing has a name, I was too young then and didn't ask later, the concussion had damaged the part of the brain that is responsible for language and speech. I could understand everything and could perfectly talk, but the things I said made no sense. I couldn't remember the name of the things sometimes or I could and I thought about a word but then I opened my mouth and a totally different one would come out”

“Bread”

“Right. Two months with a speech therapist to get back to the way I was. Well, even better than before actually! And thank God because you can only imagine someone like me not being able to talk”

“I can, it's like taking the oxygene away from you basically”

“Hehe exactly. Anyway, it all went well, it was only a temporary thing and I had no consequences at all”

“That's what you think” I joke to release the tension and I'm happy I can see my smirk mirrored by Stone.

“Hey, you can't joke about things like that!” he shoves me playfully than pulls me closer to him on the bench.

“Who says that? I remind you that I only have one foot, I basically have a free pass for cruel socially unacceptable jokes”

“Oh is that so?”

“Yeah, and since you have a sad little story from your past too, you have the permission to make fun of me as well and take it easy. This is the key, right?”

“Oh my god, no! You're way off, I'm not that cynical, shame on you!” Stone pushes me away again and he's laughing but I'm feeling disoriented for real.

“What is it then?”

“It's that I know what it means to start again from zero, Gracie. I don't wanna brag but I'm pretty sure only few people understand what it means to have to go through the process of learning to do basic things again from scratch. Walking and moving for you, talking for me. 'Cause I was much younger than you and I forgot a lot of it but I didn't forget the struggle. And frustration. Very few people know what it means to push yourself out of your comfort zone to achieve goals. Do you know I had just started playing the guitar? I had to start it all over too because apparently the left part of my brain went one way and the right one went the opposite direction and I found out the hard way this is not good when you have to play a fucking instrument”

“It seems to me that you recovered great” I take his hands while he's mimicking some sort of air guitar and rub his long fingers one by one with my thumb.

“Yes but I had to work my ass off, not as much as you of course, but it wasn't easy. Well no, I'm talking shit right now, it was easy after all but only because I decided it had to be, I decided I could do anything and I made it. I just had to understand when I could push myself and when I had to lower the bar a couple of inches and I did. I understood, I learned. And by saying this I don't mean to justify myself for being a fucking control freak perfectionist, but still” Stone laces his fingers with mine and opens his arms, as to say Here I am, I am like this, this is what I'm offering you. And I couldn't ask for more.

“I'm not a perfect perfectionist though”

“And you're perfect like this. I won't pretend to grasp everything about you, also because you're batshit crazy, but I understand the scheme of thought that's behind this thing, this part of you. I can tell when I can push you and when I must lower the bar, and you can do the same with me. I know what it means to follow your guts even when the others tell you to do the opposite, maybe even for your good. And I think you can understand it too, I mean, I'm sure you can. And it's extremely important to me. Because nobody in my life has ever been able to tell the difference between when I'm stubborn only for the sake of it, because I like it or because I just wanna show that I'm right, and when I'm actually pushing myself to achieve a real goal”

“Between being stubborn and being determined”

“See? You understand! Since I took back my guitar as a child, I never stopped. Never. I didn't stop when Green River split. I didn't when Andy died. I didn't when my dad suggested me to go back to college. And now it's my job and it'll always be. And it's not about fame, Mark Arm can say whatever the fuck he wants, I wanna do it because, of all the things I can do, and let me tell you, they are many, music is the one I'm better at”

“Uhm... you're pretty good at presumption too” he's good at everything, especially with me.

“I like to call it confidence. Or simply awareness”

“Are you aware that after this conversation I won't ever leave you because I'll never find another man who can talk to me like this?”

“Do you think I raised the bar too high?”

“Try and lower it and I'll kill you”

“Ok, let's go now, I'm late to soundcheck and Jeff must be making a scene already” Stone smiles and stands up, inviting me to follow him.

“Does Jeff know? I mean, about your accident as a kid...”

“Nuh, nobody knows, except for my family. And that Gaby bitch. Do you know she never even apologized?”

“From then on, I would have started to call her Bitch instead of using her name, blaming the trauma for that”

“You... are... a fucking evil genius! Fuck. Why didn't I come up with that? And most of all, where the hell where you in 1975 if not in my life?” Stone stops a few steps from the car, turns around and hugs me tight.

“Kenosha, Wisconsin”

“Oh. Shit. That changes everything though. Err... I don't know if I can be with someone from Wisconsin, no offence but I don't think I can make it” he lets go of me abruptly and gets into the car fast.

“Sorry if I didn't tell you this dirty secret of mine before, I was worried you'd take it bad” I get in the car too and I can't help following him in this new stupid joke, as always.

“And you were worried for a reason. But we can still be friends if you want”

“Start the car, Stone” following him but without getting lost.

“We can go badger hunting sometimes, if you want to”

“I love you” following him everywhere.

“Even though I can't tell a badger from a raccoon?”

“I'll teach you”

“In that case, I love you too”

********************************************************************************************************************************

When I talk to Angie on the phone in the early afternoon I manage to convince her to go to the Ok Hotel with me and the guys so she could be there for the soundcheck too. But I can't make her tell me her fucking name.

“Ok, it must be Windsomething because you're Angelina W. Pacifico, so it starts with W” I tell her as soon as she comes out of the apartment building.

“Hello to you too, Eddie”

“Windflower? Or Windchill?” I kiss her and ask her pretending to shiver but not pretending much since the late afternoon air is quite frisky.

“No and no” she answers after rolling her eyes. I kiss her again and she looks around, kind of subtly so I don't notice. But she should know I notice everything.

“They're in the van waiting for us. And it's Friday anyway, right?” I smile and kiss her once more and she looks a little less tense this time.

“Yeah, you're right” she smiles one of her killer smiles and puts her hand against my cheek before kissing me back.

“Windstorm” I ask, looking up soon after, trying to understand the weather.

“No. And now shut up because if you tell this to the guys too, you're dead.” she straightens up the collar of my jacket and takes me by the hand “Where to?”

“Down there, after the bowling place, round the corner... Windsurf”

“Hahaha no! Shut up!” she shakes her head and crosses the street with me, keeping her eyes on the van. And although she doesn't say anything and tries to dissimulate, I know in her head she's calculating angle and perspective to try and figure out if they could have seen us kiss. By the way, I already did the maths in the meantime and they must have seen us for sure.

“Ok but you'll tell me later, won't you?”

“Yes. If you get to deserve it”

Once we get right outside the van we see Mike and Jeff sitting on the front, both turned towards Dave, who's sitting in the middle between them, apparently very focused on their conversation. So focused they don't give a fuck about us. They must be talking about us and didn't notice we're right here. I can only imagine their reaction as soon as I'll open the door and-

“Come on, Lynch is a genius” uhm, no, I guess they're talking about something else.

“Lynch is a genius but he's clearly fuckin' with all of us, can't you see it?” Mike retorts at Jeff's claim shaking his head.

“That scene seemed perfectly in keeping with the show. That guy is in direct contact with another world, his art is full of what-the-fuck-have-I-just-watched moments” Dave tries to mediate but it looks like he's not doing a good job.

“A knob? A fuckin' drawer knob??” McCready explodes, startling both Angie and I. We look at each other at the same time, she seems amused, I must look perplexed.

“Hahaha I like the fact that of all the nonsense stuff like the Giant, the Log Lady, the owls, the man in the smiling bag, the one-armed guy, the Man from another place... the knob's the thing that pisses you off the most!” Jeff chuckles adjusting the hat on his head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I chime in the conversation and let our friends finally acknowledge our presence, since they weren't giving a fuck about us yet.

“Josie's death, in the latest episode” Angie replies instead of my band mates, who barely turn around to look at us.

“When Cooper arrived, she looked asleep” the drummer starts to explain.

“But she wasn't and had just killed a guy” Jeff adds.

“But the guy didn't die immediately, you know, he got out of bed and took a short walk before” Mike jokes, looking for my support, while the other two keep on adding details about the plot alternatively.

“And she confessed she had killed other people too”

“Then it looked like she was about to disappear”

“But she didn't”

“But it looked like”

“But she passed out”

“She fell back on the bed and she was dead”

“Then she and the sheriff disappeared, a spotlight from out of nowhere projected light on agent Cooper and that's when the what-the-fuck moment started”

“Bob came out from under the bed making all his Bob noises and moves and shit”

“And he looked very pleased with himself for his interpretation, let me tell ya”

“But he disappeared soon too and who showed up next?”

“The fuckin' Man from another fuckin' place” Mike gets into the back-and-forth banter.

“And what did he do? What he's better at”

“He started to randomly dance on the bed”

“He did his fuckin' dance” it's once again 'Cready showing his little admiration for the character.

“Then disappeared”

“And Josie and the sheriff reappeared”

“And Josie's spirit was mysteriously teleported into the knob of a drawer in the nighstand” and it can't be anyone but Mike to mention the infamous drawer knob again.

“And she tried to get free from that fuckin' knob but she couldn't and the drawer knob took the shape of her face” this time it's up to Angie to add further details.

“And I was like, what happened? Who did that? Was it Bob? Was it the dwarf? You know, what-the-fuck-have-I-just-watched??” Mike questions us all one by one but we can't answer.

“And we'll never have the answers” right, Jeff.

“And that's the thrill of it! I mean, if they start giving us answers, then there's no point watching it anymore. Just the fact they've already revealed who Laura's killer was, well, it was a big dumb mistake to me” my girlfriend points out as she opens the back door of the van and I help her.

“I must say the show kind of died down a little after that” Krusen admits as Jeff starts the engine and Mike follows Angie's critic.

“I think Lynch didn't mean to reveal it until the end but the channel forced him to. And now he's fuckin' with us for revenge”

“With a drawer knob?” I speak up as I feel kind of left out of the conversation and I prompt another little hysterical reaction of the guitarist.

“That fuckin' knob!!”

“Come on, name another tv show that can pride itself of killing one character by turning her into a knob?” Angie tries to calm him down with a pat on his back, as I close the door from inside.

“Yeah, that's the ultimate death” Jeff admits trying to stifle a laugh.

“They could as well hang a sign on that knob with The End written on it”

“Err it's getting late, I think we should go” I try to get the attention of the gang since I notice Jeff hasn't actually started driving yet. And he still doesn't. He turns around instead and addresses me.

“What do you think about it, Eddie?”

“Eddie hasn't watched Twin Peaks yet but don't worry, I recorded every single episode, we can start filling your gap whenever you want” Angie pats me on the knee and takes my hand and does it right in front of Jeff. And that doesn't go unnoticed to him. I clearly see him looking down on our joint hands, even if it's just for a fraction of a second, then looking back up, smiling and turning around.

“Anyway my favorite one is Log Lady, luckily she's still a mystery” Angie goes on as we finally move. The secret we're about to reveal today though... well, I guess it's not as mysterious after all.

[nurseofren]

TW: body dysmorphia, body talk, binge eating, disordered eating, my mother, fatphobia, depression, weight mention

It runs deep and it starts so early.

I feel I should write this without generalizing, as I think body dysmorphia/binge eating/eating disorders are very personal and individual experiences, so I don’t want to group anyone into this.

So I guess I’ll start off with why I felt the need to get this out of my head: eating.

Eating hasn’t been an experience focused around nourishing my body in a long time. Eating is something very touchy for me. It has been even more so this past year. And I’ll get into that.

But I’ll just describe it as how it feels right now. It’s like this big secret. It’s something shameful. It’s something to hide. Because no matter the portion size, it feels like I’m doing something wrong.

“You are all of that?”

“Do you feel sick? You didn’t take that much food.”

As someone who detrimentally tried to please everyone, who tries to read the room and scope out the correct action, it’s been very confusing.

I have to bring up my mother. Because as much as I wish one issue didn’t involve her, I’m finding that’s true very little of the time.

She cooks for the family. Always has. And I was scorned for not eating something. Even if I didn’t like it, it would always end in “you are a stubborn child. You are a picky eater. You’ll eat what I make or you can make a peanut butter sandwich. I just suck, don’t I? Why do I even bother?”

So it’s confusing as a grown woman living with her parents — a situation I’m working toward changing soon, hoping for next Fall — to be told that i don’t have to clear my plate. And then I can not eat something and I’ll still get the aforementioned comments, but it’s not forced on me like it was when I was young.

It’s these learned behaviors that were expected of me at a young age that fester and leave me vulnerable to fits of BD, BE.

And then there’s another level to it.

“No we’re not getting [fast food establishment], none of us (i. e. my family who is fat) need that anyway”

“You only need a super small piece, it’s so rich”

“Those clothes weren’t made for big girls”

*justification of eating a meal because a prior meal was skipped*

“Those shorts look a little tight”

“Big girls shouldn’t do cheerleading, it’s embarrassing”

“No we’re not getting dessert! None of us need it, anyway!”

My mother is fat. I’m fat. I grew up fat with a fat mother. But I grew up fat with a fat mother who hates herself. Who called herself ugly and depreciated herself every chance she got. I grew up in a house where it was expected to cover your body, to wear baggy clothes, to buy clothes because they fit and not because you liked them.

And I could go on a full tangent on how this runs even deeper. How my mother views herself as a lost cause, who deems herself unlovable or unworthy of being loved because of her body — and how, ultimately, I never learned how to take care of myself because she never took care of herself.

Calling women high maintenance because they got their nails done, because they scheduled hair appointments, because they bought shoes and clothes they loved more than once bi-annually. And as a kid, I obviously wanted to believe my mother.

So I saw these women with pretty painted nails, and I saw them with their daughters who were my age, I saw these pretty girls with the nice nails and the skill in makeup, and I thought I was above them. But really I was just so buried under the self hatred of someone else that I didn’t see that those people did those things because they cared what they looked like, that they saw it was important to take care of themselves in a way that let them feel good.

And I was jealous. I was jealous because my mother never taught me how to paint my nails. Angry that I wasn’t worth the time for her to learn how to braid. Jealous of these other girls who tanned and were always polished. And then there was always me, biting my nails off every week in the shower because I didn’t know how to trim my nails.

But anyway, see I knew I’d tangent off w that topic, I have a very interesting relationship with my own body. Now.

I truthfully didn’t start really actively taking care of myself until early this year. I’d go months without shaving. I had no skin care routine. I would go days without brushing my teeth (which honestly is my very prominent sign of depression, when I stop brushing at all when I have nowhere to go and I’m still working on changing that).

In short, my outward appearance was very much for someone who loved me. And I never had one, so I didn’t see the point in keeping up with these routines. Why should I take care of my body if nobody is caring for it?

And last year I’d lost some weight by changing my diet, so people complimented that. And it just cemented to me that people only care about you when you’re smaller. People only positively notice you when you are skinny or slimming down.

So. I gained that weight back. I accidentally weighed myself at work last week and had it confirmed. I’m at my heaviest in probably two years. And I don’t feel shame for the number, or even the appearance of my body, but what really grates against me is eating.

There’s two sides to the nagging — the one that tells me to eat because I’m too far gone and it’ll be impossible to lose 120 pounds and find the elusive happiness that supposedly comes with that. And then there’s the side that angrily screams at me while I’m thinking of food, while I’m hungry, while I’m getting food, while I’m eating food, that just mentally beats me to a pulp.

“Maybe you’re a virgin who’s never been loved because you’re such a disgusting pig”

“If you don’t eat that, you’ll lose weight faster”

“If you start today, you could be at the BMI approved weight this time next year.”

“Just take a nap, you can’t be hungry while you sleep”

“Just eat smaller portions so you can shrink your stomach and decrease your appetite”

It’s just so exhausting. Having food be a salve, but having food also be the root of the issue.

Existing as a fat person in friend groups where they stand around and call their BMI approved bodies fat and disgusting. Hearing people fear fatness on a daily basis. Working with a preceptor who was grossly interested when my large patient wanted to weigh himself, like she was so involved in the situation because she viewed his size as shameful. Hearing her and another skinny friend go through photos of their high school classmates and act so disgusted and say “she blew up. She got big” about someone they graduated with.

It’s just all of these things. And then I accidentally take a video of my body when I’m taking risqué pics (😅😉) and looking at myself and…. Loving my body so much.

Knowing I’m at my heaviest in a while, and seeing my belly and curves and legit loving them. And seeing my body as this beautiful thing. This soft, cozy being worthy of love and affection and attention.

And then I hear these things. Everything mentioned above and I’m just “I’m not supposed to love my body because I am fat and there is no love for the fat girl”.

And there’s always been this forefront of a thought that I can be loved….. once I lose the weight. I can be loved…. after I’m below a size 12. I’m allowed to be shown affection and kindness….. when I’m thin.

It’s always been there. I never expected attention because I never deemed myself worthy of it. I still don’t most days. I’ve grown comfortable moving in the background of others’ lives because i am not a positive presence in my fat body.

No matter how kind. No matter how funny. No matter how smart. I am simultaneously too much and never enough for society. So I do not deserve those things thin people get without thought. Obviously.

So it’s all very heavy (hahahaha). I love my body, I really do, but I don’t deem it worthy of affection or desire. I complicate eating because obviously I’m fat and don’t need regular nourishment as the current fat existing on my body will be my sustenance because that’s how science works.

I’m trying to work on it. I’m trying to deem myself worthy of good things. Of food, of exercise not centered around changing my body, of clothes I’ve forever been told is “not for big girls”.

I’m trying. I am. But that’s where I am. Hopefully, if anyone has made it this far, I’ve made sense and perhaps made life a little less lonely for some people.

[flying-elliska]

So I watched Happiest Season (livewatch with @beeexx my fave penguin enthusiast 🐧🐧🐧)

Overall I enjoyed it ? But it's not the light-hearted romcom it's been promoted as.

Spoilers !

The positive:

- Kristen Stewart, het icon of my teen years, is just glowing in this, like she is so happy to be finally playing gay lmao. This is really her story. Her character, Abby, is by turn charming, adorable, funny, and relatably awkward. Also, her glam butch style is just A++. And she has good chemistry with her co-star - they feel and behave like a believable couple (which has been a problem with actresses playing wlw in the past where you could really see they weren’t fully into it.) They were super cute together. This still feels cathartic somehow, like Bella Swan decided to go see a therapist instead of going off the deep end and finally figured herself out.

- I loved that this isn't the "token gays in a sea of straightness" trope. Abby's BFF is gay and really funny - and this particular trope feels a lot less annoying when the gay BFF is there for another gay person so it's more like queer solidarity instead of him being a prop for a straight person's development. Him trying to play straight was just hilarious. Aubrey Plaza plays Harper's (the other part of the main couple) ex and she is just great, seems a bit shady at first but her helping Abby out was just...so compassionate. Also she is probably the hottest character in this movie let's be real. And I loved the bit where she takes her to a drag bar (the straight bar where Harper goes to seems so drab in comparison fjfj)

- There were some funny, classic rom-com shenanigans moments - the sneaking around, getting stuck in the closet, etc...the creepy twins were quite funny too, if infuriating. My favorite was definitely Jane, the overlooked kooky sister, who "has been writing a fantasy book for the past ten years" (I can relate) and whose overachiever family has pretty much given up on her (I can also relate). 

-Ngl the whole ‘rich people being fake and neurotic and making everything x100 times more difficult than it has to be’ bit felt very realistic. Like, I’ve met those people, and they are just as annoying in this movie as they are in real life. Also a very realistic rep of having to fake who you are in a town full of fake people pleasers and over achievers (even if it was stressful to watch lmao) and how Christmas can bring out the worst in people.

- Even though it has issues, the ending was very heartfelt and I definitely cried. This movie is just really raw and sad in some parts, but in a way that felt genuine and you can tell that a lot of queer people were involved in making it. It really touches on this deep seated anguish of possibly being rejected, of not knowing whether your family is going to accept you or not, on desperately trying to pass because you’re afraid of change...I think a lot of that comes to the actors being really good, like all of them, and really acting their heart out. And the moment where the dad decides to forego a big donor/supporter because he doesn’t want to force his daugther to hide really touched me. I also really liked the part where the BFF talks about how everybody’s coming out journey can be different and it’s important to remember that, especially if you have the chance to come from a very tolerant background.

The Less Positive

- The movie has been criticized for being weirdly apolitical (for instance the dad is a mayor but we never learn anything about his actual political opinions) but tbh this is supposed to be a Hallmark-like holidays movie I think that’s kind of part of the genre to be in this sort of happy slightly tone-deaf bubble and I don’t think straight movies of this type get this sort of criticism so yknow i’m fine with that bit i guess not all queer movies should have to be deeply political (even tho yeah it’s still very homonormative and ‘all about family values’ etc etc)

- Most of the issues I have with this movie center around Harper, Abby’s love interest and the one who lies to her family about their relationship. Now, I think Mackenzie Davis is a really good actress. And I do feel sympathetic for the character. The movie really makes you understand all the pressure she’s under, how her parent’s love is conditional, all the public scrutiny, and why she behaves the way she does. And her finally pulling through made me cheer for her. However, there were a lot of moments in the movie where I was genuinely unsure if I should be rooting for Abby and her to stay together. She does a lot of things that are definitely deeply unhealthy and questionable and had me going ‘Abby pls run away while you still can’. I feel a lot of compassion for her. But I simply don’t think the movie gives us enough happy time with Abby and Harper for me to really want them to be together as a couple -they spend a big part of the movie being mad at each other. They should have given us more scenes with them at the start to really get a feel of who they are as characters and as a couple, so when it gets rough, we actually root for them to pull through. This is an issue a lot of mediocre romances have - they assume we will root for the characters just because they’re said to be in love. For me, that doesn’t really work. And even though the ending made me quite emotional (again, great acting) - as a romance, it doesn’t really work for me.

- I really liked the bit where the family realized they had been putting this pressure on each other to be perfect and as they shared all these secrets they finally came together as a family. But...honestly, the family started out as just so profoundly neurotic it felt a bit unbelievable (and their social circles felt like a nightmare). A bit like Abby and Harper’s relationship being all ok after Harper’s big change of heart. The whole ‘mom’s secret desire to do karate but it’s unlady-like’ being put on the same level as her daughter’s coming out had me rolling my eyes. And there is a forced coming out scene which I really really hate.

- I think what I am really tired of, is queer movies who center coming out so much, the anxiety of being accepted or not, etc. And who present coming out as this revolutionary process that is going to change everything immediately. In my experience, at least, it’s often a process of small inches, towards self acceptance, towards your family coming to terms and learning to be less unconsciously bigoted, sometimes good intentions, sometimes microagressions or being erased, etc etc. I also just really want queer stories and queer romances who are not centered on coming out, on ‘what will others/my family think’, who have shenanigans and tension based on other things, with characters who might struggle with self acceptance sometimes (or not) but who have other things going on as well and who are fuller characters. It’s about damn time. Until then, the movies we have will end up feeling a lot like a PSA for straight people.

Overall

I still think this is a pretty quality movie. Good acting, believable and often funny dialogue, good chemistry, etc. (And let’s be honest, the bar for wlw movies is uhhhh not very high.) I really enjoyed watching Kristen Steward play gay and have chemistry with pretty ladies. There was room for holiday gay movies (even tho I want to see more, with more diverse characters).

It feels like wish-fullfillment for a certain type of queer person - (upper) middle class, with parents who are...ambiguously accepting. It does transcribe well this tension of not really being to predict their reaction - and illustrates the importance of being very obviously accepting with your children - like tell them it’s okay for them to be gay from the start, even if they turn out to be straight - otherwise they will be left wondering if they’re not. It’s this fantasy that everything will turn out all-right after you come out, you will fit in your family better than before, your mistakes will be forgiven if you are earnest enough, and life can go on as usual but better. And it is sweet, and cathartic, in a way, even if not revolutionary.

But yeah, as a romance, I wasn’t entirely sold on it. And I think it was promoted as a lot more uplifting than it really was.

[monroetalks]

A Last Long Talk With A Lonely Girl: article by Richard Meryman on LIFE

Only a few weeks before her death Marilyn Monroe talked at length to LIFE Associate Editor Richard Meryman about the effects of fame on her life. Her story was published in the August 3 issue. Here he recalls what Marilyn was like as she talked to him.

     If Marilyn Monroe was glad to see you, her "hello" will sound in your mind all of your life - the breathless warmth of the emphasis on the "lo", her well-deep eyes turned up toward you and her face radiantly crinkled in a wonderfully girlish smile.

     I first experienced this when, after two get-acquainted meetings in New York, I came in the late afternoon several weeks ago to her Brentwood, Calif. home to begin a series of conversations on fame. Expecting one of the famous waits for Marilyn, I sat on the soft wall-to-wall carpet of the living room and began struggling to set up my tape recorder. Suddenly, I became aware of a pair of brilliant yellow slacks upright beside me. In the slacks was Marilyn, silently watching me with a solicitous grin, very straight and slender with delicately narrow shoulders. She seemed shorter than I remembered and she looked spectacular in a loose-fitting blouse. I stood up and we greeted and she said,"Do you want my tape recorder? I bought one to play the poems of a friend of mine."

     Before starting what was to be no less than a six-hour talk, she wanted to show me her house which she had personally searched out and bought. Describing it earlier she exclaimed, "...and it has walls." She had refused LIFE any pictures of it, saying, "I don't want everybody to see exactly where I live, what my sofa or my fireplace looks like. Do you know the book Everyman? Well, I want to stay just in the fantasy of Everyman."

     It was a small, three-bedroom house built in Mexican style, the first home entirely her own she had ever had. She exulted in it. On a special trip to Mexico she had carefully searched in roadside stands and shops and even factories to find just the right things to put in it. The large items had not arrived - nor was she ever to see them installed. As she led me through the rooms, bare and makeshift as though someone lived there only temporarily, she described with loving excitement each couch and table and dresser, where it would go and what was special about it. The few small Mexican things - a tin candelabra, folding stools ingeniously carved from single pieces of wood, a leather-covered coffee table, tiles on the kitchen walls - revealed her impetuous, charming taste. Separate from the house, attached to her two-car garage, was a large room being converted to an apartment which would be, she explained, "a place for any friends of mine who are in some kind of trouble, you know, and maybe they'll want to live here where they won't be bothered till things are OK for them."

     Back in the house I remarked on the profusion of flowers outside. Her face grew bright and she said, "I don't know why but I've always been able to make anything grow." She went on: "When I was married to Mr. Miller, we celebrated Hanukkah and I felt, well, we should also have a Christmas tree. But I couldn't stand the idea of going out and chopping off a Christmas tree."

     In the living room, seated on a nondescript chair and sofa, we went on talking-after Marilyn poured herself a glass of champagne. At each question she paused thoughtfully. "I'm trying to find the nailhead, not just strike the blow," she said. Then a deep breath and out her thoughts would tumble, breathless words falling over breathless words. Once she said, "One way basically to handle fame is with honesty and I mean it and the other way to handle it when something happens-as things have happened recently, and I've had other things happen to me, suddenly, my goodness, the things they try to do to you, it's hard to take - I handle with silence."

     Her inflections came as surprising twists and every emotion was in full bravura, acted out with exuberant gestures. Across her face flashed anger, wistfullness, bravado, tenderness, ruefulness, high humor and deep sadness. And each idea usually ended in a startling turn of thought, with her laugh rising to a delightful squeak. "I think I have always had a little humor," said Marilyn. "I guess sometimes people just sort of questioned, 'does she know what she's saying,' and sometimes you do all of a sudden think about something else and you didn't mean to say it exactly. I'm pointing at me. I don't digest things with my mind. If I did, the whole thing wouldn't work. Then I'd just be kind of an intellectual and that I'm not interested in."

     At this point I began to see that Marilyn did nothing by halves. Of her millions of fans she said, "The least I can is give them the best they can get from me. What's the good of drawing in the next breath if all you do is let it out and draw in another?" I could also see how important it was to her to feel that the person she talked to "understood."

     Understanding apparently meant being very sympathetic, taking her side in everything, recognizing the nuances of her meanings and valuing all that she valued, especially small things. When I showed genuine enthusiasm for her house, she said, "Good, anybody who likes my house, I'm sure I'll get along with."

     But I had the constant, uneasy feeling that my status with her was precarious, that if I grew the least bit careless, she might suddenly decide the I, like many others she felt had let her down, did not understand. Once I slangily asked her how she "cranked up" to do a scene. I was instantly confronted by queenly outrage: "I don't crank anything. I'm not a Model T. I think that's kind of disrespectful to refer to it that way."

     But I could not feel impatient with her impatience. It was all so understandable as she talked about the people who wrote columns and stories about her: "They go around and ask mostly your enemies. Friends always say, 'Let's check and see if this is all right with her.'" And then she added wistfully: "You know, most people really don't know me." There was grief in her eyes when she described how she had once found her stepson Bobby Miller hiding a magazine containing a lurid article about her, and how Joe DiMaggio Jr. used to be taunted at school because of her.

     "You know, ha, ha, your stepmother is Marilyn Monroe, ha, ha, ha. All that kind of stuff." And there was yearning in her voice as she returned over and over again to "kids, and older people and workingmen" as a source of warmth in her life, as the unthreatening people who treated her naturally, whom she could meet spontaneously. I felt a rush of protectiveness for her; a wish - perhaps the sort that was the root of the public's tenderness for Marilyn - to keep her from anything ugly and hurtful.

     Before I left late that night, she asked to be sent a transcript of the interview. "I often wake up in the night," she explained, "and I like to have something to think about."

     When I arrived the next afternoon for a second session she immediately asked to postpone our talk. She was tired out, she said, from negotiations with 20th Century Fox over resumption of Something's Got To Give. But she hospitably offered me a drink and we chatted. She was obviously upset. But there was no hint of morose despair. She was electric with indignation and began talking angrily about how studios treat their stars. Then she paused, said she needed something to help overcome her tiredness and got a glass of champagne. I asked if she had ever wished that she were tougher. She answered, "Yes - but I don't think it would be very feminine to be tough. Guess I'll settle for the way I am."

     We were interrupted when her doctor arrived. Marilyn bounded out to the kitchen, returned with a little ampule, and holding it up to me said, "No kidding, they're making me take liver shots. Here, I'll prove it to you." By then she was willing to talk on, and it was nearly midnight when Marilyn jumped up and announced she was going to throw a steak on the grill. She came back to say there was no steak and no food at all. Before I left one of the last things she said was, "With fame, you know, you can read about yourself, somebody else's ideas about you, but what's important is how you feel about yourself - for survival and living day to day with what comes up."

     Over the weekend Marilyn was scheduled to pose for pictures so I suggested we eat breakfast before her noon appointment. She agreed and I arrived on Saturday at 10. I rang the doorbell repeatedly. No answer. But through the window I could see a man sitting in her little glassed-in porch, reading a magazine with the bored patience of somebody who had been there a long time. I waited and rang for about 10 minutes, then went away for an hour. At 11 my ring was answered by Marilyn's housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, who took me to wait in a guest room just off a tiny hall from Marilyn's bedroom. At noon Mrs. Murray took a tray of breakfast in to her. Shortly afterward Marilyn came out and said hello.

     I then became a witness to the fabled process of Marilyn preparing for an appointment - and being four hours late for it. The patient gentleman was her hairdresser, Mr. Kenneth. While he worked on her and she sat under the dryer I could hear uproarious laughter. Then, in her curlers, she made little barefooted errands about the house and in and out of her room, phone calls, visits to me to ask if I was comfortable, all busy bustling, getting nothing done. There was none of the fearful moping and preening in front of mirrors I had heard so much about. She was entirely cheerful and utterly disorganized. I could not help feeling that what some people blamed on stagefright might partly be her endless debt to time. The necessary mechanics of daily living were beyond her grasp; she always started out behind and never caught up.

     Finally she was almost ready and she came tripingly into the room where I sat. She wore high heels, orange slacks, a brassiere, and held an orange blouse carelessly across her bosom. "Do I look like a pumpkin in this outfit?" she asked. She looked wonderful. "You'll set the fashion industry ahead 10 years." I said. She was very pleased and answered, "You think so? Good!"

     Two days later I called Marilyn for another appointment to talk over the final draft of her story. She said, "Come anytime, like, you know, for breakfast." There was in her voice a note which I had come to recognize - an appealing eagerness to please. I came again at 10 and once again she slept till noon. Finally we sat down together on a tiny sofa. She was barefooted, wearing a robe, and had not yet washed off last night's mascara. Her delicate hair was in a sleep-tumbled whirl. But she had made me feel this was a compliment. "Friends," she had said, "accept you the way you are." As was usual, her face was very pale. She held the manuscript high in front of her eyes and carefully read it aloud, listening to every phrase to be sure it sounded exactly like her.

     She kept the manuscript and I returned for it late that afternoon. On the steps of the house she showed me changes she had penciled in, all of them small. She asked me to take out a remark about quietly giving money to needy individuals. And then we said goodbye. As I walked away she suddenly called after me, "Hey, thanks." I turned to look back and there she stood, very still and strangely forlorn. I thought then of her reaction earlier when I had asked if many friends had called up to rally round when she was fired by Fox. There was silence, and sitting very straight, eyes wide and hurt, she had answered with a tiny, "No".