#I can question so much about my upbringing but I know I’ll never be able to question her love

[teardropsonsmyguitar]

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[btsbabe7]

Perfect Storm

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x reader

Warnings!: 18+, unprotected sex

Synopsis: While Ominis grapples with his feelings, you embrace your own in full bloom.

Ominis sits in a complete daze, exactly three rows from the front of The History of Magic. In a class where sleep is prioritized over education, he finds himself wide awake and engulfed by his own thoughts.

At a young age, Ominis Gaunt had learned the mastery of concealing his disdain, his happiness, and all other emotions in between that may apprehend him. It was a skill he found himself most proud of, especially as a Slytherin, simply because it kept him safe from the consequences of raw emotions and how others may perceive them. But on this particular afternoon, an hour after your coffee brown feathered owl, Nora had chirped seven times through his windowsill, Ominis felt something arise.

A feeling he had long forgotten had begun to muddle up and settle in the hollowness of his chest as it would after a sip of freshly brewed Butterbeer or morning pumpkin juice on an empty stomach. He’d only felt this way twice in his entire life. Once, when he’d learned he’d been invited to attend Hogwarts and would finally be able to escape the harsh scrutiny and peculiar upbringing of his pureblooded parents. Secondly, when he’d been introduced to Sebastian and Anne Sallow during his first year of attending. However, he would have never guessed that he’d feel this way about you, his now, not-no-new best friend that he can’t seem to stop thinking of. Though, there is one thing Ominis knows for certain, and that is that he must stop his heart from becoming too attached. Otherwise, the feeling would fester and utterly consume him.

When Professor Binn dismissed class, a herd of yawning students stumbled out in the connecting hallway of The Bell Tower in pure delight. As they do, you scan the crowd over, student by student, looking for only one in particular.

Amit Thakkar. Eric Northcott. Lenora Everleigh. Natsai Onai, who stops at your side with a sly smirk.

“Next time you decide to skip Binn’s class, I beg you have Nora deliver a notice beforehand. As much as I appreciate a midday nap, I do cherish adventure even more.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you giggle, though you know Natsai wouldn’t have wanted to join in on the adventure that had pulled you away from class on this particular day.

The high of Sebastian’s presence that typically lingered long after the fact comes to a standstill at the thought of other’s putting the pieces together. Surely word would soon travel of you missing your History of Magic course and the coincidence of your best friend Sebastian missing his Astronomy one simultaneously. That thought alone is what steals your concentration from the leaving students and causes your mind to wander. A few seconds more and a small tap has you jolting as if you’ve seen a ghost for the first time.

“Ominis,” you breathe in relief.

“I could smell you,” he chuckles. “Well, you smell of Sebastian actually.”

“Oh, yeah… I, uh… We bumped into each other on the way to class and decided to ditch.”

Ominis is silent for a moment. He can always detect your hesitation when you lie, but it wasn’t a completely lie. You hope in your heart that he’ll buy it and not question any further, and in your favor, he chooses the latter.

“Nora stopped by before class,” he states. “She only chirped seven times. So you’re early, despite missing class.”

You rope your arm in Ominis’ and lead him downstairs and towards the doors which lead you out the castle.

“On my way over, I figured we could head to Hogsmeade early. We’re both done for the day and we don’t get much time alone without Seb. I tried to convince him to stay in tonight, but he was adamant about spending time with both of his best friends.”

Ominis hums in curiosity. Wondering what you’d bargained with Sebastian to get him to give you and him any time alone at all. Despite his curiosity, his own excitement wins the battle. He hadn’t had a moment alone with you since you’d met him and with Sebastian out of the way, even for a short moment, he’d finally have you to himself.

“Do we have to go to The Three Broomsticks? If we aren’t due there until seven this evening, we can go elsewhere?”

You purse your lips as you both waltz through the doors and into the warm breeze of spring. The air smells of heavy rain. The type of rain that smells of earth and dew and brings the worms from their humble adobes in the soil.

“I suppose we could go wherever we please.”

Ominis smirks, but turns in the opposite direction in order to conceal it from you.

“Perhaps we could go to The Undercroft?”

You glance up towards the sky. Heavy, grey clouds settle in the distance, remnants of a storm while another dares to roll in at a moment’s notice. As much as you love a brilliant storm, you’d love to spend time alone with Ominis more. After all, many storms have hovered in the skies above the grounds of Hogwarts, but time alone with your Slytherin friend weren’t as frequent.

“The Undercroft,” you hum in agreement.

Careful to evading the nosiness of curious students and staff, you and Ominis slip into the concealment of The Undercroft with relieved sighs. You gaze over the darkened room, casting Confringo towards the four hanging lamp posts before continuing inside.

Abandoned furniture, rusting cauldrons, and dusty barrels are stacked high against the surrounding walls, making the room appear much smaller than it feels. The room itself smells of burnt embers, left behind from all the times you and the duo had practiced Confringo here on end. You smile at the memories before meeting Ominis in the center of the room enveloped between four hefty, ornate columns.

A rug sits there now, one you’d managed to buy over Christmas break and bring in from home with the help of an Extension Charm. The others hadn’t seen it yet since you’d just placed it today before meeting Sebastian in the secrecy of his empty dorm.

“Confringo truly warms up the room,” Ominis breathes sarcastically before settling down. His brows rise at the sudden change of surface and he allows his fingertips to mold themselves into the thick fibers of the woolen rug with a gentle breath. “A rug?”

“Don’t you and Seb get tired of sitting on frigid concrete?”

“I’ve known nothing else.”

You smile softly, happy that you’re allowing him to experience something new in his safe place.

With your own need to relax, you kick your shoes off and drop your robe before joining Ominis on the rug. He jolts up at the feeling of your knee pressing against his and tries to imagine your facial features in this moment, calm and soft.

“I wish we could enjoy the storm from here,” you whisper. “I’d love to hear the heaviness of the rain pitter pattering around us. The rumbling of thunder that comes with the rolling clouds.”

Ominis smiles. Taking in your words and imagining them in his head. The coolness of the rain prickling against your flesh and curls. What rolling clouds would look like when the thunder rumbles beneath your feet and lightening streaks through gray clouds. The way your lips curl into a grin and eyes close when you’re in a state of peace and tranquility only a storm can offer. You take your bottom lip in with a smile, laughing to yourself at the thought. It’s as if you and Ominis had shared the imagery telepathically.

“Y/n,” Ominis calls, though he has no words to say. After all, anything that would come out in this moment would come out as a stutter and surely you’d laugh in his face, even as his friend.

But you respond in the softest your voice has ever been around him, a simple yes, and he finds himself swooning. He falls silent, closes his eyes and takes in the smell of burning coals in the nearby lamps. It’s not the smell of wet earth, but it is familiar. As familiar as the fluttering in his stomach as he lies back in hopes to push them away, the butterflies. And much to his dismay, you replicate the action.

The smell of Sebastian has long worn away and your own smell of vanilla and worn book pages returns. The warmth of your body so close to his has him fighting to steady his breathing. He shuffles a bit in an attempt to create space, but ends up slapping his hand into yours instead. You smile at the feeling and allow your palm to clasp around his with a soft exhale.

A few moments of silence pass by and you drop Ominis’ hand to roll onto your side. With one hand propping up the side of your head, your eyes roam over your best friend. His robe is parted and his tie sits tightly around the ring of his crisp, white collar that’s nestled underneath his buttoned vest and open jacket. The hem of his button-up is still neatly tucked inside his belted, checkered grey trousers. His full length, grey socks are pulled to the knee and stuffed inside his short boots. And when your eyes gaze up towards his face, a soft smile sits on his lips as if he’s deep inside a fantasy only he can see.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Ominis’ smile turns into a hoarse cough, almost a choke. You pat him gingerly on the chest until he heaves out one last cough and wipes away the tears.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Y-you didn’t,” he spats out. “I just didn’t know you were observing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the most interesting object in the room.”

His cheeks turn a cherry red and he gazes away nervously.

“I believe you to be more interesting,” he mutters.

You come up to your knees, allowing them to sink into the soft fibers of the rug.

“Prove it.”

You shock yourself and Ominis with that line, but it does the trick of pulling his reddened face back in your direction. Had this been Sebastian and you’d given him the chance, he wouldn’t have bat a lash before making a move, but Ominis has always been your greatest challenge. You know he won’t be the first to make the move even if the stone lied within his court. So, you find yourself climbing into his lap, straddling him as he attempts to find the words to say or expression to convey in response to your boldness.

“It’s alright,” you whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

Ominis’ trembling hands plant themselves against your jawline, thumbing over your soft cheeks, then the circumference of your lips. His mouth parts and your own need to feel him consumes you. You repeat the action of grasping his face and lean in closer until all that’s between you is a slither of air.

“Y/n,” Ominis speaks quickly. The call of your name propels his warmth against your lips. “This will change everything.”

“I know, Omi.”

He hesitates, then allows himself closer in consent. You settle down in his lap completely and draw your hands to the hairs at the nape of his neck, taking in the coarseness before your eyes flutter closed and your lips press gently into his.

Ominis’ body shutters underneath you as if he’s been set ablaze while yours kicks into overdrive. You help him slip off his robe and jacket, then mindlessly pluck the large, grey buttons from the holes of his vest. He shrugs out of it and clasps his arms around you, moaning as you both deepen the kiss and fall back on the rug. His hands travel over your waist, down your hips, then down your thighs on either side of him. He mentally takes in that you chose to wear a dress today, knowing he could use that to his advantage if you chose to go any further.

You pull away breathlessly and in a daze, drinking Ominis’ relieved express in like cool water.

“Do you think we have time?” You ask aloud, not necessarily to him as you reach back to grab your pocket watch from the inner pocket of your own robe. Barely an hour before you’re set to meet Sebastian in Hogsmeade. It’s not nearly enough time, but with the pout on Ominis’ face, you can’t deny yourselves the pleasure. “We’ll be quick…”

Ominis chuckles at the shakiness of your voice before pulling your lips back to his. If he had to face an annoyed Sebastian because you both arrived late, he’d take that over missing this opportunity with you. And in agreement, you and Ominis strip down to your undergarments in no time. Once his hand brushes against your bare flesh, he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls you down against him.

“Have you done this before?”

He shakes his head.

“Have you?”

You fear being honest in a time like this, when you know he’s so vulnerable, but you also know Ominis would be able to read your lies easily. Besides, in a time like this where everything is sacred, lying seems cruel.

“Only once,” you reply shakily.

Ominis’ expression fades into something unreadable, then a smirk appears.

“Perhaps you can show me how it’s done then?”

You scoff nervously. It wasn’t the response you were expecting. In fact, you were thinking he’d nudge you off of himself and start to redress. That you’d end up wallowing in shame all night over Butterbeers at the embarrassment.

You waste no time grinding against him, getting a feel for his size as soft pleas slip from his lips. Your own lips gasp at the feeling of him growing hard beneath your warmth. A bit surprised by his size, you lift up just enough to work the hardened member from his briefs. With a purr, you rub down the length and move your own garments to the side. You grasp one of Ominis hands and position it between your legs, and you swear his eyes widen like the moon at the sensation.

“Touch me here for now,” you croon, already aching in anticipation of the pleasure you know he won’t deny you.

Ominis rubs down your length, taking in the number of folds it takes to get to the source of your warmth. He clamps his hand over the mound, then slips a single finger into your depths, which earns a moan from your throat. He seems to like it, the prize that comes from knowing he’s touching you correctly.

“Just like that, Omi,” you mewl seconds before he pulls his finger in and out of your arousal. You work your own hand over his full length with a coating of your own saliva. “Can’t wait to feel you inside my wet pussy.”

He stops short as if his brain hadn’t processed it beforehand. He could feel you even more, more than his finger. Skin to skin, body to body. Luckily, you can’t deny yourself the pleasure anymore, and knowing that time is ticking by, you climb back into his lap and take him back into your grasp before lining your entrance up with the tip of his erection. It only takes the feeling of the tip poking inside to pull a heavy groan from Ominis’ lips. It makes you smile, the sight of him already squirming as you slip down the rest of his length with a loud whimper.

“Fuck, Omi, your cock feels amazing.”

“Y/n,” he whines and grips your waist the moment you start gliding back and forth with the length of his cock stuffed inside. It almost slips out, then you skillfully retract it back in. He squirms every time it comes close to falling out, a pinch of panic at the idea of losing this feeling.

His eyes shut and his blunt nails burrow into your flesh as you find a steady pace and your palms rest against his sweaty chest. You knew Ominis would feel astronomical inside of you, but he never knew he’d quickly become addicted to the feeling of himself being buried deep inside your depths.

You toss your head back and move Ominis’ hands up to your chest. He massages your breasts softly and unskillfully, scared of squeezing too hard in fear of hurting you.

“Lick them? Please?” You squeak and falter towards him. “Suck them.”

He feels for one of your protruding nipples and laps his warm tongue over the left, which causes the right to ache painfully in neglect. You massage into it yourself while trying to keep your pace. He pulls the left between his teeth and sucks on it hard, causing you to squeal before he moves to the right. You ride him faster, too overtaken by your own pleasure to notice him trembling beneath you. His own pants intertwine with yours and his hands find your hips again, this time guiding you up and down his twitching length.

“Y/n, I think I—“ Ominis’ words get caught in a groan so deep, your eyes flutter open.

“Oh, Omi… I’m going t— Nngh!”

He thrusts his hips upwards and your words fade into a sharp scream that leaves you shaking and trembling against him. Your eyes roll back and he pulls out of you with tremors of his own. You feel a warm liquid spurting against your ass and you sigh in relief before collapsing on top of him. His chest heaves violently against yours. His, then yours until they fall back into a rhythmic pattern of normalcy.

Silence falls over the room once again and you trace lines down Ominis’ abdomen mindlessly. Yet, in his mind, he’s attempting to come to terms with the act you two just committed. He’s sure this will change absolutely everything.

Will he start bantering with Sebastian when he mindlessly flirts with you?

Will he slip up and curse one of the other students who brag about how hot the hero of Hogwarts is?

He would now know just how hot you can get after finally having you this way. Would that knowledge alone push him over the edge?

On the outside, he remains calm, but you sense that his mind is elsewhere. You trail a fingertip from the center of his forehead and down the bridge of his nose before leaning over him.

“What’s plaguing your mind, Ominis?”

He’s hesitant, but thinks better of. If he’s had you like his, in his most vulnerable state of nudity, then surely he can admit his feelings.

“I’m worried about the others… Sebastian…”

“What about them?”

“What they’ll think or say. About the lewd comments I overhear in class. And if we continue to do this, they’ll begin to notice we’re becoming more than friends.”

You ponder it over for a moment, but surely being perceived as more than friends wouldn’t be so preposterous.

“There are worst things out there, Ominis Gaunt, than our peers perceiving us as more than friends. Perhaps you wouldn’t be too worried if instead of being friends, w—”

“Instead of being friends?” Ominis sputters in confusion and panic.

You pat his chest gingerly.

“Yes, Omi. Instead of being friends, you consider being my boyfriend instead? And when they inquire, we’ll simply tell them we’re courting each other.”

His face turns as pale as Professor Binn, a true ghost, and he sits straight up as if to prevent a choking fit again.

“You want to court me? You truly fancy me?”

“Of course. I thought that much was evident. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have spent the entire afternoon attempting to get Sebastian’s blessing of giving us time alone. And I surely wouldn’t be plastered against your body fully naked,” you snort.

Color fades back into his cheeks, but he remains flustered. That’s the reason you smelled of Sebastian, you’d been in his dorm all afternoon, and knowing Sebastian, convincing him would’ve taken a while. And now it made perfect sense that he’d granted you the time alone and hadn’t once wondered into The Undercroft with all the time that’s passed. It’s as if everything has finally clicked in his mind.

Ominis recognizes something else too, the feeling that had settled in his chest earlier in the day. It’s the very feeling he felt once he was granted freedom from the abuse of his parents, the feeling he felt when he’d met Sebastian and Anne, the feeling you grant him now and always have, is hope. A hope for something new and better in the midst of his own chaotic storms. And with that realization, Ominis caresses your cheek and presses his lips ever so slightly into yours.

And after a few deep kisses, he pulls back, leaving a sliver between you two to flash a brilliant smile before finally answering your burning question.

“Of course I’ll be yours. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ Rain Does Not Fall on One Roof Alone (m.) - Ominis Gaunt x Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Untitled (m.) - Sebastian Sallow x Ominis Gaunt x reader

⚡︎ Golden - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ Coffee (Love You a Latte) - Sebastian Sallow x reader

⚡︎ For You Always (m.) - Severus Snape x reader

⚡︎ HP: November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

May 2024

[oletus-writer]

Heyyyyyy

Can I request Andrew, Naib and Norton with a cinnamon roll s/o?

Like they are too nice for the world and it makes you get diabetes just by being with them Hnghsnhzvsjaj

Ah, there’s been a lot of requests lately and I took some time to write my own ideas, so apologies for the wait.

Andrew, Naib, Norton, Keigan x cinnamon roll s/o

Warnings: none

Andrew Kriess

Why were you in the manor in the first place? Such a nice person could not be nice forever if they had witnessed atrocities or suffered beyond comprehension. Then again, people came into Oletus Manor for various reasons, so Andrew wasn’t one to question why you were here.

Your personality was refreshing, and, although you sometimes overwhelmed him, he looked forward to seeing you in the matches. Unlike the other residents, you never got mad at him if he failed a rescue or kited badly.

‘Um… I’m very sorry about that… I didn’t manage to rescue you in time. I’ll do b-better next time…’

Sometimes, he enjoys sitting with you and watching you do something you’re passionate about - he loves to see how you are so cutely focused on something.

‘S-sure I’ll listen to you talk about… whatever you want. I’m happy to accompany you…’

Naib Subedar

He hasn’t seen someone so sweet for a while now, with the war, and being a mercenary. So, meeting you in such a dire situation, he was surprised how optimistic you were and that you tried to cheer him up.

He would want to spend more time with you, outside the matches, since you’re the only one who lights up his world.

‘Hey, wanna hang sometime? If that’s alright with you, of course.’

He’d be the ‘they asked for no pickles’ person with you. Where you are soft, he’s more unforgiving. Hopefully, the two of you hav etchings to learn from each other.

‘Babe, that kite was horrible. I know it’s my job to rescue everyone, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but you shouldn’t have rescued them.’

Norton Campbell

Seeing someone so cheerful sends a pang in Norton’s heart. He couldn’t recall the last time he was so carefree, so sweet. How different of a person would he be if his upbringing was any better?

Sometimes, he’d wonder about your past - what brought you here? Why were you here? But, standing in front of you, it’s suddenly didn’t matter.

‘You’re quite an odd one to be here in the manor… no, nevermind. Want me to show you ‘round?’

Norton knows how horrible people can be, so he’ll be watching out for you, and will do anything to keep you safe.

‘Sometimes, you trust the wrong people, amor. I’ll protect you, though.’

Keigan

When she first saw you, Keigan thought you were just naive and foolish, but she knew the difference. You were not foolish, nor naive - you were kind, willing to give everyone a second chance.

One of the thoughts that crossed her mind was whether or not you would forgive her - give her a second chance. No, she must not think that; she did what she had to do.

‘You’re quite cheery for a hunter. Judging from your personality, you’d feel some pity for the survivors, no? You have a kind heart. Don’t stress it too much, alright?’

She’s confident that you can take care of yourself and won’t interfere unless she must. Since she could take care of herself, then other people in better situations would be able to take care of themselves just fine.

‘Good morning. I see that you dreamt well? Oh? No dreams? Then you are just happy to be awake? How nice.’

[classic-maya]

why did Justin fall for Brian?

Ahhh, I love this question because I feel like it is more complicated than answering why Brian fell for Justin but I’ll give it my best shot.

After their first night together when Justin says he is in love with Brian I think he has a naive understanding of what love is at that point. He is infatuated with this handsome, confident, wealthy guy who took him home, let him join at the hospital during one of the biggest nights of his life, and then gently took his virginity. I really like that all the way in season 4 Justin says they made love that first night and when Brian disputes it he says "It was love to me." Even if it was infatuation, Justin is right, that night, that moment, that whole experience was love to him.

Despite not being able to remember his name, Brian made Justin feel like he was the center of his world that night and Justin had never experienced that before. I think it’s that initial spark that pushes Justin to be so resilient and keep seeking Brian out. I mean how do you get over a man who says "you can see me in your dreams." !!!

Later on I think Justin falls in love with what Brian represents. Brian is freedom incarnate; he will say anything, do anything etc. When the audience meets Justin he is entrenched in his rebellious teen phase. Don't forget that Justin is 17 running around all night. He is the kid who told his teacher to fuck off, told his mom that he likes dick, and in an absolutely iconic statement after his dad threatens to send him to military school to learn some discipline replies with "I know all about discipline and you should see me take it like a man."

In many ways, Brian is in the same place emotionally as Justin in season 1. He is chasing his youth. He is angry at the world, he likes being an outsider in society and he revels in it. He doesn't care about driving around in a vandalized car painted with the word “faggot." I mean for goodness sake Brian drove through a fucking car dealership because the seller said something mildly homophobic. Justin finds Brian's fuck you attitude ridiculously attractive. The persona of Brian no excuses, no apologies, no regrets Kinney is Justin's first love.

But over the course of the first season, Justin's understanding of love and his understanding of Brian both develop. Justin is suddenly dropped into this very adult world that is different from his WASPy upbringing with two parents who have fallen out of love with each other. Justin has adult friends for the first time and he gets to see how Melanie and Lindsay love each other. How Michael and Brian love each other and Ted and Emmett and how Debbie as the matriarch loves and cares for all of them. I think he comes to the mature idea that you don’t just fall in love with someone and everything is fine, you decide to love someone and then you hold on to that decision and make lot of little decisions in order to keep loving them.

In the first season while Brian struggles with himself and his love for Justin, he keeps hurting Justin in an effort to push him away. He tells him not to trust people, he flaunts his tricks in front of Justin, he is downright mean to him at times. I love this scene in 1x17 when Justin tells Brian “Being mean to me has never really worked, you should try another tactic.” He is telling Brian that he’s got his number and that can’t get rid of him that easily. He then says “I’m killing you with kindness.” From the start, I think Justin saw through Brian’s bluster and just dug down until he could see the scared boy behind the walls Brian built around himself.

I honestly don’t think anyone else in the show understood Brian as much as Justin. Justin notices all of the little ways that Brian sacrifices himself to help his friends and others. Brian has a reputation for being selfish, but Justin peels back the layers and sees how Brian uses that assumption as cover.

And while Justin does eventually lose his infatuation, he still loves Brian because he already made a decision to love him and to love him for the man he is and not for everything he represents to him. Brian is no longer a symbol to him but a human being with significant flaws and insecurities. This is where I see a massive difference between Michael’s love for Brian and Justin’s love for him. Michael idealized Brian but never got over his hero worshipping crush. Anytime Brian acted outside of how Michael expected him to he was overly upset and confused. While Brian obviously hurt Justin’s feelings sometimes and they misunderstood each other at inopportune moments, overall Justin was able to accept and love Brian as a person not a persona.

Another one of my favorite scenes is in 1x11 after Michael’s birthday party and everyone else abandons Brian but Justin just says “I guess you’re going to need someone to help you clean up this mess.” As an audience, it’s one of our first indications that Justin really gets Brian. Although everyone else thinks he is an asshole, Justin knows what his true intentions were. I also like the use of the word mess in this scene. He is not just talking about the party leftovers but everything. It is also a small little commitment. Justin isn't going anywhere, he is going to love Brian even when it’s messy and difficult.

Of course, if I'm arguing that Justin made an active decision to love Brian that begs the question why did he leave him in season 2? I don’t think Justin ever fell out of love with Brian. Even in the cheating era I don’t think either of them stopped loving each other. Justin was very hurt and he wanted to see what life was like with someone who was deliberate about showing and stating their love for him unlike Brian. Obviously, Justin shouldn’t have betrayed Brian by cheating but I don’t blame him for wanting something else, nor do I blame Brian for not being able to give Justin what he needed at that time. I think Justin was so shocked by Ethan’s betrayal again because he is a bit naive and did not realize that someone can say they love you 10 times a day but not mean it the way you want them to. On the other hand, although Brian couldn’t let himself say it he showed Justin in every way he knew how that he was important to him and he cared about him. Also, one more reminder that Brian NEVER broke their rules and I think Justin knew that and realized that was what he wanted way more than someone who spoke the right words but didn't follow through with real action.

TL;DR Justin fell in love with Brian over and over for so many different reasons. Because he was sensitive and gentle, because he made Justin feel important, because he represented Justin's anger, rebelliousness, and the freedom he desired, because he loved Justin unconditionally even when it was messy and difficult.

[ask-everafteracademy]

Lucas and MMC Guilty as Sin? Analysis

When I first heard this track it immediately became one of my favorites on the album, the lyrics felt very forbidden love/star crossed lovers and so my brain made the connection back to EAA. I felt a lot of the lyrics could relate to Lucas’s route from his perspective, and the more I listened to the song, the more sure I was of it. Please enjoy my no doubt senseless yapping. I’ve decided to break the segments up into “themes” where I’ll include the lyrics and my thought.

Here’s the link to the song if anyone wants to give it a listen: https://youtu.be/OOYlWF6V8t8?si=R5QBsL-ANQ6F27Fd

Also shoutout @megatraven for hyping me up on this I’m sorry it took so long😭

CW: The lyrics being analyzed contain blatant sexual themes (idk if that’s a concern for this fandom but figured I’d include it)

The first section will be focused on Lucas’s duty to the crown

My boredom’s bone deep

This cage was once just fine

Lucas was born out of necessity, his father needed an heir. He was raised being told he would inherit a kingdom, and it never registered for him that he could be something else until MMC asks him what he would want to do with his life.

I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves

Or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight

When Lucas is with MMC, it’s the first time he’s allowed to consider a life outside of being king, to turn his back on it and live with the love of his life in the lighthouse by the sea (also insert obligatory wolf joke with Ezra)

Am I allowed to cry?

This line makes me think a lot about that one scene after the battle with the Warlock where MMC tells Lucas that crying doesn’t make him weak (I cried). He’s being unconditioned from his harmful upbringing through unconditional love and while it may scare him he trusts MMC enough to be vulnerable with him (I could write an essay on that scene alone but I digress)

He’s a paradox

I’m seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

He’s never felt such strong devotion towards someone and it makes him question everything he has learned

This leads me into the next section, a focus on his relationship with MMC in his first two seasons (the pining/situationship stages, if you will)

I keep these longings locked

In lowercase inside a vault

Someone told me

There’s no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

Lucas feels obligated to make his quest against the Warlock his priority and is guilty over his feelings for MMC, making excuses for himself to justify pushing his feelings aside

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me

We’ve already done it in my head

I swear I remember there being a line where Lucas admits to fantasizing about MMC (i wanna say season 3? I’ll have to check). Anyway, the notion of “fatal” fantasies is pertinent, they’re all consuming, his feelings for MMC are all consuming and “distracting”(😏) him from his quest

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

This line could go either way for them tbh, it feels like their mid season 2 situationship era, the knowing glances and stolen kisses while avoiding the question of what it means (Alexa play Casual by Chappell Roan /hj)

Of course, they’re able to work through these issues (yippee). But when passion and infatuation becomes love and devotion, they have a new warlock to face: their contradicting futures

If it’s make believe

Why does it feel like a vow

We’ll both uphold somehow?

Despite their destinies leaving them in separate realms, Lucas and MMC are determined to make their love and the time they have left together last (even if they feel less hopeful for their future)

What if the way you hold me

Is actually what’s holy?

Lucas is left wondering if being his father’s heir will satisfy him as much as his relationship with MMC does, making him question where his loyalties lie

If long suffering propriety

Is what they want from me

They don’t know how you’ve haunted me

So stunningly

I choose you and me

…Religiously

This is the scene in the rose garden (another scene I could write an essay on). Lucas’s realization that he never wanted the throne, finally making the choice to live with the love of his life in the lighthouse by the sea (good for him)

ANNNNDDDDD that’s what I got for you! I’m trying to be better at not letting stuff sit and collect dust, but I hope this was worth the wait! And even if it wasn’t, I hope it brought you some enjoyment. I would love to do more of these at some point (and hopefully with much less delay)

- Lightkeeper

[dykedvonte]

27 and 29 for your ocs? 👀

Since I haven’t talked about any of my old Oc on this blog I’ll do the Rot Girls since they’re the most recent.

27. Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Tempo is definitely a forgiveness type but not a forgetful type. She’s the type or person to say she forgives you but always holds it towards you. A sly comment here or prodding question concerning whatever slight you’ve done towards her. She won’t like keep you indebted to her for it but it feels that way with how guilty or awkward she’ll make you feel if you get too cozy around her. She’s petty.

Vivace was a sort of forgiveness type but mostly cause she used to be too scared to confront anyone. But now I think she’s more of a vindictive girlie. She has this deep seated anger at being lied to her entire life and feeling cheated makes her well.. angry. It goes farther than revenge as she doesn’t want to get even but make sure you wouldn’t try to do it again. Though it’d still have to be something pretty big, she’s not petty.

Emmie fully believes in people will get what’s coming to them, whether that’s sooner or later. She won’t forgive but she won’t act on any feelings of malice either choosing to focus it on something she deems productive. That being said she will be consciously unhelpful, cold and dismissive in a way that makes you want her to just be pissed or angry. She will treat you like you don’t exist no matter the situation.

29. What recurring dreams do they have?

Tempo kinda just has nice dreams. Her life was more unfulfilling and went against her morals, which is pretty mundane compared to the others but she still has desires. She dreams a lot of performing and living the lavish life but with everyone. All the ghouls in the wasteland being able to be happy as ghouls and party like it still was the pre-war. These dreams are most common but sometimes she dreams of her surviving the bombs not a ghoul in a vault. Being stuck in the miserable situation but being able to see all the people she knows now suffering outside.

Vivace dreams of just traveling free with her friends. So like what she’s already doing but in a world not destroyed and horrid. She never really got to live in the world before and wants a more traditional life experience deep down. She wakes up from these dreams feeling bittersweet cause while she has the freedom part now and can choose what she does and how she thinks about it, she’ll never get back the experiences she missed that were available to her.

Emmie doesn’t sleep much cause she hates her dreams. A lot of her upbringing was pseudo religious and mixed with her being cast out as a supposed demon makes her having vivid nightmares. A lot of it is guilt of her being a ghoul and having nightmares of being caught by her family and killed or going feral and attacking those she once loved as part of her still feels like a monster. She knows it’s not true but it’s guilt and a longing to go home. She has nicer dreams of starting a similar community for her ghouls companions and ghouls in the waste but they are farther and fewer between.

I love them so much cause I think we need more main female ghouls and ghouls that are like just normal about y’know. Just like they feel bad about things but it less about being a ghoul and more “god everyone is so fucking mean to me now.”

[miraxavier]

Some reason I’m having an imaginary conversation that could happen during my annual gyn exam and it’s with my surgeon. The conversation goes into me telling him my excitement and how gender euphoric it’s going to be. Along with how I’m trying to calm my anxiety.

…

Saying how regardless of my gender I would have sort out this surgery due to family history that surrounds our reproductive organs. From birth mom dying of ovarian cancer at the age of 35. My aunt and sister having an emergency hysterectomy due to a condition that can lead to death.

Then I tell him how I’m trying to view the whole process the same as when I got my wisdom teeth removed. How I the healing process is going to be difficult. From this will be the first time I go completely under, to for a while I’m going to be very uncomfortable. Not being able to sleep how I typically sleep, not being able to do things how I typically do things. The healing process is going to very well make me dread and question my decisions to do all this. I’ll most likely have moments of regret due to how uncomfortable I am.

But I’m trying to remind myself of all the uncomfortably I went through with my wisdom teeth. This moment of uncomfortableness is worth the end results. Like how my whole experience before and after my wisdom teeth removal was practically night and day.

From the constant pain and swelling I got due to accidental cheek biting vs now I can eat food without worrying about if I’m going to hurt myself in the process. It’s such a liberating feeling. My life greatly improved after a surgery I never thought was possible.

Things I never thought I would ever be able to do suddenly became accessible to me. I never could imagine how much my life would improve by getting teeth removed. I always found it strange that people would voluntarily remove a part of their body. Especially when I grew up being taught it was very taboo to change what god had given you.

Because of my religious upbringing is why I struggled so greatly. From the thoughts that I was broken because I wasn’t what I was “supposed” to be. I tried so hard to find ways to justify my feelings and thoughts to be the perfect catholic daughter I was told to be. And after my grandmother passed is when I just couldn’t take it. I felt like god abandoned me. It felt like there was simply no god because he took away the one person who gave me unconditional love and made me feel human.

I became so bitter after her death, and I was only 8 at the time. I felt like her death was my fault. From that day on I had questioned if there truly was a great being judging our very existence and the concept of good and bad.

It’s when I started to just give up on any kind of belief. What was the point in believing in someone so evil and cruel. The very being my father constantly used to justify his actions. A being that evil people used to justify murder and violence. I don’t want to believe in something that causes pain.

I hated how my family would constantly interrogate me on why I didn’t believe in what they believed. The only reason I still attempted to follow some of their customs was because my grandpa was still alive. I at least wanted to keep being true to the side of religion my grandparents showed me. That as long as you’re kind and understanding then that’s all that matters. And when he passed I was grateful to know he left with a smile. It brought me joy that he said how he can see grandma and his god son there to take him home. Somehow it gave me hope on what awaits me on the other side.

My grandpa died in 2020. Grandma died when I was 8, I’m 31 now.

Even though I attempted to be myself slowly over the years, but grandpa’s death made it final. After that I spoke with a therapist and slowly became truthful to myself about my sexuality. It felt amazing to finally be out, especially to myself. My family was still hesitant. Thankfully things had started changing after my parents got their official divorce and dad moved out.

Sure, in high school I tried to find myself and such but family still had a huge advantage over me. Then there was college, which I’m glad I survived that. But finally coming out that I was lesbian was so rewarding. Especially when the few true friends I had made accepted me without question. It made me wonder if that’s how my grandparents would react if they were still alive and I told them.

And when I started to realize that I can go about changing my physical form to match how I mentally was became liberating in so many ways. At that, these same friends who supported me being lesbian also supported me in me not being female. To be honest, I have always stated that whenever I was around them. But to fully say it without holding back made it ten times better.

As much as I miss NYC, because of my amazing friends, I’m glad I left. Since now I been able to work up to being myself without family enforcing what I’m supposed to be. And as I went through a more intimate and uncomfortable honest therapy I finally been able to forgive myself and tell my younger self it was never my fault. So my goal in life now is to be able to live to the fullest so I can have stories to tell my grandparents when the time comes. Along with keeping their teachings to heart because only their opinions matter. Which makes me happy because I know deep down they would still love and accept me for not being a straight cis female. They would still love me with all their heart even though I don’t follow their religion. They would only want me to be happy and a good person, no matter how that would look like. For that, I’m gonna do my best to make them proud of me because they’re the only people that matter!

[blu-joons]

Your Daughter Asks Him To Be Her Dad ~ Park Jimin

“Can Jimin put me to bed tonight, pretty please?”

The sudden voice of your daughter caused your eyes to look up as she crawled across the floor to where you sat. Beside you, Jimin was already off of the sofa, ready to scoop her up and carry her up the stairs. His head nodded as you glanced questionably across at him, leaning down to kiss your daughter goodnight before he carried her away.

The bond the two of them had often left you speechless, Jimin had much been a father figure for most of her upbringing, but you never imagined that she’d attach herself as much as she did to him. Nor that he’d be so happy to take on such a big role in her life.

It was only when she started school and met all of her friend’s dads did, she realise what she was missing out on. To replace it, she’d always tell everyone about Jimin and how incredible he was both for her, and for you too.

Whilst you remained downstairs, Jimin helped your daughter complete her usual bedtime routine before leading her into her bedroom and tucking her tightly under the duvet.

At times, he couldn’t remember a time without her in his life, even if she wasn’t technically his. When the hole was there to fill, he did it in a heartbeat, when he got with you, he knew what he was getting himself into, and still, he did it with no complaints or struggles.

“Jimin, do you mind if I talk to you about something without mummy?”

“Of course,” he smiled, perching on the end of her bed, running his hand over the top of her head, “whatever you want to talk about, it can be our secret.”

Her head nodded, holding her pinkie out for Jimin to intertwine his in with. “One of my friends asked me today what I think about dads.”

“Really? What did you say?” He asked her, trying to keep as composed an expression as he could, “because you know having a dad isn’t a big deal, just because you don’t have one.”

Her head continued to nod, it was something every member of your family had told her time and time again. “I think sometimes that it would be super cool to have a dad though.”

The two of you knew a time would come when she’d begin to wonder about who she is and where she comes from. Having just one parent had always been something she’d enquired about, wondering what made her so different from the rest.

“It’s super cool not having a dad too, because you have an incredible mummy who raises you, and you have me, and all your friends and families too. I’m sure your friends all have missing parts of their families that you get to have. Do all your friends get to have someone as incredible as me as part of their lives?”

“No,” she giggled, poking at his chest, “but it takes some special to be like you, that’s what mummy always tells me. She says that you’re a one of a kind and that no one will ever be able to do as incredible as a job as you do for us.”

His smile grew at her words as she told him more of the things you’d said. They were things that Jimin never knew you felt until your daughter decided to speak up.

Jimin only had respect and pride for what an incredible job you’d done in raising her, he knew being a single parent was far from easy, and yet you’d taken it all in your stride. Of course, he hoped to be there for the two of you, but there was never going to be anyone there for your daughter more than you were.

“Your mummy is amazing; do you realise how lucky you are to have someone like her?”

“I do,” she grinned, “that’s why I’m extra lucky to have you and her together.”

Jimin’s head nodded, feeling a light blush grow onto his cheeks as she continued to remind him amazing, she found him. Perhaps by blood he’d never be able to call himself hers, but he tried his utmost to do everything else for her.

“I still think about what times would be like if I had a daddy.”

“Do you really feel like you need a daddy?” Jimin asked her, frowning as her head nodded back at him. “Do you want to find out more about your daddy, because I’m sure it’s something that we can talk to mummy about?”

When her head shook, she only felt Jimin even more confused. Not much sense could be made of what she said at the best of times, but that was just another reason why Jimin adored her. His eyes continued to stare down at her as he searched for some sort of explanation, waiting for her to decide when she wanted to carry on.

“I want to be able to say that you’re my daddy, rather than just Jimin.”

His eyes widened, shuffling a little closer to her on the bed. She soon sat herself upright, resting her hands in her lap as she stared up at him in anticipation.

“If you want to call me dad, then I’d be more than happy with that. But you do realise how big that is, it’s not just a word, it carries a lot of meaning too. And although I might not be your proper dad, I’ll always be the dad in your heart.”

“I know what it means silly, that’s why I asked.”

His head nodded as she crawled into his lap, throwing her arms around his waist. His head leant down and pressed several kisses against the top of her head, squeezing her tightly to keep her warm in amongst the winter weather.

“Are you too excited now to sleep?” He asked her.

She smiled up at him, her usual cheeky charms on show to everyone. His eyes rolled, encouraging her to lay back down, staying beside her. “Can we just stay here for a little while longer?”

“If you want to,” he grinned, too wrapped around her little finger to be able to say no to her. “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, as long as you promise to close your eyes now. You’ve still got school to go to tomorrow.”

“Will you take me?” She quizzed, “I want to be able to show everyone that you’re my dad, at least everyone will stop asking me about it too.”

Jimin smiled down at her, brushing his hand over the top of her head. “Of course, I’ll take you. But you have to promise me that you won’t let other people’s questions bother you, because they’re not a part of our family, are they?”

“No,” she chuckled, “our family me is me, mummy, and daddy,” she grinned, unable to stop herself from giggling as she tried to get her head around calling him dad.

It was slightly surreal to Jimin too, but he managed to keep his composure. He sat and waited for her to calm herself down and allow her eyes to close.

“Get some rest,” he whispered down to her, “it’s an honour to be your daddy little bug.”

---

Masterlist

[iamanartichoke]

I wasn't sure if I was going to post this, but I may as well.

I keep starting to reply to things and then stopping bc the words just aren't there, and I suppose I figured out the core of what bothers me so much (and is making me have such a rollercoaster of a fan experience) about the show.

(cut for length)

It's not well-written. My opinion is my opinion, so I'm saying this subjectively, take it or leave it, but ... I feel that it's not well-written. The overall story is fine, and the plot is fine, but I don't know if it's because of the limited number of episodes not being enough to house the story, or because of the relative inexperience of the writer/showrunner+director, or both, or something else, but -

In an earlier reaction post to episode 4, I mentioned really wanting to sink my teeth into all of the subtext I picked up on. That was what made me initially enjoy the episode so much - there were a lot of little moments that I initially felt revealed so much about the characters and about Loki, and I wanted to analyze them. But at some point, as I gathered more information, my perspective changed and now I no longer want to analyze the subtext bc ... subtext = good. Subtext w/out payoff = not as good.

I'll go into more detail in a moment, but I think the tl;dr of it is that I feel like the narrative requires the audience to work way too hard to put together all of the moving pieces here and, like, I kinda just don't want to do that work? Not so much of it, and not in vain. A lot of the enjoyment of Loki's characterization is coming from fans who are rationalizing why he's behaving as he is, but the narrative never actually confirms those rationalizations. It's asking us to figure it out and maybe our conclusions will be correct but maybe they won't, though. At some point, subtext isn't enough without explicit follow-through.

I thought my issue was with the lack of character development - that is, not having enough narrative space to really earn the big things that are happening now, like Loki/Sylvie or Mobius turning against the TVA. And that's still true, to an extent; I still feel like the pacing is all very off and it seems like most of these things kinda came out of nowhere (but are not unbelievable - just undeveloped).

But, yknow, it is what it is, it's a limited series, and I can excuse some things. Ultimately, my issue isn't a problem with what the narrative isn't doing, it's a problem with what the narrative already failed to do and probably cannot recover from at this point.

The narrative has left out significant details that should at least help us do some of the work here. If a person turned on Loki and started episode 1 and had no background knowledge of the character besides that he tried to take over New York - how would that person interpret Loki? Would that person say, oh, well, he's been through X, Y, and Z, and plus A happened, not to mention B, C, and D, so really, it makes sense that he seems off-the-rails, or that he'd want to get ridiculously drunk at the worst time ever.

Maybe we'd like to believe they would, but how would they be getting to that conclusion? The narrative hasn't led them in that direction so, no, they would not say well we have to consider this, this, and that. It would be impossible to really understand Loki as a character from just what we've gotten in the series. The general audience would probably interpret Loki as being out of his element and so it becomes, I wonder how this character is going to get the upper hand here. And, while that's not wrong, it's just so limited.

The narrative at face value does not address Loki's identity crisis from Thor 2011. It does not address his hurt and devastation at being lied to, nor does it address how complicated his self-image is (bc it sucked to begin with and that was before he found out he was part of a race of "monsters," as he'd been taught his entire life). It does not reference Loki being so broken at the end of Thor 2011 that he deliberately let himself fall into the void of space (aka tried to kill himself). It does not reference that he was tortured by Thanos or even that he went through a seriously dark time in between Thor and Avengers, and it absolutely does not reference or address any influence or control of the mind stone.

These are all things that we, the fan audience, know because we've already invested our time into this character's story. But tons of people, the general audience, wouldn't know these things. Or if they did, bc they saw Thor and Avengers, they wouldn't be thinking about them as deeply as we would, nor contextualizing them with how Loki is behaving now, or why it would make sense that he needed to get drunk, or why it's understandable that he needs to keep going-going-going in order to not have a spare second to think or feel.

They'd probably look at Loki, again, as a character who was a villain and is now getting his comeuppance in a place where he has no power or control, and no literal powers, and even when he manages to escape and catch up to the variant, he proceeds to fuck up their plan for seemingly no real reason except that he wanted to get drunk bc he's hedonistic. Which Sylvie even berates him for! I mean. This is not exactly a complex character breakdown, nor a very flattering one, but that's what the narrative has given us.

(If the narrative has addressed Loki's mind control, his torture, his mental breakdown, his suicide attempt, and his general shitty self-esteem as a result of his upbringing, please point it out to me. If the narrative has explicitly acknowledged and referenced these things anywhere and I am missing it, please show me where. Please explain to me how the casual viewer would know any of these things that they need to know in order to actually understand what's happening in this story.)

So I mean, okay, we have a narrative that doesn't paint a full, accurate picture of Loki. Fine, sure. But because the general audience starts out on the wrong footing, they're not going to get out of the overall story what the writers probably intended them to. For example, in episode 3, a lot of us theorized that Loki had some kind of plan - that he broke the timepad on purpose, for some reason, bc otherwise it wasn't believable that he'd be such a failure. But episode 4 revealed that no, there was no bigger plan, Loki just plain old messed up. Which is fine if, again, one is only considering the surface-level portrayal here, but it's not true to Loki's actual characterization.

I mean. Loki is not perfect and Loki actually fails a lot, this is true. He fails for a lot of reasons, but incompetence has never been one of them. Usually it's that either things grew beyond his control, or there ended up being too many moving parts, or he had to change his plan at the last minute due to some roadblock or another being thrown his way, or even that he got in his own way - whatever the case may be for his plans' failures, he was always at least shown to know what he was doing.

That wasn't the case here. The "plan" to fix the Timepad failed as a direct result of Loki's actions, which were careless and made him seem incompetent, like he couldn't even handle this mission. "You had one job," etc. And there were pretty big consequences for this; they were not able to get off-world in time and would have been killed had the TVA not shown up at the last second.

And maybe none of these things matter bc the writers never intended any of this to be a reflection on Loki's character, positive or negative. The situation exists solely because the writers needed to put Loki and Sylvie together in some kind of hopeless scenario so that they could get closer, and thus the narrative could set up their romance. I get that - but, there were other ways to do it that didn't require Loki to look foolish.

Furthermore, the whole reason they needed to set up the romance is to show Loki eventually learning to love himself (like, figuratively but also literally). The audience is supposed to gather that Loki and Sylvie fell for one another, possibly due to the high emotional aspect of, yknow, being about to die (in addition to the variant-bond). The intent is clear: Loki and Sylvie almost die but get rescued at the last minute, having now created an emotional bond --> Loki and Sylvie team up and the narrative further establishes that Loki, at least, has caught feelings --> Loki might confess them but is pruned before he gets the chance --> he somehow survives, he and Sylvie are reunited and don't want to lose one another again, and the combined power of their love is enough to break the sacred timeline and spawn the multiverse, and the reason that the power of their love is so, well, powerful is because it's about self-love and self-acceptance as much as it is about having the capacity to love someone else. The end.

I get all that. The writers more or less said all that. And, I mean, it's certainly not the way I would have chosen to go about it, but it's a fair enough arc to explore. I don't really have an issue with the intent - but my question, however, is this: if the narrative has so far not addressed Loki's background issues (as outlined above), and has furthermore kinda gone out of its way to portray Loki as hedonistic and narcissistic, among other things (like kinda incompetent), and the context the audience starts with is that Loki's this villain who deserves what he gets -

- my question is 1, why should the audience care whether or not Loki gets to a point of loving and accepting himself (thus to make the theme of self-love, via the romance, hold weight) if they don't know that he hates himself to begin with and 2, why should the audience root for Loki to reach that point when so far the perception of him is that he's "kind of an asshole"? if he's a hedonistic narcissist, he probably already has a pretty inflated sense of himself, right? A misplaced inflated sense of himself, at that, because, again, the narrative has made him out to be not that capable of much of anything. (And it didn't start out that way! It seemed to start out with Loki being capable and intelligent but it's like episode 3, in trying to set up the romance, just jumbled it all up somewhere. I think this is why I'm harping on the Loki/Sylvie aspect so much - it's frustrating bc it kinda messes up the whole story and can't even accomplish what it's supposed to anyway.)

Anyway, that's beside the point. What I'm ultimately getting at is, at what point is the audience supposed to get invested in Loki's personal growth journey?

They can't, not really. Without understanding and having the context of everything Loki has been through up until now, and why he hates himself, and why it's so important that he learn to love himself, then the "payoff" becomes kinda pointless bc the significance of it is lost in translation. So suddenly we're left with this romance that comes off as either "Loki loves Sylvie bc of Reasons" (best-case scenario) or "Loki loves Sylvie bc he's vain, narcissistic, and kinda twisted" (worst-case scenario). Neither of these conclusions are what the writers intended or were going for, I'm positive, but there we are, regardless.

In order for the writers' intent in these storylines to land, they need to address the context of what makes these particular stakes high for Loki. So far, they haven't done that. They're asking the audience to pick up on all of these things, and they're showing things that subtextually make sense and are relatively in-character - but only if you realize there's subtext in the first place.

But you can't expect the audience to do all of the work for you. If you don't want the audience to think that Loki is a narcissistic asshole and instead you are trying to convey that, worst-case scenario, he thinks he's a narcissist but is an unreliable narrator, then you have to address that. If you need the audience to understand why you're going the selfcest route and why it's important to explore Loki's capacity to love himself and others, you have to address where that exploration is starting from and why it matters. Etc etc etc.

The narrative isn't doing any of that. And it isn't like it'd be that hard to do it. They don't need to reinvent the wheel here; a lot of the pieces are already there. A few lines of dialogue for context, a brief scene here or there addressing the issues, a little more care and consistency in how Loki handles things - these are all little things that could go a long fucking way in making the narrative stronger.

I'm rambling. My basic point is that my rollercoaster of emotions with this show is because

- as a part of the fan audience, not the general one, I can contextualize and analyze the subtext and come to the conclusions the show wants me to, and thus find the story and the characters more or less enjoyable,

- but I am also going to be using the subtext to come to conclusions that aren't there but probably should be (I think it would be a better story, for example, for Loki to confuse platonic love with romantic love bc it would pave the way to explore just how fucked up Loki's understanding of love - whether of other people or of himself, and the different forms it can take - actually is)

- and when they're ultimately not there, then I think, okay why am I bothering doing all this work just to ultimately feel very unfulfilled? They don't even have to write it the way I would, I'm not saying that, but they do have to do something to make the story feel rewarding.

If we don't get some confirmation of what Loki's been through, and where his headspace is, and why it matters for him to love himself, then the story remains pretty shallow and, for me, it's not fulfilling enough. It's not engaging enough. There isn't actually anything to sink my teeth into, so it becomes kind of boring. Maybe it's rewarding to other people, and that's great for them, but like - I need more than whatever this is.

So I'm just like - well, I had a lot of worries about this show, but my being bored wasn't one of them and now there's only two episodes left and am I really not going to get anything out of this, in the long run? No new canons, no new depths or layers, no new information on Loki's experiences? This is it?

I don't dislike it. I didn't start out disliking it, and I probably wont end up disliking it. I mean, there are a lot of good moments, and good things, and fan service-y things that I appreciate. As far as inspiration for fic goes, it's a goldmine, both plot-wise as well as aesthetic-wise. All of that is great. I don't dislike this show.

But I am disappointed in it, and I feel like I'll be watching the next two episodes lacking the sense of anticipation that would make it exciting. I'll still enjoy them, probably, if for nothing else just the sheer Loki content, but whatever it was I felt watching episodes 1 and 2 is gone and I'm sad about that, too. Because I really wanted to feel fulfilled by this series; I wanted it to fill up the void that Loki's death in IW created three years ago. And I just ... don't feel it. Maybe, maybe that'll change over the course of episodes 5 and 6. I don't know.

Everything that I end up enjoying long-term, I think, will come about as a result of my own interpretations and analysis and while theoretically there's nothing wrong with that, if I had known all I'd get out of this series was more headcanons or support for my current headcanons then, well - that's fine, I suppose, but I'll definitely a little bit robbed.

[nothere-notthere-nowhere]

Oblivious

Word count: 1509

Genre: fluffy as fuck

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: very brief mention of trauma (nonspecified), let me know if I need to add any

Summary: When Wanda goes on a date with Vision, you’re left to question your feelings while Natasha laughs at you.

A/N: Hi, this is my first piece I’m posting. I’ve been a long time reader on this hellsite but this is the first time I’m actually posting my own writing. I’m open to feedback! Forgive any mistakes, I did not edit this :)

You weren’t necessarily a jealous person. Well, you had been, but you moved past it. You learned that you didn’t, and shouldn’t, be possessive of your friends. It was hard, coming into a new place and wanting the pretty girl with long brown hair to spend all her time with you. Especially since you’d never had a friend before.

But now, you were questioning your sanity.

Wanda had announced to you that she was going on a date. Your heart sunk and something close to rage was burning through your veins. You couldn’t understand why! Wanda had talked about Vision before and you always had to remind yourself that she was friends with the other Avengers too. It had never bothered you this much.

But you had to come up with a bullshit excuse as to why you couldn’t gush about what she would wear or where they would go, because you thought your head was going to explode. You knew Wanda was upset by that, but you needed to figure this out.

“I seriously don’t understand what’s going on!” You pulled at your hair in frustration. “I mean seriously, I thought I’d worked through all the trauma and shit. Like Wanda’s not even my only friend. But she was talking about him and I got so mad, Nat, like so, so mad.”

Natasha snorted at you, watching you pace with an amused smirk.

“For real, like, am I a terrible person?” You paused your pacing to stare at her in horror. “I have no claim over her and I’m acting like a-a possessive a-and controlling piece of shit!”

“Okay, calm down.” Natasha told you. She patted the couch beside her for you to sit but you’re too busy overthinking. 

“I can’t calm down! I should be happy for her. But I’m just so angry and I don’t even know why! Vision’s not a terrible person. I mean technically he’s a robot, which is a little odd but-”

“Y/N, relax.” Natasha stands and grips your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. “You have a crush.”

“On Vision?” Your face squished up in confusion. “No, Nat, I’ve talked to him like twice.”

“No, idiot,” She sighs heavily. “On Wanda.”

“No-” You start but then your eyes widen and your jaw drops comically.

Natasha barks out a laugh at your horrified look, only gaining volume as you burn bright red. Clint walks into the living room, taking in the scene and furrowing his brows in suspicion.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, taking in the way the gears are turning in your head.

“I’m gay.” You say confusedly. 

“Yeah?” Clint looks like he’s waiting for you to continue. “Wait is this supposed to be news? I thought everyone knew.”

Natasha is overcome with another wave of laughter and you scratch your head lightly. It made sense, you supposed. You had never taken an interest in boys but you had figured that was because of your upbringing. They don’t exactly give assassins in training a lesson on feelings.

“Oh my god!” Natasha shoves your shoulder lightly. “How are you so oblivious?”

“Well, we’re friends.” You stutter out, still confused. “I thought this was normal!”

“Do you feel like that towards me? Or anyone else?” Natasha rolls her eyes.

“But you’re, like, old.” You dismiss, before squeaking out, “I mean, not old, Nat, but like, Wanda and I are the same age, you know? You’re not old! But you’re not as much a friend as like…. An older sister?”

Natasha’s eyes soften, the corners of her lips quirking up just slightly. You can see the words meant a lot to her, even if they were to cover up an insult. It was true though, Natasha had always had your back. She’d shown you the ropes, made sure you were comfortable, and she was always there for advice. Like the big sister you never had.

“Well, kid,” Clint broke the moment, “now that you’ve had your gay awakening, maybe you should tell Wanda how you feel.”

“What?” Your stomach lurched. “How’d you know-”

“The two of you are inseparable. You literally melt when she’s around.” Your cheeks burn a little at his words. “Seriously, kid. For someone who was trained as a spy, you don’t have an ounce of subtlety.”

“Well, she’s with Vision now anyway.” You can’t help the jealousy and almost sadness that twinge your stomach. “It doesn’t really matter.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Bucky muttered as he passed through the living room.

“Woah, how does everyone know about this but me?” You ask incredulously. Bucky shakes his head at you lightly, a small smile on his face before he leaves the room. 

“Seriously, guys,” You glare at Nat and Clint, “I just figured out I’m gay. Can we at least pretend like it wasn’t obvious.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Ms. Maximoff knows.” FRIDAY’s voice only makes you groan. 

Nat and Clint begin to laugh at the AI’s teasing but they’re cut off by Wanda storming through the living room. Her head was down, a slight red glow about her, as she passed the group standing by the couches. 

“Wanda?” You call lightly, but she doesn’t stop.

“Ms. Maximoff did not enjoy our date, it seems.” Vision slides through the wall, scaring the shit out of you.

“Stop doing that! And wiat, what?” You question, clutching your chest where your heart was racing. 

“She does not want to be with me.” Visions tells you simply. “She is upset. I do not know why.”

You stand there, wracking your brain for possible explanations. She had been so excited for this date. She’d talked about it for hours the day before, much to your annoyance. So, why would she have been so upset?

“Y/N,” Natasha snapped in front of your face. “Go after her.” She looked exasperated.

“Right!” You stumbled over your own feet racing after your best friend.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to knock on the door. Now that you knew you liked her, it all made sense. Of course you’d be jealous of Vision being able to take her on a real date. So, you stood at her door, trying to figure out what exactly you were going to say to make her feel better, if you even could.

“Y/N, come in already.” Wanda’s soft voice made your heart flutter. Your cheeks burned as you pushed open the door.

Wanda was sitting on her bed, leaning up against her headboard, knees pulled into her chest. She looked nice, even though her brows were furrowed the way they were when she was thinking hard about something.

“What happened?” You asked her, moving to sit on the bed. Your body was tense. Part of you was happy she wasn’t going to date Vision, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see her upset.

“We got as far as the zoo parking lot when I realized that I couldn’t do it.” Wanda fiddled with the crystal on her necklace. “It took going out with Vision to realize that I’ll never be able to feel anything for anyone else.”

“Anyone else?” You questioned. “Wanda, you’ll find someone. We’re still young! You have plenty of time to-”

“No, Y/N,” She gave a small, nearly sad, smile. “I found someone.”

“Oh,” the words startle you. Wanda had never mentioned someone else. The two of you were supposed to be best friends. She found someone and she didn’t tell you?

“It just took half a date with someone else for me to realize that what I feel for her isn’t platonic.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyes were wide as you searched hers for something, anything, readable. The only other girls she was friends with, that you knew, were Natasha and maybe Pepper. But that wouldn’t really make sense.

“I don’t want Vision. I don’t want anyone, really, except you.” You can hear a slight shake in her voice. “I don’t know why it took so long to realize this but, I don’t just have love for you as a friend. I really like you, Y/N.”

“Oh,” You nod. “I’m sorry. This is just a lot. Natasha just told me I was gay like twenty minutes ago.”

Wanda giggled at you. “I guess we’re both a little oblivious, huh?”

“Can I kiss you?” You blurt out, staring at her. “Sorry, uh, let me… It took you going on a date with Vision for me to realize I like you too, or, well, Natasha pointed it out. I was so angry. I thought about beating him up.”

“Y/N,” Wanda pulls you from your rambling. 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask again, too focused on her to be embarrassed. 

Wanda nods, fighting the big grin on her face. She cups your face gently, pulling you to her. Her lips are soft against your own and her hands are warm, her skin smooth. Your head is spinning as you lean into her touch.

Clint was right, you do melt.

[xginata]

Goodnight Moon

Prompt: After accepting to babysit your best friends kids, Keigo comes to terms with his feelings about someday becoming a dad.

Rating: Pure & wholesome fluff.

Wordcount: short drabble, 1.5k words.

Notes: Wrote this at 1am because I couldn’t stop picturing Keigo overcoming his fears. Keigo would be such a great dad, even if he struggled he would do anything for y/n and his kids. Also tried to keep this as non-binary, as possible because I do want many people to feel included in my writings. I used the term “titi,” when it came to y/n because at least how I used it growing up, it was meant for both uncle & aunt. I hope everyone gets to enjoy this little piece!

(*´꒳`*)

Hawks was uncomfortable, as two little kids ran around him, poking and prodding at his wings, one even grabbing a fist full and pulling them out, making Hawks grow irritated.

Hawks had been expecting for you to be slumped up on the couch, drifting into a nap. He planned to surprise you this afternoon since he was able to come home earlier than expected.

He did not expect to see you and two little toddlers whose sentences always seem to start with, “why, what, where, when, and how?”

He most certainly did not expect to get jumped and tackled by the two little monsters either.

You were in the kitchen, making snacks for the two little toddlers as you heard him call out your name. Not completely yelling for you but also his calmness wavered.

You came out from the kitchen holding matching pb&j’s and two sticks of gogurts.

“What is is baby?” You asked and your eyes widened, letting out a small laugh.

The twins somehow managed to tackle him to the floor, Hawks sprawled out, unable to get up thanks to the twins quirk. They could increase the weight, almost harden, any part of a persons body and unfortunately for Keigo, it was the wings.

“Uncle Keigo!” They shouted in sync, laughing and giggling at his uncomfortableness. They had seen him on TV but never in real life and when they found out that their parent’s best friend, was in a relationship with Keigo, they begged to see him.

Your best friend asked you to watch them so they and their partner could go out for a date, you didn’t hesitate to say yes and you both knew the chances of Keigo actually being there. You wouldn’t force him and neither would your friend but it was probably a rare moment for your best friend that the twins wanted to be away from their parents, at least for now.

“A little help please?” He huffed as the twins ran circles around him.

“Come on,” you called for the twins, “I have snacks!” You set their food on the small table and turned on paw patrol, their gazes instantly fixed on the screen and their yelling subsided.

Hawks was still laying on the floor.

“Undo your quirk please.” You said to the twins who in turn touched their pointer fingers together, undoing their quirk.

Hawks let out a puff of air, finally felt like he was able to breathe. He cursed underneath his breath, “little monsters.” He said, you giggled and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“No, where’s my real kiss?” He pulled you back and you pecked him on the lips. He groaned, “Kids always get in the way.”

Hawks wouldn’t be much help that night but it wasn’t something you were mad about, you were happy that he was spending time with you, even as the twins asked him a million and one questions.

You knew about his past and you assumed why he felt the way he did about children, having a hard time as one himself and his upbringing, it was a sensitive topic. The baby talk wasn’t something either of you spoke about, you were happy with him and if it happened then great, and if it didn’t you were still happy.

He returned from showering, entering with a smaller set of wings, probably because he didn’t want the twins to keep messing with him, either way it didn’t stop them from asking him how his wings worked, and, “if you only grow your wing on one side, it would be like a mohawk on your back. A backhawk!” Hawks snorted at the failed joke attempt from one of the twins.

“Sure, kid.” He said laughing it off.

The twins turned back to you, rubbing their eyes.

“Titi, can you read us a bedtime story, please?” They synced up their please at the end, warming your heart, and the nickname they gave you making you smile.

“Of course!” Your soft smile diverted Hawks gaze from the TV to you. He hadn’t seen you smile like that in a long time, your eyes beamed with happiness and his own heart swelled.

He saw as you handed them their sippy cups with warm milk and led them to the guest room. He stayed on the couch for a minute, blankly staring at the TV and telling himself he didn’t want to see you with the twins. He huffed, giving up and got up from his spot. The guest door was slightly ajar, a nightlight was plugged in next to the bed, displaying beautiful shadows of stars and planets dancing together.

The twins were underneath their blanket, the one your best friend had packed along with the nightlight, “nightlight plus blankie, plus milk equals night night.” You remember your best friend saying as she left.

Keigo rested his shoulder on the doorway, as he watched you flipped through the pages of “Goodnight Moon.” He listened along with them, your tone was delicate with every word. Your eyes were soft as you’d look up from each page, checking as the twins started to drift off into sleep. He knew how you felt about kids, having it mentioned it once he knew that you would be happy either way.

For a moment he imagined it be him sitting in that chair, reading them the bedtime story as you laid down on the bed with them. Images of little toddlers with his wings and your hair, and your smile and your laugh, with your beautiful eyes filled his thoughts.

He imagined you and your full belly carrying his baby or if you didn’t want that or you couldn’t have that, then checking up on a surrogate with you, or adoption. Regardless, whatever you chose, in that moment he knew that what he wanted was to have children with you.

Your children didn’t have to grow up like him, they didn’t have to feel the pain of growing up alone and confused, because even if they might not have him all the time, they still had you. He knew, as you closed the book, and tucked them in, that you would be the best parent to his children. He wanted to be a dad, deep down he knew it was something he wanted to do, especially if it was with you.

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you walked up to him, worried.

“Are you okay, love?” You asked as you wiped his tears.

“I love you,” he whispered your name as he wrapped his arms around you. You let your confusion subside and hugged him back harder.

Keigo let go of you, looking at the twins who were still sound asleep and closed the door slightly. He pulled you back into the living room, and sat you down on the couch, he laid on the L-couch with his legs extended and opened providing you space to sit between them.

His arms wrapped over your shoulder, hugging you to his chest.

“I want..” his voice softened, remembering the twins, “I want to have babies with you.” He said, and your heart jumped.

“I know what you said that either way you were happy and it’s your body and I’ll be happy with whatever you decide but I want you to know that I was selfish back then, in closing off the possibility to see you as a parent because I know you would be an amazing fucking parent.” He rambled, “I want to see a mini version of you running around, or adopting a kid. I want to be there for you and them and provide a better childhood for them. I want to be a dad.” He confessed.

You turned your neck slightly, looking up at him with teary eyes, it must’ve taken a lot for him to say that to you. “I want that too.” You said.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as you turned around and kissed him, “I love you and I know you’d be an amazing fucking dad.” You repeated his words with the same emotion he had. You felt it, you knew he would be an amazing dad.

“Uncle Kiego?” The twins cried from the room. Keigo jumped from the couch, as did you but he got to the room faster.

“Whats wrong, kid?” He asked as he entered, the twins were crying.

“Nightmare?” He asked them and they nodded tearfully. You choked up, seeing him interact with them so differently since this afternoon. You didn’t know what made him change his mind but you were happy that he would give himself a chance to be a parent.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re safe, Hawks will look over you both so you don’t have anymore nightmares.”

“Can you read us the story again?” One of the twins asked, to which he nodded. He tucked them both back in bed and opened the book, reading them to sleep once more with Goodnight Moon.

[stolen-pen-name23]

Hey, I love your writing! How about "please talk to me" or "why don't you care?" with Obi-Wan and Anakin for the prompts?

Ahhh thank you so much!!! You're too sweet!

"Please talk to me" and "why don't you care" from these angst prompts. Note: I'm not going to close my inbox, but I'm going to be traveling for a few weeks so if you send me a request, I won't be able to get to it for a while. Plus, there are still quite a few prompts in my inbox I'm working on.

Anyway, here ya go!

---

Anakin hated it when Obi-Wan got like this.

Quiet.

He was never quiet, save in sleep or meditation — two thing he hadn’t been partaking in as much anymore. Any other time, he always had some observation or quippy remark to make. But not now. Now, he sat silently at the kitchen table, staring at his tea, lost in one thought or another.

Anakin knew that when Obi-Wan got quiet, something was wrong. Not that his stubborn old Master would ever express that outwardly. It drove Anakin mad.

Anakin slid into the chair across from Obi-Wan. “They’re going to ship us out again soon,” Anakin started.

Obi-Wan hummed.

“It feels like we just got back home.”

“I suppose it does.”

Anakin frowned. His attempts at conversation were not going well.

“Is something bothering you?” Anakin asked.

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

Anakin could feel frustration swelling up in his chest. What was bothering Obi-Wan? Was it something he did? Surely Obi-Wan would have told him if he did something to upset him. He had had no problem doing that in the past, but now… now tensions between them had become more taught. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was the problem.

“Are you mad at me?” Anakin asked tentatively, feeling like a youngling at the question.

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Just drop it, Anakin.”

“Please,” Anakin said. “Just talk to me, Obi-Wan. You know you can talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” Obi-Wan said, lifting his gaze from the steaming mug in his hand to Anakin.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Fine. What do you want to talk about?” Obi-Wan relented.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“You can believe whatever you want to believe Anakin.”

“I believe something is wrong.”

“And you are free to do so.”

Anakin huffed. “Stop avoiding the question.”

“Stop asking,” Obi-Wan challenged.

Obi-Wan sipped at his tea and remained passive — the mask of indifference proving to Anakin that he felt anything but. Anakin’s pulse quickened and he felt heat crawling up his neck, reddening his skin.

“Stop trivializing this, Obi-Wan!” Anakin snapped.

“I’m not trivializing anything. There’s nothing to trivialize!”

“Force, why can’t you even pretend like you care about something for once? Do you just not care about anything? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan looked like he had been slapped across the face.

It was in that moment that Anakin realized that maybe he had gone too far this time – pushed a little too hard in an attempt to get a rise out of him.

“How could you say that? How could you think that of me?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, almost threatening.

“Master I-”

“You presume that I do not feel things because I do not react the way you do to every tragedy that befalls me? You think I am but an emotionless droid wandering around the galaxy? You believe I feel nothing after… after everything? Do you truly believe this?”

“No, Master, I don’t believe that. I didn’t mean–”

Obi-Wan raised his hands. “Stop Anakin. I don’t want to hear it right now. I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Obi-Wan promptly stood up and retreated to his room without even a parting glance Anakin’s way.

Anakin would not be going to bed. At least not here. Why stay in a cramped apartment with his broody former Master when there was a senatorial apartment with a warm bed and someone who was definitely not broody lying in it?

“I’m headed to your place,” Anakin said into his comm.

“I thought you were staying at the temple tonight, Ani?” Padme replied.

“I changed my mind. I’d rather stay with you.”

“Alright,” Padme said softly. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Anakin replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just want to see you.”

“Alright, Ani. I’ll see you soon then.”

Anakin grabbed his robe and tore through the halls of the temple until he was spilling into the streets of Coruscant. Cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t care. His annoyance, his anger, kept him feeling warm.

He should probably take a speeder. It would be faster. But he needed to burn off some energy and a brisk walk through the smog-soaked streets promised some reprieve from the worst of his rage.

The sights, the sounds, the smells of Coruscant all flooded his senses. He did his best to filter it out and focus on his destination, but a storefront was playing the nightly news and the headline passed through his unstable filters.

“Next up on evening news: A planet in distress. It has been one year since the assassination of Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore.”

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately backtracked and stood in front of the holo, unable to look away and unable to hear anything else but this.

“With the Death Watch regime now in power, will Mandalore finally take a side in the Clone War? Tune in tonight for predictions from our expert analyst.”

Anakin’s thoughts raced back to the argument he had with Obi-Wan not even an hour ago.

Every tragedy that befalls me.

One year.

Oh yeah, Anakin messed up.

He fumbled around for his comm and flipped it open. “Padme, I’m so sorry, I can’t come by anymore. I need to go home.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Padme asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. I just need to clear something up with Obi-Wan. That’s all.”

“What did you do this time?” she groaned.

“I’ll tell you about it later, I need to go.”

“Alright, love. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Anakin turned off his comm, turned on his heels, and ran.

He tore through the temple just as he had torn out of it. He ignored sideways glances and zeroed in on the pathway to their quarters. The door slid open at his command and he bounded over their threshold. Despite just covering a great distance to get here, the distance from the threshold to Obi-Wan’s room felt greater still. Still, he willed his legs, now tired from his sprint through Coruscant, to carry him to Obi-Wan’s room.

He did not bother knocking. If he did, Obi-Wan would refuse to see him and he needed to see him.

The room was cloaked in darkness, but city lights cascaded on Obi-Wan’s body through the window like artificial moonbeams. He was still as if in sleep, but his breathing was hitched and ragged and anything but restful.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked cautiously.

“Not now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan muttered softly.

“No, I–” Anakin faltered. “You don’t have to talk to me. I came to apologize.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

Anakin turned on a lamp and Obi-Wan squinted at the warm glow. His eyes, Anakin noticed, were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hair was a mused and greasy mess.

“May I sit?” Anakin asked.

“If I tell you no, you will just sit anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that more than anyone.”

“So can I sit?” Anakin asked, trying not to let impatience creep back in.

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You may sit.”

Obi-Wan pulled himself up into a sitting position and moved sideways, allowing Anakin to sit beside him.

“Anakin stop,” Obi-Wan said quickly before Anakin could get all the way on his bed.

“What?” Anakin asked worried Obi-Wan had suddenly changed his mind.

“Take your muddy boots off before you get in my bed. Force who raised you?”

Anakin let out a sharp laugh. He relaxed. If Obi-Wan could scold him like that, then what existed between them was not entirely broken.

“I hate to break it to you, Master,” Anakin said. “But you had a significant hand in my upbringing.”

“Where did I go wrong?” Obi-Wan said, his half-smile an olive branch.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Anakin said. He pulled off his boots and settled in next to Obi-Wan. “You did okay.”

Obi-Wan’s half-smile lingered for a moment longer before fading away.

“Master, I–” Anakin started. He made himself gentler, softer, smaller — everything Obi-Wan needed him to be — everything he was not. “Master, I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

“It’s fine, Anakin.”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed you and I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Obi-Wan averted his gaze and remained silent.

“I know you care,” Anakin said earnestly. “I know you care about the Order. The war. Your men. I know you care about,” now Anakin’s breath shook. “I know you care about Ahsoka even though she’s gone. I know you care about me and… and I know you care about her.”

Obi-Wan remained silent for a while and Anakin fought the urge to ask him to say something. That’s how they ended up here in the first place.

“It’s been a year,” Obi-Wan said.

“I know,” Anakin said. “Well, I didn’t know, but I saw it on the news, and I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been a year and we’re still in this bloody war and she’s dead and he’s still…” alive.

Obi-Wan didn’t need to finish the sentence for Anakin to know what he meant. He blinked back tears, stubbornly refusing to let them fall.

Anakin sighed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. The words felt lame and altogether too small to cover the true meaning behind them. But he was not Obi-Wan. He had no words of wisdom or comfort to offer — only apologies and quiet condolences.

“I know, Anakin.”

“Is there something I can do?” Anakin asked, feeling useless.

Obi-Wan finally turned to him, and Anakin could feel the loneliness, the sadness, the exhaustion rolling off of his former Master.

“You can stay.”

So he did.

[contemplativepancakes]

abs of steel

the 2.5k story of how Geralt came to have his season 2 armor, with some help from Jaskier, of course. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier putters around the room, with one of Geralt’s dozens of tiny bottles in his hand and a rag in the other. He gives it a half hearted shine before setting it back down and looking at Geralt. 

Jaskier’s not sure how Geralt ever survived without him, honestly, because it seems like finding Geralt in varying states of unconsciousness is becoming a much too common occurrence. He supposes Geralt’s amount of passing out probably hasn’t changed, just the amount of times someone has coming looking for him. Jaskier’s heart does not ache at the thought. 

Geralt’s chest moves shallowly under the blanket, and Jaskier goes to stoke the fire. He had sweetalked the innkeeper into giving them a better room when it had become apparent that their stay was going to be...extended, and he’s glad for it. The room has its own bath tub, and a fire place, and there’s even a soft rug by the bed where Jaskier can sit and compose without worrying about jostling Geralt’s injuries. 

Jaskier casts a longing glance to his notebook, wishing that he could write and make the voices in his head stop whirling, but lyrics have been evading him ever since he found Geralt unconscious and even paler than usual. 

Geralt had just been going after a lesser vampire, had reassured Jaskier that it wasn’t going to be a big deal, and to not wait up, but Jaskier’s glad he did. 

Frankly, he doesn’t know why Geralt tells him not to do things when they both know he’s not going to listen. 

He supposes it makes Geralt feel better. He doesn’t pretend to understand what happens in Geralt’s brain. He imagines it’s a lot of grunting and internal hmm-ing. 

Geralt stirs under the covers, and Jaskier rushes across the room to stand by his side. Geralt blinks up at him, and Jaskier lets himself drift a hand over Geralt’s concerningly warm brow. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, and Jaskier bites his lip. He gives Geralt what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but he thinks it might be more of a grimace. 

Geralt slips a hand out from under the covers, and Jaskier takes the liberty of reaching out his own. Geralt could have died; he can’t be held responsible for his actions. “What happened?” Geralt groans, his voice scratchy and deep from disuse.

“Good question,” Jaskier says, glaring at him. Now that it doesn’t seem like Geralt is any imminent danger of never waking up again, it’s a little easier to be mad instead of just wracked with worry. 

“It was...a pack of them,” Geralt remembers haltingly. 

Jaskier hums, brushing a hand through Geralt’s hair. He wonders if Geralt would let him get away with brushing it. Maybe he’ll ask when Geralt doesn’t seem so groggy. 

“It’s okay,” Jaskier soothes. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt automatically protests, going to sit up. 

“Geralt, you are not, your rib is broken and the healer said one of your intestines might be punctured. You could get sepsis.”

“Witchers don’t get infections. I’m fine,” Geralt says again, but it’s even less convincing this time. 

“Just...stay in bed. Can you do that? I know it goes against everything in you to not do your utmost to aggravate me, but listen just this once.”

Geralt lays back against the pillow, his hair spreading out in a halo around his head. “Fine.”

“Don’t look so pleased about it, love.”

If looks could kill, Jaskier would be haunting one very grumpy witcher. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” Jaskier says breezily. “I know, it’s the epitome of cruelty to make you rest. Someone let witcher protective services know.”

“My swords?” Geralt asks gruffly, changing the topic. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and huffs. Like he would forget Geralt’s swords. “Oiled and put away.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t be grumpy just because you don’t have an excuse to get out of bed.”

“What about my armor?”

Jaskier casts a nervous glance to the corner. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my talents. They’re a little shredded.”

Geralt follows his line of sight to where his leather armor is in a pile on the ground, blood streaked and torn. 

“Well, I need to get new, then,” Geralt says, attempting to sit up again. 

He stops with a look from Jaskier, and Jaskier gives a hum of satisfaction. “I can get it for you.”

“Jaskier, you don’t even know what to look for.”

Jaskier glares at him. “How long have I been travelling with you for? And you don’t even think I know what you look for in your armor?”

Geralt harumphs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Jaskier asks in delight. He wasn’t actually expecting to win that battle. Maybe he can get Geralt out of something black, for a change. 

“Here,” Geralt says, leaning over the bed to rustle through his pack. Give the armorer this.”

Jaskier takes the drawing and instructions, and he’s ready to skip to the armorer’s, but Geralt’s expression pinches as he settles back into his spot on the bed, so he hurries back to his side. “What hurts?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says, taking a page out of Geralt’s book. 

Jaskier crosses his arms and stares at him for a solid minute before Geralt relents. “My ribs.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now just let me see.”

He peels back the covers, wincing at the mess that is Geralt’s chest. By the time Jaskier had dragged him back to town, most of his wounds had started to clot, so the healer thought it was best to let them breathe, but now Jaskier has to look at them. 

He carefully drifts his fingers over the torn tissue and mottled purple of what’s still intact, watching Geralt’s reaction carefully. 

Eventually, he draws back. “I don’t think there’s anything else I can do,” he admits. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

Geralt grunts in annoyance, no doubt meaning something about witchers being nothing but vessels for pain or some other horrible thing that they ingrained in him during his nightmare of an upbringing. He goes over to Geralt’s bag, looking for the right roots and herbs to concoct his mixture. He pulls out Geralt’s mortar and pestle, grinding the ingredients together until he has a lumpy paste. He carefully scoops it out of the mortar and into a glass filled with water on the bedside table. He mixes it together vigorously and sets it back on the table for a moment while he helps Geralt sit up. 

Geralt tries to wave him off, but Jaskier insists. Once there’s three pillows propping him up, Jaskier hands him the glass. Geralt sniffs at it doubtfully. “I think you might be trying to get ready of me,” he says. 

Jaskier hides his laugh behind his hand. “I wouldn’t go through all this trouble if I was, now would I?”

“I suppose not,” Geralt sighs, grimacing as he knocks the whole thing back in one drag. 

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Geralt smacks his lips together, gesturing for Jaskier to get him some more water. “Terrible. Possibly life threatening.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. Can I trust you to behave while I’m gone?”

Geralt chooses not to dignify that with an answer. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” Jaskier says. “The innkeeper has children, don’t make me make them come up here to watch after you.”

“I’ll behave,” Geralt says dryly. 

“Good. You better be in that exact spot when I come back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows that means that Geralt is the one who’s going to be ignoring him, for a change. 

Jaskier just hopes that Geralt won’t jostle himself too much as he steps out of the door and into the hallway. 

He makes his way down the steps and out onto the dusty main road of the village, peeking at the other wares being sold, particularly eyeing a doublet with stunning embroidery that he can’t believe is being sold in this dank little town, of all places. He makes a mental note to come back after getting Geralt’s armor. Jaskier investigates the baked goods, inhaling the scent of bread and surveying the hand pies, looking at their delightfully golden exteriors longingly. 

Jaskier makes it to the armorer without incident, a brass bell ringing overhead as he steps inside. The armorer crosses her arms as she regards Jaskier thoughtfully. “You lost?” she asks. 

Jaskier flashes her a winning smile. “Not at all. I’m here for a friend.”

The armorer stares back at him, unimpressed. “You know, it’s important that I’m able to measure someone to give them the best fit. I don’t want someone getting killed and blaming it on my armor. No, if someone dies, it’s going to be because of their own ineptitude.”

“I’m certain that won’t be a problem,” Jaskier says. “Have you ever made armor for a witcher before?”

Her eyes light up. “Your friend is a witcher? To tell the truth, things have been a little slow around here since the war ended.”

“I’ll pay you well, don’t worry,” Jaskier says, producing the paper Geralt had given him from his cloak with a flourish. 

She practically snatches the scroll out of Jaskier’s hands, her eyes roving over the paper. She mutters something to herself before turning back to look at Jaskier. 

“I still need the measurements,” she says. “It’s even more crucial for such an important client.”

“Of course. Don’t worry, I have them right here.” Jaskier fishes his notebook from his satchel, flipping through until he finds the page with Geralt’s sizes on it. Jaskier swears that Geralt purposely ruins all of his fine clothing between banquets he drags him to, because Jaskier always has to buy Geralt new clothes. 

Actually, come to think of it, he’s never seen the evidence of them being damaged, and it’s not like Geralt just wears them around. Jaskier shakes his head as he realizes Geralt probably just sells them. Jaskier supposes Geralt does always swear that will be the last banquet he ever attends after each one, just for Jaskier to talk him into one more, but that’s no excuse. 

Jaskier tilts his head for a moment as he contemplates how to get his revenge, smirking when the idea dawns upon him. Jaskier sketches a quick picture and pushes it towards the armorer. “How much extra would this cost?” 

She looks down at the page dubiously. 

Jaskier gives her his most charming smile. 

-

It’s been three days, and Geralt is sick of lying in bed. No matter how much he swears to Jaskier that he’s better, that his rib has knit itself back together, he doesn’t believe him.. It’s just a bruised rib at this point, but Jaskier doesn’t take pity on him, just offers a distraction for Geralt in the form of being better at gwent than he has any right to be. 

Geralt sighs heavily, looking at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t think that will make me take pity on you, Geralt,” Jaskier says, not even looking up from his composing notebook. “Besides, we have to wait for your armor anyway.”

“What’s taking so long?” Geralt complains. 

“Perfection takes time. Besides, the armorer’s never seen any of your witcher-y things, so you have to give her time to figure it out.”

Geralt groans and sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Jaskier rushes to him, but Geralt brushes him off. “I’m fine,” he growls. 

Jaskier raises his hands and backs away. “Fine, fine. Don’t be so grumpy when all I’ve been doing is taking care of you.”

Geralt glares at him, and Jaskier strokes a hand through his soft hair. “You do deserve it, you know,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt looks down, a bothersome flush creeping up his neck. 

“I think I’ll go check on the armor, since you’re in such a rush.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “She said it would be done sometime today.”

Geralt rummages through his pack, hardly looking up at Jaskier. “Good. Then we can finally move on. I was talking to the innkeeper about a wyvern a day’s ride away.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, here, hmm?”

Geralt grumbles as Jaskier leaves, finding himself excited to see the new armor against his will. He so rarely gets anything that doesn’t already have a crust of dirt on it that anytime he has a sword or armor made, he finds himself looking forward to it. 

Geralt goes to the mirror in the corner of the room and lifts up his shirt, noting how the mottled purple has become large splotches of greenish brown. Everything’s looking good, so he sorts his satchel, shaking his head fondly as he reorganizes his elixirs. Whenever Jaskier gets his hands on them, he always sorts them by color, but that’s not what Geralt likes. He could just tell Jaskier to leave his things alone, but he doesn’t have the heart for it. 

Geralt putters around the room, making the bed and hoping that if he’s ready to go by the time Jaskier gets back, he can convince him to move on. He can smell Jaskier’s anxious energy, anyway; he knows Jaskier is just staying here for his benefit. 

Geralt finishes putting the last of his things into his pack and is just contemplating going down to the stables to see Roach when Jaskier bursts through the door, armor in hand. 

Jaskier hands it off to him with a self satisfied flourish, and Geralt freezes as he looks at it. “You can’t be serious.”

“The armorer and I thought it would make you like quite fetching.”

“Jaskier.”

“What, don’t you like it? It’s a gift, Geralt, I’m offended.”

Geralt rubs his fingers over the indents in the chest plate. He has so many questions. 

“It’s the new fashion,” Jaskier assures him. 

“I’m a witcher, not a model.”

“Why not both?” Jaskier asks airily. He looks around the room. “So, are you ready to go then?”

Jaskier steps forward to help him buckle the new armor in place, Geralt eyeing it dubiously. Besides from the obvious issue of the chest piece, it’s not even black; it’s a dark green that catches and shimmers in the light. Geralt resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. No one is going to take him seriously now. 

He huffs a sigh, trying to communicate his displeasure with Jaskier, but as ever, Jaskier seems immune to his glares. Geralt slings his satchel over his shoulder and steels himself. 

As they walk down the street, it’s not as terrible as Geralt was expecting. Sure, the sun is glinting off of his abs and blinding him a little, but Geralt doesn’t hear anyone snickering at him. Everyone just walks by, looks at him, and quickly glances at their feet, which is par for the course for the life of a witcher. 

Geralt tilts his chin a little higher, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He has a new spring in his step when he hears someone calling his name behind him. Geralt turns around, thinking it sounds an awful lot like his brother, and he’s proven right when Lambert skids to a stop in front of him. 

“Hey, I’m glad I ran into you; I heard there’s a nest of wyverns a few towns over—” Lambert’s mouth flaps for a second. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Geralt turns to glare at Jaskier, and he smiles innocently. 

[starlessea]

Ultimate Guide to Writing Accents and Dialogue

I recently saw an amazing post on how to keep your characters ‘in character,’  and I wanted to make my own about writing accents, dialects, and overall just creating dialogue that suits the people you are trying to portray.

I’m a language/linguistic student, so here are a few tips I think you should consider!

1) Standard Pronunciation: 

First you need to think about where your story is set, and what is the standard dialect of the majority of your characters compared to your main character. What I mean by this is, if your story is set in the South, and all of your characters therefore have that Southern drawl, then it becomes the STANDARD, and has nothing to contrast it unless you introduce something.

If your main character (your POV) has a different accent, then make it NOTICABLY different from the standard of your story. It’s good to have accent variety, otherwise all of your characters start to sound the same.

2) Constructing your Vocabulary: 

Next, you’ll want to consider the vocabulary of your character. Ask yourself questions about them: are they educated, what was their upbringing like, do they work in a field with specific vocabulary? You can strip it back even further than that - when you think of your character how would you describe them? Could you see a badass biker using long, sophisticated diction on a regular basis? Or an old woman swearing like a sailor?

Don’t get me wrong, these are very much stereotypes, and often the most interesting characters are created by subverting your expectations. But use these questions as a springboard for your characters. If you’re writing fanfiction, and know the characters well already from a movie / tv-show, then try to IMAGINE them saying your lines to see if they are something they would actually say. 

However, also note that the register of your characters is bound to change given the situation. Obviously, someone is more likely to use heightened vocabulary in a certain setting - e.g. within a classroom - and more casual language elsewhere - e.g. in a bar. See below for such a distinction:

Formal: Yes/No

Informal: Yeah/Nah

3) Orthography, Syntax and Morphology: 

Okay, so those words might look a little scary, but don’t worry. Orthography is just a fancy way of saying spelling (specifically, the standard spelling system of a time/place and how we might see a character deviate from it), syntax is word order, and morphology is how words are formed (such as grammar, inflections etc.). I’ll give some examples of what I mean.

Orthography: I’m going to use Daryl Dixon from TWD for reference (keywords: Southern drawl, redneck, country). For Daryl, some words he says I write phonetically (according to how he says them), so that the spelling matches the phonology. E.g.:

Standard: “Take care of yourself.”

Daryl: “Take care of yerself.” 

I tend to do this alot with pronouns, such as ‘you/ya,’ ‘your/yer.’ But I also use the long, standard forms for variety and emphasis - e.g. ‘you’re right.’

Syntax and Morphology:

Often, a character will use different syntax or morphological patterns that we aren’t used to. Often, non-native speakers are portrayed using types of English we often categorise as ‘incorrect’ - but are just non-standard. You can find good examples of this within Creole literature.

For example, past-tense verbs are usually conjugated in the present-tense form:

‘we was / if I was you’ instead of ‘we were / if I were you’ 

“I go now.” 

“She gives it to me yesterday.” 

Unfortunately, a lot of these conventions are also stereotypically used to portray characters who are uneducated - think of Joe or young Pip from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, for example.

But, you also want to avoid STEREOTYPING your character too much, as that can come across as amateur or cliche. What I mean by this is don’t over-rely on certain patterns - don’t overuse them. It’s okay to have variety, even if its with the SAME character. Just do it in a way that fits your overall construction. You can even change these speech patterns DURING your story to represent the development of your character, or them picking up an accent, or being around different people.

4) Apostrophe and Negatives:

Apostrophe: These can be used to mark a number of things - such as abbreviations, contractions, possession etc. If your character has a certain accent, they might roll certain words into one another - not stressing specific consonants, for example. We can see this in ‘C’mon.’

Alot of abbreviations are now recognised slang words, too. For instance:

C’mon = Come on 

‘Cos = Because

Lil’ = Little

‘Ma = Mama / mother

Ol’ = Old

Think about whether certain abbreviations and slang matches the register of your character, as well as their location. For example, slang words like ‘cuppa’ (cup of tea) are usually expected in a British setting.

Also, remember that the apostrophe goes in the position of the letter/letters you are getting RID OF, which is not always necessarily in the place of the contraction. E.g:

‘Do not’ contracts to ‘donot’ which abbreviates to the standard ‘don’t.’

Going back to my Daryl Dixon example, other common abbreviations I use for him include the following:

‘Ing’ contraction - walking becomes walkin’.

 Anyone, anything - becomes ‘nyone, ‘nything

Pronoun contractions - her becomes ‘er.

Connective contractions - and becomes an’ or n’.

Other contractions don’t even need apostrophes - such as ‘gonna,’ ‘gotta,’ ‘sorta,’ ‘wanna.’

Negatives: 

Even though Standard English doesn’t use double negatives anymore, we can use them in our writing of characters as an indicator of their background or dialect. They can also be used for emphasis.

Coming back to Daryl, he tends to use a lot of double negative constructions:

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“Don’t want nothin’.”

“Ain’t go no reason to.”

If you want to get even more complex, you can have a proclitic negative (where the negative attaches itself to the verb - e.g. don’t), and contract it further so you get a multiple contraction. For example:

You (pronoun), Are (verb, form of ‘be’), Not (negative) = you ain’t = y’aint.

“Y’aint never done shit for me!”

Because this is a three way contraction, it becomes a bit confusing where to put the apostrophe - is it y’aint or y’ain’t? To be honest, it becomes mostly your choice after that (stylistic). 

5) Loanwords and Imposition:

Loanword: This is a word borrowed INTO the native language FROM another one. For example, think of an American speaker using a French word or phrase in a sentence.

“Thought we were all takin’ a laissez faire approach now?”

Think of how this changes the sentence, and the impact it is going for. French is still seen as a prestigious language, so it can be used to heighten register, or can be used to mock/patronise/be sarcastic in a certain context (as in this example).

Imposition: This is when a speaker uses a word FROM their native language in the context of a non-native language they are speaking. It has connotations of power and agency. 

For example, a French speaker might use a French term in a conversation, despite it having a perfectly good English counterpart. This might be in order to demonstrate that a character is trying to show off, or is reminding their peers of their background or status.

6) Non-verbal Indicators:

This is more on the border of style, but I thought it was worth mentioning. Sometimes, the descriptive words you use can reflect a character's dialect. An obvious example can be how ‘drawled’ is associated with a Southern accent.

Although it might sound cliche, you should think about the vocabulary you want to use in order to describe a certain accent. If we were to compare perhaps Scottish or Welsh with French, for instance, you would be able to hear the distinct sound differences. The former are more harsh, guttural, have a lot of sounds that come from the back of the throat, whilst the latter is nasal and flows more.

Use your descriptions to emphasise this. Look up synonyms that describe the WAY in which your characters are pronouncing the words. Are they guttural, harsh, gravelly, thick? Or are they soft, fluid, smooth?

Anyway, I’ve rambled enough. Good luck writing, everyone!

Disclaimer: Even though this post is long, it’s actually really basic on a linguistic level - so I hope no true linguists read this haha. These are just some personal observations, but I hope they help!

[rein-ette]

Are you still working on your Commonwealth study? Do you have any thoughts on Arthur's relationships with his colonies apart from Canzuk + US?

Not properly, unfortunately with exams and then work I haven’t had mental/emotional capacity to do real research (and probably won’t for a while 😔). But I have continued to think about and develop certain relationships, and I think I also have old hcs I’ve never shared, so I’ll put those down!

Born into the Empire

Australia

@oumaheroes has already done such great hcs on him idk what I can add, but basically he was a little bit of a rowdy child, always breaking windows and shattering fancy pots, never able to sit still. I think rainbow once mentioned that Ken (short for Kenneth, my name for Aus) was a lot like England as a child in his curiosity and energy, and I wholeheartedly agree. But I think Arthur’s intensity was more inwardly directed, pushing him to pursue and master new talents and learn whatever he could, while Australia is a little more carefree in his love for the outdoors, exploring, jumping around and off things, little wild animals. Unfortunately for him, he was born in a period of the empire when Arthur was very serious about his kids education, and therefore often praised those who studied hard and learned fast, which really just wasn’t Australia’s cup of tea. Australia took this kinda hard and thought he was the “dumb” one in the family that Arthur was always scolding, but in reality Arthur knew and appreciated that Australias interests lay elsewhere — he was just a frustrated, tired, parent who really wanted to give his kids the best while also holding his empire together, two goals that were never going to fit well in the end and would completely exhaust him.

As Australia’s grown older he’s realized a bit of this (not entirely, though) and also that 1) he really did break a lot expensive things and cause general mayhem 2) scolding us Arthur’s way of showing he cares, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have payed attention to him at all 3) despite being a penal colony, he was still one of Arthur’s more “legitimate” children (being white and a boy) and was therefore still incredibly privileged — never having to question, for example, why it was that Arthur was his dad, if it should be this way, or if he had a seat at the family table at all (more on this later).

New Zealand

Zee, from birth, was a clear favourite. Obedient, calm, quietly intelligent, he would also later develop a blistering sense of humour which combined with his appearance made it overwhelmingly clear who’s child he was. If Ken questioned his place in the family because of his poor academic record and others did because of their appearance/race/other complications, Kaelan never had such problems; his siblings called him the “prince.” Zee, however, also had a charm that, like Matthew, endeared him to his siblings and mostly protected him from jealousy, though he certainly still had issues with being called a try hard, daddy’s boy, bossy, arrogant. Certainly as a child Zee was a little prideful and, under that unperturbed demeanour, willful, but he grew out of it by the 20th century and became one of those most trusted by Arthur, second only to Matthew. He’s also always been inseparable from his brother Australia despite their differences, and today they both have one of the healthiest and most amicable relationships with Arthur of any nation, let alone former colonies (family road trips, every summer).

Bermuda

I absolute fell in love with this girl after reading about here, once, in this fic by @shachaai, and after that my mind just ran away with me. For me, her human name given to her by Arthur just has to be Ariel — for the little mermaid reference, yes, symbolizing her connection to the sea and stunning good looks, but also because:

1. Ariel is a biblical name, meaning lion of God. This makes sense to me, because Bermuda began as a Portuguese trade post, so Arthur definitely consulted our resident bad catholic Port before naming her.

2. Ariel used to be boys name. This also makes sense, because I hc Bermuda was and still is a tomboy. Bitch is fierce, takes no prisoners, and has zero filter. Her letters to Arthur, which all the colonies sent so Arthur could keep an eye on things, were full of shit like “I swear to god if the Spanish don’t get out of my waters I might eat one of them,” and “father, I asked you for destroyers two months ago, and yet you sent them to Hong Kong — could you explain this most unusual occurrence, surely it’s not that you forgot”, and “thank you for the harpoon on my birthday, I caught a small shark a couple days ago and have sent you some of its teeth for your collection.” Arthur tolerates this attitude because he’s weak when it comes to girls; he absolutely spoils his daughters (and flushes like a 16 year old when a woman so much as bats her eyelashes at him). Yes, p*ssywhipped Arthur is a hill I will die on.

3. It also suits her because? Ariel? Shakespeare? The Tempest? Bermuda Triangle? Shipwrecks? Daughter-like figure of powerful and vengeful sorcerer? Yeah. And this girl is a fire spirit — she is so lively, snarky, clever. As she’s grown older she’s mellowed out a little, but still: a no shit taken, no fucks given type of gal.

4. Speaking of growing up, she’s also become quite the beauty. Shacha, if I’m remembering correctly, described her as dark skinned, wavy-haired, and green eyed and that image has been burned onto the back of my eyelids ever since. Those Iberian genetics really be pulling through for her, that’s for sure. Engport love child if I’ve ever seen one. Definitely one of the prettiest in her family.

Singapore

I’ve already mentioned this to needcake, but I’m not too big a fan of canon Singapore, so this is my oc version. Singapore is fascinating to me because it had only a very small local population before it became a colony (The original settlement had actually been destroyed by the Portuguese about two centuries before the British started building a port there.) So nation-tans like Singapore and Bermuda really are Arthur’s children in the most direct sense of the word. And yet, Singapore is mostly ethnically Chinese, with Malays being the second largest group. Growing up Asian in a white, Victorian era family surely cannot have been easy and more than once Singapore probably wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. To make up for the constant fear that he wasn’t “really” British, Singapore studied ferociously and had a truly terrifying work ethic. I’m not sure if this is common knowledge outside Asian circles, so I’ll mention that this hc comes from the fact Singapore is well known for having truly exceptional students and some of the most prestigious schools. Singaporeans score highly in literally everything and they have an advantage with good English learning environments, a highly desirable trait in Asia, but these results come from brutally long hours — and its really saying something that they’re known for working hard, considering the studying ethic of students in Korea, Japan, and China aint nothing to sneeze at, either. To me this actually fits really well with Singapore’s upbringing in Arthur’s household, because Arthur himself prizes intelligence and hard work above all else, being a workaholic himself.

As for their relationship, it was probably the best when Singapore was young and peaked in the 1930s with the massive naval base the British built at Singapore, at the time the largest dry dock in the world. Singapore was a well-behaved child, not necessarily introverted but not rowdy either, and all the way into his teenage years he truly admired Arthur and was proud to be a part of the British Empire, despite his lingering unease and insecurities. The British defeat in World War II, however, was a massive turning point. He had worked his ass off to be a good son, a good brother, to contribute to the only family and system he had ever known, and he had thought by the 30s he was finally on his way to becoming a fine adult. And suddenly, the British surrender brings his entire world crashing down. He had followed the rules faithfully thinking it was his destiny, but suddenly it was clear that all rules were made up. Of course, his insecurities exploded. If the empire was a ruse, what the hell was he? A part of the illusion? He couldn’t have a truly Asian identity, because many of the old East Asian nations shunned him for his Western upbringing, and he could not entirely understand their values either. So he was a kid who kinda had to figure out late and very very suddenly who the fuck he was and wanted to be.

And, well, he’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he. After having a total crisis and questioning everything, I think Singapore slowly started to realize that just because the British Empire as a political entity didn’t last forever, that didn’t mean that his entire childhood and identity weren’t real. The love he gave to his siblings and the love he got back, the hard work he put in, his bond with Arthur and the safe, happy childhood he had — those memories and feelings didnt have to be diminished by what came after. Essentially, he learned the lesson all nations have to learn, which is that one needs to be able to discern between duties as a nation and feelings as a human being, and to some extent keep them separate to protect both.

Whoooooo ok I’ll stop there because this turned into a dissertation, sorry. Let me know if there are any specifics u want me to elaborate on or anything I missed, but I’ll leave this here for today :)

[violet-knox]

The Family Secret

Chapter 1: Spinner’s End

Pairing: Young!Snape x Reader

Summary: Excited for your summer break, you make plans with Severus to visit him at Spinner’s End. Nervous about your visit, Severus does everything he can to make your stay delightful, but nothing goes as planned when his father comes home early from work. 

Word count: 6951

Warnings: Implied child abuse (not explicit) 

A/N: It’s been such a long journey finishing this story up. Things did not go as planned when I signed up and there were times I didn’t think I’d manage to finish it. But here we are, and I’m so happy I pushed through.

This story has 5 chapters and since I didn’t plan anything for Sev’s birthday, I thought I’d make it up by posting the first (and longest) chapter today. The next chapter will be posted on Wednesday the 13th and after that, I’ll be posting one chapter every Saturday in January, the final chapter posted on the 30th. It was a pleasure to participate in the @snapebang​ and I hope everyone enjoys it!

He could still remember the first time he’d told you about his home on Spinner’s End. You’d only been dating two weeks and he had no obligation to tell you anything about his life, but he just couldn’t help himself. He’d been hoping for so many years to find someone like you, someone he could care for that would return the gesture. Someone he could love, trust and he did. He’d found you and there was no one else in this world he would ever trust more than you. Perhaps that was why he told you where he lived after you said you lived in Cokeworth as well, knowing the reputation Spinner’s End had built for itself. Lily had never cared for his family’s financial status, but her sister had, as did the majority of those he’d meet. He was afraid you’d react the same way, that once again his parents would ruin yet another good thing in his life, but you didn’t. You didn’t even hesitate to smile. But if you’d told him back then what you’d asked of him now, he would have questioned your knowledge on the reputation Spinner’s End carried and reconsidered telling you about his upbringing. 

Filthy, poor, loathsome, shameful, pathetic; those were the words he and many others would have used to describe his home, yet you seemed completely oblivious to those characteristics. You didn’t care about how small he claimed it to be. You brushed away his own distaste for the place and his offer to take you somewhere else. You simply asked again: Can I come over this summer? 

The answer was much simpler than he’d made it out to be in his mind: Yes, but you shouldn’t. Yet he could only imagine the hurt in your eyes if he’d responded that way. He knew you’d understand if he explained, but you’d already tolerate so much of his own burdens. Who was he to ask you to carry anymore? In all honesty, he was surprised you’d stuck around this long after everything you’d seen at school. The way he was treated by others; like a filthy raccoon who wouldn’t stop trespassing on their property. You should have run for the hills the second you got a glimpse of who he was, but you didn’t. You stayed by his side and yet, despite everything you’d been through, he still questioned your loyalty. It was as if the moment you understood where he came from, the moment you’d seen his home, who his father was, you’d abandon him like everyone else before you. 

It seemed however, that no matter what he’d say, no matter how hard he’d try, you’d always find your way back to him to put his heart back together. He loved your loyalty to him, your compassion for him. He loved everything about you and only a fool would shun the insurance you offered him of your expectations for Spinner’s End. 

“Severus, if you don’t want me here, I understand,” you said as you followed his lead down the street of Spinner’s End. Reservation still lingered in his chest and judging by your tone of voice, you were certainly aware of it. He was nervous more than anything. Yes, his father was away for the weekend and his mother never bothered to care for his presence anyways, but he still couldn’t help the dread in the back of his mind. Bringing you home was a risk, one that could end your relationship if you hadn’t been sincere about your views of his family. 

“N-no! I do, it’s just-” He paused and squeezed your hand as he looked away. “My house- where I live… It’s not what you imagine and my parents- they aren’t exactly the best of people.”

You’d seen him distressed before, the sorrow in his eyes when Lily cut ties with him, the anguish he went through when James and Sirius continued their harassments at school after the Whomping Willow incident. But you’d never seen such disappear written on his face before, as if he was preparing to lose something he held dear. You’d never meant to cause such emotions when you’d asked to come over for a few hours, but if you’d known the stress he felt now, you would have buried the thought deep in your mind, never to see the light of day and save him the hurt he felt bubbling inside him now. 

The way he tightened his hold on you made you feel all the more guilty. This was supposed to be a pleasant evening and Severus was acting as though you held a gun to his head. But you knew that once you’d entered his house and shown him you couldn’t care less about his living situation the mood would lighten. 

“You know I don’t care for that. Your home and your parents will never change how I feel about you,” you said, pulling his arm closer to your chest. Your words had the exact effect you’d intended as you felt the tension in his muscles release. His shoulders dropped slightly, but his hand tightened its hold on yours. 

Turning his head, Severus looked into your eyes and felt the assurance you offered seep into his recurring horrendous thoughts of abandonment. He always felt so safe with you, assured of the exclusion of the terrors the world offered when he was around you. As much as he hated to admit it, you were his rock, he couldn’t live without you and that was precisely why he feared your visit to his house. Why would he risk losing someone as important as you? And for what? A glimpse into his sad childhood on Spinner’s End? 

Nothing was worth losing you and if protecting his relationship with you meant you’d never meet his parents or step foot on Spinner’s End then so be it. He could live with hiding his past. He could learn to move on, he wanted nothing more than to move on, but he knew he’d never be able to find anyone as thoughtful or as loving as you.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you offered, watching him hesitate to climb up the first step of stairs leading to the front door. “We can turn around and head to a park or something.”

You couldn’t stand how uncomfortable he looked. You didn’t want to see him like this, your heart aching as his hands shook, stuffing them into his pocket, clumsily searching for his keys. He was like a delicate, expanding bubble, ready to pop at any moment, exploding into a mess of emotions and you couldn’t bear seeing him in such a state.

“No,” he said softly, retrieving his keys from his pocket. “We can stay.”

Stretching out his hand, offering it to you, he took another step towards the door, watching you slide your fingers against his palm, gripping him tightly as you stepped forward as well. As much as he would have liked to take you up on your offer, he knew he couldn’t back out now because he knew exactly why you wanted to come over in the first place. Curiosity was a trait you’d never tried to hide and one that made itself more apparent the closer you got as a couple. You wanted to know everything about him because it made you feel closer. You wanted to trust him, to know him better than anyone else ever had. He could see your hurt when he told you about Lily, how much he’d wanted to share everything with her, how he thought she understood him, so he knew you’d want nothing more than to gain his trust enough to share everything with you.

Slowly, he put the key into its lock and turned it, opening the door to his childhood, his summer prison. Everything he hated about himself was all stored under one roof, all about to be exposed to you. There were no words to describe the hatred he felt for this place, Lily being the only reason he had to look forward to returning every summer but as she broke off their friendship, his willingness to withstand this house sizzled away, leaving him with nothing but animosity. And then he met you. You were his new light, a clean breath of air amongst the smoky darkness surrounding him. You were his new reason for withstanding Cokeworth and Spinner’s End. Withstanding another summer under this roof was only made bearable by the thought of you existing within the same vicinity. 

The smile you wore on your face as you followed him, stepping within the threshold of his less than desirable home eased him a little and he wondered if you’d intended to appear happy simply because you knew how much it soothed him. You were always canny like that, catching onto his likes and desires faster than he was willing to admit, but it didn’t bother him. He was grateful for it and only wished he could return the favour. 

“It’s nice,” you said to him as he closed the door behind you. Any expectations Severus had given you were shot the moment you stepped inside, the walls bare, a singular couch and armchair squeezed into the shoe box sized sitting room. The couch was old, probably as old as the house judging by the chipped drywall and the worn-out floors. It faced the ashy fireplace which seemed to endure the same negligence Severus had said he’d felt over the years. The armchair’s cushion dipped in the middle as if an invisible being was sitting on it, the arms themselves scuffed from the ends. The only decor you could find was a singular picture frame of a couple you could only assume were his parents that looked as though it had been gathering dust for a while. 

“You’re not being truthful,” he replied bluntly as he let go of your hand. He took a look around the room and sighed. No matter how much he tried, there was no way he could have made the place presentable for you, but at least he’d managed to clean the floors of any broken shards of glass or stains left behind by whatever it was his father had decided to leave around the armchair. 

“The way you were describing it, Severus, I would have thought you lived in a dustcart.” You turned to face him instead of the room, placing your hands over his arms to get his attention. His hair was already over his face, his insecurities spilling out of him and you’d barely been here ten seconds. The house was quiet at least and you knew if you just sat down a while, he would get used to the idea of sharing his space with you. 

Severus’ gaze seemed to be fixed on the scenery behind you, so you slowly moved your hands up his arms and onto his shoulder, one reaching up to gently hook under his chin, encouraging him to break free of whatever horrible trance he was under. Your eyes finally met yet he still wouldn’t let go of the fear buried deep in his chest. 

“Sev, I love you,” you spoke softly, entwining your fingers in his hair, taking a step closer to him. Severus leaned into you, your touch a comfort he could find nowhere else. The tension in his shoulders started to ease until he realized he’d forgotten to thoroughly wash his hair today. His hand jerked up to remove yours from the shameful oily mess on his head, kicking himself for forgetting something so trivial. Already this day was going downhill, and he could only imagine the treachery that would follow. 

“Can we sit down?” You asked when you felt his hand on your wrist, pulling you away. You could tell he was still so uncomfortable and a part of you had begun to wonder if it was really his home he was ashamed of or if it was you. 

Severus, unaware of your own worries, slowly nodded his head, turning towards the couch, inviting you to sit beside him. His actions were almost robotic; one foot after the other, his legs bending enough to sit in his seat. He wasn’t sure what to do next, or rather, he wasn’t sure if you were disgusted by what you saw and were just too kind to say anything. He wouldn’t blame you if the next thing you did was ask to leave. In fact, he’d sort of expected it to happen at some point, he just had no idea when you’d ask. 

“Severus?” Your voice seemed so distant, like you weren’t actually here and for once, he hoped that was true. Your scent however, the glimpse of your face in the corner of his eyes told him otherwise. “Sev, if you’re worried about me don’t be. I’m fine with your home, I really am.”

Severus looked down to find your hand on his knee, your thumb slowly rubbing circles into his trousers as a way of comforting him. His lips gently twitched into the subtlest of smiles, his hand overlapping yours as he looked at you with softened eyes. He nodded his head in understanding and found himself silently thanking you and everything you were. Your presence, your joy, your mere existence was all a gift he was lucky to have received. 

“I-I can make tea,” he offered, hoping it would ease the tension around you both. You nodded your head and he got up from his spot, asking you to stay where you were, Merlin forbid you see another inch of this disgraceful prison. 

Severus creaked open the door that led to the rest of the house enough for him to slip through, quickly closing it after he stepped inside so you wouldn’t see your vision wouldn’t be tainted with any more of his embarassing life. He hastily made his way to the kitchen where he found his mother sitting near the window reading yesterday’s paper, likely stolen from the neighbour’s bin as she smoked what he guessed was her third cigarette today judging by the time. 

Opening the cupboards, he found the old rustic kettle and filled it up with water before digging for the matches and lighting the flame on the stove. He left the kettle there as he went back to find two clean cups. He’d opened all the cupboards in the kitchen before looking around countertops. He found two mugs, both dirty on the kitchen table, but one was chipped to the extent he was sure you’d noticed, so he cleaned the acceptable one and continued his search. Waving his wand, he watched the ditry mug levitate to the sink where it began cleaning itself. Looking back around the kitchen he found another mug on the countertop of the window, used as an ashtray. 

“Mum, can I use that mug?” He asked her, hoping she was in a well enough mood to simply wave him her approval. He watched with anticipation as she took another puff of her cigarette, acting as if he wasn’t even there. This was rather usual for her, but unfortunately for him, it meant she wasn’t in the mood to be disturbed.  

“Why?” She asked, keeping her eyes on her paper as she blindly tapped the end of her cigarette into her makeshift ashtray.

“I-I have a friend over and I wanted to make tea.” He paused and watched her eyes move from one side of the page to the other. “I’d asked you yesterday if it was alright for her to come over and you said it was.”

Sometimes he wondered if she cared more about her smoke breaks than she did him because it was moments like this where she’d pay more attention to those sticks of tobacco than she would her own son that had him questioning her priorities. The cigarette hung from her lips as she turned the page, staring at him like he’d said something damning. 

“A friend? Didn’t that Evans girl stop speaking with you last year? And why on earth would you want to bring her here of all places?” She suddenly seemed very interested in his evening plans when he’d explained to her multiple times over the last few days he was planning to have you over. But why would he ever expect her to listen when she’d done nothing of the sort the last 17 years. He in fact, could hardly remember a time where she’d managed to hold even half a conversation with him.

“Why do you care?” He snapped back at her. Frustration rose to his mind, his face turning red with anger. She had no right to question his personal life. She had no right to speak to him like he wasn’t worthy of speaking to other human beings. 

His expression hardened when he locked eyes with her, watching her take another drag of her cigarette as her lips stretched into an ugly frown. Tossing her newspaper in the direction of the bin, each page flying around, landing all over the floor, she put out her cigarette in the mug before pushing it with her index finger so it fell off the windowsill. 

“Clean that up,” she commanded lazily, easing off from where she sat and dragged her feet along the floor to the door. “And I suggest you see your friend out before your father gets home.”

He didn’t take his eyes off her until she was completely out of sight, heading up the stairs, the house whining in agony with every step she took. Storming to the door, he closed it roughly, immediately regretting it when he remembered you were in the sitting room waiting for him. It was then he’d realized the kettle had been whistling, steaming angrily before he removed it from the stove and turned it off. He looked to his side where the broken pieces of the mug mixed with the ashes of his mother's cigarette. With a sigh, he took out his wand and wove it over the area, trying to focus on the task at hand, putting aside his feelings towards his parents. 

He’d been so used to locking himself in his room or storming out of the house, returning when it was pitch black after interactions like that, but he couldn’t do that this time and it threw him off. He had to get back to you, get back to the safety of your bubble. At least with you, he could stand to be in this house, he could bear the backlash of his mother and the miserable life he led here. 

The mug put itself back together and he picked it up to examine it. He’d gotten rather good with this spell after he’d begun taking every broken dish, jar or whatever else his parents felt like breaking that day back to Hogwarts and fixing it the second he was allowed to do magic again. Turning seventeen was one of the best gifts he’d ever been given. No more restrictions, no more rules. He was able to do magic freely now and it had saved him more than once this summer, apparting away if they ever got too loud, cleaning his room faster than he’d ever previously managed. It kept him connected to his real home, even if he was miles away. 

Placing the mug in the sink, he washed and dried it, stopping the spell he’d previously cast and set aside the dishes for now. He walked over instead to the mess his mother had made and wove his wand over it to vanish the ash and newspaper. Finally, he made earl grey tea and even managed to find some biscuits to go along with it. His smile slowly began to return as he made his way back to you, opening the door with one hand as he carried the tray of treats in the other. Placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch, he took his seat next to you.

“Sorry, we don’t have any cream but there’s sugar if you like,” he said, gesturing to the small jar next to the cups. Your lips twitched into a smile as you watched him pick up the jar and unscrew its lid. He put two teaspoons of sugar into his tea before looking over his shoulder to see if you wanted any. 

“One is fine. Thank you Sev,” you motioned to him. He gave both cups a quick swirl before picking them up and handing yours to you. He sat back on the couch and looked down at the liquid swirling in circles, the awkwardness settling back into place before you spoke, thoughts of the consequences he feared to face for bringing you here returning to him.

“Is everything alright Sev? I heard something breaking while you were in there,” you said, nodding your head towards the door he’d just emerged from. You didn’t want to push or make assumptions, but Severus had told you his father was at work, which meant the footsteps you heard heading up the stairs not long before he returned to you were his mother’s. He’d barely ever spoken to you about her, but you knew he wasn’t too fond of either of his parents. You were never one to pry on someone else's personal life, but with Severus it was different. You cared so deeply for him, you wanted to know everything, the good and the bad. But common dignity stopped you from asking him before about his family, hoping if you were patient, he would eventually trust you enough to share everything without you having to ask. 

“It was nothing, I just dropped one of the mugs, but I managed to put it back together,” he lied, looking away to take a sip of his tea. He kept his eyes on his cup as he lowered it, his hair defensively falling into position over his face. You noticed his gaze dropping and knew there was more to what he was telling you. Your shoulders fell in disappointment as you realized today was not the day he’d open up to you. But you had to look on the bright side, he trusted you enough to bring you to his home and you’ve been here a full ten minutes without him trying to push you out.

“So, will I get a tour later?” You smirked as you took a sip of your own tea. “Will I get to see your room?”

“Why do you want to see my room?” He asked, confused at your odd request. Your smirk didn’t help matters either. He was now unsure of how serious your question was. 

Sliding closer to him, you bit your bottom lip, unable to suppress your growing smile. It was absolutely adorable when he wouldn’t understand some of your hints. The way his brows would furrow, his eyes shifting like a lost puppy unable to comprehend where he was. “Well, wouldn’t you want to see my room if you came over?”

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle when you saw his eyes light up with understanding, a sly smirk of his own appearing on his lips, his cheeks tinting a light shade of pink. “I suppose. But my room isn’t really anything worth seeing. It’s small and cramped. I keep everything worth keeping in my trunk. Honestly, the dorms back at Hogwarts are more appealing.” 

“I don’t care how it looks,” you said, placing a hand on his knee in comfort. What you would give to see him just a little more proud of himself, just a bit more confident. Sometimes you wondered if all that affinity shared between you meant anything to him or if he even realized how much you’d been there for him, how you’d always be there for him. But in the end, your crazy thoughts of his negligence towards you was always just that; absolutely nonsense. “I only care that it’s yours.”

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed. It was odd speaking to you about something he’d always been so insecure about, yet the feeling of worry over whether or not you would leave him after what you saw was beginning to dwindle away. Even with his mum unable to spare him a shred of decency, the evening had felt as though it was going fairly well thus far. At least you seemed to be enjoying the biscuits enough to eat a second even though they turned out to be stale. Still, you managed to find a way to turn the situation around, dipping them into your tea. You’d even finished your tea before him despite his vitality to speak as little as possible. He would much rather listen to you talk about how your summer had gone so far and all the plans you had for your last year at Hogwarts than speak of his home and life on Spinner’s End.

Life could never cut him a break and just when he thought he was finally grasping at happiness, Fate had to intervene, ruining any spark of joy ignited within him. Fate was cruel to him today just as she was cruel to him when he’d finally found a home in Hogwarts, introducing him to Potter while taking Lily away from him. Today, Fate had decided to shake up his plans with you and test him instead. The sound of the front door opening dropped his heart down to his stomach. He knew it was over the second his father took a step into the house, to be greeted by his son sitting with a stranger he’d been told nothing about. 

“What is this?” His tone showed resistance as he stared at you and Severus sitting on the couch. He was holding back like he always did when they were out in public. Your presence was taming him, but Severus knew it wouldn’t last long.

“H-hello,” you hesitantly tried to introduce yourself, feeling the tension in the air. You assumed the man who’d stepped inside the house was his father, but judging by the look on the man’s face, he had no idea who you were. Did Severus not tell either of his parents about your visit? Thoughts of disappointment and guilt filled your mind as you stood up, stretching your hand out to him. “I-umm, I’m (Y/N).”

The man squinted at your hand, staring at you in silence. You felt wary of the situation you’d suddenly found yourself in. Your introduction clearly doing you no favours. Awkwardly, you lowered your hand to your side along with your gaze in embarrassment as you sank back down on the couch beside Severus. 

“We were just drinking tea,” Severus finally spoke, trying to explain with as few words as possible why there was a stranger in the house. Looking at him, you questioned why his voice had suddenly lost all its power. It sounded as though he was speaking to a wall, you’d never heard his voice so monotone before and it frightened you. Perhaps he was right, and you shouldn’t have come over. 

Severus watched his father squint at the two empty mugs on the coffee table, evidence that you’d both finished your tea a while ago. Severus could already tell lies was all his father would see. The way his father’s black eyes pierced his, he knew nothing he said now would forgive inviting you over. 

“I see.” Severus felt a slight shiver run up his body from his father's simple words, but he still maintained eye contact with him all the same, hoping he could at least try and brace himself for what came next. He watched the man take a few steps around the couch, speaking one final word as he opened the door to the rest of the house. “Severus.”

His voice commanded obedience from Severus and immediately he knew he was being asked to follow him to the kitchen. Shrugging his shoulders, he let out a small sigh. His hair fell over his face as he closed his eyes, trying not to think about what was to come next. Reluctantly, he stood from his place and motioned to begin following his father through the door when he felt a hand tightly grasp at his, holding him back. 

“Sev, is everything okay?” you whisper to him, your brows furrowed, and your voice muffled with worry. Severus sat back down on the edge of the couch next to you, his gaze still lowered in shame of the interaction you’d just had with his father. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to come home until the evening. 

“Severus!” His mother’s voice echoed through the room, a sign he was in deep trouble. His punishment was always worsened whenever both his parents were there to discipline him and he wasn’t ready to face those consequences tonight. Not tonight of all nights. He couldn’t handle it knowing you'd be in the next room. 

“It’s fine, just- umm, stay here,” he told you quickly before standing up, pulling away from you and marching straight into the kitchen like a soldier ready for battle. You sat there frozen for a moment, the silence around you deafening. Severus looked so upset when he’d left you, wearing the same look he’d have after an interaction with James and his friends. This summer was supposed to be about building your relationship with him, growing closer to each other and enjoying your time together. You never thought you’d see that look on his face in his own home with your company.

“SHUT UP EILEEN! THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU!” The voice of his father roared throughout the house. Your heart stopped at the sudden burst in rage coming from the other side of the door. Your chest rose with panic and fell with worry. Against better judgment, you stood up and slowly walked over towards the commotion, fear of those doors bursting open as you got closer. Your palms pressed against the chipping paint as you listened in on the rest of their conversation.

“This is about your ungrateful son!” The man continued pouring his anger out on those in the other room. “How dare you bring some stranger into my house!”

Your heart ached for Severus. You weren’t a stranger to him and-

“I live here too!” You and Severus were a lot alike in more ways than one, but it seemed in this situation, your thoughts had aligned more than they ever had before. Unfortunately, it seemed his father didn’t care to allow Severus any sense of belonging.

“ON MY DIME!” The man screamed.

Your heart sank as the yelling continued, the more they spoke, the more you were certain Severus was living in a toxic environment, one you’d be forced to leave soon, forced to abandon the one person in this house that seemed to have a kind soul. You had to do something, you couldn’t just stand here. Intervening would be a horrible idea, you or Severus could wind up injured, or worse. No, you couldn’t let yourself be separated from Severus, you couldn’t leave him during a time like this. 

Every bone in your body resisted as you went to cautiously open the door enough to look through to the other side. You saw the light on in another room where all the yelling was emerging from, and quickly took this chance to slip through the door, closing it behind you and making your way up the stairs. You paused halfway up, crouching down in fear of being caught, hoping Severus could free himself of the entrapment his parents had suddenly put him in. 

“You should have quit that ruddy school a long time ago, gotten yourself a job and contributed to this household like I had when I was half your age!”

It seemed the man had no sense of pride, happy to have his son throw away his potential all for his own benefit. Helping him pay the bills instead of watching Severus build a future for himself was apparently the right priorities to him. Severus was a brilliant wizard, and you knew his skills would provide him with many opportunities in the future. You’d always told him that, even before you started dating, you’d never missed out on a chance to let him know how much he inspired you, how you had him to thank for so much of your own success at Hogwarts. It didn’t matter what his father thought so long as Severus knew he wasn’t wrong to focus on his studies, to strive for a better life than his parents, you were happy. 

You hurried up the rest of the stairs, optimistic they would finish their episode of abuse soon and began to look around on the second floor. You found two bedrooms and a bathroom. The first bedroom you would have assumed was the master bedroom as it contained a queen-sized bed, but the bundled up sheets and pillow in the corner had you second guess your assumption. It appeared as though someone had been sleeping on the floor, but when you entered the second bedroom, you knew that person couldn’t have been Severus. This second bedroom had to be his room. His trunk was in here, shoved into the closet, an old desk with one of its legs repaired with what appeared to be a chopped stick of a broom sat opposite of the twin sized bed that filled up most of the room. 

Sitting on his bed, you felt the springs in the mattress snap and you almost jumped up in surprise, but you kept yourself still, worried that any noise you made would bring you unwanted attention from downstairs. Poor Severus was already being scolded for your presence in this house, you didn’t want him blamed for the risky choice you made of sneaking into his room. Down below, you heard the sound of a door shoved open followed by footsteps before the shouting resumed.  

“She’s not there Tobias,” spoke his mother. Just as you’d suspected, they’d gone looking to kick you out of the house. What followed was a sentence you never thought you’d hear, something you felt so offended by, you would have given up your position just to prove them wrong. 

“Another friend abandoning you,” his father scoffed, a bit of spite in his tone as he talked down to Severus. “I could only be so lucky as to have the same privilege.”

Severus didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe you’d abandoned him, but he could however believe his parents scaring you away. He wondered how his summer would go now that you knew everything about his life. He tried to picture you receiving his countless letters begging to see you and throwing them in the trash without so much as glimpsing at his words. He tried to imagine how his final year would go without you by his side, celebrating his freedom alone, watching from afar as you went on to find someone else, all because of the horrible way his parents had treated you. 

You’d told him so many times, tried to reassure him so many times you weren’t going anywhere, but deep down he knew they were just words. They meant nothing and in the moment, you couldn’t handle the horrific truth. He didn’t want to believe it, but he didn’t blame you. He didn’t hold it against you for leaving. That luxury was only to be held by his parents. The luxury they’d held over him since the day he was born. Severus bowed his head in shame. He was embarrassed for opening up to you like that. For trusting you and thinking you’d be different. His shame slowly turned his disappointment into rage, tears pricking his eyes, daring to expose his emotions to his parents when he was already so vulnerable. 

Let them punish me. Let them relish in my embarrassment. I deserve it.

“I’m taking you to the mill tomorrow,” his father informed him. “You’re getting a job to pay back all the money I put into you the last 17 years.”

His life was over. He knew it and so did his parents. He was doomed to work for his father for the rest of his life, always in his debate. He wasn't to graduate Hogwarts, he wasn’t to send you any letters, he wasn’t to dream of the great wizard you said he could be. He said nothing in response, the pain he felt in his chest, his face, his ribs, his stomach, his heart all too great to allow him the energy to speak a single word. 

He watched his mother walk back to the kitchen and lift up the chair his father had thrown at him, tucking it into the small kitchen table. One of its legs was broken and he knew if anyone sat on it, it would break. But so long as it appeared put together, so long as it looked fine, he knew they wouldn’t care. His father went and sat down on the chair no one but him was to use and waited for his mother to serve dinner. 

Severus once again found himself completely invisible to them. They’d let out their emotions, lashed out at him and made sure he knew his place, then went back to their lives, pretending like he didn’t exist. He’d only wished they’d done that when you were here. If they didn't acknowledge your presence like they did his own right now, perhaps you’d still be together. Perhaps he wouldn't have to live the rest of his life alone, but such a mercy was too much to ask of course. He was made to be punished, he was born to suffer and that was to be his fate until the day he died. 

Slowly, he walked out of the kitchen, not to make a sound lest he be noticed again. He held his breath with each step he took, exhaling when he reached the second floor. He turned to make his way to his room, twisting the knob, ready to crawl into bed and drown in his tears, but the second he opened the door, about to throw himself onto his mattress, he was met instead with a sight he’d never dreamt of seeing. You were there, waiting for him, waiting to comfort him, your arms warm as you wrapped them around him. His lips trembled as he lost himself in you. He was falling in love with you all over again, the rush of emotions all too great to conceal. 

He’d barely managed to close the door, trapping you both in the cold darkness of his prison before everything he’d kept buried inside for 17 years spilled out silently. He trembled as he let his body lean on yours. His muscles giving out, too tired to continue standing, his mind too beat to stay strong. He couldn’t do it anymore. He was too exhausted.

“Severus,” you whispered into his ear, testing the waters, knowing you couldn’t let yourself be heard. His tears were silent, and you knew you had to oblige to the same rule, but you couldn’t hold back. You couldn’t let him think what you knew his mind would have concluded not moments ago. “I will never leave you.”

His grip tightened when you spoke, reminding him of why he’d opened up to you in the first place, why he’d trusted you. He hugged you with as much strength as he could muster, letting his tears leak from his eyes, soaking your shirt as you stood there frozen in time. He’d lost himself in his mind before feeling your hands move down to his waist, pushing him away just enough to guide him into his bed. The covers were pulled over his body as he nuzzled into yours, feeling its warm embrace comfort him as you held him once more. His tears began to dry as the safety of your presence soothed him, telling him it would be alright. He had nothing to fear, nothing to worry about because he had you and you weren’t going anywhere. 

Adjusting your position, you slid down the bed enough to lay on your side, facing him. His eyes were half open, his breath heavy as you rose your hand, gently cupping his jaw, your thumb slowly swiping his cheek. He relaxed under your touch, your eyes, your smile assuring him he was safe. The darkness welcomed him as he closed his eyes, focussing on your touch, the only sound in the room, his heavy breaths. 

“Sev?” You broke the silence, whispering his name. “I think you should come stay with me awhile.”

You’d been reluctant to offer an escape from this house, but the way he looked, the exhaustion on his face broke your heart. It angered you and you couldn’t let him stay here. You couldn’t let him endure one more second of the abuse in this house. 

His eyes opened and met yours, your chest aching as the light in his eyes faded away. He slowly nodded his head in agreement, fear of what his parents might do to him if he was caught trying to run away bubbling in his mind. He was afraid, yes, but staying here and living the miserable life they’d planned out for him was a much worse fate than anything else he imagined they would do if they caught him. He’d been wanting an out for so long, and here you were offering him just that. 

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Next Chapter

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