#I genuinely don’t think I’d be missed if I’m gone like at this point it’s gonna be a relief for me to finally be gone

[bpdlatte]

Man I sure do hate being alive and reconsider living practically everyday as a hobby at this point!

[moonstruckme]

Could you do a scenario of reader comforting sirus after he gets an injury while playing Quidditch and has to sit out a lot of games?

Thanks for requesting!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 701 words

Sirius hardly pauses his sulking to mutter a quiet, “thanks,” when you return with his hot cider. 

Remus scoffs. “Nice, Pads.” 

“What?” 

“You’re just so sweet to your girlfriend.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, sitting next to Sirius with a smile. “It’s his first match being barred from the pitch, I get it.” You fix your boyfriend with a look. “I won’t be patient forever, though.” 

Sirius looks genuinely contrite. “Sorry.” You accept his apology kiss, but he scowls when a first year nearly trips on his cast. “Fuck, is this thing bloody invisible?” 

“Easy,” Remus cautions, though both he and you shoot stern looks at the first year. 

“Wanna turn sideways?” you offer. “I could hold it in my lap?” 

Sirius perks up some. “You gonna give me a foot massage, gorgeous?” 

“Merlin,” Remus mutters, scanning the student section for Lily. 

“I don’t really see how that would be possible…” You raise your eyebrows, smiling when Sirius half turns in his seat to plonk his injured leg in your lap. “I was thinking more like I could draw on it. Any tattoos you’ve been wanting on this leg?” 

Most of Gryffindor has already had a turn signing Sirius’ cast. It’s been on since the match last weekend, when a bad fall had broken Sirius’ leg badly enough that Pomfrey eventually had to send him out of the infirmary with skele-gro to heal what she couldn’t. It’ll be on for another couple weeks at least, and between you and James the white plaster is beginning to run out of space. 

“Hm.” Sirius leans over, considering. You’re glad the distraction is working. He’s been quiet and sullen all week because he’s had to miss quidditch training, and you’re sure his melancholy is twice as bad having to miss out on an actual match. “What about a dragon?”

“I could maybe do that.” You fish a marker out of your bag. “What sort of dragon?” 

Sirius’ mood sinks again when the match starts and the players fly out onto the pitch, but as it gets going and Gryffindor starts to score points, he gets into it. He roars with the rest of the crowd, picks up a chant about house pride, and, though he shouts a few obscenities at the beater filling in for him when a bludger gets too close to Bell, he still smiles when James points at him after scoring a goal. A real smile, bright and heart-fluttering. 

Near the end of the game, Sirius looks rather contented. He sips his second cup of cider while you draw daisies in between the other doodles on his cast. 

“They’d have more points if I were out there,” he says, rather mildly. 

Remus nearly snorts. “Yeah? How do you figure?” 

“I’d have sent a bludger towards Malfoy ages ago. There’s been lots of opportunities. Marlene’s holding her own, though,” he acknowledges. “And there are some advantages to being off the pitch for a little while.” 

You catch the syrupy quality to his voice, and turn to find him looking at you. You raise your eyebrows. “Do tell.” 

“Well, the cider, for one.” Sirius holds up his cup, as though that’s obvious. “Can’t usually have that during a match.” 

“Mm, you’re welcome.” 

“Did I not say thank you?” He leans over to nose at your neck. Remus respectfully looks back to the match. “Thank you, baby. Really. It’s great.” 

“I didn’t make it.” You grin at him. “What are the other things?” 

Sirius hums. “No early morning training. I get to have breakfast with my girl.” 

“No afternoon training on the weekends, either.” 

“Ah, see? You’re catching on.” 

“Don’t talk down to me,” you laugh. “You’re the one who’s been giving everyone the cold shoulder all week, Black.” 

“I know.” Sirius pulls his face from beneath your jaw. The playfulness is mostly gone from his expression, his eyes deep blue and full of apology. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to give anyone the cold shoulder, I just…” 

“It’s okay,” you say easily. You lean over, kissing the top of his head. “Really, I get it. You alright?” 

Sirius sighs, looking out over the pitch. “Yeah.” 

You rest your cheek on his hair. “Good.”

[helioswritings]

The first time it happens, it’s almost subconscious. You’ve always loved the way Umemiya smells, you chalk it up to some weird omega thing you can’t explain and that must be what leads you to shove the shirt into your bag. You don’t tell Ume about it, because frankly you’d rather die but more than that you couldn’t stand for him to say it was alright, like you knew he would.

The second time is intentional. The sweater is just sitting there, beckoning you like a siren would a sailor. You shove it into your bag, knowing it would join your nest along with the shirt you’d purloined a week before. He enters the room a beat later, oblivious to his missing sweater.

The third, fourth and fifth times happen similarly. A shirt, a jacket, a blanket. They all rest on your bed in a pile, like a horde of treasure. Your treasure. It makes you preen, almost. You slept on it almost every night, even though your ill gotten gains made you feel a bit creepy most days, downright stalkerish others.

You’re almost certain that it’s because he smells nice and not at all because you have a crush on Umemiya. Definitely not that. Not that he’d know or care, you could probably go right up to him and plant a kiss on him and he’d grin and tell you how good of a friend you were. Could’ve had a crush on any man from Furin but no, you chose Umemiya.

It all comes to a head on accident. The two of you are sitting on your shitty couch in front of your equally shitty tv, when he asks where the bathroom is. You point him in the direction of it, trying not to look like you're inhaling his scent of pine, fresh rain and wood.

It's when you get up to get a cup of tea that you hear: “oh I’ve been looking for these!”

You rush into your room in an instant, seeing Umemiya standing at your bed, gazing into the halfheartedly built nest that sits in the middle.

“That's my favorite blanket, y’know.”

��I-uh, sorry?”

“The shirts you can keep, but I think I’d like the jacket back, at least. That one, anyways, but you can keep this one.” He takes the jacket he’s currently wearing off, setting it on top, grabbing the jacket you previously stole instead.

“What are you….what's going on?”

Ume grins at you. “I don’t mind, you know. I mean, I would’ve preferred you ask, but I don’t care.”

He kisses your cheek. “Let’s finish the movie, yeah?”

And all you can do is follow him, dumbfounded.

After the film, and when he gets ready to leave, it all comes rushing out and he just laughs.

“Well, to be honest, I knew it had to be you. You’re the only one I let in there, but I didn’t want to embarrass you. I thought it was cute.”

“Cute.”

He rolls his eyes. “And everyone tells me that I’m oblivious.” It's teasing, but genuine.

You build up the courage to kiss his cheek as he leaves, the smell of him so strong it nearly suffocates you.

He grins. “See you.”

You stare at the door even after he’s gone.

[madi-writes-things]

Nobody Pt. 7

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 1,255

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it is talked about), wound cleaning, arguments, Hurt Comfort, Panic Attack, Crying, Nightmare, talk of past trauma (dead brother), Not Edited

A/N: TLDR for the last chapter - Chris notices Y/N drifting slowly, and tries his best to keep her within a safe distance… but one night him and his brothers decide to film a car video. While in the house alone Y/N tries to distract herself from the bad thoughts… it doesn’t work, and she doesn’t want to interrupt the triplets, causing her to relapse and try to commit. She calls Chris, and the guys rush home to find her a bloody mess in the bathroom. (Nick didn’t see it because Chris made him leave, but Matt was really effected by what he saw) after cleaning her wounds, Chris leaves her with nick while he cleans up the mess in the bathroom (Matt left, barely even looking at her), while with nick she tells him everything. The chapter ends with Chris saying “who said I was pretending?”. This chapter picks up right where the last one ended.

if I missed something, please let me know

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

“I told Nick…” he just stares into my eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to love me anymore, there’s no point in lying anymore.”

“who said I was pretending?”

I stare into his icy eyes in the dim lighting, trying to figure out if this was some cruel joke. “Don’t say things you don’t mean Chris.” It’s lined with a venom developed from years of rejection.

“it’s not a lie.” He looks genuine, I want him to mean it. “I think I’m in love with you… we can talk about it in the morning, you need to sleep”

I try to protest, but he just nuzzles his head into the space between my collar and jaw. The adrenaline rush from the events of the night finally dies down, and I realize just how tired I am. Within minutes my heavy eyes drift shut, all thoughts of an explanation long gone.

“”“”“”“”“”

The sun through the window wakes me up, I reach over for Chris… the bed is cold where he usually lays. I lay in peace for a moment before my brain starts working.

Did I just imagine the conversation with Chris? Was it a lie he told so I didn’t try to kill myself again? Was it just the adrenaline rush that made him say it? What if I dreamt it all? What if-

Before I could keeps coming up with worse case scenarios, the bedroom door opened. Chris walked in carrying two plates of pancakes.

He sits down criss cross in front of me on the bed, handing me a plate and fork. “How are you feeling?” He asks right as I shove a piece of pancake into my mouth.

“much better now… you didn’t need to make me breakfast in bed.” I pause for a second, staring at my food while trying not to cry. “You also didn’t need to say that you love me…”

I hear him set his plate and fork down. “Yes I did… not for you, but for me.” With that I looked up at him. “I have been so scared to tell you how I felt, out of the possibility that it scares you away… but I can’t lose you Y/N, I can’t not tell you how I feel.”

He meant it.

I just stare at him, dumbfounded at how he could really mean it. I’ve never been the kind of girl that all the guys chase, especially guys that look like Chris. I’ve always struggled with how I see myself, and I never thought that I’d believe a man who says he loves me…

But here we are.

“When we’re done eating I need to change your bandages, and then we can watch a movie or something… if you want to, if you want to do something else that’s totally fine…”

He’s rambling, I love it.

I love him.

“”“”“”“”“”

it’s been a month since the incident, and I’ve never been happier… and I’ve never felt worse.

It's a normal Tuesday night this time… I can feel Chris tossing and turning. I open my eyes to see his face scrunched up in anguish, and I know that it’s my fault. This happens at least once a week.

It’s always the same:

-It starts with tossing and turning

-then he starts pleading (“no, no, please, it’s okay… baby… please, you have to be okay… please don’t leave me…”)

-I usually end up straddling him before gently shaking him awake

-he wakes up and hold me like he never thought he’d see me again, and he never tells me what his nightmares are about.

He doesn’t have to.

I remember the look in his eyes when he opened the door. The way he tried to keep it together, never letting his tears fall. I could hear him breaking down while he cleaned the bathroom floor.

I see that look in his eyes again when he opens them. “It’s okay baby… it’s just a nightmare… everything is okay now.” He burst into tears, pulling me into him. We stay like this until we end up falling back asleep. I wait until I had his breathing even out, and he starts snoring softly before letting myself fall back asleep.

I know he won’t talk about it in the morning, but I’ll still ask him.

“”“”“”“”“”

The vibe in the house has been tense since that night. I walk into the kitchen, and notice Matt staring at something on his phone.

“good morning.” I say, smiling in his direction.

he looks at me with a look of disgust, before leaving the room.

I’m tired of this… I’m going to follow him to his room to make him talk to me. He hasn’t said a word to me since he found out I was alive.

“Get out of my room.” He snaps in my direction. “I don’t want you here”

“Do you wish I died?” I didn’t mean to say it so bluntly, but it’s been the only thought in my head for the last month.

“Excuse me?” I can tell it offended him. That wasn’t my intention.

“I said ‘do you’… ‘wish that I had died’, it’s a yes or no question.” I didn’t mean to starts out this hostile, but it’s been building for longer than I wanted it to.

“how could you say something like that Y/N?” He has tears in his eyes now. Shit. “I can’t stand to look at you, but it’s not because I wish that you had died!” I clearly misread the situation before me. “I can’t look at you because every time I do, all I see is you on the floor, covered in your own blood. I can’t look at you because I see you, half dead, every time I close my eyes! I don’t sleep anymore Y/N!”

“Im so sorry…” I don’t know what else I can say. It’s true. I hate the way that my mistake has affected the people around me.

“No Y/N, it’s too late to apologize… did you even think about how traumatic finding you like that would be for us?”

“I know how you feel, I can help you with-” I’m cut off before I can finish my sentence.

“You don’t know shit about what this is like! I had to watch my brother patch up the slit wrists of my best friend… the love of his life, and all I could do was stand there!” His voice is shaking, but I can’t stop now.

“Don’t talk about me like you know anything about my life before I moved to Boston! I survived… I understand that you are struggling, but you don’t get to act like I died. I know exactly what you feel like, because I’ve been right where you are… the only difference is that my brother didn’t survive.”

I never told him about my brother, Chris and Nick are the only people in my life who know.

“You can’t possibly imagine the pain of finding your twin brother lying dead on the floor of his bedroom!” The words are coming quicker than I can process. “You never had parents that told you that they wish it had been you, you always got a birthday, and you never had to move to a different state because everyone knew that you tried to kill yourself… so don’t tell me that I don’t know what you’re going through!” I’m practically screaming by the end.

Then I’m crying.

And Matt is holding me while we both cry.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi

[vinnieswife]

Are you still taking requests? I had an idea. 'Bend it Like Beckham' came out a few years before 'Greenstreet Hooligans' came out. I always wondered how Pete would chat with a young woman his age who played for a football team and the conversations they'd have regarding his passion for the game.

Pete dunham x reader

word count: 697

author’s note: I’m always taking requests lol. I don’t know if this is what you wanted, feel free to ask me again if it isn’t!, also it’s a little bit short :/

You’re lacing up your boots on the bench after training, sweat still clinging to your skin, when you hear someone behind you. A voice—smooth, confident, and with just the faintest edge of mischief.

“Didn’t know girls could play like that.”

You turn, eyebrow raised, already preparing some sharp reply, when you see him. He’s leaning casually against the gate to the pitch, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes full of curiosity and amusement. You recognize him immediately. Pete Dunham. Everyone knows Pete, with his cheeky grin and that reputation for being both charming and trouble.

“Didn’t know blokes could stand around watching without getting involved,” you reply, tying your laces tighter.

He grins, pushing off the gate. “Touché. Name’s Pete. And you are?”

You tell him your name, keeping it short, but you can tell he’s not going anywhere. He’s got that look, like he’s ready to turn this into some kind of banter match.

“You play for a team, then?” he asks, nodding toward your kit.

You shrug. “Yeah. Local women’s league. Why? Thinking of joining?” His laugh is quick, easy. “Nah, I’d only slow you down. That first touch of yours… impressive. Didn’t think anyone around here had that kind of skill.”

You smirk, grabbing your bag. “Didn’t think lads like you paid attention to football unless it involved West Ham.”

That makes him pause, his grin widening. “West Ham’s religion, love. But credit where it’s due—you’ve got talent. I reckon I could still take you, though.”

You roll your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Let me guess: You’re one of those ‘I would’ve gone pro if it weren’t for my dodgy knee’ types?”

“Nah,” he says, walking alongside you as you leave the pitch. “I just prefer running the game from the sidelines these days. Coaching, watching… that’s where I’m at.”

You glance at him, a little curious despite yourself. “And what’s your take on women’s football, then? Or are you one of those lads who thinks it’s not proper football?”

He pretends to look offended, hand to his chest. “What, me? I’m no idiot. Anyone can see you’ve got the skill, the drive. Doesn’t matter who’s playing. Football’s football, yeah?”

For a moment, you soften. Maybe he’s not as cocky as you thought. But then he smirks again, and you know he’s not done.

“Still,” he says, “if you fancy proving how good you are, we could have a little one-on-one. Show me if you’re as sharp as you looked out there.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “What’s the point? You’d just make excuses when I ran circles around you.”

Pete laughs, holding his hands up. “Alright, fair play. But how about this, you tell me when your next match is, and I’ll show up. Promise not to heckle. Much.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. “Why do you care so much?”

His expression softens, just a little. “Because I respect anyone who loves the game as much as I do. And you…well, you’ve got something special. Plus, I’ve got a feeling you don’t back down from a challenge.”

For a moment, you consider brushing him off. But there’s something about Pete—his genuine love for football, his stubborn confidence—that makes you smile despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say. “Next Saturday, 3 PM. We’re playing at the rec ground. You better show up, Dunham, or you’ll prove you’re all talk.” He grins, extending a hand. “Wouldn’t dream of missing it. Scout’s honor.”

You shake his hand, feeling the calluses on his palm, and for the first time, you realize he’s not just some cocky lad hanging around the pitch. There’s more to him—something deeper, something that makes you think this won’t be the last time you cross paths.

As you walk away, you hear him call out after you. “Oi! You sure you don’t want that one-on-one? Could be fun!”

You don’t look back, just raise a hand and shout, “Next time, Pete. If you’re brave enough.” You can feel his laughter behind you, warm and genuine. And you know he’ll be there next Saturday, ready with more banter, and maybe even ready to prove he can keep up.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Hey, could I vent/ask for advice on something? It’s genuinely really stupid and I feel like a complete idiot but gods it’s so frustrating (for lack of a better word). I also apologize since usually the asks here are fluff and sweet yet I just dumped this abomination here.

Warning, plenty of swearing. I tried to keep it minimal so they’re not overused but… at least I tried? 

P.S., if anything makes you uncomfortable feel free to lmk/ignore. I tend to feel emotions really strongly and it probably shows lol, I hate it but it’s just how it is (thanks genetics). 

————

To give some context, I’m not a marvel fan— at least I wasn’t— until, well. Loki’s a pretty popular ler in the community so despite me being in only one fandom (loyal hyperfixation ™️) , I recently started reading fics of him since said fandom I’m in has been pretty MIA and I need my serotonin hits. God(s), I absolutely completely utterly loved Loki being part of the Avengers team— just a silly (thus perfect lol) found family vibe with living in the avengers tower with everyone. I feel so strongly I can’t even type coherently lol!

Anyway, then one day I stumbled upon your mixtape fic ‘The Road You’re On’ and got completely confused. At this point I still hadn’t watched any of the movies or series (I don’t like being attached lol; usually ends up in me being really angry or depressed or both because someone dies or a… ““new generation””/bunch of new characters are plopped in thereby ruining the perfect dynamic of the og!!) . Anyhow, I read that the avengers disbanded(!) and some of them had gone to total shit and let the other avengers— what happened to the silly perfect team??— die, and I did a double take in horror (mostly fear because oh shit, don’t tell me they actually… Disney you motherfucking MONSTER). Aaand so began my hectic journey to catch myself up on the plot lol, character deaths and depressing shit and all.

Of course it was incredibly traumatic to learn disney killed off nat AND tony AND cap (or as I fondly say, “made cap a dumbass— I don’t care how they portrayed cap’s wife, that’s still fucking dumb and GOD DAMN IT JUST LET ME KEEP THE MOTHERFUCKING FOUND FAMILY SHIT. LIKE FUCKING WHY??? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.”

And on top of Loki never actually being part of avengers team (great opportunity missed) + Thor being actually egoistic and no-emotional-control, WHAT DO YOU MEAN LOKI DIED?? What do you MEAN thanos, the ugly ass wrinkly artificial-purple raisin, killed him. No. No. GIVE ME OG LOKI BACK. (By this time I had some choice phrases picked out for Disney.) 

Anyway, of course I had to vent to some marvel fan friends (gradually realizing that I might’ve accidentally fallen for Loki. Oops.). I was told by everyone that Loki’s series is pretty good, but me being me, I need to know the plot before watching stuff so it doesn’t mess me up, bad. At this point, I was falling harder and harder for this man and gods I was hopelessly in love, so bad. 

Now, what sucks is I think a friend warned me about this, and I’d insisted (in a ‘I’m in denial but shh’ way) to accept it possibly being canon— thanks fanfics lol. But guess what I find out later that day, purely by accident? Loki and Sylvie’s relationship is rather strange… I don’t like how the show hints at them actually being dating or something…

You know what? Let’s search it up. If Sylvie’s a loki variant, there’s no way they’d actually make him in love with her, right? I mean, that’d be weird and hey, Disney wouldn’t do something that’d potentially lose them money, don’t worry—

Fuck. Fuck, what? They’re… officially dating. H-he canonically loves her… quite a bit. 

I was heartbroken in a way I’d never felt before, where it just felt so hopeless and crushing. And, of course I felt like a fucking idiot. If Loki had been watching me all along, he would’ve found my immense roller coaster of feelings incredibly amusing. I mean, I had just gone from “Fuck, I think I love him. Okay but he’s just so perfect in his own way and—” *daydreams and whatnot ensue* to, I wish I was kidding, so heartbroken I cried. 

(I know, it’s pretty stupid and I feel like a fucking idiot)

Anyhow, that brings us back to current-time, writing this woah-this-got-long thing. I guess I’m wondering if anyone relates or if it’s just me (because the vast fucking majority of the internet apparently likes or really supports Loki and Sylvie, and gods that hurt). I think part of what hurts is how Loki x Reader [tickle fics because I’m starved] are just… un-realistic/fake for lack of a better word? I’m someone that refers to “fictional characters” as “those from another realm”to prevent, as best I can, a “they’re not real” spiral. In less words, anything would be much appreciated (comments/thoughts, etc— anything and everything), though of course no pressure! I realize that I’m really lame but I guess that’s just who I am. 

(Anon note: gods, if you read this, thank you so much. No idea how it got so damn long)

I'm honoured you see me as a safe place to vent, and I get it! I really do!

Characters we deeply connect with often tell us something about ourselves, so I don't think it's stupid for you to feel genuine sadness or disappointment in how those characters are portrayed or how their story goes.

I have a lot patience for fandom, and Loki fics that didn't work for me, because we're all amplifying the aspects of that character which are meaningful to us as individuals, and writing what we want to read. But I get it. There are certainly fics I've DNFed (reading and writing) because it didn't feel like Loki would be saying or doing what the words on the screen described, so I just couldn't get into it.

I'm so in favour of canon-variation when it comes to characters staying alive - I've written things both ways - and that's the fun and the power of writing fics, and the bittersweet reality of these characters being just that.

I won't say something like "just ignore the canon!" just because that largely works for me, instead I would encourage you to feel whatever it is you feel, and know that it's valid. It doesn't make you a bad Loki fan to be heartbroken by certain aspects of the official story, and you're under no obligation to enjoy a fic that characterises Loki in a way that doesn't work for you.

If you're open to it, I'd further encourage you to try a hand at writing some fics. I thought I'd never, until I did!

All the best, anon. I do hope you can re-find that found family joy you once loved in fics <3

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

Do you think tim's current treatment of steph via dumping her in the callous way he did and ghosting her makes him another one of men who treated her badly and abandoned her?

Hi! Thank you so much for asking a question, I love questions!

Personally, on a meta level, I felt like Stephanie was long overdue to stop dating Tim. While their relationship can certainly be cute and I’m not like entirely against it, it tends to hold her back as a character. When she dates Tim she is ends up being put her in situations where she’s being written solely to create drama in Tims life, which is just horrible for her as a character.

I thought it was a strange choice to just.,.. not show their breakup. We only find out they broke up in the Urban Legends arc of issues which introduce Tim Drake as bisexual. This choice really links Tim drakes coming out with his break up with Steph. This from a meta level makes their break up all about Tim, and what’s most convenient for his character. This is something that, as discussed, happens to Steph a lot, she’s a prop in his narrative. In that way, their break up disappointed me. Personally, I would have preferred it if she has dumped him (for reasons unrelated to his bisexuality of course).

But those are meta complaints, from a story point of view, what we know about their breakup is fairly limited.

For instance, we don’t actuallly see Tim break up with Steph (at least in any comic I’ve heard of or read), so I don’t think we can say whether or not Tim broke it off in a callous manner. The treatment of Steph and her relationship as an afterthought to Tim’s narrative is callous but I don’t think we see Tim the character himself act that way.

Tim avoiding Steph after their break up is a dick move, but I think how much of a dick move it is depends on how much of their history is still intact. If it’s only the new 52 stuff, they don’t have nearly as much history and avoiding your friend who is now also your ex for a bit isn’t cool or nice, but it is understandable. If their entire history is intact, it’s way worse for Stephanie and much more mean, given just how much they’ve gone through together and the sheer closeness of their bond, even just as friends. Quite frankly, I can’t keep good track of what is still decanonized and what has been reestablished.

I wouldnt hasten to assign Tim into a “bad man who hurt Steph” box. He has done loads of things which were personally hurtful to Stephanie back when they originally dated. But so did Steph. They’ve both hurt each other and they’ve both forgiven each other. And historically, they’ve both been there for eachother when no one else was.

If she had been dumped and then ignored during her pre new 52 and especially pre Batgirl 2009 i would be much less reluctant to call that out as hurtful behavoir from Tim. But, while hurtful, it doesn’t seem to affect Steph as much now, which makes sense given how her character has evolved.

Stephanie is portrayed at this point as a much more independent character who is much more secure in her identity and value as a person. As such, it makes sense that she’d very willing to forgive Tim Drake for avoiding her and move on to being friends again.

(even if this is in part because her new most useful function to the Tim Drake narrative is getting out of his way so he can date someone else)

TLDR: While I have my issues with how the breakup was handled on a meta level, character wise Tim avoiding Steph post their breakup is rude but not something which I’d strongly condemn him for. We don’t get an indication that it’s affected Stephanie to the extent that would make me take it as a serious offense. I don’t see it as behavior which would place him at all in the same category as a lot of the genuinely manipulative and abusive men in her life.

I’m absolutely open to other takes on this if anyone has any other context or nuance I missed! I’m well read on new 52 but my focus is primarily pre new 52 post crisis so It’s very possible I’ve missed something. Thanks again for asking for my thoughts!

[pepsiiwho]

Hey I’m just very curious- do you think you could expand on your thought here: “Persephone isn't a good mother and, imo, would have a very strained, tentative relationship with her actual son (and now daughter hahahahah damn....)”? It’s not a common take I’ve seen- at least in the parts of the fandom I frequented- and I’d like to know more about where you’re coming from. Like I know Nyx isn’t a good mom- particularly to Hypnos- but it’s way less common that I see people saying Persephone is a bad mom.

To be clear, I’m not disagreeing or being confrontational or anything- I’m genuinely curious to hear your thoughts. Also what’s all this about the timeline implications? I don’t have a computer to play the early access on and so I have to hear about it second hand. All to say if you could tear yourself away from Hades 2 long enough to formulate a coherent response I’d be eternally grateful.

Sure! I just got to the final boss in hades 2 so I probably need a break. Ignore the shaking and cold temperature of my skin, I'm normal! Long post under the cut!

Okay lets see, first thing: any nyx or Persephone freedom fighters out there who wanna defend their mommies or whatever do it somewhere else, I don't give af. This isn't directed at you, I just gotta cover my bases. Anyway,

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Persephone (Pers) loves zagreus, I won't say she doesn't. She lost him once and that grief drove her to leave hell entirely, leaving her husband and home behind for solitude of her own creation. You don't get grief like that unless you loved someone, or the thought of someone, deeply. But, having said that— she was gone for (functionally) all of Zagreus' childhood, adolescence and a non-zero portion of his adulthood. A charitable read of their situation was that she wasn't absentee by choice, not knowingly at least, and if she knew she would've never stayed away as another woman raised her child and her husband abused said child because of her toll on his mental. My read is that she left, abandoning her husband and baby and when Zagreus went to find her she wouldn't even come back with him. He reached out, found her, begged her to come back and she wouldn't. The reasoning for WHY is something I've forgotten honestly, I haven't played HADES story mode all the way through in years, but regardless she didn't instantly come back and will herself into her son's life. Any deniability she had was gone by that point, imo.

And let's say, for argument, she came home and instantly was heavenly and kind and loving and everything zagreus needed then— doesn't change the fact she abandoned them.

I don't think you get to be a good parent when you missed all of your child's most formative years. That sort of loss is something you don't get back, time that doesn't get to rewind just because you made a mistake. I think a common fandom take with hades fans is that the family is fractured but whole by the end and everything is okay. That's nice, I guess, but I think it's boring and uninteresting. I much prefer a read that zagreus moved heaven and hell (literally) to get to his mother and he finally got what he wanted and still wasn't satisfied. She wasn't the goddess he expect. Not the. mother he expected. She was .... something else.

Theres a degree of negligence in her actions that just are unavoidable.

Unless I'm completely misremembering the events of the first game, (which is a real possibility, me and my best friend have done so much insane HC talking over the years canon and Fanon get blurry quickly—) I think she's a bad parent. And this isn't even touching on how her absence made Hades a worse parent and abusive figure to his son. I think of that quote from... somewhere, that was something to the effect "an abused child's saddest realization is that they didn't have a normal parent and (1) abusive parent— they had (2)" Zagreus had to have thought that if she hadn't left, abandoned him, he wouldn't have to endure what he does.

As for time line mess: it's too vague. (It's funny you sent this when you did, I actually was just talking about this with my bestie, all of 15 minutes ago. You cursed me, witch)

So assuming I understood hades lore, with only the first game as our point of reference (no myth, no outside media, just the in game text) Hypnos, Zagreus, Than and Meg are around the same age. Thanatos and Hypnos are twins, meaning they're the same age and it's implied that meg grew up around the twins and zagreus as well. Zagreus openly references their shared childhood with nyx and achilles and probably other characters I forgot. But what matters is that if they grew up together that tells us one of two things:

Gods are functionally made like human children are. Not for a purpose or function but just because the parent wanted them (or had an accident) and then a aspect is applied to them at birth/conception OR

Gods are created by their parents to fulfill some sort of need that the parent didn't/couldn't/shouldn't do themselves. This seems to be the more textually supported answer, if Nyx and her fucking high school football team worth of children mean anything.

Neither option is one I like, because they don't make much sense to me in relation to humanity but that's neither here nor there. Personally, I think godhood should work like the concept of storks do in that when humanity needs a new figure to pray to or invoke, a child is 'born' and delivered to the parent. So, by this logic, the base needs of human begins would come before all else right?

So just within Nyx's family, the ages should really go Chaos > Nyx > Fates [?] > Hypnos > Than > Charon > etc etc etc. Because human beings must sleep before they die and then die before they're transported to hades and so on and so on.

But in THIS model, Hypnos and than would be considerably older then humanity and everyone else in the house, hades included. Which means they'd be far too old to have grown up which zagreus. Or maybe zagreus is way too old to be acting so childish? It's hard to say. Neither answer is particularly satisfying. That also doesn't even bring into account the olympians. And don't event get me STARTED on Melione. God. The timeline has major implications for her and her story depending on where she falls on it.

But that's a whole other rant. Like this is already getting long as shit. I hope this made sense and I'm glad you asked! I enjoy going on my senseless rambles.

Well, back to the horrors (hades 2) <3

[renaisguy]

How ██ ███ Reluctantly Saved Count Varley From an Assassination Attempt

Continued from here

To recap the plot of this fine yuletide night,  An assassin gave Varley a terrible fright,  Forde was one of two sent to set these wrongs right,  And from the clues found he has a target in sight. 

One of two? He then questions, and looks back behind,  Yes Sennō’s still there, why was that on his mind?  He blinks once then twice, and to his surprise,  █en█ō’s gone, disappeared before his very two eyes. 

Forde rushes forward to confront his mark,  His appearance is jolly, though his heart must be dark,  Forde hurls his javelin, which of course doesn’t miss,  At this terrible villain, the man known as… Chris. 

Why was Forde so sure his target was here?  Well first was the rumour of flying reindeer.  When questioning villagers, a woman did flinch, “There’s only one man around who has used the word ‘Grinch’.” 

“Chris Crinkle’s his name”, another did tell, “And I’ve never seen him without those damn bells.”  Finally, Forde would bet on his life,  The dagger by his side is that candy cane knife. 

“Why’d you do it?” Forde asks, restraining the man.  Chris snickers, explaining he isn’t a fan. 

“Count Varley’s a bitter man, filled to the brim,  With hatred and malice, don’t you think he’s grim? I wanted the holiday spirit in him, What choice did I have? My chances were slim,  To convince him instead with a carol or hymn. This knife wasn’t just gonna give him a trim.” Chris Crinkle’s the name, and I wanted him dead,  I’d crumple him like paper, and tear him to shreds.”

“And then I’d-” “Please shut up!” Forde says with a shout.  “I’ve got no damn clue what you’re talking about.  There’s just one more thing that I’d like to know, Just now, what did you do to my partner, ███nō?”

Chris looks up at Forde, with genuine shock, And that feeling returns, that great mental block.  Forde whacks the man, who lets out a groan. “I don’t know what you mean! You came here alone!” 

Forde returns to Count Varley, villain in tow, Though his days are now numbered, his spirits aren’t low,  “Any final words?” He’s asked, to which he says, “Oh, 

“You think you’ve won Varley, but in the long term oh no,  A foul grinch like you, who would stoop so low,  Will never be happy! Ho Ho Ho Ho!” 

Still laughing, he’s struck down, with a single blow. 

Count Varley, still shaken, goes to thank Forde,  And brings out, as promised, a fitting reward.  But the Count looks confused, oh what’s he to do? “Wasn’t there another man with you? Take his share too.” 

Though Chris Crinkle was wrong to enact this ploy,  It’s never wrong to spread some holiday joy.  We hope you’ve been filled with some fun festive cheer,  Have the merriest Christmas, and a happy new year. 

Later, as Forde has returned to his place, The smile is missing from our bright painter’s face.  Maybe it’s just the memory of Chris, the villainous scum,  Tell me, dear Forde please tell me, what has got you so glum? 

“It’s █████.” He sighs, “Now where could he be? He may be unpleasant, but I didn’t think he’d flee. I asked around the school, every answer’s the same, No one’s ever heard of a man by that name.” 

Well you see- “I’m not finished.” He speaks with a blank stare.  “When I say the name █████, it’s like there’s nothing there. And how did I not notice it? This entire time,  Everything I’ve said has been compelled to rhyme.”

What Forde doesn’t know (he couldn’t, I’m sure), Is that this sort of thing has happened before, The memories usually fade right away,  But instead of threads ending, what happened today,  He was forced to finish this fine Yuletide play. 

“It’s happened before?” Forde says, rather blue.  “No- but that couldn’t- it cannot be true! Though I guess not remembering’s kinda the point,  I don’t think my memories could be that disjoint.” 

You forget when they leave, that’s always the rule.  Though you’ll recall them once more should they return to the school.  Now please, take a nap, it’s fine if you snore. When you wake up, this will not burden you anymore. 

“If I’m going to lose my memories anyway, What other times have my thoughts gone astray?”  Do you really want to know, though it may hurt you? Forde gulps and nods, “I promise, I do.”

E███y█, ███ri██e, █u██s██, ███ll, ████.  Sir ██████, Li████, your friends, but they went. 

“Thank you.” Forde says. “Even though they are gone,  I am grateful for every one of my bonds.”  A very good answer, that’s very on theme. 

And at that moment, Forde awakes from his dream. 

No memory of those names is still present,  So no time to think about what that all meant.  But thank you, dear reader, for playing your part, And thanks for the bonds that Forde keeps in his heart, I’m eternally grateful for how this year went, Now onwards and upwards, to the lore event!

Now, here’s something that we haven’t seen in a while,  On his face Forde wears a bright beaming smile.

[monster-rinds]

Chapter 51: Pulling the Chord

It made the most sense for this person to be Felicity, besides the fact that he couldn’t sense her at all. Of course, if she’d found a way to hide herself from him, that would explain why she’d been missing for so long. She hadn’t left town. She hadn’t been eaten by Fate Vine or Synthia. She’d gone into hiding somehow.

She had repeatedly shown she could shrug off his programming, too.

She knew who he was, and some of what he was capable of. So, she’d have the motivation to track him down and confront him at some point.

He decided to assume this was her until he was corrected.

But he also had to assume her threat was real, and that she’d learned a trick or two from Synthia, who was known for eating those who tried to eat her.

He did not relax or change his stance, but simply asked, “What do you want?”

She furrowed her brow and looked up at him, gesturing toward the human activity taking place downriver around his trap, “I was thinking I’d talk to you about that. If you don’t mind. I’m curious about what you’re doing now.”

“I’m not in the habit of divulging all of my motives to underlings and adversaries,” he told her, and waited perfectly still. He remained ready to either flee or strike in an instant. “So, I do not think I will indulge you in that.”

She shrugged and seemed to look down at herself, fingering the grain of the wood planks she was sitting on, then she glanced up again and asked, “So, reproductive rights? Huh?”

Felicity would not ask about that. Nor in that way. She knew that part of his plan. So he waited for her to elaborate.

“I think it’s interesting that you are fighting for your right to reproduce, while the country we are in is about to inaugurate a President who represents a whole faction of people who want to end my right to not reproduce,” she squinted up at him, tapping the dock with her index finger. She glanced down the river and sighed, “Woo, that was a mouthful.” Looking back, she continued, “I just… Monsters are interesting, and I feel like this isn’t exactly a coincidence. You remind me of the Quiverful Movement. Though, like, while your situation is different, your motivation is totally the same. You ever heard of that?”

He withheld his answer. Of course he had. Through Fate Vine, he’d been involved in enough human politics that the Quiverful Movement had caught his attention. It had been a totally separate thing, something a portion of humanity had started in parallel to his own campaign. And she was right that the motives were similar. A faction of humans were trying to control the world through increased reproduction. But, whatever. It did not matter.

What was more of a concern was what was happening to this person in front of him.

It seemed that Felicity had made an ally of this host, and they were switching off while talking to him, pretending to be one person. He’d heard the shift in her manner of speech, and seen the changes in her posture and expressions. It seemed to go back and forth. Sometimes mid sentence.

He very much wanted to swallow her and find out how she’d done this.

But he couldn’t risk that her threat was genuine.

Perhaps what he could do was kill the host and force her out.

She slapped her knee, and declared, “I totally think you should be able to reproduce, though. That’s a right. If you can do it, you should be able to. But maybe not for the reasons you have. And this isn’t at all addressing the other things you go about doing, Chord.” She smiled up at him. “Like, if you were a human, you’d totally be a eugenicist and a white supremacist, wouldn’t you. And you’d still be called a monster.” She shook her head. “At least by my friends, anyway.”

He wondered if he asked her a question, would she bother to answer it honestly. Sometimes she seemed guileless, and sometimes she seemed like, well, Felicity. He decided to ask and see what happened, “Are you trying to distract me?”

“What? No,” she blinked. Then she made a weird little forced grimace, eyes wide, eyebrows high, like she was presenting something awful to him. And then she said, “I’m trying to talk myself into getting rid of you. If you want, you can help. I’m just. I’m not quite sure I like my options.”

That seemed to have bizarrely worked. He should keep her talking. It might be amusing what she said. It might help him decide if she was bluffing. 

“How would you ‘get rid’ of me?” he asked.

“Oh, like, I could just eat you. That’s the easiest,” she waved a hand. “But, then, I’d get all your memories, because I work that way, and I really don’t want those. They seem gross. I’ve always been picky about what I eat, anyway. I’ve never had snake. It’s kind of hard to try new things.” She snickered to herself.

He’d been letting his tail grow longer, dipping into the water, and reaching across with it, under the pier. He was pretty sure he was going to drown her now. And she didn’t seem to have noticed, which pleased him. But he still felt a great deal of concern about what she could do.

In theory, she’d have to make eye contact, and he was avoiding that studiously. But everything about her was new and different, and disturbing.

She continued talking, though, “What I really wish I could do, though my whole brain is telling me it’s impossible, is just, you know, talk you out of being you. Like, maybe if I just sit here and go over the philosophy of existence and the nature of monsters with you, maybe you’d change your tactics and become one of those reformed villains who joins the heroes. Or something.” She scrunched up her nose and briefly showed her top front teeth with a curled up lip, and then shook her head. “But I don’t want to work with you. You suck.” Then she beamed a grin, “But, you know. You’re a monster. It’s not like you’re a person, right? I mean, Synthia was a person. But she spent a lot of time amongst humans. She sort of became one. Like not physically, or metaphysically, just socially. Emotionally. But is that the metric we really want to use? It leaves room for all sorts of fascism.”

She was babbling, but this felt like a pause. A moment where she’d think about what she was saying.

His tail, with its ropy prehensile tip, was now rising up out of the water on the other side of the dock. “You’re a monster too,” he said, by way of prompting and distracting her.

She slowly rolled her eyes and sighed melodramatically, “Yeah.” Then she bounced and slapped both of her knees. “Hey. I’m new to this monster thing. And maybe you could tell me what to expect! Like, we could call it a trade. Maybe for amnesty. You could explain to me what monster politics is really like, and what kind of pressures you face on a century to century basis. Like, what does it take to survive with all these Overlords everywhere? And maybe that could convince me to let you live!”

“Why don’t I give you your first lesson?” he asked. His tail was ready to strike, held back over the river like a whip.

“Chord!” she snapped.

She'd sobered up, her body going rigid with a frown. Despite her cross-legged posture and her previous demeanor with the body language of a careless juvenile human, she’d suddenly become a very stern and angry Felicity. Her full age, experience, and power showed, even if it was lesser than his. He knew then that this was her.

“Yes?” he asked languidly. Something was causing him to hesitate. He should have just drowned her right then, but he had a niggling fear that it wouldn’t go well for some reason. So, he hid that fear with casual confidence and the single word question, showing he was in control and not in a hurry to do anything.

She looked him right in the snout, brow furrowed so intensely it must have been cramping, and asked, “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

---

Apparently, they’d sat down near the end of the Eastwood flick, and now Seven Samurai was playing. Just the opening credits, so far. It hadn’t been all that long.

Ayden held up his cheap whiskey, which he’d only taken a few sips of, and said, “You know how when Synthia takes us out, nobody needs to pay? She has this magic credit card or something?”

“Yeah?” Greg responded.

“Well, without her paying, this is my last whiskey for the month.”

“Same,” Greg said, even though he was drinking a bad tequila.

“I think I’m going to have to crowdfund to get by on unemployment,” Ayden added.

“We all will.”

“Do you think Cass will need it?”

“She’s still human, even if she’s also an emanant,” Greg answered.

“Right. Right. Just thinking,” Ayden looked over at him. “After tomorrow, I might not even be able to get a job ever again, for all I know.”

Greg scowled, and then softened his expression, “It’s probably not going to be that bad right away, Ayden.”

“We don’t know that.”

“True. Could be that bad for us specifically.”

“It’s not like we’re highly desired specialists in our field.”

“Right.”

“It would be fucking nice if we had Synthia’s magic credit card, like, all the time.”

---

Everything was going wrong. I wasn’t getting anywhere conversationally with this emanant, and I now strongly doubted that I could win against it in a fight. I decided to pull out.

Maybe it wouldn’t chase me if it could also hear the humanity that surrounded us. And maybe it couldn’t detect me except when I was communicating with it via monster speech.

I started backing up through the duct that I was in, a downward slope that the great auger in the middle of the silo bin would feed with grain in the past. A few yards and I’d encounter a maintenance hatch that I could finesse open. I hoped to be quiet enough that I wouldn’t tip the other monster off to what I was doing. 

I spoke to it no more.

But then I started hearing a very high pitched keening noise coming up from below me, and kind of panicked.

I scrunched up beneath the hatch and put my entire energy into pushing it outward.

With a screech of screaming catastrophic metal fatigue, bang and then an horrendous clattering noise, I sprang from the hatch and bounded onto the operator walkway that ran through the top of the building.

As I undulated and slid at a surprising speed toward the operator’s room and the nearest exit, an enormous and growing swarm of one inch long mosquitoes boiled from the pipe behind me.

It was faster than I was.

It had more mouths than I did. Many, many more mouths. Proboscides, in fact.

Chord had stolen my own trick, and now I had to figure out how to survive it on the fly.

---

previous

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[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {14}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language, child loss

~ Nesta ~

The ache between my thighs is slight when I wake up the following morning, but pleasant. There’s no confusion as I lay half on top of my husband, all of my bare skin lined up with his. My leg is hitched up on his thigh and one of his hands is, of course, on my ass. I lift my head to look at his sleeping face…

Only to find him awake and already gazing down at me.

“Good morning.” He smiles and his voice tells me he hasn’t been awake for long.

“Mmm, good morning.” I lean up and press my lips to his, feeling that hand on my ass tighten as he squeezes.

“How do you feel?” He asks, lips still brushing against mine.

“Sore,” I admit, chuckling. “But good. Amazing.”

He smiles, but cups my face, running his thumb over my cheekbone. “No regrets about what we did last night?”

I hesitate only for a second, considering what I’d told him in therapy. Cassian notices, but doesn’t push, doesn’t take my hesitation personally, knowing I’m working out my thoughts. “I only regret that we let it get to that point.”

His eyes soften as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Sex isn’t everything, but I feel like nothing else is missing now. Everything is falling back into place.”

“I know what you mean,” I whisper, and I mean it. There’s a certain intimacy, an irreplaceable closeness that sex with the person you love creates. We had been missing that closeness for so long, and now I finally feel whole. Running my hand down his chest, I sigh contentedly. “I’m sorry.”

His brows furrow. “For what?”

“I know most of our issues began with me,” I say, tracing the ink on his chest with my finger. “And I haven’t owned up to that like I should. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I promise not to be like that anymore. I promise to communicate and not hide from my pain. I promise not to push you away.”

He’s listening to me quietly and when it’s clear I’m done talking, he takes my chin and makes me meet his gaze. “I need you to know that there has not been a day that has gone by that I have not been completely in love with you.”

Suddenly, I realize how much I’ve been longing to hear those words. How much I needed to hear them, how much I needed him to say them. Emotion springs from nowhere and my vision goes blurry. He reaches up as a tear falls and brushes it away, and when the tears keep coming he rolls on top of me and kisses my tears away.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I always have, and I always will.”

Check out is at eleven and we need to be at the airport by noon, but it’s only eight.

We spend the next couple hours showing each other just how deeply our love goes.

………..

“So it seems the time away did some good,” Gwyn says as we sit on the couch in front of her desk.

We’re a completely different couple than we were last time we were here. Cassian’s arm is around my shoulders and my hand rests on his leg. I’m leaning into him, comfortable in his loose embrace.

“You could say that,” Cassian replies, his arm hugging me closer for just a second before releasing me again.

I blush. Like a schoolgirl. I am twenty-nine years-old, a New York Times bestselling author and I am blushing because my husband loosely insinuated we had sex.

I don’t even know who I am.

“That’s good to hear.” Her smile is genuine and I can tell she cares about her clients. We aren’t a paycheck for her. She really wants to help us work through our issues and make it out of this stronger than we were. “Nesta, I know you were concerned about your workload while you were gone. How is it feeling now that you’re home? Are you still feeling overwhelmed?”

I take a minute to think about my words before I say them. “Honestly? Yes…but I’m managing my emotions better, I think.” Cassian nods his agreement beside me. “Most of it has to do with my agent, not necessarily the work itself, but I’m working on standing up for myself when it comes to him. So…it’s a work in progress.”

Gwyn nods thoughtfully. “A work in progress sounds promising.” She sets her pen down and looks between the two of us. “So, now that you two are home, what are a couple of goals you can set for yourselves?”

I look up at Cassian, who's already looking at me. He speaks first. “I think it’s time we let our family know about our past with infertility.” He says it hesitantly, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, too. “I think it’s important that we share that burden.”

“I agree,” I say, and I think it surprises him. “Especially since we’re not sure what the future holds, you know?”

Cassian gives me a confused expression and Gwyn remains quiet, letting us have this conversation. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I say, suddenly feeling more aware of Gwyn’s presence, “now that we’re having sex again, things happen…you know? I mean, I know we’re being careful, me being on the pill and all, but stuff happens. I don’t know if I’m ever going to get pregnant again, and if I don’t…” I don’t finish that thought, and I start to stare at where my hand is on his lap. “If I don’t, then I guess it’s just not in the cards for us, but if I do…I want my sisters, and Rhys and Az, to be there with us. I want them to know, and if we have to go through something like that again, and gods, I hope we never have to again, but…if we do…I want to be able to lean on them for strength, too. For both of us. So, I say all that to say that I agree. I think we should share that burden. They love us, and will want to be there for us.”

Gwyn’s smile is encouraging and when I turn to Cassian, his eyes are lined with silver. I can read the pride on his face. A month ago, I wouldn’t even acknowledge the loss of our baby. I wouldn’t let myself think about it or I’d fall back into the dark place I barely clawed my way out of. Now, I want to tell our family, to take another step towards the closure I never thought I’d have.

I squeeze his leg gently, letting him know he doesn’t need to say anything. Instead, he presses a kiss to my temple and clears his throat. He looks to Gwyn and asks, “What else you got, doc?”

She laughs, shaking her head at him, as I’ve done a thousand times. “Just look at the personal progress you’ve made, Cassian. Asking for prompts?” She glances down at her notebook. “As always, only share whatever information you feel comfortable doing so, but I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned that you’re having sex again. I know that was a hurdle for both of you, for different reasons. How are you feeling, individually, after taking that step again?”

We look at each other and I give him a nod indicating he can go first. Turning back towards Gwyn, he removes his arm from my shoulders and laces his fingers together, staring at them. I know he’s not pulling away from me, the heat of his thigh pressing into mine is proof of that. “I’m a very physical person and I don’t mean that in just a sexual way. I work a physically demanding job, I enjoy working my body hard at the gym, and I crave the intimacy of physical contact. I hadn’t realized just how draining it was to not have that contact, to not hold her hand in the car or curl up on the couch, until it was gone. And even then, I didn’t fully understand what I was missing. We drifted apart and I thought the wrongness I felt was due to our marriage deteriorating, but even when things started to get better, things still weren’t quite right. Now that we’re having sex, it feels like things are getting back to the way they used to be.” He glances over at me and I can see the slight blush high in his cheeks. “However, we are a, uh, very sexual couple. Sex isn’t everything, of course, but it has always been a big part of our relationship. With it missing, we sort of lost sight of who we were, together. Now it feels like we’re finally getting back on track.”

His words have me emotional in all the right ways.

“You feel the rekindling of normalcy and connection,” Gwyn says, kindly, and Cassian nods. “Very good. Nesta? How do you feel now that you’ve taken that step?”

I hesitate, but Cassian doesn’t seem to take offense to it. He simply watches me, and waits patiently. “On the topic of our past, I am scared of getting pregnant again,” I admit, quietly. “But, I’m on birth control. I don’t think I’m going to be off of it any time soon. And, I agree with Cassian. Sex has always been a big part of our relationship and it’s felt like something has been missing. Now that we’ve found that intimacy again, it feels right. I feel like we’ve been mending a connection that had been really, really broken for a long time.”

Gwyn is quiet for a long time, then she says, “I’m proud of you two. I can see your growth and hear the truth behind your words. I want to encourage you to always be mindful. Keep communication open. Do not go a day without talking about your feelings, even now when things are going well. It’s when things are going good that you need to keep working on your relationship. Never stop building your foundation and I have no doubt that the two of you will thrive.”

Cassian's hand finds mine and squeezes. There’s a promise in his touch, one that makes me want to climb on top of him right here and now and proclaim my love. But I keep it in my pants as we wrap up our session with Gwyn.

I do kiss him the moment we’re in the car, though. I think I catch him off guard as I fling myself over the middle console, grab his face, and shove my tongue into his mouth. He laughs quietly against my lips before he starts kissing me back. 

We go on like that for a minute before I break it, and when I lean back, his eyes have that look that makes my toes curl and my heart beat a little bit faster. 

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Because I love you,” I tell him, without any hesitation. 

“I love you, too,” he promises, then he’s taking my hand as I drive us out of the parking lot. 

We’re halfway down Main Street when he squeezes my hand and says, “We’ve almost been married ten years.” 

I can’t believe it, can’t believe that we’ve been married for almost a decade. I can’t believe that I almost lost him, too, after all that time, when we still have a lifetime to go. “We have,” I say, playfully. “I can’t believe we got married when we were just babies.”

Cassian chuckles. “Do you ever regret getting married so young?”

His question is not judgmental, only curious. I glance at him. “No. Never.” 

“Me either,” he says, his voice light as his thumb brushes the back of my hand. “I knew I wanted to marry you from the second I met you.”

I snort, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yeah, right. I was a bitch to you.”

“Which I loved.”

Now I outright laugh. “Liar.”

He shakes his head. “I swear. You were feisty. Even when you pissed me off, I couldn’t get enough of you.”

I pull up to a redlight just as he finishes speaking, and he’s looking at me with the softest eyes and the easiest smile. I feel my cheeks redden, which is ridiculous, but I’m too in love with him to care or be embarrassed. 

His grin widens as I start moving again. “Ten years,” he says, again, and I feel something similar to teenage butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s get remarried.”

I nearly swerve off the road. “What?”

“Yeah, like a vow renewal type of thing,” he says, nonchalantly. “Let’s do that.”

As my thoughts run wild, I pull the car off the road and put it in park on the shoulder. When I take my hands off the wheel and face Cassian, he looks confused, but then I ask, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He hesitates. “What?”

“Let’s do that?” I repeat. “That’s how you’re going to ask me to renew our vows?”

His grin returns. “Yeah. Why? Not good enough?”

“No!” I yell, shoving him, which only makes him laugh. “You can’t ask me something like that so…so….casually.” 

“Nesta—”

“You’re practically proposing marriage again,” I go on, staring at him dubiously. “You can’t propose in the passenger seat while I’m driving down the road.”

“Pretty sure I proposed marriage a decade ago,” he mutters, eyes bright. 

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I demand a romantic gesture. Then I’ll give you my answer.” When I look at him, he’s grinning that insufferable grin of his. “You proposed romantically. Be romantic now.” 

His humored eyes soften. “I was pretty romantic, wasn’t I?”

I think back to that day, when he proposed. It was early spring, but it was a beautiful night. We were in the midst of a storm, but there was a lull in the weather and although the grass was damp and the sky was gray, it was warm outside and the sun was peeking through the clouds. He went on and on about his love for me, about what we meant to each other, and then when the softest of rains began to fall again from the heavens, he asked me to marry him.

I said yes, with no hesitation. 

“I remember everything I said that day,” he says, quietly. “And I meant every damn word. I still mean every damn word.”

I swallow, trying to hide the rush of emotion that has flooded my body, my soul, my entire being. “You do?”

He nods. “I told you,” he began, taking my hand in his, “that I loved you more than anyone I had ever loved before. I hadn’t even realized that the love I had for you was possible. You completely surprised me; came out of nowhere. I hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but I did. Without hesitation. Without doubt. That day, I vowed that I would love you until the day that I die, that I would love you unconditionally, and that no matter how hard life gets….I would be there for you. And I hope you know that’s still true. I will love you, Nesta, until I’m not here anymore, and there is nothing that you could do that would make me stop loving you. No matter what happens, I’ll be here, and I am just in love with you today as I was the day that I asked you to marry me.” 

I don’t realize that I’m crying until he reaches up and brushes away my tears. 

“I want to renew our vows so that you know, without a doubt, that I am inconceivably in love with you,” he breathes.

“Inconceivably?” I ask, breath hitched on a laugh. “Yeah, I read your books.” He grins, his thumb brushing along my bottom lip. 

I laugh, the sound bringing more tears to my eyes.

“What do you say?” He asks, leaning in so our lips are a hair's breadth apart.

My eyes fall shut as his breath fans over my lips, smelling of spearmint gum and it takes everything in me not to crawl over the middle console and show him how I feel.

But I don’t.

Instead, I kiss him softly, sweetly, and pull away. I smile as I breathe, “Ask me later.”

I can already see the mischief in his eyes, the plan he’s coming up with. “You’re never going to see it coming.”

“Good.”

Putting the car into drive, I pull back onto the road, merging into traffic. Cassian takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

It feels like we’re going to be okay.

More than okay.

Perfect. 

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Epilogue: September 2018

A few clouds scudded their way across the velvety blue-grey of the morning twilight. The scent of petrichor still hung in the air, mingled with the more earthy odors of freshly mown hay and cattle and, just beyond it on the faint edges of the senses, the crisp, clean smell of the sea. A gentle breeze was blowing, barely strong enough to ruffle the grass still wet from an overnight shower, carrying with it the distant, plaintive calls of the seabirds, the high twittering of a lark, and the gentle clang-clang, clang-clang of cowbells. There was no noise of traffic, no smells of exhaust or smog, no lights or oversized buildings to spoil the view. It was a scene of utter serenity and peace.

Jon rested his elbows on the top rail of a three-board fence, a steaming mug of tea cradled in his hands, and stared idly towards the horizon. The September air still held a bit of a nip, especially this time of day, and he was glad for the jumper that—he smiled to himself—he could no longer say he’d stolen, borrowed, or otherwise appropriated from his boyfriend. It was too late, or early depending on your point of view, to stargaze, but the sunrise wasn’t that far off now. He couldn’t wait to see what it looked like. Something special, that was for sure. There was no way it wouldn’t be. It was almost a completely perfect morning.

A pair of wool-clad arms, one of which ended in a hand clutching a mug of its own, wrapped around him from behind, and something warm and solid and heavy settled against his back. “Morning.”

Jon felt his smile widen. Now it was completely perfect.

“Good morning.” He managed to turn his head and see Martin’s resting on his shoulder, a playful smile on his face. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I ever do. Sure slept heavily, anyway.” Martin kissed his cheek, then stepped away. Jon barely had time to miss his warmth before he settled on the fence next to Jon and draped his arm around his shoulders. “Did you? I notice you’re up earlier than usual.”

“It’s so…quiet out here.” Jon nestled against Martin’s side and reached up to lace their fingers together. He smiled even more broadly at the soft clink as the plain gold bands brushed against one another. “I never realized just how much ambient noise there was in London, even in the Archives, until I was somewhere I couldn’t hear anything. I suppose I’m more accustomed to hearing sounds when I sleep than I thought, and the absence of them just…pulled me out of it.”

Martin hummed. “We can try and find you a white noise machine or something. Maybe a little fan.”

“I’ll get used to it. Besides, I think I would have chosen to get up early if I’d thought about it. This is a day I didn’t want to waste a minute of.”

“So you don’t mind?” Martin asked. “That we didn’t wait until…I dunno, December? The winter solstice, longest night of the year, light starts winning over darkness, that sort of thing?”

Jon looked up fondly. “Martin, if we had been allowed to do it, I would have gone straight to the register office and had the ceremony the day you asked me.”

Martin laughed. “I know that, Jon. I’m just asking if, once I told you I wanted to pick a date for the actual ceremony that had some kind of significance, you minded us not picking something more…dramatic.”

“No.” Jon looked down at their joined hands again. “The exact halfway point between our birthdays is perfect.”

He would carry that memory around for the rest of his life, he knew that. They hadn’t wanted a fancy party, just a simple exchange of vows with their family there, so they had just gone to the registrar’s office and done the basic ceremony, with no additions or flourishes. Still, the moments had impressed themselves into his mind: the genuine emotion in Martin’s eyes as he repeated the rote words, the way his hand had trembled as he slid the ring onto Jon’s finger, the sound of the others cheering as they kissed, the swell of emotions when the registrar pronounced them legally wed. There had been promises—or threats—of a bigger party when they got back, but for the time being, they’d had to set off in order to be sure of making the first of the trains that would take them where they needed to go.

The journey had been nice—long, but nice. It was something of a novelty to be able to take a long trip with Martin that wasn’t with the end goal of investigating or stopping something horrible, eldritch, or potentially world-ending. And from the number of people who had asked them, it was probably incredibly obvious, if not where they were going, then at least why. Jon had been extremely surprised to be met by anyone at all at the final station; they’d expected to have to rent a car, something neither of them were keen on—as Martin said, if they’d wanted to be able to drive around they’d have driven themselves up to begin with—but instead there had been a weathered old farmer with a piece of cardboard with BLACKWOOD-SIMS scrawled on it in marker. While Jon was still riding that particular high, they’d followed him out to what turned out to be a farm cart and pony, both equally as old and weathered as the farmer himself.

It had been dark when they arrived, too dark to fully appreciate the place, so they’d eaten the cold supper Daisy had insisted on packing for them, toasted one another with the small bottle of champagne tucked into it, and collapsed in bed together. That wasn’t new either, not exactly, but it felt new, and Jon had lain awake for some time listening to Martin’s gentle breathing and marveling at the fact that he was no longer curled up against his boyfriend, or even his fiancé.

He had, for the first time in his life, spent the night with his husband.

“It was good of Daisy to let us use this place,” he said, a bit absently, as he turned his gaze back to the horizon. “She didn’t have to.”

“She didn’t have to come up last week and clean it out for us, either, but from the things she said she found while she was, I’m glad she did,” Martin said wryly. “Wouldn’t have wanted to spend the first day we were up here cleaning out ancient tins and dessicated dry goods.”

“Do you think there were any peaches in there?” Jon teased. Martin groaned dramatically. “Why does she have a house in Scotland, anyway?”

“It was one of her safe houses. You know, somewhere she could go when she was hunting…or being hunted…and needed to lie low for a few days. Especially if she needed to escape jurisdiction.” Martin took a sip of his tea. “Honestly, the fact that she even told us about it, let alone offered to let us use it for our honeymoon, is a pretty good sign that whatever she’s doing in therapy is working. I know she’s been opening up more to Tim and Gerry about all of her bolt holes and strongholds and whatnot, but…”

“She likes you. Or at least trusts you.” Jon took a sip of his own tea, which had started to go slightly cold. “I’m surprised she’s the only one of us who’s actually still in therapy.”

From the rustle of fabric, Jon guessed Martin had just shrugged his other shoulder. “The Hunt’s a bit easier to talk around than most of this stuff. And I can understand why, once she found a therapist who was willing to help her actually work through her problems instead of justifying everything she ever did, she was keen to keep her.”

Jon mulled that over for a moment. “I’m…I think I’m proud of her,” he said finally. “I can see how easy it would be to…to say that you did things because you had to, because it was the job, because you didn’t have the choice. And how easy it would be to stay with a therapist who would let you.”

Martin pulled Jon a little closer and rested his chin on his head. “The lot of us can probably keep Laverne in business for the rest of her life if we let her. Well, maybe not Sasha.”

“Or Basira.” Jon sighed. “She probably needs it more than the rest of us, but…”

“She has to do it because she wants to, Jon. Not because we tell her to. Otherwise it won’t help.” Martin sighed, too. “And you know Basira. She will never admit there’s anything she can’t logic and will her way out of.”

Jon nodded solemnly. Basira’s idea of dealing with her problems was to give Martin a statement about her time working for Peter Lukas—and particularly the final encounter with him and Jonah Magnus—in the expectation that it would mean she would be able to just stop thinking about them and move on. She’d avoided him for almost a month after it became clear that Martin hadn’t lied when he’d told her it wouldn’t work.

Speaking of…

“I saw you last night,” he confessed. “I didn’t realize it was you, just—I-I tried to ask you for help and…”

“I know, Jon,” Martin said gently. “I was there, too, remember? It’s okay. I’m sorry me being there wasn’t more help.”

“I just—I need you to know that’s not why I wasn’t in bed when you woke up this morning. I was just feeling restless, a-and then I realized the sun was coming up and…I was going to wake you, but you don’t get enough sleep as it is and—”

“Jon.” Martin turned Jon’s face towards his and kissed him, which effectively shut up his slightly fearful babbling. “You left a mug out, with the teabag already in it, and the kettle still warm. And you took my jumper. For God’s sake, you married me, apparently of your own free will.”

“Of course it was of my—” Jon began, and then stopped when he saw the amusement in Martin’s eyes. He relaxed and smiled. “You bastard.”

“Hey now, according to Papa, my parents were married well before I was conceived.” Martin laughed and tucked his chin over the top of Jon’s head again. “Trust me. I don’t need to use the Eye to know you’re not actually upset with me when you’re awake for anything that happens in the dreams. The only one who consistently recognizes me and still gets mad at me about it is Basira.”

Jon pressed himself closer to Martin. There had been a lot of fallout from the twenty-fifth of May, both predictable and not, but the thing that was still, oddly enough, taking the most getting used to had been that all of them started having dreams about the things they’d once given statements on again. 

Jonah might have lied about being a literal dead-man switch—Tim’s theory was that he’d simply been trying to keep them from discovering the eye transfer thing too early because it would have been impossible at that point for him to use Martin or Jon for his ritual if they’d known too much and threatening Basira was the only thing that would have kept Daisy from doing it, and it made more sense than anything else—but he hadn’t lied about being the “beating heart” of the Institute, in a sense. His body, his original body, had crumbled to dust, finally giving in to the weight of the centuries, in the instant Gerry reaped his remaining eye, but they hadn’t had long to gloat before Martin and Daisy leaped into action to triage Basira, who, with Jonah’s eye gone, had begun to bleed out through the ruined socket. Jon had lost all track of time in their desperate, headlong rush for the surface, worrying with every step that it had been too late, that they’d end up sacrificing Basira anyway, until he’d grabbed Martin’s hand and tried desperately to remember the route and suddenly seen a shining silver thread running ahead of them, like a kite string through a labyrinth.

Melanie had taken to calling him Ariadne off and on, but at least she didn’t mean the Mechanisms’ version.

They’d emerged, unsurprisingly enough when they thought about it, into a crime scene swarming with sectioned police officers and EMTs. Martin had been quietly devastated when he’d learned just how much destruction Trevor and Julia had managed to wreak on the Institute before they had managed to find the Archives: three dead, a dozen more wounded, and Manal had been badly burned trying to put out a fire before the 999 dispatcher had finally convinced her to evacuate with everyone else. Fortunately, the Hunters’ dead bodies, and the fact that they were unmarked—the coroner had eventually determined that Trevor’s lung cancer had caught up with him and Julia had suffocated from a previously undetected, likely because she’d been avoiding medical care herself for so long, form of aggressive throat cancer, both caused by extensive tobacco use, and if it was at all suspicious that they’d both died in the same moments nobody wanted to think too hard about that—had lent credence to their story that they had fled into the tunnels, and Sasha and Jon between them had spun a convincing enough explanation for what had happened to Basira’s eye while an officer who’d worked with her on the Brodie kidnapping yelled for the paramedics. Once she’d come out of surgery, she’d confessed readily enough to killing Elias Bouchard and Peter Lukas, but the police had pretty much decided at that point that it was self-defense and closed the case without too much fuss. There’d been a bit of worry that their families might kick up a fuss, but Elias had apparently cut off his family shortly after becoming Jonah Magnus, presumably so they wouldn’t notice his eyes were a different color, and the Lukas family was too busy dealing with their own problems. The families of the three employees who’d been killed had filed wrongful death suits against the Institute, and the Lukases, as both the family of the last man who’d run the place and the biggest donors, were largely on the hook for that. One thing had led to another, and within a month of the attack, it had been clear that the Institute was going to have to shutter its doors permanently.

The first night after they got their severance papers had been bad for all of them, but especially Martin, who’d described the mental landscape as standing in a room with a dozen locked doors all around him that suddenly blew open all at once, drawing him in through an ever-shifting sequence of clowns, spiders, fans, fires, clutching tunnels, and yawning doors; the rest of them hadn’t seen him, but he’d known all of them and woken up with his face soaked with tears. The rest of them had had to sit down with Martin and assure him, over and over, that they knew it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control the dreams, and that there was no way he could have known—that any of them could have known—that it was the Institute itself that had locked their doors. The fact that it was happening before the Institute was even technically all the way closed down was unexpected, but at least it gave them time to shore Martin up before they were completely cut off from what was in it.

They’d spent the last week of June packing up the Archives, putting the hundreds of thousands of files into boxes to be put in storage or sent to one historical society or another, and if they had secreted a few to take home with them, well, nobody was going to miss them; after all, even they hadn’t known exactly how many files were down there. Martin had estimated that what they’d managed to get would run him at least a year, maybe even longer, if he rationed it out properly, but he’d admitted privately to Jon that he was a bit worried about what would happen if he couldn’t get more of them. Gerry had solved that particular problem with a series of quiet advertisements, and now Cinnamon Rose Books had a dedicated quiet room where anyone who’d had an encounter they couldn’t explain or get over could come and make their statement, either to Martin’s face or to a tape recorder. Since those lasted longer than the written ones, every one he took meant that much longer before Jon would have to start getting seriously concerned about the possibility of him starving.

“Did you bring any statements with you?” Jon asked, bringing himself back from that particular train of thought.

“I’ll be fine,” Martin assured him. “Someone came by the shop day before yesterday with a statement. Pretty hefty one too. I’m probably good for a month as long as I don’t try to See anything, and, you know, we’re on our honeymoon, so I’d rather not.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, too,” Jon admitted. “I-I mean, I’d rather you didn’t at all, but…”’

“I know, and I’m trying not to. It’s easier now that we know we don’t really have to worry that much about any rituals.”

“You’re not worried another Fear might figure out that they need to bring them all in?”

“Not really. The Web and the End are the only two that might, and Gerry reckons neither of them have what it takes to actually come up with a good ritual that will pull it off. Anyway, most of them have tried too recently to build up enough power to go again any time soon. Since the details of what Jonah came up with died with him, and I think that technically counts as a ritual fizzling out, we’re safe for now.”

Jon hummed. “Well, since you’re—what does Melanie keep calling you? ‘The Ceaseless Watcher’s special boy’—I think I’ll take your word for it.”

Martin gave a mock groan. “I’m going to have to start calling her Venkman again.”

“I—I don’t think I know that reference,” Jon confessed.

“Ghostbusters. He was kind of a jerk, actually, and in the second film he’d started a psychic reality show.” Martin chuckled softly. “We’ll have to get everyone together and have a movie night when we get back.”

“If we can drag Melanie out of her editing studio.”

“You’re assuming Daisy isn’t going to take an interest in that, too.”

With the Institute gone, and all of them suddenly without jobs, they’d flailed a bit. Martin had simply moved in and started helping Gerry with the shop, but it didn’t need all of them—it barely needed two of them—so the rest had been at loose ends. In sheer desperation, and    also because she’d found the equipment still intact when she’d moved back into her house, Melanie had decided to try and get Ghost Hunt UK up and running again. She’d told Jon she wasn’t ready to leave the paranormal completely behind, and besides, she’d liked that part of things. This time, though, she was doing a much more stripped-down version, with Sasha as her cohost and Daisy doing everything that didn’t involve getting in front of the camera. She’d proven to be quite good at sound mixing, and ferreting out hauntings sated the Hunt enough that she could concentrate on healing. Melanie was hoping for a Halloween premier, but as Gerry pointed out, she’d hoped that before and ended up having to wait until the following May. Her argument was that she knew what she was doing better now, and that she wasn’t being held back by perfectionist jerks, and also that if Gerry didn’t have anything useful to contribute he could take a long walk off a short pier and hug an octopus.

Tim had picked up a summer job at a climbing gym; the pay wasn’t great, but it got him out of the house and moving. He’d turned out to be quite popular with the kids in the camps he was working. One of his students had apparently been so enthusiastic that the gym had put him in charge of another session she was part of, which turned out to be for kids in foster and residential care. He’d enjoyed the week so much that the gym had added a second session. Daisy had mentioned offhand, at dinner one night around the middle of August, that Laverne was proud of her for finally setting a concrete goal for her therapy, and Tim’s surprised eyes and Gerry’s pleased grin when she replied to Jon’s dutiful prompt with to get to a place where the three of us can have a serious talk about signing up to foster had made her laugh. She was doing more of that lately, and it was doing everyone good to see it.

Basira, once she got out of hospital, had had a harder time of it than the rest of them. She was still learning to navigate the world with only one eye, especially since it hadn’t been her dominant eye, something made harder by the fact that she absolutely refused to let anyone else help her. They were all still trying to strike a balance between giving her space and making sure she knew they were there for her. Jon suspected that part of her problem was that, while Daisy still knew her better than anyone else—because Daisy was the only person she’d really let get close to her—the same couldn’t be said in reverse. Not only did Tim and Gerry know and understand Daisy the same way they did one another, and vice versa, but it was becoming more and more clear that Basira had never really known Daisy all that well at all, and her pride couldn’t handle that. She helped out at the bookstore a time or two, although she got grumpy when people tried to buy books she was reading, or attempting to read, out from under her. The last few weeks, though, she hadn’t been around as much, and she hadn’t been at their wedding.

That, at least, wasn’t much of a surprise, since she didn’t like to leave London.

“Look,” Martin murmured.

Jon looked—and his heart caught in his throat as the first ray of sun stabbed at the horizon. The gentle sounds of the village waking up went on around them as the great golden disc rose slowly, as if uncertain it really wanted to come out, then suddenly burst forth in all its glory. The grass turned to waving sheets of gold, tipped with sparkling diamonds of damp and dew, and a new day dawned. Their first sunrise as a couple.

They watched for a few minutes, and then Martin pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s temple. “Come on. Let’s go back and get breakfast.”

As Martin made pancakes—not the ones filled with farmer’s cheese and topped with cherry preserves that he and his siblings always made when one or all of them had survived an encounter with the Fourteen, but more traditional British flapjacks—and Jon took inventory of what else they had, he said, “I missed this.”

“What, peace?” Jon asked distractedly, shifting aside the tinned goods Daisy had stocked the pantry with to be sure she hadn’t left them any peaches.

“Well, not…living in the city, anyway. I mean, Lancaster’s not exactly a small town, but, well, you saw Granddad’s farm.” Martin turned a pancake over carefully. “Next time we go—I mean, if you want to go back—I’ll show you the house I lived in before we moved to London. It’s just…quieter, I guess. I’d kind of forgotten how much I missed not being in the middle of…everything.”

Jon considered that for a moment. Martin had been shocked to get a letter from his grandfather’s solicitor a month before his birthday, telling him in detail what he would need to do in order to take possession of the trust the old man had evidently set up for him to inherit on his thirtieth birthday; Jon wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that his grandfather had left him the property or that he’d survived to be thirty. Either way, the farm and its contents were his now, and they’d all gone up for a day or two in order to see the place before the wedding. Jon had liked it, not in the least because of how comfortable Martin had seemed while they were there. It was certainly quieter than London, without being too quiet for Jon.

“Would you be all right there?” he asked. “It’s—I mean, it’s not exactly close to…everything.”

“It’s only two and a half hours from London by train,” Martin said with a shrug. “Easy enough to go down to visit. And the Fourteen are in more places than just London, you know. The better question is, would you be all right there? I mean, it’s…well, two and a half hours from everybody else you know.”

“Yes, but consider: It’s two and a half hours away from Georgie, who is possibly dating or attempting to date Basira and is at the very least friends with her, and therefore likely to turn up in our lives if we stay in London,” Jon said dryly. Martin, who knew better than anyone that both Melanie and Jon—or at the very least Melanie—had a grudging tolerance for Georgie at best these days, laughed. “I—I could. I think. I mean, I’m just…drifting these days. At a loss for what I’m going to do with my life now that I don’t have the, ah, rigors of academia. Might as well drift in Lancaster as London.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” Martin paused, pancake balanced on his spatula, until Jon handed him a plate. “You know, the part of Lancaster near where Granddad’s farm is—”

“Your farm,” Jon reminded him.

“Where the farm is,” Martin amended. “There’s…you know, there’s not a used bookstore near there. We could open one up maybe. Sort of a northern branch of Cinnamon Rose Books. We could come up with a good name for it, get in some stock, deal with people who don’t want to travel all the way down to London to sell their antique books. Keep all those statements we…rescued…from the Archives in the back and set up a place for people to come give statements if they wanted to. Just…build a life up here that’s about us.” He shrugged. “Or we can go back to London, do something down here, and keep the farm as a…vacation place or something. Or sell it. You know, whatever we decide.”

Jon smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of whatever?”

“Of we.”

At that, Martin smiled, too. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Maybe.” Jon slipped in to steal a kiss. “But I’m your sap.”

Martin caught him before he could pull away. “Always,” he said in a low voice before kissing him properly.

Jon let himself get lost in the kiss, and tried not to think about the implications of that word. He couldn’t help it, though, and when they broke apart, he found himself asking, “Martin?”

Something in Martin’s eyes told him he’d guessed what Jon was about to ask, but he said, “Yes, Jon?”

“Are you…” Jon bit his lip. “Can you…die?”

“Yes,” Martin said, without hesitation. His eyes didn’t even flash. “Nothing lasts forever, no matter how it tries. It’s…possible that having already died once means I can’t die of natural causes, o-or of old age or whatever, but…well, the Eye doesn’t really go in for the future, so I don’t Know. Still, I can die. And I’ve already talked to Gerry about it. If it doesn’t look like I’m going to die normally…well, when you go, he’ll help me to follow you.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed. “That…that shouldn’t be comforting. And yet…”

“I know. We’re not exactly the world’s most normal couple. But I promise you, I won’t live forever without you.”

“Good. Not because I wouldn’t want you to live forever, but…I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”

“I don’t like the thought of you being alone, either,” Martin admitted. “Luckily, it’s not something we have to think about right now. Any more than we have to decide what we’re going to do about the farm, or the future, or anything like that.”

Jon nodded. “We do have to talk about it, but…”

“Yeah, but not today. Not even this week.” Martin turned the final pancake out onto a plate and set it on the table. “Let’s eat breakfast and then…I dunno, go for a walk maybe. We can let the idea of moving or, or starting a bookshop or whatever sit for a while. We don’t have to make a decision today.”

Jon smiled up at Martin and slid his arms around his husband’s neck, pulling him close. “No,” he agreed. “No, we don’t. We have all the time in the world.”

As the souls of the dead live fore'er in my mind, As I live all the years that they leave me behind, I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea; I remember the fallen, and they think of me, For our souls in the ocean together will be...

[phantom-of-the-memes]

Hello, I saw your pinned post and I thought I’d ask a question. I am an Irish-American. In recent years I’ve been distancing myself more and more from the American part of my identity. I am hyper aware of the Celtiboo mentality as you put it. I know my username and dash photos aren’t a great start but hear me out lol. (Going back over this. This is a bit of ramble. You are under zero obligation to read or respond to this. I’m still sending it because I think I genuinely want an answer from an actual Irish person but again no obligations)

I struggle with culture and identity because my family gave up Irish culture to assimilate into American culture. In an attempt to decolonize my mindset and unassimilate(not sure if that’s a word) I’ve been trying to learn Irish and be more in tune with Irish language, culture and politics. Tá cúpla focail agam. A weird thing happens when your family assimilates into a culture but holds onto the past still.

My family has only been here for 100 years as of this month. (I know this is a long time but my great grandmother who was the first generation born in the US helped raise me growing up, so it doesn’t feel that long ago) My great-great grandmother ran guns during the rising, independence war, and the civil war. She would tell my mom stories about Ireland growing up. My great grandmother told me I was Irish from the time I could talk till she passed 10 years ago. As well as telling me some of the stories her mom told her. Her mom taught her some Irish but she didn’t know enough to teach to my grandma and then by my mom’s time we lost the language. I’ve been trying to scrape back anything I can of that part of my family. It’s hard to describe but it feels like something is missing. With the two generations that were actually Irish citizens gone now it’s like we lost something more than just them but we can’t put a finger on exactly what it is we lost. My grandmother is eligible for citizenship and I’ve been trying to collect all the documents together for her to claim it but that doesn’t solve the problem of myself and my identity.

This has become rambling at this point but I guess my question is. How do I and my family fit in to this? Are we just pretending? We consider ourselves Irish(even though our connection is dwindling). We don’t want to lose that part of ourselves. Is it just Celtiboo stuff? Or is what we are trying to do justified? There’s a lot more I want to say here but this is already too long of an ask.

You’re American with Irish ancestry ok? It’s quite simple.

[alarrytale]

“Those that weren’t around then or before have no idea how much his persona has changed even from tour to tour, he at least had fun laughed enjoyed the audience now he would come on stage and look like he’s sizing up the crowd of who he was going to sleep with that night and we know it’s gone further with the gestures with other things (by other things I mean maybe wear better undies under those snug joggers Louis)”…

?

When did he look like he was sizing up the crowd to find someone to sleep with? They’re not talking about that one show are they? Lol. People said that it was a joke between the band, nothing to do with fans. Same when in one show people were mad at him because they said he was clarifying that it was “IT” in the Back to a You song vs “HIM” when fans that were there said he was reacting to a sign. Then the next show he was back to singing HIM again. I thought us Larries don’t believe these rumors? Or has that changed now? I guess for me I’m automatically skeptical of anything when it comes to the boys.

Anyway seeing as many lives as I’ve seen he’s always just singing, looking at signs and during the megamix he takes in the crowd? He would throw in that circle game every once in a while and the middle finger but I’m genuinely at a loss with what this anon saw. I love Harry but let’s be real here, he does way more dirty gestures on stage than anyone and has been since 1D days. Remember how he used to use his microphone stand, while Louis was having water fights with Liam.

Louis’ wind pants or whatever they were, I completely agree with but he seems to free-ball when he’s not wearing jeans, he’s also done that since 1D. He just wore those extreme skinny jeans (honestly, I think they’re jeggings) I wouldn’t think he would wear those on stage but I remember the red pants he wore in ltwt so I guess nothing should surprise me. I never thought I’d say that I miss the black jeans era of ltwt. But I know people made fun of him for wearing black jeans at every show. I did love his green sweater and black jeans combo in latam. One of his best outfits this tour! And I did like a couple of his tank tops when they were like the razor backs (the O2 show) but otherwise they were boring to be honest. After the first few times he wore a tank top, the thrill wore off I guess. Anyway I got off track. The point is just because we may not like his new image, as others said previously he’s not different than a normal 32 year old. We simply know his previous self. He’s not like M*tty H*aly or anything now lol.

Hi, anon!

Lol, you did get off track, because what has his outfits to do with Louis (possibly) cruising?

I think you have to ask the anon what they meant. I think they mean that his image is giving off that vibe, so people may think that he's doing it, not that he's actually doing it. I haven't seen that behaviour from Louis at all. I also disagree that Louis has changed that much between tours, but that's me getting off track.

But as i say in almost every ask now, larries aren’t one entity with a hive mind, seeing the same things, believing the same things and using the same proof. The only common denominator is that we think larry is real.

I also very much disagree with Louis not being different than any other 32 year old. I really hope other 32 year old men doesn’t feel the need to deny a romantic relationships with another man every six months, in case people think he's gay, or lash out on fans on twitter for asking him about chicken recipes. My 33 year old brother does none of that... Louis is acting very immature for his age actually, which is tied to his insecurity in general. The difference between Mat*y and Louis is that Mat*y does things for attention, and Louis does it so nobody suspect he's gay...

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jude flies home to a city that’s bursting with the first blooms of summer. I wake up to a Dublin that feels more colourful to the one I fell asleep in, because he’s home, and the mere fact of that makes every aspect of my life feel sunnier. It takes him hours to get through arrivals at the airport and drop all of his things off at his parents house, so by the time I spot him turning the corner by the railings of Fitzwilliam Square I have gone beyond the point of excitement and entered a state of genuine agony.

I throw open the door to him before he has a chance to knock. “Hello Evie,” He says, and he looks every bit as tanned and sleek and sexy as he did when we said goodbye at Paphos airport. None of the time in between then and now feels meaningful anymore.

“Good flight?” I say, and he’s kissing me deeply and kicking the door shut behind him, and I realise as he puts his hands on me and backs me towards the stairs that kissing is never going to be enough for either of us ever again. 

“I missed you,” He murmurs on the landing, and he’s already taking his t-shirt off. 

“Yeah, same,” I say, and almost stumble over yesterday’s discarded doc Martens boots inside the door of my bedroom. 

“That’s good then, we’ve catching up to do.” He lifts me off the floor and tosses me onto the bed where he comes down on top of me so he can kiss my throat and slide his hands up my skirt. We don’t bother getting undressed all the way, there isn’t time, and anyway, as he told me before, he’s kind of into the idea of being half dressed. 

“I think I’m impatient by nature,” He said one late night on the phone, “and sometimes I just don’t want to wait additional seconds to take things off, Like, why waste any time with buttons and things, I don’t want to undo every one of those. And doesn’t being in a rush make it hotter anyway?”

“You like it when someone is oh-so-desperate for you that they lose their mind and they can’t possibly wait, okay, I hear you,” I said, and I meant it in a teasing, eye-rolling kind of way, but now as he yanks my underwear out of the way and battles the elastic waistband of his tracksuit pants and I’m feeling suitably desperate I think I understand what he meant. 

“God, I thought I’d never get home to you,” He says, and he sounds relieved. I like that he does, and I like that he referred to me as something that’s part of his home like his life is in someway incomplete without me in it.

“It wasn’t easy when you were gone,” I whisper.

“Yeah, it was the worst. I don’t want to do that anymore, I couldn’t really stand it. I just wanted to be here.”

“Don’t leave me anymore.”

“I won’t, I won’t… Let’s not even leave this room.”

And we don’t. For a whole day and night we stay in, and we make good on all of the promises we made to each other in our texts and phone calls. I love how present he is with me, how much he speaks to me, looks at me, checks on me like he cares every bit as much about what I like and how I like it as he does about himself. And when I mess something up he always says it’s okay, and when things go wrong we laugh and try it again.

“Does that feel good?” He’ll say. “Let me help you. Here. That’s it. Did I hurt you? You want it a bit rougher? Like this. Do you prefer when I’m on top?”

And as he’s learning all of these things about me, concentrating on whether I like a hand over my throat, how hard he can go before it hurts, I think, in the moments when I can think, about how entirely different this is from what I was doing before, how what I called sex then couldn’t possibly have been sex, because this and that are too far removed to be defined in the same way or to be reasonably compared. There should be more words for what this is.

“Tired?” He says to me, and it’s five in the morning, maybe. The sun will come up soon. 

“No, are you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to sleep yet.”

“We should then.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” He says, which is bullshit, because he crashes within three minutes. I don’t mind. He’s beautiful when he sleeps, and I can’t help but look at him with the cool haze of twilight across his face. The silence of the early summer light transports me to a teenage morning, somewhere, of dew on my ankles, the roar of the sea in the distance. Nobody in Dublin is awake but me. I kiss both his eyelids and rest my head on his chest. I love him. I should probably tell him that eventually. 

I wake up after he does, but he’s still with me. He’s looking at his phone, and when I roll over and nestle my head onto his chest so that I can look too I see that he is composing an email. 

“What’s that?” I wonder sleepily. 

“It’s a job application, there’s an investment firm in Sandyford looking for a graphic designer.”

“Uh,” I say, because it’s too early to process the meaning of things like investment firms. “Are you qualified for that?”

“I have a degree in fine arts.”

“Isn’t it different from graphic design though?”

He scratches his head, “Yeah but it’s fine, these finance people don’t know the difference. I have some stuff in my portfolio that’s sort of graphic-design-adjacent, and I’m pretty sure it’ll be alright. It’s all the same to them, they just want someone to make ads for them.”

“Hm,” I say, and scan the portion of the cover letter he’s already written, “Are you interested in that sort of thing?”

“No, not especially,” He says, “But I’d like to get a job in Dublin, you know, just for a year or so so that I can stay here while you finish college.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

He laughs, “But?”

“But nothing,” I close my eyes again and nestle back into the cool side of my pillow. He’s running a little bit too hot to be lying on top of anyway. He prods my arm. “That felt like a loaded statement.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” I pause for a moment and then turn over to peer at him through half shut eyes, “But…”

His eyebrows quirk up, “But?”

“But I don’t think you should apply for a job that you’re not going to like just because you think you have to get something.”

“Okay but I don’t really want to sit around in my parents house for a year doing nothing.”

“Why don’t you just look for jobs that you like? Why are you compromising right off the bat?”

He gives me a look which makes me understand I’m missing something. “There’s no work relevant to my interests in Ireland, Evie. I’ll need to just find something to tide me over for a while.”

“Really? There’s no work at all in film props or anything like that?”

“No, Ireland’s not really a great place to do what I want to do.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

He strokes the hair at the nape of my neck and goes back to tapping out the email, “That’s okay, it’s just how it is. A job like this one will be fine, and the pay is okay too.”

“Imagine what kind of place that will be to work. Do you think you’ll have to wear a suit and tie?”

“I hope not.”

I’m giggling now because I have new amusing ideas about how it might be to work in an investment firm, “Do you think they’ll all stand around the water coolers and say things like ‘it’s hump day!’ or ‘can’t wait for the weekend!’?”

“Yes, and there won’t be any women working there, and the average age will be 54.”

“And they’ll make you do raffles all the time, and sign birthday cards for people you’ve never even spoken to.”

“Yeah, Alan in HR is turning 49, better contribute a tenner to his gift.”

I roll onto my back laughing because the idea of it all is so absurd. I wonder how on earth anybody can stomach it. An investment firm. 

Jude is biting his lip thoughtfully though, perhaps weighing it all up, picturing himself in that place, in a stuffy suit, using the bathroom in a cubicle with a flickering fluorescent light and eating a sad sandwich at his desk, and the look on his face makes it all a bit less hilarious. 

“Good money though,” I say, and he nods, quickly hiding his emotions with a grin, “God,” he growls, and pulls me into him to mess up my hair, “The things I’d do to stay here, huh?”

“If you stay here you get me,” I point out, and he pecks the crown of my head, “Yeah, see that’s what’d make it worth it.”

I nestle in under his arm and join him in his examination of his phone. He lets me read the cover letter, which makes a lot of grand claims about his hard working nature and team player attitude, and when he asks for my opinion of it I tell him it’s fine, because what would I know?

“Okay then I’m sending it.”

“Yes! Do it.”

He hesitates, “This is a good idea,” He says, and I can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question. 

“Send it.”

“I’m sending it.”

He sends it, and I wonder if I should cheer or something, but I don’t. In fact there’s no ceremony about it whatsoever, he just tosses his phone onto the duvet where it instantly gets swallowed up in the folds, “Now, I don’t want to think about that anymore.”

“No?”

“No thanks, actually I’ve already moved on from it. What job application?”

“Never heard of it. What’s the next thing?”

“A bit of you, preferably, if you’re up for it,” and obviously I am, and I think, as he is putting me on top of him once again that I probably always will be up for it. I hope it will always be like this. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[ells-18]

- the one where she surprised him while filming -

SWIPE RIGHT, baby - Calfreezy

“Babe!” Callum shouts, walking into the living room to find my sitting on the couch cuddled up into a blanket watching some tv.

I turn my head to face him walking into our shared living room, leaning on me elbows. “Yeah?”

“Where’s the car keys?” He asks, looking at me from a few feet away. He’s ready to go out filming with the boys- but usual Cal loses the car keys.

I sigh, shaking my head. “Did you check your jacket pocket?” I ask.

He frowns, his hand leaning into his stripes/square jacket pocket. Automatically I hear a jingle sound.

I laugh. “There they are”

He shakes his head, grinning. He walks over to me and kneels down beside me.

“Are you alright?” He asks, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear gently.

“Yeah I’m good, gonna miss you though. The guys always keep you for so longggg” I groan and he chuckles.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, love. Do you want me to bring you anything in?” He asks, caressing my left cheek.

I shake my head lending against his hand “just you” i smile, pushing his glasses further up his face.

He smiles back, and pulls his jiggers at his knees so he can stand up comfortably. “I’ll be back soon..” he makes his way to the front door. “Love you!” He shouts. He won’t close the door until he gets a response.

“Love you, cal” I say, smiling even though he can’t see. I then hear the front door close, meaning he has gone.

Callum and I are 22 and 24 now- we got together at a very young age and haven’t looked back since. We met when he lived in Scotland, then I eventually moved to London. We are still young, but I genuinely can see us together forever.

What a boring day ahead. I’m off work, cal and I were originally going to be going away for the weekend but Josh needed him for the video. So unfortunately, our weekend away has turned into me staying at home myself.

I felt my phone buzz beneath my arm, I sigh and try to find it. I was so comfortable!

I unlocked my phone to reveal a text from Josh.

- hey, y/n. You busy? I’m sorry for the short notice but one of the girls has pulled out of the Tinder IRL and I really need someone to help out. I thought you’d be a suitable option. You up for it? Was planning not to tell the boys and callum- a nice surprise for them.��

I think for a second. This could be fun..

- hey Josh. Of course I’d love to help out. Is it far? Because cal took the car.

- it takes about 20 minutes- not to worry I’ll pick you up. Gonna bring Freya too she was complaining how she missed you. Is 15 minutes okay?

- see yous then. Xx

I hurry up and get up off the comfy couch. I was so unsure on what to wear.. though I don’t have a lot of time I decide on a pair of baggy jeans and a cute low cut crop. I threw a baggy leather jacket on over it and chucked on white converse with red hearts on them- to match the same ones cal is wearing today.

I brushed out my already curled balayaged hair, quickly putting on some blush, concealer and mascara with a bit of lip gloss.

I grab my bag and house keys, ready to leave as Josh has just text me that he is downstairs.

~~~

“You ready, y/n?” Randy asks, standing beside me as I’m due to ‘meet’ the boys.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous, Rand”

“Hey don’t be nervous” he pays my shoulder. “They love you. It’ll be such a laugh”

I chuckle. “Yeah it’ll be good. When am I on?”

He looks at his watch. “Right.. now” he gently urges me into the studio. “Good luck” he whispers.

I walk in and see all the boys lined up, callum was near the back. Harry was at the front and gasped like a child when he saw me. This caught the attention of JJ.

“No way!” Harry points. Callum is still clueless.

Ethan covers his face, and lays flat on the floor pretending to faint.

I stand infront of Harry and can’t stop laughing at their reactions.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cal asks Ethan.

“Yo cal. Are you not seeing this?!” JJ asks.

“Yooooo what!” Callux laughs, covering his mouth in shock.

“Hi I’m y/n, I’m 22 and I’m from Scotland”

“Huh?” Cal says, poking his head around the boys to see me.

“I’ll explain later..” Josh pats his back. “..Now hurry up!”

Harry composed himself and looks at me, and then looks down to the book in his hands. “Hello, I’m Harry. And-“ he drops the book. I look at him confused.

He bends down to pick it up. “I think I dropped something” he stands back up. “My jaw” he says, with his mouth wide open.

The boys burst into laughter at his silliness.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, go on then Bog” I swipe to the right earning cheers from the boys.

Stephen approaches. “Hi. We’re a perfect match. Cos I like being pegged and you’ve been fucking an arsehole for a few years”

Everyone gasps and laughs.

I sigh, and swipe left. “On you go Stephen”

“What!!” He groans like a child, huffing away to the left corner.

JJ is next, Josh is behind them and then it’s my Cal.

JJ smirks as he approaches me. “Hi. I’m JJ I’m 26. Chicken is my second favourite thing to eat in bed.. wanna know my first?”

“Sure” I engage.

“Your pussy” he points at me.

The boys all gasp- Cal looks pissed off though he knows it’s just jokes.

“JJ you know that’s another man’s job” I fire back, and swipe left.

“Ayyyyy!” All the boys jump around Cal. He laughs along with them.

“Hi. I’m Josh. Did it hurt when you fell from the vending machine?”

I look at him. Trying not to laugh.

“Because you’re a snack”

…..

“Freya.. how do you put up with him!” I swipe left.

“Hi I’m Callux. Your tits are fake but our love would be so real”

“They’re not even fake, Lux” I roll my eyes. Swiping left.

“Are they real mate?” Ethan asks.

“Mate.. so real” cal says as he approaches me.

I couldn’t hide my smile.

He smiles and winks at me before speaking. “Hi, I’m Cal. Rock paper scissors- I win I shag you..”

“Cal!” JJ gasps, laughing as the other boys gasp.

“You win you swipe left. Up for it?”

“Go for it”

“3,2,1”

Cal has paper. I have rock.

He places his hand over mine and holds it there for a sec. “Swipe right, baby” he smirks.

“Go on then” I gently push him to the right.

“You’ve got an exciting night ahead with those fake tits” Lux laughs.

“Lux I swear to god!”

“I’d like a try on those” Stephen smirks to Lux.

I approach Harry, standing beside my boyfriend.

“Harry, can I borrow this book?”

“Yeah sure” he hands me it, a bit confused.

I make my way over to Stephen and Lux and hit them on the head with the book.

Everyone laughs at their reaction.

“Ouch, y/n” Stephen rubs his head.

Lux laughs. “You’re jokes, y/n”

“Who invited you here?” Cal jokes, wrapping his arms around my waist holding me closer to him.

“Josh- very last minute” I chuckle.

“Glad he did” he kissed my head, holding my head in his hands.

“Can we go home?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Of course. Wanna stop off for food on the way home?” He asks, tucking hair behind my ears.

“You read my mind” I smile, grabbing his hand as we exit the studio. Saying our goodbyes as we leave.