#I just imagine evermore asking him to carry him all day

[spacefatcat]

Rick x Evermore is very funny

I like it

[deeppenguinstudent]

Raven elodie would be absolutely brutally sad in my imagination I fear.

Like imagine, when Jean gets marked, elodie is brought along tetsuji, and she's made to play under Jean like how jean did to Thea (so the media runs wild since riko and Kevin were considered half brothers and Jean and elodie full siblings are playing on court together in the future.)

She's trained under a senior dealer, but Edgar Allen doesn't let her stay in evermore because of her age. Anyways, once she finally reaches the line up or she essentially just joins Edgar, she resides in evermore. [The age thing does not make sense, but omg, please bear with me]. She's trained to be a dealer.

Feel like she would hate every Raven, Kevin included. Her body hurts, and her legs scream, but she doesn't care. As long as her brother is next to her. But one day, riko makes the backliners hold her down and watch what he does to Jean when she gets extra mouthy. She looks to Kevin at the side and watches him stand there with his eyes to the ground.

Why weren't they helping him? Her brother is gasping for air as the cloth hits his face, her brother is biting his lip as riko carves into his skin over and over. She watches Kevin try to pick up the pieces but she shoves him away and asks him to get the fuck away.

Her brother, the brother that used to hold her close when the children didn't want to play with her and tell her that the only friend she ever needed was him since the rest were all losers for not befriending her. Her brother, who always stood in front of her, once their father's whip struck and shielded her, was once again protecting her from monsters; abnormal people that only wanted to hurt.

She slowly cleans him up, and she retches as he teaches her how to stitch up his open wounds. They sleep together in the same bed that day, Jean crying because he doesn't want this life for her and elodie sobbing because she can't bear to watch people torment her brother any longer.

So she gets better. Zane and Grayson have been eyeing her since she came to evermore, mainly because she is probably going to be the next perfect court member, and they are angry. She allows the nasty scowls and the jibes from Grayson directed to Jean but steps in between when it gets gangrene. It's stupid she knows because both of them are 19 and look much more powerful than her undeveloped 15 year old self but she stares him down.

When kevin leaves, everything goes for worse. Rikos moods are temperamental, and none of the Ravens dare question the king. Elodie works until her body drops from exhaustion each and every night; she doesn't need to try this hard, she knows, but every mistake she makes, Jean will be punished for it and she couldn't afford that.

Riko even compliments her for once in practice as she manages to guard the defence better than grayson and he jokes and says she might be able to play beside her brother in perfect court and be a backliner instead of a dealer. This leaves grayson more furious than ever. Zane also stares at them with a sense of vexation.

She doesn't get it, really. She doesn't get it until Colleen whispers something soft into her ears, telling her to hurry up. She doesn't get it until she's pounding on the door of their shared room begging to be let in when she hears her brothers pained cries and pleas. She finally gets it when she sees Grayson with a blissed out expression and his zipper down as he whispers to her to get her whore brother cleaned up.

She slams the door behind her and places a chair in front of it. There, on the ground, she sees Jean. His eyes are dead, and no light is in them as he stares blankly at the wall. His thighs are dirtied with blood and cum and elodie feels like puking. His neck has numerous bitemarks, and his hips were bruised, and she systematically carries him to the bathroom and runs the water.

The water changes from clear to red as he soaks himself, and he looks her into the eyes, his cheeks stained with tears and mouth bitten red.

"You should have left with Kevin."

Elodie recalls the amount of punishment they both endured and her heart sobs with the implication that he thought she would leave him here to die under the hands of these monsters. She tries to smile but everything has been knocked of her, she can't see a future - she doesn't even know whether she'll be able to keep that last ember of desire to keep going burning until tomorrow.

But she has Jean and Jean has her. Nobody would understand him as well as she and vice versa. She would rebuild her brother piece by piece and give him pieces of her that have been carved out by Riko, snatched by the Ravens and willingly given to Kevin by Jean.

I like to imagine that Elodie is more outspoken, a dangerous piece on the board that's cunningly smart. She works around situations, and she knows how to trip up her teammates to be the best. She knows what it takes, and her determination is her strong point. While Jean was a survivor, elodie would be an analyser. She knows how to get under people's skin, she puts on a mask to be liked by the Ravens, and there's undoubtedly sure she would do anything to protect her brother.

So when she sees Andrew holding Jean's hand in a vice grip, she pushes him hard, under the hoax of oh, I'm sorry I had to get my shoe. When she sees Kevin again, she stares him down cold and doesn't let Jean reply to him opting to speak to him instead.

I have so many ideas for Raven elodie but I think it mainly stemmed from the audio, she's my sister and she's no bitch but I am tbh

[emry-stars-art]

Massarati was a courting gift to andrew from abram after he realized they were courting one another

My face reading this omggggggg

(Gonna put this up top instead of at the end; find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

So this is the 4800 words of fluff; @jtl-fics was bouncing a LOT of ideas with me about it and everything was so sweet 😭🥰 you can read it here! :D or continue on this post for the sparknotes version from Abram's pov (minus the picnic date tho 👀), and let’s showcase my inexperience with horses ✨

THIS IS GREAT I done got myself a little by making Maserati a rescue case… like Abram’s probably right about what happened to her though I didn’t fully decide on it (I’m also making up everything about horse breeds in this universe thank youuu). He’s out one day for whatever reason and comes across this horse in no pasture that’s tall, clearly made for working, but it’s far too skinny. A little skiddish, but not enough that Abram can’t approach after a while of trying. It’s a familiar breed under the dirt and malnutrition.

He doesn’t even bother seeing where it might have come from. He fashions a makeshift lasso/bridle thing from rope and takes a few hours calming the horse enough to bring it back with him to the castle, leaving it in one of the smaller/less used stables with plenty of food and water before going to find Day or someone else that might be able to help. She doesn’t look impressive at first, obviously. But with lots of help and lots of time from Abram taken in secret to the stables, she slowly starts to get better. She gains weight, she gets readjusted to people, she lets him take care of her coat and hair.

At some point, Andrew insists once again on keeping Abram nearby when Abram is having a worse night than usual. Panicking easily, generally unwell. (Andrew is also wondering why Abram is suddenly spending so much time away, why he won’t tell Andrew where he’s been or what he’s doing. It’s completely in his right to do it, so Andrew never forces the issue, but it’s such an obvious switch from his normal behavior. Right when Andrew thought he could start leaning into the courting, it feels like Abram is pulling away and it hurts a little. He gets worried.) Abram can’t sleep, and Andrew won’t sleep until Abram does, so they lay on his bed with Andrew resting against Abram’s lap, relaxing or reading or tracing scars with his fingertips. It’s a long while before Abram asks, unprompted, “Did you ever have an ideal horse?”

Andrew gives him a look.

“I mean… a dream horse. Maybe when you were little, something you always wanted.”

Andrew makes a small noise. “I think most kids do.”

“Right. So did you?”

It takes more convincing than that, lots of Abram assuring Andrew that it’s not stupid, he’s just curious. He’ll tell Andrew his next. And finally Andrew tells Abram of when he was young, living with the Spears, and would fantasize about being anywhere else. He’d take a horse as black as night so no one would see him when he ran away, a horse that was strong and fast enough to take him wherever he wanted to go. He used to imagine it would carry two, so he could take his governess with him, but that was before she left. It was all child’s play, anyway. It didn’t matter now. (Abram’s horse wasn’t so detailed, but he said if he had to pick a coat color, he was very happy with the blue roan he was given.)

So the next time Abram goes to the stable he looks at her, sees how well she’s bulking up, sees again how much larger she is than the Friesians he’s used to from Evermore. She looks even stronger than those already capable horses. When she’s healthy she can certainly carry two riders and more besides, and her endurance is like the horse equivalent of his own. Her coat is getting shiny again, sleek like black oil.

When she’s healthy and ready, Abram trains her. He again has help, of course - there are people who’s jobs it is to take care of and train the castle’s horses and it isn’t him - but she has an undeniable soft spot for Abram. They get her used to being fully decked out in nice tack and equipment and whatever else. Abram holds her steady to get shoed. The veterinarians/au equivalent make sure she stays healthy and the stable master grows more impressed with her every day. She’s not your average horse, he tells Abram. She’s smart. There’s real intelligence in those eyes.

Abram could not be happier.

By the time the twins’ birthday comes around she is ready to go. Abram spends the morning before his work begins making sure she is as sparkling as he can get her, all ready for her favorite stable hand to take her to the main stables later while Abram attends the prince at the festivities. The stable hand is going to put her in her new tack, too, the beautiful white set Abram spent a good chunk of coin to have commissioned. The horse is perfectly well mannered around people now, though only Abram and a handful others can ride her. Abram only plans his evening because he knows she lets anyone ride alongside him - if Abram deems them worthy, the horse won’t protest. It isn’t trust he ever takes lightly. He’s pretty certain she’ll end up allowing Andrew every privilege she allows Abram. He is so excited and so, so nervous for that night. She’s as perfect as she could possibly be, but Andrew has gotten Abram so many wonderful gifts. This is the first time Abram has returned the favor with such intention. Hopefully it’s good enough. (She is.)

Oh also in case you’re wondering. Andrew only needs a new horse because his beloved GS was finally retired, GS is old and now gets to spend the rest of his days in nice pastures where Andrew feeds him lots of treats 💕 every like is one sugar cube gods bless

[bi-bard]

Never - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Never

Pairing: Winchester Brothers X Platonic!Reader

Requested: by @shinestuart

Word Count: 1,084 words

Warning(s): torture, injury, cussing

Summary: (Season 11) It was stupid of the boys to believe that Amara was unaware of the one thing that could've killed her. Now, they had to face the consequences of dragging (Y/n) into the hunting world.

Author's Note: I kinda worked with my imagine "Milkshakes" more than anything else. I think it was where I most explicitly noted the reader as a weapon.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

------------------------------------

I gasped as I woke up.

I looked around. It was a warehouse or an old factory. It was dark and empty. The windows were too high for me to see out of. I didn't see any light coming through them. It was nighttime.

There were candles surrounding the whole building. I wasn't pegging Amara for the "pay the electrical bill" type. She was definitely more of the, "make sure to set the mood" type.

I was tied to a metal cross. My arms spread out, wrists tied to either end. My legs tied together and to the pole behind me. There was another rope around my waist to hold me still.

Amara stood before me. Grace and power. The two elements that could perfectly instill fear. I pulled on the restraints on my arms.

"Hello," she greeted. "I believe you know my brother."

"Not personally," I bit back. I had only known them for a matter of months, but Sam and Dean had already impacted how I acted.

She chuckled.

I tugged on my restraints again.

"I know about you," she explained. "God's perfect weapon. Probably that only thing that could defeat me."

"You should be scared of me then."

"Oh, no," Amara held and hand out and I felt my throat closing. "I don't need to. First of all, the- admittedly complex- sigil carved into that pole will stop your powers. Second of all... I have an offer. You have two choices, you can die or... you work with me."

She stopped choking me. I coughed as I tried to catch my breath.

I looked her in the eye, "Go to hell."

Suddenly, she was right in front of me, grabbing my jaw so I couldn't move my head.

"What was that," she sneered.

"I said, 'go to hell,'" I replied. She let go of my chin. "I will not help you destroy the world."

"Why because it's so great?"

"Because the people I love are here."

"The people the Winchesters dragged you away from?"

I fell silent, clenching my jaw.

Suddenly, I was choking again.

"You have nothing keeping you here. Join me and I can give you a purpose. Teach you to use your gift."

She released her grip again. I spit in her face.

"No," I said with a shaky voice.

It felt like I took a phantom punch to the gut.

"Oh sweetie," she teased. "You are in for a long night."

--time skip--

She was right.

It felt like days of the same cycle. Hitting, choking, and then negotiating for me to join her.

I always said no.

I held onto my free will and was ready to face death for it.

My body was weaker now. Arms barely holding up, legs weak, my head hanging down.

I yelped when there was a sudden jerk on my hair.

"You could make this all stop," she taunted.

"Go. To. Hell," I repeated like I always had.

She growled at me and used her powers to grab my throat, "You ungrateful, cowardly, selfish little-"

Amara didn't finish her speech before she was thrown into the far wall behind me.

I could barely even process what was happening before Sam was in front of me, untying the ropes.

"Sam," I muttered, voice weak and head spinning.

"We're here, we've got you," he promised.

I reached out and grabbed his shoulders as he worked on the ropes by my legs.

"What's going on," I asked.

"I'll explain in a minute," he said.

Sam was then thrown across the room. I almost collapsed as disappeared.

I was frantic.

I pulled at the ropes around my legs, convinced that I was going to die in a minute. My legs were weak and probably had some blood flow cut off earlier.

"Hey, hey," Dean was at the side of the platform, helping me down carefully. "There you go."

"I got them," Sam promised, running over from wherever he had been thrown. "Go help Cas and Chuck."

Who the hell was Chuck?

He helped me into the backseat, "Are you okay?"

"I feel like one massive bruise," I muttered. He sat next to me, letting me rest on his shoulder. "You should go help them."

Sam shook his head, "No, I was told to protect you."

I nodded against his shoulder. I was getting tired after all that had happened.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It was my idea to drag you into this world. I knew the risk but I was just so desperate to stop Amara that I... I didn't care."

"I'm okay," I moved so my chin was on his shoulder. "I just need to work more."

"You shouldn't have to carry this weight-"

"I wouldn't have agreed to go with you guys if I thought that," I cut him off. "I'm alright now, Sam. Don't blame yourself for this."

Sam didn't speak. I knew that he didn't believe me. But he didn't speak against me either. He just wrapped his arm around me and held me close to his side.

It was only a minute longer before the others came running out. Dean, Cas, and... that must've been Chuck.

"Who is that," I mumbled to Sam.

"You alright, kid," Dean asked as he got into the driver's seat. Sam didn't have time to answer my question.

"I'm alive," I replied. "Is Amara-"

"She vanished on us," he said. Cas got into the passenger seat and Chuck sat in the back with Sam and me.

"Here, let me," Chuck reached over a touched my forehead.

I took a deep breath as I felt myself healing.

"Better," he asked. I nodded, still tired and not getting off of Sam's shoulder. "I should introduce myself. I'm Chuck... or God."

"What," I asked, now overwhelmed. "You're... You're God?"

"He's telling the truth," Dean promised as he pulled out onto the road quickly.

"Woah," I muttered. "Some of your angels are dicks."

Chuck let out a laugh at my blunt comment. I saw the rest of the car tense up.

"Yeah... that's my fault."

"Oh, I know," I nodded. "Thank you... for helping them save me."

"You're welcome," he grinned at me.

I closed my eyes, relaxing against Sam's shoulder again, wrapping my arms around one of his. I slowly let myself fall asleep.

I knew this life was going to be hard when I first met the boys and I was ready for that. I'd rather it be me suffering than the rest of the world.

------------------------------------

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[damn-stark]

Branded

Chapter 14 of Different light

A/N- This series will only get more exciting!!! I can’t wait!!

Warning- Angst, violence, talks of death and self harm, SLOWBURN.

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“You know what you have to do,” his voice hissed in your ear.

It was now a memory, but it was so persistent that you swear he’s repeatedly saying the plan in your ear. It made the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck stand up, it made your fear heighten and made you jumpy and unaware of your surroundings.

Yet that memory wasn’t as bothersome as the dark mark on your arm.

Or maybe that’s what kept the memory of the plan so fresh in your mind, because everytime you looked at the black outline, it was a painful reminder of the burden you now carried on your shoulders. Everyday after you got it marked on your arm was a reminder of the burden you now carried, a burden you couldn’t keep Draco away from. As much as you fought, he fell into the dark pit with you.

Yet there was one positive side to all the chaos. Draco and you were closer than ever before. It seemed that you were both inseparable now. He was kinder to you, he had dropped whatever petty, foolish anger he had for you and he no longer poked fun at you, nor did he annoy you, just like you didn’t annoy him either.

Perhaps it was because of how he had found out about your Dark Mark...that too was something you couldn’t forget—Draco had barged into your room after returning from school, he didn’t knock, nor give any warning he was coming. He just barged into the room most likely to demand an answer on why you never returned, or simply just to bother you about what had unfolded, that he was going to snitch. It doesn’t really matter why, all that mattered was he barged in. And when he did, he found you in the corner of your room, basked in darkness violently trying to scratch the Dark Mark off your arm, sobbing and bleeding on the floor.

Draco had stayed stunned in front of you, lost on what to do, he called at you to stop, but you only cried out harder and tried harder to remove that brand off. Draco tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, he was too stunned to this unknown part of you. So instead he ran to get Narcissa and watched her calm you down from behind her.

You never meant for him to see you, you wanted to keep a strong facade for him, but he caught you off guard. So maybe it was pity that made him change his attitude towards you. That or shared trauma now since you both shared the same burden.

Whatever it was, you were happy that you weren’t completely alone.

“So how did it go? Can he fix it?” You asked Draco promptly as you saw him walk out of the shop, Borgin and Burkes and join your side.

Draco scoffed and he shot a last glare at the shop. “The stupid old man is useless he can’t fix it without seeing it. How did you escape mother?”

You both stop a few feet away from the shop briefly to discuss what couldn’t be shared with Narcissa before you met up with her again. “It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get her off our back. So what are we going to do now? It’s not like we can move the damn thing. It’s enormous.”

A sly smirk curled onto Draco’s thin lips and he confidently revealed what didn’t surprise you. “I threw my fist down and threatened the old idiot, he was basically shaking out of fear, he’ll be cooperative and try something for a change.”

No matter how close you were, how much different he was, there were some parts of him that remained the same. It was the worst parts too. You wanted to scold him on his spiteful behavior, but as you parted your lips to argue, a bang close by the shop caught your attention. Both Draco and you looked to your side to identify what it had been, but when you looked there was nothing, the street was empty.

You kept your eyes searching the area for a moment longer while you dropped the subject and began to urge him away. “Let’s go.”

Draco didn’t hesitate to do as you said, leading the way out of Knockturn Alley and joining the main alley where nothing but the new big, bright shop of the Weasley Twins stuck out like a sore thumb even from several feet away. And how could it not with most shops closed because of what was happening in the Wizarding world. People disappearing out of the blue.

The news of the Dark Lord returning made everyone finally cautious and believe what had been repeatedly denied. Even if you were part of his cult, Narcissa was evermore so cautious and protective too, it seemed she was even careful around her own sister, she clung unto Draco and you, it was a surprise she even let Draco and you out of her sight.

But because she was out of sight for now, it left you with the perfect chance to wander off on your own.

“Draco, I’m going to see if I can find something to get rid of this scar,” you speak up as you come to a stop a few feet away from the joke shop. “Let’s meet up in the middle of Diagon Alley in fifteen.”

Your brother stops in his tracks and turns to meet your gaze, he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at you with a raised brow. “Alone?”

“Yes,” you nod, “I’m sure you have things left to get.”

“I suppose.” He squints his eyes and tries to see if there were cracks through your facade. But he found none. “Fine.” With one last look he turns and walks down the cobblestone street, turning a corner and disappearing to another street. Letting you put your hood on and slowly turn on your heels to walk towards the joke shop. Feeling as if with every step you took forward they became heavier, and your heart thumped faster. The need to turn around and just reunite with Draco was tempting, but you knew if you didn’t see your friends dreams come true you'd regret it.

So just as you reached the top of the small flight of stairs, you drew in a deep breath and slowly breathed it out as you stretched your hand out and pushed the door open. In that exact moment that you pushed the doors open, getting welcomed by the bright shop packed with many young people. As you stepped in, everywhere you looked there was something to see, different items that caught your eye and nothing left bland. There were things to use for pranks, and items for jokes, the whole shop just screamed out fun and joy. Everything was as expected for you, everything was what they talked about and you couldn’t help but let happiness fill your heart. You were proud of their achievement.

“Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, you freeze and lift your eyes from the shelf of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, to look at a purple wall and hesitate to look to the side to identify who it had been who called your name. Albeit they of course walked to your side to speak to you before you could run away.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

You slowly twist your head to land your eyes on a familiar, cute brunette. “Harry.” You smile faintly, lifting your hand to pull your hood forward and try to cover the scar on your cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

His blue eyes stay on you and search your face and study your figure until he once again persists in talking to you when all you wanted was to go undetected. “It’s good to see you’re okay, you had me worried when I didn’t see you return to school.”

“Oh,” you drop your smile and feel your body tense. “Yeah, well, I got in trouble for being in the Ministry of Magic. I’m returning to school though and well it’s not like I missed much, I passed every class.”

“It’s still a bummer though.”

While on the subject of previous events, the memory of the loss he endured came to mind….not like it ever left, you would see Sirius Black’s death in your dreams many times. You couldn’t imagine what Harry was going through. You can’t even comprehend why he even approached you just now. He should be furious.

“About that day,” you mutter with an audible crack in your voice. “I’m sorry about what happened Harry...I’m sorry for your loss.”

Said boy's demeanor faltered and his eyes flickered away, but he only showed a faint sign of grief before he met your gaze and replied kindly. “Thank you.” A moment of silence passed and that’s when he caught a glimpse of your scar. “What happened to your cheek? Did you get hurt that day?”

He tries to approach you, but you quickly step back and cover the thing with your hand. “No.” You try to assure him with a lie. “Not that day...it was a spell gone bad. Nothing...to worry about,” you finish with an assuring smile.

His eyebrows furrow and he tries to keep his eyes on you, but you avert your gaze and try to just escape before he could see your lie. “Well I should—”

“I think it’s cool,” he blurts, causing you to snap your gaze back to him and feel your breathing hitch. “It suits you, you shouldn’t hide it.”

“I…” you pause and feel your face burn, and your eyes soften, you try to hold back your genuine smile, but you couldn’t help but show it proudly. “Thank you, Harry.” You share a lingering gaze and you notice his eyes drop to your lips, but just before you could do the same you remember where you are and the time limit you had. “I should go find Draco, he should be looking for me.” You move to walk past him, and as you make it past him, he points out something that makes you stiffen.

“I saw him in Knockturn Alley, you should look there.”

You swallow thickly, but turn to show him an unfazed sweet smile. “Thank you, I’ll see you at school.”

Harry waves at you and keeps his eyes on you until you successfully leave the store without catching the twins attention, and shamefully leaving without what you wanted to get.

Yet it wasn’t a bad trip, no matter what happened before, or the time went without being able to talk to him, Harry still made butterflies flutter in your stomach. After all this time.

——

“So what did you do this summer, Pansy?” You question the brunette in the compartment seat across from you, averting your gaze from the way she was stroking your brother's hair in her lap, and pushing aside the fact that you had found her annoying and rude many times before, because now none of it really mattered.

“I went to my vacation house in Italy,” Pansy revealed proudly, “I of course invited your brother to come, but he never answered my letter.”

“I was busy doing better things,” Draco said, hiding the fact that he wanted to gloat.

You rest your chin on your hand and sigh as you look at the sun beginning to hide behind the green passing valleys outside the compartment window. “A vacation sounds nice, I wish I could've gone to that one Island in the Atlantic. Going there still sounds tempting, I might just drop out and escape there.”

A smile spreads on Pansy’s lips, but Draco does the opposite and frowns, kicking your leg with his foot and seething out, “that’d be idiotic.”

You roll your eyes and hiss out, “it’s better than doing this.” Of course by “this” you meant what was connected to the brand on your arm. Who you had to work for.

“Blaise about time,” Draco said as the Zabini siblings returned from their private dinner with a new Professor named Slughorn. “What did Slughorn want?”

Clementine slides on the empty seat next to you and offers you a quick warm smile—No matter what you tried to do to keep her away this summer, or tried to do to avoid her today, she was stubborn about sticking by your side. She alongside her brother were there at your house the day after they returned from school, (albeit Blaise was probably forced to be there), nonetheless she didn’t let you isolate yourself and even if she didn’t know what you were forced to be, forced to do exactly, she was one of the few people that kept you yourself. Not a death eater, but yourself.

“Just wanted to make up to well-connected people,” Blaise answered as he sat across Draco and next to his sister. “Not that he managed to find many.”

Draco scoffs and throws himself off Pansy’s lap to demand a more clear answer. “Who else was invited?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” Clementine chimed in.

“He only got invited because of his uncle's popularity in the Ministry.” Blaise continued for her. “Then someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw.”

“Not him,” Pansy exclaimed, “he’s a prat!”

You slid your elbow off the table and fully focused on the conversation, whilst also noticing the judgmental little stare Clementine and Blaise shared over Pansy, before Clementine continued to share names. “Regardless, Longbottom, Harry Potter, and that Weasley girl were also there.”

Draco's eyes widened and a scorching fire fueled by jealousy filled his eyes and seeped through his tone. “Longbottom?! What’s he got that's so interesting?”

The Zabini siblings shrug and Draco continues to seeth out his venom. “And of course, Potter, precious Potter. Obviously he wanted to look at the Chosen one. But that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her!”

“Careful Draco, anymore spiteful comments and I might think you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous! As if!” Draco scoffs dramatically and throws Blaise and you a glare as you both snicker at his overly dramatic reaction—“Well I pity Slughorn's taste,” Draco quickly changes his tone to a much more overconfident one whilst he lays back on Pansy’s lap. “Maybe he’s got a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn, probably hasn’t heard my sister and I are on the train or—”

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” Blaise interjected, “Slughorn asked us about Notts father when my sister and I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott wasn’t invited was he? I don’t think Slughorn’s got interest in Death Eaters.”

Draco and you share a quick panicked look, whilst Clementine smacks her brother's arm to scold him for such a true, yet daring comment. He of course pays no mind to it and just rubs his arm while Draco looks angry, but passes it off with a humorless laugh. You on the other hand just shift in your seat awkwardly, but don’t give any other reaction to it. You just let it fly over your head. Unlike your brother. “Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher. I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year. What a pathetic excuse for a school, I think I'll pitch myself off the astronomy tower before I have to continue for another two years.”

“Don’t say things like that, Draco,” you seeth.

“It’s true.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pansy demanded just as concerned.

“Let’s just say I don’t think you’ll see me wasting my time in charms class next year.”

Blaise snickers at Draco’s comment, making Draco pull his gaze from whatever he was looking at on top of his head to look at his friend and remark. “Amused Blaise? Let’s just see who’s laughing in the end.”

You look away from Draco and look down at your rings around your fingers and sigh. “I see Hogwarts, we better get our robes on.”

The Zabini siblings at your side slide off the seat to get their robes on and let you out to do the same. You walk to the rack above and reach for your small luggage, swinging it down and in that exact moment seeming to hear some type of gasp come from above. You look over your head, and from the corner of your eye you see Draco beside you seeming to look for the same source of sound. Yet, before you could investigate more, Clementine pulls your attention away. “Oh, I love your outfit, where’d you get it?”

You smile and glance at your clothes, “a shop in Paris. I’ll try to remember exactly where and I’ll tell you.”

“You better.” She finishes as she, like you and everyone else, pull on your green robes, waiting as the train comes to a shaky stop to wait for others to file out of the corridors to do so yourselves. Stopping at the door however, to look back at Draco lagging behind.

“You four go on,” Draco told you four by the door, “I just want to check on something.”

“Uh,” you hesitate for a moment, “okay.” Nonetheless you follow Clementine, Blaise and Pansy outside. You had the intention to wait for Draco, but nevertheless you were dragged to the carriage and returned to school. Where at least the atmosphere, the buildings, the halls, something as small and as insignificant as a decoration felt in many ways assuring. Seeing all of it made you happy to return to school. Unlike how home felt now….school was bright and an enjoyable place to be in. It was a chance to escape being home, you couldn’t avoid responsibility being here, but you avoided seeing the evil that you had to work for now.

The one thing that prevented this place to be a truly comforting place was seeing Professor Dumbledore. At the sight of him sitting down at the end of the hall, your heart dropped to your stomach, your breathing hitched and everything happening around you seemed to move at a slow pace; that’s where the loud commotion that was happening around the room seemed to tune out and drift to the back of your head, letting the cold words of Voldemort, echo loudly. “You know what you have to do.”

Chills spread all over your body and your chest tightened. Just as you could began to feel guilt deep through your mind, you snap yourself from your stupor and walk to sit around your house table, spotting Draco finally walk in alone and sit in between his friends, glancing towards Dumbledore just like you had and visabally seeming to mentally drift himself away from this room. Not like you were any different. Seeing Dumbledore reminded you what position you were in, it reminded you that you, like Draco, were in the dark pit surrounded by venomous snakes. No way out, no hope for—

Suddenly, before you could finish your thought, the sight of Harry walking into the hall incredibly late catches your eye. You sit up straight, but frown as you notice that he was bleeding from his nose. You have the itch to ask if he was okay, but you keep yourself glued to your seat and stay with the concern. Not like you had the time to ask him anything because Professor Dumbledore didn’t wait a moment longer to finally address the hall filled with students.

“Very best of evening to you all. First off let me introduce the newest member of our staff, Horace Slughorn,” the professor points to him as the new professor stands up and receives a big round of applause. “Slughorn, I'm happy to say, has agreed to resume his old post as potions master. Meanwhile the post Defense against the Dark Arts will be taken by Professor Snape.” Another round of applause erupts around the room, whilst you, like before, stay silent and just listen. But that got hard as the topic was changed to the master you served…

——

“...You know what you have to do…”

Your eyes snap away from the grey sky outside to focus on the tall man in all black in front of you.

“No one must know who you both work for, the brands on your arm must always remain hidden.” Professor Snape reminds Draco and you. “No matter how much either of you think you can trust your friends, you can’t tell them anything of what your plan is, or what you do outside of school. Everything stays between us. And if either of you need help—”

“No,” Draco cuts him in an agitated tone. “We don’t need your help because that task alone is meant for my sister and I. No matter what promises you seemed to make to our mother, we will find a way to do it all alone. We aren’t children.”

“Perhaps not.” Snape snapped back just as coldly, “but need I remind you this is not some school project Draco. This is a task for the Dark Lord, and if you get this wrong your entire family, including your sister and you will pay for it. Now is not the time to poison yourself with your pride. Accept the help you get offered. Because even your father knows how to play well with others.”

“I know that.” Draco hissed. “We are getting help. We just don’t need your help.” Draco shoots Snape a cold glare before sharply turning on his heels and storming out of Snape's office. Leaving you to clean up his mess.

“Thank you, Professor. We appreciate the advice, and I’ll try to make him come around.” You turn to leave, and as your hand is on the door handle, Snape throws out one last comment.

“How about you remind your brother what manners are as well. Seems with all the stress he’s gone under, he’s forgotten what those are.”

You respond with a stiff nod before walking out of the office and meeting Draco at the end of the dark hall. “Draco, you need to be kinder, he’s just trying to help.”

Said boy scoffs and shakes his head. “We don’t need his help. The task was given to us alone. Not us and Snape.”

“I know but—”

“But nothing,” Draco interjects, “we can’t afford messing this up. Not after father got sent to prison.”

You sigh and drop your gaze to the stone floor as you begin walking out of the corridor. “Right.”

“We’re going to make father proud.”

You blink to look ahead as you turn to another hall. You don’t answer Draco, but he didn’t need a confirmation to know you thought the same. Not like he'd hear any of it at the moment. His mind was solely focused on the door that could, or could not appear on the big empty wall ahead of you.

You passed by some birds chirping inside their cage, and stopped in front of the empty wall to wait. At first you thought the door you needed wouldn’t open, but you got proven wrong as the outline began to appear exactly as it did last year. Only this time the door led to another room. One packed with hundreds of lost, stored and hidden things that were packed away in tall towers scattered around the room, while the bigger items were more isolated around the room. The further you walked in, the more you saw inside the room of requirement. It was truly fascinating.

It was all breathtaking, except for the one item you came here to find. The one item that was the key to setting your plan in motion.

You stop before it, lifting your gaze to study it, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and goosebumps to grow on your arms. Nevertheless You stretch your hand out to feel the wood under your fingers, to just let yourself know that this was all real and not a nightmare. You turn to look at Draco, seeing him throw and catch a green apple in his hand, whilst he stops beside you and drifts his eyes away from the cabinet to meet your gaze, showing a serious expression that you could tell was laced with fear he was trying hard to hide.

“We’re going to fix it,” you say in the best assuring voice you could manage. “We’re going to fix this vanishing cabinet to complete our mission. I promise. We’re going to make mother and father proud.”

.

.

.

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog , @spideyyypeter , @gsvshsjsbs, @accio-prozac , @cherriesanwine , @kokomaesadie @april-14-blog , @prettypinkpeachh , @pest-ill-ence , @ilovespideyyy , @m3ssytrash , @hogwarts-babe-blog , @yodaboo , @rafeyybabyy , @ms-dont-care , @seninjakitey , @aqua0928

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

[iwanthermidnightz]

When she was 18, Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Fifteen.” “Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine,” she sang, sounding more like a wizened great-grandmother than a rising senior.

“Fifteen” is evocative, if a little sanitized: Nimble mandolin strums mimic the nervous-excited butterflies of the first day of high school, as Swift sings of wide-eyed hope that “one of those senior boys will wink at you and say, ‘You know I haven’t seen you around before.’”

There was a certain emotional truth to the lyrics — do several years’ age difference ever seem more consequential than when you’re a teenager? — but some older listeners were skeptical. “You applaud her skill,” wrote a critic for the Guardian in a mixed review of Swift’s second album, “Fearless,” “while feeling slightly unsettled by the thought of a teenager pontificating away like Yoda.”

Swift, now 31, sings, “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” on “Folklore,” an LP that is both compositionally mature and braided throughout with references to the specific, oft-denigrated wisdom of teenagers. By the end of that song, “Cardigan,” the narrator has excavated such a heap of florid but emotionally lucid memories that she must conclude, with the force of a sudden revelation, “I knew everything when I was young.”

Though it’s not as flashy a topic as exes, fame or A-list celebrity feuds, age has long been a recurring theme in Swift’s work. A numerology enthusiast with a particular attachment to 13, Swift has also released a handful of songs whose titles refer to specific ages: “Seven,” “Fifteen,” and, of course, “22,” the chatty “Red” hit on which she summed up that particular junction of emerging adulthood as feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” Like her contemporary Adele, Swift seems to enjoy time-stamping her music, sometimes presenting it like a public-facing scrapbook that will always remind her what it felt like to be a certain age — even if, with their millions of fans and armfuls of Grammys, neither of these women is exactly typical.

Swift’s critics have often seemed even more hyper attuned to her age. Perhaps because precocity played such a role in her story from the beginning — at 14, she became the youngest artist to sign a publishing deal with Sony/ATV; at 20, she became the youngest to win the album of the year Grammy — many listeners have been fascinated with how her evolution into adulthood has, or hasn’t, played out in her songs. People comb Swift’s lyrics for allusions to sex, alcohol and profanity as meticulously as MPAA representatives do a borderline-PG movie. Particular attention was paid to her 2017 album “Reputation” and its several mentions of drunkenness and dive bars — even though Swift was 27 when it came out.

The relative puritanism of Swift’s music up until “Reputation” did feel like an intentional decision: Unlike the female pop stars who broadcast their “loss of innocence” as a sudden and irrevocable transformation, Swift seemed acutely conscious that she did not want to repel younger listeners — or lose the approval of their parents. At best, it felt like an acceptance of her status as a role model; at worst, it had the whiff of a marketing strategy.

But the mounting obsession with whether Swift was “acting her age” also reflected a larger societal double standard. Famous or not, women face much more intense scrutiny around age, whether it’s those constant cultural reminders of the biological clock’s supposed ticking or the imperative that women of all ages stay “fresh-faced” or risk their own obsolescence. (“People say I’m controversial,” Madonna said in 2016. “But I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around.”) And while girlish youth and ingenuity are rewarded in some contexts, they’re also easily dismissed as silly and frivolous as soon as that girl strays too close to the sun — as Swift has experienced time and again.

Despite having once been a teenage girl myself (unlike a lot of music critics), I confess that I am not completely free of these internalized biases. I was initially dismissive of “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince,” a song that appeared on Swift’s 2019 album “Lover.” The first few times I heard it, I wondered what a grown woman on the cusp of 30 was doing still writing about homecoming queens and teenage gossip.

But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the song and its dark vision, which acknowledges cruelty, depression and the threat of sexual violence (“Boys will be boys then, where are the wise men?”) more directly than any of the songs Swift wrote when she was an actual teenager. The senior boys in this song are not the sort who wink and say to freshman girls wholesome things like, “Haven’t seen you around before” — which, unfortunately, makes them feel more authentic. Even the title “Miss Americana” alludes to a larger world outside the high school walls, and the greater systemic forces that keep such patterns repeating well into adulthood.

“Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” now feels like a precursor to some of the richest songs on “Folklore,” which finds Swift returning once again to her school days with the keen, selectively observant eye of an adult. Consider “Seven,” an impressionistic recreation of her perspective at that age. The second verse, charmingly, plays like a first-grader’s breathless sequence of unguarded observations:

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why/And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry.”

But “Seven” is not cutesy so much as poignant, because of the tensions that result when Swift’s adult perspective interjects. “Please, picture me in the trees, before I learned civility,” she sings in a yearning soprano, prompting the listener to wonder what sorts of feral pleasure she — and all of us — have exchanged for the supposed “civility” of adulthood.

Quite a few songs on “Evermore,” Swift’s second release of 2020, also toggle between past and present, conscious of what is lost and gained by the passage of time. The playful “Long Story Short” passes a note to Swift’s younger self (“Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things”), while “Dorothea,” like “Seven,” revisits a fevered childhood friendship from the cool perspective of adulthood.

Most striking is the bonus track “Right Where You Left Me,” a twangy tale of a “girl who got frozen” (“Time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it/She’s still 23, inside her fantasy”). That language echoes something Swift admits in the 2020 Netflix documentary “Miss Americana”: “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. And that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a lot of growing up to do just trying to catch up to 29.”

But Swift’s recent songs, at their best, understand that “growing up” isn’t always a linear progression in the direction of something more valuable. Take the “Folklore” songs “Cardigan” and “Betty,” which use an interconnected set of characters to chronicle teenage drama and celebrate the heightened emotional knowledge of youth. “I’m only 17, I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you,” Swift sings in the voice of James, a high schooler who broke Betty’s heart and has shown up on her doorstep to ask forgiveness. Maybe that is a melodramatic thing to do; maybe it is the sort of thing adults could stand to do more often. Swift’s music helps us to remember that growing up doesn’t automatically mean growing wiser — it can just as easily mean compromise, self-denial and growing numb to emotions we once felt with bracing intensity.

In a gesture to regain control of her songs, Swift is currently rerecording her first six albums (her master recordings were recently sold by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings to the investment firm Shamrock Capital). Last month she released a note-for-note update of her early hit “Love Story,” and has promised to release an entire new-old version of “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” later this year. It has been amusing to think of Swift going back and inhabiting the voice of her teenage self: On the face of it, “Fifteen” is particularly surreal to imagine her singing as an adult.

In another way, though, “Fifteen” — with its distant reflections on the youthful folly of expectations — makes more sense and carries more emotional weight being sung by a 30-something than it does an 18-year-old. Perhaps Swift was preparing for such an exercise when she made “Folklore,” an album that shakes off years of scrutiny and finds her reveling in the creative freedom to be as young or as old as she wants to be.

[hockeyboysiguess]

coney island | e. pettersson

a/n: like many people, i’ve been listening to evermore pretty much exclusively on repeat since it came out. this is the first fully formed fic idea i’ve had from it. it’s very, very angsty, just as a heads up, but i’m proud of it and i hope you appreciate it.

word count: 4,954

wine pairing recommendation: a cold glass of very dry chardonnay. 

warnings: swearing, implied smut if you squint, alcohol, a crap ton of angst.

Love was hard. People had told you that, your parents, grandparents, his parents, random jaded old women you swore you would never be like when they saw you holding his hand in the streets of Vancouver. Everyone told you it was harder than it seemed at first glance, the complexities infinitely expanding the deeper into it you fell, never ending, never becoming less complicated, never relenting. All of it fell on deaf ears and you pushed their words out of his head later every single night, utterances of how you and Elias were different as they fell from wine stained lips, breathed out with alcohol tainted breaths and laughter. He breathed them back to you in reply, drunk on you and him and everything you two knew you could be. You weren’t deep into the maze then, still at the outside, where decisions were as simple as right and left. 

Turned out that the skeptics were speaking from experience not jealousy like you prayed to each other each night. Now, the maze ran so deep, spidering through every crevice of your life that you were long lost in it, Elias lost in a part that might as well have been infinitely far away from you because you couldn’t find him anymore in it. You stopped wandering deeper ages ago. Instead you found a safe hiding spot in the maze and built a fire to keep yourself warm without him, but you stayed in the maze of your conjoined lives, and so did Elias. Neither of you knew what outside of the maze looked like anymore and the unknown and it’s endless possibilities for terrible things was more terrifying than abhorrent mediocrity, so you both stayed, miles apart in a shared life, with no hope of finding your way back to each other. 

Neither of you wanted to push deeper into the maze. You had found a holding pattern, orbiting each other and disappointing each other in even strokes that it was all the worst kind of wash you could have ever imagined. Sometimes, bombs went off in the maze that wouldn’t have been bombs if you had been willingly travelling through it together. The bomb this time was the gift-wrapped suburban dream that showed up in the form of Bo shoving a realtor’s card into Elias’s hand, along with the promise that she could find the home for you and him to build a family together in, since it was time for that. The fact that it was time for that never settled properly, an ill-fitting, both too tight and too loose bandage trying desperately to pull two people who were miles apart together inside of 3,000 square feet as if the physical boundary of shared space would fix the chasm between you. The dream of a life with him in a house like the ones you were looking at was all in shades of gray for you. It was the future, but it felt like the past, like looking at an old movie you had never seen before. Beautiful, but so clearly out of place and out of time. Looking at the houses, each one nicer than the last, the foot of space between you felt as wide as the city. You were looking at houses, places to build a home, that you couldn’t have been able to look at without him, and you were looking without restriction, but you knew it was out of responsibility, an obligation, for the both of you. 

You and Elias ran out of time together too long ago, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge it. There was comfortability in each other, even if it was because you both had so much space in your relationship that even this house, the perfect house by every metric other than the fact that it would never be filled with love, couldn’t bring you together long enough to pretend it wasn’t there. You would always be standing at the furthest points of this house from each other, hoping you never had to acknowledge it. The dream was as cold as the pristine countertops and you hated them. You hated the room the realtor said could be a nursery more. It made you sick. Elias grimaced. You two hadn’t related to each other in a long time, but in that moment, you couldn’t have been on the same wavelength more. 

You signed the papers the day and the keys felt coldest of all in your hand, but yet, when you and Elias stood in your new living room, he asked the question he was supposed to ask anyway.

“Are you excited?” 

The question was a lie as soon as it was formed. He didn’t want to ask if you were excited. He knew you weren’t because he wasn’t. His life was lived in increasingly medium shades of gray, the blue having been drained from the sky over the maze a long time ago. But he was here, and he was asking the question, so you gave the answer the question deserved. 

“So excited.” You spoke with such practiced niceties that the only person who knew they were fake was, unfortunately, the person receiving them. “The house is perfect.” 

The house was perfect. That wasn’t a lie. It was exactly what you wanted, what Elias wanted, where you always thought you would live together back when the skies were still blue and there was grass under your feet. The skies had been gray for a while and the grass went dormant before that, as it did when winter threatened. With skies this gray, why were you still here? Why did you sign your name for the house? You were comfortable, in every single way of your life other than how your heart sat in your chest, you were comfortable and your goddamn heart, that absolutely useless thing in your chest, still looked at him and saw what it used to be like and blindly thought, if you went a little deeper into the maze, you might just run into him along the way and it would be like old times, like when you prayed your love into each other every single night with hushed words and heavy touches and kisses meant to take your breath away. 

You reached out for him and he hesitated for a moment, before settling into your embrace. Your arms around his neck, his hands on your back and his warm breath dancing across your neck, he still felt like he was yours, not like he was so distant he was unreachable. 

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” you mumbled to him. 

His chest tensed and he sucked in a quick, pained breath. You apologized for it in the moment as it happened but hadn’t brought it up since. You blamed flights and work and other related responsibilities when it was simply just a broken promise. You could have made it work. You could have figured out how to get home and spend the night with him. It would have meant an early morning after, but no early than the ones he did all the time. You were trying to figure it out, scrolling through airlines, meticulously checking your schedule, finding the flights with awkward connections that would get you to him for the night. Your headache from it all was worsening, so you gave yourself a five minute break from it, scrolling through social media. It was the smallest thing, his teammates getting him dessert at dinner, but the way he laughed, the way he smiled, the way he looked actually happy because of the people around him; he hadn’t looked like that because of you in longer than you even realized. If you were there, he wouldn’t be that happy. 

He never told you, but he realized something was nearly hopelessly broken when he’d breathed a sigh of relief when you told him you wouldn’t be able to make it home, that you were going to miss his birthday. 

You watched through the carefully curated lens of his drunk friends’ posts from hundreds of miles away and felt like you were as close as you had been to him in a while, watching him be happy from your spot in the maze. You couldn’t even see him really. Only his laughter carried across the expanse between you as if coming from down a hallway from the apartment at the end of the hall you knew was impeccable and the people inside of it were having an amazing party. You just weren’t invited because you lived at the apartment farthest from him instead of with him like you were supposed to. 

You ate your single slice of mediocre cake you ordered from room service in his honor at his request. 

“Really?” 

His voice pulled you back into the present. You nodded into him and his hands pressed you into him in response. The feeling of his hands on you was like old times, back when your relationship felt your piece of heaven on earth that you could share with him. You tilted your head up to look at him and your heart pulled you up onto your toes to kiss him. One of his hands reached up to cup your face and he deepened the kiss, letting you both walk back down the road to a long lost and long missed paradise in the past. His hands were the same as before, his mouth on your skin, pulling moans and tugging your heart closer to his and making you both forget that you couldn’t walk back down that road, a road you both wished you could but couldn’t actually find, the map to it lost in disappointments and missed moments, lost in the wind that carried away the love that was missing. You both pretended it was still there on the bare floor of the house you were supposed to fill together, let the comfortability of the way you felt in each other’s arms artificially bring you closer together for a few moments you wished would stretch over your entire lives again. 

As you slid your sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, back over your shoulders and handed him the one he had actually worn, the space was more evident than before. You borrowed the good moments from the dwindling allotment you had been given by the universe at the start of your relationship that had seemed infinite then, maps through new parts of the maze that were limited. You were supposed to have figured out how to explore and draw them together, map forever hand in hand, but you had never been able to draw even one. Each time you borrowed a good moment from the rations, used it up really since it couldn’t be returned, they transformed into memories instead, you both become painfully aware of how few were left now and you felt further apart than before. 

“Elias.” You were reaching out across the maze and hoping he still wanted to reach back out. “I miss you.”

You knew he would understand, even though your words didn’t make much sense in reality. 

“I miss you too.”

His voice betrayed him, cracking at the end of his sentence. You felt him for the first time in what had to be eons at this point, really felt his hand in your reaching out through the noise. Then you felt his hand reach out and pull you into him again, lips resting on your forehead for a few lingering moments. 

“I-” You cleared your throat to try again. “I want us to be us again, Elias.”

“Me too, so much,” he agreed, voice giving way to emotion and cracking again, exposing the honesty of his statement. “I want to fix us.”

“Me too, Elias. Me too.” 

And so, you tried. You both desperately tried. You tried to bring him into the center of your world again, tried to find him in the maze and he tried to find you. But as you unpacked boxes with your backs to each other, the distance was the same and all you were doing was shouting across it, wishing it didn’t exist. To shout across it, it had to be acknowledged, but that was part of it, wasn’t it? You had to acknowledge a problem to fix it, and you thought, if you both acknowledged it enough, eventually the uncharted territory between the two of you in your relationship would be to be journeyed and you would find each other again. You kept thinking it and he kept thinking it, because having the right spirit brought people from their deathbeds and maybe it could for your relationship too. You kept looking, shouting across the maze, but he was both right next to you and infinitely far away at the same time. 

Elias had a banner sort of year, the kind of year he had been working his entire life to have. Amid the personal mistakes and disappointments, professional success was uncomplicated. You were on his arm, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong and that you were every bit as in love with him as you were the first time you came to this award show years ago. Fake it until you make it. It would get you through tonight and perhaps it just might get you through the maze to him again. 

Except instead of crossing the maze to him, you watched it crumble around you that night as you looked up from your seat at the stage, pride swelling in your chest and threatening your breath, bringing tears to your eyes. You were still impossibly proud of him and his accomplishments. Words tumbled from his mouth and you could have sworn you were listening, but now, you couldn’t remember any he said from that podium. You remembered the ones he didn’t say, the options he had in front of him that would have been acceptable. My girlfriend was a fine inclusion. Your name worked. Instead, there was emptiness in his speech, an emptiness that scripted a deep, unending ache in your chest instead of the words it should have been filled with. He said he was grateful for his family, his parents, his brother, then a pause, a pause too long to have been an accident, a pause that gave him enough time to decide to shatter you with a purposefulness you could never forget. There was no “and” after his brother, but the sentence ended anyway, the weight of it finally tipping the scale you had been agonizing over daily for far too long to honestly even think you were happy with him anymore. The scale couldn’t tell a lie. It was simply an itemized summation of everything beautiful and unique and unrelinquishable about him versus the parts of him that you desperately wished were different, the disappointing things. 

You tried to deny it for a moment, when he rejoined you and kissed your temple and held your hand, when he felt like he always felt, like he was the place you wanted to be forever.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I totally forgot to say your name and I feel stupid.” 

The lie sealed it, the reading on the scale forever burned into your mind. It was fixed now because you were done counting, done weighing it all. You weren’t his centerfold and you never would be, something that was a fact of the worst kind now. Facts were simply facts, not meant to hurt or help, simply meant to present truths objectively. But there was nothing objective in the way people received facts. You were both too polite to leave each other without a real reason to do it, but he hadn’t been in the bed you shared in so long and he wasn’t coming back. The empty pause and the emptiness in your bed felt all too related in that moment.

It was the loudest, most honest emptiness you had ever experienced.

The emptiness carried heavy on your shoulders through each forced photograph, each person whose hand you shook when they congratulated him, each moment you held his hand when he knew that you knew it was a lie. Elias Pettersson didn’t do anything on accident; he didn’t function on whims and wishes. It was calculated, your omittance from the list of people to thank, and he knew he was severing any threads that still tied you together. You looked at him that night, smiling as brightly as you’d seen him do for years, and you couldn’t help by wonder when the days turned to never ending nights, when the sun set on your relationship without the ability to rise again, and when he had disappeared why still being right next to you the entire time.

You hit the front steps of the house you shared that had never become a home and said the words you both had been avoiding for far too long now. 

“I’ll start moving out tomorrow.” 

Elias just nodded as he loosened his tie because he could say he didn’t understand a lot of things, that he had the same questions you had and many more, but he couldn’t say he didn’t see this as inevitable and neither could you. 

“I’m sorry,” he told you as he headed into the guest room to sleep there instead of physically next to you.

His words were genuine, which was somehow the worst fucking part of it all was that he was still a good person, a fucking incredible person, but he wasn’t yours. When you find a great person, and you hold onto them, and you love them back, it’s supposed to work. Instead, it somehow felt doomed from the start and you couldn’t understand why. 

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered. 

He heard you because he was listening for you. He never stopped listening, never stopped trying, but he decided he needed to destroy the maze, correctly so, because neither of you were able to find your way closer, not even a single inch closer from when you said you would both try to fix it. You were both too lost. You were never going to end it without a specific, final straw, so he gave you your reason, even if it broke his soul in two to do. You would have chosen to be miserable with him for the rest of your life and he would have been miserable too. The right thing to do sometimes hurts more than the wrong thing, and Elias Pettersson knew that. 

It didn’t mean he cried any less that night. 

------

Three months had passed since that night, that night you both had been trying to avoid for more of your relationship than the amount of time you hadn’t known it was coming. You waited on the park bench you shared after your first date, the ever familiar bench by the tree line in the park and the golden clock. The trees seemed to be worse for wear this year and the golden paint on the clock was chipping, two things you found all the more fitting as you waited for Elias. He had a box of things you had forgotten, things from Sweden, things from around the house in Vancouver, bits of you that belonged with you and not him anymore. You saw him as he walked up and your stupid heart, that goddamn still fucking useless thing in your chest, lurched toward him in blind nostalgia without a care for how it would actually make you feel. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

Elias awkwardly set the box onto the bench next to you, hands fidgeting at his side anxiously. You knew he wanted to say something. You didn’t want to know that he was thinking by the movements of his hands, but you still knew, the information instinctually recalled by your brain and you wondered if it would always be there.

“Can I sit? Can we talk?” 

The part of you that was working your way through the rubble of the maze wanted to say no, but the part of you that still tried to rebuild pieces of it on your winding journey through the rubble of your relationship as you tried to untangle your life from him wanted you to say yes and today, it was louder.

“What do you want to talk about, Elias?” 

He didn’t know what to say. You could see it in the surprise on his face; he hadn’t planned for you to say yes. He had expected a no and didn’t think past that point. He sat down on the edge of the bench with the box in between you acting as a porous barricade, if you could even call it a barricade at all. He was just as perfect as the day you left, soft hair, kind eyes, smile that could stop a car accident before it even happened. It couldn’t stop the trainwreck that was you and him though, no matter how much you wish it could have. 

“How are you good?” 

“I’m fucking grand,” slid out of your mouth deftly, all too practiced and lazy to be true. “How are you, Elias?”

He just nodded in response, before a soft, “Same,” left his lips. 

Elias ran a hand frustratingly through his hair, fingers tugging at the thin blond strands. He let out a tense, shortened breath, eyes closing as if it would help him to will his breath level. His eyes opened slowly, pointed toward the gravel path under his feet. 

“I can’t figure out what happened.” His words were broken with months of anxiously pouring over them spilling out with them now. “I keep trying to figure out where we went wrong, what I did, what you did, when it broke in a way we couldn’t fix. I can’t figure it out. There’s so many broken parts that I can’t find the first one.” 

You nodded softly in understanding because the same thoughts kept you up at night, woke you in the morning, and kept you in terrible company throughout every single day since you left. You had been looking for the same thing as him, the original fracture point when it all really started to crumble, and you couldn’t find it. You couldn’t find where you had diverged in the maze and began to chart paths that would never lead you back to each other, nor could you understand why it had all happened. 

“We used to be so good,” you mumbled in response. It wasn’t directly related to his statement, but at the same time, it was the next logical thought and you knew he would make the leap to yours with you. “Do you miss us?”

Your voice shook, the shaking coming from somewhere deep inside, a part of you that hadn’t settled completely with the idea he was never going to be yours again. 

“Do you miss us from the beginning?” you clarified more firmly this time because you didn’t miss being two people who lived together but didn’t. 

“Every second of every goddamn day.”

Missing each other was easy, as easy as breathing, but you couldn’t miss him without remembering the gray skies that came with him that smothered out the daylight. You used to parade around the city, bright lights, nights of spinning around each other faster and faster with absolute elation. You knew it had left, that merriment of each other, but you didn’t know why or how. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you admitted to him. “I’ve been trying to figure it out too because god, Elias, we were perfect. We were everything we wanted to be, but then, and I think it happened way sooner than either of us wanted to admit, we just weren’t. Out of nowhere, it didn’t feel the same and I couldn’t make it feel the same, but I wished I could’ve. Loving you was my favorite thing to do and I’m so fucking sad I can’t do it anymore and I don’t know why I can’t do the thing that used to be my favorite thing.” 

Elias shuffled his feet on the path, gravel crunching under his shoes. He didn’t have to say it. You knew it used to be his favorite thing to do too. He was sitting on the bench, sharing it with you even though doing so hurt, because he was trying to figure it out too. 

“Maybe it was because I couldn’t win you that stupid arcade ring on our second date,” Elias offered up as a joke. It was terrible, and you weren’t in the mood for a joke, but it still made you laugh. “That was the first thing I couldn’t do for you.” 

The joke soured and died with his second sentence. You both knew it wasn’t true, but it was as true as any other theories you had, because it wasn’t a single event. There was no singular event you could pinpoint where everything had gone wrong. Maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe you spent so much time looking at the walls of the maze immediately surrounding you that you forgot to look down. If you had looked down at the ground beneath your feet in the maze, the foundation of your relationship, maybe you would've seen the edge of the grass followed by a few meager inches of rock, before a cliff face. Maybe you couldn’t find your way back to each other because the maze you were in was built on a flawed foundation because maybe it was never supposed to exist in the first place. 

“What if we just were never supposed to be together?” 

It was the easiest and hardest answer of all of them, the one you had been avoiding, because saying it forever tainted the time you spent together that was flawless. It forever marred those pristine memories. 

“I’ve thought about that a lot, more than anything else actually,” Elias sighed, slumping back onto the bench. “I don’t think that’s it. I kind of wish it was because it meant we were always going to end, but god, I don’t think that’s true. I think we were it. I think we fucking had it right.”

“If we had it right, why aren’t we together? Why don’t I get to love you anymore? We didn’t fuck it up, Elias,” you pushed back. 

“I think we did. I think it was just a series of tiny mistakes, but we made them at the same time and never fixed them. I think, so fucking slowly, you stopped being the center of my life and I stopped being yours and then it was done from then on because we couldn’t put each other back because we got just a little too selfish with how we were living and that was it.”

“That was the beginning of the end then,” you said softly, “and the rest of it just played itself out.” 

Elias nodded just as softly as you’d spoken, “That’s the best I could come up with, but it could be wrong. All I know is we don’t work anymore and I’ve never felt cheated out of something incredible before I lost you.” 

Elias stood up after a moment. Your eyes were dry, tears expelled too many times to have any to shed now. A theoretical answer didn’t provide any closure because really, it just felt like the universe decided you two, for whatever reason, didn’t get to be happy and that was all there was to it. She didn’t write an explanation, just that it had to end. Unexplained pains in reality weren’t followed by something better. People said that, but it was just shit talk to make themselves feel whole again. Besides, looking at him now, you knew there was nothing better for you than him and he was looking at you the same way you were looking at him. He felt it all too. There was nothing else better. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “I’m so sorry for what I did, whatever part of it I did that got us here.” 

He waited this time, unlike the night you decided to move out. He waited for you to say it because he wanted to look at your face for just a little bit longer, wanted to live in a world where you were still in his life, in more than his memories a little bit longer. Your scattered things now in that box had been keeping you in his present, but as soon as he left, everything about you would be in his past and he wanted to hang onto you for just a little bit longer, for entirely selfish reasons. You wanted it too though, so you waited for far longer than you should to speak.�� 

“I’m sorry too, Elias. I’m sorry for not making you my centerfold.” 

Elias nodded softly in understanding, eyes taking you in on the park bench one last time, before turning on his heels and walking back to his car, just as the sun started to set. You thought there couldn’t have been a more beautiful, horrible, closing moment in the universe than this one and you would hate the universe for the rest of your life for making you participate in it. 

You could never hate the universe for making you love Elias Pettersson though. It had been the greatest, most horrible pleasure of your life, watching the sun go down on it all, but the days the sun had shone? The sky had been bluer than you had ever thought possible. 

You would never forget how blue it had been for the rest of your life.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Jesus, The Bread of Life (John 6:22-40)

It was the day after the multitude had been fed so marvelously on the five loaves and the two fishes. So great was the impression made by the miracle, that the people were about to take Jesus by force and make Him king. He first sent the disciples away, constraining them to enter the boat and go before Him, unto the other side. Then He sent the multitudes away - and when they were gone He went quietly, unobserved, unto the mountain to pray.

The people had been foiled of their purpose to make Jesus king, and were disappointed. They sought Him - but could not find Him. It is a sad thing to lose Jesus. There is an incident in the days of our Lord's boyhood which tells of His mother losing Him. The family had been to Jerusalem, on the occasion of the boy's first Passover, and when they started homeward, Jesus was unawares left behind, and they had gone a whole day's journey before they missed Him. Great was the anxiety and the distress. Not until they had retraced their steps and sought painfully, did they find Him. Many people lose Jesus, some in play, some in pleasure, some in business, some in sorrow, and some in sin.

These men, who had lost Jesus in the desert, after vainly searching for Him far and near, crossed the sea and found Him on the other side. Then, when they found Him, they seemed almost to blame Him for disappearing, asking Him, "When did you get here?" Jesus answered, revealing to them their real motive in seeking Him, "I tell you the truth, you are looking for me, not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill." That is, they sought Jesus, not to honor Him - but only for what they thought He would do for them. We are in danger of thinking of religion only or chiefly from the side of its earthly benefits, for it has the promise of the life that now is, as well as of that which is to come. But the higher blessings should be dearer to us than the lower. We should seek Christ for His own sake, and for the sake of the honor we may do to Him.

The lesson which Jesus taught the people that day, we should consider well for ourselves. He said, "Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you." We live in a materialistic age, when the quest of the world is for money, for power, for things of the earth, and not for the things that are spiritual and enduring. Men are toiling and wearing out their life in gathering rubbish out of the dust, not thinking of the heavenly treasures, the spiritual things that are in Christ, and which they might have with half the toil and care. We ought not to spend our life in picking up things which we cannot carry through the grave. If we are wise, we will seek rather to gather treasures which we can take with us into eternity. Really, all we can carry out of this world, is whatever we may have of character when we are through with living. The Beatitudes tell us what are the things that will abide. The fruits of the Spirit, of which Paul tells us, are the only qualities which will endure to eternal life.

The people seem to have caught at last from the words of Jesus a glimmering of the truth that there were better things to live for than they were yet striving after, and they asked Him, "What shall we do, that we might work the works of God?" Jesus had said He would "give" them eternal life - but they wanted to "work" for it. People are always making this mistake - instead of accepting eternal life as God's gift - they want to earn it. Jesus corrected their mistaken notion in His answer, "This is the work of God - that you believe on him whom he has sent." There is abundant opportunity for working for Christ - but working does not come first. Having received eternal life through Christ as a gift - we are then to work, presenting our body as a living sacrifice unto God. The first thing in the true life, is to believe on Christ, to receive Him as the revealing of God to us, to commit ourselves to Him, and to let Him live in us. Then Christ becomes the inspiration of our life. He lives in us, and our life is just the working out of His life in us.

The people had another question. Jesus had claimed to be the Messiah. What proof could He give? "What miraculous sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do?" They remembered that Moses had given their fathers manna, which proved that He was God's prophet, and they wanted Jesus to do something great, which would prove that He was one sent of God. They were thinking all the time - of common food, daily bread, for they were poor and life was hard for them. It is not uncommon in our own times to hear practically the same demand for a sign. People want prosperity as a mark of divine favor. They want to find some reward for following Christ. If their religion does not bring them bread and earthly comforts, they think it is not measuring up to its promises. Yet it is not in this way that Christ is to reward those who follow Him. He gives spiritual life, with inward joy and peace - and not ease and luxury and wealth .

Jesus answered their demand, by telling them that He was doing for them a far greater work than Moses had done. Moses gave only bread for the body. It was not the true, the real bread - bread which answered life's deepest needs. Now God was giving them through Him - true bread from heaven. It was not manna - but a person, a life, "For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world." Nothing that grows out of the soil of earth - will feed a human soul. We were made for God and for heaven, and must feed our immortal nature upon heavenly bread. Nothing but bread will satisfy hunger; nothing but Christ will meet the cravings of a life.

The people begin now to have a true thought of Christ's meaning, although it is still only a glimmering. Instead of asking further questions, however, they make a prayer, "Lord, evermore give us this bread." It was a good prayer - but when they made it - they did not know what they were asking. They wanted the bread that had in it the power to bless, and yet they did not know what that bread was. It is often so in our praying - we have a dim vision of something very beautiful, very good but it is only a shadowy vision to us. It is well that we have an Intercessor to take our poor, ignorant, mistaken prayers and interpret them aright for us, securing for us not what we thought we would get, nor what we would like to receive - but something better, richer, and more divine.

Jesus then told them what the bread is, which gives life - and how they could get it. "I am the bread of life! He who comes to me shall never hunger." Christ will satisfy all our desires. Some people imagine that the desires of the heart are sinful things, which must be torn out and destroyed. But that is not what Christ purposes to do. He says that our thirsts shall all be satisfied. He does not mean our sinful and selfish desires, the things of our lusts which we think would satisfy us - but our desires purified, such as Christ meant when He said, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."

Jesus reminded the people that they had not received Him as the one sent from God. "You also have seen Me, and believe not." That is, they had not eaten the bread of God of which He had been speaking to them. The assurance that follows is one of the most precious words of all the Bible, "All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away." No penitent who ever really comes to Christ, shall be turned away.

The closing words of the passage are rich in their revealing of the purpose of Christ's coming into the world. He came to do His Father's will. His will was that of all whom the Father had given the Son, the Son should lose none. Our part in His great purpose is also made very clear, "For my Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him - shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day."

[ofmermaidsandmarauders]

the road less taken looks real good now

hope you enjoy this attempt at taylor swift/evermore inspired Jily smut!!

read on AO3 or FFN

If you had asked Lily where she thought she would see James Potter again, the last place she would have said was running into him as she turned the corner on her way to the little market next to the cinema. And yet, he was exactly who she collided with, his arms catching her just before she fell back and her bottom landed on the hard cement.

"Alright, Evans?" His cheeky grin and rosy cheeks drew her attention first, her eyes then sliding up that slightly crooked nose to meet his gaze. It was cold outside, but that wasn't what caused the shiver that ran down her spine, his eyes alight with that same mischievousness they held when she first met James at eleven years old, almost ten years ago now.

"Yeah, I'm just fine," she reassured him softly as her hands gave his shoulders a slight squeeze, "thank you."

'It's… wow. It's really good to see you," James admitted, the right side of his mouth lifting just a little higher than the left as his gaze raked over her body, setting her upright so his arms could fall pathetically back to his sides. "Like, really good to see you."

Lily thought of that night after graduation, the memory of their legs curled together under her bed sheets causing another chill to run down her spine. They had agreed to keep in touch, explore where this future between them could go, but then apprenticeships and family needs cropped up, too much time and space passed and the idea of James and Lily finding a future together had passed by, a missed opportunity.

Looking up at James' warm smile and tall stature, she wondered for a brief moment what their lives would have been like should they have traveled that road together. Would she be feeling so lonely this holiday season? Or would there have been a happier alternative in her path?

"It's good to see you too, James. I was just nipping over to the market for a few items to make Christmas cookies while I'm home for the holidays. Wait, wait, wait…" Lily paused, not even noticing that they had picked up their paces, walking towards the market as if on autopilot together. "What are you doing here in Bamburgh?"

James peered down at her, shoving his hands into his pockets as he pondered over his answer.

"My parents passed away about eight years ago now. Usually I spend the holidays with the lads, or with Remus' family, or just with Sirius, but with the two of them finally getting their shit together and coupling up, it felt a bit more like intruding. My parents always had a little cabin out this way on the coast, but we never visited much. I remembered coming here as a young boy and thought I'd try to clean it up and just have a solitary Christmas."

"Oh." This was the only thing Lily could think of to say, her mind going blank as she tried to process the fact that James Potter's family had owned a home in her small town, and yet the two had never run into one another until that day on the Hogwarts Express, his little body barrelling into hers at lightning speed. Her mouth quirked up at the memory and she peered up at him now. No, he was no longer that little boy. He was not even that boy of eighteen, the one who had whispered sweet nothings into her ear and promised her the world if they could just find a way to make it work.

She had always assumed that if he had meant what he said, he'd have found a way to make it work. Her own insecurities had interfered in her own efforts, causing her to wait patiently until she had to finally accept that James hadn't truly felt as strongly as she had led herself to believe.

And that was okay. Lily had moved on after a little time licking her wounds. The rejection had only stung for a short while.

"Hey, I have to head back but… you should stop by later if you've got some extra Christmas cookies," James told her, his hand reaching up to gently hold her elbow, guiding her to face him once again. "And just because I'd really like to see you again."

"A-alright," Lily stammered, surprising herself by her own quick agreement. "I'd really like that too."

"Great, hold on. Let me just…" James maneuvered and dug around in his pockets until he found some scrap of paper in his wallet, his mouth moving silently as an address slowly etched itself on the little white scrap. He handed it over with a cheeky grin, his impressive display of wandless magic completed.

"I'll be by later this evening," Lily told him, fingers grazing his own as she took the slip of paper, pocketing it slowly. She hadn't been expecting the warm zing of pleasure that shot up her arm just from their fingers brushing together in the cold.

James backed away, grinning brightly as he rounded the corner once more and she was able to head towards the market once more, her mind now cloudy with thoughts of what ifs.

______________________________

"Hello?" Lily called out as she trudged up the driveway, the keys to her mom's car jingling in one hand, a plastic-wrapped tray of various cookies held in the other. One upside to being muggleborn was definitely the additional travel options, Lily thought to herself. "James, open the door! My hands are full!"

"Hey there!" James' voice rang out from the left side of the house, appearing just a second after she registered where he was. "Sorry, I was doing some work clearing out the weeds in the garden. Hard to do with layers of snow covering the area, but luckily for me, my parents got this place knowing it was set away from the muggles so I can still use my wand." James wiped his hands off on his dark jeans before gesturing for her to follow him inside.

Lily was having trouble wrapping her mind around this grown up version of James. He came across as so responsible and mature, though what else should she have expected? She scolded herself for expecting that he would still be that same eighteen year old she had started to envision a life with.

"These look incredible," James complimented as he gently slid the tray out of her hand and carried it into the kitchen.

"James, it smells incredible in here," she breathed out as the scents of various spices filled her nose. She could see the small pot on the stovetop and the oven light was on, indicating that there was a dish being kept warm inside.

"I just made us a spiced carrot and lentil soup, and a small roast chicken and vegetables. You brought the real goods though," James informed her, a wide grin on his face as he silently waved his wand, conjuring two table settings, the bottle of wine already uncorked that poured itself two healthy glasses of wine. "I'm sorry, I assumed you'd join me for dinner. I hope that's alright."

"It's perfect. It really does smell good. I'm sure it tastes great too," Lily reassured him as she slid her coat off, peeking around before hanging it on a small coat hook by the side door. "It's so cozy in here, not what I would have expected from a Potter family vacation home."

James laughed softly at the joke, offering her the glass of wine before shrugging. "It's not big at all. That's probably why we didn't come here often. Mum loved the extravagance of the larger homes and resorts. Dad was the one who liked the quiet bliss that the coast offered. I think this was one of his ideas. I didn't get it when I was little… but I do now."

Lily let the words settle in, taking a small sip of the wine.

"I was bored the few times we came here as a child. I had so much energy, y'know? I needed a friend to play with and something to keep me entertained at all times. Now that I'm older I crave the quiet sometimes. Everything gets to just be so loud and I can manage but I just need a few minutes to catch my breath sometimes."

James' words kept Lily quiet, letting the thoughts flicker through her mind as she imagined this new James and tried to merge it with the James she knew. "Yeah, I get that," she finally said.

He set about serving the soup and then carving the chicken and plating some of that as well. She watched in fascination as he did things the muggle way, a small smile on her face as he flitted around the kitchen expertly.

"I lost my wand at Sirius' for a week about six years ago. It was a nightmare," he explained as if answering a question she didn't ask. "I couldn't conjure anything, couldn't just make food in an instant, but I think I learned how nice it can be to get your hands dirty and make something on your own. I still use magic to help me out now, though."

Lily laughed at her cheeky grin and assisted him with refilling their glasses just before settling into the seat he pointed to. Settled across from him at the table, Lily had a brief flash of what life could have been.

The two passed through their meal, casually chatting and checking in with their current status. James was between "experiences," trying to find the right next move in the wizarding world that would fulfill his desires to do something good. Lily was working with some of London's most skilled healers, researching a new potion that would cure effects of dark magic that had never been explored before.

"See, that is something I've always loved about you, Evans! You could do anything you want in this world, make enormous amounts of money doing private materialistic work, and instead you want to make a true difference. Just brilliant!" James complimented before shoveling in a mouthful of chicken, finishing off his meal.

Lily's cheeks flushed, choosing to ignore the first part of his compliment. "Well, thank you. I think I'm a little selfish though. The notoriety if we can pull it off means I'll be guaranteed a job anywhere I want in the future. But thank you."

James boldly reached across the small table and took her hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn't drop it after squeezing, instead just holding it across the table. "You can stay, can't you? For a bit longer?"

Lily nodded quickly, not wanting this night to end. She wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do, but just being in James' presence was a warm balm on her soul. Being around her family could be draining, especially her sister and her sister's husband, and their preteen son. Ever since their father had passed, Lily's mom worked overtime at the holidays to smooth things over between her girls, trying to keep her family together.

James was offering Lily an escape from the constant stress and darkness she felt visiting her childhood home. It was the reprieve she didn't even know she wanted until it had been offered.

"I have nowhere else to be," she explained before realizing how cold that sounded. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

James grinned at this, using his free hand to wave his wand and clear the dishes from in front of them, the tray of cookies suddenly appearing unwrapped on the small table. She grinned up at him before reaching for a peanut butter ball, his own settling on a gingerbread man.

He used his grip on her hand to ease her out of her seat, guiding her towards the little sitting area that he had near the back of the house. It was a small room, two bookcases settled on either side of the large window that framed the lake. There was a small couch and coffee table, a rug underneath that made the room feel warmer somehow. The fireplace sat on the left of the couch, a small blaze already going, built up by a flick of James' wand to warm the room just a bit more.

Lily was unsure what to do with herself before deciding that she wanted to just enjoy this space with James for a short while, so she let her feet carry her to the couch, curling them beneath her as she sat. Her body was aimed towards the empty space beside her, waiting patiently for James to take the hint and fill the seat. When he did so, her grin grew that much brighter.

"If you had asked me earlier what my plans were for tonight, this is the last thing I would have expected," he admitted, his cheeks tinged pink, though she blamed that warmth on the fire. His eyes met hers and she felt her own cheeks flush, though that warmth could be blamed solely on James' burning gaze.

"Me either," she told him softly, a shaky hand bringing the wine glass to her lips. "But I'm glad that we're both here."

Lily licked her lips and she watched as James' eyes dropped to her mouth as her tongue poked out just slightly. She heard the hitch in his breath and felt a slow burning in the pit of her stomach mixed with anxiety, wondering if this was going to end up being a mistake.

"I... '' Lily stopped herself with a shake of her head, glancing up at James nervously. His hand reached up to push back a lock of hair that had fallen out of her long braid, letting his fingers tentatively trail down her cheek, thumb tracing along her jaw. Her breath was caught in her throat and for a split second she wasn't sure if she would ever breathe again. "I'm leaving on Tuesday. I have to leave immediately after the holiday to return to work. I… I can't stay."

"I know," he breathed out, face inching closer to hers. "I know you have to be back, but we could… this could be just a thing we do. Right?"

The husky tone of his voice was driving Lily mad. She wanted to lean forward and accept whatever was about to happen, but she stopped herself and tried to let rational thoughts process in her mind. She knew the hurt she had felt last time they parted, but she hadn't been prepared for that rejection. This time she could protect herself, and her heart. Lily would know exactly what was happening this time and could stop herself from getting in too deep.

Yes, it would be just fine this time. They both knew this was just for the weekend. Something to get them through the holidays until they returned to their individual lives.

Lily leaned forward the rest of the way, feeling the way that James' fingers clenched against her jaw in response to her lips meeting his. They hadn't kissed in almost ten years and yet it was like riding a bicycle with how easily she fell back into a rhythm. Her head tilted just slightly to avoid nudging his glasses, her mouth opening beneath his for only a second before James pulled away.

She felt her mouth forming a slight pout, but James just smirked as he took the wine glasses and set them onto the coffee table before letting his hands slip down her waist until he was gripping her hips tightly.

"Only for the weekend," Lily spoke firmly, her fingers itching to touch him again. She had memorized his body at eighteen, let it be a memory of hers that lingered in the back of her mind for those nights when she felt so lonely and wanted to conjure up a dream that would keep her warm at night, hand shoved into her pants as she frantically tried to remember what it had felt like to be so cherished.

Over the years, the memory of him had faded and felt icky to use as she grew older. Lily had always tried to imagine what he would look like now, but as her hands slid beneath his shirt, nothing had prepared her for this adult James.

His own hands slid beneath her shirt, his thumbs stroking at the ridges along her spine. "You're too skinny, I'm afraid you'll shatter in my arms."

Lily pulled away to laugh at his comment, her face lighting up as the tension between them broke. There was something about James that made her feel at ease, even when he was being serious.

"I'm not that fragile. You can be rough with me," her voice was breathy as she leaned in once more, a groan falling from James' lips as she spoke.

"You can't say shit like that to me, Evans," James muttered darkly, his fingers pressing roughly against her spine to bring her closer. Lily took it a step further, climbing into his lap so that her thighs were framing his own. Their bodies aligned tightly together, faces only inches apart.

"And why not?" she whispered, lightly kissing his lower lip, allowing a faint smile to spread across her mouth. A sound that Lily could only describe as a growl came from him as he fervently kissed her, hands now sliding down to grip her arse. This was the answer to her question. A passionate, anxious, feverish kiss.

Her own hands slid from his biceps to his shoulder to his hair, gripping it tightly as if it were an anchor, not allowing him to move away. Though, it didn't seem that he had any intention to.

Lily felt like her body was on fire everywhere his hands touched. They were roaming over her frantically, like he was afraid that she would slip away at any given moment. They finally settled back on her bottom, giving it a firm squeeze before guiding her hips to slant over his just so. She could feel the hard press of him against her core, feel the way that her body ached in reaction to that gentle cant of his hips, lifting slightly to meet her own subtle thrusts.

"Lily, please," he begged, letting a hand slip to the hem of her thick sweater, tugging at it gently until she nodded, allowing her arms to lift up so he could tug it over her head. A few wisps of hair fell from her braid at the sudden friction of material, though her body felt cooled off by the slight chill in the air. Lily peeked over and realized the fire had died down again, though she was distracted once more as James' fingers unclasped her bra from behind and the straps slid down her arms with his guidance. His hands quickly replaced the cups, her nipples hardening beneath the rough texture of his palms.

A soft moan slipped from her lips as his fingers began to stroke in even circles, slowly tightening until they were tugging at her nipples in that way she liked.

"James," her voice was a harsh croak as she leaned forward, capturing his mouth in another kiss, letting her hands slip beneath his own shirt. She pulled it up, separating from his mouth only to pull it off. Her tongue probed at his mouth, wanting to taste every inch of him. If he was desperate to feel, she was desperate to taste.

James hands' never stopped their assault on her breasts, palming and tugging at her nipples until she was squeezing her thighs together, only his own were getting in the way. Instead, she began to slowly press herself down against his length, needing to feel something more than what he was doing. One of his hands moved from her breast up to cup the back of her head, his fingers probably messing up her braid, but she didn't quite mind.

Lily felt the groan that he let out, not just against her mouth, but beneath her hands that were pressed to his own chest. That firm chest that had only strengthened over time. A shiver ran down Lily's spine as his mouth pulled back from hers with a tug to her bottom lip using his teeth. Those teeth that scraped down her neck, sucking gently and peppering kisses until he reached her chest. His tongue poked out and circled once, twice, around the flesh until he sucked at her nipple. She gasped, both hands gripping the back of his head, keeping him pressed there as she arched up towards his mouth.

"James, please," she whimpered, her voice hoarse as she straddled one of his thighs, trying to press herself against it through her thin leggings. She knew that she was soaked through, desperate for his touch.

"What do you need?" he asked after pulling away from her chest, letting the hand that had been in her hair travel down her back and around then around to her stomach until it reached the waistband of her leggings. His fingers moved just beneath it, slowly inching towards the one place that was taking up all of her focus.

"Please," Lily breathed out, lifting her hips up to try to make room for his fingers, but he insisted on teasing her, letting them just stroke against the front of her pelvis, not even sliding beneath the thin silk of her underwear. "James, please. I need to feel you inside me."

James choked on a moan, bringing a smile to Lily's lips that quickly turned into a soft "oh" as his fingers slid lower and pressed against her through the fabric, index and middle finger rubbing in small circles. It wasn't enough, but it was more than she had a minute ago and that was progress.

"Oh," she breathed out again, clutching the back of his head once more as she tried to move her hips, though he steadied her with his free hand, keeping her in place. Lily hated how needy she felt, how much her body craved the feeling of his own.

James pulled his hand out suddenly, her face falling once more at the loss of contact. He only kissed her, distracting her long enough until he was suddenly standing, hands holding onto her arse for support as he began to carry her towards his bedroom. Lily began to pepper kisses along his jaw and neck, too distracted to notice which way he was walking them.

She squealed in delight as he tossed her down onto the bed, his own laugh bouncing off of the walls before he grew serious once more, climbing over her on the bed. His body encased hers, providing a shelter from the cold as he let one hand slide down to her hip, pushing her pants lower until she took the hint and assisted him in getting them off. Her own hands then went to the button on his jeans, pulling it open so that she could push the material down his legs, letting her feet finish the job until they were on the floor somewhere by the side of the bed.

Their breaths were heavy as he leaned down and kissed her once more, left hand sliding beneath her panties once more until a single finger was pressing inside of her.

"Fuck, Lily. You're so wet." He sounded incredulous as he began to slowly curl that finger and then pull it out before pushing it back in. His finger moved in slow strokes as she began to pant, lifting her hips in time with the pushing, lowering them with the pulling.

"It's for you," Lily whimpered, clutching onto his shoulders as she tried to get him to give her more. She just needed more of him. "James, please. Stop teasing me!"

"Anything for you, Evans," his cheeky grin made her giggle as he slid his briefs down his body, kicking them off somewhere before kneeling before her, spreading her legs with both of his hands. "Fuck, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Lily keened at the compliment, her lips already flushed from activity, though she was sure they'd be red at his words.

"I'm - I take a contraceptive. You don't need to… We're covered," she finally admitted, tugging him back down by wrapping her spread legs around his waist so that their bodies were aligned once more. Lily let her hips lift until the tip of his cock was gently pressing inside of her, slipping out as she lowers her hips again. James seems frozen for a moment and this scares her, but he must see the look on her face because he lowers his mouth to hers and just kisses her until that anxiety is quelled.

When it's obvious that she's putty in his hands once again, nerves calmed down by the soothing action of his lips and tongue, his hips press forward until he's filling her. It's agonizingly slow until their hips are tight together and he breaks their kiss to let out a loud groan against her mouth.

"You're… Fuck, I… You…" James is speechless and this makes Lily giggle fiercely until he's pulling out halfway and then pressing back in, as if he can't bear to even be separated from her for that much. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, Evans."

"Oh, gods, James," Lily moans as she pressed her hands into his shoulder blades, wanting his body to press into hers completely. She wants to feel every inch of him against her, wants to memorize the way he feels as he's inside her fully. This ache that she's had since seeing him again feels like it's starting to be sated.

As if something has broken inside his body, James begins to thrust in and out, his hips moving at their own pace. Lily feels like her body is connected to his by a string, because everytime he goes to move, her hips are there to meet his at each thrust.

"Nobody but you, Evans. Nobody has ever felt this good. Fuck, nobody. Fuck," James rambled, each thrust feeling like it's not enough and too much all at once for her. Lily wants to come, wants to feel her world fall apart, so she slips a hand between their bodies and reaches down to where their hips meet. Before she can accomplish this, his hand is there, pushing hers away.

"No, this is mine to give," he whispered, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth as he let his fingers find where they met, rubbing small circles against her clit as she felt a tidal wave of pleasure wash over her body in waves, that pit in her stomach tightening as she tried to just reach that point of pleasure.

James seemed to understand what her body needed because he continued to thrust in a way that was getting her to that point until her toes curled and her heels were digging into his hips harshly.

"James, oh, oh," her voice was like a siren's call because within an instant he was meeting her in a wave of pleasure, his back arched as he groaned and spilled inside of her.

"Lily," was the only thing he whispered before giving her another kiss, pulling out of her body in one smooth motion, using wandless magic to summon a warm towel and a wet washcloth. Just as he took care of her during the act, James made sure to take gentle care of her in the clean up, just enough, before allowing her to use the bathroom to finish up.

Lily took one look in the mirror, her braid now half pulled out of its form and eyeliner smudged beneath her lids. She giggled to herself as she used the toilet and then wet another washcloth to wipe under her eyes. Lily dug around until she found a comb and was able to brush out her hair into soft waves, letting them fall down her back.

She felt self conscious reentering the room, though the wide grin on James' face as he gestured for her to join him in the bed washed that feeling away, replacing it with a warmth that his grin always seemed to bring.

"That sure was something, Evans," James teased, leaning over once she had joined him again to press a soft kiss to her mouth. "You sure are something."

Lily could only let out a breathy giggle as she laid on her back for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around what the fuck had just happened. Sure, she knew what was going to happen, but somehow they had ended up naked and in bed together much faster than she realized. There hadn't been any time for thinking, and that was honestly the best feeling.

"Hey, you okay?" James' voice broke through her ocean of thoughts. She felt the corners of her mouth tilt up and she nodded quickly, a glow overtaking her as his hands slid down to her hips, bringing her closer to his body until she could tuck her face into the crook of his neck. Lily cocooned herself into his body, letting him lift a sheet over her.

"I'm okay," she finally responded, the index finger on her left hand circling around his nipple, though she wasn't fully paying attention to her actions. "I'm good."

"You looked like you regretted it, for a minute there," James sounded nervous as he admitted to this and she peeked up at him from her hiding spot, watching the nerves in his eyes disappear as she offered up a genuine smile, letting her mouth press gently to his jaw.

"No regrets, it was good. You were good." Lily's voice sounded assured and it was a surprise to her how comfortable she felt laying here with James.

"Not even one?"

"Nope, not a single one. It was good, James."

James seemed content at that, the hum he released vibrating against her cheek which had returned to his solid chest. The pair laid contentedly for some time before James broke them out of their reverie. His hands had been sliding up and down her back, fingers tracing along the ridges of her spine until she was almost ready to fall asleep.

"I regret that we never made it work. That we didn't try harder. I should've tried harder for you," James told Lily, letting his hands continue in their soothing patterns on her skin. His voice sounded pained and Lily wasn't too sure how she wanted to answer.

I wish the same? It's fine, don't worry about it? I should've tried harder but my crippling anxiety and insecurities got the best of me until I gave up on the idea of us?

No - definitely not that last one.

Instead, Lily settled for an uncommitted hum instead, just letting him interpret what he wanted from that.

"I'm serious, Lily. You're the one person I've never been able to get past. Everyone dims compared to you. I meant what I said back in those days, and I should've tried harder to show you that."

As if dipping her head into a pensieve, Lily was taken back to the last time they had been curled up in bed like this:

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life, Lily." James' words captured her heart as he slid his fingers down her body, tracing the curves of her thighs before pulling them around his waist so he could have her body wrapped around his own.

"Stop it," Lily admonished, cheeks burning from the compliment.

"I mean it. I've loved you for years, probably since the day I met you. Maybe even before we met. I was made to love you. I can't imagine a world without you in it. I can't imagine my life without you in it, Lily Evans."

"James, you're just saying that because I let you have sex with me."

"No, that's not true! I mean it," James pouted as he spoke, only smiling once Lily kissed the pout away. "When we leave here, wherever we go, I want to make this work. I want to marry you one day, have you take my last name, become a family. I want to be a dad and have kids with you. I want a life with you, Lily Evans. You're it for me."

Despite his words, James had never sought her out after that final encounter. They had never even spoken after that day, separated by time and space and people who wanted to keep them apart. An impending war, one that was completed just a month after graduation. One that James had been ready to throw himself into, and one Lily had been scared to join but knew it was the only way to move forward.

The day she had met with Dumbledore and he told her that the fight was over, that they had won, he provided her with a top notch recommendation to one of the world's most well-renowned potioneers. That month had been a rush of emotions as she prepared to battle (and lose her life) only to come to terms with the fact that she no longer needed to. She had an entire future ahead of her and yet there she was, trying to figure out how she was supposed to spend a life she never thought she'd be entitled to have.

"Where'd you go just now?" James asked, stroking through her hair until he let his hands fall down to her lower back, slowly inching until he was gripping her bottom, pulling her tightly to him.

"I was just thinking about how long it's been since we last saw each other. How much you've changed." Lily's words were a lie and for a minute she thought he'd call her out on it, but he chose not to, instead letting his mouth move down to her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly, fingers combing through his hair.

"Pulling you out of your own thoughts until you can think of nothing but me and you. Here. In this bed." James sounded firm as his mouth slowly kissed down to her chest. She moaned softly as he nipped the soft flesh on her breast before lapping at the mark, as if he was going to heal the pain she felt. His lips wrapped around her nipple, but Lily was still trying to get herself to think straight.

"I can hear your brain starting to smoke," James whispered before blowing over her breast, the peak hardening under his cool breath.

"Shut up," Lily muttered uselessly, having no brain power to think of something more insulting.

James just grinned and continued his assault on her body, moving lower and lower until her fingers were tangled in his hair and his mouth was working wonders.

Later, his cheek was pressed to her stomach, hand pressed to her hip so that she wouldn't go anywhere. Her fingers combed through James' hair slowly, trying to muster up the strength to ask him to move so she can get dressed and go home.

"Stay for the night," he whispered, as if reading her mind. "I miss holding you. Even if it's only for the weekend."

"Okay," the word was out of her mouth before she even realized that she wanted to agree. Lily knew that she was just complicating things, but the thought of leaving this warm bed and, more importantly, leaving James just hurt to think of. It was a problem that future Lily could deal with. This Lily wanted to bask in the afterglow of climaxes and cuddling with this James.

Somehow through the night, James and Lily shifted until their legs tangled together and he was spooning her against his chest. She woke up to the light shining through the windows, unclear of what time it was. Lily thought back to last night, the amount of kissing and touching that they had done. The thought made Lily's toes curl and she pulled his arms tighter around her body as she nuzzled into the pillow.

Her movements must have woken James because she felt chapped lips pressing little sucking kisses to the back of her neck and shoulder, fingers slowly gliding down her body until James was gripping onto her hips, pulling her back so that their bodies stayed connected where it counted. Lily let out a breathy sigh as he slipped his other hand in between her thighs, stroking at a lazy pace as he woke them both up. They stayed in that sleepy state, hips undulating against one another, fingers stroking inside of her until she had soaked his hand thoroughly.

James finally rolled Lily onto her back, climbing over her with a satisfied smile on his face despite the fact that nothing had truly happened yet this morning.

"Hi," he whispered, lips hovering just above hers.

"Hi," she murmured back, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

"I missed this," he admitted as he pressed the tip of his cock against her, slightly thrusting his hips as he teased her, letting the tension build. "I missed you."

"You missed the sex, you mean," Lily teased, fingers slowly climbing up his body as she spread her legs just that fraction of an inch, indicating she wanted him to move things along. He did as she silently requested, sliding inside of her at an agonizingly slow pace, wanting her to feel him as they connected.

"Well, duh, but I missed this. I missed waking up to you and spending time in this half dozed state where I can just appreciate you and it's just us two in the world." James' voice held a tone of sincerity that caused a chill to run up Lily's spine, her fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as she tried not to let the emotion completely take over.

"I-" she broke off, just pressing her lips quickly to his.

"I want a do-over. I want to do this with you every morning. There's nobody else for me, Lily," he breathed against her mouth, picking up his pace just a bit as he moved his mouth to her ear. His hips continued to move slowly in and out of her at a stuttering pace as James whispered all of his filthy thoughts into her ear:

"You're so beautiful like this."

"I love the noise you make when I push inside of you just here.. Yes, that's it."

"Fuck, moan my name. That's my girl."

"I want you to feel me. I want you to know it's only me who can make you feel like this."

"I want to love you like this forever, Lily."

Despite James' chattiness, Lily can do nothing more than make keening noises for him. She is a mess of whimpers and purrs, moans and soft cries. James has whittled her down to this voiceless void, craving only the pleasure that he can bring her.

Finally, a single cry please comes from her lips and he is right there with her, sliding a hand down between them to rub her clit in small, erratic circles until she is riding the wave of her climax, mouthing at his neck as she holds back until she feels that he is also coming, and his name falls from her mouth in a helpless cry, one of her hands tangling up in his hair as she feels tears fill her eyes.

The thought of never getting this again just may be what breaks her.

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It's only later that evening when they're curled up on the loveseat together, despite the large couch settled just to their right with almost double the space, that Lily realizes how late it's getting. He had plied her full of food and distracted her with a leisurely walk around the lakeside, before Lily was fully able to recognize just how late it had gotten.

The clock has just chimed out eight little bells, and Lily wonders how much longer she should stay.

"Stay with me for the night. There's no need for you to rush out of here," James told her, his fingers stroking down along her spine. Despite the years that separated them, he still seemed to have the ability to read her thoughts when it counted, when she wasn't consciously trying to hide them.

"I really should be going home soon," she responded, sitting up so that she could actually look into his eyes, trying to figure out how she was going to pull herself away from his embrace. James had his calves hooked around hers, and his arms were wrapped around her lower back so that she was able to lay against him almost entirely.

"Why?"

The question surprised Lily more than she anticipated, mostly because she had expected an argument in response from him. She hadn't expected to have to rationalize her own thoughts, mostly because she didn't agree with what she was saying out loud.

"I have things to get done before my parent's Christmas dinner party. I know it's not until Tuesday but I have some work I planned to attend to even though I'm supposed to be enjoying the holiday. Up until now there wasn't much about it that was enjoyable, so I figured I'd at least be productive. And this is anything but productive."

"Those all sound like things that can wait. You just said it yourself, you don't have to do it but it was something to do. Just stay here. Relax. Enjoy your holiday." With each sentence, James placed a kiss along her neck, moving lower until he was at the juncture where her neck became her shoulder. "I want another night with you. I want you in my bed, with me."

"James…" Lily breathed out, though her hands were steadily climbing until they were settled into his hair.

"I don't want to wake up alone on Christmas Eve. Stay with me for one more night, Lily." The pleading tone to his voice would have been what did her in, had she not already been trying to convince herself to stay minutes ago. Between her own convincing, and his begging, she knew that she was giving in to his request.

"I don't want to wake up alone, either." Lily admitted, not specifying that it was more than just Christmas Eve that felt lonely to her. Lily was tired of feeling alone, and if James was offering a brief respite from that feeling, who was she to deny that?

______________________________

If Lily had to put a word to her concerns, she would use the word doubt. There was so much doubt running through her head. At every little touch James left as they ate dinner or nibbled on cookies or sipped at coca. At every compliment he threw her way while they walked around the lake shore or cooked dinner or laid in bed.

The only time she felt confident in what he said was when he was buried deep inside of her in the middle of the night, the stars twinkling in the night sky as they erased the outside world and focused on one another. This was the only time he mentioned a future with her, wanting to spend a life together. She wished he had the courage to mention these things in the light of day, when their bodies weren't pressed together beneath covers and hands desperate to feel soft skin beneath their touch.

They stayed up late into the night, relearning each others' bodies. Lily was committing James' new body to memory, her hands hungry for more of him. She wanted to remember every freckle and mole, every curve and sharp plane. These memories would need to get her through the next decade.

______________________________

Late the next morning, they both awoke slowly and lazily, their bodies still curled together from the heat of the previous night. Lily had woken just moments before James and took the time to appreciate his sleepy state before his eyes blinked open and a smile formed on his face when he registered what she was doing.

"G'morning," he whispered softly, pressing his thumb to her cheek and stroking it gently until it was tracing her full lower lip.

Lily pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb before sucking it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it gently. That teasing effort brought a groan to his lips before he was pulling it back, pressing a heated kiss to her mouth.

"You little minx," he growled, tickling her sides playfully.

How could he be so pleasant when she was leaving in just a short time?

"James," she whispered, and the tone of her voice had his body going numb, freezing up above her as his smile fell and she watched him shake his head.

"No," he replied, pressing his hips against hers, as if trying to remind her of what she could have if she agreed to stay.

"I have to go."

"Please," James pleaded, but she knew by the look on his face that he understood her mind was made up. This was a last ditch attempt at changing her mind. At trying to change the course of their separate lives.

"I have to."

The two of them stared at one another, noses brushing as their breaths mingled together in the morning sun pouring in through the window.

"I know," James finally admitted, letting his lips just barely brush over hers before standing up and helping her out of the fortress they had built with his blankets.

The two dressed silently, searching for garments and items that had been haphazardly tossed about over the weekend. Lily only smiled once when she found her underwear tucked beneath a pillow on the couch, shoved there by James at one point when he was trying to convince her to join him in the shower.

______________________________

Soon enough, her items were packed into her purse and there was no more delaying the inevitable.

They stared at one another from across the room, taking slow steps towards each other until they were both just by his front door, standing an awkward length apart. All weekend their bodies had been desperate to connect, and now it was as if they were two sides of the same battery, repelled by a single touch.

"So…" Lily finally let out, looking past James to the lakeside cabin that had been her saving grace for this solitary weekend.

James said nothing in response, just studying her face. Her eyes darted down to her feet, trying to figure out what else she could say. How could they change this?

She looked up again, hoping to see a hint of warmth in his gaze, but all she could see was a steely gaze that looked back at her. She saw no hint of the James that she had just spent an entire weekend with. Once more, her heart was cracking as she saw this potential future she had dreamed of falling to pieces right in front of her eyes.

It had been real enough just to get her through.

Lily was internally begging for James to take her hand. Squeeze it tight once more. Just once. Let her know that this wasn't just a one-sided thing. He felt it too, he had to feel it too. If he just reached out and grabbed her hand, she'd cancel her plans. She'd stay. She'd claim him as hers.

But he didn't. His hands stayed shoved into his pockets, the same as that first time she saw him again, walking in the same direction towards the market.

Had she fooled herself once again? Thinking that it was something more than it was. Lily pleaded with herself to just make the leap, damn the insecurities, take his hand and jump over the ledge. All she had to do was cross that line. Instead, her own hands hung loosely in front of her, fingers idly tangled together with her purse hanging at her hip.

She could almost envision it, the creaking of the cabin floor as she stepped forward and begged him to come with her, to join her in London where they could create this world together that had the both of them in it. The way his arms would slowly wrap around her waist and keep her pressed against him while they whispered about how stupid they had almost been to let each other go for a second time.

She could almost see it.

"I guess… I guess I should go. I have that dinner party at my parents' tomorrow and I promised to help mom prepare for guests."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." James whispered, looking like he was conflicted for a moment before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Despite the warmth of his lips, her body ran cold as it was the only place their bodies met. His hands, usually desperate to touch her, stayed tucked deep into his pockets.

Lily was frozen in place for a second before realizing she would have to be the one to leave. Once again, Lily mustered up every ounce of strength she had and walked through his door, away from James and his warm bed, the cocoon they had built together that felt like a safe haven. She wiped her tears away slowly, only once that heavy door had closed behind her.

Maybe one day they'd find a way to get the timing right.

Maybe one day she'd find that Gryffindor courage she was supposedly blessed with.

Not today.

[celestias-right-hoof-mas-au]

WARNING: As I mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind.

Celestia Supercut Link

< Previous ☼ Next >

  Days passed with bootcamp still on the horizon. Valiance’s mind was evermore focused on the possibility of becoming one of Celestia’s finest. In preparation for her big day, and to calm her nerves, Valiance exercised vigorously. Not a morning passed where she didn’t run, strength trained, or practice the little amount of spells she knew.

   A blaring ringing stirred Valiance awake from her slumber. She groggily reached her hoof to tap the all too familiar alarm clock before rubbing the sleepiness away from her eyes. With a deep breath, and a small rocking of herself, she was up and out of bed in a jiffy. Any residual tiredness she might’ve felt was quickly washed away with an ice cold splash of water and the freshness one gets from brushing their teeth.  

   As Valiance stretched about her stiff muscles before her daily morning run, she halted to a stop. Her ears flicked back and forth when met with a low rumbling noise in the distance. The once peaceful silence of the cool early morning was violently shattered as a loud explosion rang between the buildings. The birds outside screeched and scattered away as the sky blackened with an ominous cloud. Valiance rushed towards the window and peered out to see what was happening.

   "What in Equestria was that?!" Valiance gasped. Had something gone wrong with the weather production? That thought was immediately thrown out the window when the storm cloud began to speed towards the castle, appearing sentient in nature. Squinting her eyes, Valiance's jaw dropped at her revelation.

   It wasn’t a cloud at all, it was a swarm made of thousands of invaders. Their porous chiton and glass wings left no room for doubt.

   “Changelings?! I thought Celestia had them all eradicated?!” Valiance exclaimed as she grabbed her helmet. After a brief moment to change into her armor, Valiance unsheathed her weapon, an ornamented halberd, and rushed outside. Chaos flooded the streets of Canterlot as ponies desperately attempted to evade the parasitic menace. The empty husks of what was once the good ponies of Canterlot were scattered in the streets.

   Valiance shuddered and cut through an alleyway. There, she witnessed the horror of the changeling's feeding habits. The creature huddled over an unconscious pony with its tongue like proboscis sucking the fluids out of its victim's neck. It has been said that the changelings could survive solely off of the emotion of love. However, there was no evidence of that as far as Valiance saw, and she had no intentions of finding out such rumors.  

   The amber glow of her magic slowly powered up and took possession of her halberd. The creature’s unblinking eyes snapped onto Valiance’s position, before the changeling soldier could even react, the long piercing thorn of Valiance’s weapon ripped into its skull like a hot fork stabbing into butter. Its back leg and wings twitched as the rest of its body slumped over and detached itself from the pony beneath it. Valiance rushed over towards the victim, who she could now see was a stallion, and looked him over to inspect the severity of his injuries.

    The pony wore heavy darkened bags underneath his eyes, protruding cheekbones and colorless cracked lips. Despite his gaunt appearance, Valiance noted his pulse was still relatively steady and his breathing wasn’t too faint. She concluded that the stallion would survive and hid him behind some trash bins so no other changeling would find him before he woke.

   In no time at all, Valiance had reached the castle grounds. The front gates were left open and unattended. The quietness in that moment was eerily contrasted by the screams in the distance. Without hesitation, Valiance sprinted into the grounds with a burning spirit and a molten heart.

   "Help! Anypony, please!" Shrieked a pink and raspberry pony as she was being roughly carried away by a pair of changelings.

   Higher and higher they climbed into the sky when suddenly, one of the changelings let out a guttural screech. Valiance's halberd embedded into the stomach of the changeling with a sickening crunch.

   With its comrade dead, the remaining changeling released the little unicorn from its weakened grip. The unicorn screamed and shut her eyes as she plummeted towards the ground, but instead of crashing to her death, her body came to a sudden stop. Slowly peeking through her glasses with persian blue eyes, she found herself encased in amber magic.

   But to her surprise, her gaze was not met by another carapaced equine, instead, she was met by an enormous pale mare. The stranger's body and face was obscured by a strikingly unique set of armor she had never seen from any of the castle staff, or Canterlot for that matter, and although intimidating, she felt comfort from the mysterious horse who was protectively holding her away from the monster with glazed compound eyes. Gently, the pony found her footing on the cool grass and the magic slowly faded away.

   “Go, I’ll keep him busy while you escape.” Valiance ordered.

   “W-well what about you?!” the pink unicorn replied in desperation.

   “There’s no time, get somewhere safe. I can handle this.” Valiance implored with a more stern tone. The small pony hesitated momentarily and adjusted her glasses. Then, she made a break for it, ashamed of abandoning her savior.

   The remaining changeling, knowingly outmatched, let out a piercing shriek. The familiar buzzing of changeling wings came from all directions as reinforcements surrounded Valiance. It did not matter, however, as Valiance made short work of them all.

   Once her adversaries had been disposed of, Valiance made her way to the front of the castle. Though she had no idea how the changelings accomplished it, they had blown a massive hole where the entrance to the castle would be. Inside wasn’t much better, with the changelings’ filthy webbing covering the walls and ceiling. Before she could continue onwards she noticed very subtle movement coming from the larger mountains of webbing. Using the spear tip of her weapon, she carefully cut open one of the mounds. When suddenly, a guard’s head popped out from inside. The royal guard let out a choking gasp, desperately coughing for air as he violently wriggled from the grotesque wrapping.

   “Oh thank Celestia, you found me! I couldn’t imagine the meal they’d make out of me if you hadn’t come!” The grey stallion cheered profusely as his body was hauled out of its confines by Valiance’s magic.

   “Are you alright? Can you stand on your own?” Valiance asked, offering a shoulder to lean on.

   The pony patted himself lightly and clicked his hooves on the floor, “Seems like I’m good to go!”

   “Great. Help me get everypony else out of these pods.” Valiance urged, pointing to the other pods in the room. With a quick nod, the stallion rushed over and began peeling his comrades out of their wrapping. Free from their binds, the soldiers pawed the ground aggressively, eager for a second chance against the parasites who had hit the heart of their home.

   “Thanks for saving our hides, soldier. Did you just roll into town?” asked the chief officer of the group.

   “Just signed up the other day, sir.” Valiance saluted, straightening her posture.

   “Well, hells bells, sorry to hear that, private. But at this point we need all the hooves we can get. Head over to the west wing where the castle staff have holed up. That’s where the rest of the new recruits are as well. The rest of us are gonna go exterminate these bugs, ain’t that right, boys?!” the officer commanded, his band cheering and war ready. No sooner did Valiance break apart from the team did she gallop away towards her destination. The further she headed west, the dimmer and more rotten the castle became. It was as if everything the changelings touched became corrupted. Eventually she came to a hall where the doors had been sealed shut. So corroded and splintered were the doors, that Valiance believed she had found what she was looking for. She pried the remains of the doors open, hoping some survivors were still within.

   However, there were none. Valiance’s heart dropped at what she found instead. Like flies on a rotting carcass, the room was full of changelings and podded victims lay scattered on every surface.

   The freshly made pods glowed with a luminescent green and were just bright enough to see what lay inside. Within them were ponies in various forms of digestion. Some had their innards pouring out of themselves and others were torn apart by changeling grubs who feasted upon them. Nopony was spared, for in the farthest corner of the room lay a much smaller pod than the rest. Inside, floated the curled up body of a filly. Just as Valiance had made her horrific discovery, so too did the changelings take notice of her presence.

   With barely enough time to draw her weapon, Valiance was bombarded by insectoid bodies. She cleaved her halbert into their shells and slashed at their soft underbellies. Yet even still, they kept coming and piling onto her. Her vision blurred from the shifting bodies and she felt them crawling everywhere attempting to pry her armor off. Desperately, Valiance stomped and kicked, but to no avail. Her legs began to buckle from their biting and stabbing, so much so, that the pain kept her from using any advanced spells to get away. Even teleportation was useless as the growing cloudiness in her mind prevented her from deciding on a direction.

   The changelings began to drag her into the ground. Valiance was exhausted and her vision tunneled to a pinpoint. Just when all hope was lost, a blinding light pierced through the skittering changelings, in the blink of an eye, their forms evaporated into dust. Through her helmet and darkening vision, she could faintly make out the silhouette of an ethereal equine. The large pony slowly came closer and closer before Valiance’s world went completely black.

[inacrowdofchoices]

evermore {Foreign Affairs}

pairing: Tatum Mendoza/ MC (Sawyer Estrada, she/her)

word count: 1600+

rating: General Audiences

synopsis:   It had hurt, finding her best friend again after so long, and losing him all over again.  All Sawyer wanted was a chance to get to know him again, discover the new person he had become; but she wasn’t sure Tatum wanted the same.

tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations

Sawyer had become extremely good at hiding her emotions in the face of cameras and general media scrutiny. It came with being the daughter of the President of Rutherland; she had never been asked whether she wanted to be in the political spotlight. It had just been expected of her from the day her mother had decided to join the presidential race. Sawyer’s opinion on the matter held no weight opposed to her mother’s desire to reach the highest political role in their country.

So she had learned. But some days, the idea of facing the world was too much; she wanted to be left alone, free from any expectations. Today was one of those days.

Sawyer had told Dionne that she was going to stay in her room to rest and study on her own; her friend had given Sawyer a knowing look and had not tried to convince her to join them to the library. She was grateful for that.

To her credit, Sawyer had studied for the first few hours of the morning. After a while however, she had not been able to focus anymore and had given up, which was how she found herself on her bed, staring at the ceiling. And the tears she had held on since she arrived at Vancross Academy finally found their way out, streaming down her cheeks.

Sawyer had wanted this moment to be the time in her life when she could figure herself out, decide what path she wanted to follow. Yes, her mother had insisted she attend this particular Academy, but she had agreed in the hopes she could earn some freedom to find her way in life. All she had gained was the weight of her mother’s presidential campaign on her shoulders, as if she was the one holding it together, and the feeling that the Rutherland’s diplomacy plan was her burden alone to carry.

Her mother had wanted to be President. Sawyer wanted to be her own person.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her out of her thoughts, and she tried as best she could to wipe the tears from her face. She sat up and adopted her best speech voice.

“Yes, come in."

The political advisors who had taught her to speak as the First Daughter of Rutherland and not as Sawyer would have rolled their eyes and told her to try again because her voice was too shaky, not confident enough.

The second Tatum’s eyes landed on her face, she knew he could read her as easily as he had all those years ago. His brow knit in worry.

“Are you okay?” He asked, taking one step in her room.

“Do you want the complete truth or just enough to do your job as my bodyguard?” Sawyer asked, avoiding his question.

It had hurt, finding her best friend again after so long, and losing him all over again. When he had plainly stated on that first day that he was here because it was his job and not because he was her friend, her heart had broken. Since then, they had had a few conversations and Sawyer had managed to catch a glimpse of her friend underneath the exterior of her bodyguard. Some moments even felt like they were back in time, before they had lost touch. All she wanted was a chance to get to know him again, discover the new person he had become; but she wasn’t sure Tatum wanted the same.

“Sawyer …”

“I just need to know.”

There was a silence.

“I want the truth because I can see you’re not well and I want to help.” Tatum finally answered.

“It’s not your role as my bodyguard. You only need to keep me safe.”

“I know."

He was looking right at her, and she hoped she didn’t imagine the hint of softness she read in his eyes; the small hint to let her know that it didn’t change his answer. He was here as her friend; he was here because he cared.

And that realization almost made Sawyer cry all over again. It felt like coming home.

"It’s a long story.” She pointed to her desk chair, next to the bed.

“It’s okay, I don’t have to-” Tatum started.

“I’m not going to have you standing in the doorway while I tell you why I was crying.” Sawyer interrupted him.

Tatum hesitated for a few seconds, before he nodded and took a seat, his eyes never leaving her. His hands on his lap, he leaned slightly forward, showing her she had his complete attention.

“Is it your mother?” He asked.

“In a way. Really, it’s this entire damn situation."

Sawyer closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And then, looking in his eyes, she told him everything. She told him about the constant pressure she felt from her mother, so much pressure that she didn’t know how to find herself again in the multitude of expectations her mother and her country had for her. Sawyer told him about the day her mother had "suggested” going to Vancross Academy for her master’s degree. How, when Sawyer had tried to explain she wasn’t sure she wanted a master’s degree, let alone if she even wanted to go into politics as a career, her mother had completely ignored her concerns saying it was “the best path forward” for Sawyer’s life and her mother’s reelection. This decision had not been up for discussion. She told him that she hated being under constant scrutiny here, feeling like one misstep would cost her mother her reelection. Sawyer was scared of the disappointment she could easily imagine in her mother’s eyes if she failed her classes and decided she wanted nothing to do with politics.

It felt like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders. When she finished, she realized Tatum had taken her hand in his; his way to comfort her while the words were flowing out of her, no longer filtered through her duty as First Daughter. Sawyer squeezed his hand in silent acknowledgment. And he didn’t let go.

“So as you can see … Nothing much has changed.” Sawyer finally said, after a few moments of silence.

“I disagree. I’d say it’s gotten worse.” Tatum stated.

“You know how it is during election season.” Sawyer shrugged. “Sometimes I need time to just feel my emotions. Sorry you had to see it.” She pointed at her puffy eyes.

“No, I’m sorry."

"For what?” She asked him.

“I should have seen you weren’t completely okay. I should have known.” Tatum paused. “I should have been here for you.”

“Well you are now.” Sawyer said. “Aren’t you?”

She felt the sudden loss of his hand in hers when Tatum stood up; he turned to face the opposite wall, hands back in his pockets.

“Sawyer, I’m not …”

“You’re not the exact same person you were when we hugged goodbye five years ago?” She stood up and took a step towards him.

He slowly turned and looked at her again. She could see the million thoughts, possible replies, going through his mind. She stayed silent, giving him the time to sort them out, to find his words.

“I’m not, no.” Tatum said.

Sawyer took another step forward.

“Neither am I. I just want the chance to get to know the new you. If you’ll let me."

Tatum was looking at her, with something akin to wonder and surprise in his eyes.

"Why? Why waste your time on me?”

“I don’t consider getting to know my best friend again a waste of time.” Sawyer said. “Do you?” She asked more softly.

“I don’t.” And for the first time in days, Tatum smiled.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.” She said.

“Not anymore.” He offered her his hand again, which she took. “I’m here."

Sawyer nodded, trying to hold back the tears she knew were coming. This moment was everything she had wanted; her best friend was allowing her to see the new him. He was letting her in again.

"Should we start over then?” She asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. Sawyer let go of his hand and took a step back, before offering her hand again for a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Sawyer Estrada.”

Tatum let go of a small laugh, which in turn made her smile wide. He shook her hand.

“Tatum Mendoza.”

“Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

They were grinning at each other, and the happiness Sawyer felt in that singular moment was the kind of happiness she hadn’t felt in weeks. She only hoped Tatum felt it too.

His hand wasn’t in hers anymore, but the distance didn’t feel insurmontable.

"Do you feel better?” He asked.

“I do. Definitely.”

Her doubts or the pressure she felt weren’t magically gone but Sawyer was genuinely feeling better.

“Good. Since it’s just the two of us today, do you want to order pizza?"

The way they used to order pizza when she stayed home while her mother was attending some political dinner Sawyer wasn’t invited to.

"Yes, please and thank you.” She smiled wide.

Tatum simply nodded but once he was in the doorway, he turned around again.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” She said, confused. “If anything, I should thank you. You helped me.”

“You did more than you know. And… You’ll figure things out. I’m here and I believe in you."

"I believe in you too. Always."

Tatum nodded and with a smile, he left her bedroom, closing the door behind him. She fell back on her bed, her heart full of love. Her best friend was truly back in her life.

Sawyer was excited to get to know him again.

[sincerelybubbles]

Warmth - Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Warnings: SFW!! I guess injury? Unedited, but pretty much pure fluff :)

Word Count: 2.19k

Brief Background: Reader has a healing quirk and works with recovery girl in the clinic to grow that quirk.

You always liked the clinic, with it's crisp white sheets and the quiet hum of electrical equipment barely loud enough to hear. Working in the clinic meant filing and sitting at a computer all day, sure, but it also meant quiet stories of legendary heroes and soft talking as you ensure someone is feeling better. You were sitting in your desk chair when he came in, creating an elaborate stack of glove boxes on the counter. 

"Hurry, prepare that bed." Recovery Girl was never one to shout in an emergency, but her terse tone told you that you needed to move quickly. You jumped up and began to prepare a bed as a boy with dark green hair was carried into the room. The paper crinkling as you quickly pulled it over the bed was the only sound in the room. The boy was set down and you noticed the extensive injuries to his arms and legs. 

You moved to get an IV ready, knowing the boy would need it as recovery girl worked over him. It took you a minute to notice All Might standing in the corner and you sent him a quick, reassuring smile as you finished preparing the IV before starting to use your quirk on the boy. 

You gently set her palms on him and started to work, feeling the fibers leave your hands and begin their work mending bone and tissue. After a few long minutes, his arm was the best you could get it and you got him started on an IV drip on the arm you just healed. 

Recovery Girl worked quickly and silently while healing the boy, then leaving you to bandage his arms and legs as she pulled All Might from the room by the collar of his shirt. Carefully, you focused on pulling the bandages taught on his legs, tight enough to create support, but not tight enough to cause further injury. You hummed under your breath softly, focusing fully on your work. Deeming his legs done, you lifted your attention to his arms, but your eyes met green ones looking at you. Your humming stopped immediately as you looked at the boy before offering him a smile. 

"Hello." You said, voce barely above a whisper, feeling somewhere deep in your gut that you should do everything in your power to keep the silence bubbling around you alive, knowing inside your chest that the dull ache forming there meant that maybe this boy needed more then physical healing, but maybe he needed kind smiles and soft words. "Midoriya, right? How are you feeling?"

You weren't sure for a moment if he had heard you, your voice was soft enough that it almost seemed like you were mouthing the words, barely tickling the air with the intent of what you were saying. You hesitated to repeat yourself as you looked into his eyes though. Something stopped you as you offered another kind smile before working on his arms, allowing the silence to linger in a charged, but welcome way. 

Izuku was in awe. He remembered the pavement of the entrance exam floor, hot from the sun under his cheek as he sat unable to move. He blacked out the moment he was picked up, the pain unbearable and beyond anything he could imagine. 

When he first woke up, he noticed the slight taste of pepper in his mouth and then the lack of the overwhelming, incomprehensible pain. Now, of course, he was feeling the heavy weight of tiredness seeping into his body, and his mouth felt like it was full of glue, so thick that he couldn't even open it to ask for water to rid himself of the taste slowly taking over his entire mouth. 

But all of that disappeared as he looked at you. You were there, sitting on the edge of his bed, hair shinning in the light and softly saying his name in a way that made his stomach feel like oozing butter. You were asking him how he was feeling and he knew he should pry his jaw open to tell you, to say that it was a miracle that he no longer felt like each limb on his body was being torn apart, but you were sitting there, kindly smiling at him and returning to your soft humming as you wrapped his arms. 

You finished securing his bandages on his arms and turned your attention to his face where you could see scratches on his cheek. Slowly, as if asking his permission - which was silly really, as Izuku was sure he would let you do anything to him and he would happily sit there and take it - you raised your hand to his cheek. 

"I just need to take care of those scratches." You mumbled, the smile ever-present on your face and Izuku nodded, eyes searching yours with such an intensity that you paused for a moment, allowing him to take you in evermore. Gently, as if touching a petrified bunny in the wild, you placed your hand on his cheek and allowed your quirk to work on the minor injuries previously ignored in favor of the larger issues once at hand. 

"What is happening here?" A booming voice interrupted your work and the silence of the serene room. You removed your hand from Midoriya's face and jumping up from the bed and slipping in a deep bow, you saw All Might looking at you, the obvious owner of the booming voice that filled the room completely so easily.

"I was healing the scratches on his face." You responded, lifting your head from the bow, raising to stand fully at the chuckle Recovery Girl gave you. You sent a sheepish smile to the older woman before returning to Midoriya, eyes searching his face before deeming yourself satisfied. 

Recovery Girl prepared a glass of water and helped Izuku drink it, much to his relief. "Thank you." He choked out, eyes following you as you left the room. 

-

The next time Izuku was in the clinic, he was able to walk himself there. He held uncertainties of how to use this borrowed quirk as he walked, and his head was full of questions he couldn't stop formulating despite the growing dread of doubt piling uncomfortably in his stomach. And yet, and yet.

And yet, he couldn't stop himself from realizing he might see you in the clinic. He was unsure, as you possibly could have been working a simple summer internship, or maybe you were a volunteer brought in specifically to heal injuries that might be caused by the entry exam. But, despite telling himself these things for the entire walk, excitement bubbled in his chest. This time, he could talk to you, he could thank you, he could learn your name. 

To Izuku's absolute delight, you answered his short knock on the clinic door. 

To Izuku's absolute horror, the smile you sent him spread warmth to his toes and rendered him entirely speechless. 

He willed his feet to enter the clinic at your wave, but no words would leave his mouth. He was hit suddenly with the thought that you really should be glowing, for how ethereal you were. The warmth radiating off of you as you prepared a bed for him to sit on both overwhelmed him and left him with a feeling of peace and a blush beginning to seep into his cheeks. 

"Recovery Girl told me that I shouldn't heal you unless she really needs my help, so I should go grab her so she can help you with that finger." You spun around and lead him to the bed you set up before starting to leave the room. But something had you hesitating. You paused in the doorway before making up your mind and turning around. Your eyes met Midoriya's like they were attached by magnets and you felt a blush fill your cheeks as you processed his stare.

Breaking his hold on you by looking away, you crossed the room and filled a small paper cup with water before handing it to Midoriya. 

"I'm sorry I forgot last time." You mumbled as you handed him the cup, and for a brief moment your fingers brushed as you looked him in the eyes, your voice so soft and sincere that Izuku was glad he was sitting as he was sure his legs were useless after hearing your tone. 

His chest felt full of pressure as he watched you leave the room. "Thank you." Your foot fumbled in the doorway as you glanced over your shoulder and he felt a surge of satisfaction as he saw your pleased expression before you turned back around again and left the room. 

Carefully, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip to try and calm his racing heart from the short interaction. 

-

You were sure you were not supposed to be in this room, seeing this man in such a deteriorated state, and you could see the contemplation clear as day on Recovery Girl's face as she asked for your help. But she had asked and pulled you away from healing minor injuries and into the private space she had created in the clinic. 

Your stomach curled and your knees felt like they were the consistency of peanut butter, but you managed to take a deep, stuttering breath before moving to his bedside. Recovery Girl was at your side at once, telling you she could handle him and she needed you to help the boy. 

Tears prickled behind your eyes as you saw the green-haired boy laying down, his breaths shallow as you saw multiple injuries. You carefully set to work, knowing that he was in pain. You healed him to the best of your abilities, shaming yourself for not asking him more about his quirk. Surely this was preventable. You attempted to calm yourself by humming as you fixed bandages in him, but you felt breathless. 

You jumped slightly as fingers you were working on made their way to intertwin with yours and squeeze them gently. 

Green eyes pierced through yours. You could tell he wasn't fully awake, he looked as if he was barely aware of what he was doing as he fought to keep sleep from taking him over. 

"Don't cry." He mumbled, voice barely loud enough for you to hear. Nodding and offering him a watery smile, you reached your hand up and placed it on his forehead, pushing his hair back before activating your quirk and relieving any pain signals reaching his consciousness, allowing him to shut his eyes and drift off into sleep. 

-

Being trusted with such a large secret was terrifying and calming at the same time. You knew you held too much power in your hands, but Recovery Girl reminded you gently, every time the thoughts of the heavy knowledge weighed on your shoulders and caused panic to settle, that this was a good thing. You were to take her place working in the clinic at UA and now Midoriya would have someone to heal him that knew the entirety of his quirk. 

Armed with this knowledge that you and he would probably end up connected through hero work, you clutched your lunch in your fingers as you assessed the cafeteria. You always ate in the clinic with Recovery Girl, listening to the woman and learning as much as possible, but today you decided to eat with the students your age. 

Looking out upon the swarm of students, you felt hot anticipation building in your stomach. You felt imaginary eyes prickling up and down your spine as you surveyed the room, eyes settling on green hair walking to a table. 

You watched as he sat down with other students his age, a free seat open on his right. 

You took a deep breath and walked over to his table and cleared your throat to grain his attention, a smile swiftly meeting your features as his eyes met yours and widened. 

"Is this seat taken?" You asked, allowing your eyes to drag away from his and offer a smile to the others sitting at the table. 

"N-no!" Midoriya shuffled his tray over some to make room and you sat down next to him, now seeing the proximity at which you two were next to each other. 

You easily integrated yourself into the conversation, finding his friends charming and Miroiya sweeter then you could have ever imagined. 

Izuku was holding his breath, knowing he must be braver then he ever has been before as he noticed your hand resting on the small space between your body and his. He took a deep breath before slowing placing his hand on yours. He once again felt satisfaction at the slight intake of your breath and the blush rapidly flooding your cheeks. Feeling braver, Izuku slowly intertwined his fingers with yours, eyes searching yours and finding all of the confirmation he needs as you nod, almost too enthusiastically, and you both return to the conversation at the table, slightly red, but happy and warm in the moment. 

A/N: Unedited, I’m sorry :(( But I hope you liked!

[paradise-creator]

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Reloading Paradise...

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Death is not despair, it's a new hope

Tw: Mentions of death

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The rain pours down from the heaven above. The water hits the ground and it accumulates into puddles. The grass, wet yet moisturized from the rain. The land became a mixture of water and dirt, mud, to call it simply. The weather was gloomy and so was the mood of this family. There, on a hill, stood a father and his daughter. With an umbrella covering them both, they looked at the flowers gently placed on the base of the gravestone.

The little girl held her father's hand and looked up at him. "When will mommy come back?" She asked. She wasn't crying, nor did she look sad. Her voice was soft and calming. As if the grave infront of her didn't exist, she had a ghosted smile that dawn her face.

The father looked at his daughter. He couldn't think of a response. How can you tell a young girl that her mother is never coming back? Anxiety and confusion conflicts his mind. He didn't know what to respond however he didn't keep quite for long. "Well, sweetie, mommy is in a better place now. She won't be with us anymore." He said, his voice was like satin yet it was like as deep as the ocean. His left hand petted his daughter's soft brown hair. His frown was evident in his face.

"Daddy, what do you mean? Did she leave us forever?" His joy asked. Her voice cracked and it was obvious that she was about to cry. The father held the umbrella tight and hugged her with his free hand. "Mommy is not on this world anymore. She's in heaven and she'll be waiting for us there." His voice rang in the little girl's ear. "Does she still love us?" Her voice squeaked. "Of course she does." Her father said.

The little girl was confused. What did he mean? She left but she still love them? The girl was put into a daze of sorts. She was staring at her mother's grave as the father made a small talk with himself. Why was mother under the ground? So, she's never coming back to them? Thoughts swirled the young girl's mind. This was quite a heartbreaking scene. A little girl, by the age of 3 or 4, looking at a grave of her deceased mother. The father, holding her hand while he had his small talk. "Daddy, don't cry." She said looking up to him.

The older man looked down at his daughter. He was pulled out of his small trance by her voice. "Mommy is still with us." She started happily. "She'll always be with us! That's what she said right?" She added as she used both her hands to hold one of his.

"Like she said, over the rainbow our thoughts should be. As the rainbow appears after a storm. We should stay happy through it all."

The little girl stated. The father smiled and wiped his tears away. His daughter reminds him of his beloved. Always positive and full of hope. He was happy that they still had each other and it would hopefully always be like that.

"You are right darling." He said as he petted her head. As if the heavens above felt their mood, the rain cleared and it became sunny. The dark clouds moved away. Giving the sun a chance to shine and brighten up their day.

The smile on the little girl's face brightened. "Look a rainbow!" She said, pointing to a colorful sight. A rainbow indeed was dawned on the sky. It's color's shine with radiance. The wind whispers and the flowers dance. The father and his daughter both had smiles on their faces. Forgetting the sad environment they are in. "I'll always be with you. Always." A soft voice called out. The father dropped his umbrella and looked around. The voice seemed familiar and he felt loved. It was his wife, however, that would be impossible. So he just shrugged it off, thinking it was his imagination. He continued to watch the rainbow with his daughter.

Where did that voice come from? It sounded like his wife. Her tone smooth and gracefully. Her words sweet like honey and the aura calming. There, standing beside the grave was a ghostly figure, it was his wife. A smile adorned her face as she looked at her husband and child admiring the rainbow. "Over the rainbow, in the heavens we shall soon meet. I'll be waiting, I'll be watching, and for evermore will love both of you with my heart." She said. "Over the rainbow, our thoughts should be. As the rainbow appears after a storm." The father said outloud. Still being able to hear her voice. "Oh, Rainbow, you are so pretty! Above you is the heavens, such a beauty. You shall be our symbol of love. We shall fly with you like a dove. I Love you always and forever." The father added. He was taken back to when his love story started. Under a tree, after a storm, a rainbow above them and a smile on their faces.

"And I will look at the rainbow to remember. That you are here with me till the end." The daughter ended. A small family tradition, they'll always do. When they feel sad or blue, these words hold deep in their hearts. Until they all shall meet once again. The ghostly figure went up to the two, hugged and kissed them both. After that, the figure disappeared and was to be ssen yet again. The little girl had touched her cheek, where her mother kissed her. She wiped the tear that fell and continued to admire the colors above. The father chuckled and offered to go back home. They two then walked back to their humble home.

Never take things for granted. They might slip away last you expect. Whether it will be a person or its merely just time. Once it's gone, you can't never take it back. Remember to always think positive and carry those with you in your heart. Let their strength guide you and help you. For those you lost and had slip away, they'll always be in your memories. A smile adorned your face will be a great deal. To those people that live or had gone that cared about you, it means the most to them.

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Author's note

An original story I made after a month in grief. It's been in my drafts for MONTHS so I decided to post it now-

[chuuguins]

all the evermore asks for either you or miss kyori! 💛🥺

i might answer these for kyori in a text post later bc i really want to but my brain is ldkjlkdjldj so i want to answer them better than i could right now. so enjoy this rambling nonsense about myself.

willow: what was the one unexpected thing that happened to you that ended up changing your life? - i went to a religious performing arts school for a year and it changed my life in a way i didn’t expect. i’m not religious, though i grew up that way. because of growing up that way i had a really tough battle with my sexuality. so much internalised guilt and hatred. i was out and in a relationship by the time i began classes and i thought i was totally okay and comfortable with myself. i quickly learnt that i wasn’t as settled as i thought and i began feeling awful about myself again. having panic attacks during classes, crying a lot, being terrified. but when we went on camp, an exercise we did changed everything for me. and because the exercise was religion based, it was so shocking. they taught us to have what they called “god conversations” where basically you write and talk directly to god and like....let him answer back instead of just listening to what people who teach and preach religion say. then we were all told to try it. and because i needed to get all this off my chest, i did. i wound up writing down words in response that i didn’t feel came from me but they were exactly what i needed. i don’t know if i believe that was god or whatever. but i genuinely mean it when i say i have felt completely okay with myself sexuality wise since then. religious guilt iradicated. it’s also given me the words to help other people who feel that way.

champagne problems: what is your favourite (alcoholic/non-alcoholic) drink? - moscato or soju for alcoholic and water or berry powerade for non-alcoholic.

gold rush: do you have a crush on anyone atm? - that would be my wonderful partner of four years and two months, kit! i always have a crush on them!

'tis the damn season: what is your favourite season + why? - late spring because it feels like the perfect mix between summer and the cooler seasons. also my birthday is in spring. i love the feeling of summer.

tolerate it: what is the one hobby that you've kept from your childhood? - i think that people who create ocs and/or roleplay are genuinely just people who never grew out of playing pretend. we never wanted to give up on creating and imagining. i played pretend with my friends until i was in my last couple of years of primary school and i would say i still do now in any way i can.

no body, no crime: do you watch a lot of crime/thriller series/podcasts? If yes, which one's your favourite? - not as much as i used to. but i used to just watch random videos and documentaries on youtube about murder. especially ones about teenage murders for some reason. i do also love buzzfeed unsolved, but who doesn’t? i also really enjoy any dr phil episode where he talks about things like this.

happiness: have you met the new you yet? - no but i hope to soon.

dorothea: do you enjoy doing your makeup? - YES! anyone who knows me knows that i have a slight makeup problem. it’s so funny because i spent most of my life not doing any makeup at all and now i own more than most people i know. eyeshadow palettes, blush and highlight are the things i really own a lot of because they’re my favourite parts of makeup. i also have a tradition where i ask my mum for makeup from an indie brand each year for christmas. if anyone ever wants to ask me anything or just talk to me about makeup in general, i will love you forever.

coney island: when is your birthday? - september 12th

what is the one thing/person that has been putting roots in your dreamland? - i don’t really know how to answer this question with any answer other than kit.

cowboy like me: do you like dancing? - i love dancing! it’s really fun and i really wish i was better at it than i am. dancing is one skill i really wish i had. i love dancing when i’m out in town so much!

long story short: heels or shoes? - in high school i would have said heels because they were all i wore (short person things) but i don’t wear them as much anymore because i prefer being shorter than kit and heels make us basically the same height and it weirds me out.

marjorie: which family member are you close to? - my relationship with most of my family is really weird and often not good. i would say i am closest to my sister (obviously. we live in the same house and are very close), my mother and my younger cousin alex who is honestly just the coolest kid. 

closure: if you could write a letter to any person in this world (living or dead), who would you write to? - i’m really thinking hard on this one and i’m not sure. actually, you know what, i wish i could write a letter to kit’s father. he passed when kit was six and i want to ask him questions and also just tell him everything about his child and how much they love him. i want him to know how special they are and how much of him they carry with them. this is sappy but yeah.

evermore: talk about your favourite memory? - i’m not sure what my favourite memory is. probably a tie between my first trip to the gold coast with my sister and the first time kit and i kissed/the day they asked me to be their girlfriend. the first time kit and i kissed happening in a really pretty tower overlooking the ocean when a bunch of us went away for my twenty first birthday. i just remember the rush of it and how happy i was. 

send me an evermore song + an oc !!

[julictcapulet]

for the evermore meme.... "You dropped my hand while dancing, left me out there standing," & "What would he do if he found us out?" for monty/lucille || "Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you," & "Did I shatter you?" for aaron/willow || "After giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that?" & "Sorry for not making you my centerfold," for blake/camille!

TAYLOR SWIFT; EVERMORE PROMPTS. written for the loml @rosecolore-d <3 <3 <3 enjoy the pain, enjoy seeing the out of the woods references i put into each prompt :)

LUCILLE &. MONTY

you dropped my hand while dancing, left me out there standing

Eyes closed, hands fisted at her sides, Lucille forced herself to not cry.

If she closed her eyes, she wouldn’t have to see Monty standing in front of her, looking at her like he knew every single secret she’d ever buried in her chest and refused to tell, all of them a single whisper of his name.

If she clenched her hands, she wouldn’t have to feel them shaking uncontrollably as they recognized the touch of Monty’s skin against hers, pressing so close she wondered if he meant to mold himself to her body.

The last thing she wanted to do was cry, because of course here was a ball. Of course here was surrounded by friends and acquaintances and Fred, who had smiled at her so calmly and urged her forward when Monty approached her and asked for a dance.

She didn’t deserve him. While he stood aside and spoke to one of his old friends from school, Lucille was out on the ballroom floor, tense only because she knew that if she allowed herself to relax, she would wrap herself around Monty like a vine itching to grow attached to him, just as she always had wanted.

It had made everything about their dance uncomfortable, and she had dropped his hand and fled from the room before Monty could even ask what had gone wrong.

Her face burned red with shame, pressing the back of her head hard against the wall in an attempt to ground herself even slightly. Lucille knew more than anyone what a reputation meant, good or bad. All she ever heard anymore was the importance of keeping herself in the good opinion of those around her. But every time she was around Monty, she felt like she wanted to forget everything proper she’d ever learned and kiss him or embrace him or something. She wasn’t sure what it was that she felt anymore. All Lucille knew anymore was that every time, she felt like she was wearing her love and devotion to him on her face and everyone could see it whenever they were around each other.

Everyone, Lucille thought to herself as she opened her eyes, except Monty. He was looking down at her in confusion and hurt, and it only made her ache. Hurt, because of her. Because she’d left him standing there with his hand open when it had only been holding hers seconds before.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispered hoarsely. “Or embarrassed, please. I’m not...I’m sorry, I just don’t know what’s come over me. One second I’m fine and the next I feel as if I’m about to fall apart.” It was the most she dared to say. She already feared losing control of her tongue and telling him all that she held in her heart for him. All the love and care and affection that she had always had for him, growing steadily even when she had thought she’d managed to rid herself of everything that had once plagued her. Because that’s what it felt like now. A weight upon her shoulders that she couldn’t rid herself of.

He was part of her. He always would be, and Lucille didn’t know if that meant she would always carry these feelings for him or if they would fade, but she did know that she wished she had never felt them in the first place.

Was this what it felt like for him, she wondered, watching Katherine for years, always hoping her eyes would linger on him just a second longer? Surely, Lucille had loved Monty the same amount of time he had loved her sister. The thought of him feeling the same things she did for another—worse, for her sister—made her want to retch. As selfish as it was, she only wanted him to feel that devastating, bone-crushing sort of love for her, the same way she felt it only for him and no one else. Not even Fred, as lovely and respectable and wonderful as he was, couldn’t possibly send her heart racing with one single glance her way, or have her cheeks warming at just one indecent thought. She felt guilty and ashamed and she knew she would have been berated if anyone found out.

The truth of the matter was that she had danced hundreds of dances with Fred, but she couldn’t get through a single one with Monty.

“I’m not mad,” Monty reassured her. “I’m just—”

“Don’t be worried,” Lucille interrupted before he could finish his sentence. The last thing she wanted was his pity. “I’m just—”

“Lucille?”

Lucille turned and found Fred standing in the doorway, his face the perfect picture of gentlemanly concern. “Fred,” she breathed.

“Is everything alright?”

She looked to Monty, searching his face for any hardness, any tension that might have hinted at his disappointment in Fred coming to intrude on their conversation. When she found none, she ignored the tightening in her chest and turned back to Fred.

“Everything is fine. I’m just feeling a bit ill. I think I might turn in for the night.”

She didn’t look back at Monty as she walked away, her arm secured in Fred’s.

what would he do if he found us out? (infidelity au)

Lucille would say she had forgotten what it was like to breathe when she was around Monty, but she knew that had she been honest with herself, she’d admit that she never really knew how to. She’d always been an expert at lying to herself, though.

How long had she spent so attuned to him, his presence, everything about him? Years spent growing up at his side had sharpened her senses around him while everything else dulled in comparison, fading to black and white while he stood out in screaming color. Long summer days spent laying in the grass outside of the Howard estate, Lucille’s eyes constantly searching for Monty no matter what. Listening to him play his music like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Always seeing him at her sister’s side, Katherine’s hand clutching at his arm as she spoke in rapid tones, feeling her chest cave in with the knowledge that she could never touch him so casually because she knew it would never be as simple for her as it was for Katherine. For Lucille, it would always mean something more, and for Monty, the only one who would hold that right was her sister. But then so many things had changed, and they’d all happened out of order: She’d gotten married to the wrong man while the right one stood aside and let it happen, and only after did they come together in rushed, heated moments that had her burning with shame—not just for what she had done, but for the knowledge that she was going to do it again, and she wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

And now Monty stood in front of her, his eyes searching her face desperately as the words fell from his lips, knowing how dangerous it was to speak of what they had between them. What would he do if he found us out?

Lucille didn’t know why he was doing this now. Why he was speaking so freely, why he was toeing a line far too risky to approach, why he was pressing himself closer to her, crowding her personal space like he had earned the right to do so. But hadn’t she given him the right when she’d kissed him the first time—or had he kissed her? There had been so many since that first time that Lucille forgot where they had even begun, only that they simply had, and she no longer knew if it was possible for them to end.

They were forever intertwined, not just because of the secrets they carried together, but because something had been discovered in between nights spent between the other’s sheets, their hands finding solace in each other’s bodies, holding on with vicelike grips so they wouldn’t slip away. She couldn’t deny it. His mind, to her, resembled an altar that she had fallen to her knees at repeatedly in worship, and she had never been able to recover from the way she felt when he treated her like she was worth the same reverence.

“What would he do?” Lucille repeated, her voice tense as she took a step away from Monty. “My husband, you mean?”

Her tone was harsh, sparing no niceties for Monty. Not when he was like this, showing her that streak of something she couldn’t quite call vicious, but a deliberate sort of hurt.

She didn’t feel guilty when she saw his face fall at the term. He’d brought Fred up, and she wouldn’t hide behind vague hims.

“I imagine he would be positively livid. As he should be. If you had been married and discovered that your wife was having an affair, wouldn’t you despise them?”

It got no easier to discuss their infidelity, but Lucille tried to sound as flippant as possible. She didn’t know how to do any of this. Every single night, she thought about what her family would think of her if they found out. The way she would make her father avoid her eyes to hide his disappointment, the way Katherine would resent her as if she still held the right to feel anything where Monty was concerned.

Because underneath all the shame, underneath all the guilt, Lucille still couldn’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen. She was often torn between hating Monty for not being fast enough, not brave enough, not bold enough, and hating herself for the same thing. Even still, it was Monty. If she couldn’t have him as her husband because they had run out of time, Lucille was loath to admit that she still felt owed something, so they stole all the time they could. She had never wanted to consider herself a selfish person, but the truth was staring her in the face in the form of dark hair and brown eyes and Lucille knew that no matter how cold she acted towards Monty, no matter how many times Fred kissed her cheek and told her he loved her...she knew she wouldn’t stop.

“No one could ever hate you,” Monty said quietly, his face softening for just a moment before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck. Lucille inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering closed and her hands clenching at her sides, gathering the fabric of her dress in tight fists.

“I doubt that,” she replied, but her voice was shaking, and at this point Monty must know she was only talking to argue, to avoid the inevitable.

“No one,” he started again, his lips drifting farther down her neck, across the expanse of her chest, towards the neckline of her gown, “could ever hate you.”

And with that, he brought his head back up and caught her lips in a hard, bruising kiss that should have wiped every thought out of her mind except the way Monty’s hands were already undoing the laces of her gown, the anticipation of what part of her body he would touch next, the knowledge that soon, she would be so caught up in bliss that no words would fall from her lips except a repetition of his name over and over and over again.

No, Lucille said to herself, unable to stop the thoughts from coming even as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to neck, Fred would hate me. Katherine would hate me.

But Monty never would, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

AARON &. WILLOW

everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

The words came in a quiet whisper, underneath a blanket wrapped tightly around a body that was burrowed deep into the mattress, the clock on the nightstand blinking 1:34am in neon red numbers that made Aaron’s eyes burn if he looked at them too long.

Beside him, Willow lay there, her colorful hair splayed across the pillow like different strips of paint splattered across the sheets. He liked the look of her laying there, adding color to the stark whiteness of everything in his room. He thought it was rather appropriate for the way she had come into his life and added something that he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. Like everything before her had been black and white and he hadn’t even realized it until she’d shown up and suddenly, his life was bursting with colors he hadn’t yet discovered.

Now, Aaron reached out with tentative fingers and brushed some of Willow’s hair away from her face, his eyebrows stitching together as he regarded her curiously, struggling to make out her expression in the dark. He knew her like the back of his hand, but there were some moments—moments like these—where she was as unknowable as she was afraid of becoming. He struggled to hold on to her in those moments, but so far, he hadn’t slipped up. He hoped he never would.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He wondered if it was the sleepiness, or if it was simply the sight of her walls breaking down, letting him in to see parts of her insecurities that she refused to show anybody, refused to acknowledge for her own sake.

“People talk about you,” she continued. Aaron still couldn’t see her face, and maybe that was another reason she was being so honest with him right now. “They talk about you like they know you.”

It came with the territory. It had been an adjustment, slowly gaining recognition in the world where he was once a blip on the radar of so few. It was a downside to doing what he loved, but he’d always known that gaining the fanbase he needed to share his music would also result in those same people prying into his life like they thought they owned it. He didn’t think about it very often, but apparently Willow did because while he couldn’t see her face, he could hear her voice, and it didn’t sound very steady.

“And they wonder what it would be like to be with me?” he asked, still trying to understand what it was that she was getting at.

“No,” Willow responded, finally sitting up. “They wonder what it would be like to love you.”

Repeating the words didn’t help clarify it for him any better. For him, those who wanted to speculate were free to do so. He was private enough and only mildly successful that no one cared that much.

But it was the insinuation in the words that didn’t sit well with him.

“And what is that like?” Aaron asked finally, after several beats of silence that Willow chose not to fill with further meaning to her words. “Loving me?”

Even in the dark, he felt the way Willow tensed. Felt it in the subtle shift of the bedsheets, saw it in the blurred edge of her shoulders as they drew in on themselves, heard it in the abrupt way she stopped breathing so audibly.

For a second, Aaron wondered if he’d crossed a line. Worried that he couldn’t jump back to where they were five minutes ago with no damage.

Willow didn’t answer him, but she didn’t turn away from, either. She was still stiff, stewing in the words that neither of them had the courage to say out loud just yet—Willow because she was afraid, Aaron because he knew that. She chose to pick up the blanket and wrap it back around herself, leaving him enough to cover himself with it, too, and laid her head back down on the pillow.

She had settled herself back down just a bit closer to Aaron than she had been before. He took comfort in it.

Even while Willow’s breath evened out fairly soon, Aaron stayed awake, unable to fall asleep. Thoughts of broken promises and whispered confessions filled his mind and invaded his thoughts, unable to get rid of them. Next to him, he hoped Willow was dreaming peacefully. He hoped that one day they would be able to make their own confessions without feeling the weight of it on their shoulders the entire time. He had grown tired of being an accessory to those who only wanted to use him long ago, but not once had he thought those were Willow's motivations. Yet he still couldn't help but feel confused about what she actually felt.

Willow said everybody wondered what it would be like to love him, but all Aaron could think about was what it would be like to be loved.

did i shatter you?

Was that what it had been?

Aaron looked at Willow standing there, her eyes red like she could barely keep them open, and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to reach out and hold her. It was an effort to keep his hands at his sides.

Had she shattered him? Had his own love for her somehow broken him when he’d spent all this time thinking it was building him up? Pages of his notebook were littered with lyrics dedicated to her, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the whole and the damaged, every single part of her that he had learned and memorized. What if it wasn’t as romantic and poetic as he had once thought?

But if she had shattered him, then surely he must have broken her, as well. Surely he had an even bigger role in this than she did—hadn’t it been him, after all, that had told her how perfect they were together?

Hadn’t it been him, after all, who had told her that they could no longer be together?

Or was it all just him? Aaron knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame Willow for any of it. It was wrong to believe that she was perfect, especially when he knew that she wasn’t, he had seen all of her imperfections firsthand and dealt with them more intimately than anyone besides her therapist probably had. It was that which had made him love her in the first place. Was that where it all went wrong? Had he gone too quickly, had he scared her more than he had helped her? Had he even helped her at all, or had he only deluded himself into thinking he had?

Aaron thought that if he could just show Willow how much she meant to him, then she would see something in herself worth it all. He didn’t know how, but maybe he could show her through his own love for her.

Or maybe he was just doing exactly what Willow always accused him of, and was trying to picture her as the perfect girl. Not the one to fix all of his problems, but the one to feed into all of them. Because Aaron had never thrived on the healthy aspects of the few relationships he’d had. He’d always thrived on believing them to be above him, always higher than him, and marveling at how his old girlfriends had chosen to be with him. And then he’d never bothered to reach the standard he’d imagined in his head. With Willow, it wasn’t the same. He’d felt like they were on equal footing, even ground.

He’d felt, for once, like he belonged in this relationship. Because he didn’t want to feel awed by his unworthiness of her—he wanted to work hard enough until he was worthy of her. He’d never felt that before.

Distantly, Aaron despised the way he couldn’t simply walk away. Why couldn’t he just accept that their relationship had come to a close, and it was now time to move on? Why did he have to stand here and watch Willow, knowing how desperately he wanted to be with her again, knowing that he’d do just about anything to prove to her that he still loved her?

Why couldn’t he simply tell himself that every relationship taught a new lesson, and this one had taught him that he couldn’t fix everything, and that he couldn’t expect his own damage to be mended through someone else? Why couldn’t he learn that things happened for a reason and that he needed to stop looking at love as the end all be all for meaning in life? Why couldn’t he learn that love wasn’t the only thing to look for and that he could just as easily have his breath taken away by a stunning sunset, a song that drove him to tears, a long ride through the country that never seemed to end?

Except he had learned all of those lessons. He knew them, had become familiar with the impact they’d had on his life. He wanted to put those lessons to good use and try again with Willow, but he knew that she would never take him back.

“No,” Aaron said. “God, no, Willow. You didn’t shatter me. You made me.”

CAMILLE &. BLAKE

after giving you the best i had, tell me what to give after that?

“You call that your best?” Camille asked, her voice biting savagely through each word, ripping them off her tongue. “Don’t insult me like that. You might not think so, but I deserve better than that bullshit excuse. Your best was going to a lawyer to discuss divorce?” She scoffed in disgust. “That’s pathetic.”

Pain and hurt drove her words but she could feel the truth of them underneath her skin. What happened to the man who had shown up at her best friend’s apartment building and wouldn’t leave until she’d come downstairs despite the rain, telling her that he loved her and kissing her hard enough to leave her shaking? What had happened to the man who promised to accept her for who she was and not hold her own self against her? Where had the lines blurred between who she was and who he thought she was, who he wanted her to be?

“You went to a lawyer for what?” Camille said, her eyebrows raised. “Because the doctor told us that I wasn’t pregnant? Because I said I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to be?”

And there it was, out in the open. The thing that had been hanging over their heads for weeks, months. Camille had tried to accept the possibility of a child when she'd first thought she was pregnant, if only because Blake’s face had lit up when she told him she was late after throwing up in the bathroom three mornings in a row. But then the doctor had told them it was a false alarm and Camille thought that would be it. It was only later, weeks later, that Blake said something about trying and she could feel herself tensing up.

Camille knew that when she said she loved Blake, there would be difficulties. She just didn’t know that it would mean finding emails on his computer exchanged between him and a divorce lawyer concerning her.

“I’ll be honest, I’m disappointed. I mean, if you were going to leave, I would have expected you to actually have the guts to say it to my face instead of going all Katie fucking Holmes on me. You’re a fucking coward.”

They’d been here before—the fighting and the yelling and the refusal to listen to any sort of reason or excuse. Camille remembered all too well what it had felt like to argue with Blake every single night. Some nights it had been her that started the fight, other nights it had been. There had been nights where they were both itching to rip each other’s throats out and they’d fed into those habits for so long. She remembered what it was like to be on opposite sides of their apartment, some nights ending with Camille grabbing her keys on her way out because she couldn’t stand it.

Being back in that place made her want to tear her hair out.

“Am I not enough for you?” she asked, hating herself for how her voice cracked. “Is that it?”

Blake’s eyes were wide as she began to shake his head, already shaking his head and reaching out to take her waist into the circle of his arms, but Camille took a sharp step backwards.

“Don’t touch me,” she demanded. “Answer me. Am I not enough for you? Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t think you can be with me anymore if we don’t have kids?”

Every single word hurt her to say but Camille couldn’t live the rest of her life not knowing.

And Blake couldn’t answer her.

She knew they’d both crossed lines in the past. She’d said hurtful things in the beginning, mean, spiteful things about Blake and his family that showed him just how little she cared about his parents, just how little she respected them and how disappointed she was in him that he allowed himself to be pushed around like his life didn’t matter. And he’d been mean and spiteful, too. She’d heard him call her a bitch a handful of times, telling her that she was spoiled and rude and cold, that she was selfish and resentful —she’d never denied a single one of them, but something about the way it all sounded rolling off of Blake’s tongue, like he thought he was better than her, only made her hate him more.

This was different.

This felt like something was breaking.

“You know what?” Camille started, unable to stand the silence. She couldn’t look at him anymore, not when he couldn’t give her an answer, even if it was a no. She might be able to get over it, then, but not like this. “Don’t waste your time trying to figure out what way you can spin your words to get me to give in. I’m not naïve, and I’m not your project. I’m a person.”

Somehow, she felt like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince Blake.

Camille was already halfway across the living room, her hand grabbing her purse off the table where she’d dropped it on her way back home, just like she always did. “I’ll be back tomorrow when you’re at work to get my things.”

It was only after she’d locked the door behind her and gone to the elevator that she allowed the tears to fall.

sorry for not making you my centerfold (romeo & juliet au)

Camille had never wanted to be someone’s centerfold.

What she had wanted, wanted above everything else, was to be respected. To be recognized as her own person and respected, if not liked or admired, for who she was.

The opinion of other people had never been such a large concern for her. She never bothered thinking about what people thought about the way she dressed or the way she spoke, the people she dated or the school she went to. She liked her clothes and she spoke her mind, she dated who she liked and Columbia was an amazing school that should have felt honored to have taught her for four years.

But Blake Keller was different. She’d felt it once before, the knowledge that someone had come into her life and they were about to change it forever. But Nathaniel was gone, somewhere in Europe in a school that would mold him into the perfect man for someone that wasn’t her.

She’d once thought it would be her at his side forever, and then her parents had ruined everything.

And that had been it, she’d assumed. A few good years of true happiness, a high school romance that taught her more about herself than anything else ever could have. Camille refused to forgive her parents, not because she still had any feelings leftover from five years ago, but because she knew it hadn’t been for her own good. Nothing they ever did had ever been for her own good. Everything was about making sure she never made a single misstep, so she had decided to never stop making them. Some people called it pettiness, Camille called it bitterness—she’d never shied away from the word. She didn’t particularly like it, but she wasn’t arrogant enough to think it didn’t apply to her.

It wasn’t pettiness because she wasn’t holding a grudge. It was who her parents were. It wasn’t because they thought she was too immature, because she knew they would never stop dictating who she was with until she was married.

And if they knew she was with Blake Keller, the only son of the family they despised the most, they would only assume the worst. That she had gotten involved with him to spit in their faces—tempting, but Camille simply didn’t care about them enough to only think about how to make them shake their heads in disappointment. She preferred to live her life by her own rules and revel in the fact that her rules clashed horrifically with her parents’. The truth of the matter was that she had seen Blake for the first time in probably seven years and she hadn’t even realized who he was. She’d thought he was a stranger, a new face from somewhere outside of New York.

Hearing his name had been a jolt. Discovering that she wanted him had been jarring. Finding out that he wanted her, too—Blake Keller, who always followed the rules and never stepped out of line—had been satisfying.

She’d expected a short, secret affair. She’d expected to get off on the secrecy of it all, to be excited at the idea of being brought to his family’s home and allowing herself to be pushed against the wall and kissed numb.  Not to run her fingers through his hair while they laid together in bed, her legs tangled with his as he told her all about his childhood, his parents, the lack of life that he had outside of work. In turn, she shared her own stories about how she used to love her mother more than anything because she wanted to be just like her. She told him about ballet lessons from childhood and designs that she wanted to make real, regrets she’d had and memories she would never take back for all the money in the world.

She hadn’t expected feelings. She hadn’t expected the realization that hit her harder than anything ever had—where there had once been the black and white of rigid morality, Blake had brought with him not a gray area, but screaming colors.

But he was who he was, and that was his father’s son. Camille had to have known that she would never be his first priority. She didn’t know if she would even make the top five. She gave him a small, wry smile, trying not to feel betrayed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, unable to meet his eye as she lied through her teeth. “I never made you mine, either.”