#Life doesn't feel quite so bleak!!!

[mllemouse]

I remember reblogging posts several years ago that were like, dreaming of having my own little apartment in the city with cats and books and plants and just wanted to take a second to appreciate that I have my own little apartment in the city beside my favourite park that is filled with books and plants and my two kitties

[moonlightspencie]

darling, i fancy you

Description: James Potter is in his second year of university. He's with his friends, having the time of his life! His only problem... a horrible, evil, beautiful, wonderful girl who doesn't seem to return the feelings he's developing for her. His dramatics and flirtatious antics usually work. He just can't quite figure out how to hook this girl.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Reader

Warnings: drinking, idiots to lovers, reader is described as american in one line because what is fanfiction if not a bit of self-service on occasion

Word Count: 8.2k

Coming into his second year of university was supposed to be fun. He was no longer jittery or nervous about classes since he’d already been there and done that for a full year. Besides, he was James Potter. Of course he had gotten down the routines like they were nothing to him. It was easy as pie. Now, as he brimming with confidence, he was looking forward to seeing old friends, and meeting new ones. It seemed bright and exciting: and it was, so far! 

Until his second day.

James walked into his final Thursday afternoon class and sat in a seat near the front. He might enjoy goofing off here and there, but he’d be damned if he was going to do any less than stellar in his classes. The class filled fairly quickly, seats being taken all around him. He barely noticed when a girl sat in the seat next to him as he pulled out a notebook and a pen. Until he turned with a small smile that melted off his face as quickly as it arrived. 

“Great,” he grumbled under his breath. 

She looked in the direction of the utterance curiously, blissfully unaware that one of the last few open seats, and the one she just had to choose, was right next to James Potter. 

“Perfect,” she muttered bitterly, shaking her head. “I suppose you’re going to try to get me to convince my roommate to fall in love with you again, yeah?”

“Not after last time.”

She scoffed a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re selfish and don’t care about the happiness and general wellbeing of others.”

“Right. As if your happiness should be my number one priority,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

James turned his head to her abruptly, feeling quite put off that she’d say such a thing. Him, insufferable? He thought it might do her some good to do a bit of self reflection, and had told her as much last year. It didn’t do any good, obviously, considering she was still just as irritating as ever. 

“She’s dating someone anyway. So you’re out of luck,” she said, seeming quite pleased with herself. 

James was annoyed again. “Dating someone? Great. That could’ve been me if you weren’t so horrible, and now I’ve got to wait until they inevitably break up to—”

“She’s dating a girl, so good luck with that plan of yours, Potter.”

James blinked in surprise. He supposed he never exactly saw Lily with a boy before. But… But he liked her so she couldn’t possibly be interested in girls. What a silly notion, he thought. 

“You’re sure?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Uh… yeah. Pretty sure.”

James hummed in thought. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know until summer,” she shrugged. “She came out to me shortly before she told me she’d been asked out by her current girlfriend.”

“How odd.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, looking at him with a bewildered expression. 

His eyes widened. “No! Not like that. I just… I didn’t realize. I just assumed—”

“Careful how you phrase things, maybe,” she said, looking at him a little suspiciously. 

He nodded quickly. “Right.”

He fell silent for a moment. A few blissful seconds that she basked in. Until he opened his mouth again.

“I just…” he said, then sighed. He thought for a couple seconds. “I don’t think I’ve ever not been able to win someone over before. And this seems pretty bleak for me, doesn’t it?” 

She snorted a laugh, nodding. “Yeah. More than bleak, I’d say.”

James smiled a little, then internally scolded himself. There was no reason to laugh at a joke a girl like her made. How terrible. He was better than that. He straightened in his seat, determined to ignore her now that he really had no use for her with his precious Lily too far out of reach for even him to pull in, all things considered. He pouted for a bit, feeling terribly sorry for himself as the class started. He took his notes, of course, but not without sighing every five minutes or so. 

“Can you cut that out?” 

James looked offended again, glancing at the girl. 

“Cut what out?” he whispered back. 

“The constant sighing. It’s irritating.”

“I’m upset.”

She rolled her eyes, going back to taking notes. He fell silent, but only for a few seconds. 

“You try finding out the girl you’re in love with is gay.”

“For me, that would actually work out.”

James rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Get over it,” she said after a beat. 

He glared at her, then went back to his notes. Again, really only for a few seconds. 

“Wait. Are you gay, too?”

“So what if I am? That’s not really your business, is it?” 

“I— Maybe not. But I’m curious,” James said, looking at her. 

“Stop talking.”

“I just wanna know.”

“You sound like a child,” she sighed, exasperated. “You’re distracting me.”

James gave her one more sour look before turning back to his notes. He was feeling quite annoyed now. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily ‘his business’ what her sexuality was, but he couldn’t help but be curious. Why was that his fault? He couldn’t quite figure it out. He waited until the class ended this time to turn to her again. 

“I don’t mean to intrude—”

“I’m sure you will, though,” she stated. 

James sighed. “You’re so difficult. I’m only curious. I don’t mean anything by it.”

She huffed a breath, then looked at him straight on. He raised his brows in question, hoping she might answer if he tried looking innocent enough. She shook her head. 

“It’s a bit of a rude question, you know?”

“How?” he asked, feeling a little offended. 

“It’s personal.”

“Well I—“ James started to argue, though his voice died. His eye twitched slightly as he thought about it for a few seconds. “Okay. I guess… I guess that makes sense. I just thought it was, like, knowing your hair color or something like that.”

“Personally, it’s something I usually only discuss with my friends. Not with a strange boy who I’ve only spoken to when he decided he liked my roommate.”

“That’s mean.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“It’s still mean,” James said, standing up with his bag. 

She did the same. 

“It’s honest.”

James pouted a little. “I’m only trying to make conversation.”

She looked at him for a moment, and he looked right back, his hand on the strap of his bag. He quirked a brow when she was silent for a second. 

“I’ll see you around,” she said at last, not unkindly, but definitely not in a friendly manner. 

Of course, James had to relay this ridiculous interaction to his roommates when he got back to his flat. He sprawled out on the couch, his hand flipping off the side to touch the floor and his cheek pressed against the cushions. 

“She’s evil. There’s something in her that isn’t right. I’m sure of it.”

Sirius furrowed his brow. He’d been hearing about James’s plights with this woman since last year. It always seemed that his buttons got pushed so easily by her, and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder how on earth James kept getting himself into these situations

He sighed softly, leaning back into the armchair to the left of James, a hand running through his long, dark hair before settling over his face.

 “You’ve been dramatic plenty of times before, Prongs, but this might be a new height you’ve climbed to,” Sirius said, his voice slightly muffled through his hand. 

“Mm. Not quite evil to keep that sort of thing to yourself. I don’t run around campus advertising that I’m queer,” Remus added, walking into the living room with a cup of tea. 

Remus settled on the ground near Sirius’s chair, leaning his back into the arm of it as he stretched his long legs out. He did plan on doing so on the couch, but it seemed that James had beaten him to it with his dramatics. 

“That’s not what I mean,” James groans. “It’s how she acted. I don’t care if she keeps that to herself, but she didn’t have to be so mean to me. It’s like she delights in making me feel stupid.”

Peter laughed from the chair across the way from Sirius’s. “It’s not always hard to do.”

James scowled at the boy, but before he could say something back, Sirius sighed loudly. 

“James. Just back off of the girl.”

James turned to Sirius. “What do you mean?”

“If you ignore her, she’ll ignore you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she probably finds you just as irritating as you find her,” Remus says pointedly. 

“You guys are supposed to be on my side,” James says.

His friends all exchange a look, then stare back at him. 

Sirius leans forward on his chair to come to eye-level with James. 

“James. You are like a brother to me. I love you dearly. But leave the poor girl alone before she hits you.”

James buried his face in the couch cushion and groaned loudly in protest. Maybe they were right, but he didn’t have to like it. He knew he was being dramatic and probably a bit annoying, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t met someone who got under his skin so easily in a long time, and he didn’t like it. After a few minutes, he lifted his head, looking at his friends. He didn’t like to upset them, and he was afraid if he kept this up, that he might do just that. 

“You guys want to go get dinner on me?” he offered. 

They smiled, Sirius in particular shaking his head at his friend in amusement. James felt a little better then as he scrambled off the couch. 

James’s first encounter with the girl of his dreams, who he begrudgingly accepted no longer could be, happened a few days later. He walked into a café just off of campus to get a little fuel for his first essay of the semester when he saw a familiar head of red hair. His first instinct, of course, was to rush her with a smile and that classic Potter-charm of his… but then he deflated. 

There she was: the wretched girl who had stolen his dear Lily from him. He looked sour for a moment, then sighed, shrugging it off internally. He supposed that he couldn’t really be mad since he wasn’t also a girl, so Lily wouldn’t like him no matter what. 

But if he was, he was determined he’d be very upset about the whole ordeal. 

He sat down at a table across the small coffee shop, inadvertently staring at Lily and her girlfriend. He had to admit: the girl she was dating was very pretty. And they did seem happy together. But it was still a little bit annoying. He hardly paid attention to someone approaching with his drink until he heard an unfortunately-familiar voice. 

“I would tell you that a picture would last longer, but I don’t think I can condone borderline-stalking my roommate,” the girl said, setting his latte down in front of him. 

He looked up at her in a bit of surprise. She just seemed to pop up everywhere. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

She looked down at her apron, then back at him with a puzzled expression. 

“I— I work here?” she stated, shaking her head a bit. “Thought you may have gathered that from me bringing you your drink and wearing an apron.” 

He deadpanned, unamused. “I just didn’t expect to see you here is all. It’s like you’re everywhere.”

“It’s been like a week and half and we’ve seen each other twice,” she said, huffing a breath at his dramatics. “Anyway. Is there anything else you need, besides maybe a magazine or a blindfold?”

“Why would I need those?” he asked, immediately annoyed. 

She pointedly looked at Lily and her girlfriend, then back at James. He made a face of realization, then chuckled a little despite his better judgment. 

“Oh. No. I’ll stop staring, I’m just…”

She paused waiting for him to finish, but it didn’t seem like he was going to. She nodded slowly after a beat.

“Well… it’s been a pleasure as always.”

James nodded, but then he leaned forward to grab her wrist. “Wait.”

She turned around, giving him a look that told him to let go immediately. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, dropping her wrist. “Just wanted to ask if you got that western civilization assignment done for tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Tuesday.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah. It’s a Tuesday-Thursday class.”

She paused, looking a little lost. “What?”

“It’s on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. The assignment is supposed to be done for tomorrow’s class.”

“You’re joking.”

James shook his head. “No. Why would I be?”

“Shit,” she sighed heavily, throwing her head back. “How hard is it to do?”

“Not hard, but it took some time.”

She groaned. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Just forgetful, obviously,” James laughed. 

She did not look amused. “Right. Well… Fuck. Thanks for the heads up, then.”

James looked quite pleased with himself. He actually got a ‘thank you’ out of her. He nodded quickly. 

“What would you do without me?” he smirked.

She glanced at him, looking somehow even more unimpressed. James didn’t like that look. 

“I’d have missed one class. Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

James watched her walk off, feeling annoyed once again. It’s like she couldn’t help but ruin his mood every time they talked. He sipped his latte, and suddenly felt more irritated: this might have been one of the best latte’s he’d ever had, and she just had to work there. Great. 

He kept his eyes on the girl as she walked back behind the counter, getting started on whatever task came next for her. She seemed to be making some kind of drink. He watched her as she flitted around back there easily, taking note of the way she’d occasionally scrunch her nose in a weak attempt to adjust her glasses as her hands were full. He took in every detail of her outfit that he could see from the other side of the counter: a simple black t-shirt and jeans that looked annoyingly good on her. Like it wasn’t enough to be irritating all the time, she had to be pretty, too. How was he supposed to just ignore her completely? He scoffed to himself at Sirius’s stupid advice as he sipped at his drink again.

That same thought snuck into his head as she walked into class the next day, dropping into that same seat right next to him. He took note of her slightly messy hair, and the crewneck sweatshirt that hung on her a little loosely. He looked at her nails as she pulled out her laptop, smiling a little at the baby blue that was painted on them. He liked blue quite a lot. He was in the middle of looking at the minimal makeup on her face, especially the gloss on her lips, when she just had to interrupt him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“None of your business,” he replied quite defensively.

“You’re staring at me. It feels like my business, Potter.”

He rolled his eyes. Why did she always have to be so difficult? It’s like she had fun making him feel like an idiot.

“I wasn’t staring. I was observing.”

She sighed, softly, shaking her head as she went back about her business, logging into her laptop. He tried really hard to remember what Sirius had told him and just ignore her as well as he could, but it wasn’t exactly his fault that she had a photo of herself and some guy on her computer.

“I thought you were gay?” he said curiously.

She turned her head to him slowly, and if he thought she looked at him like he was stupid before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now.

“What?” 

“I thought you said you were gay,” he clarified, though it made nothing clearer for her. He pointed at her laptop background, “but, there’s a boy with you on your computer.”

“I never said I was gay. I said it wasn’t your business if I was or not.”

“But you must not be if you have a boyfriend.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “That’s my brother, nosey. And I’m not gay.”

“Thought you said that wasn’t my business?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

“That’s what Sirius said,” James replied, though it was mostly to himself.

She snorted once. “Your friends are telling you you’re gonna get hit by someone?”

“By you,” he corrected.

Now, this piqued her interest. She looked at him curiously.

“Your friends tell you that I am going to slap you? Why?”

“I told them we don’t really get along. Sirius thinks I should just ignore you.”

“You’re doing a shit job of it,” she laughed a little.

He wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn’t help but smile a bit back at her. She had a nice laugh. He thought to himself that maybe he’d like to hear it more. It would certainly be better than the grating sound of her always being annoyed with him.

“Can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“You can help if you’re peering over my shoulder at my personal laptop.”

“I’d hardly call it peering. Plus you have a large screen, it’s easy to see.”

She cracked another small smile against her better judgment, and decided on ignoring him the rest of the class. It didn’t work. At all.

“So…” James started up when the professor decided on padding the rest of the class time with an ‘opportunity’ to get a headstart on the next assignment. “Did you end up finishing that assignment that was due today.”

“Clearly.”

James furrowed his brow. “Huh? How is that clear?”

“I’m a mess. I look like I just rolled out of bed, because I practically did in order to finish the assignment today before the rest of my classes. I haven’t even been in my apartment since like eight this morning.”

James still looked on in a bit of confusion, glancing over at her again, taking in her appearance. Sure, she wasn’t extremely put together, but she still looked pretty. James, ever the one to speak exactly what’s on his mind, decided on telling her that.

“I think you look really pretty today.”

She swallowed once, looking at him in a moment of mild shock. She usually wasn’t one to clam up around anyone, but she certainly was now, and James took notice.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything…”

“No. No, it isn’t that. I just…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Nevermind. Just… work on your assignment. It’s what we’re meant to be doing anyways.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” James nodded, feeling a little bad now that he’d apparently made her uncomfortable.

Though, as much as it was a sense of discomfort that she felt at his compliment, there was also much more to it. Not that she would ever tell him that. No, it was much worse than the normal annoyance she felt for the boy when he looked her up and down and gave her that sweet smile. It was terrible and evil and made her face a bit warm. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his cheek smushed in his hand nearly making her smile being all the more evidence: she was developing a crush on James Potter.

James was in the process of waking up on a cold Saturday morning in early October. Usually he’d be able to pull himself out of bed somewhat easily, only really needing a good shower to get his blood pumping for the day ahead. The ‘process’ part came into play as a rare, true hangover made him feel both dizzy and like a rock stuck in bed. 

He wasn’t a stranger to a late night of drinking with his friends, or a party here and there while he was at school. Even in his highschool days, he would sometimes sneak out from under his parents’ watchful eyes with Sirius to go live it up for a night. But it rarely resulted in an actual hangover. Sometimes a headache, occasionally he’d throw up before bed, but this? This was hell on earth. He was convinced. It certainly didn’t help that he hardly remembered past drink number seven the night prior. He decided on not letting the frat boys fill his cup anymore.

After an hour of laying in bed, he finally decided that it might be time to at least try to join the world of the living. He rolled off of his mattress, shuffling into the bathroom to take a cool shower. He effectively did as much, only having to bend over the toilet bowl to empty his stomach twice! He was quite proud of himself for that, considering he felt nauseous the entirety of the shower. He stumbled back into his room, haphazardly drying off his body and hair before slipping into a sweater, jeans, and a warm coat. He slipped on his boots, grabbed his keys, and walked out the front door. He thought that maybe his favorite cafe would have something to lift his spirits and fill his now-empty stomach. He also thought that maybe a certain girl might be working. That would definitely lift his spirits.

He walked into the cafe around 11am, finding it surprisingly empty for a Saturday afternoon. He had started making a habit of visiting the place probably more often than he needed to. He knew the usual flow at this point.

He frowned when his favorite table was taken, and ended up dropping into a seat near the back by a window after he had ordered. He sat his order number marker on the table, and waited for a familiar face to show. He started to smile when he saw his coffee and a chocolate pastry being set in front of him, but it dropped as he looked up to see a less familiar man. He thanked him anyway, despite the fact that he was quite disappointed. He picked at his pastry, and sipped his drink, letting the carbs and caffeine make him feel a bit like a human being again after such a rough night. He decided to stick around for a while after he finished both, just sitting and thinking. He always liked being alone with his thoughts, but they seemed to flow a little better with the hum of something in the background. A cafe full of people did the trick for the day. After an hour or so of staring out the window, he decided he could use another cup of coffee.

He went to wait to order behind a small line of people, fiddling on his phone until he was finally called up to order next. A smile grew on his face when he saw who was taking orders now.

“Hi!” he said to her cheerily.

“Oh. James. Hi,” she said, a little surprised to see him. “What can I get you?”

“You weren’t here earlier. I got here a little past 11, and some guy brought me my drink.”

“Yeah. I just got in at 12. So… what do you want to drink?”

James ignored her question with another smile. “How long are you working today? Don’t you normally come in earlier?”

“Five hour shift today,” she said with a small sigh. “I just didn’t start early this time.”

“Oh. Well, it’s good you’re here now. I’d have hated to admit that I might have missed you when I saw you in class on Tuesday.”

She fought a smile at that, determined to remain irritated at him.

“Are you going to order? You’re kind of holding up the line.”

“Right!” he exclaimed suddenly, looking up at the menu as if he didn’t get the same thing every time.

“Do you just want your usual?”

James stilled at that. She knew his normal order? He smiled a bit to himself, trying not to seem too delighted at that fact. But he shook his head quickly, even though that’s exactly what he planned on getting.

“What’s your favorite drink?”

“I like the lavender oatmilk latte.”

“Lavender? In coffee?” He made a sour face.

“James,” she said, somewhat shortly as he dawdled. 

“I’ll have one of those, then.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. But if it’s gross, I’m blaming you.”

She smirked a little as she shook her head, typing in the order.

“Alright. It’s in,” she said, nodding to the side for him to get out of the way. 

“But I didn’t pay.”

“It’s on me,” she replied. But, she continued before he could think it was too sweet, “It’ll get you out of the way faster.” 

He nodded, giving her a thanks with a shy smile. He went back to his seat, expecting that same wretched boy to come back out instead of her with his drink. Though it certainly took a long time for him to do so. Just as James was looking over his shoulder to see what was taking so long, he saw that same familiar face coming towards him with a mug of coffee. He smiled up at her as she set down the mug.

“I thought you were on the register.”

“I was.”

“But you just had to come see me, right?”

She scoffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Enough out of you. I came to ask about the test on Tuesday.”

“Oh?” he asked, looking down into the coffee she brought. It didn’t look gross, at the very least, but he still wasn’t sure about lavender in his coffee.

“I can’t find my notes from two weeks ago anywhere. Do you think I could borrow yours by any chance?”

“You want to borrow my notes?”

“You can be an idiot sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Unfortunately, you are actually really smart under that…” she gestures vaguely at him. “You know. Your whole vibe.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pouting a little.

“It’s a compliment.”

“Still mean. I thought you Americans were supposed to be nice.”

“I think you’re thinking of Canada, but I mean it in a nice way.”

He huffed a small sigh, tilting his head as he looked up at her. She tried not to look at him for too long, sure she’d start grinning for real this time. Why did he have to be so handsome? And so annoying. And ridiculously charming. She merely quirked a brow at his silent tantrum, waiting for him to speak again.

“I guess. You can have my notes, but you have to come get them from me at my apartment.”

“You can’t just email them to me?”

He smiled. “Nope. I take ‘em on paper. You can come get them.”

“It would be easier to take a photo of them.”

“I want my roommates to have to meet the girl who hates me so much anyways. They’ve been dying to properly see you without me having to point you out across campus.”

“You talk about me a lot?” she asks with a little smirk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Enough,” he smiles at her brightly. “Come on. Just humor me.”

“I don’t have your address,” she argued weakly.

He laughed a bit at that. God, she was adorable when she was being difficult.

“Give me your phone, then.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to put my address in. And my phone number so I don’t always have to try to catch you here or in class when I want to talk to you.”

“Who says I want to talk to you?”

“I think you secretly like me.”

“I think you’re annoying.”

“I think you secretly like me, even though I’m annoying. You’re trying to tell me I’m not a delight to be around?”

She sighed softly, clinging hard onto that small sliver of irritation, even if it didn’t do much good against the boy. She pulled out her phone, unlocking it and handing it over to him. She watched as he typed in all his information, and even took a cheesy little selfie for his contact photo. 

“No, no, no…” she said, trying to take her phone back when he started messaging himself.

He put out his arm with a giddy grin, blocking her from getting the phone back as he continued on his path with the other hand.

“How else was I meant to get your number?” he giggled, hitting send and handing the device back to her. “Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be the only one with the option to contact me. If you were the only one of us who could text, we’d never get the ball rolling on a proper friendship.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend,” she snorted once, pocketing her phone again. “You’re a nuisance.”

“I’ll see you tonight then, right?” He ignored her poor insult. “To get the notes, I mean.”

She fell quiet for a moment before begrudgingly nodding. “Yeah. I’ll see you then. When will you be home?”

“For you? All day.”

She rolled her eyes again, but she couldn’t help but fight a warmth in her cheeks as she turned to get back to work.

As it turned out, much like she was suspecting, letting James put his number in her phone, and consequently exchanging numbers, was a horrific idea. It seemed that every time she went to check her phone, even if it was the middle of the night, he had something to say. Whether it be an actual message or just a strange meme he found online, he was constantly sending her texts. She was convinced he was testing out a kind of exposure therapy. That maybe, in his head, if he kept bugging her all hours of the day she would learn not to act so annoyed by him. To his merit, he was mostly right. But it helped that she was harboring a secret crush on him to begin with.

James, on the other hand, was getting non-stop reprimands from his friends. Every time he pulled his phone out and started typing, they’d groan in annoyance, knowing exactly who he was trying to talk to.

“Mate, you’ve got to lay off the poor girl,” Remus grumbled softly, his head dropping onto the back of the couch when he clocked James texting her in the middle of a movie night with the boys. 

“I just thought she might think this movie is good. I’m recommending it,” James shrugged a little, still typing away.

“She probably doesn’t care,” Peter said casually.

“Shut up, Pete,” James huffed, setting his phone down. Though he left it up to make sure he’d see exactly when she texted back. “It’s funny. She likes funny stuff.”

“You’ve got it bad, Prongs,” Sirius shook his head as he came back into the living room from his brief excursion to the bathroom. Remus pulled him right back into his lap as he came out, hugging him tightly.

James looked at them, making a disgusted face and groaning. 

“You guys aren’t allowed to talk about me when you’re always clinging onto each other like that.”

“You’re just jealous,” Sirius smirked.

“Maybe I am! I have to watch you two cuddling all the time, all in love. It’s sickening,” James crossed his arms as he looked back at the television. “I shouldn’t have to watch that and hear about how I shouldn’t text a girl I fancy.”

Remus and Sirius shared a look. Remus then set his sights on James with a raised brow.

“So you fancy her now, do you?”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” Remus chuckled. “When we started the school year you said she was evil. Now you fancy her.”

“She is evil. She doesn’t like me back,” James sighed dramatically, slumping in his seat. “I don’t get it. Girls loved me in high school. Then all of a sudden we’re at uni, and the first girl I like turns out to be a lesbian and the second one thinks I’m annoying.”

“Poor boy,” Sirius cooed at his dear friend jokingly. “You’ll find one soon. Maybe she just isn’t the one for you.”

“But I want her to be! It isn’t fair. She probably doesn’t like English boys at all. I bet that’s what it is.”

“What?” Remus asked incredulously.

“She’s from the States. I bet she only likes, like… farmers or surfers or something stupid.”

That earned a laugh from his friends, brushing off his dramatics as usual. James merely pouted to himself as he watched the movie until his phone buzzed next to him. He grabbed it like his life depended on it when he saw who the notification was from, smiling like a giddy child as he read the message.

“alright. thanks for the rec, I’ll check it out :)”

He giggled a little to himself. “She sent me a smiley face! You guys think that actually made her smile? I bet it did.”

His friends merely sighed, ignoring him again since he wouldn’t have listened to their response anyways as he typed away.

“Maybe we could watch it together some time! I think my friends would really like you. They didn’t get to know you well enough last time they saw you since it was only a couple of minutes. You should come over!! :)”

He sent the message, but as soon as the excitement calmed down a smidge, he sent another message.

“If you want to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you. But I do want to hang out with you. I think you’ll like me if you decided to stop hating me lol”

“Sorry, that sounded weird”

“I just mean that we could be good friends, I think. You’re funny and cool, and I’m also funny and cool. It’s like we’re made for each other haha!”

“I don’t mean it like that. You know what I mean, yeah?”

“Fuck, mate, you writing a novel over there?” Sirius laughed with wide eyes, looking at the phone in James’s hands.

“I keep fucking up and sending weird stuff,” he groaned. “Trying to do damage control.”

“Not much damage control to do when she already talks to you in person,” Sirius retorts with a smirk.

“Shove off, Pads.”

His phone buzzed again.

“right lol. maybe sometime? do you plan on talking through the whole thing though? you tend to be a motormouth, you know lmao”

He let out a breath of relief, smiling to himself again when he saw that he didn’t screw things too badly.

“I’ll be quiet during all the important parts at least. Promise!”

He waited for a moment, staring at the screen as a little text bubble popped up almost immediately.

“maybe then, yeah. i’ll let you know next time i’m getting too happy with my peace and quiet. or the next time lils and her girlfriend are making out in front of me again”

He laughed softly, ignoring the looks he was getting from the others as he texted the girl. They were all in happy relationships, they certainly were not allowed to judge him for being excited to be speaking to somebody cute.

“Might not be much better with Sirius and Remus here, but misery loves company, right?”

“Those are two of my mates you met when you picked up those notes a while back, btw. In case you forgot their names.”

“They’re dating now.”

He waited patiently, not even paying an ounce of attention to the movie still playing. Besides, if he was going to watch it with her again some time soon, who cares if he missed a bit of it?

“good for them, they’re probably super cute together. but yeah, i’ll text you next time then”

James smiled brightly.

“Great!!! I’m looking forward to it! We can order dinner and everything.”

“But not like a date.”

“Unless you wanted it to be lol. Just kidding. We don’t have to do that.”

“But I’ll still buy dinner so you don’t go hungry.”

He waited again as the speech bottle popped up, and frowned a little when it went away. Then, there was a little heart on the first message he sent about ordering in, which, to him, felt like everything. 

She was surprised with herself when she was all nerves before going to see James and his friends for that promised movie night. Though, she quickly realized that was incredibly silly.

As she got to know James’s friends, she kind of started understanding why he talked so highly of them. She adored them, and thought it was pretty funny that they always seemed a little bit lovingly exasperated with his antics. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how she’d start feeling about him, or if that bothersome crush would never fade into a casual friendship.

The answer seemed to come after Sirius and Remus ran off together after dinner, and Peter left to go hang out with his girlfriend. She didn't expect to find herself opening up to the Potter boy so easily about her past, nor for him to become so serious and thoughtful when talking about his own. 

She really didn’t expect for herself to say yes to hanging out with him again. And again. And again.

It’s like he somehow found his way under her skin. She knew he was capable of such a thing from how he was easily able to bug her from their first meeting. It was exasperation at first sight. But the way he charmed his way into her heart was an entirely new kind of annoying. He was all boyish smiles, silly stories, and dramatism… and it was fucking endearing.

But their tipping point came in March. 

Much to her chagrin, they had become close friends. They spent a lot of time together, and not just in the classroom or at work. She’d become friends with his friends, and James had become friends with Lily and Marlene after he finally accepted that Lily really wouldn’t ever like him. Though, realistically, he was pretty much over that the second he realized he had feelings for someone else. That slightly-grumpy, highly caffeinated, lovely, hilarious, complaining, sweet, smart, ridiculously difficult angel of a girl. 

The girl that made him embarrass himself in front of a party full of people.

He stood with Peter and his girlfriend at a table, chatting as they started sipping on freshly made drinks. James was, admittedly, probably a few too many in. But he couldn’t always exercise impeccable self-control, he decided. So, he stood there, staring at the girl from across the room as she danced with Lily’s girlfriend Marlene with a smile on his face.

“You look ridiculous staring at her like that, mate,” Peter said to James, nudging him lightly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” James snorted, pulling his eyes away from her to smirk at his friend. “Besides, I can stare at my girl all I want.”

“Only she isn’t your girl, James,” Peter reminded him.

“I’d like her to be,” James sighed dreamily, turning his head to look at her again. But this time, a frown overtook his face. 

She was now being tapped on the shoulder by some tall, terribly handsome looking guy. James’s stomach lurched a little at the sight. What did this guy think he was doing? 

He looked on for a moment as the two talked, growing more and more frustrated. He knew they weren’t together, but that was still his girl. He knew he had to take immediate action. This couldn’t just slide without consequence. James looked around the room almost frantically, trying to figure it out. How could he get all her attention on him instead of that stupid dude hanging off her shoulder?

Aha!

He pushed his cup into Peter’s hand, ignoring his friend questioning what on earth he was doing. He walked, though it was more of a drunken stumble, to the nearest table, clambering up on top of it. He cleared his throat, looking around as more and more people started looking up at him in confusion. Perfect! An audience.

He called her name over the crowd, looking at her intently until she turned to him with wide eyes, shrugging off the other guy that was still trying to get an arm around her. He smiled brightly, though she looked less than amused, shaking her head a little at him.

“I want everyone in this room, and… and everyone forever, everywhere, to know something. I am so, stupidly, madly…” he stopped as he stumbled a little, his foot slipping off of the table’s edge in front of him. “Shit!”

He crashed to the floor, scraping his hand on something on the table as he tried to stop himself from landing too hard on the ground. He winced, both from the tumble to the ground and the pain in his hand. What the hell was so sharp on that table?

“Ow,” he muttered, not even trying to get up yet, rubbing his head a little as he felt quite dizzy.

“James!”

He squinted up with a small, pained smile as her saccharine voice reached his ears as she came rushing over. He groaned a little when she dropped on her knees in front of him, trying to look at his hand. It was bleeding a little bit.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she mumbled, but he still noticed the worry in her eyes. It made him feel good.

“I’m drunk.”

“Clearly,” she sighed softly, then stood, reaching for his opposite hand. “Come on. Let’s go get you home.”

“I didn’t finish what I wanted–”

“You need to get to bed. You’re a mess, Jamie.”

He smiled a little more at that little nickname. He loved it when she called him that. He agreed instantly to her at that point. How could he say no?

“Okay. Lead the way, mama.”

“...Don’t call me that.”

“Mm,” he shrugged, letting her help him stand up. He hung off of her, practically using her as a human crutch. “You’re so sweet to me.”

She stayed quiet, trying to bring him out of the room of people either staring or laughing at him. It was a miracle she got him home, but she did after a lengthy battle against the sidewalks and stairs. She sat him on his bed, making him stay put as she went to get disinfectant and a bandage for his hand.

He blinked slowly, looking after her with a dopey smile as she left and returned. She sat in front of him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. He barely whined at all when she cleaned off his hand, muttering something about him being a ‘clumsy, ridiculous cunt’. He thought it was cute how she could take care of him so well while still insulting him for being an absolute idiot. He reasoned that at least he would be her idiot. 

“Sorry, love,” he mumbled when she finished up with his hand. “But you’re awfully good at this stuff. Maybe I got hurt on purpose just so you’d take care of me.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, practically force-feeding him some water. 

He swallowed. “No, I didn’t. But I could have. I like it like this.”

“You like having your hand all fucked up, and a room full of people laughing at you?”

“I like you sitting with me like this. Giving me alllll your attention,” he giggled. “Besides, you’re really pretty when you’re concentrating. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means you’ll do that silly little thing where your tongue sticks out a bit when you’re focusing.”

“You need to go to sleep,” she said softly, fighting a smile.

“But I didn’t finish what I was gonna say on the table.”

“Too late.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Too bad.”

He whined. “Please? That douchebag who was all over you is gonna go right back to it if you go back to the party.”

“I’m not going back to the party. And what do you even mean? What guy?”

“The one who was on you when I got up on the table,” he pouted.

She quirked a brow. “I don’t even know that guy.”

“That’s worse! He’s gonna steal you away!” James exclaimed. “That isn’t fair. I had you first.”

She swallowed once, looking at him curiously. “What?”

“I don’t like boys looking at you or… or touching you or talking to you or anything. You were mine first. They need to back off,” he said, getting increasingly irritated. “I don’t care if you think I’m annoying or you don’t like me. Doesn’t mean some other boy gets to just… take you.”

“Slow down,” she said, grabbing his arm. “First of all, I do like you, if not evidenced by us becoming friends the past several months. Second… some dude I don’t even know isn’t gonna come along and ‘take me’. That doesn’t even make sense. Besides…”

“It does make sense! You’re so beautiful, and funny, and caring, and really mean but in a way that is super hot…”

“I don’t want to date some random frat boy, James.”

“But they want to date you!”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“I do! I love you! They shouldn’t get to butter you up and take you away from me, it isn’t fair,” he groaned, tossing himself back onto the pillows.

As a result, he didn’t see her mouth drop open at the accidental confession, nor the way her eyes widened as she looked at him. 

“You love me?”

“What?”

“You just said you love me.”

James opens his eyes, though he doesn’t look at her. “...no I didn’t.”

“You’re a shit liar, Jamie. I know what I heard.”

He winced a little. “Well… maybe I do. That’s what I was gonna say on the table, anyway.”

“So you’re brave enough to say it in front of a crowd, but you get scared to admit to it one-on-one?” She snorted a laugh.

“It’s easier to not get rejected right away when we’re around other people. Then at least I could figure out your reaction when you were still far away,” he said meekly, finally looking at her.

“You think I’d reject you?”

“Maybe? You kind of hated me when we first met.”

“And now? Who do I spend every waking moment with, dummy?”

“...me?”

She merely raised her brows, opening her hands in an ‘obviously, dumbass’ kind of gesture. He smiled at her.

“So…?” he asked vaguely.

“So… you love me, huh?”

He merely nodded, looking a little sheepish and still pretty drunk. She was thanking her lucky stars that she was still extremely tipsy as well, or else she probably would’ve passed out from nerves.

“What if I said… like, me too?”

His eyes widened. “You too?”

“Yeah.”

“You love me too? Like, also?”

“Yes, like, also,” she laughed. “I’ve honestly had a crush on you since the second day of classes this year.”

“Really?” He smiled brightly. “Ugh, you’re horrible!”

“What?” she scoffed a laugh.

“You are evil! I’ve been saying it since day one. This whole time I thought I was an idiot for liking you so much, and you had a crush on me?”

“To be fair, I really didn’t want to. You were pretty insufferable,” she chuckled, brushing some of his messy hair out of his face.

“Then what changed for me?”

“Nothing. I just started thinking all of your irritating traits were becoming irritatingly adorable.”

“You think I’m adorable?” He giggled to himself.

“Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

“Don’t call me that. I like it better when you call me Jamie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Makes me all soft and mushy inside.”

“You’re such a sap,” she sighed softly, leaning down over him to kiss his cheek.

He felt his cheeks heat up quickly at the sweet gesture, and even more when she didn’t pull her face away from his. He looked up at her with a soft smile. How could he not have fallen head over heels?

He leaned up slightly, glancing down at her lips before closing his eyes to let her make the first official move. He hoped she’d make that move. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and sparks all over his body when he felt her lips meet his for the first time. He smiled into the kiss, unable to stop himself from it.

He kissed her back, though it was admittedly sloppy with the both of them still fairly inebriated, James being even more so. But to him at the very least, it was perfect.

Against his preference, she pulled away. He pouted, as he usually did when he didn’t get as much attention from her as he’d like.

“You have to promise me something,” she said quietly.

His ears perked up. “Anything.”

“We won’t become annoying like Lily and Marls or Sirius and Remus.”

He grinned. “Does that mean you want to date me?”

“God, you’re dense,” she muttered against his lips, kissing him again with no intention of ever stopping.

[depresssant]

Shades of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

wsp guys. it's been pretty long, huh?... OK IM SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IT QUICKLY. here, damn 🙄. anyways, i hope yall enjoy n im glad u guys liked the first chapter. lets just hope this one lives up to yalls expectations 😭. follow me and repost this if u want a chapter three. also I NEED SOMEONE TO EDUCATE ME ABOUT SUNDAY FROM HSR BC I WANNA WRITE FICS ABOUT HIM SO BAD SO PLS SOMEONE EDUCATE ME N ALSO IF U KNOW LOVE AND DEEP SPACE??? PLS HIT ME UP AND EXPLAIN THIS LORE BC I WANNA WRITE YANDERE FICS FOR THEM SO BAD

“Why are balls called balls when testicles sounds hella fancier?”

At your friend’s bizarre question, the face of your other friend, Zarian, twinges in disgust. “Jayelene… why do you feel the need to put that out there?”

You huff in amusement, focusing on your pizza before what Jaylene says ruins your entire mood.

“I’m just saying! Testicles just seems more appropriate⏤the type of fancy shit drake and his family would say.”

Tim Drake Wayne…

Dinner with him and his freak-a-zoid family was like trying to make it past no-man’s land without any help to shield you from the straight up chilling vibes they gave off with their constant comments about bat facts. Bats. The atmosphere during the entire time you spent there was dreadful and quite literally heavy since Tim's youngest little brother wanted to sneak stares at you as if you wouldn’t notice his bug-looking eyes creeping into your soul.

Rich people really are weird, huh?

The Wayne family is nothing like how you expected them to be. They’re supposed to be cold, mysterious, and irresistibly enchanting, but all you’ve got are creepy vibes and a strong urge to stay away from them as much as possible. From the way Mr. Wayne made that weird comment about your father in the limo to how forcibly happy Richard or “Dick” was with you, you’ve come to an understanding that rich people are complete lunatics.

The Wayne family is full of a bunch of lunatics.

And you’re not afraid to voice that.

“There you go again,” Jaylene sighs when she notices the irritated expression on your face. “It’s never that serious, [Name]. You just hate everyone.”

“No, you don't get it! They were creepy as hell! Like… Like bats in dark caves coming at you all at once. They talk funny, they look funny⏤they act funny! What normal man name drops your mother’s name after knowing each other for about thirty minutes?”

Zarian huffs in amusement. “That’s the creepy part. How does Mr. Wayne know your name?”

“I dont know.” You run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the booth seat. “I don't want anything to do with them. Billionaire or not, how the hell does he know my mother’s name.”

It was perhaps towards the end of your stay at the Wayne’s manor for dinner, and you knew you had to go home, so you had largely hinted at leaving to Drake. Everything had gotten wrapped up, but when you were just about to leave, Mr. Wayne had told you, “make sure to tell [M/n] I said hi.”

You could only stare at him in shock as your body carried along, because how does a man as famous and wealthy as bruce wayne know your mother⏤your mother? He’s the chief executive officer of Wayne Enterprises yet mentions your mother?

That moment alone is enough to wave every red flag in your brain that screams at you, telling you something is up with these shady people. The only question is what? What can a billionaire possibly want from you? Out of everything the world has to offer, the most influential billionaire in America wants to target some meager high school kid?

What do these people want from you? Is it a rich people thing to play around with those below you? Well, you guess it probably is. Like, is Mr. Wayne gonna pop out with his soulless eyes and say, ‘you’re my long lost child?’ or something?

You still don’t know why you’re being a goat stuffed before slaughtering. These people want something from you, but you? You’ve got nothing to offer that they could want. Why the hell do they even bother? If there's one thing you really hate, it’s being left in the dark like this. Not knowing is terrifying. It's dangerous. Not knowing means not being prepared, and if you’re not prepared, you won’t make it out. Damn it, you should’ve booked it the moment Mr. Wayne mentioned your father in the limo. Movies and shows always display rich people as eccentric and psychopathic weirdos, and now you’re finally believing it.

Damn it.

You’re in danger. Okay.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration. But maybe it’s not.

You’ve watched enough true crime and have enough intuition and trust in your gut to know when something is wrong.

It’s not adding up.

You’re not dumb. You see all the warnings there, but what if you're exaggerating. What if this is just the nature of the Waynes, and you think you’re special enough to be noticed by them? Mr. Wayne is a damn billionaire! He’s got the money to do whatever he wants, so it’s only natural for him to do a background check on everybody that interacts with his sons, right?

It’s all in your head… It’s all in your head.

Sighing, you stare at the plate of food in front of you, appetite long gone. Still, you grab a fork and continue to eat as Zarian and Jaylene scream back and forth next to you. Drake, who had accompanied the three of you to the diner after practice, has left, thankfully. He left as soon as his food arrived while talking about some family emergency, and honestly, you’re pretty damn grateful for that.

Ever since dinner at his house, he’s surrounded you like a pillow smothering you, and you can’t do anything about it. He’s a billionaire’s son, for fuck’s sake.

It doesn’t take long for you and your friends to finish up, and you all part ways at the door of the diner before you clutch the straps of your backpack and walk around the city endlessly. This is a habit for you now⏤a way to put off going home as much as possible ever since you found out your mother’s boyfriend doesn’t come home until one or two in the morning.

That balding, ugly, sleazy piece of shit.

He’s as gross as every other man your mother’s brought home under the terribly veiled illusion that he’ll provide her a good life and treat her right. No matter how many times you try to tell that blind bitc… No. It's wrong. It’s not your mother’s fault.

But it sometimes feels like that, though.

Most mother’s destroy their own lives for their children, yet yours cannot even think about leaving the man that beats her child on a daily. Those types of mothers leave their spouses the second they see something wrong, while your mother treats those finger-print bruises around your neck like a necklace instead of abuse.

You’ve given up on her. You gave up on her back when you were eleven years old locked in a room with her boyfriend, and she didn’t listen. Or when you were twelve. Or thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen. Or seventeen. And now eighteen.

And each day feels like a repetition of the same. Wake up, go to school, practice, walk around, go home, get beat, and sleep like none of it all happens. It’s a routine you despise with every fiber of your being⏤makes you wanna jump over Gotham City Bridge before thinking about returning home because who would want to? Who wants this average life?

A life where you’re not happy enough, not sad enough. Not good enough, not bad enough. Not energized enough, not tired enough. You feel like a survivor of a plane crash floating on a raft at the center of the endless ocean with no way out. Everything just seems so vast, wide, and unreachable. How can you find the shore on a simple raft? How can you find a way out of inescapable misery if it’s not by drowning?

You’ve been waiting to find the shore, but it’s been a whole eighteen years since you’ve found yourself floating along the ocean.

That whole “it’ll get better” shit is a tragic lie.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter⏤not anymore, at least. You’re going to get far away from this place and never look back. Never have to relieve this wretched city. Never have to be confined by chains again. You’ve only a few months left before you’re free.

Until then, you’ll have to be patient and go home because the sun has fully disappeared.

Nothing but satellites twinkle in the disgustingly polluted sky of Gotham City, and the streets have come to a staggering halt as you stroll about the sidewalks, trying to find the longest path to get home. One in the morning is always the perfect time in Gotham because it’s too late and too early to be outside, so it’s generally safe for a walk.

Of course, the universe likes to prove you wrong at every point.

The sound of a thud followed by a pained groan behind you has your legs locked and ready to run with your brain screaming alerts, but you take a deep breath and turn around. How bad can it get, anyways? The sight before you surprised you nonetheless. It’s… Nightwing, a Bludhaven hero, here in Gotham, just randomly popping up behind you?

With clear bleeding cuts and sprouting bruises across his body.

In the random alley you just happen to be in?

No. You’re looking into it too much.

His eyes lock onto and they make you freeze right then and there like he’s cast some spell upon you. But that’s for a cold, brief second before you’re hooking your thumbs under the straps of your backpacks and turning around hot on your heels, refusing to spare him a single second. 

You even hear him murmur a strained, “wait,” but you don't care. 

It’s rude, mean, cruel, and it’s also none of your business. All you simply do is walk ahead to your approaching doom with an pit of unease and bitter understanding of your helplessness in your stomach. You can already feel the soon-to-be new bruises blooming along your back.

You’re not a good person.

But, really, who is?

Smoking really does skill.

But now you know why people do it.

Each drag is more out of necessity than it is a choice ever since you’ve met your friend’s plug at the dumb age of sixteen, but it's a way to dull the harsh truth of reality. The world just fades into nothing but muted and mixed colors like the loud city underneath your balcony it blurs into a faint hum the longer you stare at the spiral puffs of smoke that disappear into the air. 

Everything’s bitter⏤the joint and you.

Really bitter at the blood semi-dried on your face and the dull ache along your back.

You’ve got about an hour and a half until you have to head out to school, so what other way is there to spend it than smoking away your brain? The joint’s a temporary escape, but it helps you stall whatever new feeling of despair you’ll feel for the day. Until you’re interrupted by your phone buzzing⏤the sound still a dull hum in your ears

“... Hello?”

“[Name]!”

Zarian’s voice?

“Where the hell are you? Hurry up and get to school or else you’re gonna get in trouble for not helping to set up the club fair, and coach will be on our ass! And don't forget to bring money for the tickets!”

Coach?... Club fair?... Club fair! Holy shit!

Your eyes shoot open, and you frantically scramble up, tossing the joint over the balcony railing before hectically staggering through the living room like a drunk man. Damn it, how could you be so clueless and forget such an important event? Especially one you need money for! Damn it⏤damnit! What do you do?

… Mom! She’s got a box of money somewhere in her closet, right? You’ve seen it before! It's just twenty dollars, and she wont notice. Okay… Okay. You’re quick to get ready. You wash away all the blood that’s dried on your face, brush your teeth, and change into baggy jeans and a clean shirt before storming into your mother’s bedroom and rummaging through her things. 

She’s off at work. Her bastard boyfriend doesn't come home until late at night, which means he’s probably already taken money for the day. Okay. That's fine. They won't notice.

But you can't find anything! What the hell? Where is that fucking box? You could’ve sworn it was there on the top shelf last night, but as you swipe your hands across everything on the shelf, you can’t find it. All of a sudden, something made of wood hits the top of your head and falls to the ground with a crack. You hiss, palm moving to cover where you got hit, but your eyes land on the box that now has money strewn all across the floor and a broken… false bottom?

What the fuck.

You pull away at the rest of the false bottom to only be met with countless photos of you as a child with your mother. Mom’s shit boyfriend had all the family photos taken down for some weird reason, so they’ve been here this entire time? All of these photos are full of you throughout every stage of your life, but some have different people in them as well. Their faces are either scratched out or they’re ripped out of the photo entirely.

From what you can gather, the figures are a man and what seems to be a teenage boy. The absurdity and even slight creepiness of the scratched out faces has you laughing, yet even with your now dulled senses, your eyes land on a photo you failed to notice earlier. Maybe you’re hallucinating. There must be something wrong with your brain. Or your eyes. The universe must be playing with you because is that a photo of you and a teenage-looking dick grayson?

Your eyes widen because it looks just like the strange man you had the unfortunate opportunity of having a conversation with during dinner with the Waynes. It’s him! More importantly, why the hell is he holding a ‘three year old’ you’s hand? You probably should be screaming. Yelling. Maybe panicking? But all you can do is shuffle through the rest of the box before your fingers graze against something metal that has your heart jumping.

It’s a small camera.

With a bat engraved on its side.

Ears ringing so loudly in your head you can't even think, you wipe your teary and red eyes hastily before grabbing a twenty dollar bill, putting everything except for the photo and camera in the box, set it back on the closet shelf, and hastily grab your backpack before making way to school.

The second you reach the damned place, you seek out your now three friends and drop into a seat with a heavy thud, sighing and meeting Tim's eyes with a burning gaze.

“You mean to tell me [Name] found the camera? And you decided to tell me after school?”

Time Drake Wayne sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair, shrugging apathetically while scrolling through every photo in his phone that he’s taken of you during the club fair. His brother, Richard, is pacing throughout his room anxiously as he rambles off about their latest fuckup. 

“Look, Bruce doesn't let any slip ups happen,” Tim murmurs in exasperation. “He wouldn't let this happen because [Name]’s mom and him talked this morning. Relax, he probably knows.”

It's not a lot, but it’s enough to calm Richard down. The man takes a deep breath but finds himself sitting down next to Tim, trying to get a good look at the pictures. “How mad was [Name]?”

“High, for starters, but clearly pissed off. Very observant, too.”

“Don’t tell anyone else. Not until Bruce gives us the okay.”

TAGLIST :

@ilovemyhusbandnanami (so real), @missikkj, @ferakillia, @darlinqvi, @soriansick, @sleepydhanie, @h0rr0r-10ver-69 (love ur blog aesthetic bae), @anuttellaa (OK WINX 😽), @feral-childs-word (love the pfp), @shycreatorreview, @friesandfixations, @stuff6969fuckyou, @babiebubsie, @jsprien213, @cattioo, @cherrydaisymanic (cheetah?leopard? printttt 😍), @00hellohello00, @princessloveweird, @amber-content, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @f1lover4ever, @dreamsarenicer, @imaginarydreams, @solkara (love the calm aesthetic), @bobfood, @toast-on-dandelioms, @ijustfuckme, @cantfindmelol, @xx1shadow1xx, @azulawayne, @box-of-kinderjoy, @iamaunknownsecret, @missybabes, @phoenixgurl030, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @devils-blackrose, @arevvv, @freakthis, @yourhornysister, @kirahhhh, @perfectparadisegardener, @testishere, @spaceunicorn293, @vanilliona (love the pfpp), @uknowimdumb, @esposadomd, @dakotali, @lilyalone, @kore-of-the-underworld, @pix-stuff, @hellcatsworld, @chericia, @mspoisoncoil (love the bannnnerrr) , @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @cheeseburgercasserole (love the aesthetic), @twismare

so follow me n repost if u want part lll. and somebody pls explain hsr and love and deepspace lore to me. making a taglistttttt. if this post doesnt get as many likes as the first one, im deleting this series 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, no u didnt 😃🔪

if anybody’s got requests about this series or in general, feel free to ask!!!

WAIT!! FOLLOW MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT : @depresssant. I JUS PUBLISHED A HISTORICAL YANDERE X READER STORY

[luneariaa]

ᯓ★٠ ࣪⭑ UNSPOKEN. ✧ KENJI S. { 𝐈 }.

✰ — PART 1 ; mentions of kenji having some deep; untold sadness, emi mention, the reader being the sunshine friend to kenji + having close relationship.

✰ — probably will have more two - three parts of the story! tried to fit in one part, but it doesn't work somehow ( ╥ω╥ ) to those who wanted to be tagged in the next future parts, feel free to comment or send me an ask <33 !! ✩₊˚. PART 2.

. dividers by @/strangergraphics ⛓ !!

GROWING UP, for almost his entire life, KENJI— regardless of the increase of popularity and fame, doesn't really have that much of friends. Does he even have them at this point? He doesn't really have anyone that he could actually rely on; even trusted fully.

Despite everything from the outside of one's possible perspective, he's still the lonely, sweet boy deep down. None has ever truly cracked his persona down and managed to bring out his true self, which a part of him is glad for some reason— but the other, not so much.

The attention that he has received all over the world doesn't really mean anything, not what he silently craved and secretly desperate for.

Companionship, someone who actually cares about his wellbeing as a whole despite his ongoing status.

Yes, of course, he loves the fact that he's able to accomplish something that's quite significant to him, at least— getting all of the attention that they think he truly deserved, but there will always be this one void within his heart; as if begging to be fixed with something that even he himself wasn't so sure about it.

His mansion may have everything that he ever needed, but it still feels bleak, somehow, no matter what he's trying to do. What's the point of having large spaces, when in the end, the mere silence will be his only company?

Kenji doesn't even realize it, but sometimes, he ended up just staring blankly at the empty gaps of his surroundings; feeling lost at the said moment.

His world has been nothing but simply revolving around his stardom life as much as the realization hits him; an endless, monochromatic-colored world that he tacitly faced alone with some fair, or unfair number of struggles.

"Must be a tough day today, yeah Ken?"

"You should take some more needed breaks, at least!" He swiftly got pulled out of his train of thoughts, eyes immediately glancing to the source of sound. This is his reality now, not the one that he keeps on unconsciously reminiscing of.

"Pushing yourself too hard wouldn't be too good for your health, y'know." A euphonious voice scolded him lightly, accompanied with a bright, albeit concerned grin.

Kenji now took notice of you standing by the doorway; your smile remained despite the visible apprehensive look that was directed towards him. Completely aware of the mere truth behind your words alone, he averts his gaze back elsewhere— cracking a small, yet almost forceful of a smile as if he's trying to ease down your concerns.

"Yeah, you got a point. It's just the usual, I guess," he scratches the back of his head while lazily slouching on the bed. "It's not me if I don't mope over some pointless stuff."

"Well, it's not that pointless if it bothers you." You exhale out, gradually pulling him out of the bed.

"Maybe we can try something for the day— maybe you wanted to play baseball for a bit? I'll watch 'cuz you know I suck at those."

He couldn't hold back the snort from escaping, which earned a disapproving pout from you, but nonetheless, you added further.

"Or we could just play around with baby Emi as always! Or both, I don't know.."

"Perhaps that could at least ease your mind for a bit..?"

He could clearly sense your efforts; chuckling as he knows that he doesn't have any other plausible choices, but to simply follow your lead without any complaints. When it comes to you, Kenji knew it would always be futile to try anything quite the contrary from it.

"That sounds nice, actually." A genuine smile, despite the hints of his exhaustion, tugged at the corner of his lips. Has he even noticed it himself on how easy it is for you to coax him out of his shell? "Playing with Emi sounds amazing."

Kenji admitted along with a smirk being present by now, replacing his previous smile while doing some mini stretches here and there.

"I know!" You merely giggled over his words, "Besides, I just know that the baby already misses you. I fed her earlier too, in case you're wondering!" His pretty, midnight-colored eyes seemed to brighten up after you finished speaking for a bit.

"At this rate, I think you're spoiling her a bit too much," he castigated facetiously, earning an eyeroll from you when one of his hands ended up atop of your head— giving it a playful ruffle.

"Well, what can I say.."

"She's just a cute, big baby."

His genuine smile returned in mere seconds, finding the whole idea to be quite endearing; causing for him to feel the warmth that's starting to blossom within his chest. He's totally aware of his whole responsibility at this point— unintentionally, yet welcoming the idea of becoming a father to the baby kaiju, now willingly to take care of her because she's one of the reasons that actually changed him for the better.

Throughout the whole conversation that the two of you have shared with one another, it seemed as if the burdens on his shoulders has been lifted away; the atmosphere becoming more comfortably lighter than before without you even realizing it yourself.

Kenji doesn't even know how, but your sole presence has something in particular that keeps him grounded, and he values you deeply for that.

Even with such mystery that's been shrouding around you, it never really bothered him that much; respecting your boundaries and taking an immediate notice on how you seemed to be uncomfortable with talking about your own past and parents, in a way. He assumed that something might have happened before, hence the vague details you kept telling him— no irritation present ever.

Maybe someday, you'll have the courage to tell him. But for now, you would rather keep it a secret.

@luneariaa. do not repost; reblogs are welcomed. all rights reserved.

[uzurakis]

childhood friend! reader who's somehow getting closer with itadori due to them being both bubbly and chatty; this obviously doesn't go unnoticed by megumi.

he can feel the resentment gradually building up within him, but how could he ever dislike itadori? sure, the pink-haired boy tends to steal the attention of his childhood friend (that megumi may or may not secretly harbor feelings for) but hey, could he blame reader for being drawn towards such a passionate and humorous guy?

(winks) i'm leaving you to decide which direction this scenario should go hehe

n. i can promise you that i understand very well which direction to write this, nonnie (winks aggressively). hope this serves justice for your req <3

fushiguro megumi had always been reserved.

a man who preferred the company of his thoughts to the noise of the world. he had grown accustomed to solitude, finding solace in the quiet corners of his mind where he could retreat from the chaos of the outside world.

but then you came along, a beam of light in his otherwise bleak life. you were his childhood friend, the only one who had managed to break the walls he had put around the core of his being. and as he saw you grow closer to itadori yuuji, a friend of both of you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping into his soul.

as you walked into the bustling classroom, your eyes immediately found their way to itadori’s infectious smile. he was chatting animatedly with you, his laughter filling the room like a burst of sunshine. you’ve been drawn to his magnetic personality, his energy infectious and his jokes never failing to bring a smile to your face.

fushiguro megumi, your childhood friend, stood off to the side, expression unreadable as he observed the interaction between you and itadori. there was a tightness in his chest, a pang of jealousy that he couldn't quite shake off. he had always been reserved, quiet, but seeing you gravitate towards someone else, someone so different from him, it stirred up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within him.

you realized that as the days went by, you were spending an increasing amount of time with itadori because of his carefree nature and enthusiasm for life. you found yourself having fewer and fewer talks with megumi; his presence receding as itadori's charm dominated your days.

however, megumi always had a bad taste in his mouth whenever he saw you laughing with itadori. he was unable to ignore the bitterness that was boiling under the surface and the sense that someone so affectionately pleasant had taken his place. on the other hand, how could he blame you? how could he hold it against you for being drawn to someone who lit up the room with his mere presence?

one day, while you sat with itadori during lunch, megumi couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation. his heart clenched painfully as he heard you laugh, your voice mingling with itadori's in a way that felt like a stab to his chest. he turned away, the turmoil within him threatening to consume him whole.

later that afternoon, the man found himself alone with you for the first time in what felt like ages. the air between you was heavy with unspoken tension, a distance that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

"hey, megs," you started, breaking the silence with a hesitant smile. "i feel like we haven't talked in forever. you okay?"

his throat tightened at the concern in your voice, the guilt gnawing at him as he struggled to find the right words. "i'm fine," he muttered, his gaze flinching away from yours.

you weren't persuaded, though. "are you sure?" you pressed, your eyes searching his for any signs.

megumi swallowed hard, his chest tightening with a mixture of longing and frustration. "i just.. i miss us, you know?”

“i miss how things used to be."

your expression softened, a pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. "i miss that too, megumi," you admitted, reaching out to gently grasp his hand. "but things change. people change. it doesn't mean we can't still be friends, right?”

friends, he heard it right.

his heart ached at your words, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “yeah, friends..” you were slipping away, drifting further and further out of reach, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

just when the heaviness of the stillness weighed heavily on you and megumi, there came a voice from across the hallway.

"hey, [name]! come check this out!"

itadori's cheerful voice pierced through the tension, and you turned towards him with a bright smile, leaving megumi standing alone in the echoing hallway. “yuuji’s calling me. later!”

megumi watched as you pulled your hand away and hurried off to join itadori, his heart sinking as the distance between you grew wider with each step you took. already on a first-name basis? it took megumi and you some years to get used to addressing each other by your first names, but just a couple months with itadori?

thus, it was in that moment, with the sound of your laughter fading into the distance, that he realized just how much he had lost.

a sense of resignation settled over him, the bitterness in his heart mingling with a profound sadness. he had always known that he could never compete with someone like itadori, someone who effortlessly captured the attention and affection of those around him.

as he stood there, alone in the empty corridor, megumi couldn't help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end. if perhaps, despite his silent protests and unspoken desires, he had already lost you for good.

because fushiguro megumi had always been reserved.

and there’s nothing he could do about it.

@uzurakis — rqs are open <3

[freenos]

Ok maybe I do have more thoughts on the Medea interactions and how they reflect on Melinoe:

I’ve noticed that the discussion around Melinoe’s morality tends to focus on her proximity to the Olympians but I think there’s also something to be said about the moral grey area that witches fall under. She didn’t grow up in the House of Hades or Olympus, she grew up in the Crossroads and her perspective is influenced by the guidance of witches. And while Circe and Hecate are a little coy about their misdeeds, Medea stands out as the one who really owns the darker aspects of her craft and talks about the suffering she inflicts with pride. In contrast, Melinoe is…not pure but very invested in the idea of doing the right thing and being in the right. So there’s this contrast between them, Melinoe clings to moral justification for her task while Medea isn’t held back by moral dilemmas.

And I think part of that is because Medea pursues her craft to satisfy her own vengeful desires while Melinoe hasn’t gotten to fully explore her identity as a witch yet: They both use their craft in vengeful ways but Melinoe always has this degree of separation from the root conflict. (Nemesis gets at this idea quite a lot actually.) The titans are retaliating for things her family did long before she was born, yet Melinoe is tasked with cleaning up the mess. And when she does take time to herself, she often feels guilty about it. In contrast, Medea gets the satisfaction of personal revenge and is content to use her curses on anyone who gets on her bad side.

It’s that intent that differentiates Medea from Melinoe, I think. No matter how impressive her feats, Melinoe is ultimately a weapon wielded by someone else and lacks pure intent of her own so she often hints at feeling…morally conflicted when talking to Medea. While Medea draws her power from the “blackest of intent” , it seems like Melinoe is forcing a tough exterior, filling a role that doesn’t always come naturally to her. And she wants to know how Medea manages to pull it off so seamlessly. Medea’s “with practice!” line is funny but also, if Melinoe is going to eventually become the goddess of nightmares, maybe she will get there with practice…

I have a suspicion that her arc won’t be about “becoming the nicest person and making everyone proud” but instead, channeling her craft to achieve her own goals without seeking the approval of a higher authority or abiding by someone else's vision of the future. Not perfectly restoring the Age of Gods or the Golden Age of mortals but instead bringing about a different future. She may end up letting her compassion guide her but Prometheus doesn't call her an agent of good or evil, he calls her an agent of change. And it seems like witches in this game are portrayed as catalysts for transformation.

As her understanding of the world grows and shifts, I think it’s interesting that Medea is one of the people Melinoe looks up to and confides in. She asks Medea these very earnest questions about mortals and gods and Medea grants her a joyfully bleak perspective every time:

Medea also has this consistent tendency to disregard mortal suffering, to compare them to livestock and talk about them in terms of how poison-susceptible they are. I get the sense that Melinoe's perception of mortal weakness is influenced by these kinds of conversations:

Melinoe's understanding of the world is shaped by an interesting range of perspectives and is somewhat...shaky and incomplete for now. I think she isn't quite sure how to reconcile her more compassionate impulses and the responsibility that she's dedicated her life to:

Although she adheres to a very black-and-white set of beliefs for the sake of completing her task, there's also hints of uncertainty in her conversations, especially with Medea, a more experienced and self-assured witch. I think Melinoe's character development has the potential to go in a lot of interesting directions!

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Why Good Doggies Are Also Bad Doggies

(And What That Means For MyHouse.wad)

There are two dogs in MyHouse.wad. One's a sweet, harmless puppy, and the other's a relentless, deadly hellhound. Both of these dogs reside in what's commonly known as the Brutalist house, a vast concrete structure that shifts in size from small to large as you explore it.

The smaller dog, quite naturally, provides little in the way of an obstacle, and indeed its presence is surprisingly uplifting in such a bleak, sad game. It's the big, two-headed brute, the "Bad Doggy", that aims to prevent your progres; it's swift, deals a lot of damage, and takes a lot of firepower to subdue. It rules the space it resides in with an iron jaw, and will not take no for an answer. Your only options are to avoid it, or to kill it.

But there's a catch - kill the Bad Doggy, and the Good Doggy also dies. And while this does open up a loophole to allow you to deal with the Bad Doggy with no risk - killing the Good Doggy yourself - the fact remains that an innocent creature's life has to end for your journey to become easier.

Of course, you know this, and likely opted to "spare" the Bad Doggy so that the Good Doggy could join you on the beach at the end. And yes, the sight of our canine friend napping by the waves does help to complete the sense of a "good" ending - or at least, a "peaceful" one.

But... have you ever stopped to consider what this actually means? How, rather than being a throwaway device to make you feel sad, or a lazy reference to Tom's fear of dogs, this "Good Doggy"/"Bad Doggy" actually serves to reinforce the core message of MyHouse.wad?

Consider these dogs again... or rather, consider this dog. Singular.

There is one dog in MyHouse.wad. Sometimes it is a Good Doggy, playful and diligent and affirming to our wellbeing. Other times, it is a Bad Doggy, aggressive and domineering and striking fear into our hearts. Kill one, the other dies. You cannot separate the two. Where the Good Doggy goes, the Bad Doggy must inevitably follow.

How do you stop a Bad Doggy from being a Bad Doggy? You can't, not entirely. A Bad Doggy is bad only in the context of its owner's view of it. A doggy that shreds the furniture, is overly-aggressive in its interactions with its owners, jealously guards spaces and important objects, is deemed bad because of its actions. When it exhibits behaviours that are more paletable to the humans that care for it, it becomes a Good Doggy.

As a child, Tom was scared of his family's pet dog. Viewed through the lens of a terrified young boy, a dog that might be only the most loving and attentive creature, excited to play with someone similar to it in size, may appear vicious and unrelenting, causing fear and injury with its exuberent actions and disregard for its own strength. These experiences, whatever form they might have taken, left a visceral impact on Tom, as we see in his sketchbook containing the multiple-headed hellhound.

What happened to that dog? Was it ever rehabilitated? Did its status as a Good Doggy outweigh the trauma it potentially inflicted upon Tom's psyche? Or... did something else happen to it? Were its actions deemed too harmful, too Bad, to continue living with its owners?

We can only speculate on these points, but they do serve to provide an answer to the above question on how to stop Bad Doggies - you get rid of them. Give them away, abandon them, put them to sleep. Problem solved. But that doesn't just remove the Bad Doggy from the picture - it also eliminiates the Good Doggy that can provide comfort and companionship, as well as any potential future joy that same doggy could bring to its owners.

Which brings us back to the beach, and our Good Doggy having a nice nap there. Of course, I'm sure you've realised, it's also the Bad Doggy.

But what exactly does that mean for our "perfect", "happy", "peaceful" ending? Are we going to be savaged on the beach the moment we let our guard down, having fought so hard for the happiness we were so desparate to recover? Of ocurse not. But consider what its potential presence means for the future.

The Good and Bad Doggy are inexorably linked. To have the potential for joy and companionship and love, you must also accept the possibility of pain, conflict and loss. For better or worse, the bad has to come with the good - either you have both, or you have nothing at all. That's why there's no dog at the fake beach - that ending represents attempting to escape bad things altogether, but the world that results is unsatisfying and devoid of meaning. The reason things hurt so much is precisely because of the joy that came before it. Denying pain and sorrow is no better than giving up on life.

To live a meaningful life, we sometimes have to accept people as they come, warts and all.

Happiness, as Steve opines at the end of his journal, has to be fought for. But the fight doesn't stop just because you won once. Having resolved to come to terms with the world as it is, the world where your dearest friend has died, you therefore choose to re-enact that battle every single day. Some days it's easier. Some days, it's torture. That's what being alive is all about. That's what makes the moments of peace, the moments when Good Doggies really are Good Doggies and nothing more, all worth it in the end.

Thank you for reading :)

[fuddlyduddly]

Hey, I saw you talking about reading The Haunting of Hill House via a trans lens and I got curious. Could you elaborate on that, please? Cause I found it really interesting.

yeah I can! I've been meaning to write some sort of article about why I feel Hill House is trans, so this is a good excuse to get these thoughts written out.It's mostly that I find the story and its themes to be very trans to me, specifically with the character of Eleanor; when I was a teen and didn't know I was trans, and I found myself drawn to her for reasons I couldn't understand yet. There are a lot of things about her that spoke to me as a pre egg-crack trans woman; the way she feels like she's been waiting her whole life for something, anything, but she doesn't know what; the way she's felt trapped by the expectations of her; the way she's so shy and withdrawing (she reminds me in a way of this quote from Imogen Binnie's Nevada: "Maria is transsexual and she is so meek she might disappear"); the ways in which Eleanor constantly feels out of touch with the people around her and can't figure out social situations; the ways she's never felt wanted ("I am a sort of stray cat aren't I?"); the way she is prone to misreading casual relationships because she isn't experienced enough to know she's mistaken; and especially how she so desperately wants to belong. Eleanor is so withdrawn and desperate for connection that she lets the House take her over because, at last, “something is at last really, really, really, happening to [her]”, and unfortunately I could relate to that; she's so desperate to belong that she'll let anything happen to her, even if it kills her.

One line in particular really speaks to me every time I reread the book: “—and then each year, one summer morning, the warm wind would come down the city street where she walked and she would be touched with the little cold thought: I have let more time go by.” To me, that's what it felt like pre realization, every year would go by and I'd feel like I'd missed something; I wouldn't know what, but I'd know I'd let more time go by. Eleanor's story is one of a person who's been waiting so long to make a change, that when a change finally happens, it's too late for her; she's waited too long, and she's out of time. It's rather bleak, but so is gender dysphoria.

I think for me ultimately, any story about a woman who feels trapped and out of touch in some way will feel trans to me (I have a Letterboxd list about that with all sorts of movies on it), but Hill House really sticks out to me because of how acute and specific Eleanor's pain is, and how relatable I found her; her pain feels very transfeminine to me in ways I'm not quite sure how to articulate. I've found a lot of other transfems on tumblr who are also very drawn to Hill House, and in a way its very nice to see us all have a special connection to this book.

also part of this realization came from this post!

[adore-laur]

COME HOME TO MY HEART

— an angsty continuation of home is a feeling that takes place months after ☕️

——

Standing under a dreary sky copious with death, Harry is just another person in a black ensemble of mourning that rivals the white winter scene. Snowdrifts heap over inscribed gravestones, and willow trees weep frigid tears along with everyone else at the street-corner cemetery. It's a sorrowful evening—not even the pastel pink wisps of the brumal sunset are able to lift spirits. 

As the coffin is lowered into the ground, its sleek wood collecting flurries from above, the surrounding air grows colder in lamentation. 

A departure from life is impossible to prepare for, isn't it? 

Harry hangs back from the crowd by a bare maple tree. He wears a long black coat with deep pockets for his hands. To anyone else, he's an intruding spectator, but in actuality, you personally invited him to be a crutch of support since your parents can't be that right now. 

He promised you he would be here, yet the way you've been gazing up at him with indecipherable eyes every now and then tells him you didn't quite believe him. 

When you called him out of the blue and relayed the upsetting news about your grandfather's passing, his heart ached in a way it hadn't ever before. It ached for you, his grief-stricken girl, and for your family, who were always generous throughout the years. In the week since he arrived back in his hometown, he gave you time to deal with the initial grief independently. There was no need to barge into his ex-girlfriend's life and attempt to be your saving grace. If you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would wait for you to ask and then lend it without a second thought. Your level of comfort with him isn't something to be presumed. 

Nonetheless, it's an unfortunate circumstance just to be able to see your face again. 

The crowd disperses once the loose dirt is shoveled back into the ground. Crumpled tissues and hushed chatter signify the end of the burial. It didn't feel right for Harry to attend the service, as it was for close family and friends only. Even now, a nagging feeling inside his gut tells him he doesn't belong in such a sensitive area. 

He pushes himself off the tree trunk and searches for your familiar figure that has suddenly disappeared. He mentally prepares what he'll say to you and is highly aware that there's no right way to go about condolences. He just needs to be as gentle as possible. 

Eventually, you emerge from a huddled group and lock eyes with him again, with a slight smile that mends his aching heart for the time being. 

"You look like a spy," you say, your winter boots crunching in the snow as you walk toward him. 

He laughs softly and doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes in every part of your face, looking for an emotion to pinpoint so he can comfort you in the most chivalrous way possible. He notices your dissociative eyes with prominent dark circles under them, your nose that’s tinted from the cold, and your chapped lips that make him yearn to kiss the rawness away. 

He's so close to you again. Has your hair gotten darker due to the seasons changing? Why do you have such beautiful eyes, even on a bleak day? Does the eyeliner you have on come from the pencil stub you've owned since high school? 

Knowing his boundaries, Harry subtly swipes his thumb across your shivering chin before wrapping you in a tight hug. You instantly melt into him, your arms looping around his torso—just like that one night on the rooftop. 

"Your hair is so long," you mumble into his wool coat. 

He releases you before the intimacy starts to hurt too much, but he keeps a protective hold on your upper arms. "Do you hate it?" 

"No, it suits you." You swallow and look at him, your teeth chattering a bit. "Thank you for coming." 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he replies sincerely. "Gramps was a great man." 

"He liked you a lot." 

"Did he?" 

You give him an almost scolding expression and say, "Of course he did. When I brought you home for Christmas the year we started dating, he took me into the kitchen and told me you were a keeper." 

Harry's posture stiffens. "I didn't know that." 

"It was our little secret," you say quietly, snowflakes falling onto your eyelashes. "Um, have you had a chance to talk to my parents yet?" 

"I don't think they'd want to see me," he says while removing his numb hands from you. He shoves them back in his pockets.

"Why not?" 

"I just have a feeling." He's been having a lot of those lately. "Not often that an ex-boyfriend shows up at a funeral, you know?" 

Frowning, you glance around and say, "It's not like they hate you or anything." 

God, he hopes not. But he wouldn't necessarily blame them, considering he broke their precious daughter's heart. 

"Where are you going after this?" he asks, not wanting to delve into his regrets. 

"My parents' house," you reply, your breath visible in the frosty air. "To my childhood bedroom. Hopefully, I'll get some sleep for once." 

You haven't been sleeping? He could've guessed, but he didn't want to assume. He wonders if you still light a vanilla-scented candle and turn on a salt lamp to, in your words, rejuvenate your energy.

"Did you drive here?" 

"No, I rode with my parents." 

Harry shifts his footing and clears his throat. "Would they mind if I stole you for a bit?" 

You blink quickly. "What do you mean?" 

"I just want to talk," he elaborates, scratching under his nose. "Catch up. That's all." 

There's an apparent hesitance as you nibble on your bottom lip. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"Anything you want." Truthfully, he just misses hearing your voice. "I'm staying here with my mother for a while since I’m on winter break. And, well, you're the only person in this town I enjoy talking to besides her." 

"Are you kidnapping me from a funeral?" 

"Maybe don't put it like that." 

A genuine laugh escapes you, and Harry's knees almost give out. "Sure, let's go," you say with a smile and a lighthearted shrug. "Being here is making me sad." 

"Okay. Let me say hello to your parents really quick." 

You scan the cemetery, then ask, "Do you need me to come with you?" 

He scrunches his nose and toes the snowy ground with the front of his suede boot. "Please?" 

After he politely shakes hands with your dad and gives your mom a long hug, he walks you to his black Jeep parked on the side of the road by the first row of graves, his elbow hooked with yours so you don't slip on the pavement slush. The first thing he sees is that his windshield has iced over from the bitter cold. 

Harry sighs and fishes for his keys, then unlocks the doors. "Here, start it for me and turn the heat on. I need to scrape the ice off." 

You take his keys and slide into the passenger seat. Harry makes sure you're situated and then grabs his ice scraper from under the backseat. After a few minutes of manual labor, he gets behind the wheel and shakes snow flurries out of his hair. 

"Where on earth are your mittens?" he asks when he notices your hands are tucked under your legs. 

"I didn't bring any," you reply defensively. 

"Love," he stresses, pushing his wild hair back. "It's freezing out. Give me your hands." 

"Maybe if your stupid Jeep didn't take forever to warm up." 

Harry doesn't return a snarky remark since he knows you're sensitive right now. He just cups your hands between his and blows warm air onto them to increase your circulation. They're soft and fit so well between his palms, like they were molded to be held by only him. 

"Ready to go?" he asks between blowing breaths, focusing his gaze on you. 

You study the snowflakes sticking on the windshield. "Where?" 

He gently sets your hands in your lap and then reaches across to buckle your seatbelt before fastening his own. "Is Edge of Town still your favorite café?" 

"Yeah," you say bemusedly, turning to him with widened eyes. "Why?" 

Putting the car in reverse, he places one hand on your headrest and smiles at you. "Let's get some coffee there, yeah? For old times' sake." 

——

Sitting across from Harry at a corner table in the dimly lit café, you can't believe you almost forgot how handsome he is as he sips his cinnamon latte, careful not to disrupt the intricate art made from steamed milk on the surface. 

All the slight changes since you last saw him have become your focal point, his hair being the most staggering. It's now tied up into a bun, and you're not sure why, but it makes him look different. His facial features have gotten slightly older—the high school baby face you fell in love with now showcases physical maturity. 

He's different but somehow all the same. 

You've spent the last half hour catching up with him, which has proved to be easy since college is a relevant topic in both of your lives. You learned that he's getting his degree in the spring of next year, and then he's going to find a job somewhere in Europe to start the next chapter of his life. You're proud of him. He's always had a good head on his shoulders. 

"Have you ever put marshmallows in your coffee?" Harry asks, tapping his foot against yours under the table. 

You set your cup down and blankly stare at him. "No, you freak." 

"It's good," he claims, wiping his lips with a napkin. "You should try it." 

"You know, your taste in beverages hasn't improved over the years. Don't even think for a second that I forgot about the ginger ale." 

"Excuse me," he says offendedly, "it helps fight the common cold and digestion problems. It's the perfect drink to have in the wintertime." 

"Absolutely rancid," you mutter, taking another sip of your coffee. 

As you continue your subtle ogling, your eyes snag on brown leather peeking out of his coat pocket. The familiar journal of his catapults you back in time, flashbacks playing in your head from all the vivid occasions you've seen him carry it around or write in it. He never let you look at his entries, always making a show of hiding his secret words from you. Looking at it now, you see that a page toward the end has some sort of bookmark sticking out. 

"You still have that?"

Harry looks confused. "What, digestion problems?" 

"No, oh my God," you say with a burst of laughter. "I meant your journal. You've had that thing for ages." 

"Ah." He pulls it out and sets it next to his coffee cup. "Yeah, I still have it." 

You admire how worn the cover is, decorated with permanent marker scribbles on the cracked material. "Are my terrible drawings still in there?" 

Nodding, he smirks and leans back into the booth, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll show you later. They're quite abstract." 

The space fills with comfortable silence for a while, and before you know it, you're walking out the door with him and into the night. You don't remember ever getting up, but the numbness in your brain might have caused it. The past week has felt like a fuzzy dream you've been stuck in. Grief is a peculiar thing.

Under the starlit sky, hometown nostalgia in the dead of winter creeps under your skin. When you look around at the sidewalks you used to walk with your grandpa, everything suddenly hits you hard. Your lips wobble as you try to blink back the tears, but they fall without warning. 

Harry quickly wraps both arms around your shoulders, resting his cheek on top of your head. "It's okay to cry," he whispers, kissing your hair. "I promise you it's okay." 

You sniffle and say, "Whenever we see each other, I always end up crying." 

"Sorry. I don't mean to." 

"No, it's not you this time." You bury your nose in his coat and let the woodsy scent of his cologne distract you. "I just always realize how lonely I am when winter comes around. It gets harder as I get older." Swallowing and shaking your head, you continue, "I used to adore winter as a kid. I would play outside in the snow for hours and then come inside to drink hot chocolate. I wouldn't care if the sky was gray or if my fingers would turn blue. Nowadays, I just stay in my room when it's gloomy, unless I need to go to work. Growing up isn't as fun as I thought it'd be." 

"You still have my number," Harry replies softly, pulling you closer. "You can always call or text me when you're feeling lonely." 

"When I called you about my grandpa, I had to pay by the minute because you were in the Netherlands." 

"And is that so bad?" 

You smile and sniffle again. "No, it isn't. To be here on an empty street in the freezing cold, crying and joking around with you—I've missed it. Not the crying, but you know what I mean." 

"I know," he murmurs. "I've missed it too." 

"Will you be celebrating Christmas with your mom?" you ask, watching a car drive by. "She's still living here, right?" 

"Yeah, I'll be at her house." He cradles the back of your head and gently pulls it away from his coat. "You should stop by. She always thinks of you." 

You look at him and say, "All good things, I hope." 

"Always." Taking your hand, he starts walking further down the sidewalk. "Follow me." 

He stops at a streetlight and releases his hand to pull his journal out again. He flips through the pages until he gets to one toward the end. "When we said goodbye in the summer," he says, "I walked around town and wrote about all the places we used to go—places where we had good memories. You can read what I wrote if you want." 

"Really?" you ask. Harry nods, so you take his journal from him and read the black ink that fills half the page. 

The streetlight on the corner of Lawton Avenue. I kissed you under it on New Year's when the clock on my phone turned to midnight. Your lips were cold, but they lit a fire inside of me. What I would give to feel them again, even if they just pressed against my cheek like you did when we said goodbye. 

"Lawton Avenue..." you trail off, your eyes dancing around the area where you stand. "Isn't that—" 

"This is the same streetlight," Harry interrupts quietly. 

You exhale incredulously, gazing up at the familiar light. "It is. I remember now." 

"This feels right, doesn't it?" He steps closer until his boots touch the tip of yours. "Me and you being here. It's like something keeps bringing us back to one another. Does that sound crazy?" 

"Gramps," you choke out. 

He tilts your chin up with his knuckle. "Hmm?" 

You take a deep, shaky breath. "I almost wasn't going to tell you that he passed, but then I thought about how much he liked you. He always went on and on about how nice of a boy you were. How he saw the love in your eyes." 

"He loved you. I only saw him a few times, but I know that he loved you so much." 

"I know. I think he brought us back together." 

"Well, he was right about the love in my eyes," he says, his gaze piercing your soul. "I don't think it's ever completely gone away." 

Logical thinking goes out the window when you tell him, "I love you. I shouldn't anymore, but I do. 

Harry cups your cold cheeks. "Stop. You don't get to say that." 

"I love you," you repeat, your voice becoming thick with emotion. "You still mean so much to me. Just like what you said to me back in July." 

"Right person, wrong time. That's what we decided on the rooftop." 

"But I didn't mean what I said." 

That night was five months ago. It's wild how one day and one look at him can change all your feelings. The love you thought you lost with him is coming back as an unraveling epiphany. 

Sighing, Harry looks down at the sidewalk blanketed in snow. "You told me it would never work," he says. 

"I didn't know what I was saying," you reply hastily. "It was so overwhelming seeing you again after two years." 

"I don't understand," he says, slightly frustrated. "You made it seem like we were better off never seeing each other again." 

You wipe your tears that are either from the brisk air or your own misery. "I'll be your friend, I'll be a one-night stand, I'll be anything. I just want to be someone to you again." 

He glimpses at your lips. "You are. You're everything to me." 

"But the distance—" 

"Fuck the distance." 

It was the only thing that broke the relationship. 

"You were so good, Harry." Resting your forehead against his, you breathe out a landslide of emotions. "Such a good boyfriend. You loved me better than anyone." 

"I still love you," he says, placing both palms on your neck. "Years ago, it was high school love that I didn't fully understand. This... hey, look at me." Your chin is tilted back up with his thumb. "This right here is even more real to me. This is why I asked if we could try again." 

"So, what now?" you ask, looking into his eyes. "Do we try again?" 

"We try again." 

"How?" 

"If the distance fucks everything up," he says with his warm breath hitting your lips, "then we know we aren't right for each other. But I'll go through that possibility if it means I don't have to love you from afar anymore." 

"Just come home," you plead desperately. 

"I am home. Technically, right?" 

"No, you don't get it." You grip his shoulders. "Come home to me. To my heart." 

He kisses your cheek twice, the first quick and the second longer. "I'm right here, baby. I'll stay for as long as you need me to." 

"I want you to stay here." Your own voice sounds distant. "I miss you all the time." 

"I will," he affirms, his eyes fluttering shut and his voice fading. "I'll come home to you." 

Just as you're about to kiss his lips, something taps the back of your hand. The streetlight you're under goes dark, and the vision in front of you fizzles out as you blink rapidly to find yourself back in the café, staring at your latte. 

"Hey," Harry says tentatively, squeezing your fingers with his. "You all right?" 

Snapping your head up to him, you blurt, "Sorry. I zoned out for a bit." You shake your head and repeat, "Sorry."

"That's okay." He looks out the window—the snow is falling harder than it has been all day. "I was just saying that your parents will probably want you to get home soon since the roads will be getting bad. I can drop you off." 

Your throat tightens. "Um, sure. Yeah, I'm ready to head out if you are." 

"Okay," he says while standing. "Stay here. I'll start my car since it takes forever to heat up." 

You just weakly smile as he walks out of the glass doors. Sinking in your seat, you try not to think about where your mind has drifted. It felt so real, so wildly vivid. His voice, his words, his touch—all of it made sense. In your head, you do everything right. You let him in, not push him away. You talk it through, not avoid the burden you carry. You keep your chin up and do not give up at the first sign of doubt. 

After lightly slapping your cheeks, you sigh and put your coat back on. When you get up to shove your arms in the sleeves, you see that Harry left his journal on the table. It sits vulnerably next to his empty coffee cup, the string tied loosely around the cover. 

You shouldn't, but you do. 

Quickly opening it and flipping to the page with the bookmark, you skim the messy ink on the damp page. It looks fresh. Dried dots from snow darken the paper in various places, but you only focus on what the words spell out. 

She's under the willow tree, more beautiful than the weeping branches crystallized with icicles. I sit here in my car, wishing there was a way to let her know that I would do anything she wanted me to. 

My love for her warmly courses through my blood, protecting me from the brutal winter. If she opened her heart to me, I could make her my home again. Light those vanilla candles and kiss her like I used to. Tell her all about how she makes me a lovesick fool with no cure. Give her my time and apologize for ever walking away from the best thing that slipped through my fingers. 

Where she goes, I follow. There's some powerful force that refuses to keep us apart. Why can't she see it? I can't be with her if she doesn't yearn for me like I do for her. I understand the distance and why, in retrospect, she sees the potential downfall. However, I see the beauty that could flourish from it if we just tried. 

I want to come home to her every day, but how do I even begin to tell that to a girl who doesn't feel the same? 

Fuck the distance. 

The café door suddenly opens with a chime, making you slam his journal shut. Thankfully, Harry doesn't notice since he's too busy looking down and stomping his snow-covered boots on the welcome mat. 

You pretend you're picking up his journal for the first time and say, "Don't forget this." 

He glances up, eyeing what you hold. "Shit, thank you." He walks over and takes it. "Wait, I never got to show you your drawings." 

"It's fine," you tell him. "They're probably really embarrassing." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive. I'm pretty tired." 

His gaze dances around your face, then falls to your hands, fidgeting with the zipper on your coat. "Let's get you home," he says softly. "You can try to sleep on the way there." 

You end up doing just that until he pulls into your parents' driveway. Opening your eyes, you squint at the bright beams of the headlights reflecting off the house's windows. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you, his face barely visible in the dark. 

"We're here," he whispers. 

You nod sleepily and unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you for… making today a little easier." 

"Of course." He rubs the back of his neck, not knowing where to look. "I hope you get some sleep tonight." 

A chasmic pang. A searing sting. A residual twinge. 

Why? 

Because the words you tearily whispered to him before shutting the car door cause you to fall into bed and clutch the blanket until sleep overtakes your heartache. 

You're a good man, Harry. 

——

[zombocomme]

DeCopia fluff: Wake Up, Here Comes The Sun

Copia always seemed to be awake first, which made sense... vampire rest is enjoyed though not necessary. But Copia always found the experience particularly enjoyable when he would wake up and beside him was *"His Jim"* and after the recreational resting, there Jim was...Sprawled like superman snoring softly on his stomach, the slopes and valleys of his back illuminated by the soft light filtering in, the moment always so peaceful.

Jim always slept better with another person warming his bed and even better after an enthusiastic night like what they had, making up for lost time..

. Copia scooted closer, burying his nose between Jim's shoulder and the mattress, nuzzling into his warmth, the faint scent of last night clinging to the sheets, the musk on Jim's skin was a heady, comforting thing. It was part of his favorite way to wake in the morning, to all the sensations and sensualities of tracing his fingers on that beautiful skin.

"Satanas," Copia would murmur, feeling the flutter behind his stomach creep down lower, and his cheeks get a tad redder from the intense sex flash backs. It made him half hard and semi restless, but it wasnt an unwelcome sensation to feel... The way Jim unconciously snuggles back into him when he's dozing in his dreaming.

Such a warm and wild comparison to the way Jim's face softened so gently in his sleep. Copia would wrap an arm over his lover and longest friend, gently tucking over the other arm l, his fingers scrunching lazily. And in his sleepiness, Jim would roll slightly and toss an arm behind him, tangling to hold copia to be closer...like he might lose him, the sinple gesture comforting and meaningful.

And eventually Jim would hum awake as he felt Copia's fingers carding through his chest hair, bringing his arm to cover and his fingers to interlace over his heart after giving a well earned set of kisses across Copia'sknuckles...

Jims eyes would flutter open as he squeezed and stretched the sleepiness away, and he would say that husky morning voice that managed to sound gentle and rough at the same time, "Morning darlin'", to which Copia would respond by pressing kisses along the slope of Jim's neck saying, "Welcome home, my morning dove".

Jim loved when he said that...He loved that feeling, that no matter where they were, what hotel room they snuck off to, what meeting the escaped from, or who's place they were sleeping in, with Copia, it always felt like *home*.

*And who doesn't like being the little spoon* he thought as he shuffled in the sheets, turning around to face his long time lover. It had been a long and bleak seperation but at that momemt, there was nothing better than to see his best friend leaning over him, cupping his lips with his own and reminding each other why they always seemed to come back to one another...

And as Copias mouth pressed, his toungue gently seeking entrance and being warmly welcomed, his hips pressing into Jim's, life never seemed to hold quite so still as it was now... not quite, so the same, as that moment of beginning their sensuous dance of kiss, touch, and romance, all over again, and again, and again in the morning light...

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

Miami Vice S1E22: Evan

An estranged friend forces Sonny to confront a long buried secret.

Perhaps out of a fear of repeating myself-- I've said a lot about Evan, both in analysis and in fic-- I got a little stuck on this one, this time around. I guess I don't want to seem like a broken record, or like I'm overstating the importance of a single episode, but Evan is as much a distillation of everything that Miami Vice "is" as anything-- it's bleak, it's heartfelt, it's beautiful, it cuts to the heart of Sonny's inability to love himself, and it 's deeply, heartbreakingly queer.

It absolutely should have been the Season One finale. Lombard is a good episode, but it's not Evan good. On top of that, the last few episodes have all had a running undercurrent asking-- "hey-- what is *normal*, here, especially for Sonny? What does it mean to be vulnerable, to share your life and your secrets with someone? What do we mean when we say 'partner?'" that feels like it reaches its climax with Evan. And even further, Evan's whispered portent at the end of the episode-- that he made his choice, that Mike Orgel made his choice, and that now it's Sonny's turn to make his choice-- sets up much of the rest of the series thematically. The series finale is Sonny's answer: in the end, he chooses to step away instead of letting himself be destroyed like his friends.

BUT. I don't really think Network Television in the 80's really wanted the season for their very expensive and incredibly popular show to end on Sonny's Repressed Gay Trauma, because then audiences would've had to sit with that all summer, and frankly I suspect more people might have had an Aha Moment about Sonny's sexuality if that had been the case. So instead they ended S1 on Charming Mobster Dennis Farina, which is fine, but not quite as thematically powerful.

So what to say about Evan that I haven't said already? The episode opens with Evan selling guns; to demonstrate the power of the weapons, he shoots the hell out of a bunch of mannequins. I hadn't recalled that before he did this, he kissed the mannequins around their middles. It's super performative masculinity-- Evan is terrified of not being seen as a "real man," so his only options are, essentially, violence and (straight) sexuality, both of which he enacts on the mannequins. It's unsettling to the the point that one of Guzman's goons keeps making a face like "do we. Do we have to buy guns from him," and it signals to the audience that something is Not Right with this man.

Because this is an episode about gay men and what it means to be a man and how man treat one another, we get an interesting little moment where Larry is leaning over Stan's shoulder and reviewing case files with him. Stan seems irritated at the lack of personal space, and tells him to go look over files on his own desk. It's a bit of a throwaway gag, but it's also the kind of gentle, thoughtless repudiation of closeness that makes intimacy of any kind difficult between men of any sexual orientation. When Sonny talks about the way he and Evan and Mike Orgel used to talk to and tease one another before Mike revealed he was gay, this is the kind of behavior he's referencing.

The scene where Sonny has to go undercover as a far right gun nut to get information from a neonazi is both disturbingly still relevant and disturbing from an in-universe perspective. Sonny, still too pretty even in fatigue pants and a government-issue cap, looks like an underwear model doing military cosplay; he almost seems younger, like putting on the trappings of his Vietnam days transported him back there. In order to convince the gun seller he's serious, he says he's done with the military because the military is full of "women, half-breeds, and homosexuals" (which he says like it's four words-- HO-MO-SECK-SHUALS), but he turns away while he's saying it, and his face radiates pain and fear. He is wildly uncomfortable in this persona; we know he doesn't believe these things, but more than that, you get the sense that he's genuinely concerned his disguise as a Grade-A American Heterosexual Tough Guy is not going to hold up under any serious scrutiny.

I have a lot of questions about this painting, presumably belonging to Mr. Unfriendly Drug Lord Guzman, of an emaciated man with a railing between his ass-cheeks. Like. Is that so on the nose that it circles back to mysterious again, or is it literally a painting of an ass railing in the Let's Talk About Gay Stuff episode?

Castillo is extra recalcitrant in this one-- he argues with the ATF agent and insists he'll bust whoever needs busting, and then shortly after is just like NO when Sonny says he cannot be involved in this case

The ATF agent refers to Evan as Sonny's "old playmate," which feels uh, pointed

Rico asks Gina a favor and she sighs and says he "always needs a favor;" she still seems a bit irritated from No One Lives Forever

Guzman's manservant lifts him out of the pool and dries him off and dresses him, so perhaps the painting isn't all that odd for him

When Evan tries to convince Guzman to back off of the deal with Sonny, Guzman is eating a plate of fruit in a bathrobe, the sea over his shoulder, bathed in pinks and blues. Evan, on the other hand, eats the true breakfast of champions-- a cigarette and whiskey-- and everything around him is grey and white.

Evan smiles completely genuinely when he sees Elvis, and Elvis makes no move to attack him, which makes me cry

Like. He and Sonny were such good friends that Sonny's alligator missed him

Just throw me in the bay and forget about me as the fish chew me to death, I guess

When Sonny refuses Evan, Evan says he'll happily take Rico instead, and that's when Sonny really starts getting angry-- it's one thing for Evan, who Sonny blames for the death of an old partner and friend, to put Sonny's life in danger, it's another thing altogether for him to casually suggest Rico could be another bit of collateral in their shared history

Thank you script writers for lines like "I wouldn't have had to pull Freed's jacket if you'd been straight with me" (that really is the issue here, isn't it, Rico? Sonny can't quite do that, can he!) and "we are involved... *pause* in an operation." The gay subtext in the gay text episode is logged and noted

Evan encourages Guzman to shoot them all, himself included, and casually tells Sonny and Rico that Guzman used to "shoot people just for being left-handed," which feels like a metaphor for.... something, some kind of... human difference that has been, historically, punished and marginalized... couldn't tell you what, though

Tubbs speaks French to Michelle-- do we ever hear him doing this again? Does Tubbs speak French for real, or is he just like, repeating something he heard on a perfume ad or something?

When Sonny comes in, looking all hangdog, and tells Tubbs they need to talk, Tubbs tells Michelle he wants a rain check-- Michelle's response is "I bet you would," which is very ambiguous-- it seems equally likely that she's telling him he's got no chance or that she straight up doesn't believe he wants the rain check because she's pretty sure Crockett's his ex

I've talked at length about the gas station scene, but the fact that Rico's response to Sonny's confession about Mike is "how did you handle it" rather than anything else-- the man knoooows half of Sonny's issues here are coming from his internalized homophobia and self-loathing

I don't think Evan has changed his clothes for three days?

Logistically, it makes no fucking sense for Sonny, Evan, and Mike Orgel to all be queer men, but the episode really doesn't do any work to make Sonny or Evan obviously heterosexual, either. It's very easy to read either Sonny or Evan's guilt and trauma as coming partially from their own identities, and the way they both talk about their bad reactions to Mike's coming out reinforces this. Evan's line, "I've found more ways to hang that rap on myself than you or the devil will ever know about" mirrors Sonny's earlier insistence that Rico is not his "priest" and that he doesn't have to "bare his soul" to him; Vice is not a show that frequently has its main characters suffering from religious guilt or trauma, so it seems very meaningful that both of them are bringing their despair back to the idea not just of guilt, but sin. And perhaps even more specifically than that, sin that they refuse to let anyone-- friend, priest, or devil-- see.

Gina and Trudy show up in regular police uniforms at Guzman's arrest, which I think is the only time we see them dressed like that in the entire series

Peter Gabriel's Biko initially seemed to me like a really weird choice for the end of the episode, given the specific milieu it was written in and for (South African apartheid and the police murder of an anti-apartheid activist), but upon this rewatch it dawned on me that what they were trying to do was, a bit clumsily, tie the two ideas together. Mike Orgel died because he was part of an oppressed minority group, and if you read Evan as a closeted queer man, he has followed after him (and warns Sonny-- potentially a third closeted queer man-- that he will also need to make a choice about how to lead his own life soon enough.) I don't necessarily love slotting in one marginalized group for another there, but it's a very 80's sentiment, I think, so I'll let it stand. I think it's meaningful that the lyric "you can blow out a candle, but you can't blow out a fire" precedes Evan's warning to Sonny. Was Mike, then, the candle?

The episode ends with Sonny tenderly cradling Evan's head while Rico stands with his hand on his shoulder; he's allowed touch and intimacy with Rico (as he was at the gas station) that he could not have ever really had with Evan except under extremely extenuating circumstances and now death. Mike, Evan, and Sonny couldn't find a way to "deal with it," as Rico put it, but the implication is that maybe Sonny and Rico can.

[fuckyeahizzyhands]

COLLIDER: I'm so glad that we finally got the chance to touch base about the show.

CON O’NEILL: Yeah. It's been really uncomfortable not being able to talk about it.

COLLIDER: Izzy, as a character, really goes on a beautiful, poignant journey this season. In the beginning, Ed is Blackbeard and back to the old lifestyle of raiding and pillaging ships, but it feels like something's off. Izzy has what he wanted back, but at what cost? What was your take on that — reverting to the way that things used to be, but, obviously, there's been a shift, and things aren't quite the same?

O’NEILL: It goes back to how it used to be, but Ed’s broken, and that's the difference. Before Stede appeared, Izzy and Blackbeard worked as a unit really, really well because they were both on the same page. When Stede breaks Blackbeard's heart, Izzy and Blackbeard aren't on the same page. Basically, Izzy’s looking at a man that he loves falling apart, and all the joy is gone — not just from Blackbeard, but from piracy. He can see Ed's decline, he can see the decline in his crew, which is fundamentally really, really the most important thing to him. He can feel his own heart breaking, because he's seeing the devastating impact of his actions. So, it's a pretty bleak start to a season, but we do have fabulous make-up.

COLLIDER: It does feel bleak, especially for Izzy at times, who goes through the amputation and has to adjust to a new normal of not being able to get around the way that he used to. But it's also an opportunity to see the changing dynamic with the crew. I was really touched by the moment when they built [Izzy] a new leg. It's moving on an emotional level, but it's also proof of how far this group has come. Was it nicer to be able to play those moments of camaraderie instead of being at odds all the time?

O’NEILL: What's interesting, though, is the love for Izzy to his crew and the crew to Izzy, it's always been there. It's just not being presented in this way. The giving of the leg, I believe, is the first time in his life where he's actually had an emotional connection that he wasn't able to control. That act of kindness overwhelms it. But he's still a pirate, and the leg ultimately allows him to be a pirate again. He does change his attitude towards his crew after the new leg and after the unicorn statement, but it's also about how to navigate the new crew as the first mate. And that's the beauty of what David's written. It's not suddenly he's this new guy. He's still a bit of a dick, but he's their dick, as Vico says.

It's a beautiful human version of the story that could have been really sentimental, and I don't think we go there. He doesn't suddenly become everyone's mate. That was never going to happen. That would have been dishonest. But he just has a need for them more because he's not as physically able as he used to be, and with that comes an understanding of them. The way he deals with Lucius is very specific in that he can't give Lucius love and understanding without calling him a twat — because that's who Izzy is, but he does give him love and understanding — and that's down to David and David's choices. Remember, this is a comedy. He's done all this in a comedy. That's really profound that we're going on these routes of human stories in what is essentially a comedy.

COLLIDER: One that really stuck out to me was Izzy singing in the “Calypso's Birthday” episode, especially because it plays as a backdrop to some pretty significant moments. I wanted to ask you about the preparation process behind performing that song. Did you have to record it and also do it live on-set?

O’NEILL: I got an email from David a third of the way through the shoot asking me if I knew “La vie en rose,” which, of course, I knew, but only as I'd heard it. I was actually in Wellington filming a different show because I did a different show for a week, and I just got this message. We were just gonna sing the English version because we didn't have the rights to the French version, and I don't speak any French at all. Nothing. Zilch. And then I got the phone call. Would I be able to learn it in French? So I did. I called a lot of people, and a lot of people who say they speak French don't. But my partner does, and I have a friend who just played Piaf. So, between the two of them, they gave me an understanding of the French.

We recorded both versions, and I lip-synced to the English version first before the scene with Ned. I thought we were just gonna do a little bit of the French version for the end of the episode. I had no understanding that it was gonna play out the episode. I’m thrilled that it does, but it was terrifying. Every minute of that, from the recording of it to the lip-syncing it to the filming it, was terrifying. I haven't sung in public for 20 years. But it felt right, and it felt like the absolute right choice of song. It felt like the absolute right choice of language. I didn't want him to be too French, I just wanted him to be able to because Izzy speaks bits of every language, as most pirates would. I thought it was audacious. I thought it was moving. I thought, again, it shied away from sentimental. And I’m just in awe of how David's brain works. If you would have asked me prior to doing it which song Izzy would sing, I'd never have thought “La vie en rose,” and now I can't think of a song that's more appropriate for Izzy.

COLLIDER: I talked to David, as well, about the scene of Izzy talking about piracy in the finale, and he said it's kind of like Izzy giving his own eulogy, in a way, before what happens next. That scene where Taika is holding you feels significant for the show — not just in terms of the weight and impact, but because so much of the cast is there, and it really feels like a moment of family getting to be together. Even if it's mostly an exchange between Izzy and Ed, everyone's there to send him off. I would love to hear about the experience of filming that on the day.

O’NEILL: David sent me the scene a few weeks prior, and the date was set to film it, which was gonna be in the last week of filming. It was early on in the last week, and then it was in the middle of the last week, and then it was scheduled for the morning of the last day. Then, suddenly, it became the last thing we were gonna ever film in Season 2.

Those things aren't easy. They're quite difficult because no matter how you think about it in your head, it's not gonna play that way. We were on a set, we were on the ship, there were hundreds of crew, there was the whole cast, they were setting up the shot. It was busy. David, bless him, played a playlist to help us all get in the mood, but it's just a cacophony of noise and busyness, and we’re getting towards the end of the day.

Suddenly, it was just me and Taika. Suddenly, all the noise disappeared, and suddenly, all the process of filming a scene disappeared, and it was just me and him. And Taika is a wonderful actor. Everyone talks about his writing and his directing, and this and that. Taika is a beautiful actor to play opposite. And in that moment, we just got to say goodbye to a character that we both loved. You never get a death scene that's going to get all those boxes, but for me, it was never about what Izzy said. It was about Izzy being vulnerable enough and brave enough to say, “Sit with me.” It was about Izzy being allowed to be held in the last moments of his life. That's all I remember about the day. I’m very proud of it.

COLLIDER: I just want to say thank you so much for taking the time to chat with me about the show. It's been great to finally get to reconnect with the cast and to really get to talk about Season 2.

O’NEILL: Oh, it’s my pleasure. It’s my pleasure.

COLLIDER: I’ve enjoyed your performance so much these last two seasons, and who knows? Maybe we'll see Izzy's ghost pop up in Season 3.

O’NEILL: Who knows?

COLLIDER: You can't predict anything with this show.

O’NEILL: No, none of us can, and none of us know. Literally, we are all in the dark, all of us, David included. None of us knows what's gonna happen. David always wanted three seasons, and I think this story should be allowed to run its course. I would say that because I'm involved, but even if Izzy isn't involved in Season 3, I would be heartbroken for the show if it didn’t get to conclude, because it's an important show.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Timeless - Part 4: "In The 1500's, Off In A Foreign Land"

"If I first saw your face in the 1500's off in a foreign land, and I was forced to marry another man, you still would've been mine..."

Summary: It's the kind of love you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love you don't put down, and somehow, you know you would've found each other in every life.

'Timeless' Chapter List | The Grumpy Sunshine Series

Your eyes flutter shut as the summer breeze fills your lungs. You grip the stone balcony with all the strength you can muster.

"Your highness," Bucky announces himself.

"James, please, spare the formalities," you halfheartedly beg of him. You both knew what was coming. You couldn't bear the cold formality in his voice reminding you. "We're alone out here."

Spare the formalities, he does not.

He softly inhales, holding his head high and his jaw tight, "Your highness, the guests will be arriving shortly."

You pay him no mind, instead, you stare out into the garden. The one that held all those stolen moments, lingering touches, and longing glances. "The garden looks particularly beautiful this time of night, doesn't it?"

"Your betrothed," he pointedly remarks as though to remind you that you were never his to begin with, "...will be here shortly."

"James... please."

He can't stop himself from taking his place by your side when he hears the plea in your voice. He knows he'd be killed if someone caught him here in this moment with you. Still, he takes your hand, grazing over your fingers in tender strokes.

It's the last time he'll ever have you like this. He may as well make the most of it.

He glances over to you, his gaze soft and swimming with despair, "We've always known this would happen."

You shake your head so softly, Bucky can't be sure that it isn't just the warm summer breeze playing tricks on his mind. You hold your head high, but your voice wavers, betraying the regal facade, "Please, don't."

It breaks him. It tears him apart that he's hurt you because he wasn't strong enough to resist falling in love.

He took the most sacred of oaths. He was supposed to protect you.

Mind, body, soul.

Mind, body, soul, and heart.

He broke that. It was his turn to be strong, to walk away so you didn't have to. He tears his own hand away, "I'll let your ladies know you're ready for your evening gown."

"James," you call after him. "James!"

Your only response is the door snapping shut followed by a loud resounding silence. And then, there's just nothing. A nothingness that sweeps over everything, your world becoming a shade of bleak you've never known. 

You stand so still on the balcony, silent tears streaming down your cheek. You hardly notice your ladies entering your room. You don't move from your spot on the balcony, the spot where he left you for the very last time.

One of your ladies taps on your shoulder, she curtsies before you, "Your highness, are you quite alright?"

"I suppose I'm anxious," you halfheartedly chuckle, wiping away the tears. "I don't - I don't truly know what will become of me tonight."

"He's a good man from what I've heard. The servants say that he treats them well, he has a good heart. He will be a good ruler and a good husband."

You look over your shoulder, offering a soft smile, "Thank you."

"We should get you dressed. They'll be expecting you shortly."

You nod, allowing them to slip the off white gown on you. It's a beautiful gown, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't select it specifically for Bucky's eyes.

There was a time not long ago, a time when you were young and naive, full of hopeless love and a head full of fantasies of a triumphant, timeless love, that you would dream together.

Hand in hand, you would lie in your private meadow and dream. Dreams of one day walking down the aisle to Bucky. Dreams of wearing a gown that would take his breath away. Dreams whispered for only him to hear. Dreams carried away in the night.

Going through the motions off getting prepared make your chest feel more hollow than you thought ever possible. If you listen closely, you swear you can hear the summer breeze whistling through the hole torn through your heart.

By the end of the hour, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You look beautiful. And yet, you feel more empty than ever before. 

It feels like a death march, walking from your bedroom chamber to the ballroom. You've never met the man you were promised to before. You don't know anything about him except what your ladies in waiting knew.

You know it wouldn't matter anyway. You could know everything about him. You could know him from head to toe. You could know his heart, his mind, his soul, and he would never compare. He couldn't compete with the man that held your heart.

Your guards trail you behind with one notable absence. Bucky. The head of your security. Your most trusted protector. One of the most senior members of the Royal Guard.

Long before either of you knew civility, you knew him as that bright eyed little boy. Once a little boy wandering the grand halls of the palace, he followed in his father's steps, becoming an invaluable knight. It was somewhere in that time he became your own knight in shining armor.

He held your heart long before he commanded soldiers, long before your father appointed him to your security detail. He was the person you trusted most. Your confidante. The one person who spoke freely to you. 

You walk past the garden. It was always your favorite place in the palace. The place where you first saw those blue eyes. Even at such a young age, your heart knew. He would always be yours.  Even if fate would not allow it, even if destiny tore you apart, your soul would always belong to him. All those nights, sneaking out to the garden. You would be dead if anyone knew. He would be dead if anyone knew. 

You don't even realize you're being presented to your betrothed until your name is bellowed through the ballroom. Gilded from top to bottom, you can the ballroom from the very top of the grand staircase, Bucky is nowhere to be found. 

You walk down the staircase alone. Your heels click against the smooth marble. You hold your head high, face unflinching and stoic. The face of a future queen. The face of a woman that just lost the great love of her life. 

There is nothing remarkable about the man you're to marry. Nothing but the crown resting atop his head - a crown you weren't the least bit interested in. His words sound like a dull buzz in your ear. His eyes flat and dull. Even his kind smile is but a spark to the flame you shared with Bucky. Perhaps, in another life you could learn to love him. It's a lie, you realize. In those other lives, your heart belongs to Bucky too.

You can't do this, you decide in the moment the dinner is finished. You can't promise yourself to another man knowing that you'd lose the love of your life. You could do without the crowns, without the jewels, without any of it, you would give it all away if it meant you could have him. You can't go about your life without Bucky. 

You wait until the cloak of night. And then you go after what you can't live without. 

You stand in his room all alone. He's not here. Nowhere to be found. You curl your hands into fists, determined to wait for him all night. Consequences be damned. You're not but a few moments into your rumination when you hear footsteps in the corridor.

The moment his lantern illuminates the room, he gasps, his hand flinching towards his sword. He sighs, sheathing his sword when he sees it's you. His face is cold and distant as he speaks to you, "You shouldn't be here, your highness."

"I do not love him."

"You will learn to love him," Bucky dryly insists. "We must get you back before-"

"No," you forcefully interject. "I will not. My heart belongs to another. My heart belongs to you."

"We can never be," he speaks through gritted teeth, his trembling hands tightly clenched. "You are the princess. You will one day be queen. I am sworn to protect the crown that will rest on your head. That is our duty."

"Tell me," you softly exhale. "Tell me you do not feel the same."

"I -" He can't bring himself to say the words. 

"Please, so that we may fulfill our duties," you beg. "Tell me."

"You know I cannot."

"Then tell me why you run."

"You know why."

You furiously shake your head, "I do not."

"I cannot give you the life you deserve. Even if I could, your future does not lie with me, a mere commoner. I am but a man sworn to protect you. My place is not and will never be by your side."

You bitterly chuckle, "You truly think so lowly of yourself?"

"No." He shakes his head. His eyes flash over to you, finally his gaze softens, "Perhaps I think of you only in the highest regard, in the highest esteem, far higher than I could ever reach."

"You do not see yourself clearly. You are what I cannot live without. You are what I cannot bear to lose."

Bucky takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, "You love your people. You love this land."

"I love you."

"As I love you..." He cups your face, tenderly stroking your cheek, "There is no other heir. With your mother passed on, what will become of our people if we leave them defenseless and without a ruler?"

"I've read our constitution, there is nothing proclaiming I must marry of royal bloodline."

"Your father would never allow it. I would lose my head for even thinking of such impropriety."

"I am the sole heir. I will be queen."

"Yes."

"I will not allow myself to be torn between my love for my people and my love for you."

"We all have our cross to bear."

"Then let me bear mine. I will speak to my father. I will make him see. I will rule with you at my side or I will rule alone and our bloodline will die with me."

"You cannot -"

"I can."

"Am I truly worth risking the wrath of your father, the wrath of our king?"

"You are worth everything to me." 

You find your father first thing the next morning. He sits surrounded by his advisors, the same advisors that convinced your father to promise you to the neighboring country.

You knew you were not unique in this situation. You were not alone when your heart and duties were pulling you apart at the seams. You knew few loves ever triumphed. Few could overcome such pressure. And even fewer survived with two intact.

You shudder at the thought of Bucky paying the price for falling in love with you. You were both so young when you first saw him. So young and so naive.

Regardless, you stand tall. This was a love worth the fight. A love that would endure. A love that would be timeless.

"Father," you curtsy before him. "I must speak with you at once."

"Leave us." He raises a hand in dismissal. As gentle and benevolent as your father could be, he could also be stern and unflinching in his mind. People don't question your father. People don't question the king. The advisors scurry out of the throne room without another word."Is something troubling you, my dear?"

You nod, swallowing your fear for Bucky's sake. "There is something I must discuss with you."

Wonder burns in your father's eyes. "Go on."

"I am afraid I cannot proceed with the betrothal," you firmly state, your voice as cool and unwavering as steel.

He quirks an eyebrow, his eyes blown wide, "I beg your pardon?"

"I cannot marry him. I do not love him."

"You will learn to love him."

You can't count how many people have told you something similar. Hundreds since your betrothal over a decade ago. Even then, you were hopelessly in love with Bucky. "My heart belongs to another."

"An infatuation is not - "

"It is no infatuation," you explode. "I spent life loving this man. I love him with all my heart. I will not lose him. Allow him to rule beside me when the day arrives."

Your father leans forward, his gaze bearing down on you, "And what of our alliance? Your betrothal? Imagine the scandal!"

"We can ally ourselves without my hand in marriage," you reply, speaking each syllable as calmly and carefully as your most revered diplomats. "Our land is bountiful. Our people are strong."

"You love this gentleman?"

"I do."

"And who, pray tell, is this man?"

You lower your head. This was the part you feared most. Risking the life of the one you love with every fiber of your being. You reminded yourself that there was a plan. One you spent all night constructing. He was waiting on the outskirts of your meadow, if it didn't go well, you'd run away and leave it all behind. For him. "James. James Barnes."

"The head of your personal guard?"

You don't allow your voice to waver. "Yes."

"And what if I had him executed for this treason?"

"This was no treason, Father!" you speak with an intensity that you've never dared to before. Your chest heaves with panic. This was it. The moment where you lost or gained everything. "I have loved him from the moment I saw him when we were children. I would never forgive you. You would lose your sole heir."

"You would forsake your land, your people, for him?"

Without a breath of hesitation, you nod, "Yes."

Your father sucks in a breath. It was unlike you. You were the perfect portrait of an heir. With the death of your mother, people looked to you to see a steady hand and a reasonable mind. He almost forgot that somewhere buried in your sense of responsibility, was a heart that was entirely your own. "I see."

You reach for your father's hand, holding it tightly, "He is a good man. A good man who has devoted his life to the Crown."

"You cannot marry an untitled man."

"Father, please -"

"Let me finish," he stops you. "You cannot marry an untitled man, but I cannot lose my only daughter."

"Thank you, Father." You don't bow to him this time. This time, you rush towards him, throwing your arms around him. "Thank you."

"I loved your mother the way you love him," he whispers for you to hear. "I would have given it all away for her. Everything except you."

Tears well in your eyes. You squeeze his hand one last time. "Thank you."

You don't waste another moment before you run to Bucky. You find him anxiously pacing the meadow, the sunlight making his blue eyes look more brilliant than any flower you've ever seen.

His breath catches the moment he sees you running towards him. Down the cobblestone path he's spent years watching you from. He run towards you, meeting you in the center of the meadow you turned into his haven.

The moment you're close enough to touch, his hands grip your waist. His wild eyes rake over you, "Your highness..."

You throw your arms around him, "I love you."

"Your father?"

You nod into the crook of his neck. "He understands."

He breaths a sigh of relief. And for the first time since your betrothal was announced, he feels hope bloom in his heart. He pulls back, his hand pushing away the stray hair from your face. His chest heaves, his heart overwhelmed with the one dream he never dared to believe would come true. His eyes bore into yours gleaming and twinkling, so inviting you have no choice but to jump in. "Our love will be timeless, I swear it."

And it was.

On the dreaded day your father's long reign ended, and you became the queen you were born to be. He was there, holding your hand, holding you steady, by your side where he belonged.

Yours was a story of triumph, a story of hope, a love story turned into folklore, destined to be passed down from generation to generation.

Your love would last forever. A tale as timeless one could be.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[saintmurd0ck]

our loss

masterlist

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: matt doesn't really know what to think, now that you're not his anymore

warnings: breakup, established relationship, sadness and grief, crying, feelings of numbness

a/n: i'm going through something. please bear with me.

Matt doesn't know what to say. How to respond. Or how to communicate his feelings; words, thoughts, desires and damnation all left unspoken.

He replays your voicemail more times than he can be bothered to count, because for the moment, it feels like that's all he has left. He knows it isn't entirely true, because you're still here — living, breathing, in the apartment two blocks down and to the left he's become so familiar with — but you're not his. Not anymore.

He knows your routine intimately, being that it's a Thursday night. Usually, you're out at dinner with one of your hometown friends, ordering the same thing every time, adorned with your favourite red lipstick that you'd leave on the sides of his neck. It scares him that he doesn't quite know what you're doing now. He could always take his cane and meander towards the city, taking a route he's committed to memory, letting his brain wander but his feet carry him subconsciously to his destination. Then, he could simply listen. Drown out the wails of the city, the hopes and dreams that manifest and shatter in the same minute. 

He could focus on you, and the salt distilling in the air, your body-wracking sobs, or the kind of silent cry that has your mouth open in an unending, soundless scream. Maybe you've buried your face in the pillow — his pillow — clutching one of his shirts and wishing, begging, somehow, for the pain to stop.

But he won't do that.

It'd be too tempting to make his way up; hell, to scale the side of the building, just so he could hold you and remind you that you're safe, that you're loved, and that you'd have a man who'd raze the whole world at your command, Catholic values be damned. 

Matt contemplates all of this for a second, having resigned himself to his sofa, his head propped uncomfortably against the armrest and his plaid blanket draped haphazardly over his torso. He blinks slowly, feeling the tension building in his temples and jaw, letting his hands curl and unfurl not into fists, but muscle memories of tenderness. It's like his hands know what they're missing, instinctively moving into the same positions he'd take up when holding your waist, when caressing your face. 

He murmurs a sound, what he thinks is a butchery of your name, laying there unceremoniously as his heart squeezes over and over again, as dread and loss and grief twist in his stomach. 

Why does it feel like every time something good happens to him, it just as quickly is taken away? He knows what you'd say — that this is untrue, that it isn't his fault, and he shouldn't beat himself up for things out of his control. But it's hard not to default to his programming in times like these. He tries to move past, to edge his thoughts along, perhaps not for himself yet, but for you.

He shuffles downwards, allowing his head to fall flat on the seat and his feet to hang off the edge of the couch. He thinks that his shivering could be attributed to the cold, or simply the fact that he doesn't really know what to do next. He's bristling, his own body unsure of whether to send blood to his muscles or his brain.

All his relationships, or the meaningful ones, at least, have crashed and burned in the sense that they failed and he moved on. It's always been simple: never hang onto one person for too long, because you're too important, you've got too much at stake to hold onto dead feelings. 

You're different. 

You're the ray of sunshine in his otherwise bleak life of justice and bloodstained glory, the grounding tether to the tangible world. Goodness was wrought from your warmth and love. 

He grits his teeth, shoving down the pangs of nostalgia: of nights spent in his bed, of the softness of your lips on his skin, of the unadulterated joy you'd unearthed.

A breakup won't change the fact that you still make him whole. It won't change much, truth be told. It's the little things, however, that have begun to fall away, like the fact that he might not be privy anymore to your innermost thoughts, that you're beginning to plan your future without him in mind.

He thinks back to an analogy he once heard: one about a well-loved plate, one that's been dropped and pieced together time and time again. The plate is still round, still held together by glue that has stood the test of knives and forks, of microwaves and dishwashers, of constant use. 

Except now, there are chips around the rim, sometimes appearing a few at a time, others days or weeks apart. They won't damage the structural integrity of the plate, and they shouldn't be used as an excuse to throw it away, but they mar its surface. Each chip is a loss in its own right, however insignificant or large. They can be repaired over time, but for now, they exist. 

As wounding as they are, Matt needs to allow them to exist in order to move on, because dwelling on them, wanting to throw the whole dish away without recognising its beauty or resilience would be a waste. At least he thinks it's the right answer.

He reaches for his phone on the coffee table. As much as Matt finds the notion of seeking help difficult, and often irritating, the hollowness in his chest demands to be shared, to be discussed and picked at until he can't bother to dissect it anymore. He aims to call Karen because he's positive she out of all people would know just what to do, but he hits play on your voicemail again.

You're crying. 

"Matt," you start, bursting into sobs at the mere utterance of his name. "I just... I don't even know if I want to leave you this message. I don't know what to say to you, only that I needed to say something to you." There's a shaky pause, a jagged breath, and your voice trickles to a whisper. "I loved you, Matt. I love you. I would've done anything for you. I would've gone anywhere you asked. And I don't know how to look at you without wanting more, without craving what has been and what could've been. Maybe someday it'll be different, and we can start fresh," — you hiccup, and Matt reels inwards, his lip quivering at the sheer agony in your words — "but we need time to figure that out." You sigh, plaintively.

And as he listens to your next sentence, he mouths the words in sync with you. They taste foreign, they're a sore in his mouth, but it's a kernel of light nevertheless. It's a drop of gold swirling in the inky mess of his soul.

"We'll find our way back to each other."

He whispers the next words out loud, doing his best not to talk over the voicemail version of you. "I know we will."

[thethirdromana]

Books I read for the first time this year - 2024 edition

I did this last year, and even though no one read it, it was fun so I'm doing it again.

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins I loved The Woman in White so much that I had to have more Wilkie Collins right away. It is aggressively of its time, but very readable and gripping all the same. And I found the ending deeply satisfying. I should read more Wilkie Collins.

Julia by Sandra Newman This is the story of 1984 retold from Julia's perspective, with extra bleakness and a somewhat odd take on the ending. I think this would have benefitted from me having read 1984 more recently. I'm glad I read it; I don't think I will ever read it again.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells I merely liked this, and feel oddly guilty for not loving it as much as the rest of tumblr seems to. Possibly this would have benefitted from me bingeing the series instead of stopping at one.

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen In the spring I decided it was time to read the two Austen novels I hadn't read before. I enjoyed Mansfield Park, though it's not destined to replace Sense and Sensibility as my favourite Austen novel. This is because Edmund, unfortunately, is a drip.

Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro I loved Remains of the Day so much that I thought I should read more Ishiguro. There's the usual unreliable narrator and glimpses of hidden darkness that you'd expect from Ishiguro in Klara and the Sun, but it's a lighter read overall, which is to say it didn't devastate me in the way that the Remains of the Day did.

Persuasion by Jane Austen One of these novels that's so totemic it feels weird to review it. It's like saying I quite liked the ocean; the ocean doesn't care.

I quite liked it, though.

The Temeraire series by Naomi Novik The first of several recommendations from tumblr. I read the whole series one after another without a break. The amount that I enjoyed each novel was directly proportional to how much it was the Aubreyad with dragons - so the first and final books were my favourites.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir Lots of people have this as their favourite Andy Weir novel but I am not among them. It was just a little bit too cuddly for me, I think, and I was also well into Time To Orbit: Unknown at this point (a web serial, so I've not included it on this list), which is in a similar style but better. The title pun is great, though.

The Mystery of a Hansom Cab by Fergus Hume This is an early detective novel from before people had really figured out how the genre should work. An interesting read but not a particularly satisfying one.

The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin An incredible book, but I found myself wishing I could have read the version of it that Le Guin might have written later on in her career, when she came to focus less on male characters.

The Riverside Trilogy by Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman This was another tumblr recommendation and I loved these, with the sole exception of the ending of the Fall of Kings. Queer love, sword-fighting and some of the most lavish and enticing descriptions of food that I've ever read - this is a significant percentage of I want in a novel.

The Documents in the Case by Dorothy Sayers and Robert Eustace I can't believe I hadn't read this earlier. I love Dorothy Sayers, I love the way she observes people, and I particularly love the way this novel brings a slice of the 1920s bohemian world to life. This means I have now read all of Dorothy Sayers' novels and should probably getting cracking on the short stories.

A Taste of Gold and Iron by Alexandra Rowland Another tumblr recommendation! This felt a lot like reading fanfic - the tropes (enemies to lovers!), the writing style, the way the characters bounced off each other. I enjoyed it, though I did find myself wondering how readers who weren't used to fanfic norms would feel about it.

Spirit Level by Richy Craven This was a debut novel by someone who I've followed on Twitter (and subsequently Bluesky) for ages. It's a comedy novel about a man who can only see the ghost of his dead friend when he's drunk. I found it more sweet than funny.

Jeeves and the King of Clubs by Ben Schott Jeeves and Wooster fanfiction, but with an official licence! Entirely readable, but the best of AO3 is better.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller A gorgeous retelling of the Iliad from the perspective of Patroclus. The prose is lovely; the ending, a little wobbly.

Tall and Dark by Suzannah Rowntree Sometimes I download novels onto my Kindle, forget any of the context, and pick them up without any prior info. Usually that's great, but it served Tall and Dark badly. I thought that it was going to be the kind of novel that the opening made it seem (a governess who can see spirits fakes being a medium in a non-fantasy setting) instead of what it was (a romp with fantastical monsters). The monster romp was fun, but I'd probably have enjoyed it more if I'd read the blurb and been prepared for what to expect.

The Night Raven by Sarah Painter More women who can see ghosts, but this time in an urban fantasy context. I was not really in the mood for urban fantasy when I read this, which did a disservice to another readable book.

A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro This was Ishiguro's first novel, where he hadn't quite figured out the fine line between an unreliable narrator who hides things from the reader, and just not telling you what the fuck is going on.

The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro I did not finish this, but I got about two-thirds of the way through before giving up, so it's going on the list. This is where I went from "I like Kazuo Ishiguro" to "I like some of Kazuo Ishiguro's novels". Amazing that it's possible to make an Arthurian romp set in the early Middle Ages (two of my favourite things!) so dull.

On the Beach by Nevil Shute This was the best novel I read all year. It's the story of a small group of people in Australia, waiting for a cloud of nuclear radiation that has already killed the rest of humanity to reach them. Other writers might have shown people having crazed reactions to the end of the world; Nevil Shute shows ordinary people responding in dignified and quiet ways. It was utterly devastating.

So Disdained by Nevil Shute This was a lot lighter than On the Beach and generally fun, though the heroic role played in it by Italian fascists was uncomfortable.

Circe by Madeline Miller Good, if a little bit less well-constructed than The Song of Achilles, though some of that has to be down to the source material.

The Autobiography of Mr Spock by Una McCormack It's a truly impressive feat to synthesise the assorted contradictory Spock lore into something that makes coherent sense. Una McCormack sees the world of Star Trek as a darker place than I prefer to, and as a dedicated Spirk shipper, maybe I was never going to be entirely happy with this. It's very well-written but perhaps not quite for me.

The Anglo-Saxons by Marc Morris I realised I'd got to nearly the end of the year without reading any non-fiction. This was a great way to address that. I already knew a fair bit about the Anglo-Saxon period but this was a very enjoyable way to fill in the gaps.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir I gave in to the need to know what everyone on tumblr seemed to be raving about. Lesbian necromancers in space was always going to be a winner with me, though at times it was a bit Warhammer 40k-esque (mountains of skulls! rivers of blood!) for my tastes.

Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus Overtly feminist fiction is usually my bag, but I didn't vibe with this. It's patronising towards its autistic-coded protagonist, and I wish it didn't spend quite so much time emphasising how hot she is. I could have done without the sapient dog, too.

Learned by Heart by Emma Donoghue Lesbian historical fiction featuring Anne Lister? Obviously on to a great start. The plot was a little constrained by the messiness of historical events, and there were a couple of bizarre modern references that threw me out of immersion when I reached them, which was particularly odd given how meticulous most of the research was. But I'm nitpicking: this was a gorgeous novel overall.

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

One of the most weirdest things to me about the fandom is the idea that Nagito would be extra-warm towards Hajime upon waking up, due to Hajime retaining all of Kamukura's talents. To me I think it would be the total opposite. I think there'd actually be a lot of angst deriving from just how alienated Nagito feels around this Hajime, who's not quite the same person he fell in love with anymore. Taking into account what 2.5 implies about his true feelings about talent (that deep down he's always resented what talent has done to the world and his life), I think it could be especially aggravating if Hajime tried to act as if there's no power imbalance between the two.

"...Stop pretending like I'm still your equal. I'm a talentless freak with a brain that's falling to bits, and I'll be gone in a few years. You're the most talented ingenious human being on Earth, and you've probably got a life expectancy of like 250. You don't get to reap all the benefits of being the Ultimate Hope, and then act like you're still an average joe just because you had some profound revelation in a computer world about how okay it is being talentless."

Yeah I feel that. Though it's understandable fandom would run with the "Talent-sexual" Nagito joke given how much he fawns over those with talent and to then apply the logic to "the more talents = the more Nagito will like you". The moment in the anime when he's overwhelmed with adoration simply being in Izuru's presence for the first time also doesn't quite help in this regard, though pretty sure that was put in there more so for fanservice and comic relief.

Funnily enough, as you mentioned, the anime also brought into question how much sincerity Nagito's love for talent truly is. So then it makes you think--if Nagito actually resents talent, then applying the earlier logic: wouldn't the more talents = the more Nagito resents you? Both things are somewhat of a flawed logic, but it's interesting to explore that side of Nagito because it really paints a picture of how deeply entrenched his delusion with hope and talent are. How many layers of denial and repression do you have to be in order to act so sincerely and consistently with your fake ideal that talent=hope and the Ultimates are destined to bring forth that hope? To the point that you circled back around and gaslight yourself into believing it to be a fundamental truth?

At what point did that resentment arise? Did it grow alongside his admiration for talent? Every time he felt his resentment towards talent did he push it back down with positive thoughts of talent instead to try to "look on the brightside/find the silver lining"? Did it get to the point that his resentment was so incredible that he had to think talent positive thoughts 24/7 just to keep it at bay? Is he doing this because otherwise all he'll have left will be hatred, despair, and a bleak view of the world being cruel and unfair? And he'll constantly be wondering why some are blessed with advantage and prodigy while others are seemingly born to suffer and stay stagnant despite their best efforts? Why does the world continue to favor some and crush everyone else? What has everyone done to deserve the life they have?

Honestly, this just further proves that Nagito's obsession with hope and talent are his last ditch attempts at giving himself purpose in a world cursing his existence. Ironically, this unhealthy coping mechanism is the better of two mindsets he chose to follow. Really goes to show that Nagito, despite everything he says, has not given up on himself if he's trying THIS damn hard to keep up the facade and have a reason to keep going everyday. And this is the reason why that OVA is my favorite episode from all the anime as that one line adds so much more nuance to Nagito's already complicated ideology.

Sorry, I sorta derailed things to ramble about Nagito but what did you expect from a Nagito simp after all? He's been rotting my brain for over four years now. But to come back on topic, this post-game Nagito with his looser chokehold on hope and talent would most likely have to contend once again with that resentment, but now with a weaker shield. As such, I do think he'd have mixed feelings about Izuru/Hajime. Part of him would probably sympathize with Hajime's pain from the surgery and the fact that he'll never quite be only Hajime anymore. Izuru is and will always be there. Learning to live with the permanent changes to his body and mind is something Nagito knows intimately--way before he became a remnant. That being said, well....Hajime did get the best case scenario for his outcome. Even some of his emotions returned despite the physical improbability of it happening. And yeah--he gets to keep all those useful talents now too. He's also in better physical health than most of their other classmates and his real name isn't inherently associated with Ultimate Despair. He could go back into society looking the way he does with his legal name and no one would even know he was ever involved with Hope's Peak.

So yeah, that sympathy Nagito has would not be enough to squash down his resentment. I can't imagine him fawning over Hajime post-game given everything that's happened and especially after finding out how Izuru was created (as I talked about in a previous ask). There will definitely be an adjustment period where in Nagito may even be passively hostile towards Hajime. But I think a part of Nagito--the part that white knuckled that silver lining for talent---would try its best to look past that and accept Hajime as a sincere friend. It's just going to take a while for him to get there. But he'll try. Doesn't mean he won't be a snarky passive aggressive guy through out it though. I do think he'll be more blunt about his honest feelings towards others whether they like it or not. Talent be (slightly) damned.