#The way he was killed and for the reason he was killed is heartbreaking

[heretherebedork]

Fire and Water in The Heart Killer ep 7

Because there's so much of both of them.

The fire of Bison's birthday, two candles, two moments with men who do love even if things are going sideways right now. The tiniest flames that signify another year in his life, another change, the moment you get to make a wish and you hope it happens. Kant asks Bison to make a wish but Fadel just tells him they should finish what they started that same night, stop stretching it out.

Kant still wants to believe they can dream together.

Fadel is ready for this dream of Bison's to be over.'

But also the flames are tiny. They are candles, nothing more, barely lighting the darkness, barely touching the blackness that has come over them and that is the candle that always gets blown out, the fire returning them to darkness each time.

But this? This fire? The betrayal fire? The moment that Fadel found out that not only was Style a snitch but that Bison had supported him faking their relationship and pursuing him despite knowing it was a lie? That is a fire that is huge but still doesn't touch the darkness. That is a fire built to destroy memories and built to destroy that first moment that Bison felt like he was in love but it also showed the fire that screams inside Fadel as he realizes that all the trust he gave was never real.

From the tiny birthday flames that mean wishes to the burning trash can of betrayal, the melting trophy inside. The birthday candles were meant to share bonds but this fire breaks them, set between Fadel and Bison and filled with the symbols of Kant's lies to Bison.

And then water.

Or the lack of water, in this case. An empty swimming pool. No way to put out the fire, no way to cool off, the only danger present truly being Fadel and his gun. This is not a personal places to either of them, this is not something specific, this is just a place (to our knowledge, at least). There's no deep emotional connection here. It's just a place no one can hear Style yell from because that's all Fadel needed it to be.

Fadel is betrayed on all sides and his first idea is isolation but he's also quick to take Style up on his offer to help find his brother. It's Fadel who first tells Style in the hospital that everything has changed.

(Fadel let love fill him and now he is empty and he has nothing left, no protections for himself. He told Style they still had business and that this was over and basically warned him and he still slept next to him afterwards in the car. Fadel wants so badly to be able to trust and love but everything feels empty, no water in the pool and no memories in the fire for him, just choking smoke and emptiness.)

Bison takes Kant to a very personal and very wet place. He places him on a boat in the ocean and he holds his gun but he is not the real threat, Bison is never the reason Kant is truly scared in this position.

And that's so reflective of them. Even the birthday candle is not the only light for them, the room is warmly lit all around them because the biggest danger is never Bison, the biggest danger comes from the world around them and where they put themselves.

Bison is holding a gun to Kant but Kant is more afraid of the ocean than he is of Bison (and, frankly, with good reason for all that Bison dreams of killing him) while Fadel brings Style to a place where he was nothing to be afraid of but him.

The episode starts with fire and ends with water (or the lack of water) and next week is about more water and more love and four men trying to come to terms with lies and truths and love and hatred and betrayal and what it means to recover from heartbreak with the same person who broke your heart.

[mirramirra05]

The beast of passion

Trapped on a island since the fall of the others, her once pure love has become that of obsession and perversion. The sounds of a trumpet will blind you're mind making you love her for all of eternity

and if you don't?

Well her snakes are quite hungry! And all 6 of you will make the perfect little snacks for them....

The hero of fate

A child of beast and cookie, in the shadow of her mother she tries her best to right the wrongs she's grown up with. Her loom,her hands, and the red twine that brings cookies together work to fix and reveal that of true love. she promises to bring real love back to the kingdom and not the sounds of obsession that invades the ears of others and coils around them like a poisonous snake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello!!!

Id like to welcome at-least two of my cookie run kingdom OC's

My beast cookie- whipped butter cookie/calypso cookie

My ancient hero cookie- mixed chocolate cream cookie

The idea of whipped is based off of Calypso and Scylla from epic the musical/homers Odyssey with the idea of that instead of being trapped in the silver tree with the other beast she was placed/trapped by the witches to stay on a island never to be rescued or found purposely by others.

Every cookie that ends up on her island are shipwreck survivors or people lost at sea, very rarely if not at all does anyone make it off the island cause of the witches spell and whips magic too. Her trumpet is basically mind control and a love spell in one causing anyone to hear it to fall madly in love with the one who plays it. She plays her trumpet constantly to keep the spell from fading and in her twisted mind her losing her loved ones.

The Scylla position of her is her physical looks, she has six snakes that are connected to her each one is alive but their minds are like a hive mind, connected and act out the main brains commands. All though each snake is poisonous with different levels of poison. The lower 3 the ones closer to her body are more so used to threaten or put someone their place there poison is weaker, the top 3 the ones close to her sould jam/gem are the ones that kill the ones she considers "heartbreaker's".

With mixed chocolate she is actually more of a self insert then OC cause she's based off of me by my race cause I am mixed ( white American and black/mixed Jamaican) so she is a mixed white and dark chocolate frosting cookie. The only thing I changed was she is also based of of Penelope and circe from epic/the Odyssey.

Penelope from her weaving and her desire/ her waiting for real love not the obsession she has seen her whole life.

While circe due to her magic abilities with the red string and her deep care and protectiveness of the cookies she loves and care for. ( The cake hound she has used to be a cookie she considers her best friend, she turned them into a hound so that way her mother could never use her trumpet on them)

Both these characters are blood related as mixed is whipped full blood daughter. Mixed is immune to her mother spell due to being her daughter, the only reason why she doesn't stop her mother is because she does feel real love for her mom.

A cookie( either a milk or mixed chocolate based cookie) from dark cacaos kingdom had gotten lost at sea due to him traveling for a business position in a neighboring kingdom. Sadly like many cookies that end up on whipped island she keeps him there and even forces him to marry her, eventually bringing mixed into the world. Mixed father is still alive but he's kept trapped in the main palace of the island, constantly under whips spell to the point where he's a obsessive lovesick shell of the cookie he used to be.

Both of her parents don't truly love her , since her dad is always under a spell, and her mother is well a love obsessed beast. The only reason she knows that what she grew up with isn't real love is from visions given to her from a ✨higher power ✨ that show her what love is and she tries to learn from the people who end up on their island before they hear her mothers spell.

Anyways this is what I have so far for the two of them! I bring out more as I go!!!

[positively--speculative]

I feel like an effective love interest in the gothic/horror genre is one you're uncomfortable being attracted to. Like, they can be the most absolutely vile and terrifying person you could imagine meeting, but the part that fucks with you is the fact that you're still attracted to them. And you have to kind of step away for a moment and remind yourself of your own morals and boundaries.

I mean, if that person's irredeemable qualities turns you off completely to that character and you don't have a hard time with that character from the moment those qualities are revealed, then that character is too bland. They lack the charm that messes with the person consuming the story. And if you have little to no reaction whatsoever, then you probably need to reflect on that, because the normal reaction is to be disturbed.

[spindle-girl]

Some fun Heartbroken trivia:

There is an older Nicholas and a younger Nicholas and they may have the same or similar powers

“He did.  Guillaume and Nicholas... Nicholas just wallops you with pants-shitting waves of terror...” ... “...I would’ve done it even if my big brothers weren’t coming for me, but I joined the Nine.”

Worm 11.g

...the younger Heartbroken in line.  Flor, Nicholas, Amias, Candy, and Darlene. ... ...the young ones, but Nicholas and Amias weren’t that into this particular game.

Ward 10.x

“You guys were busy helping Nathan after Nicholas got mad and terror-waved him.”

Ward 10.z

Older Nicholas and Guillaume aren't mentioned again after Cherie's interlude in Worm and Guillaume is only mentioned once in Ward

By the time he had her, he was bored enough with children that he didn’t pay her much mind.  You broke that ground, he got bored because he paid that attention to you.  You, Cherie, Jean-Paul, Valentina, Guillaume.  Trying to break you, trying to make you trigger.  Trying to make you soldiers.  Or just the days he was an asshole who wanted to hurt someone and you were the first person he saw after the impulse crossed his mind.

Ward 20.e2

There may have been a fifth sibling with powers who, by the time Cherie escapes, are (most likely) dead and Alec doesn't know

“...I was his fourth kid to show powers...”

Worm 7.1

Alec knows that Nicholas and Cherie have powers, so it goes: Unknown, Cherie, Nicholas, and then Alec. In Cherie's interlude...

“But it didn’t happen.  Time passed, he never made a push for it.  Guillaume got his power, you know.  Ten or so of us kids, and three of us could control people one way or another.  Four if we count you...”

Cherie mentions Guillaume having a power like it's news to Alec. Taking both Alec and Cherish's words together the order should be: Unknown, Cherie, Nicholas (these three can be shuffled around), then Alec, and lastly Guillaume.

Cherie doesn't seem to count Unknown among the active kids, keeping the count to four same as Alec, implying that Unknown died in between Alec running away and his encounter with Cherish in Brockton Bay.

Also, just for fun, the ages of the five seem to be: Nicholas and Guillaume as the oldest (20+ in 2011), Cherie as the next (20 in 2011), and then Alec (15 in 2011). Unknown is unknown so throw them anywhere. Maybe between Alec and Cherie to explain the five year gap between them.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Every description about Nico (especially the canon ones) describing him as “cold” can personally fight me. Nico is jaded, yes, and often closed-off and sometimes stand-offish and defensive but he is not "cold”. He cares SO SO SO MUCH about EVERYONE. He loves and cares with his entire heart constantly and that is a core part of his character. He doesn’t often make public shows of his affection but he takes care to be kind when it matters and doesn’t hide that he does care (usually, the only exception really being him being in the closet, but even then he only hid his crush specifically and not the fact that Percy is important to him). He fine with hugging his friends in front of a crowd and will sit with strangers at a campfire just so they’re not alone. I mean, heck, he’s an extrovert! We know this! He actively seeks out people and gets lonely very quickly and easily! If he can’t talk to living people he will chat with the dead! That’s how much he thrives on being social!

The only time Nico has ever been actively “cold” was the couple of months between TTC and BoTL when he was actively mourning Bianca. Nico is not “cold.” He loves so much and he does show it, just in his own way.

[firequeensrules]

Some Batman 138 leaks...Yikes!

At least for once Damian get his ass beaten by Tim and Dick goes feral for Jason Todd's sake! Batman possessed or not is not getting a pass hopefully this time 😔!!

[worstloki]

friends to enemies is fine but friend group to enemies holds so much more potential for comedy. everyone is chill and still gets along fine. except for Todd who defected and is now our arch nemesis. yeah like he totally just went off on his own and founded a cult. barely changed his aesthetic too and now all he talks about is the corruption in the system and how we're free to join him when we've had enough of it ourselves.

[grimm-the-tiger]

My FL main went through some really weird, organic development over the...oh god, I think it's been five years since I started playing now.

So my main is named Skadi Larkin. They are a little bastard. They started out extremely 2D; I named them after my favorite Norse goddess and the protagonist of the book I was reading at the time. I originally wanted to make them female like both of their namesakes, but the second I saw the third-gender option, I thought it was too good to pass up. This is where they got their primary base characterization as a mad scientist who wanted to Cause Problems.

Then I started the Nemesis ambition and forgot which option I'd chosen for who I was trying to avenge, so they lost both their lover and their older brother under tragic circumstances (only the lover was killed by Nemesis's antagonist, though).

Then I got an Exceptional Friendship and had to give my tragic backstory in order to gain entry to the House of Chimes. Skadi pulled said tragic backstory (orphaned in a hansom accident) more or less out of their ass, but it did establish that their parents are dead.

Somewhere down the line, I realized that technically Skadi is a linguist, since the Correspondence is a language, and I made that their profession on the Surface as well.

Around this time, I started working on character designs for my fan comic. I got really into messing around with skin tone, and somewhere along the line thought it would be fun to draw Skadi (who was originally white) with darker skin, and it stuck.

Then I abruptly realized I was taking a lot of options that increased my Melancholy, and almost all of them were based on the Surface. So now Skadi has a longing for the Surface.

I left the game for a few years, but somewhere during this stretch of time, and I don't know how this happened, but I decided Skadi was now Native American; specifically, Metis. I changed their design to incorporate a sash woven in a style characteristic of the Metis, which also added a bit of color to their design (which was mostly black or grey at this point).

During this time, I started incorporating Skadi into my fan comic. This would eventually lead me to actually flesh out their backstory in greater detail. When I started playing the game again, I also created my first alt by total accident (long story), and I decided to weave her backstory with Skadi's.

So Skadi is in the interesting position of being an Indigenous person who is what we'd probably consider Two-Spirit today but they'd just call "Bollocks to that gender crap". They never belonged on the Surface, since the Metis are in a bit of a liminal space compared to other tribes due to their interesting background (the Metis are the descendants of French settlers and Indigenous inhabitants, mostly Cree), and Skadi exists in a liminal space within that liminal space due to only being half-Metis and raised primarily in white culture, although they still maintained a connection to it through their late mother. They also never belonged because no one else on the Surface outside of the communities they already felt isolated from would ever accept them for their gender. London gave them a chance to express one of those, but not both, and despite knowing that the Surface hates them just for existing, they still long to return.

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[quarterlifekitty]

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

[crescenthistory]

You Too, Silly

Pairing: Bartylus x Reader (Starkiller x Reader)

Summary: When your two best friends fall in love and make it official, you try to be happy for them despite your heartbreak. When they keep flirting with you, though, things grow complicated.

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, poly relationship obvi, miscommunication trope, pining & yearning, hurt/comfort, (some) angst with a (very) happy ending, your pov and you think your love is unrequited, it is not!, all three of you are stupid but you're in love so it's fine, kissing while crying, some slight suggestiveness but overall safe for minors, light drinking at a slytherin party

Note: this is my hard launch of romanian!barty mwah – if you don't like it sorry not sorry, this is my barty now!

Being in love with your two best friends hurts.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other hurts perhaps even more.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other, yet for some reason seem hellbent on jokingly flirting with you at any given moment could be considered a form of torture.

And for the past few weeks, Barty Crouch Junior and Regulus Black have been putting you through nothing short of torture.

As any relationship either boy has sustained throughout their lives, your friendship with them was complicated. When you and your dorm mate Dorcas first began integrating yourselves in the friend group that consisted of Barty, Regulus and the elusive Rosier twins, you had both said you might come to regret it. You remember clearly sitting up one night and talking about it – you both thought it would end in flames, yet somehow you couldn’t help but poke the bear. You would prefer to fly under the radar, avoid any more pain than you had already had to grapple with, but you also craved a sense of belonging and figured it was worth the risk.

And oh, were you rewarded. 

No friend had treasured you the way Barty does. The second he decided he “liked your vibe” as he put it when he cut you off mid-sentence during your first proper hang-out, you had a loyal guard dog who would kill for you and then demand cuddles as payment. Almost overnight, wherever you went, Barty wouldn’t be far behind, no questions asked. He was fierce in his love, uninhibited and wild. It made you feel important in a way that sizzled over your skin.

In Regulus, you found a quiet understanding no one else had been able to give you before. He was both a mirror held up to your face and a cushioned bench to share during your turmoils. It seemed like he could read your every thought, every experience, like the books you would bond over. Silences shared with Regulus often gave you more than long conversations with others ever could. While he didn’t declare your friendship in the same way Barty did, he still had this simple way of making you feel seen and known.

They quickly cemented themselves at the root of your heart. They were your best friends, and you theirs. Your boys; with their respective green and white strands in their curly hair, who were misunderstood in each their way yet were never a mystery to you.

Perhaps naively, you had always thought there was a certain tension there, that something ran deeper below the surface. Barty was physically affectionate with all his friends, but the way he reached out for you felt differently charged. The only other person he held as long as he did you, was Regulus. It felt right. Likewise, you had yet to be in a room with Regulus without feeling his eyes on you, and you often absentmindedly compared the feeling to when Barty hugs you – they were equivalents, those gazes were the former boy’s version of affection. When you played spin the bottle during an after-party in the boys’ dorm one night, Barty’s grin had widened brilliantly when it landed on you and Regulus. You had sworn you had seen a hunger in his eyes when he watched you share the brief kiss, and you could still hear the soft sigh Regulus breathed against your lips. Again, it all felt so right. 

It went unspoken, but you thought that was because it did not need to – not because it was not there.

You knew, of course, that you had been stupidly delusional when Barty hauled Regulus with him into the Great Hall a month ago, hands intertwined, and announced with his signature Cheshire cat smile that he “finally got the boy”. You saw them making out – rather publicly – at the quidditch victory party the night before, but at the time it had only made you smile. It was odd, how you hadn’t realised that kiss was proof that all this tension really was just the two of them. Not before the words left Barty’s mouth did it hit you that this was a part of them you were not involved in. That felt decidedly wrong, but you shoved it down and joined in on the wolf whistling and congratulations, pushing your plate away in the chaos, unable to take another bite.

Since then, you have just tried to be happy for them. Or at least seem it.

Tried to smile through it all as Barty made sure their honeymoon phase was as public as humanly possible, much to Regulus’ ongoing chagrin. Tried to laugh at the quips your friends made, the “get a room you two”s and the “lovebirds”s, though you were never able to dish them out yourself, instead just humming along in agreement whenever Dorcas or Evan did. Tried to stiffen your mask to the point where it could not crack underneath the pressure of emotion, perfectly polished as you originally intended for it to be. All those years ago, before they had ensured you would not need it – you gave yourself a silent thank you for your previous doomsday caution. 

You even tried not to avoid Barty and Regulus, to be normal. Why should they be punished by losing one of their best friends because they had the audacity not to fall in love with her too? While you thought yourself generally successful in not showing disdain for their new relationship, this was the one aspect you struggled the most with. Your instinct was to run away and it physically pained you not to. In the few weeks they had been together, you had not been able to stomach being alone with just the two of them and confront their relationship in such close proximity – but you knew you could not avoid them altogether. Instead, you tried to always attach yourself at Dorcas’ hip and always invite the rest of your friends if Barty and Regulus wanted to do something with you. They ask you to study out by the Black Lake? Fantastic, you, Dorcas and Pandora have an Astronomy project you need to work on anyway. They want to visit that one store in Hogsmeade with you? How convenient that Evan was discussing how he needed something from there earlier, and if he goes, then Pandora goes and if she goes Dorcas can’t be the only one left behind, can she?

To offset any accusation that you were not spending time with them alone, you still spent time with them one on one when you knew the other would be busy – just seeing Regulus or Barty was not too bad, it was seeing them as a couple, knowing it did not include you, that you could not withstand. If you were alone with one, you could just pretend nothing changed. 

You made sure you focused on these ‘rules’ in your mind, the carefully constructed plan on how to make it through the year. Somehow you did not have it in you to wish they would break up and put you out of your misery – you wanted them, not just one – so instead you set your sights on graduation day. What you would do afterwards, you did not yet know. Disappear off the face of the earth? Become an Unspeakable as an excuse not to ever see them again? Endless possibilities. You zeroed your focus on your coursework and these measures you must take to protect your heart and sanity – if you filled your mind like this, maybe you could distract yourself from the pain that leaked through your body.

Barty remaining his flirtatious self whenever he was around you and Regulus’ simmering dedication to you seemingly only building, was decidedly not helping your case.

Which is how you ended up in this admittedly awkward cat and goose chase.

“There you are!” Not only did you hear Barty’s screech the moment he laid his eyes on you – everyone else in the library did as well, going by the shushes and ugly glares you both received that Barty paid zero mind to. “Dragă, I have been going crazy without you, where have you been?”

He plopped down on the bench beside you instead of any of the readily available chairs around the table, thigh flush against yours. “Good morning, B,” you whispered, hoping to lower his volume with yours.

The ever-growing grin on his face told you he likely understood your attempt. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and hanging slightly in front of his eyes, but you could see the sparkle there you thought was reserved for you. “Good morning,” he stage-whispered dramatically, to show his abiding of library law. Then, he pressed a smacking kiss to your cheek before pulling up his books. “Tell me, why are we studying on a weekend morning?”

This was the kind of activity that caused your delusion. It was early on a Sunday, arguably too early, and you had snuck out of your dorm to the library before anyone else woke so you would not be roped into any heartbreaking hangout. Yet, upon your absence, Barty went looking for you before doing his hair or anything – and when he found you studying, as he likely assumed you would be, he just joined you. There was no reason for him to.

You had been staring at him a tad bit too incredulously for a tad bit too long, so he gave you a cheeky sideway glance while he readied his books. “Too early for you too, baby?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping you. “Maybe I’m just shocked at seeing you voluntarily in the library. I usually have to drag you here.”

“Yeah, because usually I have you with me somewhere more fun when you try to go to the library,” he explained to you matter-of-factly. “Now that you are here from the get-go, I accept my fate that this is where we’ll be. For now.”

“Lucky me.” You poked him lightly in the side to emphasise your sarcasm before you tried to return to your books, though your attention was thoroughly divided.

“I reckon I am the lucky one who gets to spend time with the fittest babe in the castle.”

You snorted at the same time as your heart shattered further – an odd reaction none other than Barty could draw from you. Those comments are not only how you got in this whole emotional mess to begin with, but felt like genuine ice shards spearing through your flesh. You were guilt-ridden as you revelled in them, and begged the gods he would stop.

“And I reckon,” you teasingly copied, hoping to sound level-headed and not agonised, “that Regulus would not appreciate having that title taken away from him.”

“Regulus is a fit babe,” Barty said dreamily, unaffected by your correction. “But he would agree that the title belongs to you, Dragă.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Barty was incredibly particular in how he showed affection, and flirting with you explicitly was not at all out of character for him. You just, perhaps bitterly, hoped that maybe he would stop, if he was to be in a monogamous relationship with one of his two best friends.

“What’ll you be working on?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation. 

Likely entirely unaware of your attempt, Barty allowed you, delving into a longer rant about what extra assignment Professor Flitwick had assigned him because he “saw potential in you, young man”, which he of course found to be utter “trollpiss”. It was familiar, working side by side while also not studying at all, gossiping like the two best friends you are. It should be lovely, and you kicked yourself for being hung up on it just being friendly, when friendliness in itself is a gift you should be grateful for.

While you tried to allow yourself to enjoy Barty’s company and not be guilty for how hard you noticed where his body touched yours, you kept your eye on the clock. Regulus had prefect rounds on Sunday mornings, but as soon as he finished them, he would seek the two of you out. 

You had to get away from Barty before then.

“While this was lovely,” you said with a forced airy tone, “I have to get going now, B.”

“Cool, where’re we goin’?”

Your pageant winner smile wavered slightly as he immediately began to pack up his belongings, considering it a given that he would join you in your endeavours. “I don’t think so. I’m heading to meet with the Hufflepuff third years I tutor, and I believe it would be considered a crime to introduce them to you when they’ve just stopped being scared of me.”

Not technically a lie. You picked up a massive amount of extracurriculars after Regulus and Barty became official, and tutoring Hufflepuffs was part of it. Though you had no scheduled study session with them today, you knew at least two of them were still too much of a pushover to say no to you if you headed over there. Innocent casualties in your escapades. 

Barty immediately pouted. “No fun,” he whined, sitting back down before you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him so he could rest his forehead on your stomach in defeat. “Why do you have to be such a swot? I miss you.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart flutter at the sentiment. You brought a shaky, selfish hand up to card lightly through his hair, separating the green from the black. “Sorry, B. Duty calls and you know how much I love to be a hero.”

“No hero would leave such a perfect victim like me destitute and alone.” He moved his chin to rest against your flesh so he could look up at you in faux misery.

“Good thing you have Regulus, then.” You feared your voice was more pointed than you wanted it to be. It did not go with the pleasant mask you tried to wear, but the mask never fit quite right around Barty.

Something odd flashed across his eyes at your words and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Whether he wanted to say something that would explain it, you would not find out, because you gave his hair one last ruffle before patting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner, alright B? Don’t worry about me.” You turned around and walked away without waiting for a response.

It still came behind you, sounding too much like the ache in your own chest. “Counting down the minutes!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You survived the rest of the Sunday with little to no incident; as in, you avoided being alone with Regulus and Barty, ensuring the friend group ate together and sat together in the common room afterwards. When Pandora retreated to head to bed, you immediately used the excuse to slither away too, lest you end up trapped with just the two of them by the fire.

Dorcas opened the door to your dorm just a few minutes after you had settled down on your bed to reread your comfort novel. You looked up with a warm, small smile to greet her, but it slipped away as you saw her eyeing you carefully. Neither of you said anything before she was sat on her own bed opposite you, studying you. There was this crackling ferocity to Dorcas’ silences that would make even the strongest man cave – and you were not feeling particularly strong lately.

“Spit it out.” It was all she said.

You sighed and put your book aside, straightening up in your previously comfortable position. “What is it, Cas?”

She gave you a stern but not unkind look. “You’re different. Why?”

“Different how?” You stalled.

She indulged you. “You’re not yourself, babe. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you act like you’re programmed and not like you’re living. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The staggering, almost fragmented way she spoke was in part to spoon-feed you her concern so that you might actually answer her truthfully and in part how Dorcas was with emotions. She had not been raised to speak of them, but she was loyal and smart, so she knew when it was needed, even if you wished she wouldn’t.

You looked at her with heavy eyes for a moment before sighing once more and bringing your hands up to roughly rub at your face. “There is no way for you to help right now, I’m sorry. Except maybe be my shield.” The last part was added as a joke, but it fell flat.

“Shield you from what?” Protectiveness flared in her tone and you knew you had to soothe it with the truth.

“Not what,” you said softly. “Who.” You pleaded with your eyes for her to understand.

It took but a few seconds before her face scrunched up in pity – and something that would almost looked like amusement, had you thought her cruel enough to laugh at you. “Barty and Regulus.” 

It was a statement, not a question, yet you nodded in affirmation, shutting your eyes in humiliation. “It’s bad, Dorcas. It’s so bad.” A tired heave for breath. “But I will get through it. I just need a little bit of distance without any drama around it and to get my shit together.”

Dorcas looked like she was weighing up her next words carefully. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would have told you to talk with them. Alas, I know you won’t. But I hope you somehow end up having to.”

Cryptic and confusing; just how you knew her to be. 

When she realised you would not answer her first sentiments, it was her turn to sigh and give you a rueful smile. “I assume this is why I suddenly have been roped into so much lately? Marlene misses me.”

You laugh at her teasing tone, happy for her to not dig too much into your feelings. “Sorry about that, babe. Just for a little while longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she repeated with a tilted head. “If it’s any help, I get it.”

“Considering you got the girl, I don’t think you do.” There was no malice in your words, just a bit of longing. It was bittersweet to indirectly admit your loss.

“That’s not what I meant.” She waited to continue before you met her eyes once more. “I can’t say I understand your heartbreak exactly, but I share your confusion. I also thought you would be part of it.”

The look you gave her must have been nothing short of gobsmacked, yet she had the kindness to not laugh at you. It was unclear whether you were most surprised by her knowing you were in love with both of them, or her having shared the same assumptions as you once. Both floored you.

“I–” you tried, but your voice failed you. All you were able to do was whisper a small, “Thank you.”

This time, there was nothing but pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry babe. I’ll shield you to the best of my ability.”

You shared small, knowing smiles and you decided to end the conversation there, lest it get teary. Reaching over, you carefully switched off your light and placed your book on your nightstand, abandoning any attempt at being comforted for the night. When you laid your head on your pillow, there were phantom indents on either side.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The one place you had no opportunity to shield yourself from or avoid either of them was during classes.

With your timetables for the year, you and Regulus ended up sharing more than half of your classes, while Barty was in at least a third of them. When you first saw the allocations, it felt like painfully little, and the thought of scraping by so many classes without them felt like a punishment you did not deserve. Now, you almost wished it was less.

Almost was the key word though – because Regulus’ presence by your side at your shared Herbology station was somehow melting the tension that had settled in your bones and making your chest heave all at the same time.

His elbow bumped lightly into yours. “You alright?”

You looked up from the notes you were pretending to study for the depotting you two were currently attempting, giving him a brief smile. “‘Course. Ready for the next step?”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, flickering over your face carefully before nodding almost imperceivable. You shifted your focus towards the Venomous Tentacula on the bench before you, reaching out to carefully manoeuvre the prickly leaves away so Regulus could attend to the roots when his hand stopped yours.

“These aren’t tight enough.” His voice was but a whisper as he took off his gloves to tighten yours where the velcro was hazardously slapped on top of each other. With long, cold fingers he elegantly realigned the straps and made sure there was no gap between your skin and glove. “Don’t want my best girl getting hurt, right?” 

Regulus looked up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. With his striking grey eyes locked on yours, you feared your emotions were too clearly pasted across your face. His loose grip remained on your bare skin, thumbs brushing carefully above your gloves.

“Right,” was all you offered him curtly, pulling your hands back to yourself. 

Together you navigated the plant meticulously from one pot to the other you had pre-prepared. Propagating, maintaining and harvesting from the plant was one of your major projects in Herbology for the term and you and Regulus had been dedicated to your so-called coparenting to begin with. Now, to have his body half pressed to yours as you covered the plant’s teeth and angled its venomous leaves away while he extracted and cleaned its roots, it was almost too much. You breathed in and instead of being overwhelmed by the smell of dirt, your nose was filled with Regulus’ shampoo and cologne. You were suddenly thankful your part of the job was rather stationary, as you feared your hands trembling.

Regulus took a laboured breath as he settled the plant properly within its new home, packing the potting mix carefully around the roots. “Right there, perfect,” he murmured, presumably to himself, yet you fought the shiver down your spine. You noticed him glancing at you in the corner of his eye with what can only be classified as a smirk growing on his lips. “Amazing work, amour.” That was unmistakably to you.

You lightly shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Are we done?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus replied, dusting the remaining dirt off his gloves as he took a small step back from the plant – and closer to you. “Gregory has been successfully assimilated to his new environment.”

You scoffed a laugh, to which his smile grew genuine. “You’ve got a flare for the dramatics, Black.”

“Only comes with being close to one Bartiemus Junior, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were crinkling from his smile and adoration, but you took the comment for what it was – a reminder. A warning. Albeit a confusing one, giving his amorous words just a few moments ago, but one you most certainly needed. “That it does.” Your tone was drier than you intended, but you did good; the smile didn’t slip.

Regulus’ did, and he tilted his head while regarding you. “I almost slipped up a few times there, though. Was a tad distracted.” There was an undeniable cheekiness dripping from his words.

“Yeah?” was all you managed to say.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, leaning against the desk. You had time to small talk, giving as you were finished long before anyone else. “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be allowed in here; it’s a safety hazard.”

“You would know all about safety hazards,” you mumbled, fighting yourself from going red from the sentiment or seeing red from the audacity. 

Regulus’ laugh seemed more guarded than usual.

“Speaking of,” you said, trying to get the conversation to safer grounds, “who do you think will definitely kill their plants at last today?”

If there was one thing you and Regulus did well, it was gossip, and you managed to derail him into chattering quietly with you instead of doing some weird dance of pushing the limits and then drawing them clearly. As you spoke, you took small, careful steps away from Regulus to put some physical distance between you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If you had looked him in the eye even once more before your separation to go to your next periods, you would have seen that he did.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You would have thought the Quidditch game on Friday to have been a blessing.

The tension had been growing more and more between you and your best friends, and it seemed that the more you volleyed around their pretend flirting, the more fired up they got, in each their own way. It didn’t seem sustainable anymore. 

Even Dorcas had grown weary of you, though she tried to remain supportive while urging you strongly to speak with them about it.

“And say what exactly? What could I possibly say that would not make the situation ten times worse?”

Dorcas levelled you with a look that spoke volumes, but she seemed unwilling to verbalise any of it in response. Instead she just offered you a vague, “It might go better than you could imagine.”

You must admit you had grown weary of her cryptic remarks as well.

A quidditch game gave you the perfect opportunity to have a small break from them guilt-free, seeing as they were all playing for Slytherin. In turn, you believed you gave Dorcas a break from working overtime to shield you and keep any awkward situation at bay. 

With you in the stands, cheering for your little makeshift family who were all involved in the game somehow – Regulus as Captain and seeker, Barty and Evan as beaters, Dorcas as a chaser and Pandora as commentator – you thought you could finally breathe for a moment. 

Any such hopes were shattered when Barty came chasing up beside you before you could ascend the wooden stairs to find your seat.

“Dragă! Hold up!”

The pet name sent warmth up your spine, but the sigh that escaped you was not a happy one. You turned regretfully on your heel to take in Barty’s form as he jogged up to you. His quidditch gear was tight, much more than it had any business being, seeing as he could easily make them larger with a quick spell if he wanted to. 

You didn’t ask what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind, grin permanently plastered on his face in your presence.

“Do I not get a kiss for good luck?” He threw you a cheeky wink with his comment as he came to stand in front of you, breath slightly laboured.

“Sure you can. Regulus is right over there.” You hoped your voice sounded a bit lighthearted even in your sternness of correcting his flirting. Even more, you hoped the heat in your cheeks had not turned into any noticeable redness. 

A look at Barty’s wicked smile told you it might have. “I’ve already gotten plenty from Reggie. Now I just need my girl and I’m golden.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not like that. You knew he meant a kiss on the cheek, and you knew he asked to make fun – not of you, but of the concept of good luck kisses and of your closeness as friends being read as anything else. He likely didn’t even know that you had been among those reading it as something else, this was a joke the two of you were in on, as all best friends should be.

Still, you couldn’t help but wince at the sting in your heart.

“I think you’ll do just fine without it, B.” You pressed your lips together in the same way you would if you were fighting a smile and not a frown.

He tilted his head at you, a mix of black and green strands falling into his eyes. “Have I done something that would make you want me to fall to my death? Because that is what will happen without you as my good luck charm.”

You shook your head, taking miniscule steps towards the stairs; away from him. “I’ll be a shining bright good luck charm in the stands. You’ll see me after, at the party.”

“I sure will,” he replied salaciously, but you caught the flicker in his eyes. “Wear a pretty little thing for me?”

“You know I’ll wear jeans.”

“And aren’t they a pretty little thing?” His smile grew more affectionate. “And you look good in anything, Dragă.”

“Sure.” You cleared your throat, stepping more confidently away from him. “See you later, B. Play well.”

“Just for you, baby!”

It was as if he was laying it on even thicker the more you turned his compliments away. While you never got quite used to his outspoken praise, it had been years since you embraced it and stopped fighting him on it – he didn’t seem quite pleased that you suddenly had started. Then again, Barty never liked not getting his way, so it shouldn’t surprise you.

You turned and walked back up the stairs, not turning to see whether he jogged off too or remained watching you like usual; you didn’t feel like having the pieces of your heart jumped on, and both alternatives would have resulted in nothing less.

In the stands, you settled into your usual place by the railing, seated beside Lily and Marlene, who were there to cheer on Dorcas. The two girls were the only Gryffindors you tolerated, not due to any of your own sentiments, but simply as a form of hatred by-proxy from Regulus and Barty – they were also a great opportunity to slowly edge Regulus closer towards reconciling with his brother. Though you knew in your heart that was a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type of situation.

The game flew by and while you were relatively certain you cheered in the right places and sat with baited breath at the tense moments, you felt you were never truly present. Pandora’s voice in your ears was lulling, allowing your soul to drift out of your body and float up into the skies. You wondered if maybe you should take her up on her offer of teaching you how to meditate. Maybe that is how you end your torture rather than trying to change Barty and Regulus’ ways of being, even if it sent terribly mixed signals.

You were somehow exhausted by the time the whistle blew to announce Slytherin’s victory, despite not having done anything. 

Victory was a guarantee for a rowdy party, which, if you didn’t watch yourself, was a guarantee for mistakes. You could not risk slipping up and confessing your feelings to either boy – though some part of you whispered that perhaps some liquid courage is what you needed to tell them to stop flirting with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If the game had gone by in a blur for you, the party was nothing less. You lost Dorcas to Marlene’s wicked laugh just a few minutes in, and had since drifted between your many groups of friends. Shots with Evan, braiding with Pandora, armwrestling with Emmeline, gossiping with Amelia and Regulus. Throughout the whole night you had managed to keep things light, floating through the crowd and keeping someone by your side at all times. It made it bearable to be near the both of them when you had others to keep up appearances for. It also was a great distraction from the joint envy that bloomed in your heart whenever Barty paraded Regulus around like he ought to.

He tried to parade you too, but you slipped out of his grasp before he ever could.

The closer the night got to being over, the more intimate the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew. People migrated from standing around to sitting huddled together, there were quiet conversations and card games instead of yelling and butterbeer pong. There were less of the other house colours, and more of just the familiar greens and faces.

Meaning, it was your cue to slip out and away for a minute.

You, Regulus and Barty always ran off into some corner towards the end to do a debrief of the night, perhaps a bit tipsily. If there was one thing you couldn’t take right now, it would be that.

It was easy to distract the both of them by starting a conversation with Evan and Pandora – whether torture methods has improved or worsened since the dark ages – that would have them in a chokehold. You used the opportunity to slip out through the common room door and walk down the hallway.

It was rare you were grateful for the gloomy dungeons and their cold stonewalls, but this was one such moment. You walked slowly, alone at last, taking deep breaths. Somehow the air felt fresh despite being several metres below ground; anything was better than the stuffy post-party air that clung to the common room.

You let your right hand graze the wall as you walked, texture rough and freezing beneath your fingertips, and tipped your head back with closed eyes. You knew the way like the back of your hand.

At the end of the hall was a rarely-used classroom that functioned more as a storage room these days – your favourite place of refuge. The desk in there was the perfect size to lay down on to close your eyes and relax, feet just barely hanging off the edge. Along the top of the wall was a narrow window that gave an obscured view of the Black Lake, distorted light spilling through to make the most beautiful shapes along the ceiling.

You could stay here and relax and by the time you went back, everyone would have gone off to bed already and you wouldn’t have to face anyone until the morning.

“... Amour?”

You flinched so violently you almost fell off the desk, sitting up by propping yourself onto one elbow and clutching your chest with your other arm. “Gods, Regulus, you cannot fucking sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, love.” He offered you a half-hearted smile from where his head popped in through the crack in the door.

Barty’s head appeared just below his, as if he had crouched down to get the comedic angle. “I’m not, what the fuck are you doing here?”

You could hear the light squaffle behind the door as Barty presumably tried to push Regulus aside so he could walk in, while Regulus tried to hold his own to walk with grace. It resulted in them more or less tumbling in, the latter boy straightening up to close the door carefully behind him.

“Whatcha mean?” you asked dumbly, deciding to remain in your half lounged position on the desk at the top of the room.

The boys exchanged a quick look that you didn’t have the time to decipher.

Barty was the one who spoke. “I mean, how come you’re hiding out here? We have very important matters to discuss, you know.”

Your lips tightened slightly. You looked between them quietly while they came up to settle in front of your desk, Regulus deciding to lean his weight against a smaller one behind him while Barty jumped onto it without hesitation, settling into some odd position.

“Needed some fresh air. Party got too hot for me.”

“So you decided to lay down in this dusty room?” Regulus asked humorously, lifting a brow at you.

At the same time Barty commented, “I cannot imagine anything being too hot for you, Treasure.”

You ignored them both, fighting not to meet their eyes. This was going worse than you imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run off on you.” You aimed for a light-hearted tone, if a bit tired. “Want to do the debrief in here?”

Regulus hummed questioningly, as if he wanted to probe more, but Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes. You’re simply not getting out of this love, lest my bleeding heart become public knowledge as I wail at your absence.”

“Stop it, Barty,” you whispered. He didn’t hear you, in one way or another.

“Okay, so we all agree Dorcas and Marlene are shagging?”

You sit more up at this, realising you truly would be doing the whole debrief here, and that you would thus likely be here for a while. Also well aware that you know more than both of the boys on that matter, as Dorcas' dorm mate. “Well, duh,” you offer. “But did you see anything tonight?”

You look at Barty as he speaks, but can feel Regulus’ gaze burning through the side of your head, and you wish he would stop trying to scrutinise you. You look over to meet his gaze, hoping to give him an I’m fine smile that would divert his attention. However, when his eyes meet yours you see they are sparkling with that mischief that only Regulus can pull off, the kind that is equal parts elegant and dirty. He winks at you, and you really, really wish he wouldn’t. 

You shift your gaze back to Barty, further assuring his claim. “Don’t push it with Cas, though,” you warn. “She will tell you when she feels like."

“But it is so much fun to push it though,” Barty pouted, making his eyes comically big.

“It’s even more fun to not be skinned alive by Dorcas in our sleep.”

“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back theatrically before settling you with a gaze. “But only because you asked, beautiful.”

You hum noncommitedly, fighting any prickling tears. Don’t be such a fucking twat. Let your friends speak to you. 

“Oh,” Regulus said, as if he just remembered a piece of drama to share. “Amelia flirted with me earlier.”

“She what!?” Barty’s voice was not much unlike a banshee’s. “Have I not made it clear that your arse is off the market?”

Your heart plummeted and you had to fight not to let your shoulders grow into your ears.

“Right?” Regulus said through a laugh. “I think she was just too pissed, though. Would have flirted with anything that walked.”

“What did she say?” you asked somewhat meekly.

“Oh, something about gorgeous curls and tight shirts and whatnot.” Regulus made a waving motion with his hand, as if physically brushing it off. ��You know, the usual. Called me baby.”

“Only we get to call you baby,” Barty said through a pout.

We?

“I know, amour, I told her as much.”

Barty nodded emphatically. “Good. I don’t like picking fights with birds, but I would if she can’t keep her hands off the goods.”

Regulus gave his leg a light kick with his own. “Down, boy.”

Your stomach was turning over and you desperately wanted to leave. A comment about being tired and wanting to discuss the rest over breakfast tomorrow died on your tongue when Barty turned his attention to you, pout giving way for a scrutinising look.

“What about you, Dragă? Anyone else flirt with you?”

Any turning in your stomach was replaced by an irritation seeping into your bloodstream, one that had been fighting with heartbreak and anxiety for your attention for almost a month now.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, B.” You’re not sure quite what possessed you to say it, but there was no denying your dry tone.

Barty looked equally puzzled, head actually reeling backwards ever so slightly. Still, he pushed his luck. “Am I not allowed to be concerned for my girl?”

You looked at him incredulously. “I am not your girl.” 

That was the whole point. That was the whole heartbreak. That was all you could think about. They were each other’s and you weren’t theirs and you most certainly was not their girl. 

Regulus’ stance shifted quickly, tensing in weariness. “Amour, what he meant–”

“I know what he meant.” You sighed, making no effort to hide your pain anymore. You could not take this. “I know what you both mean.”

“Baby–” Barty began, sliding off of his desk and moving towards you, but you cut him off.

“No! Stop it, Barty, please.” He looked as if you had punched him. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I am so, so happy for you and I’m glad you’ve found each other like that. But now that you have, I just can’t take you flirting with me or, or doing the play pretend. It’s not fun anymore.”

The room was laid in silence. 

You had been defiantly staring at the wall behind them both, but after practically being able to hear the crashing out in their minds, you slid off your own desk and made your way towards the door without sparing them a glance. “I need a moment.”

“No, no, hey, hey, hey,” Barty chanted as he ran up behind you, hand circling loosely around your wrist. Enough to ground you, but not enough to trap you should you want to wrestle free. He slowly came up around your stopped form. “Shit, Y/N, I–” This time he cut himself off, running his free hand through his hair and looking over at Regulus, whose footsteps you could hear stop right behind you. 

You stared at the door over Barty’s shoulder. This was your worst nightmare.

“Amour, we’re sorry,” Regulus whispered behind you. His hand came up to ever so slightly trace the side of your arm.

You felt ganged up on where you stood between them and you cursed your body for loving it, even as they were rejecting you more explicitly than ever. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you don’t– you know.”

“No, no, no,” Barty chanted yet again, hands coming up to grasp both of your cheeks and bruising away a few tears you only now realised had fallen. You would never stop revelling at how Barty’s touch could be so painfully gentle even when his voice was frantic and passionate. “That’s exactly it, Dragă, we do. We do. I do.”

You met his eyes and furrowed your brows at him. “Barty, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

He had the audacity to laugh quietly at you. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying. In what world could I, Barty Crouch Junior, not be obsessed with you?”

“Lovely girl,” Regulus whispered as he inched forward into your field of vision, hand growing more confident in its touch on your arm. “I’m sorry, we’ve gone about this all wrong. We realised it quickly, but didn’t know how to fix it. The whole... getting together part happened naturally between Barty and I, and we figured it would with you too immediately after, but it proved, uh, more complicated.”

At last, your brain caught up with you, and your instinctive reaction was to jerk backwards out of both of their grasps, not even feeling the impact of your back hitting the desk behind you. Both boys hissed at the thump that sounded.

You finally looked at both of their eyes and found layers of insecurity and guilt there, along with… 

“Are you saying…” you started, but trailed off, unsure how to formulate the words.

“I’m obsessed with you, consumed by you, enthralled by you, whatever word you please, it’s yours. I’m yours.” Barty’s face was almost impassive despite the volumes behind his confession. More tears welled in your eyes, by confusion still more than any relief – you didn’t dare feel that yet.

“What he’s saying is that – well, that we love you.” Regulus smiled and you saw the quiver of his lips at the unfamiliar words.

You let out a half-choked sound. “I don’t understand? But then why– how come–” 

Regulus took a careful few steps towards you once more, hand held out between you in a show of safety. “Even as it happened, I remember thinking you would laugh at us for it. Really what happened a month ago was just that we didn’t really think at all.”

“Which you rightfully accuse us of a lot,” Barty added.

“Right. Barty and I were together and drunk and that tension we’ve all had, I guess it finally spilled over for us. By the time we had admitted our feelings physically, we didn’t really need words for it, which is what we both struggle with the most. And you weren’t close by to be dragged into it. When we told everyone we hoped to just… smoothly join you in. Wouldn’t be difficult right, it’s always been the three of us anyway?”

“Turns out it’s not so bloody simple,” Barty grumbled.

By this point, tears were streaming clearly down your face. Regulus reached out a hesitant thumb to wipe them away. “We were stupid, amour. And by the time we got our wits about us, we didn’t know how to reign you in, other than by… continuing being us. Us three.”

“How could I feel like it was us three when it was so clearly you two?” you all but sobbed.

Barty had grown too impatient by Regulus’ easing you in and closed the gap in two long strides, grabbing at your hand fiercely. “You couldn’t, we were just stupid wankers and absolute boys. You’re perfect, it’s not your fault you fell in love with us sods.”

You laughed a bit wetly, bringing grins out on both of their faces. “Bold claim you have there,” you said, some teasing making its way into your voice.

“But an accurate one?” Regulus’ tone was void of humour, just quiet and nervous and hopeful.

“Of course,” you breathed and Barty’s hands tightened around yours. “I always thought it was us three… when it seemed like it was just you two, I– I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

“So you ran and you hid,” Barty concluded with a nod. Upon your almost offended expression he hastily added, “as is understandable, and as asserted, we are wankers and you are perfect.”

“Stop saying that,” you whispered.

“But it’s true,” Regulus added in the same cadence. Then, a sparkle settled in his eyes as he regarded you. “Can I prove it to you?”

Your breath hitched at the implication but you nodded, ever so hopeful smile growing on your face. You dared tighten your own hold on Barty’s hands – they were delightfully warm.

Regulus’ smile matched yours and he took a final step towards you to bring the two of you together. His lips covered yours in the sweetest of kisses, slow and smooth and exactly how you had guiltily pictured. He breathed in as he kissed you and you felt the air move across your skin, tickling and tingling. When he pulled back he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek too.

“This whole thing should have never played out this way,” he started. “But this is exactly where I always wanted to end up.”

Barty bumped lightly into both of you, giving you a conspiring smile. “It’s true – he tried to brag to me that he had been picturing us three together since fifth year, which is embarrassingly late for him. I’ve pictured this since the fifth week of knowing you both.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling your entire face still burning from the confessions, neck aching from the whiplash and lips tingling from the kiss. “Then you’ve both got eons on me. I only really realised, like, last term.”

“See, that’s because you are sane,” Barty provided, circling his arms around your hips to pull both you and Regulus closer to him. “A sane beautiful girl who balances us out perfectly and who completes my heart.”

“One we will spend eons making up lost time with,” Regulus added somewhat cheekily. 

You brought your hands up to properly wipe at your face, hoping to remove redness and giddiness with the wet. “It’s barely been a month.”

“A month you spent confused and hurt, Dragă. That cannot slide. I would have hexed anyone else who did that to you.”

“No one else could have broken my heart,” you said then, intending it to be romantic.

The horrified looks on their faces said otherwise. “You were heartbroken?” Barty exclaimed in intense frustration, pulling his wand up and handing it to Regulus. “Reggie, baby, I need you to Avada me right now. Use my wand so they can’t trace you and send you to Azkaban, because you need to be her personal servant to repent for us.”

“Barty!” you laughed, quickly plucking the wand out of his hands before any shenanigans could occur. “It’s fine, really–”

“Nope, absolutely not,” he cut you off. “I must fix this. Kiss it better?”

Before you could even really respond he brought his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your face gently albeit quickly towards his. Millimetres before his lips could crash with yours, though, he paused. Giving you the opportunity to back down. His thumb was ghosting carefully across the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

With a delighted sigh, you leaned your chest against his and brought him the final way in for the kiss.

His lips were softer than they looked, fitting exactly within the narrative that usually followed your relationship with Barty. He quickly opened them for you, bringing your bottom lip in between yours and kissing you passionately, tongue sliding over delicate skin. One of your hands curled into his shirt by his collar, wand long since discarded on a desk, while the other found Regulus’ neck, massaging it not much unlike Barty did with yours.

Barty’s skillful lips trailed happy kisses along your jaw, turning into a smile at the breathy laugh that escaped you at his ministrations. 

Your eyes met Regulus while Barty practically attempted to bury himself beneath your skin, smiling and sighing against you – kissing it better. The former boy’s smile was at its widest and most sentimental, encircling the both of you within his arms.

“Y/N,” he said, almost seriously. “We will do right by you, as we always should have. I’ll start by asking, will you please legitimise our feelings by becoming our girlfriend?”

Before you could reply, Barty added against your neck, “And will you please take back your demand we stop flirting with you, because I don’t think I can.”

You were afraid your smile was almost dreamy – everything you believed out of reach just a few minutes ago was not quite literally cradled in your arms. “You are both so unbelievable. Yes, I’ll happily be your girlfriend and yes you may flirt with me.”

Barty popped his head back up from your neck, lips somewhat swollen despite being stretched wide. “Fucking finally.”

“You say that as if I was the one holding back,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“And while I will lay down and take a sword to the chest for ever believing I was not mad about you,” Barty began. “I think there is also something to be said about little miss run away and completely shut away any and all feelings and compliments.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Regulus snorted in that way he only ever did around you two. Then, he reached out and gave you two, three kisses in a row, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too cute.”

Barty, tactile as ever, was cradling your cheek in his hand, tracing the side of your nose with his index finger. “I want the court to know that I am absolutely mad about Regulus,” he started, smiling all the while. “But it was always you too, silly.”

Emboldened, you leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss. “Glad to know it.”

“Now let’s make sure everyone else does too, yeah?”

[pollyanna-nana]

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

[lov3notts]

Theodore Nott x Reader where they are doing 7 minutes in heaven? But instead it's hell. Love you <3

reopened wounds

theodore nott x reader

Summary: the request up above. You and Theo are Ex's, being stuck in a small space, reopened wounds from your difficult relationship with him

warning: minor heartbreak

a/n: new title , thank you for the request anon!!!:)) also I will be doing anon emojis soon!

The game is supposed to be fun, but the moment the bottle stops spinning, you know this is going to be anything but. It lands on Theo, and a wave of dread washes over you.

Your ex. Of all the people in the room, it had to be him. Your heart sinks, but you force yourself to stand up, the weight of all the eyes on you making it harder to breathe.

Theo doesn’t even look at you as you both head to the small, suffocating closet. The door clicks shut, and there’s an instant, heavy silence between you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Theo mutters, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. His shoulder brushes yours, and you can feel the tension between you rise like smoke.

“Nice to see you too,” you snap, your voice tight.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he lets out a frustrated sigh and shifts again, knocking into you. “This is ridiculous. We can’t even move in here.”

“Gee, you think?” you snap back, the words almost escaping before you can stop them. The anger from your past with him surges unexpectedly, and your chest tightens. “It’s not like I wanted to be stuck in here with you, but here we are.”

Theo’s eyes flash with irritation. “You think I wanted this too? You’re the one who spun the bottle.” He shifts awkwardly, trying to make room for himself but only making things worse. His elbow jabs into your side, and you flinch.

“You could at least be a little more careful,” you mutter, your voice strained.

“I am careful! You’re the one moving around every time I try to do something. Just stop fidgeting, alright?”

“Stop blaming me for your mess,” you snap, trying to push him away, but there's no space. “You can’t even stay still for five seconds without knocking into me.”

Theo groans in frustration. “God, you’re impossible!” His voice is low but full of venom, and for a moment, you’re reminded of how it felt when you two fought like this before. How everything escalated, how he always made you feel like you were the one overreacting. You take a breath, pushing that thought away. Now’s not the time.

“Don’t start,” you warn, your voice shaky but cold. "Not in here."

“Not in here?” Theo sneers, and suddenly there’s a sharp edge to his voice. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You gave that up when you broke up with me.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a second, you can’t breathe, the weight of that old wound opening up again. His words are like salt on an old, raw scar. You had tried so hard to forget that night—the way everything fell apart between you two—but hearing him say it out loud makes it all feel fresh again.

“I didn’t—” you start, your voice cracking, but you stop yourself. You had your reasons for ending things, but now isn’t the time to rehash it. “That’s not what this is about.”

Theo scoffs, his face contorted with frustration. “Then what is it about, huh? You act like we’re fine, like this isn’t killing you inside. You think I’m enjoying this? Being stuck in a closet with you?”

“Then why don’t you leave?” you hiss. “If it’s so bad, why don’t you just go?”

“Maybe I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the bitterness in it is unmistakable. He shoves his hand through his hair, then steps on your foot.

“Great,” you snap, your patience finally running out. “You’re making it worse.”

“Me? You’re the one overreacting,” Theo grumbles, stepping back only to bump into you again.

“I am not overreacting,” you retort. "You’re the one acting like this whole thing is a tragedy. But you know what? It’s not my fault we’re here. It’s your fault for—”

“For what? For loving you?!” Theo cuts you off, his voice cracking with old pain, the raw emotion surfacing despite his attempts to hide it.

"And for some reason loving me involved you constantly flirting with other girls? always canceling dates? only coming to me when you were hurt but never when I was? that wasn't love Theo. I was just convenient for you."

The words hang between you, thick and suffocating. You can feel your pulse in your throat as your chest tightens. your anger, your hurt—it all comes rushing back. All the feelings you thought you buried. All the love, the heartbreak, the why behind everything that happened.

Theo takes a shaky breath, but before he can respond, the buzzer goes off, cutting the tension like a knife.

You both stumble out of the closet, not looking at each other, your hearts pounding in your chests. Your friends are watching, but all you can hear is the echo of Theo’s words. You’re both pretending it’s over, but the damage is done, and the old wounds between you two are raw and open again.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

tag list: @juliet-017 @shityoudidntaskfor

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[sun-kissy]

still here | r.l.

summary: it's your birthday :(

a/n: this is the first time i’ve ever really cried when writing something, it’s got a home in my heart now and i hope you like it!! 🫶 (also listen to our lovely girl billie while reading for added heartbreak)

tw: past suicide attempt

You lean back on the couch from where you’re bending over the table. Remus wastes no time in wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. He gently presses his lips to your forehead. “Happy birthday, lovely girl.”

“Thank you,” you mumble half-heartedly, grateful but too overwhelmed to show it. 

There’s a cut-up chocolate cake in front of you, which Remus had insisted upon baking. He’d honoured your wishes not to throw a big bash, and of not wanting an actual present. He didn’t exactly understand why — but he loved you too much to not do what you wanted him to; birthday or not.

Guilt weighs heavily on your heart; Remus has been kinder than you deserve. You decide to help him understand.

“You know,” you start softly, tilting your head to lay it on his shoulder. He hums in acknowledgement, fingertips grazing your sleeve as he starts to rub your arm. “I didn’t think I would last this long.”

The shakiness in your voice surprises even you. You feel Remus’ hand still on your arm. 

“What?” he murmurs. You can’t decipher if the slight lilt to his voice is because of sadness or confusion.

“I didn’t think I would last this long,” you repeat quietly, just to be safe, and you feel his hand coasting across your back as he gently grabs your shoulders. He turns you towards him, and you don’t wait for him to ask before you start to explain. “When I was 13, I couldn’t imagine ever making it this far. I tried to kill myself.”

Remus’ eyes widen the slightest bit as he takes in your sudden admission. His grip on your shoulders doesn’t falter; and it’s like you both know he’s the only thing holding you upright. 

When he doesn’t respond, your gaze immediately drops to the couch, shame clouding your eyes.

“I… I didn’t know that.”

The crack in his voice makes you look back up, meeting his gaze. His features are softer, sadder; somehow. There’s the slightest bit of grief in the way he’s regarding you. “Are you glad you made it this far?”

You rub your lips together, taking a shaky breath to make sure your voice comes out evenly. “Yeah,” you exhale softly. “Yeah, I am. I got to meet you.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No,” you reply honestly. “I love my work. My friends, I really like hanging out with them. And I’d say our apartment is pretty sweet.”

The concern in Remus’ expression is still evident, his brows pinched together almost painfully. His hands bunch up the fabric on your shoulders, tugging you towards him. You’re certain the action is subconscious – he looks lost in thought, like he’s deliberating wrapping you up in his arms and never letting you go.

“Would you like more reasons?” you ask quietly, feeling your vision start to blur. You shouldn’t be surprised that he cares this much, but you are.

When he nods, your heart melts – the magma seems to be pooling in your stomach, and you feel the kind of warmth you’ve only ever been able to feel since you met him.

“Okay,” you decide to indulge him. “I like coffee when I wake up, especially when you make it. Feeding the stray dogs on the side of the road every morning. And my guitar, I like to make music on it. I think music is nice.”

You feel your throat start to clog up, the image of Remus distorting into a blurry swirl in your eyes. “It’s lovely when it rains, especially when we’re both at home, cuddling. And –”

Your voice comes out wobbly, the tears coming hard and fast now. You want to stop, but push on for his sake.

“And I really like our apartment. Did I mention that? Also, your hugs – I love the way you hug. It’s like you really love me, and —”

“I do love you,” Remus interrupts in a shaky exhale, words barely audible from the way his voice is trembling. “I love you, okay? I love you a whole lot. And I’m so glad you’re still with me.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, gently pulling you even closer towards him. You meet him in the middle, arms instinctively wrapping around his waist as he brings his hands up to encircle your shoulders.

Remus squeezes you like it’s his job to hold you together, and you hear a soft sniffle as he buries his face in your hair. 

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he says again. Your heart clenches in your chest, in all the best ways.

“I love you,” you respond, because you both know it’s synonymous with Thank you for giving me a reason to be here.

[adamsrcnan]

you know there's something really heartbreaking in the way jean deep down just really really wants to be loved. like he wanted kevin to look back at him, to see him over the court. even when he knew to stop wishing for it he still mentioned it because it still means something to him. he lets us know kevin could make him do anything and he knew it. he doesn't allow himself to call renee beautiful but he takes her picture with him to california anyway. and he adds her to his list of reasons to live. he could have said nothing when kengo died and riko was about to unleash his grief on him but he still texted renee. he knows he shouldn't bother looking at jeremy like that but he still does. and he doesn't even hide it either. because he wants it. he almost spits it out "why didn't they love me?" when he learns of elodie's death. because deep down inside it hurts so badly that nobody has ever really loved him. he goes around pretending nothing bothers him in relation to being loved. wears a mask so well that he doesn't need anyone. but he wants someone, anyone, to see him and want him back and that just fucking KILLS ME