#and i’ve been so incapable of creating for months since starting here

[healersadjust]

Finally clocked off for the last time at my job… Hoping to be able to participate in more community things now that i’ll be back to a diurnal schedule <3 Hoping my next job will work out!

[glimmerglanger]

Hey there! Hopefully it’s an OK time to make a request! I truly love your Alpha17/Obi fic, “Just Right”!

Hoping that a prompt of Alpha 17 finally making it to the Negotiator and pretty much stalking Obi and courting Obi in a very gentle and patient un-Alpha 17 way ends with some sexy and soft love making?

Anything will do! I just love this trope and the story you’ve created has been on my mind since it was published!

🥰😍🥰😍

Oooooooh! Well, I couldn’t quite do all the courting (that probably would have gotten longer than the original fic) but! I did do a little bit about the next time they run into each other! Thanks for the request! I have a few more in my inbox that I’m working on, as well!

This is VERY SPICY. SO SPICY. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Feat: intercrural and bjs and Feelings that 17 wishes he weren’t having.

~~~~

17 felt jittery in his skin from the time he heard that the Negotiator was going to make a stop on Kamino. It was an...unusual feeling, and one he found he disliked immensely. He tried to burn it away sparring with his brothers and, when that failed to work, he grabbed a group of shinies and led them on a run around one of the longer loops on the city.

After the third such loop, he still felt itchy along his bones and gave it up for a loss, retreating to his quarters and the quiet of his fresher.

He’d received a few messages from Kenobi since they’d last worked together. They’d been the usual sort of thing. He’d kept track of mission reports coming out of the Third System Army, too, making sure they routed through to him and reading over the lines of text.

He scrubbed a hand back over his short hair. He’d wanted Kenobi to come to Kamino, wanted an excuse to go back into the field. He hadn’t expected this strange twisting in his gut when he finally got what he’d been hoping for.

That did nothing to diminish the feeling.

He blew out a breath. Kenobi was still a day away, but 17 could imagine him well enough, picture his flashing eyes and that pleased little smile of his. He recalled - their memories were, after all, perfect - the stretch of bare skin and the tight, wet, marvelous heat around his cock.

He’d imagined it all, often, while touching himself in his bunk.

His own hand didn’t come even close to comparing. But it was what he had. What he’d had, anyway, but Kenobi was coming to Kamino…

17 frowned around his bunk and wondered how one went about asking for a repeat of the three days they’d spent in transit, fucking on every available surface.

#

Kenobi walked into the city with his cloak damp and sodden across his shoulders and a grin on his face. He nodded a greeting at 17 and fell into a conversation with Master Ti, and 17 tried not to think about how easy it had been to capture both of Kenobi’s wrists in one hand, pressing them down against the floor and sliding into his body, impossibly, and--

Kenobi glanced his way, an eyebrow raising, and 17 met his gaze evenly, shrugging with one shoulder. He’d made no secret of how much he’d enjoyed their activities. It would be pointless to try to pretend he hadn’t thought about it. Often.

Still, he knew how to be professional. He set the thoughts aside and focused on the discussion.

#

17 managed not to dwell too much on what they’d done throughout the day, but that didn’t stop him from steering Kenobi back to his quarters when evening finally arrived.

His quarters were built larger than most places in the city. The ceilings were tall enough to allow him to stand easily and the bed actually fit his proportions; it would swallow Kenobi, make him look so small, sprawled across it. Compared to the cabins on the cruisers, his room must have seemed huge.

Kenobi looked around, nodded, and said, “Certainly to scale, I have to--”

And then 17 backed him against the wall, slid a hand against his shoulder, and curled down enough to kiss him.

Kenobi moaned against his mouth, shifting from a conversation into the kiss easily, like switching gears on a speeder. He tasted good, mouth hot and sweet, his hands sliding up over 17’s armor, and 17 had taken him against a wall, held him up so easily - Kenobi barely weighed anything - and encouraged Kenobi to curl legs against his waist, because they wouldn’t fit all the way around 17 and--

“How do you feel,” 17 panted out, drawing away just enough to speak, “about a good hard fuck?”

Kenobi rasped out a sound, hair still a little damp from the rains outside, and said, “Oh, I’d quite enjoy that, but, hm, our options are somewhat more limited, this time.”

17 frowned, keeping Kenobi tucked against the wall; it was easy, blocking him in, and satisfying on some deep level. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Kenobi said, clever fingers sliding along his armor, undoing latches, so he must still have been interested. “It’s been nearly two months since last I’ve seen you.”

“So?” 17 asked, not following, as Kenobi floated his chest plate somewhere across the room and placed it down quietly. He wanted to get his own hands on Kenobi, start taking off his robes, but once he started doing that, well…

Following the train of this conversation would grow harder.

“So, I’ve spent two months around all the men in the 212th,” Kenobi said, dry, and for a moment that made no sense as an explanation, until it did. Kenobi had explained, during one of the periods where they’d both needed a rest, how his people’s reproductive systems worked.

After two months, his reproductive organs would be perfectly compatible with all the men in the 212th. There was no way he’d be able to take 17. Not safely. 17 frowned, something twisting fast and hot and unpleasant in his gut at that thought, wondering if any of them realized. If they’d like the thought as much as he’d liked it, when Kenobi fitted him just right.

“Oh,” 17 said, drawing back, setting aside the flash of unknown emotion and a deeper sense of disappointment. Kenobi had been the only person he could--

“But I’m sure there are other options we can explore,” Kenobi said, following him, an arm sliding over his shoulders. “Unless you’re not interested?”

17 considered it. His disappointment almost had him shaking his head, sending Kenobi to his own bunk. But… they’d enjoyed themselves plenty, last time, and not just when he’d slid into the sweet embrace of Kenobi’s body.

And he didn’t want Kenobi to run off.

He frowned and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Kenobi grinned, pulled himself up to take a kiss, and said, “Come here, let me show you.”

#

Kenobi positively got lost in the middle of 17’s mattress, just like 17 had known he would. He looked small - smaller than usual, even - spread out across the sheets, bare skin all on display, covered in freckles and scars.

17’s cock ached, a solid throb of need between his legs as he stroked himself with the lube Kenobi had pressed into his hands. Kenobi had told him to get very slick before rolling onto his stomach, 17’s pillow shoved under his hips.

“You’re sure this is what we should do?” 17 asked, hearing the doubt in his own voice.

Kenobi glanced over his shoulder - kriffing hell, the way he looked - and flashed a smile. “I think you’ll quite enjoy it,” he said, “just give it a try.”

17 grunted, but, in truth, he felt utterly incapable of refusing Kenobi when he was all stretched out, back bowing from the pillow under his hips, the insides of his thighs slick and shiny with lube.

“Come here,” Kenobi coaxed, shifting his ass back and forth, and, well. 17 wasn’t going to say no to that. He slid forward, hands moving over warm, perfect skin, knees making the bed dip, tilting Kenobi back towards him.

It was so easy to blanket him. 17 could cover him completely, and had, before, on a battlefield to shield him from shrapnel. But there were no explosions in his quarters. Just slick, warm skin as he sank down over Kenobi, cock brushing over the curve of his ass.

Kenobi hummed, tilting his hips back further, and 17’s cock slid forward, easy, between his legs.

“There you go,” Kenobi murmured, pressing his strong thighs closer together and - oh - the pressure felt good, good enough that 17 rocked his hips forward, cock sliding on slick skin, feeling all the lean muscles in Kenobi’s thighs and--

And the hot, wet slide of him, of the place where 17 could no longer fit, and he groaned, frustration and want all tangled together.

“You feel so good,” he rasped out, hips dragging back and pushing forward again, feeling the head of his cock just catch at - at the edge of Kenobi’s body and oh he wanted, but he could only drag the top of his cock along, sliding between the tight pressure of his thighs, muscles flexing against him and--

He dropped to his elbows, his arms long enough to still hold him up off of Kenobi’s back. He could look down, across Kenobi’s bright hair and the bunch of muscles in his shoulders. He could see Kenobi’s hands, clenched in the blankets as 17 moved between his legs, lube making the glide easy, friction building up the heat between them, Kenobi’s ass hard and firm against his hips each time he pushed forward.

He could remember taking Kenobi like this. Force, he’d remembered taking Kenobi like this, so many times, cock sliding in instead of forward, he’d be so tight, so wet, so hot, and--

17’s orgasm caught him by surprise and he groaned, head dropping forward as his cock jerked between Kenobi’s thighs. He shifted his hips back, unthinking, wanting the come all over skin, not his pillow and sheets.

“See,” Kenobi started, tilting to look over his shoulder, “I--oh!”

He looked gratifyingly startled when 17 pushed onto an arm, grabbed his hip, and flipped him onto his back. His chest was flushed - but only a little - and his cock stretched up towards his stomach, still hard.

17 could fix that. Wanted to fix that, so badly it made his jaw ache.

He shifted around, put a hand on Kenobi’s chest to keep him still, and bulled his way between Kenobi’s legs, curving over.

He tasted his own come, when he licked over Kenobi’s cock, sliding his lips down over heated skin. His come was everywhere, there always seemed to be so much of it when they did things together. It streaked over Kenobi’s thighs and--

And 17 couldn’t help but bringing his other hand up, sliding over skin, between Kenobi’s legs and - kriffing hell - it was there, too. He groaned, helplessly, and Kenobi echoed the sound, fingers scrambling at 17’s hair as he rubbed two fingers through the slick smear of his own come.

Kenobi cried out, all thick with pleasure, when 17 slid those two fingers over him, and then, with a renewed throb of want, into him.

Kenobi felt so tight around his fingers, hot and wet and squeezing. He knew how thick his fingers were, wondered if they were just about all Kenobi could take in his present state, and the thought made something in his spine go all white hot.

He bobbed his head, sucking as he moved his hand, curling his fingers while Kenobi’s legs curled up around his shoulders, while Kenobi gasped and tried fruitlessly to squirm under him, the sounds escaping his throat getting thicker and louder and--

17 swallowed when Kenobi gave it up for him, smiling at the feel of Kenobi’s body squeezing around his fingers, clenching in waves. He slid his fingers back and out, giving a last suck, after a long moment, and Kenobi gasped his name.

He looked...dazed and relaxed, sprawled on the bed, uncomplaining about 17’s hand on his chest, his heartbeat translating up into 17’s fingers. He looked...soft. And peaceful. And 17 felt, again, the way he had on their trip, that he’d very much like to keep Kenobi looking that way all the time.

He shivered at the thought, shook his head, and said, “You’re right, that was a good idea.” He cleared his throat, and, before Kenobi could start gloating, pulled both of Kenobi’s legs up, over one of his shoulders, and went on, “Do you think it would work like this, too?”

[foreverindreamlandd]

Bucky wanted to read her fanfictions and she always declined. So he begged and begged and begged... until she finally gives up and let him read one. 'Cause who could really say no to Bucky making puppy eyes?!

Let me know what you think about it

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

WC: 1.5k (I am apparently incapable of writing a drabble)

A/N: Thank you again for another awesome request! I was basically cackling the whole time I wrote it. Want to read about how Bucky and this reader got together? Check out their origin story in my To Be Wanted series! Only warning in this one is the usual swearin’ like a sailor.

----

“See, this is why I always order Thai food. I can never do it justice.” You frown over your wok, mixing the noodles around with a wooden spoon hoping it will somehow make your creation taste better.

“I’m sure it tastes great, doll.” Bucky walks up next to you and grabs a noodle, tilting his head back as he drops it into his mouth.

His eye twitches almost imperceptibly and you groan.

“It’s good,” he coughs out, trying with all of his strength to regain his composure. “I think you just went a little too hard on the chili paste. I can feel my sinuses clearing up though, which is good, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Can you check the recipe on Pinterest again? I swear I put in the right amount.”

Bucky walks over and picks up your iPad. Right as he’s scrolling to find out if you should have used 2 tablespoons or 2 teaspoons of chili paste, a notification banner pops up and he accidently taps it, opening up your Tumblr app.

Omg! This fic is amazing! The way Bucky is there to support the reader. My heart completely melted! Your Bucky stories are amazing, Y/n! <3

Above the comment is a photo of him. It’s a shot from the news where he’s helping a civilian stand up after one of the attacks made by The Red Hand.

“Uh….love? What’s this?” He holds the iPad up to you and you shift your gaze over to him.

You drop the wooden spoon into the wok as all of the blood drains from your face. You’re frozen in place for a millisecond before you pounce on Bucky to grab the device from him. He’s never seen you move so quickly and it catches him off guard.

“Bucky give me the iPad right now,” you fling your arms toward it and he pulls it away, both amused and a bit concerned by your reaction.

“Wait, what is this? Is it something I should be worried about?”

You see a flicker of panic flash in his eyes and you stop flailing. You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“No, I mean, I should be concerned because if you read that I’m probably going to combust and you’re going to dump me and run for the hills.” He furrows his brows in confusion and you slowly lift up your hand. “Can I please have that back before I have a mild panic attack?”

He stares at you, trying to gauge your emotions. All he can see is panic and sadness and it breaks his heart so he instantly gives in and hands you the iPad.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I trust you.” He leans forward to give you a chaste kiss.

You let out a pained groan against his lips and Bucky is once again confused.

“Ughhhh I hate hiding things from you.” You lock your iPad so the screen goes dark. “Okay, fine, I guess this conversation is happening. Remember when we first started dating and I, uh, mentioned I used to read and write stories about….us being a couple?”

Bucky nods, trying not to reveal any emotion to you that might make you spiral into a panic, and you continue.

“Well, that was one of those stories I wrote. I stopped looking on Tumblr basically as soon as I met you because it got all weird and meta and I got super uncomfy by the idea of reading fanfics - that’s what they’re called - about my new friend/now boyfriend Bucky Barnes. And then we started dating and I was all happy and shit and I totally forgot that those fics were still out there. Obviously I haven’t written any since then because that would be weird for...many, many reasons. Someone must have found an old one and commented on it. I’ll delete it. I’ll delete all of them. I swear. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should have been more on top of this.”

Bucky stares at you, lips pursed and you grimace, afraid of the next words that are about to come out of his mouth.

This is so weird, Y/n. How could you do this?

No wonder you didn’t date anyone before me.

Obsessed much? (Okay, he probably wouldn’t say it like that but STILL).

No, what Bucky said next was much, much worse than what you could have imagined.

“Can I read one?”

Your mouth drops. Closes. Drops again. You blink rapidly.

“I’m sorry, I just hallucinated. What?”

Bucky points to your iPad, a sly grin forming on his face. “I want to read one of your stories.”

You take a step back from him, horror stricken as you pull the iPad closer to you as if you were protecting your collector’s edition of ‘Throne of Glass.’

“Absolutely not.”

Bucky steps forward and you step back. He chuckles. “Come onnn, doll. I want to know what your fantasies were about me before we got together.” He laughs harder as the look of horror on your face grows more manic.

“Bucky, I know you’re a super soldier and could probably punch me into the sun with your metal arm, but I promise I will fight to the death before I let you read one of these fics.”

You and Bucky continue this dance of him stepping forward and you stepping back until you feel your legs make contact with your couch and you fall back into a sitting position on its arm. Bucky uses this opportunity to tower over you, his arms resting on the couch so that you’re pinned between them.

Then, he pulls out the big guns.

His gaze softens, blue eyes shining into yours. His bottom lip puffs out and he gives you the most adorable, sexiest pout you’ve seen in your whole life.

“Please, love?” He says it with a slightly higher pitch, almost like a whine and it still sounds like honey to your ears. He even nudges your nose with his like a freaking sociopath.

Damn.

You close your eyes, let out a breath, then open them back up to him. “I hate you.”

His pout turns into a boyish grin and he gives you a quick kiss. “You love me.”

You groan. “Hopefully you still love me after this, Buck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You stand and open up your iPad, scrolling through your masterlist and finding what used to be one of your favorite fluff pieces. You begrudgingly hand it to Bucky and he sits on the couch.

Unable to sit still during this agonizing experience, you proceed to pace around your apartment like a crazy person and resort to cleaning the inside of your microwave which you haven’t done in a few months so it’s a good thing that Bucky is reading your fic so that you could get that out of the way. You probably won’t have a boyfriend in a few minutes but at least your microwave will be spotless.

You only steal a few glances at Bucky as he reads, mortified each time as you see his eyebrows move in every possible direction. Up, down, knit together, were they criss-crossed at one point?

Finally, after what feels like the longest ten minutes of your life, Bucky lets out a soft grunt, placing the iPad down on his lap. He looks up to you and you give him a weak smile.

“Alright, let me have it, Buck. Give me your worst. Be honest. Also, I love you.”

Bucky glances down at the iPad and then back at you.

“Well, I have a few questions.”

Your right eye twitches. “Hm?”

“Now that you’ve met me, do you still think my eyes are an all-consuming storm of blue?” You groan. He grins. “Or do you think my jawline was cut from marble created by the gods?”

This time, you breathe out a laugh and you walk over to sit on his lap. You take hold of his chin.

“Bucky, I don’t think I could ever come up with the right words to describe you. The real thing is quite literally a million times better than anything I’ve ever written.”

His eyebrows raise. “That is...probably the best compliment I’ve ever gotten in my whole damn life.” He leans forward and kisses you, and you sigh into the feeling of his mouth on yours, relief flooding through you.

You pull away, eyes skeptical. “So, you’re not thinking about how you can escape and never see my crazy ass again?”

“On the contrary, love, I’m thinking about how I can convince you to buy this gorgeous green dress you apparently wore as my wedding date. The one that showed off your cleavage in a way that made Bucky’s brain melt.”

The two of you burst out laughing and you lightly shove his chest. “Sure thing, Bucko. How about I work on the dress situation and you work on ordering us Thai food so that we don’t lose our taste buds from whatever the hell I just made.”

-----

Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out my other stuff here. :)

Taglist: @ceo-of-daichi @biiskuitx @forgetthisbull @eclipses-and-moondust @abcdefxkyou @jackiehollanderr @billionsofbeans @abitgryffindorky @lovelylostminds @mija-just-breathe @semlohkratz @bratty-longbottom-replies @carrotfantasimp @cremedelabrulee @ant1r3al1ty @th-e-mg@laura-moehrchen @emma-the-duck17 @sunnyjane4 @rosaline-black @parodsal000 @vicmc624 @abrunettefangirlnerd @officiallykuute @edityourwishingwell @mymindslabyrinth

***This was the original tag list for the To Be Wanted series. If you would like to be removed from the taglist for any other stories related to this series, feel free to DM me! And let me know if you would like to be *added* to the taglist for any other future stories featuring these two knuckleheads. :)

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Tip Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Celebrate 2K with me!

[hopelikethemoon]

Moonbeam (Ezra x Reader) [smut] {Werewolf AU}

Title: Moonbeam  Rating: Explicit  Length: 6,000 Warnings: Non-graphic description of bodily injury and smut (cunnilingus, doggy style sex, mentions of masturbation).   Reader Details: To the best of my knowledge, there are no references to Reader’s physical details, beyond being a bisexual woman. I tried my best to keep it as vague as possible.  Notes: So, this is the second lengthy Ezra fic I’ve written this month, but the only one that will see the light of day. Shout-out to @rzrcrst​ for pre-reading this for me.  Werewolves are my niche and I’m absolutely incapable of writing them without creating the lore around their existence. Ezra exudes big werewolf energy (P.S. Javier exudes big vampire energy) and since I’m not really in a fandom until I write a werewolf AU, I present you all with my very own version of space werewolves.  Depending on audience reactions, there might be more of this story to tell. 

Taglist:@princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons​ @pedrospunk​ @maybege​ @chews-erotically​ @katlikeme​ @lose-eels​ @youmeanmybrain​ @theindiealto​ @irishleesh93​

You had heard the rumors, but never once had you believed that they were true. A werewolf living on a moon? Werewolves were the stuff of fairytales. They weren’t real. 

They weren’t real. 

But someone who had come before you had clearly considered the potential. Why else had someone thought to set up a cleverly concealed steel trap?

The pain was overwhelming. Worse than anything you’d ever encountered before. You were lucky your leg hadn’t snapped in two — your heavy coveralls were your saving grace. 

You howled out in pain as you dropped to your knees, trying in vain to pry the trap off your leg. The sharp teeth had bit through the fabric of your coveralls and the dark stain forming told you everything you needed to know about your future. If you didn’t get the trap off soon, you were going to bleed out. 

And then you’d become a smorgasbord for whatever creatures lived on this moon. There had to be something terrifying in the forest that had convinced everyone to believe in werewolves. 

“Kriff.” You swore, your arms throbbing with effort as you tried yet again to free your leg from the trap. You dropped back onto your ass, before sinking down onto the soft mossy ground beneath you. 

At least the stars were out. You could see them through the bareboned trees as they swayed above you in the evening breeze. 

The pain wasn’t so bad at a certain point, most likely because of the blood loss. That would do it. That woozy, tingling sensation that had your vision blurring at the edges. 

A branch snapped nearby, sending a dull spike of nerves through you. You hadn’t made a study of the flora and fauna on the moon — but that certainly didn’t sound like a small creature. 

“Please don’t eat me.” You mumbled, tilting your head to look in the direction of the sound. The filtered moonlight from the crescent moon above barely illuminated the forest around you and your flashlight was just out of reach. 

You heard the sound of another branch snapping under foot, “Hello?” 

All men are beasts in their own right, but the man that stepped into your line of view seemed an unlikely candidate. 

“I do believe that trap was not set to ensnare one such as you,” He drawled out with a honey-sweet cadence as he moved towards you.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” You offered weakly, trying to sit up as he knelt beside you, but your vision blurred harshly and you sank back onto the ground. 

“How fortuitous you are that I take my evening stroll through this very copse of trees.” He mused, effortlessly freeing your leg from the steel trap. 

“How—“

“You have lost a considerable amount of blood, little lamb. I would be most obliged to offer shelter and succor. These woods are no place to remain alone. One can never know what creatures fresh blood may attract.”

You exhaled shakily as you stared up at the stars above you. He was right — you’d never make it back to your transport alone on your leg. “Promise not to kill me?” You cracked, tilting your head to look at him.

He flashed you a toothy grin, “I promise.” 

“What is your name?” You asked as he hoisted you into his arms, with surprising ease. 

“Ezra.” He told you, looking down at you. “And what is your name, little lamb?”

“Ezra.” You repeated softly, resting your cheek against his chest as he carried you through the forest. You gave him your own name, feeling a strange warmth wash through you when he repeated it back in that beguiling tone of his. 

“Am I right in my assumption that you are the occupant of the transport that arrived just two nights ago.” Ezra questioned quietly. 

“Depends on who is asking.” You jested lightly, “I am. Reconnaissance mission for a mining program.” 

“Ah,” His grip on you seemed to tighten. “Another greedy venture to strip the moon of its precious lunaxium?” 

“I can only assume.” You glanced up at him, “Above my pay grade.”

“You should leave within the week.” Ezra remarked, keeping his sharp gaze focused ahead of him. “It won’t be safe for you.”

“You don’t believe in that stupid story, do you?” You questioned, “Isn’t that just a tale to keep prospectors from coming here?”

“I once believed that.” Ezra muttered, before falling silent for the remainder of the journey to his humble abode. 

You had so many questions for your serendipitous savior, but he tended to your leg in relative silence and then left you to rest in his bed. 

From what you could tell, Ezra had fashioned a home for himself out of a crashed transport vessel that you could only assume had been his own at one time. Perhaps he’d been like you once upon a time, a drifter picking up odd jobs and landing in bad situations. 

Ezra was handsome. The moonlight hadn’t tricked you into thinking that — in the garish light of his bedroom, he was still just as striking. Warm eyes, long lashes, a mess of chestnut hair with a shock of blonde, and a wiry frame. 

How long had he been living on Lykaios? Had his vessel crashed on a wayward venture and he’d had no one to come looking for him? Not that anyone would come looking for you either. 

Maybe Shiva. They would’ve probably come looking for your corpse just to get what was owed to them. 

It was a damn miracle that Ezra had stumbled upon you. How had he even found you? The woods all looked the same. 

Sleep came slowly and fitfully. Despite the shot Ezra had given you, your leg was agonizingly painful if you moved at all. Fortunately, there were books within reach — well-loved, with worn pages. You wondered if they had been Ezra’s to start with, or if he’d found someone’s abandoned transport. 

He had excellent taste. 

You hadn’t seen a stack of Chaucer since you were much younger. His copy of Canterbury Tales had been opened so many times the spine wilted in your palm. 

Ezra announced himself with a short knock, before sliding open the durasteel door. “I expected you to be asleep. You had quite the evening, little lamb.”

“I tried.” You made a note of the page you were on before closing the book and sitting it aside on the bedside shelf. “I got distracted by… your collection of novels.”

He chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “I see you’re getting acquainted with my old oppo Chaucer.” 

“I’ll have you know, Chaucer is my friend.” You quipped, drumming your fingers against the cover of the book. “It was nice to retrace old lines.” 

“He’s an acquired taste,” Ezra tucked his hands behind his back and stepped into the room. “Youth may outrun the old, but not outwit.”

You smiled a little, “Earn what you can since everything’s for sale.” 

Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. “And how true that is.” He gestured grandly towards your leg, “But oftentimes it comes with folly.”

“Is that how you ended up here?” You questioned, “I wanted to ask you last night, but with everything...” 

He shrugged, dragging over a trunk and perching on the edge of it. “Five years ago I stood where you stand. They were looking for a new form of clean energy — lunaxium seemed like the answer.” Ezra pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, looking away from you then. “This place is filled with hidden dangers. Once you can put weight on your leg, I encourage you to leave.” 

“You could come with me.”

Ezra’s gaze snapped towards you, “No.” 

Your brows furrowed together, “Alright.” 

“I need to change your bandages,” Ezra exhaled heavily as he rose from the trunk, he turned his back to you as he moved to retrieve the roll of gauze from a shelf. 

Your eyes widened as you spotted a twisted scar that ran up the back of his neck into his hairline and vanished down the back of his shirt. You hadn’t noticed it last night while he fussed over you. 

“Ezra, why can’t you leave?” 

Ezra sighed heavily as he sat down on the foot of the bed, drawing your leg into his lap. “It’s home.” He answered simply, unwinding the bandages. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but this—“ He gestured around him. “It’s mine.” 

“And you haven’t gone stir crazy after five years?” You questioned, grimacing as he prodded at your wound. “I was gone for two months on a solo mission once and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to Shiva again. Even if they did rob me blind during liar’s dice.” 

“You get used to solitude.” Ezra glanced at you briefly, before turning his attention to the task at hand. He cleaned the area around the wound, before wrapping fresh bandaging around it. “Once or twice a year, someone like yourself arrives and…”

“And the mythical werewolf eats them?” You jested, sinking back against the mattress as he laid your leg back down on the bed. 

“Something like that.” He offered dryly, eyeing at you warily. “There’s a full moon in eleven days. I would advise you not to wait around to discover whether or not it is simply lore.” 

Your brows knit together and you sat up, arms curled around your waist. “You say that like there’s a chance it is true. You’ve been here for five years… What have you seen?” 

“I have things I must attend to away from here.” Ezra said abruptly, “Rest and I’ll return in a few hours to escort you back to your transport.”

Ezra did little to assuage that sinking sensation that told you that maybe just maybe there were werewolves on Lykaios. 

“Before you settled here, what did you do?” You questioned, leaning into Ezra’s side as he kept a firm hand coiled around you for support. “Your transport didn’t offer many clues, outside of your exquisite taste in literature.”

 Ezra chuckled, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I was a harvester. A damn good one, at that. But seasons get hard, tides turn, allegiances bend. Fell into a bit of a snare with an associate and had to dig my way out.” 

 “I think we’ve all been there before,” You shook your head. “I enjoy gambling. Nasty habit.” You admitted. “I wasn’t meant to be the one to come to Lykaois. My friend — the one I mentioned before — had been assigned to this mission. They lost it in a dicey bet with me.” 

 “Dicey?”

“What gambler plays honorably?” You countered. “I cheated.” 

“And this friend of yours was meant to come here instead?” 

You nodded, “Tried to win it back right up until the moment I took off.” Shiva had been furious that they’d lost and even more furious knowing that you hadn’t played fair. “I’ve heard the stories about Lykaois and I wanted to find out if they were true.”

“One shouldn’t go looking for the stuff of myth.” Ezra drawled out. “In my erstwhile profession, I had a certain predilection for danger. It can be damning.” 

“Look, I don’t mean to pry, but… is there a reason you can’t leave?” You stopped abruptly, causing him to stumble slightly. “My transport has life support for three. If there’s someone else you’ve got here — if that’s why you don’t want to leave.” 

You could feel Ezra’s gaze bore into your skin. 

“I’m not leaving.” You told him, when he made no attempt to answer your question. “I’ll take a day or two to rest, but I’m finishing what I’ve started.” 

“It’s not safe.” 

“Then why don’t you leave?” You pushed back. “If it’s so dangerous, why aren’t you trying to leave?”

Ezra worked his jaw slowly, before looking towards the sky and sighing heavily. “I’m not the only inhabitant on this moon. Some have been here for much longer than me and they…” He shook his head slowly. 

You curled your fingers around his forearm, turning to stare at him. “They’re what?” 

“Little lamb, be glad you were found by me and not one of them.” Ezra gritted out, holding your gaze. “Consider your luck and leave before it runs out.” 

He wasn’t going to relent. Whatever secrets Lykaois held, he wasn’t going to reveal them to you. 

“Will you at least let me give you a few of my books?” You questioned, squeezing his arm tight as you used him to support your weight. 

“Depends on what you’re offering.” Ezra retorted, “But we need to keep moving. You need to get your leg up.” 

 Ezra was entranced with your small collection of books. Like a man starved, he snatched up every book — flipping through its pages with reverence. You couldn’t imagine spending five years without getting your hands on a new book. 

You thought he would abruptly leave once he had you safely tucked into your transport — but he lingered. 

“Nothing in the world is single; all things by a law divine in one another's being mingle. Why not I with thine?” Ezra read, the words falling from his tongue with a richness that your mind had never been able to give them. 

“Shelley?” You questioned, tilting your head to try to get a look at the book he was holding. 

“Indeed.” He closed the book and held it to his chest. “Our dear friend Percy had quite a way with words. Overshadowed — and rightfully so — by his beloved wife.” 

“I haven’t been able to get my hands on Frankenstein. Not since I was maybe fourteen.” You admitted. 

Ezra snapped his fingers, “You should’ve spoken up, little lamb. Mary has kept me company on many lonely nights.”

“I will part with Percy,” You told him, hobbling towards him on your wounded leg. “But only if you are willing to part with Mary.” 

He hummed thoughtfully, still clutching the book to his chest. “I will have to consult with her.” Ezra told you with a soft smile, “I have no doubt that she is as tired of my company as anyone would be.” 

You reached out and covered his hand with yours, “I will let you reunite the couple for just one night. But you have to promise me that you’ll bring me Frankenstein.”

Ezra’s gaze lowered to where your hand was on his, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “Promise me you’ll leave once books have been exchanged.” He covered your hand with his other hand, squeezing gently. “If you stay, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Me.” Ezra breathed out, his dark eyes setting on yours. “I will bring you lunaxium that you can take back to whomever hired you. Warn them from this place and forget it.” 

“It’s not that simple.” You found yourself leaning into him for support, “I have to complete testing and analysis. Reports. I can’t just take back a lump of lunaxium and hope for the best.”

A growl like sound rose up in the back of his throat, “Then I’ll do the reports for you. I know more than I ever cared to know of lunaxium and this godsforsaken rock. You are not to venture beyond this transport.”

You pulled your hand away from his, “I’ll do as I please, thank you.” 

Ezra gritted his teeth, “Do you have a death wish? Now isn’t the time for obstinance. Not this close to a full moon.” 

You blinked at him, “Are you…?”

His expression faltered, fingers twitching against the book before he held it out to you, “Keep it and leave tonight. Please.” 

“No.” You shook your head, “I want to know.” 

“Among these stories,” He gestured to your shelf of books, “I’m afraid it’s an unimpressive tale.”

“I’m always looking to hear new stories.” You told him, grimacing as you put too much weight down on your leg. “Shit.”

“Please sit,” Ezra urged, moving swiftly to curl his arm around your waist as he guided you towards the makeshift sofa you’d made from a weapon crate and oversized pillows. 

He sank down onto the opposite end, hands covering his face as he let out a heavy sigh. “Five years ago, I was just like you. Starry-eyed, devil-may-care.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Yes.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I came here looking for lunaxium like every ill-fated prospector before me. The rumors, the legend, the myth — they made for a tantalizing adventure.” His expression sobered as he stared straight ahead. “It’s painful. Muscles tear, bones shatter, skin stretches.”

Your heart clenched and your stomach roiled at the thought. 

“They say the first was a corruption. There are wolves among us, lurking beyond the trees — fearful in their own right of what looms above them. Someone played with fate and made a monster that even Shelley couldn’t have imagined. Lunaxium has no effect on humans, but it calms the beast for awhile.”

Without even thinking about it, you carefully shifted onto your good knee, letting your leg rest over the side of the sofa as you leaned towards Ezra. “This scar.” You said as you gingerly brushed your fingers over the back of his neck. 

He tensed, fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap. “I was attacked on my second night here.” He confessed, exhaling slowly. “Forgive me, little lamb. It has been a right smart spell since I have felt another’s touch.”

“You shouldn’t have to live like that, Ezra.” You whispered, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Isolating yourself… Maybe there’s a cure.”

“I can’t leave Lykaois.” He admitted, closing his eyes as he relaxed under the gentle touch of your fingers. “We’re reliant on the lunaxium and whatever this moon is cursed with. I would go mad.”

“Has anyone ever tried to leave?”

“There are stories.” Ezra turned to look at you. “I appreciate your offer. If it weren’t for what I’ve become, I would accept it without hesitation. But I would rather perish in the solitude of my transport than lose my mind somewhere among the stars.”

You trailed your fingers from his hair, along the curve of his jaw. “I could come back.”

“And put yourself in danger twice over?”

“I put myself in danger every time I venture out on a harvest with a ragtag team that might turn their weapons on me. Life is a risk, Ezra.” You held his gaze as you brushed your thumb over his bottom lip. “I can be your connection to the world you’ve lost. Name it, anything — I’ll bring it back here to you.”

“It’s dangerous.” Ezra seemed compelled by the offer. “The others… they’ve been here long enough to lose what’s left of their humanity.”

“Then protect me.” You brushed your fingers through the hair that fell against his forehead. 

“There’s so much I miss,” He admitted, his expression matching the way his voice broke as he held your gaze. “Five years… it’s a lifetime to spend alone.” He curled his fingers around your hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of your palm. “I don’t want you to risk yourself for me.” 

“I’m not afraid.” You told him, and as foolish as it was — you weren’t. 

Ezra’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips and your breath caught somewhere in the back of your throat when he started to lean towards you.  

He wasn’t the only one who had gone years without knowing a lover’s touch. You played things close to the chest, avoided anything that could ensnare you — except for him. 

For all of his warm charm, there was an underlying current of danger that had you feeling like a moth to the flame. He was a monster. A creature made from a curse you hadn’t even believed in.  

“Ezra.” You breathed out, leaning in until your nose brushed against his. 

He petted his fingers over your cheek as his breath mingled with yours, “You’re hurt.” 

“It’s just my leg.” Your lips were a hair’s breadth away from his, “I think we both need this.” 

Ezra curled his fingers around the back of your head as his lips crashed against yours. You groaned against his lips and his tongue took the opportunity to slip into your mouth, curling against yours. 

He kissed like a man possessed, desperate and all consuming. He hauled you into his lap like you weighed nothing, his hands clawing at your back, your ass, your arms — anywhere he could reach. 

He was starved for a connection like this. You had sensed it in the way he gravitated towards you, the way he lingered, the gentle touches as he mended your leg. 

You hissed softly as you shifted your weight in his lap, trying not to put pressure on your leg, but it was hard not to in that position. 

Ezra cupped your cheek, drawing your focus to his face as his other hand curled tight around your hip. “Do you trust me, little lamb?” He questioned, waiting until you nodded before he started to guide you back lengthways on the sofa. 

You scraped your fingernails over his scalp as you slid your fingers through his hair. His knee slotted in between your thighs as he draped himself over you. 

Greedy hands grabbed at the back of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal new skin to touch. He was touch starved. Every brush of your fingers against his untouched skin made him rut against your thigh. 

Ezra’s mouth worked down the column of your throat, teeth lightly scraping as his tongue darted out to taste your skin. His own hands sliding under your shirt, skimming over your ribs. 

You’d missed the feeling of large, rough hands against your skin. It had been more than a few cycles since you’d fallen into bed with a man. A year, maybe two, since you’d been with anyone at all. 

“Ezra.” You breathed out as his mouth moved over your covered breast, his tongue seeking out your nipple through the soft fabric. 

His eyes snapped to meet yours, pupils blown with arousal as he let out a ragged breath. “I can smell you.” Ezra murmured, his tongue flicking out to tease the peak of your nipple, the fabric darkened from his mouth. “You’re soaked, aren’t you little lamb?” He questioned, a hand wandering down your side, curling around your thigh. 

You felt your chest and cheeks burn with a heady mix of arousal and embarrassment. You were slick. You could feel your underwear clinging to your cunt, desire fueled solely by the man crowded onto the sofa with you. 

“In my bed,” Ezra whispered, untangling the hand you had in his hair. He brought your hand to his lips, inhaling deeply before wrapping his lips around your first two fingers. 

An unabashed moan escaped you, your hips lifting off the sofa as you ground yourself against his knee. You should’ve been ashamed — he had known that you’d tried to put yourself to sleep by burying your face in his pillow and your hand between your thighs. 

Ezra released your fingers with a wet pop, his nostrils flaring as he held your gaze. “You didn’t come, did you? Did la petite mort evade you?” 

“Yes.” You whispered, tracing your dampened fingers over his scruffy cheek. “I was so close, but it wasn’t enough.” 

He smirked at you as he pressed his knee firmly against you. “May I?”

“Please.” You nodded, sinking back against the sofa as Ezra moved down your body. Skilled fingers worked at the fastenings of your pants, peeling the heavy fabric down your thighs before tossing them aside. 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of you, “Sit up, little lamb.” Ezra told you, sinking onto the ground in front of you. “Look at you.” He drawled as your thighs parted, your injured leg draped over his shoulder. 

You gasped quietly as he stroked his thumb over the damp spot on your underwear, barely brushing over your clit — but even that mere touch was enough to make you tremble. 

“Did you think of me?” Ezra questioned, peeling the fabric to the side, sweeping his fingers between your slick folds. 

“Maybe.” You retorted, biting down on your bottom lip as you watched him lick your arousal from his fingers. 

A quiet growl rose up the back of his throat as he leaned in between your thighs. He held your underwear to the side as he lapped at you, his tongue sweeping between your folds. 

Your fingers slid into his hair, grip tightening as he traced the tip of his tongue over your clit. 

“Do you need these?” Ezra mumbled, tugging at your underwear. 

“No. No.” You shook your head, pitching your hips towards him. 

Ezra effortlessly tore away the crotch of your underwear, his mouth descending upon your tender flesh. His tongue delved between your folds, thrusting into your slick core. He grabbed at your thigh, holding you steady as he turned his attention to your clit. 

You cried out as he wrapped his lips around that throbbing bundle of nerves. He sucked lightly at it, swirling his tongue over it as his fingers pressed into your cunt. 

He didn’t let up, his tongue working over your clit as he worked his fingers in and out of you. His fingers were deliciously thick, dragging in and out of you, brushing over that sweet spot within you that made your entire core quake. 

Ezra was good. 

His name was heavy on your tongue as you shattered, your inner walls clenching around his fingers, thighs trapping his face between your legs. 

“I need…” You panted out, breath hitching as he curled his fingers within you. “Fuck!” You shouted, nearly ripping his hair out as you felt a dam break as your vision blurred from the sudden burst of molten desire. Ezra was undeterred, his tongue sweeping up every drop of you. 

“More.” You urged, writhing beneath him. “Ezra, please.” 

“I might hurt you.” Ezra warned you, dragging his hands down your thighs as he nipped at the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “I don’t… I don’t know if I control myself.” 

“Forget about my leg,” You tugged at his hair. “And fuck me.” 

Ezra squeezed your hip and barked out, “On your knees.” 

You waited until he let go of you before you gracelessly flopping over on the sofa, knees planted firmly on the cushion as you grabbed at the metal shaft that made up the back of the sofa. 

“You smell so fucking good like this,” Ezra breathed out, hands sliding over your bare hips as he crowded close to you. “It’s been so long.” He pressed his lips to the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Same.” You laughed breathlessly, reaching behind you to grab at his hair. “I don’t break easy.” 

“You’ve never fucked a werewolf before.” Ezra murmured, curling his fingers loosely around your throat, keeping you pinned back against his chest as his cock slid between your oversensitive folds. “Have you?”

“Not yet.” You gritted out, curling your fingers around his forearm, thankful that he was able to keep you upright. He was strong, but the fingers wrapped around your throat were gentle. 

The head of his cock caught against your entrance and Ezra’s hips bucked forward, pressing into you. 

You moaned, completely caught up in the sensation of his thick cock filling you. The stretch was just this side of too much — especially in this angle. 

Ezra pulled back, his cock nearly slipping from you entirely before slamming back into you. His thrusts were brutal — all that strength and power that was hidden in his wiry build. He was reaching spots no one else had ever hit. 

He released his tight grip on your hip, slipping his hand between your thighs to stroke your aching clit. You clenched around him in response, making him feel even thicker as he drove into you. Again and again. 

Your nails bit into his forearm, leaving crescent moon shapes in his skin as you clung to him. You were so close, perched right on the precipice of another orgasm. 

“Come.” Ezra’s fingers curled around your jaw, his lips close to your ear. “I want to feel you come. The sweet clench of your cunt around my cock.” He mouthed a row of kisses down your neck, growling against the crook of your neck as your body obeyed him. 

He didn’t relent, even as your body pulsed around his cock. “Fuck.” He grunted out, his teeth scraping your skin. 

“Ezra.” You moaned out, your eyes falling closed as you basked in the overwhelming sensation of him fucking into you. 

His grip loosened at your jaw as he started to slide out of you, but you reached behind you, grabbing at his ass — desperately trying to keep him right there. 

Something snapped. Some frayed cord of control that he had been clinging to. 

You grabbed at the back of the sofa for support as he roughly grabbed at your hips. He bottomed out once, twice, three times before he growled out your name and came. 

Ezra curled his arm around your waist, keeping you pinned to him as he rearranged the two of you. He kept the softening length of his cock buried within you as he sank down onto the sofa with you resting back against his chest. 

“You’re very strong,” You mumbled, scratching your nails through the hair on his forearm as you looked down at the arm he had tightly curled around you. 

He huffed, a throaty chuckle escaping him as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. “One perk of this damnable curse.” He brushed his thumb over your stomach gently. 

“Is the sex a perk too?” You questioned, closing your eyes as you leaned back against him. “Because, I’m not sure I want to leave at all now.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Ezra kissed your shoulder. “I’ve kept my distance. From the others.” He sighed heavily. “You don’t want to become like me, little lamb.”

“I never said that I do.” You pointed out. 

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” He shifted beneath you, whispering a quick apology when you whimpered at the movement. 

“I’m okay.” You promised, trailing your fingers up the side of his thigh. “Overwhelmed.”

“Two days.”

“Hmm?”

“You can safely stay for two more days, but then you must leave. It gets harder to maintain this the nearer we draw to the full moon.” Ezra told you, nuzzling at the crook of your neck. 

“Two days.” You agreed solemnly. 

Ezra returned just after nightfall with a stack of research notes and his well-loved copy of Frankenstein. 

“Did you know she dedicated herself to getting her husband’s works published.” You mused, looking up from the notes on lunaxium to watch Ezra as he consumed Percy’s book of poems. 

“Hmm?”

“Mary.” You explained. “As accomplished as she was, she also worked to ensure her husband’s writing would be read.”

“Indeed.” Ezra tucked the red ribbon into the page he was reading and sat it aside. “I believe their romance blossomed on her mother’s grave, no? A rather odd pair.”

“His works are dreadfully romantic, for such a macabre couple.” You pointed out, flipping over another page of notes, copying down a comment on your own notations. 

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?” Ezra recited, drumming his fingers against the cover. “I had forgotten that was dear Percy.” He sank back against the wall, pushing fingers through his unruly hair. “I miss the sea.” 

“I’d bring it back in a bottle if I could.” You told him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I meant what I said before. I can come back.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, moonbeam.” He let the word slip off his tongue like it was sugar-sweet. “You will grow bored of the to-and-fro.” He pursed his lips. “Though I am much appreciative of the offer. You should go back to your friends.” 

“I have one friend in this galaxy Ezra and oftentimes I’m certain they want to ring my neck.” You shook your head. “You deserve to have a friend too.” 

“I will never be able to leave,” He reminded you. “And you can never stay.”

“There’s still an in-between.” Your brows rose hopefully. “A new moon, perhaps? When the moon is there, but not visible.”

“You’re persistent.”

“I’ve been told that before.” You smirked a little. “What would you like me to bring back when I return after the full moon?”

Ezra exhaled heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I would be forever indebted to you if you might get your hands on a copy of War & Peace. Dreadfully long, but I hunger for some longevity in my literature.”

“Done.” 

He snapped his fingers, “Cheese.” 

You arched a brow. “I have cheese.”

“Real cheese?” Ezra corrected. “That wretched aero cheese is nauseating.” He blanched, watching you as you rose from your seat. 

You hobbled out of the room, into the corridor where the hyperfreeze unit was mounted in the interior wall beside the coolant system. You returned moments later with a block of Reggianito. 

“You’re in luck.” You said, sinking down onto the floor beside him. “I have a hook-up on Sector Block G7.” 

Ezra broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, sinking back against the wall with a satisfied moan. “It will be safe for you to return in a fortnight.” 

You slapped his leg playfully, “You’ll let me return if I bring cheese?”

He grinned and continued. “If you come then, you’ll have a fortnight to stay, should you choose to.” 

“That should give me enough time to find War & Peace for you and settle my debts.” 

Ezra took another bite of cheese, before passing it back to you. “Do they still make those honeysticks?” He questioned. “Little tubes with honey collected from…” He squinted, “I can’t remember the planet.”

“I can look.” You wrapped the cheese back in the cloth, before sitting it aside. “How will you be when I return?” You questioned. 

“A little worse for wear,” Ezra shrugged a shoulder, resting his hand on your thigh. “The lunaxium helps.”

“Is it… is it like a drug?”

“I suppose.” Ezra dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “There’s this hunger,” He explained, knocking his fist against his sternum. “This clawing sensation. It gets worse closer to the full moon. I lose my mind.” He shook his head. “I tried to wean myself off two years ago. Just to feel something.”

“What happened?” You rested your hand over his. 

“It triggered the beast.” He answered with a frown. “Middle of the cycle and violent.” Ezra tilted his head to look at you. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t.” You shook your head slowly, interlacing your fingers with his. “Maybe this will be good for you. Help you keep your humanity.”

“How so?”

“The others, the ones that were already here.” Your brows furrowed together as you turned to stare at him, “Did they lose their humanity because they lost touch with other humans?”

Ezra blinked, “You, moonbeam, are a clever one.”

“I read a lot.” You smiled at him, “And you’re  in luck — I have always loved monster stories.”

[ouronlyangelhes]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS

You had wanted to say yes. The ring was beautiful, dainty, sparkling, and staring daggers into your soul. It wasn’t that Scott wasn’t the right guy, he was. He was kind hearted, a great listener, funny, charismatic, everything that you thought you wanted. He was the right guy for someone, but that someone wasn’t you.

You were so taken aback by the proposal you realized second if not minutes had gone by without you saying a word. His face began to redden even more than it already was. You had to say something, you couldn’t just run away from this. You had to work up the courage to say no. You had to. He worked up the courage to pick out a ring for you, get down on one knee and ask you, you owed to him to explain why you couldn’t say yes.

“I love you, I really do. I just can’t say yes.” You say with tears building in your eyes.

“Did I say something wrong? Do you not like the ring? I can get you another one?” He said trying to understand.

“It’s not anything you did. It’s not the ring either it’s beautiful. I just can’t say yes to you because I know I’m not the one for you. You have been the most incredible person to me and you don’t deserve this. But you also don’t deserve someone saying yes to say yes. You deserve someone who won’t hesitate or think twice when you ask them to marry you. And I feel horrible because I know in my heart that person isn’t me. I’m sorry.” You said trying to smooth it over as if you could possibly do anything to make it better.

“I’m sorry that you feel like this. God, this sucks so much.” He said with tears in he eyes.

“I know, I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

-

It had been 5 months since you declined that proposal. There wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t think about it. You had wanted to. the person to say yes, you really did. You just knew in your heart that it wasn’t right. Scott deserved the world. That was one thing you were 100% sure of. He deserved someone who would always say yes, someone who would always be there for him, someone who he could have his forever with. You wanted that for him more than anything and you knew you couldn’t bring yourself to say yes and it be wrong . You couldn’t imagine the pain and the hurt that he was going through. You wanted to reach out to him but you knew that maybe some space would be the best. There wasn’t anything that you could say or do to possibly comfort him. So you decided that creating some distance between the two of you was best.

-

Harry had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. Harry has always been your rock, especially the last several months. You had been all over the place emotionally and you were slowly trying to pick the pieces back up. Harry had really been there for you and you were beyond grateful.

“You wanna come over tonight and have a rom com marathon? Snack, drinks, the whole works?” Harry asked you from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. I’m in. But only if we can get some pizza.” You replied.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. How does 7 work?” He asked.

“Sounds good. See you then.” you said and hung up.

Harry had a way of somehow making everything better. His presence could make anyone light up. And that was something you cherished, especially at this point in your life.

-

“I thought you’d never show up.” He said with an attitude as he opened the door.

“I’m like 2 minutes late, calm down.” You said as you pushed past him in the doorway.

“I’m just messing. Glad you’re here.” He said with a smile.

“I ordered the pizza about 15 minutes ago so it should be here in 30 minutes or so. And don’t worry I got your favorite so don’t panic.” He said.

He knew you well and that was something you admired.

“Thank you. So whatcha wanna watch?” You asked as you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“Hmmm. Well we have a ton of rom coms to choose from so just take your pick.” He said as he got the popcorn out of the microwave.

“Popcorn and Pizza what a luxury we have here.” You said with a smile.

“Only the finest of dining here.” He said as he brought the bowl over to you.

“Okay, so i’m thinking either Love Actually or Pretty Woman. Thoughts?” You asked.

“Tough one. Love Actually is always my go to so you know how I stand on that one.” He said.

“Love Actually it is.” You said as you clicked on the title.

The movie had just started and you felt Harry’s eyes on you.

“What?” You said as you pulled the bowl of popcorn closer to you.

“Nothing.” He said.

You had known Harry long enough to tell when he was lying. And besides he wasn’t a very good liar anyways.

“No, tell me. What? You said as you pressed pause on the movie.

“I don’t know, I guess i’m just surprised you’re so eager to watch a rom com.” He said.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You said.

“I dunno, I mean you did turn down a proposal from a guy you had been seeing for 2 years so I just figured you fight me on the rom com and we’d end up with a comedy or something.” He said.

“I don’t understand where this is coming from. I’m the one that said no to the proposal. I’m not the one who got rejected. I was the one who made the choice for our relationship to not result in marriage. So, why do you think I can’t enjoy a movie?” You asked.

You were thrown off by Harry’s line of questioning.

“You can enjoy a movie. That’s not how I meant it. I just worry about you is all. I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.” He said.

“Then why didn’t you just ask? Why’d you have to make it so cryptic?” You asked.

“You’re right. I should’ve just asked. I’m sorry. We can get back to the movie if you want.” He said.

“Okay, yeah.” You said as you resumed the movie.

-

To be honest your attention wasn’t on the movie. You were so confused by what Harry meant. Sure, the last couple months hadn’t been a breeze but you were pushing through. You knew you had made the right choice regarding your engagement. You couldn’t understand why people couldn’t just forget and move on like you had.

Harry had gotten up and paid for the pizza and grabbed some wine glasses on his way back over to the couch.

“There you are.” He said as he passed you a glass and plate.

“Thanks.” You said.

You poured the wine into the glass and then you realized that maybe Harry was onto something earlier. Did he have a reason to be worried about you? Was there a reason you couldn’t say yes to a good man? What was holding you back?

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I know you are and you’re just trying to help.” You said as you took a sip.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He said.

“No, you’re right. You did nothing wrong. I know what people have been saying. I know that Scott’s friends never thought i’d say yes to marrying him. I don’t know, i didn’t think I radiated runaway bride or in this case runaway proposal tendencies but I guess I do.” You said.

“Stop it. You’re gonna end up married and all that one day. He just wasn’t right for you.” He replied.

“But what if I can’t. What if I just can’t get there with someone. I try to open up and be vulnerable and every time I do it’s just like I close up. Scott was patient with me and he never pushed feelings out of me or anything, he knew what he was getting into. I’m just starting to think it’s me. Maybe I am just incapable of letting someone love me and giving that love in return.” You said.

“You’re not incapable. You love lots of people. You love so much and we’re all lucky to have someone like you in our lives.” He said trying to comfort you.

“Family love is different than romantic love. The love I have for my friends is different. It’s safer, It’s less scary to me. It’s easier.” You said.

“Well maybe that’s the issue. Maybe you need to view someone as a friend first, and then it would turn into romantic love. Because you’d then have a foundation of friendship with that person and a level of comfort and security.” He said.

Harry was always a deep thinker. His advice was always comforting to you as he always has something profound to say.

“I guess that’s a good point. I don’t think i’ve ever really thought about it like that before.” You said.

“What can I say, I’m quite wise.” He said with a smile.

“I guess there’s really ever been one person I could see myself having romantic love and make me feel secure.” You said.

“Well, who?” He asked.

“You.” You said.

You thought Harry was gonna choke on his pizza you had stunned him so much.

“Sorry what?” He said taking a sip of wine to wash the pizza down with.

“When you say someone I feel safe, comfortable, and myself with that’s you. Nobody else has ever really made me feel that way. Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other an eternity but I’d like to think it wouldn’t take an eternity for my walls to come down.” You said.

“What are you saying exactly?” He asked.

“I’m saying, I don’t know.” You said t trying to piece your thoughts together.

“You know I care for you, I always have. I just never really thought you’d go for me so I guess I never tried. And anytime i’ve ever thought of it the timing was just all off.” He said.

“What about now? Is the timing right?” You asked.

“I’m not sure. We can find out if you want. If that’s not weird.” He said.

“Sure, it’s not weird. You know me better than I know myself. You see me I am. I’m never hiding anything from you, you see me.” You said.

“Of course I see you. I’d be blind not to.” He said to you.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked.

“I mean I guess.” You said playfully.

With the meeting of your lips you felt all of your metaphorical walls coming down. You trusted Harry, you felt safe. Not to say you didn’t feel that way with Scott or other relationships. This one just felt authentic, genuine, and right.

[clnriswood]

DRACO MALFOY X CEDRIC DIGGORY X READER

Something Different | Part Four

a/n: so glad to be back! things start getting a bit more, uh, intense -- but stay tuned for p5 bc it’s about to get vv steamy hehe.

tag list: @call-me-banana-bandit @pillowjj @truly-insatiable @natsiboo @justmesadgirl @boredoffmebox @jjjmaybank @jejegu @ superpowereddonut @irritantive @salemlilly @marshmelloyellow02 @puffymints @is-it-really-a-secret  @i-mmunity @sebastiansass @hisoldlover @kyobien @averagefangirl21 @inurealiyah @fuzzzwald @lesfleursmonet @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive

X

If matters had been bad between Draco and the girl before, it was safe to say that the strength of their bond now was at an all time low, underground, even. On his end, she was a thieving traitor who was joined in Potter’s ranks against him, and in hers, he was a treacherous snake who was incapable of trust and had been solidified into his cruel habits. Their last encounter, at quidditch tryouts, had been the worst yet. It went something like this: Draco, as he left the field of Slytherin’s recently finished tryouts, jeered some nonsense about “any old fool who can swing a bat (Y/N played the role of beater) being allowed onto the team,” which was met by a swift reply from Y/N, who suggested cooly that Draco’s groin should be her bat's next target. This had led to quite the eruption of bickering between both of the teams, one which Madam Hooch, who was entirely fed up with both houses, abruptly put an end to. After that, the girl simply rode the wave of Draco Malfoy induced rage, and during the tryouts, envisioned the barrelling quaffles to be differing versions of his arrogant head. Shockingly, by an act of God, it had worked. Or, not really. Really it was months of training with Cedric over the summer that won her a place on the team, but, well, the rage certainly helped. And yet, despite it all, a nagging truth scratched relentlessly at the back of her brain. And this truth was that somehow, despite it all, Draco Malfoy was the thing of which she was apparently most attracted to.

“Whaddya reckon?” the voice of Ronald Weasley interrupted the girl’s drifting thoughts.

She and her three Gryffindor comrades had just escaped to the side of the Great Lake following the end of their first week of classes. Desperate to get the last of the sun before the soon to come autumn leaves and grey skies, the quartet had stripped free their thick robes and laid out a crimson picnic blanket upon which they sat surrounded by goods. Around them, other Hogwarts students of every year had done the same. With bellies now full, they’d thrown themselves happily back, their chins all turned towards the bright blue sky. As it was, Ron sat beside Hermione, who sat beside Harry, who sat beside Y/N. As they watched the ginger, he jovially made a stream of rainbow colored bubbles fly forth from the tip of his weathered wand.

“What’re you going to kill Voldemort with multi-colored bubbles?” Harry choked on the last pumpkin pastie with a snort.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, poorly attempting to conceal her own giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” Ron said, “some girl is going to fancy this, I’m telling you.”

Suddenly Hermione wasn’t laughing at all, and she’d gone quite pink, the girl noticed. Next to her, Harry turned into his elbow to cough, which was really just an attempt to cover the big stupid grin he was wearing. The girl chuckled and batted him away with the back of her hand. He winked in reply.

“I want to go for a stroll,” Harry beamed suddenly, sitting upright in a flash.

“Lovely, shall we come?” Hermione began to stand.

“No!” he protested quite loudly. Then, “sorry, just want a quick chat alone with Y/N, if you don’t mind.”

The girl arched a brow at the jet black haired boy beside her, reluctantly standing and throwing Hermione a confused stare as she padded slowly alongside Harry and away from her other friends. The boy drifted farther from the patch of red blanket and closer to the water’s edge, where the grass was long, green, and swampy around their shoes. For a moment, the girl caught sight of one of the Giant Squid’s long tentacles, and she watched as it went sweeping against the surface of the black water and sending ripples across its inky surface.

“What is it then?” she said when they had gotten far enough away.

“What is what?” Harry said stupidly.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she replied gruffly.

“Ah,” Harry scoffed and shook his head, “just said that so we could give Ron n’ Hermione some time alone together.”

“Oh?” the girl answered quizzically.

“Totally fancies him,” he continued excitedly, “not that she’s ever going to admit it, mind you.”

The girl felt her lips split, “really?! I did always wonder… though I couldn’t be sure.”

“I’ve spent the last five years watching those two fight, believe me, I am,” he wrinkled his nose with a grin. “Duck,” he added.

Without hesitation, the two friends bent their knees, covering their heads as the Giant Squid sent a tentacle soaring into the air and slapping the water, making millions of airborne droplets come cascading over them. Knowing the system well by now, the girl snapped her wand up, creating a clear arc above herself and Harry. The dazzling white stream of magic sheltered them safely from the Squid’s tidal wave, repelling all liquid outwards from its top. From around the shore, the sound of unsuspecting student cries of surprise echoed loud in reply.

“Anyways,” the girl stood cooly, like nothing had happened, “I assume this means I shouldn’t be saying anything of it to Hermione?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, “she’d throw herself into the lake if she knew we knew.”

The girl laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

For a few minutes they walked, quiet as they enjoyed the hot sun on their skin. Behind them, though she only snuck a quick glance, Ron and Hermione were bickering; apparently Hermione had made bigger bubbles than Ron and he’d taken it as a personal attack. The girl shook her head, letting the moment pass her and the fresh air flow through her lungs before she spoke again.

“Harry,” she started nervously, “there er, is something I actually wanted to speak to you about.”

He stopped walking, sinking his hands into the pockets of his pants as he sighed deeply with understanding, “you mean you causing a row with Malfoy?”

The girl froze in her tracks, “you knew about that?”

“Well apparently you weren’t too quiet about it,” he smiled half-heartedly. “I just… don’t understand what you were doing with him in the first place,” he admitted.

The girl felt her throat go hard, “dunno that myself, really.”

He blinked at her with his big green eyes, awaiting her explanation patiently.

“I- I just,” she started unconfidently, pausing to think. “I’d noticed there was something off about him. I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“And you think Malfoy’d tell you if there was?” Harry said, voice thick with doubt.

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “I know because he -- well, because he kind of told me so.”

Harry’s mouth dropped, “he did?”

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling her face prickle with warmth.

“So what does he,” Harry began, bewildered, “does he fancy you or something?”

“No!” the girl blurted, tucking her windswept hair behind her ears and finding her eyes suddenly glued to the muddy ground. “Of course not!”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry realized, ignoring her completely as he came quickly to an understanding of how this newfound information could play to his advantage, “and what did he tell you?!”

“Erm,” she gave a weak sigh, eyes back on him, “he said he knew I was working with you and told me to shove off, basically.”

Harry’s expectant smile faltered, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a reluctant glance.

“But you’re not,” he said confusedly.

“Yes I know that,” she echoed.

“Oh,” he said again.

Harry began walking once more, letting his thoughts brew a little before he continued. The sun’s rays were hitting his glasses hard, sending bright beams of light refracting off of them. The Gryffindor chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and gave his head a scratch.

“So then, if that was all, what was it that you’d wanted to tell me?” he said at last.

“I wanted to ask you how I could help,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and keeping her eyes forward on the nearing edge of the lake.

“You want to help me?” he asked.

“Course,” she shrugged. “I still believe he’s off, or up to something at least. And you seem to be the only other one around here who's noticed it, I’ve heard.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed, “and given that Malfoy’s got some sort of soft spot for you or something, I bet you’d have more luck than me finding out what exactly that is.”

“Er, yes,” she voiced hesitantly. “Only, I think I stomped the soft spot out when I called him a fool,” she said. “And he seemed to have taken it a bit personally.”

“Has he?” Harry said with mock surprise.

“You know he spat on me in the hallway the other day?!” she recalled suddenly. “I mean, literally spat on me. Him and his goons were by the courtyard when it happened,” she recounted sourly.

“Ah, the Malfoy rain,” Harry grinned knowingly.

“The what?!” she gaped.

“Ron calls it that,” Harry continued without hesitation, “because it’s like rain… but from his mou-”

“Disgusting!” she gave her friend a shove, making him cackle.

“I’m surprised this is only your first time,” he chuckled, “I’ve been getting the treatment since my first year.”

“That’s foul,” the girl curled her lip.

“Yes, well,” Harry shrugged, unfazed.

The boy-who-lived adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his skinny nose before stopping at the water’s edge. The surface had gone completely still, making the water look like nothing more than a black sheet of paper. It was beautiful, she thought. Harry stared too, before turning back to her, his smile gone and his face hardened with seriousness.

“Y/N,” he started softly and gave a stiff sigh. “Whatever he says, or whatever he does, that soft spot is still there. Vulnerability like that doesn’t just go away, y’know?” he said. “If he had it before, he can get it again.”

The girl looked at him. There seemed to be some kind of knowing in his green eyes. It made her heart lurch nervously.

“And how might that happen?” she asked.

Harry shrugged, looking her dead on, “you’ll just have to make him get it back.”

. . .

“Well,” she tried, “how do I look?”

The girl stood before a large gold framed mirror in her room, her other self glaring steelily back at herself from within the reflective surface. It was late in the afternoon now. Yolky orange light rays seeped from the half-circle windows that encircled the girl’s bedroom and filled the space with a hot haze. One window, with its peeling paint flakes, had been forced open, providing a comforting breeze and the smell of fresh grass to the dormitory room. The circle shaped room, with its exposed brick walls, thick cream carpets, and vine stuffed walls, seemed like the nicest place for her to be at the moment. But, with Slughorn’s unfortunate dinner party approaching at an alarming rate now, the girl was soon to depart and had found her stomach turning faster and faster the closer her deadline approached. Truthfully, she’d take reading an old book whilst tucked sleepily away into her thick sheets over this charade any day of the week. And, judging by the look on her face, this feeling wasn’t one she was successfully concealing. The girl curled her fingers over her faded wooden dresser, sucking in a slow breath as she reluctantly brought her glittering eyes back up to the mirror before her.

She wore a flowing sheer cream dress, one with long sleeves and little patterns embroidered into its circumference. Wanting to stay casual, she’d thrown on her usual scuffed black boots, but swapped her school socks out for ruffle trimmed white ones that peeked over her shoe’s tops. Her hair was in its usual messy state atop her shoulders, too. Behind her, Hannah Abbott stood with her arms crossed, her head tilted as she looked her friend over.

“Erm-” Hannah started unsurely.

“Oh no,” she said, turning around with wide eyes, “is it that awful?”

“No!” the blonde assured her with a wave of her hand. “Just, well, come here.”

The girl stepped timidly closer, nervous as her friend procured her wand, looked her over, and then gave it a flourish. First, the girl’s hair started magically flattening, before finding itself lifting dreamily from her shoulder tops and into a thick bun, one with a huge loose french braid on its side, and with stray pieces dangling at the front to frame her face. Smiling with like, Hannah then stuck her tongue cheekily out and shortened her friend’s dress a noticeable chunk of inches, so that it stopped flirtatiously at the tops of her legs.

“Oi!” the girl laughed in embarrassment, throwing her hands nervously over her front.

“Oh loosen up,” the blonde giggled, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m rarely out of robes,” the girl huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Exactly,” her friend said from over her shoulder. “You only get so many chances to show those legs off to Cedric Diggory.”

“WHA-” the girl clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, spinning around. “HANNAH!?”

“Oh please,” Hannah said, sinking down onto the plush yellow quilts that were draped over her bed. “Like I haven’t seen him trying to sneak a peak before.”

She felt her face go red quite suddenly, “excuse me?”

Hannah smirked, leaning against one of the four oak posters that closed in around her bed. She twirled her hair around a finger with glee as she blinked slyly at her friend. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and waved her friend off towards the Common Room.

“Well,” she shrugged, “go on then!”

The girl glared daggers at her unattentive friend as she cautiously approached their room’s door frame. She stuffed her hands in her dress pockets nervously, her feet feeling as if they were sinking through the now goo-like floor with every step. The green vines that trickled down the large woody door waved their tails in an encouraging goodbye.

“Well,” the girl decided with a smile, “I’m going to throw up.”

“At least wait til’ you’ve gotten out of our bedroom,” Hannah said, leaning back in bed with a sigh. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit.”

She snorted, shaking her head as the door slammed tight behind her, and she went tapping quietly down the stone staircase and out into the Common Room. There weren’t many students around, as many of the non Slug Club members had the luck of eating their normal meals and going about their usual after-dinner-weekend plans, unlike her. Cedric was already awaiting her however, and he looked incredibly dashing in his white button up shirt. The shirt was peppered with little black dots, and had its first two buttons undone, so as to expose just a hint of the god-like collarbones Cedric was sporting. His gold streaked chestnut hair was stood just a little straighter than usual, like he’d attempted to neaten it before giving up shortly thereafter. Still, it was quite cute.

When he saw her, Cedric’s face became the sun, his lips splitting into that dazzling smile, and dimples coming to life across his lightly bronzed skin. From above her, one of the hanging plants whistled, not for the first time that year, she noted.

Cedric tilted his head towards the creature, “yeah, what it said.”

The girl chuckled, off put by the flattery and finding it hard to keep looking at the deathly attractive boy before her.

“Ced,” she protested bashfully, worming her fingers nervously around in her dress pockets.

He smiled wider, if possible, and put his own hands timidly into the pockets of his black pants.

“Sorry,” he chuckled warmly, letting her come to him. “You look lovely.”

They met in the centre of the Common Room. With the sun practically set now, the only light was from the flickering of the massive fireplace’s flames, which cast shadows over the hollows of her friend’s cheeks, jaw, and lips. For a moment, neither said anything. Instead, they just looked at each other. It was Cedric who cleared his throat first.

“Erm,” he said, “shall we?”

“O’course,” the girl responded awkwardly, trailing Cedric out of the Common Room and into the deserted halls.

The two were quiet as they made their way around corners and over moving staircases. Neither spoke, or looked at each other, really. Halfway up a moving staircase, Peeves had attempted to toss a water balloon onto the two, but Cedric stopped the thing midair and sent it flying back at the ghost, who cackled as it went through his stomach and splattering against a wall. The two friends couldn’t help but give a laugh there. One of the portrait’s, which was just nearly missed, screamed defiantly at the friends in protest. Then, about a minute later, Cedric and Y/N turned into the corridor outside Slughorn’s, where they ran into none other than Harry and Hermione.

“Hullo,” Harry grinned.

“Mate,” Cedric scrunched his nose with a smile, the two boys clapping a hand together in greeting.

“Y/N!” Hermione beamed, “you look lovely! You too, Cedric.”

Hermione was wearing a pale pink blouse, Harry a black button up. Both looked nice for the occasion. Also, both looked a little nervous.

“You as well,” Cedric and the girl replied in unison.

Hermione smiled, mumbling, “nothing really,” or something like that.

Harry, uninterested, had jerked his head towards the girl, “I take it you’re not interested in being here, either.”

“How’d you know?” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, me n’ you are only here because Slughorn fancies our dead parents-” he began.

“Harry!” Hermione gaped, slapping her friend upside the head so as to shut him up.

The girl let out an explosive cackle, going weak in the knees with laughter, “he’s not wrong you know.”

Harry rubbed his head as he flashed his teeth at her and raised a hand for her to slap hers against. She did, making the two only laugh harder.

“You two are awful,” Cedric said with alarm, gaining a supportive nod from Hermione.

It had seemed that the group’s commotion had drawn the attention of Professor Slughorn, who poked his head out from around the entrance of his room. He wore, on his body, a quite excessive frayed brown blazer with his black pants, and on his face, an almost terrifyingly supportive smile. When he smiled in such a way, his forehead creased with a set of expressive little lines, and he looked somewhat like a happy frog, she thought.

“Dear boys and girls, you’ve arrived!” he declared loudly.

“We have,” Harry echoed in an obvious reply.

“Come in! Do come in!” Slughorn chuckled joivally, ushering his students into the room he’d cleared for them.

It was an interesting sight to see. In the middle of the room, a huge polished oak table had been set up, around which just over a dozen large and eloquently carved wood chairs stood. Students of every house had gathered; notably, Blaise, one of Draco’s henchmen, and Neville, their friend. The table had been filled with large glass mugs, which were topped to their brims with seven massive scoops of decadent chocolate ice-cream each, atop which were further chocolate shavings. Neville, who looked just about ready to faint, sighed in heavy relief as his friends pulled aside chairs next to his own. Instantaneously, Slughorn began his unsurprising fire of questions. First he spoke to two dark haired Ravenclaws the girl was unfamiliar with, then the boisterous Marcus Belby, and finally he landed his beady little eyes on Hermione.

“My parents are dentists,” Hermione blurted nervously when Slughorn asked of her.

The girl slid her mug forward, dipping her silver spoon uninterestedly into the dessert and swirling it around dismissively. Beside her, Cedric was taking polite tastes of his desert, and, beside him, Harry was uncomfortably shoving spoonfuls worth of ice-cream down his throat. The girl snorted, elbowing her friend, who snapped his gorgeous hazel eyes to hers, his lips crinkling into a little smile as he shifted his attention over to Harry. Cedric nudged Harry, who lifted his chocolate covered face up slowly.

“What?” he said defensively, his voice low so as to be unheard as Hermione continued speaking.

“Is that a dangerous profession?” Slughorn asked the frizzy haired brunette.

“Erm… no,” Hermione said awkwardly.

Everyone, including Cedric, stared at her in awkward silence.

“What’s a dentist again?” Cedric said through the corner of his mouth.

On either side of him, Harry and Y/N tried miserably to stifle their giggles. Luckily for them, a perfectly timed interruption shifted the attention away from the two, and instead to Ginny Weasley, who had just entered the room sporting a cute black dress and some unfitting red eyes. Harry scooted loudly back in his chair, emitting a deathly screeching sound that matched perfectly with the absolute silence of the room. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, a smile spreading beneath her fingers.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Slughorn beamed, “come in!”

“Sorry,” she replied through a mumble, “not usually late.”

Harry let out a loud grunt and scooted back forward in his chair as if unaware he’d done anything odd. The girl looked first at the-boy-who-lived, then to Ginny, her brows furrowing in confusion as her eyes travelled. Next she looked to Cedric, who mirrored her expression, and finally to Hermione, who flickered her eyes indicatively at the two Gryffindor’s before turning her nose back to her food.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” Slughorn said loudly, refocusing his attention once again to the girl.

Her eyes darted forwards to her professor, “yes, sir?”

“Your parents,” he said, “tell me a bit about them, will you?”

It had been expected, of course. But she’d dreaded it nonetheless.

“I’d rather not, sir,” she tried.

“Please,” the old man quite literally begged.

“Uh, well erm, she started awkwardly, not knowing where to begin. “They both died when I was quite young-”

“Yes, actually about that,” Slughorn fed in, “how was it your father passed? There was little heard of him after he joined You-Know-Who’s ranks.”

The girl was quite taken aback. How bold of him. Actually, how rude.

“Er,” she blinked frustratedly, “an explosion, I think.”

“Go on,” the professor encouraged.

Everyone, not just Y/N, it seemed, wasn’t comfortable with such a discussion. What was the point of asking such things? How did this add a shine to his little collection of trophy students? Mostly, though, how was it that the man was so oblivious to his indiscretion?

“The Ministry notified me about it when it happened. He took out a bunch of muggles with himself, they said. Only, they didn’t do much reporting on him because...”

“Because?” Slughorn persisted.

“Sir-” she tried again.

But the professor looked absolutely carefree as he took a large spoonful of ice cream in with a wave of his small chubby hands, “do tell us, Y/N, we all want to know.”

The eyes of every student in the room were glued eagerly to her, whether in mild interest, discomfort, or both.

The girl felt her whole body heat up. She’d never disclosed the second part of that story with anyone before, let alone a whole damned Slug Club. Flustered, she blinked rapidly, turning her head left, right, and back left again, as the left was where the door was. And by God, did the door look good at that moment. She could feel the blood rushing to her ears, her feet preparing to bring her to a sprint, a nervous glimmer soak her brow, and yet, just as she’d decided to stand and run, something stopped her.

Beside her, the girl felt one of Cedric’s large hands snake under the table and take a reassuring hold of her wrist. It caught her off guard, the way he’d so swiftly done it. The boy’s long fingers dipped straight into her own, first landing on her wrists for a soft little rub, then sliding right up into her palms, where he closed his fingers in on her own. His hands were wam. Warm and rough. This settled her hard beating heart, if only for a moment. And that was all she needed.

“Sorry professor,” she responded flatly, “but no.”

Her eyes scanned those of her classmates more confidently, and most all of them glittered back proudly in reply. Across from her, Slughorn released a disappointed sigh, before continuing on his little train of questions and peppering Cedric with his next rounds of interrogation. Of course, Cedric was as cool, calm, and collected as ever. The boy put on his most handsome and proud lopsided smile as he answered the professor’s questions of -- well, honestly she wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. For while he spoke, Cedric had released her fingers and found himself absentmindedly tracing the patterns on his friend’s hand, not that anyone could have known. And she, incredibly flustered, but more comforted than anything, let him. Only when dinner ended did the boy retract his touch.

. . .

“Excellent,” Harry declared, the second they’d stepped foot outside of the dungeon. “You were excellent, Y/N.”

The jet black haired boy gave his friend a huge slam of appreciation to the back. He, Cedric, Hermione, Neville, and Y/N were making their tired escape from Slughorn’s party. Together, the group made their defeated and slumped ascent out of the dungeons.

“Thanks, Harry,” she half laughed and half grumbled. “I couldn't have done it on my own.”

Her large bright eyes flickered up to Cedric’s glowing ocean ones, and they twinkled adoringly at her in silent communication. Beside her, Hermione raised a quizzical brow, though, truth be told, Y/N wasn’t paying her much attention at that moment.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be getting an invite back, though…” she’d muttered dryly.

“It’d be his loss,” Cedric fired back confidently, earning a half smile from his favorite girl.

She’d gone to say something else, but her lips had hardly opened when she saw him.

Draco. Draco, with his snow white skin and blue-grey eyes, was heading their way. This was unsurprising, given that they were on Slytherin’s side of the castle. Honestly, he was the last thing she’d wanted to be confronted with at that moment, and judging by the look on his sallow face, it went both ways. As he drew nearer and nearer, his hands stuffed into the black folds of his robes, she waited for the blades of his sharp words to slice her, for him to mouth insults her way as he had so frequently loved to do. But, shockingly, the boy was quiet. In fact, it seemed he had no plan to say anything, but rather to snake right past them, silent and unheard, like a figment of their imagination. He’d almost done it, actually, but the girl had other plans.

“What?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

Draco had just passed her, and gone deathly still.

She turned on her heel, asking again, “what? Not going to say anything?”

The boy turned slowly to face her, his icy eyes narrow with dislike, his teeth clenched so hard she could see the definite pulse of his hard jawline beneath his porcelain skin. Beside her, her friends all warily stopped walking, their faces clouding with concern. Apparently, they all thought it better to not acknowledge his existence. The snow white boy blinked silently, keeping his pale lips pressed harshly together.

“What? So now that you don’t have any goons around, you’re no longer interested in making a show out of us?” she asked with a bitter chuckle.

Malfoy’s nostrils flared, a hard grimace taking shape on the curvatures of his perfect mouth.

“You know what I think, Draco? I think you don’t actually care for it. I think you only do it for others to maintain some sort of facade. And I think, you’re too cowardly to face us alone.”

“Y/N,” Hermione tried, “don’t fire him up.”

Draco flickered his narrowed eyes to Hermione, then settled back on Y/N’s. Finally, he spoke.

“Much to Granger’s disappointment,” he started softly, “you don’t have the power to fire me up.”

Her lips split into a sour smile, “don’t I?”

“Y/N,” Cedric huffed with concern, “just drop it.”

Now Draco’s eyes were on Cedric.

“You, however,” he drawled, “are all very easy to fire up.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retaliate, but, as she should have expected, was beaten to it.

“Diggory,” he began, “congratulations on giving your little girlfriend an express pass onto the Hufflepuff quidditch team. I expect she returned the favor nicely with her mouth.”

Cedric flushed a bright red, his nostrils flaring, and eyes growing cold with distaste. This enraged Y/N, yes, but it enraged Cedric more. Before he had the chance to fight back, however, Draco was onto his next target.

“Mudblood,” he mouthed, addressing Hermione. “Did it hurt when Potter here beat your pompous, self righteous self to the Felix Felicis? Is that why you’ve told everyone that he cheated his way to it?”

“N-no,” Hermione replied unconvincingly.

“Shut up,” Neville added.

“You,” Draco chuckled, snapping his attention mechanically to Neville, his lashes fluttering to the beat of his laughter. “Longbottom, please. You’re so pathetic, I could almost find the sympathy to feel bad for you. Everyone can. But, I really needn’t say anything for you to know that, do I?”

Harry had a hand on his wand now.

“Go ahead,” Draco dared, focusing now on the boy-who-lived. “You’re awfully more of a milksop than one would expect of a Gryffindor,” he said, “so you won’t. Especially not on my side of the castle, where you’d be under professor Snape’s jurisdiction.”

He had a point. About that second part, of course. Slowly, Harry released the grip on his wand.

And then Draco’s eyes were back on the girl, and they were a cold stormy gray, touched lightly with a hint of mild intrigue. The girl felt her fingers shaking now, practically aching to take form into a fist. But she had to stand her ground. She had to prove his lack of power over her.

“And you,” he finished with a heavy sigh. He brought his eyes up to her friends before saying his next words. “As of late, this little thing has been of most interest to me.”

Everyone seemed to have frozen in place, including Y/N, who was capable only of blinking up angrily at him, her jaw tilted up so as to be able to reach his searing and curious gaze.

“And d’you know why?” he arched a silver-blond brow, stepping closer to her.

He looked like he wanted to touch her. Wanted to force her jaw up within the tight grasp of his hands. Wanted to step close enough that her heaving chest would bump against his own. But a flicker of his eyes to her friends stopped him, and instead he just stood there, about a foot apart from her, his hands still buried in his pockets.

“Because,” he continued bemusedly, “unlike everyone else here, you have a secret.”

“And what’s that?” she dared lowly.

Draco’s lips split into an awful, cruel, smile.

“You like having me put you in your place.”

There was silence.

The girl wanted to speak. She’d tried. But only a mute and incoherent stutter toppled forth from her agape lips.

“Fascinating,” his lips stretched wider yet, his voice dropping lower yet, “isn’t it?”

And then his hands withdrew from his pockets. Draco let his slender and silver ring clad fingers find themselves on the bend of his knee as he lowered his height so as to be level with the girl’s fiery stare. For a moment, he just let the blazing blue sear of his scrutiny make its way across her face. She could smell his cologne invading her lungs, the inexplicably alluring scent of Draco Malfoy growing vile to her. He lowered his voice, then, so that only she could hear his almost inaudible murmur.

“This little game of ours,” he whispered. “I quite enjoy it.”

Then he raised a finger, a long and slender index finger, and tapped the tip of her nose.

She just stared at him, and it was a long and wordless encounter. His icy blue eyes pierced straight through her own and into the depths of her soul. He seemed eager to see her either crumble beneath him or expel with rage, but what he did not expect is what she said next.

“Incendio.”

Suddenly, her dress was on fire.

Draco leapt back in surprise, his brows knitting as the base of the girl’s cream colored clothing went up in flames. Around her, her friends all gawked and toppled back in shock. In her right hand was Draco’s wand, plucked straight from his pocket only a moment ago.

“Catch,” she grinned, throwing the boy his wand.

The blond chuckled in bitter surprise, “and what does that achieve?”

“A spell search will reveal that you just casted a fire charm on me,” she gaped in mock shock as she extinguished the flames on her dress with a newly learned Aguamenti charm.

Beside her, the faces of her friends told her they were utterly lost. But it was alright, they’d soon find out what had happened.

Draco let loose a chuckle, “and you think Snape is going to believe that, from you?”

“Sure I do,” she shrugged, “because I also did.”

“What-” he began.

“Incendio!”

Now it was Draco whose clothes erupted in flames. Quickly, he stifled the orange licks up his robes with his own water charm. Now it made sense. The boy’s pale face had gone flush with rage upon realizing what she’d done.

“Oh no,” she shrugged sarcastically.

And then they heard the footsteps. No doubtedly, Snape was on his way to see what the commotion was about. From behind her, her friends all gaped, impressed. Then, on her command, they took their cues and bolted, cackling as they disappeared down the hall and away from the scene of the crime. In front of her, Draco’s mouth trembled with a newfound sense of rage. His white and slender figure slumped slowly with defeat, knowing he’d been outsmarted.

“What?” she teased.

He practically snarled, his eyes alight with a blazing hatred.

“I thought I couldn’t fire you up, Draco?”

. . .

“Our detention will be next week!” the girl exclaimed.

Beside her, Julian, Hannah, and Ernie all roared with approval, the group meeting their large mugs of butterbeer together in celebration. After being issued a lovely disciplining from professor Snape, the girl had headed back to the Common Room in her tattered dress, only to enter a hero to her friends, who’d heard of the encounter from Cedric. Together, by the light of the dying fire, the group celebrated the girl’s triumph over Draco Malfoy. She could only assume that somewhere, on the other side of the castle, a set of Gryffindors were doing the same.

Now, by the dim light of the fire’s embers, the group had jovially devoured a set of gooey celebration biscuits and leaned back lazily in the overstuffed armchairs of the Hufflepuff Common Room. From above and around them, plants snored lazily as they embarked upon their nightly slumber. Slowly, one by one, her friends departed for their beds, until it was only Cedric and Y/N who remained in the Common Room. Cedric was unusually quiet as they left. In fact, he’d been unusually quiet the whole evening. It’s not that she hadn’t noticed, but rather that she didn’t want to. And so, upon being left alone with him, she said nothing. Finally, after a minute of deathly awkward silence, he spoke.

“So. What was all of that about then?”

He’d said it softly. And not the way he usually did when he spoke softly to her. No, he sounded outright disappointed in her.

“What d��you mean?” she arched a brow at him.

Cedric sat stiffly upright on the squashy yellow couch, his ocean blue eyes set forward in thought. His previously neat goldish brown locks had found themselves resuming their usual messy state atop his head, with one little curl springing forth attractively upon his forehead. He still wore his button up, but his hands were folded gently upon his lap in an odd manner.

“I mean,” he continued softly, “why would you do what you did tonight?”

He turned now, his stare intense as it bore into her own. The girl found her throat closing up, and her chest tightened with uncomfortability.

“You went explicitly out of your way to rile Malfoy up. And then- and then you make some feat of landing yourself in detention with him.”

“It was about time someone stood up to him-” she began.

“No, but that’s not why you did it,” he interrupted, hurt.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, or to him, really. The boy looked weakened, his handsome figure bent over with a sort of sadness, casting a rather sad looking silhouette over the dark wooden floors of the Common Room. She’d opened her mouth, but upon meeting his eyes, stopped. They were strained. They were strained and ever so softly moistened with hurt.

“Is it?” he asked, more quietly this time, the look on his face desperate for her next word to be ‘yes.’

But it wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” she admitted begrudgingly, her shoulders falling. “Something about him just gets me going, Ced. Now more than ever. It’s- It’s because I know he’s capable of better.”

“Is he?” Cedric said with a raise of his brows.

Cedric, more than anyone, knew how to see the good in people. And Cedric, now, voiced doubt for the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

“There’s just something different,” she exhaled, feeling far too guilty to hold her friend’s gaze.

“I see that now,” Cedric agreed. “I do.”

She blinked up curiously at him.

There was an eerie silence. Aside from the faint chirping of crickets, the rustling of the flora and fauna upon the stone walls, and the gentle crackles of the dying fire, the only thing to be heard was her own faltering breath.

“But not about him,” he said. “About you.”

Her heart sank.

“I see it, you know?” he murmured lowly. “I see the way you look at him.”

“Ced-” she tried.

But he wasn’t having it.

“And I know in that… in that look, you know?” he continued. “There’s something different.”

Her heart was racing now. Cedric had never talked like this to her before, and the feeling was one she was unfamiliar with. And then there was the way he was looking at her, which hurt. It hurt because he was hurting. It hurt because she didn’t know why it hurt him. And then, this certainly wasn’t a revelation the girl had either expected or wanted to be confronted with, of course. But more to the point, to have it told to her like this, by the person she loved most in the world, was too much.

“How would you know that, Ced?” she murmured, the sound of hot blood in her ears making her dizzy.

“Because,” he started.

Then he stopped. His lips quivered and his lashes fluttered, a tell-tale sign that this next act was going to injure him further, that his next words weren’t ones he could take back.

“Because it’s how I look at you.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Sessions: Captain Cold

These vignettes, and, more specifically, the characterization of Dr. Hugo Strange, are based on the wonderful Arkham Files YouTube videos produced by Mr. Rogues.

Here's his channel:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyxNOHiNclZlVpeRhYV2QRQ

Since I am a huge Flash nerd, I decided to use this idea as a jumping-off point to explore how the Rogues would respond to therapy sessions. Again, all credit to the basic format goes to Mr. Rogues.

Not everything Dr. Strange says should be taken as truth; his bias against costumed vigilantes affects most of his interviews with the patients.

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Leonard Snart, also known as Captain Cold. The patient displays a number of antisocial tendencies, but no formal diagnosis has ever been given to him, and since he arrived at Arkham only a few days ago, I have not had the time to give him a complete psychological examination. Session One. Good day, Mr. Snart.  

Capt. Cold: Len. 

Hugo Strange: Pardon? 

Capt. Cold: Just call me Len, Doc. I ain’t the type to stand on formalities. 

Hugo Strange: Very well, then. (Pause) So, Leonard-

Capt. Cold: Not Leonard, Len. 

Hugo Strange: I take it you’re not especially fond of your given name? 

Capt. Cold: Believe me, Doc, if your name was ‘Leonard Snart’, you wouldn’t be fond of it, either. 

Hugo Strange: Fair enough. So, Len, what exactly influenced you to put on a parka and go running around robbing banks and jewelry stores with a freeze ray?

Capt. Cold: It ain’t a freeze ray, it’s a cold gun. 

Hugo Strange: Besides semantics, what is the difference? 

Capt. Cold: Mr. Freeze-you got him locked up somewhere in this loony bin, right?- has a freeze ray. It shoots ice. Me? I’ve got a cold gun. My gun negates thermal motion. Stops protons and electrons dead in their tracks. People too. Even the Flash slows to a crawl when I hit him with it. 

Hugo Strange: (Surprised; a bit skeptical) Do you mean to say that you have invented a weapon that can create temperatures of absolute zero? 

Capt. Cold: Yep. And I did it years before that lovesick freak got turned into a popsicle man. 

Hugo Strange: Your records indicate that you dropped out of high school at the age of fourteen, Len. How could you possibly have the requisite knowledge to create such a weapon? Are you even familiar with James Prescott Joule or J.J. Thomson? 

Capt. Cold: Who? 

Hugo Strange: J. J. Thomson is the man who discovered the electron. James Prescott Joule is the scientist who discovered the First Law of Thermodynamics. If what you’re saying is true, you managed to exceed the wildest dreams of either of these illustrious men, without even knowing of them or their theories. 

Capt. Cold: Huh. Guess I did. Well, how about that?

Hugo Strange: How could you possibly have managed this, Len? 

Capt. Cold: Just ‘cause I’m trailer trash don’t mean I’m stupid, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: Clearly not. So, how did you do it? 

Capt. Cold: Sorry, Doc. Trade secret. 

Hugo Strange: Len, we gave you a number of psychological and intelligence tests upon your admittance to Arkham Asylum, and-

Capt. Cold: (Cutting him off) About that-what’m I doin’ in this loony bin, anyhow? I ain’t crazy, and even if I were, I’m from Central City. That’s a thousand miles away from Gotham. 

Hugo Strange: A few weeks ago, Iron Heights Penitentiary’s southwestern wall was destroyed in a mysterious accident. As a result, it is currently incapable of holding supercriminals, metahuman or otherwise, and you and your cohorts had to be housed somewhere. Through a series of political and judicial decisions that I confess make as little sense to me as they probably do to you, all of you so-called “Rogues” were transferred to Arkham Asylum until such time as Iron Heights is properly rebuilt. 

Capt. Cold: I get havin’ to send us someplace else if Iron Heights is destroyed, but...I ain’t insane. Why not send me to Blackgate instead of the loony bin? 

Hugo Strange: Many people are of the opinion that anyone who puts on a silly costume in order to commit crimes is insane by definition, Len. 

Capt. Cold: That include you, Doc?

Hugo Strange: Whether or not you are insane in the legal sense of the term is not for me to decide, Len. That being said, I do believe that your decision to commit crimes in such a...theatrical...manner indicates some level of emotional disturbance. 

Capt. Cold: Hey, Doc, you’re the expert on this stuff, not me. 

Hugo Strange: In that case, why don’t we return to the subject of your astonishing invention? 

Capt. Cold: I’m stuck in the loony bin anyway. Might as well. 

Hugo Strange: Can you please refrain from describing this facility as a “loony bin”, Len? The term is pejorative, both for the staff who work here and the other patients who live here.

Capt. Cold: Pejorative? What’s that mean, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: It means that it is rude. Describing the mentally ill as “lunatics” is unkind and unscientific. 

Capt. Cold: Whatever you say, Doc. Whatever you say. 

Hugo Strange: (Coughs) As I was saying, when you arrived at the asylum, we gave you a number of psychological and intelligence tests. While your scores in the area of mathematics were unusually high, especially for someone who never finished high school, your literacy scores were abysmal. You are thirty-eight years old, but you read at the level of the average six-year-old. 

Capt. Cold: Well, we can’t all have your fancy education, Doc. What’s my reading ability got to do with my cold gun? 

Hugo Strange: I find it difficult to believe that a high school dropout-a high school dropout, moreover, who can barely read-would be able to invent a gun that can produce absolute zero on his own. 

Capt. Cold: Are you callin’ me a liar? 

Hugo Strange: Not necessarily, Len. What I am saying is that I do not believe that the Cold Gun was created in the way that you may believe that it was. 

Capt. Cold: Oh, so you ain’t callin’ me a liar-you’re callin’ me crazy. 

Hugo Strange: I did not say that either, Len. 

Capt. Cold: You didn’t have to, Doc. I may be a redneck high-school dropout, but I ain’t survived as long as I have by not knowin’ when people are bad-mouthin’ me. 

Hugo Strange: Len, I am not bad-mouthing you. I am trying to help you.

Capt. Cold: Sure you are.  

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Not everyone is looking to take advantage of you, Mr. Snart! 

Capt. Cold: Funny. Hasn’t been my experience, Doc. (Pause) Look. I ain’t mad, Doc. If I had a buck for every time somebody called me trailer trash or a dumb thug or a stupid hick, I wouldn’t need to rob no more banks. You ain’t said nothin’ I haven’t heard a million times before. But I want you to know this: I invented my cold gun, and I did it by myself. I. Ain’t. Stupid. 

Hugo Strange: (Looking to change the subject) Len, I never said that you were unintelligent. In fact, your criminal history makes it quite clear that you are an effective, pragmatic operative. An unintelligent man could never have organized the only successful costumed criminal combine in the nation. Every other group of costumed criminals has folded within a few months at most, usually due to interpersonal tensions, but you have somehow managed to keep your little group together for over a decade. What is it you call yourselves, again?

Capt. Cold: The Rogues. 

Hugo Strange: That’s right. The Rogues. Now tell me, Len, what exactly is the secret to your group’s...ah...success? 

Capt. Cold: (Amused) You plannin’ to start a costumed gang, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: Certainly not. I am simply curious. It isn’t often that I get the opportunity to interview criminals from outside of Gotham’s borders. 

Capt. Cold: It ain’t that complicated, Doc. The reason we’ve held together for so long is ‘cause we got an unspoken code. We watch one another’s backs to the end. Nobody gets left behind; everybody gets an equal share. 

Hugo Strange: (Surprised) Are you implying that you are...friends...with your Rogues? 

Capt. Cold: You think I’d trust people I hate to watch my back?

Hugo Strange: Admittedly, that wouldn’t make much sense...it’s just that I was under the impression that you were the leader of the group.

Capt. Cold: I am. 

Hugo Strange: Most gang bosses I know keep the majority of the profits from their crimes for themselves.Why don’t you? 

Capt. Cold: ‘Cause we’re a team. We do equal work; we get equal rewards. 

Hugo Strange: A surprisingly admirable sentiment for a common thief. 

Capt. Cold: (Proudly) There ain’t nothin’ common about me, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: (Sigh) That’s certainly true, Len. (Pause) On the subject of things that are not common, why the parka and the silly goggles? 

Capt. Cold: Practicality. Parka keeps me warm; goggles help focus my vision and keep me from bein’ blinded by the flare of my own cold gun. 

Hugo Strange: I see. (Pause) And why call yourself “Captain Cold”? After all, you aren’t really a Captain of anything. 

Capt. Cold: I’ll admit, it ain’t the most creative name in the world...but anything’s better than “Leonard Snart”. 

Hugo Strange: Why not just change your name, then? Why take up a ridiculous costumed alias?

Capt. Cold: Because I’m not just an ordinary thug. Leonard Snart is ordinary; boring…..but Captain Cold? Captain Cold is cool.

Hugo Strange: Was that a...pun?

Capt. Cold: What can I say? I admit they’re dumb, but old habits die hard. 

Hugo Strange: And the Flash had nothing to do with your decision to put on a costume and call yourself by a silly, alliterative name while committing crimes? 

Capt. Cold: The Flash? Why would he have anything to do with it? 

Hugo Strange: I was under the impression that the Flash was your arch-enemy. 

Capt. Cold: (Laughs) Arch-enemy? What is this, a Saturday morning TV show? 

Hugo Strange: The Central City papers make quite a big deal of your rivalry with the so-called “Scarlet Speedster”. 

Capt. Cold: Look, the Flash is basically a cop. Sure, he’s a cop with superpowers, and he’s good for sharpening our wits, but at the end of the day, he’s just an obstacle to our getting the score. 

Hugo Strange: Then you don’t view your battles with him as some epic confrontation between ideologies? 

Capt. Cold: Why would I do that? Ideologies don’t pay the grocery bills, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: And you haven’t dedicated your life to proving your superiority over him once and for all? 

Capt. Cold: No. I fight the Flash for the same reasons I fight the cops: I want to get rich, and he’s standing in my way. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.

Hugo Strange: So the Flash is nothing special to you?

Capt. Cold: I didn’t say that. Like I said, he’s good for sharpening the wits. I wouldn’t be half as successful as I am if he weren’t around to keep me and the guys on our toes, and yeah, it’d be neat to finally get the victory over him once and for all...but really, he ain’t so different from us. He’s just another guy workin’ a nine-to-five, tryin’ to provide for his family. I don’t like him-he’s a stuck-up, self-righteous prig sometimes-but he’s a good person. He’s not a superhero ‘cause he wants hero-worship. He actually wants to help people. He’s even helped me, and I make a career out of trying to freeze-dry him. You gotta respect a guy like that. 

Hugo Strange: You actually see the Flash as a man?

Capt. Cold: What else would I see him as? A Martian? ‘Cause I’ve seen Martians, and I can tell you, the Flash ain’t green enough to be one.

Hugo Strange: It’s not that. It’s just that I’ve spent so much time with the patients who view Bruce Wayne, formerly the Batman, as some sort of supernatural entity or as a grand opposite in a never-ending conflict between order and chaos that it’s rather...odd to listen to a costumed criminal who claims to view their local costumed vigilante simply as a person. 

Capt. Cold: Man, you have got to get out more. 

Hugo Strange: (Coldly)  I don’t recall requesting life advice from you, Mr. Snart. 

Capt. Cold: Well, you should take it anyway. Ain’t often I give stuff away for free. 

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed) This session is not about me, Mr. Snart. It’s about you. 

Capt. Cold: What else do you wanna talk about? I’m not stupid, I’m not creepily obsessed with the Flash, I don’t butcher people for fun, and I don’t have any weird hang-ups about dead relatives or riddles or plants or dolls or jokes or the number two. I’m not a good guy, but I think I’m a pretty normal guy, all things considered. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Snart, no one puts on a costume without some sort of psychological disturbance. Even if the Flash was not in some way responsible for your decision-something which I am not yet fully convinced of-no rational human being would do such a thing. I just need to find out what your disturbance is. (Pause) Perhaps it began in your childhood, Mr. Snart? 

Capt. Cold: (Icily) My childhood is none of your business. 

Hugo Strange: I am your psychologist, Mr. Snart. That makes it my business. (Pause) Let’s see. Your file says that you were born to Lawrence Snart, a forty-year-old police officer who was kicked off the force for public drunkenness and suspected corruption, and Shirley Snart, a fifteen-year-old high school dropout. You and your family lived in a dilapidated trailer park, and your father was a known alcoholic who drank away your family’s welfare money. Five years after you came along, your younger sister, Lisa, was born...and your mother ran away, never to be seen again. The neighbors called the police because of domestic disputes between her and your father no less than thirteen times in five years, which leads me to suspect that she was spurred to leave the family because of her husband’s abuse. You were left to raise your sister, essentially on your own, at five years old, and you were effectively the head of the household from that point on. You never had a childhood, Mr. Snart. 

Capt. Cold: Don’t you talk about my sister!

Hugo Strange: I take it that you’re close to her? Understandable, I suppose, given that you grew up with her in an abusive household. Your grandfather, who drove an ice cream truck, did his best to protect you and your sister from your father’s cruelty, but he was old and in poor health, and he died when you were only twelve years old. You never got over the loss, and your father’s abuse only got worse as you and your sister got older. When you turned 14, you dropped out of high school; you then worked a number of odd jobs to support yourself and your sister. However, shortly after you turned 18, you and your father got into a dreadful argument, one that ended with you running away from home and leaving your little sister alone with your father. After that, you eventually fell into a life of petty crime. 

Capt. Cold: I...I had no choice. If I hadn’t left, he would’ve killed me! 

Hugo Strange: I am not blaming you for choosing to run away, Mr. Snart. You were an abused child with very few options available to you. 

Capt. Cold: (Quietly) I could’ve taken her with me. 

Hugo Strange: And why didn’t you? 

Capt. Cold: ‘Cause I was an 18-year-old dropout. Nobody was gonna give me custody of my sister...and besides, I’d started hangin’ out with dangerous people. I...I didn’t want her to get hurt. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, she would have been in danger no matter what you had done. 

Capt. Cold: It don’t matter! I’m her big brother! I was supposed to protect her! 

Hugo Strange: (Coming to a realization) And because you weren’t able to protect her from your father as a boy, you’re trying to make up for it now by becoming this “Captain Cold”; a larger-than-life persona that can do all the things you weren’t able to do as a child. You’ve made yourself too powerful and dangerous for anyone to threaten, and you’ve made a surrogate family for yourself and your sister. That’s why the Rogues are so successful...it’s because they aren’t really a gang at all. They’re your family. Isn’t that right, Mr. Snart? 

Capt. Cold: (Sarcastically) An’ I suppose the fact that my grandpa drove an ice cream truck somehow subconsciously influenced my decision to become Captain Cold? 

Hugo Strange: (Aware of the sarcasm, but ignoring it)  That’s perhaps a bit of a stretch, but it isn’t impossible. 

Capt. Cold: I don’t believe this….

Hugo Strange: Don’t be afraid, Mr. Snart. Admitting you have a problem is difficult, but it’s also the first step on the road to recovery. 

[blackwidowmarshal123]

I’ve been trying to wean off of overdosage of Napoleonic warfare and fandom, so I could go for a fresh start upon a new subject. I decided that I’d go for something related to my Muslim heritage and relevant to me as a woman, since I really love the idea of women soaring through the male dominated world. So here it is!!

Razia Sultan: The First and Last Woman Muslim Ruler of the Indian Subcontinent

Sultan Raziyyat-Ud-Dunya Wa Ud-Din, or also referred to as Razia Sultan was known as the first and last female Muslim Ruler of the Delhi Sultanate. She was born in 1205 into the household of Shams-us-din Iltutmish, a Mameluke Sultan, and a former slave under Qutb-ud-din, who had risen to the post of a provincial governor in Delhi. Turkan Khatun was her mother.

Razia was not like most women. Razia grew up under the influence of leading a man’s life out in the world, instead of being shut away into harems and living behind the purdah, the separation of women from men using rooms or curtains.

Unlike most Sultans, her father ensured great qualities in all his children, including Razia. Razia trained in archery, martial arts, and administration.

Ascension

Sultan Iltutmish had longed for his eldest Nasiruddin Mahmoud to be his successor, which unfortunately didn’t work out. He had died in 1229 mysteriously.

However, after Iltutmish's death, the nobles unanimously appointed his son Ruknuddin Firuz as his successor, who was Razia’s half-brother, and the son of Shah Turkan, Iltutmish’s lover. Proven to be an incapable and irrational ruler, this gave Razia a chance to prove herself. During a rebellion against Ruknuddin, Razia instigated the general public against Shah Turkan. He was deposed in 1236, six months after his rule. After the assassination of Ruknuddin and his mother, the throne was finally able to be taken by its rightful ruler.

Razia rose to the throne as Jalâlat ud-Dîn Raziyâ, after the assassination of her half-brother Ruknuddin and Iltutmish’s widow Shah Turkan after six months of his rule. Razia's ascension to the throne of Delhi was unique not only because she was a woman, but also because the support from the general public was the driving force behind her appointment.

Four Turkic nobles had joined with an army officer and decided to rebel against Razia’s ascension. As a result, she decided to seek help from the governor of Awadh, who was then captured by one Turkic nobles forced and killed in captivity. Razia then led an army out of the fortified city of Delhi to fight the rebels, and set up a camp on the banks of the Yamuna River. After a few skirmisher losses, tow of the rebel leaders joined Razia. They both had a discussion with her to capture the other rebel leaders. The other two Turkic nobles were arrested and executed. But the rebel officer escaped and hid in the Sirmaur Hills until his death.

Reign 1236-1240

She appeared in court without veil and in men’s attire. She had issued coins in her name.

Throughout her reign, she faced lots of opposition from Turkic nobles in her court. Being aware of this, she appointed several non- Turkic nobles in high positions, which further created more opposition from her foes.

Razia appointed Malik Qutubuddin Hasan Ghuri to the newly created office of the army. Razia's first military campaign directed at non-rebels was an invasion of Ranthambore, whose Chahamana ruler had asserted his sovereignty after Iltutmish's death. Razia directed Ghuri to march to Ranthambore: he was able to evacuate the Turkic nobles and officers from the fort, but was unable to subjugate the Chahamanas. The Chahamanas, in alliance with the Mewatis, captured a large part of present-day north-eastern Rajasthan, and carried out guerilla war around Delhi. Razia also sent a force to re-assert Delhi's control over Gwalior, but this campaign had to be aborted.

The Shias had revolted against the Sultanate, but the rebellion was suppressed. One major incident occurred, when the Shia Qarmatians carried out an attack on the Jama masjid in Delhi. The Qarmatian leader Nuruddin Turk had earlier condemned the Sunni, Shafi‘i, and Hanafi doctrines, and had gathered nearly 1,000 supporters from Delhi, Gujarat, Sindh, and the Doab. On 5 March 1237, he and his supporters entered the mosque, and started killing the Sunnis assembled there for the Friday prayers, before being attacked by the citizens.

In 1238, Malik Hasan Qarlugh, the former Khwarazmian governor of Ghazni, faced a Mongol threat, and sent his son to Delhi, probably to seek a military alliance against the Mongols. Razia received the prince courteously, assigned him the revenues of Baran for his expenses, but refused to form an alliance against the Mongols.

Overthrow

The Turkic nobles wanted her to be a figurehead, but she asserted herself in her own power. By 1237–1238, she had started issuing coins solely in her own name. Razia appeared in front of her citizens in traditional male attire and rode elephants in the streets of Delhi like a typical Sultan.

In 1238–1239, Malik Izzuddin Kabir Khan Ayaz – the governor of Lahore – rebelled against Razia, and she marched against him, forcing him to flee to Sodhra. However, the area beyond Sodhra was controlled by the Mongols, yet Razia continued to pursue him. Izzuddin was forced to surrender and accept Razia's authority once again. Razia treated him leniently: she took away the iqta of Lahore from him, but assigned him the iqta of Multan, which Iltutmish had assigned to Ikhtiyaruddin Qaraqash Khan Aitigin.

Razia started showing favors to Ikhtiyaruddin Altunia, appointing him the iqta of Tabarhinda. However, him and another leader conspired to overthrow her, while she was away on her Lahore campaign. Once learning of this conspiracy, Razia marched towards Tabarhinda ten days later. The rebel forces imprisoned her.

Once news of her arrest reached Delhi, the Turkic nobles appointed Muizuddin Bahram, another son of Iltutmish. However, this Sultan was not the fairest. He had a former Ikhtiyaruddin Aitigin assassinated, who was supposed to handle affairs of the state. After hearing upon Razia’s return with her new husband, he led a rebel force against their’s. Altunia and Razia were forced to retreat to Kaithal.

Marriage and Relationships

She married, Ikhtiyaruddin Altunia in 1240, who was one of her enemies who sought to initially overthrow her in Tabarhinda. He and the rebel forces had her arrested.

The idea of the marriage came from the overthrow of Razia, after seeing disadvantages of the Delhi Sultanate, who failed to hold the kingdom together. Altunia lost all hope of realizing any benefits from Razia's overthrow, and decided to ally with Razia. Razia also saw this as an opportunity to win back the throne, and married Altunia in September 1240.

Razia also had a lover before her marriage, an Abyssinian slave named Yaqut.

She had no children in the marriage.

Death

Razia died in October 15, 1240 alongside her husband Altunia, after being deserted her soldiers, and from being assassinated by a group of Hindus.

Books

Jamila Brijbhushan, Sultan Raziya, Her Life and Times: A Reappraisal

Films and T.V. Shows

Kamal Amrohi’s Razia Sultana, 1983

Lead actress Hema Malini playing Razia Sultan.

Zee T.V. Series, Razia Sultan, 2015

This poster is in German.

[princessofprocrastination]

Incapable Of Love (Corpse Husband)

MASTERLIST

summary : corpse hasn’t been in a relationship for a while. he thought he was ready when he met you, but now he’s not so sure anymore. (a dash of sykkuno)(angst)

a/n : dude i spent three whole days writing this and maybe i went too far, it’s so long. anyways, enjoy. this might not be the only part, please tell me if you want a continuation and tell me who you want yourself to end up with. 

warning : a very long story, and a whole lot of heartbreak. 

you were semi wild in highschool. no, you weren’t a party goer, you didn’t even start drinking till you reached twenty-one, but you didn’t have a hard time finding a boyfriend. although you never ha a hard time moving on, you are still a virgin, and you are proud to say that. 

your mother always told you to have fun while you were young, and never to feel deprived of the little things like going to clubs, this way, you would settle down and never feel the need to go back to the party phase ever again when you’re married and have kids. 

truth be told, you never thought about wanting kids. while every one of your friends spoke about their dream lives with kids, you never saw yourself with a child. 

you never took dating in highschool seriously. no one does. you did it to have fun. this was because you were in a very abusive relationship early on your teenage days. 

you were too young and naive to say anything when your then boyfriend would hit you, since he was much older than you, which was completely legal as you two weren’t doing anything sexual. 

it started small, just loud screaming or he would get in front of your face. then, he would scream at you while holding your face in one of his hands tightly, which would leave red finger marks all over your cheeks. it didn’t take long till he fully hit you, grabbing your hair and banging it on the wood table. 

it took you almost risking your life for your friends to find out what was happening and reporting him to the police. 

the amount of head injury you took caused a lot of trauma, but you still pushed through and didn’t let it get to you. your friends often called you a ray of sunshine although you dress the opposite. 

you would call yourself lucky. lucky that you found happiness in your job, that you weren’t stuck on a boring desk job. you were lucky to have started youtube. 

your friends would tell you that you deserved the success and fame that youtube had brought you, to keep going and not to let your actual supporters down whenever the hate would come up.

then, quarantine started. which somehow made your channel grow even bigger. also, this meant that you had time to just do better in creating content. 

one of your subscribers had commented about someone by the name of “corpse husband”. 

you had never heard of this name before, which made you more curious, but you never looked into it. 

corinna kopf, had brought you into the idea of streaming in your free time. and since you grew up playing minecraft, you started streaming your minecraft gameplays. 

soon enough, you made new friends and was invited to play among us, a really popular game during quarantine. 

there is where you found out who corpse husband actually is. 

streaming, you joined the discord call. your facecam directly showing your face and your background being your newly cleaned bedroom. 

“this is y/n, she makes one hell of an imposter,” corinna says to the rest of the people in the discord call. 

you blushed, not expecting the attention when you just joined in. 

felix, who goes by the name pewdipie introduces the rest of them to you. 

“and corpse is here too, his name had been popping a lot up in your comment section.” felix said to you. 

“actually, i was about to ask about that.” you replied. confused on why the rest of them were teasing you too. 

“let’s just say, a certain deep voice man had been simping for you recently.” valkyrae told you. 

“awh, that’s sweet, i’ve never had anyone simped for me before.” i said, smiling t myself. 

it took approximately three seconds for your stream comments to be filled with “i simped for you way before he did.” or “i simped since you started your channel” 

you laughed, you were expecting this. 

“okay, i’m guilty of that.” the man itself said. 

that was how your friendship started, which soon continued into a relationship. 

you weren’t even sure how you were capable of finding such a man. he takes good care of you, making sure you ate your medicine at the right time. to which you would remind him to take his, too. 

he’s a respectful man, always making sure he didn’t accidentally go above your boundaries. 

before the both of you were official, you made sure he knew about your past trauma, that’s you were sensitive to a lot of noises. screaming, glasses breaking, even the sound of people clapping. 

months go by and you both are going strong. you are usually at his house more than you are at your own. today was no exception. 

you came back to corpse’ place after filming a video with another fellow youtuber. you didn’t have the best of days. the person you were collaborating with turned out to be a pretty creepy person. 

he kept on asking you about personal thing like your sex life, although you’ve told him many times that you weren’t comfortable with talking about that. 

behind the scenes too, he would try to come up to you and grab your waist. you left his house in anger and rush. 

you left corpse’ apartment before sunrise and came back early enough for dinner. 

you knew that he would be streaming today, and since he usually streams late, you weren’t rushing to make dinner. 

you always had an issue with getting him to eat, but since you both are still in the “honeymoon period” of your relationship, it had still been tolerable. 

you put your bags down on the couch as you start to make dinner, not going to shower in case corpse hasn’t ate anything today. you felt bad for leaving him alone for a long period of time. 

you finished cooking and quickly cleaned up, making sure all the dishes are clean before you call on corpse to eat. 

you stood in front of his steaming room, bracing yourself before asking him to eat. although he is a puppy inside and was only intimidating because of his voice, you couldn’t help but feel scared at times. it was your habit. 

you knocked on the door softly twice, making sure you weren’t interrupting anything. 

you didn’t hear anything from inside the room. you knocked a little louder since you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you. 

you heard some clicking of keyboard keys. you assumed that he couldn’t hear you so you slowly opened the room door, making sure his stream couldn’t hear you just in case he was unmuted. 

although you two have been together for almost a year, he had told you that he wasn’t ready for the public to know, not even your mutual friends. that did make you a little hurt but you brushed it off since you knew it was going to be worth it. 

anything with him was worth it. 

“hey.” you started, making sure not to startle him. 

he put his hand up for you to see. you stopped in the middle of the room, scared that you messed something up. 

corpse clicks one of his keyboards. he turns to you slightly, but not looking into your eyes. you found this a little weird but you pushed the thought at the back of your head. 

“bub i made dinner, let’s eat.” you said to him. 

“not hungry.” he replies. 

you sighed. you knew this was going to happen. 

“you always say this, but you need to eat.” you almost whined at him, practically begging him to eat. 

“‘said i’m not hungry.” he replied to you again. 

“even just a little, please eat.” you tried again.

“JUST STOP, I’VE HAD IT WITH YOU. I TOLD YOU I’M NOT HUNGRY.” corpse screams, while his left hand banged on his gaming table loudly. 

you flinched, and slightly moved back. this brought you flashbacks to your highschool relationship. 

“i’m sorry.” you said, voice soft that you weren’t even sure he could hear.

you left the room in a rush but still tried to get out quietly. 

you could hear corpse continuing his steam. tears were now going down your cheeks as you walked in your shared bedroom. 

you sat on the bed, with your legs folded to your chest as you have a mild panic attack. 

soon, after almost an hour or two of just crying, you knew your anxiety wouldn’t calm unless you slept, not knowing what to do without someone else helping you calm down. 

you laid in bed, tucking your legs into the duvet, almost cuddling into yourself. you felt extra drained with all the things that happened earlier. you soon fell asleep, crying. 

you don’t often struggle with sleep, but when you do, it’s usually hard to take care of. these were one of those days. 

you woke up only a couple of hours later, not even making it into the AM.

you sat on the bed, rethinking about what happened. although you were very tired and in need of sleep, your brain worked perfectly fine after that screaming fest.

you got up and stood in front of corpse’ streaming room, trying to listen in whatever is happening inside. 

“i just need a little break for her, that’s all, i didn’t mean to lash out.” you heard him say. 

he’s probably on the phone with someone. 

“i don’t even think i want this relationship anymore. it’s just so hard, she has her problems too, i can’t handle mine and hers.” he continues. 

you ceased all your movements. you were thinking of talking it out but now you weren’t so sure he even wanted that. 

it took you approximately three seconds to think through what you should do. 

you weren’t one to make rash decisions but you knew for sure that you just had to leave. for good. 

you walked back into your shared bedroom and carefully and quietly packed all your things, making sure to not leave anything behind. lucky for you, you both hadn’t moved in together, you just spent your time here, more than your own apartment. 

you quietly walked to the front door of his apartment, grabbing your car keys. you stood in front of the door, sighing. 

this was it. 

finally, you left his apartment. 

-

CORPSE’S POV 

“- handle mine and hers.” i said. 

“you can’t say that, you know you appreciate her, she’s been there for you through all the major things, don’t be stupid over a small comment someone made about you guys.” sean, who i was on the phone with, told me. 

i sighed. 

“i know, but it just really messed my head up, you know.” i said to him. 

“i get it, but don’t put the blame on her. it’s already bad that you lashed out on her after she made food for you.” sean said. 

food. i’m kinda hungry now. 

the conversation lasted for a couple more minutes before i told him i was hungry and needed to eat. 

i walked out the streaming room, out to a weirdly cold living room. i brushed it off since it happens sometimes. maybe the heater broke. 

it was oddly quiet in the apartment, so i assumed she fell asleep. 

i walked into the kitchen to see two plates of food still sitting there, definitely untouched. 

i glance at the place she usually hangs her keys. 

it was gone. her shoes, gone. 

i walk in the bedroom and open all the cabinets where her clothes are usually in. they’re gone.

shit. 

-

YOUR POV

although it’s been a couple months since the whole “argument”, it never got better. 

but you’ve always been a tough cookie, not showing other people your feelings. you had always been good at that. 

valkyrae, one of your bestfriends, had made sure you were okay, knowing what went down. 

she visited you often, making sure you were okay.

remember the same day the argument happened, you met up with a creepy youtuber for a collab? yeah, well, he went on social media to call you some derogatory words. 

he even made a video saying you promised him sexual things after filming, which you couldn’t even believe came out of his mouth. 

lucky for you, your supporters never ceased to amaze you. they knew you were not that type of person, and even made sure his platform was taken away from him. 

that whole scandal wasn’t taking up your brain but corpse did. it seemed like he didn’t care at all. as if he was just waiting for the day you left his place for your own. 

that took a while to get over, and you were sure that you aren’t 100% over it, hence why rae has been helping you all along. 

only a couple weeks since the argument, you felt like you couldn’t stay in your apartment any longer. there was just too many memories of him in there. 

again, you knew you were lucky in the sense that you had the financials to move. 

this time, you moved to a house, since you needed a bigger space and you felt bad that every time your friends came over, they had to bunk in a small space you called your apartment.

rae and yourself got somehow super close with a lot of the offlinetv members. sykkuno, being one of them somehow clicked with you instantly after meeting. 

he and rae helped you move your things from your apartment to your house. 

it felt good saying that. house. not an apartment. not a place you pay rent anymore. 

you tried to get over the corpse thing, but deep down you knew your love for him would never disappear. he was one of a kind. and although he says he has many problems, you found that special about him. 

but what do you know. you can’t say much when feelings aren’t reciprocated. you understood that you were a handful but why did it have to hurt this bad. 

“hey, stop thinking about him.” sykkuno says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“who?” you asked, acting dumb.

“you know who, it doesn’t take a genius to know.” he answers you. 

dang it, he caught it. 

you looked at sykkuno. you couldn’t help but think about it at times. although you’ve settled in your new place for a while now, no more memories of him, you just couldn’t help it. 

“come here.” sykkuno says, opening his arms out, reaching out to me. 

you went to his side on the couch, engulfed in his arms. he understood you. that’s what you loved about your friends. they all understood you. 

too busy cuddling up to sykkuno, you hadn’t heard a shutter of a camera from behind you. 

valkyrae giggled silently, glad she got a photo of you two. 

she posted it on her story, captioning it, “so proud of this girl right here for being so strong. also, aren’t these two so cute.” 

you didn’t see the photo until after dinner, once all of you are on the couch, watching the voice. 

“rae, what did you do?” you asked her when you saw your twitter blow up. 

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.” she tells me, acting innocent. 

i clicked on one of the photos on twitter that had been circulating. the moment i clicked on it, i saw a very familiar pair. sykkuno and i. 

“very funny, rae.” i laughed along with her, showing sykkuno what i just saw. 

you didn’t think much of it since you two are just friends but since you saw the amount of ‘ships’, you decided to post something on your instagram 

“guys, come here, let’s take a photo.” you told them two.

you quickly snapped a photo. you made sure none of you look too crazy in the photo. 

you posted the photo on your instagram and wrote “three friends, hanging out. they might kiss. they might :)” 

you showed rae and sykkuno before you posted it. 

sykkuno laughed before opening twitter and tweeting “they might kiss, they might.” 

you saw his tweet from over his shoulder. you high-fived him for going with the joke. 

obviously you two aren’t dating. if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t completely over corpse. you have admitted it to your two friends once in a confession night during a sleepover. 

but you couldn’t lie that you had a very very small crush on sykkuno once. like come on, he’s just so wholesome and sweet, you couldn’t help yourself. 

you were proud to say it too, he was your crush and he knew that. he is very proud to say that too. 

since the breakup, you’ve had a pretty good life.

yes, you moved in a house that you had already fully paid for but other than that, you proud to say you got a new car, amazing house renovations, made a lot more new friends who support you endlessly and you even got a cat as a companion to fill the void you have for staying at such a big house. 

-

CORPSE’S POV 

i’ve been miserable ever since. i see her everywhere on the internet. 

i know she has been better off without me. only an idiot couldn’t tell that. she made a lot of new friends, got a house, got a new car. 

i’ve seen them all. vogue interviewed her. and apparently she can sing too and she’s been singing in a lot of shows. 

it’s getting harder and harder to get her out of my head. 

why was i that stupid. stupid enough to think i was better off without her. 

now when i look at myself in the mirror i feel pathetic. dishes were left piling up in the kitchen, the beds are always unmade. 

i took her for granted. 

FLASHBACK 

shit. 

did she leave? 

a part of me says that this was the easy way to let her go. letting her go without actually letting go. 

i had been dreading to talk to her. but another part of me thinks i should go to her apartment and find her. discuss it with her. 

without realizing, tears rush down my cheeks. 

i wipe it quickly, not understanding my own feelings. why was i crying when i was the one who had wanted this in the first place? 

-

NOW

i regret the time i didn’t rush to find her. i didn’t know what i was thinking. why would i make such a rash decision like then when i knew damn well how well she treated me. 

why did i have to be such an ass?

i called sean that day. he scolded me for being so stupid. i agreed, but i still didn’t make an effort to find her. 

now that she lives somewhere else, i’m regretting it. i can’t ask rae or sykkuno, knowing that i’d just get scolded yet again. they are her bestfriends afterall. 

even since rae posted the pic of you and sykkuno in your living room, i felt jealous. but i had no right, not anymore. 

then i saw your instagram story, then sykkuno’s tweet. have you moved on already? 

was i too late?

you are happy now that i’m not. you are happy doing your own things, thriving and here i was, sitting on my bed, crying. 

i remember not even a day after she left, there was a huge scandal which included her in it. i was heartbroken and stupid, not knowing what to do with the fact that she left that i believed that stupid youtuber. 

sean called me an idiot, stupid enough to believe that she would do that to me when i damn well knew that she wasn’t that type of person. 

 i felt stupid now that i took her for granted, that i lost the chance to get her back into my arms. 

but she’s happy now. and that’s all that matters. even if it’s in another guys’ arms. 

PART 2

[millenniumblog]

[ID: A chart describing the core values of each of the nine Enneagram personality types with YuGiOh characters correlated to each of the types.]

YuGiOh Enneagram Analysis, Part #1

Please note that this is the “boring” informational post about Enneagram with the Types listed and explained as well as a few other things. The next post is what has the actual, in-depth character profiles promised!

Introduction & Motivation

Over the past several months, I have been trying to analyze my strengths and weaknesses as a writer and learn more. I have been writing fanfiction since I was a little kid, making my first FF.net account in 2003 when I would have been twelve years old. Even before that, I was a lurker and wrote fics to share with my childhood best friend on paper or floppy discs.

YuGiOh came into my life at some point shortly thereafter. I know this, because I spent my thirteenth birthday in a comic book shop, mostly watching some of my male friends play the trading card game. I had some of the cards, but I was never much of a player, unable to keep up with the seemingly rapid rule changes. Besides that, I was always way more interested in the story and characters than I was in the card game. I remember I even wanted to call “YuGiOh cards” “Duel Monsters” instead to make it seem a little closer to tween-y LARPing.

Eventually, I gave up on collecting cards or trying to ply the game. I felt that while my male friends didn’t mind me being around when they played, they weren’t extremely interested in helping me learn or keep up. I felt I had other strengths, so I started carrying around a notebook even more than I already did. I started my fledgling forays into online fandom. And YuGiOh was a big part of the beginning of that.

I can’t remember posting any YuGiOh fic in particular, and I’m sure that if I had it would make me cringe now. What I do remember is reading some and also spending a lot of time lying on my bed, headphones plugged into a small purple stereo, listening to the first of the two American-released CDs with YuGiOh-inspired music on them. In particular, the last three tracks were pieces of music from the original score composed for the 4Kids dub, which is - for some reason - different from the original Japanese music.

During that time, I would fantasize and conjure my own YuGiOh plots in my head, most of which were focused on the Ancient Egyptian and more spooky, spiritual, and horror themes in the show. I was really fascinated with the reincarnation angle, though my understanding of and opinions on how that works have grown with time.

Years went by, and I didn’t think about YuGiOh much at all. Then, something happened in 2018. I don’t know what got in my head, but it was like all the joy I once found in thinking about the YuGiOh characters came back in a giddy conversation with my childhood best friend. Then, for a little while, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

I started writing for the fandom then, and after several detours, I’m trying to get back in the groove of it.

My approach to the tone of YuGiOh-fanning is that it’s a bit serious, but it’s also with a tongue placed in my cheek because of how incomprehensible or silly the plot can be on a meta level. Sometimes, it almost brings tears to my eyes by being so over-the-top about something that, in the real world, would make no sense at all. But the drama, in the context of the universe, somehow rings true.

I think that’s all owing to how most of the primary characters are just... really freaking great characters.

It has often puzzled me. Like, did Takahashi do all this layering on purpose? Is it really there, or did earnest fanon just make it seem like it? And, as a person, I am always here for a good fan-and-canon symbiosis.

This post is going to be, from here on, an effort to match the YuGiOh characters to the 9 Enneagram Personality Types. I am writing this for my own benefit as I continue to work on my pet YuGiOh fanfiction project, It’s Always Sunny in Domino City, which is a mixture of YGOTAS-vibes-and-concepts taken seriously and a sincere take on fanfiction for the actual canon. It’s dramedy about a sizeable chunk of the main cast a few years post-canon with some canon divergence such as the Memory World arc not yet and possibly never-happening. If that sounds like something you’d like, I would humbly request you check it out!

Either way, this will be an in-depth character analysis cheatsheet for all of the characters above, based on my observations, opinions, and feelings. I invite discussion, but it’s fine if we need to agree to totally disagree!

If you are interested and enjoy what’s below the Read More and in the coming second post, then you are welcome to utilize the character analyses to aid you in your own fanwork!

Enneagram

What is Enneagram, and why am I using it?

Enneagram is a personality categorization system that one might compare to the somewhat better-known MBTI. However, in the words of excellent writing-advice YouTuber, Abbie Emmons:

MBTI shows us how we behave.

Enneagram shows us what we believe.

I will be referencing Abbie’s video Using The ENNEAGRAM To Write CONFLICTED CHARACTERS and her free Enneagram-cheatsheet, available in the description of the linked video. Whether it’s before you continue reading or after, if you’re interested in writing, I would highly recommend you check out her channel!

The Enneagram system has nine basic personality types that overlap and interact in really interesting ways. It is not a hard science, and it’s not a horoscope. Instead, it’s supposed to be “based on conventional wisdom and modern psychology.” All I can say is that with every set of characters I’ve tried it with, it works! Once you get the hang of it, it feels kind of like ~✰~magic~✰~!

Below, I will list Abbie’s simplified definitions of each of the personality types, in order:

Type 1: The Reformer

The Rational, Idealistic Type:

Principled, Purposeful, Self-Controlled, and Perfectionistic

Basic Fear: Of being corrupt/evil, defective

Basic Desire: To be good, to have integrity, to be balanced

Key Motivations: Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism so as not to be condemned by anyone.

Type 2: The Helper

The Caring, Interpersonal Type:

Generous, Demonstrative, People-Pleasing, and Possessive

Basic Fear: Of being unwanted, unworthy of being loved

Basic Desire: To feel loved

Key Motivations: Want to be loved, to express their feelings for others, to be needed and appreciated, to get others to respond to them, to vindicate their claims about themselves.

Type 3: The Achiever

The Success-Oriented, Pragmatic Type:

Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, and Image-Conscious

Basic Fear: Of being worthless

Basic Desire: To feel valuable and worthwhile

Key Motivations: Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others.

Type 4: The Individualist

The Sensitive, Introspective Type:

Expressive, Dramatic, Self-Absorbed, and Temperamental

Basic Fear: That they have no identity or personal significance

Basic Desire: To find themselves and their significance (to create an identity)

Key Motivations: Want to express themselves and their individuality, to create and surround themselves with beauty, to maintain certain moods and feelings, to withdraw to protect their self-image, to take care of emotional needs before attending to anything else, to attract a "rescuer."

Type 5: The Investigator

The Intense, Cerebral Type:

Perceptive, Innovative, Secretive, and Isolated

Basic Fear: Being useless, helpless, or incapable

Basic Desire: To be capable and competent

Key Motivations: Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment.

Type 6: The Loyalist

The Committed, Security-Oriented Type:

Engaging, Responsible, Anxious, and Suspicious

Basic Fear: Of being without support and guidance

Basic Desire: To have security and support

Key Motivations: Want to have security, to feel supported by others, to have certitude and reassurance, to test the attitudes of others toward them, to fight against anxiety and insecurity.

Type 7: The Enthusiast

The Busy, Variety-Seeking Type:

Spontaneous, Versatile, Acquisitive, and Scattered

Basic Fear: Of being deprived and in pain

Basic Desire: To be satisfied and content—to have their needs fulfilled

Key Motivations: Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain.

Type 8: The Challenger

The Powerful, Dominating Type:

Self-Confident, Decisive, Willful, and Confrontational

Basic Fear: Of being harmed or controlled by others

Basic Desire: To protect themselves (to be in control of their own life and destiny)

Key Motivations: Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation.

Type 9: The Peacemaker

The Easygoing, Self-Effacing Type:

Receptive, Reassuring, Agreeable, and Complacent

Basic Fear: Of loss and separation

Basic Desire: To have inner stability, "peace of mind"

Key Motivations: Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them.

Now that you’ve seen all those, what do you think your favorite character is? In YuGiOh or anything else! It works great for original characters and even yourself and your loved ones.

The actual Character Profiles will be in coming post(s), but continue reading if you want me to explain more about how and why the Enneagram is a great personality typing system. #nonspon, or whatever.

The Enneagram Chart

Now, you could just go to the Enneagram Institute’s page on How the System Works, but below I’ll cut it down to only the parts I’m interested in and explain those in a way that helps me.

Unlike in astrology or MBTI, which are both more restrictive in different ways, the relative position of each type matters a bit on the Enneagram chart, because it can be used to visualize a lot of things about a person!

The Basic Chart

The Types are shown in a clockwise fashion with “1″ in the 1 o’clock position on an analog clock. The interior lines mean things, but I have trouble reading it without further delineation.

Centers of Response

Below are two small charts, displayed side-by-side. (If it’s too small, try right-click, open in new tab!)

The chart on the left shows the three “centers.” The “centers” indicate the first ‘processing language’ a person would use to respond to stimuli.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 respond first based on instinct (primal, gut-feeling). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the id.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 respond first based on feelings (social or personal desires, the heart). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the ego.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 respond first based on thoughts (analytical rather than emotional, the head). If you want to go Freudian, this is from the superego.

Remember that, of course, every single type and person engages their instincts, their emotions, and their thoughts at different times and to different degrees, and some of these are learned or changed behaviors. This is about what their innate drive toward that would be.

Likewise, the same “centers” can also be used for the chart on the right. You will notice that all three of these are defined by what is typically considered a negative emotion. This is because this is about a person’s instinctive, not particularly conscious emotional response when they are backed into a corner and deprived of something that is core to the needs of their personality type.

Type 8, Type 9, and Type 1 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with anger/rage.

Type 2, Type 3, and Type 4 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with shame.

Type 5, Type 6, and Type 7 tend to respond to a threat to their psychic well-being with fear.

Stress vs. Growth

We all know that there are times when a person isn’t acting like themselves, for better or for worse. Usually, “You’re not acting like yourself,” means that a person is behaving badly. Of course, it’s way easier to withdraw and bristle and defend rather than growing in the midst of adversity. However, it is certainly possible to experience character growth in response to experiences, good and bad. Unlike a lot of other personality typing schemes, the Enneagram has a way to display and predict what stress and growth do to a person.

The Enneagram never suggests that any Type is an island unto itself. Every person contains multitudes, but a person’s Type is likely to remain relatively stable throughout their lives, once they have had a chance to develop any personality at all. This means that when a person is stressed or growing that they do not become the type they emulate. Rather, they are more highly expressing that aspects of their personality that reflect those drives and desires but in a way that is either fraught, sickly, or unwell (in the case of stress), or aspirational, flying-high, and incorporating the hard-lessons into who a person is going to be going forward (in the case of growth). The latter, especially, isn’t a sustainable mode, while a stressed person can become more entrenched in their bad habits and defensive coping mechanisms.

Stress

Note the white, directional arrows. Each number has an arrow point pointing to it and an arrow leading away from it. The point indicates that this is the stress manifestation for the Type at the origin of that arrow. The origin of each arrow indicates the Type being described.

Confused? Let me finally give you a YuGiOh example.

When I was trying to identify the Types of the characters, defining Marik was difficult, because he has a “Yami,” or Dark Side, which has its own personality and will but which is not its own separate soul or person than Marik himself. Rather, it’s a kind of fantasy/magic-assisted personality splintering where Yami Marik is a full manifestation of the negative traits Marik needed to embody to survive.

So, for reference:

When stressed, Type 1 behaves more like Type 4. 

When stressed, Type 2 behaves more like Type 8.

When stressed, Type 3 behaves more like Type 9.

When stressed, Type 4 behaves more like Type 2.

When stressed, Type 5 behaves more like Type 7.

When stressed, Type 6 behaves more like Type 3.

When stressed, Type 7 behaves more like Type 1.

When stressed, Type 8 behaves more like Type 5.

When stressed, Type 9 behaves more like Type 6.

Alternatively, you can use these sequences to follow the stress lines:

1-4-2-8-5-7-1

9-6-3-9

Growth

Think of the above-explanation in reverse.

The sequence:

1-7-5-8-2-4-1

9-3-6-9

As a Type 1 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 7.

As a Type 2 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 4.

As a Type 3 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 6.

As a Type 4 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 1.

As a Type 5 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 8.

As a Type 6 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 9.

As a Type 7 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 5.

As a Type 8 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 2.

As a Type 9 grows, they incorporate more positive traits of Type 3.

Wings

The final thing to know about the Enneagram chart for my purposes is about wings. The wing of your personality traits accounts for the complementary and contradictory aspects of your personality. They are the inconsistencies that make you human, predicted and jumped in. Typically, a person is not thought to have both possible wings but one or the other. A wing is one of the two adjacent Types to yours, the number before, or the number after, and it is annotated, for example:

Type 1, Wing 2: 1w2

Type 1, Wing 9: 1w9

Link to Part 2 Here!

[writingblock101]

Heir to the Throne (Jason Todd x Reader)

Hello, I love you all so much for being patient with me! I am super excited to share this! This is a continuation to my other two part fic For the Kingdom. You don’t need to read it for it to make sense, but it does give some background. 

A huge thank you to the absolutely lovely @incrediblysadstudent​ who edited and made some really amazing suggestions. She also runs a writing blog where she writes the batfam so definitely go show her some love! 

Warnings: Threats of violence, puking 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish (I’ve missed you, my love) @mayahoelland2013

Word count: 4,800

You lean over the toilet with a groan as you retch again. Jason frowns with concern, one hand gently pushing your hair out of your face as his other comfortingly rubs your back. You pause, giving yourself a moment to breathe and spit into the porcelain toilet bowl. Jason leans over and flushes the toilet as you tiredly watch the contents swirl around then disappear. 

Sighing, you push past Jason’s hand on your back and fall against the wall, exhausted. Jason’s frown deepens, he hates seeing you like this. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, grabs the cup of water waiting on the bathroom counter, and brings it to your lips.

Your shaking hands wrap around the cup with Jason helping you tilt it, taking slow sips. As your grip on the cup gets stronger, Jason let’s go, opting to wrap an arm around your shoulder, bringing his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss. You lean against his chest, your nose wrinkling at the bitter taste in your mouth. 

“You alright?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” You respond, taking another sip of water to wash down the disgusting taste in your mouth. 

“Are you though?” Jason’s tone hardens in seriousness. “You’ve been puking for the last two weeks and you’re exhausted all the time. I’m worried about you,” He admits, pulling you closer to his chest. 

You stay quiet, staring down into the cup of water. Jason sighs, sounding irritated. He pulls his arm off your shoulder, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” He looks over at you, nudging your shoulder. You force yourself to look up at him and feel guilt pool in your stomach at the deep look of worry in your husband’s eyes. “We agreed to not do that so whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can deal with it together--” 

“I’m pregnant,” You blurt. 

Jason blinks, his face blank. 

“You’re uh….” He swallows, blinking again in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “You’re what?” 

You reach for his hand, placing it on your still flat stomach. 

“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, enunciating the two words slowly. 

“You’re… Pregnant…” Jason echoes back. Hearing himself say the words seems to break through the shock as a small smile works its way onto his face. “Holy shit!” He curses with an excited grin, his eyes lighting up. “You’re pregnant!” He exclaims, his eyes flicking from his hand to your face, his smile growing larger by the second. 

“I’m pregnant!” You confirm, your voice cracking as you nod your head. Tears of joy well up in your eyes. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason’s eyes well up as well, as he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into your shoulder. 

You hug him back, squeezing with all your strength as a few tears slip, overwhelmed by how perfect this moment feels. 

You didn’t mean to be secretive and worry Jason, but you two have been trying to have a child for a little over a year, so you wanted to be sure before you got his hopes up. 

It’s hard to believe how far your relationship with Jason has come. What started as an unwilling arranged marriage has developed into a healthy, loving relationship. You were terrified of him, only knowing him through brutal battle stories in which his triumphs were bloody and his mercy was unheard of. The thought of marrying him terrified you straight to your core and made your insides burn with anger, but Jason has proved you wrong every step of the way. 

He’s shown you his passion for his kingdom, his heart which is incapable of half-ass love, and his deep respect for everyone around him. Jason is full of passion, fire, and snark. While you two have your bad days and your tempers create blow out fights, you always find your way back to each other because at the end of the day, he’s the love of your life. 

Jason pulls back from the hug, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs wiping your tears. You can’t help but to giggle at the unshed tears brimming in his eyes. Jason huffs with a watery laugh too, leaning in and kissing you sweetly. 

You frown, and pull back, your nose wrinkling. 

“I just finished throwing up,” You remind him. 

“Yeah, I could taste it,” Jason admits with a chuckle. 

He rests his forehead against your, the excited grin never leaving his face as he runs his large hands across your stomach. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason murmurs to you in amazement, as if he can barely believe the words himself. 

You place your hands over his. 

“Yeah, we are,” You grin. 

Jason kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling you close to him. 

Long gone are the days of feeling pressured by advisors to make an heir, tense, fearful sex, and awkward conversations. You’re going to be parents and you can’t imagine embarking on this crazy journey with anyone else. 

. . . 

A week later, you and Jason are sitting in the kingdom doctor’s office. Jason nervously bounces his foot while Dr. Thompskin spreads cold gel across your stomach. 

“It’s a little cold,” You giggle, feeling a chill run up your spine as you look toward your husband who smiles back tightly. Sighing, you reach out to Jason. “You have too much nervous energy.” 

Jason takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and chuckles. 

“Yeah, I guess I do…” 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?” You tease, squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

“I don’t even know why I am so nervous…” Jason admits. “I mean, they’re in your body, you should be the nervous one, not me. I don’t even know if it’s really nerves, or if it’s just excitement. I mean, I’ve clearly been around pregnant people, but it’s different because it’s… you,” Jason rambles, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. 

“Jay, it’s okay,” You tell him, moving your hand to cup his cheek. “It’s okay to be nervous, I’m nervous too,” You smile gently. “But that’s why we’re here, to make sure everything is okay.” 

“Speaking of which,” Dr. Thompskin interrupts, moving the wand around your stomach, and points at the screen. “There is your baby, looking very healthy.” 

Your eyes dart to the screen as you and Jason stare in awe at the tiny pea sized dot hidden in the fuzzy black and white image. Usually, you don’t understand the hype around early ultrasounds-- you can hardly see the baby-- but staring at your baby, your heart soars with excitement. Faintly, under the sound of your heartbeat through the monitor, you hear another sound, thudding at a faster pace than your heart. 

“Is that…” You feel your eyes fill with tears as a smile breaks out across your face, listening more intently for the steady, thudding sound. “Is that their heartbeat?” 

“It sure is,” Dr. Thompskin smiles. 

You laugh, your grin hurting your face. A few tears slip down your face and you look over to Jason who is smiling with glossy eyes. 

“This is actually happening,” You whisper to him. 

“Yeah,” He grins, looking toward you. He gently squeezes your hand and turns his attention back to the monitor. “It is.” 

. . . 

“We need to hang some calendars,” You announce as you walk into Jason’s office, holding lunch on a tray. 

Jason stands and takes the tray from you, kissing you on the cheek. Despite only being three months pregnant, Jason barely lets you lift a finger. 

“Why is that?” He chuckles, pulling your seat out then moving to sit behind his desk once you are settled. 

“Because the advisors don’t seem to know how long a month is,” You roll your eyes.

Ever since you and Jason proudly announced the pregnancy, the advisors have practically been frothing at the mouth at the prospect of a male heir. While a female heir would be fine, she would be more likely to marry into another kingdom as opposed to expanding your kingdom like a male heir would. Of course, you and Jason don’t care; however, the advisors will not stop bothering you about the gender of the baby, which you don’t know yet. 

“How many times do I have to tell them I won’t know the gender for another month?!” You rant. “It’s ridiculous!”

The guard posted at Jason’s door snickers at your rant. You turn with a grin. 

“Something funny, Quill?” You ask. 

“Nothing, your Highness,” Peter stands at attention like the trained knight that he is. “But I think you’re overestimating the advisors abilities to read a calendar.” 

Jason starts cracking up while you sigh in exaggeration. 

“Shit, you’re right!” You exclaim, resting a hand on your stomach. “You know what will be worse? When we find out the gender, they’re going to “suggest” names.” 

“You know they’re going to suggest old names after past kings,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Like Olaf.” 

“Olaf?” You repeat back with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s name our kid after the snowman in a kid’s movie,” You roll your eyes. 

“You could give them a really intense name,” Peter suggests. “Like Slade or something.” 

You pause for a moment, knowing that name is familiar. 

“Slade like the mercenary that recently assassinated the King of Cintra?” You ask. 

“Oh…yeah… maybe not,” Peter says quietly while Jason just grins. 

“So, I’m guessing we’re not going to go with outside suggestions for names?” Jason asks with a knowing smile.

“Probably not,” You snort, resting a hand on your still flat stomach, considering various names. 

. . . 

“And it’s…” Dr. Thompskin moves the wand slowly. “A boy!” She announces. 

“Oh man,” You glance over at Jason, who’s holding your hand, his eyes fixated on the monitor. “The advisors are so not going to leave us alone now.” 

“Fuck them,” Jason breathes, dismissing the idea of letting the advisors ruin this moment for you too. He kisses you sweetly, moving his other hand to your growing stomach. “We’re going to have a little boy,” He whispers.

You grin, pulling Jason in for another kiss then look back at the monitor, feeling tears of joy well up. You can’t wait for him to get here.

. . . 

“Your Majesty,” A lady curtseys while her lord husband bows. “We want to congratulate you!” 

“Thank you,” You smile politely, resting a hand on your now present baby bump, while the other rests on your aching lower back. 

“We heard it is a boy!” The lady grins then rushes forward, placing her hand on your stomach. “Boys always kick the hardest!” She winks. 

You blink, resisting the urge to shove the woman’s hands off you, but instead stiffly smile. 

“Yes, it is. He hasn’t started kicking yet, but I’m sure he will soon,” You tell her through clenched teeth as she rubs your stomach.

“Excuse me,” Jason’s voice smoothly cuts in. 

“Your Highness,” The lord bows and the lady curtseys, removing her hands from your stomach thankfully. 

“My queen is needed elsewhere,” Jason says assertively, pulling a protective arm around your waist to put distance between you and the noble couple. 

“Of course, your Majesty,” The couple bows again and Jason guides you back to the head table, his hand rubbing your sore lower back. 

Banquets are an annoying necessity to royalty, especially when they are a king’s coronation banquet to an ally kingdom. When you were younger, you didn’t enjoy them much since your parents often bartered you out to dance with handsy princes, but since marrying Jason, you’ve come to enjoy them more. 

Any lord or prince who would hope to dance with you is sent away cowering after one look from your husband. Instead, you are given an excuse to dance with Jason all night; however, being pregnant at a banquet brought its own set of headaches. 

At five months pregnant, you’ve developed a noticeable baby bump through your dresses. Despite being the queen of the kingdom, your subjects seem to take your pregnancy as an invitation to touch your stomach without permission, give advice and tips (or weird old wives tales), and share as many opinions as they can. Although you are appreciative of your loyal subjects, you also tire faster and you have to pee all the fucking time, so your nerves get quickly shot at banquets. 

“How are you doing?” Jason asks, turning you away from any prying eyes by shielding you with his body. 

“Oh, you know, tired of people touching my stomach,” You roll your eyes. 

Jason frowns. 

“We’ve been here long enough, I’ll talk to Dick so we can leave--” 

You stop listening to Jason when you feel feel a strange fluttering in your stomach, almost like bubbles. It flutters for a moment then stops. What was that?  It didn’t feel painful, just a little strange. You look down at your stomach, questioning your unborn son then it does it again--

Your eyes widen with realization and you snatch Jason’s hand up, placing it where you feel the fluttering. 

“What are you--” The fluttering happens again, cutting off Jason’s sentence. His eyes lock with yours, looking for confirmation. “Is that…?” He trails off quietly. 

“He’s kicking,” You grin, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. 

You can’t help but tear up, this pregnancy making you so emotional that it feels as though you’ll cry at anything.

“Oh my gosh,” Jason grins, moving to place both hands on your stomach as your son kicks again. “Hey, little guy,” Jason whispers. 

“He’s definitely in there,” You smile. You giggle as you feel him kick harder at the sound of your voice. “I hate to admit it, but that woman was right, little boys do kick hard.” 

Jason laughs, rests his forehead against yours, both of you enjoying the feeling of your son kicking at your hands. 

“Everything okay guys?” Dick walks over, oblivious to the moment you two are having. “I saw another person touching Y/N’s stomach and you looked ready to bite their head off--” 

You and Jason glance over at Dick with huge grins. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Dick raises his eyebrows. 

“He’s kicking,” Jason says proudly, looking down at your bump. 

Dick’s face lights up. 

“Really?” He exclaims. His eyes dart down to your stomach for a moment, his hand raising in excitement but he hesitates, knowing how annoyed you’ve gotten with people touching you without permission. 

You roll your eyes-- Dick is not some random stranger trying to touch you. You certainly don’t mind if he wants to feel the baby. You grab his hand and place it on your stomach, his face lighting up with excitement. He waits then there’s another flutter. 

“That is so cool!” Dick grins, shifting his hand to feel the baby kick again. “You guys haven’t picked a name, have you?” 

“Not yet,” You tell him. 

“Well, I personally think Dick Jr. would be a great name.” 

“Well, I personally think you’re wrong,” Jason tells him bluntly. 

Dick squawks indignantly, making you laugh. 

“Come on, Jay, you said something about leaving?” You ask. 

Jason glances at Dick. 

“Cover for us?” 

“Of course,” Dick grins. “But just consider Dick Jr,” He winks playfully. 

Jason chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he loops his arm in yours. 

“Dick, I can think about it until the day the baby is born, but it will never happen,” Jason promises. 

Dick mumbles something about Jason being unfair, but waves you two away. 

“Come on, your Highness,” Jason teases, escorting you from the banquet. 

. . . 

A few weeks later, you’re relaxing in bed, reading the latest book Jason gave you, Catcher and the Rye, while he gets ready for bed. You feel your son kick, his kicks getting stronger with each day. You smile to yourself, placing your hand where you can feel his feet kicking you and continue reading. 

The bathroom door opens, revealing your shirtless husband who crawls across the bed, his head laying next to your hip while his hands rub your stomach. 

“He’s kicking tonight,”You tell him. 

Jason lights up. 

“Really?” He asks. 

“Mmhm,” You shift his hands to where he last kicked and watch Jason grin at the feeling of tiny feet kicking. 

“You know, we are going to need to come up with a name,” Jason says, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “This guy will be here in a few more months.” He kisses your stomach again then crawls up the bed to lay back against the pillows, pulling you against his chest. Jason kisses the top of your head, leaning over to read the page you’re on. 

“I know…” You tell him. 

You and Jason had been tossing around baby names, but nothing was sticking. Neither of you wanted to name your son after anyone in your family and no one had yet to offer a name both of you liked. Naming a person is hard. 

“Have you thought of anything else?” You ask, abandoning your book to cuddle with your husband instead. 

“How about Liam?” Jason offers, taking a hold of your hand and playing with your fingers.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“I knew a Liam in school who was a little shit.” 

Jason chuckles, kissing the side of your head. 

“Okay, not Liam.” 

Neither of you wanted an extremely common name, but you didn’t want to do a strange name either. Finding the middle ground was difficult. 

“How about Nathaniel?” You offer. 

“Well, that would depend,” Jason starts. “I like that name, but it’s kind of a mouthful, so rather he or his friends… or my brothers would give him a nickname,” Jason rolls his eyes, probably thinking of Dick’s fondness of nicknames. “It would likely be Nathan or Daniel… or Nate. Do you like any of those names?” 

“They’re fine names, but I’d prefer those as middle names,” You admit. 

“I agree… How about Taylor?” Jason offers. 

“Taylor Todd?” You repeat. 

Jason giggles behind you. 

“If you say it fast enough, it sounds like tater tot.” 

“Taylor Todd, Taylor Todd, Taylortodd, Tayortodd, Taytortot,” You start laughing. “It kind of does!” 

“So, not that one,” Jason decides. “We suck at this,” He admits. 

You chuckle, leaning into him, your copy of Catcher and the Rye catching your eye on the nightstand. 

“How about Holden?” You ask. 

Jason looks down at you for a moment and follows your eyes to the book, pondering the name. 

“Holden?” He repeats. “Holden Todd. I actually like that a lot.” 

“It would be suiting for us to name our kid after a book,” You chuckle, recalling how you and Jason finally connected with each other years ago. 

Jason grins, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your temple. 

“Yeah, it would,” He places his hands on your stomach. “Hey, Holden.” 

Holden kicks again, making tears bubble in your eyes. 

. . . 

Your pregnancy hasn’t been the worst. Sure, you had some morning sickness and been more emotional than you’re used to, but you haven’t gotten any strange cravings, your mood swings aren’t too severe, and you haven’t been overly bloated. 

Despite the relatively smooth pregnancy, at month eight of the pregnancy, you’re ready for Holden to be here. Your back and feet are sore, you're exhausted all the time, and you’re tired of not being able to see your toes. Also, you now have the bladder of a squirrel. A squirrel. You just want to meet your son. 

You’re tired of going to banquets when you’re pregnant. The elaborate dresses you have to wear to the banquets are already a lot, but peeing in said dresses every thirty minutes? Yeah, you’re tired of being pregnant. 

Just like all the other banquets, you know random people are going to touch you and your stomach, ask invasive questions, and try to tell you what to name your baby. You’re probably going to get overwhelmed by all the smells and people then get very irritable, but this is the last banquet you and Jason have to attend for a while, so you’ll put on your kind queen face and behave. 

As servers bring in another round of food, you head swims from all the smells. You grimace, trying to ignore the overwhelming smells while listening to whichever lord ramble to you and Jason. Jason wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Instead of focusing on the varied food smells melding together, you try to focus on how Jason smells. 

Focusing on the fresh scent helps some, but soon, even Jason’s familiar smell blends to the cocktail of food around you, making your head spin even more. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” You tell him quietly, rubbing a hand over your swollen stomach. 

“I can come with you,” Jason offers, taking your hand as he goes to follow you. 

“No, stay and socialize. I’ll be okay,” You promise. 

Jason looks reluctant, but agrees. You kiss his cheek and excuse yourself from your company then slip onto a side balcony. The instant fresh air eases your headache, making you sigh with relief as you lean against the large, stone railing. You kick off your shoes, toeing them to the side and out from under your long dress. Holden kicks, making you chuckle. 

“Nothing smelled good in there, huh bud?” You ask, fondly rubbing your stomach. 

You’re so excited for Holden to be born. You can’t wait to see what he looks like, to hold him, and know that he’s really here. 

You’re excited to be a parent and you’re even more excited to watch your husband become a parent. Jason’s relationship with his birth father was terrible to say the least. Meeting Bruce was one of the first strokes of luck Jason came across in his life, even if it was in the form of King Bruce Wayne catching twelve year old Jason stealing wheels from the royal carriage. 

While Jason is also excited to meet Holden, his anxiety about becoming a father is no secret to you. Despite being nothing like his father, Jason is still afraid of becoming him. You know Jason will never be like his father. Jason is going to be a fantastic dad who is going to love Holden so well. 

While daydreaming about the day your son will finally be born, you didn’t notice the balcony door open. 

“Well, what do we have here?” That voice sends chills down your spine. 

You spin around to come face to face with Roman Sionis. Roman was one of the few people you were unfortunately very familiar with prior to your marriage with Jason. His kingdom strong armed your parents' kingdom into an alliance, meaning Roman often made appearances at your family’s banquets. He’s always made you incredibly uncomfortable, even when you were little. 

“The Queen, knocked up with no King to protect her,” He hisses, taking a step toward you.

You feel your chest tighten. Jason’s war with Roman was no small ordeal. He nearly destroyed Roman’s kingdom, forcing the man to rebuild from the ground up. You hadn’t heard from Roman in so long that you’d figured his kingdom was destroyed, but if he’s at a banquet at the Russo kingdom, then that doesn’t mean anything good either. 

“So, what are we going to do?” Roman asks, staring at you menacingly. 

He takes another step. You step backwards but your back hits the railing. Roman steps closer. Your hand quickly covers your stomach, protectively. 

“King Jason has left his poor, defenseless wife out here alone with me,” Roman steps into your space, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “And,” His hand lays on your stomach, making your skin crawl. “She’s pregnant with the precious heir to the throne,” He hisses. 

Your heart races as you try to figure out your options. Roman has backed you into a corner. While you have training, unfortunately, that training doesn’t account for all the extra weight in your stomach. Your center of gravity is completely thrown right now. Any hit you try to land will be uncoordinated and likely easily blocked by Roman. 

“Well, I guess I need to teach the King a lesson about taking better care of his things,” Roman slips a dagger from his pants and your eyes widen. 

“Stop--” You say, finally finding your voice but Roman pushes a hand against your mouth forcing you back farther.

He presses the tip of the dagger into your stomach. Thankfully your dress is thick enough that the blade doesn’t puncture the fabric, but it’s not armor. If Roman puts any pressure, he’ll stab Holden.

Your arms shake against the banister, your whole body pinned by Roman’s. A layer of tears sting in your eyes.

“Sh, don’t worry,” His face hardens. “It’ll only hurt for a second. Maybe your precious King will learn a thing or two about what it’s like to lose something precious.” 

You feel him press the blade harder against you, your heart pounding in your chest. Holden kicks the hand you're holding tightly against your stomach, snapping you out of your stupor.  

No. He’s not going to hurt your baby. You refuse to let him. 

You shove Roman back as hard as you can, then throw all your body weight into a hard punch to his face. Your hand instantly screams in pain and you nearly fall over, not prepared for your extra weight to fling you forward. 

“You bitch!” Roman yells, wiping blood from his nose. 

He runs toward you, but there’s someone else tackling him to the ground before he comes close to you. Relief floods your system when you realize Jason is on top of Roman, beating his face to a bloody pulp. 

“Stay,” Jason punches him between each word. “The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Wife!” He screams. 

Roman collapses backwards, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his face bleeds profusely. Jason stumbles to his feet then quickly rushes toward you. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands, cradling your face. 

Tears spill over but you shake your head, your brain catching up with the terrifying event. Jason pulls close, holding you tight as you sob against his shoulder, so relieved that Holden isn’t hurt. 

“Come on,” Jason whispers to you, kissing your head. “Let’s go home.” 

Despite the gentleness in his voice, you can feel him trembling with anger. 

That night, you curl up against Jason, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He reaches one hand down, rubbing his thumb over your stomach. 

“Thank you,” You murmur to him, not specifying what you’re thanking him for. 

The way Jason’s arm momentarily tightens let’s you know that he knows what you’re referring to. 

“Nothing is going to happen to either one of you while I’m around,” Jason promises, pressing a kiss to your head. 

You smile, curling against Jason’s chest, knowing he will do anything to protect you and Holden. 

. . . 

A month later, you’re looking over the early draft for new kingdom policy in Jason’s office when you feel a gush of water. 

“Jason…” You say quietly then a contraction hits, one much harder than the smaller ones you’ve been experiencing all day. 

You're bent over, holding your stomach, your other hand gripping the side of his desk. Jason is instantly on his feet squatting in front of you, not sure how to help. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, helping you lower into a chair. 

Another contraction makes you grab your stomach, your eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you take a breath.  

“My water broke,” You manage, feeling another smaller contraction. 

Jason’s eyes widen at the implication, but springs into action. 

. . . 

Ten hours of labor later and you’re collapsed on the bed, your back pressed to Jason’s chest as you hold Holden close to your chest. He’s sleeping peacefully, his eyelids fluttering. You press another kiss to the top of his head, already covered in dark hair. 

“He has your eyes,” You quietly tell Jason, stroking your fingers over Holden’s nose. “And your head, full of hair.” 

Jason grins, gently rubbing a hand down Holden’s back. 

“He’s got your nose,” Jason points out. “And eye shape.” 

You smile fondly at your son, your chest brimming with love and affection.

“We made a pretty cute kid,” Jason grins. 

You turn to look at Jason, kissing him softly. 

“Yeah we did.” 

Welcome to the world, Holden Daniel Todd, you think to yourself. It’s a scary place, but nothing is going to happen to you, not while your dad and I are around. 

You press another kiss to the top of Holden’s head and feel Jason’s arms tighten around you. 

“I love you,” He whispers into your hair. 

You turn, kissing him again. 

“I love you too,” Then lay your head back against Jason’s chest. 

Jason shifts so he’s holding you more closely against him and one hand lays on Holden’s back. You’ve never felt more loved and safe in your life. As another bout of happiness warms your chest, you fall asleep to the sound of your husband’s heartbeat and the feeling of your baby breathing against your chest. 

Shout out to anyone who catches that Witcher reference. Hope you enjoyed! Request are closed until I am caught up again. I’m already working on the next request, hopefully it’ll be done sooner than this one was!

[violetwolfraven]

“You know they’re gonna get married and have a bunch of unholy babies.”

*deep breath* Here we go. I can do this.

It’s been a long time (like over a month) since I’ve put anything out, but... I’m trying. Got struck with a small bolt of inspiration and I’m gonna try to start creating again. As of now I am gonna say that requests are still closed, but I’m feeling a bit better and I think this fic looks okay, so don’t hesitate to comment with your thoughts!

Tw: implied internalized homophobia, rejection, mentioned child neglect.

...

Flynn knows that Carrie likes girls.

She’s always known. It’s obvious. It’s been obvious. Since even before the first time Ray showed the girls (Triple Threat. Triple Threat was going to be their band name after they were introduced to Carrie in 2nd grade, key words going to be—) Star Wars and while Julie was saying how cool Princess Leia shooting a gun was, all Carrie could talk about was how pretty she was.

Carrie’s favorite flowers are violets. Her favorite Disney fairy is Vidia. Her favorite Avenger is Thor. It’s obvious. It always has been.

Flynn has known Carrie likes girls... well, the entire time they’ve known Carrie. Carrie likes girls. It’s just the way things are. Julie has a seemingly permanent crush on Nick but occasionally gets another one on someone else (she has excellent, though unrealistic, taste) Ray and Rose don’t question it when Flynn shows up at their house unexpectedly, and Carrie likes girls.

And Flynn likes Carrie, not that she feels like telling her that.

Carrie, who shines like a neon pink supernova when she sings, who attacks every move when she dances, who is ambitious and ruthless and... so insecure.

She needs constant validation. She needs reassurance that people can care about her for more than just her dad’s wealth and fame. She needs to know she isn’t going to be left behind again.

She seems to like being needed, when Flynn’s mom and dad finally get divorced, perfectly happy to wake up at odd hours to marathon the entire Pirates of the Caribbean franchise because it’s not like Flynn’s dad will notice if they leave the house in the middle of the night and take an Uber to a mansion above the beach because she needs to feel seen right now.

And it’s not that they blame her for any of it. She doesn’t. It’s just... weird, knowing that Carrie needs those nights, needs to feel needed, as much as Flynn needs to feel noticed.

It would be simpler to go to Julie’s house, but Carrie knows how it feels to have the ground under your feet shaken and your family break apart. Julie can’t possibly understand that yet, so Flynn goes to Carrie.

And Carrie takes to popping in The Curse of the Black Pearl before she can even ask her to. She learns to braid natural hair and will sit for hours doing Flynn’s. She’ll talk absentmindedly about the latest shenanigans her dance class has been up to until they feel up to talking about whatever’s bothering them.

They talk about Flynn’s mixed feelings about her mom’s new girlfriend and their buttload of homework and her dad paying more attention to his car than to them and somewhere in there, Flynn realizes that isn’t just a crush. She’s had those before. This—what they’re feeling now—is love. Or... it has to be.

It has to be love because what else could possibly be this strong?

She really shouldn’t have forgotten that as their dad likes to joke about, love is bullshit.

And Flynn really shouldn’t have taken Julie’s advice about making a move on the girl they have a crush on (she didn’t even tell Julie who it was, what were they thinking?).

Because Flynn pours her heart out, says they’ve been in love with her since they were 7 (and they’re 13 now so literally almost half her life), and Carrie just stares at her for a full 10 seconds, then runs—no—sprints away.

Less than 48 hours later it’s all over her Instagram that she and Nick are going out on a date, and Flynn wants to scream.

They both keep it together for Julie, pretend they’re still friends, because Rose just got diagnosed with cancer and Julie needs them to be normal, so they are.

But the first and last time Flynn tries going over to Carrie’s house again after the fiasco of telling her how they feel, it’s a big argument that narrowly avoids waking Trevor that ends in an unholy, heartbroken mess of you don’t even like him, you don’t even like boys so why and I don’t know what you’re talking about and yeah, right, call me when you’re ready to stop pretending to be something you’re not.

Then Flynn leaves, goes to the Molinas’ (Ray makes her hot chocolate, he’s such a good dad), and pretends it doesn’t hurt until it doesn’t anymore. Until she’s angry instead of heartbroken and they’re not just angry for herself. They’re angry that things are weird enough now that Julie can tell something’s up. Angry that Nick’s inevitably going to get his heart stepped on (because he is a sweetheart, if an oblivious one). Angry that Carrie’s gone and formed her own band without what is now going to be just Double Trouble and her performances are good.

Angry that Carrie thinks liking girls would... what? Make people love her less? Make her dad love her less? Hurt her career bad enough to end it?

And she’s definitely angry that Carrie’s pushing Julie so hard back towards music, after Rose dies.

She means well, thinking what she did to cope with her mom abandoning her will work for Julie, but she’s being short-sighted about it.

Rose’s death is hitting all of them hard in different ways (Rose was almost as good as another mom to Flynn), only Carrie can’t seem to see that. She can’t seem to see that when Julie’s hurting, she shuts down completely. Stops creating music because it’s what she needs to do to cope.

And Carrie... does not react well when Flynn tries to tell her that. That conversation ends in a big, explosive fight in the Molinas’ garage with Julie caught in the middle that doesn’t stop until Ray comes out and makes them stop by telling Carrie he’s driving her home.

Flynn shoves every last bit of feelings they might have had for Carrie down and puts all her energy into making sure Julie will be okay.

They don’t miss the feeling of Carrie’s hands in her hair, hearing her voice sarcastically remarking on how Jack Sparrow is lucky to be alive, and talking about feelings with someone who clearly needs that talk as badly as they do.

It’s almost the same, once Julie feels okay enough to handle listening to other people’s problems, but...

“I know you love her, Flynn,” Julie tells them one day, months after the big fight.

To which Flynn can only respond, “That’s not true.”

Because it’s not. Not after everything Carrie said. Because if there’s still some feelings left over for that beautiful neon pink supernova demon... no there isn’t. She turned them into anger, making snappy comments about how Carrie’s a traitor, a demon, whatever.

About how she’s gonna end up with Nick and live unhappily ever after.

That not happening would require either Nick to get his sweet himbo head out of the clouds (probably not going to happen), or Carrie to get past the denial phase of accepting her sexuality.

Ha. Fucking likely that is.

Because Carrie likes girls. Flynn’s always known she does.

But she’s also insecure and aggressive and obsessed with breaking out of her dad’s shadow, and any possible threat to that dream can’t stand.

Even if accepting herself might actually make both of them her happy. Fill in some of the holes in both of their lives her self-esteem.

Carrie’s too damn stubborn to even consider it, and Flynn doesn’t miss her. They don’t. She’s not stupid enough to hold on to something that will never happen and they have moved on. Can even joke about it now.

“You know they’re gonna get married and have a bunch of unholy babies.”

...

Part 2 here cause I’m physically incapable of not writing at least the possibility for a happy ending!

[writerwrites]

Little Town Street

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: A college fling with Andy Barber is rekindled when you move back to Boston and you’re both single. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, tinge of angst, Defending Jacob spoilers / all the warnings that would go along with the series, fleeting mentions of divorce and bad breakups

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is the Week 3 prompt to the Optimistic Captain Donut Challenge created by @captainchrisbaby, @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho , and @donutloverxo​ || The Week 3 Prompt was based on  All Too Well by Taylor Swift || I’m only 3 months late, minimum || Fall dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Boston. Your heart raced just thinking about getting back to the place you went to college. The glide of the tassel across your cap and the memories of late night conversations over pizza and beer while elbow deep in a tort. You’d loved the smell of law books and the haze of the green lamps on the library’s oversized and ancient oak desks. The magic of that place was lost on you while you were there, as was the magic of the few relationships you managed to establish while getting your law degree. But here you were, the little suburban town just out of the city, boxes piling up in the empty living room as you settled into your newly single life at a small firm that liked your big New York City success. This was a needed change after a painful breakup. This was your clean break.

Covered in sweat with your hair in a messy top bun, tank top slithering up the steep curves of your soft sides while the sun kissed the back of your bronzed skin, you heard a honk at the intersection in front of your house. The unexpected sound jolted you and the heavy box of books slipped from your fingers and landed on your foot. Hopping to the steps of your new brick home, you looked over at the intersection. It was a near-accident that was the cause of the ruckus. Both cars now at a standstill at the center of the four-way intersection. It took a minute for you to process the shock as you rubbed at your aching foot, but there he was, thick brown hair and bright blue eyes looking at you through the windshield of a black Audi A6. Andy Barber.

With such a public court case and the subsequent car accident, every news-viewing American knew who he was and knew a little too much about him. The problem was that while you’d sat in your own office in the Big Apple, trying to put yourself in Andy’s shoes, you watched a person you once knew in a new light and while your now-ex kept bringing up the commentary of obvious guilt, you couldn't help but sympathize with the collapse of his life. It was too easy for you to slip into the heartache of a family stalked and ruined, a person left so completely exposed and judged by everyone that you’d trusted. It was, after all, why you’d left New York. It was a miracle you’d gotten your fresh start, the Barbers certainly didn’t. You could picture it, but you never speculated, never stayed on the channel when the case came on. Every fiber of your being couldn’t look at him, not because of what broadcasters said but because of the too real memories of a love lost.

You were the one that ended the stare-off, your foot aching more with every passing second. Jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line, you were just about to convince yourself that there was no way Andy Barber, your biggest competition in college and your first love, was outside your new home… and then you heard him say your name. God, it always sounded so good coming from his mouth. The last time you’d heard it he was asking you not to go, drunk outside the bar you’d had your first date telling you that what you two had was bigger than the careers ahead. He didn’t see the tears streaming down your face once you turned away to get in your cab. Maybe, after all this time, he thought you didn’t hear him scream your name.

When you opened your eyes Andy was there at the bottom of your driveway on that little town street, brows knit together with concern as he locked his car that was perfectly parked on the steep driveway like he’d done it a million times. “Don’t look so worried about me, Andrew. You’re the one who just nearly crashed a bajillion dollar car.”

He laughed, despite noticing how you’d used his full name like you two were standing on opposite ends of a courtroom- and maybe you were. But that laugh, the warmth of it wrapped you up and you were thrown back through the magic and memories of that romance once more. The plaid shirts you stole in the middle of the night to run to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat as you remembered how Andy had peeled you out of his shirts to warm you back up with his skin on yours, the metal of the fridge pressed to your back. Every moment with him was crystal clear in your mind the smells of autumn and taste of cider and beer when your tongues met, the feeling of his beard scratching your thighs, and... It took his hands on your chin to pull you out of the pain and want of those happier days that you’d ignorantly run from scared of settling. “Are you sure the box didn’t land on your pretty little head?”

The sound that passed your lips was practically a damn purr, you mentally cursed him for pulling it out of you with familiar ease. Opening your eyes to look up at him, you wondered if the emotions of that tumultuous relationship sat at the forefront of his mind too and if it was written on your face. “Nope, definitely landed on my foot.” Swallowing at the sandpaper in your throat, you looked at the swollen discolored mess. “You didn’t have to see if I was okay.”

“First, yeah, I did. It’s been fifteen or sixteen years since I’ve seen you. Second, I saw you hop over here clutching your foot. I can’t leave a wounded deer on the side of the road, can I?” His hands were stubbornly placed on his hips and that’s when you noticed the pale indent of a missing wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger. His blue eyes followed your gaze and he rubbed at the spot like he’d not gotten used to the absence of the cool metal. A similar thin, faded line from a discarded engagement ring on your matching finger. “I guess we’ve both been through it.”

Offering him a small smile, he helped you up and as Andy’s strong hands clutched your waist you wondered if he’d remembered just how ticklish the space between your ribs and hip were when he was careful to not touch you there. When you grabbed at the perfectly tailored coat trying to hop around the man let out an amused grumble and scooped you up. “Aren’t we a little old for grand gestures?” Your head rolled back as you laughed and he turned to get you through the door without smacking your injured foot on the frame. “Jesus are you hitting the gym and benching thick girls, Barber?”

The laughter filling the house was only amplified by his unceremonious dropping of you onto the love seat. The crooked smile looking down at you made you melt. That look, it was a drug that you’d had you first taste of in a mock trial, when he knew he’d won his case and looked back at you in the seats behind him, taking notes. “Other than the box on the lawn, are there any more?”

“You don’t have to..”

“But I’m going to and I want to. Besides, you can’t.” Andy was already pulling off his coat, loosening his tie, and buttoning his shirt before you could protest... not that you were capable of it. He bit his lip when he caught sight of you drinking him in. The slacks and the undershirt that clung to him. “Like what you see?”

“It’s rude.” You stated matter of fact, gesturing to all of him. Andy raised his hands as if to apologize, heading to the door to get to work. Closing your eyes, you could perfectly picture that one picture of the two of you at your graduation. Inadvertently, you mumbled to yourself. “I miss looking that damn good.”

If your eyes hadn’t been closed maybe you would’ve seen the way he froze in the doorway, biting his tongue before stepping out. It wasn’t until you heard the hefty thunk of a box on the hardwood floor that you peaked your eyes open. A clear sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and you bit your lip, the heat running over your body was hardly from moving boxes or the summer heat pouring in the front door. “Please tell me the rest of it isn’t boxes of books, Legal Beagle.”

Scoffing at the old nickname you sighed, “Nope, it’s just bottles of wine and liquor and pictures. The remnants that I didn’t want to break or misplace in the moving truck that came a few days ago.”

“You’ve been here for days and you didn’t call.” His tone was surprisingly wounded.

“Well, Legal Eagle, you didn’t exactly shoot me an email either.” Andy’s eyes burned into you when you used his old nickname back, but you couldn’t decipher what that look really meant. Before you could ask or apologize he was turning back out the door, leaving you there to chew the inside of your cheek raw.

Andy made quick work of the boxes in your car while you nursed your bruised foot trying to unravel the feelings bubbling to the surface of your mind in memories and regrets. When the front door shut, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, eyes fixed on the bruise while you thought about the emotional bruising you’d caused each other. It wasn’t hard to really know why he hadn’t emailed, nothing funny in the broken pieces you bother were left to pack up and move on from. When had you started crying? Cheeks wet when his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him, thumbs brushing the tears away. “Hey, if it hurts that bad maybe we should take you to get it looked at.”

Reaching up you grabbed Andy’s wrists, but you found yourself hanging there, incapable of pulling him off of you. Instead, your thumbs brushed across the inside of his wrists just applying a little bit of pressure before skimming your hands up the firm muscles of Andy’s forearms. Each of you tried to translate the signals the other was putting off. If it hadn’t been for the haze of being so close to him, maybe you would’ve had the sense to pull away. With a sniffle and apologetic smile you shook your head ‘no’- or at least to the best of your ability when he was still comforting you like no time or pain had passed between the two of you. How long had you been holding on to this first love?

This close you could see it, the little creases of age at the corners of his eyes and a little salt and pepper in his beard. Despite the way those lines seemed to crease his face like words of chapters you’d not been privy to, his blue gaze was unchanged and every welcoming detail of them looked at you like you hadn’t changed either. The moment his knee pressed between your thighs to your core you realized just how needy you were, whimpering and parting your legs as he lowered himself onto you. His hands moved down your neck to your breasts and a firm squeeze and the brush of his thumb over your nipples elicited another breathy moan from your lips. How long had it been since anyone had looked at you like that? How long since you’d gotten off?

“Andy,” The weight of his name on your tongue was dizzying, but the way he said your name back was just as heavy. You pulled his mouth to yours and he parted his lips to wrap around  your bottom lip. His beard scratched at your chin, sending shivers down your body.

Picking your hips up from the couch, you satisfied the ache between your legs on his thigh. Smirking against your lips Andy pressed harder into your core. “You missed me.”

“To the bone,” The confession passed your lips and all you wanted was for him to stay, the thought alone so wholly selfish. Your eyes fluttered open, scared that it had been poison on his own tongue, noticing how he’d pulled away ever so slightly. “That wasn’t fair.”

Though it seemed like a poor apology, Andy was already shaking his head to reassure you that it wasn’t. That quiet, it wasn’t a trait in him you recalled. His hands moved down your frame and he pulled you onto his lap, careful to let you move your legs to straddle him and not hit your foot along the way. “Did you think I wouldn’t care that you were coming back?”

Before you could answer, he stole your air again. Andy’s lips pressed to your neck and he hummed as he tasted the salt on your skin. Then he found the spot he used to always mark, that spot that always seemed to peak just a little out of your favorite courtroom blouse. Gasping, your nails scratched softly at his sides. He took it as a hint and pulled off his undershirt, throwing it at the boxes that had his tie, coat, and button up. “Andrew. I’m trying not to assume anything here but…”

He looked up at you so sweetly that it erased whatever logic you were trying to pull on him with that one dopey smile. “Tell me this isn’t home.”

“I..” Your mouth bobbed open and you looked at him with wide eyes. Did he mean Boston or this moment on his lap like pieces were falling into place since you’d left.

Squeezing your thighs in his palms he repeated the question. “Tell me this isn’t home. Tell me you don’t remember the promise you broke. Tell me those boxes with pictures don’t have the pictures of us all over this town.” Was this a call out? If he hadn’t been looking at you with such heartache you would have looked away. “Maybe I asked for too much and maybe I was just as scared as you were about the future I saw for us… but tell me we didn’t just find our time.”

The tips of your fingers moved up his chest and settled at the sides of his neck, innocently tugging at his beard. Leaning forward you pressed your lips to his forehead and slipped off of his lap though your whole body seemed almost unamused by the cruel neglect of his warmth, your legs staying draped over him and one arm still linked through his. Looking over the boxes you found the stack with the bright blue sharpie, ‘winter clothes’ sprawled across the top as it sat halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the closet by the front door. “Grab that one.”

Andy untangled himself from you with his fingers burning across your skin, reluctantly slipping off the couch to grab the box. When he came back with it you noticed a hesitant look on his face. His eyes moved to his discarded clothes and you sighed and pulled him back to the small couch. “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding my questions?” Ignoring him you peeled the box open and moved a few things out of the way while you pulled out exactly what you knew you needed. “I don’t break over honesty anymo-”

Words seemed to escape him the moment he saw his scarf from the first time he’d gone home with you to meet your family. He didn’t do the meet-the-parents charade and the relationship had been new, but yours had welcomed him in and made him want his own one day. Andy never thought he’d settle with someone else, but that’s exactly what he’d done when you didn’t call, write, visit, or move back… he’d settled. That little trip was a memory he’d revisited often in the torment of waiting for you to come back. The pair of you had spent most of the holiday either studying for exams on your twin sized bed or pouring over old photographs from your childhood. Now you could practically see the memories flooding back as he reached for the scarf and brushed his fingers over the soft fabric.

So, it was your turn for a confession, an apology even. “I remember it all. I miss it all. We may have been young, but we weren’t wrong. No one knew me like you did. No one ever has. We grew up, but you lingered here.” Your fingers combed through his hair and tapped his temple before moving down his body to his sternum, tapping at his pulse, “... and here.” Andy covered your hand in his, drawing your fingers lower to the buckle of his slacks. Your cheeks went red and you nodded a ‘there too’ without being able to form the words.

“Do I get a hundredth chance?” The hope in his eyes was mirrored in your own, your racing heart no longer felt like a warning sign.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A shaky laugh passed your lips. Andy wrapped his arms around you, tender, before he laughed too, his body shaking against yours. “Oh, this is a prank? Well, damn. That’s embarrassing.”

Andy looked at you and lunging forward, mouths ricocheting in a deep kiss, tongues hungry for the lost time. Only when you came up for air, the pair of you now buried in the couch cushions, did he speak up, “You deserve all the hell I’m going to give you for waiting this long to let me love you.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay and rub my skin raw with this beard?” Squirming under him, the pair of you frantically reached for every clasp and zipper until there was nothing left between you. His lips moved down your frame and you surprised yourself, pulling him back to your mouth. “You’re staying with me Andy Barber.” Your fingers wrapped around his length and pumped him, brushing the head of his cock against your slit, already dripping. “You’re staying so beard on thighs can wait.” Pressing your mouth back to his as you continued to tease him you whimpered, not even needing to say it but recalling how much he used to love hearing it. “I need you. Don’t make me wait anymore. I need to feel all of you. I miss-”

The begging and pawing, he couldn’t take you slowly, not yet at least. Andy rutted himself into you, growling when your tight wet heat wrapped around him. He buried his forehead into the curve of your neck as he thrust into you over and over, savoring the way you gasped at his every slight movement. Andy worshiped the new softness of your frame and none of this felt like strangers trying to figure out how to get each other off. His thumb brushed back and forth across your swollen clit and, unlike anyone else, you stuttered his name as you got closer, clamping around him, hips bucking off the couch to meet every deep thrust as he slowed his pace to draw this out for both of you.

You loved the look on his face, the way he bit his swollen lips between a million kisses left on your sweaty skin. The way he lost focus when you said his name and how he gently grabbed your chin as you stuttered his name again; so close, so wet for him, so ready to finally get off. Permission, your legs shook and you whined as he kept you right there at the tipping point, building himself up to his own orgasm while he edged you. “Come for me, lover.”

The words were so welcome, just enough to push you over the edge and quickly chased by you begging him, “Stay inside me.” Andy throbbed inside you as you pulsed around his cock, your fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as your orgasm didn’t seem to stop, the room seemingly silent as the echoing thrusts and calling out of names tapered out to the sticky collapse of you both tangled up on the love seat.

Your eyes closed, exhaustion settling in, and Andy watched you breathing. Softly, Andy nuzzled his nose against the top of your head. “If you fall asleep, I’ll fall asleep.”

With a hum you nodded, reaching up to his hand that had settled on your breast, patting it, “Would that be so bad?”

More to himself, voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him. “I can’t lose you again. Can’t lose anyone else.”

“There’s probably a lot we can’t talk about, but this isn’t a dream, Andy.” Pivoting just enough to look at him you held his hand and kissed his chin. “I can’t lose you again either. I already lost a foot.”

There it was, that cheeky little smile. You both sleepy laughed and you watched his body relax. “You almost cost me my car.”

“I couldn’t run away again, even if I wanted to.” Crinkling your nose you smiled, brushing your finger over the smooth part of his skin where the missing ring marked him. He did the same. The scarf hung over the back of the sofa and looked up at him. “I don’t want to, if that wasn’t obvious.”

His blue eyes closed, his smile went soft, and Andy Barber fell asleep in your arms. If someone would have told you that this would have happened when you left New York you would have run back to Boston and spared the pair of you a world of pain. Though you were scared of bridging the gaps caused by the many roads the pair of you had taken to get here, you shut your eyes and smile at the reality that all those roads led home- to him. Like kintsugi everything seemed hopeful, incapable of breaking like the last time, stronger and made beautiful through the healing time of quiet apologies, verbal and physical.

It had been him all along, no denying it. Neither of you would ever have to ask the other to stay again.

All Content Tags: @tom-hlover​

CEvans Content Tags: @void-hoechlin​

[clockworkgraystairs]

Letting Go

Rating: M

Warnings: Major character death. Angst. Mentions of sex. Angst. Accidents. Did I mention angst?

Summary:

Cardan thought he and his family were meant to live happily ever after.

He was wrong.

Extra comments: I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

Extra comments 2: If you’re masochist as me and wish to read this listening to some music, I’ll leave my spotify playlist “Don’t touch me, I’m angsty”

Thank you to the incredible @sweetlyvillainous for holding my hand while I cried because of this, for betaing later and for giving the extra boost to the angst. YES YOU DID, AND YOU’RE AS GUILTY AS ME. I love u. 

Masterlist   •   AO3

As dawn went on, Cardan looked through the window with hooded eyes. It snowed outside. How typical, he thought. 

Not long ago he would’ve been excited about it. The perspective of spending the day building snow castles and angels. Never a snowman, since his daughter had always claimed that was too cliché. He would mock her for it and build tiny figures around her castle. ‘The invasion of the fae snowmen’ he’d called it, despite the insistence of his wife about that being pure nonsense. 

He laid on his bed, staring at nothing in particular. From that position he would normally be able to look at her, snoring softly in the opposite pillow. That used to be his favorite moment of the day. Few minutes that he could spend watching how she slept, calm and unbothered. At least until he couldn’t help it anymore and woke her up, trailing her neck with soft and playful kisses.  

Cold sheets coiled around him now. A reminder of the empty space next to him that haunted Cardan at the beginning and end of each day. Screaming into the silence she’s gone.  

The morning it happened, Ivy wanted pancakes an old store sold a couple of blocks away. Cardan was reluctant to get up. All groggy because he and Jude had spent the night before rolling on the sheets, barely moaning in each other’s mouths trying not to wake their 7 year old. He didn’t want to get up. But his daughter was as stubborn as his wife. So Jude gave him a long sweet kiss and told him to go back to sleep while she fetched breakfast. 

He did. 

He shouldn’t have.

He should’ve gone with her. He should’ve gone instead. Or better yet, he should’ve convinced her to stay and make the bloody pancakes himself. Anything.

Anything except letting Jude go out alone. She was supposed to be back in a matter of minutes, but she didn’t. And he didn’t notice it because he fell asleep again. 

He missed the first phone call. And the second. 

It wasn’t until a tiny hand woke him up and handed him the cellphone. Frowning with dizziness at Jude’s two missed calls he was about to dial back when it rang again. 

“Hey babe, sorry. What’s up?” He mumbled, ruffling Ivy’s hair.

The voice that answered was not Jude’s, instantly startling him awake.

“Yes, he’s speaking.” Loud voices and sirens muffled the voice, making it hard to hear. “I’m- I’m sorry I’m not understanding, where is my wife? Give her the phone so I can speak to her plea-”

He didn’t record the moment when he put on the first clothes he found, nor calling his old college friends that lived two doors away to come and watch little Ivy. 

He didn’t watch for the red lights or cared if he’d parked the right way in the hospital’s parking lot. The world seemed to spiral around him, an unending parade of walls, doors, people in white or blue suits. Voices filled him with details but he could only partially hear them. Something about a kid crossing the street unsupervised and Jude running after him. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

“We’re glad we could reach you Mr. Greenbriar. It’s always better when the patient doesn’t have to go through it alone.”

“Through it? What are you-”

“I’m really sorry. The internal damage is too much...” 

The doctor’s voice faded away as they entered the room. Fighting to bite back a sob he approached the resting figure on the bed. She looked like his wife, but something was deeply wrong. Her face was awfully pale and her lips dry and bruised. Wires rested along her body. The monitor connected to them matched the aching slowness in her breathing. There was no trace of the playful Jude that teased him mercilessly day after day, stealing kisses from his mouth and knowing he’d let her do whatever she wanted to him. 

He found himself still standing centimeters away from her, paralyzed. 

The doctor leaned to touch her shoulder and whispered something to her ear. Her eyelids fluttered a moment before opening, not with the fierceness they carried everyday but tired, wandering. 

Pulling out of his frozen state he reached for her hand, covered in bandages and stroke it softly. “Jude.” 

Her eyes found him and a weak smile curved her lips. “You made it.” She said with a raspy voice. He kneeled, fully taking her hand in his. The door knob clicked as they were left alone. 

“Of course I did.” He choked out, trying to match her smile. It felt as if a thin string was keeping him together. “I’m here to take you home.”

Jude looked at him the way she did every time he promised to bring the stars down for her. She squeezed his hand with a nonexistent force that physically hurt in his chest. “You were always a terrible liar.”

Cardan opened his mouth to joke back but wasn’t able to make more than a suffocated sound. That’s when the first tear rolled down his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, opening them as he felt her thumb wiping away the wetness under them. “It’s ok.” 

The string snapped. 

“No, it’s not Jude, gods I’m- I’m...” He sobbed, incapable of stopping himself anymore. “I’m so sorry, it was all my fault. If I’d gone with you, If I’d…”

“Hey, no. It’s ok.” She cooed, holding him as he buried his face in her neck apologizing over and over. “Cardan, this was not your fault. Please.” 

He let her hold him as his body trembled with broken weeps. Cardan shut his eyes close, hoping he would open them and be back home. Not here. Not in this nightmare. They had so much to do, so much to live. He was meant to be with her through everything. He was meant to protect her. And he had neglected everything for five more sleeping minutes instead. If Ivy hadn’t woken him up…  If he’d missed another phone call… 

If he’d answered the first damn time he might have had more time. There was an ache in his chest making it harder to breathe, to think. 

They laid together for several minutes, hearing nothing more than their breathings and the beeping machine.  

“Stay, my love.” He begged, the knot in his throat making it harder to speak. “Fight. I can’t do it without you, I’m not strong enough. I need you, we need you… Ivy...”

Something wet landed on his cheek. Only then he realized she’d started crying too. “You’ll take care of her. You can, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

He felt her breathing falter and he backed up a little, afraid he’d harm her but Jude didn’t let him go. “I love you. I always have, even when you used to make my life a living hell all those years ago. I love you and our daughter so much.” She said. Cardan sobbed again. Don’t, he wanted to answer, don’t say goodbye. Not yet. “And know that even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.” 

“I know,” He whispered back, now wiping her tears away and leaning to kiss her. “I love you, Jude Duarte. You are the best gift life could give me. You saw the best in me when nobody else could and for that and everything else, I’ll be eternally grateful. I’ll... watch out for Ivy, and she will know her mom is a hero, I promise.”

She breathed a laugh and asked him to hold her again. He did, he clung to her as tightly as he could without hurting her, breathing ‘I love you’ on her hair until her hand lost strength around him. 

Until the monitor gave out one long final beep and took his heart with it. 

He’d kept his vow. He’d continued with his life, dedicating every second of it to take care of their little girl. To make sure she was happy and wasn’t that affected from her mother’s passing. 

Ivy was strong, and most of the time more mature than her age suggested. She tried to carry on as well. Even if sometimes Cardan caught her staring longingly at that spot on the living room where Jude used to sit and read his old books. 

But even now, months later, it was hard for him to get up from bed sometimes. To wake up from a bad dream only to realize it was real, he was alone. Jude wasn’t coming back.

Some nights nightmares got worse, not because his mind created new scenarios. Quite the opposite, it revived his worst memory.

Hands touched his shoulders, probably seeking to comfort him. But he barely felt them. He barely heard the nurses enter the room after Jude’s pulse stopped. 

He was aware of the uncontrollable way his chest shook between sobs. Pleading her to stay, to open her eyes just one minute more. 

Of how he clutched her hand as if it would squeeze life back into her. He felt the softness of her hair as he caressed it, clinging to her the moment the doctors tried to pull him away. The nurse started to remove the wires.

He dreamed of his throat tearing apart as he roared them to let go of his wife. Later begging to allow him to hug her for a moment more. Just a second. Just a lifetime. Please. 

Just a moment.

Cardan always woke between gasps those nights. Sometimes leading him to stay awake until morning, afraid to fall asleep again. 

It was on days like that that he closed his eyes and let time rewind. 

He returned to the year before, to the mornings when they decided who prepared breakfast with rock, paper, scissors games. 

To years before that, when still half asleep he reached for her and curled his arms around Jude’s swollen belly. Barely weeks away from welcoming their baby.

To the day when he’d held his girlfriend in his arms and waited for her to open her eyes to finally ask her to marry him. 

He knew he shouldn’t. In fact he was sure Jude would beat his ass for doing it. But sometimes he just wanted to feel her close only for a couple of minutes more. Some days he refused to accept she was not there anymore. 

A loud crash startled him, bringing Cardan back from his daydreaming. He sat up to look at the clock and frowned. It was still early for Ivy to be awake. 

He got up and walked to the kitchen, only to find the floor covered in white flour and his daughter on the opposite side with the face of someone that just got caught with a hand in the jar of cookies. 

“Ivy, what are you doing?” He asked. Gods, there was a mess. His mental energy didn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I...” She darted her gaze to the right, the same thing Jude did whenever Cardan found her doing something she wasn’t supposed to. 

He crossed the space, to crouch next to her and started picking things up with an exasperated sigh. 

She let out a breath in defeat and murmured. “I was trying to make the muffins.”

“The muffins?” 

“The muffins mom cooked for us every Christmas.” Ivy said as if he’d missed the most obvious thing. 

Fuck. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall behind him. December 24th. Fuck, fuck. How had he overlooked the date? They’d received an invitation to celebrate Christmas with their friends and another one from Jude’s family. He had intended to answer back. 

“Oh honey…you needn’t.” Cardan turned back to her and took her little hand between his.

“I know. But I wanted to cheer you up.” Ivy’s voice was low. “You’re sad all the time, dad… I thought... maybe mommy’s muffins would help.”

A pang of guilt stung in his chest. Fuck, he tried so hard to keep his emotions at bay around her. Washing his face with frozen water hoping it would take away the redness around his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and opened his mouth but no words came out so he just pulled his child into a tight hug. 

“I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted him, clinging to his neck. “I miss her too.”

Blinking back the tears, he pulled back to cup her cheeks. “There is nothing that cheers me up more than you, sweetie. You know that right?”

Ivy’s chocolate eyes shimmered as she nodded. 

Cardan took a deep breath and pulled her up so she was sitting on top of the counter. “Now, you know I suck at cooking those infamous muffins,” He grimaced. Ivy chuckled and bit her lip, totally not denying his statement. “So how about if instead of those, I prepare you my ultra special pancakes?”

Her gaze widened. “With whipped cream and fruit??”

He nodded. The excited squeal of his daughter warmed his heart in that unique way only she could achieve. 

With Ivy’s help, the pancakes were made in little time. Even if all she did was jump around  the kitchen singing Christmas carols. 

Just as he was about to serve the table, she stopped him. “Dad, can we go eat breakfast with mommy?”

Cardan paused, not sure if he’d listened correctly. “With mommy?”

“Yeah, you know, like those days when we went out on picnics.” She said. Excitement floored from every single one of her pores. “She loved Christmas, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see us too!”

He wanted to say no, not knowing if he would make it. It’s too soon, the words hug there in the tip of his tongue. But looking at Ivy and her puppy eyes, he couldn’t. 

~

Covered in scarves and warm coats they arrived at the cemetery. It was a beautiful place, if he was honest. Tall trees and some flowers grew along, giving it the appearance of a valley despite the cold weather. It looked so peaceful. Even if snow covered some parts of it.

Cardan carried a bag filled with the food and a blanket to use as tablecloth. Ivy played with the snow as they walked, and gasped at the sight of her mother’s tombstone. Letting go of Cardan’s hand, she ran towards it. A big smile shining on her face. 

He stopped meters away from it, unsure of his decision. His heart hammered on his chest and he could see the steam formed by his shaky breathing. 

Ivy turned and motioned him to come closer. 

As he approached, he heard the cheerful chatter of his daughter, making him frown. 

“...so I tried to be as quiet as possible, but then the flour fell!” She laughed and darted her gaze to him again. “That’s why daddy caught me, right dad?”

Cardan hesitated. “Uh, yeah… that’s when I found you covered in powder.”

He peered at the marble figure, intentionally avoiding the picture under the letters forming her name. 

After setting the food they ate. Ivy barely chewed her food between words, since she was deeply invested in whatever conversation she was having with her mother. Cardan just listened. She spoke about her school, her exams with almost perfect grades. About aunt Liliver announcing she and uncle Van were expecting a baby, a thing Ivy wasn’t so sure to like since that would probably remove her from ‘the favorite’ position. She talked about the blanket forts Cardan taught her to build and the new books he’d read to her. Occasionally, she would laugh as if she’d listened to something incredibly funny. 

They built a snow castle with the few snow that was gathered around, at least before Ivy accidentally threw a snowball to his chest. The snowball war that unleashed after had them growling and squealing for several minutes. It ended up with both of them lying down on the blanket, tired and giggling. 

He sat up to ruffle her hair and sighed. “It’s time to go, little one.” 

Ivy whined. “So soon?”

“We can return some other day…” That lit her face back up. “But your aunt Lil invited us to a party today. Do you want to go?”

She yelped. “With Christmas gifts?”

“Yeah.” Cardan winked. 

Once everything was back in the bag Cardan started walking, but a tug on his sleeve stopped him. 

“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to mommy?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“C’mon dad, go. I’ll wait for you over there.” She signaled a big space where rocks made an odd figure. That said, she was gone.

Haltingly, Cardan turned back to face the tombstone. 

Air seemed to have flown out of his lungs. What was he supposed to say? He looked down and shuffled his foot in the snow. His grip tightened around the bag’s handle. 

He used to spend the nights thinking of all the things he would’ve liked to say to her. But as it was, all of them apparently had vanished into the air. Should he say he loved her? That everything was okay?

“I hate you.” Was what came out. Cardan scoffed and swallowed. That was definitely not what he was thinking. “That is a lie. But I guess you already know it, don’t you?” 

“Sometimes I wish I could hate you though... Maybe it would make it easier. Because sure as hell it’s not.” His voice was hoarse. “I’m trying. I promised you I would but… I miss you all the fucking time, Jude. I can’t go to bed at night without thinking you’re not there by my side anymore.”

He paused and rubbed his eyes. Cardan flashed quick glances to Ivy, trying to find the strength. But once he faced Jude’s picture again, the pressure on his chest was nearly unbearable.

“Everyday something happens that I would like to tell you. When Ivy or any of our friends do something I find hilarious I turn to make sure you saw it too just to find an empty space and I… I hate it.”

“I hate not being able to hug you, I hate not feeling your hands playing with my hair in the morning. I hate not being able to tell you everyday how much I still love you. I hate that Ivy notices how much I struggle with it. I hate not being as strong as you were.”

He spilled the words so fast they were probably intelligible, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Ivy… she’s an amazing little girl, you know? Everyday she does something new that is clever, or brave… and she reminds me so much of you.” A sob broke through him. He turned to look at her, auburn curls bouncing everywhere. Taking a steadying breath he brought back his gaze to the tomb.

“I just hope she’s not as good with  lies or I will be totally screwed.” He let out a low chuckle. “You should be proud of her.”

Before he could say something else something warm spread down his shoulders to his arms and chest. If he was drunk he would say it resembled the feeling of a hug. The pressure on his chest slowly disappeared as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Not knowing exactly how or why, a weight on his shoulders he hadn’t realized he had, was gone from a moment to another.

“I love you, Jude Duarte.” He breathed. “You will have my heart always, and when this life ends I’ll find you again to give it to you once more.”

Giving a final look to the picture he’d been avoiding since they arrived, he gave a weak smile, wiped the tears away and turned to go find his daughter. 

“Goodbye, my sweet villain.”

A Christmas party with his family (because that’s how he considered his friends), awaited. He found Ivy marching on top of the rocks, claiming it was a conquered fae castle and she, the new Queen. He chuckled and motioned her to return. 

As they walked back to the car, she grabbed his hand and gave him a knowing look. Even when you can’t see me, I will be with you always.

The next morning when he opened his eyes the empty spot was still there. But for the first time in months, he welcomed the memories of his Jude with a longing smile. 

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[haxyr3]

Dear Eugenia, that is really out of subject but i have got a question about English. I like learning English so much and i have improved my English pretty much recently! I love learning it so much. As far as i remember, you live in Canada right? If so, here is my question:

Does living in a country where is spoken English helps you to improve your English even though you do not pay a lot of effort like you did before when you lived in your country? Does the person get use to it and can the person really understand the word from the sentence even though it is a new word? Thanks! Sorry, if there is a mistake in my English :) Your page is great!

Hi! Your questions is not out of the subject, because language learning and language acquisition are the topics that we frequently discuss here. 

You are right, for the last ten years, I’ve been living in Canada. Yes, my English has been improving since I moved here. But it is not as simple as it may seem. 

Simply living in a country where your target language is spoken won’t help. I met a lot of families that immigrated to Canada decades ago, but didn’t manage to learn English. Their children are either English speakers or bilingual, but the older generation speaks their mother-tongue and, maybe, very basic English. Those immigrants live in their ethnic communities and don’t interact with the people outside of those communities much. It is possible to live in English-speaking Canada for 20 years and never need English if your neighbours, your boss, your doctor, your priest, your bank teller and all other people around you speak your mother-tongue. 

Native-like level comes with native-like exposure. We speak Russian at home, since my husband is also Russian. Some of my classmates married Americans, and their English improved mush faster than mine. They need English 24/7, while I need English only a few hours a day. We watch British and American movies daily (of course, in English, usually without subtitles). We have no difficulties communicating with native English speakers since we’ve been working for US customers for decades. We read books in English (Vonnegut, Neal Stephenson, Philipp Dick, and others) I would say I am fluent enough, but not native-like. I still make funny mistakes that native speakers would never make.

Language environment does help. Living in Canada helped me to learn the vocabulary I probably wouldn’t learn otherwise. I worked with English speakers before immigrating to Canada, but I never needed certain everyday words, so I learned them only when I came to the country. I also learned the way people speak about things in English, the cliches, canned expressions, ready-made responses for typical questions. I didn’t realize before how much time we speak with those “fast-food phrases”, the phrases that we didn’t create independently, but picked up somewhere else as they are very common. Those phrases make up about 80% of everyday conversations. This is true for any language, just take a closer look at how you speak. As soon as you acquire that average (and pretty limited, to be honest) repertoire, you’ll speak more or less fluently and be understood by others. 

- Hi! It’s a beautiful day today! - Oh, yes, it is so warm and sunny! - Too bad it is going to rain this afternoon. - Well, we could use some rain, I think. - Right, some rain wouldn’t hurt, my lawn is thirsty.  

Typical polite nonsense my neighbors say to each other, actually signalling “I am sociable, you are sociable, we are fine, still not insane, life is normal”. The vocabulary is basic, the grammar is far from being sophisticated. All you need to learn is how to speak in different social situations. 

Second language acquisition is individual. All humans with relatively healthy brain successfully acquire their mother-tongue. However, we all demonstrate different abilities to acquire another language. The factors that may influence SLA are numerous, from how much exposure you get and how much you need to speak your target language to individual personality traits. I firmly believe (and nobody proved me otherwise yet) that if one speaks their mother-tongue, there are no biological reasons that would prevent them from acquiring other languages. I mean, your brain, once primed for using human languages, is capable of leaning as many languages as you wish. It’s a question of how much time you have for that, how much your need those languages, how much you like the language and enjoy learning it.

Case Study. I once helped an Italian guy to learn English. He believed that his brain is somehow broken, and he is incapable of learning other languages. His wife asked me to help that guy to prepare for a job interview in an international company where he wanted to work. I didn’t speak Italian, he didn’t speak Russain, so English was our only choice. We talked about things that were interesting to him, so he forgot about English grammar and everything that goes with a word “learning”, and was totally consumed by the need to convey his ideas to me. After six months of our weekly lessons, he got the job he wanted, and has been working there happily since then.  I didn’t teach him grammar, I only taught him to think about languages as about means, not goals. It worked for him, and it worked for my other students who wanted to use Russian or English to find new job perspectives, or for their academical studies, or even for their matrimonial needs.

Think about what you want to accomplish in your target language as if you are already fluent. Then start accomplishing it gradually. This is the only working recipe for SLA I know. 

Best of luck!