#and it feels like i've been believed for the first time in my life.

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[impactrueno]

I think I rambled about this in a previous ask but my personal pet theory is that he started "life" as an actual demon (Betelgeuse being the name of a star, stars often being symbolically connected with angels, demons often being fallen angels etc) but at some point incarnated into human form and died. I also have suspicions that he's found like a million loopholes in the Afterlife Law over the years to come back to life multiple times, so that the time we saw him alive in the Italian flashback wasn't even his first lifetime. If this is the case, Delores might have been specifically seeking him out, as his soul would be uniquely powerful (and uniquely fucked up) from all the living and dying he's done

Also I like to think that if she *actually* soul sucked him, she wouldn't be able to contain him and would just explode lmao

this is a pretty cool theory, especially because it's much easier to believe that an entity like that would be named Betelgeuse and not some random graverobber in medieval italy LMAO

i don't know how much of it was intentional (probably more than we think) but i love all the little connections to demons and fallen angels ugh that's 100% my jam right there. i've seen people complain that he was referred to as a demon in the sequel (by lydia so it doesn't mean he actually is one) but i'm just like hell fucking yeah he is

besides when you think about it, if one subscribes to the demon theory he wouldn't feel too out of place in the goetia... 🤔

sidenote but you know how the name Betelgeuse comes from arabic right...but it's actually an error. the original name Yad al-Jawzā when translated to a european name got the Y replaced by a B by mistake. you know who else has a misspelled name? delores. IT'S DOLORES PLEASE IT HURTS TO TYPE DELORES EVERY TIME AS A NATIVE SPANISH SPEAKER

sorry i got sidetracked but yes i love thinking of him as a demon of some sort as well lol

[girlwithadragonheart]

I need to yap desperately about one single gripe I have with this game. MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD read at your own discretion

The first half is me ranting about how much certain things mean to me and how impacted I was, and the actual gripe comes closer to the end.

I'll preface this by saying this post is about Varric's death and my rage and despair regarding it, but more so about my Rook's.

I've seen people who said they picked up on the hints about whatnot, who knew before the Fade Prison. I was not one of those people. I was so relieved when I saw him after the Prologue that I didn't think twice, because I knew that it would destroy me the second shit started going wrong.

I was already not having a good time when I started the game simply because Varric was getting older. I don't handle aging well or death, and his design showing his age, and the comments he would make about "getting too old for this" just made my heart break.

And then shit got worse. I sobbed disgustingly when that knife went into Varric's chest.

After Rook woke up from talking to Solas and she heard Varric, I was so gods damned relieved. And my Rook was better taken care of by Varric in that year she spent with him than she was in the rest of her entire life.

I cried from the end of Ghilan'nain's fight until the romance scene and on and off after that. I got so used to visiting Varric just to be comforted by his presence. Inquisition was the biggest part of my life for a year and a half when I was just a kid.

I did really bad middle school age writing for it but regardless of the quality, those characters were built up in my head becoming even more than they were in the game. Varric was my biggest support character through everything I was going through at the time.

I don't talk about it much, but I didn't have a great childhood, and I know a lot of people didn't, but I coped with it through writing and video games. Varric was the one supporting me through the abuse I suffered and writing was the way I processed how bad things really were.

When Rook was in the prison she said "What am I going to find here?" And Varric said "I think you already know, kid." I DIDN'T until he said that. The second he said that my entire chest tightened and I just said "No" out loud as I watched Rook find his body.

Now for my real complaint!!!

Rook never gets the chance to grieve Varric. They go from talking to him every day to finding out he's dead and it was all a lie. I have personally never been more fucking pissed at Solas than I am now. But Rook comes back and they have that kind of "closing off" scene with Varric's empty bed (which was so hard to go through btw). And then they fuck their pookie LIKE I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE UPSET ABT THAT

FYM I gotta find out my dad is dead and then Rook is up for boning like there's no fucking way unless it's to cope. And at least pertaining to the Lucanis romance, Rook is processing everything that happened and they can say "So much has happened, I just don't know how to feel."

And rather than getting to process that in some kind of way, the devs said nah this scene serves one singular purpose, and Lucanis says "I do" and then dicks them down.

Personally, I felt very dismissed despite being overjoyed about finally having the romance scene, I couldn't even enjoy it with everything that happened prior.

Rook deserved the chance to completely break down after everything they went through. Tbh i don't know how they kept it together. Varric said "don't get all misty eyed" and i thought to myself that's way too delicate a term for what's happening here, I was fully ugly crying.

Fuck your "I had a good run" I still need you bitch.

All this to say I'm very upset, and I'm running my second playthrough and every time I look at, hear, or talk to Varric I tear up again. Wtf Bioware.

Rook should've gotten the chance to actually talk about what Solas did to them, especially in the sense that he made them believe Varric was still there. Or at least get to properly grieve the person who was their closest friend for a long time.

I have very strong feelings about this obviously

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1369

Chapter 40:

You all turned to look at Billy, who grabbed his little spell book from his body bag. "At least we have our personal items."

Immediately, you rushed to check your body bags, all bearing similar expressions of relief by being reunited with your pendants.

You wore your own necklace, the light metal cold against your flushing skin, and adrenaline still coursing through your pumping veins. Your fingers gently brushed the three moon phases, and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath.

Wearing it, somehow, made you feel more secure and safe; a placebo effect that helped calm you down a little more and allow your head to be clearer.

The moment was interrupted, though by the sound of the morgue drawers being pulled back into place, the knocking sound almost startling you.

If that was not enough, the growing lights above you started to flicker before one shut down.

"The countdown," you exclaimed, eyes following the circle formed by the lights; while wondering how quick each light would turn off after the other.

Deep inside your instincts were telling you that the time would not last long, not as long as the other trials.

Agatha noticed that Jen was rather quiet, not panicking like usual. Instead, Agatha swore Jen was actually thinking of something for a change.

"You seem relaxed." She called her out. "Usually, at this point, you're either complaining loudly or freaking out loudly."

Jen gave her a hard look, clearly not in the mood for her annoying antics. "I'm thinking."

"Oh. About what?

"How to save your ass."

"Pardon?"

"I couldn't save Lilia. I didn't even try to save Alice. I'll be damned if I let you three idiots die."

You placed a hand on your waist as you looked at her, clearly not happy being called an Idiot or any of your companions being called that.

However, you held back any remark for the moment. It was the first time you saw Jen actually putting others above herself, when all those trials she had been selfish and the first to go when given the chance.

And considering you once again needed to work together somehow to make it through, this worked in your favour.

Of course, Agatha did not seem to share your thoughts.

"Wow. Such a purpose. How are you gonna do that without any magic?" She questioned, in the mood for an argument.

"Agatha, that's enough," you said, no authority coming from your voice much to your dismay.

Your body was still on edge, and it was taking a lot of mental training to remain calm and try to think of a solution, rather than letting your emotions and your haunting memories get the best of you.

Thankfully, you were not the only one ready to defend Jen.

"Y/N is right!" Billy said, putting his foot down. "She saved you from poisoning. She saved all of us. All while bound." He looked at Jen and offered a weak smile. "Maybe you don't need it."

Jen wanted to believe him, but she had a hard time too. Not that you blamed her. Your magic might be sort of a curse and a blessing to you, but you can not imagine your life without it.

"Well, if that's true, that means I've wasted the last century of my life." Jen commented. "That doctor in Boston didn't take anything from me. I gave it up."

It was then that you all noticed Agatha fidgeting faintly by tuning her fingers together and avoiding eye contact.

Unlike the others, you knew she acted that way when she knew something but refused to tell. Something that actually made her feel guilty, even slightly.

"Ags," you called her out, but she did not look you in the eyes. "You know something," she was about to argue, but you beat her to it. "I know that face and that fidgeting. I know what it means"

Defeated, Agatha started to throw parts of a story that matched Jen's story, and everyone made the connection.

"I didn't know it was you! It was the 1920s. I did the odd spell for bank notes. I don't know. The patriarchy really shelled out to shush a lady. It was bind or burn!" She justified herself, or so she tried.

For Jen was furious finding out the truth, and she had every right to be. With anger blinding her, she rushed to Agatha and even pulled a thick lock of her hair in one strong pull.

Agatha didn't even flinch at the pull, having built quite a pain tolerance thanks to Rio. She didn't even fight when Jen tied her wrists together with that strand of hair.

She might not react to it, but you were about to. No matter what took place back then, seeing Jen ripping out Agatha's hair like that made your protective instincts hit in.

Forgetting your own anxiety caused by the closed room, you were about to move and tackle Jen; having forgotten your powers worked normally.

Billy grabbed you by the waist and kept you back, surprised by your strength, considering he was taller than you and clearly heavier.

"Wait! Wait! Look!" He told you as he kept pulling you away from the two witches. "Yhe unbinding ritual."

This made you stop your fighting and look, realizing he was right. The strand of hair and the wrapped wrists were the basis for the ritual.

Jen was not trying to harm Agatha, you realized. She was trying to break the binds that kept her magic dormant and get back what was sealed away a century ago.

You calmed down, and Billy let you go. He stood right behind you, and the two of you watched as Jen repeated the same mantra again and again.

You hold nothing.

You hold nothing.

You hold nothing.

Each time that phrase was spoken with more power, with mode determination... with more need to work.

Jen's voice cracked, but she kept going, holding on every beat of hope that was left within her... one last chance to get back what was stolen from her.

In the end, it seemed to work based on Jen's expression.

Her face changed from shock to realisation and she could not help but fall on her knees, arms cradled in front of her chest and let out gasps and faint cries of hapiness; pink magic coming alive from her palms.

The sight broke your heart, seeing how Jen truly felt finally having her magic back.

Magic for witches was their essence, their core, and their will to live. It was part of them and having it sealed away, unable to sense it... to recreate this feeling of power and mysticism that existed within...

It was a fate worse than death.

Suddenly, Jen disappeared right in front of your eyes.

"What?" You exclaimed and rubbed your eyes, fearing your mind was playing tricks with you.

"Where did she go?" Billy asked next.

"Out of here," Agatha replied in a soft tone, deep down actually feeling happiness for Jen; capable of actually taking back what she was looking for.

You frowned. "But we are not done with the trials, yet"

Agatha looked at you, her gaze softening. "She is done with it. Her trial has already passed, and she got what she wanted."

You felt the need to argue but stopped yourself. The Road was a place unknown, and not even you or Agatha or Rio knew much about it. Each time it worked differently, each time seemed to make up something new.

So, who says the trials were not shortened? Or perhaps, it was giving a chance for some to find what they are looking for and be free without having to finish the road.

This was a comforting thought, deep down wanting to end this and get out.

The fact remained, though, how were you going to find what you are looking for? When you pretty much had nothing to work with and unlike Jen; there was no binding whatsoever that could be broken.

Chapter 41

[yellowocaballero]

i see you reblogging aa, is this a sign an ace attorney fic is on the horizon 👀

I resign myself to the fact that any reblogging spree of one work inevitably results in people in my inbox asking if I'm currently writing fanfic about it. I can't complain, because the answer is usually yes absolutely of course I am.

I will say that the Great Phoenix Wright Trilogy Playthrough Of 2024 was this summer! It was very much a tether to sanity and I'm very grateful towards @lazuliquetzal for letting me watch her play and for making the experience so much fun. A very intricate bedrock of lore/in-jokes developed. Edgeworth thinks he discovered homosexuality and younger sister figures are mandatory in a court of law. We found it extremely well-written, very funny, and really interesting in character dynamics. I also got her to play Ghost Trick, which was awesome as usual. We're currently both obsessing about different things - and my fanfic to-do list is already VERY long - so no fanfic is actually in the works right now.

Of course I've already written some, who do you take me for. I wrote this just for us, so it's unfinished and rife with our in-jokes, but somewhat shockingly it probably has the densest joke-to-word ratio that I've ever written. Sometimes I want to continue writing something, but I look at it and I'm like, 'This is too good. I can't keep up this level of good. I can't reach this high again'. The short fanfic - sourced from our recurring jokes/efforts to figure out [SPOILERS FOR ACEATT3] how blind Godot is exactly, and what I would have found the most interesting - is, believe it or not, too good to keep writing.

Zany fanfic and spoilers for Ace Attorney 3 under the cut.

           As it turned out, there was a prosecutor’s lounge.

           Like a lot of Phoenix’s least favorite facts, it was both obvious in retrospect and deeply disturbing. The defendant’s lounge had an obvious purpose: confer with your client, beg them to tell you simple facts that would determine if they were sentenced to death via electric chair, let your coworkers blow off steam by making fun of you. Gumshoe is useful at the least useful second. None of these banal and extraordinarily stressful events had anything to do with a prosecutor.

           That was why Edgeworth had always wandered into the defendant’s lounge and made vague yet affectionate threats at Phoenix. If he had his own sterile room to stand around awkwardly, he surely would have done so. This felt so obvious it ought to have gone without saying. There couldn’t, like, actually be a real lounge. That would imply a lot of things about Edgeworth’s choices. 

As a result, when Gumshoe tossed Phoenix the updated coroner’s report and asked him to run it to the prosecutor’s lounge, Phoenix’s first instinct was to contemplate suicide. His only remaining link to sanity was the knowledge that running Gumshoe’s errands to an imaginary room was better than the alternative of staying here.

           Much better. Gumshoe was looking at Maggey, Maggey was refusing to look at Gumshoe, Phoenix wanted to be nowhere near any of this, and he was taking the out. Gumshoe might as well have asked him to go check if his refrigerator was running. Call him a mechanic, because he grabbed both Maya and Pearl and high-tailed it out of there.

           He had to ask for directions three different times before he even found the place. It was a place that could be found. In real life. Phoenix better go catch his fucking refrigerator!

It was also right next door to the defendant’s lounge. Had this really been here the entire time? Could Phoenix have been wandering into Edgeworth’s lobby and making vague yet affectionate threats at him? He could have even stood in front of the door and blocked Edgeworth’s ritualistic escape from his feelings. His was a life of missed opportunities.

           “I bet they have free coffee,” Maya said grimly. “I bet they have tacos.”

           “With free avocados,” Phoenix intoned. “As much as they want. Maybe caviar.”

           Pearl blasted her large and doleful eyes up at Nick. “Why don’t you put avocados on the tacos you make for us? I love them…”

           Poverty, but he couldn’t tell her that. Nick settled for patting her on the head. “Avocados are as immoral as the prosecutors themselves, Pearly. It’s a matter of ethics.”

           “Ethics are so overrated,” Maya said mournfully, kicking the doors open. “Let’s go evil, Nick. For the sake of the children.”

           The cops inside did not appreciate Maya’s dynamic entry, but nobody ever did. Disappointingly, the prosecutor’s lounge was identical to the defendant’s one – down to the cops, cheap sofa, and ugly-ass art. The only difference was – son of a bitch, they did have coffee!

           Entirely possible that Godot refused to step foot inside the courthouse unless they installed a coffee machine. But it was the principle of the thing, goddamn it! Nobody ever cared about Phoenix’s hunger strikes!

           Potentially entirely due to coffee, Godot was sitting on the scratchy sofa with his head tilted back and one earbud in his ear. Its cord snaked onto the cushions of the couch, attacked to some small black media player. Was he awake? Was he asleep? Was he dead? If they were really quiet, would he sleep through the trial and leave Phoenix to win by default –

           “They have a chartreuse board!” Maya screeched. “Those rat bastards!”

           Pearl gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Is that sushi? Free sushi!? I love sushi!”

           “Get my purse, Pearl-chan! Grab much as you can!”

           “So it’s hereditary,” Godot growled. Phoenix winced, instinctively checking for coffee cups in his vicinity. The familiar cheap coffee table seemingly only had one, but on closer look Nick could tell that they were carefully stacked into each other. How tidy! “How did you even know this place existed, Trite?”

           One of these days Phoenix was going to start pronouncing his name “guh-dot”. That would show him. He hadn’t mustered the courage yet, but one of these days! “How could I not know it existed?” Poker face, Phoenix. Look condescending. Evoke Edgeworth. Show him what’s what. Literally nobody else you know is scared of him, therefore you are not scared of him, we are manifesting absolute zen in the face of the tallest man Phoenix had ever met in his life. He was sitting down. This shouldn’t be hard. “It’s right next to the defendant’s lounge, how could we miss it?”

           “Is that so?” Godot slowly leaned forward, like a great beast awakening from a mighty slumber. His movements were stiff and disjointed, like a fat bear waking from hibernation. “The spotlight of truth must be like a floodlight to the most enlightened defense lawyers. Illuminating all. Hiding nothing. But shadows cling to the undersides of society, and true darkness lurking underneath the charcuterie board –“

           “I have the updated coroner’s report,” Phoenix said, flapping the envelope loosely. “Gumshoe wanted you to have the other copy.”

           “Yeah, give it here.”

           “If the charcuterie board is evil don’t tell me.” Maya was plowing through a hunk of goat cheese like a rabid coyote. “I don’t wanna know. None of my business. Put the wasabi in my coin purse, Pearl-chan.”

           There was something inherently evil about having a cheeseboard at the workplace, but the legal system couldn’t get much worse. Godot didn’t stand up from the couch – he just thrust out a hand, making shockingly childish little grabby hands, forcing Phoenix to cross the entire room and put it in his hands. Pearl ran up to Phoenix and helpfully smeared wasabi on his hand.

           Godot took the coroner’s report and dropped it on the table. He leaned back, reaffixing his earbud in his ear. “Charmed. Clean us out of the nori, girls, it’s Payne’s favorite and I want him to experience suffering.”

           Pearl helpfully tugged at Phoenix’s sleeve, dying it a light green. If he lost this case because the judge thought he smelled bad… “Can you pour me the last of the coffee, Mr. Nick? I wanna be a big girl and do it for me but the big jug is too heavy.”

           “Are you kidding? You’re way too young for coffee.” The last thing they needed was a nine year old bouncing off the walls. In a courtroom. During a murder case. Phoenix turned to Godot, who was biting his tongue and barely restraining himself from cursing out a nine year old. Was that blood? “You’ll want to take a look at that, Mr. Godot. There’s a new piece of evidence that could change everything.”

           “Save the dramatics for the courtroom.” Godot leaned back again, waving his hand absently. Yeah, that was definitely blood on his yellowed teeth. Phoenix had to admire the restraint. “What’s this new tidbit that’s so important, then?”

           Was he everyone’s errand boy? “The report’s right there, read it yourself.”

           “Seems like I was correct in pegging you as the lazy type, Trite. Look at you refusing to do a simple task.”

           Pearl made an ‘ooo’ing noise behind her hands. Maya broke a cracker in half, giving her the smaller piece. “Don’t say that world, Pearl-chan.”

           “What wo –“

           “You can’t insult me into doing the most basic aspect of your job. You read it.”

           “I’m a busy man. I’m hard at work actually making justice.” But he was sleeping?! “Defense attorneys clearly have nothing better to do than eat our precious cheeses. Show me that you can do the most basic element of the job.”

           Talk about a turnabout! This man had cranked the hostility meter up towards eleven and broke the knob off. Francizka had spent most of a year almost gnawing his face off, but she had never made Phoenix feel so specially hated. “Sorry, Godot, I’m not falling for it. But you’ll definitely want to read the report yourself. It has essential information for the trial in literally five minutes.”

           “If it’s so important than why did we give it to him at all?” Maya garbled, spewing pita chips everywhere. “We could have hid it and won this case!”

           “Because that’s unethical –“

           “You never let anything go! You and your silly ethics –“

           “Silly?!”

           Godot leaned forward and swept his hand over the table with incredibly unnecessary drama. He swept the folder into his hands, yanking the crumpled police report out. He ostentatiously snapped the paper and held it up to his visor, reading it closely. He nodded several times. He even hummed once.

           Finally, Godot straightened and tossed the report on the table. “Boring! So much for crucial evidence. You’re looking at the shadows in the cave and calling them innocent of heinous crimes, Mr. Trite. Turn away from illusions and overcome your cowardice by entering the deepest depths of Plato’s cave, facing your inner demons and reckoning with the truth of –“

           “Boring?” Phoenix cried. “The window for the potential time of the murder is completely different than we thought? And I’m the one living in a fantasy land?”

           Godot stared at him. “Really?” Phoenix made a garbled noise of outrage. Godot ignored him. “What’s the new window, then?”

           “Read it yourself!”

           “Hm.” Godot angled his head to the side, facing away from Phoenix. “Hey, little girl. I bet you can’t read.”

           Going for the throat?! Pearl clearly didn’t know whether or not to puff herself up in indignation or start crying. “I am such a good reader!!!!”

           “Really? Prove it.” Godot picked up the crumpled page and wave it at her. “Or are you a liar?”

           “Being a liar is for bad girls! I am a very good girl!” Pearl reached up on her tip-toes and nabbed the paper out of Godot’s hands. She scanned the page seriously, eyebrows furrowed. “Here! Right here! The new time of death is –“

           “Are you making a nine year old read a coroner’s report?!”

           Maya slurped slivers of ginger with pitying eyes. “She channels the dead, Nick.”

           “And that’s the time,” Pearl finished smugly. Phoenix hadn’t even heard her say it. She held out the papers to Godot again, who ignored her. “Now you know the time, because I am such a good reader.”

           “You’re a diamond in the rough, kid,” Godot told her seriously. “Never let these dullards dull your shine.”

           “My name’s not Diamond,” Pearl informed him, equally seriously. “It is Pearl Fey. Don’t feel bad. It’s a very common mistake.”

           “I don’t make mistakes, kid. I’m just one step ahead of reality. Count on it.”

           “You don’t have to be prideful, Mr. Godot.” Pearl smiled brightly and encouragingly at him, as if she was trying to connive a pit bull into a doing a trick. “It’s okay if you aren’t a good reader. Or if you aren’t a good speller. I’m a bad speller but that doesn’t make me a bad reader. Being a bad speller has nothing to do with being a good reader. I am a piece of decisive evidence about that.”

           Maya looked grimly at Phoenix, who was contemplating suicide again. “We’re ruined her vocabulary.”

           “We let her sit in during murder cases, Maya.”

           “And it’s ruined her vocabulary.”

           “What’s ruined your brain?”

           “Do you need me to read more things for you?” Pearl asked sweetly. “I like practicing my reading. I’m always practicing with Mr. Nick’s court records. They’re lots of fun and very educational. I can read ‘five counts of manslaughter’ very well. Do you want to see me spell it?”

           Godot looked at Maya. He looked at the coffee table, where the papers were not. He looked contemplative, maybe. Finally, he said, “How are you at serving coffee?”

           “If the jug is medium sized I can be very good at it!”

           “You’re hired.”

           Alright, that was enough. Phoenix had a lot of responsibilities, but his responsibility to Maya and Pearl came before every single one. That conviction had been put to test during that awful Engarde case. Phoenix almost sacrificed his integrity as a lawyer for Maya’s sake - he was not going to lose it now!

           “Absolutely not,” Phoenix said. It didn’t matter how insanely tall this guy was. Phoenix was taking a stand - right here, right now. Granted, the stand would go to his shoulder, but it was the conviction that counted! “Child labor is against the law, and her legal guardian does not give consent for this.” Phoenix made dangerous eyes at a cowed Maya, just to reaffirm that her legal guardian was not giving consent. “Don’t you have your own co-counsel? Make them do your chores, and stop stealing mine!”

           “I wasn’t planning on paying her,” Godot said affably. “That’s a violation of child labor laws, you know.”

           Maya appeared to be seriously considering his proposal. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but please refer back to the legal guardian wrinkle in this case. “I don’t know, Nick. Don’t you think it’s time Pearl flew out from underneath your shadow? It’s not exactly as if you pay me either.”

           “You’ll get paid when you do something helpful that gets me paid,” Phoenix said instantly. Maya glumly accepted this reality. “There’s no paycheck in moral support, Maya. Godot can use his own co-counsel –“

           “I don’t have a co-counsel,” Godot said. “Do I look like I’ve received an ounce of moral support in the last four years? Of kindness? Hell has no comradeship.”

           Phoenix flapped a hand. “Yeah, whatever. Your plucky imouto, co-counsel, whatever. Just get her to do it.”

           For the first time, Godot actually gave him a baffled look. Maybe. It was insanely hard to tell. “What would I do with a – younger sister, is it?”

           Everybody froze. You could have heard a penny drop. Maya and Pearl’s eyes practically goggled out of their heads.

           Godot just stood there, ignoring Pearl and Maya but clearly unsettled by the silence. “Cream and sugar undercuts the delectable bitterness of the black coffee. A life without siblings is a satisfyingly dark roast.”

           Slowly, Phoenix said, “I’m sorry. You’re a lawyer with no plucky female sidekick?”

           “I’ve had kouhai,” Godot said defensively. “I have a certain talent for mentorship –“

           “Mentorship? What makes you think you’re qualified to give any sort of mentorship? You’re a rookie!” Phoenix said the word ‘rookie’ like how Edgeworth said ‘polyester’, which was deeply satisfying. “And haven’t you lost every case you’ve ever taken?”

           Maya looked close to tears. “No wonder he’s such an awful lawyer…he doesn’t have a single imouto.”

           “Is that the ‘hell’ Mr. Godot talks about?” Pearl asked, voice wavering. “A world with no women?”

           “You’re projecting,” Godot snapped. “Just because you’re surrounded by teenage girls all day doesn’t mean any other lawyer is obligated to do the same.”

           “Any good lawyer. Why do you think Edgeworth has an imouto.” The thought of Edgeworth with no Franciska to hone his…edge…how sad. “And Franciska has Edgeworth as an imouto. This is law one-oh-one, Godot.” Phoenix propped his hands on his hips, grinning. “Hah! No wonder you can’t beat me! You don’t know the first thing about law, do you?”

           “And he can’t read,” Maya said sadly. “Maybe Mr. Godot isn’t exaggerating when he tells us how sad and pathetic he is…”

           “You thought he was exaggerating?”

           The tragic sight of the thoroughly baffled man clearly tugged at Pearl’s heartstrings, but she quickly found her resolve too. She rolled up her sleeves, as if they were at the office and she was ready to attack Phoenix’s toilet with a scrub brush. Once she had almost fallen in. “That does it! If Mr. Godot doesn’t have an imouto, then I’ll - ”

           “Nope. His problem, not ours.” Frankly, Phoenix was just trash talking a little. If you pretended Edgeworth and Franciska didn’t exist – impossible for Phoenix, but he could stretch his imagination – then Godot was a pretty good lawyer. To be a pretty good lawyer without the massive handicap of no young girl…Phoenix better stop giving the competition a hand like this. “Come on, the security guard’s started glaring at us again. It’s definitely time to start the trial.”

           “Your face will freeze like that, you know,” Pearl seriously told the security guard. He didn’t visibly react to her words at all. Maybe Pearl was onto something… “Mr. Nick, I have a duty to my fellow man -”

           “You can practice your reading with picture books, like a normal kid.” Pearl indignantly opened her mouth, doubtlessly about to launch into a meandering and breathless rant about her favorite Newberry Award winning children’s book author. “In English, not Japanese. Reading in English is your problem. At this rate you’re going to know how to read legalese and nothing else.” Phoenix yanked open the door, shepherding both girls out. Maya quickly stuffed more California rolls in her sleeve. “Bad enough Maya’s neglecting – Jesus Christ!”

           “You can’t give me a hard time about that,” Maya said reproachfully. “I’m Shinto.”

           Obviously, goddamn Gumshoe was at the door, one fist raised and clearly about to knock. His fist fell at the exact moment that Phoenix opened the door, and Phoenix only barely avoided a royal smack on the head by via Gumshoe’s meaty fist. He really couldn’t afford another concussion at this rate! CTE was a very serious brain disorder!

           “Mr. Wright! Hey, I thought I’d find you here! Right underneath my fist too! How’s that for some detective work, huh!” Gumshoe laughed uproariously, as if his crush wasn’t about to board her kayak and start doing the death row. And as if he hadn’t told Phoenix to go here. “Well, enough playing around! It’s time to get back to it! There’s no excuse for slacking off when Maggey’s life is on the line, you know!”

           “You’re the one who sent me on an errand!” Phoenix snapped. He shut the door tightly behind him. The last thing he needed was Godot adding his two cents. Or, knowing his wordiness, his two dollars. And change. “Did you forget telling me to give Godot the coroner’s report? It was five minutes ago!”

           “What? Why would I do that?” Gumshoe paused a second, creaky and rusty gears churning in his brain. Maya made demonstrative kissy noises. “Oh, yeah! Did you read it out to him?”

           Phoenix was going to have a fucking aneurysm. “Is there some reason why Prosecutor Godot is incapable of doing his own work? I’m already doing half the prosecutor’s job in the courtroom anyway!”

           “Some reason? Uh, yeah.” Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly as if he can read the thing, you know.”

           “Oh my god,” Maya whispered, “he really can’t read.”

           Pearl’s eyes were brimming with tears. “A lawyer who can’t read…he’s so brave!”

           “Brave is one word for it,” Phoenix said flatly. How could he have ever been scared of this guy? No imouto, no literacy…the only thing impressive about him was how he’d even gotten this far. “It’s not my problem if Godot dropped out of fourth grade. He’s giving me enough problems, tell him to solve his own.”

           For some reason, Gumshoe outright glared at Phoenix. Phoenix was getting used to his misplaced ire over Xirneohp, but what did Maggey have to do with this? If anything, he should be thanking Phoenix for refusing to help the competition. “That’s out of line, pal! Haven’t you heard of basic human decency?”

           “In a courtroom? No.”

           “He’s got you there,” Maya said wisely. “When Nick’s putting the ‘Nick’ in ‘panicked’, then he can do some pretty sketchy stuff –“

           “And you call me the narc?!”

           “The courtroom doesn’t matter.” Gumshoe was still scowling at Phoenix. Of course it’s only Phoenix who gets treated like this. Edgeworth insults Gumshoe all day and he’s still his biggest fan. “I told you specifically to read out the autopsy report so Prosecutor Godot could record it into his PDA. Then he always labels it with that funny little label maker of his. You gotta get your ears cleaned out, pal.”

           Phoenix turned to Maya and Pearl, silently pleading for backup. Gumshoe was making Phoenix doubt his own sanity. Normally he just made Phoenix think he was losing it.

           But Maya just looked tragically disappointed in him. “Nick…you didn’t even let Godot label it with his funny little label maker?”

           Desperately, Phoenix rounded on Pearl. He was ready to fake tears. But Pearl just looked ready to whale on him with her little fists. “How could you, Mr. Nick? I didn’t get to see Mr. Godot’s cassette recorder! I’ve always wanted to touch one!”

           “Ah, Prosecutor Godot’s things are always super fun to touch!” At least Gumshoe looked sufficiently cheered up. “His bumpy labels make no sense to me, but I think they’re super cool. Like a secret code or something. But Prosecutor Godot always dumps coffee on my head when I mess around with them…makes me put ‘em back in order, then he says I’m doing it wrong, and…I won’t say I miss the whip, but prosecutors can be so rough sometimes.”

           Wait. Hold on a minute. Several different small pieces clicked into place, and Phoenix’s familiar trusty intuition began to churn its gears. Phoenix raised one finger, and Gumshoe instinctively ducked. “Detective…that label maker wouldn’t happen to be a Braille label maker, would it?”

           Gumshoe brightened, nodding voraciously. Then he apparently remembered he was angry at Phoenix, and started scowling instead. “Yeah, that’s what he called it! And I’ve just caught ya in a contradiction, pal! You said I didn’t tell you about the bumpy label maker. But you obviously knew what it was, didn’t you? You really were lacking human decency on purpose, weren’t you!”

           Cool. Phoenix wished he was dead.

  Both girls looked at Phoenix immediately, correctly deducing the return of his consistent suicidality but uncertain of the cause. Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Braille is an alphabet for the blind. You read it by feeling little bumps with your fingers. Apparently Prosecutor Godot is some level of blind. And apparently nobody saw fit to tell us this.”

“Did we gotta?” Gumshoe asked blankly. “Mr. Godot doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Yes, you gotta! Now I look like some kind of - you know!”

Sure enough, Maya was giving him the most judgmental look he’d ever seen. Her face when full-ass adult Maximillian admitted that he had asked a sixteen year old to marry him was nothing in comparison. “You were bullying the blind, Nick? I can’t believe you!”

What was it, bully Phoenix for something that was not his fault week? “It’s his fault for not saying anything -”

“Victim blaming?!”

“I thought he was just being an as - jerk again! It’s not exactly out of character!”

“Ableism,” Maya denounced. Phoenix drooped. “I can’t believe it. I expected better from you, Nick.”

“I’m literally ADHD, don’t give me this -”

“Who isn’t autistic?” Maya said frankly. “That doesn’t count.”

“Plenty of people in this world are neurotypical, Maya.” 

He’d had to explain this multiple times. Sometimes she even made him doubt himself. It wasn’t as if he knew neurotypical people. The people in Phoenix’s life either knew they were neurodivergent or thought that normal people were the freak. Most fell into the later category. Unfortunately. Lana wasn’t winning sister of the year, but Ema’s diagnosis and Ritalin prescription was probably his sole link to sanity during that case. Phoenix had a conspiracy theory that Gumshoe plus Ritalin would produce a shockingly competent person. Like everybody else on the prosecutor’s side, he had no idea.

There was no way Edgeworth knew he was autistic, but Phoenix was softening him up for the revelation. He had to take it slow. Couldn’t afford for him to run off to the Philippines to find himself and then come home acting as if he invented autism. Again. Like he did with homosexuality. Shut up about the German discotheques, Edgeworth!

“Mr. Godot is blind?” Pearl gasped. Horrifically, Phoenix was relieved that she knew what blind people were. “Is that why he couldn’t read? And you made fun of him! That’s bullying, Mr. Nick!”

This was a thousand times worse coming from Pearl. “I wouldn’t say I made fun of him,” Phoenix said evasively. “If anything, I really think he’s been bullying me.” This did not impress Maya and Pearl, who somehow only looked more disappointed in him. Phoenix began to sweat. “I got nothing against the disabled, guys. They’re - like, they’re fine! Some of my best friends are -”

“Autism doesn’t count,” Maya said frostily. “You’ll never get your Disability Awareness and Inclusion Girl Scout badge at this rate, Nick.”

“I - am I a nine year old girl now? Seriously?”

Pearl straightened, eyes widening. “I’m a nine year old girl!” Phoenix gestured towards her, emphasizing the handful of differences between them. Gumshoe nodded vigorously. “Can I get a disability aware badge? I’m aware of disabled people!” Left unsaid: unlike Phoenix, apparently. Yet another difference between him and nine year old girls.

“You aren’t a Girl Scout,” Phoenix said, exhausted. “If that’s something you’re interested in, we can sign you up -”

“Girl Scouts! That’s a great idea. I was a Girl Scout way back when. It was awfully rewarding.” Gumshoe gave Pearl a big thumbs up, as if he hadn’t casually dropped the most insane bomb of all time and promptly moved on. “You’re probably overqualified for the Legal Expert and Fortune Teller badges. You could really make it!”

That was it. They had lost her. Pearl rolled her sleeves up, puffing out her chest with pride, and before Phoenix could react she had already turned around and pushed the lobby doors open. They swung open with a theatrical flair, revealing -

Godot, just on the other side of the doors. Judging by his somewhat harried look and unbalanced stance, he had also just barely managed to avoid door-to-face impact. Or, more likely, door-to-visor impact. 

Pearl either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She jabbed a finger at Godot, who still seemed dazed from the unintentional assault. “I’m taking your case, Mr. Godot! I’ll be your co-counsel! I’ll find you innocent of all charges - um, not that!”

“I lost all innocence a long time ago,” Godot said darkly. He pushed past them, flagrantly brushing off everybody. “If you wish to scout for something, scout for that. It ought to distract you from standing around and wasting time with meaningless gossip.”

Phoenix winced. He didn’t seem very happy. But he never really did - cheerful and amused, frequently, but almost never actually happy. “Uh, hey, man. I’m really sorry about - in my defense, you were actively hiding it -”

“Classic defense attorney,” Maya announced. “Always defending himself!”

“Mr. Edgeworth says that the attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client,” Pearl said helpfully, blissfully unaware of that one time Phoenix had to defend himself against a murder charge. Edgeworth had known. Obviously. 

“Save your pity, Trite. Save it for the courtroom. So you can pity yourself.” Godot held up one hand, not even bothering to aim it in Phoenix’s direction. “Out of all of your victims, of course you would pity yourself the most.”

“Dude,” Phoenix said, “did I, like, ghost you the morning after or something? I’m sorry about it, but becoming a lawyer because I didn’t text you back is a little weird.”

“A little weird?” Gumshoe said, baffled. “That’s a crazy accusation, Wright. Who would become a whole lawyer because of a guy?” Phoenix looked at the ceiling. Godot coughed. “I don’t like the sound of that cough, pal.”

“For whom does the bell toll, Detective?” Godot said. Maya looked actively distressed as she attempted and failed to decipher what the fuck he meant by that. “I’ll see you all in court. Prepare yourselves. I don’t intend on losing to the likes of you.”

He turned on his heel, striding down the hallway and escaping them all as quickly as possible. Pearl gasped, and she immediately let go of Maya’s hand so she could set off barrelling down the hallway. “Hold on! Wait for me, Mr. Godot!”

Godot didn’t look back. But he did slow until Pearl caught up, and when she shoved her little hand in his large one he didn’t pull away. 

Gumshoe scratched his chin. Maya squinted at the departing duo, obviously wondering how Godot knew where to take a left turn at the hallway. Phoenix made a mental note of it too. For a blind guy, he was really familiar with the courthouse…which meant that Phoenix’s mistake was perfectly reasonable! Anybody would make it! “Just double checkin’. You two are actually cool with sending off a little girl with the sketchiest grown man ever? Completely unsupervised and stuff?”

What, seriously? Phoenix and Maya glanced at each other before shrugging. “If you can’t trust your coworkers,” Maya intoned seriously, “you can’t trust anybody. Nobody’s more trustworthy than a real lawyer.”

“And Edgeworth recommended him,” Phoenix pointed out. “Good enough for me. The state of California would never have certified him as a defense attorney if he wasn’t trustworthy.”

“That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about the law to dispute it,” Gumshoe said cheerfully, displaying a chain of logic that had proven extremely convenient for Phoenix over the years. Maya had once tricked Gumshoe into letting them into a crime scene by pretending that there was a legal holiday once a year where every law and police procedure was inverted. “Don’t we got a trial to hit, anyway?”

“Shit!”

Pearl’s inaugural performance as the prosecution’s co-counsel/imouto went off without a hitch. Phoenix couldn’t be prouder of her efforts. She played her part perfectly: from the well-timed timed motivational encouragements to tension-relieving funny quips, she was a natural. Her only experience co-counseling with Phoenix had been very stressful for her, so Phoenix was happy to see her shine with confidence. Pearl Fey was truly suited for villainy.

She even went above and beyond into the role of personal assistant imouto. She carefully managed the presented evidence, holding up the right photograph or blood-stained object for the purview of the court. Pearl read out any written reports, described the evidence that Phoenix presented, and reported on any notable body language. Phoenix wasn’t sure if Godot knowing that ‘the Defense looks like you ate the last onigiri he was saving for lunch…’ was remotely helpful, but it was cute. Godot better realize how lucky he was to have such a top-quality imouto at his side today. It confused the judge, but what didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” the judge said, as Pearl carefully withdrew a generic white coffee mug from a large box underneath the table. Seemingly…filled with more mugs.  “Doesn’t that little girl belong to the Defense?”

“The Defense is loaning her out today,” Phoenix said seriously. Pearl began wrangling a coffee pot the size of her head. “Don’t worry, it’s not a conflict of interest.”

“I see!” Pearl carefully tipped the large pot into the white mug. It spilled everywhere, but coffee was poured. “And what is a ‘conflict of interest’?”

“Obscure old legal term. Don’t worry about it.” Pearl reached over the table and attempted to slide the mug towards Godot, as the unlucky draftee from the audience always did. He just pointed at a random pot in the crowd and told somebody that they were in charge of his coffee today. Terribly unorganized way to do things. 

“Watch it, you senile old man. The Defense is distracting you with outdated legal concepts. Focus on the most important aspect of this case!” Why was only the prosecution allowed to insult the judge! Why were they the only ones allowed to get away with that! Seriously unfair! As if Phoenix didn’t want to strangle the judge with his own two hands too?!

The mug scooted forward a little, but barely moved. Pearl scowled and tried again, sliding the mug forward a few inches and sloshing coffee over the side again. Pearl huffed in frustration before carefully cupping her hand around the mug and pushing it forward as she walked down the table. 

Godot cupped his hand on the table and let Pearl push the cup into his hand. Then he slammed the table, throwing his head back and chugging the entire mug of steaming hot coffee in one go. He slammed the mug back on the table. Pearl carefully retrieved it. 

“The fact that the old man and this fake Frenchman saw the accused put poison in the cup!” Godot announced. “That’s one fact that can’t be denied! Not by a reliable witness!”

Pearl clapped. Godot patted her on the head. Phoenix groaned.

Phoenix got his way - as usual - by the skin of his teeth - as usual. He was going to have a heart attack before he was thirty at this rate. Phoenix and Maya waited in the courtroom lobby for almost fifteen minutes before Pearl finally came running up to them. She was beaming, cheeks flushed red with pride. 

“Great job out there today, Pearl!” Maya cheered, clapping her hands. Yeah - a little too good. Godot’s performance in court was way smoother than last time. Maybe he was just getting his sea legs, but Phoenix never underestimated the power of young girls pursuing merit badges. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Nuh-uh! Mr. Godot said he’s gonna take me out for ice cream!” Pearl thrust her hand out, shining the biggest, wettest gaze directly into his eyes. “Can I have money for ice cream, Nick? Please?”

“Typically speaking, when you take people out for food, you’re the one paying,” Phoenix said flatly. “Mr. Godot’s on a prosecutor’s salary and I’m representing a waitress. He can pay.” 

“Mr. Godot doesn’t get paid,” Pearl said frankly. “He said he does it for the love of the game.”

This was somehow the most surprising thing he’d heard all day and completely predictable. 

Maya frowned, tilting her head. It was a gesture he’d seen in Mia a thousand times. Even after all this time, Maya still hurt him in those little ways. “Prosecutors get paid by the government. How do you legally work for the government and not get paid?”

“Maybe he’s a volunteer?” Phoenix suggested. “People volunteer at places, right? Like…in zoos?”

“That makes sense!” Maya said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Zoos, a court of law…what’s the difference, right?”

“After we’re done with it, not much.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t meet the parrot,” Pearl said, crushed by the immovable weight of the world’s injustices. “I wanted to make friends. We have so much in common.”

Maya sympathetically patted Pearl’s back. “You do! You’re both so good at imitating voices! Maybe one day Phoenix can cross-examine you too, huh?”

Nope. No. No way! “Not happening. I’ve accused every imouto I’ve ever had of murder on the stand. Pearl’s merciless enough, we can’t take that chance. She wouldn’t make it a day in prison.” 

“Sounds like a you problem,” Maya said, unimpressed. “Godot would never accuse an imouto of murder. He’s a bro like that.”

“He’s a prosecutor, it’s not his job -”

“Apparently being a prosecutor isn’t his job either.”

“You’d make an unemployed man pay for my ice cream?” Pearl demanded. “For shame, Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

Phoenix sighed and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t know why he wasted time pretending this wasn’t going to happen. Pity he wasn’t in the habit of accepting the inevitable. His life would be a lot easier.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

DATING HAN LUE HEADCANONS

pairing: han lue x reader

word count: ~2k

warnings: 18+, no smut perse but mentions of it, language, not much really, this is pretty tame

a/n: hello there! it's been a while since i've written for this lovely man but i recently found this on my notes and figured it's a good time to finish it. this was a request i got a while ago, it was by an anon so anon if you see this, i got you!!

the request only asked for dating headcanons so there's not much plot in here unlike the waitress one.

i feel really bad cause i got my han girlies on my inbox asking for more han content and i've been jumping from fandom to fandom. i just need the last movie to come out to fuel the love i have for han.

enjoy <3

Han is a man who prefers long term relationships. Amongst a life full of chaos he relishes on those relationships he can lean back and find calm and comfort, someone he can rely on.

Doesn’t mean Han's not into hook ups though. Whenever he’s single he’ll have his fair share of one nights stands. At the end of the day he's a man with needs, especially since he loves putting his life on the line.

Han he keeps people in boxes: friends, off limits, hookups, and relationship material. Of course there’s also that box with bright red letters that spell TOXIC. Most people in that box are one night stands that thought they stood a chance after a hookup and became a little unhinged.

Whenever Han finds that person that is relationship material he doesn’t let them go. He’ll pursue them in his cool and nonchalant way. He’ll compliment them so smoothly they won’t notice until much later.

Han will invite you out to do random stuff, wording it as 'errands' and it’s only in the middle of it that you realize it’s a date. Lunch followed by a scenic walk in a park in Tokyo and then dessert? Definitely a date. It’s perfect because it takes those first date jitters out of the way.

You fall in love with him way too quickly and Han knows when you do. It's your own fault because once you realize you're head over heels you become this mumbling, blushing mess.

It was a smooth transition from friends to dating to being in a relationship and it's all because of Han. He's great at reading people and it helped him ease your nerves and figure out how you were feeling with every outing.

With entering a new relationship there's a period of getting to know the other person. Han is an open book, he doesn't see the point of hiding anything with the girl that might be his future. You either accept him as he is now or you don't and that's the end. He has nothing to hide although he tiptoes around his late teens.

When Han tells you of his life as a fugitive you don't believe him. You laugh in his face. Like, “Yeah, sure. You pulled off a heist in Brazil and stole from the richest mafia man with your posey of misfits. Hilarious.” Han shrugs and moves on.

You could've googled it but you don't. You just think Han had a rough upbringing he doesn’t like to talk about. Which is partly true but not the case. It comes to bite you in the ass afterwards.

Moving on, Han is not a fan of pecks on the lips. If it’s not a kiss that lasts more than 5 seconds don’t fucking bother. He’s an all or nothing kinda man, you know?

I mean it’s not like Han will fight you if you do but it's visible how he's left wanting more. You’ve learned your lesson the hard way. You’re in a rush and to say goodbye you quickly peck him on the lips and then Han will pull you back in and plant a good kiss in, successfully making you even more late.

That being said Han adores kisses on the forehead or temple or back of the head. Han will randomly walk up to you while you do chores around the apartment and press a kiss to the back your head with his hands on your hips. Then he’ll walk off like nothing happened, leaving you all ☺️☺️.

Dating Han includes spending nightfall in each others arms. Resting in the increasingly comfortable sofa and raking your fingers through his hair, coaxing him to stay in.

"Do you have to go out, Hannie?" You whisper, scratching on his scalp making him shudder.

"I told them I'd be there." Han's response is muffled as he gets more comfortable, his face pressed against your breasts.

"But do you have to?" You insist as your other hand goes to scratch his back.

"I guess I can stay in and see them tomorrow night," Han sighs as he relaxes even more against you. He's far too comfortable and this cuddling will soon evolve into something much more exciting by the way you're hanging on to him.

For a time there Han pauses his life for you. He stops going to the races and ignores the calls of the Toretto crew to nurture your growing relationship.

By pausing Han completely ignores that other part of his life leading the Toretto gang to come to Tokyo. It’s not like Han meant to ignore them he was just enjoying his time with you so much that he didn’t realize how much time had gone. We’ll get into that later.

Han is not one to argue a lot. If you’re annoyed at him for one reason or another he’ll take it and try to distract you. Whether it’s by calling you a sweet nickname or holding you or kissing you.

But if it’s about something that puts you at risk Han will put his foot down. You went out with your friends late at night and walked home alone? Unacceptable. Do you know how many sickos are out there? That's when real arguments form because you can be so stubborn and independent. You can handle yourself. Han trusts you fully, it's the outside world he doesn't trust.

If you prioritize your job instead of your well being? Nope. Han will have to step in. Hell you don’t have to work if you don’t want to. He has enough money for the two of you. The idea of being taken care of like that is so tempting but you do like having your own life and money.

Sleepy, morning ‘I love you’s.’ That’s when he says those three words the most. You typically wake up before him so you’ll play with his hair and trace your fingertips on his back to softly wake him up.

It's mid morning and you've just woken up. You turn in bed to find Han sleeping on his stomach, his long hair covering his eyes and tickling his cheeks.

You brush the hair away from Han's face, tracing your fingertips over his face to softly wake him. You'd typically let him sleep in more but you had plans for the day and he insisted in driving you around.

He starts to stir and softly groans. Your hands go to his naked back, because he loves when you do that. "Good morning, handsome."

"Morning," he says, opening his eyes and looking at you. His voice deeper and rougher than normal. He clears his throat and pull you to him, kissing your head and muttering an, "I love you."

"I love you, more," you say, kissing his chest before wiggling out of his arms, "Time to get up, you promised me to take me to brunch before going to the grocery store."

Han will absolutely let you drive his precious car. Whenever you want to for as long as you want to. Doesn’t matter if you scratch it or pop a tire. He can fix his car no problem. As long as you're safe he's all in for it.

Will silently get off on you driving fast and changing the gears of the car expertly. At that moment Han is a spectator and you're the show. He understands all the other girls he's either been with or hooked up with and how they got turned on at him driving.

Driving a fast car is sexy.

Han is the kinkiest yet softest lover ever. He will try anything at least once but is not into the harsher parts of BDSM. Spanking and bondage is okay he sees the appeal and he likes it but not the crazy parts of it. Han's favorite position is when you ride him. Not reverse cowgirl though because he likes seeing your face and your chest bouncing. He loves your expressions and hearing the curses that slip from your lips.

Han is a slut for long, messy make out sessions. The one's that start slow and then build up. His tongue in your mouth or his in yours he doesn't have a preference. Your hands in his hair, pulling on it. Wandering hands but not going anywhere. The ones where when he pulls away there's a string of saliva between you two.

I'm sorry but Han is a handsy man. In public he'll hold back so he'll keep a hand on your hips or waist, an arm around your shoulder is more common though. If he's being cheeky he'll grab your ass in public. In private though? Oh, hands always on you. Hand on your ass, hand on your tit, on your thigh, always a hand on you.

Han loves to buy you clothes and lingerie. He takes note on what clothes you like and will buy you a bunch of those but will also buy you clothes he would go crazy seeing you wear. He will demand you model them for him.

Clothes like a little black dress, four or five inch, expensive, high heels, lacy lingerie sets. You will model them but then you'll end up in his bed, clothes still on.

Han is quiet in public but in private, with you? That man loves to yap, especially when you get him to talk about things he's extremely passionate about. It's hard to get him to shut up.

Han won't succumb to his friends teasing him about the fact that his whipped, or a simp, oor any nonsense like that. He has you and he loves you. There's nothing to be ashamed of.

The day Domenic Toretto knocks on your shared home is the day you're thrown for a spin.

Han is right behind you greeting one of his closest friends. He introduces you two happily, urging Dom to come in and take a seat.

You stay right besides Han in the couch across from the big man. You've heard a lot about Dom and it's all been great things. You're just shocked at the surprise visit.

They make small talk until Dom says, "We need your help, Han."

"Anything, Dom."

When Dom leaves you're too quiet. Han approaches you, giving you a look, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? This man just came here to ask for your help in a secret mission to take down this dangerous mercenary. How do you think I feel?" You exclaim overwhelmed at what was discussed.

"You sound very surprised. I told you about Brazil and my past," Han cocks his head curiously.

"I didn't think it was real, Hannie!" You yell, "I thought you had a rough upbringing and this was your way to joke and cover it up."

"I'm sorry," Han apologizes, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Are you really doing this?" You ask, scared of what might happen now.

"I have to. They need my help," Han responds, cupping your face in his hands. There are tears in your eyes, afraid of the new reality. Gone are the days of ignorant bliss.

"What about me?" The question was heavy and loaded. You only asked one question but there were hundreds in disguise.

"I'll be back in no time. You will stay here and stay safe, alright?"

Han left early the next morning. He woke you up with a hand on your cheek and another in your back. Han gave you a long, sweet kiss and whispered 'I love you.'

You were left at home with all this new information, your computer to google Brazil, and time.

ta-daaaa. i hope you guys enjoyed this. i know it's not a lot but i feel like i would be repeating myself since dating han headcanons is very much like the waitress headcanons, except without a plot.

i'm trying to get back into writing for han it's just a little hard since i feel like all my fictional crushes are pulling me apart, begging for my attention. my love for han is always there it's just not string enough to make me sit and write a lot. it's why i need this movie to come out asap.

you guys have been so patient so thank you for that. in any case i hope you like or enjoy some of my other work while i try and bring back han <3

[lightlycareless]

i just read ur reader piercing naoya's ear fic and i was wondering can u write smth about naoya finding out reader got their belly button pierced? xx

Hello!!!

Did someone say smut? because that's what we got. I think hehe. I'm still somewhat uncomfortable writing it but you know what they say!! practice makes perfect 🙈🙈🙈 Anyways, thank you so much for your patience and for sending this ask!!!!! 🥺 it took me a while to get an idea of what I wanted to write, but here we are :> I hope its to your liking!

Also, I believe this is the fic anon is referring to :> If not then gee I've written more about piercings that I've ever expected lol.

warnings: smut. MINORS DNI. you get a piercing and decide to... act weird about it. naoya does not like it :)

Happy reading!

How you managed to hide your piercing from his ever-wandering hands is a commendable feat, even after all went down, you still don’t know how you did it.

Though all this could’ve been easily avoided in the first place if you hadn’t convinced yourself to do it after seeing a particular photoshoot and thinking “I can look just as good.”

As well as believing this would further spice up your life with Naoya. Like it wasn’t spiced enough!

But only after you surpass both your embarrassment and heal; unfortunately, the former only growing stronger and stronger upon realizing this was far more than what you bargained for.

You initially try to play it off as being sick whenever he gets too close. Not in the mood, even. “I’m dizzy.” “My head hurts.” “I’m on my period.” Are just a few of the excuses you deployed.

And your loving husband, always the (surprisingly) patient one, takes it, because he supposes that for his ever-willing wife he could allow these exceptions. Thus, right after you reject him, he cuddles up to you and falls asleep.

However, his tolerance quickly ends when understanding this wasn’t to be a 1-week occurrence. But rather, a monthly endeavor that soon turned his everyday into utter punishment.

Naoya frantically attempted to make sense of it all. Think that perhaps the reason behind your distance was because of some unknown issue that troubled your mind; you always tended to keep things to yourself, even if he’s countlessly assured you he could fix all of your problems—he just needs to know them first.

…

But even then… Naoya could not understand how easily you were able to detach from him. Because to him… to do so meant death itself.

The problem wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Naoya had more than enough means to keep you satisfied however you needed it, and he made sure of that too.

Thus, at the lack of answers, he begins to feel threatened. Intimidated. Replaceable.

And we all know how Naoya gets when feeling such way.

“Princess, you will explain yourself—now.” Naoya demands, his abrupt, towering presence forcing you deeper into the bedroom, nowhere to escape.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You gasp, a blatant lie that only served to bury you deeper into your mistakes.

“Oh, no. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, mochi.”

If you hadn’t transgressed Naoya, you would’ve found his approach very, very inciting.

Unfortunately, even if you wished to go down that path, your dear husband was far too infuriated by your ridiculous behavior to consider anything else that wasn’t confronting you.

“Why are you avoiding me? And don’t even try to get out of this one, I’ve been patient enough.”

You knew this moment was fast approaching; only a matter of time before you ran out of excuses… or patience to abuse.

There’s only so much he’s willing to tolerate before he… well, you don’t want to think about it.

“I’m just… I just— I don’t know how to tell you…” you breathe.

“How to tell me what?”

“Do you promise to not get angry at me?”

“I’m not sure if I can promise that.” He frowns. You swallow.

“…at least not too much?”

Naoya squints his eyes, as if considering it. You knew he wouldn’t, you were in the wrongdoing after all.

“Just don’t judge me, please.” You eventually profess, and after taking one last breath, you reach for your obi and untie it, careful to not reveal too much but just enough to show the bare skin of your abdomen—

And the shiny addition to your navel.

Naoya couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“Is that all, princess?” He chuckles loudly, like you just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard. You do not find it amusing. “Is that the reason why you’ve been avoiding me??”

“Y—yeah I—I guess!” You frown, cheeks burning hot. “Don’t make fun of me, I was really hesitant whether to tell you or not!”

“Really? For this silly little thing?”

“It wasn’t silly to me, Naoya!” you cry.

“Alright, alright—I didn’t mean to upset you.” He says, curiously attempting to reach for your piercing before you smack him away. “Hey!”

You glance away, placing your obi back in place.

“Come on now, you don’t have to hide it from me.” Naoya smirks, stepping closer. “Hey, princess—”

“It’s still healing.” You quietly explain; a partial reasoning behind your dismissal.

“Ah, so you’re telling me you wouldn’t like me to help you?” He enticed, you retreated further into the wall; if possible. “I have more than enough experience with piercings, there’s no one in the estate more qualified than me.”

“Don’t misinterpret my words, you know I didn’t mean... that.” You caution, though he spoke nothing but the truth.

“Is that a yes?” Naoya continues, placing his fingers under your chin and pulling your gaze back to his.

“…only if you don’t make fun of me.” You eventually agree, and he seals the deal with a chaste kiss on your lips, followed by a tight hug that has you whining in pain. “Na—Naoya!”

“Oh, princess, I’m sorry.” Naoya says, quickly releasing you. “You poor thing… is this how it’s been since?”

You nod.

“Well, you’re in good hands now; and luckily for you, I know just the right thing that will ease your pain.”

Had you known Naoya would completely dedicate his time to make sure you weren’t passing any discomfort, then maybe you would’ve told him of your small endeavor from the very beginning.

It just… to see him so enthralled by your impulsive decision, you couldn’t help but wonder how different everything would’ve been if you had decided otherwise.

As well as how much you exaggerated your worries; hadn’t your husband consistently proven how far he’s willing to go just to make you happy?

From whatever craving you desired (but nothing that would hinder your healing process) to the endless kisses he’d place on your navel—as if he weren’t sufficiently hypnotized by your body, your piercing heightened that desire—Naoya was all yours. Completely allured.

But mostly by the rush he got at being the only person to know of the debauchery that hid beneath the pristine, meek and obedient look you carried around the estate; fitting to the wife of the future leader of the Zen’in— the same woman many admire by her gentleness, how you’re his living contrast, his better half; never daring to be as outrageous at he is!

If only they knew the truth.

No. It was better if they didn’t. He’d fervently keep all this enjoyment for himself.

“St—stop, Naoya!” you cry, squirming beneath his touch that roamed across your body, caressing the places where he’d like to taint next, such as your now sensitive nipples, which he’d squeeze and pinch incessantly for you to suffer in the following days.

Or your twitching clit, grazing it with no particular desire outside of tormenting you with pleasure. Remind you who really was in charge of your mere existence.

Yet, nothing compared to the way his cock plunged into your warm, tight walls—choking him so painfully exquisite, Naoya can’t help but moan whenever you do. Keeping your hips steady as he gives you all that he could not these past few months—blinding your sight with stars when bruising that one spot that always has you coming undone, which you desperately grasp whenever possible, wanting to steady that agonizing sensation.

Because as cruelly as your husband teased you, you equally desired to pour out all the desire you bottled up by a silly fear, let him enjoy the gift that was always meant for him. Your role in this marriage.

“It—it hurts—Naoya—!” you whimper, a profession Naoya was quick to interject as a lie given the way your cunt refused to stop milking him.

“Hmmm, it does, doesn’t it?” He breathes against your skin, placing ardent kisses across your cheek down to your neck as his hands reached for one of your nipples once more, giving it a particularly tight pinch that made you squeal.

“N—Naoya—!”

“Would it hurt here too, if you got a piercing?” he ponders curiously, another wave of excitement travelling all the way down to his member, which you felt grow even harder, bigger at the thought. Hips unwavering as if he were attempting to drill the proposition deeper and deeper into you.

Naoya was pretty much depraved when it came to your breasts, his hands or mouth always on them whenever possible; So, with this, you fear your chest will never know peace again.

But it doesn’t frighten you. In fact, you are willing to entertain such an idea. Endure the pain that follows this decision—for him to completely succumb to you.

“Would you do that for me, princess?” Naoya gasps, plummeting faster, stronger into you in that familiar sloppy way that signaled to you he was dangerously close.

You instinctively, as if second nature, wrap your legs around him, keeping him close, right there, followed by the agonizing tightness of you walls that soon make his voice tremble—stopping any silly consideration he might’ve had of spilling his seed anywhere else except where you deserved… though Naoya never entertained otherwise.

“Show how much you truly love me, by—by doing this?” he gasps, firmly shutting his eyes to not urge his release at the sight of your bouncing breasts.

“N—Naoya—!” you gasp, pulling him closer to you and captivating his lips in a heated kiss. Moaning into his mouth as your tongues intertwined with one another. “Ah—Naoya~! I—”

“Ple—Please, Y/N!” He suddenly begins to beg, now delirious with pleasure. “Please—Please do it for me, princess, you don’t know how happy this would make me—how much I wanted this!”

The combination of your devotion, your sweet whines, the tightness of your core, and the eagerness in the markings in his back is his ultimate downfall, just a few more thrusts and the first spurts of his burning seed spill deep within you—ropes of white covering your walls which you welcome almost jealously, as if wasting the smallest drop was the highest sacrilege.

And to a longing mother, it just might—but beneath your desires of a family, you wished to welcome back the husband your actions had unwillingly estranged: his intoxicating scent, the strength he’s amassed throughout years thanks to his strict routine, his burning touch tracing your skin with invisible lines…

But most importantly, his love, which you tightly held onto as he came down from his high, resting on your chest as he lets out a deep sigh, still plugged into you, just as he’d done the past few times in hopes his seed will finally take root. Naoya wishes to be a father too, and the thought always makes your heart flutter.

It’s the look of a man well satisfied. A man that has wholeheartedly committed to you, body and soul…

A husband that deserves to be rewarded, consoled. Urging you to speak coherently for the first time that night and let him know he no longer stands alone.

“I’ll do it.” You say, Naoya snuggles closer to you.

“Hm?”

“The piercing thing. I’ll do it, if that’s what you want.”

“The… oh.” Naoya blinks, moments of his passion suddenly flash back to his mind. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s spoken at the heat of the moment, nor the last.

“Do you really… want me to do that?” you murmur hesitantly. “Get another piercing?”

And for a few seconds, the two remain in complete silence, whether enjoying the intimacy he’s been cruelly deprived from, or considering your words… it didn’t matter. Neither wanted this moment to stop.

It was simply… perfect. Just the two, with each other’s heartbeat to fill the quietness in the room—and the doubts in your mind.

“No.” Naoya eventually confesses, placing a kiss on your skin. “I do not.”

Because as much as the idea enthralled him, he didn’t want to force anything on you. Certainly not for a piece of metal.

“You’re perfect to me like this. With or without piercings.”

Your heart tightens at his words.

“You don’t mind the one I already have, then?” you ask, he laughs. As if it hadn’t just shown you.

“No. Not at all; I didn’t think you could be any hotter, and yet, here you are… proving me wrong, my adorable lava cake.”

You frown at the gross nickname, playfully smacking him on the shoulder.

“Hey! What’s with the aggression?” He jests, but you simply hug him tighter, closer to you. “Is that how you treat the husband that had so lovingly filled you with his seed—"

“Shut up, don’t be crude!” You say, resting your head on his. After a few moments of silence, calming down, you declare: “…I love you.”

Naoya lets out a breathy chuckle, succumbing to your affection moments before his slumber.

“I love you more, my little mochi.”

Oh, how could you ever doubt his affection?

I always suspected Y/N to be more of a tattoo kind of person; idk why, but I think it would complement each other nicely too. Naoya is with the piercings, and you with the tattoo's. We all known which one he'd like.

Also, I will never tire myself of writing Naoya as completely gross with you. Like, the mere thought of you hiding such a simple piercing from him is OOF he loves it. I mean, without the constant pushing him away lol But yeah, watching you walk around in one of those traditional yukatas with your hair all pulled up in the most appropriate way ever, looking to appease the Zen'in only for him to be like:

"Yeah, you see her? No one would suspect my wife has her nipples pierced." IS SUCH a HUGE turn on to him. Maybe you do get them later on, who knows? 😏

Anyways, I hope you liked this small thing I wrote 🫣 I shall continue to strive improving my smut skills, sometimes I get so inspired, sometimes... I don't even know what I'm doing :'(

Well, still; I wish y'all enjoy it. Take care and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️❤️

[julihlaufey]

Rainy Day in Gravity Falls (Stanford X You)

Stanley took the kids out for pizza on a rainy day. While Stanford and you found it the perfect time to enjoy the cabin in silence and with each other's company.

(Based on our dear Swooning Over Stans)

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

I read someone saying that they can't find new Ford fanfics anymore and I noticed that too 😭 So I, who have been in the fandom since it was all in the woods, but have never written about our dear Ford, decided to try.

I apologize for anything, English is not my first language and I'm trying to improve! ⁠♡

・Warnings: Reader uses feminine pronouns and refers to herself as girl. Body unspecified.

Gravity Falls had a pizza delivery service. And of course, in a storm, it doesn't work.

The girl looked out of the window, watching the drops of water hitting the glass hard. The trees were shaking and the forest seemed much more dangerous now than when gnomes try to kidnap you. - The rain seems to be getting heavier... - She commented, still distracted. - And I don't know if I trust Stan behind the wheel.

Stanford laughed and she turned to see him coming into the living room with a tray containing two cups and a teapot. - I hope he's being at least decent.

She smiled slightly, trying to shake off the shiver that the thought of Stan driving with children in the storm caused. Stanford, on the other hand, seemed calm, even at ease with the situation.

He set the tray down on the coffee table and poured the two cups carefully, already used to his brother. Stan was reckless, he couldn't deny that. But he preferred to believe that his love for children was greater than his love for his own life.

- Not that he had much choice, right? The city's delivery service is practically an urban legend. If I hadn't seen anything yet, I'd believe the gnomes more than this. - He said. In his time as a researcher, Ford had already relied heavily on the local delivery system. And when it didn't work, he spent the night without eating because he refused to leave the hut.

He approached, passing one of the cups to the girl, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment, causing an electric current to overcome them, stronger than the lightning outside. - It's chamomile. I bet it'll calm you down.

She took the cup, with a shy smile on her face, feeling the warmth and the soft aroma of the drink, a mixture that seemed appropriate for a stormy night.

- Thank you. - She replied quietly, looking at Ford. - I'm still amazed at how you manage to find these situations funny, even after everything.Stanford shrugged, a glint of familiarity and curiosity in his eyes.

His body stopped behind hers, looking out of the window. His body emanated warmth, and he slipped his arm around her back, resting his hand on her waist..

- And I'm still amazed at how you adapt to every new peculiarity here. - He replied. - Who would have thought that someone from outside would have the courage to face even a storm in the middle of this forest?

She laughed, pulling him closer for warmth, while the light in the living room enveloped them in a cozy and safe atmosphere, even with the chaos outside.

- I guess after having my car hit by a giant sign, I learned that Gravity Falls isn't like the outside. - He joked, his tone humorous, causing Ford to laugh next to his ear, placing a tender kiss on his neck.

- You'll never forgive me for that, will you?

The girl laughed, shaking her head and returning to the subject. - Well... maybe I've just got used to the stranger. - She answered, her eyes wandering to the window. - Or maybe it's because... I feel like I'm with the right person to deal with it.

The last sentence came out more sincerely than she had expected, and she held her breath, realizing the weight of that admission. Stanford was silent for a moment, his gentle eyes resting on her.He then tilted his head, a slight smile on his face, and said:

- In that case, I hope I don't disappoint you.

--

I'm taking requests. Thank you so much for reading and I'm open to constructive criticism on how to make reading sound more fluid and natural in English!

[bokettochild]

Hi, I've been following you lately. Your fictions are so awesome, they really made my day.

I'm currently looking for new works and came across your Opera House AU. It's a bit unfortunate that those main ideas and plot aren't quite on AO3(where I usually read most because I'm not good at English). So I follow your instructions to Tumblr to search by tag.

I don't know and I'm not sure but I have scroll down all the way to find the first post about the idea of it. Well... I've come to the post from 20/3/2023 and it not the first one(?). It seems like you've talked about it for a while before having the tag.

The story plot made me feel so curious because you've been talked about it for a while. What have happened? What are those about? What will happen next? So exciting, can't wait to know!

Sooo... If you don't mind, can you tell me about the first idea of it and the story line up until now. I'm really grateful and thankful for any ideas that will help me know more about the AU!

After all, thanks for answer me and please forgive me for bothering you. I love you so much! Wish you have a great day/night! <3<3<3 💗💗💗

Oh hi!

So, the opera house AU actually did only start around that time! I made sure tag all the posts with the appropriate tag, it's just that ny missing pieces you feel might have existed before exist only in Ds between myself and @/cantankerouscanuck, who I believe was one of the ones to start the AU rolling and really get me making it (him and @/mermain123)

The AU is still pretty new works wise, although I guess it's been around for over a year now!

The main plot is yet to be written, but would focus, theoretically, around a young Hyrule, who, freshly booted to the streets after out-growing foster care, is homeless and working a crappy job while trying to figure out life, and runs into Legend, who is, well, on the run from the cops (he's a graffiti artist in his spare time).

The two boys would sort of connect as Hyrule insists on helping the guy- who literally fell through a window of a (seemingly) abandoned building and landed him while he was trying to sleep there -back home. After this, they meet again and, attempting to help Hyrule in return, Legend gets him a job at the opera house where he's worked since he was small.

The main story would follow Hyrule getting familiar with the cast and crew of the opera and finding his own place among them, either as a performer himself or in some other role (so far unknown because that's something he has to decide for himself).

I fully intend to write this one day, but have a lot of other big stories in my head so it's been slow. that said, there's been so many great ideas, suggestions and prompts given to me that I did end up creating a few one shots for the story, focusing around the other Links and their own respective drama (mostly Legend and Twilight but trust me the OH AU Time brainrot is real rn)

If you have any further questions about the series, feel free to ask! I love talking about this one so very much and it's never a bother for me when I see messages or asks about it (it honestly brightens my whole day!)

[perpetuallyfive]

making some kind of "commitment"

I've been feeling such a strong impulse to write.

But I do know that I've said this before, often in fact, and the final product doesn't always appear. Sometimes life gets in the way, sometimes the confidence in what's already written down dries up, but that's why I've decided to try to say some of it more explicitly.

I'd like to put it out there in an effort to give myself a commitment to something to work toward, sure, but also permission to actually do it and post, even when it's not entirely perfect. The world is largely imperfect, and I might as well chase my bliss.

Currently Writing:

Warrior Nun Dragon Age AU: There's 18,000 words of chapters 3 and 4 written, some of which has already gone to beta. I need to do some revising but this feels very, very close and I'm excited about it again, which is the most vital part.

Really Want to Write:

Frantically thinking about a believably in character way to write something for Caitlyn/Vi in the same vein as You Can't Become Unreal Again. This is the main place my brain is at right now.

A small Agatha idea that's not too intense in world building, dear god please brain just let me write something around 10k and let it go, let it goooo into the world.

Honestly I keep thinking about the idea of Bishova at the TVA. Has this already been done? It's probably already been done. But the time hijinks!

I Promise I Am Going to Finish and Still Think About It Regularly:

RWBY Dishonored AU. It's going to happen. I want it to happen. I have written so much of the next two chapters it's sick that they're not out yet. I just made it so long that I have to go back and reread everything to double triple check which things have already been made explicit and which things I've only been pondering for literally years at this point and never actually put into the text. I am (often) my own worst enemy.

Less Sure About But I Still Wanna Finish One Day:

When The Feast Is Over, the third Bechloe Marvel AU fic where I set myself up to have to figure out the entire first major arc of the MCU as it plays out in my specific universe so I could mess with it. Why do I always try to write ideas that require SO MUCH world building? Why is that the kind of thing that makes my brain so happy? Some mysteries will never be solved.

[acoustic-tenor-ball]

"I grew up- I've always been- Fuck."

Sol huffs and starts over. "Life has always been strange for me. Not just because of my," she gestures vaguely at her ears," condition, but in general." He takes a breath. "Socializing is hard. I don't get people. Growing up I spent a lot of time in nature. Classrooms were a little too loud and way too fucking bright. The kids couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and I didn't care to be polite about it. Who cares if I hurt their feelings, you know? Whenever lunch or recess would roll around, I'd wander off. Find myself ways away from campus, far from flickering lights and prying hands. Was like that 'til...middle school-ish?" She scrunches her nose, staring up at the ceiling, but continues. "The teachers put a stop to it, obviously. I don't blame them. They said I needed to 'connect with my peers'. I'd been doing alright academically, so I guess that's the only real issue they had with me. Luckily for them, I had the perfect plan. I thought-!" He inhales deeply, no use in getting worked up so early. "I thought, 'What better way to make friends than to show off this cool power?' The hearing wasn't so bad then. I could hear maybe...400 feet in each direction? Just a bit longer than a football field."

[Not that I knew that at the time.]

"It's practically nothing, compared to now. Still, more than enough to impress a couple people. Y funcionó. Casi demasiado bien." "There was this girl," [Jayla? Jaelin? Jaslyn?] "She was pretty, popular, outgoing, and a perfect target for my little 'social experiment'. Paired up with her for a project and told her I could hear anything she said from across the room, even if she whispered." Sol waves a hand around lazily. "She didn't believe me, of course. Not until we tested it. Then. Then it became public knowledge. Suddenly, everyone at school wanted to talk to the girl with 'super hearing'. It was tame, at first. People would whisper things from down the hall for me to hear. They'd go further and further, testing the limits of what I could do. We tried spying on the teachers a couple of times. We even got one fired! It was fun." He shrugs. "Of course, a few kids tried to mess with me. They intentionally made loud noises; I think they liked to see me jump. They learned their lesson pretty quick, though. Violence never scared me, and I defended myself just fine. That didn't bother me," she scowls, "No. The problems came once people realized they could use me for gossip." [In hindsight, it's obvious. They're middle schoolers. I don't know what I was expecting. Kindness? Ha.] "I didn't mind it at first. It felt great to be a part of something, and I can't say knowing everything wasn't exhilarating. My friends would ask me to eavesdrop on conversations and tell them what I heard. A lot of it was petty drama, failing 2-week relationships, and the like. It didn't matter to me, I'd successfully socialized like they'd asked me to, and that's all I needed. One day I listened in on the wrong conversation and told the wrong people. And, well. I went from the 'kid with the cool powers' to 'invasive' and a 'freak'." Sol laughs something bitter. "I still had 'friends', technically. They just...needed to use my powers- curse- whatever- whenever they wanted. It's the only way they'd keep me around. I was a tool first, and a friend second. Who cares if I'm sad or tired, or if every noise was too much and I couldn't breathe? Every little way I was different would be scrutinized if I didn't comply. I would be alone again. I'd disappoint them. I hated it. I hated it so much, Morgan. It wasn't even that bad but I-" Her voice started to rise ages ago. She doesn't care. "I just- I hate being treated like an object. I have feelings, opinions, and needs. I am a person. I may not be the smartest, or the nicest, or the prettiest, or the most functional. I may not even be a good one, Dios sabe que nunca lo seré, but- I am a fucking person just like everyone else. Hell! I don't even like people! But you can't just take that away from me. You can't."

The following silence is almost a relief.

Sol knocks harshly on the door.

"Morgan? Morgan, open up!"

He takes a deep breath. A futile attempt to calm her already fraying nerves.

" I can hear you. I know you're in there."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming, jeez."

Morgan grabs their shirt off the back of their chair and shoves it on. They stumble a little as they make it to the door.

They unlock the door, swinging it open. They raise a brow as they take in Sol's disheveled appearance.

His clothes are wrinkled, and the bottom of her jeans damp from coming through the grass. He's breathing heavily, as if he'd been walking for a while.

"The hell happened to you?"

Xe usher her in.

[apologeticaugur]

i'm not a person i'm just wearing skin fabric i've pulled over my skeleton

[languri]

Yea umm ok so it took me 15 years to finally take a look at Akihiko's social link and 1 night to make me believe in Akiham

[bugmistake]

the thing about anxiety is that sometimes you will wake up in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason. and the thing about having The Condition That Makes Your Body Hurt Because Your Joints Go Too Far And Sublux When You Lay Down Funny So It's Hard To Find A Position That's Comfortable For A Long Time Syndrome is that sometimes you can't go back to sleep because your body hurts real bad

[dreamlogic]

2024 year of charlie gets a fucking break (hopefully. maybe. tbd.)

[simptasia]

my mum has stage four cancer