#and the immense feeling of being an utter failure in my own life

[generic-fandom-name]

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[gumballavocadoharry]

Drinking:

The pressure of being in a fast paced world overcame you like an inconceived tornado, striking through the night. You soured at tense feelings of inadequacy you felt from a day to day perspective; feeling angered at the sight of seeing yourself in this mistake and waste of human being, not being able to come forward to anyone of your downfalls out of fear of rejection or indifference. A path you knew all too well, after the many failed attempts at a call for help.

So you bottled it up. But at the price of feeling an unusual aggregate amount of disgust and utter hatred at yourself for being a cowardly and revolting version of the people you swore you would never become. But despite the struggling mindset, and the misunderstanding of the right words to say, you weren't like them in the way you thought....but you didn't put in work to better yourself either. Instead, numbing every sensation of cramped emotion with glass bottle full of poison.

The summers were shooting fast. A backhand of cool air hit your face as you laid in the path of the air conditioner in your bedroom. The breeze was good, but yet your mind was still burning from the immense thoughts that clouded your memory of only the most cynical dreams, that overshadowed peace for you. Not even your boyfriend Harry, could sense the tenderness from unhealed gashes that would open themselves up and bleed.

After all, it was hard living a childhood with a narcissist.

But you were here now. Safe. Not really. Your mind was dungeon that you wanted to free yourself from, but lacked the confidence to do such. So there you stayed in your self imprisoned sinkhole, that only you could take yourself down. Grabbing another bottle, you goose stomped downstairs and out the door.

You sat in your car, calling Harry, waiting for just one single reply hoping it might cajole yourself from what you were about to do. But nothing. So....to the bar it is.

One drink, two, three, four......lost count. But I guess you would when you start to feel dizzy and then your head hits the cold wooden floor. Your eyes flickered only a couple hour later in a hospital room.

Upon opening, you now realize there are Iv's in your left arm, and Harry's hand in your right. His gentle fingers, caress your hand patiently, almost like he had waited days for your eyes to open themselves. "You passed out from alcohol poisoning," You heard a raspy small voice say. You rolled your orbs, to see a furrowed eyebrow Harry, staring intently at his little failure.

Your wizened mouth opened to speak, hoping something other than bitter dryness would escape. But instead, tears fell to the side of your eyes, drooling on the pillow. You prepared yourself for the sharp skewer to impale you like a kabob. Your lungs shook with fear, pity and death all at once. The patheticness of knocking in death's door due to your own stupidness and victimization of being trapped, despite the light being at the end the foreseeable tunnel.

"Are you alright yn? How do you feel?" You shook your head, shamefully wanting to pull the plug right then and there. "I don't know," You swallowed harshly. "Stupid, washed up, dead.....yeah, dead." You slowly close your eyes, still not being able to look into Harry's. You could feel your power slowly leaving your body, not being able to question why Harry was even here in the first place.

Getting yourself into trouble was just the start of your downhill....that is at least how you felt. It wasn't until your boyfriend's amiable touch to the forehead, sent you into a cascade of sappy sobs. "My life is over," You cried, allowing your tongue tied muscle to retract into only the silent meaning behind those tears. Harry just held you close to him.

"It'll be okay yn.....we'll be alright."

[carolingarts]

It's kind of wild that everybody is rewatching Bojack Horseman right now. In a world where everything is on fire humanity looking for a desperate attempt to find someone totally and completely shitty redeemable or at least attempt to understand why completely shitty human beings are the way they are makes total and utter sense.

There was a point in my life where I was homeless - the kind of homeless that went from sleeping on people's couches to living in shelters and being on the street. There's a degree of failure that doesn't go away even though this was almost a decade ago, a sense of "You failed and you could end up back there at any second." It feels like losing a game.

One of the things that I carry away from it though is an immense sense of pity - not for the individual but the group as a whole. This is weird I know because most people are stuck on the absolutely brilliant Men in Black quote:

"A person is smart. People are panicky dangerous animals and you know it."

It's true to a point. Not because individuality is bad - countries right now are going to war over the idea of what it means to be individual. Capitalism versus Communism. The idea you should subsume your identity for the greater good. I just don't think we see the bigger picture.

When I was on the street I had this sense of being outside of society. I couldn't call the cops without risking my own imprisonment, I had to take special care of my appearance so I knew how I looked so I didn't look or act homeless. I was outside of what I knew as traditional society and I learned the following. Despite everything, despite everything and I mean *everything* wrong in the world, there was a desperate attempt not to do good or evil but to understand what the fuck was going on. Why we were good, why we were evil. Just how much as a group we're motivated by lizard brain.

Sometimes though, when weighing the actions of the individual versus the whole, we want to align the lizard brain to the human sense of self and identity.

So we all watch Bojack Horseman. Trying to affirm our personal beliefs. Trying to understand why things are the way they are. Trying to believe in redemption and define good versus evil or ambivalence versus being overly empathetic. I just think it's funny it's picked up on. We're like babies given words we know the answer to, and the second we find the definition we'll unlock some secret third thing that's not anger or joy but a balance of both. We know we have to do it together, but we can't figure out how so we push along to allow ourselves to fall prey to bad actors hoping one of them can make sense of us feeling so alone yet so together at the same time.

[wiinestories]

Frequently, a trip to Italy symbolized vacations and leisure for many, but for Lyra, it signified the need to maintain a facade and embody the role of the trophy wife her husband, Daniel, desired her to be. Their journey to Italy wasn't merely a holiday; it presented an opportunity for Daniel to solidify his connections within the Sicilian Mafia, positioning himself ahead of numerous rivals from both Russian and American factions. They rented a gorgeous villa by the Mediterranean waters, where the soothing sea greeted them every morning upon waking.

Their marriage was far from a failure in the eyes of their friends and associates; they seemed to lead a life that everyone could envy. With immense wealth at their disposal, a stunning penthouse in London, and businesses spread across Spain, France, and Germany, complete with purchased homes for their leisure, they appeared to have it all. Yet, despite the abundance of material possessions and the ability to acquire anything she desired, Lyra couldn't shake the feeling that something essential was missing — the spark of passion. Daniel's preoccupation with managing his affairs left little room for the intimacy and connection that Lyra yearned for. Though she kept her frustrations to herself, Lyra couldn't help but feel disappointment by the lack of emotional fulfillment in their relationship.

As soon as their car halted at the entrance of the event, Daniel launched into discussions about each of his associates and their objectives for attending, but Lyra found herself losing complete focus on the conversation. They were both dressed elegantly, with Lyra opting for a dress that accentuated her curves flawlessly, featuring a leg slit for added allure. Stepping out of the backseat, she linked her arm with his as they made their way inside, their movements synchronized in a display of unity and partnership. Aware that she wouldn't be the only woman in attendance, Lyra resolved to keep herself entertained by engaging with the wives of some of those men, attempting to persuade them to invest in her companies.

Sometime after the conversation, Lyra contemplated checking up on Daniel, or, as he often referred to it, "being a wonderful distraction." Unlike those other women, Lyra was confident in her ability to captivate attention wherever she went. However, before she could make her way inside, someone bumped into her, momentarily disrupting her thoughts. Stepping back, she noticed the man apologizing. The first word he uttered was in Russian, a language Lyra was familiar with due to her business trips to Saint Petersburg. Her captivating greenish blue hues fell on his own, the curves of her coral painted lips lifting up.

"It's alright, сэр, [sir].” Lyra responded, her English accent briefly fading as she pronounced the Russian word. As she listened to his perspective on the escalating argument and potential violence, she hummed in agreement, observing as the Russian lit a cigarette before her. “There is something pleasant about Russians,” Undoubtedly curious about this man, though he appeared to be just a guest, Lyra couldn't help but wonder about his purpose behind attending such event.

"Well, apparently money and power can turn some men into bloody wankers," Lyra remarked, her lips pursing briefly in disdain. She felt grateful that Daniel, at least, could keep his cool in such situations. "My husband is the one who has to deal with them. So, my evening is absolutely smashing. I do hope yours improves, despite that unpleasant situation.”

Closed starter for @relicuniques

Very rarely does Igor break bread with the Sicilian Mafia, certainly not in Italy. However, as much as it frustrates him, subtle demonstrations of power like this need to be made frequently to keep old alliances strong and fresh enemies from the door. It is only by meeting eye to eye that you really understand the measure of a man and that is precisely why Igor continues to attend these kinds of evenings; to show these families the unflinching whites of his eyes. To remind them all that he is too powerful to be culled and therefore their respect is due, along with their fealty. Admittedly, the weather here is pretty good too.

The event, a strictly black-tie affair - aren’t they all these days - is a meeting disguised as a society function; a common tactic used as a way of getting the right people in the right room at the same time. Currently Bortsov’s singular tactic tonight is to drink enough vodka to make his company tolerable.

Alighting from the men’s room, the Pakhan feels the weight of a shoulder bumping against him as he straightens his tie. Raising his head, the vision before him is enough to cause him to immediately apologise.

“Izvini (apologies)…my fault, I apologise.”

He definitely hasn’t seen this particularly divine looking creature before, though given the wedding ring she’s wearing, perhaps she’s a rare song bird her husband normally keeps caged. Sensibly so given those stunning, evocative eyes, behind which sits an intelligence Bortsov can sense. No; she is no simple song bird.  

Glancing out towards the dinner tables, watching as two men argue, each furiously gripping the collar of the other tightly as the others around them cheer, Bortsov slowly shakes his head.

“So many powerful men, all gathered in one place together and all they want to do is act like apes.” A mirthless chuckle escapes him as he pauses to light a cigarette.

“I certainly hope your evening will be more entertaining than mine.”

[diavolosthots]

Hey man so idea. Some angst with mammon when he realizes he might not be a good choice for mc because of his financial issues and then mc telling him that it's ok.

Its 12:03 am which means my day off is over so here is this

Warning: VERY MILD angst-> happy ending

Greed and Money (MAMMON X GN!READER)

Greed. The word is most often associated with money, but greed can be so much more than that. Greed can be for power, or knowledge, or even something as simple as food and exercise. You can be greedy for a sense of family, or your life’s purpose. Greed, by definition, is the intense, and more often than not, selfish desire for something; a desperate need or yearn to have something, to own it, that anything that stands in the way of it, can and most likely will be eliminated. Greed is one of the seven major sins and by far one, if not the, worst temptation to fall under, as a human being. Greed can most often be seen in political figures, or people with immense wealth, but one could also argue that Stephen Hawking was greedy for knowledge. The Avatar of Greed himself, however, falls very much into the main category; greedy for money and immense wealth. 

Mammon finds it hard to strive away from shiny things and Grimm, when in his mind, he could have it all. Of course, this has caused a major strain on his family and how they treat him. He’s very much the black sheep within the family, something you took very quick note of, and that’s why you decided to take him under your wing. At first, he was repulsed by that for many reasons. Things like, “I can handle myself (Y/N)!” or ,” I ain’t weak! I got this!” quickly became repeated phrases every time he was around you. Deep down, however, he came to actually like it. He liked that you cared enough about him to check up on him. Compassion and being cared for is something he hasn’t felt in at least a millennia, or so it seems, so moments with you quickly became his favorites. 

He began to fall for you shortly after too. At first, he reigned back, thinking that maybe he just liked the attention you gave him, but really, it was so much more than that. He loved the way your hands always grabbed onto him when you laughed, or the way your eyebrows lifted when he told a story that may or may not be complete and utter bullshit. He liked the way you laid your head on his shoulder and literally and figuratively kicked him in the ass on certain days, but as much as you seemed to like him and accept him, he can’t help but feel like he would be an issue to you in the long run. A burden. Just another responsibility you would have to handle. “H-hey… uhm…” and talking about how he felt just seemed so ridiculously hard, too. You’d look at him with these concerned puppy eyes and he immediately feels bad and quickly makes up a lie about how Satan tried to trip him down the stairs instead of talking about what’s actually going on. 

But he can’t hold it out much longer, not if he wants this relationship to become serious, but he was so scared. You always said you didn’t care about his Avatar, but he hated that you had that mindset because he IS his Avatar, and his Avatar is him. “(Y/N)...” he tried to start this conversation with you for the uptenth time already, but your eyes immediately had that wave of concern inside of them and he hated that so much, “what’s wrong? Did they say something again?” he didn’t deserve such genuine concern, not right now at least. “No just… just listen, will ya?” That only gave you more of a concerned look and now he’s confused as to what to do because if he keeps on you’ll worry your pretty little head off and he doesn’t want that, but if he doesn’t continue on then he’ll walk around with that thought in mind for a really long time before it ever gets brought up again. 

“Listen I…. I ain’t the saint ya make me out to be… I know I mess up, and sometimes I believe that what my brothers say is true a--!” “Stop. No it’s not.” You interrupted him, determined to get that thought out of his head because you were not about to let this amazing person have a depressive episode over nothing. “You’re an amazing older brother, and an amazing brother to Lucifer, no matter what he says. They can be harsh, yes, but I know they lo--!” “(Y/N)!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice and he heard too late that it had echoed off the walls and reached his ears again so he quickly took your hands in his to soothe both him and you, “that ain’t it. Just listen. What I’m tryin’ t’say is that I know I steal and I lie and I’m greedy… of course I am; it’s my Avatar. Ya always say ya don’t care about that, but I feel like ya have to care about that because it’s part of me! I ain’t the best financially… I’m only lucky to people who summon me.. Who get lucky enough that I’ll take their soul in exchange for immeasurable wealth…. But to myself …. I haven’t been lucky to myself in a long long time… and although I get money, I burn it just as quick. You know that, I know that too…. So I don’t know… I feel bad for being an unstable source in ya life because ya deserve better…. Ya deserve someone like Lucifer or Satan who got their life figured out…”

Of course, the truth hurts. It hurt him to admit that, financially, he is a failure and he would and could easily lose any and all finances either of you own, that’s why he wants you to think carefully about being with him and he certainly wouldn’t shame you for leaving him if it came down to it. If the roles were reversed and he was after someone who’s financially unstable, chances are he wouldn’t be running after them much longer, so he’s confused as to why you would keep running after and being there for him. 

“Mammon… I’m not going to leave you based on your inability to control finances. It’s actually laughable and kind of sad that you’d think so lowly of me. I love you for you and everything you come with, not some ridiculousness you decided to tell yourself. Yes, it’s your avatar, but it’s nothing that’s unmanageable. Satan can manage his anger, most days, and maybe you can try and learn how to control your spending and gambling on most days, too.” He kind of stopped breathing when you said you loved him so the rest barely registered in his mind, but that’s okay. He just feels overwhelming love right now and he’s genuinely thankful for you. “I ain’t crying…” you were about to ask what he meant but he already picked you up in an embrace, twirling you around with him once before setting you back down and just burying his face into your shoulder, sniffling a little. 

“I ain’t cryin’.... But I love you too… thank ya, you know, for being there and stuff… Thank ya for coming into my life and sticking around and accepting me…” You never understood why it was so hard for him to see that he was worthy and deserving of all of those things, but at the very least, it made you happy that you could bring some sort of happiness into his life. “You’re welcome, Mammon…. I’m not giving up on you.”

[candyopala]

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 7

Chapter Summary:  Y/N and Obito have to get around the awkwardness of the events from that night, and what better to help with that then team seven in all its glory?

Words: 2.3k

AO3

Please like or reblog if you enjoy, check my rules for requests too! My dms are also open if you want to chat or anything else. 

After spending a whole day on the hospital, Obito heads home for some well-deserved sleep. It is only on the next day, on his way to the field, that he starts properly processing what happened that night with Y/N. Her bandaging him up with a weird look in her eyes, him crying in front of her… the warmth he felt when she held his hand. Why did he do that in front of her anyway? They barely know each other, she teases him to no end, but he can’t help to already feel close to her, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

The way she held him…. He hasn’t felt this way since long ago, he felt accepted in an intimate way, he felt genuine companionship with her. Obito feels bad when he remembers too the reason for that whole situation, he wanted to get rid of the girl; he wanted to make her go away without giving her a chance. 

I’ve been so blind, shutting her off like that…

Without knowing anything about his failures and only knowing that ugly side he shows to everyone, she still helped him through a tough time. He can’t help but feel his heart flutter with embarrassment, he didn’t even give her much of a chance. She might not be from Konoha, but there’s still good in her. He needs to take his mission with her more seriously.

He walks down the market streets, instinctively analyzing every single action that happens around him, seeing the faces of the people going up and down the roadway busy with their things. It’s not long before he spots four familiar figures walking down the street together: team seven. Naruto and Sakura discuss loudly about a matter Obito doesn’t bother try rearing, followed by Sasuke and Kakashi tagging along. Obito tries to say hi to Kakashi, only to be attacked by a running Naruto that throws himself onto him with all his force: 

“Big bro Obito!”

“Hey! Calm down now! It’s only seven a.m. for Kami’s sake!” He scolds while laughing aloud and hugging the thirteen-year-old back

“I’m learning something new, you have to come see it! Are you busy?”

“I’m going to the training grounds, I can’t Naruto, sorry”

“Come on! Train with us!”

“Hey Naruto, stop bothering Obito, all right? He’s busy” Kakashi tries to intervene in Obito’s sake

“Huh… actually…” 

Obito’s mind starts functioning, he does need to teach some new stuff to Sasuke and bringing Y/N along would be good for her training. He decides to join them, he actually feels deep down the need to introduce her to new people, to get her more settled into the village. 

“I guess I’ll come along. There’s someone I want you guys to meet”

“Oh, is it her?” Naruto says with a devilish sparkle in his eyes.

“Her? Are you dating?” Sakura jumps up, immediately invested into the conversation.

“Finally” Sasuke also joins to make it all worse.

“Guys, calm down…” Kakashi once again tries to save his friend from his hyperactive trio “He’s just training a new member of the village”

A collective “oh” is heard from the two in disappointment. Great, now even the kids are invested in his love life. Obito tells them a little bit more about her on the way to the field, and he notices that even Kakashi seems a little bit more enthusiastic than normal. 

When they reach the training grounds, he finds Y/N laying back on a tree, with a surprised look on her face when she sees the kids. Obito tries to introduce them, but they end up introducing themselves, with a hyperactive Naruto leading the presentations followed by his teammates and his teacher. 

“Nice to meet you guys! Are we training together today?”

“Yup” Obito tries to say in the middle of Naruto’s ramblings 

“How’s your arm?” She asks him back in the midst of it, a bit of what seems worry flashes her eyes, only to be quickly concealed with a look to the side.

“Oh, feeling like new. Some medical ninjutsu quickly solved it.” He states as he gets more embarrassed by the minute, once the memory of their shared companionship floods his mind. He needs to try to actually be nicer to her. 

Meanwhile, Sakura flies a sly meaning smile in Obito’s direction, to his utter desperation. Watching the whole scene develop, Kakashi once again intervenes, trying to get to the subject of training. 

“So, Y/N, dumbi- ahem, Obito told me you need some help with discovering your chakra nature. Coincidentally, that’s what I’m currently doing with the kids, so we could help you with that”

“That would be great, thanks guys! Out of curiosity, what horrible things did my mentor say about me?” 

“Only the most terrible embarrassing things I found on your file” Obito teases back in a flash, without doing much thinking, letting himself play around a little.

“Oh then I should tell you friend about your new nickna-“

“Let’s start training, shall we?” He interrupts her before she can say it, since letting Kakashi know about that would be the end of him.

Kakashi started trying to teach Y/N a couple of techniques, teaching her to concentrate her chakra and showing her the right hand signs. Obito also explained about the ideal state of mind each element requires, the type of energy each one of them consumes. 

Raiton was immediately out of question, and despite her special punch technique, doton seemed to drain too much of her energy, as well as suiton. She was able to produce a small amount of katon, only achieving smaller jutsu still due to the immense amount of chakra these require, so the fireball jutsu was out of question. 

Futton was their last attempt and the one they were more successful with. She could produce wind with her running speed, creating vacuum spots, using the element in a less concentrated way than the rasengan requires, since she is still inexperienced with chakra concentration at that level. 

Obito was actually pleased with today’s developments; he thinks that she can become even stronger by actually doing jutsu in battle. Naruto was also overjoyed to learn that his new village mate had the same main element as himself, showing her his still developing rasengan, proud of his own training and giving her some tips. 

Obito let the pair talking and went to oversee Kakashi and Sasuke, now training his chidori technique. His little cousin had also developed a lot, and was now opening up to be a wonderful kid thanks to Naruto and Sakura’s insistence on their friendship, and Itachi’s efforts to make him socialize more. 

He then also let them train and sat down together with Sakura, who was watching her colleagues train too, while she herself studied some medical ninjutsu books. The small girl looked at him with curiosity, noting the different expression on her sensei’s friend, who was usually much more uptight and serious. With that knowing look again, she simply stated: 

“Mr. Obito, your main element is katon, right?”

“Yes Sakura, why?”

“Ah nothing, I was just wondering… katon is compatible with futton, right?”

“Yes, both can be used together to create more powerful jutsu”

 “So… we could say that you and Y/N are compatible”

Obito’s eye goes wide with the way the girl says it. Both of them know she is not talking about just jutsu here. The implication of what she said makes him go as red as a pepper. 

“N-no Sakura, she is my colleague, we are just that.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about sir, excuse me.”

The girl gets up and runs into Naruto and Y/N’s direction, winking back at Obito on her way. 

 ~”~

 The team gathers up for lunch, Y/N sits beside Obito’s friend Kakashi, opposite to her mentor, who sat in front of her. She avoided his eye contact, still feeling a little inappropriate for her behavior that night. She fears that what happened was too intimate for her own comfort, that she should not try to get that close to him. She should be his teammate, nothing else. She must ignore that pull that she feels from him, that desperate need she feels to talk to him about why he was crying that night. 

She tries to strike up conversation with the ninja beside her, and he is very receptive, if not for his general lack of energy and relaxed demeanor. She sees a small little orange book protruding from his pocket, is that what she thinks it is? It is! The greatest book series of all time! 

“Hey, is that Icha Icha?”

“Yes it is! I just picked up the latest volume!” he immediately assumes a whole different behavior, now fully invested in the conversation.

“What chapter are you on? Did you reach chapter 37 yet?”

“No, and no spoilers, please! I dying to know what she will do when she finds out about that thing”

“Dude, trust me, it’s going to be awesome”

They both strike up conversation about it for a couple of minutes, Y/N talks excitedly about the romance’s structure and how she finds it poetic in a way. They both discuss the general plots, praising the author despite Naruto’s loud complaints about him being a total pervert. 

When she finally looks at Obito’s direction, she sees the jonin hunched forward, with an unimpressed look on his face, matching Sasuke’s that also seems to be bothered by the subject matter.

“Great, another one, they will talk about it forever” The young Uchiha comments.

“I don’t know what you guys see in this stupid book anyway” The oldest complements.

“He didn’t even give it a try; can you believe it, Y/N?” Kakashi teases in response.

“Sacrilegious! How could he say such things?” She retorts with fake shock.

“Shut up, you two perverts.” Obito says with a scorn forming on his lips, something he usually does that Y/N is starting to find extremely fun and… endearing? 

Y/N, Kakashi and the kids laugh at his little tantrum, and later even himself. He is acting different today, more open, with a more lighthearted attitude, a lot less uptight and grumpy. Y/N feels a little happy knowing that he is feeling better, but she quickly shuts off the realization. 

Concentrate on what’s important here. 

They quickly fall back into training, with Y/N sitting back due to her extreme exertion during the chakra nature tests. After he has finished with his portion of the training with Kakashi and Obito, Naruto joins her. They sit together observing Obito discussing the fireball jutsu with Sasuke, Y/N can’t help but notice the proud look on her teammate’s face when his little cousin does a perfect ball of fire, making her let out a small smile. He’s not so cynical after all.  

Naruto begins to talk about how he needs to be as strong as his father is, and Y/N learns that he is, in fact, son of the Hokage. He talks and explains a lot about the village and also talks about how his mom is always bothering him to make his bed in the morning. The kid is all over the place until he focuses on the subject of Obito. 

He begins to tell her about how he is like a big brother for him and how he taught him his most deadly jutsu, something about a sexy jutsu, and how he is cool even if he has no girlfriend. Y/N, being the innocent thing she is, prods him for more embarrassing details about her mentor. 

“One time he got stuck in the sexy woman form and Jiraya followed him around the village for a day! He had to hide from the pervert in the sewers! And once he choked with candy in the middle of a jonin reunion, Kakashi told me that”

Y/N cannot help but bust out in laughter at the image that forms in her mind, not being able to breathe while the kid continues to spill out embarrassing stories about the Uchiha. Naruto is suddenly stopped when Sakura lands a punch on top of his head, screaming in annoyance with her teammate’s attitude: 

“Stop ruining everything!”

What she meant with that remains a mystery to Y/N. The discussion has to be separated by a tired Kakashi, holding Sakura back with all his force. Y/N is caught off guard by Obito’s presence by her side. 

He helps her get up, giving his gloved hand in support. She accepts it, steading herself up. 

“So, that’s all for today, sewer boy?”

“He told you about that, huh?”

“Of course he did”

“Yup, that’s all for today. Let’s head home”

“Let’s? I didn’t know you had moved into my broom closet, Obito”

“You know I’m not letting you walk around exhausted like that, Y/N”

The change in his tone scares her. He sounds serious, almost protective, and he calling her name like that sends shivers down her spine, in a not so bad way. He also didn’t call her a dumbass, is that an improvement? 

She once again insists on walking by herself, but he insists on it so much that she eventually gives up and lets him accompany her. They discuss her new technique possibilities on most of the way, only for the subject to change as they reach her apartment. 

“So, what did you think about them?”

“They’re nice kids, all of them seem to look up to you, Naruto especially”

“He’s a good kid, they are all like family to me”

Y/N agrees with her head, thinking to herself about the word family. She once had one, but lost them very early on. Moreover, once she found another person she could call that, she lost them too. The memories flood her mind, making her face go serious and eyes to go foggy. 

“Take good care of them Obito, what you have here is… amazing”

“I will, I promised that long ago”

They reach her door, saying their goodbyes quickly. As Y/N closes her door, Obito calling her name again interrupts her.

“Oh! Y/N! I forgot; we have an important meeting with the Hokage tomorrow at ten in the morning. We will be heading out for our first mission, be ready”

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[theonewiththefanfics]

Shy (one-shot)

Synopsys: She’s shy. He likes her. She likes him. But every time something gets between the ex-Winter Soldier and the cute lab rat that works with Stark. The team has had enough of the pining.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluffffffff

Warnings: swearing, as per usual, nothing else really. Just some cute lil fluff I wrote (also this is defo not my best work :D)

Word count: 3042

It was a seemingly ordinary day when the ex-Winter Soldier’s life changed forever.

        Bucky’d plopped down onto the sofa with a disgruntled sigh, making Steve smirk and divert his attention from the show on the TV to his friend.

        “You know, she likes you,” Steve said to Bucky as he sipped on his coffee giving him a side glance.

        Bucky just grumbled and crossed his arms, mind still reeling on the absolute failure that he had experienced earlier that day. It'd been a trainwreck of a mission. No lives lost, but he'd made an absolute fool of himself by making a few bad calls. “Who?”

        “Y/N.”

        “Yeah, as if,” he snorted. “I mean I know she likes me, but she likes everyone. There’s not a single mean bone in her body.”

        “No, I mean,” Steve huffed placing down the cup before he spilt some of it on himself, “she likes you. As in she might want to pursue a relationship with you.”

        Bucky was choking on his spit the second the word ‘relationship’ came out of his friend’s mouth. Y/N? Liked him? As in more than a friend? He’d be lying if he said that thought didn’t send him over the Moon, but it seemed like such a far reach, especially with the interactions they’d had, that he had to give Steve a glare, especially with how she didn’t even give a single sign she might be into him. 

       He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re the expert on flirting and getting it on?”

        “Wow.” Steve put a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “That’s a low blow. I might’ve not had any game when I was skinny, but let me tell, you after the serum th-“

        “When was the last time you went on a date?” Bucky interrupted his rant.

        His friend broke the eye contact and paused, chewing on his bottom lip before deflecting. “Look that doesn’t matter.”

        Bucky rolled his eyes so much he feared they’d be permanently stuck like that.  

        “What matters is that she likes you, but she’s too shy to do anything about it,” Steve stated.

        “We had a pretty good conversation a couple of hours ago.” They did. If you take saying 'hello', an awkward wave and bashful smiles as a conversation, then yes, it was very successful.

        “Shy doesn’t always mean ‘incapable of holding a conversation’. Shy can mean not talking about how they’re feeling or how their day is because they think no one cares or would get annoyed with them,” Steve said looking over his mug.

        Bucky was baffled. “How – why – how could anyone think she’s annoying? She’s – she’s amazing!” But that’s when it hit him - Y/N never looked him in the eye, she always apologized for talking ‘too much’, and at any point in the conversation, she always diverted the attention away from her or her troubles.

        “So…” Bucky swallowed hard. “You think I should go for it?”

        Steve shrugged. “I think if you don’t, you’ll never know what it could lead to.”

        ***

        It was about an hour later after his enlightening chat with Steve that Bucky found himself walking towards where their resident lab rat usually stayed at when he heard muffled cursing.

        “Work, you absolute piece of shit!” Y/N exclaimed each word emphasized with a harsh hit against a machine’s side. “Top-notch technology my ass!”

        “Everything alright, doctor Y/L/N?” His voice was gruff as he interrupted her conversation with the computer. 

Not that Y/N would ever admit it, but usually just his presence alone set her body ablaze, but this time, it was a distraction and not a good one.

        “Just fucking peachy,” she grunted and slammed her hand against the computer with every uttered syllable.

        “Alright,” Bucky chuckled and entered the lab. “What did that poor computer do to you, since you seem so inclined to completely destroy it?”

        “For starters, it decided to shut down,” she growled at the computer, and if it was alive, it would hang its head in shame. “Then, when I rebooted it, the files were not lost, oh that I could live with, but they were corrupted. Meaning I do have them, but they’re useless, and that means I have to redo everything.”

        “You’d have to redo everything if the files were lost either way.” Bucky gave her a small smile, teasing the woman as she whined.

        “Yeah,” Y/N threw back her head. “But it wouldn’t be as humiliating. I mean, if they’re gone, they’re gone, but they aren’t!” She threw the screen a scowl. “The files are there, just sitting… and useless… just like me.”

        “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re useless." Bucky smirked at her, and she sighed.

        “Please, do tell what I’m of use here right now, right this moment.”

        “Company?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and that’s when Y/N realized how much she’d rattled on, how much of his precious world-saving time she’d taken up by a stupid mistake she made.

        “Sorry,” she muttered, shying away from Bucky’s gaze. “Didn’t mean to bore you with my crap.”

        “You don’t bore me. You could never.”

        He had that love-sick look on his face as she gave him a small smile, and her eyes dropped back to the ground. Not that Y/N ever noticed, but Sam never stopped teasing him about that fucking look. The one where his eyes glimmered like stars in the night sky, and his lips involuntarily lifted up in the corners. More than once Steve had to tell him to close his mouth or someone would slip on his drool. And each time, Bucky would slap his friend on the back of his head.

        “I’m not drooling,” he’d contest and go back to watching as Y/N moved around the lab, delicate fingers replacing whatever was fractured in his metal arm.

        “No, saliva just generally spills out of your mouth when she’s around.”

        Bucky would just grunt and say, ‘fuck off’. But he couldn’t help it really. 

        “Anyway." Y/N brought him out of the daydream. “Did you need anything? Is the arm acting up again?”

        Although she'd never think that Bucky had any feelings for her, there was some suspicion rising in her mind. Tony was the acting engineer, but on more than one occasion he had called her up and asked if she was available to take a look at Bucky's vibranium appendage.

        “Need some assistance, sweets,” the genius would mumble, and then when she would slip into work mode, he’d slyly exit the room and leave the two of them alone. And given how Tony knew, Y/N’s primary thing was chemistry and using the nanotech for cell regeneration, not engineering, it raised her suspicion level. Especially when the super-soldier came to her lab to have a check-up on days Tony was out specifically. 

        But she would never do anything about it. He could be standing at the altar with someone else in white walking towards him, and even then, Y/N, knowing it was her last chance, wouldn’t move a muscle to say what she felt. How could she when Bucky was the walking epitome of a Greek God while she tripped over her own feet while standing? For fuck’s sake, the man even fostered puppies in his spare time as if his day job wasn’t saving the world already how could her watching cells split in a petri dish match up to that?

        “Oh, uh,” he stammered fidgeting with his fingers. “No, I uh, actually came to ask you something. Nothing work or arm… related.”

        If Y/N’s heart wasn’t already beating out of her chest, she was pretty certain she’d vomit it up with the way he was looking at her. “Sure,” she whispered. “Umm, what do you want to know?”

        He twisted a ring on his flesh arm. She had gotten it for him two years ago during a game of ‘Secret Santa’, which Tony promptly had added her to the list. It made her feel all fuzzy and warm on the inside for being included, but then dread settled in. What the fuck do you get a bunch of superheroes that could afford literally anything they wanted? And then she’d pulled Bucky’s name from the tacky Santa’s hat.

        It wasn’t bad enough he was her crush, now she had to get him a gift he’d actually like, and she could barely hold a conversation with him that didn’t involve Avengers stuff. But from the looks of it, he had enjoyed the jewellery immensely, as any time he came over for whatever reason, he was wearing it. He liked it so much there was a lighter line of skin underneath the ring where the sun couldn’t get.

        But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Bucky just froze as Y/N stared at him with hopeful and inquisitive eyes. All the things he wanted to say and ask just vanished from his brain as if he’d been put back into that horrible machine that used to wipe his mind.

        “Buck?” Her voice was small as his mouth hung open like an idiot. But he didn’t even get a chance to collect himself when Bruce rushed in.

        “Sorry to interrupt whatever this is, but Y/N I need you. There’s a problem with the cradle.”

        And that was her cue. With an apologetic smile, she pulled off her latex gloves and rushed out of the room, but not before leaning back in through the door. “Hopefully I should be done in two hours tops. Raincheck on that question?”

        Bucky shook his head. “You know what, it wasn’t that important anyway.”

        Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, hand reaching out to touch him, but he pushed past her and was gone, leaving the woman a bit stunned, and in all honesty - heartbroken.

***

        The rest of the day she spent in utter confusion, and Bucky in self-wallowing. Y/N couldn’t understand what had changed his mind so suddenly, what she’d done so wrong, and Bucky beat himself up the whole time about choking and running away. Which is why Steve was absolutely done with it.

        As Bucky sulked on the couch, stuffing his face with M&Ms and the pop tarts he’d stolen from Thor’s stash, Steve with Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Y/N in tow, all came into the room. 

        Seeing her lab coat swish behind her as she walked, Bucky slid down into the couch even more, as if the granite gray leather could absorb him and erase him from existence. God, how he wanted to be erased from existence. 

        “Hey, Y/N?” Tony drew everyone’s attention as he handed a coffee to her. “Would you mind taking a look at F.R.I.D.A.Y’s intercom system? She’s gotten a bit rusty here.”

        “Umm yeah.” She nodded, kinda confused as to why she'd have to do it, but Tony was her boss, so Y/N rarely asked him much. Unless something he said was absolutely dumb. “Mind getting me a ladder?”

        With a wink from Steve, Clint nodded. “Sure.”

        But instead of just him leaving, all of the Avengers slowly started to ‘disperse’ throughout the living-room, before bolting towards the hallway and telling the A.I. to shut everything down.

        “What’s going on?” Y/N asked looking around the common room, spotting the bright fiery hair of Natasha as she rushed out of the room, asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to override the lock code and not let either of them out. “Why are the doors locked?”

        The smug smile she received from the assassin only infuriated Y/N more. “Tony!” she yelled through the glass, but the genius put hands over his ears and screamed back at her.

        “Not until he talks to you!”

        That’s when she felt someone towering over her from behind. 

Two beautiful Y/E/C eyes looked up at him as Y/N turned around, confusion swimming in her irises. Bucky almost swore he passed out just from that look alone. 

“Buck, what’s going on?"

        The second he’d seen the group walk in, he knew what was happening. He wanted to murder all of them. Rip them apart piece by piece, but not in front of Y/N. No. He’d do that in the middle of the night, blending into the shadows and delivering slow and painful deaths to all of the conspirators. 

        But at the same time, this was his chance. There was literally nowhere for either of them to run unless you counted jumping out through the window and the ninety-story drop, you’d face. Which seemed very appealing to him at that moment, but Steve’s words rang through his head – ‘You’ll never know what it could lead to.” And he hoped it would lead to something beautiful, so taking a deep breath, Bucky confessed.

        “Because I’m a coward…” he sighed, “and I can’t do it without someone telling me to.”

        “Why?”

        “I’m scared,” it came out as a whisper, and Y/N had to take a step back hurt flashing across her face thinking back to all of the times they’d spent together, while in truth Bucky’d been terrified of her.

        “Of me?”

        Instantly he shook his head seeing the pain on her features, and once more Bucky scolded himself. “No… of what your reaction might be.”

        “Buck, you know I would never judge you. You can always talk to me… about anything.”

        “Yes, but this will change things.”

        “How?”

        “I don’t know… that’s what I’m scared of. I don’t want to lose you.”

        “Never. You could tell me you’re hiding a body in the tub, and I would offer you my help to get rid of it.”

        And it was this firm statement that solidified his decision.

        “Would you maybe,” Bucky exhaled deeply not daring to turn and look at the team that was gawking at both of them like hawks pressed against the glass, the same team that had bolted shut every door and window to prevent either of theirs escapes, “would you maybe want to go out… with… me… on a date?”

        Y/N was stunned. The cup of coffee she was still holding in her hand went slack, and it would’ve smashed against the ground had Bucky not quickly stepped forward and caught it stepping to stand in front of her.

        “You don’t have to,” he mumbled, looking at the milk infused drink. It was a light beige colour with a white foamy swirl in the middle like a little vortex that was sucking him in. God did he hope it would pull him in and never let out after what he was going to say. “It’s just that… I really like you.” There. Now it was out there. “I really like you. And not the way a friend likes a friend. I like you in a way that I want to hold your hand when we walk out together. I want to buy you coffee in the mornings and wake you up with breakfast in the bed and smooth out the hair that’s fallen on your face…”

        She wasn’t breathing as with every single word said Bucky seemed to move closer. “I think I might be in love with you, Y/N…” his hand gently lifted and cupped her cheek.

        She just stared at him, mouth slightly agape, shallow breaths escaping into the air as her heart beat out of her chest in a manner, she thought it might hit Bucky directly in the stomach. 

        “Say something,” he pleaded, blue eyes searching for an answer in Y/N’s Y/E/C ones. “Please.”

        “I – I don’t know what to say,” she whispered back. And it wasn’t because she didn’t feel the same, not at all. In fact, when he had started his whole confession, she felt like she was about to pass out from all the love that invaded her body, but the thing is - Y/N has never been good with emotions. She never knew how to process them, how to give the correct answer and make people happy. She was shy, awkward and a recluse. And now she was supposed to come out of her safety shell. Which is why for the first time in her life, she expressed herself with her actions by leaning up, grasping onto the nape up Bucky’s neck and pulling their mouths together.

        When her lips touched his, Bucky knew there was no going back. Not that he’d ever want to. He couldn’t help the giant smile that bloomed on his face, as he pulled Y/N closer to him, wrapping his arm one around her waist, the other trailing up to settle between her shoulder blades, pushing their chests together, so impossibly close an ant couldn’t crawl between the two. 

        It became even more of a beautiful moment when Y/N’s own lips pulled up in a smile, breaking the kiss apart, but leaving them grinning and feeling dizzy from the happiness. 

        “Guess we needed a gentle nudge in the right direction,” Bucky gave out a small laugh, both palms securely resting on Y/N’s hips and bringing her closer.

        “I’d say it was more of a shove with a rifle at our backs,” she said, holding onto Bucky’s shoulders fingers skimming against his clavicles and making his breath stop halfway to his throat. “Let’s… let’s go somewhere… the two of us without a bunch of people watching our every move.” Her eyes flitted over to where the rest of the team stood behind the doors listening in on the two, and suddenly the heads of their teammates disappeared from the view, making Y/N and Bucky shake their heads.

        “Yeah,” he chuckled, squeezing her side. “That’s probably the best idea. You truly are a dream, aren’t ‘ya?”

        Y/N could only chuckle and hide her face in the crook of Bucky’s neck as her hold tightened around his middle, and he responded much the same by weaving his fingers in the hairs on the back of her neck and pulling her closer if that was even possible, burying his nose in the Y/H/C locks.

        “Don’t go all shy on me now.”

        “Can’t,” she mumbled back. “You make me turn into mush.”

        Bucky chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “A cute mush.”

        “Shut up!”

And he did by pulling her in for another searing kiss. God, how he loved his shy girl.

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane

Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​

Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @strangersstranger​

A/N: have you ever hated your job so much so, that you can’t sleep, can’t eat and basically live in a well of anxiety? and not because of the work itself, but because of that ONE PERSON that makes it miserable? Cause I do. And I can’t wait to get away from it.

P.S. sorry for being so pessimistic, but it’s just a nightmare.

P.S.S. feedback is always appreciated :) P.S.S.S. if you wanna be added to a taglist, drop me a message :)

[kunikiiida-kuuun]

A Promise in the Moonlight (Kunikida x Reader)

In a world that went pitch dark, I hear a voice.

Kunikida was seeing them again.

Those detectives and their bereaved families.

Rokuzo.

Sasaki.

Those little children.

That little girl who died before his eyes. Her tiny hands pulling the string, eyes full of a single, undeniable emotion; fear.

They asked him repeatedly, why didn't he save them? Why?

In the dream, he shot them down with his own hands. And then he screamed until his voice was hoarse.

He woke with a jostle; his body was sweating all over, his own breath coming out in heavy pants and blankets strewn apart. It was just a dream. Or was it? No, it was the reality. He had failed to save them. They had died, right in front of him. He had been responsible for their all their deaths. His ideal, everything- It was his own fault.

His body felt heavy and paralyzed as if he was being tied down. No, no-

His attention was drawn to a soft knock on his door.

You stood hesitantly outside the door to Kunikida's room, drawing your shrug close to you. You had heard someone scream. No, you were sure it was him.

A whole minute passes, and there is no sound or movement from his room. You wait for a few seconds more, and then sigh. Perhaps it had been your imagination, or maybe you were dreaming.  

Before you can go back to your room, the door slides open, and Kunikida's tired form is revealed in front of you. He was sweating, and his hair was in disarray. But there was an unmistakable pain in his eye. With a slight jolt, you realize he had been dreaming.

"Kunikida... I heard someone scream..." You start with uncertainty, as you didn't want to do anything that would upset him more. "Is everything oka-"

Kunikida draws you into a tight hug. His form is shaking slightly, shoulders quivering, so you pull him closer, understanding his pain.

The frightful rain that doesn’t seem to stop, stops.

You fill a glass of water and hand it to Kunikida, who sits at the dining table, lost in his thoughts. He thanks you curtly and takes a sip.

A whirlwind of thoughts swirl around in his head and every thought seems to threaten his ideals, the foundation of his life. They threaten to knock him down, and he is afraid and maybe, in the depths of his hearts, he deserves it. He deserves to be struck down because he let those innocent people suffer. How could he repent for those valuable lives?

He draws back as he feels you touch his shoulder, and he is immediately pained because he doesn't want to hurt you. He couldn't get you involved in this; you who remained untouched by any pain or misery. He was painfully aware of those worried glances you were sending his way. He doesn't want you to look at him like that. More than anything in the world, he couldn't bear to see you sad or worried because of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask Kunikida softly.

He stiffens up a bit and doesn't reply. He was afraid that if he tried to speak, he would break. He doesn't want to scare you. He was a member of the Armed Detective Agency. He couldn't let himself be vulnerable like this. He had to be strong; for you, for everyone.

Besides, he couldn't let you carry his burdens. It was his alone to face.

After a few moments of silence, you speak up, "You know what you look like to me, Kunikida?"

This seems to pull him out of his thoughts, and he wonders why you were asking this out of the blue.

"A flower."

A myriad of strange expressions passes over Kunikida's face at once and you can't help but laugh. He looks at you incredulously, at how you could possibly associate a brusque, not to mention ideal man like him to a flower out of all things in the world.

"Kunikida, have you ever looked after a plant?" You smile at him innocently. Without waiting for an answer, you continue, "You need to water it sufficiently...provide it lots of sunlight...and you need to give a lot of love and patience..."

You drift off for a few moments and he looks unsure of where you were taking this conversation.

"Just like how you don't rip out it's leaves when a flower doesn't bloom according to your expectations, you can't keep punishing yourself for your failures.” He stares at you, absorbing the depth of what you said.

"It's okay to grieve. After all, tears are only water, and flowers cannot grow without water.” You give him a small smile, “But there must be sunlight too. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and feelings of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us." You steady your voice, pulling him out of the darkness of his thoughts before it absorbs him completely.

You take his hand in yours and grasp it firmly, "Until then, please let me be there for you."

I was hiding and trembling with fear, crying all alone.

But when I woke up, the sunlight that was welcoming me was,

Kunikida remains speechless, eyes clouded by the shine of his glasses. Slowly, he takes his glasses off and brings both your hands close to his face. Closing his eyes, with a soft smile on his face, he utters only two words, conveying the only thought reverberating the immense warmth in his heart.

"Thank you."

You.

You’re my sunshine.

-x

As Kunikida settles into his bed, you finally let go of his hand. You throw him a smile and adjust your shrug around your body, "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, thanks." He replies, taking a deep breath.

Just as you turn to leave, Kunikida grabs your hand, "Y/N, will you stay with me?" he requests.

You purse your lips in surprise at this. To begin with, it was one of Kunikida's ideals as specified in his notebook, that unless married, even if they are in an established relationship, man and woman cannot stay in the same room. That was the reason you stayed in the same apartment but slept in different rooms.

You are silent for way too long and Kunikida quickly changes his mind, "No, sorry just forget-"

"Okay."

He is silent as you settle down beside him. You feel your heart pound too loudly in your heart as you look into his green-grey eyes and he stares into yours. Dim moonlight streams into the room and the night is tranquil. His messy blonde locks almost appear brown and you resist the urge to immediately weave your fingers through it. 

There is a tense silence as neither of you move, while you wait for your heart to calm down.

Strangely, you found yourself feeling a little nervous, and you felt clueless about this feeling. He was your boyfriend, you remind yourself and besides, he was the man you trusted the most. As a result of your heightened nerves, you blurt out weirdly, "I-I hope I don't snore tonight."

You want to punch yourself for saying such a stupid thing. Why were you such an expert at ruining good moments? Relief washes over you as Kunikida lets out a low chuckle.

"That's fine by me, so don't worry about it at all." He entwines your hands with his. With his other hand, he tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You feel a blush creeping up your neck at his gentleness. Kunikida may be strict and focused at work, but his affection and tender attitude towards you behind closed doors never failed to surprise you. 

But tonight it was a little different. When he asked you to stay with him, it feels like he has broken away from his standard protocol; temporarily abandoned his outer shell and let you in. And it truly made you happy, because he was finally putting himself first and allowed you to be there for him.

You squeeze his hand back in reassurance. "Tonight, I will protect Kunikida!" you say with such sudden sureness, you surprise yourself.

"Since, Kunikida is always protecting me, tonight it's my turn. I'll protect you from those bad dreams. I'll make sure they don't come back to bother you." you say in an almost comical manner. You expect him to laugh it off or ridicule you for saying such a thing. After all, the mighty Kunikida requiring protection of a powerless non-ability user as you?

But he does no such thing.

Instead he closes his eyes and brings your entwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles, a peaceful smile gracing his face. "I'm sure you will."

Your heart skips a beat and you find tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. At that moment, you forget everything, and your head is clouded by a single thought; a wish for only his happiness.

You wrap your arms around him, finally closing the little distance between the two of you and bury your head in his chest.

Please, make all this man's pain disappear. Let him find happiness again. You wish in your mind to any existing divine power out there.  

He strokes your head softly, running his fingers along your hair, and it is the most soothing feeling in the world, steadily lulling you to sleep. You decide that this is now your favorite place in the world; wrapped in Kunikida's arms, safe and secure. You don't know how much time has passed when you manage to get out the words.

"Promise me, Kunikida. Promise me that you will forgive yourself."

You don't know how long it took for him to reply. You are barely aware of anything, aside from the warmth from being close to him. But after what feels like an eternity, he whispers back, "I promise."

[pinky-the-elephant-room]

Passion Week

AN:  I wrote this crackish Tamaki smut prompt for @liliesoftherain​ and I’s server Dessert May prompts. Did anyone ask for this? No. Did I enjoy torturing poor Tamaki? Yes. Did I possibly bully my entire server to do this prompt so I have a reason to write this? Maybe. I haven’t completely edited this yet, will continue to edit it throughout the day. So excuse the typos and point them out in comments if you notice anything. 

Warning: Explicit smut involving handjob and a blowjob between Fem Reader and Tamaki.

Read the rest of the prompts: Here

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

Tamaki admired Mirio immensely. The thing he admired about him the most, was the fact Mirio was able to approach anyone and befriend them in a couple of minutes. Or at least remain acquaintances and be on friendly terms with them. Unfortunately for Tamaki it was the complete opposite. He could barely utter a few sentences to someone he didn’t know personally. That was the reason he managed to have only one best friend since elementary school. Furthermore, Tamaki didn’t befriend Nejire until high school. It was kind of sad to be honest and he severely wished he could emulate Mirio.

He wanted to be able to chat with his classmates about the newest video game or even about the weather if he could manage it. But Tamaki couldn’t muster the courage, and neither would any of them approach him. Apparently, being one of the big three meant that you were off limits and intimidating. Even though all of them saw him blushing and crouching against the nearest wall, they still stayed away.

However, recently since gaining his courage and fighting villains, gave him the courage to want to change himself. Tamaki was finally going to befriend people. Well, other than Mirio, Neijire, and did Kirishima count?

Tamaki took a deep breath to settle the anxiety bubbling in stomach. Yes, he was going to approach someone first and talk to them! He had even written down a few topics to talk about on his notecard. He was ready to take that step!

Tamaki looked up to see a group of his classmates leaving. Releasing a shuddering breath, he left go of his tight grip on his desk. Showtime.

Tamaki slipped his backpack on and got ready to leave. He followed the group of boys behind them, his plan was to interrupt and ask them if he could join. Being their classmate hopefully they would say yes.

“Uwaa, Ren-kun you bought the newest issue? How was it?” A boy with brown spikey hair named Seiji asked.

“It was really amazing, worth every yen. I had to hide it from my parents, but I managed it.” Ren stated smugly.

All the boys uttered expressions of amazements. “Sugeiii!”

Tamaki from behind wanted to ask what they were talking about as he opened his mouth only to hesitate horribly and squeak.

The boys fortunately didn’t hear that and kept walking.

“I don’t have enough courage to even step in front of the cashier with that!”

Ren put his arm around his friend Seiji. “Don’t worry I gotchu. I’ll let you borrow it!”

Immediately everyone else erupted, asking for Ren to also borrow who only laughed smugly.

The boys walked away in a hurry, leaving behind a terrified and disappointed Tamaki.

He sighed sadly and knew that he would fail eventually, but at least he tried. So, Tamaki trudged home, his failure weighing on him heavily.

The sunny day contrasting tremendously with his current mood, he was about to cross the street when he noticed a bookstore.

The boys were talking about the newest issue, so maybe he could buy and read it! Hopefully finish it by tomorrow and have something to talk about when he got to school.

Feeling much happier about his revised plan, Tamaki strolled in and wandered for a few minutes before he found the manga they were talking about. It was a pink and orange cover with the words “Passion Week” splashed in lime green. That was a weird name for a shounen manga, but Tamaki shrugged. He hadn’t read a manga for a couple years now so maybe that was the trend nowadays?

He waited in line patiently before it was his turn. Stuttering his way through the greeting to the cashier, he quickly put down the manga.

The cashier picked up the merchandise and froze. He eyed Tamaki suspiciously and shot him a judgmental look.

Tamaki blushed heavily and quickly laid down some yen, murmuring for them to keep the change and quickly ran out of the bookstore.

That was weird, he couldn’t help but think. Maybe he looked suspicious or the cashier recognized him as an intern for Fatgum?

Trying not to let it get to him too much otherwise he could spend hours being paranoid about what happened.

Tamaki waited till he got home and settled. Taking care to get undressed and munched on a snack before he grabbed the manga to begin reading. The beginning was pretty soothing, it was a love story between childhood friends. He liked how innocent the vibe was, it kind of felt like a slice of life. Way different than the shounen manga he figured the boys liked. Then a few pages later the vibe started getting different, Tamaki felt his eyebrow furrow. Huh, maybe it was a mix between a mystery and a slice of life? He skipped a few pages to see where the plot was heading and shortly felt his face explode in a plethora of color. Tamaki could feel his eyes swirling and steaming blowing out of his ears.

Oh no. This wasn’t a shounen manga. Or a slice of life. Not even in the slightest. Tamaki squeaked and threw the comic from him as far as humanly possible.

He didn’t know it was possible for girls to put that in their mouths!! Tamaki gulped as he tried to process what his naked eyes had just seen. The manga was porn. His classmates were talking about reading p-o-r-n!!!

No wonder the cashier gave him such a weird look, there was no way he could step into that store ever again! He covered his face with his hands and let out a low groan. He just wanted to befriend his classmates why was this so hard??! Tamaki gave up, he wasn’t going to discuss porn with his classmates even if they became best friends for life. He was satisfied with Mirio who he was sure had never seen a naked girl. Nor did he read porn well as far as Tamaki knew.

He threw a look at the cursed manga he threw across his room. Now what was he doing to do with that?

 A week later~

Y/N cheerfully skipped and hummed under her breath as she followed Mirio. The two of them were classmates in Class 3-B and since the first day of class somehow ended up sharing lunch with Nejire-chan and Amajiki-kun.

Today was an especially amazing day because she bought another set of desserts from the foreign bakery that opened up nearby. It was incredible, there were so many Italian sweets, the likes of which she had never seen before. Just yesterday she tried a Panforte and moaned as the nutty and fruity flavor exploded in her mouth. It was destiny! Y/N was in love with the quaint Italian bakery and she made sure to promise herself to pick a different pastry for lunch every day.

Y/N waved at Nejire-chan who was excitedly doing the same, almost falling off the bench in her endeavor.

“Y/N-chan! Did you grab something else today too?” Nejire asked excitedly. Y/N imagined a tail wagging behind her.

She nodded in affirmation and turned to greet the shy, pointy eared boy.

“Amajiki-kun! How are you?” The boy merely turned his head away, blushing deeply as he mumbled a response.

Y/N smiled patiently at him. He had always been like that with her. At first, she thought he hated her, but after talking with both Mirio and Nejire-chan they both reassured her that wasn’t the case and he was merely shy with strangers. So, she let it go and waited enduringly. Y/N hoped one day they could be good friends.

Mirio collapsed next to her and opened his large bento to start wolfing it down.

Y/N opened her own that her oka-san prepared for her and also took out the neatly packed bakery sweets. They were adorably wrapped in bows. Nejire-chan cooed at the sight.

“I bought something called Cannolis today! These are filled with sweet cream and some chocolate chips,” Y/N explained showing the tube-shaped shells.

Neijire was about to take one for herself before her hand got slapped by Y/N.

“Eat your bento first,” she said strictly.

Nejire pouted and settled down the bench before taking up wooden chopsticks and forlornly ate her lunch.

The four of them settled into a comfortable silence with only Mirio eagerly breaking it, talking about his exciting internship with Sir Nighteye.

“He seems strict at first, but really you just need to make him laugh to break the ice is what I told Izuku! I hope Sir Nighteye can see Izuku for who he is soon,” Mirio said.

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, Mirio had told them this story like 10 times this week. It was getting kind of boring, but the trio didn’t have it in them to tell their excited friend the truth.

Soon enough everyone finished their bentos, except for Nejire who set aside the rest of her plain rice, too excited for the dessert.

Y/N passed one to Mirio, who took a huge chomp and with his full, puffy cheeks managed to mumble out a “thanks.” She giggled at her silly friend before offering one to Nejire-chan. And finally, to her shy friend who with rosy cheeks, quickly bowed to her in thanks.

She took one for herself and took a tentative bite. The cream was really sugary, but the doughy bread mixed well, and the chocolate chips provided a slight bitter taste. The heaven in her mouth made her slightly orgasmic as she relished with joy. Y/N took another bite and moaned at the flavors in her mouth. Seriously, that bakery was top notch! She exchanged a delight look with Nejire who also was enthusiastically finishing her own treat, with cream covering the corners of her mouth.

Unknown to either of the girls, Tamaki had frozen in his seat. His hand was suspended in midair as he stared fixedly at Y/N’s face. The moan, the cream, and the flush of her cheeks resembled way too much what he had read in Passion Week! Ever since that awful week, Tamaki noticed things he normally wouldn’t have. Especially things regarding Y/N, like how pouty her lips were or how she seemed to bite her lips often.

Tamaki flushed red as blood flowed down to an entirely inappropriate place. When Y/N let out another girlish sigh, he stiffened and jumped out of his seat. He could no longer hide how excited he was and so he quickly covered his front with his school uniform. Tamaki dashed away from the scene, humiliated beyond belief.

Y/N turned to her friends, who looked just as baffled as her at Amajiki-kun’s behavior.

“The pastry wasn’t that bad was it guys?”

 A week later:

Y/N scowled while she stared at the bench. It had been a week since Amajiki-kun last ate with them. Ever since that day where he strangely ran away, Amajiki-kun refused to eat with them. Y/N felt distressed, she didn’t realize how much she would miss her shy friend. His silent but supportive presence was a much-needed reprieve from Mirio and Nejire’s chan hyper and exuberant companies.

Moreover Amajiki-kun interacted with Nejire and Mirio frequently, but he was extensively avoiding Y/N more than he usually did. Sure, he blushed heavily, rarely spoke, and stuttered whenever he attempted to talk to her, but at least he didn’t run away at the sight of her. Y/N didn’t know what she did for him to be so upset at her. Both of her other friends told her to wait it out, they were sure Tamaki would get over whatever that was bothering him. But Y/N wasn’t so sure, she was convinced he hated her. Her lip quivered and she felt the urge to cry.

Y/N jumped when she felt a touch on her shoulder. She turned around to see Nejire-chan looking sympathetically at her.

“if it’s bothering you so much go talk to him!”

“But you said to wait it out,” Y/N said confused.

“I know! But both of you are driving me nuts so go fix it right now,” she said cheerfully.

Y/N smiled wryly at her friend and sighed.

“Fine, I will go. Don’t get your hopes up though. I doubt we will even talk before he runs away again.”

Y/N trudged though U.A. looking for the sight of the pointed ear boy and found him tucked away in the obscure parts on the grounds of U.A.

She approached slowly and quietly, trying not to spook him before they got to talk. He finally noticed her when she stepped in front of him and he peeked at her nervously through his navy hair.

“Hi, Amajiki-kun. Do you mind if we talk? I have something to ask you.”

He shook his head and scooted over so she could sit on the grass next to him.

She began right away, not wasting time. “So, I’ve noticed this past week. You’ve been avoiding us or specifically me. I don’t know what I’ve done to make you upset and I’m really sorry. Please don’t be mad,” she began, her eyes started getting watery, her voice getting more and more emotional.

“I just want to be friends again. I want to eat with you again. Please, come back,” Y/N choked out.

Tamaki jumped hearing the emotional plea, he looked at her in horror. He didn’t want to make her cry! God, he was an awful friend.

“No! I-It wasn’t your fault,” he replied quietly. “It’s mine.” She sniffed and calmed herself.

Y/N looked at him confusingly. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a couple of minutes, unable to make up his mind whether to come clean to her.

“I promise I won’t judge. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He nodded. “I read something that was bad. Now I can’t get it out of my mind, and I see it everywhere. And you eating cannolis reminded me of what I read.”

Y/N cocked her head to the side. “What was so bad about it? And why did cannolis remind you of that?”

Tamaki whimpered as his face became flushed and he buried his face in his hands.

“Because i-it was meant for adults! I didn’t mean to and it was by accident. I bought the wrong book and the character put something in her mouth from the male character. It looked like a cannoli!” he managed to get out between smushing his face in his hands.

Y/N’s face twisted as she tried to decipher his words. What was so bad about a book? Then it hit her. It was for adults and it was shaped like a cannoli which resembled a body part. Oh. Oh.

Her own body started flushing. “You read a hentai??!” she exclaimed.

Tamaki let out a sound that sounded like a dying animal and curled himself even more.

Y/N immediately backpedaled, “noooo! It’s not a bad thing. It’s completely normal to be curious. I’m sure a lot of boys our age do! Heck, I’m pretty sure even girls do so please don’t be embarrassed.”

Tamaki peeked from behind his fingers at her. “Really?”

She eagerly nodded. “You should ask Mirio! I wouldn’t be surprised if he does too!”

Tamaki froze at that statement. Oh god, he never wanted to know if his best friend did.

“So, why did you run away? Even if you read that it doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me!”

Tamaki floundered for a minute, indecisive whether he should admit his guilt. He didn’t want to see Y/N’s lovely face with revulsion on it. Tamaki since he met her, thought she was unbelievably pretty, not like Nejire who was attractive in her own way. But rather beautiful in a way that made his heart pound.

“Because after I saw you, I got too excited. I didn’t want you to be disgusted and hate me,” he whispered, admitting his shame.

Y/N perked up, excited? There was always a part of her that found her friend attractive and cute. She wanted to get to know him better, but it was obvious to her Amajiki-kun didn’t need a girlfriend but rather a friend. So, she shoved that part of her far away and settled for giving him his space. Y/N wanted Amajiki-kun to be comfortable around her and she couldn’t do that if she was always flirting and embarrassing him.  

She scooted closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hate you for something like that. In fact, I have a solution if you’re willing to hear it.”

Tamaki straightened up and removed the hands on his face. She wasn’t mad? She didn’t hate him? Everything about this was way too good to be true.

“A solution? Like what?” he croaked out

She slid her hand from his shoulder all the way to his hand and squeezed it.

“Every time you feel excited, I wouldn’t mind helping you out,” she said softly.

Tamaki shocked beyond his words, could only numbly nod. He let out a squeak when he felt her hands started raking down his chest.

“Relax… Let me take care of you.”

Y/N as she teased her way down his body, felt the muscles underneath his shirt twitch and flex. Meanwhile, she removed his uniform jacket with the other hand. Tamaki felt his breaths get heavy with excitement, his ears and neck both were flushed red. He couldn’t believe what was happening, he honestly thought Y/N wouldn’t speak to him again! Her hands finally made it to his pants, he let out a whine when her hand pulled down the zipper.

Y/N jerked his pants down and dipped her hands to feel his cock. It took a few pumps before the member got engorged with blood, throbbing with heat. Y/N felt herself salivate, he was the perfect size, not too large and not too small. It was too bad Y/N couldn’t just swing her leg over and mount him like she wanted. But perhaps she could find an excuse to get him alone in her dorm room later. Tamaki whimpered with need when he felt her swipe her thumb across his weeping head.

God, he couldn’t do this. Tamaki could feel himself panic, he needed to hide. This was way too embarrassing, he looked side to side trying to find a way to escape. He choked out a groan when Y/N started a fast rhythm, pumping his cock in a way that made him dizzy. Tamaki slumped and rested his forehead on Y/N’s neck.

She could feel his hefty, hot breaths on her skin. The only other sounds that filtered out was the sound of fast, slick skin sliding and the occasional cry that erupted out of Tamaki who couldn’t suppress it any longer. Y/N stiffened when she felt his tongue flick out and accidently lick her neck. Tamaki for his part was trying to maintain composure and nervously licked his dry and chapped lips. She let go of his shaft and spit a wad of saliva on her hand before resuming her fast rhythm.

Tamaki bucked his hips into her hand, a crescendo of wails spewed out of his mouth. His eyes started tearing up, he sobbed out his pleas, asking for what he didn’t know. She could see the telltale signs that he was close, and so she shrugged him off her before bending down low. Tamaki blinked through his wet lashes to see why his safe place was gone, only to clench his eyes shut as he felt a warm and wet tongue close around his cock. Y/N hallowed her cheeks as she sucked the bulbous head and finally felt him explode. He gasped out and writhed in his spot as pleasure coursed throughout his body. His legs shook and his dick gushed out an excess of warm cum.

Y/N kept swallowing in a rush, trying to down the overflow. Still despite her vigilance, some spilled out as he kept cumming. Finally, his member twitched one last time before she licked it clean and straightened up. Y/N wiped the cum on her face before she looked at Tamaki in the eyes and made a show of licking it clean.

“It’s tasty and sweet. You should definitely let me do this more often,” she teased him.

Tamaki felt his eyes widen and became speechless at her cheek.

Y/N helped to tuck himself back in and made him look presentable before standing up and stretching her cramped legs.

“Come on, I think there’s still time to join Nejire-chan and Mirio. Let’s go eat lunch.”

He nodded and put his jacket back on. Just as Y/N was about to turn away, he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled.

She looked back at him and shot him a questioning look.

“I want you to call me, T-tamaki,” he whispered.

Y/N shot him a warm smile and grabbed his hands.

“Ok, let’s go, Tamaki-kun”

Mirio and Nejire both exchanged a look of glee when they saw their friends finally return with their hands interlocked and happiness prominent on their faces.

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Solace

note: this is for @cnnownsme who requested a soft, comforting Chris fic, I hope you like it! xx

words: 1.9k

warnings: mild swearing, angst, bit of smut (nothing too graphic though)

enjoy :)

You were startled awake by the sound of breaking glass. Groaning softly, you looked around, unsure what exactly had happened. It was dark, only the glow of your computer screen was illuminating the kitchen. It seemed like you fell asleep sitting on the dining table and accidentally knocked over your glass of water, which now laid shattered on the ground.

"Shit!” you swore under your breath and carefully got up to turn on the light, trying to avoid the shatters of glass littered around on the floor.

You were in the midst of cleaning up the mess you made when you heard soft footsteps coming closer.

“Baby, it’s the middle of the night, what happened?” The sleepy voice of your boyfriend asked. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, dressed in only pajama bottoms, his curly hair tousled from sleep. His eyes squinted against the light, and he looked so cute that you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and follow him to bed. But you couldn’t.

“I was still up working on that article, fell asleep and knocked over my water glass. Go back to bed, Chris, everything is alright.” You replied, tiredness and frustration evident in your voice. You didn’t want to argue now, you knew you weren’t getting enough sleep, but the work had to be done either way.

“Y/N, please come to bed with me, I promise you’ll be much more productive after a good night’s sleep.” Chris tried to convince you, reaching out to put his huge arms around your smaller frame and pull you against his chest. You resisted the temptation to just snuggle up to his warm, comforting body, wriggling yourself free from his embrace instead.

“Chris, I told you, the deadline is next week and if I don’t have a first draft ready by tomorrow my boss is going to have my ass.” You snapped, starting to grow annoyed, the lack of sleep and stress were taking a toll on your mood. “Go back to bed, please.”

Chris looked taken aback, but he yielded, pressing a kiss to your forehead and murmuring a quick good night before disappearing into the direction of your bedroom again.

You felt a flash of guilt, you knew he only wanted what was best for you, but you were in a position at work that didn’t allow for any mistakes. You were one of the youngest members of the team, and your strong opinions that you weren’t afraid to voice made you a thorn in the side of your boss. You had a target on your back, and you were not about to give them any reason to fire you.

Uttering a deep sight, you made yourself some coffee and continued working.

+++

A week later, things had spiraled out of control for you. Your boss was giving you so much heat, criticizing you and your work whenever he could. You were running on only a couple of hours of sleep during the last days, your appetite was almost gone, replaced by a constant queasiness in your stomach.

Between your job and Chris’ show, you haven’t been able to spend any quality time together, and on the rare occasion that you saw each other, you were tired and easily angered. Chris went out of his way to shield you from stress and tried talking to you multiple times.

He told you that he was worried, that you looked unwell and that you should consider taking some days off. But you had your walls up, dismissing him. He couldn’t understand the position you were in, he was well established as a journalist while you were still at the very base of the food chain. You had to put everything you had into this job, or you would never reach the top.

Still, you could see how your behavior hurt Chris and felt incredibly guilty about it. He was your rock, the most important person in your life, and you wanted nothing more than just crawl into bed with him for a week, or fly to a desert island, just the two of you. But talking about your emotions and fears had never been your strong suit, so you were just eating everything up. But you could feel breaking point approaching, and as usual, it hit you when you least expected it.

It was Friday evening; you had handed in your finished article a couple of hours before and were now preparing for what was hopefully going to be a more relaxed weekend. You currently were in the kitchen, trying to make dinner. Chris was still at work, but you wanted to surprise him and spend an actual evening with him, to make up for everything you put him through the last week.

Suddenly, your phone was ringing, your boss’s number showing up on the screen. You thought about just ignoring it, it was a Friday night after all, but maybe something important came up.

You instantly regretted taking the call. Your boss was basically tearing the article you gave him apart, disagreeing with so many of your arguments. He was calling you a failure and threatening to fire you if there wasn’t a completely revised version on his desk by Monday.

You managed to hold the tears at bay while you were still on the phone, but right after you hung up, you collapsed. Your body just slumped against the wall of the living room, sliding down until your head was between your knees.

The tears were flowing steadily, sobs wrecking your body while all the anger, stress, fear and pressure of the past weeks came crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You curled up against the wall and just cried, the world around you going blurry. You had lost track of time when you sensed rapid footsteps coming towards you. Chris was home.

“Babe, what is wrong?” his concerned voice barely came through to you, and you were crying to much to give an answer. Suddenly, you were picked up by a pair of strong arms and as soon as you felt the comforting presence of Chris’ warm body, the floodgates really opened.

He laid you down onto the sofa, covered you with a soft blanket and just held you while you let out all the repressed feelings that have been eating you up. His large hand was softly stroking little circles across your back while you cried your eyes out until there were wet patches all over his shirt.

When you finally calmed down and looked up at him, his eyes were full of worry.

“Talk to me, Y/N, please. I don’t know what is happening, and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. I’m not able to just sit back and watch you fall apart in front of me.” His voice was stained with emotion, and it was breaking your heart to see him so affected by the situation. He was the more empathic part of your relationship and had a keen intuition for other people’s feelings, and you had given him such a hard time, constantly pushing him away. But you knew that now was the time to fess up, you couldn’t continue like this anymore.

So you talked, about the amount of stress you have been under, about how you snuck out of bed when he was asleep to go back to work so you wouldn’t worry him, how your boss was almost bullying you recently, giving you immense word loads, impossible death lines and throwing insults at you at every chance he got. You told Chris that you could barely stomach any kind of food anymore, and that the sole thought of going back to work on Monday almost made you vomit.

When you finished, Chris was speechless. Then he reached out and just gave you the biggest, tightest hug, peppering little kisses to your hairline and stroking your back. You allowed yourself to relax for what maybe was the first time in weeks, sinking into Chris embrace. You just felt safe in his arms, like nothing bad could ever reach you as long as he was holding you.

When you looked up to him, his eyes were so warm, open and full of love that you could feel yourself tearing up again.

“You.” Chris said, putting your face between his hands and bringing it close to his. “are the most brilliant, kind, dedicated and resourceful woman I’ve ever met. You are intelligent, gentle, caring and so committed to everything you do. And the fact that those people at your work managed to take away your joy makes me so incredibly mad. But this is not about me, this is about you. You have to get your perspective back, and your love for what you. I don’t know why you kept all this from me, but I don’t care, I just want to see you smile again.”

You were crying again now, but this time it was from being totally emotionally overwhelmed. You loved this man so much, and all that stress paired with your own stubbornness had clouded your judgement and prevented you from seeing that the help and support you desperately needed had been right in front of you the whole time.

“I love you so much, baby.” You sobbed, “and I’m so terribly sorry for the way I treated you. I just wasn’t able to see the horizon anymore, I feel like I am drowning, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You need to get out of there, Y/N. I know you poured your soul into this job, but it’s breaking you down and I won’t let that happen. I am going to help you with finding a better place to work. I won’t stand by while you lose your passion and your enthusiasm. I love you too much for that.” His voice was calm, but heavy with emotion. He was being serious, and deep in your heart, you knew he was right.

You just nodded, to worn down to utter another word.

He pressed a tender kiss to your mouth, and the warmth that spread to your body when you felt his lips on yours was like a bright burst of light after walking around in darkness for days.

“We are going to make a plan and talk everything through tomorrow, baby. For now, let me take care of you.” Chris said, stroking your hair and planting small kisses along the side of your face, down your jaw and neck.

His hands were stroking your sides softly and you sighed, leaning back into the sofa cushions, just enjoying the warm feeling of Chris’ love and attention.

His hands and lips were slowly making their way all over your body and you were getting softer and more pliant with every inch of skin he was exposing to his ministrations. When his feather light kisses finally found their way between your legs, you let out a breathy moan, burying your hands in his curly hair. His tongue and fingers teased and caressed you until you came apart under him, his name falling from your mouth over and over like a prayer.

Afterwards, he held you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings against your skin, how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, that he would never leave you alone. You soaked up everything, feeling a bit less broken and hurt with every word. You fell asleep in his embrace, at peace and knowing you could take on anything in the world as long as you had Chris by your side.

[moonstruckbucky]

Crown of Thorns (3/?)

Summary: Arranged to be married to the great King Steven, the Reader comes to discover he is not all as she was told. He’s cold and callous and indifferent to their union. Is she really so doomed to live the rest of her life in a loveless marriage?

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, King!Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings for Chapter: A little lighter, but not by much.

Notes: I’m sorry for the lateness of this. I’m balancing my now hectic work week and some negative headspace. Enjoy this next installment! x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Beneath your gown, your knees quake. King Steven is even more handsome up close, practically carved from marble. He’s perfect - except for his eyes. His eyes, which stare you down, their icy blue depths void and emotionless. His jaw is tight as he appraises you, sweeping up and down your body. You feel both hot and cold under the weight of it, stomach torn between fluttering nerves and rolling nausea.

Remembering yourself, you curtsy low, managing not to stumble. When you straighten, it takes him a solid thirty seconds for him to bow at the waist. It’s a stiff movement, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he returns to his full height. You wish you could see what he’s thinking. Does he approve of you? Do you disgust him? He’s so carefully closed off you don’t know one way or another.

Around you, it’s silent in the hall. The noblemen and women watch on with interest, curiosity piqued that their King may have found his Queen. Your father watches on, a smile on his face that slowly fades as the two of you appraise one another. Suddenly, you’re not so sure about this at all.

You begin to feel awkward, standing before King Steven as he continues his silent appraisal, and you have to look away. Down at your hands as you fist them in your skirts, at your father who’s now looking worriedly between you.

Then the king moves, extends his arm for you to take to lead you back up the dais. You hope the utter relief doesn’t show on your face as you gently rest your hand atop his. It’s warm, but the bones and tendons are stiff, twitching, as if he’s trying to keep from balling it into a fist. He guides you slowly to your chair, now beside his so that the two of you might converse over dinner.

But you don’t.

It’s silent between you and King Steven seems to be doing all he can to avoid both looking at you and addressing you. He seems to focus somewhere off to the back of the room mostly, eyes flitting around his guests. Taking a drink from your wine, you rack your mind for a conversation starter.

“You have very beautiful horses in your country,” you begin, hope dwindling as Steven remains silent. His jaw is noticeably clenched, muscle jumping as he busies himself with food and drink. Inside your chest, your heart sinks. You try again, “Do you enjoy riding?”

Steven sighs quietly, catching the eye of someone across the room. Pursing his lips against the burn of his mead, he finally regards you. Ice-blue eyes blank, they sweep over your expression, which is quickly growing hopeful at his attention.

“Yes, I enjoy riding.” His answer is short, stiff, but you feel some relief anyways. He hasn’t relaxed, but he’s speaking to you, so you’ll take it. “Do you?”

“Oh, I-I’m afraid I haven’t had much opportunity to, Your Grace.” Now you’re a little embarrassed, broaching a topic of which you know very little. “Women aren’t permitted to ride like men are in my country.”

“Have you never sat a horse?” he asks curiously, angling his body towards yours, and you almost hate how quickly you perk up. His eyes are still guarded, but at least he’s speaking to you - a far cry from how dismissive he’d been.

When you shake your head, he almost seems amused. Something else unrecognizable passes over his eyes, but it’s gone rapidly, replaced by that stony blankness you’re beginning to dislike.

He slices into a bit of meat with his knife, speaks around a mouthful, “A Queen who can’t ride - imagine that.”

It stings, but you manage to hide it. You turn to your own food and eat slowly, your stomach rolling with discomfort, sadness, and anger. Your mother assured you he’d love you, and yet he can’t stand to be in your presence, much less hold a conversation with you. How are you supposed to marry such a man - if he’ll even agree to marry you?

While the clamor in the hall continues, you find yourself utterly alone. Steven has turned to address someone to whom you’ve not been introduced. Your parents chit chat with the nobles beside them. As you look frantically around the room, you jump at a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Sharon frowns down at you with nothing but concern, no doubt reading the growing panic on your face.

“Your Grace, are you well?” she asks, low enough that only you hear. Steven casts her a curious glance but pays her no mind, essentially blocking the two of you out by turning his back to you.

Swallowing, you straighten your shoulders and nod. You’re a princess, dammit, and you’ll present yourself as such.

“I am just fine, Sharon. Thank you.”

She wants to argue, it’s clear on her face, but after a few moments of scrutiny, she nods and backs away. You appreciate the care she already has for you, truly, but you refuse to let anyone, much less a king, make you feel small. So while King Steven continues to ignore you, you let yourself enjoy the work of his cooks.

Roasted meats, spiced vegetables, honeyed breads. You don’t indulge in too much wine, preferring to be of sound mind for the festivities. King Steven has made no attempts to engage you in conversation again, so you opt to watch the interactions. There’s laughter, jokes traded between noblemen, while the women roll their eyes and undoubtedly gossip amongst each other.

Once dinner ends, music replaces the sounds of silverware on plates. The center of the hall is opened up to a dance floor, and nobles all around the room begin to rise. Pair up and flurry about in beautiful ripples of colored fabric. The music itself is beautiful - a bit less lively than what you’re used to, but pretty regardless, and you feel yourself swaying in your seat.

Occasionally, you catch Steven watching you, an unreadable look in his eyes that you choose to disregard. The middle of the crowd opens up when a pair of enthusiastic dancers steal the show. The music picks up and the dancers twirl, leap, and spin to the new melody; you begin to clap along, a genuine laugh rippling from your throat as you watch them.

Even when you catch Steven’s eye, catch the thoughtful frown on his lips, you can’t bring yourself to stop. It’s contagious, the excited, happy energy in the room, and while your home had frequent parties, you can’t remember any of them being like this. This lively and jovial.

“My dear.” Your father’s voice makes you jump, so enchanted by the frivolity. He holds out a hand to you. “Would you do me the honor?”

Smiling, you accept your father’s hand and rise, casting a quick glance at Steven. He’s staring out at the crowd intensely, a million emotions flickering across his gaze that you don’t have the chance to identify.

The music slows, just a little, as you and your father join the throng. Your dress’s skirt billows out as your father twirls you around, leads your steps gracefully. The smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as he dips you and spins you under his arm. His matching grin is bright, his cheeks ruddy from drink and merriment.

It’s as he’s spinning you again, the music shifting again to something faster, more upbeat that makes it harder for you to keep up, that you see Steven rise from his seat. He looks to you for only a moment, before he stares off at something on the other side of the hall, but there are too many people for you to see clearly what he’s looking at. As he steps down from the dais, his dark blonde head disappears into the crowd of people.

You’re a little disappointed that he hadn’t come to dance with you, hoping that dancing would liven him up, make him warm up to you. The feeling, though, is swept away as you’re swept around the room.

Two more lively songs pass, the last one you choose to sit out, before Steven returns again, looking flustered. His cheeks are tinged light pink, and you assume it’s from drink because he quickly downs an entire goblet of mead. The amber liquid drips down his chin towards his doublet, and it takes immense self-control not to reach out and brush it away.

So preoccupied are you with staring at Steven, that you completely miss the derisive look your father sends him from a few seats down. Steven barely spares you a glance, brushing your curiosity away with a wave of his hand for his goblet to be refilled.

You’re not sure why you say it, or where the courage comes from, but you say it anyways. “You haven’t asked me to dance.”

The change is instant. The air around you growing cold as Steven tenses. He fixes frigid, hard blue eyes on you, jaw clenched tight, and you feel yourself tremble.

“I won’t be asking you to dance,” he seethes, low and venomous.

You don’t speak another word for the remainder of the evening.

It’s a sullen walk back to your room. After Steven had so brusquely brushed you off, you took Sharon up on her offer of taking you back to your room, feigning illness. Wanda joins you, the two of them at your side, not touching as is propriety, but close enough you feel their body heat. It’s comforting, sort of, until you’re so warm you realize it’s anger.

“You told me he was kind,” you accuse Sharon, softly but firmly once back in your bedroom. She’s taken aback, rightfully so, as this is your first night. You should feel slightly guilty, attacking one of Steven’s hired help in such a way, but tonight was… Tonight was a failure, through and through. And you’re angry - hurt, and angry.

“He is, Your Grace, I assure you.” She tries to assuage you, holds out her hands in a show of vulnerability as she pleads with you. “Perhaps he… Perhaps he too is nervous. Maybe even a little unwilling?”

You take offense, and you know it shows on her face as she backtracks. Wanda, sensing Sharon’s rising anxiety and need to fix this, steps in.

“What she means, my love, is that marriage is...first and foremost, a duty. One’s duty to his kingdom, and it is not an easy notion to accept. Perhaps King Steven is as nervous and unsure as you are?”

Her answer makes sense. You twist your mouth in thought, let your anger ebb away a bit. You hadn’t thoroughly considered that marriage is as big a change for you as it is for King Steven. The pressure from the courts that he take a wife, a woman he’s never met yet is expected to spend the rest of his life with, birth children with. It’s quite a deal of pressure for both of you, and while you’re taking it in stride as best you can, His Grace seems adamant in digging in his heels.

You dismiss Sharon and Wanda after they ready you for bed, a simple cream nightdress that touches the floor. The bed itself is about the softest one you’ve ever laid in, the mattress conforming to your shape perfectly. You can’t help it, you sigh happily and hug the equally-soft pillow to your face. The furs atop the bed keep the warmth in, and it doesn’t take too long for your busy mind to shut off for the night.

[amarscollyon]

Life is an absolute joy - I may get down and feel hopeless but then that’s simply down to my VILE CONNECTIONS

Because when it comes to tasks - every single thing a true will does for love and his tribe or community is an immense pleasure beyond your grasp and there you have it

You’re a fake fraud failure of a human - whilst I am a true will who is never anything but who he truly is, and a demigod as a result - you delude yourself that your pathetic fake brainwashed scum spirit you waste your vile worthless life with only to be cursed karmically for, and as a result become a SUBHUMAN SHITFISH MORON, so of COURSE you find tasks vile

They’re a worthless waste of time and a total lie and you loathe it’s because you loathe your FAKE FRAUD SELF for being a cowardly prick liar waste of time and energy and you know it’s true in your true self you ruin and murder and rape....

What more can I say? I love life and who I am - I hate what you are as you ruin what we could have been as one - my true joy multiplied as a tribe of like minded heroes forms a real group mind and experiences joy you haven’t even come close to dreaming of!

Lol!!!

I’ve been speaking truth for years and you still lie to yourselves and OMG you never deserved the love I gave you - like the master said, it was ALWAYS more than you and your fake delusion of care!!!

Cool, well I’m glad. May you carry on loathing who you are and what you do and wonder why bullshit fake “self” love and bollochs personal truth consistently fail you!!!

Utter morons!

Once again!

There IS NO SELF

A true will is ONE WITH ALL LOVE AND THOSE THEY KNOW AND SHARE EXISTENCE WITH!!!

The truth is absolute and universal and NEVER personal or based on your own perspective and experience

And LOVE?

Love!!! You total fucking dipshit asshole loser puppet to evil you thought you could use to destroy EVIL, and puppets you, whilst you and your spirit are cursed more daily for your idiocy!!

Love DISREGARDS ALL FEARS AND A TRUE WILL THAT ACTS ONLY ON LOVE WHICH IS NEVER FOR SELF OR EGO - and ALWAYS for the best communal good and those you love unconditionally, agapically and eternally - THEN BENDS REALITY AROUND YOU LIKE THE ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT DREAM IT IS - always has been and always will be - to what seems impossible at times yet ISN’T and is for the true best for all spirit that eventually across all time DOES choose to become love like this

You won’t get it because you’re a loser fucktard who has been seen for the revolutionary heart that it had and targeted with the false revolution that was put in place and set up like AN ELABORATE TRAP FOR THAT EXACT REASON YOU POO FOR BRAINS RETARD WANKER COWARD- and had your mind, time and life FILLED with totally perfectly crafted bollochs and other total cunts who are in the same boat - all too stupid, deluded and afraid to learn the lesson as the pride filled bag of shit demons carefully selected from the vast crop

So do what you want you failure- I AM THE SUN - APOLLO - truth made flesh and selected for this reason with proof you CANNOT DENY

I win through in the end and you can waste your time on vile tasks becoming ever more vile inside instead and achieve FUCK ALL and regret it all so so much as you scream in agony to the end of time

Because facts are facts

You’ve been given ALL you need to get it and angels and gods NEVER make you do vile things that are NOT who you ARE, and they along with I supply truth but you are required to look at it with courage and with humility accept your fault and swallow your pride - but no being of love is required to help you against your moronic selfish deluded egoism nor your free will

Wow

Ive never seen such a perfect little series of evidence you’re just a sad little coward fart in amongst this grotesque manure pile group of sad little cowards with no hope and nothing to blame but ego

Here’s another hint - even if you manage to succeed with ANYTHING it won’t help you or the world and I’ll enjoy sticking my fingers up in your moronic face and walking away

Low road loser

You can’t ever have me

Now go make yourself sicker with fantasies or something of choking - you know that’s proof your inner being is unwell and damaged and KNOWS all of this is truth and you’re to blame

You hate yourself and your life

Your soul is aware

Omg wow this was truly wonderful

Now - wake the FUCK UP DIPSHITS

You’ve until August 25th to resolve this disgrace between us OR you ALL have your karmic debt/punishment- multiplied 7 TIMES

and yes

It is ALREADY MILLENNIA of suffering and forced servitude you’ll be hard pushed even with MY devoted love and care and help to fix in the time you have left

Let alone after!!!!

Blessings one and all

I’ll do you a reading tomorrow to explore and confirm all this too!

Love and best wishes! Look forward to the vile tasks, my curses and your loser fake friends who are all doomed and unable to give comfort more daily leaving you worth less and less

Constantly!!!!

Muah

I really DO love you

But this is pleasure as much as adoration when you touch my heart - the only reason for any of this is love, and yep, it never breaks your will whilst you’re STILL RAPING MINE UYOU ARROGANT FUCKS

may the gods be with you more visibly as you comprehend all you had before was a load of demonic pretend poop

Fools

I’ll be here to save your life and soul and love you forever- when you do me or give me a call or knock

Anything else? Go shove a giant cactus up your ass!!!

[kimkymury]

Blue Rose Tears - Chapter 13

Hey everyone, another chapter of Pascal x Carl fanfic is here! Sorry for the delay, the next chapters will not take so long to be ready.

 I really liked to write this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the story ~

Warning:  Just a little warning, some characters have distorted views about sexuality, and those views do not represent what I think in real life. This was written on purpose to suit the environment and the time that the story takes place, since at that time people were more closed minded.

The Portuguese Version of this story is avaliable on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1018668258-as-l%C3%A1grimas-da-rosa-azul-cap%C3%ADtulo-13

Under the cut!

Chapter 13

P.O.V Narrator

The words that came out of his monologue did not provoke immediate reaction, the stillness of the laboratory was disturbing, as if both reflected what they heard. He had done what he feared so much, said everything that tormented him and that was in his mind, created a distance both physical and emotional. The two boys no longer wrapped their arms around each other, they could barely maintain eye contact. The sensation of realizing what had just happened took time to reach them, but when he did, it desolated the interior of both, drowning them in even more doubts. Carl deeply regretted every syllable he uttered, but there was no courage to go back, seeing the scientist's sullen countenance was enough to make him feel even more despicable.

Pascal's face was marked by an expression of emptiness, it was not similar to when another one of his experiments failed, or when he was angry with someone, it could not even be compared to the frustration of his own failures. A part of him left him the moment I heard the monologue of the religious boy, he felt totally helpless, what he feared most and what was the reason for his concerns, had finally happened. For a second, deep in his innermost thoughts, the red-haired boy still thought that there was hope. He imagined himself with a different ending, that he could be with whom he so longed for. Frustrations always accompanied him, and the feeling of emptiness was replaced by desolation. He was adrift now, his brilliant mind could not reason in any possible solution, it was not something that involved exact numbers or formulas. Humans were intriguing creatures, he himself had thought this several times, they can be down for something considered so superficial.

"I'm sorry ..." - Carl's voice, which expressed so much unhappiness, said in a failed attempt to lessen the scientist's suffering.

What he had done was considered enmity and could even be worse than betrayal, he had renounced his friendship. The scent of lavender no longer as pleasant as it seemed, made them feel sick, perhaps thanks to the sudden stress. What surprised the scientist the most was the way he received this news, he expected to see a look of anger or at the very least disgust on Carl's face, but the only thing he could observe was the dejection. Pascal sketched an expression of contentment, together with an empty look. He had imagined that there was a possibility that something like this could happen, but he did not expect that the reality could be so distressing. He was angry, not at Carl, but at himself. In other times, he could have been around without even worrying, but now he had ruined their relationship, guilt now haunted him.

"Are you sure about this?" - He still felt a hope within him, an expectation that refused to die, yearning for the religious boy to change his mind.

He remembered all the moments they shared, it was as if they were being reduced to dust, whoever else was at his side was about to abandon him. He could see that the younger boy was not feeling well in that situation, his slightly watery eyes showed everything he kept to himself. He controlled himself intensely not to withdraw everything he had said and ask for forgiveness, but succumbing to his wishes was out of the question. He kept telling himself that he would only do that for Pascal's sake, because he liked him so much that he would not hesitate to guarantee his salvation, even if it meant hurting him.

"There is no other alternative, it is the only way to save us ..." - After nodding, the dark-haired boy answers the question that was asked, hoping that the redhead would understand his real intentions.

Pascal's suspicions were confirmed, he knew that his friend would not be able to face the fact of the attraction he had felt for him without worrying about his own salvation. They were perfect opposites when it came to religious themes, there was not even one topic they could agree on. Carl, was an immensely Catholic devotee, and Pascal, on the other hand, did not believe in the existence of a god or superior force, preferring only to believe in science. Opposites are completed until a shock occurs, where each one see the same situation in different ways. The scientist could not even understand what all this had done to the religious boy's mind, and he did not even know how long this departure would last. What comforted him was Carl's description of his own feelings, he felt the same way, although this news was quickly drowned out by what was to come.

Now he imagined all the suffering he put into his friend, the same as a friend who was always by his side and never knew how to deal with his own thoughts. For Carl, it was all a delight and a torture at the same time, the redhead's presence comforted him and made him fear what was ahead. He was not surprised that he saw the situation so naturally, after all, it was Pascal. He humiliated himself inside his head, both for exposing himself in this way considered outrageous, as well as for everything he felt.

"I will pray for you later ..." - The scientist knew the real meaning of this sentence, and how it could sound ironic, considering his lack of faith.

Still with his head down, the dark-haired boy said goodbye and turned to go, preparing himself for the punishment he would receive for not attending class the day before. Carl would spend more time in the Church from now on, both for his devotion to religion and to redeem himself from his sins. He preferred to think positively, even if he was deceiving himself, and that after a while, everything would be as it was before. His slow steps took him towards the laboratory door, not before holding his books against his chest, in a failed attempt to contain himself. The scientist, who watched everything without spontaneous reaction, thought quickly about what he could do. Everything was over, he had nothing to lose, now would be the opportunity to do what he thought for so many nights. The dark-haired boy might come to hate him, but Pascal couldn't let him go without first admitting what he felt, it would probably be the last time he could talk to his friend for a long time.

"I also have something to say." - The redhead said, taking a few short steps while trying to reach the younger boy, who stopped immediately after hearing these words.

Carl turned quickly, waiting for a sign of understanding or anything to ease his pain. The scientist stopped and stared at him for a few seconds, before lightly pushing his glasses up with his fingers. He imagined the suffering he caused in his friend, he knew about his problems, worries and self-deprecations, and yet he set it all aside for a selfish desire. If this were really the last time that it would be appropriate to talk to the dark-haired boy, he would ask for forgiveness for any affliction caused.

"It wasn't right for me to have acted so impulsively, I'm sorry for all the anguish I caused, I should have think about your emotions." - Pascal said, again without sarcasm, showing his most vulnerable face while asking for his absolution.

That somewhat comforted Carl, it seemed that the rational scientist had finally understood why he was denying his friendship, and being available to collaborate. The religious boy listened attentively, not knowing if it was the right time for an answer or thanks, he chose to wait a longer pause and continue listening to what his friend had to say.

"I don't think there is a need for such a rigid distance, because ... Your presence makes me experience something that is not literally rational, however, it is something I like to feel." -The older boy continued to say, no matter how embarrassing he might say this, since he was not used to expressing himself that way.

Bewildered by what he had just heard, the dark-haired boy reflected on these words again, trying to understand their real meaning. He remained static, just watching while his thoughts took care of the rest, while the redhead approached slowly. They faced each other again, this time they managed to maintain eye contact for longer than they should have, losing some sense of time and space. Pascal seriously considered whether to proceed or retreat, but since he received no reaction from Carl, he decided to continue with his monologue.

"You were the only one who believed in me from the start, the only one who was willing to listen to my daydreams, no matter how bizarre they sounded." - The scientist said being a short distance from the boy who listened without showing an immediate reaction.

"Whether to rejoice or regret, you have always been here, you have never belittled my eccentric way of looking at life or my exotic interests." - He tried hard to sound as honest as possible, not letting his lack of practice in demonstrating complex emotions hinder him. - "Your presence is what cheers and motivates me, I just wish it would never end, that we would stay that way forever."

Open-mouthed, both because he never heard anything like this, and because these words were coming out of Pascal, the religious boy felt his own heart racing. Even though it sounded almost unlikely to happen, deep in his thoughts, he believed that he could feel the scientists' beats increase along with his. The shadows of both mixed on the floor of the laboratory, forming a single figure, thanks to the position of the Sun and the proximity between them. Carl was able to feel his own heat up, as if his own blood was circulating faster, as he analyzed the scientist's expressions.

We are halves of the same soul, divided into different faces. The same reflex seen from different perspectives, created on the basis of the same matter. In addition to being corporeal or mystical, it is irrational and plausible.

For a young man as ingenious as Carl Messier, that situation still seemed extremely confused, his own daydreams did not allow him to see what was right in front of him. All the statements made by the friend the previous day, amid the greenhouse light, made reference to him. Pascal tried to be as clear as possible, leaving no doubt about what his monologue was about, much to the delight and panic of the dark-haired boy.

"I used to think that this kind of feeling was purely rational, perhaps due to the lack of logic that is imposed on it, however, it would be hypocrisy on my part to deny that my feelings for you exist." - Apprehensive, and at the same time, a little indifferent, Pascal expressed his thoughts while preparing to finish.

The words that were usually so simple to understand, seemed to need more time to be absorbed by the religious boy, who tried to calm himself at all costs. The scientist would then say the sentence that would end any questioning that would follow, putting at risk a friendship that, according to Carl, was practically eroded.

"I love you, Carl. It took me a long time to reach this result, but I suppose that is the only conclusion."-

His heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, returning to an accelerated rhythm shortly thereafter, causing even a certain physical discomfort. He felt as if his throat was closed, blocking the passage of air in the way he was used to, which resulted in a failure in his voice. He did not understand what most intrigued him, he had heard these words before, and they were always spoken by his parents or his brother. He wanted to believe that this phrase had a different meaning, something more than a simple fraternal consideration, a sentimental meaning.

Not even a lady had even gone so far as to confess to him in this way, and he never thought he would hear anything like that from a friend. He had stopped deceiving himself some time ago, he recognized that it was reciprocal, which made everything even more dangerous in Carl's distorted conceptions. Both realized that they appreciated each other in ways beyond what was considered acceptable, what they would do next remained a mystery. The dark-haired boy gave himself the task of putting an end to this situation, considering himself a heretic from the moment he started to look at what he felt more closely.

"I'm sorry, but ... that's not true." -Carl replied after a considerably long period of silence, denying what he had just heard.

"I will go to confession before dinner and all this will pass with time, we don't have much contact with women, it can just be the imagination!" - The religious boy said with false hope, in the expectation that his positive thoughts would dispel worries and the desire to go back - "After graduating, we will meet ladies and marry them, and we will not even remember this day."

All torment will disappear, only if we have the strength. Doing what is right corrodes me inside, maybe I can even make myself unhappy. Reality can be cruel to us, although we prefer to close our eyes to this.

The disappointment was evident on the face of the red-haired boy, that was not only the denial of his friendship, it was the denial of the veracity of his feelings. He knew more than anyone about what was going on inside him, he carefully analyzed each behavioral change in order to discover the cause, he understood exactly what he felt. This was no longer just a fantasy or the fruit of his imagination for a long time, he was not a hypocrite and recognized his desires, he could dream of the presence of a girl if he was bored, but even then he was unable to do so. Carl's purity, considered by many to be one of his greatest qualities, could become a flaw in other aspects of his life. The scientist understood that this was the way he saw the world, and did not reject it, it was just another reason that made him be charmed by the religious boy.  With a small, slow step forward, Pascal questions his friend again about the accuracy of what he had said, while giving him a curious look. Slightly embarrassed, both by the situation itself but by the intensity that they looked at each other, Carl nods before saying "yes".

As most of the time it was there, that lab really stopped time from setting it up to determine if this was a quality or defect. The dark haired boy remembered that he should hurry up for his punishment, after all, he felt that he deserved it for more reasons than he could count. It was time to go, he wasn't sure how to end that dialogue, he just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. He lied to himself and to Pascal, he was not sure of anything he said, just did what he thought was right. It hurt, the fact that knowing that if he was redeeming himself from his sins did not help ease the pain, it just made him feel more miserable.

"I'm sorry ..." - The younger boy said, looking at the floor and getting ready to leave.

The scientist did not fully understand that last sentence, because knowing the friend well, he did not know if he asked forgiveness for him or for God. He imagined that the second option was the most plausible, within that context. Comforting people was not the redhead's strong point, he struggled, but his condolences usually ended in philosophical reflections that contradicted religious doctrines. Nothing came into his mind so that he could alleviate the situation of the younger boy, all he wanted was to make him forget what tormented him, even though he knew it wouldn't be so simple. At times like these when the fact that they were perfect opposites damaged their relationship, they did not see life in the same way, and managed to be so close at the same time. He regretted not having said anything, remained silent while the religious boy hurried towards the door, leaving the scientist alone afterwards. The sound of the wooden door closing quickly, but still in a discreet way, was like a sting in Pascal's interior, he knew what was coming next.

He did not plan to inform his friends about this sudden separation, and he imagined that Carl would prefer his discretion, since the reason for his conflicts were more complicated than they would have liked. He did not fully understand, he thought that the reciprocity of the feelings of both would cause a completely different result, his extremely rational mind had a certain difficulty in reflecting on more subjective themes, such as what occurred inside the minds of other people. The scientist returned to the table where he was doing his experiments, stared in dismay at the variety of flowers displayed on the bench, his empty gaze was enough to worry anyone who saw him at that moment. He sat while he leanned both arms on the table, watching the large laboratory window as he felt the sun warm his skin, marked by small freckles. Somehow, he saw himself in Carl's confused and desperate expression, he could slightly understand how he felt about it all. He remembered the moment he realized when these feelings came to light, they were accompanied by a surprised feeling along with several doubts.

He did not consider them immoral or sinful, just pointless, irrational. He believed that a type of attraction that could not lead to reproduction was devoid of logic, which was against his purely rational principles. He knew that relationships of this type were not well regarded by most people, he had used the situation of two close friends as an example, Serge and Gilbert had to endure countless problems, implication, hostility and rejection by the affective bond they had. Why should there be one more obstacle in his life? His life choices and eccentric interests already did the job of complicating everything, feelings, which the scientist deemed as "unnecessary", would only put everything to waste. But there was no alternative, he tried to forget or stop thinking about the dark-haired boy in more affectionate ways than he considered acceptable, and to no avail. Leafing through his notebook, which was on the table, where he recorded each new discovery he made, he decided to reread his notes on the aspect of human feelings.

He was more confused than he could have imagined, what he wrote was perfectly consistent with reality, the mind was an unknown quantity that could hardly be unveiled. He used all of his knowledge to find out what had happened to the religious boy and the reason for his attitudes, and without making much effort, he knew that these were religious matters. Continuing to think about what happened would bring nothing but more frustration, the best thing to do would be to be distracted by something that would grab his attention. Immediately, a white rose stained by dyes of different colors, mainly blue, aroused his interest. He would work on his beloved and dreamed blue rose for as long as he used to, he would spend the next entire weeks focusing only on it, in order to forget what was hurting him. The blue rose was his escape valve, his goal for a long time, he would not be fully satisfied until he completed it. He forced himself to perform calculations and remember chemical formulas while choosing each plant he would use, he repeated to himself that everything would be fine with time, but the image of what had happened earlier was still present in his thoughts.

After some time, the plants were cut, crushed and distributed in small containers. The petals of Violets, Orchids and Lilies formed different shades of blue, which made the scientist observe them more closely. He wasn't thinking about the colors themselves, but about how those colors reminded him of Carl. There was no logical explanation for this, he just thought that blue matched the dark haired boy, it was a color that conveyed sadness and peace at the same time. Reflecting more deeply, the religious boy always had a sad aura, not in a depressing way, but that managed to be melancholy and peaceful. His experiments failed to keep him distracted for so long, as everything reminded him of Carl. Looking at the small calendar that hung on a nearby wall, Pascal could see that winter was approaching, and along with it, the end of the school year. As he had always done, he would repeat another year to continue his research, he imagined that he would see his friends graduate and continue in school.

He had always been determined about this, never thought or cared about the consequences, but this time he hesitated. A few years have passed since he began to dedicate himself entirely to his so unrealistic blue rose, and he did not feel that he was making as much progress as he wished, which brought even more frustration. Everyone in Lacombrade knew his purpose, although they did not always fully understand it, but his great intellect was never doubted. He wondered what he was doing there, he used to reject his father's advice, he had always said that his son should become a doctor, that he would succeed in that way. Pascal always rejected this idea, although medicine was something of interest to him and one of his talents, the red-haired boy still did not approve of the possibility of studying something just for capital. He had a natural tendency, a genuine interest in nature and chemistry, although he was inclined towards biology.

When asked why he was still there, he always answered using the laboratory and his blue rose as a justification, but he used to omit some more reasons. He felt the need to stay in Lacombrade for his friends, especially after getting close to Serge and Gilbert, he couldn't leave them alone without knowing if they would be okay. Also, he would miss Kurt and Neka's jovial and somewhat reckless personality, he knew he would do his best to help the pianist and his blond companion, but he still feared for their safety. Lacombrade was his home, it was where he grew up and lived with people he dared to call his second family, he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. But, there was one more specific reason that made the scientist not want to leave school, someone who motivated and inspired him. Staying away from the religious boy was what he feared most if he left boarding school, the mere thought of not being able to see him every day as he had always done was a pain. However, he recognized that his presence there could become a burden on Carl's life, and knowing all his motivations for ending that friendship, he imagined that both would suffer from that separation.

He looked thoughtfully at some sheets of paper that were next to an inkwell, considering what would be the right thing to do and becoming even more frustrated by it. His hands were stained by the blue color of the petals, it was as if he had touched a part of the sky.

We feel empty, because we leave a part of us in what we love.

The sun had been covered by some clouds, which made the whole atmosphere of the place a little more gray. The tracks left on the grass around the school indicated that someone had come by in a hurry, perhaps in an attempt to take refuge. It was a few minutes before Carl was due to appear at the Church for his punishment, he felt that the quietest place to wait would be outside, on the outskirts of Lacombrade. He just needed to calm down from everything that happened, sitting and breathing fresh air could help. The sleeves of his coat were busy drying up the few tears that could not be contained, he just wished that no one saw him at that moment. But it was when something caught his eye, from a distance, he saw a pale boy with equally dark hair sitting on an old wooden bench, entertaining himself with a book. Occasions like this were rare, seeing his agitated younger brother, who always ran and played, focused on a single activity.

He decided to get closer, any time they could spend together was good, since they were most of the time apart. It didn't take long for the boy to see his brother walking towards him, he smiled sweetly at him as he watched him approach. Sitting side by side, they started a calm conversation, which was great for Carl, since distractions were what he needed most at the moment.

"It is unusual to see you reading of your own free will, which title did the grace to attract your attention?" -The older boy asked in a cheerful way, both to hide what he felt and to amuse his brother.

The already leafless branches swayed as the wind dragged through them, causing some last leaves to fall around the two brothers. The elder tried not to extend the conversation for too long, as he would be late for his punishment, and the younger brother just had fun without worries. After marking the page he was reading with a small piece of paper, Sebastian closes the book and shows the cover to his brother, not long before saying:

"Sense and Sensibility, a Jane Austen novel." -He responds looking at his brother, showing an excited expression to share something he likes with Carl.

The religious boy had never read the book, although he had heard about it and saw it a few times in bookstores, but he knew that the plot was about themes that little Sebastian might not understand. He had no idea how he managed to get his hands on it, his parents would definitely not gift him with such a thing, even though they were more understandable than they used to be. The school library did not have many popular books, mainly of this genre, being focused only on educational purposes. Carl trusted his younger brother, acknowledged that he was much smarter than other children of the same age, but worried that he was consuming something that was not aimed at someone so young. He wanted Sebastian to live a happy childhood, without the worries he would have when he was older.

"Where did you get that? As far as I know, there are no books of this type in the library." - The older brother I ask curious and somewhat apprehensive, I just hoped that the answer would not be very worrying.

He did not want his question to sound like a sermon, he expected to be seen as companionship by his younger brother, not an authority figure.

"Liliath lent it to me, he brought it with him the last time he went to Arles." - He says looking at the cover of the book for a few seconds, before turning to his brother.

How to explain Carl's feelings for Liliath Florian? The older boy saw him as someone unreliable, had a certain dislike for him, especially after the conflicts he had had with Serge and Gilbert. Even so, that blond boy was still esteemed by some people, had affinities with those considered delinquents and participated in the "Pretty Boys Club". Liliath had the company of some close friends, just like Carl, and such a group was made up of Necroix, Sebastian and a few other members that he did not insist on remembering the name. He did not like the idea of ​​a helpless child like his brother always being with people of doubtful nature, what comforted him was knowing that Necroix was always around, because he knew that his nature was not questionable.

"I don't think it's appropriate for someone at your age to read novels like this, you know you're too young for books of this type." - Trying to appear understandable, but still a little strict, he advises the boy thinking only of his well-being.

"That's what most people say, but I don't mind, I learned a lot about different subjects in books, especially with this one." - The little boy responds, in order to prove to his brother his own point of view.

That sentence might have seemed foolish coming from a child about Sebastian's age, but Carl knew that his brother had the greatest intellect that he could have imagined. He had become accustomed to the boy's precocious personality, but he was distressed by what he might be learning.

"Give me an example." - The elder boy said, curious with possible responses.

"Using romance as an example: during the history of the world, at different times and in different places, there were people who could not be with those they loved by the judgment of others." - Sebastian began to explain what captivated him so much in romance books, in an attempt to convince his brother not to tell his parents about this - "It is a synonym of injustice, there were so many who gave up their own happiness or even their own life, just to fit what was expected of them. "

Admired by what he had just heard, and still reflecting on some information, Carl could feel a shiver down his spine when his brother finished his monologue. He had remembered what had happened a few minutes ago, in that laboratory. He looked at Sebastian with a confused expression that at the same time conveyed pride, he had always been considered the most brilliant by his family, but the truth is that not everyone had the ability to see his younger brother's intellect. He wondered how they could share the same blood and at the same time be completely different, the youngest son in the Messier family was really a mystery.

The religious boy's prolonged silence worried the little boy a little, he imagined that Carl had heard all that with a disapproving look, and that perhaps he would tell his parents everything.

"Please don't tell anyone about my interests, Mom and Dad may find out." - The boy asked his brother, hoping he would understand and help him.

Carl did not consider himself a cruel brother, like those presented in stories, on the contrary, he was overly concerned for Sebastian. He knew that his parents would not approve of him reading it at such a young age, and he would not want to take away a source of learning and leisure from his brother. Throughout his life, he had completely obeyed his parents, reported all the antics done by the youngest son and took responsibility for his well-being. But only this time, he would break this rule, he could not bear to see an intellect so developed having its source of information forcibly removed.

"What I'm doing is not correct, but let's say that no one else but me will know this." -The older boy said, still a little thoughtful about what he had heard.

Grateful for what he had just heard, the boy tries to show his gratitude in some way, even without knowing how.

"Thank you very much Carl, I am glad  we are brothers!" - He says smiling, before being interrupted by the sound of church bells.

It was time for the religious boy's punishment, he should hurry up so he wouldn't be late. After saying goodbye to the younger boy, he starts walking quickly towards the Church of Lacombrade. His legs stop moving when he hears a childish voice calling him, he turns to listen to what his brother wanted to tell him.

"I feel bad about letting you go without a proper thanks, you swore to keep a secret, so the least I can do is return the favor ..." - Sebastian said, trying not to speak slowly, as he saw that his brother was in a hurry - "I promise not to tell anyone that the real reason you didn't attend yesterday's classes involves leaving without permission with Pascal."

The older boy could feel his heart rate accelerating when he heard that, he couldn't imagine how Sebastian knew it. How much did he know? Was he watching them? He had a lot to ask, but the words didn't come out of his mouth and the seconds ticked by as he thought. With an innocent laugh, just like the ones he let out when he was doing some mischief, the younger boy was amused by Carl's confused and frightened expression. This was not his initial intention, but he still managed to be funny.

"Hurry up, don't be late!" - Sebastian said as he watched his brother run towards the large building that was close to the school, wondering what had happened to him.

The temperature dropped a little, which made some students retire into the school, leaving Carl more relieved. As he headed for his punishment, there was someone still in the lab, with his hands stained with ink. Pascal rewrote a letter several times, he just needed to find the right words. He wondered if it was the best decision, but a simple analysis of the pros and cons was enough to end his doubts.  He had at his side a dictionary that helped him to correct his own grammar, as his dissertation must be impeccable. When he finished again, he reread it carefully several times, looking for any errors.  His writing was excellent, the redhead placed the letter, which was quite extensive, in an envelope. The recipient was the Medical University of Düsseldorf, Germany.

His admission letter was ready, he explained all of his goals, from the reason he was still at that school and why he had failed so much. The scientist would finally leave Lacombrade after so many years, become a doctor who had attended a renowned college, and perhaps return to France after many years. Sighing, he closes the envelope and keeps it in a safe place, far from where it could be lost or spotted, was inside one of his favorite books. Writing was not the most complex step, he had no idea how he would tell this to his friends, especially Carl.  He knew the boys would be happy, they would miss him, but he didn't know how the religious boy would react. He didn't want to cause him more pain, that was one of the reasons that made him want to leave.

Church candlelight illuminated Carl's pale face, marked with desolation and anguish, as he repeated long verses from the Bible. His knees hurt, he could imagine they would have bruises, but even the discomfort couldn't bother him. The thoughts of better times were what kept him sane, he just wished he could go back in time.

Continued in Next Chapter

Written by KimKymury, thank you reading <3

[growingupgerudo]

The King’s Reflections

Mod’s Note: Here is an amazing fic written to us by @admirality-of-the-blues!! So happy to finally post this now that the pages it’s referencing are in the public eye! <3 Thank you so much!   Desert nights were unlike any other that could be found in Hyrule. Surely, its days were scorching hot, with only the hardiest of the desert dwelling folk even daring to venture into the sands at the sun’s highest point. That would soon follow with a night that was blistering cold, where the Gerudo would exchange their protective cloaks for warm duvets and hot tea around a warm fire, seated well within their homes as they winded down for the evening, away from the chills of the dark.   However, on this evening in particular, one certain Gerudo king found himself lounging on the railing of his balcony right outside his bedroom chambers overlooking his vast kingdom. Despite the bone chilling wind, he had foregone his shirt, as if he had suddenly abandoned the idea of heading to bed for rest and somehow had found himself wandering outside. He seemed unfazed by the cold however; his eyes, sunken in with worry and his lips set in a deep frown were enough of an indicator that he was quite deeply lost in thought.     I... was never cut out for this.   The thought had always persisted in the back of Ganondorf’s mind. He had never held any desire to be a king; it just seemed far too restricted and completely unaligned with what he wished to personally accomplish within his life. It certainly did not help that he was far too inclined to react instinctively based on how he was feeling at the moment, with hardly any thought given to it beforehand. It was these rash decisions that had taught him over and over again that the consequences of his actions were not something that would only befall him; rather, the people he was leading suffered as well, if not more than he did. That thought alone was enough for the king to feel a sickening feeling rise within his chest, his grip tightening on the railing to the point where he could certainly bend the flimsy metal with his immense strength. This flaw of his, it seemed, carried over to the more personal aspects of his life.  

 You’re not even my real mom!

  I have never been his mother.    As the wind picked up, rustling his long hair, the king found himself sighing deeply. He had always wanted to raise a family with children of his own, an instinct so deeply rooted within his being that he felt that it had been no mere coincidence that he had found Link on that fateful day in the desert. Yet, as the years went by, he found that he was failing at the one thing he desired the most. He knew teenagers were difficult to deal with, but to hear such heartbreaking words from the two people he cared for the most just seem to point at his failure. The harsh cold piercing his bare skin was one Ganondorf hardly felt as he found his hand racking through his hair relentlessly, as if it would help him sort out his thoughts in a better fashion.   He could not lead his people to prosperity on his own, so much so that his son believed that he had to put his own safety on the line to do something about it.   He had failed in truly allowing Nabooru to see what she was to Link; a loving, inspirational mother figure, one that had allowed them to be something much stronger than the word ‘family’ could ever encompass.  And for Link... he had failed as a father to protect him from danger, and as a king to ensure that such a situation shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Ganondorf’s chest tightened with the intensity of the pain and sorrow he was feeling, his knuckles white from the death grip he had on the railing of the balcony. The groaning metal beneath him went unnoticed as every thought he had buried within his mind resurfaced one after another. Had he ever done a single thing in his life that had not resulted in pain and ruin for those he cared for more than anything? He strove, with all his heart, to be the king, father, and lover that would bring prosperity and joy to whatever he touched. Instead, his touch was more akin to one of death; everything, everything he ever touched was destined for ruin. If it hadn’t been for people like Nabooru in his life, what would have happened to him? What would have happened to the people around him?  I….    It was all he could do to hold back the tears of sheer frustration that threatened to escape him. He hardly noticed his arm mutating into something grotesque, sparks running along the mutilated flesh and scales as image after image assaulted his mind, of his people dying in battle and famine, of holding his son in his arms praying that he would not die, of the look of utter pain on Nabooru’s face as Link’s words pierced her heart. Why could he not stop this anguish, despite his best efforts? Why could he not give anyone the life of peace and happiness they deserved?  

  I... AM A FAILURE!!!  

The physical struggle with his arm was only one of survival instinct; no living being would simply allow themselves to be strangled without putting up a fight. The pain and anguish from the dark energy permeating his compromised limb was overshadowed by the ever darkening thoughts clouding his mind. He was a failure, a failure of a king, a failure of a father, a failure of a lover, and a failure of a man. This dark signature he was cursed with was a clear indication of this; this was how he was born, and this was what he was meant to be. As his struggle grew more desperate, more primal and innate, he wondered if he should simply succumb to the dark callings within his very soul. It seemed so natural to him…. If he was meant to destroy everything that he touched, then why not do so with that very intention.   Then maybe, for once in his life... He would finally find success.

[romioneficfest]

Ring

Title: Rings Prompt: Bonus Day - Kisses Name: Rated: T Brief Summary: A row about payments turns bad real quick for Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Will they overcome it? Content Warning: harsh language, domestic rowing, lots of angst.

Set out in front of his seat at the dining room table are two past due payment notices. For whatever reason, their council tax wasn’t paid and they had a past-due notice from the Utility company. ‘Bloody Hell! How did I miss paying these? I swear I paid them the last time I was in Gringott’s,’ says the very annoyed redhead, as he proceeds to slam them down in front of him while running a hand through his shaggy hair. 'And I know I mailed off the utility bill the day after you left. I don’t know why that past due notice was sent.’

‘We shouldn’t have to pay these interest fees if you would’ve paid them on time when I told you to,’ said the bushy-haired witch.

‘Oi, it’s not my fault. I did pay them. I’m not the only one that has to pay the bills around-’ his words were cut short by the deadly glare his fiancee is giving him. 

‘I pay bills too, Ron, and might I just add that it was your turn to pay since I was away on a business trip, not some fancy holiday. I told you before you made the payment to make sure you're listed as a representative for the account.' 

'I did check ahead of time, why don’t you trust me, it's like you think I can't take care of it on my own’, he retorts. 

‘Don’t make this about trust, you know I trust you. Maybe you forgot to send the payment because you had other plans. 'Tell me what you were doing while I was gone?’ She puts her finger to her mouth and bites her pink lip, pretending to think for a moment. ‘Oh yes, you decided to go with Seamus to a Quidditch match and drink the weekend away! Then you got so bloody pissed that you went on a spending splurge and bought almost every piece of ridiculous Quidditch gear, memorabilia, and posters you can think of,’ Hermione fired back with so much bite that Ron thought she was going to hex him any minute. 

He rolls his eyes then looks at the table linen, just now noticing that it’s so torn and stained that you can barely call it a tablecloth. Shaking his head, he lets out a moan, ‘Come off it, why can’t you let it go? You already told me off for going in the first place. It was the Cannons vs Puddlemere, championship game, and guess what? After they got rid of that rubbish manager as I said, you know who won? The bloody Cannons won. I’ve waited my entire life to see that happen. I thought I’d never see it. And I don’t regret going with Seamus… well, maybe a little since we got pissed and he got sick on me but other than that I had an amazing fucking time and yes, I bought some things so what? I work two bloody jobs to afford a few fun things.' The Auror leans back on the uneven chair and glares back at the woman in front of him, basically challenging her to come up with something else to say. ‘Going to the championship match with him was a once in a lifetime opportunity.’

'Oh Merlin, I can’t even take a break here,' he tells himself. It’s not like she has actually been wanting to be near him for the past few months, well technically it’s been a few weeks but it feels like it’s a lot longer. She would find some sort of excuse to occupy her time, at first. ‘I didn’t think much of it, telling myself she’s been working longer hours.’ However, it didn’t stop there. She would bring so much work home with her that our flat felt more like an office rather than a home. He surveys the room, seeing all of the bright orange memorabilia clashing with the piles of books and parchment all over the place. He grumbles under his breath. The only thing left to get is one of those muggle paper dispensers that give you a number since it’s obvious that he has to arrange some sort of appointment for his petite curly-haired witch to even look his way, he tells himself bitterly.

‘If you had such an amazing time with Seamus, then why don’t you tell him that you’ll be having a blast bunking in his hotel room he’s renting, oh and also tell him next time you decide to go to a Quidditch Match with him that you might as well buy the whole stadium since you are not capable of being a man that remembers his responsibilities or common knowledge to be an adult!’ she explodes, not realizing she crossed a thin line.

As she gets up from the chair, she knocks it back into the wall with force and crosses her arms against her chest. She turns back to him while shaking her head and tries to discreetly wipe the moisture from her eyes, with a frown and despising the fact that every single time they’ve had a blazing row it always ends the same. No matter how many years she has known the piercing blue-eyed occasionally insufferable git, the outcome of a row is practically the same, with her crying like she was 11 and overheard a boy call her insufferable. She always believed that their rows hurt her worse than any curse thrown her way; even her torture at the hands of the most sadistic woman in the wizarding world hurt her heart less. Why couldn’t he follow-through without her supervision?

Only the ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise in the entire flat. Seconds turned into minutes, he can’t believe she said that to him. Why can’t she see how her words stabbed him straight through his heart. It's like she transformed from his beautiful fiance to the taunting ghost-like figure he destroyed years ago. 

He realized right then that nothing is the same, not like it used to be. He reached up to rub his eyes and found his face wet with tears. She knew about his insecurities but for her to tell him he’s not man enough made him think back to the one nightmare memory. He was a failure. What he never could overcome is finally getting the better of him. He’s frozen to the chair, just staring at her back in utter silence. Noticing every minuscule detail of her, every single curve on her tiny body that he is immensely crazy for. To every chaotic chocolate curl on her head, the way her shoulders are hunched and shaking, making her look even smaller than she actually is. He sits there, soaking in every single detail, trying to memorize everything, fearing that if he blinks, the woman of his dreams would vanish.

Slowly getting up with tears streaming down his now bloodshot eyes making it hard to distinguish whether his eyes are blue or red. Wringing his hands together, he takes a deep breath and tries to not let out a choked sigh.

Why did the locket have to be right? All those nights when he wore it because he knew that the rhythm of the heartbeat emitting from that locket just there taunting him, night after night. It wasn’t there to protect her from that evil. It wasn’t to have her avoid wearing it for one moment because he felt she shouldn’t be mentally tortured by that bloody object. No. The reason he wore that damn thing more was that he knew, deep in the pit of his heart, he wasn’t man enough to be in her life, not good enough to even have a place to call home.

His voice failing repeatedly,  Ron finally finds his voice. ‘I n-never t-thought…,’ damn it, why when I decide to talk I’m failing to even say words correctly, he thinks to himself. Trying again and he wipes his eyes hard with his hands and takes a deep breath. ‘I never thought… you felt that way. I’m so… sorry to disappoint you,’ he tells her, trying his hardest to not break down. ‘I know I made the payment, but maybe I messed up when I sent it. I won’t tell Seamus anything but I’ll leave if that’s what you want. Everything is pointless if you’re not in my life and if you don’t think I’m man enough for you then… well, I’ll get a few of my things.’ He looked up, piercing her with a bereft expression. ‘Keep the ring I bought for you because from what I know… you need a man to stand up to you and for you and love you and I’m not the one for you since I don’t… know how to act like a… man… or an adult.' His voice leaves him practically wheezing out each word like it inflicted physical pain to him. He grabs onto the table almost as if it’s the only thing that is helping him stand up as he weeps. He didn’t notice the woman he loves had stopped shaking and had turned around and is now staring at him with so much anguish.  

It finally dawns on her that when she said he wasn’t man enough she never meant it. Once again, her anger got the best of her. She needed him and he was spending so much time with Seamus and didn’t have time for her. Since Seamus said he knew someone who could get them tickets to the championship tournament and back to catch up with her fiance, she’s barely had any alone time with him. She’s had no time, let alone any time in general with him because of all the work the ministry is pushing on her. 

She is shocked to the core of the way she sees his knuckles, white as snow as he grips the table for dear life. Tears are pouring down her eyes as she gives up holding them back, she wants to, no, she needs to show him she loves him and that she won’t give him back the ring he gave her when they went on a trip with her parents to Australia when he proposed to her. She has to make him understand that he means the world to her. Why is it so complicated when it could be simple? He is a man, she is fully aware of that aspect, but why did I say the opposite? Oh Merlin, why did I have to make him doubt himself. Finding her voice, she tells him in broken sobs, ‘I never meant to say those things to you, I love you so bloody much..' - whatever she was going to say next was cut short from the look he gave her.

It was the same look he gave her before he left the hunt on that rainy night - cold and emotionless, nothing else showing in those beautiful deep blue eyes that she loves almost more than his freckles. She then sees his guard go down and thinks that she might have broken down the barrier that was put up when she first began rowing with him.

‘It’s not that simple, you… you can’t act like things are fine if you apologize.  As the muggles say, ‘actions speak louder than words,’ he replies back and takes a moment to breathe then says, ‘I’m tired of this, Hermione, so tired. I don’t think I can do this anymore. Every time we row, you expect me to apologize, to say sorry when I’m not at fault. Why can’t you ever say, ‘I made a mistake,’ or ‘Let’s see what happened and sort it out,’ not yanking my bollocks for a mistake? If I want that, I’ll go back to work and hear it from them.’ He heaves a desperate sigh. ‘It’s not like I’ve not been a bastard too, saying shite when I’m upset, but you went too far this time. I won’t be your house-elf, kicking me when things go wrong.’ He sighs again, ‘I think it’s best if we go our separate- ‘

‘No!’ she interrupts. 

She lets go of her hand, the one fidgeting with her engagement ring that he spent quite a few galleons on for her and walks to stand under his chin, looking up at him. She had one chance to save everything they’d worked for, one risk to take to admit how much she cocked up and how she was going to fix things between them. 

She had to admit how painfully wrong she was.

He was worth it, wasn’t he? All of the times he backed down, swallowing his pride so she could feel right, all of the times he put aside his needs for her just so she could belittle him over a late council tax payment? She was going to blow apart everything over 5 galleons? Were 5 galleons all their relationship was worth?

How many times did he stay in with her, saving money to afford this flat, affording the occasional nice thing she asked for? How many months did he pull extra shifts with George to afford the ring on her finger, forgoing almost every bit of fun to afford their flat, a few holidays together? He did so much for their relationship because of the future they wanted together.

Why did she get so angry over something so petty, so trivial? What was it that made her explode over something so pointless and say terrible things to her fiance?

If they were to marry, she absolutely needed to work on herself, her temper, her sharp edges that hurt others. She had to quit lashing out at him, the one who supported her ambition completely.

He has done so much for us so why can’t I admit I’m wrong and do my part? 

She lets go of her hand and closes the distance that was made between them and grabs his face and brings her plump lips up to his soft ones and kisses him so hard that she thinks that her lips will bruise. If it does it wouldn’t matter. She can’t let him go even if he isn’t kissing back at first. He is still as a rock but when she lightly bites his lips he seems to come alive and kisses her with so much intensity he forgets all about the wizarding world they live in and only focused on how much he missed this. He almost forgot how amazing of a kisser she is, it's been too bloody long. Every time their lips meet it sends him teetering on the brink of insanity, he can’t get enough.

Wait, no, this won’t be fixed with snogging like any other row, he thinks. 'Hermione,' he gently pulls her face back from his, seeing the tear tracks on her face. 'Kissing me won’t make the problem go away, not this time.'

She stops, taking a very deep breath. 'Ron, I know we need to talk. I needed you to know that what I said was wrong and I made a terrible mistake. I said something that wasn’t true and said it out of anger and frustration when I shouldn’t have done so. You are the best thing in my life and I would be a right foul git to throw it away over 5 galleons. And you have every right to be hurt. I said things that I shouldn’t, especially when it wasn’t honest.’

Ron sits back down in the chair, almost eye height to her standing. She instead kneels down, looking up at him. 'I’ll do whatever it takes, including making an appointment tomorrow with a Healer. I never want to lose you. I did once and it was the worst time in my life. I don’t want a repeat of it again, especially when it’s my fault. I’m sorry.’ She drops her head down, not looking him in the eyes. ‘I need to learn to not hurt you when I’m frustrated. Taking my frustration out on you is wrong.’

He reaches out to her, lifting her chin. 'OK. I’m willing to do everything as well.’

An owl taps on the window, breaking the moment. ‘I’ll get it,’ Hermione gets up and goes to the window, collecting a bit of mail from the owl. Hermione tears it open, reading quickly. A sardonic laugh breaks the silence.. ‘It’s from the Utility company. It seems that it got lost in their mailroom for a fortnight. The post stamp on the envelope was the day I left.’ Hermione turned and her face was tomato red. ‘I was wrong to doubt you.’