#but I believe his best path forward is acceptance

[epicfroggz]

Do you think miquella's needle could have helped Messmer? I believe that if the tarnished gave him that (in an AU) at least his Fire curse/the Fell God's influence would have been removed, and probably the Abyssal Serpent too would've left him, since wasn't it staying in his body because of Messmer's kindling to begin with? Without that source of infinite power it would have no reason to stay there, right? Or maybe miquella's needle is powerful enough to remove two curses at the same time, who knows. What do you think?

Also, hypothetically speaking, after both his curses are gone, how would he look? Sorry for this weird question, but I actually want to draw Messmer in an AU where he isn't cursed anymore, but I need some guidance from people who are more informed and smarter than me to make it as close to canon as possible lol. Personally, I think he would obviously still have his deformed body with his snake-friends, but under his flesh there would be no visible serpents, and no more scales on his skin, but when it comes to his face? I believe he would still miss his eyes, but maybe without the burned skin? I really don't know, but I would like to hear your interpretation about this one too.

Thanks in advance, and sorry for my English, it's not my mother tongue. Have a nice day!

Hi, thanks for the ask! I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you, though…

The thought disturbs me, Messmer without the serpent entirely. But, for the purpose of the AU, I suppose he would look like he did with the seal, like phase 1 Messmer. The burns on his face would have mostly healed, and he would either wear a blindfold or find a suitable replacement for his eye, like a glass eye.

But, I am of the belief that the Abyssal Serpent is not a curse. I agree Miquella’s needle would be able to quench the Fell God’s flame within him, but I’m not sure if that makes him better off than he was either. Despite hating it, Messmer found a way to use his flames for good and share it with his army, going so far as to develop incants and weapons for them to use when the flame did not take within them. He has complete control over it. (Of course, “good” here is the decimation of his mother’s enemies—it’s a matter of perspective lol.)

Messmer and the serpent are too entangled together to be separated I think. If they were separated somehow, Messmer would be but a husk of his former self. Removing his “curses” makes him what his mother wanted, but is that really what’s best for him? He’d be a demigod, but one without grace, without power, without a significant part of himself—what’s left? He has already forsaken his mother by removing the seal. There would be nothing for him, no purpose. When Morgott, our only in-game example, is stripped of his Omen curse, he dies.

It would result in a pretty dismal fate, if you ask me. I am certain there is a way to make it nice, but you would have to ask someone else, sorry… Good luck with your AU!

- Froggo

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[3amfanfiction]

It’s just dinner

Kyle asks you to have dinner with his captain—that’s normal, right?

2.1k, CW: sex work, unknowing prostitution, manipulation, gazslighting, enjoy!

You don’t know how you got here.

You’d think it would be obvious—what actions caused which responses, what conversations indicated acceptance. But as most things do, it all started so innocently.

Kyle was the perfect boyfriend. He was caring, understanding, and gave mind blowing head. Sure, sometimes he got a little bossyprotective, but it was always in your best interest!

He needed to know who you were hanging out with to make sure he could find you if there was an emergency. And he ended up being right about your friends, they weren’t looking out for your best interest.

You had a good thing with Kyle and it broke your heart when he came to you about your best friend propositioning him while you were out of town. You never would’ve believed it if he didn’t show you the texts himself. Honestly, it’s for the best that you cut ties. You haven’t had a chance to find new friends just yet— scared to put yourself out there as well as Kyle becoming extra protective over you after that incident. He practically glued himself to your side, wouldn’t even let you out of the house alone after that. He always looked out for you — the perfect boyfriend.

Maybe that’s why you didn’t push back very hard when he first brought it up.

“I know this makes you uncomfortable love, but it’s the Captain. I trust him with my life and he’s done so much for me—for us, lately,” he brushed the tips of his fingers along your hairline, down to your temple in a soft caress.

You were sitting on his lap, both legs thrown to one side while you leaned your shoulder against his chest. He had pulled you onto him shortly after lunch, saying he had something to talk to you about. Honestly, you were expecting a vacation—not this.

When you don’t respond to his statement he continues, “Remember last month when I was home for your birthday?” you nod shallowly, eyes darting to the side, “Cap pulled in quite a few favors to make it happen. I told him how important it was to you and he delivered.”

You force a swallow, trying to work up any amount of moisture in your mouth as your stomach knots in discomfort, “I didn't ask him to do that, Kyle,” defensive, why did you feel like you were in the wrong? “Regardless, why would he want dinner with me?”

This felt so far out of the realm of ordinary you didn’t have a clear path forward.

You’d spoken with John Price a handful of times. There had been get togethers with Kyle’s team and you’d gotten to visit with all of them. While your conversations with John were always easy, you felt they weren’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Hey now, I don’t want to hear any of that," Kyle frowns at you in admonishment. "You’re gorgeous and smart and any guy would be lucky if you gave them the time of day.” He cups your face in his palms, turning you fully towards him, “I love spending time with you, is it any surprise that my captain, the man I admire, also wants to spend time with you?”

His eyes are warm brown pools and they pull you into his orbit with ease. You feel yourself begin to fold. “I mean, wouldn’t it be weird?” You try, searching for a handhold in this free fall, “We’re dating and you want me to go on a date with another man. Wouldn't that make you uncomfortable?”

You try and turn your head away, attempting to put some space between the two of you so that you could breathe. It felt like you were drowning in his pull. He gently guided your face back towards his before shaking his head exasperatedly. “Love, it’s John,” as if you were a toddler that asked if you would go down the drain with the bath water. He tilts your head down to kiss the furrow between your brows before pulling you back up, eye to eye, “there’s no one safer I would have you with. Now, no more of this, you’ll have dinner with him this weekend.” His ‘I mean business’ voice coming out and you knew you had lost any chance of further arguments.

“Okay,” you stammer weakly, “okay, you’re right. It’s just dinner with your captain. I can do that.” You try to reassure yourself. You honestly don’t know why you’re so nervous. He’s always been a perfect gentleman, if a bit of a flirt, whenever you would speak. And it was just dinner. It would be like going to grab a meal with a friend.

Really.

Why were you being such a baby about this? You felt kind of silly that you were making the situation bigger than it was, now that a decision had been made.

Kyle beamed at you as if you had just told him you loved him for the first time. He peppered kisses all over your face, his faint stubble tickling the sensitive skin of your jaw and neck. “Such a good girl for me, pet,” in between nips and flicks of his tongue, “you’re absolutely perfect, do you know that?”

You giggle and wrap your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close to you and tilting your chin to give him more access, “Yes, yes, I know, I’m wonderful.” You say in mock haughtiness.

You gasp as his hands work their way under your top to flick and pinch at your nipples, “so bloody wonderful,” is growled into your skin.

Before you can blink you’ve been flipped onto your back on the couch, Kyle pressing into your soft body, pinning you down. “Let me show you just how wonderful you are—” is all the warning you get before you’re stripped naked and he makes his way between your thighs, showing his appreciation. Again and again . . . . and again.

///

That led to tonight. Date night. With Captain John Price.

John was sitting across from you, eyes crinkled with the force of his smile as took you in.

“Doll, you look—“ here he trailed off for a second, looking for the perfect word, “like a dream.” He decided on with a decisive nod. You had to admit, he wasn't wrong.

Yesterday, Kyle convinced you that you needed a new outfit before your dinner with Captain Price.

"I can't have you showing up without looking your finest, babe," he said, bundling you into the car to head downtown. "We're going all out, do you hear me? New dress, new shoes, new lingerie."

"Kyle Garrick! We are not buying me new lingerie. This is just a dinner!" you screech at him in shock, astounded by his audacity and maybe a little bit hurt when he laughed at you.

"Calm down babe, it's nothing like that," he reassures as if you're a spooked horse, "that'll just be for us. You're going to be sitting with the Captain—eating dinner, laughing at his jokes, batting these pretty eyelashes for him— and I want to know that you're dressed like an absolute slut under your pretty dress."

Your damp panties made sure you couldn't look anyone in the eye the whole time you were at the boutique.

The fact that he made you pose for pictures before stepping into your dress tonight was very on brand for him. I need something to keep me company while you're at dinner. I'm going to be lonely sitting here all by myself while you're having fun.

You realized your date for the evening was looking at you, waiting for your response. You smoothed your palms over your thighs bashfully, "thank you, Captain Price. You look very handsome tonight also."

"Bah! I've told you pet, it's John. No need for formalities between us," he brushed you off with a smooth shrug of his wide shoulders, reaching across the table to pat your hand, leaving his palm to linger for a few heartbeats before withdrawing.

For tonight's dinner he had poured himself into a button up that was straining at the seams to keep his mass contained. A watch glinted at his wrist, drawing your gaze to his strong hands and thick fingers. His scarred knuckles causing something to flutter deep inside.

"John, then," you felt your cheeks warm with the gentle chastisement, taking a small sip of your drink to give yourself a moment to recenter. When you reached forward to set the glass back down you noticed John's eyes zero in around your shoulder, his gaze shifting away after a few moments, something flitting across his gaze, too quickly for you to make out.

"Tell me about your week, pet, what have you done?"

What followed was several hours of conversation and laughter, with good food and drinks mixed in. John had you eating off his fork, here love, you have to try these potatoes. I've never had them better, drinking his whiskey, you haven't had something this smooth in your mouth before, dove. Give it a sip, no I'll hold the glass, just tilt that pretty chin up for me, and slapping at his shoulder with an admonishing John Price! when he moved his chair around the table to whisper into your ear about the other patrons at the restaurant. His lips touching the sensitive skin with every gravely word spoken, those two over there? It's definitely their first date. Look at them, I bet he's going to have her dress up around her waist before they even make it out of the parking lot. I bet if we listen closely we'll be able to hear her squealing.

You did your best to mask the shudder that went down your spine as he continued, ignoring your censure as if you hadn't spoken, his deep voice causing the hair on your arms to rise. You were completely unprepared for his big palm to come down on your thigh under the table. If he wouldn't have been pressing down so firmly, your jolt would have sent your knee slamming into the underside of the table.

"Are you okay pet? Not cold, are you?" he asked in a concerned burr, already starting to reach for his jacket, ready to bundle you up if needed.

"No, no, I'm okay John," you reassured. As tempting as it was to be wrapped up in a thick coat that smelled like John's tobacco and woody cologne, it was probably best if you didn't cross that line. It felt too much like what someone would do when they were out on a date. You didn't want to send the wrong impression—you were here for a dinner between friends, that was all.

John of course was perfectly understanding. "Lovely. I'd hate to cover up that beautiful dress, anyways," he gave you a wink like you two were in on a joke together. He straightened back up to continue his comentary of the different dates happening in the restaurant.

You hadn't noticed it at first, but each table did in fact seem to be on a date. There wasn't a single group or family sitting down for dinner, it was all made up of couples. How strange.

With your last drinks finished, it was time for the night to be over. John pulled your chair back for you before offering his arm, walking you outside.

Standing under the stars, he reached up to adjust the shoulder of your dress with a secretive smile, fingers lingering to brush the soft skin before raising his hand to cup your jaw. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into your cheek, keeping your face still—pinned.

After a heartbeat too long, he pulled back, the car service reaching the curb. He helped you into the backseat with a soft 'goodnight, pet, until next time'.

///

When you get home Kyle is waiting up, watching a movie quietly on the couch. He stands to greet you with a smile and a hug.

"My best girl, I've missed that pretty face," he crows, drawing you in for a kiss that never seems to end, making out like teenagers. Kyle seems ravenous, like he will die if he doesn't get the breath straight from your lungs. Your fingers press into his tight curls while his hands grope and squeeze the fat of your hips, kneading you similar to a cat.

He finally pulls back, leaving you panting and dazed, unsure of what precipitated—a reward? That's what it felt like, like a reward for doing something correctly. Mistake after mistake and you finally nailed the trick, aren't you so smart?

One final peck to your lips and he's taking a step back. He glanced down towards your shoulder and gives a little laugh, 'your pretty new bra is showing baby, are you trying to tease me?'

|||

Next || Story Repository

[artofvisualshock]

Messages from the GazettE to the fans (Google translations)

〈 RUKI 〉

At the end, he said, "I want the GazettE to be forever." I think what he meant by "forever" was that he hoped that the amazing scenes he saw from the stage in 2023 would continue forever.

The scenes he saw with his fans, the happy faces of his fans, and the scenes where we all sang together were treasures that could not be replaced by anything else, and I think he hoped that moment would continue forever.

I remember him saying that he wanted to perform live soon.

Even now that he's grown up, he was a kind and passionate man who can honestly say, "Even if something bad happens, it's the most fun when we get together like this and laugh with the band members."

I loved that honesty.

This year was no different, and every year on our birthdays we would jokingly tell each other to take care of our health.

The band will never be a four-man band.

No matter what anyone says.

Because you're the only bassist we have.

Because I believe that my soul is always beside me to the right.

I'm sure everyone can feel it, even if they can't see it.

The proof that Reita has built up in the GazettE so far will not disappear and will definitely live on.

I believe that, so I will continue to sing beside him so that his soul can be right beside me.

I will not become the GazettE that Reita hates.

I don't want to make him sad.

Although all humans live in a finite life, I believe that souls never disappear.

Reita's soul, the members, myself, and the fans.

I want to continue to perform live shows that make all the people who loved me want to come back to the stage forever, even after they have become souls.

So it is only with each and every one of our fans that we can create the scenery that we hoped he would be eternal.

That's why I want him to stay by my side and be there, unchanged from now on.

He should look at me and smile, and think, "He was the best guy!", rather than looking at me with a sad face.

We are more determined than ever to protect this band.

We will make Reita's wish for eternity come true.

So, Reita, rest assured that you can come to every live show from heaven.

Your seat will always be there.

You're going to be super busy from now on.

I'll contact you again when the schedule is decided.

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

<Uruha>

To all the fans who have supported REITA up until now.

I think he was a huge support for everyone, and for me.

I myself have not been able to accept and realize the fact that he is no longer here and that we can no longer stand on stage together.

There may be many things that I will come to understand little by little from now on.

However, if I continue to be drowning in sadness, I will not be able to make his wish for eternity come true, and I strongly feel that now is the time for me to have the strength to look forward and move forward.

I also think that the path we walked together until now was irreplaceable for him, and I think it will continue to live in the hearts of everyone and myself.

He gave us so much, and we walked together for so long, and he is still and will always be our best friend.

Please treasure all the words, memories, and love he left behind in your heart.

REITA will continue to exist and live in everyone's hearts.

We would like to express our sincere gratitude to everyone who has supported and cheered on the GazettE REITA.

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

〈 Aoi 〉

For a long time, the members and a small staff have been working on various projects, saying "this and that," but writing this letter was the last thing I wanted to do.

There have been moments when I felt like giving up on my dreams.

Every time, we talked about it again and again, sometimes pushing each other, and pulling the members' arms so that they wouldn't give up.

Because we were such a band, the GazettE has been able to keep moving forward without stopping.

REITA, you're not the one who wishes for eternity, you're the one who connects eternity.

I can't say something clever like "I'll take care of you."

I wanted to make more music with you, and see more scenery together.

Every scenery is wonderful because we see it with the five of us, surrounded by our fans.

I don't know why, but it's so painful that I can't make it happen even though I have so many things I want to say.

When I get there, I'm going to start with a big lecture. I know it's lonely because we're gone so suddenly, but please take a rest until then.

I have a few more things to do here.

Thank you for walking this long road with me. Rest in peace.

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

〈 Kai 〉

For me, REITA is an immeasurably big presence, saved by his many words and sounds, the mood maker for the band, and all I remember are really fun things, and above all, the sight of him shining on stage.

He is the best partner and the only one in the rhythm section.

That has never changed, and will never change in the future.

I want to continue carrying his feelings and continue with the GazettE with even greater resolve.

Finally, to all the fans and people involved who have supported us for the past 22 years.

Thank you very much.

And from now on, our feelings will remain the same and we would like to continue running as a group of five, so please continue to support us.

REITA

Thank you for all your hard work.

With the same feelings, we will continue to protect the GazettE together with our many friends... I promise.

There are many friends out there who don't want your 22 years to go to waste, and they are waiting for you.

You must come to our shows too!

Let's have some good sake again.

[causenessus]

happy birthday. | oikawa t.

oikawa x reader (female reader implied, one use of word girlfriend)

written in 2nd person

"i wanna see what makes my life and all the little things, i wanna see the mountains in view and the part when i meet you <3" from when i meet you by hollow bastion

word count: 2.5k words (headcannons & little fic <3)

happy birthday to the boy whose been with me for 4+ years <3 longer than anyone else <3 all sweet toothrotting fluff!! not edited bc i'm really tired goodnight :)

contrary to popular belief, tooru does not hype up his birthday

he never tells anyone it’s coming up and he doesn’t always do something big for his special day

he’s grown a *tiny* bit more mellow since high school, from when he did always make a big deal out of it

fans continue to send in heaps of mail but like the actual day itself, he doesn’t really pay any mind to it

there’s two reasons for this:

now that he has you, he doesn’t care much for others

as long as he gets to spend the day with you, even if no one else wished him a happy birthday or gave him something he’d be happy

second of all, he likes things to be genuine

with popularity has come a lot of shallowness from others, and he’s had to put up many of his own fronts

so he doesn’t want hundreds of people messaging him happy birthday, he only really cares to hear it from his close circle of friends

and it’s no problem if he doesn’t receive a message from one of those friends, he doesn’t expect people to know everything about him (a big change from high school, he’s very proud of it)

it’s just something that he realized after graduating high school. after his last year and the underwhelming end to his high school volleyball career after the spring high playoffs, he realized that life was not all about getting as far as you can on a straight path; sometimes you take turns that diverge you from the main path a little bit, but you still keep moving forward, and sometimes you end up finding something on that little path that makes it all worth it <3 (with age comes wisdom, right?? don’t tell him that, it makes him sound old 🤭)

after all, that’s how he found you <3

at the airport waiting to fly to argentina, he just couldn’t get enough of you, even after spending the entire flight at your side.

and you were just as interested in him

he realized after your first date that he was always meant to be here. he had a restless, adventurous soul that hadn’t been satisfied in japan, and it had been fate to meet you while he was taking the next big step in high life.

and don't mistake his acceptance of where he is in life for laziness, he’s just as hardworking as before if not more, but he’s realized he doesn’t need to aim for perfection

and once he became more lenient on himself, he ironically became the best version of himself he’d ever been

with your support and love easing him through this new mindset and the bad days, he began to win medal after medal <3

you’ve been with him for it all. he wholly believes you were made for him, and he loves you so much

so the only happy birthday he cares to hear is from you

and if other friends wish him a happy birthday? he will thank them. he will say that he appreciates them and he means it, but nothing is as important as you

if you insist that he can’t stay at home with you the whole day and that he should celebrate with some of his friends, he’ll eventually comply

he likes to keep things small. it feels nice to choose to have a quiet day on a date dedicated to him with a small group of people

tooru and you had started the day together in bed. a summer in brazil had seemed appealing to you both; it was the perfect time and place for him to play volleyball on the beach by the sea and you were there to relax and keep him company. he had reconciled with shoyo, who you both had planned to meet for lunch to celebrate the day.

you had decided on the place after receiving input from both of them. tooru had been complaining for days about wanting lemonade, and shoyo had suggested somewhere small, open, and simple as opposed to an overcrowded fancy restaurant. you could easily get that experience just by walking down the hot streets of brazil.

the three of you had spent the afternoon inside a conditioned cafe. it was a cozy place, with lots of greenery and wide window walls to let in lots of sunlight. you had sat there for several hours, people watching and chattering, tooru rubbing circles on your thigh the entire time as shoyo and him recounted their time and experiences in high school and how they had traveled around the world since then.

by around four in the afternoon or so, shoyo had perked up, suggesting that they play volleyball which had riled up tooru, a smirk on his face as he teased the ginger, “oh? you think you can beat me if we play one on one, shrimpy?”

shoyo had grinned back, sitting up proudly and flaunting his sun-bronzed skin. tooru had gotten a little dark, too, but not nearly to the extent that shoyo had.

“you guys have fun sweating and running around in the sun,” you sighed, placing your hand over the one tooru had on your leg, “i’m going to go home.”

when tooru whined you hushed him with a finger to his lip, “you enjoy your time with shoyo. today is about you. i'll still be here when you guys are done playing.”

he gave you a slight pout but you knew you had won him over. he was never one to fight much, especially because he knows you only want the best for him, and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was excited to play against the orange-haired boy sitting across from him.

you had waved the two boys off as you split up after exiting the cafe, stopping by a bakery before running home. little did tooru know, this had been your plan all along and everything was going smoothly so far. shoyo was in on it too and had been assigned the job of distracting tooru while you got home.

tooru woke up with messages from his family, but none of his three closest friends. you’d seen the disappointment in his eyes although he tried to hide it, saying that they’d probably just text him later due to the big time difference between japan and brazil.

but in reality, they hadn’t messaged him because they had just arrived in brazil. they'd come to help you with decorations and to celebrate tooru, of course. you met the three at your door, each of them holding a bag or box with decorations and gifts inside.

“thank you guys for agreeing to do this with me, he’s gonna love it,” you smiled, opening the door and holding it open for the four of them to walk in.

“of course he will, he's gonna let out the most dramatic gasp ever when he sees something set up for him,” hanamaki said with an amused smile, slipping off his shoes.

“he’s gonna love anything, he’s never satisfied,” iwaizumi added with a roll of his eyes. “and he’ll probably complain that none of us texted him.”

“times never change,” mattsun whistled, stepping through the door last. “remember when we surprised him in the gym with the entire team? he wasn’t even happy until makki finally arrvied with the cake like an hour later.” 

“you gave me the wrong address, that was not my fault! and he wasn’t happy until i got there because he was waiting for me, not the cake,” makki retorted and the rest of them had laughed.

you had met his old teammates from high school a few times before on visits back to japan, and tooru continued to keep in touch with them while he was overseas. most often, on late nights that neither of you could sleep, he would ramble to you about the national volleyball team iwaizumi had been putting together.

you had also exchanged phone numbers with the three boys after hitting it off with them, which had come in handy for planning this birthday. you all worked quickly to hang up decorations around the foyer and kitchen while the cake you'd bought earlier stayed neat and pretty in the chilled fridge.

all the while, shoyo kept you updated on tooru through texts. they were on the way back to the apartment now after shoyo had insisted on walking with him back home.

“he’s almost here,” you informed, unable to contain the excited smile on your face as you slipped your phone back into your pocket. “everyone ready? iwaizumi, will you get the lights, please?”

you all waited in the dark until you heard their footsteps approaching, the muffled sound of their voices through the wall of the apartment. you lit the candles on the birthday cake, the warm, flickering flames providing the tiniest bit of light in the dark room, illuminating the neatly iced cursive that read out "happy birthday tooru ♡ " 

you heard his noise of surprise as the door swung open into the pitch black apartment before you stood up from your hiding spot behind the counter, “happy birthday, my love.”

 “y/n? is this why you left early?” he asked, a smile full of love and adoration on his face, looking at the dimly lit cake on the table.

you hummed in response, wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss before you looked at shoyo and gave him a nod.

the lights came on overhead, making tooru squint at the sudden brightness before he nearly fell forward from a slap to his back.

“happy birthday, man,” mattsun grinned, stepping into his sight before he saw iwaizumi and hanamaki as well.

“you guys?—” he started, frozen in place in surprise at seeing the three boys in his apartment. “you guys came all the way here for me?”

“no," hanamaki replied sarcastically with a shrug before giving tooru a hug, "we just happened to be in the area, you know. i’m thinking of moving to brazil and decided to stop by.

tooru lets out an offended huff at the joke, crossing his arms as hanamaki steps back. “i can’t believe you guys are really here. and even more i can’t believe none of you guys texted me! i thought you all had forgotten, you could have at least sent a message so i wasn’t moping around all day.”

you and iwaizumi both roll your eyes at his dramatic complaint as matsukawa laughs, “aw, did you miss us?”

“and where’s the fun in that, dumbass? we thought a happy birthday in person would mean more to you, anyway,” iwaizumi speaks up, revealing the gift bag he’s been hiding from behind his back.

tooru gasps, practically melting at the sight as he steps closer to his best friend, “well, i guess you guys were right. this means the world to me, thank you so much for coming.” he takes the bag from iwaizumi before pulling him into a tight hug that lasts a few seconds, and says more between the two than hours of talking could. they haven’t seen each other in months, but they’re still just as close as they’ve always been.

“and,” tooru says, turning towards you with a smile, “thank you for setting this all up, y/n.”

the party lasts a few hours, with mellow music playing in the background as the six of you catch up over a few drinks before everyone decides it’s a good time to head out back to their homes, leaving the two of you to collapse into bed. 

tooru is hugging you close, face nestled into the top of your chest as you comb your fingers through his hair and draw circles onto his back.

“did you have a good birthday?” you ask him, eyes closed as you both find rest in each other’s arms.

his shoulders relax with a deep sigh as he gives you a small nod, his face rubbing against your shirt.

“anything i can do to make it even better next year?” you talk softly, twirling his brown curls around your finger.

he hums in thought for a second before he peeks up from your chest, innocent brown eyes staring into yours. “more time with you next time,” he answers, mouth still muffled from your shirt. 

“what?” you chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, “i was with you nearly the entire day, and we live together. you see me every day.”

“ ‘s not the same,” he whines, nuzzling his face into your body again, “and today didn't count, 'cause i didn’t get any alone time with you.”

you can’t help but smile at his sweet words, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head, “but today is your day, tooru. i want you to see as many friends as you can. because we all care about you, and sometimes you need to be reminded of that, mr. i-don’t-tell-anyone-when-my-birthday-is.”

his grip tightens on the back of your shirt, “yeah, but i don’t need any of that if i have you. you make me feel loved and cared for. your happy birthday is the only one i care about hearing.”

“is that so?’ you reply, returning to raking through his hair.

he gives you another nod before looking up, one of his hands trailing up your back and tangling into the back of your hair, pressing your head down to meet his lips. “mhm,” he hums against your mouth, “all i need is you.”

his lips trail down your jaw and then to your neck, making you laugh as he moves down your sternum before he returns to his original position, holding you close, his face buried into you. “well then, i’ll keep that in mind next year. i’ll make sure everyone texts you happy birthday whether or not they fly across the world and i promise we'll get some alone time, okay?”

he hums in acknowledgment of your words, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “what’re you thinking about?” you ask softly.

“nothing,” he mumbles, “i just feel really happy right now. i have the best girlfriend in the world that cares so much about me and plans out all my birthdays to make me feel loved. and we’re lying in bed right now and i’m just listening to her talk and i feel so comfortable. like next year we could just lie here all day and i’d be the happiest man ever.”

you laugh at his words and he likes the way he can feel it reverberate through your chest because of how close he is. “you’re sweet, tooru. i’ll keep talking until you fall asleep then, okay?”

“mmkay,” he responds happily, moving his legs around under the sheets to hook around yours, intertwining your bodies.

you press another kiss to his head, smiling the entire time, your heart full of love for the man, “and if it really means that much to you to hear it from me, i’ll say it again, too. happy birthday, tooru. and i love you so so much. you’re the best man i could ever have fallen in love with.”

[starlazergazer]

It’s Not Too Late

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: Anakin gets a second chance to have true freedom and peace! Reader comes across Darth Vader for the first time after order 66 and attempts to pull Anakin back on the right path.

Warnings: None, some angst

Word count: 3k

A/N: Only in this one very instance can you fix him! I know the request asks for fluffy but I made this super angsty instead with some fighting banter between Anakin and the reader so I hope you like it because I loved writing it!

You’d heard the whispers, how could you not, though no one was ever brave enough to tell you them to your face. Not that you blamed them. That your best friend Anakin Skywalker could be the famous Darth Vader, Palpatine’s personal padawan, was so ludicrous, so ridiculous, you wouldn’t have let anyone utter the accusation in your presence leave unscathed.

And yet still a part of you knew.

The day it happened, the exact moment it happened, you could feel it. More than a disturbance in the force, more than a breaking of prophecy: a betrayal, a very personal very painful betrayal.

But still looking up at the man you had thought you once knew from your position chained on the floor you felt the last part of your hope die, unaware even that that hope had existed in the first place.

“I didn’t want to believe the rumors” you shook your head at him, eyes bouncing back and forth between those familiar but very different blue ones.

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me” a smirk grew over his lips as he looked down at you. And somehow those words hurt worse than seeing him walk around with such authority through the empire’s army, more than seeing a new infamously red saber strapped to his hip.

“You’ve changed” you shook your head back up at him, feeling the lump grow in the base of your throat with each passing minute “You are not the Anakin I knew”

“I am exactly the Anakin you knew” he chuckled back at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat down calmly in the chair before you, causally crossing one leg over the other “Just finally lived up to my full potential”

And you didn’t know how to respond to that, to his complete acceptance, even beyond that his full belief that he was being aided by the dark side of the force, that it was somehow making him better, stronger. “What do you want?”

“Your base” he answered plainly, leaving forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees staring down at you “the rebel base, I want coordinates”

“What makes you think I have them?” You asked with a shrug, watching the smug smile slowly fade from his face.

“Don’t play dumb it was never a good look on you”

You felt your own anger spike within you as his did. He clearly didn’t know you that well if he thought you would give it up this easy. “What happened to being the chosen one?” You taunted him, turning to pressing his buttons on purpose, proving even if just to yourself that at least you knew him “you were supposed to-“

“-bring balance to the force yes I’ve heard it all before” and oh how you relished the anger in his tone, in the way the words hissed out through a clenched jaw, the way his eyes narrowed down at you ever so slightly, you’d always enjoyed messing with angry Anakin “answer the question”

“I’m just saying if you wanna talk about playing dumb, does turning to the dark side really seem like the best way to go about that?”

“Says the one chained to the floor” he pushed to his feet towering over you as he spoke “Now because of our past I’m giving you a chance here, a chance to answer to me instead of the emperor, do not mistake this kindness for weakness” and before you could respond he was turning around and walking back through the door, but you weren’t done. You couldn’t let him leave it like that, couldn’t let him bring up your past friendship like it was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be cashed in later.

“You know I thought we had lost you with order 66” You called out after him “I mourned your death” you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel shame over the way your voice shook, overwhelming amounts of anger and betrayal trumping any and all other emotions within you.

He didn’t even look back as he spoke in a disturbingly monotone voice “Anakin Skywalker is dead. I am what remains”

You shook your head at his response though he couldn’t see it, hating him for the way he tried to hide from what he has done, shelter who he once was from the man he has become.

A bitter laugh escaped you “No, you don’t get to distance yourself from your own actions, you don’t get to protect that jedi you once were by calling yourself a different name.”

His body went rigid at your words, the surprise from your outburst evident in his reaction, it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that you were the first person to ever call him out on it.

“Anakin Skywalker was my friend” you pushed on, spitting the words at his feet “and you tarnish his memory with every action done in the name of the empire"

Anakin spun around on his heel at your words, a dangerous smirk on his face before he knelt down squatting before you, an all too familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye “You know I always liked the way you spoke your mind no matter what” A taunt in his tone, a look that dared you to step out of line “You never really knew when to shut up did you? I suggest you learn”

“You forget that I know you” you taunted back, leaning in even closer to him, showing him he wasn’t scaring you by forcing proximity “you can’t hide behind your charms from me Skywalker”

Still the smug smirk didn’t drop from his face, his eyes taking a second to bounce between yours before locking on a piece of hair that fell in front of your face. Slowly his hand reached out, effortlessly tucking it back behind your ear like he had done a thousand times before. And suddenly you were back beneath the stars with him, talking about the future, upcoming missions, battle strategies, just about anything you could think of to keep him out there with you.

His hand struck with practiced efficiency, reaching out to grab your chin before you could even comprehend its movement, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he held your gaze on his “You will tell me where the rebel base is or I will take you to see emperor Palpatine, and trust me neither of us wants that to happen”

And even though the mere gesture of pulling your hair behind your ear had sent your heart racing and your mind reeling you forced your eyes to lock onto his, pushing down any feelings of familiarity, telling yourself exactly what he had just told you moments ago Anakin Skywalker is dead, he is what remains

“What’s the magic word?”

He cracked a smile at that, still holding you in place for a few seconds longer, giving you one last opportunity to answer before finally dropping your face, muttering a soft “so be it” before standing back up and heading for the door.

-

It had been easy to escape your bindings, too easy honestly, to the point that a small part of you wondered if you had been meant to escape them in the first place, if this was what your past with Anakin was worth to him, a chance and a poorly hidden saber.

You broke for the nearest town as soon as you could, keeping low and your thin scarf pulled over your face knowing it was far too easy to stick out in the empty desert.

You didn’t make it that far.

“You really thought it would be that easy?” His voice taunted you from behind, your body sagging slightly as you heard it, you hadn’t even noticed his approach.

“Yeah honestly” you returned, spinning around to face him “planning was never your forte”

He chuckled softly at that, shaking his head, casting his eyes down to his feet as he rested a single hand on his saber on his hip, looking far too much like the Anakin you had once known long ago. “Tell me where the base is Y/N”

And even though it remained unsaid you could feel the threat in his voice, in the way he glared at you, in the way his hand on his saber twitched.

“Are you not going to ask me about him?” You knew now wasn’t the time for the question, knew it was dumb to press that particular button now, but you couldn’t stand letting Anakin cast him off like this, cast you off like this.

He faltered at your question, his shoulders dropping slightly, his hand slipping from his saber. “You’ve been in contact with him?”

“Of course I have” you sighed, “And Ahsoka, Rex” you let your sentence trail off, hang in the air, let him come to you and ask the question if he wanted to know.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Anakin waited, as you waited, only breaking when his voice spoke up, a shake in it you weren’t expecting “are they-“

And maybe it was the way his voice shook, the way his posture slumped, the way those all too familiar blue eyes were silently begging you, but you took pity on him, chancing a small step forward as you finished his sentence “they’re okay. Ahsoka even removed Rex’s chip, they’re all okay”

Another silence hung in the air, an almost imperceptible nod in Anakin’s head as he stared down at his feet, only looking up to chance a look at you when he finally spoke again, in a small defeated voice “just tell me where the base is Y/N, that’s all I need, then I can turn around and pretend I never saw you here”

You sighed at that, shaking your head softly “You know I can’t do that Ani”

He chuckled bitterly at that, going for his saber, igniting it, his face illuminating in red as he did so.

And instinctively your hand went to your own saber, ready to draw it and defend yourself, ready to be caught up in a sparing match with Anakin just as you had so many times before, but no, you had to remind yourself, it wouldn’t be just sparing this time around, not anymore.

You unclipped it from your belt, taking a moment to feel its weight in your hand, before tossing it to the side, watching the sand around it kick up as it landed a few feet away from you. “I won’t fight you”

Anakin shook his head, his eyes snapping to your saber on the ground next to you, a bitter laugh that didn’t full materialize on his lips “I’m not falling for that”

“Its not a trick” you shrugged, opening your hands before you, “I won’t fight you”

“Pick up your saber Y/N” he yelled at you, still holding his own before him, still poised to strike but holding back, waiting “I will not tell you again”

You watched him with a small shake of your head “Ani I can’t fight you”

And for a second you just watched his chest rise and fall quickly as a war raged in his mind, as he debated his next steps, before a frustrated yell ripped through the air and he was charging at you, and you couldn’t help yourself, you closed your eyes, a breath catching in your chest as you waited for the inevitable, and kept on waiting.

A tentative eye opened to see a bright flash of red, hovering just above your shoulder, just waiting there. Your gaze followed it up to Anakin only to see he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking down at his saber. And you could tell from the look in his eyes, from the way his grip kept changing, from the rapid fall and rise of his chest, that he was trying to talk himself into it.

Then a sigh and the blade was retracted, Anakin refusing to meet your gaze as he stepped back “get out of here Y/N”

And immediately you took a step back, your body begging you to run, to put this place and Anakin as far behind you as possible. But still you couldn’t.

“Come with me”

His gaze snapped up to yours in surprise, his eyebrows crunched together in confusion “I can’t” it came out as more a question.

“You can” you tried to encourage him, taking a tentative step towards him “You can come with me now and we can figure the rest of it out”

“I work for the empire” he spoke softly, “the empire isn’t what you think it is, they’re doing good, I’m doing good”

You sighed with a shake of your head, still inching forward, still holding out hope “You, you became the very thing you sought to destroy. Turning your back on everything you once stood for”

“Did I?” he challenged you calmly, repeating thoughts you knew he’d already gone through a thousand times before “or am I still upholding my same beliefs. I vowed to serve the republic and I still do, no matter what name it goes by now”

“You vowed to serve the people of the republic” you corrected “and now under the empires rule those people suffer”

“under the empire’s rule they are safe” he countered “From the time we were children we were told we were meant to be peacekeepers and that is exactly what I am doing now”

“You call this peace?” You couldn’t help but chuckle “How many die each day because of the empire’s tyranny”

“Because of the resistances rebellion” he countered but there was no malice in it, not the same angry argument as before but rather a debate.

“Look at them Anakin” you gestured to the town just before you, at the people begging for scraps outside of the bar, at the buildings crumbling from lack of maintenance “this is the effect the empire has on people”

Anakin shook his head at the sight before him, his eyes casting back down to the sand too quickly.

“Look at them” you repeated, putting more force into your words, practically begging him “Look at what the empire has done to this town, what you have done.”

“The empire stopped the war” Anakin’s gaze suddenly snapped back up to yours, a new defensiveness in his tone you weren’t used to hearing from him “these people are at peace, they do not fear for their lives anymore and that is what the empire has done”

“These people are starving” you objected, trying to keep your voice light but firm “they no longer fear death at the hands of intergalactic war but rather storm troopers on a power trip, bounty hunters, vagrants. They are far from safe”

“And what would you have me do now?” He demanded, exasperation in his tone “I stopped a war, I gave everything to stop a war”

“And now?” you questioned him “you did it, you stopped the war, why are you with them now?”

Anakin didn’t respond to that, his mind churning as his eyes bounced back and forth between yours, not saying a word as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

It all seemed to click for you then, where his hesitation was coming from, his stubbornness, his need to believe he was right, had been right all along “It’s not too late for you you know”

Anakin froze on the spot, eyes jumping up to meet yours, desperately willing for you to continue.

“You made a few mistakes, took some missteps but you can still do good”

“I’ve made a lot more than a few mistakes” his tone was soft and dejected.

“That’s okay” you tried to assure him with a shake of your head “You can still do good”

He shook his head in response, eyes finally lifting from you to scan the town around you “that’s not who I’m meant to be, that is not my destiny”

“Screw destiny” you countered quickly “it wasn’t long ago your destiny was to bring balance to the force and now the jedi order no longer exists. There is no more destiny there is just the choices you make here and now”

“I can’t” he objected weakly with a shake of his head “I can’t just leave”

“you can” you countered but saw as he refused to listen to you, taking steps back, so you forward, without a second thought wrapping your arms around his neck, whispering the words into his ear “Ani you can”

And you felt him go rigid under your touch, refuse to give in, but not quite pushing you off.

“Let go what you have done in the past” you tried to urge him “focus on what you can do now. And right now you can help them. You can help me”

And slowly you felt his arms come up, first placed awkwardly on your back, giving you a chance to take it all back, before slowly wrapping completely around you, pulling you deeper into him, a shaky breath escaping him as he did so, as he buried his face in your hair “I don’t know how it all went so wrong”

“I know Ani I know” you assured him softly, rubbing a hand up and down his back “but now we can work to make it better”

“We?” You heard the hope in his voice and couldn’t help but chuckle, chuckle and fight to keep the tears at bay.

Pulling back from him softly, noting the way his arms seemed reluctant to let you go completely, just enough that you could look into his eyes. “You and me, we’ll make it right”

[jennysparksandtheauthority]

The fallacy of realism in Life is Strange Double Exposure. Another more or less analytic rant :)

Okay. I lied. This is the real LAST commentary about Deck Nine's fiasco. Or maybe not.

ANYWAY. I'm reading a lot of discourse of how it's realistic that Max and Chloe would break up.

Even the devs have been on Twitter saying the most basic stuff you've heard a thousand times before:

As someone who’s been in a loving, committed relationship for more than a decade (and we met in our early 20s), that shit MAKES NO SENSE FOR PRICEFIELD. Move forward? Yes. Absolutely. But you can move forward with another person. Moving forward doesn't have to mean leaving your partner behind, and certainly not for these two.

Max and Chloe didn’t create a “trauma bond”. People seem to forget they were childhood best friends. They went through trauma together. There’s a difference.

Each time my wife and I went through devastating shit (cause life is a bitch sometimes), I leaned on her, we carried each other. We went through rough days, of course, we fought sometimes, but we grew together. I fell more in love with her seeing her taking decisions, reacting to me, dealing with her own shit, taking care of me when I didn’t have the energy to take care of myself as I would take care of her when the roles were reversed.

Sure, some relationships don’t survive when they go through bad times.

But Max and Chloe? These two literary broke space and time for each other.

Characters have to be profoundly CHANGED at the end of stories for them to be meaningful, for stories to move us. This has been established since we began to tell stories around campfires thousands of years ago. It's been engraved in conventional storytelling even way before Aristotle gave it a name in his Poetics.

At the end of the BAE romantic path, Chloe was ready to die for Max, and for a whole town of people who mostly despised her. She had changed profoundly. She had understood the meaning of love and loyalty and devotion, because Max showed her.

Max was ready to face the consequences of choosing Chloe. She had changed too. She had understood that loving Chloe made her better, braver, determined, that the past was in the past and that she couldn’t keep rewinding. That she had to accept herself, fight back, take ownership of her destiny.

When they left Arcadia Bay they were both devastated, but ready to fight for each other and move on. The Chloe that gave Max that reassuring touch and that loving look at the end of the game would NEVER, under no circumstances, break up with Max by letter saying all kinds of mean shit. This destroys both their characters' arcs from LIS1. It's an unsuccessful, poorly camouflaged reboot.

Maybe if the break up was presented differently it wouldn’t have enraged so many people. Maybe. We’ll never know. I’d still argue that having a path where Chloe is dead, the decision to break them up was absolutely unnecessary. But to have made that decision, and to justify the OOC behavior and the outcome of their relationship by saying “it’s realistic” (some people have taken the devs' discourse to heart) is just ridiculous and dissapointing, and just straight out unprofessional. This kind of revisionism and lack of understanding of the themes and motivations of the first game is truly baffling, so much so it’s hard for me to believe how NO ONE at Deck Nine or Square Enix with some level of responsibility and proper education in media stopped the madness.

Writers choose what to include in a story, meaning they bear responsibility for the narrative choices they make, regardless of whether those choices are realistic. Fiction is an inherently constructed art form. Authors decide what to include, exclude, emphasize, or downplay. Using “realism” as a justification can be seen as a way to avoid responsibility for narrative decisions, especially when those decisions are unpopular or ethically troubling.

This is writing 101, and I can’t believe a supposedly professional game dev studio is acting like children writing their first fics on Wattpad and falling into the realistic fallacy.

In “The Decay of Lying,” Oscar Wilde famously argued that “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life,” suggesting that art should not be constrained by realism. Another example is the philosopher and literary critic Roland Barthes, who in “The Death of the Author,” argued that the meaning of a text is not determined solely by the author’s intentions, thus challenging the notion that invoking realism absolves a writer of their choices.

They CHOSE to break them up.

They chose to villainize Chloe, the canonically queer, fan-favorite character that was at the heart of the story along with Max. Together.

Crying realism doesn’t make it any less senseless, knowing damn well they knew how it would affect people.

So, Deck Nine, Square Enix: please take some fucking responsibility.

BONUS (Michel Koch ❤️):

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Flower Crowns - Dwalin X Female (Baggins) Reader

Title: Flower Crowns

Dwalin X Female Reader

Additional Characters: The Company, Ori, Kili, Fili, Thorin, Bofur, Balin, Oin (Mentioned), Bomber (Mentioned), Gandalf (Mentioned), Bilbo, Bard (Mentioned), Bard's kids (Mentioned), Alfrid (Mentioned), and the Mirkwood Elves (including Legolas and Tauriel (Mentioned))

Requested By: Anon!

WC: 5,252

Warnings: The Hobbit canon violence/weapons/death/etc, Reader is Bilbo's sister, misunderstandings, broody Dwalin, blood, injuries, nicknames, crying (brief), orcs, death, Ones, giant spiders, movie reference to a different movie (bonus points for those who get it), yelling, angst, and fluff

Trudging up the path with a woven basket of homemade muffins, you made your way up to Bilbo's home. You were a bit late. You were supposed to be at Bilbo's over an hour ago, but you had misjudged when you'd finish your muffins. And you knew how much Bilbo loved your muffins, so you were sure he wouldn't be too annoyed by your tardiness after eating a muffin or two.

Stopping at the door, you let out a small huff before knocking on the round door... Only to receive no answer. You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows before just entering. Pushing the door closed behind you, you heard voices from somewhere else in the Hobbit hole, confusing you even more. Had Bilbo invited others to dinner?

"Bilbo?" You called out, beginning to wander over towards the voices that quickly stopped after you spoke.

But before you could say anything more, Bilbo popped out into the hallway, rushing over to you. "Y/N, I believe we'll have to reschedule dinner." He spoke, rushed as he tried turning you around.

Your frown deepened as you twisted around in his hold, your eyes staring at the circular entrance of the dining room, "What do you mean? Who have you invited over?" Your curiosity was peaked now, and you wanted answers. 

"Nothing! No one! Lovely seeing you!" Bilbo exclaimed, pushing you backward towards the door, ready to get you out. But before he could, you ducked out of his arms and sped towards the dining room. 

You skidded to a halt at the entrance, eyes widening as your jaw dropped slightly. Bilbo sighed, rubbing his face with both of his hands before walking over and standing beside you. Eyes glued to the surprise visitors, you leaned over to Bilbo slightly; eyes unmoving from the surprise guests, "Bilbo... Why do you have thirteen Dwarves and a wizard in your dining room?"

~~~

And that was how you got roped into traveling alongside Bilbo, Gandalf, and the rest of the Company. Gandalf somehow convinced Thorin that having a second Hobbit would benefit the Company. And, unlike your brother, you wanted to go with them. You had read so many books about adventure and heard so many stories... You wanted to get out into the world and go on adventures that you had read in those books. 

During the first few days of the journey to The Lonely Mountain, you became friends with most, if not all, of the Company. Kili and FIli, for example - the two youngest members of the Company - took you under their wing. When Thorin allowed the Company to rest, they would teach you how to defend yourself. Most lessons usually turned into fooling around most of the time, despite Thorin's grumblings. Fili and Kili were fun people to be around. They never failed to make you laugh, which was welcomed when having to face orcs and goblins almost daily. 

Balin was like a father figure to you, always giving worldly and wise advice. Bomber often let you help in the making of breakfast and dinner. Ori, the sweetest of the bunch, would tell you stories, which you eagerly accepted to listen to every time. It gave you something to look forward to. And Oin, when free to do so, would teach you the basics of healing; showing you what herbs and plants worked best for certain ailments, which ones should be avoided, and so on.

You enjoyed each member of the Company's presence, but Thorin and Dwalin were the only two who hardly spoke a word to you. You weren't sure whether it was because they believed you didn't belong in the company, or because they were just not talkers. You hoped it was the latter.

But between the two, you really liked Dwalin. You liked his gruff demeanor - the brooding look on his face - and in addition, you really found him attractive. His muscular build, strong arm muscles, and dark hair; not to mention the tattoos on his arms - you wondered what their stories were. It surprised you, in the beginning, when you finally let the realization sink in. Even Bilbo, the only one that you had told about this attraction - you didn't fully trust Kili and Fili with the information - Bilbo was shocked, to say the least. 

~~~

Walking with Kili and Fili, you snatched up bundles of flowers as you went, weaving and braiding them together into a crown. You had already made one for yourself, and Fili and Kili were quite invested in your creative, colorful craft.

"Where did you learn to create such things?" Fili asked as he watched you bend down, snatching up another flower from the grassy ground.

You shrugged, tying off another flower, "In Hobbiton, of course, Fili, dear," You began, fixing some of the flowers before continuing, "In originality, my mother taught me." You finished, weaving another flower into the crown.

"How does one make such intricate designs?" Kili then asked, twisting the stem of a flower between his fingers in thought. 

You smiled back at him, "Well, it is quite simple, Kili, dear," You began, "You just have to braid the stems of the flowers together. Simple really." You answered, spying on Dwalin near the front of the line - just behind Thorin, you glanced over at the two Princes' beside you, "I'll be just a moment." You spoke before jogging over.

Your smile widened as you matched Dwalin's pace once by his side. Looking over and up at him, he didn't acknowledge your presence. It never bothered you, him ignoring you... You understood that Dwalin was not the type of person to just chit-chat, especially when there were bigger things to do and worry about. Lonely Mountain speaking. 

Finishing the flower crown in your hands, you offered it up to the Dwarf, a bright smile on your face. "I made this for you." You explained softly, the flower crown - made of yellow, white, and red wildflowers - sitting in your hands. 

Dwaling stopped, and so did the rest of the Company. You suddenly felt a wave of anxiety wash over you - all eyes on the two of you - watching as Dwalin slowly turned his head to look down at you, to the crown, and back. And for a moment, you thought that you saw something flash in his eyes, something that wasn’t brooding, determined, or angry. You swallowed, finding yourself unable to take your eyes off his, your ears and cheeks burning as he grumbled and huffed through his nose. You were confused, your hope and happiness dwindling - your hands lowering slowly - as Dwalin turned and continued walking. 

Fully dropping your hands to your sides, you watched him go; feeling completely rejected. You knew that it was stupid. It was just a flower crown... And yet, you still held onto it with all of your heart, clutching it tightly in your hand; unintentionally crushing the flowers beneath your fingers. What did you do wrong? You just wanted him to like you... Tears stung in your eyes, but you refused to cry in front of everyone. 

The rest of the Company soon passed you, some giving you sympathetic smiles, some patting you on your shoulder or back. Fili and Kili stopped beside you, Kili frowning softly, as Fili gave you a pat on the top of your head; careful not to disturb the flower crown on your head. 

"Don't worry, Miss Y/N," Fili spoke, "He'll come around."

Kili nodded, "I assure you, he will." He let out a small chuckle, but you knew he wasn’t laughing at you. That was just him.

You nodded, doubting, but saying nothing more as they turned and followed the group; Bilbo finally coming over. "I'm alright." You muttered, looking up at him. You knew that he was going to ask you if you were alright.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..."

You shook your head, "No, it's okay." You whispered softly, trying to give him the best smile you could give him to ease his worries, "I don't know why I am so caught up in this... I must understand that I'm not really everyone's cup of tea. Not everyone wants to be my friend. If he doesn't want to be friends with me... Then, that's alright." You explained softly. Bilbo stared at you for a long moment before you began walking, dropping the flower crown to the ground. 

~~~

The night was cold, the stars shining brightly down from the sky as you huddled close to Bilbo; next to the fire. It was hard to sleep, still not fully used to sleeping on the woodland ground, but you were getting there. And, soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

Dwalin, on the other hand, having the first night watch, stared into the fire before him. It was quiet, aside from the fire crackling and the crickets chirping. Dwalin seemed to be lost inside his own mind, his eyebrows furrowed, and dark eyes narrowed in thought. Hearing a small grunt and feeling the log under him move slightly, Dwalin glanced over to see Balin sitting beside him. Balin hummed lowly, staring at the fire, rubbing the palms of his hands together.

"She didn't know, Dwalin." He spoke softly, not wanting to wake the others from their sleep, and only getting a deep mumble from his younger brother; at the mention of you, Dwalin's eyes flickered from the fire to your sleeping figure; curled up beside Bilbo. "She does not know of our courtship rituals. I should’ve told her more about our culture." Again, getting nothing from Dwalin, Balin continued, "She only wishes you to speak to her. You have hardly spoken a word to her since leaving Bilbo's home." He stared at his brother's side profile, "You can confide in me, brother."

Dwalin continued his silence, his eyes falling upon you once more. He was conflicted. Ever since he saw you enter the dining room of Bilbo's Hobbit hole, Dwalin had been unable to stop thinking about you. The way you moved and talked... Your features were sharp, yet delicate, your lips pouting, and your hair flowing. You were kind, bright, and soft; everything Dwalin wasn't. Dwalin was rough and tough. He had scars, he had seen death, and he had seen suffering. But, you... He had never seen someone as beautiful as you. You were different. Dwalin sighed deeply, looking away from you. He didn't know how to approach you; he couldn't bring himself to act on his feelings. 

But he knew that you were his One.

He knew the moment he saw you. 

Dwalin hated being vulnerable, and he hated admitting anything to anyone. So he sat, his jaw clenched tight, trying his hardest to fight his growing feelings for you. 

"She's my One." Dwalin found himself muttering, far too quiet for most to hear, but Balin heard.

A knowing smile graced his oldened features. "I presumed so." Balin spoke with a hum, "I can only... Advise that you should speak to her. She cares for you. I am sure that she would understand." Balin stated, before letting out a small sigh, standing, "Think about it, will you?" And with that, Balin found his sleep sack, rolling into it and falling asleep.

Dwalin stayed awake much longer into the night, contemplating his decision as he waited for Gloin to take over the night watch. His older brother's words echoed throughout his head, and with a deep gruff, he let his eyes stray from the fire; the light making his eyes burn slightly. His eyes flickered from around the woods that surrounded him, to the Company before finding the stars and the moon in the sky, and finally... Back to you.

You, in your sleep, muttered something softly, unnoticeable. He watched as you rolled to your side, shivering, your hand pulling the fur blanket closer to you. Dwalin's eyes lingered on you, his mouth slightly agape before he snapped his gaze away. Feeling a wave of frustration towards himself, Dwalin's gaze landed on his sleep role. 

~~~

The next morning, you woke up to a bright blue sky, filled with white, fluffy clouds. You let out a sigh, eyelids fluttering as you shifted slightly and let out a breath. You groaned lightly before freezing. Your fingers brushed against the fur blanket over you, feeling the coarseness of the material. It was warm. Very warm.

Your eyebrows furrowed; confused. You opened one eye, squinting at the bright sun that was peaking above the tree canopies. Slowly turning over onto your back, you sat up, looking down at the blanket... Or should you say... Blankets?

You stared down at the fur blanket, that was not your own, before flipping the fur up, spying your fur blanket underneath. This second fur blanket - which wasn't yours - was a deep brown color, with little bits of white. Who gave you this last night? Were you really that cold last night that one of the Dwarves had given you their blanket out of kindness or pity? You felt a sense of gratitude fill your chest. Looking down at the furry blanket, you couldn't help but let out a smile. 

Looking up, you let your eyes survey the small camp, hopping from Dwarf to Dwarf until they settled on one. Dwalin. A wave of warmth passed over you, watching as he packed his sleep role away and into his pack. As Dwalin stood to leave, he glanced over at you, meeting your gaze for a brief moment; before quickly darting his eyes away, going over to Thorin. 

You felt the corners of your lips twitch slightly, a frown threatening to form on your face as you looked at Dwalin's retreating back. Did he hate you? Did he find you annoying? All these questions ran through your head, but you only huffed, getting up from your sleep role. You were not going to let Dwalin's behavior towards you sour your mood. Today was a beautiful day, and you wanted to savor it. 

~~~

You couldn't see, and all you could feel was the feeling of falling. You felt as if you were wrapped in something. It was tight around you, almost suffocating. Anxiety washed over you, gripping your heart painfully as your lungs begged for air. But you could hardly breathe. You needed to breathe, but you were trapped. You clawed at the sticky white substance that surrounded you, trying to rip it and free yourself, but you were not strong enough. You felt like giving up, though you knew you couldn't, but as you clawed at the sticky film, you could finally hear what was going on outside of the cocoon. You could hear the Dwarves yelling, yelling about spiders. 

Before you could do anything else, someone from the outside ripped open your cocoon. You blinked rapidly at the slight change of light, finding yourself back in the creepy woods. A large hand reached out to you and you quickly grabbed it, the person behind the strong hand pulling you up with force. Stumbling slightly, you felt slightly dazed, the hand still in yours as you found yourself in a giant spider fight. 

As you stood amidst the chaotic scene of giant spiders attacking the Company, your heart raced with fear and adrenaline. Eyes unable to leave the giant spiders - tunnel-vision - you gripped the hand in yours; giving you slight reassurance. The air was filled with the sounds of battle - the clang of weapons, the hiss of the spiders, and the shouts of the Dwarves. You could feel the sticky strands of webbing brush against your skin as you dodged and weaved through the throng of arachnids. You felt gross and dirty; and for the first time since the start of this long journey to The Lonely Mountain, you missed your Hobbit home.

With each passing moment, the fight intensified, the odds seemingly stacked against you and the Company. Your wide eyes danced around you, trying to spot Bilbo, but you couldn't find him. You wanted to yell out, to shout, but as your mouth opened, no words came out. There was an odd buzzing noise in your ears, your heart was beating loudly in your chest; harsh against your ribcage. Only then, did you look at the person who held you so close to them. You thought it couldn't have been Kili or Fili, but you spotted the two Princes when you lifted your gaze. Looking down at the hand that held yours, you felt your racing heart freeze for just a moment; an auditable hitch escaped your throat, but you didn't dare utter a sound. 

Standing in front of you and holding your hand tightly in his own was none other than Dwalin. You knew it was him. You knew those tattoos. Trailing up his muscular arm, you were finally met with the side of his face. His expression was hardened as he held his weapon tightly in his other hand. Aside from the anxiety and nervousness that had overcome you, you were incredibly impressed. Dwalin, with one hand, fought off giant spiders, whilst also keeping you perfectly safe. 

At the sound of something coming from up in the trees, you looked up, watching as no more than two dozen elves jumped to the ground, taking out the last of the large, monstrous spiders from around you. One of the Elves spoke to another, you noted her red hair as they spoke in Elvish. You wished that you could understand them. Your awe of them quickly diminished when they drew their weapons, arrows drawn and at the ready; circling around you and the Company. Soon, they demanded your weapons, and before you knew it, all the Dwarves were weaponless. 

"What about her?" One Elven guard asked in a demanding tone. Your eyes lifted up, finding the guard staring down at you. "Hand whatever you have over instantly." He demanded, holding out his hand, only for Dwalin's hand in yours to tighten slightly, gently pushing you behind him.

"She bears no weapons, Elf." He spoke in his deep, gruff, disgruntled voice. The Elf stared down at Dwalin for a moment before staring right back down at you, with a sniff and a small 'humph' he turned away. 

The blonde Elf, the one that you believed to be in charge of the whole group, yelled out something in Elvish, and before you knew it, you and your Dwarven friends were being pushed along, being led to hopefully, not your doom. Passing Thorin, you looked at him with pleading eyes, "Thorin, where's Bilbo?" Only for your answer to be unanswered. 

Your hand never left Dwalin's, your free, unoccupied hand found his arm; the skin upon skin contact grounded you, allowing you to calm yourself ever so slightly. You finally took a chance to look around, finding the forest opening, revealing a stone bridge. Pillars, beautifully carved, gave way to the entrance of Mirkwood, the Elven Kingdom. You wished you had the time to admire the architecture of the kingdom, but, sadly, you did not. Before you knew it you were being tossed into a cell.  

A hand fell upon your shoulder, pulling you to the side, your hands falling from Dwalin's. "Dwalin!" You called out, trying to reach for him, but you were soon shoved into a cell. Stumbling over your feet, you braced yourself on the rock interior of the cell. Hearing the heavy cell door close behind you, you snapped your head up; feeling exhausted, mentally and physically, but you pushed yourself forward. Your hands curled around the bars, trying to look at the cells beside yours. The sound of the now-captured Dwarves - yelling and complaining. 

"Miss Y/N!" Fili yelled out, only a few cells away from yours, "Are you alright!?"

"I'm fine!" You called back, "Is everyone else alright?"

Most, if not all, of the Dwarves, replied with various 'ayes’. You sighed in relief, closing your eyes; the chill of the cell door refreshing on your forehead. 

Sitting on the floor - you felt the hours pass you by slowly - you pressed the back of your head against the wall; tired. "I wager the sun is on the rise. Must be nearly dawn." Bofur called out, his voice echoing throughout. Your eyes fluttered open, a yawn leaving your parched mouth. 

"We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?" Ori asked, sounding resigned, making you sigh.

"Don't fret, Ori, dearest." You spoke up, sounding a bit resigned yourself, but you were determined to keep everyone's spirits high. "We'll make it." You continued, looking out of your cell door, "We will." With that said, you stood up from the ground, wincing as pain shot through your legs. Looking down, you noticed a rip in your trousers that you replaced your usual dress with. Pushing the ripped fabric to the side, you then noticed a red substance that trailed down your leg; coming from a small scratch on your calf. "Well," You spoke up, clearing your throat. "I may have been slightly injured."

Simultaneously, the Dwarves began to talk. Their voices became louder, some with more worry and concern. "Miss Y/N, you are injured!?" You heard Fili call from his cell.

"Yes, tis but a scratch." You explained, hoping the Dwarves would stop fussing over you. You weren't a damsel in distress. You were strong, even with a bloody scratch. "But worry not, dearest Dwarves, it's nothing I can't handle."

"You won't have to handle it for long." You heard, eyes widening - mimicking your bright smile - as Bilbo appeared at your cell door, holding the keys. 

~~~

When you joined the Company on their journey, you did not expect that you'd trick goblins, climb bit trees, fly on eagles, fight giant spiders, and barrel ride down a raging river. This was certainly an adventure that you'd go through again, minus the goblins and giant spiders; you'd love to fly with the eagles again.

Somehow, you survived, floating down the raging river, your clothes all sopping wet, and river water dripping from your hair. As all of your barrels fell down a waterfall, you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Behind you, you could hear the laughter of some of the dwarves. For a moment, you forgot about your injuries; and the exhaustion that was seeping into every fiber of your body. Your hands tightened your grip on the railing of the barrel, praying for it to not capsize or tip over, your fingers growing numb with cold. You tried desperately to ignore what was going on around you. Smelling the fresh air, and hearing the birds chirping above you, almost made you forget everything else.

But at the sound of a horn, you were quickly snapped out of your head, watching as the suited Elves began to shut the gate; the only way to escape. All joy, and a sense of freedom, flew right out of the window. You all collided with each other at the closed gate, you huffed, glaring up at the Elven guards before your eyes caught sight of an arrow flying through the air, and into one of the guards. 

"Orcs!" You yelled out, gesturing up at the guards, as the one that was shot fell into the water below; almost hitting you. "Why does it always have to be orcs?"

You dodged the best you could when dead elves and dead orcs fell into the water, along with dodging arrows, and over-confidant orcs that tried to swing at your head. 

You were about to call for Bilbo, but when you turned your head, you watched as your brother stabbed a sword into an orc, defending one of the dwarves. 

"Miss Y/N!" Ori cried out, making you look over to him, only for him to point above you. 

You looked up, your eyes widening at an orc - dead - began falling towards you. Unable to move, almost frozen in fear, you squeezed your eyes shut and shielded yourself with your arms, only for your barrel to be pushed back and out of the way. You opened your eyes, blinking them rapidly as the river water splashed in your face. Looking over, you just saw a glimpse of Dwalin turning back around. Despite the obvious danger that you were all in, you wondered what you could do for Dwalin since he had saved your life twice now. 

Turning your eyes to the side, you watched as Kili ran up the side of the stone top of the gate, you covered your mouth as an arrow flew through the air and hit him in the leg. Fili cried out of this younger brother, as Kili then opened the gate, and fell into an empty barrel. 

Falling down, yet another waterfall, smaller than the last, you pushed your wet hair from your face, only to grip the barrel with as much force as you could; the raging, white-foaming waters continued. Looking to your side slightly, you watched as Bilbo held onto a barrel, holding onto the sideway barrel, his own death-like grip. You felt a small bit of relief, seeing him safe. You, and the Company, continued down the river, and the longer you tried not to tip over and drown, the more you wished that you weren't in the freezing waters. 

Finally, the raging stopped, and the river was calm. Leaning over slightly in the barrel, you brushed your hands in the freezing water, moving your barrel forward slowly, but carefully. 

"Make for the shore!" Thorin yelled out, receiving some 'ayes' in return.

Pushing your barrel forward, you pressed your cheek against the rim of the barrel, your eyes drooping slightly as you continued to push yourself toward the shore. Your barrel soon hit the rocks, and you used the rest of your strength to get out of it, climbing up onto the rocks; completely soaked. You trudged up the rocks, wrapping your arms around yourself as you mentally counted those around you, counting fourteen. Mentally, you could rest.

Feeling a hand on your upper arm, you looked to the side, seeing your brother Bilbo. Just his presence made you give him a small smile, seeing the worry in his eyes. "I'm alright." You spoke to him, wanting to reassure him, "I'm just cold."

At the surprise of meeting Bard, the human, you sort of let your brain shut off. You felt your feet move as you followed the Dwarves to Bard's boat. You felt yourself sitting down in the corner next to Bilbo, and hiding from Alfrid, but you were far from the present. You were so tired, mentally and physically, that you let your mind quiet, letting yourself only fade back into the world you knew once you felt the warm fire at your feet.

"Wee lass hasn't spoken since the Elves." You heard a hushed voice, it was Bofur. 

You pressed your legs closer to yourself, staring into the flames. The clothing you were given, having been one of Bard's daughters, was warm; the fabric soft - your fingers toyed with the soft material. 

"Is she alright?" Ori asked worriedly, only for Bilbo to nod, crossing his arms. 

"She's alright. She had told me so." Thorin only gave you a short glance before turning back to Bard. 

Dwalin, with his arms crossed, turned to look at you, staring at your side profile. Glancing over at the table that Bilbo sat at, Dwalin said nothing, walking over to the table and grabbing a plate. Bilbo, in turn, watched as Dwalin filled the plate with a few potatoes, two small tomatoes, and a small slice of bread. 

Your eyes picked up the sound of heavy footfalls coming towards you, and at the sight of a plate coming into your field of vision, you moved your head to look up. As you looked at Dwalin, his face stoic as usual, you couldn't help but smile. Taking the plate, your fingers briefly brushed against his.

"Thank you, Dwalin." You spoke softly, but before he could slink away, you grabbed his hand, stopping him. For a moment, you thought back to when he held your hand so tightly - protectively - in the Mirkwood forests. "Thank you for saving me. Twice." You smiled at him softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "And I apologize if I had anything to upset you, or make you uncomfortable." He glanced over at you, then down at your hand which was wrapped around his. He didn't remove his hand from yours, giving you the same squeeze that you had received from him earlier today. 

Dwalin stared at your hand in his, his jaw clenching before he looked back to you, his eyes softening. "You did not, dorzada." He spoke gruffly, “Eat.” He finished before leaving your side, your hand dropping from his. 

You looked down at your plate of food, your stomach grumbling and spinning, as your mind wandered. Picking up the slice of bread, you bit down on it, thinking about the word that Dwalin called you. You wondered what it meant. 

~~~

"Oin, stay with Kili." Thorin commanded as the rest of the Dwarves began to gather their things. Without being told, Fili stayed by his brother's side. 

"I want to come too." You spoke, grabbing a random weapon from the wooden table.

Dwalin quickly turned, staring down at you, "It will be too dangerous for you, lass."

You huffed, lightly glaring up at the Dwarf, "I have fought trolls, orcs, what have you." You pointed out, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "I want to fight."

"This is against us Dwarves and the dragon." He grumbled, his hand taking a hold of the weapon in yours. "You'll die before the beast does."

"I'm already dying anyway," You shrugged, looking back down at your weapon, "From the moment we're born, we're dying. So, what is the point? I want to help."

Dwalin breathed out of his nose as he took hold of your other hand, "No, no, lass, you are staying here, with Kili, while the rest of us fight."

"Are you telling me, or are you commanding me, Dwalin?" You asked, voice becoming soft as his eyes bored into your own. "Do as you wish then," You sighed when receiving no answer, letting go of his hands, "But please, do not die." 

Dwalin humphed, the corners of his lips just twisting up into a small grin, and for a moment, you were stunned. Dwalin was smiling. "Don't worry," He spoke. "I won't." His gaze softened, as he stepped back from you, "Be safe, lass." With that, he started to walk away, only for you to grab his arm and stop him. You didn't say anything else, merely pulling him close to you.

You felt him tense in your abrupt embrace before his one hand, not holding his weapon, circled you. But, it all ended too soon, as he pulled back from you, nodding to you before turning his attention to the group, as they set off to The Lonely Mountain. 

Your shoulders sagged when the door closed, a small pout upon your lips, "Do not fret, Miss Y/N," Fili spoke from beside his brother as you turned to look over at the four Dwarves - Kili, Fili, Bofur, and Oin. "They will return."

You let out a sigh, looking out at the window. A fuzzy feeling rose within your chest, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself. After watching them disappear into the distance, the sun went to sleep, "I know."

---

Main Masterlist | The Hobbit/LOTR Masterlist

[intimidating-fettuccine]

okay, but I haven't seen EJ content lately and I miss him :(, could I request an angsty question with him?

https://www.tumblr.com/intimidating-fettuccine/728812046178811904/httpswwwtumblrcomintimidating-fettuccine6891?source=share

We're back in the fucking building again, another one for the series of 'Slender pulling the creep away from Y/N after Y/N died in their arms.'

Jack hasn't been able to breathe for what seems like hours. The second you took that fatal blow on your mission he'd rushed you home, blood dripping in a steady path the whole way as he rushed you to the medical lab. He'd tried just about everything he could think of, but the damage had already been done, and with how easily you accepted it, it just served to make him feel more dissociative. This couldn't be happening. It's not possible. He's worked so hard to learn how to apply and use medical techniques to keep everyone in the mansion safe, but he couldn't even save you, the person he loved most. By the time Slender comes down to the medical lab Jack is hunched over your body and clutching onto you, an animalistic look in his eyes as he hyperventilates, losing himself to his instincts to protect. Slender has everyone else cleaning your blood off of the flooring upstairs, wanting the lab to be empty for this. 

As Slender slowly moves closer to the two of you, Jack lets out a deep, vicious growl that would scare anyone else, but Slender keeps creeping forward. He speaks slowly, telling Jack it's okay, Slender isn't going to do anything bad, that Jack needs to calm down, that your body has to be taken care of, but he just bares his fangs and continues growling. Eventually, Slender gets too close, and Jack in a moment of weakness to his instincts latches onto him, sinking his teeth into Slender's arm, but the second he tastes Slender's blood he snaps out of it, weeping like a baby as he holds Slender's arm in his mouth. Slender gets him off of him, pulling him into an embrace as Jack begins to finally break down now that his senses are coming back to him. He clings onto Slender to ground himself, if only to prevent himself from clawing his his face and head as he feels increasingly angry at himself for not being able to save you. Slender stands with him for a while, getting him to calm down and be more stable, reassuring him that it's not his fault. Once that injury tore through your body it had already been too late, and you wouldn't want him blaming himself. Jack doesn't know what to believe anymore, but he tries his best to listen to Slender's words. 

The two of them work quietly together, getting your body cleaned up and ready to go into one of the morgue freezers. Jack wants to be the one doing it all himself, but he knows if he was left alone he'd lose himself again. Jack is shaking by the time they're done, and Slender grabs a damp cloth, tenderly cleaning your blood off of Jack's exposed skin, ridding Jack of the scent of blood keeping him riled up. He feels like a fraud. His medical talents were so good he was renowned for them in the Underworld, but he couldn't-- He inhales sharply to prevent himself from doing something rash to himself, and he stands there, flipping rapidly between ultimate despair and extreme self-loathing. Slender sits up that night, choosing to forego sleep so that he can keep Jack company, considering Jack is nocturnal and Slender doesn't want him unsupervised until it's time for him to finally get some rest he desperately needs. Slender's company is the only thing preventing Jack from breaking, and he doesn't know how to handle himself without you there to calm him down. Though, he bitterly thinks to himself as tears slide down his face, he's going to have to learn now, now that he doesn't have you to help him anymore. He's never felt more alone in his life, and that thought scares and distresses him.

[dindjarindiaries]

The Broken Who Blossom

summary: At long last, Din’s returned home to the covert, but he’s brought a lot more home with him than anticipated.

pairing: din djarin x mandalorian!reader

tags: angst, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, injuries, references to trauma & death, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.563k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

The beach was still littered with the bodies of injured Mandalorians and the giant-sized insides of the sea creature as you caught your breath. You went to stand up and let out a short gasp at the pain that rippled through your leg. Upon looking down, your visor found the gash on the side of your left leg, left behind by the creature’s claw.

You tightened your jaw and tried to stand again, but before you could, an outstretched hand offered to help you. Paz stood over you, the sight of him a relief as you accepted his help and stood on your feet as best as you could. Your gloved hands tightened into fists at your sides as you gave a quick glance around the shore.

“Is Ragnar okay?” Your modulated voice was more breathless than you wanted it to be.

“He’s fine.” Paz’s voice was lower than you expected, and his visor was fixed on something in the distance with hardly concealed hostility.

You followed his gaze to see the N-1 starfighter that had been the covert’s savior landing on the beach. Dread washed over you much like the water that continued to lap at the sand. You hadn’t gotten a chance to see the pilot, but the chances were the covert would have to relocate once again.

Then, the N-1 landed, and you clearly saw the person within it. The sight made you lose your breath even more than you had before, with only one thought—one name—able to come to mind.

“Din,” you gasped to yourself, your voice barely a breath as you attempted to walk forward.

Paz grabbed your armored shoulder without looking back at you. “No.”

You fought his grasp without hesitation. This was the first time you had seen Din since he was forced to leave you on Nevarro, and you weren’t sacrificing your reunion for Paz’s bitter feelings towards him. “Let me go.” Your voice bordered on a growl, even as your gaze softened at the sight of Din with the small, green child he had told you about so long ago.

“No.” Paz used his entire arm to keep you from advancing. “He is no longer one of us.”

Your helmet whipped towards his own. “What the hell do you mean?”

Paz’s visor finally met your own. “He’s an apostate.”

The words hit you harder than any weapon could’ve. Still, you remained skeptical, tilting your helmet at him. “How is that possible?”

“He removed his helmet.” You gaped beneath your own helmet at that, unable to believe Din could ever do such a thing. In your silence, Paz scoffed with cruel amusement and took a step away from you. “Let him tell you the truth himself.”

In moving away from you, the path between you and Din was completely cleared. Din had stepped out of his ship and set the tiny green child beside his boot on the sand. His attention was still fixed on the Armorer, who stood the closest to him. “I would like to request a brief audience with you,” Din announced to the Armorer, though everyone still standing on the beach remained silent enough to hear him.

You wanted to cry out his name again at the mere sound of his voice. Cycles spent dreaming of it, his final words to you wrapped around your mind like the cruelest broken promise, and now, you were finally hearing it again. But you can’t enjoy it, not with the knowledge of what Paz has revealed to you.

You didn’t want to believe him, but here it was, playing out in front of you. Whispers had already started to carry throughout the group, as if you had purposely been left on the outside of a deep, dark secret for much too long.

The Armorer at last responded with a nod. “When you are ready, you may join me in the forge.” Her visor found you with ease.

Din’s followed. You knew him well enough to understand how severe his reaction was to the sight of you, but even those who didn’t know him the way you did would have been able to tell. His entire body froze, even his cuirass stalling as his visor locked on your own. Your name came breathless from his modulator the same way yours had with his.

You let Din close the gap between you with steps that were both quick and hesitant, as if he was in a dream. You understood the feeling all too well, and you wished you could grasp onto it. Before he could get too close, you held out a single gloved hand, instantly stopping him in his tracks. Din’s visor looked between your hand and your helmet.

You willed your voice to be firm, but it was an impossible task. “Is it true?”

Din’s cuirass stalled again. He shifted his weight, a heartbreaking habit of his that made you want to drop your guard and reach out for him immediately. Still, the unspoken truth between the two of you overpowered your urge.

Your gloved hand was trembling as you continued to hold it up between the two of you. “Did you remove your helmet?”

Din took a deep, trembling breath. You were close enough to hear the way it shook as it entered and exited his corrupted lungs. All you ever wanted for longer than you even knew was to have this proximity to him again, but now, it was like a punishment. It was only made worse by the shame and pure ache in Din’s voice as he spoke. “I did.”

Your throat closed up upon hearing the truth from his lips. “You’re an apostate, then.”

Din’s helmet fell to his boots at that. “I am.” His voice was an inch from broken at the confession.

The little child at his side cooed in distress. It only worsened your own heartbreak. You exhaled and lowered your hand, giving your helmet an aimless shake. You lowered your voice as you spoke again. “Damn it, Din.”

The quivering in your voice was Din’s breaking point. He took another step closer to you. “I can explain.”

“Don’t.” You went to take a step back, forgetting the injury on your leg. It nearly gave out on you, causing you to trip a few steps around yourself. Din didn’t hesitate to reach out and steady you, but as soon as you had better footing, you pulled yourself away from him.

“You’re hurt.” Din sounded more pained than you, the one who actually bore the physical wound. He respected your silent wishes for him to stay away, his gloved hands tightening into fists as he struggled to do so. “Can I help?”

You raised your chin higher than usual. “I can take care of it myself.” You clenched your jaw as you turned your back to him, stopping to glance over your armored shoulder as you added one more thing quietly. “But you can come with me.”

Din nodded at that, clearly more than satisfied with your offer. He and the child followed you as you managed to limp all the way to your private barracks. You were grateful for the fact everyone had given you both some semblance of privacy, though you didn’t miss the glares thrown Din’s way as he followed you into the caves. It made you angry on his behalf, but even you were still disillusioned by the revelation.

It was like everyone knew except for you, and no one bothered to fill you in.

You led Din into your private room, and he drew the makeshift curtain closed for you. You managed to grab your medpac before collapsing on your bed. Din stood nearby, shifting his weight again as you began to tend to your own wound.

“I thought you would come back.” You made your voice stronger than before as you stole a look at Din. “Like you promised me.”

“I did.” Din’s quick response was desperate, not defensive. “After I completed my quest and reunited the kid with his own kind, I took all the jobs I could to get information on the covert. I found the Armorer and Paz on the Glavis Ringworld, and I…” Din shook his helmet. “I thought that was all that was left. That’s what I was told.”

You remained tough in your interrogation, no matter how your instincts of longing screamed at you. “Was that before or after you removed your helmet?”

“After.” Din never hesitated once in revealing each truth to you. “I had no choice, cyare. I promise, I swear.”

It was hard to remain calm when Din was so close to fracturing in front of you, but you maintained your composure nonetheless. “How did it happen?”

For the first time yet, Din hesitated. You stopped the work you were doing on your leg and glanced up, watching as Din bent down and held the child in his arms. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself at the sight of them. “The kid got captured by Moff Gideon.”

Your eyes widened underneath your visor. “Moff Gideon?”

Din nodded. “I… can tell you more about him later.” His voice was low, casting a shadow over the future conversation. “The only way I could get the kid back was to find the coordinates to Gideon’s light cruiser.” Din’s visor fell to the child tucked in his arm. “The Imperial terminal I used required a facial scan.”

It was hard to believe what Din was telling you, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Din was a man of honor, the most honorable you had ever known, but it was his love for and loyalty to the people closest to him that took precedence over all else. He had shown you so himself.

“You said you completed your quest.” You paused to grit your teeth as you administered bacta spray to your wound. Din nearly made the motion to lunge towards you in your peripheral vision, but he stopped himself. “But the child is still with you.”

“Grogu.” Your visor found Din again at the word. The way the child’s long ears had risen on his head answered the question you were about to ask, though Din also beat you to it. “His name is Grogu.” You simply nodded and continued to tend to your wound, allowing Din to continue. “I did complete my quest, but he came back to me.”

You spoke without diverting your attention away from your work. “Why?”

Din’s visor fell to the child, Grogu, once again. “I’m… not sure.” Your chest warmed underneath your cuirass as you watched Din’s forefinger and thumb hold Grogu’s hold. “I guess he wants to be a Mandalorian.”

“Or…” you smiled as you reached for the dark-colored gauze and began to unravel it, “he just wants to be with you.” You forced your visor to remain fixed on your work as you went on. “I know the feeling well.”

Din dared to take a step closer to you. His modulated voice was low and haunted as he spoke. “Have I ruined it?”

You took a deep breath, your armored shoulders rising and falling with you as you secured the gauze around your leg. You stopped and reached for your cuisse, holding the metal between your gloved hands and giving your helmet an aimless shake. “I just…” You raised your helmet to face Din. He continued to stand just a single step or two away from you, restless in his poorly concealed desperation as he shifted his weight once again. “I don’t understand.”

Din’s helmet tilted as he nodded. “I can explain.” His voice was hopeful, and softer than it had been ever since he arrived. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“I know you will.” You packed up the medical supplies, securing the medpac closed and heaving another breath. “But I don’t think this is something you can explain.”

Din’s helmet straightened in confusion as you tried to stand. You groaned and stopped yourself, closing your eyes beneath your visor at the way the movement pained your healing leg. Din froze, his visor intently watching your every move. You held out your hand towards him.

“Can you help me?”

Din nodded, setting Grogu back onto the floor before taking a firm step towards you. He held your gloved hand and used the other to steady your back, helping you to stand and assisting you over to where your medpac belonged.

You resumed your earlier thoughts as Din kept you close to his side. It was a welcome feeling akin to that of a home. “Nobody told me.” Your visor found his. “I searched for a new location for the covert. I helped to bring everyone here, including the Armorer and Paz from Glavis. And what have I gotten in return?”

You shook your helmet, letting Din help you sit on your bed once again. That time, you were regretful to let go of his hand.

“Lies. Half-hearted truths.” You scoffed and tightened your gloved hands around your cuisses. “No one told me you were alive. Neither the Armorer nor Paz told me they had even seen you.” You lifted a hand to gesture behind Din at the curtain serving as your door. “They’ve all known about us for cycles, and yet no one decided to tell me what happened to you.”

Din helped a visible breath. Your visor never strayed from his as you sat in the silence for a long moment.

“But you haven’t hesitated to be honest with me.” You lifted your chin. “I’m not taking the side of those who refused to do the same.”

The tension that fled from Din’s armored shoulders at your words was practically visible. It was almost as if his weight gave out altogether as he knelt down in front of you. “Thank you.” His modulated voice was quiet, strained by an emotion you struggled to identify. “But…” he shook his helmet, his visor falling to the floor, “they’re still right.” Din found the faith to face you again. “I’m an apostate. I broke the Creed.” Din nodded, as dutiful as ever. “You deserve better than to be associated with me.”

You leaned forward and held his helmet between your gloved hands. It was a position that catapulted you to the sweet nostalgia of the past, when holding his beskar face was an everyday routine rather than a long-lost privilege. “Din.” It was hard to miss the small inhale Din took at your gentle utterance of his name. “You may have removed your helmet, but you did not break the Creed.” You nodded at him. “In my eyes, you upheld the most important vows we swore ourselves to: Honor. Loyalty. Solidarity.”

You paused, your visor finding the little one who stood patiently by Din’s boot. He cooed at you, nodding to agree with your words as he encouraged you to go on. You smiled at the child and looked at Din again.

“You completed the highest honor of our people.” Your helmet gestured to Grogu. “You rescued a foundling.” The front part of your helmet found his own as you brought Din closer to you. “This is the Way.”

Din’s gloved hands found your wrists, the touch slow yet secure as he wrapped them around you. His repetition of the phrase crackled through his modulator in his disbelief. “This is the Way.”

You smiled and brushed your gloved hands over his beskar cheeks. “If your allegiance to the Creed makes you an apostate, then…” you freed your hands from Din, holding your own helmet and lifting it before Din could stop you, “I suppose it makes me one, too.”

Din froze, his visor scanning your face in disbelief. His gloved hands were stuck as they reached out in front of him, a statue of his thwarted attempt to keep you from removing your helmet. He spoke in a trembling, disbelieving breath. “Cyare…”

You set your helmet aside and held his once more. “Loyalty and solidarity are the Way.”

Din finally began to move, one of his gloved hands returning to your wrist as the other cupped the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes to prove to him just how meaningful it truly is to you. “I’ve… only been able to dream of this.” Din’s confession was quiet, each modulated word strained as he spoke. “Of you.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, his gloved thumb running over the skin under your eye over and over again. “Of upholding my promise.”

You smiled at him. “As have I.” You held a hand over his. “It’s been hard, but…” you looked at Grogu and grinned wider, “I’m glad you put the foundling first.”

Grogu cooed at that before Din could even respond. You watched as the little one toddled his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your boot and closing his eyes as he hugged it. You chuckled lightheartedly, your gaze returning to Din’s visor.

You were shocked to see his true gaze just a moment later—a brown sea of warmth and pure affection.

Your gloved hands held his untrimmed jaw as the warmth of your forehead met his for the first time. You couldn’t resist the urge to study him up close over and over again, making your smile remain as you spoke to him in a soft breath. “Being an apostate isn’t so bad.”

Din huffed with amusement at that. His own gaze was studying you, but his eyes had started to focus on your lips. “We can make it worth our while.”

His natural voice was a gift as sweet as the first kiss he gave you, a breathtakingly beautiful display of affection that was many cycles in the making. Pure warmth that rivaled anything the galaxy had ever offered you blossomed from his lips onto your own, setting your chest aflame with the same sweet heat. For the sake of the child in the room, the two of you separated more quickly than either one of you would have liked, your smiles brightening up the space between you.

“So,” you began, running your gloved fingers over his cheek, “where are we headed next, cyare?”

Din grimaced for a moment, making you furrow your brow in concern. “Mandalore.”

You lifted your head from his. “The planet’s cursed, Din. We can’t go there.”

Din broke away from you for a moment to reach for something on his belt. He lifted it and offered it to you. “That’s Mandalorian writing.” He said the words as soon as you read them on the green slab of glass. “A traveler acquired this from the planet’s surface.”

Your gaze of disbelief found his. “Is it breathable?”

Din shrugged, taking the fused glass back from you. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” He nodded and looked down at his helmet. “The Armorer has told me redemption is only possible in the Living Waters beneath the mines.”

You tightened your jaw in resolution. “Then that’s where we’re headed.” You prepared to force yourself to stand once again. “I’ll get my things together.”

Din shook his head, his brown eyes dark with worry as his brow furrowed. “You’re still hurt.”

“One night’s rest will be enough to heal it.” You nodded in further reassurance. “The trip through hyperspace will take care of it.”

Din hesitated, but ultimately he nodded to agree with you. “And you still have your ship?”

“I do. Speaking of which…” you raised your brow at him, “you’ve got quite the ship, now.”

Din huffed, though his gaze averted yours. “The Crest was destroyed by Gideon.” You set a hand on his cheek for comfort. “This ship’s turning out to be a fairly decent replacement, though.”

“Sure.” You grinned at him. “Knowing you, this ship’s much more your speed.”

Din chuckled, his attention turning to Grogu. “What do you think, buddy?”

The foundling let out a long coo, making both you and Din laugh before he helped you to stand. He supported you with one hand and used the other to grab your helmet, though he hesitated before he put it back on for you.

“Thank you, cyare.” The genuine nature of Din’s words were even more evident without the filter of his helmet, his brown eyes telling you the very same truth.

You brought yourself closer to him. “You don’t have to thank me, Din.” You nodded, your next words a whispered breath upon his lips. “I did it because I love you.”

You kissed him, a quick yet meaningful gesture that kept a small smile on his lips as you pulled away. His response was still just as meaningful as before, if not more so. “I love you, too.” He nodded as he began to set your helmet over your head. “Once we find our redemption,” the helmet lowered, “then I’ll follow through on my promise.”

You helped Din with his own helmet before leaning it against your own in one more Keldabe kiss. “I know you will.”

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[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (Marie)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Author's Note: This is a slow burn fic, so please be patient - the good stuff is coming, I promise!

Masterlist

Chapter 9

Max had been in Charles’s life ever since he could remember. Max came from an influential Dutch family with ties to several businesses in Monaco and France. Their fathers crossed paths often due to business. Charles’s father, a humble mechanic, was determined to build an empire for his young sons. In contrast, Max’s father was a tycoon with connections all over the world. Their paths crossed by chance, but it was a meeting that would shape their futures. When the Leclercs began succeeding in Monaco, Hervé, Charles’s father, enrolled his sons in a prestigious private school. He wanted to give them the best possible education, help them build solid foundations, and make influential connections. This school was a world away from the modest life Charles had known, filled with children of politicians, businessmen, and celebrities. It was there that Charles first met Max.

That’s when Charles and Max met. Max was quiet, reserved, always in his own bubble during class. Charles saw him sit alone during their lunch breaks and decided to befriend the young Dutchman. They got along like a moth to a flame. But, they were also fire and water when it came to their personalities. Charles was kind-faced and kind-hearted. Max was stern, often appearing unapproachable, but was yearning for attention. His father worked so much, he never spent time with him and when he did, he constantly critiqued the young boy for every small mistake. Not even his accomplishments were ever good enough. This treatment from his father manifested a darkness in Max. He started acting out of character, at least from Charles’s point of view, trying to win over his father’s favour.

Charles, noticing Max’s isolation, approached him one day during lunch, “Hi, I’m Charles. Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Max looked up, surprised, but nodded. Charles sat down next to the solitary figure and offered a friendly, dimpled smile. 

From that day forward, Charles made it a point to include Max in his activities, whether it was group projects, sports, or simply hanging out after school. Max, despite his reserved nature, found himself opening up to Charles. He was drawn to Charles’s warmth and genuine kindness, traits that were starkly absent in his own life. As their friendship deepened, Charles learned more about Max’s home life. The constant criticism and lack of affection from his father weighed heavily on Max. He shared his frustrations with Charles, who listened without judgement. Charles’s unwavering support provided Max with a sense of belonging and acceptance he had never felt before.

However, the stark differences in their personalities often led to conflicts. Charles’s easygoing nature and inherent goodness clashed with Max’s stern demeanour and growing bitterness. Max’s desire to prove himself to his father led him down a path of ruthless ambition. He began to see the world in terms of winners and losers, and he was determined not to be the latter. Charles, with his strong moral compass, often found himself at odds with Max’s methods. While Charles believed in hard work and integrity, Max was willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals. This fundamental difference in their outlooks created a tension that simmered beneath the surface of their friendship. Max’s behaviour grew increasingly erratic as he tried to win his father’s approval. He became more competitive, more willing to cut corners and use others to get ahead. Charles, ever the peacemaker, tried to steer Max away from this destructive path, but his efforts were often met with resistance.

The first time Max and Charles butted heads was in their sophomore year of high school. As fate would have it, both boys fancied the same girl. Charles had expressed his interest in her to Max, trusting his friend with his feelings. He described how he planned to ask her out, detailing every aspect of his intentions. Max listened intently, but his eyes held a glint of something Charles couldn't quite place. A few days later, Charles was stunned to see Max making a move on the innocent girl. Max, with his smooth talk and confident demeanour, quickly won her over. Charles watched from the sidelines, his heart aching with betrayal and confusion. He couldn't understand why his friend would do such a thing. Despite his hurt, he held back from confronting Max, hoping it was all a misunderstanding.

However, it wasn't long before Max broke the girl's heart, ending their brief relationship with a cold detachment that shocked Charles. The girl, devastated and confused, confided in Charles about how heartless Max had been. This incident planted the first real seeds of distrust between the two friends, and Charles began to see Max in a different light. Yet, his loyalty kept him from severing ties completely, hoping that the Max he once knew would resurface. The second major incident came after a party during their junior year. Both boys were drunk, unable to drive themselves anywhere. Despite their intoxicated state, Max insisted he drive them back into Monte Carlo. Charles, ever the voice of reason, protested vehemently, emphasising the dangers of drunk driving. But Max, using his manipulative charm, convinced Charles that everything would be fine. He played on Charles's loyalty and trust, making him feel guilty for doubting him.

Against his better judgement, Charles agreed. The drive was tense, with Charles gripping the seat, eyes wide with fear. His fears were soon realised when Max lost control of the car and they crashed. Both boys were injured, but Max played the victim perfectly. When the authorities and their parents arrived, Max's father immediately pointed the finger at Charles, accusing him of distracting Max while he was driving. Charles was stunned by the accusation but remained silent. He didn't want to create more trouble for Max, despite the injustice. His loyalty, his greatest strength, also proved to be his biggest weakness. He took the blame quietly, enduring the harsh words and disappointed looks from his parents.

This incident, however, left a deep scar. Charles began to see the true extent of Max's manipulative nature. He realised that Max would go to any lengths to protect himself, even if it meant betraying his closest friend. Yet, Charles's loyalty persisted. He couldn't completely turn his back on Max, hoping that their shared history and the bond they once had would be enough to redeem his friend.

Hervé, deeply concerned about the growing influence Max had over Charles, pleaded with his son to cut ties with him. He saw Max as a bad influence, someone who could lead Charles down a dangerous path. Hervé’s worries were not unfounded; he had witnessed the negative changes in Charles and feared that Max’s manipulative tendencies would eventually overshadow his son's values.

“Charles, you need to distance yourself from Max,” Hervé implored one evening. “He’s not the friend you think he is. He’s a bad influence. You need to focus on your future, not on someone who’s dragging you down.”

Charles, feeling torn between his father’s concerns and his own loyalty, lied. He had no intention of severing his friendship with Max. A mistake, perhaps. The bond they had forged was too deep, too complex to unravel easily. He believed he could still influence Max positively, hoping his friend would eventually change for the better.

As they moved on to college to complete their degrees in Business Management, the strain on their friendship became more apparent. Max’s disdain for the structured, academic environment was evident from the start. He loathed being tied to a desk, working on assignments and studying for exams, a stark contrast to his father’s expectations. The college experience, meant to be a time of growth and learning, became a battleground between Max’s rebellious nature and the demands of his academic pursuits. To avoid the drudgery of studying, Max found a more insidious way to get through his courses: he cheated off Charles. At first, it seemed like a harmless arrangement. Max would glance over Charles’s notes during exams, or sometimes they would swap answers in a discreet manner. Charles, while uncomfortable with the deception, couldn’t bring himself to refuse his friend’s requests for help. They never got caught, but each instance left Charles feeling uneasy, plagued by guilt and a growing sense of moral compromise.

Max’s reliance on Charles’s academic performance became a regular pattern. Despite his disinterest in studying, Max managed to maintain decent grades, thanks to Charles’s diligent efforts. The arrangement, while keeping their friendship intact, slowly chipped away at Charles’s sense of integrity. Each act of cheating seemed to further entrench Max’s dependency and blurred the lines between friendship and exploitation.

The final nail in the coffin came after yet another party - a lavish, high-energy event that promised excitement and excess. Charles, having grown wary of the chaotic aftermaths of these gatherings, decided to drive himself and stay sober. He had seen too many nights ruined by alcohol and was determined to avoid another disaster. Max, on the other hand, embraced the night with abandon. He was drunk within hours, revelling in the attention of several women and engaging in a wild, hedonistic spree. Charles watched from the periphery, his discomfort growing with every reckless action Max took. As the night wore on, he noticed a darker side of his friend that he had been desperately trying to ignore.

At some point during the evening, Max’s behaviour took a disturbing turn. Charles saw him corner a man in a dimly lit corner of the party venue. The man, dishevelled and clearly terrified, was being berated by Max. It became clear that the confrontation was about money - the man owed Max a significant sum, and Max’s patience had worn thin. Charles watched in horrified silence as Max, consumed by rage and a thirst for control, began to physically assault the man. The violence was brutal, fueled by Max's unchecked anger and a sense of superiority that had grown over the years. The scene was so shocking that Charles felt paralyzed. He had seen Max act out before, but this was a new level of cruelty. He could not stand by any longer; his sense of moral obligation outweighed his loyalty. When Max eventually dragged the beaten man into a secluded area, the reality of what was happening set in. Charles knew that something had to be done, but the situation spiralled beyond his control.

Later that night, Max approached Charles with a grim, urgent request. He needed Charles’s help to dispose of the body, to cover up the crime and ensure that his father, Jos Verstappen, would never find out. Max’s fear was palpable; he knew the consequences if his father learned of his actions. In a moment of cold, calculated desperation, Max sought to pull Charles into his moral abyss. Charles was revolted. He felt the weight of his past actions and the loyalty he had been forced to compromise. The request was too much; it was the final breach of his ethical boundaries. After a brief, tense confrontation where Max’s threats became clear, Charles made his decision. He refused to participate in the cover-up. Without a word, he walked away from Max, leaving him to handle the fallout of his own choices.

In the days and weeks that followed, Charles’s decision to distance himself from Max had severe repercussions. Max, fueled by a mix of betrayal and fear, saw Charles’s departure as a threat to his own safety. Fearing that Charles might reveal his criminal actions to Jos Verstappen or the authorities, Max began plotting revenge. He worked tirelessly to destroy Charles’s reputation and life, employing all his resources and connections to ensure that Charles would suffer. Sometimes, he would leave Charles be, but Charles was always aware of the impending threat, and now Max had something on Charles - solid proof of wrongdoing, all Charles had was his word.

Charles lay awake most nights, staring at the ceiling in his darkened bedroom, haunted by the same relentless nightmares. The images from that fateful night replayed in his mind with cruel clarity. Max’s violent outburst, the fear and desperation in the man’s eyes, and the harsh reality of what Charles had chosen to ignore plagued his thoughts. The guilt of not reporting the crime gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his moral failure and the betrayal of his own values. The weight of his decisions bore heavily on him, twisting his thoughts into a web of remorse and self-reproach. Charles understood all too well the crushing burden of guilt. It was this understanding that fueled his desire to protect Marie from the same torment. He saw in her the potential for the same endless cycle of regret and anguish that had consumed him.

Charles knew that what he had done was wrong. He had become exactly what he hated in Max - a murderer. It was a decision made in a moment of fear and self-preservation, a reaction to the intense PTSD he had suffered for over five years. The psychological scars from that night, combined with the subsequent attacks from Max, had turned his life into a continuous battle of moral and principle. His efforts to help Marie stemmed from a place of deep empathy and a desire to atone for his own mistakes. He recognized the look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes, understanding the unspoken anguish that came with being in a dangerous situation. Charles wanted to offer her a chance to avoid the kind of guilt that had become his constant companion. He hoped that by helping her navigate her own challenges, he could give her a semblance of control and peace, something he had long since lost. He also knew he wasn’t like Max. He felt remorse, Max did not. Charles wasn’t protecting himself, he was protecting his family. Max only ever cared about himself and not being inadequate in the eyes of his father.

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

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- slight ptsd and mentions of scars

A/N- CHILD OF THE STORM IS BACK YALL. I am SO sorry for disappearing for like, three months life's been A LOT. There's only two three more chapters left until the fic's over. I cannot believe it's been more than a year. BUT there is something new coming up very soon (tho it would be a lot sooner IF I JUST FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX THE DAMNED PLOT HOLE). Anyways, this chapter's a bit long so buckle in. And let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @evelyndane @marauders-wife @el-de-phi

Ch-65 ~and it was either going to make her stronger than ever~

Anaya stopped at the doorway. She took a deep breath before entering the ballroom.

The place was a massive hall with shiny golden walls and chandeliers that covered almost the entire ceiling. It was where all of the royal events were hosted.

And tonight, for Nikolai’s coronation, Genya had done a great job of making even the hideous Grand Palace appear endearing. 

Even though Nikolai was supposed to be the centre of attention tonight, every head turned as Anaya went in. 

Even Nikolai himself had turned to look at her.

“Great” she thought, not quite fond of the gesture. She’d already been late because she’d spent the afternoon working when she should've been preparing for the event.

She walked forward, her gown brushing against the laces of her shoes, a smile on her face.

She saw Genya and Zoya standing in a far corner, gesturing to her to come to them.

“Councillor Nasrazeen,” A man spoke up, blocking her path. “It’s an honour to finally meet you” he smiled. Though his narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow expressed how he was much more irritated to meet her.

 “Duke Verensky” he introduced himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Duke Verensky” Anaya said, a smile plastered across her face.

“I have to say,” he began. “Ravka truly is changing its ways of working” He raised his brows. “Given how the Council is now being led by a Grisha woman”.

There it was.

When the news of Anaya’s position had reached the nobles, some had been intrigued as to why she’d become the Councillor. Others had simply refused to accept it. 

“Surely you’re aware of all the events that have happened in our country since last year,” Anaya said, her voice unwavering. “Ravka is certainly seeing changes it hadn’t ever seen before.” She tilted her head. “And perhaps it’s for the best.” 

But the Duke only narrowed his eyes further, “That we shall see” he gave a nod, walking away.

The coronation began shortly afterwards and lasted for a while. 

Anaya glanced at the clock. It’d only been an hour since she’d arrived, and yet it had felt like an eternity.

The prying eyes of the guests and their never ending questions made her want to walk out the door, but she had no other choice but to stay.

“Why exactly did King Nikolai choose you for a position that holds such great importance?” One of the guests asked.

“I believe you would have to ask his majesty himself about his decision” She offered as pleasantly as she could. 

“Still, if you had to think of a possible reason, what would you choose?” She pressed.

It’s probably because I don’t ask useless questions.

“It could be, as I’ve worked by his side during the civil war and because of my experience on foreign lands” She said. 

“Surely you would need more factors than that to be worthy of running a country” the woman said, smiling.

Why don’t you run it instead.

Anaya forced her lips into a smile, “Duchess, I-”

“I deeply apologise for interrupting you,” Genya appeared by her side. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow Miss Nasrazeen for a moment” she smiled and dragged Anaya away by her arm.

“How do I thank you for this favour Genya” Anaya let out an exasperated sigh as she went to the corner where Zoya was.

“By actually dressing up on time” Genya grinned as she rolled a single amber eye.

“That woman is a menace,” Zoya added, handing Anaya a glass of champagne.

“That I figured out” Anaya rolled her eyes, taking the glass.

“I have to say,” Genya glimpsed at her dress. “You do look good in blue”.

“‘Immensely endearing’ is the term I’d use” Anaya flashed a grin. 

She lowered her voice“ I'm surprised how you managed to turn this hideous palace appealing ”

“What can I say” Genya straightened her shoulders. “I'm very talented”.

“Where is David by the way?” She asked

Genya rolled her eye, “He left as soon as the Coronation was over. He's very repulsive to social gatherings”.

“However do you deal with him” Zoya said, shaking her head.

There was a brief silence, filled by their similar thoughts.

“It's so hard,” Zoya sighed. “Pretending to be thrilled about all this, as if nothing happened”.

Anaya gave a single nod of her head. “That's what this all is” she lifted a shoulder. “Pretending to move on, getting used to the changes, acting along in the play”.

“Atleast Nikolai’s doing it a lot better than us,” Genya said, her gaze drifting over to where he was standing.

Anaya nodded in agreement. 

Even after all he'd endured, he'd managed to keep the act going, playing the parts he was expected to.

She had no idea how he did it all, when she could do nothing to shake the feeling of her scars creeping over her, reminding her of how they came to be.

Slithering like thorned vines over her arms, her back.

The evening stretched on and the nobles continued to pester Anaya with their inane questions.

And she had no choice but to offer them and answer.

…………………………………..

Anaya stood near one of the tables at a corner, a glass of champagne in her hand. It was getting immensely difficult to get through the event without it.

She then noticed two of the grisha students silently creeping out with a bottle of champagne hidden behind their backs.

“And where exactly do you two plan to be going?” Anaya said, appearing behind them.

The Fabrikator and the Heartrender turned around hastily, trembling in fear upon the sight of her.

“Nowhere…ma’am” The Boy began, refusing to meet her gaze

But the Heartrender cut him off, “I actually needed some fresh air so I told him to go outside” She offered.

Despite being shorter, Anaya seemed to be the one looking down at them.

“And I suppose you also need the champagne to enjoy the fresh air” She raised an eyebrow.

“We-” The girl began, but Anaya's sceptical gaze stopped her from further speaking.

Anaya looked at them for a moment, “What are your names?” She said, finally speaking.

“I- Nestor Verakov”, ma’am” The boy looked at his feet.

Anaya's gaze shifted to the girl.

“Nina Zenik” she said, managing to look up.

Anaya sighed, “Fine go, just don't let the General see you” she glanced at Zoya who was surrounded by a group of First Army officials.

They barely nodded before rushing out the door.

Anaya sighed and went back to her corner before another noble could drag her off.

She looked around, taking a sip from her second glass.

“Going very fast on the champagne are we?” She turned to see Nikolai with a smile on his face. “I will need my Councillor to be able to work tomorrow you know” He walked to her side.

Anaya sighed, “Yeah yeah”.

“You know,” He stood beside her. “Even though it’s supposed to be my day, you’re the one gathering all the attention” He flashed a grin.

Anaya rolled her eyes, “These people ask the most inane questions” She shook her head. “I get people asking how I plan on bringing developments to the country,” She waved her hand. “But how am I supposed to know what kind of woman the new king would be willing to marry?” She turned her hand.

He shook his head in disdain but he was smiling, “Ah, the nobles” He tilted his head briefly. “They tend to do that quite a lot, you’ll get used to it”.

“Perhaps you should tell them that the King’s looking for a seamstress who plays the eighteen string Khatur”.

Anaya turned to him, “Why specifically the eighteen string?” She raised a brow. “Why not the twelve?”.

“I” He began. “am a cultured man Anaya” He spoke as dramatically as he could manage with the guests watching them. “The eight string is for uncultured fools, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Anaya put her glass down. “I don’t have much interest in string instruments”.

He paused briefly then spoke, “I’d have to thank you for your advice” His voice was much lower and serious.  “Really helped me get through all this”.

Anaya looked at him and gave the barest shake of his head, “Well I’m not one to offer advice,” She met his gaze. “But I’m glad I could help” Her lips formed a small smile.

……………………………………………

The topic had come up the previous morning. Anaya had been in her study, working, when Zoya and Genya had shown up to have tea with her.

“Nikolai doesn’t seem very thrilled about it,” Zoya had pointed out.

Genya nodded, “He appears distressed” She lowered her voice. “After all he’s endured, I’m not sure if he wishes to be King all the same.”

“But he has to,” Zoya said.

Genya gave a distant nod, pondering upon something. “Anaya” She turned to her.

“Hmm?” Anaya looked away from her papers. 

“You should speak with him”.

Anaya furrowed her brows, “What why?”.

Genya picked up her teacup, “He needs someone to tell him that he doesn’t need to fret about being the King”.

Anaya looked at her with an utterly confused look, “Why me? Why can’t either of you speak with him?”. 

She glanced at Zoya. “Well not her, but why can’t you do it”

Zoya rolled her eyes.

“I don’t…really speak with him” Genya said, hesitation lingering in her voice. “Given all that has happened”.

Genya had been pardoned only because of Alina Starkov. So there still was some hesitation between her and Nikolai. And Anaya had the feeling he didn’t fully trust her yet.

“Plus, he does seem to listen to you,” Zoya added.

Anaya raised her brows.

“He does, actually,” Genya agreed.

So Anaya had spoken with him. 

Not the entire day. The only time she’d seen him was when she’d been walking down the hall with the Finance Minister. 

When she’d been walking back to the Little Palace at night, then she’d seen him. Standing near the lake, almost irrecognizable.

"Nervous about the big day?" Anaya asked as she walked towards him. 

He turned to her in utter curiosity. His gaze softened upon the sight of her, "Well yeah" he sighed. "It's quite weird".

 He looked up at the night sky, the gleaming stars. "Even though I've been preparing for this my entire life, it still seems very daunting". 

She stood next to him.

 "It is understandable" she met his gaze. "I mean it's not everyday you get to be the King" she tilted her head. "It can be quite strange, when the moment you've been waiting, preparing for so long, finally comes". Her voice was low, the breeze on a summer night, making the trees waver gently. 

"For a long while, it almost seems impossible".

 "Improbable, actually" Nikolai lifted a finger, a corner of his mouth turned up.

 "What?" She said, utterly perplexed.

 "Nothing is truly impossible, it's only ever improbable".

 She nodded briefly in amusement, "Well, alright".

The silence lingered in the air, gentle, comforting, a hand held in another.

“Is this what you wanted to do?” Nikolai spoke, turning towards her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“To be the council leader,  run the country?” He amended.

She looked at him, startled by the question but soon, her gaze softened. “Well, I’ve been certain for a long while” she looked at her hands. “That I wish to help the people, work for their betterment”. 

“And if being the Councillor is my way to do it, then I’m content with this job.” She lifted a shoulder.

She turned to the sky, admiring the gleaming stars, the moon at the centre of it all, shining the brightest.

She could feel his gaze on her, lingering in the silence. She didn’t look at him, she didn’t believe she could.

“It’s not easy,” he finally spoke. “Pretending to be your best version, when you’re still picking up the pieces”.

“Isn’t that what we’re all doing?,” she said, finally turning towards him. “Pretending to be okay when we’re not?”.

He nodded, looking at the sky, appearing as if he’s reminiscing.

“You’ll make a great King,” Anaya’s voice wavered in the air. 

He met her gaze, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Especially because you’ll have an immensely talented Councillor by your side” She lifted her grinning, a small grin playing on her lips.

He smiled, “That, I will”.

[aspoonofsugar]

What do you think of Stolitz as a ship? What do they offer each other in the story in terms of growth, and what does their relationship contribute to Helluva's themes?

Hi,

I love Stolitz as a ship! I think their dynamic is very well written and original. Here come my thoughts on it.

THE CIRCUS

The episode The Circus clarifies what Stolas and Blitz's dynamic is and how it came to be.

Stolitz is a relationship where mutual attraction and care is poisoned by self-hate and classism. This is shown in Blitz and Stolas's first meeting, where:

Paimon buys Blitz as a playmate to Stolas, so that he does not have to deal with his child's emotional turmoil. He also tells Stolas not to bow to Blitz because his social standing is higher.

Cash sells Blitz out and guilt-trips him by using Blitz's mother as leverage. He also forces Blitz to steal from Stolas by insisting it is alright to do so because all Goetias are bad.

So, both Paimon and Cash enforce on their children two ideas:

Stolas and Blitz are worth something only if the family benefits from them. Stolas has value if he marries Stella and gives a heir. Blitz is good if he puts himself in danger and steals from the nobles.

Goetias and Imps should not mix and should not treat each other as equals. Goetias are rich fuckers and Imps are inferior masses.

In general, Stolas and Blitz internalize that relationships, especially inter-class ones are transactional. Stolas can't just go and befriend Blitz, but his father needs to buy him. Blitz can't just go and have fun with Stolas. He needs to steal from him.

Fast forward to when Stolas and Blitz meet again as grown-ups. They immediately rekindle their relationship, but they do so by imitating their respective parents:

Stolas buys Blitz's affection by using his status as a Goetia (his grimoire)

Blitz takes advantage of Stolas's attraction to him, so that he can manipulate Stolas and steal the book

In short, nothing has changed since they were kids. They are now free from their fathers, but they approach relationships the way they were taught. Deep down neither believes they have any value unless they make the relationship transactional. Hence the grimoire/book deal seems as the perfect solution for both. At the same time, both Stolas and Blitz have inter-class prejudices. These biases are challenged by a character that is a dark foil to both. Who is that?

He's galloping over the dusty planes Even the cacti know his name If you don't want to die don't cross his path The best assassin in the ring of Wrath He's Striker! He's Striker! Sure shootin', darn tootin', his name is Striker

STRIKER

Striker calls out both Blitz and Stolas on their inner classist biases, but he does so in different ways.

In the Harvest Moon Festival, he tempts Blitz to give in to his darkest side:

Striker: Blitzo, come on. You know, the two of us are superior than most of our kind. And you were so above suckin' on a disgusting, rich, pompous Goetia, only to sneak topside for scraps and work for bitter sinners, who could care less who you are, when you could be slaying Overlords.

In Western Energy he tells Stolas point blank how Goetias are hated because they steal from others:

Striker: Look. Not every ring is some fancy-ass city, with some fancy-ass mansion, that only fancy-ass royals get to live in. Some of us have hard lives to live. And some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you.

Blitz and Stolas have opposite reactions to Striker's challenge.

On the one hand Blitz is disturbed by Striker because he deep down sees how similar they are. After all, both are Imps who refuse to accept their place in the hierarchy. Blitz opens his own business, whereas Striker targets higher demons. Moreover, both are hitmen. It is just that Blitz operates on Earth, while Striker operates in Hell. So, Striker's anger towards Royals and society is something Blitz feels too. It is something that could get the best of him:

Stolas: You speak just like that vile Striker friend of yours.

On the other hand Stolas is disgusted by Striker because he forces him to face something Stolas himself does not aknowledge. Striker strips him of his powers and shows him how much the lower classes resent him and the other Royals. Striker tells Stolas directly that Goetias hurt him and stole everything he had. Despite this, Stolas fails not only to show any sympathy, but also to aknowledge his own biases:

Stolas: I don't look down on you! How many times do I ha- When have I ever?!

In other words, Blitz openly embraces classist ideologies and consciously projects them on Stolas. He uses them as an excuse to backpedal on their relationship:

Blitzo: Point is, royal demons don't give a shit about guys like us. They're all the fuckin' same.

Stolas instead does not realize his own classist bias and thinks that just because he cares for Blitz and admires him, his classism has no impact on their bond. Except it clearly has:

Stolas: As shocking as it may seem, Blitzy, my grimoiiiiiire is actually incredibly important. And it isn't supposed to be lent out to itty-bitty Imps like yourself.

This difference ties with Blitz and Stolas's ideas of each other and of relationships in general.

Blitz sees Stolas's flaws clearly and knows how complicated a relationship between a royal and an imp could be. However, he ignores Stolas's qualities and is overly cynical:

Blitzo: If by "crushes other's feelings" you mean- end shit before it gets serious, then bingo. I'm doing everyone a favor because relationships are boring.

Stolas sees Blitz's qualities and looks up to him. Still, he ignores Blitz's flaws and runs after an idealistic and irrealistic love. He is so romantic that he becomes delusional:

Stolas: You wanna know what I want? I want to know what it's like, to not be alone. I want to be someone's someone. I want to feel wanted. But like, in a romantic way, like I'm standing out in the rain at a train station and someone is shouting: “Harriet! Don’t get on that train, it’s going to London and I cannot be without you!”

So, Blitz only sees the worst in Stolas and forces negative classist stereotypes on him. Stolas instead only sees the best in Blitz and refuses to aknowledge his unconscious classism as an important factor on their bond. They need to grow in opposite ways, which is why they go through complementary arcs.

COMPLEMENTARY ARCS

Blitz and Stolas are respectively the protagonist and the deuteragonist of the series, as the first two episodes show:

Episode 1 showcases HB's dark comedy side and focuses on Blitz's family. As a matter of fact the whole episode comically juxtaposes the Demon Murder Family with the Human Murder Family. It also illustrates how Blitz's business works.

Episode 2 showcases HB's strong character and psychological focus and it explores Stolas's family. As a matter of fact the episode is dedicated to Stolas and Via's relationship, while introducing also Stella and the Goetia in general.

Blitz and Stolas are two sides of the same coin, both when it comes to their personal arcs and to their social roles.

Personal arcs

Blitz is full of relationships and of people who love him and that he pushes away. Stolas has instead very few relationships, that are mostly bad. However, he is scared to cut them because he fears loneliness more than anything. As a result:

Blitz's arc is about reconciling with all the people he hurt or lost (Fizzarolli, Verosika, probably Barbie Wire). All while trying to be a better friend and family member for those bonds he still has (Moxxie, Loona). He must build his own family (by repairing his broken one)

Stolas's arc is about claiming his freedom back, even if it means to go against social expectations, to lose his privilege or even to unwillingly hurt Via, his most precious bond. He must escape his own family (to build a new one)

Social roles

Blitz is an Imp, while Stolas is a Goetia. However, neither fits with what society expects from them. Blitz runs his own business and shows no respect for higher demons. Stolas is in love with an imp and asks for a divorce. Both are oddballs, who are disliked by their peers, but find company in each other. This is why throughout season 1, they end up saving each other:

Blitz saves Stolas from Striker in the Harvest Moon Festival

Stolas saves Blitz from the Dhorks in Truth Seekers

They do so cause deep down they care for each other. However, they still hide their feelings behind utilitarianism and classism:

Blitz insists he is only saving Stolas because he needs his book:

Blitzo: Yeaaaaah. Well, I'm not a fan of someone I offered a job to about to off my easiest lengthy ticket to Earth behind my back.

Moreover, he deep down sees Stolas as unkillable, so he does not warn him that a killer is after him.

Stolas starts a rant on how Blitz should be more careful with the book as to not cause problems for Stolas:

Stolas: How the FUCK... did you get caught by humans?! Are you little creatures not being careful up here?! You know, if you get in trouble, I get in trouble! WE... don't want that!

Moreover, his display of power impresses Blitz and strengthens his inferiority complex.

So, both Blitz and Stolas have the potential to care for each other and to help each ohter find the family they long for. However, they are still slaves to their flaws in season 1. That is why they receive two important call-outs.

OZZIE'S AND THE FULL MOON

Ozzie's and The Full Moon are where Blitz and Stolas are called out on their flaws. These episodes highlight both demons still have work to do on themselves and the way they approach relationships. However, the first episode's call out is mostly about Stolas. The second episode's call out is instead mostly about Blitz.

Ozzie's

Ozzie's highlights Stolitz's problems:

[Fizzarolli] Is that Blitzø? So you're showing your face? Hey everybody, this guy's a total disgrace! Some nerve you got to comment on a relationship Last I checked, your love life is a pile of shit! [Verosika & Crowd] Oh, Blitzø? I used to date him (date him, date him) [Blitzø] Oh Verosika, you are here [Verosika & Crowd] I'd stroke and I'd fellate him (fellate him, fellate him) Yeah, but when it was my turn (my turn, my turn) He did no reciprocatin' (what a dick-bag) A selfish imp in the sheets And just as bad in the streets A reckless, heartbreaking freak! [Asmodeus] Who's that at your table? Is your date a demon prince? Stolas, is that you? [Wally Wackford] Are you sleeping with an imp?! [Asmodeus] Wooo! My dark lord, how the mighty do fall You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all! I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it up You sold your life for a thrust Now, that's the spirit of lust

And makes clear what they want:

[Millie] I think you were trying to sing something for me, Mox [Moxxie] Yeah, I was I love us I love us just the way we are Don't have to pretend to like to do things we don't I've always got you around to laugh at my stupid jokes I'll never take you for granted I'll always give you my best And if you can offer the same thing Fate will handle the rest 'Cause I love you 'Cause I love you

They want a relationship like the one Millie and Moxxie have, but they can't because differently from the two Imps they aren't honest with themselves.

On the one hand Blitz keeps self-sabotaging his relationships. The moment they become serious he ghosts the other or hurts them, so that they fall out. His inability to honestly express his feelings is literally at the root of the most tragic event of his past:

Blitz's self-hate makes it impossible for him to confess to Fizz, which in turns causes the fire.

On the other hand Stolas is indecisive on what he wants. He wants to belong with someone and has feelings for Blitz. However, he does not act on them and uses the deal they stroke to save appearences with the Goetias. In fact, he is still very clearly concerned of what other people think. He is especially worried of destroying his family and hurting Octavia:

Both characters are flawed, but Stolas is the one who receives the biggest call out:

Blitzo: Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time. But, I just, I-I can't do it tonight, okay?

Blitz's speech opens Stolas's eyes to the point he starts to change. He finally asks Stella for a divorce, he gives Blitz more space and eventually decides to cancel their deal. All so that Blitz can choose freely if to stay with Stolas or not.

Blitz too grows, but his development is slower and more reactive. He mends things with Fizz, but he succeeds because the two find themselves in a dangerous situation outside of their control. Blitz still fails to connect with Barbie. Finally, he keeps being dismissive of Stolas, despite having clear feelings for him:

Blitzo: Stolas got what? How?... He can get hurt?

The Full Moon/Apology Tour

The Full Moon has the characters being on completely different pages:

Stolas: When I see him Blitzo: When I see him, I'm gonna do that thing he likes Stolas: I will change things Blitzo: No need to change things I'll just bring the rope and spikes Stolas: Oh God! Blitzo: We've got a nice arrangement and it's working out just fine We'll keep it light Stolas: I'll fucking die alone if this goes bad! Both: When I see him tonight

Stolas has developed to the point, where he wants the relationship with Blitz to either become a real one or to end. Blitz instead is fine to keep things as they are. In this way he gets to have a relationship, but doesn't really have to put in any effort.

This incompatibility explodes in their discussion, where:

Stolas conveys his feelings clearly enough, but is too self-focused on his own hurt to give Blitz any time to properly express his. Blitz's first and bad reaction is all Stolas decides to listen to. The moment Blitz confusely tries to reach to him, he dismisses him and only pays attention to Blitz's angry rant. If he were not too focused on imagining Blitz as this perfect knight in shining armor, he could have noticed the imp's confusion, vulnerability and desperation to keep the relationship going.

Blitz fails to understand both Stolas's genuine emotions and his own. That is why he is unable to give Stolas a proper answer. He himself is not sure, but instead of admitting it he makes sex jokes and tries to make their bond all about physical intercourse. He can neither understand feelings, nor communicate them. Moreover, the moment he is misunderstood he lashes out instead of trying to explain himself better.

As Blitz is the one who grew up the least, he is given the biggest call-out between the two. He is invited to a very special Anti-Blitzo Party, where he is forced to see first-hand how many people he hurt. There he is forced to face not only Stolas, but all his exes, Verosika and most importantly himself:

Blitzo: No. You're right. I actually am, ya' know... sorry. I-I don't want to be this way. Not forever.

Blitz reconciles with Verosika and will probably start to fix his flaws in the upcoming episodes. Like Stolas did after Ozzie's.

There is another interesting difference between Ozzie's and The Full Moon, though. Ozzie's outcome is explored in two different episodes, one dedicated to Blitz (Queen Bee) and the other to Stolas (The Circus). The two characters are both messed up after their first real date, but they go through their pain alone. The Full Moon's outcome is instead explored in Apology Tour, where the two characters face the pain of their break-up together. In a sense, it is only after their first fight they can really look at each other as two real people, instead than ideals.

BREAK UP THE (I)DEAL

Blitz sees Stolas as a powerful, cold and selfish Goetian Prince. Stolas instead sees Blitz as a wonderful Knight in Shining Armor. Both see the other as some kind of idealistic version of themselves. Either 100% negative or 100% positive. They ignore each other's feelings and struggles. That is why their first honest confrontation degenerates into a fight. If they knew each other better, they could have understood each other.

That is why it is only after they break up, that ironically they can treat each other as real people, as it happens in Apology Tour.

Both are able to properly express themselves freely. Stolas breaks his thirsy bird mask and shows how lonely and sad he is. Blitz breaks his self-assured asshole persona and says how vulnerable a real relationship with another makes him feel. Both are finally able to be themselves and to show themselves to the other.

However, they still have a long way to go before they can rekindle their relationship:

-Blitz is imo the one bound to grow the most from this altercation. He was called out directly on the things he did wrong and has finally to try and fix his attitude towards others. Something the narrative has made very clear he must do, not only when it comes to his romantic bonds, but to his platonic ones, as well.

-Stolas knows he messed up, but he is probably still struggling to see what exactly he did wrong:

Stolas: But maybe it's all on me For missing every sign and every glance and every turn Maybe there's something here for us to glean For you to teach and me to try and learn

Still, he is bound to soon receive some consequences. After all, he risked it all on his relationship with Blitz, only to find himself as lonely as ever. He is in the middle of a divorce, which will probably end badly for him. His relationship with his daughter is in danger and I would not be surprised if he were to lose his status as a Goetia soon.

In general, I am expecting the climax of the season being Blitz and Stolas risking to lose everything (their businesses, their families), but finding an ally in each other. Once again.

[cinderella-ish]

Let's Talk About Kyoru!

I shared a little while ago (in my first-ever analysis post!) that I don't really have a lot in common with Tohru or Kyo, and I didn't really "get" them or their relationship right away. Today, someone asked on Reddit "What are your personal thoughts on Kyou x Tohru?" and I wrote out a long comment explaining how I grew to love them. So, here's an expanded and edited version of that comment, edited for Tumblr!

I loved both Tohru and Kyo as characters from the start. How could I not? Kyo is an endlessly meme-able, over-the-top tsundere cat-boy with a heart of gold, and Tohru is a lovable, overly-giving people-pleaser who's also a total space cadet prone to some very funny mishaps (that are maybe a little less funny once you understand her character).

What I didn't see at first was how their romantic relationship was an essential part of both Tohru's and Kyo's character development. Their arcs couldn't really have ended any other way, with how Takaya-sensei set them up.

See, Tohru begins the series in denial about the reality of her mother's death and unable to ask for or accept help, even from those closest to her, and even when people offer their help or support up front. She risks her own health and even her life to avoid burdening others, likewise risking herself to protect her memory of her mother (represented by the framed photo).

And Kyo begins the series convinced defeating Yuki will erase his past "sins," or alleviate his guilt from both Kyoko's and his mother's deaths. It's a Sisyphean task and he knows it, but he keeps at it because it's better than the alternative (actually dealing with his trauma) and possibly because he thinks he deserves to suffer defeat after defeat. He's in an extremely fragile place, having just returned from his trip to the mountains, and he truly believes he only hurts the people he loves.

I also think there's some small part of Kyo that's fighting to keep going, even from the start of the series. It's a twisted way to go about living, but he is still trying to live. He has the possibility of a life outside the Cat's House, and he's working his ass off to try and achieve it, even if it's most likely impossible. To me, that's not a character who's given up or accepted his fate.

Similarly, I think there's a small part of Tohru that knows she'll eventually need to accept that her mother is dead and make the decisions that are best for herself. It's harder to see this inner desire in Tohru than in Kyo, but I think it becomes clear when she chooses to stay with the Sohmas rather than return to her grandfather's house. She believed, at that point, that her grandfather was the only person left who knew and loved her mother, yet she knew she would be happier continuing to live with Kyo, Yuki, and Shigure. With the encouragement of her grandfather (and with Kyo and Yuki's heroic rescue mission), she moves forward on the path that will make her happiest.

It took me really digging deep and understanding each of their individual arcs to love them as a couple as much as I do now.

On first pass, it was obvious to me how much Tohru meant to Kyo, and the ways she directly countered his extremely low self-esteem and overwhelming guilt. However, I didn't really understand what Tohru liked about Kyo in a romantic sense.

I think this was probably due to my own anxiousness around men who yell, which strongly put me off of Kyo as a romantic lead. I also didn't like how he promised to protect Tohru again at the end, but that was again due to my own hangups. I have a strong dislike of being "protected" by my romantic partners (it feels patronizing and usually is done without asking or considering my own feelings about being protected). But I'll come back to that.

We know from the start that Tohru tends to reject attempts to care for her, or simply makes sure no one will be in a position to offer that care to her. She doesn't ask to stay with either of her best friends and she doesn't remain with her family during the renovations.

And Kyo is the only person who not only recognizes when Tohru's diminishing her own needs, but he's also the only person who consistently makes sure she has the support she needs, even if she initially refuses it. He tells her it's okay to get angry, asks her to vent her frustrations to him, and reminds her it's okay to be selfish.

I think with anyone else, she would have burned herself out and cut off most of her uncomfortable emotions. Kyo takes care of Tohru, and that's what she needs, because Tohru Honda has very different needs than I do (and that's okay!).

Also, Kyo doesn't yell nearly as much after the first season, but something I realized while writing my series on Kyo and Momiji's relationship is that most of Kyo's yelling is him trying to protect her and the others he cares for (like Momiji). He yelled because he was terrified of hurting her again, or of letting her get hurt through inaction. He'd yell at her when she did something that could've gotten her hurt, or he'd yell at others when they did something that could hurt her. That poor boy was carrying so much guilt over Kyoko's death, he made it his entire personality to try and protect Tohru, including from himself.

At Kyoko's grave, when he promised to protect Tohru for life, I initially read that as a step backwards for him. Wasn't that just a recipe for more guilt? After all, he couldn't possibly protect her from everything. But after some reflection, I think that was him finally internalizing the lesson from that last fight with Yuki: he was protecting her all along by making her smile and being there for her. That's Kyo recognizing that his presence is good for Tohru, and it's a huge shift in how he sees himself and his own self-worth.

So that's really why Kyo and Tohru are so perfect together. Kyo needed someone to help him see his own worth, and Tohru did that simply by needing him. Meanwhile, Tohru needed to prioritize her own needs and happiness, and she did that by admitting how much she needed Kyo. It's a loop that feeds back into itself. The more they care for each other, the more they overcome their initial mistaken beliefs about themselves.

I once shared in response to an ask that I believe Tohru needed Kyo even more than he needed her. Thinking of how badly she was suffering during the hospital arc, when she thought he'd rejected her, and how much she repressed her heartbreak during that time, I think it would've destroyed her if he hadn't decided to try and move forward with her. It would've taken a long, long time before she would've been able to open up to anyone like that again, and she may not have been able to ever again, given how hard it was for her to admit her feelings for Kyo in the first place.

So, I love them. Took me a while, but I'm fully aboard the Kyoru train now.

[cafeinthemoon]

It's a Fire - Chapter II

Chapter 2

Wordcount 4,4k

Title The Porch and the Table

Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba / Demon Slayer

Previous chapter

1

Symbols ⭕➕🖤

Warnings: mentions of grieving and parent loss; alcohol consumption

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So this chapter is a bit longer than the first, but I think I should've stopped worrying about this by now hahaha I need to concentrate on what happens in each chapter and how the events move the story forward.

In this one's case, I've cut off rhe details of her arrival at Rengoku house and jumped to the beginning of her adaptation there, which includes her interactions with the staff and, specially, with her stepson, Senjuro. Of all the elements I want to explore in this ff, their relationship is one of my favorite things, so expect a strong bond to be created between them 🥺💜

About Shinjuro's appearances: I'm trying to bring a sort of growing tension each time he's around instead of just making his unpleasant traits too evident right from the start, bc I want reader to figure out the problems in her new house little by little, then trying to deal with them and make herself as comfortable as possible until she snaps and decides otherwise (spoilers haha)

I already know how I want this story to end though I just started writing it, and I believe I'll too much fun unveiling the light and and darkness in each of these characters.

Hope you enjoy this exploration mission with me 🖤

The servant sent by your father was walking in and out your new room at that moment, to bring your belongings to it. Since he was the only person who came with you, you offered to work with him, but the man declined, stating that there weren’t many things to carry and that he would soon be done.

— You made a good work packing your things even in such a small time, y/n-sama — he commented with gentleness — It made things easy.

You laughed.

— Well, I’ve tried my best. But if you’re okay with this, I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for everything.

You entered the room and, out of his sight, checked the spot where you left your sword, a place where it’d be difficult for someone to take it from; you sighed in relief with the vision of the weapon, and left to take a walk outside. There was a few spaces where you were given permission to wander – all of them separated from the parts of the house where the deceased members of your husband’s family used to stay – so, not having much to do right now (and, honestly, not knowing what to do), you were going to use the walk as an excuse to deliberate.

The wedding happened in the morning, but now it was almost midday. Your mood was no better than earlier, but you already sensed part of you accepting your new reality. You didn’t know if it was good or not, and didn’t want to figure it now, preferring to leave your mind free to think about how to act towards the circumstances.

The Rengoku House was as large and solemn as a samurai’s residence, with a wooden, rectangular structure to mark its entry, followed by a short path that led to the front doors. The building itself was raised under the traditional architecture, with two wide wings on each side and a porch to surround its premises. On the outside it was surrounded by trees, bushes and flowers; besides, the maid who led you to your room talked about the existence of a garden, but didn’t let it clear if you could visit it or not. Whatever the case, you thought it was a beautiful and silent compound you had there, despite the sensation of sadness that lingered in each spot you’ve passed by. Another thing you observed was the low number of servants, considering the house’s size, a suggestion that the Rengoku were facing problems that were similar to the ones in your father’s house – that was the only reason you could find for them to accept the good dowry that was offered alongside your hand. It was unnerving, you thought, unable to shake the feeling that you came to live there at the worst moment possible.

You then started to consider your new life as a married woman, and came to the conclusion that you weren’t getting such life at all. As soon as you arrived, you were informed that you wouldn’t share a room with your husband: yours would be in the same corridor as his, but in opposite sides; apparently, he was a man who cherished his privacy enough to organize things in a way that many would consider uncommon, to say the least. This idea seemed correct when you were led to meet your room, because as soon as you entered the house, Shinjuro ordered a maid to take care of you and walked to the other direction, disappearing from your sight, and until that moment you haven’t heard of him. Now that you remembered this, the prudent part of you was relieved that you weren’t going to share your personal space with an individual you just met, but another one, prideful, was a little outraged by the fact that you were dismissed right in your first day as a wife. Were you that uninteresting?

As you walked to an open area, your thoughts changed to lighter directions. You were content to see that the few servants you’ve met were kind enough to give you clear instructions and answer your questions concerning locations, meals and general rules, even though you couldn’t shake the sensation that they were a bit skittish, specially when they thought Shinjuro was near, but since he hasn’t appear to cause any problems you tried not to think of it. You were also relieved to observe that they did their best to keep the house clean and organized, which included your room: though you weren’t at ease with your situation, it was good to have a positive thing to point out in it.

You were thinking about this very thing when you looked around and realized your feet led you to the house’s entry again. You looked ahead and saw you weren’t alone there: a boy, not older than fourteen, was using a broom to clean the area; he worked slowly, perhaps taking care not to raise much dust, and you noticed his concentration from your spot, meters away. But what really caught your attention was the fact that he wasn’t dressed as a servant… and, well, he could never be, for he was the living reflection of the house’s head.

You remembered your mother told you that Shinjuro had two sons, but she didn’t tell you much more; maybe she never met this one. But the same silence coming from his own father was incomprehensible.

He didn’t tell me anything about this boy. Not even his name. What the hell…?

Your throat tightened when you wondered what kind of environment this kid must have been inserted.

Before your imagination could go any further, the boy saw you and stopped working. You approached him and one look at his face made you realize that the concentration you first observed wasn’t but sadness. You also noticed that his resemblance with Shinjuro was limited to his physical looks: apart from the thick eyebrows and the flaming hair, he carried a much kinder expression, with a freshness you doubted his father has ever owned, even in his youth days.

You decided not to bother him by asking about his moods, instead opting for a gentle approach.

— Hello — you smiled; and, looking around, — It seems a lot of work for one to do by themselves.

The boy showed you a hesitant smile, and his tone matched it when he replied to you.

— I know, but I don’t mind. It’s a good way to pass the time.

A moment of silence, and you noticed he wanted to continue the conversation, but struggled to find the words.

— It looks like you want to ask me something — you encouraged him.

— Yes, I do — a note of relief was sensed in his voice, as if you just did him a favor — I just don’t know how to ask this without bothering you. So… are you my father’s new wife?

The tight in your throat returned, but you forced a smile on your lips.

This is enough embarrassing for me. It doesn’t need to be like this to him as well.

— Yes, I am. My name is y/n. My family is from the (…) land. And you must be Rengoku-sama’s younger son.

— Yes. I’m Senjuro.

— That’s a good name, Senjuro-san — and, trying to imprint a comforting note in your voice, — And don’t worry, you could never bother me simply by asking this. I’m really content to meet you. You know, it’s relieving to talk casually to someone for the first time in days. It’s been a busy week, this one.

Now, Senjuro seemed to be more at ease. Maybe his days have been busy in their own way, and speaking with a new acquaintance was a welcoming change in the routine.

— I can imagine that – he commented – By the way, do you need help with something, y/n-sama?

You suddenly waved your hands in a gesture of refusal.

— Oh, no please, don’t call me like that! Y/n will do — you laughed — And, thank you, but I’ve already organized most of the things in my room. The rest will find their place with time — you sighed — For now, I just want to breathe fresh air. Fortunately, it’s a beautiful day we have now.

Senjuro observed the sky, the vivid blue spotted with big, white clouds, and agreed. You imitated him and looked at the weather with a smile.

— It's almost midday… – and, turning to him, – You know, when I was at my parents’ home, we used to eat our lunch on the porch on sunny days. Is there any problem in doing this here? What does your father think of it?

The boy shrugged.

— He doesn’t care at all. But he hates to see leftovers on the porch.

— It’s understandable — you giggled — So, how about we have lunch together on the porch? I’m still a bit lost here, so eating at the table won’t make me feel at will, but I’d still like to have company.

— It’s okay for me — he smiled.

You were afraid that Senjuro was going to see your approach as invasive, so it was with relief you heard him accepting your invitation.

— Right! I’ll ask the maid to bring our food to my room’s porch, then.

He frowned.

— Where is exactly your room? I thought you were going to, you know, stay with my father.

Your heart skipped a beat at that question, but you didn’t let out your discomfort.

– Your father decided that I’m getting a room of my own. Don’t ask me why! – you shrugged, a low laugh escaping your mouth.

You then explained the location to him, and he replied he would go there in a few minutes.

***

Lunch time was quiet and pleasing.

You found the maid who showed your room and asked her to bring food for two to your chambers. When you explained your plans to her, at first you though she was going to argue, maybe considering the possibility of having Shinjuro scolding her for allowing his wife to make a mess right in her first day at the new house, but she just agreed and asked you to wait until she brought the bowls for you and Senjuro.

After the meal itself, you’ve spent some time sitting on the porch and talking. At the same time you spoke to him about yourself, you’ve found out interesting things about your new family from your stepson.

– So… How did you and my father meet, y/n? – was his first, natural question.

– The story is a bit long, but if you have patience I can tell you – you smiled – My parents use to know your family, or so I was told. My mother was a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. She was a (…) Rank, and came in contact with your father during work. She never explained in details how missions work in the Corps, but apparently she was given a task that proved to be more difficult than it seemed at first, so she and her group were supported by Rengoku-sama. They’ve became acquaintances since then – you took the cup of juice from the tray where your bowls were brought – She met your elder brother once, when he was just a child.

You saw a glow of excitement appearing in the boy’s reddish eyes.

– She did?

– Yes! – you laughed – And she always spoke good things about your family – your smile faded a bit with the next sentence – It was like this until she passed away.

– I’m sorry for this – he replied – You know, my mother passed away when I was little. I can barely remember her.

You put a hand on his shoulder.

– It’s difficult without them. I know.

He nodded in agreement.

Talking about your mother, even though it required remembering her absence, was the easy part of the narrative, and your heart was calm while telling it. What would come after it, however, was a different story. Still, verbalizing those events to an attentive listener like Senjuro did you some good, for you managed to leave the bitterness out of your tone.

– Unlike my mother, my father never revealed to be familiar with yours until days ago, when he told me he contacted Rengoku-sama to ask for help.

– Help? How so?

– There has been little to no protection against Oni in our lands since my mother’s death, so the people who lived in the villages around have been suffering – you explained – Things became difficult even in our house, and half of our servants were fired or decided to leave. My father thought it was a good idea to contact yours and offer my hand in marriage in exchange for his protection, and somehow your father said yes – you put the cup back on the tray, lying your hands on your lap and trying not to show the trembling in them – I didn’t know about the offer until the week when the wedding should take place, and your father and I have never met before the ceremony’s day.

That part of the story seemed intriguing to Senjuro as well. Maybe he didn’t think his father was the type of person who’d accept a contract with such terms, or he was simply caught in surprise by being informed about the wedding with a few days in antecedence just like you. Whatever the case, both of you could easily agree that this situation was embarrassing, to say the least.

– That’s why I was a bit afraid earlier, you understand? – you shrugged – It’s been probably years since the last time my father saw yours, and without my mother to support us, I had no idea what I was going to find once I arrived at your house – you giggled – So, thank you for accepting my invitation and eating with me.

Senjuro imitated your gesture and left his own up on the tray, between the bowls.

– That’s okay, y/n. I've actually had my meals alone for a long time, so it was good to have company today – he replied with gentleness – I really liked to meet you.

You were intrigued with the revelation of him eating alone in his own house, but you wouldn’t question him right now. Instead, you replied that you liked meeting him as well.

The boy stood up and nodded, thanking you for the meal. But, before leaving, he turned one more time, as if he forgot to tell you something.

– You know, when I found out my father was going to marry again, I was really afraid.

You frowned.

– Afraid? Why?

He hesitated.

– Well, I… thought he was trying to replace my mother with someone else, but I’m relieved to see this isn’t true – and, urging a shy smile to let it clear that his words had no hostility, – You’re a good person, y/n.

You gave him a smile of comprehension. Of course, the worst fear of a young boy who lost his mother so soon in his life and then his big brother was concerning the kind of people his father would decide to bring under the same roof as him. Your father never met anyone after your mother, so you never had to worry about this, but if you were Senjuro's age, you’d feel the same way.

– No one can replace your mother, Senjuro-san. Actually, no one should try, me included. But it’s going to be good if we continue to get along.

For the first time, you saw him opening a smile with no signs of embarrassment or mistrust.

– I agree with you.

***

After Senjuro left to continue his tasks, you took the tray with the bowls to give them back to the kitchen. You were planning to come back to your room and carry on with the organization of your belongings: though you said to your stepson that the work was almost done in this sense, you knew you weren’t going to finish it that day.

You were walking through the corridor, thinking of this, when a shadow appeared: someone was blocking your way. You startled and raised your eyes to find Shinjuro standing before you. No word came from his mouth; his mere look was enough to make you step back.

– Rengoku-sama – you murmured – Can I help you?

Instead of answering your question, he lowered his eyes to the tray.

– Who ate lunch with you? Senjuro?

You promptly confirmed. The man stared at you for a moment, and it was impossible to tell if he was surprised or displeased.

You tried to justify yourself.

– I paused the organizations at my room and took a walk outside. I met Senjuro-san at the house’s entry. I invited him to eat lunch with me and he said yes.

Shinjuro seemed to accept this explanation, though no contentment was detected in his expression.

– I see. I hope he hasn’t bothered you.

– Absolutely not – you frowned, confused – I don’t see any reasons for him to bother me.

Again, he seemed to approve your reply, but that didn’t mean he was happy with what he heard, and his next words made it clear.

– It’s good that you’ve shown patience towards him. He can be too soft sometimes, even talking too much.

Talking too much? That Senjuro, who was constantly trying to measure his words when asking things to you? Were you speaking about the same boy?

Well, you couldn’t understand why your husband was saying such things about his own son, but considering that he didn’t even mind telling you his name, it didn’t seem reasonable for you to take his words into account.

– Well, I was very pleased to meet my stepson – you stated, taking a step to the side to indicate you were heading to the kitchen that moment – And, to me, he spoke enough. Not much, not less.

Maybe Shinjuro wasn’t expecting your reply, or maybe he didn’t want to carry on with that conversation just like you, but he commented that “at least you two got along” and how much discomfort you were all spared from thanks to this. He walked past you and left with no additional words, leaving you with intriguing thoughts.

***

Apart from other few times when you spoke to the maid or when you met Senjuro, you’ve spent most of that day by yourself, unpacking clothes and other objects, trying to figure out the best way to keep them together in your new room. The place itself was similar to your chambers in your parents’ house, both in place and shape, which somehow made things easy, yet the whole aspect of the room, aside the conscience of not being in the house you grew up in, wouldn’t let you feel entirely at will inside it. The color of the walls, the room’s position in the building, the texture of the floor, the smell of it… Everything screamed that you weren’t at home.

Your husband’s whereabouts were a mystery and, honestly, you weren’t missing his rigid presence and stern tone. He hasn’t said a word about his routine and habits, so that you didn’t know if he left the house at some point during the day, if he spent his hours in his own room, an office or anywhere else or if you should expect to see him again before the next day; being left in the dark was unnerving, of course, but not getting much useful information from the few contact you had with that man, you’d rather not to seek for him.

Shinjuro himself was a mystery to you, too.

Now that you had time to think about this, you found yourself trying to understand his real reasons to accept this marriage. Sure, your dowry was very encouraging, but one day that money would end and you would still be there, and then what? Would he kick you out of his house and replace you for a richer girl? It was too soon to tell if he was capable of such thing, but the money excuse still sounded superficial to you: accepting someone you’ve never seen before in your house just to receive a financial benefit? It didn’t make much sense. Or did he want someone to look out for Senjuro? Well, you already let it clear to the boy that you weren’t there to replace his mother, and nothing about parenting was said in the contract. Besides, Senjuro was no longer a child; the type of education he needed was beyond the one you could ever give to him: you were a well educated woman, but your education was still a female one, so that apart some lessons in Literature and sword movements you were sure he already knew, there weren’t much you could teach him; it was better to hire a tutor or invite a relative.

You were holding a pile of folded clothes at that moment. You put it on an open drawer, sat on the floor and sighed. There you had a mission you didn’t ask for.

Wasn’t it enough to make me move to this place? Do I really need to try and unveil what goes on in this man’s head? As if he would let me...

You decided to take some rest both from your task and those annoying deliberations.

***

It was only in the next morning that you heard of him again.

That time, you decided you were going to have breakfast at the table, so you woke up early, washed your face and prepared yourself.

When you arrived at the kitchen, Senjuro was already there, filling his bowl in silence. He raised his eyes when you approached and knelt in the spot in front of his.

– Good morning, Senjuro-san – you gave him a soft smile while taking your own bowl.

– Good morning, y/n.

The meal had all the reasons to be calm and quiet, and you were glad for it. You haven’t had a good night of sleep, so the last thing you needed was tension right in the morning…

But the sudden shift in the air and the change in Senjuro’s posture let you knew you weren’t going to get what you wished: you turned your head to the entry and saw Shinjuro passing through it and walking to the head of the table without a word or a look to his son or to you. He sat and just started filling his bowl, something that wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t for the fact that he landed a large, already opened bottle of sake on the table.

You swallowed.

Drinking at this hour? Seriously?

You glanced at Senjuro, and the boy, as if knowing better, immediately turned his attention back to his food. You tried to do the same, but Shinjuro had another surprise, this second one directed related to you.

You saw his hand pushing a paper toward you over the table. You left the hashi aside and took the paper; it was a letter.

– A letter? To me?

– It’s from your father – was the reply – He told me he would be writing to you right after you moved to my house.

You stared at the folded paper for a while, without giving him a verbal response. When you heard that it was written by your father, your curiosity somehow died inside you, and any wish to read what was in there disappeared. You left the letter on the table and grabbed your hashi again.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

– Won’t you open it?

You raised your eyes to him, not hiding the tiredness of the last days.

– No. I won’t.

Shinjuro naturally thought you were saying you were going to read it later, and the same could be said about Senjuro. So it wasn’t without confusion that they observed you giving up on the food for the second time, taking the letter and standing up.

There was an oven on the other side of the kitchen, which fire has been fed with coal. You calmly headed to it and, not thinking of how what you were doing was going to be seen by the presents, you tossed the letter in the flames.

You went back to your spot and found father and son staring at you in disbelief, each one for different reasons. Senjuro was probably shocked to see someone dismissing the words of a parent with no hesitation; you were actually content with that, for it was a sign that he has been taught good family principles. Shinjuro, on the other hand, had nothing but indignation with what he just saw: what kind of daughter treats her own father like this? Well, if only he had a father who treated him like yours, maybe he could understand.

They were waiting for a verbal explanation, of course, and you gave it to them.

– Senjuro-san, I’m sorry that you had to see this, but I won’t apologize for what I did. I just cannot – you said to the boy; and, turning to his father with a much lower tone, – Thank you for giving the letter to me, Rengoku-sama, but I ask you to do the same thing I did if more come. I don’t want to read them.

You saw the twist on his lips and knew exactly what he was thinking. Brat. Stubborn, ungrateful girl and many other unpleasing ways to describe a young woman who didn’t act as expected might have come to his mind that time, as well as the idea of a long, difficult path he was going to follow in his life beside you. You certainly didn’t want things to be this hard between you, and an ache in your heart reminded you of this, but this has already started in the least favorable circumstances; what should be expected, then?

What your husband said to you after this, however, had more to do with the practical aspect of things than with his personal opinion on ungrateful girls.

– Why didn’t you at least read it first? How could you know there wasn’t something important in it?

– There wasn’t – it was your prompt reply, not completely devoid of sadness – If my father had anything important to say, he would’ve done it before I left his house.

He frowned, a gesture that in his case would draw more attention than in any other individual, and spent a moment in silence, staring at you and measuring your words before grabbing the bottle of sake and drinking directly from it. You observed the firmness with which his hand left the bottle on the table after it, making a thump on the wood, and couldn’t help wonder that if you were a boy and he was angry, he could’ve yelled at you and even smacked you, but having you putting all your politeness in your words was enough to hold himself in place.

The rest of the meal went in uneasy silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts and you claiming to yourself the task of dissolving the connection with your father and keeping an eye on your stepson whenever your husband was around.

Chapter 3

[twohearts-hs]

Always & Forever Fourteen - Marshall Mathers x Reader Series

Words: 8.9k

Pairings: Marshall Mathers x Fem!Reader Series

Synopsis: They loved each other with every fibre and being. They knew that they were meant to be together, but it seemed like every obstacle came in the way. She was twenty-one, he was forty and they knew that it would be hard. Therefore, they promised forever and always as they were meant to be together despite every turmoil that came their way.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, Smut, & Angst.

|| Masterlist for Series ||

Hope you enjoy :)

February 2013

Y/N held her bag over her shoulder as she opened her mailbox. It was Friday and she was about to end her reading break for the month. However, she just came from work and it was nearing ten in the evening when she checked the mailbox. When she got the mail out, instantly her heart dropped. There it was…her future right in front of her.

Columbia University

116th St & Broadway

New York, NY 10027

Her hands began to tremble. She hadn’t heard anything from Professor Beau about his position, but her acceptance was right here. Or her rejection?

Y/N went upstairs where her house was covered in boxes. Half her stuff was packed so far. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on the couch as she thumbed the letter. Taking a sip of the wine, she took a deep breath and then opened the letter.

Columbia University Department of Art History 116th St & Broadway New York, NY 10027 February 22, 2013

Dear Y/N Y/L/N,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into the Master of Arts in Art History program at Columbia University for the Fall 2013 semester. Your application demonstrated an exceptional understanding and passion for art history, and we are excited to welcome you to our academic community.

Your impressive academic background, thoughtful research interests, and dedication to advancing the field of art history made your application stand out among a highly competitive pool of candidates. We believe that you will bring valuable perspectives and insights to our program, and we are confident that you will thrive in the intellectually stimulating environment that Columbia offers.

As a graduate student in our department, you will have the opportunity to work with renowned faculty, access our extensive art collections, and engage with a vibrant community of scholars and artists. We are committed to supporting your academic and professional growth, and we look forward to seeing the contributions you will make to the field of art history.

Please review the enclosed materials for important information regarding your enrolment, orientation, and other essential details.

Once again, congratulations on your acceptance to Columbia University. We eagerly anticipate your arrival and look forward to the academic journey ahead.

Warm regards,

Dr. Jody L. Bain Director of Graduate Studies Department of Art History Columbia University

 Her heart dropped. Her body went frozen as she read the letter. She got accepted… She was going to Columbia University. Her hand was over her mouth as she read the letter over and over again.

She was going to Columbia. Her mind raced as she read the words again and again, each line confirming acceptance into one of the top art history schools in the country. Excitement and fear intertwined within her, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

Y/N thought for a moment, contemplating the path laid out in front of her. Columbia represented more than just an academic opportunity; it was a chance to learn from some of the best in the field, to immerse herself in the bustling energy of New York City, and to push herself beyond her comfort zone.

But intertwined with the excitement was the weight of uncertainty. She thought of Marshall, of their tumultuous yet deeply meaningful relationship. His reaction to her potential move to New York City was still fresh in her mind – the tension, the unspoken fears, and the difficult conversation they had to have.

She was going to Columbia. She was moving. She was leaving Marshall.

Y/N knew she could not ignore this opportunity. It was a pivotal moment in her career, a chance to pursue her passion for art history in a way she had always dreamed of. Yet, it meant uprooting her life in Detroit, leaving behind Marshall, his daughters and the life they were slowly building together.

She needed to tell him.

-

Y/N invited Marshall over to help continue packing with her. She ordered take out for them and bought mocktails they could share. She was leaning over a box when the door opened, and Marshall came in.

He had his overnight bag in his as he placed it down.

“Looks like a bomb went off,” he commented with a chuckle before walking around to the kitchen.

Y/N got up and walked over to him, leaning into his embrace and kissed his lips. “Hi, honey,” she hummed. His hand wrapped around her hip, pulling her in. “I got takeout and mocktails,” she said softly.

“Lovely,” he said.

The two of them ate and began packing her things. Y/N’s small apartment was filled with the warmth of laughter and playful banter as Marshall joined her for the ordinary evening. After an hour of packing, they decided to lie on the couch, lounge comfortable as they shared jokes and stories in front of the television. As they chatted, Marshall got up to get another drink. On the counter by the kitchen under a magazine, he recognised the crest of Columbia University.

He glanced up, seeing Y/N watching the movie they put on. Curiosity piqued, he reached for it, his fingers brushing against it as he pulled it out.

It was for Columbia and instantly, he hoped without admitting it she got rejected. Even if it made him a evil person, he wanted Y/N to stay here.

“Y/N,” he said taking the letter and walking back to the living room. “What’s this?” Marshalled asked casually, taking the letter out of the envelope.

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly when she saw the envelope. She looked at him as he read the letter, the weight and tension of this discussion beginning to get heavy in the air.

“It’s my acceptance letter,” she admitted quietly watching Marshall’s expression.

“It is dated from a week ago,” he responded. “You’ve known for a week?” Marshall was slightly hurt from her not telling him. “I told you to let me know as soon as you know. Have you heard from the university here?”

“Yes, and Vancouver too.”

“Vancouver? Canada?” he exclaimed. Marshall’s expression turned dark as he absorbed the news. He stood up abruptly, pacing the room in attempt to contain his frustrations.

“I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me,” he whispered.

Y/N’s expression changed to a state of shock. “Secrets? I have kept no secrets from you.”

“This was a secret. When were you going to tell me?” he barked. “A month from now, six months or when you’re leaving.”

“You knew this was probably going to happen, Marshall. I have been debating my options and when I figured it out, I would tell you. I have not heard from Michigan yet.”

“Detroit,” he spat, “is your home. I am your home. You cannot just leave and leave the life we have. We are meant to be, Y/N.”

Y/N got up and took his hand to try to calm him down. “Marshall, maybe I am supposed to move away and then we reconnect. Or we do long distance. I can fly back every month and you can fly to me. I can drive. It’s a nine-hour drive. I used to drive to Calgary from Ladysmith in a day and it’s fourteen hours.”  

Marshall pulled his hand away, his face a mask of pain and anger. “I don’t want to reconnect in a few years. I don’t want to do long distance. I want you here, with me, now. If you go, it feels like you’re choosing your career over us.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, her heart breaking at the sight of his anguish.

 “Marshall, this isn’t about choosing one over the other. It’s about following my dreams and hoping that our love is strong enough to survive the distance. I want a future with you, with marriage and babies. I want to grow old with you. But I also need to pursue this opportunity. You did this once. You chose your career over your love.”

Marshall’s eyes darned, a hint of regret and sadness in his expression. “Y/N, I can’t give you that. I can’t wait for the ‘if’ of us. I am forty and what we met in ten years. I am not having babies at fifty. I don’t even want marriage again. I want you though.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their emotions pressing down on them. Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I have to go, Marshall. I can’t turn down this opportunity. But, that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Marshall’s eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. “Then I guess we have our answer. Maybe we weren’t meant to be after all.”

Y/N’s heart shattered at his words, but she knew this was the path she had to take. “Then leave.”

Marshall nodded, walking over to his bag and grabbing it. “Goodbye, Y/N. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

As he walked out the door, Y/N felt a profound sense of loss. But beneath the sadness, there also a flicker of hope. She was going to Columbia, and she was going to chase her dream.

-

Y/N could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned.

Were they broken up? Were they over-over? Or was this Marshall having a tantrum and throwing threats? Does he expect her to get back to him and tell him that she was going to Detroit? He expected her to be threatened, to choose Detroit and choose him. However this was her future to think about.

Y/N turned to look at the time, 1:53 a.m. in the morning. She might have had an hour sleep tops. Marshall was going to stay over tonight, and they were going to make breakfast together. They were going to studio and Y/N was going to do some art for the upcoming show she signed up for while he finalised the album.

What now?

Y/N rolled over and grabbed her phone to see texts from Marshall. She smiled instantly.

1:02 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I fucked up. You were right. You need to think about your future. I want this to work.

1:05 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I miss you. Please call me.

1:10 a.m.

From Marshall <3: You have absolute control over me. I will do anything for you. We can do long distance.

1:20 a.m.

From Marshall <3: You’re probably asleep. I can’t sleep without you. I am lying alone and all I think about is you.

1:22 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I can’t do this anymore. I am coming over.

Her lips twitched into a smile, and she turned around to look out the window to see the road. There it was the Aston Martin pulling up and Marshall getting out.

Y/N rolled out of bed in her underwear and shirt, walking towards the front door. She heard noises behind it and just went she opened it, Marshall stood with his hand up ready to knock.

“You’re here,” she whispered.

“I am here,” he responded but he glanced down to her body then to her lips. Instantly, he cupped her cheeks tight and tilting her head to kiss him. The kiss was passionate and heavy, filled with emotion and lust.

Y/N walked backwards as her hands grabbed his lips, pulling him close as she rolled her hips against his. Her back hit the bed as their lips assaulted one another with so much power. They had so much power over each other. The devotion, adoration and the lack of separation as they needed each other like water and oxygen.

“I am sorry,” he whispered against them as his hands slipped to pull her shirt off her head. She let him. “I am the asshole. I am the fucking jerk.”

Y/N moaned as his lips trailed down her jaw, sucking and nipping, leaving art as if he was the painter and she was the canvas. Y/N sat on the bed hands back as she laid on them. Marshall pulled his hoodie and shirt off him.

Y/N tugged her underwear down, throwing them somewhere in the room. Their eyes were focused on each other, direct contact as their lip connected to one another with such passion. His hand glided down her stomach, cupping her heat before rubbing circles on her clit.

“Marshall,” she moaned, “are we about to have angry sex?”

“Shut up,” he said as he continued to suck her throat before attaching his lips to her nipple, sucking it and nibbing it. Her back arched, as her head rolled, and eyes closed.

“Marsh-“ she tried but his hand went over her mouth.

“I said, shut up,” he said. “I don’t want to hear you.”

Y/N nodded, as his hand held over her mouth as his other worked wonders on her heat. He pulled away from kissing her breast before throwing her legs apart and lowering himself down. Instantly his mouth found her cunt, kissing and licking it before sucking it.

Y/N tried to stop her moans and screams, but she could not.

Just when she was about to come, Marshall pulled away and slapped her cunt earning a strong yelp from her before the pleasure settled in.

“You and me,” he said as he kneeled on the bed, “we belong together. I am yours and you are mine.” Y/N nodded as his lips attached to hers. “We are going to be together…forever,” he whispered the last part. Then he pulled away. “You belong with me. Maybe in another world or lifetime, but I know you belong with me.”

Y/N nodded again, however Marshall pulled away and got off the bed. He grabbed his shirt and hoodie off the floor and threw them on.

He licked his lips and Y/N looked at him in utter confusion.

“Pick what you want so badly,” he whispered before turning around and leaving.

Marshall left. Marshall used sex against her and left.

Y/N laid on the bed, stunned and breathless, as the door clicked shut behind Marshall. She felt the weight of his words and actions crashing down on her. The passion they just shared left her feeling more confused and vulnerable than ever.

She pulled the covers over herself, curling into a ball as she tried to make sense of everything. The intensity of their connection was undeniable but so was the reality of their situation. She knew she had to focus on her future, yet Marshall’s presence in her life had become so significant that the thought of losing him was unbearable.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she replayed the night’s events in her mind. The anger, the desperation, the intimacy – it was all a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She knew she had to make a choice, but it was impossible to balance her dreams with the love she felt for Marshall.

Hours passed, as she lay there, lost in thought. The sun began to rise when she fell asleep.

-

Morning came. The sun shined through the curtains making her glow. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. Everything hit her in that moment, and she sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. However, she needed clarity and the only way to find it was to face her fears head-on.

Y/N got up and made herself a cup of coffee before looking down at her phone. No messages from him.

Instead, she pulled out a notebook and began to write. She wrote about her dreams, her love for Marshall and the future she envisioned. She wrote about the sacrifices she was willing to make and the ones she was not. It was a stream of consciousness, a way to untangle the mess of emotions inside her.

As the morning wore on, she felt a sense of determination building within her. She knew what she had to do. She had to talk to Marshall, to lay everything on the table and see if they could find a way to make it work. She loved him deeply, but she could not ignore the call of her dreams.

Y/N picked up her phone and sent him a text.

9:23 a.m.

To Marshall <3: Can we talk? I need to see you.

Moments later, her phone buzzed with his reply.

9:26 a.m.

From Marshall <3: I’ll be there in 20.

Twenty minutes which felt like an eternity to Y/N. She paced the room, rehearsing what she wanted to say. When the knock came, her heart skipped a beat. She opened to door to find Marshall standing there, looking as conflicted and exhausted as she felt.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping aside to him in.

“Hi,” he replied, his eyes searching her for answers.

“Wanna sit?” she asked as she went to the couch.  They sat down, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Marshall, I love you,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “I love you more than I can put into words. But I also love my dreams and my career. There are so many galleries in New York City for me to work at. I can’t choose but I don’t want to lose you. Is there any way we can make this work?”

Marshall looked at her, his expression pained but resolute. “Y/N, I don’t want to lose you either. But long-distance…it’s going to be hard. Really hard. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“I know,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “But I’m willing to try if you are. We can figure it out together. We can visit each other, call, or video chat. It won’t be easy, but nothing worth having ever is.”

Marshall squeezed her hand, his eyes softening. “I want to believe we can do this. I want to try. But you have to promise me that we communicate, that we won’t let the distance tear us apart.”

“I promise,” Y/N said, her eyes filling with tears. “I promise we’ll make it work.”

“I just feel second to everything,” he whispered. “I am second to you.”

Y/N sighed. “I am like third in your world, Marshall. Your daughters, your music and then me.” Marshall’s brows furrowed. Y/N reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she touched Marshall’s cheek. “Marshall, I know it’s not easy. And it’s not fair to either of us. But I can’t give up on this dream. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Just like your music is to you.”

Marshall closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for a moment before pulling away. “It’s just…I’m scared, Y/N.  Scared that the distance will change things, that we’ll grow apart. I’ve seen it happen before, and I don’t want that for us.”

“We won’t let it happen,” Y/N said firmly, trying to instil a sense of hope in their conversation. “We’ve faced so much already, and we’ve always found a way through. This is just another challenge we can overcome together.”

He looked at her, the internal battle evident in his eyes. “I want to believe that. But seeing you pack up, knowing you’ll be gone…it hurts.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words. “I know. It hurts me too. But think about what it will mean for us in the long run. Think about the experiences we’ll both have, and the growth we’ll undergo. And when we’re together, it’ll make our time even more special.”

Marshall’s gaze softened, and he reached out to hold her hands. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. If this is what you need to do, then we have to find a way. But promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” she whispered, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Promise me that if it ever becomes too much, if either of us starts to feel like we’re losing ourselves in the distance, we’ll talk about it. We won’t just let it fester and tear us apart.”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I promise Marshall. We’ll face everything together, no matter what.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as they both cried, the weight of their decision pressing down on them but the hope of their future shining through.

They spent the morning making love to one another passionately. The apartment was filled with noises of pleasure and devotion, and promises were told.

-

March 2013

Since February, a lot had happened. Between the drama of Marshall and Y/N, Paul came out talking about an album that will come later this year. Which caused an uproar of excitement.

Y/N moved into her new apartment with the help of Marshall and once her belongings were in, they christened every room they could, putting their own touch of love to it. Life was good. Y/N and Marshall were good…they were happy. However, they could not help but feel like they were on a time crunch in their relationship, but they chose to ignore it.

-

Y/N took a deep breath as she approached Dr. Beau’s office. The art history department at the University of Michigan was a familiar place, but today felt different. Today, she would discuss her future in a way she had not before.

She knocked lightly on the open door and peeked in to see Dr. Beau, a very distinguished but young professor with a kind smile looking up from his desk. He had a toss of brown curls, a light beard and glasses perched on his nose. He must be in his late thirties and Y/N could not deny that he was on the verge of handsome, but she was Marshall therefore she did not pay much attention.

“Y/n! Come in, come in,” he greeted warmly. “Please, have a seat.”

Y/N entered and sat down, placing her bag on the floor. She felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Beau.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I hear you have some exciting news about joining the upcoming art show and plans for the future. I am glad you took my advice. Let’s start with the art show. Tell me about it.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up as she began to speak. “It’s a show at the Detroit Institute of Arts. I’ve been working on a series of mixed media focusing more on oil paint and charcoal that explore different human bodies. The theme is ‘Diverse Forms’, celebrating the beauty and uniqueness of each individual.”

Dr. Beau nodded appreciatively. “That sounds fascinating. Your work has always had a unique voice, and I think this show will really highlight that. How are preparations going?”

“It’s been intense,” Y/N admitted. “I just moved but now I have a art corner in my place. However, balancing the final touches on my pieces with my job at the diner has been challenging. But it’s coming together. The opening night is in two weeks, and I’m both excited and nervous.”

“That’s completely understandable,” Dr. Beau said with a reassuring smile. “Now, let’s talk about your plans for after graduation. I understand you’re considering Columbia University for your master’s?”

Y/N nodded, her expression becoming serious. “Yes, I’ve been looking into their art history program. It has a fantastic reputation, and the faculty there are doing some groundbreaking research. But the cost is a significant concern.”

Dr. Beau leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. “Columbia is indeed an excellent choice, but you’re right; it can be expensive. Have you looked into scholarships or assistantships? They often offer financial support for promising students.”

“I have,” Y/N said. “I’m applying for a few scholarships, and I’m also looking into potential teaching assistant positions. I’m hoping that with a strong application and portfolio, I might be able to secure some funding.”

Dr. Beau nodded approvingly. “That’s a smart approach. And remember, your work and dedication here have already laid a solid foundation. Your participation in the upcoming art show will be a significant addition to your portfolio. Have you thought about how you’ll present your work in your application?”

Y/N smiled, feeling a bit more confident. “Yes, I’ve been working on a digital portfolio that includes high-resolution images of my pieces, descriptions, and my artist’s statement. I want to make sure it reflects my growth and my vision as an artist.”

“That sounds perfect,” Dr. Beau said. “You’re on the right track, Y/N. And if you need any letters of recommendation or support in your application process, don’t hesitate to ask. You’ve been a dedicated student, and I do not doubt that you’ll succeed.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beau,” Y/N said, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Your support means a lot to me.”

Dr. Beau smiled warmly. “Speaking of Columbia, I haven’t had the chance to tell you that I did accept the position at Columbia University. I’ll be joining their faculty in the fall semester.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s amazing! Congratulations, Dr. Beau.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Beau said. “And here’s the best part: I would love to continue working with you on your thesis if you decide to Columbia. We could develop your project further and take it to new heights.”

Y/N felt a surge of excitement. “That would be incredible. Having your guidance would mean so much to me.”

“Well, it’s settled then,” Dr. Beau said with a smile. “Focus on your art show and your applications. We’ll make sure you have the support you need to succeed at Columbia.”

Y/N left Dr. Beau’s office, feeling a sense of purpose and determination. She could not believe how everything was just working out.

-

The weekend came and Y/N walked into Marshall’s house with her overnight bag and already dressed in sweats and a hoodie. She could hear distant chatter from the kitchen. His daughters were over for dinner tonight and Marshall invited her.

Y/N came into the kitchen to see Marshall cooking and his daughters surrounded.

“Hey,” she said softly as she put her bag down on the floor and walked to him. He was dressed down and Y/N wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek as he stirred the pot in front of him.

“Hi, doll,” he responded, turning to kiss her lips. It was a short kiss before focusing back on his cooking.

“What are you making?” she asked as she walked around to say her hello to the girls.

“Some pasta dish,” he commented.

“I am going to take my bag to the bedroom,” she said, picking up her overnight bag and walking out of the kitchen.

“Enjoy,” he smirked looking over his shoulder.

Y/N wandered up the steps and going into the bedroom where she spotted a pink bag with tissue paper coming out on the bed. Y/N put her bag in the corner where she wandered over to the bag. Connected to it was a little envelope with her name on it.

Curiosity piqued and she took the envelope out.

Y/N,

Forever & Always,

M.

She pulled out the pink tissue paper and looked inside the bag to see black lace…no he did not. Y/N pulled out the risqué outfit and a smile came to her lips. Marshall did not…

Never in her life had she ever bought herself lingerie but her boyfriend of just a few months just bought her this lace little outfit. Y/N laid it out and stared at it.

It covered nothing, but she was intrigued to try this on.

Later she decided. The idea of trying this on and putting her clothes over top then going downstairs to be with his daughter…that is just plain naughty. She was not that way. She had some respect for his daughters.

However, she could not get over just how sexy it was…

How did he know her measurements? Her bra size and panty size? He must had done some digging in her draws.

Y/N came downstairs, and the aroma of freshly cooked pasta filled the air as Y/N joined Marshall and his daughters in the kitchen. He turned when he heard her footsteps and smiled.

She mouthed a, ‘thank you, it’s beautiful’ and he sent her a wink with a mouthing of ‘later’. Stevie, Alaina and Hailie were animatedly chatting about their day, and the warmth of their laughter made Y/N feel at home. She glanced at Marshall, who was serving the pasta dish on some places and smiled.

“Dinner smells amazing,” Y/N said taking her seat.

“Thanks,” Marshall replied, smiling back. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As everyone settled at the table, Marshall handed each of them the plates before sitting next to Y/N. They all began eating and having a conversation about their day.

When it got quiet, Y/N felt like it was the perfect time to announce her announcement. She cleared her throat and everyone’s eyes turned to her.

“So, I have some exciting news,” Y/N began, her eyes bright with anticipation. Marshall’s brows furrowed, thinking it was the Columbia news which was not the time for her to announce her departure.

“Y/N, I think we should wait-“

His daughters’ brows all furrowed as well, curiosity piqued however Y/N looked over at her boyfriend.

“You don’t know what I am talking about as I have not told you yet,” she said as a matter of fact.

“Oh,” he said, “then continue.”

“Thank you,” she grinned. “I am going to be part of an art show at the Detroit Institute of Arts in two weeks! My pieces were picked, and they will be displayed. It’s my first show,” she announced with a wide toothy grin.

“That’s awesome!” Hailie exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, her smile widening. “I was wondering if you would like to come. It would mean a lot to me to have you there. As we are a family.”

Alaina nodded enthusiastically. “We’d love to! Right, Hailie?”

Hailie smiled. “Absolutely. We wouldn’t miss it. I have never seen your art, but it must be amazing if it’s going to be in a show.”

“Her art is phenomenal. Very creative and detailed,” Marshall said as he took a bite.

Y/N smiled and turned to her boyfriend, heart racing. “And, Marshall, I was hoping you could be my date for the show. It’s a big night for me, and I’d love to have you by my side. I am building my portfolio for my master’s as I will be specialising in art history.”

Marshall’s expression shifted, and he looked down to his plate, a hint of tension in his posture. He took a moment before responding, finding the correct words. “Y/N, you know I support you, your work and your career. But…going to a public event like this together, it could attract a lot of media attention. I’m just worried about what that might do to us, to you?”

“Oh,” Y/N muttered, a pang in her chest. She had anticipated his concern but hoped it would not be a barrier. “Marshall, this show is incredibly important to me. It’s a culmination of my work and having you there would mean so much. I understand the risks, but it would be nice for you to be there…supporting me. You can meet Dr. Beau.”

Marshall sighed. “I get that, I do. But the media can be ruthless and I am not sure I am ready to go public like that. They could twist things, bring up my past, you know. We are not a normal couple and I need you to understand that. It could overshadow your moment.”

Stevie, Alaina and Hailie all exchanged glances, sensing the gravity of the conversation.

“Jake would have,” Y/N whispered not intending for him to hear that.

However, Marshall heard that comment loud and clear. His jaw clenched at the mention of Jake. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt, but he quickly masked it with a sigh. He placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath to steady himself before responding.

“Y/N, this isn’t about Jake. This is about us. I just want to protect you from the chaos that comes with my life,” he said, his voice strained but earnest.

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached out to touch his hand. “Marshall, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need protection from you or from your past. I need your support in my present. This art show means everything to me and having you there would make it perfect.”

Marshall looked at her, the conflict clear in his eyes. He wanted to be there for her, but the fear of his past resurfacing and affecting her was something he could not shake off easily. His daughters watched the exchange quietly, knowing this was an important moment for their father and Y/N.

“Dad, we’ve been through a lot as a family,” Hailie said gently. “We’ve faced the media before, and we’ve come out stronger. If this art show is important to Y/N, we should support her. Together.”

Marshall glanced at his daughters, their encouraging smiles giving him a sense of reassurance. He turned back to Y/N, seeing the hope and determination in her eyes. He knew she was right. He could not let his fear hold her back.

“Ok,” Marshall said finally, his voice softening. “I’ll be there. We’ll be there. I won’t let anything ruin your moment; I promise.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with relief and joy. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her heart swelling with love. “Thanks, M. It means the world to me.”

Marshall squeezed her hand, a small smile playing on his lips. “Anything for you, doll. Let’s make this art show unforgettable.”

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced with a sense of unity and excitement. They continued their dinner, the conversation flowing more easily now. Y/N felt renewed confidence, knowing that Marshall and his daughters would be by her side for her big night.

Alaina and Hailie left around eight o’clock and Stevie retired to their room. Y/N and Marshall sat in the living room in each other’s arms as they watched trashy television and had a light conversation. Marshall’s fingers rubbed circles on her shoulder as his arm was wrapped around her. However, Y/N could not help but think about the pink bag waiting for her upstairs. The thought of the black lingerie made her blush, and she caught Marshall’s eye, giving him a playful smile. He winked back, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

Around ten o’clock they went upstairs. Marshall locked the doors, turned off the lights and set the alarm as Y/N walked into his bedroom. The lingerie was still there, laid out on the bed with her name written all over it. She took it and slipped into it, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. She looked at herself in the mirror, the delicate fabric accentuating her curves. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door from the bathroom and stepped out.

Marshall was sitting on the bed waiting for her and when she came out, his eyes widened as he saw her. His breath caught in his throat, and he could not tear his gaze away. “Wow,” he murmured, standing up and walking over to her. “You look stunning.”

Y/N did a small twirl. The two pieces of pure lace was beautiful on her. The lace bustier covered nothing and her nipples poked through while the thong left little to the imagination. Marshall’s fingers grazed her thigh and made its way up to her chin, tilting it up and kissing her.

“Thank you for this beautiful gift,” she said softly.

“No need to thank me. It was made just for you,” he whispered, eyes filled with adoration.

Y/N cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips again. “Am I just going to be artwork to admire or are you going to rip it off of me?” she whispered into his ears.

His hands wrapped over her waist, hands setting on her ass as he slapped it lightly.

“Such naughty words,” he whispered back. “I am going to take full advantage of my present wrapped in lace.”

Y/N smirked, biting her lip but his thumb pressed against her lip, pulling it so it would release. Then he pushed it into her mouth as her tongue lapped over it.

“You are something, aren’t you,” he cooed removing it and placing it in his mouth sucking it before cupping her breast. He squeezed them, thumb over her nipple feeling it hardened from the sensation.

Y/N pushed him lightly, the back of his legs hitting the bed as he sat down. Y/N stood between them, hands wrapping around his neck as she leaned down and kissed him.

“I love you,” she whispered as she straddled him. “And I love that you’re coming to my art show.”

“What is the art?” he asked.

She began to rock her hips over his groin as she licked from his jaw to his ear. “It’s called Diverse Forms and it’s just naked people. But don’t worry, you’re not part of it. Could not have an explicit, risqué,” she whispered, “detailed picture of Eminem’s junk and body on display in Detroit.”

Marshall chuckled before kissing her shoulder. “As much as I enjoy knowing you have drawn pictures of me like that. I am glad that those won’t be public.”

Y/N pulled away, hands running through his hair as she leaned down and kissed him. “Love you, baby,” she cooed.

Then he pulled away. “Who did you draw?”

“Just whatever came to my mind.”

“Jake in it?” he said lowly.

“Never drew Jake before.”

“Sam?”

“No.”

“Anyone you have slept with?” he said deeply.

“No. I don’t draw exes,” she hummed. “Now, I sense jealousy coming from you.”

Marshall pulled away and took her arms from around his neck. “Why did you bring your ex up at dinner?”

She knew where this was going…a fight.

"I am standing here in very expensive lingerie. We are going to have sex, hot and heavy, loving sex and we are not going to have this conversation,” she stated.

Marshall took her arms and placed them back where they were before. “Proceed.”

Y/N smirked, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You know,” she whispered, “you listening to me is very sexy.”

“Oh?” he mocked. “Is that so?”

“How would you like if I am in charge and you listen tonight?” she cooed, finger going down his nose and tilting his chin up to her.

Marshall’s eyes widened. Never thought he would hear those words come from her, however, he liked that idea. “Then kiss me, Madam.”

“No.” Y/N put her finger to his lips. “It’s please can you kiss me?”

Marshall smirked and pulled away. “I am not going to beg. That’s your job.”

Y/N then shrugged and pulled away. “Fine, enjoy your hand and lotion.” She got off of him and walked to the bathroom and Marshall watched bewildered.

What was that?

He quickly got up and ran to the bathroom, opening the door to see Y/N pulling her panties down.

“Please fuck me, Y/N,” he said with confidence.

“I need a little more,” she cooed arms over her chest.

He gave her look of surprise and she raised a brow.

“Go out there and patiently wait for me.”

“I have never said words like this to you,” he fired back.

“Let me have my fun, Marshall,” she barked back. He threw his hands up in surprise as she pulled her panties back up. “Now patiently wait for me on the bed in your boxers.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.” Marshall turned out of the bathroom and walked to the bed, stripping his shirt and pants before throwing them in the laundry. Only thing he wore was his boxers, his sobriety pendant and a chain bracelet.

Y/N came out eventually when he was very close to losing his patience. She was hyping herself up in the bathroom. Her saunter was sexy as she stood in front of Marshall. His hands were on his knees as he stared up at her.

“Goddess-like,” he mused and went to reach her, but she took his hand and placed it on his thigh.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you,” she commanded. “You’re my plaything now.”

Marshall was suddenly aroused. The way she was with words, demanding and commanding made him shiver in arousal. He nodded.

“Words?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she whispered licking her lips. “I am trying to figure out how I want to do this,” she admitted. “I am not normally-“

“Shh,” he shushed her, “you’re ruining the roleplaying. I am getting horny from this. Continue the scene. 3…2…1… Action!”

/N chuckled before going serious. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned down. “Give me a kiss.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, and she pulled away. Her fingers trailing from under his jaw down his shoulder and arm taking his hand and placing it on her hip. She did the same to the other one before straddling him. She looked down through her lashes as he stared up at her. His hold on her tightened as she pressed a kiss to the side of his lips.

“I am going to ruin you,” she whispered.

“Likewise.”

She bit her lip as she licked it then she pushed him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress as her hands ran down his chest, fingers curling over his boxer’s hem.

“Y/N,” he whispered, elbows going back to push him up so he could look at her. “Continue.”

“Shut up,” she stated placing a finger to his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

Marshall did as she threw a leg over his torso and settled herself down. She leaned down and kissed his jaw as her body began to rock. Her core hit his thigh, the panties thin and he could feel the wetness from her heat. Marshall felt it on his thigh and held his moans as she sucked and bit his neck.

“Y/N…” he moaned.

She smirked as her hand went to his groin, cupping it as she assaulted his neck. Marshall bit his lip holding his moan as she delivered wet kisses down his throat to chest.

Her hand held his groin, making effect to get it hard. Once satisfied she pulled away and got off him. There was an obvious tent in his boxers, restraining against the fabric. Marshall waited patiently which took everything in him. It was usually him in control, but seeing his hot, sexy, beautiful girlfriend in lingerie made him wither and bend in ways he never thought he could.

Y/N’s fingers hooked onto the band of his boxers, pulling it down and relieving the hard, veiny cock that had pre-cum dripping from it. Marshall hissed when it hit the air as the cold bit it.

She kneeled on the bed, hand wrapping around his cock as her thumb swiped the pre-cum, bringing it to her tongue.

“Divine,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard and nodded watching her every move. Her hand wrapped around his cock as her mouth came closer. Her lips touched his tip, kissing it with love before her tongue darted and licked it with such need.

It took everything in Marshall to not grasp her hair and push her down, but he was the submissive in this scenario and he was enjoying it.

Y/N took his cock, his tip hitting the back of her mouth before she released it. Her head bobbed as her mouth hallowed, granting him pleasure beyond his own hand. She was terrific and skilled. As she gave him the blowjob, he could not help but release noises of pleasure, moaning her name and biting his lip.

He was close. So, so close and she knew it too. Y/N pulled away and took her bra pulling it down and letting her breasts be released. Plump, hard and juicy, Marshall swallowed.

What was she doing?

Y/N leaned down, taking his dick and placing it between her breasts, pumping them and instantly, it was not too long before he came. White lines of seed covered her breasts and she let go, letting them be painted.

Marshall screamed her name and watched with such wonder.

She was dirty…so dirty and he loved it.

Y/N kneeled back, and he looked down to her chest where he coated her in himself. Marshall moved to kneel in front of her. She smirked, dumbfounded almost.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered more to himself. “Holy fucking shit.”

She smirked as his hands came to cup her breasts, fingers spreading to touch and rub his seed into her skin. He swiped it and took it to her lips.

“Tongue.”

She placed her tongue out and he wiped himself onto her. She swallowed and smiled.

“You’re fucking something.”

His hand went down to her thong, pulling it by the hem fast and enough force to rip them.

“Marshall!” she snapped. “I like them.”

He shrugged. “They are mine. I bought them. I will buy you another pair.”

“They are expensive.”

Once again, he did not have a care in the world. “Come here.” His finger darted out and he made a motion for her to come. Y/N straddled him, her wet heat hitting his hard cock which earned both members to moan.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in her ear.

“No!” she hissed.

“Why not?”

“Because I will suffocate you.”

“Rather die that way. Now do it,” he commanded. Marshall leaned back, head on the pillow as his hand reached out for her. “Grip the headboard and balance on your calves. If that makes sense.”

She nodded, scooting up to his face. She was on top of him, looking down as he tapped her thigh. Y/N slowly lowered herself till she felt him on her head.

Her hands grasped the headboard.

“Be quiet,” he stated, “don’t need my daughter to know what we are up to.”

“It’s late.”

“Y/N,” warned, “quiet as a mouse.”

She nodded as she began to feel his mouth against her core. She held her moans, gripping onto the headboard as his grasp got tighter, nails digging in. Her body began to rock with the rhythm of his tongue, and she whispered his name over and over again.

The knot in her stomach began to tighten and grow as he continued lapping and sucking on her cunt. Y/N felt her insides tense up as the growing pleasure sensation grew. Several moments later, it released, and she covered her mouth screaming his name.

Marshall smiled against her heat, guiding her in her own orgasm. Once she rode it out, Y/N rolled off Marshall, lying next to him as she tried to catch her breath. However, he did not give her long until he was on top of her, taking her legs and spreading them.

Y/N was on birth control again. She got an IUD inserted a while ago which made Marshall elated that he could go bare. To feel her was like heaven.

“Marshall,” she whispered, gripping onto his bicep.

“Yes?”

He looked down on her. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

Marshall pushed inside her, feeling her tight walls welcome him with such love. He hit her cervix, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. Then slowly he began to fuck her slowly, his balls hitting her and the sounds of slapping filling the room.

His head came to her neck as his lips attached to them. His rhythm was strong, his thrusting powerful as they moaned one another’s names. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, ankles dipping into his ass as she rolled her head back and arched her back.

“I love you,” he whispered, “so much and I need you.”

She nodded. “I want you more than anything,” she replied in the heat of the moment.

“Then don’t go to Columbia.”

She heard those words, and she tried her best not to ruin the mood or the moment. Instead, she shook her head. “Not the time, baby,” she cooed, kissing the side of his lips. “I am going to Columbia.”

He pulled away. “Did you accept already?” he spat.

“Marshall, can you keep fucking me and we can talk about this after.”

“I can’t.”

“Marshall Mathers,” she bit. “Give me a fucking orgasm.”

“So, demanding,” he whispered and continued to fuck her.

Moments later, they were both at their peak, hands grasping anything they could find. Her eyes were rolled back, and she yelled his name as his hand went over her mouth. Marshall moaned hers as well as they came together.

Marshall rolled off of her, catching his breath as Y/N moved to look at him.

“Bath?” she whispered. “You and me? Hot water? I bought a bath bomb and bubbles in my bag. You can wash my hair and we can do all types of gross-loving things.”

He chuckled, getting up and walking to the bathroom on his command. Y/N pushed up onto her elbows as he watched his sculpted body saunter to the bathroom. He was naked and he was hers.

Marshall turned the bath on as Y/N walked into the bathroom, he glanced over and chuckled. “You have cum running down your leg,” he stated.

Y/N glanced down and saw it. Rolling her eyes she went to the toilet paper and swiped it off her and threw it in the toilet. Marshall checked the water and Y/N did her business of peeing in front of him.

She got to her bag and found the stuff she was looking for before throwing it in the bath. Marshall got in and he helped her in too. Her back hit his chest as she sat, head rolled onto his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her.

“Did you then?” he whispered, playing with her hair.

“Did I what?”

“Accept?”

She sighed. “No. I haven’t accepted, nor have I put money down. Until I figure out scholarships and bursaries, I won’t accept. Dr. Beau told me that he is going to Columbia and will mentor my thesis. So, to factor that.”

He nodded.

“And my mom is pushing for Vancouver. My grandparents said they will pay for my master’s if I stay in Canada.”

He nodded again. “I will pay if you stay in Detroit,” he stated as if it was nothing.

She sighed and closed her eyes. He was doing anything and everything for her to stay.

“Marshall, I can’t accept your money. Plus, it will be expensive. I am an international student.

“Name the price and I will have the cheque drawn up.”

“Nearly ninety grand,” she whispered. “Might as well buy a house.”

He swallowed and nodded. He said his piece but hearing the numbers.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “that much, huh?”

“See why I am looking for financial aid. Columbia is a little more.”

He nodded. “You really want this,” he stated as he dipped his hand into the water and dripping droplets onto her skin.

“I do.”

“It’s only two years?”

“Yeah, you will be releasing the album soon and then what…you’re going to be on tour for a year?”

“Possibly.”

“Then if I stayed, you would leave me for a year,” she said but he tried to open his mouth. “I know you. ‘Come with me’…I can’t, M. Masters. So, maybe we take a two-year break and then talk again.”

He sighed. “There are so much more opportunities in NYC for you with your career than Detroit.”          

Marshall tightened his hold onto Y/N, resting his chin on her shoulder as he pondered for a moment. The warmth of their bath and the closeness of her body made the conversation feel more intimate, but it also made the reality of their situation more pressing. “New York City offers so much more for your art career. I just the idea of being apart from you.”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes soft but resolute. “I know, and I hate it too. But it’s only two years, and it’s such an important opportunity for me. We can make it work, M. We have faced bigger and grander challenges.”

Marshall sighed, his heart heavy with the thought of their separation, but also filled with admiration for her determination. He took a deep breath and then finally came to terms with all of this. “I’ll support you whatever decision you make, Y/N. I just want you to be happy and to succeed. We’ll find a way to make it work, even if it means being apart for a while.”

She smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek with her wet hand. “Thank you, Marshall. That means a lot to me. Who knows… maybe we’ll surprise each other with visits. New York is not far.”

“What about Vancouver?”

“I don’t want to be this person, but you have money and a direct flight.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be the best long-distance boyfriend there ever was. “

Y/N kissed his lips as he began to wet her hair and wash it in the tub. He began to massage her scalp, getting the shampoo in their before he took the bucket and washed it out. He continued with conditioner very meticulous with his work as he focused. Y/N closed her eyes as she felt his hands in her hair. It was lovely. It was intimate. It was pure devotion.

They finished their bath and got ready for bed. Closing the lights off, she found herself with her head on his bare chest whispering sweet nothings as they soothed each other into sleep.

-

Sorry for the delay of posting! Still on vacation.

This was a long one! Hope you enjoyed it :)

Much love,

Ava <3