#but we are made aware of how much he ignores his own emotions

[piracytheorist]

Oh BOI when I tell you this transition gave me shivers

This is a prime example of why spies like Twilight cannot afford emotional attachment, why their entire survival depends on them ignoring their own internal struggles.

Donovan Desmond is a force to be reckoned with; within minutes of meeting Loid, he shamelessly shares his corrupted views on humanity:

"It is simply impossible to understand what someone else is thinking. People will never be able to understand each other."

And that's why you're using force to bring other nations to their knees?

There you have Twilight; a man who lost everything in a war started by people who had the same way of thinking that Desmond has; a man who has sacrificed his own identity and chances of personal happiness in his mission to never allow others to suffer like he did.

The emotional investment is huge. He doesn't do it just because he thinks it's the right thing to do, he does it because he has first-hand experience of how much pain a war can cause. And he'd rather keep suffering if it means such pain won't be felt again by anyone else.

And yet, through all his internal turmoil, he has to look at Desmond and smile and agree with him. Him acting like the loyal Ostanian citizen who believes the Desmond group cares for the country is nothing compared to this transition. He goes from a man who is haunted by the traumas of his past to a beaming, hopeful man who indirectly endorses violence - the very thing that ruined his and many other people's lives - over understanding among humans

He has to become the exact opposite of what he stands for, become the kind of man like the ones whose actions ruined him. And the ironic depiction is not lost to the audience; his eyes are covered in shadows as we hear his inner thoughts, slowly getting brighter as he prepares his disguise, and finally getting back to the light when he fully dons it.

It's disturbing and it's wrong and it's the opposite of how it should be. Twilight may have made it his life's mission to never act on his emotions, but it's perfectly clear he does have emotions; he's just very good at willingly pushing them aside. And this depiction in that lighting is perfect to show how it's a necessary and conscious depravity of his own self that he has to partake in in order to survive and see his mission through.

It's brilliant. Disturbing, but brilliant.

(Anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[juletheghoul]

home

a/n: The premiere look was a literal gift from the Gods, truly fantastic stuff. With that said, of course I had to work on the next chapter of The General and his Girlwife. This isn't the end for them, there is still so much life for them and I have a whole inbox full of amazing asks (I promise I haven't forgotten about them!) to get through, and I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy because he's a KING, lactation kink, creampie, Marcus gets emotional, pregnancy and baby stuff, childbirth and some graphic descriptions of pain, talks of infertility, **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 5k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

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The ritual had been completed, and a week later–life had gone back to normal. The two of you had vowed to put it out of your mind until the Gods made their intentions for you clear. 

Marcus, however, was leaving; he'd been called on by the Emperor for a tour, and he had no choice but to accept.

You pouted, and he smiled. 

“It is only for a short time, my love. Barely a moon's turn and I will be back in this house, and your arms.” He smiled despite your obvious displeasure, giddy with the way you clutched so greedily at him. 

“I wish to follow you Marcus, I do not wish to stay here without you.” You buried your face into his neck, taking in his comforting scent greedily. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding him close while his own wrapped tightly around your waist. 

“And I wish nothing more than for you to be with me, but you cannot. It is not a place for women and I would not have my beautiful,” his hands cupped your cheeks, pressing kisses to your mouth between words, “lovely, tempting wife there pulling at my attention, as well as that of the bolder men in my company.”

You sigh, knowing he would not change his mind. 

“Very well. I will content myself alone.” Your tone made him laugh, and you smiled into his skin, well aware that you sounded more akin to an unruly child than a grown, married woman. 

“You are spoiled, terribly misbehaved and spoiled.” His hands slipped down and grabbed at your backside, “and it is entirely my fault.” 

“Yes it is.” You jut your chin out and he pressed a kiss to it. “When do you leave?” 

“Preparations are being made and I depart in three days time.” He pressed another kiss to the back of your hand, smiling as he led you to sit with him. “Once I am back, I shall plan something for us. How does that sound?” 

“And what shall you plan?” 

“We could travel, we could go to the sea and take in the fresh air, we could do anything my love. Whatever makes you happy.” His eyes shone with the same love you felt in your very bones for him. 

“I only need you for that.” 

-

The intensity of the craving made you frown, pulling your attention from the task of refilling the cellars of your house. One minute you had been taking note of how much grain there was, how much olive oil and wine was in your stores and the next, the desire for figs and honey and fresh, ripe pomegranate was so strong it almost moved your feet towards the kitchens. You stopped yourself though, running through your mental tally of days since your last blood and willing yourself to stay calm. 

“Girl, be a dear and fetch me figs and honey if you would.” You pat her hand softly, unable to stop yourself from softening the imagined blow of asking for something instead of fetching it yourself. Her eyes widened for a moment, before nodding. 

“Yes Domina.” She ran off, and you ignored the looks of the women who were helping you with your accounts. 

“Shall we call for a Medicus, Domina?” The eldest of them whispered in your ear, one who has always treated you with a softness that at times felt motherly, her work roughened hand landing soft on your shoulder. Nerves fluttered in your belly, a deep seeded fear threading through your very being as the memory of your loss filled your mind's eye so vividly it set your hands to shaking. But another emotion emerged, a fragile thing coloured with a hope so big it didn’t fit within your body. Without Marcus, it was difficult to navigate the swirl of different feelings fighting for dominance.

“Domina, let me call for the Medicus.” Gently, she guided you to sit, silently dismissing the staff tending to you. “I think it best you rest while we wait, I shall have him brought here to look you over.” 

“Yes, yes that is what we must do. I—yes I should rest a while.” With a shaky breath you smiled a smile that did not reach your eyes, and headed towards your chamber. 

When the medicus finally did arrive, the older woman held your hand, doing much to calm you in the absence of Marcus. Silently the man went about his business, checking and prodding and looking for the signs that you tentatively prayed were there. 

When he raised his head and smiled with a nod, both you and the woman cried with joy.

-

He was eager to step foot in his house, eager to be reunited with his heart. 

His blessedly peaceful campaign had gone well, the Emperor was in good spirits and for the first time in years, there was peace. He couldn’t wait to tell her how it had gone, couldn’t wait to press his kisses upon her skin. 

The house was surprisingly quiet when he finally arrived, the guards were hushed, his usual attendants were nowhere to be seen and his love was not where he thought he’d find her. 

When he reached their shared room things were stranger still, the gauzy linens were drawn across the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight. Incense was burning, and for a moment he feared she’d fallen ill while he’d been gone.

“My love? What is the matter?” She reclined in their bed, propped up on a nest or pillows, and her face lit up to see him. She was glowing, a soft sheen shining on her brow and for a moment he thought it might be a fever but she looked well, she looked beautiful. 

“I am well Marcus, truly.” She beckoned to him, arms outstretched and he all but ran to her side, sitting close to hold her hands. “We have been blessed, my love, truly blessed.” Tears shone in her eyes, he frowned for a moment until she placed his hand on her belly, and then it felt like his heart would jump out of chest. 

“You are sure?” He brought his face to her womb, pressing his lips to it while trying not to fall apart with joy. “Truly?”

“It has been confirmed, I am with child. You are to be a father, Marcus.” She shone with life, with vitality and was as beautiful as a Goddess, he couldn’t handle the joy in his heart. He wept into her belly, thanking the Gods, and praying for the health of the love of his life, and the child inside her.

-

Every single day of those first few weeks greeted you with fear.

Every free minute, every spare thought was filled with silent prayer, offerings were made to appease the Gods, you ate only the foods suggested by the Medicus. Marcus let you do nothing except rest, and take short, slow walks throughout the house. He was thorough with the instructions given to him, he rubbed the special oil onto the skin of your belly to help with the growth, he never left your side, he was gentle in all things. 

Once you started to show, and the most dangerous period had passed, even you started to shed some of the fear. Hope, and joy filled the house and everyone shared in it. The women were eager to have a little one running around, Marcus grew more and more excited at the prospect and filled your house with things for the child. Toys and a special chair, robes and little tunics to dress them in.

“Have you thought of a name?” You asked him as he rubbed at your tired feet, easing the ache as your stomach seemed to grow before your very eyes. 

“I have, but I haven’t really given any option much thought. It is best to wait until the child is born I think. And you? Is there a name you favour?”

“Well, a boy would definitely be named Marcus after you.” You smiled, imagining a miniature of him. 

“And for a girl?”

“We could honour the Gods, name her Diana, I also think Aurelia is quite pretty, or Acacia and name her after her father.” Your smile grew, imagining a little darling with his soft waves, his square feet.

“Fine choices.” He smiled, moving to the other foot and you sighed, soothed by his touch. 

“I will pray for a boy, to carry your name and carry on your legacy.” He shook his head.

“Give me a clever girl with your eyes, and your smile and I shall be happier than any other man alive.” He pressed a kiss to your shin. Tears sprung to your eyes, it was happening a lot of late, the baby made your emotions run rampant, his sweetness didn’t help.

“There there my love, no tears.” He soothed with gentle tone, well aware of your sensitivity, yet still as patient and loving as always. 

“I cannot help it, the joy is overwhelming, the love for you, for this little being is too much to fit inside me.” You held your belly, tears falling to dampen the skin of your chest. He moved to sit beside you, and gathered you into his arms, once again soothing you beyond words could explain. 

“I understand, I have been so blessed in this life it is difficult not to dwell and fear the worst. Let us just enjoy our good fortune, no more tears, it pains me to see you cry.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and you nodded silently, throat aching with emotion. 

With a tenderness that only made the ache stronger, he kissed the tear stains on your skin, smiling softly. When he got to your mouth, it was a reassuring press, a silent promise to you and to the life growing inside. It helped, but your mood, your appetites changed like the winds these days and the tears turned to desire for him so fast it made your head spin. 

Your tongue breached his mouth, corrupting the softness of his kiss and pulling a groan from somewhere in his chest. His hand pressed softly to your womb, while his mouth claimed yours in the softness of your shared bed. 

“Marcus-” It came out half moaned, half pleading. 

“Yes my love?” He breathed the words into the skin of your neck, his tongue mapping out the lines he liked to travel with his kisses, unsurprised at how quickly your passion for him was stirred with the child inside.

“Do you desire me? Do you wish for me to give you my cock?” Slowly, he exposed you, pulling the special tunic made to accommodate your belly off. The large swell, the heavy weight of your breasts, the swelling in your feet–all of the changes in your body had made you fear he would no longer find you desirable. He’d been quick to correct that assumption however. 

With your lip caught between your teeth, you nodded. 

Carefully, he turned you on your side, supporting the weight of your belly with pillows and linens before divesting himself of his own layers. The sight of him, skin golden and cock hardening turned your cunt to liquid. He smiled at the open desire on your face, positioning himself so he straddled the thigh resting on the bed, while lifting and holding the other, lining himself up at the mouth of your cunt. 

“Are you comfortable?” Your heart swelled for a moment, smiling at him before nodding. 

He took himself in hand, stroking a few times to bring himself to full mast before finally sinking in to the hilt. 

“So wet.” He whispered almost to himself, eyes focused on the way your cunt swallowed his length whole, coating it in your arousal. “My pretty little wife, with her pretty little cunt.” His fingers gripped at your thigh while he found his rhythm, angling himself to find the spot–

You keened, gasping as he huffed out a satisfied laugh. 

“There it is, that is the spot, yes?” He focused, hitting it like a bullseye while you clutched at the linens, too blissed out to answer but it mattered not, he knew. Sweat beaded on his brow, the muscles in his arms gleamed in the low candlelight as he panted out his exertion. His beauty so obvious, so highlighted there as he loved you that it filled the little space in your belly not filled with his child with the beating of butterfly wings. 

Your fingers reached out to him, needing to feel him surround you and he smiled, leaning forward to catch the tips of them with his lips while his hips moved faster. Your arousal pooled at the base of him, soaking the fine patch of hair between your legs, as well as the curls at the base of his cock.

With a crooked grin, he reached between your legs to swirl his thumb around your swollen clit and the climax is so close your legs start to tremble. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop Marcus–” It was so close, building like a fire in your hips, spreading like lightning throughout your veins, dripping from where you were joined onto the linens of your bed. Your hand crept down, joining his to press his fingers closer, to guide his movements faster until you burst around him, squeezing him so tight he groaned and slowed his steady thrusting to a grind, his groin pressed tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, pleasure blooming and flooding your body like good, strong wine and it only intensified when he started moving again, chasing his own end while you floated on your cloud. It only took him a few thrusts before he filled you, fucking his seed deep. 

His chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, smiling and laughing softly as he pulled himself out.

Your combined passion smeared against your hip when he surged forward to claim your mouth in a kiss. His big hand curled around the curve of your neck softly, such a contrast to how it gripped your thigh. It slid down, smooth as silk before squeezing at your breast. 

“Oh!’ The warm drip shocked you, the milk beaded at your nipple before dripping down the valley between your breasts. The bigger shock though, was how quickly he chased it with his tongue. The arousal only flared again, sharp as a knife at the moan he let out. With an almost drunk expression, he wrapped his lips around the peak, and tasted your milk straight from the source. 

“Good?” Your fingers threaded through his sweat-soaked waves, cradling him close while he drank deep. His expression was almost sheepish, almost ashamed when he pulled away. 

“I do not know what has come over me,” He licked at the tip, staring at the other breast longingly, “I had to taste you, it’s so sweet.” He dipped his head again, drinking from the other breast, deep, strong pulls that only made the red hot coal of desire within you burn even brighter than before. When he pulled away he was breathing hard, shocked at his own reaction. 

“Did I hurt you?” He licked at sensitive peaks again, filling your brain with a fog of lust so strong you could barely think. 

“No, not at all, it feels really good.” You pulled him closer, urging him to drink, while guiding his hand between your legs. With a knowing grin, he obeyed. 

-

You knew from the moment your eyes opened in the morning, that the baby would come. There was an ache, a pulsing, a violence to its movements within your womb. The child was as impatient to emerge, as you were to give birth and finally have it whole and healthy in your arms. 

With a sigh, you tried to adjust yourself, smiling as Marcus pressed himself closer in his sleep, his big hand holding the swell. 

“I think today is the day, hmm?” You whispered to your belly, it kicked hard enough to make you wince. 

“Gods above, I felt that one, this child will be strong.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling another sigh from you. “How are you feeling?”

“I think it will be today, it feels like the baby has moved lower.” You did your best to rise, groaning before he all but lifted you to sit upright. 

“I will make the preparations, the midwife is ready and waiting for our summons.” He rose quickly, making you laugh with his urgency.

“Peace Marcus, it will not be right this second, but I do feel it mightl be today.” You stood, gingerly padding towards him, waving away his frown of concern. “Walking is good for me, it will help me with my labours.” He still frowned, meeting you halfway and squeezing you as tightly as he could without causing you pain. 

“I will be with you, at your side the whole time.” There was a small tremble in his voice you did not recognize, a nervous aura about him that seemed to bolster you. How curious, you thought, that his moment of fear, is my moment of courage. 

“The midwife and her attendants will be there, most men wait until the child is born–”

“I am not most men. I will be with you, holding your hand and wiping at your brow. This is a battle I cannot fight for you, but no one will keep me out of that room.” He pressed his face into your neck and you softened, his fear was justified. Many children did not survive their coming into the world, many mothers died alongside them. You said nothing, nodding softly as his fingers dug into your robes. 

The sun made its way across the sky and as it did your pains grew stronger. Cramps painful enough to steal your breath would squeeze at you like a fist for a few minutes before releasing you. The midwife walked with you, she took note of how much time passed between each attack, readying the birthing stool as well as her oils, her sponges and enough water and linens to be able to tend to both you and the baby. 

The sun was kissing the horizon when the water came, spilling all over your feet like a tidal wave and sending Marcus into a cold panic. 

The midwife did her examinations while your body ripped itself in two. With barely contained screams, and sweat dripping down your brow you got into position, doing your best to focus on your breathing while Marcus kept his word, silently wiping at your brow, and letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you could. 

“It must be now, push.” The midwife and one of her girls were in place, moving your robes aside to have access and you did what you had to do. You pushed. 

It was agony. 

It was liquid fire burning its way through your body, this baby wasn’t being born, it was clawing and tearing its way out of you. 

Marcus whispered into your ear, encouragingly, lovingly, patiently guiding you to breathe, to not give up. He reminded you how strong you were, how loved and how soon it would be over. How could it be over soon? It felt as though this pain had been with you at your own birth, all of your life this pain has been here, it had to be. Hours, days? You could not tell how long it had been.

You cried, you begged for it to end, you willed it to be so; shouted and screamed that it hurt too much, that it was too hard and that you could not do it. You told them that the baby would not come, that you could not do this, you were not strong enough. You screamed that this would surely kill you, you would tear in two and die.

“You will not die, you can do this, my love. Bear down, and push.” His gaze was steely, focused and firm and it filled you with courage.

With a sob and a scream you pushed, and pushed. You pushed so much you thought you’d burst and then pushed more still. Until finally, blessedly, the baby came out.

“You have done it! You have done it my love, my beautiful, strong, courageous girl, you have done it!” Tears were in his eyes as he held onto your limp form, but he was not looking at you. 

“Why does the child not cry?” It felt like you’d drunk too much wine, the relief from the pain so great you would faint soon, yet still, silence. There was a lot of movement, a terrifying moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity and despite Marcus all but carrying you and laying you back to rest, no one met your eye. 

“Answer me, Marcus, why does the baby not cry? Give it to me! Is it a boy? Is it a girl?” Tears flowed and fear swelled like bile crawling up your throat until a cry loud enough to hurt your ears sounded and the entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

“She is a beautiful, healthy and whole baby girl.” Swaddled and screaming, the bundle was placed at your breast. Marcus sobbed, openly and loudly into your shoulder, his big hand covering her tiny head while you looked at her in awe. She had so much hair, such strong lungs, such a force that you laughed, still crying. 

“Yes my little love, I know, you fought so hard.” You pressed a kiss to her little brow, doing your best to soothe her. 

She took to nursing your breast quickly, a good sign the midwife said and while she and her girls set everything to rights, you could focus on nothing but her. Her little hands clutched at you, taking a few greedy pulls before falling asleep, milk smeared all over her perfect face. 

“She is utterly perfect, she has your hands.” Marcus lay beside you, his gaze on her as though entranced. 

“She has your hunger.” You smiled, the euphoria eclipsing everything. It was so hard to stay awake though, the birth had taken so much out of you. 

“Give her to me and rest. I will be here with you.” With gentle hands, he took her, managing to put her onto his chest without waking her and before he’d even fully settled, sleep had claimed you. 

-

She had fought, both of them had. 

His girls had battled, fought tooth and nail and had come through victorious, though his love had paid a price. She’d bled, bled enough that it had frightened him, chilled him to the bone and when the midwife pulled him aside he already knew what she would say. There would be no more children, another birth might kill her. 

He mourned the fact that his daughter would have no siblings, no other children to fill this house alongside her but his wife would live. That was all that mattered. 

He watched her as she slept, glowing still, if a little wan, weakened by her labours but beautiful all the same. He could no longer imagine living this life without her, he could not see the joy in anything without her there beside him and now his daughter held the other half of his heart. She was the fruit of their union, she was the parts of them that would live on, the living embodiment of his good fortune and just the sight of her filled his eyes with tears. 

He pressed his lips to her little brow, smiling at the furrow in them when he jostled her, so like her mother it made him cry all the harder. 

This was all that mattered, his entire world was in this bed and he was loath to ever be separated from them again.

He didn’t know which name to call her, they’d never settled on anything. Acacia didn’t seem right, how could he name her after himself when she so resembled her mother already? Aurelia, that was pretty, Diana too. He would wait though, let her have the last say. He basked in the glow of the candles, in the comfort of his wife’s warm weight beside him, in the small weight at his chest and said another silent prayer in thanks.

-

She was so big already, three whole months and her growth never ceased to amaze you. She still looked tiny in her fathers arms, his broadness compared to her small body always made you smile, especially because for her he was less the brutal Roman General, and more of a soft, lump of honey. She ruled him implicitly, her every cry, her every happy sound was the reason he breathed.

“My love, I need to change her, those little robes are covered in milk.” There was no bite in your words, there could be no anger or annoyance in you at his adoration of her.

“Yes, yes you are right, she must be changed.” He smiled, bringing her to you. She was tired, yawning and fussing, fighting off her midday slumber with a fierceness that made you laugh. 

“Yes yes I know Diana, one moment and then your father will rock you.” You cooed at her, making quick work of the change and taking the opportunity to wipe her down with a damp cloth before returning her where she slept the best, her fathers chest.

Once he took her and sat at his favoured chair, she was out, little fist curled under her chin. This was his favourite, and yours. Watching her sleep peacefully, safe and loved within your arms, or his. 

“I never grow tired of studying her, already her little face is changing.”

He pressed his lips to her head, breathing in the clean, baby milk smell of her. 

“She will have your hair, already it curls when I wash it.” You thread your fingers through the fine wisps of it softly, smiling to imagine her older with curls flowing down her back. 

“She has your look, your look exactly. I am still in awe that we have created something so perfect.” His hand took yours and brought it to his lips, you bent to press yours to his forehead. 

“As am I, how blessed we are to have her, to have each other.” 

-

When he slipped into bed, you pressed your fingers to your lips, eyes wide to warn him.

“She is finally asleep, we must not wake her.” Your whisper was frantic, and he nodded.

“Yes my lady, I will be silent as the grave.” He pulled you close, whispering in your ear before pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. 

“So long as you can keep your voice down when I love you.” His hands pawed at you but you were so tired, it was hard to reconcile the intense want for him, with the ache of the day settling heavy on your bones. 

“My love, my mind desires this, but my body is so tired.” You pouted at him, mildly upset to deny him.

“Shall I use my mouth? You can lay back and relax, I can take care of you—my lovely girl deserves pleasure, and rest.” He smiled, undeterred and you could not help but smile. 

“And it does not bother you that I will just lay here? Most likely asleep before you have come up for air?” His grey waves were so soft when you raked your fingers through them. 

“It pleases me to please you, you are the mother of my child and the love of my life, I would do anything for you.” He kissed your fingers before spreading your legs wide with the breadth of his shoulders. “Do you wish for me to stop?” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and then the soft patch of hair at your mound, before kissing the lips of your sex. 

“No, I do not wish for you to stop.” You spread your legs a little wider and his smile grew bigger, letting a big glob of his own spit fall onto your sex before chasing it with his tongue.

He is focused, honed in with his gaze and with his tongue on your clit, flat wide licks from where your arousal drips up to the bundle of nerves and it’s like a spike of arousal pierced the very heart of you every time he swiped his tongue over it. Warm, wet and perfect, he swirled around it in time with your heartbeat, fanning the embers burning in your belly for him. 

The fingers that softly scratched at his scalp, now curled into the waves holding him in place as you struggled to keep your mouth shut, but he made it so difficult. The ache building as his brow creased with concentration and his own excitement. His own hand crept down and grasped his cock, stroking at it in time with the delicious circuit of his tongue. That he gained so much pleasure from this only heightened your own, and soon the knot tightened. 

Muscles clenched, all of your body a taut string waiting to snap with every pass, every strong lick. You pinched at a nipple, pulling his eyes up to find yours and he let out a low groan, the vibration of it pushed you over the edge with a silent gasp, and empty rhythmic clenches around nothing. He bestowed a final, filthy kiss to your overstimulated clit before moving quickly to get into position. With the shine of exertion glinting on his golden skin he knelt between your legs, pumping at himself furiously before silently, violently spilling onto your still fluttering sex. Hot, milky splashes of him covering it while he gripped at your thigh hard enough to bruise.

He caught his breath, smearing himself in his own mess between your legs past the point of discomfort. He was so beautiful like this, with the flush of passion lighting up his cheeks and his ears, spreading down his chest. 

He smiled, winking at you before he grabbed the cloth from the basin and cleansing the mess he had made. You wanted to hold and be held by him, but by the time he was done, you were already asleep.

-

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[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,�� he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[very-straight-blog]

It really tires me how some fans try to make Aegon look like an asshole who doesn't give a shit about anything. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of his character as such. Of course he cares, that's literally the essence of his personality. He cares. He and Aemond both feel too much emotion, but if Aemond sublimates into self–improvement, trying to be strong, cold and detached, then Aegon is literally an open wound. I want to talk about this, also using Tom's interviews (yes, I think the actor's opinion is valid in this matter) and the few scenes that we have in the first season.

We know that Aegon didn't want the throne and wasn't ready to rule. The scene with Alicent, who explains to him the prospects for the future of their family, seems very traumatic to me. Imagine what it's like to know from your childhood that the lives of people close to you depend on you, on how strong you'll be. Such a burden can destroy anyone. You can't just ignore it.

Next, we're shown how Aegon drinks on Driftmark. And that's a pretty sad sight - several cups in a row, wincing, as if taking a medicine that will help him to feel better.

Actually, I like the theory that he gets drunk after Aemond says that Helaena is his future queen. Another reminder that he'll have to marry his own sister, for whom he has no feelings. And he drinks because he tries to numb his pain.

The same goes for his obviously unhealthy attitude towards sex - he uses it to numb his loneliness. I believe that Aegon literally didn't have the opportunity to feel what love is in any form. His father disliked him and showed it openly. His mother loved him, but she never knew how to express it the way he needed to. He was married to his sister (the tragedy for both of them) and it was a matter of duty, not feelings. At the time of the first season, Aegon is deeply unhappy and this is obvious. I have every reason to believe that his need for physical intimacy is based on the fact that this is the only form of love he can receive. Considering that Aegon is quite smart, I even think that he himself understands how ugly this form is, but there's nothing he can do. During the act, I guess in some unhealthy way it really saves him from loneliness, longing and the need to be loved, but in the end it makes him even more unhappy.

Then it's impossible not to remember the eighth episode and the famous:

It's still clear that family is important to him. Yes, he feels like a stranger among his relatives, but it hurts him just because he cares. He cries and says "it will never be enough for you or father" because he wants it to be enough. He still loves them and wants them to love him back.

"What Aegon wants more than anything is to be told by his dad ‘I have faith in your capabilities as a young man. I see you bringing prosperity to King’s Landing.’ But he hasn’t said any of those things. His dad has completely ignored him, in fact, throughout his entire youth." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Esquire

Next, we can move on to episode nine and the fact that Aegon ran away. I've seen a lot of opinions that this is an indicator of selfishness and like...what? He was scared. This follows from the script:

He was scared, he'd never leave his family, much less Sunfyre. It was a decision made in a panic when he realized that his father had died and the moment he had feared all his life had come - he needed to accept the crown to protect his family.

During the conversation in the carriage, we see that Aegon was really hurt that his father didn't love him:

He even said "because he didn't like me" when talking about his father's attitude towards him. He didn't use the word "love" because it was obvious to him that his father didn't love him. He used the word "like", unknowingly emphasizing that he couldn't count on even simple sympathy.

He's also well aware that Viserys could have named him the heir, but didn't do so simply because he didn't want to and because of this, he - the eldest son, feels unworthy of the throne, and also completely lost.

When Alicent tells him that Viserys wanted to make him the heir before his death, an emotional dam breaks inside him, it's literally written in the script:

And at this moment, looking at the dagger, he's not even listening to Alicent, he's completely in his thoughts - maybe, at least for a second, his father cared about him. And when he asks his mother if she loves him, we see how much he craves love, how broken he really is, how important his family is to him.

I know this post is insanely long and I haven't even analyzed the various microexpressions in Tom's acting, but I'm really tired of people wanting to make Aegon something pure evil.

"I also see Aegon as being incredibly complex. He's not an out-and-out psychopath. I see a multilayered character that just has endless potential of pits of vulnerability and empathy and things that we don't see. I think it's his vulnerability that breeds the darkness. It's the way he copes, it's his security, it's his safety blanket, it's an addictive coping mechanism for him to shut things out and to be cold." (с) Tom Glynn-Carney for Entertainment Weekly

[evilminji]

You know what? HAVE we tried Yoda's "younglings fix everything" tactic on Skywalker?

New SI-OC Time!

Smol, adorable, has a bug out bag and enough credits stashed for their life on the run! Already learned how to tie the hover prams together in like .001 seconds flat and (SUPER gently) toss the babies into um. Knows where the baby food is. Conveniently, has helped ORGANIZE said baby food. (Some of which was "organized" straight into bug out bags)

The whole works.

But like.....?

Better part of a cure? Is prevention you know? And the Tragedy Of Anikin Skywalker? Is that he WAS a GOOD MAN.

And she's standing there, with her Fully Grown ADULT SOUL, looking at this KID who thinks he's a man... this TEENAGER who's been GROOMED by a Sith Lord, a fully grown adult he TRUSTED in a position of power and authority over him, the FORMER SLAVE, and she just...?

How can she look upon his soul? So brightly burning with light and emotion and a sense of JUSTICE? A young man who CARES so much he can barely function some days. Who's heart's ambition is to Free The Slaves so NO ONE will ever again suffer as he and his mother did? Who looks at his partner like she's the most wonderful person to ever draw breathe?

So bright. So GOOD. Struggling and trying and fighting a battle he doesn't even know he's IN, against a Sith Lord he thinks is his FRIEND?

How can she look upon that young man... and just? Abandon him. Decide he's too much effort to save. To even TRY. That his fate is a forgone conclusion and he is destined to Fall. Such things are a CHOICE. And Anikin Skywalker? Has had precious few of those in his life. Between Duty and his youth, lives on the line and Master's that owned.

This is HIS Soul. HIS future. And Palpatine is trying to chip away at his ability to think clearly. Trying to pressure and rush rush RUSH! So he chooses in fear and desperation, like the bad sell it is. Knowing he'll feel he's "too far gone" to back out. Letting him spiral. Ever tightening that noose.

But? Like... the man DOES want to be a dad. Have a family. The thought HAS to be there.

"I should practice taking care of Force Sensitive younglings..."

You know... in case he in Padme... I mean, he's not SUGGESTING anything! But, I mean? If she WANTED too? And he knows they're young and all... and it would complicate everything... but? But!

They'd be KIDS. His kids. HER kids. THEIR KIDS! A... a family. He can barely imagine it.

A problem though? Is how LOUD he is. He can't help it. No more then one can help their hair or eye color. Reminders to "remember his shields" are a great deal like hearing "your breathing is upsetting people. Kindly stop." Like? What do you want him to DO, exactly? Cease existing?

Yes, he COULD be shielding better. If you met him at WHERE HE IS. Not continued to try and make him conform to a mold he'll forever be too big to fit. He's not an IDIOT. He is AWARE that babies are hypersensitive to the Force, since they are so new and rely off it for basicly everything. He KNOWS he's overwhelming to even ADULTS sometimes.

Obi-Wan can handle him because HIS shields are basicly High Council levels. He could TEACH classes to knights and masters. Everyone else? They feel a bit... projected at. It's RUDE™. Very "getting all up in my personal space and shouting". you know?

Babies can't handle that!

That UPSETS babies! Younglings too, they just don't have the words for it.

Knight Skywalker is just "So Much". It's upsetting and alienating. Force Sensitives are basicly MADE to connect to each other. Are THE most social of their various personality types, races, and various cultures. It's just?? A "ducks trying to raise a swan" scenario.

Anikin has subtly different needs. Is gonna grow to be bigger then them. What works for THEM may very well be wildly unnatural for HIM and that's OKAY. Neither of them is wrong! The PROBLEM here? Is rigidity. Refusal to meet a youngling where they ARE, out of fear of change. Clinging to tradition rather then ADMIT to ignorance... thus? Never treating that ignorance with the healing hands of Knowledge, as is the Jedi WAY.

The Sith have been at work for a long, long time.

But OC does not have to play part in their games. Bow to their rules. To hell with tradition and fear. Paths upon paths that MAY, conceivably, lead to SOMEWHERE. Did you not SAY, Master Yoda? That the Future is always in motion? Attachments may lead to darkness, but they also lead to light. They LEAD to everything. Because they are part of being ALIVE.

OBSESSION and CONTROL are the Darkside. But mere Emotions are the flowing of tides.

She prescribes hugs.

An adorable youngling, herself of course, following Skywalker around the Temple like a duckling and flopping against him every chance she gets. Asking bright eyed youngling questions of her Super Cool Esteemed Knight Elder that he'll have to look up. Or look up WITH her. Sometimes indulgent listen to HER ramble about.

Or? If he's sand blasting the soul of everyone around him? Welp, time to brace for it! Once more into the breach! She is small and squishy. Warm, huggable, and filled with light. Can hum and hug his head. Smell like Baby. Itty bitty lil light and heart beat and body. Not a threat. Cares about him. Fellow Jedi. Safe safe safe.... calm...

Does she feel a bit... rubbed raw? Soul wise, afterwards? Fuck yeah. Ouch, her everything stings. But that's not his fault. AND! He's getting better.

QUICKLY.

Cause there's nothing QUITE like an adorable wittle baby child, whom you BLASTED IN THE SOUL FACE with abrasive anger-sand hard enough to probably scour them to the BONES, wincing but smiling up at you and asking if you feel better now... to make you just a LIL bit "fuck asking Master's, I'm gonna tear the Archives apart until I can solve this on my own" hysterical. Ha ha....

Oh Force he MAIMED A CHILD! (Soul bruised, at BEST. And not intentionally.) (THATS NOT BETTEEEEEER!!! *hysterics in Skywalker*) Padme! Put me down like THE ANIMAL I'VE BECOME! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!! (He says, showing up at a senators apartment, holding a youngling she's never met like a teddybear. The MAN SHE MARRIED, everybody! He's so lucky she loves him. Ffs Ani.)

But like?? Shielding? Leads to SO MUCH better emotional regulation and stability? Plus an immediately increase difficulty scale for Certain Sith Lord's.

Especially! If the technique Anikin has to use? Is OLD AS FUCK. Like... Pre-Rebulic old. Considered a wildly overly complex and exhausting way to Shield for most people who just don't have the midi-chlorians count to NEED it.

A case of "the side effect of THIS medicine can actually address THAT crippling symptom!? Huh." So Anikin? Starts? INTENTIONALLY Projecting. Yeah... wild right? After so long trying NOT too! He starts learning to? PROJECT a "bubble" into the Force around him.

So that he'll only sense himself. So he can FOCUS on projecting and politely not project AT people. Kinda like elevator music where normally there is just nature noises. Very clearly artificially made? But not? "Every thought you have shouted at me" intrusive.

Kinda pleasant actually! Especially here on Coruscant. Where everything is so discordant and murky. Suddenly? There's this walking Air Filter/Lovely Ambiant Noise Machine walking around and???

Anikin has NEVER been so popular?? O:

Padme. Padme! The Crechelings FELL ASLEEP ON ME! Just?? Clambered RIGHT on up, dumped themselves in my lap, and fell asleep! Everyone wants to meditate near me! There were ARGUMENTS! Obi-Wan! OBI-WAN feel asleep on me the other day! Just?? Slumped over against my shoulder and started to CUDDLE!!! (/ T^T)/ hold me Padme! Everything is Beautiful and nothing hurts! I should have done this YEARS ago!

Also! Did you know it's Totally Cool for us to get married? We just have to get JEDI married! Wanna help me lie to the council? (Totally, you even got to ask?) O/ \O *highfive!*

Palpatine would HATE it. Fucking LOATH it. But the thing is? You can plan for actors on the stage, plan approximately for players to come, but? NO ONE can plan for a SI-OC. And even then? Any plan accounting for what children will do? Usually discounts how intelligent truely really are.

The Sith Did Not PLAN for "smart baby knows what you are up too and decides to stop you".

Because WHO WOULD PLAN FOR THAT?

Well....? Maybe don't be SUCH a dick? That the Actual Force Itself decides to fuck with your plans by introducing Chaotic elements? Ever thought of THAT??? Anyway... THAT is how the Big MEAN Sith Lord was unveiled targeting an INNOCENT and TOTALLY not provoking him, itty bitty child! Oh no! Anikin! Save meeeee! The scary bad man wants to HURT ME!

A CHILD! Who you gonna pick? Me, the crying lil girl you basicly adopted with your wife, or the man you THOUGHT was you friend... before he ATTACKED A CHILD! With a RED LIGHTSABER! And lightning! Someone's throwing around mention of SLAVE CHIPS and he's suggestinghe can "save you wife"!!!

Real CONVENIENT. Since Anikin's wife is both completely FINE and under the care of Jedi healers, yet he's been having MYSTERIOUS DREAMS about her DYING HORRIBLY. Dreams that Don't Feel Right. Like they DONT come from his head! So? How do YOU know about those dreams, HUH? SHEEV??

*Chosen One INTENSIFIES*

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 8

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

This is nearly 5k. I have no idea where it came from.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

She shared his blood. Of all the people in the world, Cilla was the one who shared his blood. He had never thought that blood made a family. He had two brothers and he was related by blood to neither.

Cassian didn't know how he was supposed to feel about it. But then...he didn't know how he was supposed to feel about any of this.

He had never attached much significance to the notion of blood ties. After all, his own sense of family was built upon loyalty and trust, not shared ancestry. Yet, the knowledge that he was a father, especially to an illegitimate child...to a bastard...that stirred something within him that he couldn't ignore.

Of all the things he always promised himself he wouldn't do...he had done it. He had fathered a bastard. The one thing, the one thing he had held above all else on the scales of things he wasn't willing to do. He had never wanted to put a child through what he had gone through.

But it had happened now...Well, nearly 20 years ago. And it left him...sinking. How was he supposed to be a father to a girl he only just learned existed?

Cassian felt his breathing hitch as the enormity of it all hit him. He had a daughter, a living, breathing, person who shared his blood flowing through her veins. It was...overwhelming. Overwhelming, but oddly, not entirely unwelcome. There was a part of him that was starting to feel a sort of...pride. Excitement, even? It was buried deep down, but there nonetheless.

"You're brooding. Again," his mate said drily as she entered the room. His head snapped to watch Nesta make her way to where he sat in the window seat, curling up across from him, watching him with shrewdly intelligent grey eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

At her question, he let out a dry, humourless chuckle. "Just doing some...brooding," he replied, his tone filled with a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. He ran a hand through his messy hair. 

He should have known about Cilla's existence. If he had known...then all of this...would have never happened to him. He would have taken care of his daughter damnit. She would have never spent decades locked into an attic...she would have never been treated as abhorrently as she had.

A surge of anger welled up inside him at the thought of his daughter's suffering. If only he had known...he could have done something. He

He could have made a difference

His hands clenched into fists as the anger and frustration coursed through him. "If I had known," he began, his voice a low rumble, "I could have...done something. Protected her."

"But you didn't know," Nesta said, her voice even. He didn't think that she didn't feel anything about it...but she was seeing it all so...so calmly.

"Why aren't you angry?" he demanded.

"If you believe it or not I have been very much aware that you had a life before me. Why should I get angry at a girl who was born before we even met each other?" Nesta said with a snort. "Besides...I think she had...enough things in her life that were horrible, don't you agree?"

Cassian blinked at her response, taken aback by her calm logic. It was so typical of her, to see through the emotional fog to the heart of the matter. He let out a sigh, leaning back against the window frame. "You're right," he admitted reluctantly. "I...I just...wish I had known. I could have been there for her...protected her from all the horrors she's been through."

"You weren't there. Through no fault of your own," Nesta said quietly. "But you are there now. And you have time, Cassian. You can fix this...Just...don't expect her to fall around your neck and be delighted with you immediately. I don't think Cilla even knows what it means to be part of a family."

His heart ached at Nesta's words. She was right, of course. His daughter had spent most of her life isolated and neglected. It was unrealistic to expect her to immediately trust and accept him simply because he was her father.

"I know," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "I know I can't expect her to just...trust me immediately. I just...I don't know how to be a father, Nes."

"Well, Rhysand didn't know it either, and he seems to be an alright job," Nesta said drily. "Don't tell him I said that, by the way."

Cassian couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at her comment. "Your secret's safe with me," he assured her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Despite the situation, it was comforting to know that he could always count on Nesta's dry wit and unflappability.

"But...you're right," he continued after a moment. "If Rhys can do it, so can I...right?"

"Besides, you do have a secret weapon," Nesta agreed. "She's mated to Azriel. She's probably willing to meet you, just because of what you mean to Az. It's not...the perfect position to be in, but it's a start."

"You're mercenary," he told her with a sigh.

Cassian shook his head, a hint of amusement flickering in his expression. "You're right, I can always use that as leverage," he said dryly. "But that's not exactly the ideal start now, is it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"It's a start nonetheless," Nesta said easily. "Why don't you go over to Azriel's house tomorrow...maybe bring some pastries...see if Cilla is willing to see you for lunch."

Cassian let out a wry chuckle. "You make it all sound so simple," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Just pop over, bring some pastries, and have a chat over lunch." He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling agitated."It's not that easy, Nes," he sighed. "We don't even know if she'll want to talk to me. And even if she does...what the hell do I even say? 'Hey, sorry I wasn't there all your life, I also can't remember your mother, but I am willing to try?' I bet she'll take that well."

"Give her a chance," Nesta insisted. "It can't get much worse, can it?"

Cassian let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're right," he conceded. "I guess it can't get much worse. Alright, I'll go over there tomorrow."

And he did. He brought pastries, he made his way to the mountains, where Azriel kept his little cabin...and then he could just stare as he watched his daughter soar through the air. Granted...it wasn't really soaring. It was more of an excited flapping off her wings just a few meters over the ground, with Azriel hovering protectively nearby...but she was definitely airborne, her laughter filling the skies. Cassian had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Cassian found himself rooted in place, mesmerised by the sight of his daughter flying, her wings unfurled in the air. 

When Cilla finally touched down, her laughter fading into a breathless gasp, Cassian took a step forward. Azriel's gaze flicked towards him, a subtle warning in his eyes. Cassian could sense the tension and protectiveness in his brother's stance, and he couldn't really blame him. Cassian was a stranger to her after all. And she was Azriel's mate.

An even more subtle hand movement...telling Cassian to wait as he watched Azriel talk to Cilla, her hands moving, shadows clinging onto them as she waved them around to illustrate a point...and then grasp his brother's neck and pull him down to kiss her.

Really? He didn't need to see that...he really didn't need to see that...even when his daughter obviously was quite happy with it.

The kiss ended. "Cassian is at the ward boundary," Azriel said, his voice quiet but if Cassian tried he could still hear him. "Do you want to see him?"

Cilla glanced nervously in the direction of the wards and Cassian, her wings tucked tightly against her back. Seeing her expression, Azriel rested a hand on her shoulder, leaning down to mutter something in her ear. Cassian strained to hear, but he could only make out a few words..."Your choice"....and...he was pretty sure he heard something about "pastries"...

He looked down to find one of Azriel's shadows investigating the bag, and he watched with some amusement as the curious little shadow darted in and out of the bag.

Cassian couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the sight. Even Azriel’s shadows were curious about the pastries he had brought.

"Just him," Cilla asked, her voice shaky.

"Just him," Azriel promised. "Your choice. Your pace. If you need more time tell me."

Cilla nodded, her hands twisting in front of her. Cassian could almost read her thoughts, the nervous energy she was exerting. Azriel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder again. "Just breathe," he advised. "You get to set the pace. Just you and him. I'll be right here, okay?"

Cilla nodded, her wings twitching slightly. "Okay," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Cassian could see her gathering her courage. Azriel gave her shoulder one more squeeze before stepping back, his presence a reassuring presence even from a distance. 

Cassian watched as Cilla took a deep breath, steeling herself before turning to face him. Her expression was a mix of hesitation and trepidation.  Azriel had let down the wards around the place...or maybe just made them thin enough that Cassian could easily step through.

As he stepped forward, Cilla started, her wings instinctively flared just a bit. Her eyes widened as she took him in fully, and Cassian could almost see the resemblance between them…again. The hair…the shape of her face…her brows…her ears were pointy, much different than the usual rounded Illyrian ones…

And she stood there…silently. 

Everything about his daughter seemed to be silent. Like she was scared to make too much noise. 

Cassian paused a few steps away from her, holding out the pastries in an offering. "I...brought pastries," he said gruffly, his voice sounding almost awkward. He cursed himself mentally...he wasn't usually so bloody awkward...but then again, he wasn't usually meeting his bastard child for the...second time, now was he?

And the first time...she had trembled her way through the whole meeting, staring at him wide-eyed, the shadows dancing around her, clearly agitated, clearly trying to offer her comfort and failing horribly.

Yeah...that first time had been...something. Cilla had been terrified, trembling and wide-eyed, and the shadows had been a nervous, agitated mess around her.

He'd done his best to be gentle, reassuring her as much as he could. And now...he was here again, hoping that this time he would manage not to scare her.

Cassian didn't have much experience in dealing with...easily frightened people. He was used to dealing with hardened soldiers, warriors, and people who could spar, fight, and handle themselves.

Cilla was...different. Everything seemed to scare her, and he felt woefully out of his depth.

Cilla's eyes flicked between him and the pastries he was holding out. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and the shadows around her shifted and fluttered, agitated by her nervousness.

After a moment, she reached out with trembling fingers, gently taking the packaged pastries from him. She looked down at the pastries, then back up at him, unsure what to do next.

Cassian silently observed her, waiting for her to lead the interaction. He had come prepared with pastries and conversation starters, but he knew that pushing her too quickly would only make it worse. So he waited, watching her closely as she held the pastries, her eyes flickering up to meet his and then darting away.

"How about we go inside?" Azriel suggested, for once the voice of reason. Cilla swallowed but nodded.

Cassian was grateful for his intervention. Even at a distance, Azriel probably realised that neither of them was very good at this. And Cilla grasped Azriel’s hand as soon as he was near enough, fitting herself against his side, half hiding against him…clearly pulling comfort from her mate. 

He followed her and Azriel, remaining a few steps behind, his eyes taking in the surroundings, silently making note of the little things that spoke of Azriel's presence in the house…a warm and cosy little cabin.

Cilla seated herself at the table nervously as Azriel lit the fireplace. The faint glow of the fire cast dancing shadows across the room, and the crackling of firewood provided a soothing background noise. Cassian sat down across from her, the pastries now resting on the table between them.

They sat there in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire

Cilla's eyes darted down to the pastries, her fingers tracing the paper wrapping of the sweets. She seemed lost in thought, her expression a mixture of fear and curiosity."The pastries are blueberry," he offered softly, hoping to break the silence.

His words seemed to do the trick, as Cilla's gaze flicked up to him, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before darting away again. "I like blueberry" she murmured, almost to herself.

Cassian couldn't help but feel a pang of relief at her response. It was a small, but hopeful sign that perhaps he wouldn't mess this up completely. "One of my favourites, too," he said, hoping to keep the conversation going.

He'd planned several conversation topics, but they all felt wrong now. Like they would be too forced or too direct.

"How...How did the flying lesson go?" he asked, hoping that that would be...something safe to ask her. A small smile twitched on her face.

When he asked about her flying lesson, a small smile played at the corner of her lips. "It went good," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her wings shifted at her back, as if itching to take flight.

"I...I've never felt so...free before" she added after a moment.

"That's good," he agreed quietly. "And...everything else?" he asked...delicately, resulting in Azriel snorting as he finished tending to the fire.

"Cassian wants to know if I am treating you well," he told Cilla, her smile widening. 

"He's a good mate," Cilla answered, sticking her chin out like she was daring Cassian to disagree.

Cassian chuckled at Azriel's description and Cilla's fierce defence of him. "I'm glad to hear it," he managed to say, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He couldn't deny it, he was relieved to know that Cilla seemed happy, well cared for, and clearly in love with Azriel. He just hoped...she wouldn't hate him for all the time they'd missed together.

Her fingers started picking at the paper of the pastries, shredding the thin wrapping as if she was trying to give her fidgeting something to do.

Cassian cursed silently, noticing her defensive reaction. He had hoped that he wouldn't scare her off, but he could clearly see the tension in her body, the way her wings trembled just a bit as she retreated into herself.

He didn't want her to feel like he was trying to force anything on her or make up for lost time in one conversation. But he was starting to realise just how hard this would be.

"I..." he began, but the words died in his throat. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he wasn't trying to pressure her, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he just sat there, silent and unsure, watching as she continued to pick at the wrapping of the pastries.

The silence stretched on, becoming almost unbearable. He cursed internally, realising that he was completely out of his depths. This was not something he knew how to handle.

"Cilla," he began, trying a different approach. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, hoping to make himself appear less intimidating. "I just...I want you to know that I'm not trying to force anything on you."

He paused, waiting for any reaction from her, but her gaze remained fixed on the pastries, her fingers picking at the shredded paper.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I know I wasn't there for you...all those years. And...and I can't change that. And I don't expect you to forgive me for it, either."

He waited for a response, a sign that she was even listening to him. But her wings remained tightly folded around her, her head still bowed. He could see the tension in her shoulders, and he hated that he was the one causing it.

But he forced himself to continue because he needed to say this. "I just want...I want you to know that...I'm here now."

The words hung in the air like a heavyweight. He watched as Cilla's wings seemed to shiver slightly, her shoulders hunching even more. But he refused to give up, even if the hope of getting through to her was starting to slip away.

"And I don't want anything in return," he went on. "I don't...expect anything from you. I just..." he trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "I just want to get to know my...daughter."

The silence settled again, and the only sounds were the crackling fire and the soft flutter of the shadows. Cassian could see Azriel's eyes watching them both from across the room, probably silently wondering if he should step in. But neither of them had any idea what to do here.

Cilla, on the other hand, was still hunched over the pastries, her wings drawn so tightly around her that she resembled a quaking leaf caught in the wind.

What could he say to a daughter he had never met? To a child, he had missed out on so much of her life?

It was Azriel who suddenly spoke up, his voice breaking the tense silence. "Why don't you try one of the pastries, Cilla?" he suggested gently. His voice was soft, soothing, like a caress. Cilla's head jerked up at the sound of his voice, her wings twitching. "They're blueberry," he continued, shifting a bit closer from his position at the fireplace. “You said you like blueberry, right?” Cilla's eyes flickered towards the pastries and the mention of them being blueberry, her fingers ceasing their picking. She nodded silently, her body still visibly tense. 

"They're probably delicious," Azriel prodded, a hint of a smile in his voice. "You should try one." As if to encourage her, he picked up one of the sweets himself, holding it out to her.

Cilla's eyes flickered between the pastry and Azriel's face, clearly torn. The tension in her body didn't relent, but she slowly extended a trembling hand to take the pastry.

"There you go," Azriel murmured, placing the pastry in her palm. He carefully let go and backed off slightly, giving her space while still keeping a watchful eye.

Cilla held the pastry gingerly, turning it over in her palm, inspecting it as if it was some rare treasure. She didn't seem very hungry, Cassian noted with a pang.

It was then that Cassian realised just how thin she was. He could see the faint outline of her bones under the loose shirt she was wearing, the way her collarbone jutted out under her skin. She looked...delicate. Fragile. As if a strong wind could knock her down.

Cassian's stomach twisted with a mixture of guilt and concern. 

It felt like an eternity before she actually put the pastry in her mouth, taking a tentative and small bite. Cassian couldn't even find it in himself to feel relieved; her swallowing just made him more concerned.

Did she even enjoy it? Or was she just forcing herself to eat?

To his surprise, Cilla took another bite, her eyes fluttering closed as if savouring the taste. A small moan escaped her lips, and he could almost see the tension draining from her body as she relaxed a bit.

"Is it good?" Azriel asked a smile in his voice. Cilla's eyes opened, a flicker of surprise in them as if she had forgotten that Azriel was even there. She swallowed her bite, then nodded quietly.

Cassian couldn't help but feel a pang of...affection, and relief, at seeing this small sign of her enjoying something.

Azriel's smile widened, the shadows around him seeming to react, shifting and dancing as he moved closer to sit beside Cilla. He placed a gentle hand on her back, and she tensed momentarily but relaxed almost immediately.

Cassian could see the way she leaned slightly into Azriel's touch, seeking comfort and reassurance from his presence.

She took another bite of the pastry, her eyes fluttering closed again. Cassian could see how the tension seemed to seep out of her body, replaced slowly by calm.

He stayed silent, not wanting to disrupt the moment between the two, and simply watched as Cilla slowly started to relax, her wings losing their tension as she leaned into Azriel.

Azriel murmured something to her, his voice too low for Cassian to make out the words, a gentle reassurance, his hand gently rubbing her back. Cassian could see the shadows shifting around them, almost acting like a shield, wrapping around them like a protective coat.

He felt a pang of envy at the sight, wishing that he could be the one soothing Cilla, the one offering her comfort.

"Thank you," she whispered quietly. He hadn't expected that.

Cassian cleared his throat. "You're very welcome," he told her. Cilla looked up from the pastry, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment, a flicker of something...appreciation, perhaps, in them before she looked down again.

He wrecked his brain trying to come up with another thing to say, his eyes suddenly caught on the children's book that was laid on the table.

"Did you read that?" he asked her quietly. She nodded, hesitation bleeding out of every pore.

"Azriel's shadows taught me how," she said, her voice shaking.

"They were quicker than I was," Azriel quipped.

Azriel's comment made Cilla's lips twitch into a small, shaky smile. Cassian found himself smiling faintly as well, almost touched at the idea of her learning with the help of Azriel's shadows.

His eyes, however, caught on to something else.

"They...taught you?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

He knew that the shadows that surrounded Azriel were...sentient, to a degree. But they usually kept to themselves and rarely interacted with others. So the fact that they had helped Azriel teach Cilla how to read... It was interesting, and a bit worrying.

"They said I could hear them because I was Azriel's mate," Cilla said and Azriel pulled in a sharp breath, that little tidbit of information was news to him too.

Oh well. She was a shadowsinger herself. There were definitely weirder things that happened. It was harmless. If it brought her some form of comfort...

Who knew what it meant that two shadowsingers had mated...who knew what that meant. one shadowsinger was rare, practically mythical...two? That was unheard of.

Cassian's mind raced with questions and speculations. Two shadowsingers mating... It was unheard of. The Illyrian lore had countless stories about Shadowsingers, but none about mated ones.

And what kind of powers did Cilla have, as the daughter of an Illyrian and a High Fae? What was even possible with that kind of pairing? The one example he had was Rhys...but Rhys was also High Lord...and with that came a whole different level of power.

And there was something else that he worried about... namely that Azriel had been forced into his job because of his innate abilities...and Cilla...she had the same abilities. He didn't think that Rhysand was going to be...quite as violent as his father had been...but it was very clear that Cilla had...abilities that would make her a prize in any court.

At least she had Azriel as her mate, who would gleefully slaughter anybody who thought that they should get to lay a hand on Cilla. He could see the way Azriel's eyes darkened at the mention of Cilla's abilities, the way the shadows around him shifted restlessly, as if ready to strike.

But even with Azriel's protection, there was no question that Cilla would be a...prime target for many. And Cassian hated that thought more than he'd ever imagined.

"Have you...thought about what...you would like to do? As a job?" he asked her, hating the way his voice was sounding. Like that mattered right now.

Cilla's eyes flicked up at Cassian's question, surprised at the topic. Her wings shuffled behind her, twitching as if considering his question.

"I...I used to work in a tannery" she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian could see the uncertainty in her eyes, that fear of the unknown. She had been trapped in a cage for most of her life...she had never had to think about a career.

"Did you like it?" he asked her, and she shrugged.

"It helped me survive," she said blankly. "I...it was work. It paid."

Her words made him wince slightly. She hadn't enjoyed it, that much he could tell. Cassian had to remind himself to keep his anger at bay, that this was not the time to start raging about her past.

He took a slow, measured breath. "I see," he said carefully, waiting to see if she would say more.

"I like books," she said suddenly. "I can't read...well...or fast. But I like them."

Cassian's heart ached at her words. She liked books, but she didn't know how to read...another thing that had been taken from her far too soon. He desperately wanted to reach out, to brush away the strands of hair that had fallen into her face, but he held himself back.

"That's...that's nice," he said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady.

"There is a library in the House of Wind, where Cassian lives," Azriel said quietly. "Hundreds and Thousands of books. The priestesses that work there always need help."

But it was...it would be such a good fit for her. The priestesses were traumatised in a myriad of ways and if anybody could understand what had happened to Cilla that wasn't Azriel...the priestesses probably were the ones to do it. It was...genius actually.

The priestesses at the House of Wind had a deep understanding of trauma and pain, having experienced it themselves. They had helped Nesta, and they could help Cilla, too, in ways that neither he nor Azriel could.

It was a logical solution, and the more he thought about it, the more he was starting to like it.

"We could go to visit if you wanted to," Azriel offered.

Cilla hesitated, her wings fidgeting anxiously behind her. She glanced at Azriel, then at Cassian, as if seeking reassurance.

Cassian tried to school his expression into one of comfort and warmth, though it was hard to keep the anger at her former life out of his eyes.

Finally, she nodded silently, her wings fluttering slightly in what looked like nervousness.

"I would like that."

Cilla's small voice, the words that she had managed to say, made Cassian's heart both lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because she was slowly opening up, communicating, talking, and heavy because he could almost taste the fear in her voice.

It was a start. Something. And he cradled it close to his heart.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Also, I would like to add that Malleus’s blatant disregard for the autonomy of others and fits of rage is DELIBERATE on his end. Being one of the top five mages in the entire world, I am sure that he KNOWS there is a large disparity between his power/social and the rest of the peers/subordinates etc. His sheer and utter confidence in his abilities to get what he wants and general disregard for others isn’t only an indicator of his awareness about this disparity, but is also a reflection of the abuses of his power AND social status as a whole.

In light of his age, imagine the amount of times he has repeated these mistakes despite others advice and criticisms against his choices. Only Ace has been able to overcome others general reverence and fear towards Malleus when it came to calling him out. He is not an innocent person who is ignorant about the ways of humanity verses faes, and is certainly not the innocent character the fandom (especially those who are infatuated by him) think he is.

[Referencing this post!]

***Standard disclaimer: In sharing my thoughts, I do not mean to disparage Malleus fans. Furthermore, me disliking him should not detract from your own enjoyment of the character. If you do not feel comfortable reading about this topic (ie critique of Malleus’s character), then I encourage you to scroll on and to not engage with this post.***

My thoughts below the cut!

I do feel that, to some degree, the disregard for others and inappropriate fits of rage come from blatant ignorance (since Malleus did have a very isolated and sheltered upbringing). However, it's also hard for me to believe that in his 178 years of living that he was NOT told countless times by those around him (mostly Lilia and his grandmother, Maleficia) to wield his power and social status more tactfully than how he has. Did he take none of those lessons to heart??? What about the 2-3 years he spent living among the non-fae at NRC? Nothing from then too?? Regarding self-awareness of his strength and social status, Malleus has made it clear on more than one occasion that he stands above others. Right from his first appearance in the main story (in book 2), it's implied he's well aware of his position--so much so that he deliberately hides his identity from Yuu. He also cannot propose to Eliza in Ghost Marriage because he is the crown prince of a nation. Time and time again, Malleus's status is mentioned and it plays into his importance as the sole heir to Briar Valley. He must also know he is powerful, given that he is one of the top 5 strongest mages in the world and can perform incredible feats (like reassembling a stage and walking through Vil's poisonous miasma in book 5) like they're nothing. His grandmother and Lilia tell him the Draconias are powerful and shouldn’t use their magic to harm, but to help those they rule over. Yet he seems to have surprisingly few qualms when turning these powers against people who are only at a fraction of his power (Rook, his dorm mates, everyone in the Scalding Sands trip group, Ortho, etc.) or have no magic at all (remember when he attacked those civilians in Terror is Trending and the other Diasomnia students had to restrain him?). Malleus may be emotional in these moments, but the fact remains that he's making the deliberate, intentional choice to wield his magic in this way. He has the ability to hold himself back (as we see him refrain from fighting Rook in Malleus's PE Uniform vignette, only because he knows Rook is baiting him), but the vast majority of the time he fails to do this. For someone who is acutely aware of his power, you'd think he would... I don't know, keep a better leash on it? And what about his identity? So Malleus is concerned about Sebek insulting Leona (the prince of another country) but he ISN'T concerned about how his own fits of anger poorly reflect on himself, who is the CROWN PRINCE of a country??? Please make that make sense... Why is Malleus so selective 💀

I'm actually quite shocked at how little Malleus's pride and arrogance is pointed out; it's usually Leona who gets those labels even though Malleus is also just as arrogant, prideful, and confident in his own powers. Most of the time, I feel like I see Malleus being called "innocent". Maybe his negative traits on display get overlooked because TWST tries so hard to present Malleus to us as someone we are supposed to like (especially with how often they use his overpoweredness or loneliness is used as a punchline for jokes). Our interactions with Malleus are also so few and so short, particularly early in the main story, that fans project their own ideas about what he's like onto him and that forms a certain “image” of him that may not be the same as how he actually is. Him being lonely makes it easy for fans to perceive him as desperate for company and even easier for fans insert themselves as his “special” friend or S/O to fill the void.

It's... quite ironic, really? Malleus says in Riddle's Suitor Suit vignettes that he is familiar with the concept of "noblesse oblige", which is the implied duty of the privileged and nobility to act gracefully towards those less privileged. Yet... he is sometimes overstepping "fae playfulness" or "teenage childishness/immaturity" and continuously creating situations which put people around him in danger (all of Endless Halloween Night, not holding back his attacks against the Magicam Monsters, all the times he let his temper get out of control, book 7 OB, etc.) When defending the extremes he took in book 7 by citing his status and his UM, Malleus has this to say, which is very telling of his lucidity: "Monitoring? Meddling? Heh, how silly. It's a king's duty to govern, is it not? I'm watching over you. To ensure no nightmares befall you in the fairy tales you now reside in... To ensure you have happy dreams that last forever!" It's implied that Malleus's grandma has told him since childhood that their line has powerful magic to protect their people's smiles--and here he is, overextending those words to people that aren't even his subjects, and twisting the meaning to justify his own brutal rule.

What I noticed is... Malleus is often so oriented on seeing the situation from his POV that he fails to consider those from any entity aside from himself. In Endless Halloween Night, he feels sorry for the ghosts who showed up late and were left out of the festivities because he can relate to them, so therefore he wants to make sure they are included. In book 7, Malleus fears his loved ones leaving and projects this fear onto everyone else so he feels right in being the one coming in to be their "hero" and grant them happy endings they never asked for. In his own Dorm Uniform vignettes, Malleus frames the circumstances as, "I wouldn't be mad if you did the same thing to me" instead of listening to his peers' complaints. He centers problems around himself (which admittedly is very frustrating to me), and this is how Malleus tries to understand and navigate the world. This gives me the impression that he has a very particular way of thinking and it's perhaps difficult for him to understand others, even with extensive pointers.

I truly believe Malleus is ignorant about humans and fae. That much matches up with what we know of his history. What I do NOT get is why he continues to remain ignorant when 1) he has spent a few years exposed to non-fae and their ways; even if this pales in comparison to the 175ish other years of his life, he should have some new basis for appropriate social interactions with other races, and 2) major adult figures in his life are telling him he should consider others' perspectives and try to learn more about that which he is unfamiliar with. Malleus has so many opportunities to expand his horizons and get to know new people, but he seems to sit around and keep waiting for others take the initiative for him. But he could initiate too, so why doesn't he???? (He has shown he is capable of it, as he approaches Deuce to fix his virtual pet and chatting with Idia about the same pet in the main story; if not by himself, then Lilia can easily assist or invite him into activities such as the Silk City trip.) Even if Malleus fails to socialize in a way that's considered appropriate, at least that's something he can learn from and correct for next time... But why doesn’t he????????? If he did, it would sure help out with his inability to empathize with his peers and could even curb his temper (which would be seen as socially inappropriate). So why exactly does he seem to know so little and make so little effort to try and rectify this???? Why does he keep postulating that his word is above everyone else’s and then get upset when people don’t like him for this very alienating attitude? Aaaaah, it's a sad cycle to witness him devolve into again and again... 😭

P. S. Bless Ace for being the one character who still held it against Malleus for the fucked up “prank” he pulled in Endless Halloween Night (and then convincing everyone the misunderstanding was their faults for “attacking the ghosts first”).

[slaaverin]

Are you sure? Initial thoughts

Ah I've been rereading a post I made before AYS aired about my excitement and hope for the show.

How joyful yet filled with dread I was about what would be on display, what would be uncovered, and people's reaction.

In retrospect, I think AYS gave us everything we hoped for and more.

We saw jikook relaxed and comfortable, enjoying their time together, doing mundane stuff, with quiet and simple moments, or doing fun activities where they felt free and joyful and in the present moment.

My takeway of this show and jikook's relationship is their sense of belonging.

I hoped for a closer look into their dynamic and we really got that.

The way their relationship works is that no matter what they are doing (or not doing), you can see how much pleasure they are taking for simply being in each other's presence. There is a flow and an ease between them that never gets disrupted by anything. They simply adapt to their circumstances and keep being authentic and enjoy the time together.

They showed several times how important these trips were for them.

But in truth it showed it was not (only) about the trips.

What is really obvious is how much they value their relationship, how much care they put in it.

This is not about the trips, this is not about making a show.

This is allowing time to tend and to nurture this relationship they deeply love.

That's what most important.

It matters to them, so much.

Even with Jungkook (we can see it in I am still) crazy schedule. Maybe because of his schedule.

It was needed, it was even indispensable.

Now we have all the information, I cannot see them not making those trips before military. They craved it so much, and they loved it so much, it was for their own mental health and well-being, to keep their internal balance.

When your world turns upside down, when you are faced with the Unknown, your first instinct is to reassure yourself, is to go home, and make yourself a cup of warm tea, and do the things that makes you feel calm and relaxed. As humans we tend to do this, to take cover, to retreat, in the safest place we know, to ease our hearts and to make us think everything will be ok.

That's what Jimin & Jungkook did.

They went home to each other. They took cover into the ease and softness of their relationship, because that's known. Because that's safe. It's where they feel they belong and they can rest.

I understand why.

Such relationship is an oddity in the real world, it's once every blue moon, it doesn't come easily, sometimes people spend their whole life searching for it.

We can see also how much the dynamic is different with other members. Nothing compares to them.

I think jikook are aware of this (because they are smart people) so when you find something so precious, you want to care for it and keep it close to your heart.

It shows in how much tenderness they have for e/o.

Jungkook plays the "baby alpha" yet with Jimin he transforms into the most caring and protective.

Jimin is a selfless guy in general but we see how he truly deeply enjoys seeing Jungkook happy. "All for your happiness".

Damn it makes me tear up just to think about it.

They are SO LOUD. My god.

It is so goddamn beautiful to witness.

At this point I am simply happy for them.

Happy they have each other. Happy they got to show who they are together with no repercussions (because thank god people are still stupid! Blessed be the ignorant)

This show was a rollercoaster of emotions, but now we know, now we see, now we say "Ah yes, that's it. This is what this is about"

Forever grateful to them for trusting us like this with a huge part of themselves.

They really do love us a lot.

(I'm writing this as I should be editing the show, so this post is pure procrastination, let me to back to work 😂)

Thank you for reading 💜

[sethsclearwater]

Hi! Would you be willing to write some fluff for either Sam or poly!SamxreaderxPaul? If you're not, that's totally fine.

sam and paul would literally have the FUNNIEST dynamic ever💀💀

i not gonna regularly write for this pair but this was too funny to pass up😭

...

"such a good girl," paul murmured breathlessly, gently running his hands up and down your thighs as you two came down from your orgasms.

paul had convinced you to sneak off into the bathroom while your other imprinter, sam, and pretty much the rest of the pack were in the living room of your house trying to create a new patrol schedule.

"you okay princess?" paul asked softly as he pulled his softening cock out of your pussy. you nodded as he pulled his sweatpants and boxers back on before grabbing a hand towel to wipe up the mess he made between your legs.

"felt good," you murmured as he got back between your legs. paul let out a breathy laugh as your comment before gently running the towel between your legs to quickly clean up his release.

"you should tell sam that, yea? let him know how good i just made you feel," he teased, both of you letting out soft laughs at his comment. despite sam's ignorance of paul's constant competitions he created in his own head, paul never failed to find something to compete with sam with.

"alright there we go," paul mused as he finished cleaning you up, quickly helping you back into your panties and shorts so the two of you could get back to everyone else, "you okay to go back out there?" he asked softly, cupping your face in his hand so he could scan you for any discomfort, knowing how emotional you could get after sex.

though, when you hummed and your expression seemed to match your tone, paul released you with a small smile, "that's my girl," he mused as he opened the bathroom door, sliding his hand down to your lower back so he could guide you back into the kitchen.

as the two of you stepped back into the living room, it seemed like everyone was taking a short break because sam was up and heading into the kitchen and everyone else was either lounged around the couches or eating something themselves.

"sam," you smiled when you saw him, immediately stepping away from paul and into sam's arms so you could hug him tightly.

sam pulled you into a gentle hug, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as he sucked in a deep breath before releasing you, "did you seriously just-" he started, sliding his hands up to grab your biceps so he could scan you up and down, "did he seriously just fuck you in the bathroom?" he asked incredulously, looking from you and then over to paul who had taken a seat on the couch with embry and quil and was cluelessly talking with them.

you blushed, immediately feeling a bit bad about your decision but sam was quick to shut that down, "you're okay sunshine," he reassured, pulling you back into a tight hug, "he knows he shouldn't be doing that with you," he grumbled as he rested his chin atop your head, slowly rocking you back and forth as he took a few deep breaths.

sam was always very against the idea of either one of them having sex with you when they didn't have time for proper aftercare, always paranoid that you'd end up in a bad headspace or experiencing a sub drop if they weren't careful enough with you. paul, although he was well aware of sam's concerns and agreed with them to a certain extent, always stood by his opinion that quickies in the bathroom weren't going to do anything to you.

"i'm okay," you whispered with a soft giggle, pressing a gentle kiss to sam's chest, "felt really good," you added, peeking up at him when he lifted his chin from your head to look down at you.

"felt good?" he asked teasingly, letting out a soft chuckle when you nodded and stood up on your tip-toes to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"mhm!" you hummed enthusiastically, "promise," you reassured, giggling when he rolled his eyes and pulled you back into his chest for a tight hug.

"you're gonna sit with me for a while then, right?" he asked softly before adding, "don't want you getting all worked up on me," he murmured, still clearly paranoid about the possibility of you experiencing a sub drop after your quickie with paul.

you nodded, refraining from rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness, "promise i'll sit with you," you reassured, smiling when he released his grip on you in favor of sliding one hand to your lower back so he could guide you back over to the living room and you two could sit with everyone while they finished up the new patrol schedule.

[gloriousburden]

(No disrespect intended towards OP whatsoever ‼️)

If you read any of my posts about Loki, let it be this one. I feel this is the best and most coherent I’ve been able to explain why I dislike the series so much.

Found this from a post analyzing Loki’s costuming throughout the MCU and it’s just… really depressing to me. Got me thinking.

(OP is speaking in favor of the series btw)

He had all freedoms taken away from him. Even the most basic such as dressing himself. He couldn’t even express himself stylistically/through his clothing.

‘He is forced to wear the same clothing as his captor.’

They’re aware.

Love and connection can change others, but this is him changing himself in order to receive that “love” and “connection.” (You guys already know how I feel about his “relationships” in the series, but let’s just go with it for now.)

Loki has never been loved or accepted for who he is, and instead of the series uplifting/proudly presenting those traits of his that haven’t been loved by others, they have him abandon those traits instead. You can only be loved or accepted if you change every aspect of who you are. You can only be included if you strip yourself of who you are. That’s the message the series/his characterization in the series sends. It doesn’t send a message of acceptance, and friendship. He couldn’t even be accepted “despite” who he is. How is him changing who he is to feel a sense of belonging acceptance?

(And I don’t even mean traits such as his coldness or harshness. No, I mean everything from his own way of speaking, his intelligence, his ability to stick up for himself, his ambition, his mischievousness, just… all of it. He lost even the non “difficult” traits.)

He wasn’t worthy of being loved as is. He had to conform in every way. From the way he expresses himself, all the way to his mannerisms. Consciously, and subconsciously. He rejected pieces of himself, to become like those around him.

I understand why the writers did this as they are ignorant and the series was never meant to be about Loki or about uplifting him, but to have “fans” accept this… Loki, I’m sorry they couldn’t love you for who you were. I know he’s not real, but it makes me emotional that the characters around him didn’t accept him for who he was, nor do his “fans.”

Ignorant “fan” talk aside, the writers in the first place didn’t understand that one of the reasons we love Loki is because he wasn’t loved for who he is. No one who truly loved him, wanted him to change and conform to other’s ideals. I understand that Loki needed to be dumbed down and stripped of everything that made him himself in order for the series to work, but no one wanted this.

To make the god of mischief, someone who’s chaotic in nature, conform to order… ooh, it is so irritating.

And this is one of the reasons I dislike the motives behind the costuming in the series. It’s not because I hate Tom Hiddleston and don’t respect his choices, or because the costuming is ugly (it is, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about), it’s because I hate what these choices represent. I hate the fact that people feel that they need to change every aspect of who they are in order to be loved, when there is always someone who will love you for who you are. I hate that it’s encouraged, and seen as acceptance when it’s nothing of the sort.

‘The new costuming shows humility’, as if Loki was ever allowed to be anything but humbled in the first place. As if he were allowed to be above anyone in the first place. As if he was able to be celebrated in the first place. Those “bad” traits, were never accepted. They don’t realize that just because Loki was the villain of the Avengers, it doesn’t mean he walked out successfully.

He was humbled just like in every movie he’s been in. Whether that’s him being rejected by Odin, disrespected by The Warrior’s Three + Sif, humbled by Thor ‘Know your place, brother’, tortured by Thanos, defeated by The Avengers, left to rot in a cell in the dungeons of the Palace he grew up in and was raised as Royalty in, denied the ability to say goodbye to his own mother after her death, threatened by people who were once his friends… You know I can go on forever.

I don’t think there’s been a moment where Loki was allowed to feel better than anyone else without immediately being shut down, denied, humbled, dehumanized, or humiliated.

So for that all to happen to him about a thousand times more in a series that was meant to uplift him… it just sucks. ‘Healthy self-worth and self- love’ he was stripped of who he was and constantly belittled, and did not stick up for himself. He just accepted everything that was said about him, and he accepted the disrespect. I don’t see how that is him having healthy self worth. He was treated horribly by those around them and instead of attempting to stick up for himself like in the previous projects he’s been in, he just accepted it. As if he felt he deserved it. He has less self worth/self love than he’s ever had.

He never got uplifted or praised or accepted or anything besides gaining new physical abilities and a new title. He’s been given a position he’s never wanted, because Loki’s always sacrificing himself. He’s always sacrificing himself the better of other characters, and other MCU plot lines. It’s what the MCU does when they get bored, or need to start a new plot.

I don’t want to see Loki be humbled. He already has been in everything he’s been in. He’s already been humiliated and made the laughingstock. I want to see him uplifted. I want to see him proud of who he is. I want to see him accepted.

I want him to realize he can be happy, even if he doesn’t belong or fit in. He can be loved for who he is.

The series did nothing of the sort, and I don’t know how people can be so unaware of that. Or if they are aware of it, I don’t know how they can accept it.

It’s not even the bare minimum “I accept you despite your flaws” no, it’s “I sort of accept you now that you’ve sacrificed yourself for me and changed every aspect of who you are, but I still do not like you as a person and I still won’t give you even the most basic respect.”

I want better for him. Not more humbling that he accepts without any complaints.

Loki I’ll always love you for who you are

[kinniemikey]

Sunsets Duo's overlooked relationship

Analysis for Mikey's and Raphael's relationship.

Let's start this off with something easy, people tend to ignore Mikey's and Raphael's dynamic or brush it off as Mikey disliking Raphael.

Which is just plain wrong, they have reasons for why they act the way they do.

It's a bit easier to tell, why Mikey dislikes Raphael protectiveness solely for the 'Hot Soup: The Game' and or 'Men vs. Sewer' episode but people are way too fixated on that and ignore every other episode to see, where Raphael is coming from.

Just look at Mikey anytime, he's by himself without his brothers, there is definitely a pattern going on.

This fight or flight instinct kicks in, anytime something doesn't go as planned. He freezes on spot and it takes him a very long time to run away as a last result.

(Todd literally had to carry Mikey away from Meatsweats after Meatswats was about to punch them in this tree like monster form and another time Leo had to pull Mikey away from the robo ghost)

This is all linked to Mikey overthinking situations.

Mikey needs to be told, what to do.

This is something he learned from Raphael and Donnie, the training session with Raphael made him a strong fighter no doubt and Donnie's advice is just as helpful for Mikey in certain situations but this is also why Mikey is very reliant on others, specifically Raphael and Donnie.

He never learned how to do his own thing in missions without his brothers. He always just listens and you can see this very strongly in 'Repo Mantis' episode with Donnie.

Like yes he still does impulsive stuff due to his ADD but regarding the mission, he mainly was listening.

This is also an episode in which Mikey pleads for Donnie to not call Raphael and Leo for help.

Everytime he gets to shine by himself through battles, he can do just fine but anytime he overthinks something, he usually tend to mimic his brothers fighting style and of course loses that way.

It's not helping that usually his ideas were never taken into considerations. They were usually brushed off by Raphael and or Donnie as nonsense or something to immediately correct, which amplifies Mikey's anxiety to do something wrong on his own without his brothers being there to tell him what to do.

They may have good intentions but those good intentions are also hindering Mikey's growth.

It's why his first solo mission was an entirely new experience for Mikey. He wanted to do things his own way and proof Raphael that he can be trusted.

It's why he got serious after he got the call from Raphael and managed to fend off Cassandra pretty well.

Now with this in mind, we also got some canon confirmation regarding Raphael.

Raphael possess emotional intelligence.

Which means, Raphael completely understands Mikey's fears but has no clue, it's him being a cause of this.

(Donnie understands Mikey's needs as well but in a different way and luckily isn't protective to the extreme as Raphael)

This is why Raphael gets very protective over Mikey the most. He worries about him way too much and in turn Mikey is starting to get irritated by this.

He even gets passive aggressive, especially in this scene below.

It's also not helping that Mikey is pretty sensitive as a whole and all of his brothers know.

Mikey is the most expressive in the family when it comes to his sad or scared emotions and doesn't shy away from showing this, not even to strangers.

The fact that Mikey always seems to be on Raphael's back is very notable as well, which means Raphael is Mikey's safe space and Raphael is fully aware of this fact.

Those are points as to why Raphael is overprotective to Mikey, he doesn't do this for no reason.

Now the question is, why does Raphael not consider Mikey's ideas in missions and why does Raphael struggle to trust Mikey, if he is emotional intelligent as the creator says?

It's pure stress, Raphael is very stressed in a lot of episodes, he can't always keep track on everyone's emotional side.

He is just a minor that happens to take care of his younger brothers, we also can't forget that he is just 1 year older than Donnie and Leo, the way Raphael reacts, it's pretty realistic honestly.

If everything is quiet and nothing stresses him out, he's right there to comfort Mikey, if needed.

Now to the trust question, I will elaborate.

People usually pick the 'Mrs. Cuddles' card to show that Mikey apparently hates Raphael.

No this is quiet the opposite, sounds weird but the reason why Mikey acted uncharacteristically mean towards Raphael, is purely because he can't grasp the idea that Raphael, a big guy, who is the strongest and most reliable person, would be afraid of an insignificant plush like Mrs Cuddles.

They joked about it because it's funny for them but then Mikey gets irritated that the person who always have answers just doesn't have it and is shows to be scared...of a plush of all things.

I mean in the very same episode, Mikey screams his lungs out because he hopes that Raphael will go safe him, despite being with Leo.

Now you can perhaps see, why Raphael was worried sick for Mikey in the 'Hot Soup: The Game' episode and struggles to trust Mikey to do things on his own.

Both Raphael and Mikey are unintentionally hurting each other, Raphael doesn't mind to take care of Mikey but sometimes it's just too much and he needs a break. Whereas Mikey needs to have a voice in certain missions, figure himself out and not rely heavily on Raphael to do all the lifting.

The latest episodes and season was showing us growth for both Raphael and Mikey that seemingly went unnoticed 'One Man's Junk' is the ultimate episode for that.

Mikey and Donnie already went once to this junkyard at the ‘Repo Mantis’ episode and did fine, it’s why Donnie and Mikey wanted to get to Repo because they knew how this guy ticks. 

But Raphael didn't listen to Mikey and wanted to go with his plan instead, he had no idea that Mikey and Donnie prior went on an adventure with Repo as their opponent.

As before, Mikey was able to tell that this isn't his fault, he almost finished the mission in ease with Donnie just like he almost finished his first solo mission.

Raphael is the one who kind of ruined Mikey's progress, even if his actions were intended to be good.

I think right this moment Raphael realizes this, after Mikey communicated this to him.

In the end, he decides to go with Mikey's plan, it may sound silly but at the same time it sounds like this is going to work, which it did.

This is where the relationship of the two, slowly started to get mended.

How communication can solve issues like this!

Moving on from S1, let’s talk about S2 with another sorta Mikey and Raphael episode with Draxum included in 'Reparin' the Baron'. Now since Mikey's confidence is geared up by a lot after Raphael has shown to trust his plans and by default trust him, he wants to help Draxum in his own terms, which confuses Raphael because he can't for his own sanity understand why. He isn't necessarily listening to Mikey but for good reasons, Draxum was their enemy the entire run time in this series, Raphael jumped to the conclusion that Mikey is putting himself in danger without any plans or idea on what he is doing.

But seeing that all of the Hamato family joined this apartment of Draxum, it's a bit clearer to Raphael that Mikey didn't do this with nothing planned ahead, no. 

Mikey wants everyone to see that Draxum is part of their family and should be treated as such. He wants to convince everyone, including Draxum that he is part of their family.

So Mikey chose Raphael to come join him with Draxum.

This episode as a whole shows us how much Mikey and Raphael have grown to understand each other much better. Mikey is not afraid anymore to pursue Raphael into his plan because he knows Raphael will get worried the most out of everyone and wants to show him that he can take care of things on his own.

Raphael on the other hand didn't downright tell Mikey that this is stupid or dismisses Mikey altogether after being calmed down enough, he softly asks Mikey if this is really a good idea and doubts Mikey's word that it will work out but still he goes along with Mikey's idea.

Everything was fine, until the bounty hunters found them. Mikey is the first one to step up, ready to defend Draxum and Raphael readied himself to help Mikey, if things goes south but instead Draxum ran off and left Mikey to fend himself, meanwhile Raphael got upset at Draxum for leaving Mikey behind.

Mikey still wants to help Draxum but obviously Raphael doesn't want to anymore, not after the stunt Draxum has pulled on Mikey.

This is where he takes the time to listen to Mikey again and Mikey’s reasoning was still the same. 'He made us, he is family'. Raphael's realization was creeping up on him that Mikey let something this awful slide because he sees Draxum as family.

Sometimes I get a feeling that this face Raphael is making, is pure shock and a bit of guilt right here.

He doesn't want to abandon Mikey's feelings, the same way Draxum abandoned Mikey. He reluctantly agrees to help, not for Draxum but for Mikey's sake.

Now this is more of a theory but still possibly part of this analysis.

A lot of fans think that the fall out between Mikey and Raphael started, when they were very young.

I for one thing that either S2 or S3 was going to be this fall out episode between Mikey and Raphael, it would have happened not because Mikey goes on a streak of doing more by himself and not relying as much on Raphael as time goes by.

Knowing Raphael lost his leader role to Leo and the way how Raphael treated Mikey for a long time, makes him question if he really was a good leader to begin with and I think Raphael would ultimately believe that Mikey never needed him in the first place.

Which is just plain wrong because Mikey still needs Raphael, even if he acts more independent.

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART VII

Summary: after failing to propose to Agnese, Tommy is given an ultimatum. But the events of the previous night only complicate things further, and Tommy and Nina are forced to have a conversation they can’t escape. Meanwhile, Pietro has something to ask his sister.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2.

A/N: the wait has been awfully long, and I’m sorry for that! I’m trying to find the way to be more constant with my updates🤍

PREVIOUS PART

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

Dividers credits

One week.

They had given him one more week of time to propose to Agnese, or else the deal would be off.

He would be lying if he said that he didn’t expect it, though. He was playing with fire, and he knew it. When he had decided to go for lunch at Agnese’s house the previous day, he had indirectly made it clear that he’d finally propose. And that was the intention, at first. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Under the expectant eyes of Agnese’s family, Tommy couldn’t find it in himself to pull the ring out of his pocket and ask that fateful question. Why was it so damn difficult?

That wasn’t how things were meant to go. He was supposed to go to Italy, court whatever woman they preferred, and get on with it. He’d stop the war, he’d help the Ferrantes in their own war with Sabini, and everyone would be happy. He would keep his head, and the Ferrantes would keep their place on top of the racing business - alongside with him. He thought he had considered all the obstacles that could possibly get in his way, and yet there was one he would’ve never taken into account. That obstacle had a name and a face. A quite pretty face, too.

He was fucked. He was utterly, inexorably fucked. After last night, he was sure of that. The worst thing was - he had been truthful when he had said that he didn’t regret it. Because he didn’t, not even a bit. It felt like all the choices he had ever made had brought him to that moment, to that kiss, to having her in his arms, to be enveloped by her warmth. And God, did he feel cold when she walked away.

He just wished Polly were there. She would know what to do. She’d yell at him, probably, maybe even slap him. But she’d help him. She was half of him, and understood him so much more than he understood himself. He hadn’t imagined it would be so hard to even function without her being by his side. However, he knew better than to write to her, because he was well aware that the letter would pass through other hands first. Those people trusted him no more than he trusted them.

After lunch, Tommy took advantage of the fact that Nina was washing the dishes on her own to approach her. He had the impression she had been actively ignoring him, averting his gaze and leaving every time he tried to get close to her, avoiding the conversation they couldn’t really escape. Leaning against the counter, he allowed himself a moment to look at her. Her eyebrows were furrowed in that frown that had now become so familiar to him, and that he had grown to find rather cute. A rebellious lock had escaped her braid, falling in front of her face, and he had to restrain himself from giving in to the temptation to reach his hand out and fix it.

“We should talk about what happened,” he eventually murmured, making sure to keep his voice low.

Nina’s posture stiffened, but her face didn’t betray any sort of emotion. “What are you talking about?” She asked, keeping on scrubbing a plate without sparing him a single glance.

He blinked, opening his mouth to say something, but words failed him at her question. Out of all the things she could’ve said, that one he didn’t expect. Collecting himself, he spoke again. “Yesterday night.”

“I don’t recall anything happening yesterday night.”

Her words caused his eyebrows to shot up, and he couldn’t hold back a scoff. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious.”

“Nina, we need to discuss-”

“You want me to discuss something I don’t recall?” She quickly interrupted him, not even giving him the chance to finish his sentence.

The muscles in his jaw clenched, and it took him more than a moment to shake off the annoyance. He couldn’t believe she was seriously doing that. It wasn’t just her words that managed to get under Tommy’s skin, but her completely indifferent attitude, and the way she was treating him as if she was doing him a favour just by giving him her attention. They had gotten so close he had forgotten how aggravating she could be. “You can pretend all you want, sweetheart. It won’t make what happened any less real.”

“Sweetheart.”

“But if that’s what you wanna do, then fine,” he continued, his tone switching to the one he reserved for business. Apparently, that was the game she wanted to play. But he was a good player, too, and he wouldn’t let her see how much her indifference stung. With a swift motion, he took ahold of his pocket watch, clearing his throat. “It’s late,” he changed the subject, with the air of a man whose time had been wasted long enough. “I have a meeting with your father.”

“Then go.”

Finally, Nina looked at him, eyes glaring with a silent threat to leave her alone. There was something else in her gaze, though, something he couldn’t quite read. It was frustrating, not being able to read her. He could usually tell about people, yet she stayed a mystery. It didn’t matter how much time they spent together, there was always something that eluded him, a missing piece that prevented him from getting the whole picture. For a short while, they just stared at each other in silence, and Tommy was hit by the foolish need to feel her close again. It was as if the more Nina pushed him away, the more he felt himself drawn to her. It was overwhelming. So overwhelming that he had to immediately leave the room before he did something that would put the both of them in an awful position. He hated the way Nina’s mere presence was enough to make him lose any sort of power he had over his emotions, melting into dust the control he had worked to hard to achieve. He couldn’t afford to lose that control, not when there was so much at stake.

Fucking hell.

As soon as Tommy left the room, Nina exhaled, letting out the breath she had been holding under his stare. Why was it so hard for her to keep him at a distance? Why did it pain her to treat him as if she didn’t care about him in the slightest? Why did she care about him?

It was messed up. Absurd. She couldn’t get the events of the previous night out of her head. The scent of his aftershave, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes on his tongue, the tender firmness of his rough hands. Just thinking about it made her knees go weak again. No one had ever kissed her like he did, looked at her like he did, made her feel the things he had made her feel. She had never even thought it possible, and now there she was, replaying it in her mind again and again, craving way more than the mere memory.

It had been a mistake, a terrible mistake.

“Nina, can you come here for a second?” Pietro’s voice resounded in the kitchen, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Her cheeks heated as she felt as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. She hid it by staying with her back on him, under the impression that her betrayal was written on her face, and that just by looking at her he’d be able to tell what she had done. She put the last plate in the cabinet before drying her hands with a rug. “What?”

“Sit.”

When she turned around, her brother was sitting at the table, waiting for her to join him. Although he had spoken in his usual authoritative tone, there was something strange in his demeanour, a hint of uneasiness that breached through his facade of unwavering composure. Furrowing her brows, Nina took a seat in front of him, waiting for him to speak. The silence seemed to stretch into an eternity as Pietro clasped his hands on the table, visibly pondering his next words.

“I know about Stefano.”

The blood froze in her veins as her brother uttered those words, her heart thumping in her chest at implication that he might know what Stefano had attempted. She gulped, her throat feeling suddenly dry. “What?”

“Dad told me he wants to marry you.”

Nina had to hold back a sigh of relief at his statement. She had no idea how he would react, if he’d keep her secret or tell their father about it, if he’d help her or blame her. Because even though in her heart she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, she didn’t have the certainty that her family would think the same. Then his words sunk in, and it didn’t take long for her worry to turn into disturbance, her blood boiling at the sensation of having her strings being pulled, again.

“You want to convince me?” She asked with an undertone of accusation in her voice.

“I want to know what you want,” he said carefully, testing the waters. After a brief pause, which served to ascertain that his sister would listen to him and not verbally attack him before he could say another word, he started again, this time more firmly. “Nina, the balance between our families might shift at any given moment. A marriage between the two of you would avert any prospect of war,” he pragmatically explained, causing Nina’s expression to harden. But it didn’t take long for his mask to slip, and his features softened with understanding. “But that means nothing if you don’t want to marry him.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then you won’t have to,” he leaned forward, and Nina could read the glimpse of a promise shining in his gaze. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her brother’s calmness, along with the assurance in his voice, managed to partially quieten the storm going on in her mind. But it still wasn’t enough to make her feel safe. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. He couldn’t really make that promise, after all. And as much as she deluded herself to have a say in what would happen in her future, Nina knew that if things went down she wouldn’t really have a choice. “It’s decided, in dad’s head. He said the choice’s up to me, but we both know that it’s not.”

She despised the undertone of resignation in her voice. She had never voiced that thought, she had never even allowed herself to indulge in it up until that point, but she knew that was just another addition to the pile of problems she’d have to face, sooner of later.

Pietro didn’t seem to intend to let the matter go. He leaned with his arms on the table, his dark eyes stubbornly looking for Nina’s gaze. “Do you trust me?”

That question was enough to make Nina falter. Did she trust him?

She used to, up until before the war. Blindly. They were so close she would’ve trusted him with her life. He was the one who convinced her father to let her finish school, he was the one who took the blame - and the punishment - for her wrongdoings when they were children, he was the one she turned to when she had a problem. Then he left for war, and never came back. But his eyes were telling her that he would be by her side no matter what, that he would always have her back. And she wondered - what if she told him? What if she opened up and and shared with him the burden she had carried on her shoulders for too many years? Maybe he would protect her. Because fragments of the boy she grew up with were still scattered somewhere deep inside him, and that boy would do anything to keep her safe.

“Pietro, I…” she hesitated, shifting in her seat. “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” He frowned.

“I…”

He’ll blame you.

That thought poisoned Nina’s mind, stopping the words from coming out of her mouth. He wouldn’t protect her, he’d blame her. He’d tell their father, and he’d blame her too. Because if Stefano had gotten so obsessed with her, chances were she had done something to accommodate that kind of behaviour.

No one could protect her. No one would protect her. She only had herself.

“What, Nina?” Pietro’s impatient voice brought her back to her senses, and the weight of his stare was suddenly too much to bear. Gathering her emotions back under her control, she shook her head, brushing the matter off with the a gesture of her hand.

“Nevermind. It’s not important.”

Standing outside the door of Tommy’s bedroom, Nina nervously fidgeted with her fingers, debating whether to knock or chicken out and go back to her room. Or maybe she could wait for him in the kitchen. Maybe he’d join her, like every night.

No, he wouldn’t join her. Not after the way she had treated him. She had been childish, and insufferable. But truth was - she didn’t want to have that conversation, because talking about it meant admitting that something had, indeed, happened. That she had betrayed her cousin, her family. Herself. And she felt like a terrible person. However, Tommy was right. Pretending wouldn’t take back what was done, and her problems wouldn’t solve themselves. If she wanted to make things easier for herself, she should start somewhere. So in a fit of determination, she had left her bedroom and crossed the corridor, knowing that she needed to act before the urge to take back control of her life faded. It was safe to say she already regretted it, though. Finally, she mustered up the courage and delicately knocked on the door, her heart racing in her chest. There was some noise, then the door opened, and she was met with Tommy’s surprised expression.

“Can I come in?” She shyly asked, suddenly aware that showing up at his door in the middle of the night was probably a bit too bold, even for her. After recovering from his astonishment, Tommy moved to the side, allowing her to walk inside the room.

She hadn’t entered that room since before his arrival. It was somehow curious, to see how he had made himself at home. It was just like she expected it to be. Tidy, clean, and it smelled like his expensive cologne. For some reason, the belongings placed around it made him seem more human. The shoes paired on the floor next to the closet, the clothes for the next day neatly folded on a chair, the cigarette case placed on the bedside table, next to a flask. She would bet his gun was in the first drawer.

“How did the meeting with my father go?” She stalled, asking the first thing that came to her mind while she thought about how to start the actual conversation.

Tommy apparently wasn’t in the mood for small talk, though, because he completely ignored her question. Instead, his piercing gaze followed her as she took a few steps around the room, a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance on his face. It was clear to Nina that he was thoroughly fed up with her bullshit, and she couldn’t really blame him. As much as she hated to admit he was in the right, she was aware she was treading on thin ice. A heavy silence fell into the room, and Nina felt a faint sense of agitation starting to creep up on her. It wasn’t just the weight of Tommy’s glare on her that made her feel uncomfortable, but the feeling of general awkwardness that felt so unnatural between them now. Then a hint of doubt crossed his features, as if he had been suddenly struck by some realisation.

“Why are you here, Nina?” He squinted his eyes, taking a few steps in her direction. “Information? Is your family sending you?”

Nina felt like the rug had been pulled from under her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out of it as she was too shocked to put a whole sentence together. “What?” She eventually said under her breath.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Tommy went on, walking until he stopped right in front of her. “And I’ve been wondering why your family hasn’t had my head yet for not proposing. Are you hiding something?”

“What would I be hiding?”

“You tell me. Why did you get near me, eh?”

“Fuck you,” she spat out. His accusation felt like a harsh slap to her face. How dared he say something like that after how close she had let him? After she had opened up to him about things she had never even admitted to herself? After she had let him see her?

Tommy regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. The hint of hurt behind the anger on Nina’s face made his stomach clench, and he cursed himself for how cruel he had been. Whatever it was that they had built over the last month couldn’t be some kind of farce, a trap set to act behind his back. It was too real, too sincere. And Nina wasn’t Grace.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment of hesitation. “I didn’t mean it.”

“But you said it.”

Tommy looked away from her, as the pain in her eyes only added to the gnawing guilt eating at him. Guilt. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long while. He had become kind of numb to it, he often pushed it back without second thought, not allowing himself to dwell on things he could’ve done differently and things he shouldn’t have said. In his line work, guilt was a weakness, and a dangerous one. It had become way too easy to say, do and take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, no matter how many people got hurt in the process. Yet there it was, that strange, niggling feeling, stinging him like an annoying splinter.

Shaking off the mixture of anger and hurt, Nina took a few steps back, concluding that it was time to stop dancing around the subject. The sooner they had that conversation, the sooner things would go back to normal. Straightening her back, she took on a facade of fake confidence, hoping it wouldn’t crumble as soon as Tommy’s eyes would be on her again. “What happened…” she started, drawing his attention back on her. “Was a mistake. We’ve…” she paused, carefully choosing what to say next. “…acted impulsively. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more.”

Tommy fixed his gaze on the wall behind her, pondering her words. “Right,” he nodded, returning his eyes to her. “It didn’t mean anything,” he confirmed, but something in his expression was telling her that he was only saying that to see her reaction, silently daring her to agree with him and keep on denying the existence of what was right in front of them.

“So we’re clear.”

“We’re clear,” he repeated.

The silence of things left unsaid echoed in Tommy’s bedroom, but neither of them dared to break it, for they knew that once they took that step, there would be no going back. It had been just a kiss. They had cleared things out. Everything was normal again.

Nina took a look around the room, hoping that focusing on the small details would take her mind off that awful tension. It worked, to some extent, because her attention was soon grabbed by the only item that seemed to be out of place: the peaky cap lying on his bed. With slow, measured steps she made her way towards it, unable to hold back her interest.

“What I’ve said before,” Tommy’s deep voice resounded behind her. “I didn’t mean it. I know I said it, but I didn’t mean it. I need you to know.”

“It’s fine,” she said absentmindedly, observing how the razor blades sewn in it glistened in the dim light. “You know, they say it’s bad luck to put a hat on the bed,” she murmured.

“Do you believe it?” He asked with an undertone of skepticism in his voice, almost certain that Nina wasn’t the superstitious type.

“No,” she turned to face him with a half-grin, confirming his suspicions.

As if naturally drawn to the peculiarity of that choice of weapon, Nina looked back at the cap, but this time she couldn’t restrain herself from reaching her hand out to it. She wavered for a second, but then the curiosity took the best of her, and she grabbed it to take a better look at it. The crown of a King. She couldn’t help but wonder how many faces those razor blades had cut, how many eyes they had blinded, guided by the same hand that had handled her with such gentleness. She couldn’t picture Tommy losing his calm. He had a charm, a magnetism that clashed with his reputation, and he was so composed in the way he carried himself that it felt almost impossible to believe he was as ruthless as everyone said. And a shiver ran down her spine as she realised how little she actually knew him.

But it wasn’t fear. She hadn’t been scared of him the first time she had met him and she wasn’t scared now.

“Why do you keep them if you have guns?” She asked, handing it back to him. Although she didn’t believe that stuff, the thought of putting his hat on the bed didn’t sit well with her.

“We’re called the Peaky Blinders for a reason, sweetheart,” he explained, earning a glare from Nina as he brought back the pet name that had bothered her so much earlier that day. “And it’s a good backup if they take away your weapon.”

With a nod of her head, Nina quietly agreed with him. It did make sense. “I guess you can never be too safe.”

He uncovered the central blade, exposing it to the light. “My sister and my aunt always have one of these smuggled under the sole of their shoe.” Tommy paused for a few seconds, as if thinking about something, then he took ahold of the razor blade and ripped it off the cap. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Keep it.”

His unexpected gesture made Nina falter, but then she carefully grabbed the blade. The sensation of the cold metal between her fingers gave her an odd feeling of security, and she asked herself how something so small could cause so much damage. When she raised her gaze on Tommy, he was already looking at her, his blue irises deep with an emotion she couldn’t really define, but that disarmed her nonetheless. They were so close she could perceive the warmth radiating off his body, and she had no idea how that had happened. She could feel him, solid and secure, and the only thing she could think about was having his hands on her again, his arms enveloping her, his whole body pressed against hers.

Tommy wasn’t immune to that proximity either, and the urge of closing the distance between them was getting bigger and bigger. Her lips, her eyes, her scent, everything was calling him, and it took all the self-restraint he was capable of not to give in to the temptation. Why did she have to look at him like that?

Inhaling sharply, Nina took a step back, leaving a cold, painful emptiness in the spot she had previously filled. “It’s late,” she whispered, rubbing her arms in a soothing manner. “Goodnight.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned around, starting to walk away. Driven by the unreasonable need to have her with him just for a little while more, Tommy moved to reach out to her, but his body froze in place as reason struck him like a blow. It was pointless. They were nothing, they would always be nothing.

So he let her leave.

NEXT PART

Heart, Body and Soul tag list: @zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4 @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse @citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @outlanderuniverse @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

Tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys @lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989 @call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat @red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

[whydoyoucare866]

The Night We Met

PAIRINGS:

Titans! Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce's goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn't know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: I finally figured out a song to base this chapter off, I’m sorry I went so off with their conversation and didn’t really get anywhere with it, I just really want them to bond and I don’t think ahead of writing I just start and see where it takes me, I know this can be really boring but I want this to be a LONG fic and a slow burn and that can’t happen if the whole plot happens in two chapters so bare with me please!

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven't decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Gif credits to Titanstv on Pinterest

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You felt a throbbing pain in your head and started slowly opening your eyes and becoming aware of your surroundings, you were trying to figure out how long you had slept for since according to the sky it was night now and you didn't know if it was the next day now or if you had just slept some hours, now that you think of it, you didn't actually remember falling asleep either, well thats what happens when you cry too much after not sleeping for two days i guess, you decided that you would really love a glass of water right now and started making your way to the kitchen, you hoped no one was awake or at home, after your whole emotional moment with Bruce and Alfred you realized how embarrassing it had been to cry your heart out in front of someone who did not even know you and how much of a big deal you had made things that seriously were not that deep, then you cried more of embarrassment, and then you realized how much of a baby you were being, and realized you were really sleep deprived and really needed some sleep.

You arrived to the kitchen and just as luck would have it, there was no other than Jason Todd, the guy who had to awkwardly witness a girl he didn't know sob her eyes out but while thinking about it you realized that making it a bigger deal than it was would only make it actually embarrassing and would probably ruin any chance of friendship with that guy so you decided that you would let it go and it had never happened.

Jason didn't acknowledge you at all, he was too concentrated on eating what he had cooked for himself earlier and honestly he didn't seem like a very social guy so you just let him be.

You reached for a glass but then decided that maybe you should grab a thermos so you could bring it to your room and not have to make your way over to the kitchen every time you were thirsty, the noise made Jason acknowledge you but he just gave you a nod while he looked at you and you just returned it, you went to fill the water and you could still feel Jason staring at you, the environment was really awkward and Jason looked like he wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted you to leave, well, this was your chance to talk to him, if he didn't want to talk to you back then you would just let him be, no harm in trying to make friends in your own home.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with Bruce?" you asked him

He shook his head and pointed to his ribcage "got stabbed, Bruce wouldn't allow me to go back out there"

"Huh, how'd you get stabbed?" you asked not being bothered by it, you were used to these kind of things

"Harley" he said nonchalantly

"Oh" you said and nodded at him

"Mhm"

"I thought she hadn't been active in a while?" I said, Dick had told me before he left Bruce that Harley hadn't made an appearance in almost a year and it looked like she might want redemption.

"Yeah but Joker was put back in Arkham some months ago, we thought they had broken up but turns out it was just an act and she was just plotting something to try and get him out or get revenge or something like that, and well i may be skilled but Harley is Harley" he said taking bites of his food.

"Yeah I get you, even I am scared of going against Harley"

"You are? haven't you beaten her like a lot of times?"

"Yeah but miss girl is not just crazy and skilled but she's also in LOVE like not cutesy love, but maniac love that's a dangerous combination" you said in an exaggerated way to get your point across.

"I wouldn't call that love" he said while shaking his head before taking another bite of his food which you had no idea what it was.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Obsession I guess, she's like obsessed with him, she would throw herself against chemicals that will probably kill her if he asked for it... oh wait she already did"

"Yeah, poor girl would give her life for someone who just manipulates her and uses her”

"I mean yeah, but I wouldn't call her poor she's still a psycho" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but she's in love, even if you wouldn't call it that i think i would, its not a healthy love but she just loves him in a really obsessive unhealthy way, also if you see it in a way, we are psychos as well" i say before taking a sip of my water.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sipped what must be coffee from a mug and looked at me curiously.

"Well, what kind of people just beats up other people every night?"

"Well yeah, but we only beat criminals and people who deserve it, they actually kill" he said trying to defend his point.

"I mean, yeah they may kill and we don't, but what's worse? dying or being paralyzed and basically tortured for life?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and tilted his head a bit, he was intrigued in the conversation now.

"Well do you honestly think everyone will just be fine after being thrown around and beaten up until the point where you know if you give one more punch they'll die? I mean even professional fighters get brain paralysis or quadriplegic or like vegetative state from a bad blow and they have like precautions in those fights, now imagine in a fight where there's no precautions and the only stop sign is either them going unconscious or them not being able to move or them being a step away from death keep in mind that the criminals that you beat sometimes aren't trained or don't even know how to fight like regular thieves and shit, im obviously not talking about criminals like Ivy or Harley and stuff and a lot of the vigilantes have actually killed at least one person, maybe not intentionally but yeah" I explained to him.

"Huh, I guess if you think about it like that you're right" he nodded and took one last bite out of his plate

"Of course I am, I"m always right" I smiled at him

"Sure you are" he rolled his eyes in a playful way and stood up to wash his dirty dishes.

"I am!" I say pretending to be offended

"Uh huh, whatever you say" he smiled at me, "well, uhm its pretty late and I guess I should try to get some sleep, so see you tomorrow, I guess" he said before starting to head out of the kitchen.

"Sure, goodnight" I said to him.

"Night" He replied before finally leaving the kitchen.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26 @mad-die45 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pariahsparadise

[let-roman-bite-someone]

it's been a while since i made an analysis here but as anyone else in this fandom, i've been speculating on orange. i know that by now, most people are convinced that orange is anger or something related to that.

however, we need to look at the previous patterns in order to figure out who orange might be. “the dark sides” were all facets of c!thomas that he was unwilling to accept or acknowledge. his anxiety, his ability and capacity for deception and probably the most jarring for him, the violent and/or disgusting thoughts that pop into his head without warning.

despite virgil's arc, anxiety was probably the easiest for thomas to accept. virgil didn't even have to introduce himself; thomas already knew he existed and while he was not happy about that, thomas had already accepted by that point that anxiety was a part of him. janus's existence was a harder pill to swallow and remus's was even harder.

so with all this, orange turning out to be anger (or wrath, rage, whatever you want to call it) would be a little underwhelming. while anger is not an emotion that is always encouraged, it's certainly not that hard to accept. especially compared to having repetitive intrusive thoughts about murdering people.

besides, thomas has already acknowledged his own capacity for anger before.

here, he refers to logan and roman having short tempers. they've shown this multiple times in the series too. if logan and roman are prone to anger, then it follows that thomas is also prone to anger and that he is aware of it. and regarding the nonchalant way he addressed it, i doubt he's troubled about his temper at all.

since there were only two short episodes before the introduction of virgil, we don't have enough context as to whether thomas was aware of his anxiety or how accepting he was of it. for janus and remus however, we have several instances of thomas either being in denial or being completely unaware of their existence.

regarding the concept of lying, thomas chose not to lie to people to the best of his ability. regarding intrusive thoughts, while there's no instances of thomas straight-up refusing to feed into them, he was a lot more "clean" before remus came along. he didn't swear as much and when he did, usually censored the swears (probably a conscious decision from thomas & co. but i think it had a canon reason too) and using more technical terms for sexual activities.

anyway, all of this is just a complicated way to get to the point, so i won't bore you any longer. my point is that orange would have to be something bigger, something more terrifying and that thomas would likely be in denial about.

one thing thomas has constantly been shown to fear is losing his friends and loved ones. this has surprisingly been a consistent theme from the early stages of the series.

a lot of the episodes like Making Some Changes, Can Lying Be Good and the SvS duology were centered around thomas's fear of losing his friends. friendship is very important to thomas and different situations in his life often feeds into the fear of being left behind.

now what is a common theme in all the scenes that orange has been hinted at?

the feeling of being ignored or belittled. logan gets mad at roman because roman mocks his attempts at trying to communicate honestly. SvS Redux has thomas feeling irritated and upset that lee and mary lee barely paid attention to him during the wedding. the intrusive thoughts asides video, of course, has both thomas and logan getting angry over being ignored.

so, with all this, i conclude that orange is desperation (n; a state of despair, typically one which results in rash or extreme behaviour). a need for validation, a need for attention and affection. thomas, at this point, is especially disturbed by a lot of things going on in his life. but a recurring theme throughout the show, especially after the introduction of janus and remus, is thomas's fear of driving away his friends. he is overly judgmental of each of his actions, worried that they may lead to him being lonely and left behind.

and again, in WTIT, thomas is also desperate to be noticed by nico. he fears dying alone but at the same time, he struggles to reach out to people. still, he makes the first move by texting nico but the fact that nico doesn't reply makes thomas more and more fearful of ending up alone. he is desperate for love and support, he is desperate for validation; but he needs to focus on himself and fix his own issues, if he wants to maintain a healthy relationship with other people.

like all the other sides, i think that orange is also only trying to help thomas. he's trying to get thomas to come to terms with the fact that nothing is stagnant. most things in life are temporary and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to let go of any worries weighing you down. thomas just needs to face that fact and focus on living in the moment, instead of worrying about what could be. he also needs to have a little trust in himself and know that he's trying his best to be a good person.

and logan is the right person to target for this. because first off, logan himself is suffering from the desperate need for validation, he is visibly struggling to get to thomas. secondly, a sign of deteriorating mental health is when logic becomes clouded due to emotions and this affects a person's basic functioning, such as decision making, problem solving and if gone too far, even everyday activities. the one time logan temporarily left the group, we saw how much of a chaos the others were. i believe orange thinks that this is the only way to make thomas understand how dire the situation is.

so yeah, that's just my take on this whole orange deal. i could be completely wrong but it's still fun analyzing these things.

[mr-nauseam]

A buddy encouraged my delusions so I come to talk about the TBOSAS movie. Specifically about a scene that made me want to crawl up the walls the first time I saw it: Reaper's death

And do you know why I wanted to crawl on the walls? Because at the moment I saw that scene, I was sure that I had read something in the book that was not the same, but at least quite similar. After rereading the story, it hit me: Reaper Ash's death in the movie has something in common with Sejanus Plinth's death in Snow's nightmare

If you haven't read the book, I introduced to you some vital information. First you must know Reaper's death in the movie does not occur in the same way as in the book (in short he was one of Lucy Gray's victims poisoning the water and not Drill) and second Coriolanus Snow has a nightmare after sending the tape with Sejanus's confession in the book

(Credits to @sejanusarchive for the capture)

While it is possible that the death of Reaper that we see in the movie is reminiscent of the deaths of other tributes who lost their lives during this incident in the book, I find a few details between this scene and the one about Dream Sejanus dying that make them quite similar

The position and acts that provoke the arrival of snakes are some of them. First Sejanus is kneeling in front of Marcus's corpse, scattering breadcrumbs. It is a recreation of the first great act of defiance that Sejanus commits against the Capitol: honoring a dead boy, trying to remind the audience that who has died was a human being

A child no less

The chair incident and the long debates that Sejanus held before were provocative acts but could still be excused and explained under something beyond pure and simple rebellion, however his entrance into the arena cannot be classified as anything other than a direct challenge to the Capitol. It is also a self-destructive act, something of which Sejanus is aware

The aid to the rebels and the plan to flee north that Coriolanus ratted out to Dr. Gaul (the punisher, judge of acts that attempt to destroy the foundations of her worldview) is another act of defiance that Sejanus commits and Coriolanus's guilty conscience inevitably leads him to dream of that first great offense that Sejanus committed and this tome the snakes attack him for his actions

In the film this occurs most directly with Reaper, who defied the Capitol by honoring the dead. After Drill breathes her last breath, Reaper clearly goes into an altered emotional state, having lost his district mate, a frail and sickly girl he has tried to care for. He has failed and he could have done many things but he decides that he will give a strong message to the audience that knows is watching them

He plans as Sejanus to restore humanity and dignity to these corpses. He forms them one by one, so that it is clearly seen that they are children who have died and covers them with the flag, to provoke reactions from the indifferent public who have allowed this to happen in the first place

Reaper knows this act will bring about his own destruction. He knows he will be punished for what he did but he does not shy away from his fate, he even demands it and his defiance provokes fury in Gaul who drops a rainbow of death on him and I want to note that Reaper was also kneeling in front of dead bodies, when the snakes attack at him

And something I really find fascinating is what witnessing these deaths does to their witnesses. For as much fury as the spectators felt at the falling flag, they were forced to acknowledge, if only for a brief moment, that they (as Capitol citizens who never protested against the games) had condemned children to death

In the same way that dream forced Snow to recognize that despite his fury at Sejanus lies and secrets. That despite him ignoring his warning, the truth is that when Coriolanus send that jabberjay with the confession. He condemned a child to death

Also something something Sejanus screaming in the end. How he die by his own month from Coriolanus perspective by defend the districts. Something something Reaper dying in SILENCE. How he die by his own actions that speak for him and show his defense of the districts

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: lovers to exes

warning(s): angst

summary: wonwoo realizing that good things dont last unless one takes care of them.

words:750

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask.

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Wonwoo had realized you were the love of his life from the prime age of fifteen. You obviously were not aware of this revelation of his, but you did not need to, he was fine with keeping it secret from you till he was comfortable with sharing it.

He had met you when you were six and though a series of unfortunate events, wherein you shoved his face in dog shit and he pushed you into the lake without knowing you could not swim, you both became best of friends, almost inseparable.

The first crack in your ever so strong friendship came with Wonwoo realizing his feelings for you, he stopped talking to you trying his level best to make sure it goes away. It resulted in you breaking into his house to inquire his sudden disappearance from your life and decreasing his life span in the process.

He had his first serious conversation with you about your relationship then. After spending the whole night talking, you both realized you were equally in love with each other and felt the innate teenage need to get into a relationship.

That was the second crack. Now that he thinks back to that day, he realizes the foolhardy risk you both took. It just resulted in a lost friend and a broken relationship.

That was five years ago, both of you were young and dumb, and did not know how to actually work out a relationship. Now at the age of twenty, both still young and dumb, but wiser than your fifteen-year-old selves stand in the living room of his college dorm teary eyed and exhausted from the conversation you just had.

"Maybe it's time we take a break you know experience the world, because I don't really have the energy to do a long distance anymore Wonwoo, not when it's just me putting the effort." You spoke.

That was the topic of the argument, 'his extreme ignorance to your presence', as you had stated, taking utmost care to point out all the time when he went wrong and how you are the only one putting enough effort.

In return he had used up his energy to point out valid reasons as to why he was not able to be available for you in his schedule. His head is throbbing, and he would very much like to have a glass of water but alas the predicament he is in refrains him from doing so.

"let's break up then, what are we waiting for", he says.

All he gets is a scoff from you as a reply. You turn around while running a hand through your hair, you mumble something that sounds similar to 'prick' and walk out of his dorm slamming the door shut.

Maybe if he would have tried to understand where he went wrong instead of making excuses, maybe if you would have tried to understand his predicament or maybe if you both would have sat down for a discussion, you could have salvaged the broken relationship of yours.

But that was not the case here, you both were too deep in your emotions to even try and feel the others, the years in uni had made you both incapable of accepting the changes you both went through. It has made you both hardheaded souls who refused to accept their own shortcomings and blame the world for everything when they could easily fix the problem with accepting their faults instead of defending them.

You were Wonwoo’s first love, and he knows he was yours, but maybe good things do not last long or maybe to make them last one must put in effort, which you both just refused to do. He knows before anything else you both were friends; he does not know if you will be anymore, but he sure does hope that the friendship stays.

Maybe he is a prick he thinks, but you are no less, he knows both of you are equally at fault here, but he will take the easy route this time too, he will blame you because it takes too much courage to blame one’s own self.

He just hopes when the storm dies down you come back to him maybe not as a lover but as a friend because you are too precious for him to lose, and he hopes you think the same as him. Because at the end of the day, you are best of friends.