#catherine makes her feel safe :(

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter XVI. Warmth.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 2.9k

chapter summary: a garden created from the artist's hands blossoms fully when the greatest love is the one that's shown in small acts of kindness.

warnings: mentions of a character's death

nsfw warnings: oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating

~ Masterlist for the series

~ Epilogue

🪻 Heliotrope - eternal love and devotion.

Hyunjin and you spent the last few weeks practically joined at the hip and wrapped up in each other, making up for all the time you lost during what felt like a never-ending hell of a summer.

You opened up your shop again and he came in with you every day, helping you out or painting while you worked.

You also taught him a few more garden tricks so the two of you would spend lots of time in your sunny garden too, working around your flowers.

Hyunjin understood the delicate art of growing flowers and nurturing them, and you understood the art of bringing a vision to life on an otherwise blank canvas.

It was as if you were once a singular soul who got separated into two parts somewhere in another world, and the broken soul parts wandered around all the realms until they finally reunited inside the vessels that are your bodies here on this Earth.

Hyunjin made sure you feel loved and worshipped every day and you did the same for him.

Everyone on the island was so happy to see that Hyunjin is back, Bennet and Catherine invited the two of you over for dinner, closing the restaurant as the four of you enjoyed the evening, talking, drinking and laughing.

Luna was also exceptionally happy, gifting Hyunjin a drawing of him as a prince and you as a princess, which in turn made both of your faces red and your hearts beat faster in unison.

You've never been this happy or this thankful to have someone like Hyunjin by your side.

With fingers tightly entwined, Hyunjin and you walk towards the little cove that has always been your safe haven, now back to it's original view, nothing but the deep blue sea, the sky bleeding into it; empty but never lonely.

The sound of your laughter echoes on the beach as you sit down on the rocks, your favorite spot.

Hyunjin remembers when he first arrived to the island, and tried to sketch something as simple as the waves only to hear echoes of his mother's venomous words inside his head, causing him to hurt again.

You notice he's quiet, a contemplative look on his face, as he stares off into the vastness of the sea.

You don't say anything at first, only reach out to gently touch his hand, fingertips caressing his soft skin.

Hyunjin looks at you, melancholy written on his face and reflecting in his eyes in the shape of tears that threaten to spill.

He seeks comfort in you, as he leans his cheek on your chest and wraps his arms around you tightly.

"Jinnie?"- you say it gently as your arms wrap around him and you caress his head, carding your fingers through his hair.

"I called her."- he swallows the tears.

"Her?"- you ask.

"Mhm. My mother."- he says quietly.

"Oh. How did it go?"- you ask cautiously.

"Like always."- he sniffles.

"I'm sorry."- you say as you kiss the top of his head and he presses himself closer to you as his hands grip at your shirt.

"It's okay."- he looks up at you, a single tear sliding down his cheek and you catch it with your thumb.

"I'll be okay."- he repeats.

"You will, Jinnie. And I'll be here to help you."- you smile gently at him, the kindness he always associated you with is there, touching him warmly, keeping him safe from all the harm.

"My flower."- he smiles and sits up to kiss you lovingly and you return the kiss with the same sentiment, pouring all your love into him.

"I- I wanna go visit Isaac today."- he says as the two of you part and you keep caressing his face. "I'm ready to say goodbye to him."

"Okay, we can go pick some flowers up from the shop and bring it to him?"- you suggest.

"Okay."- Hyunjin nods and you kiss his forehead before the two of you get up and make your way to the shop.

When you finally start making your way to the graveyard, the walk there is quiet.

Hyunjin is holding the bouquet you made in one hand and in the other, he holds your hand.

Your thumb is constantly moving on his skin in a subtle attempt to soothe him and he squeezes your hand shortly to let you know that he feels your warmth.

"Here we are."- you say as you stand in front of Isaac's gravestone.

Hyunjin stands quietly for a few moments before he kneels down to place the flowers on the grave.

You can see that he's struggling not to cry so you kneel down next to him, grabbing his hand gently.

"Goodbye, Isaac."- he says, his voice breaking as tears start sliding down his cheeks and he lets himself cry.

The two of you stay there for a few minutes, just quietly holding onto each other and reminiscing about the man who had helped Hyunjin in more ways than he even knows it.

He wishes he could see Isaac one last time, he wishes that he at least had a few more moments with the warm man who was sort of a father figure to him, someone as kind to him as you are.

When you come back home, Hyunjin finds himself falling into your arms, his face buried in your chest as you comfort his saddened heart.

The little owl he had whittled together with Isaac still stands on your shelf, watching over both of you as you hold onto each other tightly, finding everything you ever needed inside the loving embrace.

"I have something for you."- Hyunjin smiles gently, he had barely unpacked his things a few days ago, both of you too infatuated in each other that you forgot about mundane tasks such as that one.

"Oh? What is it?"- you look at him as you sit on the bed.

Hyunjin opens up a drawer, one he filled with his things and takes out a little lavender box out of the back.

"I got this made for us."- he adds as he makes his way to you.

"What is it?"- you giggle as your heart speeds up.

"Open it, my love."- he says as he gives it to you.

You feel giddy as you slowly open up the box, a gasp leaving your lips when you see two matching necklaces with a heliotrope flower pendant.

"H-Hyunjin."- your eyes water as your heart skips a beat.

"I'm sure you know the meaning."- he smiles, his hand on your cheek, a gentle and sweet touch of his fingertips makes your eyes flutter.

"It's a promise of eternal love."- you whisper.

"Mhm. I promise to love you forever, my muse."- he says as the two of you gravitate towards each other, lips pressing together, soft and passionate against each other.

"Let me help you put it on."- Hyunjin smiles when you part.

"What about this one?"- you grab the black stone one that he gave you before.

"You can layer?"- he pouts cutely, puppy eyes staring at you as his eyebrows shoot up.

"Sure."- you laugh at his cuteness, pinching his cheek shortly before you turn to let him put the necklace on you.

"Help me with mine."- Hyunjin says and you do so, the matching necklaces pretty on both of you, the meaning of them making them even more beautiful to the lovers whose necks they adorn.

"So pretty."- you whisper, tracing his collarbone and the necklace and Hyunjin inhales sharply, even the smallest touches by you make him weak.

You bite on your lip and gently push him down into the pillows and he gives you a cheeky grin.

You swing your leg over him, lowering your middle on his, your core pressed against him, and his hips lift up into you on their own accord, hands on your thighs instantly as he squeezes and caresses the exposed flesh.

"Jinnie."- you keep biting on your lip as you slowly drag your core against him.

"Mm, darling."- Hyunjin's eyes become hazy instantly as the two of you grind into each other.

You lean down to kiss his neck and he throws his head back, squeezing your hips as you attack his skin with licks and bites, leaving purple bruises where you suck on him and he whines, becoming harder under your wet core.

Your hands roam on his stomach and waist as you lift his shirt up and touch him wherever you can reach, making sure to caress every spot of his exposed skin, to worship him and claim him as yours.

Hyunjin grunts in the pure state of bliss as he lets you kiss him and touch him wherever you want, grinding his hard cock up into you.

You slide his shirt off and your lips travel from his neck to his chest and nipples, down to his toned stomach and waist, down to the happy trail disappearing into his boxers.

"Y/n..."- Hyunjin moans as you hover over his bulge.

"Yes lover?"- you give him a little smirk.

"Please touch me."- he whines and you giggle, leaning down to kiss the place where a wet patch formed on his boxers, kissing the tip of his cock as it twitches against your puckered lips.

"You're gonna tease me, aren't you?"- he smirks as he lets you spread his legs, your hands caressing his inner thighs.

"Mhm."- you mumble, your tongue pressing into his clothed tip.

"Ah..."- Hyunjin moans quietly and you lift up a little just to slide his boxers off.

His cock is hard and heavy when it slaps against his stomach and you whimper at the delicious sight.

His hand comes down to grab his cock and you lick your lips when you see his long fingers wrapped around his length like that, teasing himself right in front of your face.

"You wanted to tease me but you seem speechless right now."- he gives you a smirk.

"Can you blame me?"- you smirk back, getting into a more comfortable position.

He chuckles shortly, thumbing his slit as you bring your face closer to him and Hyunjin sucks in his bottom lip, his brows furrowed as he presses his tip on your lips.

"Open up, love."- he says gently and your eyes flutter as you open your mouth and take his tip in, his hands gathering your hair as he holds it in a makeshift ponytail.

You suck on the tip a little, teasing him with your tongue and the way he looks at you in that moment has you squeezing your thighs together.

His eyes are narrowed down on you, plump lips parted and cheeks rosy, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

You feel greedy and slide down, taking more of him in and Hyunjin moans as he grips your hair.

"That's it, take it. Good girl."- he smirks and you whimper around him, sending vibrations through his body and making his cock twitch in your mouth.

The heaviness and warmth of him inside your mouth drives you wild as you start sucking on him and bobbing your head faster.

Hyunjin's lips release pretty moans as you please him, the taste of his pre-cum on your tongue is sweet to you and you grip the base of his cock, working what you can't fit with your hand, as your other hand plays with his sensitive balls.

"Oh my god, y/n! Fuck, just like that!"- Hyunjin curses, losing himself in the pleasure as he arches his hips up into you, making you gag a little.

You don't mind as you slide down further, his tip hitting the back of your throat, your eyes water and you swallow around him making him whine as he buries his fingers in your hair and grips you harshly.

You moan around him and he looks down at you.

"You wanna try taking all of it? I wanna see my cock disappear in your mouth, darling."- he looks at you lustfully, his free hand brushing against your cheek.

"Mm."- you moan around him again as your eyes flutter, your arousal pooling on your panties and you desperately need some kind of friction.

Hyunjin bites on his lip again, red and swollen from sinking his teeth into it repeatedly as he helps you slide down on his length, until your nose is buried in his pubes and you inhale, trying to relax your throat.

"Mm, look at you. You take it so well, baby."- he whines and you're going crazy, rubbing your thighs together as he fucks up into your mouth slowly.

"Shit, feels so good!"- he moans as you meet his thrusts, sucking him off faster.

You keep whimpering and gagging around him, tears now sliding down your cheeks and Hyunjin can see your legs pressed together as you look for relief.

"Is my flower feeling needy?"- he asks with a smirk and you whine.

Finally, he pulls you off his cock gently, his hand still on your hair and the other cups your chin.

You cough a little as you look up at him teary-eyed.

"I won't deny you, love."- he gives you a smile as he beckons you closer to him.

You hover over him and he gently takes your face in his hands, kissing you passionately as he wipes away your tears.

Suddenly, you're flipped over on your tummy as Hyunjin presses your body into the bed and hovers over you, his cock pressed against your ass.

You gasp and grip onto the pillows as he holds your wrists down.

Hyunjin's lips are on the back of your neck and your shoulders as he kisses you and slides his hands on your back and waist down to your ass, grabbing it and massaging the plushy flesh.

"All of this is mine."- he kisses your neck again, hands grabbing at your hips to lift your pelvis up.

He spreads your legs and you whine as you hold onto the pillow.

"All yours, Jinnie."- you say as you feel the tip of his cock caress your folds.

You clench instantly, begging to be filled up as he teases you, pressing his hardness into your clit.

"I'm gonna give you all my love, darling."- you hear the smirk in his voice as he slowly pushes in.

Rarely practicing this position, it makes you feel dirty in a good way as Hyunjin starts snapping his hips into your ass, his hands splayed on your hips, holding on tightly, his cock is buried even deeper inside you than in any other position.

"Ah, ah, Jinnie, ah!"- you moan constantly, your mind becoming a cloud drifting in the wind as you let go completely, giving into Hyunjin as he pistons his hips into you fast and hard.

The sinful sounds of skin slapping skin, the feeling of his cock ravaging you, his balls smacking against your ass have you drooling on your pillow as your legs tremble, your toes curling and pussy clenching around his length.

"Let go, baby."- he knows you're there, his hands on your waist as he pushes you down on his cock harder.

"Mm, Hyunjin!"- you moan out his name as you cream around his cock and Hyunjin's hips stutter.

"Ah, shit!"- he grunts, fucking into you sloppily as he shoots his cum deep inside you, riding his high as he smacks your ass.

"Jinnie!"- you whine before he pulls out of you slowly, and turns you around easily, your legs falling open for him as his cum drips out of you.

He leans down between your legs and starts eating you out instantly, your thighs shake as you moan loudly and grip onto his hair.

"Mm."- he moans into you, eyes fluttering as he laps at you, swallowing your cum mixed together like it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"You taste like honey."- he kisses your folds and your clit and you let out a chuckle.

The tip of his tongue teases your nub and you whimper.

"Ah, sensitive!"

"I'm sorry, are you okay my flower?"- he lifts up immediately, hand cupping your cheek.

"Yes, yes, more than okay."- you smile as you wrap your arms around him and bring him closer to you.

You kiss him sweetly, the taste of him and you lingers on your tongues as they dance together slowly and sensually, your bodies arching into each other, seeking the warmth they provide.

"You wanna redecorate the house?"- you ask when the two of you part and Hyunjin bursts into laughter.

"That's what you were thinking about while I was inside you?"- he asks with a grin.

"No, I couldn't think then but my thoughts came back now."- you say and he giggles.

"Alright, let's redecorate."- he gives you a sweet smile, leaning down to kiss your cheeks.

And a few weeks later, after lots of hard work, you had managed to re-paint your kitchen, of course again in the warm signature pastel yellow you loved so much, but the living room was now a shade of lavander, just like the heliotrope flower that symbolizes the depth of your love.

Paintings that both of you made adorned your walls now, except one wall that you left blank, to fill it up with a work of art you'd create together.

You weren't alone anymore, and neither was Hyunjin, destiny had brought you together, and the two of you sat at each side of the blank wall, painting together for days to make a beautiful mosaic of blooming flowers, a luscious garden that represents your love blossoming as you got closer and closer to the middle of the wall, where you had met with your paintbrushes and matching smiles, sealing your fate with a kiss and a flower you created together.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun @eastjonowhere

[yourladyem]

Late Night Ramblings:

A Beetlejuice 2 Press Tour Observation

I noticed in several interviews Michael Keaton didn't really spend a lot of time with Winona Ryder and barely spoke about her compared to how he spoke about Catherine O'Hara at times. I watched him in one interview where he barely acknowledged her when she kept blatantly looking at him trying to make a point about something.

He kind of distanced himself a bit from her outside of the film. I noticed there weren't really any pictures of just them at events and they barely interacted together.

The cute BTS moments between them threw me off compared to how he was acting during the press tour and premiere. He clearly enjoys her and loves working with her. Loves making her laugh, too, and she does have a high opinion of him even after all of this time. She says she's completely comfortable around him, and he makes her feel safe. Probably more so than anyone else the way she talks about him. He calls her Noni, too, and says she's the sweetest. And the way he gently kept touching her in those BTS clips. The ETalk Canada one was definitely an exception. I think it showed more of his actual relationship with her.

Thought it was interesting compared to how he was acting in other interviews.

However, whenever he was asked about the romance between their characters in other interviews, he perked up and was slightly defensive of her only being his. 😅

Interviewer: "You're both fighting to be Winona's husband."

Keaton out of nowhere: "Yeah. Yeah. She likes me more a little bit!"

Immediately shoots his hand up saying he's better husband material for her than Justin as Rory. No debate.

"Ask her, she'll tell you. She said secretly wants to marry me!"

"Secretly we're kind of in love with each other! Secretly she wants to marry me!"

Admits they have incredible chemistry together and that Beetlejuice does anything she asks because he's in love with her. Keaton acted like it was his favorite subject.

Suddenly he was acting like, "She loves me! Only me! Nobody but me! We've wanted this for years and no one is taking this away from us including Tim! Nobody touches her! She's mine!"

The contrast was hilarious. Maybe he just hated some of the interviews. 😆

[sea-owl]

Ok but I wanna talk about Portia in that trailer and the absolute pride in her voice when she's taking to Penelope.

I personally love Portia's character and how she's been a foil to Violet in that she's a loving mother, but she's also a realist about the society they live in. She's a tough love, no nonsense type of mother. She's making sure everyone survives as a top priority, if she has to be mean to get them there than so be it.

She's been at odds with Penelope the last two seasons mainly because of their different views. Portia is a realist, while Penelope still has dreams like most 17-18 year olds. Portia, in her own way, has been trying to bring Penelope back to reality.

An example of this to me is the scene where Portia finds out Penelope has been writing to Colin. The first thing she says "I declare Penelope," in a softer tone and when Penelope declares Colin her friend that tone becomes more strict. She tells Penelope, "Colin Bridgerton is no more your friend than I am the next Catherine the Great." Is it mean? Yup. But looking at it through Portia's eyes there's some truth to it. Their society doesn't allow friendships between single men and women. Colin and Penelope writing to one another without being engaged or even a proper courtship was actually very inappropriate. Portia probably does understand that there really isn't anything inappropriate in those letters and they are actually friends but she also knows no one else would see it that way. If she wanted she would have been well within her rights to go to Anthony about it and raise a fuss. She needs Penelope to see this too.

Now come season 3 in Portia's pov Penelope is finally taking the marriage mart seriously. She's got herself a suitor who is a titled lord, and Portia is proud of her. No more silly little fantasies of love. Meanwhile Penelope is probably weirded out with some other mixed feelings by this because this isn't what she is used to from her mother.

Makes me excited to see where their relationship goes. Because honestly, Penelope probably inherited the most from her mother, but she's in denial about it. It mostly comes out in Lady Whistledown, but that sharp wit and scheming mind is Portia. Penelope will actually fall into Portia's line of thinking when she's backed into a corner. When she saved both Colin and Eloise, she knew they would be hurt, and she's sorry about that, but she also knows they'll be safe. That is Portia's school of thought 101.

I've also been wanting to see how they approach the big heart to heart between the two of them. I want them to get into a screaming match that breaks down into them sincerely talking to one another. Penelope's confidence is supposed to get a boost this season, and we know she's not afraid to subtley barb at her mother. I hope they have Penelope confront Portia at some point, forcing everything out in the open.

[necrotic-nephilim]

this is not a ship post, but something that frustrates me a lot in fanon concerning Jason Todd that attempts to soften Jason's return to Gotham for the sake of found family domesticity or easy hurt/comfort or just sliding him into the Batfam sooner, is they all seem to fundamentally misunderstand Jason.

because there seem to be a lot of fandom popular concepts of Jason coming home much sooner and just not having his whole Under The Red Hood arc. which in theory is fine and i can see the want to simplify canon to make room for your lighthearted more fluff-leaning concepts. but in everyone without fail, the way they address the clown-shaped elephant in the room is by having some throwaway line that "oh Jason quietly kills the Joker and moves on".

when the Joker being dead or alive is not the *point*. if by some chance accident, the Joker had died prior to Jason's return, whether by ridiculous freak accident, getting whacked by a fellow villain, hell even someone actually doing so to avenge Jason, it *would not* satiate Jason's anger. because Jason's end goal in UtRH is not to simply kill the Joker: it is to make *Bruce* kill the Joker. Jason's anger is directed to the idea that to Jason, if Bruce truly loved Jason, he would've killed the Joker. that is love, for Jason. compromising your personal values for love and not letting someone go unavenged. when Jason was Robin, almost every angry or misguided thing he did was born of love. he wanted to kill/hurt Two-Face because he believed Dent killed his father. he was so angry at Felipe because an innocent woman was dead due to that man's actions. he wanted to save his mother in a situation he knew he shouldn't be in because he loved her. his anger, his violence, it is driven by love and feelings of righting wrongs. that is how he thinks wrongs *should* be righted. that is how you avenge and *love* someone.

because so long as Jason's return to Gotham doesn't end in Bruce killing the Joker (which, it never will bc Bruce is Bruce), Jason will never forgive Bruce. you cannot wave away the layers of hurt and complicated trauma by killing Joker offscreen. because Jason will still be angry that Bruce didn't avenge him. in his eyes, that means Bruce did not love him enough. he was not truly loved by Bruce the way he loved Bruce. bc Bruce was Jason's whole *world*. prior to being taken in, Dick and Tim, they had support systems. they had loved ones. they knew what stability and healthy family love looked like. Jason *didn't*. and that's not to say that Catherine Todd did not love him with her whole heart and thus he loved her, but it certainly wasn't a stable and safe support system for Jason to grow up in. Bruce was Jason's first real sense of a stable, healthy life. and so of course Jason poured everything into Bruce and loved Bruce so devoutly. Bruce was his world. like he says, if it had been Bruce, Jason would've stopped at nothing.

so his betrayal is rooted in that he was not avenged, not that Joker is alive. so long as the Joker does not die by Bruce's hands, it will never be enough for Jason. (in this era, at least.) notably, this is also why i don't think it would change a thing if Jason knew the whole "oh Bruce wanted to kill the Joker but Superman stopped him" tidbit that fanon has really latched onto as a way to pacify Jason's anger toward Bruce. Jason knowing that wouldn't change a thing, in my opinion. because Jason knows Bruce. and a tenant of Bruce's character is that he grapples with murder *every day*. the whole point is how *easy* it would be for him. he is a human weapon, trained by killers, trained to be deadly. he is the greatest strategist to exist. he knows he could kill someone and get away with it. *no* trace, no proof, nothing. and he knows he *wants* to. wants to kill the Joker, Joe Chill, anyone who's hurt him that viscerally.

but he *doesn't*. that's the point. Bruce wakes up every day with that question on his mind, and every day the answer is the same. Bruce's morality is not a decision he made in an alleyway when his parents died, it's a decision he continues to make every day and he *must* continue to make in order to remain who he is. Jason is quite familiar with the fact that Bruce grapples with this daily. i do not think it surprised nor fazed Jason to know that Bruce did *consider* killing the Joker. that he wanted to. maybe even planned to. but a consideration, a want, a plan, is just a thought. it's nothing substantial, and substance is everything to Jason. at the end of the day, Bruce didn't. he was talked down by *Clark* of all people with an excuse of diplomatic immunity, as if Jason and Bruce don't both know that Bruce could've *easily* found a way to make it look like an accident or some other loophole. because he's Batman. there's always a loophole. he always finds a way when he actually intends to. but he never actually intended to kill the Joker. so he didn't. and Jason would know that there was never an intent. it's an interesting piece of fodder to add to the nuance of Jason and Bruce, but honestly, i think it'd make Jason angrier to have that excuse thrown in his face. as if Bruce hasn't beaten Clark half a dozen times by now. it's a flimsy nonsense excuse that Jason would rip to shreds.

so while yes, i understand the wish for easy lighthearted fanfic that doesn't have to deal with the nuances of canon, i think that Jason's character will always be so deeply robbed and altered if you try to fix his thirst for vengeance with an off-page killing of Joker at Jason's hands. it was never the point. the point was that -in his own eyes- he wasn't loved enough for Bruce to make an acception. he realized that not even his *death* would come before Bruce's Mission. Jason truly believed that Bruce loved him and held him as the most important thing in the world, and now he has proof that Bruce didn't. because the Mission mattered more.

i'm not saying i have a solution to this conundrum if you're attempting to solve it for fanfic/fanon, nor am i even saying it's a bad thing it exists. i just think it becoming overwhelmingly common has led to misunderstandings surrounding Jason's motivations and feelings about this arc and it's an unsatisfying solution that only seeks to pacify Jason's rage and his trauma responses for the sake of found family-ification.

[ghosttotheparty]

eddie knows that steve’s house isn’t a home. that he doesn't really actually feel comfortable there, or safe. it makes eddie sad every time he's over, along with the lack of photos and art and personality that could make it a home. he still stays over fairly often, sleeps in steve's bed, makes coffee and breakfast in the kitchen, lounges on the sofa.

steve’s parents come back without warning one day and find eddie and steve kissing in the kitchen.

nothing scandalous or inappropriate or anything like that. they’re both smiling, leaning over their coffee cups to peck each other's lips, (and eddie thinks the harringtons have the worst timing in all of human existence, because this is the first time they’ve kissed today), but catherine claps her hand over her mouth like they walked in on them fucking on the dining table. steve barely reacts when they walk in. he just sips his coffee slowly.

walter tells him to leave. his voice is quiet and lethally calm, and steve does as he says. eddie follows.

steve moves in with eddie that day, into the apartment the government gave them after the trailer was destroyed. it’s small, only slightly bigger than the trailer was, with two bedrooms. steve stays overnight enough that he practically already lives there, but now eddie makes space in his drawers for steve’s clothes. it doesn’t take long for their clothes to combine.

steve is quiet for a while after moving in. he doesn’t say much, doesn’t really look into eddie’s or wayne’s eyes.

wayne comes close and hugs him when he starts to cry, murmuring that he’s home now, that everything was gonna be okay. steve falls asleep in his arms when he finally stops crying.

steve doesn’t say it, but eddie knows he feels like a burden. one more stomach to feed, one more load of laundry. even with the hush money, times are tough. especially when no one will hire eddie.

so eddie reminds him as often as he can that he’s home. that nothing he and wayne do for him are favours, or just them being nice. that they love him and want him safe and cared for. he wakes him up by pressing kisses across his face, and he watches sports games with him (and asks questions so he can actually follow along), and he remembers how he takes his coffee, and he tells him every chance he can that he loves him. even silently, squeezing his hand under tables in public.

he knows steve doesn’t really believe him. or at least, that it’s hard for steve to believe him. it wouldn’t be easy, not when his own parents never said the words, when they told him without a second thought to leave the house he grew up in. he knows that steve doesn’t quite feel at home in the apartment, that he feels like he doesn’t belong there.

even though eddie and wayne do everything they can to make him feel safe, to make him feel at home. wayne comes home one day with printed photographs that he got after talking to joyce. photos of steve with his friends, with eddie and robin and nancy and jonathan, with the kids. photos jonathan took of them during campaigns, during movie nights and parties at the harrington house. the photos go up on the walls in eddie and steve’s room.

(except one. it’s a photo of eddie and steve on the sofa in the wheeler basement, steve laying on eddie’s chest, looking up into his eyes, playing with the guitar pick on his chest, and eddie is smiling softly at him, his arm around his neck, his fingers in his hair. eddie doesn’t even remember what they were talking about, just that he felt warm and cosy and safe. the photo is on the fridge. it’s wayne’s favourite.)

it takes a while for steve to get comfortable at the apartment.

eddie gets to watch it happen. at first, steve sits stiffly on the sofa unless he’s with eddie. (he likes to lean into him.) but after a while he starts to pull his legs up onto the sofa as he watches games with wayne or movies with eddie, sitting cross-legged or pulling his knees to his chest. for a while he needs eddie’s help remembering where the dishes go in the kitchen, which cups go in which cabinet, which order wayne’s mugs go in on the shelves. but he eventually stops asking.

one day eddie comes home from band practice to find steve doing the dishes. he’s wearing one of wayne’s flannels.

he wears eddie’s clothes often enough. usually his t-shirts and sweaters when they haven’t done the laundry, but he’s never worn anything of wayne’s.

‘hey, baby.’

eddie is stuck in the doorway, the strap of his bag still between his fingers, and steve turns to look over his shoulder at him.

‘eds?’

‘hi,’ eddie says weakly, looking at him. the flannel is rolled up to his elbows, and when steve turns to look at him in concern, eddie sees that the flannel is hanging open to reveal one of eddie’s motörhead shirts.

‘hey,’ steve says, quickly shutting off the water and drying his hands before he comes over, holding eddie’s face as eddie’s eyes fill with tears. ‘did something happen? what’s wrong?’

‘no,’ eddie chokes, blinking tears out of his eyes and dropping his bag to the floor. steve wipes the tears away tenderly, kissing his lips softly. ‘i’m fine, stevie.’

‘why are you crying?’

‘’m just…’ he takes a sharp breath, reaching up to hold steve’s waist, pushing under the flannel and holding him tightly. ‘kinda like… overwhelmed? with how much i love you? and how— how happy i am?’

steve’s face softens.

‘baby,’ he breathes. eddie’s lip quivers. he slides his hands to grip the lapels of the flannel before he reaches to trace the scars around his neck. ‘i love you too.’

eddie pulls him into a hug, holding him tightly as he waits for his tears to stop. steve waits with him, playing with the ends of his curls, running a hand up and down his back. eddie is sniffling when he finally stops crying, and steve holds his face in his hands, wiping his cheeks and kissing him softly, over and over, until eddie is giggling, smelling the dish soap on his hands.

but eddie just starts crying again when steve says casually and easily and lightly, ‘do you know what time wayne is coming home?’

[firenati0n]

hello friends :) i am so sorry i have been...so behind on all things tag games and writing challenges. i have been riding the struggle bus and i am Doing My Best but a lot of things have suffered in the meantime, like writing consistently. thank you so much for continuing to tag me in these, it means a lot that people think of me or read my work. i will always be grateful for my friends and readers and everyone who shows me kindness. anyway, many thanks as always! <3 much love for y'all.

i have been posting random prompt fics and drabbles here and there, while slowly updating people ruin people as inspiration strikes. I also made a fun graphic for proposal au and people ruin people! i hope to get back into the swing of things soon. not rushing it though, because rest is important. but i don't do well with stillness, you know? I'm not used to that. but i hope y'all have enjoyed the random words in recent weeks! i have written some things I'm very proud of and happy with in the prompt collection especially. and people ruin people is truly a stretch of my writing muscles...I'm not used to angst. but it's fun! it's hard, too. but so far people have been very kind about it!

here's a long snip from a flufftober prompt for ingredients and spells, it will be a little sequel / extension of the kiki's delivery service au / warlock!henry and baker!alex i posted a while back!

Henry is eight, and he can’t sleep.  The trees outside are too big, their shadows too scary in his window as the wind makes the branches thump against the glass. He rubs at his eyes before digging his head in his pillow again, hoping sleep claims him. From underneath his door, light filters in from the hallway—his mother is probably in the kitchen, grinding herbs and ingredients for her potions.  If there’s anyone who can help him, it’s her. “Oh, my little love,” she says, when Henry walks into the kitchen, knowing he looks as miserable as he feels. “Are we having trouble sleeping?” He nods. “I have just the thing.” She flits around, grabbing leaves and powders from the cupboard to grind before mixing everything in a pot. The smell of chamomile and honey fills the kitchen, warm and comforting.  She pours the potion into two mugs and hands one to Henry with a soft smile. “This should help, my darling. Here, I’ll drink it with you.” They both sip their drinks in comfortable silence. Henry can already feel the magical effects of the brew in his body, limbs starting to sag, head feeling heavy. His eyelids flutter, and Catherine notices.  “Up we go,” she says, before putting the mugs in the sink and scooping Henry up in her arms. He is warm, and he is safe, and he is sleepy.  After he’s all tucked in, duvet up to his chin, he sneaks an arm out to clutch his mother’s shirt as she moves to get off the bed.  “Please,” he pleads quietly. "Not yet." She settles in next to him, slender fingers carding through his hair as she hums. He drifts off, the smell of tea and honey blanketing him. He never learns what was in the brew. Catherine calls it her secret recipe, just for Henry. 

xoxo roop

+ open tag + tagging back everyone who got me in the past few weeks. it's been a while afjslkdjfklasdf

@seths-rogens @sherryvalli @sophie1973 @orchidscript @cha-melodius

@whimsymanaged @kiwiana-writes @alasse9 @porcelainmortal @wordsofhoneydew

@firstprincehornyramblings @run-for-chamo-miles @miharaikko @blueeyedgrlwrites @onthewaytosomewhere

@cultofsappho @ninzied @sparklepocalypse @clottedcreamfudge @zwiazdziarka

@clockwrkpendrxgon @milowren29 @thesleepyskipper @msmarvelouswinchester @caterpills

@suseagull04 @judasofsuburbia @getmehighonmagic @onward--upward @stellarmeadow

@welcometololaland @indestructibleheart @miss-minnelli @thedramasummer @priincebutt

@incalamity @stratocumulusperlucidus @leaves-of-laurelin @14carrotghoul @anincompletelist

[the-daydreaming-show]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 — 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A brief return to what happened on the day of Jason Todd's death.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬): Bruce Wayne X ScarletWitch!Reader; Clark Kent x ScarletWitch!Reader (platonic); Jason Todd x Batmom!ScarletWitch!Reader.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is a lot of anguish and does not contribute at all to the plot of the main story, but I love how it ends up, and I didn't put it in All For Us for reasons.

So, I hope you enjoy the suffering.

Beta Reader by @igotmessymind (Our savior and goddess, whom we must appreciate so… APPRECIATE HER!!)

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬 / Next Part.

Bruce always prided himself in the fact that you had always said that his mind was very well protected for somebody who was just a human man.

In the first years, when the both of you pretended to hate each other, that was the only thing that gave him some sense of security while being around you.

Of course, if you actually wanted to read his mind and explore his subcontinents that would have stopped you — but something was something, and he used to cling to that thought at that time.

Now it was just a curious fact. 

Dick has learned to protect his mind from magic under your teaching, and he liked to say that he was better at it than Bruce, just to joke around.

In fact, that becomes a part of the training that your husband gives your children. An immovable condition for going out with him to patrol.

Jason has received that training too, but you have confessed to Bruce that your boy had had the same natural protection to his mind before he got to you.

These points are important for two reasons.

One. 

Shortly after his fifteenth birthday, Bruce decided that Jason was beginning to be too neglected and angry for his own safety. That and the hormones make it inevitable that your husband took that decision, with Jason obviously in discord — and, in his rage for the decision, your boy ends up wandering all alone to the city one-day. He found himself in his old house and a box of memories that revealed that, in fact, Catherine Todd was not his biological mother.

It was the natural protection of his mind that allowed Jason to hide from you his guilt. 

He feels bad for lying to you and going after a stranger that just gave him life.

You have taken care of him, and you are his mom. But he needed to know. 

So, without you or Bruce's knowledge, he stole the Robin suit and went to find his mother once and for all.

Two.

When Bruce found the note that Jason had left explaining where he was going. His natural protection makes sure that his emotions will leak out of his head and to you.

He didn't tell you right away how Jason was looking when he left.

Bruce told you that he went behind the Joker on his own.

He should have told you the truth right away. But he knew how much you loved Jason and how heartbreaking it would be for you knew that he was looking for his mother, as if you were not enough.

When he told you the truth was when the Joker in fact was there. But, now you don't care about Jason looking for his mother, you care for his safety.

It was night when Bruce got home. 

Alfred. 

Oh, sweet and kind Alfred. 

He was the one who told you that he had arrived. And you ignore how he looked at you with tears in his eyes and pain when you immediately whispered the name of your son before leaving him alone in the room, almost running to get to the bat-cave. 

Where you thought that you would find your husband and son waiting for you.

But Bruce stopped you. He appeared without his cape or mask, but with the Batman suit still on. 

That was the first signal of something wrong. 

Bruce never went up to the mansion in this Batman gear. Never. Not before you marry and not after. At the start for security, and now to separate his lives.

“Bruce” you greet him smiling and hug him relieved because he was safe, ignoring the silent hassle in your heart “In so glad you two are safe” you wish as you hide your face in his chest. But he didn't return the gesture, he just watched the top of your head, his arms like dead weight at every side of him. You pulled out when you felt how tense he was, and smiled at him understanding, like you can not grasp the idea of him not being able to bring Jason home, and not thinking much of his acting was for the stress of your son running through the world without supervision for several days. “¿Where's Jason?” you asked quietly, calm as you can't be. Your baby was for sure in the cave, making a fit after Bruce scolded him all the way back to the continent. Yes, that was it.

“Love” Bruce started, the tone in his voice was not the one he used with you. Your Bruce was kind and loving while talking with you, but he sounded empty. “I-” he cuts himself when you move with the intention of passing him, and walks to the cave. “You can't go there” he says as he holds you in front of him with firm hands. You look at him, confused. He had never done something like that.

“¿Why?” you ask, “¿What happened?” your mind never went there. 

The thing is, a parent never actually thinks of the worst situation for their children when something actually happens. You spend your whole life worrying about them, but when something happens, it is like your brain is taken by surprise. Or at least that's what happened to you. 

When Bruce told you that you can't go to the cave your mind stopped for a second. A million reasons passed through your mind, but the truth was not one of them. You didn't visualize your baby Jay, dead in a metal table cover by a sheet. And you didn't sit, either.

“I will talk to him, I'm sure his anger is gonna pass soon enough” you said, trying again to pass him on.

“Is not that” Bruce says, his voice as dead as before. This time you tried to take him away from him, which caused him to trade to hold your wrists for you to look at him, but you didn't. You were looking to the hall behind him, the one that while taking you to the secret door to the bat-cave and to Jason. He was physically stronger than you, but you didn't stop, and you will find the mark of his fingerprints in your skin the next day. “He is not mad” he says, his voice breaking out as he saw you fight him.

“Bruce, let me go” you said while fighting still, outraged by his triad of getting away from you boy. “Bruce, stop” your voice crack at the despair.

“Love” he says, as you tried to kick him in desperation, and he took advantage of it. Bruce turns you around facing the other side of the hall, holding your hands over your chest and hugging you in your place. Didn't stop you from trying desperately to get away from him.

He needed to let you go, so you could see Jason. You have to see him. 

“He's gone” Bruce finally whispers to you to hear, with his eyes full of tears, but you didn’t see it, you just keep struggling.

“¿What?. Bruce, what – JASON!!” you couldn't process it. So you call for him. “Bruce, stop. ¡¡Jason!!” you call while mange to take one of your wrists out of his hold and turn around to watch the end of the hall. Empty. No son of yours was there. Jason wasn't listening to you. “Bruce, let me go” you beg, almost trying to climb over him, but Bruce held you again.

“He's gone, the Joker-” Bruce was thankful and heartbroken when you didn't let him finish the explanation. Thankful because he didn't know how to tell this to you. 

¿How will he explain that your son was dead because of him?

¿How does he say that Jason was not coming back because his choice of leaving him and Sheila alone, all open to danger, and that It cost them both their life?. 

And heartbroken, because your mind finally fell into the right conclusion of what was happening.

“STOP IT. LET ME GO, BRUCE” you scream, finally breaking. You start to cry and shake into awful sobs, “JASON” you called him.

Bruce had to hold you until you stopped fighting. You scratched him, begged him, screamed and kicked. But he didn't let you go, and Jason never came up from the cave that night. It Felt like hours, but Alfred told him it had been less than ten minutes before you fell into his arms just crying, all the fight out of your body. The crying didn't stop, though.

You cry for your son all night. Bruce cries with you in silence. All night you rolled in your shared bed, like a wounded animal, crying and calling for your son. Every so often, you sleep and wake up. You would ask for Jason and when he didn't show up he would cry again. You didn't do anything else.

Likewise, you don't know when Bruce left or when Clark showed up. But your friend couldn't help but watch with the same impotence as your husband. 

You understood, later, that it was Alfred who called him, to see if the word of Superman, the only other man who also knew you as Bruce did, could finally convince your husband. 

“Bruce, please” Alfred begged him. The three men stood behind the closed door of the room where you had fallen asleep again after being comforted by Clark, as best he could. Alfred didn't want to be too harsh to Bruce, how waste better that you. “You have to let her see him” the butler repeat himself  “Is the only thing to do” 

Clark looked at both of them in silence. 

He couldn't believe it either. Jason was dead. That boy so full of life and attitude, gone forever, leaving two parents totally inconsolable. He could see that nobody else with Bruce was doing what he was doing at that moment. Something that didn't happen often, but he was thankful for years of having been able to read Bruce so easily that day. When he most needs him. The man he had seen take down opponents stronger, more powerful than him, and even some otherworldly, all with no power of his own other than his stubbornness. Now he was lying against one of the walls of the mansion hall, with red eyes and leaning forward. As if it was difficult for him to breathe. Unable to stand upright under the weight of his child's life, the one he had and the one he would never live now.

He understood. 

So, Clark spoke before Alfred could say more.

“I'll take her.” he said, and it was like everything froze in time for a second “I'll take her, you don't have to do it Bruce. She will not resent you for not doing it, but she will never believe it if she doesn't see him” he made sure to not make any sudden movement to raise his voice too much. Bruce didn't look at him. He stood there in silence for just a minute. Then he nodded his head.

You wake up with the movement. It was Clark. He passed his arms under your knees and around your back, picking you up from the bed. He didn't trust that you would be able to walk all the way to the elevator on your feet. 

“¿Where are we going?” you ask, your voice scratchy from so much shouting and crying.

“To see Jason” he responded gently, as he stood at his full height with you in his arms, you felt like a broken doll. You were a dead weight that wasn't really a weight, but you felt like dead in his arms. Selfishly, Clark thought that he prayed to the universe never to find himself in that situation, and immediately felt bad, so he settled closer to him.

“Really?” you asked, out of breath. Your voice trembled, filled with a mixture of hope and fear. A part of you still didn't believe it, he saw it crystal clear, and he knew he never fully would. There was no going back, he would do this. For you, who was like his sister. And for Bruce, who was his best friend and partner.

“Yes, really” he confirmed. 

You let your head fall over his chest as you two leave the room. Your body felt too heavy and your conscience too light. You didn't notice when they went out into the hallway or got into the elevator. 

The sound it made when it reached the cave floor was what brought you back. Your first instinct was to grab onto Clark, wanting to start asking him back. You have changed your mind. You wanted to stay upstairs, where there was still a chance your son would come back. But you wanted to see your baby and if you came back you would never see him again. You would wait forever for Jason, and you would never leave that place. You knew it.

Not only that, but you couldn't do that to Bruce. Neither to Alfred. Or to your sweet Dick.

Clark takes you up the stairs to the platform at the edge of the cave, where there was a metal table where Bruce used to carry any artifact or mysterious substance, where he usually stayed until he finished identifying or disarming them. He put you down slowly. Resting your legs on the ground first and holding you until you felt strong enough to let go of his shirt. He looked at you, wondering if he wanted him to leave, but you didn't look at him. You could only see that table.

The sheet had no blood. Jason had stopped bleeding hours ago. Behind you, Clark felt the need to throw up or run, whichever came first. The thought of having to see that boy — his nephew, now dead on a table, horrified him, but he kept himself firm behind you. And when he saw that you didn't move, he delicately pushed your sword without lifting his hand until you took the first step on your own towards the body.

People said that the dead seem asleep. But he didn't. When you pulled out the sheet, your son seemed dead. 

Jason Todd was dead. Your son. Gone forever.

“My baby” you whispered, starting to cry, while you touched her cold face and broke by the blows “My baby” you repeated over and over again “My baby. My baby. My baby” you didn't scream, you just clung to his body until Bruce appeared again and pulled you out of him.

You whispered crying, while you touched her cold face. Clark would remember that cry for the rest of his life. Bruce would never recover if he hadn't been the one to take you to see Jason one last time.

And Alfred thus saw the start of a series of events that would end with you breaking yourself, leading everyone to a safe place where Jason had come back from the cave that night. In the end, that was what it took so that they could all end that dark chapter in everyone's life once and for all.

Or at least that's what they thought until Red Hood appeared on the scene, to which Bruce thanked again for that natural protection of the mind that both he and Jason possessed. It was keeping you safe.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @some-lovely-day @simonsbluee @yuki-chan23 @miyakana @myst3batz @otchae @d3m0n8ch1ld @marsenbie @mynameisnotlaura @andieperrie18 @totallynotme420 @igotmessymind @amarawayne @calsjack @kodzukenmaaa @mellowdiy @noah-uhhh-what @blarba-girl @dead-sane-stuff @huhuhhuhh

[dflogerzi]

I must have lost my mind... my comprehension... or priorities.

I am truly reeling. Fully, and by all sides of the arguments over a photo. There has not been so much of a bruhaha since the hordes of humanity were storming stores in search of toilet paper. It truly is blowing my mind.

Okay trying this again after once before as a Reblog to another today. But I have a few things to say and then I am going to leave this lay. I have NO idea if this will be long or short. But I am dang well hoping I feel better afterwards.

So there I was this afternoon, early, the phone rings. And it is my daughter-in-law whom has not called me since the second week of November. I see her name on the caller id, take a deep breath, and... she wants to talk about Catherine. What???? How about home, hearth, family, and the state of relationships? But okay. I went with it.

I am going to start this, what I hope is a mini-vent off with what I think of the photo submitted first. There is NO doubt it was a huge blunder. The week proceeding was already a fire storm demanding proof of life, relationship, and just about everything else you could throw into the mess. This was no time to release anything touched up whatsoever, and even for myself who loves and supports this wonderful person... the lack of wearing at the least her wedding band was just not a good look to send out worldwide. I do not care WHEN she wears or does not her dang rings privately. But now was not the time. I do believe she had good intentions and was just being naive. But she has been around the block for over two decades and firmly involved and in the trenches to what amounts to a modern-day War of the Roses.

Someone did not have her back.

Now to my main points, real concerns, and what are the TRUE problems, according to just little me, sitting in my cheap director's chair and calling out the scenes currently playing on the world stage.

People. This is going to pass. This is just the latest in the drama and the saga since Meghan Markle hit the royal family. The real danger from my view is not the photo or Catherine's intentions. The escalation and apparent hysteria of what could be real danger is truthfully what is my focus. When news agencies are checking the place of origin, metadata, timestamps, editing, and making judgements on integrity and the future of the monarchy based on a simple photo for Mother's Day... we have a HUGE issue. It is now far past time for the Wales family to be better secured, the British government to step in and take care of the obvious dangers that are growing exponentially, and priorities addressed as to the future.

I am FAR more concerned about William and his family at this point being safe, secure in where they are living, and the future of each of them an absolute priority. It is time for all involved with their protection and well-being to deal with what is so obviously happening. And I feel for William who most likely has the world, literally, on his shoulders. But it is for him to take the first stand.

This is not about a photo. This is a shot over the bow on the global stage.

Catherine dearest. Just heal please. Take care of you first. I will continue to keep you close in thought. You have given everything in honor, love, and duty for over 20 years. You take the time you need.

Going to publish this bad attempt at writing I suppose. Hope the madness ends soon. And I do not mean about a simple picture meant as a greeting to Mother's around the world...

[that-birdy-chick]

I don't think I have ever in my life, felt the kind of shear and utter resentment towards a fictional character the way I do towards Doris mcgarrett.

That woman makes me so God damn angry every time she is on screen and every time she walks out on Steve and Mary yet again I want to shake them by the shoulders and tell them to let her be.

Like wdym Steve you're gonna go to Marokko to safe your fucking awful mom?!?! let her rot there! it's not like she cared when you were stuck in Afghanistan or Korea or when woe fat tried to kill you and she didn't even think you deserved to know why?! Don't even get me started on Catherine showing up out of bum fuck nowhere again and dropping all this on him! AND telling him he should go safe her-

I mean, Chathrine, my girl, I know you probably mean well and I'll give you that you probably do have a point here about Steve feeling guilty about it forever if he didn't go-

I really don't think it was in any way her place to try and convince him to go for it tho, not after everything that happened between them and all the lies she told him

It is nice that she came to tell him in person and that she came along to marokko , but their realationship is still way to messed up for me to see any of it as a good thing

[fayesdiary]

reverse unpopular opinion for....aw heck, go ahead with Rhea for this one as well

This might as well be a part 2 to the previous Rhea ask so :D

I find Rhea to be so compelling for several reasons, one of the biggest being the inherent contradiction that she is very much capable of caring, loving and trusting others, sometimes with some insane gestures when you realize their meaning behind them (ie. Saving Jeralt's life by giving him her blood thus risking outing herself because of it, letting Catherine keep Thunderbrand despite the fact it's the one Relic she could safely recover- implicitly trusting her with one of her family's remains without any obligation to do so, risk angering a noble house to give Cyril a better life and treating him like her son in all but name)... And yet she cannot, for the life of her, bring herself to be honest with them.

Something fascinating I noticed about Rhea is that she ironically seems to prefer people who are blunt with her, because look at the people she's closest to - Seteth spends all of Part 1 openly questioning her, Flayn is constantly on the verge of accidentally outing herself, Cyril is so direct and honest he sometimes accidentally comes off as rude (Shamir too even if she's not as close to Rhea) and Catherine wears her heart on her sleeve.

Heck, all of them are either not that religious or outright non-believers, which ironically I believe helps reassure Rhea they love her because of who she is as a person and not because she's the archbishop, especially given how much she implies to find the position incredibly alienating.

And isn't that just so fascinating? That she is more than capable than loving others and caring for them risking her own personal safety, she appreciates people being honest with her.... But cannot, will not be entirely honest with them in turn.

Because make no mistake, that right there is Rhea's true fatal flaw: her compulsive need to keep everything a secret.

From the big but understandable stuff that would get her and her family scrapped for parts if it became public to downright pointless shit to hide like not liking hot drinks, and it's the one trait that screws her over the most, between being the reason Jeralt left (since she didn't tell him ANYTHING about what happened with Byleth so he assumed the worst and fled) and the thing preventing her from making connections as deep as she actually wants (like even just telling her loved ones how much they mean to her), as well as getting the support she actually needs. And because she feels she has to bear everything on her shoulders, she crumbles under the weight because no matter how hard she tries, she will never be good enough.

In that sense the role of archbishop is a sort of mask to her. It's definitely a part of her, but also something she has sort of burrowed into like a safety net preventing her from being true to herself. Because that'd mean making herself vulnerable, in more ways than one. To say nothing about putting her surviving family and remnants of her dead kin to jeopardy.

If she were to open up she'd be... More lively, I think. Definitely sillier if Heroes is any indication, and arguably more willing to take a direct approach in helping people. And definitely more loved and happier.

And perhaps, one day she'd realize she doesn't need to bring her mom back to fix Fódlan. She's not doing it alone anymore, after all.

[doraambrose]

So, I know there's a lot of discourse in the Fandom about whether jason is white or Hispanic or whatever and I wanted to give insight based solely on canonical evidence. This is not to shame anyone's headcannons or anything, I'm just giving my own opinion based on facts I've seen in comics (but I know DC flip flops things all the time)

1. Jason being Mexican or Hispanic

There is no evidence to support jason being Latino or Hispanic in any way. Canonically, he is described as a pale guy with dark hair and blue eyes. His biological mother is a blonde woman with blue eyes named Sheila haywood. His father, though probably not fully white, does not have any canonical evidence of any Latin heritage. The last name "Todd" is northern English and Scottish. "Haywood" comes from minor areas of old England. Jason has been seen a couple of times speaking Spanish or Portuguese. However, he's canonically a polygot from during his time in the league and has been seen speaking Russian just as much.

2. Jason is asian

While there's also no real evidence to support this in canon and his canonical description does discredit this headcannon, it does seem more logical than other headcannons. Willis Todd's appearance has been consistent with more asian like features (I'm not sure that sounds right, but I hope you understand what I mean) . Though, he does also appear with pale blue eyes.

Though, with his last name, it's more likely that his mother was of a different race, but his father was white.

Another reason people use is lady Shiva in his contact book. Here's how I see it. When Jason and Bruce went to look for jasons biological mother, they weren't paying attention to appearance of the woken they sought out, they were going solely based on the s names in his dad's book. Why is lady Shiva in his book, idk.

3. Jason is afrolatino

No. Just no. See reasons above

4. Catherine Todd is Hispanic so jason was raised in a Latin household

Catherine todd does not have any canonical evidence of being Hispanic or Latina in any way. Her description states that she's a blonde/redhead pale lady with green eyes. Her maiden name is Johnson, which is middle English and Scottish. She has never been seen speaking any languages other than white and there have been no allusions to her heritage that suggest Hispanic heritage.

In conclusion, canonically, it's safe to say Jason is probably you're standard white boy. The other possibility is slight percentage of Asian or indigenous heritage from his father's side, but his whole family is mainly white and possibly from England or Scotland.

And I know I said I wasn't going to shame anyone's personal preferences, but why is Jason the one that's so widely considered Latino? And why is he being made a different race to fawn over instead of giving actual Hispanic comic book characters the love they deserve? This is done alot too. Instead of acknowledging comic book POC comic book characters and their own stories, struggles, and badassness, people are turning white characters into poc characters and it doesnt make sense to me. I feel like there's some deep rooted racism there that the only robin from "the ghetto" is the robin who "can't possibly be white". And that point is backed up by the fact that there is no evidence to suggest that jason is Hispanic or Latino in any way, so I have no idea how this headcannon came to be.

[kawaiichibiart]

It's been a while....

More Miraculous Headcanons!! :D

Very specifically the Chaotic Trio (Marinette, Felix and Adrien)

They have either daily or weekly slumber party anytime Felix is in Paris (prior to Gabe's defeat that is). It's always at Marinette's house. Always.

↑ they sleep in the same bed. And you'd think they'd spoon or just lay next to each other very close because Marinette's bed isn't made for 3 people. No, they're a jumbled mess of tangled limbs. Someone's been kicked in the face more than once everytime. And someone's been pushed off the bed at least once.

Felix and Marinette's friendship began as a truce, for Adrien's sake. Now they're partners in crime, again for Adrien's sake.

Ladybug is reluctant to let Argos patrol with her and Chat, but moreso reluctant to let the two boys patrol without her. She just has a bad feeling about it, but okay...just this one time!!

Oh, they're playing at the park, that's nice-

Never mind they're egging each other on to do stupid shi- CHAT CATHERINE NOIR I SWEAR TO GOD!! .... Catherine? ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Sometimes Marinette and Felix give Adrien a freeday and have him hide in the bakery while Felix poses as Adrien for the day. No one's noticed yet (Chloe suspects something but doesn't say anything because the last time she did, Felix laughed in her face after he tricked her and she wasn't falling for his shit again).

Ladybug knows it's futile to ask for the peacock back. She knows it's more futile to ask Chat to get it back, because he actually likes Argos and apparently they're family...well, she supposes she can see the resemblance, maybe they're twins. Hard to tell when one's...ya know. Blue. Purple. Whatever.

The Ladyblog has a new tab/channel (I dunno what to call it) specifically for the times either Chat and/or Ladybug are caught messing around with one of GABRIEL's ads with Argos, because they noticed a pattern. One: it only ever happens when he's around. And Two: it's almost always Chat Noir but once in a while Ladybug will also join in or be the one to partner up with the peacock Miraculous user. And it's the funniest thing they've ever seen, and gets funnier when the Adrien Agreste chimes in on his socials and says he likes what they've done, maybe he should pay them to deface his ads more. The post is removed quickly but screenshots of said post live on.

Adrien's happy his cousin and his friend are getting along, sure sometimes the sneak off to do things to annoy his father, he's not stupid he knows, he's just happy they're not going at each other's throats anymore.

Felix and Adrien will more often than not put on the same outfit, and style their hair to look the same, and walk around together and act as if they don't notice the other.

Adrien makes Felix and Marinette apologize to each other if he sees them get into an argument, he doesn't care who started it he's ending it. Unfuck you or whatever. Thanks. Keep. Yourself. Safe. Hahaha, thank you.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Taglist: @theskytraveler @moonmaiden1996 @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Warnings: *I want to be super clear on warnings so this might give away a handful of spoilers* Mentions & depictions of DV (not graphic or laboured), minor mentions of SV (not dubcon or rape, more like coercion and 'feeling obligated'), stalking, impact of all of this shit on a child, OFC is a single mother so there are depictions of motherhood. My inbox is open if you have any questions or want to talk 😘

Thank you so much for all the love so far! I had a feeling before the finale that this could be a great companion to Season 4, and I was right! Really, really hope you're enjoying it - I'd love to hear from you if you are!

The Escape Artist - Chapter 2

River Cartwright had reached the end of an equally challenging six months. Louisa placed a beer bottle down on the table in front of him and clinked the neck of hers against it. 

“You're drinking less.” 

“Hmm. Yeah, trying to.”

“Good. Catherine was one more bottle away from a full intervention.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” he claimed weakly.

“Yeah Riv, you were.” She told him sadly. He didn’t meet her eyes, though at least the pity in them had lessened over the last few months.

“Cole seems to be coming out of her shell a bit.”

“Lamb’s taken a shine to her.”

“He’s a softy really.” River scoffed at Louisa’s comment. “He is. He was worried about you.”

“Right, course he was.”

“Fine, don’t believe me.” She shrugged. “It’s not until the shit hits the fan that we realise that we do actually like each other. If only a little bit.”

“Speak for yourself,” he knew she was right. He’d seen it himself when Lamb had summoned him to the pub. Underneath the biting remarks and veil of sarcasm was the backbone of Slough House. The reason none of them, despite their claims otherwise, actually tried or wanted to leave. Unless it was in a box. They all remained unwaveringly at his side. His treatment of Ella was a little more revealing though, similar in a lot of ways to his high regard of Louisa. Above all, regardless of their flaws - and there were many, many flaws - Lamb protected his Joe’s and though he’d never admit it, he cared for them.

“Want to know what I think?” She demanded, leaning forward on her arms to get in his face.

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“I am. You’re angry, I get it,” he rolled his eyes and tried to move back in his seat away from her fixed gaze. “I do. I’m angry too, every fucking day. But River, you have to live. You have to allow yourself to have a life and friends - even if it’s just the dickheads we work with. Otherwise, what’s the fucking point?” She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Just… just stop sodding drowning in this anger and loneliness and let us in. It doesn't matter who your father is, or what your mum did. It matters how you were raised, that's why you feel so guilty for putting him in a home.” Her voice cracked and he finally looked back up. “I won’t let you do this to yourself. He's OK, he's safe there and he will forgive you, got it?” He nodded silently and she slumped back in her seat. “Good. God, you’re such a knob.”

“Thanks.” He picked at the label on his bottle, “what do you make of Cole then?”

“She’s good, very good. Whatever happened at the Park must’ve been big to get her sent to Lamb.”

“I think someone’s following her.” He said quietly. Louisa frowned and leaned in again.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” River had lost track of the number of times he’d seen the figure at the bus stop. A cold shudder ran down his back as he recalled Jed and his bus stop watching ways. London was packed to the hilt with commuters, the man could be anyone he’d reasoned initially. But then, he couldn’t help but notice him every single time.

“Shit. Have you told her?”

“And say what? ‘Don’t want to freak you out, but I think you’ve got a stalker’?”

“Could be someone from the Park? You need to find out more about her.”

“Me? He baulked, “why not you?”

“You share an office with her. Be friendly.”

“I am friendly,” he grumbled into his beer bottle. 

“Be nicer. Give her those big eyes and cute smile. You never know, it might be a cure for loneliness.”

“Thanks for that,” he responded, mildly offended.

“I do mean it though, if you’ve noticed someone then we should keep an eye out.”

“Yeah, yeah we should. Think we should tell Lamb?”

“Probably better telling Cole first?” Louisa reasoned, sinking her beer.

*

“Earth to Cartwright?” He tore himself from the window to see Ella with her arms above her head trying to get a box of files down from the high shelf he’d put them on. “Any danger of you actually helping?” She’d leaned her whole body into the filing cabinets to stop the box from falling on her head, her voice muffled from leaning on her arms.

“Fuck, yes,” he dashed forward and reached from behind her to grab the box, squashing her further into the cabinet as he did so.

“Ouch, thanks?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He dumped the box on her desk.

“Cheers. Right, I need a coffee before I get started on that lot. Want one?” He dug around in his pocket and handed her a tenner, “I’ve got these,” she told him, pulling on a jacket.

“No, go on.”

“Cartwright, it’s fine, really.” She glared at him, ignoring the money. She had seemed better recently, he thought as he heard Shirley reeling off an order from the next room. As he heard the bottom door slam, he took up his spot by the window again and watched as the man at the bus stop started to follow Ella down the street. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her yet, he’d pointed the man out to Louisa though, who was also on alert. His phone pinged in his pocket, a message from Louisa who was clearly also wasting time at the window.

He’s followed her to the shop, we have to tell her.

Ella came back twenty minutes later with a cardboard tray of four coffees and a bag of doughnuts.

“My fucking hero.” Shirley cooed. Ella nudged hers and River's door open with her hip.

“Everything ok?” He asked as soon as she was in the room.

“Thanks for the coffee, Ella?” She filled in for him.

“Thank you. Is everything ok?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She frowned, sliding the tray onto his desk.

“Just… anything weird going on?”

“Apart from you?” He huffed. “No, Cartwright. I went five minutes down the road, ordered four coffees and a bag of doughnuts and then I came back. Nothing weird. Why?”

“I think someone’s following you.” He spat out quickly. Her eyes widened and the coffees nearly went flying as she rushed to the window.

“What makes you say that?” She asked, the fear in her voice evident. He watched her frantically glancing at the street below, taking in the faces of everyone milling around. Louisa had followed Ella and remained in the doorway. She scowled at River,

“Ever heard of tact, Cartwright?”

“You told me to tell her,” he said defensively and then turned back to Ella. “I thought I saw someone as you went to the coffee shop.”

“Are they down there now?” She demanded. When she realised he was nowhere near the window she stalked back across the room to him and pulled him by the wrist. “Look, are they down there? How long have you both known?”

“Cole, what’s going on?” Louisa asked carefully, making her way to the window.

“One of you tell me now, is he there?” she hadn’t let go of River’s wrist. “Please?” He scanned the street, the usual bus stop, Louisa peered over Ella’s shoulder to take a look as well.

“No. No they’re not there now. It must have just been a coincidence.” He tried to sound reassuring.

“I can’t see anyone either.” Louisa confirmed.

“You’re fucking spies? Cartwright, if you think you saw someone then you saw someone, right?” She dropped his hand and brought her own up to her mouth and heaved. “Fuck, I’m gonna -” she bolted through the door to the bathroom. 

“I don’t do puke, I’ll leave you to it. Since you’re doing so well at all of this,” Louisa waved a hand around disdainfully. 

“Thanks a lot, real helpful.” He muttered. He left Ella alone until the sounds of her retching had passed, then knocked gently on the door. 

“Got you some water?” The door unlocked and opened enough for him to hand her the bottle. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m ok. Thank you for the water,” her voice trembled.

“Is there anything I can do? I can get Louisa back?”

“No. No, there’s nothing either of you can do.” He took a seat with his back against the wall and waited, the door still closed between them. “You can go now,” she told him in a small voice. He didn’t move. When she finally opened the door, she nearly tripped over him. “Thought I told you to leave me?” She muttered furiously, a small hiccup giving away the fact that she’d been crying. She pushed past him to her desk where she retrieved a packet of chewing gum and shoved a couple of pieces into her mouth.

“Wanted to make sure. You know, you can let me know if -”

“Where the fuck are dumb and dumber?” Lamb’s bellow filled the corridors.

“Wonder who he means?” River asked aloud.

“Cartwright, I mean you and Cole. Arses up here now.”

“Now you know,” she shrugged. “You're dumber, by the way.” She pushed open Lamb’s door timidly and he looked at her for a long minute without a word. She brushed her hands over her cheeks, self consciously getting rid of any tears still visible. It took River clearing his throat for him to shift his attention.

“I want the pair of you to take these files to Molly.” He pointed to two wheeled boxes by his door. “Cartwright, get them downstairs. Cole, sit.” Once River had moved the boxes to the top of the stairs, he turned back to Ella. “Alright?” River heard him ask. 

“Yeah, think so.”

“Think? Don’t do too much of that. You’ll get an aneurysm.”

“I can only dream of such a happy ending,” she muttered.

“I’m serious, you’re not bringing shit to my door are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good, now fuck off before Cartwright gets lost on the stairs.”

“You give him too much credit.” Ella smiled at Lamb’s booming laugh as she left.

“How do you make him laugh?” River asked dismally.

“Told you, he likes me.” Between them, they got the boxes to the entry door and then onwards down the metal stairs and into the street. Neither of them acknowledged that they were both on high alert looking out for whoever River had seen. She felt him tense next to her and startled at the faintest graze of his hand in the small of her back.

“3 o’clock,” he muttered. She looked left. “That’s 9. Do you need a watch?”

“Do you need a slap?” She looked right instead.

“Green cap, blue jacket.” She didn’t acknowledge him. “Well?”

“No idea.”

“No idea what? Do you see him?”

“Is that who you -”

“What do you mean no idea?” He demanded.

“I mean I have no idea who he is. Is that who you’ve seen?” He nodded brusquely. “I don’t know him.” She confirmed confidently. Ella spotted a bus pulling up ahead and for the second time that day grabbed River’s wrist and pulled him with her. “C’mon, I’m not walking for an hour.” They wedged onto the packed bus, just about finding two seats together with enough space to squeeze the boxes in front of them. Their knees bumped together in motion with the bus all the way to Waterloo. With his thigh pressed against hers and his arm around the back of her seat to give them both some extra space, River felt Ella relax. He tried not to think about how comforting it felt to have another person leaning into him. He especially tried not to think about the twinkle he’d only recently started to see in her eyes. At Waterloo, he made her get off the bus and walk the rest of the way, across the bridge and down Millbank to the imposing Thames House building. Molly welcomed them quite literally with open arms.

“Ella Cole! My god, you look…”

“Terrible?”

“I do have some manners,” she scolded Ella. “But you are looking a little on the pasty side. How are you?”

“Doing better, thank you.” Ella glanced briefly at River who pretended to not be listening. Molly’s eyes twinkled in understanding.

“Good. It’s good to see you.”

“You too. How’s the lair?”

“Just call me batman, darling.” She swiftly turned her attention to River. “And you're looking better since I last saw you.” 

“Yeah. Molly, I wanted to apologise -”

“Don't you dare. It's not your place to apologise on behalf of that man, you did nothing wrong.”

“Lamb told you?” He guessed. 

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had, and add some extra, just for you,” she quoted. River stared after her as she turned her chair in the direction of the stacks. “Come on then you two.” She gave very strict instructions on which files to put where, putting them to good use. “Be a dear, Cartwright, and take these down to the last aisle please?” He blanched at the request but gathered up the files and took them to the furthest end of the room. “He’s a good lad really.”

“He’s not so bad.” Ella mused, putting her own files into much closer aisles. 

“Come back soon,” she ordered them as they stepped back into the lift to leave.

“Bye Mol, see you again.” River offered her a genuine smile which she returned. “She seems to like you. They all do.” He said to Ella as the lift closed. 

“I’m nice, not grumpy all the time.” 

“Are you… you barely said a word for six months? Are you for real?” He stared in disbelief.

“I just needed to settle in.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, and now I can’t get you to shut up.”

“Why do you have to be such a dickhead?” She nudged him with her shoulder, a smile pulling at her mouth.

“C’mon, I’ll get you a coffee to make up for the one you didn’t get to drink earlier.” They queued up at a coffee van at the side of the Thames. Ella, to River’s disgust emptied two sachets of sugar into hers.

“I need some sugar,” she explained as her phone rang in her pocket. “Back in a sec.” She moved away, over to the railings, and paced while she spoke on the phone. River watched the tension in her shoulders increase by the second. She seemed to close in on herself before his eyes and as she made her way back to the bench, she looked like an entirely different person.

“What is it?” She ignored him, picking up her coffee which shook in her hands. “Ella?” He asked quietly. She sighed at the sound of her first name falling from his mouth.

“It’s nothing.”

“Liar.” She glanced around the people nearby and then back at him.

“Apparently the bloke in the green cap is someone I should know.” 

“How’d you mean?” River frowned. He watched her shutdown, her good humour and the twinkle in her eye disappear.

“I can’t,” she looked around furtively. Almost fearfully. “I can’t explain. It’s complicated.” He recognised the walls immediately, identical to the ones he’d built. She got up from the bench and hovered impatiently, waiting for him. “Can we go now?” He followed her diligently as she marched back across the bridge to Waterloo and straight onto a waiting bus. She was more closed in on the journey back, he could see her recoiling away from him. She held her body taut so her leg didn’t brush against his. Outside Slough House, green cap, blue jacket stepped across them.

“Mrs Cole. I’m Danny, can I talk to you for a moment please?” He looked River up and down, “alone.” He added. 

“He said he'd sent you.” She said wearily, correcting her posture and standing straight.

“He called you. I'm glad he did. But this isn’t a conversation for your friend to hear,” he must have noted the fear in Ella’s eyes. “You’re perfectly safe Mrs Cole. He’d never want any harm to come to you.” She nodded once and turned to River.

“It’s ok Cartwright, I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She told him firmly, he went to protest but she gave a tiny shake of her head. He did as she asked and turned to leave. Green cap, blue jacket took her elbow firmly and half dragged her into the nearest cafe. River waited out of sight in the doorway of the Chinese where he had a direct view of Ella in between the menus and posters stuck to the window. He had no intention of leaving, as she’d requested. She had her head in her hands and when she looked up at the man, he could tell she’d been crying. She shook her head, clearly responding ‘no’ to something she’d been asked but the longer River watched, the more hesitant she appeared. As the conversation looked to be wrapping up, River went to wait at the bottom of the stairs. When Ella rounded the corner and spotted him, she sighed. “What are you doing?”

“Thought I should stick around, in case you were in trouble?” He told her earnestly.

“I don’t need protecting, Cartwright.”

“Want to explain why some bloke who’s been stalking you just wanted a quick chat then?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, Cole. Something’s going on. You’re married, for one? And the phone call?” She brushed past him and headed up the stairs, leaving him to follow behind. She was scrambling around her desk, throwing her notebook, phone and anything else she needed into her bag like a woman possessed. “Cole, just stop a minute -” she went to dart past him between his desk and the filing cabinets when his hand came down on top, blocking her path. She flinched immediately, almost cowering from him, and suddenly it all clicked into place. He recalled every time she'd curled inward at raised voices in the office, the way she startled and jumped every time he - or anyone - was in her personal space, the eggshells she constantly seemed to be treading on. “Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't know -”

“You don't know anything. Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong.”

“Am I? Then why do you look so scared?” He moved his arm, clearing her escape route. “Ella,” he said softly, “I'm not going to hurt you. I never would.” She looked up from her feet, he could see the shame and embarrassment blooming on her cheeks. “Talk to me?” She shook her head adamantly. 

“I can't. I can't, I have to keep Clo safe. You don't understand,”

“Help me, then?” She closed her eyes, he imagined her weighing up in her mind the pros and cons of telling him. “Please, Ella? I’ve been fucking shit around here for six months, I’ve been the shittest person to share an office with and I know, I know you have no reason to trust me or believe me. But I want to help you?” He pleaded.

“He's the reason I'm here,” she whispered, tearfully.

“Green cap?” 

“No, he’s just an… associate. He was sent by my ex, Clover’s dad.”

“What happened?” 

“I covered for him. Got the Park off him when they started looking into him.”

“Fuck, El,” he dragged a hand over his face. 

“Don't, don't be nice to me. I don't deserve it. I chose to be part of it, I fucked up and Taverner found out. She sent me here.”

“They didn't arrest you?” She dropped into his office chair, unprepared for the missing wheel, and nearly tipped the whole thing over. River steadied her quickly and sank onto his knees before her. 

“Dad's a copper. They made it go away, sent me here. I haven't seen him for years, he's never even met Clo. I didn't know Taverner had contacted him til they were kicking me out.” Ella put her head in her hands and sighed. “I met him when I was seventeen. Ran away with him, he was older - in his late twenties. He covered up his work for years, I didn't know about any of it. I got a low level job at the Park and he told me to go for it because he knew in the long run it would benefit him in some way. Then he got more and more controlling and involved me in his work, and by then it was too late to get out. I was pregnant with Clo, I had nowhere to go.” Her voice shook, “he'd have killed me. So I just carried on playing the dutiful gangland wife until he got caught and there was only so much of his shit I could hide.” 

“Fuck me. How'd you get out?”

“They got him on a minor charge, something really stupid, and he went to prison. I got away as soon as he went down. But it's not enough,” she rolled her eyes, “he was always going to find me. I just hoped I'd have longer to come up with a plan.” 

“Is that what green cap wanted?”

“To tell me he's out tomorrow and wants to see me,” she nodded. “No doubt wants us back together. He won't let Clo go without a fight, he told me he'd call social services and tell them I drink and take coke around her. If he can't have her, he won't let me.” She rubbed her forearm absentmindedly and River noticed a small scar. She saw him looking and pulled her sleeves down, he hadn't noticed how close they were, she'd leaned towards him on her elbows and he'd raised up on his knees to maintain eye contact with her. She looked away, blushing. “Sorry, I shouldn't have dragged you into this.” He cleared his throat and sat back on his heels.

“I'm glad you told me,” he said sincerely. “What can I do?” 

“Nothing. I’m serious, you can’t do anything about this. I just need you to keep it quiet. The best I can do is try not to bring any shit to Lamb’s door.”

“He knows?” He thought back to the conversation he’d overheard earlier.

“He knows some stuff, same as you.”

“Will he hurt you?” He asked quietly through gritted teeth. Ella hesitated, refusing to meet his eyes. “He will, won't he?”

“Nah,” she tried to sound convincing. “He'll be fine. He'll understand why I left.” She assured him. When she looked at him again, the walls were firmly back in place and she was back on her guard. 

“Ella -” she waved a hand to interrupt him. 

“It's going to be fine, really. Thank you, River.” 

“That's the first time you've called me River.”

“I'm sure it's not,” she brushed off. 

“It is. It definitely is.”

“First and last time then,” she said with a small smile. 

“Hopefully not.” He got to his feet, his ankle clicking painfully as he did. “Ow, fuck.”

“Must be all that running you're so good at.”

“Funny, very funny.”

“I need to go.” 

“Will you be back?” He asked curiously. 

“Course I will,” she nodded firmly. “Slow horses couldn’t keep me away,” she told him, rolling her eyes. He wasn’t sure he believed her.

*

Unsurprisingly, Lamb was already in the pub. Fresh from a marginally less stressful visit to the home, River slid onto the barstool next to him, as had become their routine over the last seven months.

“Old bastard still alive?”

“For another day at least. I did get a bit less shit from him this time though.”

“Maybe he’s starting to enjoy those sponge baths.” Lamb teased. River grimaced into his glass.

“Gross, please don’t say shit like that.”

“Molly alright?”

“You told her about Frank?”

“I tell her a lot of stuff. She’s one of the good ones.” River hummed in agreement.

“I’ve found some things out today,” he started, keeping his intentions vague. “Some things I think you also know? About Cole.”

“Ahh yes. Our little gangland belle. She told you, did she?”

“We met an associate of her ex. Apparently he’s getting out tomorrow, he wants to see her.”

“I’m sure he does. He’ll want to know what she’s been up to while he’s been inside.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing, Cartwright. We can’t do anything unless she asks us to.” They drank in silence, River raised his hand to request another round. ”Keep an eye on her though, eh?” Lamb added, River nodded.

“Will do.”

Chapter 3

[cricketnationrise]

Congratulations 🎉 500 followers is amazing!! Lots of people out there with good taste 😉

My prompt:

2205

Catherine

Backyard of the Austin farmhouse

Into the Mystic

okay gonna be honest here. i have no idea what happened here. like, i really adore what i wrote, but i have NO EARTHLY IDEA where it came from or if it's even at all close to what you were aiming for. lots of catherine/arthur feels ahead and like, a little magical realism? i guess? anyway here's wonderwall...

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

10:05pm, texas farmhouse

It’s odd, really, that an ocean and half a continent away from their shared home, that Arthur’s spirit feels so strong here. Here, in Henry and Alex’s backyard, deep in the heart of Texas.

The boys—they’re still boys, no matter that they’re closer to forty than thirty—are inside, cleaning dishes, rinsing out bottles. Catherine can see them through the window above the sink, laughing and chatting easily before Alex flicks water in her son’s face. The affronted look on Henry’s face sends her right down memory lane, a slideshow of the dozens of times she and Arthur did the same thing playing in her mind.

It took a while, a shove from Bea, and a lot of therapy, but the memories no longer hurt her, no longer make her feel like her soul is being ripped away every time she thinks about her husband. Now, after everything, she can let the memories pass through like a draft through windchimes; she might get knocked around, but what sweet melodies they make.

A cool breeze makes Catherine pull the quilt Alex draped over her earlier closer around her shoulders and she looks out over the dark backyard. The only light is from the stars, the crescent moon, the dying embers, and the occasional lightning bug. Catherine inhales deeply, breathing in the smell of the earth, of burning wood, of the lingering scent of the beer that Alex knocked off the picnic table earlier. The sound of crickets chirping is accompanied by grass rustling in the breeze and the quiet pops of the fire. It’s peaceful here, in this place where there’s more sky than anything else—a sky big enough for dreams and memories alike.

Arthur would have loved it here. He would have been first in line to learn how to work the grill from Alex. He would have laughed easily at their son’s carefree antics. He would have been their biggest supporter in buying this place. Catherine knows that their siblings were confused, Alex’s parents were a little more understanding, but Arthur— Arthur would have seen the house for what it is: a sanctuary, a place to recharge, a place where they can truly be themselves, stripped of the pressures of both royalty and politics.

She knows that they chose Texas for Alex, but the feel of the place has more than a little to do with Henry; Catherine finds echoes of the cottage in Wales around every corner. The farmhouse is a monument to the love they have for each other and to their families. The house is so full of affection and care that one could almost taste them, almost trip over them on the way to the kettle. 

Another breeze sweeps through the yard and Catherine shivers, but not from the chill this time. She can feel something—someone—here with her now. She gets a whiff of Arthur’s cologne, a faint trace of pine and leather that always made her feel safe. She holds her breath, and she can faintly hear Arthur’s laugh, bright and full, over the sound of her heartbeat. Impossibly, she feels the weight of an arm across her shoulders, tucking her close into the faded imprint of a warm chest.

The back door opens and the boys’ chatter spills out along with the kitchen light. Their presence breaks the spell the night was weaving around her, but between more jokes and reminiscing, between dessert and a cup of decaf, Catherine feels ghostly fingers slip between her own, and hold tight.

[duchessofostergotlands]

To be honest I haven't liked the things Catherine has been saying about mental health lately. First that talking therapy doesn't help everyone, now this. For a royal to say a short sentence or two about mental health... it can easily come across the wrong way & doesn't show nuance. Yes, talking therapy doesn't help everyone, but her saying this could discourage people from trying it out. Not everyone who feels anxious has a medical condition and needs medication, but some of us do!

Let's look at what she said (and buckle up, it's a long one):

Quote number 1: At an art therapy charity. Someone said writing music had been an easier way to get their feelings out than talking in a clinical space. Kate responded: "Talking therapies don’t work for some people, they’re not for everybody. It’s so important to have a range of therapies." She then followed it up by talking about how many people won't respond to talking therapies because of their own preconceptions about clinical spaces and so it's important to let those people know that there are safe alternative spaces like this charity where they can come for help in a way that works for them.

Unless you're asserting talking therapy does work for everyone and alternative therapies shouldn't be offered, I can't see what the issue is. It's 100% truthful. An analysis by the Child Outcomes Research Consortium found that only a third of children had recovered (i.e. they were no longer above the clinical threshold) by the end of therapy. About 40% responded they'd experienced no change at all. For adults it's slightly better but NHS Digital report only 50% of adults who access therapy have recovered by the time it's over. That's before we even get into the fact that talking therapies were built by and for predominantly white westerners and so large chunks of the population find them completely unhelpful, even actively damaging. There's an article here on that. So it's accurate to state that they don't work for everyone - for a variety of reasons - and alternatives need to be accessible for those who have reason to not trust professional services, or who had therapy and haven't recovered. In fact, this is a big problem in therapy because people often go into it thinking it'll fix things and then ending treatment without being "cured" is extremely difficult for them. And that issue is caused by precisely this unwillingness from the public and some professionals to be honest and acknowledge that talking therapies won't work for everyone.

Quote number 2: I can't find the full quote but essentially she said that normal anxieties should not be over-medicalised.

I wrote a whole thing about this, read that. I'm going to illustrate with an example from Drag Race. A few years ago there was a contestant who wasn't popular, I can't really remember why, but in their sob story episode they opened up about their clinical depression. And the reaction all over social media was "who cares? Everyone has depression!" But the thing is... they don't. In the US, where it was filmed, 2/3 of people don't have depression in their lifetime. We have created an environment where instead of normalising mental illness so those who have it feel accepted, we've overcorrected. And now it's cool and trendy to make stress into Anxiety Disorder, to making lying into gaslighting, to make your dick of an ex boyfriend's behaviour a Personality Disorder. All of which means that people who genuinely do have mental illnesses are taken less seriously and for conditions like mine (I have BPD) stigma is worse than it's been at any point since I was diagnosed 8 ish years ago. And that's not to mention medications for mental illnesses can be heavy duty. She was at an event for children and it's perfectly reasonable to question whether a doctor giving a child meds after a five minute appointment because the child said they were anxious is a sensible and healthy choice. It's there in the name - over medicalising. It's like any medical procedure. No one is saying you shouldn't cut someone's arm off if they have a serious infection and it's needed. But you shouldn't cut their arm off just because they got a paper cut. PS something slightly outside the scope of this because Kate can't be partisan but we talk about this a lot at work, the link between over-medicalising and poverty. A good article on that here.

I understand what you're saying about the fact that sometimes quotes are clipped out of context and royals need to think about what the headline will be but even taken out of context, all of her statements are accurate. And actually in my view it's the first time I've ever seen her be nuanced! I've always found her mental health work patchy because I feel like she unintentionally contributed to a lot of the issues I've outlined above but she's finally talking about things that are not talked about as much, even amongst professionals. I get your perspective because I was there a few years ago. When someone first mentioned the concept of over-medicalising to me I thought it was denying mental illness is real etc. But then I realised that knee jerk reaction was coming from my insecurities about my illness and my past experiences of struggling to get care, it wasn't actually about the concept itself.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Only One I See

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Dunno if I’ll be doing an exhaustive drabble series but there’s at least this. Let me know if you’re enjoying it or not and any thoughts you have. Love you!

“Nothing going on,” Inez nudges you as she stands with her copy of Wuthering Heights, “you’re a terrible liar. And so is the professor.”

“What are you talking about?” You keep your voice low as you shove your book in your bag, “I wish you’d stop.”

“Oh, come on,” she looks around at the dozen other members who showed up that week. You felt a sense of relief at seeing so many, a feeling that mirrored Steve’s, no, Professor’s expression, “we’re sitting here arguing over sexy ghost man and he’s zooot!” She makes a pinch motion with all her fingers, “pinpointed, right on you.”

“N-no,” you sniff, “I didn’t… I didn’t even say much–”

“Exactly,” she hikes her messenger bag onto her shoulder as you zip your pink polka dot backpack, “you don’t have to say anything, little miss brownie.”

“Ew, no, no, he’s…” you glance over at Rogers, another student, Lulu, stands in front of him with her copy of Bronte open. His eyes meet yours and he smiles, tweaking a brow at you, “he’s our professor. He’s…” you step closer to her and hide your whisper behind your hand, “old.”

“Not that old,” she chirps, “come on. He’s what forty? Maybe a few years over, and he’s constantly surrounded by young girls– case and point.”

She tosses another look in his direction and you see how Ainsley leans on him and giggles. He seems slightly bothered as he lets out a deep breath and pats her hand as he coaxes her away, all the while he continues to make his point. You catch a few words, something about Catherine. 

“Look around you, sunshine, do you see a single male specimen here?”

“Well,” you pull the straps of your bags up your arms, “Dani is nonbinary so–”

“Yeah but they still like dick,” she giggles.

“Oh, god, why do you have to be so gross?”

“Please tell me you weren’t that one in high school? The prude? You’re cute, I’m sure at least one guy–”

“This is college,” you insist, trying to restrain your embarrassment, “I told you, and I don’t want to keep saying it, but I’m not interested in Professor Rogers.”

“Alright, alright,” she raises her hands defensively, “so how about–”

“Excuse me,” the deep tone undercuts her detour and you pout helplessly as you turn reluctantly to the professor. You hope he didn’t hear any of that, “before you go, I found this good app for these sort of things. Helps track your reading,” he explains as he holds out a clipboard, “I’m just getting phone numbers to add everyone to the group.”

“Oh, BookSnoop, yeah I’ve heard of that,” Inez says cheerily and sends you a guilty look, “uh, here, let me give you my number.”

She takes the clipboard first and scribbles down her number then hands it to you. You do the same and give it back, the brush of fingertips with the professor making you wince, “thanks, professor.”

“Of course, and… I had an idea. I was talking to management at Marge’s, I might be able to host one of these things there.”

“Oh, that’s so cool,” you say, “I might get a bit distracted by the sweets though.”

“Count us in,” Inez grumbles, “I hate these old classrooms. They smell like khaki.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Rogers appears slightly perplexed by her comment, “well, thanks for signing up,” he hugs the clipboard against one side of his chest, “and don’t forget about your book review next class.”

“Uh, how could we forget?” Inez chuckles nervously and grabs your elbow, “excuse us, professor, we’re late for, uh… a party.”

“Okay, er, um, be safe,” he backs away awkwardly, “see you in class.”

“Buh bye,” Inez toss over her shoulder as she urges you to the door and you barely squeeze through the door ahead of her, nearly crushing against her in the tight frame.

“What’s going on? A party?” You sputter as you plant your feet.

“Look, I totally forgot about the uh, book review, so how do you feel about an all-nighter?”

“In,” you exclaim, “are you kidding me?”

“Come on, I need you to keep me awake,” she whines, “pweez, pwetty pweez, I wuv you, you know that right?”

“Don’t do that,” you sneer, “fine, I’ll help you but I swear, next time, you’re on your own. You know, I have other classes. History papers I don’t want to write.”

“Well that’s convenient, because I haven’t done Laufeyson’s paper either,” she cackles, “it’s fate.”

📃

You rub your eyes and yawn over your cold coffee cup. Inez is barely awake, her head in her hand as she scrolls on her laptop. You feel like you’re looking in a mirror, so tired your head feels like a boulder.

You scratch out notes about the Communist Revolution in your notebook, trying to make sense of it all in your fatigue fuzzed mind. As you put your pen down to stretch your cramped fingers, the subtle clack of Inez’ keyboard tapping in the silent library, your phone buzzes. The noise is loud, jarring in the lull.

She’s unbothered as her lips move with the words she types. You wonder if she’s even typing words. You have class at noon so you might get a few hours before you have to weave your way back onto campus. You snatch up your phone and unlock it, leaning back dangerously in the heavily wooden chair.

‘Hope you got home safe’ the text reads, the number unfamiliar. 

You put the phone down, assuming it’s a wrong number. You trail your fingers over your brow as Inez chews her thumb.

“What another way to say therefore, I think I’ve typed that a thousand times,” she murmurs.

“Thus, and so, consequently…” you say as you phone vibes again.

‘You didn’t drink too much, did you?’

You scowl at the screen and thumb in your response lazily, ‘I think you have the wrong number’.

Three dots appear almost as soon as you hit send. ‘It’s Steve. Checking in. Making sure you’re okay. That’s all.’

For a moment, you’re confused. Then you remember jotting down your number on the board. 

You peek up at Inez, she’s swaying before her laptop. Should you tell her? No, she’d just tease you again. He’s just nice. Maybe a bit too concerned.

‘I’m fine, professor. Just going to sleep. Good night’. There, that’ll put an end to it.

‘Sweet dreams’ he replies. You don’t answer but another message comes in. A pink heart. 

You lock the phone and sigh. You’re too tired. Besides, you know how older people are with emojis. Your mother kept sending the cry laugh emoji in very serious conversations.

“Inez,” you say gruffly, “let’s go. I need sleep.”