#every so often i remember how well executed it is and i just want to rip and tear and shred

[to-shards-you-say]

the well of ascension makes me so mad like how did i get gaslit by a book

[starkwlkr]

Omfg I need like early on in the relationship between Hugh and marvel!reader where their relationship isn’t public and their papparazzi of them on set together coz they’re visiting eachother and everyone’s thinking xmen X mcu when in reality it’s just them together dating

no spoilers! | hugh jackman

an: ok since their first son was born in 2000 (it’s canon idk what date but it’s canon now lol) and the mcu started in 2008 I’m going to change a few things JUST TINY THINGS like the mcu being in development early on and marvel actress!reader being casted in the early 2000s. does that make sense?? idk this is fanfiction

2005

Getting a call from Marvel was something you never expected. Like many people, you grew up reading the comics and watching the tv shows. But now you had the chance of a lifetime. You were being offered a role in the first movie in the Marvel cinematic universe.

After having a meeting with the marvel executives and your manager, you were asked to keep the news of your casting a secret. The media was already wondering who was going to portray what heroes on the big screen and your name was being thrown around.

While your relationship was still a secret, you often visited Hugh on set of X-Men with Alex and Reese. You tried to keep your little family from the media as much a possible. You would watch Hugh get into his costume and do his stunts. You were always amazed at how much fun it would be to portray a superhero and now you were finally going to be able to.

A few months after you met with Marvel, you found out you were pregnant with your third baby. A girl. Thankfully you weren’t set to film yet since the film was still in development. When it was finally time to film ‘Iron Man’, you were more than ready. Your kids were a bit older so they finally got to watch you beat up bad guys like their dad did.

It was during the filming of ‘Iron Man 2’ when your secret was finally revealed to the world. You didn’t really know how it even happened . . . Your guess was that paparazzi somehow snuck in. Hugh was always careful when visiting you on set. Rumors were already circulating on the internet about a potential X-Men and Avengers team up. It didn’t help that Hugh was sporting his signature Wolverine hair when he visited the set. At least the kids weren’t with you.

“You look much better than me,” Hugh looked at your costume. He couldn’t stop staring, it was starting to make you weak in the knees. “at least you get comfortable suits. Remember the black suits from X-Men? The most uncomfortable shit ever.”

“The kids thought you looked cool.” You reminded him.

“Okay, that makes me feel better.”

As you and Hugh talked, some paparazzi were secretly taking photos. All they could think about was how well they were going to get paid for the exclusive photos. The X-Men joining the mcu? That was big news!

When the photos were published on every magazine, you couldn’t help but laugh. What a way to reveal your relationship. You definitely didn’t want to share the news this way, but you also didn’t want to lose your job.

“Maybe in a few years it’ll come true. You, me, X-Men and the Avengers.” He told you, giving you your morning coffee. The kids were still sleeping so you and Hugh took advantage of the quiet morning. You set the magazine down on the table and drank the coffee.

“It would be nice. Imagine what the kids will think. Mom and dad beating up the bad guys together,” you smiled at him. He took the opportunity to give you a kiss. As he pulled away, you whispered to him. “or it could be me kicking the wolverine’s ass.”

Your characters wouldn’t share the screen until 2024 when Deadpool & Wolverine premiered. Your kids were more than excited to see their parents fighting together.

@kellyxo1 @barnes70stark @ru-kru @flyestvenustrap @evasmlp

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Femboy Tenant x Landlord Reader (2)

Part 1

“This is your new life, my little landlord, now let me tell you about my rules!”

The sad thing about this situation is the betrayal for you

You’ve heard stories about squatters or terrible tenants that didn’t want to leave

But you were never aware you needed to worry about being abducted

And by this tenant no less

From your many other tenants who were bodybuilders, gang members, drug dealers

It was this one

The pretty femboy who was always late on rent

“What’s with that indignant look on your face? Mad you didn’t guess? That’s okay no one suspects just how much talent is behind my gorgeous face.”

You don’t know if you’d call a dedicated fanbase excuse me a cult a talent

Now in some foreign luxurious place, the only people surrounding you are Sora and the dedicated followers who have been commanded to keep you here

“Sora-sama is bestowing a gift upon you! Be grateful!”

“Sora-sama did say you would say these concerning things…but he was right your illness is severe.”

“No worries Sora-sama has taught us how to give your medication no worries! Now stand still!”

The medication you’re given ranges from alcohol, paralyzing serums, or aphrodisiacs depending on your behavior

Sora is very careful about where he’s affectionate with you 

He knows very well which of his loyal little followers will not mind, the ones that may even begin to worship you 

But he knows there are dangerous ones 

Jealous ones that are perfect for when he demands they commit certain crimes or ultimately sacrifices–when he gets to that point

It takes a while to go that deep

But a near attack from a jealous follower is enough to trigger it

Before this, he’d vaguely recall how he first cried to his followers about an especially creepy fan and hearing from police how little of their remains could identified 

Or how one of the fans got a little too forward making him actively cringe in front of his followers

That fan was never heard of or seen again

At the time his guilt was small but present

He didn’t kill those people…his fans did…besides they were the ones overstepping

It’s not that bad…right

But when you’re on the line that guilt dissipates

The tears he sheds when he caresses the bandage on your arm

Are ones of anger

He’s perfect, beautiful, kind, full of wisdom

So why was his love being tampered with 

The world should and would be at his feet

With you–safely–at his side

But he can’t do this without you being in danger

So he’ll let his tears show to the most loyal, the most violent, the most dutiful

“They hurt me by hurting my (Y/n)! Do you like this?”

“NO!” 

“Will you not protect me? Protect us?”

“Of course! “Will you kill for us?”

“YES!”

“Good. We’ll be waiting to see the results of your hunt. My beautiful little followers!”

“YES!”

It kind of takes him back when you do try to add some input

Not too long ago he remembers pleading with you about rent

Now it’s you pleading with him not to execute the unlucky group that tried to take your place

But just like you did with him he’s going to cruelly deny you 

Well maybe he can be persuaded if you let him participate in an activity you’ve forbidden of him

“I might be willing to let them off with a loss of one limb if you let me do that one thing!”

“....”

“Come on! Aren’t you a benevolent compassionate partner to their king? Won’t you convince me not to punish them with my wrath?”

“Okay but only one time!”

“Yay! Wait for me to get my lingerie!”

He flips often between being at your whim to controlling every aspect of your life

But he has you for an example

Back then you were the landlord who caught his heart and kept him in line

So isn’t it just perfect that he do the same

[merwgue]

Rhysand is often portrayed as this perfect, morally grey ruler, but when you take a closer look at his actions, it's obvious how messed up he really is. Let’s break down the so-called “benevolent” High Lord of the Night Court.

1. The Hewn City – The King of Torture? Rhysand's treatment of the people in Hewn City is straight-up barbaric. The way he holds power over them isn’t out of necessity or to “protect” them from worse rulers—it’s control through fear and violence. He tortures them, plays with their lives, and enjoys maintaining his iron grip on them. It's almost like he uses them as his personal stress toys. Is that really the hallmark of a just ruler? Sure, Hewn City isn’t full of saints, but for Rhys to stand on his high horse and act like he's saving everyone while still torturing his subjects? Hypocrisy at its finest.

2. Rhysand and Feyre – Let’s Talk About Consent Let’s not forget that he literally assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain. I don’t care how anyone tries to frame it as him “saving her” from Amarantha—there’s no excuse for the way he took away her agency. Rhys manipulated her, forced her into wearing those skimpy outfits, and paraded her around for his entertainment. All while pretending it was for the greater good. It's pretty damn disgusting how that gets brushed under the rug like it was some noble sacrifice when in reality, he robbed Feyre of her choices.

3. Planning to Execute Nesta – The Line Between Justice and Control Rhysand and his inner circle legit planned to execute Nesta, all because she didn’t fall in line. Nesta had her faults—hell, a lot of them—but threatening her life because she didn't act the way Rhys wanted? That's not justice; that's manipulation and control at its core. He wasn't trying to protect anyone. He was pissed that he couldn't control her, that she wasn't another cog in his perfect little machine of Night Court harmony.

4. Tamlin – Kicking a Man While He’s Down Say what you will about Tamlin, but there’s no denying that Rhysand completely overstepped every boundary when it came to him. The Night Court loves to preach about freedom, but Rhys had no problem strutting into Tamlin’s land, throwing it in his face, and making an already broken man feel like utter shit. There’s a difference between defending your own and downright antagonizing someone who’s in the depths of depression. At one point, he basically told Tamlin to end his own life. What kind of "savior" talks like that to someone who's clearly struggling? It's downright cruel.

5. The Night Court – A Dictatorship Wrapped in Pretty Words Rhysand's Night Court is sold to everyone as this place of freedom, where people can be who they truly are—but at what cost? If you cross Rhys or don’t fall in line with his vision, you either face his wrath, his torture, or his manipulation. He's not running a court; he's running a dictatorship where everything is fine as long as it aligns with his master plan. The fact that he keeps calling himself the “most powerful High Lord in history” just feeds into that massive god complex he has. The ego on this guy is unbelievable.

6. Double Standards – The Morality of Convenience Rhys preaches about freedom and respect, but he only seems to extend that to people he deems worthy. If you’re in his circle or someone he cares about, great—you get all the privileges. If not? Well, tough luck. He’ll trample over your land, threaten your life, or torture you into submission. The cherry on top? Everyone around him acts like he’s the greatest thing to happen to Prythian, and the fandom just eats it up.

So, yeah. Rhysand is fucked up. He’s not just morally grey—he’s power-hungry, manipulative, and borderline sadistic. His version of “ruling” the Night Court is as hypocritical as it gets. Benevolent High Lord? More like the king of self-righteous cruelty.

7. Locking Up Nesta – Rhysand’s Tamlin Moment Remember how everyone vilified Tamlin for locking Feyre up “for her own safety”? Sure, it was messed up, but the narrative painted him as this controlling, possessive villain because of it. Now, fast forward to Rhysand, who literally does the same thing to Nesta. She’s spiraling, yes, but instead of finding her real help or giving her space to heal, he decides to trap her in the House of Wind like a damn prisoner. He takes away her freedom, isolates her from the outside world, and forces her into a situation she clearly doesn’t want. How is that any different from what Tamlin did?

But here’s the kicker: Rhysand gets praised for it. Why? Because he’s Rhysand, the supposed hero, and everything he does is always “for the greater good,” right? It’s utter bullshit. He used the same controlling tactics on Nesta that Tamlin used on Feyre, but the fandom acts like he was being this saintly, tough-love older brother. What he did was textbook manipulation, stripping away Nesta’s autonomy because she didn’t fit into his perfect vision of what recovery should look like.

8. Forcing Recovery on Nesta – Ignoring Trauma Let’s not sugarcoat this: Rhysand locked up a woman who was using drinking as a coping mechanism and basically said, “Tough luck, you’re staying here until you fix yourself.” That's not helping; that’s punishing someone for their trauma. Nesta was in pain, lashing out and struggling to deal with what happened to her. Did she need help? Absolutely. But instead of offering her real emotional support, Rhys just forced her into a recovery program that suited his standards and timeline, not hers.

What makes this even worse is that Nesta was self-harming through drinking, and instead of addressing the root cause of her pain, Rhysand and his inner circle chose to control her like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, not a person who needed to be understood. There’s nothing noble about that.

9. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – Tamlin vs. Himself This is where Rhysand’s hypocrisy really shines. He condemned Tamlin for being controlling, and Feyre (rightfully) left that toxic environment. But Rhys turns around and does the same thing to Nesta, and instead of being held accountable for it, he gets celebrated for “taking action.” How does that even make sense? It's such a double standard that it's almost laughable. Tamlin’s actions were wrong, but Rhysand’s were just as bad, if not worse, because he knew better. He knew what it felt like to be controlled, yet he did it anyway.

10. Stop Giving Rhys a Pass People need to stop giving Rhysand a pass for his behavior. He gets away with literal torture, manipulation, locking people up, and trampling over others' boundaries because he’s good at hiding it behind the facade of “protecting his court.” He’s not the hero people make him out to be. He’s just as flawed and fucked up as the people he claims to be better than.

At the end of the day, locking someone up—whether it’s Feyre in the Spring Court or Nesta in the House of Wind—is a violation of their autonomy. Rhysand isn't some hero swooping in to save the day. He's a controlling ruler who just happens to be good at spinning the narrative in his favor.

[copperbadge]

Hello, Mr. Badge, I seem to remember that you once posted about your processes and systems for staying organized in life with Excel spreadsheets etc. I’ve been struggling a lot with depression and executive dysfunction issues and don’t want it to impact my work.

Do you use the same processes at work? I get overwhelmed with the amount of documentation we have and the exceptions to the rules in our processes.

I'm so sorry you're struggling! It's really rough, and the more complicated the task feels, the more fraught it seems, the harder it is to even get a start. I feel that hard.

As for organizing work like my home life....well, it's sort of the same. I don't make a strong distinction between life and work simply because a lot of what needs organizing in my life IS my work, so it's tough to talk about them separately.

For example, I use Google Tasks to build a to-do list each day, but that to-do list starts with "stuff I'll do before work" then "shower" then all my work stuff, then "evening" and then all the stuff to do after work, ending with "7pm chores" (because I have a lot of stuff to do right around 7pm, which I need to post about elsewhere). Then the stuff I've pushed off to next day is below that, and that just bumps up the next morning. What's important isn't really how I keep the list, but that I keep it in a way that is constantly accessible, and I've trained myself to 1. put everything on it, even stuff like "grocery shop" and 2. check it whenever I feel lost. I don't find google calendars very helpful, however, so while work makes me use one for meetings, everything else goes on a calendar I made in Google Sheets that I'm just super used to by now.

It sounds like you're having a fairly specific issue, which may not even be related to your mental health (though assuredly the mental health issues aren't helping). If you have a lot of confusing documentation and exceptions in the stuff you do at work, that can be legit stressful even for someone who isn't dealing with other stuff, so I just want you to know that this may not only be a You Problem. My problem is usually the opposite, in that I'm often the first person doing something, or the only person who's done it in a while, so there's no documentation at all. But when I do have documentation I often will simply rewrite it.

After all, just because you have a handbook doesn't mean you have to use it. You can copy it over into another document and make yourself a step-by-step guide and/or a checklist. Like, I do our holiday cards every year, and my "HOLIDAY CARDS" document says "Here's the first thing you do, here's the second, do this before going past that, check this before asking for that". Literally at one point the document says "Stop. Before you go any further, do this step. Even if you don't understand why, do this step" because in the past I've disregarded that instruction ("Why on earth would I do it this way?") and lived to regret it.

Making the guide really, really sucks. Often it will take me four or five passes at a project before my guide is comprehensive (this is my fifth year doing the holiday card project and the document still has some steps missing at the end). But once you have it, it's invaluable, and often in the past I've found other people want my guides because they're fairly clear and precise about what needs doing when. For example, you might say, "Open the file and move column B to in front of column A. NOTE: THERE IS ONE EXCEPTION, THIS IS THE EXCEPTION." Or "Once you've saved the file, save a second copy to your backup folder so you can go back to it if you delete something you shouldn't. Stop and check: is this file from before or after October? If after, remember, you have to also rename it." If you find that there's a mistake you make frequently, figure out what would stop you from making it and add that in.

(We had a guy at work whose last name was VERY long and Italian, and so when I was working phones he got a special entry in the directory document I made -- the first line was all his directory info and the second line was just the phonetic pronunciation of his last name. He found out, which I had never intended him to do, and lost his shit laughing. "No wonder you're the only one who gets it right!")

So my recommendation to you is to create your own handbook, your own templates, and your own way of doing things and just slip that back into the system you have at work. Draw a diagram by hand if you need a flow chart. My approach to all my organizational issues has always been "What would make me do this correctly / prevent me from doing that thing wrong / remind me what to do / make it easier for me to start".

I think of this nowadays as the "Take the cupboard doors off" school of organizing, because to really make full use of my kitchen in a way that I liked, I had to take some of the cupboard doors off. It looks messier and kind of cheap, but it's actually a much more organized system now, and who's in my kitchen other than me?

[oonajaeadira]

Nadie Espera un Milagro (No One Expects a Miracle)

Fandom: Narcos / Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Reader: Sassy, confident, American ex-pat female who finds her parents a little tedious and enjoys both her independence and her job as a high-level admin at the DEA. No physical descriptions, no use of y/n.

Rating: T

Warnings: era-”appropriate” behavior of men towards women in the workplace (but a lot better than it was, Steve and Javi are actually pretty respectful). Overbearing and slightly infantilizing parents. Author doesn’t know anything about politics or law enforcement.

Summary: When your parents come to visit you at your job in Bogotá, you figure it’s just easier to paint a picture that will put them at ease. The idea is simple. The plan is flawed. The execution is just fluff.

A/N: Written for my Year of Tropes (part of @yearofcreation2023​) Fake dating seemed like an easy trope for a busy month, which is why I chose it for February. (Whoops. Happy April!) With all of these tropes I like to challenge myself a little and I feel like the character choice alone for this one was challenge enough for me. Not only do I not know anything about politics and law enforcement, I haven’t written Javier much. And, of all the boys I do write, I feel like he’d be the least likely candidate to participate in and fall for fake dating, so I had to figure out how to make it believable for myself. Which is why there’s more plot than I intended and reader ended up with some backstory. This is season 2 Javi, obviously not canon, and maybe a bit too soft, so sue me for yearning. Yes, reader’s parents are cartoon versions of my own parents, why do you ask?

“Well hey there, sunshine,” a wisp of smoke accompanies Steve’s greeting as he leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle to the side of his desk, leaning over momentarily to stub the cigarette out into a shared ashtray. “We don’t often get the pleasure of a visit–looks like you remember we exist.”

“Ha ha. I could say the same about you. Did you boys finally get your morals whipped into shape, or are you just over the thrill of making me break the law for you every other week?”

There’s a halt in the clack clack clack of Javier’s typewriter as he turns at the sound of your voice. Standing to reach across the desk, he scrubs out his own cigarette, makes a futile attempt to wave away the smoke, and watches you descend the stairs into their working arena. “Hey, Sully,” he smiles like a man not accustomed to it and rests his hands on the waistband of his ridiculously out-of-fashion jeans. “That’s a new dress.”

You flash him a grin and shake your head. “Stop. Don’t waste your flirting on me, Peña. You know I don’t need greasing.”

He only shifts his weight to one hip. There’s no response but a compliant tick of his jaw.

It’s second nature with Javier. He knows he’s good looking. Knows all he has to do is flash those puppy dogs and throw some attention, and ladies will give him anything he wants. You love it and hate it. Hate it because it’s insulting to be targeted for manipulation just because you’re a woman. But you love it because the man is Javier Peña and you’d be lying if you said those big brown eyes weren’t beautiful and you’re happy to have an excuse to have them pointed your way with warmth rather than the chill he reserves for the more bureaucratic workers. It’s a safe kind of crush, the kind you can play with as long as you never expect too much.

Javier’s been stopping by your office since before there was a Steve Murphy, buttering you up and asking for favors–access to a file here, a release stamp there–hell. You’ve expedited more requests on his behalf than all of the upper cabinet combined. And how many times have you distracted the clerk in tapes archives just so Javi could walk by and flash a request form without having it scrutinized for certification?

Every request starts the same, with his awkward little smile and an actual compliment. And every mission accomplished gains you a “Thanks, you’re a miracle worker.”

“Like Anne Sullivan?” you’d asked after the tenth or twentieth time.

“Huh?”

“Anne Sullivan. Hellen Keller’s teacher. The Miracle Worker.”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. Anne–?”

“Sullivan.”

“Right. I guess you’re an Anne Sullivan. I’d be lost in the dark without you.”

You’d allowed yourself to be charmed. “Careful there, Agent Peña, or you’re gonna make me rather fond of you.”

Nothing makes a grown man blush faster than to out-flirt the flirter. Not that it was hard with Javier. He was adorably miserable at it.

But it was always fun to watch him try…and to periodically beat him at his own game.

Once Steve landed in Colombia, you got two for the price of one. But Murphy knew you could see through his games and didn’t even try. It endeared you to him that he approached you sincerely. And you knew you could always do the same with him.

“As a matter of fact, it IS a new dress,” you chirp, twisting your shoulders one way and then the other, fluttering your lashes and fanning yourself with a hand in a mock display of coy preening. “My parents are flying in tonight and I’m taking them out to dinner.”

“I thought the trade conferences weren’t for a few days,” Steve frowns and shoots a concerned glance at his desk calendar.

“They’re not. But they’re coming through to spend some time with me and tour the city. Mixing business with pleasure. That’s…um…actually why I’m here. I need to cash in a favor.”

Javi chuckles as he settles back into his chair, throwing one heel and then the other onto the desktop. “Time to pay the piper. Name it.”

“Actually,” you cringe, turning to Steve, “I thought I’d ask Murphy here.”

Throwing a surprised but self-satisfied grin over at his partner, Steve puffs out his chest. “Well I guess I can be the hero for the day. Anything you need, sunshine.”

Thankfully Javi seems to feel the need to show he’s not offended and returns to his typewriter to peck out his report. Good. This is an embarrassing enough ask. You don’t really need witnesses to this.

“So, this is going to sound like a big deal but it’s really not. My relationship with my folks is just…complicated,” you assure him, priming the agent for the stupidest thing you’re ever going to ask for in your life. “It would make my and everyone’s life easier if I was seeing someone? Because then my mother wouldn’t bring it up and pressure me and irritate my father, and he wouldn’t worry about me here so much thinking I’m a woman all alone…it’s just…it’s…,” you sigh, irritated. “This is so dumb.”

Clackety clack clack ding whirr. You look up to see Steve gaping at you.

“Are you asking me to pose as your boyfriend?”

Silence. You’re sure if you turned to look over your shoulder, you’d see a frozen Javier, two fingers of each hand hanging above his typewriter like a little T-Rex.

Oh for a trapdoor or hand of god…. Suck it up. They owe you.

“Yup.”

“Uh….”

You expected this. “I’m not asking you to make a show or….they’re coming in tomorrow and I thought if you were here you could just meet them for a second. And if you’re not, I could just point to your desk–”

“Doll,” Steve releases a confused laugh, “I’m married, you know.”

“Yeah, but Connie’s not here. Like I said, they won’t delve. If I just point at a man, they’ll accept it and leave it alone.”

“So you’re going to lie to your parents.”

A confident nod is your first response. “Absolutely. And if you’d met them–when you meet them–you’ll understand why that’s best. Or you won’t. You really won’t get to talk to them long enough to find out. Just give a couple of handshakes, be nice and I’ll move them along. It’s that easy.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve gives a disbelieving shake of the head. “I dunno. I mean, the ruse won’t stand if they mention my name to anyone. Why me? Why not that new guy in the mail room who’s been watching you walk away?”

“Jimmy?” you scoff. “Yeah, no, not my type.”

“Really. Dark hair and pretty blue eyes and a six-pack he doesn’t mind showing off isn’t your type?”

“Wellllll, when you put it that way…sure he’s not your type?” Now it’s Javi’s turn to huff a silent laugh and you give him a conspiratorial smile before rounding back on Steve. “He’s dull, Murphy. My parents know me well enough that I’m not going to go for dull. So take that as a compliment. And he’s a bedpost-notcher. I don’t want to encourage that kind of behavior. I may be lacking in male companionship but I’m not that lonely. Yet.”

Your no-nonsense, shut-em-down tone quiets both of them and for a moment you think you’ve won. But his response makes it obvious you’re going to have to cash in all your chips.

“Still. There are enough single guys around here–”

“Because,” with one hand on the corner of his desk you lean in to conspire even though his partner is three feet away and can obviously hear you, “most of them are a bunch of lazy sit-abouts and you’re always out and busy. It not only paints a good picture, it’s the perfect excuse not to join us for dinner because my mother will do her best to insist. And,” you wheedle, lowering your voice further, “because you owe me.”

“I would counter that I owe you a lot more than he does.” Javi keeps his voice at a stage whisper in mockery of your own and shrugs as you and Steve swivel your gaze to him. “What.”

“Lying to the Assistant Trade Rep of the Western Hemisphere about intimate relations with his daughter sounds like a good time to you? You can have it.” Steve taps your shoulder before pointing at his partner. “He’s not hitched. Why not Javi?”

Rolling your eyes, you stall for time as you try to find a better answer than the truth, but when one doesn’t come, a sigh paves the way. “Because you dress more respectable than he does–”

“Hey.”

“--and my mother is judgy!,” your heartfelt insisting pushes through, doing your best to placate Javi–handsome Javi–who really does know how to keep the last decade’s fashion in fashion. “Javi, you’re lovely and you look good and I don’t want you to change. But my mother is going to take you for a ladies man, which you are, you know you are, and she’s going to pick apart your choices with wanton disapproval which is almost more unbearable for me than not being attached to anyone at all because then I’ll spend hours defending you for nothing–”

Steve and Javi finally break and their sudden laughter shuts you down. It’s all you can do not to give both of them the finger and a good ol’ fuck off.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says through his trailing amusement, taking his turn now to placate. “Fine. We’ll make ourselves scarce and you can use the imprint of my ass in this chair as proof of warm-blooded human male. But maybe a false name, yeah? Like…Peter or…Harvey or something.”

“Harvey?” Javi scoffs. “How about Dick. Dick Bob Jones.”

“That sounds like a hillbilly name.”

“Yep.” ________

According to your mother, your apartment is “charming,” the streets of Bogotá are “interesting,” and the department headquarters are “surprisingly up to date.” In the car on the way to the office, you managed to dodge most of her questions about your personal life, dropping one-word answers before pointing out the window and explaining certain buildings or neighborhoods.

As promised, Agents Murphy and Peña are out in the field when you walk your parents past their desks on your way through to your own department. “Well,” you wave with half commitment at it and move on, “looks like he’s out doing his job and catching those bad guys. Too bad. Maybe next time.”

The crisis is momentarily averted, but while your father ducks into a nearby restroom, your mother can’t seem to let the matter pass.

“So what does he do then? He’s a cop?”

“I told you. He’s a DEA agent. He’s on the team trying to stop the drug trade from reaching the States. Have you heard of Pablo Escobar?”

She scoffs and looks past you. “Everybody has heard of Pablo Escobar, dear. That naughty man. Oh. Oh! Is that him?”

“Hmm? Escobar?” Following her gaze and turning to look back into the atrium, you’re gifted the sight of tight jeans stretching over a familiar backside and tanned arms yanking open drawers on Steve’s desk, obviously looking for something. “No, Mom, that’s just–”

But before you can correct her, she’s striding over in her Prada heels, ruffled blouse bouncing and pearls clicking, reaching forward into an eager handshake as she interrupts the very visibly hurried agent. “It’s so nice to meet you!” she chirps. “You must be Harvey!”

“Mother–!”

Javi stops digging, having found the warrant he was looking for, looking up in surprise at this forward, fussy, American woman, his lower lip hanging in a soft V, before taking her hand courteously and introducing himself, “Javi.”

“Oh, I knew I was right! The minute I saw you I knew you had to be her Harvey, you’re certainly her type.” Her hospitable countenance flickers only for a second as she takes in his tight shirt. “She says you’re quite the cop.”

“Mom, Javi’s a government agent and–” As you catch up to her, the momentary confusion on Javi’s face melts into understanding spiced with just a hint of amusement. “--and, as you can see, he’s in a hurry so–”

“It’s okay,” he beams, continuing to shake your mother’s hand. “I can take a minute to meet the woman who raised mi milagra.”

What.

Something in your brain hits the panic button and your mother chatters on to him as your backup generators whir into gear. He gives her his full attention, smiling as she babbles about how proud she and your father are of you and how nice it is that you’ve found someone to spend time with and…did he just say–

“We’ve got a lead on a collaborator and I was just ducking in to grab some paperwork,” he explains, waving the warrant in one hand. But his other hand– “What a lucky coincidence” –dips behind you– “that you happened to stop by,” –slides across your back– “because my girl here has told me so much about you,” –settles on your hip– “ma’am,” –and pulls you flush to his side.

It’s a smirk. A smirk that he has the brazen balls to grace you with then, and it’s hard to tell if he’s fucking with you or if he’s just really enjoying being your hero and sharing a joke that only the two of you know about.

And it’s equally hard to tell if you’re about to laugh or swear or….melt… he’s holding you so tightly and he smells like cigarettes and his surprisingly light cologne… his shirt is damp, your blouse is damp, it’s a humid day and you’re sticking together a bit and he wears such fitted clothes and one of his few buttons is strained enough to give you a peek at his smooth chest beneath…

“Well, if you have to go, Harvey, I don’t want to distract you from your work, but my husband is using the facilities and he’ll be sorry to have missed you. Will you be working all evening? Why don’t you come join us for dinner! You know how well my daughter cooks and she’s making her carbonara for us–”

“Mom–”

“Your carbonara?” Javi questions you before turning back to your mother and squeezing you tighter against himself, causing you to stumble closer. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Her delight is evident. “Oh wonderful!”

“If you’ll excuse me though, my partner’s waiting. I’ll see you tonight, honeybunny.”

The world tingles a moment as a mustache and warm lips bush your temple and then you’re watching broad shoulders and slim hips swagger away from you and up the stairs.

Honey…bunny? Honeybun–

Fuck.

“Javi! Wait!” You hold up a hand as you pass your mother. “Stay here for a second, I have to…I forgot to tell him… uh…”

He stops at the top of the stairs, leaning in, anticipating your quiet brand of ire. “Your mom’s sweet.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“What. Seems to be going well, I mean, apparently, I am your type, so it all works out. I think that performance down there earned me a dinner. I fucking love a good carbonarra.” The glare you serve him loses its bite under his soft smile lacking in any sarcasm or hazing. This is the Javi you know, the conspirator that finds you working late at night and is grateful for your help in the file room or in the microfiche lab, the one that noticed yesterday that your dress was new. Doing you a favor. What else would you expect? “If you want, I’ll wear baggier pants.”

“No, just…” you sigh. “I should give you my address–”

There’s a thing he does with his smile, something that gets you every time, a little jaw tick that comes with a quick downward bounce of the eyes and a single shake of the head. “Don’t need it. I know.”

“Okay, but…. Wait. What?” You call after him as he trots toward the door.

“I’ll come hungry!” _____

“Sir,” Javi bobs his head in reverence as he meets your father’s handshake. It’s above and beyond your requests, as is the cleanup of the five-o-clock shadow, the change to his black button up shirt, and his showing up on time. And in true commitment to the bit, he didn’t even knock, just came in and found his way to the dining area like he spends most of his time in your apartment.

“Good to meet you, Javi.”

“Dear,” your mother chirps from her watchful eye at your shoulder by the stove, “it’s Harvey.” She doubts herself. “It is Harvey, isn’t it?”

Completely disregarding your mother’s interjection, your dad gestures to a spot across from him at your modest dining table set for four and offers him a packet. “Sit down, sit down, agent. Smoke?”

“Ah,” Javi falters, and when you turn your head to your shoulder, you catch him checking in with you out of the corner of your eye. “She…doesn’t let me light up in here.”

“No? Heh. Well. I don’t know how she does it but it’s always been her way or no way. I see she’s worked her magic on you.”

“That’s for sure.”

You can’t help but smile as you give the noodles another good swirl in the pot and set the spoon on the counter. That little display just earned him a treat. Pulling out two glasses from the cabinet, you give a generous pour of the whiskey you picked up on the way home especially for him and bring them over to the table without a word for the two men.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” hums your father.

Javi glances at the glass, then up at you and your cocked eyebrow that queries him don’t I get a ‘thank you sweetheart’ from you too?

But oh, he came to play.

Ignoring the glass and taking your hand, his thumb skips across your knuckles. “You need any help, hon?”

There’s a microsecond between you where laughter is very very possible. The game is on. So you up the stakes by pushing a little curl of black hair behind his ear before trailing your fingers down to pinch his chin. “No, baby. You just relax and enjoy yourself.”

The smallest flush of pink and flash of panic that you catch on him as you turn away (only because you’re looking for it) tells you that you’ve won this round.

Back at the stove, your mother’s taken over, having drained the noodles and now attempting to pour the sauce into the noodle pot rather than your tried-and-true method of bringing the pasta to the sauce pan.

“Mom! Could you not–”

You see it coming a second too late, the sauce hasn’t thickened properly and a good portion of it misses the pot and splashes onto her blouse.

There’s commotion, a shriek and an overreaction, and you reach for a towel to catch the sauce before it stains, but the towel is dirty with spills and bacon grease and you’re both trying to keep the sauce pot from toppling off the stove. “Just…hold still, Mom, here…let me get a clean towel–”

“I’m on it,” Javi jumps up, heading down the hallway.

Great. Here’s another thing splitting your attention from timing the sauce. “Javi??” you call, “The towels are–”

“I know! The cabinet behind the door!”

How did he….doesn’t matter. The woman who raised you is in need of someone to mother her at the moment and you’re doing your best to calm her down before she causes even more of a mess. In a matter of moments, your stand-in man is back with a hand towel and you join her at the sink to help her dab it off.

“Oh, well this is just dandy,” she whines. “Now I have to sit here in a wet blouse in nice company…”

“It’s fine, Mom. You can wear one of mine.”

“The pink one or the blue? She can change in the bedroom,” Javi gestures, offering to show the way. “Ma’am?”

“Uh…the…blue….” This time you don’t have time to veil your shocked and confused expression. If Javi truly notices it as your mom swans by him, he doesn’t let on.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and pleasant, your father and Javi carrying most of the conversation as the older man drills the agent on the particulars of the cartels and Escobar’s influence with his communities, how it’s affecting customs and trade, and what that means for the conference your father is here to attend in his duty to the Trade Rep.

After a couple of hours, he makes it known that it’s time to get back to the hotel, that he has an early morning as his boss is flying in.

“Already? Dear! You boys spent all this time talking shop and I have all kinds of questions for Haaavi.”

“Well, my bride, you’re just going to have to wait to satisfy your curiosity. I’m sure it will keep.”

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Javi asks just as you take a sip of water and try your best not to choke on it. “If you’d like to try some of the local specialties, I know a place not far from here. Sancocho to die for, made fresh every day.”

The fire in your eyes is shielded, soft, but directed straight at the side of his face, hot enough that he can surely see it from his periphery if not feel the flames. The corner of his mustache rises the smallest fraction of an inch.

“That sounds a real treat, son,” your father says, rising and crushing Javi’s shoulder in a squeeze. “Tomorrow night then.”

Javi joins you at the front window when they leave so you can wave them off, having the balls to wrap his arm around your shoulder as you do. Once their car pulls away into the night though, he retracts it and ambles back to the table, gathering up a few stray plates and taking them to the sink. “Well, that went well.”

When you don’t answer, he turns to find you with a level expression and your arms folded across your chest. “What was that?”

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“We are going to address tomorrow night in a minute, but I’d love for you to explain to me why you know the location and the layout of my apartment, Agent Peña.”

Now he catches up, nodding slowly and returning to you at the window. With one hand on a hip and the other pointing to the nearest streetcorner, he explains, “Did you see that car that pulled out of there after your parents? Security. I sat in a car in that exact spot for three weeks after you were appointed to the agency. Couple days while you were at work,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the apartment as a whole, “I spent quite a few hours in here on a deep scan for taps.”

Now it’s your turn to carry the surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Standard procedure for government employees to be shadowed for a probationary period, eliminates the suspicion of inside involvement. You got a deluxe security detail treatment on top of it because…well. Your…family’s connection to Washington.”

He’s kind enough to wait for you to process this. “Wait. You mean,” peering outside at the location he indicated, noting the straight-line view into your living room, “you watched me? For three weeks???”

He turns back in search of his glass. “You dance when you’re happy. You could stand to be happy more often.” Giving you the time it takes for him to pour another finger of whiskey to stew over this, to grind through the gears of your mind and work out if you might have done anything embarrassing under the gaze of the DEA, he finally assures you, “Don’t sweat it. You’re usually a stickler for keeping your curtains closed. It was about as uneventful as a watch is possible to be.”

“So this is what they pay their agents to do? Babysit a government employee’s daughter? That seems below your pay grade.”

He downs the drink and shrugs. “I was lower on the pole back then.”

“Not that low.” But then…. The jaw tick presents itself again. His lack of eye contact confirms a sudden suspicion. “My…father paid for it.”

His nod hangs silent and sorry between you.

Independence. That’s why you took this job. Something you thought you could do on your own without your father’s help, run away from America, go live abroad and work somewhere new, somewhere exotic. How naive to think–for three years now–that you’ve done all this on your own.

The embarrassment burns.

Javi slowly runs a finger over a plate, raising a dollop of sauce to his tongue. “This is good. You’re a hell of a cook, Sully.”

It’s meant to lift your spirits, make you feel accomplished at something in your life. It’s appreciated.

“Thanks. It’s not that complicated.” Moving past him into the kitchen, you pick up your tongs from the counter and quietly start heaping half of the leftover meal into a bowl. “What’s this place you’re taking us to tomorrow? You’ve seen what a holy terror my mom is about food.”

He comes to lean against the refrigerator. “Dos Rosas Cocina.”

“I know it. Good choice. Atmosphere’s… rustic, but the food’s amazing.” Tying the bowl up in a clean towel and placing it in his hands, you sigh, all the stupid, terrible tension you didn’t know you were holding this evening seeping its way out. “I can’t believe you’re electing to spend more time on this little act.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t remember thanking you, but thank you.”

“What’s this?”

“Leftovers. Lunch. Enjoy.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You’d better.”

Later, after the dishes are done and the leftovers stowed, you curl up on the couch with the novel you’re battling your way through. But not a single page is turned. An hour goes by as you think through the interviews and steps you took to get this job, to land your working visa, to find this apartment in a nice part of town, how easy it had all seemed at the time, how accomplished you’d felt. And then there was that little look of realization and regret in Javi’s eye. That he knew. That he was the one that slipped and let you figure it out, that he never told you before. That nobody told you before. Had you come off as stupid in that moment? Innocent? Naive?

You need to confront your father about it. Probably not tomorrow, not in front of Javi. But soon.

Dammit.

You’re not getting any reading done so you turn off the light and head to bed.

Your pajamas are folded and the bed’s been meticulously remade.

Of course.

No wonder it took longer than it should have for your mother to change her blouse.

How is it you get to be a grown ass adult and your parents will never see you as anything but their little girl, even at this age?

________

“Soooooo, how’d you two meeeeet?”

Having arrived early at Dos Rosas Cocina, Javi already has a drink in him, so your mother’s question earns a contented smile. “Well–”

“At work, Mom. Obviously at work.”

It’s not a lie. It was at your desk. He needed something notarized and your new stamp hadn’t arrived yet so he wrote his direct extension on your desk pad, asked you to ring him when it did. You remember thinking that his eyes wandered too much but couldn’t be mad when you realized yours must have too if your first impression was that his pants were a good fit.

Later that night you’d come here, to the Cocina, charmed by its walls lined with picture frames full of the owner’s ancestors and descendants, how it seemed to be the center of time itself reaching backward in it’s colorful mountain-style decor and forward in its state of the art cashier’s computer and cd jukebox.

The owner had served your meal himself and sat down to chat with you, to practice his English, he said. It was a slow night and you had nowhere to be and he put you at ease right away.

“Dos Rosas,” he explained, “it means two roses. You see the sign? One red, one white. You know what it means?”

You shook your head and smiled, mouth full of some heavenly empanada.

“The red rose is for love. The white rose for friendship. Dos Rosas is a place my father made where he wanted guests to come with love and friendship.” And then he produced a single white rose, slipping it into the vase on the table. “For your luck. You are welcome here, friend. Someday you will bring someone who will share a red one with you, si?”

It had been a favorite place ever since.

Javier had been there that night too, now that you remember it. Sitting in the dim corner away from the basket lamps, nursing a beer and a plate of arepas, the curtain of his cigarette smoke nearly hiding him from view. Back then he was just the agent who needed some papers stamped and who just happened to be at the same restaurant that night.

Hindsight and new information reframes the nearly-forgotten memory now. Of course. He must have been tailing you then.

“I think,” Javi says as he drapes an arm across the back of your cane chair and leans in, “she understands where, milagra. But what she wants to know is that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

Your response comes with a sweet smile that hides a challenge. “I know. You watched me for three weeks straight.”

“And then some.” He doesn’t let your jab throw him off the act. “And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her.”  On the contrary, he hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and yanks it closer to his own, effectively throwing you against his chest. “She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

The clench of your stomach, the cold wave of your blood pressure dropping, every method your body has to signal and react to danger begins to take over as Javi keeps you locked from pulling away with one arm, hazy smile inches from your face, his  heavy-lidded gaze dropping to your mouth.

A warm hand folds gently over one of your own, floating it upward, his fingertips guiding your palm until he ducks his head half an inch to meet your knuckles to his lips. Big brown eyes beg at you and that cold wave rebounds now as a hot tsunami.

And all you can do is stare, stare at this display of tenderness that seems so very unlike the Javier Peña you know. Gone is the indifferent agent, the shielded ego, the preference for solitary. As his kiss lingers on your hand just a second longer than necessary, you get a glimpse behind the curtain to the man beyond. For one moment you witness a vulnerability and care, a fleeting tease of what it must be like to have his perfect attention, his devotion. It’s literally breathtaking.

And then something in him stalls, shifts, as if he notices the same in you.

Is he going to kiss you? Should you kiss him? Right here in front of your mother? Why is he so warm? What is that amazing cologne? Is his shirt unbuttoned further than usual? Is that a cymbal roll in the music coming from the jukebox or is that your blood rushing in your ears? Does he always breathe this forcibly? How have you never noticed that little crease in his bottom lip or realized just how dark his eyes were?

Just as his tongue flicks forth to wet his lips, your father returns from the phone booth in the back.

“Well, false alarm. Seems the ambassador just had some bad fish, but it’s passing. Conference is still on.”

Oblivious to your predicament and drawing your mother’s attention, he’s happy to answer her questions regarding the type of fish and how long it was prepared, and she offers her wisdom to nobody in particular as to preventing such a thing as food poisoning. Neither of them notice as you slowly twist yourself out of Javi’s loosening clutches and both of them obviously assume your hasty retreat has more to do with wanting to powder your nose than calm your racing heart.

The restroom is one small room, looking like a much older sibling to the restaurant itself as if it had been built first and the rest of the building added later. You count fifteen cracks in the wall over the solitary, rust-stained toilet before a knock falls on the door, momentarily spiking your softening anxiety. It’s an old man’s voice enquiring in Spanish if you’d fallen in.

You’re far from convinced that you’re ready to face or deny whatever’s going on in your heart. But you wash your hands–one of them still stubbornly holding the tingle of Javi’s lips and mustache against it–surrender the room, and find your way back to the table where the man who is not your boyfriend leans forward on his elbows, spinning stories for your parents.

“But we’re zeroing in on him now. He’s made more than a few mistakes and we’ve just barely caught them by turning around at the right second. It’s only a matter of time.”

A smile pulls wide over your father’s face as he leans back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. Damn, son. I admire your tenacity. We’re lucky we have talented young men like you down here catching the bad guys.”

“And we’re also lucky to have you here looking after our daughter,” your mother helps.

“Thanks, Mom, I can take care of myself. I mean, that is,” To one side, you feel Javi’s focus tilt your way, “as long as Dad’s willing to pay for it, I guess.”

Silence blankets the table as the waiter sets down four bowls of sancocho, a plate of flatbread, a candle, and a red rose in a vase in front of you all before hastily retreating.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Staring at the rose and trying to sort out your thoughts, you’re not sure why you chose this moment to bring up the subject. Maybe your body is just in fight or flight mode and perhaps you’re diverting your fluster to this deep-seated frustration. Something is shaking the cage of your heart and wants out, wants to cause some damage–

–but Javi’s hand comes to a gentle rest on your knee, soothing whatever savage beast had awakened, somehow turning frustration and fear into calm strength instead.

“I know about the money, Dad. I appreciate the help, I really do. But it’s okay. You don’t have to pay anyone to babysit me and pull strings just to make my life easier here. I came to Colombia to challenge myself. I can’t do that if you’re sneaking in and slapping training wheels on me all the time.”

For a split second it looks as if he’s going to deny it, play dumb. Instead, he softens.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ll have to forgive me. Your mother and I can’t help but look out for you. It’s what we’ve done all your life. It’s a hard habit to break.”

The confirmation stings, but you can’t deny that you set yourself up for it. “Did you do the same for Kennie?”

“Your sister has a husband and a family. She doesn’t need us to look after her anymore.”

A frustration wells up inside, burning, humiliating, full of futility. It doesn’t matter what you accomplish, how many times you have to prove yourself, they’re just not going to change. They’re never going to overcome what their generation has held as truth all their lives, even past the recent wave of feminism and push for equality. They’ll never ever see you as complete unless there’s a man involved. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.

And perhaps that’s the conclusion that makes Javi’s actions feel like the only heroic course as he rubs a side hand over your back and explains, “Sir, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s capable. Thriving. She’s in no danger here. If there were any threat at all, she could hold her own. And even so, I’d do my best to make sure trouble never came near her.”

“Oh, Haaavi. You’re so good to her. She’s so lucky to have you.”

With a defensive flick of a hand, he continues. “It’s not luck, ma’am. And it’s not goodness. It’s simply part of my job. Even if she was nothing to me but another clerk that’s too smart and too bold for her position, I’m an agent first. As a U.S. citizen and employee of the DEA, I’m going to put her life before my own. With all due respect–and I’m sorry to be so blunt–but to doubt that she or any American isn’t safe here is an insult to Colombia, to me, and all government agents on a professional level.”

The hard drag of conviction in his tone. The realization on your parents’ faces. The understanding sinking in. The steadying warmth of his arm around you.

“But she doesn’t need me. She doesn’t need anyone. Most self-sufficient and confident woman I’ve ever known. I’m the lucky one; lucky she’s bored enough to keep me around. Must be for entertainment.”

Wow.

And all at once, you regret that you hadn’t taken the chance to kiss Agent Javier Peña. ________

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride back to her apartment, son? It’ll be faster.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d like to walk her home.”

Javi takes your hand in his, waving at your parents with the other, and quietly pulls you away from the car window down the dark street toward your place.

Half a minute later he’s still silent. And still holding your hand.

It feels awkward not to let go. And yet rude to do so. So you find a middle ground and squeeze instead, “Thank you. For that. Back there. I hate that I have no power to convince them of my autonomy on my own, but I think they just needed to hear it from…”

Who? A man? A government employee? A “cop”? A workaholic who is cranky most of the time because he disregards his own health and safety and refuses to sleep in his never-ending quest to quash every last cokeslinger within a thousand-mile area?

His nod and squeeze in return says he knows. “You know it’s love, right?”

Your heart trips over his words. “What?”

“Your parents love you. Doesn’t matter how old you get. Doesn’t matter how far you run. Doesn’t matter how long the flight is and how repulsive they find the local guaro, they’re gonna love you.”

In the shared laughter that follows, your hands naturally part and you double over, remembering the look on your mother’s face after tasting the aniseed liquor Javi ordered for her.

“It was so beautiful!” you crow. “She tried so hard to smile and be polite…and the tears! You could almost see the fumes pushing out of her tear ducts!!!”

“It broke my heart to do it to her, but she insisted I order for her–!”

It’s not often you see Javi laugh and smile–really smile–with unrestrained joy. Playful smirks, weary grins, the occasional shy blush perhaps, yes. But it’s not until this moment that you see him genuinely happy. It takes years off him, as if he’s shed responsibility like a coat and gone skinny-dipping into life for a minute. His eyes crinkle deeply when he truly smiles, they shine and sparkle. Like stars on this dim street.

The giggles and chuckles continue as you near your block and it’s in a resurgence of his that he casually just reaches out and takes your hand again, as if dropping it had been a little mistake that needed correcting.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel so awkward. It should be, but it’s not. It’s like you both decided it doesn’t have to be and yet, it doesn’t have to mean anything either. If anything, a shared happiness. A familiarity.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”

“Hmm?” His attention is slowly returning to the street, constantly scanning, every second a chance to gather information, find the next piece of the druglord puzzle.

“This. Being the perfect boyfriend. Having someone’s parents just think the god’s ass of you for once. Playacting chivalry.”

That last bit sobers him. “Yeah, well, at least I can put on a good show.”

There’s something in the response that rings…tired. You’ve hit on some old hurt, some buried regret. Knowing Javi, addressing it would only cause him to close off and dig it in deeper.

“Well, I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m getting good value for all of the favors I’ve done for you and prettyboy Murphy. You’re good at this. A girl could get used to it. That story you told my mother about how we met? Let nobody tell you that you don’t go above and beyond in every way, Agent Peña.”

You can’t see the little grin that pulls at the far corner of his mouth, but you know it’s there. An eyebrow cocks. “So you’re saying my tab’s clear? I can put in a new order to the miracle worker?”

“Order up,” you laugh. “After all, now that I know Dad’s pulling strings, who’s gonna fire me? Bring your worst shenanigans!”

It doesn’t have quite the reaction you expect from him and he stops just short of the steps to your apartment building, deep grooves forming between his brows. “You know, it’s not unusual; landing any job has a lot to do with who you know. Keeping it is the part that’s all you. Even if you didn’t get it on your own, you still made it your own.” When you can’t seem to meet his eyes, his tone softens. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of here. Why did you feel like you had to perfect some image of your life by toting me around?”

Flustered, you scoff and jump at the chance to dodge the question. “I’ll have you remember that I asked Steve, not you. You’re the one that jumped at a free meal.” It doesn’t work. His stance demands an honest answer, his face says it’s required more for your sake than his. “It’s… a long story. There are checkboxes in my family… my sister got married and had kids and I never did. I never really felt it was important… or that anyone would put up with my attitude. i’m not exactly the picture of perfect wife material. I mean, of course I’d like to find someone someday, but it’s never been the main goal… but my parents–”

“I couldn’t do it,” he says. Not an agreement; an admission. Simple. “I walked away from the altar. Left her standing. It just felt like there was a responsibility there to be ‘the husband’, and–like you said, same thing–check off the boxes. I didn’t know if I could check off the same ones everyone else thought were necessary.”

It takes a moment to say anything. To move past the fact that he’s just confided a piece of his past and his personal life to you. That he’s let you in. It explains a little about why he doesn’t get close to anyone, why he prefers feminine relations without hangups. Which makes this admission very weighted and precious. You see that he trusts you not to judge. And perhaps it’s his way of letting you know that you’re not alone in dodging the tried-and-true life path.

“Everyone had expectations. You thought you couldn’t be a good husband. So you ran away to join the DEA because you knew you could do that spectacularly.”

Now it’s him that can’t look at you. “I wouldn’t say that I’m doing that well–”

“Javi.” That catches his eye. “You’re a damn good agent. I know you’re going to get the job done. Why the hell do you think I’ll jump at the chance to break every rule in the goddamn department to help you do it? Like I said. Who’s gonna fire me now if I do?” Something shifts in him, like he’s been slapped or sharply woken. As if it’s something he’s been needing to hear and didn’t have the right person to tell him. You’re suddenly honored to be that for him. He needs it. And so you gift him a little more. “Obviously you don’t have to do everything by the book to be good at something. Look at the past couple of days. Thank you for being nice to my folks. And for the encouragement. That’s all it takes sometimes, you know? You’ve been a damn good stand-in boyfriend. Your little stunts included, you asshole. That’s what made it fun. I’m sure you would have been a great husband.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it with a tick of his jaw. Regrouping, he gives you a pained look to say, “I’m sorry that you feel you were lied to…with the surveillance and all. And that’s how you found out. I meant what I said back there, Sully.” He swallows. “All of it.”

It’s so serious and vulnerable, an obvious effort for him to say. He’s a good man, Javi. You’ve read the reports. You’ve heard the rumors. He may keep others from getting too close, may come off as flippant and impatient or pour his focus into his work. But his moral center is pointed in the right direction and he’s the first person to discard his own needs in favor of someone else.

It’s probably what overwhelms him–caring about others but not allowing anyone to care for him–bubbles up so far that he has to visit his girls to vent it. He says they’re his informants, everyone’s heard that, but nobody buys that’s all it is. He needs to be cared for, but the money keeps him safe, keeps the lines drawn. It’s an exchange he can allow himself to make.

Something about that suddenly twists your heart. You could ask him in. You could take care of him. It’s tempting. It’s what he needs.

But you’re not sure if the inevitable fallout and distancing is what you need right now. It would be too easy to want him to stay.

It’s fine to fall in love just a little with Javier Peña, as long as you don’t expect too much.

Instead, you squeeze his hand. Big and warm and gun-callused. “I know you did. Good night, hero. Thank you.”

He lets you go, this transaction settled. Doesn’t ask anything more. As you expected. The perfect gentleman. When he puts his mind to it.

________

You’ve lost count of your yawns.

Even though you brought leftover carbonara for lunch the following day, you need to escape. There’s twice as much work with the ambassador’s conferences, more calls coming through and the agents and policia all have their regular requests. And you didn’t sleep soundly the night before; something whining at the back of your mind, like something forgotten or missed… Every form and file feels like an effort and you’re just so out of it. If your mother were to stop by and take you out to lunch–a real possibility–that would just be too much.

Half an hour in the outdoor cafeteria should help, even if it’s another hot day. Air and sunshine are usually good revitalizers. And you can hide in the crowd.

Or so you thought. Just as you’re settling in with a bowl of rice and veggies, a long shadow falls across your bench and you look up to see broad shoulders and dark hair.

But the eyes you meet are blue.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Well hey there. Mind if I join you?”

Without waiting for an answer he perches on the bench next to you with his sandwich and starts talking. About nothing. About the heat. How it’s hot here, how it was hot back home in Arizona but nothing like the hot here. Humidity. Dry heat. Sweat. How he once baked a cookie on the dash of a car parked in the sun. How he never understood the calculations between fahrenheit and celsius, just that one is higher and one lower. Something about mercury in thermometers.

You stop listening after a minute and just chew and smile and nod. You’re not that lonely. Yet.

There’s a little old man who sells flowers from a bucket, sets up a little stall on the sidewalk across the other end of the courtyard. He’s out here most days. He’s out here today. Carnations, chrysanthemums, birds of paradise, roses…

You should get some flowers for your desk. Something nice. Might wake you up a little. You watch absently as the flower man speaks to someone in a tan shirt. A man with dark hair like so many others here. He looks like Javi from the back.

You’d rather not think about Javi’s back. Or front. Or deep brown eyes.

So you listen to Jimmy ramble for a while before he finally asks you a question.

“Don’t you think it’s hot?”

“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s hot.” _______

“I’ll take one red and one white, por favor.”

The little old flower man’s smile is even warmer up close.

On your way back into the office you muse that you’ll put the roses in a vase and let them decide for you, depending on which one lasts longer. Do you really feel the need to entertain the possibility of infatuation? Or can you be content with the easy friendship you have?

But upon arriving at your desk, you find that your little bouquet will be unbalanced and one of the two choices will have twice the advantage.

There’s already a red rose laying on the credenza.

Next to a bowl that held carbonara leftovers when last you saw it.

And a note. Fast scratches on a torn piece of yellow steno paper. Probably from the ripped piece on your desk. Next to your pen.

“I meant all of it, Sully.”

Suddenly the clack of keyboards and whine of printers and ring of phones fades away. You lift the little note to read it again. “All of it.” As if the words aren’t enough, as if you need more empirical evidence–or maybe because it was with the flower–for some odd reason you bring it close to your nose only to confirm what you knew you’d smell there.

Rose. And cigarettes.

All of it? That’s the last thing he said last night. I meant what I said back there, Sully. All of it.

It had been a heartening thing to hear, reinforcing how he would protect and serve, how he thought you were competent and confident, but why remind you now–

Oh.

Oh. Not just that part.

All of it.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. And then there were the times I had to get into the file room for nothing in particular, just a reason to come down and talk to her. She used to laugh at my flirting; made fun of me, thought I wasn’t serious.”

Suddenly you understand what was keeping you awake last night.

The look on his face as he stood by your steps. The way he rethought the words before he spoke. It wasn’t easy for him. He tried to tell you and you just…

All of it.

You just thanked him and walked away.

He’s been…this whole time…he’s…

“Darling?”

Yanked from one confusion to another, you turn to find your mother rounding your desk–even though you told her not to, that only government officials are supposed to be around your files–coming to take your hand.

“Your father and I are going on a tour of the city with the Representative. I dropped by to see if you’d like to join us.”

“Hi Mom. No… no, thanks. I’m…swamped today. I’m sorry.”

She coos, worriedly. “Are you alright? You seem tired. Those are pretty…”

Blinking down at the roses in your hand and stepping slightly to the side to shield her view of the third on your credenza, you agree, “Yeah, just tired today. It’s the heat. Here,” handing her the flowers, you smile. “The red one is for you. Please give the white one to the Representative’s wife. I hope you have a nice tour.”

“Oh. Thank you, dear…but…how did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t. There’s a nice old man who sells them. Sometimes I buy some to cheer up my desk.”

“You’re buying your own flowers? We should stop by Haavi’s desk and tell him he needs to do that for you.”

“Oh. No need. He does.”

Once she’s on her way, you swing out to the atrium, but find Steve and Javi’s desks unoccupied. There was talk of a situation on the east side of the old town, no doubt the whole department will be out most of the afternoon.

Good. Maybe you can get some work done.

Still carrying the note, you flip it over on Javi’s desk and scribble five words with the same pen–

You know where I live.

–tuck it under his typewriter with just the tiniest corner sticking out, and head for the coffee room. One cup and three more work hours should shrink that stack of paperwork on your desk.

If you can just shut it all out and concentrate.

And try not to expect too much. ________

The door to your apartment is unlocked when you get home. Well, he certainly jumped at your note.

It shouldn’t surprise you. There’s got to be department keys in some file somewhere. After all, how could he have done all that snooping around when you first got the job?

Dropping your bag and keys on the table in the hall, you head for the main room. “Javi? You here?”

Heart ramming against your ribcage, you emerge into the apartment…

…and find your parents seated at your dining table. Waiting.

“Mom. Dad. How…how did you get in?”

“Your father talked to the landlord. It wasn’t difficult, dear. We wanted a word.” Even though there’s an endearment, your mother’s tone is anything but.

“Okay. That’s kind of excessive. You could have just swung by my desk, you know where I–”

“This is a more delicate matter and we thought you might appreciate the privacy,” your father grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

There are two things on the table. Your mother’s purse, and a box of tissues. Not the brand you own. Provided for.

“I don’t think I will. What’s going on?”

They share a glance, a starting gesture as if to choose who will begin, even though it was always going to be your mom.

“We had a very nice tour of the city today. We saw the opera house and the capital. It’s a beautiful city. You must really like it here–”

“Representative wanted to go into some of the deeper parts of the city,” your father interrupts, already going off book it seems, “to see the neighborhoods that really reflect the majority economy, get a feel for the true people of Colombia.”

What’s this all about. There’s a silence. Of course there is. They’re waiting for you to prod them. “The old town. I know it. It can get rough, but mainly only if you’re already involved in something shady.”

“Well, there’s plenty that’s shady there, I’ll tell you.” Your mother’s nose lifts more than slightly. “Did you know that it’s crawling with brothels?”

“I do, actually. There are a lot of women who don’t have any other way–”

“Well, Haavi certainly knows about those brothels. We saw him coming out of one today.”

Oh. Shit.

Wait. What?

Fuck.

Your mother continues, something about being sorry to be the one to tell you, something about your heart and how it must be breaking, how it’s hard to be lied to….

The tissues sit on the table, a pretty pink box with daisies on it. They expect you to break down. Cry. How good of an actor are you?

“...and if you want to come home for a while, you know you are always welcome–”

Not good enough.

“Javi’s not my boyfriend, Mom.”

The silence that follows is thick, it mingles with the humidity, curdles it like cream in the air. You let it sit until it sours.

“He posed for me so you wouldn’t worry about me here. Like you always do. As if I could never make it on my own without someone.” Their shock sustains. The quieter they become, the easier it gets. “And Javi went along with it because he works with me. Day in and day out. If anyone ever thought I was in danger here, or couldn’t hack the agency, he’d be the first to say so. And I trust him.” Your mother opens her mouth to run her tongue, but you cut her off at the pass. “I trust that man. Yes, you saw him coming out of a brothel, but I’m not his girlfriend and he’s there for his job. Those women sleep with the people Javi’s trying to catch. It’s a brilliant tactic, actually. And they trust him too. Because he is good to them. He’s a good man; one of the best I know and deserves respect. He takes care of them and protects them as much as he would anyone else. You should have seen what he did for this girl Helena–”

It’s here that you notice something out of the corner of your eye and turn to find Javi standing silent in the hallway, still close enough to the door that your parents can’t see him around the corner into the room. But you can. Wide eyes. That tight fitting tan shirt. Slightly off balance as if he came to a stop immediately at the knowledge of walking in on something.

Why do you feel….caught?

“Anyway,” turning back to your parents with a sigh, “I appreciate your concern. But you don’t have to be. Not about him, not about me, not about anything. I’m sorry I lied. It just seemed…easier. Because you have never just believed I was fine. I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Like Javi said the other night, I’m thriving here. Even if he was posing, everything he said was true…”

But if everything he said was true…

A glance to the hallway finds it empty again. Even if the door is slightly ajar.

“Well. You can’t blame us for wanting the best for you, sweetheart. You’re never going to stop being our daughter.”

“I know, Dad. You keep saying that. It’s right there on my birth certificate.”

“There’s no shame in accepting help if it’s given freely and if it helps you achieve a goal.”

“I understand that, but I really wish you’d told me about it rather than let me think I did it all on my own. Do you understand how that feels? To be lied to?”

Your mother huffs. “I do now.”

Thank god for office coffee. Without the edge taken off of your exhaustion, you might have had more bite. But for now, you’ve said what was necessary and you’re not up for a fight or managing their feelings; you have enough of your own to sort out. If they care about you as much as they say they do, they’ll let what you’ve said sink in and not push the matter.

“Are you flying out tomorrow morning or afternoon?”

“Tomorrow morning, sweetheart.”

You nod and move into the kitchen. Seems they do care. You have to give them credit. “Okay. Do you want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers.”

“We have a dinner scheduled with the ambassador.”

“Well good. I’ve had a long day and I’m really tired. I probably wouldn’t be good company anyway. You’re coming back in for the trade agreements in January?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good. I’ll get to see you for a whole week then.” The sad smiles you exchange with them signal that everything’s going to be okay. For now.

There are hugs and kisses, a wish for safe travels and a promise to call in the coming days. Your mother apologizes loudly for cleaning your bathroom mirror. Your father apologizes softly for your mother’s volume. This time, you walk them all the way out to the street.

Your mother’s halfway to the car when your father doubles back, digging in his pocket, just barely remembering to give you the key he got from the landlord.

Or maybe he didn’t really forget.

“Your mother and I are proud of you, sweetheart. I’m sorry if we gave the impression that we weren’t.”

“Thanks, Dad. It’s good to hear.”

“I should have said it sooner.” He hovers as your mother gets into the car. “You tell Javi that it was nice to meet him. And that we’re proud of the work he’s doing here too.”

There’s something in the way he tells you this. Another apology. Or a knowing. You’ve never been sure with Dad.

“I will.”

As they pull away, waving, your plan is to go collapse on your couch and just be alone for a minute.

As you come back into your apartment, you have to amend that plan to collapsing on your couch next to Javier Peña.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You heard all of that?”

He doesn’t answer the question. You sink in, lean back, let your eyes close. He sighs.

“You mind if I smoke?”

“I do, actually. You know I do. And I don’t have an ashtray. There’s still some whiskey if you want though. Knock yourself out.”

The couch shifts a bit as he gets up. The pop of cabinet doors. The clink of ice against glass. After a few seconds, the couch shifts again and a cool tumbler slides gently against your hand.

You open your eyes to ice water.

“Thanks.” You take a long drink, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I never do. Bed’s too big. Sleep better when I’m not alone.” When you look him in the eye, he knows enough not to turn away. “One of the girls was called into one of Escobar’s regular haunts. Didn’t see him, but got a good look at some clients he’s courting. It was info worth delivering a retainer. And a final thanks.”

You do your best to keep your hope from shining through your cracks. “Final thanks?”

“Yeah. For all the…help in the past couple of years. Told them there’s a woman I’d like to spend some time with. Get to know better.”

The sly smile spreading across your face will not be contained. “Really. You told your informants that you were shoving off to the boring world of dating.”

“No. But I did let them know that if there’s a next time I darken their door, I won’t be in a very good mood. I don’t have a Jimmy to turn to if this doesn’t work.”

“Oh. So that was you today in the courtyard. That’s what inspired this? You jealous of Jimmy?”

“Nothing to be jealous of. He’s not your type. But. It might have sped up the process.” When you don’t laugh at that, he sighs. “Listen. I’m not good at this.”

“Yes, you are, I told you that you arrrre,” you yawn and go after another sip. “But I’m the one who’s going to be cranky and crap at it unless I take a nap. I’m sorry. It’s been a day.”

“Can I join you?” His dark eyes search yours as you empty the tumbler.

There’s something like a hope there. And something else, not quite an apology, not quite yearning, a worry that he’s going to do this right or die trying and he waited far too long to start.

Like he’s fighting the urge to expect too much.

“I said a nap, Peña.”

“Good. We were called in early. I could use it.”

It comes naturally. A smile. A matching smile. A whispered okay. He leans forward and slowly, softly, presses his lips to yours. Lingers a moment. Traces your nose–one side then the other–with his own.

“And what happens when we wake up?” you ask quietly in the space between you, in the space before the next slow, lingering kiss.

Javi stands, wraps three fingers around your glass and lifts it gracefully out of your grasp. Setting it on the end table, he reaches for your hand to help you up. “This is technically the third date, isn’t it? We could just…check off the usual boxes.”

“I think we established that I don’t especially love to do everything by somebody else’s rulebook.” Using the inertia of you coming off the couch to pull you straight into his arms and into a deeper kiss--one full of holding breath and clutching fingers--he chases it with a nip to your lip, which coaxes a chuckle. “But I’m open to actually following some rules for once. Especially the good ones.”

“Good. I think it’s time I worked you a miracle or two.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you. Well, lead the way. You obviously know where the bedroom is…”

He smirks, guiding you by the hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

________

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[jounosparticles]

jouno’s eyelashes - a quick analysis

yes im analyzing jouno’s eyelashes. im obsessed with him what can i say.

one thing i’ve noticed throughout my many rereads of jouno’s segments of the manga is that he is actually given eyelashes in a lot of the panels he is present in! often times they’re just thin white lines but they’re definitely there. here are some examples.

now, if we recall back to what harukawa said about eyes a long time ago:

the darker ones eyes are, the more tainted or corrupted a person is. someone who is doing good and/or feeling good may have whiter eyes. to rephrase, one who’s eyes are dark are typically doing something corrupt and/or are in an emotionally bad state. we see this numerous times throughout the manga with many characters, the shade of their eyes changes with their emotion at the time usually.

now what does this have to do with jouno? well, i believe his eyelashes are used to display his intentions since he keeps his eyes closed constantly.

now, there are definitely some exceptions to this. panels where his eyelashes are small could be hard to colour this way, so im looking past a few instances for that purpose.

anyways, i believe looking at his eyelashes in this perspective also hints towards his betrayal of fukuchi, since you can see he has good intent. more on this later.

i'd also like to preface this by reminding you that jouno believed he was in the right with most things he did. he was sure the agency was in the wrong for a long time, times where his lashes were white while dealing with the agency was likely because he believed himself to be doing what is good.

now, starting with his debut in chapter 57, his eyelids are almost completely black as he arrests dazai

his eyelashes appear a bit darker as he torments people i find.

such as shortly after he slices kunikida's notebook and asks tetchou to kill yosano.

one scene i actually want to put a lot of emphasis on here is chapter 78's interaction between jouno and kunikida.

here is his face when he first walks in, he's simply making small talk over how a terrorist attack is awful

we can see his lashes pretty well.

we can also see it well when he's talking about his asian pear. maybe he just really likes them.

however, as the conversation progresses onto tormenting kunikida, his eyelids casually grow darker.

they're not completely black yet, but you can tell he is enjoying bothering kunikida despite his claim of innocence.

after this, you can see his lashes are a little brighter as he announces that yosano is going to be executed.

this makes sense remembering that he is under the belief that yosano is guilty of terrorism and is getting the punishment he believes she deserves.

after this, jouno walks away as kunikida cries out in anger.

his eyelashes are almost completely black here, likely because he is getting nothing but personal enjoyment out of kunikida's grief. he isn't doing good by this and this could definitely be seen as corrupt behaviour.

a huge contrast to what i've been saying falls in chapters 71 and 72, the cafe scenes.

you can see the white of his eyelashes in nearly every panel he's in.

what makes this different than when he was bothering kunikida is that bothering the cafe owner was moving his case forward. he believed he was pursuing justice and doing what is right by extracting important information here; as opposed to doing nothing but mentally torturing someone who isn't improving his case. from his perspective, his actions weren't tainted in anyway except possibly approach, but since he was doing what was right his eyelids were painted white.

another example of this is in chapters 60 and 61, when he is fighting the agency for the first time.

and when the agency escapes and he's surprised to find out the pursued terrorist group would have allies in chapter 62.

i found that these three chapters had a lot of small panels where you couldn't really see the detail of his eyes, but generally they were white as he caught the criminals. they were also white as they escaped, since he was likely confused that people were easily supporting the group he perceived as evil.

my last example of this is his eyes being very white as he tortures the bank robbers in the flashback scenes in chapter 92.5.

he believes that he is seeking justice here. the robber gets what they deserve, and his intentions are what he believes in just which explains his eyes being white.

anyways, to summarize this all: jouno's eyelashes colour often displays his morality. his lashes seem to be coloured more white when he is doing what is morally right from his perspective. even if what he is doing is considered brutal by most, his eyes glow white if it is in pursing of justice or good. in contrast, if what he is doing has no overall benefit and he is just distressing someone for purely his own enjoyment, his eyelids often are coloured much darker.

however, as i said above i believe this subtly hinted at jouno's betrayal of fukuchi.

in chapter 92, we can still see by his eyelashes that he has the right intentions when hunting for the agency.

and towards the end of the chapter we see his eyes still have a small white streak, implying his bluff on actually being willing to switch to the other side. at the same time, the thinness of the lash could be so small because he is lying to his superior as well, which i suppose could also be seen as tainted behaviour.

however, after fukuchi's plan is unraveled we see the brightness shine again.

as i stated above, when he isn't doing what he believes is right or is tormenting people for no reason but his own enjoyment, his eyes look black. but if you look at the image below you can see his eyes are partially coloured white, hinting that he was going to do what was right. it is subtle colouring, i assume that is partially due to the fact that his face was rather small on the page. but regardless it is still noticeable.

and what do we know? he did switch up and betray fukuchi shortly after saying this.

with that in mind, there's one scene i deliberately avoided bringing up until now; the scene i believe heavily tries to avoid hinting at jouno's betrayal of fukuchi. im referring to the scene where jouno confronts aya.

as i said, if jouno is acting corrupt towards someone for his own fun, his eyelids are dark, but if he's doing something that he believes is just his lashes remain partially white. i believe that out of context his eyes would likely be black as he torments aya, however since he secretly had good intention they would have actually been white.

however, the readers had yet to know the context of his approach until the end of chapter 93, so they needed to hide the fact that he may have had good intent here.

so harukawa kept his eyes covered (or coloured his face differently) throughout the scene.

the most we see of his face in this whole scene is his side profile, which is small enough to not need to colour his eyelashes in.

i believe this was an intentional choice to keep the readers from guessing that he was doing something he believes is right here.

anyways, to sum up this segment i believe that jouno's eyelashes in chapter 92-92.5 subtly hinted at the fact that he was indeed siding with aya and was preparing to betray fukuchi.

in conclusion, i believe jouno's eyelashes hint at his true intent a lot. they show that he is a good person hiding behind a facade. the shading of his eyelids is a lot more subtle than how most character's eyes look in the manga, which i believe helps add more to jouno's somewhat moral ambiguity. he is an incredibly well-written character and i can't wait to see more of him!

[despairots]

- at the top of my lungs, in my arms, she dies , #c. nakahara!

description, there’s a reason why chuuya never went to visit you. it’s been like that every since that fateful day of dazai jumping, leaving no goodbye to chuuya. he felt distraught, but he’s moving on, taking the lead of the port mafia boss. though, he’s wondering if you miss him.

story contains, suicide, swearing, mafia activities, character deaths, beast!bsd spoilers, unrequited love??, more like right person, not enough time, angst, etc. gender neutral! reader. drabble, short.

it’s terrifying that i never wrote about chuuya,,,, anyways my bsf is gonna watch bsd and im tryna gatekeep dazai and chuuya from him (i showed akutagawa to him so he can take him)

chuuya nakahara doesn’t remember the last time he visited you. he was piled in work, and a few work that dazai refused to take on and do, leaving it to chuuya. he’s stressed, i mean, who wouldn’t? he’s the port mafia boss.

he hasn’t seen you in a while, he’s too afraid to face you. thinking about all the guilt on leaving you would catch up to him, it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilty— he does— he doesn’t know if you’ll forgive him. he knows you’re a pretty forgiving person, until it’s someone you care about is hurting you a lot.

chuuya’s scared, in short words.

he remembers your touch, your leadership, your eyes, you don’t smile often, he misses it though. he cherishes you very much, if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be thinking of you this much.

he hasn’t seen you ever since dazai’s suicide, he misses you both (dazai, a little bit less). after all, you were chuuya’s first love, how couldn’t he miss you? everyday, chuuya wonders what would happen if you didn’t leave.

now, at the port mafia, he’s by himself. all alone. piled with work and the amount of mafioso’s that don’t know how to work. as much as he hates this job, it’s the only place he feels like he belongs in, his loyalty goes beyond.

he wants to see you, so much that it’s hurting him. kouyou could see the look of distraught on the boss, as an executive, she asks what’s wrong with him. they can’t have their boss in this type of state.

kouyou knows how much you mean to him, he has a picture of you in his office, a spider lily caged in a glass beside the photo. she could tell that chuuya loves you, very much so, until the very end.

she’s visited you here and there, telling you how chuuya is and how much he misses you, aswell as wanting to see you. she remembers the words that you’ll wait for him, no matter how long until he sees you.

you had told her not to tell chuuya, well, because maybe chuuya will hurry the process and be there as soon as possible. you wanted him to take his time, you’d wait forever for him, even in death.

“where are you going?” kouyou asks, the answer already in her head once she sees the port mafia boss turn around, holding a bouquet of red roses. “you wanna come with?” the sight makes kouyou widen her eyes a bit before she closes them and turns around.

“i already saw them.” she whispered softly, her heels clicking on the floor as chuuya nods and leaves the building, a black car appearing in front of him.

chuuya can’t remember your voice, he only has your voicemails. he can’t remember your smell either, he only has a few months left until all your clothing, bedsheets, pillows, and perfumes are gone.

the sight of your place comes into view, stepping out of the car and heading straight to yours, the guilt and excitement all rushing into his brain—

—until he steps infront of your grave. dropping the roses on your grave and seeing the left over flowers kouyou left for you. there’s a restrained look of sadness on his face as he stares down on your grave, the wind blowing past him.

he’s scared that you won’t forgive him, for not visiting you, for not being there for you when you needed him the most, and especially, not being strong enough to save you. he thinks that maybe he should’ve just stayed with you, to stop you from hurting yourself any longer.

it’s the life time guilt he has for not being able to forget you, he gave you up to fast and chuuya wants to experience the life of being with you again.

there’s a reason why chuuya never went to visit you.

it’s because you’re dead.

[a-libra-writes]

Uuugghhh i misclicked and deleted a post i was working on......... I still remember the prompt but 💀😫 OG request was ASOIAF characters reacting to their s/o surviving an assassination attempt, another nonny wanted something similar, so I combined!

Obvs there will be mentions of blood, angst, and so on! We got: Cersei, Jaime, Tywin, Tyrion, Asha (Yara), Victarion, Brandon, Ned, Benjen, Brynden, Oberyn, Doran, Brienne

Cersei - Woe to the messenger who brings this news to her; the only thing worse about Cersei finding out is her finding out days after it happens. She's livid, and has no shortage of people to blame and suspect. The idea that this attempt is the consequence of her own machinations and manipulations does not to occur to her, or at least - she quickly shoves that thought aside.

She has her sick room moved closer to her own, and threatens the hell out of Pycelle to ensure a speedy recovery. The maids are threatened as well, though eventually Cersei's paranoia whittles them down to just one or two. She visits when you're awake, and either fusses over your comfort or doggedly acts as though everything is fine and you'll be up in no time - even if you're still sickly and wan. Yes, there's ... some denial there, and in rare moments, the facade and denial will melt, and Cersei will express genuine fear that you may have died.

Jaime - There's several minute of disbelief when he hears what happened. Then the anger rushes over him at once - who did it? And where was he to defend you? Then suspicion. Could his sister have found out about you two? Jaime ought to wait until it's safe to visit you, when he can't be seen - but he's never been good at fighting his whims.

Once at your side, he's clearly anxious and discomforted at how tired and sickly you look. His usual flippant, sarcastic front only lasts a few minutes. He gives in, his shoulders slump and you can see the clear anxiety and anger in his bright green eyes. He comes into your chambers every other day, but you aren't aware how often he hovers around the door and hall, eager for the assassin to come again so he might kill them with his own hands.

Tywin - Any attempt on your life was almost certainly meant to send a message to him. That's how he'll always see it, anyway, and Tywin will answer swiftly. He'll probably mutilate or execute your poor excuses for guards, and the maester understands your recovery will go well or he'll be next on the chopping block. Next, he draws up his mental lists of suspects and cuts through them. Tywin Lannister will find out who did this. There's no uncertainty of that.

That said, he doesn't visit the first few days of your recovery - both because of the investigating he's spending late hours on, and because he genuinely doesn't want to see you in such a weak, uneasy state. He isn't willing to admit this to himself, of course, but it brings back memories of Joanna. He'd be more affected if you were stabbed versus if you were poisoned; the blood, the bandages, your pale complexion and low energy all point to the very obvious fact you nearly died, and that would have affected the normally immovable, cruel Lannister patriarch. He doesn't like reminders that he's mortal.

Tyrion - Panic and dread starts bubbling up once he hears the news and really processes it. Tyrion wants to see you right away, even if you're in no state to see visitors for a while. He already has a shortlist of possible culprits, his sister being at the top. He makes sure it's a maester he trusts whose helping your recovery, one of your personal maids he knows whose caring for you, a few guards he pays personally and knows well ... It may seem like a bit much to you, but for Tyrion, it isn't enough. He's still riddled with anxiety and worry that whoever did it will send another assassin to finish the job.

He does his best to be reassuring and light-hearted when he visits, not wanting to trouble you with all the thoughts plaguing him. He likes to bring flowers and books and such, things to brighten your day and occupy you. Tyrion tries to float the idea of moving you to a private manor rather than the Red Keep.

Asha - She's alternating between a quiet fury and outright anger, snapping at this maester and that servant to handle you better. She might push them aside and just do it herself; she can certainly stitch a wound closed, though poison is beyond her. Oh, she has a good idea of who might have done this, but that's for later. First priority is getting your guts back in place and making sure there's some kind of medicine or disinfectant in these islands.

She investigates into who the culprit might be, but still takes time to visit you in the evening. She knows you'll pull through, you're strong - but what kind of lover would she be if she didn't check in and bother you? Asha alternates between a rare tenderness and her usual light heartened jokes, whichever works best on cheering you up.

Victarion - So. The good news is he didn't kill the messenger. The bad news is he's close to strangling the maester that was dragged in to treat you. Victarion has no way of figuring out who did this or how, so anyone is open to his wrath. He might eventually have suspicions, but it'll be his brothers and Asha who will do most of the investigating (if they bother). This rattles Victarion more than he's willing to admit.

It's difficult to visit when you're incoherent and pale, so he waits until you're more stable, even if all these negative emotions bite at him. There's anxiety, fear, powerlessness; all things he's worked to avoid and outrun. He probably doesn't even admit how badly he'd shaken. When you're finally awake and talking, that lessens some of the burden. Then he can pretend you're completely fine, and you'll recover quickly. He doesn't want to linger in the sickroom, so he just has you moved to your shared bedchambers. .... Probably for the best, since they get cleaned more often.

Brandon - He's beside himself with anger and worry. How did this happen? Weren't his best guards with you? Who was the culprit - was this a ploy to get to him? Intrigue is not his strong suit; he can't bruteforce his way through this, and it's beyond frustrating - it's just painful. He wants a culprit so he has someone to throttle.

Brandon makes sure you're as comfortable. He may not know much about treating wounds, but he knows you're in pain and wants to help in any way he can. This leads to him hovering too much, and the maester has had to kick him out so you can get rest. You're supposed to be recovering in the sickroom, but Brandon still wants to sleep next to you. It's half paranoia that something might happen again, and half he doesn't want you to be lonely. Yes, he's the actual lonely one ...

Ned - It takes a few hours, perhaps a day, for the reality of what happened to sink in ... and then the dread and anger follows. He keeps these emotions inside, of course, wanting to focus on who could have done this and why. Was it because of his own doing, or was this assassin after you specifically? He's never been one to uncover and follow schemes, and that shortcoming is especially obvious and frustrating now.

But when he visits your sickbed, Ned tries to push all that aside. He wants to make sure you're recovering and cared for, and while he follows the maester's instructions, he's also willing to go against them for your comfort, like if you want to be moved to back to your shared bedchambers. It's hard for Ned to deny you anything to begin with, he is absolutely going to let you curl up with him because it helps you feel better and safer, wounds be damned.

Benjen - The solemnity that comes over his long face startles his fellow Brothers. Of course this is no laughing matter, but the dark cloud that passes over his features and makes those grey eyes look so cold is startling. He wants to go beyond the Wall immediately and kill whoever did it, but he knows that's foolish. He has to grit his teeth and wait, because they'll surely send more.

He focuses on taking care of you. While they do have Maester Aemond, the old man's eyes make it tricky to do any kind of surgery. When you're awake and recovering, Benjen does his best to give you his soft smiles and usual jokes, though they're more muted than before. He hopes you don't notice how tired and anxious he's feeling. He tries to avoid assignments that'll send him away from Castle Black, and he sneaks into your sick room to sleep beside you whenever he can get away with it.

Brynden - The very cowardice of the act boils his blood. Whoever wanted to do this to you should have gone through him - he hates that he wasn't there when you needed him. Hasn't Brynden always said he'd protect you? If the attempt was done with poison, he's even more bitter. It's easy to get you the care you need, but he's still troubled, sitting at your bedside and wearing a troubled expression that doesn't go away until you wake up.

He tries to smile and comfort you, but his anger at the situation is obvious. When he's not out investigating what happened, he's at your side. He's keeping you company and playing "a poor nurse", so he says, but you know it's also to keep you protected. He comes in with full armor and his sword, after all. You sense he isn't sleeping well, either; he'd rather spend the late hours guarding you as you sleep.

Oberyn - It's not surprising that he reacts with anger. Oberyn would've been right there at your side, wanting to stop the bleeding himself, carrying you all the way to the maester while barking at guards to sweep the area. He'd go out on his own in a heartbeat, but assuring you're stable comes first. The minute you were, though - he's gone, spear in hand and wanting to find out what happened. Between himself and Doran, the assassin - or at least whoever hired them - can't stay anonymous for long.

While you're recovering, he does all he can for you. Do you want a dozen pillows, plenty of flowers, books, music? Company or none? Any food or drink - even if the maester cautions against specific ones - will be your's. Oberyn spares no expense, the guilt and anger he feels at "letting" this happen assuaged just slightly every time he grants a request. He prefers you be moved to your shared bedchambers rather than a sick room, both so he can protect you and so you don't feel so isolated.

Doran - His schooled, calm expression finally cracks when he hears the news. He wants to get up at once, to rush to the messenger and shake them, but he has to compose himself. Doran knows these things happen, and he already has clear suspicions of whose responsible, but that doesn't help his racing mind. He waits until the maester has done his job and you're stable before visiting you - for one, he has to calm himself, and two, he has to act fast if he hopes to retaliate.

Doran makes sure you have the utmost comfort while you recover, much like his brother, though he's not nearly as over-indulgent. He often spends time with you in your sickroom, reading you stories or just talking while holding your hand and petting your hair. He has a wonderful bedside manner helped by his steady presence and voice; it's near impossible to pick up the anger and injustice he's feeling. He doesn't want to subject his paramour to that. You should just focus on resting.

Brienne - She feels a terrible chill come over her, and then the adrenaline. She jumps to action. If the assassin is foolish enough to attempt it while Brienne is within shouting distance - they're dead, period, she will not let them escape after they did such a thing. But if it was poison, or a near-fatal wound - she may have to just to get you help. She gathers you up in her arms and easily carries you to help, shouting for a maester or healer, regardless of it was the middle of the night or day. She'll drag one out of a castle if need be.

Brienne wants to sit in while you're being treated, but she knows she shouldn't. She's stewing in anxiety and worry, wondering if she could've done something differently. Once you're awake and stable, it's like a weight has been lifted off. She still has plans for the assassin if they weren't caught - but first, she needs to focus on you. The adrenaline finally runs out once she hears your voice and has your hand to hold. She's so relieved she could just crash next to you, but no, you need her to be steady and strong.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Hi Luna!

You wanted requests so i thought of something.

What about a blurb/fic of Cedric Diggory x fem!hufflepuffreader, in which fem is a very bubbly, happy sunshine character but the better they get to know each other, he finds her jealous side,which she trys to hide because she is always so nice. Maybe this surprises him but he finds it cute/hot. 👀

It’s very general but english isnt my first language so i don’t know.

Have a great day lovely 🫶🏻

-🍓🍰

Sweet As A Daisy Smells

You remember your first day at Hogwarts like it was yesterday, even if years have passed. The beautiful architecture, the food, the Witches and Wizards of your year, of course, nothing would beat the year below you and their entrance, seeing as Harry Potter had joined your school that year. However, one small thing might beat what the fourth years have, being placed in Cedric Diggory's house.

Yes, you were like every other star-struck 5th year and younger following Diggory. The only difference between you and them is you actually accidentally made friends with the male. It was purely an accident, not a perfectly strategic mastermind plot between you and your friends to 'plop' you in his path.

It was innocent, really; you had a notorious reputation for being one of the sweetest Witches and Hufflepuffs. Someone needs help with homework: you're on it. Someone needs a quick snack: you're in the kitchen helping the house elves. An animal is wounded and hurting: you're on your hands and knees in the dirt, healing the animal as best you can till Hagrid can assist you. You were overall a genuinely nice person even the Draco Malfoy ran out of insults to throw your way because you were so unfazed: just telling him gently, "I know we all have bad days and feel the need to belittle others, it's okay, I won't judge you for it."

Your masterful plan to 'plop' you in front of Diggory was simple and well executed; you took the initiative to help the quidditch team clean and organize their equipment one night. Your roommate, Elaine Mellonfellow, was the one who came up with the idea, as she was usually one of the three on the team that ended up with that job. She would simply suggest to her captain that you take her place for a handful of sessions so she could 'serve detention.' This was a convincing plan, especially considering Elaine's tendency to doze off during Professor Snape's lectures.

Taking the bait, hook, line, and sinker, Diggory happily agreed to an extra pair of hands to help keep the team's quidditch equipment in top shape. This is what led you to now. It went from a handful of crafted detentions by Elaine to her simply stopping showing up, and you always did. Some would say you should be mad at your friend's obvious ruse to get out of a daunting chore, but you saw it simply as a good friend making sure you got close to your crush and close you definitely got.

Weeks of small talk turned into life stories and learning in detail about one another. You learned about his father's work in the ministry, about how he knew the Weasely brothers through their fathers, how he worked hard to become Quidditch captain, and that his almost least favorite color was, in fact, yellow. However, his years in Hufflepuff definitely helped change that.

While you were learning about Diggory to the fullest extent, he quickly learned much about you. Your fierce loyalty was the only thing preventing you from being in any of the other houses. You never gave up on a task, consistently achieved the highest marks in your year, and helped everyone out as often as possible. Always putting others before yourself, especially Elaine, who he has caught multiple times not being in 'detention' and though he would like to reprimand his chaser for skipping out on duties. He couldn't bring himself out of fear you would stop coming to help every week. Course, this could be solved if he could buck up the courage to talk to you outside of the quidditch tents, but there is a reason why he isn't a Gryffindor. It was fair to say that you were the sweetest, warmest human he had ever met, and he was addicted to you like a bee to a daisy.

All of these stolen moments have led up to today, the day Cedric found out you were, in fact, not just the cutest human in the world but also a vicious opponent in the arena of love.

After dinner in the great hall, you and Elaine make your way to your normal departure point, where she would 'go to detention,' and you would take her place as the ever-faithful cleaner of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. "Elaine, you are becoming far too obvious that you are not in detention when I am out there with him. What if he thinks I am a weirdo stalker chick who told you not to do your duties?"

Elaine snorted before speaking, "Yeah, cause Mister Lovey Goo Goo Eyes is definitely going to give up on spending time with his precious Y/N." You roll your eyes in frustration, with a slight blush present when Elaine speaks up again.

"Don't believe me, Y/N. He talks about you during our entire rest period during morning and evening practices. You might as well already be his girlfriend. If I hear him preach about how your favorite flowers are daisies again, I will puke." Elaine made a fake puking motion before laughing again at you.

"You look like a maniac, dork." you begin to laugh at Elaine's theatrics. Shaking off your nerves from Elaine's words, you begin to wonder. 'Does Cedric really talk about me that much...What if this is all being read horribly wrong, the man has half of Hogwarts on his side 24/7'

"Hey, now get out of your head; I know that look and that lip bite. Come on you are practically my sister, and he is practically my brother with all the time we spend together as a team. I promise you you got this. Just woman up and ask him out already before someone else does." As Elaine spoke to you, she followed the silhouette of Cho Chang on her way toward the quidditch pitches.

Sighing and following along as well, you felt a slight pang in your heart. Everyone knew that Cho Chang was in love with Cedric—so much so that she even rejected Harry Potter. She was perfect, the best representation of smarts, beauty, and poise that you definitely weren't. You were out there every week helping clean in the dirt and mud, for Christ's sake. You would never compare to her, and that ate you alive. Cho had shown her face at a few of your cleaning nights with Cedric. At first, it didn't bother you; they were the same year, and she could have needed help with classwork. Then, the day Harry asked her out, she turned him down only to show up that night laughing and hanging on to Cedric, making it very, VERY clear to him how she didn't like Harry. You knew right then and there. Game On.

Straightening your back, you turn to Elaine, a smile scarily plastered on your face. "I am going in," you begin to walk towards the pitch when you hear from behind, "Maybe don't smile like that; it's a bit unnerving, love! I'll be in the room of requirements with the twins!" Waving by to Elaine, you finish your trek to the pitch to see none other than Cho Chang clinging to Cedric. The slight pang boils into a full-blown constriction.

To onlookers that night, the smile on your face went from mildly unnerving to straight terrifying. Like a Lioness hunting her pray for her young. To Cedric, he just saw his girl walking up to him. Pulling away from Cho, he ran up to you. "Hi, Y/N; I was beginning to worry you got 'detention' too." Using air quotes around detention, your attention moved from the shocked female to the lovely boy before you. "Oh, Cedric, I would never miss this. Who else would help you? Elaine seems to be getting in trouble often lately. Must be all that time with the twins." A warm blush overcame your face as you rubbed the back of your head gently.

"She sure does. Why don't we get started? I was thinking of a full revamp of the whole broom closet. For some reason, half the team thinks that just haphazardly throwing their equipment in there is the best thing to do." Cedric smiled down at you, eager to start his routine and banter with you. Nodding gently, you began to walk into the tent with Cedric when a small voice spoke out behind you. "So that's what you two do in there; clean. I could always help Cedric. Here, let me lend a hand, too." Cho's voice rang like a small bell. A small bell that made you want to grit your teeth and commit a crime. Cedric just shrugged and turned to you. "I guess the more, the merrier, right Y/N?" You gently nodded your head when the constricted feeling in your chest slowly turned into a whole ball of hate.

The cleaning started like any other day; a soft, small conversation began between you and Cedric. Then it happened...that voice. That smooth, high, annoying voice that made you see red. It was bad enough that she pretended that you guys weren't always cleaning when she was hanging around. Even more annoying was her almost consistent interjecting in the conversation. You could feel your shoulders tensing every time she talked, and it didn't go unnoticed by the two peers helping you clean, either. "Everything alright, Y/N?" You could hear the concern laced in Cedric's voice, pulling you from your thoughts. "Yes I am just fine, a little tired is all but I can keep going theres not much left to do tonight anyway." Cedric nodded softly, placing a hand gently on your mid back in a comforting manner.

Then that voice again: "Cedric, it is getting awfully late, and curfew will be hitting soon. You're a prefect; maybe you could escort me back to my dorm so I don't get into trouble?" You saw it right there—the threat, the classic back-down girly pop, he's mine, the 'I get what I want because I am Cho Chang.' Not Today. "Actually, Cho," a sizeable fake smile plastered across your face, "Cedric and I have a pass from Madam Hooch to be out here past curfew to finish cleaning. You, however, seem to not have one of those. Maybe it would be best if you went back to your dorm now. Alone. Since curfew is in the next thirty minutes." You tilted your head sweetly at the girl, your forced smile still present. To others, you looked like your usual sweet self, maybe even regular sweet, with a little bit of derangement. However, Cedric picked up on your tone. That wasn't your normal tone at all. Holding back his smile, he watched the scene unfold.

"Oh, is that right, Y/N? Well, I am sure that Cedric wouldn't mind walking me back and letting you continue. It's just a short walk to Ravenclaw Tower. I know you would 'Hate' to see someone get into trouble after 'helping' you." Cho looked at you with the same false sense of kindness. You step towards her when Cedric interjected. "Cho is right; it's late, and it won't take long for us to walk up to the tower." You look at Cedric, defeated, Cho smugly standing behind him. "I will be right back, Y/N. Then we can finish cleaning." After his words, he walked to the tent's opening and guided Cho out. You couldn't describe the feeling you were having, sadness, hate, fear like you were going to throw up from anxiety because how did you lose to Cho Chang after everything Elaine said about Cedric liking you. A deep, heavy sigh left you as tears pooled in your eyes, watching the two return to the castle.

You grabbed one of the brooms nearby, not even realizing it was Cedric's, and took to the skies. You should get the heat out of your system. Now, you wouldn't say that you were a Quidditch player by any means. You were simply just fast and graceful on a broom. If they had synchronized broom work like the muggles had synchronized swimming, you would 100% join. However, Quidditch is a rough, dangerous sport, and something about a giant ball coming at your head screamed no, not for me. However, nothing mattered tonight except swoops, dives, quick turns, and sorting through the goals. Anything to take your mind off him with Cho. Cho touching him, Cho kissing him, Cho anywhere near him. As your mind raced, you went faster and faster. Not even noticing Cedric had made his way back.

Cedric stood at the opening of the pitch, arms crossed, watching you sore. Why you hadn't tried out for Seeker was beyond him; your speed rivaled that of Harry Potter. However, knowing your soft, sweet personality, he understood why you wouldn't. However, something about watching you zoom around in a jealous rage was very enthralling. Not only are you the pollen the bee is attracted to, but you are also the bee's sting. Jealousy was a perfect look on you. Smiling softly, he waited for you to calm down and land.

As the adrenaline and tears faded, you figured enough time had passed between them leaving and him returning, probably in a happy new relationship. Landing softly, looking up at the sky, you sighed, then turned to the pitch opening. Freezing in your tracks, you saw Cedric Diggory standing there with a smug look and his arms crossed. "Oh uh hey Diggory um, what's up?" You tried looking everywhere but him. "Nothing much, Y/N," He peered his head at your left hand holding the broom, "is that my broom you decided to use so gracefully in the sky." A deep red blush consumed your face as you hid the broom behind your back, shaking your head. Great, not only did he see you flying, but he also is going to think you're a crazy stalker who doesn't know her place using his stuff. A small laugh left Cedric's mouth as he walked up to you. You kept your head down, hoping he would disappear or maybe you would wake up in your bed, and this was all a horrid dream.

Cedric stopped in front of you and placed his hand gently on your head. "I turned her down, you know." You froze, eyes wide, still looking at the ground. "She asked me while we were walking up to her dorm, but I had to tell her I had given my heart to someone else." You slowly looked up at Cedric, and a soft red glow was on your face. "Though I will say Y/N jealousy is a good look on you. Why haven't you joined my team?" A snort left you, and not believing his words, you rebuttled. "I don't want to get hurt, is all." Cedric smiled, pulling you into a gentle hug. "I would never let anything hurt you, not a Quaffle or Cho Chang." You buried your head in to his chest a small laugh escaping you hugging Cedric back. In your soft embrace, you both failed to notice a displeased Madam Hooch approaching the pitch. "LISTEN, YOU TWO, I GAVE YOU A PASS TO CLEAN, NOT SNOG. GO TO YOUR DORMS." You both pulled away quickly, looking at her before running off laughing hard.

You and Cedric made it to your dorm hand in hand. Sadly, he still had prefect duties for the night while you needed to go to bed for a potion exam tomorrow. Taking your conjoined hands, Cedric places a soft kiss on your knuckles. A rose blush consumes your face. "Get some rest, and I will pick you up in the morning. We can go eat breakfast tomorrow in the great hall." You smiled widely and nodded. "Sounds good, Cedric. I will see you then." As you began to pull away, Cedric yanked you back into him. Looking up, Cedric cupped your face gently and kissed your mouth. The peck only lasted a second before he let go. "I'm sorry I couldn't help myself. The bee is just too attracted to the Daisie's pollen." You snorted before standing on your tip toes and kissing him again. This time, neither of you pulled away. Your arms snaked gently around Cedrcis shoulders, hands getting lost in his soft hair. While Cedric held your waist gently in his hands. When you pulled away this time, you rested your heads together. "Maybe I should be jealous more often if this is my reward." Cedric laughed softly before hugging you one last time and sending you to sleep.

~~FIN~~

-------BONUS------

*peering around some barrels in the kitchens, watching you two have your sweet moment."

Elaine: You both owe me 20 galleons.

George: This is ghastly, but I can't believe he turned Cho down. She is like THE it, girl, right now. She even turned down Harry.

Fred: You are mad he turned Cho down. I am angry that I owe Angela a week of butter beers cause he rejected Cho and confessed to Y/N all on the same night. I swear that woman is a mind reader.

Elaine: Both of you are horrible...I love it. Alright, now to prank Filtch.

(Thank you all so much for reading. This is my first official story back into writing. I am sorry if it is choppy or odd. I am getting back into the rhythm of things. I hope this is good enough to showcase the beginning of my writing journey!)

[ragnarokhound]

hey i saw ur tag on the executive dysfunction post where u said ur meds allow u to punch a hole in the wall and access the internal well of motivation or some such. can i ask how that works as in can you just do things after that?? you like have a task you gotta do and you up and do it? sorry to break into ur askbox like this i was just very curious because my executives do not function

Hi! Sure, I don't mind :)

Short answer: yes. :') I take my meds in the morning, and over the course of the day, it is much easier for me to add tasks to my mental list and then knock them down like the most dutiful Sim in the world. I forget to do things sometimes still - but those are usually due to other barriers like 'I would like to schedule this appointment, but I'm at work right now so I can't do that yet.' and then hours later I will have forgotten that I needed to do that. WHOOPSIES. Not necessarily an ADHD problem, just an average human one.

Also, the meds make it easier to access the well. That doesn't mean I always CHOOSE to use the well, haha. Sometimes I am just sooo comfy in bed and think 'i should get up. But I bet I could get away with another 25 minutes of dozing UwU' and then after my alarm goes off because my 25 minutes are up, I'm cursing my past self for being a hedonistic sloth because I really do have to get up now or I'll be late. I CAN choose correctly. That doesn't mean I do.

Long answer getting into the nitty gritty of my ADHD med journey below the cut:

So just remember that I'm not a doctor, I'm a stranger on the internet, so I don't know quite how it works, and not all medication will work the same for everyone. Executive function is huge for folks with ADHD, but it might be something else! ADHD often shakes hands with other conditions.

BUT - in my experience, I was diagnosed with combined ADHD (both the hyperactive bouncy kind and the laser focus, sit still for 12 hours doing one thing kind). A lot of my own executive function problems stemmed from not being able to choose what I hyper focused on, for how long, or if I even could. :')

There's a few different medications available to choose from once you get a diagnosis, including a fast-acting stimulant and a slow-release stimulant. The one that helps me is a slow-release - I take it in the morning, and it'll start to kick in after an hour and gives me a steady stream over the course of the day, wearing off about 8 hours later.

People with ADHD don't make as much dopamine on their own, and stimulants help your brain produce more of it. If you find yourself feeling calm and more able to focus or task-switch after drinking coffee, or soda, or other uppers, you might be self-medicating, and a diagnosis and meds may be helpful (but definitely talk that out with a doctor).

It took a while for my "storage" of dopamine to build up, and it wasn't pretty the whole journey there. There were multiple days in a row that I had to force myself to eat because the meds suppress appetite, so it was easy to skip meals I shouldn't have. (I embraced snacking over the whole day as a solution until my humors were balanced and I'd built up the habit of prepping a lunch hours beforehand lol)

But the benefits were immediate. Some things are normal, and habits are something every human has to figure out how to build regardless of whether you make enough dopamine - but I was immediately calmer. I would think 'i need to take out the garbage. I will do that now' and I would, in fact, take out the garbage? I'd just get up? And do it??? It was that easy. I find it much easier to stop in the middle of what I'm doing without getting annoyed, and to task switch without it completely breaking my flow. I'm CAPABLE of task switching at all. It's easier to remember that mug I left in the microwave. I can sit or work in silence and it's fine, I don't need music to be playing in the background to focus.

I still have to convince myself sometimes to do things when my executives don't want to function - a big coping skill I like is giving myself a crossroads moment. If I'm reading, the crossroads moment is at the end of a chapter, or a scene break. If I'm playing a game the crossroads moment is when I lost or won a round, or when I completed the task I was in the middle of, or reached a safe area.

At a crossroads moment, you can either choose to keep doing whatever you're doing, or do something else. It's why being on Tumblr and other social media is difficult to get away from, because there is no natural stopping point if you haven't turned off infinite scrolling. If that's hard for you, see if you can change your dash settings to only load a page/set number of posts at a time. You'll get a crossroads moment every time you reach the bottom of that page.

This is all my own experience with ADHD and stimulants, so again, I encourage you to think about whether this sounds like you and bring it up to a doctor if it's having a really big impact on your life.

I hope this helps! I also suggest this video from Jaiden Animations - she talks about her own experience getting an ADHD diagnosis, and funnily enough, this video dropped within the same week as I got mine, haha.

[katyspersonal]

Here’s a triple whammy, Midra, Messmer, Rellana for the character bingo pls?

( @izunias-meme-hole )

Ohh bitchin'

God I just.. I will have to try to not turn it into an essay for your SANITY (ba dum tss) but in simplest terms possible, this was THE peak DLC experience for me. The Abyssal Woods already were super interesting and atmospheric, as well as learning that Midra is a NERD with so many books all over his Manse. But like.. the battle already captivated me a lot. It was just.. so well-done in every aspect. The music, the movements and attacks... No boss ever deserved the staple "battle feels like a dance once you get into it" praise more than this guy. ;-; I already was not normal about Frenzied Flame in general, but this just dhfssdfg It was so well executed god. Remember being OBSESSED with his music theme, also the first character in a while to make me often check his character tag on Tumblr. @val-of-the-north won't let me lie, I was literally drooling thinking about him in the first few days after that fight and could not think of anyone else @_@

Also I really enjoyed digging further into his story and motivations, what happened here with the Three Fingers and Nanaya. Analysis of the whole SoTe for me. This brand of despair also appeals to me at all, especially when it is tied to you and your associates being hunted like heretics (only the old ones remember!!! XD). Funny enough, just the day before I've met him in the game I've had a very unique mental breakdown where I was ranting like a madman about how much I've tired of holding the horrors and pain inside and how I wanted to just give up and unleash it. I can't get into too much details, it was very personal, however the phrase "May chaos take the world" was stuck in my head all along! And Val mentioned that 'interestingly enough, a theme like this IS addressed in SoTE' + 'you kin one of the characters for sure' so... yeah, that was something. I needed a character like this quite a lot :')

Messmer is AWESOME!! I do not obsess actively but rather just reblog the fanart and stuff that gets on my dashboard, but there are SO many things I said as my thoughts about his and Marika's relationship. And now I have even more to say! You could tell I love Midra more, but Messmer offers infinitely more to talk about and explore! And, god, his charisma, having attracted so many intelligent people to join him and even accept his serpentine nature (apparently a big no for people in the setting for some reason fdjjfds). Also one of the best designs in the Soulsborne series EVER. Also it is his voice actor's DEBUT! Literally HOW????? sfhdjhsdhgfdshds

It IS, for sure, hard to talk about him and not touch upon MANY other characters as he is tied with them so much. Marika, Melina, Fire Knights (especially Queelign), closest Black Knights that ditched him, Rellana, Gaius, Winged Snakes, god knows who else... I love how many relationship he has, but also what interesting potential he opened for exploring the lore with Abyss, Base Serpent and potentially Fell God! He is so many things. And I think this is appropriate how hard it is to discuss him outside of his relationships and curses... It is just like the character himself: having his life and purpose in it basically predefined by a curse he had no control over and his mother, and being a scourge or an idol for others, but barely being a person on his own... Discussions about him are JUST like him, you see what I mean? This also makes me emotional.

I do not have that many headcanons about her, but I am proud of those that I have! x) There is always the room to create more of course! Ok naturally 'everyone else is wrong about them' is not meant to be taken seriously fdshfhds But a big cornerstone for understanding her was the description of her swords referring to Moon and Fire having always been together in Japanese original script, which is just the sentiment from Sword of Night and Flame! So I can no longer see her as huge Erdtree/Marika simp at all, but instead as someone who, although without any hard feelings for her sister's choice, believes Cosmic Sorcery and Fire should be together (again) which makes me look at other takes like:

Just the curse of getting brain hard-locked on your interpretation fdshfhds On another note, I fucking LOVE her design, I am NOT able to enjoy any other armour anymore and just want to wear hers all the time fhhfsd 'Silly' because Twin Moons IS a silly concept, as well as cosplaying Sulyvahn XD ...but also because I see her as silly and fun person, to contrast Messmer's emo vibe x) Smug about kicking asses too! She gives me this strange feeling too, like... I can accept most of the bosses having to die for the plot and narrative, but thinking about her getting killed actually upsets me! She is an optional boss and should STAY as such. #rellanaplslive

[natasharswifey]

It almost worked

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Requests open :)

Summary:

Being a witch is difficult

Being alone is difficult

Being Agatha Harkness is difficult

(Some Agatha Angst as if we haven't already gotten enough)

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A/N: This is kinda OOC, please don't throw tomatoes 😔. It was also posted on my Ao3

○○○♡○○○

Tags: interrupted suicide attempt, grief, hurt/comfort

Agatha stares out over her balcony.

It was late, and cold, and she'd had enough wine to make her head clearer then usual. Being able to think about what was going on in her head didn't ever end well.

It was just another one of those nights. Those nights where her mind wandered. Sometimes it was hard to remember those moments where she held Nicky in her arms.

His cherub cheeks and deep brown eyes looking into her soul, a constant reminder she still had one, his small hand curling around hers.

How he had looked so happily at his mothers, content to simply be in their presence.

Had he looked so joyfully at her when she was taking him away? Had he even realised?

With every precious frame of memory that faded, another piece of herself felt lost to the vast sea of time.

Perhaps this was why witches seeked covens. She remembered sisterhood, a deep understanding and acceptance of one another. It had held the place where her mother's affection should have been.

It had felt good, until… everything.

Agatha knew what happened that night wasn't her own doing, she had tried to tell them, to warn them. Despite her mother's calloused approach to her execution, she didn't want to hurt her. To hurt any of them.

The digital clock on the dresser by her window read 2:00. Another hour and any of her efforts to weaken herself enough not to survive the drop from her balcony would be futile.

But she still found herself waiting. For something, anything to happen. Agatha didn't remember the last time she found herself doing this, waiting so patiently for a miracle.

Even in her youth she knew that nothing good was ever bound to come her way by sitting around expecting it to fall in her lap.

Tonight she couldn't help herself, like a tall child with her legs dangling over a rooftop, hoping to catch a glimpse of some mythical creature parents made up as an excuse to spoil children.

But tonight the universe took pity on Agatha Harkness, which was only fair considering. Unfortunately, that pity came in the form of a familiar face that wasn't so welcome.

“Well, this is a little awkward.”

Agatha’s head whips around and she finds her feet in an instant. “What are you doing here?”

“You practically called…” Rio cautions a step closer. “It's been a while.”

“I was hoping we could have kept it that way.”

“Oh, really? So that wasn't you that sunk the ‘unsinkable’ ship?”

Sinking the Titanic wasn't something she had actually planned on doing, but Rio always knew just how to get under her skin.

Everything felt like a game with her, and with them both being so competitive, their little ‘games’ would often get out of hand.

Rio reaping a few extra souls here, Agatha causing a few tragedies there. It had been going on for so long even with their level of pettiness it was hard to keep score.

“You have no proof.”

“Real mature, Aggie.”

Agatha scoffs, “Well if you came here to reap me then you wasted your gas money, you've completely killed the mood.”

“That sounds like one of your compliments.”

Fuck.

“Don't flatter yourself.” Agatha closes the door to her balcony and sits on a chair in the corner of her room.

“I've missed you.”

“Could've fooled me.” She mutters, although they both know she's lying to herself.

“I still think about us, you know”

“We were... fun.” Agatha replies reluctantly

“We still are.”

Rio is hesitant to leave, but she knows their paths will cross again.

They are eachother's constant, so entangled in the other their worlds are almost askew when they're apart.

One can only stay teetering on the edge for so long.

Notes

If any of this stuff hit too close to home there's a bunch of websites where you can talk to people, or maybe try talking to a loved one, stay safe <3

If projecting onto characters was a crime I would get the electric chair.

The titanic reference came from tumblr which I so desperately need to get off of but oh well.

Title was taken from 'It almost worked' by Tv girl. Hope u liked!!!

[guqwrvte]

⨽ title: a surprise visit

⨽ summary: in which you give your long-distance boyfriend, a surprise visit.

⨽ pairing: jungkook x reader

⨽ genre: fluff, long-distance relationship au

⨽ warnings: one swear word

⨽ word count: 531

⨽ a/n: wrote this a while back, deleted it, and decided to try again.

"Gosh, I'm so nervous," you whispered to yourself as you stood in front of your boyfriend's apartment door.

The sudden nervousness you were feeling didn't make sense. Not when you were so excited less than five minutes ago. Why wouldn't you be?

You hadn't seen your boyfriend in a year, and after lots of planning, you were finally getting to see him. And he wasn't aware of your visit because you wanted it to be a surprise.

You remember the day you landed in Korea. Instead of Jungkook welcoming you with his famous bunny smile and a basket of your favourite Korean snacks - which you'd immediately start eating once you sat down in the car - one of his friends, Jimin, came to welcome you instead.

He helped you come up with a plan on how to surprise Jungkook. And executing it wasn't at all an easy task.

You suggested surprising him on Friday so that the two of you could spend the weekend together.

"Friday is a good idea, but that's the day he usually hangs out with us," Jimin told you. "You see, every Friday, the whole group meets up."

"So what now?" You asked.

"I can ask the guys to tell Jungkook they're busy," he offered. "We can skip this Friday and the next three for you."

"Are you sure? Don't you think they'd mind?" You asked, and Jimin shook his head.

"We see Jungkook way more often than you do. So I'm sure they won't mind," Jimin assured you. "Plus, they know how happy Jungkook will be. It seems he's been missing you a lot more these days."

So, he asked all his friends to give Jungkook excuses as to why they couldn't hang out.

And it worked out well because just before Jimin dropped you off at his place, Jungkook had sent you a text complaining about how bored he was and that none of his friends were available.

You let out a sigh and placed a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your beating heart.

"You shouldn't feel nervous," you whispered to yourself. "This is the door to your boyfriend's apartment. Not some stranger!"

You slowly raised your hand and bit your bottom lip before gently knocking on the door.

"I'm coming!" you heard him answer, and you began to feel even more nervous as you heard him shuffle behind the door.

"Yes? Who is it-" Jungkook cut himself off, and his breath hitched when his eyes landed on you. "y-y/n?"

Your eyes widened as tears slowly began to roll down his cheeks. You didn't expect him to start crying the moment he saw you.

"Kook," you cooed, your eyes beginning to water as you opened your arms.

He didn't waste any time before pulling you by the arm and into his embrace.

"I missed you so fucking much, baby," he cried, burying his head into the crook of your neck and tightly wrapping his arms around you. Holding you with no intention of ever letting go. "So much."

"I know," you whispered, using one hand to wipe your tears while the other played with his hair. "And I missed you too."

[theyrealllesbians]

Wedding Season- Chapter 2

James swung the front door open and called out. "Hello!"

Euphemia, his mum, came running from the kitchen. "Jamie, darling. It's so good to see you, it's been too long."

"Mum, it's literally only been a week. I also spoke to you on the phone on Wednesday." He laughed.

"Oh well that's far too long." Euphemia grabbed at his face and brought his forehead down to rest against hers momentarily before pulling back and kissing his cheek. James pretended to ignore the way that she had to go on her tip-toes to reach him, deciding to save the 'you'll always be my baby' lecture until it actually mattered. "Where are Sirius and Remus, I thought that they were coming with you?" She asked, turning towards the kitchen whilst wiping her hands on an apron James recognised from his childhood.

"They couldn't make it. They have some wedding stuff they desperately wanted to get done tonight. Booking vendors or cake tasting or flowers or something like that. Honestly, I can't remember." James had begun to tune Sirius out whenever he spoke about the wedding. It was a never ending rant about carnations and vanilla sponge, burlap or silk, fairy lights or lamps, martinis or an old fashioned and quite frankly, James could not listen to one more second. Besides, Sirius had a way of making every decision seem like a life or death situation. As a result, James would often than not end up getting yelled at when he chose the 'wrong' shade of white for the chairs. He loved Sirius more than anything, but in order to stay friends with him, James had made the executive decision to step back from all wedding decisions. Besides, Remus and the wedding planner told him everything he needed to know as part of being the best man. So he really wasn't missing much. It's not that he didn't expect Sirius to go full on bridezilla, because he did. It's just that he didn't quite realise how many little decisions went into planning a wedding. Since 'helping' Sirius and Remus, James has decided that when he gets married, it'll be a small affair. Probably in his parent's garden, with food that he and his mum cooked, flowers picked from his own garden and outfits that they'd both wear for anniversary dates time and time again. He wanted to be able to remember the love, not the little stressors that -at the time- would seem to derail the entire day.

"Oh, I remember those days. So exciting, but unbelievably stressful, be sure to send them my love. And I'll send you home with some bits and bobs to give them." By 'bits and bobs' James knew he'd be leaving with at least a months worth of food. He'd be playing tetris with his freezer tonight, he would never dare complain though, his mum's food was the best he'd ever tasted. Besides, he would never pass up the opportunity to not have to cook after a long day at work. Sirius and Remus would be endlessly grateful as well.

"I will do. Sirius is desperate to see you, so I'm sure he'll be here next week." James let his mum know.

"Oh well you know he doesn't have to wait till a Sunday to come see me. Even if he just wanted to pop in for lunch, I'd love to have him."

"I know, and he does as well. I think it's just slipped his mind because of how busy he is. I'll remind him though." Sirius had a habit of this, withdrawing whenever life got busy. He'd prioritise his work and keeping the house clean, often forgetting that he could also make time to decompress and see the people he loved. Luckily it only took James or Remus forcing him to leave his office for him to get back into a normal routine in which he wasn't being stretched unbelievably thin or being wound incredibly tight. James could never quite tell if it was some form of trauma response, or whether it was just the way that Sirius was wired. Either way, he's gotten better compared to when they were at school. During A-levels, James doesn't think Sirius left their dorm for anything other than food for at least 2 weeks. Despite the fact that at least 50% of the time, if someone checked on him, he wasn't actually doing any revision. James didn't really understand it. He pulled out his phone and added 'call Moony/ drag Pads out the house' onto his ever growing to do list.

"What can I help with?" James asked, rolling his sleeves up while walking over to the sink to start washing his hands.

"Oh, there's nothing really." His mum responded whilst opening the 5th can of what looked like crushed tomatoes. James looked around and spotted 3 pack of unopened whole chickens, a pile of uncut vegetables and several pots on the hob that were dangerously close to boiling over.

"Mum, stop lying. How about I break down the chicken?" He knew his mum didn't really like cutting the chicken. As she grew older, it just got harder and harder for her to break the bones and separate the breast from the thighs. He grabbed a knife and a chopping board from their respective drawers before she could even answer.

"Oh well, if you don't mind." His mum shrugged before turning round to face him and quickly rattling off a series of instructions. "Make sure you get as much meat of the bones as possible, I won't stand to see it wasted. But keep the bones in the thighs, you know it's your father's favourite bit. Oh, and don't throw away the wish bone. We can break it after dinner. Then I need the breast diced and adding to the pot at the back. The dark meat is going in a new pot. Everything else can get turned into stock. Oh, and be careful! Don't cut yourself!"

James huffed out a laugh, "I'm 26, I think I'll be fine."

"Oh, you never know. They're pesky little things, let me know if you need any help." James turned around to face the chopping board before rolling his eyes. Yes, he was 26, a full grown adult who was no longer living with his parents, but he would not be caught rolling his eyes at his mother. It was a death sentence.

"Will do. Anyways, how've you been?" James asked, unwrapping the first chicken.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old." His mum always said this right before delving into some local drama that was in fact not 'same old, same old'. "Your dad has been driving me mad asking what shade of red roses I want in the garden. And I just quite frankly, do not care. They will look lovely no matter what. Oh, but did I tell you about what happened with the Wilson's?" Here we go.

"No, I don't think you did. Are they the ones with the ginger cat?" James swears that cat should've died years ago. He remembers it from when he was a child. Remembers the way it would try and bite at his ankles any time he walked past.

"Yes, wretched thing. Anyways, apparently Richard tried to murder Margaret last week."

"What?!" James exclaimed, turning around to face his mum. She didn't move.

"Yeah, Judith got a call from him on, when was it, Tuesday I think. Or maybe Wednesday. And she came round and told me straight away. Apparently, Richard had gotten himself in a panic over the online banking as Margaret doesn't know any of the passwords and he tried to smother her with a pillow. The police came round and had to take both mine and your father's statements, even though your dad knew nothing of what was going on. They took him straight to a special care home and are talking about court dates. Bless them though, you never would have guessed it would you."

"No, I suppose not. He always seemed pretty decent. Always gave me the football back after I kicked it in their garden."

"Exactly, and that's what I said to the police. Never would think of him to even hurt a fly. I mean the amount of eggs I have borrowed from him, you'd think he'd want me dead. But no, he always said yes as long as I brought him round a slice of cake I baked, and you know I always did." James let his mother's voice carry him into a slower motion, letting his shoulders drop and jaw relax more than it had in the past week. Something about the smell of his parent's fabric softener and the spices slowly cooking drifted him into a dream like state. One where his own bones grew warm and his skin infinitely softer. He wished he could bottle this feeling and get drunk on it every night.

"James!" His mother yelled, smashing his peace into a thousand splintering pieces.

"What? What's happened?" He span around, eyes trailing over everything trying desperately to spot the danger.

"Nothing." He let out a sigh. "I was asking how you're week had been?"

"Oh, yeah it's been fine. Busy though. I've been working with this little girl, about 7, helping her walk again. She's making really good progress, but she's absolutely terrified. She had this pin through her foot diagonally, and her mum says she accidentally put her foot down quite a bit when she still had it in. Didn't hurt her much, but must've been a weird, uncomfortable sensation. I mean I got the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. But yeah, it's been really nice seeing her get excited about walking again. Beats having to convince all the 17 year old lads that they won't actually be 'just fine' if they play for their club on Saturday." It's not like he had favourites, but it was easy to say that those who would greet him with a hug and tell him all about their teddies made his day just that bit brighter. James truly loved his job, he had to. If he didn't love it, he wouldn't be able to do it. He never intended to be a paediatric physiotherapist, he always wanted to go into rugby professionally. Ironically, it was Lily who was able to talk him into reconsidering his options, albeit not in the most conventional ways. She had said that he was 'too clever to let his brain get all mangled up, and that he was too much of a good person to let himself pick such a selfish career path filled with egotistical twats'. After a while, he did realise that he wanted to have a secure career and feel like he was making a difference in the world. He couldn't give up sport entirely though. So, during the week, he works for the NHS and in the evenings and at select weekends, he's the physio for the local rugby club. Seeing some of the injuries those players got helped him gain confidence in his decision very quickly.

"That's lovely, darling. Horrible thing for such a young child to go through, but I'm happy she's got the best helping her." His mum winked at him as she said that.

"I mean, it's not as bad as it sounds. She had corrective surgery, but it's meant that she hasn't been able to walk in around 9 months. So I reckon it'll take a while, but she's sweet and her parents are lovely, so I'm happy to spend as long as it takes helping."

"I'm sure that you are, love. You have always been so keen to help others. It is one of your better qualities." His mum grinned at him, suppressing a laugh.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He asked, adding the chicken to each respective pot.

"We both remember how many phone calls I used to get from Minnie?" His mum says Minnie as, to James and Sirius's horror, she'd ended up becoming quite good friends with McGonagall. In fact, they try to meet up every month for tea and a catch up since they've all finished school.

"That's so not fair. I'm an adult now. I've grown up." James drew out the last syllable, quickly defeating his own argument by sounding like a whiny toddler.

"Yes, yes, of course you have, babu." His mum smiled at him again as she continued to tend to the food cooking. "Did you get the invite for Priya's wedding?" Priya was James's cousin on his mum's side. He actually quite liked her when they were growing up. She was only a year older than him so they formed a little alliance along with his other cousins of a similar age.

"Yeah, yeah I did. I think I got it a couple months ago." James had added it to the shrine of wedding invites adorning his fridge. "Yeah, it's at the end of August right?"

"The 31st, yes. Remember, a lot of family that we haven't seen in ages is flying over, so you better be on your best behaviour." His mum fixed him with a firm stare.

"Again, I am 26." He knew this would have little to no effect on his mum's conviction that somehow he'd become the family laughing stock in one singular evening.

"Okay. Still, make sure that you are letting everyone see how happy and successful you are. You know that I only want you to be happy, but my sisters aren't as forward thinking as me so be sure to mention that you are top of your field."

"Well that's a lie." James replied outright, furrowing his brows in confusion whilst laughing to himself. He'd only been in the field for 3 years, so he wasn't sure what his mum was on about.

"You've got the best reviews in your hospital." His mum replied matter-of-factly, as if they were at all comparable.

"Okay, yes, sure. I'll be sure to tell them about my career so that you can have bragging rights." He chuckled as he said this.

"James! Take this seriously!" His mum started waving the spoon she had in her hand in his direction. James was forced to take a step back to save his freshly ironed shirt from being stained.

"Yes, James, take it seriously!" His father added, walking into the kitchen while shaking his finger in a comedic manner. "You know how important it is for your mother to brag to others about our family. You can't let her down by underselling your achievements." His dad had a cheeky smile dancing across his lips showing that he didn't take it seriously either, but Fleamont Potter would never be caught, even in death, not having his wife's back.

"Oh, if you can, be sure to mention that Remus has just opened his own business and that Sirius wrote and directed the christmas nativity!"

"Will do." James and his dad reply in unison.

"Oh, and James? Are you bringing a date?" silver eyes flashed through James's mind, "I only ask because everyone has been asking me if you've met anyone!"

"I wasn't planning on it." James shrugged, trying his best to act nonchalant.

"You might want to rethink that kid. You know how your mother's family can be once they sense a bit of drama." James shuddered a little at the thought of answering a hundred questions about his love life after he'd drank a couple glasses of wine.

"Oh, come off it. My family is not like that. They all just care about James's happiness, that's all. Don't make it out to be something cruel." His mum sniped back. His dad only looked at James again, a long pointed look.

"I'll think about it." James said. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to find a date, if only for a couple weddings.

"Oh! Does that mean you already have someone in mind?" His mum swung her head round so she could look at James. Walking forward to grip his forearms.

"Mum!" He exclaimed, "I just said that I would think about it!" The feeling of fluffy black hair beneath his fingertips shot down his spine.

"Oh! You're blushing! There is someone!" His mum was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

"Mum…" James groaned, hanging his head.

"Euphie, leave him alone. If the boy says there's no one, there's no one. We have to believe what he tells us, otherwise we'll go insane." His dad placed a hand on his mum's shoulder and steered her away from James.

"Thanks. I guess?" James smiled at his dad. His dad simply grinned and winked right back. Great, so his dad did not believe what he was saying either, and his mum was clearly already planning his wedding.

Brilliant.

[spicyicetea]

OKAY SO HAVE FUN READING BECAUSE THIS IS STUCK IN MY HEAD.

squish.. squish... squish

with every second that passed, link squished y/ns cheeks over and over again. if someone was looking even just a little closer, they could tell how links eyes were sparkling as he squished y/ns cheeks. although her cheeks were nearly sore, y/n didnt feel like complaying. Links warm hands felt soft against her cheeks, and the sensation was more than just comforting.

Zelda on the other hand has been brushing y/ns long hair for so long, that y/n couldnt even remember when it started.

"Link", links flinched a little, as if he just woke up from a trance. Link thought y/n didnt like him squishing and practically needing her soft skin, so he lowered his hands.

"oh dont worry, you just seemed a little distant. i just wanted to see if you were okay", y/n guided links hands back to her face.

"y/n can i braid your hair?", Zelda asked. "braid my hair?", as far as y/n remembers, she never had anything done with her hair.

"you never braided your hair?", a surprised expression made its way on zeldas face. "I'm not sure if i even know what it means", y/n smiled, turning her head to look at zelda. "but you can do anything you want with my hair!", y/n allowed zelda. to those words, zeldas face lit up and she lifted her hands to start braiding y/ns hair.

...

"aaandd done!", zelda clasped her hands together. she had finished loosely braiding y/ns hair. y/n stood up to look at her hair.

the braid reached down to her waist, and she twirled around in her dress, and the new sensation of her hair. she always just had her hair open. never bothered by it.

Zelda admired y/n and her beautifully done work with a huge smile and tears nearly forming in her eyes. link on the other hand had flushed cheeks and his nose bleeding

EEE YESS I shall include this in the story at some point. Might as well use this as an opportunity to say the updates won’t be as frequent due to school work but I shall try. Don’t mind me as I add on to this cause I can’t stop myself- Enjoy this and some headcanons about them playing with Y/N’s hair for all the romantic interests I’m gonna include in the story, spoilers I guess-

Yandere behaviour and NSFW topics

Zelda threw her arms around Y/N as she just looked back at her confused. Link wiped the blood from his nose as he shot an envious glare at Zelda who gave him a smug smirk back. Y/N was clueless as always, just enjoying spending time with the two Hylians. It wasn’t uncommon for their rivalry to lead to fights, but never in front of their little Angel!

Now onto the headcanons!

Our Yanderes playing with Y/N’s hair

Link

He is very eager to play with your hair.

To him it's a sign of trust, he gets to braid your hair and you can play with his when he's not busy.

He hates watching other people, especially Zelda, play with your hair.

Usually, he has you sit in his lap but this can make him rather...excited so try not to wriggle too much

Zelda

She is always playing with your hair.

She likes to put her hair clips in your hair and often weaves her favourite flowers as a way of claiming you.

If she sees another knight around Hyrule Castle even touch your hair, she will demand they be executed.

But hey, it's all because she loves you.

Urbosa

She doesn't often play with your hair.

Don't get me wrong she enjoys it but, would much rather have her hands on your shoulder.

Unlike Zelda, her way of marking you is by having you wear some of her jewellery

Or dark hickeys she's given you while no one looking...that works too.

Mipha

Mipha enjoys running her hands through your hair.

She doesn't do it often but she is eager for any physical contact with you away from the others.

She tends to give you cheek kisses while playing with your hair though, she enjoys that far more.

Revali

It isn't easy for our bird boy to play with your hair.

He does however thread his feathers into your hair as a way of claiming you

It's also part of the Rito’s mating ritual, but you didn't hear it from me-

Sidon

Surprisingly, he doesn't play with your hair for a long period of time.

Usually, because he gets distracted and it becomes far more intimate-

What can I say, Shark boy likes to bite you and stake his claim.

Robbie, Purah and Impa (Yes you get them all together-)

These three love to play with your hair.

Impa likes to try out traditional Sheika hairstyles on you

Robbie lets you okay with his hair while you give each other wild hairstyles

Purah like to run her hands through your hair while going over research, she can focus best when you're in her arms

Kohga and Sooga (My Yiga Husbands-)

Both of them are obsessed with you, and very open about it.

Sooga will sit you down in his lap, and play with your hair while Kohga lays his head in your lap, usually kissing your stomach repeatedly.

They are very intimate any chance they get, and to touch your hair, they're very close.

Please don't push them away if they try and touch your hair, Kohga will whine for hours on end and Sooga will feel like he did something wrong, so be nice.

Ganondorf

The moment you're close enough for him to play with your hair, you're not getting away.

He will hold you against him while runs his hand through your hair over and over, his spare hand rubbing your inner thighs.

He also most definitely likes pulling your hair if you “misbehave”

He wants to give you freedom, but with the champions looking for you, and the Yiga betraying him and going after you, he just can't let you.

Don't fight him, there's no use. If you submit I can promise your life will be so much nicer. You'll be truly treated like his queen.

Ah, that's it, my hands hurt from typing so quickly. Im gonna go back and look at sexy Ganon, man I'm down bad for this man.