#first time i read a couple of chapters then got depressed and stopped

[cozy-the-overlord]

There’s a high that comes with getting really into reading a good book and gosh I’ve missed it

[justatalkingface]

I'm really starting to spiral this rabbit hole but here it goes.

Did Aizawa really care about Oboro? Or was his death used as a prop to justify why his teaching methods are helpful?

Because let's look at Mic. It's implied through the MHA canon that Mic was friends with Oboro first. Aizawa only knew him for a year. Yet...Mic never made Oboro's death his entire personality.

In fact, he was willing to placate someone who didn't really know Oboro like he did.

And what's even worse, he became the same teacher that let Sensoji off with a slap on the wrist despite the fact he bullied the three of them.

He let Bakugou openly bully Midoriya because of "potential".

I'm going to be honest: Oboro, as the Kurogiri origin story, was some lazy, copy-pasted crap on Hori's part. It's the Obito origin story's beats, but half-assed and kind of lazy. Honestly, it feels so forced at times I wonder when he even decided to do it? Because if Kurogiri was planned as Oboro from the beginning the entire process wouldn't have been executed as badly as it was, and he probably would have made it a bigger, more dramatic thing, rather than a one chapter flashback.

Before that point, I'm not even sure Oboro was a character, at best he was just a name for someone Eraserhead had lost (and I think Kurogiri started talking a lot less after his first couple of appearances... probably because his personality didn't agree with the Oboro concept, so he was made a silent, compliant minion rather than an active person in his own right.) It honestly feels like Kakashi Eraserhead was so popular that Hori ended up scrambling to develop a background for him, before just copying more ninja things.

But that's on the meta-end. On the character end...

Well, his character is absolutely a prop to try and explain away Eraserhead's methods, the same way it was retconned so that he didn't actually expel anyone. That doesn't mean Eraserhead didn't care about him, but...

*shrug* Granted, it's been awhile since I read the spin off, where I'm pretty sure this all was, but... Aizawa wasn't Oboro's friend as much Present Mic was, sure. But. Just because Eraserhead wasn't as open about valuing his friendship, or that he wasn't friends as long, doesn't mean Oboro wasn't important to him. The thing is that Aizawa was a withdrawn, somewhat depressed loner; in all honesty that's exactly the kind of person who probably value's their one or two friends that much more because that's all they have, that these few people are the only ones who actually valued them.

Thing is, because of how withdrawn people like that are, to really convey that right to an audience, you need to go the extra mile to set that up, and I'm not sure Hori really did that.

All of that said, though? Eraserhead became the kind of person that would have kicked out Aizawa, and I don't think Hori really gets how much inherent hypocrisy is baked into Eraserhead. The before/after of him don't really mesh well, and the only way to try and justify it is he just... got worse. Like, constantly. He took the wrong lessons from Oboro's death, and just never stopped getting the wrong lesson after that.

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part IV)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Reader's parents are fucking irresponsible and disgusting people, mentions of a dead parent, Homelander!!!! (he's a fucking warning), sexual assault (touching, kissing, etc.) and some after thoughts, you know the usual questionable stuff on TB universe, Ben's point of view and presence=red flag.

Notes: more about reader's past in here! And just want to add that this is how i imagine her suit on this chapter. I'm also using a lot of inspo from Sue Storm of the Fantastic Four because I love her, so yeah. And thanks so much for reading it means a lot to me! ^^

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @blacknoirr @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part IV: Countdown

2009

"Spectrum, turn around, please," the lady on the other side of the camera ordered.

You did as she told, turning slowly and showing a complete view of your suit. Made of unstable molecules, the suit was your best creation at the time. It was all white with black details, and finally you had something covering your whole body that'd turn invisible when you commanded. Your boots were the same, specially built to disappear and blend with your powers when needed.

"Great, show us what you can do," the woman said.

You nodded, your heart beating so hard on your chest. You didn't want to fuck it up. Not for your mother. She was the main reason why you were there in the first place. You took a deep breath, with eyes closed you raised your palms at your chest level and created a force field around your figure. The force fields you learnt to make over the years of self training were like gigantic bubbles that allowed you to float around if you said so, and they protected you or anyone or anything they were covering.

The camera, the couch, the table, and any single thing you found in the room were now surrounded by the fields, lifting them up a couple of feet from the surface. And once you thought it was enough, they landed slowly on their place, the fields vanished just like the one around yourself. Though the lady on the other side didn't seem amused or surprised.

"I also turn invisible," you said for the first time after your personal presentation was over.

"Go on," she plainly answered.

And within seconds, you slowly disappeared from her sight. The fabric of the suit faded away.

"I created this special costume to turn invisible without, you know, being naked," you commented.

Still, there was no clear answer on the face of the woman. She was just busy taking notes and filming your audition with the steady camera on the table. She said nothing, her eyes glued to her writing. Disappointed, you made yourself visible again.

"That's impressive!"

You gasped. It was that voice you heard so many times on TV. His steps came closer and he stopped by your side with a smile on his face.

"Homelander," the woman called with a wide, fake grin. "You weren't supposed to be in here."

"Just passing by, wanted to say hi. I'm really amazed by you, darling."

You tried to smile the best you could. But you were so tense and flustered now that he was in front of you. Your childhood hero, coming to see you at your audition. Even before you got a clear response from Vought. It felt like a dream. Any child had dreamt of it at some point.

You grew up with him and the Seven. He was one of the reasons you forgot every single problem and responsibility your dysfunctional, selfish family put you through from a young age. To them, you were just a doll to play with and show off. The perfect daughter. But seeing the Seven was totally different. You wanted to be like them. Too sad this part was also linked to your mother and her self-centered shit. If only...

"Thank you," you barely answered with a soft voice, looking down on your boots.

"I've been out there, hesitating if I should come in, since you created those force fields. Wow!" he praised, making you chuckle. "You left the door open on purpose, didn't you two?"

All you could do was chuckle again, you felt your cheeks burning at his banter. He smiled along with you before turning his eyes to the lady.

"Hey, Greta. Can you leave us alone for a moment?"

"But I have to-"

Homelander chuckled, cutting her words. "Absolutely no, I can continue for you. Remember?"

Greta, as he called her, swallowed thickly and her eyes switched between you and the supe. "Sure, sir."

She lifted herself up from the chair, took her things and went out. You noticed the camera was still in place, that meant it was still rolling.

Once the door closed. "So..." he began, walking a circle around you. "How'd you create this... costume of yours?"

"Well, I like science," you nervously smiled, playing with your glove-covered hands. He passed by your face this time and paced around one more time. "It took me a while to figure out how but I did something with the molecules, created my own patent of the matter and did this complete costume."

Homelander stopped at your back. He hummed. "Smart. Tell me..."

His pause made you answer what he was looking for. "Spectrum."

"Spectrum, why do you want to be part of the Seven so bad?"

Homelander dragged your alias with a dark voice, one that replaced the long warm and welcoming tone he had with you at first. You licked your lips, anxious and out of words. Once behind your figure, he angled himself so close to one of your ears that you felt his hot breath on your skin.

"So? I know you have something to say, dear."

"I- I just want to help others... Do what you guys do..."

The next thing you felt was the supe's strong body pressing on your ass. You gasped loudly as his hands grabbed the sides of your hips forcing you to fall back against his chest.

"Go on," Homelander whispered.

One of his hands roamed over your stomach slowly, right under your breasts, and you were absolutely caged on his grip. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes as he touched you over the suit.

"I- I know science, I told you. Also I can help the team w-with new inventions of my own... Create technology t-to fight very bad threats," you stuttered.

"Mmmh, yeah, I like the sound of that," Homelander chuckled against your neck, his lips tracing soft and unwanted kisses on your skin.

"Please- ah!"

He harshly pushed you against his groin. Your breath caught in your throat at the feel of his crotch. This wasn't what you thought it was. This was not what your mother signed you up for.

"Tell me, did your father know how much of a fucking slut you are?" Homelander hissed, his hand cupping your covered breast.

Something inside you emerged at his question. His touch was disgusting and it was making you sick and the mention of your father, your dead father, made it even worse.

"What do you know about him?" you asked in a dark whisper, still planning your next move.

Deep inside, you were scared of Homelander, it was a new face he had yet to show to the world.

"Just the basics, honey," he said plainly, forcing you to walk with a grip on your arm. The supe sat on the couch and pushed you to his lap. "He was quite the rich man, Edgar knew you'd be a great deal to the company, well, your money of course."

You let out a gasp. "What?"

"Honey, he was one of our most valuable shareholders," he playfully answered, his hands cupping your cheeks.

And it clicked. Your mother supported your dream just because she'd still be getting profits from Vought. The firm was now under her name, and she needed something more to strengthen the relationship between Vought and your father's inheritance. The fucking witch. And then, your father. He was the one financing this piece of shit sitting between your legs. Were all supes like this behind their masks? If so, fucking crap. Everything you believed in was bullshit. A circus. And they clowned you so well. And above all, the sickening man that had been touching you without your permission the past endless minutes...

"Oh, poor thing, you didn't know," Homelander's intense blue eyes widened when he immediately noticed your confused, blank face.

Your eyes filled with tears and still, you refused to cry in front of the asshole you once admired.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you here with us," he smirked. His fingers on your neck, feeling your pulse. You closed your eyes so hard, your nose wrinkled and you held back a sob when his hand added pressure around your collar. He leaned closer, his lips finding yours in a sloppy kiss as you tried to resist his touch. "So fucking useful," Homelander whispered against your lips. He gave you that mischievous grin of his. You shivered. "I can't wait to ruin you. Every single inch of you."

The same past memory of Homelander haunted you the next day. The way you found out about your father's business with Vought and how the supes showed their real faces was the main reason you were here now.

You remembered you had to hit Homelander as hard as you could to escape from him and use your force field to protect yourself before running away and leaving the tower, fully invisible. Not that it was a great help since Homelander had a lot of abilities with his vision, and he could hear the beating of your heart miles away, but for you, it was worth the try. It was a surprise he didn't follow you that day. Instead, Vought got a new deal with your mother for the budget and you hated that. You cut all communication with what was left of your family after that day, knowing it could've been so much worse.

Homelander and Vought, however, were after you now. And he was a difficult face to forget. Not only because he was faking everything from the public but because Vought was after your father's money. And deciding to step away from all the illegal stuff they did, you left for college. Science was always a part of you and it's what got you here, under Grace Mallory and the CIA, doing different jobs you were not so proud of, but now, you were looking for a cure. It was all that mattered those days, until you found out that your mother had been experimented on during her pregnancy. A fucking lie. That's what your life was. That's why she cheered you to go to that stupid audition and fell into the hands of that monster at twenty-three years old.

The thought of your father supporting the horrid things Vought and the Seven did for decades was unbearable, and since Homelander's visit the night before caused those memories and nightmares to be back. It took a great effort to get out of bed and come to work that day. You'd make sure to compensate yourself for it later. But now, you were in a hurry to your daily session with Soldier Boy. You saved your phone in the pocket of your trousers after checking the time as you walked down the aisle, grabbing tightly the report of your patient with your other hand. Well, thirty minutes late wasn't nothing.

"Doctor!" you heard a female voice running towards you in the halls that made you turn on your heels. It was your young assistant.

"Hey, Bianca. What's wrong?" you asked as you noticed she was a little out of breath.

"We ran another test. The supe survived," she blurted, handing you a tablet that you didn't take. Sometimes the change in the results was minimal.

"That's great. Any significant improvements?"

"Well, just minimal effects. Right now some fever, fatigue, dehydration, and uhm, low pulse."

You sighed after another illusion. "Right. I don't think those are minimal effects, Bianca. Please check our patient and see how the powers are working. Run blood tests, all tests you can and then you can provide me the results. I'm a little busy right now."

She nodded with a shy smile, looking around subtly. "Sure."

You smiled back as best as you could. "Anything else?"

"No, it's just- I see you go this way a lot," Bianca pointed to the direction you were heading with her gaze. "That's Soldier Boy, isn't he?"

Your brows furrowed. "Why you ask?"

"Nothing, well, my grandpa used to talk about him all the time," she giggled. "I was just curious, sorry."

"No problem. I get it. But I really have to go, please make sure those results are on my desk by the end of the day," you ordered kindly.

"I will."

"Thanks, Bianca."

With that, you gave a last smile and began your walk again away from her, slower than before. For some reason something was off since you entered the building. It felt different. Totally weird. For the record, since Homelander threatened to have your head off, you paid twice the attention to your surroundings and the people around. You didn't know if there was something big planning right now in front of your nose. You just walked a couple of feet when you felt someone following behind, that was probably watching over you. In a swift movement, you turned on your heels but no one was there. The aisle was empty.

Bianca was already gone and almost no one would wander on this wing of the building, for obvious reasons. With caution you resumed your steps, telling yourself that you were not going insane.

"Robert Singer and I have been hard at work bridging the divide between the human and Superhuman communities. I've seen that divide firsthand in my three years running the FBSA—"

Ben scoffed, taking the TV controller to turn the screen off. "Bullshit."

He stood in the middle of the room with nothing but a towel hanging down his hips after taking a shower, taking the last smoke of his blunt. He grew tired of waiting for you, so he just took a shower and now, everything on the fucking channels was the stupid campaign by Victoria Neuman being supported by Vought and the fucking brat he was supposed to call his son.

With a deep breath, he finished the weed and threw the remains on the ashtray over the new coffee table. His mind started to wander away, realizing he had been a little calm the last couple of days after he almost blew up the fucking place to the ground. Inside, Ben knew your words and actions were a lot of help for the small sense of serenity that started to grow within his chest after that moment. Absolutely that was something he wouldn't admit, ever. But if he was to say, he was actually relieved.

Taking a look around, his place was not that big of a mess. You were certainly used to his clothes around the floor and the sofas, so it wasn't really important. What he found annoying though was you pushing him to read the stupid books and write down his feelings. He wasn't going to do that. If you were there to medicate him, so be it. He wondered why you took so long to do it. Probably he should be stoned enough to not feel anything. That was fucking better.

Just as he started to go over his mental plan to get the hell out of your prison, the door opened. He smirked at your sight. As always, an useless armed man standing behind your figure. You dispatched the guard and stepped inside Soldier Boy's place, the door closing with a loud sound.

You stopped your tracks just a few steps away from him. He noticed your eyes tracing his half bare body in a quick motion, before turning to his face with an arrogant smirk on your lips.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" Ben teased.

With a light chuckle, you held your head high. "Don't be delusional, it's just basic instinct."

"Believe me, I fucking know that," he snarked, taking over your figure with his green eyes the same way you did before. "Basic instinct."

You rolled your eyes. "So," you sat down in your usual place to start the session, making a pile of three of his shirts in the empty space. "Make yourself decent and then we can continue."

Ben took some sweatpants and a shirt from the floor and started to dress himself in front of you, without much care. He smirked as you turned away your gaze to focus on the report lying on your lap.

"You're late," he remarked, taking his own seat once he was done with his clothes.

"Yeah, I had some things to do," you mumbled going through the pages. "But I see we can start now."

He took a deep breath, staring into the distance. "Don't make it boring."

You grimaced, looking back at him. "Can't promise that."

Ben sensed a playfulness coming from you. Could it be that, after recieving your comforting words, he was seeing another side of you? Like the side that would actually trust him, because you still arrived. You were sitting in front of him. You were with him, in the same fucking room where the sun was far from getting. Yeah, you were there but he was too full of ego to bring his walls down again. He wanted to convince himself he wasn't vulnerable. He knew he was more than that. He was Soldier Boy, the man who had to stop Homelander and his fucking kid.

He smirked. "Well, sugar, I can ask you to try."

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

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[total-dxmure]

when i read ur fics it doesn’t even feel like i’m reading fanfic, but a romance book i would pick up and not be able to put down. i legit could read 100 chapters of ‘invisible string theory’ & ‘marley and me’ <3 never stop.

this is the sweetest compliment ever. seriously, thank you so much for sending me this. i do have plans on eventually trying to get books published, so writing fics has been amazing practice for me. it also helps me with writers block when i’m working on my personal “novels” (that sounds so pretentious ew).

ahhh!! i’m going to be so depressed when “marley and me” comes to a close. it was the first fic i ever posted on this blog as well as the thing that connected me to most of you lovelies! i’m so excited to upload more series though and get even more creative with what i show you guys. don’t worry! i have no plans to stop posting any time soon, so i hope you guys don’t mind the constant spamming of fics or wip teasers. got a couple more to post once i finish up with the mini series and oneshots.

[miryum]

Sweetheart- Chapter 3 (finale)

Summary: Jason Todd finds himself in a Groundhog Day situation and it won't stop until he finds his soulmate who's going through the exact same situation. But will you two stop being idiots long enough to too see what's in front of you? Not even the author knows...

ao3 link

Taglist: @susvale

Warnings: Swearing (I think that's it? Lmk if you find anything else)

A couple days went by and Jason learned a number of things: 

Cass always woke him up and the conversation always turned back to Tim being the only sane one in the house, even if Jason started talking about cats

If you swatted Damian’s hand at the right moment, he wouldn’t steal your bacon

He always made the bet with you, no matter if he knew he was supposed to find his soulmate

In the library, he always caught you with a new book- whether or not you were adamant that you were still reading The Fault in Our Stars

He always got a 97 on the test, and you a 95

He didn’t want these Thursdays to end

Because if the Thursdays ended, then he would’ve found his soulmate. And he would have to leave you

Jason loved the witty banter. He loved the small touches you allowed him. He loved the glances the two of you shared at someone else’s joke.

He loved how he could get you to blush with a wink. He loved when you would whisper in his ear at lunch when it was too loud to speak at a regular volume. And Jason as slowly realised, he loved you. 

And he was terrified about it. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to find a soulmate and forget all about you. But then he thought of what Cass said. Whoever you want it to be, that’s probably them.

Maybe he should just suck it up and ask if your days had been repeating too. But he hadn’t noticed any huge changes in your days. Jason’s plan had been to analyse everyone he interacted with to see if they were different from the Original Thursday, but he’d been so caught up in daydreaming about you that he’d practically forgotten to.

“Jason?” A soft knock sounded on his door. “It’s me. I’m coming in.” Bruce slowly opened the door and stepped inside his son’s room. “Uh… how are you?” It was clear that Alfred made him come talk to Jason. “Dick and Cass have been worried about you. You seem more… distant today than you usually are.”

”Just thinking,” Jason muttered. He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Bruce. The teacher stood silently, crossing his arms. He knew Jason well enough to let him talk first. “About soulmates.”

Bruce raised a brow. “Does that mean you found yours?” Internally, he felt a swell of pride for his son. After all Jason had been through- his childhood, his depression, his trust issues- he deserved a soulmate. He deserved to overcome everything painful and be happy.

“I think I know who she is,” Jason admitted. “I’ve been reliving this Thursday over and over and there’s only one person I can think of.”

His father and teacher, in more ways than one, hesitated. Finally, he stated, “it’s Y/n.”

Jason took a breath, one that filled his lungs and forced him to feel the emotional weight on his chest. He exhaled and said, “yeah. Yeah, it’s her.”

Bruce cracked a rare smile. “I’m glad you figured it out. She’s good for you.”

“Yeah… she really is.” He couldn’t stop the lovesick smile that spread across his lips.

“Tell me about her.”

Jason wasn’t one for romantic words, aside from ones found in literature. Yet he couldn’t help but say, “I am a lovesick fool. One look and I am satisfied for the year. She has no idea what she does to me. Just to be in her presence is a gift I would fight for. One touch and she could… convince me to jump off a bridge! To love someone is terrifying, but I would face that fear a thousand times over just for her. Y/n is my… everything.” Just as he uttered the words, Bruce’s eyes flickered down to his wrist. 

“Well, I think you have your answer,” Bruce hummed. 

There, permanently tattooed on his wrist, were the numbers 95 and 97.

------

Similarly, you were having a conversation with Dick and Cass. Or, rather, they were trying to have a conversation with you, and you were stubbornly trying to read Hamlet. You had already finished The Count of Monte Cristo, per Jason’s recommendation, The Things They Carried, and All’s Quiet on the Western Front, both books that Jason had offhandedly mentioned months prior.

“Y/n. Come on, Y/n.” Dick pestered you relentlessly. “Who’s the soulmate?”

“I regret telling you this,” you said monotonously. 

“Just tell us!” You were surprised that Dick was your senior, considering the amount of whining that was coming out of his mouth. You told him just that.

“I don’t know!” You said, “you think I’d be sitting here, the fourteenth Thursday in a row, if I knew?!”

“Two weeks as a Thursday?” Cass grimaced in sympathy. “Sounds like hell.” 

“It is.”

“Who do you think it is?” Cass asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

You gave her a sheepish look. “Your brother?”

“Me?!” Dick exclaimed loudly, probably gaining the attention of Alfred in the kitchen.

“No, you fucking imbecile!” you cried out. “Jason!”

“Oh. Oh. Oh my gosh!” Dick looked like he had just received a puppy. “You guys would be perfect for each other! But you have to be careful,” he switched into big brother mode. “Remember to wrap it before you ta-”

“Jesus Christ, shut the hell up.” Cass covered her ears. “I’ve already gotten the talk from Bruce. Not something I need from you too.”

“You got the talk from Bruce?” You tried to imagine your collected economics teacher, ex-CEO of Wayne Companies, dad to three hundred children, awkwardly talking to his teenage daughter about her growing body. You desperately wanted footage.

“Not important,” Cas waved you away. “What is important is how you’re going to tell Jason.”

“But… but what if he’s not?” you whisper, voicing your fears. “What if I’m wrong and he laughs at me?”

“Then he’ll forget it the next day.” Dick shrugged. You hummed in consideration. 

“Y/n,” Cass took your hand. “What do you have to lose?”

“The love of my life.” You hadn’t realised you said it out loud until Dick gasped and Cass swore in surprise. 95 and 97 were etched into your wrist in a proud font.

------

“Get her flowers,” Tim said.

“Kill someone in her honour,” Damian suggested.

“Proclaim your love in front of the whole school!” Dick said excitedly.

“Just fucking tell her.” Cass tried not to hit any of her brothers. Honestly, sometimes she thought she was the only level-headed one in the family. “You already know you’re soulmates!” Subconsciously, Jason rubbed at the soulmark. He had spent all of last night staring at it, somewhere between blissfully happy and worried.

Bruce walked in and surveyed the room. “Girl troubles?” he guessed. “Speaking of Y/n, who I’m assuming the girl is, she’s coming over for dinner tonight.”

“I know!” Jason clenched his hair in frustration. For the past seventeen days you had been coming over for dinner and he was nowhere closer to telling you he loved you. Truthfully, he was terrified. Terrified that you wouldn’t accept him. Terrified that you wouldn’t want him as a soulmate. He didn’t even know if you knew you were soulmates!

Cass kept her mouth shut. Unbeknownst to Jason, you had revealed your soulmark to her, Kory, and Artemis that morning. You had explained the repeating Thursdays, but Jason had already filled the Wayne family in that morning. Apparently, Jason had been monologuing the same spiel to them for a couple days at that point.

But she wasn’t gonna tell Jason that. Where was the fun?

A knock resounded on the door and Alfred was quick to open it, greeting you in the process. Damian and Cass went to welcome you. Tim followed Bruce into the dining room.

Dick shot Jason a look that only the two oldest siblings could understand. Having been Bruce’s only children for quite some time, they had developed their own language of sorts. One that came in handy when they wanted to steal extra cookies from the kitchens or sneak into Bruce’s office when he was still CEO.

Jason, you need to tell her. Dick communicated. It’s unfair to her.

Jason glared back. I know that! It’s just…

You’re scared, Dick realised. 

Obviously.

Dick sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, a soft smirk brushing across his face. You don’t need to be, idiot. She’s the one for you. Your soulmate.

Jason swallowed and nodded. I know.

Jaybird…

Yeah, yeah, Jason conceded. I’ll tell her.

Thank god. I was getting tired of seeing you mope around.

Dick helped Jason to his feet and clapped him on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dick. You’re a good brother.”

“I know.”

———

You tried not to make it obvious that you were searching for Jason the moment you stepped inside Wayne Manor. You had received a pep talk from Ms. Quinn and Dr. Isley about their own experience as soulmates. Seeing the love in their eyes had convinced you to tell Jason about your soulmark.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

You jumped. “How the hell do you always do that, Todd?! Stop scaring me!”

“Never.” The boy hugged you from behind, squeezing you tight. “Hey, can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.” You squinted up at him. He was acting… different from all the other Thursdays. Did you do something that resulted in this? “What’s wrong?”

Jason led you away from the prying eyes of his family. “Well, nothing’s wrong. Yet. All kinda depends on how you react.”

“You’re scaring me, Jay. Please just tell me?” You realised Jason still had yet to take his arm off your lower back. 

“Um, yeah,” he sat down on the couch and you joined him. “So, I don’t know if this has been happening to you or not, but my Thursday has kind of been…”

“Repeating?” you offered, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Yeah,” Jason studied your face, a blooming of euphoria caught in his chest. “You’re being serious?”

“Why would I joke about something like this?” you whispered.

“To laugh at me?” Jason’s voice broke and you surged forward to hug him. 

“Never, Jason. I would never laugh at you.”

“Can I see it? Just to know.” He would never admit it, but unless he saw the proof, he wouldn’t believe it. He was still questioning whether this was all real. 

“Of course.” 

Almost hesitantly, Jason held your wrist so gently that you wondered if he thought you would shatter through his fingers. The 95 and 97 matched his. “It’s… it’s real,” he gaped.

“Yeah, Jason.” You had half a mind to laugh at his expressions but also knew the insecurity he was harbouring. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours,” he repeated.

———

The next morning, you woke in Jason’s bed, his arm curled tightly around your waist. You had spent the last night talking about everything and nothing. When Alfred had adamantly sent everyone to bed (having already called your parents to confirm your sleeping over), Jason had ushered you into his room and clicked on the bedside light. The conversation continued long into the night, slowly inching closer to each other as sleep took over. 

“Sweetheart, you’re staring,” Jason mumbled, eyes still closed.

You laughed quietly. “Can you blame me? I just found myself the best soulmate possible. And, it’s finally Friday!”

Jason hummed. “I would go through a thousand Thursdays if it meant I found you.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering, “cheesy.” Slowly, you extracted yourself from his arms. “I don’t have another pair of clothes and these are all wrinkled. Your siblings are gonna talk.”

“Like they don’t already suspect it.”

“Come on, Jay. Get ready for school. You still owe me a date on Saturday.”

“Nah,” Jason leaned up on his elbows to watch you fiddle around his room. It felt right seeing you in his bedroom. Like you were supposed to be there. A level of intimacy that didn’t feel unnatural. “I think I owe you seventeen dates. One for every single day I beat you.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “Yeah… you won. You got the higher grade.”

“Damn right I did.” You grinned and Jason demanded, “why are you laughing?”

“No reason. Just because I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[mendes-bae]

A fair exchange — part four

series masterlist ; part three ; part five

Part four summary: Velarys and Aemond's daughter is born, everything should be happiness, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x (F) Targaryen!reader

Warning: NSFW 🔞 incest, angst, kissing, smut, PiV sex, unprotected sex, CHARACTER DEATH, depression, trauma, grieving, bittersweet chapter ending.

Author's note: ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! this is my first time writing a fic in English, so beforehand, i'm sorry 👀

All the rights belong to the showrunners of HOTD and George R.R Martin, author of Fire and blood & Song of ice and fire series‼️

Word count: 2390

At least eight moons had passed since Aemond and Velarys Targaryen were joined in marriage. They had discovered that they were very happy together, the prince adored his now very pregnant wife and she adored him even more.

Velarys was stroking her swollen belly as she read a book about healing ointments and medicines when she heard the door opening.

"I have excellent news!" Aemond said as he entered the chambers he shared with his wife.

"What's going on?" Velarys asked, settling down on the sofa carefully because every day that pass moving was more difficult: her stomach didn't stop growing.

"Vhagar gave birth to three beautiful eggs"

Velarys smiled, many of the dragon keepers said that the dragon was too old to have babies.

"It worked then... put our dragons in the same pit"

"Well… it was a bit of a rough match" the prince laughed, sitting down next to his wife.

"Why?" She looked at Aemond curiously.

"Vaghnar got a little bit excited and hurt my dragon" he smiled mischievously.

"Vaghnar has lived wild most of his life, you can't blame him. He has improved a lot temperamentally, and his relationships with other dragons are more civilized now"

Aemond showed the dragon eggs that he was holding in his hands: their shells were silver resembling Valyrian steel, dark blue almost black, and pristine white.

"The matter is that our daughter will have her own dragon egg," Aemond said, stroking Velarys's belly.

The princess smiled.

“How do you know that is a girl?”

"I just feel it"

"Well... in a couple of moons we'll find out."

Aemond smiled as he imagined a baby in his arms. He get closer to Velarys and kissed her slowly.

The princess caressed his ribs and in a blink her hands entered her husband's pants.

"Lady Dorella says that having sex during pregnancy helps ease pain and contractions" said Velarys moving her hand over Aemond's cock "I'm willing to try that method"

The dragon prince growled.

"And who am I to deny anything to my beloved wife?"

Aemond bit his lip and moved closer to the princess.

Velarys got up from the sofa and the prince thought that they would take the fun to the huge bed in the center of the room, but the white-hair woman surprised him: she raised the linen gown to her hips and exposed her sex while she was on her hands and knees.

"Do you want me that much, wife?" Aemond asked pulling his pants down.

"Always, my love" she replied in moans, wishing him inside her.

"So much that you want me to take you here and not in our bed... where we conceived our child and where we will conceive more?" he nestled his erection against her butt.

Velarys moaned and pressed against him, beginning to rub against his manhood, wanting to tease him further.

When she least expected it, his member entered inside her. For a while, he did nothing else than rub her back and moaning at the feeling of being inside her, but then he began to move quickly.

In the room, only their groans and moans could be heard, as well as the noise of their skins colliding.

"Faster, Aemond" the princess begged.

A desperate Aemond began to move wildly heeding her request, while her hands squeezed his ass, giving him pleasurable pain.

In a couple more thrusts, the prince made both of them came. Aemond cupped Velarys's large breasts and caressed them gently.

"I love you, Velarys" the prince confessed for the first time.

His sweaty forehead was on one of his wife's shoulders, his eyes were closed waiting for her answer.

"I love you too, Aemond" replied the princess crawling into his arms.

￮ ੭ 𓈒 ˙ 🐉🐉🐉 ˳ ⊹ ˚ 𝅄

Aemond came back from Old Town as fast as Vhagar's wings could fly. He was visiting his younger brother, Daeron, at the Hightower ancestral castle and Velarys had been unable to accompany him due to the advanced stage of her pregnancy.

When the raven arrived Old Town, Aemond left everything behind and didn't care who he might offend with his hasty departure.

Aemond ran up the Red Keep steps and even from the lower floors he could hear his wife's cries of pain.

In the hall, Alicent prayed for her daughter-in-law and the coming baby to the Seven, beside her Helaena rocked Jaehaera lovingly as the little girl slept.

"Aemond!" his mother said when she saw him appear.

The prince ignored her and tried to enter the room where his wife was.

"Aemond, the Mestres are taking care of her, you don't want to go in"

"That's up to me, Mother" he said, wriggling free of the queen's grasp. "my wife and our child are inside, I must be with them"

His mother and sister didn't say a thing since neither of their husbands had been at any of their children births.

Aemond opened the huge doors and immediately saw Velarys exhausted and flushed, her white hair was drenched with sweat, the sheets and her bed gown were bloody.

He ran to his wife's side and took her trembling hand.

"You came" said Velarys between sobs.

"I came as soon as I can, my brave wife" he replied kissing her hand.

Velarys cried out when a contraction showed.

"I see baby's head... white hair as the clouds in the sky" said the Mester.

"This hurts like hell" the princess complained.

"I know, my love" he kissed his wife's temple "you can do it"

"Once again, my princess, push!" ordered the old man.

The baby's cries filled the room and the royal couple closed their eyes in relief.

"Is a beautiful girl, your highness" said the Mester wrapping the baby with the blankets that Rose Westerling gave him.

The new parents smiled at the news.

"Bring her to me" said the mother extending her arms.

Rose walked up carefully to her lady with her daughter in arms and handed her over.

"She is so beautiful" said Velarys with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, she is" answered Aemond admiring his sweet daughter "Just like her mother"

Aemond lovingly kissed his wife's lips.

The room doors opened and the King and the Queen entered.

"Congratulations, blood of my blood!" Viserys said with a big smile on his face.

The new parents couldn't help but staring the little girl in her mother's arms.

"She is a beautiful girl, Velarys" Alicent praised looking at the baby "How will you call her?"

"Ellarys" replied the white-hair woman with her daughter's little finger curled around hers.

Aemond smiled at her lovely name.

￮ ੭ 𓈒 ˙ 🐉🐉🐉 ˳ ⊹ ˚ 𝅄

Ellarys was indeed a sweet girl: the light in her parents' eyes, they loved her too much.

And although the young Targaryens would face anything for the little girl, there are enemies that were invisible: Ellarys had the misfortune to fall ill with a terrible disease that affected the Westeros youngest ones, ravens said that children in Winterfell had passed by this disease, even in the south of the continent people were grieving their children.

Ellarys suffered from fever for days, red spots spread all over her body and cough didn't let her sleep at night. Velarys and Aemond felt the world fall at their feet each time her daughter breathed in pain.

Velarys spent the night by her side, holding her tiny hand, Aemond was on the sofa in front of her bed dozing because his sleep was winning him over. At some point in the late morning, the princess was also overcome by exhaustion and when she woke up she noticed that her little daughter's chest was not moving.

"Ellarys!" The Mestres entered the girl's room alarmed by the princess's screams and tried to do something to help her, but it was too late, the girl had left this world.

Velarys blamed herself for the death of her little daughter. If she hadn't fallen asleep, she might have called the Mestres and they could have saved her.

The young mother could not assimilate what was happening: the wrapped body of her little two-year-old daughter was on the pyre in the same meadow where her mother and brother were burned to ashes years ago.

Velarys could only think that she would no longer see her in the gardens or jumping through the Red Keep corridors, that she would no longer braid her hair or she would never sing her to sleep again. Her heart was squeezing with pain.

Vaghnar and Vhagar silently watched their riders, awaiting for instructions. Beside them was Silverfyre who moaned in pain as he didn't feel her little mistress.

Silverfyre followed Vaghnar as if he were his shadow and even though Velarys was not her rider, the creature obeyed the princess's orders.

Aemond held Velarys's hand tightly, trying to contain his tears because he must be the support of his sad wife.

With broken voice Aemond ordered Vhagar:

"Dracarys!"

Velarys screamed, got free of her husband's grasp and ran to the pyre.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her and both of them fell to their knees in front of her burning daughter, the young mother crying out for the child's loss.

The Targaryens mourned with Princess Velarys the death of the innocent little one and all of Realm's fallen kids.

￮ ੭ 𓈒 ˙ 🐉🐉🐉 ˳ ⊹ ˚ 𝅄

Velarys had not been the same since Ellarys had died, almost a moon ago.

She no longer laughed or sang, and most importantly, she no longer rode her dragon.

She cried until she had no more tears to cry. She hardly ate or drank and spent her days in bed, she didn't comb her hair or wear other clothes than her night gown. She didn't let anyone enter the room, except Aemond but she didn't even say a word to him.

She was a ghost, Aemond's heart ached because of his little girl lost but he felt that in a way he had also lost his wife.

Aemond entered the room and saw Rose Westerling (the only person besides him who could be with her) spilling water on her hair.

"Leave us" he ordered the maiden.

The princess's lady-in-waiting stopped what she was doing and she left the chambers.

Aemond knelt beside Velarys and admired her wife's profile: as usual, she was staring the wall and barely blinking.

The prince took her hand and placed a kiss on it. He dropped her hand and took the vanilla soap that was set aside to clean his wife's shoulders.

Aemond gazed at the princess's body with pain, her bones protruding from the little bit of food she ate and her skin extremely pale from lack of sun.

He was washing his hair when he heard Velarys say in a whisper:

"Do the Gods hate me?"

Aemond put down the bar of soap and studied her carefully.

"What have I done to face their anger?"

"You haven't done anything" Her husband replied brushing her hair "The Gods are unfair sometimes, it's not your fault"

"She was a good girl" she said referring to Ellarys. "she was a sweet and kind girl. She didn't deserve it"

"Of course not" Aemond caressed her cheek.

"I want to die" she said suddenly between sobs.

"Don't say that" the prince sat up over the tub, his shirt sleeves getting wet.

"I want this pain to end, I just want to be with my little girl" she closed her eyes.

Aemond cupped her cheeks.

"Velarys, I love you with all my heart" he confessed "if you die... if you leave me alone in this world, a part of me leaves with you"

The prince didn't mind being dressed, he made room behind Velarys and entered the tub to hug his wife tightly.

They held each other until the water cooled, Velarys stopped sobbing, and her bare skin turned cold.

He could hold her for hours, days, and whole moons if it meant she wasn't going to leave him.

￮ ੭ 𓈒 ˙ 🐉🐉🐉 ˳ ⊹ ˚ 𝅄

Velarys watched Aemond fight Sir Criston like every morning, the way he dealt grief. She watched for a long time without anyone noticing her. Aemond saw her and immediately dropped his sword. It was the first time that Velarys had left their chambers.

"Shall we take a dragon ride?" The princess asked shyly.

Aemond nodded softly and walked with their hands linked.

When the couple entered the dragons pit, they noticed the silence reign in the cave. Velarys was walking by inertia and got scared when a little beast no bigger than a cow ran up to her.

The princess snapped out of her shock and realized that the creature was Silverfyre, little Ellarys's dragon. She had never been able to ride it because she varely knew how to speak well, but the beast had been hatched between her blankets when she was born and when the girl got her first tooth, the shell of her egg broke. From the time it hatched until the last days of her child's life, the little silver-scaled beast had been by her side, the bond between them was stronger than any other rider and their dragon.

As Velarys reached the little Dragon, Silverfyre wrapped her tail around the princess's arm and with her head sought the warmth of the white-haired’s chest.

“Nyke ozmijegon yel” I miss her too.

Aemond heard Velarys said as he watched them from the cave entrance.

Aemond approached them and when he was about to climbed Vhagar’s back the princess said:

"For this time, will you ride with me?" her husband looked at Vaghnar "I want to be next to you"

Vhagar roared from across the pit, implying that she didn't mind, Aemond didn't need him to say it twice.

They flew for hours, Aemond tightly hugging Velarys's waist. He stroked her hair which was blowing loose in the wind and thanked whatever God was listening to have Velarys by his side.

"I love you" he said in her ear.

"I love you too" replied his wife.

Part five

Taglist

@mynameisbaby9 @princessmiaelicia @sustisama @daddysfavoritesexkitten

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@tivedetek4869 @maviee @remuslupinwifee @fuckinglittlekitten @may-machin @kaitieskidmore1 @zillahvathek

@marvelita85 @25falsafielisa

@solacestyles @polireader

@mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @loomipee

[peaceisadirtyword]

Pull the Trigger V (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hello! Once again I’m so sorry because I did leave this chapter scheduled and once again it wasn’t posted :( but it’s okay, I got it! This week and the next one I have exams so that’s why this has been so chaotic, I’m truly sorry, I should dedicate more time to this! I also just finished my treatment for the surgery and I’m waiting for the call from the hospital to start the preparations for it! so it’s a bit stressing and makes me nervous, but it’ll be fine♥️ thank you so much for reading and for sticking around, I really appreciate it🥰

Warnings: mentions of SA, sexism, dark themes, insults, Ivar gets angry :( also mentions of anxiety and depression.

Words: 3525

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

The way you were constantly aware of his presence was annoying, overwhelming and  maddening. No matter how many people were in class, it was almost like he was the centre of attention constantly. Or maybe it was you, that had to fight the urge of looking at him every couple of minutes. Sitting next to you after you arrived late again, his blue eyes were fixed on the Power Point the professor was explaining about the vikings' raids in Ireland. This time he hadn't said a word to you, and even though you wanted to feel relieved about that, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever realised you had sat next to him.

Looking at your empty notes again, you sighed a bit more loudly than you intended, and finally his eyes turned to you. Ivar looked amused when you looked at him again, raising an eyebrow almost like you hadn't been trying to catch his attention for the past half an hour.

“Bored?" he whispered, tilting his head in a way that made you wonder if he actually knew how attractive he was “I can't keep giving you my notes, love, I need them too"

“I  didn't ask you to" you rolled your eyes.

“As lovely as always" he rolled his eyes too and you clenched your jaw in annoyance “Are you looking forward to seeing your boyfriend?"

“I don't have a boyfriend" you replied, even though you knew he was just trying to get a reaction out of you.

“Of course you don’t, Erik is not boyfriend material" he shrugged “Has he drugged you to get you in bed already? Or did you go voluntarily?"

You widened your eyes. You knew Ivar and Erik didn't get along, Thora had told you the names of the people Ivar couldn't stand under your request, so you could be friends with them. But accusing him of that...

“Erik would never..." you took a deep breath, unwilling to appear even slightly bothered by his taunt as you knew that was his intention “What you're saying it's very serious, you shouldn't go around saying that" you narrowed your eyes at him. Ivar rolled his, shaking his head almost like he was disappointed by your reaction.

“It's even more serious doing it" he clenched his jaw, his intense eyes fixed on every single movement the professor did “But here you are, judging me because my brother is dating your friend and hooking up with the sexist son of a bitch that assaults women"

“I judge you for way more than that" you scoffed “And they're not dating"

“So you went to bed with him willingly" he muttered “You disappoint me, I thought you'd have some self respect"

“Who I go to bed with is none of your business" you replied, trying to keep your voice low so the professor wouldn't kick you out “But given that you're accused of killing people and being a fucking gangster, it’s quite bold to accuse someone else of doing disgusting things"

Ivar chuckled quietly, shaking his head, his eyes went down to his own notes and he stood silent for a few minutes. You couldn't stop thinking about what he just said, mostly because it wasn't the first time you heard it. Surely Erik was an idiot sometimes, and could have questionable behaviour around women in clubs, but he would never abuse a woman, right? He would have tried something with you if that was the case, and he had been very respectful every time you had met, never going past what you were comfortable with.

Besides, why were you even giving any credit to anything Ivar would say? He was cruel, a bully, like everyone in his family he believed himself to be better than anyone else, always justifying his own actions just because no one had called him out in his entire life... He was accused of killing people, even if they were just as bad as he was, and he was a rich asshole that had everything he ever wanted in life. Just like Hvitserk, the one that had been sleeping in your house for at least a week now and the one eating half of your fridge every morning.

Deciding you would just ask Erik the next time you saw him, you glanced at the Power Point again, almost moaning in desperation when you realised you had zoned out for way more slides you had thought and now were on a completely different topic and, again, you had no idea of what the professor just said.

Looking at Ivar hoping he was just as lost as you were, you found him smirking at you, almost like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“What?" he raised an eyebrow “Are you too worried that your boyfriend might be a sex offender to pay attention in class?"

“Erik is not my fucking boyfriend" you groaned, rubbing your eyes “And he's not a sex offender either, you, on the contrary" you turned your head to look at him in the eye, and Ivar tilted his head in amusement “Are a manipulative son of a bitch that likes to scare people to feel important, just like your brother that likes to use people for his own pleasure and throw them away afterwards not caring about them or their fucking feelings"

Ivar’s face changed.

“Please, leave my mother out of this" he replied, his expression was way colder then “You can insult me as much as you want if that makes you feel better for fucking that bastard, but you leave my family alone"

For the first time, you found Ivar Lothbrok intimidating, and you were sure that if you hadn't been in a classroom surrounded by people he would have done more than glaring at you like that.

“And that includes my brother" he continued, hissing in a lower voice that almost made you tremble “Hvitserk is an asshole, but no one is allowed to point that out as many times as you did, princess, so by all means, hate me as much as you want, cry because your best friend is fucking one of us, despise my family, but never and I mean never insult us again in my presence or you will regret it" he whispered, and for the first time you were speechless “It's not my fault that your life is so worthless and boring that you have to follow Erik around begging for some attention, I only tried to warn you, so stop being a bitch and fuck off"

When he finished you had tears in your eyes. Ivar just turned around, looking at the professor just as he announced the end of the class and people started standing up. Looking down at your empty notes you felt him stand and leave the classroom with the rest of your classmates, and just when the first tears fell down your cheeks you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise when he saw you crying, and immediately occupied the seat Ivar just left.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?" he glanced at the door “Did Ivar do anything?"

You gulped, covering your face in both shame and anger, not believing you were crying because of that idiot.

“Am I... Am I a bitch?" your lip trembled as you raised your head to look at him.

Alfred looked even more surprised then, and started frowning at the door.

“What?"

“I swear I'm not trying to be a bitch I just want to make sure Thora doesn't suffer because of a stupid boy" you sniffed “Hvitserk has a terrible reputation, and Ivar even worse... I don't mean to be a bitch to anyone, I...  My life sucks and I don't know what to do, I just wanted to make sure my friend was happy, that's all, I..."

Alfred shushed you with a small smile on his lips, leaning in to hug you tightly with a chuckle.

“You're clearly in need of a relaxing night of therapy" he muttered against your hair “Come to my place for dinner, Elsewith is cooking".

You nodded slowly, finally wiping your tears and taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe you were so affected by his words, the words of someone you despised so much... But it was the way he had said them, with that stern glare and disappointed tone, almost like you had let him down. Was everyone just as aware as him of how unhappy you were?

Leaving the classroom with Alfred, part of the sadness you felt turned into anger. Who was he to talk to you like that? The frustration made you close the door maybe a bit too harshly, and some of the people standing on the hallway turned to look at you, including Ivar, who still looked pissed as he talked to a very amused Hvitserk.

“Wow, someone is not having a good day" Erik's voice next to you made you jump, even though your expression softened and you even smiled a bit, even when you didn't feel like it.

“I need to go to work" Alfred looked at Erik up and down with clear displeasure for his presence, but smiled at you “I'll pick you up when I'm out"

“Okay, see you" you hugged him one last time before he left, not even glancing back at Erik once.

“I just wanted to check on you, I haven't seen you in days" Erik tilted his head with a flirtatious smile, and the tilt of the head was something you had associated with Ivar so much that it infuriated you when you surprised yourself thinking he looked much better than Erik doing it.

“Yes, I've been busy" you cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. It was the truth, you had been very busy the past few days giving your cv to every single person that would take it and doing job interviews that ended very often with a ‘it's not what we're looking for, but we'll keep your cv and will call you if any other position becomes available’, which was a more polite way of saying ‘you're not getting this job, now get the fuck out of my office’.

“Are you busy tomorrow? I'm throwing a party with my roommate at my place" Erik kept smiling, this time reaching to grab your waist in a flirtatious way “I would love it if you could come, we can have some time to catch up" he winked, and you cleared your throat.

“Um... Sure, I'll be there... Can I bring a friend?"

“Of course" he smiled widely "See you, then"

Before you could react, Erik leaned in to kiss you softly. His lips were a bit dry and forceful, and you almost pushed him away, ashamed that he'd do that in public without asking you first. He looked damn proud of himself when he walked away, and you took a couple of minutes to take a deep breath and wipe your mouth before leaving the campus, not before glaring at Ivar, who glared right back at you. You had another class, but at that moment you couldn't care less.

________________________________________

Ivar stormed out of the classroom, scaring a group of girls that talked cheerfully just outside. He had to bite his tongue before he'd yell at them to move, but instead he just glared at them and that was enough to make them step aside and let him walk outside. Hvitserk was waiting for him in the hallway, looking bored as hell and scrolling down his phone.

“Took you long enough" he scoffed when Ivar finally reached him “How was your day? Not very good from what I see" Hvitserk chuckled, already too used to his brother's bad mood to let them affect him.

“I can't stand her anymore, Hvitserk" Ivar gripped his crutch so tightly he could hear his fingers crackle “She thinks she's so much better than us, I can't deal with her anymore, so please just break up with her friend because I can't keep having her around"

“Wait, who are we talking about?" his older brother glanced at the door while the rest of the students walked away “I'm lost"

“Your girlfriend's little friend, look, you can fuck whoever you want to but don't leave me to deal with their annoying friends"

“Y/N?" Hvitserk laughed “You go to class with Y/N?"

“It's not fucking funny" Ivar clenched his jaw “No matter when or where I am, she's always there and finds a way to get on my nerves"

“And here I thought you'd end up being fond of each other" Hvitserk sighed “Well, brother, sorry to break it to you but you'll have to put up with her for a little longer, I'm gonna invite Thora for dinner tomorrow"

Ivar raised his head, alarmed.

“What does that mean?"

“I need you to leave the house for a couple of hours tomorrow, or lock yourself up in your bedroom, I don't care, but I'm cooking for Thora and I'm going to have a serious conversation with her about our future and..."

His little brother's scoff interrupted him, which seemed to offend Hvitserk personally as he narrowed his eyes at him.

“That sounds too emotionally responsible for you, brother, I don't believe you"

“Mother keeps pestering me into getting in a relationship" Hvitserk rolled his eyes “She says it's time to stop... What did she call it? Yes, 'fooling around' and settle down, at least for a while, she used the fact that both Ubbe and Sigurd are already in a committed relationship"

“But if you do it I'm next" Ivar seemed to panic “She will start pestering me"

“Well, that's your problem, not mine" Hvitserk patted his back “Anyway, I like Thora, so I don't really mind... For now"

Ivar opened his mouth again, probably to throw an insult, but Erik's voice interrupted him. Hvitserk was more than familiar with the hate his brother had for Erik, so he grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down even before Ivar tensed up.

He stood silent as you talked to him, looking rather uncomfortable when he leant in to kiss you in front of everyone. Finally, you left, and Ivar started to breathe again.

“I tried to warn her" he told his brother, who hummed in amusement “But she clearly doesn't care"

“Sure, brother" he chuckled “Let's go, we have work to do"

__________________________________________

“Alfred told me Ivar made you cry today"

You raised your head to look at Elsewith, who looked focused on preparing the dinner Alfred had promised you, but you looked down again quickly, at the vegetables you were cutting.

“He didn't make me cry" you muttered, refusing to admit that his words and the tone he used with you had stung to the point of make you tear up. You wouldn't give him that kind of power “He was just plain rude and unpleasant to me, and I've been having bad days so..."

“Ivar is like that" she sighed “I don't know him very well, but from what I've heard... He's just cruel and enjoys hurting other people"

“I know, but..." you bit your lip. For a while, you truly had believed you had the power to criticise him, to be open and vocal about how unpleasant you found his and his family's existence. He clearly thought he was much better than you and wouldn't be bothered to care about an insignificant person's opinion about him. Maybe he found amusing the courage you had to tell him exactly what you thought.

“Don't think too much about it" she smiled softly at you “Forget about him, he probably already has forgotten about you" she rolled her eyes and shook her head “Anyway, did you say you've been having bad days? What's wrong?"

You looked at the kitchen door. Alfred was still in the bathroom having a nice shower after work, and you hoped he'd stay there for a bit longer, because you didn't want to talk about this in front of him. For some reason it was easier to talk about what you were feeling to people that wasn't that close to you.

“I can't find a stable job" you blurted out “I'm living off of the savings I had for when I finished university, to travel and maybe move abroad, no one wants me no matter how many jobs I apply for" you sighed “I don't know what to do, my friends are all finding partners and spending most of their time with them, I'm alone most of the day, I just sit around, glance at my notes and watch shitty movies all day, I can't do anything because I have no motivation to do anything, and I feel like I'm failing in life and stuck in the same place while everyone moves on with their lives" you took a deep breath, rubbing your eyes and trying to convince yourself that you were crying because of the onions you had just cut "So yeah, I'm having a few bad days"

Elsewith looked surprised. She left the wooden spoon on the kitchen counter and approached you slowly, trying to put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Y/N" she muttered “God, why didn't you say anything? I'm home most of the day, I could go and keep you company" she smiled at you and you sighed in defeat. You appreciated her effort, you truly did, but you wanted to be in the company of someone that actually wanted to be there with you, not because they pitied or felt sorry for you.

“I'll be fine, I just..." you took a deep breath “I see everyone falling in love and having a great life, with successful jobs, good grades, looking all nice and confident... And I'm glad for them! I truly am, but at the same time I can't stop wondering when it'll be my turn" you pouted “Does that make me a bitch and a horrible person?"

Elsewith chuckled, shaking her head as she hugged you tightly. There was something in her that resembled an older sister giving advice, and it was comforting.

“Not at all, honey" she muttered, caressing your back “It's normal to feel the pressure and to try and transform your life into the one you always wanted" she moved to look at you in the eye “You're currently in the process to get to the life you dream of, but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the process"

You nodded slowly. It wasn't your intention to bother her with your problems, but you felt like you had just taken a load off your mind.

“You know? When I met Alfred it wasn't love at first sight" she moved to take a look at the dinner cooking silently inside the oven “But with time, I started noticing I would look for him every time I entered a room, I would be aware of his presence even though I couldn't see him and I would keep thinking about him when he wasn't around, it was very weird at first" she giggled “Sometimes I'd get annoyed by his mere existence because he had a power over me that I didn't like, but those feelings I had during the first days of our relationship were magical, Y/N, and I know I won't feel the same with anyone else even if we break up. You haven't experienced that just yet, and I'm actually envious of you because of that" she smiled fondly again, and all the warmth and love you could see in her eyes made you look away “So one day you'll feel that, or you'll wake up one morning in your own home and look out of the window and realise you got the life you wanted, and then you'll feel like all of this struggling was worth it" she reached to take your hand “So trust the process... And enjoy it"

You nodded slowly, and barely had time to mutter a 'thank you' before Alfred entered the kitchen, still drying his hair with a towel and dressed in more comfortable clothes than the formal attire he used to go to the office.

“Hello" he looked a bit taken aback by your teary eyes, but one glance from his girlfriend was enough to make him drop it “It smells awfully good, what are we having?"

Grateful for not having to talk about it anymore, you moved so he'd see the vegetables you were cutting and the recipe book just in front of you. Just when he tried to dip a finger in the pan where Elsewith was making the sauce, just to be slapped on his hand by the wooden spoon his girlfriend had just picked up.

Smiling softly at their bickering, you sighed again and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling in your stomach that made you want to throw up. You recognized the feeling Elsewith was talking about, but you didn't like the person that awakened it.

___________________________________

Tags:  @istorkyou​ @barnes-lothbrok​ @naaladareia​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @southernbe​ @yummycastiel​ @nothingtolosebutweight​ @noway4u​ @cdauni @heavenly1927​​ @ivarhoegh​​ @biancathecool​​ @helleiaiwritting​​ @marvelsangels​​ @ironynoticony​​ @kenyadakblalock​

[okwritingandpain]

Hogwarts Legacy: The Curse of The Ravenclaw House: Phineas Nigellus Black x Reader

Chapter 20: Trial Four

"I'm not kidding you! You look amazing!" Natty laughed, patting your hand. The nurse was applying some cream to your cracks. It stung a little, but they found that numbed some of the pain. Black had finally gotten some much needed true rest in his room and you knew he would be back in the hospital wing any time now. Natty wanted to stop by to check on you. She had a little time before her next class and she thought you were lonely. Truthfully, you wished that you were alone because Black was there all the time. You never got time to yourself anymore, but Black was good company...in a different way. While hanging out with Natty felt natural and felt like something friends would do, Black felt more...you didn't quite know how to explain it. You felt a connection with him and that's what mattered in your mind.

"I wish I could share your kindness." You reply, itching a crack on your finger. Natty looked at it curiously.

"I can't wait for us to kick that crazy dark wizard in the ass!" She smirked at you. You held back your laughter because of the pain you knew it would bring.

"What would I do without you, Natty?" You smile, deciding to give a little chuckle to be respectful.

"You probably would have run away with Black and gotten murdered immediately." She said, casually. You looked at her with wide eyes. Natty never usually said such things.

"What are you implying?"

"I'm just saying that you and Black...you know..."

"I know what, Natsai?"

"Pulling the full name card I see. Well what I mean is--"

"Good morning sick students!" Black burst through the doors, looking like a drunk. He was supposed to get some good rest the night before, but he looked worse that he did before. The nurse stormed out and yelled at Black who's eyes were transfixed on you.

"You mean...." You smirk. She rolls her eyes and glances at Black.

"You two act like an old married couple most of the time but sometimes you guys have lives made out of fairy tales!" She replied, glancing at Black once more, "Have fun with your boy friend, good luck." Natsai laughed, walking passed Black to the door. The nurse still wasn't happy about it, but she could do nothing against Black's word. Black looked at you with confusion.

"You have a boyfriend?" He asked, pulling a chair up to your bed.

"No. I'll tell you later when I feel like it can actually sink into that brain of yours." You sigh, leaning back in the bed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, drowsily.

"I'm just saying that you seem...tired still."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Very." You give him a small smile as he laid his head on the bed.

"Do you mind if I..." He couldn't even finish his sentence before he began to snooze. You roll your eyes and reach for a book off the stack on your nightstand. You couldn't help but think about what Natty had said. It was strange. What did she even mean by it. The first part made sense, but the second part was rather confusing.

"Our lives are out of fairy tales?" You whisper to yourself. What did that mean. You thought about what you both had in common with fairytales. Magical creatures were in your lives...maybe magic? You didn't get it. Fairytales were basically just their normal lives. There was one aspect you hadn't considered due to its nature. A lot of fairy tales that they had been reading in class recently were about deadly romances. They had mostly pulled from human text as they always came up with the most outrageous stories. Romeo and Juliet (Which you wouldn't consider a fairy tale, but the Professor just really liked the story so you didn't really care), The Little Mermaid, and even Beauty and the Beast. Which were all strange tales on the sense that they are all dark romances that had too many red flags to count. Could Natty have meant something like that? A romance...a fairy tale romance. One of depression and loss. Wasn't that a strange feeling? Loss. The idea of losing someone or something can over power even the likes of people like Black. You heard the distance whoos of your owl, Skylight. She flew in with a letter in claw. She dropped it on your chest before promptly landing on Black's head. You quietly opened it to reveal a message from Fig. The fourth and final trial was ready to be pursued. You couldn't believe it. Now of all times? Everything was so much worse for both you and Black to be able to handle something like that. You with your cracks and Black's lack of sleep. Neither of you stood a chance. Skylight began pecking at Black's head. He mumbled to himself before shoeing the bird away. He fluttered his eyes open and they widened at the sight of the letter.

"Don't tell me that Fig wrote a letter about..." Black yawned and rubbed his eyes, tiredly.

"I'm afraid that we have some business to do, but, Nigellus, maybe we can get a little more rest before we go rushing down to get the key...wait there were only three--" Skylight screeched and then began to gag and out came a key. Black jumped up and you tried your best not to gag yourself.

"You were saying..." Black hissed, picking up the key with two fingers. "It seems our good friend Fig wants us to take on this fourth trial."

"But...there were only three keys before. How could there even be a fourth one? Fig must have written about it somewhere." You skim the letter, hoping something, anything could finally give you a clear answer to what in the world was going on. The letter mentioned nothing of it. "What are we supposed to..." Black pointed towards a window. The final stained glass window. The one that would lead to the end of the trials. Black stood up and walked over to it. He squinted at it before walking over to you.

"May I?" He asked, pointing at you. You weren't certain about what he was asking, but you nodded anyways. He pushed off your covers and reached underneath you. Lifting you up, he walked over to the window. Your back was sting you like a thousand hornets, but it was better than trying to walk. Your eyes widened at the sight of the window. It wasn't the Ravenclaw symbol like you had expected. It was just a simple wand that the window depicted. There was nothing interesting about it. The most plan wand there could be. Black reached out for the window and all of sudden they were the living room of a house. A fire was burning under a portrait of a family. Black's eyes widened as he set you down on the couch. His heart thundered in his chest.

"Where are we?" You ask as Black begins to freak out.

"No, no, no." He whispered. A woman walked past them, not seeing them. She wiped a tear from her eye before calling,

"Phineas!" A young boy came down the stairs. He had dark black hair and blue eyes that pooled with sorrow.

"No. Not this. I don't want to see this." Black muttered. He looked back at you before rushing to your side. "We must leave. I want to leave!" Tears began to flood his eyes. He picked you up again, attempting to leave the room but he was surrounded by people who didn't even know they were there. A man went over and hugged the woman.

"I'm sure everything will turn out better than we think..." He told the woman, hugging her close to his chest. The boy sat in a chair, twiddling his fingers.

"Phineas." The woman said, "Go talk to your brother honey. He really wants to see you."

"I'm scared, mama." The boy replied, joining the hug. His mother burst out crying as he gripped her skirt.

"Go, boy." The man snapped. The boy nodded.

"Yes, father." He whispered before running up the stairs. You look to Black who stood close to the parents. His frown grew deep as he stared at them.

"You had no idea what you're doing." His lip quivered. He gripped you tighter as he followed the boy upstairs. "I'm only watching this because I know you never could." He snapped at the parents who didn't even here him. The boy was sitting next to a bed in a room upstairs. Black set you down in a different chair as he watched the boy talk to another boy who laid in the bed.

"I saw a Thestral today! There was a flock of them just flying by!" The boy said to the other in the bed. "I thought you would want to know. How was your day, brother?"

"Could be better, Phineas." The boy coughed.

"Sirius--"

"I'm glad our day was better than mine." Sirius said. The gears began to work in your head.

"Nigellus..." You begin to say, but he stops you.

"It would've been better if you were there."

"You know that's never going to happen. I've given up."

"How could you say that? This sickness is happening to a ton of people! They had to have a cure soon!"

"Just stop, Phineas! Mother and Father have given up so what is the point of even trying anymore? What if I'm a squib? I'm eight years old and I haven't shown any magic! You are going to have more than the rest of us, Phineas! You're going to go to Hogwarts and become a powerful wizard because Mother and Father have the time to apply themselves just to you. I'm going to hold you back--"

"Your magic will come, Sirius--"

"Enough, Phineas! Just let me die in peace!" Sirius snapped, turning over in his bed and having a coughing fit. You stare bewildered at Black who had his fist clenched. You forced yourself up. Pain traveling all through your body. You stumble forward and rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't want my brother to die." Phineas begins to cry, "Why...why can't you just...live?" Sirius turns back to his brother.

"That's not how life works. It never was and never will be as simple as that." He replies. The brothers cry in silence as they know what is coming. Black finally turns to look at you.

"I wish my brother was right about me." He whispered, "A powerful wizard...a good person too. My brother was so kind before he got sick. It changed him...and me too. I've always wondered if this is the reason I am so hated at Hogwarts. If it truly came from what he said because I let those words go to my head." He cups a hand on your face.

"I'm so sorry--"

"My brother told me about you. Not exactly, of course. He always believed I was going to meet someone like you. Someone who was going to help me change for the better. I believe you are that person. I do hope you are. I hope more than ever that you are that person." Tears streamed down Black's face. "My brother died three days after this discussion. After that day, none of us were the same. My father picked on me and mother chose to neglect the rest of my siblings that came after this. I haven't seen any of my family in over five years. This is the reason why." You put your hand on top of his. You rub circles with your thumb.

"You believe in me too much." You reply. He shakes his head, looking at his dying brother.

"That's why I love you." He replied to your surprise.

"What..."

"I love you." He yanked his hand away and ran out of the room.

"Phineas!" You scream his name but to no avail. You close our eyes and appear in the pouring rain. It was dark outside and a couple were walking down the street. Black stood a little away from you, not sure where he was. In the woman's arms was a baby. Who were they and why were they seeing this. You couldn't move to follow them. It hurt more than you could've imagined. Black noticed your frustration as he followed the couple.

"Are you sure it is safe out here?" The wife asked her husband who was looking around.

"We just have to move quickly." He replied, trudging forward.

"Shhh, Y/N." The wife whispered to the baby. Black looked at you with fear. He knew where this could be going. He turned behind him to see Cornelius leaning on a lamp post. None of them noticed you and Black as Cornelius shifted towards the couple. Your skin became covered in goosebumps.

"No! You monster! No!" You scream at Cornelius who showed no signs of stopping. Black rushed over to try and interfere somehow, but he went straight through him. Within seconds, Cornelius had his wand pointed at your mother. She threw you to your father as he screamed the killing curse at her. Your father ran and ran and ran away from the gruesome scene. Black quickly ran over to you and picked you up. He shielded your eyes from the sight of your mother. He chased after your father. It wasn't long before your father stopped and laid you on the steps of the local orphanage.

"You will be safe from the wizarding world." He whispered, pressing a kiss to the (you) the baby's head. He quickly ran off. You began to ball as you reached up and hugged Black. He cradled you in his arms. He patted your back and let you cry for what felt like forever.

"I want to go back to Hogwarts." You whisper to him.

"Whatever you wish, my dear." He whispers back. Everything faded around them as they appeared back in the hospital wing. The window was gone and the key and letter as well. The teachers and students surrounded them two of them. "What's going on?" Black asked, rubbing your head. Professor Weasley's lips tightened as she turned to Professor Sharp.

"Cornelius Hopkirk has officially kidnapped his ex-girlfriend, Violet Sparkston and...Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow." Sharp explains as he let out an audible gasp.

"No!' You shout loud enough for all of Hogwarts to hear. You shake your head and look at BLack for comfort.

"Can you leave us be?" He asked as Weasley began shuffling people out of the room.

"This day has been horrible." You cry as he places you on your bed.

"I will fix this." Black replies, kissing your forehead. You look at him strangely. "I meant what I said by the way."

"That you love me?" You ask, looking into his eyes.

"Yes." Is all he says.

"What would happen if I said I loved you too?" You ask, thinking of all the different scenarios you and Black could be in.

"I would say that you must be insane." He chuckled.

"Love you too, Phineas." You smirk at him. Black's lips twitch into a smile.

"I've wanted to hear that for longer than you know. But we have other things to take care of first. I'm ready to see this Cornelius Hopkirk in a grave!" Black hissed.

"Let's just make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again." You lay over in your bed, hoping to get some rest.

"Never again." Black agrees, looking at you one more time. "Was this an entirely a horrible day?"

"I guess there was a small part that wasn't too bad." You smile. Black smirks to himself as he leaves to finally get the rest he needs.

[draftmare]

We are almost out of this polar nightmare we have been stuck in for the last week, and suddenly I have the will to post and write again. Depression and being house bound do horrible things to the mind!

Reading update time! I did almost exactly what I suspected I might do with Six of Crows. I got to about the same spot that I always do and I just felt like there were other books I would rather read. I really did try to give it a fair shake this time too. I also really, really am trying to convince myself to read the books that I have either a) already purchased or b) already downloaded and checked out the sample for instead of endlessly increasing my TBR list. There is nothing wrong with Six of Crows, I love the world this book takes place in, I just don't find myself resonating with this particular cast of characters. In my post last week about trying to get back into this book I said I prefer my MCs to either have magic, or get magic, and then I realized some of my favorite books of 2022, Starless by Jacqueline Carey and Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon lacked those, I just really loved the characters.

Instead, I ended up reading One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig. I had sampled this book a while back and found the first few pages that I read very....weird....so I set it down almost immediately. However, it seems to be taking off in popularity recently, so I decided to give it another look and I am glad I did. I ended up loving it. The first couple of chapters are rough, almost like it took the author a little bit of time to figure out her writing style? At first, I thought the MC was a young child based on the foggy descriptions and prose, and then I figured out that the MC was actually 20. Around chapter 10 all of a sudden the foggy descriptions were lifted, and the prose became much clearer/adult like to follow and I really started to get into the book, the flavor of magic in this world, the quest they are on... It's a duology and I have already finished One Dark Window and started Two Twisted Crowns.

The last few times I have posted my book reading updates I have listed what I am going to read next, and that seems to doom me to NOT read that next. So, I think I am going to stop doing that, haha! Instead I think I will just go where the book reading wind blows me, and what I read next will be a surprise for all (but it should really be Iron Flame, LOL)

[breaniebree]

Hi.

I am so fucking sorry if this is weird.

But I stumbled across ASC in one of my old SD cards and couldn’t resist seeing if you’d actually managed to finish that giant story - and apparently you did. Kudos to you.

When I first read ASC I was in a seriously (Siriusly, because that joke is obligatory at this point) bad place. COVID was still in its early stages, I was newly thirteen and had no idea who I was, my anxiety had reached a new high and my OCD ruled my life. I was literally scared to get out of bed and half the time I wouldn’t. I sanitized everything on sight and then some, and it still wasn’t enough to get rid of the crawling feeling inside me. I can now admit that I was depressed. And on top of that I was going through an identity/gender crisis and questioning my sexuality for the first time in my life, hating myself while at it - being an ally is one thing, but being an actual member of the LGBTQ+ community is quite another, especially when you live in an country where being gay isn’t even an option and your mother is homophobic af. Basically I was majorly fucked up.

ASC wasn’t some huge life-changing thing. It was just a random fanfic I found while scrolling through HP tags. I was intrigued, mostly, at this monster of a fic that was over two hundred chapters long, and since I was looking for free books at the time, I gave it a try. Finished the first thirty or so chapters in one sitting. And, once I got over my shock at the sex scenes (I’d never even been on a date and honestly my sexual awakening was partially triggered by this - I was like, ‘If the fact that these people shagged for hours straight, and my only concern is how possible it is to manage that position for any length of time, then I’m probably going to have to sit myself down for a soul-search’) and violent scenes (your mind is a terrifying place and I am sincerely thankful you aren’t planning world domination just yet) I was hooked.

I did comment every now and then, under varying pseudonyms - SavvySpirit was one, obviously. WarrioroftheWolves was another (thirteen-year-old me was obsessed with large predators, mainly since they were everything I wasn’t) and Raindrops & Flowers is quite possibly my least original name ever. There were a few other one-time names I can’t recall. But it was a brief respite in the craziness of ’20 and most of all it was something that was mine - to hold close to my heart, to hate when plot lines threw me for a loop, to cry over and giggle over and laugh over. I printed out the entire thing using my pocket money, in minuscule script and fitting eight pages per sheet, both sides. I think I reread that story at least twice a month - entire thing, back to back as I waited for the next time my parents would let me use the computer for longer than three minutes. I got attached to characters I barely gave second glances to. Viktor. Pansy. Dean. Padma. Mandy. Theo. Him especially, since I relate so much to him it almost hurts to see him hurt.

I stuck with ASC until around the time when Finn died and Ginny was put under bloodlust. I don’t remember exactly why I stopped checking for updates - maybe it was just a lack of time, maybe it was my refilling schedule coupled with my fear of humans. Maybe it was something deeper, who knows. But I stopped at one point and just reread (imo) the best bits every now and then.

I guess, story-wise, things got a little too real too fast for me. I’d known Cedric and Sirius was going to die, and Viktor’s death wasn’t as much of a shock as Finn’s was - because it was so unexpected and so out of the blue (I cried and screamed and cursed your name for thirty minutes straight after that last mo grá. Seriously, Breanie? You just had to go and ruin things just when they were getting good? I was looking forward to seeing Finn’s POV, and seeing them mature and fight over everything from Finn’s overprotectiveness coupled with Theo’s independence to shopping problems and flavours of ice cream, to see them go through troubles and overcome them both individually and as a couple. I was so freaking excited to see more of Tara and your take on a fairy realm, to see how Finn’s pseudo-immortality and Theo’s past demons would come into play. I wanted so much more development on Finn’s character, his flaws and quirks, his skeletons in the closet since we’d never really had his POV. I even had hopes of a storyline where Voldemort tries to get into Tara(because of the so-called immortality, duh) and gets horribly burned in the process. I wanted a Feo love child, dammit(Ciara would be such a cool aunt! And with the Weasleys and Blaise/Draco on one side of the family and Tiernan and the royal court on the other than kid would be the best protected, most spoilt kid in existence). I had hopes, Breanie. Dreams. And you destroyed them all with that single scene.) and so. Fucking. Tragic. And like ten chapters later you put Ginny under bloodlust where she hates Harry and wants to kill him (this was a seriously fucked up idea and I applaud your imagination. And sincerely hope you never become a investigator, because that would be scary.) and I read this bit with my heart in my throat because even if I don’t really like book or movie Hinny(Ginny seems too much of a side character and has so little personality, as I’m sure you know) but I adore fandom Hinny and YOU ARE NOT GOING TO RUIN YET ANOTHER OF MY FAVOURITE SHIPS IN THIS FIC DAMMIT but I chickened out and never read past that to see if she got cured. She did, right? She’s not dying slowly from poison in her bloodstream or anything? Right? Don’t correct me if I’m wrong though, I prefer to remain oblivious and happy in a world where nobody dies and everybody gets therapy.

But anyway, the point of me spilling my life story to you here was to thank you. You may not have intentionally made this fic for me, but it was a lot more effective than most of my therapy sessions since I could get my thoughts and feelings out in a roundabout way. ASC may not be a major part of my life currently, but it’s still a large part of who I am, and I am indebted to you for making this safe space. I turned fifteen and came out as panromantic/asexual. I turned sixteen and came out as a demigirl. I have career aspirations and I’m actually working on them. I’m working on long-term plans, which I never could’ve imagined having three years ago. And though I lost hearing in one ear last month, I didn’t consider ending things, not even once. Still haven’t. I have midterms but I’m not stressing myself to the max over them, and I actually have a social life now. And it’s not all completely thanks to you, but there is still a large part of my sanity that owes itself entirely to the fanfiction writers of 2020. And a slice of that pie is yours. So - thank you. For everything. You’re a truly gifted writer.

And before I forget - does Theo like, ever get closure? Hypothetically the fae have realm glasses. Which might come into use. Can fae get reborn? Just asking.

And does Zee ever date again? Like - I know Sirius was her person, but when the kids get older and she grows older…

One more question: how does someone like Delta turn out to be evil?! She was so freaking supportive when Hermione was researching human rights. Another question: Blaise survives, right? Because that guy is a riot. And another: I reread chapters 200-272 for this and realized that Finn just randomly carries around a pair of golden handcuffs? Like what was the story behind that. Did he get cornered one day and decide that ‘henceforth, I shall carry handcuffs’? And Crouch’s ‘wives’…do Millie and Hestia ever escape? My last random question: whatever happened to Arnold the Pygmy Puff?

Also is there any way I can send you a virtual fruit basket?

Hi, @savvyspirit

Wow! Thank you very much for sharing so much for me. I'm honoured my story had such a profound impact on you personally. Good for you for being honest and open with yourself about who you are. Nothing is more important. Thank you so much for sharing that my story helped you in a roundabout way. That's very cool to hear.

I understand that the story took a darker turn and did get too real too fast, but I do hope you go back to it now that it's complete and now that I'm finishing up the trilogy. Harry and Ginny are definitely getting their happy ending, that I can promise.

Finn was an important part of Theo's life and an important part of the story, but unfortunately he wasn't who Theo was meant to spend his life with. That's someone else and if you keep reading, I promise you'll see him much happier than he ever was with Finn. Yes, he does get closure. As to Zee, well... yes, she does find love (you have to keep reading to find out). Delta aka Belladonna was a lot of fun to have be evil the whole time and you learn more about her how and why as the story goes on. Blaise does survive and we get to know more about him too. Finn carried around handcuffs because he was part of the Royal Guard of Tara. Millie and Hestia do survive. Arnold is still around, promise.

Ha, as to a virtual fruit basket -- I'll take those in story reviews on Ao3 or ff.net please and thanks.

Thank you very much for sharing this with me and I sincerely hope you delve back into the world of ASC because I really do think it's worth it. Thank you!

[youthofpandas]

Kris year in review (in which i talk about everything i remember that i watched and played and read) bc I like to talk about things . this is so incredibly long do not feel like you have to look at this okay guys. okay. I already wrote this up so im just gonna post it

Games I played:

AI: The Somnium Files - a fantastic game I highly recommend if you like weird characters and stories and are a fan of visual novels/adventure games <3 super fun

13 Sentinels: Aegis Rim - AMAZING cast of characters and fun gameplay I didn’t want to stop playing, great plot I will be thinking about forever…

Bugsnax - very funny and cute and I loved catching every bugsnax and the fun characters I want to play the 2nd one when it comes out

Psyconauts - a cult classic for a reason. Loved it’s style but the final level is so bad I would not wish it upon my worst enemy. Looking forward to finishing 2 one day

Xenoblade Chronicles 3 - I haven’t gotten to finish this one yet (I got 80 hours in okay??) but I’m incredibly excited to get back to it. GOTY BABY!!! GAME OF ALL TIME!!

Nier Automata - ALSO THE GAME OF ALL TIME this is a must play it broke me it healed me it made me see the beauty of art and story telling that games are capable of it’s really just fantastic. for the love of god do not stop after ending A. Love this game so much.

Ongoing Manga I am currently reading

Chainsaw Man - starting off with the best one. CSM is so incredibly important to me and one of the best stories I have ever read. if you have talked to me at ALL you know how I cannot shut up about Denji and i AM NOT SORRY!!!

I Want to Hold Aono-kun so Badly I Could Die - fantastic supernatural/horror themed romance and one of my favorite romances I read this year

Black Clover - made me realize how truly trash bnha is at writing women lmao. Good battle shonen but nothing overwhelming special about it. It understands the basics and does them all well

D Gray Man - didn’t catch up on this one yet but it’s got great characters and some of the worst action paneling I’ve ever seen.

Dungeon Meshi - y’all were right it’s funny and can be very touching at time

A Condition Called Love - I can fix him romance but make it not feel toxic the manga. Super cute I love them.

Toilet Bound Hanako-kun - I feel like I started this last year but I know that can’t be true… supernatural + romance + cute art. It’s made me cry.

Jujutsu Kaisen - loved this baby and then I caught up to the current arc and it was the worst shit of all time. Megumi my depressed king.

Frieren Beyond Journeys End - fantastic please read it I love these bitches so much

Spy x Family - it’s SxF it’s good we all know this

Manga I finished reading

Cardcaptor Sakura - I think this is my first CLAMP manga I finished. LOVED sakura and shaoran they are so small. so many good aspects to this series and then all of the age gap bullshit is there so IDK hard to recommend but I enjoyed reading all of the parts that weren't about horrible relationships

Horimiya - CUTE I love romance where you get to follow them as a couple <3 there were a few bad spots in it (miyamura's piercings being compared to self harm in that one chapter.......???????) but over all a good read

Astra: Lost in Space - fun scifi adventure with good characters. pretty short and easy read. its fun

You Got Me, Senpai - SO CUTE one of the best relationships I've read in a manga. adorable.

Drowning Love - verrry good and complex, a mature story with darker elements (check out trigger warnings for it) and a very engaging coming of age story about two kinda horrible kids with too much attention pointed their way living in a small town. anime adaptation WHEN

Wake Up, Sleeping Beauty - super cute romance, supernatural elements. loved it

Orange - think this would be a perfect read if the time travel element wasn't explained like That and also Suwa >>> Kakeru and what they did to his character in that bonus story was just mean

Goodbye, Eri - everyone should read this. beautiful, stays with you. fantastic exploration on what arts purpose is

A Kiss, For Real - it was cute. the summary makes it sound more romance focused than it actually is, there is a lot of focus on the MCs journey of growth and what she wants to do with her life. Romance was cute but not exceptionally so

Takopi's Original Sin - overhyped as hell. depressing outlook on life. thought some of it was fine but it is overall too cruel to say i enjoyed it, especially with a cast this young

The Girl From The Other Side - I actually 100% cannot remember if I read this last year or not. anyways. BEAUTIFUL art, great characters, compelling mysteries

Junji Ito's Dissolving Classroom - not his best work by far, but it is one of his earliest so I don't care too much.

Spotless Love: This Love Cannot Be Any More Beautiful. - I haven't been adding the ones that aren't popular unless I really enjoyed them, but idk this one is just so wild I felt the need to throw it on here. girl who loves to clean x child assassin is certainly a relationship dynamic. they're funny

Anime I watched <3 THIS SECTION WILL BE LONG SORRY

Akiba Maid War - this is not very good but it is entertaining so...

Ano Hana - rewatched this one finally! still one of the best dramas of all time. did you know childe and jintan have the same english VA bc I know. I know this now.

BNA - the plot point about how the furries were victims in the literal real world holocaust made me kind of hate this I won't lie. also the best friend fox girl Nazuna is one of the most unbearable characters ever. when you lead a cult pretending to be an important religious figure to a culture you are not part of because you like attention i guess?? it is not a good look in a show that already deals so heavily in antisemetic themes & imagery for it's villains.... sorry to whoever recommended this to me :( great animation

Dance Dance Danseur - did not like the MC but I did like the FMC and Rival character, good animation. I read the authors shoujo title Drowning Love this year and it should've gotten the adaptation TBH but this was fine, last few episodes carried

Death Parade - rewatched this one this year and it is still amazing. OP is still one of the best out there.

Do It Yourself!! - not incredibly remarkable yuri bait with a fantastic art style. its fine if you like cute girls doing cute things while being gay genre

Erased - for a mystery story the culprit is laughably obvious. the rest of it is pretty good though. oh lol other than the weird jokes about the protags taste in girls but it never followed through on anything so compared to other series im too tired to care

Keep Your Hand's Off Eizouken - starts off strong but I couldn't keep caring by the end tbh. it does not help I started it and then stopped for like 7 months and then finally finished the show so that's probably rly affecting my feelings

Today's Menu for the Emiya Family - certified apron boy moment

Fire Force - do NOT fucking watch this show is is so actually bad. However. Arthur is so funny I have to finish the series

Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works - rin best girl. maybe fate isn't so bad after all.

Fruits Basket (2019) all seasons - LOVE ME SOME SHOUJO!!!! it slays everyone needs to watch this NOW

Jujutsu Kaisen 0 - fantastic movie i need to watch it again

Kaguya-sama Love is War - only watched the first season but it's fun, not the best without breaks. the people saying this is the best animanga romance need to read more shoujo though

Mob Psycho 100 s3 - I cried. It's beautiful. I don't need to say anything else

NGE - this was a rewatch a long time coming. Truly didn't understand shit watching this as a teenager lol. it's better than I could've imagined and a lot of the criticisms i used to have were actually stupid and a byproduct of not understanding what it was doing

Sarazanmai - 10/10 gay kappa connections cycles trauma love mafia boxes cops otters I WANT TO CONNECT, but.........

spy x family s1 - its good its sxf

Zombieland Saga + Revenge - first idol anime I watched. the main girl was way too relatable for comfort. good time.

Movies I watched (I am bad at talking about movies sorry)

Turning Red - super good loved the everything I can’t believe it came out this year. I’ve watched it 3 times.

Scream (the entire movie series) - it’s scream baby idk what else to say. First one is fantastic the rest are okay I guess but man… that first one is just sooo good it’s hard to live up to it

The Sea Beast - fun movie! Almost forgot I watched it

Monster High: The Movie - perfection 10/10 high art it should’ve been called Monster High: The Film

Skinamarink - loooove me a horror movie that says fuck doing what other movies do I am doing my own thing. Did not actually love the thing it did but it’s definitely not a bad movie

Wendell & Wild - STOP MOTION SWEEP !!!! Great movie I will return to on future Halloweens. Think the plot got a bit too big for the movies runtime or whatever but I really don’t care bc it was good so whatever

Disney’s ZOMBIES trilogy - bad.

Disney’s Descendants trilogy - bisexual. Less bad than zombies

The VelociPastor - a masterpiece baby!!

Glass Onion - absolutely fantastic, words can’t describe how fun this movie is

Pinocchio - stunning stop motion and a beautiful story that brought me to tears. icon.

[filthforfriends]

So sorry if this seems pushy at all, but are there any plans to continue Guardian Angel? It’s such a good series!

YES I am continuing it. I just got stuck on the next chapter and decided to write The Sun Is the Center of Everything with bunch of short chapters so I could actually update when I said I would and it wasn't overwhelming.

Because you can white knuckle your way through a 3k chapter, but to tackle the 8-12k GA chapters you really need some inspiration. I have literally three future chapters totally written, revised, done & dusted, ready to post, but I can't finish the second half of this next one for some reason. So yeah theres no way I'm giving up on that fic since I've written SO much far ahead, including the third or fourth to last chapter. It is my baby, but like a baby its also exhausting.

Unfortunately part of my depression is feeling really shitty about myself and that impacts my ability to tackle essentially an entire short story for every update. Its a self-perpetuating cycle where when I don't post when I said I would, I hate myself and I feel like everyone is gonna hate me (mean anons do NOT help) and stop reading my work and unfollow me and I'm just gonna be a failure so what's the point of writing or trying if I'm gonna end up a disappointment and a "could have been" for something else, too.

I'm trying not to be so damn vulnerable on this page, but I know you've asked this question before and I've ignored it. so my honest answer is, yes it will be continued, but when I'm feeling more resilient. I don't have a time frame for the next chapter. A couple months ago I tried to write it and ended up writing chapter 15 instead and part of chapter 16 instead.

The thing about GA is that that monster of a fic is based on two asks that I answered in like 20 minutes, with the first thing that came to mind, no drafts. So if I did get the opportunity to think out the premise I would age up the characters and probably adjust some other things. But I've been tied to what my brain spontaneously cooked up a year and a half ago. Even typing that makes me feel like a failure, because I promise myself I'd have this done in a year. Anyways...this is way too honest and I'll probably edit it down tomorrow.

[aralisj]

gimme all the directors commentary on holding tight

Ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. 

This is going to be probably super long so I’m putting most of it under the cut:

Chapter 1: Prologue: I was trying to figure out the tone and POV that would suit the fic best. The idea of the fic itself came from me picturing Dimya as figure skaters and In A Crowd of Thousands happening once they were established as a couple, so that the dream scene happened while they were sleeping in the same bed. I knew I was going towards that but I didn’t know the specifics of how I would get there. Most of the first few chapters are me reverse engineering the whole thing.

Chapter 2: Once Upon a December: You can see a lot of that reverse engineering in this. How old does Dmitry have to be so that the two year age gap is still there and that x years later he’s still a believable candidate for the fictional Olympics? How old does Anya have to be for that to be true as well while being deemed the future ice princess? (though with the whole Eteri age limit I could have been a lot looser with these things)

I think I put more of Broadway Dmitry and 1997 movie Vlad in this chapter. Dmitry is super disillusioned about life and Vlad is way too cheerful about it, it makes for interesting contrast. 

I had a lot of fun coming up with ideas for the different programs rival skaters did. A lot were inspired by Virtue and Moir’s catalog (like Carmen) but also some of it was just things I would like to see high profile skaters do someday (like the Taylor Swift medley).

A lot of the drama that happens regarding competitive skating would NOT happen in real life (like the people at Russian Nationals announcing Anastasia and her not being there) but I trusted the readers to have a lot of suspension of disbelief for this and other things. 

Also, I wrote the Gleb from the first few chapters with Ramin’s portrayal in mind, which read as very angry and socially awkward to me, which is why he is the way he is. As the fic goes on, Max’s and Constantine’s takes on the role influenced his voice too, which is why he got more depth later on.

Chapter 3: In My Dreams: Reading it back, this is probably the most personal chapter from the fic. I wrote Holding Tight while I was going through a nasty depressive episode and it felt a lot like this chapter. So Anya’s journey for a sense of purpose echoed mine a little bit.

There are a couple of nuns in my family, one of them and her life stories influenced the character of Mother Lourdes a lot.

The keychain with the initial was my attempt to explain how Anya came up with such a similar name to Anastasia, which is more than the musical or movie ever did lol

Chapter 4: A Rumor in St Petersburg: This was one of the chapters I subtly edited a few times after publishing because I was worried that the speculation of Dmitry’s sexuality and the consequences of it could read as insensitive to the real life suffering of LGBTQ+ folks in Russia. No one commented on it but I still feel very self-conscious about it. I am by no means the first or last writer to headcanon Dmitry as bi, but as a bisexual person myself it adds to the responsibility of writing it properly, you know? 

A lot of the dialogue once Anya and Dmitry meet is straight out of the 1997 film because I enjoy their meet ugly A LOT. I think their playful banter is an essential element of their relationship and I wanted to set it up from the beginning.

Also, Anya’s reaction to pairs skating is pretty much my opinion of it. I would NOT trust ANYONE to throw me like that EVER. Pairs female skaters are built different and by that I mean that they have a death wish.

Chapter 5 and 6: Learn To Do It: They banter, they learn to dance, they have that moment of “woah! they are so pretty up close”, and they were roommates! These two chapters are when I stopped worrying so much and started enjoying myself. I wanted to fit in as many tropes and things that brought me joy as I possibly could.

Chapter 7: The Neva Flows: I always felt like Anya needed a female friend, and since she had left the convent she hadn’t found one. Enter Sophie. Liberties were taken. Maybe Holding Tight!Sophie has a bit of a crush on Vlad but that was all that is left of their dynamic from the movie.

Also, shout out to Gleb for backing the fuck off after realizing that Dmitry is no longer his competition. Is he still trying to sweet talk the Anastasia Romanova look alike? Yes. Does he look pathetic while doing it? Also yes :)

I don’t know where the ice rink ghost thing was going. Sorry. If I were to re-edit this fic that would be the first thing to go.

Chapter 8: My Petersburg: The name Anya Morozova came from investigating common surnames in Russia and learning that Morozov was up there, that it means snow, and that it was often used for orphans. This predates any Shadow and Bone knowledge on my part, so no relation.

I headcanon Dmitry as a very expressive skater but not one that’s technically super good (not that he would EVER admit it), that’s why he does not do great within the Russian skating circles. Once he transfers to ice dance he plays to his strengths and is much better at emoting than Anya who, regardless of her amnesia and lack of experience with boys, was always a much more stoic but technically amazing skater. It was fun exploring that in their dynamic of “faking it” both on ice and off.

Also, Dmitry’s backstory of being a hockey player but choosing figure skating instead because of a girl he had a crush on… Very Scott Moir coded, if I may say so myself.

The dance scene in the kitchen is my attempt to capture the vibe of the Meant To Be scene in the 1997 movie when they learn to waltz on the boat. Köln (the song they dance) has consistently been in my Spotify Wrapped playlist since 2017. I love it. It makes me think of Dimya A LOT.

Chapter 9: Still: The fake-dating to convince the federation officials is another bit that requires a lot of suspension of disbelief but it’s fun so who cares. 

The “practice kissing” thing was heavily inspired by a scene of Wanderlust. It started out as a Tumblr prompt that I wrote after the whole fic was published but I liked it so much that I ended up including it (without needing to change more than a couple of sentences).

The reveal of “Anya looks like Anastasia” happened much earlier than I had planned, mainly because readers pointed out that she would be very well known in the skating world (they were right, obviously). Dmitry didn’t realize the similarities because he idealized Anastasia so damn much, like, he didn’t notice Anya had Romanov blue eyes until months later, bless.

Chapter 10: Everything To Win: Anya’s borrowed dresses are a tribute to the dresses from the animation. 

Natasha and Andrey are characters I borrowed from The Great Comet of 1812 lol

Chapter 11: Journey To The Past: A very Virtue Moir inspired chapter. The program is supposed to be like their Olympic 2014 SD, and "We're skating for us, not for them" is a real thing Scott told Tessa at least once. Insane.

Chapter 12: Crossing a Bridge: Could two newcomers realistically win third place at the Rostelecom Cup? No. Do I care? Also no :)

Unrelated, wardrobe malfunctions being penalized is sexist bullshit and you can quote me on that.

Anastasia definitely had the best media training that money could pay. One of the journalists at the press conference is inspired by a fandom friend I made while writing the fic (her name is Tess, she’s also a journalist lol)

Love me a redemption arc for Gleb and him unknowingly getting them actually together.

Chapter 13: Stay, I Pray You: Their outfits for the exhibition are inspired by VM’s looks in their program for Jack & Diane. 

This was the first time that I attempted to write smut, most of it was planned at a very fancy event where I got a medal for getting good grades in uni. The duality of woman.

Chapter 14: We’ll Go From There: I looove the domesticity of Dmitry and Anya when they finally get together, their banter in bed, everything :’)

I believe that Sophie and Gleb became good friends after everything and that it wouldn’t have happened without Anya’s influence.

Chapter 15: Close The Door: Washing the hair of your lover is one of those intimate things that make me go weak every single time and Dmitry being taken care of felt so healing :’)

I loved changing the POV for Anya and Dmitry’s skating. In a way, having the distance of a screen and narrators felt more natural to the way I experience skating, so that was fun. 

Here and a few chapters later there’s a mention of how important it is that skaters are strong instead of just thin and light and that absolutely IS a jab at Eteri Tutberidze and praise to so many female ice dancers that are ripped and look graceful while doing acrobatics with knives tied to their feet <3

Chapter 16: The Countess and The Common Man: I like Lily so much, she deserved the world :( 

The flashback to Lily and Vlad as young lovers has her saying “I love you” and him replying “I know you do” to echo the song (L:I loved you, V: You loved me). 

I believe Lily and Vlad stayed together and coached Anya and Dmitry until they retired, fulfilling at least a little of Lily’s dream of having a family with Vlad.

Chapter 17: Paris Holds The Key: I was lucky enough to visit Paris once and Musée d’Orsay is the most beautiful place I have ever been in. Most of Anya’s touristy shenanigans are inspired by that trip.

Getting cut from the blades is actually super common for figure skaters and it felt like a good place to talk about Anya’s possible hemophilia (a diagnosis the real Romanovs had)  and also have a tender moment between Anya and Dima.

The shopping spree with Lily is very much 1997 movie vibe but with Broadway Dmitry, who was never a kitchen boy and does NOT fit in and he would like to go back to the way things were.

Chapter 18: Land Of Yesterday: Just a little more reverse engineering of how a diplomat’s daughter ended up being an ice skater 

Chapter 19: In A Crowd Of Thousands: IT’S HERE! THE REASON THE FIC EXISTS! 

When Dmitry says “I’m a delight” I was thinking of that vine of the guy going “I’ll have you know that I am a sweet treat! I’m a fucking delight to be around, okay?” lol

I love writing dream sequences, you can be very impressionistic and messy. It feels freeing.

So basically, the idea of it all came from how much more reassuring it would be if Dmitry could hold Anya while she wakes up from her nightmare, knowing that they love each other, they have plans for the future, etc. but then Dmitry realizes that Anya is Anastasia and it all goes to shit because he feels he doesn’t deserve her (which is fucked up but also the peak of romance)

Chapter 20: Meant To Be: Dmitry delaying telling Anya the truth about who she is feels contrived but it’s true to both the movie and the musical so… 

Skaters usually tie their skates super tight while seating but I wanted them to have the blue dress moment so artistic liberties were taken. 

I wanted Anya to have a necklace like the one in the movie and Dmitry putting it on felt extra romantic <3

Chapter 21: Quartet At The Ballet: The visual of the warmup scene, when they are hugging while their competitors are skating around is the reason the fic is named Holding Tight As The Dancers Whirl, it’s a lyric but it’s also the feeling I was trying to evoque, the world changing around them and the two of them staying together. 

The representation of Maria’s grief was very influenced by my experience with depression too - waking up late, not being present, missing time, etc.

The confrontation with Maria Feodorovna and their fight is inspired by the movie dialogue, maybe because watching it as a kid it felt like the most savage thing ever. It makes me so proud to have added the one line that could make it even worse: "Did you like me?" she repeated slowly. "Or did you just fuck me because I look like Anastasia?" Where is my Pulitzer prize?!

Chapter 22: Still/The Neva Flows (Reprise): I hate writing angst. Writing this chapter was so hard it made me want to give up. I didn’t but it’s very short lol

Chapter 23: Once Upon A December (Reprise): Gleb and Dmitry teaming up to fix everything between Anya and Maria is very canon divergent and a little out of character but it felt good and organic so it’s okay :) 

I like the thought of Anya regaining some of her memories, not all and not all at once, and getting to heal with Maria as they talk everything through over time.

Chapter 24: The Press Conference: I have such strong feelings about Anya realizing that she isn’t Anastasia anymore, or maybe she is but she came back wrong and that maybe that’s okay but being in the public eye doesn’t give her the space to explain that in a way that matters and maybe just her grandma knowing is enough. Oooof.

Also, guess who sings to his partner the love songs they skate? That’s right, Scott Moir. Unhinged.

Anya and Dmitry’s conversation on the boat was inspired by Ben Platt’s Grow As We Go. What’s more romantic than your partner telling you that they want to grow and see you grow and hope that still keeps you two together? :’)

Chapter 25: Finale: I like the idea that after being so closely tied together when they competed, once they grew older each of them established their own routine and that gave them space to keep growing. That Anya focused on the more artistic side of training (choreography and costumes) and Dmitry was more invested in the daily practices and traveling with their skaters to competitions. 

I have to admit that I got a lot of mischievous joy from commenters of this chapter that were like “oh, you had us in the first half!”

Thank you for reading!

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Rolling - Chapter Two

Just a hunt fic with lots of weirdly close brother moments.

Words: 3788

Relationship:  Just the brothers being weirdly close, no wincest, no smut, but this definitely qualifies as weirdcest.

Warnings: Angst.

Read it on AO3 here

Read from the beginning here

“Beginner’s luck.” Dean said, trying not to grumble but hearing it in his own voice anyway.

They’d climbed into the Impala just before dawn, the trees silhouetted against the brightening sky , Dean up front, Sam in the back, their usual places, and passed out. When the sun finally rose up high enough to shine over the tops of the trees, and right through the windows of the car, the air, still crisp and crystal clear, offered no filtering or muting of its brilliance. Dean figured they’d gotten about three and a half hours of sleep, at most, which wasn’t nearly enough but was likely to be all he got until nightfall. There was a potential case in Chicago, which was a solid ten hour drive away.

As soon as he started moving around, Dean knew it was going to be a bad day, but when Sam said that he felt fine, and actually looked like he meant it, it just turned Dean’s mood from bad to worse. He knew that some people felt fine after the first time they took ecstasy, but he had never been that lucky. Coming down off the stuff made him sullen, irritable, and kicked his natural depressive tendencies into high gear. Sam seemed to sense it and was quiet and quick to get ready to go. He was waiting in the passenger seat when Dean came back from taking a piss against a tree.

Before they got on the highway, Sam pointed to a greasy looking truckstop diner, “Food?”

“I’m not hungry.” 

Sam didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“Do you want to stop?” It came out harsh and kind of accusatory.

“Not really.” Sam said.

“Then why did you mention it?” But it wasn’t really a question and Sam was smart enough to not rise to the bait. Dean couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse. 

Just before noon, Dean had to pull over. The car needed gas and they both had to pee. Sam went inside to return the restroom key to the clerk, and came back with a couple of plastic wrapped sandwiches. He didn’t say anything, just handed a sandwich to Dean and proceeded to unwrap his. He ate it in what seemed like four bites.

“Why don’t you let me drive for a while?”

He almost said no, but his stomach lurched with the first bite and he decided that eating and maybe taking a quick nap might do him some good.

“Fine.” and he traded places with his brother.

Out on the road again, Dean forced himself to eat but without the distraction of driving, his mind wouldn’t shut up. Sam didn’t know, because Dean hadn’t said anything at all about it, but when the shadow person had squeezed his heart, it had also squeezed a lot of thoughts and fears to the surface. Even through the serotonin bliss of the ecstasy, it had managed to drag some of the nastier spiders up from the depths of Dean’s mind. Sam resented him for dragging him back into all this crap, and only tolerated him because he didn’t have anyone else. Not that Dean would have let him go be with someone else, not his pathetic, clingy self. Although Sam was going to leave again, it was only a matter of time. The next chance that came along, the next excuse, and Dean would be left alone with nothing but the raw hollow ache inside him that nothing seemed to fill when he was out there on his own, just another piece of garbage drifting through the world.

His head slowly slid against the window as he fell asleep, but to him it felt like he just sank beneath the surface of a pool of negativity and self hate. The dream seemed to start immediately.

“I can’t stay here, Dean. I’m leaving.” and Sam, looking sad and lost, slung his backpack over one shoulder and walked out the door. Dean was right behind him, but Sam was nowhere to be seen. 

“Dean!” Sam screamed from somewhere far off.

Dean ran through an empty parking lot, down an alley, he was running along a deserted road in the middle of nowhere, through a forest and his side was cramping up, and his breath was coming in painful gasps. 

“Dean!” and Sam’s voice, full of pain and fear, came from somewhere just out of sight.

Dean turned around and there was his brother, laying crumpled in the corner of a dirty warehouse, a werewolf looming over him. Dean didn’t hesitate, he put himself between Sam and the monster just as it brought its claws down. The real memory of claws tearing his flesh flickered through, and then he was the one on the floor, bleeding out, and it was Sam standing above him.

“Why did you do that? I can take care of myself, Dean.” and Sam slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out the door, more irritated this time than sad.

Dean ran out right after him and onto a college campus with students walking everywhere. Sam was way ahead of him. Dean couldn’t catch up, there were too many people in the way.

“Dean!” Sam screamed. But everyone looked like Sam from the back, same jacket, same backpack, and he couldn’t tell which direction the shout had come from.

“Dea…!!” Sam came flying out from behind a corner and slammed into a wall, a demon slowly advancing on him. Dean had Ruby’s knife in his hand and he charged at the black-eyed son of a bitch. But it easily caught him by his throat and squeezed. Dean’s windpipe collapsed and his neck snapped. The demon dropped him like a ragdoll and Dean fell at Sam’s feet.

“I need to go, Dean. You have to let me go.” Sam said before he turned and walked off.

Dean fell into darkness and landed in a graveyard. Sam was wearing a red suit, his eyes black as coal. As Dean approached, Sam started to swell, to stretch. His face distended, features bulging as he laughed, until his skin split open and a gigantic, red, horned Devil ripped out of him like he was a tear-away suit. 

“NOOOOO!!!” Dean screamed and fell to his knees.

“Stop holding me back, Dean, I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself.” Sam said defiantly as he stepped out from behind the Devil. “You need to let me go, this isn’t healthy. I’m not going to follow you around like a lovesick puppy anymore. I don’t need you.”

Dean couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, even though he wanted to shout, to be angry, to stop him, but his heart was ripping apart. Why couldn’t he stop him? He couldn’t stop him from leaving or from getting hurt, no matter what he did.

Sam leaned down into Dean’s face, his eyes glowing with some malevolent inner fire. “I don’t need you and I don’t want you, you’re angry and you’re corrupt and pathetic. Just a sick, sad, perverted, worthless nobody. I hate y…” 

A shining blade cut through Sam’s neck, severing his head cleanly from his body.

“Dean.” Sam’s head mouthed his name.

His vision was blurring and his throat ached from holding in the scream that was trying to claw its way out of him. If he let it out, if he started screaming, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop.

“Dean, wake up!” Something grabbed him by the shoulder and started to shake him. His eyes snapped open and he gasped, feeling his heart pounding inside his chest.

Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, the grip a little hard, and he looked worried.

Dean breathed in sharply through his nose and then out through his mouth. His hand came up and rubbed his face. His cheeks were wet.

“Hey, are you okay? You were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Dean tried to get his heart to calm the fuck down. He looked around and had to squint, the sun was shining brightly at a low enough angle the roof didn’t block it. 

“Where are we?”

“I70, coming up on Triadelphia.”

“We’re halfway there?” Dean looked around again, trying to shake off the nightmare. They were pulled over to the side of a highway.

“It’s been about three hours since we switched. You just started shouting and thrashing around in your sleep.”

Dean wiped his face on his sleeve and sank back against the seat, breathing out heavily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Sam put the car in drive and checked his mirrors, “there’s an exit coming up with a few motels. We’re going to get a room for the night and get something real to eat. The thing in Chicago will still be there tomorrow. ” He started going and pulled back onto the road in a gap in traffic.

Dean was still trying to shake off the lingering strands of the nightmare so Sam got no argument as he took Exit 11 - 41 Dallas Pike and pulled into the Econo Lodge parking lot. 

After they’d gotten settled and had taken showers, changed the clothes they’d been wearing for the last 36 hours, they found a local restaurant by a nearby truck stop called, eloquently enough, Ruttenbucks. 

“Evening, fellas. I’m Chrissie. What can I get for ya?” The waitress asked. She looked to be in her thirties, with medium brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and a black tee shirt with the restaurant logo in orange over her heart. A gold wedding band with a modest diamond ring graced her left hand.

“I’ll have the Smokey Mountain Burger, medium, with fries instead of chips and a beer, whatever’s on tap. Thanks.” Dean said with a smile, the idea of a big old bacon cheeseburger making his stomach growl.

She nodded and looked at Sam.

“Uh, the pulled chicken salad with Balsamic vinaigrette.” His jaw clenched for just a second, like he could sense Dean’s eyes rolling, which they were. “And I’ll have a beer too.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.” Sam said with a polite smile as she started to walk away.

“Oh, hey, Chrissie?” 

She turned back towards Dean.

“Can we also get an order of the grilled pierogies with onions?” He said with a hopeful smile.

“Of course!” She said and smiled back at him before heading to the bar to put in their order. Sam saw Dean’s eyes focus on her ass before turning back to him. 

Dean never failed to be Dean, he thought

Unlike the club from the night before, Sam and Dean blended in a little too well here. Everything was wood paneling and mounted deer heads and antlers. The other customers were mostly burly, redneck-types in trucker caps, camo, plaid and well-worn denim. The place had a real salt-of-the-earth vibe.

When the food came, Dean ate with gusto, his appetite obviously bouncing back and it set Sam’s mind at ease a bit, even if watching his brother eat was somewhat embarrassing. Dean had grease smeared around his mouth, his lips glistening with it, and egg yolk was dripping from the corner of his mouth. Then there was the pornographic moaning, “Mmmmm! Oh god! Mmm.”

“Dude.” Sam said.

“What?” Dean asked around a mouthful of burger. “It’s good.” 

Sam gave a little shake of his head, his brow furrowing. “Use your napkin?”

“Alright Felix, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dean finished the burger in a couple more bites, his cheeks stuffed like a squirrel, picked up his napkin and daintily patted the corners of his mouth in mock propriety as he chewed.

Sam laughed. “That is not going to cut it, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just jealous because you only had a salad. Here,” he stabbed a pierogi with his fork and held it out towards Sam, “try one of these. Come on. Try it.”

Sam wrinkled up his nose. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Your loss.” Dean said as he shoved the entire thing into his mouth, butter dripping down his chin.

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

***

Back in the motel room, after Dean had washed the remains of dinner off his face, he’d stretched out in bed and flipped through the meager selection of channels before finally settling on some HGTV show about flipping houses.

“Really?” Sam had asked.

“Shut up.”

But it seemed to do the trick because Sam heard soft snores coming from the other bed a few minutes later. He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and turned the tv off before rolling over and drifting off to sleep himself.

“Sam.”

It was said so quietly that it took Sam a minute to realize that it hadn’t been part of his dream. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked around the room. Dean was laying on his back, eyes scrunched closed, breathing fast and shallow.

“No.” Dean mumbled quietly, talking in his sleep.

Sam pushed up on his elbows and looked at the clock. They’d only been asleep for maybe half an hour.

“No, don't,” a little louder. Then, “Sam, no!”

“Hey, Dean.” Sam said.

“Don’t,” Dean said, and the raw fear that one word carried made Sam get up and reach out to touch Dean’s arm.

“Dean. Wake up.”

“Don’t go, Sam!” His head tossed back and forth. “Get away from him! SAM!”

Gripping his brother’s upper arm, Sam shook him. “Dean! Wake up!”

Tears were streaming out of Dean’s eyes. “No, Sammy, don’t leave.”

“Dean! I’m not leaving. I’m right here. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” Sam’s other hand gave a few gentle slaps to Dean’s cheek, “Come on, wake up, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, “Sam?”

“Yeah, I’m right here. It’s okay, Dean. It was just a nightmare.”

Dean’s eyes blinked rapidly a few times as he looked around before settling on Sam. Sam was completely unprepared for the sudden, fierce hug that Dean pulled him into, and he almost fell on top of him on the bed.

“Whoa! It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay.” He repeated as he awkwardly hugged back. “It was just a dream.”

After a minute, Dean let go. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Sam sat down on the side of his bed as Dean got up and swung his legs over the edge of his own, putting his feet on the floor. Dean wiped at his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam said gently, trying to walk that fine line between being caring but not too caring. He knew from long experience that moments like this were delicate for Dean. Sometimes he would open up and let his problems and fears and worries spill out between them. But if Sam pushed at all his brother would clam up tight, and whatever was bothering him would just keep festering until it leaked out again and again.

Dean looked at him and Sam could see the wheels grinding in his head. Dean looked away, looked around, looked down at his own hands. Sam just waited.

“It’s stupid.” 

“Not if it’s bothering you this much.”

“It’s,” he shook his head and closed his eyes to say the rest, “it’s just old fears, I guess. Got all stirred up when that thing…” he opened his eyes, still looking down though and rubbed his chest, right over his heart. He didn’t say anything else and the silence stretched out between them.

“I’m not going to leave.” Sam finally said quietly.

Dean looked up at him and the doubt that was there for just a second, just a heartbeat, cut right through Sam. But then Dean gave a small smile (that didn’t really reach his eyes, Sam noted), nodded and stood up. Sam watched him walk to the bathroom and close the door without saying anything else. 

Sam blinked his eyes, willing them to stay dry, and he swallowed down his own insecurities as they started to well up. He deserved that doubt, he knew. He had left Dean, more than once. Every chance he’d gotten, in fact, he’d cut and run. At the time, he had been blissfully unaware of anything but his own need to try whatever he could to find a normal life. But knowing now what that had done to Dean would eat away at him if he let it. Instead he took a long breath, in and out, and reaffirmed to himself that he would do whatever he had to, for as long as he had to (for the rest of his life) to make it up to Dean.

Although it took Sam a long time to unwind, once Dean was settled watching a movie on Sam’s laptop, he finally managed to get a few hours of sleep, drifting into fitful sleep sometime well after midnight. When he woke up, Dean was still awake, sitting at the little table by the window  still looking at the laptop but with earbuds in so he wouldn’t disturb Sam. A steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

They didn’t talk about the nightmares. Sam got up, they both got ready to go, loading their stuff into the car, and headed for Chicago. Dean insisted on driving. He didn’t sing along with the radio, he didn’t tap out the rhythm on the steering wheel, he didn’t talk at all except when he had to, all the way to the city. The time for dealing with whatever this was would come eventually so Sam just let the silence roll on and did his best to ignore the growing dark circles under his brother’s eyes and the dimples that only appeared when he was annoyed.

The deaths in Chicago turned out to be exactly what they figured, vampires. A nest of them had set up shop and were culling victims and recruiting new members to their fang club at a bar called The Empty Bottle. They had obviously been trying to be careful, to keep a low profile, they just didn’t keep it low enough. It took about 24 hours of investigating for Sam to make the connection with the bar, and then just an hour or so in the place to spot a vamp and follow it back to the nest.

“Looks like there might be about a dozen of them. That’s not a walk in the park.” Sam said.

Just then a group of nine vampires left the nest, split into ones and twos, and wandered out, probably to hunt.

“Odds just got a lot better. I say we hit the nest now, wait around, and pick off the rest as they come back. We should have it cleared by morning.” Dean got out of the car , a cloud of trillium, saffron and skunk cabbage smoke pouring out of the car, and opened the trunk. Sam joined him, strapping a machete to his belt and loading a dart gun with dead man’s blood syringes.

They had the element of surprise, thanks in large part to the obnoxiously loud music that was banging out from the stereo and were able to take out the vampires that had stayed in the loft quickly, all at once.

“Did they really stay behind just to fuck?” Dean wondered out loud.

Sam shrugged, wiping blood from the blade of his machete onto a couch cushion next to the tangle of beheaded, naked bodies. “The others will smell the blood when they return. But the music should mask our heartbeats.”

“Great. So now we wait.” And they took up positions near the door, where they wouldn’t be seen right away and they waited in silence.

***

“That was the dumbest bunch of vamps I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how they made it this long.” Dean said as he walked into their hotel room just after dawn.

“I think they were all recently turned.”

“Which means there may be an older one around here somewhere. We should get ourselves a few states away before nightfall.”

They packed up their stuff and were headed south by 8am.

They made it to Noel, Missouri just north of the Arkansas state line by sunset and checked into a room at Arthur Murray’s Motel. Dean had made a joke about Sam taking dance lessons while they were there that Sam didn’t laugh at. The room had a rustic, mountain lodge motif and two queen-sized beds, brown leather overstuffed chairs, and all the other usual stuff, mini fridge, microwave, tiny coffee maker, dresser with a tv on it, etc..

Even though it had been a couple of days since he’d slept, and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before that, Dean still made a quick run out to a liquor store, loaded up on beer and a bottle of whiskey before settling in for the night. It took a six pack and about a 1/4th of the bottle of whiskey before he finally passed out just after midnight. But just minutes after his breathing had shallowed out with sleep, Sam heard a quiet, mumbled, “no.” Dean’s brow scrunched up and his head slowly shook back and forth.

Without thinking about anything other than the fact that they both needed to get some real sleep, Sam reached over and covered one of his brother’s hands with his own, applying gentle pressure. “I’m right here, Dean. I’m not leaving.”

Still sound asleep, Dean clutched at Sam’s hand with both of his.

“I’m not leaving, Dean. I’m staying right here. Get some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

***

Dean opened his eyes slowly, blinking to clear his vision and freeing his hand so he could rub the sleep out of them. He wondered what time it was, felt like he’d been asleep for a week and he raised his head up to look around. Sam was sprawled out next to him, still sound asleep, but on Dean’s bed instead of his own. He realized that he’d had to let go of Sam’s hand when he’d moved it, that he’d been clutching onto him in his sleep.

“What the hell?” he said quietly, a barely audible grumble. He turned and looked at the clock. It was almost 11am. He didn’t remember falling asleep, he’d drunk himself into unconsciousness, hoping to escape the stupid nightmares this time. He thought back and even as his dreams were turning to vapor and wisping away he recalled one moment. Instead of running away again, Sam had come back and held onto him. 

“I’ll be right here when you wake you.”

“Screw getting up,” he thought, closed his eyes again and drifted, half dozing, until Sam finally woke up.

Next Chapter --->

[thecringemachine]

HOOMANBEE

Okay, so I know it's been a LONG time since I updated this fic and you want to get into it, but please read this:

This fic, plus a couple of my mom's cookies, saved me from going into a depression. For the past two weeks, I have had nothing in my brain, I have been tired, antisocial, sad, and unable to know what to do with myself.

I have been losing my mind, but then I continued this fic, and I'm getting myself back,

NOW ENJOY CHAPTER 3

(I know I said that i would post a picture, but because of what has been happening I have not been able to make it)

THIS IS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE BOTS HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TICKLING IS, SO THEY FIND OUT (I know they know what tickling is)

“NO!” Bee cried as he jerked awake. He sat there panting, wondering what had just happened. He had these frightening images in his head and he suddenly felt lonely. He closed his eyes and clutched his head in an attempt to rid his mind of the horrific things that had just happened. He could feel tears starting to prick his eyes as they came flooding back. Just then, Jack walked in. His hair was ruffled and he had his phone light out, but stopped short at seeing Bumblebee. Bee heard him and looked up. He quickly tried to hide the tears that had just about started flowing down his face.

“S-sorry, did I wake you up?” Bee asked. Jack shook his head and went to sit on the couch beside him.

“No, I was. . . uh, never mind.,” he said quickly. In truth, Bee had woken him up, but Bee didn’t need to know that. He nodded and Jack put a hand on his knees.

“So, what’s wrong?” Jack asked. Bee looked up to see his worried face and the tears which he had been holding back came forth. Jack leaned over and quickly pulled Bee to his side.

“I. . . I had a nightmare.” Bee whimpered quietly. Jack was horrified. Why did Bee have to suffer like this? First he was thrown into the worst part of human aging, now this? He was experiencing the worst parts of being human! Jack rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

“Hey, hey, it was only a dream. It wasn’t real.” He said soothingly. Bee looked up at him and wiped his face.

“B-but it felt so real!” He replied. Jack nodded.

“What was it about?” He asked quietly, keeping Bee in a tight hug.

“I was stuck as a human, and all of the others got destroyed because I couldn't help them.” Bee said hesitantly. Jack closed his eyes and opened them again.

“You know that won’t happen. Ratchet will find a way to bring you back to normal, and you should know that Optimus and the others are too good.” He said reassuringly, poking Bee in the side. Bee barely managed not to curl away and nodded. Jack didn’t seem to notice.

“Nightmares suck, I know, but they aren’t real, no matter how vivid they are. The only reason they would be real is if they were prophecies, or something. And you're no prophet.” Jack told him, gently squeezing his shoulder, but when he saw Bee wince he instantly got concerned. 

“Are you alright Bee?” He asked worriedly. Bee shook his head reassuringly.

“No,no, it’s just. . . when you squeezed my shoulder it felt weird.” He replied. Jack cocked his head.

“What do you mean, weird?” He asked, a puzzle expression on his face.

“I don’t know, it just felt funny, almost like I wanted to laugh.” He said. It clicked. Jack chuckled and smirked at Bee, making him uneasy.

“W-what? What is it?” He asked. Jack just continued smirking as he tested his silent theory. He poked Bee’s ribs on the side opposite him and was pleased to see him giggle and lean into him.

“I knew it,”Jack finally said. Bee looked up at him confused, and a little nervous.

“What?” Bee asked. Jack smirked.

“You’re ticklish, Bee.” He replied. Bee cocked his head in puzzlement. Jack continued smirking.

“What does that mean?” He asked. He suddenly yelped as Jack pulled him into his lap. Bee tried to get up, but Jack already had his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Tickling is when someone does something, like poke you or scribble on a certain place, making you laugh, like so.” Jack said it so casually, that Bee was completely taken by surprise when he started raking his fingers gently over his neck. Bee scrunched his shoulders and giggled. Jack instantly switched to wiggling his fingers into Bee’s ribs. Bee leaned into him in an attempt to escape, his laughter growing louder.

“Don’t get too loud, Bee. We don’t want to wake mom.” Jack said in Bee’s ear. Bee nodded and tried his best to keep his laughter down. He squirmed, trying to escape. Jack chucked at this adorable display. Bee blushed harder than he already was and pulled at Jack’s wrists.

“Jahack. Stohohop!” Bee giggled. Jack shook his head.

“But we are still trying to find out where you’re ticklish!” Jack teased, gently wrestling Bee onto the couch and sitting on his legs. Bee tried to pull out from under him, but Jack stayed on easily. He rolled his eyes and dug his hands into Bee’s hips. Bee squealed and broke down into hysterical giggles.

“AHAHA! JACK! STAHAP!” Bee gasped. Jack immediately stopped and covered Bee’s mouth, waiting. Fortunately, June had been sleeping deeply that night and nothing was going to rouse her. Bee’s muffled giggles could be heard and Jack finally took his hand off. He helped Bee up and sighed.

“Sorry about that, Bee. I know you’re still new to this.” Jack said. “Now, let’s see about this.” He started scribbling his fingers over Bee’s stomach, making him giggle. Jack smiled and slipped his hands under Bee’s shirt. Bee squealed and pushed at Jack’s hands. He slipped them out and got off of Bee. Bumblebee lay there panting, only to be picked up by Jack. Jack pulled him over and cuddled him. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just let himself relax.

“Are you feeling better?” Jack asked. Bee nodded and Jack rubbed his shoulder affectionately. Bee wasn’t his guardian, but he was still a good friend. Bee’s exhaustion hit him like a wave. He yawned and soon fell asleep. Jack gently laid Bee down on the couch and pulled the blankets over him. He yawned and went back to his own bed, still thinking about how lucky they were that his mom hadn’t woken up.