#how they believe darkness makes space for the true self to come forward so the older Japanese structures were always designed in a way

[psalmsofpsychosis]

literally what is it about japanese artists and japanese philosophy that has me turning to them every other month just to find myself so utterly and completely at home!!!!!

[hrizantemy]

What did she deserve?

For so long, Nesta had believed she deserved nothing. Nothing but the emptiness, the isolation. She had told herself, time and again, that her existence was a mistake, a burden. What was there for her, after everything she had done? After the mistakes, the anger, the bitterness that had poisoned everything around her?

She should have died. She used to think that, with a conviction that had driven her to dark places. That the world would be better without her. That the people she had hurt, the people she had pushed away, would be better off without the weight of her presence.

It wasn’t just the memories of that time; it was the constant reminder that she had failed so many—her family, her people, even herself. When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the laughter or the good times she remembered. It was the yelling. The coldness. The disappointment. It was the sharp sting of guilt that never seemed to fade, the feeling that she would never be enough, no matter how hard she tried.

For a long time, Nesta had thought that death was an escape. A way to end the agony of being a shadow in her own life, of being a person who only took up space. She had been so certain, so sure, that the world would be lighter without her in it.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. A small spark of something she couldn’t name had kept her from that final step. And that spark, no matter how weak it felt at times, refused to go out.

What did she deserve?

She still didn’t have the answer, but maybe, just maybe, it was something more than silence. Something more than pain. She had a lot to make up for—she knew that. She had a long road ahead, and the journey wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest stir of hope that maybe she was worthy of something more than she had allowed herself to believe.

Maybe she deserved to live. Maybe she deserved something like peace. Maybe she even deserved love—though she had no idea how to accept it or what it might look like. But she would find out, one step at a time. She would have to. Because what else was there to do but move forward?

At least, that��s what she told herself, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it yet.

Nesta didn’t truly believe it. She couldn’t. The doubt was too deep, too ingrained in her. But that didn’t mean she stopped hearing it. Because she did hear it. She heard it every time Taryn spoke, every time she said something kind, something that didn’t come with a catch or a look of pity. Taryn’s words were always steady, always filled with conviction, as though she genuinely believed Nesta deserved something more than the endless self-loathing she had carried for years.

It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the certainty with which they were delivered. Taryn never faltered when she spoke to Nesta, never looked away or hesitated. She said what she believed, and it was enough to make Nesta question her own narrative, the one she had crafted for so long, the one that had kept her trapped in darkness.

“You’re worth it,” Taryn would say. “You’re not broken. You’re not a mistake.”

Those words echoed in her mind, louder and louder with each passing day, as if Taryn’s belief in her was strong enough to outlast her own doubt.

But Nesta couldn’t shake the disbelief. She couldn’t imagine it was true. She had been too damaged, too far gone for too long. But still, Taryn’s words lingered, even in the silence between them. They wouldn’t let her completely forget, wouldn’t let her stop wondering if, just maybe, there was something she was missing.

Cassian’s words lingered in Nesta’s mind like an echo she couldn’t escape. “I don’t know why your sisters love you.”

She didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know why Feyre and Elain had loved her, not truly. She never understood why anyone would. She wasn’t someone worth loving, not in her eyes. Not after everything she had done, the ways she had pushed them all away, the bitterness she had held onto for so long. But then there was Taryn, and Nesta couldn’t figure that one out either.

Taryn had said it before, had told her that she loved her. She had said it with such conviction that it felt like the air around them had shifted every time. Taryn said it in the morning, with a soft smile and sleepy eyes, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She said it before bed, every night, as if she needed Nesta to hear it one more time before she could sleep. Taryn said it when Nesta was leaving, when she was walking out the door, as if there was no question that she’d be back, as if there was no reason not to. And Taryn said it when Nesta came back, with the same unshakable certainty, as though Nesta’s return was the most normal thing in the world.

It was different. So different from anything she had ever felt. Taryn spoke it with the same intensity every time, no hesitation, no doubt. As if Nesta were something to be cherished. Worshipped. Genuinely loved.

And Nesta couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t understand it, not when she had never been able to see herself that way. How could Taryn love her like that, with such certainty? How could anyone love someone like her? But Taryn never faltered, never pulled back. She said it, again and again, as if it were truth.

Cassian’s words lingered in Nesta’s mind like an echo she couldn’t escape. “I don’t know why your sisters love you.”

She didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know why Feyre and Elain had loved her, not truly. She never understood why anyone would. She wasn’t someone worth loving, not in her eyes. Not after everything she had done, the ways she had pushed them all away, the bitterness she had held onto for so long. But then there was Taryn, and Nesta couldn’t figure that one out either.

Taryn had said it before, had told her that she loved her. She had said it with such conviction that it felt like the air around them had shifted every time. Taryn said it in the morning, with a soft smile and sleepy eyes, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She said it before bed, every night, as if she needed Nesta to hear it one more time before she could sleep. Taryn said it when Nesta was leaving, when she was walking out the door, as if there was no question that she’d be back, as if there was no reason not to. And Taryn said it when Nesta came back, with the same unshakable certainty, as though Nesta’s return was the most normal thing in the world.

It was different. So different from anything she had ever felt. Taryn spoke it with the same intensity every time, no hesitation, no doubt. As if Nesta were something to be cherished. Worshipped. Genuinely loved.

And Nesta couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t understand it, not when she had never been able to see herself that way. How could Taryn love her like that, with such certainty? How could anyone love someone like her? But Taryn never faltered, never pulled back. She said it, again and again, as if it were truth.

Even if she didn’t say it often, Taryn knew. And Taryn would wait for the day when she could hear it again.

Nesta walked along the Sidra, her steps slow and deliberate, the bag of books swinging gently in her hand. The scent of the river mixed with the crisp evening air, and for once, she didn’t feel rushed. It had been a long day, one filled with the familiar hum of the bookstore, the rustle of pages, and the occasional, welcome silence that came when customers found their way into their own worlds.

The books she carried were new — a mix of stories she’d been meaning to read, some old classics, and others she picked up simply because they felt like something she needed in that moment. She had grown fond of reading in the quiet hours after work, when the world around her slowed down enough for her to escape into someone else’s life, someone else’s pain, someone else’s triumphs. The weight of the bag felt like a quiet reminder of how far she’d come — from the days when books had been the last thing she wanted to hold, to now, when they were one of the few things she knew could help her make sense of her own scattered thoughts.

As she walked, Nesta thought about the day. She didn’t really talk to many people at work. She liked it that way, liked the solitude that came with shelving books or helping a customer find exactly what they were looking for. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers. It was stable, and it was enough.

She passed the small shops along the Sidra, the ones that glowed in the evening light, their windows framed by the glow of lanterns. She didn’t stop to browse, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts that swirled like the water by her side. She thought about the life she was building, how much it had changed in the past year.

Nesta hadn’t seen Feyre or Elain since Solstice. No letters had been sent either. For a moment, she’d considered writing to them, inviting them out again, maybe to a tavern or to spend time together. But the thought faded as quickly as it came, overshadowed by the memory of all the times she had reached out before, only to be met with rejection. The silence from them had been a constant reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

To be honest, Nesta was tired. Tired of being the one to try, of always putting herself out there and never receiving what she needed in return. It felt like the weight of their absence was too much to carry, and she was done bearing it alone. She didn’t need to fight for their attention anymore.

Nesta knew she hadn’t been the easiest to deal with. She had been cruel, she admitted that to herself. Her words were sharp, biting, meant to hurt. Every time she had lashed out, it was like she was trying to keep people at a distance, even those she cared about most. She didn’t know how to show vulnerability, how to ask for what she needed without fear of being let down. So, she shut people out, and in doing so, she pushed them away.

She owed Feyre an apology, and perhaps Elain too. She hadn’t given them a chance to show they could be anything more than what she had assumed. She had seen their love and concern as pity, or worse, as a reminder of her own failures, but maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe she had failed them by not seeing them for who they truly were, by not acknowledging their care as something pure and genuine.

Despite everything, Nesta knew she didn’t deserve the way she had been treated, not by her sisters, not by the so-called family she had. The veiled insults, the passive-aggressive comments—those had been there, hanging in the air like a cloud she couldn’t escape. When her sisters had tried to stop them, their attempts were often ignored, as if their voices didn’t matter. Yet, when she had lashed out, when she had finally reached her breaking point, it was always her fault. She was the one to blame.

But, as much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t believe she deserved that treatment. Not anymore. Taryn had told her she didn’t deserve to be treated like she was less than, like she didn’t matter. And even though Nesta had wanted to argue against it, to believe the awful things she had told herself for so long—that she had been a wretch, a leech, that she deserved every cruel word thrown her way—something inside her questioned if that was truly the case. Did she deserve to be cast aside, to be treated as nothing more than a burden? Did she?

She didn’t have the answer, not yet.

But she was trying—really trying—to be better. That had to count for something.

Nesta turned into a small café, the kind tucked away on a quieter side street, its warm glow spilling out onto the cold pavement. She hadn’t intended to stop, but something about the cozy interior called to her. She stepped inside, adjusting the bag in her hand, and stopped short.

The sight before her was unexpected.

Feyre and Elain sat at a table near the window, a pot of tea between them, soft laughter filling the air. They looked… comfortable. Unfamiliar. Their faces were relaxed, easy, not like the strained encounters she’d had with them since Solstice. It was a strange feeling—seeing them like this, without the tension, without the constant underlying friction that had always existed between them and her.

But then they saw her.

Feyre’s eyes widened in shock, her hand pausing mid-air as she had been reaching for the teapot. The moment froze. Nesta felt a quick, unbidden surge of heat flush her cheeks, but she didn’t let herself turn away.

Feyre shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor, her expression a mix of surprise and something she couldn’t place. Elain looked up too, her eyes flickering between Nesta and Feyre, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in energy.

The air thickened with silence, and Nesta stood there, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for this. But there they were, in front of her, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, do something. And for a brief, flickering moment, all she could do was stand still, uncertain, not sure of how to navigate the tangled mess of emotions that had been left unresolved between them.

Feyre’s voice broke through the silence, tentative but steady. “Nesta… I didn’t expect to see you here.” Her gaze was softer than Nesta had anticipated, though there was still a hint of uncertainty, the kind that only comes from unresolved hurt.

She stepped closer, her fingers nervously clasping and unclasping in front of her. “Are you—are you alright?”

Elain remained seated, but her gaze flickered over Nesta with the same mix of surprise and caution. Feyre’s question hung in the air, waiting for Nesta to answer, and as much as Nesta wanted to pull away, to escape the sudden confrontation, a part of her longed for something—something that resembled understanding, or maybe just the faintest trace of connection.

Nesta held up the bag of books she had been carrying, her voice firm but guarded. “I was just coming in to grab a coffee,” she said, as if the simple statement could somehow shield her from the tension building between them.

Feyre’s eyes softened, but there was a hesitation there, like she wasn’t sure how to approach Nesta. “Would you… like to join us?” she asked, her words tentative, almost as if she was bracing for rejection.

Elain’s eyes were equally cautious, glancing back and forth between Nesta and Feyre. It was clear they expected her to say no, to make some excuse and leave. But instead, Nesta surprised herself. She felt a quiet defiance rising within her, the quiet strength she had nurtured in her.

“Yes,” Nesta said, her voice steady but quieter than usual. “I’ll join you.”

The surprise flickered across Feyre’s face, but it quickly shifted into something softer, almost relieved. Elain gave her a small, encouraging smile, and for a moment, the weight of all the time apart seemed to lessen, if only for this small exchange.

Nesta set the bag down by an empty seat, her back still a little tense, but she stayed, sitting down with them. She wasn’t sure where this would lead, or how she could navigate what had happened between them, but for once, she allowed herself to take a step forward instead of retreating.

Feyre took a slow breath, her eyes flicking to Nesta as if weighing her words carefully. “How have you been?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I know… during Solstice, the tension between us all was high. And Morrigan… she didn’t mean what she said. But, well, I suppose we’ve all been wondering what you’re going to do about Cassian.” She paused, hesitating for just a moment before continuing. “He… well, he’s been asking around. We all know it’s not just about the bond anymore. It’s more than that.”

Elain’s gaze flickered briefly to Feyre, but she remained quiet, allowing the conversation to unfold.

Nesta could feel her jaw tighten, her thoughts swirling. She had expected this conversation, even if she didn’t know exactly how it would unfold. Cassian. Always Cassian. It had been a constant presence, even in her silence, and she had grown weary of it, of him.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Nesta replied, her voice steady but her eyes sharp, like she was holding something back. “It’s not just Cassian’s decision, or anyone’s. I’ve had to figure things out for myself, in my own time.”

Feyre nodded, understanding but also concerned. “I know. But we’re still your sisters, Nesta. And Cassian… he’s never stopped caring. He wants to fix things with you.”

Nesta’s gaze shifted from Feyre to Elain, her eyes narrowing slightly. She leaned forward, her voice steady but sharp. “And why don’t you have the same attitude about Lucien? You and Feyre are always telling me to fix things with Cassian, to put the past behind us. But I don’t see you two getting scolded about fixing things with Lucien. I mean, how many times have we seen the lingering stares between you and Azriel? But you don’t hear people demanding that you make amends with him, do you?”

Feyre’s face flushed with discomfort, and she shifted in her seat, clearly unprepared for Nesta’s accusation. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. “That’s different,” she muttered, clearly struggling to find the right words. “It’s not the same, Nesta.”

Elain, who had been silent until now, looked down at her tea, her hands nervously clasping around the cup. She didn’t want to be dragged into the comparison, but Nesta’s words had hit a nerve.

Elain stumbled, unsure of how to explain herself. “Well… because Lucien… and we’re… trying to understand everything, and… we’re still figuring things out. You know? With him being bonded to me and all.”

Nesta didn’t blink. “And so you think that makes it okay? That it excuses the double standard? Or is it just because it’s easier to focus on me, to point out everything I’ve done wrong?”

The air around the table felt thick, as if the tension between them had somehow gotten heavier with every word spoken. Feyre seemed at a loss, glancing at Elain for some kind of backup, but Elain remained quiet, still not meeting Nesta’s eyes.

“You know, I’m tired of the constant expectation that I have to be the one to fix things, that I’m the problem,” Nesta continued, her voice quieter now, though still tinged with frustration. “You’re both allowed to make mistakes, but somehow when I do, it’s a reflection of everything wrong in this family.”

Feyre bit her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but her gaze softened with guilt. “That’s not what we meant, Nesta. It’s just… we want you to be happy. And we don’t want you to carry all of that weight alone anymore.”

Nesta sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as the weight of her words pressed on her. She shook her head, looking at both of them, and for a moment, she felt like a stranger to herself. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, almost too quietly for them to hear. The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but they were true. She hadn’t expected to say them.

She looked directly at Feyre, her heart aching in a way that made her throat tighten. “I’ve been cruel to you,” Nesta said softly, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. “I hated myself, and I took it out on you. You always tried to care for us, to take care of everything when Father wouldn’t. And I… I couldn’t stand it. I resented you for it.”

Feyre’s expression softened, her eyes filling with an understanding that made Nesta feel even more vulnerable. She wasn’t sure she deserved that understanding, but Feyre’s gaze didn’t waver, and it made Nesta feel both small and incredibly exposed at the same time.

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” Nesta continued, her voice rough. “How you just took on everything. And I… I didn’t want to depend on anyone, especially you. But I shouldn’t have been so cruel. I should’ve tried to understand.”

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from tension. It was something more fragile, like a crack in a wall that had been there for too long.

Nesta turned her gaze to Elain, her heart heavy as she watched her sister. She hadn’t expected this conversation to go the way it had, but now, with Feyre’s understanding, it felt right to do this. It felt right to face what she had been avoiding for so long.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” Nesta said, her voice quieter this time, almost unsure. “I never expected anything from you. I thought you would always stay the same, that you’d always be… the one who would just stay in the background, waiting for everything to pass. I never really saw you—saw who you are now. I was wrong.”

Elain’s expression softened, her eyes wide as she looked at Nesta. She had always been the more gentle, the more patient one, and Nesta had never truly acknowledged that. She had always taken her for granted, assuming Elain’s kindness was constant and unchanging.

“You’ve changed, Elain,” Nesta continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And I didn’t give you credit for it. I should’ve seen that you’ve been through your own struggles, your own growth, and I haven’t been there for you the way I should’ve been.”

For a moment, there was silence. Elain’s face softened, but there was still a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Nesta hadn’t expected instant forgiveness—she didn’t deserve that. But the weight of her apology hung between them, genuine and real.

Nesta straightened, her shoulders stiffening as she looked at both her sisters. Her apology felt like it had been a long time coming, but there was something else—something she needed to make clear.

“That’s all I’m sorry for,” Nesta said, her voice firm. “But there are only two of you I owe anything to. Feyre’s family, your mate—” She shook her head, frustration bubbling in her chest. “I can’t for the life of me understand why I’m made to feel like I owe them something.”

Feyre opened her mouth to respond, but Nesta cut her off, her emotions running high.

“Why am I supposed to walk on eggshells because of their pasts? Their pain? I didn’t cause it. I didn’t do anything to them. Why should I be the one to tiptoe around them, to make them feel comfortable? What happened to them had nothing to do with me.”

Feyre’s gaze softened, but she still looked conflicted. She exhaled slowly before speaking, her voice quiet but steady. “It’s not that simple, Nesta. It’s just… how they live, how they’ve always lived. Their backgrounds, especially Morrigan’s—it’s not an excuse, but it’s the reality. They come from places where those wounds run deep, and sometimes… sometimes they want to protect each other, to make sure no one repeats the mistakes of the past.”

Nesta’s chest tightened at the mention of Morrigan, but her anger hadn’t dissipated. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to keep explaining herself, apologizing, for something that felt like it wasn’t her fault.

“Protect each other?” Nesta said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “By treating me like I’m the one who needs to change, the one who needs to make amends? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for them to judge me for something I wasn’t even part of. And I’m tired of being made to feel like I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things that have nothing to do with me.”

Elain shifted in her seat, and Feyre sighed, looking at Nesta with a deep sadness in her eyes. “It’s not about fixing, Nesta. It’s about understanding each other, trying to heal as a family. They can’t just… ignore the things that have happened. We all carry those scars in one way or another.”

“But I’m not them,” Nesta shot back, the sharpness in her voice echoing. “I’m not their past. I’m not their family’s mistakes. And I’m tired of carrying their burdens too.”

Nesta sighed, the weight of everything she’d said settling in her chest. She didn’t come here to rehash old wounds, to argue, or to dig into the past. She came for something different. But she could feel it—this unspoken distance still hanging between them.

She stood, brushing a hand through her hair as she glanced at both Feyre and Elain. “I didn’t come here to talk about this,” she said softly, the exhaustion in her tone barely contained. Her gaze softened for a moment before she met their eyes again. “I really do need to go.” She forced a weak smile, a smile that barely felt like hers, more of a pale imitation.

“I wish you both a good day,” Nesta continued, her voice quieter, as if offering a peace she didn’t quite believe herself. She took a step back, her hand resting lightly on the chair, her eyes lingering on Feyre and Elain for just a moment longer before she spoke again. “I assume, by the lack of letters, that you won’t be coming to the tavern anytime soon.”

Feyre’s face softened, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to say something, but Nesta’s words had already pushed her back. “Elain… she’s still uncomfortable there,” Feyre said, a hint of regret in her voice. “But… maybe we could all have dinner together at the river house? Even Taryn could come along, if you’d like.”

Nesta’s smile faltered immediately. She looked down at the ground for a moment, feeling the weight of her thoughts pull her deeper into herself. “I appreciate the invitation,” she said, forcing the words out through a tight throat. “But… I think Feyre, Elain—you’re the only ones I would want to see there. And I understand they’re your friends, really, but they’re not… mine.”

She took a deep breath, as if trying to steady the shaking in her hands. “Perhaps we could have dinner another time,” Nesta said, her voice a little firmer now. “You two could come over. But… the invitation is really only extended to you.” She met Feyre and Elain’s eyes, her expression soft but resolute.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, her footsteps steady as she left the café behind.

As Nesta stepped outside the café, the cool breeze greeted her, and for the first time in what felt like a long while, she found herself smiling. It wasn’t a wide smile, but it was there—soft and genuine, a fleeting moment of peace she hadn’t known she was capable of. The tension in her chest had eased just a bit, the weight of everything she’d been carrying seeming a little lighter.

She hadn’t expected to feel this way. She hadn’t expected to feel anything but exhaustion and frustration when she walked in. But now, with the air around her and the quiet buzzing of the city, she couldn’t help but feel like she had taken another small step forward. Maybe she hadn’t fully figured out everything yet—maybe there were still things left unsaid—but she was moving.

And that was enough for now.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar

[xileonaaaa]

Thinking about Yandere Gojo

*He isn’t violent or forceful

He would be the type to fall for you, but in the all the wrong ways. Unlike a normal person, once he figures out his true feelings, he would probably start to notice just how many other people were looking at you the exact same way he was.

He’d probably feel a little outmatched at best.

To you, he seemed like his normal goofy self, but the second you glance away from him, you fail to notice the immediate drop in that signature toothy grin that he always wore.

He wouldn’t act out, not even when another man or woman gets too close or touchy with you. He’d just simply watch, and laugh it off. Part of this being that he can’t even decipher what he’s feeling for you.

He’d continue denying his dark, and overwhelming feelings until they bubble over and amount to a huge mess, or what he’d call a masterpiece.

That’s when things would really start to go downhill for you.

He’d keep up the act of being your trusty, strong sorcerer coworker, while renovating his home to accommodate for you.

You probably wouldn’t even know what was going on underneath that blindfold of his whenever he’d look at you.

He would be patient, and bide his time. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch you up, and take you “home”.

He’d conjure up the most intricate lie to cover for your sudden disappearance, and him being the best there is, would force everyone to believe him. Not everyone did though, and he took notice of that, but he still played the part, effortlessly.

You’d understandably be angry at him for taking your life away from you, but he’d be patient, and caring. Maybe overly caring.

He’d keep you chained up in his basement that he’d converted into a comfy living space for you, and would spend time down there whenever he could.

You’d never be happy to see him, but that was okay. He was content on just listening to you hurl insults his way. After all, you were safe from prying eyes now, all his to love, and no one else’s. He had all the time in the world to win you over.

One thing that probably unnerved you the most was the fact that he never seemed to get angry at you. No matter what you did, or tried to do. He never yelled at you or hit you, or even so much as touched you.

He’d hug you, or hold your hand if you let him, but that was as far as things ever went. It was understandably confusing to you, because who in their right mind would act the way he does?

There were times you’d punched him, kicked him, scratched him, and even tried to stab him once, but to no avail. He’d just simply sigh, and trudge over to your small bathroom to patch himself up, and he was back at your side in a matter of minutes.

***

You’d begun to loose track of time when you first started to notice it. How he’d sometimes come down stairs into the basement, long after he’d said he was going to bed, and just shuffle his way over to your bed. He’d lay with you sometimes, and others he’d just stand there for a moment, before leaving, and heading back upstairs.

You never questioned it, nor even bothered to bring up his weird behavior, despite how open and accepting he was. You figured it was just him being paranoid that you’d found a way to escape, and was just checking to make sure your restraints were still in place, but that all changed one night.

You were still up after he’d gone to bed, and opted to just quietly read the latest manga he’d brought to your room from his trip in Tokyo. You were engrossed in a page, when you felt yourself jolt at the sound of the basement stairs creaking under someone’s weight.

You initially scrambled to turn off the lamp, and hide your manga, but you ultimately froze when you caught sight of his lean figure standing tall in the darkness. You stared on in silence, trying your best to make out his figure in the pitch blackness of the basement, before he began moving forward. Your smart mouth actually shut up for once, and you looked on as he inched closer, and closer to you.

Once he literally hovering above you, you could see his chest heaving, and the once light grey t-shirt he’d worn to bed, was now drenched in what you guessed was sweat. His hands were trembling ever so slightly, and almost all at once he fell to his knees. In the dim light provided by the bedside lamp, you watched on as he shuddered violently, and filled you in on how he’d always been struggling with nightmares.

You don’t know if it was pity, or just confusion, but you helped him shred his sweat drenched shirt, and moved over on your bed. It was the first time you’d ever done something like this, albeit without the idea of harming him in mind.

You knew it was probably something serious when he didn��t question your intentions, desperately crawling in bed with you, and nuzzling your stomach as he wrapped his sticky arms around you waist.

He was shivering all over, and you found the more affectionate you were towards him, the more he just seemed to melt under your touch. He was fast asleep in no time.

You weren’t sure why, but you ended up falling asleep too, not feeling disgusted by him in the slightest. Maybe you realized that through all he’d done, he was still human.

[allwormdiet]

Extermination 8.6

Typical American healthcare experience

Legitimately I'm unsure how Skitter is the only villain who loses their fucking mind in the field hospital. This is unbearably claustrophobic and torturous to just put someone through because they're on the away team instead of the home team

So, she's wrong, obviously. But her own tendencies towards distrusting others, especially authority, is only part of the equation. The other part of the equation is that the Protectorate (Armsmaster) wasn't being good to her even before she started "infiltrating" the Undersiders, and we've seen the system allow for some remarkable acts of cruelty along the way; Canary was gagged and put in confoam and chains in a public space, in a court of fucking law, because she could theoretically have super strength.

The system isn't half as bad as Taylor is afraid of, but she's also lived a whole span of her life suffering because of the system's failures

I think this is legitimately, non-power triggering for Taylor, which makes everything that's about to happen that much worse.

S'fucked up. Not a whole lot to say beyond that.

Tattletale wasn't wrong to observe that Taylor isolates herself reflexively, but she reaches out to others pretty regularly, and this isn't even the worst consequence she's had for that. This is a moment of immense vulnerability that she's bearing on purpose to this girl and there's an immense horror at the thought of being ignored.

An answer, finally, and it still hurts

She doesn't even know if she can trust a gesture of kindness like this

I don't even know if she can trust a gesture of kindness like this. Not to doubt the nurse-in-training but more doubting the PRT being cool about it, especially with the reveal coming up they could use to justify it

She's trying, I don't know if it worked but she's trying.

I mean hey, it's something to fucking do, right

Also hey Panacea, looking forward to your totally benign contributions to the course of this arc

Oh Amy, you charmer you

Oh wow what an extremely cool and normal thing to believe about how ethics and humanity work, I'm sure this is based in absolutely real things and not at all being raised by a family of supercops, and also that there are absolutely no repercussions for how this way of thinking might fuck people up who are struggling with negative thoughts or impulses, huh Panacea

Also what an interesting way to mirror Alan Barnes, noted piece of shit, very cool and normal

I know where Taylor is coming from with all of this, but nobody in the story does, and also it's extremely fucking funny that this is a self-avowed supervillain saying these things

Neat detail tbh

The brain thing I get, longstanding stance on even approaching brains, but damn, not even the nerve damage?

Also yeah Taylor, you're a fucking maniac, I don't know how or where you got the drive to operate like that but you're crazy lucky Rachel was there to keep it from killing you

So the nerve thing I get, right, but uhh

This is where Panacea starts to read as pretty sadistic

She's got someone under the mercy of her healing, someone who she's got a grudge against for a multitude of reasons, and unlike the cancer patients and dying children she's allowed to express her resentment towards Skitter, at which point she immediately does so

Also I'm not sure if the line about her "slipping up" with the pain is actually true or if she's punishing Skitter for talking too much

This is pretty dark, actually. If we keep this limited entirely to the bank interaction, Panacea has Skitter under her mercy the same way Skitter had Panacea at knifepoint barely a month ago, but Panacea is doing very little to hide the fact that she's taunting now that she's the one in control.

I'm reminded a bit of those conversations about nurses who were abusing or harassing patients because this was someone vulnerable that they had control over, with little to no recourse even when it's done. Having a career, having a power, where someone's life and comfort and safety is in your hands, and squeezing your grip just enough to make it uncomfortable

As if I didn't have enough reasons to dread Amy's arc in this story

That most heroic of principles, "eye for an eye." There has never been an instance where a self-described good person has used reciprocity as a justification to harm or harass someone they've decided is a bad person in a way that, hey, actually isn't so justified.

So this next part is Amy's fault? Like yeah, Taylor did it, but she did it because she's fucking terrified, and she's fucking terrified because Amy deliberately stoked her fears, gloating about how fucked she was even though she doesn't actually know what's coming, because Amy is a good person and Taylor is a bad person

Dun dun dun

...Yeah no I knew this one already, hard to not be spoiled on this one

Anyway, Taylor done fucked up and now the consequences are coming down fast

Current Thoughts

Amy I'm trying really hard to be sympathetic to you but if you're gonna keep tormenting people under your care because you don't like them and can get away with it there's only so far I can go

This next chapter is gonna be fucking rough

[aressida]

Yep. Old entry: "A Dream: The Mirror Realm." - Aressida. 25.7.19

“The Matrix is a complete mirror realm where everything in it is a reflection of something you need to observe, live, move on from, and shed in order to move into “Higher Spiritual Consciousness.”

It is your movie, your script, and you are the main actor. Everyone else is a mirror of you.

Those are the shadow works that we have to live through, to understand, and then to remove from our consciousness so that we ascend into higher consciousness, and “Spiritual Maturities” in order to align with Creator God.

The reason for the pain, tribulations, tests, are to show you what you are Not and to Guide You to what Is Your Truths. Tests are the paths to get you in Alignment with Truths.

Your Connection with Creator and to remove from your Being, what is not for You.”

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

Old entry: "A Dream: “Mirror, to free all that will be annihilated, uncover and convey me to the Darkness and to the Light.”" - Aressida. 12.1.22.

I was being pulled into a room of mirror walls from a serenity place that I was resting, away from the world for a bit. Standing in the never-ending room. I immediately make eye contact with myself, at the mirror, knowing it is me in there. To see my true worth. I see the eternal when I look into my eyes. The version in myself.

It retains my memory as I touch the large size of an ancient silver mirror, and it opens to my memory of the nonlinear space and time. But before it flashes, I know I was not alone in this room. I walk into the reflective light, seeing my light, waking up and to love myself again, I know my time is precious.

I can see as I understand Evil has offered me and everyone else the world, but I am here choosing fragility, love. This is something that They detest because They believe that Love itself is selfish. I know the Darkness do not have self-preservation like we do. We are witnessing Their grand scheme that none of us first believe. How our reality turned out to be. It is a fucking mess, isn’t it?

We were conditioned based on our past sentimental and emotional bond that They can reason, and it is not a good one. I have been so sick of their twisted and distorted with everything here. It is all false evidence appearing real. This is why I questioned everything. I understand that Evil does twist variations of the truth. There have been many great disasters since then. They have been grinding us down into oblivion.

They wants to drive our focus towards our feelings, but God says to ground yourself upon His Truth.

Today, there is a number rising of people waking up, more than ever than it was 5 years ago. That I can guaranteed. A satanic ritual out in the open and there is no consequences. All has been set in an extreme geopolitical world. As we all can see the entire world is waking up to the deception. People are starting to realised how embedded Evil is, among us, and in some of us. Many people did not know that they were under Their spell. The hypnosis rhythm is strong, but we are slowly breaking free from it.

I want people to understand that as a Digital Soldier myself, living with the idea with the super-vigilante shit that keeps coming at me can be arduous. I have been tangibly reflection knelt down against Evil. Like an enchantress. I am no longer a slave of sin and death but a servant of God who through Christ.

Seeing how God has done in my life that I was not even aware of. This is when I knew God has protected me more times than I count. The only thing He is counting on is that I do my best and let Him pick me up and help me. God made me and I matter. I knew God has been leading and guiding me with every step I take, that He is with me. He has prepared for me. This is why I keep on moving forward, taking the faith. Ever since I have worn the Armour of God, I knew it was not a suggestion.

He is strengthening me in area I cannot see right now. “Everything will be alright. Trust in Me.” I get it, God sometimes delays me so that the evil ahead of me will pass before I get there. Protecting me while giving me unique set of skills and talents that I can use to work for His kingdom. I gave my power to God, to trust again. A natural of my being. He watches over me and keeps me and my family protected from the world.

My world is my own reflection. This is why this whole time, I was reassuring myself the path I take is the right one. I learnt that right now I have been starting everything at the beginning, one of a side mission of mine, and re-evaluate the sequence altogether to restore and actualized myself here. Becoming the originating Light. I knew soon I had to reflect my entire lives, and the choices I had made after I have seen myself within me.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” – Jesus Christ.

I know now, how to continue to be on the path of light that God has given me. It is a lifelong commitment and I am going to keep on going, doing my best here. Then soon after, I was sent back to the shore from the mirror realm.

This is why you are also needed, to get out of your surrounding from the deception and it is one of the reason why you could not possess a stronger Free Will and your very own Sovereign right now.

Remember, you get to decide what dynamics you will and will not tolerate.⁣

I give my love as an empath freely, and with no compunctions to the world. Because love is never wasted. That is something Evil does not get. Someday people will eventually know the fine line being forgiving, to themselves, and to others, like I did. It is easier to believe in themselves a little more, and learn to psychologically love themselves. We all owe ourselves the love that we freely give to our friends and family. It takes work, that’s all.

This is why I understand you more than you understand yourself. I forgive you, just as I have forgive myself. I want to say thank you for your patient while I adjust the volume and reverberation of my emotions. As I have been learning, and walking in the Spirit.

The lessons growing up, battles to be fought, sacrifices to be made, and facing great trials, it is God’s way for me to be where God wants myself at. God has equipped me for this life as I did not overcome the darkness for nothing. God, is with me. In which it costs much to win the victory. I began to walk in my anointing and not in my feelings. Saved by grace through faith.

A prayer from me to God: “Father, thank you for Your blessings that go before me this day and are my rear guard and for Your favor that surrounds me like a shield. You have ordered my steps, so I know my walk will be sure and steady. I will trust in You and acknowledge You in everything, seeking Your help and guidance. Thank you Father, for Your unmerited favor, Your grace and mercy upholds me. In Jesus name. Amen.”

Eventually you will start to understand how you see with the true meaning of life. Run with that because you are alive, right now. Follow your wild heart and do not let evil misplaced you away any more. Life is for living. Unfollow Evil because it is not your place to control it, but God’s.

It is very important that you learn to love yourself. Love yourself is the medicine. You must know who you really are in order to love what is already in yourself. Know yourself deeply, accept what is in you and you are enough.

Forgive yourself as God has forgiven you.

[virtuouslife]

Before coming down to the Seclusion Zone, Kallen had overheard rumors. Whispered, dramatized, or told through stifled laughter—were stories alleging that the now-abandoned zone had become haunted, infested, or otherwise tainted. She didn't really believe any of it, at first. After all, she had just been down there, taking care of living sweets and struggling to resolve their inter-pastry conflicts. When the rumors persisted, then transformed into hushed whispers of a missing janitor, Kallen was ecstatic. Guiltily so, for it was unfortunate that someone had gone missing—but ecstatic, all the same, for a chance to be helpful again had finally appeared. She was sure that the researchers of the Herta Space Station had all gotten sick of her constantly bothering them with questions about how she could help. (All of them said she couldn't.) This didn't deter her from asking them if they knew anything about the missing janitor, though. (All of them said they didn't.)

Now, as she steps off the elevator platform into the Seclusion Zone, Kallen wonders if she had made a wrong turn somewhere. Devoid of life, the dimly-lit zone is almost unrecognizable. Without Ruan Mei's creations, everything is eerily quiet. The places where bun creatures fumed, and catcakes wailed, while prospective adopters laughed, and exhausted volunteers flailed—hold no trace of that former liveliness. The stark difference between Kallen's memories and the present reality is jarring, even unsettling. Reeling from the surprise, she stares down the empty hallway. A small part of her wonders, Was it really that vibrant, before? A smaller part of her, more nervous than she wants to admit, wonders, Maybe it is haunted... With a determined huff and a self-reprimanding thought—Don't be a baby, Kallen; there's a missing person to find!—she marches forward into the waiting darkness.

Time passes slowly. It turns out that wandering through dimly-lit hallways alone is not the most exciting thing in the world. So far, she has found no signs of a janitor—missing or not. To make things worse: it may (or may not) be true that Kallen has lost track of where she is, relative to the elevator. As she begins backtracking, or at least—what she thinks is backtracking, her thoughts return to the rumors. To the once-juvenile stories of ghosts and sinister remnants. How quickly dread takes hold, infallibly and convincingly—unlike the less rational emotions of panic and fear.

"Ah!" Kallen yelps as she kicks, then stumbles over something. Her voice echoes down the hallway, traveling away in an increasing parody of itself. It's fine. Nothing's here. I'm not giving my location away to anyone.

It's difficult to see. Kallen squints, barely able to make out what she ran into. Leaning over slightly, she tries to take a closer look. Just an empty box, maybe? Though the shape doesn't look very box-like. Or some kind of hollow container. When she kicked it, it definitely felt light. Maybe she should go a different way—it's a little too dark, here. Exhaling, she straightens and takes a few step backwards—only to bump into something that wasn't there before. A person? She doesn't have time to think about how she didn't hear them approaching. Instead, her instant reaction is to turn around and pray, out loud in rapid mutters, that it isn't a ghost or a bug.

It's not. It's @spicehill. Someone with light hair and fox-like ears on their head. Kallen stops praying and stares at them in silence for a moment. "I'm so sorry for bumping into you." A brief pause. They don't look like a ghost, and they definitely aren't a bug. "Um. Are you a janitor?"

⋆✦₊‧ — PATTERN RECOGNITION.

Jiaoqiu & Kallen. — Commission : Abundance.

[cod-dump]

TW: abuse/domestic violence

I am fully convinced that Soap has adhd— and was really mistreated for it as a child. As in, his father used physical punishment to get Johnny to behave; so now as an adult sometimes he’ll still flinch if Ghost or Price yell too aggressively or move too suddenly. In reality, Soap knows that neither of his superiors would physically hurt him (on purpose, at least), but that scared inner child is terrified of that ever being proven wrong.

There comes a day when Soap has (unintentionally) royally pissed off one or both of them, and is trying his damndest to hide his fear of one or both of them physically retaliating like his father used to. Johnny doesn’t want to disappoint them the way he disappointed his dad for being the way he is

Never Again

Soap Centric Fic

TW: Violence, childhood abuse, angst

(Price loves his ADHD son)

___

He never talked about his family or upbringing enough for anyone to notice.

He was in therapy for a long time. He knew what happened to him in his youth was cruel and that no father should have treated him that way. That he deserved better than him. But Soap had a hard time believing that. That he deserved better than what his parents, his father, did to him. A part of him refused to let go of the mindset that was beaten into him.

All the punishments that his father would put him through still seemed justified. How his father wouldn’t let him eat anything but uncooked vegetables and a glass of water a day. Doing all his siblings’ chores while they played. If he really pissed him off he would be locked in the hallway closet, in the dark, for hours. No one was allowed to speak to him when he was in there. To this day being in small, dark spaces with no obvious way out freaked him out.

He was able to slowly let go of what his father done to him, allowing him to be his true self. He was able to joke, make friends, make a name for himself. Still he has his moments when he's transported back to his childhood. Price yelling and getting angry, throwing his hands around when something goes wrong. It's never directed at him but it still makes him go quiet and tense up. No one has ever said anything about it so he was sure it was unnoticeable.

Ghost's voice is deep like thunder when he's angry. It reminded Soap of his father's voice. Loud, impossible to ignore. Ghost only ever directed that voice at him once and Soap swore to never do anything again that would make him angry. He would be the perfect soldier, make them proud. He would do everything exactly how they wanted him to.

Soap admits to stop going to therapy a couple years ago even though his therapist was against it. He thought he was healed and that he could live on without the shadow of his father haunting him. He had cut contact with his parents and siblings (minus one sister) as soon as he was able to leave and join the military. His sister kept him up to date with everything that goes on at home. She never tells him anything unless he asks. This was something she did on her own and not by Soap's request.

She wanted him to go back to therapy but he just insisted that he was fine now and didn't need it anymore. He was fine now! He was fine...

Soap was good at what he did, good at following orders. But sometimes in the heat of battle it's hard to follow the plan when adrenaline is pumping through your veins. They were in cover, waiting for Price to give them the signal to move forward. But shells were dropping very close to them and we're getting even closer. Soap believed that if they stuck around that they would soon be right on top of them. So he made the decision to move his men forward. And that was a mistake.

They were ambushed, caught off guard. One of Soap's men was shot in the shoulder right next to Soap. Feeling the man's blood splatter onto his face made Soap lose all train of thought. He acted, did what he thought was best to get his men out of there and to safety. Three more of his men would be shot but able to keep going and two others would be severely injured. Soap knows he could've done better and that those men's blood was on his hands.

He fucked up. Panic was already present in his mind as Price finally calmed things down. The man hadn't talked to him, not as a man but as a soldier, since he met up with them. Soap knew he was angry, he could tell. Price had given him a look earlier that reminded him of his father.

Nothing was said about what happened until after the mission. But if an opportunity had presented itself Soap knows Price would've laid into him without hesitation. Once they were back on base, Price almost dragged Soap to his office. He was forced to sit and Price paced behind the desk. Soap was trying his damnedest to keep calm and nothing had even been said yet! He was gripping the edge of his chair to the point his hands hurt. His mind was racing as Price took a deep breath and turned to him.

"What the fuck happened to waiting for my signal?"

Soap couldn't find his voice or even look Price in the eye. That seemed to piss the man off even more.

"MacTavish, you were given clear orders to wait. To wait for my signal to move forward! But you not only disobeyed that order, resulting in six of your men getting injured. You're lucky that there wasn't any causalities!"

Soap winced as Price raised his voice. He wanted to tell him that he moved forward because their position was no longer safe. Wanted to tell him that they couldn't wait for him to give them the word. But his voice was hidden, his inner child rearing itself against Soap's will.

"MacTavish, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

Price becoming increasingly angry with Soap not speaking. Soap winced when a knock on the door tore Price's gaze from him.

"Captain, permission to enter?"

Soap felt his blood run cold upon hearing Ghost's voice. He couldn't handle both Price and Ghost yelling at him.

"Not now, Riley."

The tone of Price's voice said a thousand words, all describing how beyond pissed Price was. But Ghost didn't leave.

"Sir, is regards what happened on the mission."

Price's cold gaze flickers back to Soap for a moment before he allows Ghost to enter. The lieutenant's presence normally was welcomed by Soap, but at this moment he wasn't Soap's friend. The man walked up and stood next to Soap, Soap feeling trapped.

"What is it, Riley?"

"Sergeant MacTavish saved his men's lives."

Soap blinks, confused. Price tilts his head at this, waving a hand for Ghost to continue.

"The position that he was holding and abandoned was struck by a shell thirty two minutes after they departed."

Price tenses, the anger melting away and looking back at Soap. It was like he was looking at Soap at a different angle, realizing something. Soap turns his head slightly to look at Ghost, who's previously suffocating presence now felt like a shield.

"If they had stayed and waited, none of them would have survived."

His father never once felt guilt for what he had done to Soap. The last time he ever spoke to him and the man blamed everything that he did to Soap on Soap himself. Saying that he brought it upon himself for misbehaving. For being a horrible son. Soap never had his parents apologize to him. But here Price was, terrified because he almost lost Soap. That Soap would've been dead if he had listened to him.

Soap felt tears well up as Price apologized to him and hugged him.

"Fuck... I'm sorry, son. You did the right thing."

Soap mutters, "I-I didn't mean to make you angry."

"I would rather be angry and have you alive than regret putting you in that position and having you dead."

Soap sniffs and buries his face into Price's shoulder, Ghost hanging back.

Soap thought he was healed from what happened to him growing up. But he wasn't. He was still afraid. He still had to learn how to live his life without fear of his father, he had to unlearn the mindset beaten into him. He made the mistake of putting Price in his father's place. Because unlike his father, Price cared and worried about him. And he wasn't too proud to apologize.

[sukunasun]

please give us kamo thoughts 🙇🏻‍♂️

noritoshi has worn hands you think. calloused skin by the folds of his fingers and over the pad of his thumb. hardened, weathered, more often than not the swelling and tenderness in his joints start acting up. opening and closing large hands and feeling them creak, loosen, seeing his skin pulling tight over knuckles as he cracks each one slowly, staccato pops ringing, then all at once when flexing them outwards, pushing, straining. usually so deft from years worth of training, now nimble and careful, rid of chalk and bandages and wounds when he traces them over your face, admiring you under a dreamlike gaze, dazed and in awe.

“i cannot fall behind,” he whispers, self assured, but the words are tinged with uncertainty. as always, he needs to remind you of the consequences, prompting, nudging him. you giving it all up for this man and choosing the unconventional route of being his secret. one that he can barely keep up with. buries it deep down along with thoughts of returning home and seeing his mother, a light at the end of the tunnel he blocks out.

which isn't anything new because noritoshi comes and goes, never able to keep you away for long, he's left you more times than one needs to—in the corner of alleyways, in between shoots of bamboo and under falling petals of sakura trees—he doesn't risk showing your love to the world, sticking it to clan politics and what not, making a statement and hoping the impact reverberates because his love for you isn’t an act of rebellion.

still he clings. letting it play out as long as he can have you. he’ll put up facades and carry out duties later on. just not when he’s resting in your lap, head tucked and warm between your thighs. you think of how he comes apart now when not too long ago, he only regarded so very few (none, really) to be worthy of seeing him this way; like a sleeping child, allowing your fingers to brush against his tired eyes, silken hair unbound. peaceful, youthful, and no longer the man he’s forced to grow into, not a bastard or an heir who's still unaware that he will never be chosen, but a noritoshi draped in moonlight and smelling of incense. perfumed prince tasting of plums and tea.

his lips are highlighted only by the night sky but you see them clearly, leaning forward to meet them in slow, languid, pecks. your heart wrenching as you long to have him for yourself.

eagerly then, he pins you atop tatami mats, the faintest hint of fragrance filling the space between you as he swiftly pulls at your robe. revealing shoulders and a neck unmarked, untouched, and he longs for it; the image of you dressed in ceremonial flowers, clothed in white and gold, his vows pressed against the jugular, whispered in confidence but the meaning grows tenfold.

he’s tugging and chasing after your lips, wanting more, wanting to never stop, if only the circumstances were different. “forgive me,” he grits past clenched teeth, like he’s choking for air, tears clumping dark lashes. but you shush him, only living in the moment and avoiding the imminent heartbreak that lies ahead. 

and in the morning, behind fusuma panels, the sound of whispered voices and affirming grunts are muffled, spurring him on. they have his back he believes, breaths held and kept in puffed chests. awaiting release the moment he cuts all ties with you. now officially, before an audience, under the guise of privacy and seclusion, his lips betray him first, "this cannot continue–" he says. clipped and void of any sympathy. he renounces you, releases you from his side.

he's convinced his feelings won't linger and neither does the taste of salty tears on his tongue when he kisses you. one last time, two times, albeit, he's starting to lose that fight against his inner voice again. assuring and true, screaming out for you, pulling at his desires and bubbling up his chest in the form of three words he can't say, your name he never utters, no endearments, no sweet nothings.

you dared to move closer then, reaching for navy blue robes, a sullen face, beautiful but weary, before flinching back when he aims his weapon at you. a bowstring pulled taut, stretching thin, shivering and snapping under the weight of agile fingers now inept and clumsy. the prick of an arrow doesn't sting as much as his rejection. slicing a gash across your cheek.

he’s unable to reach out and heal, holding himself back, but in an act of ...guilt? remorse? he seals that wound close, the tiniest drop of blood fizzling out.

it's a long time before you're truly alone with him. years pass and the echoes of shibuya ring louder than ever, yet in the midst of forest trees and a running river, it feels like this place has been untouched by time or sorcery.

the man in full black slouches where he stands, hip protruding to the side. posture imperfect, an invisible line starting from the spikes of freshly cut hair lazily winds down to his feet staying rooted to the ground. they're covered in a pair of new sneakers, flat soles with no laces.

slip ons were never your thing but you suppose it would attract someone like him. conveniently, two fingers tuck at the back as his heel jams its way in, followed by rhythmic taps at the toe, his foot settles into the space. those two fingers then slowly but surely inch their way towards his quiver slung low on the other hip. feeling around perfectly carved shafts of yadake and the feathers of his prey. "you're not very good at hiding," he speaks. you're unsure if it was meant for you.

aiming, his shoulders square, that same line now curving upright, bowstring pulled back with purpose, fingers criss-crossing into the fibres. his eyes still trailing after an unnamed bird that squabbles and starts to flap its wings.

the arrow releases and cuts through the air, swift and puncturing through skin like a bullet through glass. muscle splitting, bones splintering, and finally, surely, it settles deep into bark. the last squak dimming and getting lost among a thicket of branches and leaves as blood pools and seeps into the grooves.

if this were any other occasion, he’d berate himself for it, how messy and gruesome. it’s definitely not the best way to hunt but in this instance when it’s more symbolic than anything, he remembers he’s not a kamo anymore, and thus, shouldn't kill like one.

and while transfixed, you hear his voice again, louder this time, "reveal yourself and i'll spare your life, at least for now while i'm generous," made of deep rumbling tones reminiscent of approaching thunder, crackling through night, so loud the critters scoot away, rushing into the bushes.

it is then that he sees you peeping out from behind the shadows. same worn hands forgoing bow and arrow for the shape of your face, thumbs caressing, fingers brushing through wisping hair. blood reaches the very tips of his ears, traversing beneath pale, cold skin, seeping over cheekbones and down his neck, red hot and blushing pink. how does he begin, with foreheads meeting and chests pounding to an erratic beat. he’s excited, he’s guilty, he’s hungry for more than just the flesh of forest birds but the blood on your lips when he crashes into you, kissing you like his life depends on it. and he bleeds too of course, whines in pain when his heart can't take it, spilling out in unrehearsed verses of 'i'm sorry's, harmonizing pleas alongside chirping cicadas and crickets. even without a technique you do the same as he did for you. sealing a wound shut with more than the mere flick of the wrist but a wholehearted embrace, out in the open among life, death, and all the other things.

[twin-scars]

-Edit updated to add songs I missed throughout the seasons.

Sleepless nights make me over-analyze. I've been going through the music in some of my favorite scenes (mostly those that pertain to Jonathan and Nancy, whether collectively or individually, with a bit of Stancy thrown in because, well, why not).

I started in Season One. (All the themes themselves are pretty self-explanatory and don’t need interpretation, but I’ll mention them anyway. Plus it gives you an idea how much better seasons one and two are in comparison to three and four.)

Nancy is studying in her room. This is right after she fights with Karen about not being able to 'study at Barb's'. Every Little Bit (Jackie James & Ian Curnow) I believe the time is right / Have to tell ya I'm hear over heels in love / Too afraid to let you in Pushed you away, now it's gone far enough / I never felt this way before / Don't wanna wait one second more 'Cause every little bit of my heart is true / This is where I belong

Very much a song appropriate for Nancy crushing over Steve. A lot of the music in season one gives depth to the characters and relationships. I think that gets kind of lost in later seasons...But anyway, Nancy is developing a lot of feelings for Steve. True, she's changing herself to fit in with him and his friends, but she genuinely likes him and wants his approval.

When Steve is helping Nancy study Africa (Toto) It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you / There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do I bless the rains down in Africa / Gonna take some time to do the things we never had / Hurry boy, she's waiting there for you

The song is literally about a guy talking about how much he loves Africa, but the lyrics are romantic, and it fits how Steve and Nancy feel about each other.

In episode two, Jonathan is driving to see Lonnie. This is the song right before Should I Stay Or Should I Go comes on, and it's such a Jonathan song. Go Nowhere (Raegan Youth) You're a gonowhere! / And you don't care! / You're a gonowhere! You're not even there! Living your life on the conveyor belt / No time to think so your brain just melts No destination you're lost inside

Like...good grief, he really thinks he's stuck in life. It's so depressing.

And while Jonathan is parking to see Lonnie Dark Stars (Mark Glass) I can't understand the lyrics for the life of me, but it's heavy with the synths and edgy, which seems right for Jonathan's confrontation with Lonnie. I'm Taking Off (Shield Your Eyes) -- (Space Knife) Drifting through space / all I feel is cold / all I want is the power of the night / and you to hold / and I was wrong to let you go / and now we'll never know Jonathan is confronting Lonnie about Will. Jonathan no doubt blames himself for Will's disappearance (hence the 'I was wrong to let you go') (Fun fact: this band isn’t from the 80s, the song came out in 2013, and the band is based in Atlanta.)

Later on at Steve's party while they're all throwing themselves in the pool (except for Barb) I Melt With You (Modern English) Moving forwards, using all my breath / Making love to you was never second best / I saw the world thrashing all around your face / Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace / I'll stop the world and melt with you You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time / There's nothing you and I won't do / I'll stop the world and melt with you

Fun and flirty, kind of romantic, but not too heavy. Just another fun song that fits Steve and Nancy. Their feelings for each other are still new-ish and the attraction is high. It's cute and light.

This Isn't You (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is played multiple times throughout the series. I think in season one I heard it while Nancy and Jonathan were at the police station. But it seems to be Steve and Nancy's theme, because most of their scenes have this song or some variation of it. It's sad, because Nancy (in the beginning) changed for Steve. So much so Barb said it to her several times, afraid that Nancy would leave their friendship. But even when Nancy and Steve start embracing who they are, they're just not compatible. Nancy is always holding back from Steve.

She probably loved him at one point, but since losing Barb her focus in life changes, as do her feelings.

Waiting for a Girl Like You (Foreigner) I've been waiting for a girl like you / To come into my life / I've been waiting for a girl like you (waiting for a girl) / A love that will survive / I've been waiting for someone new (I've been waiting) / To make me feel alive / Yeah, waiting for a girl like you (waiting for a girl) / To come into my life Nancy is sleeping with Steve for the first time. Even this early on we can tell that Steve adores Nancy and knows she's different from any other girl he's dated. Carol and Tommy even make fun of him and say he's in love with her. But it's sad, though, because Nancy is changing who she is in order to fit in with Steve and his friends. Steve knows that's she still different though--her speaking to Jonathan in the hallway is testament to that. Photos in the Woods (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) Jonathan’s theme. He’s (obviously) taking photos in the woods. It’s heard in a later episode when Jonathan and Nancy are in the dark room trying to figure out what the demogorgon is, and Jonathan gives Nancy an apology. Later on it’s followed by Something in the House (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) which is while Nancy and Jonathan are in the woods, and then it’s Tendril (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) when Nancy gets stuck in the Upside Down. The track is literally twenty-six seconds lol. When Jonathan rescues Nancy, it’s No Weapons (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) because, obviously, Nancy was defenseless in the Upside Down. Sunglasses at Night (Corey Hart) While, she's deceiving me / It cuts my security / Has she got control of me? / I turn to her and say / don't switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no / don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no / I can't believe it / 'Cause you've got it made with the guy in shades, oh no

It fits Steve’s mood when he’s driving to Nancy’s house to check on her: Also foreshadowing a bit, as Nancy masquerades how she really feels after they get back together at the end of the season. Hmmmm. Tribulations (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is beautiful. It’s melancholy, lowkey anxious, but also really sweet, which is the mood between Jonathan and Nancy when they’re in bed together. When they wake up, The Upside Down (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is during their discussion on how to help Barb and Will. When they escape out Nancy’s window, I See The Future (Andrew Pinching) is blasting on her stereo. The beat is really good and I wish they played more of it as we see Nancy and Jonathan shopping for bear traps but instead we have The Bargain Store (Dolly Parton) Why you take for instance this old broken heart / If you will just replace the missing part / You would be surprised to find how good it really is / Take it and you never will be sorry that you did / The bargain store is open, come inside You can easily afford the price / Love is all you need to purchase all the merchandise / And I can guarantee you'll be completely satisfied WOW. Jancy song, especially on Jonathan’s end. But of course it all comes crashing down with

Speak of the Devil (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) because Nancy is being slut shamed and Jonathan is being harassed which leads to them fighting and starts Exit (Tangerine Dream) which is so emotionally packed I think of Jonathan fighting every time.

At the police station This Isn’t You is there, again. I guess because this is Steve and Nancy’s theme is why it’s played? I don’t know. 

And just like Exit (Tangerine Dream), Run Away (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) has the same emotionally charged vibe. Steve is choosing Nancy over his friends.

They Found Us and Spiked Bat (both by Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is while Jonathan and Nancy are preparing to fight the demogorgon. Jonathan and Nancy have quite a lot of little themes in this season. Something in the House is played again when our monster hunting trio are trying to slay.

At the end of the season, we hear This Isn’t You again while Nancy is giving Jonathan his present. Once more it’s subtlety reminding us that being with Steve isn’t who she needs to be with. Season Two:

Which we get more of a feeling for when Steve and Nancy are talking in his car. Talking in Your Sleep (The Romantics) plays in the background: You tell me that you want me / You tell me that you need me / You tell me that you love me / And I know that I'm right / 'Cause I hear it in the night

Perhaps Nancy started talking in her sleep. Besides nightmares about Barb and the Upside Down, it's possible she dreams about Jonathan. But I think it's more like how Steve feels about Nancy. She's the love of his life and she does tell him she loves him when he says it.

The music that's associated with Steve and Nancy are romantic, but feel so fairy-tale like. The sentiments are sweet, but there's not much substance to them. They're cliches and that's what Nancy has called Steve.

In the hallway when Nancy is walking to her locker, First Kiss (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is heard, and that's Mike and Eleven's theme. Why play First Kiss for Steve and Nancy? Nancy is looking at Jonathan walking away, so perhaps it's in reference to Jonathan, who is the one she really wants to kiss. This is not to be confused with A Kiss, which is Steve and Nancy in season one.

Nancy and Steve, and Nancy herself, seem to have sad songs attached to them. When Nancy visits Barb’s parents for dinner, Eulogy (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is such heartbreaking song. Nancy misses Barb terribly, which is why later on in the library A Familiar Face (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is heard. but when she runs to Steve for comfort... This Isn’t You is repeated yet again when Steve says they should just act like stupid teenagers. I get the feeling that Steve and Nancy aren’t supposed to be together. How many times is this theme played? As Jonathan drives Will to the Wheelers, it’s Blackout (Swing Set) Blackout, blackout - blackout tonight / Oh, oh - and the city hides Watch out, watch out - watch out tonight / Oh, oh - lock your heart inside /  And you're lonely tonight / and you need someone - someone to hold on Foreshadowing that Nancy is going to get black out drunk and she’ll need Jonathan to hold onto, because we know Steve is going to ditch her. Although I hate that Girls On Film by Duran Duran plays when Jonathan shows up to the Halloween party. We don't need a reminder of Jonathan taking an inappropriate photo of Nancy (which he did apologize for, by the way, and never does it again). When Jonathan takes her home it’s the beautiful, gorgeous theme Outside The Realm (Big Giant Circles). It fits so much within this scene--Nancy’s need for Jonathan’s support, her grief and depression about Barb swallowing her whole. It’s sad all the way around. The Ghost In You (The Psychedelic Furs) A race is on I'm on your side / And hearing you my engines die / I'm in a mood for you / For running away / Stars come down in you / And love, you can't give it away / Inside you the time moves Nancy and Jonathan are talking about her relationship with Steve and Jonathan confirms he is the one that took her home. The conversation expands and they discuss how nothing in their world will ever be the same. Nancy gets the genius idea to take out the government. The whole song is very much Jancy and how Jonathan is ride or die for Nancy. How I Feel About You - Jumpstreet No lyrics for this, but one listen will definitely will have you thinking Jancy. This is the scene where Mrs. Wheeler stops Jancy to say hello to Jonathan. When Nancy calls Barb’s mother, Spiked Bat is present.

Fresh Blood (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) is when Nancy and Jonathan are driving away from the lab to get to Murray’s.

When Jancy is together, the pattern of the songs are more deeply romantic, focusing more on love than cliché promises. At the motel, trying to rent a room, Try My Love (Carroll Lloyd) plays: After everyone get you down / I know I must be a fool/But here I am standing around Begging you to try my love / Try my love / And I know we can make it, yeah You may think what I'm saying isn't true / If you believe in me, you can bet your life / I believe in you Oh like I need you / Oh I want you

The attraction between them is pretty undeniable. Just like Steve and Nancy's theme is This Isn't You, Jonathan and Nancy's is Scars (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein). (And later on, The First Lie). It doesn't have quite as much of a sad undertone like This Isn't You, but both are heavy with emotion.

On the way to Murray's, Jonathan plays Can I Do What I Want (Shock Therapy): My hands do the work they know so well / My mind hides the feelings deep inside / A feeling that there is another way / Thinking maybe there is something I can't hide / Doing what I can, can I do what I want, what I want?

A good song for taking down the man, but it also kind of hints at Jonathan and Nancy burying their feelings yet again. Of course Murray offers his advice: There Is Frost On The Moon (Artie Shaw and His Orchestra & Helen Forest) There's frost on the moon and snow on the ground / But with you around / There's Spring in my heart. / Don't need my racoon / 'Cause everything's fine, As long as you're mine / There's Spring in my heart.

Awwwwww, these two so belong together.

The night they spent together at the motel sucked since Nancy was mad at him. At least at this point, though, they both know their attraction was mutual. They spend time with Murray making sure the lab burns to the ground and he pushes them together, and when it's time to sleep, the tension ramps up.

You Better Go Now (Billie Holiday) You'd better go now / Because I like you much, too much / You have a way with you / You'd better go now Because I like you very much

Leads into...

The First Lie (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) which is Jancy's main theme. It's the music that plays when they kiss for the first time. It's more hopeful and upbeat. Scars in comparison is much more dark and emotional, but it’s played more often.

Next morning is breakfast at Murray's Blue Bayou (Roy Orbison) Oh that boy of mine / By my side / The silver moon / And the evening tide / Oh some sweet day / Gonna take away This hurting inside / Well I'll never be blue / My dreams come true / On Blue Bayou

This is such a Jancy song. Oribson said himself it's about 'loneliness that precedes happiness' and that fits Jancy perfectly.

And at the end of the season we have the Snow Ball.

Twist of Fate (Olivia Newton-John) A higher voice has called the tune / Two hearts that lost the beat will now resume / The gift of life extension by divine intervention / It's gotta be a strange twist of fate / Telling me that heaven can wait / Telling me to get it right this time / Life doesn't mean a thing without the love you bring / Love is what we've found the second time around / Don't understand what's going on / Woke up this morning, all the hurt was gone / This is a new beginning / I'm back in the land of the living

I think it's kind of referencing all the couples, but it fits Jancy the best. Both Nancy and Jonathan have been depressed and grieving. Jonathan's way of life will never be the same, because Will's isn't the same. Nancy lost Barb. And during the year they were apart, they had feelings for each other but kept them buried. Season Three

Jancy's theme changes to We Don't Understand Each Other (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein). We all know about Jancy's fight. Interestingly enough, this song doesn't get played again, as far as I know.

Later, when Jonathan is developing photos for Nancy at the Hawkins Post dark room,

All Your Reasons Why (Smart Remark) These times and words are wearing thin / To stop and think of how you've been in life / To draw up one conclusion in your mind / And make it right, for all your reasons why / And you hurt me when you cry

Pretty appropriate for the scene afterwards. We know Jonathan hates seeing Nancy upset, and knows she wants to be right more than anything.

Six Facts (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) Jonathan and Nancy are getting yelled at by Tom. Pretty easy to see what this song means. Poor Jancy. And later on when Jancy is investigating Tom's house there's Heather's (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein). This one is self-explanatory too.

In Our Hideaway (Valentino) Elevator music, literally. Jancy make up. But why pick such a specific song titled 'In Our Hideaway'?

You're A Fighter (Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein) is when Jancy is saying good-bye. It's safe to say that both of them are fighters--not just of monsters, but of their relationship. They don't break up, choosing to go the 'traumatic' route and stay together.

Season Four (there’s not much here at all)

Journalistic Instinct (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) I don't know if this is another Jancy theme or a Nancy one. Maybe it's a bit of both. Jancy are great detectives.

Palm Tree Delight (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) Clearly Argyle & Jonathan's theme

Scars (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) plays while Jonathan is staring at the picture of him and Nancy on the fridge.

This Isn't You (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) in a later episode, maybe in the one after (?), where Nancy is pulling spiders out of Steve's hair. If this couple is endgame, or has even a possibility of a future together, why not create a different theme? Instead we have the depressing This Isn't You again, which reminds us that Steve and Nancy aren't compatible. Yet...

Does That Make Us Friends? (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) I assume is Nancy and Robin's theme. Nancy is explaining what her relationship with Jonathan is really like. She's venting her frustrations to Robin. For a theme, this song sounds so bizarre. I don't know, it just sounds off to me? Maybe not off, but it's like a mixture of sounds that shouldn't go together but they do. And it's dark and emotional.

Later on, Scars plays again right before Steve jumps into the lake to find watergate. I imagine Nancy is thinking of Jonathan, wishing he were there with her and Steve. You can't blame her--they all kicked ass in season one against the demogorgon. But it confuses me because...

She Wants Me To Find Her (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stine) is during the scene where Eddie is telling Steve to pursue Nancy. This song was way back in season two, with Eleven pursuing Kali in episode 7 ('The Lost Sister') We know El finds Kali, but ultimately leaves her. Interesting choice, unless they're trying to subtlety show that Steve and Nancy will eventually have a doomed relationship (because El left Kali, which leads me to think Nancy would leave Steve again if they were to get back together).

What I love in season four, is when Nancy is being tormented by Vecna, the theme is called Soteria (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein). Soteria is a greek goddess that ensures safety and gets people out of harm's way. Basically salvation and protection from harm is her thing. BUT BUT BUT it's also the name of the device in Henry/01's neck. Useful for nullifying his abilities. Essentially, Brenner named the device after the greek goddess of salvation and deliverance. Clever! The song works for Vecna and Nancy--Nancy because Vecna releases her, and we learn about Vecna's past.

We know that after this, Nancy is determined more than ever to destroy Henry/Vecna/One, but Steve is thinking of something else.

Fire and Rain (James Taylor) Been walking my mind to an easy time / My back turned towards the sun / Lord knows, when the cold wind blows It'll turn your head around / Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line / To talk about things to come Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground / Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain / I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end / I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend But I always thought that I'd see you, baby / One more time again, now

It's on the radio as Steve is making his famous speech. The song itself is depressing, as James Taylor explained it discussed s*icde, drug addiction, and staying in a mental hospital. Not exactly an uplifting song. But it seems to imply Steve wants one last chance with Nancy. She doesn't look thrilled, which leads to the theme

A Proper Thump (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein). Steve credits Nancy for helping him change, but in reality, I think it was more Jonathan's punches that got through.

When the Cali Crew return to Hawkins there's the return of Eight Fifteen (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) which gives off a happy miraculous vibe. We heard it back in season two when El returns from staying with Kali.

The last interaction between Jonathan and Nancy is them repairing Hopper's cabin. Tammy (Kyle Dixon & Michael Stein) goes well here. It was back in season three when Robin was confessing to Steve she really liked Tammy, and revealing to him she's gay. It's a heavy conversation with a confession, the kind of conversation Jonathan and Nancy (mainly Jonathan) is trying to avoid.

Okay I'm done now lol

[mystic-shadows42]

Billy Russo Horror Movie Character Comparison>> Billy Loomis

Character Quote Inspiration:“What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not a killer?” ~Billy Loomis (Scream)

Word Count: 982

Warnings: Language

As soon as your mutual friend left the room you turned to look at Billy who was already looking your way. He had been your boyfriend for a few years but up until now, it felt as if you hadn’t known him at all.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” you said truthfully trying to distract yourself by looking anywhere but at him.

He moved around the counter until all you could focus on was him.

“Is that why you showed up because you didn’t think I’d be here?” When you didn’t answer that’s when Billy scoffed and raised his brows. “So what are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying to make this relationship work but you’re holding back. I try and you stay away. I’m just trying to fucking understand what’s going on.”

There was no lie in it. You’ve been distancing yourself from Billy because he had been acting suspicious and while everyone else had been speculating, you had an inkling that the very person behind all the violence was none other than the man you loved.

“There’s been talk about the murders happening but I can’t help but think it connects to you.” You inhaled deeply having gotten that off your chest and finally stating what you thought on the matter. Billy kept his face void of all emotion as he just stood there so you continued. “People from your business at Anvil have particular backgrounds that I’m sure is the reason you hire them. You’re gone all throughout the night. You never answer your calls when I’m around. You never talk about your time in the Marines. You keep guns and try to hide them from me and you get money from God only knows where so excuse me if I keep my distance from you.”

Billy moved closer to which you took a few steps back. At that, he stopped immediately and cocked his head narrowing his brows in confusion. 

“Are you afraid of me?” The way he asked seemed amused more than anything. As if he enjoyed the reaction he was getting from you.

“There’s no telling what you’re capable of.”

He looked up towards the ceiling and chuckled to himself. Once he was done with his self-amusement he turned to look at you.  

“If only you knew,” he slowly crept forward, “what I’m truly capable of.” Once you were out of space and hit the wall you turned to leave out the door only to face Billy’s long outstretched arm blocking the door.

That’s when you knew all those theories from people warning you of Billy Russo held true. He was manipulative as he was condescending. He wanted people to believe he was a good man but all in all, he wasn’t.

All you could do was look into those dark eyes noticing how dark they truly were. How can a man that you love so much do a thing like kill people and still come home as if nothing had happened? How could he live with it all? Be immune to all of it. 

Shut off from all emotions until he was hollow. You swallowed the lump in your dry throat once he moved his face closer to yours almost as if he was going in for a kiss.

“I’ll go to the cops.” As much as you wanted to sound confident, you didn’t. Your voice came out shaky and low.

He lowered his mouth to whisper into your ear. “No, you won’t because as fucked up as I am,” he inhaled deeply and exhaled into your neck peppering a few kisses on your exposed throat, “you still love me. I don’t think you want to get the cops involved in this, after all, you are a suspect.”

He took a step back only to regard the newfound expression on your face.

“A suspect?” You shook your head.

“What’s mine is yours. They found something in your possession that you were unaware of and only I can make this problem go away if you stay.”

You were at a loss for words. He had to be lying. There was no possible way you could be a suspect and even if the cops did find something it wasn’t yours.

“You’re lying.”

He got impossibly close invading all your space. “I’m not. I have the cops in my back pocket. One word from me and they’ll prosecute you but I can make all your troubles go away if you just keep that pretty little mouth quiet.”

He dragged his finger down your lips until your mouth parted.

“If you had every cop in your pocket you wouldn’t be asking me to be quiet.”

He clenched his jaw, his posture straightening at the sudden statement that obviously affected him. He brought his hand up to your throat but didn’t add the pressure you thought he would. On his face, he looked furious but he kept his anger in check for a brief moment.

“I’m not the bad guy you think I am. Only if you make me. The choice is yours but at the end of the day, you have to deal with the consequences. I have no trouble handling you myself.”

Billy pulled back looking you up and down before he gave you his back and left. Once he did you dropped to the floor taking a deep breath. You shuddered wrapping your arms around yourself.

You had never seen him be so angry before nor ever have it directed at you. This was a different side of him. One he hid well up until now. He knew everything about you which included your family and friends. You shared private information with him that he now possessed and would most certainly turn against you. He played you a fool but what other choice did you have but to obey him...for now.

[echoalyssa]

Darkness | Marcus Baker

Authors Note: STOP! Before you read any further please know that this piece has some serious trigger warnings. Self Harm and depression is the biggest featured subject. It's graphic and descriptive. Remember that this is NOT how it occurs for everyone. Please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable or triggers you! Remember I am always here if you need to talk. I love you all.

You've pressed yourself into the corner of your room next to the door. Your mind is spinning, rapidly throwing you from one horrendous thought to the next that was even worse.

You aren't crying this time, only staring at your thigh as your thoughts swirl as fast as a hurricane.

You were rocking back and forth before, but now you're still. The book is next to you, closed still. Not for long. It never stayed closed for long.

All those coping skills? Well they were long gone.

You open the well worn hard-cover book and thumb to page 215.

Soon you really should change the hiding spot, but you never follow through.

You turn the book upside down, bending the spine of the novel so that its a U, and it falls out.

A tiny razor blade. One you had broken out of your own razor months before.

Although tiny, you maneuver it with ease, months of repetition ensuring it.

The fingertips of your other hand drag lightly over the skin on your left thigh, searching for a path of open skin.

There's not much open space on this specific body part.

Your right hand that holds the razor blade moves so the sharp metal edge is against your flesh. Hand steady, you press down and drag from left to right. Blood wells up immediately after the blade passes.

The cut is maybe three inches long. Your thumb of your opposite hand drags over the cut, smearing the blood that had followed in wake of the razor across your thigh.

Immediately more crimson springs up from the line. 'Vertical is for results and horizontal is for attention' people would say. Though was that really true? No. You didn't do this for attention. The exact opposite. You never told anyone.

You make another line. And then another. And another.

You're so emerged that you don't notice your dark haired boyfriend appear from your window. It's only when he speaks that your head snaps up.

"Y-Y/N?" His voice is shaky and when you look up at him his wide eyes display the same message. He rushes towards you and drops to his knees in front of you. His large fingers grip your thigh, angling it so that he can see.

"W-what are you doing? Why?" His fingers now angle your chin upwards so that you have to look at him. "Baby you could have called. You wouldn't have even needed to have told me you were struggling. I would have come so you wouldn't be alone.

"Marcus." You whisper. You don't cry but you let your head fall forwards into his chest.

"Does it trigger you to look at them?"

You shake your head and he just holds you. His digits pry the razor blade form your grip.

Eventually he spies you from the floor and helps you get situated in your bed. You know your bleeding leg will leave stains on your white sheets, but you don't care. You never did. You just cleaned it up in the morning.

He climbs in after you and you curl into him. The smell of him is pushing some of those thoughts out already.

"Are you leaving?" You whisper. He had no doubt seen all your scars, hundreds of them.

"Of course not." He says in response to you rather fiercely. "I'm not going anywhere. Your scars and self harm are a part of you. I love you. And while I want you to get better and get clean, I understand why you do it."

He'd... just learned your darkest secret and he was... staying?

"And now you see why shorts aren't my thing." You say, because you can't think of anything else to tell him.

Marcus does stay. Always. Every time you relapse, he's there. When it's time for the two of you to be connected, he'll run his fingers over your 'barcodes' and kisses them. They aren't repulsive, he'll tell you, he believes that they're signs of just how strong you are. That you were placed in a world you are too good for. That you're a survivor.

[alexaplaysgames]

Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

[vidalinav]

Because You’re an Asshole (One-shot)

Contains ACOSF Spoilers. 

Look, Cassian needs to drink some respect Nesta Archeron juice (as they all do). I hope to god he gains some perspective in this book, and he doesn’t continue this stupidity of reducing Nesta to butchery status. (Raises glass) Here’s hoping this lug nut starts making an effort. But this fic is purely self-indulgent because well... I’m the fic writer. So I can do what I want. 

Summary: Nesta rejects Cassian in front of the Inner Circle (Takes place in my head a couple of months after first 6 chapters)

Nesta wouldn’t say she had changed much, but to her sister and their group of friends she’d say she might as well have been a different person. For they pretended not to stare as she arrived with Cassian in tow. Some extraterrestrial creature in the middle of a restaurant.

She greeted the owner, Sevenda, lifting her lips into a polite smile and nodding when she caught Nesta’s gaze.

“Hello, sweet girl,” The female gushed, “I didn’t think you were helping out today... please don’t tell me one of the others conned you into taking their shift.”

Nesta shook her head shyly as Cassian told the female they were meeting the rest of them for a late dinner. Sevenda kissed him on the cheek, and Nesta wondered how one person could show so much affection when she could barely muster a proper laugh.

Truthfully, the only reason she made it to this dinner at all was because Bryaxis had asked her to. He’d been in the middle of telling her how the stars moved on an axis, and how the shadows were often wandering souls. He had so many stories to tell in that dark place in the library, but he’d wanted stories too. He was persistent, pushy…persuasive and Nesta could not let down her new friend when all he wanted to do was know about the outside world.

Nesta knew enough about being ostracized. She felt for the monster for she was a monster too. Cast away to the darkened ends of the library.  

But, Nesta wanted this night to be over. She’d promised Bryaxis ten minutes and ten minutes only. She could survive that long on fake grins.  

She tried not to sigh audibly as Sevenda showed them to the table, where the others already sat. Laughing loudly... then quieting to silence as they neared.

Nesta should have felt offended. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care too much.

The night would be over soon enough anyways.

True, Amren had visited her in the library just last week and they’d been cordial. She saw Mor on a regular basis to winnow to Windhaven, and Azriel was always there. It seemed odd to her now that they stared as if she were someone new. Someone they didn’t know at all.

Perhaps, though, it was because she’d agreed to come in the first place and when she did, she’d allowed Cassian to accompany her there. Though she suspected the offer was more because they were all still wary of her change, her calmness.

Nesta wouldn’t have called it that herself.

She hadn’t stopped being angry, she’d been born angry. Raged and kicked her way to this world.

Nesta just merely stopped... fighting back.

There was a peace in that, she supposed. Even if the thought sometimes made her want to hurt something and then herself for letting it happen.

Most of the time she was just detached enough to smile when someone called her name and when they left she’d go back to staring off into space, the dust like hidden galaxies floating through the filtered sunlight. It was what Nesta liked about the library in truth. That most didn’t bother her when she’d looked out the array of windows, up on those tall ladders, ready to see Velaris in a tiny frame.

In this way, the world was a lot smaller than she’d realized.

Less frightening.

And because the world was less frightening, the people in it, too, were less mean. She’d wandered after her workday, tired, but with a furious curiosity for more, like a hunger she couldn’t satisfy, and she’d ended up here. At Sevenda’s--the female greeting her and offering her a meal, even when Nesta told her she didn’t have the money to pay.

On the house then, the female said.

It was the best meal she’d ever had and Nesta had come back every time she could. Helping with the books, with inventory, while the owner patted her on the shoulder, her cheek, and brought her something new to try. Like a doting grandmother.

It felt odd, she thought seeing the rest in a large booth to the wall. This place, too, did not belong to her...

“No need to order,” the female proclaimed, “I know what you all like.”

Nesta waited for Cassian to scooch into the booth before she sat on the outskirts. Easy access to the door. Easy to leave.

But the others didn’t bother her much. Distantly, as if Nesta was not in the room, she could hear their voices begin again. To each other of course. Never to her. Though she’d accepted it long ago that she would never be what they wanted. They would never be what she needed.  

Cassian laughed. The sound hurting her ears. He never laughed like that with her. Nesta supposed she wasn’t that funny… and she wasn’t really his friend.

Instead, Nesta looked to the restaurant. Alive in all it’s glory. Loud and bright. She looked to the waitstaff. Most of them she’d met already, worked with some of them, and they smiled or waved when they saw her. Nesta lifted her hand to greet them, too.

One of the girls, Amina, brought out waters for the table.

Amina grinned when she saw her there.

But she did not leave when the cups had been set. Instead, she lingered, lowering her voice and leaning  towards her. “We’re going to the symphony tomorrow if you want to come.”

“And you must come,” Sevenda said, coming from behind with a plate of appetizers in her hand. Something to tide them over.  

Nesta blinked at the two females, unsure of what to say—what to do.

“I’ve never been to symphony before,” Nesta answered.

Sevenda set the bread in the middle of the table, and then raised a hand to her chest dramatically. “You’ll just adore it. Grand tales, handsome males, intriguing music all around. Perhaps, I’ll gather more of the staff and we’ll make a whole day of it.”

Nesta shook her head, waving her hands slightly. “You’re pretty busy, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense, sweet girl,” She said, raising a hand to Nesta’s cheek. She could feel the warmth on her face. “Nobody would be too busy for you.”

Nesta smiled at that, a testament to how much she had changed that she’d allowed the touch and a triumph at how Nesta felt something other than nothing at all.

“I’ll be right back,” Sevenda noted chipperly. “Eat some bread.”

As the female left, Nesta didn’t want to look at the rest of the group, didn’t want to see how they would judge her, didn’t want to see if she cared or not. They’d meant to heal her. Did they think they were successful?

Cassian gazed down at her, his eyes uncommonly fond. All Nesta thought was that she was probably not embarrassing any longer.

She wondered if seeing her tolerated by others made him realize that she was tolerable.

Because, Nesta had not been tolerable to him this morning.

“You know, we can go to the symphony,” Cassian suggested, the apples of his cheeks blooming a dust of red. Nesta’s brows furrowed at the words. Her lips tilting down into an expression that might have been quizzical. "Some time... together I mean.”

Nesta looked at the others, but it seemed they were trying not to snicker, or they were too curious at what she would do. Rhysand tried to hide his smirk, Azriel held onto the bridge of his nose, Mor raised a brow as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, Amren took a sip of wine, rolling her eyes, and Feyre... well Feyre looked to her.

Say something, her eyes seemed to say.

But Nesta went to gaze at the people around her, happy and conversing at their own tables. The noise a rum drum lur of heartbeats and shouts and quiet whispers of some things she’d never be able to listen to even if she tried to read their lips.

This was... life, she thought. A cacophony of angry yells and laughter.

She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like...

But it wasn’t because of him that she could now recognize the notes. A song Nesta desperately wanted to hear. It wasn’t because of them at this table... and Nesta wondered what made Cassian suggest this. In front of his friends.

Did he think she would not easily reject him?

Didn’t he know she was a private person?

“Cassian, what’s my favorite color?”

He simply blinked, surprised by her words. She waited for his answer, but it never came.  

Nesta continued.

“What’s my favorite drink?” She asked.

Still Cassian said nothing.

“What time do I usually get up in the morning? It’s certainly not the time I’m forced to train with you.”

Cassian didn’t answer and instead of it making her angry, it just made her irrevocably sad.

“How about... my favorite book?”

“You’ve read so many how could you choose,” he said. Nesta huffed a laugh.

She’d read the same book for the past three months because she couldn’t stand to open a new one. There was something about the familiarity that comforted her and the thought of meeting new characters, entering new worlds scared her for reasons she was only beginning to understand. That book had been sitting in the living room every morning. Every night.

Nesta leaned forward, her cheek resting on her palm. The action made her breasts push up in her dress and she noticed the way his eyes lingered on them.

“No?” She asked, somberly, shaking her head. “How about the food I hate. The thing I’m most scared of.  Excited about... Nothing?”

Nesta waved her hand, her voice growing louder, “I mean I know you know how little I eat, how bad I fight, how much weight I’ve lost. You’re very good about reminding me. But do you know... where I even go in the evenings?”

She looked down wrinkling her nose as she huffed a laugh, “You know I get nightmares every night... you must hear them in that room above mine.” She pointed to Azriel. “He does. He asked me about them once. I think I told him some lie or another... but have you ever asked? Have you even asked how I’ve been doing? How I feel? You certainly didn’t ask whether I wanted to train with you but of course that was settled fairly quickly.”  

She took a deep breath, waiting for him to speak but he didn’t. Nesta fiddled with her napkin, unfolding it and then looked to the ceiling. She could see the dust float around the rounded lights.

“You know I hate to do this in front of your friends,” She lifted a hand in their direction, looking to Cassian once more. “I’m sure they have such high opinions of you. Their opinions of me, of course, are already very low. A bitch, I’m assuming is what I’ll be called today. Probably, to make your pride feel a little bit better. A little less wounded... Maybe they’ll believe it themselves too, because well,” Nesta shrugged, “the evidence is already there. It’s the nature of the circumstances I suppose.”

“It’s rather funny I think,” though Nesta didn’t laugh. “You don’t know anything about me. You want to go on a date?”

She lifted her hands up. Innocence personified. “I mean I’m assuming that what’s you meant by us going together to the symphony. We’re clearly not close enough to presume a casual friendly outing and everyone in this room and their mothers know we have some sort of history or they wouldn’t ask about it every time they see me or whisper it when they see us together.”

She smiled, her cheeks straining from the pull. “But for all that history... you know nothing about me. Instead, you have confused your emotions for ‘I’m sure she’s such a good fuck.’ Was it the boobs, the ass? The face maybe? I get that all the time.” Nesta gestured to the room around them, aware that she was making a scene, “Ask anyone of these males who’ve slept with me, I’m sure you’ll find one at any given moment...”

She clasped her hands together, crossing her legs as if she were holding a business meeting. Nesta raised a shoulder. “But at least they didn’t pretend. When they wanted to sleep with me, well... they just said they wanted to sleep with me. Unfortunately, if that’s what you want, you’ll have to buy me a drink first because I’ll have to be much drunker than this.”

Nesta leaned back in her seat. She couldn’t stop fidgeting, like the adrenaline had made her want to fight. She inhaled audibly, a low sound, exhaling lightly.

Cassian looked ashamed.

She tilted her head at that expression, feeling much calmer already.

“Look. As much I hate to admit this, a strict routine has done me some good. Maybe that’s why I can speak these words so truthfully,” Nesta said, her voice casual. “But do not ever think I have forgotten that I am as much a prisoner in my own body that I am in the House of Wind. I have little choice in anything regarding my life, even before this war. But this... I can choose this.”

Nesta refused to look at the rest of them as she lifted a hand to her neck, rubbing the muscle, suddenly tired and achy. “Not only have you bombarded my life in ways I didn’t expect nor ask for, you consistently touch me without my permission, get into my space when I am uncomfortable, push me when I am irritated. Why would I want to go out with you—A male who does not respect me?”

“I hope you didn’t think that me healing or whatever you called it,” She gestured away, “meant we’d be together... Time has already changed, unfortunately. Without us knowing it has slipped us by. Drifted right through our fingers...” She took a breath, staring at the lights on the ceiling. “We’re different people now...”

Nesta looked him straight in the eyes. Willed him to listen to her, really listen. “I won’t wait 500 years for you. I want more.” She shrugged, the light of Cassian’s eyes dimming. “I want better.”

She picked up her things, piling the plates and cup on top of each other. Making sure the napkin was neatly folded. Nesta swallowed, the heaviness setting in. She peered up at Cassian, his hair wild, stray pieces falling out from the leather band. His eyes bright and a hollow amber. “I want you to know that it isn’t because you’re a bastard. I’m sure you’ll think that when you go over this conversation later. But I’m not rejecting you because you’re a bastard... It’s because you’re an asshole.”

Nesta stood up to leave, but Cassian grabbed her hand. She peered down at him. He’d always been taller than her. It seemed odd to see him so small.

“What about me? You don’t know anything about me either.”

Nesta laughed, a small, short sound. “Your favorite color is red.”

Mor’s favorite color, too.

“Your favorite food? Stew, because it reminds you of Illyria. You’re scared of thunder, because it makes you think of your wings being shredded, or at least that’s what you told Azriel when you didn’t think I was paying attention. You like to drink whiskey when something bad happens, but rum when you're celebrating, and you have nightmares too. I suspect they’re probably the same as mine.”

She smiled at him, a melancholic tilt of her lips for those bittersweet memories—for those bittersweet dreams. Cassian looked dejected and she wanted to smooth away the lines with her fingers, but she’d been hurt for far too long from far too many people who’d promised they protect her, so Nesta clenched her fists instead.

“I’m glad we had this chat today.” She looked around the table, grimacing as she tried to smile. The others looked to her as if they were seeing her for the first time. This girl who’d calmy told the commander to go fuck himself. “Please don’t invite me to anymore of these.”

And with that Nesta left, nodding a farewell to Sevenda, coming out with a large tray of food. Two minutes and she was already making her way out the door.  

~

You know these really make me feel better about everything I have to process. But I am so tired, because I can’t sleep waiting for this book. So is this fic good? I don’t know. I can barely read it through.  

But I keep ranting, like everyday. 

So, one rant=one mini fic 

lol so now I have to go write the Nesta sticks up for Cassian fic (which is different than I think you’ll think it is) My work performance is really going to go down this week. But at least this one is uwu status (i.e. fluff--mostly)

Bye.

[chokemeanakin]

Misunderstandings - Anakin x fem Reader (angst +fluff)

Masterlist

Thank you for the request @artiza-n ! 💕

Wc: 6.4k

Summary: Anakin and reader get sent to Naboo to guard Padme and Clovis during a debate and some misunderstandings ensue. Mostly jealous angst, some fluff at the end— happy ending bc we all need that right now.

Gif from @swprequels​

“I still don’t understand why they need both of us,” you grumble, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as you walk out of the cruiser. The day is hot on Naboo, but grey and cloudy with a promise of rain later. The humidity makes your skin sticky, worsening your irritation.

“Think of it as a vacation,” Anakin pulls the luggage from the transport cubby, setting it on the ground beside him. “You watch over Clovis, and I’ll handle Padme. It should be a breeze.”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t understand why they need both of us.”

You had just gotten back from a long and grueling siege on Pontoon, another one of those vast, endless desert planets in the Outer Rims. You’d really much rather be sitting in front of an air cooler right now, resting your tired bones and trying to forget the taste of sand.

“These are two very important Senators, Y/n,” Anakin waved off your attempt to help him with the luggage. “If anything happens to them at this debate, the Senate will lose important advocates for peace and the end of this war.”

You knew this, of course you did. Not that you’d completely agree with his statement-- Clovis always seemed a little shady to you, his morals seemingly scattered all over the place. You guessed that’s why the Council sent you, a simple marksman, to guard Clovis while the beloved freedom-fighter Padme Amidala got the most powerful Jedi to ever exist. 

“Besides,” said Jedi nudged you, lips curling into a teasing smile. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Of course you do. Between the war and separate guild or Council missions you’d both been sent on, neither of you had time to even breathe in the others’ direction for months. The only reason the Council was able to wrangle you onto this cruiser was because Anakin was going to be there. Not that you’d even be able to spend much time with him during the day, although you were aware that you’d be sharing a room in between the Senators you’d be protecting at night…

You and Anakin meet the Senators at the hull of the ship. They walk down the ramp side by side, heads held high and hands clasped in front of them. Their movements are smooth, like they’re gliding on water, and the heat doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“Master Skywalker. Y/n. Thank you so much for being here, it is so courageous of the both of you to be looking out for us,” Padme stands before you, beautiful as ever in one of her many extravagant, expensive gowns. The headpiece woven through her hair sparkles in the midday light, the warmth of her eyes capturing the rays of the brilliant sun. “However, I must say that I hope your services are not needed. I’d much rather this debate go by smoothly than have any dangerous interruptions.”

“I can assure you, we’ll take care of any problems before they arrive. Leave the dirty work up to us,” Anakin returns her smile, charming as ever. 

Anakin shoots you a glance and then follows her away, carrying multiple bags of luggage in each arm as Padme shows him where to put it. For such a small woman, she seemed to pack heavy. Unfortunately, this leaves you and Clovis to stand alone together, an awkward stillness settling before you.

“Um, Anakin has your luggage,” you yawn into your arm, gesturing to his receding form with the other. “I’m Y/n, and I’ll be your bodyguard for this debate.”

“You?” Clovis doesn’t smile, instead he scans you up and down with hawkish eyes. “You’re such a small thing. What could you possibly be able to do to protect me?”

It’s not said unkindly, but it still irks you. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a nasty retaliation for the sake of diplomacy. “You’ll find I’m pretty good with a blaster. The best, actually, according to the Jedi Council. That’s why they have me work with the Generals in the war.”

“Are you a General yourself?” Clovis begins to walk, heading toward the senate building. You follow at his side.

“Not exactly. They offered me the title, but I declined. I’m more of a freelancer, and once the war ends, I’ll go back to taking odd jobs. Besides, there’s no use in having an army if I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Humble. That’s admirable,” Clovis’s mouth tilts into something of a smile. “I, myself, could never turn down an army. Or the status, for that matter. You could be holding a lot of power if you pushed your way with the Jedi Council, you know.”

“My way?” you questioned. “I just told you, I don’t have a way--”

“And that’s your flaw,” he mused, chin still pointed up, never quite looking at you. “How curious-- your Jedi counterpart seems to have stolen all the ambition.” 

You roll your eyes. You never had a thirst for power, or status, or influence, or any of that. Your power came from behind a blaster, when your focus was trained on a single target and your finger was glued to the trigger. One simple twitch of a muscle, and you could end a life from miles away. That was your power, and it was all you needed.

He is right about Anakin, you have to admit. He was always looking to be better, not just for himself, but for the good of others. You love that about it, in fact it’s one of your favorite qualities about him. Sometimes, though, you wished he could see that he didn’t have to try so hard all the time to believe he was enough.

The blast of cold air that hits you as you enter the senate building wrenches you out of your thoughts. It whisks away the perspiration that had built up on your skin, cooling your body and calming your mood almost magically. The sounds of your collective footsteps tap along the glossy marble floor, echoing throughout the empty chamber.

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing here?” Clovis leans against his podium, marked with a nametag spelling his name. Next to him is your seat, and on Clovis’s other side is Padme, followed by Anakin on the end. A cold dread fills your veins, just now realizing how boring tonight’s debate is going to be.

You sigh inwardly, tracing the engravings of your nametag with the tip of your finger. “My job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to observe.” 

“Well, observe away,” he pushes himself off the podium. “Although I don’t think it will be very entertaining.”

He’s right. You sit in your seat, legs crossed on top of your podium as you inspect your nails. It’s been three hours since you’ve arrived, the sun is setting, and all Clovis has done is stroll around the debate room, muttering to himself and pondering through his position. You’re bored out of your mind. Pulling out your holocom, you wonder if Anakin’s situation is any better.

“Y/n?” he picks up a long moment after you send the call, and his face projects blue before you. It’s loud where he is, and his eyes are looking at something else.

“Where are you?” you question. He sounds like he’s a party, but you know that can’t be true. “Where’s Padme?”

“She’s with me,” Anakin tilts his head, signalling that she’s sitting in front of him. “We’re at a restaurant getting dinner. I was just going to ask-- did you and Clovis go somewhere to eat yet?”

You drop your legs from the podium and lean in close to the com, speaking quiet so Clovis can’t hear. “No, he’s barely said a word to me since we got here. He’s been walking around the debate room all afternoon, just talking to himself.”

“You think he’s nervous for tonight?”

“Maybe,” you spare a glance at him. He’s staring at the domed ceiling, as if he’s counting the pillars coming out of it. “Or maybe he’s just psycho.”

“Oh, Clovis knows what he’s doing,” a femine voice interjects. Anakin’s eyes shoot forward again, immediately smiling as Padme speaks. “His pre-debate ritual is long and gruelling-- I should have warned you. He’s simply getting into his headspace, that’s all.”

“How long does it usually take?” you mumble.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Make sure he eats beforehand, otherwise he’ll be crabby during the debate. And trust me, you don’t want to have to handle a crabby Clovis.”

Both Padme and Anakin laugh at this, and you force yourself to smile along. “Yeah, I’ll go see what he’s up to now.”

“Good,” Anakin says, momentarily drowned out by an uproar of cheers behind him. “We should get going, too. Padme needs to get dressed for the debate. See you soon.”

Anakin ends the call, and you’re left wondering how exactly the topic of dressing Padme came up. 

Shoving down your irritation and self-pity, you pocket your com and stand from your seat. Clovis’s head whips toward you like you had pulled a blaster on him.

“What?”

“It’s getting late,” you stretch your arms over your head, working out the kinks and aches from sitting so long. “I was wondering if you were hungry at all.”

“I can’t eat before a debate,” Clovis looks almost angry for a second, and then he glances down at his watch. His expression smooths into one of urgency. “Ah, we should head to the apartments. It’s time to get ready.”

The night is still warm, and the sidewalk drips with a rainstorm that you missed while you were in the senate building. The fresh air is nice, though, and you breathe in the smell of sweet flowers and savory restaurant food. The grumble in your stomach is hard to ignore, but you know you’ll manage.

Clovis leads you all the way to his suite, the temporary apartment that sits in conjunction with yours and Anakin’s, and Padme’s on the other side. Staying in this apartment complex made more sense rather than finding separate housing units, as keeping everyone together would aid in ensuring their safety.

Padme’s mansion would have been a nice stay, you think, but these apartment sweets are also quite luxurious. You walk into the master bedroom to find a formal, dark blue gown laid out for you on the bed. Next to it is a rumpled space where you assume Anakin’s suit had been, but instead there’s a note and a box.

Padme wanted to get to the senate building early, so we’re probably going to just miss you. Too bad, I won’t get to help you into this sexy blue dress. Maybe I can help you out of it later.

You laugh softly, smoothing your thumb over the inked-on smiley face before finishing the note.

I’m not sure if you had time to get anything to eat, so I got you something while we were out. See you soon.

A

You don’t need an “I love you” scrawled into the paper in order to know he wanted to add it. That would have been too risky, and there was no way you’d be able to make an excuse if anyone were to find it. Still, you rip up the note and throw it in the trash before opening the box underneath. Your nose is instantly filled with the smell of food, still warm, and you sit next to the blue dress, digging in unceremoniously.

You scarf down as much of the food as you can and then store the rest in the fridge before getting to work on making yourself presentable. You have to look put together, yet not so much that you stand out. You slip a couple of silver clasps into your hair and do your makeup, opting for a bold lip color because you don’t have much time to do anything fancy with your eyes. You’re running short on time-- you know this because of the knock on your door, and then the irritated sound of Clovis:

“Y/n, we have to leave now or we’re going to be late. You know how bad it would be to arrive late to this event?”

You stand in front of the mirror, desperately reaching behind you to grasp at the zipper of your dress. It would be so much easier if Anakin was here to reach it for you, but you make due and quickly pull it up. The dress is form-fitting and flows down into a puddle around your feet. A bit long, as you opted not to wear heels in case something went awry, so you bunch the skirt up in your fists and jog to the door.

“My apologies,” you open the door to find Clovis, now dressed in a pristine black and white suit with his hair gelled back. “I was making sure I had my equipment all in order.”

Clovis ignores your excuse, eyes instantly moving to take in your figure. You could swear they blow open wide for a fraction of a second before he composes himself, clearing his throat and masking his approval with his usual grim expression.

“You clean up quite elegantly. Now, we should head to the lobby, the limousine is waiting for us.”

…

You’re not sure what the point of a limousine is, as the walk from the apartment buildings to the senate building is 10 minutes tops. Probably for formalities, you decide, as Clovis helps you out of the vehicle. The building that had been vacant only a couple hours earlier is now swarming with Senators, all dressed in lavish, extravagant gowns. Everyone is holding a flute of some sort of drink, and they congregate in small groups, making small talk before the debate starts. 

Clovis wastes no time with socializing, and beelines for his seat.

You hang back, searching the crowd for Anakin. Without heels, many people tower over you and it’s hard to focus with the deafening sound of chatter filling your ears. But you’re trained for this, have spent your whole life blocking out the unnecessary, so you hone into your patience and scan the crowd closer. 

There.

You’d recognize that head of golden-brown curls anywhere, even if it was tamed down for this event. He’s standing tall among the Senators, eyes gleaming bright as he engages a whole crowd of them in some wily story. He and Padme look at each other and laugh, his hand on her shoulder and her hand finding his waist. Your blood suddenly turns hot, and you push your way through the crowd to make it to them.

If you could, you would march right up and pull him away from all those greedy stares. They’re practically drooling all over him, and Padme’s hand is still on his waist. But you know better-- you can’t let anyone know you and Anakin are familiar, so you stand at the edge of the crowd, meeting Anakin’s eye.

You glare at his face, then at Padme’s hand, then back to him. His eyes narrow into a warning, extremely fleeting, and then he continues on charming the crowd. You know what he wanted to say-- it means nothing. It doesn’t stop the heat from blossoming in the pit of your stomach, the irritated glare you shoot Padme before looking down.

Way to stay under the radar, you think, slipping away from the crowd and deciding it’s better to keep your eyes on Clovis than get angry over a move on your boyfriend that was probably innocent. 

Clovis is sitting at his seat, still as stone, surveying the crowd before him.

“You nervous?” you take your seat beside him.

“Not at all.”

“Good. You’ve been preparing all afternoon, I think it’d be ridiculous if you still doubted yourself.”

“You… have faith in me.”

“Of course,” your eyes softened at the vulnerability in his statement. “You’re a powerful Senator.”

He huffed, the crack in his green eyes immediately cementing over. “I know.”

And, there he is. Back to being gruff and dismissive. 

It’s quiet for a moment longer, but you’re okay with that. Small talk is not an interest of yours either, and you’d much rather sip on the flute of drink that a servant had given you than join the crowd on the floor. 

Unfortunately, you have trouble wrenching your eyes away from Padme and Anakin, who are still surrounded by drooling Senators. Padme looks like an angel, dressed in a floor length gown spun out of gold thread that you’re pretty sure came directly from the sun. It shimmers and sparkles as she moves, standing out like a beacon of light among the rest of the room. She is radiant, with a matching headpiece that glitters like a chandelier, the jewels braided in and out of her chocolate curls. Even her makeup is minimal yet blindingly beautiful, with a gold shimmer staining her eyelids and cheekbones that reflect the warmth of her topaz eyes.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Clovis murmurs next to you, so quiet you almost don’t hear it.

“Who? Padme?”

“I believe she’s taking quite a liking to the Jedi.”

Heat sparks in your blood again. The fact that even Clovis notices how handsy Padme is being… then again, it’s a known fact that Clovis and Padme have a history, and he could just be reading too far into things out of jealousy.

“You shouldn’t call him that,” you choose to ignore his concerns. “Anyone could be listening.”

“You see that smile? That’s the smile she only ever gave me. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it…”

“Clovis, Anakin isn’t allowed to form attachments. You have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not him that bothers me,” he admits. “It’s her. Look. Look at the way she leans into him when she laughs.”

You take his advice and… now that he says it, she does get a little too close for your liking. Every time Anakin finishes a punchline, the crowd erupts in laughter and Padme joins in, bracing herself by gripping onto his arms and grinning into his neck. He catches her, ever the gentlemen, but he’s smiling too.

It’s a little more than innocent, and you can’t tell who’s fault it is. But that doesn’t help the jealousy steadily rising in your chest.

“The debate should be starting soon,” is all you say, leaning back in your seat and scowling into your flute of drink.

The only thing keeping you rooted to the seat instead of launching out of your chair to rip Padme away from Anakin by the hair was the fact that you know you’re the one who’s going to be sharing a bed with him tonight-- not her. 

You’re just hoping he even makes it back to your bed. Or will poor Padme need help with something else that requires Anakin’s doting attention?

A bell rings just on time, signaling for the Senators to take their seats. Anakin leads Padme over, arms hooked around each other, and she smiles at you as she approaches.

“Y/n, you look wonderful,” she whispers, and then slides into the seat between Clovis and Anakin.

Your cheeks burn in shame. How can you harbor such awful feelings toward her when she was so sweet? But the anger is worsened by the compliment she had just given you-- it’s one thing to be drop-dead stunning, why does she have to be so kind, too? What are you to compare? 

After tonight, Anakin’s probably going to think you are so difficult-- always complaining, always tired, never as pretty or gentle or kind. You don’t have a laugh that twinkles like wind-chimes, or eyes that reflect the light like soft glowing pools of honey. If she is the sun, you are just a cold, hard, chunk of ashen moonrock.

The debate goes on for an eternity. You zone out for a lot of it, stewing in your anger and drowning in self-deprecating thoughts. A few times you’re brought to the brink of tears before you remind yourself you’re here on a mission, and throw yourself into scanning every nook and cranny for something that could be amiss. Eventually, a break is ordered.

Senators begin to rise from their podiums to stretch their legs, including Padme. She tells Anakin she’s going to the washroom, and your eyes zero in on the fingers lingering on his arm as she leaves. You stand as well, meaning to walk a little and stretch your legs, and Anakin follows you.

“Padme’s right,” he catches up to you easily. “You do look wonderful. Blue really is your color.”

You stop by the open window, breathing in the fresh air as you search his eyes for truth. Does he truly mean it? Does he look at you with that same light he had looked at Padme with? Or is he only saying it because he has to? Because he’s used to complimenting you because you’re his girlfriend?

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you lower your gaze, picking at the marble stone engravings of the windowsill. 

“Y/n,” Anakin lowers his voice. He’s concerned now, picking up on how upset you are. “I said you look beautiful. What’s the problem?” “No, you said I look wonderful. It’s different than beautiful.” You mean to leave it there, but  can’t help but add, grumbling under your breath, “Padme looks beautiful.”

It’s immature. You know it as soon as you say it, but for some reason you can’t stop yourself. You just want Anakin to take more notice of how strong Padme’s coming on to him, to assure you that it means nothing. You know it means nothing, but you still need that confirmation.

“She does,” he says, and your heart drops. You look up at him, and he’s staring back with an intensity you can’t decipher. “She’s a Senator, Y/n, this is her debate. Of course she has to look beautiful.”

“She’s more beautiful,” the words fall from your lips and taste like poison.

“What’s this about?” Anakin’s voice is dripping in irritation. Once hearing it himself, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he speaks again in a softer tone. “Why are you comparing yourself to Padme?”

Gah, even the sound of her name coming from his mouth is like nails on a chalkboard. But you decide to do the first smart thing you have all evening, and take a lesson from him. You breathe deeply and bite down on your anger before answering.

“I’m not trying to,” you admit, eyes falling from his face to trace the exposed skin of his neck. “I just-- she’s flirting with you.”

“It’s harmless.”

“I-- I know. But…”

“It still bothers you. You’re jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous about,” even saying this, you can hear the lie in your voice. You repeat the statement, more to yourself, trying to believe it. He’s yours-- for now. He could just as easily be Padme’s. What if he wants to be Padme’s? 

“Look,” Anakin takes another grounding breath, then fits a finger beneath your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “I can see you’re trying to think rationally, so I’m not going to tell you that you’re being ridiculous. But… you’re being ridiculous.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You have to understand, I do not like Padme like you’re thinking. I--” he cuts himself off, eyes flitting around the room before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “I love you.”

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin, making you shiver. His lips ghosting over your ear, the whispered promise of his devotion to you… suddenly, you feel very stupid.

“Okay,” you accept, and the bells ring again, signalling everyone to take their seats. You head on over with him, but not before putting as much heart into your next words. “I’m sorry for getting jealous.”

“It’s okay,” he gives you the first warm smile of the night, smoothing your hair down quickly before breaking off to take his own seat.

You sit next to Clovis, considerably calmer, replaying Anakin’s whispered “I love you” over and over in your head, the touch of his gentle hand in your hair. There was no need to make such a fuss, and honestly you were upset with yourself for ruining the night. You decide to make another smart decision for the night, and push away all of the negative thoughts to the deepest corner of your mind. No more, not tonight-- instead, you would focus on a way to make it up to him for being so ridiculous, and to thank him for being so patient with you.

It’s as you’re planning the rest of your night out, that you see Clovis’s knee bouncing under the podium. You know his time to speak is coming up soon, and his actions betray his mind. He’s such a liar. He is nervous.

“You’ve got this,” you tell him, reaching onto the podium to give his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, and he looks at you like you’ve struck him.

“I know I do,” he spits, but doesn’t move his hand from underneath yours. “It’s just pre-performance jitters.”

His next words are so quiet, you almost don’t catch them.

“It doesn’t help that I have two gorgeous women sitting next to me to witness this all.”

Now it’s your turn to look like you’ve been struck. You know he means for you to hear it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. Anakin seems to be thinking the same thing, as you can see him give Clovis a sidelong glance just as Padme takes the seat between them again.

“I-- um… we’re rooting for you,” you fumble. “No need to get nervous now.”

Clovis blows out a long breath, and then covers your hand that’s squeezing his palm with his other. “Thank you, Y/n. You’ve truly been so patient and accommodating this whole night. I must find a way to pay you back afterwards.”

“Oh, there’s no need--” your words are cut off as the delegates call for order, and then the debate resumes. You don’t miss the way Anakin’s back stiffens in his seat.

Clovis works up a nervous sweat in the minutes leading up to his speech, but when he gets up, he delivers it without a flaw. Everyone claps, and then Padme goes. You clap along once she’s finished, trying not to calculate if Anakin is clapping harder or faster for her than anyone else. He’s not… but you just had to be sure.

There never seemed to be any threat for the entire night, except for one instance. A young man stood by the door, eyes shifting around for a moment too long to be casual, and Clovis seemed to notice as well. 

“Where, exactly, is that equipment you were speaking of earlier?”

“There’s a strap on my thigh, and it holds my blaster to it. Look,” you pull your skirt back to reveal your leg up to your thigh, where the tip of your blaster peaks out. “See, nothing to worry about.”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that Anakin would notice, or that he’d even mind.

Finally, the debate ends, and the senate room is dismissed. You let out a long breath, ready to just get out of this dress and relax in the suite with Anakin now. However, you stand to leave your seat but Clovis is in your way.

“Y/n, like I said before… I must show my gratitude for your services. Please, let me buy you dinner.”

“Oh-- Oh geez… um.... I can’t,” your eyes flit from Clovis to Anakin, who’s standing behind him. He’s got his back turned, bidding farewell to the new friends he made, but you know for sure that he’s listening. “I really need to go to bed, we’re leaving early in the morning.”

“You can come to my suite, we can order room service. They’re right next to each other… besides, you can always just stay over at mine for the night. There’s room.”

That tone. Those eyes. You know what he’s insinuating, and it sure as hell isn’t just dinner. 

“Clovis, I’d love to, but I really can’t.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The green cracks of his eyes are hardening again, the soft daisies growing from them being wrenched out in clenched fists and stomped under a boot. You want to stop them from freezing over in that insufferable ice again, and decide it might be nice to humor him for a job well done tonight. After all, he was a lot kinder to you than you thought he’d ever be, and part of you likes being one of the few people on his good side.

“How about I walk back with you to the apartments? We can do that much.”

Clovis smiles, and holds out an arm. “I’ll take it.”

As Clovis escorts you out of the debate room, you turn to look back at Anakin. He’s ushering Padme out of the crowds, staring after you as you leave. He doesn’t smile, or wave, or do anything really. Except look angry. 

A sudden ball of nervousness forms in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Offering to do this was a mistake, that much is becoming clear with every step you take with Clovis latched onto your arm. You can feel Anakin’s eyes burning into your back the entire way out of the senate building, until you’re on the streets of Naboo and he’s off in a limousine with Padme. 

Of course he’s going to be angry at you now. You were mad at him for allowing Padme to flirt with him, and now he’s going to think you’re making a move on Clovis to get back at him for it. Even though that’s not at all what’s happening… Oh how the tables have turned. 

You’re jittery the whole walk back. Clovis tries to make conversation, but you only offer him short, clipped answers. Really, you should have shut down his advances in the debate room. No matter that you pitied him for being rejected by Padme and yourself, you should have said no. You didn’t owe him anything. But here you are, and now you are going to suffer the consequences from Anakin when you get back to your room.

“Are you sure you can’t stop in? Not even just for a drink?” Clovis asks as you make it to the top of the stairs. You turn the corner, and Anakin is leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for you. 

“Uhh,” you unwind your arm from around Clovis’s. “I really can’t. Sorry.”

Clovis follows your gaze, and sees Anakin. His tone turns steely. “Is it because of that Jedi?”

“No, oh my-- no!” you feign the most incredulous expression you can, nerves growing more frenzied as you grow closer to your apartment door. “I really am just so tired. Please Clovis, I have to go.”

“Y/n, it doesn’t have to be like this--”

“You’re right,” a deep voice cuts in. “It doesn’t.” 

Anakin takes the arm that Clovis refused to let go of, and slips it out of his grasp. Thankfully, for Clovis’s sake, he lets him. Anakin pushes you behind him and stands before Clovis, towering over him by a couple inches. 

“It was a pleasure serving you and Senator Amidala. Hopefully we can work together again soon. Have a good night”

Each word that comes from his lips are dripping with venom. Clovis grows red in the face, and you can tell he’s trying hard not to retaliate. In the end, he decides to turn and stalk back to his own apartment door. 

Once it slams shut, Anakin turns to you. You meet his eyes with the most innocent expression you can put on.

“None of that,” he hisses, and steps past you to walk into the apartment.

“Oh, come on!” you follow close behind, closing the door and jogging to catch up with him. He’s standing before the bed, roughly loosening his tie. “Anakin, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? How am I supposed to believe that after what happened earlier?”

“Yes, okay, I admit I was jealous of you and Padme. But I got over it! I swear I wasn’t trying to get you back for it, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Anakin pulls the buttons off his shirt so hard, you’re afraid they might break. Suddenly, he is shirtless, and so very mad, and so very tall… and muscular… and… wow…

“You can’t even look me in the eye when you say that,” he argues, stopping to stand before you. You wrench your eyes away from his toned midriff and meet his eyes, which are blazing with hurt and anger. A warmth is rising in your veins-- a different kind than earlier-- but it’s beat out with something stronger. Guilt.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, trying so desperately to ignore the heat that’s radiating off his chest. “I really am. Clovis was just… kinder than I expected him to be--”

“Was he? Was he kind when he had you sit in silence all afternoon in the senate building? Was he kind when he refused to let you eat? When he guilt-tripped you into spending time with him?”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” you cross your arms and size him up. “And you’re not totally innocent either, you know.”

“Really?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow at you, sitting down on the bed roughly. He leans back on his arms, daring you to continue.

“You let Padme flirt with you, and you never told her to stop. You could have set some boundaries, told her to back off a little...”

“And you could have told me you were leaving with Clovis before gathering your skirts and skipping away,” Anakin bites back. 

“I wasn’t planning to! Anakin, please, both of us made mistakes tonight. Can we just agree on that?”

He frowns, eyes flickering over your still-dressed form. He motions for you to come closer and turn around, so you do. Gentle fingers work at the zip on your back, dragging it down to free you from the constraints. You remember the note he wrote from earlier, how he couldn’t wait to take the dress off of you, and grow disappointed at how the night had gone. This was not the context you had been expecting. 

The way his hands linger on your waist, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

“Okay. We both made mistakes.” You feel his soft curls against the bare skin of your back as rests his forehead against you. You hold your dress up in the front so as not to expose yourself. “I’m sorry for letting Padme flirt with me. I should have put an end to it-- I know it hurt you to watch.”

“It did,” you whisper. “But I’m also sorry. For getting so jealous even though you never accepted her advances, and for making it seem like I was trying to get revenge. It wasn’t my intention.”

A soft “it’s okay” is kissed into your back. His hands grip your waist, turning you in his grasp. He’s looking up at you now, hair mussed up and eyes wary. “You good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

What were you guys doing? At the end of the day, it’s you and him. Padme is out of the picture, and so is Clovis. Everything is alright, and that fuss you both put up throughout the night was virtually pointless.

Looking into his eyes, the ones you love so much and could never picture yourself ever parting from, suddenly this whole thing seems elementary. How terrible, disastrous, and ironic this night turned out. Replaying the events in your head, you find a smile begin to crack at your lips. Anakin can’t keep a straight face either, the ridiculousness of it all beginning to catch up with you both. You begin to laugh, and he follows, burying his head in your stomach as you hug around his neck.

“We must be back in training school,” you giggle, feeling his shoulders shake beneath you. “How pathetic of us.”

“Ahh,” he groans, suddenly wrenching you off your feet and onto the bed on top of him. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pulling you as close to him as possible. “Let’s just forget this night ever happened. It was dreadful and embarrassing.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was never even here.”

“Me neither,” he presses a line of warm kisses down your neck, stopping at the strap of your dress. “Let’s get this off. Do you still have your blaster on you?”

You pat the metal strapped onto your thigh. “Locked and loaded.”

“Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I definitely didn’t want to get my head blown off.”

“Safety’s on, wisecrack,” you help him shrug your dress off, kicking it from your legs and off the end of the bed. You unclasp the band from around your thigh and distribute the blaster onto the nightstand. 

“I’m the wisecrack,” you don’t miss the way Anakin’s voice deepens, attention suddenly captured by the bare skin of your body beneath him. His eyes follow the path his fingers are tracing up your leg. “Careful, or I’ll have to report that to the Council.”

“For what? Being right?”

“For creating conflict of interest on the job,” his fingers skim the soft flesh of your upper thighs, tickling their way past the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, up and up and up… “It’s terribly naughty of you.”

His words are teasing and corny, but somehow the deeper insinuation of them still cause your cheeks to burn red. 

“Anakin,” your voice is hoarse, causing your blush to deepen. His long fingers cup your chin, keeping your lips ghost over his as his other hand pulls the silver clasps from your hair. “I need a shower.”

“I can meet you in there?”

You clutch at his shoulders, bringing him forward to close that gap between your lips. His mouth is warm against yours, pliant and soft and generous. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for all night, all this time you’ve been apart. The smell of him, taste of him, feel of him— you could never get enough. 

“I’ll save you a spot.” 

[spookyfbi]

what did cody said about klave?

Omg Anon okay so, twitter user umbrellaacademy invited Cody to do a twitter space with them which they did yesterday (8PM Friday EST) and Cody stayed for OVER TWO AND A HALF HOURS answering fan questions and saying SO MANY things about Dave and Klave and I am still so overwhelmed. I have recorded it and I’ve sent the video to the host and they’ve said they’ll release it soon (although the file is massive so I suspect they’ll have a bit of trouble wrangling it like I did so it might take longer). In the meantime, some highlights under the cut:

- Dave’s favourite thing about Klaus is his openness. He’s charismatic because he’s unafraid to be himself. Cody also finds it endearing that Klaus marches to the beat of his own drum.

- He likes the idea that the briefcase brought Klaus to Dave because of fate/destiny. Dave is the missing piece of Klaus, he fills a void in Klaus. He’s as interested as we are to find out if the timeline loops back in season 3

- Dave is soft spoken. There are qualities of Dave that have grounded and soothed Klaus but also Klaus has pulled Dave out of his shell. Klaus’ openness was like an invitation to Dave to open up and be goofy and strange, and this was a vibe Cody got from Robert as well in the bar scene, but then the dynamic shifted later and he felt that Dave was the one who was opening up first.

- Dave would go with Klaus to be with his family. He would want Klaus to take the reigns and would trust Klaus re- what kind of life they could have together post Vietnam. Although there would be no hesitation from Dave about his love for Klaus, there might be hesitation about planning a life together because of the time period they were in. There’s a sense of peace and wanting to settle from Klaus. Cody just basically being solidly on the Klaus bringing Dave back to 2019 to meet his family train.

-  There is a sensitivity and self awareness to Dave, Cody thinks he accepted his sexuality but just was careful about advertising it because of the time period. He also says that his Dave in season 1 didn’t have the experience we saw in season 2 with his uncle and that might have made him more open (I am staring directly at my reverse George McFly theory).

- Dave’s love for Klaus is unconditional, he loves him for exactly who he is. Dave’s unconditional love is a foil for the conditional love Klaus gets from his family. Klaus doesn’t really know what love is and then he gets fired this laser beam of love from Dave.

- Cody that been in a play where his character was in a relationship with a guy but he thinks Rob hadn’t done that before. The director set the tone that the kiss scene was an intimate and tender scene. He feels like there was a reassurance from Dave to Klaus in that moment.

- Dave was holding 4 shot glasses in the scene where he’s holding them with both hands. 

- Cody describing Dave in 4 words - kind, sensitive, empathetic, soft. Dave would describe Klaus as free spirited, open, unfiltered, unexpected (he also put forward chaotic but didn’t stick with it and replaced it with unexpected).

- Dave’s first thought when he woke up and saw Klaus was “Is this a dream... We’re not sleeping much so this could be a dream, I wouldn’t put it past my brain” Also “The dream coming to reality but maybe not necessarily looking like what he thought.”

- He thinks Klaus probably took the dogtags off Dave after he died as a way to remember him rather than them exchanging them

- He wants Klaus and Dave’s storyline to end with love prevailing. He also floats the idea of Dave taking a dark turn and Klaus has to be the redemptive person to bring Dave back.

In preparation for playing Dave he watched the Ken Burns Vietnam War documentary series on Netflix and also looked up online about the Vietnam war. He also listened to music he thought Dave would be into from 1965-1968: He mentions Motown and Stones (Cody said he himself likes Motown)

- Cody’s favourite thing about Dave is the quality of how he loves Klaus. He describes it as pure and unconditional and simple and he talks about he thinks people need to love each other fearlessly - not just romantically but in friendships as well, especially with what’s happening now (and this sort of clarifies to me why he was talking about love over fear so passionately in the clever klaus q&a and what he meant by that)

- Cody is a fantasy nerd

- He would love to see Dave giving Klaus some agency

- He thinks that Klaus has some guilt about Dave’s death

- He would like to play a Commission agent (Commission Dave rights!!)

- Robert is very open and unassuming and funny and it was easy to have an immediate rapport with him. Cody also talked with Tom Hopper (about their mutual friend Bradley James). He also briefly met Colm and Robin and he also remembered he met Aidan (who here had a theory about a deleted scene with Aidan in the attic?)

- He doesn’t know how time works in the afterlife or how Klaus’ power works but Dave would have waited 50 years for Klaus

- Calem joined the space and they said that they hadn't interacted before but they had a bit of a chat. Calem said that his filming in season 2 was 4 days but about 1 month apart. Calem’s internet kept cutting out and then he disappeared.

- If Dave was one of the 43 children his power could be the care bear love blast and he could fire hot beams of love out of the hole in his chest. He would give Dave a more passive power to round out the more active powers the other Hargreeves have, like a healer

- The scene in the tent was filmed at the studio. The scene on the bus was shot outside. The scene in the trench was partly shot outside but some of it was shot in the studio as well (I wonder if he’s confusing that trench scene with the hallucination at the Rave though?)

- He said the scenes were beautifully lit (I beg to differ, Cody!)

- Klaus helped unlock that part of him (I think he means Dave’s sexuality) and he also says that Klaus was a very specific target to Dave’s love. Klaus seems like one in a million. When you love someone there’s something specific about them that pulls that out of you.

- Calem returns! He was in his room where the internet crapped out on him but then he went downstairs. Cody asked what it was like for Calem to come in and play an established character. Calem said he purposely didn’t talk with Cody about the character before playing him because he’d done the audition without knowing anything about the character so he didn’t want to risk doing something too different from what he’d done in the audition, but he did watch season 1. He also said he was a bit anxious about what the audience would think of him playing the character, and Cody went into acting mentor mode and said that he doesn’t think the job is about appeasing the fans but about trying to be as true as possible. He also said that Calem did a good job and he shouldn’t be hard on himself but Calem then said that he quickly got over it and he wasn’t thinking about it on set, just afterwards. Calem mentioned that he creeped Cody’s IMDB and he said that his dad was a camera operator on Lizzie Borden Chronicles this Cody guest starred in an episode of.

- Dave loves music like Cody. He mentioned Four Tops as another band and then Motown again. He thinks the bar scene shows Dave’s love of music but he wasn’t thinking about that at the time.

- Dave would be overstimulated at first if he came to the future because we’re bombarded with a lot more stimulus than in the 60s. The internet and iPhones would blow his mind. He let’s a “we’ll see” slip, which he then quickly corrects to “we would see”

- The kiss in the bar was definitely the first kiss and he thinks it happened a couple months into the tour. He thinks the feelings were mutual quite early, but that it would have taken some time to act on them and to be able to gauge if each other were really giving off the signals that they like each other.

- He’s appreciative of the fan love and he tries to make a connection with everyone he can

- Dave is an optimistic force who thinks that love will prevail so he would have wanted to do something to make it work despite the obstacles they faced

- Cody doesn’t know how close to the vest Klaus kept the stuff about his powers and the time travel etc but he did see Klaus appear so he does know there’s something strange about him. Dave trusted Klaus and even if it wasn’t explicitly talked about there was enough trust to go “wherever you go I’ll follow, wherever that leads.” When Klaus conjures Dave, Dave is excited to see him but isn’t really surprised or put off by any of the circumstances that Klaus is in.

- He thinks that Dave is more the listener of the relationship, but he could certainly see Dave telling Klaus about Dune and Klaus indulging him.

- Rob is very genuine, very unassuming, very immediately open, very funny, definitely puts you at ease, incredibly thoughtful, very considerate, good dude (wow it’s the complimenting Rob speed run! 8 in a row!)

- The aspect of Dave that Cody connects to most is his non-judgemental quality

- Dave would connect with Vanya’s softness and Luther’s moral compass (he said Diego’s moral compass in the cleverklaus q&a so not sure if he just mixed them up). He thinks Dave might be a bit too sincere for Five and Ben would appreciate being able to unload Klaus on Dave.

- He thinks Dave is not a tattoo guy but Klaus is impulsive so getting a tattoo really aligns with his personality. He thinks that Dave’s actions speak louder than words written on him

- He connects to the fractured family theme of the show on a personal level

- Dave being jewish was something he only learned about through looking at the dogtags, it wasn’t in the script or anything

- Dave might have studied Philosophy if he’d gone to college instead of joining the military, he feels like there’s a dreamer quality to Dave

- Even though Dave was pressured into joining the military, he thinks that Dave believed he was going the right thing by enlisting

- Colm is a Canadian Hall of Fame actor and Reginald is such an intense character so Cody would love to do a scene with him. He would also love to do a scene with Elliot.

- Cody remembered waiting on set to film the scene in the club and he, Rob and Tom were in an 80s hotel with a heart shaped jacuzzi (??? oh was this the set with the Handler and Agnes maybe?)

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.