#i blame my mum entirely and justifiably

[ohhtobeagooner]

letting out all the meanness i keep in during the day by mentally making scathing comments about the met gala outfits

[hollow-keys]

This tweet's already got dunked on a lot but I have things to say about the differences between Osha and Anakin that I haven't already seen said sooo I'm gonna say my piece.

The reason why they're reacting differently is Osha and Anakin are very different characters at very different points in their arc in these respective scenes.

When Osha force choked Sol, she had just started to turn to the dark side then and there. Before, that moment, she hadn't turned at all. She left the Order because she couldn't cut it as a Jedi, because of her anger and pain bubbling below the surface, but when she left she didn't feel particularly negative towards the Jedi, she didn't disagree with their philosophy or how they approached the force, she simply didn't feel like it could work for her personally and decided to go life a normal life. Meanwhile, Anakin immediately turned over to the Sith. She viewed herself as a failure for not being able to live up to the Jedi's code, Anakin viewed the code as a failure for not accommodating him.

When Anakin force choked Padmé, he had already turned to the dark side. He'd already beheaded Dooku, he'd already slaughtered the Tuskin Raiders, he'd already executed Order 66, he'd already killed or helped kill his friends. Even before he turned, he was flagrantly and shamelessly disobeying the Jedi code with the arrogance he carried himself with and his relationship with Padmé. Officially turning into a Sith was the end point of all that. He entirely gave himself over to anger, which blocked out his rational thought processes.

Osha was just a normal person who happened to be an ex-Jedi. When she got dragged back into it, she respected the Jedi she worked with but the tensions between her and the Order came back, particularly with how closed off they were to her, unable to reciprocate her non-Jedi like affection. Still, she didn't hate them or even really blame them, it was just a frustration. She was entirely on their side until she found out Sol, one of her closest friends, her father figure, had killed her mum.

She was in shock and disassociating, Sol, in his guilt, didn't explain himself properly and his poor attempt to justify himself only made her withdraw more. She's blank faced because she's not present in the moment. She's still carrying herself like a Jedi with a rational and detached veneer when she uses the force, probably on instinct, but under the surface she's angry, grieving and thus drawing power from the dark side. Sure, her face is blank, but her hands are shaking if you pay attention. It's repressed rage bubbling to the surface. meanwhile Anakin's rage isn't repressed at all and he doesn't feel any attachment to the Jedi's way of doing things. He's chosen the dark side at that point, Osha hasn't chosen any side, she's not thinking about sides, she's just hurt. Her disassociation is blocking out her rational thought processes and she breaks down once she's killed Sol because only then does she stop dissociating and realise what she's done.

Honestly, the correct person to compare Osha to is Mae. When Mae is given the exact same chance to kill Sol, she refuses even though she was recently corrupted to the dark side because she's had years to process that he killed her mum, and she has no prior attachment to him to feel betrayed by, which leads to a less emotional and more rational response. She doesn't just want revenge, she wants him to confess his crimes, she wants the Jedi Order to be rocked by controversy and have a reckoning, to be investigated and reformed. They're the same person under different circumstances.

And look, you can think that the Acolyte scene would be better if Osha was enraged or breaking down, but the fact Amandla Stenberg made a different acting choice than you would have preferred doesn't make her a bad actor. It's like how you can dislike someone's music because it's not your thing while still recognising that they're not a bad musician, but that's probably a bad comparison given a lot of people don't understand that either.

[redundant2]

I watched the Anderson Cooper 60 Minutes interview with Harry Markle - with transcript.

And I found this part very interesting.

I think the dog bowl Fight Club moment between William and Harry took place when William came to confront Harry about the reports of Harry and Meghan bullying staff. Harry's body language, facial expressions and chosen words are very interesting. I've cued up the video at the start of this segment.

Here's the transcript of this part of the interview:

"In early 2019, Harry writes that the rancor between William and him exploded at Harry's Cottage on the grounds of Kensington Palace.

AC: Your arguments with your brother became physical.

H: Um, it was a buildup of frustration, I think, on his part. It was at a time where he was being told certain things by people within his office and at the same time he was consuming a lot of the Tabloid press, a lot of the stories. And he had a few issues, which were based not on reality. And I was defending my wife and he was coming for my wife, she wasn't there at the time, but through the things that he was saying, I was defending myself and we moved from one room into the kitchen and his frustrations were growing and growing and growing. He was shouting at me, I was shouting back at him. It wasn't nice, it wasn't pleasant at all. And he snapped, and he pushed me to the floor.

AC: He knocked you over?

H: He knocked me over. Um, I landed on the dog bowl.

AC: You cut your back.

H: Yeah, I cut my back. I didn't know about it at the time but um, yeah. He apologized afterwards. It was a pretty nasty experience

AC: But he asked you not to tell anybody, not to tell Meghan.

H: Yeah, and I wouldn't have done. I didn't until she until she saw on my back. She goes, "What's that?" I was like, "Uh, what?" I actually didn't know what she was talking about. I looked in the mirror, I was like, (Mouths 'Ohhh shiiiiit!) Well, because I'd never, I hadn't seen it.

--End transcript--

Must not have been a very big or painful injury if he didn't notice it until his wife saw it. I mean, if you showered regularly, you'd probably feel the water hit the injury, or see it in the bathroom mirror, yes?

Watch Harry's face carefully when he says William " was being told certain things by people within his office and at the same time he was consuming a lot of the Tabloid press, a lot of the stories. And he had a few issues, which were based not on reality."

Look how his eyes dart, how he looks down, how he quickly glosses over what William came to discuss. He doesn't want to get into detail here, because the isue that started the brothers' confrontation does NOT make Harry and Meghan look very good.

Clearly William was confronting Harry about the bullying both Harry and Meghan were accused of doing. And Harry is trying to blame the tabloid press for influencing his brother's justified mistrust in Harry's wife. He can't for one second EVER consider that he or his wife might be accountable for their own actions, or that there is a possibility that they may have done something questionable. The blame always has to lie with someone else.

If one is charitable, one might think, "Ok, this guy isn't the brightest, and he's clearly been traumatized for his whole life about his mum dying and having to deal with his grief in the world spotlight." Then you add in the substance abuse, and the fact that he's clearly been excused and coddled and enabled his entire life. then you factor in the entrance of a woman who sees him as a walking wallet who she can manipulate to achieve her own fantasies of being a millionaire superstar - here you have the perfect witches' brew of a toxic trashcan fire of epic proportions.

This isn't going to end pretty.

[thornfield13713]

'You talk? And you are aware? How is that possible?' - possibly the worst sentence one can hear in the hideous charnel-house in which you were apparently a prisoner at one point in your life.

Rosie is...maybe freaking out a bit. If she had a mother she remembered, this is the point where she'd be thinking 'Mum, I'm scared, can you please come and pick me up'. As it is, she's contemplating hiding behind her girlfriend. Unfortunately, that's against paladin rules, and she did swear to live up to ideals of courage, so...here she is. Listening to the person who wanted to keep her as either a pet or some sort of experiment and seems far, far too pleased to see her again.

IT GOT WORSE, IT GOT SO MUCH WORSE, ILMATER FUCK!

Ahem. Yeah. This...explains that vague memory of being on a dirty operating table from the nautiloid, but Rosie is a bit busy quietly freaking out right now. I can't blame her, because being repeatedly vivisected is definitely up there among fates worse than death, even if Rosie is probably justifying it to herself by reminding herself that, after all, she knows for a fact she did that to other people, so she can't actually complain about it happening to her-

Okay. Looks like we're killing her. Jaheira got the first turn, and Karlach got the final blow, which feels...significant, given I was planning on this being a playthrough where I got particularly close to Jaheira, and Karlach is definitely being protective.

But also - Okay, this contradicts my previous statement after the Prayer for Forgiveness, but I think that by the time Kressa got her hands on Rosie, she was already pretty thoroughly maddened and possibly had just given over entirely to the Urge, because...well, see my previous discussions of being treated like a person and what that does for her self-control. And whatever was going on down here...probably involved the opposite of that.

And then that line about how she shouldn't be acting like free will is hers again, when her free will is something that Rosie has been clawing back over the whole course of the game- Yeah, there was no way for this not to end in a bloodbath even before Kressa here pulled out 'yeah, I'm going to vivisect you again'.

[itsclydebitches]

I kinda wonder, what could bakugou do (hori write bakugou to do) to make him less popular with the "anti" crowd. Like He was a horrid child no doubt and people who try to put blame on Deku or lessen the terrible shit bakugou did aren't great. But as we don't rly see it, we have to assume bakugous behaviour wasn't stopped, we only ever saw his mum "punishing" him when he was being rude after getting kiddnapped. Nothing will excuse what bakugou did, but he has stopped? He's overall a harsh person but he's not harrassing and bullying people anymore, specifically not deku, he's trying to attone for what he did to deku and has now apologised for it. His behaviour was never viewed as justified or good in the series, he's a scary figure in middle school, we're not meant to like his behaviour, so the series itself hasn't justified his actions.

As someone who relate to both bakugou and deku more than I'd like to admit (never told someone to jump tho, that's fucked lol) so I can 100% understand not liking or even hating bakugou but as someone who's not 15 anymore, looking back I also made a lot of really shitty decisions and like bakugou have tried to make up for it, and like deku I was 'friends' with people who hurt me.

Is there anything he can do for the "antis" to just dislike him rather that be "anti"?

(I'm very sorry if you've talked about this somewhere, you can just tell me to look for it if you have, I'll continue to look for your posts on the subject)

Hey there, anon! I think I’ve spoken about this only tangentially and/or in my main Bakugo meta, which is too big for anyone sane to read. So yeah, let’s chat here!

For me personally—and that’s all I can ever do: speak personally. I think it’s important to keep in mind that there is no single solution to please the “anti” crowd. Each fan will be looking for something slightly different in Bakugo’s character, much of which might contradict what a “stan” is currently enjoying. Given how charged a character he is, I'm not sure it's possible to get the entire fandom to like him—what I’m looking for hinges on having a different reading of the story than you seem to. Meaning, I think the series does justify his behavior. Not in any overt, super obvious way like having all the characters go, “Wow, Bakugo! I sure do love how you threaten people all the time. That’s super cool and heroic!” Things are rarely that straightforward. Rather, it’s in a more subtle, but consistent manner that paints a rather conclusive picture across hundreds of chapters.

Simply put, Bakugo is continually rewarded for his actions. Or, if not outright rewarded, his actions are ignored in a way that implies silent acceptance. Characters may not always like what he does... but they're willing to let it slide because Bakugo's heroism was always treated as a given, not something he had to earn and prove.

With the ever necessary disclaimer that I’m not fully caught up yet, here’s a list of some of the things that stood out to me in the first half of the series:

Bakugo’s bullying made him the most popular kid in school.

Bakugo’s bullying was ignored by/outright supported by the teachers.

Bakugo’s bullying did not hinder him from getting into U.A., one of the most prestigious hero schools around.

Despite acting horribly throughout his time at U.A. too, this behavior was continually ignored by the teachers and other authority figures around him.

Bakugo’s struggle to realize that other people aren’t “trash” doesn’t hurt his achievements in any way. He still gets top scores, still wins the tournament, etc.

Bakugo’s behavior gets him special attention from All Might, the greatest hero and Bakugo’s personal idol.

His behavior doesn’t make others dislike him in any manner that’s taken seriously. Everybody is still willing to not just put up with Bakugo, but—in time—start treating his behavior as a quirk (no pun intended lol) that they’re secretly fond of, rather than something he should legitimately be striving to change. Kirishima is the most overt example of this.

This is compounded by his behavior constantly being framed as humorous. Much like with Mineta’s perverted actions, characters might superficially go, “No, that’s bad!” but the story never demands any significant development because then we’d lose the “joke” of Bakugo screaming in rage at the slightest inconvenience, threatening to murder someone over nothing, constantly belittling everyone around him in a “funny” manner, etc. When fans talk about development of a manga character as archetypal and extreme as Bakugo, most don’t really want to see significant change to his base personality. Because then that would result in someone who doesn’t look like the “real” Bakugo: someone nicer, more even-tempered, more mature, etc. But for those of us who were never drawn to that personality in the first place, the continued acceptance of his rude, egotistical, and violent behavior is discomforting. The easiest comparison I can draw is between this and Bakugo’s mother slapping him. That slap is meant to be another “joke”—we see it constantly in shonen anime, something "humorous" you shouldn’t take too seriously because haha, it's just an overprotective mother—but many fans do take it seriously, using it as the basis for a whole “Bakugo was abused and this explains his behavior” reading. Well, I take the “joke” of Bakugo’s threats and insults seriously, especially in a story that starts with something like telling Izuku to jump off the roof. In the same way that many fans want others to treat Bakugo’s mother as a serious topic that has had a negative influence on his development, I want the series to take Bakugo’s everyday actions seriously as a negative influence on… well, everyone around him. But it doesn’t. His base personality is grudgingly adored.

The above two points are seen most overtly in Izuku, who never wavers in his respect for Bakugo despite how Bakugo treats him. Not just prior to U.A., but during their training too. Izuku, as the protagonist, is the emotional heart of this tale, so when he talks about how inspiring Bakugo is, it encourages the reader to see his behavior as inspiring too. Rather than, as said, something that needs to change. Izuku's continued friendship with Bakugo, his adoration of him, and his acceptance of the way he's treated has severely warped how the entire story sees Bakugo's actions. After all, if #pure Izuku can see the good in Bakugo, why can't everyone else? He must not be that bad after all.

I could get into detailed analyses of all the above—like how Bakugo was the one comforted after attacking Izuku outside the dorms at night and how the messed up relationship he has with Izuku is upheld as something to nurture; how the remedial courses he had to take were made to be rather silly, thereby undermining their supposed importance to his development; how Bakugo’s kidnapping had nothing to do with his flaws, but much of the fandom uses it as a way to dismiss any appropriate consequences because, “Hasn’t he suffered enough?” etc.—but in the interest of keeping this within a readable length, I’ll leave it at that. The point is that Bakugo has always been privileged when it comes to his behavior, resulting in others either outright praising it, ignoring it, or demanding that he change a miniscule bit, which always keeps him far below the standards of both his peers and the expectations of a hero. Everyone in 1-A must learn to be even better than the good people they already are... Bakugo needs to learn that other people aren't dirt at the bottom of his shoes. It's never been a particularly impressive development when pit against the rest of the class. All of which can make something like an apology feel pretty hollow. Yes, he’s apologized and I say with all seriousness that that’s great! But how does that apology stack up against 300+ chapters of content? As Bakugo’s words highlight, he's been a really awful person up "until now": he was consumed by Izuku being “miles ahead of [him],” he “looked down on [him]” because he didn’t have a quirk, he “didn’t want to recognize that,” he “hated that,” “grew distant,” “tried to beat you down,” “opposed you and tried to show my superiority over you,” and ends it all with, “it probably doesn’t mean anything telling you all this” before finally getting to the “I’m sorry.” This is basically a laundry list of how horrible a person Bakugo has been for the entire series, with an acknowledgement that this apology is coming really, really late. This is the moment where I could START to like Bakugo, depending on how he acts form here on out, but that pivotal moment arrived after six years of content and in the final arc of the story. It’s too late. Bakugo needed this kind of self-reflection and positive action 250+ chapters ago so he could (hopefully) grow into a better person across the story, not at the story's end. What we got instead is 322 chapters of him being a really horrible person, but the story going out of its way to excuse or even praise that behavior the majority of the time.

As a quick comparison to end on, I think what Bakugo needed was what Soo Jin got in True Beauty. You don’t need to have seen the drama to follow along. The tl;dr is that she has a lot of the core qualities of Bakugo: an all-consuming drive to win that was created due to abusive parents with high expectations, resulting in her bullying a peer to a pretty horrific extent. The difference between them is how the story frames their actions. When Soo Jin becomes the bully she loses everything. Rather than succeeding academically, her grades plummet, making it clear that this anxiety and self-doubt (things the fandom keeps insisting Bakugo is struggling with, but that rarely ever show up in the text) is actually impacting her day-to-day life. Her best friend drops her because she’s not going to support her choices. The boy she likes rejects her. She’s eventually forced to start over somewhere new - which importantly separates her from the girl she was bullying - and get some distance from her parents, resulting in the growth needed to become a healthier, happier, good person again. So when Soo Jin apologizes to the girl she hurt, it feels earned. The story continually recognized how horrific her actions were and put her into a place where she either had to change, or continue losing at everything else that was important to her. Bakugo? Bakugo doesn’t lose. Oh, he claims he does because he’s comparing himself to Izuku constantly, but that’s just him thinking in extremes. He still wins academically. Still wins many battles. Still wins at having friends. Still wins by maintaining the prestige of being a U.A. student. Still wins by getting All Might’s attention. Still wins by receiving Izuku’s respect and an agreement to maintain this rivalry that Bakugo is so obsessed with. Bakugo comes out well 99% of the time, he just thinks he's "lost" because he can't stand not being the absolute best.

For me, the story needed to have Bakugo face consequences for his behavior, not receive rewards and/or have others ignore it, and that revelation/apology needed to come way, way sooner. For me the issue is not a specific action that Horikoshi can have Bakugo do in the next chapter and them bam, I like him now. The problem is Bakugo’s entire concept, how he’s received by the entire cast, and his run across this entire series. "Entire" is the key word there. Which is why the “But he’s apologized. What more do you antis want?” reactions don’t sit well. What we wanted is a better written redemption arc across those 300+ chapters, not a single scene that’s meant to have us forget all the other problems inherent in the story. At this point it’s a far more complicated situation than, “Bakugo just needs to do X, Y, and Z and then we’re golden.” At the end of the day, Horikoshi failed to make me like him as a person and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to change Bakugo enough to make him likable to me. Bakugo was never the sort of character I’d be inclined towards without a serious, nuanced redemption arc, but sadly, a core, crucial part of that redemption arc took six years to arrive. At this point there’s no way to change the problems in Bakugo’s writing for that huge chunk of the series and not enough time left in the series, it seems, to do the work we should have seen across the entire run. Honestly, idk if the Bakugo we'll get going forward is someone I can just dislike as opposed to being really uncomfortable with, but my money is on there being too little story left and too much investment in upholding Bakugo's base personality for that to happen. I could absolutely be proven wrong! But I think the problems are structural and needed to be better dealt with from page one, not hastily patched over in the final hour.

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Unrequited Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders Characters: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Orange Side (Sanders Sides) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders And Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Car Accidents, Precognition, Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Background Orange Side (Sanders Sides), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good (Boy)Friend, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is So Done, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mentions of various mental illnesses, (none of which any of the characters have) Summary:

"You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time."

---

In which anyone who has ever hurt Remus immediately pays for it thanks to his menace of a brother.

4k word fic is below :)

Remus had always had rotten luck. Wherever he dared to have the audacity to step, utter chaos followed. Whether it was a punch to the nose from an asshole trying to mug him or a woman ranting at an accidental spill of coffee on her new shirt. Whether someone walked away with a soured attitude or broken leg, anyone who came in contact with Remus had their entire day — and sometimes their entire life — ruined, simply for looking at him the wrong way. Remus figured this recurring curse nipping at his heels was the reason he had no connections with his family, the reason no co-workers wanted to be around him, why no one in his classes stuck around long enough to know more than his name.

Oh, also, he was crazy.

If everything aforementioned wasn’t enough to push someone away, announcing that he had a voice that told him This person talks behind your back was a sure-fire way to send anyone scrambling.

At first, Remus thought it was normal. For a thirteen-year-old boy growing and changing and dealing with significantly more stress and grief than other people his age, hearing things like Your friends are toxic and This teacher sucks and You don’t need school didn’t seem so crazy.

Besides, he’d approached his parents exactly once about leaving school, and got his answer swiftly and harshly. He’d never asked again, too distracted with trying to help Mum when she came down with a sick spell for the next week and the way Dad’s car kept breaking down.

The thoughts didn’t cease.

It’s not wrong to like boys.

You’re not in love with your girlfriend.

You could anonymously key your English teacher’s car after school. The bitch deserves it.

Sometimes, Remus did stupid things like listen to the ridiculous thoughts that hummed in the back of his mind.

When he fled from the car, stuck in the middle of congested traffic just before a truck ploughed through the vein of vehicles and landed his father in hospital for days, his mother had slapped him upside the head and grounded him for far longer. Remus still wasn’t entirely sure why. He wondered if she blamed him for not warning them. He wasn’t sure if that was justified, as he hadn’t been thinking much else other than the GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT that had been ringing in his ears.

When the thoughts had mused, seemingly half-heartedly, that his father was going to trip down the flight of stairs if he went without his crutches, Remus’ attempt at a warning had earned him two weeks of dabbing foundation over the bridge of his cheek so no one at school would ask questions.

“Stop acting out!” his mum had screamed once as she pinned him to the wall, her nails digging into his throat and her expression blurry from his stinging eyes. “It won’t change anything!”

His parents’ breaking point was when Remus freaked out the entirety of his chemistry class when his mind insisted that the method the professor was teaching them was going to cause fire to catch on the hair of the girl at the far end of the classroom. He was called into the principal’s office during that class (escaped the smoke alarm going off and the screaming from someone who was going to have an unexpected style change, which was good) and then again at the end of school, with the addition of his parents, neither who were very happy about it.

It was then that he revealed, in a humiliated mumble, about the odd thoughts that continued to prove to have some truth.

The money for a doctor got on his parents’ nerves. He stopped visiting the therapist before any diagnosis could be determined.

Remus did his own research. Schizophrenia, bipolar, DID, OSDD, OCD, every relevant acronym and mental illness under the sun, yet nothing answered all of his questions. There weren’t any odd dreams, multiple voices weren’t clogging his mind, he didn’t feel out of place in his own body, he never saw anything that wasn’t really there.

Nothing explained the odd precognitions the voice gave him, the strange accusatory claims made of the people around Remus who he personally thought he was quite fond of, the baffling times where the voice tried to talk to him like it was any other casual conversation. Even things like how Remus was told not to cross that section of the road, or was mentioned a pretty-looking butterfly behind Remus that he hadn’t even seen yet.

Nothing ticked all the boxes. Nothing gave him all the answers.

Remus was in college, low grades, a shitty apartment, few friends who hated his boyfriend and a boyfriend who hated his few friends, when he reached his own breaking point with himself.

His boyfriend walked into the apartment, expression bored and eyes uninterested. Remus smirked over at him.

“You get my deodorant?” he asked, standing from the couch.

He didn’t, the voice said.

“No,” said Neroli. Remus wasn’t disappointed.

“I guess you’ll have to deal with the consequences of not entertaining me, then,” he said with a sharp grin, gripping Neroli’s shirt and tugging him down for a kiss. His boyfriend responded, suitably fervently. Remus was just getting to the point of reaching for his boyfriend’s belt when the voice growled, quietly, as if it hadn’t meant for Remus to hear, Cheating bastard.

It startled Remus so badly he yanked back from Neroli like he’d been scalded. He earned a bemused look from his boyfriend.

“Why, uh— why didn’t you drop by the shops?” Remus asked, hating himself for considering listening to the menace inside his head. Neroli shrugged dully, moving into the kitchen. He peered into the fridge.

“Got caught up.”

“With what?” Remus blurted, then screamed at himself for opening his mouth. Neroli shot him a dirty look.

“What, do you expect me to explain every second of my day to you?” he asked irritably.

“Only the fun parts.” Remus shot him another suggestive, toothy grin. It was ignored.

Don’t listen to it, whispered Remus to himself. Don’t listen to it.

Ask him where he was on the night you were studying with Logan, the voice said in reply. Remus growled and shook his head. The voice persisted; Ask.

“You look distracted,” Neroli noted, but he sounded detached.

“Maybe I’m thinking about you under the sheets,” Remus said.

Neroli didn’t entertain him.

“Maybe you’re cheating on me,” said Remus with another grin, waiting for Neroli to give him a reaction. His boyfriend merely glanced over at him with a considering look.

“Actually,” he said, and Remus’ heart dropped against his will, “I’m going to my friend’s place. I made plans with her instead of getting groceries.” He walked past Remus and took his car keys from the entry table.

Remus still remembered the way he had felt nauseous, and the ferocious feeling that had washed over him that somehow felt like the voice sounded when Neroli had said, “By the way, I’m breaking up with you,” without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “And I want you gone from the apartment by the time I come back.”

Remus had found himself with his head in his hands on the couch for the next few hours, going through the motions. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried for a long time. He had felt numb, even as the voice had murmured apology after apology.

Eventually, Remus had got himself and his things together and moved from the place, a worn backpack all to show for his possessions. He had ignored the voice ordering him to find somewhere to eat, some shelter to sleep, the demands to call his friends and ask for help.

Remus had spent the night of Christmas Eve shivering on a park bench, bag for a pillow and his own arms as a blanket.

(He couldn’t deny that it was his fault when Neroli got into a car crash on his way back to his apartment that morning.)

Over the following years, with more scenarios such as that, Remus learned that it was best if people knew he was insane. If they knew that, if they knew he heard things, and caused horror everywhere he went, they would stay away. If people stayed away, they saved themselves from a bad time and Remus from having to watch anyone he’d gotten attached to leave.

He was sick of people leaving.

Somehow, amongst this mindset, he hadn’t quite managed to shake a scattered few of his old college friends.

Logan, a nerd with a prime attitude and punchable face and also the least emotionally available person Remus had encountered, was somehow one of Remus’ main sources of support. He had taken up tutoring Remus, against Remus’ better judgement, and he had constantly offered his own house as a place for Remus whenever he needed it. Not that Remus ever accepted any of this, mind you.

The only problem was — Logan was feisty. Almost as feisty as Janus, and just as feisty as Roman. His stubbornness matched Remus’ and it was near impossible to shake the guy from an idea once he was fixed on it.

It was kind of endearing.

(It was also very difficult, given Remus’ goal in life had become to stop hurting people he cared about.)

Logan also rambled a whole lot, which Remus liked. It drowned out the voice, still present after all these years. It had quietened considerably, if Remus thought about it. It seemed to have a strange opinion on Logan. Remus ignored it, nonetheless.

This particular afternoon, Remus found that he couldn’t keep ignoring the cursed phenomenon following him.

“Are you paying attention?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked, keeping his eyes on the path in front of him. He kicked the stone again, and it skittered up the pathway then waited like a faithful dog for Remus to catch up. “More or less. Meteorology, right?”

He could tell Logan was looking at him. He probably looked outwardly annoyed, but there would be an amused spark behind the rim of his glances that never escaped Remus. “More or less.”

Remus bobbed his head. “Then yeah, I was listening.”

Logan hummed in agreement but didn’t resume the conversation. They walked in companionable silence along the street path, accompanied merely by the padding of their shoes and the tap-tap-tap of Remus’ stone. The road beside them was quiet.

“Remus?” asked Logan.

“Hm?” Remus said.

Tap-tap.

“Why don’t you come to my house tonight?” Logan asked. “It is New Year’s Eve. The others will be there. I would like for you to have some company.”

Oh, I have company, grumbled Remus. And it won’t shut up.

The voice, as if to solely prove him wrong, remained silent. Remus may have felt some indignation on its behalf, however.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Maybe,” said Remus, which meant No.

“Please,” Logan said, because he knew.

“Logan,” sighed Remus, “you know how I—”

“Yes,” Logan interjected. “I know it distresses you to have companionship, but truly, it is not such the awful venture that you have convinced yourself it is.”

Remus sighed again, his shoulders sagging. He stopped walking and edged away from Logan, no longer happy to be alone with him. He didn’t know what to say.

He was too busy formulating some semblance of a reply to pay attention to the rising anxiety in the back of his mind and the distantly increasing screeching sound.

By the time the speeding car spun around the corner across the road, he was too slow to react.

MOVE, the voice screamed.

Remus couldn’t.

Logan might have shouted, but he sounded like he’d moved — further away from where he had been standing. Probably to somewhere safe. That was good, at least. Logan had something to offer the world, with that big brain of his.

The car skidded across the road, moving too fast to regain control. It sped forward, wheels rolling along the path, barreling towards the spot Remus was standing.

MOVE, his voice was shrieking. Crying. Begging.

Remus didn’t.

The car, by some logic, didn’t hit Remus.

The car didn’t hit Remus, because it hit something — Remus didn’t see what, and later Logan would agree — first, and flipped like a goddamn pencil being flung across a bored classroom. The hunk of metal flew into the air, the bottom turning to the sky and the roof glinting down at Remus beneath it—

And crashed to the asphalt metres away from where Remus was standing, completely unharmed.

He and Logan stood there, speechless, for a very long time.

The police, once having caught up to the hit-and-run escapee, deemed it an accident on the driver’s behalf. Remus and Logan were dismissed from the scene without being asked any questions. Remus hadn’t spoken a word since it had happened, anyway. Logan had been the one to text their friends and talk to the officers. He had then guided Remus back to his apartment, where the others were already hanging out. They greeted Remus at first but left him alone once being waved away by Logan. He was brought into Logan’s bedroom and set on the bed.

“Now,” Logan said without wasting a beat. “What. Was. That.”

Remus blinked up at him. He worked his jaw. Nothing came out.

Some expositional bullshit? he mentally asked hopefully. The only answer he got was what vaguely felt like the embodiment of a winded wheeze of an exhausted runner. Fantastic help.

“I would like some answers, Remus,” Logan said, and he looked almost angry. “Odd things have happened in your presence before but nothing like this. I watched a car run into nothing and flip as if it had crashed into a row of bollards. You otherwise would have been flattened. You should be dead, or at least in the hospital.” Cool hands cupped Remus’ cheeks, and steel blue eyes bored into him. “I am eternally grateful that that is  not  what has happened, but I need answers.”

Remus tried to talk but didn’t. Logan pulled back and began to pace.

“We already checked the surrounding area,” he began to mutter. “There was no lip on the pavement, nothing to cause such a graphic result. The car’s wheels aside from being burned from skidding were not damaged. I don’t understand what—”

“I’m cursed,” Remus finally croaked. Logan paused to look at him. “It’s me, I—”

“No,” Logan said. “You have tried to tell me this nonsense before, I will not—”

“It’s true,” Remus said vigorously. “It has happened for years, Logan. Every time something mildly inconveniences me, everything goes to shit. Someone on the other end of the street could look at me the wrong way and suddenly they’re tripping over their untied shoelaces and dropping their groceries into the road. My boss doesn’t give me enough hours and suddenly she’s firing the co-worker I hate and giving me their pay. I don’t understand it, Logan, but you can’t keep denying it.”

“Remus—”

“There’s a voice,” he blurted, because he never had much of a filter. “There’s this voice, too. It’s the same one, but I can’t really hear it, you know? Imagine a single intrusive thought, but it’s always saying different things and some of them aren’t even bad.”

Logan now looked concerned. “Remus—”

“It acts like it’s my friend. Like we’re old pals looking out of each other. I hate it, Logan! It’s the reason no one wants to be around me! It’s the reason I can’t trust anyone I meet, because either they’re going to find about me and leave or the voice will tell me something about them that I don’t want to know but it’ll end up being true—”

“Remus.” Logan was crouched in front of him, his hands squeezing his shoulders. “Please breathe. We will work this out.”

“You can’t,” Remus told him. “I have already gone to every doctor, every psychiatrist. The moment I was free of my parents I went to every damn qualified person in this place, for years, and none of them know what it is.

“I went to a goddamn psychic, Logan.” Remus laughed wetly, shaking his head. “That’s how desperate I was. Dumb, right?”

“You are not dumb,” Logan said, and he said it with so much ferocity that it took Remus a moment to realise the voice had said the same thing, much quieter. “You’re troubled. You’re— you just need to find the right answers.”

“I don’t even know what questions I’m asking, anymore,” Remus said, and hated how broken he sounded. He pressed his forehead to Logan’s chest when he stood. “So I don’t know what answers we’re talking about.”

“We’ll figure out something,” promised Logan. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, so tears wouldn’t get past. They stayed like that until Patton tentatively knocked on the door to ask them if they wanted to count down for the new year.

They did. They counted down, and cheered, and danced and sang and Remus drank until he passed out on the couch, snuggled between Janus and Logan. He didn’t even mind waking up the next morning with a throbbing headache.

Virgil referred Remus to his therapist, a cheery moron with an obsession with pink and cartoons. He seemed less focused on diagnosing Remus and simply talking. He referenced a lot of things Remus didn’t know. The voice seemed to like him — not that Remus cared about its opinions. Remus thought that maybe he liked talking to him.

Somewhere along the line, Remus and Logan started dating. Remus wasn’t sure how it had happened, either. He was fairly sure they had been reading on the carpet, and then the next moment they were pressed against the wall, down each other’s throats, so… Remus wasn’t exactly  complaining.

There were bad days, where the voice hadn’t even done anything wrong and yet Remus clawed at his skull. Bad days, where he and Logan fought for real, which scared Remus (he wasn’t easy to scare, either.) At one point, Janus had picked a fight with the wrong group of people and got himself a concussion, which he recovered from fine, but sent Remus to bed with nightmares of blank eyes and bloodied skin for weeks after.

Eventually the dreams stopped, but Remus knew he hadn’t completely recovered when he found himself in the bathroom of an empty apartment, watching white porcelain run red.

Stop it. Remus still had little to no clue how so much as a voice could sound as if it was an aggravated wolf pacing in a tiny metal cage. You need to stop.

Don’t tell me what to do, Remus thought.

Don’t make me stop you myself.

Yeah, Remus thought with a scoff to himself. Good luck with that.

Remus. Please.

Remus shook himself, as if he could physically shake the voice from his head and continued. The voice went quiet.

Time passed, peacefully, blissfully quiet. The sink was stained further.

Remus was almost letting himself relax, but then the door slammed open, somehow, in the middle of the empty apartment, and Logan was standing in the doorway, looking furious, in the empty apartment.

“You said you were fine,” said Logan. Remus felt like a child caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Crusty, bloody cookies. “You. Said—” Logan crossed the room and gripped Remus’s slick wrist in his— “that you were fine.”

“I am!” Remus protested. “I’m just—”

“You are NOT!” Logan roared. Remus flinched back. Logan stilled, then paled. Remus squinted at his far away gaze and wondered in horror why Logan looked as if he was listening to something. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he said quietly, “but you are not okay.”

Remus scowled and looked down at the sink he had ruined.

Logan hummed softly. “I’m going to call your therapist.” Remus whirled on him. “Just to book an earlier appointment, okay? I know you don’t like anyone helping you clean up.”

Remus scowled again. Logan brushed a cool hand across his chin and kissed his cheek. He pulled the medical kit from the cupboard and unpacked the bandages and antiseptic. He instructed Remus he was going to leave the door open. Remus silently got to work cleaning himself up.

Once Logan was out of sight (though Remus could hear him in the kitchen), Remus thought accusatorily, What did you do?

The voice said, without an ounce of regret or pride, I stopped you.

Stop interfering with my life. Whatever-the-fuck you are.

Somewhere, you’ve confused ‘protecting’ with ‘interfering.’

Remus threw the bottle of antiseptic across the room. It smashed against the wall and spilled across the bathtub. “SHUT UP,” he roared.

“Remus?” Logan called.

Get the fuck away from me, Remus growled before Logan hurried into the room.

“What is it?”

Remus shook his head. He couldn’t answer. He never did.

One night, Remus sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the room. The wall was bare. It let him concentrate on what he was thinking. For once, he started talking first.

You’re not a guardian angel.

No.

You’re not a demon, unfortunately.

Certainly not.

Then what the hell are you?

As usual every time Remus asked, the voice did not give him an answer. Remus ground his teeth until his jaw ached.

If there was one thing Remus had been certain of in the duration of his entire life thus far, it was that the voice in his head was nothing but trouble. Irritating, infuriating, no-good trouble. It only ever ruined his relationships, got him into sticky situations, told him things that he didn’t  want  to hear, even if it seemed to think it would help.

The first time the voice was helpful, Remus also felt like his entire mindset had been flipped.

Remus and Logan had been fighting. Worse than usual. Logan was blinking faster than he normally would. Remus was chewing his lip to bloody tatters. He wasn’t sure who had yelled, or what had been yelled, but suddenly it was silent. Logan and Remus stared at each other. Then Logan inhaled shakily and turned.

Remus’ arm shot out and gripped Logan’s wrist. Logan shot him a dark look, but Remus couldn’t explain himself. His voice had completely abandoned him. He worked his jaw. Logan’s eyebrows drew further together.

Remus, for the love of the clovers we picked and weaved as children, kiss him dizzy before I send you both through the window in a fit of pent up frustration-driven rage.

Their lips clashed and locked in a startling display of star-danced vision and warm hands linked at the fingers.

Remus forgot about the voice, about the curse. He forgot about every time he had let someone in only to be hurt, every boyfriend who had taken his heart in their hands and clenched their fists. He forgot every time he and Logan had fought; every time Remus had told himself that it was all a mistake. He even forgot about the constant buzz in the back of his head.

For once in Remus’ life, his mind was quiet.

It was that night, with Logan’s body pressed against his side, staring up at the ceiling, that Remus wordlessly reached for the voice in his head. Somehow, even though he felt nothing and heard no voice, it seemed as if his hand had been grasped.

Remus lay there and maybe for the first time, wasn’t entirely sure he hated the voice in his head.

The voice didn’t remain silent after that night, but it did quieten slightly. Remus made no move to communicate with it.

One day, though, when it was storming outside and Remus needed a distraction because his wrists were itching and his eyes were seeing blood every time he blinked, he spoke.

“You picked clovers.”

We did.

“You did,” Remus corrected, not quite ready to have it spelled out for him.

Yes, said the voice quietly after a moment.

“You’re a voice.”

I have a voice, yes.

“In my head.”

Well, technically—

Remus clenched his fists, frustrated. It seemed to get his point across.

Yes. I suppose.

For a moment, they were both silent. Remus didn’t outright state what he was thinking, but he wondered if something with connections to his mind could work it out.

I can try and prove it, the voice said dubiously. Remus didn’t reply. Lightning flashed outside, accompanied by a low rumble that ratted the house.

Then, from within the bedroom, a low creeeeeak.

Remus looked around dully, too apathetic to be disturbed. His eyes widened, however, when he watched the bedside table’s top drawer sliding open.

“That was locked,” he said. He stood up, his heart beginning to lodge itself in his throat. He staggered around the bed towards the drawer. “No, wait— Not even Logan can get in there— Stop it!”

Something, somehow, slipped from the drawer. Remus practically dove for it before it could crack against the floor and shatter irreparably.

“What do you think you’re—” Remus’ voice swallowed itself back into his chest when he made the mistake of looking down at the picture frame. He snarled against his lumpy throat and tore his eyes from the pair of younger, happier, brighter twins printed on paper. He shoved it back in its drawer and slammed it closed. He pulled himself up to lean against it.

The thunder rumbled again. Remus needed something to ground himself.

“You never told me who you were.” His voice cracked.

A pause.

You never asked, the voice said weakly. Remus felt something inside him erupt.

“What sort of BULLSHIT REASON—”

There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Rem?” called Janus’ voice.

Remus shook his head. “Just— give me a second. I need to uh—” he laughed nonchalantly, “yell at my thoughts for a bit.”

Janus sounded hesitant when he slowly said, “Okay,” but he didn’t press anything.

Remus listened to his fading footsteps and muffled conversation before whirling around as if he were actually facing someone and hissing venomously, “You are very lucky you’re incorporeal otherwise I’d— I’d—”

Kill me over again? the voice supplied.

Remus broke down. Completely against his will, if he had been able to add his own input between the sobs tearing from his throat.

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, bad wording, horrible word choice, I—

“Why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING?” Remus roared.

What would you have liked me to say? That apparently one accident is enough for a spirit to form and develop a connection with their only blood relative?

“Better that than all this— this— mysterious bullshit my entire life!”

You already thought you were crazy! Roman yelled, a little hysterically. How do you think that would have helped? ‘Oh hello, don’t mind me, just your dead brother’s ghost haunting you through your grief.’

Remus wasn't sure how he’d never noticed it before — maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention, maybe now that he knew he was actively listening for it, or maybe he had even subconsciously suppressed thoughts like the one he was about to admit to himself — but now if he listened, really listened, he could hear Roman in the voice. The way his voice would get higher when upset, and the baritones of his indignation.

Remus didn’t realise he was sobbing harder until he heard both Logan and Roman’s voices overlapping, concern and worry swimming in his head.

Please breathe, Remus, you’re working yourself into a panic attack.

Like you would know anything about that, Remus said.

I would, retorted Roman’s voice, without fire.

“What is it, dear?” Logan was asking, his cool hands tracing Remus’ face. “What’s happened?”

Remus looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, and said with a wet laugh, “I’ve worked out what the asshole voice is all about.”

Logan had led Remus into the kitchen and pressed a warm mug into his hands. Remus had absentmindedly wiggled the cup, watching the dark liquid inside ripple. After making sure Remus was recovering, Logan had ducked from the room to talk to Janus.

“Tell me,” Remus growled quietly. He didn’t elaborate. He knew that he was understood. Still, everything was quiet.

You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes?

Remus did. He didn’t say as much, but he did.

Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time.

Remus tried not to think about how little time there would have been. How scary it could have looked, could have felt. His clasped hands turned white at the knuckles. “What did you think about?”

A sizable pause, but not one without the comforting ever-constant buzzing hum of the voice’s presence.

You, was the final admission, with no preamble. Logan, too, I think. Our family must have a thing for hot nerds, eh?

“You had a crush on Logan,” Remus said hollowly.

Only a little one.

“That’s… That doesn’t help.”

Sorry. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

“You’ve been fucking with me for years and you don’t seem to have much to apologise for it,” Remus mused.

Sorry, Roman said again, sounding even more like a remorseful kicked puppy.

Remus sighed long and low. His mug tapped roughly against the table as he shoved it away from him to bury his face in his hands. “I can’t believe any of this.”

He wasn’t sure that thinking the weird phantom warmth was  ghosting  over his shoulders was going to do anything good for his deteriorating sense of control over his emotions.

Tell me what to do, said Roman. Please.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed.

“Stay,” was all he could say. “Just. For a while.”

Unfortunately or not, you’re going to be stuck with me for quite a while.

Remus sniffed.

Very unfortunate, he agreed with a hint of a smile.

[aziraphalesangel]

“So, I took {youngest sister} to the paediatrician yesterday. she gained seven kilos. the doctor says she needs to slow down her eating”

“She’s fourteen.”

“I said it was probably the pork buns. I told her if she keeps eating them she’ll start looking like a pork bun.”

“She’s still growing.”

“Apparently she only grew a centimetre this time.”

“She’s only just started puberty. half that weight’s gone to her chest.”

“I know, she went up 4 cup sizes in six months”

“She’s fourteen.”

“She’s 63kg. That’s heavier than you right?”

“...”

“She’s getting a bit of a belly.”

“She’s fourteen.”

There seems to be this idea, that kids just crave being skinny just because. just because of social media, just because of airbrushed pictures in magazines, just because of media, just because of celebrities, just because, just because. And people really thought, the adults really thought, that teaching us about “Body Image” in high school was going to solve that. That telling us that those pictures were doctored, that social media influencers are fake. we know. for fuck’s sake give teenagers a bit of credit. 

You know what was always dumb? When teachers got told to sandwich body image and mental health topics in between subjects like obesity in young people. That one second you have an adult telling you that you should love your body, that it will be changing because puberty is a thing that happens, that you will have a growth spurt, that sometimes you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see and that means you brain is lying to you (that was a stupid thing to say to kids), and then you tell us, that there is a growing problem of obesity in children. That gaining weight is bad.

I can’t speak for other people’s schools, or the areas that grew up in, but my school didn’t seem to have those allegedly CRIPPLINGLY obese kids. Of course there were fat kids; kids with a bit of chub around their waist, teenage girls with cellulite, boys with stretchmarks on their bellies, kids who wobbled when they ran. We were children. We were still growing. You can’t have a growth spurt without gaining weight. You cannot start puberty without the necessary fat stores. You just can’t. but instead of telling us that, they told us there was an obesity crisis, and we looked around the room at all the other normal looking kids and wondered who? And when we couldn’t figure it out, we asked: Me?

let me tell you a story:

When I was 12 I was a particularly weight. By the time I was 14, that weight had nearly doubled.

sounds bad right? 

let me tell you a story:

When I was 12, I weighed roughly 30kg. That is roughly 10 kilos underweight. I had this trick I could do when I was about eight, where I could shove my entire hand under my ribs. People told me I was skinny, but it was never the insult those people who like to derail fat positivity posts like to think it is. Not one adult ever told me I was unhealthy. Not one adult ever told me my weight was a problem. 

By the time I was 14, that weight had nearly doubled.

For the first time in my life I was a healthy weight, and all I could think about was that my stomach wasn’t flat anymore.

I was fourteen

Now lets look at how that mentality happens okay?

2013 I got instagram. I only followed my friends; a bunch of gangly and chubby 12 and 13 year olds. I didn’t care for magazines.

You know what else happened?

We started highschool; year 7. My friend’s parents were finalising their divorce. I didn’t know then, but one of the reasons her dad cheated was because he thought his wife had “let herself go”. Said wife was in her forties, and had given birth to two kids. I don’t know what he expected.

And my friend started parroting her mother. “I’m so bloated, I’m so fat. I can’t eat that, it has too many carbs.”

Never: I’ll get fat. Always: I am fat.

She was twelve. She hadn’t even started puberty yet.

You know what else happened?

2015, my family started going through some shit. My mum got diagnosed with a new chronic illness, which the doctor said she got because she was overweight. The advice the doctor gave her was to lose weight.

And suddenly, everything I ate was a personal attack on her. “Don’t eat that, it’s full of sugar. Don’t eat that, it has too much fat. Don’t buy that, I can’t eat it. If you eat that you’ll end up looking like it. If you eat that you’ll end up like me.”

And of course, my personal favourite: “Are you suuuuuure you should eat that?”

And a year later I was diagnosed with anxiety. Shocker.

My family used to be close to the family of a friend of mine. And my mum still mentions sometimes that the two youngest (a year older and younger than my youngest sister) were always hungry. Their parents used to starve them so that wouldn’t end up fat. I’m still friends with the girl my age, and she gets regularly and violently verbally abused for her weight, because she’s fat, and her siblings are skinny enough that you can see their ribs, and we all eat the same food, what’s your excuse? As if, just because you’re the same family, with the same food, that your genetics, your body, is all the same, all functions the same. As if it didn’t matter how good her achievements were in literally anything, she was fat, and her parents both made sure they would bully her until it just stopped. As if that’s how it works.

Watching my friends, go from these awkward funny kids, to very very anxious and depressed teenagers (and we all developed anxiety and depression to a degree, which is a post for another day), watching as some of them ended up hospitalised and forced to drop out of high school for eating disorders, watch as others tried to justify compulsive puking and laxative addictions with a smile on their face, because of their parents, it’s always because of the parents, or teachers, or whichever adult meant the most to us, because someone instilled that pathological fear of watching that number on the scaled tick up and up and up. Someone warned us that gaining weight meant we failed. And we believed them because we were children.

My little sister is seventeen. She lost seven kilos this year. Her ribs stick out, and when she lies on the floor on her stomach, she gets bruises on her hip bones. She’s still growing.

My little sister is fourteen. She gained seven kilos this year. She hasn’t, yet, internalised our mum’s fatphobia; she doesn’t care, yet, what she weighs. She doesn’t care, yet, what size clothes she wears. She had a big shit eating grin the day she was told her bras were too small. She’s fourteen. This year they did the body image module in PD/H, this year she went to a doctor for her ADHD, and instead they told her she needed to watch weight. This year will be the year adults start ramping up the policing of her eating habits. She’s fourteen.

Telling us there is an obesity crisis isn’t helping. Treating obesity as a social problem instead of a biological one isn’t helping. Doctors deciding their first advice, regardless of the condition, is to loose weight, isn’t helping. People on social media promoting laxative teas isn’t helping. Celebrity endorsement of weight-loss companies isn’t helping. Commercialising weight-loss isn’t helping. All this^ has done nothing to make society, broadly speaking, less fat. It has created a lot of eating disorders and mental illnesses though.

But blaming people’s obsession with being skinny on that, takes away from the very important fact that, the most harmful factor is our parents. And when you’re a teenager, or a young adult who can’t move out yet, you cannot escape that. Because there will always be someone nagging you about your weight, about what you’re eating, when you’re at home. And when you’re not?

Well I can’t speak for everyone, but when I’m eating out, what makes me choose the “healthy” option instead of the filling one, is that little voice in the back of my head muttering;

Are you suuuuuuuuure you should be eating that?

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 20)

The sun rises and slowly transforms the pitch black night into early morning, then into forenoon. Daryl observes how the quiet community, as if it had been in a coma overnight, slowly wakes up. He sees people come out of the houses, hears Carol calling out ‘breakfast’s ready’ inside the house and the clinking of forks, spoons and knives against plates. But he doesn’t move from his spot at the porch stair. 

Ever since he and Jersey handed over the watchtower to Eric and another Alexandrian that he haven’t bothered to put a name on and Mila went to sleep for a few hours, he’s been sitting here, sunken in thoughts.

It’s too much to process somehow. Everything he feels, everything he found out about her; it’s overwhelming not knowing what to do with all of these swirling… whatever it is. She’s like a goddamn hurricane. All hair and hell. Damn, she’s pretty, beautiful even. And that accent. She talks a lot. She’s pragmatic to the point of being indifferent. Maybe because she was raised like a goddamn robot by a psychopath. She’s hot tempered, impatient, stubborn... and holy fuck, Daryl digs it. All of her; the big heart, the kindness, the humor and the sarcasm. It’s like booze mixed with cherry coke. The way she looks at him… or is it just a creation of his own imagination? Is he a complete idiot for thinking that she looked at him in a special way when they sat there together, in the dark, sharing that bottle of vodka? Could it be- no! Obviously she doesn’t- he’s a fool. But the way he felt, throughout his entire body and soul, when their hands touched, he definitely felt something. But that might just be it, his own stupid delusion. When she told him she’d been engaged, and declared that whoever gave her the ring was dead, Daryl felt like the devil himself for feeling relieved, but also bad for feeling like that. 

The night has truly been peculiar, he thinks, while resting his gaze on a bird in a tree, trying to feed its squeaking nestlings. Parts of what Mila told him Daryl had recognized from his own childhood. He’d been beaten up many times by his old man, leaving deep scars that never faded. He’d been neglected and abused for most of his childhood, by everyone when it came down to it. But he was a boy. Not that it justified his father's actions towards him, but Daryl could at least, and used to, fight back. He was a pretty good fighter at an early age and knew he had to aim for the kidneys. But Mila was a girl, an unwanted girl who had to face the shame and blame for not being born as the son her old man so badly wanted. He’d reminded her every single day of her shortcoming, and she had apologized, and that (and when she told about the physical abuse, because that’s what it was, even though she didn’t refer to it that way) had hit him hard. How she somehow, even though she clearly despised and distanced herself from his actions, could talk about him with something that sounded like affection, Daryl found astonishing. Like she desperately cling on to the good memories, the few she might have. Was it a perfect example of Stockholm Syndrome, or just pure madness? She’d lived in a lie for almost her entire life, he’d murdered people; how was it possible that she was so indifferent after what she’d been through? Or maybe she just managed to conceal it behind a thick wall of oppressed feelings. He could understand that more than well in a way. But on the other hand it seemed like she’d turned her life around; she had a kid who she’d managed to keep alive. Her story had made him feel secure, less odd about his own history that he’d tried so hard to oppress, to push back into the deepest darkest corner of his soul, never to reveal to any living soul. 

Daryl had never talked to anyone about his upbringing, in fact he’d never talked to anyone as he talked to Mila. Somehow she managed to get these things out of him, that he had previously buried deep inside himself, that he’d never in a million years thought he would tell anyone as he told her the other night. She treats him in a way he’s never been treated before. 

Daryl twitches when he feels a thug on his vest. He removes his chin from the stock of the crossbow and turns where he sits on the porch stairs. 

“Hey kiddo.”

Juri smiles and sits down on the stairs next to him. He’s dressed in dungarees and boots, has seemingly managed to dress himself this morning, but has failed to tie the shoelaces that dangles around his soles.

“That won’t do. Come here.” Daryl waves his hand and nods at the shoelaces that flutter in the wind. The boy obediently raises his foot, Daryl takes it and puts it to his knees and begins to lace the small boot. “Gotta tie ‘em up good, or they’ll fall off ya’ feet.” he says and ties the shoe steadily, but not too tight. He doesn’t want to be responsible for causing Jersey Jr. a broken foot.

Daryl ties the other shoes too, then they sit there next to each other, quiet. Every now and then the boy snails up at him curiously. When Daryl snails back, Juri looks away, giggling. He’s kinda funny, Daryl thinks to himself and smiles. Cheeky, a li’ rascal.

“Ya’ mum’s not up yet?” he asks. 

Juri shakes his head, then makes a snarling sound. 

“She snores?” Daryl grins. “Yeah, ‘bet she does, kiddo. Heard ya’ were a snorer too.” He gives of a grunt, like a pig and Juri bursts into a big, faint, silent laugh. “Ya’ wanna go for a walk?”

Juri nods eagerly. 

“Let’s go.” 

Daryl gets up, grabs Juri under his armpits and lifts him up and places him on the ground. They walk around the pond, a walk that normally doesn’t take half an hour, but since his companion is only 3 feet tall, the pace is below average. When they arrive back to the house, Mila’s standing on the porch, shielding her face from the sun with her hand. Daryl once again gets all warm throughout the body and his tongue starts to crawl back up toward his palate. No, dammit! Juri starts to run towards her when he sees her, with three flowers clenched in his hand, that he picked next to the pond. 

“For me!” Mila’s smile could light up the entire Safe-Zone if it would've been night, when he hands her the flowers. “Moya lyubov, thank you.” She looks up at Daryl. “Where are your flowers?”

“Didn’t pick any.”

“What a shame.” She stands up and looks at Juri. “You know what! Carol has been an angel, and made lunch for you, Romeo.”

Mila shoves Juri into the house, while the boy waves at Daryl from between her legs. 

“Slept well?” 

“Enough.” she answers easily. “I need to get out of here for a while. Gotta go find new shoes for Juri. What kind of mother lets her son walk around in heavy boots in this heat?” 

“Good luck with that.” Daryl scoffs. “Getting past those assholes unnoticed won’t be easy.” 

The sapphire eyes peers at him through the sun. 

“Wanna join then?” She asks boldly with a grin. “Show off those hunter skills. Trust me, it’s easier to find game meat than a pair of kids size nine’s.” 

Daryl snorts and looks around. It’s not an impossible mission, but foolish. On the other hand, he can’t just wander around in here. He’s convinced that she would leave on her own if he doesn’t follow, no matter how much he, or anyone else, opposed it. 

“Gear up, Jersey.” He therefore answers and nods a little. 

Mila smiles triumphantly, turns on her heel and enters the house. She returns minutes later, with the automatic rifle on her shoulder and a backpack, dressed in a worn, black leather jacket over the dark t-shirt.

“New jacket?”

“Not directly. I got it for my eighteenth birthday. Saw it in this store down in Ashbury Park and thought, ‘hey, I’d look so cool in that’, so Adam and Peter brought it to me.” She corrects her left  boot with the other foot. “I love fun jackets! Fringes, embroideries- I'll be buried in this one, if that's the last thing I do.” Mila smiles. “Oh, and I told Carol we were going out.”

“What did she say?” Daryl asks, clenching his jaw. Some things are better left unsaid. Like sneaking off in the middle of what can be likened to a siege.

“Something like, have fun-” Mila replies and hurries down the porch. “And take it easy.”

They walk toward the wall, toward the place Daryl climbed to enter the Safe-Zone. Mila climbs onto the truck easily and soon they’re standing on the roof of the trailer, looking out over the landscape on the other side of the Alexandria walls.

“Head for the woods.” Daryl points. “The bike’s in there somewhere. Short run.”

Quickly and silently, they get down the trailer and start running towards the trees, into the woods. 

“Ya’ know where to go?” Daryl asks as they find the motorcycle in the same place he left it.

“I have a strategy.” Mila replies. “Houses with toys and swing sets outside usually have kids stuff inside too.”

“Fine.” Daryl gets the motorcycle up and leads it up the road. “Let’s go find some swing sets.”

He straddles the motorcycle and scoots forward, to give her room to sit behind him. Mila throws her leg over the body of the bike and sits down on the leather seat and wraps her arms around his waist. Daryl takes a deep breath, tries his best to maintain a normal heartbeat. 

”All right.” he coughs nervously. 

He warns the engine once again before he kicks off. He can feel all of the power in the machine throughout his entire body. Behind him, Mila squeezes his waist and makes a delighted cry as he increases the speed as he maneuvers the beast on the desolated road. 

“This is awesome!” Mila hollers into his ear.

A smile spreads on his lips and he speeds up, causing Mila to hug harder around his waist and laugh. They cruise around the nearby residential areas, scouting for children’s bikes in the driveways, basketball hoops, colorful slides and toys. Eventually, they find a street that seems to fill all the criteria. Daryl hits the brakes and the motorcycle stops next to a two storey house with a hoop and a climbing frame in the yard. Mila climbs off and takes her rifle, attaches the silencer over the barrel. 

“Okay, let’s find some shoes.” Daryl states. “Lead the way.” Briskly, Mila starts walking toward the door, rips it up and raises the AK in front of her and walks into the house. He follows, cautiously listening for hissing sounds and dragging feets. It’s clearly not her first rodeo. Mila immediately starts looking in wardrobes, in the laundry room and in cabinets. 

“Nope. Nothing.” she notes after a while. “Let’s continue.”

They leave the house and start walking down the street. Mila’s long hair blows effortlessly in the wind as they pass by abandoned houses, driveways and overgrown lawns. In the distance Daryl sees a lone, limping walker approach them in the street. He lifts the crossbow to his shoulder, aims and shoots. In the distance he sees it fall into a pile on the grund.  

“That house seems promising.” Mila points toward a house with what looks like a homemade skateboard ramp in the driveway. 

Daryl runs over to the walker, lying in a pile on the asphalt, to collect the arrow. When he turns, Mila has caught sight of a rotten creature, appearing from behind the molding ramp. With ease she lifts the rifle, aims and places a bullet in its head and it drops to the ground with a thud. With a crooked smile Daryl remembers what she said about the soup can. He then finds her inside the house, browsing the books in a bookshelf in the living room. 

“Children's Books!” Mila holds up a book for him to see. Where the wild things are, Daryl reads from the cover. He’s never read it. On the other hand, his ma’ never read books for him and Merle. “There’s so many cute books here! Peter Rabbit, Paddington-” she grabs the books and puts them in a pile. 

Daryl rests on the back of the couch, watches her stacking books on a chair. He’s amazed by how she engages her entire heart and soul to make sure that the boy has everything he could ever wish for. What would it have been like growing up like that? 

With about ten children's books stuffed in the backpack, Mila then continues through the house in the search of a new wardrobe for Juri, faintly humming. Daryl finds a weapon cabinet where the owner forgot a Glock and a few boxes of ammunition, and Mila finds a pair of Chuck Taylor’s in Juri’s size.

“Half a size too big, but his feet will grow.” She states and puts the shoes in the backpack.

If he thought they were done by now, Daryl was mistaken. They therefore proceed to the house next door.

“You notice something?” 

Daryl immediately turns all vigilant, looks around in search of hostility movements. Mila laughs a little. 

“What?” Daryl scoffs, mildly irritated, and lowers his guard. 

“We’re alone.” Mila says as they walk around a dense bush, once perfectly trimmed in a rounded shape, in front of the porch. “Like a little adventure. Pretty fun, right?” 

She feels the door handle and nods. Unlocked. She pushes the door open and it goes up with a creak. Mila quietly walks into the hall, Daryl follows, with a gut feeling that something will happen. And his guts don’t lie. All of a sudden Mila’s pushed to the carpet by a walker coming at them from the left, followed by its two companions. The first one attacks Mila and Daryl’s grabbed by a male, missing an eye. Mila swears loudly, a muffled bang is heard when she shoots the walker right in the face and tries to get up from the floor. Daryl tries to pull away from the one eyed bastard, that clings to his vest. The rotting mouth and disgusting fingers claws to his torso. 

”Watch it!”

With impressive force Mila grabs a hold of it by its shoulders, pulls it away from him and throws it into the opposite wall of the hallway. She takes her knife from her boot shaft and pushes it into its forehead. Daryl takes a hold of the last, remaining dead asshole and pushes an arrow deeply into its skull, forcing it down on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Ey, wha-”

Without another word, Mila lifts his shirt and searches his torso for wounds, or at least he thinks that’s what she does. Oh god, please don’t. Daryl gets intense chills of pleasure all through his body by her touch. Those soft, delicate fingers send shivers throughout his body in sheer delight. She withdraws, sighs in relief. 

”Though it bit you.” she says. 

“I’m fine.” Daryl replies, hardly meeting her gaze as he pulls the shirt down.

He tries to steady his breath, all while Mila still pants faintly. Their eyes meet, or are more like glued to each other. Daryl’s heart beats hard inside his ribcage, he can almost hear it like a drum inside his ears. Suddenly, before he’s able to say or do anything, Mila has thrown herself onto him, presses her lips against his in a kiss out of this world. It’s so sudden and so surprising that he can’t turn all flushed and angry, his usual defense mechanism in unfamiliar situations. But it’s also everything he’d ever dreamt it would be. Why would he withdraw? With her hands on each side of his face, her soft tongue finds its way in-between his lips into his mouth, exploring every inch of his mouth like a gold miner looking for nuggets. It’s mesmerizing, he’s never been kissed like this in his entire life. 

He cups her face with his hand, the one not holding on to the crossbow, feels the soft skin towards his palm. It soon finds its way to her lower back, as he presses her body against his as she begins to guide them away from the hallway massacre, with the three dead corpses, into the other room. Daryl briefly presses her up against a wall, making a framed picture fall to the floor. The rough, passionate kissing turns into a frenzy of hands and heavy panting. Daryl drops the crossbow to the floor and steers Mila towards the dining table. He pushes her towards the table, while their fingers eagerly search for buttons and zippers during heavy breathing and intense eye contact. 

He’s so excited, so frantically horny. Never before has he felt such a desire. He fumbles, all while Mila’s able to kick off one boot, push down her jeans and underwear, making them dangle around her leg and unbuckles his belt at the same time like a fucking magician. Daryl lets out a grunt as his palms run over her bare, soft thigh. He presses his forehead against hers and they kiss again, moaning into each other's mouths. Mila’s chest heaves rapidly underneath the t-shirt as she unbuttons his jeans, pushes them over his hips, releases his pulsating cock and drags him closer. She caresses him, touches him to the point of almost no return. Daryl ends it by grabbing her buttocks in his hands, lifts her up onto the table. She spreads her legs, pants breathlessly as she pulls him in between. Daryl grunts as he lightly fondles her, she’s so fucking wet. For him! That’s the most fucking incredible part, well, one of thousands right now. There is no darn turning back now. Without breaking eye contact, almost drowning in those sapphire eyes, while inhaling her scent, the floral and everything that enchants him, Daryl enters her, making both of them exhale loudly. She tightens around him and it feels as if he will come right away. Jesus christ, I can’t hold it, he finds himself thinking as he feels a rush of pleasure spread through his body, it won’t go. He starts to grind his hips into her, causing her to moan loudly, to dig her fingers into the back of his vest, as she jerks her hips forward against him. He lets out a low growl and starts to pound into her, making the table squeak, holding her in place while he with the other hand softly grabs the hair on the back of her head, not breaking their eye contact; all while a feverish heat runs through his body. 

Dear god he doesn’t want it to end, but he can feel himself edging as her body clenches around him, and he realizes that it’s more than close. He can feel it, her entire body screams that she’s on the edge too. She lifts her head to the ceiling, as she reaches climax and the surge of warmth from her orgasm surrounds him. Daryl moans loudly into her neck, feels his entire body tremble as he digs his hips into her, as deep as he possibly can, exploding inside of her.

They gasp for air, as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, bodies trembling, but they don’t break eye contact. Something warm runs down his cramping thigh, bolting with his runaway pulse.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Daryl’s whimpers, his voice breaks. He swallows, but doesn’t move, just keeps holding on to Mila’s body like a castaway clinging to a piece of board. “I’m sorry-” 

“I’m not.” Mila pants with her fingers entangled into the back of his head, the other hand grasping the back of the vest. “I’m not.”

They remain like that for a few seconds; silent, trying to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, how amazing it was. Daryl lowers his eyes, for the first time in what feels like forever and with a soft movement he wipes away the warmth from her inner thigh with his thumb. He feels high on adrenaline, feverish, standing there with one hand under her left thigh and the other in a firm grip round her buttocks, welded together. 

“I want ya’.” Daryl manages to utter between the heavy breaths, looking back at her. “Ya’ asked me what I want. I want ya’.”

Mila caresses his face with the other hand, runs it softly over his lips. 

“I want you too.” She replies. Daryl’s uncertain, did she actually say that? The faint smile he gets, between the panting breaths, somehow says it all. ”You heard me, Dixon.”

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

As an American follower, I would like to say I'm sorry for whatever shit other Americans have been giving you for your Ireland posting. I've been very interested in them. I've always been really fascinated by Celtic culture and have always wanted to learn more about it, but I've never really had the proper resources for it, so this has been a learning experience for me. And besides, you should get to post what you want no matter what, it's your blog, nobody can stop you

Hi sweetheart!!! No one is giving me anything for posting!!! In fact so many of you have been so lovely and encouraged me to talk about Ireland and that’s very sweet because my love for Ireland literally is about 85 to 90 percent of my personality. My concerns aren’t directed at anyone who I’ve interacted with, but there’s a certain type of person who just sort of try and use Ireland as their get out of jail free card or as an excuse to do cultural appropriation or perpetuate stereotypes against other cultures. I once read this article and it made my blood literally BOIL with anger.

For those who don’t want to read the article (and I don’t blame you because it’s a mess in every definition of the word) but basically this author is saying he can’t understand why students from latino backgrounds would take issue with him and his friends blatantly making fun of their culture when Irish people really don’t seem that annoyed about Saint Patrick’s day parades. The author literally says, word for word “I haven’t looked closely enough into my own genetic heritage to know how Irish I am”. What??? WHAT??? WHAT??? That implies his parents or grandparsntes aren’t Irish because then you wouldn’t need to look into it. You’d just sort of know that! Literally the only evidence to give that he might be slightly Irish is that his mums name was “McNeal”...but he calls Irish things “my culture”.

Now...I didn’t think people this stupid actually existed. But apparently they do! Because he isn’t Irish. He’s clearly american. Did he have an Irish great grandparent at some point? Maybe! Or it could easily be a Scottish great grandparent because McNeal isn’t even a name that’s exclusive to Ireland!

And if you aren’t Irish...you do not get to speak for Irish people. And you definitely don’t get to use Saint Patrick’s Day and the Irish struggle as an excuse to be super racist! Is Saint Patrick’s day filled with loads of stereotypes and basically just a way for people to have a big party in March? Yeah. Sometimes parades will try and have some authenticity (the New York parade actually invited students from my school to represent County Down and play in the parade this year! Which was such a nice touch!) but people will completely butcher Irish dance and speak in bad accents they’ll call it Saint Patty’s day which makes me want to go and scream but it isn’t cultural appropriation. Irish cultural appropriation is a thing (kind of? Sort of? It’s super complicated) but parades definitely aren’t an issue and Irish people are only slightly annoyed, if that. It is nowhere near as bad as what happens daily in America and in other parts of the world to people from other minority communities.

Did Irish people struggle throughout history? Yes. Need I bring up the signs that compared Irish people to dogs? Or the literal attempted genocide during the Irish famine? Or the fact that loads of our actual culture is lost and our language is barely spoke and was literally dying? There’s also the penal laws, Bloody Sunday, the Easter Rising, the famine ships (also known as the coffin ships) the plantation of Ulster. I can go on for a while here. Do some of us still struggle? Also yes. The north of Ireland went through a massive civil war a few years back, and sectarian tensions are still very much felt. Bomb scares are just part of life. Paramilitaries are still knocking about. Also, irish people often feel misrepresented in media and our stories are either never told or when they are told in a way that’s more palatable to English and American audiences. But our struggles should not be used to take away from the struggles of other cultures. Our experiences should not be used as something to demean and diminish the experiences of others,,,especially when we can sympathise. My family members sometimes talk about the time they wanted to go on a plane in the 1980s and 1990s and were put in different waiting rooms because everyone thought they’d be part of the IRA and they were treated with so much suspicion the entire time, both by other passengers and staff. When bombings happened in London, Irish people were often blamed regardless of their association (or lack there of) to said bombings. Also, look up the special powers act from Ireland. It’s really fun and absolutely wasn’t an abuse of government power that encouraged police brutality.

But these struggles shouldn’t be used to try and take away from other people’s struggles. I would never want that. Our voices don’t have to drown each other out. We can support one another! And we often do! There’s this absolutely incredible story of the time the Choctaw Nation came to the aid of the Irish people during the Irish famine (just after they had been through the trail of tears), and the Irish people have recently tried to aid others, such as the Navajo nation, during this pandemic (because the American government isn’t doing much). If you want to learn more about this, you can read it here.

But for some bloody reason white-suprematists LOVE to try and use the Irish experience to demean other communities experiences. They love talking about how Irish people were slaves (which we weren’t. We were indentured servants but we were never slaves. That’s just blatant misinformation) to try and take away from other communities and their (very justified) feelings and the struggles that they still face today. And, as an Irish person, it both angers me and saddens me. It angers me that people are trying to use my history as some sort of defense and it saddens me that people will start to think those Americans are actually reflective of Irish people because they aren’t and they don’t speak for us. I don’t know why they think they can speak for us, but they don’t.

(Also for some reason people have started associating Celtic things with neo-nazis??? And I have no idea why and it’s disgusting and I bloody hate it. The Celtic cross slowly becoming one of their symbols is TERRIFYING to me because Celtic crosses are like...super important to Ireland since the fifth century. It’s horrible and disgusting and it’s genuinely upsetting to see that certain right-wing groups keep trying to use or infiltrate these circles and I literally hate it with every fibre of my being.)

That was a ramble but that’s why I’m slightly worried when I talk about Ireland and Irish/Celtic culture on this blog because I am terrified people are going to take it the wrong way or get the wrong idea because some idiots are trying to use Irish history as some half-assed defense to be racist.

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Petals.

Hello! Omg, this chapter took so much workkk! I really hope it was worth it and you like it 🙌🏻🙌🏻✨ Tell me what you thought about it on the comments 🥰 Enjoy!!

Ps: I checked, but I’m sorry if you find errors (grammar or vocabulary)

Chapter 7: July 31st.

Chapter Text

‘You'll know that you have fallen in love, Dragon prince, when you would do anything to make them happy’He remembered when mother told him that. At the time, he didn’t understand what it meant. Now Draco knew, it meant that his mother didn’t actually believe in the cause but she loved his father too much to get away from all that. Draco felt much like his mother these days.

He sighed as he was finishing Potter’s birthday present. He had a debate with himself, whether he should give him something or not (for days) and he actually decided not to... but then he heard Mr. Potter talking to Sirius.

“Did you know that for his eleventh birthday, Lily’s awful sister didn’t even cook a cake for Harry? He told me that his first present ever was my cloak, that he got it for Christmas at Hogwarts. It’s just awful Padfoot, I could make the best birthday party ever and it wouldn’t erase all shit he lived.”

So now, Draco found himself working on a present for the boy who lived.

It was one of his best works. In the drawing, Potter had one hand on his broom while the other was reaching out to get the snitch. His hair was all over the place, messy from the wind and there was a perfect smile on his face. The gryffindor red collided with the green of the pitch. Draco drew it all by heart. He didn’t even looked at a picture of the boy, didn’t asked the boy to smile so he could get it right. The blond boy just took a piece of his best parchment and his favorite set of pencils and drew.

He took the drawing and rolled it up, before tying it up with a green ribbon.

This is why he understood mother. His only goal for the day was making Potter happy, and it didn’t matter if Draco had coughing fits today because he would make the beautiful boy happy.

Draco casted a tempus. 9 A.M , great, right on time. He grabbed a plain white shirt and some dark blue pants and changed out of his pijamas. Then he fixed his hair putting a little potion on it to make it seem with more volume. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t as anyone would look, so...

The blond boy got downstairs as quietly as he could. Everyone was still sleep because it was a Saturday and the party wouldn’t start until lunch. Just a little bit and he would get to the kitchen.

“Disgrace! Shameful blood trait-“

“Shut it, old hag!” Draco hissed at the portait. “Go to sleep.” And he closed the curtains. He kept on walking to the kitchen, once he was there he called for Kreacher.

“Yes, mister Malfoy?”

“Today is Potter’s birthday, I was thinking that we could do a cake for breakfast.” Kreacher just nodded and started to walk away.

“Wait, no, what I meant was that I could cook it and you would supervise that I don’t set the kitchen on fire.”

The elf was looking at him as if he had lost his mind, and maybe he had but this was for a good thing. Insanity was justified.

Draco had to admit that it wasn’t so bad. Cooking was kind of like brewing potions but with things that smelled nice. He found it very soothing. And the best part was the decoration, because it felt like drawing. He had decided to cover the whole cake with chocolate and then he asked Kreacher to get him frostings of gryffindor colors to draw on it. Once it was done, he helped Kreacher set the table and waited for everyone.

When Potter entered the kitchen he opened his green eyes very wide. He had Mr. Potter’s arm around him and Sirius by his side who also looked surprised.

“Happy birthday, Potty. Smile at least, I got up early to cook the bloody cake.” The dark haired boy stared at him, he opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Little cousin, did you make all of this?” Sirius was smiling so brightly at him. He walked to where Draco was sitting and pulled him into a hug. They didn’t do this, affection was not their strong suit,but he tried for Sirius anyway and hugged him back.

“This is amazing, kid! The lion on the cake looks really good. Did it make your Slytherin hands bleed?” Draco laughed at that. He loved Mr. Potter sense of humor. Scarhead was still staring.

“Say something. You are giving me the creeps, Potter.”

The green eyed boy pushed some hair out of his face. Draco knew it was a thing he did when he was uncomfortable in a situation. So he didn’t like it. Great.

“ I don’t know what to say. This is too much..”

‘Too much’. Yes, his feeling were too much, he was aware of it. It wasn’t as if he was proposing, though. He just wanted Potter to have a happy birthday, a real one. The ones that start and end with a smile. He started to feel tickles on in his ribs. Shit.

“Okay, I’ll take a shower before everyone gets here. Eat the cake if you want, if not, I think Kreacher can still prepare you something.” He said and left the room before the coughing fit started. Draco felt the tickles all over. He could hear Potter’s voice calling him (he ignored it).

“Malfoy, you prat, i didn’t mea-“ And Draco closed his door a little too loudly.

———————

He could hear that Weasley and Granger had arrived. Draco found himself on his bed, looking at Potter’s present. He should burn it. If the cake was too much, a bloody handmade gift was worst. Because cake could be eaten and it wouldn’t exist anymore. This would be something that Potter got to keep and ,every time he would look at it, he would remember that Draco drew this.

He heard a knock on his door.

“Go away, I feel sick.”

Ron opened the door and entered the room.

“You don’t look sick. It’s Harry’s birthday, don’t be a prat.” Draco glared at him. He didn’t even ask Of course bloody Malfoy would be the selfish idiot who didn’t attend to the birthday party of the Chosen One

“Leave.”

“No.”

Stupid weasel with his stupid loyalty to stupid Potter. He looked at the ceiling waiting for him to be gone so he could cry in peace.

“There were a lot of versions when I asked what happened.” Draco kept avoiding his eyes. “From what I gather, you did a nice thing for Harry and he said the wrong thing.”

“It wasn’t the wrong thing.” He muttered. “I’m not deluded. I know we are not friends. It wasn’t my place. I just can’t go down there and be at the party after that, it’s too embarrassing, weasel. I’ll just stay here.”

Ron shook his head and got up to leave.

“The only thing that Harry asked for was for all of us to be there.”

And he closed the door leaving Draco feeling like shit.

—————————

He had changed his clothes again. With the dark blue shirt and the black pants, he looked more mature. Draco knew that joining was a bad idea. He was too emotional right now, which made it easier to get the coughing fits. The more coughing fits he got, the more chances of starting with the petals he had. Bad idea, indeed. He blamed Weasley, always asking him to be nice. He missed his Slytherins friends, they didn’t make him feel guilty for anything.

When Draco finally got to the gardens he smiled. Potter and his father were flying around and Sirius was taking pictures of them together on the air. They looked so happy together... It always made him feel peaceful. He was watching them when he heard Granger beside him.

“Ron said you would join eventually, I wasn’t so sure”

He shouldn’t hex her and go upstairs again. He shouldn’t hex her and go upstairs again. He shouldn’t hex her and go upstairs again. He took a deep breath. It not like he spend time with Granger for her to know that Draco was actually decent.

“ Well, I’m here.” He said and went looking for the weasel.

Everyone was talking and having tea. There were a few tables with food distributed around the garden, he found Ron sitting in the one that was next to the ‘quidditch pitch’. The redhead was talking to a Weasley he did not knew. ‘That must be Charlie’, he thought as he walked to where they were.

“Are you happy now, weasel?”

Both of them turned to look at where he was standing. Charlie was gorgeous. His freckles were all over his face but in a good way (which was weird because he didn’t particularly liked freckles), his eyes were intensely blue and his face was perfect, strong jawline and everything. Because of the nickname that Draco used, Charlie was glaring at him. Weasley, on the other hand, had a smug smile on his face.

“I am, ferret, thanks for asking.”

Draco huffed and sat with them.

“You are really emotionally manipulative for a Gryffindor. It’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, it got you here so I regret nothing”

He glared at him. Charlie was looking at both of them with an amused expression. Then, Weasley introduced them.

“Charlie, this is Draco Malfoy. He’s the one that helped us in the ministry.” If anyone asked, that was the only thing that he did that day. “And this is Charlie, I already told you about him.”

The blond boy tried to fight the blush that was appearing on his face. He offered his hand to greet Weasley’s brother, the redhead took it, shook it kindly and smiled at him.

“Thank you for what you did. Mum always says that the twins and me are a nightmare, but since this one started at Hogwarts” he said pointing at Ron. “ he’s been involved in more deathly situations than me in my entire life. And that’s saying something.”

Draco laughed at that, Weasley was right, he did like Charlie. He could tell he was kind and funny... and very attractive too, but that was just a bonus.

“Draco here is out and proud.”

Draco widened his eyes and turned to look at him. ’What the fuck are you doing, you stupid git ‘. Then he saw the surprised expression on Charlie’s face, before he smiled brightly at him.

“At hogwarts? That’s amazing! I wished I could had done that when I was at school...” Draco shook his head softly.

“I never actually made a big deal or shout it to everyone...” He shifted in his seat, trying to feel a little more comfortable. “But I don’t try to hide it either. There was only this one time in which my best friend asked me how I knew I didn’t like girls if I hadn’t even kissed one; I kind of ended up kissing her and it wasn’t pleasant at all.” Draco shrugged and made a dramatically disgusted face. “ And my parents weren’t thrilled about it but they always said that ,as long as I got married and had a heir, I could do with my privet life what I wanted.” The problem was that Draco didn’t have any interest in getting married unless it was for love. The pureblood duty be damned.

The redhead nodded at that and told him about how the first thing that Molly had asked about was ‘grandchildren’. Weasley seemed to be amused by how well they were getting along, occasionally making a comment or two in the conversation. He was laughing about something that Charlie said when Potter interrupted them.

“Malfoy, you came.” He looked surprised and the blond boy couldn’t decided if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Do you want me to leave or...” He heard Weasley groaned as he put his hands on his face. Potter shook his head quickly.

“No, I meant.. No.” He sighed. “Do you want to play with us? You could be seeker on Ginny’s team. Ron is on my team as keeper but Padfoot is-“

“No, thanks for asking me though. I do not feel in the mood for quidditch right now.” That was a lie. He missed playing, but because of what happened this morning, playing against Potter would be too much. They always ended up chasing each other and Draco didn’t want to start coughing in the middle of the match, it would ruin it for everyone. Potter raised an eyebrow as he was looking at him. He knew Draco was saying bullshit. “Maybe Ginevra could play seeker for her team.”

Potter frowned at him, he was clearly pissed of about his response. He turned to look at the redhead beside him.

“Charlie? Are you playing?” Great, so his plan was to leave Draco to bore himself to death to teach him a lesson. So predictable.

“ I think I’m going to stay here and chat with Draco some more, Harry.”

Weasley, who was looking at the scene in front of him, trying not to laugh, grabbed Potter by the shoulder and drag him away from the table. He could heard him saying to his best friend ‘Come on, mate. Let’s go.’ The green eyed boy turned to look at Draco before walking away.

He had a nice time at the end, chatted with Charlie for a while and then spent some time with Granger and professor Lupin ( call me Remus, Draco). When he realized, the party was over and didn’t have any coughing fits. He was so distracted by everything that there wasn’t a chance for him to get any.

—————————

Draco was looking at Potter’s present again. It was almost midnight now. A few more minutes and it wouldn’t be a birthday present, just a regular drawing. He heard a soft knock on the door, and hided the drawing under his pillow.

“Come in.”

Potter entered the room and closed the door behind him. The boy muttered a soft ‘Hi’ and stood there, shifting his weight between his feet. He kept looking at the bed like he was debating with himself whether he should sat down or not. Draco rolled his eyes and made room for him to sat down beside him.

As he was sitting on the bed, Potter started talking.

“ Thanks for today.” Draco looked away.

“It’s nothing, Potter. I was feeling a little sick but Weasley told me to go to the garden when I could.” That... was a very distorted version of the conversation they had. Potter frown at that.

“I’m not stupid, Malfoy.” Yes, Draco was aware that Potter was not stupid. What was he supposed to answer him then? He didn’t even want to talk about it. “I don’t know what did I say at breakfast to make you this mad but don’t treat me as an idiot.” He sounded tired, like if he lacked the energy to fight about this.

“You didn’t say anything bad. It was me, Potter. I was out of line. I should’ve suggested to Sirius the cake so he could do it himself or whatever.” The dark haired boy was looking at him with a confused expression.

“Is that what you think? That I didn’t want the cake because it came from you or some rubbish?” Potter moved his hair away from his face and Draco could see his intense green eyes. He didn’t know what to answer him so he just looked away and shrugged.

“ When I said ‘It’s too much’ I didn’t mean it was too much because it’s you.” He sighed. “What I meant was that you didn’t have to. You got up early to do something that I really didn’t need because in just a few more hours I was going to celebrate my birthday.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something but he interrupted him.

“Just let me finish. I didn’t need that and you did it anyway and of course I liked it. I can’t believe this is even up for discussion.” Potter tone was so annoyed about everything. He could tell that the boy was trying to sound patient but he sounded exasperated. “The cake was brilliant, nobody ever did something like that for me before, so thank you.”

He started to feel the soft tickles. Potter smiled at him then and Draco felt like something about that day was fixed.

“I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get to play against each other.” The green eyed boy said softly.

“Oh please, you played with Ginevra and got to flirt with her some more.” He was so pathetic. He just had to bring this up, didn’t he? Potter blushed horribly and looked away.

“I don’t flirt with her. She is Ron’s little sister and she’s with Dean.”

“Sure, Potter. Just in case, remember that your father knows how to woo a redhead.”

He was so blushed. Draco was enjoying this too much (strong tickles of jealousy a side). The blond boy chuckled a little.

“You are one to talk about flirting. I saw you talking to Charlie the entire party.” He couldn’t place what Potter’s tone meant.

“That was hardly flirting and he is too old for me. Remus would kill me.”

The dark haired boy nodded. Draco casted a tempus: 11.55 P.M. Fuck it, maybe if Potter liked the cake he would like the gift. He searched under his pillow for the parchment.

“Happy birthday, Potter.”

He just kept looking at the drawing, touched the way the lines were traced, with a look of confusion on his face.

“How?”

“Well, I did it myself. I thought it was clear.” Potter stared at him, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then, suddenly, Draco was being pulled into a hug. He froze.

“I love it, thank you.” He was still hugging him, which was both good and bad. It was good because Potter couldn’t see his horribly blushed face, it was bad because the tickles were crazy right now. He fighted the urge to cough, if he didn’t want people at school to know about the Hanahaki he needed to be able to control himself.

That night, Draco dreamed about The boy who lived. About being close to him and hugging him. How his hair moves while flying and how he always smelled as broom polish and treacle tarts. Mostly he dreamed about kissing the smile on his lips.

[mouldyrubbish]

ok but ... i need to talk about this. My mum truly doesn’t listen to me.. she never has. she’s never attended to my emotional or physical needs. I can’t say this because everyone see’s her as a saint of a mother, she’s so loving... she gives you everything... She is so supportive.

No. she’s a stage mum but for art. she’s a narcissist. she wants to flaunt me. She gets all her ego inflation through me. That’s why she pushes me. As a child she never acknowledged my hurt, my sadness, my stress, my trauma. She ignored my s*xual assault, she told me to just ignore bullies instead of giving me legitimate sympathy and emotional support, she supported my unjust punishment in high school for truanting that was an OBVIOUS sign of my depression and anxiety, and she always, even to this day, takes the side of the other person when I come to her about something I’m upset about. She’s blamed me for ruining her friendships instead of acknowledging a lot of her friends are just bad people and manipulators, she guilts me for everything, from her career choices being made because of me, the fact she’s not a practicing artist because she wanted to give ME a good upbringing (??), she guilts me into doing everything outside of my boundaries and will use every excuse possible not to respect my boundaries until she just decides to walk away from me when I try desperately to enforce them. She gets angry at me for the exact same behaviours that she exhibits on the regular, and when I try to call out her hypocrisy she tells me to shut up......... 

Also talking to her is just having the same five conversations. She complains about work, she bullies me into talking to her about my degree and pushes conversations pertaining my studies even if I tell her ten times I don’t want to have the conversation, she guilts me to do literally anything that she wants me to do, she tries to talk to me about some niche-ly famous person she once met that was mentioned on the arts radio show, and she complains about the dirty dishes/messy house (even though the majority of the mess is exclusively hers). 

i don’t think she’s ever asked me how I’m feeling, what’s going on in my life, what’s getting me down, or what I’m stressed about (and if she ever has, it was never in earnest), and even if I have tried to talk to her about any of these things she always finds a way to turn it back on me and make me feel guilty, ashamed, or embarrassed about it, or make it out like it’s entirely my fault and that I am in the wrong. And don’t even get me started if any of these things have to do with her. She simply will not listen. She’ll ignore me, walk away from me, talk over me, and use anything against me out of spite. Once I tried to confront her about all this pain I was feeling from the way she was treating me, and she smashed the dish drying rack into pieces on the kitchen sink in front of me in a frenzied rage. 

When I say I don’t feel safe or supported here, this is what I mean. When I say I can’t stand living here, this is why. And it’s been 18 years of living with her justifying her treatment of me as ‘you’re the child, I’m the adult’ until I finally realised that that wasn’t the case at all, because even now that I’m an adult, the same kind of behaviour is carried out day after day. And it’s almost been 4 more years of this. I can’t keep letting my maturity be stunted by her treating me like a child, and suppressing my autonomy. I can’t keep letting her use my security as a bribe against me, a reason to undermine and disrespect me freely without any consequence. I don’t have free will in this house, I live a life of ultimatums and manipulative trickery and trauma. I hate to be dramatic, but it’s exhausting, and I want to know what a life of love and joy is like, not one of holding my breath and dreading every second I am awake in this house. 

[punkscowardschampions]

Jac & Amelia

Jac: So, you got your room 🙌 What other wins did freshers bring you? 😄 Amelia: Yeah, thank god Amelia: it's been full on enough without adding travel sickness Jac: Never going to fly when class starts either Jac: it's just slightly more inventive than coming down with the 'flu' every Monday morning, but not enough Amelia: bit intense to start crashing on my new friends floors too, I don't want to be THAT gay Jac: 😂 Jac: I doubt they'd mind Jac: but having a base that isn't totally covered in crochet decor is a plus Amelia: now that freshers is over and they're going to 🤞 they never see those hook ups again maybe Amelia: still, not the first impression I'm trying to make Jac: Oh God, tell me about it Jac: I am not trying to have people I've got to avoid for the next 7 odd years Jac: not trying to make it like home like that Amelia: very relatable Amelia: even though I have no need to count that high Jac: Is your course 3? or 4? Amelia: depends if I want to go to Canada, Denmark, Italy, Poland, Sweden, USA or the UK for a year Jac: Oh wow Jac: 🦪 Amelia: that emoji is the gayest Amelia: so yeah probably Jac: Very O'Keefe of you Jac: can't give up the 🎨 quite yet? Amelia: 😂 Jac: I've met THE perfect girl for you, oh my GOD Amelia: because I'm going to travel to Edinburgh for 🦪 after dodging a 3 hour commute Jac: She's American, you could convince her Cork has a lot to offer beside 🦪 Jac: but actually, she is UNBEARABLE, and I'm trying very hard to be nice and give everyone a chance rn Jac: she does Art History, despite the fact she seems to know less about art than I do Jac: doesn't stop her 🔊 Amelia: 💔 you put your mean girl years behind you too soon, I'm SO proud though Amelia: and I'm sure Savannah appreciates it just as much Jac: 😏 I can feel the sincerity Jac: I know though, talk about completely crazy Amelia: if you want sincerity I can totally believe she'd follow you there as if nothing happened Amelia: are you okay? Jac: I think the prestige probably beat the off-chance I'd also be there but I appreciate the belief Jac: Yeah, actually, I am Jac: it went well, better than I could've or would've imagined before Amelia: alright, that's a relief Amelia: not that it's been playing on my mind or anything since the ✨ livened up my feed Jac: I would've got in touch sooner Jac: It did cross my mind, that you'd see Jac: I also didn't wanna encroach on your freshers' experience at all, that idea won out Jac: It must've been a shock for you and all Amelia: I get it, because likewise obviously Amelia: plus you seemed like you were coping, and it's not the same as before, you have people to go to now if you aren't so Amelia: I don't know, it seemed too dramatic to come at you all !!!!!! Amelia: which is why I didn't Jac: I wouldn't have bitten your head off Jac: but I see and appreciate that logic Jac: not to mention previous experience would say I actually would so Jac: She's changed a lot too, in those 2 years Amelia: good Jac: Yeah, turns out she had a pretty rough time of it too Jac: which, obviously, but I wasn't really in a space to think too much about that back then Amelia: was likely to be more 🥀 than 🌹 living with her dad, and everything that happened with her mum Amelia: I'm not surprised even if I couldn't be very sympathetic then Jac: I can't believe I was zoned out Jac: I didn't even know about her mum Amelia: you had loads of your own shit going on, it'd be more unbelievable if you were tuned into hers Amelia: I didn't know how bad it was, or didn't want to hear it, whichever Jac: Jess made it sound like the world and his wife knew Jac: I feel awful Jac: but her mum is doing better now, and they're trying to mend their relationship, so, that's positive Amelia: it always feels like that in my 🏠 but I would've told you if I'd realised Jac: It isn't your fault remotely Jac: like you said, sympathy about it wasn't at the forefront of your mind Jac: and you can't be blamed there Amelia: I'm genuinely glad things are getting better, the last thing she needs is to feel like shit for leaving her mum again if they aren't Jac: I know you are, you aren't a monster Jac: even if you and Savannah had your differences, and the obvious situation from there 'til now Amelia: that's enough sincerity though, the last thing I need is Savannah Moore trying to be my friend again Amelia: you can keep her Jac: 😂 Alright Jac: about that though Jac: things have changed, between us too Amelia: okay Amelia: what does that mean? Jac: Well, I told her, this time Jac: that I'm not straight Jac: and neither is she Amelia: she really has fucking changed Jac: She hasn't also come out, there's no label on it or anything Jac: but she likes me back Jac: you deserve to know, and would, regardless of where we were in our relationship Jac: I'm sorry if it's not what you want to hear though Amelia: thanks, I guess Amelia: for not waiting for the 💍 announcement Jac: Things haven't moved quite that fast Jac: although, yeah Jac: I know Amelia: It's still Savannah, I doubt she's had a TOTAL personality transplant Amelia: you probably wouldn't like her if she had Amelia: so I'll keep an eye out for that post and put my congrats on it Jac: No, she's still her Jac: and I doubt her plans include a 💍 that could be bought on a student budget Amelia: true Amelia: I'll send some 💐 she'd NEVER put in the 🗑 Amelia: just the 💌 I'll actually bother to write, you know, like a normal person Jac: There goes the mystery Amelia: because of course you wouldn't recognise my handwriting Jac: I've checked your homework over enough times Jac: I doubt anyone else is rushing to send us a bouquet so Jac: process of elimination Amelia: there you go then Jac: but I have told my brother and that Jac: on the off-chance you catch him and he's dying not to bring it up Amelia: bit rude of him not to try and gently break the news Jac: Assumedly either thinking I've imagined the whole thing all over, or it'll all fizzle out before there's any need to go there Amelia: or I'm thriving so hard there's no need to bring me down 1 week in Jac: Obviously that too Jac: but you know that wasn't my intention, yeah Amelia: it's obvious you're not thinking about me, don't worry Jac: Okay Jac: do you want me to leave you now? Amelia: Why would I want that? Jac: Plenty of valid reasons Jac: to process, to not, you just don't feel like talking to me at this precise moment Amelia: what's to process? the bit about her not queerbaiting you the entire time is new, the rest isn't Jac: That's not nothing Jac: it changes the whole thing Amelia: not for me Jac: Alright then Amelia: you were hung up on her every second, what's changed for you is that was a least a bit mutual Amelia: I don't need to process any of that, it doesn't involve me Jac: It's still new information, that's all Amelia: not really Amelia: I probably should have guessed anyway Jac: If I didn't, I don't see how you could've Jac: she didn't even then so Amelia: too late to become a 🔮💎💫 gay, I hear you Jac: 🕵 is definitely a better idea Amelia: maybe I'd just really love to be able to say 'it's just a phase, mum' about something Jac: You've had plenty Amelia: name one Jac: [that boy band I said they liked lol] Jac: for starters Amelia: that wasn't a phase that was me lying that I cared Jac: yeah, okay Jac: you knew all the lyrics 'cos you cover was so deep Jac: no need to lie, they had some tunes Amelia: I knew all the lyrics because there was about 5 lines repeated over and over Jac: uh-huh Jac: you had badges all over your school bag Amelia: because you've never fully committed to a lie, oh wait Jac: There's no need to be a bitch Amelia: 😂 Jac: No, I'm not super ready to laugh about that time in my life, as it goes Amelia: okay Jac: I'm going to leave you to it now Jac: Good luck with your first proper day, hope it all goes well Amelia: actually wait though Amelia: I didn't mean that Amelia: I'm sorry Jac: Alright Jac: I know you're upset, or pissed off Jac: but being a better person doesn't extend to being a punching bag for you to get that out Jac: you can feel it, obviously, but that's just unproductive for you, and not gonna happen from my end Amelia: I know Jac: and I know that's what I did to you Jac: so it probably seems fair, or justified at least, that you get to now Jac: but it wasn't right, and an eye for an eye, you know Amelia: no, it's not fair, I wasn't being, that's why I'm sorry Jac: You don't need to stoop to my lowest Amelia: I'm trying, okay Jac: Yeah Jac: and I accept your apology Amelia: thanks Jac: should I not have told you? Amelia: I think that'd be worse Jac: I thought the same Jac: unless you were going to block me on the sly, then you would have seen Amelia: maybe I should now, I don't know Jac: If you want to Jac: to take some time Jac: or more permanently Jac: it's up to you Jac: obviously my offer of being friends still stands but I understand Jac: as I said, this changes things Amelia: yeah, if we let it Jac: You can't help how this makes you feel Amelia: but why should I let her take everything again? Jac: Savannah isn't actively doing that Jac: but if you want to keep trying, so do I Amelia: we worked hard at getting here, me and you, that's not about her Jac: True Jac: You don't have to be friends with her now, that's not it Jac: just accept that she's my girlfriend, and a big part of my life Amelia: does she know? Jac: About what happened between us? Jac: No Jac: she doesn't know a huge amount about those two years, for me Jac: I plan to tell her everything Jac: but it's a lot to throw at her in a sitting, especially unasked, you know Amelia: it'd really fuck with her freshers, for sure Jac: Right Jac: all for having the hard but necessary conversations Jac: but there's a time and a place Jac: I don't want her to feel like I'm trying to make her feel bad for me, either Jac: like 'look what YOU did' because nah Amelia: too 🥀🥀🥀 Amelia: it can wait, neither of you are going anywhere Jac: That's my logic Amelia: she'll get why you waited Jac: I hope so Amelia: come on, it'll be harder for you to say than it'll be for her to hear, she's a LOT of things, but she won't want you to go through that before you're ready to Jac: You're right Jac: it just feels like secrets, and that feels like 10 steps back Jac: but it isn't that Amelia: I'm sure even she hasn't had time to tell you everything, she'd need to be chatting non stop Jac: True Jac: if you're ever done talking about yourself and your life, that's gotta be a sign you need to get out more, right Jac: there's always more to say Amelia: right Amelia: stop being so virgo-ish about it and give yourself a break Jac: 😂 okay Jac: I just need lectures to actually start Jac: so I can freak out on that instead Amelia: same Jac: are you more 😁 or 😱 Amelia: 😕 Amelia: over 😣 Jac: You'll be fine Jac: let me know how it goes though Jac: I'm interested Amelia: okay 🤓 Jac: Well there's a lot of overlap Jac: obviously, you can usually do them as a double discipline but I wanted to go pure Psych Jac: doesn't mean I'm not 🤔 Amelia: yeah Jac: 🤏🤓 fine Amelia: we're not strangers Jac: I remember Jac: so, what are your new mates like then? Amelia: great, obviously Jac: It's a good thing you aren't taking English Jac: that description leaves a lot to be desired Amelia: what do you want me to say? Jac: Isn't there anyone in particular? Amelia: there's a whole course full of people Jac: Yeah, I like one of my profs, he's really cool Jac: but I don't know anyone on my course that well yet either, they all seem nice enough though Amelia: of course you do Jac: it's so refreshing in comparison to the teachers at our school Jac: even if he acted like a base level human, it'd be a step up Jac: but he knows his stuff, and he's down to help me get ahead, what more could I want Amelia: literally nothing Jac: But I'm still not into dudes so I won't commit that cliche, don't worry Amelia: a real weight off my mind Jac: sure Amelia: 😏 Jac: I've already done loads of prep Jac: can basically chill in his class this whole term Amelia: you can but you won't Amelia: 🤓🏆⭐ Jac: we're not strangers Amelia: maybe we are 🤏 because reading's the only prep we were given but I've already done it Jac: Not really Jac: you just pretended you weren't 🤓 Amelia: no, I just actually wasn't 🤓 about school Jac: plenty of other things Jac: you can't hide the 🤓 Amelia: it's not 😳 I literally can Jac: not from me Amelia: that'd be 10 steps back Jac: try 10000 Amelia: no thank you, that sounds exhausting Jac: you've got a 🛏 Amelia: yeah, I don't know who's more thrilled, me or my dad Amelia: getting to pretend he's allergic to pets for another year at least Jac: result Jac: won't have to fake seduce him on your behalf either Jac: I'm most thrilled Amelia: Savannah is Amelia: undoubtedly Jac: Yeah, that ain't something I ever want to explain 😂 Amelia: she'd be less understanding about it Jac: None of us are understanding that Jac: sorry to your father Amelia: 😂 Jac: I think your mum would snap Jac: go full psycho Amelia: probably Amelia: they're very 😍🥰😘 right now Jac: that's nice Jac: bit gross but good Jac: she won't call you every 10 minutes Amelia: she can try but I won't answer Amelia: the friend I like best will be here soon Jac: Sounds promising Jac: I'll leave you to it for now, for real Jac: you better get ready Amelia: you're so Amelia: you Jac: what does that mean? Amelia: I don't need 👗👠💄 Jac: what's that, a humblebrag? Amelia: hardly Amelia: it's a compliment for you, you're cute for caring Jac: It's not cute, I just like to look nice Amelia: oh so you don't think I look nice? Amelia: rude Jac: everyone looks better for effort Jac: that's simple facts Amelia: anyway, I meant it's cute you care about my social life this much Jac: because I really need you being a loner to worry about Jac: no tah Jac: obviously I'm happy for you Amelia: you don't need to worry about me whatever happens Jac: It's not optional Amelia: okay Jac: I never stopped Amelia: you can stop now Jac: That's just what being friends is Amelia: I'm no expert Amelia: have to take your word for it, if anything Jac: I know you care about me too Amelia: but you're thriving so I don't have to worry Jac: I guess Jac: it's not just for the bad times though, is it Amelia: I hope not Jac: it's not Jac: come on Jac: pull yourself together and at least do 1 out of 3 👗👠💄 Amelia: fine, I'll put shoes on Jac: that's what I like to hear Amelia: 🙄 just because I'm ignoring my mum there's no need for you to take over from her Jac: I still can't do any handicrafts so unlikely Amelia: Savannah is unlikely to wear a homemade 🧣 so I think you're fine Jac: she loves anything thoughtful but I ain't gonna start there still Amelia: 💐 Jac: Naturally Jac: both our rooms look like a florist already Jac: makes up for the shabby walls and carpet you can't do much about Amelia: any time you'd like to fully lean into the 👵 I'll do you an embroidery hoop or something Amelia: very chic Jac: they do sell a lot of that sort of thing in the charity shops Jac: I'm sure your 🎨 will be better than whatever the actual 👵 decided to do 🖼 Amelia: SUCH a compliment, I have no idea how I'm not 😳 Jac: Charity shops are in Jac: I'm not going to call it thrifting, I'm not even half-American, wouldn't be able to take myself seriously Amelia: good, please don't Jac: vintage, upcycling, all acceptable Amelia: for my mother Amelia: I'll take how 'modern' my room here is Jac: I suppose that does make a change Jac: I love the buildings though, the architecture Amelia: 🎨 Amelia: yeah, would be inspiring if I had any time Jac: Is Cork by the coast? Jac: I know nothing about that area Jac: I'm like NEXT to the beach, it's incredible Amelia: it's one of the largest natural harbours in the world, if that doesn't make you want to come and visit me, well ?? Amelia: it has it's own lovely architecture Jac: You should work for the tourism board, honestly Jac: good speech, that Amelia: 🤷🏻 Amelia: I'm here for the 🤓 and you're already interested in that Jac: I'd go to Italy, if I were you Jac: but then, Denmark might have the most interesting criminal practices and laws, so that's a good choice too Amelia: you'll visit me there then, yeah? Jac: I forgot about Sweden, but those three are the real ones to consider Jac: and we can sort visiting when we're even a bit settled Amelia: okay Jac: we've only just left Amelia: thanks for that obvious reminder Jac: 😏 Jac: you know what I mean Jac: give me a chance to get my diary in order before you're saying I'm avoiding you or whatever Amelia: give you a chance to miss me, you mean Amelia: you've got one right now, because I have to go get ready Jac: Oh, if we had to wait for that, you'd never see me again 😉 Jac: have fun 👠👠 Amelia: 💔 Amelia: bye

[ninaahelvar]

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword (13/23)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: 10 motherfucking chapters to go! this will probably be my last update for the year, so i thank everyone who read in 2019, and I can't wait for 2020. I'm also incredibly close to get 1000 kudos and i cannot thank everyone enough for the love and support for this fic. it's been such a journey and it's insane that it's gotten so many people that like it. thank you for continuing to read it, and coming back with each update. (this chapter has only had minor edits made, so if there are mistakes....my bad) 

The hospital cleared him, and he was sent home with little more than a nod from Brienne. The entire team was pissed at him - it was the first rule they had; you could be friends with the royals, but nothing more could come of it. Gendry loved his job at the palace, he loved his work with the Starks, and defending them was a drive he never knew he had outside of the army. The risk he took with Arya was careless, but when it was happening, he couldn’t help himself. He was in love. 

He still was. 

But when his mum called him, crying and yelling at him about this and that, he felt a part of him break. Of all people, his mother didn’t deserve to be like that. Gendry had heard Tailya crying too often when he was a child - it was torture to know that this time, he was the cause of it all. So he broke his own heart to save his mother the pain of further embarrassment. It wasn’t right, and he should have thought of something else, but he could only save one woman in his life the pain of his love. 

At home, he sat awake, his orders from the doctor, watching endless, mind numbing television that did him nothing but want to fall asleep. Arya always made this trash seem interesting, her own personal take on the inside lives of the characters on screen. He fell in love with that. And he threw it away for nothing. 

Getting home the night he ended things, he got drunk. Like way too drunk to stand the next morning. Waking the next morning was definitely an eye opener on how he felt the night before. He had to pick up the mess he created. Then, a few days later, Arya created her first mess.  

Discharged, he sat at home, wondering what the hell was going to happen. It’d be a miracle if the palace kept him on. They probably thought he’d fuck up his work...again. They would never trust him in Arya’s proximity again, and never Sansa’s - though he knew what was going on with her. There were the boys, but Robb needed men that wouldn’t get distracted, and as for Bran and Rickon...well...they were odd ones to get along with. They were reckless on a level that was stupid rather than Arya’s rebellious. Stupid was hard to contain.

A knock came to his door after a few hours on his own, and he stumbled to the door. He wanted to grumble about he wanted to be left alone, but when the door swung open and guards he knew swarmed his apartment only to leave a few seconds later, he was left stunned. Especially when the King came rounding the corner and thanking the men that left. 

Gendry’s mouth hung open for a solid few seconds before the words formed. It was the largest lump he ever had at the back of his throat. “Your majesty! What are you doing here?” He exclaimed, swallowing back the panic that was building within his body. 

“Son, we need to talk,” The king said, clapping Gendry on the shoulder and walking past him. Ned walked like a man that was built ten times larger than most, a control over every room. He was certainly controlling the one Gendry was in. 

“Would you like a coffee?” Gendry asked, patting down his pockets as though he had something to offer. He felt like an idiot when the King turned around, a small smirk on his lips.

“A beer, if you have one.” To that, Gendry blinked, nodded and went to his fridge. He got one out of Ned, but when he looked back with a stern brow, Gendry got himself one too, joining Ned on the couch. “The queen is trying to keep me from alcohol since the wedding, said I was too reckless, but I think she’s keeping me away from liquor after the accident.” 

“Here you go, sir,” Gendry said, handing off the beer. Cracking the top off the bottle, Ned took a sip and smiled to it.

“So,” he sighed, looking over to Gendry, “tell me what happened.” 

Gendry choked. “Excuse me?” 

“With Arya? Why did it end?” 

“I don’t think we should be talking about this behind her back.” He laughed it off, but the King scowled at that answer. Gendry swallowed back the lump in his throat. He may be a kind man, but that look he gave Gendry made him feel small, like the man in front of him was his father, asking him to be honest. 

“That’s for me to deal with,” Ned grumbled, keeping his eyes locked with Gendry’s, making damn well sure that Gendry knew that he wanted an answer that night. 

Gendry sighed, fingers combing through his hair before he rested his elbows on his knees. “I got a call from my mum that morning. She had to close the shop, because people were harassing her about me. I didn’t know what she meant and I got the article sent to me. I knew what the public was doing. They would have dug through my family, through what my mum went through with the prick that left her when he found out she was pregnant. I didn’t want her going through that. My only answer at the time was to leave Arya. I didn’t want to. I was a fucking idiot to do it, but...my mum is everything to me. I couldn’t do that to her.”

The truth spilled out, like it had been waiting all his life for a chance to explain himself, to tell someone what his truest fears were. That the man that fathered him was to blame for most of the hardship in the Waters’ family line. 

The look that washed over Ned’s face made Gendry’s stomach twist, like he knew something he shouldn’t. “Do you know who your father is? Or is it -” 

“I know who he is. So do you,” Gendry said, and the King confirmed with a nod, “but I don’t need that for my mum. When he left her, she was so hurt, and whenever news comes out, we shut it off. Ever wonder why it’s a stag’s head and not just a stag?” he scoffed. 

“Kill the bastard that hurt her.” Ned smirked, taking a sip of his beer before he sighed, looking back at Gendry. He wondered if when the King looked at him, he saw the man he knew. “He may be my oldest friend, but it doesn’t mean it justifies the things he’s done in his past,” he confirmed. 

“Will you -” 

“I’ll make sure it stays out of the papers, don’t worry,” he said, and Gendry let out a sigh of relief, leaning back into his chair, a weight off his shoulders. Then, Ned continued, a strong change in his voice, deep and threatening, “but son, you’re an idiot. Get back together with my daughter. You’ve proven to me what true happiness is in that girl, and you broke her. Fix it, or I’ll make your life a living nightmare, regardless of Robert’s family name getting dragged into this,” he said, standing and making Gendry get up too. Out of respect, perhaps? But he followed whatever Ned asked him to. 

“Yes sir,” he said, almost wanting to salute, but thought he’d be mocked for it. “Are you sure you want me to get -” 

“You’re in love with her, you prick! Will you always be in love with her?” he snapped, and Gendry gave a knowing nod. 

“Yes.” 

“Then fucking tell her that,” he said, throwing his hands to the sky. “Gods, you kids are the worst, most infuriating morons I’ve ever had to be around. Making a drama out of nothing. If this happens again, you come to me first and I’ll put a stop to whatever mess is happening. That’s all you had to do, not break the love of your life’s heart,” he said, drinking the remains of his beer in one huge tilt of his neck. Gendry watched the bottle drain in a few seconds, and the King burped briefly afterwards, not even excusing himself. He almost seemed proud, probably because it meant he was on his way back to normalcy. 

“Thank you for being so frank,” Gendry smiled, to which, Ned put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder, giving a smile back. 

“If you were my boy, I’d bloody well hit you, but as King, I’ve been told I have to stop doing that to people that aren’t my family,” he chuckled, and part of him wanted to be the son of the man in front of him. He wanted to mean something to the man, to make him proud and be everything he ever wanted from Gendry. He wanted to be the best he could. 

“I’ll try to get her back, sir,” he said, chewing on his lip before he added, “or at least make it better.” 

As the King sighed, he seemed to know the challenge that lay ahead of Gendry. Better was going to be the least he could achieve. “That’s all I want,” he said, and finally, left Gendry’s home. The door was closed and Ned left without even the smallest commotion from anyone nearby. Either the streets were cleared before he got there, or his secret service team was just that good that no one could even tell he was around. 

He watched the car roll away, and for the rest of the night, he knew what he needed to do; Gendry had to plan on how he needed to act, to be better. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and he had to think carefully on what to do, because it was Arya after all. Nothing came easy with her. It wasn’t like Gendry wasn’t up for the challenge, he just knew he couldn’t treat it like that. 

The next day, when Arya came to his door, he wasn’t sure what she’d say. He kind of expected her to get angry, start to yell and fume like she did the day before and sent him to the hospital. Instead, she was an Arya that had never truly stepped foot in front of him. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that everything she said and did wasn’t necessary, anything to put her at ease and not have her acting like she were to blame.

“I know this hasn’t been easy. For either of us, but I shouldn’t have acted like a spoiled child about it. It wasn’t right of me,” she said, ducking her head down, Gendry felt his hands tighten at his sides. Why did she have to look so small? Why was he the cause of it all? He hated that Arya wasn’t herself in that moment, that she looked like someone so insignificant compared to who she actually was. “But you have to know…” she paused, and Gendry swallowed, wishing that the words that came out would help the situation. “You were the only person I’ve ever loved, and the first person to break my heart too.” 

Gendry wanted to throw up. He wanted to collapse to his knees and beg for her to take it back, to not let herself have a broken heart because of him. “Your Hi -” 

“It was always going to hurt more with this. With you. I saw myself spending the rest of my life with you. But that isn’t going to happen. It’ll be okay, but I’ll just be a little broken until it is -” 

“Arya, please, just let me -” 

“I hope to see you back at work soon. The palace isn’t the same without you.” She said. And still the words beckoned at the back of his throat. 

Arya, please, just let me explain this, let me tell you what happened, and we can do what you wanted - we’ll work it out. We’ll figure it out together, and I won’t be the asshole that broke your heart. I’ll make everything better, just let me explain.

But he couldn’t get it out. 

The princess that could have armies at her feet was a broken shell of who she once was, and he did it all to her. He broke the unbreakable, and even when men had wished to do the same thing, it meant the worst pain imaginable for him. Gendry was the only man that deserved to die, and when she spoke, her breath hiccuping at the back of her throat, he wished she had throttled him until he was in just as much pain as she was. To be broken down to the bare essentials of who he was, just like Arya. He deserved all the pain that she dished out. 

Instead, he got her apologising, wanting him back at the place where she lived, she wanted him around. 

It wasn’t right, he felt like this was a punishment for her, not him. He was the one at fault for everything wrong in her life, and yet she wanted to keep him around. Watching as she left, much like her father the night before, instead she looked up to him, smiling before she got in the car and drove away. He wondered if watching him leave that day felt the same as watching her go. That there would always be a dull ache that remained as they parted from one another. If they both felt hollow without the other. 

But it was wrong to think like that. To hope. To wish. To pray for it. That she would feel the need to want him in return. He wanted it, more than air, he wanted for her to love him again, to continue to love him in spite of everything he had done to her. All Gendry wanted was to love her, and be loved just as much in return. 

Yet, he had to ask himself, how much did he love her in the first place? If he were so willing to desert her at the drop of a hat? Could she ever see that as anything other than a betrayal? How could she ever think he loved her to begin with? She made it clear the day he saw her that she thought he was just using her for sex. Which was the furthest thing from his mind when he started his relationship with her. 

In the end, Gendry knew that he never meant to fall in love with Arya. It happened in the blink of an eye, without warning or even the slightest inkling that it could come about. Love, like most things, came to him in a crashing moment of realisation, one in which he had no chance in stopping. Either the universe was playing a cruel game on him, or it had all been fated to go this way. He hoped there was a brighter future for them both. 

It took him a few more days at home, another check up with the doctor to see how he was doing, and he was cleared for work. Dressing in his suit, he went to the palace and walked through halls that were all too familiar, yet the stares were new. They were filled with judgment and scorn. He met with Brienne, who gave him the simplest orders: don’t interact with Arya for more than needed. One sentence was enough. That’s what he was told. But he knew them, he knew that, even though conversations somewhat became hard to maintain for both of them, it would flood into arguments and snide comments that would stew in their bellies for hours. They were lit fuses, ready to ignite whatever anger had been stored in them all this time. 

Walking back out, heading towards the stairs, he saw Sansa descending with Sandor behind her. Sansa stopped in front of him, Sandor on the other hand, barged past him. “Prick.” His voice was rough and mean, and Gendry knew it was also a comment that Sansa enjoyed from her slight chuckle at it. 

Gendry was left with the princess, and he gave her a bow, as he was meant to do when first greeting royalty. He was sure Sansa thought he was being an idiot, but it didn’t matter. He already won that prize a long time ago. “You’re going to have a shit night,” Sansa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Sansa stepped in closer to him.

“Sorry. We can chat later, but we can’t tell Arya,” she said, and Gendry nodded back in response. “Also, just cause I haven’t said it yet,” Sansa said, her hands sliding onto his shoulders, then in an instant, his mind went blank with pain, as Sansa’s knee had collided with his groin, stunning him, knees hitting the floor. “Fuck you for hurting my sister,” she said, and he choked, nodding to her aggressive action.

“I deserved that,” he wheezed, trying to get his breath back, holding his crotch to ease the pain. Sansa moved down the stairs and went to Sandor’s side, walking to the kitchens with him. 

“Great shot, little bird. Just like I taught ya,” Sandor praised and Sansa beamed a smile back at him. Gendry coughed, getting back his barrings and moving up the palace steps.

It took him a few breaths and the slowest walk up the palace steps to get himself to a presentable state before he walked into Arya’s room. He gave a knock, but Arya rarely replied, so he went inside. 

Upon stepping foot inside, Gendry’s throat went dry. He’d seen Arya look elegant, he’d seen her look disheveled but still beautiful, he’d seen her naked and bare in front of him, but fuck, he’d never seen her look so sexy in his life. With a leather skirt that hugged at every curve of her hip, tracing lines that only his hands had touched in the past, accompanied by a black lace bralette, revealing just enough to remember where his teeth had pressed in. With thin stockings and a jacket to match her skirt, Gendry was rendered incompetant to do even the most basic of tasks to breathe. 

“Where are we going?” he said, voice cracking like a teenage boy. He cleared his throat as he tried to remember what he was doing. 

Arya bent, her ass on display like she were teasing at something. Well, she was teasing him. Look at what you can no longer have. It’s free and ready to use, and you lost your chance. “Out,” she said, getting her boots and sitting on the edge of her bed as she put them on, “can’t you tell?” she questioned playfully. It made his shoulders ache, the need to readjust himself in every way possible was becoming the most agonising task. 

Sansa was right. He was going to have a shit night.

“I don’t think you going out will give off the best impression, princess.” 

“You don’t get a say in that, do you?” she remarked, going into her bathroom. He could only assume she was fixing up the make up that looked way too out of character for her. But that was possibly the point of it. 

“As your bodyguard, I do,” he reminded. Then, Arya poked her head out, puckering her lips as she reapplied the lipstick that stained her lips. 

“As my boyfriend, you don’t.” She sarcastically smiled, and Gendry felt his chest tighten.

“Arya, I’m not trying to be difficult but -” 

“Then don’t be difficult,” she gave a dry suggestion, then stopped in front of him, a scowl replacing her very smug grin, “and don’t call me my name,” she demanded. Gendry shut his mouth. The detail he had missed, one that he knowingly tried to remedy when he went in that day. It slipped. It shouldn’t have.

Arya moved out of the room quickly, skipping her way out of her room and cheerily behaving exactly as she had done when he first started. 

“Your highness! Wait!” he shouted, following after her. It felt like the beginning, when he lost sight of her and panic set in, “shit, this is going to be a long night,” he swore, racing down the stairs and seeing her get into a car. He flagged it down before it was completely able to leave. Arya scowled at him in the rear view mirror. He now felt dread take him. 

This would be his life, a job where he was condemned every day, sneered at for acting on an impulse he should have pushed aside. This was his ultimate punishment, welcomed back with open arms, and once in the hold, knives shoved in his back and he would never be able to complain - why should he? He was taken back after all the wrong he had caused. 

When they arrived, Gendry felt his shoulders sink as he looked at the building. The fucking Forge. Of course it was The Forge. Gendry wanted to put his head through the windscreen, because from his past experience in that club, it meant a great deal of foreplay that would end up going further in a bathroom stall. Arya was bolting out of the car, stripping out of her jacket and tossing it back in the car. Beric moved to the door outside, keeping watch. Gendry moved to his side when he jabbed Gendry right in the stomach. 

“What are you doing standing around out here? Gotta go in and protect the small pup,” he accosted, and Gendry groaned.

“I fucking hate this day,” he swore to himself. Moving inside, it was bodies pressing together, hands roaming to places they wouldn’t be in any normal situation - but it was hot, and people breathing down one’s neck was exactly what a person there wanted. Gendry waded through the swarms of people, being groped along the way, trying to find a wall where he could easily spy on Arya and keep her from harm. When he got there, he should have known the cruelty that he would be subjected to. 

As hands roamed, Arya smiled eagerly, hands gracing over her form and her own slipping beneath shirt collars, touching at skin that tempted at the edge of clothes. All the while, Gendry had to watch her, watch as her hips swayed, finding friction amongst the crowd, smiling that grew when people ducked their heads to her neck, lingering their mouths on her where once he was the only one to touch.

One guy came up to her, hands on her bare skin, just above her skirt and beneath the bralette that she very well could have slipped out of with how tightly the room was packed. Gendry was on edge, hid fight response was fuelling him in that moment, because all he wanted to do was shoot out across the room and punch the guy in the face - his hands on the princess when they shouldn’t have been. He couldn’t exactly judge anyone, he reminded himself, he’d done the exact same. 

Then, his hands went down, mouth directly next to her ear, whispering to her words that went deaf to the music around them. Whatever it was, it made Arya bite her lip, and the guy got eager, fingers inching down until they were trying to slip past the waistline of her skirt. Arya’s eyes sprung open, hands going to his to stop him. 

Lucky for her, jealousy had overtaken Gendry and he was already through the crowd and pulling the man from her. Taking hold of Arya’s bicep, he tugged her along. 

“Your Highness,” he said, dragging her out. Her hands tried to ungrip his hold on her, but he could do it - he had to get her out of there. He held her out the back door, pushing her out the back entrance and into the cold. 

“Get off me, Gendry!” she snarled and he finally released her. 

“You can’t do this out of spite,” he snapped back. Was he even really mad at her, or just the guy she was using? Either way, jealousy was moving its course, and he’d place blame wherever it laid. 

“You’d be amazed at what I’d do out of spite,” she replied with a scoff. A wisp of cold Northern air came through and shook Gendry. He wasn’t used to it, even after the year or so of being there. He suspected that it would be the same for Arya, if she weren’t half dressed. 

“This isn’t you, and you know it,” he replied, and Arya frowned at him. 

“Wow, really? You’re observant,” she scowled, rolling her eyes as she clutched tighter to her biceps, holding herself for warmth that was lost in the Winterfell night. Why he felt sorry for her, he hated it, because at the end of the day - all he knew was what Arya made him feel. In the depths of the cold, she always would provide warmth. Shaking off his jacket, he pulled it around Arya’s shoulders and stood back in a huff. Arya clutched it to her, but provided no surprise in his action. She just took it, as she should have. 

“Gods, you’re acting like a child, you know that?” he growled, hands going into his pockets. 

“Says the man that ran away when he got scared,” she snapped. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed. 

“Fuck you,” Arya snarled, turning from him, taking her place as a royal, her chin high and shoulders square. She wouldn’t stand for how she was being treated. Yet, there was a flicker in her eyes of pain - that she shouldn’t have said what she did, she shouldn’t be acting the way she had been. 

“Do you love me?” 

“Don’t ask me that,” she groaned. 

“I still love you, and this is what you’re doing,” he replied, and Arya looked back at him, shocked that he would eve say it. 

“I’m allowed to do what I like, regardless if I love you or not. You ended things too, remember? So why do you care?” 

“Because I do! Because I love you!” he shouted, unleashing the pain in his chest. He just needed to say it. Needed her to know that his heart hasn’t changed. He needed to...he wanted to better for her, and wanted her to know she was still loved. “Don't you still love me? What more is there?” 

“Of course I still love you, idiot! But you still broke my heart and my trust!” she snapped back, her cheeks going rosy because of the crisp night air.

“Then we can figure this out, we can work through this.” 

“I don't want to figure this out. I want to know you’re in this. I need to know you’re gonna fight for me.” Arya looked hurt, that breathing was becoming painful, or maybe it was just the same air they shared. 

“I am fighting for you!” Gendry roared. 

“You’re begging for me, there’s a difference!” Arya yelled back, her eyes pleading for him to know the difference. 

“I have always fought for us, you just don’t -” 

“You ran! You ran when you told me you loved me, and you ran when things got hard. You want me back? You make damn well sure that I trust you enough not to leave again,” she said, shoving at his chest. “Prove me wrong!”

“I’ve literally bled for you!” he snarled back, stepping into her space. Arya’s next breath came out shaken, the wind catching it and whafting it away like smoke. 

“I just want you to want me! Without fear, without concern or a care! I want you to fight to want me!” 

“Arya, please, I'm trying,” he said, voice soft, and Arya whined, her hand going to her forehead. She seemed like she was ready to cry, and Gendry felt it too, the tension in his chest was becoming agonising. Arya seemed to be worse off in the situation. 

“I know. I need to know you understand that for me and my position, I can’t just give trust back. You taught me that.” Her words stung, and he stepped back, watching as she clutched her arms tighter around herself. “I’m in the spotlight and at massive risk everyday. Trusting people, even someone who I don’t interact with regularly, is trusting that they won’t kill me or my family. It’s not that I could lose my title. It’s that I or my family could be killed and risk the lives and livelihoods of our people.” There were truths and lies in her words, but it wasn’t the time or place to argue with her - she was close to tears. “I trusted you, and even though I know you’d never physically hurt me or my family, I can’t just go back to normal. I have too much to lose.”

“So do I, that’s why I left,” he admitted. “I panicked. My mum has been through so much to get me here and because I followed my heart, her life was being affected. I have to protect her, she’s the only thing I have unconditionally.” Arya chewed on her lip as Gendry stepped back into her space. It was so familiar there, a perfect encasing for who she was in that space, warm even in the freezing night air. “I saw the statement. I know your family had to post it but I can’t help but think...was any of it true? Did you really...was it really all for nothing?”

“Don’t ask me that. You’re not going to like the answer,” she lied. He could tell by the tear that slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, looking off from him. 

A flash went off close by and they both shot their attention to the guy with the camera. “Princess! Is this a lovers spat!” he yelled, and Arya was ready to haul herself at him. 

“Fuck you!” 

“Your highness,” Gendry caught her quickly and she snapped her anger to him. He gave her a cautious raise of his brow, “allow me, please.” Gendry looked down at her, a warning look. Her stubbornness could have won out, and he very well could have pulled her away from the situation, dragging her away and causing even more of a scene than necessary. Instead, she huffed, giving him a nod of approval. She wasn’t happy about it, but she allowed it nevertheless. 

“Hey, buddy, gimme the camera,” Gendry said, walking to the guy. He had been frozen solid by the realisation that a threat was coming, and it made Gendry confident with his coming actions. As he got there, the paparrazi gave over the camera, and Gendry looked it over before throwing it hard against the wall beside him. The paparrazi went to his destroyed camera, looking up at Gendry.

For a moment, Gendry felt sorry, but knowing what guys like him usually did for money, his pity went away. Kneeling beside him, Gendry gave a sarcastic smile. “Go fuck yourself. The princess has been through enough. She gets to speak to me or you however she likes. So on her behalf, you can cordially, go fuck yourself right up the ass, and please, for everyone’s sake, shut the fuck up, would ya?” he said, and the guy simply nodded, leaving his broken camera on the ground, staggering to his feet, ready to race off. “Send a bill to the palace and we’ll replace it for you,” he said, and Arya came to his side. 

“You’re too nice,” she whispered, “I would have broken his arm.” Gendry believed that. 

“Which is why I had to handle it. You know you would have broken more than just an arm, princess,” he said, looking down at her, and she scoffed out a laugh, something she probably didn’t want to do, but did so against her will. 

“We need to get back to the palace before you freeze,” Gendry cleared his throat, gesturing out to the main street. Arya furrowed her brow, going to head back to the club, only for his arm to shoot out and stop her. Arya folded her arms over her chest, snarling back at him.

“I’m a Northern Princess, Gendry, I don’t freeze.” 

“Normally, I’m sure. But you’re currently in the worst outfit imaginable. Let’s go,” he demanded, and Arya rolled her eyes. 

“You ruin all the fun,” she said, moving around the corner.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied, voice far quieter than it had been before. They were back on the street and heading to the car. As they got there, Beric moved from the door, scoffing at Gendry as they moved to the car doors. 

“Have fun back there?” Beric chuckled. Gendry sucked in a breath, lunging to him and binding his fists in tight to Beric’s jacket. 

“Shut the fuck up, Beric. Nothing happened,” Gendry barked, holding on tight to Beric. 

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes. Gendry slammed Beric’s back to the door of the car, making Arya jump out and look over the top of the car. 

“That’s the fucking princess, you’re talking about. She isn’t just any woman. I lost sight of that, but I haven’t anymore. Treat her with more respect,” he said, throwing Beric against the car again and nodding up to Arya. 

“Sorry, your highness,” Beric apologised with a grumble in his voice. 

“It’s okay, Beric. I didn’t take anything by it.” Arya moved back into the car, and they were off, no other word or arguments as they got to the palace. 

Gendry walked up the palace stairs and to Arya’s room. Arya walked in, exchanging Gendry’s jacket for a throw blanket on the top of her bed. Gendry looked around her room, noticing that her furniture that changed its position, something he hadn’t picked up on the first time he was in there that day - that most of her room felt different then what it once was. That it was no longer one he knew to be...theirs. 

With his jacket over his shoulders again, Gendry gave to nod to Arya as goodbye. “Goodnight, your Highness.” 

“Gendry,” Arya said, her voice weak but urging him to stay. He stood still, waiting for Arya to speak. “I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. When you fell, I was hurting and angry and I just -” 

“Acted. I know how you felt. When I broke up with you that night,” he stopped himself, unsure if he should say it. In the end, he looked at Arya’s face and knew he could never lie to her again. “I got home and trashed my apartment. I broke a bunch of windows and the frame of my bed is kind of resting on three legs currently.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

He shrugged. Truth was all he had to gain back trust. “Cause I was an idiot. I broke up with the only woman I’d ever love.” 

“But being with me, meant hurting the only person that had ever been there for you before me,” Arya reiterated what he had told her.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back at his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” he said, raising his chin before giving a soft bow. “Your Highness,” he cleared his throat, wondering if the words would come out. “I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. It isn’t my place anymore to get in your way. I wish you all the happiness. I promise I won’t get in the way of that anymore,” he said, needing to clear his throat once more. It would be torture to do it, but he truly just wanted her to be happy again. He turned on his heels, getting ready to leave her room. 

“You were my happiness,” she whispered, but he heard it, and it felt like her full fist reached into his chest and squeezed. Were. It was clear, even if he had the chance to win her back, to get back into her good books and mend the wounds he had formed, she’d never give it back. The trust he had built from the very start was shattered beyond repair - a piece always missing from the heart they once shared. 

Gendry kept walking and hoped to god that when he got back to his apartment, he still had alcohol hidden away somewhere, because he was sure he needed to end this day drunk. 

 *~*~*

 “You were my happiness,” she whispered, and for a moment he stopped before he left the room. Arya choked on her small sob, chewing on her lip before she said something he’d never hear. “You still are.” 

[statementends]

Oooh for bthb, jonmartin and stalking?

@peachblossom-odyssey asked for Jonmartin, Stalking

@badthingshappenbingo

Summary: Jon and Martin meet in a coffee shop. Does it really count as stalking if both parties have their eyes on each other?

Special thanks to: @backofthebookshelf, @sunlaire and @podcastenthusiast cause I used elements  of Coffee Shop AU? in this.

AO3: Link

It was stupid.

No it wasn’t stupid–

This was–alright… the thing was…

This is pathetic.

Martin sighed. He sat at the same table he had been sitting at for a week hoping he might come in again. He tried to tell himself that it was because he was like him, or something… adjacent to him. Tried to justify it to himself as fact finding and research. 

He didn’t want to see him again because he was that lonely. 

It wasn’t because of the way his eyes caught on Martin. How he scanned the room and stopped on him and made a beeline.

Rumpled clothes, dark circles under his eyes, strange scars on the few places he showed skin. 

Handsome definitely wasn’t the word… maybe underneath it all. If he hadn’t been so stunned he might have caught him. Tangled a bit of thread in his hair and made him to go home and sleep. He hadn’t even thought of it though after he told his entire tale to the complete stranger without fear or embarrassment. 

Well… not without fear. He felt the same terror. Spiders across his skin. Feeling changed. Knowing he had changed. 

For the last week there were times he’d dream of the man. It was strange though. Like an eye in the crack of the door. Like there should be more intensity to it, but something protected him. Maybe his powers. 

He sipped his tea trying not to let the disappointment soak in. He still hadn’t come. Maybe he really had just come for Martin. To hear his story. 

Seeing him.

Martin wanted to be seen again.

Maybe it was new instinct. 

It wasn’t. Martin, despite being a nice man was good at manipulation. Knew how to tug and where to tug. He knew how to get people where he wanted them, usually by offering tea and biscuits. 

Tea wasn’t the man’s favourite drink though. 

-

Jon stopped short.

In there. 

He stepped inside the cafe without a thought. Scanned around. Startled when he recognised one of the faces–but–

Oh.

Oh. 

That one.

He needed to hear… from them. 

He tried to play it casual. Tried not to be frightening. He’d like to think he wasn’t very good at being a monster, but he was. He was very good at terrifying people without trying. The woman finished and before he could thank her she stood up and left. He frowned. Usually they… stuck around. 

He felt better though. A lot better. He was about to stand when–

Oh. He had forgotten, the man he recognised. 

“Hello,” The man said. He had a round kind face. Big and tall, but not very intimidating and yet Jon was on edge. 

Well, he had heard his story. Even knowing everything he knew now spiders still creeped him out. 

“Ah… hi.” 

“We didn’t introduce ourselves properly last time,” The man continued pleasantly enough. It didn’t seem like he was about to be hit… which was a good sign. 

“Oh uh… well I… yes. Jon.”

“Jon. I’m Martin. You left quickly last time.”

“I ah… I’m not entirely comfortable with spiders…” Jon said slowly.

“Really? I’m not entirely comfortable with telling a complete stranger my trauma without him buying me a drink first, but here we are.”

Jon’s face went hot with embarrassment. “Oh, ah… yes I can understand that…” 

Martin had a weird look on his face that Jon read as disdain, but in reality was Martin realizing he was finding himself faced with trying to decide if this was low standards on his part or if Jon really was as adorable as he was thinking eyebags and all. 

“I uh… won’t do it again?” Jon tried to promise, tried to get up from his seat, but he felt stuck there. 

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Martin said quickly, his own blush appearing on his face. “Or… no, it isn’t fine, but I don’t… I mean… I do… but I…”

“I should go.” He felt panic when he still couldn’t move from his seat, but finally something snapped and he was able to stand. He fled the cafe.

-

Martin banged his head on the table.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

-

Jon’s fingers trembled as his tapped his oyster card.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

-

Next time Martin found himself a corner. Watched as Jon came in. No hesitation. Like the pull was too great. He watched, fascinated, Jon’s eyes–pretty eyes, definitely pretty eyes– devoured the man in front of him as he told him his story. What a strange… power? Martin still wasn’t quite sure what he was. The term monster had crossed his mind, but he had decided that was a bit too dramatic.

Human adjacent? Previously Human? Metahuman? It was a bit like a comic book. There had been no one to explain it to him. Not in detail. All of it was guesses and experimentation. If he had anyone to confide in he might have made a spiderman joke…

Hero wasn’t the word though. Definitely not. He was hurting people. Even if they were… nasty people… the gym teacher that had humiliated him and made him cry in front of his entire grade. His former supervisor who had been stealing money from the register and had blamed him. Got him fired. It had been almost impossible to get a job after that. They deserved this… they deserved his webs and they deserved Jon prying it out of them… 

He knuckles went a little white. He should probably be more afraid for himself… but it was nice to win for once.

He pulled his thread and Mr. O’Conner left leaving Jon and two cups of tea. Martin smiled fondly. Jon had bought Mr. O’Conner tea for his statement. 

He jerked up a little noticing Jon was staring at him. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine. He wanted to approach again, but wasn’t sure what to say. Something like: Hey, I’m like you, there’s no need to be worried about it. Or: I know you don’t like spiders, but they’re actually quite neat if you get to know them. Or something like: Please don’t stop looking at me. 

Yikes Martin, alright. 

Tentatively Jon stood, as if testing that he would be able to. With a bit of disappointment Martin let him. He knew he could… do as he liked with people… that if he wanted he could string Jon over and talk to him more, nothing really was stopping him. It wasn’t like he hasn’t … experimented a little, nothing too terrible, just cutting queues and stopping the bus from leaving before he got to the stop. 

And… maybe having the posh looking man at the bank withdraw a hundred pounds and give it to him… 

He had checked his statement first though! Made sure he could afford it… he just… he was a bit behind on money for mum.

Everything felt so… within reach now. 

He watched longingly as Jon left the cafe. Could still feel his eyes on him. 

Who was really watching who?

-

He found Martin was watching him. It was strange. Being able to actually spot the person watching him for once. The Eye was always there of course, and Elias he was sure kept close watch. He never saw them though. But Martin was watching him. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. Felt himself watching right back even though he’d rather not at the moment. Curiosity tingled, who was he? What was he? Why was he always here and why were there always statements? 

Web statements. 

He tentatively stood, but found he could move just fine. Memories of Mr. Spider clawed at the periphery. He left, still pondering the cafe and Martin, and what any of it might mean. 

-

He was … enjoying it. He couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed though. Watching Jon… eat? It was… a sight to behold. And it was like his powers in some ways. Jon asked questions and no one would deny him answers.

Martin tried to grab tables that would have the best angles of Jon’s face. He would always be absorbed in the stories told to him, his face mirrored the terrifying scenes. Like he was afraid. Feeling their fear, but it was fueling him. He always looked so much healthier after hearing the stories. Like how Martin felt better tugging at people’s lives and pulling them in different directions. He was getting better at that. He had even found a person with a story that wasn’t about him. Jon had seemed surprised. Had glanced at him afterwards. 

Martin forgot how wonderful his direct gaze was, being on the edges for the past fortnight. 

He watched as Jon slowly approached him. Tentative and shy. He felt his own wave of nerves. It was easy to forget that he could control any situation at the snap of his fingers. He wondered what would happen if Jon asked him questions. How would it affect him. 

“You’re… doing this, right? The… statements.”

“Statements?”

“I… yes. That’s… that’s what they are,” Jon explained. It seemed like he expected Martin to know already. 

“Are you a police officer?”

“You… don’t know who I am?” Jon looked more relieved than anything, although there was a new worry surfacing in his pretty brown eyes. 

“No clue. Should I?”

Jon shook his head. He nervously tapped the table with his long fingers. Working up the nerve to do something. 

“I just…–why are you doing this?” And suddenly his fidgeting was gone, his tone was deep. Martin could feel a pleasant sort of static run across his forearms. 

And he told him.

“I have a crush on you. I like the way you look at me.”

“W-what!?” Jon’s voice went higher, all the power in his tone gone. 

“Oh that was…” Martin’s face went fire hot in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to say that. Really he should have saw it coming, but he had thought it only worked with fear. “Sorry! Don’t–don’t run off!” 

But Jon was looking to do just that.

Martin caught him with threads. 

“Stop it.”

“You did it to me first. Just… just stay put for just a moment. I’m–I’m not going to hurt you or anything.” 

“You’re from the web.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Jon frowned. “You aren’t lying…” 

“I just thought… we have a lot in common. I’d like to get to know you, Jon.”

“This could be a trap.”

“You have a magic power that can pull the truth from people. Are you really worried about being lied to?”

“You’d be surprised…” Jon said softly. “So you…you’ve been doing this… bringing people here? Those stories are about…”

“Uh… me… yeah. Well… mostly.”

“Because you have a…”

“Crush uh… yeah.” Martin laughed awkwardly. He realized he was holding his threads tightly. If he let go now he might not see Jon again. 

Jon looked embarrassed and unsure.

“What?” Martin asked quietly. 

“I… I’m not exactly… the type people get affectionate over… especially from afar,” Jon answered. “And you’re so…” He blushed, looked to the side. “Well, you could obviously do better so I–”

“Do better?” Martin squeaked.

“Ah–” Jon’s voice was panicked. “I mean… you are… you’re very…” He coughed. “You’re cute.” 

“You think I’m cute!?” Martin didn’t know whether this was encouraging or not. Considering he was becoming some sort of spider monster maybe it was a good sign. 

“Could you–could you maybe let go? I–I promise I won’t leave it just… it makes me–I’ve had bad experiences with… spiders…” 

“Oh…” Martin hesitated, but slowly let his webs fall slack. Jon took a calming breath. He didn’t run. That was encouraging. 

-

Martin asked if they could meet again and Jon agreed. 

His instincts told him to run and run and run. And maybe it was Martin pulling him back against his will without his even knowing it… but… no. He would know.

Honestly this was a terrible idea, but it was…

Nice.

A normal sort of nice, even if he wasn’t normal anymore, even if Martin wasn’t a normal person. Martin admitting with a blush on his face that he had a crush was… a nice feeling and he wanted to explore it. 

And Martin wasn’t human… but that meant he couldn’t hurt him. 

He had hurt a lot of people by now. Starving was too hard. Fighting against himself was too hard. He was alone–no, worse. He had Elias who whispered in his ear and was so pleased when he let go another little part of himself for knowledge and the Eye.

And he’d be lying if part of all this wasn’t curiosity. Wanting to know Martin, this … web avatar that doesn’t quite know what he is. Wanting to know the type of person that finds Jon… alluring? 

Jon held his head in his hands at the thought. No. Alluring was not the word for any of this. This was silly. He had so many terrible things to worry about. Why was he doing this to himself?

“Jon?”

“Oh! Martin–right.” Jon put down his hands and sat up straight. Martin smiled at him affectionately.

“Did I catch you by surprise?”

“Usually you’re here first.” 

They decided to meet again at the coffee shop. Jon had shown up an hour early because if he hadn’t he would have paced in his office. 

“Usually I have to set everything up, it’s nice to have the free time… it’s nice to see you came.” Martin added shly. 

Jon nodded, played with his fingers. “I… yes, well… I was curious… and… you seem…”

“Nice?” Martin supplied with just a tinge of bitterness. Jon felt the knowledge click into place in his head. Martin had never been a popular boy, but he had never been particularly bullied. Just a neutral person in the background that the people around him found pleasant. “Nice.” 

Nice was a word you used when you didn’t know a person at all, at least that’s what Martin thought. Jon had always thought of nice as a nice thing, but with a wave he knew how Martin felt about it. Unseen. Alone. 

“No, I–” Jon said quickly. “Interesting…you seem interesting.” 

Martin perked up just a little at that. 

“I mean,” Martin laughed. “I guess nice isn’t really the word for something like us now, is it?”

“No, not really, although I don’t think anyone would call me nice even before.”

“Ah have you always been interesting then, Jon?” Martin teased.

“Er, well, more of the odd one out. I don’t… do people very well.”

“But you talk to them a lot now.”

“To feed off their greatest fears. It doesn’t exactly win friends.”

“It got my attention,” Martin smiled. 

They talked for… longer than Jon had thought. It was getting dark outside and their drinks had grown cold. Martin was an interesting person. Jon even told him a bit of what he knew of the Web, the other powers… more than he had meant to maybe, but something in him trusted Martin–maybe trust wasn’t right. Liked. He liked Martin.

Oh. He liked Martin. 

Elias wouldn’t be pleased.

Jon smiled. That could only be a good thing really. 

[saltbroom]

S3 Meta: How the Joy Hardbroom Arc Could Have Worked Without the Confinement

I want to preface this by saying: I’m not a TV writer, and I don’t want to act like it’s an easy job in the slightest. All of this is very easy to fix with hindsight, and I have certain ideas about why the confinement was included narratively that I’ll get into, but looking at my problems with s3 and s2 to an extent, what has bothered me is the style of writing that places plot over characterization, and even actively hurts characterization in favor of the plot. Kids TV can get away with doing this, but I think the reason so many of us are so dissatisfied with how the show has gone is that s1 set a specific writing precedent where character arcs had a lot more weight, and the plot tended to be written around the characters rather than vice versa. That, however, is another post entirely. So let’s get into how I would have liked to see s3 change. There are a lot of things about s3 I liked, and I actually really like parts of Hecate’s backstory and the addition of Indigo to her story. Here, however, is how I would have liked to see it changed:

1. Joy is a child who thinks the code doesn’t apply to her. This can stay because I think that it’s an important aspect of this arc. It's also one of the first things Hecate mentions when she tells Mildred this story.

2. Joy meets Indigo Moon, they become best friends, they do everything together, Indigo can see her because she believes in magic, etc, etc

3.Joy never gets caught by the teachers and is never confined. 

4.The episode Finding Joy establishes that Indigo talked to Joy extensively about her family life. It's clear Indigo hasn't had it easy and likely lost her parents, then moved in with her extended family who she doesn't seem to think like her presence. I think it's heavily implied that she's a runaway child, since she would often live outside, even in the rain, despite the fact that she had an aunt and uncle who must have taken her in. Some more details about Indigo’s situation would have probably helped tbh. 

5. Joy feels tremendous sympathy for Indigo's situation (I’ve talked with people about this, but we know nothing of Hecate’s family and it’s entirely possible it wasn’t a good situation either, so maybe she feels a specific kinship with Indigo for that reason) Joy decides that because Indigo has nowhere to go (at least, no where she feels she belongs), and because Indigo can see magical people, she should come to Cackles. They could establish Joy knowing about a wishing star in the main office and plan for Indigo to sneak into school during half term (its established in Selection Day that students can stay over break to help the teachers which is what esme was doing) so that Joy can give her magic, and then maybe help her study over the break so Indigo can apply during Selection Day. This basically sets up the entire necessary plot without  Joy needing to be confined. It also establishes a good motive for Joy to give Indigo magic (because Indigo is her friend, she wants Indigo to feel like she belongs somewhere, and she wants her to have somewhere to physically stay)

In this case, Joy would be making a conscious decision to break the code for a reason she believes is totally justified. Imo this would make the consequences of her actions far more impactful and far more devastating. I honestly think the confinement was meant to add sympathy to Joy's decision, where rather than breaking the code out of a disregard for the rules and consequences, Joy is driven to break the rules through the magnitude of her loneliness and isolation. But to me, the tragedy of the situation should have come from the hubris: Joy has to learn the hard way the enormous price of not taking magic or rules seriously, even with good intentions, and this situation proceeds to inform the Hecate we know now and all of her motivations. Honestly, that’s still the tragedy of the situation to me, but the confinement has significantly overshadowed that aspect of it despite the fact that I really don’t think it’s what we’re meant to focus on.(For example, the entire Indigo tragedy is the basis of her arc this season, whereas the confinement is barely touched upon outside of Bad Magic and only brought up again when it’s being lifted. Narratively, it didn’t take a lot of president in the story, which makes me think the writers didn’t think of it as that big of a deal)

 I think this method also would have created a stronger parallel between her and Mildred. Mildred was on the fence about giving her mom magic until Hecate humiliated Julie in front of the school. While I still don't like that scene, I might have liked it a lot more if they let Mildred call Hecate out on it later, and brought it up in connection to the Indigo arc. Mildred says something along the lines of “If [Julie] doesn’t have magic, she’ll never fit in” while not directly the same situation, Mildred wanted her Mom to belong and knew that having magic was the only way to accomplish that. This could add a ton of weight and meaning to Hecate’s line in The Cackle Run; “The girl does not belong here. And she never will.”, Imagine hearing that if this was previously established, it would show how far she’s fallen in the tremendous care for Indigo she had as a girl. Something this season really needed with the constant parallels being drawn between Mildred and Joy’s actions, was an actual frank conversation between Hecate and Mildred, where Mildred brings up her motivations in giving Julie magic and how similar Joy's motivations were with Indigo, and use it as a way to call out Hecate's refusal to tell Indigo the truth. I think the dialogue would sound something like this:

"You told me you wanted Indigo to belong. I wanted my mum to belong too. Why can't you make Indigo feel like she belongs now?" 

I think this type of conversation could open up a lot of interesting avenues for Hecate's character arc, where she would have an internal battle over the years she spent suppressing her feelings about what she did to Indigo and her personal morality that she formed about breaking the code, vs. the reality in front of her, where keeping her identity from Indigo and refusing to move forward is detrimental for everyone, including herself. 

Basically, most of the events that happened with Indigo returning to Cackles and Hecate's reactions to them could have been the same. Plus they could have had an even more thought out conclusion to Hecate's self blame and guilt with her eventually accepting that 1) she was a child who made a mistake and 2) she needs to face up to her problems and fulfill her original motivation in giving Indigo magic; to give Indigo a place to belong. In concealing her identity and treating Indigo similarly to Mildred in s1, Hecate became another adult who let Indigo down, and while I love the scene where Hecate apologizes, I would have loved to see a more full-circle arc in terms of characterization. Hecate maintains the lessons she carried into adulthood about breaking the code but also forgives the child she used to be and fulfills her childhood wish for Indigo.

AND FINALLY, this wouldn't make her presence at Cackles problematic or paint the entire academy in a weirdly sinister light, which I seriously doubt was the actual intention when the confinement was written. I think functionally, the confinement was a means to an end in terms of moving the plot in a specific way, setting up the situation for Indigo to come to the academy, a way to add more tragedy to Hecate's background, and a symbolic way to show Hecate moving forward when she asks for it to be lifted to look for Indigo. Beyond that, there didn't seem to be a lot of thought put into what the actual ramifications of this would be for her as a character.

What do y’all think? Did I do ok? Discussion would be lovely, if you have thoughts or even disagreements hit me up.

[bigeyedchangelingchild]

I have so many feels about this pandemic, but the biggest one is feeling like I’m an uncaring asshole.

Overall, I just can’t really conceive of it, everything is just too abstracted for me to feel like it’s /real/. If that makes any sense at all.

Also, the disruption to my life has been pretty extreme so I feel like more than average I’m really affected by not the virus but the fallout. There was the housing situation that was a direct result of the pandemic, (it’s fixed now, and my current apartment is lovely and my landlord is a doctor and I’m so glad it’s been dealt with.) There’s been the school situation, and I don’t mean the regular it’s been shut, I mean I’m on an exchange, and my home university has been freaking out that I haven’t gone home when there had been 0 way for me to do that without risking my credits. Also, my health insurance won’t work if I enter a country with a no non-essential travel, which is currently every country, so if I leave the country I am in (it’s still valid because I entered before the warning) I will lose my insurance, and all flights to Canada involve an overnight stop in Europe. Also, the country I’m in is less affected than Canada or Ireland, it’s starting to hit here now, but I have an apartment I can self-isolate in, getting on a plan is just a bad idea right now, and my mum agrees but the school doesn’t like it, because I’m their responsibility until I’m home. 

And then there’s the whole “panic buying” thing.

So, I’ve just moved, I’ve had to buy a bunch of things, pretty much everything, including a pot, because apparently that’s not included, there was a stove but nothing to actually use on it (and it’s induction so there’s only some cookware that I can even use on it.) 

In my opinion, everyone, where I live right now, should have a 1-week long emergency preparedness kit. And everyone everywhere should have a kit. But as I’m currently on a fault line, a kit becomes more important. I haven’t been able to have that kit, living out of a suitcase, but now I’m building it up. 

I am in communication mostly with other university students, who are from seismically inactive areas of Europe. We had an earthquake near the beginning of the term, I didn’t think it was that bad, I heard the metal coat hangers clang in my room but didn’t feel it really, The other students do live closer to the epicentre, but it still wasn’t a worrisome earthquake, but the other students freaked out about it, and many of them commented it was their first earthquake.

So as much as I understand people should not buy things in excess, and to be honest people shouldn’t need a global pandemic to realize they should have things on hand in case of emergency. If you could not survive for 2 weeks without leaving the house, you need to change that, now. The reality is most people I know couldn’t handle a few days without leaving the house. Europeans don’t shop like North Americans, they don’t have large freezers and fridges and it’s very common for them to go to the grocery daily, or nearly daily. I still don’t entirely understand how, I would not have the energy, but it’s what they do. This is not a good way to handle yourself in a pandemic. It’s not panic to say you should try to go to the grocery store less often, which means getting more stuff each time, and also learning how to plan meals further ahead, learning how to properly preserve foods.

I just, if anyone mentions changing the way people buy food, it becomes a discussion of panic buying, and we don’t want to be those people when the way people deal with food here is not sustainable in the case of a pandemic.

I grew up expecting a 9.0 earthquake, knowing that I would be outside, and without help for up to a week. I have grown up with a small tissue box emergency kit on my school desk with an emergency blanket, medication, and medical supplies. I have grown up with a duffel bag in my front hall closet packed with food & water rations for a week for my entire family. And my dad’s place has a month’s worth of food at all times because if the ferry stops sailing, especially if it’s winter, there’s not going to be much access to anything. 

This isn’t doomsday preppers, it’s not going to last the rest of my life, but it’s knowing what infrastructure is in place and what types of failure I should be prepared for.

But now I don’t know I feel judged on the one hand, and on the other hand, I feel extremely upset that people didn’t have things prepared, and that any attempt of becoming prepared is criticized for panic buying. 

I feel like this whole rant is me justifying spending over ₺300 at the grocery store. But I just I don’t feel this is that different from people getting a measles shot because of a measles outbreak in their area like you should’ve already done it if possible, but also these things are things that need to be done.

If you end up quarantined, you need to eat, the best option is to have that prepared. You should have already had that, but like I can be upset on a nebulous level for the shortages, and I can be mad at people doing things like trying to resell and price gouge, but I cannot be upset at regular people ensuring they will have enough for a quarantine outside of being upset that it takes a pandemic for people to do that. (I don’t blame individuals who didn’t have one to be clear, I blame the system for not giving us adequate education on emergency preparedness, particularly in Europe. The quantity and quality of information for emergency situations is hugely better in BC than in Ireland, and it could be improved in BC too.)

See too many feels. and also I’ve always had a really cavalier attitude towards death or at least that’s how it presents, but things like this are what makes it obvious to others, which makes me feel even more like an uncaring asshole. But it’s just I don’t know how to feel or react how other people do, it’s just not possible for me like death is just it has always been really present in my life and the religious beliefs I was raised in really emphasized the idea of cycles and that life and death cannot be without each other, so I find it really hard to conceptualize it in the more finalistic tragic sense. And also being autistic makes it hard, in general, to perform emotions as people expect them.