#i did used to wonder sometimes if showing off incomplete works meant i felt no need to finish them

[tea-of-destiny]

i wish my laptop didn't need to recharge bc i started scribbling a new wip and it's been so long since the last time so i want to show what i wrote

[lokislittlesigyn]

// loki spoilers

This is basically a huge infodump on my thoughts about the first episode, because I doubt y’all want to sift through my trauma-ridden ramblings. I’ll make another post for the rest. This is just everything not related to the IW stuff/my reaction to that. It’s general thoughts, theories, musings.

1. When Loki gets first taken into the TVA. Is that Peggy Carter in the background? Others have suggested it might be. What would that mean??? Will we see the TVA fix the mess the Russos made with Steve/Peggy (not likely) or is it just a lookalike? Who knows..

2. A skrull at the main intake desk! Idk not super relevant just interesting!

3. I’m kind of glad they changed the... uncomfortable scene... with the robot burning his clothes off. He gets more time to react to seeing the machine itself, and he seems more shocked (”Now.. H-hang on just a minute.”) than angry (”Now hang on just a minute!”) i still feel.. horrible for him, i’m glad nobody Saw him and that the machine didn’t grab the clothes off, but still. Ehhh.. uncomfortable.

He is beautiful though, don’t get me wrong - I’d just prefer a shirtless Loki scene where he wants to be shirtless? let him do what he wants with his body?? he’s probably felt so out of control of his body, from being jotun to falling through space that any invasion of privacy like that hits extra deep...

That being said, I recognize the utility of the scene for the narrative - his lack of control, his literally being stripped of what he was before.

4. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE CAT. What is his name. I love that he has a mug with his cat on it. But I want to know more. Who is he?

4.1 WHY DIDNT YOU LET LOKI PET THE CAT Please,,, I am begging you,,, let loki pet the cat and have something react kindly to him and purr all happily at his scratching behind their ears plea s e

5. The info sheet. Now this is just a little nitpicky tidbit, but in a previous promo they listed Loki’s height as 6′4 ft and weight as 525 lbs. This is taken directly from the comics if I’m not mistaken. However, in the actual show he’s listed as  6′2 (Tom’s height and Loki’s presumed height) but I don’t remember if his weight is the same. Is Loki 6′2? 6′4? please let me know i want to know how smol i am in comparison

6. His little aggressive shaking of the ticket at the guard makes me giggle each time.

7. The fact the turnstile hits so low on him reminds me,, I am short compared to him. Those things hit my stomach/waist. That one hit his legs. I am once again asking Loki to pick me up.

8. The cartoon with Miss Minutes introducing the TVA is wonderful, I love the art style especially. But it raises questions about Variants... I guess Variants can just, pop out of nowhere? Any action could be the wrong one? And then once you commit the wrong action you either get returned or pruned? Yikes??? And THIS ties into another thing later!

9. The trial scene. I have a hunch - a feeling, a suspicion. That one of three things may be true.

A. The Time-Keepers never actually existed. They’re fabricated, and now whoever runs the TVA is actually using the excuse of “The Time-Keepers decree it so!!!” to carry out whatever They think is right. The fact we haven’t seen the Time-Keepers makes me.. suspicious...

B. The Time-Keepers existed, but they have since passed on, however that may have happened. Now someone is doing the same as above, using the excuse of the Time-Keepers apparent dictations to run things.

C. The Time-Keepers do exist, and do run the timeline/TVA, but maybe they’re not infallible? Maybe the TVA info video is lying or incomplete in some way? Idk I just feel like, something about the TVA and how they run things has to be wrong. It has to? Something is off. Again, this will tie into another thought later...

I have no idea if any of these are actually true! But Loki’s questions of “Who’s in charge here? What do they do? What do you do?” punctuated by laughter leads me to believe he’s suspecting something too, or perhaps just trying to figure this mess out.

10. Seiðr/Magic. We see in this scene, Loki’s magic (”powers”) don’t work in the TVA. (and a quick side note, did he have to Flex like that? do you have to make me see Loki’s bare arms Flex like that? be still my heart. anyway please get that collar off of him and let him rest for five minutes) This makes me wonder.. Why isn’t Loki in his Jotun form? His pale skin and blue eyes are decided by magic, are they not? I suppose this is 2012, so perhaps Odin’s magic is keeping Loki looking like that. But if magic doesn’t work in the TVA, why would his spell reach so far? Clearly Loki’s magic isn’t what’s doing it. How is Loki not appearing as a Jotun? Is his Jotun form repressed - is pale skin his default now, rather than something hidden by magic? I need answers!

11. he sounds so scared about being “reset” please dont hurt him,,

12. cALLING LOKI A PUSSYCAT? (lokitty confirmed) I think Mobius was goading him (Mobius strikes me.. As extremely clever. He’s trying to push Loki’s buttons to see who he’s dealing with. At least, I hope so. Because if he really meant that “You were born to cause pain and suffering and death... All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.” and that line about killing Frigga??? No no no he is not guilty. He had no way of knowing what would happen. It wasn’t right to send Algrim up to Asgard (i think algrim wouldve found the way up anyway) but there was no intent to hurt Frigga. I really hope you’re trying to goad him, Mobius, because if you believe that I trust you much less. anyway i digress) but wow is he pushing Loki’s buttons a lot. I can’t... Blame him entirely, I understand he’s trying to make sure Loki’s on his side, maybe I’m just too soft for Loki idk. But some of that was very cruel to say. /:

12.1 AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT MOBIUS. That scene with the girl in the church?? Did that little girl kill the men? Is that young Sylvie? Or is she using an illusion to make herself look young and innocent? What’s going on!!!!

13. LOKI SNATCHING THE LITTLE TIME-TWISTER DEVICE AND STOWING IT IN HIS POCKET.... POCKET....... sorry sometimes i get so caught up about loki that i just say random words in between little noises and squeals,,, i am a silly thing

14. CASEY. CASEY??? That whole exchange is funny. Poor Loki, just trying to intimidate this guy so he can escape but - Casey doesn’t know what a fish is. to be fair.... thor doesn’t seem to know what a raccoon is... right?

15. That bit with the infinity stones is kind of funny until you realize

A. Natasha died for a paperweight

B. Tony died from paperweights

C. Loki was tortured for paperweights

D. Oh, and Gamora died for a paperweight too. And Vision. Need I go on?

Then it becomes less of exclusively “haha funny” and now it’s a mix of funny and pain and gosh, is that a good way to sum up being a Marvel/Loki fan sometimes...

16. Loki gazing at the timeline all “Is this the most powerful thing in the universe?” or something, i’m sorry i don’t remember exactly... made me think of a meme and i shall make it presently.

17. I love that Loki got to see examples of how his family loves him but the fact he’s all “I can’t go back.” really just breaks me. It’s like he can finally see they love him after all of this mess, and now he doesn’t have the chance. Please, please let him be happy. Give him some relief. This is the Loki that just came off finding out about being Jotun, falling from the Bifrost, encountering Thanos, attacking Earth, facing defeat, and now he’s being thrashed around in this wild place and has just found out he inadvertently caused Frigga’s death (he did not kill her: his actions, by mistake, lead to her murder, let me be very clear) AND Odin will die AND all the rest... And he wants to be with them.

18. Loki’s reaction to Thor suggesting the hug makes me soft. Please I want to hug this little mischief man so so so bad-

19. Skipping over the iw parts! That’s for another post because this one will be grossly long anyway.

20. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” and “It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. A desperate play for control.” was all so, so validating. I’ve been trying to argue on Loki’s behalf for almost a solid decade. Seeing the show recognize that Loki’s not all just violence and hurting for “fun”, that he’s not unhinged and bloodthirsty.. Is so nice. It’s just so, so comforting. and it gives me hope for future episodes that they won’t go the route of “oh haha loki bullied and mistreated and stabbed thor for years!!! :)” loki cries during basically every fight with Thor and you want me to believe he stabs Thor for fun? absolutely not.

21. Theory.. Just another hunch.. So we know a fugitive variant, aka Loki, is running amok. Refer back to 8 and 9.C. What if the Time-Keepers never actually fixed the timeline into a single timeline? What if there are other timelines, and these different Loki variants have hopped over to the current one? Or, maybe the Time-Keepers did fix the timeline into a single one, and these Lokis are remnants from that huge time-war at the beginning? Time runs differently in relative spaces, they may have Just Left that war from their perspective!

I say Lokis and not Loki because we’re pretty sure there’s Female/Lady Loki, Old Man/King Loki, and possibly Young/Kid Loki. That’s at least three. From the peeks of Asgard and NYC we’ve seen from the trailers, I think we’re also getting an Asgardian King!Loki and Midgardian King/Vote!Loki. (unless our dearest variant is hopping into timelines and situating into them, but I doubt Mobius would let that happen..?) That’s five.

To further support this, keep in mind, I believe recently six (i think 6 regular and 6 rare...) different funko pops were announced for the series? I’m not sure if they’re in addition to the Loki and Mobius already released. If they are, there’s enough room for each Loki and maybe a TVA agent. One of the pops is supposed to have a buddy/companion I think? Maybe they’re making the cat guy into one, or maybe there’s something else (Throg, anyone?).

22. That is totally Lady Loki/Sylvie at the end by the way. Has to be. But why does she want the reset devices? Why did she snatch that TVA Hunter? Again, WHAT’S GOING ON

ANYWAY this was a very long post if you made it this far, I commend you.

[drivingsideways]

Misaeng review

Ok, it's been almost a week, so I feel like I can get my thoughts (somewhat) in order. As usual, I'm late to the party, given that Misaeng aired 6 years ago, and is already considered a kdrama classic. Still: thoughts!

(under the cut)

I came to this drama with quite a lot of expectations, both because I'd seen it on a lot of rec lists, and also because I'd watched director Kim Won-seok's Signal and My Mister, which are justifiably as beloved as Misaeng. I'm happy to report that Misaeng mostly lived up to those expectations!

The writing & direction work together to make Misaeng a very immersive experience, which is good, considering the entire run time is over 20 hrs. The level of seemingly mundane detail of the operational aspects of running a trading firm that they delve into (and other dramas might have avoided for sake of pacing) seemed odd to me at first, but eventually result in a world building that's incredibly well fleshed out. The (formerly unlikely!) high stakes of a misplaced piece of paper or octopuses in a shipment of squid end up being parts of an emotionally wrenching narrative whole fairly seamlessly. Still, at 20+ hours, Misaeng also does get into the kind of pacing issues that most of the slice of life kdramas I've watched so far have. And it didn't need to! I think it had a wonderful ensemble of characters, and if they'd maybe given a little more time and space to characters other than Jang Geu-Rae (Im Si wan) and Oh Sang-sik (Lee Sung-min), the mid portions may not have felt quite so, well, stuck.

But more than the strong writing and direction, it was really the actors who delivered. They made what could have easily been a dull-ish office drama into a heart warming story about human connection and the joys and troubles of leading an "incomplete life". I'd never watched Lee Sung-min in anything before, and about half way through the series I was like, HOW IS HE MAKING A SHORT TEMPERED, ALCHOHOLIC MIDDLE MANAGER SO SEXY? Like, serious props, dude. Lee Sung-min is by turns annoying and brash and too shout-y and stubborn and funny and so incredibly vulnerable as a man trying his best to live by his principles in a world that thinks they are an impediment to "success", that you forget that he's playing a fictional character-- he's someone you know, he's someone you've seen in the mirror.

His performance as Oh Sang-sik is very ably matched by Im Si Wan's Jang Geu-Rae. This series would not have worked if these two actors didn't have the chemistry they do, and play off each other in every scene. I had watched Im Si Wan recently- in JTBC's "Run On", in which I liked his performance quite a lot, but I absolutely loved him as the naive and endearing Jang Geu-rae. Misaeng, is in part, a bildungsroman narrative centered around Jang Geu Rae. Im Si wan brought a kind of vulnerability to the role that might have felt cloying and emotionally manipulative in the hands of other actors, but Im Si-wan manages to do it with a light touch. I feel he's one of those actors that uses his whole body in a scene, not just relying on facial or verbal expression, and it's a joy to watch.

Each of the other actors in the ensemble also bring that dedication and talent to their roles, even if it's in a single scene. There are lots of one-off characters that we meet during the course of the series, and every single one of them leaves an impact.

But! I'm going to pick a fave from the supporting cast and that's Byun Yo-han, whom I'd last watched as the broody, troubled (and very sexy) swordsman Lee Bang-ji in Six Flying Dragons. I can't imagine a character more in opposition to that one than Han Seok-yul in Misaeng, but Byun Yo-han just knocks it out of the park as the scheming, cheerful and mostly inappropriate clown with a heart of gold; Han Seok-yul is the definition of Chaotic Good, and you're equal parts horrified by his antics- which include sexual harassment dont @ me -- and yet charmed by him. I wish they'd given him a few more scenes and a larger plotline to work with, but I also suspect that he might have just walked away with the entire series if they did that. (Am I plotting that series in my head as I write this? MAYBE.)

Alright, this is getting a bit too long, so I'm going to get to the bits that disappointed me. That's really one major thing: the gender politics. I don't know how different the show is from the web toon it's based on, so I can't tell whether they made significant changes to the basic plot and characters. As in- I have no idea if the webtoon was as male dominated in every way as the show is, so I'm not sure how much of the show's treatment of women as a class, and its female characters in particular, I should lay at the door of the original writer vs the screenwriter and director. I'm also lacking the Korean context in which this was written and made and aired, so you may take my criticism with a pinch of salt, if you please!

That the show features mainly male characters is perhaps unsurprising and realistic, since we know that the kind of corporate life it depicts is very male dominated, top to bottom. The show also portrays the very real and horrific overt and subtle misogyny that women face in the workplace and out of it; mainly in the character of Ahn Young-yi, played with steely determination and quiet suffering by the lovely Kang so-ra. There are only 3 other female characters that have any sort of real speaking role- Sun Ji Young (played by Shin Eun jung), a senior manager at the company, Jang Geu-rae's unnamed(!) mother (played by the amazing Sung Byoung-Sook) and Oh Sang-sik's unnamed (!) wife (played by Oh Yoon-Hong, who's a delight in every tiny scene she has). There are other women who appear but in very minor roles, and often in "comedy" moments that often rely on sexist tropes to start with.

Anyway, right there you can see one of the problems- 4 women characters that have any kind of real screen time, and only 2 of them are named. Aigoo! Screenwriter Jung Yoon-jung is a woman, and like, I don't like putting the burden on any one woman to y'know fix structural misogyny, but I can't also help feeling disappointed that she overlooked even this "small" thing among the larger things.

But that apart, the main issue for me was that while the show doesn't shy away from depicting egregious sexism in the form of sexual harrassment, verbal and physical and certainly emotional abuse, in a manner that's clear that we are meant to be horrified by it--it falls short of depicting how women deal and work with it. It just doesn't give enough space to women or their worldview.

It's very comfortable depicting victimhood, but doesn't put work into depicting the ways in which women survive by finding solidarity with other women. We have a scene or two where Ahn Young-yi who is this show's poster child for female victimhood interacts with the older women who offer sympathy and understanding, but no real strategy or support. And yes, we see men also being targeted by their seniors for the grossest verbal and physical abuse; and it's men who help Ahn Young-yi strategise on how to deal with her situation. Real life experience tells me that it's the women who do this work for other women. I have certainly been on both sides of this equation, for one, and so has every woman that I know in corporate life. And yes, one of the show's core philosophies is that those who endure, survive--but it is none the less extremely painful to watch Ahn Young yi "endure" the kind of abuse she does as a coping strategy and a survival strategy.

At the end of it, when she slowly manages to gain the support of her sexist team, it's shown as a victory-- though naturally imperfect, because this show takes its Realism very seriously (right until the end where it makes a tonal shift into quirky that I was a little ?? about)-- and y'know, sure, it is a victory. And I absolutely understand the choices she makes and why she does it-- I guess I just got annoyed by the fact that other antagonistic figures in the narrative get a more straightforward comeuppance for their egregious behavior, but Ahn Young-yi doesn't even get a goddamned apology from her abusers. Instead, we have a half humourous, half serious moment where she comments on how she's working at turning herself into "someone cute"- because she understands now that sometimes the right strategy is to "go with the flow". Be the water that slowly wears away at the rock. It's an interesting moment- the men she tells this to are taken aback by her bluntness, but also a little clueless about what she means. It's the kind of nuance that I would and do enjoy. Unfortunately, it also closely follows one of the show's most annoying scenes at the tail end of the series- where it tries to play off workplace sexism and misogyny as comedy- boys being boys-Reader, when I tell you that I had to WORK to unclench my jaw--!

I'm not saying we should have a single and obvious narrative of female emancipation. I'm not against realism in fiction, but god, sometimes, please do remember that when we look for escapism, we are actually imagining a better world. The first step toward liberation is allowing yourself to imagine it.

And the show does allow other characters its moments of unfettered fantasy- Im Si Wan parkour-ing all over the rooftops of Amman- and having a semi mystical + Indiana Jones moment in the deserts of Jordan--so why, I ask, are the women not given that gift?

*looks into the camera *

Tl;dr: I enjoyed it, it made me cry every episode, and I cared about all the characters, and if you haven't watched it yet, treat yourselves.

PS. Yes, Han Seok-yul is a disaster bi, sorry, I don't make the rules. Yes, hotties Oh Min Seok and Kang Ha-neul are canonically naked in a hot tub six feet apart because they are bros. Yes, I will be writing the fix it in which they fuck like angry bunnies. Yes, I am going to put my shipper cooties all over this gen slice of life show, deal with it.

[star-killer-md]

Dream A little Dream of Me Pt. 7

Welp. It’s been uh, a long fucking time. My only excuse is college is hard and also I’m lazy. Anyway, here she be. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this cause I need it to exit my brain and it’s incredibly nice to not just like, scream Kylo porn into the void. 

I hope y’all enjoy and feel free to leave me a comment or reblog or dm if you are so inclined. 

AO3 mirror

Part 8

Warnings: Inappropriate use of the Force, Force sex, angst, nsfw, y’all know the drill

Summary: In which answers are found. 

Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

The room smelled too sweet, the kind that lodged under your tongue and ached in your jaw. It made you long for the silence of your seaside room, made you strangely thankful that Kylo Ren often never filled it. But only for a minute. Because thinking of him reminded you of how you’d woken to an empty bed and cold, damp sheets and that you were certainly not thankful for. 

Meanwhile, Lem Alba seemed intrinsically compelled to do exactly the opposite. 

In fact, once he’d guessed you wouldn’t chew his head off every time he opened his mouth, it never closed again. You weren’t entirely sure if this annoyed or pleased you. But when Lem came to your door and invited you to brunch before all campaign staff were carted off back to the Federal District, you agreed. 

If only to avoid being left alone with your thoughts. 

“Not to grandstand,” Lem babbled between sips of his drink, “but I often feel some of my skills are wasted working just as a personal aide.” 

You glanced up from your plate and nodded, “I think most people in this profession tend to believe that. We’re all a bit insatiable.” 

He chuckled, soft voice melding perfectly with the chatter and bustle of the surrounding tables. You couldn’t help but think that Lem fit in well here, as much as he tried to deny it. His edges blended seamlessly with the velvet and silk background. It reminded you of when he’d plucked you right out of the crowd your first night here. 

“You First Order people have a way about you. Something in the way you stand a bit too straight.”

Something in the way you’re always waiting for the ball to drop. 

“Yes well, I’m not gunning for a power grab,” Lem sighed and rolled his eyes. 

He looked very much like a scorned child and you felt a twinge of remorse, “No, I didn’t think you were.” 

“It’s alright,” he ran a hand through his neat hair and stared at you over the rim of his glass, “I just get so bored of it all sometimes.”

“Mm, me too,” you said around a bite of some extravagant concoction that dripped embarrassingly down your chin. 

You thought of blood and saltwater rolling across your skin and quickly wiped it away with a napkin. 

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that would be an issue for someone in your position.”

You had to try very hard not to scoff out loud, settling for a disbelieving raise of your eyebrows. Piles of paperwork taller than the Commander filled your head, glowering officers and incessant incident reports—your life nothing more than a series of other people's mistakes that somehow became your fault. Grey walls and meetings that never ended. 

Come to think of it, you’d been bored and tired and frustrated your whole life it seemed. Although, not so much anymore. Still just as exhausted and angry, but less like a pacing animal in a cage. The thought sat uncomfortably in your stomach as you wondered when exactly that had changed.  

Of course you already knew the answer. 

You always were attracted to things that kept you on your toes. 

“Should we discuss this speech I’m supposed to be giving?” you asked. 

If Lem noticed your less than subtle change in topic, he didn’t show it for which you were grateful. 

“Certainly,” he gestured for you to continue. 

“Well, I’ve had it outlined for quite awhile since the powers that be were oh-so specific about the subject matter,” you began, watching Lem grimace sympathetically. 

“Yes, I believe I’m meant to collect a draft from you by the end of the week.” 

The joints in your shoulders popped when you slumped forward, hanging your head against the weight of far too stringent deadlines.

“I’m well aware,” you sighed. “Normally I wouldn’t be so neglectful of the timeline, I’m just having a hard time...focusing.” 

The barely concealed mark on the curve of your neck throbbed as you recalled the massive, decadently handsome distraction that consistently occupied your workspace. Really, how were you expected to get any quality content produced with that dark, looming shadow always poisoning your mind with questions and completely inappropriate fantasy. 

Currently, your entire body seemed to constrict at the notion that it was no longer strictly a fantasy. Your muscles corded taught, pulling like a ruched seam and tugging painfully at the sinew. It felt almost as if you were a marionette with invisible strings controlled by equally invisible hands that tingled as they jerked you about. You got the distinct sensation that someone was watching you, but resisted the urge to turn and look. 

Lem—completely oblivious to your inner turmoil—perked up and offered you a blindingly white grin full of ramrod straight teeth. 

“I have an office I’m more than willing to loan out if you’d like to make use of it,” he said. 

You considered the idea, chewing on your lip. Maybe getting lost in speech writing would be good, you thought. Something easy, something formulaic would do wonders for taking your mind off, well, everything. 

“As long as you’re offering,” you flashed him a strained smile and went back to shuffling things around your plate. 

Lem continued to spew an endless stream of comfortingly meaningless ramblings and you bathed in the sound of it, looking up occasionally to offer a hum of acknowledgement. You didn’t really care what he was saying—whether it was opinions for opening lines or who you should thank first or what color to wear that he thought would bring out your eyes—but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a friendly conversation with...anyone. 

So you let him talk, and nodded every once in a while and basked in the normalcy, the mundaneness of the scene. Until, of course, the peace was shattered when your server returned with a new cocktail for Lem, who promptly spilled it all over the table. 

You watched it unfold like the audience of a holodrama: the waiter, tall with an abundance of black curls and long fingers extending the glass, their hands touching for just an instant, the scarlet blush that tinted Lem’s ears when he glanced at the man’s face and stared transfixed even as the drink spilled off the table and onto his slacks. 

It felt very suddenly as if you were seeing something you shouldn’t be. 

But the moment ended quickly and quietly, fizzling out with a whimper as the waiter with all his curly hair frantically mopped up the mess. His voice was low and pleasant when he apologized and rushed off to get another drink mixed. 

For once, you had the urge to participate in the conversation. 

“Who’s that?” you asked, flicking your eyes up briefly and then back down to the wet mark on the table cloth. 

Lem shrugged and fiddled with the stain on his pants, “Nobody.” 

And for once, it seemed, he had nothing else to say on the matter. 

It was truly a challenge to keep the amused smile from splitting your cheeks as Lem so clearly tried and failed not to make a complete fool of himself every time said server returned to clear plates. And when a beautifully decorated fruit tart found its way to your table—decidedly marked as ‘on the house’—you were graced with an extraordinarily toothy, childish smile from your dining companion. 

Your chest ached with it, the display of reality. 

On your first night here, you’d thought Lem looked too much like all the other First Order officers you were forced to work with. Thought his hair was too perfect, his suit too pressed, words too cherry picked. 

But here you were again, getting drawn in by these stupid, simple instances of existence in relation to others. You craved the feeling of fading into the background as Lem stuttered whenever he tried to thank the boy with his curls and warm smile. 

It was strange too, to see that people truly did flush and brush hands and chew their lips and smile so freely. For whatever reason, you’d been under the distinct impression that was an exclusively fictional pursuit, saved for holofilms or storybooks. 

Did those things exist in you? Were there times when you’d fluttered the way Lem did now, cautiously stealing bites of his tart, trying to preserve the delicate design for as long as possible? Or had they atrophied and fallen to dust from disuse, nothing more than a vestigial organ, unnecessary and forgotten—ready to pump your body full of toxins at a moment's notice should it burst. 

And that only raised more questions. How incomplete had you been this whole time? How long had you been ignorant of your deficiency?  

And did it matter?

But that was not something you could ever answer. So, you sat back and watched and listened and breathed it in. 

Appreciated from afar this show of innocenceweakness.

You jolted in your seat, shoulders bunching together as if a hand had grabbed you from behind. The double voice rang out in your head, echoing up like it was shouted from the bottom of some pit inside you. You knew that voice though—would know it anywhere by now.  

It was him, of course it was. 

You could feel Kylo Ren like a shroud, a dampening of the outside world. When you listened closely, you swore you could hear the sound of crashing waves, the crunch of sand under boot heels. The smell of salt and skin and bloody water filled your nose. Your chest was burning, a prison for some roiling, angry creature that flung itself against the steel bars of your ribs.

His ribs.

His heartbeat, a pounding and ruthless tattoo.

His feet already moving in time to the beat, carrying him farther and farther— 

Is it? you shouted back.

The words tore at your throat even as you sat in silence at the table. But no response came, instead the chatter of the dining room returned and Lem tilted his head in concern, standing and gathering you up by the arms. 

He pulled you down the poshly ornamented halls, chattering still but shooting glances down more often with his brows furrowed. You let him lead you, thin arm looped around yours, back towards your quarters to ‘help you pack,’ he said. And you didn’t bother discouraging him. 

You already knew the room would empty. 

***

The meeting had been dragging on for quite nearly an hour already. You were seated at the far end of a comically long table staring off into oblivion, eyes having glazed over nearly ten minutes in when one of the relations staff started going on about color coordinating suits. 

Although, you were not completely tuned out. It was very hard to be when just a few seats away sat the Representative himself with his grotesque excuse for an advisor positioned at his right hand. Fortunately he hadn’t spared you a glance, but it was a challenge not to keep one eye on him at all times—to not consistently feel your calves twitch, ready to bolt through the nearest exit. 

You understood now what it must be like for all those prisoners sitting in the Finalizer’s belly—backed into the final corner, waiting for Kylo Ren to swoop in like a shadow and leave them flayed open to be tossed out with the rest of those who have outgrown their usefulness. 

You’ve been trying not to think too specifically about...him since you’d returned to the Federal District, your room here just as empty as the one by the sea. His shirt, the one you’d stolen was still packed neatly into your bags. You thought about throwing it away, or tossing it in the corner for him to find. But then you remembered the bits of torn up packaging and lace and that you would not sink to that level. Physical reminders aside, your head had been blessedly—or maybe concerningly—devoid of any voices that were not your own since your, well, ‘fight’ you supposed was the word for it at brunch. 

Then again, all you ever did with him was fight, but this felt different. 

There were plenty of reasons for the Commander to be angry with you, in fact, you didn’t think there could ever be a shortage. However, this seemed just a little too...petulant for your liking. 

You recalled some of Hux’s old rants. Generally, you’d just let him rave like you were just another piece of furniture in his office, stewing in the same hot, bubbling pot of indignation. You could hear him now:

“He’s a child, a sulking, immature youngling completely incapable of a single rational thought.”

And you finally understood what he meant. 

If only you were allowed to use the silent treatment, but that seemed to be a privilege only for those higher up in the food chain. 

Besides, you were far too classy for such elementary tactics. 

You spat the last words and hoped to the stars that wherever the hell Ren had run off to, he heard them. Which one of you was the weak one now?

It was Lem who pulled you from the dark, brooding hole you’d dug yourself as he caught your eye from across the table. The speakers were switching, a half-hearted applause ringing out in the cavernous room and he flashed you a quick roll of his eyes. You bit back a smile at the way he jumped when Gahl turned to rattle off some inane order and Lem scrambled to take a note down. 

Watching it reminded you of how he’d nearly leaped out of his suit when the waiter boy with curly hair brought by your plates. Jane was his name. You’d discovered it while Lem was helping you pack, happily filling the silence with how he was much too smart to be working as a server.

And as you thought, your traitorous mind led you inevitably back to the looming, black specter that haunted your every waking minute. You would be kidding yourself if you thought you could ever have given the Commander the cold shoulder when truly he was all you ever thought about. Even before, even if it was just to remember how much you despised him. 

Past tense now, you noted worriedly. What a terrifying concept. 

But your brain was moving quickly past that, tucking it away in some far, deep corner to only be touched on long nights when you were up far past the shift in day cycles. 

Now it was replaying your brunch, closing up on a still of Jane’s hand on the glass about to tumble, on the lip biting, starry eyed and heart pounding look in his eyes. And then he was changing, the skin of his hand growing lighter, milky and soft with scattered freckles. 

Then it was your hand reaching out. Your hand slipping on the glass and Kylo Ren—sweet smile on his face—staring down at you blushing like a ripe fruit in summer.  

His lovely crooked teeth flashed behind lips like pillows filled with the softest featherdown.  

The tips of his fingers brushed your hand, light and nervous in that not-quite-accidental way that should have made your heart leap into hyper drive. Kylo’s eye flicked down at the floor, downcast coyly and glancing every few seconds to catch you staring at the pink in his cheeks.

You watched the scene as if through water, some stark, salty barrier that coated him in a film of non-reality. You waited for the star shine look of his eyes to pull you in, waited to feel your hands shake and your pulse race and any number of other inane, fluttery things that you had seen Lem stumble through.

But the sight of it, the look on this man's face—because it was most certainly not Kylo Ren looking at you with honey eyes, sparkling shy dips of nectar—it was...

It was not at all what you’d thought. 

It was revolting. 

It was an antithesis come to life.

It made your skin crawl with the unnatural feeling of it all. 

Kylo Ren’s face was not built to look at you this way, did not contain sickeningly gentle smiles, his hands knew no soft brushes of fingertips.

No, they wielded saber blades and crushed bone and spilled blood.

They tangled in your hair and molded mottled fingerprints into your skin 

His lips were carved from marble that could not comprehend such an innocent up turning, unless it was to mock his opponent.

They sucked permanent brands of ownership into your skin, and made them throb when you thought of him. 

And that was all you would ever want him to do. 

As much as he roused the caged and angry beast that resided in your bones, as much as he lied and withheld and left you to wake alone—

You couldn’t bear this bastardized, cheap imitation that stared at you sweetly.

That was not your Commander. 

That was not your Kylo Ren.

And you would not have him any other way.

That thought sat heavy with you and called to life something in the depths of your being. A fire, red and electric sparked to life. You recalled the vision he’d shown you. Recalled his words echoing:

“All I see is a whore who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.” 

You felt yourself slip into the memory of his hands burying themselves in your flesh. The image of yourself—ruined, marked, and so clearly his—was crashing to the surface of your thoughts like whitecapped waves on a stormy sea. The ache in your neck returned, as though his hands were wrenching your head back to make you watch as he split you in half with his cock. You saw it in incredible detail, the veins of his length sinking into you to the hilt in one long roll of his hips. It stung and made your nerves sing with the pain of taking him. 

It was delicious. 

It fed you the pit inside you like meat thrown to a starving beast. 

This was how he was meant to be taken: painful in his beauty, lovely in his destruction. 

His skin was so warm when he pressed your back to his chest and growled in your ear: 

“So desperate for your Commander’s cock, aren’t you?” 

And yes, of course you were, of course you always were because really had you ever felt complete or whole without him filling you to the brim? But it wasn’t just his cock you needed buried in you. No, you craved him in a way that transcended your physical being. 

Separate. That’s what he told you, that there was something more to you than just your body that could exist outside of yourself, could slip into his head and find him even when you were dreaming. 

And you were desperate for the feeling of his thoughts. For his mind, for whatever it was that let you hear him whispering all the things he could never say aloud. 

His voice in your head was the only thing that soothed the churning in your guts, it was like salve on a burn, cooling like the mint of his breath. The steady beat of his blood the only thing that truly set you at ease. 

Yes, that was your Kylo Ren. 

Possessive and withholding, saying everything in brief glances and the twitch of of jaw. Complex and often painful and perfect. 

You wanted him that way.

And you needed to hear him. 

You couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Kylo? 

The single word echoed across whatever void your mind was inhabiting, crosses bounds to seek out something on the other end. 

You waited and wanted and— 

And then you were not so alone in your head anymore.

But the meeting room was coming back into focus and everyone was staring directly at you. The large holoprojector in the table’s center showed the first, familiar graphics of your portion of the presentation. From across the table, Lem was staring at you, brows furrowed and questioning. 

“Right,” you said, making your way to the front of the room.

You felt as though you were back in the academy, bland and boring faces all staring up at your false smile. You tried not to focus on them too hard. “As the delegate from the First Order, I’ll naturally be making the announcement of endorsement. This will be submitted to Mr. Alba for review by the end of the week along with the Order’s formal statement of apology.” 

You nodded and the projection moved on, showing the next set of animations, “Now, as I said, these will be submitted at the end of this week, so if there’s any—”

There was a hand sliding up your thigh. It was distinct and massive and coated in leather, the feeling of it so incredibly acute under your clothing you almost choked in shock. But when you slapped a hand down, there was nothing but empty air. 

The crowd for the most part seemed not to have noticed your pause, too caught up in whispered conversations to the side or staring blankly at the tabletop, so you cleared your throat, “If there’s anything you’d like to be included that should be given to me by tomorrow evening at the latest.” 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the pulse of it clear all the way to your fingertips. Taking a shaky breath you continued to go over the list of other asinine requests, falling easily into a familiar rhythm. Presentations like this were half your job back on the Finalizer. It was home turf, and you were able to flick on autopilot long enough too— 

What was that? you asked incredulously into the void of your mind

Silence echoed, and you glanced briefly around the room, though thankfully you’d looked down at your notes when the hand returned. This time much, much higher. The unmistakable feeling of leather catching on the edge of your panties made your jaw drop. 

You called. 

Kylo’s voice reverberated through your skull, his tone was blank but you could feel the strange mixture of amusement and annoyance that was not yours. It was irritating on a level you’d thought impossible. 

Well I’m a bit busy if you hadn’t noticed, you snapped, grinding your teeth when his disembodied scoff graced your ears. 

You’d think it might be one of the most alluring things you’d ever heard if the stares of so many faceless campaign staffers weren’t pinning you down at the same time.  

Hmm, he hummed, unconcerned or unbothered by whatever was going on outside of the little world that consisted of just the two of you. 

His hand—because that’s what it had to be, his hand, somehow—curled under the hem of your panties, ripping the elastic to the side where it dug painfully into your skin. 

Stop, you hissed it, spat the word at him and tried to will away the fingers that pulled the meat of your thighs apart. 

But they only spread your legs further, a rush of cold air hitting your cunt and tensing your stomach as his fingers drew up up up— 

You’ll just have to keep quiet, won’t you?

And, of course, since you’ve never been all that good about following orders, the second he plunged two, impossibly thick fingers deep into your pussy, your voice caught in your throat. The garbled half cough half moan half wounded animal cry made every head in the room turn to face you.

Even Atreus, whose dead, white blue eyes locked in on your face and never blinked.

You froze, struggling to recall your place as Kylo worked his unseen fingers father into you, coaxing a wave of slick heat to drip from your core. Your hands bunched into fists, nails digging crescent moon holes into the skin of your palm in an effort not to gasp when he hit that lovely spot inside and made your knees threaten to give out. 

Don’t stop, now. Unless you’d like them to know what a little whore you are, Kylo growled from somewhere deep inside you. 

You caught your breath, plastering a smile on your face and taking a sip from the glass of water being offered to you. 

“My apologies, where was I?”

Shuffling through your notes, you picked up where you’d left off with proper terms to use when addressing members of the Order. You tried not to move, focusing squarely on the projection and schooling your expression—at least you hoped you were. Atreus’ stare never left you now. Like he could smell the lie on your face. Or the way your pussy gushed with ever renewed thrusting of Kylo’s leather fingers, the ridges creating a sinful drag against your walls. 

Well if I’m a whore then what are you? 

From whatever corner of your mind he was lurking in, Kylo chuckled softly. 

Much worse, he mused. 

You bit back a scream when his thumb found your clit, rubbing swift circles with the smooth material. 

But in your head, your voice rang free, and you let out the string of curses you’d been holding back, voice cracking into a whine when he added a third finger. And just as he spread you open, scissored your entrance and glided against your walls, something else opened too, gaped wide and you spilled into it.  

You could see him, but it was a different him, from a different time, walking the halls of the Finalizer. His boots ran out against the durasteel until they came to an abrupt halt and silence filled the corridor. There was a slight tremor in his hand, a minuscule shaking as he gripped his thigh and fell back against the wall, breath coming heavy through his mask. 

It was practiced, the movement of his hand that fumbled with the layers of his robes until his cock sprang free, hard and leaking and with a lovely red flush to the head. Your mouth watered at the sight of his hand stroking long and fast along the shaft, thumb teasing his tip and collecting the little beads of precum that glistened there. 

This is what you do to me, he said. I hear all of it. Every thought you have. I hear how badly you want my cock pounding into you and my hand on your throat and— 

He groaned in your head, the same way you knew he must have in whatever memory you were viewing. Distantly, you could just barely feel the movement of his hand as he jerked himself, hips bucking up into his fist. 

You were not faring much better. The words kept tumbling out of your mouth, sometimes trailing off on a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. Your head spun with this new confirmation. He’d heard all of it. Every frustrated thought, every time you’d goaded him in meetings and hallways and when you’d lie awake— or not so awake—and think about how much you maybe, probably, almost certainly didn't hate him. Not that you hadn’t known, that he could hear you. Not that you hadn’t suspected that it had always been him, not some imaginary replication. That was very clear, but now. Now you had the truth. Now you knew for certain. 

Kylo Ren had always been more than just a dream. 

For so long he had watched you crumbling from afar and said nothing.

And who knew how long he intended to keep you in the dark. 

If there wasn’t a target on your back right now, would you have ever found out?

Kylo, you gasped the words in your head as his thumb sped up in its rhythm on your clit and his fingers stroked your walls, what is this?

You needed to know. You deserved to know. 

And you could feel the words. They were there, right on the tip of his lovely pink tongue, about to find their way past the crooked edges of his teeth, lips loose in the pleasure of you. But the burst of white that clouded your vision and finally made your knees buckle drowned out any truth he may have spared you. Your combined releases flowed thick like heavy metal through your veins as you felt the pulse of him slowly fading from your mind, slipping from your grasp. 

Your hand shot out to grab the table edge, holding yourself upright as everything in your mind went blessedly, horribly quiet and the room grew much louder. Time was unclear to you. The projections showed you’d managed to get through over half of your presentation, but you called none of it. 

Lem was standing up now, walking briskly over to you with a hand on your back and another under your elbow. The fingers in your cunt had disappeared, leaving you feeling empty and cold as your slick stuck to the inside of your thighs. 

“Ah, I believe our financing presentation is up next,” Lem called out, motioning quickly for the team to take over and leading you back to your seat. 

When you were safely sat back in the chair, you felt his stiffly gelled hair brush your cheek. It smelled overpoweringly of apricots and vanilla. Too sweet. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered. 

The concern in his voice was evident, but you were lost in the past few minutes and too frustrated by the silence in your head to appreciate it. 

“Fine,” you mumbled back and turned your head back to the blank table. 

You didn’t look at him as he rushed back to his place by Gahl, who’s gaze never shifted your way. Unlike his advisor. Even now the slip of a man in his dark suit and red tie stared at you down his nose like it was the barrel of his blaster. 

Like he was taking aim. 

You swallowed and tried to go back to that space where time did not exist and your head was not so empty, but it didn’t not come. 

Instead, you sat and listened and hoped you wouldn’t leave a damp spot on the cushions when you left. 

***

There were a lot of rules in negotiations. 

The First Order made sure its best and brightest had them all carved onto the backs of their hands before they ever set foot in the situation room. When you closed your eyes, you could see the words flashing in your mind. You knew them better than you knew yourself. But maybe that wasn’t really saying much. You’d been discovering quite a lot of personal details recently you weren’t previously aware of. 

Though, that was besides the point now. 

Now all you could think of was that the number one rule to a successful negotiation, was to always know more than your opponent. 

Knowledge was your strength, knowledge was your red crackling lightsaber, knowledge was your fist closed, throat crushing Force. 

That was how you came out on top, by constantly keeping the upper hand—by always having an ace in your metaphorical back pocket. 

But right now, you were losing.

And the frustration of it was going to consume you. 

Because you didn't know what or how or why Kylo Ren was in your head. In fact, you weren’t even sure if it was your head he was in. It felt much deeper than that now. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep him out. Whatever you’d done, whatever you’d let in that night on the sand with the sea standing witness, you would never be able to take it back. 

Kylo Ren was a liar. That you knew, because you were a liar too. 

Knowledge was your power, but lies were your currency. They were what you traded at the table, they were what slipped the easiest from your tongue and made sure you walked away from a deal with more than you’d come in with. 

And Kylo Ren was not in the business of negotiations, so there was nothing you could ever offer that would pry his jaw open and spill all his secrets. Nothing that could persuade him to tell you what exactly had taken root in your chest when you’d accepted him, took him inside and wanted to keep him there. 

But you needed to know. 

The desire to understand consumed you and every thought in your head. The same head that found itself clunking against a new desk in a new office with the same unending dissatisfaction. 

Lem had left you a few hours ago, setting you up in his workspace with a glass of water and a concerned smile. You knew you were being unnecessarily rude to him, and had you been less shaken, you might have felt some guilt over it. 

Now you were staring up at your datapad, document resolutely blank, and unable to think of anything other than the way Kylo’s skin reflected the light off the ocean or how his hair curled into little ringlets when it was soaked through and dripping onto your face and— 

You groaned, knocking your forehead into the desktop and squeezing your eyes shut against the barrage of images and the strange, uncomfortable ache they incited. You rested your head on your arms and tried to block out the light of the office, let yourself drift and tried to recall...well what you weren’t sure. 

The Force always seemed so far away, so fantastical that you weren’t ever truly convinced it was real. Not until you’d seen it first hand, watched the bodies of countless ‘troopers dragged from the hallways with not a mark on them. It simply wasn’t something anyone talked about, not at the Academy, and certainly not when you started working under Hux. 

It was...energy, you knew that much. And it was in everything, everyone you supposed, though stronger some than others. You knew it could be used for more than just making objects float around, although for what other purposes you weren’t entirely certain. It certainly wasn’t something you’d ever been able to use. 

But you thought it must have a hand in this, whatever it was that let you see, hear, taste, feel the Commander even when he was so far from you. Somewhere deep in the dusty corners of your mind, you knew that this would always be the case from now on. That even with light years in between, he’d only ever be a hair's breadth away—a whisper of his name or a beat of your heart. 

It was hard to swallow that notion. Hard to comprehend that you would never be alone in your skin. Never would you feel so lacking. What a cruelty, you thought, that it had taken so long. That you had been born into this world incomplete. Your Commander would call that a weakness, but really wasn’t he just as unfinished as you. There was still some gap in him waiting to be filled.

So, then, why couldn’t you find him like he could find you?

You didn’t have the gifts he did, you couldn’t make doors fly from their hinges or break bone with just a twitch of your fingers. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe it always would be. 

Voices from the hall broke you from your stupor. Two of them, the first old and grating, the second slick like oil that left a bad taste in your mouth—the representative and his advisor. You’d recognize them anywhere now. 

“...well I’d say that a drink is in order,” Gahl was saying, trailing off as they walked further from Lem’s office. 

“Sir, we shouldn’t be leaving—”

Atreus spoke that time, the sound of it trickling like cold water down your spine. Thankfully, the representative spoke over him. 

“Lem is here, he’ll take care of things.”  

A hand slapped the closed door currently keeping you hidden as they passed. You stayed still at the desk until the footsteps had completely petered out, listening to the expensive click of their hard soles die away into silence. Until now it had not occurred to you how close they were. How close the blade was to striking. You let out a breath and looked around. Everything seemed a bit more foggy than usual. Then, from across the room, you heard it—a soft creaking. And when you looked up, the door to Lem’s office was slowly falling open on its hinges. 

Like it was pulled by some invisible hand. 

And you felt the same tugging, the same formless compulsion, the same ghosting over your flesh. 

Across the hall, another door was drifting open by degrees, revealing a meticulously kept office with a shiny gold name plate:

Atreus.

Slowly, you let yourself be pulled—a puppet on strings—walking noiselessly across the corridor. In the doorway you paused, staring at the intricate black lettering. You wanted answers, and something told you this is where you’d find them. 

Into the belly of the beast. 

You took a careful step over the threshold, the air honey-thick and clinging to your skin. The office was spotless, not a paper out of place as you circled around the massive desk and ran your hands up the array of drawers. Each one was furnished with an ornate golden handle that glimmered in light from the hall. 

To your right, a drawer slid open just an inch or two. You watched, eyes wide, as it shuttered of its own accord out of place. And your hand similarly seemed to have a mind of its own, reaching out to grasp the handle and reveal it’s contents. 

Inside, nestled atop of a stack of folders was a small, black notebook. At first glance, it seemed innocuous. Not many people used pen and paper these days. But then the space around it started to shimmer, locking your gaze until the world outside it turned hazy. Shaking, your hand reached out fingertips brushing the leather bound cover. You bit your lip, teeth worrying the flesh as you sat on the floor and pulled the book into your lap. The ragged edges of each page caught on your nails when you flipped them open. 

Written in small, messy scrawl, was page upon page of notes. Words ran off the lines, and continued through the margins, most too minuscule or smudged to be legible. Multiple times, the Commander’s name was scratched in between sentences, angry obsessive markings that made your eyes sting. But you kept skimming, letting your hand be guided along. 

Until suddenly the pages stopped turning. 

And you stared down in horror. 

In the awful, disgusting script, was your name circled, underlined and bolded at the top of the paper. Thin, curving, inked arrows drew lines across the other mismatched text and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle the grating, garbled sound that threatened to escape your chest. 

There, the words stood out clear as day among the mess of lines.  

Bond. 

Your brain hadn’t even begun to register the implications of this, but you knew. 

This was the answer you’d been searching for. 

And you had no time to process it, because footsteps from the hall were approaching, quick and hard soled. Your eyes went wide and you scrambled to close the drawer and shove the book into your jacket pocket. Knees tearing on the carpet, you tucked yourself into the space under the desk and held your breath. 

Silence rang out in the tiny room. 

From outside, you heard the footsteps grow louder, closer, and finally come to a halt right in the doorway. 

Taglist lovelies: @couldntfuckingtellya @contesa-lui-alucard @thewilddingleberries @isaxhorror @cowboy-kylo @findyourdarkness @kit-jpg @shesakillerkween @obsessionprofessional

[dracosearlgreytea]

indelicate marks (15)

indelicate marks: chapter fifteen - the scar

A/N: yes i am finally back with another chapter!! only taken me like two weeks but thats fine aha im so sorry for making you all wait so long!! its been part two of slight mental breakdown which meant i didnt have much motivation to write, but, you all very much deserve the next chapter so here it is!! im hoping to get this fic finished before saturday as i am going away for a while but i shall keep you all updated. all my love and i hope you’re all doing okay - ivy <33 

warnings: language, kinda nsfw implications, talk of scars, a pinch of angst 

lovely tags: @h-annahayy  @okaydraco  @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22 @bitch-im-a-fangirl @erinisbadger @strawberriesonsummer @accio-rogers @candune

indelicate marks index

The weeks after were... nice. Being with Draco was surprisingly easy. He was comfortable company - more than comfortable. You spent most of your hours sat in the classroom, on the window ledge. It was the best few weeks you'd ever had in your life, by far. Sometimes, you would stray further - whenever you managed to convince Draco, that was. Visits to the Astronomy Tower and the lake were rare, but you adored them regardless. Those memories, the ones of him bathed in sunlight or dusk, would stay etched into mind for a long time after. You would read together, on occasions. In the depths of the library, you had discovered some of the Muggle literature he liked to drone on about. Other times, you would just talk - about everything, or nothing. You would, however, always spend a lot more time than necessary wrapped in his presence. Kissing Draco was both the easiest and most complicated thing you'd learnt to do, yet he made it worth it.   Draco still had his bad days - not that you hadn't had a fair share of yours. There would be nights were he would stumble into the classroom only to end up falling asleep. Sometimes he didn't make sense, voice a mere mutter, eyes glazed over. You didn't ask him about what he had done - about what Harry had accused you for. He didn't mention the mark you would soon have to take. Spring verged into summer. Despite the anxiety that came with the dread of returning home for the holidays, you found yourself almost forgetting the reality of it all. But, it was nice. It was nice to just be. "Are you asleep?" It was late, and warm. Too warm, for your liking, and you you had still managed to end up curling into Draco's side. His whisper came close to your ear, letting the book resting on his lap fall shut. "No," You murmured, shifting your head to glance back at him. Features close to yours, his breath fanned over your lips as he exhaled. The pure sensation of the intimacy that had became so natural still hadn't lost his touch, warmth flooding throughout you. "Why?" "Just wondered." You hummed at his reply, noting his grey gaze as it darted down for a second. Pressing a short kiss to his lips, his fingertips dug a little more into where they rested on your shoulder. The act still managed to warm your chest - in a way you'd only ever felt with him. It was in these moments, the dark nights and the small kisses and the whispers, that you felt complete. As though nothing was ever going to go wrong - as you'd lived a normal, happier life. Like you weren't on the verge of war. You pulled back, after a second, and Draco sighed as you did. Frowning a little, you scanned his expression, but he only gazed back, expectant. "Are you okay?" You asked, finally. "Are you?" It was his turn to frown. Shifting back to take him in properly, you smoothed out the fabric covering his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. "It doesn't always have to be about me, Draco." Quiet, you spoke, allowing your gaze to dart up to his. Draco watched you, guarded, but not defensive. "I know you don't want to talk about - well, about what goes on with you, but you know you don't have to hide anything. Not with me." "You know it's not like that." He mumbled. "I just don't want you-" "You don't want me involved." You finished for him, forcing your lips into a small, reassuring smile. "I know." Eyes still unreadable, he scanned you for a moment. Then, in one swift movement, he kissed you again, lingering for only a second. Again, you were the one to pull back. The mess of thoughts tangled in your brain was demanding to be heard, much to your frustration. Draco kept his gaze on you as you sat back, keeping yours very much away him his, fiddling at your sleeve. Fingers brushing over yours, he pulled them firmly into his hands. "You're thinking very loudly." He pointed out, voice edged with both seriousness and a rare kind of softness. Eyebrows flicking up, you shrugged. You had to push away the instinctive temptation to withdraw your hands from his and put them back to your sleeve. "I have a lot to think about." You said, finally shooting him a glimpse. "Like?" Draco prompted, arching his eyebrow. "You know what like." Tone a little strained, you swallowed. He'd fallen deadly silent, and you stared down at your tangled fingers. Biting back the words catching in the back of your throat seemed to prove difficult - because they came anyway. "It's just - aren't I already involved?" "Y/N..." "Well, aren't I?" You shot him a look, lips dragged down. "I'm pretty much already a Deatheater, mark and all. I don't see how you actually talking about things is going to make anything worse for me." "I'm not having this conversation with you again." Turning his head away to face straight ahead of him, Draco spoke, firm. His hands pulled away from yours, prompting a painful stab to your chest. "Why?" Pushing, you felt an uncomfortable heat rising in your chest. "Why won't you let me make my own decision about what happens to me? About what happens to us?" Draco's jaw tightened, eyes darker as he came to glare at you. "What is that supposed to mean?" His voice was barely restrained. "I thought you were happy, with this?" "I am - I just - I'm worried about you, Draco. I don't even know where you are half the time. I don't even know what we are, because you won't let me talk to you about anything." Heart rate becoming more frantic, you watched him with an intent. He set you with one of his distant looks, and your chest caved in a little, swallowing. "I said it from the start, Y/N. No promises. We agreed." "I'm not asking you to promise me anything," Your tone grew desperate. "I'm asking you to let me help you." There was a second of silence, after that. You continued to stare at Draco, breathing still quick and mind buzzing as you tugged at your sleeve. He had paused, all too vacant - until he finally let out a sigh, shifting his body to face you properly. "You are helping me." He said, taking your hand again. You allowed him to curl it into his, grinding your teeth in attempt to swallow back another argument. "You being here - being with me - that is all you need to do. I don't want you to worry about anything else." "How do you expect me not to worry? My parents-" "I'm working on it." "What?" Brow furrowing, you stared at him, uncertain. Draco held a very earnest look, that was both terrifying and comforting, and you gripped his hand a little harder. "Don't worry about it. Your parents, the mark, me - nothing." Merlin, his tone had never been so foreboding. His eyes glinted in a way that made your heart tweak, and you had to take in a deep breath. What the hell are you doing, Draco? "It's going to be fine." No, it's not. Draco sighed at your silence, features stilling - before he spoke again. "I promise." You met his dark eyes in under a second. A lump had grown in the back of your throat, but you swallowed it back. Seeing him, in the darkness of the classroom, moonlight reflecting off his eyes... It was all too reminiscent to that night in the Astronomy Tower. He looked so fragile, so incomplete, as though he would slip away at any moment. For once, you could not take comfort in his words. And still, you didn't say anything else. Instead, you pressed your lips to his, hands on his neck and body pressed against his as though it was what you were designed to do. It didn't take long for Draco to crawl over you, pinning you underneath him, a hand set at your waist. Every thought and feeling from your previous discussion discarded, your heart skipped at beat as he nipped your bottom lip. His shirt had loosened from his movement, and you slipped your hand underneath it. Fingertips brushing over the skin of his torso, his eyes snapped to yours, pulling away with a jolt. And, for a second, you froze, apologies ready on your lips. But the glint in his eye was dark, captivating. Then, he was pressing sharp kisses to your neck, a fraction more frantic than ever before. Heart racing, your breathing grew laboured, body sparking underneath his fingertips. "Is this okay?" Draco murmured, glancing up at you. His hand now hesitated at the buttons of your shirt. He did not progress, staying almost unnervingly steady as he waited for a reply. Swallowing, you nodded. "I need a vocal reply." He added, quirking an eyebrow. Despite everything - the heat of your body, the thrill coursing through you - you hesitated. Draco waited a second longer, before withdrawing. Your stomach dropped, grasping his shoulders as he shifted upright. "I - fuck, I'm sorry-" "Don't be stupid." Draco's brow furrowed, shooting you a look that was almost intimidating. "You never have to do anything you don't want to, Y/N." "It's not that I don't want to," You mumbled, avoiding his eyes as your cheeks flushed with head. "I - It's just my..." Draco remained quiet as you struggled for words, until you tapped your left forearm. Gently, he rested his hand at your wrist, causing your to glance at him immediately.   "You don't have to show me." Eyes honest, your chest squeezed. "It's not that I mind you seeing." You frowned at your words, unable to communicate the jumble in your mind. "But no one has even been able to just see it, you know? Without - anything else happening." "Well, I've already seen it before." Draco reminded you, voice a little softer than usual. "It didn't reopen when I healed it last time, so I think it would be fine. But, you still don't have to show me." A soft smile tugged at your lips as you scanned his expression. Even now, it was difficult to coax out this side of Draco - the softer, understanding one. The one you doubted could hurt a fly. Brushing your fingers, over his cheek, you kissed him, slow. The fluttering content never seemed to fade, no matter how many times you had kissed him by now. Then, as you pulled back, you offered him your arm. Draco's eyes rested on you. "Are you sure?" He asked, raising his brow in the lightest. "Vocal reply." "Yes, you idiot." Despite your uncertainty, a smile fluttered across your features. Draco, still tentative, loosened the cuff of your sleeve. Biting down on your lip, you kept your eyes focused on his as he worked, even as he shifted the material upward. Eventually, you squeezed them shut. Your heart was racing in your chest, waiting for that first sting, for the bad memories and the burning - But, instead, only a set of soft lips met your skin. Flinching, you eyes snapped open, staring down at your arm. An instinctive grimace followed at the sight of the raised, poorly healed skin. Bu there was no blood. No pain, no distant voices. "See?" Draco murmured, watching you. Staring from your scar, to him, your chest shifted, almost in a motion of instant comfort. "It's fine." Still hesitant, your lips twitched up into a small smile, and you caught the way Draco's gaze followed the movement. You also caught the words, inching their way up your throat. They were burning, but not in the way you were used to. In fact, it was more painful as you pushed them down, kissing Draco again before they could spill out. For once, you did not care about the way your sleeve crinkled in the crook of your elbow. You did not think of the way Draco's fingers brushed over the mark every moment or so. For once, it was not a reminder of what you hated - but reminder of how you had become so entangled with this boy you so adored. A connection you could have never anticipated for such an indelicate mark. Yet, despite it all, it was a connection that you hoped would never have to be broken.

[winterandiron]

Bruised.

Summary: In which Peter gets beat up by some school bullies and next thing he knows his suit it's flying him to the avengers compound.

A/N: I posted this on AO3 last year but figured It wouldn’t hurt to have it here too. As always, english it's my second language so beware of possible grammar mistakes.

It’s always been there... the comments. No matter how low they got everyone seem to get a kick of them, they would have a laugh and get back to their regular business. But Peter had to carry them through the day, as a remainder that his life was incomplete, sure he was more than grateful for May and everything she did to take care of a child that wasn’t even hers, had she said no to take responsibility of Peter back when his parents had died who knows where he could have end up with how child services and the foster care system was these days.

But that didn’t make it easier, sadly.

“I would tell you to hire someone to pretend to be your mom, Parker, but not only are you an orphan, you’re also poor”

“Your parents are probably glad they died so they wouldn’t have to see what a loser their son is”

“Too bad your aunt got stuck with you, she probably doesn’t even want you either, Peter”

It was a daily issue and as it was telling himself he was used to it after years of enduring the verbal attacks but sometimes the things some of his classmates said to him hurt, it made him wonder if some of it was true. And then things started to scale.

The first time that happened he was shoved into the lockers on the hallway, then someone pushed him when he was on his way out of class which resulted on a bruised cheek after he went face first into the floor, then on and on. May would always ask but Peter had made himself a reputation as a clumsy person so when he said he hit himself with the lab door on his way out she would just let out a sigh and put some numbing cream on it.

Ever since the spider incident things were getting even more difficult for him. Not only did he had to silently take the nasty things they would say and the punches but he had to control himself not to punch back, no matter how much he wanted to, cuz if loses it and throws Flash through a wall someone will figure out something it’s wrong with him and next thing he knows he’s on a lab in the middle of nowhere and the government it’s examining his insides. In all honesty, he would rather not.

So there he was, on the side of his own public school, surrounded by four kids his own age that were so full of rage they found no way of letting it out other than on his face.

“Guys, can we not do this today?” He whispered, knowing there was no getting out of it. “Oh, I’m sorry it’s not convenient for you right now? Would you like to reschedule it?” Flash mocked him.

The guy next to him gave the first hit, right on his jaw, making the sharp pain run all the way to the back of his neck in a cool string.

“Why don’t you call Iron Man? Since you’re such good friends with him?” They all laughed.

Yeah, because he was going to call Mr. Stark over some bullies.

The pain rapidly started to run all over his body; his ribs, his stomach, his back. The taste of blood was way too familiar, not only from the beatings at school but also his spider-costumed adventures he went in every now and then. Peter could only tightened his fist and grunt both from the punches he was taking and all the strength it was taking him to not kick them back to their asses. Thoughts about his aunt who had enough trying to put food on his plate and raising him a good man to also had to deal him him being a superhero filled him, she didn’t need that. Ned could also he drag into it, and God know how much bad press Tony would take if they found out he recruited him at such a young age, they wouldn’t understand how much Mr. Stark had helped him get through the whole superhero thing and he already had many targets on his back, Peter would not help put another on it.

So he took it, all the hits, every punch and kick and when they were done Peter would go on with his life.

X

“Boss” The voice seemed to be far away, he was probably dreaming either way. “Boss” Or maybe not.

He whined at the pain on is neck, sleeping on top on his working table probably wasn’t his brightest idea.

“I hope you have a good reason to wake me up or you’ll end up with Dum-e on that community college.” He murmured. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sir, but an alarm just went off on the training wheels protocol.”

That was enough to wake him up.

“Where is he?” He questioned, his back shooting straight. “He’s on an alley three blocks away from his school” The AI informed. “Ok, what's wrong?” He was already on his way upstairs. “It appears one of his ribs it’s broken, his jaw might have a minor fracture and there’s some internal bleeding. Karen advised medical attention but Peter refuses to go to the hospital, Sir.”

Oh, God that kid was as stubborn as a mule.

“That’s it. Lock the suit, Friday, bring him home.” He spoke at the same time he was calling the medical wing to make sure there was a doctor there when the kid arrived.

About ten minutes later he walked outside into the green area that surrounded the compound just in time to see the Iron Spider suit fly it’s way to him with a very confused Peter Parker inside.

“Mr. Stark!? I-I… What? The suit just started flying and it wouldn’t let me move, when did you put repulsors on this thing?” The kids was way higher than usual when his mask faded back and his signature ramble came out.

Tony was taken aback by the state Peter was in; one of his eyes was swollen, there was blood running from his left eyebrow down his face, a bruise was starting to show it’s color on his jaw and more blood was coming off his parted lip. He was wrecked.

“What happened, Peter?” The question came out as a growl. “N-Nothing, just a run in with some bad guys on a dark alley, Sir. I had the flu last week and I’ve been kinda weak but I think I’m going to take it a little slower for a couple of days-” “Kid, I’m giving you an opportunity to come clean” He interrupted him. “But I could very well have Friday find some security footage of the whole thing, so either you tell me or I figure it out myself” “Mr. Stark there’s-” “We’ve been here, Pete. Last time you went behind my back things didn’t end well.” He let out a sigh. “This isn’t that, Sir, I swear.” The kid hurried to explain. “So… tell me what it is, because if you think I’m buying the bad guys on a dark alley at 3pm thing then you have something else your way.”

Tony was pissed but not necessarily at Peter, he was mad about the kid being hurt. He thought that by monitoring him and giving him a more advanced suit he could help Peter be more safe when he was swinging around New York, but what if he was just making it easier for the child put himself on danger?

“Come on, let’s get you checked out and then we can talk. Karen unlock the suit.” As soon as his orders were followed he had to run help Peter stay on his feet. “You can’t even stand, Spider Man.”

He guided him to the compound with one arm carefully wrapped around his hips so he wouldn’t hurt his broken rib.

X

“The internal bleeding it’s already slowing down on it’s own, I gave him some strong painkillers ‘cuz he’s going to need them later but his healing process seems to be accelerated just like his metabolism so there’s really not much to do anymore.” The head of medical at the compound informed him.

“Thanks, Doc.” Tony padded his arm and saw him leave his lab.

He walked to Peter, who was sitting on a stool with his stare lose somewhere near his bots, and handed him a glass of iced water.

“Here, you might need this.” The kid took a long gulp but keep his eyes away from Tony.

There were two butterfly closures on his eyebrow and the bruise on his jaw seemed bigger now that the purple was getting darker.

“Peter, I just want you to be safe, Kid. Broken bones and bleeding insides it’s not safe, I don’t care how fast you can heal.” He began explaining. “I-I just don’t want to bother anyone with these stuff.” He offered but Tony could barely hear him. “This is not a burden, this is your safety which makes it priority number one for me, for May and it should be for yourself too” He kept his voice as soothing as possible because he wanted to school the boy but Peter had had enough for a day. “Who did this to you, Kid?” The question rolled out softly.

Peter eyes started to water, it was clear on his face that he had been carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders and Tony wanted to take off of him because nobody should be dealing with such things so young in life.

“There’s… there’s some guys at the school…” His voice stuttered. “You’re being bullied?” He got a nod for an answer. “An this is new or…?”

Peter’s eyes lowered again and that’s all he needed to put two and two together, suddenly Tony had the urge to comfort him, to take care of it all so the kid didn’t have to go through anymore shit. His hand brushed Peter’s dark locks of hair back, the kid went rigid for a second at the unfamiliar feeling of Tony’s gentle touch. Physical affection wasn’t the billionaire's forte but it felt right to pull Peter’s head close to his chest to plant a kiss at the top of it, the muscles of his back relaxing under his hand as he run it up and down through it slowly.

“Fighting crime will never be more important than your safety, Peter, and if I have to face a bunch of sixteen years old kids to ensure it, including you, then so be it.” He concluded.

Anthony Stark had seen his fair share of things -he’d been to space for fuck’s sake- and yet here is this kid who takes away his breath with just how selfless he could be. He manage to keep his abilities a secret (even from his best friend) and decided to use them for the greater good, not caring that it meant putting his own life on the line and when he faced trouble as Peter Parker and not Spider Man he took it like any defenseless teenager would because using his newfound strength could only get him on a worse predicament and his loved ones could be drag into it too. The kid was hands down the best person he had come across in all his years walking around this blue earth and even if he didn’t knew the first thing about taking care of someone other than himself, he would learn and he would keep Peter safe even if it was the last thing he did because that child deserved someone to fight for him as hard as he was fighting for everyone else.

Peter was breathing deeply, the pain was still very much present but he was more relaxed and maybe it was the painkillers or maybe it was Mr. Stark comforting touch but he was confident on the fact that he wouldn’t have to deal with Flash or any of his minions anymore because Tony said he’d take care of it and Peter believed him, so he fell into the darkness with ease knowing that after all he got someone looking out for him.

And when you know Iron Man has your back, you sleep like a baby.

_______

Hope you guys enjoyed, sorry for my poor grammar and as always feedback it’s appreciated!

[dragon-fics]

DOS: (Spyro Reignited Trilogy) Wyrmhole (Bubba X Reader)

Chapter summary: Another boy has asked you to prom, but you got scared and said��“no”. You try to clear your head with a walk, and end up falling into a hole.

Note: This was requested on Wattpad. And I’m going to immediately apologise for not knowing the non-binary term for boy/girl. Please let me know by commenting if I got it wrong and what to change it to and I will as soon as possible.

F/T = Favourite Takeaway (food) (pizza, Chinese, Indian, etc.)

“(Y/N), um could we talk?” Rodger asked nervously.

“Sure, what is it, Rodger?” I reply. He was a good-looking guy, why would he talk to the shy guy/girl/person in the back of the class.

“So, um, as you know prom is next week and um...,” he took in a breath. “I was wondering whether you’d like to be my date?” He asked. Rodger was one of the most easy-going, confident guys in my year. It was odd seeing him like this.

“I—“

My nerves got the best of me. “I’m sorry Rodger, but I can’t...” I found my body walking away without meaning to.

His face dropped completely. “Oh... I get it.” I felt awful. I went to apologise, but my older brother Sam honked his car horn. I slowly walked away feeling awful.

*-*-*-*

“C’mere Gizmo!” I called, putting her dog food in her bowl. The German shepherd came bounding around the corner of our home. As I emptied the can of wet dog food. She ate it with the most awful of sloppy noises. I tossed the can into the recycling bin and looked at the woods in front of me.

The scene kept playing in my head. All I could see was Rodger’s face dropping with disappointment. I really felt awful for turning him down. I just don’t like crowds and the thought of being near the boy I liked in the middle of a dancefloor, it made my palms sweaty and my breathing uneven.

I focused on the wavering branches of the trees to calm myself down. I relaxed a little, breathing calmly. The forest was pretty much in our backyard, with only a picket fence and gate between our lawn and the wall of trees.

Gizmo whined and looked up at me. I looked down at the dog. She was wagging her tail and looking at me longingly.

“Time for a walk, Gizzy?” The German shepherd bowed the lower half of her body, her black tail wagging wildly. I went inside, grabbing Gizmo’s harness and lead. When I came back out she was jumping up and down in excitement.

“Sit,” I commanded. She sat, tail still wagging hard. I put on her harness and attached her lead. I looked up at the trees again.

We were so lucky to live in one of the few houses with access to this forest, yet still live so near to our town. Then again, when your parents are a writer and an artist, and they’re both as introverted as you are, it all fits into place.

I looked at Gizmo again, her tail still wagging as she waited patiently.

“All right, come,” I said excitedly. I jogged toward the wood, Gizmo bound beside me. I stopped to open the gate and Gizmo hopped the fence, as she often did.

As I jogged on, I felt the grass beneath me give way to hard, coarse dirt. As soon as I passed the first few trees, I saw seven colourful lines of string, each one led I various directions through the wood, all leading back to the same starting point. My usual route was the yellow route, it was the one we all usually walked on with Gizmo. But I saw a new colour, a red string with a white string coiling around it—it looked like a string-made candy cane.

The white string meant that we had not completed the route. I let curiosity take over and followed the red-white trail, Gizmo trotting by my side.

We walked for about twenty minutes before the string ended. I saw to the right that there was a sizeable hole. The surrounding ground was cracked and weak. I walked over, Gizmo followed closely behind, ears twitching in all directions, nervously.

The hole was about a meter wide and looked to be a meter deep. I saw something gold twinkle in the dirt, the last rays of sun catching it.

Again, curiosity got the better of me and I lay down Gizmo’s lead. She whined as I sat with my feet dangling into the hole.

“Its all right, Giz, I’ll be right back.” I lowered myself into the hole and got on my hunches as I dug around the gold spot and could finally pull out the gold coin.

I had never seen a coin like this—I’ve only ever seen gold and silver Euro coins, I rarely see cents used nowadays. I held it in my hand, pinching it between thumb and finger, studying it.

“Looks old,” I mused.

The next thing I felt was the ground give way.

*-*-*-*

I opened my eyes to the bright sun hovering above me. And according to it, it was midday. I groaned as the bright light burned my eyes.

“Finally, you’re awake,” said a gruff voice from beside me. I looked toward the voice. An anthropomorphic blue dragon with a blue-grey underbelly lay beside me. He was very muscular and very handsome. He rolled himself into a pushup position, did three pushups and pushed himself onto his feet from the pushup position.

“Impressive,” I thought aloud.

The dragon smirked. “Not really.” He held out his muscular hand. I reached for it and with one swift movement, he pulled me into his arms.

My cheeks flushed red. Keep it together, (Y/N).

The dragon got on one knee and placed me on the ground. “The name’s Bubba, and welcome to Artisans in the Dragon Realm,” he stood up and spread his arms wide to gesture at the lush, grassy area.

I looked around, noticing several dragons that were as tall as Bubba. Some were muscular like him, some of them were stick-thin, some were young, some were old with long beards. I saw sheep leap around in the lush grass—surely they were wary of the surrounding dragons.

“I’m (Y/N),” I said. “And why were you lying on the ground beside me?”

“You were unconscious for a while, so I thought it would look less worrying if it looked like we were both chilling on the grass,” as he spoke he flexed his arms, showing off his biceps.

I shook my head and smiled. “That’s reassuring, wouldn’t want anyone to be worried about me being unconscious in a realm I’ve never been before,” I said, a light air of sarcasm stuck to my words.

Bubba chuckled. “Well, I couldn’t leave a pretty boy/girl/person alone in the middle of Artisans unconscious, just in case other dragon tried to flirt with you,” he eyed a green dragon with a yellow underbelly while he worked in his workshop, chiselling a slab of wood.

My cheeks flushed again. God/Gods, he likes me! I thought in a surprised tone. Two guys in one day—that was odd.

I smiled at him as my cheeks returned to their normal shade. “So, um, could I get a tour from the very muscular, very handsome, Bubba?” I asked, trying to return his compliment.

He bowed at me. “As you wish, the dazzling (Y/N),” he held out his arm in an incomplete link. I completed the link and walked with him.

I met almost all the dragons in Artisans, from the small purple dragon named Spyro, to the tall green dragon carpenter named Nestor. Each time I met a new dragon, and they showed me a trick like Zantor’s floating card trick, Bubba would eye them jealously and sometimes—like when I talked to Nestor—a low growl would escape his pursed lips. And then he’d quickly lead me in another direction, to meet someone else or to show me something different.

Hours later, after a complete tour of Artisans, Bubba brought me to a cliff that overlooked the whole of Artisans. I saw the sun set in the distance, the evening sky adding a warm orange glow to Artisans.

“(Y/N)?” Bubba said, sitting on the smooth rock beneath us.

“Yeah?” I sat beside him.

Bubba took a breath, which was odd because he was all confident and charming. “I really like you,” he said, in a low voice.

I smiled and wrapped my arm around his thick muscular one. “I like you too, Bubba.”

What the hell am I saying?! I would never admit that!

Would I?

Bubba smiled a toothy grin, one I had to smile at.

“Then perhaps you should tell Rodger how you truly feel,” he said, placing a finger on my heart. “After all, you’ve just told me the same thing.”

I thought for a moment.

“Tell him, (Y/N).”

*-*-*-*

Something wet, slobbery and warm ran across my cheek, and all I could smell was canned dog food. I felt a dull throbbing ache around the back of my head. I groaned loudly, and I heard a lively bark after whatever ran its way across my cheek stopped.

My eyes shot open.

“Gizmo!” I gasped and tried to sit up.

“Easy, easy,” came my dad’s voice. He placed his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back down. “You hit your head pretty hard. Your mum bandaged it up after Gizmo came to us for help,” he looked back at the dog.

“Thanks, Gizzy. Thanks, Mum,” I said, relaxing a little.

“You can thank Swords and Wielders for pushing me to learn bandaging techniques,” my mum said, referring to her medieval fantasy story of a knight who taught a wannabe-knight how to fence and be a knight and ended up falling in love.

I smiled, amused.

“We still have to take you to A and E, though,” my dad said. My mum nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” I sighed dramatically. Mum and Dad helped me up and walked me home.

I have to take my mind’s advice and talk to Rodger. I decided, walking with my parents and Gizmo towards our house. I have to tell him I feel the same, and that I’m too awkward to bring a dance.

Perhaps he’d be ok with just staying in and having (F/T) instead?

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Tonight

Bucky x fem!Reader

Content: SMUT. Pure, smutty smut. Do not read if you are below 18. Please.

A/N: Happy birthday @tarithenurse !!!

I know this isn’t even half as decent as what you write but I wanted to do something special (and hopefully naughty) for you. hehehe.

Masterlist and Taglist in bio, doll

"Aw! Fuck me!" Awkward silence. "Fuck Thor!" "...I don't think he has anything to do with this." You look at Bucky with a glare of disapproval.

"The God of Thunder is out there having fun with the Llamas at Macchu Pichu while you and I are stuck here in the Facility, not able to step outside because of this fucking thunderstorm. Right when I finally make plans with you to go out for drinks! I can curse whoever I want!" Bucky parts his lips to say something sensible but finds nothing. "I really was looking forward to going out," you nearly cry. "Oh!" Bucky's beard hides the smile when he bubbles with joy at the thought that you were looking forward to the night out with him. Just him and no one else. You barely would join other Avengers on their nights out, choosing to sit in the lounge and binge watch whatever stirred your fancy at that particular moment. Last week had been a Hannibal marathon and this poor soldier thought to join you because it sounded like a detective series with a new-age love. It had taken you a few minutes to realise he was talking about the tinge of romance between the protagonist and antagonist before bursting out into controllable laughter fits every time that poor sod found out what the show was actually about. So much for trying to find your taste, he thought, feeling it was better to just ask you out to a nice place for drinks and a game of pool. Half of his existence had been anxious at the thought of being rejected. The other half was already planning the menu as per your liking, your favourite karaoke songs and stop for dessert on your way back. But this cursed downpour had literally soiled all his plans. "Your expression just changed," your voice brings him out of his personal internal rant. "I...uh..." Bucky tries to make it sound as non-creepy as possible, "I was also looking forward to the drinks. They had a special discount on beer tonight." He watches your eyes flicker wide for a seconds before melting into a smile and moving away from the window. Special discount?!! he shouts at himself, nice one Buck. "We can drink here." Bucky turns to find you already out of your heels, your perfect legs hanging as you sit down on the sofa's headrest. Bucky questions his eyes as he notices the flowing blue dress rest over your knees, spread about the side of your thighs like wings resting. Your shoulders rise up a little, suggesting a shrug, and he feels his lungs pause for a moment. What? is all his brain can come up with. "Y-Yeah, we can drink here," he manages to respond. You feel a flutter inside your stomach. Observant as you are, Bucky's usually wavering gaze coming to rest on you at times he thinks you aren't looking has become your subject of adoration and his undoing lately. From the time he watches you change your expressions during meetings to when he is completely lost in thought of what's going on in your mind when you don't cry during a Disney movie. So much entertaining is his gaping blue glistening in the mystery that is you that you often try to act as if he's invisible to you, going about the things you usually do with just a dash of some sensual suggestiveness, though it just didn't work when Bucky choked on the water he was drinking and Steve and Sam had to come to his rescue to get this man to breathe. Tonight, with all the Avengers out of your way, searching for some new trouble to throw hands at, your mind was already working on how to bring this flustered cinnamon roll out of his twisted shell, laughing ominously at the thought of the things brewing up at that very instant. Thunderstorms might be good sometimes. "We're playing what?" Pressing away the smirk and trying to ignore the heat building up in your ears, you poured out the cola in the two tall glasses of a classic Long Island Iced Tea. "Never have I ever," you repeat before taking the glasses and strutting towards the break room on the floor above that is lit up only by the lights outside. Bucky follows you with bowls of nachos and garlic chips in either hand. "Never have you ever what?" he questions your seemingly incomplete sentence, making you laugh. "No, you goose, never have I ever is the name of the game." Setting the glasses down on the coffee table you push out the makeshift sofa to turn it into a comfy settee for two. "But considering it's just the two of us, I've customised it." Bucky sets down the bowls, mimicking your movement before sitting down next to you under the skylight pattering with raindrops over it, sliding down the glass to one side, making his skin look like he is standing under a waterfall, waiting to be devoured by the subtle waves. How openly bold you are with your mind, while Bucky is struggling not to let such thoughts infiltrate his conscience and do something stupid. The thing is, stupid was what you were craving tonight. "So," you begin, bringing one leg up to sit comfortably while facing Bucky, "here are the rules. I will tell you something about myself that may or may not be true. You have to figure out what it is. If you guess it correctly, you win, if you don't, I do." Bucky's brows crinkle a bit as he tries to understand the walkthrough. "For example," you continue, trying to make things easier for him, "I say 'never have I ever eaten Sam's doughnuts behind his back'." "That's false," Bucky blurts out immediately, "I saw you having death by chocolate just this morning," before realising what he's done. "I ...uh-" "Perfect!" You cannot help but smirk at the colour in his cheeks. "Now as you won, I will," you bring your fingers to lightly rest on your lips in some thought before you eyes catch his, "take a piece of my clothing off." For the second time this month, you're glad Bucky was not drinking anything when you laid down your carefully designed words for him. He forgets how to breathe, the air around him turning heavy as he feels his ears heat up while his belly does a little flip. Your eyes do not miss the tongue that darts out to lick his lips as you bring your glass forward to hide a miniature sense of victory bursting inside you. Bucky runs his hand through his hair in some nervous thought. "Not comfy playing?" The purr in your voice tickles his core and he knows now that he has walked into a brilliantly woven threadwork of your liking. Natasha did warn him about how people who are publicly shy are the boldest in person. He just didn't realise this was the bold she'd meant. Not that he was complaining. "Shall we?" Clinking glasses, both of you take one good swig of the cold brew for reasons known only to your bodies before letting the game begin. "Let's start simple," you go off, smacking your lips and tasting the mint you had added for your own liking in there, "never have I ever lied to Nat." Bucky cocks a brow at you. "You call that simple?" You nod matter of factly before shrugging your shoulders. "Okay. Um...true. Nat is very good at catching liars." You tilted your head in wonderment before tucking your hair back, watching Bucky's eyes run over your neck, his Adam's apple feeling a jerk as he gulped in the sight of you. "Am I making you nervous, Sargeant?" Bucky blinks, buying himself time to gather his thoughts. "N-ahem-no." "Hm-" you nod before tilting head up in a little nod, "time to take off your jacket." "What?" "I said 'never have I ever lied to Nat'. That was false. Just because Nat is good at catching lies doesn't imply it stopped me from lying to her." A smirk plays on your lips as you watch his surprised features take in a cold hard fact before his arms slide off his jacket, revealing a black henley, exposing his chest under that red muffler just enough to make you shift where you sit. "Your turn," you state, taking a tortilla chip topped with all the spicey cheesiness before putting the whole thing inside your mouth, letting the sauces drip a little over your lips, allowing yourself lick it all off without breaking eye contact with the man who was slowly getting a hang of your play. Bucky faced you this time, looking down at his metal hand before his eyes landed back on you. "Never have I ever kissed a woman." You cannot help but chuckle, impressed at how fast he catches on to you, forcing your core to twitch in anticipation as you two start to play the game. "False," you speak softly, your index pressed tightly under your teeth, anchoring your already swirling mind in between your jaw, wondering what would it be like to kiss those red lips. "Steve has told everyone stories about you, Sarge. Quite the player you have been in the old days." Bucky smirks just enough to let you know you're not wrong. He groans a little before removing the muffler around his neck. You hear your insides growl at that red piece of fabric. Good. Get off that perfect chest. About time it was exposed for some blissful sins. "My turn," you snap at your own thoughts as the ache between your legs begins to take control of you. "Hmm...never have I ever kissed a girl," you state, biting your lips before allowing the smirk to escape not only your lips but your eyes too. Bucky shifts this time, the heat coursing through him being felt where you sit. "False." Nothing but the sound of raindrops. A heavy inhale follows as you remove your jacket, revealing the peeking shoulders and the plunging neckline reaching down further than either of you anticipate at that moment. Bucky wonders if you had planned to kill him with just that tonight. Only if he knew. "Never have I ever made out in someone's workplace." You almost snort out your drink. "Did it involve belts and ties?" The question throws Bucky off, making him struggle for words. "No? How about rulers?" And the image that crosses his mind creates a prick inside him. A delicious thirst-filled prick. "False," you say confidently, "you seem the type who knows how to use them all. Especially the ruler." The lick of his lips followed by the strong dig his teeth take on them makes you want to do the same to them. You watch him sit back as he casually rests his arm over the back of the sofa. Oops. "Now what would you like to take off?" You narrow your eyes at him before throwing your head back in defeat. "Guess I deserve that," you mumble before getting up. Bucky's eyes follow your movements as your hands reach under your dress, lifting it up further above your thighs, making his lips part, his heart beat fasten, his eyes blink at the scene where his imagination runs to before averting his gaze. Oh, my sweet Brooklyn boy. "These stockings weren't letting me breathe anyways." He comes back to look at the pair of stretched fabric you hold in your hand before throwing over to the lone chair sitting at the opposite end. "My turn," you announce before sitting back down, this time a bit closer to him. "Never have I ever... slapped the person I was making out with." You can almost feel the devil cackling over your shoulder as you hear the tempting whir of his metal arm, clearly gripping at the words being so flawlessly painted in his imagination. The heat building inside him was working as a perfect catalyst to vaporise his sensual thoughts in the air around, making you inhale the burning aroma plum and woody spice lingering all around him, making your belly ache. "That's um..." "Take your time," you assure him, resting your head on the settee's headrest, watching the liquid ceiling over you run over his features like a visual note. Bucky looks at you with careful consideration. At least that's what you think till his glittering oceans seem more like they are playing with your most innate strings without your knowledge. "False," he finally speaks. Finally. Taking your drink in your hand, you bring your other leg over the settee as well, watching him suggestively. "Really?" "Guess we both don't know about each other as much. There really is a need to...explore more." The breath he draws in creates a spark in the air that travels down your limbs. "If you're not comfortable, we can stop," you assure him on the outside but deep down your ovaries are smacking you hard at even suggesting such an outrageous thing. "The only one getting uncomfortable tonight is whoever watches the facility footage," he speculated before his arms to grab the shirt on his back, causing you to bite down on your thumb a little too hard as you watched his muscles flex as the curtains drew up from the poetry that was his exposed skin feeling the goosebumps by just your mere stare. The threads holding the animal inside you start to feel the stretch; one even snaps. His chest glistens with a blue hue from the lights outside before he settles back into the seat, pushing his back with both his hands. The metal lets the lights dance upon it before reflecting it on your skin, touching you without touching you, leaving you breathless for one torturous moment. Not wasting time now, are we? "Never have I ever-" the husk in Bucky's voice brings your attention back to his blue eyes, dilated to let the wolf inside glare its teeth at you- "dreamed about kissing the woman sitting in front of me." Every breath you take in now aches, your chest wanting to explode. "False," you say without breaking eye contact, "now get out of those pants." Throats run dry. Breaths hitch. Lips get wet. Legs shift to hide the arousal even in the heated darkness. Seconds later the pants are gone and he stands in front of you in just his boxers. "My turn," you declare as you stand up, trying your best not to tremble now. "Never have I ever wanted to know what it would be like to be loved by you," you speak softly, close to him, "hard." You raise your hand to touch his bare skin, feel it under your fingers and stop as soon as the word leaves him. "False." Lightning lights up the room for a second, breathing in the intensity of the room before thunder follows. His fingers run up your hand, creating a storm as the hot flesh and cold metal create a vacuum inside you, wandering up your arm till they find the slim strings holding the fabric up, skillfully moving them down your shoulders and leaving them halfway for gravity to do the rest. "Let's find out," he whispers before his lips find yours. You smell the saltiness over his lips, increasing your hunger more while his beard lights up the neurons inside you with the faintest touch. Your already pooling core feels the heat radiating off him as his metal wraps around your waist to bring you closer to his body. Your lips take a taste of his lips, giving him an open invitation to let his tongue run inside your mouth, gulping in the moan that pulsates inside you. Your hands find their own path on his skin, travelling down his front and back before finding a path down the lone fabric wrapped around him. A breathless moan escapes him as your hands wrap around his manhood, causing his fingers to dig into your ass. His hands leave your skin, producing a growl in your throat at the loss of his touch before they remove yours from his and gently push you back into the seat near the window. Your chuckle echoes through the glass walls around you. "What?" Bucky's confusion is visibly carved by the shades coming from outside. "You should've asked me out sooner," you purr as you watch him get down on his knees. "You should've played the game sooner," he throws back before grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards him with a jerk, forcing your upper body to fall back into the soft cushions. "You should've shown interest in psychological thrillers sooner," you chortle before gasping as you feel his hands yank away your pantyhose, almost ripping them apart, feeling him growl between your legs as he puts them over his shoulders. "You should've forced Thor to make it rain sooner." Your brows crinkle for a second at his words. "Wait wha-hol-" The words break into a breathless gasp as you feel his tongue find its way through your soaking folds. Every perfect stroke makes a ruthless moan escape through you, every skilful caress of the bundle of nerves forcing you to arch into him again and again till has to hold you in place with his flesh hand. His name escapes in a hurried whisper from your lips, making his length twitch, wanting to feel your heat all around it. He comes back up from the delicious pool, glistening in your liquor as he licks his lips. "Never have I ever craved for something so devastatingly beautiful," he whispers less and roars more as his metal digit enters you, the coldness creating a sensational storm inside your trembling walls. The cold digits move in out of you, caressing your walls right at the spots where Bucky feels you squirm before his tongue plays your nerves like a personal favourite string. Your hands go into his hair trying to find an anchor to the mini fireworks that his beard is creating on scratching in your slickness. The tides from the tsunami initiated inside you go back from the shore before beginning to rise up. Bucky can sense that from the gradual shudder his shoulders feel vibrating from your legs, working his fingers inside your most sensitive spots to let the waves crash and crumble everything that comes in the way. And oh, what a chaos it is! Breathless and smeared with sweat, he lets you take a breath before gently displacing your legs. Your arms almost feel numb as you get up to face him, watching the blue dilated to the maximum with the hunger watching right from the edges. "That was-" He doesn't let you complete your mushed up thoughts as his finger lands on your lips while his own shush you. Not what I was expecting, you hear your brain call out from somewhere before lighting up with the fury of a thousand suns as his tongue finds it way up your neck to the back of your ear, pushing you back down as he weight lands over you along with the bulge working its way to your core. Satisfying as the high was, you feel your restless core grinding against his erection as soon as his thighs part your legs. He plays with you first, never entering you, drinking in every grunt and agitated moan leaving your lungs until your fingers dig into the skin on his back, forcing his beast to lurch forward and allow you to resonate with the sparkles dancing inside him. Both of you shudder audibly on feeling each other. Your walls flutter in his presence while he soaks in the heat you are radiating in its prime. Moving his hips away, he comes back hard, his tongue already inside you, ready to swallow every vibration leaving you that was the result of his movements. Second thrust, you feel your teeth bite his lips and your fingers drag down to the small over his back before generously feeling his buttcheeks in your hands. Another thrust comes harder than before, the cry escaping your lungs in the air while he sucks and nibs your shoulders, accelerating the high. Your hips rise up further into his, creating a rhythm of their own, allowing Bucky to increase his pace, drawing clandestine groans from you. The tides rise again this time further as you heard him grunt and call out your name in unadulterated pleasure. "Yes, doll," his panting voice urges you further to the cliff where the rocks wait for the foaming waters to wash over them, rocking his hips into your without any restraints. Your walls begin to clench around him, feeling yourself close to the edge with every ferocious stroke. Your breaths become shallow, your grip hard. Your cries become fervent driving Bucky further inside you till you feel yourself crumble once again under him. He doesn't slow down as your legs shudder under him, elongating the already fueled up orgasm. His own groans turn shallow as he feels his high coming up, making his movements sloppier, faster, dirtier. You feel his length swell up inside you, driving you down into the depths of the storm before filling you up inside with final thrusts eroding under his own high. Neither of you moves in the movements that watch you catch your breaths and let the pleasure work through every part of your body. Bucky carefully pulls out of you and lies down beside you. You raise your head to bring his cold, soothing metal under your overheated neck. "People usually kiss on first dates," you wondered out loud before turning to look at his amused blues and bursting into light laughter that Bucky joined in. "I don't think those people strip on their first date," he chimes in. "Touché." His metal folds around your shoulder to bring you closer for him to plant one long, soft kiss on your forehead. "By the way," he whispers right into your ear, "happy birthday." Your grin knows no boundaries as the happiness flows out of your stretched lips even as you rest your head on his chest and try to hide under his hair. "I guess thunderstorms are not that bad after all."

TAGLIST

@lokis-lady-death  @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @joyofbebbanburg @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 @confessionsofastrugglingteen @lost-and-wandering-alone @imsunnysu @vxidnik @sebbies  @unknownuserhasjoined  @cauraphernelia @queen-of-elves @doitfortwitter @ladywintersoldat @introvertfangirl @alt-er-love-er-alt @klmpun @loving-life-my-way @picapicapicassobaby @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @henloamkitty @alexakeyloveloki  @buckysclub  

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

All Those Things They Couldn’t Say - A Runaway Baudelaires AU

{ao3} {tumblr} {masterlist}

Chapter Fourteen - An Incident at the Marketplace

Violet was very quiet for the next several days with Josephine. The kids didn’t have much to do that didn’t involve giving Josephine a heart attack, so they mostly just sat around in her library. Klaus tried desperately to find the grammar books interesting, while Josephine tried to teach grammar and English to Sunny, who instead found hardcovers to bite on. Violet, meanwhile, had taken out her own commonplace book, and kept either scribbling furiously or doodling, with her ribbon keeping her hair back. She wouldn’t let Klaus see what she wrote, but she would show him and Sunny her drawings- usually blueprints for another invention, or a sketch of something nearby, like a book or Sunny asleep on the table. A few times she drew the sea, and she always got a distant look in her eyes as she did. 

Every now and again, they’d ask Josephine how she knew their parents, or about Ike, or if they could please show her how the oven worked, but she always changed the topic, so they eventually gave up. 

Finally, one day, Klaus asked about Lake Lachrymose, and Josephine’s eyes did the same thing as Violet’s, where she looked like she’d fallen into a distant, but fond, memory. 

“Oh, I grew up on these shores, you know.” Josephine said. “I know every cave and curve, from the Lavender Lighthouse, above Curdled Cave, to the edge of the Fickle Ferry’s route.” 

“Could we go swimming?” Violet asked, as she bounced Sunny on her knee. “I’d love to skip rocks again, and-” 

“Oh, no.” Josephine shook her head. “No, I can’t go near the lake now. I can only bear to view it from this window.” 

The Baudelaires shot each other tired looks. Klaus said, “I know lakes and similarly deep-water locations can be dangerous, but if you know it so well-” 

“Oh, it’s not that.” Josephine said. Then, she leaned over and whispered, “It’s the leeches.” 

“The… what?” Klaus asked. 

“The Lachrymose Leeches.” Josephine shivered. “They’re quite different from normal leeches, you see- these leeches live only in Lachrymose Lake, and they will eat anything that even remotely smells of food. You have to wait one hour after eating to go swimming or they will swarm and-” she cut herself off, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, children. It’s not grammatically correct to end a sentence with ‘and.’ But I just get very emotional-” 

“That’s how Ike died?” Klaus asked. “Leeches?” 

Josephine jumped, and Violet hit him on the shoulder. 

That night, Violet signalled for Klaus to stay awake. They sat on the other side of her bed, with Sunny sitting on Violet’s lap and biting the handle of a knife, and Violet said, “I need your help with something. I was hoping to wait until Josephine was out of the house, but the dumb bitch never seems to leave.” 

“What’s going on?” Klaus asked nervously. 

“Josephine’s got a safe hidden in her library.” Violet said simply. Klaus didn’t even react; they expected secrets everywhere. “I’ve been hoping you could help me crack the code. I could invent something to bust it open, but that’d make noise and leave damage and Josephine would know.” 

“What’s the combination like?” 

“Dial. I think four numbers.” 

Klaus considered. “It has to be something she’d remember. But she doesn’t seem too into numbers, just words.” 

“We could use the A1Z26 cipher.” Violet said. “But it’d have to be a short word, especially if one of the letters is past i-9, which would make it two numbers.” 

“What does she like?” Klaus narrowed his eyes. “Grammar.” 

“Cold soup.” 

“Not telling us anything.” 

Sunny looked up, stopping her biting for a moment, and said, “Ike.” 

Violet and Klaus looked at each other, and then smiled a little. “Good work, Sunny.” Violet said. “Let’s go.” 

They got up, racing to the library. Violet opened the trick bookshelf quickly, and Klaus knelt by the safe, muttering the numbers for I-K-E. Once he got it, he turned the handle, and the safe clicked open. 

“Easy enough.” Klaus said. 

“See,” Violet joked, reaching into the safe, “This is why I keep you around.” She pulled out a file, which she flipped open. “Hmm. Photos of her not being a scaredy-cat.” Like in the scrapbook. 

“Is she jumping out of a plane?” 

“For fun.” Violet nodded. “Yeah, she did used to be interesting. What else is in there?” 

Klaus looked in. “Sheet music. Box of crackers. This book-thing- oh, hey.” 

He pulled out the book, and showed it off to Violet. The title, spelled out very clearly on the large, dark cover, was The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations. 

“Okay. So,” Violet pulled Sunny onto her lap, and said, “Is this a good or bad thing?” 

“Means she’s in VFD.” 

“But she hid it away. Meaning she’s trying to get out.” 

“Not good for us, considering what happened when Mother and Father tried to leave.” 

“Whazzit?” Sunny asked, confused. 

“But it means we’re safe from ankle-snatching bastards.” Violet shrugged. “Listen, if she’s hiding this shit away,” she held up the file, waving it a bit, “It means she doesn’t want to think about her past. We’re safe for the time being. Eventually Mother and Father will get here and then we don’t have to talk to her again.” 

Klaus sighed, and then said, “I guess.” 

“Well,” Violet groaned, standing up and lifting Sunny with her, “Let’s get back to bed. Aunt Jo said we’re hurricane shopping tomorrow, so maybe we can convince her to get hot food.” 

“Not gonna happen.” 

“Then we’ll swipe some when she’s not looking and make it ourselves. No biggie. And you, Sunshine, should be asleep.” 

Sunny huffed. “Ekaw,” she said, which meant, “But you’re awake.” 

“Yeah, but I’m old enough to make bad life decisions. Sleep time.” 

The next morning, at the market, Violet and Klaus tried to stick by Aunt Josephine, but she seemed scared of practically everything in the town. It was good that the lakeside was basically empty, or they’d worry about making a scene and attracting unwanted attention. Klaus held Sunny in his arms instead of in his bag, letting her point towards food she wanted- and, when Josephine wasn’t looking, letting her grab something to stuff into his pocket. 

Violet kept untying and retying her ribbon in her hair, both bored by the market they had to walk through so slowly and too stimulated by how many aisles of carts they walked past, all with different smells and vendors shouting what they were selling and bright signs and even some which had other, loud noises. Sunny and Klaus were too focused on grabbing what they wanted without paying, like they normally did, that they weren’t noticing how loud everything seemed to be. 

“Josephine,” Violet muttered, shoving her ribbon into her pocket and turning back to their current guardian, “Perhaps we could get something to cook for you. Klaus and I know how to make several very quick meals, and as fast as they are, it’s hard to mess them up.” 

“Oh, no, no.” Josephine shook her head. “I’m eager to try this recipe for cold lime stew.” 

“Nuki,” Sunny said, meaning, “I think I’d rather eat something hot, or bite your arm off.” 

“No, no, Sunny,” Josephine said firmly, looking up from her shopping list. “‘Nuki’ isn’t a word. Remember what we said about using correct English. Now, Violet, would you please get some cucumbers? I thought I would make chilled cucumber soup again sometime next week.” 

Violet groaned outwardly, giving Josephine the side-eye, and then she moved down another aisle in search of cucumbers. She had no idea where they were- she didn’t know this fucking town!- but likely they’d be around the other vegetables. Things should be organized normally, right? A vender was selling canned soup which would be amazing if she could just fucking cook it. She retied her hair again, wondering if she could take apart the oven and force Josephine to see it was fine. For a few moments, she was so lost in her inventing thoughts that she didn’t look where she was going until she walked right into someone. 

“Oh, I’m sorry-” Violet started to stay, and then she looked up, and froze over. 

Turning around to look at her, with a shiny gleam in his eye, was a tall, thin man in a blue sailor had and black eye patch covering his left eye, as well as a thick wooden peg leg. But even with the peg leg and the eye patch and the sailor outfit, she could see his shiny eyes and the one eyebrow snaking underneath the patch and the long, bony fingers that drumming on a nearby table, slightly rattling a bottle of olives. 

“You.” she breathed. 

“Why, hello, dear lady.” Count Olaf said, a strange tone as he adopted some kind of sailor’s accent. “Didn’t see you there.” 

His beady, uncovered eye was staring down at her as if she were a brightly wrapped birthday present that he couldn’t wait to rip open. Violet had seen that look before, and she immediately reached for her pocket to grab her knife. 

“Violet!” she heard Josephine call behind her, but she didn’t turn, keeping her eyes on the dangerous man in front of her. “What are you doing in this aisle? These people are selling food that must be heated, and you know-” 

When she saw Count Olaf she stopped speaking, and for a second Violet thought she’d recognized him, too. But then she smiled, and Violet felt a boiling fury inside her. 

“Hello,” said Count Olaf, smiling at Josephine, “I was just apologizing for running into your sister here.” 

Klaus and Sunny ran up, then, and Klaus said, “Sorry we wandered behind, we saw- fuck, that’s Count Olaf!” 

“Yeah, no shit, Klaus.” Violet said. “Stay behind me.” 

Josephine scoffed, and said, “Violet! Don’t be rude!” she gestured to the Count in front of them. “This nice man is clearly not Count Olaf. Look at him! He’s a sailor.” 

“Captain Sham, my lady.” Olaf made a bow, and as he did, he shot a sneaky, smug look to Violet. 

“Alright, fucker,” Violet pushed Klaus and Sunny back slightly as Sunny hissed, and then she pulled out her pocketknife, flipping it open and pointing it at him. 

“Violet!” Josephine gasped, as Olaf stood back up, not concerned. “What did we say about sharp objects?” 

“If you’re really a pirate captain,” Violet said, “Then I assume that peg leg is real.” 

“As real as I am, miss.” Olaf said. “If you could put the knife away, nice girls shouldn’t be playing with those.” 

“I’m not a nice girl.” Violet said, stepping towards him. “So if it’s real, I can just swipe at it with this knife, and there’ll be no leg under it for me to sever off, causing you to bleed out until you tell us where the fuck our parents are, you bastard!” 

“Violet!” Josephine nearly shrieked, and she grabbed Violet’s arm, yanking her back. Surprised, Violet nearly swung the knife at her, recovering quickly enough to keep herself from harming their guardian. “I’m sorry, sir, she must be confused.” 

“Well,” Olaf said, smiling again at Violet, “Sometimes young girls are like that when they travel too much. I find it’s best to keep them in one place to avoid hallucinations.” 

Violet tugged at Josephine’s hand, but Josephine kept a firm grip on her, and Violet groaned as Josephine carefully plucked the knife from her hand and tossed it to the ground. “There. Now nobody can get hurt.” 

“Bet.” Sunny said. 

“Josephine, that’s Count Olaf! He’s in disguise.” Klaus said. “He’s after us!” 

“Now, Klaus, be nice to Captain Sham and don’t play along with your sister’s-” 

He turned to Violet, asking with his eyes if he should start crying, and Violet nodded. Klaus then burst into tears, and taking the cue, Sunny did, too. 

“Please, Josephine-” Klaus began. 

“Oh, now, Klaus,” Josephine released Violet, putting an arm around him. Violet turned to Olaf, as if to rush him, only to see, to her horror and frustration, that while Josephine’s back was turned, he had picked up her knife. He twirled it in his hands, giving her a clear look that dared her to try anything. 

“Best be gettin’ the young boy home, miss.” Olaf said, hiding the knife as Josephine turned to him. “Seems the sea air’s done somethin’ to him.”

“I’m very sorry-” 

“Captain Sham.” Olaf pulled a laminated card from his pocket, handing it over. The Baudelaires gave him glares as Josephine read it over. “Sailboat rentals.” 

Josephine laughed. “Why, Captain Sham! You’ve made a grammatical error.” 

“What?” Olaf said, raising his eyebrow. 

“It says here, ‘Captain Sham’s Sailboats. Every boat has it’s own sail.’ There should not be an apostrophe over ‘it’s,’ as that signals ‘it is.’ You mean simply I-T-S, ‘belonging to it.’ It’s a very common mistake, Captain Sham, but a dreadful one.” 

Captain Sham’s face darkened, and it looked for a minute like he was going to attack; Violet moved to grab Klaus’s hand. But then he smiled and said, “Thank you for pointing that out. Perhaps, dear lady, you can explain more about grammar to me tonight, over dinner.” 

“No!” Violet said. 

“Now, Violet, please quiet down. Let the adults speak.” Josephine said. She turned back to Olaf and said, “I’d be happy. We could go to that new fried egg place, if you so wish.” 

“Wonderful. Where do you live? I’ll pick you up very soon.” He looked to the kids there, and Violet felt like she was going to be sick. 

“Josephine, don’t-” Klaus began, through his forced tears. 

“Right at the top of the hill.” Josephine giggled. “I’ll go get a new shawl and drop the children off.” 

“Yes. They can rest.” Olaf said. “Who knows what could happen to them in the wide open world?” 

“Go to hell, bastard.” Violet said. 

“Violet!” 

“Our parents will beat your ass, and they’ll find us, and you’re going to-” Violet spat. 

“Violet, please!” Josephine shook her head and tutted. “Children have no manners these days. If you’ll excuse us, Captain Sham…” 

She turned and pulled the kids along with her. Violet shot a hateful glare back at Olaf, who just smiled innocently at her. 

Once they reached the house, Josephine said, “I know you children have had quite the terrifying life. But that doesn’t mean you can be rude to kind sailors at the market.” 

“That wasn’t a kind sailor! That was Count Olaf!” Violet protested. 

“Please,” Klaus sniffled, “Listen to us!” 

“Children, go lie down.” Josephine insisted. “Captain Sham must be right, the excessive travel is making you-” 

“Did you seriously buy that?” Klaus temporarily snapped out of his fake tears. “That’s ‘female hysteria’ bullshit!” 

“Klaus! Go lie down! I will go get ready for dinner.” she paused. “Why don’t I make you all chilled cucumber soup, so that you have something to eat while I’m out?” 

Violet took a deep breath, and then spun on her heel and stalked off without another word. 

Klaus raced after her, and Sunny asked, “Ato?” which meant something akin to, “What do we do?” 

“I’m working on it.” Violet muttered. 

“Gui!” Sunny shouted as they made their way into their bedroom, meaning, “How could she fall for that phony disguise?” 

“Mother and Father told us often that disguises are an easy way to sneak around simple people.” Klaus said. 

“Well, good to know that Josephine is a dumbass!” Violet sat on the bed, and pulled out her ribbon, tying her hair back as tight as she could. She took a deep breath, and thought. 

She remembered, when she was about eight, her Mother had sat her down and tried to help her figure out better ways to manage her anger, after she’d punched a kid who threatened Klaus at the playground. One of the things that had worked was just letting her inventing mind go off on plans, keeping her focus on different ideas instead of on the first impulse to attack. She clasped her hands together, sitting cross-legged, and keeping her eyes shut, even as Sunny crawled onto her lap. 

Klaus sat beside her on the bed, bouncing the mattress slightly. “Ideas?” 

Violet considered what they had at their disposal. The house had little electricity, was situated above a lake… perhaps they could push Olaf through the library window, but he could grab one of their ankles and pull them with him. Josephine didn’t have anything very sharp or heavy… the only dangerous thing around the lake was- 

“I have an idea.” Violet said after a minute, smiling as she opened her eyes. “I need you guys to distract Josephine. If Olaf comes, keep him here.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to get our weapon.” Violet pulled Sunny off of her lap, putting the baby on a pillow, and she stood up, stretching slightly. “What we’re going to do, is we’re going to beg to go to dinner with Josephine and Olaf. We’re so sorry, we made a mistake, we feel so bad for insulting Captain Sham.” 

“That’s gonna be hard to fake.” 

“We’ll manage. Then at the restaurant, we’ll get him to take us for a walk by the pier.” 

“That’s asking for him to kidnap us.” 

“Exactly. Once lulled into a false sense of security, as we walk by the ocean, you trip him into the water.” 

“So he swims back and strangles us.” 

“No, so I throw our weapon at him. In the water, he’ll be helpless.” 

“What weapon, Vi? A weight?” 

Violet smiled and shook her head. She reached into Klaus’s bag, pulling out a small, glass jar, as well as a small snackbag. 

“The Lachrymose Leeches.”

[myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown]

When Lila Gives You Lemons - Chapter 3

AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

The akuma attack that afternoon was actually a blessing, Adrien thought as he bounded up the stairs towards Marinette’s room. He had taken advantage of the standard after-attack chaos to text his bodyguard saying he was spending the afternoon doing homework with a friend. His father would assume he meant Lila and no one would think to check until that evening.

Marinette was already waiting for him when he burst through though the trapdoor of her room.

“Sorry I’m late,” Adrien puffed, “Akuma.”

“Problem no! I mean, no problem,” Marinette seemed a little out of breath as well, “I-I just got back.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Adrien broke the silence, “So…extra credit?”

Marinette jumped, “Yeah!” She ran over to her desk and Adrien pulled up a chair to sit next to her. She pulled out a sketch book and opened it to a messily drawn table. Adrien read the headers: offense, arrived, location. There were times written in the first two columns and then a location in Paris in the third. Adrien also noticed that some lines were crossed out while a few had notes scrawled in the margins.

“Very impressive,” Adrien remarked honestly making Marinette blushed. “What are we going to do with it?”

“Well,” Marinette hesitated, “I-I, uh, was wondering, well, if it’d be possible, but if it’s not then I guess it’s not a problem. Ugh! I’m such an idiot, this was a bad idea.” That last part was to herself. Adrien put his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t worry Marinette, I get it. It looks like you collected all this data yourself, so I’m guessing this is kind of a self-designed extra credit project?” Marinette looked relieved and nodded, “So if the teacher doesn’t have anything specific that he wants you to do, what do you want to find out from this data? I mean, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of collecting it if you didn’t have something in mind…”

Marinette seemed to calm down a little at that and squared her shoulders. She looked at the list rather than at Adrien and took a deep breath, “I want to try and find a location. If… something…left around the time in the offense column and arrived at the written location at the time in the arrived column, can we find out where these things are coming from?” Marinette risked an insecure glance at Adrien, clearly unsure if this was even possible.

For his part, Adrien thought it was an odd choice for an extra credit project, but his mind had already taken a running start, “It should be, as long as we know about how fast these things travel,” he was starting to get excited and couldn’t keep a grin off his face, “You chose a really interesting project Marinette!” Adrien looked around, “You wouldn’t happen to have a map, would you? I think it’ll make things easier if we can visualize it.”

Marinette tried jumping up out of her seat but ended up tangled up with the chair as it fell to the floor. “I’m ok!” She yelped, untangling herself from the chair and running to the corner of her room before Adrien could try to help her. She came back with a massive roll wrapped in cellophane. Adrien laughed as she unwrapped the map and spread it out on the floor.

“You’re always prepared, aren’t you Marinette?” The girl gave him a shy smile before grabbing a sheet of stickers from one of the desk drawers and turning her attention back toward the map. Adrien was already putting books at each of the corners so it would lie flat.

“I was thinking we could start by putting a sticker at each location I have written down, that will at least give us an idea of the general area we’re working with, right?”

Adrien nodded, “Good idea. I’m assuming that we can ignore the locations you’ve crossed off on your list. Those are incomplete data, right?”

Marinette nodded and handed Adrien a sheet of stickers. Adrien found it easy to work with her and it wasn’t long before they sat back to admire their handiwork. There were around thirty stickers spread out over Paris, although many seemed to be concentrated around their school. Adrien looked up the formulas he needed on his phone and they got to work on their calculations.

By the time that Adrien had explained the basic math to Marinette, she was feeling more confident and was starting to lose herself in the flow of the project. Adrien watched her plug the numbers into the formula he’d shown her and grinned as she started muttering to herself, oblivious to everything besides the problem in front of her.

“…so, if I was at the Eiffel Tower… that 11:35…and factoring in how fast the average akuma flies…”

Adrien felt his smile melt. Akumas? He took a closer look at the list in Marinette’s sketchbook. Sure enough, the writing in the margins were names of various akumas that he and Ladybug had fought in the last few months. How was she collecting this data?

Marinette had finished her calculation by this point and was watching Adrien in concern.

“Adrien, are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“You’re trying to find Hawkmoth.”

Adrien felt numb. Marinette went pale and her mouth worked as she tried to come up with something to say.

“I know it’s dangerous. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you what I was doing…I didn’t want you involved any more than necessary.”

Adrien laughed to himself. Too bad Marinette didn’t know how deeply Chat Noir was already involved in the fight against Hawkmoth. If anything, he was more concerned with how deeply this involved Marinette. After all, she didn’t have superpowers to protect her like he did.

“So…” Adrien was still trying to wrap his head around the situation, “This list, you’ve been keeping track of the akumas?”

“Potential akumas,” Marinette corrected, “I payed attention to situations around me that had the potential for strong emotions and then stuck around to see if a villain appeared. The crossed-out lines mean that no akuma ever showed up, even though there was strong negative emotion.”

“And the lines without a name written by them?”

Marinette froze and Adrien waited. Finally, she screwed her eyes closed and:

“Those were ones that came after me.”

Adrien’s stomach dropped and he felt his ears start to ring. There were dozens of unlabeled entries. What was going on with Marinette?

“It’s Lila,” Marinette refused to look him in the eye, “I didn’t saw anything because, well, you’ve got enough problems with her without adding mine to the mix and I didn’t want you to worry, and I know that it’s best for her lies to just self-destruct because I really wasn’t getting anywhere trying to call her out, but she threatened me in the bathroom and said she’d turn all my friends against me and I thought that if I stopped trying to call her out, then she wouldn’t be able to do anything, but that didn’t work and I’m pretty sure Alya hates me now, not to mention the rest of the class, and she’s always hanging off you even though it’s obvious that you hate it and…”

“Whoa Marinette, slow down! Did you just say that she threatened you?”

Sometime while she’d been taking, Marinette had crossed her arms in front of her chest and had started to look very small. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Well too bad, Marinette, I’m your friend, that means it’s my job to worry about you. I didn’t know that things with Lila had gotten so bad.”

Marinette shrugged, “If I can find Hawkmoth, it’s all worth it. I’ve gotten really good at breathing exercises so I can calm down quickly, and if Lila’s going to make my life miserable anyway, I may as well make the best of it.”

Adrien stared at her with wide eyes, “You’re amazing Marinette.”

She blushed again before a determined glint appeared in her eyes and she smiled, “Let’s find ourselves a terrorist.”

They worked in silence the rest of the time, Marinette occasionally calling Adrien over to check her calculations. It was almost time for Adrien leave when they finally finished.

“Ok, so, just so you know, these data points are far from exact. After all, we don’t know how long after the initial stimulus Hawkmoth sends the Akuma, so all we really have is a search radius of where Hawkmoth’s lair might be, not a solid address, but it’s a solid start.”

On the map, they had charted out the akumas paths and had colored in the search radius that they had calculated. Marinette gasped and Adrien had to fight down the bile rising in his throat.

In the middle of their search radius, highlighted in red marker, was the Agreste mansion.

[daylighteclipsed]

I love the Lab 5 arc, especially Ed’s side of things. It’s like a descent into Hell. Things just get progressively worse and more horrifying the deeper Ed dives into the building, and so many aspects of the plot that were introduced in this first half of the story converge here over the course of these episodes. It begins a little silly and over-the-top, with Ed dodging boobytraps like something out of Indiana Jones, but as more significant events transpire the arc steadily loses its humor, until you’re reacting with the same horror as the characters.

1. The first big discovery: The Slicer is hollow like Al. Condemned prisoners are facing the same fate Ed has subjected his little brother to. This is the second time Ed’s actions as a child are cast in a more sinister light; the first was when Shao Tucker played the “not so different” card, comparing what he did to his wife and Nina with what Ed did to his mother and brother. Like then, Ed and the audience are invited to evaluate the nobility of Ed’s actions, but the focus here is entirely on what Ed did to Al, the act of binding a soul to a hollow suit of armor.

While Ed does express some initial horror upon realizing that the military is torturing prisoners by bonding their souls to suits of armor, he tries to play it off with humor. It’s not until he talks to The Slicer, who is actually two brothers, that Ed realizes how horrific their existence is, and what Ed has done to his own brother is put into painful perspective. These brothers want to die. There is no way to ever get their bodies back, and if there was they’d just be executed for their crimes. They would rather die than keep existing like this.

The only thing Tucker’s first talking chimera (his wife) said was “I want to die” before she gave up living. Nina expressed to Ed that she was in pain too, and Scar confirmed it when he felt her soul entangled with Alexander’s before he put them both out of their misery. The Slicer, like a chimera, is two souls sharing one body, and they’re in pain. But much like when Ed was 12 and Mustang told him (rather brutally) that Nina’s better off gone, Ed can’t get behind a mercy kill.

2. Ed refuses to kill The Slicer brothers. He refuses to take any human life. The only way he could kill them, he says, is if he accepts that they’re not human anymore, but if he does he’d have to admit that Al isn’t human anymore either. This is the first time Ed’s black and white moral code is majorly challenged. He’s 15. He doesn’t understand that sometimes there’s no way around death. He’s forced to confront that maybe killing doesn’t always equal murder.

I feel like after Ed’s encounter with Barry the Chopper when he was 12 that killing for any reason, while already horrifying, became even more unthinkable. That and discovering a couple years later that Barry was right about the State Alchemists, that they have killed people, gruesomely, unfairly...Ed doesn’t want to be like them. And you see, a big source of tension in the show, is Ed’s relationship to the military. Ed has to obey orders, but he doesn’t want to sell his soul to the State.

The Slicer brothers are reminded of their humanity because Ed offers them mercy and kindness, but the gesture only hurts. It’s a reminder of what they’ve lost, everything that was taken away forever, and I think Ed has to consider then that maybe, when he pulled Al’s soul from The Gate and bonded it to armor way back when, maybe that hurt Al more than helped him. Maybe it wasn’t very noble. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it’s still selfish to keep Al’s soul here, not knowing if there really is a way to get his body back.

Because Ed won’t take a life, the younger brother takes his own life. This sparks a new fear in Ed, that Al will lose the will to live if he can’t get Al’s body back. He vows that he won’t let that happen, which inadvertently raises the stakes for when he has the chance to get Al’s body back at the end of this arc.

3. Tucker is still alive and trying to recreate Nina. At first seeing Tucker alive and as some grotesque chimera is kind of like WTF WHY, but it actually fits really well. It furthers the parallels between Ed and Tucker: Tucker is trying to rectify his mistake by recreating Nina the way chimeras are made. It’s not the same as human transmutation, but in trying and failing repeatedly to recreate Nina, Tucker has lost more and more parts of his human body. Instead of those parts replaced by steel however, Tucker’s have been replaced with animal parts. He looks more beast than man now.

Tucker tried to use chimera-making to fix a mistake that was caused by him creating chimeras, not unlike how the Elrics want to use human transmutation to fix mistakes that were caused by them using human transmutation before. Tucker has dedicated his life to recreating his daughter, not unlike how Ed has dedicated his life to restoring his brother. But Tucker doesn’t seem to possess the guilt Ed does. He doesn’t express regret; it’s more like an obsessive curiosity, to see if he can seriously recreate his daughter, and Ed’s drawn in a little by this curiosity.

The scientist in him can’t help but wonder if it can be done, which calls back to what Tucker said years ago about how Ed is drawn to try horrific things with alchemy just to see if he can, even more so when Ed’s presented with the incomplete Philosopher’s Stone.

4. Ed is tempted to complete the Philosopher’s Stone. His suspicions about the Stone, that human sacrifices play a part, are more or less confirmed by Tucker, but he’s tricked into thinking those sacrifices have long since already happened. Now, human sacrifice being involved still bothers Ed, but it’s not enough to completely dissuade him, which ties in nicely with Scar, in a different part of the building, sharing his tragic backstory with Al about how his older brother tried to create a Stone from their fallen civilization. It also contrasts what Al starts to tell Scar, that if human sacrifice really is needed that he and Ed will stop pursuing the Stone.

Everything Ed’s worked for is within his grasp and there’s nobody in the room telling him not to go for it. There’s nobody saying it’s wrong. The older Slicer brother feels it would give those past sacrifices meaning. Tucker’s kind of like the devil in Ed’s ear, easing his conscience, stroking his ego. No alchemist has been skilled enough to finish the Stone before, but Ed is. Ed can. Does it really matter if the Stone’s made of dead people? They’re dead already. They’ve been dead a long time. What’s the harm, really, of refining material that’s already here? Of trying? It’s not like Ed killed those people.

Then the prisoners come crashing through the ceiling and it’s made very clear that there isn’t a difference between using dead people or live people; it’s just as immoral. And Tucker throws back his head and laughs wickedly at Ed’s distress because Ed was so close to giving in and accidentally killing all those people. He was even gonna let Tucker use the Stone after him to see if recreating Nina was possible. 

5. Homunculi exist. They’ve been manipulating the Elrics and others who sought the Philosopher’s Stone (Majhal, Cornello, Mugear, Dr. Marcoh) for years, and Ed draws an interesting parallel to the military. He shouts in defiance that he and Al are nobody’s puppets; not the State’s or the homunculi’s. From day 1, Mustang has manipulated Ed. He puts Ed into situations knowing exactly what Ed’s going to do and uses that to further his own career. He (jokingly?) threatens to reveal Al’s secret to get Ed to cooperate, which isn’t that different from how the homunculi use Al against Ed here.

The homunculi have recruited Tucker with the promise of showing him how to recreate Nina. What Tucker’s trying to do is basically make a homunculus out of a chimera. He explains the idea of an artificial soul, which is really just memories and impressions from the creator transplanted into the empty vessel, and Al frets over the legitimacy of his own soul after his confrontation with Barry outside and his struggle to remember things back in Resembool. The possibility of an artificial soul challenges Ed’s definition of human. To Ed, people are human because they have souls, but if a soul’s created does that make it less human? What is a soul anyway? For Ed’s definition to stick, he’d have to admit that a soul is something science can’t explain.

When the homunculi reveal that they only want the Stone to become human, their motivations immediately become sympathetic. A thematic link is established between soul bonds, chimera, and homunculi, the 3 creations Ed’s faced over the course of this arc. They’re all horrifying forms of alchemy. They all involve human experimentation. They’re all ostracized for being different, and they’re all suffering because they exist between human and not. They long to be human, and if they cannot be human they long to die. 

Almost everything introduced in the first half of the story comes together here: Tucker, Barry, Scar, the military, the homunculi lurking in the shadows, all of the Elrics’ past brushes with people pursuing the Philosopher’s Stone; it all builds up to this incredible moment.

6. Ed nearly creates a Philosopher’s Stone using the prisoners in the room. Neither Ed nor Al can fight their way out of here: Al’s limbs were eaten by Gluttony and Ed’s lost too much blood. His automail’s malfunctioning, and his body’s too weak to put up a real fight. As far as the brothers know, nobody’s coming to the rescue. Al’s pretty much got a knife held against his throat. If Ed doesn’t obey the homunculi, he’s going to lose his little brother.

The homunculi confirm without a doubt that the Stone requires live humans to be made. Ed doesn’t know these prisoners. He doesn’t care about them. Later on, he’ll even admit that their lives really meant nothing to him next to Al. It’s a test of his greed and empathy. Ed’s more empathetic than he was at the start of the story, but it’s still not his strong suit. Using dead people, strangers he didn’t know anything about, didn’t faze him much earlier. Using live people is wrong. Ed knows it is, but.....as Ed also admits later, if Al wasn’t right there watching him, he could, maybe, push his conscience aside and sacrifice those prisoners.

Even though Al doesn’t want him to. Even though Al tells him that he doesn’t want his body back if it means other people have to die. It doesn’t really matter what Al wants here. Ed’s thinking selfishly, driven by trauma that altered the course of his entire life. He wants to get Al’s body back. He wants to give Al his life back because he loves his brother and he wants this horrible guilt to go away. Al is the only family he has left, the only friend he hasn’t pushed away. He doesn’t want to lose him. He can’t.

This is Edward’s lowest point thus far, and it’s written all over his face. Lab 5 has beaten him down, physically and emotionally. He’s nearly surrendered to despair, apathy, and his own desires. But ultimately Ed can’t do it, and Scar, watching Ed prove he’s better than his older brother was, decides to intervene and help Ed and Al escape.

It’s just a brilliant couple of episodes. You can see the farther Ed tumbles down the rabbit hole, the denser and darker things grow, and the more things come together. So many ethical and philosophical questions are raised. So much is set up for the second half of the story. Ed and Al make it through the hell of Lab 5 to the other side, but they emerge close to death and changed forever and it’s [clenches fist] so good.

[acrcsstheuniversee]

Good Enough For Me

Pairing: Paul McCartney circa 1962 x John Lennon circa 1978 (McLennon)

Rating: Mature, readers 18+

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of porn and sex work

Words in this chapter: 1800+

Author’s Note:

Here it is! Refer to my summary and introduction post if you haven’t done so for more disclaimers, visuals, tag list info, and more.

*Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles. This is fiction and written for leisure. Aspects of the story will not be historically accurate and should not be taken extremely seriously.

Chapter 1

Already a month into the semester, Paul found himself struggling to keep up with his studies. He tried his best to focus on typing an essay on the history of guitars that’s due the next day by 10 a.m. but just couldn’t get himself to do it. Not like it was hard or anything; he just hated doing what he’s told, especially if it was something he didn’t care about. He just wanted to do music but having a degree is a necessity now.

He pressed the home button on his cracked phone screen to see that it was already midnight. He was only half way done with the assignment that could’ve taken him only 30 minutes if he wasn’t writing songs in between paragraphs.

It was all too much anyways. American universities have much more homework assignments than back in England. Times like these made him question whether or not going out of the country for school was worth it. There almost seemed like there were more cons than pros in his decision. He lacked resources, he didn’t have any friends or family here except his roommate/best friend George, he was poorer than ever, and must work and attend school part-time. If he stayed in Liverpool and just continued school locally, he probably would’ve earned his degree by now; but now he’s what Americans consider a “super senior” because he’s 21 years old with the amount of classes completed equivalent to a third year student. Despite the struggle, all of it was better than his father dictating his every move. 

He shut his laptop, giving up on the assignment and leaned back into his desk chair, rubbing his tired droopy eyes.

He had two classes and work tomorrow. The thought of them made him roll his eyes. Music history from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., a business class he couldn’t remember the name of from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m., and work right after at a restaurant nearby as a dishwasher, and occasionally performer if the artist they booked cancelled that night.

He yawned as he got up and slide into his bed. Before shutting his eyes, he turned his head and looked directly across the tiny dorm room to his right to see his childhood best friend and roommate, George Harrison sound asleep.

Paul really needs to take a note out of George’s book and sleep earlier. These late nights are just stressing him out more and more.

***

“Paul….. PAUL! Get up!”

Paul jolted up right when a sudden raised voice rang in his ear. His eyes met George’s signature judgemental look. One of his thick brows cocked and his lips curved awkwardly. He was already ready to go to class.

“Ah, what time is it?”

“9:30. I woke you up 30 minutes before hand because I just know you aren’t going to get up to the 9:45 alarm unless you expect to make it to your first class in 15 minutes,” George teased.

George is a pain in the ass and a know-it-all, but Paul loved him dearly. He comes off mean sometimes but Paul knows it’s just because he’s younger and feels the need to prove himself. Paul was used to it after all this time but sometimes, that boy needs to know when his criticisms cross the line. Despite being a dick sometimes, they’re both grateful to be going to the same college together. It was one in a million chances for George to land the same US college as Paul just a year after Paul’s acceptance.

“Okay, whatever. You have a point, I guess.” Paul groaned and rolled out of bed. 

“I know I do, ha. I’ll see you later.” George messed up his friend’s darkhair more than it already was, making Paul swat his hand away.

When George left, Paul finally got ready and headed off to class with his incomplete essay.

Everyone was already seated and the professor was setting up today’s powerpoint lecture when he finally arrived. Paul sat down in the back where he’s been since the beginning of the semester. It hasn’t been a problem until a girl started to sit near him everyday since last week. When group or partnered work was assigned, she would often ask him to join her. She was kind, but Paul knew she liked him. She couldn’t make it less obvious. They would make small talk here and there---just about classes and hobbies. She was also very good at piano just as Paul was, but not too good on guitar though she claims to be.

He felt her looking at him, making him turn his head to find out he was right. She just smiled and waved. Paul nodded and gave her a small smile in return, trying not to show too much emotion, afraid she would like that too much. She already had the wrong idea but he didn’t want to be mean about it. Paul was not interested in the slightest and, he was gay. Found that out in high school and hasn’t been too shy about it since then. 

When class ended, Paul left immediately to his second class to avoid conversation with anyone. This next one was business related which is something he also could care less about. He was a bit behind in this one too, but this time, he truly didn’t understand the material. He definitely needed a tutor soon.

Not much happened other than him writing mini poems all over his in-class assignment. He didn’t even bother erasing any of it before turning it in at the end of class.

Paul sighed as he made himself to his busboy job right off campus. Before stepping inside, he felt his phone vibrate. It was his dad. Ugh, he thought but answered.

“I’m about to go into work, Dad. What is it?”

“Well, hello to you too. I was just wondering how the first month in the states have been. I haven’t heard from you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine? Have you got a chance to tour places? You should send me photos.”

“No and no. I don’t want you to be sending the pictures to your friends as if you helped me get here. I know you do that.”

Paul heard his father sigh.

“Just text me when you get home and tell George I said hi.”

“Okay, bye.” Paul said before hanging up and walking into his shift.

It seemed harsh but his dad was a selfish prick. He loves to be in control of everything. He was the reason Paul came to the states to study. All he wanted was to ride the wave of success his two sons have been achieving.

In all truthfulness, Paul stopped believing his dad’s bullshit after mom died about 6 years ago. His dad seemed to have lost his way but Paul couldn’t be around all the time if he had a dream to follow. It’s been rough without his mom around but Paul had to do what he was right for him, even if that meant getting away from his dad which is something even she would’ve supported.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how irritating school and his dad were during his shift. The rude coworkers and customers didn’t help his case at all. This wasn’t new though. Paul was used to working constantly in some shape or form. The only problem this time is that he needed more money now that he’s completely independent from his father.

“Hey, busboy!” his boss called out to the dishroom from the back office. Paul rolled his eyes and went to see what he wanted.

“Yes?”

“I have to cut your hours in half. Here is your new schedule. You’re off now, so don’t wash another dish.”

“In half?” Paul took the schedule and saw that his income now would not suffice his monthly tuition payments, let alone some money for necessities. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Why?”

“We can’t afford to pay you. I’m sorry, kid.” he said nonchalantly.

“Will I be able to perform sometimes still?”

“Ehh, sure.” he said as he continued his paperwork, not even looking at Paul.

Paul rolled his eyes again. Could his life get any more annoying? He let out a sigh and clocked out. Now what, he thought making his way home.

When he got home George was playing his computer games with his big headphones to fit on his large ears. The younger man didn’t even notice his friend come in until one side of his headphones was pulled and slapped against his head.

“Hey!” George readjusted himself then paused his game to face Paul with his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“My hours got slashed.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope, hah.”

George frowned.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you going to find another job?” 

“Well, I’m going to have to because I will not be asking my dad for help.” Paul said as changed into his pajamas and hopped onto his bed.

George sighed. Paul just stared at his friend for a moment, not knowing what to say. This was bad news for both of them. George didn’t have the same financial issues as Paul did. He only had enough for himself. If George could help, he would---and Paul knew he would.

“I’ll think of something, George. Don’t worry.” Paul got under the covers and listened to his friend shut off his computer and lights before hopping into bed as well.

He stared at the ceiling and sighed, then began to think about all the ways he can make money quickly but none of it would be fast enough to pay his next tuition bill. He rubbed his eyes. It was beginning to stress him out the more he thought of it and he just wanted it to all stop for a second.

Ah fuck it, he thought before whipping out his phone and started to scroll through his favorite porn blog on Tumblr. What better way to forget about things than looking at some sexy pictures of guys?

Paul scrolled until he ran into a post that was by a male sex worker selling nude photos and thought hard to himself. It was a young guy about his age selling his photos for $25 a piece and a private snapchat story for $5 per friend request and $15 extra for screenshot privileges.

Paul bit his lip nervously. It’s been a couple years since he did sex work. All he did was some cam work, sold some nude photos, and made customized videos for people on the internet. He remembered enjoying it but there was always the parts he hated that made the job extremely draining like any other job.

He laid there staring at the screen. He must admit, it was tempting to dive in again but he was afraid what George would think.

“George… Maybe I should go back into sex work…” Paul said suddenly.

George didn’t reply. He just snored in in response. That bastard.

Paul sighed and continued to scroll through sex work blogs, inspired by the possibilities until he slowly drifted to sleep.

-

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@nowandthenoldfriend

[malyceaduncastellan]

Only Human

Well, at the end of the day, I’m still obsessed with Ethan and not satisfied with the amount of content we get (GIMME MORE PB) so… Another piece for our emotionally destroyed doc.

Written with Kaleo - Way Down We Go in musical background.

It was one of those days when Ethan felt particularly low without any special reason. No one was dead today, none of his patients, none of his colleages, not Banerji nor his dog. Yet, he was watching the city beneath his feet on the balcony of his apartment, sulking, giving into his fantasies, trying to dull the ache in his heart.

He scoffed, thinking about how much of a walking cliché he was right now. That tall broody black-haired man hovering darkily over a sleeping city made him think of another rich man who saved folks.

He felt something nudging his feet and wasn’t surprised to find Jenner, watching him with his puppy eyes, just like he did when he knew his human didn’t feel well.

Ethan sighed. He was pathetic. What wouldn’t he have given to be at the hospital right now, working to stop thinking. Or literally anywhere to keep his mind off his thoughts. He’d turn on the TV if he had wanted to watch anything, he’d read if he could actually be distracted by substranceless stories. He’d talk if he had someone to listen to. He’d make his dreams reality if he could. He’d make mistakes. He’d heal if he only knew what disease affected him. But nothing could make him do anything like that now.

His phone rang, and he closed his eyes, hoping the sound would fade to nothing if he just ignored it. When it hopelessly displayed this annoying music he hated so much he chose it specifically to be sure to pick up his phone fast, Ethan sighed for something like the tenth time before answering.

-Harper? Why’re you calling me at… Nearly 1 am? he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

-Because I know you’re not sleeping. What took you so long? I called five time, I was ready to take my car and drive by your place to check if you were okay.

-Shower, he lied between his teeth.

-Geez, you’re taking royalty time to trim that beard of yours. Have you considered saving entirely or just letting it live? It would save you those missed calls.

-Harper, if you don’t have anything important to tell me, I suggest we end this one.

Silence suddenly surrounded him and he frowned, wondering if she had took him seriously. But then Harper spoke again, with her tone inherited for now months of service as his boss.

-Right. Sorry, I was just trying to lighten up the atmosphere because what I’ll be telling you is bound to angry you.

-You’ve decided to take down the intern competition when some only lately showed they were competent enough to integrate the team to hire an annoying doctor from who-knows-where Hospital?

-...Sometimes, I forget how snarky you can be. Harper sighed, then continued. No. I’m gladd you think it has been a good idea anyway.

-Hardly, but at least I’ll know just how insufferable the new addition to the diagnostic team will be.

-Actually, I want to talk to you about one of your interns.

Ethan rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

-If they say I’m ��mean” or anything like this, tell them they’re not ready for being doctors and they should back off to Kindergarten teaching.

-I’ve actually recently got a report saying you’ve been relatively… friendly, lately.

-I made only three of them cry this week when you think about it.

-That’s not what I meant, Ethan.

-What did you mean then?

-Casey Valentine.

He fell silent for a moment, pondering Harper’s words. Friendly? When he repeatedly rejected her even when she didn’t come for him? When he was twice as hard on her just because he didn’t want to take risks in favoring her?

-What, I’m more friendly with the other interns than with Doctor Valentine? he said after a while.

-So you recognize you’re acting differently with her.

-She’s currently the best intern. She will probably integrate the team, she needs to understand what it will imply. So yes, I’m extra hard on her.

-You weren’t with Aurora.

-Because you would have been pestering me!

He heard Harper sigh on the other side of the phone.

-People don’t say you’ve been extra hard on her. Apparently she was crying and you comforted her, which you don’t do normally.

-That.

It was all he could say without getting angry. This had nothing to do with Casey. At least, not his feelings for her.

-Do you know somebody’s sabotaging her, Harper? he finally blurted out, unable to keep quiet any longer.

-What?

-During the last week, I’ve been supervising her patients. I checked if she took care of everything in their files and like magic, when she had to present it to Doctor Mirani, the files were incomplete or empty. And you know I’m not slacking off when I’m checking on those files. I was there to shut Mirani up while he was on his way to humiliate her in front of the other interns. By the way, your niece seemed very pleased by this development. Less when I stepped in saying those weren’t Doctor Valentine’s files since I had those checked.

-... I didn’t know any of that. But does that have to do with you cheering her up?

-I wasn’t cheering her up, Harper. You know that’s not my type.

-No? From what I have, you were kind of cozy.

-She explained to me that this was relatively recurrent lately. I merely told her that this wouldn’t affect her ranking since I knew first-hand that it obviously wasn’t her doing. Someone turned off her pager, Harper, this isn’t small matter. People could have died.

Ethan felt anger building up inside him when he told everything to Harper. He couldn’t stand that sort of competition. Casey was kind. Incredibly so. Humorous, always smiling, hardworking. All the more reasons to love her, for him. He quickly put those thoughts aside, focusing on whoever was able to put her in that position.

-So you swear there’s nothing personal between the two of you?

-Is that a personal or a professional question? Nothing between us, Doctor Emery.

He was making sure of it. And it hurt so bad it was going to kill him. But better that than to kill all of her hopes, her dreams, her future.

-But you love her.

He didn’t stay silent for long.

-Again, is that personal or professional? She reminds me of myself is all.

-Last time I checked, she wasn’t brooding nor insulting anyone when deemed incompetent but... I see.

-Are you finished?

-... I am. Good night, Ethan.

He didn’t answer and simply clicked the red button on his phone, seriously considering that maybe throwing it out of the window would be a good idea. Instead, he let his fingers run on the screen, calling a number he could dial by heart now.

-I hope you have a good reason for waking me up.

-Casey, Harper know about the sabotaging.

Casey yawned and Ethan couldn’t suppress a laugh.

-Do me one better than that. Please.

Her voice had faded to a whisper on the last word and Ethan felt anger ripping him apart once again. He would have been angry to anyone for sabotaging other interns, but hearing Casey of all people with that much hurt in her voice?

God, he had it bad.

-Doctor Ramsey?

-Ethan.

Suddenly sounding more awake than ever, Casey answered with worry in her voice.

-What is going on?

-I…

All of his loneliness, his grumpy mood, his dark thoughts came back all at once when he tried to tell her. To tell her what actually? Nothing he wanted to tell her was… good. Nothing was supposed to be told. Nothing was appropriate. He shouldn’t have been doing this even, calling her in the middle of the night.

Yet here he was.

-Ethan…

Her voice was soft. Agonizingly soft, music to his ears, soothing his tortured mind.

-I need you.

It was all he managed to say before ending the call without even a goodbye. He was so screwed.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, head bent, eyes closed, listening to absolutely nothing and just reminding again how much of a pitiful human he was. A hopeless man who had everything except what he really wanted at the moment.

When he felt two arms wrapping around him, he barely reacted, as if he hadn’t even noticed. What woke him up was Casey’s voice whispering his name. How did she even enter.

-Your door was open. I… God you had me worried.

She had her nose buried in his back and Ethan could tell the young woman was trembling. He caught her hand in his fists with the intention of pushing her away, but when he turned and he found her, tired, exhausted even, worry painting her usually so bright eyes, not only did he feel even more pathetic but he knew he couldn’t let go.

-What do you need me for, Ethan?

He stayed silent, considering her for a moment. He didn’t even realise how he had suddenly pushed her against him, her head resting on his shoulder while he buried his face in her neck. Her smell surely made his heart beat a whole lot faster, but he hadn’t felt so calm in a while and he even shivered when she enveloped his frame.

-Stay.

If he said anything more he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. She simply nodded and soon enough they fell on his couch, snuggling into each other’s warmth.

For Ethan it felt like he clang to life itself. This was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to and he damned himself for how weak he was, damning Casey and her pretty face.

He had stopped believing in God for a long time, but when he saw her he began to think maybe she was a miracle. His forbidden little fragment of peace.

Hell damned him, who was Ethan Ramsey, mere human, to resist an angel?

[twdmusicboxmystery]

5x09: Analysis

How did everyone like last night's episode of FTWD? I really enjoyed watching. As expected, it was very much a set up for the B half of the season, but I also found some really great symbols and some very promising possibilities. Let's dive right in.

***As always, spoilers abound for this episode below. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Also, let me say that, yes, I did watch the TWD S10 Preview show and yes, I will do an analysis of it. Look for it tomorrow. I wanted to get my analysis for this episode up today first. ;D

This episode was a slightly different format than we’re used to. They did in the style of a found-footage documentary. This has become a popular style for films in recent years, and I suppose it was a natural thing to do given how Al records everything.

We start out with all the main characters in the group being interviewed on camera. I won’t go over everything they said, as not all of it jumped out at me as super important. But one thing did. Alicia said it felt like, "everything else was training for this." She meant driving around helping people and rounding up survivors to put together a community. But it also feels like a foreshadow of something big coming. Everything prior to this is been training for what lies ahead of them.

Al said they raided a Big Stop and took every camera, battery, and tape they could find. It caught my attention, mostly because Big Stop sounds a whole lot like Big Spot from 4x01. The point was that they now have several cameras traveling around with various groups when they split up to do different things. But of course, Battery Theory.

It's a little unclear what happened with Logan. He showed them where a gas tanker was (though he still hasn’t found the “oil fields”) but they left him behind. All we saw was he running after Sarah’s truck. 

Sarah was quite gleeful about it. And it's a little odd because obviously stuff happened that we haven’t seen yet. Last we saw in 5x08, while they obviously didn't entirely trust Logan, they seemed to be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I got the feeling they would keep a watchful eye on him, but they weren't planning on kicking them out of the group either.

So they’ve obviously skipped over some things and I'm sure they’ll go back and show us what happened and why the decision was made to leave him behind at some point.

We saw them utilizing red and yellow gas cans. Very significant colors. Red = death, yellow = escape. I didn’t notice any green gas cans, so this particular color sequence is, as yet, incomplete.

Dwight said, "I got lucky." (Luck Theory.) He’s also still wheedling and he created a chess set. 

That’s significant and we’ve seen chess sets in the past, both around him and the Gov (X). I also think it's interesting that Dwight doesn't want a haircut. He said in 5x08 that he might take Daniel up on the offer. Now suddenly he's decided against it. I feel like that could be symbolic, and there's a specific reason for it, but I'm not sure what it is. We know that him and Daryl are heavily paralleled and they’re not going to cut Daryl’s hair short anytime soon, so maybe that's it.

We saw a lot of food symbols in this episode. Grace mentioned rice noodles and then they ate them at the end. Anyone who follows @frangipanilove’s theories knows about her noodle theories. It's a symbol we’ve seen a lot, specifically in FTWD, and she has tied it to resurrection and return symbolism. Grace also mentioned being low on powdered eggs. In general, eggs = Easter eggs = resurrection symbol. Tptb also often talk about leaving Easter eggs for us to find. It's kind of interesting to hear that.

They went out of their way to mention that Grace is listening to an audiobook. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this, but it’s such a random detail that they focused on, I'm sure it significant. We didn’t hear the title or author of the audio book, so we can’t read into that. Perhaps it's just a way of showing that book titles we see are significant.

We heard Sarah sing a trucker song about hunting a bear. Obviously, that's a big deal because bear symbolism is part of the Sirisu/Dogstar/return symbolism. Here, it was associated with music. They had a whole discussion about music and Sarah even called it an anthem. Look at lyrics again.

This was one of my favorite symbols in this episode. Let's assume for a minute that bear = Sirius/return symbolism, which means bear = Beth’s return. The song is specifically about hunting a bear. Which suggests looking for a return. The group is actively looking for people to help. So, the way I interpret this is that perhaps the people they’re looking for will eventually lead to Beth’s return.

The main story, aside from having the characters talk about how they feel and where they're at mentally, was about helping a woman named Tess and her son leave their home. She contacted Morgan via walkie-talkie, telling him her husband left to get an inhaler for their son. He never returned.

The husband put landmines all over the front yard and Tess was afraid to leave because she hadn't left in years, since before the apocalypse happened. The group splits up to try and help her. June and Strand find the drugstore but the inhaler isn't there. They figure he must've already gotten it and headed home. Then, when Alicia is by one of the painted trees (which I'll talk about in a minute) a blond male walker comes up behind her and Strand kills it. Turns out, this walker is Tess's husband. He’s dead.

Morgan's group crosses the yard to help Tess and Morgan steps on landline. It's pressurized, which means it won’t go off until he lifts his foot. Al tries to help him disarm it and Tess leaves her house to help as well. Thankfully, everyone gets out alive and Morgan does not lose his foot.

(Although, the way they focused on his foot on the landmine did make me think of Lost Shoe/Foot symbolism. I can't help but wonder if this is a foreshadowing for something down the road and if Morgan might lose his foot at some point. Or perhaps this is jut a way to tie this situation to other symbolism we’ve seen before. Not sure yet.

John says the Tess situation hit home for each of them in a particular way. Morgan was very invested because of what happened to his wife and son. He very much wanted to save Tess and her son because he couldn't save his own family. Because her husband didn’t come back, June and John, who looked for each other, sympathized with her insistence that her husband would return. I thought this was an interesting way to examine where each of the characters are mentally at this point.

At one point, John talked about being partners with Morgan. He said Morgan doesn't talk much. He then talked about being a cop and how you could not say more than two words to your partner all day, but you know them inside and out, and what makes them tick. You have each other's back know how to work and survive together. He basically said that's what Morgan was like. Morgan said the same thing about John, that the neither of them talk very much, but they still work well together.

I sat and thought for a bit about why they included this little snippet. It was a little strange. Morgan and John did work together in this episode, but Al and Luciana with them, as well as others. It wasn’t just the two of them, or anything. It might be a foreshadowing of some arc the two of them will have together in coming episodes, but it also made me think a little bit of other relationships we’ve seen on the show. Naturally, my head went to Beth and Daryl. While Beth definitely talked more than Daryl, there were parts (such as the beginning of Still) where the two of them just stared at one another and didn't say much. It's really about getting to know people not having to fill the silence. Whether it's a romantic relationship or platonic, I really like this theme.

John mentions ugly mustard situations. It’s just a way of saying the situation was very bad. But here’s the thing, guys. In biblical symbolism, the mustard seed is very obviously entwined with the concept of faith. And who talked a lot about faith? That would be Beth. In terms of this situation, “ugly mustard” may specifically apply to a scene where there’s a lack of faith being demonstrated.

Oh, one other really fun reference John made: he was talking about how money is useless now in the apocalypse and the true currency is survival skills. He said something about people who used to sit on piles of money. The kind of people who ate “caviar from ladles.” Yeah, that’s an ocean reference and a Little Dipper reference all rolled into one, y’all. ;D

There were several mentions of something that was needed or something they all needed. It reminded me of the S7 TWD title "Something They Need." I think they said this about Tess needing the inhaler. I know Morgan talked about having planned the campfire dinner at the end and saying it was something, "we all need." This was a definite theme in this episode.

The other theme that I saw was actually very powerful and I feel like it reaches through both shows. They talked about how they didn't blame Tess for not believing her husband was dead. Morgan said that sometimes you can know someone's dead, you can see they’re dead, you still just don't believe it. Basically, it's because you can't bring yourself to say goodbye. 

Tess was that way. She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. At the end, she did and then she was able to leave her house, go with Morgan's group, and start to live and move forward again. This is something very specific to Morgan because he said that the same thing happened with him and his wife and son. He never said goodbye to them, and he needs to, he just doesn't know how.

I think we could apply this to Daryl. He’s sad because he's never really said goodbye to Beth. In a way, this is actually sort of the opposite of her arc. Here, Tess was told her husband was dead. People saw him as a walker, but she just couldn't make herself believe it. The opposite was true of Beth. We never saw her as a walker, we never saw her get stabbed in the head, but everyone still believes she's dead, when she’s not. So, there’s an anti-parallel going on here. Meanwhile, Daryl has never said goodbye to her.

This is also the key to what's happening whenever any character loses someone and can’t move on from them. They have to find a way to say goodbye, but often they don't know how.

(@wdway often says that FTWD is teaching us HOW to read TWD symbolism. They’re much more obvious in how it should be interpreted, but that just give us a map of how to read TWD symbolism. I think she’s right and this is a good example of it.)

At the end, the group eats rice noodles, carrots, and nuts. I already talked about the rice noodles, but the carrots are big as well. Those were big Beth symbol.

I said I’d return to the painted tree. I'm not going to say too much about it here because I'm going to do a post later in the week that touches on it as well, but this is the other thing that made me super-excited about this episode. Alicia says that she wants to find out who painted the trees. She wants to find them.

Before, I just thought the trees would be used as symbolism in the show. I didn't think they’d be part of the plot beyond that. But Alicia saying this is a foreshadow. Eventually, they will find whoever is painting the trees.

Of course, my first thought was, could it be Beth painting these trees? I'm about 50/50 on that. The wording and the faith inherent in the message (mustard mentioned in the same episode as this tree) definitely sounds like her. But to be fair, we also never saw her doing visual art this way. She was all about the music. The person we did see doing visual art was Jadis, who is also now tied to the helicopter group. I'm not saying Jadis painted the trees. That actually wouldn't make sense given that currently, FTWD is six years behind TWD. Jadis and the Heapsters are still at the junkyard. I’m just saying we can tie it to Rick’s departure and the helicopter group.

You could argue that these are little notes left on the trees for people to find after the person who painted them had already left. It just feels a lot like Beth wanting to leave the thank you note at the funeral home in case the owners ever came back.

I don't know where this will lead, of course, and it may have nothing to do with her in the plot, but it still made me super excited.

At the end, we see a young man watching the group’s video. They’ve set it up at a gas station along with a walkie for people to watch and contact them. The TV and walkie are hooked up to a generator in a locked room. The man doesn’t use the walkie to call them but rather breaks into the generator room and steals some gas. He uses it to fill up his motorcycle. (He and Daryl would be biker buds.)

Then Logan and his group arrive. Logan first assumes he’s with Morgan’s group, but of course he’s not. He looks a little like Heath, but this is a new character. Logan says he likes this guy, but he still steals his stuff and shoots his bike, basically stranding him. He even encourages the guy to call Morgan’s group on the radio and convey a message. No way to know yet if this guy will contact them or not.

Obviously this is a set up for the rest of the season (which will probably consist of Morgan’s group looking for and finding more people, and having run-ins with Logan) but I also saw some interesting symbols in this final sequence.

Inside the gas station (a symbol by itself) was a large sign for hot dogs. It was the “dogs” more than the food that caught my attention, but still. There’s also a money orders sign. I haven’t talked about this, but let’s just say @frangipanilove is working on a money/currency theme in the show. So just tuck this away for now.

The gas station has Grady lighting inside and signs for hot dogs. The gas can he carried out was also blue. 

I also noticed that when Logan got out of the car, he was wearing cowboy boots and the camera focused on them for a second. Not sure what to make of that, but I think it’s significant. Lost Shoe symbolism? Beth’s boots? Even reminded me a little bit of Boots (Tauriel) from 7x08, because it showed the boots before it revealed the face (Logan). So we’ll have to keep an eye on that moving forward.

Actually, there was a lot of shoe symbolism in this episode. There’s what I’ve already mentioned with Morgan and Logan, and then Logan throws a torn up pair of cowboy boots at this guy at the end, saying this is what happens to your shoes and feet when you walk 200 miles. That has to be symbolic--especially as they use cowboy boots--but I’m not sure exactly what it points to yet. 

Also, there an RV (time symbol) in the background as they talk.

So, we definitely have a lot of potential for this coming season and where it will lead. They set up Logan as a villain in the first episode of the season, but we didn't deal with him very much in the A half. I’m sure he'll be in the B half a lot more. Also, meeting new people to help gives us the potential to run into the helicopter group some more and perhaps find the person who is painting the trees. (Yay!) What did everyone else think of this episode?

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Sunflower ~ Bill Denbrough (Part 2)

A/n: WHEW!! Part two here we are! Aged up cause high school. Also, I had this started but I finished it for @slytthh because they were excited so I hope its to your liking hun :)

Word Count: 2240

Anon: Pidge

MASTERLIST

If I could, I'd change overnight. I'd turn into something you'd like. But I'm a sunflower, a little funny. If I were a rose, maybe you'd pick me?

Y/n couldn’t remember exactly how she’d become a Loser, but she supposed there was no going back now, huh?

Her hands planted against Sally Mueller’s chest, shoving the girl away from Y/n’s friends. “They won’t punch you, you annoying ass bitch,” Y/n seethed. “But I will not hesitate.” Sally - who was only too aware of how Y/n was constantly on the hunt for any reason to hit her, Greta, or Marcia - backed off.

“Whatever,” she grumbled. Sally looked over Y/n’s shoulder. “You won’t always have your little guard dog to protect you. Then I’m breaking those stupid buck teeth of yours, Tozier.” Y/n jerked the threateningly and Sally skittered away, causing Richie to bust up laughing.

Richie moved next to his friend, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Thanks for having my back as usual, Short Stack.”

“Just because you’ve grown to be eight feet tall doesn’t mean that in my normal human height I can’t still kick you in the balls.” Richie recoiled, his smile vanished as Y/n smirked, Eddie giggling in the background. Y/n’s smile faded. “But for real, Rich, you need to learn how to keep your mouth shut. You’re lucky I was nearby. AGAIN. One of these days those precious glasses of yours will be too broke to even tape together.” Her finger reached up, tapping the forever taped bridge of Richie’s glasses, which had been broken as long as any of the Losers could remember.

The dark haired boy sighed. “Just because they can’t handle me doesn’t mean I should stop delivering.” He winked and Y/n smiled, shaking her head at one of her best friends. What a moron. “Come on, Loser Number 7, we have to meet the others for lunch.” Richie put his arm around Eddie in a way that was so different from how he had put it around Y/n, pulling ahead of the girl to talk to his boyfriend while Y/n lagged behind to give them some space.

She watched her two best friends, smiling to herself. Her smile was a little sad, a little wistful. She saw how they went back and forth, arguing and insulting, and yet there was still so much love between them that Aphrodite’s powers couldn’t even begin to compare. There was no goddess of Love, just Richie and Eddie and the connection between them that Y/n was convinced could be broken by nothing. Not time or space or the world or the people in it. Nothing.

As the trio approached the Loser’s usual lunch table, Y/n spotted something that turned her wistfulness into pure pain. Bill. He was talking to Stan, who was surely talking about Mike after their anniversary date the previous night. Bill was leaning over, elbows on the table, laughing and smiling as Stan spoke. Y/n imagined for a split second - for maybe the millionth time - sidling up next to Bill, resting her head on his shoulder as he had his arm around her, his lips finding hers or maybe just resting a few second against her hair line. Quiet love like Stan and Mike had. Or maybe tickle wars and giggling races and declared challenges where we both smirked at each other daringly as sexual tension rose and finally exploded like with Richie and Eddie.

Y/n sat next to Stan, pushing the thoughts out of her mind. She would like to think that she had gotten over Bill these last few years, simply wishing for ANY romance where Bill was the easiest target since all her other friends were either taken or unable to settle on just one person for any long amount of time, like Ben. She would like to think that she didn’t really wish for kisses from Bill but from anyone. The reality was, she had fallen into a sort of quiet observational love that was very grown up but would remain forever unrequited in the state it was in. Half and incomplete because she wouldn’t give Bill even a chance to return it.

High school ended soon and Y/n had simply reserved herself to never telling Bill how she felt. She was sure this would go away eventually. She would find someone, she just knew it. Or she would be alone. She had her friends and her sister, how could she need anything else? She had a really good thing going on with Bill just being friends and she didn’t want to ruin it.

For the most part, Y/n acted on that notion. That she just wanted to be friends. The Losers were all pretty sure she didn’t like Bill. But some did have their doubts. Sometimes, when one of them was upset, the way Y/n drifted towards Bill and hung onto him was different than how she confided or comforted the other Losers. As if his presence and smell and warmth was different air that healed her soul. Like just being around him was comfort enough without either of them saying anything. It was the way that Stan reached for Mike’s hand or Richie pulled Eddie close.

Sometimes as well, Y/n would get quiet, just listening as her friends talked and smiling or nodding or laughing. Listening and not talking, when suddenly her eyes would drift to Bill because she’d zoned out or because he was talking or even because he was sitting there silently and she was checking on him. Her eyes would rest on him and her face wold soften and her eyes would kind of glaze over, as if she was looking at him and seeing something else in the lines of his face and the curves of his lips. Seeing someone else. A future or an alternative reality where they were different people doing different things. She was daydreaming.

She never did any of these things with the other Losers. There were the most microscopic, short lived nuances that the Losers saw and... wondered. But there just wasn’t enough to really considered it. Surely Y/n just thought about Bill as a friend?

But maybe she didn’t.

This way, Y/n kept her secret from all of her friends without changing much about how she dealt with him or the thoughts and feelings that went on inside of her where no one could see. She had trained herself to be calm and quiet and reserved only about her love of Bill, hiding it behind a wall of small smiles and dreamy glances that were only a split second long. And she really had resolved to live just like that.

Eddie Kaspbrack had not.

But I know you don't have a clue this sunflower's waiting for you- Waiting for you.

Eddie watched Y/n closely, unabashedly staring her down. She didn't even notice. The more Eddie paid attention to it, the more he realized that more times than Y/n liked to admit - even to herself - the only person in the room who could really hold her attention for long and without break was Bill. Ben was hard for her to keep up with and the two had been drifting apart for a while. Everyone else was mostly engaged with their boyfriend, leaving a pang of pain in Y/n's chest as she longed for something that she saw in the couples but could not have herself. Only Bill was safe to look at, talk to.

Except he wasn't. Not really.

He had been watching very closely and he was sure. He was so sure that he was angry. He was angry at Bill for being so oblivious; for Y/n being so good at hiding her feelings. He was mad that his very best friend couldn't be as happy as he was with the person she wanted to be happy with. Eddie knew as well that Y/n could make Bill so happy. She was so caring and just such a good, kind, thoughtful soul. God knew that Bill needed someone who would treat him as well as he deserved to be treated. He'd lost the only family that had been good to him when he was young and the loneliness had taken an obvious toll on him over the years.

It would be near evil to just tell Bill how Y/n felt, though. And Y/n could just deny it, and then he would have ruined his friendship with her. Of the people in this world, Y/n was second on the list of people he couldn't stand to lose- Richie being number one.

One by one, Eddie got the other Losers into his scheme to get Y/n and Bill together. Richie wasn't hard to convince; he liked to get involved with Eddie's schemes like humans liked to breathe air. Mike and Ben were a little harder, since they didn't want to pry where Y/n obviously didn't want them, but all Eddie had to do was remind them that Y/n was alone and so was Bill and they could make each other so happy- and, since Y/n had gotten Stan to admit his feelings for Mike, Mike kind of owed her... Stan was far harder to convince, recalling how much he'd hated being poked at and prodded and pushed together against his will and insisting that Y/n would hate it even more since she had a specific thing about both being controlled and about showing her feelings when she wasn't ready. With some help from Mike reminding how lucky they were that Y/n did all of that since they were so happy now (to finally convince him), Stan gave in with a last huffing, "If she stops being friends with us after this, it's your fault."

Eddie had laughed.

Now that everyone was in one it, Plan Apeshit (Richie's work) was a go.

-

First, they tried to force the two alone, thinking it would force them to have a conversation and that things would just naturally take off. Y/n had obviously been avoiding any one on one interactions with Bill, which drive the Losers to press it more. They thought they'd scored the day that Y/n and Bill cuddled on the couch without either asking or an awkwardness about it, but it quickly became clear that while Y/n was still painfully in love with Bill, basking in his proximity, Bill was oblivious of what the closeness meant and overall didn't notice her longing glances and heart eyes even when they were inches from his face.

Drawing that as a failure since all that had happened is a sense of further easiness and more pain as Y/n simply learned to swallow her feelings even more and be close to Bill without staring or being obvious or outwardly showing how much she was hurting. It seemed that all they were succeeding in doing was helping her get OVER her feelings...

After a whole month of Y/n’s ease and no sign of the yearning that had barely been present before, Plan Apeshit was deemed a failure.

Until the Night.

All the Losers were over at Richie’s, keeping quiet as they watched a movie and Richie’s mom made dinner simply because she had insisted. Mike and Y/n had offered to help but she had insisted that she didn’t mind and wanted them to have fun, so all eight of them chilled out while they watched movies. At first Y/n had been sitting on the floor, Mike on the couch next to Bill. But then after they’d offered their help to Mrs. Tozier and she’d assured them, they had returned with Mike mindlessly slipping into Y/n’s spot by Ben as they continued a conversation from earlier. Y/n shrugged and changed her route to take her to Bill’s side. The second she sat down, Bill put his arm around the back of her chair without looking from the TV and Y/n didn’t even pause before leaning against him, her head on his shoulder and their sides pressed together, Y/n’s feet pulled up on the couch. About halfway through the movie Y/n started bouncing her leg and Bill offered his hand. “Distraction?” He whispered too quiet for anyone to hear. Y/n smiled, a soft chuckle coming from her as she accepted Bill’s offer, the energy in her leg moving to her hands as she played with Bill’s finger, keeping herself as quiet and still as possible.

Bill relaxed even more under her soft, soothing touch as her finger tips drew softly up and down his fingers and around on his palms, curving at his wrist before going up and repeating the process again at his thumb.

No one even noticed until the end of the movie when Mrs. Tozier called dinner to be ready, asking Richie to set the table and get his friends situated. Everyone rose, Y/n and Bill lingering a half second long enough for Eddie to turn, see their position, grab Mike’s wrist (who also looked over, saw the situation, and swallowed a smile as his eyes widened) and then tense up as he tried not to scream in victory right then and there before Y/n and Bill were on their feet and walking with everyone else.

The two were more relaxed and calm but other than that, you’d never know that they’d been cuddling. Mike and Eddie looked at each other. “Okay,” Mike mumbled, nodding as he spoke. “I had doubts before, but okay.”

Eddie grinned.

[axiumin]

Absolution | Chapter 4, The End

I’ve been sitting on it for far too long, but here it is: the ending of my most self-indulgent story to date. A huge thank you to everyone who’s read this and sent in kind words of support. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Pairing: Youngjae x Reader

Genre: Drama, College!AU

Words: 2.3k

Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4-The End]

“So, why do you do it?”

It was an ungodly hour of the morning when you found Youngjae crouched behind a small outcropping in the west quad, stencil in hand. He yelped and fell soundly on his ass, and you managed to catch a glimpse of the half-finished confession behind him. “I still think abou-”

Youngjae quickly scrambled to his feet, eyes wide, placing himself between you and the incomplete confession.

“I- what are you doing here?” he asked. He sounded strained, voice tinted with desperation.

You shrugged, keeping your voice soft. “I just finished a late shift at the library. Finals week hours, you know.”

Youngjae ran a hand through his hair and glanced around nervously. “You should go home and get some sleep. You shouldn’t be out here at this hour.”

“Well, I was actually thinking of catching an early breakfast instead. Would you like to join me?”

Youngjae had that deer-in-headlights look on his face again, and you huffed out a quiet laugh that came out as a puff of mist in the cold air. “Come on, don’t act so surprised. Go ahead and finish up your stencil so we can get out of the cold, will you?”

Youngjae eyed you for a moment longer before wordlessly nodding and crouching down to finish his work. You shuffled closer to peek over his shoulder, watching as he carefully realigned the stencil and began slowly filling in the letters with chalk. Neither of you said a word until he finished and rose to his feet. As he tucked his supplies back in his bag and brushed the chalk dust off on the leg of his pants, you read the full confession.

“I still think about all of the things I should have done differently that day.”

It took you a moment to realize that Youngjae was standing right beside you now, looking at the confession with you.

“It gives you a lot to think about, doesn’t it?” you said quietly.

Youngjae sighed. “It does,” he agreed.

You gave the confession one last look before you turned and held your hand out to Youngjae.

“Well, let’s think about it over some pancakes. It doesn’t do us any good to stand out here in the cold— at the scene of the crime, no less.” You said this with a smile, and you were gratified to see Youngjae finally relax the stiff set of his shoulders. With a small smile of his own, he took your hand and the two of you began your trek down to the diner across from campus.

The short walk to the local diner was spent in silence, neither one of you quite ready to broach the subject or willing to waste energy on small talk. There was a strange energy to the silence between you, but it felt less like dread and more like anticipation. You waited with this anticipation as a sleepy-eyed waitress seated you and Youngjae in a booth and supplied you with mugs of steaming coffee.

Though he sat directly across from you, Youngjae seemed to be avoiding eye contact. You cleared your throat and finally broke the silence.

“So you knew which confessions were mine all along,” you said, a statement rather than a question. Youngjae looked somewhat chagrined, though he tried to hide his expression behind a sip of coffee.

“I did.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything the first time I submitted a confession, then,” you said, careful to keep your voice neutral.

Youngjae frowned and plucked at the corner of his napkin. “I thought about it,” he said slowly, “but that would have gone against the principle of the project in the first place, wouldn’t it? I mean, the whole idea was to provide a source of anonymous confession. No judgment, no commentary. I thought that to talk to you directly, as Youngjae, would render the whole thing obsolete.

“Besides,” he added, shifting a bit nervously, “I didn’t think you’d want to know that I knew about your confessions. I mean, I figured that if you wanted me to know, you would have told me directly.”

You hummed thoughtfully, absently laying your hand over Youngjae’s to keep him from picking his napkin apart entirely.

“Maybe,” you half-conceded. “But it’s not that I didn’t want you specifically to know about it. I think it was more that at the time, I just felt like I needed to get some feelings off my chest without having to deal with someone directly trying to comfort me. It’s less pressure that way, but I guess you already knew that since this was your idea in the first place.”

Youngjae smiled ruefully and turned his hand palm-up so he could tangle your fingers together. You let your gaze fall to your joined hands and allowed silence to reign for a few moments as your thoughts tumbled about in your head.

“You did reply to me, though,” you said at length. Your eyes flicked up to Youngjae’s to find him looking back at you. “When you placed my first confession near the library. And then the one near my faculty advisor’s office. You put them where you knew I could find them. The one under the bench was just confirmation.”

Youngjae ducked his head. "I wanted to make sure you saw them. I don't know what made you send in your confessions, and I won't ask. But I hoped that whatever you were feeling would be relieved if you could actually see your confessions."

You chuckled. "I appreciate it. But it's almost a shame that my confession didn't end up underneath some balcony or up on the side of the engineering tower."

Youngjae's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Oh, you don't even know the half of the locations I've been to these past couple of months. Check out the storm drain tunnels sometime, and you'll definitely find a couple there."

You imagined Ars' perfectly stenciled confessions tucked alongside the amalgamation of penis graffiti and rote slang that you knew littered the tunnel walls and snorted.

"I wonder what bumbling freshman is going to find those confessions first?"

"Oh, Akram already found them weeks ago. Told me all about them during one of our shifts together. He said that he could only imagine that Ars is definitely some sort of math major if they're the kind of person to be slogging through shit like that."

You could perfectly imagine the way Akram must have delivered that line, with a grin and a cheeky wink, and you couldn't help but laugh. Yet the laughter was quick to fade as another thought arose.

"Does anyone else know it's actually you?" you asked quietly.

“Only my roommate. He was actually the one who suggested chalk to me in the first place, when I told him about what I wanted to do.”

You thought about Youngjae’s roommate, JB. You’d only met him a couple of times, mostly in passing, but you could clearly imagine the paint that stained his fingers and sometimes flecked his clothing. He was in the fine arts program, and it showed in what little of his photography and artwork he posted on his instagram. Suddenly, the rumors about Ars being a fine arts major had a bit more traction.

“Did he know much about what you were doing?” You didn’t ask the exact question you wanted to, but Youngjae seemed to hear it anyway. As soon as the words left your lips, Youngjae was shaking his head.

“No, I never told him about anyone’s confessions. All he knows is that I’m Ars.” His fingers squeezed yours, silently reinforcing his words. You squeezed back.

“Why did you do this? Why did Ars do this? I know that we’ve talked about confessionals and your whole thing with that, but why take it to this level?”

Youngjae sighed and settled back in his seat, gaze falling to the table as he searched for the words to answer you.

“I mean, a big part of it is providing an outlet for people,” he started slowly, feeling the words out as they came. “But the biggest part is just myself.”

He trailed off as the waitress shuffled up to drop off your breakfast, and you reluctantly released his hand in favor of scooping up your fork. You took a bite of your pancakes and looked at Youngjae expectantly, silently urging him to continue.

Youngjae bought time by slowly chewing on his own bite of pancake. Once he swallowed, he said, “I think I just wanted to feel some of their courage. I told you already that I wanted to be more honest with myself. What I really meant is that I wish I had the courage to be honest. To share the more hidden parts of me. Ars let me do this, in a sense. It gave me an outlet, even if it created more secrets in the process.”

“I understand Ars. But why post other people’s confessions? Why not your own? You could have used the anonymity of Ars, right? The same way everyone else has?”

His brow furrowed. “I tried to. But it was as if I could never find the words that properly expressed how I felt. The feeling was there, but there was something just holding me back from putting it into words.”

“So, writer’s block?” you asked, quirking a brow.

Youngjae blinked at you in surprise before breaking out into a quiet chuckle.

“I mean, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty shallow.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “It’s not exactly writer’s block because it was more—” He stopped and frowned, trying to determine how to explain it.

“It was less of a loss for words and more of the words just getting stuck because you were… scared?” you hazarded.

Youngjae’s expression cleared, and he nodded.

“Exactly. It was as if I would start to say something or write something, but the words would just get stuck. They were there, I knew them, but they wouldn’t come out.”

You hummed in thought. You knew how that felt. You thought back to the last time you struggled through your writing and realized that it was only a week ago, when Youngjae helped you in the library. You thought about what he had said to you then, about his love for confessionals and the wistfulness with which he admitted that he wished to make his own confessions. You thought about the Youngjae in front of you now, who was quiet and thoughtful, but different somehow. Changed.

“So did you? Find courage, that is?”

“I…” Youngjae trailed off and swallowed hard, his eyes flicking up to yours. “I think I did. But I’m not sure it’s enough.”

You offered him a reassuring smile, shifting your leg under the table until your knee bumped against his.

“It’s enough,” you said. “The hardest part is taking the first leap. I think that once you’re able to get the words out the first time, it’ll be easier the second time. And the third.”

Youngjae frowned thoughtfully. “But what if I’m still not able to get the words right?”

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that,” you said, a smile toying at the edges of your mouth. “After all, you’re a writer, aren’t you? Getting the words right is kind of your thing.”

This time, Youngjae smiled back, his free hand coming to rest in the middle of the table. It looked like an invitation, so you placed your hand beside his and didn’t bother hiding your pleased smile when he clasped your hands together.

“Thank you,” Youngjae said earnestly. “For having confidence in me.”

You squeezed his hand. “I could say the same for you,” you said, thinking back on Ars’ silent encouragement, to Youngjae’s support. “For now, let’s just call it even.”

Youngjae chuckled. “Sure. Even, then.”

The rest of breakfast was spent largely in companionable silence, made all the more easeful by the early morning hour and the hush of the diner. Your hands stayed clasped in the middle of the table the entire time, and even though your waitress didn’t bat an eye at it, you still felt the pleasant heat of a blush warm your cheeks.

When you and Youngjae exited the diner, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon. The two of you stood for a moment, watching the orange glow spread across the easterly sky.

“I guess this is as good a time as any to come clean,” Youngjae murmured thoughtfully. There was something in his posture, the easeful way with which he stood, that spoke of a quiet strength that wasn’t there before. It felt hopeful, confident.

You smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s nice and symbolic. A new day, a new start.”

“Yeah,” Youngjae breathed. “A new start.”

Later that day, you were attempting to study in your bedroom when your curiosity got the better of you. Plopping down on your bed, you fished your phone out of your pocket and found yourself going through the now-familiar motions of opening instagram and finding Ars’ profile.

There was a new post, and you didn’t even try to fight back your grin when you realized what it was. Like Ars’ other posts, it was a black-and-white shot, a photo of a confession on a brick wall that you thought you recognized as being part of the biology school. But this time, Youngjae was in the photograph, standing beside the words.

“I have long fought for the strength to be honest with myself. Now, I have found it.”

The confession lacked the customary sign-off of ‘@Ars’. Instead, the bold white letters read “Youngjae.”

You chest swelled with pride as you scrolled down and read the description of the photo: “Thank you to everyone who has shared a part of themselves with me. I will no longer be accepting any confessions. It is time I repay your honesty. From now on, the only words I share will be my own. This is my confession. This is my absolution.”