#i feel like i’ve been very down horrendous for him

[luminique]

tying a bow on lighter’s biceps……mwheeheh

ANON IM GOING INSANE THINKING ABOUT ITT trying to keep this sfw but just know i’d do more than tie up his biceps 🤭

i think he would question it a little when you come up to him with some rolls of ribbon in your hands. he thought this was something about ‘coquette’ that lucy had talked about the other day, so he initially didn’t refuse.

but now here he was in your shared room, shirtless while his eyes followed your hands. you had told him to relax, not to flex his muscle and stay still as you snipped a piece of ribbon off of the roll. you took his arm and began tying the ribbon around his bicep.

you checked in with him, asking if it was too tight. he was still confused but shook his head, letting out a low “no” right after. once you were done, you gave a couple soft pats on his arm. a pretty pink bow tied up around it, feeling satisfied with yourself.

“now flex your muscles.” a big mischievous smile on your face as you waited for him. at this point, he knew you were teasing him in some way but he’d at least entertain you.

it didn’t take much strength for him to make the ribbon pop right off, as if it wasn’t even tied on properly in the first place. “what’s this for?” his eyebrows raised as he picked up the ribbon. he pulls down his sunglasses just a little, his eyes capturing yours.

“just for fun. you’re really strong aren’t you, undefeated champion?” hearing you call him that with your oh so teasing voice made him weak in the knees. he pushes up his shades, trying to hide the blush behind them. you were already cutting up more pieces of ribbon before he could say anything else, not like he could say anything else without sounding like a lovesick fool. little did he know, you’d have a lot more than ribbons for him. stickers, cute bandaids and more were in your pocket but you’ll ease him into that…

[corseque]

On the scale of 1 (Rise of Skywalker) to 10 (Shadowbringer/Endwalker), where would you place Veilguard?

critical post

I’ve burst into enraged tears like 5 times since I finished it, which is not nearly even close to as many times as Rise of Skywalker, but still 5 times too many. Just the shallowness of the writing, the obviousness, the incredible frustration at the simplicity, the ignoring so much of my favorite character in order to make a stupidly simple plot work, the horrendous time I had trying to ignore Rook’s annoying stupid fuckass pov while just trying to self-insert myself into the end of my favorite fictional character of all time’s story after waiting 10 years. I screamed in frustration that I had to hear the painfully obvious commentary these brand newcomer characters who I did not give a shit about, explaining to me like a toddler how I should feel about revelations I have been writing about for 10 years, especially when what they were saying was stupid as fuck. I cried at the thought of so many cutscenes and so much effort went into stories I found very forgettable and went nowhere, while they were able to only scrounge up like 10 total animated shots reuniting Solas and Lavellan. I mourn that I could not make any decisions in a BioWare game. I mourn Solas’ story so much, and probably will for years. I will never get over the way they talked down to him and never listened to him for even a second, lest they actually have to write a branching path into their game. I hate that the theme was regret but Rook regrets nothing ever so (shrugs) regret doesn’t affect them or mean anything to them. I mourn the loss of the voice and point of view of his people, the ones he was fighting for, the ones who are alive. I mourn that it turns out that he’s just a stupid feral dog who is 100% wrong about everything always and he always has been from the beginning of time. I cried that the game said the answer was that Solas should NOT try to help his people and they never even discussed it as a philosophical question or the ethics of it or anything, or playing as a character so dense they never once even wondered if accidentally freeing the gods killed more people overall than the veil coming down would have. (We avoided this question like the plague, lest we feel less like purely Good Heroes who could talk down to the gods with righteous fury). I mourn that I’m never going to know what would have happened without the Veil. I feel so stupid for thinking that elves or spirits as factions would appear in any capacity with lines and perspectives in this game. I’m so angry at how safe and smoothed over everything in the setting is, and how it felt like the main characters never struggled with anything and have nothing to say. I can’t believe Dragon Age is so shallow and unsatisfying and head-empty. I mourn that the story of Dragon Age is Over to me and I will never play another game.

I’ve also cried a few times at the completely separated and individual imagery and music in the last scene. I’ve cried that my favorite character didn’t die in any world after 10 years of being at death’s door. I’ve cried at the thought of him being a little worm spirit, and that I was right about him the whole time. I cried when activating Felassan’s crystal in the final fight and seeing all the buffs. I cried when I turned the page and realized the default inquisitor was exactly the same as my personal Lavellan, down to hair style, eye color, hair color, vallaslin removed. I cried when I realized Solas thought he should have died as a spirit rather than be born. I cried that the main story Dragon Age has been telling the whole time has been about the reconciliation and freeing of my favorite fictional character. I cried that Solas and Lavellan got married in the end, when I genuinely wasn’t expecting either of them to even be alive. They’re both still alive and in love in every single world. I can’t wrap my head around that.

I have no idea where to put it. It’s a few high highs but some intolerably low fucking lows. It could have been so much worse but the bar is on the fucking floor. I go back and forth between moderate enjoyment to just being so angry. It could have been so much more and I do not know who to bite for it.

I have no idea.

[lucysarah-c]

Fifteen, what an age to be alive. Dad!Levi

Summary: Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR. Warnings: Cursing 'cause Levi, obv. And slightly mention of a group taking advantage of a girl, nothing really happens and there's no graphic description at all. Word count: 3.9k Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

His hands gripped the big round wheel of the car as his eyes scanned the dark night with a nervous smile, quickly turning into clenched teeth. His attention shifted to the passenger seat, soft as if it was a scene from one of the horror pictures he saw at the drive-in.

A light blond girl lay unconscious, her head resting against the door, appearing lifeless. She wore a typical sleeveless red button-up shirt and very short white shorts, with white socks crumpled down to double-coloured loafers. Her hair was still in a ponytail, exposing her face completely. It was August, plain summer break, and he knew that most of his classmates wore shorts or even swimsuits at the pool or beach. But somehow, her exposure made him blush and feel ashamed, as if even staring felt wrong.

Turning to the back seat of the car, he picked up his letterman jacket and placed it on top of her, covering her as much as possible. It looked big on her, and somehow, Adrien blessed every deity mentioned; he probably was inheriting his father’s uncle’s height and not his father's, a fact becoming rather obvious every day, as he was only 15 and already almost 1.80m.

“Calm down, Adie… you got this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve no idea what I'm going to do but I got it.”

How did he get into this situation? It was supposed to be a silly night out; one of his friends invited him to a party of the seniors who were graduating from high school that year. What was the issue if he was just a freshman? Fifteen, eighteen, it’s the same! Plus, it was some party at some old forgotten building, half destroyed during the rumbling around ten years ago, in the middle of nowhere. Nothing wrong with that.

Yes, perhaps he stole his father’s keys and car. Yes, perhaps he lied about sleeping in his room. Yes, maybe he stole a bit (a lot) of money from his parents. “I mean… deep down, it’s my father’s fault for not allowing me to come legally,” Adrien argued with his own reflection in the car's mirror.

But everything went downhill when he saw a group of guys dragging a girl who was clearly not feeling well and decided to step in. Now, here he was, the party had turned into a mess as the fight happened, he got kicked out with an unconscious girl, and who knew what they had given her. He hit his forehead against the wheel as time slipped through his fingers; he was supposed to be back home already.

“Fucking shit! Who told me to step in!” he cursed under his breath. Deep down, he knew stepping up for what he had been told was horrendously wrong, knowing he had the strength to fight those assholes back. ‘The curse of being a fucking Ackerman, man,’ he thought.

He had done the right thing, at least one right thing during the entire night, but now he had to face the consequences. Muffled cries mixed with distressed groans filled the car, “My father is going to kill me!”

His forehead kept hitting the wheel repeatedly as if that would knock some common sense into him or perhaps give him a concussion and fake that he had been kidnapped or something. Surrounded by trees in a dead-end road, it wasn’t even paved. Only the footprints of multiple cars to follow back to civilization. The distressed teen didn’t even know where he was; his older friend had guided him there and left with his girlfriend at some point of the party.

Slowly raising his head up again to admire the endless kilometres of dim nothing, contemplating his options, seizing his courage. “Come on, Adie. Be a man, be a man!”

The trees’ branches creaked in the middle of the night, the car slightly swayed under the strong summer wind. “I want my mommy,” he muttered.

Hand on the wheel and turning on the car, one step at a time, he took a deep breath and then decided to go out on the road again. Forgotten somewhere, his father’s car’s papers and driver's license. In them it read “Levi Ackerman.”

Each branch from the forest that scraped the car was a personal pain, praying to any god's existence that it didn’t scratch it. Of course, his father had filled up the tank, obviously he had. Levi was like that, always cautious. Adrien did a personal wish his father had a map stored in the glove compartment, but obviously, he didn’t. After all, Levi knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand. He drove a lot, especially since his legs weren’t what they used to be anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need any support for walking any longer, but walking long distances wasn’t in Levi’s plans anymore.

“Perhaps I can… drive to the hospital, leave her, and like run away,” he contemplated, before groaning loudly, “No, I can’t do that. God, I’m dead.”

‘I could have walked away, but no, Mr. Adrien Ackerman has to be a hero. Mr. Ackerman has to do the right thing.’

Adrien had driven twice in his life; this one was the second. The first was a few years ago when his father sat him down on his lap and let him do it for a little bit. He was happy he hadn’t encountered much traffic and only had to drive ahead because he wasn’t completely sure yet what the third pedal was for.

“I got it, do not worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring to the unmoving girl on his right. Adrien’s grey eyes checked on her from time to time, but she seemed deeply asleep, or so he hoped. “I’ll get to the hospital in no time, and you’ll be alright,” he promised.

His smile created a couple of dimples on each side of his face, but it quickly faded as fear kicked in. “And if you’re not alright, do not worry. I’ll throw myself off a bridge, and we can be not alright together,” he kept joking as if, by some miracle, the girl would reply.

He didn’t even know her name, and somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. As civilization began to appear and the sky began to lighten up, he lost hope of not dying at the hands of his own progenitor, but he was also hopeful that at least he was getting somewhere without crashing. The sun hadn’t shown up yet, but the deep blue of the sky had a particular glow to it that made it imminent.

The streets were deserted, and rightfully so; it was the middle of the night on a Monday. Adrien tried to park the car as best as he could, finally reaching the only hospital he somehow remembered the route to. Rushing to the other door, he carefully picked her up.

When he crossed the doors of the main hospital, which was almost empty at those hours, the doctors on duty quickly took her in, some searching for identifications inside her clothes. The police officer at the front gates forbade him from leaving the place.

“Alright, please hand me your ID,” the front gate secretary asked after informing him that the girl was out of danger, but she would have to stay for monitoring. Adrien’s suspicious silence made the woman raise her eyes from the form she was filling out to look at him. “You know that carrying IDs is obligatory, right?”

“Yes, madam…” He felt his palm sweating as he feared being taken to the police station.

“How old are you?”

Her voice sounded calm but tired as she quickly understood the issue, “… eighteen.”

With a loud sigh, she took off her cat-eye red glasses and then slowly blinked back at him. “Look kid, I’ve been on night watch for three days straight. I’ve no energy to deal with this.”

Adrien’s eyes remained glued to the floor, feeling small despite his stature. “… fifteen,” he admitted reluctantly.

Her unpleasant groans echoed in the empty walls that reeked of disinfectant. He slowly turned to the gates, and the security guys began to chuckle as they drank coffee. Feeling the need to clarify, he said, “I swear it wasn’t me who hurt her.”

“Kid, people who drug girls don’t carry them to hospitals,” she replied disinterestedly, pouring the information into the typewriter, the typing echoing in the place. Finally, she picked up a post-it with a pencil and raised it to the top of the reception table. “Your parents' contact number, please.”

Her eyes quickly moved to him and then back to her writing as he hesitated to fill out the paper. “You know I’ve done nothing; can’t I just go?” Adrien insisted, trying to escape the situation.

“Kid, you’re breaking national curfew and walking around without identification. A responsible adult must come and sign for you to leave; otherwise, you’ll live here until you turn 18.”

“Could you at least wait until 9 am to call my mother’s work number?” He smiled awkwardly, trying to find a way to avoid his father’s rage. The secretary looked up at the clock; it wasn’t even 5 am and then back to him, deadly. Unpleasant complaining groans echoed as he reluctantly wrote his house’s telephone number. “Sorry.”

Sat down at one of those uncomfortable waiting room’s seats with a latte and chocolate donut he brought at the cafeteria, he waited as someone waits to be hanged. The doctors and nurses moved here and there attending to the few people that came in with emergencies. Until the secretary walked by and said, “Your father picked up the phone; he said that getting the car and coming this way.”

Adrien’s grey eyes quickly turned in fear to check out of the window, grimacing uneasily as he admired the family's car parked outside. “Great…”

The longer it took, the more Adrien knew he was in trouble. Pressing his eyes closed and clenching his jaw, as if he could already feel the kick in his ass. Despite the nerves, his head bobbed forward as he fell asleep, and the tug of falling forward snapped him back awake. At some point, he rested his head on the joined seat and fell asleep, mouth open.

The front gates snapping open woke him up, and he wished to make himself smaller so he could hide behind the back of the seats. But as he turned backwards, Levi was at the front desk talking to the secretary and security guards. His dark hair was a mess, and it seemed like he had just put on some shoes and a shirt because he still had the pyjama pants on. Outside, the cap that his father had probably been forced to take there.

As the secretary picked up the forms for him to fill, his father quickly raised his grey eyes to shoot him across the room the deadliest glance he had yet to witness. ‘Goodbye everybody, it was nice knowing you.’

Avoiding facing death, Adrien remained seated, giving his back, but he quickly heard the footsteps of his father, characterized by the slight hobble he had after the war. With his presence looming, he looked down at Adrien, who slowly raised his attention up.

Smiling innocently, “Hi, dad.”

Levi didn’t smile back; quite the opposite, he frowned even more and extended his right hand that was missing two fingers. “My fucking keys.”

The teen searched for them inside his jeans and quietly handed them over with puppy eyes. Levi snapped them, but his hand didn’t withdraw. “And my damn money.” Repeating the same action but with the bills, Levi grabbed them and began to count. “And the rest?”

Adrien mumbled some incoherent groans as he refused to make eye contact. “Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue and gripped his shirt neck, raising him from his seat, pushing him to the exit. “Get in the fucking car.”

The walk of shame only accentuated as his father's angry tone didn’t match the polite one he used to greet the secretary and guards on his way out. He cowered in the passenger seat, trying to make himself a tiny ball as Levi slammed the door shut. Loud sighs that didn’t withdraw the deep frown before he turned on the car again.

“You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’ll stand this type of behaviour; I'm telling you,” Levi spat the words as he drove back home. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Adrien!” Levi insisted as the kid didn’t even reply, looking to his right as he waited at a red light. “You don’t want to talk? Fine, fucking ungrateful brat. You know how fucking worried your mother was when we received a call from the shitty hospital? Eh?”

“The drive-in the other day, the supposed hang out at your friend’s house that you were never fucking there, and now this. Are you fucking proud?” the ex-captain of the scouts kept going as his eyes were glued to the road despite only one of them working anymore. “You’re grounded, you’re so fucking grounded that I’ll fucking die, and you’ll have to get a damn Ouija board to contact me to see if you can go out to buy groceries.”

The teen just silently rolled his eyes as the long list of unhappiness of his father about his behaviour couldn’t care less. “Don’t you dare to roll your eyes on me, brat. You heard me? Drop that fucking attitude.” Somehow his father always seemed to have eyes everywhere. “Happy now? You ruined your entire summer break; beg all you want later on. You’re not leaving the house.”

“As if you’d let me go out anyway,” Adrien murmured mockingly under his breath.

“What?” Levi demanded. “If you’re going to have the guts to steal MY car, MY money, and break MY orders, then grow the guts to speak the fuck up.”

“That you never let me go anywhere!” Adrien shouted back angrily.

“For what? To go to this damn party in the middle of nowhere to hang out with fucking rapists and get

shit-faced?” Levi argued back. “You think I was born yesterday? I know exactly which places I don’t want you to get involved with. You think you’ve everything figured out, but that’s not it, Adrien! You’re 14! Fourteen!”

“I’m fifteen!”

“You turned fifteen two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake!” Levi shouted, slightly turning to his right before focusing back on the road. “I’m telling you, better fix your attitude or this is not going to end well. You may be getting big and feel cocky, but you won’t play smart-ass with me. You can grow up to be as tall as the fucking Colossal Titan, and yet you would do whatever the fuck I tell you!”

“I did the right thing! I stood up for her; I’m not stupid enough to do whatever my classmates do. Why can’t you see that?!” Adrien complained as they reached the front of the house, and Levi stopped the car.

“’Cause you were stupid enough to steal my car even when you don’t know how to fucking drive!” Levi complained as he got out of the car, walking to the front door. He kept going with the lecture but lower as he didn’t want to wake up the neighbours. “You don’t like it? Choose another father in your next life; in this one, it’s me, and I’m not going to let my teenage kid not give a fuck about the decisions I take. I’ve gone through too much shit for a fucking brat to tell me what I believe is the best for them.”

They both walked in, and Levi locked the door behind them. The room was still dim for the early hours, and their dog greeted them enthusiastically. The keys dropping at the front plate echoed loudly, and the tuxedo cat of the family finally appeared to rub himself against the legs of the teen, who quietly picked him up. Y/N quickly rushed to check on her kid.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you somewhere?” She seemed clearly agitated, and Adrien remained with his eyes glued to the floor.

“No, mom,” he murmured, downcast. “I’m fine.”

“Oi, to your damn room,” Levi quickly ordered. “and clean it up; I won’t say it again.”

The kid left, cursing under his breath as he went upstairs and slammed the front door shut.

“What happened?” she asked Levi, who was preparing himself a tea to calm down, enveloping herself in a negligee.

“What happened? That kid is driving me nuts, that’s what's happening,”

Y/N sighed loudly, positioning herself behind her husband and running her hands through his arms, seeking to provide some comfort. She then switched to hugging him from behind. “He’s going through a phase… his new classmates are mostly kids who survived the rumbling, and some of them aren’t the best influence. He just wants to fit in, you know how important that is at his age.”

“Tch,” Levi kept facing the countertop, murmuring as the anger didn’t quickly wash away. But eventually, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly as the adrenaline slowed down. “The audacity of that kid, where the hell does he get it?”

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle against his back, “MH, I wonder,” she said sarcastically. “If they were still around, perhaps we could have asked some senior MPs… perhaps they could enlighten us on how you were as a teen,”

“I wasn’t like that,” Levi softly replied, almost ashamed of the point out.

“No haha you were worse,” Y/N was entertained as she kissed his shoulder blades tenderly. “Or do I have to remind you how you made me sneak out to meet you after curfew?”

“That’s different…”

Forcing him to turn around to place a kiss on his scar as she caressed his face softly, “He’s your kid,” she murmured against his lips. “He hates to be told what to do and has the strength to know he can get out of almost any situation. Asking him to be submissive is like asking him not to be an Ackerman; he got it in his genes,”

Levi just groaned, accepting the caress, her loving his face as if he was brand new and the residues of the war had never happened.

Days passed by, and while the mood in the house was slowly returning to calmness, the punishment still stood, and Adrien was reading in his bedroom, suffering the heat of summer without being able to go out with his friends. He couldn’t even play his record player because if in normal cases his father tolerated him to play his favourite bands loudly, now he was almost cursed to quietness. Levi didn’t seem to be very fond of Rock; perhaps Paradise music was too behind, and the period of adaptation was lacking. It sounded like loud noise to him.

A quiet knock at the front door was heard, mostly because the dog that was resting beside him in his bed raised hastily and rushed downstairs. The noise was almost imperceptible as his father was vacuuming the living room’s carpet while his mother prepared dinner. Adrien was about to raise himself from his bed and open the door himself, but the overwhelmingly loud noise of the vacuum stopped, so he guessed his father was on it.

Levi opened the front door without checking; he had faced so many adversities in life that he hardly doubted that anyone who rang his bell at 6 pm on a Thursday in their quiet family neighbourhood was a threat. “Yes?” he crossed his arms as he admired the young girl at the front gates. She was wearing the usual outfit of the time, white and brown loafers, crumpled low white socks, an inflated pastel yellow skirt that was tightly around her waist with a white blouse. The matching light cardigan was hanging from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to put it on, another thing that Levi thought was some stupid new fashion trend from teens. That and his son’s imperious necessity to fold the sleeves of his t-shirts. High ponytail and blushed cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” The girl greeted him with kindness and politeness.

“Hello,” Levi replied, almost uninterested, his usual unfriendly nature not withdrawn even after years of not being on service.

“I was wondering if Adrien is at home,” she asked, and Levi wished he could roll his eyes at how almost immediately the girl blushed at the mention of his son’s name. “I’m the girl from the other night; I wanted to thank him…” seeing Levi’s slight frown at the memory of that early morning, she nervously added, “And you, of course, for what he did for me,” The young girl handed a package that was easily deduced to be a cake.

“He’s grounded,” Levi quickly replied. “And you don’t need to thank him; he did the only right thing to do. I don’t raise abusers,”

“Oh…” the disappointment in her voice was palpable, “Well, but please at least take the cake? For all the inconvenience,”

“No, kid, it’s alright-”

“Hi, sweetie! Adrien will be down in a minute!” Y/N popped behind Levi, slightly pushing him to the side and smiling softly at the girl. “Do you want to wait inside?”

Levi looked at his wife, confused and slightly offended by how quickly she overstepped him in the conversation.

“Ah, no, it’s alright; I don’t want to be a bother-”

Adrien appeared behind his parents, wondering what the whole issue was, and his mother quickly pushed him forward. “There he is!” She added while tugging Levi back inside. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispered to her husband, who was refusing to move.

“Oi,” Levi complained as he was forced back inside.

Both parents faking to be doing something in the living room to not be seen; Levi wasn’t spying, but his wife was. “She’s so cute,” she whispered, “and she’s crushing so much on him.”

Levi clicked his tongue, “He’s tall. All girls of that age crush on tall boys,” he argued back.

Y/N chuckled and turned to look at him, “talking from experience?”

“Ha ha,” Levi faked a sarcastic laugh. “He’s supposed to be grounded,”

“Shh, I can’t hear!” She hushed him back and then moved slightly as Levi joined her next to the window.

“Great,” Levi said annoyed, “she’s fucking bonnie,”

Confusion was written all over his wife's face as she grimaced dazed and raised an eyebrow, silently asking how those words could be said with such disappointment.

“Now I won’t only have to buy him all those stupid vinyl records, textbooks, and uniforms for the school team, but I’ll also have to start buying condoms; there goes my fucking salary,”

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[harryforvogue]

a fic about harry and faye where faye needs to be picked up because it's snowed so bad and also she's feeling very very needy. has smut so be careful. or not. do whatever you like. DO leave feedback though or else i will fucking haunt you

***

Faye calls Harry at around 6pm.

He’s asleep, his iPad abandoned by his side with the pen still between his fingertips. He doesn’t know what time he dozed off, but he’s got to thank Faye for the portable heater she bought him for Christmas. It’s magnificent.

Getting himself out of bed to reach for his phone is difficult. When he finally manages, the only thing that makes him pick up is Faye’s photo.

He brings it to his ear. “Hi, baby.”

Immediately, he can hear the frown in her voice. “Oh no. I woke you up.”

“It’s all right,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to sleep anyways. I’ll barely get a few hours at night if I nap now.” He brings his phone back to his bed and sits down. “What’s up?”

“Um, well I just finished rehearsals.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Got out early?”

“Yes, it’s snowing pretty bad now.”

“Mm, is it?” He forces himself to get back up and take a peek out his curtains. She’s right; the snow lays on the roads, flurries all around still. “You wanna stay on the phone with me until you get home?”

“That’s kind of the thing. I’ve been at this bus stop for 15 minutes and my app keeps saying the bus is about to come, but the roads aren’t properly cleared so I don’t think it’s coming.”

Harry frowns. “You’re outside?”

“Yeah. I walked to the stop, but it’s like a ghost town here. Nobody’s out driving. The buses may have all been canceled.”

“Oh shit. Are you wearing warm clothes? Gloves and all?”

“Yup.”

“Good. Which stop are you at today? I’ll come get you.”

There’s instant relief in her voice. “Thank you.” She tells him which stop and then sighs softly. “It’s not that cold which is good. I suppose I should sit down on the bench but there’s ice on it and I already slipped while walking here. My butt still hurts.”

Harry groans as he tugs his jacket on and grabs an extra beanie. He shoves his feet into his shoes and grabs his keys. “Don’t tell me that,” he says. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Faye laughs. “I’m okay.”

“Think you can hold on for 15 minutes?”

“Yes, but Harry you have to drive safely, okay? The inner roads aren’t cleared at all.”

Harry sticks a piece of gum in his mouth. “Yeah, love, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Wanna stay on the phone with me?”

“Um, I would, but I can barely feel my fingers.”

Harry has to groan again. He’s outside now and thankfully his car isn’t looking too bad. He’ll still need to defrost it a bit. “Faye, you just told me you had gloves!”

“Whoops.”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up, but please try to get warm. Go into one of those shops nearby.”

“The only shop open near me is the chicken shop.”

“Go in there.”

“I don’t like the smell of chicken.”

“I must say that you are insanely difficult today.”

Faye giggles. “I’m not.” She must hear him turn his ignition on. “Okay, bye now. Drive safe.”

“I will.”

She hangs up. Harry has to step out of the car with his snow brush, pushing his way over to clean his windshields. He’s blasting the heat on the inside, and within ten minutes, he’s ready to go. When he gets back in his car, he’s muttering swears, trembling with the cold. “Not that cold, my ass.”

And Faye’s right. The inner roads are horrendous. He drives so below the speed limit, he may as well walk to get her. 15 minutes turn into 20 and by the time he’s pulling up to her bus stop, he’s very worried Faye may be a frozen block of ice. 

Faye wobbles her way over to the car, yanking the door open and all but throwing herself inside. She’s shivering so bad, Harry puts the car in park and reaches over the console to hug her tightly.

“For fuck’s sake, Faye,” he mutters, suppressing a shiver at her cold face pressed into his neck. “I told you to go into the shop!”

“If y-you made me wait any longer, I would have!”

“I drove as fast as I could.”

Harry turns the heat up higher and rubs her arms firmly, trying to get her tight muscles to relax. She’s wearing a winter jacket, yes, but her head is uncovered and she doesn’t even have a scarf. He pulls back to look at her, hoping there’s disappointment on his face. But Faye’s eyes just light up and then she’s lifting her head to get a kiss.

He can’t say no.

He cups her face and softly kisses her. Her lips are cold, but he can still taste the cherry chapstick as if she kept reapplying it every few minutes. She kisses him several more times, but when she places her frozen hands on his neck, he pulls away sharply.

“Faye!” He holds his neck as if wounded. “That’s so cold!”

Faye’s knees bounce. “Sorry!"

She doesn’t look sorry.

He grabs the beanie he’s brought her and throws it onto her head. Her bangs get caught on her forehead, momentarily blinding her, and she laughs, fixing the hat. Her black hair frames her cheeks. She reaches in for another kiss, but Harry stops her with a shake of his head.

“Get warm first. Or else you’ll get hypothermia and then I’ll have nobody to kiss.”

Faye says, “Wow you sound a lot like me.” She holds her trembling hands by the vents, shivering so bad, she’s compelled to make audible noises to show how cold she is, her jaw quivering. Harry starts driving the car again, and once he gets off the main street, he reaches for her hand and holds it in his lap.

“How were rehearsals?”

“Okay,” she says, shoulders shaking. “Maybe people couldn’t come in today because of the snow. I had to do, like, three roles.”

“Opening night is next month, right?”

“Yup. I got you your tickets.”

Harry kisses the back of her hand, squeezing her pale fingertips hard. She's painted her nails dark blue, he notices. “Thank you. Are you hungry?”

“Mhm.”

“Let’s get something to eat then. I don’t have anything at home. Didn’t cook today.”

“Oh. Are we going to yours?”

“Yes.”

“Can I stay over?”

Harry smiles. “Yes.”

“Is Timmy home?”

“Nope.”

“Can we play that video game again?”

Harry sends her a look. “I thought you’d want to watch a movie or something.”

“Well, if you want to. But I had a lot of fun playing that game.”

“Yes, you were so good at it.”

She was not. Harry spent the entire night trying to save her, getting himself killed, and then yelling and begging her to stay alive until he could be revived. Faye had a lot of fun it seems, though Harry wouldn’t say it was a very productive night.

But, if she wants to do it, then they will.

“I feel like I’ll be better tonight,” Faye says, leaning forward to put her face against the air vent. Her eyes flutter shut. “We’ll get to the next level.”

“You mean level two.”

She laughs.

Harry’s pulling up to the take out shop they’ve agreed on when his phone goes off. He answers it on the car’s speakerphone.

“Yeah, mate?”

“Hey,” Timothée’s voice rings out. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m with Faye picking up food.”

“Oh cool. Hey, can you pick me up from the shop, man? My car’s fucking buried.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, that’s fine. When are you off work?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, I’ll get you.”

“Cool, and hey–”

“Yeah?”

“Can you grab me some food? I’ll pay you back.”

Harry says, “I’ll think about it.”

There’s silence on the other line until Timmy says, “Faye?”

She leans in. “Yeah?”

“Can you make sure he gets me food? I’ll Venmo you right now.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks. Bye!” And then he hangs up.

Harry rubs his eye and then unbuckles his seat belt. Faye goes to do the same, but he stops her, shaking his head. “No, you need to stay warm.”

“I’m fine!”

“Nope.” He locks the car after opening his door and gives her a meaningful look. She watches him disappear into the shop.

When he comes back, he thinks she’s looking a lot better. The red in her cheeks has returned and she’s reapplying her chapstick without shaking fingers. He leans over and kisses her, pleased that her lips aren’t frozen anymore. Unexpectedly, she holds onto his collar and kisses him harder, and she doesn’t let him go until he’s chuckling against her lips and trying to pry away.

“What’s gotten into you?” he murmurs, peppering kisses down to her jaw. She shivers, but not from the cold this time.

“Just missed you.”

“Mm.” He kisses her cheek. “I missed you too.”

It’s a lot harder to drive after that, especially because Harry’s hand rests on Faye’s thigh, and she keeps playing with his fingers, occasionally pulling his hand up to kiss his palm. 

When they get to the shop, Timmy rushes into the car and slaps a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you, man. This is great. Thanks. Hey, Faye.”

“Hi.”

“You’re coming over?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Did you get me any food?”

“Yes we did.” She hands him the aux cord when he asks for it. They listen to his odd taste in music for the ride home.

Harry takes Faye up to his room when they get home. Timmy’s nearly falling asleep so he eats his food quietly and then heads to his own room with a reminder through the walls that he’d appreciate it if Harry and Faye kept it down.

Faye says, “I don’t know why he always says that,” as she’s climbing into Harry’s lap on his bed in his shirt only. He looks up at her, eyes shining, his hands resting just below her butt. She wraps her arms around his neck. “We’ve never been that loud.”

“I mean I certainly haven’t,” Harry teases, pulling her down onto his thighs.

“Me neither!”

“Sure.”

Faye can’t come up with a response, so she kisses him, and then turns around in his lap, back pressed to his warm, strong chest. He places his hand on her thigh, holding her to him. As he’s setting up the game, she reaches over and grabs his iPad, turning it on to see his latest sketch.

It’s a very daunting looking dragon with detailed wings and scales. She zooms in to see all of it, thoroughly impressed. “This is so cool, Harry!”

“Yeah? Thanks, baby. Had a client say she wanted a big dragon piece so I’ve been brainstorming.”

“Where does she want it?”

“Around her bicep.”

“It must hurt like crazy.”

Harry hooks his chin over her shoulder and hugs her tight to him. “Yeah, but as long as they’re happy with it, right?”

She turns her head to look at him with her devastatingly pretty eyes. “Have you done any cool ones this week?”

He makes a show of thinking really hard. “Did a decent snake two days ago.”

“Ooh. Will you post the pictures?”

“Yeah. Haven’t had the time to.”

Faye cradles his face and kisses his cheek. “I’ll be the first person to like it.”

“You always are,” he murmurs, tilting his head back so she can continue her kisses down his neck.

His eyes flutter shut as Faye’s hands run over his arms, gently pressing herself back against him. He feels her breath hitch.

“Faye,” he softly admonishes. “You said you wanted to play the game.” 

“It’s still loading,” she whispers back, shaking him off to be able to turn in his arms again. The force she kisses him with throws him off. He’s pushed back, hands flying out to steady himself against his mattress. She wraps her legs around him and kisses him breathless, her fingers trailing up the sides of his head and then burying themselves into his curls. She presses herself against him again, and then she gently licks at him. Harry welcomes her tongue when he parts his lips.

She kisses him like she hasn’t been kissed properly in years – which is simply untrue because he kisses her until she forgets her name on a routined basis. Faye presses herself even closer, and when the first whine leaves her throat, Harry’s arms are around her, dragging her hips against his. She sighs as if that small contact between them has caused her such release.

The TV makes a noise to tell them the game has finished loading. Faye’s mouth shows no signs of letting him up. Harry pulls up for a second to breathe, and then kisses her again, leaning into her with his hands spread out against her back. They stay there until he’s sliding his fingers under his shirt that she wears, slowly pushing her until she’s laying on her back and Harry’s hovering over her.

“The game,” he whispers.

“Hm?” she manages, rolling her hips against his again, her eyes both innocent and flirty.

He breathes out a swear and then works on pulling the shirt off of her. Faye shivers immediately, but he kisses down her neck and collarbones to warm her up, letting her adjust when she catches onto what he wants to do. She slides back and lets him move further down her body.

“Harry–”

“Yes, baby?”

She changes her mind when Harry’s fingers hook into her underwear. “Oh. Oh, nothing.”

“Tell me,” he says, dragging them down. 

“Well, it’s only that I thought I’d do this for you. Because you, um, picked me up and I wanted to thank you.”

Harry chuckles. “You can do that after this, but right now I have a feeling you’re going to explode if I don’t touch you. Care to tell me what’s got you so worked up? I fucked you so well just two days ago.”

Faye throws a hand over her eyes and Harry doesn’t know if it’s because she’s forced to answer his question while unclothed or if it’s his words that embarrass her. Possibly both.

“It’s because you came to get me and your voice was so deep and raspy and tired and your hand on my thigh and–”

Harry situates himself between her legs and lets her knees come up besides his head. He kisses her soft inner thighs and wraps his arms around them. Faye lifts her head to glance down at him and then moans softly when he licks into her. Slowly. Teasingly.

Her black hair is fanned out around her, her breath coming hard and fast. Her lips are parted, pink and swollen from their kisses. She looks ruined already. Harry will never get used to the sight. He never wants to.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, throwing her head down. Her eyes flutter shut as Harry leans in and takes over completely, his skilled mouth ruthless against her. His fingers dig into her hips, holding her down though she desperately raises herself to meet his mouth.

“Oh, I love you,” she whispers, threading her fingers into his hair. “So much.”

He sucks and licks and laps diligently until her back is gently arching off his mattress and she has to bite down on her knuckles to keep her noises in. Seeing her like this turns Harry on, his body on alert. He feels like every cell of his body has been electrified, but despite his arousal, all he wants is for Faye to fall apart against him.

It doesn’t take her long. Her thighs tremble. She cries out and yanks his hair. The pain is distant to him. Harry lets her use his tongue to ride out her high, and when she’s done, she’s whimpering from sensitivity. Harry only pulls away when she’s whining, “Ah, okay, okay, that’s it, please. No more.”

He grins at her, gently wiping the corners of his mouth. “Always so good for me.”

Faye covers her face. Harry helps her back into her clothes and then lays beside her until she’s ready to turn to him and kiss him. He kisses her hair. “My darling girl,” he whispers. “My baby. So perfect."

She’s straddling him before five minutes are up, her hands resting on his chest, hair falling like curtains around her flushed face. The strands hit Harry’s cheek. His hands are on her thighs again, and he’s smiling lazily at her.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, running his hand up to her waist. 

Faye swallows and grinds down on his length through his sweatpants. “My turn?”

“We can take a break if you w–”

“No,” she says immediately, fingers already pulling Harry’s shirt up. Her eyes hungrily take in every tattoo she slowly reveals. Harry lifts his head to pull the shirt off.

Faye seems to have something in mind already. So Harry just lets her undress him, enjoying the kisses she trails after her hands. She has plenty of energy, preferring to stay on top of him instead of switching back over. 

She works herself over him until she’s throwing her head back and nearly sobbing with relief. Harry watches the pleasure roll over her, her hands in tight fists against his chest. 

“I love you,” she says again, taking deep breaths when it’s over. Her face is a gentle pink, her chest flushed. “I love you so bad, Harry.”

Once he’s pulled out of her, he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her down to him, wrapping his arms around her tight. “I love you,” he says, kissing all over her face, wiping the corners of her eyes. “My pretty girl, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Spent, Faye lets him cuddle her, her face pressed against his neck. His body is warm and as comforting as always. He mutters how much he loves her several more times.

Some time later again, Faye raises her head from his chest and says in her scratchy voice, “Should we play now?”

And Harry kisses her and says, “Yes, baby.”

[vanillaanillav]

Something I’ve been thinking about is that Till and Ivan knew from as soon as they got the layout of the bracket that they would end up against each other. And while we know what Ivan’s plan was—he would likely throw their match—what the hell was Till thinking? Was he trying not to think about it? His focus in the first round was to confess to Mizi, but he also Very forcefully ensured his success by pulling the rug out from under his opponent. 

Of course they both knew Ivan would win his match. Did Till think he had a chance, or did he think he’d lose? Before Mizi went missing and he suddenly got super popular, was he planning to give his all? I imagine he must have been. Maybe justifying it with the idea that Ivan would win anyway, so he’d go out with a bang, as was his pre-depression philosophy. 

There’s still so much we don’t know about Till’s feelings about Ivan—I think a purposeful move from the creators. I know they chose specifically to make Ivan’s feelings unrequited to contrast Mizisua, but they were friends! And if not friends anymore, there was some sense of comfort and familiarity in just knowing each other. Till acted aggressively to Ivan, but all in reaction to what he thought was intentional provocation (see: cheer up comic). And despite that, he let him follow him around.

In the scene where Ivan touches the cut on his face, he initially reacts aggressively and then sees that it’s Ivan and… calms down? Or gives up? It’s bizarre, I don’t think he’s scared of Ivan exactly, but in these tiny windows we see into how he feels about him, it’s very mixed. I wonder if he feels guilty about turning back when they were kids. Or he doesn’t know how to process Ivan’s attention or what to do about it. 

It should be clear that Ivan is like, embarrassingly horrendously terribly in love with him, but when Ivan kisses him he’s SO shocked. He pulls away, but after the second kiss he looks like he starts to realize that like, oh, this is for real, and there’s just a tiny moment of that before he thinks Ivan is trying to kill him and he gives up. 

There’s something to be said about how he just accepts that Ivan is trying to kill him after he kisses him. After going through what he went through with the aliens—there’s the split second of confused realization, and then he accepts it as just someone else taking something from him, violence and physical intimacy irreparably intertwined. 

I wonder what he thinks when Ivan gives him that last small kiss. If he took the other kisses, this one he gave, this one a gift, a tiny reassurance. I wonder what he thinks after all of it—it’s so much to process in such a short time. I would pay a hundred million dollars to know his thought process in that moment like holy shit man. 

Also, in relation to Ivan’s dislike of Sua and then his later hypocritical sacrifice, a lot of people have talked about how he wasn’t being a hypocrite because she was leaving behind a lover and he was leaving behind the object of his affection, not someone with a mutual feeling. And I think that’s true. I imagine he knew he was going to do the same thing as her and lashed out partly as a kind of projection. Partly out of jealousy that she Had a lover to leave behind, while he thought Till wouldn’t really care about his death.

But I also think (based on the Stage 6 comic) that he gets a brief moment of clarity at the very end where he realizes that their situations aren’t so dissimilar after all, hence the “I shouldn’t have been so hard on her.” He really cocooned himself in the idea that Till didn’t care and would never care, in a way where it almost became comforting to him. But, in those final seconds, after choosing to be selfish with the kiss and then be selfless with his sacrifice, he did realize that Till will be affected by this. Hence, thanking him for being the victim of his fragile feelings. 

It’s such a sad idea… only being willing to contend with the possibility that someone cares about you in some capacity when you’ve already made your exit. It’s cowardly and I think he knows that, but I also think it’s part of that final indulgence he takes. He gets to kiss Till and gets to avoid a world without him. Till gets to live. It’s hard to say which is the better path.

[cameronspecial]

Let Me In, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Having a Stomach Ache and Being on The Toilet

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N isn't feeling well and Rafe can't accept that she doesn't want him in the room.

Masterlist

Whatever Y/N ate has been wreaking havoc on her stomach. She came back home from shopping with Daisy and she had to make a mad dash to the bathroom. That was half an hour ago. She has been on and off the toilet the whole time and this is now her fourth go. Her posture is horrendous as she hunches over with her hand on her stomach. It is the only position that gives some sort of relief from the stabbing pain. It’s been a few minutes since anything has come out, but she is worried if she gets off the seat, it will start back up again. Tears start to well in Y/N’s eyes because she has never felt this type of ache before. Her period cramps are bad, yet manageable with ibuprofen. Something tells her the medicine isn’t going to help her at the moment. 

Rafe pushes the unlocked door open with ease, even with his hands full. He flicks his head in greeting Dylan, who is watching TV. “Is Angel back from the mall yet?” he asks his frat brother. Dylan nods, “Yeah. Although, she’s been really quiet and holed up in your room the whole time. She hasn’t come down to get a snack or anything like she normally does.” “Perfect. I got her a chocolate chip muffin on my way home from class. Thanks for telling me. I’ll go check on her,” he states, heading upstairs to his room. 

Y/N can hear the keypad of the door from inside the bathroom and squeezes her eyes shut. She leans over to lock the bathroom door. Rafe will insist on coming in when he finds out she is in there because they are the type of couple, who is comfortable with doing that; however, the smell she has created in the room is not one she wants to subject Rafe to. His knock reverberates around the room before she can hear the wiggle of the doorknob. “Angel, the door is locked. Can you open it so I can come in please?” Rafe calls out from the other side. She grimaces as another pang shoots through her abdomen, “I’m on the toilet, so no.” “Come on, Angel. It’s nothing I’ve never seen before. I want to tell you about my day,” he points out. 

“Well, I want my privacy. So… no, you can’t come in.”

Usually, he would respect her wishes, except that he can hear the strain in her voice, which concerns him. Either she is hiding something or sh,” he orders, trying the door handle again. Y/Ne is hurt and he likes neither of those options. “Let me in, Angel sighs, “I can’t because.” “Why not?” he inquires. She rubs her stomach to soothe herself, “I’m scared if I open this door, you won’t love me anymore.”

“And why would you think that? Nothing you do could make that happen, Angel.”

“It’s just… My tummy is hurting a lot and the smell in the room right now is not very pleasant. I don’t want to subject you to that, so maybe wait until I’m done to tell me about your day. I really do want to hear about it, I promise.” 

“Angel, if you are feeling sick, then I should be in there comforting you. I promise that whatever it is like in there will not make me stop loving you. Nothing could do that.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. Now, can you let me in please?”

Y/N exhales in relief and unlocks the door. He pushes the handle down, entering without a second thought. Embarrassment runs through her when she notices the small scrunch on his face. He is quick to wipe any emotion from his facial features as he rushes to her side. He squats near the toilet and takes her hand into his. “You don’t have to stay. I know this isn’t the most pleasant environment,” she whispers, wanting to die a little bit inside from the humiliation. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, “It’s not that bad. I live in a frat. I have smelt and seen worse. Don’t worry about it. You are in pain and you need me, so I’m going to be right here for as long as you need.” Globs of water stream down her face. “Thank you. I really don’t deserve you,” she mumbles, resting her forehead against his. Rafe kisses her hairline, “This is the least you deserve, Angel. And I’m going to make sure you are treated like a queen.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Avocado & The Turnip (The Surprise, Part 8)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, pregnancy times, fluffy fluff, kind of hurt/comfort (?), mentions of some pretty horrific crimes (duh), gunshot wound, some explicit language Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: A series of hard cases puts a strain on your relationship with Emily. Anxieties run high on both sides, and the reality of Emily's job–and the risks the come with it–feel even more real than usual now that there's going to be a child in the picture.

Week 16: The Avocado

“I just don’t know what to say to him,” Emily exclaimed, resting her chin on your stomach, a worried look on her face.

Your plans for an adorable evening of talking to the baby had backfired. For unknown reasons, Emily had come home in a bad mood, anxious and on edge. Somehow, the news that the baby could likely hear you now had only made her more anxious.

“You can say anything, Em. She’s the size of an avocado. She’s not gonna remember what we say; she’s gonna remember our voices.”

You ran your fingers through Emily’s hair, trying your best to alleviate some of her stress. You’d meant for this to be good news, to be a fun, cute little moment she could have with you and the baby after a brutal day at work.

“Tell her about your day,” you suggested.

Emily glared at you, and you felt yourself shrink. “I can’t tell him about my day!” she yelled, her voice angry. “What am I supposed to say? Hey, little man! I have to leave you tomorrow to go find a guy who’s murdering teenage boys by ripping their throats out with his teeth and then eating them. But don’t worry, I’ve only had to deal with, oh, ten or so cannibals over the years. The chances of you being cannibalized are slim. Never zero though!”

In your head, you knew that Emily’s outburst had nothing to do with you, nothing to do with the baby, and everything to do with the horrendous things she saw at work. She tried very hard not to bring work home with her, not to carry the weight of the horrors she saw every day into your house. But sometimes they stuck to her. Sometimes they dragged her down, and she couldn’t quite shake them. But it wasn’t often that she was mean. She hardly ever raised her voice at you. She knew it scared you.

You sat up and placed a hand protectively over your stomach, trying to keep your face set, impassive, but flinching a little as Emily moved toward you.

She was instantly full of regret. Her face fell as she noticed that your posture had changed from open to defensive, noticed the way your eyes had glazed over–a remnant of trauma.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she breathed, cupping your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You softened when you saw that she was close to crying–a rarity for Emily–and pulled her head to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she mumbled against you. “It was just a hard day.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head a bit.

“Tell me,” you insisted. “I can handle it. You’re my wife. You had a bad day. I want to hear about it.”

Emily shook her head, her voice so quiet you almost couldn’t hear. “No, you don’t.”

“Hey,” you said, tilting her chin so she was looking in your eyes. “I can decide what’s too much for me, okay?” You rubbed your thumb back and forth along her cheek. “If I say I can handle it, I need you to believe me.”

Emily sighed, exhaling shakily. “You remember after we started dating?” she explained, her voice low. “And I had a really hard time at work because every victim who was a woman made me think of you?”

“I remember,” you answered. And you did. If there had ever been a time in your relationship when you would’ve broken up with Emily, that would have been it. She’d been angry, on edge, paranoid, and even more obsessive about work than usual. It had eventually gotten so bad that you’d given her an ultimatum–start going to therapy or this isn’t going to work. Nearly six years later, Emily still had a biweekly standing appointment with her therapist–unless, of course, she was in the field.

She played with your fingers, quiet for a moment. “It feels like that all over again, but with kids. Child victims are hard anyway, but… every tiny body I see, I just think of him and–” Her voice broke, and you held her a little tighter. “It scares the shit out of me.”

“Of course it does,” you assured her. “That just means you love her, baby. It means you’re gonna be a great mom. It makes sense that those cases hit closer to home right now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to take it out on you. Or him.”

You exhaled slowly, kissing the top of her head again. “When was your last appointment with Angie?”

Emily sat up, stretching, and shrugged, looking guilty. “Last month, maybe? I just–I’ve been out on cases and…”

“I know, baby,” you said, taking her hands in yours before she could start biting her nails. “It’s okay. But, maybe you should call her and see if she can get you in. Even tonight, you know? Before you leave tomorrow. She does telehealth, doesn’t she?”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

She still looked guilty and nervous. It broke your heart.

“Come here,” you said, tugging her onto your lap. She wrapped her arms and legs around you and hugged you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. And for your part–you held on like you’d never, ever let her go–and you never, ever would.

Week 17: The Turnip

“She what!?” you yelled into the phone, launching yourself off the couch and scrounging around in the junk drawer for your keys.

“Calm down, mama,” Derek soothed through the phone. “It’s just a surface wound. The bullet grazed her shoulder, that’s all.”

“That’s all!? My wife gets shot, and you’re telling me that’s all!?”

You heard a scuffle on the other end of the phone, a distant, sharp Give me the phone! and then there was Emily’s voice, flooding you with relief.

“Honey, I’m fine, I promise,” she said, and she certainly didn’t sound like she was dying.

“You got shot!”

“Just a little bit…” Her voice was sheepish.

You threw up your hands in frustration. “Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! You have a child coming. You can’t be getting shot!”

“I know, I know.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “What hospital are you at?”

“No, baby, you don’t need to come,” she protested.

“Don’t need to come, my ass,” you grumbled. “Where are you?”

Another scuffle and Derek had the phone back. “Y/N. Hey. We’re just in Baltimore, alright? She’ll probably be discharged here in a few minutes, and I’ll bring her home.”

You were still a little suspicious. “Straight home?”

“You have my word.”

It was the longest hour and a half of your life, sitting on the couch, watching the Find My dot of Emily inch its way home. You frowned when you saw her stop at El Rinconcito. That little shit. She was trying to buy you off with pupusas. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Your stomach rumbled. Well, it might work a little bit.

A half hour later, you heard the door unlock. Derek held it open for a very guilty looking Emily, who walked through the threshold with her arm bandaged and wrapped in a sling.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands fluttering all over her, gingerly touching the bandage and turning her face this way and that to check for more damage.

“I’m fine, honey,” she said, pressing her good hand to your face and kissing you.

“Mmhm,” you mumbled, unconvinced. “Tell that to your unborn child.”

Emily crouched down and pressed a kiss to your stomach. “Mommy’s just fine, little guy, don’t you worry.”

It was so cute, you couldn’t even be that mad.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Derek said, gesturing to the couch. “Get comfortable and let Uncle Derek take care of you.”

You grimaced, thinking of straight people things. “Eew.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Not like that. Sit down and eat your pupusas, woman.”

You and Emily giggled, plopping yourselves on the couch, one on either side.

Derek threw blankets at you, and you got yourselves situated, your legs tangled in the middle. Derek plated the takeout and brought it to you.

“I could get used to this,” Emily said, taking a bite and running her foot up and down your leg.

“You better fucking not,” you mumbled through a bite of pupusa. “I don’t want you getting shot every time you want a lazy day.”

Derek brought you both glasses of water and set a bottle of pain meds on the side table next to Emily.

“Anything else I can do for you, ladies?” he asked. “Foot rub? Serenade? Grocery run?”

You smiled at him. He was so good to you. Both of you. “You’re gonna make some straight woman very happy.”

He bent down to ruffle your hair and to squeeze Emily’s good hand. “I’ll settle for my favorite lesbians for now. You need anything else before I go?”

Emily shook her head. “No, I think we’ll be okay. Thanks, Morgan.”

“Anytime, Prentiss,” he replied, giving her a small salute as he walked out the door. "Call me if you need anything."

The moment he left, you shot a glare at Emily. 

“What?” she said, trying and failing to shrug, thanks to her injured shoulder.

You couldn’t help the worried expression that took over your face.

“Please tell me you’re careful,” you pleaded, brushing a few unexpected tears from under your eyes.

“Y/N.” She sat up, alarmed, and reached for your hand. “I’m careful. I swear.”

“I just… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” she reassured, rubbing her thumb across the back of your hand.

“We need you, Em,” you whispered, placing your other hand over your baby bump.

She winced a little as she moved forward, pulling your face toward her so she could stroke your cheek. “I’m never reckless, honey. I do everything I can to stay safe. I promise. I will always come home to you.”

You were quiet as she pressed her forehead to yours, breathing in the smell of her, the warmth. You both knew it was a promise she couldn't make, not with her job. But you needed Emily to understand that it wasn't just her she was staying safe for anymore. It was you and the little one, who deserved to grow up with both of her moms.

“Sometimes it scares me how much I love you,” you said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear.

Emily kissed your forehead, then pressed her lips to yours, soft and gentle. “Me too.”

She pecked you on the lips again, then brushed her thumb over your bottom lip. “But you don’t need to be scared today, okay?”

She smiled a little, and you nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Now, eat your pupusas,” she grinned, pinching your cheek.

[frvnkcastles]

hey i hope ur okay❤️ can you do Frank x Reader where she has an alcoholic and abusive father who has been in prison for two years and one day he is released and shows up at her house and she is very scared so Frank protects and comforts her

FIND MY PEACE OF MIND ��� F. CASTLE

Summary: When your abusive father turns up on your doorstep, Frank takes care of it.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse (not specified), alcoholism, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: I know what it’s like to have alcoholism in the family (parents especially) and how dire the consequences of it can be, so you have my absolute sympathy, anon! I’m sending you so much love, and I hope you’re doing alright <3 I added a little detail of Frank offering to make it a completely alcohol-free home because that’s something I’ve thought about a lot, I personally don’t drink at all because of my family and I don’t think I’d be able to share a space with someone who drinks regularly. We see Frank drink occasionally on the show but I don’t think it’s ever implied he has a problem? So I 100% feel like he’d give it up if you asked. Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

Upon meeting Frank for the first time and subsequently learning he had been in prison, you were understandably sceptical about getting involved with him. You already had a man in your life who had deep-seated anger and hatred within him, manifesting in violent tendencies, and that had scarred you for life. So, you hesitated, and he had immediately seen the doubt and even fear on your face, and although he couldn’t explain why he wanted your approval so badly, he did.

”Hey, if you don’t wanna see me again, I ain’t gonna hold it against you. But you, uh… maybe you should read about me first. Judge for yourself”, he had suggested before parting ways with you, and you had promised to do just that. You had a napkin with his phone number scribbled on it, and against your first instinct, you didn’t throw it away. His words stuck with you, and when you got home that night, you searched up his name and were smacked in the face with a flood of news articles about him.

Most of them were negative, and you had quickly questioned why he would encourage you to read them. Journalists hadn’t hesitated to write horrendous things about him, but they had also dug up his past and spread it all over the internet for everyone to learn about. And it was those tidbits that soon opened your eyes to the enigma that was Frank Castle. He wasn’t a senseless killer and he wasn’t an abuser or a tormentor of innocent people — he was seeking justice for his brutally gunned down family and cleaning up the streets from evil.

You had been wary because of your past with your father, but the more you read about Frank, the easier it became to see that he was nothing like him. In fact, your father was a man who would sicken Frank, a man that Frank wouldn’t think twice about hurting, and that realization welcomed an odd feeling of safety into your heart.

You called Frank the next day, and it was the beginning of him always hanging around you. Before you knew it, your life had turned from bleak loneliness and anxiety about your father’s eventual return to endless kisses, late-night dates on the rooftop of your apartment building and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap while icing the newest bruise on the corner of his eyes. He was a whirlwind but in the best way, and you found yourself completely enamored with him.

He felt the same way, certainly not having expected falling in love with someone, and especially as hard as he had with you. He had tried so hard to stay guarded and deny himself the truth, but it had been impossible to resist you, and so, inevitably, he let his heart be in the driver’s seat for a change and admitted to himself that he adored you.

With your new relationship came opening up to each other about everything you had been through. You had already learned so much about Frank on the news that it felt like an invasion of his privacy, so you had asked him to tell you in his own words when he was ready, and in return, he was all ears when you shared the story about your father and his issues with alcohol. Frank had been more than understanding, immediately insisting that cutting out drinking entirely was something he was willing to do for you — whatever it took to create a safe environment for you. On top of that, he had assured you that he’d do his everything to keep you safe from everyone, but especially your father, and you fully trusted him to keep that promise.

Still, you didn’t expect that hypothetical situation would come to life. You were used to worrying about your father and the eventual time when he’d get out of prison, but when Frank began spending more and more time at your apartment, you lost track of that nervousness and it became an afterthought. You felt safe for the first time in years, but it all came crashing down on one otherwise regular Sunday.

There was a knock on your door and it caught both your and Frank’s attention in the kitchen where you were cooking dinner together. ”I’ll get it”, you smiled at him before he could jump at the opportunity, gently squeezing his arm before you left him with the chopped vegetables and headed for the front door.

You swung it open, and at the sight of your father, your face lost all vitality and your heart sank all the way down to the floor. ”There you are! At least you had the decency to open the door”, he slurred, clearly already intoxicated, and panic emerged in your chest. He had to have been only just released from prison, and here he was, already drunk and tracked you down.

”You’re not welcome here. Leave, okay?” you stuttered, far less demanding as you wanted to be, and the attempt made your father snort. He tried to step inside, but you quickly narrowed the doorway, not letting him invade your home. He reacted with a mean stare, calling you an ungrateful brat under his breath, and you tried your best to fight off tears.

”Sweetheart, who is it?” Frank called to you from the kitchen when you didn’t return, and with a shaky exhale, you realized you didn’t have to face your father alone. You had the city’s greatest weapon right there with you.

”It’s my father”, you declared loud enough for him to hear, and you instantly heard him drop the knife in his hands. Not more than two seconds later, Frank was stomping from the kitchen, fueled by his concern for you but his face twisted into something furious.

”And who’s this?” your father chortled, swaying back and forth in the hallway, barely able to stand up. Frank assessed the situation, and he swiftly understood that there was no talking sense into a drunk man. That was fine with him — he wasn’t really in the mood for polite conversation, anyway.

”Get the fuck outta here. This is your only warning”, Frank grunted, leaving nothing up to debate. He stood in front of you, shielding you from your father who was hardly impacted by Frank’s thinly veiled threat, and you quietly cried from the sheer terror.

”Hey, you can’t tell me—”, your father began, but Frank was having none of it. He shoved your father into the hallway and closed the door behind him, not wanting you to witness their bickering and get upset even more. You were scared for him, but realistically you knew that Frank could take care of himself, especially against someone absolutely wasted and delirious.

Frank dragged your father outside by his arm, his grip enough to leave bruises in the shape of angry fingers, and he wasn’t stopping despite the drunk man’s feeble protests. He was fuming, absolutely livid that your father had had the audacity to show up and put your life in shambles all over again, and he couldn’t stop thinking about all the abuse you had endured. The man under his grip deserved nothing but the worst, and he would have been honored to be the one to give it to him.

Once outside, Frank pushed your father forward, causing him to stumble down onto the pavement. ”You’re a pathetic asshole, y’know that? You don’t deserve someone like her. You don’t deserve to call yourself a father. And if you come here again, I’mma make sure you regret even thinkin’ about it”, Frank seethed, standing above your father menacingly. He didn’t get up or argue back, so Frank considered his job done for now — but he was going to stay true to his word if he’d ever show his face again. The only reason he hadn’t killed him yet was knowing that you struggled with the idea, and he didn’t want to hurt you by hurting him.

He made his way back inside where you were a trembling mess, and instantly softer, Frank closed the door behind him and pulled you into his arms. ”It’s aight, darlin’. He’s gone”, he soothed you, his heart breaking when you burst into sobs against his firm chest. He felt sickened by the thought of what you had suffered through. As a father himself, he could not imagine ever doing that to his children, and he couldn’t fathom how broken a person had to be to resort to abuse the way your father had. It was the lowest of the low in his opinion, and he was almost hoping your father would give him further excuse to royally beat him up.

”I was so scared”, you confessed through cries, and with an understanding nod, Frank kissed your forehead and caressed your hair. He didn’t consider himself to be an expert at giving comfort, but for you, he would always pull out all the stops.

”I know, baby. It’s over now. He ain’t comin’ back, I promise, I’ll make sure of it. He can’t hurt you no more”, he swore, swallowing down his rage before withdrawing from you enough to look down into your eyes. ”I’mma help you file for a restraining order, yeah? And if he still won’t listen, I’ll break his fucking legs”, he guaranteed, entirely serious, but it still got a little laugh out of you.

”I’d like to see that”, you pointed out, and with a small smile, Frank swiped his thumb across your cheek in a comforting motion.

”There’s my girl. Hey, I’ll always keep you safe, you know that, right?” he reminded you, and slowly, you gave him a nod to confirm you trusted him.

”Thank you, Frankie. I’d be lost without you”, you sighed, hugging him again, and he enveloped you into his strong arms while resting his chin on the top of your head.

”You know I feel the same way about you, sweetheart”, he whispered, always so grateful to have you in his life. He found you so utterly perfect and beautiful inside out, he couldn’t believe anyone would ever hurt you. And even though your father had done exactly that, you were still so strong and kind, something he didn’t think he always was himself.

He admired the hell out of you, and he was going to do whatever it took to help you keep your peace of mind.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello~ I don't know if someone has already ask this but I'll just ask anyway. What made you so interested in Jade? I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything of the sort. I'm just very intrigued.

Also to feed into your J-word brain rot I present to you this, but picture Jade. Lol I saved this photo as hot damn Sebastain.

Hello, hello!! ^^ I’ve made a post before that explains my interest in Jade, but if I’m being entirely honest 💦 it’s all over the place and difficult to read because of how often I go all caps and keyboard smashing. I’ll try to summarize my thoughts here in a way that’s more digestible and calm.

I love many of the little details about his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, how his brows are arched, etc. I also have a visceral, near animalistic urge to tug on that black bit of hair he has sprouting out...

His manner of dress also resonates with me! Jade is usually well covered and in formal attire, and I think that makes it more exciting on the instances when he dresses down (whether that be going without his gloves or choosing something more casual to wear).

His intelligence. I've always preferred characters who rely on their smarts over their strength to achieve their goals, and Jade fits the bill. One particular example is how his UM is limited in scope and usage, so he has to carefully plan and strategize about how and when he casts it. It's nice that Jade can also loosen up and use his cunning not necessarily for nefarious deeds, but just to tease others.

He plays support and he plays it well. I also have a tendency to like "helper" characters (butlers, bodyguards, knights, etc.), which is another archetype that Jade slots into. He is highly competent as a vice dorm leader, personal assistant, and right-hand man (eel?) to Azul. Plus, Jade knows when and how to play to his strengths (especially when it comes to deception and disarming others) and adapt to any situation he is placed in. Jade has even earned the approval of the notoriously hard to please Vil!

He keeps you guessing, and you'll still never even see it coming. I think it's interesting that he appears more docile than Floyd, yet Azul warns his peers that Jade is the more dangerous twin since Jade won't telegraph his schemes or bad moods (unlike Floyd). I 100% agree with Azul; not knowing what Jade has in store or when it will hit you is much scarier--but also much more thrilling in a way, haha...

Similar to the last point but much more specific; I love Love LOVE those moments when he's smiling while saying the most horrendous things (the infamous "what I'd do to anyone that betrays me" line lives rent free in my head). I also adore it when Jade is lying to your face and overacting (like when he pretends he got dust in his eye in book 4). He's so dramatic while lying his heart out, it makes me giggle.

Jade works with many of the tropes I like to go for when I want comfort. Househusband/domestic life stuff, butler looking after you, etc. I have a habit of overworking and forgetting to take care of my needs, so it's easier for me to remember if I pretend like Jade's the one doing the self-care for me.

I appreciate that he appreciates nature. I don't get to touch much grass (not that I don't go outside, it's that there isn't much grass in the area I live in)... so I get very excited whenever I get to just enjoy nature in its purest form, taking in that fresh air. It makes me feel like we're kindred spirits.

The duality of eel. Overall, I'd say that the reason I like Jade so much is because he can be many things which typically run contradictory to one another. I think that makes for a fun character that keeps me on my toes ^^

NOT YOU USING “J WORD” TOO… 💀 It’s spreading… just like a bunch of spores…

Aaaah, it’s Sebastian!! It’s been years and years since I read Black Butler (I think I stopped around the Blue Cult arc?). He’s still just as effortlessly elegant as I remember him being… I guess that’s par for the course for one hell of a butler, huh?

Here, lemme just… *crudely draws on him* THERE WE GO, THE J WORD SSR FOR AN EVENT WHERE WE VISIT THE LAND OF CRIMSON LONG :>

Thank you for your question and the rot fuel 🥰

[sahrii]

Hai haiiii! I didn't know if ur requests was open rn or not (if they aren't feel free to ignore this)

But! If they are have you ever thought of something like this for baji?

Ok so imagine baji is walking around town with the rest of toman division leaders and he sees some manga(or ur favorite snack) and he almost admittedly stops everything to get it for you? Like......I would be the happiest soul ngl 😭💓

a/n: hihihiu yess!! my requests r open and im so happy u requested!! i hope u like iy tho !! im actually so happy u requested so thank u n enjoy <333

contains: Baji x Gn!Reader

——————————————————————

Despite the not very painful punches Baji was receiving yet the excruciatingly painful ones he was landing back, for a second, his focus wavered from the brawl and fixated on the cover of the Manga you’ve been talking about non stop.

The sounds of violence and the exertion of grunts faded away into the background as his attention was glued to the cover.

However, a particularly sharp jab brought him back to the reality of the fight, blood trickling down his face. But the image of your elated face, illuminated by the gift he was about to secure for you, eclipsed the pain.

As the skirmish intensified, he dodged and countered, his mind occupied by the vivid picture of you, fingers delicately flipping through the pages of the manga he was determined to obtain for you. His mind was suddenly fuzzy because of the erupting butterflies and flood of warmth caused by the thought of making you smile.

After a couple of punches and grunts, a brief moment of chaos allowed Baji to break free. Ignoring the throb of his body and the yells of his fellow Toman captains, he dashed towards the bookshop. He excitedly grabbed the manga and paid for it, finally emerging amidst a world of chaos and gang fights with the manga in his hand.

It really wasn’t like Baji to ‘back away’ from a fight, but the radiant smile he’d imagined drawn on your ethereal face that’d melt his hardened heart away. The mere thought made every drop of blood and every colourful bruise worth it.

——————————————————————

An interrupting knock invaded your peaceful night. Surely, it isn’t Baji as he told you that he has an important fight today, so who could it be, you asked yourself.

As you open the door, Baji’s tall figure flooded your vision, blood trickling down his handsome face and hinds behind his back. What caught you off guard though, other than the obvious vibrant bruises and cruel cuts that peppered Baji’s smooth skin, was the dashingly crooked grin that’s plastered on his face.

“Did you hit yourself on the head? Why are you smiling like that when you’re full of bruises and blood is trickling down your face? You totally look like a psycho, Kei!” You scrunch your nose, internally cringing at the horrendous state he’s in.

“You look like you came out of a war zone,” you added, furrowing your brows as you assessed his bruised appearance.

“I mighta been in a tussle or two— but I don’t really care—here, this is for you,” he shrugged as he so casually handed you the Manga volume you’ve been talking about for ages but couldn’t afford, making you gasp in surprise.

“Hold up—what? Kei, I’m so confused..what the hell is happening?! Why did my boyfriend show up in blood and then proceeded to surprise with the manga I’ve been talking about for ages—“ you couldn’t resist the smile that is making its way to your face. Such a small gesture truly made you feel like the happiest person on earth.

“Don’ know, it might be because you may or may not have the best boyfriend on the face of this earth,” he shrugged, smirking in a smug way.

You jumped onto your boyfriend, momentarily disregarding his injuries out of excitement, arms tangling around his neck as he snaked his hands around your waist. Although the embrace was truly comforting, he couldn’t help but wince as a sharp pain echoed throughout his body, but he ultimately refused to make it obvious.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you thanked him excitedly as your lips kissed his bruised face gently, a gesture that eradicated the pain away and made his blood dance in confusion.

A chuckle escaped his lips as you pulled away, offering to clean up that pretty face of his in which he refused because “There is no need, Mikey is probably gonna beat my ass up. You can clean up my face after that,”

“Shush—I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” you say as u lead him to the bathroom to gently tend to his wounds, a mix of tenderness and gratitude enveloped the moment, solidifying the bond between you two in a way words could never capture.

[thenerdofthegroup]

I will be talking about AAA Episode 5 here so if you don’t want spoilers, don't read. This also is very long. So buckle in…

Right. I will put it into facts and theories and then my actual emotions on what has come out of this. Becausem god... But we will get to that.

Fact: that episode was off. What do I mean by off? I’ll tell you:

BIG ONE: the aspect ratio didn't change. First time this happened for a trial. This is a stylistic choice to tell us it’s wrong

Another big tell: the witches road is going down. Every trial they exit going DOWN. HERE THE EXIT WAS UP

Many people have pointed out how out of character they all are. And my friend gave a great sentence: “They are what Agatha fears”. Jen becomes vile. She is usually a bitch (love you girl) but she was down right horrendous. And after the whole endearing speech in her own trial. I can maybe reason at the end when she was reasoning that Agatha was the problem. But every other time she spoke it was with such viciousness when they were all laughing together mere hours ago. And LILIA AND ALICE! They have never talked like this. Agatha has helped Alice and she wants to ‘humiliate her’? Lilia immediately turned cold and dark? It felt like it was too quick. I would get it if there was build up but Rio outright said Agatha was scared. So to treat her like that isn’t right.

The trial itself. We’ll talk about the building. I’ve looked back and there is no moon engravings on the door. Yes there is the window BUT there are no other references to the moon when every trial has an abundance. And it was not complex. It was just… do ouija, talk to a ghost and leave. Which leads onto my next point

What the actual fuck was that trial?!? Every other trial has been about uplifting these witches. This trial only uplifted Billy. That's not fair. If this was agatha’s (only) trial then it was to literally punish her and leave her with her abusive mother. I know we laugh and go ‘oh yeah Evanora bad’ no. If you don’t understand abusive parents you will not understand HOW BAD that is. Its not being told ‘yeah you should have died’ over and over. I fully believe that Evanora beat her or at the very least was so emotionally abusive that even Rio (and if you know who Rio is then you’ll want to k ow I want to stress that name) literally screamed at her. Rio is most likely the only person Agatha has confided in with what happened. And that's just talking about it. So clearly Evanora is horrible on a degree greater than most parental figures we have seen in marvel.

So to have Agatha’s trial be A) The shortest B) just to punish her C) Everyone suddenly acts the way she fears

Because back to my first point: its all what she fears: everyone she is getting close to turns on her, she accidentally kills one and feels pleasure in the magic but you can see how taken aback she was (I'm not even going to because people saying she did it all on purpose and rebelled in the death needs to actually get checked by a doctor my god, if you can't understand the very obvious drugs metaphor for a morally grey character you may need to rewatch), being left with her mum because her mother was right, Billy being like Wanda, more powerful than Agatha, and punishing her. All of it was exactly what she feared

And the reveal was… well Agatha is the smartest one there. She is my girl… but it was kinda dropped.

And he just has magic… and has a crown. This will be explained next episode but… no there is a bigger part to this. Think about Agatha’s, now THAT was a reveal. The drama, the build up. There were hints throughout the ENTIRE episode. This was dropped. There were hints to him being nick. That’s it. It will be explained next episode but

It was the shortest episode. Just no

There were Westview and Eastview flags above the door… for Agatha? Nah

Everyone just… got over Alices death I mean Agatha looked more upset than Lilia and Jen. I mean, I guess its the most explainable part, maybe they came to the harsh realisation but SOMETHING was wrong

And I would like to state now, Agatha is a BAD PERSON. But she is STILL A PERSON OH MY GOD. We literally saw that in WV. Jac HERSELF said that Agatha wants colleges and friends. Not above power but you could see on her face, you can see in the way she was staring at her hands and- Christ I didn't think people would be oblivious. You could see that so clearly. It was not even a ‘read into it’, she was upset. Whether it was for killing Alice OR because she couldn’t control it again is up to you but she was upset. She is a bad person, and that's why I love her. At the end, she realises that no one is on her side (but Rio but she wasn’t there) and she puts all the masks back up. She becomes horrible because she has just been reminded of EVERY BAD THING that has ever happened (her childhood and nick) and accidentally, once again, killed someone and felt good about it. But this time she knew Alice was helping her. She can be both upset and enjoyed the physical sensation, they can both exist. And that’s the complexity. She is a bad person and you should not be surprised when she does bad stuff, but she does also feel things…

It’s a drugs metaphor. If you need it spelt out, Magic is her drug. She has been put on a cold stop, she now has nothing. It's like, let's take something pg, if you loved eating incredibly sweet things and then suddenly don’t eat anything with sugar in. Losing all of her magic must feel horrible on an atomic and spiritual level. So Alice attacked her and the rush of euphoria after being left with NOTHING hit her as she was being possessed. Evanora left her body and she couldn’t come to her senses because of how euphoric it felt. After having nothing against her will she finally feels something. And then it stopped and you can see the confusion and shock. She can both have enjoyed it and regretted how it hurt Alice at the same time. Because the lesson has never been ‘Agatha is a downright terrible person’ and if you think that you're watching the wrong show. She is a dark character. At the end, she shuts off all her emotions and goes back to what everyone thinks anyway, her safety blanket: being horrible, being the villain and pushing everyone away. If you believe she truly loved that she killed Alice or that she felt no remorse, I will be nice and stop swearing. But rewatch. Because that's not what happened. And the mask only came on when she realised the one person there who was standing up for her (except Rio) now sees her the same as everyone else and realises he is connected to Wanda, I don't blame her for being a bitch! And what a great bitch she was! Kathryn, you are a goddess-

Anyway. Lets stop collapsing her character. She is a bad person but she is a person. She did want to get closer to these women and she did feel bad. Kathryn did not act her ass off there for people to strip it of any emotion.

Right, so, theories because this episode can't be this off for no reason.

Someone said it was a vision. I don’t think so. Good theory but Alice did die. Rio stayed behind (and anyone who knows who she is will know why). I think that did all happen but not the way it should have

Someone said when Lilia removed her hands it let lose a spirit. It didn’t. Agatha didn't start the ritual because she said “Mother maiden crone”. She said it out of turn to not start it

Theory 1: Evanora ruined it. So, someone said that it should have been nick to talk and I slightly agree. Or at least, it shouldn’t have gone that way. Evanora put new rules into the trial. It should have been Agatha fighting through it or something (kinda loose here) but she turned it so that Agatha had to stay with her. Don’t mind this theory but it doesn’t explain why everyone was a bit whack and that ending. Also, the of character stuff only happens after she removes her hands and its her fear. Did Evanora affect how she sees things? Hmmm

Theory 2: This was someones vision. I mean… maybe? But what happened at the end was real because we see them covered in mud later. I think there is mental trickery but not all of it.

Theory 3: kind of my theory that I'm slightly alright with. This was all warped by something. By the seven. I'll explain

They are fighting. What a brilliant scene. But then they fly through a crowd of insects left by vertigo. Alright here is the factor. The Salem seven are finally joining the story and they are just… left? They are just there and then leave them alone? We know they can go around trials because they went around Alice’s so why not wait on the other side for them? Why be so utterly pathetic. If these are the ‘worst’… fuck me because Lilia was harsher in that trial than they were.

Now here is where my autism kicks in and my dedication to knowing everything about Agatha comes in handy: Vertigo is the leader of the S7. She is the insect lady. In the comics, she has telepathy on a level that can incapacitate and make them see things. She is ‘the mind’. Now my friends comment made it click for me, this is what Agatha would perceive as her fear. And it only really kicks in when she removes her hands.

We see her flick a lot of bugs off of her. She is the first one through the bug crowd and clearly the ones most attacked by them. I mean none of the rest have them on them as they enter the trial but they are all over Agatha. So, there's my proposition

What if the bugs affected her mind slightly? What if they adjusted her mind ever so slightly to see her fears OR equally it affects all of them but her the worst. I may even stretch it to say they orchestrated the whole thing. Because its the third trial and it skips right to blood moon AND it’s about Evanora right when they come in, the leader of the coven they are daughters of? Too many coincidences.

This explains a lot. Maybe also with how Billy and Rio are the least affected. Billy was at the back so didn't get hit and Rio is… well Rio.

And everything is attached to her fears: everyone hates her after they were being nice, Billy turns on her and becomes more powerful and punishes her over her mistake, Rio isn't there when it happens, her mother being right. EVERY SINGLE WEIRD THING aligns with her deepest fears. So it has to be directed at her.

Theory 4 that attaches to this slightly: so lets ay this is true and explains the behaviour. We have now TWO options in my mind:

A) The trial wasn’t a real trial

B) The trial isn't over

For A, the Salem seven could have affected it? Maybe? Maybe made it themselves to purposely break them up. I think their whole gambit is to tear them apart to pick them of so Agatha is left alone. So a lot can be explained through that. Also explains the aspect ratio, this is a part of the road

For B, It says that the end is when it clicks goodbye. The trials aren't affected by what happens to the people, its what happens to the danger. Here, nothing was completed. Alice died… and that's it. The ghosts business wasn’t completed. They failed because nothing was done. And what was the objective?!? Every other trial was to uplift each witch or to complete something. In the first, they got poisoned. They solved the poison. Second, stuck in a room with a curse. Killed the curse. Third, ghost appears, ghost… abuses the main character and only leaves after showing Agatha she was right. There was no objective. And at the end, nothing was completed. They distracted Agatha, after a fucking poor performance by Jen and Lilia. They had ages to try and wretch Alice away or stop Agatha and they stood there. And he said it too late. The 0 hit just as he said it. And then they heard Nick’s voice. The trial was still happening. The ouiji was still open. They didn’t accomplish anything.

The door unfolds way too late too. All the others, the exit appears mere seconds after. This took too long. And after Alice dies. That wasn’t the point. And IT GOES UP. It mostly likely responded to them failing OR it wasn’t real. This whole thing is not right. So I think they didn’t do anything. I think the actual trial will continue, maybe connected to the weird morgue room we see later with purple hues. Idk but it either wasn’t agatha’s real trial or it wasn’t completed. No way this was it. I prefer B out of both

Theory 5: love this one. My friend explained it better than I can so here we are,

And to add, it was Agatha’s idea to summon people to the road. I know nothing happened with Rio but Rio is an exception (spoiler once again). The seven aren't. So the seven came on BECAUSE of Agatha, this could add to it

Because also… all of them just disregarded all the rules the entire time.

Theory 6: It wasn’t her trial. It was Billy’s. Honestly don't hate it given his spirit is from Wandas kids and blah blah idk. Kind of fits

Right so we all know that this whole thing was wack and will have an explanation later? Great! Onto my opinions. Lets start off with what I loved:

Kathryn.Fucking.Hahn. Her uncomfortability as they ‘ouija’ (not a verb, hehe), her humour at the beginning, the look of longing on the brooms, her hurt at her mother, her confusion and conflicting over Alice, and the end. THE FUCKING END OH MY GOD GET HER AN AWARD. THAT CHUCKLE. The chuckle made my bones chill. It was outstanding.

Rio this episode was the best she has been. Her defending Agatha. Ooooo you know that’s right.

I loved the broom scene. And their opinions. Agatha is more powerful than a broom. Its ‘undignified’ as she says. Lilia hates the stereotypes. Rio along for everything. Jen and Alice too. It was great

Alice. My girl… the way you could see her immediately soften when Evanora said it. She literally screamed for her to stop and tried to save her. Love you Alice. I know you coming back somehow because in the very first trailer we see a scene of her in a purple lit empty room. Can’t wait to see you again girl

The parallels between Alice and Agatha too. Alice’s discovery was that her mum was better than she thought. She was protecting her. Agatha’s is that she is worse. Even after centuries she is asking others to kill her. What a twat.

All the actors were phenomenal. That's a given

The entire thing looked beautiful

That whole talk with Evanora was heartbreaking. And clearly so much had happened and Evanora was clearly a terrible terrible person. And when someone said it mirrored homophonic religious parents my hear shattered. So good. Just so so good

I don't mind knowing rio’s spoiler now because it's an explanation on such a mysterious and… confusing episode. I like spotting the things now. One thing that makes sense 😭

What I am about to say is not a reflection on Joe. Although I did giggle because… well when Kathryn is giving an award winning evil performance and acting circles around everyone after such a devastating scene… eh I won’t make a joke. But I think he is a great actor and Billy is a good character. He's not my favourite. When you have an entire show of women I will only look at them. I will say the ‘BILLIE’ Eillish song at the end was a good touch. That aside I didn’t mind the reveal. I am excited to see what he looked up for Agatha in the flashbacks next episode. I’m just not fused about him 🤷‍♀️ not everyone has to love every character. I only care about him in relation to Agatha

Right, criticism now, and I hate criticizing this show. I have never done it properly before for this show because I haven't found anything to criticise, so the fact I'm doing this shows how weirded out I was. Most of this is based on people though:

Why the fuck was it so short. This must mean the other episodes are much longer but to have Agatha’s trial, real or not, and the centre episode the shortest? I didn't like that

These are now about the people

My own personal annoyance: we are now going to have to have a whole week of having to now focus on Billy when so much Agatha trauma was there. I knew billy would have his spotlight but now for everyone talking about the episode, that is the only thing that they will focus on, instead of everything else. But I can deal with that because I won't be focusing on it, because to me it is not the important part of the episode. My own annoyance is explainable and irrelevant.

I theorise on what I like. I will not be focusing on Billy unless it relates to Agatha. So I am not mad about that, it just ticks me off it happens in the episode they finally show a bit more of Agatha’s backstory

Right, my complaint about people. Fuck all of you saying that ‘this show has finally gotten good’ because billy has been revealed. Genuinely fuck you. Because once again, and I'm shockingly surprised because a LOT of these people saying billy is the only good part are coming from Wanda stans on twitter. But whatever. People are allowed to be a bit annoyed that, from surface level, 1) ‘Agatha’s trial’ episode was the shortest and then revolved around Billy in the end 2) people are allowed to criticise what happens. They should never hate on Joe, but I have seen people send threats over some people saying they don’t like billy. It is a fair criticism for some people to say that they don’t like that the one man that is is now going to get the attention of this episode

Also very mild proof that this is happening:

Right, point two about how people have reacted and this is real. This is Stan feud, I’m not a child. I like hoes acting. I liked heartstopper and I think he’s doing great. This is about real life consequences: that fucking article. If you have been on Twitter you most likely know what I'm talking about. But a magazine article published an article saying “Billy has made MCU history” and the only article about Agatha, you know the MAIN CHARACTER with a ROMANTIC STORY WITH ANOTHER WOMAN, was basically saying “Are they gay? Hm I don't know”. And then, they released ‘all the gay characters in MCU’ and LEFT OUT AGATHA. FUCK YOU SINCERELY. This is why so many women struggle with coming out. Because no one takes us seriously. His boyfriend had been mentioned ONCE ON A FUCKING PHONE and he’s making history when the entire C plot of this show is about Agatha and her ex-wife and her relationships with them all. Fuck you. People in my life ask me why it took me so long to figure out I was gay. It's because of this. People don't take us seriously and this is EXACTLY what a lot of us feared. Billy, yay, amazing. I like that they are showing him a bit more. I want all of these characters fleshed out. But now, everyone's reactions to it are reinforcing that we are not taken seriously by the wider world, including some of the queer community. Agatha’s whole B plot is about her and Rio. And it was so beautiful in this episode. And even if you aren't interested in the romance, Agatha’s story was amazing! Painfully short but amazing! But now people only want to focus on the man. It's one thing to fear it because originally I dismissed it. But everything that has come out since then has reaffirmed this fear queer women hold. That sapphic relationships will NEVER be taken as seriously and will always be secondary to men. So fuck all of you contributing to that. Truly fuck you

Breathes in, breathes out okay. Rant over. I can just ignore these things. And I am. Its just infuriating to be reminded.

But in the wait, this feeling for many will get worse especially because some of you stans are reinforcing it. I think Billy is fine. I think his backstory will be interesting. But I saw someone try to theorise and someone said ‘Who the fuck cares. Billy is finally here to save the show’. It’s one thing to have a favourite character, it's another to do all of this

On the other side, people who are attacking Joe, that is not fair. Every character will have their spotlight. My critique is that it takes away from Agatha’s trauma this episode a lot but it is not his fault. So let’s never attack the real people

Also if you like his character, amazing. I like that every character is full rounded. But if people have genuine critiques, don’t be mad. People can have opinions. Just as don’t attack people for like him.

Let’s just be nice. Some of you need to go back to preschool “lets treat others how we want to be treated” my god

Rant over. Yay

Thank you to anyone who is still reading. I hope this bring to light a lot of the ‘off things’ with it and maybe show some opinions. I needed to rant because my god some of the things I've seen… But conclusion: everything is wrong. Its one thing for people to be out of character. Its another for the whole trial system to be fucked, the S7 sidelined again, Billy etc. Its wrong on purpose.

I think I will only form an actually feeling in this episode when I see the next one that will explain everything. I need an explanation to say whether I like it or not. But I will say, the other 4 are to me some of the best things ever produced ever. I want to desperately love it but I need to wait.

Anyway, hopefully now that the emotions have died down we can all start theorizing based on that. Here is my attempt haha

I would love to hear any ideas or thoughts! Just please be nice. I'm fragile haha

Your reward for reading to the end: Agatha and Rio being gay

[sxddekarios]

a very wholesome magic lesson

i am back with a bg3 rebranding!! this is the first fic i've ever wrote, and it's my take on Gale's act 1 romance scene at the tiefling party. Him and Tav are both oblivious to the others' feelings. read on ao3 or here!

2.2k words (of fluff)

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“I think it’s best in my condition if I don’t get too excited,” Gale reminds himself.

“Well, who said anything about excitement? Surely you’re not *that* keen on a little magic trick. I’ve seen you do plenty of other magic.” Tav responds with her signature furrowed brows.

“It’s not … the magic, per-say. More what comes with it. Though perhaps I’ve had too much wine for this conversation.” Gale attempts to stop him self, as he usually does when he’s bitten off a bit too much to chew in the flirting department.

“For what conversation? I just want to learn some more magic. There’s no way I can go enjoy our celebration, and sleep, after this cliffhanger…” Tav trails off, trying to bait him into explaining without having to fish too directly (or embarrassingly) for it.

Gale raises an eyebrow at Tav, knowing that he’s never been able to turn down an ask of hers before. He got into this mess with the orb by being a pleaser, after all. “Have a glass of wine and I’ll see if I can handle making this much of an ass of myself” Gale sighs.

Tav grabs his glass of wine and takes a tentative sip. She makes a face, disgusted by the tartness. Luckily, she manages to swallow the offending liquid. “This is all you’re getting from me, I’m afraid. Unless you can magic this into something bearable, or you’re hiding some other vices somewhere in that tent of yours, you’re gonna have to deal with talking to a sober person right now.”

Gale looks at her in mock astonishment — “Have you no taste? Have you never drank wine before? This is a *delectable* indulgence that clearly you have not been educated on. Or, perhaps, you lack the sophistication that i’ve grown terribly used to in Waterdeep.”

Tav grimaces while preparing herself for her next attempt to shut Gale up …. at least telling him how he *should* shut up, that is. Letting out a deep breath, she grabs hold of Gale’s glass and chugs it. As much as she can anyways, which still takes an eternity too long to ensure she doesn’t choke. “It’s still horrendous. But we’re even now. Spill, before I do.”

Gale glances at the empty glass in disappointment, but holds onto it. He steels himself for his next words while keeping his eyes downward. “If you must know, I speak of … physical excitement. I can handle magic, but my heart may not be able to handle … more carnal conditions of the flesh. With the orb, I risk exploding with any activity, or *feeling*, that gets my heart beating too fast, my blood pressure too high,” Gale explains.

Tav raises an eyebrow in response. “Like, you’re gonna explode as in ….” she trails off again, hoping he’ll take the hint. She knows he must be referring to the catastrophic Netherese blast they had spoken of before, but she couldn’t help herself from teasing him about the double entendre.

The blush taking over Gale’s face and neck came on far too suddenly for him to blame it on the wine. “No! Gods no, not like that! The magic in the orb will destroy me and everything around me,” Gale exclaims. Much to his avail, Tav still doesn’t stop her line of questioning.

Crossing her arms, Tav decides to enjoy the flustered nature of a blushing, tipsy Gale. “Okay, but you’re still saying you’d explode …. literally …. because you’d explode …. sexually. You said you wanted to show me a *magic* trick, not fuck my brains out.”

She pauses for a second when he lets out an indignant gasp at her directness. “Unless I’m mistaken on what a magic trick is, in which case I think you should’ve lead with that,” Tav finished with a smirk, finally meeting his eyes. She can feel the exasperation exuding from the wizard, and she loves every second of it.

Gale has no choice but to shake his head in lack of a coherent response to Tav’s brazen words. “I suppose you’ve got me there. I can show you some magic, no nefarious subterfuge. And no explosions of any kind, mortal *or* magical,” he emphasized.

Tav worries at her lip for show. “You really won’t blow up, right? Or you’ll at least warn me if you feel too much … *excitement*, stirring? We can’t leave scratch an orphan.” She thinks of mentioning the chaos that Astarion would unleash without them to reel him in, but she didn’t want to darken the mood too much.

Gale smiles at her words and lets out a little laugh as he promises that they’ll be safe. He holds out his hand, palm up, for her to take. Tav takes a hard look at his fingers for a moment, trying to commit their beauty to memory, before gently laying her hand atop his and intertwining their fingers to be led farther out of the camp. Once they reach a more quiet spot a few minutes later, Gale stops, forfeiting her warm hand to turn to her.

“This will do. Now, I want to show you the true embrace of the Weave. It’s a full-body experience to wield the Weave and feel its support of your magic,” Gale says with a smile on his face and wonder in his eyes. Tav categorizes this as his professor face, imagining him introducing lessons to his students with this pure enthusiasm.

Nevertheless, she’s more comfortable bickering with Gale than sharing that heart-warming thought with him. “You know i’m a sorcerer, right? I’ve been using the Weave my whole life. Unlike *some* people,” she pointedly includes to rile up the wizard.

“Of course. You’ve received the gift through your ancestor’s carnal relations with some dragon, while ‘some’ of us have *worked* for it,” Gale smiled, letting her know that he was joining her sarcasm in jest. “Nonetheless, there’s a very different feeling to using the Weave that comes with the years of study a wizard has. *That* is what I wanted to show you. I know you can call on the Weave as second nature, and you do a wonderful job with it, but I want you to experience the pleasure of embracing the environment, carefully going over the incantation and hand gestures, and using this to manipulate the Weave to bring your spell into reality.”

Tav felt her heart rate sky rocket with Gale’s praise for her sorcery. She wondered if the feeling he spoke of was really common to all wizards, or if he had a deeper connection as Mystra’s former lover … or victim, if you ask her. Still, she tried to focus on the positive.

“Ah, so you took me here to teach me slow careful pleasure,” Tav teased. “Get on with it then,” she encouraged with a wave of her hand.

Gale laughed in response, a deep sound that flooded Tav’s head with a light feeling, and took over her lips with a full grin.

“As you wish,” Gale bowed his head towards Tav, and proceeded with his magic lesson.

—

After an hour of teaching Tav how to connect with the Weave in this almost spiritual manner, Gale smiled at her once again. “I know you’re genuinely a natural at magic, but you did a wonderful job with this. It’s hard for someone to harness this connection without the education of a wizard.”

Tav smiles back at Gale and considers herself. “Or, maybe you’re just a good teacher.” As sure of herself as she was in magic, she was more sure of Gale’s ability to educate others. From his admirable desire to help others to his enthusiasm for knowledge … to the voice, face, and *hands* that made it impossible to zone out on him. He didn’t need to know that last part, though.

Gale chuckles at her praise, a light blush spreading across his face. “That too. How are you feeling now?” He asks, hoping his little magic lesson has been half as joyful for her as it has been for him. He felt relaxed, renewed, grounded, and more connected to her than he had ever felt. Although, that last part may be because he’s still standing so close to her, holding her hand as he needed to guide her through the more intricate parts of spell casting.

Tav allows herself to stare into Gale’s glimmering brown eyes, feeling a psychic connection between them where her thoughts could become his without the need to be verbalized.

After a lifetime of men being upset at her, accusing her of expecting them to read her mind, here is a man who can simply do so. Of *course* it’s Gale. Tav feels her eyes well up as she revels in the intense hope, adoration, and yearning she feels for him. Gazing into Gale’s eyes, their hands still intertwined, she imagines what it would be like to press onto her tiptoes and softly kiss him.

Gale’s eyes widen with shock as the thought dances into his mind. “I - I didn’t think -” he stutters, “I wasn’t … expecting that. Not that it’s unwelcome — it was a most pleasant thought,” Gale adds in hopes that Tav doesn’t take his surprise as disinterest, or even disgust. “It just took me by surprise,” he reiterates.

Tav takes a moment to compose herself before exhaling a shaky “okay.” Then, she whips her head around as she smells bergamot wafting in from the distance. Gale follows her gaze until they both see Astarion stumbling into the clearing … closely connected to Shadowheart.

“Well, looks like we’ve got company,” Gale tries (and fails) to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “We might want to get back to camp before we have to witness whatever is going to happen here.”

Tav slowly turns back to gale, smiling as she notices his stony stare at the oblivious couple. “As long as we’re not able to hear them from camp…”

“Oh gods, I don’t even want to think of that,” Gale grimaced. “Why don’t we head back, and if we hear anything, you could come sleep in my tent?” He quickly adds,” I have a silencing ward. I’d cast one on them before we leave, but I’m afraid my concentration won’t last once I fall asleep, and I know how fitful your rest is.”

Astonishment, anger, and amusement fight for dominance over Tav. She conveys a mix of them with her slack-jawed expression. “You had a *silencing ward* on your tent this whole time? And you didn’t *tell me*?” She kept her outrage playful, although she was disappointed that he hadn’t shared this with her earlier.

“I’m sorry,” gale said in earnest as he took her hand and started leading her back towards camp. They left a wide berth for Astarion and Shadowheart to continue ripping each other’s clothes off.

“I started working on a ranged ward for your tent after I earned of your insomnia, but I never quite got it to stick. I didn’t want you to think I was coming onto you by offering a place in my tent to get some good rest. I don’t expect anything, and I could even sleep outside of it if you’re more comfortable with that.” He felt a bit less forward with the offer now that he knew she thought of kissing him — at least in that moment. Still, he never wanted her to feel pressure.

She gazed up at Gale as they reached their camp. “Really?” she asked, unsure if someone could genuinely be so kind. Last time she had an offer like that ��. well, they lied about expecting nothing.

Gale squeezed Tav’s hand in reassurance as he took in the concern in her voice. “Of course. I’m sure our adventure would benefit from a well-rested leader… do you want my tent alone, or …” he trailed off, his bashfulness returning.

“No!” tav exclaimed. “I’m not taking your tent from you! We can share it, if you’re okay with that?” She hurries along in an attempt to be thoughtful and nonchalant at the same time, “whatever you want. Sleeping on opposite sides, together … I’m fine with either. Well, by together I mean … you know what I mean,” she shook her head as she tried to explain herself.

Then she remembered their little joke and smirked, “no undue *excitement* is what I mean.”

Gale returned her smirk with a laugh, “Right, always looking out for me. It’s lady’s choice though, and i’m happy with either as well. But I will say, I know you run warm. I also know that I can use a frost enchantment to keep you cool so long as we’re touching.” This was his masterful attempt at sweetening the deal without pressuring her by saying how much he longed to hold her in his arms … and damn him if it wasn’t going to work.

“Gods, you’ve really been holding out on me, haven’t you?” Tav admonished. “I’ll just, get some of my stuff, and then I’ll join you. I’ll bring my blanket so I hopefully won’t steal yours, but I make no promises.”

He smiled as he met her serious gaze at the threat of stealing his blanket. “Two is always better. I’ll see you when you’re ready,” Gale said softly, watching her head back to her tent. He silently thanked her for wanting another blanket, giving him a moment alone to bask in the excitement of a night with her. And calm down this excitement before she returns so he doesn’t scare her off.

[withonly-sweetheart]

Feathered Fiend

You unburden yourself on a creature that should have no burdens. You tell it of your unrequited love, but is all truly what it seems?

a/n: MINT ANON!!! IM SO HAPPY THAT I COULD WRITE THIS FOR U! PLEASE REACH OUT AND TELL ME IF U LIKE IT BC THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA!! AHH KISSING YA RN

also if you think there should be a part two...? with a war and everything... between the two... hahahaha lmk! <3 <- READ IT HERE !!

tw: angst, mentions of blood, i think the kiss scene is a bit like nsfw but not really so be ready!

wc: 4.8k

You feel horrendous. 

Your world is coming very close to tipping one side, like an uneven scale of glittering gold, blurring at the edges of your eyes as you press the rim of the champagne glass to your lips, swirling the sickly liquid around your tongue before it swims down your throat.

Almost immediately you recoil from the taste, setting it down where it stands proudly, precariously, against the high ledge of your balcony. One swipe and it would splinter the pillows of snow, turning them a shade of maroon you won’t dare to imagine.

You nudge the blueberries on the plate resting on the connecting area of the railing, where the ornate designs curve into a final smile, disappearing into the concrete. You fight to keep disdain from your expression as one of them passes your lips, staining your mouth with a honeyed juice. 

You roll your tongue and glance over your shoulder, at the threads of light and velvet weave the tapestry that is the gala down the hall, where everyone is draped in dramatic, auburn brushed chandeliers that bronze their flushed faces and carry their lively chatter across the room.

Suddenly you find yourself longing for the bitter wind misting your skin that you had cursed away, the icy daggers pinching your skin, crawling into your blood, turning you cold.

Out here, with only the moonlight for company, you could forget that somewhere in those halls roams your mother, arms linked with yet another noble, feline eyes slanted as she paws at his crisp suit, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. You know for a fact that eventually, you’ll be shaking his hand, forcing a smile and pushing responses past your gritted teeth as you bet with yourself how many days he’ll last.

But you’ve forgotten that, eyes trailing a bird that has joined you. It’s a peculiar looking thing, with dappled, sunny and sky blue feathers and an underbelly of soft white. You curl a finger, mouth quirking in amusement as it hops near, tilting its head curiously.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a little thing,” you murmur as it pecks at the cloying remains of fruit left on your fingertips. However gingerly, you pinch the remaining berries between your fingers and hold them out, as an offering to this free spirit.

You watch as it chirps sweetly. How long has it been since you’ve had birds resting on your hands, laying serenely in a patch of sunlight in the forest, when your father would shake his head at you, standing at the edge of your little area, with that small smile that only you could coax from him?

As all things do, the bird quickly finishes its meal and hops away, flexing its wings to take off, leaving you breathless in its absence. It seems to hesitate, looking back at you for but a moment before soaring back into the sky.

If only you could do the same.

<><><><>

Just as it was when you left, everyone entertains themselves with far too animated conversations and laughter, and you feel perfectly alone in the midst of it all. Claire nudges your shoulder gently before linking her arm with her date - an imposing, tall figure with striking brown hair and a stoic expression on his chiseled face. He nods at you in a formal and somewhat cold manner before turning away into the swirling crowd of dancers.

"You okay?" Claire whispers in your ear, her brow creasing with concern as she glances around to ensure her date doesn't abandon her.

"Of course," you reply, digging your fingernails into your palm to keep your voice steady. Claire’s eyes narrow as she studies your face, clearly not convinced by your attempt at seeming unconcerned. However, she decides to let it go for the moment and hands you a glass of shimmering purple wine.

"Come on," she drawls teasingly, perhaps on her seventh drink, when you hesitantly decline her offer. "It's a party, enjoy yourself!"

You absently turn your head to survey the room and find yourself fixating on Leon. He stands across the crowded ballroom floor, surrounded by his family and friends. You’re pondering his absence for the first phase of the gala when your heart clenches involuntarily at the sight of a woman you don’t recognize, a vision in white and baby pink, clutching his arm possessively as if she owns him entirely. Her eyes glitter in the chandelier's light above you while a wide smile adorns her face that refuses to fall.

"Ignore them," Claire tells you softly, sensing your growing discomfort as she squeezes your arm reassuringly before abandoning her somber expression for a warm smile. "Promise me you won't spend the entire evening torturing yourself by watching him."

"Promise," you lie quickly, intertwining your finger with hers to seal the falsehood that hangs between you. Claire seems to sense the insincerity behind your words, but refrains from pressing further. Instead, she gently pats you on the back in solidarity before departing towards another group of friends as her long black hair flows gracefully behind her like a dark river.

But your thoughts inevitably wander back to him, and with them come the revolting parasite that attaches herself to him at every waking moment. Her strawberry blond hair is perfectly styled into a neat bun, and her stunning gown billows around her in soft ruffles of white and pink that seem almost ethereal.

With the threat of loathing searing your skin, you choose to turn and focus on the colorful assortment of snacks meticulously arranged on the long, elegant table nearby. However, it soon becomes impossible for you to ignore the situation, as she attractively lifts up her slender fork and taps it against her delicate glass with incredible poise. The resulting light, tinkling sound resonates through the grand and spacious manor, effectively quieting the gathered guests down.

"Thank you all for being here," she gracefully begins, a sinister yet charming smile curving her full lips. "I would like to commence this lovely evening by expressing what an honor it is for me to be present here amongst such distinguished company." Her words ooze deceit, dripping like thick layers of sweet honey on poisonous thorns just waiting to ensnare any unsuspecting victims.

"I am equally thrilled," she continues with feigned enthusiasm, "that my close friend - someone whom I hold near and dear - Duke Leon Kensington, has graciously invited me to cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the prestigious Arklay Academy."

The room responds with a unanimously enthusiastic round of applause. Feeling compelled by the atmosphere, you too mechanically tap your palms together, not truly understanding the need to celebrate her undeserved moment of fame. An ugly surge of jealousy courses through you as an alternative explanation for your unwillingness to participate in the celebration presents itself - you find it incredibly disheartening that it is this strange woman’s hands tightly wrapped around Leon’s arm instead of yours.

All around you, glass chandeliers cast dazzling reflections on the polished marble floor as sophisticated conversations fill the air. Delicate strings of pearls and fine silks brush against one another as finely dressed men and women exchange pleasantries with glittering smiles. You gaze down for a moment, closely examining the intricate embroidery on your sleeves, while your lips form a tight purse.

Your mother catches your eye as she slips between the crack of the door. There is a man’s hand on her hip, cupping the dip of her body. Her gaze seems somewhat apologetic, but you turn on your heel and march the other way, hoping no one sees her eyes trailing you, trying to leave behind the lingering embarrassment that tugs you back. 

<><><><>

"Why have you dragged me here?" Leon’s smooth, unblemished voice sends shivers crawling up your spine. Curiosity takes hold of you as you muster enough courage to slightly peek around the corner of the door frame - only to find the same woman standing there in front of him.

"The king cannot stop me now," she asserts defiantly, as she grasps a fistful of his shirt collar and forcefully presses her lips against his. They don’t fit right.

You can't quite remember what it was that you choked out in response to the scene before you. What you do remember is the overwhelming sensation of feeling like your soul was akin to a fragile mirror that he had smashed unreservedly, leaving jagged shards that pierced your chest, drawing blood and suffocating you from within.

Leon eventually pulls away from the girl with a noticeable expression of uncertainty on his face; however, his eyes undeniably glint with intense desire. "Duchess Graham… what if we're discovered by someone?" he questions nervously.

Ashley Graham. You haven’t heard much of her, but you don’t truly care for the gossip that passes through the kingdom, over who is courting who, over who was found with one too many glasses of salt-rimmed wine.

"Let them see," Ashley speaks softly as she trails her delicate fingers down the sleek contours of his muscular form, asserting possessively, "I want everyone to know that you're mine." She pulls him closer and once again locks her lips against his.

And with one erratic swing, you aren't just sad anymore. You are angry as well. It is sickening to see the affection between her and this man who has so easily captured your heart with his stunning azure eyes, smooth tawny hair that seems effortlessly tousled, and his dazzling smile that makes you weak in the knees.

Pain pounds against your chest as you realize how easy it is for you to imagine yourself in Leyla's place. Your thoughts wander to a fantasy where his long, slender fingers are tangled in your own hair as he touches you with practiced expertise, knowing exactly where you crave his touch the most. He would lean in, planting kisses on areas you didn't even realize needed attention, the pool of desire widening through your body, drowning you both whole.

As you storm back through the room from where you emerged, still trembling with anger coursing through you, the only sound that seems to mock your pain is the relentless echo of their muted kisses.

<><><><>

As Ashley wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, he can't help but suppress a gag reflex and force a bright smile onto his face. His body tenses as he scans the bustling room, spotting no one he wishes across the crowd, his deep blue eyes fixed intently on the floor. The sight of his defeated expression fills him with a sense of disgust that's hard to shake off.

He notices your eyes dragging across his body, leaving him flushed when you look elsewhere. But the girl at his side assumes it's her doing. 

Being led into the hallways by Ashley, she suddenly pushes him against the cool tiled wall. Her cold fingers trail slowly along the skin of his exposed arms while he offers no resistance. Instead, he reaches out to bury his fingers in her thick, flaxen hair, the strands feeling like delicate spider silk. As their bodies press together, he can't keep his gaze from wandering toward her enticingly exposed thighs.

Kissing her is like experiencing something that he never knew he was going to. He isn’t sure whether or not he likes it, whether or not he finds it pleasing.

But as all men do, he expects to be overwhelmed by seductive desire as he tugs on her soft hair and melts further into her. He’s always felt that their only interactions are either at such social gatherings or the results of his mother’s malicious manipulation; sending him storming down the kingdom roads, only to find respite in Ashley’s comforting embrace. Whenever he lands in her arms, his troubles seem to transfer themselves into the air of his muffled sobs into the ruffles of her dress.

This time, though, something feels different.

Opening his eyes as they remain locked in their intimate position, he can't help but notice the complete absence of emotion in her distant gaze - a void that mirrors his own feelings at that moment. The once alluring smile has vanished from her face as she tilts her head to one side, letting her dress slip seductively off her shoulder without bothering to adjust it.

With nonchalance in her voice, Ashley asks him, "What's wrong?" Unable to find any words to respond, all he can do is focus on her hollowed cheeks. Suddenly finding her much less attractive than before, he fights the urge to pull away. Desperately trying to forget his unease, he presses his right hand deeper into her hair while allowing his left hand to hang limp at his side.

However, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the vision of you cradled in his arms, hair weaving seamlessly through his fingers and eyes wide with innocence.

Had you been completely oblivious to what had happened mere minutes ago? The thought makes him smile faintly, which Ashley misinterprets as a signal of his enjoyment. Responding to that cue, she sensually guides his other hand onto her inner thigh, fixing him with a lustful gaze.

The sensation is overwhelming as every fiber of his being screams desperately for him to let go of Leyla, push her away, to reject her advances altogether. Panic rises within him like thick toxic smoke as she begins unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his vulnerable skin to the cold midnight air.

Suddenly, it strikes him that they are standing in the middle of nowhere, everywhere and existing in the plane of blank space all at one, his arm firmly pressed over her head, effectively trapping her against the row of cold metal lockers. The strands of her luscious caramel hair seem to capture the ethereal glow of the moonlight seeping in through the windows. Her plump lips, glistening with a layer of moisture, remain slightly parted and poised just inches away from his, patiently waiting for another taste.

And he’s always found her attractive, perhaps even more so than the other women who fall at his doorstep, with their silly, useless, profuse apologies that fall from their thin lips, with their meaningless gifts that end up stored in a closet somewhere in the castle.

But now, he struggles to find his voice, something that’s never happened with her. "I-I..." Something clicks inside his mind, and as if emerging from a trance, he swiftly pulls away from her. 

Leon’s eyes widen with confusion and shock as he tries to comprehend what has just happened. Leyla's expression is nothing like his own, fully aware of what is unfolding between them. She tugs at her dress to reposition it and then meets his gaze with a fierce glare.

“Bored already?” she asks quietly.

Leon cares, he truly does. However, he suspects that it has always been this way. The brief solace that she provides him whenever he’s fled from the thin definition of home that he has held close to his heart has always been the string connecting them.

And he’s just severed it.

<><><><>

The bird flutters back to you, after the moon and sun have exchanged greetings and said their farewells twice now, and you find yourself sighing in remorse.

“Did you know, little bird, that there is a boy?” You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as amusement tints your expression. “No, not boy. He is a man now, yet I will always see him as the little boy who offered me lunch every day, back when we were all the same to each other.

“I will not tell you his name, for I fear you will utter a curse upon him to the gods, and then where would I be? More or less heartbroken, because if he is gone, no one else may love him.”

The bird stares back at you, beady eyes seeming to narrow in concern. You might as well entertain yourself with the idea he understands you, at least for the few hours you have before yet another gala your mother has requested your presence at.

Surprisingly enough, the woman in question waits quietly as you stroll back inside, shooing the bird from your balcony, wishing for it to not be burdened with your troubles. 

There’s a sheen of fabric splayed out on your neat bedsheets. There is a sense of guilt that hangs between you two, but you suppose, just for her pleasure, you could do this one small thing.

And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like the dress.

It fits perfectly. Waves of satin and gold shimmering together, like polished fish swimming in a clear ocean. They had arranged your hair in curls that fell over your shoulders and cascaded down your back like a waterfall. It felt prim and proper in a way that you had never experienced before - the feeling itself sent electric shivers running through your body. Perhaps you can treat yourself, just this once.

The looks are infinitely more worth it, especially when your presence renders even Leon speechless. You notice, with a small, smug smile, that Ashley is nowhere to be seen. You wonder what’s become of her. Perhaps her parents finally found the inevitable love child.

“You certainly know how to command a room,” he remarks, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you reply, your tone light yet teasing.

“Everywhere?” he suggests, voice dropping low as he shifts his weight to stand closer to you. If last night’s events had not transpired, you might’ve allowed it. But all you can think of is her skin under his, not yours, and suddenly you realize that must be such a normal occurrence.

“Watch your tongue,” you hiss, stepping back. With a small, knowing smile, you tilt your head slightly, a silent message that you are not easily swayed by mere words or charm. 

You hold your power, in your quick tongue, holding your ground, even as Leon’s face contorts with confusion, with hurt.

“Whatever happened to the curse of gods,” he mutters. 

“Are you referencing the required reading from the passage?” you drone. 

“Yes, no. Of course. That is what I meant.” He clears his throat yet his eyes cloud with an emotion you cannot identify. He glances past you, gives a little wave, dipping his head respectfully to you before stalking past.

You wait a moment, perhaps two, before twisting over your shoulder. He is standing alone at the wine table, cupping a glass carefully between his fingers, as if pondering the ripples that his lips send out through the crimson liquid.

You hope it will slip, staining the white of his linen shirt.

Perhaps that will show him your agony, how your heart had turned inside out and painted your chest red when he kissed her and not you, hidden in that hallway.

<><><><>

Bloody and broken is how the bird arrives, that same night, as you sigh your troubles away into a plate of cucumber, sprinkled with chili flakes you had stolen from the kitchen. It chirps in sorrow, pecking at the fabric of your dress.

You pull away, raising an eyebrow before finally noticing the red dripping down its wiry legs, pooling in small beads around the talons that scratch the concrete. When you reach to cup the feathery, suffering animal between your hands, the dust stirs and floats down to the dying snow.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo, ushering yourself back into your room. Where your mother has hidden the aid kits, you do not know, so you wrap its damaged wing in some gauze you find underneath the sink.

There doesn’t seem to be an infection, but perhaps you should call Duchess Chambers, plan for her expertise. But the moon has already swam up to its high perch in the sky, and you know she will be tending to the late night patients.

And, of course, when you wake, the bird is gone. Only the crimson splatters on your desk remain, staining the letter that had arrived the evening before.

Blood so perfectly covers the name of the man you are set to wed in a few weeks.

<><><><>

"What happened there?" you inquire casually. His gaze follows yours, and he prods at the bandage covering his right hand with a wince.

"I participated in a fight," he admits with a hint of amusement. Your eyes widen in horror, darting around to confirm no one else has arrived in the abandoned hallway where you once sought solace, now only fear.

"T-The peasants?" you stutter, taking a step back. He could be joking, yes, yet he seems unworried and advances toward you.

"No," he muses. "I… engaged in combat with a tree."

You pause. “A… tree?”

He nods solemnly, as if the problem was truly within his supposed ‘opponent’. “You need not inform me. I already know.”

You scoff, unable to stop the sarcastic response that climbs up your throat. “Of course you would fight with a tree. Who has upset you now, your mistress?”

He cocks his head to the side, confusion swimming in his distressed eyes, echoing, “My mistress?”

“Baroness Graham,” you seethe. “Do not fret, I suppose everyone has seen your bond.”

“We aren’t…” Leon flushes, staring back down, eyes glued to the carpet. “That has never been the case.”

“Perhaps look at your surroundings next time you exchange intimacy in a public area,” you mumble. “Just about anyone may have caught you both.”

If it were possible, you are sure he would’ve turned an even deeper shade of red, matching the burgundy curtains. You rub the bridge of your nose and turn away, unable to watch his flustered, regularly smart mouth open and shut.

“I even thought of courting you,” you say, slightly bemused. “That was how enamored I was with the idea of being yours. Of you being mine.”

This statement seems to spark something in him, because he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, but there is nothing gentle about the way he whirls you around, forcing you to face him. You are mere inches from the wall, you think, and if he chose to corner you, your only option would be to throw your punches. Which hand, now, was the question.

“And why do you think I stopped?” he replies with just as much exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before glaring down at you.

“Because I will always be a lesser priority to you.”

“You must be missing some pieces,” he grumbles. “Because never once in my life have I ever thought of you less than me.”

“Less than Ashley?”

“Never.”

“Then why did you stop pursuing her?”

“Because you told me!” he seethes. “Yes, I heard everything you said about me. Perhaps find better confidants than woodland creatures.”

His words leave you with broken sentences clumping in your mouth, your tongue feeling awkward and clumsy as you stammer, “T-The bird… you?”

“The bastard child of a nymph,” he admits with a dry chuckle. “Yet I will say that nothing you said was untrue, and that you are more glorious than a morning blossom. Still interested?”

“You… oh… dear.” You flush. “Your lineage matters… not to me.”

He arches a curious eyebrow, eyes glinting. “Our heirs will be of the forest. Does it bother you that your trusted little bird is truly me?”

A small part of you must’ve suspected this from the day in the gala, where he had alluded to your conversation, but it was a silly thought, no? A noble, a figure of society, a fluttering little thing that chose, of all maidens, to spend time with you?

You rest a hand on his chest, gazing up at him. 

“I would not have it any other way, little bird.”

<><><><>

It was your secret, meant to be between you. But the walls have ears, and behind the shades of violet and maroon are listeners, people waiting to break apart what must be the only good thing that’s ever happened to you.

His face is ashen, cheeks hollow when you finally gain the courage to visit him in the dungeons below the castle. You do not understand the cause for his punishment. Who is he harming if he is but two souls in two bodies, one of which is meant for your realm and the other, a wild, free spirit?

“My dear,” he rasps when you approach, clutching the bars like a madman. You stare blankly into his crazed eyes, unable to find the man you once loved.

It has not even been a full month, you remember. You were to be wed, to love one another for eternity, however his lifeline works. You had assumed he would die to join you in the haven past the clouds.

“Leon?” you whisper. 

“It is me, truly,” he chokes out. “Please, tell them.”

Your mother is standing beside you, touching your arm with those soft, slender fingers that always had the strange power to make you submit to her will. Perhaps she is also a creature of the woods, perhaps that is how she has managed to fancy all the eligible suitors even at her age.

But whatever she has done, she will always be your mother.

“Tell them what, Leon?” you ask softly. “Your kind has obviously caused us some harm, lest you be in this troubled, pitious situation.”

He looks up at you, confused, fingers slipping from their hold on the iron to reach out for you. As if on instinct, you and your mother step back, her face contorting in disgust.

“Do you see what happens if you keep secrets, dear?” she whispers, voice toxic in your ears. In some sick way, you realize that she must’ve manipulated some part of the puzzle, because how are you free from the consequences that both of you should be suffering?

“I have done no such thing,” Leon says, voice low since that seems to be all he can manage. In his disarray, in his mangled state, you find yourself unable to take any of his reasoning to heart.

“Pray tell,” you say quietly. “Is Baroness Graham also one of your kind?”

He draws back as if you have pinched him. “No. I thought my lineage did not matter to you.”

Your mother scoffs, cutting back in. “Lineage is everything, you deceiving traitor. You know that magic is forbidden in our kingdom, yet you sought to take my dear child away.”

What surprises you the most is that Leon offers no response. He purses his lips in a straight line and looks back down at his feet. You feel your own tremble.

“Is it true?”

“Would you have trusted a wolf at your door?” he mumbles. “I could’ve taken you at any moment, yet I resisted. I presented myself as the being you wished to be.”

“The beast admits to it, fooling you,” your mother seethes, and without another word, she turns and marches away.

"Mother, please," you cry, hurrying after her into the widening dusk. She stalks ahead, shoulders set in stony resolve.

You glance back at his silhouette, limned by flickering torchlight, and your heart strains near to breaking. But family has always come first. With a grimace, you tear your gaze away and redouble your pace to catch your mother.

"Why must you shun all who are different?" you ask as you fall into step beside her. "Leon has shown me only kindness." 

She cuts you a sharp look. "Do not be deceived. His motives are not as pure as they seem."

"And yet I went out of my way to save him," you insist. "He owes me his life - does that mean nothing?"

Your mother's eyes flash with some inner fire. "You should’ve let him die! You know not what evils his kind are capable of." 

Her strides lengthen, as if to outpace the doubts you sow. You match her pace, heartache weighing your every footfall. "Please, I beg you to give him a chance. Is peace not worth the risk?”

“You still do not understand,” she says, voice eerily calm.

“Then explain it!” You scuff the ground, stopping in your tracks. Your mother is not easily swayed, but her cloak billows around her, making her seem more intimidating than you know she is. “Explain why you hate such creatures-”

She raises a hand to silence you.

You do not foresee the tears that well in her eyes.

Her voice is broken.

Shattered glass once again pricks at your heart.

“Would you love a beast that has your father’s blood on his hands?"

[pxgeturner]

kiss it better - t.m riddle

prequel to “milkshakes & confessions” told through mainly his pov

an. all of my tom writing takes has the golden trio cast in modern day. i like his era friends like rebastan, abraxas, rosier. i just don’t know enough about them to write in that era. And also it just easier to write them in a modern setting as i can sprinkle in some modern muggle things. also i’m kind of tired of tom calling hufflepuff r “badger” in so many fics, so she has a much cuter animal nickname. also.

warnings: tommi is down horrendously for r. also theo is an asshole in this.

m.list

he sits a row behind her, next to his friends, listening to her giggle at something her lab partner said. He thinks they’re roommates.

theo leans toward him, whispering, “y’know, riddle, i was walking through the halls yesterday, and that one fell and scraped her hand,”— theo gestures first to the partner, then her— “and she takes her friend’s hand, kisses it fucking better. like a pathetic child.”

tom tilts his head. “hm.”

she leans forward, presumably to note one of professor snape’s remarks, tom isn't sure. he hasn’t paid attention in weeks since he read ahead in the textbook.

“you shouldn’t be so rude, she’s a nice girl.” pansy shoves theo’s shoulder.

“she’s a hufflepuff.”

“so?”

“she’s probably making chocolates or writing secret admirer letters for tomorrow.”

“no she’s not. she’s going to be studying divination tomorrow in the library. she asked me if I wanted to but blaise is taking me on a date.”

“why would she ask you to study with her?” theo scoffs.

“because i’m her friend you idiot. where do you think i’ve been eating my lunch?”

“you’ve gone completely mental.”

“that’s you, you absolute wanker.”

tom sees a hufflepuff who hangs around her quite often. he watches them. soon she approaches them, embracing excitedly in a hug. she squeals unnecessarily. she does it cutely.

“your friend is over there,” he says to pansy.

as pansy looks over, the cute hufflepuff girl notices the group of slytherins and rushes over. “hey, pans!”

“hey.”

“guess what?” “what?”

“professor sprout gave me extra credit on my paper! she was very impressed that i knew about the roots of the bone thistle plant because it wasn’t something that we studied.” her eyes are bright with excitement and her hands dance around as she talks. sometimes her ‘r’s come out a bit too soft and sound like ‘w’s. she smiles widely and it shows her lovely crooked teeth. the sheer nail polish she put on last week is chipping and fading at the tips. she’s wearing her favorite lipgloss and shoes. they’re the ones she wears most often. the lipgloss is red and the shoes are platform mary janes. he likes red lips and mary janes. he likes girls that have lisps and imperfectly lovely teeth. he likes girls who fidget and have chipped nail polish. he likes girls who do all those things and are her.

by the time tom tunes back in, the subject has changed.

“you should have tom study with you. he doesn’t understand the arcana.”

she turns to tom. “i’ll be in the library tomorrow evening studying for the quiz on monday. you should definitely join if you need any help. if you do come, you should bring the deck you borrowed from professor trelawney.”

tom hopes she can’t hear his heart beating, and nods. she says something more to pansy. he leaves, theo follows.

“oh my fucking god. oh my fucking god, pansy, i hate you.” she giggles.

“all of you slytherins are preying on my downfall.” she glares at pansy, enzo, blaise, and draco.

“we’re trying to help,” blaise snickers.

“by having me make a fool of myself!”

mattheo passes by, and then backtracks. he moves around the sucker in his mouth and chuckles. “this is absolutely rich.” he turns back around, “i’m gonna go talk with my brother.” that didn’t make her feel any better.

...

it’s so romantic to spend valentine’s night hunched over a desk with a tarot deck, pendulum, and a mug of now-mostly-cold tea. of course a notebook is part of the party too. she checks the clock and the surroundings compulsively, worried that tom might not show, but she has no idea what she would do if he did. it got excessive, so she forced herself to stop.

tom finally makes it to the library. he sees her at the table, her supplies sprawled out in front of her. he approaches the table, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. she doesn’t look up, which is fine; tom has plenty of patience. he watches her flip a card and write something into the notebook, and flip another, write something else, periodically sipping from her mug, for five minutes. as she’s about to flip over another card, he uses two fingers to tap the table twice. she yelps, the card leaving her hand and flicking him in the chest. her eyes are wide, and bright, like a bunny.

“hi,” she whispers.

he returns the card. “i’m sorry for being late. a first year needed homework help.” he doesn’t really like lying this time.

“that’s all right! i’m glad you could make it.”

tom nods.

“what kind of things were you hoping to cover?”

“i don’t quite understand why we must take such a useless class. it’s not even magic.”she looks at the table, suddenly interested in her pendulum.

“something wrong?” he wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction.

“i’m, uh, planning on studying divination in university.” oh. “but i know it’s an acquired taste, no biggie.”

“i didn’t mean to offend you. i suppose i should try to understand it. for the class at least.”

“i think i could help with it. who knows, you might like it.”

tom gives a small smile.

“all right, so in a tarot deck there are five arcana.”

“suits.”

“yeah. there’s the four minor arcana: wands, pentacles, swords, cups. the major arcana are the unique cards, like the empress, magician, devil."

he nods.

...

as the two of them are packing up, her bag’s zipper gets stuck. shepulls at it, trying to unstuck it.

“move.” he’s right behind her. she can feel his shirt rub against hers. she slides to the left to give him room. his long fingers manipulate the back of the zipper, quickly freeing the zipper from its thread prison and zipping the bag up the rest of the way.

“pfft, that’s so obvious, why didn’t i think of that? i swear i can be so dumb.” she takes the bag as he offers it back to her.

“you’re not dumb,” he says. “you’re one of the smartest girls in your year.” if she didn’t have such a brain-melting crush on him, she’d laugh. “but you’re definitely the prettiest.”

her cheeks are hot and she doesn’t know what to do. “wow, thanks.” she wants to slap herself.

“there’s a café in hogsmeade that is still open, do you want to go get a drink?”

he just asked me on a date. it is a date, right? “won’t we get in trouble for being out past curfew? pretty much everyone is back already.”

he leans in close to her, fixing a strand of her hair. “relax, you’re with a prefect. nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“let me drop off my bag first?”

...

the two of them talk about everything-- and nothing-- all at once. he pays; she tells him he shouldn’t’ve. he says, “don’t worry, bunny,” which makes her blush once again. once the order is ready, he is the one who goes to pick it up. when he gets back he places a brown pastry bag on the table with her drink. he sees her eyeing the lemon poppyseed scone. she tells him he shouldn’t have, and he says it wasn’t a problem. she insists they share the pastry.

she talks about her family, he tells her about his. the two of them share stories of his brother being a distraction. both of them recommend books to the other. her hands keep brushing against each other as they pick off pieces of the scone. tom orders another. the barista makes a last call for drinks, and he orders her a decaf lavender latte, because he can’t have his girl sleepless, now, can he? she stays until closing, not wanting to leave the bubble she’s created here, with this sweet boy.

before they head out into the frosted air, he zips up her jacket. as they walk back to the castle, he holds her steady. going uphill, the two of them reach a particularly slippery stretch of sidewalk that wasn’t slick on the way over.

“if i fall, you’re buying me dinner as compensation,” she tries to joke. she feels like she’s two seconds from being flat on her face, but tom isn’t wavering at all.

“oh, of course, and i’ll kiss any bruises better as a bonus.” that makes her quiet real quick.

she survives the hill, slightly disappointed that she didn’t slip. once they’re back in the castle, he even walks her to the hufflepuff dorms. “i’ll see you tomorrow, bunny,” he whispers in her ear. he takes note of the smell of the shampoo she uses.

he returns to his dorm, and theo is still awake. he’s at his desk, finishing an assignment. “you studied divination with her,” theo states.

“yes.” tom starts to change into something more comfortable.

“you took her on a date.” “yes.”

“do you think you could love her?” “yes.”

“i knew it.”

“how?”

“you stare at her. not like how you stare at other people. your expression is fairly neutral, to be fair. but you look slightly peaceful.”

tom makes a soft hum. “then why do you hate her so?"

"i don't"

“you don’t?”

“i wanted to get a reaction out of you, you golem of a man.” tom hums again.

“goodnight, nott.”

“goodnight, riddle.”

as tom is about to turn out his lamp, theo speaks once more. “don’t break her heart, tom. she’s a nice girl.”

and while tom doesn’t answer, he thinks about how he’d try his hardest to never make those beautiful eyes shine with tears.

[tmntxthings]

一∑ All For You・゜・。

author’s note: nice song, idk how I got the yandere vibes, but here we are, also it’s late soooo unedited and prolly horrendous >.<

warnings: yandere!donnie, toxic relationship, gaslighting, lies, manipulation, controlling, cursing

song: “ Feather by Sabrina Carpenter ”

—————————————————————————

Donatello didn’t feel any remorse as he hacked into your phone.

You obviously needed help.

You couldn’t do this yourself.

So he took it upon himself to help you out with this one.

It was honestly torture to watch you with your toxic partner.

And he was past the point of caring about the repercussions you may force upon him.

Donnie was actually pretty sure you would be grateful. This favor he was about to do for you.

It was too easy to get into your phone. Donnie sat in his swivel chair, music playing around him as he dabbled with the keys on his keyboard.

After he had cornered his resolve it was only a matter of time. He knew most of your passwords and while he could’ve just stolen your phone to do this… he didn’t want to chance it.

Donnie wouldn’t just block this asshole. No no. He was going to eradicate this fool from your phone. Wipe it clean of your partner's existence. There would be no way they could reach you and if they tried instead it would alert Donnie.

You were unhappy with your current situation. You came to the lair moping, and in a depressive state due to this punk! And it seemed every time you did go through with breaking up, it would last only a couple of hours before this irritating charmer found their way back into your life. Back as your partner.

Well Donnie had enough. And he was positive you felt the same way. You just needed his help. Needed him to take control and save you. Make all the hard decisions so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty.

Gladly! He would gladly do all these things and more to get you back into a happier state. And you would see! Once you got over the fact that he intruded into your space, and completely blocked someone out of your life… all that was missing was the irl part.

Donnie didn’t know if he was ready to commit murder on your behalf yet. So this would have to do for now.

It had worked too. Initially you had wondered why they weren’t responding to you, messaging or calling you. But as the days went by you were brighter, lighter.

And Donnie had to keep it together to not verbally ask for a gracious thank you. No, this was enough. Just seeing you smile. Yeah. A feather is what you became. You floated into his lab, giggling about some comedy movie you had just finished. Asking him about his latest and greatest.

Now usually Donnie was very attentive to you. Especially when you came in his space. He had to make sure you didn’t accidentally light something on fire or god forbid press a button that should probably have a fingerprint approval on it.

So yeah, he was halfway listening to you. His headphones buzzing from a tune, typing something on his monitor when he got a blip of a notification. One that you clocked in on.

“Who’s that??”

And like a cat he jumped in his seat. Realizing it was a message from your asshole of a partner. He was trying to close out his screens and his fingers flew to cover up his mistake. But the world was against him as your head leaned past his shoulder, scrutinizing the screen as he missed the escape button a trillion times.

“Fucking Asshole?”

You questioned and as you read the message. No the loads of messages that had gone between Donnie and well..your soon to be ex! You took a sharp intake of breath.

“Donnie what the fuck is this??”

He cringed. Finally closing, it made a resound click. “Before I admit to my crimes I’d like to point out how happy you’ve been these past couple of days! Just think, you could be this way all the tim—“

“Donnie!!” You yelled, staring him down now.

He pulled down his headset. “Really Y/n you’re overreacting right now. All I’ve done is block them permanently off your phone and rerouted everything they send to me instead.” He listed all of this off nonchalantly. It was all totally cool. It was chill! It was fineeee!

You just continued to stare, though your eyes had widened incrementally as you assessed the bigger picture. “And you’re responding to them??”

“Ahh well.. I couldn’t help myself. I told myself I wouldn’t but.. pretending to be you and slowly breaking their resolve was just too fun to miss out on! Pretty sure they're gonna break up with you soon!” Donnie tacked on the last sentence as a bonus! A super positive plus that surely you were happy about.

“Donnie this is fucked up. You can’t just do that! You can’t just, UGH! I can’t even right now Dee. I’m leaving.”

You were bolting. And Donnie wondered if he should follow. He swiveled. Once. Twice. Fuck it he was going after you! To explain better.

“Y/n! Wait!” He called out, jumping from his chair and pressing on his wrist tech to call for a battle shell. It shot out from the charging station and latched onto his softshell. Once in place he went in jetpack mode, flying through the sewer and assessing you had already made it topside.

You were steps from walking out onto the sidewalk and into the flow of commuters. That was before his hands found your waist, gripping tightly as he picked your weight up off the ground and he shot into the air.

You screamed, flailing before deciding you didn’t want to fall and clung to him instead. Now you were cursing as he slowed down to land on an empty rooftop.

“You’re no better than them! Doing all of this by yourself! Doing things I never asked for and don’t want!” You hollered, getting heated even though you were still trying to catch your breath. Wind whipped past the both of you, leaving trails of goosebumps on you.

Donnie let you get it all off your chest. And by the end of your rant, “now get me off this roof and leave me the hell alone!” You wanted away. Still trying to run. Well now you had nowhere to go unless you wanted to fall six floors down.

“I think if you just took a moment to look past what I’ve done you’ll see I only did it for you! And it’s benefitted you so far! Why do you want to go through that cycle of breakups again? When I could just take care of this problem for you!”

This all sounded reasonable to Donatello. Nice even. “I know it may look bad to you Donnie, but I really do like them. Despite our ups and downs.”

“More downs than ups..” Donnie muttered. Rolling his eyes at the word you used ‘like’. Whatever. There was no way you liked them. Why were you over all the time then? Why not hang out with them? And brimming with excitement too whenever you hung around? When you did come over after a date with your partner you were never that happy!

“I’m serious Donnie, fix what you did or else this will be the last you see of me.”

What?!

You were threatening him now?? After all he had done? His eyes darkened. A sneer appearing on his face as he stalked forward, “Really now? Where you gonna go Y/n?” Donnie looked out at the empty rooftop. No door, no staircase/fire escape. You took in your surroundings too. Your mouth going into a grim line.

“I’ll call the police. I’ll call your brothers!” Again with the threats!

Donnie expanded his tech bo. And while you jumped back thinking he was about to attack, he just leaned over it, bored to bits already. “Go ahead, try calling up a hero. We’ve got all the time in the world up here for you to understand my side of things.”

You didn’t know why every call you tried failed. Well that was until you looked up to see Donnie canceling it on his end. On his wrist tech. He shot you a swarmy wink when he caught you staring. Fuming. You’d see his point of view soon.

—————————————————————————

below are answered anon asks from this post:

thoughts on ‘jumping’

thoughts on ‘pretending’

thoughts on ‘layers’

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

The Jealous One pt 10

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 4,344

You really don’t know how to make bread. Hiccup doesn't know how, either.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited

<Previous - Next>

Oh hel.

You stared down at the crumpled and half-covered plants by your feet sitting just at the base of a sheer rock wall, grimacing deeply at the wilted stems and leaves. Not a single sprout looked at all viable.

You bemoaned the thought that it might have been your fault that they ended up in such a manner- mud fights weren’t exactly conducive to healthy plants, nor were mudslides, which happened on Berk with a higher frequency than you thought they should, and the way it looked, the plants had been picked much too thin to make any kind of recovery- under normal circumstances, they should have been able to avoid any measurable damage- one or two mudballs, especially, but they looked sort of miserable, actually.

You wondered who had been picking them dry.

You sighed, feeling the full force of the sun on your back. You were sure you’d have to take responsibility, though you’d love if not another soul knew about your involvement. You could try and fix it up on your own, but-

You processed the vague sound of crunching mud- and after being so suddenly pulled from your musings, you nearly startled. 

There went that idea.

You looked to your side with wide, uncomfortable eyes to greet another pair of slumped shoulders and startled eyes.

There stood Hiccup in his casual clothes, old green tunic pulled from what was most likely a deep crevasse in the piles of his room’s junk hidden under his work desk and his bed.

“I, ah-” Hiccup started, his voice slightly more nasal than usual, “Had nothing to do with that.”

You grimaced harder, turning fully to face him.

“I think I’ve been- I’ve been picking them dry.” Hiccup said, shuffling to match you, his palm grazing his elbow before coming up to brush the hair on his forehead, running it down the back of his head until it nearly reached his neck,  “My leg- It gets worse when I’m, ah- …”

You glowered at him as he dropped his arm. You hoped your eyes were conveying your displeasure- culprit.

“It’s not exactly… Comfortable.”

He started shuffling and winced. 

 You could see the point at which he considered shifting again but decided better of it.

“You need to add more padding.” You said, brows furrowed evenly.

You knew he already had some padding in his pant leg, sewn to fit his stub, but you’d always thought he might need more in the socket of his prosthetic. You’d never said anything aloud, though- he, like you, could be quite stubborn and blind, especially when he was proud, which he was very often when it came to the things he’d built.

His original prosthetic was made by Gobber, though it was inspired heavily by Hiccup, which was something to be proud of, and Hiccup had had a hand in its care, of course, and had plans to add a few tweaks of his own.

“You think?” Hiccup asked sarcastically, looking at you with a grimace of his own. “I don’t think I’ll be able to carve in enough of a bed to keep any real padding- It’s going to shatter on me the next time I take a knife to it.”

“Yes.” You said, hoping he got blisters.

A brown-haired woman stormed past the porch on which you stood, wooden steps before you, rant wildly, though you could tell she was more impassioned by the wild mood than truly mad, "-I’d rather eat out home than be up at the hall, not with the bread- Have you noticed the difference? Audacious-brazen- the nerve-!”

You looked down at the bowl in your hands, covered by a rough, clean cloth, glowering at the poor excuse for a lump of dough you knew was cradled within it as you stood by the side between two buildings in Berk’s village center, waiting for Thora to return, listening albeit unwillingly to the rabble of the folks surrounding you.

You had been making a lot of bowls of dough recently.

It was unusually cheery out and even more bustling than usual- nearly everyone was out with a smile, though you found you weren’t so interested.

“-Aye, I ‘ave got a nice cutting of wood, if you find any interest– it’s good fer ‘em leg-making- and arm fixin,’ of ‘ourse, if yer fixing to make another, and I’m sure ye’d be needin’ some of ‘at soon.” You watched Johannes proposition Gobber out of the corner of your eye, who was clearly not paying him any attention, waving him off as he sipped out of his ‘cup’ arm- a mug with a handle stuck in it carved in the shape of a peg, easy to fit into his prosthetic’s screw hole.

Across the way, Johannes had a shallow cart of what looked to be just-recently-sanded strips of wood, thin and polite looking. 

You furrowed your brows, wishing you were anywhere but there as he droned on- It was a rare day whenever anyone was unable to sell on Berk -a miracle, really- for Gobber was an easy buyer.

A tall red-headed woman burst past you, storming down the dock, hauling a large cart of barrels behind her like a field animal, “-Streams of cloth-!”

He thought himself wise and clever, but the old blacksmith was perhaps the most susceptible on the island to the advertisement of any decent material. He had a chest full of useless materials, though he often ended up doing at least something with most trinkets.

You shuffled, boot soles scuffing against the wood below, hoping that your dough was enough to land you a job in the Great Hall- they were so picky up there, really, the old maids- though you had to admit your culinary skills were quite poor.

You resisted the urge to rub the back of your head, recounting, ruminating and stewing your most recent run-in with Hoark’s wife. 

She was the resentful type, one of the ones who had been pestering you and Snotlout with chores, not that he hadn’t deserved any of the pestering, but- Oh, you’d surely told her that if they wanted you to do any more you’d have to be paid. She’d respond by tossing a bowl towards your head, scolding you with something about public service and the Chief and dragons. 

You shot something sour back about never having been a Rider- and, well, you’d gotten a bowl to the head for your efforts.

Exhaustion- you were up to your ankles in it.

Your arms worked hard into the pristine wooden counter, pushing and rolling dough over ground grains in the open hall of one of Berk’s newest buildings- you weren’t sure anyone had settled in yet, and that was just as well.

As you’d recently learned, with the lack of a proper kitchen in the Great Hall- it was poor, really, they’d set up shop here for the time being. You wondered when it would finally be declared a community building like the library had been, something which you’d taken a lot of joy in.

It was about time, really, and it was awful nice not to have to ask around for books or notes anymore, though some of them had the tendency to go missing, and without any real book-watcher to keep an eye out, many missing slips went unaccounted for.

You rolled the dough below your hands- dark and grainy- extra hard into the wood, a dark brown, smoother than any other table you’d known, sanded and sealed in a way that made it harder for any dough-bits to get stuck in the cracks and rot-.

You prayed to any God that would listen that Thora would be impressed with it this time- cooking was one of the least indulged-in activities on Berk and was not one you were particularly well-practiced in. It was one of your least favorite activities, in fact, but you needed the job if you were going to buy back the plants before anyone had noticed them missing and kicked up a fuss.

As you’d learned through careful reading, some of them you could only get from Johann and you knew for sure that that old liar played favorites.

It was a shame you couldn’t get coin any other way, but most things had been accounted for and you’d been stoutly refused pay for most of your chores. 

You listened to the voices dancing and mingling from the open window, the wide open space and propped open doorway making you feel quite naked even separated by wooden walls from the outside. 

You nearly scowled as you heard the voice of a woman, a portly blonde -very pretty but also frazzled- and you heard the vague idea of some other voice as hers mingled with something deeper.

You wished you were making stew instead. You could handle an alright stew. Snotlout would like your stew… If you didn’t tell him you were the one who made it.

You cursed the dough for the highest time that day.

Really, You had asked around and now you were starting to suspect that the dough-making test had been a torture that Thora had cooked up just for you.

You wanted to scowl again as you heard the noise of a crowd approaching the doorway once again, though you released it slightly as they bustled past.

You were slightly displeased as a straggler separated from the bunch. You caught him out of the corner of your eye as he stumbled over wood, a pleasant expression over his face as he looked back, the cheering of Gobber now loud and obvious past the door frame, growing quieter as he walked away.

You’d been running into him a lot as of late.

“What’s going on out there?” You asked, before he could speak. “It sounds like everyone’s out throwing a party. It’s not Snoggletog, is it?”

You turned your attention away from the bread

“...Something like that,” Hiccup said dryly. “Pre-festival.”

“Really?” You braced your hands against the edge of the table, the wood below creaking as you leaned over it. 

You stuck your tongue out slightly, furrowing your brows at its sealed surface.

Despite its newness, it was a very poor counter; craftsmen had been, clearly, ignorant in the art of table-leg making, its sides slightly unbalanced and nailed into the floor. Compared to anything else you’d be able to find anywhere, it was probably one of the worst tables ever.

The other islands told you so- or, their trades, really. Berk’s carpenters could  be considered novice in comparison- the exploration of anything other than fighting was... A privilege the inhabitants of Berk had only been recently afforded. 

You wondered how the youngest children on Berk felt, having been able to grow up in a world without dragon fighting.

You’d always wondered as a kid, on war-torn Berk, how the other settlements had even been able to make something so smooth or beautiful. 

The quality of the simple chairs and tables Johann had brought over on the very rare occasion had seemed otherworldly and had been sold fast- to be fair, though, it would probably be much easier for anyone to achieve that same level of quality in craft in any place with fewer conflicts.

You cringed as another loud shout echoed in from the outside, where the sun from the window felt nearly burning against your eyes.

“Here, let me-” Hiccup pressed the house’s shutters closed before going back to close the door, kicking away the stopper with his foot. 

You felt every muscle in your body release as the noise from outside became more muted, looking down at your dough with new eyes.

It looked dark and slightly green, deflated like a sad, dry booger.

…It might have been overworked. You were no expert, though. 

“I’m going to have to make a new batch.” You grumbled.

Hiccup shrugged, coming around the side of the counter, “...It looks fine to me?”

You didn’t even mind as he edged closer, too busy mulling over your failed batch. 

“Are the others nearby?” You asked.  

They hadn’t been around recently, so of course you’d assumed they’d been off doing Rider-ly things with their leader. The suckers had ditched you pretty quickly after the mud fight and you hadn't had the chance to mingle with or chase after and wrestle down the others recently, either, as they’d probably wanted you to do- though you knew they’d wander back eventually. 

“...They’re up at the hall, probably, if you want to meet up with them. They’re managing the decorations, I think.” Hiccup said. 

You hadn’t been around, looking around for work, nagging the Vikings that strayed from the late meal. Berk’s hardest workers always skipped it, staying out way past the setting of the sun- they were usually the ones who needed assistance but were too stubborn to ask for it. They also tended to be fond of their alone time, too disconnected from Berk’s larger circle to absorb any of the most recent news- when you were younger, you’d imagined you might end up like one of them.

“Decorations?” You asked dryly. You wouldn’t put the Twins in front of a yak, much less in charge of any decorating. 

You were sure that hall would look unholy by the time you were able to see it again.

“Yeah,” HIccup said. His hair was slightly mussed and once again darkened, so he must have spent some more time in the forge, then. “You…?”

“Thora,” You grumbled, “She’s got me kneading bread all day, though I have no idea why.“

You turned his words over in your head again, then you perked up with confusion and slight skepticism, “You said something about a pre-festival?”

“Ah, yeah.” Hiccup said before he asked cautiously, “She’s… trying to hire you, isn’t she?” 

“That’s what she told me.” You grumbled, before sighing with defeat, letting your hands drop from the counter and giving way as your shoulders slumped,  “She’s been lying to me, though, hasn’t she?”

You stepped back from the corner and looked up finally, just in time to catch as Hiccup’s eyes darted from your feet back to your face. 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as you begrudgingly took him in, back in his leathers, which looked almost polished, his underclothes darned and hair groomed if not clean, which looked almost unusual compared to his now-usual windswept look.

Though you had been making efforts to keep your mind off of it, then you were startlingly aware of his close proximity, taking careful, quick, unwilling measures of it in your mind, pulling details and etching them into permanent stone tablets and storing them away on dark-toned, foreign shelves. 

You hadn’t had much time to get used to him again after your last real encounter.

The hug you shared- well, it had been, admittedly, private. It was a simple hug, though you loathed to share the experience with anyone else.

Hiccup pursed his lips, which was all you needed to know you’d been right. “She’s been… more focused on other things, so… Yeah.”

You grimaced, glancing away and nearly running a sticky hand over your head, before thinking better of it. 

…Great. You’d been roped into more unpaid labor.

Hiccup looked at you oddly again. 

You recalled something you’d heard earlier, and if he was right, then she was giving out your misshapen bread at the hall- maybe that was why. It was a mystery solved on his end.

You were probably not going to settle for a job at the hall, then, or risk the wrath of any others. You had to say that most of the bread that you tasted  in the hall was poor. Unfortunately, though, you knew yours was worse. 

“I don’t know how to make bread.” You confessed, glaring at the sacks of grains littering the corner of the hut and the sparse few bags slumped against the side of the counter table, melding to where table-leg-wall met wood flooring. “I don’t like making bread.”

You had half a mind to kick the sack, but you knew from experience that your toe would surely be stubbed, so you glared at the sizable boot-shaped indent in its side instead.

“...Does anyone like making bread?” 

You turned your glare towards Hiccup, before reminding him, “Festival.”

You were sure at this point you’d age early, with how often you’d been straining your brows.

“There’s going to be one,” You stated more than asked. 

“I-Ah, yeah.” Hiccup brought up his hand to rub at his chin, furrowing his brows, “I didn’t really- plan it, but, well, I think my Dad-Well, he sent a letter, and Gobber got ahold of it, and someone looked it over- there was something about expecting a warm welcome back, and harvest is soon, so-”

“Really?” You hummed, thinking. 

Unlike your other Viking kin, holidays were few and far between- you had only two, Thorsday Thursday and Snoggletog, though you were sure you’d heard talk of more in the most recent years- wishful thinking, for the most part, but if it was true, and the people had been decided arbitrarily and not that it was time to celebrate, then you were sure there would be tons more to come.

“Right,” Hiccup said, crossing his arms and shrugging. “...Do you need any help?”

You gave him a look that you knew would encompass all of your skepticism at once, something you knew would say, ‘are you serious?’

It was… Maybe a bit too obvious that you did, however, you did have your reservations. Hiccup wasn’t a great cook at all- he could manage a very, very simple meal but you knew he always relied on the Hall’s meals to get by, and he was far from a baker. 

At his responding second shrug you sighed and rolled your head back. Fine.

“C’mere,” You said, shuffling slightly to the side. 

Awkwardly, Hiccup moved right up next to you- he didn’t take the side you’d expected, which startled you some, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle. 

A glance back at Hiccup’s face told you he regretted it too, his expression stiff and his shoulders too, awkward as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“What? So I…” Hiccup reached past you, his arm brushing against yours as he touched the dough. 

It would have been so easy for him to turn the rest of the way and press himself against your back- You sighed nearly shakily, pulling the dough in two, your arms jerking as the tough dough snapped in half. “I wouldn’t know.”

You handed the smaller half to him, then grimaced at it mournfully. “It’s too hard.”

“Is there… What do I do next?” Hiccup asked.

You grimaced. You’d run out of milk and other grains- most of the bags you had left were just oat and wheat. “More water and dough- that is all I’ve got.”

“Hmm,” Hiccup grimaced back. “Where’s the…”

You nudged the sack leaning closest to you with your foot, grains shifting stiffly as your boot made contact with the rough sack. You were careful not to jostle it too hard- though it was mostly limp, leaning against the floor and flat wooden table-wall, you’d cut it open by the top, and you knew one hard knock would be enough to cause whatever was left inside to spill across the floor. 

“The water’s-...” You looked off to the side, craning your neck where, to your left, an array of spoons and bowls lay neatly mounted on one wall, a small, polite bucket of boiled water, nearly empty, sitting below it all, with what you knew was a wooden bowl floating inside, right where you’d left it. “I’ll get the water.”

You let out a short puff of air before walking around Hiccup and going for a bucket. 

You paid no mind to him as you’d bent down and peered into it, where your shallow bowl had flipped upside down somehow and the wood had gone from a dry dark to an even darker, water-soaked, nearly jet-black.

Behind you, Hiccup grunted. 

You heard a small thump and heard what sounded like fabric shifting- he was kneading the dough, then, you assumed- possibly. He was most probably unclean, yet your dough was trash dough anyways, so perhaps it was for the best.

You  grabbed ahold of your bowl with a sigh, flipping it over with your fingers and scooping up a decent measure of water, holding it carefully yet casually in one hand as you stood up and turned back towards Hiccup who had, while you were not paying attention, grabbed ahold of your sack of flour.

Somehow he’d turned it upside down, the flap holding the sack closed slowly unfolding itself, the beginnings of a muffle rushing building, not unlike the sound sand made as it poured out from between your fingers. 

“Wait, I-” You startled, stepping forwards and dropping the bowl, which fell to the ground with a clatter and a splash. 

Before you could reach out in full, Hiccup’s shaking yet tight grip on the sack meant that with all the force of a Nightmare, a pile of flour exploded over both the floor and your dough piece, resting miserably and floppily over the counter.

Your eyes fluttered open with astonishment, the shifting of the skin over your face feeling thicker as you opened your mouth, a heavy cover of flour laying across it. 

You blinked down hurriedly, tugging at your tunic and staring at the heavy layer of nearly edible silt along your front. As it thickened under water- well, it would be the worst trouble to clean.

Besides you, Hiccup coughed, eyes clenched shut, the flour’s sack mostly empty and lying abandoned against new wooden floors- you hope they’d already been sealed. They should have been, but there were a few lazy folk and you knew you’d be feeling standoffish if, well, they hadn’t been. 

You let your arms fall limp as you glared at the large pile over the countertop, a building ticking feeling growing in your throat.

Once he settled, you glanced at Hiccup, a sour look on your face, then you glanced away, stubbornly flicking some flour over towards him with two fingers.

“This is your fault,” You said stubbornly, denying your own clumsy lack of foresight and tossing Hiccup into the spotlight. 

“What- hey,” Hiccup began before you yourself began to cough.

You puffed, and right after a cloud of white and beige grain bloomed into the air and sank with the slowest abandon onto the already thickly covered countertop.

Maybe it was the poor timing, or the comical, nearly hysterical silence which followed, or maybe it was perhaps a sudden reaction and refusal to accept what had happened and to perhaps smother any awkward tension with laughter, but you’d had to clenched your lips shut then, stifling a sudden onslaught of laugher, something choking and joyful-ugly in your throat- sharp as if you’d just seen one of the Twins tipped by a Yak instead of vice versa or you’d heard a Terror spill a bucket of fish over someone else’s yet, and yet this felt much lighter.

In the silence you’d left behind, it was Hiccup who laughed, an awkward, unsure thing, flour splattered across his face like dry dirt. 

You had to snort then, shoulders jerking, a hand coming up to your nose to wipe away the grainy powder there and staying there as the joy wracking your frame grew to be too much, causing you to nearly keel over.

You stumbled forward, almost tripping over onto Hiccup, your bent head knocking into his shoulder, his hands coming to grip your sides as he struggled to stay standing.

“Sor-sorry,” You said, your hands coming to grasp at his upper arms, your fingers curling around them as you lifted your head and smiled at him.

“I-I,” Hiccup started.

You weren’t sure you’d even had a moment with anyone that was so simple and sweet. Not even with Hiccup, when you were younger, snider and sillier.

He didn’t stop like you assumed he would, leaning closer and closer- your eyes were wide, so much so they felt almost watery as he leaned in, noses nearly knocking, blessing you with a stiff press, thin lips meeting yours with simple heat and hard intention.

Oh Hel.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat as he pulled back, your face blank but still reeling from the last press of lips, your hands flat against his arms instead of curled around them.

You were there and not, feeling strongly the heat of Hiccup’s palm nearing your back yet practically soaking in the wooden-ness of your limbs. 

“I-I,” You tried, glancing to the side, then back at Hiccup, scrambling for even a thought, something to say- instead you just leaned closer, his breath curling at your lips, shaking.

“Do you…?” Hiccup tried, his head tilting slightly more to the side as he too leaned again, his eyes falling slightly lidded, mouth hanging slightly open and his lungs beat with heavy breath and heart.

He pulled you close again, nearly flush. 

You pressed back into it with nearly a confused whine, though you were no less invested, tugging him closer to you, the both of you turning smoothly for the single instant you’d both been pressed together before you pulled apart again.

“What…?” Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his sleeves as your head fell to his shoulder, resting in the place where the edge of one leather pauldron dug into your forehead.

You matched his shifting, as his chin rested just barely over your shoulder-ensconced head, the both of you moving in some tight, quiet, easing dance, all stiff limbs and smooth, small movements.

 It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to leave you panting, your face hot enough and your eyes nearly burning as you struggled to come back to yourself.