#i like to believe that hedge can find happiness in his new life

[astrmastr]

one must imagine hedge finds true happiness

(also heres the template for you someone put this in a discord)

[delta-piscium]

Steddie | 1.7k words it is (swedish) midsummer so I wrote this based on my favorite old tradition because I can and will make anything steddie, so like glad midsommar (happy midsummer)

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as he follows Eddie to the hallway where he’s frantically putting on his shoes. 

“I almost forgot,” he mutters under his breath not acknowledging Steve at all.

“Forgot what?” 

“I can’t believe I almost forgot.” 

“Eddie,” Steve says a little louder, more adamant.

He does look up at Steve then and almost looks surprised to see him. As if he’d forgotten he was there, as if they haven’t been hanging out for hours. 

“Oh,” he says. “Uhm,” he squints at Steve who waits for him to continue, to explain. He doesn’t.

“Yes?” Steve implores because he would really like an explanation. Eddie had just abruptly stood up halfway through telling Steve about some folklore he’s using in his new campaign, just cut himself off mid-sentence and walked off. Steve doesn’t think it’s especially weird or demanding of him to have questions. 

“Did you have other plans that you just now remembered?” Steve frowns, starting to feel unsure when Eddie still isn’t saying anything. It’s just past eleven at night and Steve doesn’t know what plans those would be but he had showed up unannounced earlier in the evening so it’s not impossible that Eddie had plans that Steve interrupted. 

“No, no, no,” Eddie assures him finally breaking his silence, “it’s- okay it’s a little silly but I read this thing researching and I want to try it.” 

And well, okay then.

Steve raises his eyebrows and waves his hand gesturing for Eddie to go on. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light pink and he resolutely looks somewhere above Steve’s shoulder instead of at him. 

“Midsummer, which is today, is supposed to be this magical night and there are all these traditions and old myths about it.” 

Eddie glances at Steve and he smiles. Tries to show he’s listening and wants to know whatever thing Eddie read about. 

“And well, okay so there’s this one tradition where you pick seven different kinds of flowers before you go to bed and then put them under your pillow and you’re supposed to dream about who you’re gonna spend your life with.” 

Steve blinks, wasn’t expecting that and doesn’t know what to say about it, so, he blinks again. 

“Maybe it’s dumb, but with all we’ve seen magic and folklore don’t seem so far-fetched and,” he shrugs, “I wanna try. And like, it’s close to midnight and I don’t know if that’s a rule but I don’t wanna risk messing it up.”

“It- huh,” Steve frowns slightly and looks at his shoes then back at Eddie. “Yeah alright, let’s do it. Can’t hurt right?” 

His voice is light, like it’s not a big deal and just a fun thing Eddie read about because that’s what it is, isn’t it? But something about it settles deep in Steve’s gut. Makes it feel important in a way he’s not sure he could explain if he tried. Maybe it’s just the fact that Eddie is getting so worked up about the possibility of dreaming about the person he’s gonna spend his life with when Steve maybe a little bit wishes it would be him, but like, only a little. 

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes like he didn’t expect Steve to want to join, like maybe he expected Steve to make fun of him for wanting to do it. But then something seems to switch in him and a slow smile spreads over his face and he gives Steve an exaggerated once over. 

“Looking to find your true love huh, Harrington?” 

“I thought you said it was the person you spend your life with, not the same as true love necessarily.” Steve quips back because technicalities are easier to argue over than answering that question, especially when Eddie is the one asking.

Eddie shrugs. “Different sources say different things, sometimes it’s true love sometimes it’s who you marry.” 

“Well, then I guess we’re both looking to find our true loves?” Steve hedges, drags Eddie down with him if they’re gonna go there. 

A soft look passes Eddie’s face before a responds, voice quieter. “Guess we are, yeah.” 

They pick their flowers in silence, something about the magic being broken if you speak. Walking around the edge of the woods behind Eddie’s trailer a couple of feet apart, every once in a while coming together or crossing paths. 

After, Steve stands in between Eddie’s trailer and his own car. Holding on to his bouquet of seven flowers unsure what to do. He could go home, he should go home, but he doesn’t want to. He did have some beers hours ago and if he was allowed to speak he’d use that as an excuse to not drive and ask Eddie to crash on his couch. Right now he can’t though so he sighs inwardly and turns to his car. 

He makes it about two steps before a hand reaches out and grips him around his free wrist stopping him. When he turns around Eddie is giving him a look that very clearly says ‘stop being stupid’ and jerks his head towards the trailer silently telling Steve to go with him. He doesn’t let go though and uses his grip on Steve to drag him along like he can’t be sure Steve will actually listen and follow. As if Steve would ever not follow Eddie. 

They quickly get ready for bed. And again when Steve walks toward the couch Eddie grabs him and shakes his head. He waves his arms around a bit like that’s supposed to explain anything but Steve isn’t too bothered about an explanation anyways and easily follows Eddie to his bedroom. 

They’ve shared a bed before but always when they’ve been drunk or high so this feels different. Steve is a little glad they can’t speak or he’s sure he’d blurt out something way too revealing about it all. 

He avoids looking at Eddie as he tucks his flowers in under his pillow, knows Eddie is doing the same next to him. Is aware of it only being an old myth from a region halfway across the world but there’s a weight to it. Something real and tangible. 

He expects it to take a while for him to fall asleep like it always does. For him to twist and turn and lay awake until the early morning. For once though, that doesn’t happen. With the weight of Eddie next to him and to the sounds of his soft breathing and small movements, Steve falls asleep.

And he dreams. He dreams of big brown eyes and bright laughter. Of wild hair and warm arms embracing him. He dreams of growing old next to someone and how every wrinkle on their face tells a story of their shared love. 

He wants to stay in the dream forever, desperately tries to hold onto it even as he floats into consciousness. He turns and groans, gets a mess of someone’s hair in his mouth and nose and that’s enough to startle him into full wakefulness. 

Eddie grumbles next to him, clearly also just waking up. Steve looks at him, with his wild hair and his big brown eyes that are slowly blinking open and of course. Of course, it was Eddie he dreamed about.

Their eyes meet and Eddie freezes. Eyes widening as he looks back at Steve. 

“Oh,” he says. 

And yeah, oh.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, unsure of how to bring it up, to ask about it. If he even should? 

He puts on a teasing smile, even though he feels like goo inside, but making it lighthearted is all he can think of because what if he’s taking this whole thing way too seriously? Jumping to conclusions? 

“Dream of anyone?” 

Eddie nods and looks away, “I did.” He says it simply, voice careful. 

And maybe it isn’t just Steve.

“Who?” He asks, dropping the teasing tone. 

Eddie swallows and looks back at Steve. “The person I wanted to dream of,” he says and it’s not really an answer but he’s looking at Steve so intently he thinks it still might be. 

He thinks about Eddie’s quiet but delighted surprise at Steve wanting to join him yesterday. About Eddie dragging him first into his trailer and then into his bed. How they’re so close on Steve’s side of the bed and Eddie must have drifted towards him in his sleep.

He bites his lip to stop his smile from spreading too wide, there’s still a chance he’s misinterpreting things, “yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And who would that be?” Steve asks, leaning in even closer until he feels Eddie’s small puffs of breath across his face. 

“You,” Eddie whispers but Steve hears it clearly. 

He takes a moment to bask in it, to let it wash over him before he responds.

“That’s good,” Steve tells him eventually and Eddie’s eyes are so wide and open, and so pretty, “because I dreamt of you.” 

He knows it’s cheesy so he doesn’t give Eddie time to respond, just leans in and closes the remaining gap between them. Slots their lips together. Eddie gasps into the kiss, grabs Steve by the hair, and pulls him in. Makes all these cute noises that make Steve want and want and want. 

He shifts, goes to put his leg in between Eddie’s to move on top of him and get a better angle. But he only gets halfway before Eddie grabs his hips and twists them around. Pushes Steve flat on his back and straddles him. 

He grins down at Steve. 

“You think the Scandinavian magic worked or was it just dream psychology and wishful thinking?” 

“Does it matter?” Steve asks, way too earnestly. But like, they’ve just spent this whole time doing some true love magic so he thinks it’s fine, “got what I wanted.” 

“It’s forever though,” Eddie points out, bending down to bite at Steve’s jaw, “if we believe the old Norse people.” 

Steve hears the question there, thinks this might be Eddie’s way of asking what this means to Steve. His way of telling Steve this isn’t just a hookup for him.

“God yeah,” Steve exhales, “I fucking hope so.” 

He feels Eddie smile into his neck and grabs his hair, uses it to pull him back and steer him into another kiss. 

[intothedysphoria]

One thing I love about the harringrove fandom is the agreement both that Steve is dyslexic and Billy is a MASSIVE reader.

Because while Steve’s always been surrounded by teachers or his parents or exes who either believe that he’s incapable of appreciating reading or that he just doesn’t care, Billy thinks that’s bullshit.

Because when Billy gets told to tutor Steve in English, he doesn’t start with a book for toddlers or fucking Shakespeare. They start with Billy reading him Wuthering Heights.

And at first Steve does not fucking get it. He doesn’t understand the plot, the message and especially not the dialect. But he finds himself enjoying it a lot. Billy’s a natural storyteller. He could be on stage.

Billy’s taste in books is both eclectic and weird. He’s reading Finnigan’s Wake for fun. In Irish. He likes Portuguese romance books and German surrealism and a lot of George Orwell. So much so that Steve kind of feels that love rubbing off on him.

He’d used to like reading. Before he was told he was doing it wrong. And even though he despised the books set by Hawkins High with every fibre of his being, there was this fire set in his belly, a want to impress Billy.

So he starts with The Hobbit. Eddie “Freak” Munson’s the only other dyslexic Steve knew and he loved that shit. How hard could it be?

The Hobbit is fucking difficult. It starts with a map, Steve thinks is in Elvish and some of the chapters feel like they go on forever. The words still bounce around the page and switch constantly. He likes it though. It’s weirdly fun as a story and he finds himself rooting for Bilbo.

Henderson can never know. That is the one thing Steve is certain of.

Billy doesn’t laugh when Steve tells him that’s what he’d decided to start with. He just rolls his eyes, not meanly and says he used to read that with his mom. Back in Cali. Before Neil fucked everything up.

Billy reads a lot of Oscar Wilde. The Importance of Being Earnest is constantly tucked into his back, dog eared and well loved. Steve knows enough about Oscar Wilde to know what that indicates.

Billy’s a poof. A faggot. A queer.

Billy is like Steve.

He doesn’t have the courage to look out for anything gay. Nothing even that hints at the matter. Steve knows that his dad has The Iliad tucked away in his office. He’s away on business while his mom sits in the kitchen and complains about America. Even after 15 years in the States, she still misses Poland.

His daring heist after she goes to bed leads to him sitting on the kitchen floor, crying about Achilles and Patroclus. Billy’s right, classics are a fucking bummer.

Steves not as stupid as other people think. He knows that if this were a book, him and Billy are hurtling towards deaths door. Even in real life, he’s seen the guys on tv, worn down to the bone on hospital beds.

Gay does not equal a happy ending.

He resolves to never touch The Iliad again.

Billy comes to their next session with a black eye and his mullet chopped off. They don’t talk about it.

1984 is depressing. And surprisingly apt for how Steve feels that his 1984 has gone. He does feel like he’s constantly being watched. Like being in love is illegal. Like saying anything too far against the government will have consequences.

Steve asks if Billy thinks Orwell wrote 1984 about America or Russia. Billy snorts but doesn’t answer.

That’s the note they end on for the year.

Christmas comes and goes. So does New Year. Two months of not seeing Billy aches in his gut.

Then he comes back.

It’s the middle of February. Billy’s been kicked out for a week. Steves playing nursemaid.

He’s beaten up pretty bad. Still, Billy insists he’s had worse.

Steve hedges around asking why it happened. Like the confirmation might suddenly make the full scope of their plight real.

Still, eventually Steve asks. Billy looks at him like he’s particularly simple.

He’s gay. Obviously Steve. And he actually has the balls to go out there, meet men, dance. Even if it does mean getting caught by Neil.

During his explanation, Steve notices they’ve gotten closer together. Like significantly closer.

They’re grazing hands. Electric.

Then Billy moves.

Billy kisses him and Steve’s world turns into a fucking supernova.

They kiss and it doesn’t make Neil vanish in a puff of smoke, it doesn’t make the shopkeepers who sneer at his mother go away, it doesn’t make Steve magically able to read.

But it does make Steve feel like maybe they’ll survive.

[bewitchingivy]

Pick A Card: Blessings Wait For You in 2023

*plays mixtape#3 by skz* ah, it's so good to hear an old comfort song <3 HI, GUYS! Happy new year! I'm honestly so confident that 2023 has a lot of amazing things for us to offer. In this reading, we'll be uncovering what those blessings are :)

methods used in this reading: intuition, with a little bit of tarot and shufflemancy.

MASTERLIST

࿐ DISCLAIMERS:

Tarot or any forms of divination is not set in stone. It’s not your only future, but a probable one with the current energy you have right now. If a reading doesn’t resonate, simply let it fly away and shift your energy. Because you can change your reality, and you have the undeniable power to do so.

Please keep in mind that my readings are for entertainment, positive, or inspirational purposes only. Please don’t take them as a professional or medical advice. Any actions or decisions taken are your responsibility.

The images I use in my blog are not mine unless I say so. The pictures belong to their respectful owners.

Now choose one or more of these piles!

one;

Hello, dear person who chose pile one! Right away, I can see here that this year you will meet new people who are beneficial for your wellbeing and growth. If you've been manifesting your soul family/tribe, etc, you can expect that you will meet them this year. I don't necessarily do timings, but I feel like the month of May or June may be significant. It can be someone's birth month, or perhaps the month when you'll meet these people. For some of you, this could be a romantic soulmate, if you don't believe in that, then let's just say that this person will be very significant in your life. Another message I'm hearing is that you could meet these people through other friends or an event, gathering, etc. Let's be honest, your relationships this year is gonna improve very much. You could also be travelling this year, or maybe even move places/a different country. For some of you, I'm seeing a tropical country. Beaches can be significant. People, let's be honest, there will always be problems in life, it's inevitable. But this year, for you, the current problems, obstacles, adversities that you're facing right now? You will find ways to fix them, to resolve them this year. Whatever problems you have right now, it's going to be fixed. Like for example, if one's been looking for money to pay off their debt, they're going to find that money. I don't know but it's definitely not just one certain problem, but more like you're overall life this year is going to drastically glow up. Wow, I feel so happy for all of you <33 You deserve it, guys! I just saw 444, you could be seeing that more frequently. You guys may have been through a lot in 2022, but in 2023, you are blessed with courage and strength to move through this year. Yep, the nine of cups literally came up to confirm all that. A lot of success, whatever that means for you, joy, contentment, abundance, and gratitude towards God and the Universe. This is such a lovely reading, oh my gosh, I feel so, so much warmth in me right now. Oh, and if I hadn't mentioned this yet, if you're currently manifesting a romantic relationship right now, then expect that you won't be single anymore this year, heh :) And guys, for some of you, I'm definitely getting a message from one of your spirit guides right now that you need to start letting go of what's no longer serving you right now. I bet you know what it is. They want you to know that you already have what you need inside you, all you need to do is to start acting RIGHT NOW. I'm getting that this spirit guide of yours is someone who has very strong feminine energy. They could be an ancestor or a loved one who passed on. Random channeled signs/messages: airplanes, Damien, trickery, hedge garden, 111, make your way, grounded, a letter from someone. Shufflemancy; Glitch by Taylor Swift, Adore You by Maisie Peters, Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine, Long Live by Taylor Swift, Clouds by Before You Exit.

Thank you for reading and take care of yourselves. Sending much love your way <3 Have a blessed 2023! :)

Any thoughts on this reading? Leave a feedback!

— Ivy

two;

Hello, beautiful people! If you've chosen the second pile, then read away! First thing that I am getting that whatever your manifesting right now, you're going to receive this year. For some of you, whatever seeds you planted last year, it's going to grow this year and you're going to reap the rewards. You have been working hard, and the Universe sees all your efforts even if nobody did, and you will be blessed. I specifically heard the quote, "Work in silence and let your successes be the noise." If you have been doing that since 2022, then people are going to be definitely, like, surprise and in awe of your success this year. They definitely did not see that coming. But if you still haven't yet, the Universe is advising you to do that this year. You don't need anyone to see or know that you are working hard, you don't need to tell anyone what you're working or manifesting, surprise them with the results. For some people, I am seeing that they're going to be married this year (congratulations btw <3), and for some, you may start a loving family. For women and if they want to, I see pregnancy. Oh, and for those who are starting a family, keep in mind that it may not necessarily be with children. It can be starting a family with just you and your partner, and/or a fur friend or any animal companion. That could be a message for some of you who may want to have a pet, you're going to have one this year <3 Another message that I'm getting is that you're going to meet someone who is going to teach valuable knowledge, this could be a teacher or whatever. Oh, okay I get it, I'm hearing that this person is going to help you with your endeavors. That knowledge that they're going to share with you? It's going to be very beneficial for you, it's going to help you acquire new skills, for some of you. This can apply in a spiritual sense too. But I definitely see that this person might be older than you and they're going to offer you something to help you in life. The relationship I'm getting with this person is definitely like a teacher and a student. Rest assured though that these new skills and knowledge that you'll learn this year is going to lead you to much wealth and abundance in the future. I saw 333, that may be a significant sign for you. Random channeled signs/messages:full moon, romance, vintage, fly high, Cruella (2021 film), sphynx cat, take another chance, your love is unconditional, step towards the future, be positive, the wait is over, 555, color green, dove, psychic gifts. Shufflemancy; Matter of Time by Vanessa Carlton, Lost Stars by Adam Levine, Two by Sleeping At Last, Our Song by Taylor Swift, Smile by Valerie June.

Thank you for reading and take care of yourselves. Sending much love your way <3 Have a blessed 2023! :)

Any thoughts on this reading? Leave a feedback!

— Ivy

three;

Hi there, lovely person! Thank you for choosing pile three. Now let's get on with it! I don't know about you, but I'm getting heavy dreamy vibes from you. Like slow and ethereal. Beautiful. Anyways! Wow, every pile here I've read are getting abundance. And you're no exception. The Empress came out, so there's wealth and growth this year for you. Remember that wealth can mean other than money too, there's wealth in health, wisdom, happiness, etc. I'm also hearing that right now that your guides are advising you to be thankful for what you have right now, and you will be given more. One thing that I'm seeing particularly blessed for you this year is your creativity. Whatever you create with that beautiful mind of yours, you're going to create amazing things this year. Your ideas are definitely going to be sooo good. Oh, and if you ever have any ideas that you have for this year, don't shrug them off like they're nothing. The Universe is telling you to go after them. And don't doubt these ideas, because these ideas are going to open opportunities and bring blessings into your life! So keep that in mind, will ya? Don't. You. Dare. Doubt. Them. Omg, there's something so significant about spirituality and psychic abilities here. I'm getting a straightforward message here that your spiritual gifts are going to significantly improve or something like that this year. You're going to learn a lot about it, and there's so much wisdom here coming for you, and that's honestly amazing. Also, I'm getting like the feeling of heaviness here in my throat and heart right now, this could be that your heart and/or throat chakra is blocked right now by something, and you might need to let this certain thing go and heal from it in order for these to open up again. People who chose pile three, I'm not going to lie to you, but by the end of 2023, you're not going to be the same person when you started this year. There's a drastic change I'm seeing for you, mentally and spiritually. But it's all for the better. It's like a mental and spiritual glow up, if that's what you wanna call it. You'll become wiser. Wow, this is such a beautiful energy :') Honestly, hearing this is making me so proud of ya'll <3 Another message I'm getting is that for some of you, especially with what I stated earlier about ideas, it's not going to be easy at the start. But you will go through all of it. But you're going to be happy. I feel like this is going to be related to what you love doing. Oh! That's another message; whatever you love doing, like whatever it is, the Universe is saying to you to keep doing it. Or if you still haven't started doing it, then go do it! Lastly, I'm seeing a lot of change coming for you this year :) Random channeled signs/messages: art; specifically painting, an old tree, snow, countryside, a reptile pet, multitasking, don't doubt your abilities, a girl with short hair smiling at you, in dreams, don't forget to rest. Shufflemancy; Neverland by Zendaya, How Did You Love by Shinedown, Come Back…Be Here by Taylor Swift, I'm Like A Bird by Nelly Furtado, A New Kind of Love by Frou Frou.

Thank you for reading and take care of yourselves. Sending much love your way <3 Have a blessed 2023! :)

Any thoughts on this reading? Leave a feedback!

— Ivy

[rebatom]

I Am Also a Nihilist

”

I

I am an individualist because I am an anarchist; and I am an anarchist because I am a nihilist. But I also understand nihilism in my own way...

I don’t care whether it is Nordic or Oriental, nor whether or not it has a historical, political, practical tradition, or a theoretical, philosophical, spiritual, intellectual one. I call myself a nihilist because I know that nihilism means negation.

Negation of every society, of every cult, of every rule and of every religion. But I don’t yearn for Nirvana, any more than I long for Schopenhauer’s desperate and powerless pessimism, which is a worse thing than the violent renunciation of life itself. Mine is an enthusiastic and dionysian pessimism, like a flame that sets my vital exuberance ablaze, that mocks at any theoretical, scientific or moral prison.

And if I call myself an individualist anarchist, an iconoclast and a nihilist, it is precisely because I believe that in these adjectives there is the highest and most complete expression of my willful and reckless individuality that, like an overflowing river, wants to expand, impetuously sweeping away dikes and hedges, until it crashes into a granite boulder, shattering and breaking up in its turn. I do not renounce life. I exalt and sing it.

II

Anyone who renounces life because he feels that it is nothing but pain and sorrow and doesn’t find in himself the heroic courage to kill himself is - in my opinion - a grotesque poser and a helpless person; just as one is a pitifully inferior being if he believes that the sacred tree of happiness is a twisted plant on all apes will be able to scramble in the more or less near future, and that then the shadow of pain will be driven away by the phosphorescent fireworks of the true Good...

III

Life - for me - is neither good nor bad, neither a theory nor an idea. Life is a reality, and the reality of life is war. For one who is a born warrior, life is a fountain of joy, for others it is only a fountain of humiliation and sorrow. I no longer demand carefree joy from life. It couldn’t give it to me, and I would no longer know what to do with it now that my adolescence is past...

Instead I demand that it give me the perverse joy of battle that gives me the sorrowful spasms of defeat and the voluptuous thrills of victory.

Defeated in the mud or victorious in the sun, I sing life and I love it!

There is no rest for my rebel spirit except in war, just as there is no greater happiness for my vagabond, negating mind than the uninhibited affirmation of my capacity to life and to rejoice. My every defeat serves me only as symphonic prelude to a new victory.

IV

From the day that I came into the light - through a chance coincidence that I don’t care to go into right now - I carried my own Good and my own Bad with me.

Meaning: my joy and my sorrow, still in embryo. Both advanced with me along the road of time. The more intensely I felt joy, the more deeply I understood sorrow. You can’t suppress the one without suppressing the other.

Now I have smashed down the door and revealed the Sphinx’s riddle. Joy and sorrow are only two liquors with which life merrily gets drunk. Therefore, it is not true that life is a squalid and frightening desert where flowers no longer blossom nor vermilion fruits ripen.

And even the mightiest of all sorrows, the one that drives a strong man toward the conscious and tragic shattering of his own individuality, is only a vigorous manifestation of art and beauty.

And it returns again to the universal human current with the dazzling rays of crime that breaks up and sweeps away all the crystallized reality of the circumscribed world of the many in order to rise toward the ultimate ideal flame and disperse in the endless fire of the new.

V

The revolt of the free one against sorrow is only the intimate, passionate desire for a more intense and greater joy. But the greatest joy can only show itself to him in the mirror of the deepest sorrow, merging with it later in a vast barbaric embrace. And from this vast and fruitful embrace the higher smile of the strong one springs, as, in the midst of conflict, he sings the most thundering hymn to life.

A hymn woven from contempt and scorn, from will and might. A hymn that vibrates and throbs in the light of the sun as it shines on tombs, a hymn that revives the nothing and fills it with sound.

VI

Over Socrates’ slave spirit that stoically accepts death and Diogenes’ free spirit that cynically accepts life, rises the triumphal rainbow on which the sacrilegious crusher of new phantoms, the radical destroyer of every moral world, dances. It is the free one who dances on high amidst the magnificent phosphorescence of the sun.

And when huge clouds of gloomy darkness rise from swampy chasms to hinder his view of the light and block his path, he opens the way with shots from his Browning or stops their course with the flame of his domineering fantasy, forcing them to submit as humble slaves at his feet.

But only the one who knows and practices the iconoclastic fury of destruction can possess the joy born of freedom, of that unique freedom fertilized by sorrow. I rise up against the reality of the outer world for the triumph of the reality of my inner world.

I reject society for the triumph of the I. I reject the stability of every rule, every custom, every morality, for the affirmation of every willful instinct, all free emotionality, every passion and every fantasy. I mock at every duty and every right so I can sing free will.

I scorn the future to suffer and enjoy my good and my bad in the present. I despise humanity because it is not my humanity. I hate tyrants and I detest slaves. I don’t want and I don’t grant solidarity, because I am convinced that it is a new chain, and because I believe with Ibsen that the one who is most alone is the strongest one. This is my Nihilism. Life, for me, is nothing but a heroic poem of joy and perversity written with the bleeding hands of sorrow and pain or a tragic dream of art and beauty!”

… Renzo Novatore

[glagger-true]

Howdy dear reader! I'm your host Glagger, and today we have reached the tenth post of my Password medal analysis series. Woohoo!

Before I start this very exciting installment I'd like to remind you that, as usual, this post has SPOILERS FOR THE NOVEL. So please, if you haven't read the novel yet, and don't want to be spoiled, leave for now.

Gemini, the medal of Completion, Unity and Understanding:

Gemini the only medal in game split in two halves, and both of them are found by Tyson on different days. The first is found on day 4 inside the hedge-maze, and the other on the final day of path B, inside the Old Shack in the woods. Only the first half is Tyson exclusive, and the days they are found on make Gemini simultaneously the first and last medal to be found in game before the ending exclusive medals.

In first half's scene, Tyson takes Dave to the place in the maze where he hid the medal after he found it the day before. They have a very domestic back and forth, where their familiarity with the other becomes visible to the reader. Tyson isn't agressive to Dave chastisizing him or almost calling him a dog, and also reassures Dave he would tell him anything if it becomes important. Dave also isn't afraid to ask Tyson personal things or to show worry for the wolf, something that people would usually avoid doing or caring about except to judge him further.

The second half has two variants for the scene, and is found after Dave and Tyson sneak out the old shack without attracting Jack and Dominic's attention.

In non-Tyson routes, Tyson asks Dave directly why he still puts up with him when he's so far of being perfect, to which Dave answers he does so because the wolf is family, and his imperfections are irrelevant because they are just parts of who Tyson is. Dave also says that while he likes not knowing Tyson completely, he also wishes he could understand the wolf better, and that Tyson would just tell him things directly. The scene ends with a heartfelt hug between the two, and the second half is found directly after they escape a few frames of text later.

In Tyson's route, Dave tells Tyson he's happy the wolf's okay, but angry he left like that, saying that Tyson should apologize for endangering his own life and worrying Dave. Tyson apologizes, but says he can't promise he won't do it again, but will try to try for Dave's sake. Tyson then kisses Dave gently, saying it's just in case they don't make it out alive, and the scene ends with them hugging tenderly before escaping and finding the second half.

In astrology, Gemini is categorized as the positive mutable air sign of the zodiac. This sign is the Playful social butterfly of the zodiac wheel, being very quick-witted, objective and direct when communicating with others. They are resourceful and intellectual. Having so many different pursuits, they divided themselves in two to acheive them all. Gemini is known for being very curious, to the point they are always trying to juggle different passions, hobbies, careers and even friend groups sometimes. This sign has a natural duality attached to them that often causes them to be seen as two faced. Ironically however, nothing could be further from the truth, since this sign is one of the most open and honest of the zodiac, rarely having any hidden agendas.

Astrologers believe those born under Gemini's stars are curious, energetic and innovative. They love to guide new projects by changing and transforming them. They are known for being hyperactive and having short attention spans, making it so that they usually don't stick around once they are done with something, and move on to whatever new idea they have as fluidly as possible. They are very disconnected and detached, preferring to ignore feelings and emotions in favor of being analytical, which can sometimes make them look ruthless. Despite that, self-expression is essential to Geminians, to the point that the act of communication is often more important to them than what they actually say with it, leading them to sometimes be crude, abrasive or unthoughtful in their words. This also gives them the very unique strength of being able to recover easily and quickly from embarassing social moments. They put their feet in their mouths so often that they simply don't care and move on from whatever shame that could generate.

Gemini's planetary ruler is Mercury, the representative of communication and movement. Mercury's influence is what causes Gemini to be so expressive and curious, and makes this sign express their emotions externally rather than internally. Gemini needs output, which makes it common for it to communicate with their hands and body language. They need a constant stream of transmission and stimuli, which makes them restless and constantly search for new engagements with people.

In babylonian astronomy, the two brightest stars of Gemini, which they called Castor and Pollux, were seen as two minor gods whose names meant "The one arisen from the underworld" and "The mighty king" respectively. However, both of their names were also titles of one single major god in babylonian mythology, making them two halves of the same being. In Greek myth, Gemini is associated with the mythological Castor and Pollux, a duo of half-brothers who were sons of Leda. Pollux was immortal since Zeus was his father, but Castor had a human father and was mortal. They spent their whole lives together, going on many adventures that became legends, but ultimately ended in tragedy when Castor finally met his demise thanks to his mortality. Desperate and heart-broken, Pollux begs his father to make Castor immortal so he could live with him forever, even offering to share his own immortality with him. Zeus does as Pollux asks, and immortalizes them both in the skies as the Gemini constellation, so that they stay together forever.

Paralleling Gemini to Tyson, we see that he is very cold and analytical when it comes to emotions, oftenly disregarding them when making decisions. He's very blunt, direct and witty during conversations, hardly being caught off guard when interacting with others. When he does like people however, talking and doing it properly becomes essential to him, something visible in his extensive interactions with Hoss and Dave. Despite not being book-smart, he is very resourceful and intelligent with the knowledge he does have, and is eager to learn new things when they interest him, like when he tried to create a bracelet for Dave in his route. He has a very "what you see is what you get" persona, being very open to the point of rudeness about himself, but also having a hidden softer and gentler side that is just as open, but only towards people he feels comfortable with. When emotional, he often expresses these frustrations physically, through his body language and especially his hands, rather than through words.

If we compare Tyson's story with the myths, we can see many similarities between him and Pollux. At the beginning, he is the strong and dependable in the relationship, who's always ready to defend his frailer brother. Dave acts as his Castor, being the one who humbles and supports Tyson by watching his back and trying to keep him out of trouble. They also grew up together and went on many adventures during their teenage years at school, at home and at their family outings, much like the half-brothers they are being paralled with. Dave also ends up dying during the story, causing a heartbroken Tyson to beg him not to die while declaring his love for him. In the final scene of his route on Path B, the way Tyson asks David at the graveyard to let Dave marry him is very reminiscent off how Pollux asks Zeus to let his immortal life be split with Castor so they remain together forever.

The journey Tyson shares with Dave of learning how to properly communicate with the other and express their emotions clearly is also very connected with Gemini's meaning. They both possess traits the other doesn't, and flaws that are balanced by the positive aspects of their partner. They transmit these traits to the other, interchanging their roles and switching them constantly mid-relationship. Dave, despite being selfless and kind, becomes selfish, aggressive and borderline abusive when Tyson is endangered or hurt. Tyson, on the other hand, is usually selfish and distant, but becomes selfless, sensitive and devoted when Dave is involved, acting almost like a saint when he allows his love for the hyena dictate his actions.

Gemini's influence is evident even in their intimacy with one another as well. Their first sexual interaction has Tyson take a more selfish and indulgent approach as Dave enables him by being receptive of his desire. Their second one in path B, however, has Tyson emotionally submit to Dave by replacing his dominance and aggressivity with vulnerability and submission, causing their intimate connection to be a selfless expression of love the second time around. The writing even implies their sexual roles reversed during their second time, which fits perfectly their narrative and Gemini's motif.

In Craig's final thoughts on the medal, he says the medal was either split as a joke, or as a test to see if the proverb about it representing how two people could understand the other so well, and could exist in perfect equilibrium had any stock to it. This is a direct reference to how the first half marked the beginning of their journey for understanding and balance, and the second half only completed the first after they reached the end of that journey and achieved perfect equilibrium with the other, completing the medal's superstition.

Banner was made by Xernok on Discord.

Artworks were made by Xernok and Ghostlink on Discord respectively.

[fanficclub]

Very long post about romance in Shadow and Bone

The romantic relationships with the main character in Shadow and Bone are all somewhat strange. They are always not just relationships, there is some deeper meaning embedded in them. I suppose it’s not that strange for a fantasy story with some talk about destiny, but I disapprove(:

Disclaimer: I only watched the show and haven’t read the books.

In the story, Alina has three main hinted (or not so hinted) love interests: Mal, Aleksander, and Nikolai.

Judging by fanfiction prevalence, most people find the Darkling the most exciting among the three - and I can’t blame them. However, I trust we all know why their relationship is unhealthy and extremely disadvantageous to Alina: he is much older, much more informed, much stronger than her - there is literally noone in the world who could save her from him, if something happens (and it does, many times). This would all be already enough, but in addition, he also believes her to be his divine soulmate, his destiny, regardless of her personhood. She belongs to him, and it just a natural conclusion, it is not a question. To him, she is not a person, she is an idea.

So, of course, a hard no to this one. Regardless of how dreamy he is))

Now, Mal... Mal is a harder question. I don’t like this relationship either, but it’s much harder to find and formulate why. In the show, he is a piece of dry bread - completely plain and watery character, with zero personality traits that would distinguish him from the rest, except his long association with Alina. And that’s really all what they have going for them: their shared childhood. I don’t know if in the book it is shown differently - but in the show, they only seem to cherish their past together. All their considerations of their relationships come back to their past, to how nice was it to be children and to be carefree. One fanfic I read pointed it out very well: they long for each other, because they long for the time before change, before the weight of responsibilities they are forced to carry, and they believe that they can get this feeling, this innocence, back if they stay together. And this is just not. It’s not it.

The whole mess of their relationship has another layer for Alina. It is her powers that start the wheel of change, if not for her, Mal wouldn’t be drawn into the whirlpool. And in the story, I feel like, the narrative works to punish her for straying. She needs power to win, but she can’t want it too much, she has to step up to face the challenges on her way, but she can’t change too much, otherwise, she’ll “stop being herself”. Her relationship with Mal works like this as well: if she leaves him, it will feel like she’s betraying their past. Her virtue hedges on it, her honor. It’s now a moral question, instead of being a personal one. She must choose him, or else accept being corrupted. She must not let herself be distracted by all these new, bright, and interesting people she meets. No, she must persevere, she must not fall to temptation.

It is unfair to expect people to be unchangeable in their feelings, and yet we have to, in this narrative. Otherwise she loses. None of her other friends really have a chance.

How very sick.

It’s not even only romantic - the point is to not allow the changing world to change her. She has to be able to go back to her quiet life after this, she must not get used to the palace, or the pirate ship, she must not get closer and better friends than Mal - she must not change. How unfair.

Of course, noone else fits into this picture - Nikolai included. I root for him, just because I like his character the most, but also because, in the show, he and Alina have the most real and fun interactions. They seem nice together.

And honestly, at this point, it doesn’t even have to be him - I would be already happy if Alina doesn’t end up with anyone by the end, or finds someone new. It would be natural, it would be a change.

So I was very happy, when Mal said "I want us to be together by choice, not by destiny". Very unexpected, and very mature of him! I'm almost proud?) I didn't know that could happen, it's such a divergence from how the books ended. It is not often that a show changes the plot of the source material so much, and I approve of it)) Let them have a normal relationship for once.

[dracharenae]

Viserys feels as though everything is perfect. For once in his life he feels as though nothing can go wrong. This is meant to be. Rhaenys and himself pledging their love for one another, it was simple and pure. Not as the faith would have them believe it be, not a sin, not a monstrous attempt to defile what love meant. His father had done that to Rhaegar. Made him and Elia marry, most of Westeros didn't let their noble children marry whom they loved. If they had, his own parents wouldn't have married at all.

And as he looks at Rhaenys he feels elated. He can wait till his nephew has wed his future Queen. The Prince of Dragonstone can wait to marry his Princess, it is after all under six more moons to wait. Besides it will take that long just to get their marriage plans underway. "Of course, I will" His voice does not tremble, despite the fear he can feel starting to make its way into his mind. The fear that someone somehow will find out their plans or the Septon will rat them out.

"I'll secure the Septon. Your absence will be noted immediately, Rhaenys. I won't be suspicious if I return to Lord over Dragonstone. But the King's daughter…I love you Rhaenys. I will fight for you if I have to best your betrothed in order to marry you should our elopement get found out, I will. You are to be my wife as I am your husband." He tells her in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he slowly drifts back towards the party, leaving the maze. His pale hand trailing away from her less then pale hand, fingertips longing to stay in her hand, his eyes never leaving her as he leaves. That is until he nearly runs face-first into a hedge wall. "Tonight. I promise"

✹   —   THIS IS A DANGEROUS GAME THEY ARE PLAYING. RHAENYS understands this well and true, for the house of the dragon has always been a place of complications and controversy. what they plan to do now shall stir a great deal of it up - and she might have felt guilt in this regard, given how fiercely rhaegar has fought to rectify the name of their house, but she cannot. he means to use her and the whole of the family to place themselves up higher; improve their prospects, yes, but at what cost ? ? ? rhaenys does not intend on being a pawn. little aegon might be content with it by marrying margaery tyrell, but rhaenys is not. for years, she has found herself longing for viserys, even though she knew it was wrong. some things cannot be helped. now she has a chance for her own happiness, rather than the benefit of her father.

it shall not be easy. there will be fallout and scandal when the news eventually becomes known, but rhaenys doesn't care. she shall certainly not be the first targaryen to commit a sin, nor shall she be the last. " i'll tell my father i plan to go with you. he knows how much i miss the cold, open sea at dragonstone, and how i've been desiring to get away from king's landing. he might not draw suspicions immediately, especially in knowing you'd be my escort . . . but it won't take him long to catch on, " rhaenys says with a considerate look on her face.

rhaenys cannot help but to smile widely to his words . . . she allows herself to feel it, permits it to envelop her bones in an embrace. " i love you, vis, " she says, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. her thumb brushes just under his ear. " it won't come to battle, i promise you. my father will be furious when he learns of our marriage, but he can't stop it. if anyone stands between us, they face the wrath of two dragons, and i doubt my father would want that. " she squeezes his fingers in her own. when he near face-plants into said hedge wall, she bites back a snorting laugh, and casts him an amused, little smirk. " tonight. i'll go handle my father and explain how i'd like to leave for dragonstone . . . and you, vis, ought to go pack. "

@notenoughmuses

[judysupremus]

A new WIP

Please accept this very rough piece. I've looked at it for like the last week.

And I want to know what you think!

I've seen this prompts a few times around Tumblr and felt inspired.

Daminette, of course.

******

In Northern France, in the Gardens of Castillon, Marinette breathes in the smells of life and greenery. Every inhalation lifts her spirits higher until she feels like she is floating. It's the deepest part of spring and while the air is light it's also heavy with the scent of flowers.

Adrien had promised her this trip ages ago, when they had been green behind the ears and foolish.

But now they are older and she watches as he slips away from their tiny tour group with his fiance. She has stopped being surprised that it doesn't bother her. Alya, however, will always believe she sees pain in Marinette's face at moments like this.

"C'mon girl. Let's go see what we can find." Alya already has their arms looped together as she turns them in the other direction.

They've visited many of France's famous gardens. Marinette because she loves the abundance of flora and sunshine. Adrien because he can make his friends happy and escape his own busy life. Alya and Nino because of their own misguided need to protect their friends from one another.

Alya has released Marinette's arm in favor of Nino's. The spring sun is high overhead as they walk through one of the more secluded terraces. They'd been informed that there were many hidden spaces and curiosity could be rewarded with pleasant views and quiet benches.

But there was one hidden alcove they had been warned against.

Mid morning had quickly passed into early afternoon as they explore. Alya and Nino have been lured to their own bench of seclusion - leaving Marinette to wander on her own. The garden seemed to do that all on its own. Take them in and lead them all to their very own places of sanctuary.

She glides aimlessly through the lanes and around hedges. Bends to the alluring scent of flowers, brushes leaves and petals.

Marinette feels as if this is her own garden, as if it was planted and curated by herself for herself.

She's found an area that looks slightly more overgrown than the rest, as if it gets overlooked. This end of the terrace looks slightly wild and she's drawn to it. The air suddenly feels stifling and hot and she turns abruptly into the nearest alcove, somehow sensing a bench to rest at.

The secret bower is pleasantly cool and the sunlight filters down through some exotic smelling fruit tree. Marinette has sat for perhaps a minute before she is overcome with the distinct feeling of being watched. The recess is notable empty of all life. It is her and the statue behind her.

She jolts as she realizes this is the place she was warned against.

The statue is of a young man - tall and grim faced. Whoever had carved him had created a gorgeous but harsh face. He stands very stifly, one hand behind his back and the other outstretched with the palm facing the afternoon sky.

The woman that warned them away from the statue had stated that his story was sad and terrible. Said to be a prince, he was conceived in secret even from his father, and raised by his mother and grandfather to be a tyrannical ruler. He was highly intelligent but immensely bloodthirsty.

When his mother had finally revealed him to his father, the king, she hoped he could cut the murderous streak out of their son. Alas, the prince had tried to kill the other heirs to prove his worth and secure his status as the only bloodson.

They called him the demon prince.

He had also been in love. The woman was beautiful, intelligent, but just as bloodthirsty. And eventually broke his heart.

The tour guide said that it was this, a deep betrayal, that had turned him to stone. Some said it was curse put on him by his grandfather, cast in a rage at the softness still present in the boy's heart. Some said an enchantress turned him stone after he rebuffed her affections. Some said it was because he had become so heartless.

But no one knew how he had come to be here, in this garden. Apparently, he made his rounds from garden to garden all on his own and it was impossible to move once he was discovered.

Marinette turned away from her study of him. She had imagined she had seen sadness in his face before chastising herself. Statues had tricked her before.

She closed her eyes and tried to just enjoy the afternoon sun. It was almost time to meet up at the resting corner and she was feeling hungry.

Suddenly, Alya and Nino burst into her quiet space.

"There you are! It's almost time to go." Alya barely paused to breathe in. "Oh my god, girl, you found it!"

Alya approached the statue with a critical eye and snorted softly. "He's pretty enough, I guess."

"I overheard some of the other walkers exchange stories about it. Someone believes that he is cursed to stay a statue until being touched by his true love or soulmate or something. Someone that could melt his heart." Nino comments.

"Like Cinderella?" At the girls question he shrugs.

"They said people used to come to the statue in hopes that by touching his hand they could find their own soulmate. For a time people swore it worked - that the next person they met was the love of their lives.

"Eventually, though, their love would betray them. They would cheat, or abuse, or die tragically."

Marinette turned once more to examine the man's face. "That's so sad." She said in a whisper.

"Yeah, well, it's not like it's true." He scoffs.

"Should we test it?" Alya says teasingly - stretching her hand towards the statue's.

"Don't you dare!" Nino practically shouts as he grabs Alya's hand and intertwines their fingers.

"Oh, babe, I was just joking! Let's go get lunch. I'm sure Adrien is waiting for us"

They all turn away and leave the alcove. But as Marinette is about to step out from the shade of the tree she feels a profound sorrow fill her heart. It makes her eyes burn and her legs weak. She glances over her shoulder to look at the statue again.

The sun has shifted and now the rays filter down onto his face and shoulders. He face now appears sad and resigned. As if pulled by some force she turns to face him fully.

"Mari?"

She can hear Alya, she's right behind her, but her voice sounds far away.

She shouldn't touch his hand. She really shouldn't. But she can't stop her curiosity - or her hand. It hovers over his, centimeters away.

The myth of him and his sad story feels like a magnet. She's not under any delusion that she could change him in statue or demeanor. If. IF. If any of the stories are true he'd still be a demon of a man. A devil, even if he his gorgeous.

Marinette looks up into his eyes. They almost look back at her pleadingly. It's while looking up into his face that feels her fingertips touch his cold stone ones. She runs them up his palm slowly, until she reaches his wrist. And she holds her breathe. Her fingers press into the stone as if to prove, unconsciously, that there is no pulse.

When nothing happens, she draws in a sharp breathe and pulls her hand away. She can her Alya breathe in a sigh at the same time.

Her hand has just barely let go, still floating over his wrist, when she feels strong, warm fingers close around her wrist.

Marinette jumps and looks up sharply.

The demon prince's eyes are a deep, alluring green now.

******

Thanks for reading ❤️

[extasiswings]

15 + buddie

15. "Shouldn't you be with her?" On ao3 here.

When Eddie is eleven, his class gets a new student. Her name is Maria Esparza and her family is from Arizona. She has dark curls that look like they would be soft to touch and a smattering of freckles across her nose and she’s so smart—always reading and forever raising her hand in class, always with the right answers—but she never acts stuck up about it.

He thinks she’s beautiful and when he gets home from the first day of school he promptly announces that he’s in love. He doesn’t understand why his mother laughs or why Sophia rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot when he’s perfectly serious.

He’s in love, he insists, and goes on believing it for three whole weeks until he gets up the courage to give Maria a flower at recess and she looks at him like he has two heads. The rejection smarts for a couple of days, but then he’s fine. So, he figures...maybe it wasn’t love after all.

Eddie is fifteen when he finds his eyes slipping too frequently to Diego Reed in autoshop, lingering on the other boy’s long, dexterous fingers, his forearms, the sharp edge of his jaw. Eddie can’t explain it, he just knows those stolen glances make him squirm, make him flush, make him feel too warm and like his very skin is too tight.

Diego steals Eddie’s first kiss two weeks before winter break, pushes him up against the back wall of the shop where they’re hidden by a truck and licks into his mouth with a confidence that Eddie can’t imagine ever having when he himself can’t even figure out what to do with his hands. But it makes his knees weak and leaves him breathless and panting when Diego pulls away with a smirk and tells him not to say anything.

It’s not love—for one thing, Eddie knows he’s not supposed to love boys, and for another, the only time he suggests it might be anything at all, Diego gives him the same look Maria had once upon a time and walks away—but it’s nothing he’s ever felt before. The next year, Angelica Phelan asks him to go to the winter formal and he gets to second base in the science lab when they slip away from the chaperones. It’s different from kissing Diego. But it’s just as good, he enjoys it just as much, and part of him is…relieved.

He doesn’t think about that too much.

Eddie is eighteen when he’s not watching where he’s going and runs directly into his future on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the only casualty is Shannon’s coffee, and after she snaps at him for not paying attention and he offers to replace her drink—well. They close down the coffee shop, emerging, startled, from conversation only when interrupted by a mildly disgruntled employee trying to lock up. Eddie walks home in a daze, Shannon’s phone number burning a hole in his pocket, and he’s simultaneously elated and terrified because it’s never been so easy being with someone, he’s never felt so seen so quickly. He’s old enough to realize that love at first sight is bullshit, but he thinks he could fall very fast.

He’s right.

They take things slow because Eddie wants to do things right, doesn’t want to risk confusing love with the heady cocktail of teenage hormones and sex. So he knows by the time he does fall into bed with her, eight months in, that he’s in love. Really in love, thinking about the future in love, factoring her into the mix when he thinks about what the hell he’s going to do with his life in love.

And then Shannon gets pregnant. And it’s too soon, he loves her but it’s too soon, and he’s terrified all over again—

He loves her though. He loves her. And she’s pregnant so—they get married. He wants to do the right thing.

At their wedding the readings are selections from Song of Songs and Corinthians.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud....Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things...

With all due respect to St. Paul, Eddie doesn’t think he knew what the hell he was talking about. Or at least, maybe he did, but he was being pretty damn aspirational and left out a few things.

Because after the wedding…after the wedding, Eddie learns a lot more about love.

Love is beautiful, yes. But love is also…trying to do the right thing and fucking up. Love is fighting and knowing exactly what to say to cut the deepest and not always holding back. Love is forgiving, but after a point finding it difficult to forget.

Or maybe that’s not love, maybe that’s just marriage. Maybe it’s a little of both. Because love endures—sure. Love endured with Shannon even when trust was nonexistent, when their marriage was fractured, shattered pieces strewn across the floor ready to draw blood if either of them tried to pick them up.

Love isn’t enough. That’s what Eddie knows. Or maybe it is, maybe love would have been enough to fix what was broken if it hadn’t been his. Shannon’s gone, so they’ll never be able to have that conversation. He’ll never know the answer.

Love endures. Eddie kind of wishes it didn’t. It would make a lot of things a lot easier.

But…it’s fine. He’s fine. Shannon dies and he locks that piece of himself away and has no plans to ever fall in love again.

Then again, God has a funny sense of humor and never seems to resist an opportunity to be an asshole, so of course…he does. Slowly. Quietly. The threads slipping through the cracks in his walls so carefully that he doesn’t even notice until they’re twined around his heart, unspooling through his blood, through his veins with every pulse. Eddie doesn’t notice.

And then he gets shot and it’s like being hit by lightning, an electric shock of clarity down his spine, rooting him in place as he meets Buck’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

***

Eddie despises recovery.

He’s never been good at being still, at being useless, at being left alone with nothing but his own head. And maybe he’s not entirely alone—he has Christopher, after all, and Christopher is understandably a little clingy now that he’s home from the hospital—but Christopher sleeps and has play dates and spends time in his room and just in general isn’t in Eddie’s space every second of every day.

And then there’s Buck. Buck who offered to keep staying on the couch to take care of everything they needed when Eddie came home from the hospital. Buck who Eddie sent home to his own bed with promises to call if he needed help because having Buck so close after Eddie’s little realization was stirring him up, making everything a million times more difficult in his head. Buck’s still over frequently, but it’s less dangerous if he’s not staying overnight, if Eddie can’t wake up and be tempted to walk out to the living room and pull Buck into his bed. Not for anything sexual—he’s on too many medications and too immobilized for that even if it was remotely a good idea—but to be held. To feel wanted. To feel safe.

He knows Buck probably wouldn’t say no, wouldn’t think anything of it except that maybe he’s a little raw and fragile, which he is. Which is exactly why he can’t ask. So. Removing the temptation it is.

But. Being left alone with his own head is a terrible idea. He’s in pain because he lowered the doses of his pain meds so he would stop worrying about developing any dependency. He can’t sleep without waking up with screams trapped behind his teeth and the smell of blood and gunpowder in his nose. And he can’t stop thinking about Buck. About being in love with Buck. About wanting Buck. About whether he could ever have him or whether he’ll ever be okay enough to be in a relationship. About whether Buck could ever want him back or if he’ll ever feel safe enough to risk their friendship by even asking.

He broke up with Ana the second he was able to figure out how to do it without feeling like a complete dick. But he hasn’t told Buck that. He doesn’t know why.

And then there’s—

The key turns in the lock and Eddie starts, looking up from his place on the couch. Christopher is with his abuela for the night, and he didn’t expect—

“Hey,” Buck calls, stepping through the door. “I brought dinner.”

Eddie stares.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, before he can stop himself. “Shouldn’t you be with Taylor?”

—Taylor. Buck and Taylor. Which, Buck waited weeks to tell him about, hedging about why he wanted to know if it was okay to invite her to Eddie’s welcome home party. Which, Buck only did admit to when Eddie called one night at 2AM and Taylor answered Buck’s phone.

Eddie clears his throat, the question sounding a little too sharp and accusatory to his ears.

“I just meant,” he adds, softening, “I thought you said you had a date tonight.”

An odd look passes over Buck’s face.

“Isabel called me,” he replies. “She said you were by yourself, asked if I would check on you. We rescheduled, it’s fine.”

Eddie nods once and pulls the couch throw tighter around his shoulders with his good arm. A petty, possessive piece of him is pleased. That Buck’s there. That Buck would drop everything for him.

He’s always been wary of Taylor. Even way back when they first met and she was prowling around the station filming everyone and flirting with Buck. But now? Now he’s jealous, his stomach twisting at the very reminder that she has Buck the way Eddie wants him.

But at the same time…he hates that. Hates the jealousy, hates feeling possessive. Because what claim does he have over Buck’s affections? None. Especially not when he can’t even admit to loving him outside his head.

He hates it because he knows that more than anything, Buck deserves to be happy. And maybe Eddie could make him happy, but—

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck.

Buck deserves to be happy. Even if that’s with Taylor Kelly. Even if it means Eddie loses him.

He doesn’t get to be jealous.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

Buck sets the bag in his arms down on the coffee table.

“You don’t look fine,” he points out. “Actually, you look like shit. Isabel was right to call me.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats. His heart pangs at the concern in Buck’s eyes. “Really, it’s okay—you should—you should—”

Go. Call Taylor back. Enjoy your date.

He wants to do the right thing. He really does. But the rest of the words refuse to leave his throat.

Buck shakes his head anyway. “I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “So tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Eddie bites his lip. Drags his hand over his jaw before making a face. The messy, overgrown scruff is itchy and difficult to manage on his own, and the foreignness of it doesn’t help him feel grounded in his own body when he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night.

“It’s stupid,” he says.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Buck replies. “And I’m here, so you might as well just talk.”

I’m in love with you, Eddie thinks. And I can’t sleep. And I can’t shave. And everything hurts. And I just want to stop being afraid—

He swallows. He can’t say all of that. He can’t blow everything up that way.

So, he picks the easiest one.

“I can’t shave with my left hand and it’s driving me insane.”

Buck blinks. Then he laughs as the worry in his brow smooths out.

“That’s it?” He asks. “Well, that’s easy. I can do that. Come on.”

And that’s how Eddie winds up sitting on the bathroom counter with shaving cream all over his face while Buck wets a razor and steps between his legs.

His breath catches.

“You good?” Buck asks, his voice low. His eyes are soft and focused, and Eddie almost regrets everything because the proximity—god, the proximity. He’s been so cold since the shooting and Buck is so warm, heat spreading through Eddie’s body from every discrete point of contact. Buck tips his chin back and Eddie lets his eyes slip closed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m good.”

The razor drags along his skin. Neither of them say a word, the main sound in the room the drip of the faucet when Buck rinses the razor between passes. They’ve always been physical with each other, but this sort of thing is new. Intimate.

Eddie aches.

His eyes open a crack to watch. Buck’s lower lip is caught between his teeth, and having every ounce of that focus on him is…intoxicating.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Buck steps in closer, Eddie’s legs spread ever so slightly wider. A spark of heat flashes through him and he inhales sharply—Buck’s startled enough that his hand slips and the razor nicks Eddie’s jaw.

“Shit,” Buck swears. The razor clatters into the sink. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

Eddie opens his eyes the rest of the way. “It’s fine,” he assures. “What, you think I’ve never cut myself shaving before? It’s still better than I would have managed myself.”

“I’m—” Buck looks stricken, his fingers reaching out to gently cradle Eddie’s jaw only for him to snatch them back almost instantly, the tip of one faintly smeared with blood. His hand trembles.

“Buck,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s eyes are fixed on the red smear and Eddie is sent back—

Watching his blood splash across Buck’s face and not realizing at first that it was his. Being half-delirious on the way to the hospital worrying that Buck had been hurt—

All this time, Buck’s been moving forward, pushing ahead, for Christopher, for him, for everyone, and Eddie knew he wasn’t entirely okay, knew he was fucked up from the moment in the hospital when he said I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, but since Eddie’s been home, Buck has seemed…better.

Maybe not. Maybe he’s been struggling to pretend as much as Eddie has.

Eddie twists around to grab the towel draped over the faucet and wets it enough to wash the rest of the shaving cream off his face, feels the sting of soap and water in the cut. And then he reaches out to grab Buck’s hand, wiping the blood off of his finger.

There’s something profane about blood staining skin. And something sacred in the act of washing it clean.

Eddie wonders if anyone helped Buck wash his blood off when he was in surgery. Taylor, maybe.

But no, that doesn’t feel right.

Buck probably did it himself. Alone.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezes Buck’s fingers. When Buck doesn’t look at him, he reaches out and curls his hand around the side of Buck’s neck, tips Buck’s chin up with his thumb to force him to meet his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Buck breathes out shakily. His throat works, his face passes through a million stages—finally, his hands fall to the counter on either side of Eddie’s hips and his forehead drops to Eddie’s good shoulder. Eddie lets his hand slip around to the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers combing up through the short hairs there. He turns his head and he’s close enough to kiss the side of Buck’s, but he holds off. It feels like it would be too much. Too much when Buck doesn’t know how he really feels, what he really wants. But even just this—the closeness, the touch—is good. Needed. A balm to the itch under his skin.

When Buck turns his face into Eddie’s neck and inhales, Eddie thinks maybe Buck might need this just as badly.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes again as his fingers comb through Buck’s hair. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

They stay like that for a long time. Buck’s phone rings out once, but neither of them moves to answer it. Eventually, Buck lifts his head and clears his throat roughly as he steps back.

Eddie’s hand falls away from Buck’s neck. He feels the absence keenly.

“You good?” He asks. Buck nods. His eyes are red.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. He pauses. Shakes his head. “No. But—can we just—can I just finish this for now? I want to finish this.”

Eddie watches him for a moment. Wets his lips. Then finally nods and passes over the shaving cream again.

“Sure,” he says. “I trust you.”

I love you.

Maybe…maybe eventually he’ll be braver. Maybe eventually, both of them will be free at the same time and he’ll be whole and healed, or at least something closer to it than he is now. Maybe eventually…love will be enough. Maybe.

For now, he has this.

[heavenbarnes]

PLEASE STAND BY: She’s not heavy, she’s my lover

Wanda Maximoff x female reader

Warning/Contains: spoilers for “WandaVision”, aspects of mind-control meaning reader isn’t truly consenting, parts of this don’t make sense and are designed to make you feel strange, cheating, pregnancy, fingering, riding,

Word Count: 2.2k

it’s the 70s now and we’re a lot more liberal w our love, we’re also starting to form some kind of idea as to what might be going on hmm...enjoy x

MASTERLIST

Things just were positively brighter these days, and you couldn’t put your finger on why. Each morning the sun shone a little stronger through the curtains, the birds chirped just that bit louder, your morning coffee just a bit sweeter.

Picking the fluff off your husband’s blazer, you moved to adjust his tie slightly, admiring the way the red stood out on his chest. “You really are so handsome.”

James’ cheeks pulled up in a smile, dipping in to press a kiss to your cheek as you beamed for him. “I’ve got to be, to keep up with my gorgeous wife!”

You giggled, a cherry sweet girlish lilt that made your eyes twinkle. Enjoying those last few moments before he left for work, you lent further into his woolen sweater as you felt the firm hold of his prosthetic hand.

“Do you really have to leave-”

“Oop, sorry, Wanda calling!” 

Both your heads turned up, looking to the front door to find your lovely little neighbor and her bright eyes. That sadness of seeing James’ off seemed to fade as you saw your friend, she seemed to replace the warmth that would’ve followed him out the door.

“Great timing, you can keep the missus company whilst I’m earning us money!” He gave you another kiss, before heading off to wherever he spent his time during the days.

Welcoming Wanda into your home, you couldn’t help but notice the thick woolen coat she had wrapped over her front. She looked like a cutie, you couldn’t doubt that, she actually looked like Paddington Bear. But the sun was beaming out there.

Narrowing your eyes you stepped around the couch towards her. “Whattya’ stashing, toots?”

“I’m only telling you cause I love you, and I know you love me, and you-”

“Spill the beans, chick.”

Rather than come out with it, she instead...well...came out with it. She flipped the sides of the coat back off her front and you were met with the round bump of her belly. Your eyes flew wide and mouth dropped a tad.

“Baby!” You cried, hands flying up around your head. “You’re having a baby!”

-

“Run me through what we have so far.”

“Approximately a week ago, Agent 19 entered the energy field surrounding the town of Westview, accompanied by Bucky Barnes. Since then, they have been cast as characters in a TV show created and seemingly controlled by Wanda Maximoff.”

“They went in with a mission, to find Maximoff and stop her, have they even made any progress?”

“From the looks of things, they’ve abandoned mission, whether they realize it or not.”

“So what are they doing in there?”

“Bucky spends most of his time ‘working’, Agent 19 isn’t normally seen without Wanda at her side. They spend a lot of time talking, sometimes dancing, not a whole lot else.”

“So she’s got her right there, but isn’t even doing the one thing we sent her in there for?”

“Sir, I don’t think she has a choice.”

-

Wanda’s hips rolled against yours as she sat perched in your lap, soft lips moving gently against your own as her hands found their way under your shirt. “You sure I don’t look too round?”

Giggling into her mouth, your hands came to grasp her breasts, resting their weight in your hands as she sighed for you. “I think you look positively radiant, like a stone cold fox.”

Pulling back gently, she caught you as you winked for her, still kneading the sensitive flesh in your fingers. Bracing her hands on your knees, she arched her back and pushed her chest further into your touch.

“I didn’t know you and Vision were trying for a baby, and I feel like I only saw you yester-”

‘I know, I know, it all happened so quickly.” She hurried you, shutting you up completely by lifting her shirt over her head and flinging it onto your bedroom floor.

It worked a treat, your mouth falling agape at the sight of her pert chest bared to you in all her glory. You immediately closed your lips around one of her nipples, the hard bud fitting nicely against your tongue as you sucked it further into your mouth.

Those sounds, those beautiful sounds that only she could make, they nearly drove you doggone wild. She felt apart to wonderfully in your hands, she fit so nicely against you making you truly believe that your souls were always meant to cross paths.

Your mind told you, looking at her glowing and luscious and so incredibly perfect, that there was never any other woman but her. It was in the way that it didn’t feel like you existed, until she was thinking about you. Like your day started when she needed you and ended once she’d fallen asleep.

The needy roll of her bare hips drew your eyes down to where she was leaving a wet patch on your flares, you drew your fingers down over the ridge of her belly and underneath where she was softest.

“Please, let me ride your fingers, I need it.”

A wild grin sparked in your eyes as you smiled up at her, more than willing to make her wish your command. Running two of your fingers along where she was parted, you collected the candy-sweet wetness that was pooling in her.

Bringing it up to her clit, you circled around it as her head tipped back with a wanton moan escaping her chest and parting the thick air that’d gathered around you. Slow and easy, you sunk those two fingers into her as she continued to roll her hips for you.

“You always feel better than I ever imagined,” Wanda cried out, fingers gripping your shoulders as she bounced against you. “All I could’ve hoped for.”

You let the kindness and passion of her words wash over you as you kept working your fingers inside her, stretching them out slightly and pulling forward with every motion of her hips. 

Moving your thumb around, you pressed it to her clit and slowly rolled it around as she continued to buck in your fingers. She looked monumental above you, the bedroom light glowing around her like an aura she exuded. Her long hair brushed down her back as she swayed into you.

She looked like your entire world, and at that moment, she was.

You felt her gripping your digits, hugging tight and sweet as she got herself off against you. Never before had you been so pleased to be a vessel for someone’s pleasure, you’d lay there flat on the bed and let her grind against you for hours if it made her happy and wet.

“Yes, I’m so close,” The whine that whistled through her teeth shocked you to the core. “You’re gonna’ make me lose it.”

And as if that was your plan, you sped up the roll of your thumb and the movement of your fingers until her nails were digging into the flesh of your shoulders and pulling your flush between her breasts.

Lips pursing and teeth nipping gently at the taught skin, you left kisses in your wake as she rode through the highs of pleasure centered between her thighs. Hand wrapped around your wrist, she drew your own hand from below and placed the two soaked fingers between your lips.

You smiled, humming in content as you tasted the most unforgettable sweetness, like something from dream state. “You’re everything, pretty girl.”

-

Spying it draped across the back of the couch as you greeted your husband, James’ eyes followed it as he hung his blazer on the coat rack. “Wanda leave that here?”

“Hmm, yes,” You picked it up and draped it over your arm. “I better go return it.”

“I’ll come with you, been meaning to ask Vision if I can borrow his hedge trimmer.”

Hand in hand you bridged the short gap down to their home, knocking a couple times on the door before you heard a soft “come in” from just inside. Slowly pushing open the door, your eyes immediately fixed on the two beautiful bundles in the living room.

“Twins!” You beamed, keeping your voice hushed as James’ followed you inside.

“Aren’t they sweet.” Wanda cast the most enamored gaze upon them, like life had never been better.

“Just the bees knees!”

Whilst your husband had gone to find the man of the house, you turned to the young lady who had also obviously come to offer best wishes to the new parents. “Hi there, I’m one of Wanda’s friends.”

Rather than return your smile, the girl went stark faced, eyes wide and brow just slightly furrowed. A tinge of confusion crossed your features, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to get her to speak.

Shaking her head, a smile started to work up on her face. “I’m Geraldine, also one of Wanda’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you!”

“It- It sure is.”

She was odd, maybe she was shy? Nevertheless, you turned back to Wanda and placed a hand on her arm. “Let me find my husband and get out of your hair, leave you to enjoy your gorgeous babies.”

Geraldine followed you across the lounge room as you called out for James. She caught one of your wrists in her hand, making you twist your head back towards her. Expecting her to say something, you stood in wait with a signature kind smile across your lips.

Strange girl didn’t say a word, she just looked at you again with those worrisome eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “Sorry Geraldine, is there something I can-”

“She’s just new here, looking to make more friends, aren’t you?” Wanda filled you in from her place by her twins.

Nodding in understanding, you felt James’ presence as he came up behind you, hand on your arm to turn you away from the new guest. Reluctantly, she released your grip as you moved by, causing you to shoot your man a slightly perplexed glance.

He just shrugged his shoulders, closing the front door behind you both as you walked back up to your home. Herb was outside, using his own hedge trimmer as you both waved to him. He waved back, shouting a quick “hello” as the blade of his hedge trimmer started to slowly descend through the concrete wall.

Looping your arm through James’ prosthetic elbow you motioned towards the sight. “Pretty powerful motor, better be careful with that one of Vision’s.”

As you served your better-half his plate of meatloaf, he greatly accepted it, cutlery poised in his hands as he waited for you to sit with your own. Making a cheers with your wine glasses, you both took your bites of dinner before crossing knives and forks across your plates.

“That lass at the Vision’s place today was an oddball.” James’ remarked, leaning back in his chair.

“Hmm, I just think she was shy, though I wish she’d told me whatever she was thinking.”

James’ scrunched his nose slightly but nodded in agreement, nonetheless. You thought back to the young lady, how she’d seemingly looked frightened, they way she’d grabbed you. Letting it tick over in your mind, you saw the same kind of look on your husband’s face that you felt you were making.

“My love,” He started, pushing some broccoli around his plate. “Why do we never eat more than one bite of our dinner.”

Your eyes dropped from his to the plate in front of you, pushed slightly up the table and signaled as finished. Gently lifting your head, you let your eyes flicker around your dining room. To the window sills that never got dusty, the clock that never struck 12, the lightbulbs you’d never replaced.

“Where do you go in a day, when you go to work, what do you do?”

James’ smile faltered, eyes seeming to nearly well as it became harder for you to cheek the apples of your cheeks up. “I leave our front door and I- I feel like I wake up as I come back through it.”

Nodding in understanding, you felt the tear before you even knew it’d slipped onto your cheek. Bucky lent across the table and wiped it with his right thumb, the feel of his skin against yours grounding you for a moment.

“We haven’t got long, this means she’s thinking of us, she’ll know that we’re-”

“Hey, hey, I know,” He cooed, getting out of his seat and rounding the table to crouch beside you. “We’ll find our moment, but you just have to be strong, we cant show our fear-”

As you served your better-half his plate of meatloaf, he greatly accepted it, cutlery poised in his hands as he waited for you to sit with your own. Making a cheers with your wine glasses, you both took your bites of dinner before crossing knives and forks across your plates.

“Darling!” James sighed as he pushed his plate up the table. “Your meatloaf is my favorite!”

-

“God! They always get so close, I know they must be trying so hard.”

The television broadcast wavered slightly, seemingly weakening for a moment but still producing the bright technicolor.

“They’re two of the strongest and smartest we have, Wanda must be doing a number on them to reduce them to this.”

The electrical whirring of the old-fashioned set still sounded in the background as they got the same message.

“PLEASE STAND BY.”

[vroomvroomkachowboi]

I Hear a Symphony

smut, fluff, angst: angst/fluff 

pairing: draco malfoy x reader(fem)

word count: 1.5k (1580)

summary: draco’s has been depressed ever since astoria died and he’s been learning to parent as a windowed single father, that is until he meets y/n

warning: death, depression, cursing 

a/n: inspired by a song i found on tik tok called “i hear a symphony” by cody fry, i totally recommend it, it’s soo good. ik i said i was gonna write a fred imagine, but dang i’ve been getting so much inspo to write draco imagines. ik astoria died when scorpius was 13, but let’s pretend she died much earlier, also don’t know much abt astoria, so if anything is wrong, i’m sorry. I'm super proud of this so without further ado, enjoy 

Draco still remembers the day of Astoria’s funeral. He held his son, Scorpius, crying as he clearly lacked his mother’s warm touch. Narcissa and Lucius gladly took in Scorpius while Draco mourned and grieved. He had entered his large, empty mansion, and laid in his California King sized bed, feeling the dent of his late wife’s body on the mattress.

He had to pick up his son a week later because he could not look at him, a reminder of Astoria, and the fact that she risked her health for him, for him to not be lonely after her blood curse took her, and yet he was still lonely. He felt a void in his body, and waking up every morning, it felt like it was just getting bigger.

He noticed he was getting very pale, so he decided to take Scorpius and himself to an ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley. The lady at the register had y/l y/h hair, and y/c eyes. As Draco got closer to the register, he noticed how young she was, possibly around his age. She gave him a sweet smile. “That’ll be 2 galleons sir,” She says. He pulls out 2 galleons out of his left pocket and puts it on the counter. “Thank you. Have a nice day-ooh, your son is going to need napkins.” She lets out a giggle and hands him more napkins. And she was right, Scorpius had strawberry ice cream all over his mouth, dripping from his chin. “Thank you.” He says quickly, and grabs Scorpius’ hand to sit down.

Draco often took Scorpius out so he wouldn’t be cooped up in the house all day. Draco also didn’t want to be reminded of the emptiness that his wife left behind.

They both decided to go to a park in London. Draco sat on a bench, observing his child interact with the muggle children, he knew Astoria would be happy about it. “Hello.” A familiar female voice startled him. He turned around to see the lady from the ice cream shop in Diagon Alley. “Hello.” He replied.

“I thought Malfoys hated muggles.” She says and takes a seat next to him. He shifts over, uncomfortably, but she didn’t seem to notice. “No, I stopped thinking that way. What about you? What are you doing here?” He says. “I came to visit my muggle family. My niece is over there.” She points to a young girl on the swings. He nodded, unsure of what to say.  

They both just sat in a somewhat comfortable silence, while watching all those happy young kids running around.

Suddenly, Scorpius’ screams were heard from across the playground. Draco got up quickly and rushed over to his son. Scorpius had scraped his knee really badly. Draco carried him over to the bench, with Y/n still sitting, in shock of the crying child. “I fell off the swings!” Scorpius whined when Draco asked what had happened. “Oh god, I can’t use my magic here! I’m sorry Scorp, I can’t heal you.” Scorpius seemed to cry louder.

Draco's heartbeat quickened. It felt like everything was closing in. ‘Astoria would’ve known what to do.’ He thought. He felt so unfit to be a single father.

“Don't worry Draco. I’ve got just what you need until you get home.” Y/n said. Grabbing a brown bottle and a cotton ball from her bag. “My brother gave me all this stuff in case my niece got hurt. What luck.” The bottle read “Hydrogen Peroxide”. Draco watched as she poured some on the ball. “This won’t hurt.” She said with a soft tone in her voice, and Scorpius nodded hesitantly. She dabbed the cotton ball on the wound, he watched as it bubbled.

“What is it doing?” Draco asked. “It’s cleaning the scrape. I’ll put a bandage on it, and you can fix it with magic when you get home.” Draco nodded. “Thank you. What do we say, Scorp?” He asked. “Thank you.” Little Scorpius said quietly and got up to play again.

“I believe I never got your name.” Draco asked. “Y/n.”

This was the start to a lovely friendship. Draco and Scorpius often went to visit Y/n at the ice cream parlor. When Draco needed Y/n, she’d always be there. Because she knew how vulnerable he was since the death of his wife, he also trusted her enough to babysit Scorpius, and thankfully Scorpius loved her.

Every night after her shift, she’d come over with pints of ice cream for all of them to eat. With her help, he was able to finally mourn healthily. No longer was he alone at nights, she would sleep in the guest room close to the master’s bedroom.

Although, something was wrong with Draco. He cared for his new friend, but his admiration for her grew the more he got to know her. He grew feelings for her quickly. ‘I can't do this to Astoria.’ Was always a reoccurring thought, but the more he tried to suppress it, the more his love grew.

It also seems that Scorpius viewed her as a second mother, he couldn’t hurt them.

He decided to give her the silent treatment. The less he hangs out with her, the faster his feelings fade, right?

It went on for a month. Slowly but surely, ignoring Y/n more and more. She spent most of her time with Scorpius, not that she minded, but Draco was acting strange.

So, enough was enough. She was going to confront him about it. So on a Friday night, she put the blonde 6-year-old to bed. Hearing the light snores from the young child, she slipped out quietly from his bedroom, looking for his father. She looked all around the large home, but found him outside, sitting on a bench by the tall grass hedges.

“Draco!” She called out. He flinches and hesitantly looks up at her. She sat by him. “What's up with you? You’ve been acting strange lately.” He stayed quiet. “You can trust me, Dray. We’ve been friends for over a year now.” He sighed loudly. “I...I like you.” He whispers.

“Oh.”

Draco shuts his eyes tightly, feeling as if it was a mistake. “I think you need to leave.” He hears Y/n’s feet shuffle on the grass. He let out a heavy breath and puts his face in his hands. Tears pour out of his grey eyes. ‘I can’t do this to Astoria.’ He felt so guilty. As if he was cheating on his wife. Why did he need to feel this way? What would Scorpius think? Would he think he's replacing his beloved mother?

“I’m sorry, Astoria.” He cried. He headed to the master’s bedroom and dozed off.

The next morning, Draco had realized it was a mistake to send Y/n home, because Scorpius had been nagging him all day about her whereabouts. It went on for an entire week as well. He also felt very lonely, she brought light into the dark home. He needed her, whether it was as a friend or a partner.

He decided to make amends, so he took Scorpius to the ice cream parlor.

Y/n heard the bell at the door, she was ready to serve her next customer, until she realized who it was. Draco and Scorpius. “What can I get you two?” She said professionally. “Strawberry.” Young Scorpius replies. So she scooped some strawberry ice cream for the 6 year old, and handed the cup to him.

Scorpius thanks her. “Go find us a seat. I’ll be there in a second, Scorp.” Draco says to him. Draco pats him on the head before sending him away. “And you sir?”

“Come on, Y/n. Don't be like that. I’m here to apologize.” He looks into her e/c eyes. She sighs loudly before going to face him. She walks towards him. “Talk.”

“I’m sorry. I apologize for ignoring you and for sending you off after confessing something big like that.” He grabs Y/n’s hands. “I have feelings for you. And I thought that if I ignored you, they might go away, but they didn't. Having a crush on you felt like I was cheating on Astoria. I felt guilty, and I didn't want Scorp to think I’m replacing his mother.” She furrowed her eyebrows but let him continue. “Ever since you entered my life, you’ve helped me become a better father and helped me mourn. You're my best friend, N/n, sending you away made me realize how much you’ve impacted me and Scorpius’ life. My life was boring, and miserable, but you came in, and you pieced me back together and fixed my broken heart. Astoria would’ve want me to be happy, and I’m happy with you.”

“Wow.” Draco chuckles at her one word. “That was one of the most beautiful declarations of love I've ever heard.” She threw her arms around him, and he quickly returns the gesture. They both knew what the other wanted.

Draco and Y/n pulled away from each other a little, but only to lock lips. Y/n’s hands were placed on his waist, while Draco’s pale hands were on her face.

Kissing each other was like hearing an entire symphony, adrenaline rising, and making them want more affection from each other. Draco once felt like he would never be happy again, but now he's the happiest he's been in over a year.

She pulls away and smirks, “I’ll get your ice cream now. I’ll see you once my shift is over.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

breaking it down to find a meaning

neighbours au?

this came out of literally no where. I was getting ready for bed and I had "I wanna love somebody" by We Three stuck in my head and then I opened tumbles and this just poured out of me? Yea I literally wrote this in the tumblr post option. no google doc we die like lovers.

I point this out only to say this is defs not edited lmao. I didn't even expect it to be this long it was supposed to a tiny drabble?

please enjoy!

[all images have alt text]

There are exactly three things wrong with Percy's current living situation.

1. He has far too little lounge space for his terribly long body. His shins have hit the coffee table six times today in his attempt to maneuver from sitting on the couch to standing.

2. The spare bedroom is not a good enough sound quality for his guitar or his drum practice. The bathroom is much better. He cannot practice in his bathroom forever, or ever.

3. His neighbour is undeniably, completely distractingly hot.

He hasn't allowed himself to rate the problems in order of most troublesome because he's a little ashamed about which one might take first place.

Since moving in one week ago Percy has had many opportunities to arrange and rearrange every aspect of the tiny two bedroom— or one bedroom and a makeshift studio— apartment until he could walk around it blind. He knows not to step on the third floorboard from the left wall on the way to his bedroom because it creaks unpleasantly and he thinks his downstairs neighbours are going to shove a hot poker through the roof just to brandish the annoying foot that keeps making the noise. He knows that the oven setting has to be juggled just right for it to go on. He knows the curtain railings in the living room are far too thin and brittle— he will have to replace them before the month is out. He knows you have to turn the hot tap in the shower three times and the cold tap four to get the exact perfect temperature. What he doesn't know, however, is his neighbour's name, or the colour of their eyes, or anything about them. All he knows is that they're hot.

But today, bruised shin and all, Percy is determined to introduce himself. If for nothing else but to gauge just how upset they might be when he starts up what his mother used to lovingly call "Melodic Madness".

So far it takes the reign as number one reason he's had to leave his previous living spaces. Mr Chiron from Strawberry Valley, who told the landlord the noise was so loud it made his steel kneecaps rust. Creative, but Percy isn't sure it's feasible. Then there was Minerva from Olive Grove who took one look at him and told the landlord he was a drug dealer, or worse, a drug user. He had raised a brow, couldn't stop his lip from tugging up, liking the way the ring that hugged his bottom lip stretched deliciously. He almost killed her on the spot. He would have laid lillies at her funeral and she would have risen again to throw them away. The last place, a Mr Hedge. Percy was glad to leave him behind. There were baseball bags swinging and yelling almost as loud as he played every time they crossed paths. For his own safety Percy didn't even wait for the man to call the landlord before he wad tucking his drumsticks in his pocket and high tailing it to, here.

Here being Sunset Gardens. Here being in this small apartment that fit him almost perfectly. Here being one knock away from meeting his new neighbour.

Percy wonders, as he looks at the soft cream wood of the door, if he should have worn a turtle neck to hide the snake tattoo wrapping around his throat. Or maybe a button down and a tie, to hide the swirls of ink on his arms. The black t-shirt he has on, a normal longer length to his usual cropped look, is clean and soft from use. He decides it'll have to be good enough because he can't wear button downs all the time. How ever will he afford all the ties that come with the obligation?

Percy knocks on the door.

There's silence behind it. The silence of sleepy world, too cozy-can't move. The silence that doesn't wish to be disturbed.

The door opens.

His neighbour's eyes are blue. Bright blue. Startling blue. Blue enough to make his lungs feel a lack of oxygen. He's reaching for the sky and it's getting harder to breather the higher he gets.

"Hello." Says his neighbour.

Percy is flying closer to the sun than Icarus ever will, ever could.

"Can I help you?"

He needs to stop staring. He needs to say something that doesn't make him look like a gaping angel fish. All starry eyes halos and floundering for relief from the air. Do fish know how beautiful the sky is? He imagines if they did they'd all kill themselves trying to get to it. He's doing it right now.

"Hi," He grins. Teeth white, straight, flossed because his mother forced him to learn the habit. "I'm Percy, your new neighbour."

"Jason," The voice is warm, deep. He knows if he lay his head on that spectacular chest he'll feel every vibration when this blue eyed spectacle talks. It'll be like getting into a really nice car and feeling the seats rumble beneath you.

"How are you finding the apartment?"

They're still standing on his door front. Jason won't relent his sanctuary. Percy won't toe over the line, curiouser and curiouser as he is.

"Good. Living room is causing some bodily harm," He waves to his shin, "But otherwise very good. Cozy."

"We share a wall. I don't know if it's your bedroom and mine or..." His neighbour trails off.

"It's my spare bedroom against you." They both glance to his door, light from his lounge flooding the passage in a perfect parallelogram.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." He's looking into the sky again. Watches as hair falls over that golden forehead. His hands— tattooed "amare" on his left fingers and "amari" on his right— twitch to push it back, to grasp the white strands, to know what light feels like. He tucks them into the pockets of his sweatpants. He tells them behave. The twitch in their hiding place. He doesn't let them seek.

"What about it?" Jason is frowning, in that worried way that says he's used to bad news and he's tired of it too.

"I uh," Percy's eyes flicker around the world. "I play guitar and drums. I'm using that room as my music room."

"Oh." The relief in Jason is a pointed arrow straight at his heart. Even cupid could never shoot something so potent. "That's okay. I'll use your music as inspiration when I paint."

Percy is Icarus three seconds after he believes he can fly. Percy is Patroclus when he feeds Achilles. Percy is Hercules after completing his first trial. Percy is a hero and a warrior and the luckiest person alive. Percy is alive.

"I hope you're good." Jason shrugs as if he hadn't tattooed a permanent place into the underside of Percy's ribcage.

"I hope so too." He manages to say back.

"I'll show you what I can create from you the first time and you can judge." Those blue eyes are so wide with innocence. Not the innocence of life but of words. His neighbour has no idea what he's doing to him. Has no idea that he is about to go home and make song lyrics out of all these declarations.

"I look forward to it." He smiles wide. It's ocean deep with happiness.

There are exactly three things perfect about Percy's current living situation:

1. The kitchen has a gas stove enough counter space for him to make bread and his mother's gumbo

2. His bedroom is big enough for him to fit a king sized bed easily. He is a sprawler when he sleeps and he cannot be happier to sprawl across never ending expanse.

3. His hot neighbour is perfect.

[marvelyningreen]

Andante

[Peter Maximoff x reader (X-Men: Apocalypse)

Summary: When an injury brings Peter’s superhuman speed to a screeching halt, you figure he could use some company and cheering up.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: could be interpreted as romantic or platonic, if that’s more your speed]

           You hurry in from the rain, pausing just long enough to shake off your umbrella on the doorstep before closing the door behind you. You take a moment to wipe your shoes on the mat in an attempt to keep them from squeaking in the tiled halls of the mansion.

           The floorplan of this rebuilt version is practically identical to the original. The design and decor are much the same, too. Still… You feel a bit like a stranger, or maybe the mansion itself does.

           With everything else that’d happened, you hadn’t really had a chance to process your own experience that day. One second, you were trimming the hedges by the mansion’s front steps. The next, you were a hundred yards away, surrounded by the students and staff, and the mansion was exploding, and suddenly there in your midst was your childhood best friend – Peter Maximoff, all grown up.

           It’s funny how someone you knew for such a short time could’ve made such an impact on you. Really, you and Peter only knew each other for two years. It baffled the teachers how a quiet goody-two-shoes like you could be thick as thieves with resident mischief-maker Peter Maximoff, but you were practically inseparable. Perhaps it was partly due to some truth in the old saying about opposites attracting. But there was more to it than that. You and Peter shared a secret.

           Your sporadic telekinesis had nothing on Peter’s incredible speed, but he never seemed to mind. You were both just so happy to finally have someone who understood, who you didn’t have to hide from. Those two years were some of the best of your life.

           And years passed, and you grew up. You kept your abilities hidden, but you kept the memory of Peter with you. You’d think of him often, hoping that he was doing well, wherever he was. You never expected to see him again.

           Lost in thought, Hank hurries around a corner and nearly bowls you over. You both apologize to each other, laughing, and continue on your respective ways.

           It feels strange being back here after… Well, after everything. Everyone is doing their best to settle back into a routine, but it isn’t quite working yet. Maybe it won’t ever feel the same.

           The students either converse too loudly or are oddly subdued, with very little in between. Scott Summers’ group of close friends is never far from his side, and the faculty likewise seem to hover around the professor. It’s difficult not to dwell on how bad things had gotten, and how much worse everything could’ve been.

           And if it’s difficult for you, you can only imagine how it must be for the person you’re here to see. You pause to knock politely at his door, and the voice that answers sounds oddly terse.

           “You can come in.”

           You slip into the room to find Peter scowling morosely out the window. He’s still laid up in bed, his broken leg in a cast and propped up on a pillow. He’s got a wicked case of bedhead, and there are dark rings under his eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so tired.

           There’s an odd sound you can’t quite place – like the low hum of a fan or the purring of a cat – and you realize that it’s just Peter drumming his fingers restlessly on his nightstand at impossible speeds. He turns his head, and when he sees that it’s you walking through the door, his expression shifts into one of relief.

           “Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought it was somebody coming to make sure I’m still “resting.” C’mere! Have a seat!”

           You grab a nearby chair and drag it closer to his bedside. You hate to see Peter cooped up and frustrated like this, but it’s good to see him, period. You don’t like to think about what could’ve happened to him in Cairo.

           When you look back up at Peter, his hair is smoothed down neatly. You snort involuntarily. If he's feeling well enough to be vain, it must be a good sign.

           “How are you holding up?” you ask.

           Peter slumps against his stack of pillows and groans dramatically, letting his head fall back.

           “I’m bored out of my mind. Do you know that they’re not letting me walk for a week? A whole week! Something about a risk of my leg not healing right if I move too fast on it. I said I’d walk like a normal person, but they apparently don’t trust me. Can you believe that? Don’t answer that. So I asked them just to drug me, knock me out for the rest of the week so I can get it over with, but they won’t do that either. This blows.”

           It’s hard not to smile, but it’s just so good to hear his voice. And, damn, people say you talk too fast. You’d forgotten that Peter was the true motor-mouth. Maybe he’s where you picked it up from. Though he still looks annoyed, Peter seems a little more relaxed after all that. Apparently he needed someone to vent to.

           He rolls his head to one side to look at you, and his brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”

           “I look tired?” you say, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

           “I haven’t, actually, because the mirror’s all the way over there, and I’m stuck in bed. You wouldn’t guess that having to sit alone with your own thoughts would wear you out, but apparently it does.”

           You’d had a feeling that the broken leg isn’t all that’s weighing on his mind. There’s still the whole Magneto business.

           You almost ask him about it, but you think better of it. Peter’s got a lot to mull over on that front. If he wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen, but you don’t want to bring it up when he doesn’t have any way to exit the conversation if he needed to. You decide to change the topic slightly.

           “Listen,” you say, “I never got a chance to thank you. You saved my life. You saved so many people. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t turned up at the mansion when you did.”

           Peter ducks his head a bit as he smiles, probably pleased to get a little recognition. There hadn’t been much time for gratitude in the moment. There hadn’t been much time for anything, really. And there certainly hadn’t been time to reconnect.

          You’d chased after Scott and his friends into the wreckage, trying to make sure none of them got hurt, and then things went from bad to worse. Suddenly, you found yourself tagging along with these immensely powerful teenagers on a fly-by-night rescue mission. It’s a good thing you did, too. Who else was gonna fly that getaway plane?

           Your own mutant abilities had never been particularly strong, not in a combat sense. You’d learned to be a pilot in an effort to make yourself useful. You just hadn’t expected it to pay off in a situation like that.

           “What can I say? Right time, right place… Right speed.” Peter’s grin turns rueful as he glances down at his busted leg. “I mean, by all rights, I should be thanking you, too.”

           You’d been trying not to dwell on that whole experience. It makes you feel a little sick to remember seeing that familiar silver streak darting around while Apocalypse was tossed in the air like a ragdoll, and then feeling the hope choked out of you as you heard Peter scream in pain.

           You don’t know how you managed to scramble down out of that second story ruin after Hank and Scott without hurting yourself any worse, but you did. You tried to shake it from your mind – the feeling of shrapnel and energy battering the telekinetic field you’d struggled to maintain around Peter and Mystique.

           You clear your throat, as though that’ll somehow clear out the memory as well. “Yeah… I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until it’s literally do-or-die.”

           “I don’t just mean Cairo.” Peter shakes his head. “Well, that, too. But I don’t just mean that. I mean when we were kids. You always had my back.”

           Just before middle school, Peter’s family had moved away. You weren’t quite sure why, but it seemed like something had happened and Peter wouldn’t talk about it. He spent his entire last week in town with you, and on the very last day he hugged you tightly and promised that he’d come back and visit if he could.

           You never heard from him again.

           It was only years later that you’d put the pieces together – the Maximoffs’ sudden move, the well-dressed men turning up at the school and asking strange questions. Peter must’ve gotten caught using his powers, and his mother packed up the whole family and fled to protect him.

          “For weeks, months after we moved away, Mom was so scared. She wouldn’t let me out of the house. She thought that, any second, somebody was gonna show up and… I dunno, take me away, I guess. But I wasn’t worried. I was a cocky little shit, y’know?”

           You snort. “‘Was?’ Pretty sure that part of your personality hasn’t changed.”

           Peter laughs, but it fades quickly.

           “I heard that people came to our old school looking for me. And, hey, they never found me and Mom, so I figured you must’ve covered for me.”

           If there was one thing you were grateful to your younger self for, it was your instinctive distrust of these suspicious strangers.

           “I didn’t tell them anything,” you say, and Peter nods.

           “I knew you wouldn’t. But this one day, something hit me. What if they found out that you were a mutant, too?” Peter shakes his head, biting his lip. “I was terrified. I thought they were gonna find you, and… and I don’t know what I thought they’d do to you.”

           You feel cold all of a sudden. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You’d been so focused on trying to keep Peter safe that you never once considered that you might be in danger, yourself. All those news articles about what Bolivar Trask had been up to ten years ago come flooding into your mind. You brush them aside and focus on what Peter’s saying now.

           “I wanted to run back there, make sure you were alright; maybe – I don’t know – take you with me and run away so we’d both be safe. I actually bought one of those AM radios, if you can believe it. Every night, I’d use the skip to listen to the news back there. I never heard anything about you, so I had to make myself believe it meant that you were okay. Otherwise I would’ve gone crazy, y’know?”

           He laughs again, but it sounds a little shaky.

           “Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. The air in the room feels sorta heavy now. Damn it, you’d come here to cheer Peter up, and it’s about time you get to it. You change topics with all the grace of a sledgehammer. “Speaking of none of this, I brought you something.”

           Peter immediately perks up. You rummage in your backpack and pull out a box of Nutty Buddy bars.

           “I remember these where your favorite when we were kids. I didn’t know if you still liked them, so I brought some Star Crunch, too. But you don’t have to-”

           Peter seems to blur for a moment, and suddenly both boxes are torn open and several wrappers are arcing their way into the trash can. Peter lets out a satisfied sigh. You might’ve remembered his favorites, but you’d forgotten his habit of absolutely inhaling them.

           “Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have worried,” you say.

           “What else you got in that bag?” Peter asks. “It can’t all be snack cakes. Unless it is…?”

           He’s joking, but you can tell he wouldn’t be disappointed if the answer was yes. You heft your heavily-loaded backpack onto the edge of the bed.

           “I figured you’d be bored, so I brought some books over in case you… What?”

           Peter never had a great poker face. You can tell that he’s definitely trying to smile, but that expression is a pained grimace. He laughs ruefully.

           “I might not be able to walk, but my hands still work. And my eyes. Did you know I can read a whole bookshelf in two hours?”

           “Oh…”

           You hadn’t thought of that. You look down, crestfallen. Of course, if something can be done at speed, that’s how Peter will do it. So that rules out all the other usual time-killers – crosswords or jigsaw puzzles or craft projects.

           But you remember Peter enjoying some things that can’t be sped through – live music being the main one. You start to wonder about the logistics of sneaking Peter out to take him to a concert or a play or something, but that’d be difficult to pull off without the professor catching you. Hmm…

           Peter’s brow furrows for a second, and then his expression brightens.

           “Hey, why don’t you read them to me?”

           You blink in surprise. “What, me?”

           “Yeah, you. Who else?”

           At this prospect, you’re suddenly rethinking everything. For all Peter might call himself a loser, you’d always seen him as infinitely cooler than yourself.

           “I don’t know. These are some of my own books, and I don’t know if you’ll actually like any of them.” You can feel yourself blushing preemptively, certain he’ll judge your taste in literature. “Maybe if I run to the library instead-”

           “No, don’t go!” Peter interrupts. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and I’m sick of being alone. Come on, read me your nerd books. Please?”

           He turns those big, pretty, puppy-dog eyes on you, and it’d be almost impossible to say no, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. You sigh, smiling at him.

           “Alright, you win,” you say, “But you have to at least pick which one.”

           His face brightens into a full thousand-watt grin. “Done!”

           Peter blurs once more as he shuffles through your selection of books. Then suddenly he’s still again, tilting his head as he studies a stout little paperback.

           “Hey, didn’t they make a movie out of this?”

           He tosses it to you and settles back against the pillows, watching you expectantly. You pull up your legs to sit cross-legged on the chair and take a deep breath. Here goes.

           “‘Carl Conrad Coreander – Old Books.’ This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop…”

           You read on, interrupted only by the odd quip or question from Peter. You hardly mind his commentary. You’re just happy that the story seems to be entertaining him. He’s a far cry from the agitated ball of nerves he’d been when you walked in.

           You glance over at the clock and see that two hours have gone by. You wonder if Peter would mind you taking a quick intermission to give your voice a break. But as you turn to ask him, you fall silent.

           Peter’s head is lolled back on the pillows, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths – sound asleep.

           You smile fondly at him. Poor guy. He really must’ve been exhausted.

Telekinetically, you switch off the lamp. The atmosphere in the room softens to the grey light filtering in from the rainy day outside. There. That’s more conducive to sleeping.

           You make note of the page you’d left off on and close the book, picking up your copy of Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Moving as carefully and quietly as you can to keep from waking Peter, you make your way over to a more comfortable spot on the window seat.

           You’d hate for Peter to think you’d run out on him after he fell asleep. You’ll stick around. And if he needs anything when he wakes up, you’ll be here. That’s what old friends are for.

[luvnami]

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -  Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He  (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of  what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made  it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k

Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!

Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.

But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.

Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery. 

He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.

You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea. 

You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin. 

“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.

You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.

But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters. 

Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind. 

He wants to believe that, too.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.

The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.

“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”

“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”

“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”

He smiles, you smile. 

Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.

The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone. 

It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.

Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more? 

You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?

There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?

It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.

You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets. 

It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”

The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-

“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”

You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream. 

“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”

“Never knew you cared about table manners.”

“Well, now I do.”

You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so. 

“Do you want to break up?”

The words come easier than expected.

“Huh?! What makes you say that?”

“You seem like you want to.”

“You can’t just assume things like-”

The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first. 

“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet. 

You whip around.

“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?

Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

Irritation laces his voice. 

“Don’t answer that.”

“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”

“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”

Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” Nanami replies. 

The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land. 

Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks. 

“Hey,” Nanami says. 

He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.

That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow. 

He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time. 

☆*: .｡.

Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.

“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?” 

Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you. 

“Is this not appropriate?”

You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?

“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh. 

“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches. 

You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket. 

“Something the matter?”

“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.

Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.

Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange. 

Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace. 

You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.

“Marriage?” 

His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”

Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges. 

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.

You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”

Heat rises to your face. 

“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”

“Then let’s-!”

“But I have one condition.”

Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean. 

“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”

Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.

“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”

You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his. 

“Can you give me some more time, please?”

You don’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

“Did you hear about the new first years?”

“Mm. The one who died, right?”

“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”

Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.

“Will you be heading out of school?”

“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”

“Stay safe, alright?”

“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”

Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.

“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”

“See you, Ken.”

Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out. 

The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.  

They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home. 

As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work. 

You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.

The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it. 

A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.

It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.

“Hello?” 

Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.

“Ken? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”

“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror. 

“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”

“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”

“I-”

You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor. 

“Kento?” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.

Clip, clip, clip.

One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa. 

He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt. 

Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions. 

Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.

Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind. 

Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.

Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be. 

Clip, clip, clip.

“Is it too short?” 

You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.”

You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.

“Hey, Ken?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”

“Okay.”

The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.

Clip, clip, clip.

☆*: .｡.

It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless. 

At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen. 

“Thank you.”

Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school. 

Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.

“It’s so hot!” 

You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways. 

Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark. 

“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.

He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.

“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”

“Wanna try mine?” 

You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.

“That’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”

Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip. 

“Yummy, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to try mine too?” 

The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion. 

“It’s good!” 

What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like? 

“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.

You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”

Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.

You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.

“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.

You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.

“Kento?” you whisper. 

Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. 

Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return. 

A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?

There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?

He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…

“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”

Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper. 

He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank. 

“Kento? Are you okay?” you ask gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

“Mm?”

Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.

“I love you. Let’s get married.”

[misslilli]

Whelp, with yesterday we're back at school. Teaching first grade is hard, man 😂 Thank you guys, again, for going on this adventure with me :)

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 17 - The Mulder Boys's Birthday Bash

[ DS ]

The Saturday of the Mulder Boys’s Birthday Bash, I find myself standing in front of my closet with the girls, frowning at my selection of dresses. “What about this one?” Holly fingers a yellow sundress.

“Nah, it’s pretty but she looks like she’s going to church in that one.” Sarah tugs on a dress with a daisy print on it.

“Are you joking? That one’s even more Virgin Mary than the yellow one!”

Alex reaches into my closet and pulls out a navy two-piece dress I bought on a whim a few years back, but have never worn since then. “How about this one?”

“A, that’s perfect! It’s classy, yet sexy, just what we’re going for!” Sarah shoves me towards my bathroom. “Go try it on, D! And wear those nude heels with it.” I take the dress out of Alex’s arms and the shoes from Sarah and change into the outfit quickly. The straps drape across my arms just below my shoulders and it’s low cut just enough for my comfort. My cross necklace gleams against my skin and I decide to keep it on for tonight. Since it’s a two-piece, there’s just a sliver of skin visible between the top and the skirt, which flares out and swishes around my knees.

Slipping on my heels I step outside and the girls gasp in unison. “Yes, that’s the one! How does it feel D?” Holly pulls me over and I twirl in front of the full-length mirror, smiling as the skirt billows out around my legs.

“It’s beautiful, I love it. Thanks, girls!”

“The Mulder boys won’t know what hit ‘em when you show up wearing that!” Sarah winks at me suggestively and I roll my eyes at her.

“You know exactly that that’s not why I’m wearing it!”

Now it’s Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah sure, just keep telling yourself that…”

“Come on guys, we’re already unfashionably late. I’ll just call us a cab, are you ready?”

I grab a shawl against the cold and my purse before we make our way downstairs to wait for the cab. When we arrive at the house, we can already hear faint party noises from the backyard and my heart’s beating hard against my chest when we walk up the front walkway to ring the doorbell. My gaze wanders around the front of the house, the glass veranda on the right catching my eye. It’s completely different from our beach house, but it’s beautiful all the same.

The door opens to reveal Principal Skinner with a glass of whiskey in his hand and he holds the door open for us. “Hello ladies, come on in! You look extraordinarily beautiful tonight! Follow me, the party’s out back in the yard.”

He leads us through the house and I notice that it’s got polished hardwood floors and is furnished with antiques, giving it a cozy feel. We walk past the glass veranda which houses the dining room on the right and the living room with a massive couch to the left, which opens into the kitchen. The wooden staircase to the first floor is tucked away in the back. Skinner points us to the bathroom as we walk past it before we step outside onto the back porch and my breath catches in my chest.

They really went all out on this party, there’s string lights twinkling all around the hedge and in the trees, catered food and a bar in one corner, round tables in the middle and a massive dancefloor with a DJ in the other corner. Holly whistles through her teeth. “Man, they sure know how to live it up. Why are our parties never this nice? Jesus, I think they invited half the town for this.”

“Well, that’s on me I guess, they don’t know many people around here yet so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to make new acquaintances,” Principal Skinner admits but I’m only half listening because my eyes are too busy scanning the crowd. Sarah nudges my hip and tilts her head over to the bar and I’m embarrassed that she knows exactly who I was looking for. There he is, deep in conversation with Skinner’s wife, laughing at something she said.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a white dress shirt and a crimson tie and while the sight of him in a plain t-shirt with jeans are enough to make my heart skip a beat, him in that suit is going to give me a heart attack.

“Would you look at that D, you color coordinated, matchsiiiesss.” Holly whispers in my ear and I give her a pointed look.

“Shut up, Holly!” I hiss at her.

Just then, he looks over at us standing on the elevated porch and I can practically feel the slight burn his eyes leave as they travel up and down my body, giving me the once over. I hope he has a defibrillator. He flashes us a smile and raises his hand in a small wave, then continues his conversation with Arlene Skinner.

“Come on, girls, let’s put the presents on the gift table and get something to eat and drink.” ‘Eat, drink and be merry for today you may die.’

At the bar we sidestep the wine for now, since we haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want to embarrass myself by getting tipsy and stumbling over my heels. With my luck, I’ll just faceplant at a certain someone’s feet. ‘Huh, maybe he’ll catch me in those strong arms of his, though, if you’re really lucky…‘

When he spots our little circle, Felix comes over to us wearing a boy version of his dad’s suit, only with short dress pants and sneakers better suited for running around with the other kids. He’s tugging a tall woman along, with wavy brown hair and a kind face that seems somewhat familiar, but I’m not sure where to place her. His face is flushed and he beams at us happily.

“You came!”

“Of course we came, happy birthday Felix!” Sarah raises her glass to him and we all chime in with our Happy birthdays. The woman he came over with also raises her glass and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“This is my teacher Miss Anderson, and Miss Carter and Miss Spencer and Miss Scully,” he introduces us while the woman takes her turn shaking our hands. She regards me curiously and her lips curve into a smile.

“I’m Sam, Fox’s sister and Felix’s favorite aunt!” His sister, that’s why her face seemed so familiar. “So you’re the enigmatic Miss Scully I’ve heard so much about. It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She notices the surprised look on my face. “Only good things, I promise. Felix won’t shut up about you when we talk on the phone.” I laugh, mostly because of the exasperated look Felix gives his aunt at revealing his secret.

“Glad to hear it, we’re having a lot of fun with him during recess! Nice to meet you, Sam. I really like your dress, did you get it around here?”

“Thanks, but no, I got it back in LA, I’m only visiting for a couple of days, I just couldn’t miss my two handsome boys’s birthday bash!”

“Handsome, huh? You spoil me sis!” Her brother has snuck up behind her, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Hi ladies, thanks for coming, you look very lovely today!” We raise our glasses to him as well, wishing him a happy birthday and my drink spills over a little in my shaky hand. I pray that no one notices.

“Sam I’m so sorry to drag you away, but can you help me out and check if everything’s alright with the caterers?” They excuse themselves and we decide it’s time for us to check out what said caterers have prepared, our stomachs already rumbling. Hopefully, the butterflies in my stomach will make room.

----------

[ Sam ]

After checking with the caterers inside, I return to the party, standing on the back porch to watch everyone have a good time and I’m secretly a little proud of myself. Planning the party from all the way across the country had been stressful to say the least, but it turned out great. My gaze wanders around the tables and it catches on the tiny red-head and her three friends, who seem to be having a great time, laughing and chatting at their table.

I’ve heard many stories from Felix over the last few weeks but what surprised me the most was the way my brother looks at her. When I saw the way his whole face lit up when she walked in, I realized that Felix was not the only one taken with Miss Scully. She’s not his usual type - not that she’s not pretty, she is, very much so - but she’s actually nice. A vast improvement from the piece of work that’s his ex-wife, let me tell you. I wonder if he’s thought about asking her out yet.

----------

[ DS ]

After dinner, we’re treated to another visit from the little Mulder, who’s breathless from the game of tag with his friends. “Hey Felix! Are you having a good time?” He nods enthusiastically, trying hard to catch his breath.

“Yeah, auntie Sam did a really good job! I can’t wait for my cake, she said it’s really huuuge! And the DJ is playing aaaall my favorite songs, too!”

Suddenly shy, he shuffles his feet a bit and then, gathering all his courage, he looks up at me and holds out a tiny hand. “Miss Scully, will you dance with me?”

“Of course, birthday boy, come on.”

----------

[ Sam ]

Once I’m finished making another round of checking that everything’s running smoothly, I spot my brother standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the party. Stopping on the last step, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Great party, huh?”

“Yeah, you did a pretty good job sis. And Skinner’s managed to gather up quite a crowd. Almost everyone’s here tonight!”

“You know what I think? You’d be just as happy if it were only you and one other special guest here tonight.” He turns his head a little, frowning.

“What?” I motion my head to the woman who’s currently talking to Felix at her table. “Aah. Is it that obvious?” I snort derisively

“Are you kidding me, bro? I’ve known you all my life, I can see the hearts in your eyes from a mile down the road. Have you asked her out yet?”

“No… I’m so nervous around her I can barely string more than a few coherent words together. She probably thinks I’m a huge idiot. I asked her if she believes in aliens, Sam!” We watch as Felix holds his hand out to her, asking her to dance with him. He’s so cute I can barely stand it.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You should take a page out of your son’s book though, boy’s got game!” My brother laughs as the somewhat mismatched pair sways on the dancefloor.

I release him from my embrace, an idea popping into my head. “You should go and cut in.” Now he fully turns to me and looks at me like I’m crazy.

“What? No…” He’s making his panic face.

“What yes! Carpe diem, right now!” I give him a gentle shove in the direction of the dancefloor. “Go! I’ll handle the music.”

----------

[ DS ]

Of course, I can’t say no to the little charmer and we make our way to the dancefloor and I sway with Felix in time to the music, twirling him around until he giggles.

“You look really handsome tonight, Felix!”

He smiles shyly and narrowly avoids stepping on my shoes. “Thank you! You look really beautiful too.”

“You’re absolutely right, son. Mind if I cut in?” A tingle shoots up my spine at the sound of his voice and Felix nods, stepping back. His dad holds out his hand to me. “A dance for the other birthday boy?”

“Well technically, it’s not your birthday for a few days.” I tease him, but I slip my hand into his and he spins me against him, wrapping his right arm around my waist, clasping my left hand in his tightly. The DJ fades into a new song and I groan inwardly as Sonny and Cher’s “I got you babe!” starts droning from the speakers. We sway for a few beats before he whips me across the dancefloor in a quick waltz. Over his shoulder I can see countless pairs of eyes following us but for once, tonight, I don’t care because all I can feel is the burn of his fingers resting on the sliver of exposed skin of my waist and the tickle of the hair at the back of his neck against my hand. God, this guy can waltz.

On the last few notes, he twirls me out with a grin on his face, tugging on my hand to bring me back in and then he dips me back for the grand finale. Dips me. The move takes me by surprise and I laugh, breathless when he brings me upright again.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to dip your lady in a waltz!” I realize my Freudian slip a fraction of a second too late. ‘Your lady? What the heck, Dana.’

He just shrugs nonchalantly, still grinning. “If I fancy to dip my lady, I will dip my lady! Thank you for this dance, Miss Scully!” He bows his head and I chuckle, curtsying. “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Mulder!” ‘Who ARE you?’

We step off the dancefloor and I return to our table, sitting down still a little bit out of breath, only to be met with three incredulous stares. ‘Here we go, 3, 2, 1…’

“What was that, D?” Holly.

“Oh my God, the two of you on the dancefloor!” Sarah.

“That was incredible!” Alex.

I shrug, picking up my glass, but I can’t hide the blush on my face and smile around my straw. “Mr. Mulder can waltz.” I’ll never live this down.

Sometime after the birthday cakes came out, Felix appears at my side again and leans against me heavily. I can tell he’s coming down from his sugar-high. “Miss Scully, remember how I told you about the encyclopedia on butterflies?”

“Yeah I do, what about it?”

“Would you like to see it?” He looks up at me hopefully and I agree, glad to get away from the action for a while.

“Okay, come on!” Together we climb the steps to the back porch and he tugs me inside into the living room where we sit down on the couch. I can finally slip off my heels while Felix runs to get the encyclopedia and after returning, places it on my lap curling up into my side. He opens the heavy book and shows me his favorite butterflies, explaining in great detail what’s so special about it.

His voice gets more and more quiet with each new butterfly until he stops talking altogether and looking down I realize that he fell asleep, completely wiped. Coming off my own sugar high, I scoot down lower into the cushions and lean my head back against the back, closing my eyes. Just for a second.