#i love how often he reaches out for her in the aftermath of the accident

[felicitykings]

17.21 Trust In Me | 17.22 Blindside

HOLBY CITY (1999-2022)

[sunshine-zenith]

Also let’s talk about how the crown affected Farmworld Finn and the Winter King

Finn Mertens isn’t the warm(get it), happy guy we’re used to. He’s still protective and badass, but he stays out of trouble. Some of it is clearly just the world he lives in — the Farmworld isn’t the safest place overall — but he shuts down at the mention of the crown. The opening scene of Destiny shows the “Snowman” attack a family, including a baby, potentially killing them — even if he doesn’t really remember that (like Simon only has fuzzy memories of being Ice King), the knowledge alone is enough to haunt someone for the rest of their life

Winter King, meanwhile, was clearly living in denial — he redirects attention to all the gifts he could give than focus on his time as Ice King, he refuses to admit the awful thing he did to his Princess Bubblegum, and he claims not to remember Betty before suggesting Simon replace her with magic. This last bit, he tries to play it off as a joke and calls it unethical, but we see an Ice Marcy in the castle — he’s aware that the shit he pulls is messed up and he’s fine with hiding it.

The thing is, he lived with the curse for like 900-ish years before finding a way to offload most of the curse onto another person. Candy Queen is a danger to him, and even if she isn’t he clearly doesn’t enjoy her being around him. But he’s choosing to let her keep existing — he’s chosen for years to let someone else suffer the way he suffered, because he’d rather face inconvenience/danger/the knowledge of how fucked up his actions are than go back to the crown

Let’s look at how these two compare to Simon — while he’s overall been more alright with talking about the way the crown affected him than Finn Mertens, he’s also willing to go back to it. Sure, Ice King doesn’t have the weight of fairly recent human murders on his back, but the guy was technically a villain and did hurt people. On the other hand, neither of them are coping with the crown’s aftermath well. Finn and Simon both seem to have unhealthy relationships with alcohol to cope with the crown — Simon’s shown binge drinking and seems to be a regular at the bar. Finn on the other hand has children and is clearly doing his best to provide to them, so I doubt he gets wasted often, and the one time Jay said he did, it seemed like an accident, but it’s notable that the only time he was willing to talk about his trauma was after he had gotten drunk

That lack of warmth (get it lol get it) I mentioned earlier is something they both share as well. Finn still has his Jake and clearly loves his dog, but he pulls his daughter away from Jake to have her do chores, even though Jake was clearly itchy and very much doesn’t have the strength or flexibility to properly scratch the itch. Finn’s children are well cared for, but quiet. They clearly don’t expect much affection from their father, and seem pretty used to him being unhappy/short with them. Simon, meanwhile, shows remorse for making Astrid cry but doesn’t make up for it when she returns. He isn’t reaching out to Marceline, even though she’s basically his daughter and would totally welcome him around (plus Bubblegum seems pretty happy to hear from him as well). It had only called back later or something, they could’ve talked about how he was trying, he clearly was, but he still needs help.

They also share an aversion to cold it seems — Simon’s reaction to the ice in his drink, all the times Finn Mertens stares into open fire (though maybe there’s a chance his wife could’ve been the Farmworld’s equipment of Flame Princess, but you gotta admit this series is really leaning into Finn/Huntress Wizard). It’s notable that, after wheedling ice magic as a teenager, the adult Finn Mertens builds a flamethrower into his prosthetic arm

Simon and Winter King, meanwhile, have some interesting parallels in how they treat Fionna and others. Simon’s so at the end of his rope and not coping that he’s willing to return to mental hell, essentially go though with magical suicide, under the guise of helping Fionna and Cake. Sure, his desire to help them is genuine, but his self sacrifice here is deeply unhealthy. Winter King is meanwhile behaving horrifyingly selfish, but with equally desperate motivations (the PB/CQ situation), and he’s hiding behind it by giving out presents and entertainment. He’s genuinely fulfilling Cake and Fionna’s wishes, and is sincerely trying to fulfill’s Simon’s “need” for a new crown. He’s gleefully giving them tours and playing games and inviting Simon into his lab. Shoot, he doesn’t have to use magic to give Cake Wi-Fi but he does anyway

The difference is that Simon is doing something self destructive with his need to help Fionna, while Winter King is distracting from how destructive his actions are by giving Fionna what she wants

Then there’s their respective Bettys. Simon’s not coping with losing Betty, like, at all. She either doesn’t exist anymore or she’s more or less become a god. He’s trying to summon a way to her instead of living his life. Winter King meanwhile is acting like Betty meant nothing to him. Sure, he’s had at least a hundred years to properly work through her death, but like. He’s a Simon. And he seems to have even less of a support system than our Simon — his only friends are a couple of ice people he made. Dude totally hasn’t sat down with his grief to work through it. He clearly isn’t letting the past go even though he’s acting like it doesn’t matter to him (the Ice Marcy thing)

I don’t have a conclusion, other than like. Ya know. The crown hurts people. And clearly the multiverse doesn’t have a therapist that specializes in helping people working through that pain

[novelnotionswithlei]

You've Reached Sam by Dustin Thao

Summary:

Julie Clarke is 17 years old, with a future full of promise and every detail carefully mapped out. She’s on track to be accepted into Reed College, dreaming of moving into a city apartment with her boyfriend, Sam. But all of her plans shatter in an instant when Sam tragically dies in a car accident while on his way to pick her up. What started as a simple misunderstanding—Julie angry at Sam for forgetting to pick her up, Sam rushing to make it right, and Julie’s unanswered phone calls from Sam—ends in an unimaginable loss. Just like that, Sam is gone.

In the aftermath, Julie is consumed by grief, lost in her sorrow, and trying to push the memory of Sam away. She tells herself she needs to forget him, but the more she tries, the more she isolates herself from everyone around her. Her loved ones, too, are pushed aside as she drowns in her pain.

Then one day, Julie calls Sam’s phone—only to hear his voice on the other end. Sam? But how? He’s dead. How is she talking to him? As this impossible connection grows, Julie clings to it, determined to hold on to whatever piece of Sam she can. But the clock is ticking, and the inevitable goodbye looms on the horizon.

You’ve Reached Sam takes you on an unforgettable journey through grief, love, friendship, and acceptance. It’s a raw, emotional exploration of Julie and Sam’s deep bond, the mending of broken friendships, and the bittersweet realization of what it means to truly appreciate the people we have in our lives. With every page, you’ll relive Julie and Sam’s cherished memories—until the heart-wrenching moment of their final goodbye. Trust me, be ready for a tearful ride. Ugly cries guaranteed!

Themes:

In my opinion, the central theme of this book is the grieving process. What I really appreciate is how the author approached this topic in a unique way. Instead of focusing solely on the sadness that often accompanies losing a loved one, the book sheds light on a more hopeful perspective. It shows that it’s okay to let go and move forward, but moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. The memory of someone you love always stays with you, no matter what. The story also serves as a reminder to cherish the people and moments in your life, encouraging you to live each day with intention and gratitude.

Conflicts:

Sam's passing: He dies in a car accident while on his way to pick up Julie, leaving her and Sam's loved ones devastated.

The grieving process: Julie navigates the complex emotions of loss—learning how to let go, accept the reality, and understand her feelings.

Friendship dynamics: The story explores the ups and downs of friendships, including mending broken relationships and forming new ones.

Reconnecting with loved ones: Julie works through the emotional distance she’s created, reconnecting with herself and those she cares about.

Acceptance of life's unpredictability: Coming to terms with the fact that things don’t always go as planned, but learning to approach life with mindfulness and gratitude.

Favorite Quotes:

"The world keeps moving, no matter what happens to you." (pg. 18)

"We were two parts of a song. He was the music. And I was the words." (pg. 211)

“Letting go isn’t about forgetting. It’s balancing moving forward with life, and looking back from time to time, remembering the people in it.” (pg. 265)

Reflection:

Ugh, I'm in such a whirlwind of emotions right now. I can’t even fully express how I feel because this book took me on an emotional rollercoaster! When I first discovered it, I was immediately drawn to the title, the cover, and the colors, tone, and overall vibe. I was hooked as soon as I read the summary, but those first impressions were absolutely captivating.

As I started reading, I could really feel the love between Sam and Julie, as well as the profound sense of loss that comes with losing someone we deeply care about. The book captured the ups and downs of the grieving process so beautifully. Throughout the story, I found myself relating to Julie, especially when it came to the difficulty of letting go of someone or something we love, even when we know it’s what's best for us.

Toward the end of the book, I felt the pacing slow down as it led up to Sam and Julie’s final goodbye. But by the end, I was ugly crying because their farewell was so perfectly done—it really added the finishing touch to the story. I loved how the plot explored grief in such a unique way, and it left me feeling incredibly grateful for the people and things I have in my life.

There were so many moments throughout the book that I absolutely loved: Julie forming a friendship with Oliver, mending her relationship with Mika, spending time with her mom, and reconnecting with her friends Jay, Rachel, and Yuki. But most of all, I cherished how she rebuilt her bond with Sam’s family, especially her bond with his little brother.

Overall, I adored this book. The plot, the character development—I'm such a sucker for YA romance novels, LOL. I definitely ugly cried by the end, and my heart ached knowing Julie and Sam’s time together was so short. But I know she cherished every moment with him, and it’s a reminder for me to do the same with all of my loved ones. ♡

Overall Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[flightfoot]

I've been putting together a fic rec list for this year by word count, so let's see what I can dig up to fit the bill...

do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song 'About You' by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

This Distance Between Us by @coffeebanana

After defeating Monarch, the search for the Peacock Miraculous brings Ladybug and Chat Noir to a hotel room in London. But it's hard to enjoy the victory when Ladybug can't figure out why Chat's been so quiet, why he seems so sad. How's she supposed to help if she has no idea what's wrong?

Wanted: Catnap by SortaArtsy

Adrien Agreste has barely been sleeping, trying to be everything expected of him. What happens when he spreads himself too thin? Sick!Adrien/ Cat Noir

Our Tales Are Endless (That's Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.

you don't even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there's only one bed.

Until I Found You by @linnieluna

Working their way up to a settled adulthood, Marinette and Adrien, now 23, gain a reason to believe that they are expecting—way earlier than they ever planned. Still unwed, it evokes a revelation on Adrien’s behalf. Was it time to take the next step forward?

Like Smoke From A Furnace by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

Marinette and Adrien give up their Miraculous. Ladybug and Chat Noir never meet again.

with this ring by @thelibraryloser

She thought “you and me against the world” had sounded like lopsided odds before, when she hadn’t even dreamed “you against me” was a possibility. Or maybe she had dreamed it, but at least in those dreams he’d had cold blue eyes and a stark white mask. The villain she’d fought today had looked at her through her partner’s own bright green eyes. It wasn’t meant to be this way.

Nothing Else Matters by LiquefiedStars

Marinette couldn’t figure out Chat Noir. He was supposed to be her partner, but instead ended up working for Hawk Moth. Still, her heart betrayed her and when a strong connection forms between them, Ladybug goes to Chat looking for answers, finding out more than she bargained for.

Slowly Fading (from my misery) by @wehadabondingmoment

“You’re looking awfully deep in thought today, minou.” Ladybug’s gloved hand stroked over his hair and Chat Noir closed his eyes with an unstable breath. He got like this sometimes. Lately, it had been getting worse. Or: Gabriel likes using the rings to order his son around. After a while, it starts having effects on Chat Noir as well. (The more often Gabriel commands Adrien to act a certain way, the more it gets ingrained in his mentality. He suffers because of it.)

the legend of the firefly by @agnes-writes

“She’s… beautiful. If he were to describe her, he’d say that they bottled summer in her eyes, and painted the night sky in her hair. Her lips are curved into a wistful smile, eyes trailing the thicket of trees where Adrien stands. Her gaze sets his heart stuttering in his chest as it softens, and Adrien almost believes that look is meant for him.” OR: A pair of lovers create a romance that transcends time, and leaves a mark like no other.

home is where the fight is by @rosie-b

Nadja Chamack’s voice greeted Adrien as he sat up straight, wiping his clammy hands on his pants and ignoring the black kwami floating by his shoulder. “—shocked to see our heroine fall in battle today, taking a direct hit from the akuma just as she detransformed. Parisians are torn between blaming Hawk Moth and Cat Walker for their roles in this tragedy, which ultimately revealed the civilian identity of Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Adrien turned off the TV and lowered his head as his vision blurred. Written for Ladrien June Day 7: Injured

oh, look now, there you go with hope again by @ladyofthenoodle

After the defeat of Hawkmoth and his accomplice, Chat Noir, Marinette is ready to return to her normal life, but she can't escape Adrien Agreste, who was sentenced to a fate many consider worse than prison: public school. Specifically, her public school. Still, that doesn't mean she has to interact with him, does it? Except, if she doesn't... who will?

I hope some of these strike your fancy, I loved all of them!

I need. lovesquare fic recs. that'll make me cry. 20k words max bc that's all I got energy for rn. any rating is fine

[deluluass]

Red, like blood. Blue, like love.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; bullying; soulmates au

Prompt: 88 & 183

There’s someone for everyone, you’d learned growing up.

 "Remember, blue means happy," your mother would say. "The happiest you'll ever be.”

She liked reminding you about this fact— for it is an indisputable truth, every so often when she could still carry you. You’d be hugged from the back, as she recounted stories of first meetings, serendipitous and life changing in their nature; belonging to those who’ve lived long before you, sometimes even those who’ve only lived in tales.

Mostly, your mother loved telling those involving the people she knew. And if you’ve behaved properly, she would tell you about hers. 

Tracing your palm, starting from the forked lines to the dashed ones on your fingers, she’d say, “These would start to glow like stars.”

“That’s weird!” you’d burst out, shrieking a laughter as she tickled you. 

“Listen carefully,” she chastised. “Blue is for your soulmate, okay?”

And you’d repeat: Blue is for my soulmate.

“Then, mama,” you tugged at her sleeves, “What if it’s really, really bright red! Like! Bloody glow sticks! Say, mama, you see, everyone at the park was talking about the man who died because he touched someone and his hand became bright re— ”

You never brought that up again. What your mother said about it had been enough to never make you forget.

“Tell me if you get red,” she said firmly, clutching your arms as if she feared someone would snatch you away from her. “Red is bad, my heart. Red means run.”

 It hadn’t nearly been as gruesome as your mother made it out to be. 

Case in point, when you turned twelve the couple three houses down your street found out, shortly after their honeymoon, that their palms gleamed a fierce red once they clasped each other’s hands in front of the neighborhood aunties.  

Their marriage ended with a swift and ordinary divorce, a year or so later.

Red: Not just an ominous warning for homicide, then. That was a relief, you’d thought.

Contrary to how your mother framed it, you were thankful, actually. It helped some of your friends escape from potentially hellish relationships. How lucky is it that you lived in a reality where the universe seemed exceedingly benevolent. Though, you sometimes have to question if that generosity extended to everyone.

Fat lot of good it did for you. 

Because, from where you’re standing, it doesn’t have to take some arbitrary and unsolvable scientific mystery to heed that Oikawa Tooru must be avoided like the plague.

Any person in your shoes would be conditioned to do exactly that. 

You’d first met in Elementary. You thought he was the prettiest kid you’d ever seen, with chestnut curls and doe eyes and lashes that swept past his cheeks, and when you’d asked for a hand shake he’d called you “the ugliest girl I’ve ever seen” and “fart face.” 

Recess and lunch were when he’s most fearsome. Spiky burdocks slapped on the collar of your dress; dead lizards in your food; the boy was determined. The worst part was that it always happened when no one was looking. And if someone were, it was his best friend. So when you finally told on him to your mom, both your teacher and the principal simply judged Oikawa as the victim of an attention deprived child.

“Please discipline your daughter,” they told her. “We are all aware of your situation at home, but do ensure that she’s not getting out of control.”

You couldn’t even muster up the strength to defend yourself. In that moment all you could do was swear that you’d never allow anyone to talk to your mother in that way again. 

You moved out of that school. 

You didn’t wait for your palms to flash a warning signal because, somehow, you knew that boys who discover early that they could get away with anything cannot get any better. 

There’d been no way to be sure of that until Aoba Johsai— after a peaceful interim of no Oikawa; no red palm lines (and no blue ones, either).

The proof hit you in the face. Literally. 

“Oi, Shittykawa!”

Heat permeated from your nostrils as you patted your cheek, detached and staring back at the large gymnasium. 

“You hit someone!”

How unlucky did a person have to be to bleed right on the first day of classes? 

You tried to lean forward. “It’s okay,” you slurred nasally, pinching your nose and averting your embarrassed gaze from the boy kneeling next to you.

“Trashykawa! You better hurry and apologize!”

“Don’t be mad, Iwa-chan,” that disgustingly saccharine voice came from behind you, making you flinch, as if the years you’d spent apart had done nothing to purge it out of your system.

In all honesty, you hadn’t really cared for whoever was responsible for the ball that careened all the way to where you were standing, so sure that it had to be an accident. No one in their right mind would want to injure someone they barely knew, especially if said someone is a couple of feet away from you. 

Morally and athletically, it should’ve been improbable. But then you saw who did it and everything made perfect sense.

Iwa-chan. The boy beside you. Iwaizumi Hajime.

If he’s here, then— 

“You,” he whispered. 

“Eh?! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” Oikawa Tooru gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

Time is cruel. It wears down on you, tears you and molds you into something you can’t even recognize, if it decides to. (Fate, more so). You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or laugh, looking at him. If the universe were so benevolent, then perhaps Oikawa Tooru had received all of its favor.

He was beautiful. You’d known this before, but with all the baby fat replaced with sharp yet slender angles, figure lean and imposing even when he’d lowered himself to meet your eyes, Oikawa didn’t seem real.

“I did hit someone, didn’t I?” he pouted, wiping the dried blood atop your lip. “And such a pretty girl, too.”

That volleyball existed should’ve made life better for you. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed that out of the court, when he’s not taking names and being praised like a god, you were his little pastime. Something fun to take his mind off whatever it is he thinks about it. 

The mocking comments, you could handle; every time you’d recite and he’ll interject with something playful and then the entire class would laugh (because he’s Oikawa) and your professor would reprimand him but you could always tell that they, too, are holding in a giggle. 

Those were easy to bear, because although his insults hit way too close to home, it’s just— it’s just so petty.

Really, it’s the aftermath that does the damage.

“They’re like Christmas lights under your skin!” 

This topic pops up every month or so. Most people your age can be lucky enough to meet their soulmate this early. 

“And it’s the most awesome feeling in the world,” your classmate sighed. “When we touched hands? Man. We just- we glowed.”

Then, the others would poke fun, faking a gagged expression, but they’d always ask afterwards, “What happened next?” And everytime, you’d watch from the sidelines. Like an uninvited audience. 

You tried being a part of it once, wanting to share about the time your close friend met her soulmate. But all you’d gotten were side eyes and titters, as if they were laughing about a joke only you didn’t know about. 

“They’re so mean to you.” 

You groaned.

Oikawa was seated behind you, resting his head against his elbow. Everyone was too busy talking about blue lights and destined souls to notice what’s happening at the back of the room. 

He continued, “Not including you in conversations, treating you like an outsider.”

You didn’t bite, focusing on the opened book in front of you.

“Must be lonely, having no one.”

“Oikawa,” you muttered under your breath. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

The silence that came after that was unexpected. You were sure it would be short lived; he’s just gearing up for more. He usually went at it until you’d have no choice but to physically remove yourself from his presence. You’d thought once that that may be why he does this so much. Maybe he still thought you were the “ugliest girl” he’s ever met and he wants you out of his sight. Because Oikawa’s infantile like that.

But the silence stayed, accompanied by the background noise of eager conversations; lingering some more as white, fluffy clouds passed by the glass windows. 

When he broke it, all Oikawa said was, “Soulmates, huh.”

You felt a finger touch your back, drawing the barest of lines over your uniform. He removed them just before you could stand up and leave. 

You disliked those moments with him. 

You disliked him especially when he played. 

Oikawa’s a monster, be it in volleyball or with you. There are times, though, that you’d notice some things that you think you’re not meant to see. Like after a serve— its impact booming throughout the court, he’d have this puzzling expression on his face. 

It looked like....anger. 

He scored a point, right? Everyone’s cheering for him, aren’t they? Wait, didn’t they win?

You thought maybe it’s the adrenaline making him nastier than usual, but sometimes you’d pass by the gym when he happens to be alone. And that anger is still there, punctuated by the sound of the ball exploding against the floor. Jump. Hit. Spike. Jump. Hit. Spike. He’d do it, again and again and again. 

As if he’s trying to grasp something even he cannot reach. 

Those instances should’ve taught you that the best thing to do is look away. 

That’s what you should’ve done. Look away.

They lost the Interhigh tournament.

You knew this not because you’d watched, but because for one day, Oikawa Tooru wasn’t your bully. 

The derision was replaced by sulking. He didn’t speak for the entire period. The funniest thing about it was that everyone kept staring at you. Like somehow you’d been the cause of this, when all of them were lamenting the loss just as much as the team itself. 

 What was supposed to be a reason for celebration suddenly became a crime that you had to explain for.

 “Great,” you grumbled to yourself. “One time I don’t have a target on my back, now I’m the bad guy.”

Trash bag in hand, the scraps inside rattled against each other as you stomped to the recycling bin, both sleeves of your P.E jacket folded up to the elbows. You affected a tone, choosing to mock the grating way some of classmates talked:

“Oh, hey, if it’s not too much,” you began. “Can you please be his punching bag again? If you will, can you relieve our superstar’s burdens? By, I don’t know, alluring him into walking all over you? Like the good old days! Please, oh please? We rely on you, oh Great Punching Bag! We Beseech thee, oh Esteemed Doormat! We compel— dude, what the fuck?!”

Crumpled papers and steel and tin cans rolled to the ground. You didn’t pick them up, like you should’ve; you left it there, trash bag lying open, and grabbed the ball that whisked mere inches from your face. 

This time you’re not making the same mistake. The asshole is more than capable of suspending what little morals he has, just to hurt someone he barely knew. As well as athletically adept (an understatement, that) at hitting a walking target; or not hitting it, in this case.  

You stormed the almost empty gym. Oikawa is a ray of sunshine, greeting you with that smile. It makes you want to punch him.

“What is wrong with you?” you spat. 

He chuckled. “Whoops. Sorry!” 

“I’m not having this-” you shoved the ball to his stomach. He didn’t even blink. “This isn’t gonna slide anymore, Oikawa.”

Wide grin still in place, he took it from your hands with his much larger ones and said, “Wow, you’re actually mad this time. ”  

Then, he added, “I didn’t mean it! Honest!” 

Must be nice, you thought with a scowl, to be him. Anyone can be sincere if they look anything like Oikawa. 

“Sure. Fine. No, actually,” you glowered. “You know what?” 

“Hm?” He tilted his head. Oikawa tilted his pretty little head.

You seethed. “I get it. You lost. That doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I mean, what did I ever do to you, Oikawa? I have-” you exhaled, surprised by the break in your voice. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. We stopped being kids a long time ago. That shit you pull should’ve ended by now. We’ve grown.” You jabbed his chest. “But I see that maybe not all of us have.”

His pleased expression hadn’t dropped. “Ouch,” Oikawa grimaced, glancing amusedly at the place you’d touched. “How mean.”

This isn’t going anywhere. 

You don’t know why it took you this long to realize this, as you shifted your gaze away from him, noticing the gashes on the floor that tear the surface like scars that never healed. That must’ve been because of him, with the amount of practice he does. 

“It won’t be enough, won’t it, Oikawa?” you whispered. “Not for you.”

The smile that’s been there since you arrived tensed, straining at the corners of his lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he beamed. 

He was bathing in his own sweat, seeping through his shirt and matting his hair to his face, and he looks— Oikawa looked tired. His eyes were sunken in, too. Did he even sleep?

You’re so used to seeing him not a hair out of place, with a sweet scent that you amusedly thought lures his gaggle of admirers into following him everywhere. It takes you aback, honestly. Particularly the wobble in his step as he bent and squeezed his knee with shaky fingers.

You don’t think he’s aware he’s doing it in front of you.

Then, just like that, everything seemed to have added up.  

“You’ll never be happy,” you said.

You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve left. Instead, you looked him in those brown eyes, the warm hue becoming a lot colder as he moved closer. 

Oikawa sneered. “And what do you know, huh?” 

(Go. Leave.)

“Nothing,” you told him. “I don’t- I don’t know. Because, I don’t get it.”

(Shut up. Shut up.)

“Why you try any harder, I don’t know. Win or lose, it’s all the same. You’re still the same. You’re still awful and annoying and- and still you.” You laughed, unsure why you’re running your mouth like this. 

“Win or lose. Oikawa is still Oikawa,” you breathed in. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

His teammates must’ve gone somewhere. For lunch, maybe, you thought as you eyed the abandoned bottles and used towels scattered around the court. “Besides,” you huffed, not without a twinge of envy. “They’ll all still love you, either way.” 

Everything went still for a while, and you’d just realized what you’d just said.

“What about you?” 

You looked back at him.

“What?”

He tipped his chin. You stepped backwards. 

He brushed your wrist.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he only smiled and wrapped his entire hand around it. 

Oikawa had been your first bully. Before you could even comprehend what that meant, Oikawa had been the source of your mother’s worries whenever she parted with you at the school gates. It is funny, thinking about it, for letting this boy affect you despite making an effort to stay away the first time. 

But it is only now— now that he has a firm hold on you, gentle yet smothering— that you truly feared Oikawa Tooru. 

It rattled your breath, squeezing your heart and refusing air to pass through your lungs, as you felt a shock zap through you. And apparently through him as well.

You broke away from each out with a cry.

Your hand was burning. That’s the only explanation for it. Your hand was burning and any moment now smoke will diffuse from the pores. 

You waited. Any moment now. But the more you stared at it the more tiny spots of flames sparked under your skin, bursting along the palm lines— first, the forked ones; then, the dashed lines— glaring back at you, glowing brighter, blotting and spreading until they mapped your palms then your entire hands like constellations. 

“Red is bad, my heart,” your mother said. “Red means run.”

“I knew it,” you scoffed, shaking your head. 

Well, it’s not as if this is news to you. 

“What about that, Oikawa?” You put both your radiating hands in the air. “The universe is telling us, you and I? We just don’t—”

Why are you crying?

Why is Oikawa crying? 

“I knew it,” he croaked.

Your mother made the red light sound so horrifying for a reason. 

There has to be a reason, too, why the universe is warning you so late into your life. You’d actually ran before. And when you thought it a waste of money, you chose to stay and not fight back; thinking that his punches have become less severe, degraded into verbal taunts that induce social exclusion at most; that, certainly, red doesn’t forbode something as bad as murder, right?

Well, what now? You were wrong, after all. This time you have a feeling that you actually need to hide. 

Because Oikawa’s looking at you like you’re the last two people left in this Earth. 

Just you and him. Without any need for anybody else. 

You didn’t breathe, attempting to bolt despite the overwhelming need to throw up right where you're standing. He stepped closer, faster than you’d liked, and touched your face, caressing your cheek up to your aching temple.

“You should really stop trying to run away,” he said, voice low as if he’s sharing a secret. “I’ll always find you, you know?”

You didn’t have to look to know. Even if you closed your eyes, as well, you know it’s still going to be there; glowing in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“Me and you—” Oikawa sighed. 

Listen carefully, your mother said.

“ —we have a connection that no one else will ever understand,” he said.

The light emitting from his hand was so harsh it hurt you, pricking your sight until it drew fat tears, reflecting against your damp face and tinting the fallen streaks with bright—

Blue means happy, she told you. The happiest you’ll ever be.

And you’d repeat: Blue. Blue is for—

“My soulmate," Oikawa said, before locking you in a deep, searing kiss. 

The lights didn't die even as he dragged you into the storage room.  

"Hey, where'd senpai go?" 

The rest of the volleyball team came in droves, occupying the hollow court with their squeaking shoes and questions about Oikawa's whereabouts.

"Must've gone somewhere," you heard a deep voice say. 

You could answer that question. All you  had to do was scream. They weren't so far from the room that they wouldn't pick it up over the noise of their volleyball practice. Really, if you needed to, you could even outshout their guttural yells of "Nice kill!"

Though, you'd have to remove the underwear lodged in your mouth first. 

Yours, in fact; soaked now by your own saliva, drool dripping to your chin as your wrists chafed against the rope that's keeping them tied at your back.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" You felt every sickening movement of Oikawa's lips against your throat. "Feels good when you- ah, fuck- when you give in."

With the cloth muting your shrill bawling, you tried your best to recall how you ended up here: seated on his lap as he sluggishly humped himself against you, his still glowing hands cupping your ass.  

The only thing left on your body was your bra, and even that he's already lowered to let your tits spill over the top. Your pants and t-shirt and jacket are lying around somewhere. You couldn't determine where in particular; the only sources of light were behind you.  

He was leaving imprints of blue all over your skin; around your waist as he slithered his hands to reach your breasts, scantily brushing over the hardened nipples and making you keel over.

"So sensitive," he tutted, smooching your neck so gently that even the underwear couldn't muffle your loud yelp when he suddenly bit into the flesh. Hard. 

You wanted to claw his eyes out and call for help and you wanted badly to scream don't do that Oikawa someone please save me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me-

But the gag remained intact and the boys outside continued their game, ignorant that their precious captain is taking everything away from you. 

Sharp canines bruised your skin, provoking a fresh batch of tears as he sucked and licked every after cruel bite. 

Then, when you thought the worst had passed, he removed his mouth from your neck to spit onto your bare cunt, allowing it to slide from the hair on your mound to the nub sticking out in the middle.

(It is not enough that he is killing you. Oikawa must defile you, too.)

His fingers gripped the insides of your thighs open when you tried to shut them together. "Don't be a brat," he clicked his tongue.

"Be a nice little kitten for me," Oikawa drawled, smearing the slick that's soaking your folds against the spittle coating your clit.

You didn't notice when he'd taken his cock out, you only realize that he's about to enter you when he teased your entrance with it, pushing the tip to nudge the drenched hole, only to pull it back again.

And you didn't dare look. The feel of it almost stretching you out with just the head is already driving you to insipid begging.

"What'd you say, kitten?" he pouted.

Oikawa you've already taken too much is it never going to be enough Oikawa let me go.

"I can't understand you," he chuckled. "Here—"

He pulled the underwear out of your mouth as he thrust all the way inside, your back arching, driving him deeper, as his cock throbbed against your pussy walls.

"Now, what were you saying?"

You swallowed your cries and heaved and swore you were gonna tear his heart out after this. 

"Say," he whispered, sniffing your wet panties without breaking his gaze. "If everyone saw us right now, how'd you think they'd react?"

It was so reverent, the way he did it, blue light revealing that he closed his eyes as he took a whiff, as if he hung onto your scent like a lifeline.

But you thought that'd been a calculated move, because as you dumbly stared at him, he immediately gyrated his hips under you, rocking back and forth ever so slowly, and you remembered that you had to keep quiet.

His cock was so big inside you, making you bite your lip as it filled you up, the curved tip hitting a spot that has you squirming in his embrace.

"At this point they'll know how much of a whore you are," he said, tangling his muscled arms around yours and anchoring you to his body. "Made just for me."

"Oika-Oikawa…"

You don't know this person. 

"Help..me.."

You don't know who's speaking out and whimpering for Oikawa, on her knees and bouncing up and down on his lap with weak, quivering thighs. 

It couldn't be you.

"Help you?" You felt him nuzzle your neck. "I thought you wanted me to stay away, though?"

Someone mewled out a pathetic, "N-no."

"No? Then what d'you want, kitten?"

(Oh. Oh, he feels so fucking good.)

Your belly has never felt this hot before and it's driving you crazy that you're chasing for something you cannot see and it feels so near but there's something, something that's keeping you from it that all you can do is grind your sopping cunt closer to him.

"Wanna- I wanna cum."

Oikawa kissed you on the forehead, and then he said, "Go ahead, then."

He released your arms. 

Then, he's scooping cum off your pussy, making sure to drag his fingers under the lips, before circling your large, swelling clit. Then, he's sucking your tits and swirling his tongue around a nipple and you're so so close.

"That's it," Oikawa sighed. "Ride my cock, baby."

His rough palm slapped both your ass cheeks and the cry that erupted from you only made him laugh. 

"Make yourself cum on my cock," he grunted, licking his smiling lips as he leaned back against the wall, hand idly rubbing your dripping clit. "You're making a mess, darling. Leaking like that."

You're quivering all over; your cunt is spasming and your legs are complaining beneath you, but you don't stop. You lift your hips and then sink your pussy down, down until you feel his balls touching your sore ass, the sloshing sound growing louder as you move faster. 

You don't think about what this'll all mean later, what you're doing giving in to him, when you scream out his name. But as soon as you did, Oikawa's growl had been your only warning.

He grabbed the back of your head and kissed you, plunging his tongue into your throat, his strong arms pressing you so close to him you can no longer tell his skin from yours, his battering heartbeat from yours. 

You didn't move—weren't allowed to, when he hammered his cock into you, pounding your cunt and fucking you raw until you're breathless and nothing but a shuddering wreck, splitting at the seams in his hands as you feel thick spurts of hot cum slide out of you. 

"My pretty girl," came his hoarse whisper. "My pretty, pretty girl."

The lights have dimmed, when he cradled your shaking form and moved out of you, faint traces left on just the palm lines and fingertips. 

They were flooded by the sudden brightness that enveloped the storage room.

"Holy shit."

You pressed your eyes close, your entire body prickling at Oikawa’s touch.

It shouldn't be surprising, at this point, that Oikawa, as quick as he'd stripped you off of everything, has already covered you back in your jacket. The smell of it striking you ruthlessly, that old cologne that you always use to school reminding you of who you were, before all this.

Had it only been a few hours? It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Ah," Oikawa murmured. "They caught us."

"Oikawa,” someone roared. Oikawa held you, hiding your face against his chest. “Why you son of a-"

"C-coach..! Stop- Oi, someone help me hold him- no, coach! "

You heard him chuckle. “Sorry about this, everyone.” He held up his hand and you had to keep yourself from sobbing. “But, look.”

There were several gasps. 

(Everybody knows now.)

“You..and her?” 

The boy who said that sounded so astonished, clearly overjoyed for some reason, that it revolted you.

“Mhm,” he nodded, a smile in his voice. “Now, can you guys please give us some privacy?” 

Feet shuffled out of the room, along with stuttered apologies. They all left. 

Except for one.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouted.

“What did you do, Oikawa?”

A beat. Then, he repeated, “Iwa-chan.”

Please. 

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. 

Please help me.

“Sure,” he grunted.

He was gone, too, after that.

You were back in the darkness, with nothing but the faltering red and blue on your hands and his, while he untied your wrists and kneaded the abrasion away, cooing sweet nothings to your ear. 

“I hate you,” you rasped. 

“Don’t say that.”

“I fucking hate you-”

“Please stop yelling-”

“I won’t ever forgive you, Oikawa!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he cried, shaking his head as he brushed your tear-stained cheeks with both thumbs. You clutched them, wanting him off you, but he only latched himself firmly into you. “We’re meant to be.”

“You’re the only one for me.” 

Oikawa brought your numb hand to his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, the red light basking him in its soft glow.

“And I’m the only one for you,” he said, intertwining your fingers together. 

The lights flickered in and out, at first, as you stared vacantly into it, the red and blue swallowing each other. Until they finally disappeared, leaving just you and him, curled against each other in the shadows. 

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Another Place, Another Time

Mikey's girlfriend died years ago in an accident. This is the Aftermath.

Mikey had always loved animals. There was something about how they seemed to see things that the average person couldn’t, how they appeared to feel things that remained imperceptible others. Mikey sometimes saw himself in them. Once in a while, he wondered if that trait came from the fact that he was, in fact, a turtle. But he couldn’t speak for the reptiles.

On a dazed patrol one night, he’d come across a cat. A little brown tabby, standing curiously on a balcony. Its face was slightly deformed as well as possessing one bright green eye. The other eye socket had healed over.

He looked at it, and the second he did, a distinct tingle ran down his spine. Its eyes met his. He was transfixed, his feet drawing him closer to reach out to it. The green eye was all he could see, in that moment. Moving forward, he stepped onto the lip of the roof, ready to leap across. His gaze wandered to its neck where he noted a collar, along with the small metal tag on it. The tag swayed a bit and the glint caught his eye. But someone abruptly pulled him around, and his trance was broken.

“Mikey? We said we’re leaving,” said Leo. He gave the youngest an odd look before glancing past him to spot…nothing. There was nothing on that balcony.

“What?” Mikey responded, clearly jarred, “I thought we were leaving in ten.”

Donnie, who was standing aside, looked over at him incredulously. He continued tapping on his tablet. “Yeah, so now we’re leaving. Where have you been this last ten minutes?”

“Uh…right here?” muttered Mikey unsurely.

“Earth to Mikey,” Raph grumbled.

Where had he been? More precisely, where had his mind been? He didn’t even realize he’d spaced out. What was he so focused on before the cat?

Oh. He remembered.

How could he not think about it? About her?

She was the one who got away, after all. And she hadn’t even wanted to leave.

“It’s been a long night,” Leo finally stated, nudging Mikey away from the edge, where Mikey continued to search the balcony and adjacent roofs for a small agile form. Cats often had a talent for disappearing from right under the nose. This was his own anecdotal evidence.

Returning home, Mikey found himself thinking off and on about the cat, more so than he usually would of one thing. He’d encountered many cats and dogs in his life. But when he’d looked into its eyes, he felt a warmth. Briefly, he imagined they would glow if he looked closer. Though, it was only a scruffy cat, which he now remembered wore a pink collar. As per routine, they had dinner and lounged around, and then Mikey went to bed.

He was dreaming of something—he likened it to hair. That was as close as he got to guessing. Anything sensory was strange in the dream state; he didn’t see anything particular. He was laying in his bed, he knew, but the colors and shapes of the room and the thing resting in his lap was all blurring into vagueness. The undistinguishable quality of everything did not concern him. He was actually beautifully content.

“I love you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes.

 

Two patrols later, he’d come across the cat yet again. He identified it by its unique face, mostly due to the lack of an eye. This time, he was able to get close. It took a while, but after some coaxing and brushing off comments from Raph, he bent down and eagerly stroked along its head and back. It was when he noticed his hand was shaking. Why did it feel so familiar? He felt electrified, almost. But an intense pang hit his heart suddenly, and with a jolt, he yanked his hand away.

He'd seen this before. Somewhere, a few years ago.

His stomach was turning. The creeping unease—and fascination—he felt still not enough to prevent him from reaching back to feel the soft fur of that tabby.

He wondered what had happened to her face, and why it reminded him so, of her.

 

Soon, meetings with the cat had become as regular as clockwork. He’d looked at her collar tag and learned it was indeed a she, and her name was Lassie. Splinter was undoubtedly displeased when Mikey had brought her home claiming that she never seemed to be at her owner’s place, anyway. Leo was quick to mention that he’d heard and seen an older man calling for someone suspiciously with the same name as the cat, but Mikey denied it fervently. His brothers and father were taken aback by his sudden defensiveness over the animal, and all four watched in silence as he marched back to his and Raph’s room, talking to the cat as if it were a person.

 

“You know, you remind me of someone,” Mikey smiled, using a large finger to rub one of her cheeks. She happily leaned into his touch. Her purr was simply entrancing; he couldn’t get enough of just sitting there with her in his lap. “You wanna tell me what happened to your eye?” he asked. To no one, really. But he felt like if he didn’t talk, she would somehow miss his voice. So he rambled on and on and on, eventually falling into a somber quiet that couldn’t be budged. Along the way, he’d determined with unflinching certainty who this cat reminded him of.

But how could their faces be so similar?

“Lassie...” he trailed off, trepidation overtaking him, “are you…her? Blink twice if yes, please, I…”

The cat simply stared up at him. He let out a whine and brought his hand to his forehead, massaging it. Of course, Lassie didn’t know. She blinked once and then went back to relaxing, and for the first time in six months, he sobbed.

He’d hoped to make it a full year.

 

Lassie’s owner was missing his cat, which everyone continuously reminded Mikey of. She came and went as she pleased, not normally staying more than a night and a day at the lair. In her off-time, she wandered the allies and such and found places to sunbathe. She was quite a ways from her true home.

Mikey chose to block out his feelings of guilt, but broke as he was slammed with shame upon hearing her owner calling for her from his balcony and the street below, clearly upset. He’d stolen his cat. Mikey had been her new caretaker for a month now, and ever since, he’d gotten more and more attached to her. He just knew there was something different about Lassie. She knew him—he knew her! They were pulled together like magnets, their lives converging that wonderful night on patrol. It was her. He couldn’t mistake that soul for anything. How, he didn’t know. Mikey didn’t know a lot of things. But his heart didn’t need an explanation. It just…was.

When Lassie had begun to show signs of restlessness, it was then Mikey knew for sure what he had to do. He’d never known himself to be selfish.

So, before he parted ways with her on the final night,  he took her to that same spot on the roof. His brothers gave him some space for a moment of silence. She sat in his lap as usual, purring and running her cheek on his hands, making him hers as she was his. As she had been. Had.

Mikey’s throat was tight as he spoke, “You gotta go now, baby.” His voice trembled uncontrollably. “You’ve got a life. A new one,” he struggled to say, letting his tears spill forward. One fell on her face, which he wiped away with his thumb. He forced a chuckle. “Thank you for coming to me. I hope we see each other again.”

She stood on her hind legs, pawing at his shoulder as he stopped petting her. He grinned through sad eyes, “Hey, maybe next time, I’ll find you instead…in some other life.”

He planted a soft kiss atop her head and placed her onto the correct balcony, where she sat down before the door. He forced himself a few paces back. Raph put a hand lightly on his shoulder. Raph might not have understood Mikey's confused ravings about reincarnation, spirits, metaphysics he had no mind for—but he knew his brothers feelings were real. That was enough.

Mikey sniffled. “I think we’ll always find each other, [y/n]. So I guess it’s goodbye, for now…I’m so sorry for the pain you had to go through when you left the last time." Rebar through her eye socket in the collapse of a building, thanks to Bebop and Rocksteady. Mikey wiped his eyes. "I love you. Like, I'll always love you.”

He made himself turn around and walk away before his emotional impulses kicked in. Too easily he could have stayed there forever, wasting away with her in his arms. He couldn't. Without a word, they all headed home.

 

Mikey only once in a while saw Lassie, after that. She stayed an indoor cat for the rest of her days, sometimes being seen sitting on the window sill staring back at him, but most of the time, he didn’t see hide nor hair of her. And eventually, years passed, and he didn’t see her at all anymore. Lassie was sickly. As life goes on, she had, presumably, passed away. Though, Mikey could rest easy. It didn’t matter if his family or no one else felt what he did—he knew he would see her again, in another place, in another time.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Two

Previous Parts | Part One

Series Masterlist

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST, IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN READING MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

Pairing | Lee Bodecker x reader

Summary | killing your husband appeared to be a solution to your problem, however his appearance grips attention, and causes yet another troublesome situation for you.

Warnings | mentions of death and murder, murderous thoughts, a dead body, aftermath of sex, described and subtle illusions to rape (if triggering, please do not read!!!), angst, language

“Where is your husband little lady?” The man taking up space in your bed asked, after looking at the time on the bedside table clock. It was usually a rush for him to flee the scene of his mature scheme, however, the man that had everything he wanted had yet to appear.

Despite his lack of involved wisdom, you slyly smiled, pressing your face in the warmth of his chest, attempting to coax him into staying in the confines of your bed until his work hours began. “I wouldn’t know.” You did. “Probably with that waitress from Happy Treats, getting a happy treat.”

At the mention of such a controversy, Lee frowned. It wasn’t right on the man’s part to cheat on such a woman that was far from his average league, with another of her breed that was far below standards. Simon was the perfect example of an idiot, and it subconsciously irritated the man of order.

If Lee had it his perfected way, then he would show his adoration for such a cherub partner. He would arrive home at the end of each day with a flamboyant bouquet, and help himself to the treats that she had baked him. But whence he had entered earlier on that night, he saw the pastries in a cardboard box, wasting away, all because Simon was blind to see the golden ore that he had dug himself maritally into.

Oh gosh, did he hate Simon! If it weren’t against the law that he had sworn by, he would end the fool’s granted life, and then replace him in his polished boots. But that was illegal, and surely he would never have the capability to get away with such a severe crime. Often though did the morbid thought come to mind.

The best thing about ever possibly murdering the man though would certainly be viewing you be as free as a kite. He would swoon with lust, envisioning you on the dance floor, twirling around the string, of which he would reel you in by.

However, that was not to be a prime reality, for Simon lived and breathed, flourishing in his shed, where it was well known that he had a supply of overseas shipments. The packages contained something that he could only dream of, but he would never invade your privacy like that, no matter the power he wielded whenever he walked into any populated room.

But then again, he would not be entirely imposed on reporting Simon having a little accident... But he couldn’t, no. The man shook his head at the inducing prospect, denying himself of the savage pleasure. If anyone were to ever chivalrously murder the grotesque soul, then it would be his duty to degrade them with a sentence.

Although, he would forever be grateful to the man who bid his life on the line to end that of Simon. Eternally, he would respect whomever had the guts to do him such a favour, even if that was not their focused intent. They would be caged for life for their selfish sins, whilst he remained enforcing on the outside, simultaneously reaping the benefits of their crime.

“Sweetness.” At the pet name, you smiled, feeling loved at his presence. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently sliding you off of where you were resting upon him. “It is time for me to go. I hate to leave, but it has already gone past eleven.”

“But Lee-“ despite your excuse, that was to remain secret in the privacy of no one else but yourself, you watched the sheriff stand nudely from the pooling of your sheets, and gather his items of clothing. He slid on the material of his underwear, much to your dismay, and continued to redress himself. “Simon-“

“Is your husband.” He hated admitting such a fact to himself, and it killed him saying it out loud to you. “And not only that, but this is his house. Shan’t be long until he returns, and I best be gone before he appears.” If in honesty he were forced to give his opinion, he would admit that the home that you were attached to was haunted.

There seemed to be ghosts wandering the halls, sobbing in fear from the face of the man that would return from his town career. They were in pain. Each told a story of his power over them, how he had used them to his own whim, from the bedroom to the back porch. And all was reflected in where you laid; the one place a man should bed a woman.

“Last time he came home with one of those whores dressed as a schoolgirl.” It was a cry for help, a plead to remain with him, and not be left alone with what was left of that man. But the subject of the matter was overlooked, and went over lovely Lee’s head.

“Darling.” The name made you gulp, as he adjusted his belt, slotting it through the provided loops. “Have you seen my hat?” He didn’t want to murmur more of the situation, nevertheless, a grin succumbed to his lips as you stretched to retrieve it from the floor beside you, and rested it in a perched manner on your head.

“Perhaps.” You smiled at the enforcer, it was real, a moment of happiness that rarely occurred. With sadness and guilt, Lee reached to retrieve it, removing it to place upon his own noggin.

“If he tries to lay a hand on you, call me.” It wasn’t a sweet sentiment, it was an order, a desperate need to know that you would be okay without him by your side. But the vital part of the narrative that he did not know was that you had struck first, like a defensive shark.

“Will do, Lee Lee.” Pressing one chaste kiss upon his addictive lips, you watched and listened as he left, feeling the emptiness return and seep in through every open pore in your body.

And when you were certain that he had fled the adultery scene, you tugged on your sheep made robe, adjusting it in a perfect bow. Grabbing the shovel from beside the back door, you headed towards the shed, nobody seeing you on your small lot of private property.

“Hello Simon.” It fell as a whisper, his lifeless eyes staring blankly up at you. Holding tighter onto the gardening tool, you held the end against one of his limbs, ready to push all your weight down to break the piece of him off, much like he had emotionally done to you.

Taglist

@charmed-asylum @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @brynthebulldozer

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @knyfutureauzine! I’m grumpy we didn’t get any aftermath whump or hurt/comfort in the series.

…

…

…

…

i.

Someone knocked on the door. It was a quiet sound, barely audible in the yard. The rough scrubbing of dirty clothes drowned out any other noise. Arms deep in soapy water, Aoi wasn’t even entirely certain she hadn’t imagined it. No one else seemed to have heard it. Not Kanao as she diligently hung every cleaned shirt. Not Sumi, Kiyo, or Naho as they swept the house, the soft pitter-patter of their feet echoing through the hallways.

Just as Aoi went back to work, she heard a second sharp rap. This time Kanao noticed as well, her blank eyes turning toward the entrance. “Someone’s there,” she murmured, halfway to hanging a pair of pants.

“I’ll get it,” Aoi replied quickly, before Kanao could move. While her now-blind sister could navigate the butterfly estate without help, Aoi didn’t want her to exert herself more than she had to. “It’s probably a pillar.”

Leaping to her feet, she left a trail of droplets as she hurried to the front door. They used to guess, before it all went down, just who’d dropped by. Nine times out of ten, the answer would have been Mitsuri. She had liked to appear for no other reason than to hug and spread her love. Obanai had lurked in her shadow, begrudgingly taking a cup of tea whenever a nervous Kiyo gave it to him. A rarer visit had been a clueless Giyu, who never understood why Shinobu only offered terse replies and sharp smiles.

Aoi’s favourite had been Rengoku, with his sunny smiles and even sunnier disposition. Part of her still expected his golden hair as she yanked open the door.

Instead, a beaming Tanjirou stood at the entrance, and Aoi tried not to let her disappointment show on her face. It had been at least a year since they’d all died. She should have known better than to expect a ghost. “You’re late,” she huffed, letting the irritation wash over her and mask her emotions.

“Sorry about that.” He didn’t look the least bit contrite for that. In his hands was a bouquet of sunflowers and he gently held them out. “Nezuko picked these.”

“It couldn’t have been you,” she muttered half-heartedly, carefully taking the bundle. There’s no flowery scent when she sniffs, just the usual weak smell of leaves and plants. “They’re pretty. Is she coming later?”

“Yep, with Sanemi!” Tanjirou lightly stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and putting on the slippers she pointed at. They were the same ones from when he’d trained here. “He’s really nice to her, but he still doesn’t seem to like me. I wonder if I did something to him?”

“Who knows?” Scratching her chin, Aoi thought about the scarred wind pillar. They didn’t cross paths often, no reason to outside of funerals and memorials, but his sharp edges seemed to have softened. Whatever bark was left in him was brittle, easily cracked. Rumour had it that it was because of his brother’s death. She could believe that. Aoi didn’t feel like the same person she had been before Shinobu’s death, before Kanae’s or her parent’s loss.

Grief had a way of changing a person.

“Inosuke and Zenitsu are coming soon, they’re just getting some more flowers,” Tanjirou added, not sounding too bothered by it. Maybe he knew more than he let on. His burn mark was bright in the morning light and maybe, limited time had a way of making problems less important.

“Then they’ll be on time for once,” she snipped, resting a hand on her hip. Aoi frowned up at him. “Though they weren’t the ones who promised to help clean up.”

“Right, right.” Tanjirou laughed awkwardly, rubbing his neck. His smile was disarming. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry—just don’t do it again.” With that resolved, she led Tanjirou toward the yard, her arm still laden with sunflowers. The bright yellows contrasted with the dreary walls of the compound, their footsteps loud against the silent backdrop. Everything felt unusually muted and the rooms utterly depressing. It was irrational; the décor hadn’t changed since Shinobu’s death and the estate had always been some flavour of quiet. With Shinobu and Kanao often out for missions, Aoi had gotten used to a certain level of absence. Though, there had been one exception, one time that the halls had been filled with noise. The time that those three had studied here, when rooms had been filled with Zenitsu’s cries, Tanjirou’s laughter, and Inosuke’s overconfident roars.

The estate had been full those days. Hopeful, even. Aoi remembered believing that they could make it through with a minimal amount of casualties. Now she had more deaths than she had fingers.

“It’s quiet,” Tanjirou murmured, startling her out of her thoughts.

She glanced at him. Was he thinking of those far gone days too? “Yeah, it is.”

“And peaceful,” he added, smiling fondly. “I’ve always liked that about here. I can just sit and think, without worrying.”

It was strange, really, how the same thing could appear in two different ways at once. How the same observation could lead to two different conclusions. He wasn’t wrong. Neither was she. Before she could reply, they reached the veranda.

“Tanjirou?” Kanao guessed from the clothesline, slowly turning around to greet them.

“Yeah.” His expression softened to the same degree that hers brightened, his voice catching slightly. Aoi wondered if he realized just how much his love showed through him, that love that powered him through to save his sister’s life and now was focused on the single girl in front of him. Even if Kanao couldn’t see it, she must have felt it.

Aoi knew when she was the third wheel. Gently, she pushed him toward her sister. “You two, finish the laundry! We don’t have much time before the others get here!”

“Okay, okay, got it.” Over his shoulder, Tanjirou smiled at her as bright as the sun, as bright as Rengoku, and she felt a familiar lump in her throat.

ii.

Someone knocked on the door. Aoi heard it at the same second Naho walked past, her arms full of blankets. “Someone’s at the door.”

‘Yeah.” Naho nodded.

Aoi rested her hands on her hips. Standing on a stool, she felt marginally tall, though she just made Naho’s height now. Everyone had to grow taller but her. “Is someone going to get it?”

“How?” Nahro gestured at the blankets with her head.

“And the others…” Aoi trailed off, her cheeks puffing slightly. If they hadn’t responded to the door by now, they were either too busy or didn’t hear it, and it’d take longer for her to find them than it would to just open the door herself. Hopping off the stool, she grumbled, “Fine, fine, I got it.”

With Sanemi, Nezuko, and Uzui already in the house, it wasn’t too hard to guess who it was. There were only three people left, after all. Yanking the door open, Aoi wasn’t surprised to find a stoic Giyu on the other side, several white lilies in his hand. “Sorry about the wait.”

As usual, his countenance was as tranquil as a still lake, his mood impossible to read. Was he irritated she’d taken so long? Did he not care at all? She had known him for several years now and was no closer to the answer than she’d been when they’d first met.

“It’s okay,” he answered politely. His expression didn’t change.

After a few minutes, when it was clear he wasn’t going to move, Aoi stepped back and gestured. “You can come in, you know.”

Giyu looked at her, then at the entrance. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, as though he wasn’t certain if he could come. It had been months since she’d last seen him and she’d forgotten how annoying he could be. Even now, as he pulled off his shoes and placed them, they were a whole space away from the others.

“You can put them right next to the others, you know.” When he didn’t move them, Aoi sighed and nudged them closer to the others. Things would get messy enough when Inosuke arrived; she didn’t need more to clean up. Turning around, she led the way to the kitchen now. “The incense sticks are too high for me to grab. Could you help me with those?”

“Yes,” he replied, another monosyllabic response.

“We’ll visit Shinobu after lunch.” Aoi was proud she made it through that entire sentence without wanting to cry. “We just need to finish cleaning up. You can help.”

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him nod silently. Aoi had the urge to apologize—it was insane, that she was giving a pillar an order. But with no demons, there were no pillars, and the people she’d idolized were now just ordinary citizens like her. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped. Part of her still expected demons every night, that Shinobu would stumble through the door in the middle of the night, tired and bloody.

Maybe she’d never shake of this feeling of unease whenever the sun set. Forcing herself out of her thoughts, she added, “I think it’s just moping…”

Giyu wasn’t beside her anymore. She spun on her heel. “Giyu?”

Three doors down, he stood at the entrance to Shinobu’s workroom. When he didn’t reply, she quietly approached him. “Is something wrong?”

Still, he kept quiet. Aoi followed his gaze into the room. The blinds were pulled back, letting sunlight in. Shinobu used to keep them drawn, preferring utter darkness for her experiments. Despite her strict organization of her samples, her books had always been scattered around haphazardly, an accident waiting to happen.

“It’s all gone,” Giyu murmured.

“Yeah…” Aoi rubbed her arms awkwardly. She had scrubbed the room clean of Shinobu’s presence, shelved the books, tossed the samples. It was a simple office now.

“She’s gone.” His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear. Despite his teary eyes, Giyu didn’t break down, just stared into the room with the same emotion she had when she’d finally forced herself to clean it.

Resignation. Acceptance. Aoi had always thought of him as a doll, but that hadn’t been fair. Despite how Shinobu ragged on him, she’d often drag him into her workroom. The candles would flicker well into the morning, the two of them quietly sharing a drink as they watched the moon. Whenever Giyu would visit, his shoes used to be on the far end, neatly tucked next to Shinobu’s.

Her throat burned, remembering the sight of Shinobu’s shoes next to his. She’d almost forgotten what they’d look like, what that space used to be for. Reaching down, Aoi grabbed his hand. His skin was warm. “She is.”

Aoi hoped Shinobu had done this once too, reached out and clasped his hand. That she had done something for herself before she died. That Giyu would remember this long after Aoi had forgotten what Shinobu sounded or felt like.

Maybe some part of Shinobu could linger, long after her presence disappeared from the house.

iii.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Got it,” Aoi yelled automatically, used to the drill by now. She yanked open the door. “Everyone’s here already, Shinobu—”

There was no one at the door. Of course, there wasn’t, because Shinobu was dead, because this was Shinobu’s one year anniversary and Aoi should have remembered that by now. It was irrational, really, the way she kept doing that, the way she kept expecting Shinobu whenever candlelight crept out of a room in the middle of the night.

It had been a year. Only a year. As long as a year. It hurt and Aoi thought she knew how it felt to miss someone. She’d forgotten how much it hurt at first, how dull that pain could get. Behind her, she could hear Tanjirou’s laugh, Sanemi’s angry growl, Giyu’s confused squawk. It wouldn’t be long before she lost them too, before she had to go through this all over again.

Death was the constant companion of demon hunters. She didn’t know how she’d forgotten that.

As she stared blankly out onto the dirt pathway, a bright purple butterfly lazily floated by. Shinobu, she thought irrationally. It made no sense. That was a butterfly. Shinobu was happy in the afterlife. Yet Aoi couldn’t stop herself from chasing after it. Its wings looked like Shinobu’s cloak, delicate and ethereal.

What would she do if she caught it? If she didn’t catch it? I miss you, I’m sorry, and are you happy ran through her head in a loop.

Yet the butterfly stayed out of reach, away from her questions. As she ran around the corner, she almost ran into Inosuke as he charged past her.

“I made it first,” he roared, heading straight for the door.

“S-sorry…we’re…late…” Zenitsu panted and she turned back to find him standing in front of her, winded and half-collapsed. He smiled.

“I-it’s fine.” Aoi glanced around but the butterfly was gone.

“W-we got flowers,” Zenitsu gasped, holding out a hand before realizing it was empty. “A-and we dropped them…” He glared over her shoulder at the long-gone Inosuke. “Because someone had to have a race.”

It was utterly like them and Aoi laughed. God, it felt good to let it all out, to just feel without remembering anything else. Maybe this was what she’d needed all this time. As usual, Aoi had been over thinking things.

Her present could be shattered in a blink of an eye. Most of her friends wouldn’t make it past five more years. But she’d lived through loss before, and she’d learned the most important lesson: there was an after.

There was no need to dwell on the past, to chase after ghosts. Better to just embrace what she had, for as long as she could, and prepare herself for the future.

Aoi could almost hear Shinobu’s approving hum.

Shaking herself out of it, Aoi offered Zenitsu an arm. “Come on, let’s get going. There’s plenty of work left.”

[boop-le-snoot]

Doll Parts | tony stark x reader

i love him so much it just turns to hate // he only loves those things because he loves to see them break // and someday you will ache like i ache // Hole - Doll Parts

all hurt comfort. angst. no happy ending. big sad. tony could have been like this, you know. he was like this to pepper at some point. i don't know why i am like this today. rated M for themes of (implied) addiction & cheating and non-explicit mentions of intimacy. word count: 3,3k

It wasn't as if she was blind or dumb. She saw the way he treated everyone around him; whenever a single person got too close he'd push them away, consciously or not. The man loved pushing everybody's buttons as if he was playing Galaga for a living; rapidly, mercilessly, with intent. Tony Stark was not a man to whom a person would give their heart willingly.

It was her own fault she went and gave hers away, to him, of all people. And sometimes, it did feel like he loved her, in his own way. Tony would shower her with gifts and affection, cling to her whenever he wasn't away on SI business, and God, the sex was out of this world. Sometimes, she felt as if she would suddenly burst into a blinding flash of light, scalding and deafening, that would sprout from the invisible wounds his fingers left on her skin. Like fine china, she cracked little by little under his steady, tender hands.

The first time he'd ended their short, by average standards, but long - by his, relationship, it didn't come as a surprise. She had never held illusions on ensnaring the world's most notorious playboy. Younger and less jaded, she amicably agreed to get her things that very same day, blocked his number and left for an overdue vacation in the tropics. Being able to browse the gossip sites speculating on their lack of public appearances whilst sipping a Strawberry Daiquiri was a much better alternative to spending her nights holed up in rainy Manhattan, having to answer numerous "I told you so" calls from friends and relatives.

Maybe, three daiquiris should've been enough. But she'd quit smoking because he said the smell bothered him and she- well, she could do anything she wanted now. Being alone and not dating a very public figure definitely had way more perks than she previously had taken for granted in her much less exposed life. That's how the heartache began to recede: it was hard to mope when fun was calling for you by your name.

Some of Tony's character traits had migrated onto her. Which wasn't bad per se, she had been told she could use to loosen up. Her friends rejoiced in the newfound adventurousness, never missing an opportunity to go out, throw a party, go on a clubbing spree. She was game and she was enjoying it. Dolled up and eyes sparkling, the newfound confidence radiated off her like a beacon, attracting just about every single like-minded person in a five mile radius.

Tony's champagne he had sent to their table meant nothing. Her friends laughed and giggled and asked her all about the juicy details about the billionaire; as much as she searched the rowdy crowd for a familiar pair of baby doe browns, they weren't anywhere within sight. So she went back to talking and smiled as bright as the strobe lights, throwing down a whiskey shot to water the burning ache in her chest.

She found him on the dancefloor. Seconds after she stepped her foot into the mass of grinding bodies Tony was there, an equally happy and intoxicated smile on his face and arms wide open, as if they hadn't parted ways at all. She wanted to be angry with him, she really did, she wanted to snide his frivolity and the possessive way that he had the audacity to treat her.

His eyes, they were her untold weakness. She hadn't seen him so happy in months. Just once, she agreed, she'd let it slide. And so they danced, bodies accustomed to each other in the way that seemed to be impossible for her to achieve with anyone since the day that she left Tony Stark.

A splitting headache and a cold, empty bed greeted her the next morning. Thankfully, her clothes were laying haphazardly on the floor of the bedroom - the bed that was not his own but, rather, as she assumed, one of the many guest rooms in his tower.

Not the one to usually harbour shame of her very human needs, she felt like a cheap whore when she got dressed and grabbed her purse, making a beeline for the door to the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, she was greeted with a woman in a professional suit - tall, strawberry blonde and as cold as the Arctic, beautiful in the Vogue-magazine, unattainable way.

"Good morning," The woman spoke in a pleasant tone.

She wanted to retch from the false cheerfulness. "Good morning, ma'am. I was just leaving," Refusing to bow to her own shame, she flashed an equally cheerful grin towards the blonde.

"I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant, my name is Pepper Potts," They briefly shook hands, neither of them wanting to touch the other longer than it was necessary. "There is a car waiting for you downstairs. Be sure to take the left exit."

Internally fuming, she smiled slightly wider, seeing no need to introduce herself or prolong the awkward interaction longer than necessary. "Thank you, Ms. Potts, that will not be necessary. I have arranged my own ride. Have a nice day, ma'am," With that, she pressed the button once again, entering the elevator with the expression of polite contentment glued to her face like a persistent piece of dog shit she couldn't shake off the bottom of her shoe.

Ms. Potts' façade slipped slightly - she must've been new - as the blonde ran a sharply observant look over the woman in the elevator, pulling out her phone as soon as the elevator door was halfway closed. That was quickly forgotten, her head growing clearer with each second it was pressed against the cold window of the cab she'd called on the way downstairs.

It was a mistake, a perfectly human accident that happened to the best of them. Only it left a bitter residue somewhere south of her ribcage, something acrid and viscous that even alcohol couldn't melt. The more she drank, the thicker that ball of rolled up frustration became, bleeding into her work, her relationships with her friends. It was tiresome to keep craving something so far out of her reach.

The exhaustion grew day by day, until her chest felt constricted for most part of the day and all the oxygen in the whole wide world wasn't enough. Her heartache was saved, strangely enough, by aliens - they rained down on New York city like frogs during the Plague in the book of Exodus; as if God himself was angry at the state of affairs of his favourite pet earthlings. For a time, she couldn't afford to worry about her broken heart and focused on the dilapidated city, landing her resources and skills whenever, whenever she could.

Late at night, exhausted and drained, she allowed herself to flick through the news, eagerly soaking up the new details that seemed to pop up every other day. Aliens were real, Thor was one, Captain America was alive and her ex-boyfriend was now a member of the merry band of misfit superheroes.

She had never taken his hero sidegig too seriously. Tony had some good in him, he wasn't the attention-demanding supervillain-waiting-to-happen, but neither he was hero material. The Tony she knew was akin to a hyperintelligent kid left without supervision. Consequences were a slight setback, not a surefire deterrent for this man.

Her building remained mostly intact - some cosmetic damages that were repaired quickly and did not concern her apartment at all - so she stayed in the same place, much to everyone's dismay. A good chunk of her friends had moved away from NYC as soon as they could - not that she blamed them - but the calls of her family, consisting of begging and nagging her to move states, were beginning to climb over the annoying line very quickly. More often than not, she ignored all calls that weren't from her friends or work.

It shouldn't have surprised her that Tony showed up on her balcony one night - but the shriek that left her was utterly involuntary. His armored suit was noisy and clunky, just like was expected from a huge chunk of metal. Tony's face was a ghost of the man she used to know: he was pale, the bags under his eyes were fit to carry groceries in and he'd lost more than a few pounds around his middle.

Not that she had a glow-up. Work hours were long, volunteer work was by far more exhausting and emotionally draining. With her support system scattered across the country and free hours few and in-between, she'd acquired a shrink. Nightmares went away and the sluggishness, too, thanks to a couple of convenient prescriptions. It seemed like the professionals were as clueless as any in dealing with the aftermath of an alien invasion.

"You weren't returning my calls," Tony stated in the way of hello. It was so like him, to be skipping the pleasantries and glossing over the details.

"I have your number blocked," She replied unkindly, raising an eyebrow as the suit retracted and the man, wearing worn jeans and an oil-stained tee, stepped into the twilight of her home without an invitation.

"I wanted to make sure you are alive and your home is being rebuilt in case it was demolished. Stark foundation is shouldering most of the expenses," He offered in the way of explanation, beelining for the nice whiskey she kept in a tumbler in the living room.

The snort escaped her lips before she could help it; brain chronically overtired but medicated; Adderall and weariness. He was never a good liar, only a good faker. "Why are you here, Tony?" All of it: the damages, the casualties, all of it was public record, accessible 24/7. All he had to do was open Google.

He turned around, scanning her head-to-toe, in that not-quite-convinced way. "Just wanted to see if you're okay," He tried for nonchalant but his eyes were haunted. The whiskey glass he was holding empty in seconds.

She walked up to him, staying at an arm's distance from the man, before doing a slow, sarcastic twirl. "I'm fine. Not a scratch. Was in Staten Island that day."

He nodded, not at all convinced. "Good," Before slamming the glass down with such force, she was afraid the countertop now sported a rounded indent. Fingers twitching, he pulled the woman into himself before she could utter a peep, smashing their lips together without any grace, paying no attention to the way she froze as still as a statue. "God, I missed you. Couldn't bear the thought of you dying..." He mumbled in between harshly biting the plump of her bottom lip and steering the kiss towards his wishes, hand tangled in the hair on the back of her head.

He tasted like whiskey and desperation.

She couldn't not give in. She'd felt the same way when she watched his red and gold armor fly into that wormhole, missile in tow. She'd felt the same despair clawing at her ribcage when his lifeless body flew back from it before being caught by the rabid green monstrosity.

It wasn't graceful and it wasn't pretty; feeling like a monster herself, she responded the same way he did. She shredded his clothes, she clawed his back, leaving wet crimson streaks in the wake of her nails and whispered the ugliest, nastiest truths she had denied herself for so long. He left with the promise to stay in contact and for once, he did.

Nothing was the same. Tony was far from the careless, extravagant billionaire he used to be. These days he was a cynical, analytical asshole that one-upped people even before he had a real need to do so. Both of them had changed, really. She was not the tender uptown girl either.

The nights with him were rare and long; the nights alone with her work were recurrent and longer. The tower stood out on the NYC skyline like a sore thumb, beckoning with the unattainable snipe hunt of having something stable with the world's #1 superhero, Tony Stark. Each time they met, she felt almost as dirty as the time she stood in the elevator under the scrutiny of Pepper Potts.

Even if he didn't outright hide her. She'd ran into Black Widow and Clint Barton once or twice, each of them casting a glance at her Special Visitor badge before muttering niceties and moving on with their day. It was only slightly better with the Captain: he got in the elevator two floors below Tony's penthouse at 8 AM in the morning, just as she was leaving for work - dressed in a sharp pantsuit that was not-quite on Pepper's level. The soldier must've assumed she was a high-rank employee or a friend, the tips of his cheeks blushing as he spoke a quiet: "Good morning, ma'am," In that semi-formal tone of his.

Seeing a grown man get so flustered was quite adorable. "Good morning, Captain Rogers, sir," She replied in a matching tone, humoring him.

The elevator stopped suddenly and a few employees got in, staring openly at the national icon, who had his eyebrows slanted in confusion. The woman shared his sentiment: it was Tony's private elevator. She guessed all the other ones were too full in the mornings so the tower's AI put the underused one to work.

Or, at least, that's what she tried to convince herself of anyway. It wouldn't be past Tony to get jealous over something as trivial as sharing an elevator car with Captain America.

The plateau of normalcy didn't last long. Just as she was opening her third bottle of wine for the night, laptop open on the kitchen counter and proudly displaying "Tony Stark and Pepper Potts - America's newest power couple?" article, she realised he was a coward, too. Slowly but surely, he had ghosted her, not even bothering with an explanation of his sudden unavailability, the several dates missed and even more postponed indefinitely.

They were never going to be a normal couple. She had made her peace with that, ugly and depressing - but it was real. She thought what they had was real. She finally had admitted to herself that she loved him, loved an impossible man, loved to the bottom of Hell and pitfire. The fireworks under her skin had never fully gone away, she realised as more and more ugly sobs broke from her chapped lips.

She blocked his number again and bought herself a new one, deleting the "Tony Stark" contact for good. There was more than enough work to do and the time to feel sorry for herself was sparse. And if she picked up a habit to make sure the time working was spent with proper efficiency, without soaking documents in saltwater that her eyes seemed to overproduce those days? It wasn't a big deal. She needed to get back on her feet somehow, without being dragged by a man who wasn't even present to actively be ruining her life anymore.

If anything, she thought she should feel grateful. The blinding light, the stars that exploded and shone inside her only for Tony, became something poisonous and vile. It wasn't the bitter taste of regret; rather, she felt a flash of ravenous, burning anger every time his name or his face popped up in a press article within her eyesight. Love and hate weren't that different when it came to the intensity: she basked in those newfound feelings, taking care to pick apart and neatly sort each of his perceived flaws on a cute little shelf in her overtaxed brain and fatigued heart.

It wasn't healthy. A convenient escape for the summer; a cabin far, far away from the busy New York city - she took up the offer and relocated there, being content with working remotely, drinking strawberry mimosas by the lakeside. Day by day, the clarity of her mind returned, lulled into a false sense of security by the tranquil trees slowly swaying in the breeze and wide ripples in the water.

Tony seemed to be enjoying bringing chaos into her life and making her miserable. The quinjet landed right on the neatly manicured lawn in front of the cabin, several obviously exhausted and wounded superheroes dismounting the vehicle, Tony looking sheepish but determined in the lead.

She wasn't completely unaware of the rest of the world and knew of the fiasco the Avengers recently had. Was it the half-dead, limping Widow or the baby blues of the Captain, she couldn't tell, but the woman ushered them into her house, gathering the tools needed for first aid with haste. Fate wasn't looking to give her a break.

As soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen, alone, Tony was there, looking much like that time on the balcony, baby doe browns turned up to eleven and a groveling speech prepared on demand. He'd noticed her weight loss and the ashen tone of her skin, the prominent veins and the bags under her eyes. She was as obvious as a brick to the face with her vices.

She slapped him. He winced, but stayed quiet, preparing himself for the storm - and storm him she did, keeping quiet enough for most of the team to be able to tactfully ignore the scolding Tony was getting. "I despise, you, Stark. You're a coward. Do not dare to set foot in my house ever again."

Needless to say, the superheroes departed shortly after Natasha's injuries were stabilised and frowning, disappointed Thor and Steve (they'd asked her to address them by their first names) bashfully apologized for their sudden intrusion and any discomfort they might have caused. She smiled at Steve, wide and big; refusing to admit it was done just to spite Tony, she joked and blushed in response to the Captain.

Tony did not attempt to contact her again. For some time, she lived in fear - irrational one at that - he'd appear and wreck her life one more, final time, before admiring the destruction and leaving her a steaming pile of ashes on the floor. But seasons passed and all of it faded, like a vivid, terrible nightmare.

Piece by piece, her life was getting put back together. His name stopped invoking a swarm of feelings she needed to drown just to stay afloat; there were news regarding him, another violent altercation, and she simply flicked the TV back to adult swim. New friends and new hobbies were being made; the fine cracks made by his agile fingers were being filled with the gold of newer, better discoveries.

There was always something going on in the superhero world and finally one of the topics reached her line of work: mutant rights. She'd never stopped being a volunteer after that NYC invasion, making new connections in a domain previously unexplored, it paid off in spades regarding her career growth. The connections were vital to be able to climb the corporate ladder successfully.

Stark showed up at her door three days after half of his merry band of misfits were pronounced fugitives. This time, she expected it. She knew better than to expect him to assume responsibility by himself - a quick Google search and his relationship status was listed as once again single - the Virginia Potts she knew would not have let anything like that happen. Stark was on his own.

"They betrayed me," He'd said, from behind the door she had cracked open a few inches, to make him know he wasn't welcome in her home.

"I think you know now, how I felt then," She didn't falter, ignoring the way his still freshly-bruised face darkened. "As far as I am concerned, you deserve it. Goodbye, Tony." She shut the door without waiting for his response, hearing his footsteps slowly back away as she made herself another coffee.

Tony Stark taglist: @another-stark-sub @letsby @mostly-marvel-musings @rdjesus4ever @ladyeliot

Well um 💀 yeah. I'll go and attempt to scavenge some serotonin somewhere now. Thanks for reading! 💖✨

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part VI/VII)

"the downfall"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst mostly

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadows @missmulti @accioweaslcy @andreaareynoso @georgeweasley16 @dianarte @skarlettmikaelson

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: language, allusions to sex

A/N: my apologies for keeping y'all waiting for this one darlings, but here comes the next part YAYY! Enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

He had left me in the room that morning, alone, with regret and guilt straining my chest, with embarrassment and panic heaving over me, my only company being a terrible headache and a sore body.

I was still waiting for him to come back. Of course, he still lived in the apartment, but the day after, he slept at Shell Cottage because Bill needed help with the chores, and the next night at the Burrow because Molly had asked to keep an eye on 'the kids' —the kids being Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione— while she and Arthur were off to visit Andromeda, and at Lee's because Angelina was away and they were going to have a boys' weekend; in summary, he managed to avoid stepping into the flat while I was in there for an entire week.

I would be lying if I said the idea of moving out hadn't crossed my mind, but I knew I was being dramatic— we were being dramatic; we were adults, even if we forgot about it more often than not, and adults talk things out, so I decided to confront him at the only place I would manage to corner him; the shop.

When I descended from the office on the second floor, I spotted the ginger turning the 'CLOSED' to face the glass door. "Oi!" His head snapped to me as I climbed downstairs and he instantly walked to the shelves on the opposite side. "Can I have a word?" I requested, following him, only for George to move on to another shelf.

"Right now I'm quite busy." He replied, seemingly absent-minded as he pretended to check the products in front of him.

"This is important." I insisted, moving to stand besides him.

Not fast enough, though, because he was off to yet another part of the shop as soon as I got close. "I'm sure it can wait."

"You know it can't," I assured intently, stalking after him, only for him to speed up his own pace, moving from product to product without stopping too long in front of him. "George I'm- Oi, stop! We need to talk about this!"

"Well maybe I don't wanna talk about this!" He exclaimed, taking big steps under one of the stairs in order to shamelessly dodge the hand with which I had reached out to stop him.

"George Weasley don't run away from me!"

"I'm not running away from you!"

"You're literally RUNNING AWAY!"

He stopped circling the counter and stood across from me, slamming his palms over the till. "ALRIGHT, LOVE!" for the first time, I didn't like the way the name dripped off his tongue. "Let's talk about how we accidentally FUCKED! That's what you want so badly, isn't it?!" Flush crept up his neck and ears, and I couldn't tell if it was from anger or from timidness. "Go on, darling, lead the bloody way!"

I felt my own cheeks going red, partly because of his straightforward statement but also because I genuinely had never heard George raise his voice like he had just done.

"Cat's got your tongue now?!" My stuttering seemed to fuel his anger more. "C'mon, Y/n, talk! You wanted to talk!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, GEORGE!" He clenched his jaw as his freckles drowned in a sea of pinkish red. "Yeah I want to talk! 'Cause that's what grown-ups do! We don't know how to act around each other so we just don't spend time together anymore— Fuck, I've barely seen you! AND WE. LIVE. TOGETHER!" I emphasised each word with stomps. "We can either pretend it didn't happen or talk it out to make sure we're on the same page, you choose but for Merlin's sake, don't avoid me!"

"OKAY!" His eyes widened, surprised at his own tone, and then he repeated in a softer, self-conscious one, "Okay." He breathed deeply and then added. "We're on the same page, right?" His eyebrows raised as he looked into my eyes. "It was... A mistake."

I should have noticed the uncertainty and hope in his voice, but I panicked and was too quick to respond, "Yeah! A massive mistake." My words stung my heart and, to my dismay, his own just as much. "Can we go back to being friends? Because I'm going crazy without you." I blamed our watery eyes to the argument we had had, and not to the fact that it had been a mistake.

He circled the counter and walked to me, hesitating before pulling me into a hug. "Can I...?" I tugged him closer, wrapping my arms around his middle. It took a moment for him to ease into my embrace, and I could tell we had fucked up our friendship for good. "It's alright, we'll make it right again." His words made me squeeze him tighter, as if he was about to vanish from my side.

And from then, we tried to make it right, we tried so hard, because it seemed so easy to make it wrong again.

Everytime we stood too close, everytime he leaned on to whisper something, everytime I helped him with his tie, our eyes would fall on each other's lips; I would sometimes drift off the conversation, staring too much at his mouth and hands, wandering if they would feel just as amazing as they had done while we were drunk.

"Y/n are you listening?"

"Uh yeah- I mean, no- sorry, what?"

I was so focused on trying to hide it that I didn't notice George was in the exact same situation, meaning that neither of us could give in, because we would go down together. In all honesty, it was doomed to happen at some point, we were just delaying the inevitable.

The moment came the last night of January, when George showed up in my room due to a really rough nightmare, and I, as always, invited him in so we could lay down together.

"Isn't this... Weird?" He murmured as we scooted closer. We had kept physical contact at bay for obvious reasons, and cuddling had been off the table since New Year.

"It doesn't have to be." I replied, my voice as quiet as his. "We've done this a thousand times."

"Right." He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from mines as we shifted in our places ever so slightly, trying to find a position where the situation turned less awkward.

And it happened, my mind got lost on the way his neck tensed, on the damp locks hanging over his forehead, sweaty due to the nightmare; on his plump lips, which he had just wetted with his tongue in the most subtle way. It was a nervous habit of him, something he would usually do, but that didn't make it any less hot.

"George..." I called his name without noticing, my heart hammering violently against my chest when his gaze landed on my eyes, quickly falling on my lips.

The next thing I knew was that he was holding my thigh over his hip, his other hand on the back of my neck while we shared a hungry kiss that, as soon as my hips involuntarily rocked against his, turned into something more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

The next morning we swore to each other that it was just another accident, that it would happen again.

And the next one too.

And the following.

The fifth time that happened, we agreed to call the situation a 'friends with benefits' kind of thing, well aware that it was an euphemism for the downfall of our friendship.

I had longed to be hers for so long, and it that moment, as I lay by her side in her bed, that wish seemed so close yet so far; I could reach out and my fingertips would touch her skin, yet I had never felt that distant towards her.

The moment my eyes were averted from her form, her gaze was laid on me. "You don't have to go."

"I know." I replied in a mumble, already sitting up and reaching for my pants. "But soon we'll have to get up, so I might as well do that and let you sleep." I didn't want to turn around, I didn't want to see her beautiful irises pleading for me to stay by her side, because I knew I would.

I saw on my peripheral vision her fingers attempting to carefully wrap around my wrist, and I was quick to stand up and walk to the door; sadly, I did not miss Y/n burying her face into the pillow, her hands fisting on the fabric ever so subtly.

She tried to hide her tears like that, and I agressively wiped mines as soon as I reached the corridor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Morning, lady!" I light-heartedly greeted Y/n without turning my back to the making of our breakfast when I heard the steps approaching the kitchen.

In the morning it was easier to pretend everything was back to normal; usually, the refreshing sunlight and the drowsiness provided by a night of sleep were enough to wash away the sad truth of our relationship.

"Good morning, sir." She responded with a yawn, rubbing her eyes as she walked to stand besides me, leaning against the counter with her arms folded. "Smells good." She commented, leaning on to take a peek at the scrambled eggs.

I was about to make a cocky, playful comment when it dawned on me what she was wearing; it was my jumper, one of the old ones that I exclusively used for pyjamas.

I knew she didn't do it intently; I had left it on the floor the previous night, and it was probably the first thing she grabbed, but it struck a nerve.

I had seen a similar scene way too many times before; a sleepy, dishevelled Y/n entering the kitchen with an ugly Weasley jumper as only clothing, ready to start the bickering with an almost identical version of me who would be making breakfast.

My head then travelled to the thought that lately crossed my mind more often than not and my heart clenched; In Y/n's eyes, I was, most likely, just a poor replacement for Fred.

"You alright?" That worried furrow appeared between her brows too often lately. We were both walking on eggshells, and it got me on my nerves.

"You don't have to ask if I'm alright every time I'm quiet." I hadn't meant it to come out harsh or curt, but it definitely did.

"You're not quiet, you're overthinking." She responded with a tinge of hostility.

"What's to overthink?" I fought the need to raise my voice.

"Dunno, you tell me." She squinted her eyes with a scrutinising gaze directed to me.

"Can we not do this?" I almost pleaded; heated arguments had become a usual thing between us —yet another sign of the unfixable problem we refused to address.

Y/n was about to reply something that would lead us into a fight when the doorbell rung. "Mister Weasley?" I took that as a cue to go open the door to Verity, already dressed on her uniform. "The Valentine's Day products arrived, should I unpack them or..." Her eyes flickered behind me and her cheeks heated up. "Y/n—" When I looked over my shoulder, I felt my own face flushing out of embarrassment. Y/n was still my employee and Fred's ex, so Verity catching a glimpse of her dressed in my jumper wasn't the best thing for any of us. "I— am I— sorry, am I interrupting?"

"You're not interrupting." I assured her with a reassuring smile. "Leave the boxes on the puking pastries section, we'll be down in ten."

"Alright, sir." Her curious gaze travelled to Y/n one last time, and with that, she was rushing back down to the shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The ache that had appeared on my chest the day after New Year would end up killing me, or at least it felt like that.

I had a dreadful gut feeling of knowing what caused that pain, but my mind refused to believe it was that, and kept pushing the sensation back into my heart day by day.

George had gone to relocate the puking pastries in the upper level of the shop so I could prepare the section with the Valentine's Day products.

My eyes dawned on the small packages of Amortentia. I knew it was a terrible idea but I needed to know.

I took a look around, making sure Verity wasn't near and George was up still, and brought one of the Amortentias under my nose. It didn't take long for the scents to besot me, and I had to put all my will on not to fall under the potion's spell.

The first smell to reach my nostrils was gunpowder; my heart skipped a bit when the next scent was vanilla.

Then strawberry and chocolate; candy floss cupcakes and George's cologne.

The tiny, heart-shaped bottle fell from my hands, scattering all over the shop's floor. "Shit!" I rapidly kneeled to pick the shattered glass when I realized it had echoed in the empty establishment.

"Oi! What was that?" George descended from the second floor, using the ladder. "Oh shit—" his hands took a hold on my bicep and pulled me away from the pool of pinkish pearl liquid that seemed to be attracting me. "Don't!" He warned Verity, who had attempted to jog in the potion's direction too. "Verity, can you bring me my wand?" The girl complied running up to the office.

In Verity's absence, George took the chance and cupped my cheeks, tilting my head up to check my eyes. "You alright?" I managed to give him a slow nod, my mind buzzing with the newly acquired information. "Getting the Amortentias was a bad idea, wasn't it?" I nodded again, producing a frown between his eyebrows. "No 'told you so'? Are you sure you're alright?" He chuckled nervously, his hands falling to his sides right in time for Verity to rush back to us.

"Here, Mister Weasley!"

"Thank you, darling." He politely replied, taking the wand and restoring the potion bottle in a swift movement. His eyes peeked at me again; I could see the worry growing on him. "Y/n-"

"I'm gonna go wash my face." The words hastily left my mouth before I dashed off to the restroom.

I closed the door behind me and took a look at the mirror; my pupils were blown and my cheeks pink. I ran the tab and splashed the water on my face a few times until the potion's mild effect was gone and my mind clear.

It was in that moment that it dawned on me that I was in love with George Weasley.

[n1kolaiz]

THE GREAT FITZGERALD

thank u @dazaistabletop for getting me so interested in Fitzgerald's character. ur my favourite Fitz kinnie ok mwah( ˘ ³˘)♥

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald's novel— The Great Gatsby— was a love story that involved Jay Gatsby, whose mannerisms and characteristics appear to be quite similar to Fitzgerald in the Bungou Stray Dogs adaptation. I just finished reading The Great Gatsby so I thought I'd just make a comparison between the main protagonist of the novel and the main antagonist in BSD's Guild Arc.

Other than the fact that both Jay and Fitzgerald share similar character traits (ambitious, arrogant, and optimistic) the relationships Jay had with the other characters of the novel and the interactions that Fitzgerald had with the other characters of BSD are quite similar, too. I'll focus on three specific associations that both Fitzgerald and Jay experienced in a parallel manner:

Zelda Fitzgerald and Daisy Buchanan

Tom Buchanan

Louisa May Alcott and Nick Carraway

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT GATSBY!

in case anyone hasn't read it but wants to :)

To avoid confusion, every time I mention Fitzgerald from here on out, I mean the character from BSD; I will specify my references if it comes to the author.

The Great Gatsby had its plot set around the time of the Roaring Twenties: the aftermath of World War I, the peak of socialite culture, and the growth of a prosperous economy and general wealth altogether.

The Roaring Twenties was also a time of luxurious pleasure and liquor, where people indulged themselves and got addicted to hedonism— the pursuit of gratification.

The Great Gatsby was actually written on the basis to prove how corrupt this age was, and the existence of such corruption was vaguely hinted by various factors, one of which included Jay Gatsby's actual source of income: being involved in the affairs of the black market. This proves that illegal activities were not uncommon around that time, as people did anything they could to achieve materialistic gains.

This isn't a history lesson, I promise.

Both Jay Gatsby and Fitzgerald had grown up in poverty and disliked the concept of being anything short of wealthy. They both worked extremely hard to attain financial abundance.

I presume that not everything they did was actually legal when it came to gaining money. As mentioned before, Jay was involved in criminal activities which founded the basis of his wealth, while Fitz once mentioned that in order to own a gun, he had to kill 4 people. He goes on to tell us that he ended up owning that specific gun's manufacturer eventually.

Daisy Buchanan and Zelda Fitzgerald.

The Great Gatsby is actually centered around Jay Gatsby's rather obsessive infatuation with Daisy.

Daisy was a beautiful lady with a incredibly charming nature— she didn't have much trouble with attracting many men back then before she got married to Tom Buchanan, the antagonist of the story and the rival of Jay Gatsby.

"Her voice was full of money," he said suddenly.

That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money— that was the inexhaustible chair that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it. the cymbals' song of it... High in a white palace the King's daughter, the golden girl...

Daisy and Jay Gatsby fell in love right before he was sent off to war and a few years before she met Tom. Before they were separated, Jay's dream of gaining wealth and status was primarily flamed by his intention of reaching Daisy's social ranking in order to be worthy of her love.

Initially, because of how passionate he was about his love for her, Jay lied to Daisy about his wealth. It was only after the War did he actually gain the riches he aimed for. By the time he did achieve his monetary goals, Daisy had married Tom already. Consequently, Jay hosted a bunch of lavish parties in order to gain her attention, prove himself and his love for her, and ultimately, win her back.

Jay perceived Daisy as a literal angel, void of any flaw whatsoever. He even tells Nick, the main character, that the fact that numerous men got romantically involved with such a lady just increased her value altogether.

But what gave it an air of breathless intensity was that Daisy lived there— it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year's shining motor cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy— it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.

As the story unfolded, Daisy's character was torn apart for a proper, more brutally realistic perspective of her true character, revealing a shallow, selfish lady who solely placed her interest in money and luxury, the things which she often took refuge in when things went wrong. As the plot developed itself, the actuality that Jay fell in love with the idea of Daisy, instead of Daisy herself, was much more evident. And it took quite some time for him to discover and acknowledge the truth.

Fitzgerald's love for Zelda was very apparent, too, except that it seemed more genuine and pragmatic. Not much is speculated about Fitz and Zelda's relationship in the Guild Arc, but his love for her was very deep, as everything he did was for her and their deceased daughter.

Side note: Fitzgerald (the author) based Daisy's character partially on Zelda, as both women were brought up in wealthy families and took a general liking to lifestyles revolving around money and ease.

Fitzgerald was in love with Zelda, a woman plagued by a debilitating illness. In The Great Gatsby, Jay was in love with a woman who was plagued by the deceptive addiction of self-satisfaction gained by pleasure and whatnot. Zelda was impaired by an mental illness, while Daisy was intoxicated by the security of money and prestige. This is an abstract suggestion though. Personally, that's how I interpreted this correlation when it came to examining these dynamics in their respective universes.

Tom Buchanan

As mentioned before, Thomas Buchanan was Daisy's husband and Jay's rival who had similar characteristics in matters of personality. The Toms in both book and anime were arrogant and cunning, which pretty much vouches for their selfishness.

In the book, Tom is supposedly the love of Daisy's life, except that she just married him for his money instead of waiting for Gatsby. Then again, Tom was involved in a love affair outside his marriage with a lady named Myrtle Wilson. Tom cheated on Daisy by getting involved with Myrtle. On the other hand, Daisy was unfaithful to Tom by keeping her love and relationship with Jay a secret from him.

The climax of the story partly revolves around Myrtle dying in a hit-and-run car accident. The grand twist was that Daisy was the one driving the car, and the car actually belonged to Gatsby. Because the car belonged to Gatsby, George Wilson, the husband of Myrtle, was bent on revenge and tracked down the car. He ended up killing Jay Gatsby, and soon after that, he killed himself.

It was quite a scandal, but Daisy estranged herself from such a tedious matter. In fact, when Jay died, she did not even attend his funeral. Tom was under the impression that Gatsby was the one who killed his mistress, not Daisy, his wife. Either ways, Nick described them in a way that sums up what became of them after Jay's death:

They were careless people, Tom and Daisy— they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made...

It's interesting to note that in chapter 45 of the BSD manga, Tom appears as the antagonist who was later found guilty of murdering his employee, but the blame was originally put on T.J Eckleburg, the inventor of the Eyes of God.

Side note: T.J. Eckleburg was actually an optician who appeared on a billboard advertisement in the novel. This billboard was used as a personification by Nick Carraway, which was meant to embody the representation of a displeased overseer who observed the events that unfolded before him. The Eyes of God has a similar concept: scrutinising everything with an accuracy of 97%. It's a personal speculation, but the Eyes of God was proven to be of utmost importance in the Cannibalism Arc when it came to capturing Fyodor Dostoevsky. Likewise, T.J. Eckleburg's eyes showed how corruption and misconduct never escaped his judgmental visage.

sorry about the quality of the manga panels ;-;

In the manga, Fitzgerald manages to triumph over Tom by betraying his trust altogether in order to obtain the ownership of the Eyes of God and Tom's company. This stands in contrast to what became of Jay in the novel, but the protagonist got what he wanted in this universe.

Keep in mind that Fitzgerald didn't act according to fulfil what justice required; it was purely business. Just like Jay Gatsby put on the facade of a plain, rich man who was really just bootlegging his way to opulence, Fitzgerald wasn't afraid to betray someone's trust to get what he wanted.

Nick Carraway and Louisa May Alcott

If I were to pick a character that represented Louisa May Alcott in BSD from the book, I'd pick the narrator himself: Nick Carraway. Again, this is my personal interpretation, so the association between these two characters is just my personal opinion.

Nick Carraway was known as the more reserved, cynical protagonist compared to Jay. The both of them developed a cordial friendship as the story progressed.

Nick initially took a liking to Gatsby, who was his neighbour. The enigmatic aura Gatsby emitted called for Nick's attention, and in the same way, Gatsby reciprocated his interest in Nick by making the effort to acquaint himself with him.

He had one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced, or seemed to face, the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.

There were a few times which suggests that Nick didn't like the way Gatsby acted or spoke. Nevertheless, Nick was the only one who stuck with Gatsby until the end.

"They're a rotten crowd," I shouted across the lawn. "You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.

(This was the last thing Nick said to Jay before he died.)

At first, Nick was intrigued by Jay's mystical nature and peculiar idiosyncrasies, but found that Gatsby was a very strange, but 'morally bad' man. However, over time, Nick became one of the few who managed to recognise Gatsby's idealistic ambitions; he saw through all the fame and wealth and found a mere human being capable of being entrapped by love's snares. Basically, he understood Gatsby, despite disagreeing with his actions and even his behaviour at times.

As for Louisa, well, it is a known fact that she was loyal to Fitzgerald because of how much she respected and trusted him.

Both Nick and Louisa were intelligent, witty people with generally nice, honest, and reserved dispositions. Their self-contained demeanours make it very easy to get along with the more exurbent/dominant personas of Gatsby and Fitzgerald. So in the event where each pair was isolated from the rest of the world, they had each other to depend on.

Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he’d start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure a there’d be a wire from Daisy before noon – but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim’s answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all.

Such a dynamic created a close bond of trust. Just as Nick was not hesitant to stick by Gatsby's side, Louisa went to great extents just to return Fitzgerald back to his former leading position and work together with him.

Side note: Nick Carraway is suggested to have the INTP personality type, while Louisa is most likely an INFP. Both these personalities are strikingly similar in many ways. They are individualistic in thinking and described as 'seekers' of their place in the world. If you're interested in a more detailed comparison, check this post out

Alright, that's about it for my speculations; I hope they weren't too messy. Thank you so much for reading!

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

- Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby

[marireadshellblazer]

Hellblazer Issue #13

THIS. THIS FREAKIN’ ISSUE.

Honestly, the best review of the chapter would just be this picture and nothing more.

Just this thing. That’s really all you need.

However, I wanna dive into my thoughts on this a little more. So, off we go.

Okay, so I love the flashback to John’s childhood. I think that it’s easy to look back on our childhood and think of the “good ol’ days” when, in reality, those times were often not so good in the moment. I like how he addresses that by talking about what problems he could have faced during that supposedly happy time for him. In my own case, my family used to go to the ocean every summer. While I do have fond memories of those trips, as I reminisce about them, it doesn’t take long for me to recall the more unpleasant aspects of it that are easily forgotten in the sea of mental and physical snapshots of smiles and laughter.

Ahh nuclear power. This is a subject touched on early in Swamp Thing, and rightfully so; the avatar of nature and life would certainly have a bone to pick with nuclear energy and the destruction it can/does cause. In the case of Hellblazer here, this chapter outlines yet another social issue relevant to the time. On a side note, it’s chapters like these that are part of why I love these early issues. They are a time capsule that explores the issues of the time and presents them in a way that still feels very real even 30 years later. I mean, nuclear energy is still such a point of contention in the world today, not to mention nuclear weapons.

Now, I don’t know much about nuclear power usage in the UK or the feelings on it in the late 80’s-early 90’s. According to what I was able to find online, there are 13 nuclear reactors in the UK today. Like in other countries that use nuclear power, it’s believed that the benefits of having them outweigh the risks; not using fossil fuels, low emissions, relatively high efficiency, etc. However, as Chernobyl, the Three Mile Island accident, and the Fukushima disaster have taught us, these power plants can be dangerous with effects that are straight up nightmare-fuel. Only worse, because those nightmares are real.

Growing up in an Okinawan/Japanese household, the dangers of radiation, nuclear power, and nuclear weapons are stressed from a very young age. I remember reading books about hibakusha as a child and observing days of remembrance for victims of the bombs. War in general is a big no-no. So, the aftermath of the nuclear plant explosion really had me thinking about the hibakusha a lot.

Woooo this panel. I keep reading about how if all the major companies pitched in a small fraction of what they make the oceans would be spotless. I read the Japanese news, and the fact that the waste from the nuclear plant meltdown in 2011 is going to be released into the Pacific Ocean has incited public outrage. The American military base in Okinawa is poisoning the water supply, pushing native wildlife to extinction, and killing the coral reefs. The companies can afford to keep their executives in homes with golden shitters; the world’s governments are ok with spending over half it’s budget on guns; it seems that the world’s biggest players are more than willing to spend their money to keep handling things as they are. Even to the detriment of the environment. Even if it means sacrificing the health of not only the future, but the here and now. Supporting war and death over health. Disgusting.

Yes, John. We are pretty much doomed in one way or another.

Same though.

The whole scene of the power plant explosion is really well done. The art, the narration, it’s just *chief’s kiss* mwa!

The boyfriend going back for his boots and the woman with her children really struck me. They choose to stay close to the danger and worry over trivial things in the face of what is happening. Even the girlfriend arguing with John; she’s wanting cigarettes at a time like that. It parallels how a lot of the public looks at these situations, I think. I mean, just look at how people have reacted to the COVID pandemic; choosing to go out and risk their health as well as the health of others over trivial things. Do boots really matter when a reactor has exploded? Is going to a bar with the boys really more important than staying home to keep from being exposed to a deadly virus?

The “rescue” team that chases off John as he climbs through the ruins is pretty true to life, honestly. Caring more about the image of things and how well they can hide the reality of the aftermath than actually helping people. After all, if the world saw once again what destruction a nuclear meltdown can cause, it would cause worldwide outcry. No reason to scare them, right? Just hide all the bodies. Nuclear power is “safe” after all.

Nice references to Peter Pan.

Aaaaand now, this is where the weird finally reaches it’s peak.

Now, I had a few thoughts reading this section; how this whole issue could have parallels to human nature in it’s most basic form; disaster and industrial progress could actually send us back to a more primal state; the instinct to breed and continue on is innate even through a nuclear winter; evolution marches on; etc. I could elaborate, but that would be exhausting to write. Really, this explains everything.

Honestly, knowing what John has been through, it does not shock me that his dreams are like this.

[mongooseblues]

Bless You Father for I Have Sinned (Fleabag, Hot Priest) 1/1

Did anyone watch Fleabag and/or want to read about a hot priest sneezing?

This works just fine as a standalone if u haven’t seen the show but for context: Hot Irish prob alcoholic “cool swear-y” priest and recovering sex addict and all-around hot mess main character (who doesn’t have a name) strike up a “friendship” that is just a poorly veiled excuse for spending time with someone they want very badly to fuck but can’t bc priesthood vow of celibacy and whatnot.

Here’s ~2k words in which I continuously get off on the idea of blessing a priest and unresolved sexual tension I also don’t resolve.

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

“Fuck you, calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it…”

It happens for maybe ten minutes before it starts to stick out to her. Because it’s cold, as it always is on early-spring nights in London, and while they’re both fully dressed (unfortunately), neither is probably quite dressed enough to be out in a garden at this hour. And they’re a bit drunk—not that drunk, they’re both pretty practiced—on the G&Ts he’s so fond of for whatever reason. He specifically likes the kind you get already mixed in a can, which are especially shit, but it’s almost endearing that he likes those in particular. Well, very endearing actually. Goddamn this man—or… hmm, poor choice of words.

It doesn’t really grab her attention until he combines the sniffling with pinching his nostrils together.

“You alright, you’re quite sniffly?”

“I know, I dunno what’s going on,” he says, and punctuates it with a harsher sniffle than the ones previously unacknowledged, “Think ‘m just cold.” He zips his sweatshirt up a bit as if to illustrate.

“We could get you a blanket and swaddle you up like baby Jesus.”

He laughs. She extracts from her coat pocket a pack of cigarettes, takes one herself and angles the carton toward him in offering. Mostly because she wants him to scoot closer to her on the bench as she flicks the lighter for him. The flame illuminates the angles of his face in orange, the back of his fingers grazing her hand by happy accident, and yes, it’s a little pathetic that this momentary skin-to-skin contact is as erotic as it is to her, but that’s what you get when you fancy a priest isn’t it?

“They’re always describing him as being swaddled. Odd word, swaddled. Sounds kind of violent.”

“It does kind of,” he agrees, leaning back against the bench and exhaling a stream of smoke into the night air. Her plan worked, he’s ever so slightly closer to her now, post cigarette exchange, close enough that when he sniffles she can feel the slight vibration of his shoulders through the loose fabric on her coat sleeve. It unites them like an accidental spark of electricity she can sense just faintly enough to feel jumpy. Or turned on. Or both.

She really shouldn’t be this shameless about trying desperately to corrupt a man of the cloth she wants to get under. Maybe she’d feel properly guilty if she wasn’t quite so fucking horny.

“So you did read more than just the passages I marked for you?” He asks, at once surprised and pleased and maybe nervous, grinning but also looking away for a moment as if he could disguise all of that.

“Not really, just the birth of the ol’ lord and savior. It seemed like it’d be climactic.”

“Was it?”

“Can’t say I climaxed reading it, no,” she says with a cheeky look that elicits the laughter she’s looking for, “No offense but it’s really quite boring, this book you love so much.”

“Yeah… that’s a tragically common sentiment among reviewers.” He’s scratching at his nose with the back of one wrist with such intensity it’s unmistakeable how much it’s bothering him.

“Don’t care much for the writing style either, I have to say.”

If the irritation could be resolved with a mouse-like scrunch of the nose he’d have figured it out by now, and clearly he hasn’t because he still has to shrink into his crossed arms like an accordion with a fairly high-pitched, vocal and thus somehow Irish-accented, “Hehh-ishhYUE!”

“Bless. The only way I was able to get through it was by imagining you in every speaking role.”

It’s a sentence meant to provoke him, not unlike most of her sentences, and for a minute as her eyes are on her own exhaled smoke and he fails to respond, she wonders whether it sounded even weirder than she meant it, but as it turns out he’s just about to sneeze again — squinting into the distance and bringing an arm to his face in slow motion.

“Mmff-SHOO!” He blinks in surprise as he resumes his previous position on the bench, now shifted just a bit farther away from her. Damn.

“Ugh, sorry. Every speaking role?? Ohfuck— ahh-ishSHEU!”

“Jesus.”

“You imagined me as Jesus??”

“No I mean Jesus, are you okay, did you catch something?” Of course she imagined him as Jesus.

“Ooh I hope not,” he says with a nervous look, “that’d be lousy timing.”

“The lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Thuh-that he does—” A sudden inhale, a crooked arm rising at a much hastened speed. It begins in a manageable way, somewhat controlled, but then it seems to get away from him.

“Hh… hehd’SHHUE!”

“Bless you, Father."

He mumbles a thank you bookended by soft snuffling.

“Maybe he’s sent you a plague of sneezing. He does that sometimes doesn’t he? Send plagues?”

His face just scarcely conveys amusement before it’s hijacked again by the same expectant expression, but he still attempts to talk through it, even as irritation becomes evident in every feature. “S-sometimes…”

She thinks about saying bless you in advance but decides instead to just wait for him to succumb to it. A flicker of lashes, a reveal of the very tips of canines, his entire face crinkles around his visibly twitching nose. It pulls him downward and then forward in that order, as he collapses into a crooked arm as if stumbling despite being seated.

An especially desperate, “hehhSCHOO!” that begins quietly but certainly doesn’t end that way.

“God bless you, Father, again.”

“Wow,” he says with a sniff, knuckles swiping under his nose in a single smooth motion, “Maybe I’m allergic to you. My body’s having a reaction.”

“Is it?”

An eyeroll and a grin, and then he goes back to scratching at his aggravated face in a manner that’s becoming aggressive.

“Well stop manhandling your nose that’s clearly not working.” Before she can think better of it, she takes his elbow to pull the offending arm away from his face. She can feel his muscles tense with the movement, but when she looks up at him there’s only a blurry-eyed smile chased by a nervous huff of a laugh. Another line she can’t uncross but doesn’t particularly want to.

The therapist hadn’t needed to point out that her all-consuming attraction to someone she couldn’t have was probably a healthy coping mechanism of her recently adopted abstinence. She hadn’t really expected this though — for her advances to not be rejected entirely. She hadn’t planned for hope to cease feeling like such a daft, one-sided notion.

“Should I even be blessing you or is that overkill? Or am I even qualified to bless you? Can one bless a priest if they’re not like, anointed or something?”

“You can bless me,” he confirms, looking like he’s barely got a handle on controlling his own eyebrows. Or lips for that matter. God, that mouth, those lips. Parting by accident the way she’d like to make them open on purpose.

“Little greedy of you. You’re not blessed enough as is?”

“Neh—neverhurts…” He pitches sidewards with a slurred, tellingly tipsy, “hehh-ESHHyoooo!”

“Bless you…”

“Thank you,” he sniffles with embarrassed necessity, bringing the back of a sleeve to his nose.

“Hold on, I think I have some tissues,” she says as she feels around in her bag in the darkness, “Well, cocktail napkins at least.” Another knuckle brush as she hands them to him. How arousing. How pitifully arousing. She really should come up with ways to hand him things more often.

“Ahh you were holding out on me,” he says, and then after a gentle blow, “Sorry.”

“You are coming down with something aren’t you?"

He thinks about it, bringing the napkin away from his nostrils with a final follow-up dab. “I dunno, maybe?”

“Do you feel ill?”

“Mostly just very itchy.”

How many other chances will she get… She reaches a hand to gingerly press the back of her fingers against his forehead. He blinks a few times in response, rapidly and reflexively, and swallows back a smile. There’s a burning in her stomach that’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

“Um, you feel okay I think?” She says, attention course-corrected back to the cigarette crumbling in her hand, but still glancing at him to measure the aftermath of the relatively bold gesture and they lock smiling eyes in the process.

If he really wanted to ward her off he’s doing a phenomenally shitty job of it. She knows he wants her. God if only that was enough, to know he wanted her.

“I think you’re right I’ve been sent a plague of sneezing. Probably trying to tell me something.”

“Something about how your new friend could take care of you?”

He grins with half of his mouth. “Or something about how I probably shouldn’t be drinking G&Ts in the middle of the night with my new friend who I like a little too much.”

Oh he… really shouldn’t have given her that.

“ExxSHHUE!!” He shakes the whole bench with this, then straightens back up, not looking entirely recovered, and says almost to himself, “And about how I probably shouldn’t tell my new friend that I like them a little too much.”

“But you did anyway and he hasn’t, I dunno, smote you down yet.”

Irritation is still etched into his features, his chest slowly swelling with air, hastily fiddling with the napkins.

“Are you actually going to sneeze again? You haven’t finished?”

He shakes his head as his eyes close and seizes into a rushed, “hehESHHyue!"

“It’s a plague I can’t stop! Snf, it’s out of my hands."

She knows the night’s over, she does. She gets the sense that she’d been invited to overstay her welcome, but it’s getting past that point now. Whenever she leaves after being around him her face hurts from smiling like an idiot the whole time and she comes away aching in more ways than one. That ache is starting already, another sign they’ve stretched this interaction too long once again.

However, alcohol. “If you tell me to leave and you sneeze again perhaps we’ll know whether or not it was divine intervention.”

“He might just be punishing me now anyway,” he sighs, remembering a cigarette he may not have taken a single drag from, neglected and foreshortening in his fingers.

“We haven’t done anything we’re just talking. I’m a—what is it, parishioner?”

“That is a word, yes. Snf! Though it implies someone who’s actually going to church to, you know, practice their faith."

“I’m a parishioner here to…” she’s not even sure what to say, she still doesn’t know shit about Catholicism aside from the fact that it’s a massive cockblock, “seek your… counsel? Guidance? Guidance counseling.”

He puts a hand over part of his face, tired but amused. “You can’t act innocent even when you’re trying your best, can you?"

She almost snorts. Is this what he thinks trying her best looks like?—No, don’t actually say— “Who said I was trying my best?”

Why can’t she stop herself from saying things like that to him? The only thing that’s going to stop her now is a ‘no’ that’s actually firm enough not to give way when she presses against it relentlessly. He honestly needs to just get it over with before he really gives her too much to hold onto. She’s not going to win out over God, the guy’s pretty fucking stiff competition.

Goddamnit, just break her heart already, what the fuck is he waiting for? This should have ended ages ago, and now it’s getting dangerously close to too late.

Was it unfair to assume he’d be stronger than her? Or is he trying to hurt himself too? A duetted exercise in masochism, mutually assured destruc—

“—ESSHHYUE!” He looks at her through wet lashes, bleary and sheepish and drunk and cute and fuck.

She sighs loudly, looks skyward and says, “Right, you’ve made your point! I’m leaving!”

[mermaid886]

In which a heavily pregnant Lily divorces James and leans on Severus, the two work through their problems as adults to come together as one. ❤️

Loving Lily: A Snily Story

Severus Snape was devastated when Lily Evans ended their friendship during their fifth year at Hogwarts.

Severus Snape continued to watch Lily from afar.

He felt the knife turn in his heart when he learned of her relationship with James Potter.

Lily was seeking a way to hide from her true feelings, her feelings that she dared not acknowledge, her feelings that had nothing to do with James.

James was handsome, athletic, wealthy, and popular.

Everyone convinced her that it must be true love.

At graduation, it seemed that Severus and Lily had both immersed themselves in the false truths they were so desperate to believe.

Lily committed herself to James.

Severus committed himself to acting as the Dark Lord’s most trusted agent and he buried himself in his master’s ideals.

At least, he tried.

As he stood one evening, in the aftermath of a Death Eater raid, Severus listened to Voldemort while he made a grand speech, praising his followers’ success and enveloping them in his vision of a world free from all mudbloods and muggles.

As Voldemort spoke, Severus’s eyes were drawn away to a vibrant mass of red hair that peeked out from some unfortunate woman who lay lifeless behind the ruined tavern's wooden counter.

Severus’s stomach clenched in sympathy for the slain and his heart skipped a beat as he realized one undeniable truth.

All mudbloods and muggles……

All.

Severus understood then what he had been too blind to see when he had sworn his allegiance to the Dark Lord’s cause.

If Severus continued on his path, if Voldemort wasn’t defeated, then one day…...one day that mass of red hair would belong to Lily.

—————————————————————

It was easy for Severus to betray Voldemort in favor of protecting the one he loved.

He discreetly returned to his old school grounds and presented himself to Dumbledore, which surprisingly, resulted in multiple job offers.

“Your time will be filled, Severus.” Dumbledore nodded at the young man in front of him, “Slughorn is retiring….I’ll need you to serve as the new potions Professor and also as my informant. Do you think that you’re up to the task?”

“.......Surely I’m too young to be a staff member, sir?” Severus blinked incredulously.

“Such decisions remain in the headmaster’s hands, Severus. Slughorn told me he's never seen a student with such a natural aptitude for potions such as yourself.” Dumbledore asked as he looked over his spectacles and asked once more, “Besides, will Tom not be thrilled to have one of his men employed here?.........What do you say?”

Severus’s black eyes flooded with determination as he gazed at the headmaster.

If it meant protecting Lily Evans, there was no task that Severus Snape was not up to.

—————————————————————

The next months passed by in a hazy blur.

Severus was trying to maintain his positions with both Dumbledore and Voldemort while he gradually learned how to be an efficient teacher.

It was a show of his great cunning that Voldemort never discovered he was secretly working for Dumbledore.

The look that Severus wore on his face for the entire week after he found out that Lily and James had married left Dumbledore certain that he would never have to doubt Severus’s loyalty.

Dumbledore was no fool.

Severus Snape belonged to neither him nor Voldemort.

Severus Snape belonged to Lily Evans and that kind of devotion was as stable and as unchanging as eternity itself.

—————————————————————-

“We’re eagerly trying to contact the Longbottoms and get them to safety. However, I need your help with the rest of the matter, Severus.” Dumbledore said to his spy as the two men spoke in his office late one evening, “I’ve been advised there are two magical children slated to arrive in the time frame that the prophecy referenced.”

“How can I assist, sir?” Severus asked in a low whisper, barely moving his lips.

Dumbledore tried not to let his eyes shine as he opened his mouth to speak.

He had spent days thinking the matter over and he saw no better approach to the issue.

“I’ve had scouts searching for safe houses, but I’m confident that there’s not a more secure location for the expectant mothers than Hogwarts. I need you to collect Lily Potter and bring her here.” Dumbledore nodded.

Severus’s jaw dropped, “L…...Lily Potter, sir?”

“Yes, Severus.” Dumbledore nodded, “I’ll provide you with the Potters’ address and don’t worry, I’ll let her know to expect you.”

Severus felt like he had been patted on the head and slapped in the face.

He was going to see Lily again!

But she was……she was…...with child?

James’s child…..

“What about…….?” Severus began. He was grateful when Dumbledore finished his thought, “James Potter will not be with her. Only Lily, Severus.”

Severus was curious to learn more about the situation, but Dumbledore’s clarification of his assignment felt like a breath of fresh air.

Only Lily, Severus.

Only Lily.

—————————————————————

Three days later, Severus found himself walking up to the brick house that Dumbledore had instructed him to visit.

He looked up at the building with his brow furrowed before he walked up the front steps and stood on the stoop.

As he lifted a hand to knock on the door, he scowled as he heard something from inside.

It was a sound that Severus had encountered often as a boy, shouting, arguing voices battling angrily with each other.

Severus rapped sharply on the wood in an effort to drown out that horrible noise.

Silence followed, then footsteps came stomping towards the door and at last, it swung open.

Severus’s black eyes widened as he found himself face to face with Lily.

Once the pleasant surprise wore off, his heart soared into his throat before it plummeted into the soles of his feet.

Lily was just as beautiful as he remembered, her hair full and rich, her kind eyes a deep green, her face so lovely and……

Red.

The reddened skin around her blood-shot, wet eyes bothered Severus even more than her rounded belly as she quickly tried to wipe away her tears. She flashed him a nervous smile, as she greeted him politely, “Hello, Sev!.....It’s been a while!”

Lily spoke as if the events of the past had never happened between them and he answered her in a similar manner.

“Hello, Lily…...Yes, it certainly has.” Severus replied with a frown. Behind her, from inside the house, he heard something slam and she wiped away more tears as Severus broke the silence and went on, I’m here to escort you to Hogwarts. Dumbledore mentioned that he would tell you I was coming?”

Lily laid a hand on the side of her belly and Severus followed the motion as she nodded and smiled, “Right, let me just get my things. Wait here a moment…..”

Lily carelessly left the front door open as she turned and hurried away.

Severus loitered on the porch while he blinked after her with a scowl.

Severus could be a rather nosy person by nature, and he was more than intrigued to find out the circumstances behind why James wasn’t coming with Lily and why the face of his happily married, pregnant friend was drenched in tears.

Severus looked into the house from the open doorway, but he dared not enter, wanting to respect Lily’s wishes.

That romantic notion was abandoned when he heard a shriek ring out from the house’s interior, followed by a thud.

Severus would have recognized James Potter’s voice anywhere as he heard him shout, “LILY!”

Severus was off of the front stoop and over the threshold so quickly it was almost unnatural.

He dashed through the darkened, vacant living area and towards the only light he could see, shining from the back of the house.

As he passed by, he couldn’t help but notice the stacks and stacks of packed boxes that sat around the room and littered the staircase to his left.

Severus came bursting into what appeared to be James and Lily’s kitchen in a swirling torrent of his black robes flying and in an instant, his wand was in his hand.

Severus saw Lily lying on the tile floor, unconscious, as James crouched over her.

His black eyes narrowed as a horrible scowl clouded his face.

“You’re a monster, Potter! A monster!” Severus shouted as he accusingly stretched his wand out towards James.

As James hovered worriedly over Lily, he looked up at Severus and raised his hands defensively, “I…...I didn’t touch her! She slipped….she’s fallen! I didn’t touch her!”

Severus stared at his old nemesis with the utmost loathing as Lily started to stir.

The only thing that kept James Potter alive in that moment was Lily and her rounded abdomen.

A groan issued from Lily’s throat as her eyelids fluttered and Severus stepped closer while James bent over the redhead and cried, “Lily! Lilyflower! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?!?!”

Severus tried not to vomit when he heard James use that disgusting pet name but he murmured, “Don’t shout at her, Potter. You’re only going to startle her more.”

“Yeah…...I can hear you…..James.” Lily groaned again as she opened her eyes and slowly sat up.

James frowned in worry and laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder as Severus boldly approached and knelt down a very short distance away.

Lily put a hand to her head while Severus and James watched her tensely.

“Lily….” Severus began but Lily’s hand trembled slightly and she swallowed thickly.

“It’s alright.” She whispered, “I fell…...it was my fault. It was an accident.”

“Are you having any pain?” James asked anxiously, “Are you alright?”

Severus hissed at James through grit teeth, “No, she’s not alright, Potter! Does she look alright to you, you-“

“-I’m fine!” Lily snapped with a ferocity that surprised them both.

James and Severus both reached out to help her as she pulled herself to her feet, but Lily ignored them and used the kitchen cabinets for support instead.

She turned away from James and looked at Severus as she said, “Sorry, my trunk’s there, behind the table…….I’m ready to go now.”

“You need to get to a healer!” James shouted, “Let me take you!”

“It’s none of your business what I do, James!” Lily shouted back as Severus glided over to the table and retrieved her trunk.

Severus ignored James’s sneering face as he looked down at Lily while she begged him, “Please, Severus, get me out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Potter.” Severus sneered as he let Lily clutch onto him so they could apparate, “I’ll have Madam Pomfrey tend her immediately as soon as we arrive.”

Severus had to actively suppress the triumphant grin that threatened to break out across his face when he saw the defeat in James Potter’s eyes.

————————————————————

Lily was quiet while Severus helped her up to the hospital wing of Hogwarts.

He sat quietly at Lily’s side while Madam Pomfrey meticulously examined her.

“Do you remember how long you were out?” Madam Pomfrey asked Lily while she shined a bright light in her face.

“I…..no, a few seconds maybe?” Lily stammered.

Severus scowled at the reflexive way that Lily’s hands slowly came up to her face as she tried to block out the light’s unwelcome assault.

“She was unconscious for a moment or two.” Severus honestly answered Hogwarts’ healer.

“Probably nothing more than a mild concussion, then.” Madam Pomfrey asserted once she finished her exam, “The child seems fine.”

The child.

Severus’s black eyes flickered to Lily’s belly as Madam Pomfrey helped her patient stand from the examination table.

Severus hurried over and let Lily lean on him as Madam Pomfrey instructed, “A bit of rest should right her. Monitor her closely, though. When she wakes in the morning, make sure she has her wits about her.”

“Of course.” Severus nodded.

Careful to support Lily, he helped her from the hospital wing all the way to his personal chambers.

“You don’t have to have me here……” Lily said groggily while Severus helped her sit down on the sofa.

“I can watch over you more easily if I have you nearby.” Severus said very matter-of-factly as he thoughtfully placed a pillow behind Lily’s head, “Give me just a moment…..”

Lily’s eyes started to close as Severus hurried away.

Severus hadn’t anticipated having Lily as a guest in his own rooms, but when Madam Pomfrey stated she needed to be watched, he saw no better place for her.

Severus walked into his bedroom and quickly changed his bedsheets, fluffed the pillows and threw on a clean duvet before he walked back to the sofa.

When he saw Lily slumped over uncomfortably, sleeping with her neck crooked, he frowned.

He didn't wish to disturb her or injure her further, and so, he was extremely gentle as he gathered her from the sofa, lifted her into his arms, and carried her down the hallway.

Severus laid Lily down on his bed and cocooned her in the sheets as tenderly as if she were made of glass.

He pulled the duvet up to her chest, but he blinked in surprise when she grabbed his hand and cracked her eyes open, “......Thank you….Sev.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Lily.” Severus replied.

He knew Lily was in no state to talk of such matters, but in that moment, he couldn’t resist saying to her, “I do hope that someday you’ll realize…. I truly am sorry…….for what I did, for what happened.”

“I’m sorry for what I did, too.” Lily said with a bitter smile as her eyes opened more and she gazed up at Severus.

Severus furrowed his brow and looked down at her as he replied, “.....What are you talking about? You haven’t done anything. It’s important for you to rest….Close your eyes and sleep.”

“I abandoned you when I should have stood by you.” Lily said as she squeezed Severus’s hand tightly and more tears welled in her green eyes.

The raw emotion in Lily’s voice shook Severus down to his core and his mouth fell open as he listened to her speak, “I should have…….been there…..more, for you. I should have…...I should have……”

Severus frowned as Lily broke off with a loud cry and placed her hands over her face while great, heaving sobs wracked through her body.

“Oh, Lily……” Severus rumbled in his low voice.

She reached for him and he didn’t dare turn her away.

He sat down on the side of the bed and let her cling to him while she wept.

He even reached out and placed a comforting hand on her back.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have promised that he felt her lean into him.

“There’s no need to apologize, Lily.” Severus whispered, “The past can’t be changed…I’m not angry with you…....Besides, you and James have a lot to look forward to.”

“James……” Lily whimpered. Severus was frightened that she was calling out for her lover until she sobbed again in a breath that wrenched itself from her chest, “......James and I are divorcing!”

Severus’s dark eyes widened when he heard that statement.

Suddenly, everything regarding the evening and Dumbledore’s instructions made much more sense.

In the silence that followed, Severus gently rocked Lily back and forth in his arms while she continued to cry.

He didn’t enjoy lying to her, but he certainly wasn’t sincere as he whispered, “Well…..I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“It’s my fault…..” Lily whined quietly, “I….I made the wrong choice.”

Severus’s heart raced as she laid her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat for a moment before she took a deep breath and sighed, “It should have been you, Sev. It should have been you……”

When Severus heard Lily’s words, he felt as though he would rise from that bed, sail through the sky, and collide directly into the sun that would rise in a few hours.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33703366/chapters/83766274

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: Quarantining

I teased this drabble last night, but I’m finally getting around to posting it. It’s not a prompt based drabble, but I’m including it in my Stay Home, Read Drabbles collection anyway.

Shout out to @nomadicpixel​ who helped me brain storm for this last night.

Title: Quarantining

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be silly about links, I will reblog this post with links to the masterlist and the prompt list.

With stay at home in full effect in Massachusetts, you had been prepared to spend the foreseeable future alone in your apartment. Then Chris, your boyfriend of six months, invited you to come stay at his house so you wouldn't be alone and you had agreed.

That had been almost four weeks ago. Almost 30 days of spending every day with Chris, his brother, and Dodger. You had enjoyed it, but at the same time, you missed the peace and quiet that was your apartment. Not to mention all the stuff you had left behind.

Your feelings for Chris were strong; you weren't quite ready to tell him that you loved him, but that's where things were headed. But you weren't sure where Chris visioned your relationship going, though, because he was being pretty quiet on the subject.

There had been a point just before the world had shut down that you thought something might happen, but then everything had gone upside down and his brother had come home on the heels of a breakup. You had to believe that whatever Chris had been planning was on the back burner for the sake of his brother and the uncertainty of the future only, especially since he'd invited you to stay with them through it all.

A very loud sneeze that sent dog saliva everywhere reminded you of your cuddle companion and you looked down at Dodger, who laid curled up at your side on Chris's bed. Normally, the dog never let Chris out of his sight, but this morning, you'd been his chosen human.

"Bless you," you told the dog as you used the bedsheet to wipe off the aftermath of his sneeze from your face. Dodger lifted his head and nuzzled your chin before licking you. Laughing, you rubbed his head. "Yes, I forgive you."

"There you two are," a warm voice said from the doorway.

Dodger let out a happy bark and you felt his tail thumping against your leg at the sound of Chris's voice, but he didn't leave your side as Chris made his way over to the bed. The dog looked at you and waited for you to nod your head before he crawled over to Chris, rolling onto his back almost immediately for tummy rubs.

"You ok?" Chris asked you, concern etched into his handsome face as he petted Dodger. "You've been quiet today."

"Just need a break from everything," you replied, gesturing to the main part of the house.

Chris nodded in understanding. "I admit going from an empty house to a full-ish house has been an adjustment," he agreed. "But I'm certain Dodger thinks it's the best thing ever."

You couldn't help but smile as the dog let out a happy bark, as if confirming that statement.

"You're happy here, right?" Chris asked, after several minutes of silence. "With me. Us."

"I am," you assured him. "It's just, I'm used to having my own space, my own things. And right now, I'm living out of my suitcases." Looking up, you saw worry start to work itself across his face and knew you had to ease his mind. "I'm much happier here with you guys than I would have been all by myself, but sometimes I need the quiet and the space."

"I understand," he replied and you could tell he did, but you could still see that hint of worry lingering in his eyes. "Do you want me to sleep -"

"No!" you said, quickly. "No, I don't want you or me to sleep somewhere else."

"Good, but if that changes, let me know," he said, reaching over and squeezing your hand. "Scott mentioned wanting to go over to Ma's for a bit. So maybe we'll go do that and let you stay here, have some peace and quiet."

"The kids would love that," you said with a smile, remembering the last time the three of you had gone over to his mom's house to play with his niece and nephews. "And maybe I'll take a nap or something."

"Well now I'm jealous." Chris chuckled as he leaned over Dodger to give you a quick kiss, only to end up with a face full of fur when Dodger interfered with that plan.

Laughing, you sat up while Chris sputtered.

"Not funny," Chris muttered, but there was a grin spreading across his face regardless. Looking down at his dog, he asked, "Are you going to let me kiss her goodbye?"

Dodger let out a sigh and dropped his snout onto your thigh, making you and Chris both chortle. Tilting your head towards Chris, you accepted his quick kiss before you laid back against the pillows.

Getting off the bed, Chris stretched and then looked at Dodger, who was now laying curled up against you again. "Guess you're staying here to nap, too, then?" he asked. The dog let out a small huff. "Alright, I'll see you two later."

You watched Chris leave the bedroom, blowing him a kiss when he paused in the doorway. Then you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

------

Coming out of the bedroom, Chris passed one of the two guestrooms in his house and then circled back to it. The room housed a spare trundle bed from his mom's house on one wall and some storage stuff in the closet, but other than that was a blank slate. He'd meant to let the kids use it as a room when they stayed the night, but that hadn't happened yet.

Leaving the room, he sought out his brother, finding him in the kitchen making a sandwich.

"Did you find them?" Scott asked, looking up.

"Yeah, they're in the bedroom," Chris replied as he started to make himself a sandwich. He wasn't exactly hungry, but he needed to do something with his hands while he worked everything out in his head. "They're going to take a nap."

"Is she ok?" Scott asked him. "She's seemed kind of down the last couple of days."

"I think she is feeling the pressure of being cooped up with us for the last four weeks," Chris replied with a sigh. "You and I are used to a semi-nomadic lifestyle and she isn't. She misses having a space to call her own."

"If only you had thought to ask her to move in with you, oh, I don't know, six weeks ago," Scott said in a sarcastic tone. "Oh wait, you did. But you chickened out."

"I didn't chicken out," Chris replied, glaring at his brother. "You showed up on my doorstep fresh off a breakup. I wasn't going to rub my relationship in your face."

"That's bullshit," Scott stated, pointing his finger at his brother. "Especially since you then invited your lovely girlfriend to come stay with us anyway."

Chris sighed, knowing his brother was right. He'd meant to ask her to move in with him in late February and then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. He'd had a whole thing planned, he was going to tell her that he loved her and ask her to move in with him. Then chaos had hit and he hadn't wanted her to think he was only making such declarations because of what was happening.

Scott let out an 'mmmhmm' noise that was similar to the one their mom made when her point had been proven.

It was time to step up, Chris decided.

"Did you already text mom and tell her we were coming over?" Chris asked his brother.

"No, I was going to wait until after lunch," Scott replied. "Why?"

"Because I have an idea and I need your help," Chris told him.

------

The house was quiet when you and Dodger exited the bedroom an hour or so later. You followed him outside for a few minutes while he did his business and then the two of you came back into the house. You made lunch and he kept you company while you ate, his tail thumping on the ground as he waited to see if you might drop anything. You didn't, but rewarded his good behavior with a treat.

By the time you finished cleaning up your lunch mess, you were starting to miss Chris and Scott. The brothers were alike in so many ways, but different at the same time. They didn't necessarily fight, but they enjoyed pushing each other's buttons from time to time. Or jumping out to scare each other, which often led to you being scared by accident.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you sent Chris a text:

Having fun?

With this motley crew? Always.

You smiled. His relationship with his family was one of the things you loved most about him.

Are you guys staying for dinner or should I start something?

Takeout? Be home soon.

Takeout works for me. See you soon.

He and Scott got home about an hour later, just as you and Dodger were getting ready to go on a walk to burn off some energy. You invited them to join, but Scott begged off, saying he had to do a few things before dinner.

Taking Dodger's leash in one hand and yours in the other, Chris led you down the long driveway of his property and out to the main road. The three of you walked for half of a mile or so before dark clouds began to roll in.

"Guess I should have looked at a weather app before I decided to do this," you said with a laugh as the rain started to fall.

With no sidewalks, the edge of the road was mostly dirt, gravel or grass, which meant that by the time the three of you made it back to the house, you were all wet and muddy. Instead of using the front door, Chris led Dodger into the mudroom off the garage while you went in through the patio door off the master bedroom.

Teeth chattering, you hurried into the bathroom and stripped off your wet, muddy clothes before getting into the shower. You half expected Chris to join you at some point, but he didn't. Instead, you showered alone and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel before venturing into the bedroom.

You made your way to the corner of the room where your suitcases had been living, but froze when you realized that they were missing. Turning to look around the room for them, you saw that the small set of wicker drawers from your apartment was next to Chris's dresser, which had a couple drawers partially open, revealing some of your stuff.

Still confused, you dressed quickly and then left the bedroom, looking for Chris. You walked right past the guestroom closest to his room and only stopped when you heard him call your name.

You turned to find him in the doorway of the room, blocking your view.

"I have a surprise for you," he said as he stepped out of the way and motioned you into the room.

Confused, you stepped into the room, but as soon as you saw that ugly lamp from your living room sitting on a table from his living room, you felt tears start to pool in your eyes. Then you noticed that the daybed with the trundle under it had your throw pillows and your favorite soft blanket on it. Looking around the room, you saw a bunch of little things that reminded you of home and it made you feel at peace.

With blurry eyes, you went to Chris and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Thank you," you said, your words shaky from emotion.

"It's all I can do right now," he said, brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

"It's perfect," you assured him with a smile.

"There's something else," he said, holding onto your hands. "Something I meant to do six weeks ago."

You felt your heart thumping in your chest and you knew right then and there that you loved him. There was no doubt about it.

"I love you."

You said it.

He said it.

At the same time.

And then you both laughed and he kissed you again.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," he said with a smile. "Because there was one other thing I was going to do six weeks ago and as Scott pointed out to me earlier, it would have made this quarantine thing a lot easier on you." He gestured to the bedroom and your stuff. "I would love it if you would move in with me. Permanently."

A bark from your feet made you both look down. Dodger bumped his head against Chris's knee.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dodger and I would love it," Chris amended. He glanced down at the dog, who let out a cheerful bark.

"I'd love to move in with you two," you told him.

"Please don't kiss again," Scott said from the doorway.

You chuckled while Chris glared at his brother.

"What? I just came to tell you that dinner is here," Scott replied. "But if you two want to starve, that's on you." He winked at you before he disappeared down the hall.

"Maybe we should quarantine at your place," Chris muttered in your ear.

"And miss out on all this fun? Never," you replied. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and then left the room with Dodger following.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

can i request an imagine where calum & the reader are dating and she gets in a car accident & totals her car? and calum and the boys are in another car and see traffic is slowed bc of the accident and cal recognizes her car and asks them to pull over as she’s freaking out because the ambulance is trying to help her calm down but she’s freaking out and can’t call cal because she can’t find her phone that’s in the car but she ends up fine w a few bruises and scratches & it’s all fluff at the end?

Gonna be late - C. Hood

TRIGGER WARNING: Description of car accident and physical injuries, and anxiety.

Sorry this took so long, lovie! Been super busy lately! Hope you like it!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Car accidents are always shown as something so quick in movies.

A split second collision, the car jolts and is thrown around. The person inside is struck with whiplash and tossed about in a quick movement and often the aftermath is quite horrible.

Y/N discovered that movies are total bull Shit.

She was on her way to meet her friends, and her boyfriend, traveling down the Main Street of the town with music playing in the background as she thrummed her fingers along the steering wheel.

Calum always felt shy when she played his music, but she adored the sound of his voice. Every time his dulcet tone travels through the speakers a smile bursts onto her face.

She was listening to Babylon when it happened.

Anything that she had seen in the media felt like the biggest lie in that moment.

What was really a few minute action felt like a lifetime.

Her mind was focused on the road ahead of her, but the subconscious part of her mind was focused on the brown eyed man she gave her heart to.

They had been together for nearly 2 and a half years and at the point of considering living together.

Now, she had been on her way from work to meet with Calum, the guys and their girls for a much needed night out.

Between study and work she had barely had a time to relax, so Calum got onto Crystal who Y/N knew not to argue with about plans and organized for her to meet all of them at her favourite diner for dinner and drinks afterwards.

The sky was barely starting to go dark when the Subaru connected with the passenger side of the car.

She was doing 60 and her car was pushed sideways into the lane next to her.

The impact tore a grunt from her throat and the drivers side connected with a car parked on the side of the road.

Time seemed to slow as her head connected with the steering wheel and the drivers side door squashed in on her arm.

For a minute she saw black.

She came to with a pounding in her head that resembled a bad hangover, but the blood dripping in her eye brought her to her senses.

Despite the agony in both her arm and her head, she could only think of one thing: She needed to tell Calum she would be late. He would worry about her.

She just needed to get her arm out so she could get her bag that was on the passenger side. A quick text to Calum was all she needed

She just couldn’t reach.

<><><><><>

Calum couldn’t wait to see her. They basically lived together and saw each other every day, but last night he spent it at his own house.

She had an early class followed by a shift at work so he said goodnight to her at 7pm the previous night and left knowing he would see her at the bar the following day.

They were well past the honeymoon stage. Their love was past romantic, past companionate. They were bordering on full consummate love and he couldn’t find a moment where he didn’t have her at least in the back of his mind.

He truly loved her, and they both knew they shared the sentiment.

“All I’m saying is, you don’t know if zebras are black with white stripes, or white with black stripes.”

“What does it matter, Ash?” KayKay laughed from the front seat.

He decided to carpool with Ashton and Kaitlin, as he knew he was going home with Y/N that night.

Their conversations had ranged anywhere from aliens to the colour green and now to zebras and their stripes.

Cal couldn’t deny that he tuned out when KayKay and Ash were disputing the intensity of a specific shade of green.

The ride was energetic and gave off a certain ambience that Calum found himself basking in.

Lately, the only time he ever felt relaxed was with Y/N, but he was enjoying the time spent with his friends and the anticipation of seeing the woman he loved.

Hell, he was just excited to be able to sleep next to her that night. He always slept better with her beside him.

“Shit.” Calum felt the car slow, KayKay pushing her foot into the break with the pace of the car in front. “Calum is that-“

“It looks like it,” Ashton cut her off, whispering in a hushed voice for fear of setting off the Maori mans fight or flight.

They both knew that it would definitely be fight.

When it came to Y/N he would always fight for her.

His brown eyes captured the sight of her white Jeep. He knew immediately it was hers.

“Pull over,” he demands even though the car is almost at a complete stop.

His belt is off and his door is flung open. His ears are deaf to Ashton’s calls.

He clears a car and an ambulance comes into view. There are three paramedics crowded around the car, and two others tending to another car.

He didn’t know what had happened but he needed to know if his girl was okay.

He could hear her cries coming from the vehicle.

“I need to call my boyfriend,” she was breathing heavily. Her voice was cracking and sounded strained.

His heart broke at the sound. He could hear the pain she was in, yet her only thought was of him.

In any other circumstance he would be flattered, but all he could focus on was the paramedic telling her to stay calm because she has a head wound.

“No, please. You need to call him. You need to tell him I’m going to be late.” He got closer to the car, and he could see firefighters working at the door next to her.

Paramedics were on the passenger side of the car that had been dented, but at this moment he could care less about the car.

“Please, I just need to talk to him,” she was pleading.

“Ma’am you need to relax. We will call your boyfriend as soon as we can get you out and looked over.”

“But he’s waiting for me,” she was crying. From the pain or her stress, he didn’t know.

His feet felt more sluggish as he got closer to her, but he couldn’t stop his voice.

“Y/N?” He crouched down near where the paramedics were and his heart ached at the sight.

She was virtually untouched save for the head wound and her arm that had disappeared into the car door.

There were tears on her face and her skin was blotchy from the sobs underneath the blood.

Still, she lit up when she saw him.

“Calum! Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she moved slightly, cringing at the pain in her arm. “Crystals gonna kill me. I ruined our night.”

Calum couldn’t help but laugh, “she won’t care, baby. It’s fine, I’m right here with you.”

“I’m guessing this is the boyfriend?” The paramedic quipped. He was tall but he managed to fit into the small space to hold a gauze against her forehead. “No more tears now?”

The firefighters made quick work of the door. It was crumpled around her arm and they needed to stabilize it as they moved her.

She was into the ambulance for an assessment not long after and they began the ride to the hospital.

Calum made sure to send a quick message to Ashton informing him of the situation, but he turned his phone off after.

He needed to focus on Y/N.

A few hours later and she woke up in a white hospital room, her arm in a cast and elevated and a thick wrap around her head.

Calum was asleep on a chair beside her. He was sleeping so peacefully.

Naturally, she throw a sock at him.

“Hey! Melon!”

He snorted awake, blinking deliriously at the girl perched on the bed.

Despite the pain she was in previously, she beamed at him. Her smile could always settle his worries.

“I’ll let that one slide but stop calling me that!” He laughed at her, standing up and stretching.

She used the one hand that wasn’t in the sling to make grabby hands at him, prompting him to laugh once again and settle on the bed next to her.

“So, dr. Hood. What’s the damage?” She smiled, nuzzling into him.

“The damage is that you have a shattered forearm and a mild concussion. Also, you’re never driving yourself anywhere again. You’re coming with me,” he whispered to her, pressing a kiss to his head. “I can’t tell you how scared I was when I saw your car on the side.”

“As scared as I was being yknow, the one in the car?” She winked, pulling him closer so she could hug him more.

“I love you, you know that right?” He kissed her forehead once again. It was his favourite place to kiss her. She believed it was the most intimate and sweet place to kiss somebody, and he had done so since they started their relationship.

“I love you too, Melon,” she smirked once again.

He was thanking anybody who was there to listen that she was okay. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if she wasn’t.

“So, I think this is a good time to revisit our conversation about living arrangements,” he said as he toyed with her hands, resting her smaller fingers against his own. “Because, if we lived together, I could fulfill my dream of being your personal chauffeur.”

“Calum, your dream was to make it big with your friends.”

“And I did that. Now this is my new dream.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes, kissing him softly on the lips. “You want to do this? Live together?”

“I really do, baby,” he was staring so intently into her eyes that it forced a redness to rise.

“Then lets do it, Cal. Let’s move in together.”

A smile broke out onto his face, wider than it was before and he leaned over her to kiss her deeply.

“How about I get you a cute little nurse outfit and you can take care of me?” She winked as she pulled away from his lips, allowing him to roll his eyes deeply.

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