#i think he simply lived in too much denial to realise what a bad idea that was 😐

[girl-bateman]

Now that I think about it, it's really weird that my grandma left all her money for my dad instead of her grandchildren. Like yess 😙✨️... give your life savings to the alcoholic with a history of reckless spending... You go, girlboss ���🤑

[descentivity]

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind. 

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself. 

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

[saphirered]

Hi there! You writings are wonderful. Please could you do an EssekXreader where the reader is from another high ranking den and is betrothed to Essek for political reasons. Both Essek and Reader aren't keen on the idea but eventually after spending time together realise they actually have feelings for each other, I'm thinking a bit like The Swan Princess. Please and thank you.

This is gonna be a two parter as the current draft already exceeds my usual word count limit 🙈 so stay tuned for part two in the next few days! Hope you enjoy 😘

Denial. It must be a cruel joke. Your family, your den they would never use you as a pawn in a bigger plot. This was all just a cruel joke or a move to assure their political advancement without the need to go through with this.

Anger. No. This is real. How dare they? How could they? They would use you like that? Without having the decency to let you know before the deal was made no less! Were it anyone else you’d crush them beneath your boot like the vermin they are for condemning you to a fate not of your own choosing. Perhaps you still might…

Bargain. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you could just play your part and go your separate ways. A betrothal doesn’t have to end in a marriage. Even if it does, all that counts is appearances. Beyond that you could still have your own life right? You’d always be able to make the ‘me’ decision and wouldn’t have to take in account the ‘we’. Yes that should be right.

Depression. Your life is ruined! You’ll forever be tied to someone else without your consent. Your decisions will reflect on the many now. You’ll have to watch your every move and every choice or it may reflect terribly on your legacy. There’ll be expectations and can you ever live up to them while still being content with your own life or will you be sacrificing your happiness for something so stupid?

Acceptance. Acceptance…. Hell no!

Time for the first official meeting with Essek Thelyss in the context of your arrangement. You’d met many times before given both of your stations and reputations but now, you couldn’t help but feel a coldness towards the man regardless of what cordial or friendly dynamic you might have had in your limited social interactions.

Your respective families meet. You on your side, Essek on his. Both of you portray the facial expressions excepted of you; indifferent content. Nothing over excited nor anything remotely negative either but you’ve been raised a reader of the people and you could see through the cracks in Essek’s appearance. He’s just as happy with this arrangement as you are; not at all.

“It is a pleasure to meet you here today.” Essek speaks. The rules of engagement have not forgone any of you despite your discontent with this whole situation but for the sake of your watching families you’d play your parts. You’d put on a damn good show.

“You as well Shadowhand. Light be blessed we get to spend it in such magnificent company.” You can feel the approving look burn into the back of your head from your Denmother. They’d be none the wiser.

And so the negotiations began. All be damned if you did not at the very least were able to set some of your own terms in this arrangement. Fundings to sustain your lifestyle or a dowry were the least of your worries. You were more concerned with a place you could call your own, time to spend for yourself, security and stability and the ability to continue your life as is regardless of possible marriage. You would never give up your seat at the Bright Queen’s council and you’re very sure Essek wouldn’t give up his either.

Essek had to admit you played the game well. You’re a killer negotiator. Your persuasive side had shone at the Bastion more than once but those circumstances are wholly different than these. Your ability to make it sound like these ideas came from your den and not yourself, and have them think these suggestions were their ideas in the first place is simply remarkable. Remarkable and dangerous. Respect. But no matter how good of a talker you are, or he is for that matter, neither of you could get out of this.

Afternoon tea, a few lunches and dinners here and there and even a few events you were forced to attend with Essek as your escort under the careful watch of your dens. Whenever you were sure they were out of earshot you did not make it unknown neither of you wanted to be here and would prefer to be as far away from each other as possible.

Then there were the times you swore you might actually be able to like the Shadowhand. Councils held lead to many arguments, the Bright Queen watching the court fight among themselves for a next course of action, fundings to be divided and efforts to be pursued. You always kept a level head not allowing yourself to get worked up, or at least appear you weren’t but sometimes you could strangle the life out of some of these fools.

To your surprise in some of these occasions Essek would take your side and support your arguments, concerns and points brought up in debates. So he does know what’s good for him after all? Those moments were quickly ruined by the next point on the schedule where you’d be at opposing sides again. Usually you’d be able to work up an opponent in debate until their credibility would be questioned but Essek had caught onto your games and was no fool. If you could keep your cool, so could he. You had learned how to push his buttons as he had yours.

After a particularly heated debate the Bright Queen dismissed the dens, done with the bickering and infighting for the day. You couldn’t blame her even though there were still many things unspoken. You and Essek were at odds once more and you couldn’t be happier to be done for the day and head somewhere you wouldn’t be forced to interact with the asshole.

Conferring with your allies, trying to gain support of others, you grabbed your things ready to leave the Bastion. There he floated in the anti-chamber eyes cold focussed on you, waiting. You pretend you don’t notice and keep walking for the exit. Essek calls your name as you’re about to pass him. You don’t respond and keep going. He calls again. No response. He grabs your arm stopping you in your tracks. How you’d hoped to escape this confrontation.

“A moment of your time please.” The words leave his lips with an artificial, well-practiced warmth. Oh you’re fighting so hard to contain yourself but you too had a facade to keep up.

“Another time perhaps. I’ve grown quite exhausted after the day’s events. If you will excuse me.” You smile innocently placing your hand over his secured around your wrist. You pry your fingers beneath forcing him to release his grasp on you.

“Then allow me to escort you back home. Should you be able to muster up the strength to converse on our path I’d love nothing more than to just hear your voice.” Essek encases your hands between his. Eyes of the dens fall upon the two of you in the middle of the anti-chamber. Essek is known to be a reserved individual and these advances definitely stand out.

Oh so that’s the game we’re playing. Asshole move, Shadowhand. Two can play this game. If it’s the company you’re currently in he’s using against you you can do the same. You take a step closer to him standing on your tiptoes and lean in to press your lips to his cheek. You linger just a little and whisper into his ear.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You allow the distaste to bleed through your barely audible words before you pull away and take a step back. You couldn’t refuse his ‘generous offer’. It might make you look bad so you smile bright and nod even managing to call on a fake blush like some lovesick fool. From the corners of your eyes you notice the court members whisper among each other. Good. Let them talk. You link your arm through Essek’s still carrying your things.

“I believe I might have forgotten my transcripts of the day. Would you mind joining me in retrieving them?” So whatever the wizard needed to discuss with you he couldn’t say in public… Oh Essek what a mistake you made… That certainly offers you some opportunities to use to your advantage.

“Nonsense! I have my transcripts. You’re free to borrow them, or perhaps you’d like to study them with me? It might give us the opportunity to come to a compromise without wasting the Council’s time. After all, there’s much more pressing matters.” His expression might be a thankful one but if looks could kill… you’d be introduced into your next life this very second.

You begin leading Essek out of the building not allowing him any response or comeback for your previous statement. You walk head held high catching onto the praises of others. ‘A great match’? If only they knew…

Your walk continued in seething silence from Essek. Until you reached your home. Opening the door and leaning against the doorframe making sure no one else is in sight, you smirk at him.

“I’m curious. If I refused to part with these,” You hold up the transcripts. “What would you do? Would you go back and receive your own copies or would you go without them?” You leaf through the pages. It’s not like you needed them. You already had all you needed memorised so if anything they’d go into your archives for future reference and case study if necessary. Essek doesn’t dignify you with an answer yet so you continue to press his buttons.

“Would you be able to discredit my every word or counter them without the direct word for word reference? Would your arguments hold any weight against my own? Or would you be forced to depend on the vote or Light’s mercy, the Bright Queen’s verdict because if the latter, you’ve already lost, my dear.” You can’t hold back the smugness in your achievements. The look of defeat brought you satisfaction.

Essek bites his tongue. Even he knows that in theoretics you have the upper hand now. Recalling your words from memory alone wouldn’t be enough. He’d needed to cite them exactly providing the transcript in your possession. He couldn’t go back or it might arise questions, questions he couldn’t afford at this moment. What caught him off guard was you offering him the transcript still. He takes it before you can change your mind, the pages disappearing beneath his cloak.

“Luckily for you I’m not your enemy. Yes we might disagree on matters of state but at the end of the day we’re going to be stuck together and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

“What are you suggesting?” Essek doesn’t know wether he should be wary, outright suspicious, or glad you’ve come up with a plan amidst the chaos.

“A truce. If we keep these antics going it will lead to a war between the two of us. Are you really prepared to be expected to spend the rest of your life with someone you’ve grown to hate? Because I’m not. I’d rather sleep in my bed withe the comfort of knowing my partner will not stab me in the back or sabotage me at every opportunity he gets.” Partner. He. Not they. He. So not even you had a way out of this betrothal.

“Resentment grows much faster than affection.” Essek deadpans. Yes he sees your reasonings and you make some solid arguments but that doesn’t mean he has to trust your motives. He’s aware you in your position are much more dangerous than any spy, assassin or foreign force.

“Light be with me.” You’re exasperated. You’re offering an olive branch and this is his response? You pull him inside and close the door dropping the act entirely within the confines of your own home knowing no one will be watching you here.

“I am not offering you an epic enemies to lovers tale! I’m offering to make the best out of a situation neither of us actually want to be in! Marriage is just another contract. We do what is expected of us by following it to the letter and nothing more, nothing less. Love or affection is not part of that contract but respect is.” Essek takes in your words and considers them making sure you’re not twisting things in such a way you could later use against him or to your advantage.

“Your logic is sound and your arguments persuasive.” You raise your hand in an exasperated ‘thank you’ as he straightens your back and looks down at you.

“Very well. We have an agreement.” You’re on the verge of letting out a breath of relief at Essek agreeing to your terms and suggestions. You’d rather be sure this man isn’t going to drop you on a different plane in your sleep once you’ll be forced to share a home. You’d rather know you can trust him to have your back despite your grievances. At the end of the day, you both want to survive.

“Match made in Elysium.” Sarcasm is clear in your voice and the both of you cannot help but smile. More like match made in hell with the ��letter of the law’ approach to navigating your predicament.

—————

Pacing back and forth fingers pressed to your lips in thought of Essek’s sitting room you ponder the terms of your agreement. Essek himself is seated on the couch leaning over a two sheets of paper, a long list of demands from both sides written on each.

“Next up housing.” You announce. Essek fiddles with the pen looking over the lists.

“I’m not willing to part with my towers unless something of equal or greater value is returned. I need space for my practices, experiments and studies.”

“I’ll agree to part with my own home under the terms you will share your personal resources with me and I will have amicable space for my own pursuits be this here or at another place of our mutual choosing.” Essek considers your terms on this matter. They are agreeable but this is a negotiation and neither of you are refraining from pushing for an outcome to suit yourself best.

“We will share my home then but we will both share our resources unless they pertain to exclusively personal matters or those of state when we inevitably find ourselves on opposing sides in the Bastion.” You stop pacing and turn to face Essek. He watches for your responses.

“I get my own tower.” You counter.

“That’s preposterous. I have need for certain rooms and areas for my studies and cannot relocate them.”

“Fine. Then I’ll get all unoccupied or unnecessary rooms.”

“You’ll get your own private bedchambers, study and sitting room just as I’ll have mine. These chambers will be exclusive and privacy to be respected. Other spaces save for my laboratory, for your own safety, are communal.” By the expression on your face Essek knows you’ve caught him in a loophole.

“Agreed. We’re entitled to our private spaces and will share the unspecified ones. Kitchen, dining room, living area… library…” You caught hime there… Essek’s expression turns sour. He’d have preferred to keep that one to himself but the agreement is fair.

“I wish to make an amendment.”

“Name your terms.”

“Some shelves will belong to my private collection. You will refrain from touching these tomes and scrolls without my explicit permission.” You ponder not entirely convinced. There’s nothing in there for you and Essek knows it. You raise an eyebrow for him to continue and concede on a previously negotiated term for this amendment to go through.

“And in return, you get to redecorate our communal spaces how you see fit, within the realms of reason.” Essek empathises the latter part of his statement.

“Agreeable.” You nod. “Next up; social engagements.”

The two of you go back and forth agreeing, adjusting, and conceding to come to an equal understanding and finalise your arrangement. Over all, it went surprisingly well. It certainly was a nice change of scene to have somewhat friendly negotiations without the added pressure of the dens and the Bright Queen herself watching you.

Essek makes for a good conversationalist and you might even dare say you enjoyed your afternoon setting the terms and conditions. Maybe you could be friends after all. That would be nice.

[mummybear]

The Babysitter

This Is Day Four Of Roleplay May 

Words: 4763

Warnings: Smut (Obviously), Oral Male And Female Receiving (Sharing Is Caring And All), 

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Reader, Mentions On “The Wife”, Mentions Of The Kids And Some Random Ex Boyfriend. Think that’s it really.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader

A/N: Right so I just wanna say this is my first ever Jensen Fic, so please be gentle. Also nothing is meant against anyone in the Fic, it is simply Fanfiction in which this is the idea :) Cheating, Hair Pulling,  Squirting, Angry Sex Biting, Begging, Orgasm Denial.... I mean honestly the list goes on.....

Summery: Being the babysitter for the Ackles family had been nothing but a pleasure, but when Jensen comes home from work in a bad mood the reader finds out just how much her boss loves her short skirts and despises her ex boyfriend showing up at his house.

The front door slams open and you can’t help but flinch where you sit on the couch, the sound echoing through the large halls of the house. There was only one person it could be, with the kids’ mother being away on business. However, Mr. Ackles hadn’t been in the best of moods when he’d left for work this morning. Now you thought about it, he’d been in a terrible mood for days. 

Luckily the kids were in bed, fast asleep. So you only hoped that he hadn’t woken them up. 

Slipping out of the living room, you head towards the front door, where you find him kicking off his boots and hanging up his coat. He doesn’t speak, so neither do you, deciding it might be best that way.

The thing about Jensen Ackles was the type of man he was. There was no getting away from it, not even for the babysitter of his kids. He was tall, strong and just god damn gorgeous. With the most incredible heart and personality. A laugh that never failed to make you smile, not to mention the fact he had the greenest eyes you’d ever seen. 

However, there was also the other side of him. A side that not many people had the chance to see, you had seen it once, a long time ago. But tonight, tonight was different.

You quickly make your way into the kitchen, feeling his eyes on your back as you walk away from him. But you know it’s best to stay out of his way, especially when he’s like this. Mr. Ackles was definitely still pissed off, maybe even more so than he had been this morning. That much you could tell from his body language alone. 

You busied yourself with making him a coffee, hoping that he wouldn’t snap at you. You were seriously beginning to get worried that he knew about your visitor a few nights ago.

“Where are the kids?” he asks suddenly, his voice much louder than you’d expected, which makes you jump, even more so when he leans over you, taking the coffee you’d made him. Your entire body stiffens until he steps back, you’re not sure he’d ever been that close before and you could definitely smell the alcohol lingering on his breath as it ghosted across your cheek. Then again you didn’t hate it at all.

“T-They’re in bed Mr. Ackles. Sir” you tell him half stuttering your reply, ignoring how close he’s still standing, you try and find something to keep you busy on the counter.

“Turn around and look at me Y/N” he demands in a firm tone that leaves no room for argument. 

You turn to face him, but you can’t look him in the eyes, so instead you focus on his chest as you fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt. Swallowing hard, you grip your t-shirt tighter, when his arms fold over his broad chest. 

Sensing he’s getting impatient you finally look up, meeting his eyes and god he looks so good. He’d been on several interviews and photo shoots today. He had dark jeans on, a dark blue suit jacket and a blue shirt and tie, he practically oozes authority and commands attention.

“Is everything okay?” you ask him quietly, your voice just barely above a whisper.

Jensen rubs his hand across his face, gently scratching at the stubble along his jaw as the muscle beneath clenches. He takes another step towards you, nerves get the better of you and you step back. Which causes your back to bump into the cupboard behind you. Placing his hand beside your head on the cupboard, focusing his intense gaze back on you. 

“Do you really think that I don’t have cameras all over my house Y/N? Inside and out. That I don’t see everything you do? Everyone you invite over” his voice is that much quieter as he leans in closer, but you can still tell that he’s beyond angry.

And fuck he knows, it’s the only reason he would be bringing this up right now. 

“Mr. Ackles, please just let me explain. I don’t know how much you were able to see, but please I-” he cuts you off with a shake of his head, you stop talking immediately, clamping your mouth closed as you wait for him to say something.

“How about you just keep your pretty little mouth shut darlin’. You know, try being a good girl for a change, if you can manage that” his tone of voice is really beginning to do something to you, even if he’s snapping at you. But with the things he’s saying, it’s starting to make you feel things that you shouldn’t, want things that you’re not allowed.

You watch as his finger hooks into the top of his tie, roughly pulling it loose and pops the top button. Chewing your lip you give a small nod as your wordless reply. Finally, you can’t take anymore and look away from him, focusing back on your feet. His eyes are far too intense and you feel like a moth being drawn to flame.

“Good. Now since you do know how to listen. Tell me, who was the guy you were kissing in the back yard the other day?”

He still hasn’t raised his voice, yet somehow, that only un-nerves you that much more. Fiddling with your hands you swallow the lump in your throat, your nerves over losing your job are beginning to get to you. Opening and closing your mouth a few times, you wonder if your reason will be enough to calm him down and stop him firing you. 

Suddenly his large hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him again. Your mouth is so dry, he holds you there with his hand and his darkened green eyes.

“You better answer me, Y/N” he demands, his voice substantially louder and firmer than before.

Licking your lips you try to get your breathing under control, gripping your skirt tightly.

“I uh, I’m s-sorry Mr. Ackles. He followed me t-to work, I broke up with him m-months ago. He just won’t take no for an answer. I swear to you, I-I was just trying to get him to leave,” you reply quickly, your voice wavering and shaking the entire time.

“Why’d you break up with him, Y/N?” Jensen asks, a slight smile curving at the edge of his lips as he releases your jaw, letting his fingers just barely brush down the column of your throat. 

The question takes you by complete surprise. What strikes you even more is the look in his eyes and you can’t look away. “I don’t understand. Why do you want to k-” your voice cuts out with a surprised gasp, right as Jensen straightens up so he’s looking down at you even more than before, pressing his body that much closer to yours.

“Don’t tell me. I’ll guess” his tone is completely cocky. “He didn’t hit the right spots huh? Wasn’t he man enough for you baby girl?” he smirks when the quietest breathy moan slips past your lips, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your skin is tingling all over, the heat is quickly pooling between your thighs and you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to. You’re currently losing the fight with your common sense, you know this is all kinds of wrong. You just don’t have it in you to care. He’s like the drug you just can’t get enough of.

“Something like that” you reply just barely above a whisper.

“You need a real man to show you just how to control this perfect body. Someone who can make you scream, make you beg for more,” his husky whisper just loud enough for you to hear, as his fingers trace the smooth skin peeking out just above your skirt.

Without even realising it you lean into his touch, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip, feeling the throbbing between your legs increasing with his every word. Begging yourself not to let that word slip past your lips. You’re so turned on right now, it’s taking everything you have to hold yourself back, but the submissive in you needs him to make the first move. Swallowing hard you nod,“I do. Need it so bad, but you’re married” the second the last words slip past your lips you swallow hard, clearly your conscience has got the best of you.

He licks his lips seemingly biting his tongue as he bends down eye level with you, that intense green eyed gaze focused back on you.

“Oh don’t worry about her. I’ve been told by a good source, she’s got her hands very full this weekend, with her friend or co-worker. We haven’t fucked in months” he tells you honestly, trying to keep his voice calm, but you can hear the anger behind his words.

You reach out and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze without even thinking, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that” you tell him as calmly, dropping your hand back at your side when he shrugs.

“Forget about it, I am” he assures you, giving you that panty dropping wink. “Now that’s out of the way, where were we?” he asks seductively, his eyes flicking down to your lips then back up to focus on your eyes.

“I think that’s probably up to you, Mr. Ackles” you reply playfully, biting back your smirk when he chuckles in reply.

“You really think you can handle me baby girl?” he asks with a grin, ducking down a little lower, resting a hand beside your head, while the other one pushes your hair off your shoulders.

You shake your head, licking your lips, finally letting your eyes drop to his pink plump lips.

“No. But I know you can handle me. Keep me under control, make me beg for more” you tell him practically moaning the last word. You suck in a breath when he leans in close, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek.

“Oh I know just what you need darlin’. Thank fuck, because I am sick and tired of pretending that I don’t want you on your knees, begging for my cock” he practically growls. You cry out as his hand fists in your hair, roughly tugging your head back. “Ah ah ah, be a good girl. Keep it down, don’t make daddy gag the babysitter” he groans hearing your desperate whimper, knowing he’d hit a button with that one. 

His lips roughly press against yours, wrapping his free arm around your waist when your legs threaten to give way beneath you. Grabbing at his suit jacket you pull his body closer as his tongue runs across your lips. 

Your tongue quickly meets his, stoking the fire building between your legs when he takes complete control. Pulling away suddenly, he drags those perfect white teeth over your bottom lip. You breathlessly look up at him with hooded eyes, he looks right back at you, with a look in his eyes like he’s about to devour you.

Jensen’s fingers tighten in your hair as soft lips and sharp teeth make their way down your neck, pausing every now and then to suck marks into your skin. You cling to his jacket as his hand drags slowly up the back of your thigh, slipping beneath your skirt he grabs your ass roughly, unable to stop the roll of your hips as he pulls you closer.

His raspy voice is in your ear again, those soft lips caressing you.

“I bet you wear these little skirts just to tease me don’t you? Dirty girl. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much shorter they are when it’s just me around” 

He releases your hair and drops his hand from your body, taking your small hand in his much larger one, you follow him as he leads you into the living room. 

Closing the door he locks it, the baby monitor on the side remains quiet as he leads you into the middle of the room. You swallow hard as this gorgeous giant of a man looms over you, fingers pushing beneath your thin t-shirt. Pushing the material up your body, his big warm hands that never leave your skin. You lift your arms as he tugs the t-shirt over your head.

“Jensen please, I want your cock” you moan as those long fingers drag over your rib cage teasingly.

His chuckle is low and deep, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. You suddenly realise that’s the first time you’ve ever used his first name, he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact it seems to have the opposite effect..

“Oh, do you baby. Then be a good girl, get on your knees. Beg for it” the second those husky words leave his plump lips you drop down onto your knees at his feet. Staring up at him like he was the only thing in the universe, resting your hands on his strong thighs. The massive bulge in his jeans practically makes your mouth water. Jensen takes off his suit jacket and tosses it over the arm of the chair, before his darkened green eyes settle back on you once more.

“I’ll be a good girl, please Mr Ackles. Fuck my mouth, just wanna make you feel good.” You beg the older man above you, rolling your hips down into nothing.

You wait on baited breath as Jensen tugs open his belt without a word, you sit up higher on your knees, licking your lips when he pops the button open and pulls down the zip. His thumbs tuck in the sides of his jeans and boxers, he pushes them down to his knees with a few rough shoves. 

Allowing his cock to spring free. You can’t help but suck in a breath and lean in closer when he wraps his long fingers around his thick length, you’re moaning please all over again. He pumps his cock up and down with a firm grasp and you can feel your slick starting to leak through your panties, he’s even bigger than you’d first imagined.

“Look at you, my cock hungry little slut. So fuckin’ perfect. Open up baby girl” he practically growls, tapping the swollen tip against your parted lips. 

You do as you’re told, his words shooting straight to your throbbing pussy. Your mouth open and tongue waiting, you moan as soon as the tip touches your tongue, pre-come leaking freely the heady taste as you close your lips around him. Jensen groans above you, his hands fisting at both sides of your hair, wrapping the thick tresses around his hands.

Swirling your tongue around the swollen tip, you feel his grip tightening, taking him further into your mouth, your tongue dragging along the underside, following that thick throbbing vein.

You whimper when he tugs harshly and thrusts his hips.

“Look at me” he grunts thrusting again, you gag a little but manage to control it, looking up and locking your eyes on those dark green almost black eyes. “So fucking good for me” he moans when you hollow your cheeks and try to relax your throat.

Your fingers dig into your thighs when he thrusts again, forcing himself further down your throat , the noise he makes is so fucking sexy, you loose his eye contact when he throws his head back and moans your name. You can feel the heat rising across your skin, clenching your thighs you can feel the coil in your stomach tightening. 

Your moaning around him as he starts a steady rhythm, hips snapping against your face, saliva mixed with his pre-come leaking from the sides of your lips. You’re so close to coming, with the noises he’s making, the feel of him deep down your throat, hands fisting in your hair. You gasp when he finally pulls out of your mouth and throat, gulping down air as he fists his cock at the base.

“Was that okay?” you ask as innocently as possible, your voice hoarse and breathy.

He grabs your arm, hauling you up off the floor, his hands are tight on your arms as he pulls you into a bruising kiss. His lips leave yours all too quickly. You stumble back with a smirk, seeing that devilish look on his face as he stalks towards you. Jensen shoves you gently, until the back of your legs connect with the sofa and you fall back onto it, looking up at him expectantly from beneath your eyelashes.

He remains quiet as he unbuttons his shirt and drops it to the floor, revealing that perfect tanned freckled skin that’s hidden beneath. You lick your lips as he gets closer, he’s fucking gorgeous. The last thing to go is the tie which is dropped by your foot.

“You know damn well that was more than okay, nearly came down your throat” he half chuckles when you have to bite back a grin. However, that quickly turns into a moan when the front of your plaid skirt flicks up.

“Gotta taste that pretty pussy baby girl” he rasps, kicking off his jeans.

You cry out when he tugs your ankles so that your ass is hanging almost off of the sofa. He presses a finger to those plump lips of his before he drops to his knees, making quick work of pulling your panties off, throwing them over his shoulder. You go push down your skirt but he stops you. Unyielding grip on your wrist. 

“No. That stays on darlin’. You wore it to wind me up, so now you can leave it on” he tells you as he licks up one of your inner thighs, groaning when your slick hits his tongue. “Walking around like a dirty school girl, now you can fucking act like one”

You whimper as he roughly suckles at your inner thigh, dragging his teeth across the skin, before moving higher and doing the same.

“I’m s-sorry, please I-” you’re cut off when his tongue moves through your slick folds, you slam a hand over your mouth as he groans into your pussy, that thick perfect tongue pushing inside you. You roll your hips into his face and he slaps your thigh, but that just shoots straight to your throbbing pussy as two thick fingers circle your clit.

You do it again, begging for more behind your hand. This time however he isn’t so forgiving. When he  pulls his face away you whine a pathetic apology, which quickly turns into a scream of pleasure and pain as he slaps your pussy lightly, three times in a row.

“You don’t get to fuck my face baby, you’re not in charge here. Take what you’re fucking given, am I clear” he growls, pushing your legs up and making you hold them back. 

You nod quickly, nails digging into your legs, feeling two of his thick fingers circling your opening. 

“Yes Jensen. I’ll be good. Fuck please” you beg, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head when pushes those fingers inside you slowly. 

“Fuck baby girl, such a tight little pussy” he moans lowering his lips again, so his breath ghosts over your clit. You can’t arch against him like you want to, you just have to lay back and take it. His tongue flicks out and you can’t help but whine freely, with no hand to hold in your noises now.

 “Only ever been with one guy and your cock twice as big” you pant trying to catch your breath. Your voice comes out a little more worried than you’d have liked it to.

“Don’t worry baby, gonna make you come so hard. This little pussy is gonna fit my cock like a god damned glove by the time I'm done with you” the last part of his promise is muffled as his lips close around your clit, tongue flicking back and forth over the bundle of nerves in time with the rough fast movements of his fingers.

You quickly feel your orgasm approaching, like a freight train hurtling down the track. Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he curls them, repeatedly stroking at that spot that makes your legs shake and your head fuzzy. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” you cut yourself off as your orgasm hits hard, your body goes tense beneath him, but he doesn’t stop or slow down.

“Fucking give it to me baby girl, you can do it. I can feel it” he commands before returning his lips and tongue to your clit, applying a little extra pressure with his fingers on every thrust.

You look down at him, eyes lidded barely able to keep them open, he’s watching you when your eyes meet, dark green eyes locked on your face. Your thighs shake and all you can do is gasp for air and cling to your own legs, your stomach burns and you feel like every nerve ending is sparking at once. Jensen groans into you when a wet squelching sound fills the room. 

“Oh! Oh god!” you scream, dropping your legs back onto his shoulders as your body arches uncontrollably, your hand flying to cover your mouth, the other grabs the top of his head trying to push him away, as your entire body shudders. He doesn’t budge, but he does slowly remove his fingers, licking his way down your thighs following the lines of your slick.

“Fuck that was so hot baby, don’t tell me I’ve broken you already” Jensen grins, winking when he finally pulls your legs from his shoulders and stands. All you can do is smile back, whimpering when you move at the sensitivity between your legs.

He holds out his hand for you, which you take gratefully. He pulls harder than you’d expected, so that you’re crushed against his chest, gripping your hair he pulls your lips to his. You run your hands over his chest as your tongues slide perfectly against one another, making sure you touch everything you’ve never touched but always wanted to. 

Your ass bumps into the side of the sofa and Jensen stops, suddenly pulling away from your lips, you barely have time to catch the smirk on those plump lips. He spins you quickly so your back is pressed against his solid chest, hand wrapping around your throat gently as his lips press to your ear. 

“You still want my cock baby? Still want me to fuck you until you can’t walk” he asks deep and husky voice, washing over you like a hot shower, as his fingers flex around your throat.

“Fuck yes. Want you to fucking ruin me, Mr. Ackles” 

That seems to be the last straw, with a growl he pushes you forward roughly, until you fall over the arm of the sofa. He kicks your legs apart and takes hold of his cock, running it through your wet pussy, hearing you mewl beneath him, pushing back against him. He pauses when the head of his cock presses against your opening.

“Is this what you want baby?” he asks in a gravelly voice making you shiver.

“God yes! Please!” you whimper into the cushion under your face.

“Spread those cheeks for me baby, let me see you” he asks, breathing out slowly when he slips inside you a little further. “Wanna see every time my cock slips inside that tight little pussy” he growls pushing in another inch, you comply immediately, reaching back you grip your ass, spreading your cheeks for him, the curve of your back pushing you closer to him.

Suddenly his hips snap forward, filling you completely luckily your drawn out moan is completely muffled by the sofa cushion. Your nails dig into your ass cheeks as he pulls out almost all the way and roughly thrusts himself back inside, pushing the sofa forward with the force.

“Oh fuck! Look at you. All mine” he grunts possessively, repeating the action a little quicker again and again, your hands slip from your ass and push underneath you, holding yourself up.

“Put your fucking hands back Y/N” Jensen demands slapping your ass roughly, as the other fists in your skirt, pulling you back against him,

“I-I can’t” you cry out again as he slams forward, hips slapping hard and bruising against your ass.

“Fine” there’s a pause as he stills behind you. Bending down awkwardly, he grabs his discarded tie, roughly yanking your arms back from under you, he pulls your wrists together resting them on your ass. Tightly securing the tie around them, he tugs making sure it’s tight enough. “There. Get out of that” he grunts through that dark chuckle, picking his pace up, until your mouth drops open in a silent scream.

His thrusts are brutal and unforgiving and you’ve never felt more in heaven in your life.

“J-Jensen, I’m gonna c-” he cuts you off with another harsh slap to your ass.

“No. You’re gonna hold it baby girl, you’ll wait until I tell you. Call it punishment for movin’ your hands” he snaps with another powerful slap to your ass. 

You gasp through a moan, feeling your walls clenching every time he pulls you back onto his cock, while he continues fucking into your tight wet heat. Your head is spinning, pussy throbbing around his thick length, feeling every ridge against your inner walls. 

Your nails are digging harshly into your palms, as he continues to rail into you at an inhuman pace that has your legs shaking. Jensen grips onto his tie forcing your body off of the sofa, you’re trying so hard to hold back your orgasm, but you can feel that familiar feeling from earlier, heating back up in your stomach and you know you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to.

“Jensen. I’m gonna do it again! Please, I can’t stop it” you scream, clamping your mouth shut, biting into your lip harshly to try keep your noise down.

Jensen whimpers as your walls clamp down around his cock violently, his balls draw up and he has to grit his teeth.

“Do it, my dirty little slut. Fuckin’ squirt for me baby” 

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, feeling Jensen’s come fill you full, even leaking down your thighs. With sweat soaking your skin, your orgasm hits so powerful that it forces Jensen's cock from inside you. You’re practically sobbing when it stops, shaking violently you faintly feel him undoing your wrists before he pulls you back against his chest, those strong arms wrapped around your body holding you up. Your head drops back onto his shoulder as he gently sucks and licks at your neck, teeth softly scraping over your skin. 

“I gotcha baby, you’re okay” he murmurs against your skin, his voice like honey.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re something else Mr. Ackles” you giggle as he turns you in his arms to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Finally pushing your fingers into his thick hair when he kisses you, both of you capturing each other's moans. The easy eager slide of his tongue against yours is just what you need, he pulls away with a gentle sigh brushing his fingers through your hair.

“You have no idea how much I needed that baby girl, you were fucking perfect” he winks with that panty dropping smile.

“You have no idea, Jensen. You were even better than I thought you’d be” You giggle at the look on his face. “Yes I’ve thought about it” you confirm, gently slapping his chest when he wiggles those eyebrows at you.

“Me too, a lot” he chuckles when you blush.

“So, I guess I should get going” you smile, swallowing the nerves and the worry of this being awkward as well as the fact you may have lost your job. On the account of you fucking your boss.

“Oh no you don’t. We have a lot to talk about young lady, specifically earlier” he pauses watching the confusion crossing your face. “So, you like the sound of daddy gagging the babysitter, yeah?” he grins when your blush turns from pink to red and you shift awkwardly. Jensen presses just under your chin getting you to meet his eyes again.

Biting your lip you nod. “Say it.” he tells you rough hand gripping your ass beneath your skirt.

“Yes daddy” you breathe out just above a whisper. 

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[amwritingmeta]

15x20: New Beginnings

I’d like to speak of the cause and effect of the ending.

I agree that the execution could’ve been skewered just a tiny bit and it would’ve made the overall impression more palatable, but assuming production was at the very least hampered by COVID restrictions, we know that this wasn’t actually Dabb’s final vision. It’s what we’ve got, though, and it still leaves us with a lot of tying up of narrative threads. 

How?

We have a final image of Dean and Sam together and I understand why this is irksome and why it feels regressive. Here’s why I think it actually isn’t:

Dark Side of the Moon tells us that Dean and Sam are most definitely not soulmates meant to share a Heaven. Dean’s memories are focused on Sam while Sam’s memories are completely devoid of Dean. Dean also needs to find Sam (and is helped to do so by Cas). Ie. they brothers are not in a shared Heaven, the way Jimmy and Amelia and Mary and John are highlighted to be.

We also know that Heaven’s system is basically a prison for the mind of the souls of those who have died, right? You get stuck in your best memories. This is simply Heaven’s idea of benevolence, because Heaven, and the angels, have never understood how much choice and free will matter to humanity.

So. No matter how much Dean and Sam succeeded in saving the world throughout our narrative, they were still always headed for forced separation and this prison for their minds and being filed away behind one of those white doors, in essence ceasing to exist, and the point of all their trials and tribulations would have been what? Living a long and happy life, only to die and go to what Dean wouldn’t have chosen for himself with a gun to his head? Eternally brainwashed into thinking he’s content? 

Can you think of anything more horrible to be waiting at the end of their road?

So the point to this ending we got is, to me, gloriously clear and it’s this:

The journeys of these men, throughout this entire narrative, made the new Heaven possible. 

This new Heaven, where there’s freedom of choice and endless possibility for exploration. Where human souls are now granted an afterlife worth actually living, where everyone can reconnect with the people they’ve cared about, the people they’ve loved. 

(Buddhists have six Heavens and believe life exists on multiple planes meaning when you die you simply transcend to the next plane where there’s more living to be done) (Swedish children’s author Astrid Lindgren explored the death of two brothers through sacrifice and illness in her novel The Brothers Lionheart and in the mythology of this book the first Heaven one enters just after death is called Nangijala, and once you die in Nangijala you move onto Nangilima and so on) (etc.) 

What we get in the Supernatural mythos is that there’s no more prison for the mind. No more only soulmates get a shared Heaven: ie. family genuinely doesn’t end in blood.

So look at what this means for the entire structure of our narrative and our character journeys -->

The Road 

If Dean and Sam hadn’t been codependent, they wouldn’t have made those bad choices that brought Cas into the narrative. 

If Cas hadn’t been influenced by Dean to rebel and start making bad choices of his own, he never would’ve made Heaven fall apart by trying to stitch it together and teach angels free will and stepping into a leader role he wasn’t quite ready for, and he wouldn’t have begun on the journey that brought him right to the moment when he expressed his need of bringing back a win for Dean, and for himself.

That win, turns out, was Jack. 

Cas’ faith in Jack, Cas fighting for Jack, Cas feeling responsible and stepping into the Good Father Figure in order to keep his promise to Kelly and protect Jack was what led to Cas making a bad deal with the Empty, but that bad deal also left Cas with the opportunity to save Dean’s life when death was threatening to break down that door and kill them both.

The remarkable truth that’s added to this moment is that Cas’ journey has brought him to a place in his progression where he’s no longer afraid of his feelings, he’s no longer questioning them or thinking they mean a weakness he shouldn’t let define him, because he realises that what he needs isn’t Dean to love him back for that love to be real, to be valuable and valid. His fear of alienating Dean through loving him is the lie. That’s where his happiness stems from, him recognising and finally embracing this truth. 

Because the love he feels isn’t a weakness. It never was: it’s his strength. It’s always guided him, even when he didn’t realise it.

And the strength of it lets him tell Dean exactly how he sees him and that he loves him, and opening up to and being honest with himself is what allows Cas to integrate with his shadow. The Empty takes him, but Cas is at peace, because he no longer fears and avoids his unconscious, he no longer needs to engage in suppression and repression of his emotions, and so his shadow no longer holds any sway over him, which is a fact given to us by how Cas’ ending in this narrative means him being free of the Empty. 

A freedom that never would have been granted, never would have been possible, without his faith in, his fighting for and his protection of Jack.

Cas’ words to Dean makes Dean begin his final steps into integration as well, meaning Cas’ declaration of love directly affects the outcome of the fight against Chuck, because Dean wants Cas back, but it’s not everything he’s focused on, since it shouldn’t be everything he’s focused on. 

It can’t be, since there are bigger fish to fry, and because of Cas’ view of him, Dean is opening up to his true self, to trust, to having faith in himself, which allows for a letting go of the need for control and thinking it’s all on him and everything is his responsibility or everyone dies. 

Thanks to this, we get Dean in teamwork mode with Sam and Jack, the three of them together figuring out how to manipulate Michael into bringing Chuck to them in order for Jack to de-power him. 

Dean’s integration is complete, and given to us through the symbology of his inner child (Jack) sucking the power out of his shadow (Chuck) and is then underlined by the ego (Dean) telling his de-powered shadow that it’s to be forgotten. Dean’s shadow, which has fed on and also fuelled the need in Dean for repression and suppression, no longer holds any sway over him. 

And Dean’s understanding and embracing of his true identity is highlighted by how he refuses to kill Chuck. 

Because that’s not who Dean is: he’s not a killer. He’s internalised Cas’ view of him. Cas’ truth making way for Dean’s own truth to shine a light. 

Dean is done with self-denial. And self-destruction. 

Which is what 15x20 is all about: that lack of self-destruction and the finality of goodbye.

Because Dean being shown to accept the finality of the loss of Cas has such direct bearing on Dean’s ability to accept the finality of saying goodbye to his brother.

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

All of this, all of it, is because of and thanks to Cas’ LOVE for Dean. 

Thanks to the moment that allowed Cas to express it and to SEE Dean for who he truly is. 

Thanks to the moment of Cas’ integration we get Dean integrating.

And it’s so beautiful that it’s the loss of Cas this time that allows for Dean to do this, because he’s always plummeted into despair without Cas. His progression has slowed to a crawl without Cas in the narrative. His entire sense of self, his entire source of faith in anything, being drained out of him. 

This has been romantic and lovely and fabulous, but it’s also so unhealthy. 

Dean being shown to mourn, to want Cas back, to expect Cas at the end of that phone call, only for him to move away from the need and want to have Cas back, recognising that it’s possible Cas’ return is now an improbability and choosing to look to the future, because now he’s feeling worthy of a future, this is such an important detail for the love story to move from profound bond territory...

(where Cas used the bond forged by Heaven as an excuse for why he kept hanging around Dean) (Dean was his charge, his mission, he was meant to protect him) (a view shattered by Hester in S8) (and properly dismantled by the human!Cas arc) (at least the way I see it because that’s where Cas got that love he feels brought into actual stark relay like oh fuck I’m in love with him)

...to the healthy, selfless, loving side to that bond, which isn’t about self-deception, miscommunication and fear, but about blowing all of that apart, letting feelings flow freely, opening up to the truth of them, the strength of them, and these two men being able to finally free themselves of all those past doubts by embracing their true identities.

I realise there’s frustration that we only got part-textual Destiel. I felt it too. But I never expected canon Destiel. I hoped and wished, but up until Cas’ declaration of love, I questioned whether the studio would be onboard, and it turns out they weren’t okay with making SPN an overtly queer narrative. Was Cas’ declaration of love baiting or BYG? I hope my meta reading in this post will tell you how little I feel it was.

So then. Letting go of the initial shock of it all, I’m leaning on what I did expect: the love story so strongly highlighted in the subtext that we were all left with zero doubt that we’d been seeing it there for a reason.

Subtext is part of the text. For any writer worth their salt, subtext is more important than the surface text. Text without subtext is flat and dull. The text we’ve been dealing with for fifteen years has always had layers upon layers.

These final three episodes, as I’ve already pulled on above, brings it in spades and our subtext tells us plainly:

Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel, just as much as Castiel is in love with him. 

How does it tell us this plainly?

Cas is finally able to integrate because he opens up to the truth he’s carried with him for so long: his love for Dean. Unconditional. He no longer needs Dean to say it back, to validate the emotion, Cas is realising that happiness in the feeling itself, in acknowledging it and allowing it free rein. Cas moves into making peace with himself, for himself.

Now, we know Cas loves Dean because, well, declared, but why is it plain that Dean loves Cas back?

Firstly, because of the episode being entirely structured around people in love losing one half. That’s as much of an in-our-faces use of mirroring as underlining of the subtextual love story that we’ve ever gotten from Berens. 

Even stronger than the mirroring, for me, is the fact that Cas’ love for Dean allows Dean to finally move into integration. 

Cas’ words infuse Dean with a sense of self-worth that immediately paves way for him beginning to have all that faith in himself that Cas has always represented to him. The build from 15x18 through to 15x20 is like a gentle moving away from Cas being the external source of Dean’s faith, to Cas’ love and expressed faith revealing Dean’s internal source of faith in himself.

A source which has been suppressed and repressed out of a whole layer of different fears, which have in turn brought on the belief that a toxic masculinity armour was necessary for survival and that all feelings are weaknesses, but because of Cas’ faith in him, because of Cas’ expressed love, Dean is able to no longer need an external source of faith, because he’s now internalised and embraced the truth of what makes him who he is.

Just like Cas is shown to do, we’re given Dean recognising that the love he feels isn’t a weakness, but a strength, because Cas’ words is about Dean’s capacity for LOVE. It’s this love that takes away Chuck’s ability to tell Dean who he is. 

No one can tell you who you are -- you choose who to be. 

For his entire life, right up until that moment in that room with Cas, facing death (literally) all Dean can see himself as is someone who can do nothing and who knows nothing except how to give into his anger (he’s never been able to control it because he’s never recognised the source of it) and find something to kill.

This view of himself has been constantly whispered to him and reinforced by his unconscious, his Shadow-side, who’s kept Dean thinking that he doesn’t have good things last for him, ever, so he can’t have love in his life or a future to look forward to, because he doesn’t deserve it. A perpetual emotional roundabout where his Shadow-side has stayed in complete control.

One might argue this has always been the source of Dean’s anger: his inability to dare open up to his true identity that has kept the toxic masculinity armour in place, kept the performance up, kept him more often than not lying even to himself of who he is and who he wants to be, because he never felt there was a choice in the matter. 

Truly allowing himself to recognise and feel all that longing for love that’s been like a tight ball in his chest always, meant giving into weakness meant getting Sammy killed or himself or both of them meant failure.

But the only way to beat back and conquer our Shadow-side is by recognising and accepting our flaws and no longer feeling unworthy because of them.

That’s what Cas’ words and his love does for Dean. 

That’s right there in the subtext: Dean, even in the moments before certain death, being unable to open up to the truth of who he is and what really drives him; Dean needing his external source of faith, this man that he’s loved for a long time, to tell him that how he sees himself is wrong, to afford him a different view of himself, to bring the truth to light so that Dean can finally feel worthy it, because Dean couldn’t beat his Shadow back on his own, his dark view of himself was much too ingrained for that.

It had to be Cas. The narrative tells us it always had to be Cas. And so it is Cas who saves Dean from himself. And saves Dean’s life. And saves Dean from having to spend his afterlife in a prison of the mind.

Love wins.

And Cas only ever entered the narrative due to Dean’s need to Protect Sammy at all costs, because that has always been such a huge identity marker for Dean, his entire self-understanding and sense of self tied to whether he can keep his brother alive and out of harms way, which, as he grows up, then translates itself into Dean’s enormous capacity for selflessness and caring about others. 

His core trait was never weapon, it was shield. It was protector. Stemming directly from all that love he carries around and can’t allow himself to feel because it means weakness and that means death and that means he’s failed and is worthless and around it has always gone.

And would always have gone, too. If not for Cas.

Love fucking WINS.

I mean. DAMN! It’s so gorgeous.

(this angle still holds even if Dean in any way was ever meant to actually reciprocate in that scene, because it’s made so clear to us how Cas never expects Dean to say it back) (if Dean is meant to say it back and the love story is meant to be textual that would be mind-blowing head-exploding joyful news) (but it doesn’t change the subtextual move away from unhealthy holding on to healthy letting go) (the textual would only ever strengthen the fact that we have subtextual confirmation) 

But what about...?

Yeah, but what about that ending then? What about the last twenty minutes? What about all the focus on the brothers? 

Was the execution of the finale perfect? No, I wouldn’t say it was, but I could see, when I watched the finale again on the 21st, that there was efforts made to make something good enough. Something geared toward tying our narrative up as best as possible with the means presented to Dabb. 

I understand why people feel stuff is missing.

Because stuff is missing. Dabb told us they had to change the ending, that they were supposed to have a whole lot of people back to populate Dean’s Heaven. Found family galore. Misha said the same thing. They couldn’t (I’m not going to speculate on why, it’s just clear that they couldn’t) and so the ending had to be modified. To me that’s fairly plain in how it’s structured.

Did they have to focus so hard on the brothers?

Well... given the restrictions, I think this was the only way to end this narrative, because the story has always been centred on these two brothers and the bad choices and sacrifices they’ve made, and the blood, sweat and tears they’ve shed in order to remain together.

Their absolute inability to let the other go actually kick-started their onscreen journey.

Because this is a story about dependency, and letting go of that dependency to make way for a healthy, equal coexisting; which is what, to me, that final shot is all about.

Should Cas and Jack have been there? Sure! There will always be stuff missing from the final two eps that I’ll wonder about. Like, if Cas was never meant to be in the story (as per Misha he was but let’s say for argument’s sake) then why didn’t Dean just ask, very calmly, in 15x19 of Jack our New God: “What about Cas?” and then Jack our New God could’ve answered gently, but plainly: “He’s at peace.” Simple. Why didn’t we get an establishing of Eileen as Sam’s wife? And it would’ve helped so much to have Charlie and Stevie reestablished in the visual narrative as alive, however plain it is to me that Jack will have brought them back with everyone else who were away-ed by Chuck.

Sure, there could’ve been more.

But what I love about that final shot of the brothers is this canonical fact:

It would not have been possible without Cas. 

Cas learning and growing and integrating to the point that he knows exactly how to fix the home he’s broken more than once, and how to bring free will, at long last, to Heaven, to the benefit of humanity.

And Dean’s little sideways smile (his “I want this smile”) when Cas is mentioned, when he realises that Heaven is different thanks to Cas, well, isn’t that just the darnedest thing? 

*forever headcanon that Dean was expecting to see Cas again somewhere somehow he just didn’t know when and now... here Cas is* 

When Cas went, it took a little time to adjust, but Dean let go of Cas and didn’t make a deal and didn’t go crazy or self-destructive, there was no nosediving into depression, because Cas’ words made those types of coping mechanisms no longer necessary. 

Dean drinks and indulges at the start of 15x19 because he’s still processing, but by 15x20 Cas’ words have been fully internalised, Dean has integrated, and he’s looking to the future. Set on living, because otherwise he’d render Cas’ sacrifice meaningless.

Dean’s death has zero blaze and glory to it. He didn’t expect this day to be the day. But it is. And he accepts it. And because he does, because he’s open and honest with his brother, because he tells Sam all the words he needs Sam to carry with him, gives Sam all the faith in himself that Cas left Dean with, he’s brought to a Heaven that has been readied for him by the love of his life. 

Cas is right there. And he’s been waiting. And he’s used his time well, because Heaven is now the afterlife that Dean deserves. The ultimate salvation. Love and happiness and companionship and LOVE LOVE LOVE. Forever.

If that isn’t the biggest reward for the both of them after everything they’ve been through, I don’t even know what is!

Sam arriving is a given, but I have to say I genuinely do not see Sam as living his life in pain and grief. He’s happy. He loves his kid. He’s a good father. Just like Dean was, and Bobby, and Cas. All the Good Father figures threaded through 15x20. And this narrative has been about these two brothers. It ending on them together, at peace, feels fitting. 

Yeah, but shouldn’t Dean have gotten to live his life?

Sure, this is my interpretation 100%, but Dean’s death feels softly ironic and fitting because it is unexpected. 

I can’t hit on this enough: there’s no blaze and glory.

Dean was ready to make the most of life, but through accepting death and accepting separation from Sam, Dean is brought into the same moment Cas was brought into, a moment of recognising what’s important, where Dean opens up fully to vulnerability and hands over his trust and faith in that Sam will be fine without him, which pushes Sam into the same integration that Cas’ words afforded Dean. Voicing trust and faith will do that for a person.

And Sam’s arc was always dependent, narratively, on the progression of Dean’s arc, so it makes a lot of narrative sense that this needed to happen for Sam to get pushed out of the nest and forced into having proper faith in himself. Because there’s no other choice. 

He’s left doing what he has to and it results in a balance between that family life he’s always wanted (foreshadowed in 15x01) and staying aware of and raising his son to be aware of the reality of their world, given to us via the tattoo on Dean Jr.’s wrist. (oofta I wish he’d had a different name but since everything had to be done in the visual narrative it’s the easiest way to connect us with Dean still being present in Sam’s life so I get it)

There’s also that romantic in me that feels as though Dean is greatly rewarded for all his suffering and struggles, for all those years of living his life in fear and feeling as though he doesn’t matter by not only bringing him into a Heaven he made possible, but by reuniting him with the love of his life and this time they’re equally immortal, equally made of light, equally eternal, equally integrated and balanced and ready to accept all that love and happiness.

That just makes me fucking happy. For them both.

Bring on the New Beginnings

The fact that the narrative has opened itself up to being interpreted as somehow glorifying death or saying that happiness can only be found in death is distressing, but I hope that the threads I’ve pulled on here gives enough of a basis for me to say how I truly feel like this is simplifying why the choice was made for Dean to die.

It’s not about happiness only being found in death. 

It’s not about devaluing living your life, it’s about the idea, the soft hope, even the narrative promise that death, for our characters, not for humanity as a whole, but for these specific men, who have always avoided it and made bad deals and feared separation and been brought into a crisis of identity (Dean because he doesn’t know who he is without Protect Sammy as purpose and Sam because he genuinely and continuously seem convinced that he can’t hunt without Dean to lead the way) whenever death has touched them have now reached a point where the separation is an accepted part of life.

And this acceptance is rewarded: because the separation isn’t forever.

Death is not the end. It makes way for new beginnings. For all three of TFW. Actually all four, because of course Jack is included in this endgame.

There’s a transformation that takes place, thanks to them integrating. They get to transcend what’s come before and move onto the next plane of existence together. 

Together.

TFW 3.0!

Death on this show has always been about a moment of rebirth, of entering a different leg of their journeys.  

I don’t find it out of place at all that the ultimate moment of death for our characters mean just that. 

Not an ending, but a new beginning.

In conclusion

Could there have been more? As said, yes. Absolutely yes. But I doubt Dabb isn’t aware of that. I don’t think this is the ending he originally intended. It might have been a brothers focused ending, because I think Dean was always meant to die and go to Heaven, but Dean’s Heaven was meant to be a celebration of found family. 

The subtext of this narrative is what I’ve been reading and what I’ve been hooked on for four years, and what I’ll continue to be hooked on for the rest of my life, I’m fairly sure. I wish it could be celebrated, the way it always has been, the way we’ve always known to look deeper.

I hoped Supernatural would turn out to be a vehicle for overt representation. I always hoped that, and believe that was what the writers wanted. The fact that we didn’t get overt bisexual Dean and Destiel as unquestionable canon was distressing to me too and I’ll always think of this ending as a missed opportunity and I wish the CW would learn and fucking do better already. 

I understand the frustration, I understand the anger, I just wish we could all look at the richness of this ending and everything it says about the narrative, about our subtext, about our love story, about our character journeys, and lean into the treasury of it.

And omfg we got Cas as canonically queer. 

We got a main character on our show that is overt representation, on a journey towards a moment where he gets to express love and hope and clarity and this in turn moving through and enabling the integration of Dean and ultimately of Sam as well.

Truth begetting truth. Happiness begetting happiness. And love saving the day.

So, my friends, I will say this: saying that all the writing is bad, or claiming that there’s no depth, nothing to pull on, that it all just plain sucked, that doesn’t quite cut it. These three final episodes, just as any episode ever of this goddamn show, contain all of those layers and layers, especially when looked at together and certainly when taken into the context of the show as a whole.

And yes, you are, of course, more than welcome to your own interpretation! 

To finish I’ll quote Bruce Almighty: 

Lovelovelovelovelovelovelove!! 

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Eighteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings -   Angst, denial, self loating, all the sad stuff guys. Also, weird breakfast habits courtesy of one Clint Barton

A/N - Hi, it’s me, trying not to act on the need to reintroduce myself here lol. Anyways, sorry its been forever, again. I fix? Feedback loved and appreciated. <3 HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat​ for taking my scraps and forcing me to do better. I love you. 

Through His Eyes Masterlist

"Auntie Mallow, what happened to your face?" Nate asks as soon as he spies you from his place at the kitchen table, running over to tackle hug you. "Were you attacked? Was it by Ninjas? Did you kick butt?" 

"Woah, woah, one question at a time, little man," you say, and then pretend whisper, "Twelve of them, butts all kicked."

"Cool!" He shouts, disappearing into the house with a few karate chops.

"Yeah, he's going through a Ninja phase at the moment. He's gonna be dining out on that story for a week." Laura explains, a cup of cocoa already in your hand and hers giving your bruise a once over, a fond smile at the edge of her lips. 

"Training accident with Steve. Nothing exciting." She hugs you anyway, warm and kind and everything you need. Laura and her magical hugs, they always soften the edges of even the sharpest of pains. It's why Sam so often referred to her as Mother of All, because she just made you feel seen, loved. 

"I'll be upstairs putting the monsters to bed. Shout if you need me." She gives Clint a kiss on the cheek on her way past and his eyes linger on her a little longer as she leaves. Your spine aches from the way he looks at her, a lifetime of love poured in a single glance. 

He turns back to you, looks at you in an entirely different kinda way but it doesn't make you ache any less, you wonder if your story is leaking out of your eyes like a kaleidoscope of words and feelings, projected for any and all to see. Laid bare in look alone. He looks at you long enough for you to regret coming, not wanting to deal with any of the mess you'd created just yet, but he surprises you by instead asking, "You hungry?" 

He makes you a burger that you readily inhale and then realise just how long it had been since you'd eaten. Clint asks nothing, expects nothing, simply fills your belly and earns a few shaky laughs before ushering you to the barn where a warm bed was waiting. 

"This place looks a lot nicer than the last time I stayed here." You smile at the memory and he rolls his eyes back.

"Well, we had some time to convert it to a guesthouse. Not like the last time you and Sam showed up, drank the entire contents of my booze cabinet and passed out in the field." He hugs you again and backs up towards the door, "You're lucky I dragged your asses in here instead of letting you wake up a few fingers short." 

“My fingers are grateful.” You laugh, and wiggle them a little, then add, “My back, not so much.”

“Goodnight, marshmallow.”

“Goodnight Clint.” 

You wait till he leaves before letting the smile slide right off your face, exhaustion tugging on your bones with weary determination that you're almost grateful for. It means, if nothing else, that sleep might come easy and the pain might subside even for a few hours. You change into the clothes Clint loaned you, sweats and an old S.H.I.E.L.D t-shirt, and dump your stuff on the chair. You fish your phone out of your pocket to send Sam a quick text but realise the battery is dead. Well, if you weren't in trouble before, you sure are now. Tomorrow's problem, you suppose, before sliding into the lavender fresh bed and curling up on your side. Counting your blinks and willing the day to end, desperately trying not to notice how much you miss his scent on your sheets.

When sleep finds you, it comes armed with weapons of anguish laden eyes or the defeated sigh of your name, and your heart tears itself in two when the sighs turn silent. It's a punishment, you think, when you wake that morning no longer sure if you can stand to lose him from your dreams, too. You’ve lost most of the skin around your thumb nail by the time you work up the energy to go to the house, the blood that leaks out of the worried away skin is like a physical representation of your heart. You hate it.

You don’t. 

The kitchen is unusually silent when you enter and you wonder how long you spent avoiding leaving your bed when you spot Clint at the counter, eating happily, but horribly, from his bowl. He smiles and tips his spoon, then tips it towards the empty bowl and cereal packets waiting on the counter for you. A cereal buffet. 

“Mornin’,” you say, pouring out the sugariest one you can find, “Is that...is that all the cereals in one bowl?”

“Yup,” he grins, “Laura and the kids are away to swim in the lake, so I get to do this.” He scoops a mishmash onto his spoon and has the indecency to enjoy it. Disgusting. 

“That is… honestly, I don’t even have words.” You do everything you can not to stare at the grey looking milk that is swirling around in his house of horrors of a bowl. 

He fills in the silence with some nonsense, a little laughter and a tale or two about the kids, letting you shake off the sleep, and the dreams, and finish your cereal before he pops the bubble. You love him for it, and hate him for it. A theme, it seems. 

“So…” He begins, eyebrows raised in a little ‘tell me’ motion. 

“So,” you say, and nothing more. 

“Steve called.” That didn’t take long.

“Of course he did.” 

“He was worried.” He says, and then adds, not unkindly, “Sam was, too. Apparently, you left without any heads up.” 

You huff, “Well, I’m grown. I do what I want.” You throw in a pout for good measure. 

“And that means you couldn’t reply to a text?” 

You tuck your shoulders at that. “I, uh, didn’t exactly bring a charger.” You hold out the offending item and he sighs, but says nothing, simply takes your phone from you and plugs it into a waiting wire beside him. 

“Right.” He waits, knowing your little pout is for show, until the scowl slips into something else. “You wanna tell me about him.” 

And so you do, how much you hated him, and then how much you wanted to hate him, and then how much you didn’t hate him at all. 

He lets you pour it all out, lets you drain every last drop of guilt and whisper every unchecked secret, the words burst from within that pressure cooker inside your chest. It hurts so much to bare yourself like this that you expect to look down and see blood seeping from a hole in your chest. Instead, you see only granite countertops and blurry hands. 

"So, I ended it." You say, flattening your hands on your knees so you don't have to see them shake, see the physical manifestation of your very bad decision making. "It's for the best." 

"Is it?" Clint asks plainly. "For him, or for you?" 

"What do you mean?" You frown, his words making the hairs on your arms stand up, your body one step ahead as your mind fights to catch up.

"Ok kid, I'm gonna level with you, yeah?" He fixes you with a look that feels very Dad-Like and you bite back a little smile, despite the heavy tone. "I don't think it's a coincidence that you came here, to me, the only other person who might have the slightest inkling what it might feel like being under someone else's control." 

"I���," You begin, and then snap your mouth closed as the words settle over you. Was he right? Was it intentional, you wonder, to seek out Clint? No, no...

"You just live the furthest away." You scoff, but not with much luster, doubt creeping in over that wallowing fog. 

"You're not running away, kid." He says, confidently, "You're looking for answers." 

You consider that for a moment, wonder if there was some remaining strand of hope left in the burnt out tapestry of your want, but you know that even that strand is not enough.

"There are no answers you can give that will fix this." You say sadly, resolutely. 

"Why don't you try me?" He offers, reaching out to stop your hands from worrying away the skin around your nails again. Something you hadn't even noticed you were doing. 

"I don't think I have any questions?" Even to your own ears, you don’t sound sure. He simply looks at you a little longer, waiting. “Fine, maybe...maybe, just one.” He nods for you to continue. “How did you face Nat, you know, after Loki?”

“After I tried to kill her, you mean?” He supplies helpfully, face graced with that confident little smirk that never really leaves, refusing to balk at it like any sane person should. 

“Well...yeah.” You admit, trying not to cringe at your cavalier questioning. This was his idea, after all.  

“I didn’t.” He says, “Not at first anyway, but you know Nat, stubborn as hell and she just outright refused to let me have a pity party.” He laughs, “Monsters and magic, she said to me, we weren’t trained for that. And she was right, nobody is prepared for what we went through, or what he went through.”

It’s true, there’s nothing in the world that can prepare you for something like that, so how can anyone expect a how-to guide on getting over it. Or at least, working through it. You doubt there is a therapist in the world that has much insight on these particular demons, god knows they had enough trouble with yours. 

You think about Clint now, about how very much a team he and Nat are, even within the team itself. It’s like it never happened.

“But don’t you think about it, that day, when you see her?” You ask, subconsciously zeroing in on what you really want to know. There’s something there, you know it, but you're not sure what it is yet. 

“No, not anymore. Maybe initially, but I did the work. Laura helped me work through it, so did Nat.” He looks at you intently, like he just figured something out, frowns a little and tilts his head. “Do you?” 

“Do I what?” You ask, watching his puppy dog tilt with confusion. 

“Do you think about that when you see him?” Oh. Oh, that. 

“No.” You answer honestly, “Not for a while.” It’s the truth. The soldier and Bucky feel so far apart from each other it’s like they’ve never even met. And they haven’t really, you think. One existed exactly over the top of the other. 

“So seeing him, being with him, it doesn’t take you back to that time?” He asks, and it feels like he’s getting at something or putting puzzle pieces together the way he words the question, but it’s inherently still the same one he asked. 

“No... I mean, it did, of course it did, for a long time. But, like you, I did the work.”

It doesn’t even occur to you what Clint is getting at, as you sit there sifting through what he said and how it overlaps with what you know. So when he asks, your heart suspends in place, simply stopping in between beats like there was a limit and you’ve simply reached it.

“Then tell me, why are you so sure he does?” 

“He still has nightmares about me, Clint.” You point out, the fear in his eyes still fresh in your mind, like a brand on your soul you’ll never be rid of. Another stain, another scar. The final matching one. 

“He has one bad dream in the what, months, you’ve been together and you think you know what he needs?” You blink stupidly at him, feeling the pit in your stomach extend just a few more inches, digging itself further into your soul. “Look, kid, if you had come here and told me you didn’t feel a certain way about him, I’d be behind you 100%. But you’re denying yourself something here. Is it complicated? Fuck yes. Look at your life, what part isn’t?”

Complicated, ha! The blood in your vein sings angrily at the notion, that you weren’t over here tearing yourself in two just to protect Bucky from himself, from you. That it wasn’t bigger than complicated. Your feelings, whatever they were, they didn’t matter. What was so difficult to understand in that? It’s exactly the reason you were here and not with Sam, although that decision is becoming stupider by the moment. 

You start to shake your head, ready to say much of the same to Clint when he holds up a hand, not in surrender but to continue. 

“You asked what I see when I look at Nat, now. Well, I see movie nights, and Sal’s pizza, and pissing off Tony and every other memory we’ve made together since then. Isn’t that what you see when you look at Bucky?”

Like a prayer, his name conjures his image in your mind, those smiling ocean eyes, the kind tilt to his smile, the shape of his mouth when he says your name. Not even the ghost of the Soldier hovers. You blink back the tears that are threatening to escape your eyes and answer honestly. “Yes…”

“I’m willing to bet that’s what he sees too.” He smiles at you, sad and sorry. “I remember just after I got back from New York, I had this whole thing about everything being my choice. You know, what missions I went on, when I went on them, what I had to eat - Laura was a saint with that one. There’s just something about it, not being in control of yourself, that unsettles your whole being, right, that every choice I made felt like I was taking something back from Loki. Like I was fighting back even though there was nothing to fight against.” 

You reach out and squeeze his hand, his words dropping like stones in your chest, each one adding to that growing feeling, that one you can’t or won’t name.

“So, if this is about him, about protecting him or whatever it is you think you are doing...don’t. Don’t take that choice from him.”

The stones turn to boulders, drag down in your gut and pull till you might tear at the seams, pull and pull till your nerves are screaming with all that guilt, again, that you carry around and the unending pain that follows it. You knew what it was like, you knew, and yet Clint was right, you’d stolen his choices just like they had, when all he’d ever done was give you them. 

“Just answer this, okay?”

You nod, but you already know what he’s going to ask and you can’t answer him, don’t know how to. Your whole being is centered around this part of you, this shadowed pain that makes up half of your personality. Who were you if not the half broken remains from behind the green door? How can you possibly move past it enough to...feel that way? 

“Do you love him?”

No, you don’t love. You can’t. You like him? Sure. You want him? Absolutely. But love? Unattainable. The ghost of him is there again, sudden and solid, looking at you the way he does, grazing his lips along your cheek that way he does, the gentlest of hands holding you that way he does, loving you that way he does. 

Because he does. He loves you and it's awful and terrifying and euphoric. Suddenly, you can’t stand another minute of this war with yourself, with him, with everyone. The fight was always pointless anyway, you’d lost long ago on the dirty floor of a gym where secrets sprouted from pain and bloomed into hope. The boulders grow wings and they lift, letting your chest fill up with that fear and euphoria, shaking off the shackles of your guilt for the last time. You have your choices, so he should have his, right? 

There they are, those damned butterflies. “Yes.”

Clint smiles, knew the answer the second he laid eyes on your weary face yesterday. “Then let him love you back.”

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[nanasarea]

V

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵: In a world where soulmates can visit each other in their dreams and can only remember the dreams once they found each other, what happens when you’re disappointed at the man of your dreams?

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: angst and fluff 

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: reader x jaemin

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.5k

𝘢/𝘯: what is meant to be is meant to be, guys 🤷‍♀️

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵  𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵  𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Tag list: @keiboo​ @minavenue

I  II  III  IV  V  VI

“I really like your earrings by the way.” Jeno commented, leaning in to see them better, but I just brushed my hair in front of my ear and said thanks, but I’m insecure about my ears in hopes of hiding the mark from him.

“Oh, where was I, um, yeah my friends wanted some group costumes, but in the end, Jisung decided to go as Sponge-bob with his cousin as Patrick, Haechan decided to be someone from his favourite video game and Renjun is currently choosing between like 45 costumes, so in short, we were gonna go as a group costume, I even bought the costume, but I guess I’ll just wear that next time.” I laughed, regretting the amount of money I spent on it, but also not caring too much, as I did really like it and was 100% going to wear it casually at home.

“So, I have no idea what I’m going as. And you?” I asked, taking a sip from my coffee and waiting for him to respond.

“I don’t know for sure yet, possibly Ash? My friends’ thought of going as Brock and Misty so I might be Ash, but I was also thinking of going as Luke Skywalker.” He answered. “But I’ll let you in on a secret, I’m kinda leaning towards being Ash.” He leaned in and whispered, winking at the end of his sentence and taking a long sip from his coffee before leaning back onto the seat.

“And you just let me know that?” I asked, dramatically gasping, to which he just winked again, causing my face to heat up.

Was I just kidding myself by indirectly flirting with Jeno, the guy I wished was my soulmate, when I in fact knew who my soulmate was? Maybe, but in my defence, I was still in denial, besides, some harmless flirting won’t hurt anyone, right? And before you say anything, no, it won’t hurt me, I know when not to catch feelings.

“I think a Pokemon costume would fit you well, possibly because I think they’re cute and you’re  cute, y’know?” He asked, smiling at me as I hid my smile behind my cup.

Okay, maybe I don’t know when not to catch feelings.

Once my so-called date with Jeno ended, I headed back to the dorms to get my things before heading to class. At the dorm, I was greeted by Renjun searching for something. “What you looking for?” I asked, hoping to help.

“My will to live.” he replied, turning around, smiling and adding “Nevermind, found it”, which made me put a hand on my chest in awe while mouthing “me?”. He nodded and continued searching.

“No, seriously, what are you looking for?” I asked, collecting my stuff and stuffing them into my bag, when suddenly I heard a scream.

“Who’s getting murdered?” Haechan asked, rushing into the room with worry. “My ears.” I said, holding my hands over them lightly. “My heart.” Renjun explained, turning around and showing us what he was looking for.

“Look! I found my 50 shades of grey costume that I made last halloween!” He yelled in excitement, causing both me and Haechan to let out a sigh of relief, followed by a laugh. “Don’t scare me like that!” Haechan yelled, throwing a pillow at Renjun.

“Anyway, ready to head to the lecture hall?” Haechan asked. Renjun and I both nodded as he put the costume on his bed and quickly took his bag before wrapping one hand on each of mine and Haechan’s shoulders and guiding us out of the room.

“Oh, how did your “date” with Jeno go?” Haechan asked, pulling air quotes around date, making me playfully hit his shoulder and unwillingly smile.

“Nice, we talked about the party and what we’re going as. He’s going as Ash and he kinda hinted that he wants me to be Pikachu, but I could just be reading way too much into it, y’know?” I explained as we walked to the halls. “and he wore this really nice outfit. He had beige pants and a white dress shirt-“ “Already cute” “-right? And he also had black suspenders and a beige jacket.” I explained, basically fawning over him.

“Too bad he isn’t your soulmate.” Haechan said, making me shut up and look at the pavement. “Did you have to remind them?” Renjun asked, playfully hitting Haechan’s shoulder. “Sorry.” he quickly apologised.

“It’s fine, I know I shouldn’t be getting involved with him, but he’s just so-“ “Jeno?” Renjun asked, cutting me off. I nodded, sighing and pouting.

“He does seem perfect for you.” Renjun commented “I wish he was.” I pouted. “Hey now, as long as you both know it’s a meaningless relationship and not to get too involved, there’s no reason you can’t have a little fun!” He pointed out, making me chuckle. I wish it was that easy.

“Why can’t you just reassign your soulmate?”

Back at the dorms, Jaemin however was lying on the ground, his headphones blasting his shuffled playlist and staring at the ceiling and asking himself the same question, why can’t you just reassign your soulmate.

“Are you still hung up on what yn said?” Chenle asked, getting tired of seeing Jaemin dramatically lip-syncing, or lip-screaming in his case, all of the songs.

“Of course I am.” Jaemin sighed, stopping the music and sitting up. “Lemme guess, you want everyone to disappear?” Chenle asked. “No, you and Mark can stay….my dog can visit on the weekends, but that’s it.” Jaemin answered.  “What’s wrong with me?” He added, looking at his friend and pouting.

“You want me to get the list? nice.” Chenle said, nodding proudly at his joke. “Did you just “Nice” your own joke?” Jaemin asked, chuckling. “You would too, if you could do jokes. Nice.” And to that, Jaemin just rolled his eyes and stood up.

“If you were anyone else, I would have slapped you for that. You’re lucky I love you.” Jaemin scuffed, taking a sip from his water bottle and leaning against his desk.

“I know.” “You’re suppose to say it back, idiot.” “It back, idiot.” Chenle smiled proudly and waited for Jaemin’s response, which was just another eye-roll.

“Morning, fellow idiots.” Jisung announced before sitting next to Haechan and across from me. “You do realise you just called yourself an idiot, right?” Haechan asked, chuckling. “He’s very aware at his stupidity.” I reminded.

Once we all finished with our classes, we decided to meet up with Jisung at a cafe to catch up, as we haven’t seen each other properly since school started.

“What happened to you all when I was gone? Tell me the tea, the report, spare no detail.” Jisung said and dug into the cheesecake we ordered for him while waiting for his bus to get here.

“Well, I decided I’m going as 50 shades of grey to the party I was telling you about, Haechan tried frying eggs in a microwave and broke it-“ “I’m offended you’d ever even think it was me who did that.” “So it wasn’t you?” Renjun looked at Haechan in surprise. “No, it was me, but I’m still offended.” Haechan commented and drank her hot chocolate.

“And Yn met their soulmate, hates him and is in denial, so they’re using a guy they met as a way to distract themselves from their true destiny.” Renjun added before taking a bite out of his cookie. “They what now?” Jisung asked, excitedly, but almost choking on his cheesecake.

“Can we not talk about that?” I asked, avoiding eye contact and eating my carrot cake. “No, we’re talking about this! This is major!” He explained, wide eyed. He leaned closer to me and added “Tell me everything.” And so I did.

“I don’t know, maybe my brain thinks that if I spend so much time with Jeno, then I’ll eventually get tired of him or see some flaws and it’ll make me more open to Jaemin-“ “Bullshit, but proceed.” “-or maybe I’m simply just fooling myself, but I don’t care, I like Jeno and he likes me, so sue me for wanting to be with someone who actually has some manners.” I looked at Renjun, knowing that his pointing out my bullshit was correct.

“I don’t know, maybe you pushing Jaemin away will only make the part where you finally break and make out so much more enjoyable.” Jisung said, causing us all to look at him with confused looks on our faces. “What? I’m a glass half full person.” He defended and took another bite of his cheesecake.

“I think you’re full of shit” Renjun said “They shouldn’t be pushing their soulmate away in the first place.” he added. “That is true, but can you blame them? Isn’t the whole mutual pinning and sexual tension just going to make things more exciting?” Jisung asked, making me roll my eyes.

“Sung, there is no sexual tension between us, there is no mutual pinning, there is just annoyance.” I said “Not yet.” He commented, winking, making me lightly hit his arm. You’re standing on thin ice.” I warned. “No, I’m sitting and my legs are on the floor” He joked, taking a sip from his tea. “It’s an expression” I laughed “It’s a carpet” he mocked.

[bregee13]

JoweeGee's Mansion

Literally Luigi's mansion but DtL themed. I wrote this back in 2018, so yeah. There might be some writing/format/word choices that are kinda wonky. Also I apparently never posted this here? So here it is.

Wilfre is king boo, Raposa are portrait ghosts, shadow enemies are boos, and the other ghosts are regular enemies. 

At first I thought... Mike should be the protagonist! But then I thought hold on!!!! What ifff.... JOWEE was the protagonist?! I mean, Joweegees mansion sounds like a good title to me! But what is the PLOT???

okay here's the plot idea. (Warning! It gets dark, so... yeah) is It's after the ending of the last game. Mike is awake and alive as ever. And what do ya know? The Raposa world still exists in Mike's head! ...but because he's not in a coma.... Every single  Raposa is dead. But... Nobody seems to know that they're dead. Everyone is just a ghost, unaware that they've passed away. Mike, during his dreams/daydreams, occasionally visits the rapo world and observes from a distance. 

Wilfre, realises that the world still exists, and everything seems to be normal. He has actually been dead since the shadow corrupted him. So he's pretty much the same as he used to be. Wilfre, using his shadow magic, creates a new home for himself in the form of a giant mansion. Alone in the giant mansion, Wilfre begins to crave attention of others. Using his last jar of color, wilfre paints a picture of Heather to keep him company, as the raposa version of heather is trapped inside. The sight of Wilfre causes real life heather to have constant nightmares and mental breakdowns.

But having heather around just makes wilfre depressed. So he ends up watching the villagers, and realizes that they're all nothing but ghosts. He thought about approaching the entire village and apologizing, as he felt kinda bad about everything he's done, but he knew everyone would just gang up on him. So instead, he goes to one Raposa at a time (each in private), to not only apologize, but to tell them their fate. Not wanting information of his presence to spread among the Raposa, he offers each Raposa he talks to 'live' at his new mansion. He manages to convince everyone he talks to to join him. So nobody would appear missing, Wilfre would replace every Raposa that moves away with a ghost (the enemy) that is disguised as the rapo in question. 

In the mansion, everyone is getting along relatively nicely. Even with Wilfre. Despite this, Wilfre is still upset at himself for ruining everyone's lives. In the mansion's basement, Wilfre has his own hideaway that nobody else knows about. The heather painting is stored here as well, so nobody knows about it. 

Eventually, Wilfre has almost everyone from the village in his mansion. Everyone but the two Raposa that he thought would be near impossible to convince. Those two being Mari and Jowee. He knew that convincing those two would be much harder than the others, so he didn't go to them like the others. Instead... He decided to have them come to HIM. 

Jowee receives a mysterious letter telling him he's won a mansion in a contest he's never entered. The letter also says that he can share the mansion with one other person. Along with the letter, there is a map to the mansion, and a single key. Jowee tells mari about this, very excited. (Free real estate!) But mari is a little sceptical. Mari agrees to share the mansion as long as they check it out first. Mari, worried that it's a trap, decides to go ahead of Jowee and check out the mansion and wait for Jowee there. 

When at the mansion, Mari waits at the mansions entrance. Impatient, she walks up to the door and inspect further. To her surprise, the door opens without a key. She walks inside, and begins to explore. Soon after entering the building, the villagers notice Mari and greet her. Mari is obviously scared and confused AF because she thought everyone was in the village. The villagers explain what happened, how they got there, and that everyone was ducking dead. At first mari thinks this must be a trap set by Wilfre, but then her dad shows up. (He's been in a similar situation as Wilfre since he WAS DED. After watching over everyone, he became convinced that everyone uniting was a good idea) After calming mari down, he told her everything the villagers said was true, and that she should be as supportive as she can be. (Oh and he proves that she's a ghost by showing she can go through stuff. SPOOKY) Wilfre then shows up and greets Mari. Mari obviously can't just get over everything Wilfre has done so quickly, so she maaaad. After a Looong discussion, Mari finally calms down (tho still a bit on edge) and accepts to stay in the mansion for a while. Everyone is then told Jowee should show soon, and the villagers get excited that everyone will soon be together again. 

Wilfre knew that he still hasn't convinced Mari of anything, and felt defeated. He knew that no matter what, he will always be thought of as THE VILLAIN. (Despite him once being the center of attention, and attempting to save the world.) The thought clawed at Wilfre's mind and tortured him. And since he managed to get mari on his side once, he KNEW Jowee would give him NO chance. To Jowee, once an enemy, always an enemy. The only way he'd even consider it is if the creator told him to. And what were the chances of that? 

Wilfre simply became convinced that there was no hope for anything. No hope in the Raposa, no hope in himself, nothing. He believed his existence did nothing but cause pain and suffering. As much as he wanted attention, he also desperately wanted to get rid of himself. But he couldn't. He was already dead, like everyone else. And he knew that he couldn't be gotten rid of as long as their world exists. Then, Wilfre thought to himself: "what if I get rid of the world? Then every pain would be gone, I would be gone, all will be well and better off" (please don't think that kinda stuff guys. Wilfre's just lost it. I love y'all.) But how would he destroy the world? There's only one way he could think of. And that is to kill Mike. But... how? He could always find Mike and try killing him himself, but would that even work? After all, that would only be dream Mike (not real mike). But how can he kill real mike? His only real connection to the real world is through Heather. Then he thought about getting Heather to kill Mike. Of course she refuses to do this, but as time passes, Wilfre makes her feel more and more unstable. He promises her that the pain will end completely if she goes through with it. 

In the meantime, Wilfre decides it is best if Jowee never actually joins everyone in the mansion. After all, if he showed up, he'd likely turn everyone against him somehow. So he sends some of his ghostly minions to stop him in his tracks. 

Meanwhile, Jowee makes his way to the mansion. On his way there, ghost enemies followed him, in hopes of scaring him away. Jowee still manages to make it to the front door. He doesn't see mari, so he assumed she went in already. However, to his surprise, the door was locked. (Wilfre locked it just so he couldn't get in) Jowee, being the smart hot dog he is, unlocked the door with the key he had. (Stupid Wilfre! You assumed Mari would have the key since she showed up first cucjtcjtmg) Upon entering the mansion, Jowee immediately encountered a bunch of ghosts. Wilfre was about to take Jowee away and replace him with a ghost (enemy) doppelganger. (So nobody would know) But all of a sudden, Mike bursts through the doors, equipped with a poltergust, and tries to suck up the ghosts. But Mike is clearly not very good at doing this (also, once his courage wore off, he was too scared to do anything right). Lucky for Jowee, this is enough to save his butt, and he and mike gtf out of there. 

Wilfre, confused by wtf just happened, orders his minions to patrol the place, and for a doppelganger to replace Jowee. The Raposa then meet the doppelganger, thinking it's the real Jowee.

Mike and Jowee run off to a secret hideout Mike had made. Mike explains that he had recently gotten into a series known as Luigi's Mansion™. So, while he was there, he decided to recreate E Gadd's lab along with the poltergust 3000. While there, he happened to notice the mansion appearing out of nowhere, and saw both mari and Jowee walk inside. He just recently finished the poltergust, and he thought Jowee would need help. Jowee, wanting to save mari from Wilfre's mansion, asks to use the poltergust to save mari. Mike accepts, since he can't use it, and besides, Jowee's the hero here, not mike! 

And so Jowee goes back in the mansion, and does some ghost busting. 

At some point Jowee comes across some of the Raposa. (Isaac's family) He is extremely confused since he thinks they are all in the village. After some confusion and misunderstandings, Jowee ends up battling with them, and sucking them up in the poltergust. Jowee, confused AF, returns to mike to tell him what happened. Mike comes to the conclusion that they were ghosts, but Jowee is in denial. Mike decides to have Isaac's family go through his recreation of the ghost portrificationizer. This way, they won't harm anyone or get in the way. He also gives Jowee his recreation of the gameboy horror. This can detect darkness, and allow the two to communicate from a distance. Before Jowee returns to the mansion, mike asks a favor of him. Mike had recently noticed that his sister had been acting really strange lately, and he thinks she might be in there somewhere. He asks Jowee to find her and help her out if he can. Jowee accepts the request, after all he IS her caretaker. Jowee then returns to the mansion. 

The Raposa soon notice that Isaac and his family disappeared out of nowhere. Wilfre knows what happened, but he doesn't want them to know that there's two Jowee's. So he pretends to not know what happened. (And he sends out more minions.)

So now Jowee's ghost hunting and stuff. Everything is pretty similar to Luigi's mansion now. But there's still some more things plot wise. 

At some point, Jowee meets Mari. Jowee tries to convince her to leave, but mari is confused b/c why would Jowee say this??? And unlike the other Raposa, she is the only one to see both Jowee's at the same time. She tells Wilfre about this, but he brushes it off and doesn't tell anyone until it's kinda obvious. This makes Mari a lot more suspicious of Wilfre, so she decides to hide a bunch of letters in the mansion telling the real Jowee what is happening, and where to go next. 

Another thing I should mention is that mari isn't the only one helping Jowee. Samuel, being a seer, acknowledges Jowee as the real one, and helps guide him as well. He even makes mention of heather several times. He also is the one to convince Jowee that he's dead.

Every once in a while, Jowee checks in with mike (mostly to empty the poltergust). And each time he visits, mike gets more and more afraid. He keeps saying something is wrong with heather, and that Jowee should find her really soon. 

At the end, Jowee confronts Wilfre and tries to suck him up. But he just can't. He just suck up shadow instead. But there's so much shadow, it clogs the vacuum. Wilfre reveals his plan to destroy the world through heather, filled with mixed emotions. Jowee enters Heather's painting to try and change her mind about killing mike. How he's her brother, how killing him won't make everything go away, how she shouldn't let a scarring experience get to her and instead let her grow as a person. Jowee is successful, Mike lives, all the Raposa are set free from their paintings, and Wilfre... Well, Wilfre has issues. As pissed as everyone is at him, they know they can't get rid of him. So instead, they try their best to calm down Wilfre and afterlive along side him. (Keyword: try)

Well that was a bunch of nonsense, huh? Anyway, happy NOT HALLOWEEN IT'S NOT EVEN OCTOBER! I JUST GOT RANDOM LUIGI'S MANSION HYPE SO I WROTE THIS WAT?

[growingstrong-imagines]

Kissed by Fire // Chapter One

Prologue

Summary: What happens when the Queen kissed by Ice needs to turn to the Queen kissed by Fire in desperate times? Will the visit of the Dragon Queen cause unintentional anger and even unexpected feelings in the Northern Realm? People aren’t joking when they say opposites attract.

Word Count: 2k+

Warning: mentions of alcohol

A/N: okay this is a hot mess which took me way too long to write but hey after all im writing a fanfic based on grrm’s work amirite. it’s also going to flop but idc

Lyarra woke up with an awful headache attacking her temple, and it felt like her brain was about to burst out of her skull. She looked down at herself and realised she had fallen asleep in her gown which became quite wrinkled the night before. The Queen let out an annoyed sigh and she knew she was causing extra work for her servants, the thought of it making her feel ashamed of herself. 

She tried to stand up on her two feet as slowly as possible, but Lyarra still felt like her body was light as a feather and heavy as all the bricks making up Winterfell, at once. She almost collapsed back on her hard bed which was barely comfortable enough to even sit on it. 

Lyarra knew she had to get herself together, so she took a huge gulp of the glass of water sitting on her desk and she knew it would probably be for the best to call one of her servants and ask for something to treat the hangover but her thought process was cut short by her most trusted advisor, Ser Davos.

“Your brother would like to talk to you, Your Grace,” he announced, bowing slightly. Lyarra simply nodded and told the knight to let Jon inside, then wait for them outside. She recognised the worried looks Davos was giving her when he saw her uncombed hair and wrinkled gown, but she couldn’t bother thinking about it right now. However, Lyarra did start feeling uneasy once Jon closed the door behind himself and looked her up and down with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Are you here to tell me something important or to judge me again?” The Queen snapped and rubbed the bridge of her nose with eyes shut tightly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, feeling like an actual mess.

Jon took a step closer with a worried expression on his face. He knew what it felt like to behead someone, though he had got quite used to the blood on his hands by now. However, his sister didn’t have as much experience and still wanted to appear strong, but Jon knew about her coping mechanisms and it worried him more and more, on a daily basis but every time he wanted to talk to Lyarra about it, all he got was annoyed groans and denial. His sister was definitely down on the wrong path, but he knew there was still a chance to pull her back.

Lyarra looked him in the eyes, and she couldn’t keep it anymore. All those weeks and months without touching anyone even in the most innocent way possible made her stone-cold and distant, but still starving for the feeling of a warm body against her seemingly frozen one. She knew that her title was turning her into something she had never wanted to become and that made her terrified and anxious, constantly on the edge, praying to the Gods to send someone who would help her get her real self back.

Lyarra suddenly collapsed into Jon’s strong arms and her brother held her as close as possible, reassuring his sister that she wasn’t alone in this fight. He ran his fingers through Lyarra’s hair and stroked her back gently, so she would calm down and feel at ease just again.

Once it happened, she pulled away from Jon and gave him a tiny smile.

“I’m sorry. It was harder than I thought it would be. And I can’t stop thinking about how much danger might be hiding among the walls of Winterfell. Among the walls of my home,” she said almost whispering while filling another glass with the cold water.

“We’ll work hard to secure the castle even more, Lyarra. After all that have happened, you’ll also need a guard constantly looking after you. And don’t even dare to say no. I know that you are the Queen but I’m your brother and want you safe and sound.” Jon looked at her with one of the most serious expressions Lyarra had ever seen on his face, and she knew it was no place for an argument right now. She simply lowered her eyes and tried to ignore the headache that didn’t want to go away. Eventually, she decided to change the topic. It was way too painful to talk about it right now.

“Does the Dragon Queen still want us to bend the knee?” she asked with a slightly disgusted face and Jon didn’t have to talk to answer her question; his long and deafening silence was enough.

Lyarra let out a chuckle and shook her head, taking another sip of the fresh water that she wished was a cup of great Arbor wine instead. She soon got ashamed of that thought.

“We cannot do that and she just wastes all of our time if she thinks otherwise,” Lyarra said, putting the empty cup down, all the while looking Jon dead in the eyes. Her brother lowered his head and sighed, knowing full well it would take an awful lot to convince his sister to think about other options. Jon saw the good in Daenerys, he saw the potential in her and genuinely thought it would be for the better to seek alliance with the Dragon Queen. However, Lyarra was just as stubborn as their father Ned and brother Robb, and she wasn’t convinced easily about anything, let alone such an important decision, which could influence the lives of thousands if not millions so easily.

Jon stepped closer cautiously, knowing full well how much his sister treasured her personal space. But as she stood there without her heavy crown and flawless gown, Jon realised how vulnerable Lyarra actually was. No matter what anyone said and thought, his sister was still a scared child at heart who had to grow up way too fast. And a part of Jon hated himself for not being there for her to protect her from all the harm that had reached Lyarra while they were apart, but he knew that his sister would be angry with him for saying it out loud, so he kept it all to himself.

Lyarra shook her head once again and forced herself to look the other way, so she wouldn’t see the worry in Jon’s eyes. It was the same bloody look every time they looked at each other, and she was getting tired of it. After all, she wasn’t the helpless little girl she was when her brother left for the Wall - she was the Queen in the North, a grown woman with ambition and cunning. A grown woman who had fought for survival for a big part of her life, who had already learned she was her only true ally.

So she despised that look in Jon’s eyes even though her brother meant no harm. Still, it took Lyarra back to dark places she never wanted to visit again, so it was easier to avoid eye-contact with her brother, even if it meant making him feel bad. After all, she had never learned how to confront an issue in a healthy way.

Finally, when the silence was getting too heavy for both of them, Jon sighed and pulled Lyarra into a tight hug. The girl was surprised at first, so she just stood there slightly shocked of the sudden display of affection from Jon. Then, slowly but surely, Lyarra let her muscles relax and leaned into her brother’s strong body, folding her own arms around Jon’s torso. She unconsciously buried her face in the boy’s chest and it made her feel safe and home. Oh, how dearly she had missed these feelings and finally, they were all there, lighting a fire inside of Lyarra – a fire that was ignited and kept alive by the feelings of love and safety. Just as this fire started had Lyarra realised how cold and icy she had become throughout the years spent alone or in the company of cruel people and traitors. She only needed a pair of safe arms to melt the ice and make her feel human again.

When they pulled away, Lyarra even flashed a weak smile at her brother, who was quick to return the gesture. However, their moment was soon ruined by Ser Davos, who informed Lyarra about the Dragon Queen’s desire to speak to her in private.

Lyarra took a quick glance at Jon, who lowered his eyes and was already holding his breath. He knew full well that his sister had a rather strong personality which not everyone was fond of and he had feared that Queen Daenerys would be too quick to judge Lyarra too without giving her time to warm up to her.

However, Daenerys was quite patient and understanding, some of her qualities which she only reserved for people she greatly loved or respected. As she stepped in the chambers of the Queen in the North, she had to try really hard to toughen up in front of her rival. Or, who seemed to be her rival. Daenerys had no idea what had happened to her and she tried to fool herself by telling herself it was the sweet wine she had had before visiting the Queen in the North. Of course, it was much more complicated than that and a part of her was aware of that.

Lyarra raised her eyebrows to let the Dragon Queen know that she was waiting for her response.

“I’m terribly sorry, I must have got lost in my thoughts. I simply wanted to visit you because we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other, I’m afraid. What you did yesterday- You’ve done it before, haven’t you, Lady Lyarra?” Daenerys cursed herself in her mind for letting such ramble roll off the tip of her tongue.

However, Lyarra cursed the Queen in secret for addressing her as a simple Lady instead of the Queen she was. Still, she managed to force a smile on her face and offered her a seat opposite of her by her desk before answering the Queen’s question.

“I haven’t had to behead too many people so far, if that’s what you’re curious about. But I have had my battles to fight, so I’ve learned to swing a sword the hard way.”

Daenerys suddenly didn’t know how to reply, but she was so desperate not to appear weak or ignorant in front of a possible ally, so she simply smiled and said how much she had always admired warrior queens at which Lyarra simply smirked and turned away, leaving Daenerys disappointed.

“I’m sure you’re already a legend, as well, Your Grace, so please, let’s skip the small talk to you telling me the actual reason you’re here,” Lyarra blurted out, staring deep into those violet eyes. I can’t lie, they’re beautiful, but beauty is lethal.

Daenerys couldn’t ignore the tone the Northern Queen used when saying Your Grace but she also knew she couldn’t let such petty little things get in the way. She had a goal to achieve here but it was getting difficult to keep her composure in the presence of Lyarra Stark. And it wasn’t the fact that it was her territory that intimidated Dany- it was something completely different, a feeling that she hadn’t been able to shake off since she first laid eyes on the Stark girl. As much as it annoyed her, it also made her scared. Scared that it might be the cause of her losing her place on the Iron Throne.

“You see right through me, my Lady. I am actually here to convince you to bend the knee and join forces with me to-,“ but she couldn’t continue without being cut off by Lyarra Stark.

“To help you get the Iron Throne where you could rule over my home? I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace, but I hope you can understand that I simply can’t do that. I can’t decide for thousands. And even if I could, my answer would still be no.”

Daenerys flashed a rather forced smile at the self-proclaimed Queen in the North and thought to herself she’s making it difficult for everyone, but if she wants difficult, let it be difficult.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 7

Lan considers his duty while Perrin and Galad consider each other’s armies

Chapter 7: Lighter than a Feather

You can’t just use that as a chapter title and expect me to be okay with it.

Fine. That’s… fine.

Unsurprisingly, we are with Lan. Though it is still somewhat surprising to have Lan at last as a POV character, but I’ve already spilled more than enough words on this earlier, so I’ll spare you. (He’s only truly alive when he’s riding to his death, only a character with a voice rather than a weapon with a purpose when he’s going to meet his end, I’m fine this is fine).

Perhaps they’d missed the border. There often was no marker on these back roads, and the mountains cared not which nation tried to claim them.

That’s pretty, and I like when you get a nod to this idea that the geo cares very little for the politics, however important the reverse might be (though in this particular setting the line does get rather blurred, what with the whole Dragon is one with the land and the land is one with the Dragon Fisher King situation).

It also reminds me a bit of He calls upon the mountains to kneel, and the seas to give way, and the very skies to bow. I don’t… really have anywhere in particular I’m going with that, but it’s just something that came to mind. Maybe something about how nations and borders matter little in the face of what is to come, and they must all stand as allies, and will be called upon to do so or else all of them will fall.

Lan insisted on being called “Andra.” One follower was bad enough. If nobody knew who he was, they couldn’t ask to come with him.

Sure, Lan. Whatever you say. You just go ahead and ride your black warhorse through the Borderlands, wearing the hadori, carrying the sword of the Malkieri kings, moving like a Warder, and looking like death, and I’m sure absolutely no one will recognise you.

Also, that’s the sort of denial of leadership I’d expect from Perrin.

But this has always been Lan’s sticking point: he cannot turn away from the Blight, but he cannot bring himself to lead others to it.

Bulen wants to take the easy road, but Lan would rather take the road less travelled by.

[Bulen] had proved surprisingly capable with the sword. As talented a student as Lan had seen in a while.

Thinking of Rand, there? For some reason that strikes me as almost sad; this remembrance, perhaps, of a time when Rand was just his student, just a hopeful, desperate boy trying to find his way. I don’t think Lan sees him as a student any longer. A friend, perhaps, but even that was strained last time they were in the same place, and Lan sees him now as dangerous, and anyway my point is… I’m not sure I had a point.

Oh hey three more people who are definitely not Malkieri and definitely not here to follow Lan because the Golden Crane definitely does not fly for Tarmon Gai’don.

One of the three—a lean, dangerous-looking man—

When Lan Mandragoran thinks you look dangerous…

And apparently he knows them, or at least one of them. Which one the one hand isn’t really surprising; he grew up in the Borderlands and they all know him as the uncrowned king of Malkier and he fought in the Blight and the Aiel War, so of course he knows people here. But there is still that faint sense of ‘oh, huh, that’s right, Lan… has a whole life here of sorts’ (though he sees it more as a death), which gets into my whole thing of why it’s so interesting that we get his POV now.

Because, at last looking through his eyes, you remember that he’s a person, when he’s spent so much of the last two decades of his life denying himself that status. Binding himself to another, acting as weapon and shield and companion but never allowing himself, really, to live. Because what right has he, the last scion of a dead nation, the one who carries its destiny and its doom and its duty, to a life? To anything but a final grave in the Blight?

Which of course is my whole thing about how it’s both ironic and yet absolutely perfect that we only get his POV—that he only gets a narrative voice—when he’s at last setting out to his death. Because that is his life; that is who he is.

But also because, perhaps, Here At The End Of All Things, it may be a chance for him to at last find something different, choose something different.

Anyway, Lia Has Thoughts On The Use Of POV, news at 11.

“Ah, Lan,” Andere said, the three men pulling up to stop. “I didn’t notice you there.”

What a troll. I love it. Lan does not, but hey at least dealing with three farmboys and the future Amyrlin Seat on a roadtrip helped him practise a great deal of patience, which he attempts to exercise now.

Lan pulled Mandarb to a halt, teeth gritted. “I’m not raising the Golden Crane!”

Here’s the thing though, Lan: you don’t have to.

That said, it’s not hard to see his own frustration and, I think, fear here; last time someone tried to raise the Golden Crane in his name it ended with children thrown off a wall, the closest thing he had to a father figure dead, his friend turned traitor and dead by his hand, and Lan burning all remnants of his past, alone, ready to ride to his death if Moiraine hadn’t found him. He has lived his entire life under the ghost of that banner that brings only death and impossible dreams, and has seen for himself the death of those dreams in the eyes that cannot help but look to it and hope. He knows Malkier is gone, knows he cannot rewrite the past, and knows, too, that it only hurts more if he lets himself hope, lets others look to him for something he cannot bring them...

But somewhere in between is a balance: not the turning back of time to a Malkier remade as if it had never fallen, but nor must it be an unmarked grave in the Blight and a complete erasure of a future. Instead it’s about finding some way forwards.

“Then stop following me.”

“Last I checked, we were ahead of you,” Andere said.

“You turned this way after me,” Lan accused.

“You don’t own the roads, Lan Mandragoran,” Andere said.

I mean you could maybe make the argument that he has some small claim to them, but again we come to a crossroads here on the question of choice. Lan’s choice to ride to the Blight alone, against the choice of others to follow him. It’s hardly the first time in this series we’ve seen a collision of choices like this, but it’s always kind of an interesting one.

“I command you to turn and go back,” Lan said.

Ah, but do you have the right to command if you refuse to accept your role as their leader? It’s an almost Perrin-like question of leadership, really.

And these three more or less call him on exactly that.

“You’re not my captain any longer, Lan. Why would I obey your orders?” The others chuckled.

“We’d obey a king, of course,” Nazar said.

“Yes,” Andere said. “If he gave us commands, perhaps we would. But I don’t see a king here. Unless I’m mistaken.”

I do love technicalities. It’s like a good fae bargain: sometimes you just want to see some loopholes exploited.

Command them as king, which means accepting that role and that banner and all the responsibility and duty it entails, or renounce that role and let them ride where they wish… in which case they will ride at his side. He’s caught in a trap here that, again, it’s not hard to see why he’s trying so hard to evade… but perhaps, Lan, your duty to your nation is not simply death.

I like this, though, because it is messy. If he is their king and responsible for them, then is it not his duty to keep them save? But also, if the is their king and responsible for them, then is it not his duty to give them more than his meaningless death in the Blight? If he is not their king, then he is not responsible for them, and so he can do as he feels he must… but if he is not their king, then he is not responsible for them, and so he cannot dictate their choices.

And so I think the question runs deeper than that, and comes back to this: is his life truly meant for nothing more than that death? What is his duty, really? He has always lived a life on what he sees as borrowed time, borrowed life, as a foreordained death because he is Malkier and Malkier is dead and so he will follow it, avenge what cannot be defended but even true vengeance is more than any one man could achieve, so he will go down fighting but eventually he will die like Malkier, as if he had never lived, because his nation died before he could and so he is bound to it.

But is that really all there is for him? Is that truly a fulfilment of duty?

“There can be no king of a fallen people,” Lan said. “No king without a kingdom.”

Oh, Lan. And that’s it, isn’t it? He looks at it from one angle: if Malkier is dead, then so must he be. But the reverse of that is: if he is alive and he is Malkier, then is Malkier not, too, alive? And so long as he lives, truly lives, then is there not some hope for it as well?

And if that is true, then his lonely death, Malkier’s last stand, serves none of them. If that is true, then he should raise the Golden Crane and face the Shadow that tried but failed, so long as he is alive, so long as they are alive, so long as they remember, to claim his people.

It is, in a way, not so different from the questions Rand asked himself on Dragonmount. What does it matter? Why keep living, why keep trying, why keep fighting, if all that it brings is more death and pain and battle? (And the answer, at last: because it is, every time, a chance to try again).

Lan still hasn’t reached that answer, quite. He’s still caught in this place where it hurts more to hope than to accept inevitability. But I think that’s why we’re getting his perspective now; I think this storyline of his is about him coming to something like that same realisation. That so long as he lives, so long as they live, there is a chance. And it hurts and they might fail and it’s not easy, but… well, there’s a reason the saying begins with death is lighter than a feather.

“And yet you ride,” Nazar said, flicking his reins. “Ride to your death in a land you claim is no kingdom.”

“It is my destiny.”

Again, this is exactly the question: is he bound to Malkier’s death, or is Malkier bound to his life? And it’s also the other aspect of Rand’s Dragonmount realisation: that there is such a small difference and yet all the difference in the world between facing your ‘destiny’ because you must and facing it because you choose.

I don’t even think Lan has ever really resented what he sees as his fate… but it’s more that it’s never even occurred to him that he could make a choice. He’s lived his whole life with the knowledge that it’s just waiting for death, because a land he claims is no kingdom demands it of him, but does it?

I just… really want this arc to be the story of someone who has only ever thought of his life as a holding pattern until his death realising that he can actually live.

“Don’t be fools,” Lan said, voice soft as he pulled Mandarb to a halt. “This path leads to death.”

He warns them away, because this leads to death, and because for anyone who isn’t him, bound to death and destined for death and with a life that has only ever mattered for the manner of its ending, death is something to be avoided. But he doesn’t grant himself that same grace, because in his eyes he’s not really a person with a choice and a life like others. He is a sword and a war that cannot be won and a promise that cannot be fulfilled.

Lan just. Makes me very sad, and I enjoy every minute of it.

The two had become five.

YES.

***

Over to Galad, who is having bland porridge for breakfast because There Are People Who Are Starving. And it appears he and Perrin still have not yet actually met, because Byar’s here to give a more detailed report on the army they’ve run into.

“Did he really kill Bornhald’s father?”

“Yes, my Lord Captain Commander.”

Evidence for that claim, Byar?

Galad, like pretty much everyone else who keeps hearing about these people from the Two Rivers, would like to know what is it with that place—something in the water, maybe?

“They grow good tabac there, Child Byar, but I have not heard of them growing armies.”

Galad! You almost made a joke! That makes a grand total of two, now!

“Explain yourself,” Galad said. “And tell me everything you know of this Perrin Goldeneyes.”

Ah, good, nothing like a neutral unbiased perspective of your counterpart before a meeting to set the tone for what I’m sure will be a perfectly civil conversation between prospective allies.

***

Perrin is also eating breakfast, though having somewhat more conflicted feelings about it than Galad did over his porridge.

You should probably have some vegetables with your meat, Perrin; they’re good for you. Some leafy greens to ward off scurvy, at the very least.

The conversation between Faile and Perrin over what precisely counts as breakfast food is such a Sanderson thing, I have to laugh. (I’m also laughing because in my experience it’s quite a common source of cross-cultural confusion: you eat what for breakfast?)

Anyway I’m sure what I’m supposed to take from this is yet another aspect of Perrin’s wolf-self that he can feel conflicted over.

[The Whitecloaks’] appearance bothered him more than he wanted to admit, but he harboured a tiny hope that they would prove insignificant

That’s cute, Perrin. But when you’re a protagonist, none of your encounters—especially with an entire army—are insignificant.

Perrin sighed inwardly before picking up his plate and moving to sit on the rug across from Gaul. Perrin placed the meal in his lap and continued to eat.

“You need not sit on the floor because of me,” Gaul said.

“I’m not doing it because I need to, Gaul.”

I just like this as a nod of respect from and to both of them with regards to each other’s comfort and customs. Not even as any kind of grand significant thing, but it’s just… a nice gesture, the kind of small thing that’s so easy to do but can mean quite a lot.

***

Back to Galad, so we’re doing this kind of rapid back-and-forth between the two leaders before they meet, following their preparations in parallel? I like this when it’s done well, and we’ve seen it occasionally elsewhere in this series to good effect, though I often think it’s easier to pull off in a visual medium.

Galad’s still having a hard time believing all the shit he hears about the Two Rivers. Trollocs and heroes and monsters, oh my!

Emphasis on the monsters in this case, at least from Byar’s point of view. Hopefully Galad’s sense of justice extends to listening to both sides, in this case, before taking one man’s word for everything.

“Trained soldiers may scoff at farmers pressed into service, but get enough of them together and they can be a danger. Some are skilled with the staff or the bow.”

“I am aware,” Galad said flatly, recalling a particularly embarrassing lesson he’d once been given.

Ha. That was one of Mat’s finer moments, I’ll give him that. And I like Galad’s… not humility here, but his ability to recognise that yeah, he certainly learned a lesson there. Galad has his pride, but I’ll grant him that he can let his ego take a bruising sometimes.

I’m also just amused at the fact that the sum total Galad’s experience with people from the Two Rivers consists of:

That one random farmer who accidentally trespassed on Palace grounds by falling off a wall into his sister’s arms. Rude and uncouth.

That other random farmer who trounced him and his brother with a stick when he looked like he should be in bed on an IV drip for at least another week. Embarrassing.

Nynaeve.

So Galad’s sitting there like ‘oh, great, the Two Rivers again; what kind of absurd nuisance is that place going to throw at me today’ and Byar’s sitting there like ‘it’s Full Of Monsters And Evil’.

Ah, and of course, that first incident, all the way back in EotW, which might prove to be more of a sticking point, because Perrin did kill some of the Children, there. Which means, as their commander, Galad has a certain degree of responsibility to ensure that justice is carried out according to their laws. Which could make things… awkward.

“There are others who can confirm this?” Galad asked.

So my first thought was okay, good, the thing about Galadedrid Damodred is that you know if he is going to exercise some form of justice he’s at least going to try to make sure he’s right… but my second thought was just of how feasible it would be to call Hopper to the witness stand.

“It is clear. The Light has delivered him to us.”

You may actually be right on that, Byar. Just… in precisely the opposite way than you think.

***

Continuing the parallel preparations, now Perrin is receiving reports on the Whitecloaks, just as Galad is receiving a report on him. From Gaul, who is also not precisely an unbiased observer, given he’s the one who fought alongside Perrin in his second foray into Killing Whitecloaks For Fun And Profit.

Gaul also still has his whole side drama happening with Bain and Chiad, which… we’ll just leave that one for now. Have fun, you three.

“Almost better to have Sightblinder himself as a gai’shain than those two.”

Listen, if I had the opportunity to have the embodiment of chaos and entropy sworn to obey me for a year and a day, you can bet your ass I’d take it.

So Galad’s considering what justice may be necessary for a man who’s killed Whitecloaks, and Perrin’s considering what’s appropriate for a Whitecloak army holding his people captive, and I’m sure there’s no way at all this could go wrong!

He’d never met the Lord Captain Commander, but he had met one of the Whitecloak Lords Captain once. That had been the night when Hopper had died, a night that had haunted Perrin for two years.

That had been the night when he had killed for the first time.

You know, in case this upcoming meeting weren’t loaded enough. It drags out this memory and truth that lies very close to Perrin’s whole central conflict. The side of him that has killed, and can kill. And the beginning of his connection with the wolves. And I wonder if that’s part of it as well: that in his mind, the awakening of his wolfbrother powers and his first time taking a life are inextricably linked, strengthening that association between the wolf aspect of himself and the image of himself as a killer, which all runs so counter to what he wanted to be, to how he wants to see himself.

***

“We have witnesses who saw this man murder two of our own! Do we let him march by, as if innocent?”

Okay but what does your justice say about self-defence?

“No,” Galad said. “No, by the Light, if what you say is true then we cannot turn our backs on this man. Our duty is to bring justice to the wronged.”

The fun thing here is that nothing in Galad’s statement is actually antithetical to allying with Perrin. No, Galad, you probably can’t turn your back on him, because you’ll need to stand beside him. And if your duty is to bring justice to the wronged… it all depends on perspective, does it not? And that, too, is something you could achieve as allies.

Byar’s trying to push his luck a bit, now, with the suggestion that in addition to hanging Perrin they should also annex Ghealdan. Calm down, Byar.

It really is a good thing Galad’s the one in charge here, much as I never expected to say those words. Because Byar is pushing already for a fight, already talking about odds in battle, and if it were anyone other than Galad, would they consider talking first?

Will Galad?

But if anyone might, it would be him. Just as he challenged Valda to trial by combat, strictly within the codes of their laws, rather than just walking in and killing him. He’ll consider a trial, or whatever it is their laws demand here; he’s not going to just go straight into battle. I hope.

***

Was this part of being ta’veren? Could Perrin not escape that night, years ago?

That’s not ta’veren so much as trauma, Perrin, but… yeah. It’s the point on which so much else turns for him, and the thing he can’t quite reconcile himself to, and how could he not struggle with that? It’s so opposite to everything he thought he was, everything he wanted to be, and there’s so much doubt and uncertainty and no small amount of self-loathing caught up in it.

And so much since then has been about demanding that he do it again and again, and until he finds some way to balance that, to accept the capacity within him and perhaps even the necessity but to also understand that doing so does not condemn him to monstrosity, he will never be free of it. It’s his version of Rand’s realisation. His own balance of salvation and destruction, in a way.

“There are twenty thousand soldiers among them,” Gaul replied. “There are several thousand others who have likely never held a spear.”

Byar is underestimating Perrin’s villagers and farmers, so we get Gaul underestimating Galad’s civilians. And so the parallels continue in the leadup to this meeting. Both sides doing exactly the same thing, thinking along the same lines, as they are drawn together.

***

And the POV sections grow even shorter as we draw closer and closer, this time with just a single exchange between Galad and Byar.

“We have no choice. The Light has delivered him into our hands.”

Again, you’re… not exactly wrong.

“But we need more information.”

Thank the Light for Galad and some semblance of levelheadedness. Or at least a strict need to ensure that he is, in fact, doing the right thing.

***

“What do you want, Perrin Aybara?” Gaul asked.

What did he want? He wished he could answer that.

Yeah, that’s a rather loaded question, isn’t it? Because again, this is the point of his story—just as last book was for Rand, and Egwene, and so many others, and this book continues to be for more—where he has to choose. To accept who he is, and step into his role with eyes open, and face the ending. Who are you, and what do you want? What are you fighting for?

“We’ll want to offer parley”

And now time to be grateful that Perrin, too, understands the value of not always rushing into things. Sometimes he lets that hold him back too much, but here it’s their saving grace. Probably. We hope.

“We’ll give the Children a chance to return our people. If they don’t… well, then we’ll see.”

Everything poised on a razor’s edge, as these two approach each other.

It was a well-done chapter, but I do feel like perhaps this buildup has dragged out just slightly too long. But then, some of that will probably depend on the payoff, so I’ll be patient.

Next (ToM ch 8) Previous (ToM ch 6)

[speakingformyself101-blog]

The Death of a Friend

‘Death waits for no man’- Markus Zusak

You can never prepare yourself for death. He doesn’t wait until you’re ready, he could care less about your last goodbyes. It doesn’t matter if your good or bad, young or old, death is indiscriminate by nature. Death waits for no man, and he certainly didn’t wait for my friend Joe, who died before he could truly live.

I first met Joe after packing my bags and flying to China with dreams of becoming a teacher. Having arrived at the school a day before me, Joe and I became fast friends; both from England, freshly graduated, and severely out of our element, we found comfort in the familiarity of each other. Genuine and uncomplicated, the friendship blossomed over our shared endeavour to navigate the unknown. Eventually more friends were added on, and we established our own little squad, unbreakable and ready to take on whatever China could throw at us. We laughed together, celebrated each other’s achievements, and provided a shoulder to cry on.

Grief had always been an ambiguous concept to me; never having lost someone I was close to before, my experience and understanding of it derived primarily from TV. This ultimately made it difficult for me to empathise with others, and aside from the customary “I’m sorry for your loss”, my thoughts didn’t venture much further than that. That’s not to say I was some sort of emotionless psychopath, of course I sympathised for those going though such tragedy; believe me when I tell you I was a blubbering wreck for the full 2 hours of P.S. I Love You. But my emotions always had a shallowness to them, which eventually shifted to scepticism. Too often when I witnessed grief on TV it seemed exaggerated to me; the heartache taken and twisted into a caricature-esque illustration of its original self. I looked at it as an over-saturation of real-life, reserved for the big screen to justify drawn-out movie sequences where the main character screams and rages of the injustice of it all while melancholic piano plays softly in the background

It was only after experiencing grief personally that I realised wherein my derision lied. Oftentimes movies and TV shows will portray a character in denial or anger, but fail to show the mental journey that has taken place within the character’s mind to lead them there. Subsequently, to someone ignorant of the psychological proceedings that occurs internally when processing the death of a loved one, it can seem as if these reactions simply manifest out of thin air, with no rhyme or reason to them. Though I can only speak for myself, this failing stripped the emotions of its sincerity, making it harder to empathise with.

 ‘We begin to live again, but we cannot do so until we have given grief its time.’- Kubler Ross’s ‘The 5 Stages of Grief’ (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance)

In Kubler Ross’s ‘The 5 Stages of Grief’ (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance) he discusses the mental dealings behind the core emotions we feel while grieving, including its reason, importance to the grieving process, and how we move past it.  He emphasises that ‘there is not a typical response to loss as there is no typical loss. Our grief is as individual as our lives’. My experience with grief was similar to others in many ways, yet personal disposition, circumstances, and the nature of our friendship meant that my understanding and relationship with grief was wholly my own.

‘This first stage of grieving helps us to survive the loss’

When I first heard the news from a friend over the phone, I was in another country at the time. My denial didn’t manifest in the form of ‘I can’t believe this has happened’ but rather ‘I don’t believe this has happened’. What I mean by this is that, it’s not that I couldn’t accept the truth, but that I actively choose not to. It created a divide in my head, deep down I was aware that I was only lying to myself, but I did it anyway because there was no other option for me at that point. I did whatever I could to strengthen this pipe dream; I told myself that my friend sounded too composed over the phone (he was in shock), that it was just some sick prank they were playing, that motorcycle accidents don’t happen to 21-year-old’s who haven’t even been given the chance to live yet. Me and Joe worked together, and I remember checking the work chat every day thinking that until they make an announcement, there’s still a chance it’s all fake. The physical distance between me and Joe made it so much easier to create a mental distance between myself and the truth. It became a case of seeing is believing, and until someone could provide me with physical evidence of his death, I would carry on this ruse.

During my young teens, I was a sucker for the so-called ‘Girl Power’ storyline. Movies that pitted the strong-willed wall-flower against the sheltered and bird-brained female antagonist was my bread and butter. I had always envisioned myself as that strong-willed wallflower, a survivor at the core who could face whatever life throws at her head on, as if anything less would be a weakness. I grew to realise how utterly delusional of a mind-set that was, and appreciate the importance of allowing yourself to be emotionally vulnerable. However with all that said, it still makes me feel awkward to this day when I look back on my reaction to first hearing the news and think about how delusional I must have appeared to others. Eventually you just have to accept that, as Kubler- Ross states: ‘There is a grace in denial’, it is not a weakness one has to overcome, but rather a coping mechanism that allows us to handle only what we can.

‘Anger is the emotion we are most used to managing’

When I returned home, I could no longer deny what was right in front of me any longer; I could see my friend’s absence, and so I was forced to believe it. It was at this point when the beginnings of anger started to kick in. There was no clean-cut shift from denial to anger, one emotional state didn’t suddenly swoop in and knock the other off its pedestal. In his essay, Kubler emphasises that there is no ‘linear timeline in grief’. In my case, anger was born from my denial, it stemmed from no longer being able to keep denying what was now undisputable. I started to project this anger onto other people, getting annoyed when they openly discussed the details of what happened at work. What is there to talk about? He's gone, where was everyone constantly shoving the fact down my throat? To this day I still don’t know the full story of the accident because I was so against discussing it. All I wanted to do was bury my head in the sand, and it seemed like no one was going to let me do it in peace.

My anger started to turn ugly, I remember seeing a post someone made about how much Joe meant to them and thinking: why would you post this? You weren’t even that close to him? It felt disingenuous, like suddenly people were popping up out of the woodworks to add their two cents and make it all about them. I saw this attitude reflected in others around me, the occasional sly comment, a judgemental pause of silence, as if because you were closer to Joe it allowed you to police how others grieve and to what degree.

*Dusts off psychology A-level certificate*

Building any kind of relationship as a foreigner in China is a social experiment in its own right. Unable to communicate with the locals, unfamiliar of the cultural norms, and oftentimes going days without seeing an foreigner you haven’t already met, you begin to heavily rely upon the few friends you do make in China. Add on to this a 6-hour time differences and the Great VPN Firewall of China restricting accessibility to family and friends back home, you find yourself living in a social bubble. This same isolationism can be seen in reality shows like Love Island and Big Brother, which force their contestants into environments with little to no outside communication. The resulting effects is that relationships, both romantic and platonic, develop at an abnormally fast rate; it made the few months that I knew Joe much more potent than was normal. In such a short space of time Joe had carved a space for himself in my life: he was a colleague, friend, and brother all rolled into one. If I was stressed over something I came to him, if I was proud of something I came to him. But this still didn’t change the fact that, in the grand scheme of things, we were only a chapter in each-others stories, and so when it came to mourning his death, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy and guilt began to emerge.

In the same way that I judged others, I was judging myself. I began to question the validity of my own feelings, whether the short time I knew him justified such strong heartache or if I, like so many of the movies I watched before, simply up-playing a role I thought was appropriate. Did I deserve to feel so sad over someone I barely knew? Who was I to have enjoyed his last few months on earth while his family and lifelong friends couldn’t. When I was sat next to his family at the funeral, I felt like an imposter.

‘Acceptance is often confused with the notion of being “all right” or “OK” with what has happened’-Kübler-Ross & David Kessler

I wish someone had told me beforehand that acceptance does not always equal peace, sometimes it just leads to more heartache and depression. The comforting warmth of denial and distracting heat of anger had been rudely ripped away and what am I left with now? The cold hard truth, what a scam.

Accepting that my friend was gone didn’t suddenly make it easier to digest, if anything it made me question everything. Though it seems obvious, it wasn’t his death that was the hardest to grasp, it was the idea that he no longer existed, or at least not in the way he once did.

Kubler describes this stage as ‘accepting the reality that our loved one is physically gone and recognizing that this new reality is the permanent reality’. In the end, no matter what you believe, notions about an afterlife are all well and good, but it doesn’t change the fact that those passed are no longer in the here and now. How can a walking, talking person, with their own thoughts and dreams for the future, now simply be food for worms? How can someone who was previously physical only now exist in the memories of others? I didn’t want the responsibility of keeping someone alive through only my mind and a few pictures.

‘‘There is not a typical response to loss as there is no typical loss. Our grief is as individual as our lives’

If there is one thing I took away from this experience, it’s the understanding that grieving is a fiercely personal act, idiosyncratic to the individual. I witnessed friends who cried for weeks on end after hearing the news, while others did so only once. I saw friends find comfort in the company of others, and those who found peace through solitude. Some gained a stronger relationship with God, whereas some started to question everything that they once believed.  I realised that the cause behind my judgement of all these tv shows was the same thing that made me condemn those who posted their feelings on social media: I am a very private person, and so these open displays of emotion didn’t relate to me. That’s not to say that I didn’t feel the exact same emotions as everyone else did, but when it comes to my emotions, I’m an introvert at heart. I don’t post my feelings on social media, I rarely cry in front of others, and big public displays of affection only make me cringe. If given the option, I will always choose to implode than explode. This ultimately lead me to my third and final revelation: Everyone grieves in their own way, there is no right, cookie-cutter, one size fits all way to grieve. In the end, it doesn’t matter how you grieve or how long for, it’s about allowing yourself to experience the emotion and working through it to one day achieve some form of equilibrium to this new reality.  It’s a journey we all must walk, and one we can only do ourselves.

For anyone who is currently dealing with death for the first time, here are a few websites where you can find support:

https://www.supportline.org.uk/problems/bereavement/

https://www.cruse.org.uk/get-help/helpline

https://www.itv.com/thismorning/bereavement-helplines

[namjuicyy]

The Contract - Chapter Seven

Masterlist | Requests are open.

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut.

Genre of this part: Smut, fluff, angst if you squint.

Word Count: 3.6k.

Summary: Your life is turned upside down when a contract is pushed your way. But what happens if you sign it?

Warnings: Panty kink/panty sniffing, degradation, hella dom!Tae, dirty talk, choking, orgasm denial, protected sex, vaginal sex, voyeurism, consensual filming, clit spanking, gagging, consensual sending, brief use of male sex toys. Heheheheheheheheheheh. Enjoy, hoes.

Park Dahee was perhaps one of the kindest, yet one of the most insufferable people you had ever had the pleasure of being friends with. Dahee had no filter, no shame and certainly no indoor voice, meaning any public outing the two of you had together was as if you were announcing your private life through a billboard that played sounds and projected special effects. Though, despite the brash exterior, Dahee was your source of sanity in this whole crazy mess. One of the only people outside of your relationship you could talk to, and the only one who would truly understand what you were going through because she was going through it herself.

Dahee was the loving girlfriend of GOT7, one of the few people in this part of the industry who would still be there for the band if all the money disappeared. She was strong, fearless, confident, kind, loving, thoughtful. Through the grapevine she had learnt of your arrival on the scene and felt like it was her duty to make you feel welcome and offer her hand in friendship, because Lord knows she could have done with that when she first entered the relationship. She messaged you within the first week of being with Bangtan, and hadn't left you alone six months later.

Now it was the height of summer, and you had met up in the local Starbucks for your weekly (or as weekly as you could get it) catch-up and regular therapy session. Dahee was the first to technically break her contract with JYP to tell you the ins and outs of her relationship, whether you wanted the tea or not. But it only made you more comfortable with her, and eventually you ended up sharing some things and just getting more and more comfortable around her.

She sat down at the table opposite you and took in your sweaty appearance, laughing at the foreigner who still hadn't got used to the searing summers South Korea faced annually. She, of course, looked as radiant as always – her long black hair in a French braid and her loose-fitting playsuit adorning her curves perfectly. You could see why GOT7 adored her as much as they did. You were borderline falling in love with her too.

"You look like you're pregnant." She joked, taking in the way you were lounging on the metal chair.

"Why did you pick outdoor seating on a hot summer's day?"

"Purely and simply, my dear, to fuck with you. Now," she sighed and handed you your drink off the tray, "I have just come back from Japan where I was dicked down on the daily by seven gorgeous men who simply couldn't get enough of me and wouldn't let me pick up my phone to contact you. So I've missed a lot. Spill the tea. I need to know everything."

"Well, I have a fun conundrum for you... my knickers keep going missing."

"Your knickers?"

"Yup. Then reappearing in random places. At first I thought I was misplacing them, but the last three times I've found them they've had the smallest white stain on them."

Dahee looked pleased with your confession, almost excited by what she'd heard. She smacked on the table and laughed. "You my darling, are living with a panty fetishist."

There was a slight smirk playing on your face, your demeanour turning cocky as you took a sip of your drink. "I have no idea who it is, but I'm excited to find out."

"So no one's given you any indication that they want to wank with your undies?"

"Yeah, some of them pop into my bedroom and ask if they can borrow a pair." Dahee rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. "No, whoever it is they're keeping it well hidden. I think they're ashamed... or at least guilty that they think they're taking and wanking on my clothes with them."

"That's kinda hot though." Dahee pouted. "Why can't one of my guys do that with my panties?"

You laughed. "Why are you jealous?"

"Because I'd love to catch him in the act and 'punish' him."

"Why do all of our conversations end up like this? And why does it always happen in a public space?"

Dahee smiled her usual evil smile when she took pleasure in winding you up. "Because, my dear, I'm a thirsty hoe, exactly like you. Promise me you'll let me know who it is the second you find out." You hesitated. "Promise me!"

"Okay, okay! Fine. I'll tell you who it is when I know."

The bedroom was pitch black, not even the moon could make it through your bedroom curtains. You couldn't see anything, but you could feel everything. Jungkook had snuggled up to you, much closer than he had before, especially given that you were both face-to-face. You could feel his breath on your nose, and his strong arms grip you tighter. You wished there was some light so you could see his peaceful face – his angelic, sleeping face that made him look so sweet and soft, you couldn't help but stroke it gently, despite many museums telling you not to touch the art.

The way he was breathing, you could have easily assumed that he was asleep. His voice was the only indication that he wasn't. His deep voice soft and tender as he whispered to you, confessing things he wouldn't have done had he known you were awake.

"Part of me wonders if I shouldn't have let it go on this far – this... whatever it is the eight of us have going on." He tells you. "I can't imagine what this might be doing to you. Emotionally you might be fine, you might even love this attention. And I wouldn't blame you. You deserve to be showered in love in all it's forms. I'm just scared we're going to hurt you... physically. Some hyungs take things too far. Not that they mean to, of course, they're not bad people. They just get carried away, and I don't want you to be at the brunt of their uncontrollable ways. I care about you too much to let you get hurt. I couldn't bear to see you in any kind of pain. Contract or not, I love you. I always have. It's just taken this weird... thing to make me see it. We all love you – or rather, we're all in love with you."

Jungkook's confession had knocked you for six. You couldn't quite believe those were the words coming out of his mouth. He had never been quite so candid with you before, and you weren't sure if you should let on and tell him how you felt and reassure him, or just let him have his moment, pretend it didn't happen and tell him how you felt some other time, with the knowledge that he wouldn't reject you.

You chose to remain asleep, but snuggle into him a little more. He froze, wondering if you were awake, but quickly concluded you were unconscious and just continued to hold you like he had been. Jungkook was the sweetest young man you had ever had the pleasure of knowing, even before he started cuddling you to sleep you knew he was beautiful inside and out. Until his confession though, you didn't realise the true extent of it. And, for the nth time in a row, you fell asleep in his arms, feeling safe, secure and protected.

There was an inexplicable darkness to Kim Taehyung, one you couldn't quite figure out no matter how hard you tried. An underlying shadow that occasionally made an appearance at times you didn't quite expect. There was a glint in his eye that spelled trouble in several languages, and an evil smirk on his face that told you he was planning something. The appearances of the wickedness that could engulf him were quite rare, and usually you were met with the bright, bubbly, boxy smile of the somewhat childlike man who enjoyed twanging your bra strap or dipping his hands into your trousers to tug on your underwear, for no other reason than to annoy you. His playful laugh would sound as he dodged one of your light hearted slaps, and would disappear to somewhere in the apartment and leave you to shake your head at his impish nature.

Tae had been one of the only two members to not approach you in a sexual manner, though you were certain he was holding off for a reason you couldn't imagine. Taehyung was, perhaps, one of the most sexual people you had ever met. His performances oozed sensuality, as did the way he'd look at you whenever he drank a little too much but was still too shy to come forward. You had promised yourself you wouldn't force anyone into anything, and if they wanted sex they'd come to you, not the other way around. But there was a voice in the back of your head that told you to just get on your knees automatically for him and beg him to rip you in half. There were times when you were nearly about to – but each time you'd been interrupted from your thoughts by someone and was able to regain a modicum of sanity. He was so lustful in his mannerisms, and the devilishness of his personality was so alluring, it made keeping your prudence a difficult task. But you'd not failed yet.

You were the type of person who loved to wear the bare minimum to bed. An oversized t-shirt, a pair of panties and that was it. Something the guys loved about you because it meant that, if they had your consent, they'd be able to get easy access to any part of your body at any time of the night. Morning wood was easily taken care of because, in essence, all you had to do was take your underwear off, open your legs and enjoy the feeling of a big cock waking you up fully. Usually you put enough effort in to getting dressed, even on lazy days. Just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of leggings around the apartment was enough. But there were your super lazy days where all you did was change your panties, staying in your t-shirt and just lulling about.

Today was one of those days. You woke up in Jungkook's arms only hours after his confession, and immediately you knew that today you'd want to do the absolute least you possibly could. You peeled yourself out of his strong grip, and trudged out of the bedroom, trying to wake yourself up just a little. Kitchen. Food. Yes please.

Taehyung was already sat at the breakfast bar, a cup of tea in hand and a webtoon on his phone. He barely noticed your presence, not until you wrapped your arms around him and bade him a good morning.

"Sleep well?" He asked.

"Like a baby." You reached up to grab a mug off the top shelf. "You eaten yet?"

He cleared his throat. "Not yet. I wasn't hungry until you walked into the room."

When you turned around, you notice Tae's demeanour had changed. And the webtoon was long forgotten was he stared at you, that unfamiliar yet noticeable darkness had returned. His eyes were fixated on your hips, where your shirt had bunched up to reveal just the smallest part of your red panties. His long, beautiful fingers had been raised from the counter to play with his plump, bottom lip. He had seemingly turned from Jekyll to Hyde in the space of two seconds, looking at your body like a predator looks at their prey. You were standing in the corner of the kitchen cabinets, feeling trapped by his gaze. You couldn't move as you watched him slowly stand from the stool and meander to you, never taking his eyes off you. You were enthralled by him – this walking contradiction. This outwardly angelic man whom, right now, seemed like Lucifer himself. He hadn't said anything, not really. But there you were, dripping like a virgin, more than willing to open your legs for him if that's what he wanted you to do.

"You like to tease, don't you, baby girl?" Tae asked you, quietly. He brought his gorgeous hands coming up to your exposed neck as you looked up at him, keeping eye contact. You were fearful that if you broke that interaction, he'd be disappointed in you. And you didn't want that. "You tease us all. Flouncing about the apartment wearing next to nothing." His left hand found purchase in your hair and tugged a little. It didn't hurt, not really. "Moaning loudly while you're getting fucked." His right hand caressed your shoulder, fingers sliding under your shirt and exposing your bare shoulder to him. "It's like you want everyone to know what a whore you are for us. Hm?"

When he'd finished up top, he stroked his hand over your arm and down to your thigh. He gripped onto the hem of your shirt and slowly started to lift it. Your hand came to his, gripping it like your life depended on it as he continued to expose your thigh. But Tae had no way near finished winding you up yet. "Wearing tiny little panties and leaving them strewn about the place for anyone to find."

Your voice was hoarse when you spoke. You always liked pushing your limits in these situations. Maybe you shouldn't with Tae. But you tried. "You certainly found them, didn't you?"

Tae smirked and bit his lip. "Couldn't help myself. You'd left them there, taunting me. And hearing you get destroyed by the Hyungs, what was I supposed to do?" His voice dropped lower. "You smelled so good, sounded fucking amazing. How could I not get myself off to the scent of you, imagining that my face was in between those filthy thighs of yours and unravelling you with my tongue, huh?"

"Fuck."

His hands hooked into your panties and started to pull them down. His movements were teasing, slow, painful. He knew you wanted him. He had an almost sixth sense about you. He had a sixth sense about everyone. He was often painted as the dumb one, but in actuality he let people underestimate him. He allowed people to think what they wanted to. It made no difference to him. He was one of the smartest people you'd met, despite his satoori and his childlike behaviour that you'd forgotten about when his hands had begun to work your pussy like he'd done it a thousand times before. Stroking your clit with such gentility.

"You really are a little slut, aren't you?" He asked, softly nipping at your chin as you opened your moth to moan. "A beautiful, greedy," he increased the pressure on your clit now to an almost painful touch. But God did it feel good. "Filthy, little tart. Look at you, creaming on my fingers." His hand that was in your hair now came to your throat, restricting your breathing only slightly. "Bet you wish it was my cock, don't you? Don't you?"

"Yes."

"You're close aren't you?"

"Y-yes, oh God, please."

"Please what?"

"Let me cum, please. Feels so good please let me cum."

He moved his hand away. "Get in my room. Now."

When he entered his bedroom, his calm resolve flushed away and he became frantic – almost animalistic. Your shirt was the only thing to be removed, him opting to leave your panties on and simply push them to the side when he'd undressed completely, rolled on the condom and wanted to be deep, deep inside you.

The stretch was, for lack of a better term, immense. He was just as long as Namjoon, but a lot thicker. He had you screaming at just the stretch, grasping onto the sheets and screaming the Lord's name.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good. Now I know why the Hyungs keep talking about you."

"F-fuck me. Tae, please, fuck me."

He thrust into you once, harshly, making you move a little up the bed, tits bouncing dramatically. "God. You want me to fuck you?"

"Yeah."

"Rip you in half?"

"God, please."

As soon as he gripped onto your waist you knew it was over for you in the best possible way. He rammed his cock into you like it was the only thing he'd been put on this earth to do.

"Still so tight after all the cocks that have been inside you. Such a good fucking girl." He grunted alongside you when he hit that sweet spot inside you. "Red looks so good on you, baby girl. You look like a soft little present. I've always loved these little panties on you baby. Fuck."

You wanted to answer him but you couldn't. He felt too good all you could think about was him inside of you, moaning his name over and over again like a mantra.

"Jungkook hasn't fucked you yet, has he?" You shook your head. "N-no. He'd be fucking unbearable if he had." A devilish smirk appeared on his face as an idea popped into his head. "What do you say we play with him a bit, huh? Let's make him see what he's missing out on, what do you say?"

You simply nodded, unable to say anything as he was still stuffing you full of his cock. He pulled out of you, just long enough for him to get his phone and open the camera. He pointed it at his hard cock, so mouth-wateringly close to your heat, and pressed record. As soon as he was recording, he shoved himself back inside you, watching him fuck you through the camera and making you scream. "God, Jungkookie, listen to her." He put his thumb to your clit and started rubbing again. "Look at her whining." He moved the camera up to catch your tits bouncing. "You gonna cum, baby? Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Who's fucking you?" When you didn't answer quick enough he spanked your clit. "Who's fucking you?"

"K-Kim Taehyung!"

"Good girl. Such a good fucking girl. You love getting fucked by my big cock, don't you?"

"Fuck, Tae! Yes. Please can I cum? Let me cum please?"

He stopped rubbing your clit once more. "No."

"Tae please!"

"Stop your fucking whining." He tugged at your panties, pulling out of you so he could take them off you. With one hand he balled it up, slapped your face so you'd open your mouth and shoved them inside. "I don't like whiny whores."

Jungkook was surprised when he opened his phone to find a video message from Tae. Usually he doesn't check or respond to texts from the guys – he lives with them, he never felt the need. But his curiosity got the better of him, especially as he'd been woken up by Tae fucking you just next door. He was surprised to hear you go quiet, but when he got the video through, he understood why. You'd been gagged with your own underwear while Taehyung used you for his own pleasure. He watched on the screen as you squirted around Taehyung's cock, clasping down on your gag and screaming quietly as you came. Tae, for good measure, pulled your panties out from your mouth, removed the condom, and wrapped the silk around his cock jerking himself off over your body so he could cum on your stomach, and in part on your underwear. Jungkook heard Tae ask if you were okay before turning the camera off.

He couldn't quite believe it. He had heard his hyungs fuck, yeah. And of course he'd heard them fuck you. But he didn't ever imagine he would see it. His cock at stood to attention the second he saw your pretty pussy, and the way your body jiggled to the rhythm Taehyung had set. He couldn't help but imagine that was him inside of you, watching you bounce on his cock while telling him he was a good boy and that he filled you so well. He came harder than he had in a long time, his hand being a piss-poor replacement for what he could only imagine your pussy felt like. But he felt awkward. Ashamed. Broken. He'd just made himself cum while watching you get fucked. He should have seen your orgasm first hand. He should have approached you long ago. But how could he now? When, in his eyes, no virgin would be able to please their partner in the same way Tae had just pleased you.

Jungkook didn't come to you that night. Or the night after that, or the night after that. You were seriously regretting sending him that video. You knew how sensitive he was, how much he cared about you. He loved you, he admitted that himself. And yet you allowed his best friend to send him a video of you getting your brains fucked out. You felt absolutely awful, and knew that was why he was avoiding you. He would run into his room and shut the door whenever you walked into the living room. He wouldn't answer your texts or calls. You'd fucked up. Big time.

You went to his bedroom door, knowing he was in there and opened it.

Jungkook was sat on his bed, bare legs spread and a shocked look on his face as his attention was drawn to you. His hands were preoccupied with an object you'd never thought you'd see. Jungkook's penis was encased in a long cylinder... or in other words, he was using a penis pump.

[softspaceboibrian]

Roll With It (Gwilym Lee)

Gwilym Lee x reader

Summary: the girl’s boyfriend of two years stand her up on the day of their anniversary. When she’s ready to give up and go home, someone come to the rescue.

Warnings: mention of possible cheating, super duper fluffy

Notes: this is pretty old, but I never posted it. I think the idea is good, but the writing is pretty bad. Please, have mercy on me. it’s more a sketch than anything, but yeah, hope you like it! [don’t mind the gif, I just think he’s extremely handsome in it]

Wc: 1440

She took a quick glance at her phone, showing her the time and an old picture of her and her boyfriend standing in front of an old fountain. The photo was taken almost a year prior to that night, on the little trip they took together to Italy. At that point she had been sitting there, alone at the table, for almost 50 minutes, when the waitress came up to her for what seemed like the twelfth time to ask her if she was ready to order. And, once again, she replied asking for a little more time, hoping he was just running late.

That night she was supposed to have dinner to her favourite restaurant with her boyfriend to celebrate their second anniversary. She had told him that didn’t want to do anything crazy that year, just the two of them, out for dinner.  In the last month or so, she had noticed her boyfriend becoming each day more and more distant and cold, but she thought it was only because he was stressed for all the things that had been going on at his work place. Or at least she tried to convince herself that that was the real reason for the change in his manners, the reason behind his random “work trips”, for him coming home late at night on a work day. Just stressed. And she kept saying that that was the reason for him running late that night.

Another 15 minutes went by and people started looking at her with those apologetic looks on their faces, as if they knew exactly what was happening; and that didn’t help at all. She started feeling worse and worse about the whole situation. But as she decided to just get up and leave, a guy she had never seen before ran towards her table, kissed her on the cheek and sat down at the table.

“Sorry I’m so late, babe. My boss wanted to discuss with me the changes we’re going to make, then when I tried to call you to let you know I was running late, my phone died. Plus, traffic was crazy.” She could tell he was talking loudly so that people around them could clearly hear him.

He was tall, really tall, with beautiful ice blue eyes, a bright, gentle smile, and a subtle stubble that slightly tickled her face when he leaned down to kiss her, but she didn’t really mind. She had a perplexed look on her face that she tried to hide as soon as the waitress approached them, asking once again if they were ready to order something. Too lost in her thoughts, she didn’t respond. She was just studying the man before her, wondering who he was, if she had already seen him somewhere, why he was doing that for her. So the guy simply nodded, unfolding his menu and looking quickly at the countless Korean dishes, picking one for himself, before laying his eyes on the girl. He smiled, as if to invite her to do the same. That was the moment she snapped back to reality, siling back at the man, before giving the woman her order, still visibly confused.

As soon as the waitress left the table and disappeared inside the kitchen, the blue-eyed guy leaned closer to her, softly saying <<I’m Gwilym, but, please, call me Gwil. Just roll with it, okay? Whoever didn’t bother to show up is a total moron.>>

And she did roll with it. She did because he was really being the sweetest and he was actually trying to save her. Furthermore, he was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had messy hair, he wore a dark blue sweater, that really brought out the colour of his eyes, a light wash pair of jeans, and in his eyes she could easily see how hard he was trying to cheer her up; he had this warm, soft expression of genuine happiness that appeared on his face every time he would smile or laugh at one of her stupid jokes or come-backs, making even the small crinkles by his eyes look good.

One would think that they remained in silence for most of the dinner, not actually knowing each other, and therefore not knowing what to talk about. But that was exactly the opposite of what happened. He even managed to read her name on the little “reserved” card that the waitress forget to take away when she sat down at the beginning of the night. Well, not her name, but her nickname, which he assumed was short for a totally different name. It wasn’t. But he seemed so sure about it and she didn’t really want to make him feel bad for getting her name wrong, so she simply smiled, rolling with that too.

He was probably a few years older than her, but she didn’t mind it. In a way, she felt good, she felt as if that was somehow supposed to happen, that they were meant to meet that night, in that place, in that way. Not that she really did believe in destiny or stuff like that, but being there with him, chatting about everything and nothing at the same time, laughing together, it all felt natural. She also forgot that she first went to that restaurant to celebrate her anniversary with the man who was supposed to be her boyfriend of two years until they walked out of the restaurant. At first, she kept laughing with him, enjoying that mid-summer’s night’s breeze.

“That was, hands down, the best non-planned date I ever had” He giggled, and that’s when it all hit her. “Not that I had many before, this was the first one ever, but it was still the best” He went on rambling, his cheeks slightly turning red.

“Thank you for saving the night” She replied, taking her wallet out of her purse, ready to give him his money back, since he had paid for both of them.

He looked at her with a puzzled look on her face. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I’m giving you your money back.”

He immediately started laughing, shaking in his head and telling her that her money was the last thing he wanted. But she kept persisting. “If you really want to pay me back, go on a real date with me”. He tried to coax her, not realizing at first what was going inside her head. She was feeling all sort of things, from anger and sadness to denial. At that point he realised and took a step closer to her, trying to catch her gaze.

“You’re not really thinking about going back to him, am I right? Because, whoever this dude is, he made the biggest mistake of his life by standing you up, and you clearly deserve something better.”

He had a point and she knew it, but still she felt conflicted. The man she was supposed to meet there that night was her boyfriend, they had been together for two years, known each other for more that fifteen years. She loved him, or at least she loved the idea of him she had in her mind. But on the other hand, there was this handsome, thoughtful stranger who made her feel like that was what she was supposed to be doing. For how much she thought she loved her boyfriend, she hadn’t felt like she felt that night with Gwilym in over a year.

“Where would you like to take me?” she asked, the gentle breeze that blew through her hair made a lock fall in front of her face, which he quickly moved once again behind her ear.

At first, he didn’t realise what she was saying. When he did, he smirked, slightly tilting his head to the side, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “here’s this bar right down the street where they play live music which I really like.”

She looked at him, a genuine smile made its way on her face. That smile was definitely the sweetest thing he had ever seen in his whole life. He almost felt as if his heart had just melted in his chest.

“One thing first, just so that you know. You had been calling me with the wrong name all night, but you were just so sure about it that I couldn’t tell you that you were wrong.” He looked at her quietly for a moment, bursting into laughter the moment after, and she with him. She was glad he came to the rescue. A knight in shiny armour.

[legendsofflarrowimagines-blog]

Not A Line You Cross 

Part 3

A.N - Holy Hell has it really been that long since I wrote this?! After Wentworth left Legends I lost all motivation to write for him :( but I’ve had a rewatch recently and thought I’d finish this :) I hope you like! 

You stamped your feet against the frozen floor as you turn your key in the lock, ridding your heavy winter boots of the crisp white snow. You push open the door and rush inside desperate to feel the heat of your home surround you. You lean back against the door and sigh the warmth fills you. You pull off your damp coat and untie your boots pushing them off your feet. You flick on your lights and turn on your electric fire warming your hands in front of it.

As your fingers slowly regain feeling your eyes are drawn to the large blue coat that was thrown haphazardly over the back of your chair. You hadn’t seen or heard anything from Snart since that night, he hadn’t come for his coat like his note said and you had to admit part of you was disappointed. Suddenly the lights flicker rapidly before leaving you utter in darkness. You groan and pull your cell from your jeans pocket, turning on the torch you make your way to the window. You frown when you see your neighbours houses still lit. "Maybe something has tripped" you mumble and move away from the window You carefully step around the furniture careful not to bang into anything, you open your fuse box and check the switches to find the all in the correct position. "What the hell?" You close the door on the fuse box and grumble knowing you’re going to have to check outside. You grab you boots and make your way to the sofa to pull them on. The sudden loss of the heat was already starting to take affect. You go to grab a coat to check if and wires have come down in the snow when Snart’s coat once again catches your attention. It was extremely warm, so much warmer than your coats.....plus the others weren’t here to see you once again wrapped in the villains jacket. You smiled to yourself and grab the heavy blue coat and wrap it around yourself. You inhale his manly scent, ignoring the stirring it caused in your stomach and fastened it tightly around you. You brace yourself, pull up the furry hood and open your door; the sudden icy cold takes your breath away. You carefully shuffle outside, watching your footing on the slippery ground. Glancing around with your torch you look for anything untoward.

“Damn” you grumble to yourself knowing you’re likely going to have to pay for an emergency electrician.

You step gingerly back towards your house. Closing the door behind you, you notice how cold the house had gotten in such a short period of time. You toe your boots back off and walk back into the living room, flicking off your torch to save the battery. You come to a sudden halt when you notice a figure standing near the window, the streetlights perfectly illuminating his outline.

“What do you want?!” you demand, your voice low and full of menace. Sparks fly from your fingers at your side to deliberate your point.

“Easy sweetheart, I come in peace” the voice oozed sarcasm and you’d recognise it anywhere

“Snart?!” You hear a click in the darkness and your home is filled with light once again.

You squint against the sudden brightness but notice the small black device in the right hand.

“Electric dampener, only works in a small area but has come in extremely handy in past heists” he smirks

“Heists? This is a heist Snart?” You raise your eye brown at the wanted criminal “Well sorry to disappoint you but you won’t find anything of value here”

“Well maybe you need to look at things from my angle” he drawls as he looks you up and down

You look down at yourself and notice you’re still wearing his parka. You roll your eyes and remove it

“I didn’t realise you held your jacket in the same regard as your precious stolen diamonds” you ball the jacket up and throw it towards him; he catches it with ease and folds of over the back on the chair it previously inhabited.

“I wasn’t talking about the parka” he smirks and leans back against your window sill and crosses his arms

You shake your head and look away from his intense burning gaze, trying your best to fight of the flush you feel creeping up your neck.

“Why are you here?” you cross your own arms against your chest to try and form an invisible barrier against the thief before you.

“Well I did tell you I’d be back for my coat” you nod in agreement

“And what about the light show?” You enquire referring to the little power cut, Snart simply shrugged

“I needed to get in somehow” you chuckle to yourself earning a light playful glare

“I know you like to make a dramatic entrance Snart, but was that really necessary? You ever think of knocking the front door?”

The grin that engulfs his face makes you wish you could pull back the words; he pushes away from your window and saunters towards you.

“I didn’t realise our….relationship was at that level, I’ll be sure to remember that for next time” he was so close you could feel his breath caressing your face.

You put your hand against his chest and pushed away from him but before you could withdraw your hand he took hold of your wrist and held it in place, caressing the smooth skin.  

“Ok firstly, there won’t be a next time” Snart nodded in spite of your words “and secondly, we have no relationship….of any kind”

Using your wrist as leverage he pulled you slowly towards him, his eyes danced slightly when you put up no resistance.  He raised his hand and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think we both know that isn’t true, sweetheart”

Suddenly as if a bucket of cold water was thrown over you, the use of that little nickname and just like that the spell you’d fallen under was broken. You pulled away and slipped from his grip

“No” you shook your head in denial and turn your back to him, hoping that if you can’t look into his eye you’ll be able to control your racing heart

“You can deny it all you want sweetheart, but….”  You snap back around and cut him off

“That’s just it Leonard, there is no ‘but’” you ignore the twitch of his lips at your use of his first name

“We are on opposite sides of the law, the only thing I should be doing with you is handcuffing you…..” he smirks

“Not on the first date” you roll your eyes

“Stop!” you half-heartedly chastise the thief with a small laugh “….And taking you to the police station” Snart drops his eyes to the floor

“You’re a thief and I’m part of Team Flash, I’m not suddenly going to start robbing banks and I can’t see you becoming a hero any time soon! There’s no happy ending here Len, it’s not a line we can cross; no one would accept it” you sigh heavily “We shouldn’t be friends, or anything else….we’re supposed to hate each other, remember?”

“Yes” he practically growls looking back up at you

“Then I guess you should go, it’s getting late”

“Don’t want to” he answers crankily stepping back towards you

“Len….” You begin but never get chance to finish

“Do you always do what you’re told?” he demands, his face millimetres from your own.

Your mind flashes back to that day at Star Labs, the last time he spoke those words; a days that feels like years ago. It took you all your strength to keep moving away from him then, but now you don’t feel that power now. You feel trapped under his gaze and under the feelings flowing through you heart.

“This is a bad idea” you whisper as Snart’s lips slowly descend towards yours

“Do you want me to stop?” He was so close you could feel his mouth lightly brush over yours as he spoke.

“No” the word had barely escaped your throat when Leonard’s mouth slammed against yours.

It was short but passionate, almost as if he was testing the waters. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at you. You glanced up into those crystal blue eyes and felt the world around you melt away. Any second thoughts you could have had disappeared the second you see him smiling down at you, a rare true smile.

You reached back up to his lips and pulled him into a kiss of your own. You moan against his mouth, he takes full advantage and slips his tongue to yours. He pulls away teasing you again in true Snart style

“Do you still want me to go?” you glare playfully at him and he can’t help but throw his head back and chuckle

His arms slid around your waist trying to get your bodies as close as humanly possible and took your mouth in his once more. This kiss was wet and needy and expressed every emotion you'd both felt over the past few weeks.

It was going to be hard, your lives should never collide but your feelings for one another, the undeniable pull you both felt couldn’t be denied any longer.

No doubt your friends would fight the relationship; no doubt the Rogues would too. You’d both cross that bridge when you came to it.

But you had a feeling it would be worth fighting for.

And maybe, just maybe this was a line you could cross after all.

Requested Tags

@love-me-91393, @vilolisun

[aveirasims]

Dead mesh links, life update and whatever

Hello~

Since I’m getting quite a few messages regarding dead mesh links, I just wanted to let you know, that I’m aware of it... but unfortunately there’s not much I can do about that. This blog and all of it’s content and posts are completely unsupported, and I don’t have plans to change that any time soon. I just don’t have the energy. If you stumble upon a link that should lead to a mesh but isn’t working anymore, see if the creator is still around and ask them nicely if they could send the mesh to you. Sorry for any inconveniences.

Some personal stuff (or more like venting), for everyone who’s been wondering how I’m doing, under the cut.

I wish I could say that I’m okay or that anything is working out well, but yeah... still not the case. There was a time, not too long ago, where I was actually happy, full of positive emotions, gratefulness, had plans to change my life and was looking forward to it... and all of that simply got ripped out of my hands. I’m (literally) still stuck in the same place I was before I realised that I was being numb and living in denial, just a hundred times worse because somehow this place has turned into my personal hellfire. I’m actually at a point where I think that this numb existence was a better way to live. Sure, I was never a really happy person, never made peace with myself or my past... but at least I didn’t fucking notice it. At least I didn’t feel like I was burning alive on a daily base. Fun fact: a year ago someone said to me “You’re the most positive person I’ve ever met.” That was only a couple of months after some... well, life changing things had been set in motion for me. But I couldn’t keep that positivity up. I really wanted to. I wanted to believe that everything has a reason, everything will work out, it’s gonna be fine, I’m finally getting what I always wanted... but instead of that, the same old story, that I never wanted to hear again, had been told once again and I feel like I’ve experienced way more loss than I can cope with. Not only the past 1,5 years but for all my life. I feel overwhelmed and trapped in my own mind. I was always kind of an expert in getting out. Out of my mind, out of my sadness, out of everything that went wrong. This time I can’t, no matter how hard I try and what I do, I just can’t. I know now, that I can survive everything, even the things that I’m scared of the most. The question is, do I want that? I mean, I want to live, of course - but that’s exactly what makes me so desperate, because at the moment it’s really nothing but surviving and my life how it is right now, the state that I’m in, is simply not worth living.  I’m like a prisoner of my own fears and anxiety. Even on some days where I’m not confronted with triggers, it can get so bad that I’m unable to do anything at all... paralizing. Then my need for control kicks in, which keeps me from sleeping or relaxing because I feel like if I go to sleep or stop thinking and worrying, my situation will get worse...  which is honestly the most ridiculous thing ever and I’m aware of that. But I haven’t been able to find a way to stop it. I even almost managed to destroy a friendship that is very precious to me with this “habit”... When it’s not my anxiety that’s getting the best of me, it’s depressions. Those days where instead of not sleeping I just can’t get out of bed. “Everything that made me so happy is gone now and it doesn’t come back, I can’t seem to find happiness in anything else, I don’t even have a cat anymore that needs to be fed, so why bother... for what?” After that it’s most of the time just devastating sadness and pain that follows and I just cry and cry and cry without any feeling of relieve... and when I’m finished with that, anger comes to the surface. About so many things. A few weeks ago I tried to get some help, cause obviously I need it, but that was just a complete disappointment to be honest. I was put on a higher dose of medication and so far it doesn’t do much. The doctor told me, that it can take a few more weeks until I notice any change... fingers crossed that he’s right, but I don’t have much hope for that. So, all in all I’d say I’m just fucking done. My own mind has become my enemy and I know that I have to keep going, and keep pushing through... but at the same time I’m done and I just want to lay down and be okay with being defeated. It’s not gonna happen, I’m not someone who gives up, but sometimes I really wish I was.

I hope that there’s still a little bit of light and sunshine and happiness left for me in this world and that I’ll be able to find it. One thing I’m really grateful for is that I have a few amazing people who still stick with me, despite of me being a mess. I guess that’s more than a lot of other people have... Also I’m sorry for this long, kinda depressing post... but from time to time it feels good to just let it all out (and I don’t have that personal blog anymore... this thing might have been one of the worst ideas I ever had, so I got rid of it). 

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 4 ~The Road Trip~

Jamie retreated to his own private thoughts as they drove further away. He must have surmised she needed the space and Claire appreciated the gesture. Looking out of her window, she watched the world move in a blur of green, blue and white, the hiss of the tyres lost under the pounding bass of music blasting from the speakers. Perhaps, though being left with her own ruminations wasn't the best of ideas as the full horror of what of she'd done sank in, the festering guilt making her want to throw up.

Better to talk about it, Claire. Too much thinking is bad for ye,  Geillis would have said with a soft cluck of disapproval. How many times had her friend said that leading to her wedding day when she'd been caught staring into space more often than not? She'd withdrawn to herself more and more and had snapped at people for noticing when she should have been a picture of happiness. Not one to beat around the bush, Joe had simply gone straight to the point and had asked her if she was having any second thoughts about marrying Frank. Of course, Claire had brushed off the insinuation as ridiculous, excusing her mood for fatigue from work and wedding jitters. Looking back, she must admit her friends were more perceptive than she gave them credit for. The signs must have been quite obvious, but it was only now she realised she had been living in denial, believing Frank was the love of her life. Not that it mattered anymore as there had been no love lost between her friends and Frank.

Chalking up the acid taste of guilt, she stole a glance at Jamie. Although she couldn't see his eyes hidden behind the dark sunglasses, his body language screamed confidence, forearm muscles flexing as he worked the steering wheel. He was clean-shaven today, revealing a well-defined jaw and angular cheekbone. Taking advantage of his full attention on the road, she allowed her eyes to drift, and it wasn't until when he hit the brake did she realised she was staring at his mouth like a charmed snake stares at a pocket watch. Mortified at nearly being caught, she snapped her head forward, mentally cursing herself for behaving like a lovesick loon. 

Oh, how Joe and Geillis would laugh when they find out her getaway sidekick was James Fraser of all people. She remembered how they used to tease her mercilessly about her infatuation with Jamie. Regardless of the attraction, she'd declined Joe's offer of an introduction, that practical side of her knowing already he was far out of reach. But, it hadn't stopped her from admiring him from afar. She'd loved his brilliance and skill on the rugby pitch and his enthusiasm for the game. She could only envision his countless hours of training, perfecting the craft, every manoeuvre from the opponent covered, every detail examined and re-examined. His fans had loved him, and so did the media. He oozed an effortless charm, whenever he'd spoken about his passion for the game, holding the audience's and interviewer's rapt attention. It was an impossibility not to admire him, cockiness and arrogance notwithstanding.

Unwittingly, the memory of their kiss slithered in, and she was unprepared for the rush of conflicting emotions it evoked. One would think that at her age of twenty-eight years, she would know all there is to know about kissing. Not that she had kissed many in her life. The first time had been with a co-student while she was in the university, but the onion-smelling kiss had made her gag and given her a cold sore days later. The unpleasant encounter almost put her off kissing forever, well at least for a few years.

Then Frank came along. He'd taught and guided her in the art of love. There had been the odd spark here and there, but it never entirely lit the fire. Whereas Frank's lips tasted of liquorice and old wine and felt loose and spongy, she had been surprised to find Jamie's lips sweet as honey with a hint of whisky, firm yet soft and his breath warm as pie. And when he'd kissed her back, it was like the whole world opened up, and she'd fallen inside. He appeared to have enjoyed it at that time, but she wasn't born yesterday. Inexperienced as she might be, she knew a kiss like that took a lot of practice to perfect. Knowing he'd never been short of women's attention, she wondered how many he'd kissed like that. A betting woman in her would presume, a thousand perhaps?

Oh for heaven's sake, why am I even contemplating about that kiss? It probably didn't mean anything to him.  Annoyed with herself for getting distracted at a time like this, she reined in her lascivious thoughts. She hadn't even figured out yet where she was laying her head tonight. Unfortunately, his presence buzzed around her like a fly that she could never swat, making her flustered with his every word, movement and breath.  Damn him for looking so good!  

She forced her focus on Frank and wondered how he was. They've only been on the road for forty-five minutes, and she was sure that by now, all their wedding guests already knew that she'd absconded. They were hardly going to think she was kidnapped when they find her engagement ring on the table and the window to her freedom open. 

"Are ye hungry?" Jamie asked as he pulled the car into the Mark and Spencers parking lot.

"Oh ..." So deep she was in her thoughts, she hadn't realised they'd left the motorway. "I haven't really thought about food to be honest." In fact, she hadn't even thought about any plans either. All of her belongings had been moved to Frank's apartment the other day. She had no money, except for a pricey Vera Wang wedding dress she was wearing that Frank had insisted on buying, despite her protest at such extravagance. "But I'd like some water please."

"Okay. What's yer shoe size?"

"Size six," she replied, too mentally exhausted to asked what he was up to.

"Stay here and keep the doors lock. I shan't be long."

Claire nodded and watched him walked into the store. He was oblivious to the stares that followed him, mostly from women admiring his tall and muscled physique and maybe a few fans who'd recognised him. 

She wondered why Jamie was helping her, and what he thought of her running away from her own wedding. Maybe he felt guilty for his behaviour at his nephew's party. Or perhaps he felt responsible because he had been the one to catch her when she fell from the window. 

One thing was certain, though, no matter what other people thought, she didn't regret fleeing, but she did feel self-reproach for leaving Frank at the altar. But why oh why did she have to take that moment of all moments to decide to leave him? She could have saved him the humiliation if she'd listened to her guts. But then again, wasn't it Frank who dampened that trait from her? Frank despised impulse and decisions based on emotions, and he'd drummed into her time and time again to make judgements base on rational thinking. But of course, knowing her luck, this had to be the day she chose to reassert her independence and reclaim her intuitive reasoning. She thought about her job in the surgical unit at the Royal Infirmary, where her entire career was carved out, and Frank was the Chief Consultant.  Oh, good, God! How is that going to even pan out when I return?

She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to soothe the headache that was beginning to bloom as more thoughts and images flooded in her head like a raging tsunami threatening to drown her.  What a bloody mess!

Moments passed, the door to her side opened, and Jamie thrust a bottle of mineral water at her. "Here, Sassenach, drink this first. Ye look like ye're about to pass out."

Grateful, she took the bottle from him and drank greedily. When she had her fill, she watched him load several plastic bags into the backseat. "May I borrow your phone? I need to call my friends. I'm worried about my uncle, and I-I left my phone at the church."

"I spoke to Joe already," he replied. Pushing his sunglasses on top of his head, he gingerly reached behind her and started to tug open the pearl buttons that ran down her back.

Startled, she slapped his wrist. "Wot in heaven's name do you think are you doing?" 

He jerked his chin toward the back seat. "I bought ye some clothes and shoes. I think ye'd be more comfortable in something less bulky." 

"Oh! Sorry ..." 

He nodded and gave her a tight smile. Up close, Claire studied his features and was surprised at how tensed he looked, as he resumed the task of unbuttoning her dress. This veritable ladies' man was trying hard not to look at her exposed shoulders but was failing miserably. Surely, she imagined it.

"So you spoke to Joe?" she asked, bringing her attention back to more crucial matters. Worry reared back up and nipped at her nerves as she waited for his answer.

"Aye. I told Joe everything that happened. He was baffled though when I told him ye were with me. So expect plenty of questions later," he answered, standing up and taking a step back once her dress was unfastened. 

"Did he mention my uncle?" Not bothering to go out through the door, she clambered between the front seats and wriggled her way to the back. "How is he?" She peered into the plastic bags and started rummaging through them. There were shirts, denim shorts, a pair of jeans, undergarments, slip-on trainers, and sandals. And snacks and beverages!  Wot the hell!

"Yer uncle Lamb, aye. He left the church immediately after he was informed that ye ran away. Apparently to celebrate at the pub. So yer uncle didnae approve of Frank?"

She couldn't help but smile despite the muddle that she was in. Her uncle Lamb thought Frank was too controlling and over-bearing.  Pompous ass,  he'd called him. "Well, my uncle didn't like him." Not wanting to speak ill of Frank, she instantly changed the subject. "And how about the guests and the press?" Clumsily, she tugged off her dress and quickly scrambled into jeans and t-shirt, yanking off price tags. The clothes were slightly too big, but definitely way better than walking around in a Vera Wang wedding dress.

"The guests were in shock as to be expected. But as soon as the press smelled blood, they stormed into the church. We were lucky to get out when we did." The thought of being photographed while running away from her wedding sent a shiver down her spine. "But dinna fash. Geillis is helping manage the guests and cancellations. It sounded like yer friends are happy to sort everything out for ye."

Relief coasted down her back, loosening her muscles. Finding a packet of makeup wipes in one the plastic bags, she scrubbed her face clean as if she was scrubbing the residue of that day's event. "And Frank?"   She squeezed her eyes shut and gulped a lungful of air. "Is Frank alright? Did Joe mention him?"

"Nae idea how he is. Joe said he disappeared into a room and haven't come out. I dinna think yer friends were that fussed about him. They were more worried about ye. Joe threatened to snip my bollocks off if I didnae treat ye right and Geillis shouted she would feed it to the stray dogs."

Typical Joe and Geillis!   "Joe is your mate, right? So why would he say such a thing?" Sifting through her hair, she worked out each of the pins that held her wild curls, and dug a small package of hair ties and scooped her tresses into a ponytail. Satisfied, she got out of the car.

A crease formed between his brows as he surveyed her. "Weel, it's a standing joke - I kinda have a reputation where the opposite sex is concerned. Maybe I've earned it."

"Don't believe everything you read in the newspaper about Jamie. Most are just tabloid nonsense."  She remembered Joe saying long ago.

Claire saw a flash of resignation on his face and something else, but it was quickly gone before she could decipher it. "I don't think Joe meant it that way, Jamie," she said softly.

"Aye? Ye think so?" 

"I know so. Joe had never spoken badly about you. Plus, you're not a joke. If it makes you feel better, I think I feel safe with you," she said, even though he looked like he wanted to spear-tackle someone to the ground. 

His lips quirked. "I can assure ye, ye're a hundred per cent safe with me, Dr Beauchamp." 

"Ah, so Joe told you I'm a doctor."

"He might have mentioned it." His face turned into a much deeper frown.

Looking down, she rubbed the palms of her hands along the sides of her jeans.  Maybe he's worried he bought the wrong size.  "Don't worry about them being too big. I wear a lot of baggy clothes all the time."

He shook his head and took a step forward, tilting her chin up. "Frank ... he didnae hurt ye, did he?"

The warm air suddenly turned cold, and her heart faltered. She understood what the question implied. "Jamie. I appreciate everything that you're doing here. Truly, I do. But now's not the time. I'd rather not talk about Frank." 

Jamie remained silent and didn't budge, clearly he was waiting for an answer. She certainly didn't owe him one, but he didn't look like he was about to give up that easily. Sighing and too exhausted to argue, she threw her hands up in the air. "Look it didn't work out between us. And I was too much of a coward to tell him. But he didn't hurt me physically, alright?" 

He didn't look convinced, but she wasn't in the mood to explain. Turning away from his deepening scowl, she made a move towards the front seat. But  Jamie's hand appeared above her head and smacked down to stop her from getting in. "Hang on a minute, Sassenach. We're not done yet."

Claire spun around to find him standing too close. "Wot?"

His cheek twitched twice, and he licked his lips. "Listen. About the other day in Lallybroch, I'd like to apologise. As my younger brother said, I acted like a self-entitled prick waving that hundred-pound note in yer face." The sincerity in his eyes captured her still. "I'm verra sorry."

Bewilderment slipped in. "You don't need to apologise, Jamie. You've redeemed yourself a thousandfold. Those things you bought for me and calling my friends and checking up on uncle Lamb...you thought of everything. I don't think I could have managed on my own. Not to mention, you saved my life."

Jamie stood back and crossed his arms, a vein popping out at the side of his neck. "But I'm not sorry that the kiss happened."

Caught unaware by Jamie's admission, Claire didn't know where to adjust her focus. One minute he was thoughtful and attentive, and then self-effacing and apologetic the next. And now of all times, when life was not making sense, he just had to mention the kiss.  Damn him!  She felt her temper simmer on the surface, but with not much battery life left in her brain, she bit her tongue. As a doctor, she knew, that a certain level of tiredness could equate to momentary insanity and having a meltdown now in a public car park would only draw unwanted attention. 

"I think we should go," she said hoarsely. It took a mammoth effort to turn away from Jamie's scrutiny, but she managed to get into her seat without any more further hindrances. 

Suddenly conscious of time and place, he cleared his throat and headed for the driver's seat. "Aye. It's getting late."

"Where are we going?" she asked, as soon as he got in.

"Cullen. It's a village in Moray on the northeast coast. My godfather, Murtagh, has a cottage on a clifftop by the seaside. He's in France at the moment. We'll stay there until the news dies down and you figure out what you want to do next," he replied, as he reversed the car from the parking lot.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to that moment. She was too worn and empty. With a sigh, she resigned herself to letting Jamie take care of things, for now. Tomorrow, with a clearer head, she'd make decisions and clean up the mess she made.

Once on the road, they drove in silence for the rest of the way, as they headed further north, eating up the miles. She was asleep by the time they reached their destination.

Too groggy to appreciate her surroundings, she allowed Jamie to guide her to the cottage and into her room. He muttered something about going to the shop and getting some rest before leaving her on her own. 

Once she was alone, she walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. She stared at the mirror and what she saw, shocked her. Her usual vivid amber eyes were vacant. The spark had died, and only a dull light reflected back at her.  How did this happen?  She'd always been driven and goal-oriented but basically happy. It's true, she worked long hours and took on a lot of responsibilities, always wanting to help, to heal and to comfort. She'd never stopped craving for knowledge beyond her profession, pushing to educate herself further. But over the past year, all she experienced was paralysing fear. The fear of knowing she wasn't good enough. Not good enough for Frank. Not for the world. Not even for herself.

Painful memories of Frank's words seeped into her heart and reverberated in her head.

Claire, must you wear those clothes? You look pudgy around the hips in it.

Aw, darling, I know you try your best, but this is just beyond your understanding. Here, let me handle things for you.

Sweetheart, you're a doctor now. Pick a hobby that isn't remotely childish.

Claire, stop cussing. You're embarrassing me in front of my friends.

Listen, dear. We're attending an important charity event here and not a circus. Please do something about those wayward curls.

Sweetheart, if you really love me, you'll suck my dick. No ...not like that, dear. A little bit more teeth.

Are you sure you want that dessert, darling?

You call this a steak? I'd be too embarrassed to serve this to a dog. Maybe you should attend a culinary school. 

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and then she turned away from the mirror. Turning off the light, Claire went to bed.