#i won’t hear another argument. you are simply wrong.

[thewingedwolf]

“boros had nothing against women”

i’m gonna shit in this man’s shoes, and also criston’s, alicent’s, otto’s, aegon’s, aemond’s, and especially viserys’

[di-writes-stuff]

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

[nochukoo97]

when you get into an argument

main work | masterlist

pairing: boxer!jungkook x boxer!reader

wc: 1.5k+

“You’re in a match against who?” An exasperated gasp leaves your mouth upon hearing the name of a particular person.

“Eunwoo,” Jungkook leans forward to put down his cup, before facing you on the couch, “Got set up with him again,”

“He’s going to be harder on you considering you beat him in the last match though,” You mutter, voice quieting down as you notice Jungkook frowning at you.

“Are you doubting me?” He hums, not breaking eye contact as you shake your head, stretching out your legs to lay them on his lap.

His hands automatically stroke over the soft skin of your legs, noticing you were a little colder than usual, so he reaches for the blanket laid on the couch and covers your legs.

“No,” You tell him honestly, you’ve never doubted Jungkook’s strength once, “I’m just saying he could poke you in the wrong way-”

“I’ll be fine, ___,” He sighs, cutting you off abruptly as you now frown at him, feeling the tensions rising already.

“Okay,” You hum, shrugging as you curl your legs against your body, removing the weight that once was on your boyfriend’s lap.

“I won’t do anything bad, I promise,” He tells you softly now, sensing you were still unsure about this whole thing. To be fair, Jungkook only wanted another match with Eunwoo to prove once again that he could beat the guy, since Eunwoo had been constantly asking for a rematch, claiming he would take Jungkook down. Who was he to not accept the offer?

“But you know what almost happened last time,” You sigh, leaning your head back onto the arm rest of the couch as you stretch.

“I’m not a kid, I can handle him fine,” His voice grows with frustration, maybe even a hint of annoyance, “Anyways I’ll win him this time again, it doesn’t matter what he says, I know my strengths,”

“I didn’t say you were being a kid, I meant that you know too how Eunwoo can be,” You wince slightly thinking about the guy, “He knows how to annoy his opponents through words and won’t back down,”

“I know him, he’s my opponent, I’ve played against him for years now, so I don’t know why you’re the one telling me about him,” Jungkook’s voice raises ever so slightly, as you simply nod, deciding it was better to not say anything further, the tension in the room had been already so suffocating, you didn’t want to fight with your boyfriend.

“___, you know what I mean,” He sighs, his voice slightly softer this time, but you don’t give him much of a reply.

Jungkook only gets another hum from you as he watches you open up your book, diverting your attention away from him.

-

“You got everything?” You call out from the kitchen, quickly packing up a small lunch for Jungkook to take with him.

“Yeah, thanks baby,” He shuffles into the kitchen, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as you hand him the lunchbox, patting his shoulder.

You couldn’t attend his match since you had an online lecture to attend, juggling school and boxing was definitely not an easy task, but you somehow managed to get through everyday fine.

Your unresolved conflict was still in the back of your mind, his too. You weren’t going to lie, you could still feel the tension from him, the way he only pecked your forehead instead of giving you a proper kiss, the way he didn’t hug you this morning, instead mumbling a quick “morning,”.

Your heart aches a little as you watch him walk out the door, maybe you shouldn’t have expected him to walk back to you to give you a proper goodbye, his goodluck kiss before a match.

-

You should be laughing right now at how predictable the outcome was. Here you are, on the phone with Jungkook’s manager as you quickly gather up your stuff, grabbing your car keys as you head out the door.

“___, I swear you have to pick him up right now,”

“Exactly what did he do?” Your panting, from running all over the house trying to fetch your belongings before running to your car.

“I’m not sure, they broke out in a fight in the preparation room, no one was there until I walked in, but he definitely has a scratch on his face,” You hear his manager sigh over the phone, probably expecting this to happen as well.

“I’m on my way, I gotta hang up now,” You press the end call button and start your car, trying your best to keep within the speed limit as you rush over.

-

When you open the door that has Jungkook’s name labeled on it, you’re met with him sitting on the couch and staring at his shoes, as if he knew you were coming.

“Pack up your things,” Your voice is monotonous as you tell him, not walking further into the room as you stand at the doorway, watching as he scrambles to pick up his bag and gloves.

You seriously don’t want to be mad at him, not after his fight got called off, meaning that he would have lost a ton of money betting on him. But the fact that the both of you had gotten into an argument about this happening, it just fueled your frustrations further, not to mention the fact that you may get a very upset email from your lecturer later for suddenly leaving the online class.

The walk to the car is silent, too silent for Jungkook’s liking. To be fair, it was his fault for walking on thin ice with Eunwoo, maybe he did throw in an insult or two, but he definitely did not expect Eunwoo to throw in a punch after calling the guy weak.

You get in the driver’s seat of the car, not bothering to glance at your boyfriend once as he sits in the passenger seat, head tilted towards you, waiting for your next move.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook breaks the silence first. It’s almost insane how wobbly and quiet his voice has gotten, considering it’s the same man who does boxing for a living.

A scoff leaves your mouth as you turn to him, clearly upset that you had to leave mid-lecture to pick your boyfriend up, for what? For punching his opponent because of their long rivalry with each other.

“You think? I told you already, it wasn’t a good idea, and you told me you wouldn’t do anything!” Your voice raises slightly as you cross your arms, waiting for his reply.

“I didn’t start it, he hit me first,” Jungkook tells you, his tone suggesting he had not fully understood why you were so upset right now.

“Jungkook,” You deadpan, he winces at the lack of a pet name. “You don’t get it? Even if he hits you, you don’t hit back! You’re not in the ring for goodness sake, if word goes out that you retaliated back at him, do you even know how much risk your career would be at?”

He lowers his head, keeping silent. You were right, he knew you were upset for a valid reason.

“I know it’s hard not to retaliate back, but it’s the one thing you need to do, to not punch the guy back! It just goes to show that the both of you aren’t thinking straight, I thought at least you would be sensible enough not to retaliate,” You sigh, starting the car without waiting for his reply.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, only stares out the window as the both of you drive home in silence. His heart ached a little at your harsh yet true words, all he could do was sit in regret and hope that you would not stay mad at him for long.

-

When you pull into the car park and park the car, Jungkook waits for you to say something. The silence is killing him. But you simply grab your bag and shut the car door, not waiting for him to get out.

He flinches slightly at the car door shutting a little louder than usual, watching as you walk towards the lift lobby of your shared apartment, he quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and rushes to catch up.

“I’m really sorry,” He whispers, slightly glossy eyes staring straight at you, but you don’t look back at him.

“You don’t need to be sorry to me Jungkook, I just warned you about this happening and you insisted it won’t, yet here we are,” You huff, walking out the lift as it opens.

Fuck, he messed up big time. Jungkook wants to turn back time, to maybe have listened to you carefully and not say such harsh words when this was where he ended up. He had never seen you so mad before, so mad at him, to be specific.

He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. He watches as you walk into the kitchen to reheat tonight’s dinner, but his heart pounds in his chest, his heart aches as he watches you grow in frustration when the microwave’s buttons falter. Jungkook is dying to help you, but he’s afraid, afraid that you’re too mad at him to even be around him.

taglist: @sparklingocean @idkjustlovingbts @moonstar127 @babybella337 @ane102 @synnfulqt

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

More Nimona headcanons because these dorks have taken over my brain

I feel like Nimona tried really hard to hate Ambrosius

The first month they knew each other Nimona tried so hard to antagonize him and poke fun at him and remind him of the shit he’s done wrong 

But it’s kind of hard to hate someone who’s slow to anger and quick to forgive 

Reminding someone of their past mistakes with the intent to hurt them kind of stops being fun when the person is constantly aware of their mistakes 

And owns up to them without making excuses and is constantly trying to undo the damage their mistakes caused  

After a while, he grows on her and she starts to trust him and in return he trusts her

This one is based heavily on me and my best friends 

Nimona and Ambrosius will talk shit loudly in public 

They won’t use code names and if they don’t know the person they’ll start describing them like “Did you see that dude in the yellow shirt? He just pushed that kid out of line what a dick!”

They won't check to see if the person is out of earshot either they simply don't give a fuck

And this gives Bal so much fucking anxiety enough that he starts pleading with them to stop

You hear them going off about something and Bal saying “Ambrosius love hun sunshine I’m begging you to keep your voice down” 

���Nim Nimona starlight hi I would like to remind you that they’re still behind us and I don’t want to explain to Ambrosius why you’ve gotten into another fight this week so please stop” 

To which Nimona responds with “Tell him he’ll probably laugh”

Whenever Nimona and Ambrosius want to rant they rant to each other 

Because Bal is the type of person to give advice in the middle of a rant 

Talking some “If you explain this to them in a calm and compassionate manner I’m sure they’ll stop”

And while that's excellent advice sometimes you just want to scream your most unhinged thoughts at someone 

And they never judge each other either 

Nimona can look Ambrosius dead in the eyes and go “Have you ever gotten so angry during an argument that you’ve considered lighting their car on fire?” 

And Ambrosius won't even think about it he’ll respond immediately with a “Who hasn't?” while Bal slowly backs out of the room and silently vows to hide his car the next time they fight 

Whenever Ambrosius comes home from a stressful day at work he just walks into the house and lets out the most dramatic drawn out sigh 

And whenever Nimona hears that noise they’ll run to the living room and sit on the couch patiently waiting for their daily rant session 

Whenever Nimona gets home and wants to rant he’ll walk around until he finds Ambrosius

And if he can't find him he’ll sit by Bal and stew in his anger while he waits for him to come home 

He can't even take one step through the door without Nimona saying something like “How dare you make me wait” 

And Ambrosius will always respond with something like “Oh I’m so sorry firecracker it’ll never happen again”

And encourage them to tell him the information they’ve been patiently waiting to spill

Bal doesn’t rant unless he’s literally at the end of his rope

Like you have to royally screw him over for him to go home and rant to his family 

When he finally rants to them they don’t make a big deal out of it 

But they do however try their best to take care of him without raising his suspicions 

Nimona will conveniently make Bal’s favorite dinner 

Ambrosius will just so happen to pick up his favorite dessert on his way home (cause they both know the signs of a Bal rant and they plan accordingly) 

They listen to his rant and let him eat his favorite food in peace while they play his favorite movies 

You know real wholesome shit 

All the while they’re coming up with plans in their head to destroy this person's life

[rivangel]

Hello! Hope you're doing well 🫂 I was wondering, do you think Levi would be the type to let his s/o go to bed upset? What would he do if his s/o just got up and left the room, or house actually, after an argument? Or they sleep on the couch? If they started to cry during an argument or asked for space, what would he do?

And, and, How would Levi deal with an s/o that gives the silent treatment or just straight up avoids him like the plague after an argument?

I hope my questions don't overwhelm you😅 I just had many things come to my mind all at once and I didn't want to forget to ask them later. I'd love to hear your thoughts! I think you talk about Levi and explain him and his weird self the best, heh. And thank you!

Have a good day/night🤍

hiii! >-< dw i love to talk about levi☺️☺️and thanks :'))

here's a question i answered that will help answer this :)) but i'm going to revamp it and add on.

disclaimer, my take is probably controversial because i think i hc (canonverse) levi as a lot more flawed than some other people do, but it makes sense to me🧍🏻i see him as really inexperienced/bad at relationships, so he can mess up if he doesn’t know better.

Levi doesn’t yell, or ever “lose control”: he’s passive aggressive when he’s angry, and he’s in complete control of himself the whole time. (he can be cruel in arguments with others also?? but not his partner.)

but, he’s also someone who doesn’t mind being wrong, and going with your best judgment/giving in. he’s deeply empathetic and would understand the feelings in your side anyway.

but REALLY, he prefers to avoid personal conflict whenever possible because he doesn’t want to lose a loved one, even if it can be argued that he’s in the right.

1: he would let his partner go to bed upset if he didn’t think there was a way to solve the conflict asap. there’s something he truly can’t stand about going your separate ways - so to speak - before a fight is over (abandonment issues :P), but it’s not productive to force a solution.

he won’t be sleeping, though. he’s up probably the whole night thinking of what to do, and how to solve things.

2: you leaving the room after an argument is a lotttt different than you leaving the house. first: one of his major vices is his propensity to be petty, and cover up the distress he feels with aggravation. if they abruptly left the room to cool off, if he didn’t know any better, he’d take this as a challenge. (subconsciously, i think it’s a matter of never having his needs met when he was a kid, and so when you leave, which he’s also accustomed to, he’s conditioned to follow you and make you even more angry so that you know he’s angry, with the explicit goal of getting back at you - because he��s hurt.) he’d probably end up reigniting the argument by accident.

if you left the house, well… Levi’s the type of person who - especially if he’s mad - thinks you can “fuck off” for all he cares, but that REALLY doesn’t last long. soon he’s uncontrollably fixating on the feeling that you’ve abandoned him, or at least you would rather abandon him than argue with him. pretty unequivocally, if you did this he would agree to almost anything when you come back. (please don’t do that!!) (at least tell him where you’re going!!) (communicate better!!)

3: if you volunteered to sleep on the couch, Levi would simply get you to take the bed :s even if this starts another spat, you are the one who gets the comfortable bed. if you somehow manage to be more stubborn than him (props to you), Levi would rather sleep on the bedroom floor. or again, not sleep.

4: if you started to cry during an argument, he wouldn’t really know what to do except be quiet, but he’d instantly feel horrible. again, he really hates arguing, so he’d stop, and sit down to maybe get you to do the same.

if you ask for space, i think it depends on the nature of the argument, but he will. again, he doesn’t like arguing at all :/

5: avoiding/silent treatment is pretty much Levi’s go-to, so someone’s going to have to break the stalemate and he is as stubborn as a mule, so good luck. i can see him taking it as far as it needs to, with the defense that you’re being immature while he’s literally being just as immature. (please communicate.)

| more Levi |

[hazywrites]

Bucky I’m In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are hopelessly in love with your best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and it's clear he feels something for you, too. So between stolen kisses and hookups, drunken calls and flirty banter, why can't you talk about it? What even is "it"?

Warnings: Light angst, an argument, all is resolved

Words: 5,090

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744/chapters/121858312

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes: Hi, my loves! This chapter is a little longer than the last one, and a little angstier, though I always try to wrap things up on a happy note. Please let me know what you all think! I love you and thank you for reading!

“Did you tell Bucky?” Were the first words to spill out of Nat’s mouth as she came rushing into your room. Wanda shot you a sympathetic look from where she was sat, cross-legged, at the end of your bed.

“No,” you replied with a resolved pout. “He didn’t text me all day. He doesn’t get to know. He can find out when he sees me next and wonder why he was left out of the loop.”

“Nice to know we’re being mature about this.” Wanda’s words were drowned out as Nat spoke over her.

“Let’s sign your cast.” You nodded towards your desk where a pencil case brimming with art supplies sat unzipped. An assortment of colored Sharpies overflowed from it. Nat went for classic black, tossing Wanda a red one. After they finished, Nat sat next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “If you really want to make him jealous, get another guy to sign it first.”

“Another guy?” You blinked. “I don’t know any other guys. I mean, I do, but my guy friends are nerds; Bucky won’t be jealous of them.”

“Get Loki to do it,” Nat squealed delightedly. You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at her turpitude. Bucky was close with Thor but he absolutely despised his younger brother. But you couldn’t go that far. Bucky never talked to people you hated; you wanted to reciprocate that respect. He was your friend, first, after all. You were about to protest the idea when Wanda spoke up.

“And Erik downstairs. Bucky definitely noticed the way he eyes you up. He’s always calling the guy a cornball and looking for reasons to dislike him,” she added.

“Wanda!” You scolded, not at all surprised to hear Nat talking like this but very shocked indeed to hear it coming from your most rational friend. She simply grinned bashfully in response.

“He hasn’t texted you all day,” Wanda reminded you. “Nothing wrong with reminding him how steep the competition is out here.

“I wouldn’t want him to remind me how steep the competition is,” you argued. Nat waved her hand dismissively.

“But if he does it, he’s a douchebag because he knows you two would’ve been in a relationship already if it were up to you. He’s the one who ‘needs time’, so you can show him that if he doesn’t step up, another guy will!”

“Somehow, I don’t think Bucky is that insecure. He’d just say something like ‘if that’s what you want, then that’s that’ and never talk to me again.”

“Oh, I forgot you two love playing the emotionally mature game.” Nat wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “But if we go out tonight and you just happen to run into Erik and Loki before Bucky texts you, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.” You groaned in response.

“I just ate shit on the way home from class and spent the last three hours in an emergency room. I do not feel like going out tonight.”

“And is the alternative sitting in bed, eating peanut butter cups and complaining about how much your arm hurts and how Bucky hasn’t texted you back?” Wanda asked pointedly. You shot her a death glare.

“Maybe the peanut butter cups will keep him at bay. He is allergic,” you mused.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry; I do not want to deal with pouty Y/N right now. Get dressed and put on your best sad, wounded puppy look,” Nat said. She eyed you for a second. “Yeah, just like that.” You groaned loudly in response, only growing louder as she stood up and made her way to your closet, flipping through your dresses.

You’d settled on a strapless emerald green mini dress and black boots, which Wanda helped you into as Nat did your hair and makeup. Since you couldn’t exactly put anything on over your sling, your jacket hung over your shoulders. You wanted to complain more, but the girls were right. You’d be in pain either way. Might as well distract yourself from it, both physically and emotionally.

You were heading downstairs when Nat slowed you all to a stop in the hallway.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” She asked, louder than necessary. You hid your face behind your hand as you realized what she was doing. “Oh, Y/N, you poor thing. Wanda, will you help Y/N with her jacket?” Her speaking volume raised each time she said your name, making your face flush in humiliation, especially as the door to the apartment you’d stopped in front of slowly swung open, revealing a curious-looking Erik.

“Y/N? I thought I heard your name,” he said.

“A wonder how that came to be,” you mumbled under your breath. His eyes fell on your cast.

“What happened to you? Are you okay?” Concern laced his voice.

“I’m just clumsy,” you conceded with a tight smile. “I tripped reading on my way out of the library. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, his fingers ghosting your arm as he stared down at you intensely. “I thought someone hurt you; I’d have to teach them a lesson.” He gave you a crooked smile as he said it, gazing into your eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted Nat’s triumphant grin, as Wanda had the decency to pretend to be reading a job posting stapled to the community corkboard. Jesus, Bucky was right, you couldn’t help but think. This guy really is a cornball. “Oh, hey, they signed your cast. Why don’t I add my name to it?”

“Luckily,” Nat interjected, “I happen to have brought some Sharpies. What color would you like?”

“How about gold?” Erik asked, flashing his bright, picture perfect smile. You watched Nat grow a little flustered as she handed him the marker. Of course he would pick gold, you thought to yourself. “Where are you guys headed?” Erik asked as he finished signing your cast, finally taking in your outfits. Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“We’re just—“

“Late, we are running late,” you interrupted, ushering her away with your good hand. “Nice seeing you Erik, see you around!” You called as Wanda held the door open for you all to step outside, leaving a confused Erik still standing in his doorway.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Nat said into the evening air as the door shut behind you.

“Take away,” you sighed as you began walking to the bar where Wanda swore she’d seen Loki on Snap Map. “You know this is borderline stalking,” you reminded her.

“It is public information,” she clarified. “And we got to speak to my bachelor, so we’re doing Nat’s next!”

“It’s like the world’s shittiest game show,” you lamented. “All the douchebags and no cash prize.”

“The prize,” Wanda reminded you, “will be Bucky seeing how many men will happily take his place and be your shoulder to cry on if he ever pulls a disappearing act like he did today.” You couldn’t help but smirk at her overprotectiveness. You knew Bucky most likely got caught up in a game of pick-up basketball or was busy with schoolwork, but you couldn’t help the chip on your shoulder that you’d broken your arm and he wasn’t around to help you. So much for best friends, you thought bitterly.

You spotted Loki almost immediately after entering the bar. He was leaning against a pool table, laughing at something his friends were saying when he caught your eye. You turned to notice that Nat and Wanda had already made themselves scarce, heading to the bar to get you drinks.

“Y/N,” Loki greeted as he strutted towards you, his eyes flitting down briefly to take in the sling. “Don’t you look worse for wear.”

“Gee, thanks, Loki,” you rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“You look beautiful as ever, darling, I was merely referring to the little nylon accessory you’re currently sporting.” You sighed.

“I may be beauty but I am not grace. I tripped coming out of the library.” Unlike Erik’s concerned reaction, Loki merely tilted his head back in a roaring laugh, a sound that irritated you to your core like proverbial nails on a chalkboard.

“Perhaps not grace, but the phrase ‘beauty and brains’ does come to mind,” he conceded. He gestured towards the pool table. “I’d offer for you to join me but it seems you are out of commission for the time being.”

“I’ll watch,” you said, resignedly, leaning on a nearby pool table. You watched him play for a minute before Nat and Wanda returned, Malibu bay breeze in hand. You smiled gratefully as you sipped the drink down. Loki greeted them both in turn as he made his shot before finally looking up from his game and leaning on the table next to you. For a moment neither of you said anything.

“So,” he finally spoke. “No Buckley today?”

“Bucky,” you corrected him, his answering shrug confirming your suspicion that he already knew your best friend’s name. “And no. We haven’t spoken today.” Loki hummed in response, his expression calculating as he took in the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Despite your recent injury,” he noted.

“I mean, I didn’t exactly text him about it,” you admitted.

“You’re still upset. Why is that, if you haven’t even given him a chance to show up for you?”

“Because,” you sighed. “I shouldn’t have to. He doesn’t ask me to show up for him, I just do it. A little reciprocity would be nice.” He hummed in response.

“You know, Y/N, not everyone shows their affection the same way you do. Just because Bucky doesn’t speak your love language, doesn’t mean he isn’t speaking his own.”

“He doesn’t speak any love language,” you scoffed. Loki’s index finger and thumb touched your chin, just for a moment, as he tilted your face up to look into his eyes. His fingers were off you just as quickly as he chose his next words.

“Listen, love. You know I think I could make you much happier than that joker ever could.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he shot you a silencing look before continuing. “And I know that there is no room in your heart for anyone besides him. But ask yourself. When is the last time he spoke to someone for this long? His reputation precedes him, you know. But with you, it’s different. You’re not a fling. Maybe he’s taking his time with you because he thinks you’re worth taking things slowly with. And maybe each time he distances himself, he’s trying to stop this from burning out too soon because he’s decided he wants you around for a long time.” You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment as he stood up and stretched, cue stick in hand. “I mean, what do I know? The guy’s an idiot. If you were my girl, I’d show you off to the entire city. And take you on a date that isn’t sneaking into AMC to see The Batman for free for the tenth time.” He shot you a smirk. “Though I suspect you enjoy that. So how about you hand me a Sharpie and I can sign that cast of yours to make him jealous, and you can head over to his apartment?”

“How did you know?” You laughed.

“Your two best friends and Erik Killmonger? Please, darling. Discreet is not your strong suit. Seeing as gold has been taken, why don’t you hand me the green one to match that pretty little dress of yours?”

The walk back to Bucky’s apartment was contemplative for you. You ran into Peter and MJ coming out of a restaurant with Tony and Pepper along the way, so you were grateful for a few more signatures from your friends to hide your stupid, embarrassing scheme. Wanda and Nat finally left you at the door to the brownstone Bucky and his roommates shared. With your good hand, you knocked shakily. It was Steve who answered.

“Y/N? What happened to you?” He asked as he took in your arm.

“Being clumsy, as usual,” you replied, peeking past him. “Is Bucky home?”

“Yeah, he’s in his room, come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you in first before closing the door behind you. You greeted Thor and Sam playing 2K on the living room floor, brushing off their concern. Before you could make it to Bucky’s room, he came out. His hair was wet from a shower and he was wearing plaid pajama pants and the Christmas t-shirt he always wore to bed. His already plump pink lips were settled in a confused pout.

“Y/N?” He asked, his eyes dancing over your frame before making their way back to your face.

“Hey, Buck.”

“You tried to breathe and walk at the same time again?” He asked teasingly. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

“Oh, this? I fell off a cellphone tower. I thought perhaps I wasn’t getting any bars since you haven’t texted me all day.” You shot back. It was semi-playful but laced with something else.

“Phone works both ways,” he reminded you in his smart-ass tone. Oh, he was upset. But why? You wondered. He hadn’t even seen the signatures yet. “I’ve been waiting for a text from you,” he confessed, opening the door to his bedroom and leaning back against it as you walked in. He joined you in sitting at the edge of his bed and brushed your jacket off your shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?” He asked as he touched your arm gently, inspecting the injury. His eyebrows shot up as he read the signatures and you felt your face flush. “Looks like you’ve been in good hands, at least.” It was hard to miss the iciness in his tone.

“Not like you care,” you grumbled. A look flashed across his face that you couldn’t mistake for anything but anger.

“I don’t care?” He asked disbelievingly.

“I didn’t mean that, I…” you trailed off unsurely.

“So what did you mean, Y/N? Besides putting words in my mouth?”

“I don’t know, I… You didn’t text me all day.”

“Yeah, because I was busy with shit. And you didn’t text me either. But you had time to have half of New York sign your cast,” he scoffed. Shit. This was a bad idea, jealousy was such a negative emotion. Why did you let Nat and Wanda talk you into this?

“Half of New York would’ve signed my cast whether you showed up for me or not, Bucky,” you cried. “I have friends, you know. I don’t just sit around waiting for you all day.” Such a lie. Yes, you did.

“I never said you did,” Bucky raised his voice to match yours. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just,” you sighed. “I just want you to show up for me.”

“All this because I didn’t text you for one day? The phone works both ways, Y/N.”

“No, not just today. I mean. Like, you ice me out. We spend the night together and you get all cold and distant after. We’re friends and then we’re more than friends but it’s always on your terms. Anytime we get too close, you push me away again.” You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you spoke despite how much you willed yourself not to cry.

“I need time, Y/N, I told you this,” he replied. His tone was even but his eyebrows were knotted together in frustration.

“Yeah, I know, but what about what I need? Reassurance. Affection. I’m not a sex doll, you know.”

“I never said you are.”

“I know you didn’t. But I feel like one. You hate when I say we’re just friends but the only time you’re intimate with me outside of that is sex.”

“So you don’t want to have sex anymore,” he concluded, the corners of his pouty lips twitching into a frown.

“No, Bucky, I want to have sex but I want more than that, don’t you get it?”

“And I’m telling you I need time. Y/N, please. I would’ve showed up for you today if you asked. I would’ve taken you to the E.R. I would’ve signed your cast first. If you texted me.”

“I…” you started, cutting yourself off with a sigh after a moment. “I know. I don’t know what I was trying to prove,” you admitted quietly.

“C’mere. Let me get you out of that dress. Which shirt do you want to wear?” He asked.

“That one,” you nodded towards the one he was wearing.

“Of course. Couldn’t make it easy for me,” he shook his head with a slight smile and pulled the shirt over his head in one swift motion. You couldn’t help but blush at the sight of his naked torso and look away even though it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. His motions were gentle and slow, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he helped you dress. Soon you were laid up in nothing but his Christmas tee and your panties, and Bucky remained shirtless in his pajama pants at your side.

“Where is it?” He finally asked.

“Where is what?” You replied in question, confusion lacing your tone. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“My Sharpie,” he answered. You felt your face flush as he shot you a triumphant smirk.

“It’s in my jacket pocket,” you admitted. He fished it out, signing the available spot on your hand in bright orange. His favorite color. The signature was unnecessarily big, and he finished with a heart. You shot him a smile and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it before I turn it into a butt,” he warned. You giggled and nodded your agreement, your mind racing with things to say but none of them seeming like enough.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you breathed into the dark room after a while.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” his sleepy voice mumbled in reply. His soft snores filled the room only moments after.

[joes-sha-la-la-la-girl]

Love Bites: Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

Two months passed by slowly for Y/N as she couldn’t wait to go on tour. Ultraviolet celebrated Christmas and New Year together, having a good time drinking and just being boisterous.

Finally the time had come for the tour to start. Doug has been begging to go with them since ‘Rock of Ages’ was filmed but Y/N put her foot down. She remembered the disastrous conversation that ended the discussion.

*

“Doug for the last time, why would you want to come on tour?” Y/N asked as she ran a hand through her hair.

“To spend time with my girlfriend, is that too much to ask?”

“Doug we’ve been over this.” Y/N groaned.

“And it seems that we have to go over it again. I should come with you.”

“What about all your complaining about lack of money. You are the one who is insistent that I get a ‘real job’ yet you are more than happy to quit yours. What will we do for money then?” Y/N had to admit that maybe it was wrong of her to pull that card but for the last month and a half Doug had been going on at her about joining on tour. Nobody else’s partner would be joining and Ultraviolet simply couldn’t afford the extra expense of another person.

That and she didn’t want him there. She wanted to enjoy this time and not have another repeat of the night in the pub after their show. Y/N dread to think what Def Leppard really thought of her after Doug’s little performance then.

“Fine. You probably don’t want me there so you can fuck whoever you want.” Doug spat at her and with that he turned around and stormed off.

*

Doug hadn’t mentioned anything about joining her on tour again, but passive aggressive comments were made, making Y/N countdown the days until she would leave. Of course to start with they would be in between the UK and Europe and in the middle of March they would be going to America until the end of June.

The day they had to leave, Doug was barely talking to Y/N. He seemed to still have a chip on his shoulder and Y/N wasn’t going to do anything to cause an argument. She was too excited for that. 

She double checked that she had everything packed and sat all her bags by the front door. Benji would be coming by to pick her up for the first venue along with his girlfriend. They had to be early to sort out their luggage. Doug had said nothing about seeing her off, which made her relax a little bit. At least she wouldn’t have to risk a scene in public, or in front of Def Leppard.

“I’m now off.” Y/N called as she saw Benji pull in outside. She didn’t get a response and sighed to herself as she went to go find Doug. He sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea. It was obvious that he could hear her shout for him.

“I’m going now.” She told him as he continued to look away from her.

“I heard.”

“Fine. I’ll see you in a few months then. With that she made her way to the front door and collected her bags. Doug had followed and stood a few steps behind her. 

“You’ll call won’t you?” Doug asked her, causing her to turn around. If Y/N didn’t know him as well as she did then she might have thought he cared. But she knew that he only wanted to keep checking up on her. To keep the peace she nodded her head and opened the front door.

No more words were shared between the two as Y/N picked up her bags and made her way to Benji’s car.

“He let you come then?” Benji spoke as soon as she shut the door.

“Reluctantly, yes.”

That was all that was said on the matter. 

*

When they got to the venue, Y/N and Benji were met with Tammy and Johnny who had come together. The aura of excitement that surrounded the four was thick as they waited to put their bags on the bus they would be using. It was nothing fancy but enough for the four of them.

Y/N heard a commotion coming from behind her, where the five Leppards were making their way towards them, all of them displaying the same energy as Ultraviolet. 

“Are we all ready?” Joe asked as he clapped his hands together. Everyone cheered like a bunch of children, earning odd looks from the venue staff. Peter Mensch and Ultraviolet’s manager Gavin came up to the group, smiles on their faces. 

“It’s great to see you all getting along so well. You will all be spending a lot of time together over the next few months.” Peter told them all as he looked at Gavin.

“So if Y/N, Tammy, Johnny and Benji want to come with me and we’ll sort your bags out then go to soundcheck.” Gavin looked in between the people he was talking to. Y/N could feel the adrenaline build up inside of her, all her dreams about to come true. A quick bye was said between the bands before they went their separate ways with their luggage. 

As Ultraviolet weren’t that popular yet they didn’t have the money for over the top stage outfits so they made due with what they had at home. This meant that the band were responsible for their own clothes and that they had more bags to transport with them. 

After they dropped their bags off, Ultraviolet made their way to soundcheck. This would be the biggest crowd that Ultraviolet had played in front of and throughout soundcheck, Y/N could feel the nerves creeping up on her. She was getting reassuring looks from Tammy who could already tell from her best friend’s demeanour that she was scared.

However, there was one person in the room who managed to calm Y/N down. Joe had come to watch, along with Sav and Rick. No one could guess where Phil and Steve were. As Y/N sang into the microphone, she made eye contact with Joe who had a gentle smile on his face. The kind of smile that could put all the world to rights and it was directed at her.

The butterflies in her stomach were going haywire as her focus was on him. It was like his gaze was removing any worry from her whilst his smile was uplifting her to perform to the best of her ability.

At the end of their soundcheck, they made way for Def Leppard to do theirs. Y/N went backstage to the makeshift dressing room that was set up for them. Due to lack of room, the two bands would be sharing and Y/N and Tammy would have to change in the bathroom for some modesty.

Y/N was sitting backstage doing her makeup when Def Leppard finished. The rest of Ultraviolet were dotted around the room and chatter filled the previously peaceful silence immediately. Smiling at them all, Y/N stood up and went to her small bag where she had that evening's outfit stored before she went to the bathroom to change. 

Trying not to take too long, she quickly swapped her clothes before putting her jeans and old t-shirt in the bag. As she walked out of the bathroom she was met with something solid.

“Sorry love.” She heard a familiar deep voice announce as he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Y/N peered up into Joe’s green eyes.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going, sorry.” Y/N told him as she found herself still in his grasp.

“Don’t worry Y/N.” Joe smiled at her. “You were great earlier.” He told her, referencing the soundcheck.

“Thank you.” She squeaked, which made Joe smile even more, showing the dimple on his left cheek.

The two stood there in silence as they stared into each other’s eyes. Joe thought that she might just be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, especially as she looked up at him with those doe eyes of hers.

They hadn’t realised how long they had been standing there until they heard two people clearing their throats. Looking over they saw Sav and Tammy watching them.

Would anyone like to be tagged when I update this series?

[jomiddlemarch]

While You Were Sleeping

Epilogue

“We’re never going to sleep again. Ever,” Hermione said from her end of the circuit around the kitchen, before Draco could head into the conservatory detour that Neville had suggested might at least help with their mental health, if it did nothing to aid in the ultimate goal of the twins sleeping for more than an hour at a time. She’d had to raise her voice a little, so Draco could hear her over the babies’ crying, but she couldn’t get too loud or strident, because then the crying would become howling on Rose’s part and a glass-shattering shriek on Scorpius’s. Any significant pausing in walking yielded the same response. 

“If you agreed, we could get a House—” Draco began. Again. His grey joggers were low around his hips, his feet bare, a ratty tee-shirt that couldn’t be made any rattier by regurgitated milk thrown on hastily when she’d called him from the nursery.

“Don’t start the ‘House-elves make perfectly fine nannies, see how I turned out argument.’ You know how I feel about it, even if we paid an exorbitant amount, and though I love you dearly, I wouldn’t say the nannying you received did you any favors at Hogwarts. You were a preening little prat for the first few years, when there was some pretense we were children and not pawns,” Hermione replied. “I also don’t want to hear about Black family magicks that would do the trick, either from you or your mother.”

“We’re not following Molly Weasley’s advice and using gin,” Draco said, patting Scorpius on the back in a rhythm that seemed to soothe their son. Or it didn’t and they were deluding themselves. Sleep deprivation could do that to a person, Hermione recalled, from a time when she had done research in a library, wearing a clean jersey and drinking a cup of tea hot from the pot, not stewed and cold and generally disgusting but charmed not to grow Wizarding penicillin on the surface. 

“She might have meant we should drink the gin, not that we’d dose the babies, now that I think about it. It’s all fuzzy when I look back,” Hermione said. 

“I hate gin,” Draco said. “Simply loathe the stuff.”

“I know. I remember that about you. From a time when we had drinks on a trolley in the sitting room or went to the pub,” Hermione said. He liked wine, preferably red and full-bodied, though he’d get a pint of Guinness if they went out with friends. He’d rather drink Butterbeer than a G&T and forget about a martini, dirty or otherwise. Her craving for cocktail onions had been rather a sore point during her pregnancy, though he’d fetched them and learned not to turn up his nose at her when she ate a jar’s worth in a sitting.

“What’s a pub?” Draco said wryly. 

Scorpius squawked. If his Patronus wasn’t some avian species, Hermione would eat her hat. She’d have to fit her traditional pointed witch’s hat first, but then she’d eat it. Maybe she’d chase it with a Gibson.

“Shh, darling boy, it’s all right, Papa’s got you,” Draco murmured, brushing his lips against Scorpius’ wispy blond curls. 

Despite the screaming and the exhaustion and the near-constant desire to hex her earlier overly confident and entirely wrong self, the one who’d said things like, twins won’t be so terribly difficult and maybe it’s more efficient to have them together, the babies can keep each other company and they won’t be lonely when they went off to Hogwarts, really, it was a blessing to have twins first, Hermione couldn’t help melting a little whenever she heard Draco talking to their babies, especially when he referred to himself as Papa. She opened her mouth to say something fond and tender, but Scorpius yelped and gurgled and Draco sighed.

“Another geyser. Perhaps we should get those disposable cloths Potter was on about, since we can’t risk Vanishing the spit-up,” he said. Spells around magical infants could be dicey and with a mother as powerful as Hermione, they’d had to play it extra safe.

“He’ll be hungry now,” Hermione said, not even bothering to answer the remark about the burp cloths. Once, her mind had been filled with complex runic equations and the Zaragosta variations on the Berenicean charm progression. Now, she was too tired to even spend one neuron’s worth of attention on the question of burp cloths.

“Time to trade,” Draco said. 

Hermione walked over to the rocking chair, settling Rose on her lap for a moment. The novelty of the perspective change would buy about 90 seconds of relative quiet. Draco came over, put Scorpius into the crook of Hermione’s arm and scooped up Rose. His exceptional Quidditch skills were being put to this exclusive use but Hermione suspected both the babies would be avid players, Rose the more likely Seeker. She fiddled a bit with her top and got Scorpius latched on, stroking his plump cheek very lightly so he wouldn’t get distracted and fall off, screaming with frustration. Nursing, he looked very serious, like Draco drafting a response to the Chinese delegation.

“Now, then, ma chére Mademoiselle Rose, let’s take a turn about the room and let Mummy take care of Scorpius,” Draco said. Rose made a series of noises which weren’t quite cries and could possibly be a language no adult was fluent in.

“Molly said it won’t always be this way,” Hermione offered. Scorpius was growing dozy against her breast, still nursing but with less vigor. He’d fall asleep this way but they’d probably only get an hour of rest from him and Rose’s hazel eyes were alert, peering over Draco’s shoulder.

“She would know. Circe’s garters, seven of them. It doesn’t bear contemplating,” Draco said. “My mother says we ought to be grateful, two healthy babies, no sign either will be a Squib, and I am. I am grateful and I love them—”

“You’d just like to get a full night’s sleep,” Hermione said. The first week, the babies had been drowsy and they’d had to wake them to nurse. It had been the right thing to do and Hermione still couldn’t believe they’d done it. Rose had gone nearly five hours when she was four days old and Hermione had faffed about writing thank-you cards for the new baby gifts and peering into the cradle to make sure Rose was breathing when she could have followed directions and slept when the baby slept, letting Draco be the one on duty to make sure the twins were awakened to feed. 

“I’d take four hours,” Draco said. 

“Three would do me,” Hermione yawned. Draco kept walking, Rose on his shoulder, and Hermione drifted for a bit, lost somewhere between dream and memory.

“You thought it would all go away when we came home. That it wasn’t real,” she said.

“Well, I was a fool and also besotted with you and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for about ten days,” he said. “Also, we were faking being married. I was your fake-husband.”

“This is real,” she said. She shifted Scorpius to her shoulder, patting his back until he burped, praying he’d stay asleep through it. Draco smiled, too wise to risk laughter.

“It’s as real as it gets, love,” he said. Rose grizzled a bit but lowered her head, her silky dark curls shining against his fair skin, the faint silver stubble of his five-o’clock-now-three-am-shadow. He was tall and fit and terribly kind, terribly clever; he’d do anything for the three of them and he’d gotten her all those jars of pickled pearl onions and had snogged her silly when she had Gibson-breath. He had turned out well after all…

“I might have been overly rigid about the House-Elf proposal,” she said. “A few nights can’t do any harm and we’ll make sure they have exceptional benefits, a pension. The villa in Majorca—”

*

And that was how Pithy came to be the Granger-Black-Malfoy night nanny, the first House-elf with her own Gringotts vault, and the reason Hugo was born. 

Well, a reason. There was a responsible adult creature in the household and there was that villa in Majorca.

[ms-cartoon]

a

Seen the few sneak peaks of some upcoming episodes of HB. We might meet Moxxie’s family (mainly his father). Sorry if I’m being nitpicky, but I was kinda expecting his father to be a little bit different from his son, as well as have a different voice. It’s like he’s a literal clone of Moxxie but slightly taller with a deeper and cunning tone in his voice. And from what I’ve heard, he’s supposed to be a mobster or just apart of some kind of dangerous gang (correct me if I’m wrong). So yeah, I think his appearance should be a little bit different, more tough if anything.

Blitzo stays an a**hole to his co-workers I see. Even after that DeEp and HeArTwArMiNg conversation, he had with Moxxie back in season 1 ep 6 (Which didn’t hit deep at all). You think that after he humiliated himself in episode 7, he’d dial it back with his behavior. But I guess Viv can’t have a comedy without someone unnecessarily being a jerk.

We finally get to hear Andre’s voice. He actually sounded exactly how I imagined; almost deep and haughty. I guess it’s made clear that he and Stella have a good relationship. I’ve seen some comics that show that Andre was possibly very mean to Stella during her childhood which probably would explain her behavior and why she acts so cynically. 

He and Stella are having a discussion with Stolas, and Andre brings up that Stella deserves something since Stolas cheated on her?? Which makes no sense to me?? Cuz, yes, Stolas did cheat, but why would Stella even care?!! The show already made it clear that she never even liked Stolas from the start. She didn’t even like being married to him and was only throwing fits and getting him killed simply because she was petty and liked tormenting him. What exactly does Andre and Stella hope to gain from this anyway? Neither of these two even out-rank Stolas. And what exactly has the divorce done that caused any harm to the Goetia’s. When Stella confronted Stolas, she made it seem like the divorce was gonna be a huge issue, but as far as I know... it did nothing. And they already had Octavia who’s in her late-teens, so what’s the threat here??

If they’re gonna keep bringing up the cheating, then maybe they shouldn’t have retconned Stella as a character and kept it to where she is only pissed about the affair. Maybe not have her be an evil b*tch since birth and hate Stolas for whatever reason?

Idk man!! Make it make sense!!!

We also finally get to see Barbie, Blitzo’s sister. I thought those two had a decent sibling relationship as most of us did, but it turns out... those two had a falling out as well. Barbie says, and I quote “Come on, Blitzo! Haven’t you f*cked up my life enough already??”

Jeezus!! Another one?? 

First, it was Fizz, then Verosika, and now his own sister!!? I mean, it’s expected, cuz Blitzo is an a** and he definitely deserves it, but is he seriously that much of a bad influence he screwed up his own sister’s life? Like, is she just over-exaggerating it?? What did he do that was so screwed up, she started to despise him? Hopefully, she won’t be like Verosika or even Stella; just straight-up petty and b*tchy for no reason. I know I’m wrong though.

Also, I see that she and Moxxie are fighting... wonder what that’s about. Probably something dumb.

And I also see that Blitzo and Fizz are having a talk. Not sure what it’s about. It was only a few seconds of Fizz talking. But from what I can assume, they might be discussing their relationship as friends (or ex-friends), maybe having a slight argument? Don’t know if those two are ever gonna reconcile in the end. All I know is that this kind of arc should’ve been explored way before we got into Stolas’s backstory with Blitzo (which we clearly don’t give the slightest sh*t about.) What happened with Fizz and Blitzo that caused the two to split up seems way more interesting than how Stolas and Blitzo met.

Here’s another thing that caught my eye (and y’all this one’s my favorite to laugh at). Stolas is shown being kidnapped by Striker, tied up n all, and even stabbed with a dagger!?

.......

I’m sorry, but are we just gonna forget that Stolas is a POWERFUL FREAKIN’ DEMON??? The same guy that can do this -

And this -

And even turn into THIS -

..... Like, are we sure he’s more powerful than Alastor??? What’s the point of him being a powerful demon prince if all he’s useful for is being a damsel in distress??? Less than 3 times Stolas is shown to be powerful when the plot says so, which is almost NEVER!!! It’s irritating!

Ugh! I just know I’m gonna go through hell watching this (no pun intended). And I’ve already seen the last few recent leaks to these episodes. This just adds on to the ridiculous bull.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 18: Sight, Sound, Smell, Taste… Touch: de Sousa’s banquet provides a sensory experience on multiple levels.

All Chapters Archived on Ao3 

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

That night, when we left for the house de Sousa had been renting, we traveled on horseback. To be specific, we were to share a horse rather than taking a palanquin. I tried to raise one eyebrow in inquiry, since it seemed odd that Mitsuhide would switch transportation modes.

"My goodness, Kaya, is there something wrong with your face? Or are you attempting, for whatever reason, to imitate a rabbit?” Of course he raised one eyebrow as he said it.

The sixth thing I hate about Mitsuhide. He can raise one eyebrow and won’t teach me how.

I sighed and gave up on the nonverbal cue. "No tiny box tonight?"

"On the small chance that we'll need to make a hasty exit, I would prefer not to leave that up to the speed of a palanquin." He gestured to his horse. "Up you go."

My kimono was too narrow for me to hop up with my customary acrobatics, but I managed well enough without ripping anything, although I was left somewhat draped across the horse. “Do you plan to lead me across the city?"

Not dignifying that with a comment, he simply swung up behind me. "I trust you won’t fall off."

Given that I was sitting rather (too) snugly against him, I figured it was an unlikely prospect especially when he reached past me for the reins. Not wanting to think about how his body felt, firm and solid against my back, I instead pulled the conversation back to necessary business. "Is this another sit there and be distracting evening, or will I get to use my new toys?" I patted my hair. At Mitsuhide’s instructions Sho had placed three knots in it, each secured by one of the hairstick/lockpicks.

"Plans may need to be adjusted based upon the evening. de Sousa has promised some form of 'entertainment,' whatever that might mean to him, which may allow us an opportunity to search through his papers." He spoke directly into my ear, his voice pitched to a low purr that I could hear quite clearly under the sound of the horse's hooves on the hard packed dirt of Sakai's streets. "One hopes that you were underplaying your ability to read the Nanban script."

"I can read it. Not quickly though. It depends on how cramped the handwriting is – Westerners often write letters on top of each other to save on paper." I drew a little plus sign in the air to demonstrate their method of ‘crossing pages.’ “But I can at least read their alphabet.” No need to mention that that learning had taken place in modern Japan. But while I'd taken classes in school on the English language and alphabet, I'd never been particularly great student. Even so, the knowledge from that early education had returned when I began taking lessons from Francisco, and motivated by the need to locate my brother, I’d learned far faster as an adult than I ever had as a teenager.

Mitsuhide made a noncommittal sound that indicated he was thinking things through. Likely, he had a plan B, possibly a plan C, and was refining them as we spoke. Aki was much the same. Actually I was as well. Contingencies could make the difference between dead or alive.

I left him to his unspoken plotting. It was interesting how he seemed to be able to lock his thoughts and feelings away and completely focus like this. While I still felt off balance and uncertain after last night's argument, for Mitsuhide, it appeared to be done and over with. He was as ambivalently autocratic to me as he had been on the first day in Sakai. In fact, neither yesterday's argument nor that night last week when it had seemed like we’d accepted overtures of mutual friendship had made any dent at all his this personal armor. Or maybe they had, but he’d simply replaced the armor with something stronger.

While I was glad to leave the fight with dust, I regretted losing those moments of peace and understanding.

de Sousa's townhouse was not very far from Mitsuhide’s (we easily could have walked, were it not for our need to stay in character). Like the one Mitsuhide was using, the building was longer than it was wide, with a storefront that abutted the street. Unfortunately for de Sousa the rear of the house was against the town's moat, and the fragrance that arose from it suggested some of Sakai citizens used it as a toilet.

I didn’t realize I was wrinkling my nose in response to the smell, until Mitsuhide stared at me, and tapped his own nose.

Whoops.

Carefully, I wiped my face of all expression, aware that Mitsuhide was watching as I did so. He nodded approvingly as Kaya’s bland mask slid into place, and then undid all my work by noting, “One would hope we won’t be required to employ the moat as part of that quick exit.”

Oh gross.

He gave me that smirk, and I wondered if his lack of tastebuds also extended to a lack of an olfactory system. Although if that was the case, why did he habitually burn cinnamon and sandalwood?

I was still trying to blank out my face again when a servant appeared. The servant let us inside, escorting us through a semi-exposed courtyard, past the offices and storehouses, and up to de Sousa’s living quarters on the second floor. The narrow rooms weren’t really adequate for any sort of entertaining, so, rumors of a 'banquet' had been greatly exaggerated. No more than dozen other people had been invited, including, to my surprise, Yoshimoto. If I got a free moment later, I would have to ask him how he had managed that. He’d probably just say that an Imagawa does not need to manage.

de Sousa had made an attempt to create a Western style dining atmosphere, by pushing several long, tables into one big rectangle. But without a way to raise the tables to waist level, and without any Western chairs, there wasn’t any other choice but to eat kneeling, the traditional Japanese way.

Mitsuhide was seated next to de Sousa, and across from Shojumaru, who claimed that he would be helping to translate anything, if needed (via some careful eavesdropping, I learned de Sousa's Jesuit translator - a.k.a that murderous priest - had been sent to one of the Southernmost islands). Apparently de Sousa wasn’t certain what to do with me, the only female present, but ‘Kyubei’ got his Yandere on and stated that he refused to let me out of his sight amongst all these other men.

Upon being asked by de Sousa to translate that, Shojumaru told him that Kyubei wanted his whore close to him, because he didn’t trust other men around her.

Ok. Ouch.

Whore.

See if I run interference between you and Sho any more.

The final result of that interaction had me seated between Mitsuhide and Yoshimoto, and across from Shojumaru, ready to pick up on any information spoken in Portuguese. But if Mitsuhide thought that the dinner table discussion would offer him any information on Hideyoshi, or Mai, or the missing weapons, he would be disappointed with what I overheard. While I dutifully tuned in to the conversation for any non-translated threats or other dangers, what I got was a conversation about art (which explained Yoshimoto's presence, as the man enthusiastically took part in a long discussion of Italian masters).

In the meantime, what should be done about the mound of stew in my bowl? It was some heavy meat based thing, smelled somewhat gamey - not off, exactly, but to someone like myself, who prefers a plant based diet whenever possible, it was difficult to choke down. Idly, I noticed that Shojumaru wasn't eating his either. Oh he was going through the motion of lifting his food to his mouth, but eventually it ended up back in a dish. Had someone poisoned the food?

Hm. No one else had any problems with the meal, so maybe Shojumaru was also a vegetarian. It was possible he was a strict buddahist, as some sects did recommend a no-meat diet. Mitsuhide had no difficulty with his serving of glop, but then it probably reminded him of his own cooking.

 "What do you think, Miss Kaya?" Startled, I realized that Shojumaru had addessed me. "Senhor de Sousa wants to know if you are interested in art?"

"Oh. Um. I don't know much about it." Which was true about both myself, and Kaya. While a courtesan likely would be able to intelligently converse about all forms of the arts, I was pretty sure that everyone was aware that Kaya had been a peasant sold into slavery. It would not be surprising for a peasant to be ignorant of art and culture. "But Master Kyubei is teaching me all sorts of interesting things about books and drawings."

Shojumaru translated that accurately to de Sousa, who then responded with something extremely crude. Thankfully, I'm not easy to blush, but my pulse must have jumped, because Mitsuhide gave me a quick glance. Then again, it could be because one of the words de Sousa used was familiar in any language. Even Yoshimoto looked displeased when he heard it.

Once again Shojumaru smoothly erased de Sousa’s crudity, saying diplomatically that no knowledge is wasted.

At this point Mitsuhide-Kyubei entered the conversation. "This one was an ignorant char when I purchased her. I find it far more satisfying to teach someone how to respond to my suggestions, what to think about the world of art, how to behave and to obey my desires. It’s actually faster than retraining a stubborn woman's badly learned habits." He turned and laid a possessive hand on my arm. "She responds to tutelage admirably."

Gee thanks Professor Higgins. Glad to know you're growing accustomed to my face.

He wasn't finished yet. "It is lovely to take a wild thing, domesticate it and know it is your creation."

While Shojumaru rapidly translated this for the Nanban, Yoshimoto chose this moment to rise to Kaya's defense. "I find it more satisfying to meet a woman who can teach me something. Passionate arguments are more exciting than blind obedience."

Which, thank you Yoshimoto for the defense, but your timing sucks. Thanks to him, I hadn’t been able to hear what de Sousa and Shojumaru were saying. Had Yoshimoto forgotten that he was responding to a creature who was just a character Mitsuhide was portraying? Or was he simply behaving as he would normally? I couldn’t even reassure him that everything was fine, not here.

"Passionate arguments are fine, as long as one wins them." Mitsuhide addressed Yoshimoto for the first time. "The greatest victory is to take the sword of defeated opponent as they fall to their knees and swear fealty to you.''

That... apparently had a double meaning for Yoshimoto, who flinched at Mitsuhide's sudden intense stare. Shojumaru now sent a rather inscrutable look our way as well, and the increased tension in the air felt choking. If I had not been disguised, I would have tried to change the subject, or defuse things somehow - but Kaya wasn't the forthright type. In character, I could only stare at my bowl while the gamey smell of meat added to an overall feeling of illness.

Finally de Sousa, who must have simply wanted to be the center of attention, clapped his hands, and announced he had hired a theatrical troupe to perform dances for the evening. Within moments, a house servant had silently cleared the table, and rearranged the room with a mocked up performance space at the far end.

A group of musicians and dancers emerged from the top floor – had they been sitting up there waiting all night? Hopefully someone had managed to get them some food… but I doubted de Sousa would have thought of it. Then again, given what we’d just been fed, the entertainers were probably better off.

Though the musicians weren't loud enough to be distracting, the dancers were beautiful, and wore exquisite jewel toned dresses with even brighter embroidery that sparkled in the lantern light. Their movements were slow, but hypnotic, and after that heavy meal, no one seemed inclined to do anything by sit and watch.

During the great rearrangement, Mitsuhide and I had positioned ourselves near the stairs to the ground floor, and while the rest of the guests were enthralled by the dancers, we slipped out of the room and tiptoed down the steps.

As we skirted around the edge of the courtyard, something splashed my sleeve. I glanced up to the exposed sky, just as Mitsuhide said, "Good. Rain. That is auspicious." He sounded like he was talking to himself, so I didn’t ask why he thought that was so. Maybe the sound of the rain on the tile roof would cover up any noise we made.

I followed him into the room de Sousa had set up as an office, or, well a private study of sorts. The only difference between de Sousa's office and the one that Mitsuhide was using in our own dwelling, was that he, like Francisco, (and, for that matter Aki) had somehow managed to lug a Western style desk into the room – then again, maybe Aki and Francisco had transported theirs in via the wormhole or something. Or maybe there was some ship that only carried furniture from one county to another so that their merchants could have some place familiar to sit.

Surprisingly, de Sousa's desk was not kept locked, which was a disappointing because I wanted to try out my new toys. Either he had nothing to hide or, more likely, he didn’t believe anyone here would be sophisticated enough to investigate him. Mitsuhide opened a drawer and removed a small stack of scrolls and letters written on the heavier western parchment. "One hopes that you’ll find these readable."

It was an intimidating pile. "What are the odds that we can bring some of these home? Er, back to the town house." It was not home.

"I have no knowledge of how he has these categorized or whether he would notice something  missing, but it’s best to cause as little disturbance as possible. Keep everything in the same order.” At his borderline mansplain, I considered pointing out that I had searched his room without disturbing anything, but since that would probably prompt another argument, I held my tongue. “I suggest you scan each one for key words until you can confirm whether it is business or personal. I will stand guard." He moved to the doorway stayed there like a sentinel.

As that seemed like a workable plan, I quickly settled into a rhythm for the project. The letters on western parchment were all written on a feminine hand, and proved to be from his 'dearest Paloma.' I flipped through those with only a cursory glance. Mixed in with the personal letters were inventory lists, shipping records, even a few papers that looked like invoices, which potentially could pinpoint a time period and date the weapons were due to arrive. "Do you know about when de Sousa pulled back the shipment? Most of these are dated."

He gave me an approving nod – my question must have merit. "Mid to late seventh month. At least that was when we learned of it. However things might have been moving behind the scenes prior to that." He spoke quietly, the majority of his attention was on the door.

Just to be safe, I skipped past any correspondence prior to ‘Iunius.’ I couldn’t remember what year the Portuguese had switched from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian, but neither one corresponded to the Japanese lunar cycle anyway. Once I found the correspondence in the likeliest window of time, I read the letters more carefully. One shipping document referenced “Nofunga” Oda -- that must be the initial order, or at least a confirmation of sale. At that point in time, it seemed that de Sousa still intended to fulfill the request. Another letter, also mentioned Oda, but only in passing - speculating on whether or not he would contend to allow self-governance of Sakai, and if not, would it be useful to send a party to negotiate with him directly.

Interesting, but not what I was looking for.

And then I found it.

Correspondence from Shojumaru, offering to broker a deal for weapons, to be supplied to Motonari Mouri in exchange for silver provided by Kanamori Iekane.

The page blurred in front of my eyes.

Iekane.

Iekane. Even though the last name was different – he was no longer using Aki’s – it had to be the same man. Of course he was in this. Maybe he'd been so since that day five years ago when he locked me in a crate among one of Motonari’s weapon shipments.

"What is it, brat? You're staring at that letter as if it’s going to eat you.'' Mitsuhide's voice broke into my reverie /panic. Same difference at this point.

"It's confirmation that-"

A loud squeak interrupted me. The sound a staircase makes as it protests the weight of travel. This was followed by the clatter of footsteps, and voices. de Sousa, talking about some ceramics he wanted to show off.

In one smooth motion, Mitsuhide slid shut the door to the office and was across the room while I was registering the noise… and the implication. He swept the stack of correspondence back into the drawer, then lifted me up and plopped me on top of the desk. "This is not the time to protest my next action, as we are about to become extremely visible to the rest of tonight’s guests."

"Huh? Shouldn’t we just hid-”

That was all I got out before Mitsuhide kissed me.

While my brain was still processing the sudden liplock, Mitsuhide pulled me closer, until his leg was between mine (or as between as my narrow kimono would allow). I swallowed a protest, knowing that this was a performance, part of our agreement to show public affection. Not real.

How does one fake act a kiss? Should I close my eyes? Ok, yes, probably, Kaya would have her eyes closed. Commencing eye closure.

It wasn’t a terrible kiss, as sudden, barely warned kisses go. Not that I would know. But he could have made things unpleasant for me, especially given the character he had established as Kyubei. It could have been overly intrusive, or painful, or oppressive, or gross, or-

He broke away and slid his mouth toward my ear. "This would go much better, if you could at least pretend to participate. With enthusiasm, if at all possible.”

Director’s notes? Now?

Although he did have a point. I took a deep breath, prepared to channel my inner Meryl Streep. "You surprised me.  Give me a moment to catch up, all right?"

The clatter of footsteps and murmur of voices grew closer.

After a split second in which Mitsuhide was either praying for patience, or counting to ten (he just had a sort of 'give me strength’ look in his eyes), he placed his hand on my cheek, and slowly dipped in for another kiss.

This new kiss, he took his time. His lips gently glided across mine, his embrace keeping me easily balanced on the desk. The gentleness did what the surprise could not, and a previous unknown voice inside me went, ‘more!’ and before I knew it, it stopped feeling like an act of theatricality, and started feeling like an act of mutal desire.

His body was all lean muscle and kinetic strength – I wanted to feel that strength on my skin, to slip my hand under his clothing and savor the texture of his flesh, to savor the vibration of his heartbeat beneath my palm, a vibration that echoed in my ears. I pressed myself closer before any logic could overrule action, grinding my hips against his, opening my mouth to his tongue.

Someone moaned… was that him? 

Please don’t let that have been me.

Then annoyed voices from the corridor intruded and Mitsuhide finally ended the kiss, though he did not let me go. He turned to face de Sousa, Shojumaru, Yoshimoto, and a Japanese merchant whose name I had not caught. They were all staring at us from the now open doorway. I hid my face in his shoulder in not entirely feigned embarrassment.

Cinnamon and sandalwood.

"What the hell are you doing in my private office?" The words were in Portuguese but there was no mistaking the intent behind them.

Mitsuhide didn’t bother to wait for someone to translate, he simply proclaimed, "My toy was looking so lovely tonight, I simply had to be alone with her. But the rain chased us out of the garden."

Toy. It was as if the wall to the courtyard opened up and the cold rain had splashed all over me. Right. Acting.

I knew he did not truly consider me a toy. I also knew that the kiss had simply been part of the performance, one that had needed us to at least look like we could not keep our hands off each other. So that’s… what method acting is. I guess I do have an inner Meryl Streep after all. Acting. I had been acting too.

Without switching from that conversational tone, Mitsuhide patted the desk. "This furniture is perfectly stable. Can someone procure one for me?"

de Sousa waited for Shojumaru to translate that, but even with the benefit of the translation, he still looked irate. His response was something along the lines of if Kyubei wanted to turn his house into a brothel then he ought to have brought more women, or at least offered to share.

I wondered if Shojumaru was going to translate that back into Japanese, but whether or not he would have done so was destined to remain a mystery, for Yoshimoto stepped forward to play diplomat. "Senhor de Sousa, perhaps you could show us those ceramics from China now."

After one final look of envy, de Sousa shepherded the group toward the storehouses, but Shojumaru continued to eye us. He didn’t say anything, and that overly friendly smile stayed on his face, but there was a hardness in his eyes now.

As Mitsuhide helped me off the desk, Shojumaru's gaze went to its surface. Scanning for incriminating papers maybe? Thank the Gods that Mitsuhide had managed to get de Sousa’s correspondence back into the drawer before initiating that ‘seven minutes in heaven’ act.

"I take it it’s too much to hope that de Sousa will allow us to use his bedroom?" Without waiting for a response, Mitsuhide bowed to them. "In that case, we shall return home, as I am hungry for a different sort of meal. Kaya, you may let go of me.''

Trust him to point out that my hand was clinging to the front of his kimono.

Right.

Disengage grappling hook.

I let go, and followed him out the door, aware that this was probably one of those fast exits he had warned me about.

Hopefully… not through the moat.

My senses had already been through enough this night.

@bestbryn @lorei-writes @selenacosmic @lyds323 @akitsuneswife @tele86

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twelve (Part 5)

By now, Marnie has wrangled her way into a conversation with Jude at one of the tables near the bar, and I want to go over and eavesdrop on them, so when I order pints for the table I try my best to hear them over the pumping music.

“So we were queueing for hours to get into this really cool club,” Marnie is saying to him. “ It’s like, you have to wear black and you’re not allowed to smile otherwise they won’t let you in. Like no matter what time of day it is people are always queuing, it’s just, like, that Berlin party lifestyle, it never stops. Anyway, the club was called Berghain…”

“I know.” He says in a very bored voice. “I know that because I live in Berlin, and Berghain is a very well known club.”

“Right, right.” She says, wavering. “Well we didn’t end up getting in after all, they turned us away at the door, we were so mad, we couldn’t believe it.”

I glance quickly at them and she’s leaning in to him so she can talk in his ear, her arm draped over the chair behind him and her knee pressed against his thigh, while he’s staring blankly into the middle distance and chewing the end of his straw. 

“Yeah, so I think they turn people away when they know they’re going to ruin the vibe for everyone else in there.” he tells her.

“I don’t think we were going to ruin the vibe, we were the vibe, I guess there was like, too many people in there already or something.”

“Wild.”

The barman hands me three pints and I take them back to the table, disappointed that I can’t eavesdrop any more. I sit in a seat facing them this time so that I can keep an eye on them, not sure why I’m so enthralled by the scene, whether it’s because I’m afraid that Marnie will score with him, or because there’s a part of me that wants to watch her fail. I wonder if either of those things makes me a bad or a selfish person. 

Thankfully the conversation at the table has moved on from Dean and the myriad of things that might be wrong with him, and now instead they’re talking about the latest episode of Breaking Bad, which, obviously, I have seen, so I gleefully chime in with my opinion of Skylar White and why she’s objectively in the right. 

“She just annoys me though.” Complains Shane. “She just never lets Walt do his thing.”

Jen argues back good naturedly. “His drug dealing thing? His putting his wife and son in danger thing? Come on Shane, look at it from her point of view, any wife and mother would feel the same.”

This causes Shane to launch into another argument which Claire backs him on, and before long all four of us are talking over each other trying to get the next point in, Jen and I desperately trying to defend this fictional woman, but it’s all so fun, and I wish I could have more times like this with my friends rather than there always being something fraught or difficult happening. 

I happen to be looking over at Marnie and Jude the moment that she purrs something into his ear and slides her hand to his inner thigh seductively. He simply picks her hand off him, stands up and goes to the bathroom, letting her hand flop back onto the seat. Her eyes start darting around the room to see if anybody saw her get rejected, so I avert my eyes quickly. She looks small and vulnerable now, alone at the table, but I can’t bring myself to feel bad for her. 

A few moments later, Dean comes out of the bathroom and slumps next to her, his head is lolling forwards and she pats his arm and tries to make him drink some water, which he refuses. She gives up and sits there silently sipping on her drink while he’s all but passed out by her side. 

When Jude returns from the bathroom, he walks right by Marnie’s table and heads towards us instead. “Who are those two ghouls?” He asks me when he sits down next to me, following my eyeline towards the miserable duo at the table. 

“They’re my… friends from college.” I admit. 

“That girl is…” he shakes his head as though he doesn’t have the vocabulary to describe her. “She was telling me all about, like, her weird boyfriend who’s okay with her having sex with other guys and how she’s getting into Japanese bondage or something. Offered to tie me up in his house if I came home with them.” 

A shocked laugh comes tumbling out of me. “Really? And what did you say?”

“Well obviously, Evie, I gave her an enthusiastic yes.”

I stare at him dumbly for a moment before I realise he’s joking. “The only acceptable response.” I say to him.  

He nods. “It was such a good offer, I truly couldn’t pass it.” He laughs to himself, bewildered. “No I mean, really, I asked her why she’d said that to me, and how she thought I was going to respond to it and she didn’t have anything to say.”

“Well, I’m sorry, I’m kind of embarrassed that she said those things.”

“No. What? It’s fine. As for that other guy though…” He nods towards semi-conscious Dean and my stomach drops with dread. Oh God. What’s he going to think about him?

“Did he say something to you?” I ask, trying to hide my desperation from my voice, and the corner of Jude’s mouth twitches up into a half smile. “Not much, he just tried to sell me coke in the toilets.”

I feel myself going very still. “Oh.”

“He’s so out of it, when I walked in he was trying to do a bump off the wall mirror.” He laughs like he thinks this is a really funny anecdote, but I don’t. To me it’s a little bit horrifying and I have to shield my face with my hands. “Oh God.” I say. “I feel so stupid.”

“What? Why?”

“I thought he was just drunk.”

“Oh, no, Evie, that guy is fully out of it, he’s gurning his jaw and everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! He pulled out the baggie in front of me and all, I’m sure.”

“That’s awful.”

Jude leans back in his seat and watches me with growing concern. “You know, Evie, it’s not really that awful. It’s just a bit of coke. Everyone is on coke.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifts uncomfortably, and once again I’m feeling like I’m the only one who’s not in on some big obvious piece of information. He scoots a little closer to me and his eyes are empathetic, searching. “I mean, yeah. I thought you’d have known already since you live here now. Everyone here does drugs, like, all the time.”

“I didn’t know.” I knew that Marnie took pills sometimes, of course because I’d blatantly seen her doing it, but all of a sudden all of those frequent trips to the bathroom that everyone’s been making each time we go out to a bar or a club make perfect sense and I can almost feel something clicking into place in my brain. No wonder they were all so talkative. “So am I the only one who cared about those scary anti-drug ads on TV? Who actually listened when they warned us about them at school?”

“No, like, alright not everyone everyone is doing them I’m sure. I may have been exaggerating.”

“All I can think of right now is that picture we all had to look at of the man who blew a hole in his nose and the meth lady with scabs all over her face…”

“It’s not… yeah I mean that can happen if you go nuts I suppose.” He breathes out a laugh. “But it’s like anything else in life, if it’s fun then people are going to do it.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I have done. Not lately…”

I look at the others at the table, still engaged in their lively debate. “Shane and Claire don’t.”

“Oh, definitely not.” He glances at me “Does that make you feel better?”

“Hm.”

“I really feel like I  just dropped some horrible information bomb on you. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I feel naive more than anything. ”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely, it’s completely fine.” I force my shoulders to relax and look up at him. “So do you think I should get with the times and do some coke now?”

He chuckles. “Yes, I can see that for you, it’s very much your style.”

“It’d be weird if I did, wouldn’t it? I can’t imagine it either.”

“Well, whatever you do, make sure it’s because you want to do it. Not because they want you to.” He nods knowingly towards Marnie and Dean. 

“Well, I think the first thing I want to do is leave this party.” I admit. “Honestly, I can’t think of much right now except for how hungry I am.” My hands move to my stomach which is growling furiously, asking me to feed it for the first time in days.

“You’re hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely starving.”

“Do you want to get food somewhere?”

“It’s probably too late to eat, though, I bet everything is closed.”

He pulls out his phone to check the time and shakes his head. “No, I know a few places that will still be open. We’ll get everyone moving and get you some food, if you want to.”

“I feel bad asking, but yeah, honestly I do want to.”

He interrupts the conversation between the three others. “Evie wants to get food. Any of you in?”

Shane starts to answer but Jen quickly puts her hand on his arm to stop him and says, “No, we’re fine here. You two go.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Go ahead, we’ll meet you later.”

Jude glances at me. “Are you alright if it’s just me? If you’d rather wait until later or bring Claire…” He looks at her and she smiles sweetly back at him. 

I consider making her come with us but… fuck it. “No it’s okay, Claire, you can stay. We won’t be long. I’ll go with Jude and we’ll meet you back here in like half an hour.”

“You sure?” She says, big eyes filled with worry.

“Yes! It’s fine.”

“Alright.” Jude grabs his coat from the back of a chair and tugs it on. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” I say, zipping my own coat up to my chin, and I turn to lock eyes with Claire who gives me a little nod and a smile. I’ll be here if you need me. She seems to say. 

“You better mind her.” Shane says to him jovially, but something distinctly threatening flashes in his eyes and I give him a sharp look, wishing he’d just relax.

I start bundling up my bags of gifts, almost leaving the bag with the condoms there ‘accidentally’ before I decide against it at the last minute and snatch them up too. 

“You really don’t mind leaving your own party?” Jude asks me as we head out. 

“Not at all, get me out of here, quick.”

He snorts. “Okay, well, after you.”

Prev // Next

[risubisu]

this marks the nth time that you’ve uttered complete nonsense as you’ve failed to understand what i’m trying to say. i beg you to take up a class of reading comprehension because i’m telling you, life will be much easier for the both of us. i’ve never said that liking a rapist makes you a rapist. i said that liking a rapist makes you a liker of a rapist. you like a rapist. that’s exactly what you people are - people who like rapists. how else can you interpret that?

first of all, the simple point i was trying to make, which obviously did not get to you, was that your quote had no relation to this conversation. so what if we all die someday? so what if my efforts go unnoticed? also, my post told them to report and block, because you guys don’t deserve a platform if all you’re going to do is idolize and fantasize about a rapist (again, doesn’t matter that he’s fictional) and post thinks like “i would totally rape him!” second, do you know what “validation” means? when you want other people’s validation, it means you want the attention and approval of other people due to the desire of wanting to belong to society or a group of people. emphasis on due to the desire of wanting to belong. i want other people’s attention - but not for that purpose. i want their attention so i can get their support in removing the blogs that belong to the likes of you, people who don’t use their platform wisely.

when a character is problematic, news flash! you shouldn’t like them. if you find yourself in such a situation, get yourself to unlike them. you’re just saying this because you’re one of those people who don’t want to take the time to grow and learn and be better. people who hate having to lift a foot to do something hard. another thing, who are you to say that i don’t care about any of the other problematic characters, in other fandoms? have you been with me ever since i started my first tumblr blog? do you see my comments on twitter and instagram and tiktok and discord? are you there to hear my REAL LIFE debates and arguments with people like you, who i meet in real life? you aren’t, right? so you don’t get to say that i don’t care.

i’m going to keep this part short: if i’m bullying them, won’t that make them bullies too? you’re really going to call out the person who called you people freaks but you’re going to ignore and gloss over the comments left by your stans that say “i hope those niragi antis die by covid or something”? isn’t that, i don’t know, kinda dumb? but i don’t know, maybe that’s just me :) and to be clear, your stans are the ones who insult first. you don’t see me cussing anyone out in here, huh? worst i’ve done was to call you idiotic, stupid, and a moron. can’t say the same for you guys.

hello? i’ve DISCUSSED my points several times. i have a reblog that summarizes it all. i’ve been trying to be civil about it but you guys simply keep on repeating the same things over and over again, and refuse to stop being redundant. it’s like i’m talking to brick walls and toddlers. i’m not going to leave you stans alone because what you’re doing is wrong and ignoring it goes against my beliefs and morals. it’s that simple.

last of all, no. i will not be apologizing to anybody. none of you deserve an apology. especially not from me because i have done NOTHING wrong.

Maturing is realizing that None of the characters in borderland are meant to be hated, everyone has an ugly personality or did something bad. If your hating on some characters, then you probably didn't understood the point of the whole Show.

Everyone is going to die someday, nobody will remember you, technology will grow and everyone will turn bored from the constant perfection. Everyone in Borderland are equals, your "sweet" and "caring" favorite character killed people. Maturing is realizing that slandering one of the characters or their stans will not give you an opening to Havard, you just need the validation of the people who share this opinion with you, and they prolly also needs validation.

All characters are lovable, all characters are hate-able. Depends from your position, your personal life and your taste. It's not that difficult to just not just insult someone who's a complete stranger because they love a character that you don't, because if everyone did that : god help.

This is for every show basically, hating on someone multiple times with usually a lot of people has a name. Cyberbullying. And that just makes you garbage.

Please spread around.

[strangermarvelss]

positive- e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Hopper!AFAB!Reader

Summary: you find out you’re pregnant with eddie’s baby

Warnings: ANGST, hopper being angry, eddie being a dingus, crying, fighting, mentions of abortion, cursing, fluff, happy ending

Request?: Yes

Reader is hoppers daughter, and finds out she’s pregnant. I want so much angst my heart breaks

I’d love some kind of angst situation between hopper daughter reader, hopper and Eddie. Really open to anything, if you could include El too that would be great. Like reader and her get into an argument or something about Eddie and then that leads to hopper finding out reader is dating Eddie. Then more angst lol 

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: this is the first fic in the collab sleepover i’m doing and ooh it’s exciting! also this may be a hopper afab reader, but i didn’t include any details about race or anything particular, so it could be read as an adoptive hopper daughter as well, i just don’t mention that in the fic. enjoy! -sava

+

Positive. Fucking positive.

You throw the test against the bathroom wall, a frustrated groan escaping your lips. The past year of your life had been amazing and you thought things couldn’t get any better, and that was correct. The universe saw your happiness and decided to knock you down a peg, only this was a very big peg.

You’ve managed to keep your relationship with Hawkin’s resident metalhead, Eddie Munson, a secret for a little over year now, with only a selected few knowing. The main reason you kept it a secret was due to word traveling fast in this town, and your father being police chief Jim Hopper doesn’t help. One wrong move and the two of you would be busted, and you didn’t even want to think about what your father would do if he found out. 

Although it was going to be hard hiding a baby bump for a whole nine months. Then hide the actual baby.

You felt tears pricking behind your eyes, the frustration becoming overwhelming as your mind becomes full of hundreds of scenarios that could happen. You feel a few tears trickle down your cheeks as you hug your knees close to your chest. Your dad was going to kill you or Eddie, or even both of you, and that was the last thing you wanted, especially if you didn’t get to tell Eddie about the unexpected news.

Eddie’s reaction was another you were worried about. The two of you never talked about the possibility of kids, considering you were both so young and the relationship was still being built up, even a little over a year later. Plus, you were barely out of high school and Eddie is about to start his second repeat of his senior year, so the two of you were not mature enough to raise a child, especially with Eddie’s dreams of making it big and escaping Hawkins once and for all.

“Y/N? Are you almost done? I have to use the restroom,” Your sister, El calls out from behind the door. Before you have a chance to answer, she opens the door and you let out a grunt.

“El what the fuck!” You yell out, standing up and running to where you threw the test, quickly hiding it behind your back. Her eye flicker down to your hands before looking at your eyes again.

“What is that?” She asks, pointing to behind you.

“Nothing,” you shrug. You try your best to keep a neutral face, but you know you can’t keep things from your sister. Your heart rate begins to quicken, scared of how this is all going to play out.

“Siblings don’t lie,” she tells you simply, giving you a knowing look. You roll your eyes and go to move past her, trying to get to your bedroom before she can question you further.

“That bullshit line might work on your friends, but it won’t work on me, El. Just let it go,” you tell her, turning the knob to your door, but before you can walk in she uses her powers to shut it on you. You turn to her with a glare and cross your arms. 

“Please talk with me. Maybe…maybe I can help?” She asks, her features soft as she takes a step closer to you.

“El, please, can we talk about it later? I don’t need Dad hearing this conversation.”

“Why not?” Hopper asks, his figure frozen in the door way. You both turn your heads towards the door, not having heard the door even open. You slowly blink at him, feeling as if your eyes were playing tricks on you. This cannot be happening right now.

“Y/N is hiding something from me! And she looks upset so I just want to help,” El explains to him. You run your free hand over your face, a groan leaving your lips.

“Y/N? What are you hiding? You can tell us anything, you know that right?” Your father questions, taking more steps inside the cabin and closing the door behind him.

“Yeah well, not everything,” you mumble under your breath. Your father’s eyebrows shoot up in a concerned expression.

Suddenly, you watch El sneakily go behind you and grab the used test from your hands, your throat letting out a loud scream and attempt to grab it back from her, only for your father to grab it from her and hold it above his head for a moment.

You’re absolutely fucked.

He lowers the test to eye level and examines it, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he looks up at you. You quickly look to the floor, not wanting to be the subject of your father’s intense gaze. 

“Y/N…why the fuck do you have a positive pregnancy test?” He asks, his voice low but calm, which was scarier than his yelling voice at times. Your lips are tightly pressed together, unable to form a coherent sentence to answer him.

“What does that mean? Did you pass the test?” El questions unknowingly. Part of you wanted to laugh at her question, knowing she genuinely was curious as she’s never encountered a situation like this before. You peer up at your father, his face twisted in rage, sending an unsettling feeling to the pit of your stomach.

“El, go to your room...now. Y/N, answer the goddamn question,” he demands. You watch El scurry off to her room, leaving the door open three inches as she always did.

“The test…it’s mine,” you whisper out, but loud enough for him to hear. Looking at him, you watch as he turns to the wall closest to him and slams his fist against it. Flinching, you feel yourself leaning against the door, cowering a little. 

You loved your relationship with your father, the two of you always being close since you can remember. But he was strict, and you knew it was because he cared about you. Most of his rules were obtainable, but you found it unfair that El was allowed to have a boyfriend, even if your father hated him, and be out in the open with that relationship. Whereas you were not allowed the same luxury.

“How could you be so reckless?! You know you’re not even allowed to date, I assumed you knew that applied to sex as well! Like seriously, Y/N did you even think this through?” He screamed. You felt the tears begin to fall again, unable to keep the eye contact with him. “Who is this punk? I need to go set him straight.”

“No! Dad, I haven’t even told him yet, please just calm down,” you plead, walking forward towards him. Your face was full of sadness as you looked at him, but the only thing you could focus on was the disappointment etched within this face.

“Absolutely not. You’ve lost my trust and now you’re not going anywhere for the foreseeable future, I’ll make sure of it,” he yells, his face dangerously close to yours. Tears continue to roll down your face as anger bubbles in your chest.

“You’re being so unfair right now! How come its okay for El to be with Mike all the time, but I even think about having a boyfriend, and it’s the biggest crime in the world? It’s such a double standard!” You yell back. His face contorts into a surprised expression, which you were surprised about as well. You weren’t big on fighting him back on things, but this was scaring the shit out of you, and his reaction wasn’t helping the matter. 

“Yeah? Well El isn’t out there having sex! Hell, I didn’t think you were either, but I guess I was wrong,” he huffs. He wipes his hand across his face and lets out a long sigh. “I just don’t understand how you could be so stupid.”

Your lip begins to wobble as you look to the floor once more, this words cutting deep. You hated being on his bad side, and having him insult you for a mistake just made you feel worse. You scurry across the room and grab your car keys from the table beside your father’s chair and make a quick escape, running to your car and opening the driver’s door.

“No, no, no! Where the hell are you going?!” Hopper shouts from the doorway. You wipe away your tears that had puddled on your cheeks, looking at him.

“I’m sorry you hate me dad, but I have to go tell the father. He deserves to know before I’m never seen by the world again.”

———————————————————————————————

Your knuckles knock against the door to Eddie’s trailer, your hands beginning to shake. Comfort was the only thing you wanted most in the world right now, your life doing a complete 180 turn just by taking a simple test. Eddie may have a tough exterior demeanor he puts on for the rest of the town, but he was a sweetheart deep down, a side of him you loved being able to see. He was a safe haven that you never knew you could need.

Eddie comes into view as the door opens, his smile stretching across his face as his eyes meet yours. You look at him with a worried expression, still visibly shaking, which he is quick to notice. He approaches you and immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close to his body and he rubs his hands against your arms.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks as he motions you inside. You walk through the door of the trailer and into the living area, sitting on the couch as your leg bounces. Eddie swoops in and sits next to you, his hand interlocking with yours and rubbing small circles against the back of your hand. You look over at him with doe eyes, fear banging around your chest.

“M-my dad knows. About u-us,” you let out, your hand gesturing between the two of you. His eyes go wide, fear written across the once smiling face. 

“I’m sorry…what?” He asks you. His thumb was still rubbing small circles on your hand, which was starting to ease your worries, but not entirely. You simply nod at him, looking down to advert his gaze as you let out a long sigh. “H-how’d he find out?”

“He found my pregnancy test,” you mumble, your eyes glued to the floor. Eddie’s movements against your hand come to a halt, his hand dropping from your own, making you look up at his eyes, which are wider than they were before, his jaw hung open. 

Your throat became dry all of a sudden, the silence in the room becoming suffocating. Eddie’s eyes were locked on yours, searching for any indicator that you were joking, just fucking around and pulling his leg. You let a tear slip past the dam that had built up, shaking your head as you bury your head in your hands.

“How the hell did this happen?” Eddie finally manages to let out.

“Believe it or not Eds, the pull out method doesn’t always work,” you chuckle out, a pathetic attempt to ease the tension that lurked in the air, but you’re only met with an unamused glare from your boyfriend.

“This isn’t funny, Y/N,” he says, rising from the couch and beginning to pace in the living room. You try to hide the hurt that hits your chest at his tone when saying your name and the lack of pet name accompanying his words, shaking it out a bit. “What the fuck are we going to do? I’m not ready to be someone’s fucking father! Jesus H. Christ, I should’ve had condoms on hand at all times.”

“I don’t know, Eds. I’m j-just really fucking scared,” you tell him honestly. He shoots you a knowing look, his face emotionless.

“Yeah no shit, me too,” he stops his motions, snapping his fingers as the lightbulb above his head goes off. “W-what if you got an abortion?”

Your eyebrows raise as you look at him, shocked that it was his first suggestion. You’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, but this information was still new, you wanted to try and talk with Eddie to see what the two of you could do about this situation before thinking of that. It was really just a last resort for you.

“I-I don’t think I want that,” you answer simply. He lets out a groan and runs his hands over his face, turning away from you and hunching a bit.

“Then what the fuck do you want to do then, Y/N? We’re not ready to be parents! Shit, I’m still in goddamn high school! I can’t even think about a baby right now, plus you know about my plans to get out of this fuckin’ town-“

“Yeah Eddie, I’m fully aware of your plans. I had plans too but accidents like this happen,” you yell out. He turns back to look at you, surprised by the sudden change in tone. “I get that you’re not ready to be a parent, and I’m not either, but we’re both to blame for this shit, okay? Don’t try and put this all on me,” you stand from your seat and point a finger into his chest. He smacks it away and lets out another frustrated groan. 

“I’m not putting it all on you! You’re the one who doesn’t know if they want an abortion, so I’m out of options here. I told you I don’t want to be a dad now, so I’m done!” He all but screams. You take a step back from him, shock seeping into your bones as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean ‘you’re done’?” You ask him. He shakes his head and chuckles maliciously for a second before turning to you once more.

“It means I’m done with this conversation. I’ve shared my peace, so do what you want. It’s not like I have a real say anyway,” he responds. You feel your heartstrings tug tightly, pain surging throughout your chest as you let out a deep sigh, fighting to keep any more tears from falling. 

Eddie’s figure retreats into his room, slamming the door closed and quickly puts on his stereo, the volume booming and shaking the entire trailer. You hold yourself in your position for a moment, your face crumpling into a sad expression now that your boyfriend, if you should still call him that, was out of eyesight. 

You will yourself to walk towards the door of his trailer and down the steps, opening your car door once more and hopping inside. You weren’t sure where you’d end up going, with the two places you felt safest and loved most tumbling down all because of an accident you didn’t mean to happen. Turning on the engine, you back out of your parking spot and drive towards the exit of the Forrest Hills trailer park, unsure of your next destination.

———————————————————————————————

The suns seeping in through the cheap motel blinds pulls you from your sleep, sitting up on the bed and stretching your arms with a yawn. You decided to not bother anyone else you were close to with the news of your unplanned pregnancy, having already severed ties with the two men in your life you loved most and not wanting to break anymore relationships. You were able to pay for a night’s stay at a motel on the outskirts of Hawkins with the money you kept on you for emergencies, now regretting that as you’d need as much money as you could get your hands on to raise a child, or an out of state stay for an abortion procedure, if it came down to it.

You quickly get dressed back in your pants from yesterday, having slept in only your shirt and underwear. You grab what little belongings you had with you and exit the room, returning the key to the front desk worker who helped you last night. 

The drive back to the cabin felt shorter than it was, your mind thinking back on the events that transpired the day before and the pang of sadness flooding your system returning the closer you got back to your home. You’re not sure what’s going to happen when you walk through the door, but hopefully gathering your belongings wouldn’t cause too much damage.

Parking the car, you’re surprised to see the police vehicle still sitting in front of the cabin, making your nerves worsen as you approach the steps. Turning the knob, you walk inside and see Hopper sitting across from El, who has a blindfold on and sitting with her legs crossed on the floor. Your father turns to you and lets out a huff, tapping El on the knee to tell her to stop her motions. She removes her blindfold and her face lights up at the sight of you, making you feel a bit better about the situation.

“Hi,” you let out, a small wave accompanying your words. El waves back to you and stands, running over and wrapping her arms around you. You return the gesture and cross your arms around her shoulders, resting your chin on top of her head. 

“Where were you last night kid?” Your father asks, now standing with his arms crossed on the other side of the room. You retreat from El and cross your arms as well, looking to the floor to avoid his disappointed gaze. 

“I slept at a motel, but it seems you might've figured that out,” you reply as you gesture to El, who has a nervous smile on her face after being called out for using her powers. You feel El’s hand rub your back softly, sending her a slight smile before peering up to your father’s eyes. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he tells you simply. 

“Felt like I did.”

“Just because I’m upset about what happened, doesn’t mean I don’t love you and don't want you at home, where it is safe. I was just…shocked to hear it all at once. You’re dating, having…intercourse, and now having a baby? It was a lot to take in yesterday, and my temper got the best of me. I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he explains to you. Your face softens as you listen to him, the sadness from yesterday beginning to feel slightly better. 

“Thanks Dad,” you say. You walk closer to him and wrap your arms around his torso, burying your head in his chest. He snakes his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. You feel a surge of emotions rush throughout your system. “I’m really scared.”

“I know, I know kiddo. But El and I will be here for you, whatever you want to do, okay?” he pulls back a little and looks you in the eyes. He wipes your tears away with his hand and you smile. El comes by you guys and joins your hug, sending you into a fit of giggles as you all embrace each other.

The three of you hang out for the rest of the day, talking about your options and later playing card games to help distract you from the whole scenario. Your father asked about the father once again, but when he saw your expression and change in body language when bringing it up, he didn’t harp on the matter any further. 

After retreating off to your own room, you put on a cassette tape in your room on a low volume before sitting on your bed, the door open three inches like your father always requests. You pull open a notepad and begin making a list of pros and cons of your options regarding the child growing inside you currently, trying to think quickly on a definitive decision on this life changing situation you’ve been dealt.

A light tapping sound pulls you from your motions, looking outside your bedroom window to see the silhouette of Eddie waving his hand timidly. You roll your eyes and go back to your list, only to be met with more intense tapping. You toss the list aside and go over to your window, lifting it enough to see him in the light of your bedroom.

“What do you want Eddie?” You ask him, crossing your arms. He lets out a sigh and points to inside your room, making you shake your head. “He’s home, so that definitely wouldn’t be the best idea. Considering our new predicament as well…”

“Fine, um…how about you meet me on your porch stairs?” He suggests, his eyes wide but soft as they look at you. You nod and shut the window, making an escape from your bedroom and walking past your dad in the living room, catching a glimpse of whatever show he was watching while lounging in his recliner. You open the front door and shut it quickly, seeing Eddie’s figure dash from behind the cabin. You sit down on the steps and let out a sigh as he joins you.

“How are you? Everything going okay with you and, uh…it?” He questions, pointing towards your stomach. You roll your eyes once more and look towards him.

“Yep, as good as it can be,” you answer simply. You play with your hands and look down towards your feet, the insects around you filling the silence that began to loom about you two. 

“I’m really sorry about yesterday, Y/N,” he tells you, his voice coming out quiet and sincere. You look over at him with a sympathetic smile, his lips curving into one as well. “I was just so scared and I didn’t know how to let my feelings be known. A shit childhood can stunt you like, believe it or not.”

You giggle at his attempt to ease the tension, knowing that it can be difficult for him to express how he feels at moments. He’s never been given a chance to be treated right or brought up to know what’s good and bad, not until he was placed in Wayne’s care, but it’s hard to mold and condition a brain that’s nearly fully developed. 

“I get that, Eds, I do. But I was scared too. Got yelled at by my dad and embarrassed in front of El? It just felt really bad coming over to you for comfort but finding the exact opposite,” you explain to him. You watch him nod and reach out for you, closing the space between you and resting your head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing the arm snaked around you.

“I know baby, I really am sorry. If it helps, Wayne tore me a new one today after I explained it all to him. He really wasn’t happy with the way I treated you, which kinda helped me pull my head out of my ass and come here to apologize,” he reveals. You laugh and reach for his free hand, interlocking your fingers with his. 

“That kind of does help actually,” you tell him with a smile. His laugh causes his entire body to move, shaking you a bit as well. 

“So…how are things with your dad? He still upset?”

“He probably is, but we spent the day talking about what my options are, and he said he and El will be there for me no matter what I decide to do,” you answer him.

“Well you can add me to that list, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be on board with whatever you decide, and we’ll get through it together, alright?” He lifts you gently from his shoulder to look you in the eyes, his chocolatey orbs glistening in the moonlight. You nod your head softly and press your lips to his, inhaling the scent of his leather jacket and cigarette breath. 

“YOU NEVER TOLD ME THE FATHER WAS THE FUCKING MUNSON KID!” Your father shouts from the door way. The two of you pull away from one another with wide eyes and Eddie all but jumps to his feet off the porch, making you giggle just a bit. 

“Hey Chief, hope you’re doing well. I really like your daughter sir, but I’m gonna-gonna go now. Love you Y/N, see ya later sweetheart!” He rushes out, sprinting towards his van as your father runs down the stairs in an attempt to catch him, all while you and El, who had been standing behind your dad, sit back on the porch laughing at the two boys.

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading! 

[melancholic-pigeon]

I think a lot about the feedback debate in fandom.

And this comes from me having fallen into the "hits are people running away" spiral less than a year ago. I'm here because I was there, recently.

Kudos specifically gets me, though.

There's this push for people to kudos every fic they finish reading because "It's the least you can do" or "you owe the author if you read all the way through", along with some "kudos aren't good enough, you have to leave a comment"

and I think as @ao3commentoftheday said in the linked post, this is people devaluing kudos. A kudos is literally identical to a comment that reads "Kudos! ❤"

It's supposed to be a signifier that someone liked your work. It kinda waters down the meaning to consider it an obligation, and the overwhelming majority of people do not use kudos as a way to mark that they finished a work.

But if you're inundated with people making the argument that kudos should be used as a "made it through the fic" marker rather than a comment reading "kudos! ❤", kudoses lose their impact. If you imagine them as an obligation, they cease to be a compliment.

And if that's the slurry you're in, of course you feel unappreciated and invisible. That's a totally reasonable conclusion to come to, if you don't know that very few people devalue kudos that way. Of course it hurts if you think a kudos simply means "I read this"!

And I get why people want readers to understand how authors feel. I really, really do. There's always a nonzero number of people in fandom who simply haven't thought about how much it would mean to the author to get a comment, and hearing "authors love comments!!" can be really helpful!

But I do wish that we as authors would put a little more effort into reciprocating that understanding.

Because you do not and cannot know why someone isn't commenting, and "I know some people have crippling anxiety about commenting, but they can just come up with a script or send a heart emoji" doesn’t cut it.

You don't know why they're anxious. They could freeze up and have a panic attack at the idea of posting a comment at all. Some people have OCD and spend so long ruminating on making sure the comment is Right because Terrible Things Will Happen if it's Wrong that they're forced to give up. Maybe they have severe fatigue and/or chronic pain and they literally can't go through that extra step (hi, me).

Maybe they have PTSD from fandom harassment and they're afraid of bringing attention to themselves. Maybe they have PTSD for some other reason and it's blocked them from believing they could ever have anything to say that won't just piss the author off. Maybe they're ESL and they've been viciously mocked for their imperfect grammar. Maybe they have ADHD, and they seriously meant to, but then they lost track of it (hi again, me!).

Maybe they're simply still working up the nerve.

Guilting makes it worse. Much, much worse. All of it.

I legitimately stopped reading any fanfic for a few months because I felt so bad about how shitty I must be making authors feel, and it seemed better not to add to their disappointment if I couldn't summon up the energy or brain to comment.

How is that better?

And I have to say, in every single stat spiral I have seen (including mine!), the ratio is the problem, but what functionally happens is people discard kudos and hits as irrelevant.

"Only two hundred people kudosed out of x thousand hits! Everyone hates me!"

Another way to say that is two fucking hundred people liked it enough to leave you a comment reading "kudos! ❤"

and when presented as though this is a negative thing...without meaning to, you just swept two hundred people into the garbage and told them their positive feedback doesn't count.

Same thing with people who forget or are unable to kudos, actually— views are (mostly; see linked post) people who looked at your work. several people in the notes of the linked post up top go into why people who loved things may not kudos them, as well as breaking down why hits aren't an accurate measurement for reader engagement in the first place!

Most of your hits aren't people running away because they hate you. That's the sneaky hate spiral talking, and sneaky hate spirals lie to you. It's what they do. A majority of those hits are people who enjoyed it. We are throwing the baby out with the bathwater when we devalue hits, too, not just kudos.

To go by the OCD example from earlier, maybe they're working on a compulsive need to kudos everything they read. Or maybe they're just shy, or it's a really bad pain day and they only have enough spoons to read. Maybe they just forgot.

The people who liked it count. They matter, even if all you see of them is their presence in your hits.

[natashxromanovf]

Comfort Hugs

Yelena Belova x gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 547

WARNINGS: mentions of toxic parents, mentions of arguing with your parents, crying

REQUESTED: {x} by @sheraayasher, hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: Yelena comforts you after an argument with your parents.

A/N: let’s pretend yelena isn’t a deadly assassin for this one, thank you very much. gif credits @cinematv

You knock on her door. Nothing, not even a sound. God, she must be sleeping. You don’t want to wake her up, but you feel as if you’re going to fall apart unless she gives you one of her comforting hugs. You knock again, a bit harder this time. Finally, you hear some shuffling inside and a couple of seconds later, she’s standing in front of you, her eyes laced with sleepiness. She has that murderous look on her face, the one where she’s trying to say ‘who the hell was dumb enough to wake me up in the middle of a well-deserved rest?’. It softens once she takes in your shaking form though, knowing that something must be really wrong for you to just show up like this, at this hour.  

“Y/N? What are you doing here, darling?” she asks, confusion and worry present in her voice. 

“My, uh, my parents were at it again. They were saying some really stupid things. I shouldn’t even listen to them anymore by this point, they're just trying to make me feel bad. But, Yelena, they’re my parents, I can’t just simply swallow their insults,” you ramble, the slight tremble in your voice setting off an alarm inside the blonde. She has heard this story before, it happens more times than it should. It never gets less painfull tho. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, love. Come here,” she says, pulling you into one of her famous hugs, the one you longed for the second you left your house. She may not give out a lot of those but when she does, it was the best thing a person could have ever wished for. They radiate a kind of comfort other hugs don't. You can really feel how much she cares through it, and it feels damn nice to have someone care for you. 

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I just didn’t know where else to go,” you confess, your body beginning to shake with sobs. 

“Shh, I know honey, it’s okay. I’m always here, you know that right? You can stay here for as long as you want, for as long as you need. But for God’s sake can we please move inside the apartment, I’m freezing half to death here,” she jokes, earning a chuckle from you. Even in situations like these, she always knows how to make you laugh.

“Yeah, sorry,” you smile, a little smile you could manage right now. “And thank you. For being here. For not murdering me when you opened the door,” now it’s her turn to laugh. 

“You’re very welcome,” she grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Come, I’ve got tea. You can tell me about the argument or we can simply watch a movie or something. You can cry if you want, I won’t judge,” she suggests, giving you all those options to choose from. 

“I know you won’t judge. You never judge, you just listen. And you have no idea how much that means to me. Really, I’m beyond grateful,” you sniff, another tear rolling down your cheek, but it’s a different kind of tear now - it’s one of gratefulness, one of happiness that you’ve managed to meet such a lovely person such as Yelena.

marvel taglist: @hallecarey1 @mirclealignr @cupids-crystals @mcufossilman

yelena belova: @kimoralov3 @mollysolo @fairydxll @msfandomfreak @sheraayasher @eichenhouseproperty

i hope you enjoyed this! don't forget to like, reblog and/or comment, it really helps writers with motivation <33

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