#i've been with this show since the beginning and during that time had a love/hate relationship with it

[chanandlersstuff]

Director and Actor

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 9.464

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and devastation, like someone opened your chest and ripped your heart out.

Author’s note: Hello hello again, thanks a lot for the paitence, again, and the love I've been reciving for the series.

It's been a while, since...I actually don't remember, almost a year I think, but better late than never I guess (?.

As I said before, I strugle a lot with writing when I don't have the right motivation and I start and left fics, I finished one in my native language, I picked up fics that were long forgotten and two days ago all the inspiration in the world hit me all at once and I finished this part and gave enought fuel to start the next one.

With that being said, enjoy, don't hate me too much, nor them, hehe. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

Beginning of August 2021. The show must go on.

The air on set was electric, but no in the way it used to be. It was heavier now. Dense. Suffocating. Every word spoken felt too loud. Every silence lingered too long.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a lightsaber and everyone felt it. The director and the star didn’t speak anymore. Not like before.

There was no more coffee waiting on her desk, nor tea waiting to be brewed in the kitchen. No shared breakfast. No jasmine scent wafting from his coat after he dropped by to say hi. No quiet laughs between takes, no whispered “Bubble” or “Starboy” in the quiet spaces between chaos.

Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving.

They hadn’t spoken properly since the training session in the stunt room, the one where she almost kissed him. Or he almost kissed her. Or maybe they both did. It didn’t matter, because he pulled away.

Since then, everything has been different. But it wasn’t like they didn’t see each other, because they did. Every day. Every take. Every meeting. Every briefing. They were professionals after all. 

He showed up on time, hit his marks, delivered every line. And she directed with surgical precision, addressing him only when it was absolutely necessary. 

Hayden looked at her. All the time. Even when she wasn’t looking at him. Especially then. His eyes found her without thinking, searching for something familiar, some sign that she was still there, that she hadn’t completely closed herself off.

But she had. Not out of cruelty. Or pride.

She avoided him because it hurt too much to not avoid him. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, not since that day, the day she felt everything shift.

The day she let herself believe that maybe… maybe he felt it too. Maybe it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the late-night talks and the thoughtful gifts. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was something worth risking.

And then he pulled away.

Not violently. Not harshly. Just gently. Like a door softly clicking shut.

And he hadn’t said a word since.

She tried to hold on to her pride. To the professionalism she’d worked so hard to master. She was the youngest director Lucasfilm had ever trusted with a project this big. She was a woman in a world where that still meant fighting harder to be heard. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

But her heart was broken.

And worst of all, she was ashamed of it.

Ashamed that she let it happen. Ashamed that she cared so deeply. Ashamed that despite everything, a part of her still wanted him to look at her like he used to. Still wanted to hear his voice say her name, soft and warm like tea on a cold day.

And he did look at her.

That was the worst part.

She could feel it.

Across the set, in the silence of production meetings, during takes, his eyes found her, heavy with guilt and something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

But he kept his distance. Because she did. Because her silence was sharp, and her avoidance louder than any confrontation. And he honored that space, even if it killed him.

The crew noticed. Of course they did.

It wasn’t just the absence of laughter or private jokes. It was the way she stood a little straighter when he walked into the room, how his eyes tracked her every move with sadness on them. The static electricity that sparked when they were accidentally forced into the same space. Everyone tiptoed around them now, like something fragile was about to break.

“You two good?” Ewan asked one afternoon, voice low, brows raised as he stood beside Hayden after a particularly quiet rehearsal.

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He watched her across the room, where she was giving the DOP some notes, her voice soft but her shoulders tight. “We’re fine,” he muttered eventually, jaw clenched.

Ewan didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did anyone else because it was a lie, one he told too easily now.

The day had been heavy for her, everything that could go wrong that day, it did. So as she sat in front of her screen, her headset buzzed with feedback, and her clipboard was shaking slightly in her hands. 

She just needed to sleep, to properly sleep, which she had not been doing lately. Because every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that training room, heart pounding, lips parted, breathless, right before it all fell apart.

The AD called, the actors took their places, her eyes glued themselves to the monitor and his on her. 

“Rolling.”

She took a deep breath. “Action.”

But moments later, she had to call it. 

“Cut,��� she called sharply. “Let’s go again.”

Again. And again. And again.

They did six takes. Each one more unbearable than the next. By the fourth the actors started to feel it. Her voice cracked a little by the fifth. By the sixth, the cinematographer glanced her way with a quiet, almost pitying look.

“Let’s take five,” she said, spinning on her heel before anyone could speak.

She disappeared into the narrow corridor beside the soundstage. Bracing herself against the wall, her head hung low and her breathing was shallow, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months. She wouldn’t cry now.  Not for a scene that didn’t seem to work. Not for the wrong delivery of lunch for the crew. Not for the fucking cold bitter coffee she drank in the morning. And definitely not for a man who pulled away.

Not for a man who looked at her like she meant everything, then acted like she was nothing.

No matter how hard she tried to act like she didn’t care, she did. She cared too much. Still. And that infuriated her.

Her heart was bruised and swollen with everything she didn’t say.

Why did you pull away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe in something you weren’t ready for?

Her hands trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go back where they came from.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, quiet. Hesitant.

She froze. Her shoulders tensed.

“You need something?” she said, voice sharper than she meant, brittle like glass. But she couldn’t help it. She was too full. 

Of sadness. Of anger. Of everything.

Hayden exhaled. “We need to talk.”

She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “Now you want to talk?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

Silence stretched between them. He looked at her like she was the only thing he saw and she…she glared at him.

The coldness in her eyes stopped him mid-breath, freezing every word in his throat. Because whatever he had come there to say, whatever apology, confession, excuse, died on his lips the moment her eyes found his.

She didn’t have to say a thing. He felt it.

The hurt. The betrayal. The disappointment.

And still, she didn’t look away.

She held his gaze like the lightsaber he taught her to wield.

And somewhere beneath the ache in her chest, beneath the heat rising to her cheeks and the storm of emotions fighting to spill from behind her ribs, she reminded herself of something.

Of him, actually.

Of one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever received, wrapped in silence and sincerity months ago when everything was still soft and new between them. The perfectly placed frame in her bookshelf. 

"The show must go on. Come rain, come shine,  Come snow, come sleet. The show must go on."

And so it would.

She blinked once, and the emotion in her eyes vanished like smoke.

He watched, helpless, as the woman he missed, the one who laughed with him over tea, who tucked pens in her hair and called him Starboy and Moose, was replaced by her again.

The director. Professional. Precise. Unshakable.

“The five minutes are up,” she said, tone clipped and unreadable. And without another glance, she stepped past him, steps firm on the floor, head high, spine straight.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t stop her.

Because how could he, when she was doing exactly what he reminded her to do? Putting the show first. Carrying on. Even when it broke her.

Even when it broke him.

He turned to watch her disappear down the hall, swallowed by shadows and silence. Not being close to her was punishment, one he knew he deserved every second of it.

Mid of August 2021. How did it end? I can’t pretend I understand.

The set was stripped bare, props cleared, lights off, the chaos of production long gone for the day. Only the golden spill of late afternoon sun filtered in from the open bay doors, warming the edges of the metal scaffolding and stretching shadows across the concrete floor.

She was still there. Alone in her chair.

Her legs were curled underneath her, hands resting in her lap, a red pen twirling idly between her fingers. The black canvas of the director's chair framed her like a quiet portrait, serene on the outside, storming on the inside.

Hayden had only come back to grab a script he’d left behind. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the second he spotted her, still and soft in the quiet, something in him shifted.

He shouldn’t but he did.

His feet moved on instinct, slowly across the floor. Easy, careful. His steps were light, like approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if startled. He didn’t want to spook her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain.

He just wanted to be near her.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low enough to not echo. “You alright?”

She startled slightly, lifting her head from the open binder in her lap. Her expression was tired, guarded. “What? Why?”

“You’re scrunching your nose.”

Her hand moved before she could stop it, fingers tracing the slight curve between her brows. “So?”

He gave a soft, almost sheepish smile. “That usually means you don’t like something.”

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

With a slight shrug, he said, "I notice things about you."

That silenced her.

The pen in her hand stilled. Her eyes dropped to the binder again, but the blush rose to her cheeks anyway, subtle, but real. She hated that her body still reacted to him like that. Hated that after everything, he still saw her so clearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she finally admitted. “I stayed late working… and just ended up crashing here.”

“You didn’t go home?” His brow creased, concern breaking through the soft edge of his voice.

“No. I had a lot to do,” she shrugged, brushing it off. “Got up early, too, to finish.”

This woman. Taking a few steps closer to her, his hand hovered over her back and quietly, decisively, he said, “Come on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her laugh was dry. “I can take an Uber, don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping closer now, voice firmer. “I’m taking you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Hayden…” she started, already shaking her head. 

Oh how much I missed you saying my name. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Go home, get some rest. I’m fine.”

“Please.” His tone softened again. “For my sake. I’d like to know you got home safe and sound.”

That got her.

Her lips parted as if to argue, but she sighed instead, and with a defeated smile she nodded. “Fine.”

The drive was quiet.

The soft hum of the radio filled the space between them, some soft song playing faintly as they glided down empty streets. The city was winding down for the weekend, orange light casting long shadows over the dashboard.

But all Hayden could focus on was her.

The jasmine. It was back, her scent, delicate and intoxicating, curling through the air like memory. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it hit him all at once, warm and bittersweet and so her it almost hurt.

She was tired, he could tell. Her head leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, but she wasn’t asleep. Just still. And maybe that’s why she accepted the ride. Maybe exhaustion had lowered the wall just enough for him to slip in.

There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he said none of it.

When he finally pulled up to her house and shifted into park, she reached for the door, but paused, hand frozen on the handle.

She exhaled deeply, like she was making a decision. “You wanna stay and eat?” she asked, not looking at him. “We can order something.”

“Nono—” he said, almost too quickly.

She still.

The silence that followed felt sharp.

Nodding slowly, she opened the door. “Okay, thank you for the ride” she said, but her voice had gone small, her mouth twitching in a quiet, disappointed smile.

“No—I mean,” he backtracked fast, eyes wide, leaning in slightly. “No to the ordering part. I would love to eat with you.”

She looked at him again then. Really looked. And her lips twitched again, this time upward. “Oh. Okay.” A beat. “Come in.”

He opened his door, already grinning, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “With one condition.”

She looked at their hands and then at him. “Which is…?”

“Let me cook for you.” A smile drew itself on his lips. “I owe you a pizza date, if I recall correctly.” 

How much he was cherishing her hand in his could not be explained, and when her eyes softened, just a little, and he caught a glimpse of Bubble, his heart almost exploded

“You do,” she said, smiling a little. “And pizza sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, smile blooming too.

And for the first time in months, something in his chest breathed.

She opened the door, stepping inside first, and he followed close behind. Her place was quiet and warm, not in temperature but in feeling, lived-in, loved, her. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old paper and something sweet lingering from the morning.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, tossing her keys into a bowl near the door and slipping off her shoes. Her voice was still careful, but there was something softer in it now. Something that sounded a little like hope.

While she disappeared down the hall to change, he wandered quietly through the space.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream, scattered with paintings, some abstract, others dreamy watercolors. On a side table, a small stack of Polaroids showed her with her niece and nephew: one of her with icing on her nose, another where the kids clung to her like koalas. There were little drawings pinned to the fridge too, crayon portraits signed with crooked handwriting. "The best aunt in the whole wide world." 

Next to the bookshelf stood a low cabinet filled with records and candles. But it was the tall bookshelf in the corner that drew him in.

He wandered over to it, his fingers skimming over spines and worn scripts and film biographies. Tucked among them, pieces of her, real pieces.

Her world was here, tangible and intimate.

There stood the frame with the Singing in the Rain phrase he’d given her for Christmas. And next to it, still perfectly intact and neatly displayed, was the little card he’d attached to the bouquet of jasmine flowers for her birthday.

He reached for it carefully, his heart slowing and then racing all at once.

Happy birthday, Miss Director. I wish you the best and hope you are utterly and incandescently happy in your day.

He remembered writing those words. Remembered how long he stared at the card before daring to write incandescently. It sounded like her. They were her words. 

She’d kept it and his chest ached. 

And he wished he could reach back in time and change that day in the training room. God, he wished.

“You found my treasure trove,” her voice said gently from the doorway.

He turned. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, bare-faced, hair tied up messily. She looked tired. And beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he said quickly, placing the card back exactly where it had been.

“You weren’t snooping.” She stepped forward. “You were looking.”

He swallowed. “You kept it.”

“I keep things that matter,” she said simply, then added, “Do you need anything? I can—”

“No,” he cut in, smiling gently. “Let me cook for you.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

The kitchen felt like a dream. A fragile, aching dream.

He stood at the counter, chopping tomatoes with quiet concentration while she leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a look she couldn’t quite name, part disbelief, part yearning, part self-defense.

She watched the way his hands moved, the precise rhythm of his knife, the absentminded way he whistled under his breath like it didn’t break her a little to hear it. Like it hadn’t haunted her in the silence these past few weeks.

He stirred the sauce slowly, the scent of garlic and tomato winding around them, as he murmured something about her not owning a garlic press. He found basil, crushed red pepper, her dwindling olive oil supply. She had three kinds of hot sauce and none of them were what he needed, but he made do anyway.

She watched in silence, hardly breathing. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And while he rolled the dough, glancing at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there, she stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, what they could’ve been.

She couldn’t believe how natural it felt. How domestic. How easy. And it shouldn’t have felt easy. Not after everything. But it did.

Something bruised and tightly coiled inside her chest began to slowly, painfully unwind.

They laughed, quietly, carefully, as the scent of bubbling sauce and browning dough filled the air, as melted cheese hissed in the oven. Her laughter wasn’t as open as it used to be and his was laced with nerves. But still, it was laughter.

For a moment, it was like the cracks between them didn’t exist. Like they were still them.

When they sat down to eat at her small table, knees almost brushing beneath it, the silence between them wasn’t cold or tense, it was warm, comfortable. Safe but tentative.

But it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with everything unsaid, humming between them like a wire pulled too tight.

She watched him take a bite, eyes closing with exaggerated delight. He said it was good. She said it was better than expected. They smiled. Softly. Carefully. Like holding a glass heart between them that could shatter with one wrong word.

She placed her crust down and looked at him, the smile on her lips fading into something quieter. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“That day…” Her voice caught. “In the training room. Did you…” She stopped herself, shaking her head, backing out of it. “You know what, never mind.”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Say it.”

She looked down at the table, at her empty plate, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I thought you felt something. That day.” She swallowed hard. “In the training room. I thought we were… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I did,” he said instantly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “I wanted it, more than anything.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then why?” she asked, her voice cracking wide open. “Why did you pull away?”

He looked at her like the question physically hurt. His jaw clenched. His eyes softened. And still, he struggled to speak.

“Because I felt too much,” he said finally. And that was the truth of it.

Her breath hitched, her chest clenched and her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair.

“I panicked,” he admitted, voice low. “I shouldn’t have. I knew what I wanted. I wanted you. But… I was terrified.” He looked down at his hands, useless now, aching to touch her but too afraid she’d flinch away.

“You’re younger. I’m… me. This industry, this set, it’s yours. It’s your dream. And I didn’t want to be the one to take that away.”

“You wouldn’t have taken anything away,” she whispered. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I know,” he said, broken. “And that’s on me.”

He finally looked up, and she nearly lost her breath at the way he looked at her, eyes full of regret, of love, of everything he never said.

“Loads of things could go wrong, Bubble,” he said softly. “But what I cared about the most is your career.” His gaze was heavy, pained. “People would twist it, me and you, eleven years between us, director and actor, favoritism, headlines. If it ended badly, if anything happened… your name would be the one they dragged. Not mine. You’d become hers, not the director who built something incredible.”

“You didn’t let me decide if I was willing to risk it,” she said, her voice cracking. 

His heart broke. “I couldn’t do that to you,” he said, voice firmer now. “You’re too good. Too talented. You deserve to be praised for your work, not whispered about in back rooms. This is your dream. You earned the place you are in.”

“I love this job,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I love what I’m doing. But I loved being near you, too. And you made me feel like I imagined all of it when you pulled away. Like it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t imaginate anything, but…I was scared,” he admitted. “Of how much I felt. How fast. Of how deep it ran.” He wanted her to look at him. “It matters so much it’s killing me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. And despite everything, despite the pain, the hurt, the silence, her eyes were soft. Full of longing.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even when I was angry. Especially then.”

“I missed you too,” he breathed, shifting closer, his knee brushing hers. And then, because he couldn’t help it, Hayden reached for her, his hands cupping her face like she was something holy. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I miss you so much. Every day. I miss talking to you. Laughing with you. Seeing you smile.” A shaky breath. “I miss us, whatever that was becoming.”

Her hands didn’t push him away. But they didn’t move to touch him either.

She was still caught in the in-between.“You looked like you belonged here tonight,” she said, barely audible. “Like this was where you were meant to be. In my kitchen. Cooking for me. Laughing with me. And it felt so right it scared me.”

His throat closed and his heart thundered in his chest, because it felt right to him too. So painfully, impossibly right and that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t fleeting, or temporary. It was deeper than anything he’d felt before, profound and terrifying. It hit him like an avalanche, an elephant sitting on his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him with the weight of it.

But still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let it live.

Because if he did, and it went wrong, like the rest of his relationships did, she would pay the price. Because what if it ruined her?  What if it tarnished her?

And he couldn't live with that, couldn’t risk that. Not her. Not her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “For all of it. For not being brave enough.”

She didn’t answer.

She just nodded, tears clinging to her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek like it was the only thing keeping her together.

He stood slowly, gathered the plates like a man trying to delay the inevitable. “Let me help you clean.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… leave them.”

A beat passed.

And then she added, “I’m tired.”

He nodded, already backing away. Like he seemed to always do with her.

She walked him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she was already hugging herself, like she was trying to keep from falling apart.

“I had a nice time,” she said, and her voice broke with words. It sounded like goodbye.

She didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, not with that quiet ache, not with that finality, but the moment felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She could already feel the after of it pressing in.

She watched him nod, his posture tight, his expression unreadable.

“So did I,” he replied softly, the hollowness in his chest echoing with every syllable, like saying them was a lie.

Because how could it be a nice time when all he’d done was want her, and still choose to walk away?

She turned to open the door, fingers brushing the lock, but before she could twist it, his hand found hers. Warm. Firm. Desperate.

She froze. Her breath hitched. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

Don’t do it. Don’t look at him. Don’t make this harder.

Slowly, gently, he stepped closer, his presence a quiet force and her body betrayed her, turning to look at him in those ocean eyes that she wanted nothing more to drown into.

And when she turned to look at him, something cracked between them, something soft and tragic and too full to hold. 

His gaze was glassy, and she could see it now, the grief. The love. The regret. It gutted her.

He reached up with both hands, cradling her face with aching care, as though she were something rare and fragile and slipping through his fingers.

I’m going to remember this. This moment. This version of her, tired, beautiful, sad as hell, and still the strongest person I’ve ever met.

His fingers were gentle against her cheeks. She could feel them trembling. His thumbs hovered by her jaw like they wanted to memorize the shape of her, like he was trying to hold on just a little longer.

She wanted to lean into him so badly her body ached with it, but she stayed still because she knew this wasn’t a beginning. This was the end.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Devastating. Full of everything he didn’t have the right to say aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. A confession. A promise. A goodbye disguised as something tender.

I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, breath caught in her throat like she was afraid to let it out.

Please stay. Please choose me. Please be brave.

He gave her one last look, gentle, devastated, and then stepped back.

Hayden didn’t want to go. God, he didn’t want to go, but staying meant risking her and he’d rather lose her than be the reason the world tried to take her down.

She opened the door. Neither of them said another word.

And when the door closed between them, neither of them moved for a long, long time, the silence it left behind felt unbearable.

Because now she knew for certain, Hayden loved her, but he wasn’t going to choose her.

Because they knew, they had shared something real. Something that still lived in the air around them, but they had no idea how to hold it without letting it destroy everything else.

Beginning of September 2021. The looming end.

The set was a controlled storm.

Stage lights blazed. Wind machines whirred. Crew members darted like shadows in a well-oiled dance. Sparks flew, literally, from props and visual cues, casting brief flashes of light on every surface.

Today, they were filming the final scene between Vader and Obi-Wan.

The scene.

The one that would break fans apart. The one that would define decades of conflict. The one she’d spent sleepless nights fine-tuning, scribbling notes on the margins of scripts, fighting for silence in moments where words weren’t enough.

And now it was here.

But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She paced the perimeter of the set, headset looped around her neck, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the chatter through the comms. Every corner of her body buzzed with static. The kind of anxiety that didn’t ask permission. The kind that gripped you and whispered, You’re not ready.

She should’ve been thrilled. The little girl in her, the Star Wars fan who grew up drawing lightsabers in the margins of school notebooks, was ready to explode.

But the grown woman, the broken-hearted one, was holding too much.

Because he was here. Because they were a week away from goodbye.   Because this scene wasn’t just the end of an arc. It was the end.

And the thought of not seeing him like this again, half-lost behind the Vader suit but still him, tightened something so deeply inside her, she had to excuse herself before she lost it completely.

I need air, God, I need air.

She pushed through the double doors of the soundstage, stepping into the golden hush of early afternoon. Her boots hit pavement with a shaky rhythm, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso as if she could keep everything in.

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes and let herself slide down on it.

Breathed in. Breathed out.

The footsteps approaching were lost to her, but when the sun was covered, she opened one eye slowly and saw him. Not him him, but Obi-Wan.

Ewan. In full costume. Robes, beard, calmness and kindness wrapped into one gentle presence. He stood in front of her like he knew,  like he sensed what was breaking inside her without needing to ask.

“You’ve done something special here,” he said, voice low and even. “You know that, right?”

She tried to nod, but her throat closed.

Ewan glanced up at the sky, like he was borrowing some of its steadiness. “You put your soul into this story. I’ve worked with dozens of directors in my time. But you? You bled for this. And it shows.”

Her lips quivered.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” he added. “This moment… it’s not just an ending. It’s yours. It’s your beginning, too.”

Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But Ewan just gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, like Obi-Wan himself, quiet and sure.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he said in that thick accent of his.

And with that, he walked back inside, his robes trailing behind him like the last note of a symphony.

She stayed out a few more minutes, letting the sun kiss her skin, letting the words settle deep in her bones.

Then she wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked back inside.

The set was alive.

Every corner was in motion. The makeup team prepped the final touch-ups on Vader’s cracked helmet. Sparks hissed from the VFX rig. The lighting team ran final checks. And at the center of it all stood Hayden and Ewan, suited and still, ready.

She didn’t sit. She couldn’t. Her body was buzzing, nerves, anticipation, love.

“Rolling!”

“Quiet on set!”

She took a deep breath.

“Action.”

And they began.

Hayden, Vader, was thunder. Ewan was fire contained by grief. Every word they spoke, every breath between lines, every step in the battle, it all landed like poetry. Like pain made physical.

The camera glided around them, catching sparks and shadow and soul. Every crew member was silent, frozen, as if afraid to even blink.

She couldn’t look away.

And when it came, the line, the one she'd rewritten a dozen times and cried over at 3AM, when he said it, voice cracked through the vocoder, eyes visible through the shattered mask, she forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”

It was perfect. It was everything.   It was him.

And Ewan, her heart, her Obi-Wan, delivered the reply with a broken whisper so raw it echoed through everyone present.

She didn’t even remember saying it. “Cut.” The word came out of her, barely above a breath.

Then, applause, like a wave crashing over the set. Technicians, grips, costume artists, assistants, everyone clapped. Some even cheered. Not because of the spectacle. But because they’d felt it.

Ewan turned, gave a solemn, satisfied nod.

Hayden bowed his head, chest heaving inside the suit.

And she? She stood there, frozen, the applause around her fading into static, like the world had turned to fog. Her lungs tightened. Her throat burned.

It’s done. That was it.

Pride surged in her chest. The scene had been everything she dreamed of and more. But so did grief, sharp and immediate, because it was also the end.

The last scene. The last time I’ll see him on set. In character. In front of me.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and her knees gave out. She crumbled where she stood, arms curling tightly around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees as the sobs came, wild and unfiltered, the kind she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

The noise of the crew faded. Voices muffled. Only her heartbeat and her breathing remained, sharp, jagged, real.

I’m supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to hold it together. But I can’t. Not now. Not when this is goodbye.

Heavy footsteps, measured and familiar, approached her, the kind only one man in the entire world could make in full Vader gear, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Bubble,” his voice came, muffled by the vocoder but unmistakably him, “I need you to stand up, 'cause I can’t crouch down in this suit.”

His voice hit her like a jolt, absurd and gentle at once. Even now, he was trying to make her smile.

A wet, messy laugh bubbled out of her, half-choked by tears. “No,” she mumbled into her knees.

Please don’t make me. Please don’t see me like this. Please don’t be kind, it’ll break me.

“Please, Bubble,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Come on.”

She sniffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I’m ugly crying.”

“I know,” he replied, warmth curling behind the vocoder, behind the mask. She could hear the smile in it. She could feel it.

“Let me console you.”

God, stop being so you. So gentle. So kind. So patient. I can’t take it.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, towering, half-Vader, half-Anakin, but Hayden, 100% Hayden.

And even with all that plastic and armor between them, the look he gave her was all heart.

Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.

He offered his hand, gloved, massive, comical in a way, but his fingers curled with careful care, like he was afraid of breaking her further. And she was weak, of course she was, because she couldn't say no to him.

And the moment their hands touched, a shudder went through her. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Something else.

Relief.

And as he gently helped her to her feet, pulling her into the softest embrace he could manage with all the armor and wires between them, she didn’t hesitate and collapsed against him again, this time with her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his chestplate.

She just needed him and he held her. Tightly. Tenderly. Like he never wanted to let go.

I can’t do this again. I can’t keep saying goodbye like this and pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

For a few precious seconds, there was no set. No crew. No goodbye hanging in the air. No scenes left to shoot.

Just them. Hearts bruised. Bodies trembling. Still holding each other like it meant everything. Because it did.

Now that it’s over, I still want you. Still in love with you. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Mid of September 2021. Grow a pair.

The sun was gone, the air crisp and the silence heavy but not with tension, but with the weight of everything Hayden was carrying in himself.

He sat low in a weathered Adirondack chair, hoodie on, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bottle of beer untouched at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Ewan handed it to him twenty minutes ago. The sky above them had shifted to navy, the stars faint but flickering overhead. Somewhere behind the fence, a neighbor’s dog barked. 

Exhaling slowly through his nose, the smoke of his cigarette clouded his face, though it did little to match the fog in his brain. The ember glowed at the tip, mirroring the heat that simmered low in his chest.

Ewan glanced at him, his beer resting on his knee, and he looked carved from stillness, like if he stared long enough, he might turn to stone.

“You holding up?” the Scottish asked finally, tone light, casual.

Hayden shifted a little in his chair. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Long months of shooting,” Ewan nodded. “Emotional scene the other day.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stared into the distance.

Ewan took a sip of his beer. “Lot’s of feelings moved.” 

The brunette exhaled, half-laughing, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“The suits, the props, the set,” Ewan enlisted, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “The director.”

That one landed.

Hayden’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look over. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, its ash long and untouched, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Just that. A single syllable packed with regret.

Ewan watched him carefully. “She really gave it everything, didn’t she?”

Hayden nodded once, slowly. “She always does.”

“She’s the real deal,” Ewan added softly. “Knew it the second she walked on set. The story mattered to her. Every shot. Every word.”

“She never treated it like a job,” Hayden murmured. “She treated it like it was hers. Like it meant something.”

Ewan tilted his head. “And it did.”

Another long pause.

“Still does,” Ewan added, watching the ember of Hayden’s cigarette fade. “To you too, yeah?”

Hayden said nothing. He was quiet, but not still. His leg bounced, almost imperceptibly, and his free hand flexed open and closed on the armrest. And Ewan knew, he felt too much.

“You want to talk about it?” Ewan asked, not pushing. Not yet.

“No,” Hayden said hoarsely.

“I figured,” he muttered, then took another sip from his beer. “But I will.”

Hayden finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

Ewan didn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t want to pry, actually, I do. I’ve been watching you two walk around set like ghosts since July, absolutely miserable and I can’t bear it anymore. It was much more fun watching you both give each other heart eyes like a pair of lovesick kids.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched. He looked down, elbows on knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like he could push the ache back inside.

“Before, every time you were together, it was smiles, laughter, inside jokes, cute nicknames, breakfast meetings that ran an hour too long. Now? You only look at each other when the other is not looking. Like something’s broken between you.” 

Hayden’s brows drew together, guilt flickering across his features.

“And I’ve known her,” Ewan continued. “She’s sad.”

“I know,” he said, voice low.

“And I’ve known you longer. And let me tell you something, mate, you’re sad too.”

Hayden looked at his cigarette, now down to the filter. “It’s not that simple,” he said, pressing it out with the sole of his shoe.

“No, it never is,” Ewan said. “What happened between you two?”

Hayden sighed through his nose. “A lot. And not enough.”

Ewan waited, tilting his head to the side.

Hayden looked down at his hands. He hated how exposed he felt. “I fucked up.” He confessed. “It seems like all I do is hurt her feelings.”

“I figured that,” Ewan deadpanned. “Thanks for the confirmation. What’d you do?”

Hayden exhaled sharply. “We almost kissed. A few months ago.”

“And?” The Scottish pressed. 

“I pulled away,” he said, voice low and slow. 

There was a pause and then a slap on his arm. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Thanks, man,” Hayden said flatly, glaring at him.

Ewan patted his back. “Anytime. What else?”

Hayden hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago… she stayed late at the studio. I found her still there, hadn’t gone home. I took her back to her place. One thing led to another, we ended up eating together. I cooked her pizza. She smiled. It felt like before, when everything was easy. She was tired enough to let me in a little and there was nothing more than I wanted to do than to apologize. I wanted to make it right. But I just,” he exhaled heavily. “I said everything wrong, hurting her even more.”

Ewan groaned and covered his face. “Oh God, you are an idiot. No question this time.”

Hayden shot him a look. “Appreciate the support.”

“I’ve been watching you, man,” Ewan said, turning toward him. “Sulking. Drooling. Making googly eyes at that woman since the third time you met her. But I’d bet money you were already hooked before that.”

Hayden blinked and looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Maybe…”

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. “And you pulled away when you were about to kiss her?”

Hayden nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then you are definitely an idiot.”

Hayden gave a tired laugh. “Thanks, man. Again.”

“But you like her,” Ewan said, watching him closely now.

Hayden sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Hayden let out a sharp, humorless laugh, eyes pinched shut for a moment as if it could block out the regret clawing at him. “Because I’m a fucking coward.” 

Ewan raised an eyebrow, questioning him silently.

“I told her I couldn’t,” Hayden continued. “I told her all the reasons why we shouldn’t work. The age difference. The job. The spotlight. Because I’m me. Because she’s everything. That if it went wrong, she’d be the one who paid. Not me. And she just looked at me… like I’d kicked the breath out of her.”

Ewan exhaled quietly.

“And then she thanked me for the food,” Hayden said, bitterness in his throat. “She was sad and tired and still polite. Like I hadn’t just broken something sacred.”

“She likes you,” Ewan said simply.

Hayden shook his head. “And I like her, but I couldn’t give it back. Not the way she deserved.”

“You could,” Ewan said. “But you chose not to.”

That silence was louder than the rest.

“And then on set,” Hayden whispered, eyes shining now, “when we filmed the last scene… she crumbled. Right there. All of it, everything we never said, everything I held back, came out in that scene. And when she cried, I held her.”

Ewan nodded, remembering. “You didn’t want to let go.”

“I still don’t.”

Ewan leaned back slowly. “Then grow a fucking pair and tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?! Because she’s the director of the series? News flash, not anymore!”

Hayden flinched, already exhausted by his own excuses. 

“The show’s almost done. The lines have been said. The shots are in the can. And she’s still here. Still hurting. Still hoping, probably.”

“I hurt her, Ewan,” Hayden said, his voice rough. “More than once.”

“And yet she let you hold her like that,” Ewan replied gently. “Do you really think that means nothing?”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’ve been in this business a long time,” his friend said. “You’ve seen how rare something real is. And this?” He gestured with his beer bottle. “This is real, Hayden. What you have with her. That little moment of peace, of home, in the middle of chaos. That was real. Don’t let it rot because you were too afraid to open your mouth.”

Hayden looked down at his hands again, like they could still feel her skin, her tears.

“She’s younger,” he said, quieter now.

“She’s a grown woman,” Ewan countered. “Who knows what she wants. Who’s run a damn Star Wars series with more grace than most directors three times her age.”

The brunette cracked a broken smile. “She is kind of a genius.”

“She is,” Ewan agreed. “And she’s also in love with you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He just stared into the night sky, chest heavy, heart racing.

“You deserve to be happy. And from what I’ve seen, because I’ve been watching, you were never more yourself, more alive, than when you were with her. She makes you happy.”

Hayden ran a hand down his face, cigarette forgotten now, heart in his throat. “She does,” he whispered. “She really, really does.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ewan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “You two are meant to be. So get a clear thought through that thick head of yours and tell her. Before the chance slips away”

Hayden blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight.

But inside him, something shifted.

Because Ewan was right. And he already knew it.

He could feel it in the center of his chest, under the stars, in the quiet of a friend’s backyard, something inside him stopped fighting. Because he was tired of the distance. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in the “almost.”

“I don’t want to hurt her again.” he confessed, slowly.

“Then don’t,” Ewan said simply. “Choose her. All the way this time.”

They sat in silence again, smoke curling up into the dark.

Then Ewan added, softly, “Choose each other, you both deserve to be happy. So do it. For her. For you. For that Bubble of yours you’re so damn in love with.”

Hayden closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, he let himself imagine what it might feel like if he just… gave in and chose her.

Ends of September 2021. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?.

The music hummed low from the speakers, warm bass pulsing through the soft glow of string lights overhead. The room was buzzing, crew and cast gathered with drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the space like the fading heartbeat of something once grand.

It was done. Filming had wrapped. They'd all made history.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but them.

She smiled when she had to. Laughed at the right moments. Nodded, accepted praise. The series was wrapped. The series she put so much into. She should have felt pride swelling in her chest, but instead, there was a hollow spot where something else had once lived.

Her glass of wine was cold in her hand as her eyes drifted, once again to the far end of the room.

There Hayden was. Dressed in all black, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of outfit that made him seem even taller than he already was, like the darkness clung to him in reverence. His curls were swept back, golden under the light. His jaw was freshly shaven, but there was something tired in his eyes. Something heavy.

He laughed at something someone said, but to her, who had heard the real thing, who knew the warm, full sound of it, was off. Hollow. Foreign, because it sounded too practiced, like someone doing an impression of him. His smile didn’t quite reach and it felt criminal.

She looked at him the way you look at a memory you’ve been trying to forget. The way you glance at someone you still love but know you can’t have. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because of course she still felt it. Every aching, unwanted, impossible part of it.

Hayden, for his part, felt like something had been left unfinished, like the final page of a script had been ripped out and folded away in someone else's pocket.

Across the room, was his end, sad or happy ending, bathed in amber light from the chandeliers, she stood in conversation with one of the editors. Her red velvet skirt skimmed the floor as she shifted her weight, black corset hugging her frame with a quiet confidence, silver rings catching the light every time she lifted her glass. That worn leather jacket, clearly not hers, too big on her shoulders, added just enough edge to offset the elegance.

Her hair was slightly messy, but on purpose. Like she’d spent just enough time not caring and yet still managed to look like a dream, his dream.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she hadn’t looked at him once.

He stood near the back corner, drink in hand, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache for her, his brain hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a second. And still hadn’t figured out how to say any of it right.

So when she finally stepped outside, maybe for air, maybe to escape, he followed. Not like a man with a plan. More like a man being pulled.

The balcony was quiet, lights dimmer. Away from the buzz of clinking glasses and studio talk, the air was sharp with night, as if to remind her she was still real, still here. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers.

Then the door opened behind her and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was. 

Her back was to him, hands gripping the edge of the railing, her wine glass still mostly full.

He cleared his throat gently and she turned, slowly. Their eyes met. Something inside his chest fractured and in hers twisted.

“I can give you space,” he said softly, the words hesitant, almost hopeful. “If you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. But sincere. “It’s a big balcony.”

He nodded, cigarette between his fingers and walked towards the railing.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just existed, breathing the same air, in the same silence. The laughter from the inside acted like background music, but it felt odd, off to a scene so sad, so full of tension. 

The silence wasn’t comfortable, like before, it itched, it burned, it was like a punch to the gut. But after he smoked half of his cigarette and she drank her wine, something cracked.

“I know I probably don’t get to say this,” Hayden said suddenly, words tumbling from his chest, “but you look… absolutely beautiful.”

Her breath caught. Not visibly. But enough that the glass trembled in her grip before she set it on the railing.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You look good too.” Her heart was pounding too loudly to trust her voice.

Hayden watched her from the corner of his eye, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

The silence was fraying.

“I really don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, voice cracked open. Broken.

She gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. “You said plenty,” she replied, lifting her glass again. “Just not what I needed to hear.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly flushed with nerves and stepped a little closer, not too much. Respecting space. But God, Hayden wanted to fall at her feet. 

God. Say it right. Just once.

“I wasn’t lying, back then,” he said quickly, like the words were a dam bursting. “When I said I was scared of what it could do to your career. I meant it. You’re… you're brilliant. And I didn’t want to be the reason people looked at you like…like you were anything less than the genius you are.”

Her brows pulled together. That familiar twist in her chest returned and he kept going.

“And maybe I overthought it. Maybe I overcorrected. I always do that. I always find a way to fuck up the one good thing.”

Her fingers tensed against the railing, her jaw clenched and then loosened.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I never meant that.” He exhaled, fast and sharp. “You have to believe me.”

She turned then and looked up at him, really looking at him. The way he held his cigarette like it steadied him. The way he stood like he might break apart at the joints. The way he had his brows frowned, his jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. He looked wrecked. All of it, written in the fine lines of his face.

He was so close now. Close enough that the scent of him hit her: tobacco, and the cologne that lingering in her office, in her clothes after a whole day together. It still lived on that sweater of his he leant her on a particularly cold night and she never had the heart to wash, nor give it back. In her house after he cooked for her and then broke her heart, more than what he already did.

“I do believe you,” she said softly.

He blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I know you. That’s the problem.”

Those blue as ocean eyes looked down at her with softness, unsureness and devastation. 

“At this point,” she whispered, voice thin, “if you were anyone else, I’d think all you want to do is hurt me.”

He shook his head fast, lips parting. “No, I would ne—”

“I know,” she cut in, tiredly. “Because you’re you and I know that’s not what you want.” Her voice cracked, barely. “But it does hurt.”

His mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to say the thing he should’ve said all those months ago.

“Every time you open your mouth and say something trying to protect me, or fix it, or be noble, it just… chips away at me a little more.”

Hayden looked like he was in physical pain.

She stepped closer, her hand almost reaching for him. Her fingers hovered right above his chest, just inches from touching him with trembling fingers, and then, she moved it back. Like the contact might burn her. Like if she touched him, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Because she wouldn’t and she couldn’t afford to fall again.

He wanted to catch her hand, pull it to his chest and press it there, over his heart, right where it hurt the most. Right where her absence lived. But he was frozen in place.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn’t. Just exhaled through her nose, trembling. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. But he could see her breaking in real time, fracture by fracture.

“So just… stop talking,” she said, no, she pleaded.

Stop hurting me. 

Hayden’s heart broke right in his chest. She was so close now, closer than he had any right for her to be. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The ache. The longing. The love that hadn’t gone anywhere, not even after all the silence.

And he stood there, aching too. Wanting to reach for her. To fix it. Hands itching to touch her. But he just couldn't. But his mouth had betrayed him too many times. Now, even silence felt safer.

“I’m so-” his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it shook.

She just nodded, blinking the tears away before they could fall. “I know.”

Because it was true, she knew it, he knew it, but it changed nothing. They couldn’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So they did what they seemed to always do now since July. They said nothing,  letting the moment pass, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. A truce made of ache from two people who wanted each other more than anything.

Next Part →

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[merrybloomwrites]

Been Here for Days

Summary: You never thought about the dangers of dating a celebrity. But when you get taken by a man who's after Harry's money you're faced with the jarring reality that you're not as safe as you thought.

Word Count: 3.7K

CW: kidnapping, drugs, violence, attempted sa, hospitals

AN: I've read a few mafia AU stories where reader gets kidnapped because of Harry's dark world. So it gave me the idea for a non-AU story in which the reader gets kidnapped, simply for being the partner of a famous and wealthy popstar. I've had this partially written for a while but it seemed fitting to include in Whumptober so I finally finished it up.

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Dating Harry Styles came with a certain level of attention. This wasn’t a surprise to you, and you learned how to deal with it fairly quickly. Harry also did a lot to protect you and try to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible. 

Whenever he did get overprotective you’d remind him that it’s okay, you knew what you signed up for. But he always reiterated that his personal life should be private, and he didn’t want people trying to get more information about the two of you than he chooses to share.

One thing that’s obvious is that no one really cares about you. Not as an individual. They care that you’re Harry’s girlfriend. There’s not a doubt in your mind that if the two of you ever broke up, you’d never have photos posted of you again. 

And you’re fine with that too. It doesn’t bother you that you’re just seen as the girlfriend, mainly because it means people don’t care to go digging and finding facts about your life. Your family has been left alone for the most part, and you can still go out alone without being bothered.

Occasionally an individual will show deep interest in you, and you’ll find a social media account dedicated to you. Sometimes it’s a fan page, sometimes it’s a hate page. You let them be, since they’re still only posting things that are already released to the public. Even these ‘more enthusiastic’ people aren’t really crossing boundaries, since they’re not trying to find private photos or follow you to get photos of their own. 

Or so you thought.

Since spring began, and the weather turned nice, you’ve been making sure to walk to work each day. Ironically, you’d gotten a job in a local bakery. You wanted a steady job of your own while Harry isn’t touring, and this seemed like a perfect choice. You love getting up early to bake and decorate what’s needed for the day. It’s calm, and therapeutic. You mostly work in the back, doing the actual baking, but occasionally you fill in up front at the register. 

Each morning you walk to work as the sun is just rising, and you get home by early afternoon. This gives you time to run errands, do some chores around the house, or just take some time to relax before Harry gets home. He’s been working more in the studio recently, but still makes it a point to get back by 5PM in order to spend a couple of hours with you every day.

You cook a meal together, talk about your days, and often put on a movie and cuddle. It’s the simple things that bring the two of you joy, just getting to end your days together. 

You wake up on Monday morning, and it starts just like the rest. You get dressed, kiss the cheek of a still sleeping Harry, and begin your walk. You have an odd feeling, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. You were up a bit later than usual the night before, enjoying some adult activities with Harry, so maybe you’re just a bit tired.

The same feeling is there on the way home. But you’d had a tough day at work with someone calling out, leaving you to try and continue baking while also working the register. 

This feeling continues the whole week, and you continue to make excuses as to why you’re so anxious during your commute each day. But when the next week is the same, you begin to grow wary. Finally, on Thursday of the second week you realize that it feels as though you’re being followed. This thought does freak you out, and you plan to talk to Harry that night at home.

But you don’t make it home.

The weather on your walk back to the house is perfect, if not even a little warm. But you don’t feel it. You feel chilled, and nervous, and you’re glancing over your shoulder every two seconds. You’re mad at yourself, berating yourself for not calling Harry to have him pick you up. You’d convinced yourself it would be fine, and you didn’t want to bother him. But now as you walk alone, sensing another person might be following you, that logic seems incredibly stupid. 

As you’re pulling out your phone to call Harry you hear a noise in the bush next to you. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound. Everything happens so quickly, yet as though it’s in slow motion. A man rushes at you, covering your mouth so you can’t scream and using his other arm to keep you still. 

You try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. Despite your best efforts, he still manages to get a needle into you. At first you feel the pinch of the needle, and then you feel nothing at all, and your world goes black. 

When you wake up, you’re disoriented. You’re in a bed, and while it’s comfy, it’s not your own. The bedroom you’re in is completely unrecognizable. Slowly, your memories come back. There was a man. Who’d probably been following you for weeks, tracking your schedule, and he’s now taken you. 

And not to some basement, or a warehouse or something creepy that you’d see in movies. No, he took you to his home. To a bed. And that feels even worse. You quickly assess your body, and are relieved to find that you’re still in your same clothes, and all you can feel are a couple minor scrapes and bruises, likely from trying to fight the man. 

There’s a window in the room so you get up and peek out. It’s dark, indicating a lot of time has passed. You can’t see anything outside, no other houses, and hope it’s just because of how dark it is. Because the idea that there’s nothing nearby is causing you to panic even more than you already are. 

You check the door, but of course it’s locked from the outside. The window won’t open either. You’re trapped. 

There is a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but no way to escape from there either. It does mean you can take a sip of water and splash some water on your face which helps calm you briefly. 

Taking deep breaths you begin to pace. Your mind spins, trying to come up with escape scenarios, and hoping that someone is figuring out where you are so they can come get you. The sky turns pink outside and you check your surroundings again. 

There’s nothing but a large open field. No biggie. Maybe there’s civilization out the front of the house. There’s no way you’re locked in a house with a crazy person out in the middle of nowhere. 

Tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. There’s got to be a way out of here. A way back home. A way to Harry. 

You’re left alone for what feels like hours. You’re a little hungry, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment. 

Finally, the door opens. You stand your ground in the middle of the room, not wanting to back yourself into a corner for whatever is about to happen. 

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight, not showing any weakness to the person who took you. 

“Well good morning sweetheart,” he says. The pleasantries, the nickname, it’s all nauseating to you, but you keep your expression unreadable. 

“My name is Roy. I’ve been watching you and your boyfriend. You make a very cute little couple.”

“What do you want with me?” You ask, ignoring how violated you feel at the confirmation that this strange man has been following you. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Money. I want money. Harry seems to be quite devoted to you. I bet he’ll pay anything to get you back.” 

And it is obvious, really. It shouldn’t come as a surprise at all that people would want Harry’s money. But you never expected anyone to literally kidnap you for it. 

“Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure you have food and water and a safe place to stay. Might rough you up a bit, maybe have some fun,” he says as he steps forward and runs a finger along your cheek, causing you to recoil and bump into the bed behind you. 

He laughs at that, seeming to enjoy your discomfort, and then adds, “Of course that may be some good incentive for your boyfriend. I’m sure he’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your fear amps up a notch hearing this but you keep your emotions off of your face. You’re determined to stay strong throughout this whole ordeal. This man does not get to overpower you, doesn’t get to see you break like you’re sure he wants. 

He steps back a moment later and says, “Just need a quick picture, you know proof of life, proof I have you, all that.” Before you can register what he’s saying he takes out an old camera and takes your picture, the flash stunning you. 

“I brought you a sandwich and some water. It’s all sealed so you know I haven’t done anything to it. Wouldn’t want you starving yourself or dehydrating,” he says as he hands you the items. You take them, confirming they are in fact unopened. 

“Eat. I’ll be back later,” he says before stepping out of the room. You hear the definitive click of the lock but you still double check, just in case it’s open. 

Of course it isn’t, but you had to try. After examining the food to confirm it hasn’t been tampered with you take a tentative bite. It’s good, and that first bite kick starts your appetite so you quickly eat the rest. 

Roy comes back hours later to drop off dinner. He again leaves you alone to eat, and you’re starting to get lulled into a false sense of security. You think that maybe it won’t be so bad. If he’s just after money, then he might just leave you alone and then he’ll get paid and you’ll be home. 

But of course it can’t be that simple. 

Later that evening he comes back in.

“I’m bored,” he says. Just two words shouldn’t be so bone chilling, but you understand the implication. He’s bored and you’re at his mercy. He’s already drugged and kidnapped you. There’s not telling what else he’s capable of. 

By the time he leaves again you're bruised, and there’s blood running from your split lip. He’d thrown you around, hit you hard enough to send you to the ground where he kicked you repeatedly. It was terrifying and painful. 

But you admit to yourself that it could’ve been worse. You somehow convince yourself that it wasn’t so bad, that you’ll recover quickly once you get home.

After another day and a half with Roy, you’re doubting that will happen. You’re doubting you’ll recover. You’re doubting that you’ll get home. The situation has turned from terrible to terrifying. 

You’ve spent three nights in this room, including the one you were mostly unconscious for. Roy’s violence has grown, and now he seems to be changing plans again. 

“These bruises look lovely on you,” he says. It’s creepy as fuck, and indicates that whatever happens next will be awful. 

“While the violence has been fun, there are other ways to bruise your skin. I think I’ll do that today instead.”

After days of beatings you’re too tired to fight back. You lay there crying as he climbs on top of you and pins you down. His mouth goes to your neck and he begins to suck a mark there. Bile rises in your throat and it takes everything in you not to vomit at the feeling of him so close to you, touching you in this way. 

You’re wondering how you’re going to survive what’s sure to come next when there’s a noise. Suddenly the door slams open and nearly a dozen people enter the room. At first you’re terrified that they’re here to hurt you as well, but then Roy is pulled off of you and handcuffed and you realize that they’re police officers there to save you. 

One comes and talks to you, reassures you that everything is going to be okay, but still, you’re scared. It’s too much. Too much noise, and commotion, and people. You’re overwhelmed.

And then one more person enters the room. He looks different, more frazzled with a longer beard than you’ve ever seen. But as he crouches beside the bed and holds your hand between his, there’s no denying that Harry is here. 

There’s a darkness that’s been pulling at you for a while, and now that Harry’s here and you’re safe, you finally let it pull you under. 

You wake up in an uncomfortable bed wearing an itchy gown. There are bandages wrapped on various parts of your body and tubes and wires attached to you. Everything is still hazy, but you know there’s a hand holding yours. 

You quickly and clumsily pull away, not wanting anyone to touch you right now. 

Slowly the world around you refocuses, and you realize the person next to you is Harry. As much as you want his comfort, you can’t bear to have anyone’s skin touching yours. Not when it only makes you think of Roy and what he did. And what he was planning to do. 

Over the next few hours people come and go from your room. Nurses, doctors, detectives, all sharing information and asking you questions. 

But you say nothing. You don’t respond. You lay there, watching with a blank expression. Someone brings in food for dinner, and you eat just enough to make them happy before pushing away the tray and curling further into your blankets. 

The next day is much the same. They bring in a trauma counselor and though she’s a kind woman, you still say nothing. 

And it’s not that you’re upset with, or mad at these people. They’ve done nothing to you. But there’s this block in your mind right now. You’re so exhausted from the whole ordeal that it’s taking everything in you just to eat food and drink water and get yourself to and from the bathroom. 

Another two days pass and your doctor is in the room talking to Harry. He tried speaking to you but still you’re unable to find your voice. 

“Medically, she’s well enough to go home,” the doctor says. “Her injuries are healing well enough that I’m ready to discharge her.” 

You perk up a bit at this news. You miss home, miss the big comfy bed with the big windows. You miss your garden, and how peaceful it is. Hearing that you might be able to go back to your house with Harry has you more alert than you’ve been in days.

But then the doctor adds, “However, I’m concerned by her mental state. She still hasn’t said anything, and she barely lets anyone touch her. It’s important that her bandages get changed regularly and I’m worried that she won’t allow you to help with that. So until that changes she’ll have to stay here.”

Your heart drops at that. The despair you feel has you finally breaking through and suddenly you say, “No. Home.”

They both look at you and Harry quickly moves to the side of your bed. 

“What was that, baby?” he asks. He looks hopeful and you know that he’s just happy to hear you speak again.

“Home. Please,” you state. It’s hard to talk, full sentences being something you can’t do yet. But you get your point across and Harry looks at the doctor to see what he has to say about this advancement. 

Your doctor comes closer as well and asks, “Will you be okay with Harry helping you at home? He’ll have to touch you to properly clean and bandage your wounds.”

You nod, but you know that alone won’t convince them. Even though it takes a lot of courage to do this, you reach out your hand and grab Harry’s. He gasps at the contact and quickly laces your fingers with his. It feels foreign, and you hate that you no longer feel comfortable holding hands with the person who used to be your safe place. 

Apparently that was the right move, though, because you’re discharged by the end of the day. You get wheeled out, and Harry helps you get from the chair into the car that’s there for you. There’s still an overwhelming part of you that wants to flinch away from his touch, but you tell yourself that he needs this. He needs to be able to help you. 

On the drive, Harry informs you of the updated security the two of you will have. It’s weird to know that there will be people watching the house at all times, but you admit to yourself that it makes you feel better. 

Once you’re finally home you breathe a sigh of relief. And then you get to your room and the exhaustion hits again. 

You sit down on the bed and Harry moves through the house, doing all kinds of things that he thinks will help you. His nervousness is obvious, and you want to tell him you’re okay, that he should relax.

When he focuses on you again he asks, “What can I get for you? What do you need?”

“Bed.” 

“You’re tired? You want to get ready for bed?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, we can do that. Let me get you some clothes and then we can go brush our teeth together. And I’ll bring up some water and maybe some food in case you wake up hungry since you didn’t eat too much dinner before we left the hospital,” he rambles. It seems that he’s trying to make up for your lack of words by speaking more than usual. 

Harry grabs the clothes and walks over to you. It’s clear that he’s about to help you up and so you quickly stand and walk to the bathroom before he has the chance to touch you. You hate seeing the pain in his eyes at your rejection, but you’re just not ready yet. 

After getting ready you climb into bed. It’s so soft, so comfortable, and so familiar that you quickly fall asleep. 

You wake up with a jolt, your heart racing as the images of your dream race through your mind. The worst part is that it’s not just a made up nightmare, but the memories of the nightmare you actually lived. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks and he reaches out a hand to comfort you. He quickly pulls it back when he sees the way you eye it with fear and trepidation. 

“I can go,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable with me in the bed I can stay in the next room.”

Immediately you panic at the thought of him going anywhere. “No. Stay. Please. Just, don’t touch,” you reply.

He nods and the two of you sit there in bed next to each other. You begin to cry and Harry fights back tears of his own. 

After a few minutes Harry says, “They wouldn’t let me pay the ransom.”

You turn to him, confused for a moment. And then you realize that he’s explaining why it took so long to get you out. 

“When I got the message from…him. I showed it to the detectives who were here and told them I’d pay immediately so I could get you back. But they wouldn’t let me. Said it would set a precedent and put you in even more danger. Make you a target. That if I listened to this crazy person’s demands and gave him what he wanted, more people might try to take you to get money as well. I hated knowing that they were right. That I couldn’t do the one thing in my power to help you without making life riskier for you. And I hated that you being with me put you in that position in the first place. Y/N, I am so sorry that this happened to you, that it happened because of me.” 

His voice breaks and you sit for another moment absorbing what he’d just said. You didn’t realize before, but now you know that you were mad at him. You were mad that it took so long for them to get you. But everything he said makes sense to you.

And as horrible as the experience was for you, it was awful for him as well. He looks just as exhausted as you are, and though he didn’t deal with the pain and terror that you did, he spent days filled with anxiety and fear and guilt. 

You lay down on your back, looking up and trying to silently send him a message. Once he understands he lays down as well. Slowly, one inch at a time, you shift closer to him. Finally, you turn and lay your hand on his chest. He brings up his hand and places it gently on top of yours.

The touch no longer feels foreign to you. It finally feels comforting again. Building up courage, you move again, lifting your head until you can place it on his chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate, but quickly wraps his free arm around your shoulders, holding you close to him.

For a moment you panic, feeling trapped by him. But then you take a deep breath, inhaling Harry’s distinct smell, and you relax into his hold. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. Harry lets out a sob and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. After a moment he controls his tears and regulates his breathing. 

“I love you. So much,” he says.

“I love you too,” you reply.

You know that this isn’t the end. There’s a long road of recovery ahead of you. But being able to lean on Harry, to trust him fully again, you know that you’re going to be okay. He’s going to be there, he’ll help you on the bad days and celebrate the good. 

He begins to quietly sing, filling the room with his familiar and comforting voice. He lulls you back to sleep, but stays up for a while just watching you, reveling in the feeling of having you back in his arms, home where you belong. Safe and sound once again.

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

AN: Thank you for reading!

[boylied]

Animorphs Reread- The Message

I've been sick all week, but Cassie is here to heal me. Let's get into it.

These early books all do a great job of showing us what the kids would prioritize their powers for without the war. Rachel and Tobias become ecoterrorists. And Cassie investigates what's been eating her animals.

Also the first sign of Cassie having Magical Powers.

I don't know how much time has passed since book 3, but i love that Cassie and Tobias are all jokes now about him eating live rodents.

"I would be glad to give him a picture of me in a dress or something" -GIRL PLEASE

I know that the group (esp Rachel) can get antagonistic with Marco, but we have to give it to him here. He didn't get overly defensive or combative. He knows why they're acting this way towards him. And he just comes out and reassures them that he's on their side.

And the yeerks begin to suspect that the "Andalite Bandits" might actually be humans. I forgot that it was brought up this early in the series. Because these kids were thoughtful, but early on they really weren't as careful as they should have been. Truly the only reason their secret went on for so long was that no one was brave enough to tell Visser 3 he might be wrong.

As a kid I always had more of a crush on Marco. But the way Cassie talks about Jake? I get it girl. 13 year olds are swooning.

Wait. This farm has been in your family since the Civil War? Putting aside the theory that these kids are somewhere in California (not canon. i get it). You're telling me that this Farm has been in Cassie's African American family since the American CIVIL WAR??? Sure, Let's not explain further.

Cassie's book is also the first time we get the dialogue over the ethics of morphing. I understand some of the hate Cassie gets, but honestly, when people complain about her always talking ethics? Get over it. It's a good thing. These are middle schoolers. The fact that they're having discussions over the ethics of taking animal dna, cloning that animal, and then mind controlling it? And then the variances depending on which animal/their intelligence level/asking consent? We should want our kids talking about this kind of thing.

"We can all morph fine" -oh the humility. a humble queen. but no Cassie. You are an artist sculpting a beautiful pot, and the others are kindergarteners smashing clay into makeshift ashtrays that their parents won't use.

It's bittersweet how these kids only get to act like kids by giving in to the dolphin mind.

Hold up, THIS is when they think of using the morphing power to heal? I guess it is? Their missions so far have been failures, but they haven't involved near death injuries. This is a bizarre realization.

I really love this moment between Cassie and Marco. Cassie is often portrayed as this wise earth mother type. But here we get to see that this is a major growing up moment for her. She needs to start making active decisions, and not just letting other people take responsibility. The war makes this transition a bit more life and death than most teenagers get, but still necessary.

This plan! This is the one. They're finally being smart about this. Morphing gulls to get a ride on a ship? Resting before going dolphin? They're finally thinking strategically.

Ax's introduction is just so beautiful. He's a child, raised by a militaristic education system during wartime. And now he's alone and afraid and trying very desperately to impress and assess these aliens who in a matter of minutes have just told him that his older brother (the War Hero) has broken their most sacred laws and was murdered by Visser 3.

This is also the first time we hear the black and white version of the andalites vs yeerks. I know that the truth is much more complicated than what Ax is saying. But right now, it's just a group of kids talking. One side is fighting to save others. One is fighting to destroy others.

And there we have it. The team is all together finally. A lot of firsts in this book that I had forgotten about. I'm excited to re-experience these kids integrating Ax into the group. Also, grateful for magic talking whales.

[raul103]

I've been saying this for a VERY long time. I'd add that the fact that he didn't have a proper childhood because he had to take care of his funny and cute but completely foolish and stupid brother was the reason of all the trouble in the love triangle. I mean... pretty much all the trouble with him came because he was CONFUSED, he didn't know how to read his own feelings regarding Korra and Asami, and the circumstances he suffered in what should have been his childhood most likely didn't allow him to have a proper emotional development, since he was never able to bond with other people... this is pretty clear in the beginning of the show, when he meets Korra. How did he behave to her? Ah, yes, like a jerk, like someone who doesn't know how (or doesn't want) to socialise... and it's most likely because during most of his life, he didn't have time or even energy to bond with other people... YOU CAN'T CREATE EMOTIONAL BONDS WITH OTHER PEOPLE WHEN YOU'RE TOO BUSY FEEDING YOUR STUPID YOUNGER SIBLING!!!! (I'm not hating on Bolin, but come on, that dude lacks braincells). That's what created all the trouble with him, Korra and Asami, his lack of experience in something as simple but as vital as interacting with other human beings. I think it can be seen greatly in the beginning of the second season, because there are many interactions with Korra where he's completely confused because he doesn't know what to do, say what he thinks, or just shut up and support her. His inability to read those signs gave him so many troubles.

[simpjaes]

speaking of hoon edging himself for days when you're not available, can you write a quick prompt about how he'd fill up and overflow all your holes when you get back. fuck, he'd be the type to go for ages even after you're all fucked out and overstimulated

reminder that I don't do requests but since you asked for a prompt, i'll write a lil somethin' somethin'.

christmas setting woohoo!

warnings: major edging, a billion orgasms, reader is smaller than him and can be lifted and held up.

wc: 1.4k

Sunghoon, your busy, busy boyfriend. Sunghoon, you're amazingly sweet, loving, and careful boyfriend. Sunghoon, your very, very horny boyfriend.

Honestly, he hates himself every time he does it. Sometimes it's intentional, but this time it wasn't entirely his fault.

It's the first time since you started dating him that you had to go home for a week during the holidays. Which is fine, you've only been dating him since the beginning of the year and it was somewhat expected that you wouldn't be spending christmas with him and him alone. After all, you expected him to go home too.

And he did, which arguably makes his situation worse.

Sunghoon, your needy, pathetic, and annoyed boyfriend.

What's worse is that edging is one thing, but this is just blatant torture. He thought it would be fun to be long-distance for a week. He wanted phone sex, he wanted to see you fuck yourself on camera for him, he wanted you to show him how much you missed him. And that's ultimately where he fucked up.

Because you can barely even respond to his text messages let alone call him for phone sex. Due to sharing a room with your cousin, due to constantly helping your family out with holiday preparations, due to-- doing stuff that doesn't involve helping him out.

You're entirely being distracted from him right now. Family, holiday tradition, and merry joy or whatever.

And you know, it wouldn't be that big of a deal if it weren't for the fact that his libido is far too high to have a girlfriend not on him every night. And by every night, it's really every night.

He's supposed to be distracted, though, with being home too and all. But he's entirely tuned into the fact that he's been so fucking hard since the day after you left. It's almost painful now, especially because something inside of him drives him to enjoy this torture. To try and hold off for the day you both eventually land back in the same city, and he can fuck all of this frustration out of himself and into you.

Plus, um, it's kind of hard to jerk off in his family home surrounded by said family. If anything, he should not be as horny as he is. He should be entirely turned off, and entirely tuned in to wrapping gifts and pretending santa is real.

Which, again, isn't working because with each day that passes, all he can think about is you and how you looked the last night you were together, all pretty with your lashes fluttering up at him. Pretty face, pretty mouth, pretty pussy.

Man, he's gonna fucking explode before this week is up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Safe to say, Sunghoon did not explode.

But upon looking at him when he storms into your dorm room? He seems pretty fucking close to it. He looks sleepy, spent, and even exhausted.

You were half ready to offer your bed up for a nice little afternoon nap before he came up to you and immediately had his hand down your loose pajama shorts.

"Hoon?" You ask with a light chuckle.

"You couldn't even call me." He very nearly whined, which is kiiind of new to you.

Then it clicks. Right. Your boyfriend and his libido. His sex drive.

Oh my god, he must have been suffering.

"I'm so hard right now," He chokes out, rubbing himself against your thigh. "I've been so hard all week, babe, please."

And he doesn't really need to ask, but it's kind of cute that he does.

"Why didn't you take care of it?" You ask playfully, feeling his frantic fingers work you up so that you're ready to take whatever nightmare amount of cum he needs to give to you.

"Why didn't you take care of it?" He counters, fingers stopping for a moment before he shifts entirely, pulling his hand out of your pants and immediately shoving you back and against the small dorm kitchen counter.

You chuckle, because of course you do. You'll never get used to being needed or wanted so badly by someone, and it fills you with so much joy that he's really this desperate.

"I should maybe leave more often," You smile at him when he's slipping your pants off of you, hiking one of your legs up and against his waist before fumbling with his own pants. "Never seen you this horny--"

He shuts you up fast, your voice only working him up more and more with your stupid, stupid playful words. You're loving this, you must loooove to see him fucking suffer over you.

And then, the only sound that you can hear is the ringing in your ears as he plunges himself into you. Cock already hard and wet, pulsing with the need to fuck something. You, specifically.

It's like neither of you could speak if you wanted to, with his consistent groans and relieved sighs of feeling your pussy squeeze him like he missed so much.

"Missed you, fuck-" He manages to choke out, already nearing the point of orgasm before it slams into him without warning.

It's the first time he's ever come so fast, barely a full ten strokes into you before it happened, but you love it all the same. It felt somehow better than usual. After all, he could go for an hour or more when his sexual appetite is fed nearly every night by you.

Arguably, he appears to be able to go an hour or more now too, as your face falls into that of shock that his orgasm doesn't render him flaccid or spent.

He paused through his first orgasm, feeling it run through his body in a numbing way, only to immediately fuck up and into you harder once it's subsided. He knows he has more to give, so, so much more. A weeks worth of fucking you will be had now.

And man, you feel every inch of him, deeper and deeper until somehow he feels bigger than usual. Somehow he's splitting you open better than he ever has, and he's filling you up with orgasms that have never once lasted as long as the ones he's shaking through now.

A second orgasm comes in the form of him wrapping your other leg around his waist too, where he's essentially holding you up and against the counter absolutely railing your pussy until his legs nearly buckle.

And well, they do buckle. He's careful though, maintaining his balance before tapping your legs without a word and immediately pushing you to the floor. You stared in awe at how his cock is still working through the two orgasms, despite his brain clearly having gone blank the moment he said he missed you.

There, you give him a third orgasm with your throat. It took a little longer, and it only happened when he let it. Holding your head in place with both hands, fucking his hips into you just to feel your throat constrict and strangle his pathetic and still needy cock. You hear his brain start working again through this, and the only words he can mutter is, "it's like you're doing this on purpose, god, look at how you take it."

You take all of it and you taste all of it, again and again as he stumbled in front of you, angling his hips into your mouth to push it deeper, just to come to the point that you're choking. You wish you could have seen the way he chewed against his bottom lip and threw his head back as it happened.

You're so good to him though, letting him take it out on you like this. So, so good to him.

And it didn't stop. For hours he fucked himself into every part of you that you'd allow, offering you several orgasms in turn from sheer force and need alone. He didn't really even try, because for the first time with you, he was solely desperate to focus on himself. To empty his body of this buildup, and to fill you up with how frustrated he's managed to become.

By the next morning, you weren't the only one rendered unable to walk. His own legs felt weak, his head hurt, his eyes were strained at the morning light. But when he looked at you, smiling as if you really would leave more often just to have him lose his goddamn mind like that again, he immediately scolds.

"Why are you smiling like you're gonna do this shit to me again?"

And you'd just smile wider.

"Because I definitely will."

He rolls his strained eyes at you, thinking hard about the fact that as much as he hates not fucking you, he might kind of love the way you make it up to him.

[themioka]

Happy late Valentines 💝, I've come to hurt :3

During the inversion, Milo became hesitant in giving David's leather jacket back to Angel because it was the only thing left at the time that reminded him of one of his closest dearest friends. It wasn't til Sweetheart gave him a little nudge. Did he actually hand it to them. It was also the first time in years that he felt selfish over something and couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.

Sam briefly avoided Vincent and Lovely for a time because of the amount of guilt he felt for not being able to become Lovely's maker. Darlin has found him more than once sitting out on porch, lost in deep thought, wondering just how different things could've been if Sam had managed to convince himself he could handle the toll of turning Lovely right after healing Asher rather than giving in to his exhaustion so easily. Even now, Sam wouldn't look directly at Lovely or Vincent anymore because of the guilt that he still has.

Before Babe had gotten used to Asher's scar, they stopped touching him frequently because every now and then would unintentionally run their hand over his scar causing him to wince from how tender it was before profusely apologizing to him. It took a lot of coaxing from Asher to go back to their playful shenanigans and constant touching. Even now, on rare occasions, whenever they accidentally touch his scar, Asher will blatantly lie to Babe's face that his scar doesn't bother much in fear. Babe would fall back into old habits.

Even though Milo survived in bringing down the ward, Sweetheart can't properly relax or sleep unless the side of their head is resting directly above his heart. That only true confirmation they have of Milo being truly alive and well is the sound and rhythm of his heartbeat. Because they're afraid if they heavily relied on the sound of his voice and presence alone, there be a day they'll wake up to the reality of their mate being gone.

David went through a brief period of having night terrors, and it was time. Angel hated being unempowered because while they understood the context of what had happened, they knew deep down it was something they couldn't truly understand. And because of it, all they could do was lie in bed and listen to David talk about what was on his mind. Every now and then running their thumb across his jawline as they held his face in their hands, whispering/murmuring affirmation.

Ever since being turned, at the beginning, lovely was found shocking themselves via static electricity or as been seen staring out a window during a lightning storm every now and then. It was the only reminder they had of the power they once possessed.

David only knew what had happened to Milo was because he briefly stopped showing up to pack meetings, which Sweetheart mostly filled in, and had an excuse on hand to where nobody questioned it. It wasn't til one day, Sweetheart asked to speak to David alone, and there they revealed what was going on with Milo and asked for him to speak with him as they fear Milo would start lying to their face as he was beginning to slowly withdraw from them as well. It was also the first time David felt lost on what to do, what to say when Milo broke down in front of him, revealing his fear of losing his wolf.

After Sam's turning, Vincent, at the time, blindly clung onto the hope that after Sam's introvert and temporary hostility behavior settled. He would've integrated himself within the family. However, that never happened due to the harsh boundaries lines Sam drew, making it clear to Vincent that he only stuck around due to him and William at the time. That during the summit before the whole chaos erupted, and everyone went into their little groups. Vincent couldn't help but feel a bit envious towards the Shaw Pack as they drew out various sides from Sam he's never seen before, making Vincent ponder if Sam's ever been his true self around him or if it was nothing but a mask he wore around him at the time.

Babe and Angel sometimes feel out of pocket due to being unempowers within the group, and Darlin is fully aware of it. Knowing what it's like to feel the odd one out, Darlin tries their best to make sure they're always included and will explain things the best they can so Babe and Angel don't feel lost/confused.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Reminder these are nothing but all head cannons, so take with a grain of salt. I had more, but I got rid of them due to not knowing how to exactly word them, or i just hated how they looked typed out in general.

Anyway, I hope yall had a good week and good Valentines Day.

[artsymeeshee]

Hello! I just found your laundry list of art last week, and I have to say…I LOVE IT! Love the instinct comics, Ford being cool never ceases to make me giggle, and I loved the autumn drawing. I’ll admit, that one had me in tears…made be believe in the what-if’s of my own family. What they…could be like someday. Or what I wish they were. Thanks for the tears, they were much needed.

 Anyway! This is what I came to message you about! Although,…I am extremely sorry for the late message. I tend to check back into tumblr at…weird hours of the night. Heck, it’s almost the next day as I type this. I seriously need to sleep more. So! I had a few thoughts on Stan and Ford relationship, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Just a disclaimer, I’m kinda basing this off my actual life as I find these characters mirror personal events very closely! I am also a writer and soon to be author! Might post some archive of our own content about these two soon. Also, and this is the most important, I have NOT read book of Bill yet. So plz…no spoilers. Anyway, long introduction aside, let’s begin!

In my personal head cannon of these two, which I don’t imagine is “too” different than how anyone else could see them, Stan and Ford have an extremely awkward and emotional conversation after Weirdmagedon. Why? B/c they’re both, to some degree, emotionally numb. In my opinion, why wouldn’t they? They haven’t spoken to each other in 40 years, properly, and they have repressed a ton of their emotions since then. It’s hard to bring that back up. (Speaking off of experience) I’d say even harder for Ford. Stan, thanks to the twins, has learned to loosen the locks on his heart while Ford kept running away from those emotions to defeat Bill. Just like his ambitions, that was the main priority, and everything else later. To me, this would explain why Ford never bothered to talk to Stan properly since coming back during the show. He wouldn’t know how to. If they were to talk, and this is where the writer in me comes out, I’d write Ford as the one that needs it most. He’s been traveling dimension for decades, running from the past that held him back…but he has no anchor now. Stan becomes that anchor, paralleling what he wasn’t when Ford was lost. And Ford…he just breaks. Like, completely breaks. And Stan is there with him, breaking like he is, but still there for him brother. Finally back after all those years apart. And as someone who has been on the side of neglect from one’s own brother…nothing would be me happier if we went to connect. Just like Stanley and Ford. And eventually, soon to be sailing on the seas to connect even more.

Phew…that was a lot. Sorry for the rambling. Told you I had some ideas! So, what do you think? Do you see Ford acting like this? If not…why? Genuinely, I’d like to know. Anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this. Again, sorry for the ramblings. Oh! One more thing, I know you aren’t taking art request right now, but would you be open to take them in the future? Say in 2 months time? Anyway, bye!

Well first off, thank you! I appreciate it! :D

And to answer your headcanon, I agree on it. Stan is definitely more open to talking, especially thanks to the kids. I mean there's still moments where it's hard and awkward for sure. And Ford would for sure have a harder time opening up, especially with the constant guilt and mistakes that replay over and over. And there's always that lingering feeling of "well, Stan has to hate me for what I've done" and it's always so surprising when Stan tells him differently and he never once hated Ford. Sure, was angry but never hated him. He had too much self-hatred to feel that way with Ford. And as many times as it needs to be said or repeated, it really makes all the difference when they tell each other how much they love and care for each other. As Alex said, "they're both so damaged, they desperately need each other."

As for the requests thing, most likely not. Only because I'm entering the busiest time of year for my work so it's gonna be a miracle if I even have enough energy or motivation for drawing if I'm not completely burnt out.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

I love your blog so much!! You're without a doubt my favorite writer on this app, you write yanderes so so well and you just manage to capture so amazingly the personality of EVERY character you write, especially Byakuya, i love him so much, and you just write him so well, i've been reading and rereading your works nonstop!

Could i please request yandere Byakuya with a Reader who's very kind and gentle and they like to follow him around (not in an annoying way, but in an attempt to try to befriend him and make sure he is okay during the killing game, since he is kinda excluded for being an ass). Better yet, how would he react to Reader actually leaving him alone after he went too far, or was too mean to them

Love everything you post so much, feel free to deny, remember to eat and drink water!

Thank you so so much! I'm happy i could make you happy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

Sweet ‘n Sour | Yandere Byakuya Togami

It’s honestly an honor

That you’re transmigrated into an anime/game

Too bad it’s the killing game of Danganronpa

And of course, with you thrown in the middle things are really unpredictable

So you’ll comfort yourself in being as kind to these characters as you possibly can

Especially Byakuya

A fan favorite and an intriguing ally throughout the game

Of course, you just gravitate toward him

Even though he sneers and insults you

Sometimes threatens

But you don’t mind…

…

Even though….

Those comments are beginning to hurt 

It’s one thing to love a meaner character through the screen but in person, it’s pretty hard

despite your inclination to maintain your usual smile and gentle actions

After a while, you just stop trying 

Too bad some may consider that your biggest mistake:

“Honestly I was hoping you’d turn up as one of the corpses during this farce; it probably would have made it even more interesting.”

That was it.

That was the last straw for you. Toko could have all his time and attention for all you care. The sheer fact you’ve put up with this for so long disgusts you. To hear your own life be spat on by the guy you’d been trying to extend a helping hand to–it was despicable. (Of him or of you, you couldn’t decide.)

“Ah, I see. Have a good night then.”

That was the last time you went out of your way to speak to him; immediately changing your schedule to accompany someone else. Since you’d been away with Byakuya you almost forgot how kind the rest of the group was. 

“(Y/n) I’m so happy you’re willing to hang out now! Let’s make donuts together!”

“After that I hope you’ll indulge me and Naegi in a puzzle of sorts.”

“I-if it’s alright with you..”

It was refreshing. 

To be told you were actually wanted around was somehow so fulfilling.

What terrible company you’ve been keeping.

“I’d love to!” Within a matter of days you are feeling the warmth of friendly interactions; whereas the man you’re avoiding is having a….less than stellar reaction.

Crash! 

Toko was excited that her Byakuya-sama had finally chased you. A rival weak enough to be effected by words wasn’t much of a rival at all! But upon your absence in only a few hours into his daily routine Byakuya had made an intense realization. 

That he desperately desired your attention on him.

He didn’t have to actually see you skirting your routine with him to know he hated the thought of you spending any amount of time with his classmates rivals. It literally made his skin itch and his throat close up with every minute away from you. Naturally he doesn’t care that even Toko is unnerved by the tantrum he throws. Books are strewn about, the shelves dangerously leaning against one another. All of it just an emphasis of the palpable malice emanating off of Byakuya. In the middle of the ruins he just stands still. 

Alarmingly still.

Like a predator looking out. 

Are they hunting? Scoping? Contemplating the ways to torture their enemies?

No one really knows.

Even when he pulls at his hair and belts out in an uncouth laughing fit. In an instant he stops demanding Monokuma show himself this instant. He needed to find you. Now. He’ll make it a point to inform the headmaster of his own teaching. 

Because apparently you–being the kind and gentle soul you are should be able to withstand all kinds of people. Especially him. Always him. So he’ll offer his own guidance by keeping you within arms reach at all times. 

He expects you to persist against anything he can throw at you.

How else are you going to rule the world as a Togami?

[justarandompersononthehellsite]

So... @muffinlance wrote a really awesome story. I read a post from a point in time, though I truly do not remember when since it seems like I've been working on this project forever, saying that she gives blanket permission for people to print and bind the story into a book (I think there was an also addendum saying that they do not give permission to be sold, since selling fic is illegal). This fic has had total control over my whole brain since it was sent to me (@creatorofthemind I believe it was you, so thank you forever for tuning me into it) back during the days of like chapter six or seven.

So here I am now, sharing this amazing journey of my first ever bookbinding adventure. Further reading below.

So to give you an idea of what's going on, this is a fanfiction about Zuko (Avatar the Last Airbender) (animated show version, the LA show did not exist yet and we do not speak of the movie) being adopted by Hakoda, Father of Katara and Zuko. (This might have also been what kicked off the Give Zuko A Parent craze, but don't fact check me.)

Overall, the characters from the show stick very well to the cannon versions, but where MuffinLance really shines is in the rich backstories and fleshed out feeling of all the non cannon elements. Especially the background characters. I would argue that the writing in this peice of fanwork could easily rival the cannon show at many points of comparison.

Now that you have context, we can get into the actual process.

To start, I used this guide to figure out where to even begin, and fount the included resource list to also be quite helpful. I cannot for the LIFE OF ME figure out where I found the template I used for the front matter and such, but it must be somewhere and I will link to it when I inevitably come across it again.

Then I began to typeset. This step took... a long time. I worked in chunks from about September of 2022 to late March of 2024. I would get a big section done, sometimes even the entire thing, but then find I hated the way I had done it and give up for months at a time. Such is the life of ADHD and flitting interest in projects I suppose.

And then finally, step one was done, and I was left with pages on a word document that look like this. (And do please let me know if you want the link to the document. It was so much work, and I would love to not be the only one to use it.)

Next step was printing out this beast. Ended up being about eight pages of front matter, and about 630 pages of body text.

That I printed wrong.

Twice.

Before finally getting it right. And then not getting a picture of it, because I finished at 4 am and had work at 7, and am also an idiot.

Then I simply stitched along, putting everything together into a beautiful text block.

And came up with a design for the cover.

Yes the glue did end up lumpy. Ignore it.

Yes I did have to sketch out the design onto a scraped page several times before I figured out what I was doing. Ignore that too.

The cover design does wrap around the entire cover. No I did not get a picture before I glued the thing down. See again: I'm an idiot. And just... massively impatient.

Finally, we get to the stage of gluing. Behold, my bookpress.

Of course, topped with Madam MuffinLances own actual professional-people book, Fox's Tounge and Kirin's Bone. It is Excelent. Here is the LINK so you can go and support this amazing author with the real-monies as well as the internet-kudos.

Then, once everything is glued together, one must give the book its "gilt" edges.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Did the crowd's hatred outmatch Blitzø's?

Christ on a stick indeed, Blitzø.

This question, which our beloved imp had kindly raised himself, has been bothering me since the 'Apology Tour' came out.

I've seen plenty posts speculating on this topic, and it's not going to be a super unique take, I admit, but I would still like to think aloud about what that party really symbolizes.

Is it the true extent of Blitzø's tendencies to hurt anyone who dares to reach too close? Or was it exaggerated by Verosika?

Let's see what evidence we have on hand and make some assumptions about what that could mean.

A quick note of appreciation before be begin: I sincerely admire the amount of work done on detailing the crowd at the Halloween party. Just look at the progress in animation they've made since the 'Queen Bee' episode! From animating three-four people max to drawing almost each character separately, and giving basic movements to many of them.

(tumblr, your 10mb gif restriction sucks ass. I struggled to show just how good these animations are with such a limited size)

Wow, my hat's down, I am in awe.

But okie, let's go.

The avoidance

It would be silly to deny that Blitzø has issues forming meaningful, deep connections. He is afraid of affection, of love. We've seen this with Stolas. We've seen how hurtful, brash, and aggressive he becomes when offered vulnerability and feelings, how deep his distorted view of the world runs. During the Full Moon tryst, he is so terrified that he is completely deaf to what has actually been said, and he lashes out violently, scorching everyting along the way.

We also know Blitzø is extremely horny and finds comfort in sex, while being too scared of emotional attachment and craving it just as much. Given this, is it really surprising to see more people affected by his demeanor?

Take Verosika, for instance. He dumped her by running off after she confessed her love, leaving her to pay for a hotel room, stealing her car, running three Rings to Wrath, and maxing out her credit card on shitty horse riding lessons.

Then there are some people we don’t know who are visibly destroyed by their time with Blitzø. We know nothing about them, but simply observing their distress and Blitzø’s reactions is enough to draw conclusions.

We can endlessly sympathize with Blitzø. We understand what he has been through, why he behaves the way he does, and how much he still suffers. However, this does not give him a carte blanche to ruin the lives of those around him. The show does not glorify him as a poor, misunderstood figure—instead, it poignantly exposes how insensitive he has been to other people's feelings, and shoves it in his face immediately after he damages another relationship that, as we know, he actually held dear.

I mean, from some points of view, even Dennis, who only made out with Blitzø, could justifiably be deeply offended and scarred by his insults...

...

...

...

Wait... fucking DENNIS is here?

The hatred

Okay, something doesn’t add up. This was supposed to be a party for those whose hearts were broken, not for whiny bitches who couldn’t handle one little insult that’s quite common in Hell’s environment!

Ugh, thanks, Dennis. Now we need to untangle the other side of the mess, because it’s clearly not so one-dimensional anymore. But fuck you still, you fucking suck (affectionate <3 you actually slay).

So, what’s going on? Let’s take another look at the crowd.

For starters, Tex, baby, what are you doing here? Didn’t you say her beef ain't yours? Why the fuck are you involved? Did she pay you to be a backup for Stolas and passionately repeat 'motherfucker,' referring to someone who arguably did nothing wrong to you?

And aren’t those succubi and incubi from Verosika’s Spring Break entourage? Lads and lasses, did Blitzø fuck up your bleeding hearts too, or are you just hanging out at the same places as Verosika?

Fucking Wally selling hate merch? Blitzø, look at me—do you remember him in your bed? Or, maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t give two shits and is just capitalizing on a quick profit opportunity?

Blitzø doesn’t remember everyone from that party; he admitted that at the very beginning of our discussion. He recognizes some of them though, but doesn’t act particularly sorry...

As much as I’m willing to believe and admire Blitzø’s stamina to fuck that many people, I don’t think he’s had enough weekends in his adult life to meet, charm, have intercourse with, and dump all of them. The math just isn't adding up.

But he never questions whether the crowd was genuinely hurt by him or if they just came as someone’s friend or to participate in a thrilling experience of hating on someone they might not even know. Hey, those piñatas, darts, and fire pits look quite fun, don’t they? It almost seems like they don’t care about the implications—literally bullying someone and taking joy in it.

So, could Verosika be a little too obsessed with building the image of Blitzø as an irredeemable, ruthless, and atrocious imp, to the point of letting just about anyone in to exaggerate the extent of the real issue? Perhaps even doing it quite intentionally?

What the actual hell?

Before you get lost in my elaborate attempts to make my point, let me draw three conclusions from what we’ve seen.

Conclusion one: Both statements are true.

We’ve learned that not everyone in the crowd was hurt by Blitzø. However, even if we narrow it down to just the confirmed cases—six in total (Stolas, Verosika, two crying demons, and two demons Blitzø acknowledged before insulting them again)—it’s still a significant number. It’s enough to start questioning Blitzø and encourage him to change, as this harmful tendency leads to nothing good. For Stolas's sake and for his own, too.

Conclusion two: Blitzø entirely belongs to this party.

His spiky, insufferable attitude he shows to others is actually, from some point of view, this:

He is so adamant that he doesn’t deserve love that he deems all the affection shown to him as a lie. So he pushes away, snarls, insults, and attacks. Because how dare you love such a monster? This can’t be true; this is wrong!

It is himself whom his hatred is directed toward.

He should be an honorary guest at this party, a fucking star invitee. No one can fucking beat him in the craft of hating on himself.

And the crowd, which he didn’t even attempt to challenge, is just a showcase of what he thinks he is. It represents what he actually isn’t, considering we’ve proven that some of the people there have nothing to do with him. It’s an exaggerated, untrue reflection of his worst ideas about himself.

Conclusion three: Verosika's obsession with bullying Blitzø is unhealthy.

Yes, even considering her good intentions to help those who suffered because of him.

Just as the crowd reveals Blitzø’s extent of self-loathing, it also highlights her inability to move on and the persona she has created for herself. She is wholly engulfed in it.

While we now understand her point of view and where she is coming from, it doesn’t excuse her for organizing the bully party, stalking Blitzø and his partners… Seriously, how invested do you have to be to learn about the breakup after just one night? Or to even know who your ex of 5+ years (allegedly, we don’t know for sure) dated to begin with?

Lady, you need to put away your booze and get yourself together. He acted horribly, no doubt, but the effort you’re putting into trying to prove he’s a motherfucker just isn’t worth it.

This isn’t the solution. People are either still hurt or just enjoy hating on Blitzø, but they are simmering in hatred nonetheless.

They are not healing, and neither is Verosika.

A closing note (yay?)

TL;DR (should be at the beginning, really, but who cares): Everyone in this show needs some fucking therapy. Mental health sucks ass in Hell (wonder why?). And bullying also sucks. Don’t be bullies. Thanks.

Okay, class, put away your notebooks and put down your pencils. The homework will be to find some anti—and... why the excited, shimmery eyes? *gasp* No, don’t bully them. Have you learned nothing from what I've said? Move on. Block them. Because #stolitz will be canon, and nothing will change that, so let them whine somewhere else.

Thanks for your attention! <3

[firelxdykatara]

One of these days I really do need to sit down and do a full Buffy rewatch. It's been a very long time since I've watched the whole show, beginning to end, without jumping to my favorite episodes and then losing track and trailing off. But part of the problem is that every time I think about doing this, I then think about how much time I will have to spend perceiving Xander Harris' existence (a character whom I loathe a little more each and every time I put on an episode of the show, especially when I do a full season rewatch), and I just feel so tired in my fucking bones about it. I don't know if I am strong enough!

Doesn't help that I just watched a youtube video on why Xander is the Worst with a capital W, which in the process reminded me of some of the things he did which I'd evidently blocked completely from my memory. You mean to tell me (as if I had not seen it with my own two eyes multiple times and each time managed, somehow, to purge it from my memory completely) that Xander fucking Harris is the reason Buffy tries to go after Riley (a character I also hate, but unlike Xander, he's only around for two seasons and is ultimately pretty irrelevant and easy to ignore), only to get there too late and watch him leave in a fucking helicopter, crying over him as if she'd lost something significant.

Instead of leaving it at her choosing to let go of a relationship that was going nowhere, and never had been, because she did not love him (seriously, just, compare the way Buffy behaves around him during their relationship with her behavior around Angel and Spike during their respective relationship arcs and tell me you don't see a diffeerence) and he very clearly did not understand her or her burden and had no intention of trying because being with the strongest woman in the world who didn't need him around all the time to be her big strong protector made him feel like less of a man... she has to stand there and get her heart broken, realizing what she lost just a little too late to do anything about it.

All because Xander had to give her his little fucked up 'you need to go after him and beg him to stay! he's perfect for you!' speech.

(There's something in there about Xander needing her to pick Riley and be with Riley because Riley is the normal everyman and it would be, symbolically, him triumphing over Angel after all if she chose the normal boring human dude over a grr face and angst, but it's been a little too long for me to write that essay, it'd have to come in the course of the full rewatch I keep meaning to start and not getting around to because of aforementioned anger about Xander Fucking Harris.)

This on top of shit like 'Xander has a witch help him do a love spell that backfires horribly and instead of facing any consequences from that he has Buffy thanking him for not sexually assaulting her while she was maigcally roofied by, and I cannot stress this enough, the spell he sought out a witch to perform (because he actually wanted to assault Cordelia in revenge for dumping him, but since he saves her from the situation he put her in she decides to give their relationship another chance)' (and in the very next season he cheats on Cordelia with Willow, who is wracked with guilt over what happened and spends multiple episodes trying to make things up to Oz and fix their relationship but Xander has to do none of this cause it's whatever to him I guess lmao), and also him lying about Angel which Buffy never figures out which sticks in my craw like a really bad rash... gods.

See I'm already writing an essay and I haven't done a full rewatch in years 😭😭😭 I love the show so much but I hate Xander SO much I truly suffer more than Jesus for my girl.

[criticalbeauregard]

how agathario could've won

EDIT: people are taking this post as me saying every ship needs a happy ending to have value or that the ending was bad bc they don’t end up riding off into the sunset. let me clarify this was just an idea i had (also without context for several jac interviews that have since come out)

i've been thinking a lot about the finale and how some people have been saying "what did you think was going to happen? you thought they were going to live happily ever after?" to which i didn't really have a good answer for but i've been collecting my thoughts and i have a bit of a "fix it" or alternate concept for ep 8 & 9 that could possibly turn into a fic down the road:

episode 8 is the earth trial and final showdown. i feel like the earth trial itself was pretty underwhelming in favor of sending jen and billy out of the "road" and also in the larger context of the rest of the episode i'm unsure of the purpose it serves. with the later knowledge that the road is all billy's design this makes sense, but agatha's growth (literally) in that moment alone seems inconsequential and essentially washes away when she exits the "trial" and sees rio. she says, with something that sounds like acceptance, "sometimes boys die." and she's in what would be rio's trial. she talks about life coming out of death, she literally grows a flower from a seed within the momento she carries for her dead son. it feels like an acceptance or understanding of rio's actions in a way. and possibly a nod to nicky not being fully gone. i would've liked (i suppose in a world where the road doesnt hinge on billy's knowledge of the coven members) for rio's trial to be more centered around her loss of nicky and agatha. the other trials focus on the greatest fears of the coven member associated with it after all. perhaps a trial that also forces agatha to reveal the true story of what happened to nicky to jen and billy, even ending similarly with sending the others away and finding true acceptance of what rio is and that she was nicky's mother too. maybe with prompting from the others and reassurance about how the truth is not "too awful" (which i think is a belief born of agatha's shame for not being able to protect nicky).

in the final showdown, rio is expecting a fight since agatha didn't make good on her deal. but agatha is coming to rio with something she doesn't expect, understanding. maybe rio thinks it's a trick and there's still some sparring there, billy then shows up and powers up agatha. rio asks which one of them is coming with her. agatha, injured, yells out "what would our son think of this?" rio falters at that. agatha talks about what she's learned and maybe even how that very nature she's hated for so long is what made her fall in love with rio to begin with. agatha wants to make a new deal, rio lets billy go and when agatha dies (a long long time from now) they will go reunite with their son together. rio regretfully tells her "that balance still must be maintained, i can offer only time" and agatha tearfully says "i know." they kiss, not a kiss of death, but of life. a renewal of their love. flowers bloom around them, all of the ones rio never got to give to her over the years. and when agatha opens her eyes again, rio is gone.

in episode 9 we see agatha and rio meet for the first time, agatha have nicky, rio play with nicky in the woods on some nights while agatha sleeps, everything else we see with nicky and agatha's relationship, rio and nicky's last walk and maybe also rio and agatha's first encounter after nicky's death, perhaps in which we gain some insight into why agatha is keeping up the witches' road con.

having heard the story during the earth trial and through witnessing her deal with rio, billy has a deeper understand of why agatha is the way she is. this reminds him of wanda and he realizes why agatha actually was so interested in what wanda did. she says the bit about him reminding her of nicky and how he always did even when he was young. he thanks her for buying him time, agatha tells him to make the most of it and that things might move quicker with another set of hands. "coven two." they go to find tommy.

idk lmk what you think and if i'm forgetting something very glaring but this idea was heavily inspired by @agatharkn3ss 's nicky's parentage theory post.

[heavenphantomhive]

My favorite Sebaciel fanfics - Part 1

Hi! In the last post, I asked for some recommendations for Sebaciel fanfics, so I thought it would be a good idea to show my favorite ones, so I made a list with the fics that left the biggest impression on me, and I'll try to briefly talk about each one (although it's been a long time since I've read some of them, so I might not remember all the details).

I hope you enjoy!

1. Fanfics

1.1 Complete

Solomon’s Purgatory: Ciel acting as Sherlock Holmes in a modern day's Weston College. The plot is great, it's just a shame that Sebastian doesn't appear until almost the end (yeah, Ciel falls for him during his investigation without even knowing the real Sebastian, which is kinda cute too).

Shapeshifter: Sebastian is a serial killer, and he adopts Ciel after the suicide of his aunt Ann (Madam Red), which is obviously Sebastian's work. It's kinda graphic, and I don't recommend it if you have some kind of sensibility with rape and violence. However, if you like drama and a bittersweet sensation, this fic is for you. Just a warning: there's no happy ending.

Phantom, phantom: It's a PWP in every sense, but why is this so good?? (One shot)

1.2 In progress

Those Gentle Slopes that Lead to Hell: It's a slow burn, mostly centered in Sebastian's point of view and his journey to understand the feelings he didn't even know he had. I like it because it's totally in character, specially because their relationship isn't linear.

The Siblings and The Young Master: OK, IT'S BEEN A LONG, LONG TIME SINCE THE LAST TIME I READ THIS. However, I remember hunting down the writer to beg them to finish this piece, so I could say that I really liked it that time. Besides this, I don't remember a thing, just this and the fact that the drama isn't clear at the beginning, it's a thing that grows during the plot and gets SO GOOD. Anyway, read at your own risk since, sadly, the writer probably will never post the last 7 chapters (WE WERE SO CLOSE, I WANNA DIE! *crying compulsively*).

2. Series

Evil Flowers: It's a classic, all of fics of this series are masterpieces and I don't think I need to explain anything. Every Sebaciel shipper MUST read these fics at some point in their lives!

Debate Club: Ok, I'm obsessed with this series, specially with Devil's Advocate. It's simply how I always imagined the relationship between Ciel and Sebastian if they were in a modern school setting. I don't think the trope popular guy/nerd fits them. Both Sebastian and Ciel are nerds, but both of them have too much charisma to not be popular, so I always thought they would be over competitive with each other if they studied together. Also, Sebastian being completely clueless about his feelings to Ciel, and interpreting this strange sensation in his chest every time he sees this little brat as "I hate him", is my favorite fanfic trope.

PLEASE GUYS, I BEG YOU, write more fics like this. I want to see them in a high school and competing over grades, but being secretly in love with each other in a very dramatic and confused way. I also LOVE when Sebastian turns his repressed arousal for Ciel into violence over him (not in a physical way, like punching him, but acting rude and sarcastic).

If you know any fic like these, send them to me, pleeease.

Well, I've made a list much longer than this, but since English isn't my first language, writing this was SO EXHAUSTING that I need a pause, so I'll post the rest later. I hope you liked this.

[angelofverdum]

Yellowjackets 3x04

"Nice one, Shipman" JackieShauna nation up to million points btw

That trial was the funniest thing that I've seen in this show. The theatricals omg.

Misty should have studied law instead of spending her days bullying old people. She was great as a lawyer. She won that trial. Also, exposing Shauna like that? bringing out her baby in front of everybody? I was scared for her.

People say that Shauna bullied them to vote against Ben, but I think there's more to say about the fact that they followed her. Like, Gen put her hand up because her best friend situationship asked her to?

Shauna is my favorite character so maybe I'm unbiased but calling her a monster is crazy to me. I'd list all she went through and why she has so much anger inside of her but I don't give a fuck anymore. Do you think I'm going to hate Shauna because of Ben? Fuck that bitch.

Shauna is the best and THE MAIN character, losers can stay mad.

The fact that Nat clearly hates being in charge but she is still doing it because they chose her. Poor babygirl, she was clearly distraught during the whole trial. Calling to vote 300 times and then letting one of the jurors bully the others into voting against the accused without calling a recess or declaring a mistrial. She is just a girl, please.

I got to see Jackie two episodes in a row. I'm getting spoiled. For me, the scene didn't feel underwhelming but I get what people would said that after last week's episode. Also, we had been expecting the scene since the first teaser, and I cheered when I saw that freezer.

Btw, they are terrible leaders and they are doomed, you know why? Because they let their captain die. Jackie would have run that trial like the Navy.

I was so scared when the episode started and I saw Jeff talking Shauna into doing something. I thought he was going ¿g to be the main character in the episode. I don't know whose idea was to put Misty and Shauna together but I love it.

Taissa was really going to kill that man to keep Van alive she didn't gaf. She is a romantic I guess.

And my girl Lottie. I was so shocked I didn't expect that this early damn. And that image of her dead body was fucking scary.

The big theory is that one of the women killed her because they were alone for a while, but that is insane. I just don't want them to kill each other. The only one who would make sense it's the other Tai who tried to talk to her and sacrificed her for Van or something like that, and that would ruin her character immensely.

But they didn't care about Misty killing Nat, so who knows.

For the people saying this is bad writing, you'll fucking insane. The reason we are watching the adult timeline is to see that they are fucked and they're always going to be. They unleashed something in that wilderness that is going to hunt them forever. I do believe they all going to die before the show ends. Yellowjackets have been a hopeless show since the beginning because you see them trying to survive in that wilderness just to have a terrible life outside.

As a Once upon a time survivor I have to acknowledge that Jennifer Morrison directed this episode. She did a good job. Lottie died and Taivan didn't kiss but ok.

Teen timeline notes:

I loved Sophie's performance trying to control her anger when was put on the stand, because yes she is angry but also sad.

I loved Soapy's performance too, and the way she was uncomfortable during the whole episode but also how much she acted like Juliette's Natalie.

I'm obsessed with the way Courtney plays Lottie. So soft.

Lottie's credentials to be a witness is that she got an A in history 100 years ago.

"That's fucking power" Inmediatly no. Gave me the ick bad. Melissa just put your hat on and keep it moving. And I get it She's down bad for Shauna but she needs to calm down a bit.

"And 1 drunk Travis" and he was barely in the episode.

The name is Mari Ibarra. You better learn how to roll your RRRRs, ok?

[prfctplcs]

I'm gonna preface this by saying I have no problem with representation. I love queer stories, especially when they're organic and natural. I'm bi, and I've had fulfilling relationships with women as well as men. Honestly, I would love a spin-off on Brimsley and Reynolds. It didn't feel.....forced. the characters were new and their story grew organically. Michaela? No. I'm trying to articulate how I feel without sounding like I hate the queer community because I genuinely don't. I appreciated Benedict's story line even if it was a little jarring. He's exploring, experimenting and that's fine. It still doesn't take away from his story. But the introduction of Michaela felt like a guy punch. It felt wrong. I've never particularly like gender swapping in stories based on an original IP, because it changes a lot of dynamics. It changes a lot of story lines. And yes, it's fiction, but I'm sorry I cannot get over it, especially when it's such a blatant case of pandering. It makes me feel as if I'm wrong to question this change and I've somehow internalised homophobia. If so, then why wouldn't I hate other queer characters or be similarly uncomfortable?

Okay I think I can make my argument clear with an example. If anyone has seen the movie Love Lies Bleeding, I think they'll get it. The sexual orientation of the characters didn't matter. It felt right. And it was not important to the story. It was just an established dynamic and we could enjoy the plot easily. It wouldn't have mattered if it was a heterosexual couple or a homosexual couple, the story is largely unchanged. If Michael becomes Michaela, here's the issues I see. Who inherits Kilmartin. We've already established an estate will go to the next male heir if the current owner dies. A major part of Michael's story was his guilt over his inheritance and his imposter syndrome. His story arc taking his place in parliament. It's all gone. I mean, I know the show isn't interested in the plots other than the main character pairing but this felt so wrong. If they wanted a lesbian lead, the just make another show with original characters why force this? I'm not looking forward to Francescas season at all. I'm sure a lot of people will like it and that's their prerogative but for me, personally, the only thing keeping the story moving forward is Benedict. Maybe Eloise. But I feel like the story of the show has lost its charm and has dug itself into a hole like Disney or marvel

warning, this reply is SO long but I just had so much to say!

We’re in the same thought process! I think you worded it perfectly when saying that it just doesn’t feel organic. I have a feeling that the shock factor of a character being lgbt that we didn’t necessarily expect to be so is what they were going for, perhaps to try and drive up views?

In my opinion, Benedict has had major bi vibes since the very first season, so nothing about that is shocking and it feels right for his added on experimentation. I also personally think that Eloise gives off major bi or lesbian vibes, and I think it would’ve been even better if they changed her story so that she ends up with Cressida in the end— seeing as (in the books) she ends up with a guy that is really only interested in having a wife to take care of his children (which is so far away from what show Eloise would go for and I’ll die on this hill). I think it would interesting if, rather than have Eloise write to Phillip, they have her write to Cressida, and they begin to form a romantic interest in each other in the same way Eloise does with Phillip in the books, and then they eventually run off together and live away from society where they’ll be accepted.

Francesca story, on the other hand, doesn’t flow so well with this massive change (in my opinion!). People can say what they want about how the show already doesn’t follow all of the societal norms that people actually did during the time period, and while that’s true, it’s already been established in the show that it’s still the closest MALE relative to inherit everything (often including wives) once the male head of a household passes (ex. Jack Featherington and Phillip Crane). So are they just gonna suddenly change all of that for John and Michaela? Also, another huge reason that Francesca wants to marry after John’s death is because she also has a miscarriage and longs to have children (which she struggles to do so for YEARS even after her and Michael are married and try). Will they eliminate that as well?

Not to mention the fact that it takes Francesca and Michael so long to get together in the book is because:

1. Francesca LOVES John. there is no questioning there, no wondering if she made the right choice. She fully expected to live an entire life married and in love with him, and the scene where she finds him dead is one of the most heart and for wrenching things I’ve ever read. She goes through years of grief and mourning for him because of how deeply and truly in love she was. And that is a way that she also learns to further bond with Violet, since both of them are widowed.

2. Michael feels as if people see him as someone who is trying to replace John, even though that’s never something he wanted, only Francesca, but he was still so respectful of her and keeping boundaries when she was with John. Those two weren’t just cousins, they were like literal brothers.

So again! It is absolutely no hate towards the LGBT community in any way. I would love even more representation in Bridgerton, but like you said, this change does not feel organic to Francesca’s character or storyline in any way, but more like a Marvel/Disney move to gain more views and therefore more money for the show without doing any actual good writing or plotting.

[lucy90712]

omgg girl YOU HAVE TO DO this enemies to lovers fic with pedri where they're lowkey known to hate eachother in school but then one day the reader comes out of the classroom and and has blood on her face and is crying becasue this one dude messed with her and hit her and pedri sees her and is furious and asks her "who did this to you" and the reader refuses to tell him but then eventually gives in because of how mad he is and pedri beats the dude up like really bad, then the reader and pedri are at the nurses office and she asks him why he did that and pedri finally confesses his feelings for her and so does she and they like kiss in the end ?

you're writing style would slayy this prompt soo muchh so pleasee do write itt!, anyways take care of yourself!!, love youu

A/n: I changed up the idea a bit but I really like it so I hope you do too

WC: 2.2k After going the whole year waiting and celebrating all my friends birthdays it's finally my turn as it was my birthday during the week so now my friends are hosting a party for me at one of their places. All week I've been looking forward to this party as I haven't been out in a while because I've had other things to focus on with school and work. I went out and brought a new dress for tonight and everything because I want to look and feel amazing. I'm always the friend that just wearing casual clothes as I'm always too busy to get dressed up but not tonight I'm going to be the one getting all the stares and attention tonight. Usually I would say I don't care about getting attention from guys but tonight I want to prove someone wrong.

Pedri. That asshole football player. I met Pedri when I first moved to Barcelona as he was friends with the friends I made and ever since he's been around. He's like a fly that just won't leave you alone every time I think he's not going to show up he sneaks up on me and my night is ruined. I know for a fact that he will be there tonight because he's part of the friend group and everyone else is always trying to get up to get along but we just don't. For whatever reason Pedri took an instant dislike to me, to begin with I thought he was attractive but any feelings for him other than disgust quickly went away. He's always calling me names or just generally saying awful things to me but to everyone else he's an angel and the sweetest guy ever. The last time I saw him I had gone straight from an 8 hours shift with 4 hours of classes before and I heard him say to someone else that I never look good which is exactly why I want to prove him wrong tonight. 

This morning I took myself to get my nails done and I got my hair cut for the first time in a while and now I've just got out the shower after having washed my hair and shaved. I feel like a whole new person and it feels amazing I don't know why I didn't make more of an effort sooner. The first thing I did was put my dress on then I did my hair and makeup which took a while as I wanted everything to be perfect but eventually I did it and everything couldn't look better. Looking in the mirror I almost didn't recognise myself but I lied the version of me I saw much more than the usual tired mess I usually see. My friends were all going crazy over the picture I sent in our group chat which gave me the boost in confidence I needed to go along with my new look. 

Seeing as I plan to drink tonight I got a cab to my friends place where their party was happening. I purposely arrived a bit late because I want to make an entrance seeing as it's my birthday party and I put all this effort into my appearance I want everyone to notice well I want Pedri to notice. The door was unlocked so I just opened it and walked right in straight away everyone turned to look at me it felt like I was in a movie and for once I was the main character not a background actor. All of my friends immediately made their way over to shower me in compliments but all I was interested in was Pedri. It took me a second but I eventually I caught his gaze and I could see his pupils were dilated and his jaw was slightly open but as soon as he noticed I was looking he turned away. My mission for tonight is already complete now it's time to have fun and channel my hatred for Pedri into the best night of my life so far. 

My best friend got me a drink and then took me off to go and dance with her. She made a playlist of all my favourite songs which she put on and we started dancing together. As we were dancing I had another drink or maybe two so I was definitely on a high but I wasn't drunk nowhere close to it. Somehow I lost my friend and ended up just dancing on my own which was fine until I guy I hadn't met before came over to talk to me. At first he was nice but then he got overly flirty and I just wasn't feeling it, I didn't come here to go home with a guy I just wanted to have fun and let loose. 

Despite my best attempts the guy would not leave me alone and he was really starting to test my patience. His hands were all over my body which made me really uncomfortable but every time I tried moving them his hands went back to where they were if not lower. Once he started squeezing my ass that was enough for me I pulled away but the guy grabbed my arm and held it really tightly. I could tell it was going to leave a bruise but that's was the last of my worries all of a sudden all I could feel was intense panic flowing through my veins I felt as though I hadn't had a drop of alcohol I was so aware of every little touch on my skin. I've never been so scared in my life I've never felt this weak either, usually I'd stand up for myself without any hesitation but right now I can't get any words out and I can't make my body move even an inch. My whole being is now controlled but the fear of what this guy is going to do to me.  

"You know you look super sexy in this dress" the guy whispered in my ear as he put a hand around my throat 

"G-get off m-me" I managed to choke out 

"What you don't want me even though you are practically begging for attention dressed like that" the guy taunted 

That was enough for me I managed to free myself from his hold but I wasn't able to move quick enough to avoid him slapping me for presumably not wanting to sleep with him. I flinched at the pain but I also braced myself for more but it never happened. Suddenly there was someone else stood in front of me who punched the other guy just as I looked up. Everything happened so quickly but time seemed to slow down as I watched the guy that has been harassing me get punched in the face multiple times, even though it wasn't me doing it I felt great knowing someone had my back. 

Once time went back to normal speed and the guy was finally escorted out of the house I finally got to see who had come in to protect me. That someone who I was thanking in my mind just a few seconds ago was Pedri. For once I saw a different look in his eyes instead of disgust and hatred I saw concern and worry. He cared although he has never acted like it he cares about me. That thought sent butterflies through my stomach, for some reason owning that deep down Pedri didn't really hate me made me feel relieved happy even. 

There was a lot of thoughts swirling around in my mind not just about what happened but also about my feelings for Pedri. I was soon brought out off of my spiral though when I noticed Pedri turn towards me and reach his hand out to touch mine which sent a shiver down my spine. I could move as he looked at my wrist which was already starting to bruise and then studied my face which suddenly made me aware of the fact that I could feel something running down my face. 

"Are you ok?" He asked 

"Yeah I'm fine" I replied 

"We both know that's a lie now come with me I'll clean you up" he said 

He offered me his hand so I took it and he lead me through all of the people around who had just gone back to doing whatever they were doing before after watching what unfolded just a few minutes ago. Pedri lead me to the bathroom upstairs which was empty luckily so we went straight in and he locked the door behind us which made me a little nervous all of a sudden. As Pedri looked for the first aid kit I just stood there watching him as I was starting to realise that maybe my attraction towards Pedri hadn't disappeared and had just been buried deep down inside me instead as I was starting to feel the nerves I felt when I first met him again. 

After a while of just staring at him Pedri finally found what he was looking for and turned back to me. He told me to sit on the counter in front of him so I made my way over ready to haul myself up on the surface but instead Pedri put his hands on my waist and lifted me into the counter. Having his hands on my waist felt weirdly comfortable it was as if this had happened a million times before I felt safe almost with his hands on me. He kept one hand on my waist as he gently cleaned up the cut I had on my lip which stung but every time I winced Pedri just squeezed my waist and apologised which somehow made it all better. As he worked to put cream on my lip and wrist I was completely captivated but the way he was sticking his tongue out fully concentrated on making sure he did everything he could to make me better. 

This was the first time I noticed how perfect his face was. His hair, his eyes, his lips and his stubble that was beginning to form were all just so perfect. His hair looked so soft and fluffy. His eyes looked so caring and kind. His lips looked so kissable. Those thoughts had never crossed my mind before but thats simply because I wouldn't let them, I've always been attracted to Pedri but I didn't allow myself to feel these feelings as until today I thought he simply just hated me but this situation has made it clear that he doesn't hate me quite as much as I first thought. 

"There we go, does that feel any better?" He asked 

"It feels a lot better thank you" I replied 

"Now tell me how are you actually feeling and please be honest" he said 

"I'm ok still a bit shaken up but I'll be ok" I said 

"I'm sorry this happened to you that guy was wrong to do that don't think for a second you deserved it because you don't no matter how beautiful you look" Pedri said which took my by surprise as I never expected him to call me beautiful 

"Thank you it means a lot hearing you say that" I said 

"I have to ask why did you help me I thought you hated me" I said 

Pedri just stood there for a few seconds which made me regret actually asking him and not just thinking about the many possible answers. All of my anxieties quickly disappeared though when Pedri closed the gap between us and attached his lips to mine. The feeling of having his lips on mine was out of this world I don't know how to even describe it it almost felt like a void was filled that I didn't know was empty before. Where my lip is cut it definitely stung kissing Pedri but it was so worth it and I'd deal with much more pain if it meant I could kiss him again. Sadly the kiss eventually came to an end but Pedri stayed close to me and wrapped his arms around me even after he'd pulled away. 

"I'm sorry I should've asked you first before doing that but I just couldn't resist" he said 

"It's ok I enjoyed it but you didn't answer my question" I teased 

"I never hated you I hated the fact that I found you so beautiful I told myself that I needed to focus on football and not dating so when we first met I thought it would be easier if I just acted like I hated you but it really didn't help and I just can't pretend anymore" he admitted 

"Well I'm glad you don't hate me as that would've made this all very awkward" I laughed 

"I know I've been awful to you but can we start over?" He asked 

"Of course all is forgiven especially after you helped me out there" I said 

"How about we get out of here and maybe we can talk over some ice cream" he suggested 

"I like the sound of that" I replied 

With that Pedri gave me another kiss which he apologised for as he realised it probably hurt me which it did but I happily kissed him again as he grabbed my hand to lead me outside to his car. I felt a bit bad for leaving my own birthday party but at the same time getting to know Pedri and exploring these newfound feelings sounds a lot more fun.