#if you do not hold any sort of influence over the dream world then feel free to ignore this

[silly-lil-scribbles]

possibly my dumbest post yet but if theres any sort of god out there listen the fuck up man if you dont get rid of my friends nightmares then im dragging my ass up there myself to fucking rip ur throat out ok? understood? because i fucking will don’t underestimate me bitch i hate you

[justchillandshipit]

Let me just pick apart this interview.

It was great to see him smile because my heart has been breaking for him all season. It seems like the priest said what he needed to hear, but why do you think it was a priest who he needed to hear that from rather than Bobby, Buck, or anyone else in his life?

"I think sometimes when you’re too close to the person, the message doesn’t really hold. So it does take a third party to come in and give you some outside influence. What better than a—I mean, we’ve all known that Eddie has Catholic— [Laughs] He likes to be a Catholic, but then he doesn’t, and he kind of goes back and forth. So who better than a priest to come over and save the day?"

---

Hummm. Ok. I think I'm more confused with this answer.

---

And it feels like he needed to be out of the church, though, for that.

Yes, yes, yes. It’s unconventional for a Catholic to obviously get any kind of that outside of the church, which I think we all know Eddie’s unconventional. So it did take the priest coming out and meeting him on his own ground and really just making it a grounded message. It wasn’t like a priest talking to one of his subordinates; it was just a man talking to another man and giving him great advice.

---

Ok. This is a little more clear.

---

When I spoke with Tim yesterday, he said that Eddie has to figure himself out. What do you think Eddie has to figure out now that he is moving forward?

"I think anything that you do in the beginning, you do it really, really bad. So I think finding love for yourself, if you haven’t done it, you’re probably going to be really bad at it. So although I love the scene of him dancing and giving him opportunity to be like, “Here’s the great first step.” After that first step, it’s going to be a little difficult for him. “Now, where do I go? I did the Risky Business. I did my dream, but how do I implement that in my day-to-day life?” So it will be very interesting to see how Eddie is trying to attain this new version of himself."

Yeah, I was going to say, even though there was some joy in that, it doesn’t mean that everything is fixed. Now he knows he can move forward. Are we going to see something in between the heartbreak and the joy going forward?

"I think it’ll be more awkwardness, more like him trying to reach out of his comfort zone and not being great at it, so relying on his teammates, his 118 family, and just kind of bouncing ideas and bouncing personalities, I guess. Trying to figure out himself out. Yeah, it’ll be awkward, funny. It’ll be a bunch of different things. I had fun playing with Eddie."

---

Credit to the interviewer. He tried to nail him with these questions.

---

When you say outside his comfort zone, what do you mean specifically?

Nothing too extreme. More just maybe him being a little happier when he used to be a little sadder or more somber or more quiet and reserved, him being a little bit more outspoken. I can’t really say too much, but I would say that it’s not some extreme change for him. It’s a slow and steady change for him, but he is a semi-control freak, so I would think that any small change feels like a big change to him.

---

Is this what people are worried about? If Eddie had some sort of epiphany with his sexuality, it would be extreme? Maybe? But then he says It's a slow and steady change. Okay. Okay. I'm not going to worry. I've said since last season that if the show is going to reveal Eddie as a gay character, it will be this season so I'm going to stick with that. (Honestly, I'm more concerned about last-minute changes from ABC because there is about to be a strong shift in forcing Americans to live according to Evangelical values.) That is the last I'll say on that for now. I don't want to speculate on my real-world fears. 911 is golden. I'll worry more when the regime changes.

---

Is a relationship or even thinking about one on his radar at this point? It feels like he has a lot to work through before he can even think about that.

"Absolutely not. Yeah. There is not one relationship in his head. I believe that Eddie is just so focused on what he needs to be doing as a good man that before he does anything else with a good woman, he needs to solidify that."

---

Ohhh. I bet this is what has everyone worried. I don't have the confidence that other people have when they say with absolute certainty that the actor is lying. I believe it is possible he is lying, but sometimes a rose is just a rose. I'm sticking with my original statement. I'm giving it this season.

---

What else is coming up for Eddie?

"We have a lot of funny moments with Eddie. I’ve been having a good time playing around with Eddie and allowing him to try and figure—he’s not going to be good at trying to figure out how he loves himself and how to go about it, but just a lot of playful moments, almost childlike moments where Eddie is just kind of reconnecting with himself and in that sense, maybe he’s kind of reconnecting with Christopher without knowing it. So he’s building into this person that I think he could be proud of. And where that leads is something—a new chapter is yet to unfold in the next couple episodes."

---

Okay. Okay. This is promising. This puts us back at possibly a big reveal in episode 8 before hiatus. I've set myself up for a big reveal in 5 and 6. It didn't happen in either, so my track record is not great. At least we will not have to wait long to find out. Also, I'm impressed with how Ryan handled the interview. Usually when he is trying to keep from revealing anything, he goes into this weird place and is completely nonsensical. He held his own in this one.

If you want to skip me and just read the article, here you go.

[hazbinspambin]

So I had a thought regarding Lilith's supposed "dream" in which she passed on to Charlie, and while we may not know the details as to why Lilith is in heaven I feel like this 'dream' Charlie now holds is a very important detail that might be a direct byproduct of whatever means brought Lilith into Heaven to begin with.

Especially considering she was said to have empowered demon-kind with her voice and songs; something we see Charlie attempting to do now. And while it's not completely effective just yet, there is something to be said about the songs and how they're meant to inspire and empower the masses; be it to rally to war, or what have you.

Seeing Charlie now she's more or less taking up the mantle of what seems to be a sort of mishmash of the dreams inspired by her dad to find the good in all of the evil, and the means in which Lilith brought demon kind together using her voice and songs. I want to believe this is because Lilith, despite being up in heaven for unknown reasons, tasks Charlie with picking up where she left off in keeping the denizens of Hell united. Because you can't stand together if you don't believe in a common goal or have some means in which to come together.

This is especially curious without knowing the reason she is up in Heaven to start with, I want to believe it was for reasons pertaining to protecting everything she had worked so hard to build up and create but it's still too hard to say. There may also be some ties to her and Alastor we don't know yet, but there's enough theories about that out there and not enough looking into what ideals she may have passed down to Charlie herself.

Because Charlie would be a byproduct of her environment to some degree so it stands to reason that Lilith would want the best for her people the same way Charlie does, and we know that Lucifer's opinion of their people degrades over time, until he is so disheartened from trying and failing that he just resigns himself to what Heaven insisted on from the start and believes that there's no redeeming any of them. Sometimes it's just easier to accept everything at face value when you've been beaten down too many times.

I do have thoughts regarding some ultimatum from Heaven and that there's more to the extermination meeting than what we've been given, which may very well explain the divide between Lucifer and Lilith in present day and their differing ideals/beliefs based on the pressures of Angelic hierarchy. Which, if the ultimatum had anything to do with extermination, could be the reason Lilith put herself where she is right now and is simply biding her time, putting her faith in Charlie to follow in her footsteps despite everything that Heaven might think is best for the two worlds.

I also think there's possibly more to the story of Hell since it would very likely be biased if actually written by Lilith or Lucifer respectively, at the very least it's a fantasy retelling of the real events and so there is almost certainly a lot left out and/or embellished no matter who wrote it.

Anyway TLDR I think Lilith may not be as evil as most people are thinking, being shrouded in mystery like she is tends to leave people with a sense of distrust and I feel we will get that from her going forward whether her intent is malicious or not. It's a case of correlation not equalling causation and there's likely a lot more to her motives than meets the eye. Especially if Charlie or Alastor are involved, she may not be able to directly influence Hell at all given her absence for 7 years and Charlie having Lilith's supposed dream passed down to her would be a means to go around that. Alastor possibly being a security measure, if we do fall in line with the theory that he's tied to her in some way. (But it could also very well be Roo so I'll leave that thought open ended until more seasons come out)

I just thought it interesting nobody has really touched on Charlie's part in all of this and what that says about Lilith as a character, and what we might expect to see from her going forward.

[dropoff99]

—On WoT fandom disagreements and such—

Been reading WoT since 1998. For most of my life it was THE fantasy series as far as I was concerned and still is in many ways. The world and the characters were simply deeper and more realized than anything I was reading. The roster of fantastic characters, scale, the magic system, masterful use of multiple POVs, metaphysics, and general lore Jordan created pulled me in and wouldn’t let me go.

I stilI have visceral memories of the time around RJ’s death, distinctly feeling like nothing resembling a proper ending was going to come to what I felt like was the best fantasy series around . Very few other fantasy authors prior to his passing were eager to cite Jordan in tones of reverence. If anything many “serious” fantasy fans were embarrassed to admit they loved the infamously long series which was the peak of the genre once but had more or less stalled out. Knife of Dreams was amazing to me personally but with RJ’s death and the slog prior you couldn’t argue that a satisfying ending was on the horizon. Fantasy authors like George RR Martin (despite being a friend of RJ’s and WoT definitely influencing both his work and success) constantly railed against many of the tropes of the genre (Chosen ones, Tolkien imitation, lack of moral ambiguity, plot armor, etc.) that Jordan reimagined/leaned into early on. It also didn’t help that Martin didn’t exactly argue when people made critiques of WoT in front of him either (like the famous Stephen King interview he did much later). This wouldn’t really matter if these sentiments were not so common among fantasy readers when Sanderson hopped on board. What was clear to me very early on after reading TGS was that not only was Sanderson a fan but he clearly understood the gravity of finishing the series and the care/respect he had for both the community and Jordan’s legacy was evident. I never had the feeling that it was an outsider coming in who just didn’t “get” the wheel of time. Secondly what Brandon did very well is communicate what was special about the series as a whole to new readers.

I have my issues just like anyone else but I genuinely have enormous respect for the work that both Team Jordan and Sanderson did under circumstances that were obviously not ideal. I can see the arguments regarding Sanderson’s religious/political overtones entering his other works but certainly not Wheel of Time. Yeah he didn’t completely overhaul every institution Jordan created and had to resort to quicker solutions. I’m also not going feign any sort of religiosity or be his apologetic in that regard and consider it to be the thing I like least about Stormlight. His worldview/biases of course will remain (just like Jordan’s). However I really don’t think you can deny he was an enormous fan who had genuine love and respect for both the series and Jordan himself. The fact that Harriet (Jim’s widow and long time editor) picked him based on his work and eulogy mean a lot to me. The reverence with which Harriet still seems to hold for BS and the job he and Team Jordan did seems to indicate that at the very least the people closest to the work and previous author felt that the promise of Jordan’s vision was delivered as best as could be expected.

I’m not someone who is without criticisms for BS. I envisioned the direction of Mat, Padan Fain, Perrin, Logain, Nyanaeve and several others very differently after reading the story well over a decade by that point. I missed Jordan’s unique style on character perspective and gift for painting a visual I could walk into mentally. But I also think in retrospect Sanderson was the perfect choice outside RJ to do the job. Some of his weaknesses at the time (barreling through plot, lack of rich setting, hasty exposition etc.) actually worked in his favor as he converged gigantic swathes of character arcs which still required three massive books. I respect those who think Sanderson’s choices were bad. And if you really hate the guy based on political/religious views go off I guess. I just don’t see how claiming he doesn’t respect Robert Jordan or his legacy holds any water at all. Or at the very least, as someone who’s been paying attention to the community my entire adolescent+adult life, I have not seen compelling evidence for that to be the case.

[diorgirl444]

Hi there, Flo! It is Sarah here again! But this time, can I have a Gilmore Girls ship please?

Physical Appearance: I have long brown hair with blonde highlights, ocean blue eyes with bluish-purple glasses, I have a curvy but lean body with strong calves thanks to the years of dancing (cheerleading and ballet), horse-riding, running and jumping, I am 5'1 feet tall, I have pale-tan skin with freckles on my face and also I got random moles and freckles on my arms and legs as well and people say I got a smile that can brighten up any room.

Personality: I am an open-minded, kind-hearted, optimistic and friendly girl with a love of learning things like zodiac signs, MBTI types, crystals and Disney etc. I can be very impatient, stubborn, naive and I am also in the spectrum so I can be blunt and quirky only because I see the world in a different way from other people but I see the good in people no matter what and I am loyal and dependable to my friends and family and when someone hurts my friends and my family I can be fiercely protective all over them.

My type for a perfect person: I just want to be my best friend and partner in crime, I want a gentleman or gentlelady who will be proudly hold my hand and being glad that I am their girlfriend, I want someone to bring me flowers and compliments everyday and being the mother/father of my future kids someday and treat me like a queen all the time.

Sexuality and Pronouns: Bisexual (Both male and female preference) and She/Her

MBTI Type: INFJ-T

Big Three: Sagittarius sun, Cancer moon and Aquarius rising

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Enneagram Type: Type 2 (The Helper)

Temperament Personality Type: Sanguine-Choleric (The Influencer)

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Likes: Singing, dancing, acting, writing, reading books, typing, watching Disney movies, Zodiac signs, MBTI types and crystals.

Dislikes: Mean people, vegetables, yelling, someone who hurts the ones I love the most and bullies.

Random Facts: I've been in the school musical productions for 5 years and my childhood nickname was Sarah-Bear.

your perfect matchup is 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <𝟑

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <𝟑

before we get too far i want to clarify that i mean season 1 dean. 

any other season he is an awful person but in season 1 he’s perfect <3

so i think you two would probably meet at miss patty’s after rory sent dean to talk to miss patty in order to find a job. 

and when there he sees your practicing your dance and his eyes just sort of widen.

sure earlier that day he was interested rory but the minute he sees you all images of her leave his head. 

all of sudden you’re all he can think about.

dean isn’t shy so he immediately goes up to you asking who you are, flirting a little bit and just generally making his intentions clear. 

lucky for him you’re just as interested as he is.

he ends up leaving miss patty’s with both a job and a date <3

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <𝟑

i see you two as sort of the dream couple, like the kind that you see on the street and you sort of go “she’s so pretty and omg he’s so cute too” 

like you two are always walking around stars hollow holding hands not realising that everyone is so jealous of you two. 

i feel like the pair of you are always going out on long drives together and you’re both like singing along to the songs that are playing.

i also feel like dean adores all the outfits you wear for all your hobbies, he just thinks you look absolutely stunning.

and he’s always giving you his jackets he just loves how they look on you.

dean’s love language is definitely gift-giving like he’s always getting you new items.

plus your mbti types are like perfect together!!!

he has a bit of a white knight syndrome like he’ll always get into fights for you but that’s ok because he knows you’d do the same for him.

he said i love you first and he cried when he said it <3 he was so pleased to know that you felt the same.

dean is such a traditionalist when it comes to dating. he’s like a cute old man!!! like he’ll always open the door for you, bring you flowers and ask before kissing you. in fact i bet you had initiate the first kiss because he was too nervous!!!

essentially you and dean are stars hollow’s cutest couple and i’m very jealous <333

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <𝟑

hugs and kisses, flo <333

[thepixelpenguin]

Elementals

So... uh... I came up with these in a dream?

Well, okay, I came up with two of these in a dream (try to guess which two!) but more importantly I came up with the concept of elementals being like... these primordial entities, like eternal gods incarnate, with separate dominion over their element, but in the form of two 'siblings'. One, the feminine, represents the constructive qualities, and one, the masculine, represents the destructive qualities. Each of them, in their own way, has an interest in what life is doing in their world, specifically humans, which is why they have been anthropomorphised. These are merely the physical avatars they feel are most appropriate for their actions.

I imagined, which is to say dreamed, of this pantheon forced to cooperate on a journey around the globe to discover exactly what advances this new civilised species was making, and what, if anything, they should do about it, and along the way learning how to overcome and celebrate their differences, and respect the others' place in the world. Good stuff! I mean, IMAGINE the fables you could get out of that! Imagine the attitudes they'd hold towards us mortals, and the natural world! All I know is someone can make a story out of these and I just HAD to design them.

Why even use feminine and masculine at all? Well, because that's how I dreamed it! But also, it kinda reminds me of the way alchemy, and some ancient mythology, treats male and female as divine qualities with their own pros and cons of which only a balance is perfect. Plus, idk, something about the feminine being the bearers of life while the masculine are the opposite... seems right.

Why do they have nicknames? Because the puns are too good and I couldn't resist.

If you're wondering why the sketches suck it's because I thought I might bother to add colour one day, but right now... nah.

The Feminine Air "Skye" is based on a dancer, with her cyclone arms and tornado lower half below a cumulus build. Her cheeks always look puffed out, and her sort-of hair-bun is just a good contrast but appropriate for a dancer I suppose. Here she is doing a pirouette whilst paying absolutely no attention. She is generally quite carefree, energetic, unrestrained. She's just as fast and agile as her brother, and uncannily defies gravity for fun, but has no interest in following directions when it doesn't suit her. The only time she shows anything resembling discipline is when there's a life in danger, at which she'll rush to help through any path necessary.

The Masculine Air "Gale" is more athletic, like a sprinter, whose body somewhat follows the form of a toga, with arms which leave great trails somewhat resembling wings. Though he has a ridged brow and chin, there is nothing like hair when he is standing still, but he creates feathery streaks as he moves. He is shown in a sort of flying body press, showing off as usual. He's breathtakingly fast, and must make sure everyone in the vicinity knows that, but isn't particularly goal-oriented.

The Feminine Earth "Bertha" is sort of tree-like, with shimmering grass-green eyes, with an earthen torso and rocky base. The rest of her body is formed from wood, giving her the most clearly defined figure of them all, and a trunk mimicking a bared midriff. She can grow plants from any part of her body, and is by nature curious and nurturing towards all living things. Though she can conjure all manner of life-forms to do her bidding, she believes it ought to be left to flourish without corrupting influence. It pains her deeply to see others suffer.

The Masculine Earth "Brock" is built like a sumo wrestler, but with a sort of militaristic crew cut and shoulder pads of grass. His face is locked in a tired frown, with dull mineral eyes. His body is generally quite blocky, especially his extremities, and he is overall very sturdily built. Though he has immense grip and crushing strength, and is practically unshakeable, he is stoic and stubborn to the point of total apathy. There is nothing he won't apply the bare minimum to.

The Feminine Fire "Cindy" has a noticeably curvier figure, yet is also less well-defined, her limbs and dress-like shape flickering in thickness here and there. Flames pick up around her chest area like the cut of a dress, and further licks around her neck are almost fur-like. Her head extends into a wildly whipping tail, with an ever-present thin trail of smoke. She has an unusually flippant facade for one of the feminine, still vested in fire's interests, but she takes great pride in the unbeatable light and warmth she provides. She can still be vain, and occasionally sharp-tongued, but ultimately she does want to be useful, and will speak up for the downtrodden.

The Masculine Fire "Ashley" has an angular, demonic image, an unusually thin body for one of the masculine, but quite able to warp in shape and stretch his wiry limbs. His lower half often grows chaotically, providing him with unexpected bursts of speed. His hair flares out radiantly, always with what appear to be two blue-tipped horns. He is quite slow to spark into action, feeling little motivation where his greed cannot be satiated, but once his wrath is earned, he is relentlessly aggressive. He has a habit of roaring as shown when his power spreads, and though his desires are fickle, he fiercely defies control.

The Feminine Water "Flo" has a rather rounded shape, with ripples abound, spreading into something like a skirt with a scaly appearance. Her arms, in particular, tend to morph in and out of their proper form, rarely forming hands. Her hair flows out in a wavy fashion that is hard to distinguish from her body, and often flings out in droplets and sprays which can catch the light. She is a playful sort, as often on the move as she is intentionally resting, sensing her surroundings, feeling the slightest of vibrations. She will often seek out those in need of her, although she is just liable to get distracted along the way. Of all of them, she is the most sociable, getting along particularly well with the Feminine Air and, sometimes, the Feminine Earth.

The Masculine Water "Eddie" is a towering top-heavy form, as if he might crash down at any moment. His back frequently peaks into fins which run vertically. His hair forms a wave crest on top and a beard of eddies and seafoam that could rival Poseidon. His arms follow heavy deliberate movements, but his hands and fingers are less controlled. Parts of his body can turn to ice on command, usually protecting his bulk in sheets or letting his fingers be used as piercing weapons. Maintaining a severe demeanour, he considers the welding of his power incredibly important, self-righteously dooming all he sees fit to. He heaves around as if carrying the world on his shoulders, but ultimately does whatever he can be convinced is for the greater good. As conceited as he is, he is quite flexible in that regard.

===

You may be wondering why the feminine figures are somewhat less varied than the masculine. There's a couple of reasons for that. Firstly, the feminine were supposed to represent the elements as they pertain to life, whereas the masculine simply represented forces of nature. As such, I wanted the feminine to appear a little more like an average human, the dominant lifeforms, and the masculine to appear a little more warped and monstrous. I also personally like the implication that the virtues of humanity represent us much more than our conquest. Secondly, I'm bad at drawing.

In general, though, I tried to make them all quite formless and ageless. Only the Masculine Earth has defined feet, and only because the pose didn't make sense without them. Only the Earth have proper eyes, thanks to their element's versatility, and all their bodies have somewhat ambiguous boundaries. Even the human-like feminine have, say, wrinkles of bark on a youthful face, or a puffy face for a lithe body, or a childish visage on a developed figure. They'd be an easier sell animated but HELL if I have the skill for that.

I don't know what to do with these characters but they're neat, right? :P

[resmarted]

don't say it. don't muddle my mind with your logic and crush me under the weight of what is probable or actual or real. have i not suffered enough? let me lucid dream my way through this tiny little life of mine and swim through the chaos with a seamless ease. i am still hopeful despite my world constantly being painted black, the curtains closing around like a tomb adorned with graffiti tags by reckless children, salt in the wound and pepper in the cut. and i know what you're thinking, i know i do that thing where i fall head over heels infatuated by the idea of someone, leaping without looking and freefalling into a dreamscape of my own making, but this time! this time i swear! i swear i will never move on again. i feel startled in my own body and enveloped by my obsession, my skin red hot and my heart skipping in such a restless way that feels like i am going to start screaming at any moment. i know i know i KNOW, what is WRONG with me. in my defense, i don't know that it's always as unrequited as much as it is so rare someone matches my own intensity and boundless ways of bulldozing into someone's life, hatching eggs in their brain and weeping at their door for mercy. but it truly is getting concerning at this point that i can't seem to move forward from here, and not even in that sort of, you know, that whole my life is so out of control that i need to escape into something warm and safe kind of way. i mean maybe there's a little bit of that, but not anywhere near the degree where i once was. this is more like, how will i ever see anyone again now that i have seen you? how am i supposed to sort of just wade through empty conversations with a deadened stare for the rest of my life now, what is the point of anything anymore? yes, very dramatic indeed.

what a strange turn of events this summer has been. the last twelve months alone have felt like a thousand years and i can't seem to make sense of any of it. the room is spinning and i feel drunk in a gaze that holds me captive long after the break in contact. i was so sure i would be happy on my own forever, that i would be young and free and wild until the end of my days, and i would never answer to or belong to anyone. no one has ever impressed me enough, and when they do they are safely at a distance that i can't reach, so there's often the comfort of anonymity behind the fourth wall. i once thought if i was with someone as isolated as i am it would somehow make me feel less lonely, but it wasn't a cure as much as a way to further alienate me, something that has taken years to undo. so rarely is there someone unafraid of the attention i receive or strong enough in themselves to not feel threatened by any degree of impact or influence i may carry. it is hard to differentiate someone's desire to control and manipulate you with seemingly normal reactions born out of genuine love. it took so long to realize a person's instinct to be jealous and possessive is more about their own desire for that same attention than anything else. and i do think it can be a normal reaction to an extent, one i would never provoke intentionally, but it can take a dark turn quickly and suddenly the person you thought was protective over you becomes someone you need protection from.

i have been made of stone for so long. my soul has been buried in bricks and my heart a dead weight under stormy clouds. it's so rare to see the sunshine, to feel the warmth of a real beacon of light and not just fluorescent imitation. you know the kind, too easy and real impressed with themselves, a glow disguising ill intent and vicious toward the open hearted. i have been attacked by so many fake smiles and artificial light i'd rather hunker down in my coffin until the weather changes again. we take the good with the bad and the rotten and the evil until it seems like there's none left, certainly not enough to thrive in this darkness. i wait on the back burner for people to decipher the lies they have been fed about me, to awaken to the reality or at least figure out the bare minimum of truth, and it feels like it will never fully emerge. and then you see someone good, like really truly good, with a light so pure and a mind so clean that it feels like the rest of it isn't even there. i can't see anything but this single flame bright enough to power a city full of skyscrapers.

and then you return to a pitch black vortex of greed. you are back to dodging emotional gluttony and toxic pleasantries on a nonstop basis but this time you can really see it, faced with it in a way so confrontational now more than ever because all you can think of is this person with the effervescent shine. now my days are filled with wondering what you're doing and what are you thinking and where are you going and what will you do later, i wanna know all of it all the time. tell me everything. tell me what it's like to lock me into your smile and how heavy the weight of being so deeply adored must feel on your shoulders. paint a picture of what it's like to be surrounded all the time by people so desperate for your approval, so sickeningly competitive for you to notice them, to feel seen by the unflinching gaze of someone so unapproachable and magnetic. the way they worship and fear you must be a passing breeze, i wonder if even makes a sound anymore. it's always been the opposite for me, everyone is easy to impress when they all underestimate you. people don't hold their breath when i walk into a room and it would probably nauseate me if they did. i don't command attention as much as i trip and fall into it, clumsy and clunky and never exactly sure what i'm doing there. you walk with purpose and i feel so much less sure of myself on most days, like i have to convince myself into a sense of confidence out of survival. i don't know that i'll ever feel whole, like there will always be a piece of me missing that i can never find no matter how many ways i find to fill it. i don't want to put that responsibility on anyone and have sort or just resigned to this idea that i will always be a little empty to some extent. and it's whatever, like i made peace with it long ago, i don't ever see it going away completely. but so strangely, so terribly eerie in its unavoidable contentment, i am awakened to the idea that there are parts of me i never thought would come alive again now tingling like a limb returning from a numb state. if i didn't know better, and technically i don't, i'd say you're rude for startling me out of such a dense slumber.

i wish people i am supposed to care about were able to do this, instead of these wishy washy conditional modes of affection where i am at the center of some endless game of does she deserve it? in which people decide on a day to day basis whether or not love should be available to me and if i am starved for it then it must be my fault and should i be so lucky to receive it i ought to be grateful and nothing but ferociously in debt to such emotionally generous aristocrats. i keep people at arm's length because if you saw what they did once they get close enough, even you would have a hard time trying to stomach it. no one feels remorse until they sense a rise in popularity coming and they don't want the shame of being discovered as less than pious. people seem to prefer me in the dog days and there's a discomfort in any sense of shine above their own. it's depressing. i've seen people reveal themselves time and time again to the point where old friends are a distant memory and new ones are locked behind several firewalls. i stay up at night wondering if i will die alone and untrusting, constantly fearful of everyone around me despite remaining safe behind steel barriers i built from the ground up. i get perplexed by these obsessive thoughts and ultimately ghost everyone because it's safer to be alone, at least i am used to all the ways i hurt myself and don't need to anticipate anyone else doing it for me. i think about what it would be like to know you the way your mother knows you, to learn each piece of your sweet mind, and there's this soothing quality to spacing out to these ideas of you. i wish i had better coping mechanisms, that i could be softer in the moment and not just in these fantastical versions of who i want to be after i've had time to process it. i want to be carried out of my own exhaustion like a burning building and to let everything that has ever hurt me turn to ash in a far off distance. i am so tired from being so deeply alone in this life and too scared to let anyone in close enough. we take turns freefalling into the unknown and i bounce off you like a safety net i didn't know i needed. i am the bravest i have felt in so long now like a soldier in a fever dream.

[swordheld]

hii faye, what is something you hold onto for hope when everything seems pointless 🌟

hi ana!! this is a very good question and one i wanted to sit with for a bit, and since then my answer has only grown in validity within my heart and mind, and it is (maybe) surprisingly: people.

i’m a firm believer in that we, as humans, are intrinsically kind; that we have the greatest capability to be kind, to change learned or influenced behaviors for the sake of the needs of the oppressed. and as we can clearly see by opening nearly any kind of social media at the moment  –  the world is not doing a very good job at proving that, right now; at least for the people in positions who can bring about the most impactful change for the largest amounts of people.

so then i go smaller, narrower in scope, to the people i interact with everyday; whether that is the people i talk with or see along my day, or the things people have made that i enjoy, or anything else that i have the opportunity to interact with that someone has created with their own wonderful attention and intention. through these creations we find their joy, their heart, the way they pour themselves into the things they love like there is no separation.

this is what fuels that hope, for me. that we find something inside of us that sparks us alive, and we go: oh, i have to do something with this. i have to figure out how to share it, how to give pieces of it away, to have it inspire others, too. and isn’t that the kindest thing?

here is something i love  /  is there a chance you might, too?

you know when you finish something, or even are in the middle of a piece of something (whether that be media, recipe, etc., anything with ties with creation of any sort), and there is a moment where it just suddenly strikes something within you? where it feels like puzzle pieces destined to slot perfectly into place together, like everything has brought you to right here, and you are seen by it, remade by it, if even by a little. where within it there’s a kind of portable, palpable optimism, full of wonderstruck idealism, where we are alive to experience overwhelming joy and it makes us dizzy with it; like we can finally feel the earth beneath us spinning and soaring in our solar system’s dance.

where it makes the other moments  /  even just a little easier to bear.

it's that shift, that the world is a thing worth living in. how to be alive is to be able to experience, to take it all in; every breath and every day and every moment. how amazing it is, really and truly, to feel the wind on slow and stormy days alike, to make someone laugh, to be able to have a idea and then go on to create it. to be able to run your hands over something soft and kindly crafted, to feel the beat of music physically, in your chest, rumbling its way through your bones. to watch the sun set and rise, to hold a firefly delicate and star-like in your cupped hands. we are made of all of these melodies of memories, of things we have lived through and dreamed and survived. 

it has to be worth something. these small moments that feel like a star is bursting within you? where you are a near-bursting thing? that has to mean something bigger than anything we can put words to. i would venture to say that it is a kind of purpose  –  to create and to enjoy and to love; to live in a world where we can do that, share pieces of ourselves like lighthouses casting light out into the fierce dark. where we are so lucky, to be able to do so.

yet also, i like to keep in mind that there is always tomorrow. how there is always something new just beyond reach. look at it like this: for how much i prefer the soft chill of winter and fall, there’s something so fond about missing the warmer summer seasons. walking to the farmer’s market and slicing up strawberries and lazing in the warmth of the brightest sun. the echo of children’s laughter, wind through the trees, it’s like light bounces off of everything a little brighter, leaving everything with this orange-tinted warmth.

there is so much to hold on to, and the wonderful thing is that you have never experienced any of it alone. there is always something waiting for you. there is always something about to call you by name.

[misteria247]

*Breaks down your door*

So I've got some ramblings that I wanna share with y'all and it's about a manga that has been over for a good several years now but fuck it.

I wanna talk about Death Note.

Spoilers for the story under the read more:

For context I'd decided to reread the series again given that the last time I'd read it was when I was about twelve/thirteen years old and had just started getting into manga and anime at around that time. After not having read it for so long the story is kinda in a way fuzzy to me but what with me currently rereading it those fuzzy memories that I had are becoming much more clearer. Such as Light's insane lengths of going to protect his identity to how the notebook works and all that jazz. And as I'm rereading the series I can't help but notice something rather odd, mainly about Light and how the notebook affects him.

As many of you know Light had stumbled upon the Death Note while in school one day and after finding out about its supernatural abilities had started using it to get rid of criminals and eventually innocent people as well. The one thing that I noticed is that before Light had received the Death Note he was pretty much a normal person. He didn't show any signs of being psychotic nor did he show any signs of god like thinking.

Then he got the notebook.

And suddenly a once good intentioned thing slowly becomes a sick and twisted obsession with becoming God and judging those who he believed to be guilty, becoming more and more like those he believed needed to be punished for their crimes. And this goes on for a good while until the arc where he gives up the Death Note and loses all of his memories. As soon as he did that those tendencies and psycho like behaviors seemly vanished into thin air.

Light was suddenly no longer narcissistic nor did he have his grandiose thinking that he had while he possessed the notebook. Instead he went back to how he originally was which was a normal person who was confident in his abilities. It got me thinking about things and how strange it was especially seeing Light truly trying to fight the good fight and how he was disgusted by Kira's actions having no recollection of being Kira himself.

So I came up with a theory of sorts that I think works out pretty well. The Death Note as all of us know is a supernatural book that belongs to a Shinigami, or a God of Death, specifically to Ryuk. The notebook is something that's not apart of the natural world, and it gives its users the divine power to take lives whenever the user so pleases. And as the series goes on it seems that the more you use it the more it has a hold of you in a sense. I believe that the Death Note influences its users to some extent, or rather brings out some of the users much more darker natures of their mentality they didn't even know was there. And it honestly makes a lot of sense.

Think about it.

Light Yagami before the notebook was a pretty normal person. He was smart, confident in himself, yet not to a point where it was egotistical nor narcissistic. He seemly was a pretty decent guy who had a strong sense of justice and what was right and wrong and his dream was to become a police officer like his father so he could help innocent people and help get rid of people who were a threat to them. He didn't really do anything mean nor did he ever even think about taking another person's life it was like it never really crossed his mind. He was also severely against using people and their feelings to get himself ahead in things.

Then Light gets the Death Note and suddenly everything changes.

Light Yagami after the notebook suddenly becomes more willing to kill people, after at first being hesitant in using it and then getting his idea of using it for good. And at first it seems like it's all going to plan but then the broadcasting thing happened and it was like a switch went off in him. Once he killed that one guy suddenly his personality became a lot more different and warped. The confidence he had within himself became cockiness, and he became narssaictic and egotistical. His once moral ideals became much more freelance and he suddenly had no problem taking innocent people's lives as well as criminals lives, and his once normal mindset skyrocketed to a God like mentality. Using people like Misa to get ahead despite it being wrong.

It's a huge contrast if you really think about it and he only really gets like this when he has the notebook. I think that this happens because of the notebook's supernatural influence on its users.

I theorize that the Death Note brings out the worst in its users and apps it up to like hundred in order for the users to use it. By bringing out the worst of people's mentality it makes it easier for the notebook to be influential and take hold of its user and depending on each person the outcome varies. Light's way of thinking without the notebook is pretty normal but once he's under its influence and giving that unlimited power that mentality of justice is apped up to the extremes which if he didn't have it wouldn't happen. And it's further proven by Light's family whenever they talk about him.

Especially Light's father.

When Light's father ends up in the hospital due to stress and having a heart attack the chief of police explains to Light that L is indeed L and that Light is a suspect and that he knows. And after a brief moment of discussion and a near fight between Light and L, Light's father starts to talk about going back to work which Light objects to and then tells L that he'll work on the case with them, stating that he had made a promise that if anything had happened to his father then Light would personally track Kira down. It was during that moment that Mr. Yagami thought:

"There's no way that my son could ever be Kira...."

Suggesting that before the notebook Light was a somewhat good person who would do what was right. But since he has the notebook and therefore is somewhat under its influence his sense of right and wrong are taken to such an extreme that he no longer cares that he's committing murder himself to supposedly make the world a better place. When you think about it my theory makes sense in a way.

But anyways that's all I wanted to talk about sorry for the ramblings of insanity lol.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Fic (Part 11)

Azkaban wasn't great.

It was pretty fucking awful, if Draco was being honest. He kept himself as far back from the bars of the cell as he could, the closer he got, the worse it was when a dementor drifted past.

Maybe the Department of Mysteries was a better alternative to Azkaban. At least when he was trapped there he had the refuge of sleep. Here, even his dreams were tortured; the dementors' presence warped the images of Harry and the cottage, destroying the memories over and over in increasingly horrifying ways.

On the other hand, there was a small slit of a window that let in sunlight. He curled himself into a ball as close to the sunlight as he could and tried to think of his time on the beach, of the sun and the sand, of Harry's warm smile and his hair slipping through his fingers. As long as he focused really hard on it, as long as he didn't fall asleep, he could hold onto a few pieces of beauty at a time.

Draco wasn't sure how long he'd been there when a silver fox patronus came racing through, so bright that the dementors were chased off and Draco could breathe again.

The fox moved through the bars and placed itself between Draco and the door and he couldn't help but where it had come from. The only person he could imagine sending a patronus to him was Harry but everyone knew that Harry Potter's patronus was a stag.

And yet, "I'm getting you out," Harry's voice said through the patronus and Draco's heart stuttered.

He waited for the fox to vanish but the light didn't waver, Harry was still protecting him it seemed, keeping the dementors at bay.

(Read more below the cut)

Nothing changed for six days.

The warden came by multiple times to try to banish the patronus but the fox remained stubbornly at Draco's side. It all felt a bit surreal but Draco certainly wasn't going to complain.

After six days, the reporters started coming. "Mr. Malfoy, I work for the Daily Prophet," the first witch who arrived informed him, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"I haven't got much else on at the moment," he attempted. "But I'm surprised they let you in."

"Then you underestimate how much influence Harry Potter really has."

"Harry wanted you to come here?" he asked, heart beating a little faster.

She straightened her shoulders and took out her notebook and quill, "Mr. Potter is saying that everything printed about you after your return to Azkaban is a lie. What do you say?"

"I don't know," he replied, "What's been said? I haven't gotten any papers in here, as you might expect."

The witch leaned closer to the bars, as though she was telling him some sort of secret, "He said that you didn't slip him a love potion, you didn't have him under any sort of spell, there was nothing nefarious at play."

"That's correct." But he couldn't imagine that she would believe him, even if he had been using a spell or a potion he would have said the same thing.

Her brow furrowed, "He said you were living on a secluded island before you turned yourself in and that you're in love."

"Yes," he affirmed softly.

"Then why did you leave?"

He sighed, "Because if anyone deserved to live in the wizarding world, it's the person who saved it."

She nodded, "Do you have any idea what's happening in the wizarding world right now?"

"No," he replied flatly, "They don't really let us out to see the world."

"So you're saying that this wasn't all part of some elaborate plan?"

"Sorry, what's going on?" he asked, feeling off kilter and a bit frustrated. "What plan?"

The woman stared at him for a long moment, "Harry Potter seems to be trying to bring the Ministry to its knees," she said. "He started by talking about you, then by telling the story of his godfather's wrongful conviction, and continued to tell story after story about people who've been falsely accused and convicted."

Draco felt like his eyebrows must be reaching his hairline by this point. "No," he shook his head, "No, I had no idea."

"What about the reports on ministry officials?" she asked, ignoring his response and pressing on to the next question. "Your father had a variety of connections, surely you gave him at least some of information about the officials he's blowing in."

He shook his head again, "No, I had nothing to do with that." He chuckled humorlessly, "I was raised to keep secrets until the opportune moment and to use them to apply pressure to get what I wanted."

She hummed, "It seems to me that Mr. Potter is doing exactly that."

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

The reporters continued coming. He had multiple visits a day over the next three days and every reporter asked similar questions.

Draco tried to understand what was happening in the wizarding world from the interviews he did, but it was hard to believe that there could be protests and rallies at the Ministry demanding his freedom.

He'd gone to sleep the third night, Harry's fox curled up on the bottom of the flimsy pad, watching the door, only to be awoken by his cell door banging open.

"Up Malfoy," the human guard who worked overnights said.

He startled, sitting up and curving inward to protect himself. "What?"

"Get up," the man barked.

The patronus placed itself between Draco and the other man and Draco's heart started to beat to rapidly.

"Now," he said, grabbing Draco's arm and dragging him out of bed.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked as the man shoved him down the hall and out toward the main entrance.

"Your time is up," the man said, thrusting a dirty shoe into Draco's hands.

Before he could ask anything else, he was being ripped through time and space, and all he could imagine was ending up somewhere even worse. They were probably going to kill him and-

His feet hit the groan and he barely had time to register sand under his feet before arms were wrapped around him, pulling him in and holding him close. The sound of waves crashing to the shore, the scent of the salt water in the air mixed with the comforting scent of Harry's body. He sagged forward, a sob escaping his throat.

"Draco," Harry murmured, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him all over, covering his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin, even his eyelids. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" he asked.

He shook his head but couldn't get any words out.

"Come on," Harry whispered, rubbing his hands along Draco's arms, "you're shaking. Let's go inside."

Harry led him by the hand up the beach and into the little cottage, the fire was lit in the hearth and there were two cups of tea sitting on the coffee table, a plate of ginger biscuits in between.

"Do you want to get changed?" Harry asked.

"I-" Draco started before breaking off, "Sorry. What's happening? Harry, how am I here? The guard just gave me this stupid shoe and I don't-"

"The Ministry signed your release paperwork," Harry said. "They wouldn't let me come to get you, they aren't very pleased with me at the moment," he added. "I'm sort of banned from any official Ministry buildings now," he said, sounding oddly pleased.

"What happened?"

Harry looked at him longingly, "Later?" he begged. "Can I just-" he broke off stepping closer and crowding him against the wall, kissing him and crushing their bodies together. Holding him like he didn't care that Draco was smelly and hadn't been allowed to shower since arriving at Azkaban.

"Harry," he groaned, tilting his head back as Harry pressed kisses along his jaw and neck.

"Hmm?"

His fingers tugged Harry's hair until he tipped his head up far enough that he could kiss him again for a long moment. "Am I allowed to stay here?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, nodding his head, their noses brushing against each other's. "You can go anywhere, do anything," he added. "We're free."

Draco shuddered as the words washed over him, the relief cool and bright. "Okay," he said. "First things first. I need a shower," he said.

Harry groaned, "Why does that have to be the first thing?"

He laughed, "I'm filthy."

"I don't care," he muttered petulantly.

"Come with me," Draco invited.

Harry pulled back far enough to wiggle his eyebrows, "I'll do my best."

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

Later, after they'd showered off all of the dirt and grime, erasing all physical evidence of the week and a half they'd spent apart. After Harry had taken Draco apart; kissing him and touching him, healing all of the darkness that the prison had left seeped in his bones. After they'd eaten dinner curled up on the sofa together and drunk the tea he'd made and ate far too many biscuits. After they'd stumbled together through the house and crawled into bed. After Harry had laid him bare once more and kissed every inch of him, as though Draco was something treasured, something precious. Draco began to cry again.

"Hey," Harry whispered, moving back to the top of the bed where he kissed away Draco's tears, "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

He grabbed his shoulders and pulled his body down on top of him, allowing the familiar, welcome weight of his body to ground him. "I love you," he whispered through all of the emotions swamping him.

"I love you, too," Harry murmured, stroking his hair back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "So much."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Why do I love you?" he asked, sounding surprised by the questions.

Shaking his head he replied, "Why did the Ministry let me go? Why would they do that?"

Harry sighed and nuzzled into Draco's neck, "Because I know their secrets."

"What?"

He shrugged, "I did some digging when I had access to the Department of Mysteries information," he said in between kisses pressed to his neck, "so I just started exposing corruption that I'd found. People wanted to listen to what I had to say so I told them. Then people started protesting and here we are."

"So you blackmailed the Ministry into releasing me?"

Harry hummed, "Not really. I just helped the Ministry to see the error of their ways and be held accountable for the ways they've failed the people they were supposed to protect and serve."

"I can't believe you."

"Hmm?" Harry hummed, brushing his nose over Draco's collarbone.

"I can't believe you did that," he said. "How dare you have the audacity to love me that much?"

"Me?" Harry gasped, jerking up onto his elbows and looking at Draco like he was actually offended by Draco's words. "How dare I? What about you?" he exclaimed. "Draco you loved me so much that you were willing to go to prison for the rest of your life!"

"But you deserve to be loved that much," he protested.

"So do you!" Harry sat up, straddling his hips and glaring down at him. "I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you," he added. "If you'll let me."

He cupped Harry's cheek in his palm, "I'll let you. I haven't got another brave bone in my body."

"Good," Harry said. "Because I'm sick to death of people and their invasive questions. And if I never have to talk to a member of the press again it will be too soon. And I'm tired of having to protect myself from the ministry and playing their games," he grumbled.

He buried his face in Draco's neck again and Draco let his fingers stroke through Harry's still damp curls, heedless of the way it would make them frizzy.

"I hate everyone who isn't you," Harry mumbled.

"Well not everyone, I hope," Draco replied as he rubbed a lock of hair between his fingers, "I went through a lot of trouble to make it possible for you to be with your friends and family whenever you want," he teased.

Harry huffed a laugh, "It's ridiculous that you're making a joke about this right now. I have never been more terrified in my life."

"Oh come on," Draco said, "You literally died."

"I had a panic attack," Harry said, "When I thought I'd never see you again. I walked straight to my death without a backward glance." He pressed impossibly closer, "When I tell you I've never been more terrified in my life, I mean it."

"Harry," he murmured, awestruck.

The other man yawned and snuggled in. "But it's fine now," he said. "You're here and I'm here, and the Ministry is burning."

"Do we need to go back?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head, "Hermione's taking care of it. She has better legal avenues and it's honestly more her thing than mine anyway."

"We can stay here for a while, then?"

"In bed?" Harry asked sleepily.

He chuckled, "On the island," he clarified.

Harry nodded, "as long as you want. Everything's on fire in Wizarding London anyway, it's a complete shit show. They wouldn't give us a moment's peace."

"I'd like a little peace," Draco replied.

He felt Harry's smile against his shoulder, "A little peace," he echoed. "A little happiness."

"More than a little, if we're lucky."

Harry nodded, "We're due for a bit of luck, aren't we?"

He pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead, "I don't need luck when I've got you."

And no matter what life threw at them, they knew how to weather the storm; clinging to one another and the life they built on their love.

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

fin. I'm having a hard time letting go of this one but I can't look at it for another moment. <3 Thanks for joining me for the adventure of writing this one.

(Part 10)

[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters Propose To You

We’re BACK AT IT AGAIN FOLKS

In this imagine, you’ll be proposed to by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

In spite of the fact your families arranged this marriage years ago, Ned has to be his usual honorable, traditional self and go along with the expected courting process. That includes a formal proposal, but… that’s not for the purpose of tradition. The way he beams and looks at you with such adoration, you can tell he just really wants to hear you say “yes” to the proposal he shyly talks through. The ring is on the more modest side, combining the direwolf and your house’s sigil. There’s a personal touch on the inside; either an inscription or an engraving that has a special meaning to the two of you. He likely has a matching ring, very unassuming, that he wears whenever possible.

ROBB STARK

He didn’t expect to fall so completely for you during this stuffy courting process. Robb can’t believe how lucky he is, and it’s obvious to everyone how enamored he is with you. He’s ready to jump straight to the wedding, tradition be damned, but oh well. What he does do is give you the ring quite early, and his own proposal, even if your marriage has been long decided. His proposal is straightforward, but there’s love and earnestness in his eyes as he takes your hands and presents the ring he secretly acquired. It’s beautifully crafted, with silver direwolves and gemstones that match your house’s sigil for their eyes.

SANSA STARK

Sansa had thought about this for a long time. Letting that romantic spirit come back, even after you’d been together for a while, was difficult. The whole concept of marriage had become repulsive to her, but together the two of you could make it something different. She gave you an unassuming ring you could always wear, with gemstones that reminded her of your eyes. She tried not to cry with happiness as she gave her heartfelt proposal. You’d say your vows in the weirwoods, where she always wanted to be married. The whole day would seem like a dream to her, like the innocent daydreams she had as a girl, before the world took everything.

JON SNOW

He had it planned out: What he would say, where he would say it, but his nerves and doubts bite at him again and again. You can tell he’s been thinking about something for months, it’s been weighing on him, but you hadn’t expected this. It all makes sense when you both are alone in a godswood and Jon takes your hand … and finally blurts it all out. He had a silver ring made; you don’t know how he managed it, but it’s pretty in its simplicity. There’s a direwolf running across the ring, its teeth bared, and another one running beside it. A pack of two.

BENJEN STARK

The asking and ceremony would be more of a ‘symbolic’ thing - being you both were in the Night’s Watch, and you were in disguise. It’s why when he first asked you, you thought it was some silly jap. “Of course, Ben,” You rolled your eyes. “I would love to be your wife.” Then he took your hand, removed the old woolen glove covering it and put on a small, unassuming iron ring that fit you perfectly. Benjen couldn’t stop grinning as he asked you again. It’s a sweet moment you share high up on the wall, in the middle of the darkness, where it seems like you both are totally alone in the world. Days afterward, you notice the engravings of the direwolf inside the ring.

JORY CASSEL

No matter how long you both were together at this point, Jory gets tongue-tied and stumbles over what he carefully rehearsed. He’s still so sure you’ll refuse him, given the small land and influence his family has. He thought for a long time about what sort of ring to get you, and admittedly, he was thinking about it early on in the relationship. It’s something quite pretty and elegant, and it references your house and personal taste. Honorable and traditional as he was, it didn’t feel right going to your family for “formal” permission. He wanted to know your feelings first, and that you truly wanted the arrangement.

EDDISON TOLLETT

You being his “old lady” was a dumb in-joke you and Edd had for some time. You were disguised in the Night’s Watch, of course, but the way you two (playfully) bickered made everyone call you an exhausting old couple. Even when you both were alone, Edd would use “wife”, though you were increasingly aware it wasn’t a joke anymore. Finally he really asks you, even if it’s pointless, even if it’s while you both are freezing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. And even then, he’s still surprised you say yes. One day he ties a piece of old twine around your finger, blushing the whole time, insisting you don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to.

YARA GREYJOY

If you were from the greenlands, from the get-go, Yara liked to refer to you as her salt wife. It was half teasing, half telling the other Ironborn to stay away. Whenever she’d say it, she’d keep such a protective hold on your waist, you were half-convinced she was going to carry you off to her ship. Eventually she made good on that promise. If you were Ironborn, Yara would be more willing to be forward. She’d tell you about some story she heard from her uncle about brides of the sea, women who stayed together and never married, though you knew she wasn’t one for fancies. Regardless, she’d have matching necklaces made for the both of you, leather and iron, like most of what she owns. She keeps it protected under her clothes.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Oh, she’s brought it up with you plenty of times - how you’ll be her Queen before gods and men, no matter what anyone thinks. The thing is, you both never did a grand ceremony. There were other matters to attend to, but Daenerys always made it clear to visitors who you were to her. She has plans for a wonderful ceremony once she takes her throne back, a celebration of your unbreakable union… Well, until then, you both can have your private vows. There’s dozens of beautiful things she’s given you (mostly from suitors who won’t bugger off), but your favorite is a necklace she had specially made. It’s a necklace of obsidian with dragons in flight, all connected together. The three largest dragons have a ruby, a diamond and an emerald for their eyes - a reference to her children, who are also fond of you. You two also wear matching obsidian bands with small rubies, made from the same stone as the necklace.

JORAH MORMONT

First, you knew this was happening. Jorah wears his heart on his sleeve and that’s even more evident when he’s worried about something. You noticed he was being both especially loving and anxious. You considered saying something, but he was clearly waiting for a perfect moment. Seriously, he’d look ready to say something, then back off at the last second at least a dozen times. Finally Jorah asked you, with the most loving smile on his face, and he was so choked up when you accepted - as if he really thought you’d refuse. You’ve told him before that you don’t need anything fancy, but he still gets you a lovely and elegant ring with silver-black engravings of small bears and another animal you’re fond of. He’s thrilled if you got him a matching ring or necklace; again, Jorah didn’t imagine you’d want such a thing. He’d wear it constantly and it’d become something he’d fiddle with when he was nervous.

MISSANDEI

Missandei would wait for you to pop the question because, in truth, she never imagined you’d want to. She understood that was a tradition in your home country, but you were both women, and she was… well, she just didn’t expect it. But Missandei’s eyes light up with surprise and adoration at your earnest question, and she says yes without even thinking. She isn’t one for anything fancy, but she’d love you both to have a matching set of bracelets, necklaces or rings - something elegant but not flashy, perhaps with stones or engravings that mean something personal to the both of you. She’d always wear it, even if she had to hide it under her clothes for some reason or another. She’s terribly flustered when someone asks her who it’s from and what it means.

GREY WORM

Oh, no no no. He’d grown a lot beside you, and as Daenerys’ commander, but there were still areas where Grey Worm felt like he wasn’t enough. It would take a lot of prodding and reassurance from Missandei before he’d finally start planning. You’d wonder what he was up to, and he’d just shyly say it was a surprise and you’d learn eventually. His proposal is sweet and faltering; he tried to stay serious, but he just couldn’t when you looked at him with those kind eyes. Grey Worm decided to make the jewelry himself - it would be an intricate leather bracelet with gemstones inlaid. He hunted the animal and tanned the leather himself, and spent many evenings hurting his fingers to put it together. He has a matching one, though it’s far simpler.

TYWIN LANNISTER

First off, this was a marriage arranged well in advance, so you didn’t expect any extended courting or proposals. This was Tywin, after all. Still he managed to surprise you a fortnight before the wedding with an absurdly jeweled ringbox. The ring itself was Lannister gold, and you anticipated lions and rubies… but it was your house’s sigil, with your birthstone inlaid, and small lions along the band. It’s far more than you anticipated from such a man. And when Tywin presented it to you, you sensed his expectation, and the heat in his eyes... He would never admit to wanting your approval, but that look was saying otherwise. Some years later, you have more jewelry than you could dream of, but you still wear that original ring most often. You’ll catch him glancing at it when you put it on, or twist it around your finger, then he’ll glance aside like he wasn’t watching.

TYRION LANNISTER

Naturally, he’s been thinking of this and planning it for weeks, maybe months, depending on how in love he is. Even if it’s a marriage of love, Tyrion will still have late-night nagging thoughts that you’ll back out, or you’re doing it out of duty. When he takes your hand and gives you the sweetest proposal you’ve ever heard, he still isn’t sure… until you kiss him and tell him what a silly man he’s being. Of course you’d accept. The ring has beautiful craftsmanship, with delicate flowers, lions and gemstones matching your house. It’s rosegold and silver rather than Lannister gold, and the inscription inside is something of an in-joke between you two, likely a quote from a book.

JAIME LANNISTER

You were concerned when he first approached you. It’s rare Jaime is this solemn with you, and he’d been acting strange the past week. Then he started to speak, and you realized he was nervous. His cheeks were starting to get red, and he was having trouble looking right at you. His nervousness came from the fact that Jaime wasn’t entirely sure you’d say yes, no matter how long you’d been together, no matter how confident he was that whole time. All the doubts would begin to creep, and before you could even answer, he considered backing out. But you said yes, and the smile that grew on his face was so wonderful to see. Jaime doesn’t want anything fancy or ceremonial, tradition and his family name be damned. The ring is gold, naturally, but it’s simple and charming. There’s small, pretty gemstones inlaid beside lion engravings.

SANDOR CLEGANE

At this point, you two have been married in all but name for years. He has his own thoughts on marriage, and you have your’s, and there was never a rush. People in the village already thought you already took vows, so honestly, you might have kids before Sandor starts considering something a little official. It would be something simple, but heartfelt. He’d have a fancy leather bracelet woven for you, or a simple silver ring, if you’d prefer that. He wouldn’t want much for himself, and would be flustered if you made something - but he’d absolutely wear it. Instead of taking the three black dogs from the Clegane sigil, you both would think of something new.

BRONN

He’s made all sorts of stupid jokes about marriage, especially now that he’s a proper lord. You’ve never taken any of it seriously, especially when these sentimental rambles come from when he’s drunk and wanting under your dress. Other times are when you’re out and about and pass a sept - “We oughta made it official, then go straight to the wedding night” - really, you never expected him to be serious about it. One evening he tossed something shiny at you, and you caught it. It was a beautiful ring with a huge diamond … and your first thought is if he stole it. He didn’t look at you, only mumbled something about maybe talking to your family. Maybe considering it for real. Bronn’s terrible with emotions, especially speaking them out loud. His gestures speak louder, and the whole time he’s talking he’s trying not to look at you.

PETYR BAELISH

Naturally he planned out the whole proposal - the right location, what he would say, and a beautiful ring that meant something important to you. It wasn’t big and conspicuous, rather it was something absolutely tailored for you, with a mockingbird etched inside. Petyr starts strong as he takes your hand, but begins to falter in his words when you look at him with such adoration. That undivided attention and love just gets him flustered, though he knew you’d accept. This was all part of his plan, but even knowing it would happen didn’t make him any less pleased.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Your houses had been in discussion about the betrothal for a while, but being the man he was, Stannis still wanted to do the usual courting and formal proposal. His words were blunt, the tips of his ears were turning red and he kept darting his eyes away, but he said it. He remembers the ring when you accept, and you assumed he had it ordered without much thought… Though when you look at it, you notice it’s not just pretty woven gold and black diamonds. In the center of the diamonds is your birthstone, and you wonder if he added that touch - your parents certainly wouldn’t have. Even after you’ve been married for years and have plenty of jewelry to pick from, Stannis gets a little flushed that you wear the first ring he gave you so often.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Your dear Davos made your ring, a pretty and modest thing he created with the help of a blacksmith friend (you were wondering where those little burns on his fingers came from). You both had been together for a while now, talking about marriage here and there but never actually doing it. When he takes your hand, he’s bashful, though he gets through his words. They’re sweet and honest, like you expected. He knew you’d say yes, but he wanted to say it, and to give you the ring. Even if you don’t want a ceremony, he wanted to give you this. It’s a pretty silver and iron ring with pretty engraved flowers, your favorite, and a loving inscription on the inside.

MARGAERY TYRELL

First off, she’d been asking you strange questions for weeks. You could tell she wanted to get you a gift, and she wanted it to be just right. Then you realized she must have some sort of elaborate date planned… Well, you didn’t expect the wonderful evening to end in a proposal. Even if it wasn’t possible for you by the laws of Westeros, Margaery didn’t care. She had a beautiful ring made for you, and she had her “vows” ready. As far as she’s concerned, your hearts belong together, and the gods will understand. She only cries a little, but she’s mostly beaming as you say yes and allow her to put it on your finger.

The gold ring is made wonderfully, with sculpted roses and a large emerald in the center, with her birthstone around it. Margaery wanted a matching one, but that might be suspicious. So, her ring is your favorite flower sculpted with your birthstone in the center.

BRYNDEN TULLY

All his life Brynden resisted the brides his brother threw at him, absolutely sure he was going to die a warrior and not some lazy lord… Well, you certainly changed that perspective, though he likes to say he’s still too old and you ought to spend your life with someone else. Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, and you deserve it - and with the upcoming war - he gets the ring. Brynden is actually flustered the whole time, giving you a curt and honest proposal. He wants to be with you until the rest of his days - even if they’re numbered - if you’ll have him. No fancy ceremony, ideally, it’s just the two of you. The ring itself is unusual and also not traditional. It’s cool silver with black etchings, and the sigils are your house’s sigil or a favorite flower. It’s not very Tully, except for a small chain of trout engraved on the inside.

EDMURE TULLY

He’s completely confident in this proposal. And why not? You both adore each other, the marriage has been planned for well over a year now, he has just the right place to ask you… Though he’s so excited, he ends up stumbling over some words while he asks you. The official arrangement had already been announced, but he still wanted to do something private and romantic. It was difficult for Edmure to keep the ring a secret. He oversaw every step of it being made, and when he notices you looking at it, it makes him very happy. It’s an elegant silver ring inlaid with diamonds, rubies and sapphires; the latter being in a wavy formation like the Tully banner. You think it’s a bit extravagant, but he says otherwise.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She’s been thinking about it over and over… you can tell she’s been agonizing about something for months. Finally she shyly presents you with a pretty and simple gold bracelet she figured you could always wear; stumbles over her words to explain it, then you understand her meaning. Yall find an abandoned sept and do cute lil vows and shes crying lol. You rlly want her to wear something similar and she’s just blushing the whole time but she agrees; she takes extremely good care of the necklace/bracelet and wears it under her armor.

RAMSAY BOLTON

Your parents and Roose made the arrangement, so you and Ramsay had little say in the matter. Still, he loves to play his roles, so he wanted to play the part of the attentive, doting lord, especially in front of your family. Though you’re surprised by the unusual ring he gives you; it’s two smooth rings interlocking with each other. The proposal is a little intense and unsettling, but you notice something when he puts it on your finger. He has small burns on his fingers, like had smithed it himself… And you wonder how he knew your ring size… Later on, when you both are married and living in the Dreadfort, sometimes he’ll take your hand and run his thumb over the cold ring.

ROOSE BOLTON

You both were officially engaged for some time, so he didn’t have to do any sort of proposal. When you both were at a private, quiet place in the gardens, and he took your hand. You weren’t expecting it at all. It was simple enough. He promised to look after you, to ensure your protection and health. It almost seemed… genuine, though those eyes were cold as ever. The ring was another surprise. You realized it was an heirloom, but it still looked impeccable. It was iron that was twisted into an elegant shape, with rubies and morganite. The largest ruby was in the center, shaped like a tear-drop… or maybe that was a blood-drop? You notice afterward he’ll glance at your hand each time you meet, as if concerned you wouldn’t wear it.

OBERYN MARTELL

You both had been paramours for years now, and you didn’t need the ring to be happy or official… So it surprised you when after a wonderful evening of dancing and drinking, and pressing against each other in the gardens, he asked you the question. It was romantic, like you’d expect, but also so earnest. Oberyn always wears his feelings on his sleeves, but this didn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment passionate proposal. His words seemed like he’d worked on them for a long time. Oberyn is understanding if you want to stay paramours and not an official Lady Martell, as that title comes with trappings and expectations. He just had to ask you and hear your acceptance. The ring he gives you is gold, with vibrant topaz and rubies. The inside is engraved with the spear of Martell. You later learn from his brother that it’s a beloved family heirloom.

BERIC DONDARRION

The two of you don’t have much, but you’ve been in love for a long time and he very much wants a “proper” ceremony to express that. He shyly proposed to you in the moonlight after you both made love, and the almost desperation in his voice surprised you. He gave you a smooth, iron ring with a faint design of interwoven flames. The “ceremony” is a drunk Thoros and equally drunk septon his men found, for a double ceremony! It’s extra luck! Or something like that. Beric insists that makes it even more official, and he’ll marry you under a Godswood too, if you come across one. He’s full of smiles and wants to bridal carry you every chance he gets.

[baalsvision]

Hey hey! May i request headcannons for Zhongli with an S/O who is a god who survived the Archon War but has lived amongst humans after it? (Hope that makes sense skdkdkdo)

hello !! yes it does :D ! thank you for requesting, i had a ton of fun writing these !! i hope you enjoy <33

warnings: symptoms of ptsd, night terrors

genre: headcanons, fluff, angst (if you squint)

pronouns/gender: not mentioned! (you/your)

zhongli with an s/o who is a god and survived the archon war, and now lives amongst humans

→ ZHONGLI AND YOU are able to connect through your experiences of having survived such a traumatic and violent time in teyvat’s history. especially when zhongli stages his death as morax. you both find a lot of peace knowing you aren’t alone in your situations.

→ because of this, you two have an extremely deep connection and understanding of each other.

→ this was an extremely traumatic event for the both of you. you often avoided the topic, as did zhongli, but living in liyue, surrounded by all that history and what it became was terribly hard.

→ after the archon war, you had remained lovers, however you left the harbour and had moved into one of your abandoned shrines near jueyen karst, away from any reminder of the war.

→ you did often speak to travellers who passed through and browsed any passing merchants wares. you also journeyed around the ruins spread across the land, under the guise of a traveller.

→ you had returned to the harbour after hearing the news of morax’s “passing”. of course, he had alerted you of this beforehand, swearing you to secrecy. you had both spoken of leaving your lives behind to start anew, peaceful and long life before, and now it was being put into action.

→ you weren’t exactly a popular god. having not shown yourself for centuries had led to most of the nation forgetting you. you had practically already abandoned your position and it made no difference to the lives of liyue’s citizens. zhongli however, was in a completely different position, making this much more complex for him.

→ giving up your positions of power was like a final goodbye to that past. allowing you both to live as ‘mortals’ and focus toward your futures.

→ however, the past does influence the present. the screams and cries of your fallen comrades haunted your dreams, often leading to restless and sleepless nights.

→ but! zhongli is always there to help. whenever you can’t sleep, he brings you hot tea and holds you in his arms until you drift off. he often has these sorts of night terrors as well. you two confide in each other; relying on each other for comfort and closure.

→ you both also enjoy night strolls to clear your heads. zhongli often does this when he feels overwhelmed or misses the days before the war. he loves taking a stroll to look at the glaze lillies, and often invites you along to tell you his stories when he reminisces on the past.

→ zhongli has lived longer than you had, so he’ll often tell you stories of before the archon war. it makes him extremely happy whenever you listen to his stories, considering those times were extremely special to him.

→ your day-to-day life with zhongli couldn’t be more peaceful, however you two are terrible with mora.

→ living as gods your entire existences meant you needn’t worry about mora. you were worshipped, praised and lived lives of high status and luxury.

→ however, beginning to live as mortals you two would often go bankrupt. luckily, zhongli had connections to the fatui, who you two practically owe your entire net worth to.

→ “zhongli! look, isn’t that antique pretty?”

“it most certainly is. shopkeeper, how much does that cost?”

“five hundred thousand mora. it’s quite valuable.”

“we’ll take it.”

you didn’t take it. the only thing you both took was your leave from the store after being kicked out by the shopkeep.

→ let’s just say when you both go shopping, you make sure to bring childe along with you.

→ you both used to get lost all the time.

→ liyue’s structure had changed so much over the years. the harbour being completely unrecognisable to you, and appeared to be flourishing. there was so much advancements that your mind couldn’t even comprehend.

→ and zhongli, despite descending yearly could not remember left from right at first. he eventually adjusted and was able to navigate to an extent, but you were and still are a lost cause with directions.

→ there’s so many wonders to living the life of a mortal, so many things you had never gotten to do in your positions as gods that you could finally experience together.

→ you two would finally be able to enjoy your lives without the weight of being a god on your shoulders. being able to live within a world for centuries as normal townspeople, you could be nothing but grateful for it. liyue would continue to flourish, all while you two could watch; as for the first time, mortals took the reigns to guide the nation to a new future.

© baalsvision — all rights reserved ; do not upload my writing anywhere else.

notes ; oh my god .. i hope i wrote these right <//3 but honestly i had sm fun thinking abt these hcs !!

reminder that requests are open ! feel free to send in any, as well as any asks :D

[engie-ivy]

Everyone seems to think it's just the most hilarious prank Sirius was given a potion to make him think he's in love with Remus. Remus himself, however, doesn't quite like hearing Sirius say everything he's been secretly dreaming of, and not meaning a word of it. However, there might be a bit of truth to Sirius’ words. Or a whole lot of truth.

Truth Be Told

Remus is haggard. After a long day of classes, he has spent the evening tutoring a second-year Hufflepuf, and it would surprise Remus if the boy can even tell the front from the back of his wand. All Remus wants now is to drop down on a couch, and unwind with his friends. As he enters the Gryffindor common room, he spots them sitting at the back and makes his way over.

“Wotcher, Moony,” James greets. “You look bloody knackered!”

“Alright, Moony?” Peter grins. “Long night?”

“Moony!” Sirius says. “I’m so glad you’re back. Even when it’s just an hour, I miss you whenever we’re not together. You light up any room you enter, no matter how tired you look. Just the sight of you makes my heart skip a beat, as you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

The boys all fall silent and stare. Remus blinks a couple of times. Then James bursts out laughing, quickly joined by Peter. Horror appears on Sirius’ face and he clasps a hand over his mouth.

“Eh,” Remus says hesitantly, as he sits down. “What’s going on?”

James, still laughing, wipes a tear away from his eyes. “D’you remember how Sirius hexed McKinnon last week, making everything she ate taste like earwax for the entire day?”

Remus nods. As funny as the prank may have seemed, dealing with an angry and hungry Marlene McKinnon hadn’t been an experience worth repeating.

“Well, she got back at him just now by spiking his Pumpkin Juice with some sort of potion, but so far, we hadn’t figured out what kind of potion. Until now, that is!”

“A Love Potion?” Remus asks incredulously.

Sirius, face bright red, is pointedly not looking at Remus.

“The potion must have made him so head-over-heels, he’s too overwhelmed by your all-encompassing beauty,” Peter snickers.

Remus is still stunned. “Why a Love Potion to make him fall in love with me, though?”

James shrugs. “Girls have a weird sense of humour, mate.”

Remus shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous!”

James wants to say something, but Sirius cuts him off. “There’s nothing ridiculous about being in love with you!” He exclaims. “You’re the kindest person there is. You have such a good heart, and you’re always there for me, no matter what. You always make everyone feel at ease. You’re clever, hardworking, and strong. I don’t understand how everyone isn’t in love with you! And Merlin, you’re so attractive. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh is so bloody sexy.”

Sirius isn’t the only one blushing now, as Remus feels his own cheeks heat up. “Err, thanks,” he mumbles.

James and Peter, however, nearly fall off the couch laughing. “This is gold!” James manages to say in between his laughs.

Remus doesn’t agree. He finds it more embarrassing than funny that apparently, McKinnon thought making him in love with Remus was the best joke she could play on Sirius. And even worse, and Remus will take this secret to his grave, like a bloody twelve-year-old who reads too many romance novels, he occasionally fantasizes about Sirius illuminated by candlelight, holding his hands, waxing poetically about his undying love for Remus. To now hear Sirius say similar words, without meaning any of them, is definitely more painful than funny.

Sirus doesn’t seem amused by it either. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this! I mean, I know I don’t have a chance with you, Moony. You’re such a good person, so much better than me. I truly don’t deserve you.”

“Merlin,” Peter laughs. “Sirius Black thinking he’s not good enough? I wouldn’t have thought it possible! What the hell did McKinnon give him for a Love Potion?”

Remus wonders that as well, as he watches Sirius hide his face in his hands. With the Love Potions Remus knows, the person under the influence at least doesn’t realise how insane they’re acting, but poor Sirius seems perfectly aware.

“Moony,” Sirius says pleadingly. “Normally, I think every minute spent apart from you is a minute wasted, but as I can’t seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you, would you mind terribly to maybe stay away from me until the potion has worn off?”

“You really do say the most ridiculous things,” Peter agrees.

Sirius glares at him. “You calling me confessing my deepest feelings ridiculous is actually really hurtful, Peter.”

Peter blinks at him.

“Right,” Remus says, getting to his feet. “Yes. That would probably be best. Just... take care, and let me know if you need me.”

“I always need you, Remus,” Sirius says. “And I always will.”

“Err, right. Yes. Okay. Great. Eh, bye then.” Remus hurries away.

As Remus makes his way through the common room, he walks past Marlene, Lily and Mary sitting together at a table.

“Oi, Lupin!” Marlene calls, with a smug smile. “Is Black having a nice evening?”

Remus folds his arms over his chest. “You think you’re bloody funny, don’t you, McKinnon?”

Lily raises her eyebrow. “Come on, Remus. Black had it coming.”

“I suppose he had,” Remus sighs. It’s true. Marlene and Sirius are always pulling pranks on each other and retaliating. “But next time, please leave me out of it!”

“Leave you out of it?” Marlene repeats. “When have I ever gotten you into it?”

“Please, a Love Potion to make him confess to being in love with me?” Remus rolls his eyes. “I can understand how you’d think Sirius Black fancying me is just the biggest joke, but please, don’t.”

The girls fall silent.

Mary is staring at Remus with wide eyes. Lily is nervously tugging at her braid. Marlene is shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“What?”

Marlene and Lily exchange a look, then look back at Remus. “Eh, Remus,” Marlene says carefully. “The potion I gave Black wasn’t a Love Potion.”

Remus begins to ask “Then why-” But Marlene continues talking. “It was Veritaserum.”

Sirius is lying face-down on his bed, wondering if there’s a spell that can make the ground swallow him up whole. Damn Marlene and her damn Truth Potion! At least his friends, and most importantly Remus, had assumed it was a Love Potion. Luckily, James and Peter had eventually left him alone, thinking that the fun was over anyway after Remus left, so perhaps the universe doesn’t completely hate him.

He has barely finished the thought, or the door to the dorm opens. Sirius glances up, and when he sees Remus walk in, he considers smothering himself in his pillow.

“Moony,” Sirius groans. “Please. I really want to be alone.” For once, he and the Truth Potion are in perfect agreement on what to say.

Remus ignores him and sits down cross-legged at the foot of Sirius’ bed with a huge grin on his face, because, yes, the universe has it out for Sirius. Sirius pushes himself up and wraps his arms around his legs. “While normally I would be thrilled to have you on my bed,” Sirius says, because of-bloody-course he does. “Right now, you shouldn’t-”

“What potion did McKinnon give you?” Remus interrupts.

Sirius opens his mouth to say it’s the Love Potion, but what comes out instead is “Veritaserum,” which, really, he should’ve expected. He wonders if it’s too late to still smother himself in his pillow.

Remus grins brightly at him. He knew, Sirius thinks. The bloody bastard already knew.

“You know,” Sirius says irritably. “I’m so gone for you that you could probably push me out of the window, and I’d still be smitten,” has he mentioned that the universe hates him? “But I must say, Remus, it kind of hurts that you found out my deepest secret and came here to rub it in my face and laugh about it.”

Remus seems a little taken aback by Sirius’ blatant honesty, but he should’ve known that’s what he would get. “What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not laughing about your feelings! Or well, maybe I am laughing about your feelings, but because I’m happy about your feelings!”

Sirius looks away and mutters “Well, I’m glad you at least enjoy my desperate pining.”

Remus moves forward, and places a hand on Sirius’ cheek to gently turn his head back to him.

“You on my bed, sitting this close, and touching my face like that is Doing Things to me,” Sirius says, and he kind of wishes Remus had pushed him out of the window.

Remus lets out a breathless laugh. “Good, because what I wanted to say is, I’m happy about your feelings, because I most definitely return them. I’m gone for you too.”

Sirius’ eyes widen. “Really?” He breathes.

Remus smiles softly at him. “Really. I’m not taking any Veritaserum, though, so you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

Emboldened by the notion that he can’t possibly embarrass himself more than he already has, Sirius shifts a little closer understand. “You know,” he says, nervously licking his lips. “They say actions speak louder than words.”

Remus immediately understands. The hand on Sirius’ cheek moves to his neck and the next moment, they’re kissing.

Sirius briefly chases Remus’ lips as the other boy pulls away, and sighs while he blinks open his eyes. Kissing Remus is the best feeling in the world, leaving him dizzy, and rather hot and bothered. And of course, in his current state, he immediately informs Remus about this.

A flush appears on Remus’ cheeks and he chuckles. Sirius hides his face in his hands and groans. “And just like that, I turned the best moment of my life into the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

Remus grabs his wrists to pry his hands away from his face. “No, Pads, it’s okay! More than okay. I love kissing you as well.”

Sirius lowers his hands and looks into Remus’ soft, honey-coloured eyes, that look back at him affectionately. “I love you,” he breathes.

Remus lets go of his wrists and his eyes widen in shock.

Sirius winches. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I wouldn’t normally go from first kiss to full-blown love confession in like zero seconds, but that damned potion! That potion goes by the rule ‘if you feel a strong emotion, immediately speak it out loud’, and loving you is the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt.”

Remus’ eyes widen even more.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius says. “I’m only making it worse, aren’t I? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out like this.”

“No, it’s... I mean, I...” Remus scrapes his throat. “I don’t mind. I admit, it’s all going a bit fast, and I wasn’t expecting a love confession so soon, but I think I’m... happy?” Remus lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, this is all very new to me.”

“It’s new to me too,” Sirius says softly, and then, just in case he hadn’t freaked Remus out enough, “You’re the first person I’ve ever said those words to.”

Remus nearly topples off the bed.

The universe must be having one hell of a laugh.

“Oh, bollocks!” Sirius says. “I keep saying these wildly inappropriate, way too intense things, for which it’s much too soon! I won’t blame you if you want to get away as fast as possible. As a matter of fact, you probably should stay away from me for now, before I end up telling you I’ve already been envisioning our wedding.” Sirius’ laugh sounds forced, and Remus’ sounds a little too high-pitched, and Sirius can see clear traces of panic in his eyes. Yet, Remus doesn’t move from the bed.

“You know,” Remus says a tad nervous. “Perhaps I could stay, but prevent you from speaking?”

“How are you...?”

Remus smiles shyly. “My idea was to keep your mouth... otherwise occupied?”

Sirius’ eyes widen, and then a bright smile appears on his face. “Remus Lupin, you always have the best ideas!”

Remus wakes up the next morning with Sirius’ body pressed against his back and Sirius’ arms around his waist. “Hmmm,” he hums happily, covering Sirius’ hands with his own. “I love waking up next to you.”

He can feel Sirius smile against his neck. “Me too. Waking up next to you and falling asleep next to you. Even your snoring is music to my ears.”

Remus snorts. “I gather the Veritaserum has worn off, huh?”

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

whoops wrote more fae au lol. not sure if I should put this on ao3 or not tho.

TW: abuse, manipulation, dehumanisation, kidnapping, obsession, possessive behaviour, unhealthy coping mechanisms, depression, suicidal thoughts.

——

Dream’s memories of his time in the human world were always vague, slipping further day by day, but one memory that he’d managed to hold onto with desperation unmatched was that of training wolves.

He was small enough that they towered over him, and vaguely, he remembered his siblings telling him to be careful. They were close- so close he could reach out and grab them, oh how he wanted to grasp them tight and never let go- but barely more than shadows, voice indistinct. He couldn’t be sure if the brief flashes of crooked grins, curly hair, bright blue eyes were just him trying to fill in blanks to make them closer to the one human he really knew.

But, as a child blissfully unaware of how brief his life here was before he had to return home like all changelings must, he didn’t spare a second thought, instead observing the canine creatures with curiosity, feeding them meat from the hand without a single inkling of fear in him.

What did he have to fear? He knew he was above these creatures. To them, he was all but a God. They ate when he permitted it. They went hunting when he permitted it. He cleaned them and played with them and taught them, but if he wished he could do anything to them and their claws and fangs would stand little chance against spears and bronze. Not that he was ever cruel without reason- Dream liked to imagine himself a benevolent dictator- but that sense of power was intoxicating. Exercising it even more so.

Training a human, it turned out, wasn’t entirely all that different.

“Tommy,” he said, careful in his pronunciation of every syllable, as he grasped tightly onto his shoulder. He could feel him shivering underneath him as blood pooled onto his paws. “I’ve taught you well on the etiquette of the Courts, have I not?”

“Yes, sir,” Tommy mumbled, sounding more sarcastic than anything.

“And yet, you seem to take some sort of pleasure in making a sick fucking joke out of them. Why?”

“Why? Oh, maybe because you fucking kidnapped me, turned me into your fucking puppet, and are expecting me to go around like everything’s A-Okay? Maybe fucking use your head for once, prick.”

Dream sighed, and with a thought he sent Tommy curled on the ground in agony. A true name's power made such a thing effortless, and he couldn’t help but quirk a grin under his birch wood mask. He may not be cruel for the sake of it, but this wasn’t cruelty. This was good old fun, of the fae sort, and any time he had to indulge between plotting and scheming was something he treasured.

Tommy would understand that too, someday. Dream was sure of it.

He couldn’t help but pity the human a bit. It was difficult for even changelings returning home to adjust, and that was with the gentle nudge of Faerie to help adjust. That was a luxury he couldn’t afford to give Tommy. No, he needed Tommy to remember clearly what he himself could barely hold onto scraps to, to serve as his own living source of knowledge. It was far easier to influence minds that weren’t your own, and with a thought, he could sever him from the soothing influence of the land, its subtle whispers and explanations as it removed all it deemed unnecessary.

It wasn’t that faeries couldn’t love, but rather that they loved differently than humans. They had friendship, romance, but not families. Why would they need to? Faerie children grew up raised by humans, never knowing their true parents. By the time they returned home, they were already grown. There was no need to remember, so they didn’t.

But that didn’t stop the deep longing in Dream’s chest. That feeling of emptiness, waiting to laugh and run and play with those he knew were bound to him in a way far deeper than anyone else. Friends were fair-weather, and the idea of a lover seemed profoundly uninteresting, but family was irreplaceable. The adoration of his subjects did not even come close to the warm feeling he had resting after a long day and talking to his siblings until the sun fell from the sky and rose again.

The way Tommy looked up at him desperately through the pain, a confused mess of anger and hurt and betrayal and above all, a terrified reverence, though? Now, that he could get used to.

Another thought and the pain disappeared. Dream let him struggle to his hands and knees before kicking him hard in the stomach, leaving him reeling, coughing red onto the stone below. The second he took a breath for air, he kicked again, and again, and again, and again.

Eventually, Tommy curled up in the corner, not even trying to move, and Dream hummed. “I know how unfair this must feel, but you’ve got an important job here, y’know? You need to learn some respect.”

Tommy didn’t stir, so sighing, Dream crouched down beside his shaking form, wiping the blood from his mouth with his fingers as Tommy flinched back from the touch. “I know you can hear me, Tommy. Stop pretending not to, or I really will give you something to sulk about.”

The boy gave out a choked sob. “I just… I just wanna go home, I want things to go back to normal. Please- please just stop, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just… please…”

Dream softened at that. He couldn’t pretend to understand Tommy’s moods, constantly alternating between sullen and angry and deliberately trying to break as many rules as possible, and listening like a lost puppy, over-emotional and like a frightened animal but at least trying. But he could understand homesickness. A longing for normality that’d never come.

“This is your home now, Tommy,” he said, voice soothing like talking to a wild animal. “We’re family now. And I promise you, when I’m able to expand that out to the whole of my- our- kingdom, you’ll be happy.” I’ll be happy, he hoped too. He missed that feeling.

“I won’t.” Tommy looked up at him, nothing but tired acceptance in his eyes. No anger, nothing but that sense of knowledge he had no power that Dream loved to see. “I don’t think you will, either.”

“Maybe not.” Dream tried his hardest to hide how his voice broke there. “But it’ll be better. I promise. Trust me.”

Things were getting better. They were. They had to be. Every day, it got a little less hard to add that smile to his voice, get to work twisting words into chains, working tirelessly towards his people’s gain, because he had someone who had his back, who couldn’t betray him even if he wanted to. Even still, it felt like Tommy would disappear into mist if he ever took his eyes off him, didn’t keep him reined in tight and always by his side. The reason he really had to even continue, after all his goals had not satisfied him… if Tommy wasn’t here any more, Dream didn’t think he would be either. Not anymore, now that he’d had a taste of what he had longed for so very long.

Dream absently ran a finger across the bruises he’d carelessly left on the poor thing's face, willing them to go away in front of his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt Tommy, not that time, but it was always so easy to forget how fragile humans were. It almost caused panic each and every time, even though he could repair tendon and bone with a thought, force the boy to cling onto life as long as a single scrap of him was left, because if he did ever screw up and lose him… Death was the one thing in this realm he could never undo.

Back as a child of fifteen or so summers, a few scant years before he had to leave everything behind, he’d have found so much joy in the ability to shape reality to his will. He’d make sure that his family would have all the meat and all the delicious roots in the world, be able to reach up as tall as he wanted to help with the painting, and be able to swim the whole lake to impress his siblings. Here, he could do all that as he wished, but without a family, all he had to do with that was pretend he was much older than he ever was and try and fulfil the impossible task of making everyone happy.

It was nice, having something to himself.

There was a quiet, a long, long quiet. The two stayed crouched on the floor, Tommy breathing heavy and clutching his stomach, Dream observing like this was the last time he’d ever see his face and he was desperately trying to memorise every last part of him, hold onto all he had left.

“Please…” Tommy was the first to speak. “If you- if you’re going to do more, do it to me. Don’t hurt- don’t hurt my friends. Please.”

“Oh, Tommy. I’m not going to punish you if you’ve learnt your lesson, aren’t I? You’re going to use your manners from now on, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said, sounding about half sure at most. Dream tilted his head, but decided to let it slide.

“Then- c’mere. It’s fine.” Dream pulled him up into a hug, barely noticing how Tommy winced as he held tight enough that something cracked from the pressure. That was something he’d started to grow used to.

As Tommy stopped stirring, slowly falling asleep out of the sheer physical exhaustion he’d been through, it reminded Dream so heavily of a wolf pup on his lap, so fragile and so small, aggressive yet obedient, insignificant to all but him.

They really weren’t so different, indeed.

[thechekhov]

Hi! I saw on a post that you're agender and I'm kinda questioning my gender (again) but what interested me more about that post was that you said you believe that gender is a social construct and I'm not really familiar with that theory. I was wondering if you could explain to me what the whole idea is? (bc I kinda only feel like a have a gender in social situations? In my head, my dreams and how I picture myself in the future, I'm genderless idjskahwksjejensj) Sorry for bothering you if I did.

This is a BIG topic and it opens a LOT of wormholes. 

We’re gonna do this in pie slice statements that will hopefully help explain what I mean. Please keep in mind I’m going to simplify many things for the sake of readability.

1) What is a social construct? 

Social constructs are ideas that are negotiated by social groups. Something being a social construct does not make it ‘not real’. 

For example, money is a social construct. Yes, we have cash - coins, credit cards - but these are physical props that are REPRESENTATIVE of the idea of currency. You have some form of credit to your name - the money is a socially agreed-upon idea of value being represented by bills in your hand, by numbers in your bank account. 

[Description: Two humanoid figures are standing side by side. The right-side figure is holding a rock in its hand. 

Right side figure: Let’s agree that this shiny rock is worth 2 sheep.

Left side figure: Sounds fake but ok.]

Technically, countries are also social constructs. We, as a society, negotiate what a country is, and this can be changed.

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of a dotted line drawn on the ground. The left figure is pointing down at it while the right figure watches, its arms crossed.

Left figure: Let’s pretend that everything on this side of the imaginary line is mine.

Right figure: ...ok but my house is over there.

Left figure: ... for 3 shiny rocks you can come visit.]

Does that mean canada isn’t real? No. (I mean, obviously canada ISN’T real, but we all agree to pretend it is.) The thing that makes it real is that we are in agreement, and all follow the social rules of pretend to make it seem like the Canadian border, the idea of Canadian citizenship, etc... is an objective fact. (It’s not. These are in fact, negotiable limits and parameters. We have laws in place to define it in legal terms, but those laws can be changed, or may change in the minds of communities. That’s why it’s a construct.)

By that same token, I hold the view that gender, as we largely perceive it in modern society, is a construct. Why? Because it is not inherent; we, as a society, negotiate its meaning. 

2) What is gender? 

People will probably fight me on this and that’s fine, but here’s my (simplified) understanding of gender (from someone who personally has none)

Gender is a social category negotiated by cultures based on your assigned or desired role in your community that influences, among many other things, your physical appearance, your role in family units, your expected position in jobs, etc. 

How I think it happened:

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of the panel, both holding children-looking figures. The one on the left is wearing purple. The one on the right is wearing green.

Green figure: Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if we separate the babies into two groups based on physical traits they have no control over?

Purple figure: Wh-- okay...?

Green figure: And then limit the jobs they can do and the community ritual involvement available to them based on that!

Purple figure: ... I feel like this is going to backfire on us someday.

Green figure: Nah, it’ll be fine.

The past panel is a dramatic closeup on the purple figure’s face - which is featureless - betraying a deeply doubtful emotion. It says nothing.]

Important points to remember: what gender looks like, what the limits are, what the expectations are... are not inherent to any human biology. We make up gender roles. This is evident in the fact that across the world, gender roles differ by culture. The positions people of a certain gender are allowed to take up are different. What is perceived to be ‘girly’ or ‘boyish’ is different across cultures. 

Simply speaking - currently the (western) model we have, dumbed down, is:

You are assigned male at birth because of physical characteristics

You are raised being told to ‘toughen up’ and ‘boys don’t cry’ and encouraged not to show emotions

You are taught to wear male-coded clothes and discouraged from female-coded fashion choices

You are given more opportunities to participate in sports, encouraged to engage in physical activity, etc

You are not expected to need time off for child-rearing 

Here’s where gender as it works in society breaks down into being not a real thing but instead something we thought up: 

Nothing about having a penis necessitates wearing pants. Nothing about having XY chromosomes means you need to keep your hair short. Nothing about your genome makes the experience of nail-polish different for any human being. 

All of these are arbitrary traits we decided were allowed or not allowed to a specific group of people based on entirely unrelated physiology. 

Even if we delve deeper, there is MORE variation among individuals of the same ‘sex’ than there are, on average, of members of the ‘opposite sex’ when compared to each other. 

Many people use the excuse ‘women are physically not as strong as men’ to say that this has an evolutionary aspect driving these cultural, historical, socially-constructed gender requirements. 

But if there was a physical reasoning behind the culturally-set gender-limited job expectations, then we actually WOULDN’T need a traditional binary gender system to sort ourselves into categories. It would simply be decided as a meritocracy - stronger individuals, regardless of gender, would be given physically-demanding jobs. (Also we know that many jobs thought to be ‘traditionally male’ are just the result of sexist bullshit, so this reasoning doesn’t fly any further than I can throw it which is, coincidentally, not very far. Politics is one such area. Doctors are another. We can go on but I think you get my drift.)

My own example of this is an anecdote when my grandparents came to visit my partner and I in Japan. While we were driving down to Tokyo, my grandmother - who has a PhD in entomology - began to say that driving is a masculine activity and women shouldn’t be driving as it was ‘un-woman-like’. My partner almost immediately fired back that in Japan, studying insects or having any interest in them whatsoever was considered a heavily masculine-coded activity. In Russia, there is no such assignment, and my grandmother was left silently blinking in confusion, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘well, all cultures are different, I suppose...’

Do either of these things inherently have a gendered aspect? Of course not! But we assign gendered ideals to them anyway.

3) If gender is made up and constructed by society, then does that mean trans people aren’t real?

No.

Even if you agree that gender is a social construct, trans people are still real. TERFs don’t get a pass. Why? 

Because gender - as a social construct - still affects our everyday lives, dictates our social position in our community. Transitioning is still a thing that has to happen. The fact that you are NOT easily able to decide your own gender and are ostracized for wanting to transition, abused for dressing the way you want to be perceived, and bullied for wanting people to refer to you with different pronouns - all those are the effects of a social construct that has very REAL impact on our lives.

This is also why I dislike defining trans-ness by dysphoria. Because transgender people are not only their suffering - the suffering is coming from the outside!! Many trans people remember not being concerned about their gender identity in their childhood, because they did not yet perceive the world as being hostile to their desire to fulfil a specific role in society. The issues and self-hatred and dysphoria begins when they express wanting to be themselves - a life which they are forbidden from pursuing based on physical characteristics they were born with.

Does this mean we should try to remove gender from society? If we constructed it, we can deconstruct it, right?

Realistically, I highly doubt this is possible. Gender is so ingrained in our daily lives that it would be difficult. Nor, I would say, would it be necessary to achieve world peace. 

Having social groups - having gender - isn’t inherently a bad thing. The bad thing is when we limit those social groups to specific basic human rights, like voting, or when we forbid them from transitioning from one to another based on things that are out of their control. 

Also, I’m not saying genitals and secondary sexual characteristics aren’t real. Please don’t bother sending me that angry message, I’ll ignore it, I promise. 

But the concept of gender IS something we thought up and maintain and negotiate with each other to this very day. It’s not granted to us by a higher power, nor is it a constant, unchanging thing. It’s a part of the human experience and like everything, it has the potential to evolve - as a concept in our communal memory, as well as on an individual level, for people who feel they want to be perceived differently. 

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!

[tryingmybestpls]

Not A Team-Part 1: The Start

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Talks of death, talks of mental illness, mentions of feeling alone

Four Months Ago

"Y/N, do you think you can tell me why you're here?" The female therapist asks, clicking her one before setting it down on her notepad. The ex-hero shifts on the charcoal grey couch, wanting to be anywhere but here. While she knows that the room should be sort of calming, but it has the directly opposite affect on Y/N. Her stomach is twisting in knots and she feels like her breakfast is going to come up.

"I was told I had to come here." Y/N replies, looking down at her chipping burgundy nail polish. There was hardly any color left on her nails, but what was left was stubbornly holding on, a constant reminder of what she had painted them for.

"Yes, but why were you told to come here?" The doctor-whose name was escaping Y/N at the moment-pushes, shifting in her own seat. Y/N continues to stay silent, which makes the therapist sigh, "Look Y/N, you have to be here. The only way you are able to get out of this is when I am able to determine that you aren't a danger to yourself or others. The government needs to know that you are okay. It's apart of the Acco-"

"I-I messed up. I messed up bad." Y/N cuts her off, wanting to get this all over as quickly as possible.

It's the understatement of the century.  I messed up bad. That's what you say when you crash your car or get too drunk and text your ex. "Messing up bad" doesn't land you in court mandated therapy. No, Y/N hadn't "messed up bad", but she couldn't say what she had actually done. Even if she couldn't get the words out of her mouth, she was well aware if she had done. The smell of burning flesh used to be something she would wear like a perfume. Now it threatens to invade her nose, forcing her to go back to that night. Y/N tries her best to ignore it, but it's so hard to forget a smell like that.

"And when you say mess up-"

"I used my powers and people got hurt." Y/N answers, her hands getting hot. She glances down, trying to will away the heat and the fire that will surely follow. The therapist writes down a few more notes. Y/N finds herself hating the way the pen scratches at the paper, the sound almost deafening.

"Is it hard to control your powers?" The doctor asks, to which Y/N immediately shakes her head. She looks back up at the therapist, clasping her hands tightly together. Y/N is trying to look as normal and okay as possible, hoping that the therapist believes her little act.

"No. It-They're just slightly influenced by my emotions and I was just really emotional that day." Y/N replies as she feels the heat move away from her hands. She shifts on the couch, hating the attention she's getting right now, hating the way the therapist's eyes seem to notice every little movement and thought. The therapist writes that down, nodding.

"Why were you so emotional, Y/N?" The woman questions. The ex-Avenger looks back down at her hands, her wedding ring shimmers in the light that's streaming through the windows. Just seeing it makes her stomach sink, her throat tightening with that same emotion.

-

Now

Y/N has always hated silence.

It's the reason why she loved being in the city so much. It was constantly awake. There was never a moment of silence, no the city was always screaming and shouting. Y/N had welcomed the sound with open arms. Even when the Avengers moved out of the city and went upstate, it was still loud. Everyone kept different hours, everyone had different tasks so the base was never completely quiet. Life on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Nat wasn't quiet either. The five of them were a family, always constantly talking and bickering.

But now, she lived alone.

It was raining out today. The incessant pounding of the water droplets against the roof and the ground outside provided a much needed melody as Y/N moved around the house. Boxes still littered the rooms, precariously stacked on top of each other. She's been leaving here for a while, but some boxes she can't bring herself to unpack. For example, the large one in the middle of the living room that was labeled "WEDDING DRESS + BOUQUET" was now being used as an impromptu side table. Another one that was shoved into the second bedroom had "PICTURES FROM COMPOUND" scrawled on the side in sharpie. She doesn't think she'll ever open that one, not knowing how she handle all of those memories.

Y/N forces herself to pick up one of the boxes in the kitchen, this one labeled "WINTER CLOTHES". Usually, she would be outside tending to the garden (her therapist had told her that she needed a hobby to keep herself busy) or doing small tasks that needed to be done. However, because of the rain she was stuck inside with all the boxes that she had yet to unpack. The box is heavy, most of the weight most likely coming from her bulky winter coats.

Y/N had left the city she had loved so much, packing up her life to move to a small little house upstate. The city didn't feel like home anymore. Living in Steve's apartment without him felt wrong. It had never felt like home, didn't feel like she belonged there. They never lived at the apartment together, they didn't share any memories here. No, this place was all Steve. She was constantly surrounded by Steve-his things, his memory, his smell. It was suffocating, being surrounded by a man that had abandoned you.

Five years she was gone. Five years he had grieved and mourned over her and then-almost immediately when Y/N came back, Steve decided he didn't want to stay with her. He didn't tell her what he was going to do. Maybe he knew that if he had, she would've tried to talk him out of it. Y/N knows that she would've begged for him to stay with her. She was a. proud woman, but she wasn't proud enough to beg.

She had expected him to come back to her. Y/N thought he was going to return the stones and come back. She had thought they were going to be able to continue where they had left off, they were going to able to be together after all this time. They were finally going to be able to settle down and start that family that Steve had always hinted at. Get a house with a white picket fence and get a cute little dog. The fucking American Dream.

And then he had came back as an old man, with a gold wedding band that she hadn't given him on his finger. Steve gave Sam his shield and his legacy, no longer able to carry the mantle of Captain America. And Y/N-well Y/N's world just crumbled around her, her dreams shattering because Steve decided that he was going to move on.

She still loved him, she even still loves him now. It was impossible not to love him, even though he had left her behind. Y/N tried her best to hate him-told herself that Steve had betrayed her and that he didn't want her. She tried to tell herself that Steve didn't even love her, because if he had loved her why would he be so willing to abandon her, especially after he had just got her back? It didn't matter how much he hurt her or what he did to her, Y/N's heart would always belong to Steve whether she liked it or not.

Feeling incredibly conflicted, Y/N had forced herself to stay her by husband's side as he got sick. She didn't ask for an apology, even as Steve told her over and over that he was incredibly sorry for what he did. Y/N knew that he wasn't actually sorry because if he was actually sorry, he wouldn't have lived an entire life with Peggy. She wouldn't tell him how hurt she was or how looking at her wedding ring made her feel sick now. No, Y/N had played the role of the dutiful wife. She held his hand as his condition worsened and made sure his affairs were in order. Her feelings didn't matter as she tried to make his last days more comfortable.

And then he died.

Steve died, leaving her behind. She didn't dare talk about what had happened, what he had put her through. Y/N, even with all of the bullshit he had put her through, didn't want to tarnish his legacy. Steve Rogers was a hero and she wasn't going to be the one that ruined that for everyone. Even Sam tried to ask her if she was okay and she had just brushed it off, telling him that she was glad that Steve had picked him to carry on the legacy attached to the shield he had received.

Y/N had tried to carry on after Steve was buried, but it was hard. She was dropped into a world where all of her friends were gone, a world that had moved on without her. It was a world that she didn't belong in and she knew it. Y/N tried her best to return to normal, but she quickly learned that there was no such thing as the normal she was used to. Everything felt wrong, felt off in some minuscule way that made her unable to adapt to regular life again.

Y/N just kept bottling up her emotions, the pressure continuing to build up as the days went on. She was drowning it and there was no life preserver in sight. Everyone else went back to normal, going back to school or getting a job or finding ways to get busy. Y/N knows that she should've gotten help, that she should've tried talking to someone, but she didn't. Maybe a part of her didn't want to admit there actually was a problem, that Steve hadn't been the perfect husband and she felt abandoned by the man she married.

And that had led to her completely losing it.

Y/N would later be told that it was a nervous breakdown. A nervous breakdown. She felt-and still feels-like that name wasn’t what she experienced. It was so much more than just a nervous breakdown.

It had led to innocent people getting hurt, people that hadn't cause her pain, people that were most likely suffering just as much as she was. Her emotions were just too high and her powers-her powers decided to act on her impulses and her feelings. She had just been so God damn angry at Steve-

Y/N has to drop the box she was holding, her hands growing hot. She mutters curse words as she hears what sounds like glass shattering inside the box as she forces herself to calm down. She does the breathing exercise that the therapist had told her to do, attempting to rein in her emotions. Her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Y/N tries to pull the heat back inside of her, but it just won't go back in.

Her heart is beating fast in her chest as she quickly moves back into the living room, her feet carrying her to the front door. Her bright red hand grabs ahold of the doorknob, throwing the door open.

The rain is much louder now, making it almost hard to see with how much is coming down. It hits the ground violently, a cold wind trying its best to cool Y/N off, to no avail.

She quickly walked down the steps of the porch as the heat crawled up her arms, her temperature rising. Y/N knows she won't have the time to take off her clothes and she also knows that she's gone past the point of attempting to rein her powers in. Her hands catch first, bright yellow and orange flames quickly covering her skin, coating them until no skin remained.

The flame crawls over her body, burning away  her clothes before the flames take over her entire body. The rain turns into steam as soon as it hits her fire covered body, a cloud surrounding her. Y/N feels more relaxed as the flame licks at her skin, covering her from head to toe. It's easier to calm down after she does this, getting some of those stronger feelings released in order to return back to normal.

-

Hours later while she is in the middle of cooking, someone knocks on her door. Y/N sighs softly, putting her slotted spoon back down on the counter, quickly wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before she opens the door.

Rhodey stands before her, dressed in far more causal clothing that he usually is in. Y/N's eyes are immediately drawn to the thick manila folder in clutched tightly in his hands. He gives her a small smile. Y/N knows that he isn't just here to visit. No one ever comes to visit.

"Hey." Rhodey says gently, almost as if he's testing the waters. They haven't seen each other in a few months, not since the events that had led her to moving all the way out of here, not since she got out of the psych ward she had voluntarily gone to after her accident. Voluntarily is the wrong word here. The US Government had all but strong armed her into going.

"Hi. Uh-Here, come in. It's cold out." Y/N responds, opening the door a little wider. Rhodey's smile grows as he steps inside. He stops for a moment, looking around at her home. It's small, almost more of a cottage than an actual home. He takes note of the lack of any personal items, no pictures out on display, no tchotchkes. Boxes still litter the living room even though she's lived here for a few months.

"It looks good. Real cozy." Rhodey comments as Y/N shuts the door. She nods, giving him a polite smile as she moves past him to go back into the kitchen.

"Why'd you come by? I know it isn't for dinner." Y/N cuts straight to the point. She doesn't even bother looking at him as she checks to see if her pasta is ready. Rhodey's smile falters for a moment while she strains the pasta. He clears his throat, quickly regaining his composure.

"I-Well I stopped by because I wanted to talk to you about something." Rhodey walks into her kitchen, leaning against the counter as she pours the pasta back into the now empty pot. Y/N holds out her hand for the folder, which he immediately hands over. She flicks through it, seeing the plans for an exhibit honoring her husband. Rhodey shifts slightly as he sees her eyebrows knit together. As she goes through the pictures, she can see that it wasn't in the preplanning phase. They had their exhibit ready, all done up with a fresh paint job.

She's seen the exhibit before. Y/N had teased Steve constantly over it, thinking it was the funniest thing that he had a whole exhibit dedicated to him, a man who couldn't even use a cell phone. Steve told her once that he didn't mind the teasing, told her that it was one of his favorite things about her.

But that was then and this is now.

"The Smithsonian wants to expand their exhibit on Steve. I don't exactly see why this has anything to do with me." Y/N's eyes catch on a picture of her and Steve at their wedding, big stupid smiles stretched across their faces. The page notes possibly names for this part of the exhibit, all of them making that emotion crawl up into her throat.

"They want you to speak at the opening. You and Sam." Rhodey answers, watching as her face drops. Y/N closes the folder, still looking down at it. The papers suddenly feels like they're a million pounds, weighed down so many memories. For a second, Rhodey gets his hopes up, thinking that she is actually considering it.

"Get someone else to do it." Y/N tells him, handing the folder back over to the man. Her voice is a lot colder than it was before and her friend could practically see Y/N building her walls back up. Rhodey sighs, holding it for a moment before setting it down on the counter.

"They want people who knew him, Y/N."

"Then get someone else because I sure as hell didn't." She snaps, the fire on the stove growing. Y/N quickly shuts off the burners, shaking her head, "Ask Barnes, ask literally anyone else."

Rhodey opens his mouth before shutting it. He didn't know how to respond. He knew that his friend was upset, but as soon as Steve did what he did, she had shut herself off. Rhodey had tried and tried to get through to her and after what she had did...Rhodey knew she was going through a lot and that Y/N wouldn't tell him or anyone else how she was feeling. She just wasn't that type of person, never has been.

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat that threaten to swell up, serving Rhodey a plate full of food without him asking if he wants one. She ignores all the memories that flash in her mind, trying to keep it together. She hands the plate to Rhodey without saying a single word before serving herself . Y/N grabs them both drinks and napkins, moving around the kitchen in complete silence. They both sit down at her little table, the only sounds being the two of them breathing and their forks hitting their plates.

"How are you doing?" Rhodey breaks the silence, looking across at her. Y/N pushes her food around her plate, shrugging her shoulders.

"Doing better. I go to therapy once a week like I'm supposed to. It's-It's a lot easier to breathe out here." She replies, setting her fork down. Rhodey gives her a small smile.

"I'm glad you're doing better. I'm sorry I haven't been checking in on you. I know you wanted space and some time." He says softly, to which Y/N shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. She knew that Rhodey felt guilty over her situation, but the man has enough on his plate. He doesn't need to adding 'taking care of Y/N' to his long list of tasks.

"You've been busy. There's a lot of rebuilding that needs to be done and you shouldn't have to be checking in on me." She looks up at him attempting to give him some peace of mind, "I'm doing better, I promise."

It wasn't the biggest lie she's ever told. She was doing better, but she still wasn't herself. Although, Y/N didn't know if she could ever return to being herself pre-Blip. Before all of this shit, she had Steve to lean on. Now...well now she didn't have anyone, and she didn't want to burden any of her friends with her issues. They had their own shit they were going through. They didn't need to deal with hers.

Later on, long after dinner had finished and the rain decided that it was done working for the day, Rhodey stood up from his spot on the couch. Y/N smiled warmly at him, walking with him to the front door. When they step outside onto the porch, the night air is cool and calm, the lovely smell of rain surrounding them.

"Y/N, I just wanted to say that I didn't want to ask you. I know-I know you're still healing. They told me I had to ask, but I didn't want to. I just want you to know that." Rhodey suddenly announces, turning towards her. Both of them were barely illuminated by the porch lights and the light spilling out from her front door. Y/N nodded, that lump in her throat returning.

"I know. I know, Rhodey." She replies, her voice cracking slightly. Y/N stands there for a moment, both of them looking at each other before she decides to throw her arms round him. Her friend is a little surprised by the action, but hugs her back happily. Y/N shuts her eyes for moment, resting her chin on his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, wondering if this is the first hug she's had since Steve's funeral. They pull part, once again looking at each other.

"You take care of yourself okay? I'm going to try to come and visit more, but I need to take care of yourself." Rhodey tells her, giving her a kind smile, "And don't be afraid to text, okay? You can tell me about anything, it doesn't even have to be important."

"I'll be sure to text you all about the growth of my sunflowers and whether or not I am capable of fixing a sink." She teases, which makes the man laugh.

"That's all I ask. It was nice seeing you Y/N." Rhodey tells her, making his way down the steps of his porch. Y/N leans against one of the posts, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It was nice seeing you too." Y/N responds as she watches him walk over to his car. He gives her a small wave before climbing inside. She stays on the porch until he drives away, not moving until she can no longer see his tail lights.

Y/N relaxes her shoulders, sighing softly as she turns on her heel and walks back inside. The ex-hero shuts and locks her door. She walks back into the kitchen, gathering the discarded and used plates. As she is putting them in the sink, her eyes land on the manila folder resting on the counter.

Y/N knows that Rhodey most likely deliberately left it behind. She reaches out and picks it up again, a picture slipping out and falling into the floor. Y/N bends over to grab it, holding it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She flips it over, being greeted with the sight of her husband smiling back at her. Y/N knows the picture well-it's one she took.

She finds herself smiling back at him, her finger tracing over the image. She took it after a mission. Steve's hair is a mess from his helmet, his face dirty and he has a split lip. The shield is propped up in the seat beside him and he's just smiling at her. He looks incredibly tired, but he's still smiling at her. This is the Steve she fell in love with, the Steve that had promised to give the world. The one she had seen herself raising a family with.

Y/N leans against the counter, resting the photograph beside the open folder. She flicks through it again, her eyes studying the exhibit dedicated to her and her relationship with Steve Rogers. 'Two Heroes United' was the name they ended up on. It makes tears brim in her eyes as she looks over all of the pictures that make up this part of the exhibit. While normally she didn't like sharing her personal relationships with the world, this felt okay somehow, it felt almost cathartic.

She shuts the folder, taking another glance at it. Her finger traces the embossed Smithsonian logo on the cover of it. If she did it, she wouldn't be doing it alone. If Sam could do it, it couldn't be that bad.

Right?