#if you don’t recognise them as such you might also be ‘a youth’

[rowanthestrange]

I like Martha, I do, but people complaining Ruby hasn’t shown enough character flaws in the first two episodes like if you took “was willing to put up with his shit for way too long grrl” away from Martha she wouldn’t be so flat that she’d disappear if you looked at her side-on.

[ap0wersstories]

Charlotte and Elaine: Corporate Sluts Part 1

Important Note*

The following story is 100% fiction with zero real world relevance, non-consensual sex/sexual assault or underage sex of any kind is wrong and should never be accepted. If you are considering or have committed such an offence I suggest you get serious psychiatric help.

=============================

Charlotte and Elaine were trying to climb the corporate ladder. Charlotte was 24, ambitious, spoilt, and never afraid of acting a little slutty to get her own way. She often teased men simply to get ahead and then would drop them the moment they were no longer of any use. Elaine meanwhile was 21 and while aware of her sexual ways, she was naive to the many dirty thoughts that men had about her. She often dressed in clothes that showed off her slim long legs, and knew that there were men she worked with who she had wrapped around her little finger. 

They were both worthy of the leers and looks from men; South East Asian, slender, gorgeous faces, and happy to show everything off. They were absolutely beautiful and they knew it. They both joined their current marketing company quite recently and were keen to make an impression on clients, they knew that client’s ultimately held the power, so make them happy and you make lots of money In bonuses. They were competitive and eager to please, so when a new multi billion dollar client came on board they were both falling over themselves to get close to them. 

Their manager quite obviously knew this, hell they’d tried using their womanly prowess on him, he was getting sick of their attitude and despite their keenness to impress they were too focused on acting like sluts than actually doing their jobs properly. But he knew how he could secure this contract for a really long time. Neither of the girls had been around long enough to hear about the stories from higher ups at various companies, stories that could truly shock. Most of them centred around the high powered men (and sometimes women) of companies having sex parties that include unwilling participants being gang raped and abused. This company happened to be one of those companies that had these parties on a regular basis. 

The manager called them both in at the same time and standing up he spoke, “Charlotte, Elaine I’ve been noticing you doing everything you can to get close to the latest clients from South West Tech. Well here’s your big opportunity, they’re having an event tonight that I want you both to represent us at. I will be speaking with them afterwards to find out which of you impressed the most, whoever they choose will be given the bonus you’ve both been fighting for. Make sure you’re dressed to impress, you can both leave early to get ready. Be at this address at this time, not earlier and definitely not late. Don’t embarrass us!”

He say down taking his gaze off them and they knew there wasn’t anymore to be said. They left the office obediently to go home and get ready, both of them excited for the potential to impress and land a big bonus! They didn’t say anything to each other as they left, they didn’t disliked each other but they also recognised that they were in competition and in their minds had to do whatever it took. 

Charlotte got home thinking she might have the advantage with a few extra years on her, sometimes youthful exuberance could be annoying where she felt her professionalism set her apart. She found a really nice white dress number that hugged her curves perfectly and showed off her great form. It had 3/4 sleeves on it and while she felt it was professional enough, she thought it would send the old men wild.  

Elaine went for a slightly different approach, she’d heard that a lot of these men were kinda perverts and she wanted them thinking with their dicks and not their heads. She knew Charlotte would be a better professional than her through experience, but she wasn’t interested in giving up this chances at a fat bonus. She chose to wear a black top that opened slightly down the middle and showed off her slim neckline and shoulders, while also choosing a short white skirt that had remnants of what a schoolgirl might wears. To complete that sultry sexy look she wore knee high white socks with nice high heels. She knew she would turn the men wild!

They turned up at the address both 1min before the agreed time, both of them thought it strange they were so specific but then they thought it might be a test. They arrived at the door looking at each other, their mood was tense but again there wasn’t any hate, just competitiveness. Charlotte spoke first, “you’re looking really pretty Elaine, dragged out some of your schoolgirl days clothes?” It was a compliment but clearly backhanded, Elaine wasn’t going to back down though, “yeah that’s right Charlotte, all my school stuff still fits me. Your school days were such a long time ago, surely none of it even exists anymore. Your looking very….um..nice as well. The dress looks very mature.” Again a backhanded compliment designed to make sure the other person knew it was game on tonight!

Charlotte didn’t have a chance to respond, the door opened abruptly and there was a man in a black suit. He looked them up and down, “you two Charlotte and Elaine?” They nodded, and he stepped aside letting them enter. They went down some stairs so they were going into what appeared to be a basement club or place of some kind. They went through several doors that required key cards, code locks, and fingerprint identification. This was clearly an exclusive place to be invited. Finally they got through the final set of doors, another with a keycard pass, and it opened out to a semi-dark circular room. It had the feeling of an underground cult or secret society, there were only men in there, without counting the girls estimated about 40-50 men, all of them aged 45+. As soon as they walked in they felt the gaze of all of the men on them, it was like they were undressing them with their eyes. The man that collected them lead them to the centre of the room and almost immediately the men all circled around them. 

The mood in the room was something that neither girl felt comfortable with, it was a mood of anticipation and excitement and with them at the centre of it they began to look at each other concerned. One man from the group stepped forward, Charlotte and Elaine recognised him as one of the executives they had tried to impress. “Welcome girls, welcome! Your arrival has been greatly anticipated! Take a look around at every man here…” slowly they gazed around then looked back at the man, “because every man here, will be fucking your brains out tonight!” That final comment cemented the feeling both of them were having, they were in a lot of trouble! “It was so nice of you to dress so beautiful and slutty for us, but then you won’t be wearing those clothes for much longer. You wanted to impress us, you have and if it’s any consolation your participation tonight will ensure our company remains your companies top client for a long time to come!”

He was done talking, the anticipation was reaching fever pitch, he clicked his fingers and straight away two men grabbed both girls from behind pinning their arms back two other men then turned up right in front of the girls with scissors. Before they started though the girls started protesting and fighting back, “stop please!” “No, no, no!” “Please let us go!!” “We’ll do anything, we won’t tell, please just let us go!!” Before the men with the scissors started the executive stood up to them and slapped both girls individually and hard. “You listen to me you slutty little cunts, we’ll enjoy your screams, you’re begging for mercy, and you’re moans as you give in. But let’s get one thing straight right now, disobedience will not be tolerated. Fight back, bite down on cocks, saying “no, stop, or don’t do that” will only result in punishment. And believe me we have no issues about punishing you, we have very skilled people at delivering abuse and torture that you have never imagined. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”

As he backed away the men with the scissors went to work, the man working on Charlotte started cutting it from the middle in front of her pussy and up. It was a light and easily cut fabric once he got to the top it flapped away from her body uselessly revealing her white bra and panties. He then pulled the dress off her and the man holding her arms helped disrobe her so she only had her bra and panties left for dignity. For Elaine she obviously was wearing far more revealing and simple to disrobe clothing, the man with the scissors didn’t actually need them. He simply ripped her black top open and with the help of the man behind yanked it off her slight frame, while he then pulled down her short skirt letting it drop to the floor uselessly.  Elaine was wearing red laced silk bra and panties. Both women were in bra and panties. The almost in unison both men with scissors cut away their bras strand by strand exposing their perfect breasts to an almost audible hush from the horny men surrounding them. Then they seductively dragged the scissors over their breasts and waist, finally getting to their crotches. They rack poked the ends of the scissors into their pussies through the panties, and then together they cut away each strip letting them drop to the floor. As soon as both pussies were revealed the group of men crowded them even more and were audibly grunting and groaning, they each wanted to devour these girls. The men with the scissors then put them to the side and with the help of the men holding the girls arms back they picked the naked ladies up with their legs spread and pussies totally on display. 

The crowd of men were now on the women, hands were feeling all over their young silky bodies; the hands rubbed, massaged, and groped their bodies. Their tits were constantly being groped hard, and their nipples flicked, sucked, teased, and every so often pinched. Hands were rubbing up and down her legs, and naturally it didn’t take long for those hands to make their way to their pussies. Finger after finger entered them; poking, prodding, stroking, and finger fucking. The girls were moaning and sobbing at the abuse, one of the men as a humiliation picked up both panties and after rubbing them on his cock he shoved them in their mouths, muffling their cries and moans. Man after man was given their chance to use his fingers on them, before two men that appeared to be late 50s even early 60s stepped up and buried their faces in their crotches licking then. The girls both arched their backs as the men stimulated them in a way they’d never experienced before, they moaned as the men got their pussies so wet that they couldn’t help but feel their orgasms building. Their hands were dangling down but strangely instinctively they found themselves holding each others hands as their bodies built to a massive climax, squeezing down on the others hands they each let out a massive, “mmmmmmffffff” into their panty gags and twitched as the men delivered their first orgasms. They still cried at the humiliation of having control of their bodies taken away from them, they twitched as their bodies came down from cumming. The men pulled their heads out of their crotches, their pussies sopping set now. 

The men holding the girls brought them over to tables that had leg and wrist bindings attached to them, the two tables were set up so both heads were next to each other. They were strapped down, even though there was nowhere to go and nothing they could do. The executive stepped up, “you enjoyed your orgasms didn’t you girls, well it’s our turn now!” The executive pulled his pants down revealing his hard cock, it was probably on the larger side but not massive, “I think I’m going to take…the younger one!” He stepped up to Elaine and rubbing his meat against her pussy feeling the heat coming off her, he shoved his cock in brutally, her pussy was still wet and super inviting. She wasn’t tight like a virgin but she was still a great fuck, he grabbed her hips and began thrusting hard into her. For Charlotte another man stepped up, he appeared to be in his 60s, “I’ve been a board member since the age of 30, these nights are my favourite nights of the year! You might be the prettiest fuck ever though!” He rubbed his old wrinkled cock against her young 24yo pussy and shoved it in, immediately he began thrusting his meat inside of her while crouching over and sucking on her gorgeous nipples. 

Two men then showed up beside each of their faces pumping their middle aged cocks, one of them said menacingly, “remember, you bite down and we WILL punish you!!” They pulled out the panties from their mouths and almost immediately they both shoved their cocks deep in the girls mouths causing a mixture of gags and muffled moans. The men fucking their pussies were pounding with such force that every thrust was making their tits bounce. Not wanting to feel left out other men had started groping and feeling their soft silky bodies and groping their tits. Their hands were in such a position that men could access them to help jerk them off. Their bodies were nothing but play toys for these men to use as they pleased. The men fucking the women were upping their speed as they felt their first orgasms coming, they grunted and groaned like animals possessed knowing their balls were about to explode. They both seemed to sense the others timing and almost at the exact same time they cried out in pure ecstasy, “FUUUUUUUCK YESSSSSSS!!!!!” “FUCKING TAKE OUR CUM YOU FUCKING SLUTS!!!!!” And with that both girls pussies were flooded with their rapists cum, the executive was in heaven as his cock continued squirting his semen into the 21yo cunt. “FUCK YES, THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE BORN FOR!!!! YOU’RE FUCKTOYS, NOTHING ELSE!! IT’S TIME YOU LEARNED YOUR PLACE IN THE WORLD IS ON THE END OF A MAN’S COCK!!!”

The girls sobbed as they felt the men squirt more and more cum into them, finally though they both began to go soft and they eventually pulled out with the girls feeling cum dribbling out of their pussies. They weren’t given any rest though as the men that were using their mouth’s immediately switched places and filled their cum soaked pussies with their cocks. Two other men immediately filled their mouths as well ensuring their gang rape would be absolutely constant. Charlotte and Elaine had no idea but there was a hierarchy to the men taking their turns. The executives and the board got first crack at using the women based on their rank, age, and standing in the company. Each man would step to the girls starting with their and use them hard as if they’re a fleshlight while their colleagues brutally raped the girls pussies. Their bodies were in a constant state of usage and they were never afforded rests. The girls bodies continued to betray them time and time again as they couldn’t help but orgasm to their brutal gang rape. Man after man stepped up and raped their young fertile pussies sending load after load of cum into them. The men constantly hurled foul abuse at the girls calling them “fucktoys”, “whores”, “sluts”, “cunts”, and saying “we’re gonna rape you until we can’t get hard!”

The girls had no choice but to lay there and take it as the men took their turns raping their sloppy cum filled pussies. While this was going on the men not fucking they were getting so turned on that they were busting loads into condoms, put aside for later use. Finally after hours of brutal use of their battered pussies the executive put a halt to proceedings. “Alright everyone, let’s take a breather!” He walked up and inspected the two women, they were panting trying to catch their breath, their pussies were both swollen and cum drained out of them. Over the course of that period they’d run a train of 23 cocks on Elaine and 22 on Charlotte. They were totally exhausted and totally ruined, cum coated every part of their insides. Both women were convinced they must be pregnant. The executive was impressed, “great stuff men, their pussies will never be the same again. I think they were actually enjoying having a train run on their pussies! So the question is…are we ready for round 2?!” The men cheered loud, their sexual frustration and lust would not be satisfied by simply fucking their pussies!

Some men undid their bindings and dragged them over to two u-shaped metal poles that were stuck to the ground. There were steps that they were placed on before rope was used to bind them bending over the poles in a semi-crouched posture, Charlotte and Elaine felt excess cum dribble down their legs. Their minds were so broken they couldn’t imagine what more was to come. The executive and same board member as before stepped up to answer that question, it was the board member that spoke first, “you’ve had your warm up sluts, now comes the best part. All those men that just raped your sloppy battered pussies, they’re going to do it all again ON YOUR ASSES!!!” The men all cheered while the girls cried and sobbed, with Charlotte meekly begging for mercy, “please no! I can’t take any more!” This enraged the board member, “YOU FUCKING SLUT!!! YOU WERE WARNED ABOUT DISOBEDIENCE, NOW YOU GET TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS!!! AND LET THIS BE A LESSON TO BOTH OF YOU!!!”

The board member went over to a table which had all the tools for torture they could possibly want, on this occasion the board member chose a bamboo cane. He tapped it on her legs, then her tits, then her damaged sensitive pussy. Then taking a step back he cracked it hard on her perfect ass cheeks, Charlotte felt a surge in adrenaline at this abuse, “ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” The board member cracked again, “DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TELL ME TO STOP, OR I’LL HIT YOU MORE AND HARDER!!!!” With the knowledge she couldn’t tell him to stop she just screamed and sobbed. Elaine was tied down that she couldn’t see anything but she heard it all and could see the pain in Charlotte’s eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. The board member switched tactics in his words, “BEG US TO RAPE YOUR ASSES!!! BOTH OF YOU BEG US, TELL US YOU WANT OUR COCKS IN YOUR ASSES!!!” He whacked another stroke on Charlotte and followed up with a strike on Elaine, Charlotte just wanted the pain to stop so I’m her sobs she said, “please I’m begging you rape my ass!!!” Elaine wasn’t interested in getting another cane to the ass, “please rape me!!! I want your cocks in my ass!!!!”

Both men stepped up and dribbled lube onto their ass cheeks and onto their cocks. They roughly rubbed the lube so it was worked into their assholes then pressed the tips of their cocks into their asses and forced them inside the girls. Both girls screamed with renewed vigour as the men forced their cocks inside their asses, neither of them had experienced anal sex before so they were both anal virgins, just as both men wanted! Their cocks slid further and further inside with the lube aiding them in their pursuit of getting as deep as possible. The board member was first, his wrinkled cock buried inside Charlotte as much as he wanted he used both hands to simultaneously spank both ass cheeks that were showing the lines of abuse he’d inflicted on her using the cane. Charlotte jerked and screamed at the abuse, her asshole clenching down on his cock as he spanked her ass cheeks. He then started shifting his weight moving his cock inside her asshole, “mmmmm yeah baby! Take my Cocks in your ass!!”

The executive had also reached a satisfactory point inside Elaine’s pristine ass, he grabbed her hair so it was almost like a pony tail and used it for leverage as her begun thrusting inside of her. For Elaine she was in hell, her ass felt like it was being split in two and she was hyperventilating at the thought of prolonged ass rape by these men. She wasn’t given much of a chance to focus on those thoughts as the same two men that first used their mouth as before stepped up. The hierarchy continued. They forced their cocks in their mouths muffling the screams as they gagged. The executive and the board member were really starting to get momentum on her ass and were properly ass fucking them now, every thrust designed to get deeper and harder. Finally the board member felt his cock ready to explode for a second time and rammed it in as cum shot out of his cock and into her ass. “FUUUUUUUUCK!!!! TAKE MY CUM IN YOUR ASS YOU SLUT!!!!”

The executive followed suit immediately afterwards, witnessing the board members abuse on Charlotte sending him over the edge, he grunted like an animal as his cock exploded cum inside of Elaine, “FUCK YES CUNT, FEEL MY CUM FILLING YOU UP!!! Both men continued to squirt cum inside of the women as every twitch would squeeze down on their cocks. Finally the pulled out and as their cocks came out the women felt  the cool air enter inside their gaping asses just as they closed. They weren’t staying closed for long though as the train of men continued their system of one man on the mouth and one man in the ass. 

The rest of the men were equally as abusive to the girls, spanking them, pulling their hair, writing filthy degrading messages on them in marker pen. They even got out nipple clamps and attached them to their hanging tits with weights attached. Every thrust causing more pain on their abused tits. Their asses were used brutally and constantly, every man giving the women an ass creampie, meaning cum was filling up their insides and leaking out. Finally after another few hours of constant abuse the final man deposited his cum inside Elaine and for the first time since their last break there was not a cock inside of them. The girls were practically catatonic, barely conscious. The men who’d gang raped them for hours that night stood proudly over their victims knowing their were ruined piece of meat now. The executive stepped up, “well done men! These girls are used up rapetoys now! I’m actually impressed they’re still conscious!!! We’ll be sending out the link to be able to watch all of the action and relive it all later tonight, be sure to keep it secure. As for these two, probably best to say your goodbyes as it’s unlikely you’ll ever come across them again, except maybe in future underground porn vids!”

The men all laughed, a few came over and gave the girls spanks on the ass, slaps on the face, and spitting at them. The girls were totally and utterly broken. The executive gave someone a nod and the girls were taken down from their cruel bindings, they’d been in that position for hours. They were dumped on a soft-mat like from a gymnasium, barely moving and breathing. The executive walked up to them, “you think this might be the end? Well it’s not, I’ve got some clients of my own coming and they will make sure you’re treated exactly like you should be. 

With the final comment they were dragged off to a cell where they lay there recovering. The stench of cum and sex all over them, they wished they could just roll over and die. 

[draculasstrawhat]

I feel like, if you’re new to a space and want to set yourself up as someone who pushes for diversity, (and actually want to make meaningful change, rather than just be an annoyance) you’ve got to do three things:

Meaningfully engage with that space’s previous moves towards diversity, and its internal diversity.

Be positive and proactive, rather than pass-ag or confrontational.

Be really specific about what you’re asking for, and what you feel is lacking.

This is more of a vent because I’m currently dealing with a… somewhat difficult… person on a project I’m involved with, but having been the ~*diversity hire*~ I do have a bit of experience here.

Point 1) means actually looking at what that space has done previously, and who else is involved in it.

So, if you’re the first openly queer person involved in this project at the organisational level, maybe check to see if the rest of the team are from other marginalised groups who also lack representation. There might be other struggles here of which you’re not aware.

And, depending on what the project in question is, see how they’ve engaged with people of your marginalisation in the past, and make sure you involve yourself in any ongoing efforts in that area - even if they’re not exactly what you want.

Acting as though you’re the first person who has ever tried to push for diversity of this (or any) kind is just going to put people’s backs up - especially if they HAVE historically done work in this area. You’re going to look like an idiot if you start campaigning for your local event space to host a drag night, if they’ve been running one for six months.

And if your local event space is hosting a drag night, when you want them to host a queer youth club? (Or vice versa) you will sound much more convincing when you argue for the one if you’ve actively supported the other.

If you can’t bring yourself to get involved, certainly don’t be hostile and critical about how, ACTUALLY, you want queerness that isn’t just ENTERTAINMENT, or whatever. Recognise the effort being made and use it as the basis to push for what you want.

2) This is about participating, taking ownership, and not being a pain in the arse. Most people are broadly well intentioned, but they will all have their own pet causes, and full todo lists of their own. This is about being on their side, and getting them on yours.

Eg. Putting together a collection of essays? Saying, “I feel it would be really important to get a disabled perspective on this. Do we have any names who might be willing to contribute?” gets a lot more mileage than, “Er, could we maybe get some disabled writers in this?”

If possible, offering a solution enclosed in that criticism really helps, too. Eg, “I feel like [specific named person] would give a have some really interesting thoughts on how this intersects with disability. Could we see if they’d be willing to do something?”

(Yes, the latter is a bigger ask in terms of effort and research, but if you can do it, it’s great.)

3) Is really simple. Vague statements of “diversity” on the submission form on your website help no one. If you want to encourage Black applicants, then you need to say that, as well as pushing for it in more practical ways.

Similarly, at an organisational level, don’t say, “Can we make this programming more diverse?” if what you mean is that they haven’t booked any trans women. Say, “I notice that all the trans acts we’ve booked are trans masc - are there any trans femme performers we could invite?”

Just… help yourself, y’know. If you actually want to have a positive effect, the more helpful you are and the fewer backs you put up, the better.

[writing-for-life]

We Are Made Of Star Matter

A couple of days ago, this post flitted across my screen, and it made me think about a piece I wrote three years ago. So I just thought I’d share some personal thoughts about autumn, aging, mortality and being connected. And I’m looking at it now and recognise that there are repeating themes in there that have always resonated with me, even when I was a lot younger. Plus, for my Sandfam: There's a lot in there that resonates in that way, too...

And don’t worry, it’s not depressing. At least I hope so…

Autumn

My daughter has started doing divisions at school. Recently, on our walk back home through a very autumnal park with fallen leaves everywhere, we talked about the seasons, and how many parts of a whole each of them are individually.

»You know, humans go through seasons in their lives, too. If you assumed someone would be 80 before they died, how long would every season of their life be?«

»20 years?« She does a quick calculation in her head. »Which means I’m still in spring!«

»Pretty much so. And where am I?«

She does the numbers again. »Autumn.«

Autumn

That season when nature moves from growth and abundance to going more inward and protecting its very essence. When the outer signs and displays of renewal and fertility begin to whither away…

It would be straightforward to feel a bit uneasy about that transition. And at times, I do. I look in the mirror and see those signs: The facial features that change. The body that transitions. The change of colours (more and more greys). The daily physical pain that’s been around for quite a few years, but that I rarely talk about.

A body that slowly but surely prepares for winter. Nothing can change that, no matter how much we wish for it. No matter how much the performing arts glorify youth. No matter how sexist, misogynistic and deeply rooted in patriarchy that is. No matter how much we might lament the visible transition, or even try to stop it outwardly. We can’t. The body will do its thing, just like nature does.

It’s not a binary one of two things: Embrace it or try to escape it. It’s both, and everything in between. There are days when I wonder where time went, and what the flip happened.

However, there are as many days when I can see and appreciate the beauty of autumn. The change of colours, the giving back to where I once was and came from. But also the turning inward, the concentrating on what really matters, the getting better at preserving energy instead of incessantly expending it, the shedding of what no longer serves me. And there is goodness and beauty in that. A sense of gratitude for not having to put on the often loud display of spring and summer that’s all about, you know, proving that you have something going for you. That you’re eligible, that you are good material for the survival of the species, whatever that means individually (because it can be interpreted in many ways that go far beyond reproduction)…

At the end of the day, mortality stares us in the face once we move from summer to autumn. But isn’t that strange — it’s always been there, not just when we transition into midlife and beyond. Just like the heatwave in summer that destroys life, or the floods, or the unexpected touch of frost in spring that ends what has just begun. If I were to share the fate of the last two generations of women in my family, none of whom lived much past 60 (or didn’t even reach it), I would not even be in autumn. I would have reached the winter of my life by now.

Pánta Rheî

And maybe that’s what’s truly important. Appreciating the beauty of movement, of ebb and flow, of impermanence. The fleeting moments, no matter how much we want to hold on to them — we have to let them go, just like the tree lets go of its leaves.

However, maybe we sometimes wish time stood still, if just for a moment. Time, that arbitrary human concept that is more about perception than anything else. And yet, it’s visible, graspable, and inescapable.

I recently watched Midnight Mass (»What a strange change of subject«, you might think, but bear with me). I was apprehensive about it because I usually don’t like horror, but this one surprised me because it had many very deeply philosophical moments I didn’t expect (NB: I am not religious in any shape or form, maybe what most people would call an agnostic atheist. I can see why religious people might not like it, or might even find it offensive).

There is a beautiful moment when Erin talks about dying I’d like to share with you (you might not want to read on if you feel it would be a spoiler).

We Are Made Of Star Matter

»Myself. My self. That’s the problem. That’s the whole problem with the whole thing. That word, self. That’s not the word. That’s not right, that isn’t…

How did I forget that? When did I forget that?

The body stops a cell at a time, but the brain keeps firing those neurons. Little lightning bolts, like fireworks inside, and I thought I’d despair or feel afraid, but I don’t feel any of that. None of it. Because I’m too busy. I’m too busy in the moment, remembering.

I remember that every atom in my body was forged in a star. This matter, this body is mostly empty space after all, and solid matter. It’s just energy vibrating very slowly while there is no me. There never was. The electrons of my body mingle and dance with the electrons of the ground below me and the air I’m no longer breathing. And I remember there is no point where any of that ends and I begin.

I remember I am energy. Not memory. Not self. My name, my personality, my choices, all came after me. I was before them and I will be after, and everything else is pictures, picked up along the way. Fleeting little dreamlets printed on the tissue of my dying brain. And I am the lightning that jumps between. I am the energy firing the neurons, and I’m returning. Just by remembering, I’m returning home. And it’s like a drop of water falling back into the ocean, of which it’s always been a part.

All things… a part. You, me and my little girl, and my mother and my father, everyone who’s ever been, every plant, every animal, every atom, every star, every galaxy, all of it. More galaxies in the universe than grains of sand on the beach. And that’s what we’re talking about when we say ‘God’. The cosmos and its infinite dreams. We are the cosmos dreaming of itself. It’s simply a dream that I think is my life, every time. But I’ll forget this. I always do. I always forget my dreams. But now, in this split-second, in the moment I remember, the instant I remember, I comprehend everything at once. There is no time. There is no death. Life is a dream. It’s a wish. Made again and again and again and again and again and again and on into eternity. And I am all of it. I am everything. I am all. I am that I am.«

Whether you are comfortable with this perspective or not, it is hard not to acknowledge some simple truths behind it. During every season of our lives, but especially during autumn and winter. Maybe it’s just not the truth we want to hear when we are focused on the self. We all are to a degree, and I think that’s also natural. We seek meaning. But isn’t that meaning there by default?

Maybe, just maybe, if we remembered the complicated simplicity behind it all, we would feel more at home. Within ourselves, but also in the world, and with each other.

Alas, “Life is a dream. It’s a wish.” …

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Can I get a treat with hedgehog Curumo (and Aiwendil too, if you like)?🧡

👻Treat👻

We're really in it now, aren't we? @cilil has requested a treat!!!!

It's my honour and pleasure, of course, to supply this!

Here are 920 words of sweetness (and a bit of sad, for spice)

Warnings: there are insects in this story. Also Curumo is a hedgehog...ask Cílil lol

<3

Curumo was literally and figuratively speechless once more—the indignity of being confined to the puny body of a hedgehog was too much to bear for someone as proud as he was, but to be pushed away gently but resolutely from the big, orange treat Aiwendil was attacking enthusiastically with a small, sharp knife was a new, utterly devastating low, nevertheless.

“You’ll be sick, you dummy,” Aiwendil cooed softly and lifted his most beloved into his cupped hand to bring him to the level of his disgustingly indulgent, warm eyes. “And I don’t want you to be unhappy tonight.”

Sniffling expressively to make sure his vexation was noticed, Curumo rolled up with a huff while pointedly facing away from that loving gaze. It was unbearable—this whole ordeal was so humiliating!

“Don’t be like that, love,” Aiwendil pleaded. “I promise that I have not forgotten you.”

Despite being piqued himself, Curumo was nevertheless careful not to hurt Aiwendil’s tender palm with his spiky dismay.

Come to think of it, his present form might have been well-chosen after all, he had to admit—he had ever been a thorny fellow who had inadvertently harmed those who had had his back out of sheer misery and misplaced pride.

Throwing one suspicious look over what had once been his shoulder—his current, laughably round shape did not really allow for such anatomical distinctions anymore—he gave an inquisitive squeak, confident that Aiwendil would go on blabbering merrily even though Curumo was patently unable to answer.

“You’ll see,” Aiwendil chuckled. “Now, would you please let me finish carving the pumpkin without throwing another hissy fit? The sooner I’m done with this, the faster you’ll get your surprise.”

Curumo vaguely remembered that there had been a celebration on this night, but his memories of his previous life were slowly fading—drifting in and out of focus—and he was convinced that this festivity had never been of much importance anyway.

While humming an old song, learned at the feet of Yavanna, The Bountiful, Aiwendil carefully placed Curumo on a richly embroidered cushion and took up his blade again.

A pleasant, companionable silence fell around them as the beautiful, ever-youthful Maia reverentially modified the fruit of his Lady’s labour to take on a more celebratory appearance and his eternal friend dozed in the fragrant heat of their little hut.

Aiwendil went by another name now, and he had taken on the guise of a gnarled, old man, but—just beyond the thin veneer of a skin-deep glamour—he was still overwhelmingly beautiful.

Blinking sleepily, Curumo glimpsed the shimmering emanation of Aiwendil’s very essence—soft, gentle, and boundlessly generous—and his acute dejection subsided.

“There we go,” Aiwendil exclaimed, holding aloft his slightly wonky craft, and beamed at Curumo with the same carefree, earnest joy with which he had won that cold, careful heart many ages ago. “What do you think, darling?”

Drumming his tiny paws against the pillow and wrinkling his snout in a heartfelt but ultimately failed attempt to emulate a genuine smile, Curumo did his best to convey approval and delight.

Of course, he recognised Olórin—meddlesome fool and annoying know-it-all that he was—in the blank spaces Aiwendil had cut out from the firm, plump flesh of the pumpkin.

A strange sense of wicked contentment washed through Curumo’s armoured little body then—he was a hedgehog, and Olórin was a gourd, and as such, they were both beloved by Aiwendil.

How could he truly resent an incarnation that had been inspired by the faithful, unwavering devotion of one so pure and loyal?

Nevertheless, he soon grew impatient—he had seen quite enough of Olórin in his former life, and he had no desire to stare at the old jester for any extended period of time, not even when his likeness was wonkily imprinted on a bulbous squash.

Consequently, he slid off his cushy throne and pretended to go after the accursed holiday decoration with renewed vigour.

“Ah! Don’t be so impatient, friend,” Aiwendil laughed, but he picked up Curumo once more and swiftly carried him to the shed in the garden.

“Here,” he said. “Have at it.”

Sniffing and squeaking faintly in confusion, Curumo thoroughly took in the maze of dry straw and discarded vegetable refuse before turning to Aiwendil, seeking his aid.

“There are delicious worms, beetles, and caterpillars in there,” Aiwendil whispered and gave Curumo’s butt an encouraging pat. “Go ahead! I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Even kneeling on the damp, hard floor, Aiwendil towered over the small labyrinth he had clandestinely built, and Curumo narrowed his beady eyes at him in frustration.

Nevertheless, the thought of juicy treats made his mouth water, and so he carefully started his path, guided by the small sounds of cheering and pride coming from far above the ephemeral walls.

When he finally arrived at the centre, he found a beautiful goblet—akin to the tableware he had once possessed himself—which was filled to the brim with crawling, writhing deliciousness.

“Quite topical,” Aiwendil giggled and, pulling out his own flask from a hidden pocket in his coat, he touched it to Curumo’s chalice.

It was an absurd, profoundly sad, but also undeniably sincere toast to a love that had lasted through ages, spanned continents and worlds, and even defied death and disintegration.

“To us,” the wizened man said to his pet hedgehog. “To all that we are, to all that we seem, and to all that we shall be once more.”

Thank you so very much for another chance to write these 2!

You're the very best!!!!

-> Masterlist for October!

[the-traveller-through]

There is quite an undue importance placed on being the first of anything. Being first in competitions, being first in rankings, being the first to do something. Therefore, as logic follows, the first companion I write about should be the most significant, the most influential, the one I have spent the most time with. Clearly, I will write about the most important one first, right?

The assumption is presumptuous. I write about people; they influence me in different ways. Naming any one of them the most important would be tantamount to dismissing the rest. 

Still, I have to start my recounts sooner than later, and picking a companion dearer to me than some others may help with my tale. It may convince you to continue reading, at any rate. 

That settles it. I will begin with Shifter. 

--

I have met many companions on my travels, in and out of linear time, but Shifter was undoubtedly one of the first, and our meeting was more lighthearted than most.

At the time, I had still been a novice traveller. I had been reckless; I was running away. From who or what, I no longer remember, but a sudden urge to flee had descended onto me; I ran across the galaxy, stars under my childlike feet; to the first planet I saw between lightyears that had the promise of life. 

The next part is embarrassing to recount as an experienced traveller. But at that time, an experienced traveller I was not. 

I tripped. I fell. And I plummeted into the young planet’s atmosphere as a shooting star. 

Where exactly I ended up, I did not know. What I did know was that for a couple of hours, I lay in the grass I had landed in, blinking away the flashing lights behind my eyelids - because for all of my kind’s invulnerabilities, their downside is that we have to grow into them - and I waited for my discomfort to subside. 

After a few moments, there was a shift in the clearing - a brief movement. I lifted my head from the indent I had made in the ground and looked up. 

A black panther, easily the largest I had ever seen, was looming over me, with black and white irises that seemed to bore straight into my existence.

What I did next, I am not proud of. I may have yelped. I attempted to move back, forgetting that I was still lying down in a shallow crater of my own making, which only resulted in me tripping and falling in my attempts to make up. The panther watched my every movement before it let out what sounded like an amused growl and stepped back. 

And there, before my eyes, the large black panther stood and shrunk, his glorious pelt melding into smooth muscle, tail disappearing into nothingness, and bone cracked and shifted into bipedal stances - only those interesting eyes staying the same, black and white, monochrome - until what stood in front of me looked, for all intents and purposes, like a human. A dark-skinned, youthful human with black hair, his eyes the only indication that he was anything but. 

He took one look at me and laughed. “It’s you.” 

I was confused. He spoke like he had recognised me already. 

“Your name - you told me.” He bent down slightly to be at my height, his voice deep and slightly rough. “You visited me when I was a child and gave me my name. You were also nice enough to tell me you might crash-land as a kid in the future. So you don’t remember me, right?” 

I shook my head no. 

“Well, we should probably get the introduction out of the way.” He held out a hand to me, and I grasped it, registering the strength in it as he pulled me up. “My name is Shifter. It’s nice to meet you, Traveller.”

-- 

His world was beautiful. It resembled a more primitive but fantastical version of what is the Medieval age in your world; what your world might have looked like, perhaps, if nonhumans were to inhabit it and bring with them their own peculiar little sorts of magic. In his world, gods walked on the earth like their worshippers did, and their magic ran freely, with abandon. Shifter was one of the products of godly magic gone wrong, a fragment of what had happened after the Goddess of the Wild had passed on and split into two. It had made him, given him the power to shift into whatever animal he desired, and it had given him a twin sister; a pseudo-goddess of her own who held dominion over the Hunt the same way Shifter represented the animals in the Wild. 

I spent what was three months to him on his world; he brought me into the forest where he lived, showed me every inch of it, and bade me make acquaintance of its residents. They all waved to me with a familiarity I did not share, and when I asked Shifter he looked at me with a glitter of amusement in his mismatched eyes.

“Of course.” He snorted. “They love you. You’ve visited before, remember?” 

I did not. I told him so, very seriously, but he just gave me an indulgent smile.

This is not Shifter’s first memory of me - that comes later, much later in my travels, after I mastered the skill of walking through not only worlds but also against time itself. 

This, however, is my first memory of him. 

There is not yet a word in the English language to describe the feeling of metamorphosis, of being ever-changing, being moulded and influenced and added to thanks to your own experiences and memories and environment.

There is a word for it, in his; he told it to me later, in a quiet whisper, and confessed that in the future when I revisited him again I would give him that word as a name. 

My memories of the time I spent with Shifter then are mundane, but I remember leaving his world with a heavy heart and a longing to return someday. I had always understood before that I would change someone, perhaps multiple someones; it was expected. Someone cannot travel through worlds and space and expect to pass through unknown by all. But to see the impact of it reflected in front of me, in a single being, knowing that I would return someday to Shifter when he was a child and bestow upon him a true name that he would carry for the rest of his life - 

It truly is beautiful, how much a single person can shape you. We are all, in part, what other people make of us. 

[thegirltherevolutionarywarfeared]

Thoughts On The Depp vs Heard Case From A Survivor

So, to give a little backstory and apologies in advance for the essay, I am a survivor of SA and abuse. Now, I was never in a relationship and abused; my story is much different. I will briefly mention p*dophila, so if that might trigger you, I’d stop reading after this paragraph.

I was sexually abused from the ages of about 7-10. I was abused by a family member who was also emotionally and verbally abusive and one who had many issues with alcoholism. He never hit me, though he was physically abusive to my brother. I grew up afraid of my own shadow, and I have a large chunk of my life and childhood erased. I was diagnosed with PTSD sometime last year when memories of the events reappeared in full force. I have zero proof, and I am far past the statute of limitations. I can’t give them any actual details, and I can’t talk or think about it for very long without dissociating or relieving that awful time. There is no way to receive justice, and I’ve come to peace with that. It’s shitty, but that’s life. I think a big part of me would be too afraid to anyway. I’ve never been able to have a relationship, and I have trust issues and walls so thick a wrecking ball couldn’t even tap them.

To address Elaine’s frankly despicable interview, many survivors support Johnny. I can’t explain it to anyone, but we recognise our own. There’s something in the way we talk about the event(s); it’s harrowing. It sits on your shoulders and recounting it feels like choking. So many of us cut ourselves off from the event(s) and try desperately to distract others by making jokes to draw attention away from the conversation. You could see that with Johnny, not with Amber. The way Amber behaved caused the jury to rule against her; she showed her true self on that stand. She was aggressive, recalled “everything” with crystal clear clarity, and got caught in lies multiple times. A biased judge also oversaw the UK case that she kept referring towards; (quick correction here because I was given the wrong information) his son was an editor for The Sun, so he wouldn’t rule against them, let’s be honest. The judge should’ve recused himself, but chose not to. The same man who owns The Sun also has claims in The New York Post and Vogue, two companies vocally against Johnny. Wonder why…

I strongly dislike how Amber Heard painted herself as a martyr; she does not represent us. We have overcome so much, and to have a liar spit in our face by appropriating our daily struggles is so beyond wrong. To claim the verdict is the jury saying, “Oh, we don’t believe you if you don’t have evidence”, is highly inappropriate for a lawyer, especially one “chasing her fifteen minutes of fame”, as she likes to say. Also, accusing the jury, that was holed up in a hotel room with no phone or internet access, of bias is bloody ridiculous.

She continues with this whole, “Oh, it’s a step back for women”, but it’s not. It’s a step forward for male victims, men are finally feeling comfortable enough to speak out, and that’s beautiful. We know women have been used and abused since the beginning of time, but we never talk about men. Men aren’t just abused by their Boy Scout leaders, priest, or boyfriends. They are also abused by women, a fact they are told to be silent about. I remember explaining to my fifteen-year-old employee that his first sexual experience being with his friend’s mother was not ok. He couldn’t get my point, even when I showed him how the role reversal would seem. It had been trained into him by toxic culture and media that women could not be predatory, women couldn’t be abusive. Any sane person will know that’s false.

I’ve connected with many male survivors during this case, a topic I’ve been passionate about since my youth. My abuser was abused; it’s an unfortunate cycle. Men are not given coping tools, just told to “be a man about it”, especially by women who believe men can’t be abused. Yes, I was as shocked as you might be that there are women mad enough to think that only one gender can be abused. They defend Amber purely in the name of “feminism”, which is entirely fake. I can only hope this case lets men know they aren’t alone; they can be heard. Women can’t be allowed to get away with abuse purely based on gender. We also need to stop believing every word that comes out of people’s mouths without any questions. People can’t just accuse others of heinous crimes, especially public figures if they can’t be honest about what happened.

If you’ve made it to the end here, I commend you; I’m very well known for my speeches- blame debate class 😅. All in all, survivors are pissed significantly because so many believed Amber. Those who didn’t were told that they were just in love with Johnny, which is just plainly untrue. Every Amber stan reflects their idol; aggressive behaviour, insults, demeaning survivors, and calling us liars. It’s tiring, it’s upsetting, and we can’t escape from it. I mean, it’s everywhere; there isn’t anywhere this topic hasn’t touched. I’m constantly hit by flashbacks from trauma that keep getting dredged up, and being open about it gets more complicated when civil conversations turn into personal attacks. Elaine and her team were incredibly unprepared and were extremely unprofessional. Johnny scored a rockstar roster and deserved every inch of his win. The message that needs to get across is that no matter what gender, race, or sexuality you are, you aren’t alone. There are millions of us worldwide that are proud of you. Proud of you for pushing through, being brave enough to tell your story, and for being strong enough to fight for the truth. We are not alone, we are a strong community, and we need to support those who go unheard. Victims come in all shapes and sizes, with different coping mechanisms and different personalities. Of course, there's no “perfect victim”, but Amber Heard has proved herself to be nothing but a narcissistic abuser who thought Johnny would never speak up. He has, and we have heard him. None of us should live unheard; no human being should be shunned for speaking their truth.

[misora-msby]

embarrassing moments with inarizaki

inarizaki always looks so cool but you know they’re actually dorks and i am here to provide you the content to show theyre clowns. enjoy the headcanons :)

Kita Shinsuke

firstly. kita shinsuke being embarrased? making a mistake? unheard of.

he’s a perfect man and we all know it.

anyways

you two were having a nice dinner out together. 

it was a pretty fancy place so you decided to dress in a different style today

but you were beginning to wonder if kita liked it or not because he seemed to keep looking past your shoulder instead of at you

he was an observant guy so you were wondering if something had happened behind you

but you couldn’t hear anything weird so you assumed not

you decided to just stay quiet about it at first but now it was beginning to become annoying! 

why wasn’t he looking you in the eye to speak?

midway through your dinner, kita finally spoke up tho

“y/n, your shirt is slipping... yer bra’s showing.”

oh.

right. you were wearing your off-shoulder top.

“o-oh. shin, it’s that kind of shirt, you know?” you had to explain your outfit to ur bf with a pink face.

“oh... that so... well it’s cold these days so if yer feelin’ cold lemme know. i’ll give ya my jacket.”

GOD HES SO PERFECT KITA SHINSUKE I HOPE U MARRY HIM???????

Ojiro Aran

another man with next to no flaws.

but nature says everyone has to make some mistake.

so it was a regular school day, our aran has just come to class from morning practice and there’s still some time left until class starts.

all the girls in class are gathered around a table

he’s not sure why, it’s probably watching an idol video

but ur man wants to be a little romantic!!

plus he just showered so he smells Great uwu

he goes over and hugs you from behind, placing his chin on ur head.

“hey, bb whatcha ya doin”

all the girls gasp.

he doesn’t get whats wrong, it’s not like it’s a secret y’all are dating

pda to this level aint bad either

especially compared to his teammate miya atsumu

“ojiro aran.”

why is your voice behind him

he looks down and nearly faints when he sees he hugged the wrong girl.

to be fair she looked a lot like you from behind, just maybe 1cm shorter.

“i’m so sorry!” he keeps apologising to literally everyone and all the class is giggling bc they never seen their school’s ace so red before.

“didn’t think i’d come back from the toilet and see my bf cheatin”

“IT WAS A MISTAKE! I’M SERIOUS! Y/N U KNOW I LOVE YA!” 

hes so funny i swear

the volleyball team hears of it and it gets even better 

Miya Atsumu

it’s not a secret that miya atsumu, setter of the inarizaki volleyball team and invited to national youth training camp, had a gf

he was very much in love with u 

the whole class knew it because he’d show it off whenever he could too

so here comes valentines day

last year he received like... 50 different gifts from girls and guys aiming to win his love.

you didnt even give him one lmAOOOOO 

but this year, he had been not so subtly trying to hint that “i better not receive any chocolates this year when i’ve got a gf!”

he reaches school and plops into his seat.

there’s an anonymous box of chocolates with “please accept my love, miya-kun! <3″ on it

“the hell’s this?!”

“oh? chocolates?” - osamu who just popped his head into the class to shove into his twin’s face how much chocolate he got.

especially since the blond was off limits, the grey-haired twin had a bigger following now.

“do they not know i have a girlfriend...”

“well, ya might as well eat it. ya dont know who to return it to.”

“that’s like receivin’ their love!”

“no it ain’t. it’s just food.”

atsumu couldn’t argue with that and popped a piece in.

it was very delicious. the chocolate practically melted on his tongue and was the perfect sweetness and was filled with a delicious ganache too.

it was perfect

but he couldn’t accept this!

“it ain’t even good. too sweet and the filling’s sticky.”

“ah. really? is that what you think, tsumu?” you ask from the door where you had been watching the exchange take place.

“y/n! look at this! some weirdo gave me some choco and like... samu said to test it but i’ll toss it out, promise.”

“tsumu, i made that... i wrote it anonymously because i thought you’d know it was me and i wanted to tease you a little.”

“huh.”

osamu: “yeah actually i went over to her place to teach her how to make it.”

atsumu: “you said you went to suna’s place?!”

osamu: “i went there later but i first went to help her.”

you: “anyways if it’s not good i don’t mind if you toss it out...”

tsumu: “NO NO BABE I PROMISE IT’S GOOD”

you: “you just said-”

“BABE I SWEAR IT’S GOOD I JUST DIDN’T WANT TO ACCEPT A STRANGER’S STUFF”

“you’re always so honest though... are you sure?” you were having your fun teasing him now.

“BB PLSSSSSS”

he still cringes at the memory 4 years into ur marriage

Miya Osamu

osamu would DEFINITELY make home made dinner dates a regular thing.

this alone shows he’s the better twin - miya atsumu stan

he loves cooking and eating with you so sometimes when he’s got a day off you guys’ll set aside the afternoon to make a real nice dinner

imagine candlelit dinner with miya dorito body osamu in a suit

of course some fun stuff happens after too ;)))

and today’s your third anniversary!!

so osamu adds lots of ‘natural aphrodisiacs’ to the meal

i’m talkin

garlic bread and soup for an appetiser, a nice juicy steak with garlic and red wine sauce for the main, and chocolate coated strawberries for dessert

mm yummy

you two cleaned your plates completely (it was very delicious) and as you were washing the dishes, osamu comes up behind and wraps his arms around your waist

“yes, ‘samu?” 

“i’ve already prepared us a nice bath with yer favourite scents.” he’s got his head resting on ur chin

“really? thank you~ i’ll be there in a bit”

but he doesn’t let go of you while you’re still scrubbing at the baking sheets.

“osamu, you can let go for now.”

“don’t feel like it.”

“i gotta wash the dishes since you did most of the cooking.”

“mmm, i’ll do it if ya gimme a kiss.”

you roll ur eyes bc what a cutie 

u turn ur head to give him a kiss but suddenly he 

he burps

that garlicy wine smell is just kinda there

“ew! ‘samu!!”

his face is real red but he’s also trying not to laugh because he’s still a dude and this is absolutely hilarious to him

“want another?” he starts teasing

“i’m not getting in the bath with you.”

“wait wait wait i’m sorry, i’ll go brush my teeth and give you a proper kiss”

Suna Rintarou

you two were taking the train home today

it was quite late due to practice going a little longer than usual, so he insisted he walked you back home today.

sunarin can be a good boyf sometimes ok

it was getting a little crowded on the train tho, since people were heading home or going out for dinner

luckily you had already grabbed seats so you were quite comfortable sitting side by side. 

you and suna have the type of relationship were you dont have to talk all the time

silence is v comfy.

he’s just scrolling through twitter on his phone while you’re looking around the car, lost in ur thoughts

suddenly you notice an old lady standing a little bit away from you and you stand up

“baa-san, please take my seat.” you whisper in the crowded carriage

“oh how kind of you. thank you, dearie.” she smiles and takes your seat while you stand in front of her and suna instead.

suna doesn’t realise this exchange has happened tho

(he’s on his phone as usual)

probably starting some fights on twitter

he decides to try to be a little romantic and pretends to stretch his arm around (who he thought was) you.

“rin.” 

why is your voice right in front of him?

“young man, i appreciate it but i’m married.”

suna jumps as he sees someone he did not recognise next to him.

he looks up and notices you had moved.

you’re giggling

the granny’s giggling

atsumu and osamu sitting opposite on the carriage look like they’re going to cry because they’re trying not to laugh

“i was just stretching. really.” he mumbles and crosses his arms, face red as a tomato

he’s so embarrassed.

Ginjima Hitoshi

sometimes the inarizaki vbc would go for an after practice snack at the nearby family mart

they were really hungry after an intense preparation for nationals which was in two weeks so kita insisted they all get something to fill them up on the way home

but lucky lucky ginjima hhehe

you (his classmate who he had a crush on) were working at the cash register today.

“welcome!” you greet everyone as they enter

he cant help but stiffen up a bit 

why are u so cute and cheery today

the 2nd years already know what to do.

“heyy, i think last week i bought ya that ramen right? ya owe me my konbini snacks today!” - atsumu

“yeah. you lost a bet to me last week so u gotta pay up. a pack of jelly fruit sticks please.” - suna

“forgot my money today, mind payin’ for my snacks too?” - osamu

“like hell i’m paying for all of you. especially you, osamu. you eat too much all the time.” 

aran’s noticed what’s going on,

“hey, if it’s just for today you can do it right? if ‘samu don’t pay ya back tomorrow i’ll nag him ‘til he does.” 

“fine...” his basket is full when he goes to the counter.

he’s trying his best not to have a red face while watching u scan the items, ur hair swaying slightly as u look back and forth between the objects and the screen.

“alright. 4,890 yen please!” GOD he hated how expensive it was, that’s almost all his weekly allowance but bc it’s u and ur voice saying it it’s kinda ok

“mm, ok.” he still has his eyes on you while he takes out his wallet and puts it on the counter.

yes

his wallet, not the money

“...” “...”

“excuse me, sir. this is...”

he almost slaps his face wtf he’s so embarrassed.

“s-sorry. just a little absent minded after practice.” he starts pulling out his cash.

“it’s fine! i know how hard you guys practice!” you smile while performing the rest of the transaction and pass him his big bag of goods. “good luck for nationals, ginjima-kun!”

he almost runs out of the store and is about to fight the rest of the 2nd years for watching and (suna) recording

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Ten)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut, Domestic Violence, Angst

Words: 2,300

Please comment and interact...it's what keeps this blog going

***************************

After your father stormed out you grabbed your stuff from the table and walked to your room. You were still shocked and somewhat perplexed about what happened and how he reacted and, whilst he had always had problems with his temper, this was more than you could handle.

You weren’t sure what to do but, in the middle of mid semester exams, you couldn’t cope with the stress and anger and started crying again while you walked around your room like a headless chicken.

Just as you did, your phone rang and when you saw that it was Denise who was calling, you picked up the phone.

Denise had just landed in Manchester and had realised that she had forgotten to call you following your exam yesterday. After she apologised, she asked what was wrong as it was obvious to her that you had been crying and, of course, you told her about the incident with your father.

She felt terrible for you and began to worry but, being you, you told her not to worry. You had it covered. You’ve been looking after yourself for a while after what your sister endured and, as she knew, you were working towards moving out which, being a student with only twenty hours of work and expenses, wasn’t exactly easy.

Nonetheless, Denise told you to keep her posted and let her know if she can help and, whilst she had offered to lend you money before, you never accepted and you knew that this wouldn’t change now.

***

Later that day, just when you thought matters had calmed down, your father had yet another one of his moods and suggested that you come to church with him the following day. He wanted you to join the local youth group but, since you didn’t believe yourself, you had no interest in it.

‘I am working and I am studying full time. I don’t have time dad’ you explained to him and, whilst you were happy to volunteer at the local church on occasion and participate in their fundraising events, the bible group he was referring to didn’t appeal you.

‘Obviously you have time for other things, things you should be ashamed off Y/N’ he said with a raised voice and, when your phone rang, you couldn’t help but walk away from the conversation with your father who, clearly, had built up his anger again and the last thing you needed was a matching bruise across your other cheek.

***

You went into your room quickly and picked up the phone.

‘Hey’ you said in a somewhat more happy voice when you realised that it was Cillian who was calling you.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ he asked almost immediately with great concern in his voice before telling you that Denise had told him about the incident with your father.

‘I am fine Cillian. It’s nothing, just a bruise’ you explained, brushing it over.

‘Y/N, this is not nothing. He can’t just fucking hit you’ Cillian said and you could hear the anger in his voice.

‘Cillian, I am fine. You need to calm down please’ you said as you could hear the rage in his voice.

‘Fuck’ Cillian growled before taking in a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he then asked worryingly and you knew that you probably should have made contact with him before you spoke to Denise about it.

‘You were filming and I didn’t want you to worry’ you explained.

‘This is not how this works Y/N, you can call me any time, alright? And, if something like this happens again, call my assistant if I am on set. I worry, alright...’ Cillian said in a calm and reassuring voice and, just as he did, you began to break out in tears yet again.

‘Y/N, listen please…you need to pack your stuff and get out of there before this happens again’ he then said in an equally calm voice after he comforted you the best he could.

‘Cillian, I can’t just pack up and leave’ you said.

‘Yes, you can. I told you, you can go to my place’ Cillian suggested.

‘I am not going to do that. I can look after myself Cillian and you really don’t need to worry. I am a grown woman and just because you are older than me doesn’t mean that I need you to look after me. It’s like Denise offering to lend me money. I can’t accept that and I won’t’ you said, still somewhat teary.

‘I know you are independent but that doesn’t mean that you can’t accept help in a situation like this and your friends offering you money is a little different to me offering you a place to stay for now, don’t you think?’ Cillian said, still calm but a little bit more demanding.

‘Not really’ you said, really not wanting to take his help as you felt that you would appear weak and dependant on him.

‘Fuck, you are stubborn, you know that?’ Cillian then huffed out, his voice filled with concern rather than anger.  

‘Please, for my sake, so that I can sleep at night, go and stay at my apartment. I am worried about you and I know that this isn’t the first time he did that’ Cillian then said and you had no idea what he was talking about.

‘What do you mean it’s not the first time?’ you asked.

‘It doesn’t matter, just please…you are in the middle of exams and I am worried and don’t want you to get hurt…please’ Cillian pleaded with you.

‘If you don’t get out of there, I will get onto the next plane and pick you up myself and, God forbid, your father is in my way when I do’ Cillian said as anger was building in his voice again.

When Cillian finished what he was saying, you took in a deep breath and chuckled.

‘What?’ Cillian asked in response.

‘Nothing. I just like how protective you are over me. I am not used to someone caring’ you admitted, causing Cillian to chuckle himself.

‘I like you Y/N, so of course I care’ Cillian said.

‘Thank you Cillian’ you said before accepting his offer reluctantly. ‘Just text me where and when I can pick up the key to your apartment’ you then said quietly.

‘I will text you, now go pack your stuff. There are some spare toiletries in the bathroom next to the kitchen, just take whatever you need, alright?’ Cillian said before telling you that he missed you.

‘I miss you too’ you said before saying goodbye. You didn’t really want to ruin his evening with Denise.  

****

Two hours later, you left your house without saying a word, but texted your mother that you would be staying with a friend for a while after you got into your car.

Within ten minutes, you arrived at Cillian’s apartment, which is where his housekeeper met you and handed you the keys before showing you how everything worked,.

The electricity, lightening, stereo and heaters were all controlled via some sort of device which looked an iPad and she handed you a note with the pin for the alarm system.

After she had left, you walked around the apartment and felt somewhat strange about being there without Cillian. You hadn’t really been seeing each other for a long time but yet he entrusted you with the keys to his apartment.

“I am here now. What room did you want me to use? Xx” you texted him after you had a quick wander around and it didn’t take long for Cillian to respond.

“Is that a trick question? Because you know that you can sleep in my bed, right?” Cillian then texted back without hesitation.

“Can I borrow some of your clothes too?” you then asked cheekily.

“Not sure if my clothes fit you, but sure, knock yourself out” Cillian texted back before suggesting that you should have a glass of wine and a warn bath so that you could relax.

“I just might. Want me to send you a picture when I am in the tub?” you responded and all you received from Cillian in response was an emoji that smirked, making you laugh. Not only does this emoji look ridiculous but also did he never send you an emoji before whilst you, on the other the hand, used them frequently.

***

After you had a nice long and relaxing bath, you returned to the living room, completely naked. You didn’t bother to wear any clothes since, for the first time in a long time, you were all on your own.

Walking around naked felt natural to you and, after you found yourself an interesting novel on Cillian’s bookshelf, you lied down on his bed with it and a glass of red wine by your site.

“Feels weird lying in your bed without you. What are you doing?” you texted before you stretched out across the large king-sized bed and opened the book.

“Watching a movie, although I am curious now about what you are doing on my bed. It’s too early to go to sleep” Cillian texted back and, just as he did, Denise glanced over towards him and asked him whether the movie they were watching bored him. Just as Cillian told her that he had seen the movie before, he received yet another text message from you.

“Just settled down with a book” you responded and Cillian was quick to pick up his phone again and text back, much to the amusement of his daughter.

“What book?” Cillian texted back just before Denise asked him whether he was texting with Laura Jennings after she observed that he had been on his phone pretty much all evening, texting back and forward with someone like a teenager.

‘No, we ended it. I am just texting with a friend’ Cillian said in response to Denise’s comment.

‘A female friend by any chance?’ Denise asked as she saw the cheeky smirk on her father’s face.

‘Just a friend’ he then responded to Denise as he placed his phone back on the table, shortly after which he received yet another message.

This time, unfortunately, the message didn’t contain any text but a picture instead.

‘I think your friend just sent you a nude and, clearly, your friend is a woman…a woman who must like you if she is sending you pictures like this’ Denise then laughed out loud as she saw the preview of the text from a distance popping up on his phone.

Cillian quickly reached for it, cheeks blushing red as he hoped that she wouldn’t recognise that it was you on the picture after he went through the trouble to change your name on his contact list a few days ago to your initials only.

Luckily, when Cillian opened the message after standing up and walking away from the lounge room, he realised that the picture didn’t show your face.

In fact, it showed nothing more than your naked stomach and legs while your core was covered (barely) by the book he had been asking about.

Whilst it shocked him, Cillian decided not to tell you about the fact that Denise had seen your picture in preview on his phone. He thought that, at least this way, you would send him some more.

“Nice choice…now can I get a picture without the book?” he asked cheekily and, of course, you didn’t deny him and responded with yet another more graphic picture.

Just as the phone buzzed again, Denise yelled out from the living room of Cillian’s Manchester apartment.

‘Stop sexting dad and explain this movie to us. We are lost’ she joked and Cillian couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he returned to the living room.

Cillian was quick to change the topic as he was somewhat embarrassed following Denise’s comment and, just before he returned to the living room, he texted you to inform you that he would be in touch in an hour or so.

Of course, you knew that he was spending time with Denise and didn’t mind and, instead of pondering on about the fact that Amalie was around him, you indulged in your book while you waited for Cillian to text you back.

***

Half an hour later, after the movie was well and truly finished, Cillian excused himself in order to have a shower while Denise had already passed out on the guest bed.

She was tired after travelling since, as usual, she had to take motion sickness medication before getting onto the plane.

Amalie, on the other hand, was not tired at all and decided that it was now or never in order for her to make her move on Cillian.

‘Cillian, uhm…could you give me a hand with this please, I don’t want to wake Denise’ she said as she tried to fiddle around with the zipper of her black fabric top.

‘Sure, I can try’ Cillian said, not thinking anything about it while Amalie turned around and lifted up her long blonde hair.

‘There you go’ Cillian said somewhat uncomfortably as he unzipped the back of her shirt and noticed that she didn’t wear a bra beneath it.

As soon as her shirt came undone, she turned around and, without bothering to cover her breasts, she placed her hands on to Cillian’s chest and thanked him.

‘Amalie, you might want to put on a t-shirt or something’ Cillian said as his cheeks turned red and, just as he did, Amalie leaned forward and pressed her lips onto his.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03@deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-your-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy @kpopgirlbtssvt

[tomitsuya]

pairing. kita/f!reader/atsumu

summary. kita shinsuke knows better than to ignore what he wants. atsumu knows better than to deny what’s in front of him. you know better than to lie about what your heart truly desires.

tags. angst, love triangle, growing up, slice of life, atsumu and kita keep their timeskip jobs, kita is the same age as atsumu and the reader, small town au

part one. your memory, seeped in the sun | series masterlist

Summer is unforgiving, humidity and insects are your worst nightmare. The air is still. The sun is high in the sky and you feel perspiration dripping off your brow, collecting at the side of your neck. Beyond you, lay grass fields and a tiny pond. This pond was your only reprieve in your stagnant town, amidst the stifling air, noisy insects and listless youth. 

It was the land of your childhood imagination, the little pond, a vast ocean and the rolling fields a fiery landscape. For as long as you could remember, your life was about constructing grand fantasies beyond the realm of your reality. You could imagine that your pond was a vast ocean that you were meant to cross. 

Though, perhaps, as a child, your grand fantasies include flying to a castle in the clouds on the back of a dragon. Visions of a dashing prince to make the journey with you fill your mind; you felt like your soul was calling for you to leave this town. 

You grew up in a small town. You’re a rambunctious girl raised by her grandmother, your parents work in the nearby town. You skip rocks in the pond nearby, joined by your neighbours, twin boys— Atsumu and Osamu. Life is simple because it is tranquil. You work hard in school every day, you listen when your teachers tell you that there is life outside of this town, a future with bright city lights and sounds for the chosen few who work hard. They fill your head with delusions of grandeur, you believe anyone who craves success and happiness should leave. Your head spins at the thought of the city with all its colours and lights; with the smells and sights and sounds and all the rich people with suits and bags and shoes that ‘clack’ on the pavement unlike your well-worn sneakers. 

The window outside displaying the stunning view of the huge fields outside of your school fill you with nothing but restlessness. Instead, you wonder what you might be when you grow up. A model? A doctor? 

Your stream of thought is interrupted by something cold in your palm. Atsumu watches you scream when he plops a grasshopper in your palm, laughing loudly as you dip your hands in the pond trying to wash off the ick.

Atsumu is someone whose dreams also take him out of your town. He wants to be an ‘astronaut police officer musician’, or so he says. His brother has a far more modest dream of opening a restaurant in town. 

“Mom’s makin’ snacks,” Osamu offers, trying to placate you and bring you down from a near tantrum over his brother’s hijinks.

“Okay,” you chirp and let the both of them lead you to their house. You take care to stick to Osamu’s side in case Atsumu has another bug up his sleeve.  

Mrs Miya indulges her sons, giving each of you an onigiri (Osamu’s favourite) and a packet of chocolate milk (Atsumu’s favourite). You don’t really mind either way, sipping on the sweet milk happily as the brothers bicker over the last onigiri on the plate.

“Tell ‘Samu I deserve it!” Atsumu demands.

“Osamu deserves it,” you say, “because he didn’t put the bug on my hand.” 

Atsumu whines despondently when his brother snatches the rice ball off the plate, making quick work of the snack. 

When you walk back to your own house, you notice two pairs of shoes by the front door outside. You wash your hands in the kitchen before you venture into the living room where your grandmother has her guests. It's another old lady; someone you vaguely recognise from the town.

She’s got her grandson with her, he’s munching on a plate of sugar cookies.

“Good Afternoon,” greets the other old lady, “Why don’t you play with my grandson, Shinsuke?” 

Shinsuke casts a curious look your way. You sit next to him, offering him another sugar cookie. This one was golden brown, unlike the burnt ones he kept going for. 

“I don’t like them if they aren’t burnt,” he informs you quietly. Then, he amends himself, “I prefer the burnt ones, if you don’t mind. Your grandma is a good baker.” 

You blink at him. 

“Shinsuke,” chides his grandmother, “go and play with her in the garden.”

You clamber up and towards the garden, holding a hand out for Shinsuke. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to play with me,” he says. 

“I don’t mind,” you smile, “I could always use a new friend.” 

He grins brightly, offering to make you a ring out of the grass in your back garden. You watch as his nimble fingers weave the green blades of grass, plucking a little flower to affix in the centre. Transfixed by his artistry, you let Kita slip the ring on your finger. Kita was so much more fun to play with than Atsumu who was intent on tormenting you. 

“Are we married?” You gasp softly.

“What?” He asks, puzzled. 

“Don’t boys only give girls rings when they get married?” You ask, thinking back to the Disney film you watched last night, your head on your grandmother’s lap as you envisioned the dazzling prince on the white horse coming to save you. 

“No,” he shakes his head, “I made you this ring because I thought you’d like it. Nothing more.” 

You appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The ring doesn’t come off until it falls apart sometime after dinner, after which you have a hearty cry in the bathtub as your grandmother tells you Kita could always just make you another one. 

“But that one was special,” you whine, “He made it for me.” 

“And he can always make you another one that is just as special. It doesn’t stop being special because it’s your second one, dear. What matters is that he made it with the same love and care as he did the first one.” 

She towels you dry and puts you to bed, a small smile on her face when you reluctantly agree to her suggestion to invite Kita tomorrow just so he can make you another grass ring.

Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to this piece of information.

“What do ya want a grass ring for?” He frowns, plucking some grass and throwing in the air for good effect. 

“Because it was pretty,” you kick his shin.

Osamu tries (and fails) at making the grass ring, handing you a twisted up blade of grass. You tuck it behind your ear, warmed nonetheless while Atsumu sulks as he tries to pluck a worm from the ground.

You hear your name and you look over to see Kita and his grandmother waving at you. They stand in your living room, watching the three of you play in your back garden. Kita hurries over to you, inquiring about what you were doing. 

“She wants a grass ring,” Atsumu sneers, the ‘your’ going unsaid.

“Oh,” Kita smiles softly, indulging you and plucking a few blades of grass that he begins to weave expertly. 

Something flashes in your eyes really quick, a sort of knowing smile and bashfulness, which makes Atsumu’s tummy churn uncomfortably. He ignores how he feels, trying to see if he can learn about these grass rings that you’re so fond of from Kita. But the two of you huddle together, whispering and giggling quietly; Atsumu clenches his hands into fists.  

“Could you pass me that flower?” Kita asks Atsumu, gesturing to a small flower that sits by Atsumu’s foot. 

Atsumu crushes the flower in retaliation, his grin very quickly melting away when he sees your trembling bottom lip. Osamu, ever the pacifier, hands you a similar flower, watching as Kita explains how to weave the flower into the ring. 

“Here,” Kita offers, picking up your hand and sliding the ring on.  

“Yay,” you cheer, admiring his handiwork, “It’s so pretty!” 

“Flowers die,” Atsumu chimes in, but he puts aside his reluctance and offers to play a two-on-two game of volleyball with you and Kita. 

Kita nods, immediately picking up your hand and declaring to be on your team. You nod excitedly, upset when Atsumu sticks his tongue out and promises to crush you. Atsumu tries not to gloat too much when he absolutely demolishes your team in the match, his pride very quickly taking a hit at the sour look Kita gives him before trying to comfort you. 

Later, Osamu naps by your grandmother and you, Kita and Atsumu enjoy some sliced apples on the engawa, your feet kicking in the air. 

“I bet I could make a grass ring, too,” Atsumu declares, rising up and collecting grass. 

It ends up a pulpy mess in his palms, but instead of offering it to you, he smears the green mush on your cheek, relaying his frustration. You shriek while Kita offers to clean it off for you, his gentle thumb wiping away the mess.

“What’s wrong with my ring?” Atsumu asks, laughing. He deflates a little when he notices you aren’t laughing with him. 

“I hate you, ‘Tsumu!” You whine, pushing him back onto the grass. 

He gapes at you from the ground, grimacing when Kita pays him no mind, instead continuing to clean the smudge on your cheek. 

The four of you go to the same middle school and high school. Along the way, all the boys enter the volleyball club and both the twins, but really Atsumu, come into their own as prodigies. He works and works and works, joined by his loyal brother and equally dedicated captain, Kita, after school.  

While the twins filled out, Kita grew up. As he took on these responsibilities and that extra muscle from all the physical training, you watch him walk around town with a sense of purpose. Your heart doesn’t stand a chance, especially when he seems to only ever soften when he’s with you. Afternoons after school are spent in his company, finishing homework or sharing a bowl of grapes under a tree in his garden as he tells you of his plans to study out of town, get a good job and make his parents proud.

He’s so noble and confident, like a charming prince coming to take you out of this dreary small town and into the real world. You imagine spending your eternity with him, a childish fantasy fueled by a teenage crush. Wherever your life after high school landed you, it would be away from this town and with him. With Kita, you could brave anything, weather any storm. 

Over the years, you learnt that you enjoy writing. And that it’s in your future. You’re going to school for writing and you have dreams to get picked up by a publishing company or whatever other opportunities they have for writers in Tokyo. Kita smiles sweetly when you tell him of your dreams, talking to you about how you could take on the world together. Never mind that they’re hopelessly optimistic and discount the sheer amount of hard work and stress it would take you to get where you wanted to go. 

You know that he’s got noble dreams to enter into a prestigious company. The two of you would be talked about with nothing but fondness and pride by the people in town after you left- look at them, they would say, doing well all on their own in the city. 

Since the four of you walk home together after school, you wait in the gym for them to finish practice, having already finished your duties with the student council. Normally, you’d read a book or play with your phone while waiting but you’ve taken on a bit of extra studying now that you are in your last year of high school. Universities called your name, your hopes and dreams lay far outside what this town could provide you with. 

Kita jogs over once practice is over, informing you his grandmother would like to invite you for dinner. 

You agree, bidding Atsumu and Osamu goodbye at the train station. Atsumu looks oddly upset when he watches Kita scoot closer towards you as you walk to the platform. His brother tugs him along, despite Atsumu looking like he wants to say something to you. 

“Y/N,” he begins, picking up your hand as you walk to the platform, “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Shinsuke?” You blink at him– he always had a tendency to be very serious, and it was entirely likely that he just wanted to tell you his grandmother made a cake for dessert. 

“I like you.” He says instead. His voice is warm and gentle like a cup of cocoa, the same rich sweetness you had long come to treasure about him. Momentarily, you let yourself surrender to the warm cocoon that is his gentle murmur amidst the chilly autumn air. 

This could have been the perfect confession had the fall leaves floated gently all around you, the autumn sunlight just so. Instead, the glare of the sun was rather harsh and in your face, causing you to squint, and there was a distinct sound of a car honking somewhere in your periphery. 

You blink, beaming widely. “I like you too, Shinsuke.”

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay?” He asks.

“Please,” you breathe. “Please do.”

And he does. There is no distance between you, there never has been. Kita Shinsuke fits himself in your space, he makes himself comfortable around you and you around him. The kiss is short and sweet but he has never been one to draw things out where he didn’t need to. Kita Shinsuke is concise and straightforward; he kisses you like he plans to launch Cupid’s Arrow through your heart.

He dislodges it six months later, selfishly claiming back the thing that so endeared you to him in the first place. You had no place in his future, whatever future that may be. Inarizaki gets eliminated in the first round of the Spring Interhigh and Kita Shinsuke breaks your heart that spring.

[iridescentlemoncandy]

Trajectory - Raising Hell [Osborn]

Part 4: 9 Year Ago, Late Spring

"Why are you coming to pick me up?"

Juvie Guard: You’re free to go.

Osborn: Got it.

Ye Chuan: Osborn! Here! Here!

Osborn: ……Ye Chuan?

Ye Chuan: What’s with that face? You don’t recognise me anymore?

Osborn: Why are you here?

Ye Chuan: To pick you up, of course!

Ye Chuan: Don’t just stand there. Hand over your load, I'll help you lug it. Why are you only wearing one piece when it’s so chilly outside?

Ye Chuan: Here, put this on, don’t catch a cold.

Osborn: No need, I am fine.

Ye Chuan: Just pass them to me, I said. You've never been this polite to me before.

Ye Chuan: Let me take a good look at you. You’ve grown taller, and your hair is even longer now. But why are you losing so much weight?

Ye Chuan: I heard some news about the juvie on TV. They claim that the youths there weren’t feed and were even beaten up.  Are you hurt?

Osborn: No.

Ye Chuan: I’m still worried. Let me see.

Osborn: There’s really none, they couldn’t beat me up.

Ye Chuan: You little brat.

Ye Chuan: It's early; let's treat ourselves to a great meal. At the southern end of the city, there is a brand-new lamb place. I bet you’ll like it.

Ye Chuan: Your hair needs trimming too. It’s covering your eyes. I'll take you shopping for new clothes and shoes in a few days……

Ye Chuan: Why are you not saying anything? Wow, you've learned how to act profound, you little brat.

Osborn: You kept talking, I don’t know what more to say.

Ye Chuan: Not wrong, too.

Ye Chuan & Osborn: You—

Ye Chuan: You first.

Osborn: Why do you come to pick me up?

Ye Chuan: Haven’t you asked that once?

Ye Chuan: I bought a new computer at home; didn't you always want one? You need to tell me how to use it. I've always wanted to give that, uh, poker and minesweeper a go.

Osborn: You have no idea how to play minesweeper?

Ye Chuan: Who says I don't know how to play? I have played it many times on our neighbour Old Wang's computer. It keeps exploding after a few clicks, so strange.

Osborn: That’s because you’re noob.

Ye Chuan: Little brat, that’s because you didn’t teach me, and make me embarrassed in front of Old Wang.

Ye Chuan: It’s set then.

Osborn: What did you wanna say to me?

Ye Chuan: I’m sorry, little brat.

Osborn: Why are you apologising?

Ye Chuan: I've wronged you in the past. Forced you to apologise to them without knowing the full story.

Ye Chuan: I did it with the best intentions, hoping it would set you on the right track. I was… I was failing as a father.

Osborn: ……

Ye Chuan: You— You do not mind if I use the word "father," right?

Osborn: It won't stop you from using it, even if I mind, right?

Ye Chuan: Sounds right.

Osborn: But don’t mention it anymore.

Ye Chuan: That’s fair. Seeing as how it's uncomfortable for both of us every time I use that word, I suppose it's best if I just start treating you like a brother.

Ye Chuan: Before I came here, I was scared that you won’t come with me.

Ye Chuan: But now I’m relieved.

Ye Chuan: Did you know? The girl you helped ended up transferring to a different school. She came to say goodbye in person, and she asked me to pass along her appreciation.

Ye Chuan: I was thinking at that moment, how am I blessed with such a great so— brother.

Ye Chuan: A lot of people are talking about empathy these days. You know, I was just thinking that if I were in your position, I doubt I'd be able to do any better than you.

Osborn: Now you know.

Ye Chuan: Can you show any humility, you spoiled brat?

Ye Chuan: I know it might be too late, but I still want to you to know that I never doubted you.  

Osborn: Then why did you force me to apologise?

Ye Chuan: Maybe because I’m selfish.

Ye Chuan: I selfishly thought that maybe things might be settled with an apology and you wouldn't have to go through the hardship of juvie. I never thought about how you feel.

Ye Chuan: It also didn't cross my mind that if I helped you back then, maybe we could blow this thing up, and they won't be able to do their evil deeds anymore.

Ye Chuan: For that, I still need to learn from you.

Osborn: Getting there. You talk so much; I am not used to it.

Ye Chuan: Tired of walking? Should’ve just called for a cab.

Osborn: It’s fine, not that far.

Osborn: Did you also walk here?

Ye Chuan: I’ve been here since last night. I was wrong about your release time, I thought it was last night.

Osborn: So, you didn’t sleep?

Ye Chuan: Sleep? I can’t sleep thinking about fetching you home today.

Osborn: Aren’t you embarrassed? I was in juvie. Aren’t people usually embarrassed if that happens?

Ye Chuan: What nonsense!

Osborn: Take it easy!

Ye Chuan: Good thing you feel the pain! Why should I feel embarrassed? Every word I've said so far seems like a waste of time.

Ye Chuan: We’re almost home. I've got a new blanket for you. You should be able to sleep well in it.

Osborn: Aren't we going to the lamb place in the city's south?

Ye Chuan: Not today, let’s eat at home today.

Osborn: Why are you being so cheap?

Ye Chuan: What do you mean, cheap? I forgot that I had warmed up some chicken soup on the stove. This memory of mine... Surely, certainly, without a doubt, we will go to the lamb place tomorrow…...

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

[sly-merlin]

S A C R I F I C E

SACRIFICE - A STORY OF LOVE, BETRAYAL, REVENGE AND BARGAINING

CHARACTERS : prince jaehyun x princess y/n

GENRE : fluff, angst.

WORD COUNT : 7k

TIME PERIOD : OF SHY GLANCES AND BLOOD BATHS. WHERE LOVE IS FORBIDDEN AND HATRED NOT.

WARNINGS : Includes dirt play, revenge. Major character deaths like MAJOR, mentions of blood, murder, killing, assassination and an explicit scene of killing.  Cw : food mentions  SMUT WARNING : kissing! mentions of undressing.

DISCLAIMER : THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FICTION. FICTION. NO DESCRIPTION REPRESENTS OR GIVE ANY HINTS TO JAEHYUN'S REAL LIFE CHARACTER. 

a/n : part of heartbreakhotel monthly event by precious network @nct-writers

SUMMARY : heart in one hand, a blade in another. Which one goes down under the weight of other? Who is brave enough to sacrifice the other?

The shimmering, colourful, geometrical patterns of the bronze kaleidoscope motivated your heels to exultant jumps, simply sending tingles to your friend's mind who quietly stood beside you wondering what new pattern had caught your eye this time. She was equally excited yet waited for you to be absolutely gratified. After all, a pattern viewed once could never be seen twice or remembered long enough to be claimed to have hit our eyes.

The light hues of the unreachable sun coloured the small market in its natural glow making terrible winter evening walks a little more bearable .You loved it. You loved the scenery, all the more so because it was deemed to be yours. Every corner of this small kingdom had your father's crown engraved on it yet you weren't permitted to move around in a place you dared to call your own. Hence the poorly patched long cotton skirt and lazily stitched full sleeved shirt covered you like you were a fugitive in disguise or maybe belonged to some impoverished village. Same was the case with your pretty friend who, once averse to your youthful shenanigans, found the silver jewellery most fascinating in the whole market and not to omit the street food that turned the palace food to be flavourless.

 You had never been very keen on lying to your parents, popularly called the rulers of the kingdom and your poor attendants who thought you were busy with your evening naps that you had suddenly taken upon a liking towards since the past month. But it was a necessity for you. Roaming in the same humongous rooms no more satiated your travelling mind. You wanted to be out, to be free, to just breach all the restrictions you were placed under as a princess to satisfy the hollow rules. As much as your morals and conscience despised hiding truth, this little game you played harmed no soul. Your safety was their priority and you were safe and secure as long as you didn’t leave her side. And this excuse inadvertently spiralled you in this endless circle of hide and seek taking control over your better judgement, throwing the need to pause this rendezvous in the background. What once done out of curiosity and to experience the fanatic lives of your subjects, was now a sine qua non. From patiently performing and learning new tasks suiting your position to skillfully diverting your maids, you indeed had all the prerequisites to be the best queen of your future kingdom. Even though the praise of achievement always resided only in your head, you found yourself to be impressively regal.

"Let me have a look too, y/n" zara, your dear friend pleaded not so politely.

Reluctantly removing the device from your eyes, you pushed it onto her hands, backing away slightly, allowing her in the space.

"Why don't you go and look at some silver jewellery instead?" Huffing, you suggested to lure her.

“The new ones arrive next monday!” Not paying heed to your tender, she kept smiling, enthralled by the beauty captured between the pieces of mirrors.

You nudged her playfully, the action meant to drive her to the end of her patience but she dogged your efforts with continuous giggles. Relentless you were too and she was always reminded of that in a hard way. What your elbow failed to do, your fingers completed. As soon as your fingers in her ears, she bitterly pulled herself away to face you.

“This is unfair y/n. This hour of freedom is not for your pleasure only” puckering her lips, she said while her eyes squinted at you. 

Suddenly, her forehead was smeared with thoughtful lines, “y/n! It’s been twenty minutes already. Where is your lover?” surprise rained over her whole face, “Do you think he got caught?”

You were almost ready to refute her former statement that he certainly wasn’t your lover yet but her latter question of suspicion appalled you and there was no need for her to ask you any further as she noticed your face shrinking, distorting your pretty lips into a worrisome pout. She immediately left the metal device, focusing on you.

“hey! I am not serious. I was just trying to distract you” as she cupped your face, a pout of her own greeted you.

Her words were not reassuring at all. There was no unlikelihood of what she said. Jaehyun was, without any doubt, illustrious in the fouled game you both played but neither his family resided here nor was he allowed to enter the premises of your kingdom. The said man was corrupted by his youthful glow that granted him enough courage of frisking around the walls of the forbidden territory.

Inhaling sharply, you uncloaked your worry,

“do you think he real-

“no no absolutely not love. He’s too clever for that and he’s been doing since months, way longer than me and you! Let’s wait for a few more minutes.” Cupping your chin, she jested and cooed, “Also won't he perish without seeing your beautiful face. He would be here any minute!”

 Just when you responded to her with a grim nod, a well acquainted shoulder bumped into you, mitigating your distress with a familiar touch. eyes closed in relief, you looked at zara for approval which was given right away with a playful wink.

Giggling like a little child, you skipped to the back of the market where jaehyun waited for you every evening. Hiding your face in the silk grey scarf, you sneaked away avoiding everyone’s sight and waiting for your arrival, Jaehyun stood there with the lower half of his face concealed with a black cotton headcover. 

As soon as he saw you, the hand glueing the cloth to his face fell down and his face lit up with a smile worthy of putting stars to shame if compared. The wrinkles on his face and the dips in the cheeks had you wanting to hide in those spaces, away from everyone who had heralded this union to be forbidden.

 There you stood, staring into his dark eyes like he wasn't someone you were supposed to keep a good distance from. 

But the light in his eyes diminished on seeing your excited face.

"You did that again! Why don’t you follow anything I say to you? At least, look back and confirm my presence. What if someone had followed me?” deeply whispering, he frowned at you.

And fondly, you smiled at him, something that he never found fascinating but it still left him flustered.

"Don't smile at me like that. I won't melt this ti-

"I apologise?"

You blurted out taking him by surprise. His mouth opened and closed several times, body slightly rocking in confusion. Finally, he spoke, 

"I didn't mean it like that." His voice softened, "i just can't - 

Cleaning his muddy hands on his pajamas, he placed them on your cheeks, engulfing your whole face with his long fingers.

"I just can't see you in danger. If any of my uncle’s spies came wandering and recognised you at this hour, they'd not hesitate to slit your throat y/n" the way his face contorted as he recited the known truth,  it was evident how just the mention of it was painful to him. "Don't follow unless you see my face. I know there's no one harming you in your own country but you never know when odds might defeat you" 

"Do you-

You began but his questioning eyes stopped you. His eyes talked only in worry and love. Both for you. But even if you were content with what he showered you with, greed for little more was something you never deemed unnecessary.

"I what?" 

You wanted to continue but the perpetual worry planted on his face disturbed you as well.

"Jaehyun-'' your fingers brushed away the strand of hair on his face, “I mean don’t you find it tedious? Giving me the same instructions every other day, wasting the ten minutes of the limited time we get.”

He left your face and focused on cleaning the remaining dirt from his hand. To avoid suspicions and blend into the environment, he always covered his hands in mud, giving an impression of a forlorn daily worker. Nobody questioned a person who looked homeless and unhappy, even if he meandered near the barbed wires.

“I got in trouble.”

You hadn’t even sat down on the bench and he was already bombarding you apprehensions.

“how?” inaudibly, you asked.

He broke his eyes away before responding,

“they saw me leaving the palace yesterday. From tomorrow, I shall be accompanying my cousin to verify the supplies in the production department.” his chuckle forced you to let out one as well. his irresponsible behaviour had fables of its own, as jaehyun had told you once. the little penalties he was subjected to weren’t discomforting either but this time it involved you as well.

“for how long?”

 “my family’s care agenda would hopefully end within two weeks and then I shall be free again. but we might need a new place and new time too.”

His words were muffled in the back as your eyes remained transfixed on his hand sheepishly rubbing his neck. Under your inappropriate scrutiny, he found himself tinting and your strong gaze posed more problems for his already thumping heart.

He coughed you out of your daze, eyes wavering everywhere. Picking your lip, you suppressed your giggles.

Finger under your chin, you pretended contemplation. Your comical stance earned a groan from him,

“how about you get serious for once and I’ll buy you steamed food.”

Smiling widely, your greedy stomach took the offer immediately.

“not everyone lacks intelligence, prince jaehyun.”

He huffed and crossed his arms, feigning offence at your statement. “Now what are you implying princess y/n.”

“that I might already have a place decided. So hurry up now and feed me food while telling me about your day.”

“You are impressive, my lady! How am I going to live with your notorious self?”

“you plan on living with this notorious princess?” you clowned even though his question showed you more than just a hope.

“the inquiry hour is closed princess and so would be the shops if you choose to delay more. Soooo, shall we leave?”

Responding to your sharp gaze, he took your hand and pressed his plump lips onto them, disrupting the chain of your rational thoughts.

As the atmosphere tuned cooler and he bid adieu, you went back with a new assurance, ready to put your life on hold for the next few weeks.

lying on your back, you let out muffled giggles to celebrate another successful classified evening. clothes were changed, chess was out. You were prepared for any intrusion.

Zara's laughter soon died down, happy and heavy breaths replacing them. Seated on your bed, she faced you,

"So my courageous y/n, did you confess today?"

Abruptly you raised yourself, looking at her in bewilderment,

“Of course not!”

“What? Why not? What are you waiting for? Time is slipping away love.”

“I know. I just want to be a little more sure before taking this a step further. I do not want to misjudge his momentary affection for a promised future.The detestation our families share for each other has always proven to be deadly. Unless I’m sure that jaehyun’s feelings are indisputable, I shall not be proceeding." Mumbling out the last part, you began playing with the hem of your deep blue skirt to hide the disappointment that settled in within your heart. 

"Okay. I can't force you but do know that saving your heart from misery is better. Oh and does the poor boy have any hint about me." Zara advised lacing her words with a chuckle in the end. 

"Don't worry. You are just a maid friend whom I love and trust the most. He believes each of my pretty lies you know.”

"Oh my love. He truly fancies you. I wish your brother wasn't so incapable of harbouring feelings. How delightful life could have been only if he was like you." She wistfully spoke just like other times. Your heart hurt for her. She never got the love she was capable of giving yet the kindness never withered away. She was just like that. 

Soon your peace was interrupted and you were escorted to the dinner table. 

There sat your parents with their favourite child. You weren't loved any less yet it weakened your heart, watching them walking past your capabilities to applaud his undistinguished skills. His gender screamed for power when his capabilities barely had any knowledge of whispering about them. You abhorred it. Not your brother for he was raised with a rode in his neck but the stars that never aligned in your favour crushing your dream of wearing the crown for your own kingdom, under the grime rules made by those who were dead. Only god and zara knew how much hatred you held for your ruthless ancestors who never favoured women.

Sans any relish, you bit on the food which definitely tasted better for something you were not very fond of. but the almost good meal was ridden of all the salt as you felt conscious of their eyes on your face.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" you asked with a reluctantly polite voice.

That's when you noticed how their attention was divided to both you and zara.  Your brother Donghae’s serious eyes bored into her face as she tried to avoid him while sitting right across him on the dining table.

Finally your mother spoke.

“Donghae was looking for you throughout the whole evening, zara.”

Zara lowered her head, look on her face screaming help which only you understood so you took the charge on her behalf,

“We were in my room.”

“And what is so important in your room that you both chose to ignore constant calls from your maids?”

“After an exhausting and unentertaining day, we both play chess, share all the amusing stories of our respective days, details of which can be given to you if asked with some enthusiasm and then we sleep for an hour, in peace without anyone spitting orders on our faces and since when have my brother changed so much that he actually got some time to look for his wife?”

“May I know from where this disrespectful flow of words is coming through? Is this a way to talk to your elders?”

“I mean no disrespect, mother.”

“This ends today. From tomorrow you shall be spending those two hours with our bakery chef.”

Instead of your mother, you directed your next plead to your father, who was an expert in nodding at household matters

“No! This is the only time I get with zara. within a year or two i’ll be married off to some rude man who won’t even let me put my feet outside the threshold of his palace.” pouting, you said.

Waving his hand, he dismissed the matter that meant whoever got the last sentence was the conqueror of the discussion.

"Why are you here?" Counting and aligning the stars to form another shape, he interestingly asked.

"I wanted to explore this dead garden. What about you? What brings you here in the enemy land?" You jested.

"to meet a very beautiful enemy."

"a woman?"

"Yes yes. She's a woman. A very pretty one I must say but very feisty and dangerous to be around."

"Oh how so?" You asked now genuinely interested in his description of yours.

"I've heard she has a heart of stone."

"Huh? Have you seen her heart to be so sure of your accusation?"

"I've enough instances to prove that."

"Like?"

"She meets a handsome prince, spends an hour staring at his eyes with all but love and still chooses to stay silent. It's a dangerous game she's playing with him. It almost - it hurts him."his fatalistic expression left you stunned. The ancillary confession beleaguered your heart instead of calming the storm.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tried your best to focus on the constellations instead. you pulled the poor blade of grass harder in a futile attempt of breaking it apart but it was snatched from you.

“answer me.” He demanded the answer that was resting on the tip of your tongue.

"I love you."

He blurted out and you felt his fingers finding home in yours as he interlocked them. the moisture of the grass swamped your hands and you finally found your warmth within each other.

“the whole palace is under your charm y/n” you stopped the stirring at zara’s words.

“how so?”

“they haven’t seen your wrath in the past few weeks. You didn’t shout at minji for throwing your burnt cake either.”

Swatting her hand away from the pot, you replied, “let them enjoy their peace days.”

“may god bless jaehyun! The whole palace is saved until you are happy.” Bumping her shoulders into yours, she took the charge from you. “what about the haunted garden y/n. aren’t you afraid of going there. it’s been weeks and I haven’t heard you screaming about any ghost.”

You scoffed at her naive self, “the only ghost that haunts the garden is in ME!” dragging the last part, you successfully scared her into dropping the ladle in the hot pot. Resultantly, she chases you off in the whole kitchen until you agree to turn the muddle of vegetables into something edible.

Jaehyun’s presence generated so much happiness within your soul that you were afraid one unfortunate day would snatch him from you yet you never fought against the urge to drown in the love he poured on you. He mirrored the boy you met in your books, just as dreamy, if not more. His princely chiselled face was a sight to die for. He was a typical example of a lotus, a beautiful flower born in mud where it lived and died and you wanted to change that for him.

“What do you fear the most?”

Nestling your face in his neck, you couldn’t help but ask the question. He snuggled you closer to him, the sheet beneath you crumpling making the leaves and the grass it covered rustling under you. He shifted his head only to face your hair. Removing his one hand from your waist, he moved your chin to inspect you. He never understood how you came up with most bizzare and inquiring questions. But he was always more than happy to speak or in this case, express.

“that I will forever remain indebted to you.”

grasping his hand that held your chin, you saw him gulp down the words he hesitated to utter. 

"Love is not a debt jae. Just keep loving me like this, make me hap-

Abruptly your view of him changed as he floated over your figure. Resting your head on the sheet, his fingers traced the path along your face, feeling every inch of the skin he had learned to admire from afar. With adoration filled eyes, he drew nearer.

His lips were delicate against yours. Moving gently, he comforted your vulnerable ones, winning a pleased and dry whine from your throat. Hands dropping to your neck, his lips travelled down to your jaw where he sucked lightly at a candied spot and the little tickle kisses he gave you reaching your collarbones left you squealing in its wake. He hovered over your face again, this time to taste the bliss you felt and courageously, you pulled him closer and like it was designed, Mist of delight clouded your minds as  you forgot your fingers in his nape. If finding stars in his eyes was your expression of love then dancing against your pulsating lips, he perfectly found his interpretation as well. 

He drew back when he was done with bruising your skin. Staring into your eyes, he asked for something. With a blink of the same, you conveyed it. 

Curving your back, you allowed him to unzip the lavender dress you were wearing. As he uncovered your skin, he greeted it with beautiful, praiseworthy kisses, covering you with his undying love.

That night he resuscitated you, sending you into an oblivion. 

The reason being the incantations that he served you with.

I wish to give you a ring!

And the simple words resonated the promise that you could hardly wait for him to fulfill.

Sympathy combining some unknown feeling washed over you as you heard your father talking about the neighbouring kingdoms and the pitiful state they were in. you had always known about the lack of resources those people lived with but that was the end. It was just a topic of discussion and theory to learn about the blunders of their ancestors and the brutal history of their treason to an old ally, your father and grandfather.

With a contempt laced tongue, once again, your father recited the story of betrayal of the lees and the jungs. The story was religiously told to every child once they were old enough to understand the terms like loyalty, allegiance, infidelity and betrayal.

You had vowed to change that. a seed of hatred planted in a younger mind would only yield a crop of vengeance. you aspired to end it. Jaehyun, too, wanted to wash the stains of treachery from his family name.  

 To your dismay, the army was out to roam the small towns and villages, looking for trespasser enemies. 

One day, you were resting in jaehyun's arms and the next day, you were left to sulk as the guards had suddenly decided to reaffirm the reliability of all the hinges. The doors were smacked, locked and unlocked, leaving you with million suspicions and a heavy heart. 

The only assurance you had, was in Jaehyun's capability of fooling the security forces. Proud as you were, the unsettling feeling of a blurred future did not let you sleep. For three nights.

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly from behind.

“easy jaehyun! it tickles!” you exclaimed while controlling your giggling.

“i thought you won’t be here tonight but yo-

“but i managed to sneak!” you finished, turning in his arms to see his beautiful face glistening in the moonlight. “and i don’t know for how much longer i can fool my attendants, what if one day they got in trouble for negligence. The security is doubled outside all the chambers. If I pulled anything, father would not hesitate to behead them.” your face dimmed with the mere thought of the fate of your precious maids and if anything happened to them, your soul would be forever encumbered with the guilt. 

your worried eyes didn’t escape jaehyun as he leaned forward to give you a small kiss, soothing your nerves. the small peck left you wanting for more as you bit your lower lip in anticipation of his further actions.

“nothing would happen. it’s been 2 months and nobody in the whole kingdom knows where and with whom their gorgeous princess spends her nights! and besides i’m here to ease the worries of your forever wandering mind. "

"Why do you always have to talk in riddles jae!"

He laughed through your smacks before circling your figure twice, leaving you staggered and dumbfounded.

"What are yo-

"I'm serious. I’m just here to fulfil my promise love.” he caught and pulled you again, keeping just a little distance between you both

“what promise? i don’t remember anything!” you asked genuinely perplexed by his words. as far as your memory too you, the only promise he made was-

your eyes widened at the realisation! jaehyun removed his one hand from your waist, putting it inside the pocket of his pants.

at this point, you could hear your own thumping heart whilst looking at him expectantly.

“let’s relieve you of a huge burden my princess!” he said with a smiling face but as you tried to mirror his expression, a sharp pain coursed through your abdomen.

you wobbled as he left your waist, the pain doubling when he pulled the small knife out of your body, a smirk adorning his features instead.

your body felt hotter than ever as the blood slowly oozed out of your abdomen. no scream left your lips as you pressed the wounded area in a try to lessen the ache.

The solemn tears falling down the cheeks were not for the physical damage but for the broken promise Jaehyun had bestowed upon you with.

“wh-why?” was the only word you could form before your other hand went to grab his arm but was only met with air.

jaehyun loomed closer and his knife met your stomach once again, this time a grievous shriek filled the silent garden. 

Your legs lost life, your body finding it harder to withstand the twist of the knife as you fell on the grass, darkness consuming your soul.

“because i couldn’t be on the throne as long as the heir of this kingdom was alive. but your death won’t be worthless love. I shall wear the crown of your sacrifice and reclaim all the lost honour.”

Instead of a deep breath as you had expected, a choked sob left your lips and the whole body convulsed with the painful effort.

Your eyes remained glued to him as he rubbed his face with this sleeve regarding you with the cruelty you never knew he was capable of.

contempt in his orbs served as his last offering towards you as he exited your sight, calling for someone.

After what felt like years, you heard a human voice again but your body gave up before you could comprehend anything. 

“you did it my boy!”

Jinyoung broke his hateful glare from the throne and patted a demented jaehyun on the back, congratulating his prime pawn for the successful acquisition. The so called disqualified heirs were now the rulers, a dream that was once broken by their backstabbing friend, the now murdered king of this kingdom.

“and you shall be rewarded for you have made your deceased father proud.” Hand caressing Jaehyun's shoulder, he pretended to wipe the few tears that escaped due to the bitter memory. Cleaning his eyes with the sleeve of his dusted robe, he took the gold crown from his younger brother, jinseok and ran his eyes from jaehyun to the majestic chair on the silver podium.

With pride clotted blood, Jaehyun bowed to him before taking his seat.

The crown was set atop his head, fitting him without any doubt.

It weighed more than he thought.

With a sinister smile, his uncle ordered the assassination of all the loyal members of court.

Guards were beheaded and bodies were counted.

The palace was foraged, to find and kill all the runaways.

A manhunt was announced for the one who wasn’t found.

Nobody knew there were more to be found.

The triumphant smile lit Jaehyun's face for he lost nothing.

Three weeks later.  

Donghae’s hands lost all the strength, the plastic bag filled with potatoes now rolling down the uneven and mud washed floor of the hut.

The day he had been anticipating with broken hope and glistening eyes was not a dream anymore.

Your fingers finally trembled against the hard, rugged and rough mattress.

You had decided to open your eyes after three weeks.

Finally he allowed himself to cry.

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me

Crown hanging between his fingers, his gaze pierced the ground.

You were lying there three weeks ago.

Were you taken away?

Were you no more?

There was no probability of inhaling after how perfectly he had spun his knife.

No man had ever survived his knife, not even his own teacher. There was no way you could have. All the odds were in his favour for all the cards being played with accuracy.

Did he hope for your life?

You were an enemy, just a play. Then why the thought of never beholding you again hurt him so much. 

why the weight of the crown crumbled on him with such intensity.

Why did he choose your chamber to stay in?

Yet Why was he unable to sleep?

He grew up seeking answers and  taking orders and this time there was no one to respond to his cries.

Neither did anyone care enough to ask him the reason for his quotidian visits to the garden.

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

It wasn’t home. But the eyes looking back at you undeniably reminded you of it. A day has passed since you saw the light of the world again but all you did was listen to the gut-wrenching fate your family had met with. Half of the family!

Your parents were murdered in the coup premeditated  by none other than the neighbouring jungs. What was equally agonising was the fact that your brother never got to give your parents a respectable farewell. The troops had charged upon their sleepy selves and the mere hanging crown on the naked and bloodied sword of jin young was enough of a proof of the successful attack. Their escape hadn't been easy either but with a little help from the general, they had managed to flee. Zara had led them to you. 

 Unknown fear consumed you as you read your surroundings. But it was time you admitted to your mistakes and faced the consequences. If there were any brutal ones left. There was nothing you would be unable to endure. So you began with the unanswered questions.

“what is this place?” you asked with a sore throat.

“this is jung’s territory. They are too blinded by their victory that this barren land is the last place they would send their troops to.” donghae replied, feeding you spoonfuls of the soup.

“But how did we reach here?"

"Through the underground war doors. They once joined both of our territories before the jungs were disqualified from trading. This end was opened by our general when we lost too much blood. Their bloody nephew is sitting on the throne, uniting this useless kingdome with ours." He seethed. 

You bit your lip to compose yourself. you knew you had to tell them about jaehyun and a broken trust was the last thing you wanted to inject in him but necessity clawed on your heart to reveal everything.

Caressing your face, he acidly began, 

"We'll take back everything. No one shall be spared. We are contacting our alliances. By next month, our kingdom would be in the state of siege. Every drop of blood shall be avenged. Jaehyun would pay for what he did."

At his mention, you withdrew your sight from him. Guilt crept up within you as you tried to affiliate every past event with the current one. It was clear as day you were a mere instrument to find a place for the entry of their troops. You were just a puppet. Unknowingly, you had allowed them to enter your parent's bedroom too. You had blood on your hands. Of countless people.

A single tear slipped and the lack of his expression on your face scared zara. She ran to occupy the other side of the bed and caught your head before you broke down in her arms. Jaehyun's lies and betrayal of your love was left somewhere in an old rusted chest of your mind and the pure anguish shattered you into millions of pieces.

You wailed yourself to sleep. 

Jaehyun visited you that night. In the form of dust. And he continued breaching your peace as if killing you once wasn't enough.

Now the day bleeds, into nightfall and you are not here, to get me through it all.

Jaehyun woke up in cold sweat. When was the last time he slept with an easy mind? 

Maybe the week before he was ordered to finish off what he had started. 

He changed rooms. 

He changed floors.

But his eyes never closed for even the minor chances of meeting you in the dreamland scared him to death. 

With a trembling hand, he picked up the crown and threw it away.

Amusingly, you were still dead.

Were you really that foolish?

Perhaps you resembled every other weak hearted person for whom a pinch of affection was a desperate call to sell their soul and rationality.

You had just wanted to walk down the markets without any constraints pulling you back in. Skipping in the shadows while hiding from the sun was the only desire you had. 

Why had he bumped his shoulder into yours? Why had he repeated it again and again until had grown to recognise his touch even through the thick layers of clothing and masked faces?

It's amusing how we end up finding each other in the same place at same time everyday

He had said with a sugary tone when you had questioned him sternly. 

You had believed him.

I'm prince Jaehyun, from the other side. I just came here to see the beauty that our place doesn't possess. It's all barren and discarded. No healthy vegetables. No dry fruits. I just enjoy myself every evening and buy some good food for some poor kids. You won't mention this to anyone right? I’ll leave right away if you want though!

How righteous had he sounded!

We'll propose unification and then everything will come to life again. No bloodshed. No backstabbing. No spy plays. We’ll never let history blemish our future.

How had he managed to contradict each and every word he had spoken. 

he just changed like the patterns in the kaleidoscope as if you had never reflected in the mirrors of his heart. 

Perhaps you never did.

You despised his way of fulfilling his Imperishable love for you! 

You were relieved Zara had been the one to inform your brother of this leading cause.

How ruthless he could have been!

You wanted to give his whole kingdom a new life and all he could give you in return was a knife. 

I was getting kinda used to being the someone you loved

Jaehyun's fingers turned green for how harshly he picked at the grass. Picking at those innocent blades didn't bring you back. 

His cries thundered in the air. He begged for the time to turn itself. He yearned for the love you had shown him. He missed your warmth. He missed your careless laughs. His heart shrieked for you. The only person he had ever loved. The only being who had ever loved him.

 Why he couldn't have saved himself from being the traitor of the heart he could've ruled!

You stared at the heavy corset that was made to safeguard you.

You were no expert with a blade but still one was handed over to you as precaution. 

The general read you the instructions, mainly focusing on the need to remain hidden underground until the war was over. You and Zara were to be kept away from the weapons. 

That was what the commandments directed you to follow.

Today, the wind blew harsher. Maybe he was the only one to feel the strange stillness in the disorder. Everything had been imprudently loud for him lately. Even the riots that shook the doors of the palace. How long could they have held onto something that never belonged to them! 

As he dismissed the servant who called him to take charge against your brother, his mind pressed upon bolting all the heavy doors to ignore the murderous stream. He had led one army before but now lacked the courage to pick up his knife and sword, the ones he buried right in the garden where you once laid.

You.

The broken look on your face was the image he wanted to delete from the depths of his mind so desperately yet your presence never left him alone. Maybe it was the sanction of the heavens that you were always there with him. In his days and in his dreams. He got all of your portraits removed yet here you were, standing in front of him with a smile on your face. A quiet rare sight. The radiant face, if not impossible to find, was still very infrequent even in his dreams. The air smelled of you. The atmosphere was enticing. Suddenly, he wanted to chase his dream, to go after you. 

So he followed his heart. 

Your illusion stayed still, with curved lips making you look ethereal. Even in the darkness, your face illuminated the way for him.

His hand rose, hoping to touch you even though the rational part of his head screamed that it was a lie created by him to save himself from another night of misery but he failed to listen and caved in. Like each time, he expected his hand to pass through you, breaking the charm of his fabrication of you. 

But here he was. 

Instead of passing through the smoke that you were supposed to be, his hand rested upon the gentle skin that your face had. Retracting his fingers immediately, he fell back in fear, eyes widening and chest heaving. 

You were anything but an illusion. 

His hand grazed against your cheek before he fell down, stumbling upon his own feet. The crown that decorated his head too withdrew its support, lying on the floor like it had recognised its lawful owner.

"My king." Solemnly, you addressed him. "I hope you are enjoying your new home and title."

As you talked, you watched him collecting himself. As he unclogged the blocks of his mind, awe transformed his face momentarily shaping itself into trepidation. To your disbelief, he brightened up once again. Had he not been liable for the ghastly crimes, you’d have sympathised with the deranged state of the always self possessed jaehyun. Alas! You had nothing to offer him.

Shuffling on his knees, with his head bowed lowly, he spoke with dead voice,

"Forgive me, please." He cried into his joined hands.

"Get up jaehyun. A mighty and worthy king like you doesn't look very honourable bowing to a mere woman like me." Your dangerously honeyed voice resembled the ominous dark clouds brooding atop his head. 

But you admired his valor for he kept apologising, burning himself with the false hope of undoing the indelible smudge he had left on you.

"I thought i never loved you y/n but i was utterly wron-

"You are a deceiver King jaehyun. Do not expect me to believe you." 

"Don't call me that please!" 

"Get up jaehyun." you barked. 

"I hate myself for doing that to you y/n." Getting up slowly, he repeated twice. You were yet to see his face and when he rose to his full height, you were met with his bloodshot eyes that could've ached you if your heart hadn't been damaged to the core.

"Don't hate yourself please. You made your family proud. That is what we kids should be aiming for right. I truly admire you for that King jaehyun." The emotionless stress on the end made him close his eyes in pain as he choked out another heart wrenching sob. 

"I'm truly sorry y/n, please. I can't take your hatred. I don't want this crown nor do i want to live here anymore."

Your stomach churned at his cries. You had truly underestimated his capability to surprise you but it only made you grip harder on the knife that was tucked in your waistband.

“How naive of you to think that I'll fall for your lies again, jaehyun.”

Rubbing his face with his palms, he looked heavenward,

"No no. I love you. I really really love you.I never realised this until now. I just can’t live without you” and continued as his glistened eyes met yours, “Why are you not listening to me?"

"Don't you think you are a bit late for a true confession."

"Yours was true right. Your love was conditionless. I swear on your love! Forgive me once please. Love is the strongest, you told me this right. I just need you y/n. not this crown. Not anyone else. Just you, Please." 

A mean scoff left your lips, "Yes, i was the one who told you about love being the most powerful but that was until you taught me the strength of hatred, jaehyun. You knifed me out of the fairytales i dreamt with you and i don't think i can ever thank you enough for that. The love you are so profoundly swearing to is lying under the debris of the hollow pride and the abhorrence you sheltered for my family. You never once heard my pleas of affection and now you expect me to listen to yours?how can you stoop so low?"

You watched him screaming into the air and crumbling down. You saw him going through the pain you would never recover from yourself and you wanted to end it. For him. It was rather painful to watch him so you mumbled his name. 

With newfound belief, he loomed closer with open arms, anticipating a change of heart from you. Maybe you weren't really as unconcerned to him as he had been with you. 

but the long blade mutilated his lungs and silent gasps of pain escaped his throat. His miserable eyes ruined the shield you wore and you screamed at him while repeating the thrusts of the sharp blade. Droplets of vengeance imbued the chilled air, drizzling down your neck in the form of sweat.

Somehow the hall was lit and you were forced to see what you had done to him. His grip on the ground faltered and the blade slipped through your fingers, the clink dangerously reverberating in the hall. 

Before your hand could reach for him, something pointed grazed your shoulder. You wanted to turn around but more and more spikes pierced through you; the heaviness and the pain that seeped through your back launched you forward and you fell down on another body that had been hosted by the marble a few moments ago. The ache of the arrows left you breathless. Once again, you struggled with your eyelids. within a few seconds, relief padded your back and you discontinued your wrestling. 

and perhaps your dead heart was finally at peace.

[cube-e-scape]

Petrichor

"Tch."

A drop of water landed on his nose, and Chuuya clicked his tongue. For a moment, he considered using his ability to get home quickly.

Too much hassle. It was his day off anyway. No use attracting attention.

Taking out the folding umbrella, he opened it, just as more water poured down from the sky, and resumed walking, the Krug Grande Cuvée case tucked neatly and carefully inside his coat.

People were moving around him. Some looking for shelter. Some running faster. Some taking out their umbrellas, all black and navy and dark colours, blended into the dark gray of the sky. Chuuya felt a little out of place, with his orange hair and burgundy umbrella.

Yokohama was quiet today.

He let his guard down a little bit, taking in the precious rare peacefulness, let instinct take over and feet carry him down the familiar way home. Passing the also familiar deserted park-

"What the fuck is he doing here!?"

Chuuya frantically looked around. Is Dazai here? Is anyone else here? Is he ambushed? Is he going to be shoved into another cursed book?

He wouldn't be fooled again. Not this time. Not by the same trick.

Two minutes passed, slow and torturous.

The detective just sat there, on the wooden bench, under the protection of his transparent umbrella. Alone.

Another two minutes passed.

Chuuya didn't know what made him do what he did, but he slowly took a step forward, and then another, and another, until...

The detective still sat there.

"Hey Mr. Fancy Hat." Ranpo's voice was soft, drowned out by the deafening rain, but Chuuya heard it all the same.

"...Edogawa."

"That sounds so old. Feels like I'm forty already. Just Ranpo!" He whined, just like a child, high pitch with a pout on his face, and Chuuya let out a small laugh.

"Fine, whatever. Ranpo."

Seemingly satisfied, Ranpo continued watching the rain, legs swinging occasionally, disturbed the puddle under his feet, humming a tune that Chuuya couldn't recognised. He vaguely recalled their time in the book, how the detective had run around, laughing and smiling childishly, eyes bright with excitement and uncontained joy, as if they hadn't been surrounded by five hundred dangerous and armed murderers. How his face had lighten up when saw a candy shop, then proceeded to drag Chuuya in there with him and conveniently identified a murderer while choosing lollipops.

"...- still here?"

"Ha?"

"I asked why you were still here. Wouldn't wanna keep that nice Krug Grande Cuvée and your Wagyu beef waiting, right?" How Ranpo knew about his plan for dinner, he wasn't even surprised anymore.

You look lonely.

"I do whatever I want." was what he said.

"Huh."

Chuuya took a look at Ranpo. Despite being protected by the transparent umbrella, the front of his white button was slightly damp, his white knee highs were completely soaked, the brown coat did little to hide his trembling shoulders. But he didn't seem bothered, instead tilting his head back a little bit more, as if to enjoy the rain easier.

Chuuya subconsciously moved closer, slightly tilted his own umbrella over the detective.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"Until now, almost an hour."

"What the hell, why?" Is he crazy?

"I knew it was going to rain, so I came here to see if I timed it right. Of course this Great Detective is never wrong!"

"..."

The rain kept falling. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Deafening.

"...You like the rain. Why?" Chuuya dared to ask. Would Ranpo answer? Would he keep silence? Would he leave? Was this a mistake? So many possibilities, and Chuuya wasn't really a positive person. But as Ranpo opened those eyes, those damned clear, innocent, emerald eyes filled with nostalgia and melancholy, he held his breath, and waited.

One minute passed.

"Petrichor."

"...What?"

"Petrichor. That warm and fresh scent when rain falls on dry soil, stems from microscopic streptomycete bacteria in the soil that produce a compound called geosmin. You really need to improve your vocabulary, Fancy Hat-"

"I freaking know what petrichor is-!"

"I simply just like that scent."

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

"Why?"

"...When I was young, whenever it rained, Farther and I would sit outside, under the porch. He always let me sit on his lap, told me all about the cases he had solved, rubbed my arms to keep me warm." Ranpo unconsciously lifted his free hand and started rubbing his arm. "Mother would make tea and zenzai, then we would drink tea and eat zenzai together. They always let me have all the red beans..."

He had such a far away look in his eyes, as if he was a child once again, voice so small it was almost a whisper.

"I can hardly remember their faces now, you know. But somehow I remember that scent, petrichor." Ranpo shrugged. "So I thought: If I breathe deep enough, long enough, maybe I can keep them close in me, somehow."

Chuuya just stared at him, once again amazed by the detective, by his honesty.

By the amount of trust Ranpo put in him, enough to show him his real emotions, a moment of weakness.

They said nothing afterwards. Ranpo still sat there, and Chuuya just stand there, hoping that his umbrella was enough to keep Ranpo warm and dry.

Ten minutes passed. The rain stopped.

Ranpo stood up so sudden that Chuuya almost dropped his wine case. After closing their umbrellas, he turned the mafioso, a soft smile on his youthful face and in those innocent green eyes, and clutched his sleeve, not unlike the way a child would clutch an adult's pinkie.

"Let's go Fancy Hat! There's a candy shop around here! I want Ramune too!"

"Dammit Ranpo! I'm not your fucking bodygu-"

"That wine and steak has already waited for an hour and a half. What's another 30 minutes?"

Chuuya just smiled helplessly, and let Ranpo drag him away.

He took a deep breath.

Petrichor smelled really nice.

~~~~~~~~

This is my first time writing BSD, as well as my first time writing ChuuRan. They are just too cute! There might be a lot of grammatical errors, so don't hesitate to tell me. I wanna improve my writing skill :3

[obi-wkenobi]

an obikin fic in which Obi is pining (and is hopelessly in love) with Anakin from afar but he thinks he is too old and that Anakin deserves only the best but Obi has his happy ending

Hi anon, thanks for this! I hope the below fic is something you had in mind. 😊

Anakin was next on the Council’s agenda, and from the hastily written report they had received hours before, the meeting was unlikely to be a quick one. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, what with Anakin mostly touring the outer rim and himself left on Coruscant. It wouldn’t do well for the other Council members to know, but Obi-Wan had missed him. He missed them. The Team.

And if Obi-Wan missed Anakin more than was entirely appropriate, then only he would ever know. There was no need to embarrass himself after all.

Sweat and dust darkened Anakin’s robes as he walked into the chamber, his curls plastered to the back of his neck and usually golden skin a chestnut brown. Tivol was a hot world, Obi-Wan recalled dumbly, with scorching heat that rivaled Tatooine’s, and Force, if possible, it had made Anakin even more beautiful.

The sight of him hit Obi-Wan hard, both by the frantic thud of his old heart and the deep and low drum below his belt, sparking adrenaline in his veins like the crackle of an electroblade. He shook his head, urgently trying to gather his wits after having them knocked out of him due to the simple sight of his former Padawan.

“Masters,” Anakin said, bowing respectfully and casting them a small smile, his eyes lingering on Obi-Wan.

“Knight Skywalker,” Master Windu said, “the Council is glad that you have returned, your report was most...brief in its detailing about your success on Tivol.”

Anakin flushed, the red tint wonderfully darkening his cheeks even more. “My apologies, I was too engaged with the mission whilst there and only remembered the report on my way back.”

Oh, Anakin, he thought fondly, chucking his erstwhile Padawan an exasperated look and privately delighting in watching Anakin squirm as a result.

Master Windu leaned forward, disappointment written plainly on his face. “You forgot?!”

Anakin’s face went from endearingly embarrassed to outright irate, turning a telltale purple as his anger grew. That wasn’t what Obi-Wan wanted to see. Anakin had had a difficult few weeks, he didn’t deserve to be reprimanded so soon upon his return.

“No harm has come from it, surely, Master?” Obi-Wan interrupted softly, stubbornly keeping his composure as Master Windu’s deep brown eyes settled upon him rigidly. “Anakin can add to the report today if necessary.”

A few seats down from him, a baritone chuckle sounded. “Knight Skywalker, your former Master has come to your defence once again. He does that quite a bit you know,” Master Plo observed.

Obi-Wan spluttered, indignant. “I do not.”

“Don’t you?” Master Windu asked, an eyebrow arched knowingly.

Now it was his turn to blush, except when he did so his face turned awfully red and splotchy. Charming on someone as lively and youthful as Anakin, but utterly demoralising on an older man like him.

Anakin peered at him with an odd intrigue in his sharp blue eyes. “Do you?”

“I-I…” he fumbled, victim to a verbal ineptitude that he very rarely experienced.

Apparently, Anakin found that amusing. Those enigmatic eyes shined with mirth and a mischievous smile settled on his face, no doubt delighting in the flustering of his usually impervious former Master.

“Perhaps I am guilty of doing so on occasion,” Obi-Wan admitted reluctantly.

It was worth it. Anakin ducked his head shyly, coyly looking at Obi-Wan from beneath long, golden lashes. They stared at one another intensely for what felt like an infinite moment. Each agonising second made him hot all over, heat making his vision hazy, and he fought every instinct telling him to go to Anakin. To pull him into his arms and to bite at that full bottom lip.

But he wouldn’t. Anakin didn’t want him like that, why would he? There were others who could give him what Obi-Wan could not. Younger, better, people who were able to give him everything that he deserved.

“Perhaps you can tell me about those occasions over dinner?”

What?—

Obi-Wan’s wandering gaze snapped back to Anakin’s face. Embarrassment had returned, but there was also the familiar hardness of determination. Had Anakin really just said that? Was Anakin flirting with him? Right here, in the Council chamber—

“Force help me,” Master Windu suddenly muttered. “Can we please get back to the mission report?”

Obi-Wan slowly turned to look at him, face beet red and mortified by what had just transpired. He rubbed a grounding hand through his coarse beard. “Of course, Master.”

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, Obi-Wan kept his eyes firmly planted anywhere but on Anakin, convinced that should their gazes meet then he would do something horribly inappropriate. Just when exactly had he become this man? Wildly passionate and besotted with a man who could enchant him with his insufferable teasing and his loud, booming laugh.

Oh, how Obi-Wan ached to hear that laugh. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the thrill of Anakin’s company.

By the time the Council adjourned for the day, Obi-Wan had mostly been able to purposefully forget what had occurred hours earlier. So sure that he had misinterpreted Anakin’s request, and certain it was only a result of his own hopeless longing, Anakin wanting him in return never being a possible explanation.

“It’s about time.”

Frowning, Obi-Wan finished standing from his Council chair and turned to Master Plo. “Excuse me?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, but he thought the Jedi Master was grinning beneath his mask. “I said it’s about time. That doesn’t mean I want to hear about all the sordid details in the morning though, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him. Sordid details? About what? “I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Master.”

Yes, Obi-Wan thought, the Jedi Master was definitely smiling, he could see the recognisable creases by his eyes now.

His gleeful reply also gave him away, “Go and get him, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan stared after him as he walked away. Go and get him, Obi-Wan repeated to himself as he made his way to his quarters. What in the galaxy did that mean? Today had been one of the strangest in recent memory. Force, what was he even going to say when he next saw Anakin?

His quarters should have been dark when he entered, but they weren’t, something was...flickering?

What in the Force—

The room was lit by a slew of candles placed around the dining room, light blinking alongside the subtle shifts in the air. The room looked remarkably serene, the candles backlit by Coruscant’s sunset providing hues of a dusty orange-pink. On the table was some food, steam rising from plates, and a bottle of red wine placed in the middle.

Alderaanian wine—Obi-Wan���s favourite.

“Hello there, Master.”

Obi-Wan swivelled to look at Anakin, the alluring lines of his body resting deliberately casually against the kitchen counter, surveying Obi-Wan with a nervous, but amused smile tilted on his lips.

“Hello, Anakin,” he croaked. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” Anakin said, grinning when Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I can see that,” he retorted, voice dry and fond. “Why is there dinner, and err—” he blushed furiously, hoping that the darkness hid it, “candles.”

“Because I said that we should have dinner together.”

Obi-Wan tugged at his beard, thinking. “No, you asked if we could.”

Anakin sighed, naked, frustrated affection sitting on his face. “Details, Master.”

Obi-Wan hummed and continued stroking his beard, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. He observed the situation again, considering the impossible...Anakin was not known for subtlety, perhaps...Anakin wanted him? Maybe Anakin was trying to tell him something.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “Anakin—”

Before he could say more, Anakin smiled at him, almost shyly, before walking up to him, and then...then—

Anakin’s lips were on his. They fit together as he had always imagined they would, their lips slanting together and meeting with an intoxicating heat. Obi-Wan wound one hand to cup his head, fingers threading through dishevelled locks, the other hand falling to his lower back, pulling him close. Their lips parted at the instinctive pressure, their tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. Anakin moaned obscenely, the sound more erotic than his wildest dreams.

Eventually, Obi-Wan gathered enough awareness to break the kiss with a wet sound. “Anakin—what?”

“Master,” Anakin panted, the honorific making Obi-Wan groan indecently, “I can’t believe how oblivious you are.”

Obi-Wan scoffed. “I resent that—”

Anakin laughed and kissed the underside of his jaw. “It’s true.”

“I just…” he murmured against bitten lips, “I never thought you would be interested in an old man like me.”

Anakin’s brows furrowed. “You’re not old.”

“I’m sixteen years your senior, Anakin.”

“So? That doesn’t bother me, I’ll want you even when you’re actually old.”

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan sighed, gently biting at the hollow of Anakin’s throat. “You might not feel that way when you’re older and you meet someo—”

Anakin jerked his head back up and kissed him again, desperate and deep. “No,” he stressed, “I want you, I’ve wanted you for years, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows jumped at that. Years? His observation skills clearly needed improving.

“Do you believe me?” Anakin asked, pulling back to look at him.

Futilely, he looked for any indication of deception. It was pointless, want and need sat as clear as day on Anakin’s face.

“I do.”

Anakin surged against him, pressing their mouths together once more, and the both of them smiled in delight as their dinner lay forgotten.

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Don’t I Get a Dream for Myself ? – Bernadette Peters and the 'Gypsy' Saga

Gypsy. It’s perhaps the most daunting of all of the projects related to Bernadette Peters to try to grapple with and discuss. It’s also perhaps the most significant.

For someone notoriously guarded of her privacy and personal life, careful with her words, and selective of the questions she answers, the narrative around this show provides some of the most meaningful insights it is possible to derive in relation to Bernadette herself. The show’s ability to do this is unique, through the way it eerily parallels her own life and spans a large range in time from both Bernadette Peters the Broadway Legend, right back to where it all began with Bernadette Lazzara, the young Italian girl put into showbusiness by her mother.

The most logical place to start is at the very beginning – it is a very good place to start, after all.

(Though no one tell Gypsy this, if the fierce two-way battle with The Sound of Music at the 1960 Tony Awards is anything to be remembered. Anyway, I digress…)

Gypsy: A Musical Fable with music by Jule Styne, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, and book by Arthur Laurents, burst into the world and onto the New York stage in May of 1959. After closing on Broadway in March 1961, Ethel Merman as the world’s original Mama Rose herself led the first national tour off almost immediately around the country. Just a few months later, a second national touring company was formed, starring Mitzi Green and then Mary McCarty as Rose, to cover more cities than the original. It is here that Bernadette comes in.

A 13-year-old Bernadette Peters found herself part of this show in her “first professional” on-the-road production, travelling across the country with her older sister, “Donna (who was also in the show), and their mother (who wasn’t)”.

The tour played through cities like Philadelphia, Chicago, New Haven, Baltimore and Las Vegas before closing in Ohio in 1962. Somewhat uncannily, its September 1961 opening night in Detroit’s Schubert Theatre even returns matters full circle to the 2003 revival and New York’s own Schubert Theatre.

Indeed this bus-and-truck tour was somewhat of a turning point for Bernadette. She’d later remember, “I mostly thought of performing as a hobby until I went on the road with Gypsy”.

But while this production seminally marked a notable moment for the young actress as well as the point where her long and consequential involvement with Gypsy begins, it’s important to recognise she was very much not yet the star of the show and then only a small part of a larger whole.

Bernadette was with the troupe as a member of the ensemble. She took on different positions in the company through the period of nearly a year that the show ran for, including billing as ‘Thelma’ (one of the Hollywood Blondes), ‘Hawaiian Girl’, and additional understudy credits for Agnes and Dainty June.

The above photo shows Bernadette (left) with another member of the ensemble (Sharon McCartin) backstage at the Chicago Opera House as one of the stops along the tour. Her comment on the stage of the Chicago theatre – “I’d never seen anything so big in my life!” – undeniably conveys how her experiences were new and appreciably daunting.

Along the tour, she assumed centre-stage once or twice as the understudy for Dainty June, but playing the young star was not her main role. Unlike what more dominant memory of the story seems to purport.

Main credits of June went instead to Susie Martin – a name and a tale of truth-bending that’s now well-known from Bernadette’s concert anecdotes. While performing her solo shows as an adult and singing from Gypsy, Bernadette has often been known to take a moment to penitently atone for historical indiscretions of identity theft or erasure where her mother long ago conveniently left out the “understudy” descriptive when putting down Dainty June on her resumé, in an effort to add weight to the teenager’s list of credits.

Whatever happened to Susie Martin? – many have wondered. Well, she soon left the theatre. But not before appearing in two more regional productions of Gypsy and a 1963 Off-Broadway revival of Best Foot Forward with Liza Minnelli and Christopher Walken.

Bernadette too went on to other regional productions of Gypsy. She spent the summer of 1962 in various summer stock stagings with The Kenley Players, like in Pennsylvania and Ohio, and this time she did indeed get to play June.

Above shows photos from different programmes for these productions. While some may have featured odd forms of photo editing, they at least also bring to attention Rose here being played by none other than Betty Hutton.

The two women couldn’t have been in more different positions when they coalesced in these rough-around-the-edges, small-scale productions. A young Bernadette was broaching summer stock in starting to take on bigger roles in the ascendency to her bright and long career. Meanwhile, Betty found herself there while navigating the descent that followed her sharp but fickle rise to Hollywood fame in the ‘40s and early ‘50s. Top billing Monday, Tuesday you really are touring in stock after all.

While details aren’t plentiful for these productions, it was recounted Betty apparently struggled in performing the role. And understandably so. Following the recent traumatic death of her mother in a house fire, and the birth of her third child shortly before the shows began, it’s not hard to see why her mind might have been elsewhere. Still, she was apparently impressed enough by the younger actress who turned in one of the show’s “creditable performances” to make comment that she would’ve liked Bernadette to play her if a movie were made about her life.

Bernadette might not have done this exactly, but she did go on to revitalise Betty’s best-known movie role, when stepping into Annie Oakley’s shoes in the 1999 Annie Get Your Gun revival. With Bernadette’s first Ethel Merman show under her belt, the ball was soon rolling on her second.

The 2003 production of Gypsy was imminently beckoning as her next successive Broadway musical and it was Arthur Laurents who lit the match to spark Bernadette’s involvement. Laurents, as the show’s original librettist, drove the revival by saying he “didn’t want to see the same Rose” he’d seen before. Going back to June Havoc’s description of her mother as “small” and a “mankiller”, and Arthur’s take that Bernadette sung the part “with more nuance for the lyrics and the character than the others”, the choice of Bernadette was justified. Moreover, “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

So Bernadette also had her own baseline of innate physical similarity to the original Rose Hovick, in addition to her own first-hand memories of the women she’d acted alongside as Rose in her youth to bring into her characterisation of the infamous stage mother.

But there was a third factor beyond those as well to be considered in the personal material she had access to draw from for her characterisation. Namely, her own real life stage mother.

Marguerite Lazzara did share traits with the character of Rose. She too helped herself to silverware from restaurants, and put her daughters in showbusiness for the vicarious thrill. Marguerite had “always wanted to become an actress herself”, but had long been denied her desire by her own mother, who likened actresses to being as “close to a whore as you could be without, you know, getting on your back”.

In that case, to “escape a housewife’s dreary fate in Ozone Park”, Marguerite channelled her latent dream through her pair of young daughters instead, shepherding them out along the road. Thus was produced a trio of the two children ushered around the theatre circuit by the driven mother, forming an undeniable parallelism and a mirror image of both Bernadette’s reality and Gypsy’s core itself. Bernadette didn’t see some of these familial parallels at the time when she was a child, considering “maybe I didn’t want to see” – “didn’t want to see a mother doing that to her daughter”.

It was coming back to the show as an adult that helped Bernadette resolve who her mother was and some of the motivations that had propelled her when Bernadette was still a child. She realised, “I think she thought she was going to die very young”, as her own father died young. So “she was rushing around to get as much of her life as she could in there”.

When she herself returned to the production in playing Rose, Bernadette conceded to sometimes bringing elements of her mother and her driven energy into her portrayal, and admitted too she looked “like her a lot in the role”. You can assess any familial resemblances for yourself, from the images below that show a young Marguerite next to Bernadette in costume as Rose, and then with the pair backstage in 1961 in a dressing room on the tour.

Marguerite was ambitious. From her own personal position and with the restrictions imposed upon her, it was ambition that materialised through her children. Irrevocably, she altered them. She placed Bernadette on TV as a very young child (“I was four when my mother put me in the business”); changed her daughter’s surname (“She told me my real name was too long for the marquees,” or really – “too Italian”); doctored her resumé (“Somehow the word ‘understudy’ vanished. ‘No one will know,’ said Marguerite”); and lightened her hair (“She’d say, ‘Oh, I’m just putting a little conditioner on it.’ But slowly my hair got blonder and blonder!”). All in the hope of giving her child a more favourable chance at the life she’d always wanted for herself.

On paper, a classic stage mother. “When I was a kid, she fulfilled herself through me,” Bernadette would say. “She put me into show business so she could get a taste of the life herself.”

But it’s important to consider Bernadette often qualifies that her mother wasn’t as brutal as Rose, nor was she herself as traumatised as June.

Bernadette didn’t begrudge her mother for her choices – at least by the time she was an adult, she’d rationalised them, explaining “naturally it was more exciting [for her] to go on the road with me than staying home and keeping house”.

As a child, Bernadette hadn’t necessarily wanted to be on stage, but there was a sense of ambivalence – not resentful belligerence – as she “didn’t care one way or the other” when she found herself there.

Like June, Bernadette may have been entered into and coaxed around a path she hadn’t voluntarily chosen. But unlike June, Bernadette had a deal with her mother that “she had only to say the word”, and she could leave.

Most crucially, she never did.

But that’s not to say Bernadette was enamoured with acting from the beginning.

She seemed to feel ‘outside’ of that world and those in it. And others saw it too.

It was in 1961 in Gypsy that Bernadette first met Marvin Laird – her long-time accompanist, conductor and arranger. The way he put it, he “noticed this one young girl, very close with her mother” who, during breaks, “didn’t mix much with the other girls”.

Beneath the effervescent stage persona, there’s a quieter and more reserved reality, and a sense of separation and solitary division.

When asked by Jesse Green in 2003 for the extensive profile in The New York Times if she thought her experiences on the road in Gypsy were good for her at that age, she gives a curious, somewhat abstract, predominantly dark, potentially macabre, response. He wrote:

She doesn’t answer at first but seems to scan an image bank just behind her eyes for something to lock onto. Eventually she comes out with a seeming non sequitur. “I didn’t know how to swim. I remember, in Las Vegas, I fell in, once, and they thought I was flailing, but I felt like: ‘It’s pretty down here!’ I might have been dying and I was thinking: ‘Look at the pretty color!’ And suddenly my fear of water was gone, and I could have stayed in forever.” After a while, I realize she’s answered my question. Then she dismisses the image: “But I had to get my hair dry for the show that day, so up I came.”

I’m still not entirely sure I know what she’s trying to convey here. My interpretation of this anecdote changes as I have re-visited and re-examined it on multiple occasions at different time points. It’s arguably multiply polysemic.

Was she simply swept up in a moment of childlike distraction, lost in the temporary respite alone away from the usual noise and clamour? Was she indicating comprehension that her feelings and perspectives came secondary to any practical necessities and inevitable responsibilities? Was she using the water to depict a muffling and fishbowl-like detachment from others her age who got to live more ‘ordinary’ lives in the ‘normal’ world above that she felt separate from? Was she referencing the pretty colours she saw as a metaphor for show business and how she became bewitched by them even despite potential dangers? Was she trying to legitimately drown herself, or at least exhibiting an ambivalence again as to whether she lived or died, because of what the highly pressurised demands on her felt like?

The underlying sentiment through her response in answer to Green’s primary question was that, in essence – no. Being a child actor was not “over all, a good experience for a youngster”.

Acting might have been something she fell in love with over time, but not all at once, not right from the beginning, and not without noting its perils.

It was a matter of accidental circumstance that landed Bernadette in the show business world to begin with at such a young age in the first place – “I just found myself here,” she would offer.

Her mother, who was “always crazy about the stage”, “insisted” that her sister, Donna take lessons in singing, dancing and acting.

A further point of interest to note is that, although it was Bernadette with her new surname who would grow up to be the famous actress, look to the cast lists from the 1961 touring production of Gypsy that featured both sisters in the company (see photo below) and you’ll find no ‘Lazzara’ in sight. Donna too, appearing under the novel moniker of “Donna Forbes”, had also already become stagified (nay, ethnically neutralised?) by her mother. As such it is clearly demonstrated that Marguerite’s intention at that point was to make stars of both her daughters. Correspondingly so, when her sister returned from her performance lessons some years before, “Donna would come home and teach me what she had learned,” Bernadette remembered. She may have gotten her “training second hand”, but the key element was that she got it.

For Bernadette, it was a short jump from emulating magpied tricks from her sister as well as routines from Golden Age Busby Berkeley musicals on the ‘Million Dollar Movie’ in front of the TV screen, to her mother getting her on the other side of the screen and actually performing on TV itself – belting out Sophie Tucker impressions aged five for all the nation to see.

The photos below show Bernadette in performative situations at a young age (look for criss-crossed laces in the second for identification).

“At first, as a toddler, Bernadette enjoyed performing; it came naturally, a form of play that people inexplicably liked to watch.” It was “just a hobby” and she “wanted to do it”.

But while she may not have detested it, she didn’t entirely comprehend what was going on either. “I didn’t even know I was on TV,” she said. “I didn’t know that those big gadgets pointed at me were cameras and that they had anything to do with what people saw on the television set.”

When she started gaining more of an awareness of how “such play [was being] co-opted for commercial purposes”, she grew less enthralled. “She didn’t care for the bizarre children, accompanied by desperate mothers, she began to see at auditions: ‘They spent their whole time smiling for no reason, you know?’”

Being a child who had become sentient of being a child performer began to grow wearisome and grating to the young girl who had her equity card, a professional (and strange, new) stage name, and an increasingly long list of expectations by the time she was nine. There’s a keen sense she did not enjoy being in such a position: “I wouldn’t want to be a child again. When you’re a child, you have thoughts, but nobody listens to you. Nobody has any respect for you”.

Gypsy did indeed mark a turning point for Bernadette as mentioned above – but not just in the way that seems obvious. Looking back at it now, it does appear the monumental turning point at which she started appearing in significant and reputable productions, beginning what would be the foundation to her ‘professional’ career. However it was also the turning point after which she nearly quit the business altogether.

When she returned from performing in Gypsy, Bernadette felt like she’d had enough. One way of putting it was that she “then retired from the business to attend high school”, wanting to have some semblance of a normal scholastic experience “without the interruptions”. But whatever dissatisfaction she was feeling as an early adolescent on stage, she didn’t resolve at school – going as far as saying that while at Quintano’s School for Young Professionals, “she was in pain”.

“When you’re a teenager you’re too aware of yourself,” she recalled. Being a teen and trying to come to terms with of the expectation of the ‘60s that “you are supposed to look like Twiggy, and you don’t, you feel everything is wrong about you”. Everything “was all about tall, skinny, no chest…[and] hair straight”. Little Bernadette with her “mass of [curly] hair and distracting bosom”, as Alex Witchel put it, was never going to fit that mould. “That was not me,” she stated. “At all.”

Her self-consciousness grew to the point that it became overwhelming and asphyxiating. “I was trying desperately to blend in and be normal, but that doesn’t allow creativity to come out,” Bernadette said. “I knew I was acting terrible. The words were sticking in my mouth and all I could think about was how I looked”. It was hard enough just to look at herself (“I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror”), let alone to have other people gawk at her on stage. So she stopped trying. She “didn’t work much from age 13 to 17” in the slightest. Bernadette would later reflect in 1981 in an atypically open and vulnerable interview, “I was very insecure. Insecurity is poison. It’s like wearing chains”.

It was a combination of factors that helped her overcome these feelings of such toxic and weighty burden to draw her back into the public world of performing and the stage. “The two people who helped her most, she says, were David LeGrant, her first acting teacher, and her vocal coach, Jim Gregory.” Jim helped with “[opening] a whole creative world for [her] with singing”; and it was David who’d give her the now infamous and often (mis)quoted line about individuality and being yourself.

Having these kinds of lessons, she reasoned, was “really a wonderful emotional outlet for a kid of 17”. The process of it all was beneficial for her therapeutically – “you have a lot of emotions at that time in your life, and it was great to go to an acting class and use them up”. And Bernadette felt freer on stage than she did out on her own in the ‘real world’, saying “[up there] I don’t have to worry about what I’m doing or saying because I’m doing and saying what I’m supposed to be doing and saying”.

Finally then and with considerable bolstering and support, she grew comfortable with the notion of being visible on stage and in public, and realised she was never going to blend in as part of the chorus so it was simply better to let go of such a futile pursuit.

David LeGrant’s guiding advice to Bernadette (“You’ve got to be original, because if you’re like everyone else, what do they need you for?”) wasn’t just a trite aphorism. For her, it was a life raft. It was the key mental framing device that allowed her to comprehend for the first time that she might actually have intrinsic value as herself. And that it was imperative she let herself use it.

She had always stuck out, yes, but she had to learn how to want to be seen – talking of it as a conscious “choice” she had to make when realising she did “have something to offer”.

Thus soon after Bernadette graduated, she stepped back into productions like in summer stock and then Off-Broadway as she made her debut at that next theatrical level at 18. It wasn’t long before she was discovered in what’s seen as her big break in the unexpected smash hit, Dames at Sea. And so Bernadette Peters, the actress, was back. And she was back with impact and force.

Besides, as she’s also said, she couldn’t do anything else – “if I ever had to do something else to earn a living, I’d be at a total loss”. An aptitude test as a teenager told her so apparently, when she “got minus zero in everything except Theater Arts”. So that was that. Her answer for what she would’ve done if she’d never found acting is both paradoxically exultant and macabre – “I don’t know, probably shot myself!”

Flippant? Maybe. Trivial? No.

Acting is thus undoubtedly related highly to Bernadette’s sense of purpose and self-worth. This is what makes it even more apparent that a show with such personal and historical connections for her, as in Gypsy, was going to be so consequential and impactful to be a part of again as an adult and perform on a public stage.

She’s called inhabiting the role of Rose in the 2003 revival many things: “deeply personal”, “life changing”, “like going through therapy” – to name a few.

In interviews regarding Gypsy and playing the main character, when asked what she had learnt, Bernadette would frequently say something like, “It taught me a lot”. Pressed further about specifics, her answers often hem close to vague platitudes as she maintains her normal tendency of endeavouring to keep her privacy close to her chest.

On one occasion, she actually elaborated somewhat on what she’d learnt, giving a fuller answer than the question is normally afforded anyhow. Beyond all it revealed to her about her mother, she extended to admitting “my capacity for love and my capacity for anger” as aspects in her that the show had permanently altered. Moreover, Rose to her was undoubtedly the “most rewarding and fulfilling acting experience” she had ever had.

But while such deep, personal and emotional depths and memories were being stirred up beneath the surface in private, she was getting vilified in public singularly and repeatedly by New York Post columnist, Michael Riedel.

Even before she’d set foot on stage, Riedel set forth in motion early in the 2003 season a campaign of vocal and opinionated defamation against Bernadette as Rose that she was miscast, insufficiently talented, and would be incapable of executing the role.

Too small, too delicate, too weak, too many curves (and too much knowledge of how to use them). Not bold enough, not loud enough – not Merman enough. Chatter and speculative dissent begun to grow in and around the Broadway theatres.

For such a prestigious and historic musical theatre role, it was always going to be hard to erase the large shadow of an original Merman mould. Ethel was woven into the very fabric of the show, with the rights to Gypsy Rose Lee’s memoirs being obtained at her behest in the first place, and the idiosyncrasies of her voice having been written into the songs themselves by their very authors.

To step out from such a domineering legacy would be a marked challenge at the best of times. Let alone when battling a respiratory infection.

Matters of public perception were certainly not helped when Bernadette then got ill as the show started its preview period and she started missing early performances.

Nor did it help with critical perception that the Tony voting period coincided so synchronously with Gypsy’s first opening months – giving Bernadette no time to recover, find her feet, and settle more healthily into the show for the rest of the run before the all important decisions were made by that omnipotent committee.

The tale of her illness is actually undercut by a more innocent and unsuspecting origin than you’d expect from all the drama and trouble it engendered. Bernadette decided nearing the show’s opening to treat herself to a manicure. In the salon, she was next to a woman very close to her with a frightful sounding cough. Who could’ve known then that this anonymous and inconspicuous lady through a fateful cause-and-event chain would go on to play such a part in what is among the biggest and most enduring Tony Awards “She was robbed!” discourses? Or even more broadly – in also arguably playing a hand in the closure and financial failure of an $8.5 million Broadway show after its disappointing performance at the Tony Awards that ominously “[spelled] trouble at the box office” and led to its premature demise?

Bernadette did not win the Best Actress in a Musical Tony that night on June 6th 2004. The award went instead (not un-controversially) to newcomer Marissa Jaret Winokur for Hairspray.

She did however give one of the most indelibly resonant and frequently re-referenced solo performances at the awards show just before she lost – defying detractors to comprehend how she could be unworthy of the accolade with a rendition of ‘Rose’s Turn’ that has apocryphally earned one of the longest standing ovations seen after such a performance even to date.

Even further and even more apocryphally, she reportedly did so while still under the weather as legend as circulated by musical theatre fans goes – performing “against doctor’s orders” with stories that have her being “afflicted with anything from a 103-degree fever, to pneumonia, to a collapsed lung”.

Seeing then as unfortunately there is no Tony Award speech to draw on here, matter shall be retrieved fittingly from that which she gave just a few years earlier in 1999 for her first win and previous Ethel Merman role in Annie Get Your Gun to wrap all of this together.

As has been illustrated, there are many arguably scary or alarming aspects in Bernadette’s Gypsy narrative. There’s undeniably much darkness and an ardent clamouring for meaning and self-realisation along the road that tracks her journey parallel to the show. But unlike Rose’s hopeless decries of “Why did I do it?” and “What did it get me?”, there was a point for Bernadette.

As her emotional tribute in 1999 went: “I want to thank my mother, who 48 years ago put me in showbusiness. And I want to finally, officially, say to her – thank you. For giving me this wonderful experience and this journey.”

Whatever all of this was, maybe it was worth it after all.

[mlsfrvr]

Stop! It's Pepperony Time!

Hello guys! I was browsing through the stories I loved reading and I wanted to share it with you. There hasn't been anything new with Pepperony in the MCU almost two years, and because of what happened (I still can't accept it), it probably won't happen. :( 

That's why I chose to go back to the old days and started reading those wonderful Pepperony stories again. The upcoming Pepperony Week has also caused this. :)

If I can find the time, I might as well share the part two.

PS: I would like to thank the authors of the stories very, very much. I just want to say that I respect them for doing such a great job. They really, really did a great job. I feel good every time I read the stories and that's why I wanted to share.

no grave can hold my body down (i'll crawl home to her) : from Afghanistan to Infinity War. about Tony and Pepper's relationship.

less never than alive: after Iron Man 3. Tony struggles to help Pepper recover from Extremis. 

move through fire (even iron can start again): after Afghanistan. alternate ending for Iron Man 2.

Self-Preservation: after Afghanistan. in the end, they dance.

selcouth: all times. how Pepper fell in love with Tony.

a dream aloud: before Afghanistan. the meeting of Tony and Pepper, and what happened next.

People Who Know My Sins: after Afghanistan. Pepper helps Tony.

and there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears: after the Avengers. Pepper helps Tony.

I'm Sorry:  after Infinity War. Pepper is pregnant but having a miscarriage.

jus post bellum: after Ultron. Tony blames himself.

Just You And Me. And... : after the Avengers. Pepper says she doesn't want children, but she's also pregnant.

when the sun goes down:  after Afghanistan. Tony says he heard and saw Pepper in the cave.

Ever :an alternative time. He meets Maya again and Pepper is jealous of them. Tony convinces her that there is no one else but Pepper. 

To Keep You Safe: Civil War times. explains how and why they broke up. Pepper is pregnant and having a miscarriage.

The Problem with Almost: after Iron Man 3. Pepper is having nightmares and wants to see Tony's reactor.

the fighter in you: Pepper has a panic attack and Tony calms her down. 

Lay Your Ghosts to Rest: after Civil War. Tony shows Pepper his mother with BARF and explains that his family was murdered.

the seeds of absolution: after Afghanistan. Tony is visiting the families of soldiers who died for him.

Please Don't Go: after Endgame. Conversation between Peter and Morgan.

You Can Rest Here: after Iron Man 2. Tony can't sleep.

the other eight: Iron Man 1 but alternative. the balcony scene ends better.

whose laugh i could recognise anywhere: the story of Tony and Pepper's relationship.

Arc Removal: after Iron Man 3. Tony is having surgery and Pepper is waiting for him. 

Silent Like the Grave:  after Iron Man 3. Tony is having surgery and what happened afterwards.

Ready: after Afghanistan. Tony can't sleep and comes to Pepper. he tells her his biggest fear.

love is like a stubborn youth: before everything. how Tony and Pepper met and how their relationship developed.

a warm soft star: after Afghanistan. Tony is not sleeping and this is not helping. that's why Pepper convinces him.

what's your wingspan? :after Afghanistan. Tony calls Pepper because he can't sleep. he thinks that a hug will be good. 

A Moment Like This: after Infinity War. Pepper's pregnancy.

End of the Day: after Endgame. alternative. Tony does not die, but survives with injuries.

secrets spoken while you sleep: after Iron Man 3. Pepper is having nightmares and Tony calms her down.

domestic life (was never quite my style): Pepper meets Harley and Peter.

Christmas: Iron Man 3. Pepper is having nightmares, but Tony isn't there. 

for all that was lost in the wind: after Infinity War. They're getting married in the ruined house in Malibu, and Pepper is pregnant.

International Requirements: “You have to kiss me.”

Reverie: after Infinity War. Tony dreams of the unborn Morgan.

Jealousy: Iron Man 2, on Tony's birthday but alternative. he tells Pepper that he will die. 

Promises: alternative. Tony and Pepper are married after all.

It's Me: after Afghanistan. Tony calls Pepper and says he will come home.

Fixing Things: during the Civil War. Pepper is pregnant.

Not Alone: alternative. Tony and Pepper are going to Afghanistan together.

Caffeine Deficit: after Afghanistan. while Tony and Pepper are preparing dinner, he notices Pepper crying, but she blames it on the onions. What she's crying about is different.

Under The Same Stars: after Civil War . Tony tells everyone that they are not together because he wants to protect Pepper.

We Need To Talk: after Civil War. Tony and Pepper make up, but there's something more important than that.

Hope (it's what we work with): after Iron Man 3. Tony trying to heal Pepper.

secrets i have held in my heart (are harder to hide than i thought): after Afghanistan. Tony hasn't slept for three days and Pepper convinces him. when she convinces him, he tells him everything.

A Moment of Silver Clarity: after Afghanistan. he realizes why he loves Pepper so much and prepares a ring for her.

the sun will rise and we will try again: after Civil War. Pepper is having a miscarriage and it's her fault. shee tries to hide it for a long time, but in the end she has to tell.

honey bee theorem: after Endgame. Pepper and Peter are on the phone, and Peter tells Pepper that other Tonys may be alive in multiverse. (my favourite)

Lucky Picture: during Endgame . Tony time travels and sees his mother. 

My Worry For Your Sake: after Afghanistan. Pepper is injured. 

My Son; The Tragedy: an amazing poem.

What happens in Vegas...We'll discuss later: the night before Afghanistan. Tony and Pepper are getting married in Vegas.